It was the same with every thing else: she expressed her opinion when asked without reserve; but she did not, like Julia, intrude disagreeable observations uncalled for, nor, like Hester, pretend to see beauties where there was nothing to admire. The uprightness of her father's character seemed to have descended to her; and Amy willingly forgave any little awkwardness of manner when she saw Mary's firmness and simplicity; while even Dora was rather won by the unconcern with which she listened to Miss Cunningham's impertinences, and the openness with which she acknowledged the inferiority of her own home to Emmerton-apparently thinking it a matter of indifference whether she lived in a large house or a small one. It was a point of character which Dora could appreciate and admire, though it was not one she thought it necessary to imitate. But Miss Cunningham felt very differently; and her good humour was not at all increased by the failure of her endeavours to inspire both Julia and Mary with awe and admiration and to complete her discomfort, when breakfast was over, Miss Morton gently proposed her practising for half an hour; adding that Lord Rochford had again mentioned the subject, and begged that she would assist her in perfecting the piece she had been trying, so that it might be played in the evening. Miss Cunningham did not speak, but she looked her thoughts, and yet she did not venture to rebel; for Lord Rochford, with all his fondness, had some particularities; and the arrangement of his daughter's studies was his peculiar hobby. It seemed, however, as if she had secretly resolved that the pleasures of a London journey should not be marred by any progress she might make under Miss Morton's tuition; and bad as her performance had been before, it was much worse this morning. Miss Morton, with unwearied

patience, corrected her false notes, asked her to repeat the difficult passages, and showed her, again and again, how they were to be played: but the long, stiff fingers appeared to possess some innate spirit of obstinacy; they would move exactly in the way in which they should not have moved; they would play sharps for flats, and turn crotchets into quavers and minims into crotchets ; until Amy, who, with the exception of Julia Stanley, was the only person present besides, wondered how it was possible for Miss Morton to persevere; and Julia, after a pretended attempt to conceal her amusement, laughed aloud. Miss Cunningham heard the laugh, and felt it keenly, and forgetting every thing but her annoyance, she jumped up from her seat, closed the book, and, without speaking, rushed out of the room.

"Well! that is delightful," exclaimed Julia; "I would have laughed before, if I had thought it would bring matters to a conclusion."

Amy wished to say something, but she felt painfully shy, for she had begun to dread Julia's satire; and, happily for her, Emily Morton spoke instead.

"I should be very sorry," she said, "to believe you in earnest; you would hardly acknowledge so openly that you took pleasure in hurting the feelings of another."

"Only she took pleasure in hurting my ears," replied Julia.

"Not intentionally," said Miss Morton: "but I am sure you cannot really mean what you say; you must be sorry for having given pain."

"Miss Cunningham is so very silly," persisted Julia, who was never willing to confess herself in the wrong; "it really is impossible to help laughing at her. You know there can be no harm in being amused at people's folly."

"I cannot agree with you at all," said Emily:

"and as to Miss Cunningham's sense, it is not her own choice to be less clever than others."

"To be sure not," exclaimed Julia, pertly: "who would be stupid if they could help it? But it does not make people at all the less absurd, because it is not their own fault."

"There again I must differ from you," replied Emily. "It makes all the difference possible. Selfconceit, and vanity, and pride may be ridiculous, but not mere deficiency of understanding: it is the appointment of God, just as much as poverty or illness may be and I think, from something I heard you say yesterday, you would not be at all inclined to laugh at any one who had less money than yourself."

66

Oh, no! certainly not," said Julia: "but cleverness is quite a different thing. I do so like bright, clever people; and I do so delight in laughing at stupid ones. All the world think more of cleverness than of any thing else."

"But it does not follow that all the world are right," replied Emily.

"But a great many strict people that I know think so," said Julia. "I very often hear some friends of ours say-such a person is not quite right, but then he is so clever; and it does make up for a great many things you must own that.”

66 I do

"Indeed I cannot own it," replied Emily: not see that it makes up for any thing." "But don't you like it?" asked Julia, in a tone of great surprise.

66

Yes, very much,-just as I like to see a pretty face, or to listen to beautiful music; but I do not esteem it. I mean," she added, observing that Julia continued silent from astonishment, "that I do not think it forms part of a person's character, any more than his houses or his clothes do."

"But have you no value at all for it?" said Julia.

"Yes," replied Emily; "and so I have for riches both may be made the instruments of good: but I do not value a person who is rich because he is rich; neither do I value a person who is clever because he is clever. If the rich man turns his riches to good account, I value him for his generosity and self-denial; and if the clever man uses his talents well, I value him because I see he is trying to serve God: but I should have just as much esteem for a poor man, or a man with inferior understanding, if they were equally good."

"But," said Julia, "all the celebrated people one reads of were not good, and yet there is just as much fuss made about them now as if they were angels: every one talks of them and praises them."

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Yes," replied Miss Morton, gravely, and then paused as if lost in her own thoughts.

"What were you going to say?" asked Amy.

"I did not like to say what was in my mind," replied Emily; "it is so very painful: but, you know, the opinions of men can be nothing when a person is dead."

Julia seemed struck with the observation, but did not speak, for she began to feel ashamed, and was endeavouring to summon courage to confess herself in the wrong. "I wish you would go on talking," she said, after the silence had continued for several minutes; "but then you think me so rude that perhaps you will not take the trouble.”

"It is not what I think, but what Miss Cunningham thinks, which is of importance," replied Miss Morton: "you have not been rude to me."

"Well! I was not quite polite perhaps, only really I could not help it. Shall I beg her pardon?" "No!" exclaimed Emily, " pray do not do that;

it would only make matters worse, because you must own then that you thought her ridiculous."

"But what shall I do ?" asked Julia.

"Will you let me tell you without thinking I am interfering?" said Emily.

"Oh! yes, pray do. You know, at school every one speaks their mind, so I am quite accustomed to it."

"Well, then! I should recommend you to begin by keeping a strict guard over yourself for the rest of the day, that you may not be guilty of the same fault again, and not to force yourself upon Miss Cunningham, but to show her quietly a few little attentions; and if she is proud and annoyed, to try and feel that it is only what you have brought upon yourself, and therefore not to be angry with her."

"But that is not the least in my way," said Julia. "I could go just at this minute and say I am sorry, because I am in the humour; and I should be rather glad to make it up and be friends again, though she is so silly but as for going on all day paying little attentions to a person who has not a single idea in her head, it is what I never did and never can do." "Never will, you mean," replied Miss Morton. "We often say can, when we ought to say will."

"Well! can, or will," exclaimed Julia; "it is all the same; only if I may beg Miss Cunningham's pardon now, I don't care: but if I must not do that, she must take her chance; and if she makes herself ridiculous, I must laugh at her."

"Because you think yourself cleverer," said Miss Morton: "is not that the reason ?"

Julia blushed deeply: she was not accustomed to have her self-conceit brought before her so plainly, and yet she was too candid not to see the truth of what was said.

"I do not mean to pain you," continued Miss