in the life of the hour, thou servest mammon; he holds thee in his chain; thou art his ape, whom he leads about the world for the mockery of his fellow-devils.  If with thy word, yea, even with thy judgment, thou confessest that God is the only good, yet livest as if He had sent thee into the world to make thyself rich before thou die; if it will add one feeblest pang to the pains of thy death, to think that thou must leave thy fair house, thy ancestral trees, thy horses, thy shop, thy books, behind thee, then art thou a servant of mammon, and far truer to thy master than he will prove to thee.  Ah, slave! the moment the breath is out of the body, lo, he has already deserted thee! and of all in which thou didst rejoice, all that gave thee such power over thy fellows, there is not left so much as a spike of thistle-down for the wind to waft from thy sight.  For all thou hast had, there is nothing to show.  Where is the friendship in which thou mightst have invested thy money, in place of burying it in the maw of mammon?  Troops of the dead might now be coming to greet thee with love and service, hadst thou made thee friends with thy money; but, alas! to thee it was not money, but mammon, for thou didst love it—­not for the righteousness and salvation thou by its means mightst work in the earth, but for the honor it brought thee among men, for the pleasures and immunities it purchased.  Some of you are saying in your hearts, ’Preach to thyself, and practice thine own preaching;’—­and you say well.  And so I mean to do, lest having preached to others I should be myself a cast-away—­drowned with some of you in the same pond of filth.  God has put money in my power through the gift of one whom you know.  I shall endeavor to be a faithful steward of that which God through her has committed to me in trust.  Hear me, friends—­to none of you am I the less a friend that I tell you truths you would hide from your own souls:  money is not mammon; it is God’s invention; it is good and the gift of God.  But for money and the need of it, there would not be half the friendship in the world.  It is powerful for good when divinely used.  Give it plenty of air, and it is sweet as the hawthorn; shut it up, and it cankers and breeds worms.  Like all the best gifts of God, like the air and the water, it must have motion and change and shakings asunder; like the earth itself, like the heart and mind of man, it must be broken and turned, not heaped together and neglected.  It is an angel of mercy, whose wings are full of balm and dews and refreshings; but when you lay hold of him, pluck his pinions, pen him in a yard, and fall down and worship him—­then, with the blessed vengeance of his master, he deals plague and confusion and terror, to stay the idolatry.  If I misuse or waste or hoard the divine thing, I pray my Master to see to it—­my God to punish me.  Any fire rather than be given over to the mean idol!  And now I will make an offer to my townsfolk in the face of this congregation—­that, whoever will, at the end of three years, bring me his books, to him also will I lay open mine, that he will see how I have sought to make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness.  Of the mammon-server I expect to be judged according to the light that is in him, and that light I know to be darkness.