and Hansen. Where are the rest? Mr. Bourquin has not arrived from Nain; no news from the North; Mr. Dam is ailing, and must return to Europe with us. Mrs. Asboe and Mrs. Kaestner await us, so we are soon off in the boat to get another warm welcome at the door of the mission-house, about half-past five.

HOPEDALE. (See next page.)

I am conducted to the guest-chamber, and ere long we meet at the tea table, around which the whole mission family is assembled with their visitors. First our gratitude is expressed for the many mercies to each and all, included in the safe arrival of the "Harmony," and then ensues a lively interchange of news and mutual interests.

HOPEDALE.ToC

I will content myself with a few explanations of the accompanying view of the station from the bay. In winter the aspect of the whole landscape would be very much whiter, and the foreground not water, but ice. The bare, rocky ship hill which forms the background still had considerable patches of snow when we arrived early in August, but it melted from day to day during our stay, for the summer sun asserts its power during its brief sway. The mission-house in the centre of the picture is connected with the church by a covered passage, and the building with the three gable-ends, on the other side of it, is the store. The gardens, really wonderful in results when the climate is considered, are situated at some distance to the rear of the mission premises. The Eskimo village lies mostly to the right, where only one or two log huts are visible in the picture. Some of the native houses are behind the mission premises, including that of Jonas and his capable wife Lydia, perhaps the neatest and best furnished home of an Eskimo to be found in Labrador. The three windows to the right of the front door of the mission-house belong to the rooms occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Asboe. If there be as much snow this winter as last, they may be in the dark, part of the time. The three centre windows of the upper story show Mr. Hansen's rooms, and on each side of these are the dwellings of Mr. and Mrs. Kaestner and Mr. and Mrs. Lundberg.

A STROLL "TO THE HEATHEN."ToC

The only "road" in all Labrador is the broad path at Hebron traversed by the only wheeled vehicle in the country, a queer little wagon drawn by dogs, and used to fetch water for the house. But great service to succeeding generations of missionaries has been rendered by those who have employed some of their leisure in making pleasant paths leading to points of view or places of interest. For such a remote settlement, Hopedale is rich in well-made walks, though they are by no means so extensive as the winding paths in the fir woods behind Nain, the oldest station. And as I can bear witness, the present generation of missionaries have at each station fairly done their duty in adding to the roads along which their successors in the service shall take their social strolls or their lonely prayerful walks in communion with the best of friends.

What an illustration of the spiritual service in such a land! The pioneer finds all in the roughest phase of nature. With infinite trouble and pains he prepares the way of the Lord, making the rough places plain; here he takes away the rocks and stones which bar the way, there he builds up, so making His paths straight. And where the good-work has been begun, other missionaries follow on the same lines; and so by grace it shall go forward, until the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

One of the Hopedale paths leads "to the heathen," and what more interesting spot could we visit than those three mounds, which are all that remain of the former winter dwellings of the original heathen population. One by one, and sometimes several at once, when the Spirit of the Lord was powerfully bringing home to their hearts the Gospel preached by the early missionaries, the inmates of these abodes moved from their pagan surroundings and began to make themselves Christian homes around the mission-houses.

On our way to the long uninhabited ruins of this older group of abodes, we will pass through the Christian village, which has thus sprung up at Hopedale as at all the other stations. It consists of irregular groups of little log houses, planted with little attempt at symmetry. Their Eskimo owners have no idea of a street. Perhaps some day the conception may occur to them as they read in their Bibles of "the street which was called straight." Nor do they need any words in their language for "rent," "rates," or, "taxes." Here in the south and at the station most influenced by civilization, the majority of the little houses are built of logs and even roofed with wood. Some are covered with turf. The dwellings of our people in the north are much more primitive. Each house has its low porch, a very necessary addition in this land of "winter's frost and snowing."

Between the houses and in their porches lie many dogs. One of these wolf-like creatures follows us over the rocks to the burial-ground, and then runs off to fish on his own account. The dogs scour the shore for miles in search of food, for, with the exception of those belonging to our stores, they mostly have to forage for themselves. They like seal and reindeer meat, but there are times when they can get neither flesh nor fish. Then they turn vegetarians, spring over the fences of the mission gardens and help themselves.

We enter the irregular enclosure, where lie the bodies of many, who have fallen asleep during the hundred years that Hopedale has stood. Here are some Eskimo graves with little headstones, bearing brief inscriptions, but more mounds without identification. In one corner lies a group of graves of touching interest—the missionaries and their children—who have taken sepulchre possession here.

Thence our way lies along the shore. What is that noise? It is a whale blowing in the smooth water. Look, yonder rises the column of spray, and now a great fin appears for a moment over the surface. Wait awhile, and the monster will blow again. Yes, there he is, spouting and diving; on the whole, we can hear more than we can see of him.

Over rock and moss, variegated with lovely little flowers, we reach the path which skirts the old heathen sites. Little more than the outline of the former turf houses is visible. The turf roof has fallen in, or been carried away, but the low mounds which formed the walls remain, as also the roofless curving porch, which in each opened out to the sea. More than one hundred persons of both sexes and all ages are said to have inhabited these three houses, and their heathen life here, with its cruelties, sorceries, and other unhallowed phases, can better be imagined than described. It must have been a great advance for them in every respect when they moved to the mission-station, established nearly half a mile away, and began to learn the faith and hope which have given it its name. In those days there must have been a good many such heathen villages along this coast with a nomad population far more numerous than now.

Thence we easily ascend the ship hill, over rock and moss, and occasional patches of snow. The view is really grand, though bleak and bare. Hundreds of rocky islands lie between us