"You must give it up, my dear boy, there is no help for it. Now your poor father is gone I cannot afford to have you taught. I must get you a place somewhere as errandboy, and you must try and earn a trifle for yourself."

Carl sighed heavily. He was but a child, but the dream of his little life had been to be a musician like his father; and now that father was dead, his mother would have to work hard to keep herself and him, and of course no lessons were possible.

Mrs. Schmidt was an English woman, but she had married a German violinist, in regular employment in London, and for some years they had lived very happily, But Frank Schmidt, never in good health, had suddenly been struck down by an epidemic then raging in the city, and soon the poor woman was a widow and her boy fatherless.

It was only about a fortnight after the funeral that Carl and his mother were sitting together, and Mrs. Schmidt made use of the words with which this story opens.

Carl went to bed that night more sorrowful than he would have owned to his mother. It seemed very hard, that with a strong love of music, and a longing for the life and work of a musician, he should have to become a mere drudge-a little errandboy, carrying parcels for a small tradesman, and every day getting further and further from reaching his desire. But the poor child did not suffer his grief to take the form of grumbling. Young as he was, he knew that duty should be done cheerfully; and he was too loving a son to add to his mother's troubles by any selfishness of his own.

So he fell asleep at last with his eyelashes wet, but with a resolve in

his brave young heart to do what was right. You might have smiled. perhaps, but you certainly would not have laughed, could you have heard the concluding sentence of Carl's prayer-a prayer which he had said just before his weary eyes closed in slumber: "O Lord Jesus, help me to be very good, though I am only to be an errand-boy, and am never to learn music."

A week later, Carl Schmidt got a situation as errand-boy to a neighbouring baker, where he earned eighteen-pence a week. His duties were many, though not very diffi cult. He went out in the cart with the baker's man when the bread was taken round to people's houses, he cleaned the windows of the shop, he washed the counters and swept the floor, and sometimes, when both master and man were out, he served any customer who happened to come in for a bun or a penny loaf.

We cannot say that Carl liked this sort of work, but he tried to take an interest in it, and to do it faithfully; and so he was contented and happy, as everybody is who cheerfully does his duty.

The baker was a bachelor, and as he had some nice rooms over the shop, he was in the habit of letting them to lodgers.

Just before Carl entered the baker's service, one of these lodgers had gone, and now another came, looked at the rooms, and took them. To Carl's great delight he turned out to be a German; and one day, as the boy was running upstairs for something his master wanted, he heard a sound which sent the warm blood mounting to his very temples, and made his heart throb wildly with joy. It was the tone of a violin the new lodger was a violinist!

Carl longed to throw himself

down outside the musician's door, and listen to the practising; but his time was not his own, and he must not do this without leave. Back he went to his master, whom he astonished by his excited looks.

"O sir," cried the boy, "the new lodger is a violinist, like my dear father; I just heard him play!"

"Well, what of that?" said the baker.

"Only, sir,” replied Carl, "if you would be so good as to let me stay a few moments after my work is done, so that I may hear him practise, I should be so happy, and so grateful."

"Oh dear, yes," said the baker, kindly, "you may begin to-night, if you like."

So that evening Carl placed himself outside the new lodger's door, where he sat down on the floor with his head in his hands, and listened for the violin. The music began at Elast, and every note brought rapture to Carl's sensitive ear. The thrilling melodies, some of which he knew so well, drew tears to his eyes, and once, as the music paused, he forgot himself so far as to sob aloud.

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In an instant the door opened, and the musician's face appeared. "Why, what are you doing here, my child ?" said he, gently. "Ah! crying too? Poor little man, who has been scolding you?"

"No one, sir," sobbed Carl. "I am not crying for that. It is your music, that beautiful fiddle, which has made me cry."

Herr Rubner, for that was the man's name, laid his hand on the child's shoulder, and drew him into his room.

"Now tell me," he said, "why you love music so much, and what made you cry."

In a few words Carl told his little -history-his father's profession, and that father's promise that his child should follow it-the long-cherished hope of one day becoming a musician; then the father's death, and

the poverty of the bereaved home, and the giving up of all the fondest wishes that had made the future so bright.

Herr Rubner listened silently to all, then drawing the child nearer to him he said, "Tell me, my boy, would you still like to learn the violin ?",

"Like it? Oh, sir! don't ask me; my heart is almost broken because I cannot be what my father promised, because I must never hope to learn."

"Don't be too sure of that," said the man, with something very like a twinkle in his eye. "Look here, now: I have a little old fiddle which will do very well to learn upon; and if you like to come to me every night after you have finished for my landlord downstairs, I will give you a lesson."

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You, sir? You really will! O sir, this is too much, how shall I ever thank you!" and Carl seized the hand of the violinist and pressed it again and again to his lips.

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There, there, my child, it isn't worth all that," said Herr Rubner, kindly. "Run away now, and come to me to-morrow at this time.'

From that day Herr Rubner began to give Carl regular lessons, and the boy made such progress as amply to repay his kind master. Meanwhile, the boy did not neglect his duties, but performed them well, rising daily in his employer's favour.

Carl had his desire, and after years of hard work, he became a professional and a successful violinist. But through life he never forgot that it was while trying to discharge his tasteless duties with cheerfulness, that God had sent him what he so longed for; and he was often heard to say-"If any one, whether man or child, only does what he believes to be right, God will take good care of the rest; for truly, He leadeth the blind by a way which they know not.'

SAM was a servant in a gentleman's family in Jamaica. Though a slave he had a comfortable situation, and little to do except to wait upon his master. He excelled in playing on a violin, and was accustomed to play that instrument at the merrymakings of the negroes and the balls of the Europeans. He was brought, however, to listen to the word of life. It reached his heart; he felt the importance of religion, embraced the gospel, and became a decided Christian. Fearing that his musical instrument might now prove a snare, he broke it; for he thought if he sold it he might be tempted to buy another with the money. One day his master told him that he would soon be wanted to play his favourite instrument. He replied, 'Fiddle broke, massa.

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"It must be mended, Sam." "Broke all to pieces, massa. "Well, we must get a new one, Sam."

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"Me tink dat no good, massa-be soon broke,"

The master began to suspect that this breaking of fiddles must have something to do with religion, to which, unhappily, he was no friend.

"I hope you do not go to pray, and go after these mad-headed folks, Sam.'

"To tell de truth, me gone,

massa.

His owner now threatened him with punishment, and told him he should be flogged. The negro, however, was firm.

“Dat no good, massa; whip no flog de word out."

His master then declared that he should be turned out of his comfortable situation, and sent to work on the plantation. He, however, had counted the cost, and remained immovable, so that his owner's threat was executed.

Dismissed from a situation of comfort to toil in a field of labour,

under the burning sun of Jamaica, he felt for a time dejected, but soon perceived that an opportunity for doing important good was now before him. In his master's family he mingled with a few domestics, now he was in the midst of three hundred slaves. He began, therefore, to tell them about the Saviour, and to invite them to go and hear his minister. Many of them yielded to his invitations; and in a little while, of these three hundred, about a hundred and fifty became regular hearers of the everlasting gospel.

His master heard of this, and felt still more incensed. He called for him, and addressed him with severity, "How dare you to trouble my negroes? I will have no praying negroes."

"Me no tink they are troubled, massa. Do they work much worse, or are they more saucy, massa?

"That is nothing to you: how dare you trouble my negroes?"

"To tell de truth, massa, me tink dat de bread dat is good for my soul is good for brother neger; and me tink dat if it is a good ting for me to escape hell, it is good for brother neger; and if heaven is a good place for me, it is a good place for brother neger; and me pray, and me pray for my rich massa, an me tink dat if my rich massa would once go and hear de missionary, he would always go afterwards."

This was too much for the mas ter's patience; he called the negro "Parson Sam," banged the door, and sent him away.

The poor Christian departed with a grateful heart, thankful to God that he had escaped with nothing worse than angry words; and began to think what more he could do for his good and gracious God. His owner possessed other estates, and had from a thousand to two thousand negroes upon them. Sam turned his attention to them. When