I know by experience how very sweet and profitable such household services can be, even when there are literally only the two or three to share in them. And how very small is the fragment they take out of the day of rest, whilst sweetening and purifying the whole of it. If our Sunday observances are not influenced by thankfulness for God’s gift, anxiety to use it rightly, and love for the Giver, they are generally fitful and, to a great extent, dependent on our immediate surroundings. For instance, when we are at home we may be regular in our attendance at church. We should feel ashamed were the friends who worship under the same roof with us to see our seats vacant week after week from any cause except illness or absence from home. Are we equally regular in our attendance when amongst strangers, or in a new neighbourhood? When taking holiday, do we not sometimes regard it as part of the holiday to excuse ourselves from going to church and say, “We want the fresh air and change of scene. We must make the most of our opportunities.” By so doing we show plainly that there is no heart in our ordinary worship, no realisation of the value of the Sabbath, or the needs of our spiritual nature. I heard some young people talking together of a Continental tour they were about to take and the pleasure it would give them. They were unused to travel and were discussing the amount of luggage they must take: what articles must go, what could be done without. An old friend listened to them with interest and amusement. He had travelled much and wished that he could renew past pleasure by witnessing the enjoyment of these bright girls amid new scenes and experiences. His opinion was often asked as to what might be called necessaries and what luxuries. At length he said— “I have noticed that so many people forget one thing which they seem to value at home, but leave behind, though they could take it with them and have no extra cost for luggage.” “What is that?” was the eager question. “Sunday.” No other word was needed. The girls understood their old friend’s meaning. They had heard their travelled acquaintances speak of Sundays spent in other lands, and knew how easily they had been induced to fall in with the ways of those amongst whom they found themselves. One of yourselves told me that when abroad last summer the party of tourists found there was no English service in the town where they were, so it was settled they should travel on Sunday to their next stopping-place. “I,” wrote my girl friend, “had kept the last month’s Twilight Talk to read in the train at the time that, had I been in England, I should have been at church.” Then she related an incident that followed and brought with it a temptation to do something which would have put self before others; but, she added, “with the words I had been reading fresh in my mind, I had the strength to overcome my selfishness.”