“I couldn’t bear,” he said, “to think there was a God, or another life to come after this; it made me so miserable. I was obliged to try and get rid of the thoughts as fast as they came; and then there was the people as called themselves religious; I really couldn’t see that they were better than those as didn’t say anything about it. They liked eating, and drinking, and pleasuring, just as much in their way as any one else; and though we often heard that they talked about us in a way that shewed they despised us, and thought themselves a deal better, that only made us feel worse. But since we have been here, some of the ladies as bring round the tracts has stopped and talked to us sometimes in quite a different sort of way, you know, ma’am. One of them left me a tract to read some time ago. I couldn’t get this tract out of my mind after I had read it. There, whilst I was at work, it was lying on the bench, and I kept looking into it again and again. One day, while I was puzzling about it, the missionary came in. I soon saw he wasn’t like them religious people I knew before, and I told him all that was in my mind: and ’twas the best day of my life when I met with him; for he has helped me to see things very different; and I bless God that ever he came here, and so does many others beside me.” “Well,” I said, “you can say you are a happier man now than ever you were before, cannot you?” “Yes, ma’am, thank God, I can trust Him for this life, and through my blessed Saviour I have hope of a better life to come.” I saw, by the thoughtful and earnest expression of his face, that the man had still something on his mind; so I did not reply, but waited a minute. “Do you know, ma’am,” he continued, “though God has been so good to me, and has made me to see how He can and will save me, sinner though I am, it do trouble me, and I can’t help it, to see so much confusion, like, in this world. Some people as isn’t worse than others, nor yet so bad, seems to be always a-suffering; and little children too, it do grieve me to see them suffer: and then you see, ma’am, what a place this very ‘Potteries’ is, to be in God’s world.” “But,” I replied, “God did not make the Potteries what they are. Some sixty years ago, before any one lived here, the air was fresh and sweet; flowers and trees were growing here; and it was altogether as pleasant a place as any other portion of God’s dominions.” “Well,” he said, “that’s true:” but the shade had not passed away from his countenance.