undiminished pleasure. Clarence began to flag,

After this time the interest of and the sound of Henry's humming top came more and more distinctly to his ears from the adjoining room. At last he closed the book and sought his brother.

"Let me spin it once, won't you, Henry?" he said.

"Yes, I will," returned the generous-minded boy, and instantly handed the top and cord to Clarence, who wound it up, and sent it humming and skipping about the floor at a fine rate.

Henry reached out his hand for the cord, but his brother held it back, saying,

"Just let me spin it once more."

"Well, you may once more," was replied.

But it was 66 once more," and " once more," until Henry's tears restored to him his toy.

"You are a selfish fellow," said Clarence, as he flung the top and cord at his brother's feet.

Clarence did not resume his book, but stood looking at Henry's top, as he spun it, with a covetous expression on his face.

"If you I'll let me spin your top, you may read my book," he at length said.

"I will," quickly returned Henry.

The top and book were exchanged, and, for a time, both were well pleased. But the book was rather beyond the grasp of Henry's mind. He soon tired of it. "You may have your book now, Clarence. I've done reading it. Give me my top."

"I've not done with it yet. I let
you read

my

book

until you were tired, and now you must let me spin your top until I am tired."

Henry rarely contended with his brother: he did not like contention. Knowing how resolute Clarence was in doing any thing that suited his humour, he said no more, but went and sat down quietly upon a little chair, and looked on wishfully while Clarence spun his top.

It was half an hour before Henry again got possession of his top, but the zest with which he had at first played with it was gone. After spinning it for a few times he said

"Here, Clarence, you may have it. I don't want it." "May I have it altogether?" eagerly asked Clarence. "Yes, you may!"

"You'll want it back?"

"No, I won't. You may keep it for ever."

Clarence took possession of the top with right good will, and went on spinning it to his heart's content. After dinner Henry wanted it back again, and when his brother refused to give it up, went crying to his mother. Mrs Hartley called up Clarence, and asked him why he did not give Henry his top.

"It isn't his top, mother; it is mine," said Clarence. "Yours! How came it yours?"

"Henry gave it to me."

"Did you give it to him, Henry?"

"Yes, ma'am, this morning; but it's my top, and I want it."

66

No, it is not your top any longer, if you have given it to Clarence. It is his, and he must keep it. Have

you forgotten what I told you when I gave it to you? If you give away your things, they are no longer yours, and you cannot expect to get them back again. I hope, my son, that hereafter you will be more careful what you

do."

Henry cried bitterly, but his mother would not compel Clarence, upon whom Henry's tears had no effect, to restore the toy. The poor little fellow's heart was almost broken at this hard lesson in the school of human life.

In about a week Mrs Hartley tried it over again. Gifts were made to the children, and soon Clarence went to work to get possession of what his brother had. But Henry had not forgotten the top, and was, therefore, not so generous as before. He withstood every effort for the first day. On the second, however, he yielded. On the following day he reclaimed his toys; but his mother interposed again, and maintained Clarence's right to what Henry had given him.

The poor child seemed unable to comprehend the justice of this decision, and grieved so much about it that Mrs Hartley felt unhappy. But ultimate good, she was sure, would be the result, painful as it might be to correct her child's fault.

On the next occasion, Clarence found it much harder to prevail upon Henry to give him his playthings than before. The same result following, the little fellow's eyes began to be opened. He would consider the consequences, and think when Clarence wanted him to give him any thing; and the recollection of the permanent losses he had already sustained, at length gave him the resolution to persevere in refusing to yield up his right

to any thing that had been given to him. He would lend whatever he had, cheerfully; but when asked to give, he generally said

"No.-If I give it to you, I can't get it back again." The parents did not like to check the generous spirit of their child, but they felt that it was necessary both for his good and the good of his brother, that he should be taught to set a higher value upon what was his own. If he were not led to do this while young, it might prevent his usefulness when a man, by leaving him the prey of every one. Besides, the want of a due regard to his own property in any thing was not right.

Another fault in Henry they felt bound to visit with a rigid system of correction. He was naturally an obedient child, while his brother was the reverse. He was also very yielding, and could easily be persuaded by Clarence to join in acts which were forbidden by their parents. When called to account, his usual excuse was, that he had been asked by Clarence, or had gone with him. He did not appear to think that he was to blame for any thing if he acted upon his elder brother's suggestions. The only way to correct this, was to let each be punished for offences mutually committed, even though Henry was far less to blame than Clarence. It was only by doing so, the parents felt, that Henry could be made to see that he must be held responsible for his own acts. This course soon effected all they desired. Clarence was usually alone in all flagrant violations of parental authority.

CHAPTER VII.-STRONG CONTRAST.

NEARER than Mrs Hartley had supposed, lived for many years an old but now almost forgotten friend-Florence Armitage; or rather, Mrs Archer.

The house in which she lives is a small comfortless one, in an obscure street not far from the residence of Mr and Mrs Hartley. Her father has become poor, and her husband, whose habits are more irregular than when a single man, receives a small salary as clerk, more than half of which he spends in self-indulgence; the other half is eked out to his wife, who, on this pittance, is compelled to provide for five children. She has had six, but one is dead.

It was a clear bright evening without, but there was nothing cheerful in the dwelling of William Archer. The supper table was on the floor, and on it burned a poor light. The mother sat near the table, with an infant on her lap, mending a pair of dark stockings with coarse yarn of a lighter colour. A little girl three years of age was swinging on her chair, and a boy two years older was drumming on the floor with two large sticks, making a deafening noise. This noise Mrs Archer bore as long as she could, when her patience becoming exhausted, she cried out in a loud fretful voice

"You, Bill; stop that noise!"

The boy paused for a single moment, and then resumed his amusement.

"Did hear you

you

me, Bill? heedless wretch!" exclaimed the mother, after she had borne the sound for

some time longer.