And that brings me to this personal question: Is there anything in ourselves that puts people off? I wish to be perfectly frank. Is it not a fact that we clergy sometimes do put people off by our manner and appearance? Even the smallest thing is important if it is going to spoil the line or cord that is to draw people to CHRIST. I believe we put off people more than we know by carelessness about our appearance, or manner, or matters of that kind. So much depends on us that we cannot take too much care of our personality. We should see to it that when people meet us they can see the attractiveness of goodness in us, and be drawn to our LORD because they are first attracted to His representative. And do ask yourselves--I might seem to be personal if I went into details: Is there anything in my manner that is spoiling CHRIST'S work so that He cannot fish with me, cannot draw others through me? Is it because I am not humble enough, or is there something in me, some unattractive feature or characteristic, that is spoiling the fishing? (4) And then, of course, there must be the _hopefulness of the fisherman_. The true fisherman is nothing if he is not hopeful. "Master, I have toiled all night, and caught nothing; nevertheless, at Thy word I will let down the net." The true fisherman never knows when he may be successful; he is always expecting something at the last moment, and he manages to infuse hopefulness into his fellow-workers; he hopes that there is going to be good fishing in the day or the night. I had a rather touching illustration of the value of hopefulness in a little hospital near where I was spending a holiday. Five sisters, friends of mine, who really managed the whole hospital, sent a telegram from the village asking if I could come and see one of the young soldiers, whom they could make nothing of. He was absolutely in despair. He had lived a bad life, and I think it was the presence of these five good girls who were nursing him that made him feel the contrast between his life and theirs, with all its purity and goodness. The contrast brought him to repentance. Still, he thought it was too late to change. He could not be forgiven. I went to the hospital. There he was, a young man about twenty-eight, really in despair. It took me a long time to get any hope in him. At last, when he had gone into his whole life, and I had given him absolution, and had a prayer with him, I saw a sort of hope come into his face. The change was extraordinary. He said: "Will you pray with me again, Bishop?" In all my experience I have not very often been asked like that to pray again with a man. They are generally shy, and satisfied with the first prayer. I prayed with him a second time. He wrote me afterwards a charming letter, asking me to send him a Bible and Prayer-Book, which I did. What that man wanted was hope, nothing but hope; he was in despair about himself. "GOD shall forgive thee all but thy despair." We