An Englishwoman's twenty-five years in tropical Africa: being the biography of Gwen Elen Lewis, missionary to the Cameroons and the Congo . em, and very persevering to get permission tohold them, in spite of much opposition and coldwater. There was no Band of Hope then. Forchildren there were occasional magic lanterns,annual Sunday-school meetings, and a composi-tion and an elocution class for young fellows—also a singing class. But Mr. Combers meetingswere so different from all these. I felt as Ientered the room that there was a holy purposein it all. Coming, as Mr. Comber did, fromoutside, h
An Englishwoman's twenty-five years in tropical Africa: being the biography of Gwen Elen Lewis, missionary to the Cameroons and the Congo . em, and very persevering to get permission tohold them, in spite of much opposition and coldwater. There was no Band of Hope then. Forchildren there were occasional magic lanterns,annual Sunday-school meetings, and a composi-tion and an elocution class for young fellows—also a singing class. But Mr. Combers meetingswere so different from all these. I felt as Ientered the room that there was a holy purposein it all. Coming, as Mr. Comber did, fromoutside, having no relatives or friends in theplace, he seemed to me a direct messenger fromGod. I had a strange awe of him that he daredspeak as he did, and yet I rejoiced that he wish I could recall the hymns we sang. Theyseemed very special at the time I know. Mr. Comber made a practice of standing atthe door and saying goodbye to us as we w^entout. I tried to avoid him if I could, and beingone of the bigger lads he let me pass many night, however, he took my hand somewhatdiffidently, and as he said good-night, added, Do. CAMDKX ROAD BAPTIST CHIRCH, LDXIXIX.(Plioto: F. Thurston, , Lutmi.) EARLY YEARS 13 you love the Lord Jesus ? I was quite dumbwith emotion. I can feel the appealing look withwhich I lifted my eyes to his face and met hiskindly loving eyes, even now. Then I broke awayand hurried home to my bedside, where, on myknees, the tears streaming down my cheeks, andin utter silence, my heart poured itself out toGod in longing desire to be a better boy. It wasmy first conversion, the first yielding of heartand will to God I ever made. Mr. Comber never knew. He said no word tome at later meetings. What he thought of myrudeness and coldness I do not know. I fear Ihurt him a little, but he never resented it. Hislater work, especially as a missionary, was alwaysshaming me to myself, while he has always beento me the ideal Christian young man, and
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