come with me as well as take me with you? I have plenty of nice books, and you could help me, I'm sure, to get on in many things."

"What, after work hours? No thank you. I've done enough for to-day. You'd best change your mind and come along. But, ah!" he added, mockingly, "perhaps you daren't; perhaps mother wouldn't like it."

"No, she would not, nor father either," replied Robert, looking steadily in his tempter's face; "and you are right, I dare not, for the blessing of Almighty God is not there, and I do not wish to go where I know it is not."

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Why, what queer notions you've got in your head; but they'll soon blow off, you'll see, and then you'll act independent like me. I get my own living, and neither

father nor mother shan't interfere with me.'

"Good-night; then we shall not be mates," said Robert, decisively; and the two young men turned each on his separate way.

There is nothing like decision. Hesitation, half-measures, lie at the threshold of mischief, and happy the youth who has been taught to say, "No," resolutely, when assailed by temptation.

It was by Mr. D-'s arrangement that Robert was to enjoy the benefit of additional instruction and experience in this superior establishment for a year; and his parents, knowing that he must some time be brought to the test, and having done their part, committed him in faith and prayer to God's holy keeping, taking care to provide for him the safeguard of a Christian home during his temporary absence.

It did the widow's heart good, she said, to see the little well-worn Bible on his table; and when, at night, she asked him to read for her, it did her good, too, to see the look of pleasure light up his honest face as he remarked that to do so would make it seem more like home. Blessed testimony to the habit of that home life! Yes, it is in God's presence, and in efforts to please and honour him, that the Christian's child should feel most at home. We may, nay we must, learn to do without parental love and care. may, probably must, go among strangers and strange things in our path of duty through a fallen world; but we cannot, we must not, we dare not, but at our peril, live "without God" anywhere.

We

Robert Taylor had been trained as it were in God's very

presence, and it was as much his element as the air he breathed. His blessing had been made the daily necessity, and safeguard, and happiness of immortal souls; and to lie down or rise up without asking for it was a thing unknown. There was no constraint, no hardship, no reluctance in the case; it was just the way in which he had been happy and safe, and Robert wished to try no experiment in any other.

It would have been well for one whom he tenderly loved if Divine grace had wrought with an equally resolute choice. Coming from public worship one Sunday morning, Robert's attention was arrested by a party of young men on horseback, who seemed much inclined to slight the decorum of the public street, as they had already done the sanctity of the Lord's day. One of the horses became unmanageable under their idle frolics, and in the person of the rider Robert was surprised and disturbed to see his former friend and often playmate, Archy D-. Was it possible that Archy could be in that city and he not know it? But far worse, could Archy be the friend and companion of those thoughtless sabbath-breakers? Robert paused and looked after them anxiously. He knew that Mr. D- had fears about his generous, warm-hearted, impressible boy; and moreover he thought that the family were ignorant of his return from abroad, his last letters having been dated from some point in the tourist's route through central Europe.

Almost involuntarily Robert followed the gay group of riders, and turned the corner of a street in time to see Archy's horse take fright and dash past him with terrific speed. A moment more and the rider was thrown with his head to the ground and his foot in the stirrup. The check caused by the fall gave Robert time to spring forward and catch the bridle, to hold the unruly animal with a powerful grasp until other hands lent needful help; and then lifting the insensible form of Archy D-, he carried him to the nearest druggist's shop.

Archy's young companions were in hasty consultation about conveying him to their hotel; but Robert, giving a brief account of his claim to the charge, so earnestly entreated that Archy might be left to his care that the young men gladly relieved themselves of the responsibility, asking leave to come and inquire for him when they pleased.

In half an hour Archy was laid on the widow's best bed, with medical skill, and two careful nurses in Robert and

his worthy hostess. No bones were broken, but the blow on the head was serious, and it was many hours before they had the joy of seeing their patient restored to consciousness.

"Robert, my dear old friend," he some days afterwards said, "it's all right. It was a merciful fall. I was doing wrong; I was tempted to do more wrong. Oh! Robert, I wish I could always do right as-"

"As nobody does quite, dear Mr. Archy," interrupted Robert."

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Yes, you do."

"I? oh! for shame, sir; don't speak of me. If I ever do right I owe it to God's mercy and the best of parents." "Ah! Robert, I too have good parents; and it will break their hearts to know that I was nearly killed in the act of breaking God's command, and associating with those who care for none of his ways.'

"But won't it cheer their hearts to know that God would not let you go on doing it, and lets you live to do better?" "Ah! yes; and I do sometimes want to be good and do right, but I always think of that text, you know, about 'the morning cloud and the early dew:' that's just like me."

"Don't you love the Lord Jesus Christ, Master Archy?" asked Robert, after a few moments' thought.

Archy was silent.

"Because," continued Robert, "father always said that really to love our Saviour, because he first loved us, gives us a right principle and makes it impossible to like to do wrong.

"When did you begin to love God, Robert?" asked his friend, abruptly.

"I don't remember. He has always seemed a friend to me; and father and mother always taught us how good and kind he is, and only wants us to obey him that we may be happy. I'm sure I never was so unhappy as when I was displeasing God."

"You displeasing God? When was that?"

Many a time, Master Archy; but one special time. It was when you would not stop at the works, and wanted to go to college. I couldn't bear to be there without you, and I wanted to go where you went. Father and mother had great patience with me, and showed me the difference between the places God has put each of us in. They said

perhaps you, sir, were to have a fortune to spend, and must be educated for any high calling in store for you; and they prayed God to give you grace to do just his will and not your own; and I was to earn my living in God's way myself, for two reasons, to provide things honest in the sight of all men,' and that I might have to give to him that needeth,' and wanted just the same grace to do God's will and not my own. They said, 'God is love, Robert, and could not plan anything for you that is not wisest, and happiest, and best. If you love him you will try to be thankful and content.'

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Robert," cried Archy, with energy, "if ever I should be a rich man you shall share my wealth."

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No, sir,' ," and Robert's bright eyes beamed with mingled affection and self-respect, "no, dear Mr. Archy, my father is right. I will earn my bread in the sweat of my brow, so long as God enables me; and if he wills me to be helpless and poor I shall not despise your charity." Noble fellow!" murmured Archy; "he is the true man -I am nothing."

"You may be anything you like, sir, with God's blessing," said Robert, earnestly.

"Dear Robert, pray for it. I want that blessing;" and Archy's tears fell on the honest hand he clasped with respect and love such as he never felt before, even for his favourite Robert.

The year over, Archy in his father's office and Robert in the best position in his department of the works, were helping each other to serve God and adorn the station in which he had placed them.

To have Robert once more at home was not only comfort and pleasure to his parents, but the very delight of all his sisters and brothers, who looked up to him as example and friend and playfellow all in one. He lightened the task of bringing them up in the way in which he had preceded them, and proved the truth of the prediction, that the first child, well trained, will prove a blessing to all the rest.

On his return home, however, there was a blank to his heart. Milly, his first and dearest friend and companion, was not there. The little half-drowned heroine of the wrecked goloshes was away, trying to repay in love and care an early debt of gratitude.

When Milly had grown up a useful girl, able to manage

the duties of their neat household almost as well as her dear mother herself, it became a serious point of consideration that she should take service in some Christian family. All at home would miss her, but William remarked, with a kind look on his second daughter, "That Susy could now do a great deal to help mother, and would try to fill dear Milly's place." Gratifying as was the father's approbation, Susy had her own private convictions that nobody ever was so good as Milly, nor ever would be, and it would be next to impossible to do without her.

The daughters of the British working classes are of quite as much real consequence as some of them seem to think, though in a very different way. From them comes the needful fulfilment of certain labour, responsibility, and trust, for which they expect to receive an adequate return in money and kindness. Their power to make or mar the comfort of a household cannot be exaggerated; and those who discharge their duties in the fear of God, not as 66 eyeservants," cannot be too highly valued. Why is the number of these so small? Why should the working mother, in her oversight of home, forget that one portion of her maternal duty is to make the future servant worthy to be received and valued in the position she is to undertake? Why should her contributions to the well-being of society occupy so light a place in her idea of a mother's care? May not one reason be that there is so little sympathy with the wants and feelings of those whom God has placed above them? So much selfish reluctance to take present trouble for future benefit, so little thought of God's superintending providence over station and duty in every class; in fact, so little true religion shedding contentment over the spirit, and sanctifying the conduct in daily life? May God help our working mothers to detect the cause, and amend it.

But, whether rightly considered by employers and servants or not, it is a fact that we are dependent on each other, and that God has ordered it so. Let none marvel at discord and dissatisfaction where that fact is not willingly and thankfully recognised; and let not servants quarrel with employers because they wish to be served with fidelity. How many a child of anxious parents is just her nurserymaid reproduced in the drawing-room in silk and muslin ! How many a fair girl, as she moves in her place in society, is bearing there the opinions and advices