me to my breast. I was rapidly falling into the depths of
despair; when one day Winifred said to me, "I see thou wilt be lost, if
we remain here. One resource only remains. Thou must go forth, my
husband, into the wide world, and to comfort thee I will go with thee."
"And what can I do in the wide world?" said I despondingly. "Much,"
replied Winifred, "if you will but exert yourself; much good canst thou
do with the blessing of God." Many things of the same kind she said to
me; and at last I arose from the earth to which God had smitten me, and
disposed of my property in the best way I could, and went into the world.
We did all the good we were able, visiting the sick, ministering to the
sick, and praying with the sick. At last I became celebrated as the
possessor of a great gift of prayer. And people urged me to preach, and
Winifred urged me too, and at last I consented, and I preached.
I--I--outcast Peter, became the preacher Peter Williams. I, the lost
one, attempted to show others the right road. And in this way I have
gone on for thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick,
and ministering to them, with Winifred by my side heartening me on.
Occasionally I am visited with fits of indescribable agony, generally on
the night before the Sabbath; for I then ask myself, how dare I, the
outcast, attempt to preach the word of God? Young man, my tale is told;
you seem in thought!'

'I am thinking of London Bridge,' said I.

'Of London Bridge!' said Peter and his wife.

'Yes,' said I, 'of London Bridge. I am indebted for much wisdom to
London Bridge; it was there that I completed my studies. But to the
point. I was once reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient
gentlewoman, who kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and
there I found written, "Each one carries in his breast the recollection
of some sin which presses heavy upon him. Oh, if men could but look into
each other's hearts, what blackness would they find there!"'

'That's true,' said Peter. 'What is the name of the book?'

'_The Life of Blessed Mary Flanders_.'

'Some popish saint, I suppose,' said Peter.

'As much of a saint, I daresay,' said I, 'as most popish ones; but you
interrupted me. One part of your narrative brought the passage which I
have quoted into my mind. You said that after you had committed this
same sin of yours you were in the habit, at school, of looking upon your
school-fellows with a kind