a
perfume of peppermint all round her, or down clatters a halfpenny in
the middle of church, it is all her father's fault.'

'Oh! except the clatter, that last disaster never happens with us,'
said Anne; 'the shop is not open on Sunday.'

'Ah! that is because Uncle Edward is happily the king of the parish,'
said Elizabeth; 'it has the proper Church and State government, like
Dante's notion of the Empire. But you cannot help the rest; and we are
still worse off, and how can we expect the children to turn out well
with such home treatment?'

'No, Lizzie,' said Lady Merton; 'you must not expect them to turn out
well.'

'O Mamma! Mamma!' cried Anne.

'What do you teach them for?' exclaimed Helen.

'I see what you mean,' said Elizabeth; 'we can only cast our bread upon
the waters; we must look to the work, and not to the present
appearance. But, Aunt Anne, the worst is, if they go wrong, I must be
afraid it is my fault; that it is from some slip in my teaching, some
want of accordance between my example and my precept, and no one can
say that it is not so.'

'No one on earth,' said her aunt solemnly; 'and far better it is for
you, that you should teach in fear.'

'I sometimes fancy,' said Elizabeth, 'that the girls would do better if
we had the whole government of them, but I know that is but fancy; they
are each in the place and among the temptations which will do them most
good. But oh! it is a melancholy thing to remember that of the girls
whom I myself have watched through the school and out into the world,
there are but two on whom I can think with perfect satisfaction.'

'Taking a high standard, of course?' said Lady Merton.

'Oh yes, and not reckoning many who I hope will do well, like this one
of whom I was talking, but who have had no trial,' said Elizabeth;
'there are many very good ones now, if they will but keep so. One of
these girls that I was telling you of, has shewn that she had right
principle and firmness, by her behaviour towards a bad fellow-servant;
she is at Miss Maynard's.'

'And where is the other?' asked Anne.

'In her grave,' said Elizabeth.

'Ah!' said Helen, 'I missed her to-day, in the midst of her little
class, bending over them as she used to do, and looking in their faces,
as if she saw the words come out of their mouths.'

'Do you mean the deaf girl with the speaking eyes?' said Anne; 'you
wrote to tell me you had lost her.'

'Yes,' said Elizabeth; 'she it was whose e