ants? All day long they are working and toiling, instead of enjoying the fine weather, and diverting themselves like these flies, who are the happiest creatures in the world."

Some time after he had made this observation, the weather grew extremely cold, the sun was scarcely seen to shine, and the nights were chill and frosty. The same little boy, walking then in the garden, did not see a single ànt; but all the flies lay scattered up and down, either dead or dying. As he was very good-natured, he could not help pitying the unfortunate animals, and asking, at the same time, what had happened to the ànts that he had used to see in the same place.

The father said, "The flies are all dead, because they were càreless animals, who gave themselves no trouble about laying up provisions, and were too idle to work; but the ants, who had been busy all the summer, in providing for their maintenance during the winter, are all alive and well; and you will see them again, as soon as the warm weather returns."

8*

LESSON XXII.

THE POOR MAN'S GARDEN.

AH! yes, the poor man's garden!
It is great joy to me,

This little, precious piece of ground
Before his door to see!

The rich man has his gàrdeners,—
His gardeners young and old;
He never takes a spade in hand,
Nor worketh in the mould.

It is not with the poor man so,— Wealth, servants, he has none; And all the work that's done for him, Must by himself be done.

All day upon some weary task,

He toileth with good will;
And back he comes, at set of sun,
His garden-plot to till.

The rich man, in his garden-walks
And 'neath his garden-trees,—
Wrapped in a dream of other things,
He seems to take his ease.

One moment he beholds his flowers,
I
The next they are forgòt;

He eateth of his rarest fruits

As though he eat them not.

It is not with the poor man so ;—
He knows each ìnch of ground,
And every single plant and flower,
That grows within its bound.

And here is his potato-bed,

All well-grown, stróng, and grèen ; How could a rich man's heart leap up At anything so mean?

But he, the poor man, sees his crop,
And a thankful man is he,

For he thinks, all through the winter,
How rich his board will be !

And how his merry little ones
Beside the fire will stand,

Each with a large potato

In a round and rosy hand.

And here comes the old grandmother,
When her day's work is done;
And here they bring the sickly babe,
To cheer it in the sun.

And here, on Sabbath mornings,
The good man comes to get
His Sunday nosegay, moss-rose bud,
White pink, and mignionette.*

And here, on Sabbath evenings,
Until the stars are out,

* Pronounced min-yun-étt.

With a little one in either hand,
He walketh all about.

For though his garden-plot is small
Him doth it satisfy;

For there's no inch of all his ground
That does not fill his eye.

Yes! in the poor man's garden grow
Far more than herbs and flowers;
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of min
And joy for weary hours.

LESSON XXIII.

WORK.

THE day after Thomas came to his house, Mr. Barlow, as soon as breakfast was over, took him and Harry into the garden. When he was there, he took a spade into his own hand, and giving Harry a hoe, they both began to work with great eagerness. "Everybody that eats," said Mr. Barlow, "ought to assist in procuring food; and therefore little Harry and I begin our daily work, here. This is my bed, and that other is his: we work upon them every day; and he that raises the most out of his, will deserve to fare

the best. Now, Thomas, if you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground, which you shall have to yourself; and all the produce shall be your own." "No, indeed," said Thomas, very sulkily, "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave like a ploughboy!”* "Just

as you please," said Mr. Barlow; "but Harry and I, who are not above being useful, will mind our work."

In about two hours, Mr. Barlow said it was time to leave off; and taking Harry by the hand, he led him into a very pleasant summerhouse, where they sat down; and Mr. Barlow, taking out a plate of very fine ripe cherries, divided them between Harry and himself.

Thomas, who had followed, and expected his share, when he saw them both eating without taking any notice of him, could no longer restrain his passion, but burst into a violent fit of sobbing and crying." What is the matter?" said Mr. Barlow, very coolly, to him. Thomas looked upon him very sulkily, but returned no answer. "Oh! sir, if you don't choose to give me an answer, you may be silent; nobody is obliged to speak here."

*The tones of disdain, mockery, sarcasm, and raillery, take the circumflex, or wave, instead of the simple inflections.