ultimately take me to a life that I had had a little taste
of--a life where people had time to think, and to live a clean,
normal, human life.

I do not remember anything about labour unions in that coal region. If
there were any, I did not know of them--I was not asked to join. In
those same pits and at that same time worked Keir Hardie, and "wee
Keir" was just beginning to move the sluggish souls of his fellow
labourers to improve their condition by collective effort. My ideal
did not lead me in that direction. I was struggling to get into the
other world for another reason. I wanted to live a religious life. I
wanted to move men's souls as I had moved the soul of the drunken
stone mason in my home town.

I made various attempts to learn to read, but each of them failed. I
was so exhausted at the close of the day's work that I usually lay
down in the corner without even washing. Sometimes I pulled myself
together and went out into the village, praying as I went, that by
some miracle or other I should find a teacher. Sometimes I made
excursions into the city of Glasgow. One night I wandered accidentally
into a mission in Possilpark, where a congregation of miners was
listening to a tall, fine-looking young preacher. I had not sufficient
energy to keep awake, so promptly went to sleep. I awoke at a gentle
shake from the hand of the teacher. I returned, but succeeded no
better in keeping awake. I returned again, and the teacher when he
learned of my ambition, advised me to leave the pits entirely and seek
for something else to do. There was something magnetic in that strong
right hand, something musical and inspiring in that wonderful voice.
And just when I was about to sink back in despair, and resign myself,
perhaps for years, to the inevitable, this man's influence pushed me
out into a new venture. The teacher was Professor Henry Drummond.

Trusting to luck, or God, or the power of my hands, I entered the
great, smoky, dirty city of Glasgow to look for a job. I considered it
a great shame to be without one, and a crime to be prowling the city
at night, homeless and workless. God at this time was a very real
Person to me and I spent the greater part of many a night on my knees,
in some alley, or down by the docks, praying for a chance to work--to
be clean--to learn to read.

I slept one night in a large dry-goods box on one of the docks, and,
in searching for a place in the box to lay my head, I laid my hand on
a