er the
house, through a back avenue, a procession of little girls neatly
dressed in a uniform. In a whisper, I asked Lady Aston what it meant.
"You are to know," replied her ladyship, "that my daughters adopt all
Miss Stanley's plans, and among the rest, that of associating with all
their own indulgences some little act of charity, that while they are
receiving pleasure, they may also be conferring it. The opening of the
temple of friendship is likely to afford too much gratification to be
passed over without some such association. So my girls give to-day a
little feast, with prizes of merit to their village-school, and a few
other deserving young persons."

When we had taken our seats in the temple, Ph[oe]be suddenly cried out,
clasping her hands in an ecstacy, "Only look, Lucilla! There is no end
to the enchantment. It is all fairy land." On casting our eyes as she
directed, we were agreeably surprised with observing a large kind of
temporary shed or booth at some distance from us. It was picturesquely
fixed near an old spreading oak, and was ingeniously composed of
branches of trees, fresh and green. Under the oak stood ranged the
village maids. We walked to the spot. The inside of the booth was hung
round with caps, aprons, bonnets, handkerchiefs, and other coarse, but
neat articles of female dress. On a rustic table was laid a number of
Bibles, and specimens of several kinds of coarse works, and little
manufactures. The various performances were examined by the company;
some presents were given to all. But additional prizes were awarded by
the young patronesses, to the best specimens of different work; to the
best knitters, the best manufacturers of split straw, and the best
performers in plain work, I think they called it.

Three grown up young women, neatly dressed, and of modest manners, stood
behind. It appeared that one of them had taken such good care of her
young sisters and brothers, since their mother's death, and had so
prudently managed her father's house, that it had saved him from an
imprudent choice. Another had postponed, for many months, a marriage in
which her heart was engaged, because she had a paralytic grandmother
whom she attended day and night, and whom nothing, not even love itself,
could tempt her to desert. Death having now released the aged sufferer,
the wedding was to take place next Sunday. The third had, for above a
year, worked two hours every day, over and above her set time, and
a