Ya IKE a good many Scotchmen, Peter Macgregor had found his way into Yorkshire; but, unlike so many of his countrymen who cross the Border, he was not the steady man he ought to have been, indeed, he seemed to have left behind him in Scotland both his sobriety and his religion; that is to say, what he had of either.

To hear Peter talk, you might think there was nothing in Yorkshire at all to be compared with what he had left in Scotland. The Scotch oatmeal was better than the English; there was not a mountain in England to be compared with Ben Nevis, or an English lake like Loch Lomond or Loch Katrine; there was not an English preacher worth naming along with preachers he had heard in Scotland; and of this he was certain-and the man was a fool who thought otherwise-that neither Shakespeare nor Milton, nor Tennyson, nor any other English poet, was fit to hold the candle to Robert Burns.

There were some of his Yorkshire friends who now and then expressed their wonder that Peter should have ever left Scotland; or that, having found how inferior Yorkshire was, he did not go back again; but Peter always had his answer ready. There were so many clever men in Scotland, that there was no room for them all; and then, how poor England would be if all the Scotchmen left it. To which it was more than once replied, that if they were all such as he was, England might, perhaps, get along without them.

Peter spent most of his evenings at the Rose and Thistle; and he was one of the landlord's best customers. There was many a week in which it took nearly half his week's wages to clear off the week's score for drink.

Peter was fond of singing, and he was not a bad singer by any means. He did not confine himself to the songs of Robert Burns; but he liked them better than anybody else's, and he sang them most frequently. Nor was it only at the Rose and Thistle that you heard him sing them; but every now and then as he went about his work. Sometimes he would sing such snatches as these:

or,

"The cock may craw, the day may daw, But aye we'el taste the barley bree;"

"We're na' that fou, we're na' that fou,
But just a wee drap in our ee."

On the other hand, however, he was fond of spouting or singing bits of his favourite poet, which expressed high moral sentiments; and of these there was none he repeated more frequently than

"A man's a man for a' that."

He sang it at the Rose and Thistle; and sometimes he sang it when he was leaving it, scarcely able to walk straight home; which we are sorry to say, was very often.

Peter was by trade a cabinet-maker, in one of the first establishments in Leeds; and there was not a better workman in the place; that is, when he had his wits about him, which was not always, for sometimes he was sadly dazed and muddled by the drink he had taken the previous night. It was said, indeed, in the shop, that he might have been foreman if only he could have kept himself from the drink. Peter himself had a suspicion of that; and he did not like Edward Powell, who had been "put over his head," any the better for it; still, if there was at any time a bit of work which required special skill, it was entrusted to Peter.

Such a piece of work had been given to him one Monday morning, when, unfortunately, he was suffering from the effects of both the Saturday night's and the Sunday's drinking. It was a very beautiful and elaborate piece of lady's work, which was intended for a wedding-present; and the wedding was to take place in a few days. It had been sent to Peter's employers to be made up into an article of drawing-room furniture; and when the foreman gave it into his hands, he gave him also very clear directions about it; and at the same time the strictest charge to take the utmost care that it was done well.

A little before the hour of leaving, Peter's work was completed, and he asked the foreman to look at it. What was the dismay of the latter to see at the first glance, that Peter had entirely mistaken his directions, and that, besides having done it wrongly, the workmanship was altogether discreditable. The lady's work, on which she had spent the leisure time of months, was, to all appearances, hopelessly spoilt.

The foreman looked first at the work, and then at Peter, and his look spoke volumes. If Peter had been wise, he would have been silent, for he could not help knowing what the look meant; but he was in one of his worst and most perverse tempers. No wonder; for besides that his head still ached from the effects of yesterday's drink, he was vexed and dissatisfied with himself, and he could not but be dissatisfied with his work.

“Well,” he said, doggedly, “what are you looking at me in that way for? Is not it right ?"

Of course, this was a great humiliation to Peter, and all the more that it was said in the hearing of the whole shop. He thought, moreover, that every body seemed to enjoy it rather than otherwise, and it might be so; for Peter was by no means a general favourite.

To make the matter still worse, the foreman took from Peter another piece of work of the same kind, saying, it was plain he could not be trusted with it. Peter was very angry; and he was just about to give utterance to his wrath, when he was checked by a glance from one of his fellow-workmen, George Rowntree, who, it so happened, had greater influence with him than anybody else in the shop.

That, by the way, was somewhat remarkable, considering the kind of man Rowntree was. He was an honest, outspoken Yorkshireman, a totalabstainer, and a true Christian-in almost everything the very opposite of Peter. Peter, however, could not help respecting him for his straightforward honesty; and, besides, he had before this had good reason to know that Rowntree regarded him very kindly.

There was no opportunity for Rowntree saying anything just then; but he was quite sure it would not be long before Peter went to see him and talk over what had passed. He was right. He had scarcely finished his tea the same evening before Peter entered his house.

Rowntree led the way into his little parlour, and there the two sat down together.

“I tell you what," burst out Peter, as soon as they were by themselves, "I am not going to stand this kind of thing any longer. To think of Powell talking to me like that an upstart fellow, who has wheedled the governors into setting him up above better men! And before the whole shop, too! I may be poor, and I may have made a mistake now and then; but 'A man's a man for a' that.'

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"I was very sorry for thee, Peter," said Rowntree; "and I'll not deny, that if only half as much had been said to me, I should have hardly known where to put myself. But thou knows, as well as I do, that thou deserved all thou got. Thou would never have made that mess of the job if thy head had not been muddled by yesterday's drink. Then, too, thou had not the sense to hold thy tongue. Thou may be thankful Powell did not turn thee off at once."

Peter was a good deal disappointed; for he had expected far more sympathy from his friend. Rowntree, however, knew very well that there was something which Peter needed far more than sympathy, and that was a bit of straight, plain talk; and he resolved to give it him.

But Peter was by no means inclined as yet to confess himself in the wrong, and he replied, defiantly: "Well, who cares? Let him turn me off, if he likes. I suppose I could find another shop somewhere or other."

"Thou's a foolish fellow," replied Rowntree. "Thou'll not find it easy to get a shop like the one thou's in. Besides, thou'll want a character; and what sort of character does thou think thou would get if thou were sent off; aye, or if thou took thyself off, just now?"

Peter could say nothing in reply to that; for, with all his pride, and with all his conceit of his skill as a workman, he could not help feeling that his friend was right.

"Then," continued Rowntree, "thou's always spouting that stuff about a man being a man for a' that."

"Stuff!" said Peter; "it's a great sentiment." "The sentiment may be grand enough," replied Rowntree; "but I tell thee that as thou uses it there's neither grandeur nor common-sense about it; and I'm fair sick of hearing it. If thou would just try to be a man, instead of for ever telling us | thou is one, there would be some reason in it." "A man!" said Peter, drawing himself up to his full height, "who says I am not a man?”`

"Thou's big enough to be a man," replied Rowntree, "and thou can sometimes talk big enough for half-a-dozen; but I'll put it to thyself, if thou is not doing a lot of things which have not a bit of manliness about them?"

"Well, what?" asked Peter, somewhat indignantly.

"I saw thee last night," replied Rowntree, "Sunday night, though it was, and I heard thee; but I don't think thou saw me. It was about fifty yards from the Rose and Thistle. Thou would have tumbled into the gutter, if one of thy fellows, who was almost as drunk as thyself, had not propped thee up; and thou was singing about a man being a man for a' that. Now, to my mind, thou was a vast deal less than a man: for a man who has drunk away his senses is hardly a man. And then thy drink costs money-the money thy wife and children ought to have to make them comfortable; and instead of spending it on them, thou goes and spends it on the drink that makes thee little better than a beast. Now, I ask thee if there is aught that's manly in that?"

Rowntree said all this straight out; but he said it so kindly, that Peter could not be offended.

"Then," continued Rowntree, "this is a kind of thing that nearly always goes on from bad to worse; and if thou goes on drinking only a bit longer, I tell thee frankly I shall have very little hope for thee. Ah, Peter, it would be the manliest thing thou ever did, if thou would only make up thy mind to give up the drink and stand to it; and let me tell thee thou'll never be a real man till thou does."

They had some further talk on the subject, and at length Peter said, “Well, I'll try." The first time for many a month, his place at the Rose and Thistle was vacant that evening; and we are glad to say that he has never filled it since.

"But, Peter," said his friend, "mind this: although I am certain thou will never become a true man, unless thou gives up the drink, that of itself won't make the one. There's many a fellow who never touches a drop of drink from year's end to year's end, who is not much of a man after all. Only the Lord Jesus Christ can make us the men we ought to be."

And Rowntree was right. We don't deny that there may be a great deal that is noble and manly about men who do not believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; but, there is no manhood like Christian manhood. For see what faith in Christ does for a man. Through the power of the Holy Spirit it makes him " a new creature," delivering him from all vile passions, and filling him with an earnest love for everything that is good and right. Then the Gospel sets before him the noblest example, that of the Lord Jesus Christ; and besides, it binds him by his love to the Lord Jesus, to follow after everything that is "honest, and lovely, and of good report." "Even beyond all this, it promises to him the grace of the Holy Spirit, that he "may grow up into a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." There is no telling what a man, even the feeblest may become, if he will only believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Peter knew very well that he had not heard the last of his spoilt work, and that the foreman would have no alternative but to mention it to the heads of the firm; and the question was what was to be done.

"Tell them honestly how it happened," said Rowntree, "and tell them how sorry thou is; and say that, if they will pass it by, such a thing shall never happen again, because thou's determined not to touch another drop of drink."

Peter was wise and manly enough to take his friend's advice; and though his employers were much grieved, they consented to give him another trial. He found, moreover, friend in an unexpected quarter. A message was sent to the lady

who had done the work, asking her to be kind enough to call. She did so, and the circumstances were explained to her. She was a kind Christian lady, who, amongst other good things that she did, took a special interest in all efforts which sought the deliverance of those who had fallen beneath the slavery of drink. When she heard how sorry Peter was, she said she would gladly undertake to restore the damaged portions of her work, and also that she would ask her friend for whom the present was intended to excuse the delay. Peter, too, begged to be allowed to do his own part of the work over again, without any additional wages; and he never did a better job in his life, and asked that he might be permitted to take it to the lady's house himself.

Since then Peter has stood firm, and there is not a steadier workman in the shop. It is even said, that if Powell should leave-and there is some likelihood of it—he has a good chance of getting his place; but that remains to be seen.

There is something better still: Peter goes regularly, every Sunday, to the House of God, and he takes his wife and children with him. In regard to that, we may say, that his friend Rowntree was just a little disappointed; for he is a Methodist, and he thinks there is nothing in all the world like Methodism, and he would have liked Peter to go with him to the Methodist chapel. But Peter found in the town a church of the same order as that which he had attended in Scotland, and he preferred going there. Any little disappointment, however, which Rowntree might have in regard to this, soon passed away.

"It does not much matter," he said to Peter," so only thou's a Christian; and I hope thou is one. Besides, as it is the thing thou was accustomed to when thou was a lad thy father's and thy mother's religion-they'll maybe keep hold of thee better than we could have done."

And who will deny that there was a good deal in that? S. GOODALL.

GRIEF AND JOY.

An old clergyman once said, "When I come to die, I shall have my greatest grief and my greatest joy-my greatest grief that I have done so little for the Lord Jesus, and my greatest joy that the Lord Jesus has done so much for me."Dr. Marsh.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

With reference to the hour of death, I have often thought I should like to have the humility of the publican, "God be meriful to me, a sinner,"

and to offer the prayer of Stephen, "Lord Jesus, "For Thou hast redeemed me, receive my spirit." O Lord God of truth."-Ibid.

A penitent and believing sailor said, “To save such a sinner as I am, He shall never hear the last of it." We are apt to forget that praise is well pleasing to God. "Whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me." And St. Paul states the same: 'By Him also let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is the fruit of our lips giving thanks to His name' (Hebrews xiii. 15).”—Ibid.