But Maurice is social in a different way.  I asked him once what system he pursued as to pastoral calls.

“A very simple system,” said he, “mix much with my people and be much with Christ.  If I do both, Mr. Laicus, I shall not fail to bring them together.  I don’t trouble myself about ways and means.”

The week after Mr. Mapleson came to Wheathedge, some ecclesiastical body met at Albany.  I had a case before the Court of Appeals, and Maurice and I happened to take the same train.  As we waited in the station he addressed himself to a surly looking baggage-master with this question, “What time will the train get to Albany?”

“Can’t tell,” said the surly baggage-master.  “Nothing is certain to railroad men.”

“Except one thing,” said Mr. Mapleson.

“What’s that?” said the surly baggage-master.

“Death,” said Mr. Mapleson.

“That’s a fact,” said the surly baggage-master.  “Specially certain to railroad men.”

“And there is one other thing certain,” added Maurice.

“What’s that?” asked the baggage-master, no longer surly.

“That we ought to be ready for it.”

The baggage-master nodded thoughtfully.  “So we ought,” said he; and he added as he turned away, “I hope you’re readier than I be.”

I note this little incident here because it revealed so much of Maurice Mapleson’s character to me.  I think it did more to disclose to me the secret of his success than any sermon he has ever preached.  Mr. Work when he went away read us the statistics of his ministerial industry.  He told us how many sermons he had preached, how many prayer meetings he had attended, how many sick he had visited, and how many religious conversations he had held with the impenitent.  I should as soon think of Maurice Mapleson’s keeping a record of the number of times he kissed his wife or taught his children-if he had any.

While I have been writing in a vain endeavor to put my vague and shadowy ideas of Maurice Mapleson’s magnetic power into words, Jennie has come in and has seated herself beside me.

“Jennie, I cannot get into clear and tangible form my shadowy ideas.  What is the secret of ministerial success?  What is the common characteristic which gives pulpit power to such widely dissimilar characters as Chalmers, Whitefields, the Westleys, Spurgeon and Robertson in England, and Edwards, Nettleton, Finney, the Beechers, father and son, Murray, John Hall, Dr. Tyng, and a score of others I could mention in this country?”

“Hand me your New Testament, John.”

It was lying on the table beside me.  She took it from my hand and opened it.

“I don’t know as to all the names you have mentioned, John, but I think the secret of true pulpit power, the secret of Paul’s wondrous power, the secret of Maurice Mapleson’s power—­the same in kind though smaller in measure—­is this.  And she read from Galatians, the second chapter and twentieth verse: