the course of
the channel, which was unaltered by the tide and which always lay out a
gleaming artery from the almost invisible sea.

It was Sunday morning--a day observed with such precision in that little
town that I was almost alone out of doors. A string of cart-horses,
their day of rest well-earned, were being led across the sands from the
level tide. The sand, uncovered by the sea for weeks, was bleached to an
intolerable whiteness, but there was no wind to lift it, and the sea was
tranquil, its little waves all hastening in one direction, like a shoal
of fish making for a haven. The sun was already changing its early glory
to heat. All the erections for amusement on the shore looked a little
foolish in that solitude. I returned to the town along the empty asphalt
roads and went with my companions to church. It was a church whose
pretensions were high and genteel. Nothing of a personal nature was ever
heard from its well-bred pulpit. The hymns were discreetly chosen to
avoid excitement, and a conversion would have given offence. The
minister for that day was a young man from the poorer end of the town,
and I remember, even as a child, being disturbed by the announcement of
his first hymn, "Rock of Ages." Even the organ blundered as it played so
common a tune as Rousseau's Dream, and I, who learning counterpoint,
feared to be seen singing so ordinary a melody, lest it should set me
down as unmusical for ever. But soon my concern was with the unfortunate
young man, for he was, I felt sure, quite ignorant of the habits of such
congregations as ours, and would certainly offend our best people. For
after that we read the parable of the Prodigal Son and sang, "The Sands
of Time are Sinking." Then I forgot even this curious lapse from our
Sunday custom, so clearly did the tale now begun by the preacher bring
again before my eyes those inhuman sands, that lonely sky, and the
unstayed power of the sea.

He had chosen, so he said, for his service this morning the favourite
hymns, Scripture, and text of an obscure member of the congregation
taken from earth in a strange manner the day before. For more years than
he could remember, there had come and gone in that congregation an old
blind man. He had heard him spoken of from time to time in a kindly
contemptuous, way as "Old Born Again," and it was by that nickname he
would speak of him this morning, but he could find no place in his
intelligence for contempt, for Old Born