She lives about two miles from the capital, and in order to encourage her people to learn to read and attend daily Bible classes she erected on her estate a church, which holds about 400 people. I rode over there one Sunday morning as I had been asked to stand as godmother to the first little son of the sister of the King. When I arrived the Church was crowded—it is a large cane building, with innumerable poles inside to support the walls and roof. It contains no stained glass windows, but the blue cloudless sky, tall, waving banana trees, and the graceful grasses of the Indian corn with its golden heads of grain, made a charming background to the aperture windows and helped the soul in its flight toward God perhaps more than such exquisitely elaborate windows as are seen at Notre Dame, which always struck me with their rich colouring. At the west end stood the font, a black native pot fixed to a wooden packing case which was draped in Turkey twill. Who could help being impressed as the words “Suffer the little children to come unto me” sounded out in the foreign tongue, and a sweet, wee thing, lying on white flannel worked with pink silk, was brought forward by its delighted royal grandmother. At the east end were spread the sacred memorials of our Redemption, speaking with such force of that one Sacrifice which uplifts and unites all nations under Heaven. Vikitoliya possessed a peculiar love and reverence for our late Queen, after whom she was named. She never tired of listening to stories of the “great white Queen,” and it was her ambition to strive to be to her people something of what Her late Majesty had been to her subjects. Never shall I forget her grief and that of all the leading women when the news of her death reached us. Immediately they came down to us to sympathize, and were at first quite silent in their grief, then with tears running down her cheeks, the dusky Queen subject said, “Your sorrow is our sorrow, we have lost our Mother, our friend.” It is wonderful the influence that such a reign of purity and righteousness has had even on far off Africa, rousing the best chivalry and patriotism in the hearts of its people, and inspiring them to nobler ends. Christianity is doing for Toro what it has done for every other country where it has effectually entered—it is raising its women from their depths of degradation and beautifying their lives, cleansing and refining their speech and habits. Clean, tidy homes are now seen, and carefully cultivated land in place of the pestilential filth and gaunt elephant grass. Happy family life is springing up among the people, and everywhere there is a stir and progressive vigour.