shall go in my place, and tell her that I cannot go to her for three months to come. Before that time you will be able to return the money, and then I can go."

Grateful, indeed, was Theresa; Florence could only press the good woman's hand. Keller turned to his wife-"I told you how it would be; what we give at the door comes in again by the window ! If we had not thought of Dame Philippa this evening, where would the money for the journey be got? A little kindness is often not ill spent."

The preparations for Florence's departure were not long in making. Some calico chemises were put into a small trunk, and a few pair of stockings, knit by a poor widow to whom Theresa daily ministered of her poverty, by taking her a little dinner. This is what Keller called "God's tithe." How much do the struggling classes everywhere contribute of this tithe to neighbours! When Florence took leave of the poor widow, tears were shed by both. "Good-by, good-by, Florence; God will bless you," were the last words the young maiden heard as she departed from the door of her humble acquaintance.

If we dwell on these details, it is because we know how much surrounding circumstances contribute to form the mind. The affectionate union between Keller and Theresa, their readiness to share with their poor neighbours their scanty store, their own cheerful resignation-all this accounts for the development of Florence's mental faculties and affections; for her being so devoid of selfishness, and for her practical good sense.

Two days before her departure, all her relatives and friends flocked to bid her farewell; and, with the tact which affection gives, every one had a story to tell; and it was always of some young girl who, having left her native village from poverty, had returned rich and happy-a kind of indirect prediction, for the fulfilment of which they trusted to time and to the good providence of God. The young girl was sorry to part with these kind, good people; she had often felt that there were thoughts which it would have been useless to have expressed to almost any amongst them; but there was not one affectionate feeling that had not its echo.

III.

Florence had arrived in Paris, and had gone direct to the house of Josephine's friend. That very night Dame Philippa's niece paid them a visit, and it was agreed that the next day should be devoted to showing the lions of Paris to the young provincialist.

Florence was not so much surprised as she expected to be. This is easily accounted for. When we leave our own little town, we know it all by heart-its whole extent-its every street is in our mind's-eye at once; whereas, of the large city into which we are for the first time introduced, we see now one street, then another,

but only one at a time, and in succession, as we walk along; so that, comparing it with the little town which we have taken in as a whole, it is very natural that we should not at first think the large city quite so large. Six months after, when we can view it also as a whole, it is a different matter.

The next day came, and she was shown the way to Madame Duhamel's house. She was ushered into a room, and the lady began her inquiries.

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How old are you, my good girl?"

I am twenty, madame," said Florence with a curtsy. "You can do needlework, and iron, and do up linen?" Florence replied in the affirmative.

"Can you read?"

At this question Florence turned pale, and seemed in evident embarrassment.

The lady believed her agitation to arise from the shame of ignorance.

"It is no matter," said she to the young girl; "you will suit me very well. I shall be quite satisfied if you can remember any message I may send by you."

"I can read, madame."

"Oh, very well. You know the wages I give?" "Yes, madame."

"What is your name?"

"Florence Keller."

The appearance of Florence made a favourable impression; her open brow, her black eyes sparkling with intelligence, and her demeanour-which, without the slightest degree of servility, was as respectful as possible-had already won the good graces of her new mistress.

"Your occupation will be altogether about myself," said she. "The whole business of the household is divided between five servants, and any spare time you may have is at your own disposal; with this restriction, however, that you are not to go out without my permission."

Florence drew a long breath. From past failure, she was almost afraid that the confession of her knowing how to read would have been the signal for the breaking off the negotiation. She congratulated herself, however, that she was asked no question that would have drawn out the information of her being letterand-petition-writer-general for her own little district at home. Had it been known, would she have been rejected? We cannot tell. These were days-may we hope that they are altogether bygone days-when the education of the poor had to contend with the active prejudices, as it still has with the supine indifference, of the upper classes.

Florence was now installed as lady's-maid. Her fellow-servants were four in number. A cook, who seemed to be of somewhat hasty temper, but, on the whole, good-natured; a footman;

a coachman; and the nursery-maid. Rose could not always manage the three children, so that the two elder ones were very often with Florence. Eugene was thirteen, Frances eleven, and little Clemence two years old.

Madame Duhamel pleased at first sight, so expressive was her countenance of kindness and benevolence. Her husband, somewhat older than she was, and very well informed, undertook the education of his children himself.

It is no great proof of the general kindliness of human nature, that a new arrival at a college or a boarding-school is usually regarded with some degree of prejudice. It is the same with a new servant in a house, and consequently Florence met but cold looks at first from the inmates of the kitchen. However, she was so polite at table, and made herself so agreeable by the many nice stories she had read, and was so obliging to them all, that she soon became a general favourite, notwithstanding what they called her fine lady look, and her really white hands.

Florence's room was near the drawing-room, and when in the evening there was music, the young girl thought of her dear father, who used to be so fond of it. "My poor father," said she, "how happy you would be here!" Then she thought that she might one day be able to send for her parents, to live near her in Paris; and the idea dispelled her sadness. Florence was in utter ignorance of the subjects in which the children were instructed. She had read much, but, as we have said, without either guide or system. Yet nothing had been lost upon her heart, which, at once softened and enlarged by the education of love and tenderness she had received in her home, learned something even from the most desultory reading. Mind was developed in the developing of affection.

Already had the young domestic been able to repay Dame Philippa the money she had lent for her journey, and even to send something to her parents. Madame Duhamel, who made the remittances for her, showed her growing approval of her by allowing her daughter frequently to study by her side. Frances was quick and intelligent, she liked reading aloud, and Florence liked to listen. Frances repeated to her the lessons in grammar and history; this was improving to both parties. Madame Duhamel had the kindness and good sense to be pleased with this profitable intercourse. She not only chose books for them, but was often present at the readings, making Florence bring her work into her room, and sit with her. Florence felt at first a little constraint in her presence; but when she saw that it was esteem for her character that induced her mistress thus to condescend, she soon began to love Madame Duhamel as a friend, nay, almost as a mother. How did she long for an opportunity to show her she was not ungrateful, by doing something that would indeed contribute to her happiness! And she sighed as

she thought how little prospect such a poor creature as she was had of ever having it in her power.

"

IV.

Opportunities of well-doing occur in every situation of life. Florence, we have said, was desirous of showing her gratitude to her mistress, and an opportunity was at hand. Madame Duhamel was not one of those mistresses who take a pleasure in tormenting servants with work, neither did she like to interfere with their ordinary arrangements. She wished to make those about her dutiful by the mildness of her government; but this generosity was not reciprocated in a remarkable manner. Her kindness was taken for simplicity, and was accordingly imposed upon. Florence was distressed at perceiving the many little tricks which were employed to overreach her indulgent mistress; and there was also much waste that ought not to have taken place. It was no easy task for a young girl to awaken conscientious feelings in the minds of the domestics; yet, by the mere force of gentle persuasion, and by performing some good offices, she actually abated much of the dilapidation in the family, without incurring any enmity for her pains.

One thing struck her with respect to her fellow-servants, and that was, their general want of any aim. They seemed contented to be in the same circumstances all their days did not appear to entertain any idea of what they should do when too aged for their present situations. Here was food for thought to Florence. She had read somewhere that domestic servitude might be to the poor a school of morality—a place for acquiring good manners, good language, and something of the intellectual superiority of the rich; that it might be made a link between the two classes placed at the greatest relative distance on the social ladder. But," she said, "if these servants save nothing, and know nothing out of the routine of their present duties, their fate in the end must be very dismal."

These thoughts may seem rather grave for so young a girl, but she had early learned to think. They did not, however, make her gloomy; she sang and laughed as merrily as any one in the house. One day she entered the kitchen with a newspaper, which she seemed to peruse diligently.

"What is that you are reading so intently," asked the cook.

"An account of the lodgment of monies in the Caisse d'Epargne [Savings Bank] for the last year, with a list of the classes of persons who have been depositors; and you will not imagine who has lodged the most?"

"Why, shopkeepers to be sure; they make lots of money." "Not at all; the class who lodge the largest sums are waiters

and house-servants. I, too, will become a depositor. make a trial. What say you?"

Let us all

The notion of saving anything was new to all the servants, and they laughed heartily at Florence's proposition. Florence laughed too; but after laughing, she again talked of beginning to deposit a trifle.

"Come, let us reckon up," said she, "how much we can muster as a commencement. I have got nine francs and a half, and will deposit six; and will also take the trouble, without commission, of entering all your names; that is to say, if you will trust me."

As much from the drollery of the thing, as with any serious idea of saving, each gave Florence a few francs to deposit in the Caisse d'Epargne, and that day she completed the transaction by entering all the names, and getting a small book for each. She likewise, on all occasions afterwards, carried small sums to be added to the different accounts; and thus, by a little management, she put her fellow-servants in the way of accumulating something for their future use.

Nor was this all that Florence did to render those about her happy. Let us follow her into the garden, where she has gone with a botanical book, examining the flowers whose history she is studying with Eugene and Frances. Ambrose is there too; not botanising, indeed, but loosening the earth about some shrubs, and thinning some beds of vegetables.

"You are fond of gardening, Ambrose?" asked Florence.

"Oh yes; while I was in the country, I used to work at it with my whole heart."

Florence put her hand to her forehead, as if a bright idea had occurred to her.

"Well," said she, "why not learn every day something of gardening? At your leisure time you could keep the flowerknots in order."

Ambrose rubbed his brow, and seemed to hesitate a little.

"I did not bargain for that, Florence: it is not my business. When I have dusted the sitting-rooms, and polished the furniture, my time is my own-at least when there is no company."

"And it is for that very reason, because the time is your own, that I am anxious you should turn it to profit; and in learning a trade, you would be working for yourself, and making a provision for the future. I have heard my master often say that he thought it his duty to allow his servants some time that they might call their own, and I am sure he would be much gratified to see it well employed."

Well, indeed perhaps you are not so much in the wrong after all."

"Listen to me, Ambrose. My master is going away for a month. I will ask him to leave out some books on gardening, and we can read them together. You know how fond he is of