tatives of honorable and noble Christian families.

Meantime the Baroness who is the cherishing mother of this work was
helping, as occasion required; both she and her deaconess going from
one row of seats to another, speaking a friendly word here, bestowing
a greeting or answering an inquiry there, and unconsciously followed
by a wake of happiness everywhere. As the wounded soldiers in Crimean
hospitals turned to kiss the shadow of Florence Nightingale passing
them, there was surely gladness in hearts and on faces here that would
have counted it a privilege to kiss the place hallowed by the
footsteps of these Christian women.

About four hundred were present in the plain Moravian Chapel which is
always used for these tea-meetings. Fewer men than women were present,
as many of the cabmen must be at their posts until near midnight.
From time to time the Bible-woman at the door softly opened it for the
entrance of one who had thought it better to come late than not at
all. As these men in their picturesque garb came, cold and hungry,
into the warm and well-lighted room, I looked to see if their physical
wants were supplied before they were asked to partake of the spiritual
feast. To my great satisfaction I discerned that a well-filled table
had been spread just inside the entrance-door, from which they were
served as soon as chairs had been handed them; and from time to time
great motherly tea-pots went the rounds, to fill all cups a second
time. When they had been warmed and fed, they often moved forward to
be nearer the speakers; and when the exercises were over, one and
another found his wife in the audience, and together they went out. As
this was going forward, a parting hymn was struck, which seemed to
form no part of the programme. Inquiring, I was told that this was
always sung in parting, in remembrance of an occasion very sad, but
also very precious, to their benefactress.

The sullen roar of a great coming conflict of social elements breaks
on the shore of every land, now rising, now lulling, but every day
drawing nearer. The simple chapel of this scene is little more than a
stone's-throw from the palace of the Chancellor of the German Empire.
Here, in sympathy and helpfulness, and not there, in absolutism, will
be heard the Voice which only can say, "Peace, be still!"--the Voice
which says to-day, as of old, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these, ye have done it unto me."

The Young M