more with your girls-enter a little more into their amusements-you would gain a better hold of them ?"

"How can I enter into amusements which would lose half their zest if they were not done in secret? I can't help them to write anonymous letters to the officers of any regiments which may be quartered near. I can't dress up in my servants' clothes, and go and sing outside my neighbours' windows. I can't go and row about in a boat by moonlight. These are unhappily the only amusements which entertain my daughters. In country or town, at home or abroad, it is all the same-they make themselves the talk of every place they go to; and then the poor mother is blamed for the infamous way in which they have been brought up. I am driven sometimes to wish that I or they were in our graves. Their own lives are worse than purposeless, and they render mine wretched."

Bouverie," said Mrs. Wilmont, pained to hear their own mother give them such characters ; "but I do not know what to tell you, except to give them some occupation in which they would become interested, and which you could join in. Does not your governess help you?-you have one, have you not?"

"I've had a hundred, my dear lady,” said the poor mother, petulantly, "and they've been as much if not more trouble than the girls. Some they would not mind, some were too indulgent; some too strict; till, having only Geraldine left young enough for the school-room, I gave up keeping one at all. Ah! it does not matter much; it must go on to the end. It has been a comfort to talk to you, and your peaceful, happy little home is a pleasure to come into."

"Come often then, Lady Bouverie," said Mrs. Wilmont, "if you will honour me so much, and bring some of the girls with you. Marguerite we

come."

"No, my dear, because your little quiet Blanche is not in their style. Marguerite is, I think, the best of them all, and away from her sisters' bad influence, might be still better. I will come and have a quiet cup of tea with you soon, and we will have another talk." And wringing warmly Mrs. Wilmont's hand, Lady Bouverie left the cottage, the better for having unburdened her heart, and with a determination to try what could be done to render her home as happy as the Porch House.

CHAPTER VII.

A RUSTIC POST-OFFICE.

O, how this Spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by-and-by, a cloud takes all away.

SHAKESPEARE.

OOK here," said Lady Bouverie, coming into the morning - room.

where the girls generally assembled

before luncheon, "the weather is so charming, I think we might really have one great picnic before the summer is gone. Should you like it?"

Poor thing; she had been trying so hard since her conversation with Mrs. Wilmont to make the home bright and keep her girls employed and happy; but it was sad up-hill work-she had

and discontented, save when whispering together and laughing at some fun of which she was not made the confidant.

"What do you say, girls?" she repeated.

"Oh! I don't know, mamma-yes, if you like," said Rose; "but I don't know who is to be asked to it."

“Well, we are a bonny party ourselves, and Charlie can come over and bring two or three friends, I dare say, and the Wilmonts, and the new curate, and Mr. Eustace Brown."

“Oh, mamma!" exclaimed all the girls, with different expressions of horror.

"Well, I cannot really see any reason for disliking that very estimable man," said Lady Bouverie, "He is clever, by no means plain, highly respected and-"

"Rich," said Estelle.

"Well-yes, my dear; but that does not render him objectionable, surely?"