The Carrs were formally welcomed to Melbourne, the evening of the day on which they landed, by a church tea meeting. We shall speak of it in detail, that a general notion may be gleaned of this popular Australian church social.

"Tea on the Tables at Half-past Six," is the way the invitation-cards read. We assemble in the basement. There are four tables, running the entire length of the Chapel (we are not to say "church" when speaking of a house.) Not alone is tea "on the tables." Here we find a bountiful repast, garnished forth with beautiful flowers fresh from our gardens.

After tea, we present the flowers to our guests of honor. By eight o'clock we have eaten, shaken hands, talked informally with every one, and are ready to adjourn to the auditorium. Here we listen to the Chairman's address, and the addresses of five others, including O. A. Carr and G. L. Surber. The congregation sings three hymns, the Singing Class renders another; we have, also, two anthems, and, after the benediction, feel that we have been to a Tea Meeting, indeed.

A few years ago, the Cause in Australia was very weak. Now the pressing need is laborers. The Melbourne Church is strong enough to divide; Surber will preach at the Chapel; a hall will be rented for $400 in gold, in which O. A. Carr will preach; thus forming a nucleus in two remote points in the great city. The speakers at the tea meeting are strong in their faith, and with good reason. Last year the church gave for home and foreign missions, and local expenses, $4000 in gold.

We have never had any trouble with expenses, because each of us does something—each one! that is our secret of success. Far away in Adelaide, Gore and Earl are laboring; here in Melbourne, Carr and Surber—four evangelists for Australia. But, as we shall see, all the preaching is not done by the evangelists. And what of Mrs. Carr? At this very first tea meeting we speak of a school for Sister Carr. "We expect in a few months to see her devoting all her time to the high calling of teaching."

Thus the new work is inaugurated. Not for the writer is the labor of seeking lodgings, or a house which will serve also as a school; not for the reader the weary days of forming an establishment, of settling down to the necessary routine of daily living, of forming grooves in which one may run automatically, the better to give the mind to higher things than food and a roof.

We are in a land where all is strange and new; but when we leave it, all shall have become familiar, and much of it dear. The reader need but glance along the peaks that rise out of the level plain of daily experiences—one tea meeting for him, to fifty for the Carrs; a few characters to be learned from among the thousands who cross the paths of the young missionaries.

One might crowd a large book with the people who come and go, never to return, people important in their own orbits, no doubt, but quite futile to ours. Happy would it be for us and ours, if all the time we scatter among the moving multitudes of life, we might concentrate upon the few who are to abide in our hearts and memory. But that is not to be while life is life; however, it may be reasonably accomplished in book-land.

So, of these hundreds and hundreds of letters before me, whose signatures are but the labels of so many shadows—impersonal spirits who did nothing but write and vanish—we can select only those of a few men who seem to breathe the same air that envelops our principal characters.

Such a breathing reality appears in John Augustus Williams, so real in his profound faith in the dignity of teaching, that the chalk-dust seems to swing above his head as a sort of material halo.

To him we find Mrs. Carr writing: "We reached Melbourne in early September, after a long voyage of 104 days! Contrary winds kept us in the Irish Channel a fortnight; but we kept our spirits up, resolved to be content-subjects of the winds. We drifted within sight of the South American shores. We sailed many miles along the mango and palm-wreathed coast of Brazil. We are well and ready for work. Brother Surber was very happy to see us, and the church gave us a most cordial greeting. I will write brother Joe a description of the voyage; you can exchange letters with him. I enclose a little flower and leaf of woodruff. I plucked it at the foot of the south tower of the royal entrance to Canarvon Castle, on Menia Straits, opposite Anglesey. In that castle, the first prince of Wales was born, April 25, 1284."

T. J. Gore writes to the newcomers from Adelaide, South Australia: "I am aware of your arrival in Melbourne. You do not know how I long to see you both—you come from old Kentucky—may Heaven's richest blessings rest upon that dear state! It is hard to realize that here so near, are two live Kentuckians from my far-away home. You will find conditions and customs very different here from America; but it is the Lord's harvest; moreover, Melbourne contains a great many Americans; here in Adelaide, my eyes are hardly ever blessed by the sight of one, but I console myself with the thought that though I am far from my native land I am still in the Kingdom of the Lord. No doubt you and Surber are now talking over days of long ago, at Kentucky University.

"Brother Carr! how I should love to fold you to my heart! Tell Sister Carr she need not fear the hot winds; they are quite harmless. Brother Earl preaches to big audiences Sunday evening at White's Assembly room; he has not found a church yet. Tell Sister Carr she deserves great credit for leaving her home, and coming so far, all for the sake of His Word. My thoughts go to Keith in Louisville, and Albert Myles in Cincinnati. I wish we had an evangelist in New Zealand. Write me something for the Pioneer" (which he is editing). "Brother Santo wishes you both much happiness and great success." (Gore has found a sweetheart,—"Brother Santo's" daughter; which gives him a firmer position from which to protest against homesickness.)

At the conclusion of the first sermon preached by O. A. Carr in Australia, two made the good confession. During his ministry in the colonies, he found conversions the rule, while the exception became rarer and rarer, of preaching without visible results. He had not found a house to rent when a letter was received from one who was to take an interesting part in his life—Thomas Magarey, an Englishman, who had settled in Southern Australia:

"Now that you are enjoying a little relaxation from the call of visitors upon your arrival, I may venture an epistle of congratulation upon your safe arrival. May you and Sister Carr be spared to present the old and glorious Gospel. I read your article in the Review, and laughed at the alarm of the church at Birmingham, lest any one should 'drop a penny in their collection.' We have very little cause for alarm upon that score, here in South Australia. I have heard that you both are suffering from homesickness. I had that complaint for about twenty years.

"Unfortunately, every one in Australia has suffered from it more or less and, like seasickness, it meets with no sympathy. I never could understand why the most disheartening of complaints should receive no commiseration, but so it is. I cannot think your disease very violent, for the best authorities say, those love home best who have least reason to do so. Thus the Irishman suffers more from leaving his land of potatoes than the Englishman his beef and plum pudding. I need not tell you that the best remedy is constant employment. This is not our home—we are all pilgrims and strangers. My son, just now, was instructing his little brothers and sisters upon Astronomy. I heard him say that from Jupiter, this earth of ours could not be seen. Humiliating thought!"

The man who writes thus abruptly, treading upon the tender susceptibilities of Kentucky pilgrims, calls for more than passing mention. When hundreds flocked to the Australian gold fields, Thomas Magarey established a mill, and sold flour to the prospectors. Gold was found in abundance, and easily parted with; but while others dug it from the earth, Magarey ground his meal and watched the yellow tide as it came his way. "Twenty years of homesickness," on his part, was well rewarded. He owned a palatial home in South Australia, was immensely wealthy, and was a Member of Parliament.

His religious life was diverted into its present channel by reading articles by Alexander Campbell and Walter Scott in the Christian Baptist. His brother, some time before the coming of the Carrs to Australia, perished in a fire at sea. Thomas took his brother's family into his own home, where all live as one. His sheep ranch, his cattle, his horses, his milling business, his civic affairs, occupied the greater part of the day, but his evenings were spent with his wife and children.

On Sundays two carriages took them to church in the morning, to Sunday-school in the afternoon, to preaching at night. At the Governor's receptions, the jewels of the Magareys flashed with the costliest; at church, their garments were as simple as the simplest. And if there was no preacher, as indeed was usually the case in this land where preachers were so scarce, Thomas Magarey addressed the congregation, after the Australian manner.

The better to understand this manner, let us return to the Carrs, and take a brief view of their religious life. As we have seen, the preacher delivered a sermon only on Sunday nights. The primary object of the Sunday morning service was the observance of the Lord's Supper. For the Church of Christ, in its desire to do just as the Christians did in Apostolic times, met on the first day of the week to break bread, not "to keep the Sabbath day holy", which they said had been done away, with the old dispensation, but to celebrate the resurrection of Christ.

Besides the communion service on Sunday morning, there would be exhortations to religious life by laymen, who had been appointed a month in advance. These men took pride in preparing brief addresses which they hoped might prove edifying; and so general was the custom, that if the minister failed to be present, his absence was unfelt. Such a custom tended to build up a permanent and fervid religious sentiment in the very heart of the congregation—a speaking Christianity which business men carried during the week into their shops and offices.

The congregation would assemble promptly in the morning, and, a minute or two before eleven o'clock, would sit with bowed heads. Exactly at eleven, all would rise to their feet, and lift up some familiar hymn such as "Safely through another week, God has brought us on our way." Among the five hundred there were not a dozen silent mouths. Following the hymn, a chapter would be read from the Old Testament, another from the New. A third layman would announce a hymn, usually reading it; a fourth would lead in prayer. Still another would preside at the table, to be followed by those appointed for short addresses.

The congregation preferred to take business affairs from their own number, rather than from the minister. As an example—One morning a man rose and said: "Since I have been hearing Brother Carr preach, my Bible has become a new Bible. I never understood it till now. But there is one subject Brother Carr has omitted—the duty and privilege of financially supporting the preacher." Having delivered himself upon this neglected theme, the man concluded: "You know me and my circumstances. I am a shipwright. I will give half a crown a week. My wife will do the same. There are many present who can do as well. Now, will you do it?" And the audience rose and said, "We will do it!"

Before a house had been selected for the missionaries, Mrs. Carr went on a visit to some new-found friends; as a result we have a series of letters between her and Mr. Carr; we trust our extracts from them will be both judicious and interesting.

Mr. Carr to Mrs. Carr: "If my writing proves obscure, remember I'm an obscure person in this country. Brother Magarey left for Ballarat. We all went with him to the depot. Alex. and Vaney" (Magarey's sons) "could hardly keep from crying when they saw their father leave." (Alex. and Vaney are to board with the Carrs in order to finish the course at the University of Melbourne.) "I went to look at that house in Clarendon Terrace, but behold, it was let when I got there! However, the owner said he wouldn't have been willing to have you teach a school in it; and besides, it would have been too far out for the boys (Alex. and Vaney) to walk. There will be plenty of houses to rent when the people go to the seaside for the summer." (By which we mean December).

"We must wait a little longer and be satisfied. I trust in God. We are to do a great work here, if we will be humble and abide the Lord's will. One confession at chapel, today, five at the hall. There are very large audiences. Your class did well. They seemed much disappointed in not seeing you, but they didn't come right out and say they preferred you as their teacher—mighty smart girls! Brother Zelius says I must remember him to you." ("Brother Zelius'" was the first house the Carrs entered on landing at Melbourne; it was he who had sent O. A. Carr the money to come from America. Years before, Zelius had stood penniless, save for one shilling, and entirely unknown, in the streets of Melbourne; but he had done well since he heard and accepted the doctrine as presented by the Christians, and it was natural that he should have a proprietary interest in his missionaries.)[8]

Mrs. Carr to Mr. Carr: "We reached Nutcundria last evening in safety. The day is intensely hot" (November 29). "I do not believe I could ever love the Australian climate. Give me the sunny and starlit skies, the balmy breezes, the snows and winter winds of old Kentucky! There is abundance of ripe fruit here. Couldn't you come for me next week? The trip can be made in a day. I shall never regret placing my heart in your keeping; for every day, I see a new light shining in your character."

Mr. Carr to Mrs. Carr: "Joy came this morning in the shape of a letter apiece; yours from brother Joe, which, I see, came by way of Panama. Mine is from sister Minnie—her news has touched and thrilled my inmost soul: Jimmie has obeyed the Gospel; and dear old father, working hard all day, and going to prayer-meeting at night! Poor mother! I wish it were so that she could attend oftener. Vaney, Alex. and I were at the hall last night. Alex. announced the hymns for me. Vaney says they would take me for a Catholic priest if it were not for my whiskers. Vaney is always cutting at me—we have a good deal of fun as we go along. Say! I would like to see you monstrous well! If you stay up there much longer please send me a lock of your hair! I have a house in view—3 stories, 8 good rooms, just behind Fitzroy Garden, near corner of Clarendon and George streets, price 130 pounds. All rates paid. This house is beautifully situated; from it you can view the Botanical Garden, the Bay, Emerald Hill, etc., but it is a long walk from chapel. I have spent about 3 hours in preparing a lecture for the class, tonight" (we will hear more about that class a little later.)

Mr. Carr again: "Two confessions at chapel, 3 at the hall. The work is going gloriously on. I baptized 10 Friday night. I am very busy. There is great excitement. The Rev. Mr. Ballantyne has issued a tract on baptism. The brethren want me to reply as soon as possible, (presenting arguments for immersion). I ought to get out the tract in 10 days, so I cannot come up for you. If Miss McIntyre will come down in coach with you, I will take pleasure in helping her on the way to heaven; but I cannot come next week. We have no house yet. Brother and Sister Zelius send love."

Mrs. Carr, to Mr. Carr: "I walked out this evening to meet you, and was disappointed. Soon after, I received your letter; of course I approve your conscientious course of conduct. I do not ask your best love, Ollie, that belongs to God; I ask only its reflex. Your fealty to our Savior is the foundation-stone upon which my affection is built, sure and firm. How strong is my faith that that foundation-stone will ever stand! Next to my faith in Jesus, it brings me the sweetest consolation. I loved you better than my brother, for I left him to follow you; but I am learning more and more each day, how much better. God knows how my heart yearns toward my dear brothers and sisters; but you are dearer to me, Ollie, than all the world beside. In reply to Mr. Ballantyne, studiously avoid all offense; that which offends will never convince. May God bless your efforts for the promulgation of the Truth."[9]

"Last Friday morning we started to the Spur, an offshoot of the Dandenon. The scenery along its sides and summit, is the most beautiful in Victoria. The gorges filled with enormous pines, stately grottos, and gums, and peppermints, are a rich feast to the aesthetic nature—but I saw nothing that so stirred the depths of my soul, as the dreamy hills in autumn along the magnificent Ohio. About 40 miles below the Spur we found good accommodations at Heyfield, which we enjoyed after the long jolting ride.

"We rose at five the next morning to visit the Falls on the Thompson. Their beauty fully paid us for our mile's walk—it seemed three to me. The Falls are magnificent, the lower plunging from 50 to 100 feet, the highest from 200 feet. We made our way with considerable difficulty along the whole face of the Falls. We had to cling to the saplings to keep from rolling headlong into the river. I had a severe headache that morning, and kept my hair hanging, and the bush was so very thick, I wonder I did not share the fate of Absalom. I hope you will get us a house as soon as possible; I am anxious to have a home of our own—if that is possible in a foreign land. I hear that Mr. Surber is going to New Zealand. May God bless you, my dear husband, that you may bring many into the Kingdom."

Shortly after Mrs. Carr's return to her husband, they received another letter from their fellow-countryman, T. J. Gore, who is still afraid they may succumb to homesickness. The manner in which he argues against such a feeling, is very philosophical: "Our home beyond the bright blue sea is lovely; there a father and mother are longing to lay their arms about our necks and say, 'Welcome home!' What a happy meeting that would be!—but not to be compared to the welcome into everlasting arms. Brother Carr, we are going home—we have already embarked—we are on the ship, the good old ship, and swiftly we are speeding over the waves of life. We have met a few storms, but the Captain said, 'Peace be still.' The barometer has been low, but He said, 'There's no danger in this ark of safety!' God only lent us our little homes among the hills of Kentucky; it is true they are dear to us; but in a few years He will lend them to others of whom we know nothing."

A sentence farther on explains, perhaps, how the writer can be so calmly philosophical: "You have, of course, heard that I am married. Mrs. Gore begs to be remembered to you; we cannot be as strangers: You and Sister Carr must come over (to Adelaide) to see us soon."

Letters from home may have accented the stress of home-longing, but others came that gave heart for the long separation, such as the following from Mrs. Drusie Ellis of Ghent, Ky.; "Last night, I heard of your safe arrival in Australia. I loaned the paper containing your letters to a friend. She brought it back with the remark that she could scarcely keep from tears while reading it,—and, as I told Doctor, 'Scarcely keep from crying, indeed!'—when I could not even mention the subject in a steady voice! The thought of your wife so nobly giving up home and country for the great work touches my heart deeply. I read of her welcome with streaming tears, and determined to write this word of Christian sympathy, hoping to add one little thrill of joy to hearts so truly consecrated."

Mr. and Mrs. Carr decided to rent the house already mentioned, in Barclay Terrace. It commanded an extensive view of Fitzroy Gardens, through which they walked every day. The way into the heart of the city led among its statues and greeneries. One might sink down to rest on the benches beside the fountains, or loiter on the rustic bridges,—only, alas! there was little time for loitering!—inhale the fragrance of the perennial flowers, and take a look at Diana and the Stag before setting forth for Chapel. From the bandstand ascended, "God save the Queen," to the Southern Cross. Who shall say what element of charm did not steal unconsciously from such beautiful surroundings into the hearts of the missionaries?

We have said there was little time for loitering; the reader shall be the judge. Two nights in the week were devoted to the prayer meetings of the two churches; one night was devoted to those who came to Barclay Terrace to inquire after the truth, or to learn Christian duty; a fourth night every week was the lecture-night at the Collinwood Church—the Church established by Mr. Carr; on Friday night there was a short sermon and then the baptizing of those who had already inquired after the truth and made the good confession, and who had been instructed as to the purpose of baptism, and what would be expected of the subject as to attendance at church, contributing, and the governing of one's household.

As the weeks passed by, the history of the Friday nights presented the appearance of continuous "protracted meeting." Rarely, if ever, did a week pass without the application and acceptance of from one to twenty members. Nor did those who joined the one body, the church, enter upon the crest of an excitement-wave, or with a superficial notion of what it meant to be a Christian. The following note will show that converts were not to be obtained with undue haste:

"The following was passed at the Business Meeting of 23rd March, 1869: 'That this Meeting considers it inexpedient for our Evangelists to invite public confessions, seeing they regard it desirable to have conversation before baptism.'"

Besides the work already indicated, there was an "Improvement Class" each week, composed of young members of the church, who read essays, and made short talks, to be criticised by the minister. From this class were selected those who addressed the congregation on Sunday morning. These young men were closely bound by affection to their leader, Mr. Carr. There was something perennially young in his own bosom, that responded to their youth.

His health was delicate, as it had been in Lexington, and the never-relaxing labors of every night in the week, might have made another prematurely old and solemn. But his boarders, Alex. and Vaney Magarey, could have told of many a time when he slipped to the attic with them for a hasty game of marbles. Such innocent, though clandestine sport, heartened him up, no doubt, to deal the more telling blows against ecclesiastical foes. Who in reading his trenchant arguments on the subject of Baptism, would have suspected that at that very moment the marbles might be clinking in his pocket![10]

No wonder the young men felt his spirit akin to their own! After prayer-meeting they would walk with him "part of the way,—" which usually extended quite across the fifty acres of Fitzroy Gardens, and up to his very door. And as they walked they talked, talked with all the earnestness of youth, when youth is in earnest.

One night when the conversation had become unusually absorbing they stopped and, looking up, found they had halted before the Model School Building,—which corresponds to an American college. The subject of acquiring an education had often engaged them before, but now ideas came to a focus.

"I have a calf, and some carpenter's tools," said one young man, addressing Mr. Carr earnestly; "I will sell them, and buy clothes and books if you will teach me."

Without hesitation the minister cried, "Come on."

"May we come too?" chorused the others.

"Yes!" Little did they realize how much that consent meant; how much of energy, of which there was no surplus; how much of nerve-drain and anxious thought. A number of young men decided to come to Barclay Terrace every day. They came and Mr. Carr gave them the same course he had taken at Kentucky University. This was, indeed, paying back to the world with interest, the good that the world had bestowed! When Eneas Myall carried to Carr's tavern the money that started Oliver Carr on his road to the University, little did he dream of the beneficent influences he was setting in motion on the other side of the globe! It is so with every good deed. One never sows a word of love beneath the northern skies, but he may find it blooming some day, beneath the Southern Cross.

Mr. Carr's boys had studied some—not much—at the public school. They knew something of English grammar; he did not teach it to them; he taught Greek grammar, and it is needless to say that they became good grammarians. They read the New Testament in Greek. They were taught rhetoric and logic from Mr. Carr's notes, taken at the University. Among the class was that T. H. Rix, who is today a successful evangelist. Another—he who sold his calf and tools to buy books,—stands today as the best educated man in the Church of Christ, in Australia, next to T. J. Gore. He is G. B. Moysey. Who will say he would better have kept his calf?

Thus we find O. A. Carr becomes a schoolteacher, though his purposes were all set otherwise. It seemed forced upon him by his consciousness of the good he might do. We are to find the same thing occurring again and again in his life. Duty seemed ever calling him to the desk when his own heart yearned for the pulpit. As yet he was able—both to preach and teach with all his might. Unfortunately that might was not based upon physical resources.

On the other hand, Mrs. Carr must always teach, wherever she was, because teaching was a part of her being. She had opened a class for young ladies in her home. Her accommodations compelled her to limit the number of pupils to about twenty; but, on account of this limitation, she was enabled to select those girls who were most refined, and who promised the best spiritual reward for her labors. This was her second school; and while it was by no means so pretentious as her college at Lancaster, the results were doubtless more far-reaching.

Her system of education,—indeed, her conception of education—differed materially from that found in Melbourne. If her method seemed radical to the most conservative, it filled with delight those open to impressions of new truth. Mrs. Carr's scheme to educate a girl was not to fill her with facts, but to develop her mind and heart. This has not always been understood by those who patronized her various schools. The commonplace test of "how much a pupil knows," did not always apply to her classes. She took pains to teach them how to preserve their health, how to deport themselves, how to preserve their modesty and integrity, how to become forces in the world.

In a word, she did not labor to root in those tender minds a multitude of facts which the passing of time sweeps away; it was her desire to form of each impressionable girl, a noble woman.

It was her conviction that no higher work exists in the world than the development of high ideals of womanhood. If she could have reached young girls in any other way, in daily living, she could have dispensed altogether with the school.

The school was but a means to the end of shaping lives. There were, perhaps, girls in Melbourne at that time, who were learning more facts than Mrs. Carr's girls were learning; who might, it may be, have answered with greater exactitude if questioned as to the dimensions of the planets' orbits, or as to the geological eons.

These things did not seem to her of supreme importance. What to her mind, mattered, was to make world-blessings of her girls. This was so deep a conviction of her soul, that she had little patience with literalism.

It is necessary to understand her purpose, in order to comprehend the relationship between her and her pupils. When Mrs. Carr found in any girl those true and enduring qualities which, however much neglected, promise a harvest of love, and gratitude, and noble deeds, and thoughts, there were no pains too great for her to take, to develop that soul.

But when it was her lot to be thrown with a girl whose life-purposes were all antagonistic to the sphere of the cultured woman—a girl who suspected insincere motives, and watched for faults, and hardened herself against sweet influences, Mrs. Carr felt that she could do more good by giving her time to more susceptible spirits.

Thus it came about that the pupil who reached after the higher standards of life, found Mrs. Carr a woman of motherly tenderness; while she who drew back, found her cold and unsympathetic.

It is difficult to learn the real character of any teacher from her pupils, unless we take into consideration the character and point of view of those interrogated. The pupil in sympathy with the instructress will praise her, one in rebellion will blame her. It seems necessary to say this, because Mrs. Carr has often been misunderstood and misrepresented. An obdurate and intractable pupil usually has a family to espouse her view of the case; and the neighbors share the impression of the family; and visiting guests share the opinions of the neighbors.

It is not always that the pupil wilfully misrepresents; indeed, in most cases, she does not intentionally do so; but she cannot understand, because her heart is not in accord. It would be a strange thing if any teacher should be universally praised by her pupils, and the suspicion would inevitably arise that she had not done her full duty.

On one point all of Mrs. Carr's pupils are agreed; that she was a splendid disciplinarian. Whether you loved her or feared her, or disliked her, she made you keep good order while under her instruction.

As to her success in school work at Melbourne, we shall content ourselves with letting the consul speak a good word for her, then relate a little incident.

Geo. R. Latham to Mrs. Carr: "Knowing the respectable character of the colleges in the United States of which you are a graduate, and feeling a lively appreciation of your thorough education, finished accomplishments, and intellectual and moral worth, and learning that you have opened a select school for young ladies in this city (Melbourne) I most gladly consent to the use of my name as reference."

The terms per quarter for board and tuition were from £18-18-0 to £10-10-0. Mrs. Carr taught the following: "English Literature, Mathematics, Natural Science and all English branches usually taught, Italian, French, German, Pianoforte, Guitar, Drawing and Painting, Leather Work, Wax Flowers." She was the only teacher and, we may conclude, had her hands full!

The anecdote we referred to, related to one of Mrs. Carr's pupils, Ettie Santo. Her father, Philip Santo, lived in South Australia. He was a member of Parliament;[11] and a rich iron monger. He dealt largely in imported agricultural implements. He had the same love of family that Thomas Magarey exhibited; every day at three he would go out to his splendid residence in the suburbs, and play an hour with his children. Then after exercising, he would go to the library. After tea he wrote and read two hours, then assembled the family for Bible-reading and prayer. Ettie boarded with Mrs. Carr. It was the first time she had stayed away from home. She was a very quiet, undemonstrative girl. Her father came to Melbourne to visit her. One day he showed Mrs. Carr a letter he had received from his daughter before his arrival. In the body of the letter was this sentence:

"Father, I love you; I have never told you so; I can write it better than I can speak it."

This is narrated as an illustration of Mrs. Carr's educational ideas. To bring love into being; or, as in the case of this noble-minded girl, where love already existed, to give that love a voice—to teach faithful service and strengthen holy aspirations, these were her imparted lessons. The soul which could not receive them might be hardened against her, but nevertheless she sowed the seed; with her, teaching was a religious exercise.

At this busy time, while Mrs. Carr had her girls, and Mr. Carr his boys, to say nothing of a thousand outside duties to be performed, a character entered their lives like a good fairy. Janie Rainey was born and reared in Scotland. Her sister married a "gentleman" that is to say, a man of means, and for a time Janie lived with them. But it soon became borne in upon her that her brother-in-law looked upon her as a burden to his household. She knew a Presbyterian minister in Melbourne, who, in answer to her letter, encouraged her to come to Australia, where she could find plenty of work. She made the long voyage, and found asylum in his house, until she should find regular employment.

One day she appeared at the house in Barclay Terrace. Beneath her sunbonnet was to be seen a bright face, and shrewd yet kindly eyes. As she sat in the hall in her plain but scrupulously neat dress, Mrs. Carr was charmed by her Scotch accent, and by her manner of dignified dependence. Janie explained that she had heard Mrs. Carr needed a servant; she had come to keep the house for her, to wash, to cook, to do anything. She was received with joy. As Mrs. Carr afterward said, "It was love at first sight."

Before the Carrs came to Melbourne, Janie had gone to hear Mr. Surber preach. "The first time I heard him," she said, "I knew it didn't sound like the kirk! I could understand him; it was so plain!" When she had heard him preach about half a dozen times, she said, "I must confess my faith!" She became an intelligent Christian. She knew a great part of the Bible by heart. "I have read the New Testament all my life," she declared, "and never knew what it meant before."

Janie worked for the Carrs all the time they staid in Melbourne. She regularly attended the Sunday services, the prayer meetings, and the other gatherings of the church. From her wages she gave one shilling every Sunday morning. She read the church papers and the daily papers while the Carrs and their boarders were at breakfast. Her room was kept clean and inviting, and a talk with her was refreshing; seldom did a preacher visit the house, who did not ask to see Janie.

Mrs. Carr would sit in the kitchen to hear Janie read "Bobbie Burns," with the proper accent. The servant had seen the places described in the poems; she had known people who had known the poet. She knew anecdotes about him that have never seen the print. She told about a working girl who, on looking into his room, found him stamping upon the floor, and rushing back and forth like mad; how she had rushed down stairs crying, "He's daft!"—how Burns on hearing the cry exclaimed, "'Daft!' the very word I was trying to think of!"—and how he slapped his knees, and fell to writing.

It was Janie's delight to take care of Mr. and Mrs. Carr,—to stand between them and those innumerable details of daily life, that sap the energies, that waste the time, and ward off the essential objects of life for those who have no Janies.

"She would go to market seeking to tempt our appetites. She would say, 'Oh, you don't eat enough to keep a bird alive!' She petted us. No one regarded her as a servant except herself—but she always held herself to be one. She was, indeed, more of a companion. A beautiful character—one who did her duty because it was duty, and who loved us till we felt that she was one of the family. Her disposition was bright and cheerful. We often found her reading while the kettle boiled, or going about her work with an open book propped upon the kitchen table. One day I went into the kitchen and found her laughing outright. 'What is it, Janie?' 'Oh, I was laughing at what Mark Twain says about the Turkish bath!' What ever concerned us seemed as sacred in her eyes as a religious matter, and she would guard it as her own interests. Hers was a life in which we could see no fault."

A high testimonial to one who serves for years in one's kitchen! A testimonial rarely given, rarely merited. Let this be an excuse, if one is needed, for giving so much space to the simple maid from Scotland. Here is one whose soul bursts through the vapors of false pride and unlovely shame that does so much to soil the beauty of the poor. Here is one who recognizes the dignity of service, and who shows by humble acts that mark each hour, she loves her neighbor as herself.

And now that we have one so efficient and willing to admit the visitors, to cook the meals and to do the washing, let us retire to the library and, without fear of interruption, enjoy a sheaf of letters, which lie before us; not, indeed, drinking them to the very lees, but sipping here and there. Our word for it, if the reader be in the mood for mail-opening, he shall not go unrewarded.

Here is a young man writing from the Agricultural College of Kentucky University, whom Carr and Surber have evidently advised to go thither for a Christian education: "I suppose when I told you I would come here to school, you thought I would never come. After hard work I got to England, and I worked hard before I got here; but when there is a craving for an education, no toil or labor will hinder that young man. I come to study the scriptures, to be able to go into the world to preach the Gospel. I work five hours in the A. & M. College on the farm, and the machine shop. I got to this place without one cent of money. What do you think my first work here was? Dropping potatoes—Sir; yes, sir!"

J. B. Myers to Mrs. Carr: "I promised to tell you about the changes in Lancaster," (from which we may glean a little local coloring of Mattie's old home.) "The railroad runs right by the old Methodist church, out by the cemetery; indeed, it took away one corner of the old brick building. The passenger depot is on the Crab Orchard pike." (Then he enumerates all the new houses on the various pikes, tells what girls are going to "set out," and remarks that he pays more attention to ladies since his sister's departure.)

"I am still in the old room over Brother Sweeney's store! I have furnished it up with a $30 bookcase, etc. I have resigned my position in the Male Academy to teach a public school no more forever! I can't live that way—too much time consumed in watching the pupils, and making them keep order,—and the rest of my time, too worried to throw my soul into the work, and give efficient instruction. I begin a private class of about 20 choice boys, right away." Then about some who have died; some who have married; a foolish young girl who has kept her marriage a secret; and a poor gentleman who is growing too fleshy, and the fond hope that—"When you and Ollie come back to old Kentucky, you must keep house, and I will board with you!" "A year of your absence is about gone. May the three pass speedily! Yea, let them all pass rapidly that you and Ollie may be returned to me. How I love you my dearest sister! Tell Ollie I love him; too, and am proud of him!" (Very different does Brother Joe talk, now that he no longer stands hatless upon the pike, stopping our stage coach!)

Here is a letter from our blacksmith, Eneas Myall: "I would not think of writing to you; but I know what it is to be far from home, and the pleasure of receiving a letter when among strangers; and besides, it is my duty to answer your letter. I regret very much that you did not get to see any of my folks when you were in England. I wish you could see more of England. I am satisfied it is the greatest opening for primitive Christianity in the world. Ollie, this will be rather a broken letter as I am talking, selling and writing all at the same time. We are getting along religiously, as well as common. It looks a little odd to see your father and mother attending church; but we are all glad to see it. Your father is always in his place, and so is your mother, when she can get there. And let me tell you, you are not forgotten in our prayers. We hardly ever have a meeting that you are not bidden God's speed. Brother Bartholomew of Philadelphia was here, raising money to sustain a missionary in that city! Not very many were present, so our contribution of $60 was quite liberal, I assure you. Our envelope system is working-well." (Introduced into May's Lick Church by O. A. Carr, who visited personally every member and gave each fifty-two envelopes in which to place the promised weekly offering for a year).

"And now, Ollie, as I am about to close—if we meet never again here, let us meet in Heaven. Let us be faithful to our God. My faith bids me go forward in the unshirking discharge of my duty, and the promise will be mine. All the Myalls send their love to you and your lady. Now, farewell for the present. God bless you both." Thus the blacksmith who beats his money out of iron to spread the Gospel—writing, talking, selling, all at once—the hammer in his hand, God in his heart.

Miss Mary Whittington writes from Daughters' College, and we should find interest in a picture of the scene where Mattie Myers received her education; "I have a faint idea of how you feel, Mattie, off there in Australia, for I took a four weeks' trip to Illinois, and cried to get back to President Williams and the college. You need a correspondent like myself, to give you little suggestive trifles of the college life. We have a baby here, wonderful, blue-eyed and spiritual, not a girl, alas! but a boy—Prince Whittington Williams—the 'Whittington' is for an old maid who, having no children of her own, is thankful when people sometimes name them for her—the writer, in a word. Mattie, I hear the supper bell; I'll run down and eat some battercakes, and drink a cup of coffee—don't you wish you could hear the supper-bell once more?

"Well, I had my supper in the same dining-room where you drank tea, and dieted, of yore, but it was not upon the same old oilcloth, for now we have a table cloth! Moreover the room is neatly carpeted, and the old chairs have been carried into the school rooms to make way for new ones. The girls' rooms have new carpets all over them—no naked space under the bed—and have been furnished with neat walnut toilets, and full tin sets for the washstands; and I must not forget the red oil-calico curtains." (The reader must bear in mind that during Mattie's sojourn here, such luxury was unknown.)

"Mrs. Williams is fat and merry. President Williams is also in a flourishing condition—weighs 160. His flesh makes him very handsome; you ought to have seen him several months ago! The secret is that he has quit tobacco. Dr. Williams is still himself. You would have been convinced of it if you had heard him this morning at church-time, when he came storming into the library, crying out, 'Where's Mary? I don't intend waiting any longer on anybody! Is she trying to keep me waiting another half hour?' And there I had been hiding behind the door half an hour, waiting for him! It did me good to rise up, and tell him so."

Here is a letter from our friend Albert Myles, who carried Oliver away from his sick room in Lexington to hold a meeting at Ghent: "When you bade me goodby in Cincinnati about one year ago,"—(how short it seems! and now, how far away!)—"you remember that my health was very bad. Well, it grew from bad to worse, till I lay at death's door. At Crab Orchard Springs I rallied, and grew steadily better until October 20th, 1868, when I—I—what shall I say?—I married! Yes, that was the day that gave me my Ellen for my wife. Two weeks later we took charge at the Mt. Sterling church, where we are still doing what we can in a small and humble way. * * * I could see you two as you braved the dangers of the Irish Channel, and took the long voyage to Australia. I could see you as you star-gazed and moon-gazed; as you promenaded the deck; as you sat and sang with the guitar; as you read and prayed in the raging storm. As you say, none but God can know what you suffered on that voyage; but it is a precious thought that He does know.

"Ol., I gather the following impression from your answer regarding my coming out to Australia, 1. Melbourne is the best field in Australia. 2. This field is supplied. 3. Adelaide is supplied by Gore, Earl and others. 4. New Zealand is in danger of a war with the natives, the issue of which is doubtful without help from the government. 5. Whoever accepts the £80 must go to New Zealand. With these facts before me, to be honest, it does not appear to me that Australia is more in need of preachers than many places in the United States.

"In New York, there are only about 400 Disciples; in Philadelphia, only about 300; while in Baltimore, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis and San Francisco, which will average about 25,000 population, there is scarcely an average of 100 Disciples; moreover, in many rural communities, we have not even been heard of! In California are thousands of Chinese who are actually worshiping-idols! It occurs to me, that men who love the ancient order of things, are as much needed here as in Australia. You say also, that the manner of worship there is different from what it is here. This being so, one would have to spend some time preparing himself for the changed condition. If I know my own heart, I never wanted to do anything so much in my whole life, as to go to Australia; but the more I think of the matter, the more firmly I am convinced that if one goes to Australia at all, he ought to make up his mind to stay there. J. C. Keith" (the other member of our "Trio") "has succeeded in getting a comfortable house of worship built in Louisville. He is doing well." (We have a purpose for presenting Mr. Myles' objections to going to Australia, which will be developed later).

Another letter from brother Joe, written in May, 1868, and of more than transient interest: "The last spike on the Union Pacific Railroad was driven last Monday. Thousands of faces are turning Westward, where large farms can be bought for small prices. New York and San Francisco are at last united by a mammoth railroad that spans the continent. While the last spike was being driven, telegraphic wires were in connection with all the larger cities, and at each stroke of the hammer, the wires rang signal bells from the Atlantic to the Pacific. As I read the accounts of the great demonstrations, of processions and bonfires, my own breast caught the spirit of the age of great enterprises, and I felt like seeking my fortune amid the rich prairies of the West. But then, I thought, man's life does not consist in the things he possesses; so I am resolved to be content in my Old Kentucky Home! I feel inexpressible satisfaction in the thought that while teaching boys, I am exerting a purifying and elevating influence,—an influence that will mould society, and tinge its religious, literary and charitable institutions, long after this heart has ceased to beat. O, what a privilege is ours, Mattie, of setting in motion waves of eternal blessing! How strange that the great mass of mankind neglect such opportunities!

"We are now agitating the question of the removal of the Capitol from Washington. If the Union remains undivided, such a step will be made sooner or later. But wherever they put the Capitol, my home shall be three miles from Stanford on the Crab Orchard pike! I like to think how I am going to fill one cellar with choice apples to roast by the winter fires. Wilt come and see us, and help peel and eat, while we talk of Australia? And what rich cider for you and brother Ollie! And there is the garden—oh, what a variety of vegetables! we'll store them away in the other cellar, and keep them for you. And if you should happen to come back home in strawberry time! Cake, cream, berries—oh, you must not think of staying longer than three years! Counting six months for going and coming, and three years for active service in Melbourne, you'll get here in August, 1871. Well, we can visit the Crab Orchard Springs together—they are only distant a short buggy-ride of eleven miles on the smooth pike—and we can take a jug along and bring it back full. You say it will be too warm? But remember, we have a good ice house. Then what a fine lot of chickens and eggs we will have and * * *" But by this time sister Mattie is weary of cleaning off her spectacles, and puts her head upon her arm in that far-away Barclay Terrace, and gives it up, gives it all up for the time—with faithful Janie to ward off visitors. Oh, brother Joe, how could you!"

Do you remember the English Murbys who carried the Carrs away from their splendid hotel in London, and established the missionaries in their own house? Here is a note from Mrs. Murby:

"I often take up my album to look at you both. I think over again the events of the few days we spent together so pleasantly. I always regret your time with us was so short; but we hope to give you a hearty welcome again in old England." (Strange how everything dear to us is "old!" It should be a comforting thought to grandparents.)

"You overrate any little attentions we may have given you. It was a great pleasure for us to make your acquaintance. Our brother" (the Chicago merchant) "returned to the land of his adoption the month after you left. Willie is a bonnie lad now, nearly eighteen months old. Nellie is over four, and quite a little companion for me." (Let us trust she, too, will find primroses in the streets of London).

If you would like a photographic representation of Kentucky University life, do not skip this letter from J. H. Stover. It is nothing to our purpose who the author may be; but he has succeeded in laying before us not a description of that college life, but the life itself. Here is the scene in which Oliver, as a student, so often mingled, and which Mattie, as a visitor, so often looked upon; Lexington in the month of June. Faded, almost gone, are many of the words, but when we rescue them from threatening oblivion, they throb again with the actual, which throbs best in trivialities.

"Our exhibition went off last night. Brother J. B. Jones gave his first oration before the public; it was well delivered throughout. The valedictory was by W. A. Oldham, who did the best I ever heard him. Milligan, McGarvey, Meng, Wilkes, etc., sat upon the rostrum. The ladies had helped decorate the house with cedar, etc., very tastefully. Robt. Milligan has just got him a new coat and pair of boots. He has laid aside that old coat which he used to wear, even the first year. He has a new hat, too, but he still keeps on the same old shawl. He comes into chapel with his hand to his head, as of old. He did not have his usual sick spell this spring. The last time we met, he told us that we were to have vacations from our duties, 'but, young brethren,' he said, 'there is no vacation in the school of Jesus Christ, our adorable Redeemer.'

"Brother McGarvey is just the same—same old coat. I went down to the dormitory this morning and, as usual, there were about half a dozen boys standing before Morton's bookstore. They were discussing who had the best speech, and showed the best delivery, at the Exhibition, last night. Brother Jonathan M. came out and said, 'Good morning, young gentlemen!' in that tone bordering on sharpness, as usual." (What a keen observer! We should dread to wear our old coat where he could see us!)

"Brother Myles is here. So is Miss Ella Allen. They were together last night, but I know nothing farther than when you left." (The reader has already seen what that came to.) "Professor Neville, W. T. Moore and uncle Dick Bishop have gone to Europe. Professor was excited to death. It was his long-looked for trip. He bought him a new suit of clothes, for the trip. He looked funny in his sack coat. Professor White looks just the same, except his hair is longer. Those same old shoes with holes in the toes, he still wears. His hat, turned down before, and up behind, hangs on the peg on the post yet, during recitation-time. The boys, as of old, went to the board, 'fizzed' and took their seats when he said, 'That is sufficient, I believe!' When I went up to him this morning to inquire my standing, he looked into that same book. He told me I had finished the Junior. As I went out the door, I slapped my thigh. Don't a fellow feel good when he studies hard, and does better than he looked for! Alex. Milligan still walks as fast as ever, and the bald place on the back of his head is none the smaller. He is doing well in his book store. Brother McGarvey told me this morning to tell you he would write soon. I heard from Jim Keith a few days ago. He is doing well! Miss Whitie Hocker graduated at the Sayer Institute last week. Our Sunday-school had a festival about two months ago to which the Midway Orphan School was invited. The Bible school was dismissed. McGarvey and Wilkes managed it. I think it was after you left that John Morgan's remains were brought here and interred. There was a very long procession. As I was walking down the street, today, I met J. B. Bowman in his old buggy, behind that same old black, bobtailed mare. He was driving very fast as usual. Next I met Prof. Pickett. Although it was a very hot day, he had that coat buttoned up to his chin. He had that same black cane, and he saluted me in fine military style, then walked on as fast as possible. I met the old darkey who took care of G. L. Surber's room the first year. He wanted to know if I had heard from 'Massa Green Surbah.' I saw old man White with whom you used to board. He still has the grocery on the corner; Kate isn't married yet. He still swings his hands as he walks, and ducks his head forward as usual. Brother Lowber came up and said, 'Well, here is Brother Stover; how do you come on, Brother Stover?' I think he has asked me that same question four times this morning, with the same smile. He is a very warm and affectionate friend.

"I saw Bob Neal next. He wore his hat as you remember. Jerry Morton nodded his head at me as he went by. Dick Stohl stopped me to ask where he could find a Horace, and Cottingham called to me from across the street. As I came home, I met Brother Lard returning from Winchester in his buggy; he had 25 additions there. At the table, Brother V. P. told me his prayers were frequently in your behalf. Dear brother Ollie, if I have succeeded in interesting you with these trifles, I am repaid for my long letters. Give Mattie my love, and tell her I claim kin with her." (Which letter, we fear, leaves Oliver about as homesick as J. B. Myers' left Mattie.)

True to his promise, here comes a letter from Prof. J. W. McGarvey: "We published your letter, and a call for packages in the Apostolic Times, and have received, in response, enough books, pamphlets and newspapers to fill a medium-sized goods box; we will ship them soon. We now have a circulation of nearly 4,000 for the Apostolic Times. I received a copy of your tract, and noticed it in the paper. Innovationists have become rampant among us; they expected to run over our Brother Franklin by affecting superior knowledge, but the Times cannot be frowned down in that way. We hope to fill a gap in the ranks of the faithful. You are right in not encouraging the brethren to send to America for preachers while neglecting useful men at home. Teach them to encourage young men of promise. Some changes have occurred in the University. Brother Pickett resigned his presidency of the Agricultural College, and it was offered Brother Errett. The chances are, however, that Errett will take a chair of Bible study, just created at Bethany. He will probably give up the Standard, and it will die. It has never more than paid expenses. Brother Graham has resigned to take the presidency of the new female college of which Brother Hocker is proprietor. John Augustus Williams has been elected President of the College of Arts. You both have a large and warm place in the hearts of thousands of the saints. The Lord be with you."

Another note from the Australian student, now at the University: "I am now engaged in the selling of books in the vacation: my object is to make enough money to pay my way through Bible College. My board cost me nothing, for I am stopping at the home of Dr. W. H. Hopson. I suppose by this time you have received the books, magazines, etc., from President Milligan. I preach occasionally at Providence and Bethany. Cannot some of our young brethren in Australia come out here and prepare themselves to preach to poor dying sinners? They may say they cannot pay the passage; but if they love the Lord, they will come, and work their way through."

The following is from Mrs. Carr to her brother: "How my heart blesses you, for almost every mail brings us cheer from your pen! If it be the will of God that we ever again see each other face to face, you will know how grateful I am. You would laugh if you could see us running to the door at the ringing of the postman, or leaping from our seats at the cry of—'Arrival of the British Mail!' We have many dear friends here, but a word from Kentucky carries our hearts back in a mighty rush, and all is lost in the old and tried affections of home. Forget you, did you say? Ah, we could not if we would. Come back to you, did you say? Assuredly, if it is God's will. When I come back, brother, I want to sit in your lap, and with my arms about your neck, tell you of my little trials, and of my many, very many abiding joys. Ollie's health and mine, is not good as when we first came here; we fear it may be due to the climate. Ollie is so upright, so gentle and kind to me, that I have strength to bear everything.

"Now a question: Suppose we should establish a College in Australia, exclusively for young men, hoping some day to convert it into a university—and suppose we should cry to America for professors—would you come? Think of the cries of the churches here for education—how they are obliged to send their young men all the way to Kentucky to prepare them for the ministry in the Christian Church. Would you come?" And much more to the same purpose, showing that this idea of a Christian University in Australia, has become a fixed idea with Mrs. Carr—an idea which she is not to yield readily.

Now comes O. A. Carr to the charge, showing a little of the heat of battle that has been roused by controversy with the sectarians. It is Thomas Magarey, father of Alex. and Vaney, whom he accosts: "Thanks for candor, but your admonition was unnecessary. I know how it would aggravate a zealous brother to think that my little squirt is throwing water on the fire he is trying to keep aglow. You seem to think that I am desperately bent on doing nothing with a vengeance, especially if it will injure Australia. It may be true I have no more judgment than a pig; I may be showing the pig—or dog, if you like,—in writing this; but like you, if I am wrong, I apologize. And now to the point: What I wrote was solely to argue that we must not depend upon America in the contemplated college affair. My reason for believing that evangelists would not come here from there, was the simple fact of their not coming. I have never written a line home derogatory to anyone's coming to Australia. I wrote a confidential letter to Brother Albert Myles, which he made me promise to do; I gave my first impressions of Australia, and they were more favorable than I ever dreamed I could give, when I was at home. As Brother Myles was to come on Adelaide money, I frankly told him that I could not give him any account of Adelaide. I never believed Brother Myles would come, when we received the call at the same time, for the conviction that he should do so, was not so strong as mine. His mother was a widow, and looked to him for support. Brother Myles is as true a soldier of the Cross as ever drew the sword. Had he seen his way clearly, he would have come, for he wanted to do so. I hold myself free from throwing anything in the way.

"Pardon me for saying it, but I suppose I will always be a 'new chum' and 'too inexperienced for old English women to sit under,' and 'who ought not to be allowed to write a little Tract till some old, experienced brother had reviewed it to see if it were sound.' I want you to believe that the 'new chum' wrote nothing he could not prove, and that he is anxious for all to come and help in the glorious work, who ought to assume the responsible position of a preacher. So much from the 'bear with the sore head!' There; now! I haven't flared up. I do hope you will send for more evangelists, and that the country will be supplied with a faithfully preached Gospel. Alex. is much better, and is able to eat heartily; Vaney is well. Mattie, I believe, is writing to you."

Back to the charge comes the doughty Englishman, Member of Parliament, and miller from South Australia: "It is a very busy day with me, but I must not leave you under painful feelings caused by hasty words of mine. As I was mistaken, I am heartily thankful, and apologize without reserve. In the first place, you are a new chum, and nine out of ten new chums write home under disappointed feelings, as the romance melts from those visions which lend enchantment to the view. But since you did not do so, I am much to blame for hasty accusation. As to the rest, you misunderstood my letter. The fault is with me. I am always getting myself into unpleasant scrapes by my correspondence. Even the newspapers that report my speeches complain that they cannot tell whether I am joking, or in earnest. I have always looked upon you as a great acquisition to the cause of Christ in Australia. I cannot imagine what you mean by talking of 'a bear with a sore head.' I am utterly unconscious of having written anything to give rise to your expression. Will you kindly send me the whole passage. I do not think of you as a bear at all, sore-headed or otherwise. Why, I look upon you as one of the pillars of the Cause. I think,—if we get so much out of Brother Carr at 24, what will we get at 30! Then I think that by the time you are 30, you will have ruined your health, and be fit for nothing. I feel angry that you undertake so much. I know, had it not been for you during Brother Surber's absence in New Zealand, the Cause would have gone to ruin in Melbourne. Then how could I have thought you in the way, as 'a pig,' or as a man? I do not think any of our evangelists are without faults; but if I let them see that I do not consider them faultless, they should not therefore run back to America, as they sometimes threaten to do! I ought to have known better than to take such freedom with our friends from Kentucky. It is said by travelers that a Southerner will allow you to tell him his faults, or his country's faults. But he will not; or can not, understand any playful allusions to them. Now, Brother Carr, I am exceedingly sorry to have written anything that hurt your feelings. I begin to have some dim recollection that I may have written something about a bear with a sore head, but I cannot remember what it was. What was it? I have Sister Carr's letter; am delighted with it; was afraid she might be cross about that bear. I have no letter from my boys, but hope to receive one soon. But I must close this long rigamarole which I cannot read myself, it is so badly done."[12]

As a last letter in this chapter's mail—what a long chapter it is making!—this is offered from Martin Zelius, he who began Melbourne life with one shilling, and later sent to America the gold that brought over Mr. and Mrs. Carr; it will show that he, too, was interested in that Tract: "I have heard that you intend to investigate, and bring out, the injustice that one of the religious bodies here has done our people. I hope you will do it most effectually, not for the sake of victory, nor of retaliation, but for the love of the truth. Stand up at any time, and under any circumstances, to defend the commands of Jesus. He has said he will never leave us, nor forsake us. When we have our friend Jesus to stand by us, our confidence is raised to the highest pitch. My dear brother, it brings the tears to my eyes when I look back on the past, and see how Jesus has shielded me from many a trial, from many a foe. Stand up for him, Brother Carr! He who is with us is more than all who can be against us!"

The way in which the Church of Christ looked at religious matters was so different from the usual view, that the American evangelists felt the pressing need of tracts to disseminate their ideas. One illustration of their effectiveness, may close this branch of the subject.

There was a young man whose parents lived in a house passed, every day, by the Carrs, on their way to town. The father belonged to one denomination, the mother to another, while the son, finding the Calvinistic doctrines of both repellant to his bent of mind, refused to accept any scriptural or unscriptural principles. He graduated at the Melbourne University, then took a special course for the degree of M. D. He went into the adjacent country to practice, without having ever met the missionaries. One day he came across one of O. A. Carr's tracts. "I read it with great interest," he said. "I asked myself, is this the truth? I was then unsatisfied with the truths of Christianity."

The young man sought his Bible, and began with Moses and the prophets, in a course of systematic and scrupulous examination of the Word. He read himself into the belief of the Christian church. He called upon the neighbors to meet in a hall, that he might tell them what had won him to Christianity. He delivered to them a course of lectures, insisting that everything needful to man's salvation, and life of holiness, was explicitly laid down in the Bible. At the conclusion he cried out, "Is there any one here who believes?"

More than a hundred rose and answered yes! He heard them confess their faith in Christ's divinity. He baptized them. Having determined to prepare himself for the ministry, he laid aside his practice, went to Kentucky University, and, thanks to his splendid education, was able to finish the course in a year. Thus Dr. A. M. Fisher became Fisher the Evangelist, thanks to a tract written by one who, not many years before, was gathering up the shavings in Myall's wagon shop.