the inkstand over your papers; and I am very sorry for it."

"Well, never mind," said Mr. Wise, kindly, for he saw how sad James was; "I dare say you did it while putting away my things, and could not help it."

"No, sir," said James; "I did it in trying to jump over that high stool. I know it was wrong; and I hope you will pardon me."

Mr. Wise looked grave.

"It was a rude way to behave when I trusted you so far as to leave you here alone," he said. "But as your sorrow seems so real, I will pardon you. I know, too, that you do not ask this of me from a dread that I will punish you for what has been done, but from a sense of duty, and a feeling of regret at having done wrong."

"You are very kind," said James, "and I thank you for it; but oh, sir, will you ever trust me again as you once did? For, indeed, I will try hard to deserve it always."

Mr. Wise paused, and looked in his face for a moment, and then said,—

"Yes; I feel that I can trust you still; for I think that you will be more on your guard for the future. And, at any rate," he said, taking the hand of James in his own, "I can rely firmly upon your word; for you have always told me the truth—the whole truth; and when you do wrong, you never try to excuse it, or make it seem right."

James tried to thank Mr. Wise for the kind words he had spoken, but he could not; his heart was too full for words, and he could only press the hand which held his own, in token of what he felt. As he did this, he turned away from the desk.

He had hardly taken his seat, when Edward West rose and went up to Mr. Wise, and after him, one by one, came each of the four boys who had gone back into the school-house on the day before without leave. Not one stayed behind—not even the one who had been so angry lest James Black should tell of them. As head of the party, Edward spoke for them, telling Mr. Wise that they were to blame for the ruin of his papers, as James would not have been likely to leave his work if they had not come back to school to tempt him. He said that they knew that they had done wrong in not going home as they were told, and that if the master chose to punish them, they felt that it was but right, but that they hoped to behave better in time to come.

Mr. Wise was pleased with the frank manner of the boys, in so freely telling him of their bad conduct; yet their doing so was a matter of some wonder to him. Perhaps Edward saw this, for he said,—

"At first we urged James to hide his fault from you, sir; but when he told us, in such a firm way, that he would not tell a lie, we were shamed out of our own desire to conceal the truth."

"You did right, in part," said Mr. Wise; "but I hope you will learn to tell the truth from a pure love of truth, and to shun a lie from a deep hatred of all that is false. Study your Bibles, and you will find how God hates lying; and you will also learn there the awful fate of liars."

Then, after a few words of reproof and caution, he sent them to their seats.

Mr. Wise felt very sorry at the loss of his letters and papers, for they were of great value to him; but he nearly forgot his sorrow in the joy which it gave him to find his pupils ready to confess their faults so freely to him.

How plain it is that the path of duty is the only path of peace and safety!

THE FEAR OF THE LORD IS THE BEGINNING OF WISDOM. Prov.

Try Again.

AVE you finished your lesson, George?" said Mr. Prentice to a lad in his fourteenth year, who had laid aside his book, and was busily engaged in making a large paper kite.

"No, father," replied George, hanging down his head.

"Why not, my son?"

"Because it is so difficult, father. I am sure that I shall never learn to read Latin."

"And what is the reason that you cannot learn Latin?"

"Because—because I can't."

"Can't learn, George!"

"Indeed, I have tried my best," replied the boy earnestly, the tears starting to his eyes; "but it is no use, father. Other boys can get their lessons without any trouble; but I try, and try, but still I cannot learn them."

"I 'cannot,' is a word no boy should ever utter in reference to learning. You can learn anything you please, George, if you only persevere."

"But not Latin, father."

"Yes, Latin."

"But have I not tried, and tried, father?"

"Yes; but you must try once more."

"And so I have, father."

"Well, try again, and again; never say you cannot learn a lesson."

"But then I cannot remember it after I have learned it, my memory is so bad," urged the lad.

"If I were to promise you a holiday on the thirtieth of the month after the next, do you think that you would forget it?"

"No, I am pretty sure that I should not."

"And why, George?"

"I can't exactly tell the reason; but I know I should remember it."

GEORGE AND HIS FATHER.

"Well, I can tell you. The pleasure you would take in the idea of having a holiday, would keep the date of it fresh in your memory. Now, if you were to take the same delight in learning that you do in playing, you would find no difficulty. You play at marbles well, I believe?"

"Oh yes, father; I beat every boy at school!"

"And your brother tells me that your kite flies highest; and that you are first in skating?"

"Yes, my kite always flies the best; and I can cut every figure, from one to nine, and form every letter in the alphabet, on the ice."

"You are very fond of skating, and flying your kite, and playing at ball and marbles?"

"Yes, father; too fond, I believe, for a boy of my age."

"And yet you cannot learn your Latin lesson. My dear boy, you are deceiving yourself; you can learn as well as any one, if you will only try."

"But have I not tried, father?" again urged George.

"Well, try again. Come, lay aside that kite you are making for this afternoon, and give another effort to get your lesson ready. Be in earnest, and you will soon learn it. To show you that it only requires perseverance, I will tell you a story. One of the dullest boys at a village school, more than thirty years ago, came up to repeat his lesson one morning, and, as usual, did not know it. 'Go to your seat, you blockhead!' said the teacher, pettishly. 'You will never be fit for anything but a scavenger. I wonder what they send such a stupid dunce here for!'

"The poor dispirited boy stole off to his seat, and bent his eyes again upon his lesson.

"'It is no use. I cannot learn,' he said in a whisper to a companion who sat near him.

"'You must try