In order to keep up a vigorous and lively interest at the “Mothers’ Meetings,” the subjects that are brought forward must usually have some reference to what is passing among them. I have frequently, at home, thought of a topic to form the basis of our conversation in the evening; and on my way there, or even after I have entered the room, I have heard of events which I knew must so absorb their attention, that there could be little chance of their following out my train of thought; and that if I wished to do them good, I must follow theirs instead. I once heard our city missionary make a remark, which has been very useful to me. He said— “We must remember, in our intercourse with the poor, that they have a constant pressure upon their minds, as to how they are to provide for their ever-returning wants; and we must not expect more abstract attention from them than we feel we should be inclined to give ourselves, supposing that we were so situated as not to know certainly how the dinner for to-morrow was to be provided.” I have thought that our interviews may be compared to meeting men on a battle-field. How absurd it would be to call them aside, and endeavour to fix their attention on some of the abstruse metaphysical questions of the day! “Oh,” they would say, “pray do not trifle with us; we are ready to sink under the heat and burden of this protracted contest! Talk to us of the battle, and how we are to sustain this conflict; and tell us, oh! tell us, is there any hope of peace at last?” None, I believe, feel more emphatically that life is a battle than the poor mother, with her many children and few helps. The demands made on her strength, patience, and resources are beyond what those in easier circumstances can conceive. I have felt ashamed sometimes, after speaking of the virtues of patience and forbearance, to think how utterly I might fail in all these, were I tried as they are tried. I once persuaded a poor man to attend a place of worship. He went to a dissenting chapel. The next time I saw him, I asked him how he liked it. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “I dare say it was all very good, if anybody could have understood it. I thought I should have got on a bit with the prayer; but there were such a lot of hard words in it, I couldn’t make nothing of it. Parsons don’t understand nothing about us, or, instead of praying for all them outlandish things, they’d pray a bit for us, now and then, and for our poor wives at home, that can’t never get out to pray for themselves, and got work to do that would frighten them to look at.”