"No," said I, "not particularly."

"Well," said he, "do it now, for I have lost mine;" when he marched off with great speed.

HONESTY. An honest boy, whose sister was sick and the family in want, found a wallet containing fifty dollars. The temptation was great to use the money; but he resolved to find the owner. He did so; when the owner, learning the circumstances of the family, gave the fifty dollars for their comfort. He took the boy to live with him. That boy is a prosperous merchant in Ohio.

THE BOY AND HIS MARBLES. One Sunday a lady called to her little boy, who was shooting marbles on the pavement, to come into the house.

"Don't you know you shouldn't be out there, my son? Go into the back yard, if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."

"Yes, mother; but aint it Sunday in the back yard?"

THE BOY AND THE DEW DROPS.

A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing on the lawn before his father's house, while the dew drops lay on the grass, was soon after seen returning to the spot, and finding them all gone, he sat down to weep. His father asked him why he wept.

"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone."

His father tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a cloud passed ever, and on the cloud, the beautiful rainbow had cast its arch.

"There, see, my son," said the father, "there are all your dew drops; the sun has taken them up only to set them forth in greater brightness in the sky."

"O father, dear father, why pass they away, The dew drops that sparkled at dawning of day, That glittered like stars in the light of the moon; Oh, why are the dew drops dissolving so soon? Does the sun in his wrath chase their brightness away, As if nothing that's lovely might live for a day? The moonlight is faded, the flowers still remain, But the dew drops have shrunk to their petals again."

"My child," said the father, "look up to the skies, Behold that bright rainbow, those beautiful dyes, There, there are the dew drops in glory reset, Mid the jewels of heaven, they are glittering yet. Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away; For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven, All that withers 

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