n, you see it had not taught her how to do any thing better;
I am sorry you do not see in this instance, the beauty of Christian
humility. For my own part I set a greater value on such an active
proof of it, than on a whole volume of professions." Mr. Bragwell
did not quite understand this, and Mrs. Incle went on. "What to do
to get a penny I knew not. Making of filagree, or fringe, or
card-purses, or cutting out paper, or dancing and singing was of no
use in our village. The shopkeeper, indeed, would have taken me, if
I had known any thing of accounts; and the clergyman could have got
me a nursery-maid's place, if I could have done good plain work. I
made some awkward attempts to learn to spin and knit, when my
mother's wheel or knitting lay by, but I spoiled both through my
ignorance. At last I luckily thought upon the fine netting I used
to make for my trimmings, and it struck me that I might turn this to
some little account. I procured some twine, and worked early and
late to make nets for fishermen, and cabbage-nets. I was so pleased
that I had at last found an opportunity to show my good will by this
mean work, that I regretted my little George was not big enough to
contribute his share to our support, by traveling about to sell my
nets."

"Cabbage-nets!" exclaimed Bragwell; "there's no bearing this.
Cabbage-nets! My grandson hawk cabbage-nets! How could you think of
such a scandalous thing?" "Sir," said Mrs. Incle, mildly, "I am now
convinced that nothing is scandalous which is not wicked. Besides,
we were in want; and necessity, as well as piety, would have
reconciled me to this mean trade." Mr. Bragwell groaned, and bade
her go on.

"In the mean time my little George grew a fine boy; and I adored the
goodness of God who in the sweetness of maternal love, had given me
a reward for many sufferings. Instead of indulging a gloomy distrust
about the fate of this child, I now resigned him to the will of God.
Instead of lamenting because he was not likely to be rich, I was
resolved to bring him up with such notions as might make him
contented to be poor. I thought if I could subdue all vanity and
selfishness in him, I should make him a happier man than if I had
thousands to bestow on him; and I trusted that I should be rewarded
for every painful act of self-denial, by the future virtue and
happiness of my child. Can you believe it, my dear father, my days
now passed not unhappily? I worked hard all day, and that al