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