A SPOILT CHILD. 195 could possibly be obtained. He loved the fireside, and never engaged in the health-giving recreations of his more active companions. He loved his bed, too. A proverb says, 'A lazy boy and a warm bed are difficult to part;' Tommy never crept out of his until breakfast was nearly over, so he was almost invariably late for school; his parents did not like to hurry him, in fact he was very seldom at school, he disliked it too much, and his mother did not urge him to go, she was fearful that the application necessary to learn a lesson would give him a headache, or the stooping posture weaken his chest. There was only one thing Tommy did well,-he could not play, and when he ever attempted to join a game of cricket, or trap-ball, he could make no figure at it, he was too much afraid of hurting himself, but Tommy could eat, and eat he did, as much at every meal as would have satisfied two boys possessed of ordinary boy appetites; he was never stinted, and consequently ate more than was good for him, which could be plainly seen in his dulllooking eyes, and unhealthy complexion. "Years went on. It was time for Tommy to be put to some profession; but what profession would he suit was the question. He tried several, each of which he quickly threw up, the work was too hard. 'Poor boy,' said his parents, 'he shall never want while we have a crust in the cupboard, and a penny in the pocket.' So Tommy remained at home, spending most of his time in bed during the cold winter weather, and slumbering out in the sunshine during summer. In a few years both his parents died, and Tommy was left to shift for himself, and a very shiftless fellow he was, I can assure you; he soon made ducks and drakes of the little money his father had left him, and in a little time came to actual want, and knew not which way to turn to earn himself a crust of bread. "At last he retired to the great house, the workhouse, where he very shortly died, and received a pauper's burial. Such was Tommy, his life and his end, and very many, I am afraid there have been, and are, like him, poor coddled up shiftless pieces of human nature who are a disgrace to themselves, and encumberers of the world in which they drag out their miserable existence. Learn to love work, my boy, learn to love work." We left the churchyard together, but whenever I passed through it again, or through any other one, I remembered what Lame Felix had said concerning work. "As darkness and doubt Are the gateways of heaven, An insight is given. In dreariest wastes Sweet flowers have their birth; The night curtains the earth; And all exquisite tones That the ear ever heard, Are but the deep groans That the spirit has stirred." "Corn is cleaned with wind, and the soul with chas tenings." THE PARIAN DOVE, OR A FEW WORDS ABOUT SORROW. AME FELIX had been visiting a home where sorrow had taken up its abode; he had done his best to help still the great pain in the heart, and dry the tears of the sorrowing ones. This visit had made him unusually serious and thoughtful. He sat by his blazing fire, watching the sparkling flames as they darted hither and thitherconsuming wherever they went-and smoking his pipe in silence. Boy after boy had dropped in for his usual evening's chat, but, respecting the old man's mood, they had seated themselves in silence. At length the smoking came to an end, the ashes were knocked from the pipe, the pipe laid carefully on one side, and Lame Felix began to talk. "Boys," he commenced, "boys, pain and sorrow are great mysteries; the more I think of them the |