"I remember, too, soon after he came home and married, that a man was hung not far from here for murdering his wife. The man was a drunkard, though he was quite sober when he killed the poor woman; and drunkenness had hardened his heart. I have no doubt, as it will the heart of any man. Tom was talking to me about that man, and I remember he said then that when a man _began_ to drink, he could never say where it would end, nor what he would do: 'therefore,' said Tom, 'beware of the _first_ drink.' But Tom, though he talked like a Christian and a man about it, did not act like one: for it was not long before he began to follow his bad habit, and he soon killed his poor mother; for she died of grief and sorrow, I think. His excellent wife speedily followed her to the grave; and Tom Smith left the village, a perfect vagabond, whom no one cared for. Where he went, or what he did for a long time, no person here knows. I went to other countries, and neither heard of nor saw Tom Smith until my return home, when I found him wandering about here, a gray-headed swearer and drunkard. He did not know me, and I never should have known him, had not some one told me who he was. And last night I received a letter from one of my nephews in the city, which informed me that Tom Smith had been tried in the court, and found guilty of stealing, and was sent to the state prison for ten years to hard work. There I suppose he will die for he is now old; and it is awful to think of what is then to become of his soul. Ah, my dear boys! I could not help thinking, when I read my letter, of what that man said to me years ago--and I have told you his story, hoping that you will remember his words, 'Beware of the _first_ drink.' The man who does that will never be a drunkard. And when old Uncle Philip is laid in the grave, boys, which must be before many years, remember, as you look upon the place, that he told you the story of Tom Smith, and charged you to 'beware of the _first_ drink.' "But here come some of the boys, running towards us; I suppose they have found something." "Oh, Uncle Philip! Uncle Philip! Do come with the boys this way. Under that fence yonder there are a great many beautiful wild flowers, and a number of bees are as busy as they can be about them; pray come and see them." "Well, I will; but not so fast, boys; you forget that I am an old man, and cannot run as you do.--So, here are, indeed, a great many industrious little workmen." "What are they doing, Uncle Philip?" "These are _workers_ among the bees, and they are gathering the dust out of the flowers, to work it up into what is commonly called bee-bread. More tools here, boys!" "Tools, Uncle Philip! Ah, we like that: pray let us hear of them; what are they?" "Why, there is a brush and a basket in the legs of these little fellows; but they are so small that you cannot see them without a microscope." "What is a microscope?"