who fled in terror amid the laughter of the crowd. The
vanquished son of Belial had no sympathy from anybody, and the plucky
preacher was none the less esteemed because he was ready to defend his
Master's cause with carnal weapons. The early Californians left scarcely
any path of sin unexplored, and were a sad set of sinners, but for
virtuous women and religion they never lost their reverence. Both were
scarce in those days, when it seemed to be thought that gold-digging and
the Decalogue could not be made to harmonize. The pioneer preachers
found that one good woman made a better basis for evangelization than a
score of nomadic bachelors. The first accession of a woman to a church
in the mines was an epoch in its history. The church in the house of
Lydia was the normal type--it must be anchored to woman's faith, and
tenderness, and love, in the home.

He visited San Francisco during my pastorate in 1858. On Sunday morning
he preached a sermon of such extraordinary beauty and power that at the
night-service the house was crowded by a curious congregation, drawn
thither by the report of the forenoon effort. His subject was the faith
of the mother of Moses, and he handled it in his own way. The powerful
effect of one passage I shall never forget. It was a description of the
mother's struggle, and the victory of her faith in the crisis of her
trial. No longer able to protect her child, she resolves to commit him
to her God. He drew a picture of her as she sat weaving together the
grasses of the little ark of bulrushes, her hot tears falling upon her
work, and pausing from time to time with her hand pressed upon her
throbbing heart. At length, the little vessel is finished, and she goes
by night to the bank of the Nile, to take the last chance to save her
boy from the knife of the murderers. Approaching the river's edge, with
the ark in her hands, she stoops a moment, but her mother's heart fails
her. How can she give up her child? In frenzy of grief she sinks upon
her knees, and lifting her gaze to the heavens, passionately prays to
the God of Israel. That prayer! It was the wail of a breaking heart, a
cry out of the depths of a mighty agony. But as she prays the
inspiration of God enters her soul, her eyes kindle, and her face beams
with the holy light of faith. She rises, lifts the little ark, looks
upon the sleeping face of the fair boy, prints a long, long kiss upon
his brow, and then with a firm step she bends down, a