ity, which Sophy only thought insulting, and almost f of levity. Then came a representation of expe, which she scorned; and next, going a step higher, a had recourse to the duty of forgiveness, but found aded, for Sophy thought she had personally nothing give. Obedience to her father shook her purpose , and at last it was finally demolished by Albinia 'But really, I don't know with what face you attack Louisa, when you helped her to persecute Geneviève because you thought she had an instruof torture in her drawer.'

was not I who said that,' said Sophy, blushing. ou took part with those who did. And poor

viève was a much more defenceless victim than or myself.'

would not do it now,' said Sophy.

e made no more efforts, and Albinia had time to say, oes not take much individual blackness of heart to up a fine promising slander. A surmise made in s repeated in earnest, and all the other tale-bearers they are telling simple facts. Depend upon it, the did not set off from the Osbornes by any means as it back to Aunt Maria.'

should like to know.'

Don't let us make it any worse; and above all, do not Is tell Lucy.'

O no!' said Sophy, emphatically.

o Albinia's surprise no inuendo from Mrs. or Miss dows ever referred to her management having caused hy's misfortune; and she secretly attributed this silence Mr. Kendal's escorting his sister-in-law to her own

se.

(To be continued.)

MY THREE AUNTS; OR, LOWMINSTER.

PART II. (Concluded.)

CHAPTER VI.

Ir sometimes happens that after a long period of stillness and monotony, events come thick upon one. The time between my mother's death and my sixteenth year. seems now, as I look back upon it, but one day, so uniform and tranquil was its course. One week did not follow another with greater certainty than did my daily round of meals, lessons, and exercise. A drive to Upham, or a new master, were the only events which varied the sameness of my existence. Aunt Dorothea conducted my education, and devoted with praiseworthy punctuality the whole of her mornings to me; nor did she stint me in any advantage which was at all attainable. I had masters both for music and dancing, and a French mistress; and though anything was considered good enough for me to wear, and I had no pocket-money, and scarcely any toys, I was not put on a short allowance of learning. I believe, from natural quickness more than diligence, I profitted very fairly from all the instruction she afforded me. At least she used to say, 'I do not find fault with you, Harriet, because you do amiss, your lessons are generally tolerably good, but because you seldom do your very best. You could do better, if you were as attentive as you are ready to comprehend; and you may depend upon it, nobody ever makes any great progress in any way, who does things with only half his power.'

Poor Aunt Dorothea! I wish I had striven more to please her whilst 1 had still the advantage of her oversight; for, unfortunately, I lost it just when I was becoming conscious of its value. I remember it was very soon after I was confirmed, that she caught a very severe feverish cold, influenza as it came afterwards to be called;

were several people ill of it in the village, and two ee old persons died. I recollect also, that just about me that Aunt Dorothea fell ill, poor old Dr. Ford is wife; and Aunt Prissie, who was very intimate them, said that she was sure that if she had had ursing of her, she could have saved her life. She xactly the same age as Aunt Dorothea; but still it such a settled point in the family, that her death was ly owing to mismanagement, that we none of us took at the similarity of symptoms and circumstances. the fear of aggravating the fever, she prescribed for If, with Aunt Prissie's concurrence, a regimen of on broth, and dry toast and tea, and took to her bed, ugh protesting it was a thing she never did for so t a cause. A week of such a system reduced her ich a state of weakness, as at last alarmed my father, he insisted on sending to Upham for a doctor. He e in the evening, but it was too late to save her; all his stimulants and tonics could do, was to make her sink tle more slowly. She was sensible to the last, received Holy Communion, and spoke a few parting words, ch showed the humble tranquil faith in which she died. were all with her, even dear Aunt Phoebe was present, alm and pale, and with so bright and steadfast a hope peedy reunion in her heart, that as she threw her arms nd Aunt Prissie, who was by far the most agitated of two, she exclaimed, 'Oh! do not grieve so, it is only such a little time, and then we shall all be together in.' And she talked to me afterwards quite cheerfully, ugh her tears were flowing, and said, what a 'blessshe thought it that they three sisters had so long been ared to each other.'

Two wills were found locked up in Aunt Dorothea's sk, one dated at the time of my father's marriage, in hich there was no mention whatever of his name, and e whole of her property was bequeathed to her sisters;

the other, dated a year or two before my dear mother's death, which showed she had not waited for that event to forgive him; for really, after bequeathing a thousand pounds apiece to each of her two sisters and to me. she left all the rest to him, with a particular request that he would out of it make some provision for his wife, ss she well knew he must have married without any.

My father's share amounted to five thousand pounds. for she had had more than her sisters, and she had saved; and my father said he felt himself quite a rich man. As for me, I was not to have my fortune until I came of age, but the interest of it was to be spent in finishing my education, and in any way that would benefit me.

In looking back now on Aunt Dorothea's life, I cannot help being struck with its melancholy. Once I remember her saying, 'It has been to me a series of disappointments;' and once when she and Aunt Prissie were talking together, and were not aware that I was close behind. I overheard her say, 'The sorest trial of my life was in Frederick's marriage. I had indulged the hope that he might eventually form such a connexion as would enable him some day to repurchase Shothurst. My sorest grief was in the loss of his affection. Many a time I have thought, that the unjust separation I once inflicted on poor Phoebe, recoiled then upon my own heart. Ah! she ended with a sigh, God's love is enough for all of us if we could but think so.'

Her death made for some time a sad change for the worse in the comfort of the household. The reins of government were entrusted to the unequal hand of Aunt Prissie, and, as a natural consequence, punctuality and order soon ceased to exist. One day there was a grand explosion, because we were not ready for dinner, and dinner was not ready at the hour appointed; and the next, she kept us and the cook waiting half-an-hour, and then made us eat in haste to make up for lost time. And

Jually we came to live in that most uncomfortable on, a perpetual bustle, and all our meals were a sion of domestic turmoils. Aunt Prissie constantly own dinner in her bonnet, and as for sitting still that or any other time, it was a thing she never t of. She always arranged household matters at breakfast, affirming that she could not find any minute in which to do it; so that she devoured her and butter, and drank her tea between her various to the kitchen and store-room. Certainly she might lead want of time, for in addition to her attendance int Phoebe, and the care of our house, she had not her other patients to attend to, but she had under

the oversight of Dr. Ford's establishment; for, as aid, 'How can he ever get on without some one to after things, when he is so gouty he can only just le across his study?' No mortal hands or legs could hrough the work and the labour she had cut out for ; one felt sure that something must be left undone, and on appeared, that the thing which would be given up. her jealous sedulous watchfulness of Aunt Phoebe. I it, and rejoiced to see it ; and did not despair, if I could persuade my dear aunt to exert herself, of freeing her, east in some measure, from the servitude in which she so long lived. Such a complete emancipation as was store for her, I dared not anticipate. There was a 1 of regular irregularity in Aunt Prissie's proceedings; went out after breakfast; rushed back to give Aunt ebe her dianer; then out again, and returned no more il it was our dinner-time, generally, indeed, not until ch later.

Aunt Phoebe, in spite of the unhealthy life she led, was tainly stronger, and less wan and thin than she had en; and that she felt herself so, was evident from the elination she showed to move about, and the desire she pressed to go to church. To me she talked about it