familiarity! Still she would coo and chatter with the infant who hung smiling over her shoulder, until, like a Will-o'-the-wisp, it had deluded her far from her intended route. Little, indeed, is she altered since the days of my childhood; for her heart is so young, that Time passes by her, forgetting either to wrinkle her forehead or to take the light from her eyes: they only seek objects of charity, and are blind to the faults of her friends. Her simple-mindedness, though charming, leads to many curious contretemps; for she believes religiously that no persons ought to have anything to hide; and that if false appearances, and attempting things above the means, were abandoned, the world would be much happier; or, as she says, "If people were less fond of setting out their best tea-things, there would be more true friendship;" and she actually severely lectured a young couple, who were rash enough to dazzle her with a borrowed silver tea-pot, which she recognised as the lawful property of one of her richer friends. 66 A young medical man, whom, as a child, she had stuffed with cakes, and to whom she had been a mother in the hooping-cough, and other infantine troubles, and who had rashly taken a little wife, and bought a less practice, was horror-struck, at one of her little visits, to hear her describe her conversation which she had had in the coach with an entire stranger, whom she designated as a most gentlemanly man." I said to him," said she, "that I had known you before you were born, and all through your little complaints, in which he seemed much interested; and what troubles you'd had, and how praiseworthy it was of you to be so economical on a little ; and that it was a world's wonder how you held your ground under the disheartening appearance of your business and increasing family." The gentleman replied, It was. "I forget his name, though -by the bye, I don't think he told it me. Why, dear! dear! there he goes!" said she, pointing down the rural road opposite. What was the young medico's horror to discover that the kind gentlemanly depositary of his family affairs was the village-postman. She is a perfect paragon at the needle, of which her young marrying and married friends don't fail to remind her. At no time, visiting or otherwise, is she without what she calls her reticule (not a bad size for a travelling-bag), stuffed with a mass of work, kindly supplied to her by her numerous friends. Busy as a bee does she rush with her needle and experience, and dash in with a master-hand to the assistance of a young wife, who is puzzled with a first attempt upon the mysteries of minute shirts and caps, &c. From the multiplicity of her commissions, she sometimes stitches the body of one dress on to the skirt of another. A young protegé of hers, who commenced his matrimonial voyage with a very small freight, and to whom she was caudle, mixture, and monthly nurse, having now risen into the excess of French polish, and started a diminutive tiger, forgetting that he had once fetched his own beer, and cleaned his own boots, invited her to his seventh christening. She went, all smiles and congratulations, to join the stylish throng of friends, who declared the baby to be "the finest they had ever seen," and drank its health and prosperity in champagne. "Ah!” said my kind aunt, looking round with tears of joy in her eyes, with a complete sunlight of benevolence in her spectacles, "how much you have to be thankful for, Bobby! and how differently can you now welcome this little stranger to what you could the first, when you had but one room! And do you recollect how we laughed over our clever arrangements, when making a little bed behind the screen for you, and called it your cubby-house? Well, well, you were very happy then, God bless you; although I rejoice to see your success, which, heaven knows, you deserve." The object of her eloquence would at this moment, though it is uncharitable to say so, have been pleased to see his dear sympathising friend at the bottom of the nearest well, or at home with the rheumatism, since she was innocently stripping all the brilliancy from his chandelier, the gold-lace from his tiger, and the flavour from his champagne; yet had she only spoken thus, that others might rejoice with her in the success of her friends. The kind old creature revels in children, where her purity of heart places her more on a par. She is a perfect fairy to them; the wonders of her pocket are alone a mystery, out of which she conjures treasures innumerable, cakes, sweets, fruit, toys, and the "marvellous book." The simplicity with which she descends to the level of a child, as she pours into its listening ear the secrets of the wonderful book, always pointed with some moral, is truly astonishing. She is a perfect holiday to all children; there is a complete storm of rejoicing when her old-fashioned bonnet and smiling face turn towards any house of her acquaintance. She is really only happy where her busy mind can find employment in advising the inexperienced, assisting the struggling, or smoothing the pillow of sickness. She is the true "sister of charity," wearing no badge of her charitableness but her heart, which is unseen by the world, except in its acts of love and affection. Of pride, it is almost needless to say, she has none. She is a great torment to her richer relations, by her perpetual nonchalance in throwing overboard all forms of etiquette. When the anniversaries occur, at which it is absolutely necessary to invite her, they absolutely fear and tremble, lest she should rake up some story not altogether congenial to the feelings of her guests, or expose some darn, hidden by them with much ingenuity. Many a time have I heard a mischievous young spark start a subject, to torture by slow degrees some upstart in the company, upon which he well knew her brain was fertile. She immediately responded, giving the most minute particulars, and working out miraculously by her narration the roguery of her prompter. Well do I remember, when quite a child, being included with her in an invitation to visit the Lioness Aunt of our family, who, like Briareus, had her arms stuck about everywhere, and had the genealogical tree worked on her fire-screens, proving William the Conqueror was a distant relation, and that her former branches were most respectable thieves, who robbed in iron suits and kept a domestic blacksmith instead of a tailor. She lived at what in the country is called the "great house," and was looked upon by us children with great awe; for she was a large and massive woman, with a masculine voice, and an eternal turban, and looked very like a Tartar in petticoats. Her husband I remember very little of, except that he was a very little man, with his hair pulled all off the front part of his head to make a pig-tail behind, wearing top-boots-being a squire-as in duty bound. My aunt, I believe, married him merely because he was the last remaining branch, or rather twig, of a great family, but never allowed him a voice in the house, at which he didn't seem much to regret, as he continually followed the hounds, and used it up out of doors. Lee Before we started for this dreaded mansion, which I looked upon as an ogre's castle, my aunt was by a more worldly sister overburthened with cautionings and warnings as to her behaviour upon her arrival at the "great house;" as how she was to call at Tobins' cottage in the lane, and get him to carry her bandbox up to the house, where the coach was to set us down; and, being relations, we were to be very particular about knocking loudly, as the house swarmed with visitors. All this she promised to do as certain as the day. We started, but not without many misgivings on my part, as I was old enough to know the simplicity of one aunt, and the savageness and pride of the other. As soon as we were seated on the coach, she enveloped me in a large red comforter, worked by her own hands, which, after two turns round my neck, and giving a clerical cock to the back of my hat, reached to the toes of my lace-up boots. When this was done, she carefully covered her black silk bonnet with a large bandana, to preserve it from the dust, and began her usually entertaining chat, which so absorbed my mind, that we had actually passed the cottage of the labourer who was to be our porter. We alighted as I reminded my aunt of the strict injunctions she had received about Tobins, and the bandbox, umbrella, &c. "Never mind, child," said she; "we've only got two fields to cross, so we'll go through the Linkin Hatch, and pop in by the servants' door, to avoid the front of the house. The great people will then be none the wiser." I trembled in my little boots at the idea of sneaking in through the kitchen. We walked on, and she soon became full of her legends, and recounted to me how two wicked brothers met on the beach-close, and fought with savage fury for a lady's love, and were both found stiff and stark in the early morning by the keeper and his dogs. Wileing the time away thus, we unconsciously trod our way straight to the front-door, over a broad lawn that afforded no cover. I nearly tumbled down with fright as I beheld a number of ladies and gentlemen, who, much amused by our curious figures, were looking through the windows of the hall at us. My aunt at the same moment discovered her mistake, and tried to swing her bandbox behind her, and tear off the bandana, but in vain. We rushed to the front-door, and made a bungling knock. It opened, and we stood face to face with the enraged lioness. She seized me by the collar, and tumbled me over my comforter, and then turned round with inflamed face and starting eyes, to vent her rage upon her timid sister for disgracing her before the great folk; to all which my good-natured aunt, who could not see the extent of her fault, merely replied, "Well, Lucy, dear, if we are not welcome, we can go back, and come some other time; for we don't care about your fine people. I'd much rather come when you want me to nurse you with the toothache, or John with the gout." This simple reproach calmed the great woman's rage, and she bade us go up stairs and brush the dust from our clothes in a milder voice. I myself thought we should never have been forgiven for being the innocent cause of exposing her to ridicule before the people she courted on account of their escutcheons. We were soon, however, reconciled to our fate; for we were left to do pretty much as we liked. I spent more of my time in the fields than the drawing-room; and my aunt either crept away from the ceremonies to consult with her sister's housekeeper upon the mysteries of preserves, &c., or was closeted with her female servants, instructing them in the art of knitting or netting. All either in trouble or difficulty rushed by instinct to her, and found a never-failing sympathy. Poor old Aunt Betty! she had the softest voice, and, where the weakness or misery of others was concerned, the finest feelings, notwithstanding her ignorance of the conventionalities of the world. She is dead, alas! but her epitaph is written upon the hearts of her friends, the only place worthy of it. THE DEATH OF THE YOUNGEST. BY WILLIAM JONES. DEATH! death! amidst the beautiful, the gentle, and the meek— Nor gaze thus wildly on the brow the smile hath scarcely left,— Yes! in the eyes submissive raised amidst conflicting tears, That child!-how passively he lies, so lovely and serene, The last-born, too, that little one! the weakliest of the fold! So winsome in his artlessness, such sunshine in his joy, Why marvel that the flow'r should fade, with no congenial sky And blessed are the memories they leave upon the heart, Let the young sleeper rest in peace! The spirit is with Him |