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And all seems surrounded by the atmosphere of heaven, while a general burst of voices-my own among the rest, cry out, “ Glory to God for ever! Hallelujah."

I am living a few miles in the bush, where there is no Sabbath-school nor any house of God. There are about forty families connected with the place where I work. The town of Ipswich is four miles away, and Brisbane twenty-five. Some of my friends belonging to the Independents at Ipswich came to our station to see me about opening a Sabbath-school, and having preaching.

We went round to all the huts distributing tracts, asking the parents to send their children to Sunday-school, and come themselves to preaching. The result is, we have now a school at my hut of about thirty children, and hare i preaching every Sabbath afternoon. I hope the blessing of God will attend our feeble endeavours. Religion is at a very low state here; people are in good circumstances, but amid all their blessings they seem to forget God. The gods Bacchus and Mammon are most served here, I bless God that I am a firm teetotaller ; none but sober men should come here. I hope teetotallism is still practised by the teachers generally.

The first question I put to my old friend, Mr. John Fielding, on arriving at his residence in Brisbane was, “Are you all well?” His answer thrilled me as he said, “ All but one,” and that one was my much respected friend and fellow teacher, Mr. Wm. Bulcock, who was drowned in a hole to which he had gone to fetch some water. He had been subject to fits for some time previous to his death, and he had no doubt been seized with one where the catastrophe occurred, as the water was not more than eighteen inches in depth. You know that he was a man honest in purpose, firm in principle, punctual to his duties, and sincere in his attachment to the religion of Christ. He had his failings, but they were human; much there was in him to admire and love, and knowing this I could have no doubt as to his soul's welfare. However, I 1 enquired of my friends as to his religious experience up to the time of the unfortunate occurrence, and I found

that in the bush of Australia he was not without his God. Like the patriarch of old, he was priest in his own house, had regularly family prayer, and just before he went for the water, as above mentioned, he had held his usual daily family worship, concluding, I believe, with these words :

“ When soon or late we reach that coast,

O'er life's rough ocean driven,
O may we meet, no wanderer lost,

A family in heaven.” He rose from his knees, and in an hour or two he was dead. I immediately visited his grave, which I found near to the German Station, fenced round by rails. One solitary flower lifted its tiny head in modest beauty over his grave, and I thought that that flower told me to doubt not, for so bloomed he in a better land, taken by a Father's hand from the garden below, and placed in that better land, where

“Everlasting Spring abides,

And never withering flowers.” My heart was full, and I wiped the tears from my eyes as I turned from the last resting place of the remains of one whom I loved ; here his body rests in an Australian bush, surrounded by the wilds of nature ; but his soul rests in heaven.

I like my adopted country; it is a beautiful land. When I first came here and saw nothing but trees, high and great, everywhere, and scarcely able to see a hundred

yards before me, I was much disappointed, it was like being buried in a wood ; I said to my friends, there is no poetry in Australia ; it may yield gold, but it never will, it never can make a poet; but I soon found out that I was mistaken. Walking out one day with a friend, I determined to have a view of the country. Being fond of hills, I got on the top of one; but even there it was covered with trees. However, being determined not to be disappointed, I pulled off my coat and climbed up one of the highest trees I could find, and O what a magnificent, grand,

and glorious prospect stretched out far away before me There were undulating plains, as yet covered with trees; huge, rugged mountains towering up in savage beauty, one behind another, like a congregation of giants; and as I looked up at the clear blue heavens, and the glorious old sun, and then at the magnificent land below, and thought of its fertility and capability of supporting tens of thousands of inhabitants, I was enraptured at the sight; and, though I am no poet, I felt almost bursting with poetry. My full heart overflowed, and I cried out aloud, from the top of the tree where I stood, in the language of the immortal Milton :

“ These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then,

Unspeakable !" The scholars, no doubt, would be delighted to see the beautiful birds, with their starry wings bearing the rich hues of all glorious things, that fly about here. Very likely they would expect such gorgeously dressed birds to sing like angels; but no, they do not sing at all, but make some of the most discordant noises you ever heard; I would rather have the throstle, the linnet, or the humble Robin Redbreast, with their enchanting music, than the whole lot of birds here. Here, too, is the fire-fly you sing about, flying about at the dusk of evening with its tiny lamp; the children are pleased with and sometimes try to catch it. Here the leaves are ever on the trees, and are only a little browner in winter. Here are the daisy and the buttercup and other flowers, beautiful as the birds, for which I know no name. As yet I have seen no running brooks, but there are water-holes and creeks, where the water will keep good the year round without any stagnation-a proof of the purity of the climate. In summer time it is so hot that people often fall dead in the streets. It is very dangerous to go with the head uncovered at these times. There are scorpions, centipedes, and snakes, whose bite is poisonous. and in some instances mortal ; so that you see, with all

our advantages, there are drawbacks. The children would smile to see our bullock teams, I often see as many as ten, twelve, and twenty bullocks yoked together in a dray or cart, and the loads they can draw are quite astonishing. We have poor black men and women, with their little children, who run at large in the bush without any clothing of any kind. They have no houses, huts, or wigwams, to screen them from the sun or to shelter them from the rain. They set a few sheets of bark on end, and that is their only covering. They live upon fish, grabs, snakes, possums, and other things of that kind. They fight dreadfully sometimes, tribe against tribe. Their wives they call “jins," and their children “piccaninnies.” They have no written language, have no signs or figures to represent a single thought, and do not know their own age. Of God, and Christ, and heaven, they have no knowledge at all. There are certain superstitions amongst them, and from what I can learn, believe in the existence of an evil being, whom they call “Devil devil.” If in their wanderings they come near to the place where any of their tribe have died, they will stand and knock at the trees close by. I have seen trees with the marks of their blows ; but what they mean by this I cannot tell. They will sometimes carry the skull or thigh-bone, or the bones of some other part, along with them for a long time, which belonged to their friends. Sometimes they will wrap them round with old rags which they pick up, and then stow them away into some hollow tree, or put them on the ledge of some rock. Last Sunday, my friends Richard Bulcock and William Smith, were walking out in the bush, when they found the skull and a number of small bones, evidently those of a young child, carefully deposited in the above manner. These things show, I think, that they are not destitute of religious feelings or ideas of another world, though, I must confess, there is but one step between those ideas and total darkness. How thankful we ought to be for the privileges we possess, and that we have got the word of God to guide us safely to that better land!

My friends may rest assured they will never find another

place like old England. Its associations are almost part of my very

soul. Clitheroe !— beautiful, rural, picturesque, old town, with thy battlements of hills, thy rugged old i castle, thy enchanting river and brooks, thy charming country walks, but most of all with thy Moore Lane Sabbathschool and chapel, how thou art hung like a beautiful picture in my memory. Often do I think of thee and the dear friends I have within thy borders; a lovelier, fairer spot, I never expect to see. I pray the Almighty to take care of thee, and prosper thee, and that thy Sabbath-schools may go on training thy children up in the fear of the Lord, and making them good Christians, and fit to stay at home or go abroad; but, wherever they go, may they be found doing their share in blessing, civilising, and Christianising the world! God bless you all teachers and scholars.

Yours, &c.


P.S.-Remember me to the Revs. Wm. Jackson, and S. S. Barton. I would go a long journey to hear a sermon from either of them.


MEMOIR OF SARAH FOY. Sarah, the beloved daughter of John and Sarah Foy, was born in the parish of Leyland, on the 10th of January

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