and interesting undertaking from other feelings of a nature not to be indulged.

Sophia did not sleep quite so well as usual during the following night, and the next morning she thought of the Duke of Monmouth's picture. She, however, went through her devotions, as usual, and immediately after breakfast, renewed her accustomed employment: but she had scarely begun to feel herself interested in her engagements, before a servant came to say that a gentleman wished to speak with her.

"With me!" said Sophia, rising in haste.

The servant, who was an ignorant girl, and employed under the housekeeper merely to assist in cleaning and airing the house, answered, that she was sure he was a gentleman, from his appearance, and that he desired to see Miss Mortimer. "He now waits in the hall, Madam," she said.

"And why," said Sophia, "did you not take him into another room?"

She then called Cicely, and went to meet her visitor in the hall. It was Mr. Sackville, and he held in his hand the little Annette, who evidently appeared to have been crying severely, but now had ceased from shedding tears, probably from wonder at her new situation, and the various extraordinary objects about her.

Before Sophia had time to speak to the child, Mr. Sackville, addressing himself to her in a manner indicative of much feeling, presented her with the little girl, saying, "Miss Mortimer, I have brought you a little orphan. Her poor mother died during the night; and I found the child, this morning, weeping at the foot of the bed on which the corpse of her parent was laid."

Sophia was much affected by this description; and as she looked upon the child, and recollected that she herself had also been left at a very early age without a mother, she could not refrain from tears.

Mr. Sackville was evidently touched by the tokens of sympathy that escaped Sophia on this occasion, though he made no remark on the subject, but merely assured Miss Mortimer, that if, upon reflection, she had found it would not be in her power to provide for the child, he was ready to take her in his hand to his own house. VOL. IV.

H

Sophia politely objected to this proposal, but thanked Mr. Sackville for the generosity of his offer. She then would have taken the hand of Annette, but the little girl shrunk from her as a stranger, clinging to Mr. Sackville, as the person with whom she was best acquainted.

The reluctance of the child caused Mr. Sackville to lengthen his visit; and while he lingered, he endeavoured, in a manner which Sophia thought peculiarly tender and condescending, to reconcile the little weeping orphan to her new situation. At length, Mr. Sackville found it necessary to take his leave; although there was a something in his manner which showed that he did not go without reluctance.

After he went from the door, Sophia, standing in the hall with the little Annette, was left in a state of mind of such mingled pain and pleasure as she had never before experienced. Mr. Sackville had gone some distance from the house before she recollected herself sufficiently to consider, that if he should happen to look back, it might seem strange to him to see her standing where he had left her. She therefore suddenly raised up the little ragged orphan in her arms, who was once more weeping bitterly on finding herself again left with a stranger, and hastened into her own parlour, where she mingled her tears with those of the child.

How long this pair might have continued weeping together, had they not been interrupted by the careful Mrs. Cicely, is not known; but she, suddenly appearing, produced a complete suit of infant's clothes, lying across her arm, which habiliments she had drawn from some deep hoard or repository of her own, such as may generally be found in the possession of old housekeepers and ladies' maids; her other hand being armed with a formidable apparatus of combs and brushes, and other implements of the same description: while the housemaid followed her up, with a tub filled with warm water, and a large piece of soap.

The little girl, though once kept neatly by a tender mother, now too evidently bore the symptoms of long neglect, and Mrs. Cicely's plans of lustration were, therefore, the more needful. When, however, the good woman would have separated the child from Sophia, the

little creature, now in total despair at this third change of companions, set up a roar which made every chamber and passage in the old hall ring and resound again. Sophia had no idea of carrying on this contest to any purpose, and was about to take the child up again on her lap, when Mrs. Cicely, seizing the little rebel by main force, carried her off into that quarter of the offices in which she had purposed to carry on her operations, leaving her young mistress to meditate at her leisure on the events of the last twenty-four hours.

It was more than an hour before Mrs. Cicely again appeared. The good old servant's eyes on this occasion were beaming with delight and triumph. In her arms she carried the little orphan, whose infant charms now appeared in all the lustre of perfect cleanliness. Her pretty flaxen curls, newly combed and arranged, were parted on her forehead, and hung in ringlets over her delicate cheeks and fair neck. The tears, forgot as soon as shed, had given way to the sunshine of delight; for in her hand she carried a piece of bread and butter, over which Mrs. Cicely had sprinkled a little sugar; and, as Mrs. Cicely sat her down at the door, she ran up to Sophia, and, stroking down her clean frock, called on her young protectress to look at her nice dress.

Sophia was not now afraid of returning her infant caresses; and as she clasped her in her arms, she entered into discourse with Mrs. Cicely respecting all the arrangements which she intended should be made with regard to Annette.

And now, what a bustle was excited! for young people are pleased with a bustle: and much experience and regulation of the mind is necessary, before we can learn to practise this injunction of our blessed Saviour—Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth. (Matth. vi. 3.) Through the advice and direction, however, of Mrs. Cicely, every thing was settled respecting Annette before the evening. Mrs. Doily, an old servant of the family, who now resided in the lodge at the parkgate, was sent for, and engaged to take Annette at all such times when Sophia might find it impossible to attend to her. As Mrs. Doily was a superior person, who had no children, and was exceedingly kind and attentive

to the poor in the adjacent village, Sophia did not doubt that the little orphan would be happy with her whenever she might be compelled to devolve this charge upon her, notwithstanding certain little symptoms of fretfulness which sometimes appeared in the old lady's face.

Mrs. Cicely had convinced Sophia, that Annette ought to be dressed plainly, and early accustomed to such little services as might keep alive in her mind ideas which were suitable with her real situation in life. Agreeably therefore with this plan, the materials which were to be procured for her clothes were to be quite plain, and one of the servants from the Hall was despatched to the next market-town to make the purchases.

As Sophia expected her father and step-mother at the Hall in a few weeks, she yielded to Mrs. Cicely's advice, and sent the little girl every evening to sleep at Mrs. Doily's, employing a decent labourer, who came from the village to the Hall at an early hour every morning and returned every evening, to carry her backwards and forwards.

These matters being duly arranged, and the little girl's clothes cut out, Sophia found great delight in her new charge; and had she not been guarded by a few hints now and then from Mrs. Cicely, she would undoubtedly have injured the child by allowing her to find herself of too much consequence with her.

Sophia had inquired the day and the hour of the poor widow's funeral, which was to take place in the parish in which she had died. It was her intention that the little orphan should attend it; and as Mrs. Cicely wished to be also present, one of the men-servants undertook to carry Annette to the church of Fairfield while the old housekeeper walked by his side. The little girl was dressed in neat mourning: and when her new clothes were put on, and the man stood waiting to take her up in his arms, she came smiling to Sophia, full of glee at the idea of going out, and utterly unconscious of the purport of this excursion.

The little creature had now been four days with her new friends, from whom she had received so much kindness, and had found so much comfort, that she was now quite at ease, and the remembrance of former objects of

affection, and of former afflictions, were passing away swift as the shadows of the morning.

The gay delight of the little Annette met with no interruption during their walk; and she had much to say about the deer in the park: and as it was not needful for the party to pass the cottage in which the widow had died, the little orphan seemed not to connect any thing that was passing in the church-yard with the memory of her mother, until the people were about to lower the coffin into the grave; on which she suddenly shrieked, ran forwards, and endeavoured to clasp the coffin with her infant arms, calling on her mother in the most beseeching and moving accents. Every one was affected: and as the child could not easily be appeased, Mr. Sackville, as soon as the service was concluded, took her in his arms, and carried her to his house, having invited Mrs. Cicely and the man-servant to accompany her.

Mr. Sackville resided close by the church; in an oldfashioned and respectable parsonage-house standing in a garden abounding with fruit and flowers. He honoured Mrs. Cicely with an invitation into his parlour, and requested her to preside at his tea-table while he endeavoured to amuse the little child by such little devices as his own affectionate feelings suggested. After tea, he went into his garden, and brought from thence a nosegay of the choicest flowers, which he requested Mrs. Cicely to deliver to Miss Mortimer with his most respectful compliments.

When the party returned, the gay flowers were delivered to Miss Mortimer; and Mrs. Cicely, being much pleased by the polite manner in which she had been received, was induced to depart in some degree from her usual discretion in expressing her admiration of Mr. Sackville, to which opinions Sophia attended with a ready ear. And when Mrs. Cicely added that he was as well-looking as he was good and pleasing, Sophia asked her if she had ever particularly observed the picture which hung over the marble slab in the entrance-hall, adding that she thought it bore a very striking resemblance to Mr. Sackville.

Now as Mrs. Cicely had often been employed in showing the Hall to strangers, and had received many half