congregation was inspiring to the last degree.  It was the Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity, and the subject he took was from the second lesson, the Parable of the Pounds, in St. Luke xix., and so pointed out the difficulties between the reception of a talent and the use of it.  He showed that the fact of people’s children growing up as wild and careless as heathen was no proof that no grace had been bestowed upon them; on the contrary, in the baptized it was there, but it had never been developed; and then came the emphatic assertion, “The best way of employing our gifts of whatever kind—­ children, means, position—­is by lending them to the Lord for His service, and then a double blessing will be returned for that we give.  Hannah giving her child to the Lord, did she repent of it afterwards, think you, when she saw him serving the Lord, the one upright man of the house of Israel?"’

No doubt these words were founded on those heartfelt assurances which stirred his very soul within him that his own father had never for a moment regretted or mourned over the gift unto the Lord, which had indeed been costly, but had been returned, ’good measure, pressed together, and flowing over,’ in blessing! can I grieve and sorrow about my dear dear Father’s blessed end?’ are the words in a letter to myself written on the 19th.  It further contained thanks for a photograph of Hursley Church spire and Vicarage, which had been taken one summer afternoon, at the desire of Dr. Moberly (the present Bishop of Salisbury), and of which I had begged a copy for him.  ’I shall like the photograph of Hursley Vicarage and Church, the lawn and group upon it.  But most shall I like to think that Mr. Keble, and I dare say Dr. Moberly too, pray for me and this Mission.  I need the prayers of all good people indeed.’  I quote this sentence because it led to a correspondence with both Mr. Keble and Dr. Moberly, which was equally prized by the holy and humble men of heart who wrote and received the letters:—­

’St. Andrew’s, Kohimarama:  November 20, 1861.

’Thank you, my dearest Sophy, for your loving letters, and all your love and devotion to him.

’I fear I do not write to those two dear sisters of mine as they and you all expect and wish.  I long to pour it all out; I get great relief in talking, as at Taurarua I can talk to the dear Judge and Lady Martin.  She met me with a warm loving kiss that was intended to be as home-like as possible, and for a minute I could not speak, and then said falteringly, “It has been all one great mercy to the end.  I have heard at Norfolk Island.”  But I feel it still pent up to a great extent, and yet I have a great sense of relief.  I fancy I almost hear sometimes the laboured breathing, the sudden stop—­the “thanks be to God, he has entered into his rest.”

’What his letters are, I cannot even fully say to another, perhaps never fully realise myself.

’As I write, the tears come, for it needs but a little to bring them now, though I suppose the world without thinks that I “bear up,” and go on bravely.