Though cold was the weather, and dear was the food, For this he was constantly heard to declare, For why should I grumble and murmur, he said; If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, If any one wronged him, or treated him ill, And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world, without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tompkins, the hedger and ditcher. LESSON L. THE DIRTY BOY. OH fie! little Freddy, To cry to be washed, And see, here are hands, too, Think, love, of those children, Whom you, Master Freddy, Who've no one, their wants Or their health to attend : No father, no mother, And scarcely a friend. How glad would they be, Had they parents, like you, Whatever they wished For their comfort, to do. Sure, haughty and wicked There, that's a good boy, Now you're blooming and nice; I thought you'd be willing To take good advice. Those children, who fancy You now are so rosy I scarcely should know The sweep, that you looked like, Five minutes ago. Go, run to your mother, And ask a sweet kiss, LESSON LI. THE WAY NEVER TO CRY. WHEN little Robert Smith was about seven years of age, he was sitting one day on a little step before the door of his father's house, crying very much. Just at that time, Robert's uncle came to fetch him, to play with his little cousins: but as soon as his uncle saw his red eyes, and how dirty he had made his face, by wiping the tears away with his dirty hands, he thought he would not take Robert that day, but would rather wait, and see if he would not be a better boy. "For," said his uncle to himself, "I cannot walk through the streets with a naughty boy; and I am sure he must have been naughty, or he would have no cause to cry." When his uncle came up to the little step where Robert sat, he said, "Well, Robert, are you always crying? What is the matter?" "Dear uncle," answered Robert, sobbing and rubbing his face again with his dirty hands; "I cry almost all day long."-" Where is your pockethandkerchief?" said his uncle; "you should not wipe your face with those dirty hands." "I have lost my handkerchief," answered Robert. "Did any one take it out of your pocket?" asked his uncle. "No," said Robert: "I laid it down some where, and when I wanted it, I could not find it; I am sure it must be lost." "But, my dear Robert," said his uncle, "whenever you use your pocket-handkerchief, you should never lay it down, but always put it in your pocket; for if you do not know where you have put it, you can never know where to find it." Robert cried and sobbed still louder than before; and stammered out as well as he could, "Dear uncle, don't you find fault with me too; every body reproves me all day long. "When I go to school, my master reproves me for not saying my lesson; when I come home, the maid says, 'O you naughty boy, what a house you make with your dirty feet;' when I go into the parlour, my father says, 'Why do you not shut the door after you?' "My brothers and sisters are angry, and quarrel with me, whenever I break or lose any of their playthings: and now I have been turned out of the room, because I did not go to dinner when the servant called me, but staid to finish my game at ball with that little boy you met as you came. Is it not very hard, dear uncle, is it not very sad?" When Robert had done, his uncle said, "Yes, my dear little boy, I dare say you find it very hard to be found fault with; but you should remember, my love, that nobody ever finds fault with good children, and that if you were to try not to do wrong, nobody would ever make you cry. "Now I think it would be better, when you come from school in the afternoon, if you were never to go |