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satisfaction as if I was taking possession of an estate. My wife had enough to do in taking care of the house and children, so it lay with me to provide for all, and I may say that I was not idle. Besides my weekly pay from the steward, I contrived to make a little money at leisure times by pruning and dressing gentlemen's fruit trees. I was allowed a piece of waste ground behind the house for a garden, and I spent a good deal of labour in bringing it into order. My old master sent me down for a present some choice young trees and flower-roots, which I planted, and they throve wonderfully. Things went on almost as well as I could desire. The situation being dry and healthy, my wife recovered her lost bloom, and the children sprung up like my plants. I began to hope that I was almost out of reach of further misfortune; but it was not so ordered.

“I had been three years in this situation, and increased my family with another child, when my lord died. He was succeeded by a very dissipated young man, deep in debt, who presently put a stop to the planting and improving of the estate, and sent orders to turn off all the workmen. This was a great blow to me; however, I still hoped to keep my little house and garden, and I thought I could then maintain myself as a nurseryman and gardener. But a new steward was sent down to rack the tenants to the utmost. He asked me as much for the rent of the place as if I had found the garden ready made to my bands; and when I told him it was impossible for me to pay it, he gave me notice to quit immediately. He would neither suffer me to take away my trees and plants, nor allow me anything for them. His view, I found, was to put in a favourite of his own, and set him up at my expense. I remonstrated against this cruel injustice, but could obtain nothing but hard words. As I saw it would be the ruin of me to be

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turned one in that manner, I determined, rather hastily, to go up to London, and plead my cause with my new lord. I took a sorrowful leave of my family, and, walking to the next market town, I got a place on the outside of the stage coach. When we were within thirty or forty miles of London, the coachman overturned the coach, and I pitched directly on my head, and was taken up senseless. Nobody knew anything about me, so I was carried to the next village, where the overseer had me taken to the parish workhouse. Here I lay a fortnight, much neglected, before I came to my senses. As soon as I became sensible of my condition, I was almost distracted in thinking of the distress my poor wife must be under on my account, not hearing anything of me. I lay another fortnight before I was fit to travel, for, besides the hurt in my head, I had a broken collar-bone, and several bruises. My money had somehow all got out of my pocket, and I had no other means of getting away than by being passed to my own parish. I returned in sad plight indeed, and found my wife very ill in bed. My children were crying about her, and almost starving. We should now have been quite lost, had I not raised a little money by selling our furniture; for I was yet unable to work. As soon as my wife was somewhat recovered, we were forced to quit our house. I cried like a child on leaving my blooming garden and flourishing plantations, and was almost tempted to demolish them, rather than another should unjustly reach the fruit of my labours. But I checked myself, and I am glad I did. We took lodgings in a neighbouring village, and I went round among. the gentlemen of the country to see if I could get a little employment. In the meantime the former steward came down to settle accounts with his successor, and was much concerned to find me in such a situation. He was a very able and honest man, and had been engaged by another nobleman to superintend a large improvable estate in a distant part of the kingdom. He told me if I would try my fortune with him once more, he would endeavour to procure me a new settlement. I had nothing to lose, and therefore was willing enough to run any hazard, but I was destitute of means to convey my family to such a distance. My good friend, who was much provoked at the injustice of the new steward, said so much to him, that he brought him to make me an allowance for my garden ; and with that I was enabled to make another removal. It was to the place I now inhabit.

“ When I came here, sir, all this farm was a naked common, and like that you crossed in coming. My lord got an enclosure bill for this part of it, and the steward divided it into different farms, and let it on improving leases to several tenants. A dreary spot to be sure it looked at first, enough to sink a man's heart to sit down upon it. I had a little unfinished cottage given me to live in, and, as I had nothing to stock a farm, I was for many years head labourer and planter about the new enclosures. By very hard working and saving, together with a little help, I was at length enabled to take a small part of the ground I now occupy. I had various discouragements, from bad seasons and other accidents. One year the distemper carried off four out of seven cows that I kept; another year I lost two of my

best horses. A high wind once almost entirely destroyed an orchard I had just planted, and blew down my biggest barn. But I was too much used to misfortunes to be easily disheartened, and my way always was to set about repairing them in the best manner I could, and leave the rest to heaven. This method seems to have answered at last. I bave now gone on many years in a course of continued

prosperity, adding field to field, increasing my stock, and bringing up a numerous family with credit. My dear wife, who was my faithful partner through so much distress, continues to share my prosperous state; and few couples in the kingdom, I believe, have more cause to be thankful for their lot. This, sir, is my history. You see it contains nothing very extraordinary, but if it impresses on the mind of this young gentleman the maxim that patience and perseverance will scarcely fail of a good issue in the end, the time you have spent in listening to it will not entirely be lost.”

Mr. Carleton thanked the good farmer very heartily for the amusement and instruction he had afforded them, and took leave with many expressions of regard. Theodore and he walked home, talking by the way of what they had heard.

Next morning Mr. C., looking out of the window, saw Theodore hard at work in his garden. He was carefully disinterring his buried flowers, trimming and cleaning them, and planting them anew. He had got the gardener to cut a slip of the broken rose-tree, and set it in the middle to give it a chance for growing. By noon everything was laid smooth and neat, and the bed was well filled. All its splendour, indeed, was gone for the present, but it seemed in a hopeful way to revive again. Theodore looked with pleasure over his work; but his father felt more pleasure in witnessing the first-fruits of Farmer Hardman's story.

This, sir, is my history. You see it contains nothing very extraordinary, but if it impresses on the mind of this young gentleman the maxim that patience and perseverance will scarcely fail of a good issue in the end, the time you have spent in listening to it will not entirely be lost.


(In the battle of the Nile the French ship L'Orient caught

fire and exploded. Casabianca was the son of the French Admiral. He remained at his post in obedience to the orders of his father, and so perished.]

The boy stood on the burning deck,

Whence all but him had fled ;
The flame, that lit the battle's wreck,

Shone round him-o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud though child-like form!

The flames rolled on-he would not go

Without his father's word ;-
That father, faint in death below

His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud : "Say, father! say,

If yet my task is done ?
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

“ If

may yet he gone!

“Speak, father!” once again he cried,

And”—but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death,

In still, yet brave despair;

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