will see that the greatest events that have happened, those the influence of which has been most widely spread.-have been determined by the passions and follies of the persons who took part in them. The fact is so evident that we all from past experience calculate upon it beforehand in our dealings with each other; we only overlook it in ourselves! Some wise plan, for instance, may be formed, but we know that we cannot fully carry it out because one man is proud, or another is indolent, or a third is vacillating; and we take these facts into account, and speak and act accordingly. Yet something is in the end done-some good is effected; our united work sinks into the history of the past,-it becomes a thing, an event. The body remains with man; and man bestows his meed of approbation. But the soul has fled. Rather let us say, the work had many souls, and they have gone to carry before God not the history of their success or their failure in the object for which they strove, but the account of the conflict with the deep evil in their own hearts, brought into action by the very labour in which they were engaged, and either conquered or submitted to.

Looking back upon life sincerely, this truth would seem to be impressed upon us by our own consciousness. Just for a moment, it may be rather flattering to our vanity to be reminded of what we have done; but the very imperfection of memory prevents us from seeing it in any but a shadowy form. What we have done and what we are is

the abiding fact,-ever present, never dying. And there is a terrible, an awful danger in any work— let it be never so pure, charitable, or seemingly disinterested--when it tends to hide from us that truth. What we do must be for time; it must have - its fulfilment in this world. "When the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment," then shall "they that dwell therein," their hopes, interests, objects, cares,-" die in like manner."

How many, many times, we have heard this said! How like a wearisome oft-told tale it sounds! Yet it might do us no harm to ask ourselves, looking back only upon one day, how much of its work has been done with the definite recognition that it is of no value as regards ourselves, unless our object in it has been such as will be fulfilled in the Kingdom of God. Not that the thought can always be actually present to us, or that we could carry on our daily employment if it were; but there are two kinds of recollection, one of which may perhaps be called positive, the other negative. Christ and Eternity, Heaven and Hell, are positively present to us when we fix our attention in prayer, or study the Bible, or make some definite effort to do that which our conscience tells us God will require us. But they are also present to us when, in the busy hours of worldly occupation, an evil thought is suggested to us, and almost unconsciously, yet from long habit, we check it. They are present when we keep watch over hasty words, when we guard

against selfish interests, when, in fact, we struggle in any way, with the evil which is working in us. And this struggle may and ought to be perpetual. When we are so absorbed in our work, whatever may be its aim or importance, as to forget this, our object ceases to be the fulfilment of all things in the Kingdom of God, it becomes work for the kingdom of man.

There are many sad sights in this fallen world, perhaps none more so than the spectacle of a man beginning a great work, earnestly, religiously and humbly, and becoming so engrossed in it, that unconsciously to himself his object in it is changed, and it has ceased to be labor for God, and has become labor for himself. It is a snare which we may all fall into, more or less. Yet God has mercifully given us innumerable warnings and safeguards. One is the power of retracing the past, and seeing its swiftness and the nothingness of the earthly interests once connected with it.

How distant to a child is the prospect of being eighteen or twenty years of age! It is a time which it seems scarcely possible can ever arrive ; distant as the moon, the sun, or even the fixed stars. But eighteen comes, it is numbered with the days gone by the next point is nearer, sooner reached— we are in middle age before we have forgotten youth; in old age before we have buried the cares of middle After old age comes death-after death the time when "all these things shall be fulfilled."

age.

It is fearfully near if we could but realise it.— To look back then and read life-what will it be?

EXCLUSIVENESS.

ST. LUKE, Xxii, 17, 18.

"And He took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: for I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine, until the kingdom of God shall come."

THIS cup, which formed part of the ordinary ceremonial of the Passover, has been thought by some to be typical of the cup afterwards to be given by Christ in the Holy Communion. Its exact meaning, seems, however, to be doubtful; but it is to be remarked how careful our Blessed Redeemer is to attend to every custom recognised by the Jew, and how solemn and important each action becomes when consecrated by Him. "I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the Kingdom of God shall come"-so did He carry on the thoughts of the disciples to the same fulfilment of all things to which he had before alluded,-impressing upon them again, as though in pity to the human weakness which was about to pass through such a severe trial, the certainty of that glorious hereafter which though from them it was hidden.

he

saw,

It will not, one may trust, be wrong to think of the cup, given to the disciples to divide amongst themselves, as in some way representing the earthly

blessings entrusted to us, which we are called upon to share with others; as the cup, given afterwards in the Eucharist, is undoubtedly the highest heavenly blessing conferred by God individually upon each. Few of us think as we ought of the duty of dividing blessings,-all blessings, great joys and small pleasures. We are ready to crave sympathy in our vexations, but our pleasures are too often hidden even from ourselves, much less shared with others. The assertion may appear bold, yet if we watch ourselves through the course of any one day we shall in all probability feel that it is true. Sunshine, warmth, pleasant companionship, rest after fatigue, books, music, beauty of every kind, give us pleasure; but how often during the day do we cheer the hearts of those with whom we live, by speaking of them? And how different would many homes be if, instead of the complaints made at passing annoyances, there were expressions of satisfaction at passing gratifications?

If one

person's discontent can mar the happiness of a whole household, so will one person's cheerful thankfulness spread through it a glow of enjoy

ment.

This is one way of sharing our blessings,-perhaps less seldom practised than any other. There is another and a more obvious one, but it is not natural to us as a nation. We call ourselves exclusive, and rather pride ourselves upon it,--for national faults bring no shame with them. But the fault of a nation is made up of the faults of