Amongst the first words which he addressed to his people after the fall of Moscow were these:--“An oppressed world looks to us for encouragement, and can we shrink from the honourable mission? Let us kiss the hand that selected us to act as the leader of nations in the struggle for independence, and contend with courage and constancy to obtain a durable peace, not only for ourselves, but for those unhappy countries forced by the tyrant to fight in his quarrel: it is glorious, it is worthy of a great nation, to _render good for ill_.” The proclamation ends with a prayer:--“Almighty God, is the cause for which we are battling not just? Cast an eye of compassion on our holy Church. Preserve to this people its courage and constancy. Suffer it to triumph over its adversary and thine. May it be in thy hand the instrument of his destruction; and in delivering itself, redeem the independence of nations and of kings.” Here we recognize the secret of Alexander’s strength. He knew himself in the hands of God; he and his people were instruments to do his will. Some years later he said to a friend, “The conflagration of Moscow illumined my soul.” It certainly marked a crisis in his spiritual history; but with souls the sudden illumination of a tropical sunrise is the rare exception, while light “increasing more and more unto the perfect day” is the ordinary rule. From Alexander’s earliest years it had seemed as if God was drawing his heart towards himself. While yet a little child he would rise from his bed at night, and kneel unbidden to ask forgiveness for some childish fault. Then and throughout his life his tenderness of heart was remarkable. He “never willingly hurt any living thing;” and so beautiful was the influence he exercised over his wayward brother Constantine, that a plan for having the latter brought up amongst Greeks as their future sovereign was abandoned, because it was wisely concluded that no political advantage could counterbalance the loss of Alexander’s example and companionship. Unfortunately, the Empress Catherine had intrusted the education of her favourite grandson to freethinkers like herself, of the school of Voltaire and Diderot. He was early taught to look upon all forms of religion as antiquated superstitions, useful, perhaps, for the vulgar, but beneath the notice of the wise. His natural benevolence was not discouraged, but justice and humanity were inculcated to the utter exclusion of piety.