But then he really has been spoiled. Why, Papa calls him to his face, 'You magnificent boy! you splendid-looking fellow!' &c. I know I should not mind being praised up in this way, but I never am. The only other creature in the house that gets an undue share of praise is our sweet small sister Agnes. Oh! she is a very darling, and so lovely. To-day, when she came running in after luncheon, with her golden hair floating about her shoulders, and a tiny wreath of red berries and thornless leaves, which Nurse had made for her for Christmas, round her dear little head, her eyes and cheeks bright with joy and excitement, she looked the veriest little beauty. Everyone said how lovely she looks, and everyone must needs kiss her and pet her. And she is a pet! Oh! how Mother loves her. She could not make up her mind to part from her this autumn and go with us to the Lakes, so she stayed at home with Agnes. She said she greatly preferred the quiet; but I believe she would have enjoyed the Lakes as much as any of us if she could have taken Agnes; but the doctor said she must not take her, because ever since the measles the little pet has had a delicate chest, and the doctor was afraid of the damp, which he declares is a necessary evil of the Lake district. But it was not so whilst we were there. We only had three days of settled rain, and we were there a month; and those three days made the waterfalls so beautiful, that we rejoiced at them. I could go into raptures, if I chose, over the beauty of the Lakes, especially Keswick; but I don't choose, so I shall say nothing, except that it was a most enchanting time. Our party was Papa, Herbert, Charley, Edith, and me. Charley's regiment was not ordered abroad, but was sent to Chatham, and so we have seen him constantly; and the month he spent with us at the Lakes was a month's absence on sick leave, for he had been very ailing. He is quite well again now, and came yesterday to be with us at Christmas-time, as he always has been. Edith is certainly the gayest and most gleeful creature I know, and Charley the most cheerful and unchangeable. I wonder Herbert does not like Edith better than he does; he never seems to think much of her, and he thinks and talks so much about other girls not to be compared to her in any way. The other day I asked him if he did not think her excessively pretty, and he laughed at me so, and said, 'Excessively pretty! I should think not. Why, she has always got a broad grin on her face, and she is as fat as a dairy-maid!' So much for the criticisms of those used to you every day. I dare say he would speak of me much in the same tone to Edith, if she ever ventured to make any remark of me to him, and with about as much truth, for Edith is not fat, but only round and fair; and then she has the most sunny smile-ever ready to come, but not the least grin. Now there is Miss Scott, a girl Herbert raves about, and one whom I can't endure,—with her grandeur and her fine talk about operas and theatres, and this singer and that dancer, and her love for Rotten Row and extreme fashion. He calls her beautiful, and I call her simply odious, so it shews how materially we differ from

each other in our likings. Charley told me this morning, after one of my fights with Herbert-for we often have fights about our different views, both of people and things-that I must try and meet him half way, and not always seem to think that there is no truth in what he says, and no beauty in what he admires. But really he does say such odd things, and admire such queer people, that I shall have hard work even to do this; but I must try, as I wish him to care for me, and not to be always quarreling with me. I don't know if he loves me or not; he never shows it, but I see more and more that he has been spoiled.

I have not much more time for writing, because Edith and Charley and I are going to walk across the park and on to Uncle Trevor's, and then back to the church, by five o'clock, as Mr. Lee is going to have the evening service then, (no sermon, but just the prayers,) and it is to be chanted, and he wants us to be present. It is the first time that the choir has tried chanting the psalms.

I could not write more yesterday, because Edith came and told me it was time to start for our walk. We had a charming walk, in spite of the cold. The clear frosty air made one feel so fresh, and the light frozen snow that covered everything was marvellously beautiful. We had a cup of tea and a little chat with Aunt and Uncle Trevor, and then we started off for the church. I was so glad and so surprised to see dearest Mother there when we entered; and the chanting was very well done, and showed clearly what pains Mr. and Mrs. Lee had taken with it. Edgar and Willie and Annie and Clara Lee all sang, and had been practising both for the psalms and the anthem, and we joined heartily in every part that we could.

I have several things to get ready for the Christmas tree which we are to have this evening; and all the children of the neighbourhood are coming to enjoy it and a dance, which is to follow when the presents from off the tree have all been distributed. And here comes our early tea, and my room will be full of visitors in a minute or two; so farewell to you, my book, for the present.

(To be continued.)

CAMPANELLA.

CHAPTER VII.

THE church clock had not yet struck nine on the Monday morning, when Campanella made her curtsey to Miss Charteris, in Mr. Dykes's drawing-room. The chairs in that room were stiff and straight; they had belonged to Mr. Dykes's mother; the table was coverless, and shiny; the chintz was whitey, and faded. There was a dull hard look about

But then he really has been spoiled. Why, Papa calls him to his face, 'You magnificent boy! you splendid-looking fellow!' &c. I know I should not mind being praised up in this way, but I never am. The only other creature in the house that gets an undue share of praise is our sweet small sister Agnes. Oh! she is a very darling, and so lovely. To-day, when she came running in after luncheon, with her golden hair floating about her shoulders, and a tiny wreath of red berries and thornless leaves, which Nurse had made for her for Christmas, round her dear little head, her eyes and cheeks bright with joy and excitement, she looked the veriest little beauty. Everyone said how lovely she looks, and everyone must needs kiss her and pet her. And she is a pet! Oh! how Mother loves her. She could not make up her mind to part from her this autumn and go with us to the Lakes, so she stayed at home with Agnes. She said she greatly preferred the quiet; but I believe she would have enjoyed the Lakes as much as any of us if she could have taken Agnes; but the doctor said she must not take her, because ever since the measles the little pet has had a delicate chest, and the doctor was afraid of the damp, which he declares is a necessary evil of the Lake district. But it was not so whilst we were there. We only had three days of settled rain, and we were there a month; and those three days made the waterfalls so beautiful, that we rejoiced at them. I could go into raptures, if I chose, over the beauty of the Lakes, especially Keswick; but I don't choose, so I shall say nothing, except that it was a most enchanting time. Our party was Papa, Herbert, Charley, Edith, and me. Charley's regiment was not ordered abroad, but was sent to Chatham, and so we have seen him constantly; and the month he spent with us at the Lakes was a month's absence on sick leave, for he had been very ailing. He is quite well again now, and came yesterday to be with us at Christmas-time, as he always has been. Edith is certainly the gayest and most gleeful creature I know, and Charley the most cheerful and unchangeable. I wonder Herbert does not like Edith better than he does; he never seems to think much of her, and he thinks and talks so much about other girls not to be compared to her in any way. The other day I asked him if he did not think her excessively pretty, and he laughed at me so, and said, 'Excessively pretty! I should think not. Why, she has always got a broad grin on her face, and she is as fat as a dairy-maid!' So much for the criticisms of those used to you every day. I dare say he would speak of me much in the same tone to Edith, if she ever ventured to make any remark of me to him, and with about as much truth, for Edith is not fat, but only round and fair; and then she has the most sunny smile-ever ready to come, but not the least grin. Now there is Miss Scott, a girl Herbert raves about, and one whom I can't endure,—with her grandeur and her fine talk about operas and theatres, and this singer and that dancer, and her love for Rotten Row and extreme fashion. He calls her beautiful, and I call her simply odious, so it shews how materially we differ from

each other in our likings. Charley told me this morning, after one of my fights with Herbert-for we often have fights about our different views, both of people and things-that I must try and meet him half way, and not always seem to think that there is no truth in what he says, and no beauty in what he admires. But really he does say such odd things, and admire such queer people, that I shall have hard work even to do this; but I must try, as I wish him to care for me, and not to be always quarreling with me. I don't know if he loves me or not; he never shows it, but I see more and more that he has been spoiled.

I have not much more time for writing, because Edith and Charley and I are going to walk across the park and on to Uncle Trevor's, and then back to the church, by five o'clock, as Mr. Lee is going to have the evening service then, (no sermon, but just the prayers,) and it is to be chanted, and he wants us to be present. It is the first time that the choir has tried chanting the psalms.

I could not write more yesterday, because Edith came and told me it was time to start for our walk. We had a charming walk, in spite of the cold. The clear frosty air made one feel so fresh, and the light frozen snow that covered everything was marvellously beautiful. We had a cup of tea and a little chat with Aunt and Uncle Trevor, and then we started off for the church. I was so glad and so surprised to see dearest Mother there when we entered; and the chanting was very well done, and showed clearly what pains Mr. and Mrs. Lee had taken with it. Edgar and Willie and Annie and Clara Lee all sang, and had been practising both for the psalms and the anthem, and we joined heartily in every part that we could.

I have several things to get ready for the Christmas tree which we are to have this evening; and all the children of the neighbourhood are coming to enjoy it and a dance, which is to follow when the presents from off the tree have all been distributed. And here comes our early tea, and my room will be full of visitors in a minute or two; so farewell to you, my book, for the present.

(To be continued.)

CAMPANELLA.

CHAPTER VII.

THE church clock had not yet struck nine on the Monday morning, when Campanella made her curtsey to Miss Charteris, in Mr. Dykes's drawing-room. The chairs in that room were stiff and straight; they had belonged to Mr. Dykes's mother; the table was coverless, and shiny; the chintz was whitey, and faded. There was a dull hard look about

the place, such as bachelors' homes soon acquire. Yet, although Miss Charteris had been there only a few days, she had already given a grace and freshness to the room, by means of her little work-basket with a blue frill, her poetry books, and the roses in a glass, which she was copying in water-colours.

Campanella hardly noticed any of these things; the graceful figure, in a blue morning dress, (looking to the poetical Italian child like the Madonna, whom she had once seen in a picture, clad in a soft blue cloud,) was all which she noticed. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure, as Miss Charteris came forward, and took her hands. Then the lady felt that there were two big hard pennies in one little fist. She smiled, and fetched a box from a side-table. There was a slit in the lid of the box, and on its side was a picture of a clergyman, preaching to three black people, and a baby.

'Put your money in here,' she said.

The child obeyed; the pennies dropped through the hole one after the other, with a ring and a flop.

'Now,' said Miss Charteris, we must begin our lessons, and be very busy, for I cannot stay in Brentholm long; and before I go, I want to teach you to speak to the people around you.'

Then she took up an Italian Bible, and asked Campanella to read; but she could not read well, even in her own language. So Miss Charteris read to her, first from the Italian Bible, and then from the English, telling her what each word meant as she read it. After this, she made the child learn some English phrases: 'Please give me some bread,' and 'Where are the coals?' and other little sentences like these.

They found plenty to do until one o'clock, when Miss Charteris ate her lunch, and the little girl had a nice warm dinner given to her. She ate so neatly and so prettily, that the lady was pleased to watch her, and felt more than ever sure that she was the child of one who was a lady too, and more than ever anxious to hear who that mother had been.

There had been rain in the morning; but in the afternoon, the June sun came out warm and strong, and the sky grew clear. Miss Charteris opened a long window in the drawing-room, and carried out a chair on to a terrace there, overhung with roses, growing on a trellis. She took some sewing for herself, and some for the little girl, whom she told to sit beside her on a low stool. She smoothed the child's dark hair, and thought how strangely unsuited that refined face was to the homely frock of purple print below it.

'I shall call you Nella,' she said; 'I find that Campanella is too long to say often. The rest will call you so too, I think. You must run when anyone calls Nella; you understand? And now, Nella dear, tell me what you can of your home, and of your father and mother.'

Nella could not answer to that; though her eyes took a dreamy expression, as though she were seeing the old home far away, and the