hood had stolen them, to sell the honey. He went and talked to him about it. But he could find no proof that the poor man had taken them. Then he went down to the American camp, which was about half a mile off, and told his story to the general and the soldiers. While he was speaking he saw a black man go by, with a large plate of honey in his hand, and said that it came from his hives. But he could not prove that it did, and he looked around all day without finding any way to prove that they had taken it; for the soldiers had burned up the hives, after they had taken the honey out of them.

When it was almost night he set out to go home. But two soldiers met him, and caught him, and took him back to the camp, and pretended that they thought he was a spy. The law was that spies (that is, men who came to see how the camp was arranged, and whether the enemy could get into it) should be hung. So they frightened the poor man, by telling him that he should be hung in the morning, before breakfast. He asked to see the general or the captain. But they said that they were too busy. The man was led out of the camp, in the morning, with a band of music, playing a tune called "the rogue's march," before him, and crying out, "honey stolen," whenever the music stopped.

When he told this story, the old man became very lively, and made his cane move very fast. For he had been himself very fond of honey ever

since the war, and some guessed that he was the man who stole it.

The other men who could remember so well, had been on the ocean. They had been sailors. We have books which tell us how different countries look, and when they told their stories we could look into some book, and see if they told the truth; they always did tell the truth; and it was strange that they could remember so much. I suppose that once they could not remember more than we can. But they told their stories so many times, that it helped them to remember every thing. One of them could tell all the towns on the coast of England, and the other recollected and once told over all the kings in Europe and Asia, and all the names of the chief officers of government. They all had good memories.

THE POOR ORANGE GIRL.

NANCY, what do you ask for your oranges ?" "Some, Sir, are four cents each, and some are two cents only."

"Is not that too much? I should think that was more than you gave for them."

"Yes, Sir, it is twice as much as they cost me. But I must sell them so, or I can't have anything to eat."

The gentleman went away without buying any, and the poor girl cried a minute, and then wiped her eyes, placed her left hand behind her, took another orange in her hand and walked along, holding it up, and asking people to buy it. She had not any stockings on, and her shoes were very thin, and too small for her feet. Her frock did not fit her, because the little girl who gave it to her was larger than she was. And she wore no bonnet, but her thick, long, black hair, hung down upon her neck