e proceedings that followed--but
it was true.

There stood, in the midst of the group of boys, little Bobby Frog, with
his face washed, his hair cropped and shining, his garments untattered,
and himself looking as meek and "respectable" as the best of them.
Beside him stood his fast friend Tim Lumpy. Bobby was not, however, one
of the emigrant band. Having joined only that very evening, and been
cropped, washed, and clothed for the first time, he was there merely as
a privileged guest. Tim, also, was only a guest, not having quite
attained to the dignity of a full-fledged emigrant at that time.

At the sound of the sweet little voice, Bobby Frog's meek look was
replaced by one of bright intelligence, not unmingled with anxiety, as
he tried unavailingly to see the child who had spoken.

We do not propose to give the proceedings of this meeting in detail,
interesting though they were. Other matters of importance claim our
attention. It will be sufficient to say that mingled with the
semi-conversational, pleasantly free-and-easy, intercourse that
ensued, there were most interesting short addresses from the
lady-superintendents of "The Sailors' Welcome Home" and of the
"Strangers' Rest," both of Ratcliff Highway, also from the chief of the
Ragged schools in George Yard, and several city missionaries, as well as
from city merchants who found time and inclination to traffic in the
good things of the life to come as well as in those of the life that now
is.

Before the proceedings had drawn to a close a voice whispered:

"It is time to go, Sir Richard." It was the voice of John Seaward.

Following him, Sir Richard and Welland went out. It had grown dark by
that time, and as there were no brilliantly lighted shops near, the
place seemed gloomy, but the gloom was nothing to that of the filthy
labyrinths into which Seaward quickly conducted his followers.

"You have no occasion to fear, sir," said the missionary, observing that
Sir Richard hesitated at the mouth of one very dark alley. "It would,
indeed, hardly be safe were you to come down here alone, but most of 'em
know me. I remember being told by one of the greatest roughs I ever
knew that at the very corner where we now stand he had _many_ and many a
time knocked down and robbed people. That man is now an earnest
Christian, and, like Paul, goes about preaching the Name which he once
despised."

At the moment a dark shadow seemed to pass them, and a gruff