he other side of the world, when enlightened by
the Spirit of God. Everywhere, Chester noticed, this Spirit was the
same, giving to rich and poor, learned and unlearned alike, the joy of
its presence.

"Come around tomorrow, and we'll take a look about the city," said one
of the elders to Chester. "Sitting cramped over a desk day after day,
makes it necessary for me to get out once in a while."

The afternoon of the following day, Chester called for his friend in the
office, and they set out. "I want you to get rid of the first
impressions of Liverpool," explained the elder. "I want you to get away
from the noise and dirt to the green and quiet and beauty of the town."

First they took a car to the Botanical Gardens, looked at the flower
beds and inspected the palm-house. Then they walked across the open to
the farther side, followed a short street or two into the big, open
grass-covered Wavertree Playground. Thence it was a short walk to Sefton
Park with its varied and extensive beauties. They watched the children
sail their toy crafts on the lake. There were some men even, trying out
model boats. The bird cage was interesting. The grotto, as usual, was
hard to find. The palm-house took a good part of their time, for the
beautiful statue of Burn's Highland Mary, gleaming white from a bed of
green, took Chester's attention, as also the historical figures
surrounding the house. One of these was of Columbus with an inscription
claiming that he had very much to do with the making of Liverpool,
which is no doubt true.

The weather was fine, the air was balmy; many people were out. Chester
and his companion strolled about the walks and across the velvety
stretches of grass. They watched for a time, a "gentlemanly game of
cricket," but it was too slow altogether for the Americans.

It was well towards sundown when the two young men took a car back to
Islington. "Another day we'll see Newsham Park, and the country around
Knotty Ash way. Then again, there is some beautiful country up the
Mersey and across to Birkenhead." The visitor was grateful for these
offers.

That evening Chester addressed some post-cards to his few friends in
Chicago, one to Hugh Elston, one to Elder Malby in London, and one to
Lucy May Strong, Kildare Villa, Cork, Ireland. He lingered somewhat over
this latter, lost somewhat in wonder at recent events. Was not this
ocean trip and the Irish experience a dream? The noise and smoke about
him were sur