sense and good-humour, and that happy art of government, which seems no art at all, because it is so perfect; but the children were busy and happy, the vestry pleased, and the churchwarden contented. All went well under Mrs. Allen. creature: not pretty-a girl of that age seldom is; the beauty of childhood is outgrown, that of youth not come; and Jane could scarcely ever have had any other pretensions to prettiness, than the fine expression of her dark grey eyes, and the general sweetness of her countenance. She was pale, thin, and delicate; serious and thoughtful far beyond her years; Her fondness for Mrs. Allen, and her constant and unremitting attention to her health and comforts, were peculiarly remarkable. Every part of their small housewifery, that her height and strength and skill would enable her to per form, she insisted on doing, and many things far beyond her power she attempted. Never was so industrious or so handy a little maiden. Old Nelly Chun, the char-woman, who went once a week to the house, to wash and bake and scour, declared that Jane did more than herself; and to all who knew Nelly's opinion of her own doings, this praise appeared superlative. She was an elderly woman, nearer perhaps to seventy than to sixty, and of an exceedingly venerable and prepossessing appearance. Deli-averse from play, and shrinking from notice. cacy was her chief characteristic-a delicacy so complete that it pervaded her whole person, from her tall, slender figure, her fair, faded complexion, and her silver hair to the exquisite nicety of dress by which, at all hours and seasons, from Sunday morning to Saturday night, she was invariably distinguished. The soil of the day was never seen on her apparel; dust would not cling to her snowy caps and handkerchiefs: such was the art magic of her neatness. Her very pins did their office in a different manner from those belonging to other people. Her manner was gentle, cheerful, and courteous, with a simplicity and propriety of expression that perplexed all listeners; it In the school-room she was equally assiduseemed so exactly what belongs to the highest ous, not as a learner, but as a teacher. None birth and the highest breeding. She was so clever as Jane in superintending the differhumble, very humble; but her humility was ent exercises of the needle, the spelling-book, evidently the result of a truly Christian spirit, and the slate. From the little work-woman's and would equally have distinguished her in first attempt to insert thread into a pocket any station. The poor people, always nice handkerchief, that digging and ploughing of judges of behaviour, felt, they did not know cambric, miscalled hemming, up to the nice why, that she was their superior; the gentry and delicate mysteries of stitching and buttonof the neighbourhood suspected her of being holing; from the easy junction of a b, ab, and their equal-some clergyman's or officer's ba, ba, to that tremendous sesquipedalian word widow, reduced in circumstances; and would irrefragibility, at which even I tremble as I have treated her as such, had she not, on dis-write; from the Numeration Table to Practice, covering their mistake, eagerly undeceived them. She had been, she said, all her life a servant, the personal attendant of one dear mistress, on whose decease she had been recommended to Mr. Lacy; and to his kindness, under Providence, was indebted for a home and a provision for her helpless age, and the still more helpless youth of a poor orphan, far dearer to her than herself. This avowal, although it changed the character of the respect paid to Mrs. Allen, was certainly not calculated to diminish its amount; and the new mistress of Lady Lacy's school, and the beautiful order of her house and garden, continued to be the pride and admiration of Aberleigh. The orphan of whom she spoke was a little girl about eleven years old, who lived with her, and whose black frock bespoke the recent death of some relative. She had lately, Mrs. Allen said, lost her grandmother-her only remaining parent, and had now no friend but herself on earth; but there was One above who was a Father to the fatherless, and He would protect poor Jane! And as she said this, there was a touch of emotion, a break of the voice, a tremour on the lip, very unlike the usual cheerfulness and self-command of her manner. The child was evidently very dear to her. Jane was, indeed, a most interesting nothing came amiss to her. In figures she was particularly quick. Generally speaking, her patience with the other children, however dull or tiresome or giddy they might be, was exemplary; but a false accomptant, a stupid arithmetician, would put her out of humour. The only time I ever heard her sweet, gentle voice raised a note above its natural key, was in reprimanding Susan Wheeler, a sturdy, square-made, rosy-cheeked lass, as big again as herself, the dunce and beauty of the school, who had three times cast up a sum of three figures, and three times made the total wrong. Jane ought to have admired the ingenuity evinced by such a variety of error; but she did not; it fairly put her in a passion. She herself was not only clever in figures, but fond of them to an extraordinary degree-luxuriated in Long Division, and revelled in the Rule-ofThree. Had she been a boy, she would probably have been a great mathematician, and have won that fickle, fleeting, shadowy wreath, that crown made of the rainbow, that vainest of all earthly pleasures, but which yet is a pleasure-Fame. Happier, far happier, was the good, the lowly, the pious child, in her humble duties! Grave and quiet as she seemed, she had many moments of intense and placid enjoyment, too died, Mrs. Allen blessed the Providence which, by throwing in her way a recommendation to Lady Lacy's school, had enabled her to support the dear object of her mistress's love and prayers. "Had Miss Mowbray no connections?" was the natural question. her father, richly married in India. But Sir William was a proud and a stern man, upright in his own conduct, and implacable to error. Lady Ely was a sweet, gentle creature, and doubtless would be glad to extend a mother's protection to the orphan; but Sir WilliamOh! he was so unrelenting! He had abjured Mr. Mowbray, and all connected with him. She had written to inform them where the dear child was, but had no expectation of any answer from India." when the duties of the day were over, and she | as a volunteer, and had fallen undistinguished sat reading in the porch, by the side of Mrs. in his first battle. The news of his death was Allen, or walked with her in the meadows on fatal to his indulgent mother; and when she a Sunday evening after church. Jane was certainly contented and happy; and yet every one that saw her, thought of her with that kind of interest which is akin to pity. There was a pale, fragile grace about her, such as we sometimes see in a rose which has blown in the shade; or rather, to change the simile," Yes; one very near,—an aunt, the sister of the drooping and delicate look of a tender plant removed from a hot-house to the open air. We could not help feeling sure (notwithstanding our mistake with regard to Mrs. Allen) that this was indeed a transplanted flower; and that the village school, however excellently her habits had become inured to her situation, was not her proper atmosphere. Several circumstances corroborated our suspicions. My lively young friend Sophia Grey, standing with me one day at the gate of the school-house, where I had been talking with Mrs. Allen, remarked to me, in French, the sly, demure vanity, with which Susan Wheeler, whose beauty had attracted her attention, was observing and returning her glances. The playful manner in which Sophia described Susan's "regard furtif," made me smile; and looking accidentally at Jane, I saw that she was smiling too, clearly comprehending, and enjoying the full force of the pleasantry. She must understand French; and when questioned, she confessed she did, and thankfully accepted the loan of books in that language. Another time, being sent on a message to the vicarage, and left for some minutes alone in the parlour, with a piano standing open in the room, she could not resist the temptation of touching the keys, and was discovered playing an air of Mozart, with great taste and execution. At this detection she blushed, as if caught in a crime, and hurried away in tears and without her message. It was clear that she had once learnt music. But the surest proof that Jane's original station had been higher than that which she now filled, was the mixture of respect and fondness with which Mrs. Allen treated her, and the deep regret she sometimes testified at seeing her employed in any menial office. At last, elicited by some warm praise of the charming child, our good schoolmistress disclosed her story. Jane Mowbray was the grand-daughter of the lady in whose service Mrs. Allen had passed her life. Her father had been a man of high family and splendid fortune; had married beneath himself, as it was called, a friendless orphan, with no portion but beauty and virtue; and, on her death, which followed shortly on the birth of her daughter, had plunged into every kind of vice and extravagance. What need to tell a tale of sin and suffering? Mr. Mowbray had ruined himself, had ruined all belonging to him, and finally had joined our armies abroad Time verified this prediction. The only tidings from India, at all interesting to Jane Mowbray, were contained in the paragraph of a newspaper which announced lady Ely's death, and put an end to all hopes of protection in that quarter. Years passed on, and found her still with Mrs. Allen at Lady Lacy's Green, more and more beloved and respected from day to day. She had now attained almost to womanhood. Strangers, I believe, called her plain; we, who knew her, thought her pretty. Her figure was tall and straight as a cypress, pliant and flexible as a willow, full of gentle grace, whether in repose or in motion. She had a profusion of light brown hair, a pale complexion, dark grey eyes, a smile of which the character was rather sweet than gay, and such a countenance! no one could look at her without wishing her well, or without being sure that she deserved all good wishes. Her manners were modest and elegant, and she had much of the self-taught knowledge, which is, of all knowledge, the surest and the best, because acquired with most difficulty, and fixed in the memory, by the repetition of effort. Every one had assisted her to the extent of his power, and of her willingness to accept assistance; for both she and Mrs. Allen had a pride-call it independence—which rendered it impossible, even to the friends who were most honoured by their good opinion, to be as useful to them as they could have wished. To give Miss Mowbray time for improvement had, however, proved a powerful emollient to the pride of our dear schoolmistress; and that time had been so well employed, that her acquirements were considerable; whilst in mind and character she was truly admirable; mild, grateful, and affectionate, and imbued with a deep religious feeling, which influenced every action and pervaded every thought. So gifted, she was deemed by her constant friends, the vicar and his lady, perfectly competent to the care and education of children; it was agreed that she should enter a neighbouring family, as a successor to their then governess, early in the ensuing spring; and she, although sad at the prospect of leaving her aged protectress, acquiesced in their decision. She lives there still, its ornament and its pride; and every year Jane Mowbray comes for a long visit, and makes a holiday in the school and in the whole place. Jane Mowbray, did I say? No! not Jane Mowbray now. She has changed that dear name for the only name that could be dearer :-she is married-married to the eldest son of Mr. Lacy, the lineal representative of Dame Eleanor Lacy, the honoured foundress of the school. It was in a voice tremulous more from feeling than from age, that Mrs. Allen welcomed the young heir, when he brought his fair bride to Aberleigh; and it was with a yet stronger and deeper emotion that the bridegroom, with his own Jane in his hand, visited the asylum which she and her venerable guardian owed to the benevolence and the piety of his ancestress, whose good deeds had thus showered down blessings on her remote posterity. FANNY'S FAIRINGS. One fine Sunday in the October preceding this dreaded separation, as Miss Mowbray, with Mrs. Allen leaning on her arm, was slowly following the little train of Lady Lacy's scholars from church, an elderly gentleman, sickly-looking and emaciated, accosted a pretty young woman, who was loitering with some other girls at the church-yard gate, and asked her several questions respecting the school and its mistress. Susan Wheeler (for it happened to be our old acquaintance) was delighted to be singled out by so grand a gentleman, and being a kind-hearted creature in the main, spoke of the school-house and its inhabitants exactly as they deserved. Mrs. Allen," she said, "was the best woman in the world-the very best, except just Miss Mowbray, who was better still,-only too particular about summing, which you know, sir," added Susan," people can't learn if they can't. She is going to be a governess in the spring," continued the loquacious damsel; "and it's A HAPPY boy was Thomas Stokes, the blackto be hoped the little ladies will take kindly smith's son, of Upton Lea, last May morning: to their tables, or it will be a sad grievance to he was to go to B-fair, with his eldest Miss Jane."-"A governess! Where can I brother William, and his cousin Fanny; and make inquiries concerning Miss Mowbray ?" he never closed his eyes all night for thinking "At the vicarage, sir," answered Susan, of the pleasure he should enjoy on the mordropping her little curtsy, and turning away, row. Thomas, for shortness called "Tom," well pleased with the gentleman's condescen- was a lively, merry boy of nine years old, sion, and with half-a-crown which he had rising ten, as the horse-dealers say, and had given her in return for her intelligence. The never been at a fair in his life; so that his stranger, meanwhile, walked straight to the sleeplessness as well as the frequent solilovicarage; and in less than half an hour the quies of triumphant ho! ho! (his usual exvicar repaired with him to Lady Lacy's Green. clamation when highly pleased,) and the perThis stranger, so drooping, so sickly, so petual course of broad smiles in which his emaciated, was the proud Indian uncle, the delight had been vented for a week before, stern Sir William Ely! Sickness and death were nothing remarkable. His companions had been busy with him and his. He had were as wakeful and happy as himself. Now lost his health, his wife, and his children; that might be accounted for in his cousin's and, softened by affliction, was returned to case, since it was also her first fair; for FanEngland a new man, anxious to forgive and to ny, a pretty dark-eyed lass of eighteen, was a be forgiven, and, above all, desirous to repair Londoner, and, till she arrived that winter on his neglect and injustice towards the only re- a visit to her aunt, had never been out of the maining relative of the wife whom he had so sound of bow-bell; but why William, a young fondly loved and so tenderly lamented. In blacksmith of one-and-twenty, to whom fairs this frame of mind, such a niece as Jane were almost as familiar as horse-shoes, why Mowbray was welcomed with no common he should lose his sleep on the occasion is joy. His delight in her, and his gratitude less easy to discover-perhaps from sympatowards her protectress, were unbounded. He thy. Through Tom's impatience the party wished them both to accompany him home, were early astir; indeed, he had roused the and reside with him constantly. Jane promised to do so; but Mrs. Allen, with her usual admirable feeling of propriety, clung to the spot which had been to her a "city of refuge," and refused to leave it in spite of all the entreaties of uncle and of niece. It was a happy decision for Aberleigh; for what could Aberleigh have done without its good schoolmistress? whole house long before daybreak; and betimes in the forenoon they set forth on their progress;-Tom in a state of spirits that caused him to say, Ho! ho! every minute, and much endangered the new hat that he was tossing in the air; William and Fanny, with a more concentrated and far quieter joy. One should not see a finer young couple: he, decked in his Sunday attire, tall, sturdy, and mus cular, with a fine open countenance, and an air of rustic gallantry that became him well; she, pretty and modest, with a look of gentility about her plain dark gown and cottage bonnet, and the little straw basket that she carried in her hand, which even more than her ignorance of tree and bird, and leaf and flower, proclaimed her town breeding;-although that ignorance was such, that Tom declared that on her first arrival at Upton Lea, she did not know an oak from an elm, or a sparrow from a blackbird. Tom himself had yet to learn poor Fanny's excuses, how much oaks and elms resemble each other in the London air, and how very closely in colour, though not in size, a city sparrow approaches to a blackbird. Their way led through pleasant footpaths; every bank covered with cowslips and bluebells, and overhung with the budding hawthorn, and the tasselled hazel; now between orchards, whose trees, one flush of blossom, rose from amidst beds of daffodils, with their dark weaving spear-like leaves and golden flowers; now along fields, newly sown with barley, where the doves and wood-pigeons, pretty innocent thieves, were casting a glancing shadow on the ground as they flew from furrow to furrow, picking up the freshly planted grain; and now between close lanes peopled with nightingales; until at last they emerged into the gay high road, where their little party fell into the flood of people pour ing on to the fair, much after the manner in which a tributary brooklet is lost in the waters of some mighty stream. A mingled stream in good sooth it was, a most motley procession! Country folks in all varieties, from the pink-ribboned maiden, the belle of her parish, tripping along so merrily, to the sober and demure village matron, who walked beside her with a slow lagging pace, as if tired already; from the gay Lothario of the hamlet, with his clean smockfrock, and his hat on one side, who strutted along, ogling the lass in the pink ribbons, to the "grave and reverend seignor," the patriarch of the peasantry, with his straight white hair, and his well-preserved weddingsuit, who hobbled stoopingly on, charged with two great-grandchildren-a sprightly girl of six lugging him forward, a lumpish boy of three dragging him back. Children were there of all conditions, from "mamma's darlings," in the coronet carriage-the little lords and ladies, to whom a fair was, as yet, only a "word of power," down to the brown gipsy urchins strapped on their mother's back, to whom it was a familiar sight-no end to the children! no end to the grown people! no end to the vehicles! Carts crammed as full as they could be stowed, gigs with one, two, three, and four inside passengers; wagons laden with men instead of corn; droves of pigs; flocks of sheep; herds of cattle; strings of horses; with their several drovers and drivers of all kinds and countries-English, Irish, Welsh, and Scotch-all bound for the fair.Here an Italian boy with his tray of images; there a Savoyard with her hurdy-gurdy; and, lastly, struggling through the midst of the throng, that painful minister of pleasure, an itinerant showman, with his box of puppets and his tawdry wife, pushing and toiling, and straining every nerve for fear of being too late. No end to the people! no end to the din! The turnpike-man opened his gate and shut his ears in despairing resignation. Never was known so full a May-fair. And amongst the thousands assembled in the market-place at Bit would have been difficult to find a happier group than our young cousins. Tom, to be sure, had been conscious of a little neglect on the part of his companions. The lectures on ornithology, with which, chemin faisant, he had thought fit to favour Fanny (children do dearly love to teach grown people, and all country boys are learned in birds,) had been rather thrown away on that fair damsel. William and she had walked arm-in-arm; and when he tried to join them on one side, he found himself cast off,—and when on the other, let go. Poor Tom was, evidently, de-trop in the party. However, he bore the affront like a philosopher, and soon forgot his grievances in the solid luxuries of tarts and gingerbread; in the pleasant business, of purchasing and receiving petty presents; in the chatter, the bustle, and the merriment of the fair. Amidst all his delight, however, he could not but feel a little curiosity, when William having lured him to a stall, and fixed him there in the interesting occupation of selecting a cricket-ball, persuaded Fanny to go under his escort to make some private purchases at the neighbouring shops. Tom's attention to his own important bargain was sadly distracted by watching his companions as they proceeded from the linen-drapers to the jewellers, and from the jewellers to the pastry-cooks; looking, the whilst, the one proud and happy, the other shy and ashamed. Tom could not tell what to make of it, and chose, in his perplexity, the very worst ball that was offered to him; but as he had seen their several parcels snugly deposited in the straw basket, he summoned courage to ask, point blank, what it contained; at which question, Fanny blushed, and William laughed; and on a repetition of the inquiry answered, with an arch smile" Fanny's fairings.' Now as Fanny had before purchased toys, and cakes, and such like trifles, for the whole family, this reply and the air with which it was delivered, served rather to stimulate than to repress the vague suspicions that were floating in the boy's brain. A crowd, however, is no place for impertinent curiosity. Loneliness and ennui are necessary to the growth of that weed. If there had been a fair in Bluebeard's castle, his wives would have kept their heads on their shoulders; the blue chamber and the diamond key would have tempted in vain. So Tom betook himself to the enjoyment of the scene before him, applying himself the more earnestly to the business of pleasure, as they were to return to Upton Lea at four o'clock. Four o'clock arrived, and found our hero, Thomas Stokes, still untired of stuffing and staring. He had eaten more cakes, oranges, and gingerbread, than the gentlest reader would deem credible; and he had seen well nigh all the sights of the fair;-the tall man, and the short woman, and the calf with two heads; had attended the in-door horsemanship and the out-door play; the dancing dogs and two raree-shows; and lastly, had visited and admired the wonders of the menagerie, scraped acquaintance with a whole legion of parrots and monkeys, poked up a boa-constrictor, patted a lioness, and had the honour of presenting his blunderbuss to the elephant, although he was not much inclined to boast of this exploit, having been so frightened at his own temerity, as to run away out of the booth before the sagacious but deliberate quadruped had found time to fire. THE CHALK-PIT. ONE of the most admirable persons whom I have ever known, is my friend Mrs. Mansfield, the wife of the good vicar of Aberleigh. Her daughters are just what might be expected from girls trained under such a mother. Of Clary, the youngest, I have spoken elsewhere. Ellen, the elder sister, is as delightful a piece of sunshine and gaiety as ever gladdened a country home. One never thinks whether she is pretty, there is such a play of feature, such a light in her dark eye, such an alternation of blush and smile on her animated countenance; for Ellen has her mother's trick of blushing, although her "eloquent blood" speaks through the medium of a richer and browner skin. One forgets to make up one's mind as to her prettiness; but it is quite certain that she is charming. She has, in the very highest degree, those invaluable every-day spirits which require no artificial stimuli, no public amusements, no company, no flattery, no praise. Her sprightliness is altogether domestic. Her own dear family, and a few dear friends, are all the listeners she ever thinks of. No one doubts but Ellen might be a wit, if she would: she is saved from that dangerous distinction as much by natural modesty as by a kind and constant consideration for the feelings of others. I have often seen a repartee flashing and laughing in her bright eyes, but seldom, very seldom, heard it escape her lips; never unless quite equally matched and challenged to such a bout of "bated foils" by some admirer of her playful conversation. They who have themselves that splendid but delusive talent, can best estimate the merit of such forbearance. Governed as it is in her, it makes the delight of the house, and supplies perpetual amusement to herself and to all about her. Not a whit tired was Tom. He could have wished the fair to last a week. Nevertheless, he obeyed his brother's summons; and the little party set out on their return, the two elder ones again linked arm-in-arm, and apparently forgetting that the world contained any human being except their own two selves. | Poor Tom trudged after, beginning to feel, in the absence of other excitement, a severe relapse of his undefined curiosity, respecting Fanny's fairings. On tripped William and Fanny, and after trudged Tom, until a string of unruly horses passing rapidly by, threw the whole group into confusion: no one was hurt; but the pretty Londoner was so much alarmed as to afford her companion ample employment in placing her on a bank, sooth- Another of her delightful and delighting ing her fears, and railing at the misconduct of amusements, is her remarkable skill in drawthe horse-people. As the cavalcade disap- ing flowers. I have never seen any portraits peared, the fair damsel recovered her spirits, so exactly resembling the originals, as her carand began to inquire for her basket, which nations and geraniums. If they could see she had dropped in her terror, and for Tom, themselves in her paintings, they might think who was also missing. They were not far to that it was their own pretty selves in their seek. Perched in the opposite hedge sat looking-glass, the water. One reason for this master Tom, in the very act of satisfying his wonderful verisimilitude is, that our fair artist curiosity by examining her basket, smiling never flatters the flowers that sit to her; never and ho! hol-ing with all his might. Parcel puts leaves that ought to be there, but are not after parcel did he extract and unfold:-first there, never makes them hold up their heads a roll of white satin ribbon -"ho! ho!"- unreasonably, or places them in an attitude, or then a pair of white cambric gloves-"ho! forces them into a group. Just as they are, ho!" again; then a rich-looking, dark-co- she sets them down; and if she does make loured, small plum-cake, nicely frosted with any slight deviation from her models, she is white sugar,-ho! ho! Miss Fanny!"-last so well acquainted with their persons and of all a plain gold ring wrapped in three habits, that all is in keeping; you feel that so papers, silver, white, and brown,-"ho, ho! the plant might have looked. By the way, once more shouted the boy, twirling the wed- do not know any accomplishment that I would ding-ring on his own red finger, the fourth of more earnestly recommend to my young friends the left hand," so these are Fanny's fair- than this of flower-painting. It is a most quiet, ings! Ho! ho!-ho! ho!" unpretending, womanly employment; a great I |