oped eye-teeth. As kindred to this subject, I advise you not to accept either coat, pants, or hat, from a suspected member who is likely some day to get himself before a committee; for if you should expel him, he will twit you, as long as you live, with the basest ingratitude. After you shall get to housekeeping, it will be expected of you to add to your other virtues, the grace of hospitality. Unless you prove singularly unfortunate, each pastoral charge will yield you a few earnest friends whom you may expect to do themselves, and you, the pleasure of an occasional visit. These your own heart will prompt you to receive in a manner worthy of their love. You need have no fear that their number will so increase as to burden you through the circle of the year; for it is one of the inevitable results of itinerancy, that your most ardent friends of to-day, will in time glide back into the relation of mere acquaintances. Necessity will once in a while drive the pious poor to seek a temporary home under your roof. Receive them kindly for the sake of Him who was once the poorest, but is now Lord over all. Besides these, it will not surprise you to find that a few conscientious Christians habitually prefer the free parsonage to the disagreeable associations of the public inn. A peculiar class of your old friends whom you formerly served in word and doctrine, and some, too, whose friendship for you happily began after you left them, will be sure to favor you with a visit of a week or so. Perhaps they will take you in the way of their summer excursions, and if you are a man of very simple heart, you will rejoice to learn that they have grace enough to shun a hotel, if they have wit enough to find you As these are presumed to be indifferent to good eating, you must be careful to give them molasses for butter, sassafras tea for young hyson, a herring for a steak, and an ox-cheek for a savory sirloin. They will remain with you but a short time, at the end of which it will give you great pleasure to see them go on their way rejoicing. You can then return to your ordinary bill of fare. out. As the old preachers used to say when their stock of ideas was spent, "I could greatly enlarge here if time would permit ;" but this is enough for one letter. Yours truly, O. P. Q. ON GIVING AWAY A CHILD. N board one of the Lake steamers, bound for the far West, were an Irish family-husband, wife, and three children. They were evidently in very destitute circumstances; but the exceeding beauty of the children, two girls and a boy, was the admiration of all their fellow-passengers. A lady, who had no children of her own, was desirous of adopting one of the little travelers, and made application to the father, through a friend, who gives the following touching and, as we suppose, truthful account of the negotiation : I proceeded, he says, immediately upon my delicate diplomacy. Finding my friend on deck, I thus opened the affair: "You are very poor?" His answer was very characteristic: "Poor, sir!" said he; " ay, if there's a poorer man than me troublin' the world, God pity both of uz, for we'd be about aiquil." "Then how do you manage to support your children?" "Is it support them, sir? Why, I don't support them any way; they get supported some way or other. It'll be time enough for me to complain when they do." "Would it be a relief to you to part with one of them?" It was too sudden; he turned sharply round. "A what, sir!" he cried; "a relief to part from my child? Would it be a relief to have the hands chopped from the body, or the heart torn out of my breast? A relief indeed! God be good to us, what do you mane?" "You don't understand me," I replied. "If, now, it were in one's power to provide comfortably for one of your children, would you stand in the way of its interests ?" "No, sir," said he; "the heavens knows that I would willingly cut the sunshine away from myself, that they might get all the warm of it; but do tell uz what you're driving at.” I then told him that a lady had taken a fancy to have one of his children; and, if he would consent to it, it should be educated, and finally settled comfortably in life. This threw him into a fit of gratulation. He scratched his head, and looked the very picture of bewilderment. The strug gle between a father's love and a child's interest was evident and touching. At length he said : 66 "O, murther, wouldn't it be a great thing for the baby? But I must go and talk with Mary-that's the mother of them; an' it wouldn't be right to be giving away her children afore her face, and she to know nothing at all about it." "Away with you then," said I, "and bring me an answer back as soon as possible." In about half an hour he returned, leading two of his children. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face pale from excitement and agitation. "Well," I inquired, "what success?" "Bedad, it was a hard struggle, sir," said he. "But I've been talking to Mary, an' she says, as it's for the child's good, maybe the heavens above will give us strength to bear it." So he snapped up little Norah, as though it were some recovered treasure, and darted away with her, leaving little Biddy, who remained with us all night; but lo! the moment when we entered the cabin in the morning, there was Pat making his mysterious signs again at the window, and this time he had the youngest, a baby, in his arms. "What's wrong now ?" I inquired. "Be the hokey fly, sir, an' it's meself that's almost ashamed to tell you. You see I've been talkin' to Mary, and she didn't like to part with Norah, because she had a look ov me, and be my soul, I can't part with Biddy, because she's the model of her mother, but there's little Paudeen, There's a lump of a Christian for you, two years old, and not a day more; he'll never be any trouble to any one, for av he takes after his mother, he'll have the brightest eye, an' av he takes after his father he'll have a fine broad pair of shoulders to push his way through the world. Will you swap agin, sir?" "Very well; and which of them is it sir. to be ?" 66 "Faix, and I don't know, sir,” and he ran his eye dubiously over both. "Here's little Norah-she's the oldest, an' won't need her mother so much; but then-O! tear and aigers-it's myself that can't tell which I'd rather part with least; so take the first one that comes, wid a blessin'. There, sir,” and he handed over little Norah; turning back, he snatched her up in his arms, and gave her one long, hearty father's kiss, saying through his tears : 66 May God be good to him that's good to you, an' them that offers you hurt or harm, may their souls never see St. Pether." Then taking his other child by the hand, he walked away, leaving Norah with me. I took her down to the cabin, and we thought the matter settled. It must be confessed, to my great indignation, however, in about an hour's time I saw my friend Pat at the window. As soon as he caught my eye he commenced making signs for me to come out. I did so, and found that he had the other child in his arms. "What's the matter now ?" asked I. "Well, sir," said he, "I ax your pardon for troubling you about so foolish a thing as a child or two, but we were thinkin' that maybe it'd make no differ you see, sir, I've been talking to Mary, an' she says she can't part with Norah, "With all my heart," said I; "it's all the same to me;" and so little Paudeen was left with me. "Ha, ha," said I to myself, as I looked into his big, laughing eyes, "the affair is settled at last." But it wasn't; for ten minutes had scarcely elapsed, when Pat rushed into the cabin without sign or ceremony, and snatching up the baby, cried out, "It's no use; I've been talkin' to Mary, an' we can't do it. Look at him, sir: he's the youngest and the best of the batch. You wouldn't keep him from us. You see, sir, Norah has a look ov me, an' Biddy has a look ov Mary; but, be me soul, laitle Paudeen has the mother's eye, an' my nose, an' alaitle of both of uz all over! No, sir, no; we can bear hard fortune, starvation, and misery, but we can't bear to part from our children, unless it be the will of Heaven to take them from us." Those who quit their proper character to assume what does not belong to them, are for the greater part ignorant of both the character they leave and of the character they assume.-Burke. BROWN'S AMANUENSIS. a real plot, I would write a romance which should commence a new era in the litera BROWN was a magazine writer, of ture of this country." what is sometimes called the fast school. His were the veriest bubbles of the current literature of the day, the merest froth of the trifles which are skimmed rather than read by the busy world of pleasure. He touched-I borrow the beautiful language of a fashionable reviewer-he touched the passing follies of the day with a light and facile pen, and people smirked over his articles in a manner pleasant to witness. My opinion is, that his abilities were-in short, were not first-rate, but he used them very ably. He never wrote in men's language for a lady's magazine, and never threw away the delicate wit which suited its pages upon the middle-aged gentlemen who prefer scandal and satire. To the world of periodicals, Brown was known as a rising comic writer, while to himself, he was a man of crushed ambition and rejected manuscripts. In a drawer of his writing-table, under a Chubbs' lock, were a treatise on ethics, several pamphlets on political and financial questions, a biography of the poet Mason-unduly neglected now, but who flourished a good deal in the last century-and, lastly, a history of Nova Zembla, with an account of the climate and productions of that isolated region. These several manuscripts were brought into existence when Mr. Brown first came to the metropolis. While he had money he wrote what he pleased; when he had not, he had the good sense (and good fortune) to write what pleased the public. The result was, that he was in a fair way of doing well in his line of business. But Brown was, unhappily, rather of a restless temper. "I'll be a butterfly," he said to himself, after he had hawked his ethics from west to east and back again; and for some months he labored with fair success in the field of the lightest literature, and got his bread and butter by it, and amused himself in his leisure hours like any other young gentleman. It must be observed, however, that he never lost that lofty opinion of his own talents which had formerly stimulated his efforts, and he was on the look-out for a subject on which he might build a great work of fiction. "Fiction," he said to himself, "is the thing. If I could only get hold of a plot, So Brown was accustomed to meditate; but it was not until very recently that anything came of it. It was after reading of important events taking place in Spain, that he determined to lay his scene there. Spain was the land of romance; his characters should be the men now swaying its destinies, his time the present day. "I will read up the history," he said; "and with Gil Blas, Mr. Borrow, and the Tales of the Alhambra, I think something may be done." Familiarity with modern Spanish customs was, however, indispensable, and Brown's knowledge of that subject was limited. Fortunately, information, like any other article, can be obtained readily in London by those who can pay for it, and after ten minutes' reflection, which was as much as he now devoted to any question, Brown sent the following advertisement for insertion in the daily pa pers: AMANUENSIS WANTED.-The Applicant will be required to have recently traveled or resided in Spain. Remuneration according to qualifications. Apply to B. B. Brown had certain literary engagements which it was necessary to fulfill in a given time, and he set himself busily to work to get rid of these as soon as possible. To this end he shunned amusements, public and private, retired into the solitude of his apartments, and requested the prim maidservant who attended at his call to receive all visitors with the assertion that he was out of town. In consequence of these arrangements, he was enabled to produce in the course of the day a great deal of what printers call "copy;" a name which, in the present state of literature, is frequently correct in more senses than one. On the morning when the advertisement appeared, Brown was seated at work as usual, and had just completed a philosophical paper " On the Diminished Diameter of Ladies' Hats," and another on the 66 Increased Proportions" of their petticoats, through the agency of "hoops," when the maid-servant, fresh from the country, opened the door If you please, sir—” "Well," said Brown, mildly. "There's a lady down stairs, and she wants you, sir." Now Brown was not accustomed to re ceive visits from ladies, and the announcement caused him some little surprise; but he was not curious, and desired quiet. So he replied: "She wants me, does she? I am very sorry, but she can't have me. Tell her so, Sarah, if you please." "O, sir, you're such a funny gentleman," Sarah said, and lingered. "That's how I pay my rent, Sarah," replied Brown. "Remember, in future, that I am out of town to everybody." "Please, sir, it's B. B. she wants," the girl persisted, who had received special directions as to answers to the advertisement. "Eh! a lady? Show her up." And Brown hastily threw off his dressing-gown, and assumed a garment somewhat less variegated. "Odd," thought he " decidedly ;" and he seated himself in his chair to await the result. A light step was heard on the staircase, and the lady, who had sent no card, entered the room. Brown turned, and rose to offer her a chair, but paused suddenly without doing So. The visitor was equally embarrassed, and the silence endured until you have read the next paragraph. Brown paused; because, instead of the middle-aged lady, with a British Museum complexion, whom he had expected to see, there stood before him a young girl, whose age could not have been more than twenty, and whose beauty was enhanced by the deep blush which rose to her downcast eyes. Brown first recovered himself, I am happy to say; and having got hold of a chair, he jerked it rather nervously on to the ground, and said something about doing him the honor to be seated. "I fear, sir, there is some mistake." The voice was a very sweet one, as, indeed, it could not help being, Brown thought. "You wished me to make some inquiry about my advertisement," he said, with some hesitation. "Then you are B. B. ?" "I am B. B., madam." The visitor rose, and, bowing her head to him, said: "I must apologize for having intruded upon you, and beg you to excuse the mistake which-which has caused this visit ;" and she moved toward the door. "I beg your pardon," Brown said hastily. “One moment. Will you be kind enough to explain-" "Pray, do not ask me, sir;" and again she turned to the door. Brown was by no means satisfied. "I have no right to detain you: but if I can be of service to you in any way, pray do me the pleasure of saying so." It will be observed that Brown's language was remarkably polished, a trait on which he prided himself. "It is impossible," she said, looking up at him; and perhaps seeing something honest about his face, she continued: "I saw the advertisement, which seemed so well suited to me, that I hoped it might be from a lady, or some one who-who could have accepted my services." "I should be most happy," Brown beShe shook her head, and replied, now without embarrassment: gan. "You have been in Spain?" Brown asked. "I have only just returned from there." "I cannot, of course, press upon you anything to which you have an objection; but if you will permit me, it may be possible to arrange the matter in a way which will overcome any difficulty." She looked up, and Brown was encouraged to proceed. "The assistance I require may be rendered at your own house, if such an arrangement would suit you." For a moment she looked as if it would, but glancing once more at Brown, she seemed to take another resolution, and wishing him good-day rather abruptly, she disappeared down stairs. Brown is considered, by some people, a very handsome fellow; but whether that had anything to do with frightening her away, I must leave the ladies to determine. Brown jumped up, and stepped to the window, which commanded a small strip of garden in front of the house. "Very odd! no name-no nothing! There she goes! Very pretty figure! awful shabby bonnet !" Such was the turn of his thoughts while the shabby bonnet moved along the garden-wall and disappeared. Then he suddenly put on his hat, and followed it a distance. He admitted to himself that this was an absurd thing to do, and thought he would go back sensibly: then, as the bonnet passed round a corner, he quickened his steps, and meditated no more till he caught sight of it again. The bonnet passed round a great many corners, and hurried along at a speed which surprised him, leading him through dingy and narrow streets, and disappearing at length up a court, which seemed to be a playground for the children of the neighborhood. The door of one of the houses stood open, and Brown perceived a woman seated at work in a room, on the ground-floor. Walking over some children who were strewn about the steps, he entered the room, and took his stand beside a cradle, while he addressed the mistress of the apartment. Did a young lady wearing so and so lodge there? She did-on the third floor back. The bell was broken, and he had better walk up. the elder lady, and exerted himself to the utmost to remove the unfavorable impression he had produced. She received him with a politeness which at once put him at his ease, and gradually the daughter was induced to join in the conversation. What may have been said, I do not know, but the interview lasted for at least half an hour, and from that time Brown became a frequent visitor. Not far distant from where we at present write, there lives a Mr. Silas Brown. a retired medical practitioner, a bachelor, and Brown's uncle. When our Brown was a boy, his Uncle Silas took a fancy to him, and even went so far as to buy a small piece of ground in his name in an improving neighborhood. Brown had always shown a proper sense of his uncle's generosity, though hitherto he had not derived any advantage from it, for the old gentleman persisted in retaining the property, and acting as trustee. He had worked his way up without help, and he was determined that his nephew should do the same. man. Bashfulness had ceased to be one of Brown's failings, but yet he hesitated considerably at the door which was pointed out to him. At length he knocked nervously, and being told to "come in," did so. It was a little sitting-room, the walls of which still retained some vestige of a dingy paper, which had once covered them. There were two chairs and two small tables, and a portrait over the chimneypiece. A quantity of needle-work lay scattered about the room, which, in spite of its poor appearance, was clean, and even fragrant, for a large pot of mignonette stood outside the open window. A pale, withered-looking woman sat in one of the chairs, propped up by cushions, and the object of Brown's impertinent inquiries stood near the window, looking at the in-luded rather pointedly to "those three truder with great indignation. Their story may be told in a very few lines. The elder lady, a widow, had supported herself for several years in a small shop, while her daughter, who in early life had been under the care of good masters, had accompanied a family to Spain, as governess. At length the widow fell into bad health, and being unable to attend to her little shop, was soon reduced to a condition of utter poverty, on which the daughter at once quitted her situation, and, under the protection of a family of tourists, returned home. She could do little for her mother's support without again leaving her, a course which both were most anxious to avoid; and thus it happened that she had been attracted by the advertisement in the papers. Brown learned half of this story in a glance round the room, and was encouraged to persevere. He introduced himself to It was a fine thing for a young Besides, by keeping down the boy's income, he would be prevented from making some foolish marriage—a term which Silas Brown was used to apply to marriage under any circumstances. About three months after the adventure of the advertisement, the old gentleman was startled by a letter from his nephew, in which the latter for the first time al acres by the new church." "You have always told me, my dear uncle" so ran the letter-" to consider this land as my own. I have no right to presume upon your kindness, but I should be very glad if you would allow me to derive some immediate advantage from it. The fact is, that I am engaged upon a work-scene laid in Spain-from which I hope great things, and I am compelled in consequence to keep an amanuensis, which is very expensive.” The elder Mr. Brown read this letter with a doubtful expression of face. "Great work, indeed!" he said to himself. "Chateau en Espagne ! I'll go to the city, and see what that boy's doing." And therefore Mr. Brown wrote no reply to the letter, but he presented himself a few days afterward at 99 Hampstead Road. "Out of town! nonsense, my good girl," the old gentleman said to Sarah, who |