Richard would but return from sea, so that I had less care for myself and Franny, less toil for mere bread alone, that I would strive to do much that was new for art! Oh! yes I would, so that all of our sex that had a taste might find easy means of cultivation, if only for the sake of its own moral and refining influence. Oh! yes I would-but the saddest part of poverty is, that it too often robs talent of its richest fruit." She sighed, and Miss Moggs sighed. Miss Moggs was poor, for she had an aged mother depending on her for support; and Lucy was poor, for she had much to do with her narrow income, and could but cleave to all the habits and duties of a gentlewoman.

But in a few minutes Miss Moggs was her old cheerful self again. "Come, come, this will never do," she said, "I have not yet told you my errand, or delivered my message. The truth is, Mr. Bowyer came up unexpectedly to town this afternoon, to see Mr. Fletcher, our Spitalfields manufacturer, about a further design for the Exhibition silks; but though-"

"I thought that business had been already settled," interrupted Lucy.

"Yes, it was, before Mr. Bowyer went back to Margate on Thursday; and as I sent you word, Mr. Fletcher had accepted and greatly praised your design; but the truth is, I think that Mr. Bowyer received one unexpectedly this morning by post, and so came up to town at once about it. He did not say who supplied it, but I fancy it was some one whom he met at a dinner at the London Tavern a few weeks ago, and with whom, I heard him tell Mr. Fletcher, he had had a most remarkable conversation as to the relation of art to British manufactures. It was this conversation, I fancy, that led Mr. Bowyer to suddenly change his opinions with respect to the practicability of the Exhibition, and to come forward with so magnificent a subscription as he did. As to this design, if it work well in the mise en carte, it will rival anything that the Lyonnese can produce. It will be a raised pattern in silver pile upon a rich dead white-corded sarsnet, and is to be called The Silver Wedding Silk.' Of course it will be costly, but beautiful in the extreme."

"It will, indeed," replied Lucy, "if Mr. Fletcher praises the design thus, for I consider his taste of a very first-rate kind. But I am going to see if I cannot produce some art-designs for the Exhibition. Hitherto I have only had two purposes in all the artistic work I have done, that is, self-improvement, and painting little pictures for dear old uncle Richard against he should return. But that hope seems dead; and therefore now our dearest, only friend seems lost to us forever-for we must expect nothing from our worldly uncle John-I must, I feel, turn my talent to a practical end, if only for dear Franny's sake, whose prospects in life rest on me and my endeavours. Indeed I think, so far from being unhappy, I shall reap much from making my love of art serve a strictly practical end."

"I think so, my dear," said Miss Moggs,

"for it is one of the most religious ends of beauty thus to bring it down to the lowly purposes of common life. But as for pecuniary means, my dear, I think I have some good news to tell you. Mr. Bowyer said to me this very day in the counting-house-for mine has been a long service, and eight-and-twenty years has earned his confidence-that your salary is going to be raised; for he thoroughly estimates all you have done for his three young daughters. Indeed he told me, with tears in his eyes, that many notice their lady-like manners and solid improvement, and that such is the pride of his heart. And indeed from what he said indirectly of their mother, I think improvement is taking place with her too, as she wants you to pay them a visit at the end of next week; and you know, dear, there was a time when she dreaded what she calls gentility,' whilst at the sea-side. She liked to bathe, and eat shrimps, and ride donkeys, without too nice observance. But you'll find her note in the basket."

Lucy was about to rise, but Miss Moggs restrained her. "I have something to say to you, something to give you, something . . . And here good plain Miss Moggs hesitated, and, much to Lucy's surprise, could say no more.

At length she pulled a soft, long parcel from her pocket, unpinned two pins at either end, and opening it, there lay a little pile of exquisitely-worked cambric pocket-handkerchiefs — perfect gems in their way.

"Pray, pray," faltered Miss Moggs, striving to make a formal speech, but failing terribly, "please, Miss Bassett, accept these pockethandkerchiefs as the humble offering of Sarah Moggs and the eight-and-thirty young women employed by Mr. Bowyer, the large silk-mercer and linen-draper of St. Paul's Church-yard, for your goodness to them through the evenings of two successive winters, whereby they are greatly improved both in accomplishments and general knowledge. They wish it were a better giftbut as the needle-work is their own, you will perhaps, for that reason, estimate it as though it were worthier."

This was a grand speech for poor Miss Moggs, and she could proceed no further.

Already did the young girl kneel at her feet, already had she burst into tears, already had she strived to speak, but could not; and Miss Moggs crying too, and willing to restrain Lucy's faltering words, raised her up, folded her in her arms, kissed her tenderly, and then leaving her, glided from the room, before Lucy was aware of her intention. She ran down stairs to call her back, to pour forth her grateful thanksbut Miss Moggs was gone.

Of course such tears as those of happiness are soon dried. When this was so, Mary came up-stairs to admire the pocket-handkerchiefs, and to help to unpack the basket-a very store of riches in itself. For at the top were letters, next a very wilderness of roses and geraniums, then some choice fruit, then beneath thick leaves fine Pegwell Bay shrimps and prawns fresh that

afternoon; and beneath these a store of shells and sea-weed-the very richest treasure of all to Lucy, for these would serve her art!

They were carefully put aside; the flowers in water, the fruit divided between Mary's children, and a store for Franny; the prawns and shrimps were put in portions, so as John might carry them early in the morning as little presents to kindly neighbours for their breakfasts. This done, all things set right again, and Mary gone, it was nearly twelve, and time for bed. So when all fitting preparations were made for the morrow, the young girl went to rest-the pure and balmy rest of the innocent and true in heart!

On the morrow, as she returned from church in true Sabbath nicety, a little lad, dressed in the garb of one of the city charity schools, brought her this note, written in large hand, and on a piece of paper that seemed to have served a previous purpose of wrapping up cakes or sugar barley:

"From your affectionate brother, "FRANKLAND BASSETT. "P.S.-Tell Dick I've got him his groundsel." This characteristic note made Lucy laugh heartily. But she was sure to obey so innocent a desire. When she had therefore rested awhile after dinner, she put on her white silk bonnet and black cloak once more, lessened the contents of her little tea-caddy, and strayed in the garden on her way, to gather a few fresh sprigs of mignonette. But, upon second thoughts, not liking to convey them in her hand, she hid them in the bosom of her gown, where they would be little crushed. Then she went on her way, riding partly, to the quiet little court in Bucklersbury, where, in one of some dozen quaint almshouses, the poor old widow of a once opulent merchant dwelt.

Much did trim little Mrs. Gibbons talk over that Saturday night's supper; the more that Grinling enjoyed the nice delicacy that the good old servant had with thoughtful hand prepared. Seeing this, and her heart thus set at ease, little Mrs. Gibbons gave full account of Frisker's goodness, and that of Trim and Ben, and had much, moreover, to say of Hampstead Heath. But these were insignificant subjects compared to what she had to say of the young stranger and so accurately did she describe manner and apparel and face, that it would be surely no fault of hers if Grinling, when he met the stranger, did not recognise her at once. But he listened, as we listen to indifferent things, simply for listening's sake.

Nor were you forgotten, little cups and buds!

Rocked by the summer wind, cherished by the evening dew, fed by the balmy air, your simple, graceful, natural loveliness, was thus remembered and heard of by those who, through a life to come, must wear you by their hearts. Oh! simple, little, tender flowers!

There were two things in the Gibbons' household that were performed like clock-work, as everybody knew. The one, that every Saturday morning through the year Grinling went early to Covent Garden Market, to buy the freshest and rarest flowers for his mother's breakfasttable; the other, that on every Sabbath morning she went on his arm to church.

So on this Sabbath morning, as for years they had done, they went their way. She as neat, as kind, as excellent a gentlewoman as any in great London city; he thoughtful and reserved as always. Walking, as was their custom in fine weather, they gladly left, at length, the glaring sunshine; and descending the wide steps into the aisle of the grand old city church, so grateful were the shadows of arch and vaulted roof, so cool and fresh the air that swept around, as to give to both the inexpressible sense of prayer, of gratitude, of reverence, even on the threshold of that holy place.

The service over, they went, as was their cus tom, towards the altar, where usually sat a group of aged women. The one they sought was not there; but they soon learnt the reason why, from one of the others.

"Mrs. Carden, ma'am," she respectfully said, "met with a slight accident on Friday, by slipping down the outer stairs. It is no great harm, but the doctor says she must keep still for a few days."

I am indeed very sorry," replied good little Mrs. Gibbons, with much concern; "please tell her I made inquiries, and that I will either call, or send to her this afternoon."

The truth was, that every Sabbath_morning this good soul gave to this other good, though poor and widowed soul, five shillings; not from any ostentation or merit of giving in so holy a place, but from incident at first, and afterwards from the habit of long years; till at length the pious offering was given, and was received, as part of the wholesome duty of the sacred day.

But when afternoon came, and dinner was over, the little gentlewoman, tired with her morning's walk, felt unwilling to venture forth again; so, talking of sending Prissy or the younger maid with it, she took out her purse, and wrapped a bright half-sovereign in a little piece of silver paper-the sweet gift of the old to one poor and far older!

It had, however, other bearer. Usually through the summer, young Mr. Gibbons spent his Sabbath afternoon away from town, though not in visiting. But journeying to such a place as Hatfield Chase, or Hainault Forest, there passed the golden afternoon in the still shadows of glade or quiet fields: to think, to read, to breathe the pleasant air; to see nature in her vernal spring, her affluent summer, or her