“They are all ready for us'," said John`, and stood back in a corner, made by a turn in the stairway, to let his brother pass. Roger brushed rudely by, and scowled upon hím, looking much displeased still. John said nothing, but he was very sorry to see it. He was sorry for two reasons,-because he was grieved to have his brother feel angry with him, and because he knew that the scowling, angry expression in Roger's facé indicated a very wicked state of heart. As he followed him down the stairs he secretly prayed to God to forgive his brother, and make him good and happy again.

Now there was a little rocking-chair, with a green cushion and mahogany arms', which their uncle had given these two boys', and they were accustomed to take turns in sitting in it at morning prayers. Roger, being the oldest, always sat nearest his father, and John next; and in the morning, when the room was arranged', the rocking-chair was placed', one day for Roger', and the next for John.

It happened this morning that it was John's turn, and the rocking-chair was placed for him. As he came into the room', sorry that Roger felt as he did', and, wanting to do something to soothe and quiet his mind', he happened to see the rockingchair', and thought he would let Roger sit in it that morning, though it was not his turn. So, while Roger was standing by the firé, warming himself', John went behind him, and changed the chair.

Roger turned round just as he had done it', and, for an instant', he thought that it was his turn to have the chair, and that John` was taking it away from him. In a moment', before he had time to see how it was', he cried oút, "Let` alone that chair."

But at the very instant the words were spoken', he saw how it was; for John was that moment' sitting down in the other chair', and looking up at his brother' with a good-humored smile.

Roger took his seat in the rocking-chair', and his father began to read. John paid attention to the reading, but Roger was not at rest, and began to feel ashamed of his bad conduct. His heart was touched, too, by the forbearance of his brother. He felt guilty and ashamed`, but that was all. He did not feel penitent. That is, he did not think that such feelings as he had had, and such things as he had done that morning', were greāt sīns against God. He did not think about God at all. He only felt guilty and ashamed`;-but at length, while his father was reading', his thoughts were gradually turned to other things; and when', after prayers', they sat down to

breakfast', he had nearly forgotten what had happened; yet there was in his heart that constant uneasiness and suffering', which all boys feel who live in sin.

Thus, you see, these two boys lived and acted very differently. John tried to do as he ought, to please his Savior', to whom he had given himself away. Roger went on doing as he liked to do,-thinking nothing about God, and scarcely knowing any thing about the Savior.

When it was time to go to school', John was ready; but Roger could not find his things. John's cap and books', and satchel', were all in their place; but Roger's were scattered about', he did not know where. With John's aid', however', he soon found every thing but his geography and maps; and those, he said, he put on the shelf in their place, and that John or Lucy must have taken them away.

John said he did not recollect taking them away.

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Well, what could have become of them then', if you', or somebody', did not take them away'?" said Roger.

"Why, perhaps," said John mildly', "you may be mistaken about putting them there."

"I tell you, I am not mistàken', I am sure`. I put them there; and I believe yôu have carried them off" and hid them, just to plague mē.”

"I have not carried them off," said John`, "and you ought not to say I have.”

In fact John began to be out of patience with his brother, on account of his injustice in charging him', without any evidencé, with having carried away his books; and they went on talking about it', until a good many unkind words had passed on both` sides. At last, as they were looking for the third time in the secretary', John suddenly stopped and said',-"You left them out behind the house, last night."

Roger hesitated and thought a minute. There was a little hill behind the housé, where the boys were accustomed to slide for half an hour after school,-and therè Roger had laid down his books, and when he came in' he forgot to bring them. The boys went out there, and found the atlas with the geography safe upon the top of a post.

-

They walked along to school silently. Both were thinking of the dispute which they had got into', and Roger was ashamed, but John' was pen`itent. Roger was trying to forget it, and to think of something else, but John' prayed to God' to forgive him for all the unkind words he had spoken', and for the impatient spirit he had manifested. He determined, too, to confess his fault to Rogèr,-and in the recess at schoo!

hat day, he wrote a little note to his brother', saying that he was sorry for the unkind words he had spoken to him', and promising to try never to do so again.

Then he felt relieved and happy again. His sin was brought out`, confessed and forgiven. But Roger's was only covered up', concealed' and gradually forgotten. But God did not forget it. It went into the book of account.

Thus, always` when John' did wrong', he confessed his sins fully', and prayed for their forgiveness. He did not wish to conceal any thing, but as he tried all the time to please Gód, so when he failed' he always sought mercy and forgiveness through the Savior who died for his sins. He improved his time faithfully', and made himself as useful as possible to all around him.

In school John was diligent and patient. His desk was always in good order', and his books neat. In fact, he wished to do his duty in every thing. Sometimes he would feel tired', and begin to wish that it was time for school to be over,—but then he would soon reflect that his Savior was near him', and would be pleased to have him persevere in doing his duty', even if it was not very pleasant to him. At such a time he would take out the books which he had begun to put away', and take hold of his studies again in good earnest ; and then he would find that his time passed much more rapidly and pleasantly than when he was idly wishing for school to be over.

John', always attentive to the wants' and to the happiness of others, found a great many ways to be useful; and he found that by endeavoring to do good to others', he enjoyed a great deal of pure and solid happiness himself. He found, by experiment, that the more he contended against his sins, the easier it was to overcome them. The more he was in the habit of being kind', and faithful', and obedient', the more easy' and natural it was for him to be so. The more he became acquainted with God', too', the more he loved him', and the pleasanter it was' to obey him. At last he grew up to be a man, and to be useful and happy in the world.

LESSON IV.

MISS TROUBLESOME.

JANE WILSON was one of the most noisy, troublesome girls' I ever met with in my life. Where Jane was', there could be no quiet. I was paying a visit at her aunt's, when she came to

one

pass a vacation there with her cousin. She was then ten years old. The first I knew of her being in the house, was one forenoon', just before dinner, as I was resting myself upon the sofa in the parlor', after a long walk. I heard some coming down stairs as if she was trying to see how much noise she could possibly make. "There is Miss Wilson," thought I, "and of course an end of all peace for the present;" for though I had never seen her beforé, I had heard of her from various sources. She came into the room where I was sitting to look for her cousin', and passed through into the breakfast-room, leaving both doors open', though it was very cold. Her cousin

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was not there, and I heard her calling with a very loud voicé, "LUCY', LUCY'." I had no sooner shut the doors', and retaken my seat', when she returned; and, slamming the door after her with great violencé, she seated herself at the window to watch her cousin's return; for Lucy had not yet come from school. After waiting a few minutes', she went to Lucy's neatly-arranged book-shelf' to look for something to read; but while there, she heard her cousin's voice^, and, throwing the book she had in her hand upon the tablé, she ran into the entry.

In the afternoon the children all went out to play; for there was a warm, sunny yard, adjoining the house. There were Jane`, and Lucy', who was about a year younger, George`, and William', little brothers of Lucy', onè six' and the other four years old. They had not been there long when we heard a loud screaming', so that we thought some dreadful accident must have happened to one of the children. All the family ran to the door to see what could be the matter', and there was Jane laughing heartily to see how she had frightened poor little William', by putting a spider on him', and saying it would bite him. Lucy knew that common housè-spiders never bitè, and she had brushed it away, and was trying to quiet her brother; but he still feared that the spider was on him. His mother took him into the housé, and again left the children to themselves. Presently Jane burst into the parlor. "Oh! aunt'," said shé, "see what I have donè.”

"What is the matter now?" said her aunt.

"Oh! I have torn my new frock by an ugly nail in the fence."

"But how could you do that?"

"I was only climbing over into the garden, and did not see the nail."

"Climbing over the fence! I do not think that is a very

Sofa, o being long, and not soffa.

pretty play for a little girl. I hope this will teach you a good lesson. Lucy will help you to change your dress', and perhaps you will like to take a walk together."

Away went the two little girls`, Janè walking in her usual manner, for it really seemed as if she did not know how to move lightly.

When they returned it was time for tea. In the evening' Lucy took her books, and went away to learn her lesson for the next day. She first gave her cousin a pencil and paper to draw, and some pretty picture books' to look at. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth`; the astral lamp was lighted; the room looked pleasantly', and I thought, "Now how happy might we bé if Miss Troublesome were not here." She scratched a little with the pencil', turned over a few leaves of the books', saying ten times in the course of a quarter of an hour, "I wonder when Lucy will have finished her lessons! Aunt', do you think she has almost learnt them?" Then she said she wanted some work. Her aunt gave her a little apron to hem for her doll. She worked on this ten minutes', dropped her needle three timés, kept breaking her thread' and getting out of patience with it', and completely prevented my having any quiet conversation with her aunt. At last, her cousin returned, and eight o'clock soon came^, when it was time for them to go to bed. The next day I left the housé to make a visit to another of my friends, determining not to return' till Miss Jane's vacation was over.

Now if you see any thing in your character which resembles Jane's' I advise you to set about correcting it as soon as possible. Depend upon it', you will never be beloved as long as you resemble her in any of the respects I have mentioned. All who knew her cousin Lucy' loved to have her` with them', because she was mild` and amiablé, and consideraté in respect to the rights and enjoyments of others.

LESSON V.

THE GOOSE AND THE COLT.

A YOUNG colt, that was scampering about the fields' and enjoving himself very much', met a poor goosé which had been lately stripped of her feathers' to supply the wants of her masThe colt', instead of pitying her condition', only laughed at the figure she made, and, snorting with contempt', turnèd

ter.