The first call in the afternoon was on an old lady, a faithful Christian, who finds that her pilgrim journey has had in it many passages and experiences like that of the pilgrim of old, in whose story she is much interested. The Celestial City is for her almost in view, and her entrance there will be triumphant. “I’se only waiting,” she says, “for the Lord to say: ‘Elsie, come up to glory.’” Several girls come to the Home in the afternoon, two to learn to make worsted hoods, two others to take lessons in music. There is also time to fold the Sunday-school papers for distribution next Sunday. Late in the afternoon I called on a mother whose little child God had taken home to himself. Our next neighbor is a man of intemperate habits. I had a talk with him. At nightfall a young woman came in and sang some of the old plantation melodies. In the evening a young girl came for lessons, and with her, two boys, who spent the hour with pencil and drawing cards. With God’s blessing may the day’s work not be in vain. A DAY IN NEW ORLEANS. _By Miss A. D. Gerrish._ _Friday, Jan. 19._—Having attended morning devotions at the University chapel, equipped with my satchel and a few gifts to be distributed here and there, I wend my way to Mrs. R.’s to hold a promised meeting. There are six of us altogether. At the close of the brief hour spent with Jesus I stop to speak with a young Catholic girl. The mother is evidently surprised. She “didn’t know as I’d talk to such as she.” I reply, “I came to speak to all.” My next call is at what I term the half-way house. A few late flowers still bloom in the pretty garden and the oranges seem turning a deeper gold, touched by the warm sunshine. Aunt Comfort is “only just about so so.” We talk of household affairs and the revival. An offered prayer for us both and I bid the dear old lady good morning. On the street a sad-hearted mother delays me for a moment to ask that I will please pray for her son, who is dying and without hope in Christ. With a few kindly words of sympathy and a promise to remember the young man, I pass on. The door of Mrs. A.’s pleasant room stands open and I pause long enough on the threshold to receive her cheery “Good morning” and the injunction to “be sure and stop next time.” As I reach the top of a winding flight of stairs a voice full of childish eagerness asks, “Did you bring my little Testament?” The Testament, a tiny book, and some picture papers are taken from my satchel and three little hearts for the time made happy. The mother is very grateful for the garments given her for the children. An urgent invitation is left with her to come to the evening meeting. Another call made and the city bells ring out the noontide hour. I stop for lunch and rest at Sister W.’s.