THE DEATH BED. I3I 



sent abroad to christianise the heathen be retained 

 at home for the benefit of our own infidels and 

 criminals. Till our gaols and penitentiaries are 

 empty, our foreign missions are nothing more or 

 less than a mockery and a flaunting presumption. 

 I know men that annually give immense sums to 

 foreign missions, and would sternly refuse a dollar, 

 yes, even a cent, to forward home work ; charity 

 truly, in such cases, does not commence at home. 



I regret to say that Selwin is worse, much worse ; 

 I cannot disguise from myself, try as I will, that he 

 is dangerously ill. What would I not give to have 

 Dillon here ; it would have much reduced the great 

 responsibility of my position. Before 1 left Selwin 

 to-day, he professed to be much better, and insisted on 

 my going out ; now, on my return, he is in extremis. 

 Pain he appears to have none, but incessantly he 

 keeps talking unintelligibly ; I imagine of his home 

 life, or scenes of his boyhood. About four in the 

 morning he passed away so gently that at first I 

 thought he had gone to sleep. It was a long time 

 before I could convince myself that I was alone with 

 the dead, for his features wore their old, familiar, 

 intelligent smile. Without agony he died, and I 

 fervently thanked the Almighty for this blessing. 



Up till then the night had been stormy and wet, 

 dark as Erebus ; then the tempest howled. The 

 interior of the hut was lighted by only the faintest 

 tiicker from a lamp, the surroundings were fearfully 



K 2 



