the roots of a great many words already, and I am going, too, to learn Greek roots, and-but there's a ring at the bell; shall I go, father?"

"Yes," ," said his father, " for see, your friends, Tom and his brother, are looking in at the window."

"If you please, Mr. Snub," said Tom, after he had said good morning to John, "papa says will you be sure and let him have his Wellington boots in the course of the day on Saturday?"

Mr. Snub promised he would; and at the same t me he thanked Tom for his kindness in teaching his son. He paid Tom many compliments, and said it was very praiseworthy for a gentleman's son, as he was, to teach his poor boy.

When Tom heard these words he did not behave as he would have done before. Instead of stopping to be praised, he begged Mr. Snob to say nothing about the matter, and made haste to get away. "I think," he said, as he was leaving, "that John knows quite as much as 1 do; so he deserves to be praised quite as much. He can work arithmetic better than I can; and as for his writing, I cannot write half so well. Papa gave me thirty folios of writing to copy for him at the beginning of the week, and I tried to write them in a lawyer's hand like the copy, but I couldn't do it. I have no taste for writing like some boys. So you see, Mr. Snub, that some have one thing and some another."

The three boys then bid the shoemaker good morning, and set off together for school.

If you had been at Mr. Martingale's house on the next Saturday afternoon, you would have seen Tom sitting up in his own bedroom alone. Although it was a half holiday, he was hard at work; he was writing the "folios" which his papa had given him to do. They were wanted by four o'clock, in time for the evening post.

Tom worked very hard, but he did not succeed well. He drew several long sighs, he shook his head and exclaimed, "I am sure it is not written well enough." He had six more folios to write when a servant knocked at his door with the message that his papa wanted him.

"Well, Tom," said his papa, "have you finished the writing?" "It will be done, papa, before four o'clock: at least, I think it will."

"I am sorry you should be so late," said his papa; "you see the evil of putting off matters of business to the last moment. When you have anything that is disagreable to do you should finish it off at once, and have done with it.

"But I have something else to tell you. I have just called on Mr. Snub, the shoemaker; I was afraid he might fail to send home my Wellington boots, but I found that his son John had brought them home an hour ago. "I have been talking with him about you and his son.'

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"What did he say, papa?" said Tom, colouring slightly."

"He said," answered his papa, 66 a great many things in your praise. He showed me how much Latin you had taught John, and how much pains you had taken." "Oh, he need not have said anything about it," replied Tom. "He need not, but he liked to do so. There are two things, however, which have made me even more glad than he was."

"What are they, papa ?" "In the first place, I was glad you had not boasted of doing good to John. I was glad that you allowed me to find out the circumstance myself. In the second place, I was glad that you would not receive any praise from John's father for what you had done. He told me all that you said last Wednesday.

"There are, Tom, two sorts of people who do good. Some will help you, but they always take care to let you know exactly how much you owe them. Such people think too much of themselves; they have not real charity; they may be said to be puffed up, and to behave themselves unseemly.

"But there are a better kind of people. There are many who will do you a kindness, and say nothing about it. Such people have true CHARITY. Will you try to be always like these people, and never to be 'puffed up' on account of your own deeds?"

"I will try, papa," said Tom. "I am sure I need not be 'puffed up;' you will say so when you

see the writing I have done for you."

"You need not trouble yourself about that," said his papa, "the folios are all finishedhere they are!

"Why, who wrote them?" said Tom. "This is not my writing." "No, all these folios came home with the boots," said his papa, laughing. "John Snob wrote them. He heard you complain of your troubles last Wednesday, and I secretly supplied him with a printed copy, that he might have the pleasure of copying it for you."

"So," said Tom, "he has shown a kindness to me without mentioning it. That is Charity."

"It was done," said his papa, "from Gratitude. But you may learn two more lessons from this deed of his.

"Thirdly, those who have true Charity will be sure to be found out. Even if they are not repaid by the gratitude of others in this world, 'their Father which seeth in secret will reward them openly.'

"Fourthly, here is another reason for never boasting at one's good deeds. We can scarcely ever do good to any one person, who cannot render us some service in his turn. In the course of our lifetime, we are all sure to be indebted to others, even to many persons whom

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never see.

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"So let us learn to do all the good we are able without being puffed up.""