matter for him and he only longed for the time to come when he, too, might testify in public that he was a lover of the Lord. Much more he said, also, in the same strain, and at last, such was the agony of conviction in which he found himself, he burst into tears, and for some time refused to be comforted. Great was the rejoicing among the brethren and sisters. All felt, and justifiably So, that such a brand plucked from the burning was worth any amount of labour and pains to secure. They yearned over the repentant one with an intensity of affection that can nowhere else be witnessed in the world's scheme of things, except in the case of parents for children. He was at once a trophy of grace, a proof of their ministry, and a divine sealing of their charter of apostleship. When they left the Hall that night they trod the clouds, and for a little while even the disquieting episode of Jimson's defection was forgotten.

At the very time when this delightful season was being enjoyed by the members of the mission Jimson was closeted with three chosen chums, fellow foremen, in the dim and somewhat strong-smelling little bar parlour of one of those overhanging waterside taverns which still survive on both sides of the Thames. A bottle of rum stood on the rickety table, flanked by a sugar-basin and a plate containing some sliced lemon. Four glasses also, filled to the brim with a comforting compound, stood there, each one in front of a member of the quartette. Each in turn gave his solemn opinion of the state of affairs at the Wren Lane Mission. Fortified as well as consoled by the potent spirit, each one said many things without the least idea of the value of words; but deep down in the minds of every member of the little company was a somewhat devilish satisfaction that at last Joe Jimson had seen how narrow and unsatisfactory was the way of a Holy Joe, and had, gaining wisdom in time, returned to the ways of knowledgeknowledge, that is, of how to make the best of the world which is, and leaving such esoteric considerations as the comfort of others, to say nothing of one's own comfort, in the world which is to come, to take care of themselves.

Said Larkin Smith, as he cocked his opened pocket-knife into the hollow of his thumb and proceeded to rub up the tobacco he had just shredded from a plug into fitting filling for his pipe :

"I alwus did say as Jimson was aht o' place in that gang, didn't I?" There was no answer, but a series of solemn nods, so he resumed: " Yers, an' wot I say is, men like erse, wot's gotter git their livin', an' git it mighty 'ard, too, ain't got no time fer foolin' aroun' with bizness wot b'longs ter th' parson. Every man t' 'is trade, I ses. I don't go crabbin' no man's job, I don't. Let th' parsons look aht fer men's speritooal matters, w'ile the men's adoin' their bit o' graft, an' 's long's they don't interfere with me I ain't a-goin' t' interfere wi' them. Live an' let live 's my motter. Wot do I know about religion? Nothin' at all; an' I don't want ter know nothin' w'en I can get a man 'oose parients a' got plenty of brass ter sen' 'im ter college an' learn all there is ter be learned, wot 'll come rahnd ter me an' take all the 'sponsibility orf my shoulders, an 'll come in w'en I peg aht an' read me the words wot 'll pars me froo, an' make me all right fer the nex' world. W'y sh'd I bother my stoopid 'ead abaht fings? No, not me."

With a shake of his head worthy of Solon, Mr. Smith drained his glass and subsided into a chair, puffing vigorously at his pipe, as a man who, having stated an unanswerable case. awaits a futile rejoinder in order that he may with a sentence or so crush the rash answerer into dust. No reply came, however, for neither of the other two strangers took sufficient further interest in the conversation to rouse them from the pleasant lethargy induced by rum and tobacco, while Jimson himself, although passionately argumentative, was actually too much ashamed to say a word either against the faith he still secretly held, or in its favour, when he was engaged in acting as if he had done with it for ever. And there for the present we will leave him, to find that the old pleasures, long desired in secret, had somehow lost their savour; that there was a dull, cold sense of dissatisfaction with everything and everybody, allied to a constantly haunting fear of having done irreparable injury to his chances of ultimate happiness, and an aching desire to get back among the people he had but recently been so eager to leave.

There was, as I have before noted, in the enlarged Hall, an angular, cupboard-like apartment which was used as a vestry, and in this tiny place Jemmy was wont to keep in a little box the moneys collected, until the treasurer, Brother Jenkins, who was

by reason of his employment somewhat irregular in his attendance, should come and take it. Jemmy had adopted this plan since the amounts collected had grown in importance, for, as he said with a merry smile, he didn't want to be always under temptation to pay his rent or have a good feed out of the mission money, as he should if he kept it at home. On this Saturday evening the little box contained over £11, the proceeds of the baptismal service and the previous Sunday's collection, and sundry other sums which were due to be paid away.

When Brother Salmon came as usual to set the Hall in order for the breaking of bread on Sunday morning, he found to his horror that some one had been before him, not through the door, but down through the skylight. Further investigation revealed the startling fact that Jemmy's little box was gone. Quite stunned by the discovery, Brother Salmon sat down and tried to collect himself, then dropped on his knees for his unfailing solace, and told the Father all about it. He rose comforted, and said nothing to any of the brethren until Jemmy arrived, when, taking him into the vestry, he told the poor fellow the heavy tale. It was a crushing blow to Jemmy, disabling him from conducting the service, which was consequently left in the hands of Brother Salmon.

Although none else but these two knew of the loss, there was present in the minds of all a sense of something being wrong, a lack of the joy and brightness usually felt at the Sundaymorning meeting. As soon as it was over, Jemmy called all the brethren together who were, if one may call them so, his deacons, and laid the loss before them, taking all the blame, and yet lamenting that the treasurer had not been there to take the money away with him. No one had very much to say, except to offer the peculiarly British suggestion of locking the stable after the loss of the horse, but it was unanimously decided that Brother Jenkins be asked to resign his treasurership as soon as he could be seen. seemed to afraid to suspect any one whom they knew, and no one had any suggestions to offer about raising this large sum. They felt they dared not make the matter public, for they all knew how a censorious world would receive such a statement. It would certainly be said that if any robbery had been committed it was by one of themselves, and those persons who had not contributed a farthing towards the

All

expenses would be the loudest in their condemnation and sinister suggestions of dishonesty.

So that it was with a heavy heart the little band prepared for the campaign of the evening, anticipating much trouble during the approaching winter in keeping out of debt, when open-air meetings could not be held, and the collections would be confined to their own body. For they knew, none better, that in the open-air meetings their strength lay, and that such a congregation as they would get indoors during the winter would be quite unlikely to contribute enough to meet current expenses, much less make up such a loss as they had just sustained. In the open air that night a fairly good collection was taken, amounting to three pounds. But there were no conversions, and very little enthusiasm except on the part of Bill Harrop, who proved himself a tower of strength. But for him the meeting would have been dull indeed.

CHAPTER XVII.

FAITH'S OPPORTUNITY.

From the hardly contested struggle of the brethren in dingy Rotherhithe it is doubtless a relief to return for a while to Saul, grandly justifying his high calling upon the wide sea. It is no exaggeration to say that this one man's goodness of character, ability in his profession, and courage to do what he felt to be right, completely altered the lives of everybody on board. Saul dominated the whole ship, and although, as was inevitable, there were some evil spirits who hated him solely for his goodness, they did not dare to utter their sentiments for fear of what the majority might say or do. So the Asteroid was a perfectly peaceful ship. From day to day the routine went on like clockwork, and there never was the slightest necessity for either of the mates to interfere in any way. Not only so, but the mate grew to repose such implicit confidence in Saul's sailorizing qualities that his directions for work to be done only consisted of the merest outlines, and any suggestion of alteration made by Saul always met with a most cordial welcome from him.

When the ship reached the steady fine weather region, Saul, having previously obtained the consent of the mate. held a class three nights a week in the second dog-watch, to which he

invited all the apprentices and those members of the crew whose seamanship was of poor quality. At these times he taught his pupils with a thoroughness and assiduity beyond all praise, all the mystery of knots, spices, seizings, and fancy-work, in either hemp or wire rope. And this teaching business caught on so that soon you might see all hands in their watch on deck at night, or below in the dogwatches, busily engaged in demonstrating some knotty point of sailorizing, or arguing some detail of seamanship, such as the sending up or down of masts and yards, the fitting of rigging, etc.

Side by side with this educational process-which, it may be remarked in passing, was not merely of the highest value to the crew practically, but kept their minds off the endless filthy gabble that is so characteristic of ships' forecastles-another form of instruction was steadily going forward.

None the

less real because it was unobstrusive, it was not confined to one period of the day; its beneficent influence was felt all day long.

In this manner Saul was silently educating the crew of the Asteroid. His two berthmates, Chips and Sails, were in great straits. His presence in the half-deck exercised a restraint upon them that often became intolerable. So, as a rule, whenever he was in the house they went out and conversed at their ease. They did not boycott him intentionally, feeling that such a proceeding would be futile, but they simply could not talk before him their darkness could not stand his light. Then Chips was taken seriously ill. The food in the ship was of poor quality-poorer, so the two petty officers said, than it had ever been before; and, owing to a quantity of tinned fresh meat going bad, there was very little change of diet from the saltpetre-laden meat. This brought on an illness in the carpenter's case which partly the long-delayed result of vicious habits, might have been averted with proper food. And now the sufferer realized with many mental pangs how good a thing it was to have a tender-heated, untiring shipmate. Saul nursed him like a mother, prayed for him, read his favourite books to him (for Chips, like most Scotchmen, was a great reader), and generally did for him what such a man might be expected to do. And at last, one Sunday afternoon, as the ship was sweetly breasting the bright waters of the Southern Ocean before

a splendid westerly breeze, with a regular rhythmical swing, as of an infant's cradle, although she was making a good ten knots, Chips suddenly turned his weary eyes full upon Saul as the latter sat by the bunk-side reading the "Heart of Midlothian" to him, and said: "Bo'sun, hoo is ut ye've never offert tae read th' Bible tae me ?"

'Chips, my boy," replied Saul, “I've been waitin' and prayin' for ye t' ask me. You know as well as I do that if I had offered you would have been offended and perhaps scared as well, because some people have a queer notion that to offer to read the Bible to a man shows that you think he's goin' to die. But tell me, would you like me to read to you? Read the Bible, I mean?"

Chips with closed eyes murmured: "Yes. Not 'cause Ah think A'am gaein' t' dee, fur Ah daen't. But Ah wou'd laik fine t' see, if Ah can, hoo it is that a man can dae fhat ye've been daein' ever sin ye came aboord this ship. Mahn, Ah've niver seen anything laik ut in a' ma life. Mony an' mony a mahn Ah've been acquent wi,' them wha' profest tae be unco guid, bit thae wer a' rotten at hert, an' ther professions wer but lees. ye seem tae be wut ma idee of a Christen mahn ought to be. Read me some oot o' yer Bible, an' Ah'll listen wi' all ma hairt."

But

Without another word Saul reached up for his Bible, and opened it at the fifteenth of Luke. From lack of education many of his words were mispronounced in a fashion to make a critic writhe, but he had that supreme gift of a good reader, a sympathetic appreciation of what he was reading, that made his hearer feel the words as the writer intended they should be felt. Interest grew poignant in its intensity as Saul, choking with emotion, reproduced the divine pictrue of the Father on his lonely watch-tower straining his eyes out over the desert for the drooping, way. worn figure of his returning son.

"Thankye, thankye, bo'sun; ye'll never know what you've dune fer me this aefthernune. May God repay ye, fer Ah niver can. Noo, Ah'll sleep, Ah think, fer Ah feel that comforted ye caen't believe."

But Saul's greatest blessing was found in the transformation of the once truculent and worthless Larry Doolan. His experience the first day out had been to him a revelation of what he was himself, and what this strong, brave man was who had first

maker, a weak, good-natured fellow, taking his cue from the penitent carpenter, now sat with him, and listened while Saul read a chapter every night out of his beloved Bible, and hazarded a few pithy comments at intervals. And then the trio suddenly became aware that during the reading there were listeners outside the door. Some of the watch on deck took to creeping aft and listening to Saul's melodious voice as he read the Word. And presently came that for which Saul had hungered ever since he came on board, an invitation to read, to all hands that could attend, one Sunday afternoon, at which his heart leaped for joy. Seated on the fore-hatch, with the chaps picturesquely disposed about him, the bo'sun read amid a silence so profound that you could almost hear the deep breathing. impression made was very great; how great could only dimly be surmised, but the immediate results were evident. Only four fellows held aloof-men who had made up their minds to hate Saul, and whom no amount of admiration for his seamanship or manly character could alter-and Larry. But the latter only kept away from the reading from a mistaken idea that he would be held disloyal to his religion if he listened to a heretic's reading of the Bible.

The

His conscience

was becoming very tender, and he longed to do right at whatever cost to himself. And Saul, knowing his difficulty well, did not press him with invitations, He only remained instant in prayer that this poor, blind heart might be opened to receive the light and be led by the great Guide into the way of peace.

After a smart passage of eightyseven days, the Asteroid arrived at Calcutta, and the way her crew worked unbending and stowing away sails as she was swiftly towed up the great river, extorted a few words of wondering praise from the pilot, one of those masterful chiefs of the piloting profession that only seem to attain their full development in Calcutta. "Fine crew you've got, Captain Vaughan," said he, as that gentleman and he promenaded the deck, while the sails fell around like autumn leaves.

"Yes, you may well say that," answered the skipper. "I don't wan' a better lot, more willing or more cheerful. And yet their being so is a profound mystery to me. Practically their smartness and their willingness is the result of one man's work, for a more miserable set of wastrels than the majority looked like when first they showed up, leaving London, you could hardly imagine. But that bo'sun of mine has worked miracles with 'em. He's got religion, has that fellow-the right kind; and he not only taught them to obey him, to look slippy when they're called, an' to work without growling, but he's got 'em to sit and listen to him while he reads and expounds the Bible to 'em. I tell you, he makes me feel mighty 'shamed of myself, especially as he's made my life a very easy one. I haven't had a thing to trouble my head about all the passage, except the navigation; neither has the mate. That fellow's done it all."

The pilot listened gravely until the skipper had finished, and then, with an air of wisdom, such as might become a man who was fully qualified to say the last word on the subject, replied: "Well, Captain Vaughan, what you say is very interesting as a study in superstitions. It is well worthy of attention, the manner in which these lower intelligences blindly attach themselves limpet-wise to some perfectly impossible farrago of jumbledup ideas, and the lengths to which they will go in support of some theory for which they could not, if their lives depended upon it, bring one single reasonable proof. But I confess that your testimony to this man's behaviour is quite outside the ordinary range of my experience. Religion, of whatever brand, I have always found unfits a man or woman for the ordinary workaday business of the world: makes them, in fact, more or less idiotic, while endowing them with a plausible cunning that is a very common feature of idiocy in general. That you should have a man here, in such a position as bo'sun, an open professor of religion, and withal a man who can do his work and make others do theirs, can keep his place, and his preaching for its proper time, whenever that may be, and at the end of three months can command your unqualified good word, is enough to make one think that the age of miracles is not yet past.'

"You've exactly expressed my feelings in the matter, pilot," returned the captain, "except that I detect in

your tone a touch of incredulity. But I swear to you that I have studiously underrated the man to you, and I believe if you'll keep a close eye upon him during the short time you are on board, that you'll find it easier to believe me. Mind, I do believe that whether he'd got religion or not he'd be a first-class man, but he's compelled me to believe also that he certainly is a very much better man with religion than he would be without it. He tells the chaps that before he was converted-"

Before he was what ?" interjected the pilot.

"Now, you know what I said," laughed the skipper. "I'm not responsible for his terminology, neither am I going to enter into any discussion as to the meaning he attaches to the words he uses. Before he was 'converted,' he says he wasn't anything like so good a workman as he is now, because he didn't take the same interest in his work. He was lazy and drunken whenever he could possibly indulge in either of those habits, and, in fact, he lived the life of an intelligent animal without the wise instincts

which prevent an animal from doing harm to its own body."

"I see," sighed the pilot. "I shall have to take a few days off and study this phenomenon of yours, captain, and then, if I'm any judge of the workings of a man's mind by what he says, I may as well study you likewise, for I believe, if your bo'sun dared to tell you what he's thinkin' about you, he would say: Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.'"

Startled beyond measure, the captain turned sharply, his face flushing crimson, upon the pilot, as if to say something in a hurry. But he could not find words, apparently, for after a pause he murmured: "Ah, pilot, although I am astonished to hear you quoting Scripture, I've got to say this: if getting into the kingdom of God will make me half as good a man as my bo'sun, I'll do all I can to get there. But there's the luncheon-bell. Can you come down with us, or shall I have yours sent up here?"

O hearts of men on whom this day
No light of better things hath shed;
From sin's black tomb turn swift away,-
"Seek not the living among the dead!"

O hearts of men whose hopes lie sere,
And o'er whose loss your hearts have bled,
'Tis life the Saviour brings you here,-
"Seek not the living among the dead!"

O hearts of men, why seek in vain
The joys which with the past have fled?
List to the angel's voice again,-
"Seek not the living among the dead!"

O hearts of men, to Him give heed
Who lives although for you He bled!
His life accept-'tis life indeed-
"Seek not the living among the dead!"
-Rev. William E. Barton, D.D.