thing that Fred shewed them; and he took great pains to amuse them. He took them to visit his doves, and the poultry-yard and neighbouring rookery, the garden, the pig-styes; and they went out gleaning and nutting together, and seemed determined to be pleased with every thing that there was to be seen or done in the country. At last it was settled that they should have a day's apple-gather ing in John Dewar's orchard. Baskets and sacks were provided; and the three boys and Ben Jones (old Mark's grandson) began their work with great eagerness. Presently it was discovered that they had only brought one ladder with them, so that only two could work at once. "I will run back and fetch another," said James Ormond, the youngest of Fred's cousins. He soon returned with it; and he and his brother fixed upon an apple-tree to begin with. Stephen mounted into the tree, and James stood on the highest round of the ladder, with his basket ready to receive the apples which Stephen showered down upon him. It was nearly filled, when, all at once, there was a crash. The ladder broke; and James, with his heavy load, came to the ground. There he lay without movement; while his brother descended from the tree as quickly as possible, and called loudly to Fred and Ben Jones to come to his assistance. They tried to raise him from the ground, but found that one leg was completely doubled under him. His head had fallen, too, against the stump of a tree; and he was stunned, if not severely injured.

"Stay here with James, Fred," cried Stephen, "while I fetch uncle and his men. Oh, Fred, his leg is broken, I'm sure! Run, Ben, for the doctor!" And, almost wild with grief and terror, he ran off to the house.

His uncle came; and they raised the poor boy from the ground, and carried him into the house: but during the few minutes that Fred was left alone with his cousin, his eye glanced on the broken lad

der; and he saw at once that it was one which his father had desired him, the week before, to take to the carpenter's to be mended. "It was not safe," he said, "and might break down any day; so be sure, Fred, you take it at once."

Alas! Fred, from his old habit of putting off doing that which he was told to do, had neglected it from day to day, and had forgotten to warn his cousin that it was unsafe; and now what were the consequences? He was lying senseless before him, severely, if not fatally hurt; and his parents' grief, 1 and all the misery which he should cause, passed quick as lightning through Fred's mind. He knelt in agony by his cousin's side, and fervently prayed that his life at least might be spared.

James was carried to the house; and the surgeon soon came. It was then found that his head was not much injured, though the severity of the fall had stunned him; but his leg was broken in two places, and it must of course be some weeks, if not months, before he could rise from his bed. The surgeon had no fears for his life at first; but towards the second night the fever was so high, that he was for some hours in great danger.

The distress of poor Fred during this night was greater than can be described. The moans which his cousin's pain drew from him at times, seemed to cut him to the heart; and his uncle and aunt's grief and anxiety were more than he could bear to see. He confessed, of course, to them, as well as to his father, that he had been the cause of the accident. They did not reproach him; for they saw that the workings of his own conscience were more powerful than any words of theirs could be, and they were too kind-hearted to add to his distress by shewing the full extent of theirs.

But I must bring my tale to an end. In time James recovered; but many months passed before he was able to walk at all, and indeed he was slightly lame to the end of his life. Fred felt that

he could never do enough for one upon whom his negligence had brought so much suffering; and he waited upon his cousin with the greatest attention and care throughout his illness. He was always upon the watch to fetch and carry for him; and would sit for hours by his bedside or easy chair, trying to amuse him by reading or talking to him. His prayers for his cousin's recovery, and his resolutions to cure himself of the bad habit which had brought such misery upon him, were constant and earnest. The lesson he had received was most severe, and its effects were lasting. If he was ever tempted to put off doing what he was told to do,—and habits long indulged in can seldom be thrown off at once,—the recollection of his cousin's suffering, and the sight of his lameness, were constantly before him to remind him of his danger.

And now will any one venture to call Fred's "a little fault?" Many, it is true, have been guilty of it, and have not met with so severe a punishment; but all may be sure, that those who indulge in such a habit will be useless and unprofitable all their days. Their times and opportunities of doing right and doing good will slip by them, day by day, unseen or unnoticed; and they will be at last like the fig-tree which bore no fruit, and on which the awful sentence was pronounced, "Cut it down: why cumbereth it the ground?"

A VIRGINIAN king, when the Europeans had fixed a lock on his door, was so delighted to find his subjects admitted or excluded with such facility, that it was from morning to evening his whole employment to turn the key. We, among whom locks and keys have been longer in use, are inclined to laugh at the American amusement; yet I doubt whether I have a single reader who may not apply the story to himself, and recollect some hours of his life in which he has been equally overpowered by the transitory charms of some trifling novelty.-Dr. Johnson.

1 St. Luke xiii. 7.

215

POETRY.

66
FROM VERSES BY A POOR MAN."

THE poor man speaks in the warmth of his heart
Of the pleasures of sweet wild flowers;

They cost us nothing for all their delight,

And bloom in the calm summer-hours.

How the poor man is pleased to look round him and see Roses and daisies, and the sweet wild

pea,

The foxglove too, in its own tall pride,
Hangs its purple bells by every hedge-side.

But, oh, for the primrose in early spring,
Oh, is it not truly a beautiful thing?
And when you go out in a balmy morn,

You meet the rich breath of the sweet hawthorn.

And in evening time, by the shadowy dell,
The perfume is there of the modest blue-bell.

Oh, thanks be to God for His beautiful flowers,
That bloom for mankind in the calm summer-hours!

HYMN.

WE praise Thee, Lord, who dost us keep;
Thy angels watch when we do sleep,
To guard us whilst we rest,
From devil, man, or beast;

Thou'rt our great Shepherd, we Thy sheep.

We throw ourselves into Thy arms:
Sweet Jesus, keep us from hell's charms,
From earth's entangling snares,

From pleasures vain, and cares,

From every sin, or other harms.

Make us true children in the Spirit,
Such as Thy glory may inherit,
Meek, mild, and full of love,
As sprung from the Holy Dove;
So form'd by grace, not our own merit.