One very cold but calm and clear winter night, a lame man was seen to hurry along the Strand in the direction of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The man was clothed in a thick greatcoat, and wore a shawl round his neck, which muffled him up to the very eyes. Indeed, the said shawl would have gone quite over his eyes if it had not been for his fine Roman nose, which stuck out over it, and held it firmly down.

The man’s lameness was only a limp. It did not prevent him from walking very fast indeed. He was evidently bent on business; nevertheless, the business was not so pressing but that he could stop now and then to look at anything that interested him in the crowded streets.

And how crowded they were—and cheerful too: for it was Christmastide, and people seemed to be more excited and hearty than usual. The shops were resplendent—filled to overflowing with everything that could tempt man to spend money, and blazing with gas-light, so that the streets seemed even brighter than at noon. The poulterers’ shops, in particular, were so stuffed, that rows of fat geese and ducks, apparently finding the crush too much for them inside, seemed to have come outside the shops and hung themselves up round the doors and windows!

The lame man did not linger long, however, but hurried onwards until he reached that quarter of the city near to the Bank of England, where very poor and wretched people lived upon wondrously little of that gold which lay in such huge quantities so near them.

In the back slums of this region there were no bright gas-lights. The shops were ill-lighted and miserable, like the population, except a few at the corners of streets, where rough men and ragged women, and even children, went to poison themselves with gin.

In one of the darkest and dirtiest of these streets the lame man found an open door and entered, taking off his greatcoat and shawl, which he handed to a pleasant-faced man who stood there.

“I’m in good time, I hope?” said the lame man.

“Oh yes, they’re on’y ’alf through their tea yet. Miss Home’s bin singin’ to ’em.”

The lame man’s body was very thin and not very strong, but his face was particularly handsome and grave, with a strange mingling of humour and sadness in his expression.

Opening an inner door, he entered a large schoolroom, and, going to the upper end of it, took his place behind some gentlemen, who nodded to him as he passed.

The room was filled with the very lowest classes of the London poor. Among them were ferocious-looking, dirty, ragged men, who might have been thieves, burglars, or pickpockets. Not less disreputable-looking were the women and children. The air of the room smelt horribly of dirty clothes and drink. They were all very quiet, however, and well-behaved at the time, for all were busily engaged in eating splendid “hunks” of bread and cheese, and drinking huge mugsful of hot tea. Truly there are few quieters of the savage human breast equal to food! Probably all the people there were hungry; many of them had been starving, and were ravenous. There was scarcely any sound except of moving jaws, when, accompanied by a few chords from a harmonium, a sweet, mellow, female voice told of the love of Jesus Christ to poor, perishing, guilty man.

Both the words and music of the hymn had a soothing influence on the people. When the calm contentment resulting from satisfied hunger had settled down on them, a gentleman rose, and, continuing the theme of the hymn, told his hearers earnestly about the Saviour of sinners. His address was very short, because, he said, a city missionary—a personal friend—had come that night to speak to them. As he said this, he turned to the lame man, who rose at once and stood forward.

There was something in the gaze of this man’s piercing yet tender eyes which forced the attention of even the most careless among them. His handsome young face was very pale, and his lips were for a moment compressed, as if he were trying to keep back the words which were ready to rush out. When he spoke, the soft tones of a deep bass voice helped to secure attention, so that you could have heard a pin drop.

At once the lame man launched into a most thrilling description of a scene of peril and rescue. He told of a gallant ship battling with a furious gale: of her striking on a shoal: of the masts going over the side: of wreck and ruin all around, and the wild waves bursting over passengers and crew, and gradually breaking up the ship— “No hope—no hope—only cries for mercy—shrieks of despair!”

As the lame man spoke, his eyes seemed to flash. His cheeks were no longer pale. The rough men before him frowned and gazed as if their anxiety had been roused. The women leaned forward with eager looks of sympathy. Even the children were spellbound. One hulking fellow, with a broken nose and a black eye, sat clutching both knees with his muscular hands, and gazed open-mouthed and motionless at the speaker, who went on to say that when things were at their worst, and death stared the perishing people in the face, a beautiful object seemed suddenly to rise out of the raging sea; its colour was a mixture of pure white and bright blue!

It was the lifeboat, which sheered alongside and took them on board one by one.

“Some there were,” said the lame man impressively, “who hung back, and some who at first did not believe in the lifeboat, and refused to leave the doomed ship. There was no hope for those who refused—none whatever; ............