Always it was the same earnest, simple tale of drink and degradation, passed now for ever; of the Penitent-Form; of the building up of a new self, and of position regained.

More singing and an eloquent prayer which seemed to move the audience very much, some of them to tears; an address from a woman Salvation Army Officer, who pleaded with the people in the name of their mothers, and a brief but excellent sermon from Commissioner Sturgess, based upon the parable of the Marriage of the King’s Son as recorded in the 22nd chapter of St. Matthew, and of the guests who were collected from the highways and byways to attend the feast whence the rich and worldly had excused themselves.

Then the great and final invocation to Heaven to move the hearts of these men, and the invitation to them to present themselves at the Penitent-Form.  Lastly a mighty, thundering hymn, ’Jesu, Lover of my soul,’ and the ending of the long drama.

It was a wonderful thing to see the spiritually-faced man on the platform pleading with his sordid audience, and to watch them stirring beneath his words.  To see, also, a uniformed woman flitting to and fro among that audience, whispering, exhorting, invoking—­a temptress to Salvation, then to note the response and its manner that were stranger still.  Some poor wretch would seem to awaken, only to relapse into a state of sullen, almost defiant torpor.  A little while and the leaven begins to work in him.  He flushes, mutters something, half rises from his seat, sits down again, rises once more and with a peculiar, unwilling gait staggers to the Penitent-Form, and in an abandonment of grief and repentance throws himself upon his knees and there begins to sob.  A watching Officer comes to him, kneels at his side and, I suppose, confesses him.  The tremendous hymn bursts out like a paean of triumph—­

     Just as I am, without one plea,

it begins, the rest I forget or did not catch.

Now the ice is broken.  Another comes and another, and another, till there is no more room at the Penitent-Bench.  They swarm on to the platform which is cleared for them, and there kneel down, and I observed the naked feet of some of them showing through the worn-out boots.

So it goes on.  At length the great audience rises and begins to depart, filing one by one through a certain doorway.  As they pass, Officers who have appeared from somewhere wait for them with outstretched arms.  The most of them brush past shaking their heads and muttering.  Here and there one pauses, is lost—­or rather won.  The Salvation Army has him in its net and he joins the crowd upon the platform.  Still the hymn swells and falls till all have departed save those who remain for good—­about 10 per cent of that sad company.

[Illustration:  Seeking the homeless at midnight.]

It is done and the catcher feels that he has witnessed the very uttermost of tragedies, human and spiritual.