d found it as difficult to explain their meaning, as the original
utterers of the profound remark would have done if suddenly called on:
and he was glad to be interrupted by a soliloquy of his little sister,
who stood in one corner of the room, wrapping something in half a dozen
envelopes.

"Farewell!" she exclaimed, as the man says in the play, "'a long farewell'
to my dear dancing shoes--"

"Pardon me, Miss Julia," said her mother, "for cutting short such a
pretty pathetic parting: but here is another pair of dancing shoes,
which you will please to put with those you already have, and I trust
you will have the pleasure of dancing them both out before you come to
town again."

"Dancing them out, mother! shall we dance in the country?" exclaimed
both the children in one breath. "I thought," continued Edward, "that
we should have nothing to do in the country but get our lessons; and
all work and no play, you know, mother, makes Jack a dull boy."

"Oh yes, Ned, I know that favorite proverb of all children. I am sorry
to find that you have such a dread of the country. You know, my dear
children, that your father and I are devoted to your welfare, and that
we should do nothing that would not contribute to your happiness."

Edward had quick feelings, and he perceived that there was something
reproachful in his mother's manner. "I am sure," he said, "that Julia
and I wish to do every thing that you and papa like."

"That is not enough, my dear boy, we wish you to _like_ to do what we
like."

"But surely, mother, you cannot blame us for not wishing to go and live
in the country."

"No, Edward, I should as soon think of blaming poor blind Billy, because
he cannot see. Unhappily you have been entirely confined to town, and
are ignorant of the pleasures of the country. I only blame you for
thinking that your father and I would voluntarily do any thing to lessen
your innocent pleasures."

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Edward, "we did not think any thing about that."

"Well, my dear, perhaps I am wrong in expecting you to _think_--reflection
is the habit of a riper age than yours. You must trust me for one year,
and at the expiration of that period, you and your sister shall decide
whether we return to town or remain in the country."

"Oh, mother! how very good you are. One year--well, one year won't be so
very long--only think, Julia, in one year we shall be back again."

"Not quite so fast, Edward," said his mother; "you