go in the parlours, they are a great deal larger," said Charles; "do, dear brother."

"I am afraid it would not be right," replied Henry; "we may break something. Mother has said that we had better never play there."

"But we will be so careful," said the little boy; "we can play circus so nice. I want to go in the parlour."

Henry's Father and Mother had gone out riding, so he could not ask leave to play in the parlours. He was almost sure it was wrong to go there, but he wanted to gratify his brother; so, promising himself to be very careful, he trotted down stairs into the parlour, with Charles on his back. At first he went slowly round the two rooms, but Charles began to whip his horse and cry, "Get up, old boy, you are getting lazy. You shall be a race-horse. Now go faster, faster; go round the room like lightning."

So round he went, fast and faster, shaking his head, and taking great jumps, and kicking his legs up behind, with Charley holding on, laughing and screaming with delight, till, alas! sad to tell, his elbow brushed against a beautiful and costly vase, which stood upon a little table, knocked it off, and broke it into a hundred pieces.

Henry stopped short, and let Charles slide down from his back. He looked at the broken vase, and then at his brother, and Charles looked at Henry, and then at the pieces on the floor.

"It is all broken," said he. "It can't be mended at all; can it, brother?"

"No, it is past mending," said Henry; "and the first thing we must do will be to tell Mother."

"Oh, no!" said the little boy; "I am afraid to tell her."

"We must never be afraid to tell the truth, dear Charley. I will set you a good example. You shall never learn to tell a lie from me." Henry had always remembered what his Mother had said to him, the very first time he ever saw his little brother; and very often, when he was tempted to be naughty, or get in a passion, the words, "Your brother will do just as you do," would seem to come from his heart, and he would conquer his passion.

In a few moments the boys heard the wheels of the carriage. Henry went to the hall door, and opened it. He held Charles by the hand. He had to hold him very tight, for Charles tried to get away. His face was pale. He waited until his Mother got out of the carriage and came up the steps, and, taking hold of her hand and looking up in her face, he said, in a firm voice, "Mother, I have broken your vase."

"And I, too," said the little boy; "and it is broken all to pieces."

Henry was glad to hear his little brother say this; and oh! how happy it made him feel, to think that the child had learned to speak the truth from him.

Their Mother kissed them both and said, "My darling boys, I am rejoiced that you are not afraid to speak the truth. I would rather lose twenty vases than have you tell a lie. But you knew it was wrong to play in the parlours; did you not?"

"Yes, dear Mother, it was wrong, and I knew it was," replied Henry. "I will submit to any punishment you think right. I ought to have remembered that you advised us not to go there."

"If you think you ought to be punished," said his Mother, "Charley shall go to bed to-night without your singing to him. This will make you both remember. Is that right?"

"Yes, dear Mother," said Henry; but he looked very sorry; and little Charles made up a long face, for he loved his brother so much, that he could not bear to think that he must go to sleep without holding his finger and hearing him sing.

When bed-time came, Charley wanted to beg his Mother to think of some other punishment for him. He wanted his dear brother so much. He looked at Henry, but Henry said, "Good-night, little fellow; we deserve this. Come! one night will soon be over. Now, let us see how well you can behave;" and he gave him a smile, and a kiss so full of love, that the little fellow put his lips tight together, and marched off to bed without a tear. It was hard to do it, but he had this kind brother to set him a good example, and he was determined to be as good a boy as Henry.

Not many weeks after this, poor little Charles was taken sick. He was very sick indeed, and every day he grew worse. The doctor did all he could for him, and Henry stayed with him night and day, and would hardly take any rest. He gave him all his medicine, and sang to him very often when he was in pain. But Charles did not get any better, and at last the doctor said that he could not make him well—the little boy must die.

When Henry heard this, the tears burst from his eyes, and he sobbed out, "Oh, my brother! oh, my brother! I cannot part with you, my little precious brother."

The poor little fellow had become so weak and thin that he could scarcely lift his hands from the bed where he lay.

The last night came. He knew that he would not live many hours, for his dear Mother had said so; and now she told him, that as he had always tried to be a good boy, he would go to Heaven, and Jesus would take him into His bosom, and love him, and keep him, until they came to him.

His little pale face grew bright. "Dear Mother," said he, "will Jesus let my brother come to me? I want my brother in Heaven. Come here close to me," said he to Henry. His brother leaned his face down close to the little boy's face, and helped him clasp his arms around his neck, and then he whispered, in a soft, weak voice, "Do not cry, dear brother—do not cry any more. I will pray to Jesus to let you come very soon and sing me to sleep in Heaven."

These were the last words he spoke, for his breath grew shorter and shorter, and soon after his little hand dropped away from his brother's, and he was dead.

And his Father had him buried in Highgate Cemetery.

It was in the summer time that he died, and his brother Henry planted a white rose-bush at the foot of the little grave, and a red rose-bush at the head, and often in the pleasant summer afternoons he would go alone to Highgate, and sit upon little Charley's grave, and think how he might at that moment be praying for him in Heaven.

Henry is now a man. He was always a good boy. He is now a good man; and although many years have passed since he lost his little brother, he goes every summer to Highgate to visit his grave; and the tears always come into his eyes when he speaks of him, and tells that little Charley's last words were, that he would pray to Jesus to let his darling brother come soon, and sing him to sleep in Heaven.

ANNIE BROWNE.

Little Annie Browne was an only child, that is, she had no little brothers or sisters; so you may be sure her parents loved this little girl very much indeed, and were always endeavouring to make her happy. Now I wonder if the dear little boy or girl, who is reading this, can guess the means that Annie's Father and Mother took to make her happy.

Did they give her plenty of candy? No. Did they buy new play-things for her every day? No. Did they take her very often to the Museum or the Zoological Gardens? No; this was not the way. I will tell you what they did; and I will tell you what Annie did for one whole day when she was about five years old, and that will give you a very good idea of the way they took to make her good, for then she was sure to be happy.

Well, one day Annie woke up very early in the morning, and, sitting up in her little bed, which was close by the side of her