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five days in the week at a charge of one shilling, and on the other day at a charge of two-and-sixpence.

This exhibition will not be particularly attractive to those who delight more in gaudy shows, than in the cultivation of their minds; but to those who wish to enlarge their geographical knowledge, a visit to this exhibition will be a rich treat.

I overtook her She asked me

A LITTLE GIRL AND THE BROKEN BROOCH. WALKING out one afternoon, I saw a little girl going before me who did not walk steadily, but stopped sometimes and looked around her, as if she did not know whether she was in the right road or not. just where another road branched off. which was the road to C, and I told her. When I looked in her face I perceived that it was something else she was distressed about, for I could see she had been weeping, and she still looked disconsolate. I wished to know what was the matter, but did not like to ask her plainly what she had been weeping about, lest I should pain her feelings; for I am aware that children do not like to have it known that they have been weeping: and I also feared that she would not tell me. So I spoke kindly to her, asked her if she were going to C? if her parents lived there? She answered my questions very readily, and without my enquiring paticularly into the cause of her distress, she told me her little tale of sorrow. Her name was She lived at C with her mother. Her father was dead; she had however a fatherin-law, but he had gone away and left her mother and her. ! Her mother made laces and other trifles for sale, and she carried them about in the neighbourhood, for the purpose of finding purchasers. She had that day been to B——, a ¦ distance of five miles, and she had gone in a circuitous road for the purpose of calling at more houses; but she had only taken one solitary penny, and she was now returning, tired | with her long journey. But that was not the worst, for when she was showing a brooch she had among her little

stock of articles, and a woman was looking at it, one or other of them broke off its pin. This the poor little girl had been weeping about; for she was afraid her mother would beat her. She said, that if she had taken threepence for laces she would not have cared; she then could have hidden the brooch or given it away to some one, and her mother would not have known but what she had sold it; for it was but a threepenny one. Thus she would have told a lie, saying she had sold the brooch, in order to avoid a beating. I asked her whether her mother would beat her if she told how it was done? Yes," she replied. I then said, "Suppose I were to give her some pence, and you tell your mother how the brooch was broken, and how you got the pence, will your mother beat you then?" She said she was afraid she would, or would be unkind to her, and say it was her carelessness.

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I had a mind to help her out of her difficulty, for she was an honest looking little girl, and I thought her mother might be hasty and inconsiderate, but I did not like that she should go home and tell her mother a lie. So I reasoned with her, told her that her mother, surely, would not beat her if she had the value of the brooch; and that even if she did, it was better to be beaten and have a clear conscience, than to tell a lie and have a guilty conscience. Well, she appeared to be convinced of the truth of what I said, and promised to tell her mother how the accident happened: so I gave her some loose pence I had in my pocket, and thus had the pleasure of setting her heart at rest.

Now I have thought this little affair might be made instructive to the readers of the Juvenile Companion. The poor little girl had an inconsiderate mother, and the child intended to deceive her mother, in order to avoid her displeasure. Now if any parent's eye should glance over these lines, I hope they will be warned not to beat their children rashly, nor treat a misfortune as if it were a crime. "Fathers provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged;" and be driven to practise deception and lying.

I wonder whether any of my dear young friends have unkind fathers or mothers? I hope not, but it may be so. And, if they have, I hope they will not tell lies to avoid displeasure; far better to suffer wrongfully, for then they will have the approbation of our heavenly Father. This little girl wished she had received for laces the value of the brooch, for then she would have hidden the brooch, and have given her mother the money, and have said that it was the money for the brooch. But then her mother might have found the laces were wanting? What would the little girl say was become of them? Ah, she did not think of that! Very likely she would have got a beating about the laces then instead of the brooch. Thus, if, in attempting to deceive we succeed, we get a guilty conscience and the wrath of the Almighty; and if we fail, we get this and greater punishment than if the truth had been acknowledged. Far better, children, to go straight forward in the narrow path of truth and honesty, without turning to the right hand or to the left. "Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee."

Perhaps, also, this little incident is capable of a religious as well as of a moral application. If the little girl's mother were really unkind, our heavenly Father is not; for “like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." He will never punish undeservedly, nor will he use the rod "when love will do the deed." He does not willingly afflict nor grieve the children of men. God is ever ready to pardon the penitent. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." We need not, therefore, be afraid to confess our sins to God. The little girl was afraid to tell her mother about the brooch, although it was broken by accident. We have sinned against God, but if we confess and forsake our sins we shall find mercy. Then, again, God is an omniscient Being; that is, he knows every thing. "For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether." The little girl was afraid that, if she told her mother how the

brooch was broken, she would not believe her, but would think she was telling falsehoods, and would say it was done by her carelessness. But as God knows all about us, he will never punish as a fault that which was only an accident. However, he always knows when we are really guilty, and he "will by no means clear the guilty." Therefore, as God is acquainted with the secrets of all hearts, it is impossible for us to hide anything from him. We ought humbly to confess our sins to God and implore forgiveness.

When we confess our sins, we must ask for mercy in the name of Jesus. He has died for our sins. I made up the loss to the little girl, but it was a very small trifle, it did not cost me much; but it cost Christ much suffering to atone for our sins. "He was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, that we through his poverty might be made rich." His precious blood was shed for us. The little girl had only broken a threepenny brooch; but we have lost our all. In Christ, however, we may have restored to us that "inheritance which is incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away."

I hope then, that, from this little story, the reader will learn; that they ought not to tell a lie to hide a fault; but to confess their sins to their heavenly Father, and seek forgiveness through Christ who died for sinners.

S. SMITH.

A MOURNFUL ACTOR DISMISSED.

AT Munich, in the year 1795, a new comedy was acted one night at the principal theatre. The part of one of the characters, whose duty it was to keep the audience in a perpetual roar of laughter, was sustained by a young man whose mournful actions and spiritless gestures were strangely at variance with the drolleries he uttered. He seemed to be about seventeen years old, his figure was tall and slender, his countenance pale, and his large blue eyes wore an expression of profound melancholy. The play was unmercifully hissed; and, as soon as it was over, while

the young actor was changing his dress, one of the atten dants made his appearance.

"Mr. Aloise Senefelder, "said he, "the manager wishes to speak to you immediately."

"Tell him I am coming," replied the young man; and hastily finishing his toilet, he repaired to the manager's

room.

"Mr. Senefelder," said the man in authority, "do you know that I am the author of the play acted to-night?

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'Yes, sir," said Aloise, timidly.

"Do you know the piece is condemned?”

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Sir," said Aloise, "I did my best

"To make it fail, and you have succeeded," said the incensed author. "From this moment you are no longer one of my company. Here is what I owe you- take it, sir, and withdraw.

Astonished at these words, Aloise stood like a statue. He seemed without power either to take the money or move. The book-keeper, who was present, at length took the few coins and placed them in his hand; and the cold contact of the silver recalling him to recollection, he clasped his hands convulsively together, and falling on his knees, burst into tears.

"Ah! don't send me away!- don't send me away!" he cried.

"In

"I want an actor, not a mourner," said the managerauthor, in whose ears the hisses were yet ringing. place of laughing, you weep."

"Sir, my father died two days ago, and is not buried for want of a coffin to contain his dear remains. My mother, and my five little brothers and sisters, have only me to depend on. Try me, then, Mr. Sparmann, try me once more, I beseech you."

"Sorry I can't grant your request," said the manager, taking up his hat and moving toward the door. As he passed Aloise, on whose pale face the burning tears seemed frozen by despair, the feelings of the man partly conquered

those of the author.

"Double the salary, and pay for the father's funeral,

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