“It seems to me,” he said, “that their share is often not a fair one. For instance, if I have invented an article which meets the needs or tastes of my customers, I have the right to what of financial good it brings if I can make the article with my own hands; but if I have to employ other hands they ought to have a much larger share than usually they do. And if I am getting rich, I ought not to lay more and more by, unless I give those who help me to get rich more and more. The fact is, father, that a Christian man may not do what others may. He cannot be selfish, and keep all the good things that come in his way; he must help others, and try to find his joy in that. You know money is no real good to a man. He can only eat as much, and drink as much, and wear as many clothes as others. But if he scatter his wealth, and make a hundred or a thousand families better off because he is rich, that seems to me splendid, and the lot of that man must be the best in the world.” Arthur glanced at his father as he finished. His words had a curious effect upon the old man. He was bitterly disappointed, and yet, as he listened to his son, he was conscious of a feeling that was more like pride and gratification than anger. “So those are your views, are they?” he said. “I am very glad you have told me what I have to expect. But I am not going to quarrel with you to-day. I will think what is the next best thing to do. Would you not like a walk? I am going to be busy for an hour or two.” Arthur gladly went forth to mingle for a little in the life of the metropolis. It was not much like Sunday down in the East-end of the great city, where the stalls were in the streets, and the shops were open, and there was a great tumult among the people who were buying and selling, arguing and quarrelling, and, above all, drinking and smoking. Places of worship enough there were to contain them all, but few appeared to recognise the Father’s house, or to care to enter it. The noise of London seemed to surge round the churches and chapels, which are like harbours of refuge in the stormy sea—only, most of the people preferred to be out on the waters rather than within the calm. Centres of influence and helpful service were these, every one of them. If the ministers and the members did not work together with those of other churches, they had each their own set of workers, all honestly endeavouring to meet, in the way they thought best, the needs of the neighbourhood. Many stories of heroism and self-denial could be told of those who were consecrating their life to this East-end work, and labouring on, through good report and evil report, often with scant success to encourage them. A few of the people were lifted up and out of the mass of wickedness; but so few that they seemed to make little difference, for the streets were as terrible as ever. Still bad language shocked the ears of those who did not live amongst it; still drunkenness