A BISHOP AND A CABMAN.

New Zealand Tablet, 13 February 1919, Page 45

A BISHOP AND A CABMAN.

There are some stories that never die of old age. Those that appeal directly to the simple emotions of the human heart possess this quality of perennial interest (says a writer in an Indian exchange). Bishop Grant was a small man, but his heart, on fire with the love of God, was of boundless dimensions. He sought for and loved souls, as a miser seeks for and loves gold. Earthly gold is stamped with the image and superscription of an earthly king, but he ever remembered that on the soul of every human being is stamped the likeness of God Himself. To preserve this privileged likeness in all its beauty, or to restore it when defaced, was the greatest joy of the little Bishop’s ardent soul. He literally obeyed St. Paul’s behest to exercise apostolic zeal “in season and out of season.” He was driving home from Norwood one Christmas Eve. The cold was intense. The cabman on the box was nearly frozen. The Bishop watched him for a while compassionating his discomfort, but concern for his bodily sufferings was quickly followed by anxiety as to the probable state of his soul. Was it as chilled and frozen as his blood? The Bishop let down the window and entered into conversation with his charioteer by a few kind inquiries, which soon led up to the core of his thoughts. The man was a Catholic, but the wear and tear of life had . been too much for him. He had kept his faith, but had long since given up practising it. “Well, now,” said the Bishop in his most coaxing tone, “you are going to turn over a new leaf this Christmas. Promise me, like a good boy, that you will go to your duty before the week is out.” “Oh, then, and there’s nothing I’d like better, my Lord, if only I had the time; but I never have a spare minute. It is either driving I am, or looking after the mare at home.” a “Indeed, I daresay that is true,” assented the Bishop, “but where’s there's a will, God sends the way. Just pull up a moment.” Before the cabman knew what was happening the Bishop was on the box beside him. Affectionately putting his arm through his companion’s, the Bishop went on: “See how good God is ! You could not go to the priest, so He has sent the priest to you. Now let us begin and make a good hearty confession. We have plenty of time and nothing to interrupt us.” With the docility of a child the poor fellow made the sign, of the cross and began. So they journeyed on to London, the silence broken only by the rumbling of the,vehicle and the voices of the two men—the. rough, accents of ; the

penitent and the .sympathetic tones of the confessor. Under the clear stars of a frosty night a straying sheep was brought.back to the fold, and the Bishop, glowing with the joy of reconciling a soul with his God, was blissfully unconscious of his own semi-frozen limbs. *» The cabman went to Communion on Christmas morning, experiencing once more "that peace which surpasseth understanding." " He told this story of his memorable drive, amidst tears and blessings, when Dr. Grant had gone to his rest.