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Sunday Night Feb. 7E 1892.
When ye pray, say, Our Father.-LUKE xi. 2.
As this small volume is the last which I shall offer to my contemporaries, so is it the first of which I cannot render any distinct account. In all previous cases I have had something to say which it seemed needful to throw into the courses of current thought; and I could indicate the place into which it might naturally flow. For the following pages I can offer no such plea. They add nothing to the common stock of human experience. They pour forth only the story of every inward life, and breathe the old familiar tones of wonder, sorrow and aspiration. They do but utter some little part of what every one may lay bare for himself before Him that seeth in secret. What excuse then can there be for any attempt, on another's part, to say it for him? So deeply