livelihood. It is the means of procuring for them all the comforts of

existence.

Thus the figure of the text reminds us of the fact that our work is one of vast importance. A man's forgiveness; a man's peace with God; a man's actual deliverance from evil propensities and depraved habits; a man's hope in death; a man's hope of heaven. These are words soon written and read, spoken and heard; but what a depth of momentous meaning do they convey! And our work is to bring men, by God's help, into the enjoyment of those blessings. Let none, then, speak lightly of the Christian's work. Its mighty issues reach out beyond life into death, and beyond death into eternity itself. II. When we are to work.

"To-day." Why to-day? For two reasons. 1. Because we did so little yesterday. Sometimes a calm occurs at sea. The wind falls; there is not the faintest breath of breeze; the waves are gone; the ocean is as calm as a summer's lake. At length a change occurs. The longed-for wind comes and the waters are troubled again. What does the captain? He orders every sail to be spread; not an inch of canvas on board is left unfurled. He feels that because they have made so little progress the last few hours or days, they must make all the more effort now to advance. We ought to feel the same. How little we did for God yesterday; that is, in the past. All of us must know that we have allowed golden opportunities to pass unimproved; therefore let us "to-day" work diligently for the Master.

2. Because we may not be able to work to-morrow. Who knows anything about to-morrow? None can foretell the future. Life is short and uncertain. The race is not always to the swift; and he who lays out plans of usefulness for the future may never live to carry them out. A striking passage occurs in the life of Dr. Chalmers, which impressively teaches us the importance of labouring "to-day." Visiting at a friend's house on one occasion, religious conversation was introduced. He noticed an old man, who, though not a Christian, took a deep interest in what was being said. The doctor felt moved to deepen the good impression made and urge the eager listener to seek salvation. He postponed it until some future opportunity should present itself. Early the following morning he heard an unusual noise in the house. He hastened to know the cause, and, entering the room of the old man, was just in time to see him breathe his last. This is but one out of many similar cases. Ought they not to teach us to obey the command which bids us work "to-day?"

III. Why we are to work.

The argument is contained in one word-" son." children we ought to labour for Him.

Because we are God's

We are sons, and therefore under authority. Providence has given to every parent a certain amount of authority, which that parent has a perfect right to exercise. A child should be taught implicit, unquestioning obedience. Sometimes when you tell your little one to do a thing it demurs; it wants to know the reason; it asks why it is to do it. "Because I wish you," is your reply. Now, let us act on that same principle ourselves which we train

our children to observe. Do we ask why we should labour in the moral and spiritual vineyard? "Because I wish you; I command you," says our Father. That ought to be sufficient.

We are sons, and therefore the objects of unspeakable affection. The love of parents to their children is a theme on which it were idle to dwell. It needs no explanation. That love is another ground on which a father or mother has a right to expect obedience. The parental affection which from infancy has ministered to all a son or daughter's needs ought surely to be followed by ready and glad submission. So with us in relation to God. Words can never do justice to His love. It defies all the resources of language to describe it. Only His great deeds of self-sacrifice, His deeds of unequalled and mysterious suffering in Christ Jesus, can approximate towards a revelation of it. If, then, brethren, He loves us so wondrously, surely we should therefore cheerfully do His will, and "go work to-day" in His "vineyard."

In faith, with patience, with love, let us "go." "Go" to the haunts of sin; "go" to the lurking-places of crime; "go" to the abodes of unbelief, and "work." Go," and remember that

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your Master goes with you, to strengthen and bless. "Go," and, by-and-by, Christ shall say, "Come." Yes; He will welcome you with the soul-transporting words-"Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world."

Luton.

STRANGERS.

Nor in the family, but in the congregation. They visit your sanctuary every Sunday. What are you doing with them? These occasional visitors-what provision is made for them?

Customs vary. In some churches each one looks out for himself, with the inevitable risk of discommoding somebody in his own pew. In others, the chapelkeeper is sole master of the situation, and places the stranger in any convenient opening. In others, the pew-holders are expected to be on the alert, and intercept the stray visitor as he sails doubtfully up the aisle.

It is sometimes a problem among the zealous members of a church, how to increase the congregation. One man takes a business view of the question. Another looks at it in its social aspect. A third studies it only in its spiritual bearings. One short rule will contribute to the solution of the problem. Take courteous care of the congregation which

you already have. Nothing impresses a stranger so much as civility. He may be delighted with the singing, but he can hear equally good music elsewhere. He may be enraptured with the sermon, but one week in the out-of-doors whirlpool drives it from his mind. But he will not forget the smile of a friend, nor the kind invitation to come again," that accompanies the hand-shaking after service.

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Many years ago, a crowded congregation gathered to witness the ordinance of baptism. A multitude not habituated to regular attendance pressed on the usual church-goers, till pews and aisles were crammed. In the dense mass was a stranger, who appeared in the house for the first time. Like many others, he was obliged to stand during the whole service. But when the tender-hearted pastor expressed his grief at the wearisome posture of the late-comers, and in his inimitably pathetic way besought the strangers present to visit the church

He

again, when more comfortable accommo-
dation would cheerfully be furnished
them, the visitor beheld an exhibition of
Christian kindness which opened his
mind to a new view of the Christianity
which he had always discarded.
tested the hospitality of the church on a
subsequent occasion, and was himself ere
long led down into that baptistry on
profession of his faith. Twenty years'
residence in a distant city has not
diminished the abiding regard with
which he recalls the courteous pastor,
whose kind word from the pulpit made
the house of God attractive to a
stranger.

It is just as easy to secure these occasional visitors, and convert them into permanent attendants, as it is to lose them. Eloquent preaching will not do it. Artistic music will not do it. Fashionable appointments will not do it. Kindness will. It costs nothing. Let the vestibule doors be well supplied with courteous, affable men, who will give as cheerful a welcome to a stranger as they do to a new customer in their place of

business. Let the occasional visitor be tenderly approached before he leaves the church; and, with a warm grasp of the hand and an honest expression of kindness, place all the means of grace at his service. An inexpensive missionary work of that character cannot fail to produce the most gratifying results. What miserable artificiality is this, that deems it indecorous to accost an immortal soul in the house of God without an introduction! The social element in a church is the most attractive feature in it. Degenerate into a mere ecclesiastical crystalization, and social spirits, seeking friends and sympathy, will leave you to the glitter of your Sunday coldness. A half-dozen warm-hearted men and women in each aisle, with social courage enough to "entertain strangers," will revolutionize a congregation. Give the new visitor a Christian greeting, and you fill his soul with a most delicious home feeling. Small the investment, but inestimable the return. And thereby some have entertained angels

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"EVENING BRINGS US HOME."

Upon the hills the wind is sharp and cold,
The sweet young grasses wither on the wold,
And we, O Lord! have wandered from Thy fold;
But evening brings us home.

Among the mists we stumbled, and the rocks
Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox
Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks;
But evening brings us home.

The sharp thorns prick us, and our tender feet
Are cut and bleeding, and the lambs repeat
Their pitiful complaints-O, rest is sweet
When evening brings us home.

We have been wounded by the hunters' darts,
Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts

Search for Thy coming;-when the light departs

At evening, bring us home.

The darkness gathers. Through the gloom no star
Rises to guide us. We have wandered far-
Without Thy lamp we know not where we are;
At evening, bring us home.

The clouds are round us, and the snow-drifts thicken,
O, Thou, dear Shepherd! leave us not to sicken
In the waste night, our tardy footsteps quicken,
At evening, bring us home.

Tales and Sketches.