with. At first the old ladies could not exactly say whether they were most amused or most put out by the noisy frolics of their new inmate. Mrs. Abigail, at least, felt considerable uncertainty on the subject. But Mrs. Dorothy soon found that it added materially to her happiness. For, although she certainly was fidgetted at the unwonted sight of doll's clothes strewed upon the carpet, and to see the covers to the crimson damask chair-bottoms unceremoniously pulled up, and left in rucks and wrinkles, and above all, that the cat's back was sometimes stroked the wrong way—yet, the innocent smiles, the playful gambols, and engaging prattle of the child went to her heart, and awoke sensations of delight and tenderness, which must needs languish, even in benevolent minds, when it is long since they were called into exercise. So much were the good ladies sometimes amused, that the wind might shift from south-east to north-west without its being noted by either of them; a thing unprecedented heretofore. And often Mrs. Abigail herself was so much diverted by her little protegée that she has been observed not to gape more than seven times during a whole afternoon.

But notwithstanding all this, things did not go on quite so smoothly as may be imagined. Mrs. Abigail's grand object in adopting the little girl was, that she might train up some body to love her; and having heard that you may teach a child any thing, she thought by taking one so young she should be sure to succeed in her design. Accordingly, she resolved to instil it into her youthful mind, as her

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highest duty, to love her benefactress; and she did not fail by reiterated instructions to give the child to understand, that for every thing she eat and wore and played with, she was indebted to her alone. Now it was a little strange, that after sixty years' experience, this good lady did not know any better way of securing her object; and that she should imagine that so very small a sacrifice as that of giving out a little money from an ample store, would alone procure so invaluable a blessing as that of the affection of a fellow-creature.

Children are excellent physiognomists; and little Mary soon learnt to whom to apply for any assistance or sympathy in her play; and she never failed, when she was tired or sleepy, to run and lay her head on Mrs. Dorothy's lap. It happened not unfrequently, that she was very noisy in her mirth: so much so, that, to use her own expression, "it absolutely went through and through Mrs. Abigail's head ;" and even Mrs. Dorothy's did not escape with impunity. Now, on these and similar occasions, when her patience was quite exhausted (which generally happened pretty early) Mrs. Abigail would begin to scold; but in spite of this, and of Mrs. Dorothy's repeated admonitions of "Softly! softly! my little dear" the little dear would continue romping about till she got such a thorough trimming from Mrs. Abigail, as made her cry sadly, and wish that her own mamma would come again. When the storm was over, the old lady often relented; and trotting to her china closet, she would take a sweet queen cake or macaroon (articles on which she placed her chief

dependence in the management of the child) and hold it out to her with a beneficent smile, which seemed to say, "Sure you must love me now." On one of these occasions, as soon as Mary had devoured the bribe, she called her, saying, "Come hither, my dear, come to me, and tell me now, don't you love me?" Retaining a lively remembrance of her recent scolding, the child hesitated; and on the question being repeated, she answered, "No."

"Then you are the most ungrateful little creature that ever was," exclaimed the old lady, "and you may take that for your pains;" so saying, she gave her a smart box on the ear. Mary ran off roaring, and hid her face in Mrs. Dorothy's lap. Mrs. Dorothy knowing that would not do, raised her up, saying

"O, now you are a very naughty little Miss ! what, not love poor Mrs. Abigail, that gives you so many pretty things, and such nice cakes! O fie! I am quite ashamed of you! Sure you love her, don't you ?"

"I love you," said the child, "because you don't beat me."

"Well, to be sure," exclaimed Mrs. Abigail, "there is nothing but ingratitude in this world! nothing else: old and young, all alike. Such a little creature as that too, who could have thought it!"

Thus little Mary had her troubles, like other people, in the midst of her apparent prosperity. However, she had a never-failing friend and solace in Mrs. Dorothy; and when they were alone, she would often throw her little arms round her neck, and kiss her repeatedly, saying—

"I do love you; I do love you very much, Mrs. Doroty." In return Mrs. Dorothy used to kiss her fondly, and say,

"And I love you, my darling! my jewel! my pretty one!" never failing to add, "but you know you must love poor Mrs. Abigail too; because she is so good to you, and gives you such nice things." At which little Mary used to slide off her lap, and run away to play.

One day Mrs. Abigail was taken very ill, and could not leave her bed; and kind-hearted Mrs. Dorothy came down to breakfast with the tears in her eyes.

"What are you crying for?" says little Mary. "Because, my dear, poor Mrs. Abigail is very ill, and cannot come down stairs."

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'Why then, you know, we shall have nobody to scold us all day; so why do you cry for that?" said little Mary.

In the spring little Mary was attacked with the measles, and had them very severely. Notwithstanding her ill-nature, Mrs. Abigail was really fond of the child; and she attended her in her illness with much solicitude; took her on her lap, rocked her to and fro; once when she was very restless she spoke to her in soothing tones; and when little Mary, in taking some barley-water, spilt a little or it over her silk gown, and began to cry from the apprehension of being punished for it, Mrs. Abigail said, "Never mind, love, I'll not be angry with you now." Upon which little Mary raised her head looked up in her face for a moment with surprise, and then said, "I love you, now, Mrs. Abigail."

Mrs. Abigail looked surprised in her turn: she pressed the child to her bosom with unwonted fondness; the tears came in her eyes; for those few words, uttered by a little child, gave her more real pleasure than any thing that had happened to her for many a day. Being alone, she fell into a deep reverie; but the thoughts of a person unaccustomed to reflection, are too indistinct and crude for repetition. However, the sense and the substance of her meditation was something like this :—

:

"What will one kind word, one act of forbearance and good nature, do more than all the favours I have bestowed? O, if I had considered this in early life-if I had but seen that it is not money but kindness, not gifts, but good nature, that purchases affection, how differently would my life. have passed ;-Ah, sister Dorothy! sister Dorothy! I have had all the money, but you have had all the happiness! "

XXVI.

MAN AND ANIMALS.

MR. F. and his children were walking one summer's evening, in what were familiarly called the high woods. A narrow path conducted them through the underwood, where straggling branches of the wild rose intercepted them at every step: the rich and variegated stems of the forest trees were illumined here and there in bright spots, by