when he heard his rough voice grumble beneath the window.

“Is that you, Master George? Why do you not make more haste. It will be morning before you are ready.”

George cautiously unclosed the casement; but, as he descended the ladder, his foot trembled so violently, that once or twice he had nearly fallen to the ground, to the great diversion of Simpson, who laughed at his visible agitation. Then withdrawing the ladder, for fear of detection, he presented George with one of the above-mentioned tools, and proceeded without further delay to the silent and peaceful dwelling of Mrs. Shirley.

As they walked over the meadow, George had leisure to reflect on what he was going to do; and he felt so heartily ashamed of himself, that he was half tempted to return: and happy had it been for him, had he listened to the voice that spoke within him.

Simpson marked his irresolution, and, being determined to make sure of his victim, tauntingly said—

“I did not think, Master George, you had been such a coward, after all the brag you made of your valour at school; but I suppose you and the Quaker have shaken hands, since he so kindly procured you that smart flogging. If I was you, I would wait on him, and humbly thank him for his generosity.”

This sarcasm did not fail in the desired effect. George felt all his animosity rise in his heart against Josiah; and, quickening his pace, they were soon within the quiet bounds of the Quaker’s garden.

They had scarcely begun their cruel devastation, before the Newfoundland dog set out barking in a furious manner.

“Let us return, Simpson,” whispered George; his cheeks blanching with terror as he remembered his rencounter with Rollo, on the preceding morning. “I forgot the dog; he is roused, and we shall certainly be caught.”

George and the Groom destroying the little Quaker’s garden at midnight. p. 29.

“Not we!” calmly replied the groom. “Let him bark,—he cannot hurt us, being chained in an outer yard, that comes against the road; and, as ’tis fair-night, they will only think he is barking at passengers, who may be returning in liquor, at this late hour.”

This was in fact the case; and the inmates of the house paid little regard to the noise Rollo made, though he continued to shake his chain, and growl in a frightful manner.

The garden being small, they soon destroyed most of the shrubs and flowers it contained; till, satiated with mischief, they were about to return; when, passing a root-house covered with ivy and creeping plants, curiosity led them to examine what it contained; and their malice was gratified, in discovering some beautiful foreign rabbits, confined in strong hutches. These they set at liberty, laughing heartily at the idea of what a hunt the young Quaker would have for them in the morning.

As they left the garden, Simpson purposely dropped the hatchet, with Lary’s name on it, near the gate which led to the meadow, where it would be most likely to be discovered; and, safely depositing the other in the place he took it from, they returned home. George re-ascended the ladder, and retired undiscovered to bed; and soon falling asleep, the events of the night appeared more like a troubled dream than reality.

The first rays of the sun had scarcely gilded the low white railing which separated the field from the Quaker’s garden before Josiah had risen from his bed, and returned thanks to God, who had thus graciously permitted him to behold, in health and strength, another day; and, with a light heart and clear conscience, he bounded down stairs, to breathe the fresh air, and to hail the first beauties of a fine morning in June.

This is indeed a pleasure unknown to those indolent beings who let the sun gain his meridian splendour before they reluctantly leave their slothful beds.

They see him, it is true, in the height of his power; but, at his uprising, the air is filled with harmonious sounds, the insect tribes are on the wing, and unite their feeble voice in the universal notes of praise.

With the sun, the wild tribes of nature awake to adore the goodness of their Creator; whilst the children of men, on whom he has conferred the greatest marks of his divine favour,—who, in intellectual endowments, so far surpass the animals round them, are often the last of all his creatures to leave a state of indolent ease, to return him thanks for the blessings he has bestowed on them.

Those who have ever seen, on a fine spring morning, the sparkling of the dews upon the grass, who have smelt the delicious perfume of re-opening flowers, who have heard the first joyous song of birds from among the verdant boughs, will be more willing to exclaim with fervour and devotion—

Thus thought our little hero, as, opening the garden-door, he felt the balmy breeze of a cloudless morning pass over his cheek, which glowed with health and innocence; as, raising his eyes to the glorious heavens, his spirit arose in devout aspirations to the divine author of his being.

How shall I describe the feelings of regret which filled his bosom, when he discovered the scene of ruin before him.

He rubbed his eyes, to assure himself that it was not a dream; that he was actually awake, and in the open air.

The work of his hands for years past was utterly destroyed; and, mild and forbearing as Josiah was, this unexpected misfortune overcame his philosophy; and he struggled in vain to suppress the tears which filled his soft blue eyes, and flowed down his rosy dimpled cheeks.

“What ails thee, dear Josiah?” said a sweet little girl, who had followed him out of the house. “Will not Josiah tell Cousin Rachel the cause of his grief?”

“Ah, Rachel!” he replied, wiping away his tears with the corner of her little apron, “I am indeed ashamed of my weakness; but see, some evil-disposed person has been here in the night, and destroyed all my nice flowers.”

Now, when Rachel beheld the devastation before her, and that even her own little garden in the corner had not escaped from the general wreck, she mingled her tears with Josiah’s.

Josiah comforted his cousin, and at length succeeded in mastering his own feelings.

“I know to repine is useless,” he said; “time and industry will repair my loss; and, though I feel it now severely, it may in the end be for the best: for I own I was too proud and too fond of my garden; and often dedicated hours to that, which I might have employed more profitably in study.”

As he ceased speaking, Dan Simpson passed; and, putting his head over the pales, said in a careless manner—

“A fine morning for your work, Master Shirley! You are determined the sun shall never call you lay-a-bed.”

“My work, Daniel, is at an end,” replied Josiah: “Step into the garden, and see what somebody has done in the night for me.”

With well-affected astonishment, Simpson surveyed the work of his own hands; then exclaimed, with an air of commiseration—