We used our freedom. On fine spring and summer days we often went on country excursions; or we lounged about the streets with no particular object-in the morning in our working clothes, which we changed in the afternoon; and in the evening we renewed our lounging in our Sunday garments.

We were not unsober young men. Every one of us might have had a fair character from his own particular employer, for sobriety and industry. But we saw no harm in a little indulgence; and we had a favourite public-house, with tea gardens behind, where we frequently resorted on Sunday evening.

We were in the street, then, on one particular Sunday, and were discussing what to do with ourselves to while away the time. It was then a little after six o'clock, and the greater part of a fine evening was consequently before us. But there was a difference of opinion as to how it should be employed, or wasted. Three of our number were for having a stroll into the fields: three others objected to that, and voted for going to the Rose-bush-our public-house: another said that he had an engagement to keep at seven o'clock, and that he should walk about the streets until then. Saying this he parted company with us. "What will you do, Stephen?" asked one of my companions, turning to me.

"I don't know," said I, yawning; my mind yet."

"I have not made up

"What a fellow you are for not making up your mind," said one of the advocates for the Rose-bush: come along with us first, and make up your mind afterwards-can't

you ?"

"No, not just yet: perhaps I may follow you presently," I replied, not very well liking my friend's hasty way with

me.

"Do as you like," he returned; and saying this, he and his two companions strolled away in the direction of the Rose-bush.

"You may as well come along with us," said one of the three who had decided on the country walk. But I was hard to please; and before I could make up my mind to accompany them, they were tired of waiting.

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"Come along," said the speaker to his two friends; Stephen has got the blues this evening, or the sulks, or something: leave him alone, and he will come after us

presently." In another minute, they had parted from me; and there I was on the pavement, alone, looking first down the street after the Rose-bush trio, and then up the street after my other three friends.

At that moment, and while I was yet hesitating which party to follow, I felt a hand gently laid on my arm; and before I had turned round to see who touched me, a quiet voice said, "Will you not come with me this evening?"

It was a little elderly woman who said this. I knew her by sight; and she knew me: she kept a very small shop in the neighbourhood, where she sold stationery. I had once or twice gone into this shop to purchase writing paper and pens; and I passed it twice a-day in going to and returning from my workshop. The woman was a widow-I knew that by her widow's dress; and the opinion I had formed of her was that she was very poor, but a decent, respectable person for all that.

"Will you not come with me this evening?" she repeated, when I looked round and down upon her with surprise. "Do come," she added, looking anxiously up into my face, as I thought.

"With you?" said I, laughing: "and where do you want to take me?"

"To public worship-to God's house," she replied. "You do not often go there, do you?"

"No; I have something else to do with my time," I rejoined, bluntly.

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Well, do come for once," the widow pleaded. "Pooh!" said I, contemptuously. "What makes you

fasten upon me like this?"

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Why, you seemed not to know what to do with yourself; and I am sure there is nothing you can do better," said the poor woman, who had evidently overheard something of what had before passed: "will you not come? It may do you good," she added, earnestly.

I could not but be struck with the woman's earnestness, which, I may add, had nothing offensive in it. And I began to feel inclined to humour her whim. It was true, I was undecided what to do; and there was novelty, at any rate, in what she proposed.

Novelty! why I had not been inside church or chapel for years. I am ashamed to write this now; but I was not at all ashamed of it then. As a child, certainly, I had occasionally been taken to the church of my native village,

by my mother: but my father, I must say, had not set me a good example in this respect; and when I left home as an apprentice, I was allowed to do as I pleased with myself on Sundays; and this pleasure of mine rarely led me to a place of worship. Since I had become a journeyman I had never entered one.

The good woman-and Mrs. M- was a good woman, as I found when I afterwards became better acquainted with her--saw my hesitation, and repeated her invitation, adding, "It is very bold in me, being almost a stranger to you, and not even knowing your name, to speak to you in the street; but I am an old woman, and you are a young man; and you look so good-natured that I am not afraid of giving offence."

Oh, no offence," said I; "but what good will it do you if I do go for once, as you say?"

"It is not for any good it would do me," she pleaded; "it is the good which you may get." I need not, however, repeat what further arguments the poor widow used: it is more to the purpose to say that her arguments did not weigh with me at all; but her evident earnestness and her kind, affectionate way of speaking, did weigh with me; and at last I consented to accompany her. It was not far that I had to go; but when we arrived the service had begun; and, half ashamed of myself for being entrapped as I thought, I slipped into the pew which my conductor opened for me, and there I remained till the service was

over.

I have, at this distance of time, very little remembrance of the sermon I heard preached. To be frank and tell the truth, it made no very deep impression on my mind, excepting that I was pleased with the manner of the preacher, and rather liked what he said. I liked the singing too: and when I left the place I had made up my mind that I would go again.

I did go again, on the following Sunday evening. I do not think I should have repeated my visit so soon if the evening had not been too wet to permit my taking a projected walk; but, being disappointed in this, and not caring to remain at my lodgings, I went to the place of worship instead.

I remember the sermon I heard that night well; for it pricked me to the heart. It was made, by the Holy Spirit's gracious power, the means of my conversion: at

least, this I humbly hope and believe. I was a long time in great distress, for my sins came to my remembrance; and I was far from having a clear view of the glorious way of salvation by faith in Christ; and among all my ac quaintance there was not one to whom I could tell my trouble. At last, I thought of the little old woman, who had invited me to go with her that Sunday evening; and I went to her and told her what was the matter with me, adding that as she had helped me into the difficulty, I must look to her to help me out of it.

She did not help me out of it; but she put me in the way of getting rid of it, by talking to me about the love of Christ, and by leading me to him. It was at the foot of the cross that my burden fell off; like as it was with Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress.

Of course I had to bear a little ridicule and a good many provocations of one sort or other from my old companions, who taunted me with forsaking their society, and put temptations in my way to draw me back again into my former sins. But God gave me patience and strength to resist temptation and bear reproach for Christ's sake; and, after a time, they gave in, and let me alone.

A year or more passed away; and I was one day reminding my good old friend of her effort to bring me under the sound of the gospel, and acknowledging how great were my obligations to her for that and all her kindnesses. I wish," said I, "that I could do something to show my gratitude otherwise than by mere words."

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So you can, Stephen," said she.

"Do tell me how," said I.

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By doing the same thing for others. You know that verse of a hymn, which begins with

Then will I tell to sinners round,

What a dear Saviour I have found,'

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do you not? And you remember too, very likely, what Moses said to his father-in-law, We are journeying unto the place of which the Lord said, I will give it you. Come thou with us, and we will do thee good." Now," continued my good friend, as you have received mercy yourself, do you not wish that others also may find the same mercy?" I could truly say yes to this; for indeed it had troubled me much to see and know how many around me were seeking gratification in sin, and, as the prophet says,

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'spending money for that which is not bread, and labouring for that which satisfieth not." Yes," said I, "I do wish and pray that others may find what I have found.” "Ah," rejoined my kind friend, "it is right to pray; but is prayer all that you can do?"

"I don't know what I can do," said I. And I might have added, if I had spoken what I felt, that I was afraid to trust myself to speak to my old companions, or to any one else, about the love of Christ. The good old Christian woman seemed to know what was passing in my mind; for she said

"When the Lord commanded Moses to go in his name to Pharaoh, he wanted to be excused, because he was slow of speech; but if he was slow of speech, he could use the words I have just mentioned, and say, 'Come with us, and we will do you good.''

"Yes, and that is just what you said to me that night,” said I.

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Well; and what is to hinder your saying the same to others ?"

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Ah," said I; " I am not like you, you know." "No," she answered, with a kind smile; "for I am a poor little old woman, and you are a strong, hearty young That is a difference to be sure."

man.

"That is not what I mean: you have such a kind way with you that nobody can be offended; and I have such an off-hand manner of talking, that if I were to try to persuade anybody to think about religion, I dare say I should do more harm than good."

I wish you would try," said she.

There was not much more said then; but I thought of what she had said, and I asked myself whether it might not be cowardice which kept me back from sometimes putting in a word for my new Master, the Lord Jesus Christ.

I was thinking these very thonghts rather sadly, as, the next Sunday evening, I was walking to the service, when I saw before me two of the young men who were with me that very night of which I have first spoken. They were lounging about as though they did not know what to do with themselves. As I came up with them they said "How do you do?" civilly enough; and one of them added, "Come now, Stephen, be a good jolly fellow once more. Here are Tom and I just talking about going to the Rosebush. You used to like the Rose-bush, you know; and