Griselda, after a passing glance at
her head and shoulders in the mirror, retired to her own room on the
upper story, and, taking a violin from a case, began to draw the bow
over the strings.

"If only I could make you sing to me as their fiddles sang last night!
If only I had a voice like that sister of Mr. Herschel's! Ah! that song
from the 'Messiah'--if only I could play it!" And then, after several
attempts, Griselda did bring out the air of the song which, perhaps of
all others, fastens on ear and heart alike in that sublime oratorio:

"He shall feed His flock like a shepherd."

"So poor it sounds!" Griselda said; "so poor! I _will_ get to Mr.
Herschel's, and ask if he will teach me to play and sing. I will. Why
not? Ah, it is the money! She dresses me, and keeps me; and that is all.
She would do nothing else. But I have bought you, you dear violin!"
Griselda said, pressing her lips to the silent instrument, where the
music, unattainable for her, lay hidden. "I have bought you, and I will
keep you; and, who knows? I may one day make you tell me all that is in
your heart. Oh that I were not at her beck and call to do her bidding;
speak to those she chooses; and have nothing to say to those she thinks
beneath her! Ah me! Alack! alack!"

Griselda's meditations were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door;
and Graves came in with a bouquet in her hand, tied with pale primrose
ribbon.

"That is for you, Mistress Griselda. The gentleman brought it himself;
'and,' says he, 'give it to the young lady in private.' And then he had
the impudence to offer me a crown-piece! Says I, 'I don't hold, sir,
with sly ways; and I don't want your money.' Then he looked uncommon
foolish, and said I was quite right; he hated sly ways. He only
meant--well, _I_ knew what he meant--that I was not to let my lady know
you had the '_buket_;' but I just took it straight into the room, and
said, 'Here's a _buket_ for Mistress Grisel;' and, what do you think?
she was in one of her tantrums with Mr. Perkyns, who vowed he would not
take down her hair again; and there she was, screaming at him, and you
might have had fifty _bukets_, and she wouldn't have cared. Ah, my dear
Mistress Griselda, these vanities and sinful pleasures are just Satan's
yoke. They bring a lot of misery, and his slaves are made to feel the
pricks. Better be servants to a good master--better be children of the
Lord--than slaves of sin. It's all alike," as she gave the