Intercourse of the most sacred and intimate kind with the old, and dying, and suffering of another station in life is, however, far easier to a man of reserved temper than it is with the young and healthy. The most difficult class to reach in country villages, as in our great towns, is that which is entering life, not that which is thinking of quitting it. You may get young men together for cricket or football, or even for readings, or in a club, and attain in the process a certain familiarity with them, useful enough in its way, but not approaching the kind of intimacy which should exist between people passing their lives in the same small community. The effort to do anything more with a class just emancipated from control, full of strength and health, and as a rule suspicious of advances from those in a rank above their own, must always be an exceedingly difficult one to make for such a man as my brother, and is rarely successful. He made it, and succeeded. During all the winter months, on every Sunday evening the young men and the elder boys of the village were invited to his house, and quite a number of them used to come regularly. They were received by him and his wife. First he would read a passage of Scripture, and explain and comment on it, and afterwards he or his wife read to them some amusing book. He used to speak with the greatest delight of the pleasure which these meetings seemed to give, and of their excellent effect on his own relations with the young men and boys who frequented them. When the time for separating came, they used all to say the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the following short prayer, which he wrote[14] for the purpose:— “O Lord God, Thou knowest all things. Thou seest us by night as well as by day. We pray Thee, for Christ’s sake, forgive us whatever we have done wrong this day. May we be sorry for our sins, and believe in Jesus Christ, who died for sinners. May the Holy Spirit make us holy. Take care of us this night, whilst we are asleep. Bless our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and all our relations and friends, and do them good, for Christ’s sake. Help us to be good as long as we live, and when we die, may we go to heaven and be happy for ever, because Christ died for us. Amen.” [14] Since this was printed I have heard that the prayer was not written by him, but only adapted for the use of the boys from a collection of some Church Society. If I were to write a volume, I could throw no clearer light on the inner life of my brother than shines out of this short, simple prayer, written for village boys, and repeated with them week by week. Nor is there any other picture of him that I would rather leave on your minds than this. When I think of the help and strength which he has been to me and many more, the noble lines on All Saints’ Day, of the poet I have already quoted in this memoir, seem to be haunting me, and with them I will end.