healthier gratitude than could be inspired by any amount of gifts. An heroic action should be "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever to all, be the hero of it rich or poor, but it is only the well-to-do classes who have the leisure or the means to commemorate the records of heroism. Who is there in the overworked East End-or indeed West End population-who can in any form keep alive the record of the heroism of an Alice Ayres, however much they may admire it when they hear of it? A paragraph goes the round of the papers for the day, and may or may not excite comment. The travellers on the Underground, going and returning from their work, may observe to one another that "a woman seems to have behaved very well in that fire, and it cost her her life, poor thing," and the story is forgotten. The romantic, picturesque element which clung about the daring of a Grace Darling is wanting in the surroundings of the grimy London heroes and heroines, or of the Paisley navvies. But is it not precisely because there is no dressing-up in a picturesque garb, nor any special glamour or beauty in the scene to inspire an artistic emotion, that the act becomes peculiarly pathetic and ennobling as an example? Fulfilling duty at the risk of life in that simple, unquestioning way, as an inevitable consequence of having it to do, is perhaps. the greatest quality in all acts of heroism. It is, of course, what ennobles the everyday life of all the best men and women in the world; but when it culminates in an action which lends itself to dramatic expression, then surely it is the time for art to claim a share in commemorating its worth, and to show that it can use such a record as a lever to try and raise the standard of good and excite admiration in many a nature which might otherwise remain unconscious and indifferent. We cannot all be heroes or heroines. We have not all the chance given us to know if we could or could not be and probably had we the chance, though the spirit might be willing, we should find that the flesh might be too weak; but all of us ought to recognise that acts of heroism are admirable; and, if our natures are not quite not quite submerged in materialism, and are still, even in this sceptical and cynical, and comfort-loving nineteenth century, capable of feeling enthusiasm-we ought to recognise with such enthusiasm the value and beauty of such acts. HRISTINE melodious voice, "I'm a missionary in RODEN China, you know; I'm only just home for met him a very few weeks, beating up such recruits first at her as I can for the mission. We're doing brother's, a great work over yonder in Tien-tsin. the well- Not the treaty-port, of course; the upknown Pro- country town in the Ho-nan Province." fessor of He said it with the earnestness of Political profound conviction. A glorious yearning Economy. in his restless eye seemed to lift him above the common. There was something so sympathetic in his voice and smile that though Christine had never thought anything before either about missions or treaty-ports or China itself, she grew quite interested at once, and begged the electric stranger in the coarse grey suit to tell her all about the "great work," as if the Ho-nan Province had been always the one object in life she really cared for. It was at an evening party, and Walter strolled up to her casually. "Chrissie," he said in his precise way (he was all frigid culture), "I want to introduce you to my friend Mr. Medlicott . . . . .An old college friend. We were together at Oriel." Christine looked up, and understood at a glance why her brother added those last words, in such a marked tone, as if by an after-thought. For when she raised her eyes and met the stranger's keen scrutiny, she felt by instinct he needed some such guarantee of his position in society to guard against misapprehension. All the others in the room were in evening dress; this man alone wore a rough grey homespun coat, half open in front, and displaying underneath a coarse flannel shirt, with a collar to match, and a plain silk twisted cord for necktie. He was tall and dark and thin, but in spite of his strange costume by no means ungentlemanly. Moreover, some nameless charm about his gentle face captivated Christine at first sight; especially when he bent down and, looking right through her, said in a sweetly It was certainly the only one that appealed to German Medlicott. In two minutes, the tall dark man was deep in it. To her own immense surprise, Christine found herself listening, open-mouthed, to minute details about the state of affairs in the Ho-nan mission, and absolutely engrossed in the progress of the Word among the baser sort of Celestials. His rapid soul carried her away. She noticed from the very first that German Medlicott spoke of it all with fiery eagerness of belief: to him it was a clear postulate that the one object in life of every well-intentioned Englishman ought to be to save the teeming millions of China from the final fate of reprobation that awaited them. Christine ventured timidly in a conventional way to suggest, at a pause in the flowing torrent of his speech, that "other spheres of usefulness lay open nearer home," and that " perhaps our duty called us rather elsewhere," German Medlicott flashed forth into instant reply with something very like burning scorn and indig[nation. "If your neighbour's house were on fire, Miss Roden," he cried, "and the lives of men, women, and children endangered, would you stop at home and ask yourself in a collected way whether duty didn't possibly call you elsewhere? or would you not rather run out eagerly, anxious to save their lives-their poor perishable temporal bodies-and unable to rest in your bed in peace while you knew they were dying? And then to think it isn't one house that is in danger, but a thousand households! a whole great nation! In danger, not of temporal flames and death, but of eternal torments! Oh, how can you hesitate? how can you pause and temporise? Remember, these poor creatures' souls will be required at your hands. What answer can you give on that solemn day if you have never even turned one finger to succour them?" "But we can't all be missionaries,' Christine objected demurely. It was the conventional answer she had always heard given. German Medlicott smiled a bitter smile in reply. "That's what they all tell me every day," he answered, drawing back, and surveying her keenly. "Oh, what lukewarmness it indicates! The question is not, 'Can we all be missionaries?' but, 'Can we each of us be a missionary?' That's the real point at issue." He glanced down at his coarse clothes. "You've no idea," he went on simply, with persuasive warmth, "how little it costs one a year to be a teacher in China. push up country and live as the natives do, which should always be the aim of every earnest worker, you can get on very well upon an income of about forty or fifty pounds. Just think of that! Just think that so small a sum will enable one to take part in this grand work, to win countless souls, perhaps, as jewels in one's crown to all eternity! If you And yet people stop away! And yet people buy and sell and traffic! And yet they prefer the fleshpots of their Egypt!" Words failed his earnestness. "But missions are often so unproductive!" Christine objected, drawing him "One hears so much of teachers who go on working for years and years on. of toil and discouragement, with perhaps in the end a single convert!" "And is a single soul so small a matter?" German Medlicott cried quickly. "Suppose it were your own! Ah, then, what a difference! No, no, Miss Roden; you may disguise it to yourself as much as you will, but in your heart of hearts you must feel yourself that the door laid open before you to-night is to save and aid the perishing multitudes of China. I am sent to you for that purpose. I say to you now, 'Come over and help us.' Don't scorn my appeal. Be with us! Be one of us! As he spoke, Christine believed him. She couldn't help believing him. Yet this was strange conversation for an evening party! She glanced around her uneasily. German Medlicott's quick eyes noticed the glance and its meaning. 66 'Ah, you are afraid of the world!" he went on. "But what is the world to us? You must learn to despise it, if you would cast in your lot with those who have left it. I see you will! I see you waver! Your heart is touched. You know I speak the words of truth and earnestness. Let your own heart guide you! Come over and help us!" He uttered the words with such apostolic fervour that at the moment Christine was half minded to say Yes to him. But Walter had noted her timid glance round the room as much as the missionary, and came over to her rescue. A gentle smile played lambent on his thin lips. 'Twas the pitying smile of politico-economical superiority. "Well, has Medlicott half converted you?" he asked with careless ease, as though to be converted were the merest trivial occurrence. "I ought to have told you, when I introduced you to him, that he's a confirmed monomaniac on his own subject. His delusion is that it's everybody's clear duty to sell all he has, and go and be a missionary, in a woollen coat for choice, in China." The enthusiast surveyed him up and down, returning his pity with compound interest. "I am no monomaniac; I am not mad, most noble Festus," he answered, with profound sincerity, "but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. Would that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, except these bonds." He touched his clothes as he spoke and Christine knew he meant to allude to his poverty. A glow of shame came over her. She had money of her own, and was in no such straits as the earnest missionary. What excuse could she give for not being even as he was? But Walter interposed with a characteristic answer. "My dear fellow," he said, stroking his chestnut beard, cut in a "LET YOUR OWN HEART GUIDE YOU! HELP US!" insignificant part in the whole fabric of a community. It must fall into its due place. The missionary can never under any circumstances be more than one in a hundred thousand of the population." German Medlicott stared back at him with the look that says as plain as words, "Get thou behind me, Satan!" But he answered with a grave smile, "Mere human reason mongering! What's all your political economy to me, Roden, by the side of the direct and distinct promises? Do you think the Power that sent the ravens to Elijah with bread and flesh by the brook Cherith can't provide for Our needs without your Mill and your Fawcett? Do you think the Grace that multiplied the loaves and fishes by the Sea of Galilee is not able still to keep the barrel of meal from wasting and the cruise of oil from failing, in Tien-tsin as in Zarephath? O ye of little faith, I care less than no thing for your earthly philosophy. Enough for me that I see my way clear! enough that I can sometimes persuade others to follow it!" An unearthly glow overspread his bronzed face as he spoke. Christine looked at her brother, and then at her new acquaintance. What a contrast between the clearcut intellectual face of the one and the devouring religious enthusiasm of the other! And yet, German Medlicott appealed profoundly to something innate within her. She felt instinctively he was in some ways a higher type of human being than Walter. Intellectually inferior, perhaps, to the mocking economist; mocking economist; but morally and spiritually, oh, how infinitely superior! COME OVER AND point, philosopher-fashion; "how can we all be missionaries? The thing's economically a sheer impossibility. Even in order that your missions themselves should exist, we must have a sustaining and supporting body-hands that work at agriculture, and weaving, and housebuilding, to keep you going. We must have ships to carry you, printers to set up and pull off your books; corn and meat and wine to feed and stimulate you. At best, your order must play but an Her brother drew her off to speak to some other friend. He was afraid to leave her there. The missionary's eyes followed her across the room with regretful persistence. He felt in his heart that here at last he had really produced an impression. A little later in the evening, Walter spoke to her alone for a moment |