JOE, THE HERD BOY. IT T was Saturday evening, the close of a lovely summer day, after a week of rather hard work at the Hill Farm. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday had been very wet; and many had been the consultations and wonderings among the farm 'hands' as to the prospects for haymaking. Matters were looking serious,' Mr Smith said; and certainly the weatherglass in the hall agreed with him, for it appeared as if all the sense it had would be shaken out of it, so constant was the thumping and knocking to see if it would not change its mind.

On Thursday morning, however, there was a decided rise in the mercury, as well as in the spirits of all concerned. The weather-glass had great pleasure, no doubt, in giving a better report; and before twelve o'clock all seemed promising. You may be sure the very most was made of the three fine days at the end of the week. 6 All hands to work' was the order that seemed to pass round; and toil lighter when all were willing to share it.

was

Joe, the boy of all work as he might be called, had helped as he could. 'Herding' the cows was his special business; but extra tasks-sometimes light, sometimes heavy-were laid upon him at a time like this; for, somehow, every worker thought Joe was at his beck and call, and the good tempered boy was glad when the labourers' bell rung on Saturday evening.

'Supper time at last!' said Joe, as he first undid his little bundle of bread, and then took his pitcher of milk in his hand. His dog, Keeper,' sat beside him, looking with rather a wistful glance as bread and milk rather rapidly disappeared. But Joe was not quite so ready as usual to share either thoughts or supper, with his faithful four-footed companion.

All was peaceful around; the lengthening shadows on the grass spoke of rest and refreshing; the crimson and gold of the western sky gave good promise for the morrow; the cows, if not able to admire the landscape, seemed perfectly satisfied with themselves and their surroundings;

and the south-west wind carried a message of peace, along with the fragrance which it gently wafted from the newly mown hay.

How was it that Joe, generally so merry and light-hearted, did not seem happy, and resisted all honest Keeper's attempts at anything like fun? Had you asked the farm boy I dont know if he could have told you; but I have a notion of what was wrong. Something very like sadness, mingled with just a shade of discontent, had taken possession of him all day. Joe's little brother was lying at home sick, and with but few comforts to cheer him up.

'I wonder,' the herd boy had sometimes been saying to himself, how that little Freddie' (farmer Smith's grandson), 'spoilt little thing! should be so pampered and petted, and our poor little Johnnie be so poorly off. There have I been giving young master rides on the donkey all round the house; what would poor Johnnie have given for just one short half-hour of it! and Freddie does not care a straw. I feel as if it was not fair.'

Just as Joe was talking in this style to himself, the evening breeze carried to his ears a sound of fife and drum, showing that a procession was passing through the village a mile off. Joe had heard the music occasionally all afternoon; and now knew that, with flags and banners, the pleasure seekers were on their way home.

Jack Brown is sure to be there,' said Joe; 'it is strange that I so seldom have a chance of a holiday; it is "Joe here" and "Joe there" continually; I never get my own way.'

Now, with thoughts like these in his head you cannot wonder that Joe did not care for the quiet beauty that was all around him, nor feel inclined to pay any attention to poor Keeper, his trusty friend. All at once something seemed to whisper in his ear, I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.'

Who said that?' Joe asked himself, feeling as if his very thoughts were answered. And so they were. God was speaking to him, by bringing to his remembrance last Sabbath evening's lesson, when

the earnest teacher had taught his boys about Paul, the great apostle, having learnt this lesson long, long ago. 'And then,'

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said Joe, looking around him, and yet recalling as well as he could what he had been told last Sabbath, how much easier it should be for me to learn contentment than it was for Paul. He learned it in prison, as our teacher told us; sometimes in hunger and thirst, and in weary days of toil too, when he worked at a trade during the day to be able to go out in the evenings and teach. He was content and cheerful, tossing on the stormy sea, and in his toilsome journeys as he travelled from city to city. What a noble man he must have been! and yet he had to learn contentment too. Oh, I remember now! Our teacher said that Paul had a grand pattern before him; that we could copy as well if we only would. Jesus "took upon Him the form of a servant, and pleased not Himself." If He did not get what was pleasant and agreeable, we cannot expect to have everything smooth either. After all, Keeper,' added he (for Joe was now willing to honour his dog with his meditations, as he usually did), 'you and I have not much to complain of; we have a pretty good time of it here like the rest of them; we are both fed and cared for, whether it is wet or dry; and, as mother told me, perhaps I am just as well away from the procession. There would be some rough fellows there; and Jack Brown would be none the better of it.'

As Joe thus spoke half to himself, half to Keeper, he turned his eyes to the glowing west, where the sun had just dipped below the horizon. Is it really true,' thought he, that the Lord Jesus had that same sun to shine on Him when He worked here below and taught the country people about the lost sheep, and the tares in the field, the seed by the wayside, and all these every day things? I feel as if it were a grand thing to work too; though it is pretty hard sometimes.'

I am sure Joe felt, if he did not utter, a prayer, as he cheerily walked home that quiet evening,-a prayer that he might

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THE island of Tanna or Ipare lies between Aneityum and Eromanga. It is about thirty miles long and from nine to twelve broad; and its population is supposed to be seven or eight thousand. Near Port Resolution, there is a volcano which has been constantly active ever since the island was discovered by Captain Cook, in 1774. This volcano is a great lighthouse to the neighbouring islands. Every three or four minutes it bursts forth with greater brilliancy, like a revolving light. There are boiling sulphur springs around the volcano, and the water is so hot that the natives often boil their yams in it. The soil is very fertile, and the scenery lovely; but the people are very degraded and superstitious. They have distinguished themselves by persecuting missionaries and expelling them from their shores.

Three Samoan teachers were stationed on this island by Williams, in 1839, only two days before he was killed. One of these died, and the other two had to return to Samoa, with Messrs Nisbet and Turner, in January, 1843. Though only seven months on the island these missionaries had acquired the language, had opened schools for the young, and had succeeded in gaining the affections of some of the people. But the superstitions of the savages were too strong for them. Believing the missionaries to be the cause of disease which was prevailing on the island, they declared war on them and on all who befriended them. To prevent bloodshed the missionaries and their wives prepared to leave the island, and set out in an open boat but were driven back by the storm. Providentially a vessel called and took all the mission party on board. Dr. Turner thus describes their parting with the natives.

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He

'Before leaving the beach, I got hold of Kuanuan, and told him we were going. He was greatly distressed; poor old man. leaned on my arm and shoulder and cried like a child. I begged him to assemble the chiefs, tell them all about it, and then all go on board the vessel and see us before we sailed. Eleven of the chiefs soon came off to the vessel. They brought a pig as a peace-offering, and told us how grieved they were at what had happened. We told them that it was very grievous to us too-that it was our wish to live among them till our hairs were gray, to tell them about

our vessel to come again, that we would love them still, and pray for them, and do everything we could to resume the mission at some future time; if they had done with their wars and wished to learn the way to heaven. Kuanuan promised to count the days, and keep up religious services as well as he could, every Sabbath, and also on the Wednesday afternoons.'

When Dr. Turner visited Tanna, in 1845, he found that Kuanuan had kept his promise. He had counted the days and had

have still the religion in our hearts, and can still pray to the true God.'

It was not reckoned safe for European missionaries again to settle on Tanna till 1858, when Mr Paton and Mr Copeland arrived from Scotland, and were soon after joined by Mr Matheson and Mr Johnston from Nova Scotia. A party of Tannese had visited Aneityum in 1854, and had been so astonished with the wonderful change which Christianity had wrought on that island, that they requested to have teachers sent to them. What surprised them most was that there was no fighting; They never imagined that a people could live together on an island without fighting!' Two teachers were sent, and thus the way was in some the prepared for missionaries.

measure

Such a group of missionaries settled on the island seemed to promise great things for Tanna, but dark days awaited the mission party. Mr Copeland left for Aneityum, in 1859. Mrs Paton died, in March 1859, from the rupture of a blood vessel, and her infant son only survived her about ten days. Besides these sore bereavements, Mr Paton suffered many attacks of fever and ague. For a time he was left alone on the savage island, Mr and Mrs Matheson having been obliged to go to Aneityum on account of their health. Mr Johnston had only been six months on the island when he died suddenly. Mr Matheson's wife and child too were taken home. Thus wave followed wave. Mr Paton and Mr Matheson were blamed for every calamity which befel the natives, and after labouring four years, they were obliged in 1862, to abandon that benighted island and flee for their lives. The story of their lonely residence on that savage island, of the many hardships they endured, and of their being forced to flee from its shores, is one of the most touching episodes in the history of missions.

Six years passed before the mission was resumed on Tanna. The Rev. Thomas Nelson was stationed at Port Resolution in 1868, and was joined in 1869 by the Rev. William Watt, who was stationed at

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Kwamera, where Mr Matheson had been before.

These two devoted missionaries have secured so firm a position on the island that last year they both came home on a visit to their friends, Aneityum teachers taking charge of their stations in their absence. Mr and Mrs Watt will by this time have returned to their field of labour, and Mr and Mrs Nelson are to follow them shortly.

Though they cannot tell us of results such as are seen on Aneityum, still a good work is going on in Tanna. The lives of the missionaries are safe now, and they are beloved by the people. Instead of the cry which greeted Mr Nelson when he first attempted to land on the island, Tanna man no want missi, Tanna man no want missi,' they are eager to know when their own missionaries are coming back, and are longing to have them among them again.

The

Two languages are spoken on the island, so that more missionaries are needed. great number of languages spoken in the New Hebrides increases the need for missionaries. Every island has a different language, and in some cases, as on Tanna, two languages are spoken on the same island. Besides the difficulty of mastering the language so as to be able to preach to the people, a missionary must do a great many other kinds of work. Mr Nelson says, 'He must be a doctor and attend to his wife, his family, himself, and the natives, in their sickness; be a surgeon, and dress their wounds; be an apothecary, and mix their medicines; be a mason, and build his own house; be a plasterer, and plaster it (having first made the lime); be a joiner, and lay the joists and floors, and make and fit in the doors, &c.; be a boatman, and know how to manage a sail; be a butcher, and know how to cure pork, &c., &c., in fact there is scarcely anything he must not on occasion be.

This is a kind of life which some men would not like at all, but I think it a very enjoyable kind of life when gone about in the right spirit, without moaning and groaning over degrading secularities; and

if the chief end is kept in view-the making known the way of life to those who have never before heard anything of it, and preaching Christ crucified, and the powers of the world to come, to those who are in the region and shadow of death,-there is no life on earth to compare with it.'

THE

A BRAVE BOY;

M. T. S.

OR, 'I PROMISED MOTHER. HE factory bell had scarcely ceased clanging when the doors were thrown open, and crowds of tired-looking workers poured forth, each one seemingly in a hurry to reach his or her respective home.

My way happened to lie in the same direction as that of a group of boys. There were six or seven of them, of different ages, varying perhaps from thirteen to sixteen. They were talking very loudly and all at once, their united voices tending to produce a perfect babel of sounds. I was a few paces behind them, and as they seemed inclined to linger, I quickened my steps, hoping to get past them and out of hearing as soon as possible; but as I drew near, I caught words which fixed my attention, and I became deeply interested. The tallest and boldest-looking boy of the group was saying, ""Tis a shame, I say; and I for one will not be hindered. So here goes.' With these words he flung himself against the hedge which skirted the lane, forcing his way into the park beyond.

Those whose homes were in the upper part of the town had got into a custom of crossing this park in passing to and from work, until they began almost to fancy they had a right-of-way there; and certainly it was much nearer, and a great deal more pleasant, especially on a lovely summer's evening like this, the path almost the whole way being shaded by the fine old trees that grew along the river side. But now, since the fences were repaired, and cows grazing on the nice fresh pasture, there had been a notice put up, threatening with punishment anyone found trespassing.

And this it was which had thrown the foolish boys into such a state of excitement. They seemed to imagine that some grievous wrong had been done them. For some days they had kept on the road, though not without much murmuring, which at length broke out in open rebellion in the manner I have described.

Some of the boys were rather startled when they saw what a large gap he who acted as ringleader had made in the hedge; however, they forgot everything except admiration of his bravery, or as they termed it pluck,' when he called out, 'Come along, boys; who's afraid?'

'Not I!' and 'Not I!' they answered, as one after another they followed him, all except one bright, honest-faced lad, who appeared to be about fourteen years of age. For one moment he seemed to hesitate as he glanced longingly at the cool, shady river-side path; the next he had turned away, and was walking resolutely along the road. When his late companions saw that he did not follow them, some of them called, Come along, George; be quick, and we will wait for you.' While one or two said, sneeringly, Never mind him, let him go; he is afraid, we dont want a coward with us.'

I shall not soon forget the noble yet modest look with which he faced them as he replied, 'It is not because I am afraid, but I promised mother that I would not go into the park again, and I mean to keep my word.'

This, thought I, is really a brave boy, and his mother must be a happy woman. It is years since this incident took place. George is now a young man, and I think he must be as brave as ever, from the words his mother-who is one of my closest friends said to me the other day. We were talking of our children, when, with a reverent look, she said, 'I thank God, my George never vexed me in his life.'

My dear young friends, I wish every one of you to understand that true bravery consists not in following the multitude to do evil, but to be able to stand alone, firm and undaunted, in the path of duty.

A. M.