blessed experience the reality of what he was saying. Standing in his
place and holding up the cross, for the moment it seemed that we could
see Him, the Divine Son, hanging, bleeding, dying that sinners like us
might be redeemed, saved, reinstated. What love! What tenderness! Is
it any wonder that we wept? Not a dry eye was in the house. Those
hardy peasants, with little intellectual culture, had hearts to love,
hearts that could understand and appreciate in some feeble manner the
promise of pardon and peace through a crucified Redeemer.

It was an hour well spent. Never have I felt nearer the divine
presence, nor more of the joy, the rest that springs from intimate
communion with the blessed Saviour. How strange the revulsion of
feeling in a few moments of time. I had looked with a little of
pleasantry upon the quaint figures and novel costumes of the
worshippers; now, I saw only the earnest attitude, the anxious gaze,
the loving look. Jesus was all in all, and their love for him
beautified their faces.

As we went home many kindly words were interchanged, the pastor
seeking out the elderly feeble ones, and Maude speaking with the
mothers, and patting the heads of little children, while I found my
way to a group of youths, to deepen if possible the impression of the
morning.

After dinner there was a repetition of the Bible-class, though now
they met at the pastor's house. As it was warm and pleasant we seated
ourselves in the garden, dividing into three groups. This class was
entirely different from the one of the morning, being made up of
those, many of them mothers, who could not leave their children to go
out earlier; and with some, this service was the principal one of the