not appropriate it as his native home. Any possible wonders would eventually become like the familiar scenes and means of his daily life, and his soul would strive for more and better. Hence we see an endless growth stretched before the soul, in which it will always strive for special ends, and will yet be valued and loved not for these, but for that which has passed into habit, nature, power.

Now, this should teach us never to despair of success. In many special things we fail, but in this of experience never. We value life as it helps or hinders this or that cherished plan; its real value may consist in something widely different. We estimate our power as it enables us to do this thing to-day and that to-morrow; but God may be using us for some purpose of which we little dream. The trying to do certain things and to fix matters as we want them, gives us a certain amount of habit, and that is what we are, and that is what God uses, for it can be relied on; from what we are goes out our best and surest power. Moses thought his life a failure because he could not go over the Jordan into the promised land; but his life was a grand success, compared with which the going into Palestine was a small matter. But hoping and striving to do that thing developed his habits of patience, and endurance, and toil, and thought, which were the real blessings to his people. He thought little of these; but God thought much of them, and history has treasured them up. Jesus thought himself sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel; but when they would not hear him nor come to his fold, he told his disciples to preach the Gospel to every creature. Yet it was the striving for that special thing which occasioned all his life and teaching; and these the world values most, although he

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Paul in the same way sought to preach the Gospel to the Jews; and it was only when the Jews refused to hear him, only when he failed, as he thought, in his most precious purpose, that his real work began of carrying the Gospel to the Gentiles.

Well, so it always is. We set our hearts upon the doing of certain special things; we can not help that; but in struggling toward them, we send off our best and truest power for other uses. When the horse in the treadmill starts forward, and doubtless feels that he is moving forward, he stands still so far as his purpose is concerned, yet sets in motion the machinery which serves a higher race of beings. Could he reason, at the close of the day he might say, "The day has been a tiresome failure; I stand where I stood this morning;" because he dreams not that he has sawed the wood which warms and cooks for a whole household. The honey-bee flies all day from flower to flower, from field to field, and often feels no doubt at night-fall that the day has proved a bad failure because he found so little honey. He knows not that he has been bearing through all his weary flights the pollen which fructifies seed and fruit. The getting of a little honey is a small matter compared with the fruitage of orchards which he has secured. The silk-worm eats and weaves his web and values his life for the pleasure it gives him. How little he knows of his transcendent value to a higher race! The carrier-dove seeks its home and nothing more, little heeding that its power of flight and its instinct of place are performing the highest offices of love for man and maiden. And thus it runs through all nature, that the incidental power that goes out from what men and

at any things are is the best and most helpful of all power.

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landscape upon which I look from my window, now clothed
in the coronation-robes of autumn, how divine it is! It
seems to have been made for the inspiration it gives me.
But how is it? Every object there lives not for me, not for
its own beauty, but for a direct selfish purpose. That
maple-tree, blazing with crimson fire, has lived so far for the
sake of producing its fruit. But see what have been its
other uses, of which it took no thought. It has made so
much wood for fire, for furniture, for ornament; innumera-
ble birds have lived and sung all summer in its leafy boughs,
millions of bees have sucked honey from its exuding sap;
winds have harped in its leaves and gathered life from its
sweet breath; weary cattle have lain in its shade; its form
has delighted every passer-by; and now that its summer
children are to die, it puts on its brightest holiday attire
in token of gratitude for such a season of union and love.
Thus the tree, impelled by its habit to seek one end, in
seeking that has unconsciously preached all summer its
great gospel of beauty and use. It is thus with us all.
Like the horse in the treadmill, we pace the weary round of
our accustomed work-week, month, year, in and out-and
seem at its close just where we were at the beginning.
may have a few more dollars; but even these have lost their
peculiar charm for us. We know not that this very tread-
mill life of ours, and of such as we, has been turning the ma-
chinery of God's providence to society; that all the moral,
social, political blessings of agriculture, commerce, manufac-
tures, and arts are thus created and bestowed upon men.

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Like the honey-bee, we hasten from one enterprise to another; from one hope of finding rest and peace to another, and return, oh! how often, feeling that it is all a

failure. It is of small consequence that we have failed to gather the honey of satisfaction for ourselves; it is a small gain compared with the pollen of help, and cheer, and inspiration which we may have borne to one waiting soul after another, which we were not seeking nor expecting to bless. Like the carrier-dove, we long, aspire, and pray for the spirit's home of ideal life, and truth, and beauty; we strive for it, and plume our flight to reach it. There is too much power in this flight and striving to be wasted on any single purpose of ours; so God secretes his message of mercy, charity, and love in our unconscious nature, a blessing to the poor, and sick, and friendless all along our way. And while we shall expect God's approbation for having achieved so daring a flight, we shall be surprised when we learn that it was only the incidental work which we did, without prizing it, almost without knowing it-feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick-which made our lives Christlike. Such are the subtle ties which unite us each to all and all to each, that no one's life is or can be useless. Yea, it is this, the treadmill-work of each in his place, which secures all permanent blessings. There is no failure, there can be We must insist upon doing impossible things, because in trying those we entice our habitual strength out of its routine, and we get some idea of it; but it is surest and best in habit of which we think and know little. Raphael is ambitious to write a poem, Dante to paint a picture, Goethe to dethrone Newton, and we to sit down at the right hand or at the left in the kingdom of heaven; but Raphael, Dante, Goethe, are known and loved only for their natural work, which they could not help doing; and we shall be known and loved most for quite other effects than those on which we pride ourselves. Oh! these thoughts of mutual

none.

helpfulness ought to encourage you all, dear friends, to be faithful, and courageous, and cheerful in the lot and under the responsibilities where God has placed you. You can not live a true life one day without being a missionary. In some deep, sure way each right deed and purpose of ours is taken into God's plan of help and blessing for all.

"Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown

Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows on the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton tolling his bell at noon
Deems not that great Napoleon

Stops his horse and lists with delight

Whilst his files sweep around yon Alpine height;

Nor knowest thou what argument

Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent ;

All are needed by each one,

Nothing is fair or good alone."