The feast has been prepared for eighteen centuries; but one comes not because he has bought a piece of land, another because lie has married a wife, a third because he must away to prove his oxen, a fourth because he has a railroad to construct, a factory to build, a mission to accomplish, he must work in Parliament, on 'Change, at a scientific treatise, in art, in literature. No one these two thousand years has had leisure to do what Jesus counselled at the outset of His ministry: to look around him, to think of the results of our labors, and to ask himself " What am I? Why? Can it be possible that the force that made me with my reason and my longing to love and be beloved has made me only to mock me, seeing that having imagined that the end of life was personal well-being, that my life was my own and that I had the right to do with it as I pleased, even as with the lives of others, I come finally to the conclusion that the well-being of self, or family, or nation that I seek after cannot be attained, and that the more I strive to attain it the more I find myself in conflict with my reason, and my longing to love and be beloved, and the more I suffer disillusionment and hardship. Is it not more probable that since I came not here of my own will, bat at the will of whoso sent me, my reason and my longing to love and be beloved are only given me as guides to the accomplishment of that same will ?"

This repentance once accomplished in the thought of man, and the conception of pagan, egoistic life replaced by the Christ ideal, love of our neighbor would become more natural than is now the struggle and the selfishness. The love of our neighbor once become natural to man, the new con ditions of Christian life would appear spon taneously, just as in a liquid saturated with

I salt crystals are formed as soon an one stops stirring it. Aud f jr this to happen, for men to organise according to their conscience, there needs no positive effort: there but needs, upon the contrary, that they cease the efforts they are making. 