should have been tempted to ask a few questions." Just then Emily came down with a few more, who slept in a room with Miss Lindsay, the second teacher. "Miss Lindsay says that the new teacher is come," said Emily. "We know," replied Mary Ann, "but perhaps you can tell us a little more." "The rest will tell you all you wish to know, my dear Mary Ann; I must go and practise," said Emily, as she went out of the room. Accordingly, they now began to discuss the subject, while Charlotte seated herself on a form in a corner of the room, and not all the bustle around could tempt her to raise her eyes from the lesson she was learning. Presently Miss Lindsay, and the French teacher came down: it was now time to ring the bell for prayers, and Miss Windermere, with their governess, Mrs. Wilmot, soon after appeared.

After prayers were over, Mrs. Wilmot introduced Miss Windermere to the young ladies, and mentioned a few of their names to her; saying"You see them all, now, except my niece, and another little girl, who has never been to school before; I quite expect them both to-day. The young ladies now thought they might venture to look at their new teacher; she was pleasing in

her appearance, and there was something very kind and cheerful in the expression of her countenance, though there was a sort of mild dignity in her manners, which seemed to indicate that she was not a person to be trifled with. She took the first class, of which Emily was one, to their lessons that morning, and quite satisfied those who were anxious to improve, of her ability and willingness to give them useful information; and her anxiety that they should thoroughly understand all they learned. Possessing superior talents, and a highly cultivated mind, she was besides very fond of young people, and she made their studies so interesting, that the attention even of the idle was excited, while the more intelligent were unusually pleased.

About the middle of the day Mrs. Wilmot's niece arrived, and, before the close of it, the little girl before mentioned. Mary, for that was her name, was a pretty blooming child, just nine years old. She shed many tears at parting with her mamma, and looked timidly around her, as she was introduced into the school-room, half afraid at the sight of so many strange faces. Miss Lindsay, however, kindly took the young stranger to sit near her, endeavouring to amuse

her, so that she soon seemed to feel more at home. On the first evening the novelty of the scene around, appeared entirely to engage her attention; but afterwards, it became evident that the separation from home was a most severe trial to her. Though she apparently endeavoured to conceal and restrain her feelings as much as possible, yet tears were continually flowing at the remembrance of the friends she had left: she attended to all her lessons very diligently, and would often seem, for a short time, interested in them, or in the amusements of her little companions; but the slightest reference to home, such as the mere mention of her mamma's name, appeared immediately to bring on a tide of recollections which were too much for her to bear without weeping.

Some might have thought her a silly child, but there were others, who could make allowance for the feelings of one so young, on being separated, for the first time, from a happy home; and who knew how to sympathize in the sadness of a little heart, which had, perhaps, never known trouble before.

Among these was Miss Windermere, who was much concerned to see her little pupil so un

happy, and determined to watch for opportunities of endeavouring to remove the gloom which weighed down her spirits. Two or three days after her arrival, she saw her standing, after their morning studies were over, at the schoolroom window, which looked into the garden. The view was not one of the most cheering description, for though the grounds were very pleasant, the trees were now bare, the earth damp, and the atmosphere so foggy, as quite to obscure the distant hills. Little Mary's heavy heart invested the landscape with a still more sombre hue, and as she stood she thought, "Ah, how different it looks at home!" the tears came into her eyes, and she stayed by the window, thinking no one would see her wipe them away.

Miss Windermere, however, was looking at her, and now said, "Mary, my dear, if you have nothing particular to do, perhaps you will not mind winding a skein of cotton for me.” “Oh, yes, I will do it, ma'am ;" said Mary, drying up her tears, and trying to look as if nothing was the matter. "Thank you, my love. And will you come and sit by me?" Mary came, and began to wind, and Miss Windermere tried to draw her into conversation. "Do you often break

"Oh no,

cotton, when you wind it, my love." the last time I wound a skein, I did not break it once," replied Mary, and a tear rolled down her cheek; Miss Windermere wiped it away, and, kissing her tenderly, said, "Now do tell me the cause of all these tears." "Oh, ma'am," said Mary, "the last time I wound a skein of cotton, it was for my mamma; you cannot think how much I want to see her." "And is that the reason you have looked so sad since you have been here? you do not cry because you do not like study I hope, my love."

Mary. Oh no, ma'am; I like my lessons; I used to learn them at home: and every one here is very kind; that makes me the more sorry, because you all try to make me happy, and yet I cannot help crying to think of my home, and to think I shall not see mamma again for so many weeks.

Miss W. Well, but as mamma thinks it right for you to come to school, is it not better for you to try and be cheerful, and learn all you can? that will please your mamma, you know.

Mary. Yes, ma'am; and I often try to be happy, but then again the tears will come, and I think it is hardly any use trying.