ut against the naughty rose
bush for having attracted him by its pretty flowers and then cruelly
torn his hands.

The occasion was seized by James for drawing a lesson. "It is sometimes
thus with us older children also," he said to Mary. "Like this rose
tree, every pleasure in life has its thorns. We run towards them, and
would fain seize them with both hands. Some are led away by a taste for
the dance and theatre, others by a taste for strong drink, or still
more shameful vices. But the thorns make themselves felt by and by, and
then there comes lament for wasted youth, and a distaste for the
pleasures once so eagerly sought. Do not let us be foolishly dazzled by
the beauty of the world. The chief end which man has to care for is the
saving of his soul, and it is folly to give ourselves up to the
enjoyment of passion. Our unceasing effort should be to use all
diligence to gain eternal life."

One day James was employed in placing young plants in a part of the
garden, while Mary was weeding at a little distance from him. "This
double labour, my child," said her father, "represents what should be
the occupation of our life. Our heart is a garden which the good God
has given to us to cultivate. It is necessary that we should constantly
apply ourselves to cultivate the good and to extract the evil, which is
too apt to take root. That we may fulfil faithfully these two duties,
let us implore God's assistance and blessing, which makes the sun to
shine out and the rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit to
ripen. Then will our hearts be delightful gardens. We shall then have
heaven within ourselves." In this way the old man and his daughter
passed through life, active and industrious in their calling, and
mingling innocent pleasures and instructive conversation with their
daily pursuits.

Three years passed swiftly away, and the happy days they had spent at
Pine Cottage had almost blotted out the memory of their past
misfortunes. It was now autumn time, and the chrysanthemums, the last
ornaments of the garden, were glorious in red and yellow flowers. The
leaves of the trees had become of varied tints, and everything showed
that the garden was preparing for the winter's repose. James had lately
begun to feel his strength failing, and the thought of his daughter's
future gave him considerable uneasiness. He concealed his feelings from
her for fear of distressing her, but Mary observed that her father's
remarks upon