presented some fresh trait of virtue to endear me more and more to this charming girl, and in cultivating the heart I had not forgotten the storing and embellishing of the mind. In all feminine accomplishments she is eminently skilled, and the sublime pleasures of the understanding are her delight.

When she was about fifteen I determined on making a tour through England, Scotland, and Wales, which I knew would be beneficial to her in many ways; for the habits of observation which had distinguished her as a child had grown up with her. I am not going to give my young readers a description of our tour; they may read of similar ones in books of travels better told than I could tell them.

And now I must draw my tale to a close. My sweet Alice is now three-and-twenty; she has, indeed, been to me "what words may never tell."

In infancy, her innocent prattle cheered many a sad moment; the direction and guidance of her childhood formed a pleasant occupation for hours which must have been sorrowful ones; the blossoms of virtue which the season of childhood unfolded repaid all my previous cares, and her glorious womanhood has, indeed, been a blessing. She is shortly to be married to a gentleman who owns a neighbouring estate, and I shall resign her in the full satisfaction that her price is, indeed, above rubies, and that her children, should she have any, will be trained up in the way they should go.

BLANCHE GRANTLEY.

"Order is heaven's first law."-POPE.

"Let all things be done decently and in order."

"MAMMA, do you think Papa will arrive to-night?" "Certainly, my love, if business does not prevent him." "Oh dear! I wish I could be quite sure if he will come or not. I have been flying to the window so many times, and I cannot catch the most distant sound of coach wheels. How is it you are so quiet, mamma, I am sure you are as anxious to see papa as I am?"

"I think so too, Blanche," said her mother, smiling; "but I do not conceive my wasting an afternoon, and disturbing those about me, (as you have done this day by your restlessness,) could bring your papa here sooner, or make me more happy."

"That is very true, mamma; but how am I to avoid feeling restless, as you call it?"

"By occupying your mind with something else, Blanche, and spending your time usefully-it hangs heavily on your hands, because it is unemployed. I think, if you call to mind the occurrences of the day, you will not find that you have been engaged in one useful thing; thus you are dissatisfied with yourself, and fancy your discomfort proceeds from every person, and every thing but the right one.

Take the benefit of my experience, and employ yourself for the next two hours, and I will be surety for their passing more agreeably than any previous portion of the day."

"Well, mamma, what shall I do?"

"First arrange your work-box; the appearance of which bespeaks Blanche Grantley anything but a neat and orderly girl. You have amused yourself by running the points of your scissors through the labels of all your reels of cotton. Your needles, instead of being stuck in the housewife, are left in the papers, and they are left loose at the bottom of your box. Your silk, instead of being wound, or cut and drawn through your silk case, is left in ravels. Your tape is undone, and thus left; neither thimble nor scissors-sheath are here-tout est en desordre-and you cannot employ yourself better, than in arranging it."

Blanche coloured, and made no reply; she knew how often her mother had reproved her, gently and kindly, for her want of order-how she had warned her of the fatal effects it would have on her happiness in after life, if she suffered the habit to grow and become confirmed, as it inevitably would if not struggled against-how she had urged line upon line, and precept upon precept, and enforced it by that which was worth all the rest-her own example. She felt all this; took the box in silence, and sat down to arrange it.

The room in which this scene took place, was not characterized by any of the splendour which distinguishes the magnificent homes of the children of affluence; there were no inlaid cabinets displaying costly specimens of Sévres or Dresden; no marble tables; no satin couches; no books in magnificent bindings, inviting the eye to the exterior rather than the interior, (the few there were seemed for use ;) no time-pieces, whose delicious tones broke and died away on the ear like exquisite music; no odoriferous exotics; in short, none of the thousand-and-one super

D

fluities, which crowd the drawing-rooms of the wealthy and luxurious. It was neatly and sufficiently furnished, and bespoke its inmates what they were-people in the middle walks of life.

Blanche continued her employment, with some difficulty, separating silk from cotton, and cotton from tape. Mrs. Grantley had dropped her work on her knee, and was gazing on her child with that mingled expression of love, interest, and anxiety, deep and intense, which is only to be met with in a mother's face. Truly has it been said,

"There is not a grand inspiring thought,
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling pure, and high,

That may not be read in a mother's eye."

Was her anxiety that her child should have riches, or talents, that should raise her to pre-eminence? No! such is not the anxiety of the christian mother-of such a mother as Mrs. Grantley. Her anxiety was, that she should be "greatly good, rather than brilliantly accomplished;" that she should walk humbly before God, and glorify, by her virtues, her Father in Heaven. Riches may induce a love of them, which, we have scriptural assurance, is "the root of all evil;" talents may bring fame, and fame is an unquiet let, and little likely to lead us where true joys, here and hereafter, are alone to be found. Mrs. Grantley was, in every sense of the word, a good Christian, anxious to train up her only child in the service of God.

Young readers! you have much more to be grateful to your parents for, than the most thoughtful among you are aware of. You cannot estimate the depth of the anxiety which has guided you from infancy to youth, and, with the blessing of God, may guide you from youth to maturity, of the cares your errors cause to your parents,-cares which are increased fourfold by the heedlessness with which you

may regard their warnings. They have done what you have not-watched the effects of those errors in others.

Pause, young reader, and think what are the faults you have been warned against, and yet have not striven to reform: neglect them no longer-the parent whose kind reproof you refuse to listen to, and profit by, may be taken from you the counsel you refuse to heed, may be denied you, and, added to your irreparable loss, will be the bitter feeling of self-condemnation.

66

My box is quite in order now, mamma; is it not?" said Blanche, as she drew towards her mother's chair.

"Yes; and I hope, my dear Blanche, you will keep it so." "I will indeed try now, dear mamma," said the little girl, in a subdued and humble voice; "but do you not think I shall outgrow my untidy habits?"

Certainly not, Blanche, if you do not exert yourself to control them; but what suggested to you the idea that you should outgrow them?"

"Because, mamma, when I was at Mrs. Harper's last week, I heard Miss Eltham say, her niece was very untidy in her habits, and Mrs. Harper replied, "Oh, she will outgrow that."

"I am sorry a habit, so serious in its consequences, should have been so lightly spoken of before you. Of this I am sure, that if you do not strive to overcome it yourself, the evil will grow with your growth, and increase with your strength. You are now eleven years old, and I hope I shall not have to reprove you on the subject, so frequently as heretofore.”

"I hope not, mamma," was Blanche's reply, as she darted to the window on hearing a coach draw up to the door. And little girls who have papas from whom they have been for some time separated, and again re-united, may judge if Blanche spent a happy evening on her papa's knee or not.

To gain bad habits is easy; to break oneself of them,