Homeland, dearest, gentle homeland, Dearest now art thou to me— Dearest, for between us stretches, Dark and grim, the cruel sea.

I have left thee, home and homeland, I have bade thy joys adieu But, my heart, my heart is with thee, For I know thy heart is true.


Now I know how great thy soul is, Know its depths, so deep, so mild. Dear and tender home and homeland, Pray, pray for your wandering child.

So I smile—the Father's calling To a land beyond the sea, To the weary heavy-laden, Who are groaning to be free.

Yield I? Yes, I once was weary, Heavy-hearted and oppressed; Yield because Christ died to save me, Yield because he gave me rest.

With such glorious love to lead me Can my heart its thrilling tell? Home and homeland, I have left you; "Dear and tender, fare you well!"

Thus after her varied experiences, we find the young bride's poetic fancy slipping past the grandeur of the ocean life, its terrible storm and its terrible calm; she remembers not now the beautiful castle with its orchid gate, nor thinks of the family of ten who are to return to their peasantry in the stately rural life of Old England; nor of the wonders of the British Isles; it is Kentucky that claims her deepest love and sincerest tribute—And if her ears ring to the melody of "Old Kentucky Home," a voice seems to speak, breaking its way through the music with—"Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature."

At last, the Oriental casts anchor in Hobson's Bay. The voyage is ended, the experiences in a foreign land are to begin. The Carrs are urged by many of the second-class passengers to report the conduct of Captain Myles, but they let his insolence to them pass with the passing of unfavorable winds that have so long delayed the ship. At this entrance into a new life, they are saddened to discover that the Captain has persuaded the rich young man to go back with him—to refuse even to land. He has not yet been completely stripped at the gambling table, and he is so valuable and tractable a victim, that all arts are employed to feed his vanity and alienate him from his guardian. It is a fearful disappointment to the sturdy Scot, Duncan, to be deprived of his travels in Australia, but he will not leave his weak-minded charge; so he turns his back on the land to see which, he has endured contumely and abuse, and sails away to do all he can to save his ward from the Captain's rapacity—thus furnishing the Carrs with an example of fidelity to his promise made to the sisters of the unfortunate man, which they treasure in their hearts.

A hundred members of the church have come from Melbourne to Hobson's Bay, to welcome the missionaries. Among them, the happiest is Oliver's fellow-student at Harrodsburg, G. L. Surber.

"For many months we have been waiting to hear if some sacrificing ones would leave the United States for this country—" as he and Gore had left, a few years before. "Then at last," he writes, "we were rejoiced to hear that Brother O. A. Carr and wife had left Liverpool for Melbourne. Our anxiety was to see them in health. For a fortnight we read the daily papers eagerly, hoping to hear from them. At last our suspense was relieved by a telegram—the Oriental had entered the Head, which constitutes the entrance to the port of Melbourne, about 45 miles from the city. When I heard the news, I felt as I never felt before. Now, I thought, my long loneliness is to end, and the cause of Christ can be more fully met! I could not help weeping, but it was the weeping of a rejoicing soul. My brethren in America do not appreciate their blessings. What wonder that I, cast, as it were, upon a distant island, almost alone, should rejoice at the coming of a co-laborer!"