was intensely hot, and the wearied occupant of the one bamboo chair in the centre of the building, looked haggard and care-worn. All day long had he sat in that position, repeating over and over again, as he could find listeners, such simple truths as mothers are accustomed to teach the infant on their knee; and now his head was aching, and his heart was very heavy. He had met some scoffers, some who seemed utterly indifferent, but not one sincere inquirer after truth. In the middle of the day, when the sun was hottest, and scarcely a European throughout all India was astir, he had received the greatest number of visitors, for the passers-by were glad of a moment's rest and shelter from the sun. The mats were still spread invitingly upon the floor; but though persons of almost every description were continually passing and re-passing, they seemed each intent on his own business, and the missionary was without a listener. He thought of his neglected study-table at home, of his patient fragile wife, toiling through the numerous cares of the day alone, of the letters his friends were expecting, and which he had no time to write, of the last periodicals from his dear native land, lying still unread; and every little while, between the other thoughts, came real pinings after a delicious little book of devotion, which he had slid into his pocket in the morning, promising it his first moment of leisure. Then he was naturally an active man, of quick, ardent temperament, and such views of the worth of time as earnest New England men can scarcely fail to gain; and it went to his heart to lose so many precious moments. If he could only do something to fill up these tedious intervals! But no, this was a work to which he must not give a divided mind. He was renewing a halftested experiment in wayside preaching, and he would not suffer his attention to be distracted by anything else. While his face was hidden by his book, and his mind intent on self-improvement, some poor passer-by might lose a last, an only opportunity of hearing the words of life. To be sure, his own soul seemed very barren and needed refreshing; and his body was weary-wearied well nigh to fainting, more with the dull, palsying inanity of the day's fruitless endeavours, than with anything like labour. Heavily beat down the hot sun, lighting up the amber-like brown of the thatch, as with a burning coal; while thickly in its broad rays floated a heavy golden cloud of dust and motes, showing in what a wretched atmosphere the delicate lungs were called to labour. Meantime, a fever-freighted breeze, which had been all the hot day sweeping the effluvia from eastern marshes, stirred the glossy leaves of the orange-tree across the way, and parched the lip, and kindled a crimson spot upon the wan cheek of the weary missionary. "God reigns," he repeated, as though some reminder of the sort were necessary, "God Almighty reigns; and I have given myself to him, soul and body, for time and for eternity. His will be done!" Still, how long the day seemed! How broad the space that blistering sun had yet to travel, before its waiting, its watching, and its labouring would be ended! Might he not indulge himself just one moment? His hand went to his pocket, and the edge of a little book peeped forth a moment, and then, with a decided push, was thrust back again. duty. No, he would not trifle with his He would be sternly, rigidly faithful; and the blessing would surely come in time. Yet it was with an irrepressible yawn that he took up a little Burman tract prepared by himself, and saw every word as familiar as his own name, and commenced reading aloud. The sounds caught the ear of a coarsely clad water-bearer, and she lowered the vessel from her head, and seated herself afar off, just within the shadow of the low eaves. Attracted by the foreign accent of the reader, no one passed without turning the head a few moments to listen; then catching at some word which seemed to them offensive, they would repeat it mockingly and hasten on. cess. man before in other parts of the town; and had striven in various ways to attract his attention, but without sucHe was evidently known, and most probably avoided; but the child, with that shy, pleased, half confiding, roguish sort of smile, seemed sent as an encouraging messenger. The missionary continued his reading with an increase of earnestness and emphasis. A priest wrapped his yellow robes about him and sat down upon the steps, as though for a moment's rest. Then, another stranger came up boldly, and with considerable ostentation seated himself on the mat. He proved to be a philosopher, from the school then recently disbanded at Prome; and he soon drew on a brisk, animated controversy. Finally the old water-bearer, grinning in angry derision till her wrinkled visage became positively hideous, rose, slowly adjusted the earthen vessel on her head, and passed along, muttering as she went, "Jesus Christ!-no Nigban !—ha, ha, ha!" The heart of the missionary sank within him and he was on the point of laying down the book. But the shadow of another passer-by fell upon the path, and he continued a moment longer. It was a tall, dignified looking man, leading by the hand a boy, the open mirthfulness of whose bright, button-like eyes was in perfect keeping with his dancing little feet. The stranger was of a grave, staid demeanour, with a turban of aristocratic smallness, sandals turning up at the toe, a silken robe of somewhat subdued colours, and a snow-ing, dancing ray of sunshine at his side. white tunic of gentlemanlike length, and unusual fineness. "Papa, papa!" said the boy, with a merry little skip, and twitching at the hand he was holding, “Look, look, papa! there is Jesus Christ's man. Amai! how shockingly white!" "Jesus Christ's man" raised his eyes from the book which he could read just as well without eyes, and bestowed one of his brightest smiles upon the little stranger, just as the couple were passing beyond the corner of the zayat, but not too late to catch a bashfully pleased recognition. The father did not speak or turn his head, but a ray of sunshine went down into the missionary's heart from those happy little eyes; and he somehow felt that his hour's reading had not been thrown away. He had remarked this The missionary did not finish his day's work with the shutting up of the zayat. At night, in his closet, he remembered both philosopher and priest; pleaded long and earnestly for the scoffing old water-bearer; and felt a warm tear stealing to his eye, as he presented the case of the tall stranger and the laugh Day after day went by, as oppressively hot, as dusty, and bringing as many feverish winds as ever; but the hours were less wearisome, because many little buds of hope had been fashioned, which might yet expand into perfect flowers. But every day the tall stranger carried the same imperturbable face past the zayat; and every day the child made some silent advance towards the friendship of the missionary, bending his halfshaven head, and raising his little nutcoloured hand to his forehead, by way of salutation, and smiling till his round face dimpled all over like ripples in a sunny pool. One day, as the pair came in sight, the missionary beckoned with his hand, and the child with a single bound, came to his knee. "Moung-Moung!" exclaimed the father in a tone of surprise blended | "Tai hlah-the!" repeated the father involuntarily. He meant the child. with anger. But the child was back again in a moment, with a gay coloured Madras handkerchief wound around his head; and with his bright lips parted, his eyes sparkling and dancing with joy, and his face wreathed with smiles, he seemed the most charming thing in nature. "Tai hlah-the!" (very beautiful) said the child, touching his new turban, and looking into his father's clouded face, with the fearlessness of an indulged favourite. "You have a very fine boy there, sir," said the missionary, in a tone intended to be conciliatory. The stranger turned with a low salaam. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, as though struggling between his native politeness and his desire to avoid an acquaintance with the proselyting foreigner. Then taking the hand of the little boy who was too proud and happy to notice his father's confusion, he hastened away. 2 3 4 FREE TRANSLATIONS OF DIFFICULT PASSAGES IN THE CHAPTER I. 1—7. 1 PAUL, a servant of Jesus Christ, called 6 7 1 PAUL, a bondsman of Jesus Christ, 7 CHAPTER I. 15-17. 15 So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that 16 are at Rome also. For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto 15 16 Therefore, as far as in me lies, I am ready to declare the Glad-tidings to you that are in Rome, as well as to others. For [even in the chief city of the world] I am not ashamed salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also 17 to the Greek. For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith as it is written, The just shall live by faith. 17 CHAPTER IV. of the Glad-tidings of Christ, seeing it is the mighty power whereby God brings salvation to every man that has faith therein, to the Jew first, and also to the Gentile. For therein God's righteousness is revealed, a righteousness which springs from Faith, and which Faith receives-as it is written: "By faith shall the righteous live." 9-13. cised alone? or does it not belong also to the uncircumcised? for we say, "his faith was reckoned to 10 Abraham for righteousness." How 9 Cometh this blessedness then upon 9 Is this blessing then for the circumthe circumcision only, or upon the uncircumcision also? for we say that faith was reckoned to Abraham 10 for righteousness. How was it then reckoned? when he was in circumcision, or in uncircumcision? Not in circumcision, but in uncircumcision. And he received the 11 sign of circumcision, a seal of the righteousness of the faith which he had yet being uncircumcised ; that he might be the father of all them that believe, though they be not circumcised; that righteousness might be imputed unto them 12 also: And the father of circumci 11 then was it reckoned to Him? when he was circumcised, or uncircumcised? Not in circumcision but in uncircumcision. And he received circumcision as an outward sign of inward things, a seal to attest the righteousness which belonged to his Faith while he was yet uncircumcised. That so he might be the father of all the uncircumcised who have Faith, whereby the righteousness of Faith might be reckoned to them no less than to. him;-and the father of circumcision to those [of the house of Israel] who are not circumcised only in the flesh, but who also tread in the steps of that Faith which our Father Abraham had while yet uncircumcised. For the promise to Abraham and his seed that he should inherit the land, came not by the Law, but by the righteousness of Faith. CHAPTER VI. 1-5. 1 What shall we say then? Shall we 3 1 What shall we say then? shall we persist in sin that the gift of grace may be more abundant? God forbid. We who died to sin [when we became followers of Christ], how can we any longer live in sin? or 4 5 19 into Jesus Christ were baptized 5 have you forgotten that all of us, when we were baptized into fellowship with Christ Jesus, were baptized into fellowship with His death? With Him therefore we were buried by the baptism wherein we shared his death, [when we sank beneath the waters; and were raised from under them], that even as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we likewise might walk in newness of life. For if we have been grafted into the likeness of His death, so shall we also share His resurrection. CHAPTER VI. 17-19. 18 19 17 But God be thanked, that ye were 17 the servants of sin; but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. 18 Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness. I speak after the manner of men, because of the infirmity of your flesh for as ye have yielded your members servants to uncleanness, and to iniquity unto iniquity; even so now yield your members servants to righteousness unto holiness. But God be thanked that who you, were once the slaves of sin, have obeyed from your hearts the teaching whereby you were moulded anew; and when you were freed from the slavery of sin, you became the bondsmen of righteousness. (I speak the language of common life to show the weakness of your fleshly nature, [which must be in bondage either to the one, or to the other].) Therefore, as you once gave up the members of your body for slaves of uncleanness and licentiousness, to work the deeds of licence; so now give them up for slaves of righteousness, to work the deeds of holiness. CHAPTER VII. 1—4. 1 Know ye not, brethren, (for I speak 1 You must acknowledge what I say 2 3 to them that know the law,) how that the law hath dominion over a man as long as he liveth? For the woman which hath an husband is bound by the law to her husband so long as he liveth: but if the 2 husband be dead, she is loosed from the law of her husband. So then if, while her husband liveth, she be married to another man, 3 she shall be called an adulteress : [that we are not under the Law]; knowing, brethren, (for I speak to men who know the Law) that the dominion of the Law over its subjects lasts only during their life; thus the married woman is bound by the Law to her husband while he lives, but if her husband is dead, the law which bound her to him has lost its hold upon her; so that while her husband is living, she |