A MISJUDGED FRIEND.

The gardener shut the garden gate, And went to weed the onion-bed: The growing plants stood tall and straight; "But what is this?" surprised he said. Some broken bricks, some stones and sticks, And underneath them, crushed and dead, A large brown toad! "James, Martin, Fred!" He called three little boys, who played Near by, beneath a pear-tree's shade, And sternly asked, "What cruel play Is this you've been about to-day?" "'Tis very hard we should be blamed, I'm sure!" poor little James exclaimed: "We only killed the toad because An ugly-looking thing he was,— So very ugly, that we knew He surely would some mischief do. He had great warts upon his back, And curious blotches, greenish black, And darting tongue, and strange flat head"— "And how he sprawled his legs!" cried Fred. "His mouth," said Martin, "was so wide, It reached far round on either side; And queer winks with his eyes he'd give: We did not dare to let him live. We had to kill that toad because An ugly-looking thing he was." The gardener gravely shook his head; "It was a heartless act," he said; "And, more than that, you may depend Upon my word, you've killed a friend; For often, at my work, I've found This same toad near me, hopping round, And, watching him, I've learned that he My constant helper used to be,— A second gardener, with no pay, Who still was busy every day. "He killed the young potato-bugs, The caterpillars, and the slugs, The beetles striped with yellow lines, That spoil the tender melon-vines, And looked round with his blinking eyes For cabbage-worms and turnip-flies, Low-flying moths with downy wings, And slimy snails in shady nooks. It was the cruellest of things To kill poor Hop Toad for his looks. "And if, when you shall older grow, You strangers judge by outward show, You'll be as foolish as unjust: In worthless men you'll put your trust, And often sorrow, in the end, For having wronged some honest friend.