I said, “No, I am not satisfied."*

“Why not?”

“Because I am making a rope of sand, which looks very well till I pull, and then, when I expect it to hold, it gives way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why,” I replied, “these Cornish people are ingrained schismatics.”

I then told him of my gardener’s conversion, and my great disappointment.

“Well,” he said, “if I were taken ill, I certainly would not send for you.  I am sure you could not do me any good, for you are not converted yourself.”

“Not converted!” I exclaimed.  “How can you tell?”

He said, quietly, “I am sure of it, or you would not have come here to complain of your gardener.  If you had been converted, you would have remained at home to rejoice with him.  It is very clear you are not converted!”

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* See Tract, “Are You Satisfied?” by Rev. W. Haslam.
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I was vexed with him for saying that, and attempted to dispute the point; but he was calm and confident; while I, on the other hand, was uneasy, and trying to justify myself.

In the course of our conversation, he said, “You do not seem to know the difference between the natural conscience and the work of the Spirit.”  Here he had me, for I only knew of one thing, and he referred to two.  However, we battled on till nearly two o’clock in the morning, and then he showed me to my bed-room.  Pointing to the bed, he said (in a voice full of meaning), “Ah! a very holy man of God died there a short time since.”  This did not add to my comfort or induce sleep, for I was already much disturbed by the conversation we had had, and did not enjoy the idea of going to bed and sleeping where one had so lately died—­even though he was a holy man.  Resolving to sit up, I looked round the room, and seeing some books on the table, took up one, which happened to be Hare’s “Mission of the Comforter.”  Almost the first page I glanced at told the difference between the natural conscience and the work of the Spirit.  This I read and re-read till I understood its meaning.

The next morning as soon as breakfast was finished, I resumed the conversation of the previous night with the additional light I had gained on the subject.  We had not talked long before Mr. Aitken said, “Ah, my brother, you have changed your ground since last night!”

I at once confessed that I had been reading Hare’s book, which he did not know was in my room, nor even in the house.  He was curious to see it.

He then challenged me on another point, and said, “Have you peace with God?” I answered, without hesitation, “Yes,”—–­for, for eight years or more I had regarded God as my Friend.  Mr. A. went on to ask me, “How did you get peace?” “Oh,” I said, “I have it continually.  I get it at the Daily Service, I get it through prayer and reading, and especially at the Holy Communion.