2. Visits to ships of all kinds, carrying cargo only, and therefore having only sailors on board. 3. Ministering to all sorts of amphibious people, who live like waterfowl, almost more on the water than on the land. To speak of 3 first. Landsmen have no idea what a number of people of this kind a wide and busy river like ours at Gravesend carries on its broad back. A striking instance of this is the existence of twelve coal-hulks moored in a line about a mile long just below the town, from which outward bound steamers are 'coaled.' Here lives a population of sixty to eighty souls, men, women, and children. Such a funny world it is! Every hulk has its dog or its cat, and its fowls, and its flowers in pots. Is this 'no-man's-land' to be left without the loving ministry of the Church? Why, there is a little village two miles from Gravesend, with only eighty souls, all among the hops and corn, with a church and a parson and two churchwardens and overseers, and all sorts of people to take care of it. Are not all souls Mine?' Is not the black floating village with the whistling wind lashing the waves round it into foam (and terrible waves they are at times) as near to heaven 'As where sweet flowers some pastoral garden cheer With fragrance after rain ?' Of course it is; and so while the pious nonconformist lay-minister (all honour to him) goes off to teach what he has learnt of God, the Missionary Clergyman goes off too. Ought he to be less zealous? Has he no 'call?' Has he no promise of 'Lo I am with you alway?' And so he stands amid the blackened faces looking up in a pause of their exhausting work; as the village curate stands among the wheatsheaves, or by the village forge, lifting the heart to the thought of something higher than daily toil, and by his very presence, if he be sober, grave, temperate,' reminding his flock of heavenly things. And why not? Is not God among the waves and the toil of the hulk as much as in the sweet gleaning field? Was not St. Andrew called as well as Ruth? But another striking instance of this amphibious race is a certain man you may see yonder, alone in an odd little boat, always leaning over the side and watching. That man lives by what he picks from the bottom of the river-a strange lonely life! Our Missionary has come across that man from time to time, and spoken the kindly word, which does so much in our world-famed parochial system on shore. 2. But to pass now to the second class of our work, the visiting of ships having only cargo on board. Here the ministry is only to sailors. Only!! Can anything be more important? How do other nations judge of England? I don't ask how ought they to judge, but how do they judge? By the English men they see! And what English do they see? PART 34 Only to Sailors. And a blessed ministry it is. The writer of these lines is one of the clergy on shore, who is privileged occasionally to share in this holy work. He would like to describe what he witnessed yesterday, but he must drop the editorial 'we,' which does not sit easily on so humble a person, and embarrasses his descriptive powers such as they are. I mounted the side of the good ship-bound to Singapore, touched my felt hat and asked if the Captain was on board.' 'No.' 'Chief Officer!' 'Yes; there he is.' I walked aft to him. He was sitting down, and did not rise to meet me. I saluted him, and not discouraged by a 'Who are you?' kind of look, said, 'I am one of the clergy from the shore. May I go for❜ard and talk to your sailors?' "What for?' 'Well! to give them books, and try and do some good. Other people come off to you to ply their trade; I'm come to ply mine.' 'Well, I've no objection.' 'I've my son in the boat; may I introduce him to you?' 'Certainly,' said he, melting a little. He melted still more as the boy came aft with me, and after shaking hands with him, turned to me and said, 'Yes, you may go for❜ard, and tell the men from me that I hope they'll attend to what you say?' I give this just as it occurred, to shew the discouragement one meets with, and how a touch of nature (my boy for instance) opens the way, where my office had no weight. This officer afterwards woke up from his indifference, and followed me and backed up my words. Well, I went for❜ard, and asked the men if they'd have some books and papers. So I gave away a quantity of things, some secular and amusing, some directly religious, not forgetting a Testament and Prayer-book for the forecastle. Then we got talking, making the best one could out of the circumstances. One man, for instance, had a figure of our Lord on the Cross, marked in indelible blue lines on his arm. I called the attention of the crew to it, and said that such a thing was a lesson, not only to the man himself, who ought to be a very good man, but to the whole crew; the man lamenting immediately, as was but natural, that he was a bad man. Another man was trying to banter me, saying that I evidently thought they were all going to a bad place; on which I turned all the power of my poor wit upon him, and said I loved sailors, and was come to see them on purpose that they might go to a good place. I wish I could describe how both he and all of them looked at this, and how much feeling they exhibited, and how sure I am that 'the power of the Lord was present to heal.' I wish too, I could describe their look when I told them they were all marked on the forehead, as that one man was marked on the arm. They might have been brought up in my school for the intelligent way in which they said, 'We see what you mean.' A very similar scene to this occurred on board the next ship, except that it finished up by the sailors all shaking hands with me, and in a perfectly simple and nice way. I mean there was no presumption of the sailor taking a liberty with the gentleman. It was the expression of the heart breaking bounds, the simple human fellowship of the disciple and the teacher. And so I went down the side, and as John Bunyan says, 'I went on my way and saw them again no more.' And I shall see them no more till we meet in the good place we spoke of. Faxit Deus. Another incident, one of our Missionary clergy told me, L He called at a ship's side, 'Captain on board?' 'O yes, Sir! he's a-board; but he's ill a-bed.' 'Oh! give him my card, and beg to know if I may come and see him?' 'Please, Sir, Captain says will you walk down into the cabin.' Well, after half an hour's chat (very charming from a man like Lin the loneliness of a sick bed on board) he got round to what we are always aiming at, 'Did he have service on board on Sunday?' 'No, Sir! no!' (with a good deal of irritation.) 'No, Sir! we don't.' L——— saw the irritation, and wisely let it all go by, and stayed a little longer; then took his leave, promising to call next day. Next day, as soon as he was settled in his seat the Captain said, 'I'm sorry I was so vexed yesterday, Sir! I've been asking myself why I was so vexed, and I have come to the conclusion that it was cowardice on my part. I'm afraid to have service. But I won't be so any more. Will you give books? and I'll have it regularly.' Of course the books were given; and he went on his way; and Lwill see him no more, till they meet in the good place where the brave heart is rewarded for facing its fears and doing its duty. Now for the first head of our work. Need I enlarge on this? Is it not obvious that when emigrants are leaving home, 'a word in his season' is so good? And yet the Missionary Clergyman can sympathize deeply with the Captain who was afraid. I know nothing so nervous as to hold a service on deck on an emigrant ship. And yet if the prayer is offered, ‘If Thy presence go not with me, carry me not up hence,' the needed nervous power comes, and the tact, and the gentleness; and all is well ordered for a simple service. And soon your human nature comes to your aid, the visible feeling of those about you helping you on. They are leaving home, their hearts are full! What unknown storms and dangers, and heart-aches and lonelinesses, are before them! But Jesus will be there; you know it, and God, by your mouth, makes them feel it-feel it, this is higher than knowing it. I was at such a scene three days ago, on a ship bound for New Zealand, and I don't think I shall ever forget it. There is one feature of our work in connection with outward-bound ships going long voyages. The Society has a number of floating libraries. Good friends have sent us books from all parts of the country; and a box holding about thirty good, useful, and entertaining works, is put on board, and exchanged when they go on another voyage. The following letter tells it own tale. It is from an officer, who had collected money on board: I beg to forward a p. o. order for ten shillings, payable at Gravesend. It is not as much as I would wish, but I shall be happy to give an annual don. to your most useful and admirable work, and will at all times do my best to forward your work by making it known, and collecting books and money for you. Poor Jack is not often cared for, and your library was much thought of on board. Trusting that every good and much blessing may attend your labours, I remain, Chief Officer, Ship I should like to add one word about the reflex effect on the work ashore, of all this work on the river. It must not be forgotten (I am apologizing for the 'foolishness' of the clergy of a large town parish adding to their cares by such a society) that half our people are pilots, water-men, dock agents, and so on. We all live by the water. We are thus constantly meeting our own people on board. I distinctly remember the look of the faces of two of the tradesmen of my parish who had come to supply stores, and joined our service on board an emigrant ship one day. We thus 'shoot our arrow o'er the house, and find it in our brother's garden.' The keen approval, too, of the middle class to see the dear old Church of England doing the rough work hitherto done only (to their great regret) by nonconformists. (All honour to them for it, again I say.) "Why! you've taken up with a Methodist parson!' (said a pilot to a dock-agent, who had kindly given me a lift in his little screw steamer, just after we had parted at the pier head.) 'No!' he said, 'that's the Revd. Mr. of Church!' 'Don't tell me!' said the pilot. 'Church ministers don't do that sort of thing.' The dock-agent afterwards repeated this to me, with great pride and humour. I have found this sort of thing in every direction. A poor woman lying ill at the Infirmary hailed ine as an old friend, when she knew 'as how as I was the gentleman as visited her husband at the coal-hulks one day.' and means. And now a word about the ways Our Society costs something between £300 and £400 a year. Let me ask any clergyman of a large Peel parish how this is to be raised if friends do not help. And friends of all kinds have helped! The press have helped us by notices. The Illustrated News put in a paragraph, which has brought us hundreds of volumes. The Penny Post put in a most valuable notice, which has brought us a great deal of help, and what is very precious, a good deal of sympathy from those who enter into the spirit of the thing. The Editor of 'The Monthly Packet' sent us a good supply of books, and gave a kindly notice of our want of periodicals, in page 104, July number. The rich have sent cheques often of two figures, and in one case of three figures. A little girl sent me some shillings in stamps. A servant sent some periodicals from London. A farm servant brought me five shillings, which she had collected in sixpences. Clergymen have sent us boxes full of books. Publishers and booksellers the same. Ladies have collected for us. Other ladies have sent us packages of periodicals and illustrated papers. These are so useful. We give away hundreds of them. They open the way for conversation, and are so welcome. A helpful act of kindness rendered by a Town clergyman should be recorded. He gave us permission to plead the cause in his church on a week-day, without any collection. There was thus no interference with the financial arrangements of his church, and yet it was the means of making the Mission known. We should be thankful to meet many such friends among the clergy, and would gladly provide a preacher from among us. There is one thing we dream of. May God move some one's heart to do it! The writer of this is the 'Dreamer of Dreams' among the supporters of the Mission, and a good dreamer has his work to do as well as the more prosaic. He dreams that our Mission House (the lease of which is just expiring, and which we have the power to buy) will be bought and changed into a Memorial Chapel. Some mourning heart, whom God has blessed with money and with the heart of St. Barnabas, should erect a Memorial Chapel to the lost friend. Instead of a costly marble fabric, which has no use, a building should be erected which will embalm the memory of the lost one in the folds of its present usefulness. How beautifully it would stand on the banks of the river-how it would point with its bell turret to the sky, to which the sailor like the landsman will soar, when in his own words, 'he has gone aloft.' How it might add to the beauty of the river, which poets have sung of, and which deserves all that is said of him :— 'As when from parent fountain first discharged, |