the fig-tree by the wayside, and lodging wherever a poor cottager’s faith and love gave them shelter for a night, and who,—beggars as to the things which were Cæsar’s, but filled as never men were filled before or since with the things which were God’s, faith, hope, joy, truth, wisdom, and Divine charity—went forth in this their might and re-made society: the grandest revolution in the history of this universe, accomplished by its beggars and, as the world thought, its fools. And the fact repeats itself in every revolution. Let a man in any age go forth with the fire of God in him; and the force he wields, the mastery he wins, the new life he quickens in a nation, in a world, pours silent contempt on gold. The gold is gathered, as spirit gathers flesh about it and becomes incarnate; so all that belongs to Cæsar’s sphere is at the commandment of that which comes straight from God’s and glows with the inspiration of His life. Gifts of a splendid lavishness in such seasons are abundant; and strangely enough the givers feel enriched unspeakably by the joy of giving, enlarged immeasurably by impoverishment, and increased by abnegation. The richest in such seasons are those who give most, not those who have most. A wonderful sense of the glorious wealth of a heart which has a guest-chamber for Christ, and whose pulses beat joyously as the free tide of the Divine love flows through and over it on all around, kindles men’s souls to a new conception of riches. It fills the beatitudes with a wonderful meaning, and shows the sorrows and straits of poverty overflowed by the riches and joys of God. III. “UNTO THIS LAST.” “I will give unto this last, even as unto thee.”—MATT. xx. 14.