CHAPTER XI.

WAIFS AND STRAYS.

"THE lines of suffering on almost every human countenance have been deepened, if not traced there, by unfaithfulness to conscience, by departures from duty. To do wrong is the surest way to bring suffering: no wrong deed ever failed to bring it. Those sins which are followed by no palpable pain are yet terribly avenged, even in this life. They spoil us of the armour of a pure conscience and of trust in God, without which we are naked amid hosts of foes. Thus to do wrong is to inflict the surest injury on our own peace. No enemy can do us equal harm with what we do ourselves, whenever or however we violate any moral or religious obligation." Channing.

"Thank you so exceedingly much, lady. No one ever says a kind word to we, and no one cares for we. We'll not forget all you've said, no, never.'

Such was the farewell I once received from two of the roughest and lowest waifs and strays. Poor things! It was true enough; but how

pathetic! "No one ever says a kind word to we;" and yet when they did hear a kind word, when they saw that someone really cared for them and longed to lead them to a better life, their astonishment and gratitude was most touching. The night before I first saw them they had been engaged in a drunken fight, which almost ended fatally.

They had begun life, as I afterwards learned, in better circumstances, but like many others had given way to drink and a reckless life; and thus little by little had fallen into their present miserable condition. But had no one tried to rescue them during all those wretched years, when they were living the life so many, alas! lead, "having no hope, and without God in the world?" "Once, some time back," they said, "they had been out hoppicking, and a kind lady had come and given them a tract, and invited them to come to a service on Sunday." They would have gone, only they had to go off to another place before Sunday came. This was the only religious or kindly human influence that they had met with for very many years. Can we wonder at their downward course?

Pray for them," said one of the men, who had brought them in to the meeting with great difficulty. "Do pray for them; you see just what they are, poor creatures, and how they need something better." He then suggested that we should sing, "I was a wandering sheep," and also, "Call them in, ye poor and needy;" but I rather feared their feelings might be hurt by such a personal application of the words. Fortunately, this was not the case. They remained behind afterwards, while we prayed earnestly with them, and spoke a few words of help and encouragement, inviting them to come again, which they promised to do.

The next day I visited them in a rough hut where they were staying, and learnt much of their past lives.

"We did not at all want to come last night to the meeting," they said; "but when once we got there we just did like it. Every one seemed so happy, and it was just beautiful altogether. Why isn't it every night? We'd go there if it was, instead of to the public."

After a time they were persuaded to take

the pledge, and they kept it for some time, even in the midst of great temptations. But they soon left, and their wandering life began again. The last time I heard of them they were going on well. We may, perhaps, never meet again; but may not we hope that He Who has said, “I, even I, will both search My sheep and seek them out," will in His own good time and way bring back these poor wanderers, and guide their feet into the way of peace?

A man who has a wide experience of such characters, and who frequently joins them by the way and learns their histories, has told me that they are always grateful for any kindness; that they are not nearly so rough at heart as is generally supposed, and my own limited experience fully bears this out. "I wish you had been with me to-day," he said one evening after our meeting. “I met a tramp, and as we were both going the same road we walked together. His history would have interested you, though in many respects it was the same old story. Drink was the cause of his ruin. But he is not happy in the life he's leading. He said to

me, ‘I often think of changing; do you think God would change my heart and make me a better fellow, if I asked Him?' 'I'm sure He would,' I replied; replied; and I told him many passages from the Bible to prove this. 'But it's such hard work,' he continued, 'to change, when one's been going on bad as long as I have.' 'Well, it's not too late yet, and you'll be helped if you try,' I said to him, and so we parted; but you'd be surprised if you knew what good feelings and what longings for better things often linger in those rough hearts."

Deep in the human heart, crushed by the tempter,

Feelings lie buried which grace can restore; Touched by a loving hand, wakened by kindness,

Chords that were broken will vibrate once more."

As has been truly said, "The mere sense that anyone loves them, and cares about them enough to come like the good Samaritan 'where they are,' works wonders;