“IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT.”

Unlike many wealthy professors of religion, “the Golden Shoemaker” did not suppose that, in giving his money to the various funds of the church, he fulfilled, as far as he was concerned, all the claims of the Cause of Christ. He did not imagine that he could purchase, by means of his monetary gifts, exemption from the obligation to engage in active Christian work. He did not desire to be thus exempt. His greatest delight was to be directly and actively employed in serving his Divine Lord; and so little did he think of availing himself of the occasion of his sudden accession to wealth to withdraw from actual participation in the service of Christ, that he hailed with intense joy the richer opportunities of service with which he was thus supplied.

For some years “Cobbler” Horn had been a teacher in a small Mission Sunday School, which was carried on in a low part of the town by several members of Mr. Durnford’s church. But, about a year previous to the change in his circumstances, he had been persuaded by the minister to transfer his services to the larger school. He always made the conversion of his scholars his chief aim; and very soon after he entered on his new sphere, one of the boys in his class, a bright little fellow about nine years old, named Willie Raynor, had been very remarkably converted to God. The boy was promising to become a very thorough-going Christian, and no one rejoiced more than he in the good fortune of “Cobbler” Horn.

There was considerable speculation, amongst the friends and fellow-teachers of “the Golden Shoemaker,” as to whether his altered circumstances would lead to the relinquishment of his work in the school. Little Willie Raynor heard some whisper of this talk, and was much distressed. His relations with his beloved teacher were very close; and, without a moment’s hesitation, he went straight to “Cobbler” Horn, and asked him what he was going to do.

“Mr. Horn, you won’t leave the school now you are a rich man, will you? Because I don’t think we can do without you!”

“Cobbler” Horn was taken by surprise. The idea of leaving the school had never occurred to his mind. For one moment, there was a troubled look in his face.

“Who has put such nonsense into your head, laddie?”

“Oh, I’ve heard them talking about it. But I said I was sure they were wrong.”

“Why, of course they were, dear lad. Why should I leave the school? Haven’t I more reason than ever to work for the Lord?”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” And Willie went home with a bounding heart.

Meanwhile curiosity continued to be felt and expressed on every hand, as to the course “the Golden Shoemaker” would actually pursue; and no little surprise was created as, Sunday after Sunday, he was still seen sitting in the midst of his class, as quietly and modestly as though he were still the poor cobbler whom everybody had known so well.

Nor was he content simply to continue the work he had been accustomed to do for Christ during his previous life. The larger leisure which his wealth had brought, enabled him to multiply his religious and benevolent activities to an almost unlimited extent. He went about doing good from morning to night. He rejoiced to exercise for God the all but boundless influence which his money enabled him to exert. His original plan—which he persistently followed—of mending, free of charge, the boots and shoes of the poorer portion of his former customers was but one amongst many means by which he strove to benefit his necessitous fellowmen. He never gave money for the relief of distress, without ascertaining whether there was anything that he could do personally to help. He made it a point also to offer spiritual consolation to those upon whom he bestowed temporal benefactions. Hardly a day but found him in the abode of poverty, or in the sick-room; and not one of his numberless opportunities of speaking the words which “help and heal” did he let slip.

One evening, as he was passing through a poor part of the town, he came into collision with a drunken man, who was in the act of entering a low public-house. The wretched creature looked up into “Cobbler” Horn’s face, and “Cobbler” Horn recognised him as a formerly respectable neighbour of his own.

“Richard,” he cried, catching the man by the arm, “don’t go in there!”

“Shall if I like, Thomas,” said the man, thickly, recognising “Cobbler” Horn in turn. “D’yer think ’cause ye’re rich, yer has right t’ say where I shall go in, and where I shan’t go in?”

“Oh, no, Richard,” said “Cobbler” Horn, with his hand still on the man’s arm. “But you’ve had enough drink, and had better go quietly home.”

As he spoke, he gradually drew his captive further away from the public-house. The man struggled furiously, talking all the time in rapid and excited tones.

“Let me a-be!” he exclaimed with a thickness of tone which was the combined result of indignation and strong drink. “You ha’ no right to handle me like this! Ain’t this a free country? Where’s the perlice?”

“Come along, Richard; you’ll thank me to-morrow,” persisted “Cobbler” Horn quietly, moving his captive along another step or two. But, by this time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor, “Cobbler” Horn’s purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the crowd—a sadly dilapidated crew—had drawn so closely around the centre of interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the struggling pair.

At this point, some one recognised “Cobbler” Horn.

“Yah!” he cried, “it ain’t a fight, after all! It’s ‘the Golden Shoemaker’ a-collarin’ a cove wot’s drunk!”

At the announcement of “the Golden Shoemaker,” the people crowded up more closely than ever. While all had heard of that glittering phenomenon, perhaps few had actually seen him, and the present opportunity was not to be lost.

“Cobbler” Horn grasped the situation, and resolved, under the inspiration of the moment, to turn it to good account. He was not afraid that these people would interfere with his present purpose. He could see that they were regarding him with too much interest and respect for that. Moreover, since Richard belonged to another part of the town, his fortunes would not awaken any special sympathy in the breasts of the crowd. On the other hand, there was a possibility that the delay caused by the gathering of the crowd might enable “Cobbler” Horn to make a deeper impression on his poor degraded friend, than if he had simply dragged him home from the public-house. Exerting, therefore, all his strength, he thrust the hapless Richard forth at arm’s length, and, in emphatic tones, bespoke for him the attention of the crowd.

“Look at him!” he exclaimed. “Once he was a respectable man, tidy and bright; and he wasn’t ashamed to look anybody in the face. And now see what he is!”

The crowd looked, and saw a slovenly and dissipated man, who hung his head, with a dull feeling of shame. The people gazed upon the wretched man in silence. They were awed by the solemn and impressive manner in which they had been addressed.

“This man,” resumed “Cobbler” Horn, “once had a thriving business and a comfortable home. Now his business has gone to the dogs, and his home has become a den. His wife and children are ragged and hungry; and I question if he has a penny piece left that he can justly call his own. The most complete ruin stares him in the face, and he probably won’t last another year.”

The crowd still gazed, and listened in silence.

“And, do you ask,” continued “Cobbler” Horn, “what has done all this? No, you don’t; you know too well. It’s drink—the stuff that many of you love so much. For there are many of you,”—and he swept the crowd with a scrutinizing glance—“who are far on the same downward way as this poor fool. He was my neighbour and friend; and he had as nice a little wife as ever brightened a home. But it would make the heart of a stone bleed to see her as I saw her but a few days ago. But, there; go home, Richard! And may God help you to become a man once more!”

So saying, he released his captive; and the wretched creature, partially sobered with astonishment and shame, crept through the crowd, which parted for him to pass, and staggered off on his way towards home.

Then, like some ancient prophet, upon whom the Spirit of the Lord had come, “the Golden Shoemaker” turned and preached, from the living text of his besotted friend, a telling impromptu Temperance sermon to the motley crowd. The whole incident was quite unpremeditated. He had never dreamt that he would do such a thing as he was doing now. But that by no means lessened the effect of his burning words, which went home to the hearts, and even to the consciences of not a few of those by whom they were heard.

When he had finished, he passed on, and left his hearers to their thoughts. But, for himself, there had been shown to him yet another way in which he might work for God; and, thereafter, “the Golden Shoemaker” was often seen at the corners of back streets, and in the recesses of the slums, preaching, to all who would hear, that glorious Gospel of which the message of mercy to the victims of strong drink is, after all, only a part.