I have already said that the Gospel at first hearing is scarcely intelligible, and time alone brings moral results. I distinctly recall the first religious service that I attended among the Bulu. To them also it was the first service. It was conducted by Dr. Good. Before he got to the sermon he asked me to offer a prayer. After a word of explanation, through an interpreter, about the nature of prayer, I requested the people to close their eyes, and I proceeded to pray in English. Now, this closing of the eyes had very uncanny associations in their minds. I have already told of the Ngi (gorilla) Society, the head of which assumes the form and disposition of a gorilla. He approaches the town roaring like a gorilla, and women and children shut their eyes until he passes; for if they see him they will die. When I asked the people to close their eyes it at once suggested to them some demon spell like that of Ngi, but probably more terrible. All of them, men and women, snapped their eyes shut, and kept them closed tight. And the terrified women, grabbing the babies from their backs (every Bulu woman has a baby on her back), held their hands over the babies’ eyes, and with such pressure that the poor babies simultaneously raised a howl of remonstrance, which in turn frightened the dogs (who made a considerable part of the audience) and they began to bark. A panic ensued, in which the people, keeping their eyes tight closed, tumbled pell-mell out of all sides of the house. I was struggling with a horrid and profane impulse to laugh; but I was a little afraid of Dr. Good; for I had not known him long, and he was my senior. When I turned, however, I saw him fairly doubled with laughter, and I experienced a delightful sense of freedom, and let nature take its course. On one occasion I preached to a large audience a sermon that seemed to me quite practical, telling them that their chief troubles were within, or “inside,” as I said it in Fang. “Your chief trouble,” I said, “is not the French government, against which you are always complaining; nor is it these other tribes with whom you are always at war; but your chief trouble is inside of you, in your own hearts.” When I had finished, a leading man arose, and with a grand air took up the theme. “The white man is right,” he said; “our worst suffering is inside of us. It is not war—nor witchcraft—nor itch—nor flies—but worms inside.” He thought I had preached a very helpful sermon, and invited me to come back again.