It was a novel group, the women in black skirts, with square boddices,
surmounted by white kerchiefs, with long flowing sleeves of white. But
the head had the strangest appearance. The more elderly women wore a
black cap, from the edge of which depended a trimming rising
perpendicularly from the cap from four to eight inches and gave to the
head the appearance of wings. Strange as it at first seemed, I soon
forgot all but their eager, animated attention. The theme was the love
of God in giving his only Son to be the propitiation for our sins.
Very evidently, it was no stranger of whom we were speaking. Not
satisfied with a mere bearing of his name, they knew and loved him.
His divine arm had been reached down to them. Charmed with his sweet
countenance, and won by his gentle, loving words, "Come unto me,"
they came with the trust and confidence of little children,
acknowledging their sin, but taking him at his word, "I, even I am he
that blotteth out thy transgressions, for my own sake, and will not
remember thy sins." It was sweet to talk of him, this Saviour, who had
done so much for them; and before I was aware the tears were running
down my own cheeks, and my words were broken and fragmentary. In the
meantime other worshippers came in. The hour for this kind of
instruction was over. The pastor availed himself of a moment's
respite, and the next was seen ascending the pulpit stairs. Maude was
seated among the singers, and the morning services commenced.

I had never heard my friend deliver a formal discourse, but I knew it
mattered little to him whether his message was given to few or
many--love for Christ, and earnestness to save souls was the
all-absorbing passion of his heart. It was only a continuation of what
he had been saying, the sweetly touching story of Christ's love told
simply, and still with the earnest, truthful spirit of one who knew by