Perhaps I may be allowed to add a few remarks upon this subject.  A great deal is made of the resignation of a few Salvation Army Officers in order that they may accept excellent posts in other walks of life; indeed, it is not uncommon to see it stated that such resignations herald the dissolution of the Society.  Inasmuch as the number of the Army’s Officers is nearing 20,000 it would seem that it can very well spare a few of them.  What fills me with wonder is not that some go, but that so many remain. This is one of the facts which, amongst much that is discouraging, convinces me of the innate nobility of man.  An old friend of mine of pious disposition once remarked to me that he could never have been a Christian martyr.  At the first twist of the cord, or the first nip of the red-hot pincers, he was sure that he would have thrown incense by the handful upon the altar of any heathen god or goddess that was fashionable at the moment.  His spirit might have been willing, but his flesh would certainly have proved weak.

I sympathized with the honesty of this confession, and in the same way I sympathize with those Officers of the Salvation Army who, in racing slang, cannot ‘stay the course.’

Let us consider the lot of these men.  Any who have entered on even a secular crusade, something that takes them off the beaten, official paths, that leads them through the thorns and wildernesses of a new, untravelled country, towards some distant goal seen dimly, or not seen at all except in dreams, will know what such an undertaking means.  It means snakes in the grass; it means savages, or in other words veiled and poisonous hatreds and bitter foes, or, still worse, treacherous friends.  The crusader may get through, in which case no one will thank him except, perhaps, after he is dead.  Or he may fail and perish, in which case every one will mock at him.  Or he may retreat discouraged and return to the official road, in which case his friends will remark that they are glad to see that his insanity was only of the intermittent order, and that at length he has learned his place in the world and to whom he ought to touch his cap.

Well, these are official roads to Heaven as well as to the House of Lords and other mundane goals, a fact which the Salvation Army Officer and others of his kind have probably found out.  On the official road, if he has interest and ability—­the first is to be preferred—­he might have become anything, and with ordinary fortune would certainly have become something.

But on the path that he has chosen what is there for him to gain?  An inheritance of dim glory beyond the stars, obscured doubtless from time to time, if he is like other men, by sudden and sickening eclipses of his faith.  And meanwhile the daily round, the insolent gibe, and the bitter ingratitude of men that leaves him grieving.  Also not enough money to pay for a cab when it is wet, and considerable uncertainty