furnish a wholesome jest, we can at least cheerfully appreciate one, and we will constantly derive new interests, new elements of character, from those we meet, and give them.

But besides unselfishness, sincerity, stores of knowledge, modesty, and good will, there is needed to give conversation its true and better character a something which lifts it above the lower interests of life. How can this higher tone be obtained? If in ordinary conversation we had the avowed intention of instructing others, we should do more harm than good. No, it is the something in the character, the something which that man or boy possesses before whom no one ventures to make an ill-natured remark or a low jest. We have all known such boys and men, and have felt that they possessed something which we would be glad to make our own.

Whatever we say, let it be to the glory of God. We cannot always have the thought of God with us, but we may feel this inspiring power, this restraining influence, in our intercourse with others. When we stifle the ill-natured remark, the low jest, the impure word, we may truly be said to speak unto God.

When we prefer truth to the entertainment of others, when we seek to be just and generous to others in our talk, then, although imperfectly, we reflect Christ.

When we feel that we need a higher strength than our own, when we would speak fairly, when we would see things as they are, the silent prayer to God, even in the busy hum of men, will give us a just and generous judgment. Let us talk more of

things than people, and when we talk of people let us aim at saying nothing of any man which we would not say to his face, nothing but good of him. If we are loyal, we would not speak harm of a friend. Let us add generosity to loyalty. Of a friend we would not speak harm; of others let us count it a mean, ungenerous thing to speak harm.

Have we in the past talked incessantly of ourselves, have we betrayed confidence, have we been ungenerous to others in speech, have we pushed others downward towards hell, as we sank ourselves, by the low, indecent jest or low story? Then we have failed indeed in our conversation, and with deep regret we must remember that the past cannot be changed. But we can turn thankfully to the future, which is yet in our power, for with God's help we can endeavour to make that future better, cleaner, truer, more generous.

III

INFLUENCE

(October 29th, 1905.)

"Am I my brother's keeper?"—Genesis iv. 9.

WHATEVER may be the truth with regard to the historical nature of the early chapters of Genesis, the narrative has a spiritual truth, as a description of man's perpetual experience, which is most valuable and can never lose its power.

Much in those chapters may perplex us, but the pictures therein never fade, never lose their meaning for our consciences. How vividly the picture comes back to us. The splendour of the scene in the Garden of Eden, the sparkling streams and waving trees, the temptation, the sin, the flaming sword of the angel over the fallen ones, as they pass with bowed heads into the desolate land of burning sand, stretching away as far as eye can see.

Into the picture come the first children, the first boys the world has seen; and then, with terrible suddenness, hatred and murder. One brother lies dead beside the smoking altar under the burning, blazing sun in the illimitable sea of sand; while the other brother wanders away with the irrevocable deed burning at his heart, trying in hopeless despair to make himself believe that he is not the criminal he knows himself to be, and answering the voice of God, speaking to him

from without and within, by the angry, helpless, passionate rejection of responsibility: "Am I my brother's keeper?"

To-day, thousands of years after, the words are the same. There is the same rejection of responsibility, sometimes in anger, sometimes in callous, selfish indifference. Men, who ought to know and care how it is faring with their brother men, refuse to know, refuse to care.

"My brother's keeper." What is the meaning? It is just this: Whatever care I may take of my own life, however I may watch and tend it, I have not done my duty, I have not filled out my existence, unless I have, as far as I can, watched and protected and helped the lives of other people.

Never, elsewhere, will you have the same priceless opportunity of watching, protecting, helping the lives of other people that you have in this English school. Other opportunities will come; for no one, crossing sweeper or King, can do his duty faithfully, and not make it easier everywhere. But never will they again be so great, so full.

If youth only knew, if the boys of to-day would all realize that each one must take the responsibility of the lives of others upon himself, the regeneration of the world would be at hand. It seems so easy. We grow buoyant with hope. If only all would do what a few are doing!

It is always difficult to stand with a few, even though we know that we are right. And it is so easy to say, "Am I my brother's keeper?" and so hard at first to realize that we simply cannot shut ourselves off from our fellows and live our own life. So many of us are content not to realize it,

and the reason is that we are so apt to look upon helpfulness as a special gift, given only to some; instead of being, as it must be, a true part of the humanity of every one, without which each one is but a fragment of a man.

If one of you were shown the misery and squalor of the cripple in the street, I can picture the transparent honesty with which he would say, "It is no affair of mine."

I can imagine one saying, "I will do neither good nor evil to my brethren, I will live my own life"; but I cannot imagine him doing it. It cannot be. You must do good or you must do evil.

Every impulse in the material world must increase or diminish motion. So in the spiritual world, every thought and every deed must help or stop progress. Its radiating influence must be helpful or harmful. Every word, every deed, is good or bad.

How well some of us know the childish defence, "I was doing no harm," "I see no harm." The question is, "Can you see any good?" "Are you doing good?" Let those remember that the only deed which can do no harm is the good deed. If you believe this, the meaning of responsibility will be opening to you.

There is nothing you can do which does not make it either harder or easier for other men to live, and live well. Deeds which seem to have nothing to do with you are the result of what you have done or been.

Let us step into the future. What do you see? A promising life suddenly blighted; a sudden temptation; a deed of dishonour, of forgery or theft;