"The leader of our class for mothers and widows says that it is almost impossible to visit them, their unmurmuring sufferings are so touching. In many of their little garrets almost everything is sold. And these are the saints of the Lord--those who will very soon go in to the King more than conquerors. Yes, these are they from whom we learn our best lessons of trust and patience, how to deal with sceptics, and how to go down and share our crust with a suffering sister." "Oh, friends, listen to a mother's sad words. 'Some days nothing all day. A little relief comes with the parish allowance; but many a morning those hungry voices ask? _Mother, is this the day for bread?_' Hear in fancy your loved and cherished little ones asking this, and you will feel for that mother's heart. She recalls one day that she left them crying for bread; but she left _One_ with them, the children's Friend. _He_ quieted them; and when after two hours the mother returned, she found them sleeping. 'But, oh,' she said, 'that sight just broke-my heart, so starved they looked--even the baby in Lizzie's arms--all just like little skeletons! I couldn't help it; I just sat down and wept.' Only with tears could we hear such a tale. No other response would come as we took in the picture; and it did not mend our sorrow when she added, 'There were thousands such as these.'" Oh, the _intense_ longing that her voice could reach to those drawing-rooms yonder! Will not the echo of it, coming in this form, cause some, not in imagination merely, but in reality, to "come and see?" Climb the dark stair, and hear for yourself these melting stories, which will fill your heart with pity, and not leave you wondering what will interest next. What a privilege, yea, high honour, it is to be allowed to take messages for Jesus! It was stated lately in a crowded gathering of six thousand, as the misery of the poor was dwelt on, that if God were to ask the angels in heaven if any were willing to spend fifty or a hundred years down here to befriend some? little shoeless, homeless boy, for whom no Christian was caring, to tell him of Jesus, and lead him to heaven, 'why, in three minutes,' were the burning words, 'I don't believe there'd be an angel left within the pearly gates.'"