As it surely must in His own good time,
E'en as day dawns out of night,
Or as breaketh the early Sabbath chime
To one who has sighed for light.

He will keep me for my beautiful place,
And my beautiful place for me:
Not earned, but a gift of wondrous grace,
And a gift all fair to see.

So I will quietly watch and wait;
But oh! how my soul will fly,
When He opens to me the golden gate,
And bids me come up on high.

No need then of "Whichever You please,"
Those words are for earth alone,
And drowned in that song as of roaring seas
That swells o'er the great white throne.

I must say it now, if I would at all,

Those words that my heart will ease,
For I know not how soon my God may call,
But I know it will be when He please.

1

How John Benson said "No," and helped his Friend to do the same.

That was what John Benson said to some of our shopmates when they asked him to go and spend the evening with them at the "Engineers' Arms." They pressed him hard; they coaxed him, and they sneered at him; but he stood firm. He did not always refuse in just the same words, but there was always a in his refusal; and he said it as if he meant it. saw there was no use in asking him any more. John had got work in our shop-Dawson and Hardy's

1 Rev. xix. 6.

"no"

They soon

engine-works-about six weeks before. He had come to us from a little village where he had served his time, and he was about three-and-twenty. He had a fine open face, and he was as pleasant, hearty a fellow as one ever meets with. I liked him as soon as I set my eyes on him, and so did a good many more of our shopmates. No doubt that was why they were so anxious to get him to go with them. But they were disappointed.

66

Every apprentice,

There was a bad custom in our shop. when he was loose, and every new hand, had to pay a footing," which was never less than seven and sixpence. They gave us a month to pay it in, but we had to pay it. The men then clubbed together a shilling apiece, and the money was spent in drink at the public-house. It so happened that I was loose the very day John Benson entered the shop; so Our seven and sixpences both fell in together.

John paid his money without grumbling. He knew very well that it was of no use refusing. His tools would have been hidden, and all sorts of pranks would have been played on him if he had done so, and I don't think he could have remained in the shop. They laughed at him when they took his money, and he still said he would not go; and one of them said, if he was such a fool as not to take his share, there would be so much more for those who would.

I felt in my own mind at the time that John did the wisest thing; but I did not like to be laughed at. Besides, it was something to be reckoned a man, and to have my health drunk. So I went. How I got home that night I don't know, but I have a distinct recollection of next morning. My head ached as though it would split, and I recollect how sorrowful my poor mother looked-she was a widow, and I was her eldest son-when she took me up a cup of tea, which I could not touch. We neither of us got to church that Sunday, either morning or evening.

There was a good deal of fun in the shop on Monday

morning about what I had said and done. I am afraid I must have made a sad fool of myself.

John Benson looked very grave while the fun was going on, but he said nothing. The next Saturday, however, as we were going home-we lived not far off one another-he asked me if, when I had got myself cleaned up, I would go in and see him, I said I did not mind; and so he said he would expect me.

As soon as I had promised the thought occurred to me, "I wonder if he wants to talk to me about last Saturday night?" At first I had a good mind not to go; but then a promise is a promise. I said to myself, however, “I'll stand no nonsense and no preaching."

I went to John's lodgings as soon as I could get ready. One or two little things confirmed my previous impressions as to the sort of man he was. There was a Bible on the table, and I could see that it had been pretty well used. Alongside of it, too, were some good books; and then over the fireplace there was a sheet almanac, with texts on it for every day in the year. Then his quiet, kind manner, and the way he talked about things, gave me the idea that he was religious.

We sat together for a bit, and then John asked me if I did not think it was a pity for us to stay in the house on such a fine evening, and if I would go for a walk. I agreed, and we put on our hats, and went into the country. He wanted to see the green fields, he said, and to get a mouthful of good, fresh air. As I was a native of the town, and knew the whole neighbourhood, I led the way.

As we went we met some of our shopmates. They looked queerly at us as we passed them, and I saw them turn and speak to one another, and my face turned as red as fire, for I knew they were talking about us. Poor, weak fellow that I was, I was ashamed they should see me with John.

I took him to a nice place, where we had a good view, and we sat down together. John was delighted. He had

no idea, he said, that there was such a spot so near the

town.

After I had pointed out to him different objects, and told him what I knew about them, he said, "A vast deal better this, George, than the Engineers' Arms;' and I am afraid our shopmates looked as if they were going there."

"Now it's coming," thought I, and was up in arms at once. "Well, for my part," I said, "I see no great harm in going and taking a glass or two when one has done work. Many a decent fellow does that."

66

Well," replied John, "for my part I dare not go."

"Dare not!" I said; "who is it you are afraid of?, You are a man, are you not, and your own master ?"

"That's true," said John; "but the fact is, I am afraid of myself."

"Afraid of yourself?" I asked.

"How's that?"

"Well, I am not sure," he replied, "that if I were to take one glass, or two, I should stop there. I have a notion I might want more."

"Well, but," I said, "a fellow should know where to stop." "I would like, George," he said, "to ask you who stopped, last Saturday night, at either one glass or two?"

"But that," I said,

66 was an extra occasion."

"That is,” replied John, “they had your seven and sixpence and mine to spend. I have a notion, however, that when men get into the way of drinking, all sorts of extra occasions are constantly rising; and then, too, they can get a good way beyond the mark when the occasion is not extra. Are not there some in our shop who take far more than is good for them every Saturday night at least, if not oftener ?"

I could not deny that, and so I said nothing.

"I am afraid, too," continued John, "that if I got too much to drink, I should get wrong in other ways. There is nothing that is bad, it seems to me, that a man is not in danger of doing when he gets too much drink. So I think it better to keep on the safe side, and never to begin."

say;

"That's plain enough," I said, hardly knowing what to "for if a man never begins he can never go on." "I have another reason," said John; "I never spent an evening in a public-house in all my life; but I have passed by public-houses when the windows were open, and from what I heard I felt as sure as I could be of anything that I was not likely to get any good there."

"But men do talk sensibly sometimes," I said, "even in public-houses."

"I am not going to deny that,” replied John; “but I am afraid that as the drink gets uppermost, their sense is soon exchanged for nonsense, and worse than nonsense. Now that's not the sort of thing I like. Besides, God made us for something a great deal better-to improve one's mind, to seek salvation, and to try to serve Him. We can't do that, and go to public-houses and such-like places too. By the way, was Mr. Norris at home last Sunday ?"

Mr. Norris is our minister, and John had heard me speak about him, and say how much he was liked and respected.

"I don't know," I replied. I suppose he was.”

"Then you were not at church, George?"

"No," I replied, looking, I dare say, a little confused. "The fact is, I was not well; I had a bad headache, and I never went out all the Sunday."

"The results of Saturday night, eh, George?"

I was ashamed and vexed, but I could not deny it.

But, now tell me honestly," he asked, "after what you saw and heard on Saturday night, would you, even though your head had been all right, have been as well disposed as if you had spent the evening differently to go to church on the Sunday morning ?"

"I don't know what to say," I replied; "well, may be not."

"I am about certain you would not, George," said John. "I have not had much experience, for I'm only a young man; but, so far as I have seen, a Saturday night's drinking