Light Shining in Dark Places.  
Down by the river-side, in an out-of-the-way and unsavoury neighbourhood, George Aspel and Abel Bones went one evening into a small eating-house to have supper after a day of toil at the docks. It was a temperance establishment. They went to it, however, not because of its temperance but its cheapness. After dining they adjourned to a neighbouring public-house to drink.
 
Bones had not yet got rid of his remorse, nor had he entirely given up desiring to undo what he had done for Aspel. But he found the effort to do good more difficult than he had anticipated. The edifice pulled down so ruthlessly was not, he found, to be rebuilt in a day. It is true, the work of demolition had not been all his own. If Aspel had not been previously addicted to careless living, such a man as Bones never could have had the smallest chance of influencing him. But Bones did not care to reason deeply. He knew that he had desired and plotted the youth’s downfall, and that downfall had been accomplished. Having fallen from such a height, and being naturally so proud and self sufficient, Aspel was proportionally more difficult to move again in an upward direction.
 
Bones had tried once again to get him to go to the temperance public-house, and had succeeded. They had supped there once, and were more than pleased with the bright, cheerful aspect of the place, and its respectable and sober, yet jolly, frequenters. But the cup of coffee did not satisfy their depraved appetites. The struggle to overcome was too much for men of no principle. They were self-willed and reckless. Both said, “What’s the use of trying?” and returned to their old haunts.
 
On the night in question, after supping, as we have said, they entered a public-house to drink. It was filled with a noisy crew, as well as with tobacco-smoke and spirituous fumes. They sat down at a retired table and looked round.
 
“God help me,” muttered Aspel, in a low husky voice, “I’ve fallen very low!”
 
“Ay,” responded Bones, almost savagely, “very low.”
 
Aspel was too much depressed to regard the tone. The waiter stood beside them, expectant. “Two pints of beer,” said Bones,—“ginger-beer,” he added, quickly.
 
“Yessir.”
 
The waiter would have said “Yessir” to an order for two pints of prussic acid, if that had been an article in his line. It was all one to him, so long as it was paid for. Men and women might drink and die; they might come and go; they might go and not come—others would come if they didn’t,—but he would go on, like the brook, “for ever,” supplying the terrible demand.
 
As the ginger-beer was being poured out the door opened, and a man with a pack on his back entered. Setting down the pack, he wiped his heated brow and looked round. He was a mild, benignant-looking man, with a thin face.
 
Opening his box, he said in a loud voice to the assembled company, “Who will buy a Bible for sixpence?”
 
There was an immediate hush in the room. After a few seconds a half-drunk man, with a black eye, said— “We don’t want no Bibles ’ere. We’ve got plenty of ’em at ’ome. Bibles is only for Sundays.”
 
“Don’t people die on Mondays and Saturdays?” said the colporteur, for such he was. “It would be a bad job if we could only have the Bible on Sundays. God’s Word says, ‘To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts.’ ‘Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.’ ‘Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.’ It says the same on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and every day of the week.”
 
“That’s all right enough, old fellow,” said another man, “but a public is not the right place to bring a Bible into.”
 
Turning to this man the colporteur said quietly, “Does not death come into public-houses? Don’t people die in public-houses? Surely it is right to take the Word of God into any place where death comes, for ‘after death the judgment.’ ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin.’”
 
“Come, come, that’ll do. We don’t want none of that here,” said the landlord of the house.
 
“Very well, sir,” said the man respectfully, “but these gentlemen have not yet declined to hear me.”
 
This was true, and one of the men now came forward to look at the contents of the box. Another joined him.
 
“Have you any book that’ll teach a man how to get cured of drink?” asked one, who obviously stood greatly in need of such a book.
 
“Yes, I have. Here it is— The Author of the Sinner’s Friend; it is a memoir of the man who wrote a little book called The Sinner’s Friend,” said the colporteur, producing a thin booklet in paper cover, “but I’d recommend a Bible along with it, because the Bible tells of the sinner’s best friend, Jesus, and remember that without Him you can do nothing. He is God, and it is ‘God who giveth us the victory.’ You can’t do it by yourself, if you try ever so much.”
 
The man bought the booklet and a Testament. Before he left the place that colporteur had sold a fourpenny and a twopenny Testament, and several other religious works, beside distributing tracts gratuitously all round. (See Report of “The Christian Colportage Association for England,” 1879, page 12.)
 
“That’s what I call carryin’ the war into the enemy’s camp,” remarked one of the company, as the colporteur thanked them and went away.
 
“Come, let’s go,” said Aspel, rising abruptly and draining his glass of ginger-beer.
 
Bones followed his example. They went out and overtook the colporteur.
 
“Are there many men going about like you?” asked Aspel.
 
“A good many,” answered the colporteur. “We work upwards of sixty districts now. Last year we sold Bibles, Testaments, good books and periodicals, to the value of 6700 pounds, besides distributing more than 300,000 tracts, and speaking to many people the blessed Word of Life. It is true we have not yet done much in public-houses, but, as you saw just now, it is not an unhopeful field. That branch has been started only a short time ago, yet we have sold in public-houses above five hundred Bibles and Testaments, and over five thousand Christian books, besides distributing tracts.”
 
“It’s a queer sort o’ work,” said Bones. “Do you expect much good from it?”
 
The colporteur replied, with a look of enthusiasm, that he did expect much good, because much had already been done, and the promise of success was sure. He personally knew, and could name, sinners who had been converted to God through the instrumentality of colporteurs; men and women who had formerly lived solely for themselves had been brought to Jesus, and now lived for Him. Swearers had been changed to men of prayer and praise, and drunkards had become sober men—
 
“Through that little book, I suppose?” asked Bones quickly.
 
“Not altogether, but partly by means of it.”
 
“Have you another copy?” asked George Aspel.
 
The man at once produced the booklet, and Aspel purchased it.
 
“What do you mean,” he said, “by its being only ‘partly’ the means of saving men from drink?”
 
“I mean that there is no Saviour from sin of any kind but Jesus Christ. The remedy pointed out in that little book is, I am told, a good and effective one, but without the Spirit of God no man has power to persevere in the application of the remedy. He will get wearied of the continuous effort; he will not avoid temptation; he will lose heart in the battle unless he has a higher motive than his own deliverance to urge him on. Why, sirs, what would you expect from the soldier who, in battle, thought of nothing but himself and his own safety, his own deliverance from the dangers around him? Is it not those men who boldly face the enemy with the love of Queen and country and comrades and duty strong in their breasts, who are ............