Mr. Carter speaks in encouraging terms of the good results obtained by these extraordinary tea-meetings:-" Daily my heart is filled with joy, and my mouth with praise, on witnessing the altered lives, change of character, and, in many instances, improvement of circumstances, of some of the vilest who have been converted in these tea meetings. The children know their parents are converted. I have heard fathers declare, weeping, that their children often look up in their faces and say, Father, you don't come home drunk now and beat mother as you used to do. Is that because you are converted?' Many mothers also, who were in darkness and death, grovelling in the pollution of sin, training up their children in vice, have been met with by God in meetings specially held for them, and are now clothed and in their right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus. In the whole course of my gospel labours I never knew a more blessed work among women. The vast moral influence of these meetings exceeds my most sanguine expectations, and I am encouraged to persevere in this line of things until I shall have preached Jesus to all the subdivisions of the working-classes in the south of London." Mr. Carter having for some time "persevered in this line of things," determined upon opening a Night Refuge for the homeless poor. Night after night he saw droves of wretched creatures being turned away from the Lambeth and Bermondsey workhouses, to wander about the streets all night during the winter season. He wrote an appeal which was promptly responded to, and in less than three weeks, £1,600 was sent for the work. Suitable premises offering in the Southwark Bridge Road, they were at once secured, and at the beginning of 1864 the Refuge was opened, and it has never been empty since. This is the only Refuge in the South of London, with its large population, besides the thousands of poor who are daily passing through from the provinces. With the exception of Play House Yard, the South London is the largest Refuge in London, accommodating nightly 250 outcasts. Of course the accommodation provided is of the roughest, but for all that, it is greatly prized by those who have not where to lay their heads. An old rambling set of premises has been fitted up with dormitories, baths and washhouses, and other appliances necessary for the health and cleanliness of the inmates. There was a steam boiler on the basement of the premises; this was purchased, and pipes were laid all round the wards, so that the whole establishment can be heated by steam to any temperature, with very little trouble. The women occupy one ward, and the men another, and being admitted by separate entrances, they do not even see each other. The dormitories, or wards, are heated with hot air, and no rugs are provided, that there may be no risk of vermin or disease. Every inmate upon entering is expected to go, first of all, to the washhouse. If he has any shoes or stockings, he takes them off, and then stands in in a slate trough, filled with warm water, a luxury indeed to many a weary tramp. After washing, the inmates ascend a private staircase to the wards, and take their places at the head of their berths. Mothers may take their little children with them, and put them to sleep in their own berths. When the berths are all full, grace is said, and afterwards, bread and coffee are served out, half a pound of bread and a pint of coffee being given to each. When the meal is finished, working men conduct a half hour's service in each ward. This part of the evening's engagements, judging from the visit we recently paid, is capable of very great improvement. All the other arrangements were excellent. The bread was wholesome, the coffee comforting, the ventilation good, the wards as cheerful as they could be made, but the "half hour's service" was not of the most judicious character. Perhaps we felt this the more because it happened to be a night in which many persons of education had been compelled to seek the shelter of the Refuge. A classical master, "capable of teaching any language almost," as we were informed, a clergyman's son, who, having spent his all, was without resources, and ashamed perhaps to make known his condition at home, a newspaper man, and others, who had never dreamed of spending a cold winter's night in such circumstances, were among the inmates, and some of their faces were "studies" during the half hour's service. When it is ended, the gas is lowered, and the poor wayfarers lie down on their deal boards to sleep. Next morning at six o'clock, a call bell is rung, and all rise, wash and breakfast; a portion of Scripture is read, prayer is offered, and then they are dismissed for the day. Until six o'clock in the evening the Refuge is free, then it is opened, and before seven every berth is occupied. Last year upwards of seventy thousand poor men and women were sheltered in this way. All professed to be honest, working people, sickness and misfortune having reduced them to destitution. Mr. Carter states that the majority of persons applying for admission are destitute through circumstances over which they had no control. Thieves, professed beggars, regular tramps or paupers, are not received, and very few of these apply for shelter. It may now be asked, how is it when poor rates are so high, and when the casual wards of workhouses have been enlarged, that so many are found applying for admission to Refuges, and in supporting them are we not putting a premium upon workhouse incompetency? Two or three facts may be stated by way of reply. In the first place, poor people have a horror of the workhouse, and they are to be commended for it. Often will they beg to remain a few nights in a Refuge until they are able to help themselves a little. The workhouse some how or other has come to have the odour of a prison belonging to it, and poor people turn from it as a place where all self respect is lost, and to enter which would affix an ineffaceable stigma to their names. Mr. Carter has found people half starving in naked homes, or shivering in the streets, rather than ask for admission to the workhouse, and many visitors of the poor can tell a similar story. It should also be borne in mind, that although the casual wards have been enlarged, they are not sufficient to meet the wants of the poor of London, every now and then in urgent need of shelter. Any poor person of decent habits would sooner sleep on the stone bed offered by a bridge recess, or in a dry archway, or anywhere indeed, secure from the policeman's " move on," rather than find shelter in a casual ward. We recently talked with a man who had made the round of all the casual wards, and in regard to the behaviour of those frequenting them, his opinion was, that "there wasn't a pin to choose atwixt them; they were all bad together." The important fact, however, remains to be stated. A man entering a casual ward, loses his chance of getting work the next morning, and this, with the deserving poor, we take to be the chief reason why they will always go to the Refuge if they can. The Refuges are open for admission at five in the evening, and at six the next morning the inmates may be off seeking employment. In the workhouse, however, they must do their three or four hours' work in the morning for their night's entertainment, and this of course is an arrangement not satisfactory to those who, by long experience, have been taught to feel the force of the adage, " 'tis the early bird which picks up the worm." It is to be hoped, then, that the Refuges of London will be generously remembered during the approaching Christmas season. A STORY OF DOOM, AND OTHER POEMS. BY JEAN INGELOW.* MISS INGELOW's second volume unquestionably exhibits a more sustained and concentrated power than her first. It is more *London: Longmans. 1867. decidedly original; her strains have even less than before of the echo of other music. Yet we are not sure that these later poems will ever be, as a whole, so generally popular as the earlier ones. The reason is partly, perhaps, that the chief power of Miss Ingelow's genius lies in a different direction from its highest sweetness. This will cost her some admirers; but the more appreciative will gladly part even with the lyric flow and tender beauty which made the first volume so enchanting, for the bold and original imaginations of the second. Let us not be supposed to intimate that the former element is altogether wanting. The Songs of the Night Watches," and those "on the Voices or Birds," have all the play of graceful fancy, with the undertone of pathos and the current of yet deeper thought which characterized the "Songs of Seven," "Scholar and Carpenter," and "Divided." The deep and healthy religious feeling, too, so apparent in the earlier volume, especially in the noble poem entitled "Honours," finds here, also, much varied expression. "Consider it," says Miss Ingelow, in some fine lines:— Consider it (This outer world we tread on) as a harp- And draw forth melody. Why shouldst thou yet; A teller of good tidings. Let thy praise So take joy home, And make a place in thy great heart for her, Art tired? There is a rest remaining. Hast thou sinned? "THY FATHER LOVES THEE!" These lines are part of a "prelude " to one of our author's most characteristic lyrics. The habit of prefacing her poems by a kind of voluntary, in which the leading theme is hinted in some narrative form, or pondered in an introspective, meditative fashion, is one that well becomes Miss Ingelow's genius. There are many "Songs with Preludes" in the volume besides those specially so entitled. The little Introduction to the "Bird" series is exquisite. But as we cannot quote all, and as we are anxious to make good what has been said as to the leading features of the work, we will linger over this part of it only to give our readers one more "song "-regretting that we cannot also transcribe the beautiful Prelude-a proud husband's soliloquy as he watches unseen his young wife who has gone forth in the early morning among the flowers. But the stanzas tell their own story. The racing river leaped and sang Full blithely in the perfect weather, This rained out light from every part, And that with song of joy was thrilling; There ached a place that wanted filling. Before the road and river meet, And stepping-stones are wet and glisten, I heard the chanting waters flow, The cushat's note, the bee's low humming,- A girl upon the nighest stone, Half doubtful of the deed, was standing, Beyond the 'customed leap of landing. She knew not any need of me, Yet me she waited all unweeting: We thought not I had crossed the sea, I waded out, her eyes I met, I wished the moments had been hours; I took her in my arms, and set Her dainty feet among the flowers. Her fellow-maids in copse and lane, Ah! still, methinks, I hear them calling; But now it is a year ago, But now possession crowns endeavour; But from delicate beauties like these we pass to strains of a |