Elsworth could not but notice the despair which at times and in moments of confidence was so manifest in Dr. Day and his daughter, and Linda and her brother; they were “without hope and without God in the world.” They often lamented that they could not believe, and enjoy the peace of God that passes all understanding. How often in the wards of the hospital or at the bedsides of out-door patients had he been moved by the contrast offered by the simple, sublime faith of some poor suffering Christian man or woman, whose sick-room was illumined by a light that never sprang from the human intellect, but rayed forth from the face of God Himself. Peace that yet was not indifference, cheerfulness that was not stoicism, made the chambers and the couches of these men and women unspeakably different from those of their unbelieving neighbours. Prayer, “the window that opens towards the infinite,” as a great writer has beautifully expressed it, brought light and warmth and joy to these poor souls; and his atheist friends would not have made proselytes of them on any account. They said that for these folk their religion was philosophy made easy, and thought this accounted for the matter satisfactorily. The chaplain of a general hospital should be a man of liberal ideas and wide sympathies; he should be capable of taking an interest in the daily life of his charges, and try to see the things that interest them as much as possible from their own points of view. Here he will meet with people who have perhaps had no instruction in religion whatever, and whose sole knowledge of its working has been gathered from the misrepresentations of a street infidel orator or the ignorant distortions of an atheist journal. To such he cannot be too human and unecclesiastical. He must not talk “Church” to them, but the simplest, most loving human words. One of the St. Bernard chaplains made a great mistake when he asked everybody “if they had said their prayers.” He never got to their hearts, and no wonder. The new chaplain, Mr. Anderson, was a man of very different stamp; he was of Charles Kingsley’s school, and seemed familiar with every calling and phase of the life of his people. He was a devoted son of the Church, but you did not find it out by any symbols or tone. The fact that no patient, whether heathen, Christian, or “unattached,” left the hospital without being the better for knowing him, proved his fitness for his work.