your dislike to your duties, than in indulging your love of indolence. E. I shall go now to Ann, and ask her to pull the bed-clothes off me when she sees me turn round to sleep again; and I can trust Ann to remember that to-morrow morning. I hope I shall not forget myself, and scold her for it. Good bye, Rachel, Ellen. Rachel, you wanted to hear Jenny say the hymn she learnt at school. I think she says it very prettily. I will call her. [Jane repeats.] "Hark, my soul, how every thing All the flowers that gild the spring Though their voices lower be, Wake, for shame, my sluggish heart,— E. It is a favourite at school, even with the little ones. I took pains to make Jenny get it perfect, and liked so much to hear her say it. I have always been fond of it myself, and I like to think of it as we go to church. In our walk there is a stream that warbling runs, and still sings on; and there are the flowers by the side of the stream,—the flowers "that gild the spring." Do not you remember the great bunches of marsh-marigolds, quite gold-colour, with their bright green leaves, looking down into the water? And the birds "with sweetest notes"-they seem to sing most then. Rachel. Or you have most leisure to listen to them that makes it a Sunday-pleasure. E. Rachel, do you know Ann says she thinks it idle in me to be always caring for these things. She told me it was not fit for a girl that has to get her living. Now, how can she be right, when the hymns we learn at school teach us to think of such things? And, besides, we learn texts of Scripture about them. And when our teaching is over, the ladies talk to us about them. R. I dare say they think it nice Sundaytalk when your reading is over, and so it is. I was talking to Ann about this the other day. I do not think it is idle to care for such things; I think it is what we ought to do; and that they are put before our eyes that they may bring good thoughts into our minds. E. There, I knew you would say so. R. Yes; but I also say that Ann may have had cause to think you idle; and she may have supposed your idleness was owing to your caring for the things that you look at. She thinks that this makes you loiter, when your mother sends you on a message. E. And if I am home a little later—a few minutes or so-is not it worth while, for the sake of not wasting such beautiful sights? R. No; not if your mother wants you at home. E. But she does not always want me so very much. R. If she wants you at all, that should be enough. If she tells you to make haste home, that should be enough. E. [after a pause.] So, after all, you take Ann's part, not mine. R. I have told you what I think about Ann and you-I believe you both to be well meaning, good sort of girls; but I think that (like most other girls) you have each your own faults. E. What are Ann's faults, Rachel ? R. [laughing.] Do you ask about her's first? E. I know, I ought to have asked first about my own. R. Well, tell me now,-what are Ann's virtues? Tell me what are the good qualities that you can see plainly in her? E. Why, it is plain enough that she is active and industrious; and Ann is goodtempered-all that is what I am not, I suppose you mean. O Rachel, I hope I am not the contrary of all that! R. I would not say any thing hastily of you, dear Ellen; and I can say that I think you are trying to get the better of your faults. But tell me, do you think, honestly, that people in general would praise you for being active, industrious, and good-tempered, so readily as they would praise Ann? E. I am afraid not. R. But we will come back to the question we were talking of--that may throw some light on your faults, or your temptations to faults,-about your loitering when your mother sends you on a message: I say there is a fault in it; but the fault is not in your taste for looking at the sky, or fields, or flowers,— |