implore every boy and girl religiously to grasp their chances. Lay
up for yourselves treasure in heaven.

There was one opportunity, however, I did not miss, and this was
Caleb Morris. About him also I have written, but for the sake of
continuity I will repeat some of it. He had singular influence, not
only over me, but over nearly every young man whom he met. He was
originally an Independent minister in Wales, where the people are
mostly Dissenters, but he came to London when he had not passed
middle life, and took charge of the church in Fetter Lane. He was
tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, erect, but was partly disabled by
a strangely nervous temperament which, with an obscure bodily
trouble, frequently prevented him from keeping his engagements.
Often and often messengers had to be dispatched late on Sunday
morning to find a substitute for him at Fetter Lane, and people used
to wait in the portico of the chapel until the service had well
begun, and then peep through the door to see who was in the pulpit.
He was the most eloquent speaker I ever heard. I never shall forget
his picture of the father, in the parable of the prodigal son,
watching for his child's return, all his thoughts swallowed up in
one--WILL HE COME BACK TO-DAY? When he did come--no word of rebuke.
The hardest thing in the world is to be completely generous in
forgiveness. The most magnanimous of men cannot resist the
temptation--BUT AT THE SAME TIME YOU MUST SEE, MY DEAREST, DON'T
YOU? Almost equally difficult, but not quite, is the simple
confession without an extenuating word, I HAVE SINNED AGAINST
HEAVEN. The father does not hear. BRING FORTH THE BEST ROBE AND
PUT IT ON HIM, AND PUT A RING ON HIS HAND AND SHOES ON HIS FEET. A
ring on his hand! Shoes on his feet we can understand, but there is
to be a ring, honour, ennoblement! . . . The first movement of