"Dear me! what a very nice thing!"

"You do not think she would object to it, then?"

"Oh no! I am persuaded she would like it exceedingly. She is so very anxious not to be burthensome to her mother!

more womanly than she was.

And she is much

Her manners are

so quiet and pleasant, that I feel sure you will like her."

"Well, it may be that if I found her enough of a governess for Rosaline and Flora, we may make a permanent engagement; but I shall prefer seeing what is in her first, which I can very well do during the holidays. She is very young, I believe."

"Barely seventeen. Too young for Arbell."

“Oh, I am not thinking of Arbell. Arbell is getting on very well at present; the chief danger is of her doing too much. She is growing fast, and I shall not be sorry to slacken her lessons a little for some months. If I find I can leave the children quite comfortably with Miss Prout, at Hardsand, Mr. Pevensey and I shall probably take Arbell with us on a tour of some extent. It

will open her mind, and give her something to remember with pleasure, all the rest of her life."

"It will, indeed, be a great treat to her; and it is such an advantage to young people to see new and interesting places with their parents. Is she sorry Mademoiselle is going away?

"Not sorry; but she behaves to her very pleasantly, and is busy in my room, at every spare moment, working a present for her. Arbell is very clever at her needle."

"That is a good thing, for every woman ought to be so, whatever her condition. How it beguiled the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots! Queen Caroline, the wife of George II., used to do great quantities of knotting. And think how Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and Madame Royale, used to mend their own clothes and those of the poor king, in the tower of the Temple. No doubt it, in some measure, diverted their thoughts from their sad fate. The tranquillizing effect of needle-work is what our impulsive, excitable sex cannot be too grateful for.”

"My mother knew an old Scotch countess,"

said Mrs. Pervensey, "who, in her latter days, used often to exclaim, piteously, 'Oh, that I could sew!""

6

After a pause she resumed:-"I have sometimes puzzled myself about the much-vexed question, 'Should we try to do good in the world at large, before we have done all the good that needs to be done at home?' There is a great cry got up against Mrs. Jellaby, and other pseudo-representatives of a class whose sympathies are widely engaged; and so much has been said about charity beginning at home, and charity that ends there,' that one gets rather perplexed. The Bishop of Oxford has, I think, lately settled the question. He said, 'Our Saviour foresaw and provided against it, by dispersing His disciples far and wide, while yet much remained to be done in Jerusalem.' Here is a guide, then, for us: we may do all the good we can, far and wide, even though we should be disappointed nearer home, or even in our homes, of doing all the good we wish."

After this, we fell into a very interesting conversation, which I only hope was as profitable to

her as I felt it to be to me. I have been stupid and sluggish of late, but this interchange of thought, feeling, and experience quite roused

me.

Christian and Hopeful were approaching the end of their journey when they came to the drowsy land called the Enchanted Ground; and the way they kept themselves awake was, by conversing freely on their past experiences of God's mercies and providences.

This morning, I have had rather a painful little adventure.

Though the wind was southerly, and the clouds portended rain, yet Phillis was sure it would blow off. In fact, she had set her mind upon certain cleaning, which I believe she preferred doing in my absence; and as I took a hopeful view of the weather, I went to the weekday morning service at church.

On returning, as usual, in the rear of the little congregation, I was slowly drawling along Church

Row, and thinking what a pity it was that such good houses should be so falling out of repair, when down came the rain very heavily. I had just passed Mrs. Ringwood's, and noticed that the parlour-blind wanted mending, and that Mrs. Ringwood, with a baby in her arms, was idly looking over it. I began to spread my shawl more completely over me, and was putting up my umbrella, when some one from behind called, "Mrs. Cheerlove! Mrs. Cheerlove!"

The boy stopped the donkey, and said, "There's Mrs. Ringwood a calling of you.”

I looked round, and saw her, without her baby, standing on her door-step, with her light curling hair blowing in the wind, while she eagerly looked after me.

"Do come in, ma'am," cried she, with great good-nature, and colouring as she spoke. "It is raining quite fast! I am sure you ought not to be out in it."

The boy, at the same moment, took the matter into his own hands, by turning the donkey round, so that I was before her door the next minute.

"I don't think it will come to much," said I,