little scene, and of her own unpleasant part in it, than she had intended to have done.

Poor dear! he has so much spirit!" was the only observation of the mother.

But I have more painful things to tell you," said Flora, feeling utterly provoked; and without further reserve, she gave an account of Lyddie's conduct at the press, which would greatly have distressed a tender and conscientious parent, but which only elicited the words Poor dear!" uttered in a more sleepy tone than before.

But, Emma, this must not be !" exclaimed Flora, with kindling indignation; "these poor unhappy orphans are not to be left to acquire habits of dishonesty and untruth-"

She stopped suddenly, for she knew that she had said too much; she saw it in the malignant expression which lighted for a moment the sleepy black eye, she felt it in the quick throbbing of her own heart. Glad was Flora that her mother's entrance excuse for quitting the room. her own in a very bitter spirit.

gave

her an

She sought

"Mamma," said Flora to Mrs. Vernon, when they were both retiring to rest, "I fear that

we shall have a dreadful time with this family! There will be no more comfort in the house. Those miserable, neglected children will be the torments of our lives!"

"We must have patience with them, my love; they will not be neglected here."

"But Emma will hang as a drag-chain on all our efforts to improve them. She seems to regard nothing upon earth but her own comfort and convenience, and listens with that odious smile to things which should make a mother blush for very shame!"

"My love," expostulated Mrs. Vernon.

"I do not like that woman, mother, and I am certain that I never shall. She looks so heartless, and silly, and affected !"

"We must not be hard upon her, my Flora ; her own education has probably been neglected. You have had a day of fatigue and excitement, and it re-acts on your own spirits, my dear. Go and rest now, you need it; all may seem more sunshiny in the morning."

Flora sought rest, but that night she was not destined to find it. In the room next to hers was the baby, and hour after hour his wailing cry sounded in her ears, driving away

sleep; thrice she started up and hastened to see if nothing could be done to soothe him. As morning dawned, the babe fell asleep, and so did the exhausted Flora, to dream of the house being attacked by a legion of negroes, till she was awakened at an earlier hour than usual by the sound of a furious quarrel between Johnny and Lyddie.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TOUCHSTONE.

AND so passed day after day, each appearing to Flora more unendurable than the last. She at first sought refuge in her favourite woody haunts, and there reading some pleasant book, or throwing her own thoughts into verse, she enjoyed brief but delicious respite from the cares and vexations of her home. But a season of rainy weather cut off even this source of enjoyment, and she was imprisoned in the house with four noisy, quarrelsome children, and a companion whom she disliked and despised.

Mrs. John Vernon was a very weak woman, and had all the infirmities and follies naturally attendant on characters of such a stamp. She was, of course, passionately fond of dress,—a fondness which even the necessity for wearing mourning did not subdue. Flora could scarcely disguise her contempt when she saw how completely the thoughts and time of this vain, silly woman, were engrossed by the cares of the toilette; how she squandered money, which she would perhaps have to borrow, in decking out her person in all the extravagance of fashion. "As if," Flora thought to herself, "all the silks and lace in the world could ever give the shadow of beauty to that insipid, affected face!"

Emma was unpunctual in the extreme; and this, to one accustomed to the clock-work regularity of a small, well-ordered household, was a defect of no small magnitude. It interfered with the comfort of every one, and sorely tried the patience of Flora.

The widow was also absurdly fanciful about her own health. She was afraid of exertion, afraid of cold,—and, by some unfortunate contrariety, her opinion on the subject of the wea

ther never seemed to coincide with that of those around her. When Mrs. Vernon felt chilly, Emma was certain to be longing for open windows and air;-if Flora found the room oppressively warm, Emma languidly suggested a fire. The widow loved to draw upon herself the attention of all who approached her; she would rather have been disliked than unnoticed; she must attract the observation, occupy the thoughts of all, or she felt herself wronged and neglected.

Gently did Mrs. Vernon bear with the infirmities of one whom it was difficult to love, impossible to respect. Gradually and quietly she made suggestions on the management of Emma's family, or the arrangement of her pecuniary affairs. But tenderly as every hint was given, it was received either with irritation or peevish distress; and when, at length, detected instances of dishonesty on the part of both Sambo and the nurse induced Mrs. Vernon gently, but firmly, to urge the necessity for dismissing them both, her words occasioned a burst of passionate tears, succeeded by a long fit of depression.

"Mamma," said Flora one morning to her