poor girl I employed, who had done my bidding and served me faithfully, and who had not even the tie of an aged grandmother to firm her exertions.

Poor Sarah was, like all her class-fond of dress. If she had not been, she would not have suited Mrs. Clary. I saw a downward progress in her mind, and tried to check it.

"Why should she be worse off than others? were not as well off as those who went wrong.

Girls who kept right What was a poor girl to do when the season was over? How could she go home to her grandmother and see her silently starving? She was trying for a lady's maid's place-but she was only a work-girl, and Mrs. Clary did not think her fit for it; she had no character-no one would take a needle-girl as a housemaid. God knew, she wished to do right."

"How did she manage last season?" "Oh, her father was alive then! -Work-girls did very well if they had a parents' home to go to, and only their dress and a part of their food to find." I talked to, and comforted her, and did all I could to strengthen her; and she would stand before me, shake her head, and, while her great brown eyes filled with tears, repeat"But it's very hard-it's very hard!”

"And so it was; but life has its hard lines to rich as well as poor; the season was not over yet; she was anticipating evil."

"No! she knew what was before her; everybody said the same." "And who," I asked, "was her everybody?"

She flushed, and cast down her eyes, and as she left the room, said, It was no good talking; she could not see her grandmother starve"sheltering, poor girl, vice beneath the shadow of virtue. Her" everybody," I saw, was some particular ill-adviser. There are always serpents to tempt Eves!

Sarah did not bring the next message. In answer to my inquiry I was told Mrs. Clary had dismissed her four weeks before the end of the

soldiers to have all their "inner garments" made at "the Needlewomen's Societies." We can do all the plain work for all the trousseaux of all the brides in England. We can furnish no end of "baby baskets." We can do household work neater and better than the householders, and, if their time is of value, cheaper. Will ladies come and judge for themselves? Will they visit us? Will they help us to keep our human sisters pure by permitting them to earn their "bit of bread" by the labour of honest hands? It is all they ask-it is all we ask for them! The winter is already with us, but work will warm it; provisions are dear-work will procure them; they for whom we plead live in an atmosphere of moral danger-work will purify it. It seems so hard to earnestly seek employment, and to be told there is none, when we know there is plenty, if it were only thrown into the right channel! No job of work is too small, no quantity too large for our performance. REFORMATORIES are good—but PROTECTION is better. If it be a truism that "Prevention is better than cure," surely it is so here! Help us, ladies! sisters of the truest charity! Help us with your influence-help us by your presence-help us with WORK for our WORKERS!—A. M. H.

season; "they were all very fond of her, but feared she would come to no I went to her grandmother's lodging. palsied as she had been for years, but

good." That did not satisfy me. The old woman was sitting up,

cheerful and thankful.

"She had such a good grand-daughter; she lived altogether at Mrs. Clary's now, and gave her such nice things; and that warm shawl-and this and this." The poor creature believed her doing so well—I could not steep the few remaining days of her life in the bitterness of truth. I left my name on a slip of paper.

The girl came to me that night "in silken sheen," and with tinted cheeks. She tried to brave it out, at first; but I spoke to her heart and roused her best feelings, and all she did then was to weep and entreat me not to embitter her grandmother's last hours. "The hardest things she had to bear were her praise and prayers. She would starve sooner than touch what she gave her, if she knew all; but it was so hard to hear her praise her, and know what she knew of herself; it was so hard. She-the old, palsied woman-would curse her if she knew all. She had never thought of that, until it was too late-too late! Ah, field-work was better for poor girls, and household service far better, than uncertain work in the midst of London temptations-fine dress, and scant food, and a desire to look as well as others :-poverty and hunger on the one side, and a light that shone like pleasure on the other; but if I told her grandmother, she would curse her."

I went to Mrs. Clary. She could do nothing except send me to good true people who would have saved her, and who had saved scores of her class; and I went freighted with a promise from one noble lady (who knew the temptations they were subject to, and remembered both their weakness and their ignorance) that she would provide for her grandmother if Sarah would come to the shelter and protection she offered. I went with a sobered joy-but still it was thankfulness and joy-to the old woman's lodging, to leave a note for Sarah-but I was too late! Some coarse person had followed the unfortunate girl into the presence of her grandmother, and in that presence reproached her for what she was. Slow to comprehend evil of her darling-the very light of her old eyes-it required stronger words, in louder tones, to destroy her faith in her grandchild; but the accusation was repeated, and facts brought to prove it.

They entered into the old, believing, Christian heart. She would not permit Sarah to remain in the room; she refused food-and the last act of her life was shredding the clothes Sarah had given her with her trembling fingers, and letting them drop bit by bit on the floor-and so she died!

I never saw the poor girl again-but Mrs. Clary told me she threw herself into the Thames not long after.

Ay, Mary! another page of the old, old story.

The West-end Houses within their closed shutters were all "done up"

in brown holland; and if man or woman of decided fashion were called to town by business, the strictest incog. was preserved, and it would have been an insult to their position to recognize them. Even the street-sweepers had gone to Margate for quiet and change of air.

The public "Charities" and "Missions" subsisted calmly until "next season," upon the proceeds of their public "dinners" and "appeals." Bazaars had not yet harmonized charity and display under the banners of the fairest—and sometimes the vainest-of the daughters of England; and actors and actresses, singers and singeresses, who had hardly been heard of in London, were shining as "bright particular stars" among the rural and manufacturing populations of our crowded island. People had gone out of town in stage coaches, or large lumbering carriages, and any one who could have believed in gas or steam, in those far-away days, would have been considered more than slightly insane.

I gathered all my news of the world from Mrs. Clary,-to my landlord the world had no news save that of "the House;"-during the recess he was annihilated-he had no existence when "the House was up."

Nothing degrades the domestic character of England so entirely as permitting the world to see its interior arrangements; it is such a pity also that people who cater for public amusement will not remember that the public care for the amusement-not for the amuser; and that if they have a desire connected with the person, it is simply the result of vulgar curiosity. But when a man proves to the world that he has quarrelled with his wife, he falls to the level of the shoemaker, or tailor, whose "Missus had him up" for ill-treatment. The case may be reversed; but an ill-treated man is sure to be held in contempt. What fallen angels prompted the establishment of a Divorce Court, to set married people thinking, not what it was they could bear, but what it was they could not bear? I often wonder what the workroom women say about it. At the time of which I now write, their sympathies went to Queen Caroline! One of the present dresses, my Mary, would be ample for four of the ordinary narrow robes in which that poor betrayed Queen Caroline received the fag-ends of man and woman-kind, who, from warm hearts, or party spirit, and in defiance of time and weather, crowded to the Receptions of a brave, though ill-judging and evil-intreated, daughter of the House of Brunswick. Mrs. Clary being a "Court dress-maker," could not take her part, and refused to make the "Caroline hat," which generally indicated the political tendency of the fair wearer. I saw her once-that poor, hard-fated Queen!-looking like a full-blown rose that had been crushed under foot, and then picked up and cared for; but its purity and freshness were gone-it was soiled and tattered; arrange it-tend it as you would— its very being a Rose made you turn from it with a painful sensation, seeing what even a rose may come to.

I had still some trimmings on hand; but I was quite prepared for Mrs. Clary's question: "Had I any novelty to propose for next season?

Painted velvet and chenille had enjoyed a wonderful popularity in the beau monde. But what novelty had I in preparation, or even in thought, for next season? People absolutely spoke of wearing skirts full all round. Odious as it was, such a change was possible, and of course those heavy embroideries could not be worn; besides, they were done. No fashion outlives a season." Mrs. Clary urged me to live with her; she intended to flatter me by the assurance that I should be useful in the show-room. I had "a Marie Stuart face," she said, "and the Marie Stuart cap and ruff were whispered about-spoken of as 'possible.' My style was good. She had a difficulty in finding a young person for the show-room who moved and spoke like a lady; a little humility' she suggested, blended with my natural dignity, would be very attractive. I could go to my child at night." I was angry with myself for feeling indignant at what was intended to be complimentary and kind. She proceeded to fix my salary, while I was endeavouring to find words sufficiently tame to express my thanks and my refusal. When a milliner compliments your personal appearance, in the belief that your face is valuable to her bonnets, you may credit her sincerity; and I really think Mrs. Clary believed she was making my fortune. Like the generality of women, her mind turned upon matrimony as on a pivot; they never feel the degradation of such speculations. Every girl, or even widow, with a pretty face or engaging person, is certain to be set down by some benevolently-minded matchmaker as just suited to Mr. A, B, or C, and the meeting is thought of and mentally arranged for with much self-gratification. When I refused, she told me I was very foolish. "She herself married from a show-room!" God help her! Piqued though she was at my refusal to become an animated lay figure, her good nature overcame her displeasure.

did I intend to do?"

"Anything!"

"That was very vague.

Could I embroider in white ?"

"What

Yes; I should like to give lessons in the morning and embroider at night. I could teach English, Italian, and velvet-painting."

'Would I take a village school? One of her ladies' had been inquiring for a young person capable of instructing in a school she had established on her own estate for the children of her tenants and dependants a charming lady-one of her best customers-worth three hundred a year to her at least. A widow she believed--at least she never heard of a husband, though of course one might be still alive-it was hard to say-gentlemen seldom came to show-rooms except with their brides. Such taste she had!"

How could I go to the country? I lived on in the hope of seeing HIM next session; of hearing HIM. Surely, I could find means of subsistence in this mighty London, even during the dead season. I had saved-oh yes! I had saved more than double what I had expended; but I must reserve and add to that for my child's sake. All this flew

I told Mrs. Clary I preferred remaining in London. She opened still more circlingly her great round eyes, and told me very truly that I knew nothing of the It was a pity, if I slackness of employment in the out-of-scason time.

rapidly, as thoughts will fly, through the brain.

It was quite a

had any idea of teaching, I did not think of the school. "fancy school" and only one lady to please-not as if I had, she said smilingly, a feminine board-of-green-cloth to deal with-and it was near

town.

"How near?"

"Somewhere between Richmond and Twickenham-seven or eight miles. She would give me some of her embroideries to do there if I liked -if I had leisure."

That altered the case. Seven or eight miles! Better air for my child, and the power of visiting town when I pleased.

I thanked Mrs. Clary, and said I would consider about it.

She replied," there was

as little time to consider. Mrs. Stanley never waited for any thing, or any one; if she did not find a school teacher at once she would make one."

Make a teacher?"

Oh, that was nothing to Mrs. Stanley. She was so clever, she would make a teacher out of her own maid or one of the tenant's daughters. Make them rehearse at night what they had to do in the morning, provided they had voices-if I had a good voice I must succeed; indeed, Mrs. Clary almost feared, as she had seen Mrs. Stanley yesterday morning, The lady was so fond of that by this time the situation was filled. that school-she was such a philanthropist-it was her pet hobby-no harm." Mrs. Clary suggested if I took the coach at the White Horse She was a kind creature, good Cellar I could be there soon after two. Mrs. Clary. She made me take a cup of French chocolate, and offered me her purse. "I might not," she said, "have brought mine with me." And then she put on me a Marie Stuart cap, composed of pink and white silver-paper, and sighed at my want of taste in preferring the duties of a village school to being clothed in purple and fine linen in her show-room.

XXIV.

HEART nor eye could desire nothing more lovely than the situation and arrangement of "The Lawn," as Mrs. Stanley's residence was called, in the "Vale of the Thames;" but the house stood considerably above the level of the "royal stream," the lawn descending in gentle slope to meet the water. The entrance-gates were protected by two Lodges, embowered by every variety of creeper; the drive was so closed in by evergreens, that it was not until you turned an angle that the dwelling and its "setting" shone before you. The house had evidently been added to from time to time, and was made up of turrets and gables, and an old belfry, and lancetshaped windows, and a delicious conservatory, terminated by a projecting