ax Doll." After a time, one remarked that they must go and study their
"ancient history lesson." I caught greedily at the words, ancient
history. Ah, if I could only be permitted to study such a lesson! No
such progress or promotion seemed open to me; but the thought interfered
with my prayers, and followed me into the realm of sleep. So when that
class was called next forenoon, I was alert, and what was my surprise,
to hear those privileged girls stumbling over the story of Sampson?
Could it be possible that was ancient history? How did it come to pass
that every one did not know all about Sampson, the man who had laid his
Lead on Delilah's wicked lap, to be shorn of his strength. If there is
any thing in that account, or any lesson to be drawn from it, with which
I was not then familiar, it is something I have never learned. Indeed, I
seemed to have completed my theological education before I did my
twelfth year.

One morning, Mrs. Olever sent for me, and told me she had learned my
mother was not able to send me to school, but if I would take charge of
the lessons of the little girls, she would furnish me board and tuition.
This most generous offer quite took my breath away, and was most gladly
accepted; but it was easy work, and I wondered my own studies were so
light. I was allowed to amuse myself drawing flowers, which were quite
a surprise, and pronounced better than anything the drawing master could
do--to recite poetry, for the benefit of the larger girls, and to play
in the orchard with my pupils.

With the other girls, I became interested in hair-dressing. I had read
"The Children of the Abbey," and Amanda's romantic adventures enchanted
me; but she was quite outside my life. Now I made a nearer acquaintance
with her. She changed her residence; so had I. She had brown ringlets; I
too should have them. So one Friday night, my hair was put up in papers,
and next morning, I let loose an amazing shower of curls.

The next thing to do was to go off alone, and sit reading in a romantic
spot. Of course I did not expect to meet Lord Mortimer! Miss Fitzallen
never had any such expectations. I was simply going out to read and
admire the beauties of nature. When I had seated myself, in proper
attitude, on the gnarled root of an old tree, overhanging a lovely
ravine, I proceeded to the reading part of the play, and must of course
be too much absorbed to hear the approaching footsteps, to which I
listened with bated brea