"Can you pass me up?"
"It's no use your going there," was the reply; "but I will, if you like:" and then the visitor passed upstairs and entered the room. About thirty men were present, the majority being unmistakable members of the prize-ring. As every eye was fixed upon the new arrival, he felt embarrassed as to his mode of procedure; indeed, there was no help but to produce his tracts and to commence distribution. He had given about a dozen, when the men rolled them up as balls and commenced pelting each other across the room, uttering vile words. The distributor at once saw that his work was likely to be brought into contempt, and that evil instead of good might result from the visit. He therefore, as many were pressing him for tracts, put them into his pocket. During the few minutes he had been there, he had noticed an elderly man of damaged face and whiskerless who was seated at a table with two gentlemen. He was drinking from a large silver prize-cup, which indicated that he was an ex-champion. His hand was resting upon the table, and a diamond of great beauty glittered upon his finger—as the lapidists say, it "gave fire." The distributor looked at it, and approaching its owner, remarked, in so loud a tone that all in the room heard him, "What a lovely ring! I have not seen so fine a brilliant as this for some time: it must certainly be worth a hundred pounds."
"That's it," replied the ex-champion. "They say that it's worth a hundred guineas. A gent that's dead and gone bet two thousand upon me when I beat the Slasher; and in the morning he came to 'cossit' me, as he said, and brought me this."
"It's the jewel that's worth the money," said the visitor. "Why, the gold of the ring would not fetch three pounds." All assented to this. And he continued. "Well, it's just so with these tracts you have been throwing about: as bits of paper they cost little or nothing, and are not worth your acceptance; but they are all studded with a jewel—the pearl of great price:" and then raising his voice to a clear ringing pitch, he exclaimed, "The name of the Lord Jesus, by whom alone each man in this room can be saved, is upon them,—He is the gem. None other name is given by which you can obtain mercy." And then placing some tracts upon the table, he left the room with a firm tread. The men were so interested and surprised that scarcely a word was spoken. A few days after, the potman told the distributor that the pugilists did not destroy a tract or leave one behind.
More than two years after this event the Missionary was standing one morning at the bar, in conversation with the landlady, when he noticed, the parlour door being open, a very aged man seated with a glass of sherry before him. His beard, which was very long, and his few remaining hairs were as white as the driven snow: and as he leaned upon his gold-headed cane he looked beautiful,—he had indeed that rich beauty of age which in its day is more lovely than the bloom of youth. The visitor approached politely, and asked his acceptance of a little book. He received it with a smile, and entered freely into conversation, which ended in the following way: "And now, sir, may I put the question to you which one of the Pharaohs put to an aged man who was led up to the throne by his son?"
"Certainly."
"'How old art thou?'"
"Just turned eighty-four."
"An honourable age. But your answer is not so full as that which good old Jacob gave. He told the King that 'the days of the years of his pilgrimage were an hundred and thirty years;' and added, 'Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.' He spoke of life as short, for upon looking back time appeared to have passed quickly; he spoke of his days as 'evil,' for he had had his share of care and sorrows: but, best of all, he confessed to the heathen King that he was but a stranger and pilgrim upon the earth, and so acknowledged his belief in, and his hope of, enduring rest in the better country. I trust that you have like precious faith, and the assurance that you are near the prepared mansions,—the city of habitation whose Builder and Maker is God?"
"No: I am not;" and as he said it his voice trembled and the tears started into his eyes. "I am not a Christian, and am most miserable. I was a merchant, and until fifty years of age was absorbed in the one object of making money. I then retired upon an ample fortune, and for the next twenty years I loved and enjoyed the world, and collected art-work and things of beauty, with which my houses are filled. During that time I never thought seriously of eternal things, and scarcely ever read my Bible. Of late years I have ceased to take pleasure in these things, and I am truly wretched. My son, who is a diplomatist, when in England, brought several divines to see me, but I cannot get peace. This morning I came out for a walk, and feeling fatigued I looked in here, and as no one was in the room I called for light refreshment—and am taking rest. It seems strange that such a man as you should accost me here,—and it may be of God. Let us exchange cards, and come and dine with me."