was in the best order.  John and Fred always went home on a Saturday, as Mr. Barton’s house was not far from L——.  Joe was a boarder entirely, his home was at a distance, and to this Fred Parker ascribed the superiority of his garden.  He was able to devote the whole of Saturday, which was a holiday, to its culture.  Well, the donkey of which I spoke, one day took a special fancy to the boys’ gardens; and it so happened, that he was beginning to apply himself to nibble the tops of Joe’s dahlias, which were just budding.  Joe was that day confined to the house with a severe cold, and little did he think as he lay in bed, sipping Mrs. Barton’s gruel and tea, of the scenes that were being enacted in his own dear garden.  Fred fortunately spied the donkey, and though there had been lately a little emulation between them, who should grow the finest dahlias, he at once carried out the principle of returning good for evil, drove the donkey off, even though his course lay over his own flower beds, and then set to work to repair the damage done.  A few minutes more, and all Joe’s dahlias would have been sacrificed.  Fred saved them, raked the border neatly, tied up the plants, and restored all to order again; and who can tell but those who thus act, the pleasure, the comfort of Fred’s heart?  Why, not the first prize at the horticultural show for the first dahlia in the country, would have given him half the joy; and a still nobler sacrifice he made—­he did not tell of his good deeds.  Now, Fred began to realise the pleasures of forbearance and kindness indeed.

There could not have been a better way of reaching young White’s heart than through his garden.  Fred’s was a fortunate commencement.  He never boasted of the act, but one of the boys told Mr. Barton, who did not fail to remind Joe of it at a suitable time, and that time was when White presented his master with a splendid bouquet of dahlias for his supper table, when he was going to have a party of friends.  The boys, who were treated like members of the family, were invited to join that party, and then did Mr. Barton narrate the scene of the donkey’s invasion, of which, however, the guests did not perceive the point; but those for whom it was intended understood it all.  At bed time that night, Joe White begged his school-fellow’s pardon for entangling his kite twine, and went to bed very humble and grateful, and with a little love and kindness dawning, which made his rest sweeter and his dreams happier.  Thus Fred began his lessons of love; it was thus he endeavoured to make Joe lovable, and congratulated himself on his first successful attempt.  He did not speak in the very words of the Poet, but his sentiments were the same, as he talked to John of his victory.

  “There is a golden chord of sympathy,
  Fix’d in the harp of every human soul,
  Which by the breath of kindness when ’tis swept,
  Wakes angel-melodies in savage hearts;
  Inflicts sore chastisements for treasured wrongs,
  And melts away the ice of hate to streams of love;
  Nor aught but kindness can that fine chord touch.”