soul; in this world of semblance, we are contented with personating happiness; to feel it, is an art beyond us.

It was otherwise with Harley; he ran upstairs to his aunt, with the history of his fellow-travellers glowing on his lips. His aunt was an economist, but she knew the pleasure of doing charitable things, and withal, was fond of her nephew, and solicitous to oblige him. She received old Edwards, therefore, with a look of more complacency than is perhaps natural to maiden ladies of threescore, and was remarkably attentive to his grand-children. She roasted apples with her own hands for their supper, and made up a little bed beside her own for the girl. Edwards made some attempts towards an acknowledgment for these favours, but his young friend stopped them in their beginnings. "Whosoever receiveth any of these children "-said his aunt; for her acquaintance with her Bible was habitual.

Early next morning, Harley stole into the room where Edwards lay; he expected to have found him a-bed, but in this he was mistaken; the old man had risen, and was leaning over his sleeping grandson, with the tears flowing down his cheeks. At first he did not perceive Harley; when he did, he endeavoured to hide his grief, and crossing his eyes with his hands, expressed his surprise at seeing him so early astir. "I was thinking of you," said Harley, "and your children. I learned last night that a small farm of mine in the neighbourhood is now vacant; if you will occupy it, I shall gain a good neighbour, and be able, in some measure, to repay the notice you took of me when a boy; and as the furniture of the house is mine, it will be so much trouble saved." Edwards' tears gushed afresh, and Harley led him to see the place he intended for him.

The house upon this farm was indeed little better than a hut ; its situation, however, was pleasant, and Edwards, assisted by the beneficence of Harley, set about improving its neatness and convenience. He staked out a piece of the green before for a garden, and Peter, who acted in Harley's family as valet, butler, and gardener, had orders to furnish him with parcels of the different seeds he chose to sow in it. I have seen his master at work in this little spot, with his coat off, and his dibble in his hand it was a scene of tranquil virtue to have stopped an angel

on his errands of mercy! Harley had contrived to lead a little bubbling brook through a green walk in the middle of the ground, upon which he had erected a mill in miniature for the diversion of Edwards' infant grandson, and made shift in its construction to introduce a pliant bit of wood, that answered with its fairy clack to the murmuring of the rill that turned it. I have seen him stand, listening to these mingled sounds, with his eye fixed on the boy, and the smile of conscious satisfaction on his cheek, while the old man, with a look half turned to Harley, and half to Heaven, breathed an ejaculation of gratitude and piety.

Father of mercies! I also would thank thee, that not only hast thou assigned eternal rewards to virtue, but that, even in this bad world, the lines of our duty, and our happiness, are so frequently woven together.

The Man of Feeling.

FRANCES BURNEY, MADAME D'ARBLAY.

SUCH

Frances Burney was born at King's Lynn in 1752 and died at Bath in 1840. Miss Burney was not the first Englishwoman to write novels of merit, but she was the first to become extremely popular, and she founded a tradition which has never since ceased. The natural vivacity of her first novel, Evelina, and of her early memoir-writing, is delightful.

A MIDDLE CLASS EXQUISITE.

UCH was the conversation till tea-time, when the appearance of Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the discourse.

Miss Branghton desired me to remark with what a smart air he entered the room, and asked me if he had not very much a quality look?

Come," cried he, advancing to us, "you ladies must not sit together; wherever I go, I always make it a rule to part the ladies."

And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next chair, he seated himself between us.

"Well, now, ladies, I think we sit very well. What say you? For my part, I think it was a very good motion.”

"If my cousin likes it," said Miss Branghton, "I'm sure I've no objection."

"O," cried he, "I always study what the ladies like, that's my first thought. And, indeed, it is but natural that you should like best to sit by the gentlemen, for what can you find to say to one another?"

"Say!" cried young Branghton; "O, never you think of that,

they'll find enough to say, I'll be sworn. You know the women are never tired of talking."

"( Come, come, Tom," said Mr. Smith, "don't be severe upon the ladies; when I'm by, you know I always take their part."

Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me some cake, this man of gallantry said, "Well, if I was that lady, I'd never take anything from a woman."

"Why not, Sir?"

"Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being so handsome."

"Who is severe upon the ladies now?" said I.

"Why, really, Ma'am, it was a slip of the tongue; I did not intend to say such a thing; but one can't always be on one's guard."

Soon after, the conversation turning upon public places, young Branghton asked if I had ever been to George's at Hampstead?

66 Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned."

"Didn't you, Miss," cried he eagerly; "why, then you've a deal of fun to come, I'll promise you; and, I tell you what, I'll treat you there some Sunday soon. So now, Bid and Poll, be sure you don't tell Miss about the chairs, and all that, for I've a mind to surprise her; and if I pay, I think I've a right to have it my own way."

"George's at Hampstead!" repeated Mr. Smith contemptuously; "how came you to think the young lady would like to go to such a low place as that! But, pray, Ma'am, have you ever been to Don Saltero's at Chelsea?"

"No, Sir."

"No! nay, then, I must insist on having the pleasure of conducting you there before long. I assure you, Ma'am, many genteel people go, or else, I give you my word, I should not recommend it."

"Pray, cousin," said Mr. Branghton, "have you been at Sadler's Wells yet?"

"No, Sir."

"No! why, then you've seen nothing!"

"Pray, Miss," said the son, "how do you like the Tower of London ?"

"I have never been to it, Sir."

"Goodness!" exclaimed he, "not seen the Tower!-why, maybe, you ha'n't been o' top of the Monument, neither?"

"No, indeed, I have not."

"Why, then, you might as well not have come to London for aught I see, for you've been no where."

Pray, Miss," said Polly, "have you been all over Paul's Church yet?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, but, Ma'am,” said Mr. Smith, "how do you like Vauxhall and Marybone?"

"I never saw either, Sir."

"No-God bless me !-you really surprise me,-why Vauxhall is the first pleasure in life!-I know nothing like it.-Well, Ma'am, you must have been with strange people, indeed, not to have taken you to Vauxhall. Why you have seen nothing of London yet. However, we must try if we can't make you amends."

In the course of this catechism, many other places were mentioned, of which I have forgotten the names; but the looks of surprise and contempt that my repeated negatives incurred were very diverting.

66 Come," said Mr. Smith after tea, "as this lady has been with such a queer set of people, let's show her the difference ; suppose we go somewhere to-night!-I love to do things with spirit!-Come, ladies, where shall we go? For my part I should like Foote's-but the ladies must choose; I never speak myself."

"Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits!" said Miss Branghton.

"Why, yes, Ma'am, yes, thank God, pretty good spirits ;-I have not yet the cares of the world upon me;-I am not married,―ha, ha, ha !—you'll excuse me, ladies, but I can't help laughing!"

No objection being made, to my great relief we all proceeded to the little theatre in the Haymarket, where I was

S