The upshot of this practice at home, as I might say, was that I began to get a local reputation as a lecturer, and any struggling church or chapel in the neighbourhood trying to raise funds would give me a cordial invitation to come and help them, providing my own lanternist, etc., for the good of the cause; and for a time I went, unconscious that I was by way of being a blackleg, but exceedingly conscious that the _silver_ collections asked for on these occasions were mostly copper with a goodly sprinkling of farthings. In my natural modesty (the reader may laugh quietly at this but I can assure him that the possession of this quality, so beautiful in women, is in excess entirely detrimental to man, since the world takes us largely at our own valuation), I felt that these meagre results were a sufficient gauge of my popularity. Still I did remember occasionally, to my comfort, a small experience I had once, in Portland, Oregon. Three of us common sailors were invited to a Methodist Episcopal Church to hear a lecture, by a phenomenal preacher, entitled, "The Life, Death, and Resurrection of an Arab." We were almost appalled by the magnificence of the place, which, for luxury of appointment, could give points to any place of public entertainment I have ever been in. Silk velvet lounges for pews, upholstered like feather beds, soft Turkey carpets on the floor, hammered brass enrichments to the carven woodwork--the place reeked of wealth. At the close of the lecture the preacher went round with his own top hat for the collection, in his humility not desiring any help from the church officers. And the result in spot cash, as they would say, was four dollars and ninety-two cents! of which our party might have been credited with ten cents. A widow's mite indeed, for it was all we had. Able seamen ashore in a foreign port, except on liberty day, rarely have any money, and I am sure I don't know why we had that solitary dime. But the lesson of the affair was that services, however valuable in themselves, rendered gratis, or in the hope that the audience will be generous, are usually taken by the recipients as not worth recognising. The higher the price the performer can charge and get, the more he or she is appreciated. It is a fact never to be forgotten. Thus it came about that I did not get puffed up by any roseate visions of becoming a popular lecturer--how could I when I had seen an audience of eight hundred yield fourteen shillings and elevenpence three farthings? But I had a solid asset always in the glow of satisfaction that I could address a big crowd and interest them, a pleasure which was hardly clouded even for a moment by such remarks as I heard a burly man make once in a chapel at Peckham where I was lecturing. In a hoarse whisper he said to a neighbour, "What's this 'ere all about, Guvnor?" "Whales," replied his interlocutor. "Ho, is it?" he growled. "Well, s'rimps is more in my line or winkles. 'Ere, let me get aht!"