In London a new view of life opened to Joshua.  The first thing that struck him in our workshop was the avowed infidelity of the workmen.  Distrust had penetrated to their inmost souls.  Christianity represents to the poor, not Christ tender to the sinful, visiting the leprous, the brother of publicans, at Whose feet sat the harlots and were comforted, but the gentleman taking sides with God against the poor and oppressed, an elder brother in the courts of heaven kicking the younger out of doors.

At this time Joshua’s mind was like an unpiloted vessel.  He was beset with doubts, in which the only thing that kept its shape or place was the character of Christ.  For the rest, everything had failed him.  During this time he did not neglect what I suppose may be called the secular life.  He attended all such science classes as he had time for, and being naturally quick in study, he picked up a vast deal of knowledge in a very short time; he interested himself in politics, in current social questions, specially those relating to labour and capital, and in the condition of the poor.

So his time passed, till at last one evening, “Friends,” he said, “I have at last cleared my mind and come to a belief.  I have proved to myself the sole meaning of Christ:  it is humanity.  The modern Christ would be a politician.  His aim would be to raise the whole platform of society.  He would work at the destruction of caste, which is the vice at the root of all our creeds and institutions.  He would accept the truths of science, and He would teach that a man saves his own soul best by helping his neighbour.  Friends, the doctrine I have chosen for myself is Christian Communism, and my aim will be, the life after Christ in the service of humanity.”

It was this which made him begin his “night school,” where he got together all who would come, and tried to interest them in a few homely truths in the way of cleanliness, health, good cooking, and the like, with interludes, so to speak, of lessons in morality.

We lodged in a stifling court, Church Court, where every room was filled as if cubic inches were gold, as indeed they are to London house-owners, if human life is but dross.  Opposite us lived Mary Prinsep, who was what the world calls lost—­a bad girl—­a castaway—­but I have reason to speak well of her, for to her we owe the life of Joshua.  Joshua fell ill in our wretched lodgings, where we lived and did for ourselves, and I was obliged to leave him for twelve hours and more at a stretch; but Mary Prinsep came over and nursed him, and kept him alive.  We helped her all we could, and she helped us.  This got us the name of associating with bad women.

Among the rest of the doubtful characters with which our court abounded was one Joe Traill, who had been in prison many a time for petty larceny and the like.  He was one of those who stink in the nostrils of cleanly, civilised society, and who are its shame and secret sore.  There was no place for Joe in this great world of ours.  He said to Joshua one night in his blithe way that there was nothing for him but to make a running fight for it, now up, now down, as his luck went.