a list of meetings for every night in the week. One especially
struck Livy, as it was for mothers to meet and talk over with him the
best ways of teaching and training their children. Spurgeon evidently
does not spare his own time and strength; and whatever his creed may be,
he is a good Christian in loving his neighbour _better_ than himself,
and doing the work his hand finds to do with all his might.

'That is a better church than most of those I enter where respectable
saints have the best seats, and there is no place for sinners,' said
Livy when she got home. 'Spurgeon's congregation preached more
eloquently to me than he did. The Magdalen cried as if her heart was
broken, and I am sure those tears washed some of her sins away. The
feeble old man looked as if he had found a staff for his trembling hands
to lay hold upon, and the forlorn souls all about me, for a time at
least, laid down their burdens and found rest and comfort in their
Father's house. It did me more good than the preaching of all the
bishops in London, or the finest pageant at St. Paul's; and I am truly
glad I went, though the saucy conductor did smirk at me over the
rosebud.'

In contrast to this serious expedition, the old lady had a very jolly
one not long afterward. A certain congenial Professor asked her one day
what person, place, or thing in London she most desired to see.

Clasping her hands with the energy of deep emotion, she replied,--

'The home of the immortal Sairy Gamp. Long ago I made a vow, if I ever
came to London I'd visit that spot. Let me keep my vow.'

'You shall!' responded the Professor with a responsive ardour, which
caused Livy to dive into her waterproof without another word.

Away they went in a pouring rain, and what people thought of the damp
but enthusiastic couple who pervaded the city that day I can't say; I
only know a merrier pair of pilgrims never visited those grimy shrines.
They met several old friends, and passed several familiar spots by the
way. Major Bagstock and Cousin Phenix stared at them from a club-house
window. Tigg Montague's cab dashed by them in Regent Street, more
gorgeous than ever. The brothers Cheeryble went trotting cityward arm in
arm, with a smile and ha'penny for all the beggars they met; and the
Micawber family passed them in a bus, going, I suppose, to accompany
the blighted Wilkins to gaol.

In a certain grimly genteel street they paused to stare up at a row of
grimly respectable h