soul. When the woman in the Scripture left her domestic duties, and took her alabaster box of ointment, and went to anoint the feet of Jesus, that was her nearest duty. When Dr. Howe left his land to go and fight for Greece, that was his nearest duty. When Florence Nightingale left her happy home in England to nurse soldiers in the Crimea, that was her nearest duty. The demon in the soul, the divine voice within, calls us to our work; the new occasions teach new duties, and so the prophet goes to his mission-goes, perhaps, reluctantly, in the heat and bitterness of his spirit, but the hand of the Lord is on him, and he is obliged to go.

Most of us are not called to be prophets or missionaries, martyrs to the truth, or leaders in a forlorn hope. But we are all of us called to take an interest in something outside of our own private business and family affairs. Charity begins at home, but, if it ends at home, it is not charity, but selfishness.

How many noble enterprises there are in this community to which men and women are devoting time, thought, strength, heart, life, and only ask of us a little sympathy and a little aid! Some labor for the poor; some for the children who have no homes nor friends; some for those who have fallen into temptation, but are not depraved; some for the poor animals, mute sufferers, unable to complain of their wrongs; some for neglected infants; some for aged people left alone in the world; some for young men, thrown amid the risks of a great city. All they ask of us is to help them in their work, give them a little sympathy, a little aid; but how many of us think it rather an impertinence in them to ask, and believe that on the whole, we are not our brother's keeper! "No! we must attend to nearer duties. We have bought five yoke of oxen and must go to prove them. We have built a house, and are

rather short of means this year to help your society. We have had a great many calls lately, and have relatives who depend upon us. We doubt the use of these philanthropies; would it not be better to do it in some other way? If these people are helped now, they will have to be helped again; there is no end to it." A man whom I once asked to contribute to missionary work told me he thought that until people asked for truth it did no good to send it. I told him it seemed to me fortunate for us that Christ and his apostles did not agree with him in this opinion. Another man used to say that he did not like to interfere between Providence and the man who was suffering in consequence of his own faults or defects. I asked him if my coming to him might not possibly be a call of Providence, also. But those who argue in this way are great advocates for doing the nearest duty, and for doing nothing else.

But the Lord never meant that we should make of our immediate and daily work prison walls to shut ourselves in, so as to take no part in the vast interests of humanity. Every man stands under an arch of heaven, infinite in extent, with the constellations of the universe lighting their solemn fires above him every night, and the unwearied sun marching over his head every day. Once in every twentyfour hours the earth carries us wholly round so as to face the entire universe. We all belong to the whole of God's world, and nothing which concerns it ought to find us indifferent. When we walk in the woods, the sweet breath of the ferns takes us back to past geologic ages; the fragrant breath of the firs and pines recall the Psalms of David and the Hymns of the Vedas. "Over us soars the eternal sky, full of light and of Deity." It is not meant that we should live to ourselves, but we are all called on to live for every truth, every human interest, every human need, as the Lord sends them to us or sends us to them.

Then the nearest duty may sometimes be to ourselves, to make ourselves fit and able to be of use to others.

Before the mechanic begins his work, no matter how important it is, his first duty is to sharpen his tools and put them in order. So it may be our first duty to put our body and mind in order before we begin any other duty, however necessary. We often say we have no time to rest, no time for recreation, no time for reading, no time for outside interests, no time for church work; our business is so pressing, we have so much to do. Men refuse to give themselves a little relaxation, and so they break down at last, and then can do no work for months or years. A stitch in time saves nine; a little rest or recreation taken in season may save years of the enforced idleness of the invalid. I once was in northwest Wisconsin, taking my summer vacation with my brothers on a great wheat farm. Coming away, I passed a Sunday in a little town on the upper Mississippi, and went to a Presbyterian church. The minister preached on "Recreation," and said that he had known cases of men who came to him gloomy and anxious about their souls, and he found the difficulty was not in their souls, but their bodies, and so, instead of telling them to read the Bible, he advised them to take exercise and recreation. That was their nearest duty to put their body in order, and then they could attend to their souls. My Presbyterian minister was a wise man. But sometimes it is the soul which needs to be put in order before we can do any duty as we ought. If the soul is sick, we shall put no heart into anything we do. To finish any work well, we must have faith, courage, confidence, and be able to put our heart into it. But if the heart is cold and dead, we shall do everything in a cold and dead way. The nearest duty, therefore, may be to let alone all other duties, and to take care of our mind, our heart and our soul. To

come into the presence of God, to give ourselves up to him, to begin a new life of obedience, faith, submission, patience, hope, this may be our nearest duty.

When I was in the Divinity School, I bought the complete works of Goethe in forty volumes, and put them on my table. I had not much money, and it was a pretty large expense to me. One of my friends came into the room and saw these books, and said, "What in the world have you

bought these books for? How will Goethe help you to study theology?" I replied, "In order to study theology or anything else, we must have our mind wide awake and full of interest in all intellectual matters. I find that the study of Goethe makes my mind more wide awake, and gives me more power to study everything else." And he was so candid that he admitted I might be right, and feeling the need of something to rouse his mind, he procured a volume of "Fichte," of the most difficult sort of metaphysics, and studied it diligently, and afterwards declared that it did him more good than any other book he had read in the school. To read Goethe and Fichte would not seem to be the nearest duty for theological students, but to us it

was so.

If a mechanic must get his tools in order before he can work well, much more must the delicate and subtle organs of the soul be put in right condition before anything else can be well done. For this purpose, we must sometimes leave, for a time, routine and the narrow rut of life, to refresh and quicken the soul to new life and power.

It is often assumed that the sphere of woman is home, and home only. She is to stay at home and attend to housekeeping and the dinner-the care of the children, and oversight of the domestic work. But to do these well, she ought to do something more than these. Man shall go forth to his work and labor until the evening, seeing a va

riety of people, hearing many new things, bathing in the current of life. But woman needs refreshment, too. If man needs his club, why should not she have hers?

In a rude society women did all the indoor work, and man the outdoor work. She was the cook, and nurse, and the tailor he the hunter, the woodman and laborer out of doors. Now, he delegates to others the digging, hunting, ploughing, and becomes physician, editor, merchant, mechanic or minister. If she has the ability for it, why should she not do the same? At all events, to keep house well, she must have the stimulus of other occupations to sharpen the delicate tools of thought and feeling with which both men and women work.

The highest work that we can do is that which we ought to do, because there are fewer able to do this higher sort of work than the lower. If a man or a woman can do primary work, they ought not to do secondary. A good mechanic ought not to spend his time in breaking stones on the road if he can get work to do in his own trade. A man or a woman who is able to teach, or to practise medicine, or to practise law, or to preach, or is skilful in any art, should not do mere manual labor, but let others do that for him. I do not see why this law does not apply to women just as much as to men. The tools to those who can use them. The highest work we can do well, and have an opportunity of doing-that is the nearest duty. Whatever thy hand finds to do, do it with thy might. Work done in a halfand-half way-in a slovenly, inefficient way-is a wretched business. How much work is done in that way! How little thoroughly good work is done! The great artist told his pupils to mix their colors with brains. The reason of so much poor work is that so little thought is put into it. It is mere routine. General culture is necessary to do anything well. I mean that anything which makes the mind