the subject of stoves and hot-houses, and pine-apples, which do nobody any good). But the money spent on garden-labour, is surely spent much more beneficially than on watching plantations at night, and preserving. A watcher is almost sure, however respectable a man he may be at first, to degenerate into habits of idleness and drinking. And we have this morning had a terrible example of the dangers to which he is exposed."

"Of course I shall take care," said Sir Henry, "to indemnify these poor fellows for what they have suffered in defence of my property.'

"I am sure, Henry, you will do all that is right and kind: but even that must be added to the expenses of your game establishment. Did you ever calculate what each day's shooting cost you? No. But I remember to have heard of a case where a squire killed his three or four brace of partridges at £25 per diem. His game cost him £400 a year, and he went out shooting just sixteen times during the season in which the calculation was made. No doubt this was an extreme case, but we are bound to consider whether for money so spent a heavy account must not be rendered at the judgment day. And without recommending you to consider more than the question of preserving, (which may be given up without your being deprived of a reasonable share of 'sport'), I do think that the miserable event which

has just occurred should induce you to reflect how far you are justified in maintaining a system, which in its results, at least, is demoralizing to those among whom you live; which creates an additional temptation for the idle and the profligate; which exposes your servants daily to danger if not to violent deaths; which has after all, no better end than securing a personal gratification to yourself and your friends; and which is kept up at a cost, which if dedicated to God's glory, or the good of your fellow-creatures, might prove of incalculable service to your neighbourhood and generation."

CHAPTER X.

Plot and Counterplot.

"His house was known to all the vagrant train ;
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his ancient breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away........
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn❜d to glow;
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,

His pity gave ere charity began."

GOLDSMITH.

"WELL, Miss Wickedness," said Mrs. Carraway to Susan Allen, in a tone as agreeable as the appellation, "I suppose you think you are to go with the rest of us to the Bible Meeting to-night. But you are not, I can tell you. I am sure that sooner than you should be left alone in the house, without anybody to look

after you, not one of us would wish to go. But there's Abraham, that your deceit and calumnies have made so ill, and that's so willing to forgive you, (like a good Christian as he is,) and pardon your beastly ingratitude, as he always calls it, he's not well enough to go with the carriage,—and so you're to do your housework, and wait upon him; and I dare say, if he's well enough, he'll give you some good advice, and shew you the error of your ways,-I'm sure you need it."

“Very well, Ma'am ; I'm sure I'm willing to do all in my power to please you," answered Susan, feeling that it was useless to attempt to defend herself, and not knowing what other answer to give.

"Please me, indeed! Yes, you've taken a nice way to please me, and my mistress (as took you out of the gutter, as one may say), and all of us, haven't you? Stop," she continued, as Susan was about to leave the room, "you needn't be in such a hurry. I haven't done with you yet, young woman, I can tell you. I have told Mrs. Becket that you are not at all calculated for your place, and so she says if we can't go on comfortable together you had better leave, and so this day month, you are to go. And I hope it will be a warning to you, if ever you get into service again, which I think you are not likely to do in a hurry, how you backbite your fellow-servants."

Susan was now permitted to leave the house

keeper's room, which she did without answering, for she was too miserable and bewildered to speak. Of course, however, her silence was construed by Mrs. Carraway, into pride and hardened obstinacy.

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Well, I declare I can't help feeling sorry for her too;" continued the old lady to herself, when the supposed culprit had left the room. "I never liked her certainly; but she is so handy, and so obliging, and so steady, and she has such a grand way with her at times, as if she felt in the right, and was determined to keep so, that it almost staggers me. But then for her to go and invent such wicked stories about Abraham, no, no, she must be a bad one! And then again she's so young, and has had so many disadvantages: but it's quite clear she can't stay in this house, though I must try and do something for her elsewhere. They'd kill her outright in the Union, if they got her there again, I do believe."

Thus reflected Mrs. Carraway as she turned her drying apricots, and endeavoured to deaden certain compunctious visitings and secret suggestions of conscience, that Susan was receiving hard measures at her hands. She was not, by any means, a harsh or unkind woman at heart; but she loved power, was full of prejudices, and had at all times a certain roughness of manner which by no means added to her attractions. However, her bark was worse than her bite.