YA101997 
 
 A GIPSY GIRL. _ 
 AND A MURDH.
 
 Ex Libris 
 [ C. K. OGDEN '
 
 OFFICER, 
 Apjisj, 
 
 IIY LIGHT IS NOT THE LESS. 
 
 LIVERPOOL : 
 BRITISH GOSPEL BOOK ASSOCIATION. 
 
 LONDON: S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., 
 
 9, PATERNOSTER ROW.
 
 OFFICER'S DIARY. 
 
 October 4th. A fine morning 1 , 
 luckily, as it promises to be a 
 busy day. After breakfast must 
 go and see Dr. Tintern, at half- 
 past ten, as I appointed. Hope 
 he will not keep me long. Then 
 to the City to see my broker 
 about the investing of that two 
 thousand ; and then back in a 
 cab, as hard as I can come, to 
 Tattersall's, to have a bid for 
 the two horses I liked so much 
 yesterday afternoon. What a 
 capital place Tattersall's is for 
 a Sunday afternoon's lounge ! 
 The first one will be on about 
 twelve. At four in the afternoon, 
 I have to see about that new 
 gun it was to be ready then ; 
 3,
 
 A regular facer 
 
 and at eight I am due for dinner 
 at the " Rag " with Joe Punton ; 
 and that horrid dance in Gros- 
 venor Place afterwards. 
 
 Four p.m. A regular facer. 
 . . . Is it any use keeping a 
 diary longer? After doing it 
 for twenty years, may as well 
 finish it out. What a fool I 
 was to go and see Tintern ! 
 Why could I not let matters 
 alone? If I have lost a couple 
 of stone, many a man would 
 have given his eyes to do the 
 same. It began in June, and 
 here we are in October ; and I 
 can't say I feel bad. Tire per- 
 haps a bit easier than I did. 
 However, it is just like my luck. 
 I never thought for a moment 
 there was anything serious the 
 matter, till Tintern asked me if 
 I had any near relatives after 
 my telling him I was a widower 
 without children ; and when I 
 4
 
 " Where to ? " 
 
 said, " Not a soul," I half began, 
 from his face, to guess. But a 
 month ! If he had said a couple 
 of years, it would have been 
 different What can a fellow 
 do in a month ? Fact is, that 
 I fancied I had taken it rather 
 well. Wished him good day, 
 and paid him his two guineas 
 for his first visit, as if he had 
 recommended me to have a 
 tooth out. Yes, I really believe 
 I should not have taken it so 
 well, if he had simply told me 
 I must go for the winter to the 
 South of France, and give up 
 this season's hunting ! But a 
 month more only to live ! Well, 
 I am glad I took it so well 
 before Tintern. It was not 
 really till I got into a hansom, 
 and was asked " Where to ? " 
 that I began to realize it. I 
 was going, of course, to say 
 "Bank of England," but what 
 is the use of investing money 
 for a month ? Then I thought 
 5
 
 Tatter saWs 
 
 of Tattersall's, but no man in 
 his senses would buy a hunter 
 for a month. If only I had 
 never gone near a doctor, I 
 should have gone down to 
 Market Harborough as usual, 
 and gone off, I suppose, on a 
 sudden without any warning. 
 I wish with all my heart I had 
 been left in the dark about it 
 Never mind, John Haroldson, 
 you have taken a good many 
 awkward fences, and you will 
 have to take this, the last, like 
 a man. The only question is, 
 What is to be done to prepare ? 
 First, I must make a will. To 
 whom am I to leave my money ? 
 Second, I must make the best 
 use of my month, as regards the 
 future. I cannot say that I fear 
 death. At least I thought not. 
 That time in Afghanistan, when 
 I was so nearly put out jumping 
 over that wall, and had to de- 
 fend myself with an unloaded 
 revolver and a broken sword, I 
 6
 
 The Last Fence 
 
 cannot say I funked. Or again, 
 when that tiger so nearly got 
 me. But meeting death in a 
 certain time by yourself well, 
 it is unsettling. 
 
 I may as well go and dine with 
 Joe to-night, but I will not go 
 to the dance. It is not so much 
 death, as what comes after death. 
 That is the point. I suppose 
 the proper thing to do, would be 
 to buy a Bible ? And now they 
 don't cost much. A month, in 
 one sense, is a longish time. I 
 mean, if one had made a bad 
 book over the Derby, and had a 
 month to hedge in, one could do 
 a good deal ; but somehow this 
 is different. Fact is, it is not so 
 easy to hedge in this race, though 
 there is a month. The race is 
 all but over, only the last fence 
 just coming in sight, and then 
 the winning post. I will not 
 write any more.
 
 " / shall land in ? " 
 
 Ten p.m. Dinner was a fail- 
 ure ! As soon as ever I got into 
 the Club, I saw a vast change 
 had occurred ; a gulf had come 
 between me and the rest. Old 
 General Johnstone was full about 
 spending the winter at Rome ; 
 what did that matter to me? 
 Sharpley was off to India direct- 
 ly ; would I promise to write 
 occasionally? Why, before he 
 lands at Bombay I shall land in 
 
 . Yes, where? That is 
 
 the point. Why had I not 
 bought that bay mare at Tatter- 
 sail's? It was enough to drive 
 a fellow mad. Upon my word, 
 if it was not that fellows would 
 come bothering one with their 
 sympathy, I would put a notice 
 up in the Club. Cookson was 
 bothering me about spending 
 Christmas again with him this 
 year in Paris. I did not want to 
 tell him a lie ; but one can't well 
 explain matters ; and if I say, 
 " Yes ; if I am alive," there will 
 8
 
 Just a Chance 
 
 be a kind of feeling that I was 
 scored off, so to speak. Think 
 I shall go away, but where ? 
 Joe wanted to know why I did 
 not have a second opinion ; tried, 
 of course, to make out that Tin- 
 tern had made a mistake. Fact 
 is, I am not in such a hurry 
 about a second opinion. There 
 is just a chance Tintern is 
 wrong ; but suppose the second 
 man confirms what he says, then 
 my last chance of escape is 
 knocked from under me. Every- 
 body has to die ; what do they 
 do when they are told they are 
 dying ? Joe said, " Must say, you 
 take it well;" but in reality I do 
 not. Of course, I will die game ; 
 but how to make the best of my 
 few weeks, that is the question. 
 I am now fifty-two, hence I have 
 lived 624 months. How am I 
 to live to the best advantage the 
 next, and last one ?
 
 The Money Market 
 
 October sth For the first 
 time for many years, the Paper 
 has come and I have not even 
 opened it The Money Market, 
 latest odds, all has lost its inter- 
 est For weeks I have been 
 busy trying to make my usual 
 autumn purchases of horses ; 
 scanned every advertisement. 
 Now I do not care a halfpenny, 
 if every good hunter in England 
 and Ireland is coming to the 
 hammer. I would not walk 
 across the street, to see the best 
 nag ever foaled. Some men 
 would say, " a short life, but a 
 merry one." I could not be 
 merry if I tried. 
 
 Three o'clock. Now for a 
 short spell before I begin read- 
 ing. It has been very hard to 
 resist taking a second opinion. 
 Twice I have found myself in 
 Harley-street. Why do I resist? 
 For the same reason, I suppose, 
 that a man hesitates to fire off 
 his last cartridge, or a castaway 
 10
 
 If she were only Alive 
 
 to eat his last biscuit How 
 have I spent the day so far? 
 By thinking, thinking, thinking. 
 "What priced Bible, sir?" What 
 an idiotical question. " Calf or 
 morocco ? " However, I am 
 sorry I lost my temper ; hardly 
 in character, too, when you are 
 buying a Bible. I do not think 
 I have opened a Bible since my 
 poor wife died. If she was only 
 alive now, how different it would 
 be ! I wish I was as safe of 
 heaven as she. Poor thing, how 
 she did plead with me to lead a 
 new life ! And I meant to, 
 God knows I did ! But gradu- 
 ally things went back pretty 
 much as they were before ; and 
 now it seems downright mean, to 
 try and promise to spend your 
 last month out of six hundred 
 odd, well. Yet I promised 
 Annie. What shall I do with 
 my money ? Shall I build a 
 church with it ? For the matter 
 of that, I suppose I have enough 
 ii
 
 Midnight 
 
 to build a dozen. Or shall 1 
 give it to a hospital, or to that 
 fellow who advertises so about 
 sending children to Canada ? 
 Poor little beggars ! It is one 
 comfort I have some money to 
 leave ; but it will be precious hard 
 to decide what to do with it ; 
 and it is hard enough to spend 
 money well. Poor Annie, I wish 
 she could help me ; but in those 
 days we never had any money 
 to leave. When one was al- 
 ways in debt, it was wrong to 
 give money away. Well, here's 
 for the Bible ; where shall I 
 begin ? 
 
 Midnight. It is all very well, 
 but I cannot honestly say I find 
 the Bible a satisfactory book. 
 I hardly mean that ; but I 
 mean it wants you to have 
 some one to tell you where 
 to read. How I wish I had 
 kept my wife's, but it got 
 lost somehow. I wonder if you 
 can buy secondhand ones ; if so, 
 12
 
 Opera House in '74 
 
 one could find out what to read. 
 Do people ever go to parsons in 
 the same way as they go to 
 doctors, for advice ? I suppose 
 London is divided into parishes. 
 I wish those Yankee fellows, 
 Moody and Sankey, were in 
 England. I remember once 
 dropping into the Haymarket 
 Opera House, in '74, I think, 
 and Moody was speaking to 
 people about preparing to go 
 to heaven, as the most natural 
 thing in the world. If I had 
 only a little longer, I would go 
 and find them in America. I 
 should think nothing of travel- 
 ling 5,000 miles, to learn how to 
 prepare for such a much longer 
 journey. But suppose I did not 
 find them, I should not have 
 time to get back ; though, as 
 far as that goes, it would be 
 as easy to die there as at home. 
 Well, I must go to bed and see 
 to whom I can go to-morrow.
 
 At a Pawnbrokers 
 
 October 6th. Christ Church 
 service at eleven a.m. on Wed- 
 nesdays. That is it, I will go, 
 and afterwards I will see if I 
 cannot buy a secondhand Bible. 
 
 One p.m. Not a success ; the 
 service did not help me one 
 bit, and there was no sermon. 
 Tried to buy a Bible at a pawn- 
 broker's, but he said they were 
 only pledged when quite new ; 
 that was no use to me. Then 
 went to some secondhand book- 
 stalls, but though they had 
 Bibles they were not at all 
 marked. I met one old woman 
 coming along the street, curious- 
 ly enough, with a very old Bible, 
 and determined to buy it, if 
 marked. She showed it me 
 readily enough, and it was the 
 very thing ; but when I offered 
 to buy it, she was quite offended. 
 If I had asked her to sell her 
 soul itself, she could not have 
 been more scandalized. Wish 
 I knew of some one to help me.
 
 Doivnright Mean 
 
 If Annie had lived with me in 
 England, she would have some 
 friends, I suppose, to whom I 
 could have gone ; but out in 
 India it was different. Still, 
 there must be plenty of reli- 
 gious people in London, if one 
 only knew where to find them. 
 If it only took less time to go 
 to America, I would try Moody 
 and Sankey after all. 
 
 Ten p.m. Went to a chapel 
 to-night for a change, but it 
 was not a success. The minis- 
 ter was eloquent, no doubt of 
 that far too much so ; but as 
 for seeing my way more plainly, 
 not a bit of it. He touched, 
 too, on politics. What do I 
 care who is Prime Minister ? I 
 want to save my soul. Yet it 
 seems downright mean to turn 
 round now ; should despise 
 myself if I did ; yet the thought 
 of losing heaven is maddening. 
 I rather shrink from going to 
 interview some religious cele-
 
 Four Days Gone 
 
 brity, as I am so afraid they 
 will be after my money. That 
 reminds me ; I must soon make 
 a will, and having not a relation 
 in the world, makes it far more 
 difficult. Four days gone, and 
 heaven as distant as ever ; and 
 the worst of it is, that for the 
 life of me I can't see where to 
 begin. 
 
 October 7th. I have found it. 
 I am not so certain. Let me 
 put on paper what has occurred. 
 I went this morning to hear a 
 well-known Mission preacher. 
 
 October 8th. I found last 
 night that I could not describe 
 what had happened. Is it 
 worth while trying to do so ? 
 As to that, what was the use 
 of keeping a diary at all ? The 
 game is so nearly played out, 
 that I might as well finish the 
 job. So here goes. Well, I 
 went to the place I mentioned 
 16
 
 Irritated 
 
 to hear a well-known Mission 
 preacher. I had heard Annie, 
 in time past in India, talk of 
 Missions and bewail her fate 
 that there were none in India, 
 and that set my mind thinking. 
 I got in pretty late, and the 
 fellow had begun to speak. 
 
 I tried to listen ; but to save 
 my life I could not. First, the 
 man's manner irritated me. He 
 was so unnatural. Then, the 
 woman next me (and we were 
 jambed together like herrings 
 in a barrel) would take pepper- 
 mint lozenges. Then, I really 
 did listen for a sentence or so, 
 when a woman fainted. Then, 
 a man going out disturbed me, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 It was really no use. When 
 he wound up, he asked us 
 to pray, silently I mean. I 
 tried to, but my thoughts were 
 all round the world before I 
 could do it. 
 
 At last he asked all those
 
 Old Hand at Auctions 
 
 who wished to know that they 
 had their sins forgiven, to stand 
 up. At length a boy did, then 
 a man our heads were sup- 
 posed to be bent down, but now 
 I was really keen enough about 
 business. There was a woman 
 near who, I saw, wanted to rise ; 
 she made several attempts, but 
 evidently found it a hard matter. 
 I intended all along to rise. 
 Here was the very opportunity 
 I had been longing for, of 
 making my wants known. I 
 had no false feeling of shame 
 or shyness about it ; it wasn't 
 likely, only I was too old a 
 hand at auctions, to be in a 
 hurry. Up I got, and was 
 told to sit down again. Of 
 course, I was not a bit better. 
 I am not such an ass as to think 
 just standing up, did one bit of 
 good ; but it was making my 
 wants known like hoisting a 
 flag of distress as another craft 
 comes by ; that, in itself, was 
 18
 
 A New Scene 
 
 something. Then there was a 
 rush ; I and others stayed 
 behind. 
 
 By-and-by a man came to 
 me, sitting down alongside, and 
 asked if I was a Christian. I 
 said, of course, that I was. He 
 asked me why I thought I was 
 one. I replied that I was 
 neither Turk, infidel, nor heretic, 
 as far as I knew, nor Mussulman 
 nor heathen either. That did 
 not satisfy him, so he asked 
 how I became one. I said, I 
 was born one. I did not want 
 to be rude, but I wanted to ask 
 how he thought he became one. 
 However, he told me this, as it 
 happens, and said, " You might 
 as well say you were a horse, 
 because you were born in a 
 stable ; I was born a child of 
 sin." Well, that was sensible, 
 and I suppose I nodded my 
 head, for he went on : " The 
 first man Adam was made a 
 living soul ; but he was told 
 19
 
 All Greek to Me 
 
 that in the day he ate of the 
 forbidden fruit, he would die. 
 So he did ; and ever after that, 
 the Bible speaks of souls being 
 dead in trespasses and sin. 
 Thus, when Nicodemus came to 
 our Lord and asked about these 
 things, he was told, ' Except a 
 man be born again, he cannot 
 enter the kingdom of God.' If 
 you are not born again, you are 
 not, in the true sense of the 
 word, a Christian. I was first 
 born a child of sin, twenty 
 years later I was born a second 
 time, and became a child of 
 God." I asked him how ? and 
 he explained that he took 
 Christ as his Saviour. But at 
 that moment, just as I was 
 getting to the point, for his last 
 speech was Greek to me, some- 
 body came up to him in an 
 excited state, and he was called 
 off. He said he would come 
 back, but he did not ; and, as 
 nobody else spoke to me, I had 
 
 20
 
 Not All 
 
 at last to go and about as wise 
 as I went. So much for that. 
 
 But that's not all; this un- 
 known individual had, while 
 speaking to me, opened his 
 Bible in a mechanical manner 
 (by the bye, it was marked all 
 through, and I did just covet 
 it), and I saw the 3rd chapter of 
 St. John scored all over. So as 
 soon as I got to my rooms, I 
 sat down to have a look at it in 
 my own Bible. But before I 
 began to read, I asked God to 
 make me understand it. And 
 I half believe He answered that 
 prayer ; if I had written this 
 last night, I should not have 
 written " half," but this morning 
 I am hardly so certain. Yet 
 the chapter is plain enough, and 
 the last verse plainer than all. 
 
 " He that believeth on the 
 Son hath life." I do believe in 
 one sense ; I believe Christ 
 came to save the world, and I 
 believe in His intentions, so to 
 
 21
 
 That's the Point 
 
 speak, to save all that He can ; 
 but what I do not quite see is, 
 how about my past life ? Can I 
 tell God that I do really believe 
 that Christ is the Son of God, 
 and that He died to save 
 sinners, of which I am one ? 
 The Bible says, He that be- 
 lieveth, hath this life." Can I 
 claim the promise ? That's the 
 point. 
 
 10 p.m. Have had a bitter 
 disappointment. Went this 
 evening again to the same 
 Hall, and found the Mission 
 was over. Walked about for 
 some time, and now have come 
 home disconsolate. What am 
 I to do? Everything seems 
 going against me. Tried to 
 read the Bible, but, somehow, I 
 feel more in the dark than ever. 
 
 October gth. Saw my law- 
 yer about a will, but really take 
 very little interest in the busi- 
 ness. Went in the evening to 
 a Prayer Meeting ; the petitions 
 22
 
 Club Gloomy 
 
 made me sad : " A child asks 
 prayer for her father." " A 
 wife for her husband." " A 
 mother for her son." There is 
 no one cares a brass farthing 
 what becomes of me. I may 
 die like a dog in this vast city, 
 but none will really care. Of 
 course, I have heaps of acquaint- 
 ances ; but when they read the 
 announcement of my death in 
 the Times, it won't upset their 
 day's pleasure. 
 
 Annie, where are you ? Do 
 you know what is happening to 
 me ? You may deserve heaven, 
 I merit hell. Fancied, too, I 
 was not so well ; began to think 
 I had a pain. Well, it does not 
 much matter now. 
 
 October roth. Sunday morn- 
 ing. What a miserable day it 
 always is in London. Club was 
 gloomier than ever. Waiter 
 asked me if my fish was done 
 to my liking, as if I cared 
 about things of that sort. I want 
 23
 
 Short Merry Life 
 
 to save my soul. In nothing 
 else can I now take an interest. 
 
 4 p.m. Went to church at 
 eleven. Sermon was upon the 
 necessity of taking the Sacra- 
 ment. Thought at one time I 
 saw a ray of light, but remem- 
 bered that for a good ten years of 
 my life, I had done this regularly 
 enough. Stayed, however, and 
 fancied it did me good, but it 
 has all worn off now. Upon 
 my word I doubt if there is a 
 heaven or hell, just children's 
 stories to frighten one. And, 
 besides, there are millions of 
 people worse than me. I have 
 not lived a bad life, as times go. 
 Wonder I turned out as well. 
 Half believe that a " short life, 
 but a merry one," is better than 
 all religion. 
 
 9.30. Merry ! what nonsense 
 I write ! In the face of that 
 sermon I heard this evening, 
 how can I be merry? I feel 
 miserable. There is not a 
 24
 
 Lost a Thousand 
 
 crossing - sweeper in London 
 that I would not change places 
 with to-night. I would go to 
 bed if I could but sleep. 
 
 October I2th. I wrote no- 
 thing yesterday. Why? Because 
 I was ashamed of myself. I tried 
 to be merry, and utterly failed. 
 Went down to Newmarket for 
 the Second October Meeting. 
 Several people I knew, at the 
 Station, so went down with 
 them. Played whist most of 
 the way ; revoked twice, simply 
 because I could not keep my 
 attention. Racing absolutely 
 bored me. Lost nearly a 
 thousand, but after all, that, 
 too, was a matter of indiffer- 
 ence. Saw a man 'on the 
 Course giving away tracts ; to 
 me this was now a far greater 
 matter of interest, than what 
 was going to win the next race. 
 Went up towards him, and he 
 gave me a paper, " Long-Odds." 
 Meant to read it in the train 
 
 c 25
 
 Then Won Double 
 
 coming back, but had my 
 pocket picked. Precious little 
 the thief got, an odd half-crown 
 or so and the tract which I 
 stood far more in need of, than 
 he did. Dined early, and went 
 to see Irving, but could take no 
 heed of anything. The future 
 was ever before me. Went to 
 
 the and had what the 
 
 world calls a "flutter," but to 
 me it was mis-named ; lost a 
 cool thousand, much as thirty 
 years ago at school, I would 
 have lost sixpence. Then won 
 double that amount, and felt 
 equally unconcerned. The long 
 and short of it is, that I lack 
 what is essential to earthly 
 happiness namely, the power 
 of enjoy ing things. In another 
 three weeks or so I shall be dead. 
 This morning I had a second 
 opinion in fact, to be honest, 
 three or four. Tintern was right. 
 October i6th. I am troubled 
 about Baptism Kind of thing 
 26
 
 Fairly Stumped 
 
 I have never dreamt of all my 
 life, but have come across in 
 the Bible these words : " He 
 that believeth and is baptized, 
 shall be saved ; but he that 
 believeth not shall be damned." 
 Have I ever been baptized ? 
 Upon my word I don't know. 
 I presume so. What ought I 
 to do ? search the parish regis- 
 ter? For the matter of that, 
 do I fulfil the other condition ? 
 I can't honestly say I believe. 
 Read John 3 again, and some- 
 how it seems a bit plainer. 
 Does the water mean baptism ? 
 Read the story of the dying 
 thief. Unless the Jews baptized 
 children, he surely was never 
 baptized. Fairly stumped. 
 
 October lyth. Sunday again. 
 Went this morning to hear 
 Spurgeon. I met a man going 
 along with a Bible, and asked 
 him if he could tell me who 
 was the head Baptist minister 
 in London. He seemed a bit 
 27
 
 More Puxaled 
 
 tickled, and said at last, 
 " Spurgeon." Took a cab and 
 drove there. Alas ! he was 
 away ill. Went in, however, 
 and had a talk with a kind of 
 officer of sorts. Told him I 
 was bothered about Baptism. 
 He replied, so had he been for 
 over twenty years. Said a five 
 years' course of study might 
 make you more puzzled than 
 ever. I said I might be dead 
 long before that, to which he 
 answered, " Look here, don't 
 you go and bother your head 
 about study and all that kind 
 of thing. You just believe like 
 a little child, and you can be 
 saved now. (Rom. ix. 9.) 
 That's it. Possibly enough, 
 Baptism just meant Confes- 
 sion." 
 
 I must own that the verse, 
 now I have got home, and 
 looked it out, is simple and plain. 
 Heart and mouth. Belief and 
 confession. It's all very plain 
 28
 
 A Discovery 
 
 in one sense, but it's extremely 
 
 complex in another. 
 
 * * # * 
 
 October i8th Awake half 
 the night. Believe ! believe ! 
 believe ! kept ringing in my 
 ears. What is it to believe? 
 
 10 p.m. Made a discovery 
 to-day. There 's a poor wretch 
 of a man who comes in to clean 
 boots and do all sorts of odd 
 jobs ; and passing him in the 
 passage, I happened to see a 
 Bible in his side pocket at 
 least it looked like it. I might 
 have spoken to him there and 
 then, but it only struck me later 
 that it must be a Bible, for 
 people never carry any other 
 book about till it is nearly worn 
 through. That's strange. Well, 
 I have told my man not to call 
 me till 9.30, and am determined 
 to dress early and see if I can't 
 waylay the boot-cleaner before 
 people are about. 
 
 29
 
 Could Not Punish 
 
 October igth. 6.45 a.m. 
 Had another bad night. My door 
 is open, and my uncleaned boots 
 outside. Shall I succeed in 
 catching my hare ? 
 
 8 a.m. Two minutes' con- 
 versation only. Yet I believe 
 the fellow is right. Let me see 
 if I can put it down. 
 
 I had begun by asking him 
 if that was a Bible he carried 
 in his pocket. " Yes, it was." 
 Read it? "Should think he 
 did." "Could try his best to 
 answer a question. What was 
 it ? " I hardly knew how to put 
 it, but said at last, " What does 
 the Bible mean by saying ' be- 
 lieve ' ? I can't believe." " Yes, 
 he could answer that ; it meant 
 to trust Christ." "How about 
 our past sin?" I asked. "'If 
 we confess our sins, He is faithful 
 and just to forgive us our sins,' " 
 he said slowly. " Did I believe 
 Christ was faithful?" "Yes." 
 " Did I believe God was just?" 
 3
 
 That's It All Clear 
 
 "Yes." "Then He could not 
 punish both me and Christ for 
 MY sin." " Believe in my heart 
 and confess with my mouth is 
 that it ? " " That 's it nothing 
 else." 
 
 Opened the Book once more. 
 John vi. 47. " Verily, verily," 
 that's pretty positive, certainly 
 "he that believeth on Me 
 hath everlasting life." Why 
 not believe on Him this very 
 moment ? Can I ? " He that 
 believeth on the Son hath life." 
 I do believe that He died for 
 my sins, took my punishment, 
 and my death ; so I am acquitted. 
 That's clear. I do believe on 
 the Son of God. Have I eter- 
 nal life? What shall I write? 
 Let me look at the Book. 
 What does it say? "HATH 
 everlasting life." Then I may 
 write YES. 
 
 October 2oth. Thirteen days 
 ago I wrote " I have found it." 
 Now I write, " I have found
 
 "Walking on Air" 
 
 H I M." A stupendous difference. 
 Then I thought I had found a 
 thing, now I have found a Person. 
 Then the thing slipped from 
 my grasp, now I am held by 
 Christ ; so clear. The boot- 
 cleaner advised my going to 
 call on the Vicar of St. John's, 
 where, it appears, he goes to 
 church. He met me warmly, 
 but said I had little need of his 
 help. He put the matter much 
 as my previous informant had. 
 That evening I took the com- 
 munion at his church, to com- 
 memorate my Saviour's death 
 and resurrection. I came home 
 walking on air. 
 
 Dr. Tintern, you have opened 
 the door of heaven to me. This 
 week I am walking the streets 
 of London. Next week I may 
 be using the golden streets of 
 Zion. 
 
 Read the 53rd chapter of Isaiah, 
 the 3rd chapter of John, and 4th and 
 5th chapters of Romans. 
 
 32
 
 ARTIST'S STUDIO 
 
 YEARS ago, a painter stood 
 in his studio, his right 
 thumb in the belt of his blouse, 
 and his left hand holding the 
 pipe he had withdrawn from 
 his lips in honour of his visitor, 
 Father Hugo, the Vicar of the 
 rich Church of St. Jerome. 
 The artist had not yet reached 
 middle age. He was famous 
 in DUsseldorf, and some said 
 that his name would some day 
 be known world-wide. When 
 that day came, Stenburg rue- 
 fully thought that he would be 
 past the enjoyment of riches 
 which tarried so long. Still, he 
 managed to enjoy life in the 
 present He loved his art. 
 Now and again he became so 
 absorbed in his work, that he 
 forgot all else than the picture 
 upon the easel. 
 
 Still, though good work he 
 had done, he had as yet never 
 33
 
 A Prosperous Man 
 
 satisfied himself, nor reached his 
 own ideal. His was good work, 
 but he desired something more. 
 Thus Stenburg was not a satis- 
 fied man. There was a restless- 
 ness in his handsome eyes, and 
 a sharp tone in his voice, which, 
 to a close observer, proclaimed 
 a spirit not at peace. Other- 
 wise, to the world, he appeared 
 a jolly, prosperous man, who 
 displayed, on occasion, a shrewd 
 business capacity, and one who 
 knew his own interests well. 
 He was speaking now. 
 
 " No ; not so, I assure you ; 
 the sum you offer would but ill 
 repay me, for the labour of so 
 large a church picture as you 
 honour me by naming. It must 
 have many figures, all carefully 
 studied. The crucifixion is not 
 an easy subject, and it has been 
 so often taken, that it would be 
 difficult to compose a picture 
 different as I should wish it to 
 be from others." 
 34
 
 Stenburg studied 
 
 " I will not limit you to the 
 price. You are an honest man, 
 Sir Painter, and the Church of 
 St. Jerome will not pay for the 
 picture. It is to be the gift of 
 a penitent." 
 
 " So ! that makes a differ- 
 ence. Return, sir, please, a 
 month from to-day, and studies 
 for the work shall be ready." 
 So they parted, both well 
 pleased, and during the follow- 
 ing weeks Stenburg studied the 
 composition of the picture, and 
 penetrated into the Jewish 
 Strasse for models for his 
 figures. 
 
 The Vicar was satisfied. He 
 desired the central point of the 
 picture to be the Cross of the 
 Redeemer, and left the group- 
 ing of the accessories to the 
 artist. From time to time the 
 Vicar dropped in, often accom- 
 panied by another priest, to 
 inspect the progress of the 
 work. It was to be placed in 
 35
 
 A Gipsy Girl 
 
 the Church upon a feast day, 
 which fell upon the first day of 
 June, and it was making rapid 
 progress. 
 
 With the bursting of the 
 young green leaves, and the 
 upspringing of the first flowers, 
 a hunger had seized upon the 
 artist's soul to leave DUsseldorf ; 
 and with his sketch-book, he 
 wandered over the surrounding 
 country. On the borders of 
 the forest, he came one day 
 upon a gipsy girl plaiting straw 
 baskets. Her face was beauti- 
 ful ; her coal-black hair fell in 
 waving ripples to her waist ; 
 and her poor, tattered, red 
 dress, faded and sunburnt to 
 many hues, added to her pic- 
 turesque appearance. But her 
 eyes were the feature that 
 caught the artist's regard 
 restless, limpid, black eyes, 
 whose expression changed every 
 moment : pain, joy, fun, and 
 roguery were reflected in their 
 36
 
 Joy> Fun, and Roguery 
 
 depths, as swiftly as the cloud 
 shadows chase each other across 
 a lake. 
 
 "What a capital picture she 
 would make ! " thought Sten- 
 burg ; " but then who would 
 buy a gipsy girl ? No one ! " 
 The gipsies were looked upon 
 in Dtisseldorf with hatred ; and 
 even to this day the fact of 
 being a gipsy, is, in the eyes of 
 the law, a punishable offence. 
 
 The girl noticed the artist, 
 and flinging her straw down, 
 sprang up, raising her hands 
 above her head, and, snapping 
 her fingers to keep time, danced 
 lightly and gracefully before 
 him, showing her white teeth, 
 and her glance sparkling with 
 merriment. 
 
 " Stand ! " cried Stenburg, 
 and rapidly sketched her. 
 Quickly as he drew, it was 
 a weary position for the girl 
 to maintain ; but she never 
 flinched, though a sigh of relief, 
 
 D 37
 
 What is being 
 
 as her arms dropped and she 
 stood at rest before him, attested 
 to the artist the strain the atti- 
 tude had been. 
 
 " She is not only beautiful, 
 she is better a capital model. 
 I will paint her as a Spanish 
 dancing girl." So a bargain 
 was struck. Pepita was to 
 come thrice a week to Sten- 
 burg's house to be painted. 
 Duly at the appointed hour 
 she arrived. She was full of 
 wonder. Her great eyes roved 
 round the studio, glancing on 
 the pieces of armour, pottery 
 and carving. Presently, she 
 began examining the pictures, 
 and soon the great picture, now 
 nearing its completion, caught 
 her attention. She gazed at it 
 intently. In an awed voice, she 
 asked, 
 
 " Who is that ? " pointing to 
 the most prominent figure, 
 that of the Redeemer on the 
 Cross. 
 
 38
 
 done to Him ? 
 
 " The Christ," answered Sten- 
 burg carelessly. 
 
 " What is being done to 
 Him ? " 
 
 " Being crucified," said the 
 artist. "Turn a little to the 
 right There! that will do." 
 Stenburg, with his brush in his 
 ringers, was a man of few 
 words. 
 
 "Who are those people 
 about Him those with the 
 bad faces ? " 
 
 " Now, look here," said the 
 artist, " I cannot talk to you. 
 You have nothing to do but 
 stand as I tell you." 
 
 The girl dare not speak 
 again, but she continued to 
 gaze, and speculate. Every 
 time she came to the studio, 
 the fascination of the picture 
 grew upon her. Sometimes she 
 ventured an inquiry, for her 
 curiosity consumed her. 
 
 " Why did they crucify Him ? 
 Was He bad, very bad ? " 
 39
 
 "Was He Bad?" 
 
 " No ; very good." 
 
 That was all she learnt at 
 one interview, but she treasured 
 each word, and every sentence 
 was so much more known of 
 the mystery. 
 
 " Then, if He was good, why 
 did they do so ? Was it for a 
 short time only ? Did they let 
 Him go ? " 
 
 "It was because " The 
 
 artist paused with his head on 
 one side, stepped forward, and 
 arranged her sash. 
 
 " Because ? " repeated Pepita 
 breathlessly. The artist went 
 back to his easel ; then, looking 
 at her, the eager, questioning 
 face moved his pity. 
 
 " Listen. I will tell you once 
 for all, then ask no further 
 questions " ; and he told her 
 the story of the Cross new to 
 Pepita, though so old to the 
 artist, that it had ceased to 
 touch him. He could paint 
 that dying agony, and not a 
 40
 
 // wrung Her Heart 
 
 nerve of his frame quivered ; but 
 the thought of it wrung her 
 heart. Her great black eyes 
 swam in tears, which the fiery 
 gipsy pride forbade to fall. 
 
 The picture and the Spanish 
 dancing-girl were finished sim- 
 ultaneously. Pepita's last visit 
 to the studio had come. She 
 looked upon the beautiful 
 representation of herself with- 
 out emotion ; but turned, and 
 stood before the picture, unable 
 to leave it. 
 
 " Come," said the artist, " here 
 is your money, and a gold piece 
 over and above, for you have 
 brought me good luck, the 
 ' Dancing-girl ' is already sold. 
 I shall want you some time, 
 perhaps, again, but not just yet. 
 We must not overstock the 
 market with even your pretty 
 face." 
 
 The girl turned slowly. 
 
 " Thanks, Signer ! " but her 
 eyes, full of emotion, were
 
 "All That for You* 
 
 solemn. " You must love Him 
 very much, Signer, when He has 
 done all that for you, do you 
 not ? " 
 
 The face into which she 
 looked, flushed crimson. The 
 artist was ashamed. The girl, 
 in her poor, faded dress, passed 
 from his studio, but her plaintive 
 words rang in his heart. He 
 tried to forget them, but im- 
 possible. He hastened to send 
 the picture to its destination. 
 Still he could not forget "All 
 that for you" 
 
 At last the pain was not to be 
 borne. He would face it and 
 conquer it. But he, went to 
 confession in vain, to get the 
 peace he longed for, and which 
 can only be found by faith in 
 Christ alone. A liberal discount 
 on his picture gave ease of mind 
 for a week or two. But then 
 up rose the old question, " You 
 must love Him very much, 
 do you not ? " and would be 
 42
 
 " You Must Love Him " 
 
 answered. He grew restless, and 
 could not settle to his work. 
 So, wandering about, he heard 
 of things which had not come 
 under his notice before. One 
 day, he saw a group of persons 
 hastening to a house near the 
 walls, a poor place; and then he 
 noticed others coming in the 
 opposite direction, and they, 
 too, passed into its low doorway. 
 He asked what was happening 
 there ; but the man he questioned, 
 either would not or could not 
 satisfy him. This roused his 
 curiosity. A few days later, he 
 learned that a stranger, one of 
 the "Reformed," lived there- 
 one of those despised men who 
 appealed on every occasion 
 to the Word of God. It was 
 hardly respectable, hardly safe, 
 even to know them. Yet, per- 
 haps, here, he might find that 
 which he sought. The artist 
 had heard how these Reformers 
 risked, and frequently parted 
 43
 
 Secret of Peace 
 
 with their all, for the truth they 
 held. They might possess the 
 secret of peace. So Stenburg 
 went to observe, perhaps to in- 
 quire, certainly not to join 
 them ; but a man cannot ap- 
 proach fire and remain cold. 
 He saw a man who might have 
 lived in ease, enduring hard- 
 ship ; one who might have been 
 honoured, despised ; who might 
 have been beloved and respected, 
 an outcast ; and yet serene, even 
 happy. This Reformed preacher 
 spoke and looked as one who 
 was walking the earth with 
 Christ ; yes, one to whom He 
 was all. Stenburg found what 
 he longed for a living faith. 
 His new friend lent him for a 
 time a precious copy of the 
 New Testament ; but, hunted 
 from Dusseldorf, after a few 
 weeks, he left, and had to take 
 the book with him ; but its 
 essence was left in Stenburg's 
 heart. 
 
 44
 
 All That for Me 
 
 Ah ! no need to question 
 now. He felt in his soul the 
 fire of an ardent love. " Did 
 all that for me ! How can I 
 ever tell men of that love, that 
 boundless love, which can 
 brighten their lives, as it has 
 mine ? It is for them, too, but 
 they do not see it, as I did 
 not 
 
 " How can I preach it ? I can- 
 not speak. I am a man of few 
 words. If I were to try, I could 
 never speak it out. It burns in 
 my heart, but I cannot express 
 it the love of Christ!" So 
 thinking, the artist idly drew, 
 with a piece of charcoal in his 
 fingers, a rough sketch of a 
 thorn-crowned head. His eyes 
 grew moist as he did so. Sud- 
 denly the thought flashed 
 through his soul, " I can paint ! 
 My brush must proclaim it. 
 Ah ! in that picture His face 
 was all agony. But that was 
 not the truth. Love unutter- 
 45
 
 The Fire Blazed 
 
 able, infinite compassion, willing 
 sacrifice ! " 
 
 The artist fell on his knees, 
 and prayed to paint worthily, 
 and thus speak. 
 
 And then he wrought. The 
 fire of genius blazed up up to 
 the highest fibre of his power ; 
 nay, beyond it. The picture of 
 the Crucifixion was a wonder 
 almost Divine. 
 
 He would not sell it. He 
 gave it, a free-will offering to 
 his native city. It was hung in 
 the public gallery, and there the 
 citizens flocked to see it ; and 
 voices were hushed, and hearts 
 melted as they stood before it ; 
 and the burghers returned to 
 their homes knowing the love 
 of God, and repeating to them- 
 selves the words written so 
 distinctly beneath 
 
 "All this I did for thee ; 
 What hast thou done for Me ?" 
 
 Stenburg, also, used to go 
 there ; and, watching far back 
 46
 
 She was Pepita 
 
 from the corner in the gallery, 
 the people who gathered about 
 the picture ; he prayed God to 
 bless his painted sermon. One 
 day he observed, when the rest 
 of the visitors had left, a poor 
 girl standing weeping bitterly 
 before it. The artist approach- 
 ed her. " What grieves thee, 
 child?" he asked. 
 
 The girl turned ; she was 
 Pepita. " Oh ! Signor, // He 
 had but loved me so" she said, 
 pointing to the face of yearning 
 love, bending above them. " I 
 am only a poor gipsy. For you 
 is the love, but not for such as 
 / " ; and her despairing tears 
 fell unrestrained. 
 
 " Pepita, it was also all for 
 thee" And then the artist told 
 her all. Until the late hour at 
 which the gallery closed, they 
 sat and talked. The painter did 
 not weary now of answering her 
 questions, for the subject was 
 the one he loved best. He told 
 47
 
 He Told the Story 
 
 the girl the story of that won- 
 drous life, magnificent death, 
 and crowning glory of resurrec- 
 tion, and also explained to her 
 the union that redeeming love 
 effected. She listened, received, 
 and believed. "All this I did 
 for thee." 
 
 Two years have passed since 
 the picture had been ordered. 
 Winter had come again. The 
 cold was intense, and the wind 
 moaned down the narrow streets 
 of Dtisseldorf, and shook the 
 casements of the artist's dwell- 
 ing. His day's work was done, 
 and by the blazing pine logs he 
 was seated, reading a copy he 
 had with difficulty obtained, of 
 his beloved Gospel. A knock 
 sounded at the door, and a man 
 was admitted. He wore an old 
 sheepskin jacket, on which the 
 snow had frozen ; his hair hung 
 in dark locks about his face. 
 He glanced ravenously towards 
 the bread and meat upon the 
 48
 
 Urgent Business 
 
 table, even as he gave his 
 message. 
 
 " Would the gentleman come 
 with him on urgent business ? " 
 
 " Where ? " said the painter. 
 
 That he must not tell, or the 
 agents of the law might get to 
 know, and drive them out. It 
 had often so happened before. 
 
 " Wherefore do you wish me 
 to come ? " 
 
 " I cannot say," replied the 
 man ; " but one who is dying 
 wants to see you." 
 
 " Eat," said the artist " I 
 will accompany you." The 
 man murmured his thanks as 
 he devoured the food. 
 
 " You are hungry ? " 
 
 " Sire, we all are famished 
 with hunger." 
 
 Stenburg brought a bag of 
 provisions. " Can you carry 
 this?" 
 
 "Ah! gladly, gladly. But 
 come, there is no time to 
 lose." 
 
 E 49
 
 A Hurried Journey 
 
 The artist followed. His 
 guide led him quickly through 
 the streets, and out into the 
 country beyond. The moon 
 rose, and showed they were 
 nearing the forest They 
 passed into it. The branches 
 were laden with snow, and the 
 great crowded trunks confusing. 
 No path, but the man never 
 hesitated. He silently and 
 swiftly kept ahead of Stenburg. 
 At last they came to a glade 
 belted round with trees. Here 
 a few tents were erected. 
 
 " Go in there," said the man, 
 pointing to one of the tents, 
 and then turned to a group of 
 men, women, and children, who 
 thronged about him. He spoke 
 to them in a wild tongue, and 
 lifted his bag from his shoulder. 
 
 The artist, crouching, crept 
 into the tent. A brilliant ray 
 of moonlight illuminated the 
 poor interior. On a mass of 
 dried leaves, was the form of a
 
 "For Thee" 
 
 young woman. Her face was 
 pinched and hollow. "Why, 
 Pepita ! " 
 
 At the sound of the artist's 
 voice the eyes opened. Those 
 wonderful dark eyes still were 
 brilliant. A smile trembled to 
 her lips, and she raised herself 
 on her elbow. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "HE has 
 come for me ! He holds out 
 His hands ! They are bleeding ! 
 'For thee.' 'All this I did for 
 thee.' " And she bade him fare- 
 well. 
 
 Long years after both the 
 painter and the gipsy girl had 
 met in another land, a gay 
 young nobleman drove in his 
 splendid equipage into Diissel- 
 dorf ; and while his horses were 
 baited, wandered into that 
 famous gallery. He was rich, 
 young, intelligent the world 
 bright, and its treasures within 
 
 5 1
 
 Fame & Fortune 
 
 his grasp. He stood before 
 Stenburg's picture arrested. 
 He read and re-read the legend 
 on the frame. He could not 
 tear himself away it grew into 
 his heart. The love of Christ 
 laid its powerful grasp on his 
 soul. Hours passed ; the light 
 faded ; the curator touched the 
 weeping nobleman, and told 
 him it was time to close the 
 gallery. Night had come 
 nay ! rather for that young 
 man, the dawn of eternal Life. 
 He was Zinzendorf. He re- 
 turned to the inn, and re-entered 
 his carriage, but to turn his 
 back on Paris, and seek again 
 his home. From that moment 
 he threw life, fortune, fame, at 
 the feet of Him who had whis- 
 pered to his heart 
 
 "All this I did for thee ; 
 What hast thou done for Me ? " 
 
 Zinzendorf, the father of the 
 Moravian Missions, answered 
 52
 
 At His Feet 
 
 that question by his devoted 
 life and his welcomed death. 
 
 Stenburg's picture no longer 
 hangs in the gallery of Dussel- 
 dorf, for, when some years ago, 
 the gallery was destroyed by 
 fire, it perished ; but it preached, 
 and God used it to tell of His 
 gift Calvary's Substitute of 
 Whom Paul said, " He loved me, 
 and gave Himself for me." 
 
 Can you say '! and for me "? 
 
 " I GAVE My life for thee ; 
 My precious blood I shed, 
 That thou might'st ransomed be, 
 And quickened from the dead. 
 I gave My life for thee : 
 What hast thou given for Me ? 
 
 " I suffered much for thee 
 More than thy tongue can tell 
 Of bitterest agony 
 To rescue thee from hell. 
 I suffered much for thee : 
 What canst thou bear for Me?" 
 
 F. R. HAVERGAL. 
 53
 
 CALIFORNIAN MINER 
 
 WHEN I was young, I 
 wanted to go as a Foreign 
 Missionary ; but my way seemed 
 hedged about, and as the years 
 came and went, I went to live on 
 the Pacific coast, in California. 
 Life was rough in the mining 
 country where I lived with my 
 husband and little boys. 
 
 I heard of a man who lived 
 over the hills, who was dying 
 of consumption, and they said : 
 " He is so vile, no one can stand 
 it to stay with him, so the men 
 place some food near him, 
 and leave him for twenty-four 
 hours." And added, "They'll 
 find him dead some time, and 
 the quicker the better. Never 
 had a soul, I guess." 
 
 The pity of it all haunted me 
 as I went about my work ; and 
 I tried for three days to get 
 some one to go and see him, 
 and find out if he was in need 
 54
 
 Sin's Awful Marks 
 
 of better care. As I turned 
 from the last man, vexed with 
 his indifference, the thought 
 came to me : " Why don't you 
 go yourself? Here's mission- 
 ary work if you want it." 
 
 I'll not tell how I weighed 
 the probable uselessness of my 
 going, nor how I shrank from 
 one so vile as he. It wasn't 
 the kind of work I wanted. 
 
 At last, one day I went over 
 the hills to the little abode, or 
 mud cabin. It was just one 
 room. The door stood open, 
 and up in one corner, on some 
 straw and coloured blankets, 
 I found the dying man. Sin 
 had left awful marks on his 
 face, and if I had not heard 
 that he could not move, I 
 should have retreated. As my 
 shadow fell over the floor, he 
 looked up, and greeted me with 
 a dreadful oath. I stepped 
 forward a little* and there came 
 another oath. " Don't speak so, 
 55
 
 Oaths Came Quickly 
 
 my friend," I said. " I ain't 
 your friend. I ain't got any 
 friends," he said. " Well, I am 
 
 yours, and " but the oaths 
 
 came thickly, as he said : " You 
 ain't my friend. I never had 
 no friends, and I don't want 
 any." 
 
 I reached out, at arm's length, 
 the fruit I had brought him, 
 and stepping back to the door- 
 way, I asked him if he remem- 
 bered his mother, hoping to 
 find a tender place in his heart ; 
 but he cursed her. I asked 
 him if he ever had a wife, and 
 he cursed her. I spoke of God, 
 and he cursed Him. I tried to 
 speak of Jesus and His death 
 for us, but he stopped me with 
 his oaths, and said : " That's 
 all a lie. Nobody ever died 
 for others." 
 
 I went away discouraged. I 
 
 said to myself, " I knew it was 
 
 no use." The next day I went 
 
 back again, and I went every 
 
 56
 
 Given Him Up 
 
 day for two weeks, but he did 
 not show the gratitude of a 
 dog. At the end of that time, 
 I said : " I'm not going any 
 more." That night, when I 
 was putting my little boys to 
 bed, I did not pray for the 
 miner as I had been accus- 
 tomed to do. My little Charlie 
 noticed it, and said : " Mamma, 
 you did not pray for the bad 
 man." " No," I answered, with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Have you given him up, 
 mamma? " 
 
 " Yes, I guess so." 
 
 " Has God given him up, 
 mamma ? Ought you to give 
 him up till God does ? " 
 
 That night I could not sleep. 
 " That man dying, and so vile, 
 with no one to care." I got up 
 and went away by myself to 
 pray ; but the moment I touched 
 my knees, I was overpowered 
 by the sense of how little 
 meaning there had been in my 
 57
 
 The Worth Of 
 
 prayers. I had had no faith, 
 and I had not really cared, 
 beyond a kind of half-hearted 
 sentiment. I had not claimed 
 this soul for God. Oh, the 
 shame, the sham, of my mis- 
 sionary zeal ! I fell on my 
 face literally, as I cried : " Oh, 
 Christ, give me a little glimpse 
 of the worth of a human sou/." 
 Did you, Christian, ever ask 
 that and mean iff Don't do 
 it, unless you are willing to give 
 up ease and selfish pleasure ; for 
 life will be a different thing to 
 you after that revelation. 
 
 I stayed on my knees until 
 Calvary became a reality to 
 me. I cannot describe those 
 hours. They came and went 
 unheeded, but I learned that 
 night what I had never known 
 before, what it was to travail 
 for a human soul. I saw my 
 Lord as I had never seen Him 
 before. I stayed there until 
 the answer came. 
 58
 
 A Human Soul 
 
 As I went back to my room, 
 my husband said ; " How about 
 your miner ? " " He is going to 
 be saved," I said. " How are 
 you going to do it ? " he asked. 
 " The Lord is going to save him 
 and I don't know as I shall do 
 anything about it," I replied. 
 - The next morning brought 
 a lesson in Christian work I 
 had never learned before. I 
 had waited on other days until 
 the afternoon when, my work 
 being over, I could change my 
 dress, put on my gloves, and 
 take a walk while the shadows 
 were on the hill-sides. That 
 day, the moment my little boys 
 went off to school, I left my 
 work, and, without waiting for 
 gloves or shadows, hurried over 
 the hills, not to see "that vile 
 wretch," but, to win a soul. I 
 thought the man might die. 
 There was a human soul in 
 the balance, and I wanted to 
 get there quickly. 
 59
 
 She Shrank Back 
 
 As I passed on, a neighbour 
 came out of her cabin, and 
 said : " I '11 go over the hills 
 with you, I guess." 
 
 I did not want her, but it 
 was another lesson for me. 
 God could plan better than I 
 could. She had her little girl 
 with her, and as we reached 
 the cabin, she said : " I '11 wait 
 out here, and you hurry, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 I do not know what I ex- 
 pected, but the man greeted 
 me with an awful oath ; but 
 it did not hurt as it did before ; 
 for I was behind Christ, and I 
 stayed there. I could bear 
 what struck Him first. 
 
 While I was changing the 
 basin of water and towel for 
 him, things which I had done 
 every day, and which he had 
 used, but never thanked me 
 for, the clear laugh of the little 
 girl rang out upon the air like 
 a bird note. 
 
 60
 
 As She Saiv His Face 
 
 -' What's that ? " said the man 
 eagerly. 
 
 " It's a little girl outside who 
 is waiting for me." 
 
 " Would you mind letting her 
 come in ? " said he, in a differ- 
 ent tone from any I had heard 
 before. 
 
 Stepping to the door I 'beck- 
 oned to her, and then taking 
 her by the hand, said : " Come 
 in and see the sick man, 
 Mamie." She shrank back as 
 she saw his face, and said, " I 'm 
 'fraid," but I assured her with, 
 " Poor sick man, he can't get 
 up ; he wants to see you." 
 
 She looked like an angel ; 
 her bright face, framed in 
 golden curls, and her eyes 
 tender and pitiful. In her 
 hand she held the flowers she 
 had picked off the purple sage, 
 and, bending toward him, she 
 said : " I sorry for 'ou, sick 
 man. Will 'ou have a posy ? " 
 
 He laid his great bony hand 
 61
 
 "Site Cared for Ma" 
 
 beyond the flowers on the 
 plump hand of the child, and 
 the great tears came to his 
 eyes, as he said : " I had a 
 little girl once, and she died. 
 Her name was Mamie. She 
 cared for me. Nobody else did. 
 Guess I'd been different if she'd 
 lived. I Ve hated everybody 
 since she died." 
 
 I knew at once I had the 
 key to the man's heart. The 
 thought came quickly, born of 
 that midnight prayer service, 
 and I said : " When I spoke of 
 your mother and your wife you 
 cursed them ; I know now that 
 they were not good women, or 
 you could not have done it, for 
 I never knew a man who could 
 curse a good mother." 
 
 " Good -women ! Oh, you 
 don't know nothin' 'bout that 
 kind of woman. You can't 
 think what they was." 
 
 " Well, if your little girl had 
 lived and grown up with them, 
 62
 
 a /W Killed Her First" 
 
 wouldn't she have been just 
 like them ? Would you have 
 liked to have her live for that ? " 
 
 He evidently had never 
 thought of it, and his great 
 eyes looked off for full a 
 minute. As they came back 
 to mine, he cried, " Oh ! God, 
 no ! I 'd killed her first. /';/* 
 glad she died" 
 
 Reaching out and taking the 
 poor hand, I said, "The dear 
 Lord didn't want her to be 
 like them. He loved her even 
 better than you did. So He 
 took her away where she could 
 be cared for by the angels. He 
 is keeping her for you. To-day 
 she is waiting for you. Don't 
 you want to see her again ? " 
 
 "Oh, I'd be willing to be 
 burnt alive a thousand times 
 over, if I could just see my 
 little gal once more, my little 
 Mamie"
 
 Story of Calvary 
 
 Oh, friends, you know what 
 a blessed story I had to tell 
 that hour, and I had been so 
 close to Calvary that night, 
 that I could tell it in 
 earnest ! The poor face grew 
 ashy pale as I talked, and the 
 man threw up his arms as 
 though his agony was master- 
 ing him. Two or three times 
 he gasped as though losing 
 breath. Then, clutching me, he 
 said: "What's that, woman, you 
 said t'other day 'bout talking to 
 somebody out of sight ? " 
 
 "It's praying. I tell Him 
 what I want." 
 
 " Pray now, pray quick. Tell 
 Him I want my little gal agin. 
 Tell Him anything you want 
 to." 
 
 I took the hands of the child, 
 and placed them on the trem- 
 bling hands of the man. Then 
 dropping on my knees, with the 
 child in front of me, I bade her 
 pray for the man who had lost 
 64
 
 Print of the Nails 
 
 his little Mamie, and wanted 
 to see her again. This was 
 Mamie's prayer : 
 
 " Dear Jesus, this man is sick. 
 He has lost his 'ittle girl, and 
 he feels bad about it. I'se so 
 sorry for him, and he's so sorry, 
 too. Won't You help him, and 
 show him where to find his 'ittle 
 girl ? Do, please. Amen." 
 
 Heaven seemed to open 
 before us. There stood One 
 with the prints of the nails in 
 His hands and the wound in 
 His side. 
 
 Mamie slipped away soon, 
 but the man kept saying, " Tell 
 Him more 'bout it ; tell Him 
 everything ; but, oh ! you don't 
 know ! " Then he poured out 
 such a torrent of confession that 
 I could not have borne it, but 
 for the One Who was close to 
 us that hour. 
 
 You Christian workers know 
 how HE reached out after that 
 lost soul. 
 
 65
 
 The Man Who 
 
 By -and -bye, the poor man 
 grasped THE strong hands. 
 It was the third day when the 
 poor tired soul turned from 
 everything, to Him, the Mighty 
 to save, " The Man Who died 
 for vie" 
 
 He lived on for weeks, as 
 if God would show how real 
 was the change. I had been 
 telling him one day about a 
 Meeting, and he said, " I 'd like 
 to go to a Meetin' once. I 
 never went to one of them 
 things." 
 
 So we planned a Meeting, 
 and the men came from the 
 mills and the mines, and filled 
 the room. 
 
 " Now, boys," said he, " get 
 down on your knees while she 
 tells 'bout that Man that died 
 for me." 
 
 I had been brought up to 
 
 believe that a woman shouldn't 
 
 speak in Meeting, but I found 
 
 myself talking, and I tried to 
 
 66
 
 Died for Me 
 
 tell the simple story of " The 
 Cross." After awhile he said, 
 "Oh, boys, you don't half 
 believe it, or you'd cry ; you 
 couldn't help it. Boys, raise 
 me up. / *d like to tell it once." 
 
 So they raised him up, and 
 between his short breathing and 
 coughing, he told the story. 
 He used the language he 
 knew, 
 
 "Boys," he said, "you know 
 how the water runs down the 
 sluice boxes, and carries off all 
 the dirt, and leaves the gold 
 behind. Well, the blood of 
 that Man she tells about, went 
 right over me just like that ; 
 it carried off 'bout everything. 
 But it left enough for me to see 
 Mamie, and to see ' the Man that 
 died, for me.' Oh, boys, can't 
 you love Him ? " 
 
 Some days after, there came 
 
 a look into his face that told 
 
 the end had come. I had to 
 
 leave him, and I said : " What 
 
 67
 
 Hands Stained 
 
 shall I say to-night, Jack ? " 
 "Just good -night," he said. 
 " What will you say to me when 
 we meet again ? " "I '11 say 
 1 good-morning ' up there." 
 
 The next morning the door 
 was closed, and I found two of 
 the men sitting silently by a 
 board stretched across two 
 stools. They turned back the 
 sheet from the dead, and I 
 looked on the face, which 
 seemed to have come back 
 nearer to the " image of God." 
 
 " I wish you could have seen 
 him when he went," they said. 
 1 Tell me about it." " Well, all 
 at once he brightened up 'bout 
 midnight, and smilin", said, ' I'm 
 goin', boys. Tell her I'm going 
 to see Mamie. Tell her I'm 
 going to see the Man that died 
 for me! An' he was gone." 
 
 Kneeling there, with my 
 
 hands over those poor cold 
 
 ones, that had been stained 
 
 with human blood, I asked to 
 
 68
 
 With Human Blood 
 
 come to understand more and 
 more the worth of a human soul, 
 and to be drawn into deeper 
 sympathy with Christ's yearn- 
 ing compassion, " Not willing 
 that any should perish." 
 
 Mrs. J. K. Barney, 
 
 GOD SAYS, " All have sinned," and 
 "without shedding of blood there is no 
 remission." 
 
 "Jesus Christ . . . loved us, and 
 washed us from our sins in His own 
 blood " (Rev. i. 5). 
 
 "Thou wast slain and hast redeemed us 
 to God by Thy blood " (Rev. v. 9). 
 
 1 ' How shall we escape if we neglect so 
 great salvation ? " (Heb. ii. 3). 
 
 LAST CALL 
 
 " Come now, and let us reason to- 
 gether, saith the Lord : though your 
 sins be as scarlet, they shall be as 
 white as snow; though they be red 
 like crimson, they shall be as wool " 
 (ha. i. 1 8). 
 
 " Herein is love, not that we loved 
 God, but that He loved us, and sent 
 His Son to be the propitiation for our 
 sins" (i John iv. 10). 
 
 " While we were yet sinners, Christ 
 died for us " (Rom. v. 8). 
 
 69
 
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