own religion, now, in many places, they have given that up as hopeless, and seek rather to attack Christianity with the weapons with which Newman and Colenso have furnished them. In all these ways the people, in districts where the Gospel is preached, are being gradually drawn nearer to the truth. We might refer also to the gradual moral elevation of the people, especially where they are brought more into contact with the influence of Christianity or civilization. A moral public opinion is being gradually formed. Native papers urge the Government to pass stringent laws against perjury. Thousands of natives petition Government to make polygamy illegal. The moral sense of the people is being gradually elevated, and the smoking flax of conscience is being slowly quickened to a flame. Everything in India is in a transition state the people are awaking out of the dream of ages, and many a one is looking around and saying, "Who will show us any good?" Some years ago, just when Bishop Colenso first published his religious views, a Mohammedan gentleman in India began to bring out a commentary on the Bible, in English and Hindustani, in which he spoke in the most respectful terms of the Sacred Scriptures. We have heard much lately about the Brahmo Somáj, through the visit to this country of one of its leaders, Baboo Keshub Chunder Sen. This Somáj (which word means "society," Brahmo being the name of the Supreme God) was established, forty or more years ago, by the celebrated Rammohun Roy, but its doctrines have been very much developed since that time. The Somáj began by simply giving up idolatry, but has gradually approximated to Christianity, till the advanced section, represented by Chunder Sen, has virtually reached the Unitarian standpoint, and they recognise in Jesus Christ one of the best, if not actually the best, the most Divinely inspired man that ever lived. These Brahmists, as they are called, though few in number, exert considerable influence, because, from their position outside the Church, the movement has more of a native aspect, although there is really nothing original in their views, which are taken from English authors, especially of the Newman and Parker school. They present to us, in a tangible form, the transition state of thought in India; and although at present they are opposed to the Gospel, yet when we consider that the movement started from heathenism, that it has now reached Unitarianism, that it has been ever progressive and upward in its course of belief, that there can be no real resting-place short of the Gospel, we may well look with great interest on this Brahmo Somáj, both for what it is in itself, and for what it implies as to the development of thought in India. Thus, apart from the direct results as shown in the conversion of souls, we see how much has been done in the direction of removing obstacles, weakening hostile powers, spreading a knowledge of the truth, and in general preparing the way of the Lord. It is a cheering fact that the older missionaries are usually the most hopeful. Those who have but newly arrived, are often much cast down at the difficulties to be encountered, and the apparent want of success; but those who have been many years in the country, and can compare India as it is with what it was thirty or forty years ago, see the enormous advance which has been made. It is a cheering fact also, that while civilians and military men usually look forward anxiously to the time when they will be permitted to retire on a pension and leave the country, missionaries, though in receipt of a very much smaller income, are generally anxious to return to their work, and hope to live and die in it. They know the work better than any others, and it does not look as if it were a failure, when, if health permits their return, they generally reject all offers to stay at home, and prefer rather to go back to their beloved work. But let us not be impatient, expecting that in a few months or years the time for the regeneration of India will have come. The whole of the present generation of Christians may have to die before the large increase, the abundant harvest, is granted. Whilst we speak of what has been done, let us remember how much remains to be done. If education is spreading, yet it is calculated that not more than four per cent of the population can read; if the Gospel is becoming known, yet the knowledge of it is very limited; and there are vast districts in which there is no preacher of the Gospel at all, and where the people have never once heard the name of Jesus. To raise so vast a population from so deep a degradation demands the utmost efforts of the Church of Christ. Would that the preachers she sends to that land were tenfold, a hundredfold, more numerous than they are, and then they would be far too few! Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth labourers into His harvest." 66 "SPARKLE!" "WHAT noise is that, father? Birds? How sweet! I don't see anything, do you?" "Hush! Look down there." The father pointed below the bridge upon which they stood, to where a girl sat, near the dry bed of a brook, lifting the sand and pebbles in her hands, and letting them run through her slender fingers upon a mound she seemed to be unconsciously forming, and at the same time pouring out a wild, half discordant, half melodious air, regardless of the two who quietly stood to listen. "It's a girl, father. What a lean, scrawny, big-eyed face she has ; let's go down there!" "But what's your last name, and whom do you belong to ?" with increasing interest from the father. "Ain't got no last name, and don't belong to nobody, so now!" shrugging her shoulders and turning away. Plainly she did not like this questioning. do "But you sing sweetly, dear; who taught you? tell me, that's a nice girl; here's sixpence for you, you know what it's for ?" as her eyes, lighting upon the coin, gleamed with half-concealed joy. 66 Now where did you learn to sing?" "Will you gi' me that ?" slyly. "Yes, take it now." "I learned of all the birds, the air is full of them, and the bees, they'll be here again soon," making a buzzing sound so near that the gentleman started and the boy laughed aloud. "What a funny thing it is, father! Look here, Spark, Brand, or whatever you are, tell us where you live; don't be afraid of father, I never was." "Pooh! I ain't afraid. See that old black house on the hill ?" "Yes." "That's the poor- house. Live there." "Whew!" whistled the boy, glancing into his father's face. "Do you like to live there?" questioned the other, apparently to prolong the interview. "Guess so-dunno-don't like anything only to be in the woods," then looking into the boy's frank, blue eyes with a sweet, childlike candour one would not have thought the elfin face could have assumed, she added, "I like the birds, they know me, and they aren't afraid, when I go alone." "Gowhere, dear?" asked the father. "Where they live-woods, you know." He found he was winning her confidence. "Would you let me go with you some time? introduce me to the birds; I like music too." "Do you?" staring soberly in his face. "Ask Rob to sing to you," said the father in reply. "Will you ?" turning brightly to him, her face lighting up wonderfully, "Oh, will you?' Laughing and blushing, Rob complied, singing a little gay chorus he had learned at school, and ending with part of a sweet, plaintive, Scotch song, a favourite with his mother. All the while, the bright dark eyes of the puny girl seemed to be drinking in every varying sound; she bubbled over with laughter at the first, and tears glittered on her lashes when he ended. It was a study to the gentleman to watch her face. 66 "Now you must sing for me, Spark." 66 Yes," and such a medley as she trilled forth filled them with amazement; the bright cheerful note of the robin, with her head perched on one side; the sweet song of the blue-bird; the plaintive sound of the whip-poor-will; then a gush of melody that one expects from a canary or yellow-bird; and at last, raising her arms as if to fly, she gave the crow of a veritable shanghai, and almost flew up the bank beyond their reach. Rob was about to spring after her, but his father restrained him. "Let her go, Rob. I think we'll come again and see her." Looking back with a merry, triumphant glance, she sped towards the old house in the distance, and they turned toward the town. Well, father, what do you think?" "I wish mother could see her. In the poor-house! it's a shame." "Yes-yes-" musingly. The next day at the same hour, a chaise drew up before the door of the town poor-house, from which the gentleman, with a lady, alighted. She was a sweet, motherly looking person, with the same look in her blue eyes that Rob had. It was his mother. The story had filled her with interest,-she would follow it up. Soon, in a little dingy parlour of the house, the matron was telling the little she knew of the girl's history. Brought there when she was quite a baby by a man who was too ill to proceed on his journey to a neighbouring town where he hoped for work, she had been there ever since. The man was a foreigner, and soon died, begging the matron to be kind to his child. Her mother was dead, she had no one on earth to care for her; so he said in his broken English; and as she lay on his arm, he called her Sparkle, or something that sounded like it. So the former matron had said before she left, and the name had clung to the child ever since. It was all they knew of her history. She was a wild, headstrong girl, quick to learn, ready to work, but with a passionate temper, that brought her many a whipping. "How old is she?" asked the r lady, and there was a tremour in her voice, that the matron thought timidity, but her husband would have called suppressed indignation. 66 She's eight, but small at that." "And what work can such a child do, pray tell me?" "Oh, in a house like this, there's plenty for younger ones than she is. She's old enough to wash dishes and sweep. We all work here," with a slight toss of the somewhat untidy head. "Can I see the child?" "Oh yes. She's never clean or in order for company-screaming out in some mudhill, I'll be bound." Nevertheless, she went to the door and called, "Send Sparkle to the front room, some of you there." A moment, and the door swung open again, showing to the stranger the same little creature he had seen before by the road-side. A face half sullen, half inquiring at first; but the moment her glance fell on the gentleman, she cast such a look of sunshiny pleasure upon him, that he wondered no longer at the singular name she bore. "Come here, Sparkle," he said, smiling. She came at once. "This is Rob's mother. You remember Rob?" She nodded, looking into the lady's face, who asked, "Will you kiss me, Sparkle ?" The girl looked at her in amazement, while the lady drew her close, and tenderly kissed the thin scarlet lips. There was no response; like a marble image the girl stood in her embrace, her eyes fixed on the sweet, kind face; sparkling no longer, but tearful, with feelings she could no more understand than control. "Why, what's the matter, child? have I hurt you? don't you love to be kissed?" "Yes'm,-I dunno,-nobody ever did so before." "La, child, how you act; of course you've been kissed; to be sure there's something else to do in this house, and I never was no hand for foolin' over children. I give 'em enough to eat, and keep 'em busy, so they're happy enough." The lady paid no attention to this tirade from the uneasy matron, but holding Sparkle close to her, asked in a low, loving voice, "Would you like to go with me, Sparkle, and be my own little_girl, and never come here again ? I had a little girl once, she is in heaven now. May I have you?” 66 Yes, yes; take me! I'd do anything for you. I know how to work." 'And buzz and crow, too." "Oh yes, I can,' nodding rapidly. the head still "Now, when they get through talking you must be ready; I shall take you right along. Have you got a hat ?" "A shaker, yes; shall I get it ?" "Well, no, dear; I have a shawl. And this veil will look better this warm day," pinning a soft, white, cloudy thing beneath her chin. "So you're going to take her right off, marm?” "I think so; my husband has the necessary order, I believe; and if you have no objection, it will save me coming again." "Oh, it don't make no kind of difference; I believe I've got kind o' used to her. I shall miss her, to be sure. Run out, Spark, and tell the girls good-bye-no such luck for the rest on 'em." On the ride back to town, the happy child sat between the two, drinking in every kind word and loving look. Beneath the white veil her eyes were like stars, and the thin shawl was held tightly to a heart that had never throbbed before with a happiness so intense. As they drove into the yard, Rob, just back from school, met them with a whistle, a suppressed halloo; and then, as the truth flashed upon him, he sent up a great shout ending with an attempt at crowing, which 66 'Yes, I'll tell them," her cheeks glowing, and eyes shining. "We'll tell them the birds brought you, dear," said Mrs. Tilson, as she drew her in the door, thinking in her heart that no one should get a glimpse of her until she looked less forlorn. A few days only, and it would have been difficult to recognise the child as the same once playing by the bridge in the sand. The bare feet were covered neatly; the little figure arrayed in a bright muslin, set off with a dainty white apron; frills in neck and sleeves made the dark skin look brighter and fresher; and the eyes had seemed to garner up the summer sunshine, so full of joy were they. There had been some thought of giving her another name, that she might the sooner forget her former abode, but Rob vetoed that vehemently. "I couldn't know her by any other name, mother. It just suits her; do let her keep it. Sparkle Tilson! I'm sure it's just the thing. I'd as soon tear out her eyes as change her name." So it was decided, and by-and-by Sparkle went with Rob to school. The children soon looked upon her as Rob's beloved sister, laughed at her tricks, admired her skill at mimicry, and faithfully believed that she had been dropped from the sky, |