Proverbial philosophy asserts that the iron should be struck when it is hot. I sympathise with proverbial philosophy in this case, but that teacher says nothing whatever about striking the iron when it is cold; and experience--at least that of blacksmiths--goes to prove that cold iron may be struck till heat is evolved, and, once heated, who knows what intensity of incandescence may be attained? I will try it. My hammer may not be a large one. A sledge-hammer it certainly is not. Such as it is I wield it under the impulse of great heat within me, and will direct my blows at the presumably cold iron around. I say presumably,--because if you, good reader, have not been subjected to the same influences with myself you cannot reasonably be expected to be even warm--much less white-hot. The cause of all this heat was Dr Barnardo's splendid meeting held recently in the Royal Albert Hall. I came home from that meeting incandescent--throwing off sparks of enthusiasm, and eagerly clutching at every cold or lukewarm creature that came in my way with a view to expend on it some of my surplus heat! The great Albert Hall filled is enough of itself to arouse enthusiasm, whatever the object of the gathering may be. Ten thousand human beings, more or less, swarming on the floor, clustering on the walls, rising tier above tier, until in dim distance the pigmy throng seems soaring up into the very heavens, is a tremendous, a solemn, a heart-stirring sight, suggestive--I write with reverence--of the Judgment Day. And when such an assembly is convened for the purpose of considering matters of urgent importance, matters affecting the well-being of multitudes, matters of life and death which call for instant and vigorous action, then the enthusiasm is naturally intensified and needs but little hammering to rouse it to the fiercest glow. It was no ordinary gathering this--no mere "annual meeting" of a grand society. It was indeed that, but a great deal more. There was a "noble chairman," of course, and an address, and several speeches by eminent men; but I should suppose that one-half of the audience could not well see the features of the speakers or hear their words. These were relatively insignificant matters. The business of the evening was to present to the people a great Object Lesson, and the only figure on the platform that bulked large--at least in my esteem--was that of Dr Barnardo himself, and a magical master of the ceremonies did the doctor prove himself to be. Being unable to induce the "West End" to visit the "East End," he had simply cut several enormous slices out of the slums and set them down in the Royal Albert Hall for inspection. The display was set forth interestingly and with emphasis, insomuch that things almost spoke for themselves, and wherein they failed to do so the Doctor supplemented in a satisfactorily sonorous voice.