part of it. He had not been in the water three minutes before he shouted, in a loud and terrified voice, 'Help! help! Cramp! cramp!' He was evidently sinking and struggling for life. Being, as you see, lame, and unable to swim a stroke, I was, for the moment, perfectly bewildered and horror-struck; feeling an instinctive wish to rescue the poor fellow, and at the same time restrained by the conviction that I could be of no possible use, and should in all probability, in making the attempt, drown both him and myself. In the midst of this distress the dog plunged into the water, and swimming straight to the drowning man, did his best to catch him by the back of his head and bring him to shore. The young man, however, fiercely beat him off with his fists. A second time his head sunk beneath the water, and on rising to the surface, again he cried loudly for help. Charlie returned to the rescue. 'Lay hold of the dog,' I now loudly shouted; 'he will save you.' But the young man was deaf to my entreaties, and Charlie was again insanely driven away. After this second rebuff, Charlie was making slowly for shore, but with his head turned, and eyes intently fixed on the drowning man, when a third and still more piercing cry for help made him again turn round and swim towards the point of danger. 'Lay hold of the dog's back! lay hold of him! I hallooed at the top of my voice; 'it is your only chance.' This time he listened to my advice, and eagerly clutching Charlie's back and bushy tail, was, after a good deal of struggling and splashing, brought safely to shore. By this time the young man had swooned. My aged friend and I laid him on the ground, and at first we thought life extinct; but after briskly rubbing his chest and limbs, we had the satisfaction of seeing animation gradually restored. The muscles of his legs were swollen into large knobs through the violence of the cramp that had seized him in the water; and there can be no doubt that my dog Charlie had been the instrument, in God's hands, of saving that young fellow's life.

"Whilst my friend and I were occupied in restoring him to

animation, you would have been interested with the intelligence and delight exhibited by the dog. He kept jumping about us, licking our hands, and the face and legs of the young man, and evidently quite pleased at the part he had taken. Later that evening I preached to the hop-pickers in the village chapel near the pond, and, you may be sure, did not forget to turn this accident to profitable account.

"But talking of the hop-pickers reminds me of the reason of my early visit to you, sir, this morning. It was to ask whether you would like to accompany me to-morrow on one of my missionary visits to the hop farms in the neighbourhood. I hope to hold three services for the benefit of those poor people to-morrow. The farthest point I visit is seven miles off. We shall pass through some pretty villages, and some of the finest scenery of Kent."

The offer being gladly accepted, we started the next day at noon, accompanied by two other friends and Charlie, who was well-known in those parts as the missionary's dog, on in front in tip-top spirits, and with a look of importance in his face, as if aware of the gravity of the mission on which we were bound.

It was a splendid day, and we passed through some quaint little villages, and caught glimpses of choice bits of Kentish scenery; the extensive hop-fields on either side of us bearing evidence of an exceptionally good crop, and the capacious barns crammed with the fruits of an abundant wheat harvest.

At the end of about five miles we reached a small village filled with hop-pickers and farm-labourers, a few of them neatly dressed and in their Sunday clothes, but the vast majority in their soiled and ragged work-day costume. Here we halted, and soon found ourselves in the midst of the hop-pickers. Many of these poor creatures looked just what I ascertained they actually were-inhabitants of the lowest stratum of our East End London population; and yet, with all their dirt, ignorance, and poverty, not a single rude or insulting word did our little party encounter from one of them.

After a liberal distribution of cheap Testaments and tracts, kind words and pence, we followed the Scripture-reader into a large barn, where we were cordially welcomed, and requested to take our seats at the upper end of a long and rather rickety-looking bench. There must have been nearly a hundred of the hop-pickers present at this service, the majority being women and children. Several of the poor women had their babies at the breast, and hungry-looking groups of ragged children gathered round their knees.

The service commenced with an opening prayer from a sergeant of the Volunteers, a simple, touching effusion evidently springing fresh from the heart, and listened to with profound attention. The Scripture-reader then mounted his pulpit, a large tub turned bottom upwards, and gave out the hymn, "Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear." It was sung with hearty enthusiasm, and in better time and tune than might have been expected from such a congregation. This finished, he opened his Bible, and read from the fourth chapter of St. John's Gospel the account of the woman of Samaria-Christ the fountain of living water. For about half an hour he preached on this theme in simple, earnest language, enforced by homely illustrations, exactly adapted to reach the hearts and intellects of those poor people.

During the sermon the dog Charlie, wagging his tail, wandered about the barn, visiting alternately different groups of the audience; receiving a pat on the head from one child, a crust or a bit of cake from another, a friendly caress from a third, and evidently on the footing of a well-known friend and favourite with many of the grown-up part of the congregation. Now and then, when the voice of the preacher waxed louder than usual, Charlie approached the tub, looked earnestly up into his master's face, and seemed to be studying its meaning.

At the conclusion of the sermon the Doxology was sung, a benediction pronounced, the congregation dispersed, and after much hearty hand-shaking and exchange of warm wishes between our small missionary party and the hop-picking

fraternity, we passed on to the next halting-place, a mere hamlet, where a couple of farms and a blacksmith's shop seemed the only human habitations; but where, nevertheless, a multitude of hop-pickers were assembled to meet and welcome their old friend the missionary.

His pulpit upon this occasion was a large waggon standing by the roadside, into which he soon mounted, the dog Charlie immediately scrambling up on the heels of his master. The covenant love of God, and the Saviour's atonement for sin, formed the chief topics of this second address; and which, judging from the faces and demeanour of the congregation, was listened to with attention and emotion. No interruption was experienced from the rough and motley-clad multitude. On the whole, it was a very impressive sermon. If the preacher's language and accent were deficient in polish and refinement, and if his discourse lacked classical learning, he possessed what is of far greater value in dealing with this class of our people-strong faith, deep earnestness of purpose, a powerful and well-modulated voice, and a fair command of good old Saxon words.

At the conclusion of this service our small party adjourned to a neat way-side cottage, where we were supplied with a comfortable tea by the woman and her daughter residing there. During the meal Mr. J— entertained us with a number of interesting anecdotes connected with his missionary labours amongst the haunts of vice, suffering, and poverty; and I soon discovered that his field of activity had not been confined to the Sunday-school, the hop-garden, or the cottages of the poor. He had been for many years a very active and successful agent of the Society for the Rescue of Fallen Women.

After tea, and before his evening service at a small chapel in the neighbourhood, I took a few turns in the cottage garden with this true-hearted gospel labourer.

"And did you never," I asked, "meet with any ill-usage from these rough, vicious people with whom you have been brought into contact during the last twenty years?"

"No greater mischief," he replied, "than hard words and threatening gestures now and then. The fact is, I have been mercifully shielded by the hand of God, and have ever felt and found that, whilst employed in His service, all sorts of dangers and difficulties are wonderfully averted or overruled. True, I have been laid up occasionally with colds and feverish attacks brought on by a little overwork, and exposure to the winter winds and rains; but that is scarcely worth speaking about."

"But were you never actually stopped or beaten ?" I asked.

"Never but once," he replied, "and it occurred thus. Several years ago I had been delivering at a village not far from this a lecture on Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' It was illustrated with magic-lantern views, and was to help the fund for the building of a new school-room there. The lecture had been a most successful one. I had got a good collection for the fund, and was returning in capital spirits in a pony-chaise, accompanied by my little boy, then but a child of ten. It was a cold, windy night, the moon was up, but frequently obscured by the heavy clouds sweeping through the sky. We were rattling along at good speed, and were within a few miles of home, when, at a lonely part of the road, near a plantation of firs, we were suddenly stopped by two men one of them violently seized my pony's head, and nearly forced him back on his haunches, and the other, approaching me with a horrid oath, demanded my money.

"I am a missionary,' I replied, 'travelling in the service of God. Stand out of my path, and let me go home in peace.' Another volley of oaths followed, and a fierce demand to give up every penny I had about me. Now, sir, I am a little fellow, but, thank God, no coward; and I happen to have a very powerful arm. The fellow now stood so close to me that I could feel his breath upon my cheek.

666

"I do not think,' said I, in as loud and firm a tone as I could muster, 'that you are an Englishman.' He moved a