Three months passed by, and two friends met for a little quiet talk.

"Well, what do you think now? Will Percy Derwent make a good man of business ?"

"I think he will do well whatever he undertakes; he is attentive, punctual, industrious, and I have no doubt of his perfect integrity and good principle; but

"I am very sorry to hear a but, after such an account as that."

"Well, wait and hear what the 'but' connects with that. What do you think he is about after working hours?"

"About!-surely no harm? I hope not."

"That is as you take it. Surely it is harm for mind and body to get no rest. Why he is off, Bible or tract in hand, into any dirty hole or corner he can find, and they are not scarce you know; you may find him by the bedside of the sick, or the chair of the aged, or the teacher of any halfdozen ragged rogues he can prevail on to listen to him." "God bless the lad," said the other, warmly; no great harm this, my dear friend. What do you say to it?"

"I only say that it will not improve his health and energies for business, and I had some idea of setting it before him in that light, whereupon I have no doubt his sense of duty to me would lead him at least to moderate such extra and exhausting work; but I can scarcely find in my heart to do so; the harvest truly is plenteous, and labourers of the right sort are few. How can I stop another in a good work which I cannot perform half so well myself?"

"Exactly so, and therefore

"And therefore, my friend, if you agree, I have decided to help him to an opportunity to do good in the way in which I think his character and gifts will have full scope, and lawful exercise. It strikes me that when you perceive a man's true vocation, you are right to help him to follow it if you can. The Lord lets some of us serve him in that way, you know, while others serve in other ways. him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.'

To

"My dear and valued friend, you are right, and but express my own views about this boy."

"But mind, I don't say that he would not make an excellent merchant if it were better to leave him to it. Whatever he does will be done unto the Lord,' and not

first unto men.' I am not for putting the cream of our Christianity into the pulpit, we want it elsewhere quite as badly; but where true piety is combined with peculiar aptness to teach, love for souls, and some of an apostle's gifts, perhaps we cannot do better than put it there."

"And thus the Christian merchant honours the God who bestows the gifts, and uses his own to extend the blessing," said the other, with a gratified smile. So they settled the matter between them.

Well, my young friend," said our nameless old gentleman to Percy, soon afterwards, "which is your pleasantest time? day at the desk, or evening at play?"

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Evening at play, sir, certainly, though it's not exactly all play either."

"No, I fancy it is pretty toilsome, and not very profitable, is it?"

"I shall think it so, sir, if I may but be honoured to win one soul for Christ. London is a great place, and may

contain that soul for me to seek."

"Well, suppose you find it, what then?"

"Then I will look for another, and ask if there be not two whom I should seek till I find."

Strange lad! But how do you suppose this will help you up the ladder in business, and affect the future partnership which has been hinted to you?"

"I hope it will not interfere with my duties, sir; and if not, I should not feel justified in giving it up for the prospect of any mere earthly advancement.

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Humph! Your ambition takes a lofty flight after all, Percy."

"Dear sir, you mystify me. Are you displeased with

me?"

"Not exactly; but you are trying to be a worker together with God.' You have heard that they that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever.'

"Ah, sir, if that is ambition, then I am assuredly ambitious."

"And so you may go to college as soon as you please, and come out as soon as you can, and preach the gospel to as many as choose to listen to you. Perhaps it is your vocation after all; and if you think it worth surrendering your present business prospects for, why there is no impediment, but help and a genuine 'God speed' you withal.”

What news for his sister Charlotte! what thankful delight for himself! And thus those who do truly commit themselves and their way unto the Lord, will in due time see their appointed path and fulfil their true vocation.

Whilst the Derwents thus accepted the vocation to which they were called by God, and endeavoured to fulfil its duties, however lowly, in his fear, the Warrens, with a vain ambition, were only struggling to keep up appearances, and in doing so were losing the reality of true happiness and solid prosperity. They had not learned the lesson taught by the poet :

"Honour and praise from no condition rise;

Act well thy part, there all true glory lies."

Still less had they understood or believed our Lord's words: "Every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted." How much misery is caused in the world by this discontent with our actual position, and this vain striving after what is falsely called respectability. Nothing is so truly respectable, that is to say, so truly worthy of respect, as to do our duty in that station of life in which it has pleased God to call us. And nothing is so likely to secure our promotion to something higher and more honourable. To mind not high things" is a part of that "godliness which is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.' "The spirit of repining and discontent, and the empty, foolish ambition to appear something what we are not, which prompts so many to forsake their true vocation, and force their way into a position to which they are not called, and for which they are not fitted, is working incalculable mischief, both to individuals and to society at large. The evil was never more common than at the present day. May all our readers learn to guard against and to abjure this folly and sin. It is of course possible that our pursuits may be altogether uncongenial to our tastes, or we may feel strongly impelled by laudable motives to seek some other mode of service. In such a case, let us remember the exhortation of the psalmist: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.'

THE WRONG CHOICE.

"WHOSE Bible-class do you go to now, John? I have not seen you at mine lately, and I have not heard of your being at Mr. Clayton's."

The speaker was Mr. Williamson, a minister in an inland town in the north of England, and the person to whom he spoke was John Taylor, a youth about twenty years of age, apprentice to a chemist. At the time when John was put apprentice, his parents resided in the town; but circumstances had occurred to necessitate their departure, leaving John behind. Mr. Williamson, to whose care John's mother had, on her departure, very earnestly commended her son, had taken a deep interest in him. For a time he had been gratified by his regular attendance on the Sundays, and also at his Bible-class during the week; but of late he had missed him. First his attendance had become fitful and irregular, and latterly it had ceased altogether. Mr. W. had heard casually that John had been seen in somewhat indifferent company. Anxious, both for the young man's sake and his mother's, to regain his hold upon him, he accosted him with the above inquiry one day, when he fell in with him on their way together to the town from their residences, which were near together, a short distance from the town itself.

"I don't go to any Bible-class, or anything of the kind, sir," said John.

"And how is that, John ?" asked Mr. W.

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Why, the fact is, sir, I don't care about such things; I've lost all interest in them."

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"But I miss

"I am sorry to hear that," said Mr. W. you on Sundays, as well as at the Bible-class. I am sorry not to have you in attendance with us; but if you are not with us, I hope you go to some other place of worship." No, sir, I don't," replied the young man, "I have no interest whatever in anything of the kind; and if you will excuse me, I would rather not talk any more about it." "But, John," replied the pastor, "I can hardly let you go that way without a little talk with you. You say you have no interest in these things; but surely it is not the way to regain your interest to give up all thought about them. Besides, if you were a master, would you allow it as an excuse for your servant's inattention to the duties of your service that he had no interest in them? Or, if you

were a father, would you suffer your son to disobey your commands on the plea that he had no interest in obeying them? Religion is the service you owe to God; and do you think it any better excuse for neglecting all thought about it, that you have no interest in it?"

"Oh," replied Taylor, "that is altogether a different thing. Besides, every man must follow out his own nature. Now it is not my nature to care about these things."

"You amaze me, John," said Mr. Williamson. "Follow out your nature! Why any drunkard would tell you that it is his nature to get drunk. Some people do all sorts of violent and wicked things; and if your plea is worth a straw, nothing ought to be said against them, because it is their nature. The fact is, they have done very much to make their nature what it is; and I am very sure a young man, brought up as you have been, cannot have lost so entirely all interest in what is good, without being very greatly to blame."

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Well, sir," said the misguided young man, "I'm very happy with it." Happy are you, John?" was the reply. "Well, you may call it happiness, but I cannot believe that you find it So. At all events, I am persuaded you won't find your present views do for you long. They certainly won't do for trouble, and death, and eternity."

The conversation was continued a little longer, and in the course of it, Taylor declared plainly that he had given up all belief in the Bible; that the way he had chosen was a far pleasanter one than any he had ever tried before; that the more he heard of religion, whether at church or in private, the more he was set against it; and that he did not wish to speak any more on the subject. With this he very abruptly bade Mr. Williamson good afternoon.

Mr. W. parted from him with great regret; but he saw that for the present nothing more could be done. It shortly after came to his knowledge that a few months before the above conversation took place, Taylor had become acquainted with a set of young men, who, though not avowed infidels, were careless and profligate, and scoffed at everything that was good. Their evenings were spent in the public house, and their Sundays in pleasure. After this had continued for a little time, there went as assistant to the shop, where he was apprenticed, a young