little girl was not his child, but that a few months before a boat had been wrecked on the coast, and that he had found her lying alone upon the beach, and, supposing her friends had perished, had taken compassion upon her, trusting that Providence would some time restore her to her family and friends. "She is too young, Sir," said the man, "to tell us who she is, or where she was going, but we are very fond of her, and whilst she remains with us, she shall be treated like one of our own children." Papa then took her upon his knee and kissed her; she stroked his cheek and said with a sweet smile, "Emmy go with you, like papa." you

We are exceedingly interested about the little Emmy. Caroline and I begged very much to be allowed to take her home with us, but my father said we must ask mamma's permission first: so

mamma is going to see my little namesake to-morrow, when the matter will

hear

be quite settled, and next time you from us you shall know all about it. For the present, believe me your affectionate friend.

LETTER III.

ELLEN to CAROLINE.

Carwood, July 8.

MY DEAR CAROLINE,

I THANK you for your letter, and am not a little anxious to hear again, in order to know what plan you mean to pursue with regard to the interesting little Emily, whom your sister mentioned when she wrote to Louisa.

We were as sorry to part with you, my dear girl, as you were to part with

us ; and when your carriage had actually passed the park gate,' I sat down upon the mossy stones under the large oak by the road side, and watched it down the hill till the shrubbery intervened and it could be seen no longer. At that moment my heart was quite full, and I wept outright, but the reflection that crying would be of no use soon occurred to me, so I dried my tears and endeavoured to comfort myself by adopting Pope's motto as my own-" Whatever is, is right." I was just considering what I should do to prevent my thoughts from dwelling too much upon the separation, when my brother George came running towards me, calling out that the pony was put in the chaise, and that we were going to spend the afternoon at Burton Farm. And now I shall relate the whole history of our excursion; but, in the first place, I must tell

you of whom our party consisted. Papa rode on one horse, Edward on another; and George drove Clara and myself in the pony-chaise. (Louisa staid at home to bear mamma company.) It was, as you may recollect, a very fine day; the sun shone in the clear blue sky; the hedges on each side of the road appeared of a brighter green than usual; and the little birds, as they warbled in the trees, seemed to be singing songs of joy and gladness. At last we reached the farm; it is in a very secluded spot, and is surrounded by a large farm-yard, with a little kitchen garden on one side. The farmer, his wife, and their two daughters, came out to meet us, and gave us a very cordial welcome; they led us into the best parlour, a room without a carpet, with a casement window, and with an old-fashioned looking-glass, and a

row of china cups upon the mantleshelf. After having partaken of some refreshment, papa asked them to conduct us over the farm, and Clara and myself were much pleased with seeing the poultry-yard, pigeons, &c. Then, as tea was not quite ready, George said that, if we liked, he would go with us to a chalk-pit at a little distance; for he knew that I wished to find the beeorchis, a curious plant which generally grows in chalk-pits, and the blossom of which bears such a resemblance to a bee, as to be sometimes mistaken for

one.

So thither we went, and were well repaid for our trouble by finding the object of our search, although it was rather late in the season for it. Mamma shewed me a few lines upon the beeorchis when we got home, which I copy

for you: