A Glorious Visitor

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"And their eves were opened, and they knew him."-LUKE XXIV, 31


IT is worthy of note, the many different kinds of visitors we entertain. Some "drop in" without warning. They "feel at home." They know they are welcome at any time of day or night. They often come with the family. They know exactly what to expect. They will not be made "company of." They are willing and anxious to take the ordinary fare of the household.
     Others are not quite so familiar because not so well acquainted, but they are none the less welcome. When they desire to visit, they write and say, "Would it be convenient for you and madame to have us come to you for a little visit?" Whether it is exactly convenient or not, we make it so, because we think much of the expected guest. True, one of the children may be sick; the guest-chamber may already be occupied; but we hope the child will be better, and we are willing to "double up" as far as our sleeping arrangements are concerned, in order to make room for the guests.
     Sometimes strangers write that they are coming-on business. We dread them, but we dare not bid them remain away; for their business is legitimate, and simple courtesy demands that we receive them. We submit, but not with joy. We sweep and clean and dust, to make ready for the unwelcome guests.
     Then we hear from one we have known long. He is coming soon; "so anxious to see us;" but we are not so desirous of seeing him. He is "fussy," and it is difficult to make him feel at home. It is always necessary to "entertain" him. He must constantly be looked after. There are innumerable little attentions that he requires; even demands. His bed must have been slept in at least a week previous to his coming; then it must be ironed every night and the iron left in the bed, if it is in winter. There are a dozen things that must be remembered: a glass of water; a bottle of medicine or two; two or three extra pillows; some matches and a candle by the bedside; the clock must be removed from the room; and so on. No, not these things, perhaps, but others that happen to fit his peculiar individuality. He is nervous, and the children are in durance vile all the time of his visit. To be honest with yourself, you must acknowledge that he is not a welcome guest, and yet for reasons that are very potent you do not desire to make him feel ill at ease nor to refuse to permit him to come.
     There are others, mostly relatives, who come and feel that they have a right to come. But when they do take up their abode with you, they bring sadness and gloom. They are fretful and faultfinding-most unwelcome of all-and you are compelled to bear it, for you would not cause them pain.
     Just after one of the latter has taken his departure, there comes a dear friend of a lifetime. She is sweet and winsome and unobtrusive. The children love her, and are as good as gold as long as she is in the house. The servants worship her, and will do anything in the world of possibilities, if it is to make her happier. She settles down in an atmosphere all her own; an atmosphere of warmth and comfort and restfulness. She is full of delightful suggestion. She is sunshine personified; she is peace embodied; to have an unpleasantness where she is were almost an impossibility. Altogether, she shines in the household, and makes every one better by the magic of her presence.
     We say it reverently, the visitor at Darnforth for the past week has been, from the feelings of the boys, the combination of all that was unpleasant in the foregoing suggestions, for he brought abject misery and discomfort. But another Guest was about to arrive, a Glorious Visitor!


     WITH Thursday night there came a change. It was a crisis. The Unwelcome Guest had spent a week; having come with the good bishop. The result was as has been only mildly described. To sum it up: it was as if the sun had ceased to shine and deep clouds had begun to gather. Darkness followed; deep, dense darkness; "darkness that could be felt." Then a stillness. It was a time of terror and expectancy, as is the sultry hush of the moment before the electrical storm breaks in its fury in the summer season. Men groped about the college and campus in a dazed condition, not knowing what was the matter; not knowing what to do nor to expect. The storm broke on this memorable night. The lightning flashed across the lurid sky; the thunder rolled and pealed; the winds blew; the rain and hail descended. Men were struck and stunned on every hand, and likely to die. There were groans, and shouts, and cries, and mute appeals. It was an awesome night! But in the midst of the terror and the darkness a change came: a little light shining through the darkness, but growing brighter and brighter, till it appeared an opening of glory in the sky, such as one sometimes sees at evening after a storm above the western horizon. The great black cloud is still hanging over the west. but gradually the sun forces his way through; first a little light, then more and still more, until by a mighty effort the storm-curtain is rent asunder, and the sun shines forth in his unobstructed splendor, and instantly the sky is transformed; the dark cloud has a silver lining, and the whole canopy of heaven-above, east, west, north, south-is aflame with crimson and gold and purple, and the little, white, woolly clouds overhead go scurrying across the sky, covered with blushes. The sun sinks, but the rift in the cloud remains as glorious as the very gate of heaven. So this night the clouds were rent asunder by the personal coming of Christ the Light. There he stood; nay, approached, till many a startled face was upturned in fear, in wonder, in expectancy. He came a glorious, welcome Visitor, and took up his abode. Darkness fled from many a heart, and in the place of sorrow, discomfort, and anguish, there was "joy unspeakable and full of glory."
     In the midst of his terror and pleading, young Moon looked up, stopped, trembled; a smile spread over his haggard face, and then, with a shout, he sprang to his feet, only to fall back prostrate on the floor, where he remained in a silent transport of ecstasy, looking up into the face of his Savior. His life was transformed from that instant. Since he had slipped back into the world, many unholy things had come in, little by little, and gained power over him. That vision saved him from the dominion of all that was sinful, and he could truly sing:

"Since my eyes were fixed on Jesus,
     I've lost sight of all beside,
So enchained my spirit's vision,
     Looking at the Crucified!"

     Scott saw Him too, and in an instant the tears of sorrow and of hopelessness were changed to tears of joy. He was converted amid a flood. His great difficulty in seeking Christ had been to believe that Christ was his; that he could be included in the atonement; he who had been so light and flippant in regard to holy things, and who had so often closed his ears to the Spirit's call. While he was in the depths, struggling with himself to take hold on God, the friends about him began to sing the old chorus:

"I do believe, I now believe,
     That Jesus died for me;
That through his blood, his precious blood,
     I am from sin set free!"

And as they sang, a transformation took place. His homely face lighted up till it fairly shone, and a look of brightness and a smile of glory spread over all, till the malshapen features were melted into symmetry and beauty, and seldom will a more beautiful face be seen than that transfigured, glorified countenance of Scott! The splendor faded soon, yet some of the glow remained, and it was a general remark that Scott was better looking after his conversion than he had been before. Indeed, the improvement continued as bad habits and their results were left behind, and as Christ more truly looked forth from his face.
     Both Moon and Scott felt the call to the ministry almost immediately. The change in Scott's life was especially noteworthy. For the sake of Christ he was eager to let go of things that had become a part of himself. In this he was not like some young Christians of the present, who seem to begrudge every little thing they yield to Christ. It was a joy to find something new to give up to him who had sacrificed so much and who had just pardoned him, "the chief of sinners." He had stopped drinking and card-playing immediately, as matters of course, and, strange to say, he found that dancing had lost its charm for him, though he had been a skillful waltzer, and possessed what might be termed a passion for all forms of dancing. These matters did not even become questions of debate with him; they settled themselves and forever. He was filled with such new and lofty ideals and aims that many things, before attractive, became trivialities and unworthy his thought and attention. However, he was very careful not to criticise others; for he remembered his former convictions, and he believed that charity must be the starting-point in discussions on all these topics; and, further, he believed that each man must be true to his own leadings. Undoubtedly early training had something to do with the outcome in his case.
     He was not without his struggles. A few days after the incidents just recorded he met something that made him tremble, and yet, when he saw the situation plainly, he did not waver. He had been a cigarette-smoker from his childhood, and the habit had grown and fastened itself upon him until it was master. It was his curse; had stunted his growth, injured his throat, and disordered his heart. When he became convinced that it was possible for him to give up tobacco, and that it would be to the glory of God, the question was practically settled. When the moment of the final test came, he was alone in his room upon his knees. A feeling of strength supreme filled him; he arose, and walked towards the stove like a giant. As the little white rolls writhed and twisted and shriveled in the heat that turned them quickly into gas and ashes, it seemed to him that he could almost hear the chains fall from him, and he was free! He never smoked again. Surrounded by smokers, receiving invitations daily, it was a great victory. There were compensations that soon became apparent.
     After a time the old feeling of dissatisfaction returned. Something was unfinished, though, at first, he could not discover it. One evening, as he was musing upon the subject, the question came to him as if from another person, "Would you be willing to go as a missionary to a foreign field?" It was a difficult interrogation, and one not easily nor instantly answered. As thoughts of preferment in the ministry came to him-thoughts that had already insidiously mastered him without his knowledge or consent-he cried out, in his agony, "Lord, not that; anything but that!" Then he began to think; his past life came up in review before him. He could now see God's providence all the way along; could see how he had been led, and some of the things from which he had been saved. At length his soul was flooded with a tidal wave of gratitude, and he cried out, "I'll go anywhere, dear Lord, anywhere, even to the uttermost part of the sea!" A song came to his lips, while the joy of his victory appeared in his face.

"Then in fellowship sweet,
We will sit at his feet,
     Or we'll walk by his side in the way;
What he says we will do,
Where he sends we will go,
     Never fear, only trust and obey!

Trust and obey,
     For there's no other way
To be happy in Jesus,
     But to trust and obey."

It was blessed to see his happiness after this, and to note his perfect trust.
     There was another change that must be recorded. The empty-headed, fluffy-haired little maid, whom he had thought he cared for, suddenly appeared to him as she was, and it became difficult to think of her without apathy. And, moreover, it was evident that she had no further need of him. Her soul could not be satisfied without certain kinds of plays and toys, and when she discovered that he was no longer the delightsome source of these things she suffered disappointment, and did not hesitate to display it. She made fun of him, laughed at him, teased him, did everything in her power to test him, and when she found he was steadfast to the new life, in a fit of jealous pique, she sent him away, and bade him never return. He had been quite meek through it all, and had endeavored to tell her something of his new experience and its delights; but, failing utterly in every attempt to gain even a fair hearing, for his own sake he was not sorry to be dismissed. She immediately made up with one of her own sort, a young fellow who had recently entered the preparatory school, but who, by the way, struggled for many terms to gain admittance to college, but failed in every attempt, and at last fell out entirely.
     This change in his feelings towards Miss Flossie helped Scott to see what a tremendous transformation had taken place within himself. A week before he had believed her to be "the most delightful little piece of humanity," to use his own words, that it had ever been his good fortune to meet. Regeneration is a transformation; even the affections are changed.


     MCQUIRK professed conversion, and manfully maintained his position even in the face of the Sunrise Club. And as long as there was work for him to do he held out, but as soon as the religious meetings ceased in college and town, the poor fellow fell back. If he could have been "kept at it" all the time, without cessation, he might in the end have been victorious. There are many like him, who flourish during the seasons of special effort, but who fall in the intervals.
     Preston, in a gloomy sort of way, sought and professed to find the light. His condition was unusual, for he was morose and sour, and seemed to take little interest in his surroundings, and he insisted on being alone. His case was and is a mystery. The only explanation that suggests itself is, that his better nature demanded that he yield to the power of the Spirit that was convicting him of sin. As if against his own will, he did make a show of seeking; but the moment a suggestion of a ray of light appeared, the tempter came in and told him that he had now obtained all that he sought; then, when he went away alone, the old enemy threw upon the screen of his memory pictures of his past pleasures, gone forever; and as he had not yet tasted the new, it was easy to make him believe that a life of "humdrum" was before him. These thoughts brought more gloom and further seclusion. He was never again known to give a sign that might have been termed hopeful, and, besides the extra gloom, he went on as before.
     Win Wilding, though a member of the exclusive and high-society class, did not escape conviction. He was present at the meeting on Thursday night, and expressed, by standing with the others, his desire to lead a Christian life. After dismissal he was surrounded by a few earnest men, who talked encouragingly to him; but his pride was in the way, and he would not yield to the pleas of his conscience, backed by the Holy Spirit, nor to those of the friends who were with him. He was unwilling to make any humiliating demonstrations. It was one thing to say in a manly fashion that one wanted to be a Christian, but quite another thing to fall on one's knees and let it be known that one considered one's self a dark-hued sinner. He was willing to do almost anything but place himself in the attitude of a humble penitent. He would go no further than promise to watch his life in the future, and to endeavor to make it beyond reproach. Yes, he would lead a better life; that was his decision. As time went on, his old proud self began to reassert itself; the Spirit had less hold on him; and finally, bracing himself up, his eyes flashing, he said: "Fellows, this thing has gone far enough. It is growing late, and you will oblige me if you will now permit me to retire. I respect you for what you are, and thank you for your kind interest and good intentions. No, we need not allude to the matter again. It is all settled. Goodnight!"
     As the men filed out, he looked at his watch. It was nearly twelve o'clock. He was just beginning to make preparations for the night when he paused, gave a sudden start, turned pale, moved towards the door, and then suddenly halted in the middle of the room. In the tremendous excitement of the meeting down-stairs everything had passed from his mind, and he had actually forgotten all about the german at the armory and his engagement with Miss Biddle. What could she think?
     Because he was impelled by an unrecognized force, he had passed into the meeting that night, intending to remain but a short time. He was all prepared for the evening's pleasure, as far as dress was concerned with the exception of his coat. This he would don in an instant, run around the corner to the livery stable, where he had ordered a cab for 8.45, then in a few minutes he would have his lady, who would be waiting for him, and they would be at the armory in good season. But the intensity of interest and of power had put all else from his mind; and now it was twelve! There was nothing to do but wait till the morrow. This was done with impatience and sleepless eyes. In the morning he "cut" chapel exercises, lectures, and all other college duties. As soon as he dared he repaired to the Biddle mansion, to do his best in the matter of explanations and apologies. The mortification he felt was great, because he had ever been punctilious, even in the smallest matters in society, and had gained that reputation, but especially because Miss Biddle was more to him now than a mere passing, pleasant friend. What could he say? Would it be possible to make her understand? She certainly could not feel complimented, no matter how plain the explanation might be. How could he forget an engagement, and with her? Many similar thoughts passed through his mind while he pressed the button and waited. He determined to tell the simple truth, and throw himself on her mercy. The door was opened by a maid: "No, Mr. Wilding could not see Miss Biddle; she was ill; could see no one; had not left her room." He went away as in a dream, but presently awoke therefrom, and rushed to his apartments, where he sought his desk and found relief in writing. The following is the result of his hour at the desk:

     "DEAR MISS BIDDLE,-I regret that I was unable to see you this morning. I am filled with sorrow that you are ill. Form no unkind opinion in regard to my unfortunate conduct last night until you have opportunity to see me. The only thing that could possibly have caused me thus to forget myself, except sudden prostration or death, occurred. By all I know you to be, I beg you at least to postpone the cruel decision that my actions would of necessity dictate. Let me add, lest you might not permit me to see you again,-add what it was not my purpose to say for months, add what in the circumstances I can not help revealing. I love you! I love you! I love you!
                                                                "Humbly and devotedly,
                                                                                "W. W. WILDING."

     As he said in the note, the revelation was not to have been made for many months; but he felt that circumstances demanded a wise play. He had been equal to the requirement. The note was most adroit. It was meek, but not servile; it suggested, and gave play to the imagination, but did not explain; it appealed to her better nature, and dispelled any tendency to yield to pride; and, lastly, in the declaration, it manfully put away from her the most bitter thought connected with the whole unpleasant affair. When he did see her, which was comparatively soon, it was not at all difficult "to make up." They were happy in the knowledge that each possessed in regard to the affections of the other. But Miss Biddle had little understanding of the affair that had kept Wilding away that night, and less sympathy. She felt a pride, however, in the thought that the man of her choice was not only wealthy and fine-looking, but religious.
     The affair was nearly fatal to Wilding. The self-control that he had determined to exercise till the end of the course would have been difficult, but, in his case, wise. He needed to be kept under discipline, and that would have assisted. Now that restraint was removed, mental discipline was dissipated and college work suffered. Thus the effects of that night were serious, not only in regard to his soul's welfare, but also in regard to his mental well-being.


     THOSE who do not know for themselves often form grave misconceptions as to what it means to be a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. Young people often profess to believe that it means the giving up of their so-called liberty and their pleasure. It is not the province of this history to combat this sentiment with argument. But life is full of arguments, if one will only behold them and study them, and permit the truth to convince. The true Christian life is the best argument in the world for itself. If young people would stop arguing for awhile, and simply try it, there would be no need of further debate. They would "know of the doctrine." Upon investigation it will plainly appear that the young Christians whose acquaintance we have made are still full of life and the ability to enjoy it.
     On Saturday, the strain of the week's college work and of the meetings being over, the "Co-eds" had an all-day picnic at Miss Holmes's. It was a winter picnic, but none the less enjoyable on that account. There was a large attic in the house that was used for laundry purposes when the inclemency of the weather made out-of-door drying an impossibility. This room was clean and devoid of furniture of any kind, with the exception of a few stationary washtubs and a large laundry stove. Each girl brought with her some article for the lunch; and the main feature of the day was the preparation for and the destruction of said lunch. They sat upon the floor in true picnic fashion, and could almost dream of May.
     This was a jolly day, and the only thing that happened worthy of reporting-for it was all relaxation-was a recurrence to the meetings and the great fact of Scott's conversion.
     "Do you think he will be one of us now?" Miss Brighton asked.
     "I know it," was Miss Holmes's sententious reply, which was greeted by a shout of laughter, in which the young lady herself joined most heartily.
     There were many students at college who resided in town, some of whom came from good families other than those of the most fashionable set; but they possessed, nevertheless, all the graces most desired in the best society. These students, along with other young people of similar character and proclivities, formed a social circle of their own. It was the desire of many of these "day students" to enhance this circle by bringing into it some of the best of the college men. On the other hand, there were not a few of the latter who were ambitious to be introduced into this respectable and intelligent town society.
     There was residing in town an influential junior by the name of Short, who had a wide acquaintance, not only among the class just described but also, to a certain extent, in the realm of "The Four Hundred." Down in his heart was a preference for the former society. There was more real enjoyment and less strain and friction. It was not so wearing. "Shorty," as he was called, was a favorite of many of the students who had the mania for wanting "to go out," as calling in town was termed. He was kind and agreeable, and often made himself useful in bringing together the college men and the town girls.
     This same Saturday, Short was coming onto the campus from his home, and Moon was walking alone just ahead of him. Short called out, "Hello, Moon; wait a minute!" After joining him and making some commonplace remarks, he continued: "I've been looking for you all the morning. How would you like to go out to-night? I am almost ashamed to tell you where I am going to ask you to go, and yet it is a place I am very fond of visiting, because I invariably have a pleasant evening there. The fellows do not know that this is one of my calling-places, or they would 'guy' me most unmercifully. It is Blanchards. Good family; but you know Katharine is little more than a child, with dresses to her shoe-tops. She is only sixteen years of age; but our families have been intimate for years, and I really call to see the whole family as much as I do Katharine, and we have pleasant times together. The last time I was there, Katharine said: 'Will, why don't you ever bring a student around with you? I am just dying to know some of them!' And if you had heard her speak, you would have thought she was a grown woman. 'All right,' said I, 'I will do that gladly, if these good people [pointing to her parents] do not object.' 'O they don't mind,' she rippled, 'just so you bring the right kind.' 'Well, name them yourself; then you will be sure,' I suggested. 'I am not so certain of that,' her father interposed. 'You know them better than she does, Will. You just use your own judgment.' 'Let us hear her list,' I maintained. Then she mentioned some eight or ten names. You would have laughed had you heard some of them. She knew nothing of them at all, had simply heard them mentioned somewhere or other. One or two I would not have presented there for anything in the world. But of all she mentioned there is not one I would rather take than yourself, and I am afraid you will not care to go. What do you say?"
     Short was a little nervous, and had run along, scarcely taking time to breathe. Moon had been endeavoring to get a word in all the time, but had found no opportunity till this juncture.
     "Why, I shall be delighted to go. There is no meeting to-night, and I need a little relaxation after the strain of the week, and it will not be necessary to stay late. I think it will do me good. By the way, Katharine, as you call her, is a Christian girl, I have no doubt?"
     "You need have no fear on that score. They all belong to the same Church of which I am a member, and she is especially devout and conscientious."
     "Then I will go the more willingly."
     "I will call for you to-night. Be ready in good time; for it is quite a long walk, and she is not used to society's hours. Good-bye! Moon, I am much obliged. If you had refused, I do not know what I would have said to the girl."
     "That's all right, old fellow. The obligation is all on the other side, I can assure you."
     Short went back home feeling very much pleased; for he had been afraid that Moon would not want to call on such a young girl; and Moon went to his room, feeling particularly happy. Why it was, he did not understand. Whether it was a case of telepathy, or not, can not be determined; but if there is truth in telepathy, there was reason for his happiness; for he was to meet his fate that night.


     AN unpleasant little thing happened that same Saturday morning soon after chapel. Wilding and one of his fraternity men, Smith by name, were walking down the campus arm in arm. They were surrounded on all sides by men who were going in the same direction, and probably on the same errand-the morning mail. All was peace till suddenly, in a derisive manner, Smith turned to his companion, and said:
     "Why did you not go to the german the other night? Miss Biddle nearly broke her heart when he found that you had actually given her the slip."
     "If you understood how distasteful that subject is to me, I am sure you would not be unkind enough to broach it," was Wilding's only rejoinder.
     "Unkind enough is good. I would like to know who has been unkind just now." Smith evidently referred to some little difficulty that had not been overheard by the crowd.
     "Well, put it differently. I am sure you are too much of a gentleman to touch such a delicate subject in this place. If there is anything that must be said, let us have it out in private."
     "All right, old fellow; have your way about it. I only know that there was great sadness at the Biddle mansion the other night; for I happened to be there, and did my best to play comforter, which was not unpleasant, I can assure you. I told her that I was certain you were lying paralyzed or dead that very minute; for nothing else could keep you away. I knew I was telling a lie; for I had seen you with the other saints in the old chapel as I passed by; but I could not bear to see her pride suffer. I knew it would be easier for her to believe you dead than that you had forgotten her or let her slip for conscience' sake. I did not know, though, at the time, that you had gone in on the high religious order, and had eschewed dancing and all other worldly amusements. I wonder how she likes it?" With that he slapped his brother on the back, and gave vent to a hearty, though coarse-sounding, laugh. He evidently was very much excited, and did not realize how he was stirring up his companion.
     "Smith, I am not a fighting man in the sporting sense; but I know how much I ought to take, and I have taken too much already. No man can talk to me in that insinuating and ungentlemanly way of any lady of my acquaintance without taking the consequences." He took off his coat, and threw it on the ground. "They can expel me from the fraternity, if they wish, after one of us is whipped, but if they will permit such a cur as you to remain in, I shall consider myself complimented by an expulsion. Come on. I'll leave it to the crowd that I took as much as a man could stand."
     Smith was white as a sheet. He knew he was no match for his enraged adversary, and he realized now that he had gone too far. But, being no coward, he threw off his coat, and took his position, and waited. In the meantime a few of the same fraternity had gathered about the combatants, urging them to settle it some other way; that their present method meant everlasting disgrace to the chapter. On the other hand, there were not a few who were calling out: "Let them alone!" "Fight it out!" "Stand aside!"
     "Get out of the way, fellows," commanded Wilding. "If he had simply insulted me, I would swallow it for the sake of the chapter; but he has insulted an innocent lady in her absence, openly before this crowd, and he has got to take the consequences. Stand aside! Do you hear, there! Come on, Smith; we'll settle this thing."
     Neither one of the angry men had lost control of himself. They were standing up to each other in the attitude of fighters, each looking into the other's eye for a moment before beginning the onslaught. Wilding drew back with a quick motion, as if to strike; but the blow never fell. Scott, having just come up, without waiting for an understanding stepped in as peacemaker. Seizing Wilding's wrist with one hand, he pushed Smith off with the other.
     "What is the matter with you fellows, anyhow?" he said, turning to the crowd. "Were you going to let these two grand fellows disgrace themselves and the college, to say nothing of their fraternity, by permitting them to fight like animals? I say, What is the matter with you, anyway?"
     "Scott is right," said several at once, as they stepped in between. "It was all so sudden that we scarcely knew what to do. But you are right: there can be no fight here and now."
     Both of the combatants, seeing the futility of further effort, permitted themselves to be led to their rooms by their friends. The thing was patched up between them that night; for Smith went over and apologized, saying that he had been stung by a remark of Wilding's, and had permitted himself to say what a gentleman ought not to say. Wilding accepted his proffered hand in a dignified manner, and added that it was easy to overlook a personal affront, but difficult to be passive when a lady was drawn in without reason.
     Wilding and Smith were soon good friends again, and apparently forgot all about their little unpleasantness; but poor Scott suffered the punishment of a peacemaker. If he had let them batter each other into insensibility, he would not have been condemned by either party; but because he interfered, and saved not only their bodies from harm, but their reputations from destruction, he brought upon himself the lasting enmity and hatred of at least one of the parties. Wilding did not soon forgive him, and, contrary to his own calm disposition, he never permitted himself to lose an opportunity to do a mean thing to him. Scott suffered in silence.
     "Do you know," said Wilding one day to a crowd of his fraternity men, "that I hate that little Scott. I never did like him, though I was always able to pass him by in silent contempt; but somehow, since he has been playing the high religious part, I can't conceal my hatred. It seems small in me, and yet when I pass him I know he must see the contempt written on my face. Then, it has become one of the real pleasures of my life to thwart him in his plans, and to bring him down from his high horse, especially when he is with that precious crowd that has taken him up. My! what a crowd it is! How ladies like Miss Holmes and Miss Bruce, and men like Kenneth and Short, can have anything to do with it is more than I can fathom. They are promiscuous and doubtful to a degree! Miss Holmes is a second cousin of my mother's, and ought not to be permitted to be seen with them. I called there the other evening to warn her, and do you know that Scott came in to call? Fortunately he did not see me; for I had walked right out into the dining-room, where I had seen Miss Holmes. I told the young lady that I was surprised that she would go with that crowd, and especially to see that man in her house; and what was her father thinking about? But she only laughed at me. I am going to see Mr. Holmes. I can't bear to see that girl in such low company. I know mother would be shocked, as would all the Armstrongs."


     MISS BLANCHARD was evidently a little nervous. The more she thought of the word Mr. Short had brought her, the more uncomfortable she became. She never thought of "Will," as she called Mr. Short, as a man to be afraid of. She had known him all her life, and he had always appeared big and friendly to her. Their families had been intimate for so many years that she could not recall when she had not looked forward to the coming of this great, big, kindly fellow. She loved him as a little sister would love an older brother; for he had eight or nine years the start of her. But she felt different when she thought of that strange student who was coming; and O, how timid she was growing! She almost wished she had not been so bold. At last a happy thought came to her. She would go and see her particular friend, Daisy Woods, and ask her to spend the night with her. It would be easier if there were two.
Miss Daisy was a plump, "roly-poly" little body, a most decided brunette, and about a year older than Miss Blanchard. When she received the invitation, and understood the import of it, she was only too happy to join her forces with those of her friend. She, too, felt the charm of coming in contact with a real live student. It would be so grand to say to her set of girls, carelessly, of course, "My student friend thinks so and so." Little did she realize how important a friend this student was going to prove himself!

     The two young maids were in the parlor alone, sitting up very stiff and straight, and feeling decidedly uncomfortable; for the parents had good-naturedly promised to let them play that they were "truly" young ladies. It was eight o'clock.
     "I don't believe they are coming," said Miss Katharine. "Why, it is after eight."
     "Nonsense! Why, it only just struck. You know, Mr. Short had to go 'way up to the college after him. Then, my sister's callers don't get there often till 'most nine. They'll come fast enough, and I almost wish they wouldn't. I feel a little nervous. I never did talk to a real live student in my life. They know so much, and are so great, that I am afraid I will not know what to say."
     "That's just the way I have been feeling. And that's why I do not believe they will come, Mr. Moon will say, when Will goes to his room, 'Why, she is only a little girl, and I think I will not go.' "
     "In that case Mr. Short will come round and tell you, and perhaps he will remain awhile; and then we will have a good time, after all. I believe I wish 'Mr. Moon would not come. Katie, what made you so foolish?"
     Thus the two girls talked, now encouraging one another, and now chiding. At last, about 8.20, the doorbell did ring, and Messrs. Short and Moon were ushered into the parlor. The young ladies soon discovered that the student was not a terrible animal, and that he would not bite. In fact, they forgot that there had been anything to be afraid of. Presently Mr. Short asked for Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard, who very gladly came in. Then they sang college songs and told college stories. Later Katharine brought in some cake of her own baking and cups of delicious cocoa. Mr. Moon was enjoying himself extremely. There was no restraint, nothing unpleasantly conventional. The young men were perfectly at their ease, because they looked upon these maids as little more than children, who could not as yet possibly think of men in the light of future husbands. It was refreshing to get into such clarified atmosphere as this. Moon had been thrown most of the evening with Katharine Blanchard, when the conversation was not general. It was not until just before their departure that a little shake-up in their positions brought him next to Miss Woods for a brief period. Then he suddenly discovered that her voice was soft and low and musical, and at the same time rich and strong; that her smile was sweet and winsome and perfectly unstudied; that her face was restful to look upon. Besides, she was quick and bright. Altogether, in those few minutes, he received quite an electrical shock, and, more-he was charged with her subtle unconscious magnetism.
     When Moon fell asleep that night, which was not immediately after his head touched the pillow-for somehow he was excited, and his heart beat rapidly (if it had been coffee, instead of cocoa, that would have been the reason)-he dreamed that Miss Woods had died, and that he had been called upon to preach the funeral sermon. It was his first sermon and his first funeral. He felt that it would kill him. He was happy to awake and assure himself that it was but a dream.


     WHILE Short and Moon were calling at Blanchard's, Scott called at the Holmes mansion, Miss Holmes and Scott had met the day before on the campus between lectures. The former had heard the good news of Thursday night, and was delighted. The hour-bell interrupted them in the middle of an interesting talk. As they separated, Scott was surprised to receive a cordial invitation to call the next evening, so that they might be able to finish the conversation.
     "You do not want me to call on you; I am not good enough," was Scott's impulsive response. If that remark had come from another kind of person, he might have been accused of "fishing for compliments;" but poor Scott was so painfully frank, and he had such little confidence in himself, so far as the more refined society to which he had been unused was concerned, and he had such an awe of Miss Holmes in particular that what he said was not construed by the lady to mean anything of the sort, or uncomplimentary to herself. While she had not known him personally very long, she understood him well enough. In a small college a man's personal equation is soon discovered.
     Hence she simply said: "Now, Mr. Scott, you know I would not invite any one to my house out of mere politeness, nor would I have asked you if I had not meant it. I want you to come. I desire you to meet papa and mamma, and I am anxious to finish our talk."
     "Miss Holmes, I did not intend to be uncomplimentary. It really seemed to me impossible that you should want me to call. But I assure you it will give me the greatest pleasure to come; and I should be delighted to meet your parents. And I am as eager to finish our conversation as you, I am sure. I am particularly anxious to hear what you were about to say on 'goodness.' "
     It required an unusually long time for Scott to prepare for his call that night, and for what reason he could not guess. Everything seemed to go wrong. He could not get what he termed a decent polish on his shoes; he dropped his collar-button and spent minutes in finding it; his necktie was perverse, and would not stay where it belonged; and it was most difficult to remove the last fleck of dust from his clothes. He was not late, however, when he was admitted to the Holmes mansion.
     The room he entered was called "parlor" by courtesy, though in no sense was it a drawing-room. Not that the carpet was not rich enough, nor the furniture sufficiently elegant, but that it was constantly used by the whole family as a most delightful and homelike living-room. The library was here, the books being arranged on low, tasteful shelves; here also were the cabinets of collections or specimens in geology and natural history, and the curios gathered in different parts of the world. One could not feel stiff nor strange in a room like that, before its great open fire, under the glow of the immense electric light that hung low from the ceiling, so covered and tinted by its opalescent globe that it made one think of the moon caught and enthralled with its face ever towards this earthly paradise. But, best of all, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were there, and gave signs of a purpose to remain. They always did remain. As yet the company that entered that house came to see all. Scott was glad, for he was not afraid of Mr. Holmes with his genial face and kindly manners, nor of Mrs. Holmes with her sweet womanliness, though he had not met either of them before; but he did stand in awe of the daughter, and he was far from being perfectly at ease with her. Hence he was pleased to know that the parents were to be a part of the company for that evening. Indeed, Miss Holmes was not in the room, and Scott was left to get acquainted with the older folk without introduction,-a task that he found anything but difficult.
     Voices were distinctly heard in another room, and it was easy to recognize the daughter of the family as one of the speakers, and presently Scott assured himself that Wilding was the other, though, of course, not a word could be distinguished. But presently there was a motion towards the front door in the hallway, and these words floated into the open door.
     "I know I am only doing what mother would do herself if she were here. I know it is too late for to-night, but you can see to it that it is the last time."
     "Thank you, cousin, for your kindly interest; but I think I am perfectly safe in papa's and mamma's protecting arms. I have no company that they do not approve of. Talk to them all you desire. In the meantime I made this engagement for the evening because it was my pleasure."
     The voices were very low, and it is doubtful whether Mr. and Mrs. Holmes heard a word, or, if so, connected it with present circumstances in any way; but Scott was near the door, and every word of it fell into his ear as if it had been whispered there. He was rendered far from comfortable as he realized that Wilding had been there, warning his fair cousin of himself as a dangerous character.


     WHEN at length Miss Holmes entered the room she found the little group apparently interested in conversation, nor did she conjecture that her guest had been the innocent recipient of words not intended for his ear. Her cheeks were flushed, and for a few moments it was evident to one noticing that she was not perfectly at ease. Any embarrassment that might have been hers, because of the call and advice of her Cousin Wilding, soon vanished, and she was enabled to enter the conversation as if she had been present from the beginning.
     The older members of the circle about the radiant moon-lamp dropped out, and yet they left the field gradually and gracefully. When Scott finally noticed that both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were reading their respective books he was surprised. How they escaped without his knowledge, and how Miss Holmes and himself had at last reached the subject of yesterday's conversation, were two problems that he was unable to solve. Both transitions were as perfect as that the skillful organist will make as he passes from his prelude in one key to the doxology in another-gradual, and without pause in the harmony.
     Miss Holmes was saying: "I never met any one whom I knew for some length of time without finding something good in him."
     "I have no doubt that is true, Miss Holmes, and I believe you are especially skillful in finding the hidden nuggets under rough surfaces; but, often, is it not a poor kind of goodness? To speak concerning myself: they used to say that I possessed a good heart, but I knew all the time that it was a low type of goodness. It wasn't Christ-goodness."
     "I do not think I can agree with you there. How many different kinds of goodness do you count, Mr. Scott?"
     "That I could not answer, but I know there are a great many kinds and degrees. There is that thief I read about the other day. He would rob rich men of vast sums of money when he had the opportunity, but he was so tender-hearted that he would afterwards spend the bulk of it on the poor. No one will ever know the widows and orphans he helped, to say nothing of the other unfortunates who looked to him for aid, nor what will become of some of his beneficiaries, now that their source of revenue is cut off. Then, there was a man hanged for murder of whom I heard some years ago. They said his mother nearly died when he was convicted, and did not survive him long. She was an invalid, bedridden for years. Her son virtually renounced the world for her sake, became her nurse, and tended her like a baby. Then there was Edward Drawde, the lecturer, whom our fraternity banqueted when he was in town a few weeks ago. He is a hard drinker. Often he will get into the very gutter, yet they do say that he treats his wife, who is a helpless cripple, with almost infinite tenderness, even when he is under the influence of liquor. He may be cross and surly and even dangerous to others, but he never forgets himself with her. Those are instances of goodness; but I do not call any of them real Christ-goodness, do you?"
     "I fear I shall be compelled to differ, Mr. Scott," was the smiling response. "I do not believe that there are two kinds of goodness; one of the world, and the other of the Church; one of the devil, and the other of Christ. There is but one kind of goodness, and that is Christ-goodness. We often talk of original sin, and profess to believe in it; and we do, in a certain sense, meaning simply an inherited tendency to evil; but why do not we believe in original goodness as well? I would rather believe in the latter than in the former, if it were necessary to reject one or the other. Man is born with a tendency to do good, and he does it; and he continues to do it, though he may remain unregenerate for years, or even all his life. He inherits this tendency from his ancestors who have been doing good; from the original pair who undoubtedly did much that was holy; from God himself, who breathed upon man the breath of his own life, his own soul! Mr. Scott, I believe with all my heart that there is but one kind of goodness, and that is Christ-goodness; for Christ never yields foothold in the territory of a human heart till, grieved at last, he goes away forever; and then it is a saddened going, which leaves the soul lost, whether in the body or out of the body."
     "Splendid! Almost you convince me by your eloquence. But, tell me, what difference then do you make between the Christian and the sinner? The one does good, but sometimes finds himself doing evil; the other practices evil, but often varies it with good."
     "There is not much difference in too many cases. But the real difference is great: the one recognizes Christ to be the source, and gives him the right of way; the other does not recognize him, and certainly does not in any sense yield to him. Yet that does not prevent Christ from working in him. Christians make a mistake often, I believe, in not appreciating this great truth. When Christ was upon earth he recognized it, and his dealing with publicans and sinners proved it. Our business, it seems to me, is to find the good in men about us and endeavor to help them to recognize its source; to assist discouraged men to see the God already in them. That is glorious! You know the old story of the block of stained marble that the people saw daily as they passed. To them, you remember, it was only a block of stained, unlovely marble; but when at last a sculptor beheld it, having the artist's eye, he saw within it an angel, a pure angel, and, by skill and toil and patience, he at last brought it forth in all its loveliness, to the delight of all who saw it. So there are 'blocks' called men all about us; to many an eye they are but blocks, soiled and stained, but to the eye of Christ and Christ-men, there appears within, not an angel, but better, the image of God himself; marred and blurred, it is true, but there! The true artist can help to bring it out. O, let us use mallet and chisel, and tact and skill, and faith and love, to help to bring the Christ out of these 'blocks,' that all may recognize him!" Her face glowed as she spoke and became transcendently beautiful, at least to the watchful eyes before her, and a little glistening drop of moisture stood in each of her own eyes, for she was moved to the depths; yet her voice was not raised; it was low and sweet and well-modulated.
     Scott needed some one to talk to. He needed not so much advice as leading. This conversation was a help to him, and it was only one of many with which he was blessed at the beginning of his Christian experience. He felt the results of it far out in life. It was one of the little things that worked together with others to make him the magnificent man he became. It changed the course of thinking of a lifetime, and, coming as it did at the outset of the new life, it had more influence. He found himself better able to get down beside men, no matter how low they were, with a feeling of fellowship, and thus he was able to lift them up. He never despaired of any man so long as he saw in him any trace of the original Christ.
     It might be well for ministers and teachers if they could believe in men more than they do-"despairing of no man."
     If strong men, if broad and lofty men, if great men, are needed anywhere, it is in the sacred desk. Men, men, MEN! Men who will not be afraid of soiling their fingers; men with a heart and mind like Christ's; men who will live to love their fellows. Let them go to college and seminary, but not to make their knowledge of Greek and Hebrew the sole test of their fitness to do work for Christ. Let there be knowledge and love of men; and let fearlessness to speak to them and touch them be a part of the test, at least.
     A few years ago, in a certain college, it was reported that some of the young men had been speaking together in regard to their respective futures, each one in turn telling the others what he would like to be. One man among them had remained silent, a man of little ambition and practically no piety. Turning upon him, the others demanded that he disclose to them his purposes and aims. "I think I shall enter the Church," said he. "I have a good voice and look well in broadcloth, and, besides, I have an aptitude for the ancient languages." And thus he went to speak to dying men the message of salvation, when he would not have touched many of them with the tips of his dainty kid-gloves.
     There was never any danger that Scott would become that kind of a minister; but if there had been, that evening's conversation would have made it forever impossible.


     WILDING was not a mean fellow by nature; but when his baser side was stirred, he sometimes descended into very low realms. He did not realize how small his behavior to Scott appeared, and he did not care. Scott's coming in as peacemaker galled him, and the more he thought of it the angrier he became; hence time did not heal the sore. It was like certain scalds or burns on the human body: they will not heal if nature is unaided. Heroic measures were needed to heal his scald, and it would require something akin to skin-grafting to do the work. He continued, among his own special friends, to make Scott the main topic of his conversation, and, because of the powerful influence he wielded, quite a rough breeze began to blow against Scott; not enough to hurt him, but just enough to render him uncomfortable often, without making him aware of the reason for his discomfort.
     Because of certain social currents, Wilding found himself seeking friends more and more in the town. His loafing moments were often spent in the back office of some young lawyer or doctor. On one occasion, about this time, he was sitting with other young society lights in a certain law office, when Judge Sawyer looked in for a moment. He was in trouble; the court reporter was ill, and the substitute could not be found. "Do you know any one who can do the work? Pay is big, you know," was the laconic way he put it. Some one mentioned Scott up at the college.
     "I am sure he would not be able to do it," Wilding hastily replied. "It is said that he is a stenographer, and I can imagine what kind of a one he is. Why, Judge, I do not believe he has brains enough to do the work. He is a little, harebrained fellow who would give you no end of trouble. Candidly, if you desire my opinion, I know that he is unfitted for the work by his personality, and I doubt whether he has the requisite knowledge."
     "Much obliged, Wilding. I will look further. There is a man down the valley that sometimes substitutes; but he is not first-class, and it is always a bother to reach him. I thought there might be some bright young fellow up at the college who would do the work."
     On another occasion Wilding was passing the Zane mansion, where a party of young town girls held the porch. They were having an animated discussion on some subject of interest, and all were endeavoring to express an opinion at once. At length one of them caught sight of Mr. Wilding, and immediately called out to him: "O, Mr. Wilding, stop a moment, if you please; we want the benefit of your broad experience. We have been doing what you may think is a very unladylike thing. We have been discussing one of your college mates. Some of us have been told that he is from real good stock, and that there is no better company to be found anywhere, and you know that most of the men of our set are a poky old lot. What we need is some real, new, lively blood put into our veins. But just as we thought we had the necessary remedy, one of the girls spoiled it all by saying a whole lot of mean things about the man. Now, Sir Oracle, we want the final word!"
     "Certainly, fair priestess; but we crave the name."
     "O, I forgot that part of it; but I supposed that you would divine it. The man's name is Scott, since you must be told."
     Wilding's face darkened, but he controlled himself admirably. "Indeed, Miss Zane, I had already felt sure of the man before I asked his name. I recognized his effrontery at once. I do not like to speak against any of the college men, because I must live with them in a sense. Besides, there is a species of college etiquette that makes us all loyal to each other, good, bad, and indifferent."
     "O, Mr. Wilding," exclaimed Miss Zane, "that is a shame! You know we are helpless girls, and we need the kind advice of some one we trust who is at the same time an authority."
     "Thank you, Miss Zane; I was just going to add that this seems to be an exceptional case. I will tell you the facts for your own protection, and not in any sense because I desire to injure a fellow-student. Scott has no claim at all on good society on the ground of family. He has no family. Moreover, he has been one of the wildest and most reckless men on the campus, until recently. A short time ago he professed to have changed. He is now playing the saint act, if you will let me speak that way, and is insinuating himself on those who have heretofore been ashamed to associate with him. He works on their sympathy and gains their pity. Why, I even discovered, quite by accident, that he had been working on my cousin, Miss Holmes, till she had actually invited him to call. Think of it! I hated to do it, but I felt that I owed it to her; I hastened around at once and warned her. I do not think she will be so indiscreet again. He has gone so far that he has constituted himself a tribunal of arbitration, and only the other day had the audacity to insist on settling a little dispute between a couple of us where he was not concerned in the least. I think I understand him. He has suddenly become ambitious. He has freed himself from the old crowd with which he went, and he is working his cards to get into our set. Now I have spoken plainly, simply because I feel that you ladies deserved the truth, and I have spoken it for your protection."
     "Thank you so much! We appreciate your kindness. Our sympathies had been touched, and we might have gone to extremes."
     " 'But he's a man for a' that,' " whispered Miss Bruce, unconsciously quoting a remark of Jeannie Gould's. Miss Bruce had been the one who suggested the topic to the girls before Wilding's approach.


     THE unfortunate cases of mistaken or of partial conversion described in a previous chapter were not the rule. A dozen or more noble fellows were thoroughly regenerated on that memorable Thursday night. Thereupon a great impetus was given to the work of redeeming men. The little praying band, augmented by many others, was alive and active. The work had only been started, and amid praise and faith it was pushed. Meetings continued every night for three weeks, and stopped then only because the material seemed to be exhausted. One hundred and sixteen men boldly professed the religion of Christ, exclusive of backsliders reclaimed and Christians revived.
     Now, it must not be supposed that these young men, all aflame with holy fire, were satisfied with that which had been accomplished. It seemed to some of them that they would die if work ceased.
     The meetings for fasting and prayer had been continued every Sunday afternoon, with this change: the noonday meal was the only one omitted; since there was work on hand for the night, they allowed themselves nourishment before beginning it.
One Sunday, three weeks later than the first meeting recorded, the band met in the afternoon, but now in one of the larger lecture rooms. They followed their usual routine of prayer and song; but this time, according to their own testimony, they found a barrier to their praying and singing. They recognized it as a sign that there was need of something else just then, perhaps action. Hence they turned from prayer to conversation, which was carried on quietly enough, without any animation and with little apparent interest. The remarks were drifting from the subject of the recent revival and the present spiritual condition of the college to that of their future duty, when suddenly one of' the men, with flashing eye, cried out, as if there had been a multitude before him: "I'll tell you, fellows, what we ought to do. Here we are, a body of spiritually-minded men, with our 'hands in' for evangelistic work and with the blessing of the Spirit upon us; and there is good old Dr. Slocum, the pastor of the college Church, yearning for a revival, with little or no response from his congregation. It is true that there has been a marked improvement since our meetings began, but that is mainly because the fellows now go to church and rally round him. What is to hinder us from changing our base of operations from the college to the church; take our body of trained men as a cohort of evangelists baptized with power from on high, and help to take this community for King Jesus? I suggest that Andrews, who has had more experience than any of the rest of us, be made commander-in-chief, with absolute power; that he appoint his committees and form his organization to-day; but that, first of all, he now appoint a committee to go at once and confer with Dr. Slocum on the subject, and obtain his opinion, and gain his consent, if possible." After this impulsive speech there was a murmur of approbation, and, without formal motion, it was immediately accepted, by common consent, as their modus operandi. The Holy Spirit was undoubtedly in the suggestion. In a few minutes a committee of three was on its way to interview Dr. Slocum.
     It is certain that that gentleman was surprised and pleased, and yet he hesitated for awhile, though he finally gave his unconditional consent. Not one of those impulsive young men appreciated at the time the amount of consecration it required on the part of the pastor to yield the helm to a lot of boys, as they seemed to him, to guide the ship where he felt he had failed to carry it.
     The committees were appointed that same afternoon, and announced in church at night. They were: Finance, Advertising, Music, Ushers, House-to-house Visitation, Personal Work.
     One week was reserved for preparation. The Finance Committee was to obtain money; for money is needed in revivals in these days, especially in city work, though in this case not one penny went to any of the workers from Andrews down. The Committee on Advertising were, by their skill, to let people know of the meetings, and create in them a desire to attend. They circulated attractive cards; they placed bills at the street-corners on little tent-like folding bill-boards of their own manufacture; they made the best possible use of the daily papers, and when the meetings began they caused to be announced daily, through many channels, the character of the meeting to be held at night. The Music Committee was to have complete charge of all music, organize a chorus, etc. The Ushers were to be thoroughly organized for their work. The Committee on Personal Work was to be trained to labor with Bibles in the audience and the special places of inquiry. The House-to-house Committee districted the town, and called at every house. They carried with them cards of invitation; they inquired into Church and Sunday-school relations, and made a valuable record for the use of the pastors of the city. It was charming labor, that of this last committee, though often filled with hard things.

     Kenneth and Scott were on the House-to-house Committee. The district assigned to them was a long street, stretching across the city on the line of its greatest extent. One end of this street was in the low section, across a limpid creek. Here were tenements and hovels; here were families suffering for the want of clothing, fuel, food; here were heathen as surely as in Darkest Africa; here the name of the Deity was seldom mentioned except in blasphemy. And yet the young men were received gladly in all these places. When they asked questions, the responses were often in the form of reminiscences of better days; of a praying mother; of a Sunday-school teacher. Here prayer and the reading of Scripture were always welcomed. Ill-fortune and poverty were usually attributed to drink, and some of these unfortunates cursed the business that was cursing them and their loved ones. Often appeals were made for help in material lines, and the attention of the Finance Committee was called to such cases.
     In this section Catholics and Protestants were alike courteous. The young men were surprised and delighted with their reception, for they had dreaded this part of the street. The neighborhood was called "tough," "a man's life was not safe," etc. Later, they discovered the reason for this reception. They carried a Bible in their hands, and even these lowly, sinful people recognized it, and knew that he who carried it must bring a message of peace. It is said that there is no better passport to the darkest slums of the vilest city than God's Word carried openly in the hand, and its reflection in the face.
     Kenneth was the older Christian, and hence was of great help to Scott the first afternoon they were out; but he was taken acutely ill that night, so that Scott was compelled to go alone for a couple of afternoons. He shrank from it, most naturally, but did not shirk. He afterwards claimed that the memory of this experience gave him courage, later in life, when he found the Holy Spirit's call was demanding a change in his cherished plans. Heretofore he had felt only a repulsion for this kind of people; now there was born within him a love and a yearning that made him feel akin to them ever after.
     Into saloons he went; into places that were worse than saloons; among brawling, fighting men and women; but always there was the same effect,-peace and respect, not to say reverence. Many promised with tears that they would come to the meetings; some had to be clothed in order that they might come. Some accepted the help, but never came; others were true. Whole families in this region were converted and turned into God-fearing, law-abiding citizens. It will be certainly understood that many who professed religion went immediately back into the old life; others were more steadfast, and were helped to a better life by moving away from this dreadful section soon after their conversion. They could afford it; henceforth beer-money became rent-money and shoe-money and meat-money. One saloon in that neighborhood closed, because many of its customers had moved away or had ceased to patronize it. In fact, the place was changed, and it will never be what it once was. But all this is ahead of the story. On the town-side of the creek lived many of the respectable poor. For the most part, these also received Scott gladly; some, coldly and with suspicion; some were insulting. In a large store-room were sitting a father and several grown sons, sewing. They were German tailors. When the question was asked, "Are you Christians?" the response was an indignant "What do you take us for- Heathen?"
     But as the young volunteer passed on down the street, he finally came into the fashionable quarter. Many of the wealthiest people in town lived here. He was now through what he had considered to be the most difficult end of his work, and with a sigh of relief he entered the easy portion, as he thought. In reality the true burden of the task was still before him. Never had he been so insulted, so slighted, so sneered at anywhere as here. Kenneth was better, and able to join him; but they did not deem it necessary to go together in this enlightened district; hence they took opposite sides of the street. Kenneth knew many of the families here, and was socially connected with some of them. He was one of the limited number who had broken through the barrier of the town society, for quite frequently he was counted among the guests in these homes, while he remained a recognized member of the college set. He was not a "society man" in the sense that Wilding was, but his social standing was fully recognized in the town. Nevertheless, in more than one instance his friends gave him to understand that they had no sympathy with his work. When he approached the Zane residence, the young people were out front, the day being mild for the time of year (the early part of March)-the first suggestion of spring. A half dozen or so of the college boys, of the society class, were laughing and chatting with the young ladies. Kenneth was well acquainted with the family, and was reasonably fond of their society, and the fondness evidently had been reciprocated, for he owed to them much of his advancement in the town. His heart warmed up as he approached this mansion, for he felt that he would have here at least a moment of rest and sympathy. But when the young people saw him they guessed his errand, and nudged each other meaningly, and whispered among themselves. Then the men formed themselves in double-column, and stood with heads bowed and hats in hand, in mock reverence, while sprightly Miss Zane said: "Well, Mr. Kenneth, are you coming to convert us poor sinners? I am afraid we are beyond reclaim." She then ushered him into the presence of her stately and austere mother, who received him stiffly, and coldly answered his questions, with no show of sympathy nor of kindliness, but with an iciness sufficient to have turned summer into winter. As he passed out he was compelled to run the gauntlet again. It is strange how some good people seem to be able to show sympathy with things that are doubtful, to say the least, and sometimes apparently with that which is positively evil, but when an effort is made to do good, they withdraw their sympathies and banish their helpfulness, and in their place erect obstruction.
     It was a pleasure for these young men to find, now and then, in this part of the city, exceptions to the rule. There were those who received them kindly and with sympathy, and several even suggested that they would be happy to entertain the Finance Committee.
     These workers met with some incidents that were of a lighter vein. Almost the last house that Kenneth visited was that of a dear old lady of Scotch descent, who lived alone and seemed to be much neglected by friends and neighbors. She was so delighted to get hold of some one with whom to talk, that she actually detained him by moral force a full half hour, and insisted all that time that he should talk Calvinism with her. She was a firm believer in the old system, and her last words, as he passed out of hearing, were, "We ought to be very thankful, Mr. Kenneth, that we are among the elect!"

     The meetings in the church began on Sunday night. The house was crowded. Many came because this was something of a novelty. They wanted to see what sort of a revival it would be that a lot of "boys" were going to manage. They knew well enough that the students could make mischief, if they desired; they were anxious to see if they could "play" at religion as well. They seemed to take it as a kind of a joke, and some went so far as to criticise the pastor for permitting it.
     Andrews preached a short sermon, not remarkable from a literary standpoint, but full of evidences of the Holy Spirit's power and of personal magnetism that was all his own. Harley then sang a solo. He was a superior singer, entirely deficient in self-consciousness, as well as in conceit. His voice was rich, deep, and sweet. "Eternity!" He sang it so impressively, and seemed to feel it so truly himself, that a hush fell upon the multitude, a hush like the stillness of death; and when he ceased, not even the uncertain noise of a large audience were audible. In a moment suppressed sobs were heard all over the house.
     All who desired the prayers of Christian people were requested to lift the hand. At least twenty did so. These, with their friends and the workers, were invited down into the lecture-room. The others were dismissed. Perhaps a hundred and fifty followed Andrews's lead into the room below, where it would be more convenient to work than in the larger auditorium. This evangelist was a firm believer in the benefits to be derived from a change of atmosphere. The workers were kept busy, and when the meeting at last came to a close it was found that at least thirteen had professed a change of heart.
     The work of this night was a sample of that which followed. The students were full of power; the Church membership was aroused and blessed; backsliders were reclaimed, and two hundred in round numbers gave evidence of genuine regeneration, one hundred and fifty of whom united with the college Church. Zion was transformed. The old enmity existing between the college and the town divisions of the Church vanished into "thin air."
     The Glorious Visitor had indeed come to college and town and with him joy and peace and power.
     This work was transacted at an immense cost on the part of the students. Some of the professors objected to the whole movement, not that they were not sympathetic with Christian work, but that they believed these young people were at college for specific purposes, and that anything foreign to those purposes, no matter how good it might be in itself, was harmful, and ought to be discouraged. Hence the fellows made a pledge among themselves that they would never present the special work as an excuse for imperfect recitations, and, further, that they would exert themselves to the utmost, and conscientiously, to do full justice to college work. The effort was noble, and the strain on many was severe. If college duties did not suffer, many other things did. Letters were few and far between, and of "the soul of wit." Social duties and pleasures were almost lost sight of. Athletics were at a discount. Lights were seen burning late and early. The Faculty agreed that never had better work been presented to them, nor more steadily for a longer period.


     "THE college set," along in April, decided that they had not had sufficient fresh air, and that they were in need of a day of it. At the same time there came an invitation from one of the "Co-eds" who lived about ten miles out in the country, to come and spend the day with her at her father's home and in the woods close at hand, in quest of trailing arbutus. The invitation was accepted with joy; for all understood that Miss Freeland's mother was mistress of the art of entertaining.
     Two omnibuses started out in the morning, containing a most happy crowd. There were included in the invitation, Mr. Scott, of the college, and little Miss Woods, of the town. Mr. Moon was surprised to find what new interest he took in the affair after he discovered that the little lady whom he had met at Miss Blanchard's was to be one of the party.
     Mr. Freeland was a wealthy farmer, a retired merchant. His was the privilege of playing with the earth to suit his whim, and not the stern necessity of coaxing from her bosom the wealth that he needed. His farm was a fancy one, upon which there was much to be seen, especially among the stock and equipments. Nothing was done by the "crowd" but roam about the place before the early dinner was served. Then they all scattered over the mountain-side.
     The arbutus grew in a charming spot. The trees were old and stately, and not too close together. The grass was long and fine, while here and there were found most exquisite tangles, with winding paths and cool springs. One or two delightful dells were discovered, named, and taken possession of in the name of the party. One beautiful grotto was stumbled upon that reflected the light from its sides as if it were studded with diamonds. But the main business of the afternoon was arbutus, which was found in great abundance.
     There was no general disposition to break away into couples. Of course, there were exceptions to the general rule; but usually they wandered over the slopes in little knots, talking and laughing, and sometimes screaming in that charming abandon that betokens the entire absence of self-consciousness and restraining conventionality. They were little children again, so free were they from artificial restraints. Among these groups conversation was plenteous and bright, accompanied with a constant fire of repartee that was frequently brilliant. Characteristic shouts of laughter were the punctuation-points of the various groups, effectually disclosing their whereabouts. Mr. Moon and Miss Daisy Woods did accidentally get astray from their friends, and, though they diligently searched for them, it was a long, long time before they were successful. A Mr. Boice, a quiet and refined young junior, had claimed Miss Holmes's attention for most of the afternoon. This was unusual; for that young lady was generally the life of a party in her quiet way, the nucleus around which all gathered, soon or later, consciously or otherwise. She made several strenuous efforts to get into the crowd, but somehow it always came out the same way. She seemed chagrined, and lost much of her vivacity. At last she managed to lose herself from her escort, and in a secluded little glade sat down alone, endeavoring to fathom the situation. She had not been enjoying herself, and was anxious to know the reason why. It was while she was here that she was greatly frightened by a large blacksnake, and a little shriek escaped her lips-not loud, but just loud enough for Scott to hear. That poor fellow had been wandering about aimlessly and alone. He had not seemed like himself. There was no fun in him at all, and he was so glum that some of the party privately formed the opinion that his religion had rather spoiled him as a companion. He himself did not know what was the matter with him. He could not have analyzed his mind if his life had depended upon it. He only knew that something was wrong, and that he was not enjoying himself in the least. Even the charms of nature and the fragrant arbutus did not appeal to him. Yet he never once hinted to himself by the shadow of a suggestion that his condition was in any way connected with a young lady in the party, or out of it. He had absented himself from the others, that he might not make himself obnoxious to the happy ones.
     Hence he happened to be the only one who heard the little cry of terror, though he had not been conscious of his proximity to Miss Holmes. He hastened to the place where the lady stood terrified, and quickly destroyed the snake with the heavy stick that he was carrying.
     "O thank you, Mr. Scott!"
     "Never mind that, Miss Holmes. I do not need any thanks. It is the only time I ever enjoyed killing anything, so far as I can recollect, unless it were a mosquito."
     The little affair seemed to render him quite like himself, and the two wandered off to view the beautiful grotto that Scott had discovered in his lonely wanderings.


     AFTER viewing the grotto and admiring its many marvels, and after refreshing themselves from the cold crystal spring within, they seated themselves on convenient rocks in a little nook near by, and there, as was apparently inevitable, they were soon engrossed in a conversation. The topic was unusual: "The Great Dead Weight."
     It was Miss Holmes's suggestions that enabled Scott to crystallize his own thinking on the subject. It is frequently discussion that enables us to discover our own mind.
     "I think that each one has his own especial burden to bear, his own difficulty to combat, his own 'thorn in the flesh.' " continued Miss Holmes.
     "I should say 'Yes' and 'No' both to that," was the reply. "We have undoubtedly our individual burdens and besetments, but is it not true that under these there is something that produces the peculiar personal difficulty, according to the temperament or organization of the individual?"
     "I can not say that I understand your meaning. You seem to suggest that while our individual difficulties may differ, our 'thorns in the flesh,' not being from the same tree nor in the same spot, yet, after all, there is an underlying reason for having these unpleasant things that is the same in all. If that is what you mean, then I should like to know what it is that produces such dissimilar results in us."
     "You catch the idea, and have put it much better than I could have done. I may be mistaken, and I can not say that I ever thought of it in just this way before; but it seems to me, now, that it is the same thing St. Paul refers to in the seventh chapter of Romans: the thing which compels him to do evil when he would do good; the thing he refers to in the eighth chapter as 'flesh,' and it is what I should call 'self.' Is it not true that 'self' is the greatest burden we have to bear? And are these other difficulties not, in a measure, outgrowths of it?"
     "I believe I would say that you are right, Mr. Scott, if I had a little more time to think it over."
     "I think we ought to call 'self' 'the great dead weight' of society. I do not mean that there are not rare and beautiful exceptions. I do mean that most of mankind know something of it. Even children, who possess the minimum of self-consciousness, early display signs of this burden. I have a friend who has a tiny sister four years of age, who has gained remarkable skill in applying to herself any conversation she may chance to hear. She will say, 'Is it I?' or 'Does that mean me?' and so on, till 'the little I,' as they sometimes call her, is a constant source of merriment. The little 'I' often becomes the big 'I' as the child grows."
     "I see what you mean now, Mr. Scott."
     "I believe the world is divided into two great classes in regard to this matter. Monsieur l'Evêque, in 'Les Miserables,' is an illustration of a man who has dropped his burden and appears radiant without the touch of self. No character in literature more perfectly portrays the class that has ceased to be burdened by 'the great dead weight.' And I could call up more than one historical character who might readily be placed in the same category. On the other hand, there is living near my home a man who dwells in a beautiful mansion and enjoys all the necessities and most of the desired luxuries of life, who possesses houses and lands till he is far from want, to put it mildly. He housed and fed, for a short time a poor old woman, a near relative. The expense to him could not have been much at the outside, for her requirements were few; but the burden became too great to this man already overburdened; so one day he hitched up his horse to an open wagon, and carried the old woman, in broad daylight, to the county poorhouse, she all the while pleading with him for mercy, and weeping quietly to herself for shame. She kept claiming that she could not live long, and that she would be as little a burden as possible. Poor old soul! She did not last long after she reached the poorhouse. The pity of it, it seemed to be the cause of her death."
     "How can one analyze one's self so that one can know in which class one may be?"
     "If your question applies to yourself, Miss Holmes, let me assure you that you have little cause to worry. You must let your friends help you judge. If you are speaking in general, I would say that I have not had time to think on the subject. It is new to me. You are simply drawing me out. I have an idea that the one who wants to know will be enabled to find out, by the help of God and his friends, with perhaps a little assistance from his enemies, if he chances to be fortunate enough to have them. The first book I ever read through as a child was Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' No part of the book was more thrilling to me, nor made a greater impression, than the vivid portrayal of the burden of sin worn upon the backs of the pilgrims. Perhaps the artist made the impression the stronger by causing the men to appear in the illustrations with great packs upon their backs, which bowed them to the earth. When I finished the book, I was so fearful and excited that I could not eat my supper, nor could I sleep much that night. Shortly after this I was taken by my parents to visit Niagara Falls. While we were approaching the falls on the train from the city of Buffalo, the sun was sinking to rest. Over in the east clouds were gathering, most of them being of the amorphous kind, that give no substance to the imagination. But as we were looking from the window, suddenly one of these great clouds passed from its formless state to a perfect picture of two pilgrims, each with his staff in his hand and his pack upon his back. The slanting rays of the sun so tinted the cloud picture that little was left to be added by the imagination. It was to my childish mind a prophecy, a portent of some kind. I see now that the pictures of the artist and those in the sky were but allegorical representations of the condition of a large portion of our race, not burdened with sin simply, but with self. The packs are invisible to the eye, but often a keener sense can discern. Polish and etiquette and civilization hide them, but little things will often discover them."
     "Your picture is exceedingly vivid, Mr. Scott. I can see your cloud group very plainly. 'The great dead weight' is often very evident. Sudden danger often brings it into sight. I was crossing the North River once with father from Hoboken to New York, when the river was full of ice, and the fog was so dense that one could not see farther than a few feet in front of the boat. The ferry was moving at a snails pace, while the fog-horns and bells kept one's ears vibrating with their clamor and clang. No one was thinking of danger, but all were annoyed at the delay in crossing, when suddenly there loomed up in front of us one of those immense ferryboats that run uptown from Jersey City. I have never seen anything that looked so big as that boat did. It was invisible in the fog till it was too late to do anything. We waited breathlessly for the crash. It came! Our deck was simply folded back like the page of a book. Then instantly the quiet crowd turned into a wild mob. Men and women were in a frenzy of fear. They did not know what they were doing and the only sentiment that seemed to be actuating most of them was that of self-preservation. Men snatched life-preservers from weak women. Most of the passengers on that trip were foreigners, and it was really amusing, in spite of the terrors of the situation, to note how completely they forgot their English as they began to swear or pray, as the case might be, in their native tongue. I never saw such universal selfishness brought so sharply and suddenly to view as on that day. And, as it came out eventually, there was no need of it; for after an hour of wandering in our crippled condition we at last came into our slip wrong end first."
     "That is true, Miss Holmes, and your illustration was perfect; but sudden danger will sometimes just as truly reveal the absence of the weight, as in the case of the shipwreck of which we read in the papers recently. There was but a short time, for the boat was sinking; but not a man would seek the boats till the women had been placed, and then, when there was not room for all, some of the heroes forced their reluctant fellows to take the vacant seats, while they remained to sink with the ship. Among the latter was the captain, a God-fearing man, who was last seen on the bridge with folded arms, just as the boat went down. There was no 'weight' there."
     "So far as I can see, there is nothing that makes it more evident than the avaricious pursuit of wealth, or of fame, as an end in life. I have seen politicians going about with a great pack on their back. They think more of their own position and its pay than they do of the people whom they serve," continued Miss Holmes.
     "Yes, and even the suggestion of benevolence brings it out. There was once a minister in our town who had a little boy who was a faithful attendant upon the church services, and who gave evidence of being a listener. On one occasion his father was preaching upon the subject of missions, and drew the picture so vividly that the little fellow's heart was touched. All his worldly wealth was in his pocket, contained in a little round pill-box. It consisted of a miniature jointed doll and a tiny silver three-cent piece. He loved this treasury, and had carried it for days. When the basket came to him, he placidly dropped into it the whole thing. When he left the church, his enthusiasm had cooled a little, and he missed his treasure. Presently, as his loss was more perfectly realized, he burst into tears, and ran to his father, the custodian of the funds, and pleaded with him for a return of his wealth. There are older children who enthusiastically give under the influence of a magnetic appeal, who would do as the boy did if they possessed the courage. Instead, they turn sour and make a long face every time the subject of benevolence is mentioned, and continue to make more visible the pack upon their back."
     "I have often noticed it in society, too," remarked Miss Holmes. "There the little jars and unpleasantnesses make unexpected revelations. The members of the same set are often so jealous of each other that a little thing will make evident their burden. What is a person to do when he gets the revelation in regard to his own condition?"
     "I have just been thinking of that, Miss Holmes. It seems to me that the first duty is to discover the burden, then find a place to put it, and then to leave it there. The pilgrims in the 'Progress' carried their packs to the cross, and there left them. We too often carry them to the cross, and then sadly take them away again. I had seen so much of that that I was long deterred from making a start in the Christian life, because I could see very plainly the packs on the backs of the Christians around me. I do not mean that I then formulated the subject as we have to-day, simply that I saw their selfishness. I think the best thing to do is to get out of the seventh chapter of Romans into the eighth, with St. Paul. He does not seem like the same man; for he immediately cries out that there is no condemnation to those who are in Christ, 'who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.' You see, he had left the flesh, 'the self,' behind. He is a different man when he says: 'For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus, our Lord.' "
     Here their attention was arrested by the growing darkness, and they saw for the first time that a sudden shower was upon them, and that a great cloud had already covered the sky. They hastened towards the house, where most of the others had preceded them, but they did not reach the shelter till they had received a thorough drenching. When the first drops had begun to fall, they were about to seek shelter under an old tree in the distance, but a blinding flash and a terrific crash at the same instant brought them to their senses, and the noble tree stood blasted before them.
Out of breath and a little dazed, they reached the house, thoroughly happy that they had escaped so well, though in their hearts they were not a little chagrined that they could be so deeply engrossed in conversation that they had not noticed the signs of the approaching storm.
     It was necessary for these to masquerade during the evening in borrowed clothing, which created no end of mirth. The storm also spoiled their plan for supper on the lawn. The weather had been so mild that this was to have been one of the features of the day. The excellence of the meal was not impaired, however, because it was served under cover.
     The rain poured down in torrents for a long time, and when at last they dared venture on the road towards home, it was extremely dark, and the roads were so washed that once an accident was barely averted. The road had been washed away from the approach to a little bridge spanning a creek with steep banks. The skill and caution of the drivers together with the assistance rendered by the young men, saved them from a catastrophe that would have meant the loss of life and limb.
Darnforth was at length reached, where the crowd was deposited, tired but happy, and laden with great baskets full of trailing arbutus, the sweet.

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