I have several times conducted burial services at sea;—once, on a French steamer, the burial of a deputy-governor of Senegal. The body wrapped in canvas, and with heavy weights at the feet, is placed upon a plank at the open gangway, with the feet towards the sea, ropes being attached to the inner end of the gangplank. After the service, at the signal of the captain, the engines are stopped, whose ceaseless beating, night and day, the ear had not seemed to hear until it stopped. The ensuing stillness is like the sudden suspension of nature. At this moment the sailors standing by lift the ropes and draw the gangplank over the ship’s side until it tilts and the body slides into the sea. A momentary circling of the water, and nothing more remains to mark the place. Another signal, the engines again commence the ceaseless beating, and the effect is even more depressing; it is like the sudden knocking at the gate after the murder in _Macbeth_. Death is only realized in contrast to the world’s activity. On these African steamers which so often have the sick on board, especially on the homeward voyage, deaths are often kept secret and the burials performed at night, for the sake of the passengers; and it is a kindly custom. The bodies of natives dying on board are often flung overboard without even being wrapped, and there is never any formal service. But the captain of the _Volta_ to all the rest of his kindness added this also, that he gave little Ndong a white man’s burial. The boatswain wrapped the body in its canvas shroud and laid it upon the gangplank with the British flag thrown over it. As I took my place at the side, the captain stepped forward and stood beside me. A missionary brother read some verses of Scripture; another missionary, of Ndong’s own colour, offered a prayer. The captain gave the signal and the body, wrapped in its “heavy-shotted hammock-shroud, dropped in its vast and wandering grave.” I have said little of his passionate love for me; but it will ever be one of the sweetest memories of my life in Africa. And when my own time comes and I shall see with unholden eyes the land that is fairer than day, I am thinking that among those who first shall greet me will be Ndong Mba, the little scholar. XVI A CHURCH “Ethiopia shall haste to stretch out her hands unto God.”—_Psalm_ 68:31. There are many who seem to think that the heathen, the world over, are reiterating the ancient cry of Macedonia, “Come over and help us,” and that multitudes are converted to Christianity at the first hearing of the Gospel; notwithstanding that in our own land those who know its transcendent import and ample evidence, and those who have even been trained in Christian households, are not so easily won. Degradation and ignorance are a poor preparation for Christian faith.