"Write injuries in dust, and kindnesses in marble.".

W. We have had two lessons from that proverb, papa-we had a lesson from the first part, Write injuries in dust, and another lesson on the second part, Write kindnesses in marble.

P. True, Willie, and it is such a good proverb that we will have another lesson from it-we will learn of both parts together. Write injuries in dust, and kindnesses in marble.

Ion. And it will make a good rule for us. I should like to think of it all the year round.

M. So should I, Ion-and so, that we may all remember it, I will tell you a true tale.

You know where Barnsbury Street is?

Ion. Yes, mamma.

Before I was married to your papa, I used to go to school every day. W. Yes, of course, when you were a little girl-because, where would you get your learning from? M. But I mean, when I was grown up then I went to school to teach. I used to like going to school, for it was a pleasant walk until I came to the large crossing.

VOL. II. No. 1.

Moral Lesson.

That boy at the crossing was a great hindrance, and always followed me across the road with his cap, if he saw that I wanted to make haste. When I had got across, you would soon have seen that we were going to school-not I, but we-ah, a great many of us. I soon heard little voices calling my name, and the sound of many little feet. On they came, running. Sometimes from two or three streets at once, would come Mary, Sammy, Phil, Fred, Katie, little Meg, and "her dumpling," the baby, with the servant girl dragging the twins in the chaise, and the great doll, while the old steady dog Boxer ran before, as if he were man enough to take care of them. So, often we would travel on like a great and mighty company.

W. Or like a caravan.
M. Yes - until

we reached

Barnsbury Street, where we saw a house numbered 34, with a great black board, and gilt letters put together, so!

INFANT SCHOOL.

and that was our school!-Such a

School! school! Who wouldn't go to school? "Who would like to stop at home?" you would have said, if you had gone with me; for when we peeped inside there were always plenty of folk—Mrs. Marian, and great dame Patty, keeping school of their own accord, and teaching. 1st, Sophy, with the black hair and gipsy face; 2ndly, Sophy, with the curly hair and ruddy face; 3rdly, Baby Bruck, with her round twinkling eyes and fat face; 4thly, my own dear Joseph, and his sister Kate; 5thly, poor patient Jamie, who was lame, and had irons fastened to his legs; and so on up to 18thly or 19thly, where sat my great boy Robbie Young, with his broad shoulders and broad face, and sober "mean to do something" look. He, when he saw me, would open his great staring eyes-then, without saying a word, he would get up slowly from his seat, would come down the gallery with heavy cautious steps, looking at his feet, and taking only one stair at a time, whilst all the while he seemed to say, I am coming down "about something," until at last he reached the floor, when he would march up to me, put his fat hand in mine, and say, in his broad Scotch language, "How-do-you-do, Miss Why-i-ite?" Sometimes, when he was sociable, he would put up his face for a kiss.

I cannot stop to tell you of all my children. When we began school, and I had cried "Stand to the line!" what a long row there was of feet with little black shoes and white socks. Ours were all growing children, for they had all begun to grow, but none of them had finished yet-it was not a

of them were higher than the table. You shall hear now of something that happened.

Once it was my birthday. It was in the month of May, when the flowers grow; and always on my birth-day each child brought me a bunch of flowers for a keepsake. So on that morning, when I had received a great many beautiful flowers, and we were all standing to the line, one boy cried out, "Where are Henry and Fred?"

"Oh!" said one of the girls, "I think they will be here soonperhaps they are picking a very large nosegay."

"Yes," said another, "Harry told me yesterday that his papa's gardener was going to pick one for him from the green-house. He will have some jonquils, hyacinths, auriculas, balsams, carnations, petunias, and a fine camellia. I shall be so glad when they come."

"Perhaps, ma'am," said Marian, "the boy at the crossing has stopped them."

"Oh," I said, "he could not be so rude as that."

"But, ma'am," said another, "he is often rude to Harry and Fred. He is not rude to me, because I come with the servant; but sometimes, when he sees Harry, he tries to stop him from crossing the road. Once he took away Fred's books, and splashed him with mud. When he sees them running he is sure to stop them. In the winter time, he makes them walk on the snow, and holds up his broom before their face, and says, 'Can't come across-can't come across-you'll be late-you'll have the stick ;' and sometimes, when they are very early, he tells them they are late, to make them run faster."

"Perhaps, ma'am," said one

boy, "he has taken their flowers away from them."

"And then," said another, "they will not like to come."

But, that very minute the school door opened, and in came Harry and Fred without any flowers!

They made their bow, and stood to the line not saying a word, except good morning; but they both looked down on the ground.

"Where's your nosegay?" whispered a little girl to Henry.

"Have not got one," he said. "If -you-please, maaa-m," cried great Robbie from the other end of the room- -"they-havenot-brought-no-flowow-ers!" "Hush, Robbie, never mind, we are going to begin school," I said, so no one made any more remarks. Ion. But, mamma, I should like to know why they came without the flowers.

M. Well, I will tell you; for I soon heard. They were coming to school with a very large nosegay, a very large one indeed, and were running that they might not be late, when they saw their old enemy the crossing-sweeper.

W. Were they not afraid, mam

ma?

M. No: for he was sitting down on a door-step, with his head resting on his knees, and they were going to run past him when Harry said to Fred, "Oh, he will not hurt us-let us stop-I wonder what he is crying for."

"What is the matter ?" said Fred to him.

"Mind your own business," said the boy without looking up; "go on to school."

But just as they were going away he caught sight of their flowers, and called them back.

"Don't go," said Fred, "he's a wicked boy-we can't help him."

NATURAL HISTORY.

And they were going on when Harry looked again and saw him crying, so they returned.

The boy then told them that he was very hungry, and what was worse, that his mother was at home ill, and his grandmother too, and they were very hungry. He told them, too, that last week a new policeman had turned him away from his crossing because a woman had said it belonged to her; and that he had not earned any money for three days.

When Harry heard this, he said "Poor fellow." He forgot how bad the boy had been, and only wished he had a penny. Both he and Fred looked at their flowers, and the boy too looked at the grand camellia.

"He can't have our flowers you know," said Fred, "we want them for our teacher. Besides, she is kinder to us than he is."

"And then," said Harry, "we said that ours should be the finest nosegay. I want to show her how much I love her."

So they walked away slowly, but the boy looked after them with a longing eye.

"I say that he does not deserve to be helped," said Fred.

"And so do I," said Harry-"and then these flowers are too good to give to him;" but still they did not feel quite comfortable in their minds-selfishness did not make them happy.

"We have no right," said Henry again, "to punish him, it is only God who is good enough to punish. Don't you remember our lesson at school yesterday? If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive you.' Here, Fred!-take them to him."

So, looking back and seeing that the boy, who was very near them,