marched through the streets bearing the Host, and the people knelt
to pray; now the authorities serve out soap and medicine and look
sharply to the drains.

And yet there still remains a superstitious belief in prayer, and
most surprising are some of its manifestations.

For instance, I went recently to see Wilson Barrett in _The Silver King_.
Wilfred Denver, a drunken gambler, follows a rival to kill him. He
does not kill him, but he thinks he has killed him. He flies from
justice.

Now this man Denver leaves London by a fast train for Liverpool.
Between London and Rugby he jumps out of the train, and, after
limping many miles, goes to an inn, orders dinner and a private
room, and asks for the evening paper.

While he waits for the paper he kneels down and prays to God, for
the sake of wife and children, to allow him to escape.

And, directly after, in comes a girl with a paper, and Denver reads
how the train he rode in caught fire, and how all the passengers in
the first three coaches were burnt to cinders.

Down goes Denver on his knees, _and thanks God for listening to
his prayer_.

And not a soul in the audience laughed. God, to allow a murderer
to escape from the law, has burnt to death a lot of innocent
passengers, and Wilfred Denver is piously grateful. And nobody