of; but he said I must not whip the great horse unless he told me to do so, for sometimes he was a little frisky; and, indeed, once he did canter a little way, which was great fun. Was it not foolish in Fanny? She was frightened, and began to cry whenever the horse went a little faster. I wouldn't be such a coward as she is for all the world.

In a very little while after this, Cousin Henry called out, "Here we are!" and there was a white gate, which somebody threw open, and presently we were close to the door of Uncle Joe's house, and there he, and Aunt, and Cousin Eliza, stood ready for us. I like Uncle very much. He called out quite loud, "Well, girls! who should have thought of seeing you here? Come, jump out!" and he made us each jump into his arms, and gave us each a loud, smacking kiss. Fan was frightened again, and wriggled out of his arms, so he said, "Hey-day!" and laughed heartily. Uncle has a kind, merry face, so dark and sun-burnt. His beard is certainly rather rough, and he does not mind wearing an old hat. The one he goes about the fields in has hardly any nap left upon it, and then he has a straw one for hot days, so very brown!

It was within a little of dinner-time, which is never later than one o'clock, and sometimes half-past twelve, in hay and harvesttime. Aunt said our things should be brought up-stairs, but we must not unpack or dress at all, for Uncle was in a hurry to get his dinner over; so we did but wash our faces and hands, and smooth our hair, and run down as fast as possible. Dinner looked a little odd-not like ours at home. There is pudding before meat; and Unele does give very large slices. I could not eat all mine, and he called me a chicken. After dinner, as soon as he had said grace, we all got up and went where we liked. Cousin Eliza said garden was best, and she showed us an arbour, where we sat, and she brought us gooseberries and currants on a cabbage leaf.

'You know we had set of so very early in the morning, that we were rather tired; and, indeed, I was glad when Aunt came out and said she should like us to lie down for a little time in the afternoon, and then we could unpack our clothes before tea. Dear Mamma, you said very little to us about Aunt, but we are sure yon must love her dearly. What a sweet voice she has! All the time she was speaking, I kept hoping she would go on, for it was like pleasant music to the ear. And then her calm, bright eyes! I don't think I ever saw quite such eyes. They are perfect hazel, and her shining brown hair lies on her white forehead as if it could never be ruffled; and her neat simple cap, almost like a Quaker's for plainness, and her nice little silk mits on her delicate hands.

• All the evening I hope she did not think me very rude or very eurions, but I could do little besides watch her. Every thing she del was so prettily and simply done. I am sure she loves Uncle very much though he is so rough and different. He is very fond and proad of her, but she looks proud of him too.

• I think this letter is long enongh, but only I must tell you that Bere Aunt is the family reader. I thought it seemed strange at first, but Uncle makes her do it. He says he is never tired of listening to the words as she utters them, and that he knows he is rough and loud, and likes the servants to hear them from her; but sometimes, if she is out, or very busy, he will do it, "and very well too." Aunt says.

What a useful girl Cousin Eliza is! Do you know, I think I Lever saw a girl do so much; and so well too. I have found out that at this time of year she gathers all the fruit, and most of the vegetables, and that in the hot mornings she is in the garden by six o'clock, gathering before the sun bears great power. Also several of the flower-beds are her charge; and she waters the flowers, ead ties them up, and cuts off the dead ones, and the garden is in beautiful order. Besides this, she helps Aunt with the accounts, and assists in making cakes, and puddings, and pies, and does needlework; and she visits in the village at the school, and among the poor, when anything is wanted; and she is only just a little Cre-basy perhaps, so that it is hard to get hold of her for any talk; and she is tired by early bed-time. I am sure I wish I could be half as useful. I hope she will let me help her all I can while we

29

are here.

*And now I must leave off. What a long letter it is! I must go and see for Fanny's letter, for it is time they should go. 'Yours, dear Mamma,

'Lucy.'

MINOR CARES.

E. WELL, dear, it has all gone off beautifully, thanks to your nice arrangements. Now do sit down and rest. 8. I do not think I need look after anybody now, they will go their own way, and Ellen is proud to do the cards. I wrote all the directions yesterday; it is only slipping them in.

E. I long to see you quiet, for you must be in a whirl.

S. Is Mamma in the garden?

E. Yes, sitting with Jane, who will just suit her How quiet and sensible it all was nothing to take one' attention away from that dear child, or to oppress her. hardly believed that you could have carried your wishe as to that point. People, now-a-days, are so carried by custom against their own feelings.

S. It was difficult, but, as everybody deprecated fuss and especially the parties themselves, it seemed absurd to give in to it. Mamma had many misgivings, because sho always thinks what she is not equal to must be right and Papa was rather troubled about So-and-so not being asked, till I frightened him with a vision of Gunter Then you see there were no parents, and the sister wa too glad not to come out of Yorkshire, so we had only ourselves to offend. Price was so charmed to do the luncheon all herself, that it kept her in good humou throughout; and the Lowes manage all the village dinner That was a great stroke of diplomacy too. I could hardly believe, when we got into church, that all had gone so smoothly, and was so solemn and undisturbed-dear Agnes evidently with her whole mind in the service, and seeing and thinking of nothing else.

E. I hardly expected her to be so self-possessed, for she is excitable by nature.

S. Yes; but she has great power over herself; and I was so pleased with the way in which, from the first, she begged me to get everything for her, because she could not think about such trifles now; whereas she used to be so particular about her dress, that it ended in her choosing for us both.

E. That was very nice, though it gave you more to do. S. I did it with a good-will when I found it was shielding her from vanities, and that she was always satisfied. When I once got into it, it was no worse than a grand penny club-day.

E. I will say you have done beautifully throughout. You have never seemed pressed or hurried, however you might feel. At first I did rather pity you for having all on your shoulders, though not as some did, for seeing your younger sister chosen.

S. Oh, I have had plenty of that. Even to-day you cannot think what absurd things people said, as if she were not to have her trials like the rest of us, or as if the summit of all one's desires were to have a great flat, stiff park, with a lake in it, and drive into a Grecian portico. I longed to say sometimes, 'How do you know I should marry that kind of man if he asked me?' only I do not want to seem to disparage him.

E. But you really are satisfied for her? I liked what I saw of him very much.

S. Oh, I think him a thoroughly good, safe, sensible man-a most comfortable sort of brother. I could trust his judgment as soon as anybody's. And he is a very

unselfish man.

E. I am sure that is one great point for happiness.

8. And he is wrapt up in her, and will be, no doubt; and though she may be cleverer, she will look up to his judgment. You know she is not exactly romantic; she does not want to clothe people in morgen roth, and so it will not vanish.

E. Her cleverness lies in common things, I suspect? 8. Yes, in all the things I hate, managing, tidying, accounts, arrangements. Housekeeping will be the greatest treat to her, and then her garden and furniture; and all about her will be perfect, because her taste is so good.

E. And she will rather enjoy her position, though the park is flat.

8. Very much. It just suits her. It is not exactly worldliness, but liking the power of being useful, and having a sphere, and having liberty. And she has no

nerves, and great spirit to go through the trials of life. She was just fit for married life, which I never was.

E. And I suppose she rather looked to it.

S. Yes, quietly, and as a matter of course, but never looking out or flirting-none of my follies, very dignified, though so much admired. I do not think anyone could have ventured to say much to her, who was not in earnest, nor was she ever at all touched before. It was a very fresh love.

E. Your mother felt very much the trusting her with others, did not she?

S. Oh, it was a great gulp. But Aunt Maria is not a bad person to go out with. She is very particular and watchful; indeed, for that matter, much more up to people's ways and characters than Mamma. she never would let Agnes dance with. excuse for her. I went out too, at first, to make Mamma's mind quite comfortable about Agnes's proper behaviour, and Aunt Maria's care, and then I shirked usually.

Some people She made some

E. But, my dear, you had not many follies; you were always reckoned so inaccessible.

I

S. Ah, because you did not know the inside of me. was a great hypocrite, and certainly I had seen enough of the cares of married life not to wish to put my head into it in a hurry. But that does not make any real difference to one's fancies. I was ignorant and unguarded, and only used to dull home talk, and, really, clever conversation was a great snare to me. I do not mean merely young people. I often liked the elders the best, because I was at my ease with them; but that all helped to make me so naughty about country neighbours, and people in the house, and the Lowes. Do you remember, one summer, lecturing me about not coming down to visitors? Agnes did all that famously. How I shall miss it!

E. I knew you were very fastidious, but that was quite another thing. And I always thought it was a struggle