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• Make haste!” cried one, we shall all be too late!” “Oh dear!” said another, “I've broken a plate !" “Never mind,” cried a third, “ hear me;"

And through the hot weather,

We altogether
Were busy as busy could be.

My brother and I were rather too small,
But we ran, and we rummaged at every call,
And hunted up things new and old ;

And touched, and tasted,

And scatter'd, and wasted,
And nobody staid to scold.

And nobody knew the things we did,
The lids we opened, the strings we untied,
The corks we managed to draw;

The wonderful places,

Our curious faces
Peeped into when nobody saw.

Aunt Emily's visit-Oh was it not fun?
To see them all scamper, and hurry, and run,
Maidens and mistress too;

Father, and mother,

And sister, and brother, -
All had something to do.

Aunt Emily's visit—at last when she came
Then was the height of the flurry and flame,
The boiling of kettle, and pan,

The “how d’ye do ?”

And, “pray how are you ?”
And, “Oh dear! I have not paid the man !"

“Run Mary, run Ellen, and tell him to stop,
See here is the money-You've both let it drop.

I ar
am so delighted you're well!

What can they be after,

The maids with their laughter,
Ring louder; they don't hear the bell !”

“ Now take up the parcels, and see they are right; And don't stay a moment out of my sight; But bring in the teapot again.

Look! look! at the cover,

The water runs over,
What can you be dreaming of, Jane?”

Aunt Emily's visit—'twas thus it began,
We bought, and we bargain’d, we rush'd and we ran;
In kitchen and parlour the same.

Oh was it not funny,

To see how the money
Was spent when Aunt Emily came?

And all was to comfort, and all was to please
The guest that we loved so, and make her at ease.
Mamma said it was "such delight !”

No trouble whatever,

When servants were clever;
But hers—they never did right.

Aunt Emily dwelt in a pleasant old house,
As

snug as a pigeon, as still as a mouse,
As quiet as woman could live.

Eating, and drinking,

Without ever thinking
What trouble a welcome could give.

Oh! could she have known it, what grief had been hers, The turmoil she made us—the wonderful stirs, Whenever our visitor came;

The snatching, and holding,

And screaming, and scolding,
The fuming, the flurry, and flame.

And all the world through, is there not this desire
To make more display than our friends would require;
And to murmur beneath the disguise ?

But would not the kindness

Which fosters such blindness
Be kinder to open our eyes ?

THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

Or all the cottages which stood on the hill-side in the little village of Oakton, that of James Pattison was the most neglected and forlorn, without being absolutely dirty. The little garden at the back, or, rather, the plot of ground which should have been a garden, was entirely uncultivated; and in the narrower strip before the door, separated from the road by a broken fence, there was nothing left but a withered and stunted rose-tree, of what the neighbours said, had once been the gayest flower-garden in the whole place. One recommendation, however, this habitation possessed over many others in the same village-its door was almost always closed ; and whatever the mistress of the house might be in other respects, she had the singular merit of being almost always at home. Indeed, Mary Pattison was a singular woman altogether, in such a place as the village of Oakton, for she never spoke of her own domestic affairs; and though some of her trials were well known, and often hinted at, by the people of the place, she never lingered about after such hints had been dropped, as if she wanted to say something that would make her appear more pitiable still; but she used to turn instantly away,

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