And, meanwhile, let me ask this of the Churchmen here assembled this evening, Are we half as liberal—I ask it advisedly—in giving for the maintenance of our Church, as are many bodies of Nonconformists in their offerings for theirs? You know that we are not. Let us look about us in this matter. Let us rise to the emergency. Show that you value your Church, by giving bountifully in her behalf. If the Church is what you profess it to be, surely it is worth something, something even of self-sacrifice, to maintain it in its efficiency. You know that there are many amongst us to whom the Church costs nothing. On one pretext and another, they evade all her burdens. They grudge the very rents of their sittings; and if those rents were exchanged to-morrow (as I would they were) for Offertories, still they would give nothing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be. By this grudging, this ungenerous spirit, we are drawing down upon ourselves, as a judgment, the sentence of disestablishment and disendowment. Be it not so amongst us! Count no money better spent than that which is given for the repairing of the breaches of this House; meaning now by the House, not only or chiefly the fabric, but rather the purpose for which the fabric stands—the edification and salvation of human souls. Above all, see that you rightly, earnestly, industriously use the means of grace herein afforded you. What would not they give, who are gone from us this last week by disease or accident, unrepentant, unredeemed, for one such feast of love as was accepted this morning by but six and twenty souls—for one such opportunity as we have enjoyed this evening of drawing nigh to the Throne of Grace through our one Divine Lord? 3. Thus, then, we pass naturally, in conclusion, to that House, or Temple of God, which is of all the most intimate, the most sacred, the most inaccessible; yet in which, if anywhere, the true fire burns of an acceptable sacrifice—the real altar is built of lively, living, devoted stones. That House is the soul; and it, too, has its _breaches_. Yes, we know it. That Temple—which ought to _lie four-square_, which ought to have everything in its place, which ought to be gleaming with the fire of the Holy Ghost, and adorned with the precious stones of a meek and quiet and pure and Godward spirit—that Temple, of which the light ought to be shining through into the life, and making every act and word and thought gracious and beneficent and God-recalling—that Temple is all jagged and disordered and spotted and sin-stained—that Temple lets its altar-fire go out every half-hour, and suffers _a darkness that may be felt_ to settle down upon its chambers—making unbelievers at last say, _If that be faith_, _give me reason_; _if that be piety_, _give me conscience_; _if that indeed be religion_, _let me know only the heathen’s revelation_—_of good sense_, _good nature_, _and an elevated self-love_! _Why repair ye not the breaches of the House_?