o our minds good desires, brings the same to
good effect, and rewards us for those things which He Himself has enabled
us to do!

CHAPTER VIII.

"Charity suffereth long, and is kind."--1 Cor. xiii. 4.

Louis entered the class-room sooner than usual one evening, and
sitting down by his brother, spread before him a few strawberries
and some sweet-cakes, inviting him and one of Salisbury's brothers
who was on the other side of him to partake of them.

"What beauties they are!" exclaimed John Salisbury; "have you had a box,
Louis? How _did_ you get them?"

"Guess," said Louis.

"Nay, I can't guess. Strawberries like these don't come at this time
of the year in boxes."

"I guess," said Frank Digby from the opposite side of the table,
in a tone as if he had been speaking to some one behind him.
"Fudge has a dinner party to-night, hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Louis, laughing; "how did you know that?"

"Oh, I have the little green bird that tells every thing," replied Frank.

"What's that, Frank?" cried Salisbury; "Fudge a dinner party? How snug
he's kept it!"

"Why you don't suppose that he's obliged to inform us all when he has
some idea of doing the genteel," remarked one of the first class.

"Are Hamilton and Trevannion invited?" asked Salisbury.

"In good troth! thou art a bat of the most blind species," said Frank;
"didn't you see them both just now in all their best toggery? Trevannion
went up to his room just after school, and has, I believe, at last
adorned his beauteous person to his mind--all graces and delicious
odors.--Faugh! he puts me in mind of a hair-dresser's shop."

"He declares that his new perfumes are something expressly superior,"
said another. "_He_ wouldn't touch your vulgar scents."

"His _millefleurs_ is at all events uncommonly like a muskrat,"
said Salisbury.

"And," remarked Frank, "as that erudite youth, Oars, would say,
'puts me in mind of some poet, but I've forgotten his name.' However,
two lines borrowed from him, which my sister quotes to me when I am
genteel, will do as well as his name:

"'I cannot talk with civet in the room--
A fine puss gentleman, that's all perfume.'"

Reginald laughed. "I often think of the overrun flower-pots in the
cottages at Dashwood, when Trevannion has been adorning himself.
I once mortally offended him by the same quotation."

"Had you the amazing audacity! the intolerable presumption!" cried
Frank, pretending to start. "