With the light and grace of this prayer-meeting still about us, we came down an alley and into a court known as Campbell’s Block. It is a square, built round with cabins of one or two rooms _without windows_. A large wash-shed and well occupy the centre of the court. Look now into the rooms; everywhere dirt and filth, crying children, quarreling children, women smoking, women dipping snuff, women idling, women washing, women fretted with care until they are prematurely old, and not _one_ woman in the block able to read, and so gain strength from the blessed word of God. And this block is one out of four in our field. One house only shows any sign that for the poor there is anything beautiful; but that, like a grand sermon, stands amid this misery and sin, from ground to roof a mass of flowers. I could not help thinking what a joy they must be to the ministering angels, as they pass through this place of suffering and sin. To me they were the promise of redemption for the block. Like a pure thought in a sinful heart we found old Mr. and Mrs. Pleasant in one of the rooms. He is blind and helpless with paralysis, consequently the providing of rent, food and clothes devolves upon his aged wife. After reading them the two last chapters in Revelation, the old man cried out: “It’s worth while being blind to know the first thing I shall see will be the New Jerusalem.” “Yes indeed, George, now we must work harder than ever to win home,” answered his wife, as she brushed the tears away. We have begun a prayer-meeting in this block, and I ask your prayers for its success. To these cases I might add ever so many more; but if I give you big folks any more room, I shall crowd my story to the children out, and that wouldn’t be one bit fair—would it, little ones? I shall introduce my story by asking the boys to pay particular attention, as I want them to decide whether Jesse Dobbs or Jim Prescott—the two boys whom this story is about—is the true hero. “Who minds de cold? Come on, Jesse; de boys is going to make up a company and have heaps of fun down by Big Bethel.” I must explain that Big Bethel is the name of a church. Jesse glanced out at the sunshine and called, “Mammie, mayent I go with Jo down to Big Bethel?” As the answer was yes, the two bounded away and soon joined several boys, the leader of whom, from his coarse, bloated face to his heavily booted feet, was the very picture of a young ruffian. As Jesse and Jo came up he was saying, “Dare aint a fatter roost to pick den old Judge Gibbs’ in de world; ’sides dat, you ken git 15 cents a piece fur every chick’n. Den you brings de money to me, and I gibs you so much out of it. ’Stand what I say?” “Yar, yar,” came from the other boys. “’Sides dat, dares heaps of fun clearing off a chick’n roost, and I, fur one, aint feared to go into nobody’s yard. Now is you gwine to be ready to-night to follow your captain? I’s your captain.” “Captain of what?” asked Jesse.