in a coarse apron, or a gown pulled through the pocket-hole, shelling peas or making a pudding; for Lady Worral had no notion of a "parson's wife sticking up to be a fine lady." Indeed the character of a fine lady was the object of her supreme contempt; for though she piqued herself much on her ancient birth, being descended from the De Barneville that went on the first crusade," yet she considered it no degradation of her dignity to check her steward's accounts, look after her turkeys, scold the village children, and give Mrs. Wellford a receipt by word of mouth for that " heterogeneous combination of culinary ingredients" ycleped a hodge-podge.

The defunct Sir John Worral had been something of a humourist. Knowledge is power," said he, "the power of making one's self disagreeable." That he might not make himself disagreeable, he never opened a book after he became his own master; but devoted himself to the gratification of an extraordinary passion for bell-ringing. At first he used to practise in the parish church, but his constant peals disturbing the studies or the slumbers of Mr. Wellford's predecessor, a quarrel ensued between baronet and vicar, and Sir John set up an opposition belfry in his own grounds. Here he and his men servants amused themselves many a long hour; ding-donging the good people of Summerfield out of their senses, and wearing Mr. Greenway to a thread with low spirits, except when a north wind carried the noise to Hexley, and nearly put a stop to the business of the place. Sometimes they pealed, at other times they tolled; at length, Death, out of patience at so much tolling without any burials, took off Sir John. His relict sold the bells, and the campanile fell into decay.

Mrs. Wellford, from her cheerful, complying disposition, became a great favourite with the old dowager; a character which entailed on her so much vexatious interference that she was often led to regret its attainment, and could only be reconciled to it by the reflection that Lady Worral, whom no affront could possibly force into indignant silence, would be ten times more noisily troublesome as an enemy than as a patronizing friend. She wondered that Henry appeared insensible to the annoyance, and was often momentarily provoked at the hearty cordiality of his "My dear Lady Worral, how kind of you to look in upon us with so little ceremony!" Men have small sympathy with female vexations at being caught mending shirts or dressed in ginghams.

Beyond these trials, Mrs. Wellford had few that do not fall

to the lot of every housekeeper with a limited income and increasing family. She had occasionally a little difficulty in making both ends meet, but her husband smilingly reminded her that they were better off than Dr. Johnson's country friend, who brought up nine children on apple dumplings. Her boys and girls throve admirably on their plain fare; and often did the traveller, whom the beauty of the scenery had allured to pass through Summerfield, pause to gaze on the picturesque group of healthy urchins hanging over the churchyard palings, or riding a rough-coated donkey in the adjoining shadowy lanes.

The news of old Mrs. Parkinson's death was communicated to her daughter through the friendly medium of Dr. Pennington, who had often unsuccessfully attempted to obtain a mitigation of the parental sentence. In less than a twelvemonth, old Mr. Parkinson followed his wife to the grave; and Hannah, after a fourteen years' silence, condescended to announce the misfortune to her sister. There is no mention of you," she wrote, "in his will; but as he said that he forgave you on his death-bed, I see no impropriety in writing to you, and shall be glad to hear from you in return. Enclosed is a fifty pound note for your mourning."

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Mr. Wellford halted at the word "impropriety" with an angry "pshaw !" His wife, touched by softened remembrances of home, was sure poor Hannah meant kindly. She wiped away some natural tears, and lost no time in answering her sister's letter. The correspondence languished between them, however in spite of Mrs. Wellford's endeavours to keep it up; and some months had elapsed in silence when Mrs. Parkinson at length wrote to the following effect.

DEAR SISTER,

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I received yours of the 23d of February. I am sorry to hear Mr. Wellford was troubled with the tooth-ache when you wrote. Why does not he try nut-gall? Mr. Curtis says there's nothing like it. Don't tell me," says he, "of toothache-try nut-gall" A'unt Diana is much the same in health as she used to be, but I think she ages very much: For all her fresh looks, I should not be surprised at her dropping off any day. Mr. Parkinson is uncommon well, though very deaft As to myself, though I look clear, I'm always ailing

I'm sure I haven't known what it is to have a good night, I don't know how long. Mr. Curtis says he thinks I should be better for change of scene, and I think so too, for I am sick of Stoke Barton; but Mr. Parkinson does not like moving. I tell him he is an old man before his time, for he is as fixed in all his ways, and as much nailed to one place, as if he was seventy. However, I don't know, if it came to the push, whether I really could make up my own mind to stir, for there is so much vexation and trouble in travelling! and besides I don't know who I could comfortably leave behind, for Hawkins is uncommonly sly. There would be fine doings, I warrant. Open house-keeping, and what not.

I think it wears me a good deal hallooing to Mr. Parkinson, for he can't hear unless you raise your voice quite sharp, and yet he's always saying "don't speak so loud," and quite vexed to be thought deaf. I'm sure I often think you are very happy in having a large family about you; for Mr. Parkinson, being so hard of hearing, is no companion at all; and aunt Diana, you know, was never very entertaining. Do let one of your girls come and stay with me. I think it would amuse me; and if I take a liking to her, it shan't be the worse for her. The distance between us is only forty miles, and as I suppose you have a man, he will be quite a sufficient protection for her on the road. I should like my namesake best, but as you say she's so useful to you, I suppose you can't spare her, so let me have Rosina. Of course I shall keep her in clothes; and she will be in no want of toys, as there are my old dominoes and the doll's cradle that you may remember my poor father gave me at Brighton, besides the swing at the end of the walnut-tree walk. The Penningtons are very neighbourly, and desired to be remembered to you when I wrote. The doctor that was such a well-looking man when I married, is now stout and very redfaced, but the same high spirits as ever. Mrs. Pennington, to my mind, is too independent, almost insolent, I sometimes think, though to be sure she was of a very good family. The children are rude and noisy; and I am thankful our grounds are so large; as, having only a wall between them and the rectory garden, I am sure if we were closer my poor head would be split with their shouts of laughter. I think the doctor does very wrong to encourage them as he does in romping, noisy games. He'll rue it some of these days, it's my opinion. Perhaps it will give you some idea of my deli

cate health, (though without any regular disorder,) when I tell that Mr. Curtis sees me every day.

you

Compliments to Mr. Wellford, &c.

Your affectionate sister,

HANNAH PARKINSON.

Mr. Wellford had more than one sly laugh over this letter. "But really," interposed his sweet-tempered wife, 66 poor Hannah is very much to be pitied."

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For having five thousand a-year, my dear, or for having an apothecary that comes to see her every day? Which?" "Oh! really now, Harry, you are too severe. It is a misfortune for weak persons to have a medical man who persuades them they cannot do without him. Poor Hannah seems to be in very ill health—”

"Though without any regular disorder,' my dear; remember the parenthesis."

"And then Mr. Parkinson's being so deaf-"

"Obliges his wife to wear out her lungs in screaming to him!

You are so very deaf, my dear!

What shall I do to make you hear?'”

"Ha, ha, ha !—It is too bad of you, Mr. Wellford, to make me laugh. But, my dear, about the important part of this letter

"Ay, Mrs. Wellford, about the consignment of one of your fair daughters! Well, my dear?"

"Well, my

dear!

The vicar drummed on the table. melancholy.

His wife looked very

"As to parting with our Hannah," said she, after a pause, "that is, as my sister says, quite out of the question. I could not possibly bear the separation; nor is she the sort of girl to be happy from home.

Besides, my dear, Hannah relieves you from so many little fatigues, that I look upon her as quite necessary for your comfort, in the present state of your health. Nor should I know what to do without my young companion. It is one of my most exquisite pleasures to watch the developement of her mind and assist in its culture."

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Rosina is too young to be removed from a mother's eye." And too noisy to please a formal, fidgetty aunt. Besides, I cannot lose my little romp."

“It will be much too hard a trial for us to part with either of our girls. To be sure, if my sister only wanted one of them for a month or so, we might bear the pain of the separation for the sake of affording pleasure, of which poor thing, with all her fortune, she does not seem to have much at present;—but, for an indefinite time! There, you see, is the rub."

At the word rub, Mr. Wellford began to rub his knee somewhat uneasily; and after a meditation of full five minutes, he re-commenced the subject with "The question in the present case, my dear Kate, ought not so much to be what is most agreeable to our own inclinations as what will be for the future advantage of the children. So long as I am spared to you, my income is sufficient for our moderate wants: but onmy death I shall be able to leave you but a poor two-hundreda-year, which will scarcely suffice for your own maintenance and that of our girls, while Matt and Harry will need some friend to help them in struggling through the world. Shall we then be quite justifiable in repelling the advances of a near relation who has it in her power, should the time of need arrive, to prove so valuable a friend to your children ?” "Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Wellford sighing, "you have placed the subject in so grave a point of view!"

"And does not the establishment of a child require grave consideration?" asked her husband.

“At any rate,” rejoined she after sorrowfully ruminating, "it must not be Hannah."

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"Well then, let it be Rosina," he replied. They are equally dear to us, but Rosina is stout and healthy, and well able to make her way in the world. Shall I write to Mrs. Parkinson?”

"No, my dear, there is no hurry. I will write by and by, or perhaps to-morrow, which will be quite soon enough."

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Quite, quite, my dear love, and I am glad to be excusedfrom the task, as I must go to see poor Betty Wilson, who is extremely ill."

Mrs. Wellford scarcely heard his parting words, but a moment after he had quitted the house, she recovered from her reverie, and desired one of her little boys to run after his papa and inquire whether he meant to drink tea at Mr. Greenway's that evening. Her sister's letter had made her forget the invitation.

Harry scampered back with an answer in the affirmative, and Mrs: Wellford was soon intent on household cares.