acher rose
into a higher vein, and said how the thought of the school chapel would
come back to the boys in distant days; that the careless would wish in
vain that they had found the peace of Christ there, and that those who
had worshipped in spirit and truth would be thankful that it had been
so. And then he drew a little picture of a manly, pure, and kind ideal
of a boy's life in words that made all hearts go out to him. Boys are
heedless creatures; but I am sure that many of them, for a day or two
at all events, tried to live a better life in the spirit of that strong
and simple message.

Well, yesterday we had a man of a very different sort; earnest enough
and high-minded, I am sure, but he seemed to have forgotten, if he had
ever known, what a boy's heart and mind were like. The sermon was
devoted to imploring boys to take Orders, and he drew a dismal picture
of the sacrifices the step entailed, and depicted, in a singularly
unattractive vein, the life of a city curate. Now the only way to make
the thought of such a life appeal to boys is to indicate the bravery,
the interest of it all, the certainty that you are helping human
beings, the enjoyment which always attaches to human relationship.

The result was, I confess, extremely depressing. He made a fervent
appeal at the end; "The call," he said, "comes to you now and to-day."
I watched from my stall with, I am sorry to say, immense amusement, the
proceedings of a great, burly, red-faced boy, a prominent football
player, and a very decent sort of fellow. He had fallen asleep early in
the discourse; and at this urgent invitation, he opened one eye and
cast it upon the preacher with a serene and contented air. Finding that
the call did not appear to him to be particularly imperative, he slowly
closed it again, and, with a good-tempered sigh, addressed himself once
more to repose. I laughed secretly, hoping the preacher did not observe
his hearer.

But, seriously, it seemed to me a lamentable waste of opportunities.
The Sunday evening service is the one time in the week when there is a
chance of putting religion before the boys in a beautiful light. Most
of them desire to be good, I think; their half-formed wishes, their
faltering hopes, their feeble desires, ought to be tenderly met, and
lifted, and encouraged. At times, too, a stern morality ought to be
preached and enforced; wilful transgression ought to be held up in a
terrible light. I do not really mind how