ng friends at home, to whom I
may detail my winter journey on a sunny autumn afternoon at Hebron. A
real midwinter Labrador sledge journey, with the thermometer far below
zero of Fahrenheit and the wind blowing hard and cold, is not so
pleasant, especially if the dogs be quite invisible because of the
driving snow. Should the traveller then be pitched off the sledge, and
the drivers not perceive his absence at once, they may lose one
another for ever. But God has watched over our travellers by sea and
land, by ice and snow on many an errand of spiritual import to the
settlers, or journey from station to station.

MY LAST SUNDAY IN LABRADOR.

_Sunday, September 23rd._--Morning prayers in German with the
house-family. Our venerable senior missionary read the texts and the
Gospel for the day, and gave out suitable hymns, which were well sung
by the company of brethren, and sisters, and children assembled in the
dining-room around the long table. Breakfast is enlivened with
cheerful, godly converse, and shortly after we join the Eskimo
congregation in the first service of the day. I like this church as
well as any in the land. It is proportionate, simple, neat and light.
Mr. Wirth takes his place behind the table, and, what with residents
and visitors, there is a goodly row of missionary brethren and sisters
to right and left of him, facing the Eskimo congregation. Among the
latter the white faces of a settler family, the Metcalfs from Napartok
Bay, are conspicuous. Though the language be strange, I have already
grown familiar with the liturgic forms of worship and can follow
either the "Church Litany," familiar to one in English and German, or
the admirable responsive compilation of tests known as the Catechism
Litany. The latter is chosen this morning, and it is quite possible
that a negro congregation in Surinam, or a Kaffir congregation in
South Africa may be using the same form of sound words, for it exists
both in Negro English and in Kaffir.

At 10 we are again summoned to the house of prayer by the bell. Mr.
Dam is the preacher, and is evidently moved by the thought that this
may be his last sermon in Eskimo for many a day. A hymn and a prayer,
fervent and brief, precede the giving out of his text, Rev. i. 12-20.
The sermon is listened to attentively by old and young, of whom
considerably more than a hundred are present. Old Zippora is, as ever,
at her place at the end of the bench. Blind though she is, s