“_Please_ give me the book, uncle.” “I’m glad you don’t forget your charitable duties, Phil,” said his uncle, giving up the book with rather a mischievous smile. Phil took it in some confusion. He had heretofore thought but little more of his spendings than to remember his mother’s wish that he should keep an account of the money with which she had kept him so liberally supplied. Now, in looking over his hasty entries, he was astonished. “Well, well!” he exclaimed, as he added up one page: “two dollars and ninety cents for eating and play, and seventeen cents for giving, and I bragging to the boys what a good thing it is to give regularly!” He was a conscientious boy, and his heart smote him as he ran over the long list, and thought with his newly-awakened feelings, of the bread of life which that money might have carried to starving souls. If his mother had aimed to teach him a lesson through his account-book, she had not failed. He got up at last and stood before the glass. “Now, my young man,” said he, shaking his head very threateningly at the boyish face he saw there, “you know very well that a quarter for peanuts doesn’t look any larger to you than a pin’s head, and that a quarter for giving looks as big as a cart-wheel—but that’s got to stop, sir! This book isn’t going to hold any more accounts of dollars for trash and cents for Sunday-school.”—_The Christian Giver._ * * * * * RECEIPTS FOR MARCH, 1887. * * * * * MAINE, $168.30.