I had come to London to do everything in my power to found and foster what I may call "a Woman's Apostolate of Peace," though I had not then hit upon that name. For aid and counsel, I relied much upon the presence in London of my friend, Rev. William Henry Channing, a man of almost angelic character. I think it must have been through his good offices that I was invited both as guest and as speaker to the public banquet of the Unitarian Association. I confess that it was not without trepidation that I heard the toast-master say to the assembled company, "I crave your attention for Julia Ward Howe." My heart, however, was so full of my theme that I spoke very readily, without hesitation, and, if I might judge by the applause which followed, with some acceptance. Sir John Bowring now made my acquaintance, and complimented me upon my speech. The eloquent French preacher, Athanase Coquerel, also spoke with me. The occasion was to me a memorable one. I had already attended the anniversary meeting of the English Peace Society, and had asked permission to speak, which had been denied me on the ground that women never had spoken at these meetings. Finding but little encouragement for my efforts from existing societies in London, I decided to hire a hall of moderate size, where I myself might speak on Sunday afternoons. The Freemasons' Tavern presented one just suited to my undertaking. With the help of a friend, the meeting was properly advertised, and I betook myself thither on the first Sunday afternoon, strong in the belief that my effort was of the right sort, but very uncertain as to its result. Arriving at Freemasons' Tavern, I asked the doorkeeper whether there was any one in the hall. "Oh, yes! a good many," he said. I entered and found quite a numerous company. My procedure was very simple,--a prayer, the reading of a hymn, and a discourse from a Scripture text. I had prepared this last with considerable care, and kept the manuscript of it beside me, but my memory enabled me to give the substance of what I had written without referring to the paper. My impression is that I spoke in this way on some five or six Sundays. Of all these discourses, I remember only the last one, of which the text was, "I am persuaded that neither height nor depth, nor any other creature," etc. The attendance was very good throughout, and I cherished the hope that I had sown some seed which would bear fruit thereafter. I remember that our own poet, Thomas William Parsons, happening to be in London at this time, suggested to me a poem of Mrs. Stowe's as very suitable to be read at one of my Sunday services. It was the one beginning:-- "When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean," and I am glad to remember that I did read it as advised.