give more than the common price for a nosegay for her sick
room. So we always slip a nice flower or two out of the green-house into
her little bunch, and say nothing. When we walk that way we often leave
her some flowers ourselves, and would do it oftener if it did not hurt
poor Rachel's trade."

As we walked away from the sweet prattlers, Dr. Barlow said: "These
little creatures already emulate their sisters in associating some petty
kindness with their own pleasures. The act is trifling, but the habit is
good; as is every habit which helps to take us out of self, which
teaches us to transfer our attention from our own gratification to the
wants or the pleasures of another."

"I confess," said Lady Belfield, as we entered the house, "that it never
occurred to me that it was any part of charity to train my children to
the habit of sacrificing their time or their pleasure for the benefit of
others, though to do them justice, they are very feeling and very
liberal with their money."

"My dear Caroline," said Sir John, "it is our money, not theirs. It is,
I fear, a cheap liberality, and abridges not themselves of one
enjoyment. They well know we are so pleased to see them charitable that
we shall instantly repay them with interest whatever they give away, so
that we have hitherto afforded them no opportunity to show their actual
dispositions. Nay, I begin to fear that they may become charitable
through covetousness, if they find out that the more they give the more
they shall get. We must correct this artificial liberality as soon as we
get home."

CHAPTER XXX.

A few days after, Sir John Belfield and I agreed to take a ride to Mr.
Carlton's, where we breakfasted. Nothing could be more rational than the
whole turn of his mind, nor more agreeable and unreserved than his
conversation. His behavior to his amiable wife was affectionately
attentive, and Sir John, who is a most critical observer, remarked that
it was quite natural and unaffected. It appeared to be the result of
esteem inspired by her merit, and quickened by a sense of his own former
unworthiness, which made him feel as if he could never do enough to
efface the memory of past unkindness. He manifested evident symptoms of
a mind earnestly intent on the discovery and pursuit of moral and
religious truth; and from the natural ardor of his character, and the
sincerity of his remorse, his attainments seemed likely to be rapid and
considerable.

The swe