2. So his mamma got up one morning very early, and called Betty the maid, and said, Betty, I think we must make a cake for Harry, for he has learned his lesson very well. And Betty said, Yes, with all my heart.

3. So they made a nice cake; it was very large and stuffed full of plumbs, sweetmeats, orange and citron; and it was iced all over with sugar: it was white and smooth on the top like snow; and this cake was sent to school.

4. When little Harry saw the cake, he was very glad, and jumped about for joy, and he hardly staid for a knife to cut a piece, but gnawed it like a little dog.

5. So he ate till the bell rang for school, and after school, he ate again, and ate till he went to bed: nay, his bed-fellow told me he laid his cake under his pillow, and sat up in the night to eat some. And he ate, and ate, till it was all gone.

6. But presently after, this little boy was very sick and ill, and every body said, I wonder what is the matter with Harry' he used to be so brisk, and play about more nimbly than any of the boys; but now he looks pale, and is very ill.

7. And somebody said, Harry had a rich cake, and he ate it up very soon, and that has made him ill. So they sent for Dr. Camomile, and he gave him, I do not know how much bitter stuff." Poor Harry did not like it at all: it was a bitter pill, but the Doctor said, he must take it; or else he would have died, you know. However, at last he got well again; but his mamma said she would send him no more cakes.

8. Now, there was another boy, who was one of Harry's school-fellows; his name was Peter -the boys used to call him Peter careful.

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And Peter had written his mamma a very neat, pretty letter-there was not one blot in it all. So his mamma sent him a cake.

9. Now Peter thought with himself, I will not be so silly as to make myself sick with this good cake, as Harry did; I will keep it a great while. So he took the cake, and tugged it up stairs: it was heavy he could hardly carry it.

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10. And he locked it up in his box, and once a day he crept slily up stairs, and ate a very little piece, and then he locked his box again. So he kept it several weeks, and it was not gone, for it was very large:-But, behold! the mice got inte his box, and nibbled some.

11. And Peter's cake grew dry, and mouldy, and at last he was obliged to throw it away; and it grieved him to the very heart, but nobody was sorry for him.

12. Well, there was anothor little boy at the same school, whose name was Billy and one day his mamma sent him a cake, because she loved him dearly, and he loved her dearly: So, when the cake came, Billy said to his school-fellows, I have got a cake; come, let us go and eat it.

13. So, they came about him like a parcel of bees; and Billy took a slice of cake himself, and then gave a piece to one, and a piece to another, and a piece to another, till it was almost gone. Then Billy put the rest by, and said, We will eat this to-morrow. So he went to play, and the boys all played together very merrily.

14. But presently after, an old blind fiddler came into the yard: he had a long white beard; and because he was blind, he had a little dog in a string to lead him. So he came into the yard, and sat down upon a stone, and said, My pretty lads, if you will, I will play you a tune; and they

all left off their sport, and came and stood round him.

15. And Billy saw, that while he played, the tears ran down his cheeks. And Billy said, Good man, why do you cry? And the old man said, Because I am very hungry. I have nobody to give me any dinners or suppers: I have nothing in the world but this little dog: and I cannot work. If I could work, I would.

16. Then Billy went without saying a word, and brought the rest of the cake which he intended to have eaten the next day; and he said, Here, old man! here is some cake for you. The old man said, Where is it? for I am blind, I cannot see it. So Billy put it into his hat.

17. And the fiddler thanked him; and Billy was more glad than if he had eaten ten cakes.Pray which do you love best? do you love Harry, or Peter, or Billy best?

Chapter XXXVII. Thirty-seventh. Hospitality of Edwin, the Hermit, to a Stranger who had lost his way.

1. Here to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still;

And tho' my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.

Then turn to-night, and freely share,
Whate'er my cell bestows:

My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

2. No flocks that range the vallies free,
To slaughter I condenin;

Taught by that POWER that pities me,
I learn to pity them,

But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

3. Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego,
For earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:

The grateful stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

4. And now when worldly crowds retire,
To revels or to rest :

The Hermit trim'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest.
Then spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prest and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

Chapter XXXVIII. Thirty-eighth.

He that giveth to the Poor, lendeth to the Lord.

1. There was a poor man who was charitable to excess; for he gave away all that he had to relieve the necessities of others; chusing rather to throw himself upon Providence, than to deny

an alms to any one who asked him, so long as he had any thing to bestow.

2. Being at length, by his constant liberalities, reduced to a very indigent condition, he was forced to betake himself to digging for a livelihood.

3. Yet notwithstanding he gained his own bread by hard labour, he ceased not to show his wonted kindnesses to the poor; giving them whatever he could possibly spare from his own necessities.

4. One day, as he was digging in the field, he found several earthen pots of gold, supposed to be buried there in the time of the wars. The good man carried this huge treasure home to his house, with all imaginable privacy.

5. And having distributed the greatest part of it in charity, he was going with the last reserve to the house of a distressed widow, to whom he gave a sufficient sum to relieve her wants, being all he had left: When as he was returning home, he found a jewel in the high-way, which being sold, yielded him ten thousand crowns.

6. This was a noble bank for new liberalities, and a convincing argument, that there was something more than mere chance which thus strangely recruited his purse; that it might not lack something to give to the poor.

7. Blest is the man whose bowels move,
And melt with pity to the poor;
Whose soul with sympathising love,
Feels what his fellow saints endure.
His heart contrives for their relief,
More good than his own hands can do
He in the time of general grief,
Shall find the Lord hath bowels too