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The young man, his opponent, went away, silenced if not convinced. Such a man was the Rev. Thomas Gowles in his home ministry.
"Ods sneckens!" said the brute, "but this 'ere murdered man is throttling my Mister in his death-throe." Down at once came his tremendous cudgel upon my arm. I released my grip, and again fell to the earth. "He's a dead man," said Gowles; "run for your life! Mind, Mister, I had neither 'art nor part in this 'ere " And they were almost immediately out of sight and out of hearing.
Born and brought up in the Bungletonian communion, himself collaterally connected, by a sister's marriage, with Jedediah Bungleton, the revered founder of the Very Particular People, Gowles was inaccessible to the scepticism of the age. His youth, it is true, had been stormy, like that of many a brand afterwards promoted to being a vessel.
Gowles an opponent whose convictions were firm as a rock, and whose method of proclaiming the Truth was as the sound of a trumpet. Examples of his singular courage and daring in the work of the ministry abound in the following narrative.
With so many darkened people still ignorant of our enlightened civilization, I think the grant would be a shameful waste of public money. We publish the original text of the prophecy repeatedly alluded to by Mr. Gowles. The learned say that no equivalent occurs for the line about his "four eyes," and it is insinuated, in a literary journal of eminence, that Mr.
Harps were twanging too, and I heard the refrain of one of the native songs, "To-night they love who never loved before; to-night let him who loves love all the more." The words have unconsciously arranged themselves, even in English, as poetry; those who know Thomas Gowles best, best know how unlikely it is that he would willingly dabble in the worldly art of verse-fashioning.
Gowles pilfered the notion from Good's glass eye, in a secular romance, called King Solomon's Mines, which Mr. Gowles, we are sure, never heard of in his life. In the drawing-room, or, as it is more correctly called, the "dormitory," of my club, I had been reading a volume named "Sur l'Humanite Posthume," by M. D'Assier, a French follower of Comte.
The Rev. Thomas Gowles, well known in Colonial circles where the Truth is valued, as "the Boanerges of the Pacific," departed this life at Hackney Wick, on the 6th of March, 1885. The Laodiceans in our midst have ventured to affirm that the world at large has been a more restful place since Mr. Gowles was taken from his corner of the vineyard.
Gowles faithfully recorded, as will be seen, in his missionary narrative. Gowles found himself alone, the sole survivor, and bestriding the mast in the midst of a tempestuous sea. What follows is from the record kept on pieces of skin, shards of pottery, plates of metal, papyrus leaves, and other strange substitutes for paper, used by Mr. Gowles during his captivity.
In a controversy with an Oxford scholar, conducted in the open air, under the Martyrs' Memorial in that centre of careless professors, Gowles had spoken of "Nicodemus," "Eubulus," and "Stephanas." His unmannerly antagonist jeering at these slips of pronunciation, Gowles uttered his celebrated and crushing retort, "Did Paul know Greek?"
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