“Mary,” said George, “next summer I will not have a garden. Our pretty tree is dying, and I won’t love another tree as long as I live. I will have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter.”

George, don’t you remember my beautiful canary bird? It died in the middle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground where we buried it. My bird did not live as long as the tree.”

“Well, I don’t see as we can love anything. Dear little brother died before the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, or tree, or flower. Oh! I wish we could have something to love that wouldn’t die.”

The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost forgot that their tree was dying; but at evening, as they drew their chairs to the table where their mother was sitting, and began to arrange the seeds they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree came upon them.

“Mother,” said Mary, “you may give these seeds to cousin John; I never want another garden.”

“Yes,” added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully folded them towards his mother, “you may give them all away. If I could find some seeds of a tree that would never fade, I should like then to have a garden. I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a garden?”

“Yes, George, I have read of a garden where the trees never die.”

“A real garden, mother?”

“Yes, my son. In the middle of the garden, I have been told, there runs a pure river of water, clear as chrystal, and on each side of the river is the tree of life, a tree that never fades. That garden is heaven. There you may love and love for ever. There will be no death no fading there. Let your treasure be in the tree of life, and you will have something to which your young hearts can cling, without fear, and without disappointment. Love the Saviour here, and he will prepare you to dwell in those green pastures, and beside those still waters.”

Every neglected opportunity draws after it an irreparable loss, which will go into eternity with you.–­Doddridge.