the room affected him. He opened rooms look so dreary, I have no his lips, but closed them again heart to work! God forgive me! I promised determinedly. Ethel watched him: she knew what was in his heart, and wanted to hear again the words of a few months ago. "What is it?" she asked gently. "You promised to give me time to think, and I have learned to love you!" A lovely home is that of the minister and his wife, and Ethel's Oh, Ethel!" he cried, "after new duties do not interfere with an evening like this, my forlorn her mission. 66 THE FINISHED WORK. BY THE REV. CLARENCE CHAMBERS. "I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do."John xvii, 4. EVERY man's life is divided into two parts: the active and the passive; the doing and the suffering; the working and the enduring; so with the life of Jesus here on earth. At this point He had reached the end of the active, the doing or working part of His life, and was about to enter upon the passive, or more completely suffering condition which closed His days in an early death: Let us try to meditate upon our Lord's conception of His life's work, as the example to us of how we should regard our own work. 1. There is no doubt that His work was special and peculiar ; no one else could do what He undertook; but this is also true in a sense of every man's work. Your work and mine belong to us in a special and peculiar sense. While we are on earth no one can take our place : our own work is ours specially, as are our own joys and sorrows. It is well to try and realise this, and that it is no use looking to others to do our work or pretending to do that which falls to others as their peculiar and special burden. That which creates so much restlessness in our minds is the forgetfulness of the special importance of that work which falls to our lot in the providential arrangement of the world. If you go into a factory, where a large number of hands are engaged, you are surprised at the orderly regularity with which everything goes on; there is an almost endless variety of work to do, and yet no confusion. How is this? because every man has his work, every woman her work, and each one is kept at their post by a strong sense of duty, and by the conviction that the work assigned has a special importance in relation to the whole. The grand result can only be accomplished by each one attending to his special work with this conviction. Suppose I or another, in some post of duty, regard my work as of no special importance, shall I not be under a temptation either to neglect it or undervalue it? In Matthew xiii. 34 we read, "For the Son of man is as a man taking a journey into a far country, who left his house, and gave authority to his servants, and to every man his work." Each one's work is special and peculiar. 2. Our Lord's work was of great value. But was not Christ's work of greater value and importance than mine and yours? Undoubtedly. Because the Father knew that He could trust the Son with greater responsibility than He could impose upon any other. The work was the greatest work that ever was undertaken, but it consisted in doing the Father's will. "I come to do thy will, O my God." But every man's work has a value, and by it he will be judged at the last. To every man, then, his own work is important to him, seeing his fidelity to God is tested and proved, not by the greatness of it, but by the fact that it is his work. No other work can compare to yours in importance as far as you are concerned. Relatively, too, the value of each one's work is great. Even the man who holds the meanest office, considered in itself, holds an important position when viewed in its relation to others. I heard the other day of a curious pause in the midst of a special service at the induction of a minister. The hymn was given out, the organist was at his post, the congregation and minister waiting to be led in their praise; but although the keys of the instrument were touched by the player, there was no sound. What was wrong? the man who blew the bellows was asleep at his post-hence the dilemma. Now his work in itself was not very great and sig nificant, but standing in relation to the circumstances and the work of others, it was so. Even if you do but blow the bellows, entertain a high idea of your work. 3. Our Lord's work was regarded by Him as of divine appointment. This was the grand and simple conception of Christ: "the work which thou gavest me to do." A God-given work demands our utmost regard and attention. Inasmuch, and as far as, our work is right, it is also divine. The angels do the work of God when they do His will, and so the meanest as well as the highest serve God. John Newton supposes two angels sent by God, one to rule a kingdom and the other to sweep a crossing; and asserts that the latter would be as ready to shoulder a broom and proceed to his task with cheerfulness and alacrity as the former would sway his sceptre. There is an artificial line drawn between secular work and sacred; but in reality all right work is sacred work. Duty is divine. When a man pursues his daily work and calling from a sense that it is of God, he is a noble-minded man. "Ye serve the Lord Christ," says the apostle to those who were Christian servants or slaves. There is no other or better way to lift us above the monotony or dulness of some spheres of action than to regard it in this light as being of God and for God. The daily round of duty in the family is for God; the bringing up of the children for God. The kitchen and nursery, as well as the parlour and study, should be places sanctified by this thought. God has assigned His children work there, and He is there Himself. As Keble says,— "Such is the bliss of souls serene When they have sworn and steadfast mean, Their God, in all themselves deny." In this spirit let us finish our life's work, treading in the footsteps of Him who rose from service and suffering to glory and honour for evermore. 66 HELPING THE POOR. 'SAMMY, run and get some wood and make a fire in the settin'-room. Mind you don't get any of that hemlock stuff, to snap over everything; for I don't want holes burnt in that rug afore the fireplace. Gracious knows I was long enough braidin' it not to have it burnt up." "Who's comin', marm ?" questioned Sammy, as he started for the wood shed. "Why, Deacon Gooding has app'inted a meetin' to see about helpin' the poor, and the folks are goin' to meet here. Now start along, for it takes a dreadful while to heat up that settin'-room." "Seems to me they've taken a mighty sudden interest in the poor," remarked Sammy, when he had returned from the wood shed, and was trying to make a fire of some wet chips. 66 Wall, you see, Deacon Gooding set it agoin'," answered his mother, "and they say he's worth thirty thousand dollars; so people 'tend to what he says, if he ain't got no brains to spare. Sammy spent half an hour, trying to make the chips blaze, and wondering why people who had money were of so much more account than anybody else; and then he went for some dry kindling, and came to the very wise conclusion that he didn't know everything. But at last the sitting-room was nicely warmed, the chairs were all set back against the wall, the evening lamps were lighted, and widow Martin and Sammy, each in Sunday best, waited for the expected com pany to assemble. They did not have long to wait, for in less than an hour the house was full. The tall and the short, the young and the old, the married and the single, turned out, and widow Martin whispered rather spitefully to Sammy, 66 I wonder which they think the most on, the apples and cake they allers get here, or helpin' the poor ?" As Mr. Stanwood, the minister, was absent, of course Deacon Gooding took it upon himself to speak first. "Now, do say somethin' that'll be a credit to ye, Deacon, and don't forget that passage I found in Billy's Shakespearean Reader this mornin'," said his wife in a low tone, as he was about to rise. "My dear friends," began the deacon, and then stopped short; but after several ahems, he went on-" that is, my-ah-dear gentlemen and ladies, I am very much delighted to-ah--meet you on this most joyful occasion, and I hope we may all have-ah-have-a-a good time. I think we may as well-ah-make our elder, that is, our pastor, and some of the-ahinfluential members of our church a present, as well as the poor people. Of course, we ought to help the poor critters-ah-that is, the destitute, for we may all need a helping hand some time, for there's a destiny that shapes our ends "A divinity, Deacon," came in a very loud whisper from the corner which Mrs. Gooding occupied. "Excuse me, friends. There's a divinity that shapes our ends—~—' "Who said there wasn't?" called homes, feeling that they were indeed out Sammy, who had grown tired workers in the Lord's vineyard. of the deacon's speech. The young reprobate was sent out of the room, and the deacon sat down forgetful of the unfinished quotation, muttering: 66 It was arranged that they should meet on the following Tuesday evening, at the house of Mrs. Burnam, and should carry what he or she intended to give to the poor of Well, I swanny, if that ain't the neighbourhood, and also the the sarciest boy in town!" After order was restored, Deacon Sanford was requested to make some remarks. The deacon was a very nervous man at all times, and it seemed impossible for him to say anything before so many people, but he finally rose, and with a trembling voice, said,— money towards buying the presents for Mr. Stanwood, and several wealthy gentlemen who belonged to the church, but who, with their minister, were then absent, attending a conference. Deacon Gooding was to decide what the presents should be. The days passed swiftly away, and Tuesday evening came "My dear people, brother Good-" before a body had chance to turn ing has said enough, and more too, round," as widow Martin expressed and so just consider a part of his it. speech mine." "For mussy's sake, why didn't you say somethin' that was somethin'?" questioned Mrs. Sanford as her husband fell back into his chair and vigorously wiped his face with his red bandanna. After several gentlemen had spoken, Deacon Gooding called on Mrs. Burnam, a lady who was very particular to scold all the week days and be very pious on Sundays. Before seven o'clock every person in Lincolnville might have been seen walking along in the moonlight towards Farmer Burnam's residence, each with a parcel or basket in his hand. When all were assembled, Mr. Burnam asked Deacon Gooding to inform them what he had decided the presents for the absent gentlemen should be. After the customary ahem, the deacon proceeded to address his audience "straightway in such words as follow." "I'm glad I have a chance to say somethin' at last," she commenced, "I have decided, my dear friends, "for I've been achin' ever sence I that as it will not do to offer such set here. I think it's a desprit good a-ah-rich, that is, wealthy man thing that somebody has thought as Mr. Stanwood any ordinary prethem Smiths and Baileys and Nor-sent, it is best to give him a rosetons ought to have somethin' done wood writing-desk. It will cost for 'em. They all live only a little ways from my house, and I'll bet they've cost me as much for the past year as my dog and cat both, and I think it's time the rest of the neighbourhood was helpin' take care of 'em." Mrs. Burnam sat down, fully convinced that if her speech was not very eloquent, it was to the point. thirty dollars. If no person present -ah-has any objections, we will give, that is, present Mr. Fullerton with a nice robe for his sleigh. For Mr. Grosvenor, we will buy, that is-ah-purchase several of Mr. Dickinson's" "Dickens, deacon," called out Mrs. Gooding, in a voice that plainly told her lungs were good. At last each had his say, and, "Yes-ah-several of Mr. Dicafter disposing of nearly a bushel kens's best novels, for I heard him of apples, they bade Mrs. Martin say-ah-observe that he would good-night and returned to their like to have 'em. The cost would be nineteen dollars. I went to the noiselessly placed in the bottom of city to-day and priced the-ah- the hat. Everything to eat and to several articles myself. Now, my wear, which had been brought, dear brothers and sisters, I hope together with the money, was dieach one of you will-ah-give with pleasure whatever sum is needed to make out enough to buy the several articles I have named, that is, mentioned." The deacon was quite out of breath by the time his long speech was ended, and whispered to his better half, as he sat down, "It's tarnation hard work to talk so long." Each gave readily, and after counting the sum, it was found that the deacon would be obliged to give ten cents. vided into three equal parts, and some boys chosen to carry the donation to the families mentioned by Mrs. Burnam, they being the only ones who were really suffering for help. The next morning the Smiths found themselves in possession of four old pairs of pants, entirely worn out at the knees, three old caps, a pair of halfworn cowhide boots, a quart of beans, and thirtyfive cents in money. The Baileys rejoiced in owning five old calico dresses, very much the worse for wear, two pairs of darned stocking, a small piece of salt pork, and thirty-five cents. After a few minutes, during which a committee was chosen to purchase and deliver the presents to the gentlemen for whom they were The Nortons tried to be thankful intended, Deacon Sanford pro- for three very dilapidated-looking posed that they should see what petticoats, a quarter of a pound of they could do for the poor. Then brown sugar, and, of course thirtycame a great unrolling of bundles five cents. and opening of baskets, and about one in ten dropped an exceedingly small bill into the hat which Mr. Burnam passed around. When it came to Deacon Gooding's turn to give something, he breathed an audible sigh and put his finger and thumb in his vest pocket, and drew out a two-cent piece, which he When Mr. Stanwood, on the Sunday following his return home, preached from the text, "Blessed are the merciful," the members of his church glanced at each other with a look which plainly said, "That means us." Does the story need any comment? * THE FIVE PORCHES. BY THE REV. T. R. STEVENSON. "Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches."-John v. 2. THE scene to which this verse refers is one with which we are all familiar. It is both picturesque and pathetic: surely none can look at it uninterested and unmoved. Moreover, it may be made very instructive, for what is the world but a vast Bethesda, and in some respects mankind may be accurately described as 66 a great multitude of impotent folk." We shall do well, therefore, to take our stand under * From an American paper. |