One afternoon, the autumn before last, I was sitting alone, and had taken up the _Times_, when my attention was arrested by a speech from the Earl of Shaftesbury. I forget the object of the meeting, neither do I remember the exact words used, although the idea at once impressed itself. He was speaking hopefully of the good effected through ragged and other schools. ‘But,’ he said, ‘I have long felt that until the homes of these poor children are better—until the fathers and mothers are better men and better women—our schools can accomplish comparatively little. I believe that any improvement that could be brought to bear on the mothers, more especially, would effect a greater amount of good than anything that has yet been done.’ I laid down the paper, and thought for some time, wondering what could be done, and wished that somebody would do something. But I had advanced no further than this, when the arrival of visitors gave my thoughts another direction. The next morning, whilst I was busy with my children, I was told that the city missionary wished to see me. The object of his visit was to tell me that a large room in the neighbourhood was to be rented for a Girls’ Evening School, and he thought it could be spared one evening in the week for a Mothers’ Meeting. He knew some poor women who would attend; and he asked me to take the management of it. From my ignorance of the practical working of such a society, I felt very much at a loss to know how to commence it, and was inclined to think that I had neither the ability nor the time to conduct it. I could not, however, but remember how remarkably my attention had been several times drawn to this subject, and the various incidents which had again and again impressed it on my mind. But the thought that weighed most of all with me was—I knew I had a most entire sympathy with poor mothers; that of all things in the world, I most wished to try and do something to shew how much I cared for their great difficulties and sufferings; and though I might fail to render them much real service, I trusted the truthfulness of my feelings towards them would manifest itself, and that this might lead to some good result. At any rate, I resolved to try, and to trust that the way would open, and that light would come. It was on the first Monday in November 1853, that I walked to the nicely lighted and pleasant room provided for us. About seven or eight women were assembled, and two or three came in afterwards. I thought they looked at me much as they would have done at the entrance of the white bear from the Zoological Gardens, that is,—provided he were caged; for the stare had no fear in it, though abundance of curiosity.