garden. The unlucky accident that gave rise to this foolish idea,
was as follows:-

"A little boy was running across the beautiful meadow one morning,
with a tin-pot full of fishing bait in his hand, when suddenly he
stumbled and fell down.

"The bait in the tin-pot was some lob-worms, which the little boy had
collected out of the garden adjoining the field, and they were spilt
and scattered about by his fall.

"He picked up as many as he could find, however, and ran off again;
but one escaped his notice and was left behind.

"This gentleman was insensible for a few seconds; but as soon as he
came to himself, and discovered that he was in a strange place, he
began to grumble and find fault.

"'What an uncouth neighbourhood!' Such were his exclamations. 'What
rough impracticable roads! Was ever lob-worm so unlucky before!' It
was impossible to move an inch without bumping his sides against some
piece of uncultivated ground.

"Judge for yourselves, my dears," continued Aunt Judy, pathetically,
"what must have been the feelings of the 'SOMETHING' which had lived
proudly and happily in the meadow field for so long, on hearing such
offensive remarks.

"Its spirit was up in a minute, just as yours would have been, and it
did not hesitate to inform the intruder that travellers who find