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Daffydowndilly, and began his rambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for his breakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay his expenses. But he had gone only a short distance when he overtook a man of grave and sedate appearance, who was trudging at a moderate pace along the road.

"Good morning, my fine lad," said the stranger; and his voice seemed hard and severe, but yet had a sort of kindness in it; "whence do you come so early, and whither are you going?"

Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of very ingenuous disposition, and had never been known to tell a lie in all his life. Nor did he tell one now. He hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run away from school, on account of his great dislike to Mr. Toil, and that he was resolved to find some place in the world where he should never see or hear of the old schoolmaster again.

"Oh, very well, my little friend,” answered the stranger. "Then we will go together; for I likewise have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil, and should be glad to find some place where he was never heard of."

Our friend Daffydowndilly would have been better pleased with a companion of his own age, with whom he might have gathered flowers along the roadside, or have chased butterflies, or have done many other things to make the journey pleasant. But he had wisdom enough to understand that he should get along through the world much easier by having a man of experience to show him the way. So he accepted the stranger's proposal, and they walked on very sociably together.

They had not gone far when the road passed by a field where some haymakers were at work mowing down the tall grass, and spreading it out in the sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted with the sweet smell of the new mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to make hay in the sunshine, under the blue sky, and with the birds singing sweetly in the neighbouring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in a dismal school-room, learning lessons all day long, and continually scolded by old Mr. Toil. But in the midst of these thoughts, while he was stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back and caught hold of his companion's hand.

"Quick, quick!" cried he. "Let us run away, or he will catch us!"

"Who will catch us?" asked the stranger. "Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffydowndilly. "Don't you see him amongst the haymakers?"

The

And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to be the owner of the field, and the employer of the men at work there. He had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was busily at work in his shirt-sleeves. drops of sweat stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not a moment's rest, and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay while the sun shone. Now, strange to say, the figure and features of this old farmer were precisely the same as those of old Mr. Toil, who at that very moment must have been just entering his school-room.

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'Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and people say he is the most disagreeable man of the two. However, he won't trouble you, unless you become a labourer on the farm."

Little Daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but was very glad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer, who bore such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two travellers had gone but little further when they came to a spot where some carpenters were erecting a house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop a moment; for it was a pretty sight to see how neatly the carpenters did their work, with their broad-axes and saws, and planes and hammers, shaping out the doors, and putting in the window-sashes, and nailing on the clap-boards; and he could not help thinking that he should like to take a broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a hammer, and build a little house for himself. And then, when he should have a house of his own, old Mr. Toil would never dare to molest him.

But just while he was delighting himself with this idea, little Daffydowndilly beheld something that made him catch hold of his companion's hand all in a fright,

"Make haste! Quick, quick!" cried he. "There he is again."

"Who?" asked the stranger, very quietly.

"Old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, trembling. "There! he that is overseeing the carpenters. 'Tis my old schoolmaster, as sure as I'm alive!"

The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly pointed his finger, and he saw an elderly man, with a carpenter's rule and compasses in his hand. This person went to and fro about the unfinished house, measuring pieces of timber, and marking out the work that was to be done, and continually exhorting the other carpenters to be diligent. And wherever he turned his hard and wrinkled visage, the men seemed

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"Oh, let us stop here," cried he to his com

Then they went on a little further, and soon heard the sound of a drum and fife. Daffy-panion; "for Mr. Toil will never dare to show downdilly pricked up his ears at this, and his face where there is a fiddler, and where besought his companion to hurry forward that people are dancing and making merry. We they might not miss seeing the soldiers. Ac- shall be quite safe here." cordingly, they made what haste they could, and soon met a company of soldiers, gaily dressed, with beautiful feathers in their caps, and bright muskets on their shoulders. In front marched two drummers and two fifers, beating on their drums and playing on their fifes with might and main, and making such lively music that little Daffydowndilly would gladly have followed them to the end of the world. And if he was only a soldier, then, he said to himself, old Mr. Toil would never venture to look him in the face.

"Quick step! Forward, march!" shouted a gruff voice.

Little Daffydowndilly started in great dismay; for this voice which had spoken to the soldiers sounded precisely the same as that which he had heard every day in Mr. Toil's school-room, out of Mr. Toil's own mouth. And turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he see but the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart cap and feather on his head, a pair of gold epaulettes on his shoulders, a laced coat on his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of a birch-rod, in his hand. And though he held his head so high, and strutted like a turkey-cock, still he looked quite as ugly and disagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in the school room.

"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, in a trembling voice. "Let us run away, for fear he should make us enlist in his company!"

"You are mistaken again, my little friend," replied the stranger, very composedly. "This is not Mr. Toil the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who has served in the army all his life. People say he is a terribly severe fellow; but you and I need not be afraid of him."

"Well, well," said little Daffydowndilly,

But these last words died away upon Daffydowndilly's tongue; for happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold again but the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle-bow instead of a birch-rod, and flourish ing it with as much ease and dexterity as if he had been a fiddler all his life! He had some what the air of a Frenchman, but still looked exactly like the old schoolmaster; and Daffydowndilly even fancied that he nodded and winked at him, and made signs for him to join in the dance.

"Oh, dear me!" whispered he, turning pale "It seems as if there was nobody but Mr. Toil in the world. Who could have thought of his playing on a fiddle!”

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"This is not your old schoolmaster," observed the stranger, but another brother of his, who was bred in France, where he learne the profession of a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himself Monsieur le Plaisir; but his real name is Toil, and those who have known him best think him still more disagreeable than his brothers."

"Pray let us go a little further," said Daffydowndilly. "I don't like the looks of this fiddler at all."

Well, thus the stranger and little Daffydowndilly went wandering along the highway, and in shady lanes, and through pleasant villages: and whithersoever they went, behold! there was the image of old Mr. Toil. He stood like a scarecrow in the corn-fields. If they entered a house, he sat in the parlour; if they peeped into the kitchen he was there! He made himself at home in every cottage, and stole, under one disguise or another, into the most splen did mansions. Everywhere there was sure to be somebody wearing the likeness of Mr. Toil, and who, as the stranger affirmed, was one of the old schoolmaster's innumerable brethren.

Little Daffy downdilly was almost tired to death, when he perceived some people reclining lazily in a shady place by the side of the road. The poor child entreated his companion that they might sit down there, and take some repose.

"Old Mr. Toil will never come here," said he; "for he hates to see people taking their

ease.

But even while he spoke, Daffydowndilly's eyes fell upon a person who seemed the laziest, and heaviest, and most torpid, of all those lazy, and heavy, and torpid people, who had laid down to sleep in the shade. Who should it be again but the very image of Mr. Toil!

"There is a large family of these Toils," remarked the stranger. "This is another of the old schoolmaster's brothers, who was bred in Italy, where he acquired very idle habits, and goes by the name of Signor Far Niente. He pretends to lead an easy life, but is really the most miserable fellow in the family."

“O, take me back-take me back!" cried poor little Daffy downdilly, bursting into tears. If there is nothing but Toil all the world over, I may just as well go back to the school-house!"

"Yonder it is, there is the school-house!" said the stranger; for though he and little Daffydowndilly had taken a great many steps, they had travelled in a circle instead of a straight line. Come, we will go back to school together."

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There was something in his companion's voice that little Daffydowndilly now remembered; and it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. Looking up into his face, behold there again was the likeness of old Mr. Toil; so that the poor child had been in company with Toil all day, even while he was doing his best to run away from him. Some people, to whom I have told little Daffydowndilly's story, are of opinion that old Mr. Toil was a magician, and possessed the power of multiplying himself into as many shapes as he Naw fit.

Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly had learned a good lesson, and from that time forward was diligent at his task, because he knew that diligence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or idleness. And when he became better acquainted with Mr. Toil, he began to think that his ways were not so very disagreeable, and that the old schoolmaster's smile of approbation made his face almost as pleasant as even that of Daffy downdilly's mother.

IT'S HAME AND IT'S HAME.

It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, O hame, hame, hame to my ain countree; There's an eye that ever weeps, and a fair face will be fain.

As I pass through Annan-water with my bonnie bands again;

When the flower is in the bud, and the leaf upon the

tree,

The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countree.

It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, O hame, hame, hame to my ain countree; The green leaf of loyalty's beginning now to fa', The bonnie white rose it is withering and a', But I'll water't with the blood of usurping tyrannie, And green it will grow in my ain countree.

It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, O hame, hame, hame to my ain countree; There's nought now frae ruin my country can save But the keys of kind heaven to open the grave, That all the noble martyrs who died for loyaltie May rise again and fight for their ain countree.

It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, O hame, hame, hame to my ain countree; The great now are gane a' who ventured to save--The green grass is growing aboon their bloody grave, But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my ee,"I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countree."

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

LEARNED WOMEN.

Once on a time, a nightingale To changes prone; Unconstant, fickle, whimsical

(A female one),

Who sung like others of her kind,
Hearing a well-taught linnet's airs,
Had other matters in her mind,
To imitate him she prepares.

Her fancy straight was on the wing: "I fly," quoth she,

"As well as he;
I don't know why
I should not try
As well as he to sing "

From that day forth she changed her note,
She spoiled her voice, she strained her throat:
She did, as learned women do,

Till everything

That heard her sing,

Would run away from her-as I from you.
SIR JOHN VANBRUGH.

MARIA, NUN OF SANTA CLARA.

Reader, if your whim or your necessities should lead you to Madeira, go, for my sake, to the nunnery of Santa Clara. It is at the western end of Funchal, and you may buy there the prettiest flowers for your sweetheart's hair, and the most ingenious toys in wax that are in the world. The nuns sell them very cheap, and all they get from you goes in real charity to themselves or their pensioners. Perhaps, also, you may see poor Maria, if she is not dead; if she comes, speak to her very kindly, and give my love to her; but you do not know me, or poor Maria either.

Maria Clementina, the youngest child of Pedro Agostinho, was born in Madeira. Her parents had an unusually large family, and were labouring under some embarrassment, from the unfavourable termination of an important lawsuit. What unfortunate event coincided with her birth I know not, but Maria was disliked by her father and mother from the first years of her infancy. Her brothers neglected her, in obedience to their parents; and her sisters, who were very ugly, hated her for her beauty. Every one else in Funchal and the neighbourhood loved her, and she had many offers of marriage at thirteen years of age; which the little maiden laughed at, and forwarded to her elder sisters. The more she was petted abroad, the more was she persecuted at home. She was treated at length like Cinderella, with no chance of a fairy to help her. Amongst other arrangements for the purchase of commissions for two of his sons, and for giving portions to two of his daughters, Pedro Agostinho determined to sacrifice his best and sweetest child Maria. At eighteen she was placed as a novice in this nunnery; at nineteen she took the veil, and renounced the world for ever. At this time she was the most beautiful girl in the island; and, what is remarkable in a Portuguese, of a fair complexion, with a brilliant colour, blue eyes, and very long and glossy brown hair.

A year after this the constitutional government was established in Portugal, and one of the first and wisest acts of the Cortes was to order the doors of all religious houses to be thrown open. Santa Clara was visited by friends and strangers, some to see the church and some to see the nuns. Amongst others, a Portuguese officer, at that time quartered in Funchal, saw and fell in love with Maria: he was a handsome youth, of a good family, and

Maria returned his love with an earnestness which perhaps had as much a desire of liberty as female passion in it. A nun is emancipated from her parents, and the law declared the vow of celibacy null and void. The marriage was determined on, her hair permitted to grow again, her clothes prepared, and the weddingday fixed. Maria fell ill, and the physicians enjoined perfect quiet for some time. The wedding was fatally postponed to another day, and before that day arrived, his faithful majesty had dissolved his parliament, and fearful lest Heaven should lose one more of its daughters, had revoked the law of the Cortes, and despatched an express to notify as much to his subjects in Madeira. Maria rose from her bed of sickness to return to her cell and her rosary; her lengthening ringlets were again mercilessly shorn; the mob cap, the leathern corset, the serge gown, were laid before her; and some old Egyptians, who could not better themselves elsewhere, bade her return thanks to God that she had so narrowly escaped mixing again in the vanities of the world.

On the 5th January, a few hours before we sailed from Madeira, I walked with a handsome and very agreeable Englishwoman to visit Santa Clara. I was very anxious to see Maria, whose story I knew. After a little hesitation on the part of two or three venerable ladies, who first presented themselves at the great door of the house, Maria was summoned. She came to us with a smiling countenance, and kissed my companion repeatedly. Her colour was gone, but she was still beautifully fair. and the exquisite shape of her neck, and the nobleness of her forehead, were visible under the disadvantages of a dress as ungraceful as was ever invented for the purpose of mortifying female vanity. She spoke her language with that pretty lisp which, I believe, the critics of Lisbon pronounce to be a vicious peculiarity of the natives of Madeira, but also with a correctness and an energy that indicated a powerful and ingenuous mind. I took half of a large bunch of violets which I had in my hand, and gave them to my friend to present to her. Flowers are a dialect of the Portuguese which is soon learned. She took them, curtsied very low, opened the folds of a muslin neckerchief, and dropped them loose on her snowy bosom.

The vesper-bell sounded, the door was closed between the nun and the world, but she beckoned us to go into their church. We did so. it is one of the finest in the island, and very curiously lined with a sort of porcelain; at tached to its western end is the chapel of the nuns, and a double iron grating to enable them

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