treated her with harshness, I could not fail to observe, though she never complained, and seemed so devoted to two sweet children, which were born before I left the country, that she appeared to me to enjoy a moderate degree of happiness. Eight years more, as I have said, had only passed over her head, when, after having given birth to seven children, she became a childless widow. It was the fear that her mournful fate might indeed have unsettled her reason, that filled my mind with the most nervous perturbation as I drew near to her well-remembered dwelling, which seemed in nothing altered from what I had left it, save that the trees which nearly surrounded it had extended their clustering foliage so shadingly over its roof, as to exclude from it the rays of the glorious sun which shone so resplendently on their outward branches, and thus gave it a more sombre cast than it was wont to have. But there were no signs of neglect. All around it looked neat and comfortable, and the roses and honeysuckles were as trimly trained against the walls as ever My low and tremulous rap at the door was immediately answered by an old domestic, who, in spite of years and her grey locks, I recognised as the same Margaret who was my father's dairy-maid, and who went home with my friend when she married. I lost no time in making myself known to her, and inquired if I could see her mistress, which, after expressing her joy and wonder at my visit, she informed me I should soon do, as she was only taking her accustomed morning walk, from which she every instant expected her. Margaret then ushered me into a little parlour where she was preparing breakfast; and feeling glad to have this opportunity of hearing, before I saw her, something that I could depend upon about the state of my friend's mind, I gave some hints of the report which had caused me so much uneasiness. "She is nae mair beside herself than I am," said her faithful old servant; "though it is not to be wondered at that folks who have not the sense to understand her should raise sic reports," she con

tinued, while an expression of indignation marked her intelligent features. "It is all because she has given up the world, having never gane off the farm since the last bairn died, and that's thirty years come next Martinmas. And mair especially because she makes herself sae happy in the thought that, the weans are still about her."

“About her!” said I, repeating, with surprise and dismay, what I thought so extraordinary an assertion; "but is not that at least very strange?"

I canna think there is ony thing strange in that," replied Margaret, "if ye mind how often the Holy Scriptures of truth tell us o' the visits o' angels to the earth, and how they are sent to attend and watch over us; and surely nane o' the angels in heaven can be sae sib till her as her ain bairns." Understanding from this that it was not their visible presence that was meant by their being about her, I willingly acquiesced in her ideas, and had just time to learn from her, before my friend appeared, that she had sublet the farm to a person in the neighbourhood, making it a stipulation that she was not to remove from the house during her life, and that she received an advance of rent, which, together with some money left her by her husband, supplied her with ample means of beneficence to her poorer neighbours. Margaret met her mistress at the door, and having briefly informed her of my arrival, I was instantly folded in her arms, in one of those tender embraces which she had so often bestowed on me in my youth. I looked earnestly on her. She was much changed, but there were on her features none of those deep furrows, or harsh markings of time and intense mental suffering, which I had expected to see. On the contrary, her deep blue eyes beamed upon me with an expression of such ineffable peace, that, in spite of her melancholy history, I felt the conviction thrill through my heart, that I, with all my worldly attachments, was a much fitter object of commiseration.

We finished our breakfast, without either of us having

alluded, in the slightest manner, to her trials; but I thought there was a degree of absence and restraint about her, foreign to her former nature, till she observed that my attention was attracted by several little chairs and stools that stood interspersed among the other furniture of the room, when, following the direction of my eye, she said, “they belonged to the children; I keep all their things about me. But come, and I will show you my treasury," she continued, as she rose, and then, stopping for an instant, she said with earnestness, " if you will promise me not to touch any thing." I gave the promise, and followed her along a passage, till, having unlocked the door of a small room, and opened the window shutter, she directed my atten tion to seven pins, driven into the wall at a short distance from each other, on each of which hung, covered with dust, and so impaired by time that some of them were dropping to pieces, a full suit of child's clothes.

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These," said she, pointing to them, "are of greater value to me than all besides that the world contains. They are just as they were taken off from my dear ones the last time they wore them; no touch has come upon them since. I have many things that belonged to them, but these are more to me than all the rest, for they have embraced their bodies, and seem part of their mortal remains, that are still suffered to linger with me. I cannot help this feeling, though it might be supposed of little consequence to one who knows that she is always surrounded with their happy spirits; for of this," she said with solemnity, "I have full assurance. Yes," she continued, "they are ever with me." While she said this, an expres sion perfectly beatific passed over her countenance. After a moment's pause she pointed out the vestments of a little boy. "These belonged," she said, "to my sweet little William, with his blooming cheeks, and laughing eyes, and clustering sunny curls. Oh, he was a joyous child, and, though sudden in passion, one look of love from me brought back the soft tones of his melodious little voice,

and the buoyant laugh of happiness, while the big round tear still stood on his cheek. He seemed to me almost as much a cherub then as he is now; he died of croup at three years old. And these," she continued, "were my gentle Mary's, who was the very reverse of her brother in appearance and disposition, for her soft eyes were dark, and full of serious and pensive expression. She never seemed as if intended for this world, but only sent for a time to twine herself around my heart, and depart to become one of my guardian spirits while I am here, and to enhance my happiness hereafter. Mary was, indeed, a sweet child, that seemed entirely made of love. Her little pleadings were always irresistible, and she was ever listened to as the peace-maker in every childish dispute; for neither old nor young could withstand the witchery of her sweet tongue, or the glance of her full soft eyes, when, as I think I see her now, she threw back from them her bright brown ringlets, and fixed their loving looks upon you. And to the last look it still was love; for she died with her arms twined round my neck, and her pretty mouth pressed against my cheek, as in the act of giving me her last kiss."

My tears fell fast; but, without noticing them, she still proceeded to name in rotation those to whom the clothes had belonged, and to describe their persons, and the varieties of disposition by which they were distinguished, in such graphic language that I seemed, while I stood in that sepulchral room, to become intimately and personally acquainted with each child who had worn the mouldering garments they seemed almost visibly assembled round me. I remained several days the guest of my friend, glad of an opportunity of observing the effects of so singular, though it appears to me so natural, a belief in this lonely woman. To other mothers bereaved of their children, all is desolate; they look upon the places they were wont to occupy, and mourn. But her bosom was not oppressed by sighs, nor her eyes dimmed by tears, though she every where

saw the traces of her beloved ones; for no circumstance had the power, after the lapse of so many years, to obliterate them from her remembrance for a moment. She lived constantly among the happy spirits of her children. Their joyous little faces surrounded her table they gambolled beside her in her walks-and when awake in the night, she seemed to hear their soft breathings, as she was wont to do in years long gone by, when they peacefully slumbered beside her. To her there was no such thing as solitude; wherever she moved, she was accompanied by this little band of domestic angels, encouraging and beckoning her on to regions of celestial gladness, from which they had returned to point the way, and where her spirit rejoiced that they were safely lodged, for ever free from sin and She lived in an atmosphere of purity, guarded by those holy beings to whose mortal bodies she had given birth; and she awaited her own final departure in perfect peace and tranquillity.

care.

CALLS.

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THE subject of calls, though of late much discussed in various quarters, is not yet by any means exhausted. It is a subject of great importance to the community, especially the female part of it, and deserves to be treated with all the reflection and carefulness that can be had. My dear," said Mrs Balderstone to me one fine day, "I am shamefully behind in my calls. That ladies' work,' and one thing and another, have kept me pretty close to the house for the better part of half a year, and during all that time my arrears have been accumulating in such a way that I now hardly know how to face my friends. I declare it would take a full week to pay off all the calls that I am owing. And then, as for yourself, you know you never have once paid a morning visit since you were mar