scarcely ever sing a minor air. Bold stirring march music of marked rhythm-that gives voice to an imprisoned drum-beat in every throb of the singer's heart-alone satisfies him. The words cling to the music, and bring lasting comfort to many a home.

All this time the spiritual life of the village as a whole has, perhaps, not been visibly touched. Many a man, however, broods over the thoughts of the preacher's last sermon as he follows his plough or fells the giant forest trees. The wife croons over a hymn-book as her spinning-wheel buzzes, and wonders what the "fort" is which she is called upon to "hold," and who it is that is "coming."

He is

As the months and years go by, and the village grows in numbers and in wealth and comfort, the pastor, old and grey, comes to be perfectly revered. His influence and authority are enormous. the living embodiment to the villagers of all that Christianity, education, and civilization have done for them. It is amusing to notice the way in which he sometimes exercises his authority. Often he will not allow a man to sell his paddy himself, for fear he will waste the proceeds. So he sells it for him, devotes part of the proceeds to paying any debts outstanding against him or repairing his

house, returning him the balance by instalments. The man submits, because he knows it is for his good, and the integrity of the pastor is above suspicion. Often the pastor picks up reckless, improvident men over head and ears in debt. He brings them home to the village, sets them to work, collects all their wages, pays up their debts by instalments, and keeps them at work, teaching them practical lessons of industry. When a man's debts have thus been paid, he will be trusted little by little until he has shown that he has acquired habits of perseverance and thrift.

The pastor sometimes keeps a printed book, in which is recorded every financial transaction of the village. He draws out on printed forms all papers about rent of land, hire of buffaloes or oxen, hire of coolies, and the like. He is the general umpire to see fair play. When a man dies he is executor of his estate, and manages for the widow and orphans till the youngsters are old enough to take affairs into their own hands. The pastor thus holds in his hands the tangled threads of all the village business, and is the real centre of its life.

It is but natural that in proportion as the pastor is loved by his flock he is hated by the Burman money-lender, who has been fleecing the village for

years. The very first thing a preacher sets about when he arrives in a village is to pay off the Burman usurer. He does not sit down quietly and let the money-lender play his old tricks. Soon the village is worked out of debt, and ere long it has. money to lend instead of borrowing. Instead of hiring themselves out as labourers, you soon see the villagers hiring coolies-often Burmans—to work on the gradually enlarging rice-farms. The Burmese themselves sometimes remark that nowadays things are turned upside down. You will see thousands of Burmese coolies hired by Karens, but you will never find a Karen coolie in a Burman household. They often quote an old prophecy, which runs thus: "A foreigner may be a 'sir,' a Karen a lord, while the Burman is of no account at all (a-la-gá)." Soon you find the preacher investing the earnings of his people in land and renting it out to Burmans. He does this to prevent his Karens spending the money and in order to have land ready for the rising generation to cultivate; for, as he says, "If the people go on multiplying like this, there will be no room for them: we must widen the farms and stock them well.”

The Government official, even if anxious to do his best, has not a tenth part of the power for

good, moral and material, among the Karens which their pastor or schoolmaster has. The pastor decides more suits, settles more disputes, and does more real business than half a dozen myokes, or local judges. I once met a Burman myoke in the house of a Karen pastor. The Burman laughingly said to the pastor that he would have to arrest him some day for defrauding the revenue. "How so?" asked the preacher. "I can scarcely sell any stamped paper while you live in my township,' was the Burman's reply; "for you decide many more suits than I do." "I've no lawyers nor stamped papers in my court-that's the reason," replied the Karen pastor, laughing heartily.

Incidents like these, the simple story of a reformed Karen village, teach a lesson of serious import to our Government. We go about the business of civilizing subject - peoples far too mechanically and with but little real knowledge or appreciation of the human natures-the flesh and blood-with which we are dealing. This is why we remain aliens wherever we go. This is why our cut and dry civilization goes only skindeep. This is why our schemes of self-government find no genuine support among the populations of the East. Our heads are hot and busy, but our

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CHRISTIANIZING A VILLAGE.

hearts are cold as stone. Our administration lacks the one essential of permanent success-the first, second, and third excellence-sympathy. There have been gifted men-notably the late Sir Arthur Phayre-with a real genius for governing nations in their infancy. Phayre's name is revered by the Karens. He had the remarkable faculty of leading wild, ignorant tribes by the heart; and he could make them do just what he liked. But the Phayres have been sadly few.