Ann. But then I will give them bread and but-ter. They must like but-ter, because they are called but-ter-flies.

Mother. You do not know at all what they like. I wish you would let them go, and come and eat your own din-ner, and let them go out into the gar-den and the fields and eat theirs.

Ann. Please do let me keep them un-der this glass. I do not want to be cru-el. I mean to be ve-ry kind to them.

Mother. You shall think a-bout it un-till you have done your mut-ton and your pud-ding. Put by the chick-en for sup-per, and wash the cups and and sau-cers, that they may be rea-dy for

break-fast.

Ann. I do be-lieve one of these but-ter-flies un-der the glass looks as if he were dy-ing. Mother. Per-haps you broke his wing when you caught him.

Ann. Oh, mo-ther! in-deed I ne-ver meant to hurt them.

Mother. I do not think you did mean it; but they are ve-ry small, gen-tle lit-tle things, and your fin-gers must have been ve-ry rough to them. Some-times your un-cles play rough-ly with you, and when you were small you us-ed to cry; but they ne-ver meant to hurt you. Ann. I am al-most rea-dy to let them go. I did not think a-bout hurt-ing them when I caught them.

Mother. And I am sure you will feel al-most as hap-py as they will, when you see them fly-ing about the gar-den once more.

Ann. I do be-lieve you are right, mo-ther; you al-ways are; so here they go. Oh! how they do fly-all but that sick one: he is ly-ing on a rose. I do not think he can fly. I am so sorry I hurt him!

Mother. Ne-ver mind now, my dear; you did not mean to hurt him, and when you be-gan to think about it, you let them go. Al-ways do to o-thers as you would they should do un-to you, is a safe rule, and I am glad you have thought of it.

THE BABY.

Jane. How the ba-by does cry! Is it your fault, Ben, or whose ?

Ben. I have not done any-thing to him; he is for e-ver cry-ing.

Jane. But do you try to play with him, and make him happy?

Ben. It is no use; he is so cross he won't play. Be-sides, he is too small.

Jane. He is too small to play at games as you and Tom do; but if you would give him some flow-ers, or horse-chest-nuts, or beans, he would be so pleased.

Ben. I can't bear babies; they are such a trou-ble.

Jane. Were you ever a baby, do you think, Ben, and did you like to be left to cry, and no one to com-fort you?

Ben. I can-not tell. All I know is that I do not want to have to take care of this ba-by. I want to get out in the street with the boys, and have some games.

Jane. Well then, go. I will leave my work, and take poor baby on my lap, and sing to him, and talk to him, and see how happy he will be.

Ben. Oh, Jane! George Thompson has hurt me so. He threw a knife at me, and said I should not play with the big boys. What right has he to say that?

Jane. I am sorry for you, Ben; but you know you were not very kind about the baby; and one often sees that those that will not give up their own plea-sure for other people's often get badly used them-selves.

THE BROKEN WINDOW.

"Look here!" said Mr. Wilkins, who kept the corner shop just by the turning to Crawford School, there is my window broken again. I declared, and I'll keep to it, that I will give the next boy I suspect a good sound thrashing, to teach him to play his games some-where else. Boys every-where are a nuisance; but nothing can come up to ours. What's the use of a school, I wonder! They get more full of mischief and more im-pu-dent every day."

Mr. Wilkins had not long to wait. Three

days after, there was another crash, and by the time he had rushed out no one was to be seen, except William Thompson, a quiet, lame little boy, who held in his hand a ball he had just picked up. "Caught you at last!" said Mr. Wilkins, in a great passion. "I will shew you what you get by breaking my windows," and he began to beat him without mercy, though the poor child declared he did not do it, and that he had seen two other boys run away that he believed did. But Mr. Wilkins was too angry to listen to him, and when tired of beating, and scolding, he sent him off, saying, "The next time I see you near my windows, I'll break every bone in your skin."

William felt sure he would, and went home sobbing to his mother, who believed what the boy said, and was very angry. So she put on her bonnet, and went off to tell Mr. Wilkins her mind, as she said, but he shut the door in her face.

The next morning she went to the school, and told her tale to the master, who listened kindly, and said he never knew Thompson tell a lie; but still, who could have done it? Had William any sus-pi-ci-on? He said two biggish boys ran away just as he came up, and heard the crash, but he could not be certain who they were.

"But you can guess?"

"Yes, sir," he said; "but I had rather not say because I am not sure."

"Where was the ball ?" the master asked. Mr. Wilkins had taken it, so it was sent for. Mr. Wilkins, who had cooled down, gave it up, saying, "I believe William Thompson did it; but if he did not, and can find out who did, I will give him half-a-crown to make up for the beating, and the other boy shall be served as he was."

The ball was brought into school; it was a new, hard cricket-ball, and the master held it up, and asked whether any one knew whose it

was.

"Yes," cried out a number of voices. "That is Tom Smith's. He bought it the day before yes-ter-day. And," added one of the boys, "he ran his slate-pencil into it, because he wanted not to do his sums."

The ball was opened, and there was the slate-pencil.

"Now, Tom Smith, what have you to Say ? 12

"I didn't mean to, sir. I don't think I did it. Jim Johnson was along of me, and he says, 'Let's have a throw,' and he threw it, but I don't think it broke the glass; leastways, we didn't mean to."

"After you had done it, you ran round the corner. Did you keep by the high wall for fear Mr. Wilkins should see you?"

"Yes, sir. We were afraid he would go to beat us."

"Then you heard him beating poor little William Thompson for your fault, and were