vangelist of another stamp. After I had
forced my way through a gentleman's grounds, I came out on the high
road, and sat down to rest myself on a heap of stones at the top of a
long hill, with Cockermouth lying snugly at the bottom. An Irish
beggar-woman, with a beautiful little girl by her side, came up to ask
for alms, and gradually fell to telling me the little tragedy of her
life. Her own sister, she told me, had seduced her husband from her
after many years of married life, and the pair had fled, leaving her
destitute, with the little girl upon her hands. She seemed quite hopeful
and cheery, and, though she was unaffectedly sorry for the loss of her
husband's earnings, she made no pretence of despair at the loss of his
affection; some day she would meet the fugitives, and the law would see
her duly righted, and in the meantime the smallest contribution was
gratefully received. While she was telling all this in the most
matter-of-fact way, I had been noticing the approach of a tall man, with
a high white hat and darkish clothes. He came up the hill at a rapid
pace, and joined our little group with a sort of half salutation.
Turning at once to the woman, he asked her in a business-like way
whether she had anything to do, whether she were a Catholic or a
Protestant, whether she could read, and so forth; and then, after a few
kind words and some sweeties to the child, he despatched the mother with
some tracts about Biddy and the Priest, and the Orangeman's Bible. I was
a little amused at his abrupt manner, for he was still a young man, and
had somewhat the air of a navy officer; but he tackled me with great
solemnity. I could make fun of what he said, for I do not think it was
very wise; but the subject does not appear to me just now in a jesting
light, so I shall only say that he related to me his own conversion,
which had been effected (as is very often the case) through the agency
of a gig accident, and that, after having examined me and diagnosed my
case, he selected some suitable tracts from his repertory, gave them to
me, and, bidding me God-speed, went on his way.

LAST OF SMETHURST

That evening I got into a third-class carriage on my way for Keswick,
and was followed almost immediately by a burly man in brown clothes.
This fellow-passenger was seemingly ill at ease, and kept continually
putting his head out of the window, and asking the bystanders if they
saw _him_ coming. At last, when the train was alrea