sanctuary of home—­the dressing-room and the kitchen—­startling the ear with that strange-sounding sentence:  “Take heed what ye do.”  According to him religion was not a thing of music, and flowers, and soft carpets, and stained lights, and sentiment.  It had to do with other days than Sunday, with other hours than those spent in softly cushioned pews.  It meant doing, and it meant taking heed to each little turn and word and even thought, remembering always that the fear of the Lord was the thing to be dreaded.  What a solemn matter that made of life!  Who wanted to be so trammelled!  It would be fearful.  As for the minister, he presented every word of his sermon as though he felt it thrilling to his very soul.  And so he did.  If you had chanced to pass the parsonage on that Saturday evening which preceded its delivery—­passed it as late as midnight—­you would have seen a gleam of light from his study window.  Not that he was so late with his Sabbath preparation—­at least the written preparation.  It was that he was on his knees, pleading with an unutterable longing for the souls committed to his charge—­pleading that the sermon just laid aside might be used to the quickening and converting of some soul—­pleading that the Lord would come into his vineyard and see if there were not growing some shoots of love and faith and trust that would bring harvest.

It was not that minister’s custom to so infringe on the sleeping hours of Saturday night—­time which had been given to his body, in order that it might be vigorous, instead of clogging the soul with the dullness of its weight.  But there are special hours in the life of most men, and this Saturday evening was a special time to him.  He felt like wrestling for the blessing—­felt in a faint degree some of the persistency of the servant of old who said:  “I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.”  Hence the special unction of the morning.  Somewhat of the same spirit had possessed him during the week, hence the special fervour of the sermon.  With his soul glowing then in every sentence, he presented his thoughts to the people.  How did they receive them?  Some listened with the thoughtful look on their faces that betokened hearts and consciences stirred.  There were those who yawned, and thought the sermon unusually long and prosy.  Now and then a gentleman more thoughtless or less cultured than the rest snapped his watch-case in the very face of the speaker, by accident, let us hope.  A party of young men, who sat under the gallery, exchanged notes about the doings of the week, and even passed a few slips of paper to the young ladies from the seminary, who sat in front of them.  The paper contained nothing more formidable than a few refreshments in the shape of caramels with which to beguile the tedious-ness of the hour.  There was a less cultured party of young men and women who unceremoniously whispered at intervals through the entire service, and some of the whispers were so funny