calm, save the friendly greeting, or the gentle chit-chat of friends walking in company.

Yet, there is something quite unusual about to take place in this heathen city; something that is likely to impress the minds of its inhabitants, and excite their reverence. What can it be? It is not a royal procession, with its scarlet umbrella, its military honors, its showy retinue, its jubilant strains, its singing and dancing men and women, its bundle of scarlet cloth and velvet, superstitiously looked up to as a Divinity for protection and guidance. It is not the somewhat riotous circling dance, with its tom-toms and drums, its shell-blowing for music. It is not a trial of physical strength by a number of men and youths, throwing the sole of their right foot backwards in a particular way, so as to strike down their antagonists; no! nothing like this, but another and far different spectacle awaits us; it is a silent, teaching, solemn scene.

We pass the northern boundary of the city, and descend the hill to where stands a memorial of skill and refined taste, a Church, whose stones are to tell the generations following, that from thence some of their forefathers, by a violent and cruel death, made a good confession of their love to that precious Saviour who shed His life's blood for their redemption. Hark! ever and anon the tones of a bell break on our ear-a sound well known in our own dear England as that of a funeral bell. We pass the church to a once joyful but now sad home, where a little baby, bud of promise, made glad the hearts of loving parents, who fondly hoped that this precious plant in their home-garden would receive its brightest hue from the rays of the Sun of

Righteousness, and spread the fragrance of comfort, happiness, and piety, not only at home, but amid the surrounding atmosphere of heathenism. This little bud of promise had withered and died, and the bereaved parents are this day to bury their first-born "out of their sight.”

Around the house there are hundreds squatting, for whose souls the missionary watches, and to whom he ministers the " grace of life;" they are there to express their sympathy with him in his deep, deep grief; the English members of the Mission also gather there to show a fellow-feeling of sorrow with those whose loss is so heavy.

The little body, enclosed in a neat grey coffin, and covered by a lavender-coloured pall, with white border, was taken charge of by twelve native girls, who were dressed in clean white "lambas," six of them in turn bearing it to its last "quiet resting-place;" beside them walked a little girl carrying a basket of white flowers. The roughness of the road obliged the missionaries' wives to ride in their palanquins, the missionaries walking at their side all clad in mourning, and followed by a long line of native Christians. Thus the procession silently and solemnly moved on. The house of prayer is at length reached: it is filled with spectators; surrounding the little coffin are the young bearers; the mourning friends sit near, and all is still! and we spent a quiet, solemn season in the presence of death. In a little while the quietude is broken by the great truths of Scripture echoing through the church, “I am the resurrection and the life;" "He that believeth in me shall never die;" "I shall go to him, but he shall not

return to me;" "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." Then came the sacred song

“Lowly and solemnly be

Thy children's cry to Thee,
Father divine;

A hymn of suppliant breath,
Owning that life and death
Alike are Thine."

Next, a faithful warning address, followed by a prayer; and then, in solemn silence, the procession re-formed and advanced to the grave in the new churchyard; and there we buried him, committing his little body to the tomb"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust"-to rest until the trumpet of the archangel shall again awake the little sleeper to a new and better life. Did I say we buried him?-nay, nay, he is not there; the little spirit has fled; he is gone where no impure atmosphere shall destroy the beauty of his character; where no malaria shall produce fever and racking pain; where no polluting heathenism shall mar the sanctity of his life. He is gone from the evil to come; as a jewel he has been placed in the Saviour's heavenly casket, there to abide for ever and ever,~

"Gone to begin a new and happier story,

His suffering tale of woe soon told and done,
These outer shadows for that inner glory,

Exchanged for ever-O, thrice blessed one!"

There was no streaming hair, no rolling drum, no military display, no slaying of bullocks, no loud wailing, such as the Malagasy are accustomed to see and hear at such

seasons, to distract the mind of the thousands who came together to that sight: no, the funeral knell, the grand tones of the "grand old Book," the sacred song, the fervent prayers, the earnest appeal, the solemn silence, the deep, deep grief-these, these were the things that would tell the beholders of " a more excellent way," and teach them to consider their latter end. Soon may the day come when the life-giving Spirit shall breathe again on this interesting people the breath of spiritual life, and then shall attendant angels waft their spirits, also, to that world of bliss, unto which this loved little one has entered. Madagascar.

WM. POOL.

THE "MISSIONARY RABBITS."