led on a new parishioner, a lady
of his own class, and soon found out that she was politely but
resolutely arranging to keep Jesus Christ out of the conversation; so
cleverly that he fairly failed to break the fence. Just as he was
leaving, for he could not go without one mention of his Master, he said,
as the last word of his courteous farewell, "_The Lord bless you_." That
was all; but it was enough to carry in it the Spirit's message. The
utterance stayed in the parishioner's soul, sounding solemnly on. It was
impossible to be offended; it was impossible not to think. And the issue
was, in God's time, a real and deep conversion.

A HAPPY REBUKE TO COWARDICE.

But, I repeat it, such difficulties in "the daily round" need not be
very frequent, if we do not create them for ourselves. How often the
very persons to whom we think it wiser not to speak openly about the
Lord Jesus Christ (remember, it is about HIM, even more than about
themselves, we are to speak) are longing to hear us do so! In the early
days of my ordination I remember visiting an invalid gentleman, who had
known me (for it was my Father's parish) all my life; and I was very
cowardly in his case about coming to the point of Christ and the soul.
Several visits, let me confess it with shame, were paid before I found
myself able to propose that we should open the Bible together, and then
pray. I was moved to the inmost heart by the actual tears of delight
with which the proposal was welcomed.

And not seldom, if we do not come to the point, our people will bring us
to it. A very dear friend of mine, a few years ago, was going his first
circuits in a large London parish, and paid one among many first visits.
He allowed it to be a mere visit of introductory civilities; but he need
not have been so cautious. As he rose to go the good woman on whom he
had called said to him, "You will have a word of prayer with me, will
you not? The Vicar always does."

"_Go, labour on, spend and be spent;
Thy joy to do the Father's will;
It is the way the Master went;
Should not the servant tread it still?_

"_Go, labour on while it is day,
The world's dark night is hastening on;
Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away;
It is not thus that souls are won._"

BONAR.

CHAPTER VIII.

_PASTOR IN PARISH_ (ii.).

_Work on in hope; the plough, the sickle wield;
Thy Master is the harvest's Master too;
He gives the golden seed, He