All Roads Lead to Calvary

London Churches: Their Social and Historical Associations." It would be easy to collect anecdotes of the famous people who had attended them. She might fix up a series for on

its roof, it must have made an admirable background. Perhaps an historical novel in the Thackeray vein? She could see her heroine walking up the aisle on the arm of her proud old soldier father. Later on, when her journalistic position was more established, she might think of it. It was still quite early. There would be nearly half an hour before the first wors

feeble, with about her figure that curious patient droop that comes to the work-worn. She proved to be most interesting and full of helpful information. Mary Stopperton was her name. She had lived in the neighbourhood all her life; had as a girl worked for the Leigh Hunts and had "assisted" Mrs. Carlyle. She had been very frightened of the great man himself, and had always hidden herself behind doors or squeezed herself into corners and stopped breathing whenever there had been any fear of meeting him upon the stairs. Until one day having darted into a cupboard to escape from him and drawn the door to after her

nd Mrs. Carlyle?" Joan queried, scenting the

inued, glancing at Joan's ungloved hand, "but people must have a deal of patience when they have to live with us for twenty-four hours a day. You see,

r people irritating

that can happen too," ag

ever come to this

of its being so near. "And yet he was a dear goo

oan. It certainly, if Froude was to be tru

n his carriage"-she was quoting, it seemed, the words of the Carlyles' old servant-"if he'd writ

not make him a Chri

Mary Stopperton. "To suffer for one's faith

nna, afterwards Mrs. Spragg. "Who long declining wedlock and aspiring above her sex fought under her brother with arms and manly attire in a flagship against the French." As also

s. Pausing in front of the Dacre monument, Joan wondered if the actor of that name, who had committed suicide in Australia, and whose London address she remembered had been Dacre House just round the corner, was descended from the family; thinking that, if so, it would give an up-to-date touch to the article. She had fully decid

rom where she could command a view of the whole church. They were chiefly poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a sprinkli

world-in company with the other arts. It would be a pity for it to die out. There seemed nothing to take its place. All these lovely cathedrals, these dear little old churches, that for centuries had been the focus of men's thoughts and aspirations. The harbour lights, illumining the troubled waters of their lives. What could be done with them? They could hardly be maintained out of the public funds as mere mementoes of the past. Besides, there were too many of them. The tax-payer would naturally grumble. As Town Halls, Assembly Rooms? The idea was unthinkable. It would be like a performance of Barnum's Circus in the Coliseum at Rome. Yes, they would disappear. Though not, she was glad to think, in her time. In towns, the spa

strongly impressed her. "The fact that a man feels thirsty-though at the time he may be wandering through the Desert of Sahara-proves that somewhere in the world there is water." Might not the success of Christianity in responding to human needs be evidence in its favour? The Love of God, the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost, the Grace of Our Lord Jesus Chr

turned suddenly towards her told Joan that at some point in the thrilling history she must unconsciously have laughed. Fortu

including Noah and his ark, the adventures of Samson and Delilah, the conversations between Balaam and his ass, and culminating in what if it were not so appallingly wicked an idea would be the most comical of t

pped her attention. For a moment she could not remember it, and then it came to her: "All Roads lead to Calvary." It struck her as rather good. Perhaps he was going to be worth listening to. "To all of

for all time in the little shop. The statesman-should he abide by the faith that is in him and suffer loss of popularity, or renounce his God and enter the C

he shadows. So easy to return to. Its soft lights shining through the trees, beckoning to us; its mingled voices stealing to us through the silence, whispering to us of its well-remembered ways, its pleasant places, its open doorways, friends and loved ones waiting for us. And above, the rock-st

of silver he could have stolen away. In some distant crowded city of the Roman Empire have lived unknown, forgotten. Life still had its pleasures, its rewards. To him also had been given the choice. The thirty pieces of silver that had meant so much to him! He flings them at the feet o

little pew-opener who was waiting to close the doors. Joan asked her what she had

is that there comes a time to all of us when we have to choose. Whether, like your frien

and pray and pray. And even then we cannot always do it." She touched with her little withered fingers Joan's fine whit

, found herself smiling at Mary Stopperton's literal acceptation of the arg

here, especially in the evening. Joan had insisted on her acceptance of a shilling, and had made a note of her a

the corner of Oakley Street she overtook him. He was evidently a stranger to the neighbourhood, and was peeri

ly. He was still peering upward. Joan stole another glance. Yes, she had met him somewhere. He was very c