be called) could be traced in her countenance or her manner, as she addressed Trelawney and his lovely, timid Rosa, with whose interesting and engaging disposition she soon became charmed; a friendship which was not to be bore away by the stream of fashion, or changed with the change of fortune; it was steady, persevering and constant, and Trelawney, if he had before only admired the character of Lady Honoria Belmont, now held it in veneration, beyond all praise, well knowing that, in the society of such a woman, his Rosa would be blest, while her highly accomplished mind and elegant manners would constantly tend to improve and enlighten her.

At this period Mrs. Trelawney was in the seventh month of her pregnancy with Tanjore; and when Lady Honoria, soon after her arrival in England, went to visit her beloved friend, Rosa placed her little boy in her arms, then about five months old.

"Look, Lady Honoria," uttered she, "what a little urchin I have got, since I had last the happiness of beholding you."

"A boy, my dear friend!" exclaimed Lady Honoria; "he should certainly have been a girl, he is so prodigiously handsome; and 1 am excessively disappointed,—I had already flattered myself with the hope of seeing a little Honoria when I came to visit you; Trelawney, you know, made me a promise, before he left Scotland."

"Which promise should have been held sacred, if this urchin had proved a daughter," cried Rosa; "but now I cannot suppose that will have any thing to do with him."

you

To which Lady Honoria, who had been all this while caressing the lovely infant, replied,

"Indeed, Mrs. Trelawney, but you shall not suppose any such thing, for I intend to have a great deal to do with him. What have called the little rogue ?"

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"Tanjore," answered Mrs. Trelawney, at the same moment that Mr. Trelawney entered the apartment.

The babe was still in the arms of Lady Honoria, and Trelawney exclaimed,

"How highly is my boy honored, Lady Honoria, by your condescension in becoming his nurse ;-ah! I will one day make him sensible of his happiness in sharing the smiles of Lady Honoria BelHe is uncommonly like his mother, is he not ?”

mont.

"Never did I behold features so exactly similar; but remember that he is mine; you know I bespoke him, some months back, and though he is not an Honoria, I believe I shall like him equally well in the character of a little Tanjore."

From this period of his infantine days, it was very natural to suppose that little Tanjore, as he increased in growth and beauty, should become a reigning favorite with Lady Honoria Belmont ; and so he was; for she never would listen to any tales reported of him, not even from his fond father, always answering his complaints of Tanjore's encreasing propensity to mischievous tricks, in the following manner :

"Well, well, this wont last for ever."

To which Mr. Trelawney would smile, and say,

"But, my dear Lady Honoria, they have lasted long enough; he is perpetually doing what he ought not to do."

"So are we all," cried Lady Honoria, "though twice the age of Tanjore; we are all doing wrong, and constantly deceiving ourselves, in the thought that we are acting right, till the consequences of our own folly absolutely stare us in the face, pointing out to our deluded senses the path which has bewildered us. But why don't Fothersgill correct his incorrigible pupil ?"

"That Lady Honoria," answered Trelawney, "is a secret which I cannot precisely make out; he has been severe enough with William; but I actually believe that he is amused with the tricks of Tanjore, and is grown so fond of the little urchin, that he does not like to punish him, though he knows that he is in fault. However, I must insist on an enforcement of my commands, and the very next time that the boy commits a fault, I will see that he is corrected in a proper manner.

"Do so," cried Lady Honoria, scarce able to suppress a smile at the pretended anger which Mr. Trelawney had manifested, as he talked of the follies of his darling boy; and, determinded that she would seemingly acquiesce in any punishment which should in future be inflicted on Tanjore, she added with a look of gravity, as Mr. Trelawney rose to depart,

"Remember, now, to set the example of punishment yourself on No. II.

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Tanjore, the very next time that he offends; and neither Fothersgill or any other person, however blindly partial to the faults of Tanjore, in that case I should imagine, would attempt to dispute a father's prior right to the management of his child.'

"You are right, Lady Honoria," said Trelawney, seemingly well pleased that she had at last entered into his plans with respect to the correction of Tanjore; "the boy shall not be spoiled for want of a proper punishment; and if Fothersgill dares to dispute my authority he shall instantly quit my service. Though I own it will hurt me much to part with him, yet Fothersgill must not be suffered to spoil my children; it would be extremely reprehensible, you know, Lady Honoria, were I to permit it."

"Oh, assuredly," cried Lady Honoria, now stifling a laugh, which she could not easily suppress, "punish Tanjore! by all means, punish him severely, and let me see that you do it, Mr. Trelawneyyourself and Fothersgill is totally out of the question.'

Mr. Trelawney then took his leave, highly satisfied with his own feelings, as having gained the approbation of so warm an advocate as Lady Honoria Belmont to back his suit, with respect to the management of his young favorite, who in a few succeeding days after the conversation with Lady Honoria Belmont, gave ample scope for his fathers using severity towards him, in the following manner.

The whole family were one morning assembled at breakfast, when Mr. Trelawney demanded to know if they had a mind to a little frolic in the village of Kenilworth, as he was going for a few days to the White Cottage, whither he intended also to invite Mr. and Mrs. Clarendale, with their cousins Lucy and Sedley, to enjoy the pleasures of a rural fete, given in commemoration of his wedding day.

"But remember," cried Mr. Trelawney, "that, though it is a day which I consider to be the happiest of my whole life, the day on which I obtained your mother for a wife, yet I will not wholly contribute to the expences of the entertainments I shall propose, without each of you, my children, putting in your mite towards it. You know you have all your yearly gift; let us see how generous you will be with it, and according to what you are pleased to deposit in my hands, so will I appropriate it to the pleasures and amusements which you will receive during our stay at the White Cottage; at which you will observe, that your uncle and aunt Clarendale, and

your cousins Sedley and Lucy, will be only the invited guests.They will have nothing to contribute towards the expences of the entertainment they will receive, except by their acknowledging that they have been gratified by sharing in it.

Now, then, my children, I am most anxiously awaiting your reply to my proposition."

Mrs. Trelawney, having insidiously stole a side glance at Tanjore, was soon informed, by one of the most expressive countenances in the world, that all was not right in that quarter and that the proposition just made by his father was likely to be productive of more pain than pleasure; and, not daring a second time to cast a look towards her treasured boy, Rosa fixed her eyes on the silver coffeepot, from which she was pouring out some coffee, while her heart beat tumultuously in her fond maternal bosom, lest that her darling might now be exposed to the displeasure of his father.

Emma, Alexina, Ellen and William, had all laid their contributions on the table; and even Mary out with her little neatly netted green purse, while she archly exclaimed,—

"There papa, that is all I have got now; you gave me two guineas on mamma's birth-day, but Mrs. Pelham knows what I have done with the rest,-don't you, Mrs. Pelham.”

To which Mrs Pelham replied,—

"Oh yes, my love, I can give your papa a very good account of it."

"I beg Mrs. Pelham, you will not put yourself to that trouble," cried Trelawney, now, for the first time, darting a look of enquiry at his son Tanjore; "if you know to what uses Mary has appro. priated her money, that information is quite sufficient,—

"But I would know, Mr. Tanjore, why you alone choose to be mercenary on this occasion ?" continued Mr. Trelawney. "When your brothers and sisters have so cheerfully contributed the assistance to forward the progress of my fond endeavors to render you all happy, why you, Sir, I should be glad to know, remain silent among them all?-what are your motives for this extraordinary conduct?'

Mr. Fothersgill had, for the space of several minutes, began to sit very easy on his chair; and when his pupil was thus addressed by his father, he found his situation to be almost insupportable, apprehensive (but certainly not knowing what had occasioned the par

simony of his young favorite) that his conduct might be called into question by Mr. Trelawney; but what was Fothersgill's surprise, to hear the following sentence escape from the lips of his pupil, at the same moment that he gave him a look of such supplication, aided too by one from Mrs. Trelawney, that he was forced into silence, while he heard him pronounce,—

"It is not from mercenary principles that I withhold my contri butions on the present occasion, for you know my dear father that my disposition is not mercenary; but—but I really have not got the money, and that is the whole truth of the business."

To which Mr. Trelawney replied, with a look more stern and displeased than ever he had addressed Tanjore before,―

"That, Sir, is very likely to be the case, I have no doubt, but your extravagant propensity might induce you to part with all your money, had I given you twenty times as much; however, though this be the truth, it is a truth which does not perfectly satisfy your father's feelings, with respect to its propriety; and I must request to know in what manner you have disposed of your money; tell me this, and if I find that it has been properly bestowed, I will, double the value of the sum, and never once repent of my generosity."

"Dear Tanjore, tell your father all the truth, I implore you," said the fond and anxious mother, with tearful eyes, which rested only on the changed countenance of her darling boy.

But Mr. Trelawney was still more highly displeased, and exclaimed,

"No, Mrs. Trelawney, I insist upon your not imploring your son on any such subject; if he is sensible of his duty, he will perform it without any intercession being considered necessary; and I beg that he may not be entreated to give an explanation of his proceedings, of which, were he not ashamed, he would instantly disclose. Mr. Fothersgill, you are his tutor, and if you do not know any thing about this business, I must think you either wilfully negligent of your pupil's morals, or shamefully blind to his faults and indiscretions."

To which irritable speech of Mr. Trelawney even the quaint and quiet Fothersgill was at length roused, and he answered him in the following manner :

“Mr. Trelawney, Sir, I stand amazed at your petulance; when