past, and you delight to look forward to those that are coming; but if you live as long as the Reporter has done you will be more disposed to look behind you to the days you are now spending, and the things you are now doing. See, therefore, that you leave some green spots behind you, on which you can look back with pleasure. The day when a boy or girl give themselves to the. Saviour is always a green spot, the greenest and loveliest of all; and you will think with pleasure, too, on the kind turn you did to a needy neighbour, and the times when you made your mother's home so pleasant by your kindly, obliging ways, that your brothers and sisters could not bear to lose your company.

For weeks past there has been little doing in London but running after that brave, good old man Garibaldi, At one time the Reporter intended to give his country friends some account of the processions; but as the Reporter himself, when on the streets, has of late been so often hailed as Garibaldi or his brother, he has been led to change his mind, and to leave the General alone.

The Reporter wishes to inform all his friends that with this MESSENGER they will receive the new collecting card, and that if any more are wanted they may be obtained by sending a note to Mr. Mathieson, the treasurer. One friend writes :-"We intend issuing cards four times a year, with the view of putting more exertion on the work, as we consider the collectors may do as much in three months as they have done in the past year."

This good idea the Reporter heartily commends to all his friends.

The Synod of the Presbyterian Church held its annual meetings in Newcastle a ew weeks ago. The Reporter

was not there, but he is glad to see that some proper notice was taken of the Juvenile Mission Fund. In the report of the Foreign Mission Committee, it is said— "Amongst the cheering tokens at home, we would notice the reviving zeal of Juvenile Associations. Last year their contribution was not sufficient to carry out their original purpose, and sustain, as they had done for several years, a missionary. But this year it amounts to £290, a result for which we have mainly to thank our i warm and unwearing friend the JUVENILE MESSENGER."

We are much obliged to our friends for this friendly mention of our work, but as they seem to like to speak of " even money," they would have been nearer the mark if they had called our contribution £300, which it now amounts to.

MANY years ago there was born at Woodbridge, in Suffolk, a poor little boy, whose name was Robert May.

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His father was a sailor, and a wild, wicked man he was, caring nothing about his child. His mother was very kind; and but for her he would have had a weary life of it. But while he was very young his mother died, and poor Robert soon found out to his sorrow what it was to be an orphan. His father married again, and his step-mother was very cruel to him. His home was very wretched; and he would have grown up ignorant, but for a poor old woman who took pity on him, and led him to the house of God-too poor to do anything else for him; but she did what she could. Every Sunday she sought him out, and took him to hear the word of God. He soon began to pay attention to what he heard, and it led to his conversion. He now began to read his Bible in earnest, and his father treated him cruelly on account of it. He was obliged to sit under a hedge after his day's work was done, so as to read the book in peace. When the winter came on, and it was very wet, he could not do this. A poor, pious man then offered him the use of a little back room in his cottage, where he might read and pray. He got his living by picking up chips in ship-builders' yards, and selling them to people. Not earning much at this, he entered into a gentleman's service, where he had to drive horses and work on a farm. But it was a good place and Robert would have been very happy in it, only his master was a wicked man, and hated his Bible. One night, sitting up late for his master, Robert was reading his Bible in the kitchen, when the master arrived. Robert got up in a hurry to take his horse, leaving his Bible on the table; and his master, passing through the kitchen, saw the open Bible; he took it up, and threw it in the fire. Robert felt this very much, although he did not complain. But the thought one day struck his master that the boy had

not complained, and he felt he had done an unkind thing in depriving a good servant of his book. So he bought him another in the place of it, and a beautiful pocket Bible it was. Robert now felt he should like to be doing good to others in reading to them, and so he became a Sabbath-school teacher. He always said the means of his conversion was from hearing a sermon from the text, "Be sure your sins will find you out." He now began to feel he should like to be a missionary, and preach to the heathen; and he spoke to his minister about it, who had been watching his progress, and felt he was a very good young man. He recommended him to go to the London Missionary Society, and offer his services. Robert did so; and the Society sent him to college, where he studied for two or three years, then went to America for a short time, and there he laboured with great success, in preaching the Gospel, and in teaching children. He was much loved by the little folks, and was called the children's friend. From America he went to India, to a place called Chin Surah, near Calcutta, where he laboured among the Hindoo children. In a short time he had three thousand children under his care, and he had the happiness of seeing many of them converted to the truth. He lived only six years there, for in the midst of his labours he was seized with fever, and in a few days was called home to his reward. He died saying, "Christ is precious."

Dear children, here is an example for you; think of Robert May; strive to do good, and God will open up a way for you. Think of the poor old woman who did what she could. She took Robert May to hear the Gospel; and only think of the great good that came from that kind action to many thousands of poor heathen children.