your reverence just begin from the beginning, and tell me all you know of this here school that am a night school but not th' one in Mitre Lane ?-then I shall know what's what."

"With all my heart; and thank God for putting the request into your heart-that is the first feather towards the wings; and then for putting it on your lips-that is the second feather towards the wings. But, Dick, shall we not ask God's blessing before we begin? for if He does not bless, and give us the power to learn of Him, we shall be but poor scholars."

Mr. Grey knelt, whilst Dick, being unable to bend his knees, bowed his head as well as he could. This was the clergyman's prayer:

"Open Thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of Thy law."1 'Blessed Lord, who hast caused all Holy Scriptures to be given for our learning; grant that we may in such wise, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them; that by patience and comfort of Thy holy Word, we may embrace, and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life which Thou hast given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.'

"I minds that prayer 'ticlarly, because my little Mat says it afore she reads her book; and says she to me one day, 'Do you know what inwardly 'jesting is, Mr. Morgan?' Then says she, 'It's to eat it up and swallow it with our hearts, the same as we eat bread and butter with our mouths.' But please begin, sir."

"I am going to make it a short story, that you may remember it. Now listen. The night school I told you of, and begged you to attend, is a school for people who are in the night of life; for people who have passed the morning, noon, afternoon, and now are in the night. The Lord Jesus Christ is the great Teacher and Master; and knowing how soon the night will be over, and death come and shut up the doors, He entreats every aged one to enter this school at once, and learn of Him, ere it be too late. There 1 Psalm cxix. 18.

have been other sorts of night schools in which people met to learn of the Lord Jesus, but they have been night schools of fear. Either fear, like Nicodemus's,1 of being seen of men, and of being persecuted, mocked, or laughed at in consequence; or of fear such as made some of the noble army of martyrs hide in the caves and dens of the earth, to learn and read about their dearly-loved Lord, and to teach their little ones about Him and the holy Christian faith for which they suffered. These good men had their night school; but, although it was one of fear, it was not one of cowardice; for these martyrs knew that life was a precious gift of God, and they had no right to throw it away, if a little care and caution would preserve it. So they had their night school—a real night school as to hours—and you may be sure none were absent from it who could possibly creep into it."

"I shouldn't a stood no chance o' getting in there, then, if it came to creepin'," said Dick.

"Blessed be God, Dick Morgan, you and I live in times when we may serve Him without fear; we may come as boldly to the outward throne of grace, as to the invisible throne spoken of by St. Paul."

66

But, begging your pardon, sir, may I make free to ask if the night school what you tells of is only for old folk?"

"No, not only for old people, but for all who have let their day of youth, or health, or opportunity go by. And I call it a night school for this reason, because the Lord Jesus is so anxious and willing to save all poor ignorant sinners, that He beseeches them to come even in the night of their lives-even in the last glimmering of health-time, when the darkness of death is about to close the day of life for ever. Even when the day of opportunities-neglected opportunities-is almost over, He in His tender pity still says, 'Come and learn of Me;' and He promises eternal rest and happiness to those who do come. It is to this school, in the night of your life, I invite you, Dick Morgan, 1 John iii. 1, etc.

You are indeed too old

to enter your name as a scholar. to be a learner in Mitre Lane School, but not too old for that of the Lord Jesus Christ. You have no time to spare, for you are in the night in every one of the three ways I mentioned. Not only is your life ready to close, but also the last moment of your opportunity is nearly on the stroke of midnight; and your health-why, that has closed in night long ago."

There was a solemn pause, broken by the school bell calling the men together. Mr. Grey arose, and offering his hand to Dick, he said, "Will you come, Dick, my friend ?-will you come and learn of Him?-learn in His night school, and then you will never have to say those awful words, 'The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.""

1

"God helping, I will, sir, and that at once; and bless God for this night school a hundred times more than yours, sir," said Dick, reverently; and then he added in a whisper, "'Xcoose a word from old Dick, please your rev'rence, but maybe 'twill be best not to say too much about this here night school."

"Ah, Nicodemus !" smiled Mr. Grey.

But no; Dick's thought was not for himself, for on seeing the minister's smile, he said, "And just for this, sir; when folks who likes leaving these things to the last sees how old Dick hobbled into the school at the moment o' closing, they'll may be do the same; but says I, 'Don't copy of me. You go to the Lord's day school, that you may have the blessed sunlight on your learning; you'll be the happier if you don't leave this to the last.' Oh, don't let 'em leave it, sir!" he cried earnestly. "Don't let 'em wait for night, when they may go by day-now!"

Mr. Grey was shutting the cottage-door, when he heard Dick whisper, "But praise God for the Night School! Where would old Dick be but for that blessed word, Come ?"

1 Jeremiah viii. 20.

X. Y. Z.

(From the French.)

HAD just taken my seat rather hurriedly in a railway carriage, as often happens when there are a great many travellers, and one wants to secure a corner-seat. After having settled my things, and made sure that my ticket was safe, I cast a glance on my surroundings, and especially on my opposite neighbour. I noticed that I was myself the subject of a similar inspection; after a number of sad experiences, more or less recent, it is very easy to read on the faces of those who are casually thrown in your way indications either of a nature in sympathy with your own, or of one whom you must be careful how you approach.

My opposite neighbour was a man of a sanguine complexion, of from twenty-five to thirty years of age. There was something peculiar in his appearance, like that of shortsighted people who are making an effort to see. He glanced stealthily at me, and turned his eyes away as soon as I fixed mine on him; but there was nothing false or deceitful in his look, and I fancied that I reminded him of some one whom he knew. As he was entirely unknown to me, I allowed him to scrutinise me thoroughly, and even assisted him in his observations by turning my side-face and taking off my hat, for we were almost stifled. At last he took out his spectacles and put them on carefully. "Well, my good man," thought I to myself, "why did you not begin with this ?" It was the decisive moment. I looked at him in my turn, as if to ask, "Now are you satisfied ?" He understood my look and the smile which accompanied it. Finding himself in a corner, he said,

"Were you not, sir, nineteen or twenty years ago, the master of the infant school at Nony?"

"Yes, indeed," I replied, "that was where I first began to teach."

"And your name is Mr. Stein ?"

"Yes."

"Well, I am one of your old pupils. Do you not remember me?"

"Not at all; you have grown up; you are a man; it would be difficult to recall your childish features. May I ask your name?"

"Charles Ermoni."

The name put me on the track. I recollected a young, timid, gentle boy, whom for two years I had taught and endeavoured to lead to Christ. I begged him to sit beside me that we might talk more at our ease, and where we could converse without being overheard. I drew from him the story of his after-life, for I was desirous to know how God had led him.

After having gone through the different classes of the industrial college at Nony, just at the time when the thirst for knowledge had taken possession of him, and when he was desirous of completing, by harder study, the course which he had begun, his father, a skilful blacksmith, became ill. The forge, their bread-winner, was at stake. It must either be closed or entrusted to a head workman. In either case it was ruinous. Then there was a younger son to bring up. Their father wished that Charles should give up his studies, and become an apprentice to the business. The young man, who had not the least inclination for such an employment, resisted the idea for a long time. His father insisted, and said it must be done, and the boy yielded, not grumbling and complaining, and banging the doors, but with good feeling, and as one who obeys from his heart. To obey is to resign the will. It matters little whether obedience is pleasant or unpleasant; it is the voluntary sacrifice of inclination to duty which forms the real value of character, and is in God's sight of great price.

Such victories are rare. Ermoni was capable of selfrenunciation; he took the leathern apron, and left his beloved studies and chosen pursuits. Many years passed away. Charles became a skilful blacksmith, and no one seeing him at the forge would have dreamt that his heart