Just then a knock came to the door; somebody wanted to speak to Mr. Anderson. So he got up and left the table. As he did so, Robert's mother said to him, "What a good thing it was, Robert, that your father warned you against being friendly with Joe Stevens. You might have got into mischief like poor Edward Brown." Mother," exclaimed Robert, hastily, while his face looked almost crimson, "I should if it had not been for Susan."

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Hush, Robert," said Susan.

But Robert would not be "hushed," and he was in the right of it. Without giving himself time to think, he confessed to his mother how he had been talked over and misled by Joe; and how he might have been out with the boys that very night if his sister had not stopped him. Not that he would have been tempted to steal, he would never have gone so far astray as that-ah, Robert didn't know his own heart yet!-but to have been seen, or to have been found in their society, would have been terrible enough.

Trying as it was to own all this, it took a load off Robert's mind which he was not sorry to get rid of; and though his mother was very grieved as well as surprised to hear it, she was glad that her boy had sufficient confidence in her to be thus frank about his fault, and she was thankful, oh, how thankful! that he had been prevented from joining with the others in their sinful deeds. It was a touching moment, as pale and tearful, she folded the repentant boy in her arms, and besought him in tones such as only a mother's lips can use, to beware of evil-doers, and to seek for that grace which could alone

preserve him from danger and temptation. And it was a happy moment for Susan that evening, when her mother kissed her fondly before she went to bed, and told her how much they all owed to her for her care over Robert. If Susan's sleep seemed sweeter than usual that night, was there not a cause for it?

THE SPINNER-BOY.

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SEVERAL years ago there was a bright little spinner-boy in one of the mills of Glasgow, Scotland. He spun all through the vacations to earn money to go to school in winter; and very diligent was he, both at school and in the mill. A great deal of knowledge he picked up, and the best of all was the knowledge of God. Then he wanted to become a missionary, and God opened the way when he was of age.

The Missionary Society sent him to South Africa. There he married a good missionary's daughter, and for a while stayed with his father-in-law. But he longed to explore the heart of Africa. God opened this way also, and he started off alone-no, not alone, for God was with him. On our maps of Southern Africa there are large blank spots, denoting that we do not know what is there-sandy deserts, we suppose. But Dr. Livingston, for that was his name, found them fine countries, watered by large rivers, and peopled by negroes much better off than those living on the sea-coast. They had

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never seen a white man of Englishmen they had heard, and called them a "tribe that loved the black man.'

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Was it not dangerous travelling? Oh yes. He was attacked by fever thirty-one times, and once a lion sprang upon him and broke his arm. There were many wild animals. Zebra and giraffe were excellent food. The people were very kind.

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Sometimes for months and months no news was heard of him, and his friends were afraid he was dead. His father-in-law once undertook to forward him a package of letters. The package reached a river, on whose opposite banks lived two tribes at war with each other. "Here is a packet for the good white man, for Dr. Livingston, cried the tribe on the south side to those on the north side; cross over and take it." You are cheating us," answered the north-siders "the bundle is witchcraft medicine; we wont come." ." "We shall leave it here," cried the southsiders; "if it's lost, you shall take the risk." The north-siders thought better of it, crossed over, took the package and carried it to a little island in the river, where they built a hut over it, and where a year afterwards, the doctor found it safe and sound.

In four years he travelled eleven thousand miles where no white man ever went before; and as you may suppose, he has brought home a great deal of interesting and important knowledge about the interior of Africa. He was gone from England sixteen years, and scarcely spoke English in all that time. And though not quite forty years old, his face is wrinkled and almost as black as a black man's from hardship

and exposure. The English were very glad to welcome him back. But he would not stop long. Oh no; the Makololos are waiting for him. He wants to lead them to Jesus Christ. God has promised to "give the heathen" to his Son; and Dr. Livingston wishes the churches would lay claim to God's promises, and come out to Africa and labour to bring this beautiful land under the rule of King Jesus.

"How can such a great work ever be done?" It is not by grand meetings, fine speeches, and much excitement that any thing great 18 done," answers Dr. Livingston. "No, it is by hard working-working in quiet, working under a sense of God's presence everywhere, and working without expectation of seeing the fruits."

What an answer is that. Worthy to be written in letters of gold. Let every body engaged in a great undertaking remember these words. Let the boys take it for a lesson. We are so apt to be discouraged; we seem to get ahead so little day by day. We complain that we don't see the fruits of our labours. Well, what if we do not? God has given us a work to do, and we must do it; and "it is by hard workingworking in quiet, working under a sense of God's presence everywhere, and working without expectation of seeing the fruits, that any thing great is done." That's it.