bar? Isn't there much more sense and less selfishness in sharing these luxuries with those you swore to love and to cherish, than in leaving them to starve upon your base vices? Moderation quenches thirst far better than excess; and if you must indulge in an extra potation or two, take my advice, and instead of swigging it out of a quart pot, sip it from the lips of the youngsters, beginning with the baby, and then finish up with a long and loving hug at your wife, and I'll answer for it you'll enjoy it more than getting a hiccupping booze at the Fox and Grapes."

But in order that we may hear this good news from the poor man's home, there are one or two little matters that the goodwife herself would do well to attend to. I know full well that these little efforts at allurement which I am about to recommend have been often tried, and almost as often brutually disregarded in many instances. But if the husband makes an effort at reformation, it may be just as well that he should receive all the encouragement his wife can give him. I am sure you are quite ready to forgive all the past, to forget the hard words and harder blows, and without reproach to welcome back a repentant truant to his deserted home. Well then, do all you can to make your house more comfortable than the pothouse. Try to beat the landlady in the cleanness of the floor, in the whiteness of the table cloth, in the blackness of the grate, and in the general cheerfulness of the place. Get for your husband just the things to eat and drink that you know he will like best, and season it with your kindliest and most welcome smile. When he comes home at night have a bright fire ready for him, have his slippers warmed and ready, and be sure the kettle boils so that he may not have to wait for tea. If he is partial to Yarmouth bloaters, or potted shrimps, stretch a point sometimes, and try and get him some; or if he prefers The Examiner and Times for tea, be sure and hang the latest edition over the back of his chair.

It certainly is not flattering to mankind to think that they require all these scrupulous devices to detain them at home. It

must be confessed it shews them in rather a churlish and a bearish light. But so it is. And when a man is just beginning to turn over a new leaf in the home department, it will be his wife's policy to do all she can to make his home attractive.

But it is with men I would most importunately reason on this home question. I turn to them for two reasons: first, because I have no right to be talking in this dictatorial way to the ladies, and because they do not require it so much; and, secondly, because, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, it is the man who is almost wholly and solely to blame for the misery of a miserable home. I would then once more urge them by all that is noble in the manhood that belongs to them-by all that is sacred in the oath they swore at God's solemn altar on their marriage-day-by the unstained innocence of the children who look up to them, not only for bread but for direction-by the responsibilities of the citizen, the obligations of the husband, the duties of the father, and the dignity of the man, to shew themselves equal to their position; to be politically honourable, and domestically kind; and while they boast that an Englishman's house is his castle, not to strike off the noblest of its ramparts by themselves deserting it.

But I would not stop here. When we have done what we can to make our earthly homes happy, we have not done all. In one sense and that the most vital and important one-this earth is not our home at all. 'Tis true that he does well who keeps a home such as we have sought to recommend, and who fills his cottage with the good news of affection and sobriety. But he does better far than this, who tries to fill his earthly home with the furniture of his home above. This room is full

of people now, but since we were last together here, there have been more people died in this city than are here before me now. I look on thousands of faces, instinct with life and animation, it is true, but if we could assemble all those together who have shrunk in death's collapse in this city of ours since we were last here, there would be a more numerous congregation of the dead

than of the living. There would be more dull, leaden eyes, and stark and rigid limbs, than there are of beaming glances, and of healthy forms.

And doubtless there are many, perhaps scores, or even hundreds, who were with us here when we parted from each other six short months ago, who are now lying cold and passive in the grave. All these have had a summons sent from home, and they are gone to answer it. What a strange and fearful question is it, to enquire whether that summons brought them good or bad news from home. It all depends upon what sort of homes they had on earth whether or no their news was good or bad. They may have been sober homes; they may have been peaceable and harmonious, but that is not all. Unless there was an altar in those homes before which the incense of a morning and an evening prayer went up to heaven; the tidings which summonsed them to leave for ever such a prayerless place, must have at least been doubtful. The preparation which we make on earth for heaven need not be all gloomy mournful work. It is quite possible to enjoy both worlds and to hear the good news from each. The school-boy when he packs his box and gets ready for the breaking-up is far from sad-he crams the things into his trunk with a light and an expectant heart-he longs for the time to come when the coachman's horn shall wake the echoes, or the railway whistle shall proclaim the moment of departure, for he feels that he is going home. And so may we if we but rest our hopes where only hope can come look forward with a bounding heart to the news which calls us home. What better news from the old fatherland could the toiling emigrant receive-than that which told him that a rich inheritance had been left him and bade him fling down the implement of his labour and come home and possess his heritage?

Well such is the news that I am able now to bring to every man and woman in this room this afternoon. I bring to all good news from home and it is this. "It is a faithful saying,

and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners." There's not a doer of an evil deed but may have his heavy conscience lightened by His power. Drunkard! thou who hast defiled the hearthstone-and laid waste the cottage, go home for thou hast a home even a heavenly Father's heart. Magdalene! from whose bosom sacrilege has ransacked virtue-Home! for thou hast a home-even a Saviour's cross! There's no such thing as a lost soul on earth. There's time, my fallen sister, for you yet to be made happy; there's time for you, my dying brother, yet to return Home! There's a welcome waiting for you at Home! There are angels yonder beckoning you Home! There's a mansion there prepared for you. Toil at your daily work with such a home in view-Let each spark you strike from duty's anvil, help to light up your prospect of that home-never mind poverty-riches shall come ere long. Labour on at daily toil, and fix your trust on Christ.

"Pause not to dream of the future before us:

Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us:
Mark how creation's deep musical chorus

Unintermitting goes up into heaven!

Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing,
Never the little seed stops in its growing,

More and more richly the rosebud keeps glowing
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

"Labour is worship!"-the robin is singing,
"Labour is worship!"-the wild bee is ringing,
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing,

Speaks to thy soul out of Nature's great heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower,
From the rough furrow the soft breathing flower,
From the small insect, the rich coral bower

Only man in the plan shrinks from his part.

Labour is life!-'tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth-bewaileth ;

Keep the watch wound- for the dark night assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon,

Labour is glory!-the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the timid wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ;

Play the sweet keys would'st thou keep them in tune.

Labour is rest-from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us,
Rest from sin-promptings, that ever entreat us,
Rest from world-sirens-that lure us to ill.
Work-and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow
Work-thou shalt ride over cares coming billow!
Lie not down wearied 'neath woe's weeping willow,
Work with a stout heart and resolute will.

Droop not-though shame, sin and anguish are round thee
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee
Look to the pure heaven smiling beyond thee,

Rest not content in thy darkness-a clod!
Work for some good be it ever so slowly!
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly!
Labour-true labour is noble and holy

Let labour follow thy prayers to thy God.

And linking this labour with an humble faith in Christ, your toil shall ere long find its termination in the "good news from home."-"Well done good and faithful servant enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."