return again to Westmoreland, unless it were to die in his own home - under any circumstances, he could never again be the pastor of his little flock in the country.

Emma wept bitterly when she tore herself away from Mrs. Colton's arms, and hastened into the carriage, for it reminded her of the sad parting she had had with her own beloved mother, whom she should never more see on this earth.

William was also much affected, and kindly refused to ride outside with John, though he preferred it to the inside, that he might be able to console and amuse Emma during their drive home.

When Mrs. Colton returned again to the inn, she in her turn wept bitterly; but, rousing herself, she was able soon to meet her uncle with smiles.

Emma shortly afterwards recovered her spirits in the constant change that passed before her eyes, but still she had a sorrow in her heart which every now and then shewed that it could not easily be comforted.

CHAPTER XIV.

Charity endureth all things.

MRS. COLTON had scarcely left the Hall a week, when one evening a thundering knock was heard at the door, and the next minute the bell was pulled with violence. The party were assembled in the drawing - room, and they all looked from one to another in astonishment at what could cause such an unusual commotion. John, however, had hastened to the door with a light in his hand, and the next instant the shrill tones of a female voice were heard ordering, and counter-ordering, scolding, and intreating, in the same breath.

"If this is Miss Burrage, she must be a person of vast importance indeed,” cried William, "to judge from the bustle she is kicking up in the Hall."

"You will please to speak more respectfully of your sister's governess, William," said Miss Fortescue, colouring.

"Remember, my boy," added Mr. Fortescue, "that while Miss Burrage is in your father's house, you must treat her with the respect due to a lady of her age and accomplishments."

Miss Fortescue now left the room, for she had determined in her own mind that she would shew more than ordinary deference and attention to Miss Burrage.

Having, therefore, seen Miss Burrage to her apartment, she stayed with her a while to ask after her dear friend Mrs. Arnold, and then, leaving Mary to shew the lady to the drawing-room when she had adjusted her travelling attire, she went down herself to order supper to be immediately brought up for the stranger.

"Well, sister," said Mr. Fortescue, "what think you of the lady?"

"You will soon have an opportunity of judging for yourself, brother," replied Miss Fortescue, "for Miss Burrage will join us in a few minutes."

In about a quarter of an hour after Miss Fortescue's return, the door of the drawing

room was thrown open, and the lady herself entered with the most perfect self-satisfaction portrayed on her countenance. She advanced and courtsied slightly to Mr. Fortescue as Miss Isabella introduced her, and then, going towards a sofa, she threw herself down on it in a lounging attitude, complaining of being thoroughly wearied.

"We have ordered supper immediately," said Miss Fortescue, "and then, no doubt, you will be glad to retire for the night."

"Yes, indeed I shall," replied Miss Bur

rage.

Mr. Fortescue and his sister had lived so little in the fashionable world, that they did not quite relish or understand the omission of those little marks of respect which, as evidences of kind feeling, are always found to accompany the conversation of the really well bred.

Miss Burrage, however, either did not see or did not care for what they might think on this matter, but half closing her eyes, she reclined back against the sofa, and then asked Miss Fortescue when she had last heard from Mrs. Arnold, adding, in an affected tone, "I hope none of the young ladies, my pupils, have as yet any correspondents, for I think

it most injurious for young people to have any intercourse by writing with persons who are not well versed in the rules of composition. Indeed, I consider that the ear should be kept as closely guarded from the inelegances of incorrect composition, as from a false chord in music, or from the jarring sounds of illtuned instruments."

Miss Fortescue knew not how to reply; she had been brought up in the old-fashioned style, was well informed, and had been instructed to express herself with propriety, but had never before imagined that Mrs. Arnold, as was manifestly intimated by Miss Burrage, could not pen an epistle correctly; she however said, with some inward shame at her own ignorance, "My nieces, Miss Burrage, have never seen Mrs. Arnold, and are too young at present to write letters to any but their own near relations."

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"That is well," replied the lady, the provincial inaccuracies they may have acquired, secluded as they are from all polished society, will require all my attention to correct, without having to contend with the disadvantages of examples of ungrammatical composition. With the daughters of the Bishop of I was most fortunate, the

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