ANCIENT WRITING MATERIALS.

THE

HE most ancient substitutes for our modern paper were very rough and singular. In Babylon the letters and words of a record were traced on clay, which was afterwards burnt in the form of bricks or tiles, and these hard blocks have come down to us after many hundreds of years.

The next step was engraving on tables. of stone (as the tables of the Law given on Mount Sinai), and on plates of metal, such as lead, brass, bronze, and copper. Some learned folk think that the wanderings of the children of Israel can still be traced in the inscriptions that are found on the rocks in the desert. But the engraving on metal was for a long time the best method known to the ancients, as metal was enduring-a quality wanting in the leaves and bark of trees, both of which were often used.

The Greeks and Romans used wooden

tablets covered with wax, on which they wrote with a style, a kind of iron bodkin, pointed at one end and flat at the other, for smoothing the wax and making the corrections. These waxen tablets were used after the time of the Greeks and Romans. In Hanover there are twelve of them preserved, coated with bees'-wax. On them

are recorded the names of the owners of houses in that city, some time in the fourteenth century,

But the two most important writing materials in past ages were papyrus and parchment. Papyrus was made by the Egyptians from a reed growing on the banks of the Nile and other rivers. They cut the delicate coats of this into pieces of equal length. These were laid upon a board. and glued together, and a transverse coat fastened over them. The sheets were pressed, dried in the sun, and when polished with a shell they were fit for use. Papyrus was

Cruel! Stuff and nonsense! I don't care if it is! None of your girls' stupid notions for me!'

'Oh, please don't! I'll give you anything you like-my pocket-knife, Harry, that new pretty one, if you won't take the eggs; it's so cruel to the poor mother-bird!' And the tears stood in Carrie's eyes at the thought of it. But Harry was not to be persuaded; he laughed at his sister's tears, he laughed at her pocket-knife, which he called a duffer, only fit for girls,' and pushing her from him he ran away with his prize to show to his schoolmates.

Carrie went home crying, and her mother found her so, and asked all about it.

I am very angry with Harry,' she said. I can understand boys' games when they are brave and manly, but to rob a bird of

it's eggs just for a trifling, useless pleasure, is so mean and cruel!'

She said so to Harry when he came home to dinner, but he couldn't be made to feel ashamed; he argued that 'every fellow did it,' and it couldn't possibly be any harm. "Why, those are the bird's treasures!' said Mrs. Day. 'It's the same to her as it would be to a school-boy like you if some one carried off the things you set most store by; only it's worse, poor thing! when she's taken all the pains to prepare her nest for her young ones.'

Harry said nothing, but it was plain to see that he was not convinced by the look on his face, so Mrs. Day resolved to give him a lesson.

He was a clever boy in his way, and had a knack at carpentering, so his father had fitted him up a little workshop, and here he spent most of his evenings and all his spare time in the day; his tools and bits of wood were his great treasures, and no one was allowed to touch any of them.

A few days after the matter of the bird'snesting, when Harry went to his workshed, his sharp eyes soon saw something wrong. 'Who's been meddling here?' he said to himself. I didn't leave it like this!' That was at the first glance, but when he came closer Harry found that almost every tool was gone.

Harry was very angry. Some thief has been here, and no mistake!' he cried. 'Don't I wish I had him! wouldn't I let him know what came from meddling with my things! And he hurried off to the house to tell his grievances. The first person he met was Carrie, who followed him to the workshop, and stood looking at its state in surprise.

'Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!' she said. 'Who could have done it? It's a naughty trick to play you if it's done in fun.'

Fun!' cried Harry. 'I'd show the fellow a little fun of a different sort if I caught him! But I'll trap the thief sooner or later; for it is thieving, it's no fun at all. It's downright stealing, and nothing else!'

Evening came, and with it Harry's father returned from his business; and he, too, listened to the story with the same sympathy and pity which Carrie showed. Only one person in the house did not seem sorry, and that was Mrs. Day, who was usually the very first to share in every one's troubles.

'Mother, don't you think it's a shame?" said Harry at last.

Mrs. Day looked up coolly from her work. Well, upon the whole, no, Harry. It's hard for you, but I suppose it's been fun, or something of the sort, to the person who did it.'

'Why, mother,' exclaimed Carrie, 'don't you know that workshop is Harry's great pride and pleasure? He half-built it himself, and he keeps it so neat, and works so hard there!'

'Well, I don't know what's come to you, mother,' said Harry, crossly. You might at least be sorry for a fellow.'

'Oh, it's only fun; boys always do those sort of things,' said Mrs. Day.

A sudden light flashed through Harry's mind, as he guessed that 'mother' was at the bottom of all this.

Then Mrs. Day looked gently and steadily into the boy's face. 'You're better off than the poor bird, Harry; your treasures are not wholly lost, only hidden in my cupboard: but I fear you can't make up to her for the loss of hers.'

Harry grumbled, and felt rather cross about it all, but it had some effect; he never said out honestly that he wouldn't join in such cruel sport, but, all the same, no one ever again found him ready to go birds'-nesting.