The identification of moral and physical evil, which is one of the most essential and peculiar tenets of the Zoroastrian creed, is fast becoming a leading idea in modern civilisation. Our most earnest philanthropists and zealous workers in the fields of sin and misery in crowded cities are coming, more and more every day, to the conviction that an improvement in the physical conditions of life is the first indispensable condition of moral and religious progress. More air, more light, better lodging, better food, more innocent and healthy recreation, are what are wanted to make any real impression on the masses who have either been born and bred in an evil environment, or have fallen out of the ranks and are the waifs and stragglers left behind in the rapid progress and intense competition of modern society. Hence we see that the devoted individuals and charitable institutions who take the lead in works of practical benevolence direct their attention more and more to the rescue of children from bad surroundings; to sending them to new and happier homes in the colonies, to country retreats for the sickly, and excursions for the healthy; and to providing clubs and reading-rooms as substitutes for the gin-palace and public-house. The latest development of this idea, that of the ‘People’s Palace’ in the East End of London, is a noble offering to the ‘Spirit of Light,’ by whatever name we choose to call him, in opposition to the ‘Spirit of Darkness.’ To the Zoroastrian, prayer assumes the form of a recognition of all that is pure, sublime, and beautiful in the surrounding universe. He can never want opportunities of paying homage to the Good Spirit and of looking into the abysses of the unknown with reverence and wonder. The light of setting suns, the dome of loving blue, the clouds in the might of the tempest or resting still as brooding doves, the mountains, the Waste And solitary places where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see, Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be; the ocean lashed by storm, or where it All down the sand Lies breathing in its sleep, Heard by the land— these are a Zoroastrian’s prayers. And even if, ‘in populous cities pent,’ he is cut off from close communion with nature, opportunities are not wanting to him of letting his soul soar aloft with purifying aspirations. A glimpse of the starry sky, even if seen from a London street, may bear in on him the awful yet lovely mystery of the Infinite. Good books, good music, true works of art, may all strengthen his love of the good and beautiful. A dense fog, or drizzling rain may obscure the outward view, but with the inner eye he may stand listening to the lark or under the vernal sky, and while his Heart looks down and up, Serene, secure; Warm as the crocus-cup, As snowdrops pure,