But God works by human instrumentality, and it is for those whom He has helped with the power to exercise the precious privilege of brightening the lives of others. Let your givings be in accordance not only with your own means, but with the needs of those whom you help.

I daresay you have often noticed the number and costliness of the gifts bestowed upon those who have already much of this world's wealth. You have heard such words as these when a friend's birthday or some other festive occasion called for special remembrance: "I could not give a poor present. I felt that I must give something really handsome, or I should have been ashamed of my gift among so many beautiful things."

Oh! it is sad to think that our givings are influenced so much more by the thought of how they will impress our neighbours, and how the gifts will look in comparison with theirs.

There is a verse in the Book of Proverbs which I have seldom heard quoted, but which bears upon what I have said. "He that oppresseth the poor to increase his riches, and he that giveth to the rich, shall surely come to want." In beautiful contrast are the words also from the Book of Proverbs, "He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack" and "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will He pay him again."

So, dear ones who have enough and to spare, I ask you to make the Lord your debtor—precious thought!—by devising plans for the benefit of your poorer sisters, and be sure of this—your paymaster will not fail you. Your reward will not come to you in gold and silver, but it will satisfy you here, and you will reap an eternal harvest in return for every hour of happiness purchased for others by willing self-sacrifice on your part. I trust that by your efforts many hearts will be gladdened and bodies strengthened, through what we have talked about to-night, in the twilight side by side.

Now I want to ask you what precious opportunities you had, and whether you used or wasted them, during your summer holidays? When we last met, I quoted an expression I had heard from the pulpit, and which had impressed me deeply. "We should be misers in the use of time and opportunity." We talked at some length on one of these precious trusts, but little was said about the second.

I am sure you will feel with me that we cannot be amidst new scenes and brought into contact with fresh people, and fail to have new opportunities of speaking kind words, giving little messages of comfort, and showing, though it may be only by trifling actions, consideration for others. In order to take advantage of such openings we must not be self-absorbed. We must be on the look-out for opportunities, or we may miss them.

It happens, not infrequently, that a holiday-time is regarded as a season of pure self-indulgence. We have worked hard for our holiday, or we can afford to have whatever we desire. So we decide to fill our daily cup of enjoyment to the brim. We care little what trouble we give by our untidy habits to the tired workers who serve in the houses which are our temporary homes. We leave orderly ways and punctuality behind us, and rather enjoy the idea of having escaped from home rule in every shape, saying to ourselves, "It is holiday-time. Surely we may follow our own inclinations."

We laugh perhaps over nearly empty purses when packing-up day comes, and are apt to wonder where the money has gone. If we ask ourselves the questions, "How much has been devoted to others? What have I given towards the expenses of the church I have attended during my stay in this place?" I fear a blush of shame would often come to the owner of that purse whose contents have been so carelessly scattered.

I have known, and I still know, dear friends both young and old who, when going for a holiday, put aside a weekly sum in accordance with their means to be spent in good doing as opportunities present themselves. This is their thank-offering to God for their own bright holiday. Those who have pinched and saved and been obliged to calculate every penny before leaving home, and who, whilst absent, have "to turn a penny both sides up before spending it," as I heard a poor woman remark, cannot spare coin from their purses. But opportunities come, nevertheless. The possessor of a comfortable seat on shore or promenade, or beneath a sheltering tree, may give place to a wan-faced mother, weary with carrying her baby, and looking longingly but vainly for an empty place whereon to rest.