We concluded the evening by reading of the little children who were brought to Jesus; and then, in united prayer, we commended the sorrowing mother to Him who came to comfort Martha and Mary concerning their brother. We thanked Him for the loan, though so short, of this sweet and lovely child, whose mission on earth seemed to have been to awaken in its mother a purer and holier nature. And we thanked Him, too, that “ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,” the Good Shepherd, who had laid down His life for this lamb of the flock, had resumed the care of this precious one, had spared him the contest of life, and taken him to Himself, to be safe and happy for ever. I always feel tempted, when reviewing my journal, to linger over the narrative of the “Fast-day evening.” I recall how we sat and talked till the daylight had faded into twilight, and then we watched the fire as its flickering blaze occasionally rested on the placid face of some infant sleeping on its mother’s lap. I recall, as if it were but yesterday, the earnest and fixed attention, with which this company of mothers listened to the glad tidings of a Saviour for their little ones. Had He been presented to us as _our_ Saviour only, we must have loved Him; but how much more when we realised that, at such infinite cost, He had stretched forth His hand to save those dearer to us than life, from everlasting destruction! Some of the women that were there still speak of this evening with pleasure; and there was joy in the presence of the angels of God, that night, over more than one sinner that repented. I have occasionally taken much pains to make the _doctrines_ of religion somewhat clear to them. It might not in every case be so necessary; but in this neighbourhood, where the enemy is more than usually busy in “sowing tares,” it is of great importance that they should be enabled to give a reason for the hope that is in them. The vicinity of Notting Hill has, unfortunately, been selected by the Roman Catholics as the scene of their most active operations. Whilst I write, I hear from my open window the sound of “busy workmen” employed on the rising walls of a nunnery of great size and importance. They have just purchased a piece of land in Pottery Lane, once the celebrated Cut-throat Lane, on which they intend building school-rooms. Only a few days ago, I was told that a poor woman had called, seeking relief. On finding she was a stranger to me, and being already overdone with similar cases, I sent a message by the servant, that I was truly sorry for her, but it was not then in my power to attend to her case. Her reply to the servant was, “Ah! the Roman Catholics is coming amongst us, and they’ll never stand by and see us poor people suffer, like you Protestants do.”