The occasion was seized by James for drawing a lesson. "It is sometimes thus with us older children also," he said to Mary. "Like this rose tree, every pleasure in life has its thorns. We run towards them, and would fain seize them with both hands. Some are led away by a taste for the dance and theatre, others by a taste for strong drink, or still more shameful vices. But the thorns make themselves felt by and by, and then there comes lament for wasted youth, and a distaste for the pleasures once so eagerly sought. Do not let us be foolishly dazzled by the beauty of the world. The chief end which man has to care for is the saving of his soul, and it is folly to give ourselves up to the enjoyment of passion. Our unceasing effort should be to use all diligence to gain eternal life." One day James was employed in placing young plants in a part of the garden, while Mary was weeding at a little distance from him. "This double labour, my child," said her father, "represents what should be the occupation of our life. Our heart is a garden which the good God has given to us to cultivate. It is necessary that we should constantly apply ourselves to cultivate the good and to extract the evil, which is too apt to take root. That we may fulfil faithfully these two duties, let us implore God's assistance and blessing, which makes the sun to shine out and the rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit to ripen. Then will our hearts be delightful gardens. We shall then have heaven within ourselves." In this way the old man and his daughter passed through life, active and industrious in their calling, and mingling innocent pleasures and instructive conversation with their daily pursuits. Three years passed swiftly away, and the happy days they had spent at Pine Cottage had almost blotted out the memory of their past misfortunes. It was now autumn time, and the chrysanthemums, the last ornaments of the garden, were glorious in red and yellow flowers. The leaves of the trees had become of varied tints, and everything showed that the garden was preparing for the winter's repose. James had lately begun to feel his strength failing, and the thought of his daughter's future gave him considerable uneasiness. He concealed his feelings from her for fear of distressing her, but Mary observed that her father's remarks upon the flowers were now mostly of a melancholy kind. One day she observed a rose-bud which had never blossomed. In attempting to gather it the leaves of the flower fell off in her hand. "It is the same with men," said her father, who had been watching her. "In youth we resemble the rose newly opened, but our life fades like the rose. Almost before it is matured, it passes away. Do not pride yourself, my dear child, upon the beauty of the body. It is vain and fragile. Aim rather at beauty of soul and true piety, which will never wither."