parts, we will never be guilty of such ingratitude to our garden pets, as to call them out of their homely English names. The hall was entered through a honey-suckle porch; and a very pretty hall it was-airy and elegant as if it belonged to some large mansion, though the whole cottage itself stood upon less ground than the vestibule belonging to many of these great houses. This hall opened on the left hand into the common parlour or sitting-room, which had nothing about it particularly worthy of notice, unless it were the entire absence of books or book-cases, a few square stumbling boxes, or ottomans, and a sideboard remarkable for its antiquity, and the unfathomable profundity of its interior. On the opposite side of the hall stood the best parlour or drawing-room; and as we have generally remarked, that such rooms are typical of the household, we shall be a little more minute in our description of it. Such showapartments have usually an outward and inward aspect, and seem, in fact, to belong rather more to the public than to their own proper owners. We shall therefore first describe that appearance which the drawing-room at "The Lindens" presented to the casual passer-by.

This room, then, as it was seldom or never used, was, as is generally the case, the largest in the house, running back through its entire depth, and opening in the rear, on to a lawn interspersed with little knots of roses, and terminating in a belt of flowering shrubs. As the front windows also reached down to the ground, and were exactly opposite those at the other end, every one who passed the house had the advantage of seeing the whole furniture, animate and inanimate, of that pretty room. It was, however, ingeniously contrived in some degree to break the range of vision by means of a little table, covered with fancy worsted work, and crowned, in summer time with flowers, and in winter, with an immaculate block of coral, which was placed in full front of the window, thus farther benefiting the inmates by shutting out the light just where it was most wanted. In the centre of this room stood a round rosewood table covered with an elegant cloth, around which were generally placed some half-dozen books, radiating with great exactness from a common centre, where stood a curious and unique card-basket, to be hereafter more particularly noticed. There were no shelves, or cupboards, or

chiffoniers about the place, and the chairs seemed to keep at the greatest possible distance from the table, so that employment of any kind was impracticable, unless it could be managed to make a reading-desk or escritoire of the knees. Yet there were a few books, as we have just stated, in the room. There were "The Lyrics of Loveliness," in quarto; "The Ruby," a local annual; a work on garden flowers, with colored plates; a volume by a young friend of the family, entitled, "Dreams about Dingledown;" two or three albums, and a collection of "original" poetry, by no means original. In the little basket on the table were the cards of " Sir Skyffen Montague” occupying the post of honor in the centre, and a variety of others of less name and note. Here and there, a pair of them were joined with silvercord, as if silver were the only true type of matrimony, or the proper material of which love-knots ought always to be woven; and where the original envelopes, enclosing these favors, were remarkably tasty, they were still left within their paper shells, like butterflies just peeping from the chrysalis. Everything was covered up, or rather veiled, for better effect, in doyleys and antimacassars, in shell-work, and leaf-work, and feather-work, and every kind of work; and the whole place seemed as if intended for a summer parlor, in which those notable spinsters, the Misses Knitting, Netting, and Crochet were to receive visitors, and do nothing else.

Mr. Walkinshaw was a gentleman "out of business," so far as any profits were concerned, but just enough engaged in it to experience its annoyances. Mrs. Walkinshaw was a pleasant looking lady, all smiles and surface, and the Misses WalkinshawLouisa, Caroline, and Laura-were genteel girls, without any other name, character, or recommendation. The whole household, in fact, lived upon the credit of being nice sort of people, and seemed to think they had nothing to do but to slide through the world easily, and be well thought of by their numerous acquaintance.

Yet it was surprising to those who augured differently from appearances, to find how shallow were the attainments of these young ladies. Without the natural shrewdness of their mother, they were also far behind her in the really useful acquirements of the household. And perhaps it will scarcely be credited when

we assert that neither the old lady nor her daughters were able to read. Nay: our friends must not start; for in order to assure them that we mean what we say, we shall repeat the statementthey could not read.

We do not, of course, mean to say that they did not know their letters; nor do we mean that they could not spell words, or tell the sound of them. We may go, perhaps, a little farther, and allow that they knew their meanings, and the meanings of the sentences they composed; and yet we think it is no misrepresentation of the matter to adhere to our declaration that they could not read. The child who knows every note of the gamut, and can plunge down and dwell upon each at the exact moment indicated by the emphatic 66 ONE-two-three-four!" is, notwithstanding, no musician. She cannot play. She knows and feels nothing of the soul, spirit, or meaning of the music. And we think it is much the same with that very numerous class who, though they understand words and letters, and can put sentences together, have yet no idea of the great business, or end, of reading. Not only was this the case with the family we are describing, but they had an unconquerable antipathy to look at books at all. When they did so, they looked at them as books only, never thinking that they could have anything to do with the world around them, or realizing the great fact that every sentence was intended to have a bearing for good or evil on the reader. In this sense, then, but in this only, the family at the Lindens could not read.

The young ladies moreover, had been brought up in the common, but very erroneous idea, that their education had ceased on their leaving school. They never thought that they were then only furnished with appliances and means for the express purpose of enabling them all their lives long, to gather and elaborate information-that they were taught chiefly that they might afterwards teach themselves; and for this reason they never applied to any branch of useful knowledge, but spent their time in listless indolence; in exploring the unfathomable, but unremunerative, mines of fashion and gentility, or losing themselves in the bewildering mazes of female costume.

Yet the Misses Walkinshaw were very passable girls in society. They could talk glibly, and as some folks thought, poetically.

Indeed, Miss Laura Walkinshaw was considered quite romantic. Not one of them, however, knew anything; and, in fact, how could they, for to them the law of evidence itself was very imperfectly understood? To hear a thing, with them, was to believe it; no matter how easy it might be of refutation, how improbable, or even impossible; it sank down at once into the soft soil of their understandings, and they were prepared not only to give it full credence, but to endorse and negociate it, whenever occasion offered.

It will not, therefore, excite much surprise when we find what turn the conversation took on the occasion of our visit. Miss Singleton was a stranger to the family, but we had presumed upon our long acquaintance, in taking her with us; and it is surprising how very rapidly she ran up to boiling-water point in the affections of the young ladies. The true principles of friendship have usually so little to do in cases of this kind, that perhaps an Italian greyhound, or a parrot, or a squirrel, would have won its way as easily to the hearts of these young people. The fact, however, admits of no question, that before Emma had been in the house half an hour, she was apparently as great a favorite with all of them as if for years she had been in their special confidence. I was sorry to see this; for though I knew that it was not in their power to do much direct or positive injury to my young ward, I feared the negative influence of such very plastic minds, especially when I thought of the peculiar circumstances in which Emma just then stood.

The earlier part of our conversation at the Lindens, which related chiefly to the private business on which we had come over, has been passed by as affording nothing worthy of general interest. It was confined, in fact, almost entirely to some pecuniary matters in which Mr. Walkinshaw and myself were associated as executors. At length, however, a subject was brought forward more closely affecting the business of these

papers.

""

'Who do you think we've had here ?" said Mrs. Walkinshaw to my wife, assuming one of her blandest smiles. Then turning to one of the young ladies, "Laura, my dear," she said, "shew that, to Mrs. Enderby."

"I must have it again, Mrs. Enderby," said Miss Laura

Walkinshaw playfully, opening her knitting-box, and taking from it an engraved address card, which she handed gracefully to my wife.

"He's such a charming man," said Miss Walkinshaw.

"-Such a gentleman," said Miss Caroline.

"And such an excellent Christian," said Miss Laura. Emma, dear!" she added, turning to Miss Singleton, "I should so like you to know him."

Poor Emma! Little did she think at that moment how sadly to the damage of her best interests she had known him, or she never would have answered as she did-" Well, dear; then I'm sure I should."

My wife looked at the card with evident surprise, but passed it to me without making any remark.

It bore the name of the Rev. Silenus Glosenfane, in old church-text. For obvious reasons, I said nothing, but placed it face downwards on the table, not without one or two reflections on the hasty estimates of the young ladies. "Well," said I to myself, "it has always been so. Ignorance jumps at conclusions, just as it did two thousand years ago. Those poor girls, had they lived at Lystra or Malta in the days of Paul, would have oscillated with the people of those places admirably. One moment the apostle was worshipped, and the next, he was cruelly maltreated, and drawn out of the city for dead, having been, in one and the same hour, deified and stoned. And when the barbarous Maltese found that he was not a murderer, they could without hesitation change their minds at once, and say that he was a god."

Well and wisely does Inspiration denounce not only every evil, but every "idle" word. Unconsciously to herself, and without any real purpose of mischief in her companions, Emma stood committed to think well of one who had done so much towards the ruin of her own soul. Whatever may be said to the contrary, the opinions of others, however erroneous, do and will tell upon ourselves, especially where the bias of our own mind tends in the same direction. Emma was a comparative stranger to the young ladies at the Lindens; all that she knew of them was that they seemed to love her; and common gratitude alone would have induced her to love them in return. Whether their opinion