This is the furthest point to which we can go, and here we are to spend Christmas, as Mr Langham is anxious to hold service himself on that day, and the people will assemble from far and near. I think it might well startle some of our sleepy congregations to find themselves in a Fijian church (of which there are 900 in these isles, for every village which becomes Christian begins by building a church and a teacher’s house, and undertakes to feed and clothe the latter, besides giving him small payment in kind for individual schooling). To say nothing of largely attended week-day evening services, there are on Sundays three regular services, beginning with a prayer-meeting at 6 A.M. Each of these is crowded, and a large number also attend Sunday-school in the afternoon; and many prove how attentively they have listened to the teacher by repeating on Monday the whole substance of the sermons preached the previous day. The form of service is much the same as in a Presbyterian church, with the addition of the Te Deum and Apostles’ Creed, which are chanted in the native fashion, the missionaries having wisely made use of native customs when practicable. The purely national tunes, if such I may call them, have a certain attraction in their drone-like monotony; those borrowed from us are generally discordant, but certainly heartily rendered; and the apparent earnestness in prayer of all present is most striking. Every one, without exception, kneels on the matted floor (of course there are no seats), and lies doubled up, with head resting on the earth, touching the bare feet of the kneeler in front of him. Here and there a tiny brown child stands beside its mother, the only creature not prostrate. You can look at this scene as long as you please, certain that no one will look up and catch you staring, for never a head is raised. So you overlook a closely packed mosaic of tawny frizzled heads, bare brown backs, and white _sulus_ (kilts). Nor is there the slightest reason for thinking that this is merely an outward show of devotion. Everything in daily life tends to prove its reality. The first sound that greets your ear in the morning, and the last at night, is the sound of family worship in every house in the village. I am positively assured that the presence of the white missionary makes no appreciable difference in the congregations, and that the churches are just as crowded when there is only the native teacher to lead the simple worship.