In the daytime I talked to costermongers, street venders, the unemployed, and the corner loafers.  One night I put my plain clothes on and spent the night with the “wharf rats” on the banks of the Thames.

For seven days and for seven nights I continuously told that simple story—­told it in few words, closing always with an appeal for a change of life.  I had spoken to the officer of the Horse Guards with whom I had business of my intention, and he told me of a brother officer who was very much interested in religious work among soldiers, and directed me to his quarters.

The interview resulted in an invitation to a Sunday afternoon meeting at the town house of a duke.  It was the most gorgeous place I had ever been in, and the audience was composed of the most aristocratic people in London.  I felt very much out of place and conspicuous because of my uniform and station in life.

The first part of the meeting partook of the nature of a reception.  I watched the proceedings from the most obscure corner I could find.  Somebody rapped on the table.  The hum of voices ceased, and there stepped out, as the speaker of the afternoon, my friend of the Possilpark Mission, Professor Drummond.

Up to that hour my theology related largely to another world, but his explanation of a portion of Scripture was so clear and so convincing to my simple mind, that I could neither miss its meaning nor avoid its application.  The professor was telling us that religion must be related to life.  Many years afterward I came across the treatise in printed form.  It was entitled, “The Programme of Christianity.”  The officer of the Horse Guards by whose invitation I enjoyed this privilege, introduced me to the lecturer and this personal touch, though very slight, marked a distinct period in my development.  Drummond had pushed me out of one stage, and, by inviting me to render an account of myself to him, inspired me into another.

My Bible studies had given me a longing to see the Holy Land.  Perhaps the longing was super-induced by the possibility of being drafted to the Mediterranean Squadron.  On inquiry I learned that the flagship of that squadron—­the Alexandra—­had a library and a school on board, so I made this kind of a proposition to the Almighty.  I did it, of course, with a humble spirit and a devout mind; but I did it in a very clear and positive manner:  “Give me the flagship for the sake of the schooling I will get there, and I will give you my life!”

I prayed daily and nightly, for nearly six months for that object, and in my anxiety over the matter I made a dicker with a man who was to embark at the same time—­that, if he should be lucky enough to get the flagship and I should be appointed to some other ship, I would give him a money consideration and request the commander to permit us to exchange.  This was a break in my faith, and I quickly corrected it, leaving the entire matter in supernatural hands.