her dependent situation, instead of growing more endurable from habit, became more intolerable. A warm heart, warm temper, and quick apprehension, gave keener edge to the sarcasms which Mrs. Parkinson when in an ill temper, (and that was sometimes seven days in a week,) levelled at her mother and family-sarcasms, much harder to bear than the restraint on her activity and noisy spirits, which had formerly called forth her childish tears. There were other methods of making her feel dependent and degraded. Every year Mrs. Parkinson now made a point of sending her sister a silk gown; no very great gift, certainly, considering the affluence of her own circumstances; but unceasing were the allusions ostentatiously made in all companies to this annual present! "Ah! that is a pretty sarsenet of

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yours, Mrs. Pennington; just the colour of the last I sent poor sister Wellford no, I think her's was more of a slate-she has not long been out of mourning, you know, and in her circumstances, it's best to have something that will hide the dirt. I didn't buy her a figured one, because a plain silk will turn. I dare say she'll make it last" (in a confidential tone) till I send her another. I wish I could do more, but you know I have this girl to keep."—" Mrs. Jones, may I trouble you for a pin? Ah, your pin cushion is off the same piece as a gown I bought yesterday for Mrs. Wellford, I do believe! You got the silk at Mr. Price's, I dare say; ah, yes, four and threepence a yard, the very same.” It was almost as intolerable to be pointed out to every morning caller as one of poor sister Kate's children. A terrible large family!-left quite unprovided, so that she took her entirely out of charity." Poor Rosina learnt "how salt is the savour of another person's bread, and how hard it is to climb another person's stairs." Often the burning tears moistened her daily portion of needlework; and often they wetted her sleepless pillow as she lay thinking of the home, despised, as it seemed, by all others, but dear beyond measure to her who had been sent from it to prove the wretchedness of splendid dependence. Not unfrequently she was deprived of her only consolation, the society of the young Penningtons, till she had humbled herself for some real or imaginary fault, which, to a temper like hers, was gall and wormwood. Rosina attained her twelfth year, and her disposition appeared to be growing reckless and sullen. Her letters to her mother were always submitted to the censorship of Mrs. Parkinson, whose temper was not meliorated by

time, while Mr. Parkinson was of too passive a nature to attempt interference; and Mrs. Diana, if not so cross, was even more formal and fidgetty than her niece. Affairs at length came to a crisis. Rosina took an extraordinary resolution and acted upon it. She ran away!

Her aider and abettor in this daring step was Lewis Pennington. He it was, who, fired by the recital of her wrongs at a moment when her heart was full almost to bursting, declared that if he were in her place, he would endure such tyranny no longer, shewed the feasibility of a return to Summerfield, lent her a guinea to pay her coach hire, hailed the stage as it passed the shrubbery gate, saw her safely placed in it, wished her good luck and called out "all right." He returned to the rectory with a bold confidence of a boy of fifteen, not without a spice of mischief in his composition, and ready to endure whatever punishment might await him for having freed innocence from thraldom; while Rosina, terrified almost out of her senses at the hardihood of the enterprize, yet trembling with delight at her emancipation, shrank into one of the corners of the stage as it passed the lodge of Park-Place, and turned pale with alarm when it drew up at the inn to receive parcels and passengers. The door was abruptly opened, and she started, with the apprehensiveness of guilt, in the expectation of seeing some member of her uncle's household; but it was only the coachman, who jerked in a brown paper parcel and then remounted his box. They clattered over the bridge which separated Stoke Barton from the adjoining parish; trees, houses, and steeples faded in the distance; and the agitated girl began to hope that now, unless some very cross accident indeed should happen, she was beyond the reach of pursuit; but there was still sufficient uncertainty hanging over her fate to prevent her feeling comfortable. The possibility of her mother's displeasure haunted her mind, and by the time she had reached Summerfield, this source of apprehension had worked her up to such a state of agitation that, on entering the room where Mrs. Wellford and Hannah sat at tea, she could only reply to their eager and anxious inquiries by a torrent of tears. When at length she could speak articulately, she gave an account of all her grievances, the recapitulation of which again choked her utterance, and she murmured an almost inaudible request that her mother would not send her again to Park-Place.

"To Park-Place ?" repeated Mrs. Wellford, whose cheek

glowed with hectic colour, "No, Rosina, did I even wish it, there is no likelihood that your aunt would receive you again. The doors of that house we may consider as closed against us for ever. You have certainly acted daringly and imprudently in taking so important a step as quitting a home in which your friends had placed you: however, that is past now and cannot be recalled. You have, I fear, been injudiciously treated, and now that we are once more united, no consideration on earth shall tempt me to consent to a second separation. It has been painful enough to both of us."

Tears fell from the mother's eyes, as she stooped to kiss Rosina's cheek. I hope your future conduct will prove to me," said she, "that what has passed has been more attributable to adverse circumstances, and your aunt's imperfect knowledge of the management of children, than to the hastiness of your own temper."

Rosina sighed, and secretly resolved that whatever the faults of that temper had hitherto been, they should be seen no more; and now that the dreaded explanation had taken place, and she was received into favour, she had leisure to kiss Hannah again, and observe with wonder how much she was grown and improved.

Hannah was at this time between sixteen and seventeen; and like Thomson's rural heroine,

"Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self."

It might be said of her features that they reminded you of the Grecian contour, though not strictly conformable to it; and they completely harmonized with the calm, pure, and chastened spirit that shone through them. Her countenance, if seldom radiant with vivacity, was generally smiling and tranquil; and her dark blue eyes, if they did not sparkle with genius, at least beamed with intelligence and sweet

ness.

Hannah was as much struck with Rosina's growth as Rosina was with Hannah's beauty; and now that "the absent had returned, the long, long lost was found," there was much to be told and inquired into on both sides. Rosina enjoyed the consciousness of being once more at home, though every thing looked very small to her, and her spirits rapidly rose, albeit her mirth was rather hysterical. ~ She ran into the kitchen to see her old favourite, Betty; and Betty nearly recalled her lachrymose propensities by inquir

ing "how in the world she came from Park-Place;" but the choking in her throat soon subsided, and before her gossip was half at an end, she was called off by the sound of her brother Matthew's voice. Matthew, now a fine boy of fifteen, was serving his time with Mr. Good, under whose roof he lived, though he ran down to the White Cottage whenever he had an opportunity. He welcomed his younger sister with noisy joy, was inquisitive into the story of her wrongs, indignant at Mrs. Parkinson's ill usage, and pitied her so much that Rosina went to bed impressed with the pleasing conviction that she had been a heroine in distress.. Mrs. Wellford saw the mischievous tendency of Matthew's commendations, and was sorry for it; but was more indignant at her sister's conduct than in Rosina's presence she had thought fit to express.

In the course of the following morning, Rosina ran in from the garden, exclaiming, "That tiresome Mr. Russell is coming down the hill!"

"Tiresome!" repeated Hannah with surprise, "nobody thinks Mr. Russell tiresome now."

"Dear me!" cried Rosina, "why none of us could bear him when I went away."

True, my dear," said her mother, "but that was because we did not know him. Mr. Russell is an excellent young man, and does great good among the poor."

6% He may be very excellent," said Rosina, "but I'm sure he is not very young. However, here he comes."

Mr. Russell entered with several books under his arm. "Well, Hannah," said he, smiling, "here is Hayley's Life of Cowper for you at last. Good morning to you, Mrs. Wellford. Ah, Rosina, how do you do?"

All were surprised at the quietness of this last salutation. "Are you not astonished," said Mrs. Wellford, "to see Rosina among us once more?"

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No," said he,

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I was astonished to hear of it; but news travels fast in country villages. Matthew looked in upon me on his return to Mr. Good's, and communicated the intelligence."

"She did not follow quite the usual routine observed by young ladies in setting out on their travels," said Mrs. Wellford.

"So I hear," returned Mr. Russell, looking gravely at Rosina, who felt rather abashed. After inquiring for his friends the Penningtons, he proceeded to talk about books, and one

Abel Trueman, a village prodigy, who had made some asto. nishing discoveries in mechanics; to the surprise and mortification of Rosina, who had expected him to shew some curiosity respecting her adventures. She thought him a more disagreeable person than ever, and wondered how Hannah could read his stupid books.

In the afternoon, a furious letter came from Mrs. Parkinson, accusing both Rosina and her mother of meanness, insolence, and ingratitude, saying that all Stoke Barton was crying out at Rosina's unheard of conduct, and that the young Penningtons were in high disgrace for having connived at her absconding. She added that this was the last time she would hold any communication with a branch of her family so wholly undeserving of her patronage.

Mrs. Wellford burnt the letter without shewing in to her daughters, merely telling them that their aunt Parkinson, as might naturally have been expected, was exceedingly angry.

Every one being now thoroughly well informed that Miss Rosina Wellford had run away from Park-Place and returned to Summerfield, she soon sank into the insignificance of a little girl of twelve years old, and quietly resumed her usual employments. In the course of a week, she received a letter from Marianne Pennington, in answer to one which her mother had allowed her to send in a parcel, remitting a guinea to Lewis. Marianne hoped she was well and had found her mamma and sister so likewise, and stated that both she and Lewis had been in sad disgrace, but were now forgiven. The rest of the epistle was about birds, flowers, and the French governess Mademoiselle Mackau. Thenceforward, as neither of the young friends had much money to expend in postage, the correspondence was renewed only at distant intervals.

CHAPTER V.

FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

It is sometimes possible to run away from a bad habit. An individual who in some particular circumstances is conscious he has deserved the reprehension of his acquaintance, has the