fine engraving on the silver-plating, noble sentiment, deftly expressed,
and done in the engraver's best style. But the water is apt to be
scanty, the drops rather few, in this sort of tin-cup. It's a bit
droughty.

And sometimes even this has been known to occur: they have associations
of these human tin-cups for self-admiration and other cultural purposes.
And they have highly satisfactory meetings. But meanwhile, ah! look!
hold still your heart, and look here. There's the crowd on the street,
hot dusty street, exhausted, actually fainting for want of water, just
good plain water of life. But there's none to be had; only tin-cups!
John was eager to have men get a good drink. He was content as he
watched them drink, and their eyes lighten. He was discontent and
restless with anything else or less.

Do you remember the greatest compliment ever paid John, John the Herald?
John was a great preacher. He had great drawing power. To-day we
commonly go where people are hoping they'll stay while we talk to them.
But John did otherwise. He went down to the Jordan bottoms, where the
spirit ventilation was better, and called the people to him. And they
came. They came from all over the nation, of every class. Literally
thousands gathered to hear John. He had great drawing power.

And then something happened. Here is John to-day talking earnestly to
great crowds down by the river-road. And here he is again to-morrow; but
where are the crowds? John has lost his crowd. Same pulpit out in the
open air, same preacher, same simple intense message burning in his
heart, but--no congregation! The crowd's gone. Poor John! You must feel
pretty bad. It's hard enough to fail, but how much harder after
succeeding. Poor John, I'm so sorry for you.