aid, "Mrs Frog, go to your own
Hetty, and she will tell you what to do."

And Mrs Frog went, and Hetty, with joyful surprise in her heart, and
warm tears of gratitude in her eyes, pointed her to Jesus the Saviour of
mankind. It was nothing new to the poor woman to be thus directed. It
is nothing new to almost any one in a Christian land to be pointed to
Christ; but it _is_ something new to many a one to have the eyes opened
to see, and the will influenced to accept. It was so now with this
poor, self-willed, and long-tried--or, rather, long-resisting--woman.
The Spirit's time had come, and she was made willing. But now she had
to face the difficulties of the new life. Conscience--never killed, and
now revived--began to act.

"I must work," she said, internally, and conscience nodded approval. "I
must drink less," she said, but conscience shook her head. "It will be
very hard, you see," she continued, apologetically, "for a poor woman
like me to get through a hard day without just _one_ glass of beer to
strengthen me."

Conscience did all her work by looks alone. She was naturally dumb, but
she had a grand majestic countenance with great expressive eyes, and at
the mention of _one_ glass of beer she frowned so that poor Mrs Frog
almost trembled.

At this point Hetty stepped into the conversation. All unaware of what
had been going on in her mother's mind, she said, suddenly, "Mother, I'm
going to a meeting to-night; will you come?"

Mrs Frog was quite willing. In fact she had fairly given in and become
biddable like a little child,--though, after all, that interesting
creature does not always, or necessarily, convey the most perfect idea
of obedience!

It was a rough meeting, composed of rude elements, in a large but
ungilded hall in Whitechapel. The people were listening intently to a
powerful speaker.

The theme was strong drink. There were opponents and sympathisers
there. "It is the greatest curse, I think, in London," said the
speaker, as Hetty and her mother entered.

"Bah!" exclaimed a powerful man beside whom they chanced to sit down.
"I've drank a lot on't an' don't find it no curse, at all."

"Silence," cried some in the audience.

"I tell 'ee it's all barn wot 'e's talkin'," said the powerful man.

"Put 'im out," cried some of the audience. But the powerful man had a
powerful look, and a great bristly jaw, and a fierce pair of eyes which
had often been blackened, and still bore the