liberally for his trouble; yet he has taken no advantage on that account, but gives us a most moderate bill for our entertainment. Do you not think, Fothersgill, that such a man is actually praiseworthy, and that I shall do right in rewarding him?”

To which Fothersgill instantly replied,—

"With the last part of the business, my Lady, I have nothing to do; I am not to dictate to you what you are to do, because I am well assured that if your Ladyship acts according to your judgment, that it is morally impossible for you to err; but I cannot be persuaded, your Ladyship, when a man acts honestly that he is doing any more than strictly his duty, in any case whatever; at the same time I will allow there is some degree of merit to be attached to it, in the present degenerate and vitiated day."

"That is exactly what I have been thinking," said Lady Honoria: "Tanjore, pray have the goodness to ring the bell."

And the landlord appeared.

"How many children have you?" demanded Lady Honoria.

1

"God be thanked, I ha'e gotten sax fine bairns, yere Ladyship," answered Robbie, with an air of the most peculiar satisfaction; "and Jeannie tells me there will be ane mair forthcoming o' the springtide o' the year; and I dinna fash mysel at a' about it, gin I may be spared to provide for it: it will only be ane mair bonnie wee flower to grow i' the garden."

"Let all your children be brought before me; in the mean time that gentleman (pointing to Fothersgill) will settle your bill, with which I am perfectly satisfied."

Fothersgill now immediately paid Rob his demand, and took his receipt, and with many bows he made his exit, but in a few moments returned with his whole brood of chickens at his heels, except that Jeannie (who also made her appearance) had the youngest child in her arms.

"We're over mickle obliged to your Ladyship," cried Jeannie, who was at no small pains to make one of her best curtsies, "for yere vary great condescension and affability to sic like puir bodies as Rob and mysel: I dinna ken how to speer my gratitude, for a' that my vary heart comes louping to my mou', an' wonna gang back again; gin the tears fa' frae mine een, an' if I munna greet a wee I mun die ;" and Jeannie wiped her eyes with her apron.

Although Jeannie's broad dialect was almost entirely unintelligible to Lady Honoria, yet she was by no means insensible to the impression it was intended to convey; as she surveyed the smiling countenances of each little cherub, she could not help contrasting the situation of the happy humble pair with that of those in a more exalted sphere of life, whose children are seldom permitted to approach them but in the arms of their nurse it is no wonder then that these ladies do not perfectly enjoy the sweet, delicious, maternal sensations which a mother feels when she becomes the nurse of her own child; for how is it possible she should experience what she really does not know?

The little bare-footed urchins (for they certainly had neither shoes or stockings on, though otherwise decently clad) all successively opened their chubby hands to receive the gift which Lady Honoria dropped

into them, which was a half-sovereign each, and a whole one was given to the little boy in Jeannie's arms. Lady Honoria then stepped into her carriage, which drove off amidst the tears, smiles and cheering congratulations of the grateful, happy Scotchman, and his little family; and, as the flower of the lowly vale is, both "stealing and giving odour," to the shade, which SHAKSPEARE has so beautifully delineated, so was goodness and sweetness personified in the actions of Lady Honoria, for she both gave and received pleasure in these her benevolent gifts to the poor little children of the honest Scotchman: it reflected back on her own gentle heart feelings of the most exquisite kind, which she would not have relinquished for the whole world; nor was this scene without its due effect on the youthful mind of Tanjore, and he exclaimed, in the most delighted accents, to Fothersgill, as they followed her Ladyship to the carriage,— "What do you think of Lady Honoria now, Fothersgill?"

And the tutor's reply, was,—

"Why, positively, Mr. Tanjore, I stand amazed at such a woman, because I do not know any one who at all resembles her."

What, not my mother?" cried Tanjore, some tender, fond recollections at that moment recurring to his memory.

"Your mother, Mr. Tanjore," answered Fothersgill, is incontestibly a most amiable woman, but still I must be candid enough to say, that I do not think that Mrs. Trelawney is like Lady Honoria. Every flower has its charm, Mr. Tanjore, every leaf its shade; but you will find there is a difference in