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drove of pigs entered, and began to riot on the herbs and flowers. An alarm being sounded, Theodore and the servant boy rushed upon them, smacking their whips. The whole herd, in fright, took their course across Theodore's flowerbed, on which some of them had before been grazing. Stocks, daisies, and auriculas, were all trampled down or torn up; and what was worst of all, a large old sow ran directly over the beautiful rose-tree, and broke off its stem level with the ground. When Theodore came up, and beheld all the mischief, and especially his favourite rose strewed on the soil, rage and grief choked his utterance. After standing a while the picture of despair, he snatched up a spade that stood near, and with furious haste dug over the whole bed, and whelmed all the relics of his flowers deep under the soil. This exertion being ended, he burst into tears, and silently left the garden.
His father, who had beheld the scene at a distance, though somewhat diverted at the boy's childish violence, yet began seriously to reflect on the future consequences of such a temper, if suffered to grow up without restraint. He said nothing to him at the time, but in the afternoon he took him a walk into a neighbouring parish. There was a large wild common, and, at the skirts of it, a neat farm-house, with fields lying round it, all well fenced, and cultivated in the best manner. The air was sweetened with the bean-flower and clover. An orchard of fine young fruit lay behind the house; and before it a little garden, gay with all the flowers of the season. A stand of bee-hives was on the southern side, sheltered by a thick hedge of honeysuckle and sweet brier. The farm-yard was stocked with pigs and poultry. A herd of cows with full udders was just coming home to be milked. Every thing wore the aspect of plenty and good management. The charms of the scene struck Theodore very forcibly, and he expressed his pleasure in the warmest terms. "This place," said his father," belongs to a man who is the greatest example I know of patient fortitude bearing up against misfortune, and all that you see is the reward of his own perseverance. I am a little acquainted with him; and we will go in and beg a draught of milk, and try if we can prevail upon him to tell us his story." Theodore willingly accompanied his father. They were received by the farmer with cordial frankness. After they were seated, "Mr. Hardman," says Mr. Carleton, "I have often heard of part of your adventures, but never had a regular account of the whole. If you will favour me and my little boy with the story of them, we shall think ourselves much obliged to you."—"Lack a-day! Sir," said he, "there's little in them worth telling of, as far as I
