the Brotherhood, the nation,
the world, to God. The phrases of it are terse and grand. One can see at
once that it has laid hold of the popular sense, the popular memory. The
Lord's Prayer followed. Then, after a silent pause of "recollection,"
Elsmere dismissed them.

'"_Go in peace, in the love of God, and in the memory of His servant,
Jesus._"

'I looked carefully at the men as they were tramping out. Some of them
were among the Secularist speakers you and I heard at the club in April.
In my wonder, I thought of a saying of Vinet's: "_C'est pour la religion
que le peuple a le plus de talent; c'est en religion qu'il montre le
plus d'esprit._"'

In a later letter he wrote--

'I have not yet described to you what is perhaps the most
characteristic, the most binding practice of the New Brotherhood. It is
that which has raised most angry comment, cries of "profanity," "wanton
insult," and what not. I came upon it yesterday in an interesting way. I
was working with Elsmere at the arrangement of the library, which is now
becoming a most fascinating place, under the management of a librarian
chosen from the neighbourhood, when he asked me to go and take a message
to a carpenter who has been giving us voluntary help in the evenings
after his day's work. He thought that as it was the dinner hour, and the
man worked in the dock close by, I might find him at home. I went off to
the model lodging-house where I was told to look for him, mounted the
common stairs, and knocked at his door. Nobody seemed to hear me, and as
the door was ajar I pushed it open.

'Inside was a curious sight.

'The table was spread with the midday meal. Round the table stood four
children, the eldest about fourteen, and the youngest six or seven. At
one end of it stood the carpenter himself in his working apron, a brawny
Saxon, bowed a little by his trade. Before him was a plate of bread, and
his horny hands were resting on it. The street was noisy; they had not
heard my knock; and as I pushed open the door there was an old coat
hanging over the corner of it which concealed me.

'Something in the attitudes of all concerned reminded me, kept me where
I was, silent.

'The father lifted his right hand.

'"The Master said, '_This do in remembrance of Me!_'"

'The children stooped for a moment in silence, then the youngest said
slowly, in a little softened cockney voice that touched me
extraordinarily,--

'"_Jesus, we remember Thee always!_"