my heart good. So may they yours. These people
said but few words, full of feeling; my report cannot all give the
effect. I wish it could.

"One old chief, who could hardly speak for feeling, said, 'These are
new things to me in these days;' (he meant the love-feasts) 'I did not
know them formerly. My soul is humbled. I rejoice greatly in the Lord.
I rejoice greatly for sending his servants.'

"A Tongan teacher--'I desire that God may rule over me,' (i. e., direct
me) 'I desire not to govern myself. I know that I am a child of God: I
know that God is my father. My friends wrote for me to go to Tonga; but
I wondered at it. I wish to obey the Father of my soul.'

"A local preacher--'I know that God is near, and helps me sometimes in
my work. I love all men. I do not fear death; one thing I fear, the
Lord."

"Leva Soko, a female class-leader, a very holy woman, said,--this is
but a part of what she said,--'My child died, but I loved God the more.
My body has been much afflicted, but I love him the more. I know that
death would only unite me to God.'

"A teacher, a native of Ono, who had gone to a much less pleasant place
to preach the gospel, and was home on a visit, spoke exceedingly well.
'I did not leave Ono that I might have more food. I desired to go that
I might preach Christ. I was struck with stones twice while in my own
house; but I could bear it. When the canoes came, they pillaged my
garden; but my mind was not pained at it: I bore it only.'

"A local preacher--'I am a very bad man; there is no good thing in me;
but I know the love of God There are not two great things in my mind;
there is one only,--the love of God for the sake of Christ. I know that
I am a child of God. I wish to repent and believe every day till I die.'

"These are but a specimen, my dear friend. The other day, in our
teachers' meeting we were reading the nineteenth chapter of John. An
old teacher read the eighteenth verse in his turn--the words, 'Where
they crucified him, and two other with him, on either side one, and
Jesus in the midst.' He could hardly get through it, and then burst
into tears and wept aloud. This man was a cannibal once. And now his
life speaks for the truth of his tears.

"Good night. The mosquitos are not favourable to epistle writing. I am
well. Remember me, as I remember you.

"R. R."

"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor after reading this letter for the second or
third time,--"have we a supply of mosquito net