who came into the room in the middle of one of Julia Stanley's most amusing stories, appeared to take some pleasure in what was passing. Margaret's interest was real; but Miss Cunningham's satisfaction arose from the comparison which she could make in her own mind between the splendour of Rochford Park and the very ordinary style of living to which her new acquaintances had been accustomed; and at every possible opportunity she broke out into exclamations of "Dear me! how strange! how very shabby! what a wretched place your school must be!" till she hoped she had fully convinced them of the fact that the habits in which she had been brought up were immeasurably superior to theirs. Julia Stanley, however, was not at all awed by Miss Cunningham's grandeur; she continued her stories, talking very fast, and laughing heartily, and caring little what was thought as long as she could make others laugh also: but her sister was not equally insensible; and every now and then she endeavoured to check the flow of Julia's spirits, and to suggest that the customs of their school were not entirely as she had represented.

"You must not believe every thing Julia tells you exactly," she said, turning to Miss Cunningham, who seemed quite unable to comprehend the fact of any young ladies being so ill-treated as to have no second course at dinner, no curtains to their beds, nor fires in their rooms: "she runs on so fast that she forgets. We always have puddings on Saturdays; and we have fires when we are ill; and there are curtains in the largest room, only we have never slept there."

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Well, then, bad is the best, is all that I can say for your school," said Miss Cunningham: "and as for ladies being brought up in such a way, how is it

possible for them ever to know how to behave, if they are not taken more care of?"

"It must be very uncomfortable," said Dora : "but really I cannot see what a second course, and curtains, and fires have to do with manners."

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"To be sure not," exclaimed Julia; "what does it signify? It is very hard and disagreeable sometimes, and we cry a good deal when first we go there-that is, some of the little ones do; but after a few weeks it is all right, and we eat our cold rice-pudding, and think it delicious."

"Cold rice-pudding!" repeated Amy, who had a peculiar dislike to it: "do you never have any thing but cold rice-pudding?"

"Not very often," replied Julia; "but, as I said before, it really does not signify: I assure you, if you were up at six o'clock every day, as we are, and had nothing but hard lessons from morning till night, you would think cold rice-pudding one of the nicest things you had ever tasted. I don't think I ever like any thing we have at home half as well." "Well!" exclaimed Miss Cunningham, "I never heard of such a school before: all my notions were, that young ladies lived together, and learnt a few lessons, and had French and drawing masters, and ladies' maids, and carriages; that would be agreeable enough but you might just as well be cottagers' children, if you live so shabbily: and what a difference it must make after your home! How you must miss your carriage and servants!

:

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"I do not," said Mary Warner : we have no carriage."

"Not keep a carriage!" exclaimed Miss Cunningham; "then how do you manage to get from one place to another?

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Really," interrupted Dora, "I do not think you should cross-question any one in that way: of course

there are carriages to be had, even if people do not choose to keep them."

"There are coaches always passing near us," said Mary; "and so it is very convenient."

"Coaches!-you mean stage-coaches, I suppose," said Miss Cunningham.

"Yes," replied Mary: "one of them goes to Sandham, where our school is; so there is no difficulty about my travelling."

"That is the strangest thing of all," said Miss Cunningham. "Do you mean really that your papa and mamma allow you to travel about the country in a stage-coach? "

The tone in which this was said sounded even more disagreeable than the words; and Julia Stanley instantly took offence. "And why not?" she exclaimed; "why should not people ride in stagecoaches if they like it?"

"Of course, if they like it," said Margaret, who was always willing to side with her friend; "but liking it is a very different thing from being obliged to do it."

"So it may be," replied Julia; one does it now."

"but almost every

"I never do," said Miss Cunningham, pointedly. "Very likely," answered Julia; "but then you are only one person: and almost all those I know go in stage-coaches constantly; so you need not be so much surprised at Mary Warner."

Miss Cunningham pouted and drew up her head, and thought Julia one of the most forward, impertinent girls she had ever met with; and Hester began to fear there must be something very derogatory to the dignity of a lady in travelling by a public conveyance and yet remembering that once, when their own horses were lame, she had been obliged to avail herself of it, she could not with a

clear conscience deny her acquaintance with them; she could, however, abuse them heartily, and lament the necessity which had induced their papa to allow it-quite agreeing with Margaret and Miss Cunningham, that it was not a common thing for people to do.

Nonsense, Hester," exclaimed Julia; "you know as well as I do, that it is the most probable thing in the world that we shall go back to school by the coach; and what will your pride say to that?" Oh, papa mentioned something about it one day," replied Hester; "but of course he was not in earnest."

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"But he was," answered Julia; "he said that now our cousins had left school, it would be a great expense for us to travel by ourselves, and that he should certainly put us into the stage-coach, and let William take care of us, and then there would be no trouble about the matter. I wish,” she added, turning to Amy, who stood next her, "that Hester would not try, as she always does, to make herself as grand and as fine as the people she is with."

Amy felt a slight pang of self-reproach as Julia spoke this; for when the conversation had first began, she felt she should not like to say as Mary Warner had done, that her papa and mamma did not keep a carriage; and it appeared almost like deception to blame another for a fault she was conscious of herself. "I think," she said, in reply to Julia's observation, "that it is not right to wish to be just the same as other people; but I am afraid I should like it: and I am sure, indeed," she added, with an effort, "that I should be glad to have a carriage to take me wherever I wanted to go."

"Then you have not one," said Julia: "that seems strange, being Mr. Harrington's niece."

"My uncle's being rich does not make any dif

ference to us," was the answer; 66

except when we are staying here, and have the use of his things: but I think I should almost prefer being without them, because then I should not miss them."

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"I used to think," said Julia, still speaking in a tone only to be heard by Amy, “that it signified a great deal about the way in which people lived till I knew Mary Warner; but she had such different notions, that she made me think differently too."

"What notions?" asked Amy.

"Oh, I cannot tell you all now; but her papa was very rich very rich indeed, and lived in a beautiful place: but in some way. I cannot quite understand how he lost all his money, and was obliged to sell his property, and live in a much smaller house. If he had chosen, he might have had it all back again; but he is a very good man, and would not do something which he thought was not quite honourable; and so they continue living in the same inferior way, though no one, of course, thinks the worse of him for it, because every one says he has acted so nobly. This makes Mary care little for the change. She says her papa is so respected, and she is so fond of him, that it seems better to her than if they had all the fine places in the world."

Amy looked with interest at Mary as she heard this; but she was not able to continue the conversation, for the servant entered with candles, and tea immediately followed; and after tea they were all to dress for the evening.

To Dora's satisfaction, it had been decided that the boys were to dine late, so she was spared the task of keeping them in order; and, finding that every one was beginning to feel comfortable and at