. He flushes, mutters something, half rises from
his seat, sits down again, rises once more and with a peculiar,
unwilling gait staggers to the Penitent-Form, and in an abandonment of
grief and repentance throws himself upon his knees and there begins to
sob. A watching Officer comes to him, kneels at his side and, I
suppose, confesses him. The tremendous hymn bursts out like a paean of
triumph--

Just as I am, without one plea,

it begins, the rest I forget or did not catch.

Now the ice is broken. Another comes and another, and another, till
there is no more room at the Penitent-Bench. They swarm on to the
platform which is cleared for them, and there kneel down, and I
observed the naked feet of some of them showing through the worn-out
boots.

So it goes on. At length the great audience rises and begins to
depart, filing one by one through a certain doorway. As they pass,
Officers who have appeared from somewhere wait for them with
outstretched arms. The most of them brush past shaking their heads and
muttering. Here and there one pauses, is lost--or rather won. The
Salvation Army has him in its net and he joins the crowd upon the
platform. Still the hymn swells and falls till all have departed save
those who remain for good--about 10 per cent of that sad company.

[Illustration: SEEKING THE HOMELESS AT MIDNIGHT.]

It is done and the catcher feels that he has witnessed the very
uttermost of tragedies, human and spiritual.

* * * * *

Mere common 'revivalism'! the critic will say, and it may be so. Still
such revivalism, if that is the term for it, must be judged by its
fruits. I am informed that of those who kneel here experience shows
that but a small percentage relapse. The most of them become what in
the Salvation Army cant--if one chooses so to name it--is known as
'saved.'

This means that from drunkards and wastrels stained with every sort of
human fault, or even crime, they are turned into God-fearing and
respectable men who henceforward, instead of being a pest to society
and a terror to all those who have the misfortune to be connected with
them, become props of society and a comfort and a support to their
relatives and friends.

Thus is the mesh of mercy spread, and such is its harvest.

The age of miracles is past, we are told; but I confess that while
watching this strange sight I wondered more than once that if this
were so, what that age of miracles had