pious, and one who never allowed anything that was wrong to pass unreproved.

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I had no sooner arrived at my uncle's farm, than I began to favour my cousins, who were much older and wiser than myself, with my advice. "If I were you," said I to one of them, "I would not wear such thick, hobnailed shoes, tied round the ankles; for they are much heavier than mine, and not half so comfortable." And, if I were you,” said I to the other, "I would have that dirty smockfrock of yours washed directly. If you were to come up to town in such a dirty frock, everybody would laugh at you." My cousins remained silent; and I thought it odd that neither of them promised to do what I had advised. I did not confine my advice, however, to my cousins and their dress. As I was out walking with my uncle, we passed large heaps of manure piled up beside the stables and cow-houses. "If I were you, uncle," I began, "I would have that dirty

0

heap taken away directly. My father would never allow such a thing to be upon his premises. Clean straw might do well enough if it were kept tidy, but such a heap of dirt is not fit to be seen anywhere. If I were you, I would set the men to work directly to carry it away."

"Give me a little time to consider about it," said my uncle, winking to the old shepherd, who happened to be standing near; "give me a little time to consider about it. You city people are very clever, no doubt; but we country folk have our old-fashioned ways. I think I shall let the heap lie where it is a little longer, anyhow; and then, perhaps, I may take your advice." The next day, in the ploughed field, I again told my uncle how to proceed. "If I were you, uncle," said I, "I would have the ploughed field

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raked all over, and then it would not be half so rough as it is now. Our gardener always rakes over the ground that he has dug, and

he makes it so nice and smooth that it is beautiful to look at. If I were you, I would have the ploughed field raked.” “A capital plan, Robert!" replied my uncle; "and if you will be kind enough just to rake over this one field-it is not above thirty, or five-and-thirty acres-why, if I like the look of it, I will have every ploughed field on the farm done in the same way;" but, as it suited me better to give advice than to follow it myself, I said nothing.

It happened that the hay in one of the meadows was carried rather too soon, so that when it was made into a rick, not being sufficiently dry, it heated, and began to smoke, and many thought that it would take fire. "Uncle uncle !" said I, "If I were you, I would have it well sprinkled with water, and that will make all right, depend upon it." My uncle thanked me, but only gave orders to cut a hole from the top of the rick down to the middle of it, to give it air; but I

thought that my plan would have been a great deal the better of the two. When, towards harvest, I went out with my uncle into the corn fields, and saw the red poppies, and the blue corn-flowers growing among the wheat, and when we crossed a meadow, in one part of which were a few thistles in full bloom, again I began to advise him. "If I were you, uncle," said I, looking very wisely, “I would have a great many more of those red and blue flowers among the wheat-they look so pretty! And as to the field there, why cannot you sow a few more thistles? The purple flower of the thistle is beautiful; you might make the field look like a garden. If I were you, I would lose no time in attending to these things." "Thank you, Robert," replied my uncle, "I will be sure to think over what you have said; thank you! thank you! What a pity it is that you do not live altogether in the country! We often want somebody to set us right; and you seem to have

a quick eye in your head, and to see everything."

Though my uncle Oliver had goodnaturedly reproved me many times, my selfconceit was not at all abated. He saw therefore that a little more severity was necessary. It was when three farmers' sons from a distance called at the farm house, that he gave me the rebuke for which I have ever since had reason to be thankful. Under the plea of amusing his young friends, he addressed them in the following manner, when he knew that I was in the little room adjoining, listening to every word :

"I will tell you," said he, "an amusing story. If there be a quality in young people that is to be commended, it is that of modesty or humility; and if there be one to be blamed, it is that of self-conceit. Self-conceit shuts the door to improvement, and renders its possessor a laughing-stock to others.

"Some time ago, a little boy, brought up