Now, I put it to any business man, “Is not this a result worth paying for, if one wants to invest in charitable work?” I repeat that the Mission is indirectly effecting a national insurance; the men think of England, and of the marvellous army of good English folk who care for them, and they are so much the better citizens.  We hear a dolorous howl in Parliament and elsewhere about the dearth of seamen; experts inform us that we could not send out much more than half our fleet if a pinch came, because we have not enough real sailors.  Is it not well for us, as Britons, to care as much as we can for our own hardy flesh and blood—­the finest pilots, the cleverest seamen, the bravest men in the world?  They would fight in the old Norse fashion if it came to that, and they would be the exact sort of ready-made bluejackets needed to man the swarms of Wasps which must, some day, be needed to defend our coasts.

So far for purely utilitarian considerations.  Again, supposing you take on board a hospital ship a man who is enduring bitter suffering; supposing you heal him, bring him under gentle influences, lead him to know the Lord Jesus Christ and to follow Him, and send him away with his personality transformed—­is not all that worth a little money, nay, a great deal?  I am fully aware that it is a good thing to convert a Jew or a Bechuana, or even a Fantee—­their rescue from error is a distinct boon; but, while honouring all missions to savage nations, I like to plead a little for our own kindly breed of Englishmen.  Already we see what may be done among them; good-hearted amateurs are willing to work hard, and the one hospital cruiser—­One! among so many!—­is succeeding splendidly.  Give the English seamen a chance, then.

The interesting West African is clearly a proper object for pity as to his spiritual condition, but, to my mind, he has, in some respects, the jolliest, easiest life imaginable.  Give him enough melon, and he will bask blissfully in the sun all day; you cannot get him to work any more than you can get him to fight for his own safety:—­he is a happy, lazy, worthless specimen of the race, and life glides pleasantly by for him.  Spend thousands on the poor Fantee by all means, but think also of our own iron men who do not lead easy lives; think of the terror of the crashing North Sea; think of the cool, imperturbable, matchless braves who combat that Sea and earn a pittance by providing necessaries (or luxuries) for you and for me.  Save as many souls as you can—­“preach the gospel to every creature;” heal as many bodies as you can; but, since the world’s resources are narrow, consider carefully which bodies are to have your first consideration.