The service throughout was bright and attractive and conducted with great reverence. The organ was a good one, and the hymns were sung to well-known tunes. The sermon was short and very practical, and the children were not forgotten. There was no inattention, no weariness anywhere; and Mr. Davies was resolved that there never should be. He had his chance now, for all the people were there, and he meant them all to come again, not because Mr. Knight wished it, but because they chose to come. The minister was not one to talk about himself, and therefore no one knew how he had agonised in prayer to God for some souls to be given him on that day, spending a whole night in prayer asking for Divine light and guidance, so that this great opportunity might be used to its fullest extent. It was a rousing little sermon, which called forth a feeling of gratitude among the people. At its close there was silence for a few minutes, in order that souls might be offered in secret to the Lord, whose presence in His sanctuary so many people felt. And then Arthur Knight stepped upon the platform, and gazed upon the faces, eager with interest, and beautiful with feeling, of these people who belonged to him, and for whose welfare he was passionately solicitous. “My friends,” he said, and there was a tremor in his voice which instantly awoke a response, “I thank you for giving me the joy of welcoming you one and all to our Father’s House, a building which by prayer we have this day consecrated to our highest welfare, and one which will be open every day, so that any of you may at any time come in for quiet and rest, in which you may make known to Him your wants. I am not afraid of desecrating either the church or the day, though I speak to you on some subjects which, perhaps, hitherto we have not considered religious; but I know it will not be easy to get you all together again, and I cannot let slip the chance which has been given me. Mr. Davies uttered a sentence which, if I had to preach a sermon, I would almost take as my text—‘Every social reform that starts at Calvary will be successful.’ I hope his words are true, though, indeed, I am sure of it, for that is where this started. Several years ago, in a foreign land where I knew no one but the two friends with whom I travelled, one was taken ill. He knew that he had to die, and he was afraid, for death opened his eyes, and he saw a Beyond, a Hereafter, of which he had been sceptical before. Neither of us knew anything of religion, but we had all heard of Jesus, and I remembered His death on Calvary, and the story of His resurrection. So I prayed to Him, and asked Him, if He were really living and able to save, to save my friend, and make it easy for him to die. And we remembered some words of His: ‘Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out’; and my friend asked Him to take him, and to give him some assurance of His pardon and peace. And a most wonderful