"It was gratifying to be able to perform worship to the true God in the open air, without fear or danger, when surrounded by cannibals with their spears stuck in the ground, and their pattoo-pattoos and daggers concealed under their mats. We could not doubt but that the time was at hand for gathering in this noble people into the fold of Christ. Their misery is extreme, the prince of darkness has full dominion over their souls and bodies; under the influence of ignorance and superstition many devote themselves to death, and the chiefs sacrifice their slaves as a satisfaction for the death of any of their friends. This is a tyranny from which nothing but the gospel can set them free." [Illustration: THE BAY OF ISLANDS, NEW ZEALAND.] During this three months' sojourn, besides the attention which Mr. Marsden gave to the missions in the Bay of Islands, he made a circuitous journey of seven hundred miles, exploring the country with a view to more extensive operations. His arrival over land and in health, at the Bay of Islands, on his return, relieved the minds of his anxious friends the missionaries, and "gave them additional cause," they say, "to bless and thank God for his protecting care, and that he had again heard and answered our supplications." "There is not one in ten thousand, I think," writes Mr. Hall, "who could or would have borne the privations, difficulties, and dangers, which he has undergone. I pray that he may reap the fruits of his labour by the New Zealanders turning from their degraded state to serve the only living and true God." Mr. Marsden's journal of this second visit will be valuable in time to come, as perhaps the best record in existence of the character and habits of a wonderful people, on whom civilization had not yet dawned, and whose spiritual darkness was profound. He landed, during a coasting voyage, with young Tooi, on the small island of Motooroa. "The first object that struck my eye was a man's head stuck on a pole near the hut where we were to sleep; the face appeared beautifully tattooed; it was the head of a chief who was killed by Shunghie's people. The sight," he says, "naturally excited feelings of horror in my breast." Most men would have felt something of alarm. But Mr. Marsden seems to have been a perfect stranger to fear; and if courage, whether physical or moral, makes a hero, he must be ranked high in the heroic class. He merely adds, "This caused me to value more and more the blessing of Divine revelation, and the blessing of civil government." In his journal on a tour to the River Shukeangha, he writes thus: "_September 28, 1819._--After we had passed the swamp, we came into a very open country, for many miles round covered with fern. The part through which we walked was gravelly, and not very good in general.