No wonder that the pulpit is a failure in our day; that men who feel themselves equal in education and spiritual life to the man in the pulpit stop away; that, in fact, men rarely darken church doors—especially the poor, the weary, and the heavy-laden, who need something more than a musical performance, or a religious ceremonial, or a sensational appeal. Yet are not these the men for whom a Saviour lived and prayed and died? When people were given to church and chapel going, something of the life and energy of the old Reformers—the Wesleys and the Whitfields, and their followers—had been left alive. The old traditions had still a force; the old habits had not died out. It had not become respectable to attend what were then really the means of grace, if I may use such an old-fashioned, conventional term. The world had not invaded the Church, and swindlers and adventurers had not discovered that if they would succeed in their schemes on the community, or get returned to Parliament, or stand well in society, they must identify themselves with one or other of the religious bodies, whose members would supply them with a decent proportion of dupes. It is a fine advertisement for a wealthy man to contribute largely to the funds of the religious body with which he is more or less connected. Such pecuniary generosity always has its reward. A working man candidate even who will get into a pulpit is also sure of success, even if he intimates that the parson does not know his business, or that the church and congregation are groping in the dark. If now and then he can get into a pulpit he is a made man. CHAPTER V. AFTER THE SERVICE.