"Well, my love, let us instantly go to Mrs. Pelham," cried Emma, "and thank her for her kind anxiety, on my account," and away they tripped to the apartment of their preceptress.

"My dear Miss Bradbury, I hope Miss Mary has not been intruding on you," cried Mrs. Pelham; "but really we have been alarmed that you did not join us after dinner, lest you were unwell.”

"Oh no, dear Madam, I never felt better in my life," cried Emma, blushing deeply at the consciousness of what had rendered her so, though she declined saying what had detained her; and Mary, though she felt curious to know, did not venture to inquire, as her sister Alexina had lectured her pretty smartly on her conduct at the table about the oranges.

"You will actually get yourself despised and hated, Mary," cried Miss Trelawney; " and it is well for you that mamma was so deeply engaged in conversation with my aunt Clarendale, that she did not observe you so unpardonably rude, for which I protest that you ought to have been sent out of the room till you had learned better

Mary pouted and almost cried; but at length, with her usual archness and spirit, replied,

"Well, if I was so very rude why did not Mrs. Pelham correct me?"

To which Miss Trelawney replied,

"Because Mrs. Pelham did not think proper to do that while we were at table with papa and mamma, and I suppose she forgot to do it afterwards."

"But you have not forgot to do it, sister Alexina," exclaimed Mary, almost ready to cry; "you have a better memory than Mrs. Pelham."

"Very likely," answered Miss Trelawney; "but I am your sister, and have too much affection for you to see you guilty of ill manners without telling you of it, and which you are old enough to correct yourself without being reminded so often of it. If you were a fool, Mary, I might not be so severe in my reproof; but you have good sense, and should endeavor to make a proper use of it." The heart of the little offender was now quite full, and she sobbed out,

"Indeed, sister, I am very sorry for my fault, and I will never behave so rudely again."

"Come then and kiss me," cried Miss Trelawney; "dry up those tears, and let us be friends again."

Mary instantly obeyed, and the kiss was freely shared, and sealed with another from the lips of Mrs. Pelham, who had listened in silence to the foregoing conversation, and highly applauded Miss Trelawney for the exceeding proper part she had acted towards the correction of her young and sometimes little refractory pupil.

The young ladies now returned together to the drawing-room, Emma appearing in higher spirits than usual, which exceedingly rejoiced her fond aunt, particularly as the journey to Scotland was again talked of without any visible change in the countenance of her lovely niece.

Tanjore, however, was not there; and the moment he appeared, Mr. Trelawney exclaimed,

"Tanjore, what do you think I have been projecting to Fothersgill ?"

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To which Tanjore respectfully replied,

"Sir, your projects are always consistent with propriety; and I have ever listened to them with pleasure.”

"I do not know how far they may be productive of pleasure in the present instance,” cried Mr. Trelawney, highly pleased with Tanjore's reply, "but I am certain they will always be productive of advantage to my dear boy in the end, and that will always be productive of happiness to his father. What say you, Tanjore, to Mr. Fothersgill going down with you to Scotland; have you any objection to such an arrangement?"

"Objection to the company of Mr. Fothersgill," cried Tanjore, in warm and animated tones which it was not difficult to perceive came spontaneously from his heart, "no, Sir, I have the highest respect for Mr. Fothersgill, and always feel happy in his society, and if this is the project to which you were pleased to allude when I came in, I assure you it is one which affords me infinite satisfaction."

"Mr. Tanjore, Sir, I stand amazed at your kindness. I hope I shall ever deserve your good opinion," cried the tutor, taking a pinch of snuff, as if it had received an additional flavor from the high

compliment which had just been conferred on him by his young fa vorite.

And never had the feelings of a fond father received so much gratification, as witnessing this warm and unshaken attachment sub. sisting between a tutor and his pupil. It was a proof of merit on both sides; and Mr. Trelawney declared that he felt himself extremely happy that Tanjore appreciated the good qualities of the man whom he had selected to be the mentor and guide of his youth, and never was an evening passed in such universal harmony and good humor.

As to William, he was seated by the side of Emma,—she smiled upon him, and that was sufficent to render him the happiest of mortals; and as to Emma, the praises of Tanjore were to her the highest gratification she could receive, and whatever uneasy and uncom. fortable reflections she otherwise endured, she endeavored to conceal them, and to appear happy, were it only to create happiness around her.

Miss Trelawney, she was thinking how long it would be before Lord Wyndham returned again to town,-and when he did return, whether he would call soon in Berkeley Square.

Mr. Fothersgill, he was thinking what a delightful journey he would have to the North, and how he would pass his time among the generous Scots, and in viewing the lofty mountains and sunny vales that give birth to his so greatly admired poet, ROBERT BURNS, with whose lays and melodies he was so enchanted, that he would often ask his favorite Miss Ellen to favor him with " Auld lang syne," or "Scots wae ha wi Wallace bled," till the tears have frequently trickled down his sun-burnt cheeks ;-so much for the genuine sensibility of an old-fashioned quaint tutor of the old school.

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"I say, Fothersgill, what are we to do with poor Juno?" cried Tanjore, the ensuing morning when they were left together.

"Why, Sir, we must contrive to smuggle her," cried the tutor. "What, into Lady Honoria's carriage ?-oh, the deuce, that will never do," answered Tanjore ; "we should soon have her melodious pipes ringing in our ears."

"No, Mr. Tanjore, I do not mean into Lady Honoria's carriage," answered Forthersgill, “but into some of the attendants'; I dare say

they will take charge of her, if you will reward them for their trou

ble."

“Well, I shall leave you to manage that," cried Tanjore, “for I am now going over to Lady Honoria, with a message from my fa ther, so, farewell till we meet again at dinner."

And Tanjore was out of sight in a moment, and in a short time found himself sitting beside of Lady Honoria, who was greatly recovered from the effects of her indisposition, and now talked of speedy arrangements for their intended exhibition.

"That is, in the course of a fortnight, my dear boy," uttered she; “I shall then be able to travel. Well, and how is your dear mother, and sisters, and Pelham? and pray, Tanjore, how is your pretty cousin, Emma ?"

This sudden and abrupt enquiry caused a momentary suffusion to rise on the face of Tanjore, and he replied with some degree of embarrassment,

"Miss Bradbury was well last night; but I have not seen her this morning, your Ladyship."

Neither the blush nor the embarrassment of Tanjore was unremarked by Lady Honoria, but she instantly dismissed a subject, which she perceived he took great pains to evade himself; for Tanjore talked of the weather, of the wind, the rain, the news of the day,-in short, he talked of any thing, and every thing but Emma, dear Emma.

"Well," cried Lady Honoria, half smiling at the perplexity of her young favorite," and so you have come expressly from your father with a message, and have quite forgot to tell me the nature of it; I suppose you have left it behind you, my dear Tanjore."

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"No, indeed, your Ladyship, I was just going to mention it to you when first I came in," cried Tanjore," and that is if you will honor us with your company to day to dinner, he has something of a little importance to communicate to your Ladyship; may I tell him you will come?"

To which her Ladyship replied,

"Not to dinner, Tanjore, it is too long for me to sit now I am in such low spirits; but perhaps I may take a ride to Berkeley Square in the evening, and that may do as well ; you shall come for me, precisely at seven."

"Your Ladyship honors me most highly," cried Tanjore, and after some little further conversation he respectfully arose and took his leave just arriving in time to bid his aunt and uncle Clarendale farewell, for the carriage had drawn up to the door, and running up immediately to the drawing-room, he perceived that his mother and sisters were all in tears, and Lucy sobbed as if her heart would break, so tenderly and fondly were these amiable and affectionate families united together.

"This is always the case with you, my dearest Rosa,” cried her brother, fondly straining his beloved sister to his heart, "when I bring Mary to see you she never knows when to come away. There are Lucy and Sedley too both snivelling; and can you wonder, when their mother is setting them the example. Come, Mary, how can you be so silly?"

Mrs. Clarendale now tore herself away from the arms of her dear Rosa, and kissing every one of the dear children repeatedly, she gave her hand to Mr. Clarendale.

"God bless you, Emma," cried the sobbing Lucy, throwing her arms round the neck of her dear cousin, who too much affected even to respond the adieus of the kind affectionate warın hearted girl, pressed her in silence to her beating heart.

"Come, Lucy, mother and father are waiting for us," cried Sedley, and gently taking the hand of his weeping sister, led her out of the presence of her cousins, who were all much in the same situation with Emma,—they were incapable of bidding Lucy farewell.

Meanwhile the boys had taken an affectionate leave of their uncle Henry at the door; and Mr. Trelawney, by no means unmoved with the parting benediction which Mr. Clarendale had given to his Rosa and her children, once more shook the hand of Henry, as he directed a look towards him which spoke volumes, without the aid of words to give it meaning; and it was perfectly understood by Mr. Clarendale, for it plainly said, here is a home when you shall want one,—here is a purse, when you shall require assistance, and here is a heart in which you will ever retain a place. There wanted no further explanation ;-and the postillions, setting spurs to their horses, the carriage very rapidly lost sight of dear Berkeley Square.