But he remembers his own name and its warning, Nehemiah, _The Lord is
my Comforter_. At once, without a moment's delay, he goes to his
Comforter. He weeps, he mourns, he fasts, and he pours out all his sorrow
to God. As a child runs to his mother, and pours into her ear his grief
or his disappointment, so Nehemiah hastens to his God.

We walk through a splendid conservatory, the pride and glory of a
nobleman's garden; we admire the flowers of all shades of colour; rare
blossoms from all parts of the world, ferns of every variety, palms, and
grasses, and mosses, and all manner of natural beauties meet our eye at
every turn. What is that plant standing in a conspicuous place in the
conservatory? It is a beautiful azalea, covered with hundreds of pure
white blossoms. But there is so much else to see in that conservatory
that we scarcely notice it as we pass by. Nor are we at all surprised to
see it there; it is just the very place in which we should look for such
a plant. Nor are we astonished to find it so flourishing and so full of
bloom, for we know that everything in that conservatory is calculated to
improve its growth, the atmosphere is just what it should be, not too
dry or too damp, it has exactly the right soil, the proper amount of
light, the most carefully regulated heat; it has in fact everything
which it ought to have to make it a flourishing and beautiful plant.
Accordingly we are not surprised to find it full of bloom and beauty.

But suppose, on the other hand, that walking through the slums of
London we see a similar sight. In one of the closest, most filthy courts
we see, in a garret window, a white azalea full of flowers, pure as the
untrodden snow.

Now indeed we are surprised to see it, for it is in the most unlikely