e to win.

The poor old minister offered up a short prayer. The pastor read the 1st
Corinthians, chapter 13, and explained briefly what charity meant there;
adding that this gathering was very like one of the Agapae of the early
Christians--a remark I had not expected to hear in that assembly. Then
there was another hymn, "Beautiful Land of Rest," when it did one good
to hear the unction with which the second syllable of the refrain was
given:--

Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Beautiful land of rest.

After this the "Experiences" commenced in real earnest. Brothers and
Sisters were exhorted to lay aside shyness and mount the platform. Of
course no one would do so at first; and the poor shaky old minister had
to come to the rescue.

He told us, at rather too great length, the simple story of his
life--how he was a farmer's son, and had several brothers "besides
himself." He had to learn verses of the Bible for his father, which used
to go against the grain, until at last, instead of being "a wicked boy,"
he took up religion on his own account. He began to be afraid that, if
he died, he should go to "a bad place," and therefore started saying his
prayers. His brother George used to push him over when he was praying
half-dressed in the bedroom, or occasionally vary proceedings by
stirring him up with a sweeping brush. At last he found out a quiet
place under a haystack, and there retired to pray. The old man drew a
perfect picture of the first prayer thus offered, and told us he could
remember every little detail of the spot, and the great oak tree
spreading its branches over it. "Here I am," he said, "a poor old
pilgrim on the bright side of seventy now, and yet I can remember it
all. I say the 'bright' side, for I know it is a bright home I am soon
going to." Then he told us how God took his wife from him and all his
worldly goods, and he was quite eloquent about the comfort his religion
was to him now as he went to his little lonely lodging. He drew next too
truthful a picture of the state of things he saw around him in Kensal
New Town--mothers with infants in their arms crowding the tavern doors;
and finished up with a story, of which he did not see the irrelevancy,
about a fine lady going to the "theatre," and saying how much she had
enjoyed the anticipation, then the play itself, and, lastly, the thought
of it afterwards. She was overheard by a faithful pastor, who told her
she had omitted one detail. "No," she s