me

was the chief of sinners; but the Lord has had compassion on even me, and has saved me and washed me cleaner than any new-born babe-bless and praise His holy name! Yes, washed all my sins away in His most precious blood!"

I knew very little concerning what is termed "experimental religion," in those days. I was a studious young man, of correct habits and quiet literary tastes, a communicant of the Episcopal Church, and inclined to regard such expressions and manifestations in the light of fanaticism, or religious frenzy. Of course, in common with the rest, I confessed myself to being a "miserable sinner," but understood the phrase in a strictly ritualistic sense, and scarcely as a matter of fact. Here, however, was an experience altogether new to me. Here was a man who actually believed himself to be a sinner, a vile sinner, such a sinner as I had in mind as the ideal "miserable sinner"-here was a man rejoicing in the consciousness of redemption and absolute forgiveness, thus removing the idea from the abstract to the concrete, and lending the whole subject a nearness and personality it never before assumed to my mind.

Hitherto, I had sat, if not quite with the scorners, certainly among those who regarded Methodists and other sectarians with a kind of humorous contempt, attributing their peculiar notions of religion,—when they honestly believed in them, to a lack of culture, if not, indeed, of intellect. But here was something so far removed from the contemptible as to be almost sublime in its expression. Here was a change in one I well knew a change of the most absolute

and radical character.

Here was a man transformed, as it were, before my very eyes, the Antle of two months ago being as different from the Antle now sitting before me as any two individuals could possibly be. It was not that he had "turned over a new leaf," 99.66 sworn off," "made a resolution to be a better man," or any of those weak and ineffectual half-measures we hear about and smile at; no, Captain Antle was a new man,· renewed to the smallest fibre of his being, to the most secret recesses of his soul. Of this astounding

change you could have no manner of doubt; neither could anyone doubt that, as he claimed, this change was attributable to some very extraordinary, if not, indeed, supernatural agency in short, to the operation of the Holy Spirit.

Desiring to investigate more thoroughly this extremely interesting psychological phenomenon (as I then regarded it), I resolved to question the captain closely as to the steps which led to his wonderful conversion. Never before did such an opportunity present itself to me. If I had had the privilege of an interview with some celestial visitant, I could scarcely have anticipated a more marvelous revelation.

Many a time, in days gone by-how far off they now seemed! I had listened spell-bound to the captain's narrations of peril and adventure on the mighty deep, listened to his experiences in foreign lands, and among strange peoples; but now I was to give ear to a revelation from his lips as different from all these "yarns," as day is from night, as far above the scenes described in them as heaven is above earth. I was standing, as it seemed to me, on holy ground. I was

in a room, made sacred, like that "upper room," by the descent of the Holy Spirit. I was to hear from another world than ours from a higher plane than this mundane sphere!

Few, then, can conceive of my feelings, when, in response to my earnest request for fuller information as to this most amazing of all the captain's experiences, he promptly replied:

Gladly, my dear Charles; and may the good Lord bless you in the hearing of it!"

III.

WELL, Charles, you know all about how I came to break my leg," said the captain. "It was just as I turned the corner of the street, near Molloy's house, on my way to the wharf. We intended to sail that evening, the wind being in the right quarter, after waiting four days. I slipped on a bit of ice not bigger than my hand. A couple of men helped me into the doctor's. He wasn't in, and they talked of taking me to old Hewitt's, the bone-setter; but, in a few minutes Molloy came, smelling of rum and tobacco. He had wits enough to fix me up with splints and bandages, so I could be removed here to my lodgings. They carried me on a stretcher, with a procession of boys following us, and sent for a nurse to take care of me.

"A nurse, do I say? God bless her, she's an angel, if ever there was one! Her name is Taylor—the widow Taylor old Billy Taylor's wife-a blessed old lady, and a most efficient nurse, too.

Well, Charles, first along I didn't pay much attention to her or anyone else. All I did was growl and swear, and bemoan my ill luck at losing my voyage, and having to lay up for weeks and perhaps months.

"Of course, I couldn't help noticing how lively and hopeful old lady Taylor was all the time, singing and warbling to herself like an old bird, and she so near the end of her days,

too, with all her family under ground long ago, and not much to live for, anyway. So I said to her one day, 'Mother,' I said, 'what makes you so plaguy happy all the time?' (I call her mother because she reminds me of what I recollect of my own mother, and then, being an old woman, why, of course, it was all right to call her so; but I little thought then she was going to be my second mother, my mother in Israel.) 'Mother,' I said, 'what makes you so plaguy happy?'

"The love of the Lord Jesus,' she replies, quite prompt. "What do you mean by that?' I asked her.

"I mean that the Lord has washed away all my sins and accepted me as His child. Being His child, I am happy, because I am safe in His arms, and I love Him with all my heart and soul, and love all His creatures, and want to bring them all to Christ.'

“Well, this seemed such a pack of nonsense to me that I couldn't help laughing at her, especially to hear her talk about her sins; so I said, 'Mother, what sins did you ever commit that hurt yourself or anyone else?'

"Everyone out of Christ is a sinner, my child,' she re

plied.

"Out of Christ? What do you mean by being out of Christ?' I asked.

"All unbelievers in the Lord Jesus as their Saviour are out of Christ, and therefore are in their sins.'

said.

"But, mother, if you were a sinner, what must I be?' I