him to death, except such to whom the King shall hold out the golden
sceptre, that he may live.' 'And the King held out to Esther the golden
sceptre which was in his hand. So Esther drew near, and touched the top
of the sceptre.'" Then closing the Bible, he continued, "And now,
landlord, I have to tell you that the crown and sceptre brought me here.
After the Lord Jesus died to save us, He rose from the grave and
ascended into heaven. He is there crowned King of kings, and He has the
sceptre of righteousness and mercy in His hand. He holds out that golden
stick to each of you sinful men. By faith in Him you can touch it and be
saved;" and then placing several tracts upon the bar, he stepped towards
the door. He however turned back as an Irish labourer, who was standing
with several of his countrymen, exclaimed,--

"Och, sure and it's the rail truth; and it's meself that will do it, as
I niver did that, and I'm intirely wretched."

This was uttered with deep feeling, and a gesture of prayerful uplooking
which showed that the comprehension of the beautiful, that charm of the
Irish character, had caused the poor labourer to understand the lovely
truth of an enthroned and pardoning Redeemer. He was invited to leave
with the visitor, and they stood for some time in the street conversing
about the love of God in Christ Jesus. The man stated that he was from
Tipperary, and a good Catholic, but that he had often got drunk and had
injured several persons. When ill, by an accident he had met with in his
work, he was an inmate of Guy's Hospital for some weeks. When there, a
gentleman used to read out of the Bible to a man in the next bed, and
the man was very happy, though he did not belong to the true faith, as
he was always speaking of Jesus, and never prayed to the saints. Since
then he had felt unhappy about his sins, though he often went to mass
and confession. The way of salvation was simply explained to him, and
his address was taken, with the promise of a call. A few days after, his
room in a rookery called Grey's Buildings, was entered. His wife, who
expected the visitor, exclaimed, "In troth and it's your honour; and
wasn't it Mick that towld me of your honour, and it's himself that has
been praying Jesus to howld out the golden stick to him." While they
were speaking Mick came in, and greeted his friend with real Irish
feeling; and then they sat before the fire and conversed about the
lovingkindness of Him who is mighty to save. As the blessed result, the
poor Irishman was led to understand the way of salvation, and by faith
to touch the sceptre of Infinite Mercy. Some months passed before he had
courage to enter a Protestant church, and then he was in company with
his friend, whom he met by appointment. He for some minutes lingered
outside, and then entered with a rush. After that his attendance was
regular; but he found it necessary to leave his lodgings, as his
conversion became known to the neighbours, and he received several
unpleasant visits from the priest. He had two boys whom he sent to a
Protestant school, though opposed by his wife. His acquaintance was kept
up for several years, and he used to speak with joy about the golden
stick, and the knowledge it gave him of the Saviour.

THE ELEPHANT AND CASTLE.--Upon entering the bar-parlour of this house
the landlord commenced the following conversation with the Missionary,
concerning the evidence he had given before a Committee of the House of
Commons: "I have, sir, been reading your evidence in the Blue Book, and
while I agree with much that you said, I think that you were mistaken in
two particulars. First, when you said that there are more persons in the
public-houses of Marylebone upon the evening of the Lord's-day, than
there are in all the churches and chapels of that parish. Secondly, your
advice for further restrictions upon our Sunday-sale, coupled with your
opinion, that a great number of our houses could be entirely closed upon
the Lord's-day with benefit to the public and without loss to the
publican."

"I am not surprised at your view of my evidence, but the sharp criticism
of the trade has convinced me that I spoke the truth temperately. As
regards the appalling statement as to the number of persons who frequent
your houses upon the Lord's-day evening, you must have observed that I
was sharply examined upon the point, and confirmed it with much detail;
when I had finished, the chief Inspector of Police and other important
persons were examined upon the matter, and confirmed my statement; after
which the Committee reported it to Parliament as unquestionably true. It
is then a terrible fact, certainly true, of all the poor neighbourhoods
of London. As regards the closing on Sundays, and its effect upon the
trade, I merely gave an opinion; but that opinion was arrived at after
conversation with several hundred members of your trade. As you know,
forty-seven publicans in this parish signed a petition, praying
Parliament to close you upon the whole of Sunday. Few men have a larger
acquaintance with the trade than myself, and I am convinced that a
strong feeling against Sabbath labour, and other evils of this business,
is growing up among you. For instance, several of your neighbours now
close their houses upon the whole of the Lord's-day, others close their
tap-rooms, and many refrain from lighting the glaring lamps outside.
This shows a desire to use the great moral power you possess for the
good of the people. And then as regards the loss resulting from Sunday
closing, I am convinced that the saying of the Book is true: 'That in
keeping His commandments there is great reward.' I am, however, content
to reason the point with you from a trade point of view. It is a fact
that all who close bear the loss lightly, if loss there be. One house at
Shoreditch has been established more than a hundred years, though, for
all that time, the following 'rules' have been printed over the bar:--

  "'1. No person served a second time.
  "'2. No person served if in the least intoxicated.
  "'3. No swearing or improper language allowed.
  "'4. Smoking not permitted.
  "'5. When you enter a place of business, transact your business,
           and go about your business.

                  "'CLOSED ON SUNDAY.'"

"The landlord told me that after the experience of a century they had no
wish to alter the rules. Twenty-six other Sunday-closing publicans, with
whom I conversed, told me that the loss is really small. They lend
bottles of various sizes to their customers upon the payment of a small
deposit, which increases the Saturday's returns; and as they save
one-seventh of wear and tear and gas, the cost of obtaining a Sabbath of
rest is to many small indeed. But be this as it may, the old question
remains, put by Him who alone knew the value of the world He made and of
the soul He created,--for all souls are His: 'What will it profit a man,
if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?' You, and many of my
friends in the trade, give a practical answer to this question by
suppressing drunkenness, though much to your money loss (for I never saw
a person the worse for liquor in your house); extend that answer by
observing the Sabbath-day to keep it holy."

A few weeks after this conversation the Missionary entered the house
again, in company with a clergyman from the Isle of Wight. The landlord
asked them into the bar-parlour, and called his wife. He then produced a
board, and said, "Since our last conversation, sir, I have considered
the cost, and have had this board printed, and intend to put it outside
next Monday morning. It will no doubt increase my trade difficulties,
but with God's help I shall hope still to get on." The writing upon the
board was: "NOTICE. On and after Sunday next, this house will be closed
during the whole of the Lord's-day." They were commended for the good
resolution, and the clergyman, at parting, observed, "You said wisely,
that you hoped with God's help to succeed: that help can only be
obtained in answer to prayer. Would it not therefore be well for us to
seek the required blessing?" Upon this the landlady rose and locked the
door, and while the barmaid was supplying the customers, her employers
were kneeling with the Missionary, while the clergyman engaged in
prayer.

The board was placed outside the house, and caused quite a sensation in
the neighbourhood, and much jesting in the bar. The resolution was,
however, kept; and after a year's Sunday closing, the landlord expressed
his determination to continue in the right way, as he had found it
possible to conduct the business upon Christian principles.

THE MOGUL.--A dirty little beer-shop, entirely supported by low and
depraved persons. The taproom was built in the yard beside a skittle
ground, and was approached through a long passage. Upon entering it one
evening the Missionary found a crowd of at least forty juvenile thieves,
vagrants, and bullies. As the noise was great, the only hope of doing
good was an effort to enter into conversation with one or two
individuals. This, however, was prevented, as many of them knew the
visitor, and hit upon a device to get rid of him. A song was started by
one of the men, and the chorus was taken up by the full company, who
repeated with deafening effect the words, "He's a jolly good fellow." As
the song proceeded the repetition became so boisterous that the visitor
divined their intention to sing him out. He at once saw the difficulty
of his position, as, if they had succeeded, the same practice would have
been adopted in other taprooms to the hindrance of his usefulness. He,
therefore, instead of leaving, took a seat in their midst in a most
unconcerned manner. The chorus was kept up until many of the vocalists
had bawled themselves hoarse; and as the yelling became feeble the
visitor sprang to his feet, and said vehemently, "And they were good
fellows, but the magistrates commanded to beat them. And when they had
laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the
jailer to keep them safely; who, having received such a charge, thrust
them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks."

The words changed the current of feeling. Nearly all in the room had
been in prison, and those who had not had a deep sympathy with such.
"Who was they?" "Where was it?" and "What a shame!" were the general
exclamations.

After a pause, which produced absolute silence, the speaker continued:
"And at midnight they sang praises unto God." And then opening his
Bible, he in a solemn, earnest tone, read the narrative of the
imprisonment of Paul and Silas. When he came to the words, "He set meat
before them and rejoiced, believing in God, with all his house," the
reader closed the Book, and in a few telling sentences explained the
nature of saving faith in Christ, and the result of that faith,--being
made "new creatures." After this visit the work was easy in that
taproom, and in the family of the landlord.

THE KING'S HEAD.--One afternoon, while the visitor was speaking with
several respectable men in this bar, the barman addressed him with the
exclamation, "Blessed are your lips." He was so surprised at the words
that he approached the young man, and inquired what he meant. "Well,
sir," he replied, "I hear cursing and swearing all day long, up till
twelve o'clock at night, and you are the only man who speaks really good
words. Why, we have some tradesmen come in here for lunch who are known
religious men, and they talk politics and all sorts of things, but they
haven't a word to say about religion. It's as if they were ashamed to
acknowledge God when they get in here: now, you condemn sinning and
swearing, and I, therefore, made the remark 'Blessed are your lips.'"

"I am glad you are at leisure," was the reply, "as you have started a
subject upon which I want the help of the trade, both master and man.
This habit of profane swearing among the people is a crying evil, and
you are the victims of its pollution more than any other class of
tradesmen, which need not and ought not to be the case. In this part of
London the habit is too general; but the abomination is still worse at
the East end. I have with me a copy of the _Church and State Review_, in
which a gentleman gives an account of his visits the other night with a
detective. He writes: 'We stopped before one house in which all the
crusts that are begged in the streets are turned into gin. Everybody
blasphemed at intervals, except the women, who never stopped at all.
There were old men and old women--everything that is made after the
image of God, down to the little child--and the foulness of all was
equal. It was fearful to hear the words that rolled from the lips of
the crone, who was full of years and spirits; but it was agony to hear
the curses stream from the baby-mouths, when midnight had passed and it
was far away in the morning.' Now, we have a Missionary who visits the
houses there, and he was deeply grieved at the pollutions that met his
ears; so he had a card about a foot square printed, and illuminated with
a double blue border containing four mottoes between: 'Be sober;' 'Swear
not at all;' 'Be sure your sin will find you out;' 'Thou God seest me.'
The requisition in the centre is printed in scarlet characters, forming
a pretty contrast to the border, and is as follows: 'It is respectfully
requested that persons attending this house will refrain from using
improper language.' He took them round to the landlords, and to their
credit, nearly four hundred placed them in their bars and taps; and many
joined heartily in the effort to suppress the evil. Though scarcely a
year has passed, the result is most satisfactory; and I should like to
introduce the cards into this part of London: the trade and myself can
work together in this matter and I trust that your master will allow one
to be placed in this bar."

"I am sure that he will," was the reply; "and I will ask him, and all
the barmen I know, to assist in the good effort."

A card was placed in that bar, and many of the neighbouring bars, taps,
and parlours, were ornamented with them; and as "the rules of the
house," an effective check was given to guilty tongues. Another good of
great importance sprang from the conversation with the barman. The
peculiar temptations of the class were considered, and a special effort
was made for their spiritual good. A pocket Testament was given to
three hundred of them, with suitable remarks as to the value of the good
Book, and the duty of daily reading it. The attention of many publicans
was for the time directed to the Book, and many purchased larger copies.
A distribution was then commenced among those publicans and coffee-house
keepers who let lodgings, and hundreds of Bibles were placed in their
sleeping rooms; the movement extended to the hotels (the Books having
their signs in gilt letters upon the covers), and terminated by an
arrangement with the managers of the Great Western Hotel, by which
nearly a hundred copies of the Scriptures were placed in their bedrooms.

[Illustration: BE SURE YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT.

SWEAR NOT AT ALL.

It is respectfully requested that Persons attending this House will
refrain from using improper language.

BE SOBER.

THOU GOD SEEST ME.]

The barmaids were really thankful for the Bible and Card movement, as
their suffering from blasphemous and bad language was great. The
following incident will illustrate this: The visitor was one afternoon
standing in a gin palace, quietly conversing with the two barmaids, when
three well-dressed young men of "turfy" style entered, and called for
"brandies and soda." They conversed merrily about an incident which had
occurred to one of them, using corrupt words with every sentence. A deep
blush rose to the face of the younger barmaid, who had not been long in
the business. The visitor turned towards the man, and said sharply,
"Dear me, what can be the matter with you?"

"I am all right," he replied, inquiringly.

"You are not all right," was the reply: "but I can tell what's the
matter with you. When a man is ill the doctor examines his tongue, and
if it is furred he knows that it indicates foulness within, and that the
patient requires treatment; and it's just so when men with their
tongues defile themselves and others. It shows a diseased moral state
when the poison of asps is under a man's tongue."

The severe rebuke so astonished the man that he could not give a ready
reply; but one of his companions said, "We meant no harm, sir."

As the barmaids had fled to the other end of the counter, the visitor
altered his tone to one of kindly instruction, and said, "You don't know
your disease, and I shall, therefore, do you a kindness by pointing it
out to you." He then opened his Bible and read, "The tongue is a fire, a
world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth
the whole body, and setteth on fire the whole course of nature; and it
is set on fire of hell." He then referred to the passage, "Children that
are corrupters," and told them that this evil, with all others,
proceeded out of the corrupt human heart; and of that blood which
cleanseth from all sin, and makes a man every whit whole. The men, who
showed a very proper spirit, promised to suppress the hateful habit, and
shook hands with their reprover.

Upon his next visit the barmaids thanked him; and the youngest said, "I
have been religiously brought up; and my grandfather, who was an
Independent Minister, pressed me to give my heart to God when I was a
little girl. You have brought all to my remembrance, and I shall leave
this trade for domestic service, as I have resolved to live in newness
of life."

THE MERLIN'S CAVE.--There was a special inducement to visit this house
out of its regular order, as placards announced that "The gorilla, or
man-monkey, had not made its escape, but could be seen by customers
using the bar." Upon entering, one Sunday evening, the Missionary was
surprised to find the place crowded with the lowest order of drunkards,
chiefly from Seven Dials. Their object was to see the stuffed skin of
the monster, and they, for so respectable a house, formed a ragged,
dirty, and debased company. The landlord, who was unfavourable to
Christian visitation, stopped a conversation of deep interest by
inviting the visitor to look at the gorilla. "We don't usually show it
on Sundays," he observed, "but as you have come in we will oblige you
and gratify the people." And he then drew the curtain aside. All pressed
forward to look at the monster; and the Missionary, leaning upon the
bar, gazed at it for some moments.

"How he is staring at it!" observed one of the men.

"Yes, I am," was the reply, "as I was making up a conundrum for the
landlord; and I hope he will answer it to our general satisfaction.
'When is a man uglier than that gorilla?'"

After a little thought, he replied, "A man never can be uglier than
that, so I will give it up."

"Yes, he can," replied the visitor, with energy: "When he is drunk. Yes:
a drunkard is the picture of a beast, and the monster of a man. Dressed
in rags, with livid face and blood-shot eyes, and filthy breath, he
sinks below a brute like that, which answered the end of its being. A
drunkard debases his intellect and becomes a mere animal--a wife-beater
and child-starver--a pest to his neighbours, and a disgrace to his
family and country. A drunkard has the curse of the Almighty over him
which no brute has; for being filthy and abominable--a child of the
devil--He, the great God, has said that such shall not inherit His
kingdom." The landlord stood aghast at the warmth of this declamatory
speech; and the drunkards seemed rooted to the spot. Tracts were then
handed round, a passage of Scripture being repeated with each.

Quite a group of conscience-stricken men and women had stopped outside,
and were waiting for the visitor. One of them, a woman, seemed to
express the general state of feeling, when she said, "Can't do without
it now, master. Can do without food; but though the drink is killing me,
I should die without it." And then she cried, as drunkards are so ready
to do. The state of disease which alcohol had produced in her was
explained, and she was told that a little medical attention, total
abstinence from intoxicating drinks, and regular diet, would save her
from the drunkard's grave, and would put her in the right position to
seek pardon and deliverance from the eternal curse. She readily gave her
address, and the visitor promised to call next day to receive her
pledge, and to give her further advice.

That visit was not lost, as the woman, who kept a beer-shop in the
"Dials," was recovered from her debased condition, and with her husband
became morally reformed.

THE WHITE HORSE.--The potman at this house was a young man of unusual
sobriety and intelligence. In style and work he was to perfection the
"man of the tap," as his short apron was always clean, his room
comfortable, and his pots shining. The men were often unruly and
quarrelsome, but he always kept order, and got over the pressure for
trust with such tact that his master never lost a customer. A grave
shaking of the head, and a pointing at a picture on the wall, which
represented a dog named "Trust" lying dead between two barrels, usually
settled the matter. If not he read the inscription, "Poor Trust is dead:
bad pay killed him;" and in a melancholy way expressed his regret that
"he could not help that dog a-dying, or he would." Like many of his
class, he felt proud of his position, as in the tap he took rank equal
to his master in the parlour. Frequenters of the room acknowledged this,
and, as the representative of the firm, appealed to him on knotty
questions. Such a question arose one evening when a man, who had the
habit of fixing attention upon some matter contained in a Book he
carried, told them about the Saviour of the world ascending to heaven in
a white cloud, and added, the angels said, "This same Jesus, which is
taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have
seen Him go into heaven;" and then he made the solemn announcement,
"Behold, He cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see Him." The men
who knew little of Christianity were utterly ignorant of this great
truth, and its enunciation produced thoughtfulness, and a conversation
the very reverse of that which usually took place in the room. One man
appealed to "Potts," as he was called, as to whether that was in all the
Bibles; as if it was, it might come true. Potts very wisely looked at
the visitor, and said, "He's very likely to know, and if he'll tell me
where it is, I will look in a Bible this very night and see if it's
there." He was commended for his answer, and told of the men of Berea,
"who were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received
the Word with all readiness of mind, and searched the Scriptures daily,
whether those things were so." The men were then, in a short but
earnest address, directed to the coming Judge as the present Saviour.

A few months after this visit, the Missionary one afternoon entered the
tap-room, as he desired to hold private converse with Potts. That worthy
was by himself, and was, with great effort, writing a letter.

"It's strange that you should have come in, sir," he observed, "as I am
a writing a letter to my sister, for whom I cares a great deal, as there
is only us two; and we has bin orphans since we was very little, and she
is a parlour-maid at Maidstone; and I don't mind you reading the letter,
sir, as it's all true that's in it."

His friend with some difficulty got through the epistle, as its writing
and orthography were very bad. It commenced in the famous "hoping to
find you quite well as it leaves me at present" style; and then, as we
put it in readable language, he said, "I have, my dear sister, made up
my mind to be a Christian. A gentleman who comes in here has made the
duty of being religious very plain, and I have got a view of Jesus like
this:--if you were woke up in the dark night by a fire-escape man in
your room, you would not at first understand what it meant; but as soon
as you got a good look at him, you would see by his clothes and helmet
what he was, and you would let him save you. Now that is just how I see
Jesus Christ; everything about Him shows that He is the Saviour, and I
am letting Him save me. As I cannot now be comfortable here, I have
obtained work at a fishmonger's, and I want you to come to London. I
will try and get you a good place, and then you will not be subjected to
the temptations of the trade." He was strengthened and encouraged in the
good resolution which he carried out, and some time after he gave his
friend valuable assistance in the formation of a local society for the
abolition of Sunday labour.

THE COACH AND HORSES.--Two visits of considerable interest took place in
this house, though at long intervals.

As the Missionary entered the bar one evening, the landlord said, in a
half whisper, "The fight for the championship comes off in the morning,
and a lot of the P. R.'s are in the club room."

"Can you pass me up?"

"It's no use your going there," was the reply; "but I will, if you
like:" and then the visitor passed upstairs and entered the room. About
thirty men were present, the majority being unmistakable members of the
prize-ring. As every eye was fixed upon the new arrival, he felt
embarrassed as to his mode of procedure; indeed, there was no help but
to produce his tracts and to commence distribution. He had given about a
dozen, when the men rolled them up as balls and commenced pelting each
other across the room, uttering vile words. The distributor at once saw
that his work was likely to be brought into contempt, and that evil
instead of good might result from the visit. He therefore, as many were
pressing him for tracts, put them into his pocket. During the few
minutes he had been there, he had noticed an elderly man of damaged face
and whiskerless who was seated at a table with two gentlemen. He was
drinking from a large silver prize-cup, which indicated that he was an
ex-champion. His hand was resting upon the table, and a diamond of great
beauty glittered upon his finger--as the lapidists say, it "gave fire."
The distributor looked at it, and approaching its owner, remarked, in so
loud a tone that all in the room heard him, "What a lovely ring! I have
not seen so fine a brilliant as this for some time: it must certainly be
worth a hundred pounds."

"That's it," replied the ex-champion. "They say that it's worth a
hundred guineas. A gent that's dead and gone bet two thousand upon me
when I beat the Slasher; and in the morning he came to 'cossit' me, as
he said, and brought me this."

"It's the jewel that's worth the money," said the visitor. "Why, the
gold of the ring would not fetch three pounds." All assented to this.
And he continued. "Well, it's just so with these tracts you have been
throwing about: as bits of paper they cost little or nothing, and are
not worth your acceptance; but they are all studded with a jewel--the
pearl of great price:" and then raising his voice to a clear ringing
pitch, he exclaimed, "The name of the Lord Jesus, by whom alone each man
in this room can be saved, is upon them,--He is the gem. None other name
is given by which you can obtain mercy." And then placing some tracts
upon the table, he left the room with a firm tread. The men were so
interested and surprised that scarcely a word was spoken. A few days
after, the potman told the distributor that the pugilists did not
destroy a tract or leave one behind.

More than two years after this event the Missionary was standing one
morning at the bar, in conversation with the landlady, when he noticed,
the parlour door being open, a very aged man seated with a glass of
sherry before him. His beard, which was very long, and his few remaining
hairs were as white as the driven snow: and as he leaned upon his
gold-headed cane he looked beautiful,--he had indeed that rich beauty of
age which in its day is more lovely than the bloom of youth. The visitor
approached politely, and asked his acceptance of a little book. He
received it with a smile, and entered freely into conversation, which
ended in the following way: "And now, sir, may I put the question to you
which one of the Pharaohs put to an aged man who was led up to the
throne by his son?"

"Certainly."

"'How old art thou?'"

"Just turned eighty-four."

"An honourable age. But your answer is not so full as that which good
old Jacob gave. He told the King that 'the days of the years of his
pilgrimage were an hundred and thirty years;' and added, 'Few and evil
have the days of the years of my life been, and have not attained unto
the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their
pilgrimage.' He spoke of life as short, for upon looking back time
appeared to have passed quickly; he spoke of his days as 'evil,' for he
had had his share of care and sorrows: but, best of all, he confessed to
the heathen King that he was but a stranger and pilgrim upon the earth,
and so acknowledged his belief in, and his hope of, enduring rest in the
better country. I trust that you have like precious faith, and the
assurance that you are near the prepared mansions,--the city of
habitation whose Builder and Maker is God?"

"No: I am not;" and as he said it his voice trembled and the tears
started into his eyes. "I am not a Christian, and am most miserable. I
was a merchant, and until fifty years of age was absorbed in the one
object of making money. I then retired upon an ample fortune, and for
the next twenty years I loved and enjoyed the world, and collected
art-work and things of beauty, with which my houses are filled. During
that time I never thought seriously of eternal things, and scarcely ever
read my Bible. Of late years I have ceased to take pleasure in these
things, and I am truly wretched. My son, who is a diplomatist, when in
England, brought several divines to see me, but I cannot get peace. This
morning I came out for a walk, and feeling fatigued I looked in here,
and as no one was in the room I called for light refreshment--and am
taking rest. It seems strange that such a man as you should accost me
here,--and it may be of God. Let us exchange cards, and come and dine
with me."

Cards were exchanged, and next day the "parlour friends" dined together.
Some time was spent in looking over the beautiful and curious
possessions of the old gentleman, and then they settled down to deep
spiritual conference. Many a page of the pocket Bible was turned over,
and the verities of the Word were made manifest. The library door was
then fastened, and deep earnest prayer was offered to the God of all
grace.

Many visits followed, and the friendship was cemented. One day, as the
visitor entered the dining-room, the old gentleman grasped his hand, and
said, "The cloud is removed: I feel as a little child, and am resting
with comfort upon God's love in Jesus;" and then he uttered the language
of rejoicing. For five or six months he was happy, and his family were
made glad. One morning his friend received a deep black-bordered letter
from his eldest daughter, who was staying with him at his country house,
and it read thus: "As my late father's dearest friend, I write to tell
you of his sudden removal. He had been poorly for several days, and was
taken really ill yesterday morning. We had three physicians, but they
could only give him a little ease, as he was evidently dying. He was
conscious to the last, and very happy. He fell asleep at two o'clock
this morning, with the name of Jesus upon his lips. Our gratitude to you
for your deep interest in him, and kind attention, is deep, and will
remain for life."

The Lord sent forth the seventy "two and two before His face into every
city and place." In effective lay-work the principle holds good through
all the difficulties of domiciliary effort. The Missionaries of London
and other large towns have each a responsible helper,--their local
superintendent. It thus occurred that the man with the Book never stood
alone in his work, and if he had it would have been feebly done. His
beloved superintendent bore his full share of responsibility. At first
he visited with him that he might make himself fully acquainted with the
nature of the work and then he gave prayerful influence, with Christian
council and sustaining sympathy. Under God, much of the success which
attended, and still attends the visitation of public and coffee-houses,
is due to the direction of that "honourable counsellor," Mr. W. R.
Ellis.

And here it is well to add that the chief secretaries of the Mission,
the Rev. John Garwood and the late Rev. John Robinson, have left an
impress of good upon this and each branch of the work. Their clearness
of judgment and full comprehension of the will of the committee, always
gave value to their advice; while their devotion to the cause of Christ
in London stimulated the zeal, and gave solidity to the labours of
young missionaries. This testimony can now be given, as one of them has
received the upward call from the Master; and the other, after forty
years of faithful service, has retired from official responsibility,
though still active as a director of the Society's affairs. Blessed,
indeed, are they who are called in early life to labour in the Gospel,
and are honoured with long life in the highest and best employ, with
sure anticipation of the blessed rest!

The Book in the Den:

ITS MAJESTY.

  "And often did she bless the night,--
    That night without a star,
  When Mercy kept the lonely watch,
    And left the door ajar."

                                    _Mrs. Sewell._

CHAPTER X.

     THE SLEEPLESS CITY--TEDDIE'S DEN--A STRANGE INVITATION--THE TEA--A
     MIDNIGHT VISIT--A VISIT TO RAG-FAIR--MANY RESCUED--SMASHERS--THE
     BETTER PART CHOSEN--DREADFUL DEATH-BED SCENE--A STRONGHOLD
     DESTROYED.

THE BOOK IN THE DEN:

ITS MAJESTY.

     "For the Word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any
     two-edged sword." HEB. iv. 12.

London never sleeps. The noise and din of the mighty city is hushed as
the night advances and the toiling millions of the day sink to repose;
but their rest is the signal for the activity of others. The protection
of its vast accumulation of wealth and property requires an army of
police. The supply of its markets requires the wakefulness of thousands,
while its traffic requires an extensive night service of cabmen and
others. In addition to these, and workers upon the morning press, and
other sons of toil who earn their daily bread by night, there is the
vast multitude of those who

"Live to sin, and sin to live,"

and who, as the evenings close in, leave their homes and dens to seek
the wages of unrighteousness. These two orders of the industrious and
depraved would make up a city as large as Birmingham, and they require
that many night-houses and coffee-stalls should be established to meet
their necessities. And so the children of the night are increased, and
we therefore repeat the statement, that "London never sleeps."

This conviction was forced upon the attention of the Missionary to
public- and coffee-houses, when he found that many of the latter were
closed all day, and was informed that they were only opened at night. As
it was his duty to make the proprietors and supporters of these houses
acquainted with the glad tidings of peace, he had no choice but to visit
them in the night season. Upon making the effort, he discovered that
while the wicked never ceased from their wickedness, but during the
hours of darkness gave unbounded license to their evil deeds, the people
whom the Lord has set as His watchmen in the city slumbered and slept. A
vast multitude existed who, of a truth, loved darkness rather than light
because their deeds were evil; but no ray from the Sun of Righteousness
was made to penetrate the darkness of the shadow of death in which they
dwelt. They lay deeply poisoned by the fangs of the serpent sin, but no
balm of Gilead or leaf from the tree of life was offered to them.
Captives of the devil, they were bound and fettered by the cords of
their iniquities, being in ignorance of that mighty Deliverer who was
manifested to destroy the works of the devil, and to set at liberty them
that are bound.

The sinners were astonished when, in the silence of the night-watches, a
voice was heard in the streets proclaiming, in loving accents, the
tender mercies of a great _Redeemer_. Many an honest worker or driver
was arrested or comforted by sayings which reached his ears from the
Book of Life, or was benefited by the silent messenger of mercy placed
into his hands. Many a sin-wrecked one who had been brought to feel that
there was no hand to deliver him, and who in blank despair was ready to
seek a prison or a watery grave, heard the sweet notes of salvation,
and was delivered from going down into the pit. There were many,
however, of reprobate mind who, being filled with all unrighteousness,
resisted the King's messenger, and bitterly opposed themselves to the
truth. This was the case at a place called by the outcasts "Teddie's
Den;" and by way of illustrating the power of the Book we will narrate
the religious history of that house, strange as it may sound.

It was an old-established concern, and had a connection of its own. This
was evident, as the customers were so well known to the landlord that
their step, or tap, or knock, was sufficient to secure their ready
admission. It was not so with the Missionary. When he knocked and asked
for an entrance, the only reply he received was in a gruff tone, and to
the effect, that they were "shutting up." In order to gain an entry he
then obtained the promise of a pass in from a young thief of his
acquaintance. This, however, was unnecessary, as, upon passing the door
a little before two o'clock one Sunday morning he noticed that it was
partly open, no doubt for purposes of ventilation. This was a rare
opportunity, which he embraced by immediately stepping in. He called for
a cup of coffee, and while it was being brought took notice of the place
and people. The den consisted of an ordinary shop and parlour; the
former was fitted up with narrow tables, at which were seated about
twenty men and women; many of these were leaning forward upon their
hands, apparently asleep. A few were of the vagrant and beggar class,
who, perhaps, had only sufficient money to purchase a little food, and
the right to remain there for a few hours; but the majority were
evidently of the vicious and criminal order. The room was extremely
dirty, and the dim light from the old oil lamps seemed to increase its
gloom: the spangled sky, however, could be seen through the upper
squares of glass, as the row of shutters only reached to the top panes.
The back room, or "parlour," had a cheerful fire, was better lighted,
and was no doubt filled with paying customers. There was laughter and
merriment, but the oaths and blasphemies which reached the ear were
truly terrible. It was evident that these men and women of the baser
sort were holding a swearing club,--an amusement so hellish that we
forbear a description. There was not time for further observation, as
the landlord, a big, brutal-looking man, approached with the coffee.

An illustrated publication was offered to him, with the remark, "You
don't, I see, supply papers to your customers; so I will occasionally
give you some of these."

He took the paper with a deep frown, threw it upon the floor, and with a
bitter oath, said, "I know you: you spy,--you canting wretch!" and,
turning round, he locked the door; and then approaching the Missionary
with the key grasped in his hand and trembling with rage, threatened
vengeance. At this display of anger the customers rose from their seats
and pressed forward, while the dreadful people poured in from the back
room. It was an awful moment for the visitor, as he sat there helpless
in the midst of that crowd of the violent and the guilty. Realizing the
danger of his position, he uttered an inward prayer for help, and then,
springing up, he struck his hand with violence upon the table, and
pointing over the shutters to the clouds, exclaimed in a loud voice, "A
GREAT WHITE THRONE WILL BE SET UP AMONG THE STARS THERE. The Saviour
who died for sinners will sit upon it, for the dead that are in their
graves shall hear His voice and live. We shall be there."

[Illustration: "A great white throne will be set up among the stars,
there!"]

At this every tongue became silent, and the people stood back, gazing
upwards or into his face. Therefore, pointing at one and another, he
continued, "And you, and you; for we must all stand before the
judgment-seat of Christ. I am not an enemy or a spy, but a servant of
the Lord Jesus, who will judge you at the last day. He is now the
Saviour of the ruined and the lost, and in His name I offer you mercy
through the blood He shed for you upon the cross. In this His blessed
Book it is written, 'Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.'" The
speaker then stepped toward the door, which the landlord unlocked with a
trembling hand, and he passed out into the cold, silent street.

There is a charm in the solitude of a sleeping city. The hum of the
multitude and the deafening rattle upon the stones are stayed, while the
distinct tread of the pedestrian and more measured tread of the
policeman, seem the only link between the slumbering myriads and the
activities of the day. As the distant footsteps fall upon the ear there
is an instinctive turning towards the approaching or receding objects.
The visitor had not proceeded far from the den when he heard footsteps,
and upon turning round saw the landlord coming toward him; he therefore
stopped under the next lamp, and awaited his arrival. With faltering
voice he said, "Come again, guv'nor. Didn't mean anything; and a chap as
knows you says as it's all right."

The words, "Come again," were as music to the man with the Book; for he
felt that the door of that dreadful place was opened, and that he had
obtained power, under the protection of that bad man, there to read
from its pages of judgment and mercy, and in the Name of names to rescue
ruined ones from present and eternal destruction. He therefore replied,
"Never mind the past; it is all right with me. I do all the good I can
for people, and don't injure anybody. I will now call as a friend of
yours. When shall it be?"

"You sees, guv'nor," he replied, "as we lives different to other people,
cos our okupation is at night; and we opens at twelve and shuts up at
six in the morning, when we has our supper at seven and goes to bed, and
then we gits up to breakfast at five, as would be your tea-time; and if
you'll turn in this afternoon, as is Sunday, we'll have winkles and
muffins, and you'll see as I ain't a bully as some is, though my temper
ain't zackly right allus."

The promise was given, and punctually at five o'clock that afternoon the
invited guest entered the den. It had been swept, but the floor, tables,
and wall were of the same sombre colour, while the air was offensive.
The back room, into which he was welcomed by his new friend, was in the
same condition, but better furnished, for there was an old couch and
several chairs; the walls being decorated with a Dutch clock and pieces
of old tinware, while upon the grate, which had never been cleaned, was
a large boiler and two kettles. The house was so closely built in, that
it was only a dusky light which penetrated its small side windows; that
light was, however, sufficient to show that the landlord's family and
four of the depraved persons who had been impressed at the visit of the
early morning were present.

It was evident that the family consisted of the landlord, his wife, and
a daughter about twelve years old. The "missus," as she with pleasant
familiarity was called, was a low coarse woman of forty-five, strangely
but expensively attired. Her dress was of brown silk, trimmed with lace,
in front of which she wore a braided white apron with large pockets, not
unlike a toll-collector's. Her cap was smartly trimmed with red ribbon;
and upon her bare neck was a thick coral necklace of many rows, and a
heavy gold-like chain; her dirt begrimed fingers being ornamented with
at least eight rings. The little girl was dressed in like fashion.

Both tea and coffee were ready in soot-covered vessels upon the hob. At
one end of the dirty table was a tray, upon which were cracked cups and
saucers of questionable cleanliness; and on the table itself was a
little pyramid of periwinkles; while upon a heap of ashes before the
fire were two plates, heavily piled with muffins and crumpets. These
observations were quickly taken, and the visitor became thoughtful
concerning the feast before him. When the tea was poured out he looked
with anxiety at the cups, wondering which would be inflicted upon him;
but when the muffins were placed upon the table, and a generous supply
of periwinkles were pushed towards him--the women plucking pins from
their dresses--he was seized with a sudden loss of appetite. The
hospitable host and hostess increased his misery by showing
determination that he should enjoy their good things. Such horrors as
that tea must not however be dwelt upon. Let it suffice, that time which
remedies so much, slow as it seemed to pass upon that memorable
occasion, did at last bring the repast to an end.

During the tea the little party were set at ease and led into pleasant
conversation; and when the things were cleared away, the visitor laid
his pocket-Bible upon the table with the remark, "This is Sunday, the
happy day, as my little boy calls it; and we all ought to be happy upon
this day, as we are reminded of God's goodness and the Saviour's mercy;
after dying for our sins, He, upon the Sunday morning, rose from the
dead. Now, as none of you attend divine worship, suppose I read to you
about Him and the words He spoke?"

There was general assent, and the visitor read that marvellous chapter
commencing with the words, "Then drew near unto Him all the publicans
and sinners for to hear Him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured,
saying, 'This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them.'" The little
party listened with rapt attention, and several were moved to tears by
the running commentary which was made upon the parables. The landlord
and his wife, in their strange way, assured the reader that he was
welcome to come when he pleased; and they parted as pleasantly as though
they had been old friends. Weary, but happy, the Missionary entered the
first church he came to with the object of giving thanks to the Lord in
His Temple, for deliverance from danger, and for mission mercies
received; and he then presented prayer for spiritual success with the
keepers of that night-house and their supporters.

About a week after the tea he paid a midnight visit to the den, and as
he entered the landlord commanded silence in the following words: "I
know this 'ere gent, and if you doesn't shut up while he's here, I'll
have you out with a shake and a kick. You bad manner'd brutes, to keep
your hats on when your betters comes in." This was sufficient to secure
silence, while tracts were delivered with scriptural remarks. It was
thought well that the visits should be short until influence was
obtained with the customers. The Missionary therefore left, after fixing
attention upon the word _Saviour_ and its sweet meaning. He then pinned
his address card upon the wall, and said, "Let this remain here. I have
told you how to obtain pardon from Almighty God; but as it may be
difficult for some of you to leave lives of sin, I shall be glad to be
the friend of any who are truly penitent. Some of you might be glad of
some one to plead with your relations, and I might assist others into
institutions of mercy."

[Illustration: _See p. 206._]

In answer to this invitation several outcasts called during the week
upon the "reformatory man," as they pleased to style him, and were
rescued. Early one morning, the keeper of the night-house came himself,
leading by the hand a little girl without shoes or stockings. She was
offensively dirty, with dishevelled hair, her frock of rags being pinned
round her. He fairly dragged her in at the door, and said, "This 'ere
gal, sir, has been about the streets for months, as she's a Irish
cockney, as we calls 'em. Her mother is dead, and her father has bolted;
and she sleeps under stairs where the doors are open, and under the
arches with them that's got no homes; and she gits into my shop for bits
of grub; and a woman, who is a bad lot, wants to take her, and we had a
row, and I have bringed her to you,--and here she is."

Yes; there the poor child stood, an object to be shuddered at and
avoided; but a fit object for Christian compassion. To provide for her
was a difficulty, as the Missionary had burdened so many Institutions
with cases that he scarcely knew where to apply. After conferring with
his wife, it was arranged that she should be cleaned in the back
kitchen, and dressed in one of their children's old clothes, while he
went in search of a home for her. After hours of toil, all the success
he met with was a promise from the manager of a crowded home to receive
her at the end of three days, when an inmate was to leave. There was,
therefore, no help but to keep the child for that time.

A bed was made up for her in the kitchen, and orders given that the
doors should be all locked, and that she should be carefully watched.
There appeared little need for this, as the child was shy and reserved;
but she proved to be deeply cunning. Next morning, while the family were
at breakfast, she slipped upstairs with a key which had been left upon
the dresser, and entering a room, she stole two dresses--one of them a
good silk,--and fifteen shillings in money. The theft was soon
discovered, but the thief had got clear off. As she had spoken of the
savouriness of "Jew's fish" (cooked in oil) it was surmised that she
would go to Rag Fair, and her ill-used friend, therefore, got upon the
roof of an omnibus, in hope of seeing her upon the way. In this he was
disappointed, and, therefore, walked about the fair for some time. He
was about leaving in despair, when he noticed, in the distance, a girl
of her style, but of strange appearance, and upon approaching he found
that it was her, but so changed that he could not refrain from laughing
as he seized her arm. Her clothes had evidently been changed,--in place
of the neat little frock, she had put on a dirty sky-blue silk, which
was much too large; upon her feet were a pair of green boots, and upon
her head a straw hat with large red feather. In one hand she held a
piece of greasy fish, and in the other a green parasol.

In reply to the question, "What have you done with the dresses?" she
replied, "'Eld 'em up 'ere, and a woman gave me ninepence for the silk
un, and two shillings for the t'other; and I've bin in and bought these
'ere pretty clothes; and I've had lots of fish and taters and beer, and
was a-goin' to the gaff."

This statement was made in such a disingenuous manner that it seemed
evident that the poor child, like the heathen, had no moral sense. As it
was useless to try and trace the dresses, it only remained to march her
off to the Refuge, where, out of consideration to her friend, she was at
once received. We may add, that she did well in the Institution for
several years, and that she became a good general servant.

This girl was one of seventeen outcasts whom the keeper of "Teddie's
Den" brought to the Missionary, all of whom were rescued; but though a
"helper" in the good work, he did not obtain spiritual good himself. At
times he seemed to tremble when passages concerning judgment and mercy
were read from the Book; and he treated the Reader with respect,--but
that was all. The dreadful influence of his business and the love of
liquor quickly removed all good impressions, and he continued to do
evil: "He saw the better, yet the worse pursued." Bad as he was, he at
times showed a kindness of disposition quite out of keeping with his
appearance and character; for instance, when he heard that his friend
was ill, he went to Covent Garden Market, and, of all things there,
bought a pomegranate, and left it at his house. A few nights after this
he was in liquor, wandered from his door, and leaning against an area
gate which was unfastened, fell back upon the stone steps. He fractured
his skull, remained unconscious for some hours, and died in that state.
The grief of the Missionary was great; he had diligently sought the
salvation of the man, and he, therefore, felt crushed beneath the
discouragement. The evangelist has his trials and heart-sorrows, his
disappointments are frequent and painful, though not so often referred
to as they perhaps ought to be. It is a fearful thing when the words he
utters become "the savour of death unto death;" but he has no choice in
this matter, as the order of the great Master is: "Thou shalt go to all
that I shall send thee; and whatsoever I command thee, that thou shalt
speak."

The "missus," for no one seemed to know her name, succeeded to the full
control of the den, and it soon became evident that she was hardened
rather than softened by the wretched end of her husband. She expressed a
positive dislike to the man whose faithfulness was no doubt a difficulty
to her, and she hindered his efforts to do good.

"The master was a fool," she observed, a few weeks after his death, "to
bring you back here, as it's ruination. After you left the t'other night
the people was all glum; and now gents as has lots of money to stand
treats doesn't come, as they are affeard of meeting you; and I have got
a man a-coming to help as will turn anybody out, and you shan't come."

This was no doubt her determination, but the Missionary had obtained
such power with the supporters of the place, that they would have
defended him from insult, certainly from violence. All knew him as one
able to rescue them, and as the only one who sought their spiritual
good. Bad therefore as they were, they felt that the friend of the soul
was their best friend, and they treated him as such. All then that the
"missus" could do was to keep him at times out of the back room.

A change, however, passed over the place as the class of customers
gradually altered. The depraved became fewer in number, while the
skilled criminal class increased. Magsmen and well-dressed pickpockets
were more frequently to be seen there, while the thieves, among
themselves, spoke of the woman as a good "fence" (_i.e._, a person who
stands between the thieves and receivers, and renders detection more
difficult). The following incident will show the class of customers:--

One night a Clergyman, who is now a dignitary of the Church, visited
there with the Missionary. The shop was unusually full of youths and men
of the criminal class, but in the farther corner sat a party of three
persons who appeared to be separated from the rest of the company,--a
man, woman, and little girl of twelve years. They were leaning forward
as if asleep, but were aroused by the laughter produced by the pleasant
remark the Missionary made concerning "the wisdom of the owls of night."

"What are you doing here with that child?" inquired the Clergyman.

"Please, sir," replied the woman, "we has been very unlucky, cos as how
my husband has been ill, and all our sticks was took for the bit of
rent, and we begged sixpence, and has had some tea and is stayin' here
till it's light; and if my old man doesn't get work to-morrow we shall
go next day to the Union over Battersea."

"You had better go there at once," he replied; "but don't expose the
child to the night air. If you will promise me to save enough for a
lodging, should you be out to-morrow night, I will give you
half-a-crown."

The promise was made and the money given, though the quick eye of the
experienced visitor saw by the glances interchanged between the company
that deceit was being practised. The money was not, however lost, as
that congregation of the ungodly listened with deep feeling to the
clear, loving utterances of Divine truth which fell from the lips of
that good minister of Christ Jesus.

Next evening the Missionary called in and inquired of the "missus" what
was done with the half-a-crown.

"We had a bottle of gin with it," she replied, "but some of the fools
wouldn't have any and went out, and said it was a shame to cheat such a
good Missionary-man as him was that gived it."

"Now tell me," he continued, "who that man, woman, and child were? I am
certain that they are not vagrants."

"I should think not," the woman replied laughing: "why they are smashers
(_i.e._, makers of counterfeit money), and they sends the girl in first,
who has bags of bad money under her frock, and one of 'em comes in, and
if it's all serene the t'other comes, and then they does business. When
you com'd to the door I tipped 'em the wink, affore opening it, as they
was then a-sellin' to them chaps. One was a buying six-pennorth of
shillings, and another a shilling's worth of half-crowns, according to
quality, as the saying is."

Some further conversation followed, when the woman had occasion to leave
the room for a few minutes, the visitor turned to the daughter and said:

"I am glad at what you told me a few weeks ago, that you were always
praying to _God_ to make you His child and to keep you from the evil to
which you are exposed. Now tell me if you have decided to serve the
Lord?"

"That I have, sir," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Mother
won't let me out of her sight; but for two Sundays I have been to the
chapel down the mews, where I understand everything, and keep on
praying; and the gent spoke so beautiful last night that I want to serve
Jesus altogether."

She was encouraged in the wise choice she had made, and the friend left,
rejoicing that her heart, like Lydia's, had been opened to receive the
truth.

The coiners were not met with again; but quite a year after, the
governor of Norwich Castle, at the suggestion of a magistrate who
assisted him in many works of mercy, wrote, asking the help of the
Missionary in finding a home for a girl who, with her parents, had been
apprehended for passing base money. It appeared that they left the girl
in the distance, and each taking a piece of bad money passed it upon
shopkeepers. They were stopped several times, but as a second piece
could not be found upon them they were not detained. They were traced
from London to Norwich, by the bad money they had passed, and were
apprehended at a lodging-house, with the bags in their possession. The
parents were sentenced to nine months' hard labour each, and the girl
detained until a home could be found for her. This was done, and she was
passed up to London. She was some time in the home, and then absconded;
but several years after she called upon the matron, and invited her to
come and see her husband, as she was comfortably married.

Several years passed, during which time "Teddie's Den" was visited with
varying success, until the night upon which the International Exhibition
was closed. The Missionary had arranged a tea in the building for a
thousand persons, and returned home very weary, to find a thief in the
house,--for there in the hall sat a man who had been frequently
convicted. He, with evident feeling, said, "The 'missus,' sir, has bin
bad all the week, and she's wery bad now, and is a mumbling your name;
and the doctor has bin agin, and says as you ought to be sent for, so I
has come." He was told to fetch a cab; but it was midnight before they
arrived at the night-house.

An anxious group of depraved persons were standing at the door, but the
visitor passed them in silence and entered the back room. The scene
which presented itself was solemn indeed, for there, dressed, upon her
couch, in the pains of dissolution, lay the woman who used to boast that
she had kept dens for twenty-one years, and had not slept at night
during that time. She appeared to be dying, but rallied when she heard
the voice of her friend, and whispered, "Mercy! mercy!--Pray, pray!"

"I tell you again, that as a guilty sinner, you must pray for yourself,"
he replied, in a slow, quiet, tone. "The blood of Jesus can save you
now: ask God in His name to pardon you." And then the dying woman, after
him, repeated short prayers. After a pause he took her cold hand in his,
and kneeling down, implored pardon for her from the God of all grace.
His voice was, however, stopped by the sobbing of several women and
young thieves who had entered from the shop. The death-expression upon
the face of their old acquaintance in guilt, with the solemn attitude
and words of prayer, overcame them, and they seemed to kneel as in
contrition before their offended Maker.

There were intervals of consciousness, during which words of hope were
read from the Book of Life; and at her request, expressed by movements
of her hands, prayer was again offered. She soon became unconscious, and
expired at three o'clock.

A few comforting words were spoken to the weeping daughter and the women
who remained in the room; and the night-visitor then passed into the
street. A large crowd of the criminal and depraved had assembled from
other night-houses, and as he left they made a passage for him to pass
through, while the two policemen turned on their bull's eyes to light
him on his way. He, however, stepped back, and standing upon the
threshold of the den, held out his Bible, and said, "She is dead, and
her eternal state is fixed: you, however, are upon the side of the grave
where mercy can be sought and found. Look up, now, to where the Saviour
is seated, at God's right hand, beyond those dark clouds. Be in earnest
in seeking salvation, and then live for the hour of death and the day of
judgment." He then passed down the street in silence, not a word reached
his ear from that gathering of the wicked.

The wretched inheritance descended to the daughter, now a young woman of
twenty. Before her mother's illness she had suffered persecution from
her, because she boldly confessed faith in Christ. Another cause of
offence was her receiving tracts and placing them upon the tables before
the customers were admitted. She, however, showed such dutiful affection
to her mother, that it no doubt softened her hard heart, and caused her
to show a better feeling towards the unwelcome visitor. A few evenings
after the funeral she called upon her friend, and upon entering the room
burst into tears, and said, "I can't, sir, keep the dreadful place open,
for I am always praying, and the language and sin is awful: I will beg
my bread first. What shall I do?"

She was soothed, and a quiet conversation took place between them
concerning her position. After conferring with his wife, he said, "You
are painfully circumstanced,--no one would receive you into their
service if they knew that you had been brought up in such a place. We,
however, will do what others could not, as I am assured that the Lord
has dealt mercifully by you. We need a servant, and will take you into
our house." She, with expressions of gratitude, accepted the offer; so
he wrote notes to the landlord of the house, and to a broker, and sent
her with them.

Next evening the Missionary paid his last visit to "Teddie's Den." A
hand-cart was at the door, and the broker inside. The furniture,
crockery, and fixtures were quickly sold and removed, and then the night
visitor and its late mistress left. It was with a joyous, thankful
heart, that he closed the door behind them, for he felt that a
stronghold of sin and Satan had fallen before the silvery notes of the
Gospel of peace.

The young woman did well in her place, and gave evidence of a renewed
nature. After a few months, her master and mistress were so well pleased
with her, that they recommended her into a reformatory institution as
under matron. For two years she filled the office with credit to
herself, and to the spiritual benefit of many of the inmates, including
one who used to frequent her parents' den. This woman had for years been
the companion of thieves, and had by vice so injured her health as to
suffer long illness in the London Hospital. Upon her discharge she was
sent to the Institution, and great was her astonishment to find the
young woman who, when a girl, waited upon her at night, an under-matron
in the home of Mercy. From her she gladly received the good news of
Jesus receiving sinners, and was led to call upon His name, and then to
rejoice in His mercy.

One evening the young assistant called upon her friend, and said
timidly, "You know Mr. So-and-so, don't you, sir?"

"I do," was the reply; "and think well of him."

"You have been more than a father to me, sir; and will you please give
me away?"

The office was cheerfully undertaken, and readily fulfilled. After the
marriage, the Missionary friend and father handed her a Bible, with this
writing in it: "Heirs together of the grace of life." The union is a
happy one, and she is a living proof that sovereign grace can raise its
subjects from the lowest depths, and place them among the princes of the
children of light.

The Book in the Streets and Night-Houses:

ITS SILENT FORCE.

  "Sow in the wild waste places,
  Though none thy love may own;
  God guides the down of the thistle
  The wandering wind hath sown.
  Will Jesus chide thy weakness,
  Or call thy labour vain?
  The word that for Him thou bearest
  Shall return to Him again.
  Sow with thine heart in heaven,
  Thy strength thy Master's might,
  Till the wild waste places blossom
  In the warmth of a Saviour's light."

                               _Anna Shipton._

CHAPTER XI.

     A GILDED SALOON--A PIGEON PLUCKER--DISCOURAGEMENT--THE COFFEE
     MAN--DESTITUTE--THE SOLITUDE OF THE CITY--MADNESS OF DISGRACE--THE
     BEGGAR AND HIS BOY--THE "TRAVELLER'S REST"--THE SLEEPLESS
     CHURCH--COFFEE STALLS AND BOOTHS--THE COVERT FROM THE STORM--BIBLE
     POWER.

THE BOOK IN THE STREETS AND NIGHT-HOUSES:

ITS SILENT FORCE.

     "The seed is the Word of God." LUKE viii. 11.

Two hundred and sixty nights occupied in evangelizing efforts in the
streets, refreshment houses, and dens of the mighty city, gave evidence
that the Word of God is powerful to arrest the attention of the most
thoughtless--to stop the guilty in their downward career; and that it is
the power of God unto the salvation of sinners who are sunk so low as to
cause them, when restored, to stand out before men as miracles of mercy.
Disappointments were frequent, and if continuance in the work had
depended upon known success, would have been crushing. This however was
not so: the great Master does not send out His servants at their own
cost. When He, of His sovereign grace, takes a sinner and places him
among His children, and then by distinguishing favour makes him a wheel
or a lever in His great machinery of mercy, He only requires
faithfulness--not success. Men can only fill the office of subordinate
instruments and visible agents in the mighty process of salvation. "God
was in Christ Jesus reconciling the world unto Himself," but "He has
committed to us the ministry of reconciliation." This truth ought to
remove indolence and avarice from those who are named by the name of
Christ. The redeemed people who realize the debt they owe unto their
Lord, should covet to be the deputies and agents of Divine love; such
should labour and study, and pray for success, because the Holy Spirit
works by instruments made fit for His use, and the armed omnipotence of
God is engaged on behalf of repentant sinners. The great restoring work
is of God, and of God only; and it is therefore the duty of His servants
to labour as cheerfully when denied, as when favoured with evidence of
blessing.

These thoughts were suggested when materials for this chapter were being
collected. The mind reverted to so many instances of failure,--to a
succession of men and women who had been the objects of much earnest
effort, but who had passed from under the influence of the Missionary
without giving the remotest hope of their salvation. If a proportion of
them were referred to, this would be a dismal record. We will only
therefore, by way of illustrating the nature of the work, refer to one
instance.

A Cabinet Minister had conferred with the Missionary upon the matter of
legislation for night-houses; and as other interviews were sure to
follow, he thought it well to visit all such places of which the police
could give him information.

One night he followed several fashionably dressed gentlemen into a house
near the Haymarket, and found himself in a gilded saloon, with billiard
rooms upstairs. The gentlemen remained together, and as the visitor felt
strange, he went to the upper end and threw himself upon a couch; he
was meditating as to what he could do there, when a middle-aged
gentleman entered and gave a familiar nod to the group, and then
glancing keenly toward the stranger, approached and took his seat at the
other end of the couch. After a little thought, an envelope containing a
tract was handed to him. He gave a sudden start, and the Missionary in a
merry tone, exclaimed "It's not a writ;" and then both laughed heartily.
The attention of the proprietor and his waiter in full dress, had from
his entering in, been fixed upon the stranger; he therefore thought it
well to make friends with the gentleman, and pressing near to him, he
said, in a confidential half-whisper: "Oblige me by not opening the
envelope now, as it only contains a religious tract." As he looked at it
with astonishment, the giver continued: "You no doubt think it absurd,
quixotic of me to venture in here with tracts, but you will respect my
motive when I tell you that I have for years visited the lower class of
night-houses, and conferred benefits upon many; and that I am the voice
of one crying in the night season, 'Behold the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sin of the world.'"

"A motive so good, justifies the act," replied the gentleman. "I am
going over to the Turkish saloon, and will pass out with you."

In the street they fell into a pleasant chat, and an appointment was
made for another night; this was kept, and followed by several others,
besides chance meetings. From his friends he ascertained that the
gentleman was supposed to be of good family, that he had graduated at
Oxford, and that he bore the assumed name of Clifford. He was a most
fascinating person, though his countenance had a dissipated and at
times malicious expression. He had a large acquaintance among young men
of position, who at that time frequented the Haymarket, and was often
seen with a gentleman, now deceased, who by bad company lost his
fortune, and had to sustain a long law-suit to prove his sanity. By the
lower order of the depraved he was regarded as one of quite a large
number of gentlemanly men whom they called "pigeon pluckers."

One night the gentleman and his Christian friend, who had met in the
Haymarket, were conversing together, when he was accosted by a young man
who appeared to be of age, with "Ah, Clifford! how'do? glad to see you.
Just a word at your leisure."

"Certainly, my lord," was his reply. "I will be with you in a few
minutes: should have been waiting for you, had I not met with this very
pleasant friend."

"As Clifford's friend, may I crave the honour of offering my hand to
your lordship?" inquired the Missionary.

"Certainly," replied the young nobleman (if such he was), and then the
Christian visitor grasped his hand, and holding it with mild restraint,
looked him full in the face, and said, "You are in danger, my lord. This
dissipation will injure your person, your good name, your fortune, and
perhaps your country. Be wise. Like a certain young ruler mentioned in
the Gospel, approach the Lord Jesus, and ask, 'What shall I do to
inherit eternal life?'"

A deep colour rose to the face of the young man, and he stepped hastily
away; but turning back, as by sudden impulse, he again offered his hand
to his reprover, and said, "I thank you, sir;" and was then lost in the
crowd of the gay and dissipated.

[Illustration: "You are in danger my lord."]

Some weeks after this event, the night visitor met the gentleman, and
had tea with him in a café. As they sat together at the small round
marble table, the Missionary observed, "To me it is astonishing that you
can live such a life as you are doing; heaping up wrath against the day
of wrath. From a child you have known the Holy Scriptures, and I am
surprised that texts do not at times rise to your memory, and produce a
fearful looking forward to judgment!"

"Such is not the case," he replied, "strange as you may regard it. There
is only one matter of memory which ever troubles me, and that is the
verses of a child's hymn which our mother used to teach us as we knelt
at her side in the nursery,--

  'Almighty God, Thy piercing eye
    Strikes through the shades of night;
  And our most secret actions lie
    All open to Thy sight.'

"At times these verses flash across my mind at most inconvenient
seasons, and destroy my enjoyment; they occurred when you first spoke to
me in the saloon, and the other night I caught myself repeating them
when playing an important game of billiards." The pocket Bible was
produced, and the words solemnly read,--"He hath appointed a day in the
which He will judge the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath
ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all men in that He hath
raised Him (Jesus) from the dead."

The visitor then repeated to him the verses of a Judgment Hymn of his
own writing, which evidently made a deep impression:--

  Roll, roll, ye thunders with terrific dread!
  Shout, shout, ye angels and awake the dead!
  Proclaim the mandate of the Almighty King;
  Man, dead and living, to the Judgment bring.

  Rise, rise, ye millions of reposing clay!
  See, see, the light of the eternal day!
  The brightness of His coming gilds the sky,
  The glorious mantle of the Judge most high.

  Rejoice, rejoice, ye ransomed sons of God!
  Sing, sing, the virtue of the Saviour's blood!
  Your loud triumphant Hallelujahs sing,
  With great rejoicing hail your Saviour-King.

  Mourn, mourn, neglecters of a Saviour's love;
  Weep, weep, rejecters of the Heavenly Dove;
  Insulted mercy leaves thee to the law
  Which dooms to death, and bids thee hope no more.

  Awake, awake, ye slumbering sinners, pray;
  Cry, cry for mercy, now in mercy's day;
  Flee to the Covert from the storm, and rest
  Your blood-bought souls upon the Saviour's breast.

After this visit there were several other meetings, and then a long
interval occurred. Upon inquiring for his friend at the divans and
saloons, the visitor was told that "he had not been seen for some time:
that he had no doubt gone upon the Continent, and would turn up next
season." He was not there the following year, and was never seen in his
old haunts again. It was with him as with others,--much effort without
apparent result; and yet it is possible that, in the day of the Lord,
good concerning some of them will be made manifest.

In one class of cases there is freedom from discouragement, and that is
when the Christian worker is enabled to strengthen, to encourage, and to
assist disciples in their efforts to give a testimony for the Lord, and
to do good under depressing circumstances.

It was certainly thus with an old man who kept a coffee-stall in a poor
neighbourhood. His shop consisted of a large barrow with canvas
covering, supported at the corners by upright pieces of wood. At one end
he had a small iron stove, with a large kettle upon it, and a coffee-pot
on one side and tea-pot upon the other; at the farther end was a
cupboard well filled with bread-and-butter and plum cake. Upon the
centre of the barrow was a white cloth, covered with cups and saucers,
and underneath were several pails of water. He used to wheel the whole
concern to his corner as soon as the clock struck twelve at night, and
wheel it away when the public and coffee-houses opened at six in the
morning. The acquaintance of the proprietor was made in the following
manner: One bitterly cold morning, about three o'clock, the Missionary,
who was trembling from the chill felt upon leaving a warm night-house,
approached the stall, and held his hands to the fire. The policeman on
duty paused for the same purpose, and the following conversation passed
between them:--

_Stall-keeper_: "I have read the book you lent me, and don't think the
doctrine sound. Sovereign grace fore-ordained unto salvation, and the
saints elected according to the Divine purpose must be saved. No man can
pluck them out of the Saviour's hands."

_Policeman_: "You make too much of your favourite doctrine of election.
Our Lord died for all who ever lived or shall live in the world; and it
is written that it is not the will of God that any should perish, but
that all should come to repentance."

"Both doctrines are plainly taught in the Divine Word," remarked the
stranger; "and, like the colours in the rainbow, they harmonize and
blend over the throne where Jesus is seated. We do well to seek for the
full assurance of faith, and to rejoice in the sure covenant; but while
doing so let us witness for the Lord who bought us, and try to win
others by testifying of His abounding grace."

With a happy smile the policemen recommenced his weary walk round the
beat, while the stall-keeper and the night-visitor had pleasant converse
about the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which hath appeared unto all
men. This led to a friendship with the stall-keeper, who was a Cornish
man and a Calvinistic Baptist; and to a slight acquaintance with the
policeman, who was a Congregationalist. Several visits were paid to the
"Coffee Man," as he was called, and work was appointed him in the great
vineyard. He was supplied with tracts, which he kept in his cupboard,
and for several years he was a valuable distributor. Groups of depraved
people, who "make night hideous," used to surround his stall; to these
he gave tracts, and spoke the truth boldly. He indeed became a kind of
spiritual adviser to the depraved. Many repentant ones spoke with
confidence to the good old man, and several were sent by him to his
friend, and were placed in institutions of mercy.

This was not a solitary instance of converted men being found in night
occupations; and it became an object of the visitor's efforts to
strengthen such in the faith, and to lead them boldly to witness for
their Lord in the midst of the ungodly. These helpers were precious and
their testimony valuable, because the great body of persons met with
were disreputable or utterly vile. Many were ignorant of the true light,
but there were others who had received religious advantages, and who, by
rejecting proffered mercy, counted themselves unworthy of eternal life.
Among this mass of the unholy were to be found the young, the
thoughtless, and the distressed, who being easily led captive by the
devil and his servants, supplied the places of those who were constantly
sinking to perdition. With some of these the work was effectual for
good, as the following case will illustrate.

One night, a little after eleven, the Missionary was walking down Oxford
Street, in company with another evangelist, when they passed a girl of
seventeen, who was walking slowly, as if ill. The night visitor glanced
at her, and was struck by the expression of misery and disease,--it
seemed as though the sorrows of a life had been concentrated in that
young face. He therefore turned suddenly, and approaching her, said
kindly, "Don't be afraid: I am a religious man, and a friend to poor
girls in trouble. Now do tell me where you are going?"

"To sleep under the trees in the park, sir, if I can get in," she
replied; "if not, to walk about all night;" and then she burst into
tears.

In answer to inquiries, she made the following statement, in a very
truthful manner. She said, "I am a village girl, and came from home
after losing my only parent about eighteen months ago. A neighbour's
girl who was in London got me a place. It was at a lodging-house: and I
rarely got out, as they only let me go to church three times. All the
stairs were of stone, and I had to clean them; this, with constant
running up and down, brought on a white swelling in my knee. I remained
as long as I could crawl, and then, as I had saved three pounds, went to
live with the charwoman. After a time I went into an hospital for two
months. I returned to the charwoman, and tried to get into place, but I
looked so ill that no one would engage me. After the money was spent I
pawned my clothes, and I was told to go to the workhouse. I went to the
door, but the man spoke so sharp to me that I drew back, and now I have
been in the streets for two days. Last night I slept with some other
girls under the trees in Hyde Park, but they talked so dreadful that I
am afraid to go in again. Oh! what shall I do?" and then she sobbed so
loudly that several persons crossed from the other side of the street.

"If your tale is true, I will provide for you," said her interrogator:
"at all events I will see that you are taken care of to-night." He then
took her to a coffee-house, where he was known, and paid for a supper,
bed, and breakfast. At leaving, he took an envelope from his pocket, and
tearing it, gave her one-half, and said, "Stand with this in your hand
near the fountain in Regent's Circus to-morrow morning at ten o'clock,
when a lady with the other half will speak to you, and take you to a
Home."

At the appointed time the poor girl approached the fountain, where a
matron of the Rescue Society was waiting to receive her. As soon as she
reached the Home her statements were inquired into, and found to be
correct. Care and proper treatment soon restored her to health, and a
lady received her into her service. Three months after the lady called
at the office to thank the secretary for sending her such a good
servant. She remained in her place several years, and gave evidence of
real gratitude for the great deliverance which had been wrought out for
her.

[Illustration: Lady at window]

The state in which this poor girl was found illustrates the lonely
condition of those who are friendless in a great city. The most wretched
and deserving may in the crowd jostle against the best and kindest of
men and women, and yet be sinking to the lowest depths of wretchedness
and vice, unnoticed and uncared for. Hence the Christian duty and true
philanthropy of arresting such wanderers, and putting them in a
position to live godly, righteously, and soberly in this present evil
world. The following case will show that such efforts are not lost, and
that the words of the Book are powerful to reclaim even outcasts:--

One morning a ragged, wretched-looking girl of nineteen, was brought to
the house of the night visitor by a woman of depraved and drunken
appearance, who said, "This 'ere young woman was a-going mad, and
fainted like, when she ran into the night-house, and said as how she
wanted the parson man, who preaches like out of the Bible in the streets
at night; and as that's your honour, I found out that you lived here,
and so I've brought her. I had to treat her, as I has good feeling, and
the men wanted to take her to the police, as she is mad, and I think she
ought to be took to Bedlam."

The object of this speech stood with her hands before her face,
trembling with emotion. Filthy as she was, the Missionary and his wife
took her into a private room, and by soothing words drew from her the
following statement. She said, "I am a Scotch girl, and my father is a
tradesman in a large way of business. In a bad temper I absconded from
home, and have been awfully wicked. One night I heard you speak to some
people round a coffee-stall, and then you showed us the Bible, and said
that every word in it would come true, and that Jesus would come again
as a thief in the night. At leaving, you said that 'the heavens would
pass away with a great noise, and that the earth would be burned up, and
that all who rejected mercy now would then be banished from the
Saviour's presence.' I felt so miserable that I went to my lodging, and
next day I wrote to my father, asking him to forgive me. He did not
write for two days, and I was so anxious that I stood for hours looking
for the postman. At last a letter came in his handwriting, and the only
words in it were, 'You are no daughter of mine: never write to me
again.' I felt mad when I read it, and walked about Regent's Park all
day: when the gates were shut I hid myself, and went to sleep on the
grass. I woke up in the night, as it was raining, and I was soaked
through. As I crossed the bridge I began to laugh and dance, and thought
how nice it would be to drown myself; so I took off my bonnet and shawl,
intending to jump in, when I thought I heard you speaking of mercy and
Jesus, and was so startled that I took up my things and ran as fast as I
could. I jumped over the palings as though some one was after me, and
ran until I got to the night-house, and then I fainted." At the end of
this recital she looked wildly round, and almost screamed, "Oh, save me,
sir: do save me! don't let me go into the park."

She was assured of her safety, and words of Christian tenderness were
spoken to her. After partaking of refreshment she was sufficiently calm
to be sent in charge of the woman with a note to the manager of the
Refuge for the Destitute. She was received, and next morning, being ill,
was taken into an hospital. Her father was written to several times, but
did not reply to the letters: a maiden aunt, however (those blessings in
a family), sent for her into Scotland. A week after a very grateful
letter was sent by the aunt, inclosing full payment for expenses
incurred in the rescue of her niece: also a letter from the girl,
expressing thankfulness to God and man for her wonderful deliverance
from a watery grave. After these no other voluntary letters were sent.
When he wrote, the replies were so cold and short as to give him to
understand that though thankful, they wished to break off from all who
knew of her dreadful fall.

Such and much worse instances of ingratitude, where the greatest of
blessings had been conferred, were not uncommon. At first it was a real
discouragement to the man, who felt the sorrow and weariness of this
desperate struggle for souls; but at length he became reconciled to
labour as unto the Lord only. Even then he at times felt saddened, after
labouring for the good of some apparently worthless person, to be
avoided after the good had been accomplished. It seemed like the Gospel
story of the ten lepers being healed, and only one of them returning to
give thanks to the great Healer. The proportion of the unthankful is
very large; for out of the 374 women, girls, and boys, whom the Lord
enabled the Missionary to rescue, or to deliver from some peril or
misery, they are few indeed who at the interval of years show gratitude.
One of these shall be referred to here, as the narrative also shows that
the blessing which gives success frequently rests upon perseverance in
effort to do good.

Upon a drizzly night, a beggar man and his boy of thirteen years entered
a public-house which remained open until one o'clock in the morning. The
man asked alms of the publican, and then of the Missionary to whom he
was talking, and said that they only wanted fourpence for their lodging,
as they had tramped in from Chatham, and were both ill. Out of pity to
the boy, who staggered from weakness, the visitor walked with them to a
"Traveller's Rest," and paid the money. Upon the way the man stated
that he was a discharged soldier, and had left the regiment through bad
eyes; he was nearly blind, and that he had a small pension for the first
year. His wife and themselves had lived pretty well by begging in the
country during the summer, as he always wore a red jacket and carried
his discharge paper. On their way his wife had been taken ill, and was
left at an Infirmary; but he hoped she would soon join them. He appeared
very thankful when an offer was made to place the boy in a Refuge, and a
call for that purpose was arranged for the next day.

"The Traveller's Rest" was situated in a low back street, with several
courts in it, and a passage at the end. The road was offensively dirty,
as the Missionary passed down at two o'clock upon the next afternoon.
The swarms of children were of the gutter, shoeless, tattered, and
filthy. At many of the doors women of debased countenances were
squatted, smoking short pipes. A fiddler was playing in the doorway of a
low beerhouse--"The Dan O'Connell,"--while men, women, and children were
dancing inside and out, to an Irish jig. Out of two windows were long
poles with bills underneath, announcing the pleasing fact that a "clean
shave and a wash could be had within for one halfpenny." These were no
doubt rival barbers. "The Rest" was one of several, and was offensively
dirty. In the back, or common room, were two tables and several forms,
the company consisting of eight women and five men. Three of these were
at the fireplace, one holding a number of sprats upon a long skewer,
another a red herring, and the third was frying steak and onions. They
regarded the stranger with what he knew to be a professional look, and
one woman in the same breath told him that "the sojer was upstairs, and
that she was very ill, and almost a skeleton with starvation;" and then
she took a bottle of medicine out of her pocket, and to prove how bad
she was, invited him to taste it. This he courteously declined, and
ascended to the bedroom, the air of which was horribly offensive. A row
of old mattresses upon the dirty floor formed the beds, while the walls
were shockingly dirty. But as the "soldier" said, "What 'commodation can
a chap expect for twopence, when you has the use of fire and water?" To
the disappointment of the visitor, the man began to wriggle out of his
promise to let the boy go to a Refuge; and when pressed he became
impertinent, and said, "With my eyes bloodshot and the boy a-looking
ill, we can get lots; and I shan't starve for him." When leaving, the
reader re-entered the common room, and secured the attention of the
people to the parable of the good Samaritan; and then, holding up the
pocket Bible, he said, "It's in here, and many other things which the
blessed Jesus spoke."

Some weeks after this the visitor saw the boy huddled up in a night
coffee-house, the father being fast asleep. The lad told him that a lady
in Upper Brook Street had been very kind to them, but his father drank
away all the money. The address was taken down, and next day the
Missionary called upon the lady, who was so good as to express her
thanks, and they together planned the rescue of the boy. By threats and
entreaty the father was prevailed upon to let him enter the Refuge in
Commercial Street, and the night visitor took him there in triumph.

The lad did well in the home, and was initiated into the mysteries of
the two crafts of the shoemaker and carpenter. He did his work well,
and showed a thankful heart. He procured a slip of leather about nine
inches long, and wrought the name of his friend upon it with shoemaker's
thread, and upon one of his visits gave it him, while the tears of
gratitude stood in his eyes. The visitor has it now among the precious
memorials of his work. Poor boy, he was without money with which to buy
a present, so he devised this in order to show how warm his heart was.

Upon leaving the Refuge, he was apprenticed to a master carpenter, the
lady kindly paying a small premium with him. He did well, and at the end
of his time entered a good shop of work. He occasionally called upon his
friend to report progress. After a long interval he came back for a
short time, and stated that he had for eighteen months been a member of
a Presbyterian Church, and by giving tracts and by conversation was
trying to do good to others. It was a pleasant interview, as the young
carpenter thanked his friend more warmly than ever for his rescue, and
then they knelt together in prayer. One instance like this makes up for
all the toil and sorrow of the work, and leads to humiliation before
Almighty God, that He of His great mercy should use earthen vessels for
the purposes of His grace.

We cause a gap in this chapter, in order to make an important
announcement,--an announcement which deserves to be printed in large
type, and blazoned in letters of gold; it is, that as London never
sleeps, so THE LARGE CHURCH OF GOD IN THE MIGHTY CITY NEVER SLEEPS.
There are now many workers for Him in the night season, and the call of
sinners to repentance never ceases in the empire city. The happy result
was brought about in this way: People heard of and became interested in
the work of the midnight visitor. First among them was a clergyman of
importance, then at a college in Oxford. He wrote to the Missionary,
asking him during the week of the Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, to
give letters he had written to any young gentlemen he might find in
casinos, saloons, and night-houses, wearing the dark-blue necktie.
Several nights were thus occupied with interest and profit.

Soon after this, the founders of the midnight meeting movement consulted
him about that project, to which he gave his hearty support. Upon the
first night he gave away the invitations, and for that purpose
penetrated places into which no one but himself dare have entered with
that object. The large room was crowded, not less than 250 young women
were present; and he stood rejoicing with prayerful heart beside the
Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, while he gave the first address. The
midnight visitor knew that a movement was then being inaugurated which
would continue to recover many from destruction, and which would raise
the moral tone of London. Several private individuals now commenced
visiting at night, and the Committee of the London City Mission had
compassion upon their overworked servant, and by the appointment of a
Missionary to night-houses, relieved him of these self-imposed duties. A
change of importance had however been brought about. His evidence before
a Committee of the House of Commons, his writings and private influence,
had its share in securing a beneficial Act, closing night-houses from
one until four o'clock in the morning. This was a great moral good, and
it has resulted in the establishment of hundreds of street
coffee-stalls. There is still much room for Christian effort at night,
as the following extracts from printed statements of the two
Missionaries thus employed will clearly show. We introduce these with an
extract from "The Sword and Trowel:"--

     "The Missionaries invariably leave their homes at twelve o'clock in
     the night, and return about eight o'clock in the morning. And the
     number of cabmen is now so great, and their spiritual instruction
     so much needed, that the effort has proved to be one of the most
     necessary, as well as fruitful departments of evangelization. There
     are nearly 2000 night cabmen. They are very docile, remarkably glad
     to be taught the message of God's love. And, indeed, the two
     Missionaries seem generally attached to them. Being earnestly
     desirous for their best welfare, and remembering how close death
     must be to most of these old men, these messengers of peace yearn
     over their souls. In numbers of instances their efforts have been
     blessed. Poor old men, down whose furrowed cheeks the tears of
     penitence have flowed, have found in Christ the truest consolation
     for their wearied hearts. In the hour of life's eclipse--for death
     to the Christian is nought more--they have witnessed a good
     confession, and have given bright and glorious testimonies that
     they have been born again."

One Missionary writes,--

"The coffee-stalls and booths which are to be found all over London at
the corners of the streets, and in public thoroughfares, near railway
stations, etc., are excellent opportunities for usefulness. These are
kept by people who have no other means of obtaining a livelihood, and
who sell a cup of smoking hot coffee for one halfpenny, and a slice of
cake or bread and butter for the same price. Many of these people are
Christian men and women, and render the Missionary great assistance in
expounding the message of mercy and salvation to their customers. Not
only cabmen and the outcast get a cup of coffee at these places, but men
in the building trade, railway carters, and others, towards six
o'clock, gather round them in large numbers, to obtain that which does
them good and saves them from going to the early public-house. So that
these coffee-stall proprietors are a really useful part of the
community. These coffee stalls have increased rapidly, so that now about
four hundred and sixty can be counted in the streets of London at night.
The Church of England Temperance Society have also stationed a number in
leading thoroughfares by day. We give a picture of one of these because
it contains the latest improvements and best use of them.

[Illustration: Boy at coffee stall]

"On one occasion a pugilist gave me his address, and told me that, when
a little boy, his mother used to teach him his prayers, some of which he
repeated. He added that he had got the best wife in the world, but he
treated her like a brute. I talked to the poor fellow till he wept like
a child, and he took hold of my arm and said, 'You shall go home with me
to-night.' I begged to be excused, as it was now three o'clock in the
morning. However, there was no alternative, so off I went with him,
arm-in-arm. He called his poor wife up, although I wished him not to do
so; but so far from being angry when she saw that my object was to try
and reform her husband, she thanked me with tears in her eyes. He
promised by God's help to seek to lead a new life, and give his heart to
God. As I had a Testament in my pocket I gave it them, and we knelt down
and prayed for God's blessing on our meeting. I went home musing on the
event which had occurred, and could not help feeling that the Lord had
directed my steps back with the man. I have called since, and find that
by trade he is a sawyer. He is now working at his trade, is a
teetotaler, and in a hopeful state of mind."

As some instances of usefulness have come under my notice through the
reading of the Word of God, I purpose to refer to two or three:--

"Mr. ---- has been a night cabman for thirty-six years. In reply to my
questions, he said he did not remember when he last went to church, and
if he was to go, he is so deaf he could not hear the parson. I asked,
'How do you spend your time on Sunday evenings?' 'In reading _Lloyd's
Newspaper_,' was the reply. 'Oh,' I said, 'then you could read a
Testament, if I got you one?' 'I dare say I could,' was the answer. I
took him one, which he read, and he became so fond of it that he soon
laid aside the newspaper, and the Testament became his constant
companion. Although he is deaf, yet he now attends church, and is in a
hopeful and penitent state of mind.

"Mr. ----, poor man, was always full of trouble. He had lost his wife by
death, buried four children, and broken his leg; and every time I
attempted to converse with him, he would pour his burden of troubles
into my ear, and think no one sympathised with him. I got him a Bible,
and turned down for him Isaiah liii., and several other portions of
God's Word, which he read. The next time I saw him I heard but little of
his troubles, and the time after that he said, 'Sir, my Bible has quite
cured me of complaining, for when I read of what my Saviour suffered, I
feel ashamed to murmur or complain. It is the Bible that has cured me,
for I see others have suffered before me, and that nothing has happened
to me but what is common to all men.'

"Poor old ---- said, 'I have read your Testament all through, and don't
know what I should have done when I was in the workhouse but for my
book. I have been thinking very much about our Lord's Sermon on the
Mount, and I feel that it condemns me, for I used to think that I was
not so bad as others, and that through my own good works I should go to
heaven. Now I feel I am a sinner, and have no good works, and that it is
through the righteousness of another that I must be saved. I asked the
Chaplain in the workhouse, and he explained the whole thing to me as
clear as day.' I have often explained to him the glorious doctrine of
justification by faith in the finished work and righteousness of the
Lord Jesus Christ, for which he is very grateful.

"A man, named ----, said, 'Well, if your Testament has done nothing
else, it has kept me out of the public-house, and therefore it has done
me good; and my wife is pleased, I can tell you.' I advised him to go on
reading, and to seek the aid of the Holy Spirit to help him."

As it is always pleasant to record increase of good, we are glad to
state here that a second and well qualified Missionary has for several
years been working at night in East and South London, and that with
marked success. All the night cabmen and thousands of people to be
instructed in saving truth by night only are now under visitation.

The following words from the pen of a clergyman's wife (Mrs. Hebert),
who has for years sustained this good work, will form a most suitable
conclusion to this chapter:--

"Night after night the work has been going on, much being done, as we
have often seen, in a single night, and the result is that many have
found rest to their souls. Prodigals have sought their Father's house,
the afflicted have heard the rod, the inquiring have been directed to
Jesus, and have found Him; the aged have been brought in at the eleventh
hour, and are spending their little remnant of life to His glory who
called them into His vineyard. Let us give thanks and pray more. Let us
identify ourselves more in spirit with our Missionaries. It is our work
as well as theirs. We can only reach these poor cabmen through them....
Missionary work is so like Christ's work, and so great a blessing rests
upon it, that we should all seek to have a share in it in our own
way,--that is, in the way God may have opened for us. Then we shall feel
not only that we are fellow-labourers with all who are seeking to spread
the Gospel, but, as it is so wonderfully said by St. Paul, we shall be
'workers together with Him' whose word shall not return to Him void....
We have all had our trials, like those whom we are seeking to lead to
the God of all comfort. Life and its treasures are passing away, but the
things which cannot be shaken remain. God's work still claims us. We can
still be about our Father's business. And what is so elevating and so
soothing amidst cares and distractions and losses, as the thought that
there is a calm, holy, steady course marked out for us by Him, and that
He condescends to be glorified by us, whether by our life, or by our
death?"

The Book in the Highways:

ITS FETTER-BREAKING.

   "There are in this large stirring tide
     Of human care and crime,
   With whom the melodies abide
     Of th' everlasting chime;
   Who carry music in their heart,
   Through dusky lanes and wrangling mart,
  Plying their daily task with busier feet,
  Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."

CHAPTER XII.

     TO AND FROM THE CITY--OUR OMNIBUS--BOX AND MONKEY BOARD--THE LOST
     DAY--CRAPE ON THE WHIP--NIGHT GATHERING OF BARGE MEN--FETTERS
     BROKEN--THE SILENT WATER-WAYS--BIBLE IN CABIN--THE BARGEMAN'S HOPE.

THE BOOK IN THE HIGHWAYS:

ITS FETTER-BREAKING.

     "He went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, sitting at the
     receipt of custom: and He said unto him, Follow Me. And he left
     all, rose up, and followed Him." LUKE v. 27, 28.

"My saying is," observed the driver of an omnibus to a gentleman at his
side, "that it is right to be sociable; for if we are to have friends,
we must be friendly ourselves." "Capital remark, that," we thought,
while sitting down at the other side of the rather elevated box, waiting
an opportunity to join in the conversation. The man was not quite
unknown to us, as, in our almost daily journeys to the City, we had
mounted at his side in turn with that of other knights of the whip who
drove omnibuses from one of the suburbs to the centre of the mighty
City--the Bank.

Once before, a short terse sentence had, in our hearing, been uttered by
him which made a favourable impression, and we were now certain that
James was a character--a man with an individuality. He was certainly
respected by his fellows, as, while many others had singular names given
them, expressive of peculiarities or contempt, he was always addressed
as James; and it was certain, from the hurried words shouted by the
drivers as they rapidly passed each other, that he dared to be singular
by paying like respect to them. It was thus that we got to know the
christian or surnames of men who were addressed by others as Kitty,
Cranky, Boosey; and even "Ugly Jib"--as a worthy man was called in
derision of a facial deformity--smiled pleasantly as our driver, in
cheery tone, gave the rapid word of greeting, "Fine morning, Dan," or
"Raw evening, Dan; button up tight."

[Illustration: Driver with four men in top hats, outside passengers]

A kindliness of disposition was also evident by the style in which he
handled the "ribbons;" with a care and decision peculiar to the man, as
though fearful of jagging the horses with the bit. As for the whip, it
was simply what he called it, "his ornament." To have used it with
violence upon his dumb friends never entered his mind. This was evident
one dreary night when we had stayed late in the City, and happened to be
the only outside passenger. As the hill was ascended near the end of the
journey, the horses slackened pace almost to a walk. Now, we thought, is
time for use of the "ornament;" and use it he did, but in a gentle
manner. Patting one horse upon the neck with it, he said in an
encouraging tone, "Now, Polly; come, get on;" and then passing it over
to the other, he stroked kindly and said, "This won't do, Sally; come,
pull up." Then followed the "click, click, click," an accomplishment of
the mouth only attainable by the thorough "bus" driver; and then the
horses, as with a human sense of the power of kindness, took the collar
and cheerfully capped the hill.

"And so you treat your cattle as young ladies, do you?" we observed.

"Well, you see, sir," he replied, "as the saying is, 'the man that's any
good considers his beast;' and it answers, as I can keep time as well as
any one; and the foreman of the yard never finds fault, as I run them in
quite comfortable, not all reeking and trembling as some do. And then,
when I go into the yard of a morning, the pretty creatures look round
and shake their manes, as much as to say, 'Good morning, master, we
shall get on all right to-day.' You see, sir," he continued, after a
thoughtful pause, "I have two daughters at home, Mary and Sarah, and
good girls they are, though I don't see much of them; and as I am always
thinking of them I mention them like to the horses when I want to pull
up to time and the like."

"Your daughters, I suppose, go out to some employment, as you see so
little of them?"

The answer was not immediately given, as the man hung his head and with
ill-concealed emotion said, "No, sir, they ain't quite old enough for
that; and I have heard a saying that no good is got by showing your
sores, and 'that which can't be cured must be endured.' You see, I have
to work more hours a week than niggers in the West Indies were ever made
to do. Compared with other working men, I do nearly two days' work in
one. This I have done for these sixteen years, and very little I've seen
of my family and home. I often feel that I am getting used up, and think
of a saying a foreman of mine had for men who asked for a day off the
box: 'Rest indeed! rest in the grave, that will do for you.'"

This reply was given in a tone of despair which stopped the conversation
for the short time required to reach the end of the journey. The parting
word of "Good night, coachman," evidently helped him to regain his usual
cheerfulness, as we heard the shake of the reins and the usual
utterance, "All right, Sally; come, get on, Polly."

With us, cheerfulness was not so easily regained. The happy home and
family joys seemed to deepen rather than remove the impression made by
the driver. "It is now after ten," we thought, "and the poor fellow has
another journey to the City and back. On the box again at eight in the
morning until midnight, with little prospect of a Sunday; well, we will
speak to him upon that subject."

A few nights after, being purposely late, we again mounted beside our
proverb-speaking acquaintance, and watched for an opportunity to draw
him out upon the "rest-rights" of his class. This soon occurred, as the
driver remarked that his horses were fresh, "as they had yesterday in
the stables."

"And so they have a rest-day now and then," we remarked, "and you have a
natural and scriptural right to one in seven. How often do you get it?"

"I've lost mine this many a long year," was the reply; "and as they say
somewhere, 'losers are always in the wrong;' and so five thousand or
more of us who toil on the stones of London during all the Sundays are
in the wrong--of course we are--and being in for a bad bargain must make
the best of it. For us there is no help, as saints and sinners are both
against us."

"Saints against you?"

"Yes sir, begging your pardon, the saints, or that sort of them that
ain't advanced, and can't get on without their ears being tingled. We
who live all our waking hours elevated on a 'bus observes a great deal,
and that there are two sorts of Christians. It is wonderful if you
compare duly what religion does. The hundreds of gentlemen's carriages
it keeps indoors; the lots of working-men and city gents who can be
happy at home, and the wonderful number that goes to their own places of
worship, as is right. Well, these religious riders are a strange set,
they are indeed. Sometimes they are ashamed of their prayer or hymn
books, and sometimes they show them off boldly. My conductor was a
Sunday-school boy not long ago, and he hates the sight of them. Between
the box and monkey board there is an understanding, 'signs and wonders,'
as I calls them, and when a religious party gets in, he puts his hands
together and looks solemn; and when the pleasure-takers--our worst
enemies--and there's no end of them, he rubs his hands and looks jolly.
Well, these religious Sunday riders are a selfish, shabby lot; it's
quite common when they pay with a shilling for them to say, 'Give me a
threepenny piece, please, conductor.' That, you know, is for the
collection; but if he can help it he don't give it them, as he is of my
opinion, that these people ought to keep to their own places of worship,
and not bring religion into contempt by supporting Sunday labour. Well,
but the Sunday pleasure people are generous fools. They do a hard day's
work and pay for it, as they don't believe in the religious way of
being happy. At night the men put their wives and children inside and
get out here themselves smoking hard after the drink they have had. Last
Sunday night two of this sort got up beside me, and one of them swore
badly, and offered me a cigar; but I said to him, 'The saying is, that
"the tongue defiles the whole body," and I don't care to smoke with a
man that curses.' Then he bullied me and threatened to inform about me;
and I thought afterwards that I had done wrongly, as it is not doing my
duty in that state of life in which God has placed me (as the Catechism
says) if I offend riders; and as we outcasts--yes, I say outcasts, as
men who have no Sundays and no ministers to care for them are--can't
hope to be saved if God Almighty does not have mercy upon them for doing
their duty."

[Illustration: Man collecting fares]

The last part of this speech, which had been delivered at intervals
between stoppages, was uttered with an expression of despair which
reminded one of the day's sigh of the prisoner without hope. After a
pause, the remark was ventured, "But, James, you can surely get a Sunday
off whenever you like; it is only forfeiting the day's pay; and as I
have ridden with you for some time, I had a thought of asking you to let
me give you a Sunday, you could then attend Divine worship?"

"Thank you kindly, sir," he replied; "but I could not ask for more than
one in two months or so, though we are supposed to have every third or
fourth Sunday. I am feeling old, and a man ain't liked who is often off
his 'bus. The foreman would soon say that a younger man was ready to
take the reins; and then the workhouse, its disgrace, and separation
from as good a wife as ever lived. No, sir, personal kindness can't do
much for us Sunday slaves. No! it's getting the public to feel that
it's a disgrace to the riders, and an injury to us poor fellows, that
can alone do it."

Such were his opinions; but we soon after had the satisfaction to know
that he enjoyed one happy Christian Sabbath, and upon several journeys
we listened to his quaint remarks upon preacher and sermons. An interest
in his spiritual state (which is always akin to real friendship)
resulted; and upon many occasions instruction concerning personal
salvation was given. The last ten minutes of the journey, when we were
often alone, were valued, as, at intervals for more than a year, the
good-natured driver listened as a little child to the message of a
Redeemer's mercy. The summer and autumn had thus passed away, and during
the winter we seldom rode with him, as his hours had been changed. Upon
one of these occasions he from cold spoke with difficulty; but his
weather-beaten countenance expressed a quiet peace, as he said, "I got a
day off last Sunday week, and went to church twice. At night it was a
saying of Jesus that was preached about, 'Come unto me, all ye that
labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' The sermon made
me as happy as a prince; and after supper my Polly read the chapter
through, where it is; and then I read a Psalm which is like a prayer."

We had not after this many opportunities for conversation, but
frequently received his salute (the raising of the whip to the hat) as
we passed on other omnibuses. One fine morning towards the end of the
winter, which had been very severe, upon mounting an early 'bus, we
noticed a bow of CRAPE ON THE WHIP, and inquired concerning it. "It's
James as used to drive this 'bus," the man replied with feeling; "but he
is only one of the several old whips who have been done up this horrid
winter. He had sixteen hours a day on this box for six weeks hard off,
and had a bad cold; and when he tried for a rest Sunday, so many wanted
it that he was snubbed, and was afraid of losing his whip, and so he
kept on till he couldn't do so any longer, and then he took to his bed,
and died in a few days."

The startling intelligence produced a sense of sadness during the
journey, and led to solemn thought with desire to break fetters and let
this order of Sabbath slaves go free.

That _Crape on the Whip_ spoke of injury done to a man, and an important
class of men, and that by a too general habit of breaking a Divine law
through love of pleasure, or want of consideration.

To labour or employ labour on the Lord's day, unless for purposes of
necessity or mercy, is sinful; as the command is, "Remember the Sabbath
day to keep it holy," and "Thou shalt reverence my Sabbaths." It is a
breach of the moral law for mere pleasure to use any kind of vehicle on
"the day which the Lord has made," and given for rest and worship. Poor
James, like thousands of his class, was injured also by the criminal
carelessness of professed Christians. These Sunday riders do spiritual
and eternal damage to public servants, as well as temporal wrong, for--

  "Evil is wrought by want of thought,
  As well as want of heart."

That _Crape on the Whip_ told the oft-repeated fact that the body of the
Sunday worker rests earlier in the grave through loss of the Sabbath
rest. The Maker of our frame has declared cessation from labour during
a seventh portion of our time to be necessary to its health and vigour.
The son of toil by hand or brain, who by loss of, or misuse of, the rest
day so graciously given, impairs or fails to restore his strength, thus
does injury to himself and others.

That _Crape on the Whip_ assumed the force of a call to the Church,
urging to self-denial and to active effort. Shall public servants slave
on for our convenience, with no man to care for their souls? Let
Christian men who are brought into friendly contact with them answer
"No," by telling them of a Saviour's mercy. Let workers in the Lord's
vineyard seek opportunity to instruct them, while making effort to
lessen their hours of toil. Numerous as they are, they are only part of
a class, including cabmen, railway servants, and others who suffer the
moral degradation of Sabbath slavery. Their helpers, for instance the
men who take charge of the horses, are the hardest-worked men in
England. From early morning until late at night, all the year round they
toil on. One of them remarked, "Cursed already, unceasing labour, and
life used up early." A City Missionary, in a yard he visits, has
arranged for eleven of these to join him on the Sabbath in an old
omnibus which stands in a corner of the yard. It was once licensed to
carry twelve inside. He there conducts a little service with them. Then
again there are servants of the Redeemer who make constant effort to
bring the life-giving power of Christ's religion to bear upon these
Sabbath outcasts. Let us be partakers in their struggles and joys until
the victory is gained; until freedom for those who cry because of the
oppressor is secured; until no conscience is troubled by _Crape on the
Whip_ indicating that souls which were sabbathless and uncared for had,
_without_ preparation, entered the presence of God.

This earnest pleading for the oppressed omnibus men, through the pages
of the _London City Mission Magazine_, reached many hearts with
Christian sympathy, and not a few resolved that these men also should be
spiritually cared for, and that an effort should be made to improve
their condition. An "elect lady" gave full support for a Missionary to
those who ply omnibuses in the West, while the liberality of a gentleman
abounded to those of the South, and the help of many extended the
benefit to East and North London.

[Illustration: Man beside two tired-looking horses]

Welcomes, hearty and full of hope, were given by the omnibus men to
their new friends. Among their thousands there was not a Church member,
a "Church goer," or one influenced by reading the Scriptures; except two
or three who worked for private masters of Christian principles. To
these Sabbathless men of constant toil, the Gospel which speaks of
deliverance through the mercy of God in Christ Jesus was indeed a joyful
sound, and right glad were they while waiting for a few minutes at each
end of their journeys to listen to the messengers sent to them with glad
tidings, and the result has been blessing to many souls, and the
commencement of a struggle for their Sabbath and social rights.

A lady, for instance, offered a supper to three hundred of the omnibus
men of West London if they could be got together. Lord Shaftesbury's
advice was taken in the matter, and he decided that it would be well to
invite them to the repast when they left work, from eleven to half-past
twelve at night. This was done. A large, unfurnished room near the
Paddington Station was taken. Their Missionary delivered the invitations
the day before, and as midnight drew near the rush of men proved that
all had accepted them. The uninvited guests, indeed, exceeded the
invited, so the ample supply of provisions were soon cleared off. Then a
raised platform was extemporized, and great was the demonstration of
delight when Lord Shaftesbury took his stand upon it. The sight was of
thrilling interest, as his lordship was surrounded by a group of
gentlemen and ministers, including the Earl of Aberdeen and Canon
Fleming, and in front were a mass of omnibus men, closely packed to the
end of the room. The excitement was great when the noble lord announced
that "The Man with the Book," who wrote "Crape on the Whip," would
first address them.

This speaker, who was well received, stated the difficulties of the men,
and gave matured advice as to the means of their removal. Referring to a
conversation he had held with a director of the company, he stated that
this gentleman admitted that the men were cruelly overworked, and that
they were, with few exceptions, deprived of their natural and scriptural
right to the Sabbath rest; but that the evil resulted from the increase
of the Sunday riding public, and from faults with the men themselves
which riveted their fetters. These faults were faithfully stated, and
passages from the Book of God were repeated and pressed upon their
attention, which, if believed from the heart, would lead them to their
God and Saviour, and so break these and the heavier fetters of the soul,
making them happy as the freedmen of Christ.

Dr. Manning, of the Tract Society, Lord Aberdeen, and Canon Fleming,
then made pointed and telling speeches, after which the noble chairman
wound up the meeting by telling the men that it was right that their
grievance of constant toil--long hours without Sabbath rest--should thus
be made known, that a healthy public opinion might be formed on their
behalf. From his long experience in effort to reduce the hours of labour
he gave them valuable advice, and concluded with the words:--

     "I cannot find language strong enough to express all I feel at
     constant labour being forced on men, not excepting the Lord's day.
     It is abominable, and sufficient to call down the vengeance of God
     on the country. The rest of the Lord's day is a great necessity,
     and to deny you men the enjoyment and repose of that day is not
     only a very great cruelty, but an abominable sin (cheers). I want
     to remind you of this, that this work which we are commencing
     cannot be done by us alone; it must be done in cooperation with
     you. You must support the effort by strong appeals to your
     employers, and still stronger appeals to the public, and by
     unceasing prayer to Almighty God. You must press on all the rights
     you have, and which by God's grace you are determined to enforce.
     Your sole reliance must be in the blessing of the Almighty. To Him
     you must direct your thoughts and prayers, and draw down His
     blessing upon the effort, and take to your consideration these
     words which fell from the lips of many Protestant martyrs in their
     great sufferings,--

      'Although the day be never so long,
      At last it ringeth to evensong.'"

Great cheering followed, and after singing a hymn, the meeting, to which
additional hundreds of omnibus men had flocked, separated at two o'clock
in the morning.

But what good has resulted from this effort and meeting?

Well, much. Employers are granting their Sunday slaves concessions,
slight indeed, but hopeful as to the future. Many persons who used these
vehicles on the Lord's day have discontinued the practice. Some drivers
and conductors have left on Sabbath principles; and, best of all, many
of the men have already received spiritual good.

This was certainly the case with old Ben, who had driven to the Bank
many thousand times, and who for thirty-two years had never attended
Divine worship. He, indeed, held religion and religious people in
derision. The Missionary secured his attention, and one day soon after
the meeting, old Ben observed to him, "I read the tracts now, sir, and a
bit of the Bible, and mean soon to get another Sunday off." He
succeeded, and in the morning, the first time for so many years,
attended Divine worship. In the evening his wife went, and he remained
at home reading the Scriptures. He retired to rest unusually happy, but
to sleep the long sleep, as in the silence of the night watches his
immortal spirit was summoned to the presence of God.

It is indeed well that at length these men should have spiritual care,
and that the "feet of those who carry glad tidings" should make their
way to those who are in like condemnation. Now it so occurred that about
the same time that Christian attention was directed to the neglect and
wants of the men who labour upon our _noisy highways_, the roads,--that
a like attention was called to those who pass life quietly on our
_silent highways_, the canals. These water ways of the metropolis extend
for several hundred miles through and about the City and its suburbs,
and connect and bring into communication other great cities of the
country. They are traversed continually by barges, which besides much
merchandise contain a large floating population. Whole families inhabit
the small cabins, and they have been described in the British Parliament
as the most ignorant and debased of the people. It was therefore decided
by the rulers of the mission to select a suitable man from the ranks,
and bid him to make known the Gospel in the cabins, and on the towing
paths.

The surprise at the lock of the Grand Junction Canal was great indeed
when a stranger boarded each of their vessels, and addressed them as
though they were old acquaintance. It was evident at first that they did
not take kindly to the new friend. There were suspicious looks, and such
hints as, "There bees them as says we are awful bad, and as puts us down
in them papers as is in the publics." The zeal of the good man was also
a matter of jest with them; as when they saw the agility with which he
sprang from the tow-path to the barge, and from boat to boat, one man
said to the other, "he's a jumping Jack, he is." The readings from the
Bible, appeals to conscience, and the gift of Testaments and illustrated
publications, soon won a way to their hearts, and in the course of five
months their "Tract Man" became a popular personage, and this is how the
fact was discovered. Mr. Atkinson, late Mayor of Hull, who superintends
the work, gave a tea to as many boatmen and their wives as happened upon
a certain evening to be at the Brentford Junction, and two hundred and
fifty, direct from their boats, assembled, and a rough company they
appeared.

Tea over, and justice was done to it, the meeting commenced by their
host taking the chair, and he, after hearty words of Christian kindness,
requested the man who was known to carry a Book with him to address
them. This he did by telling them "that a few days before he had read
something upon an old tea-pot in the Brighton Museum, which he would
repeat to them,--

  'The loss of gold is much,
    The loss of health is more,
  The loss of Christ is such a loss
    That no man can restore!'

"And then he explained to them the value of money, and the misfortune of
losing it by accident, and the sin of losing it by drunkenness and vice.
The value of health, and the folly of losing it by intemperance,
smoking, and neglectful habits. The value, the preciousness of Christ as
the Saviour of sinners, and the folly, the crime, of refusing the mercy
of God by Him. The Book was then produced, and the words read solemnly,