Something for the Girls.

see

63.

ETER PARLEY likes occasionally to say something to the girls especially;" when he writes, he generally writes for the girls as well as the boys, but now and then it is not amiss to say something especially to the former; besides, poor old Peter always had, and always hopes to have, a particular liking for all good little girls; and he would like to 'girls” receive a much more intellectual education than they generally do, for he does not see why the mind of a girl should not be quite as capable of great things as the mind of a boy. Girls only require to be better taught than they are, and to have more sterling education than they generally do. If some of the time now given in schools to fancy work, flower painting, and music-aye, music— much as Peter Parley loves it to cheer his heart when he is sad-if

the same time often given to music, the practising six hours a-day, for instance, was to be given to sound instruction in history, in philosophy, in a knowledge of principles, and in "self-knowledge," we should, I have no doubt, very much improve our girls and our women, too, and their influence would be felt in every department of the body politic-better wives, better mothers, better nurses, better friends

and neighbours. But I am not going to preach a sermon, my object is even rather to "paint a moral and adorn a tale."

Of course, Peter Parley goes a good deal about. He very often has invitations to people's houses, and he learns a great deal from

what he sees in families, and although he ever considers the household hearth sacred, he cannot refrain from sometimes giving his friends the benefit of what he learns, and he fancies that by so doing he very often improves and enlightens.

The other day, being in the county of Suffolk, he called on some dear old friends whom he had not seen for some years. Ten years ago these friends had two lovely daughters, "twins," and at that time they were about four years old. Each had soft and curling locks, bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and double chins. In short, they were as pretty a pair of little doves as could be, and seemed

"Like two sweet flowers blooming on one stem."

And even now they seem only altered for the better in their looksthey are as they were then, fair and blooming, and one is playful and sprightly as ever. So much are they still alike in personal appearance that it is scarcely possible to tell one from the other, but somehow or other they have grown up vastly different in disposition, and are,

"Like the Poles, asunder"

in their habits and conduct. Their names are Juliet and Rosalind. Juliet is full of sentiment and tenderness-Rosalind is as full of fun and frolic. Juliet is so soft-hearted that she would not kill a spider or a reptile for the world, although they were ever so dangerous. She feels intensely the distresses of her poorer neighbours, and if a poor cottager happens to be sick, she will fly to alleviate her sorrows and read good books to her. She will sit and work all day long to make little dresses for babies and give them away in charity. She is very fond of reading sentimental and affecting books, and will weep over imaginary woes as much as real ones.

Do not think, my little readers, that I am finding fault with Juliet. It is a holy and pious work to do good to those who need it, to sympathise with affliction, to offer balm to the wounded heart, to feed the poor and relieve the sick. I pity very much the hard, insensible creature, who has no regard for any living thing but its dear self. At the same time I like to see the same thing done at home which people sometimes take so much pains to do abroad, and this is just the fault of Juliet, Although she is very kind, and full of feeling, and assiduously affectionate for insects, worms, animals, and for the poor and wretched abroad, she does not seem to feel much affection to her father and mother, her sister and brother, or her poor old grand

mother, who lives a little way from her in a humble cottage at Hasketon.

When her father comes home in the evening from his countinghouse she never runs to welcome him with a kiss and a smile, she never thinks of getting his slippers for him, or of drawing the easy

chair to its proper place, or of anticipating any of his little wants. When her mamma happens to be a little poorly she often leaves her entirely to herself, or to other attendance, while she goes to visit the "cottages;" and as to her poor oll grandmother, she very seldom