m its mother's lap
the doll's dress upon which she is sewing. Yes, that is "dear old Ess," as
Charlie calls her yet, though why he will persist in applying the adjective
we are at a loss to determine.

Esther looks anything but old--a trifle matronly, we admit--but old we
emphatically say she is not; her hair is parted plainly, and the tiniest of
all tiny caps sits at the back of her head, looking as if it felt it had no
business on such raven black hair, and ought to be ignominiously dragged
off without one word of apology. The face and form are much more round and
full, and the old placid expression has been undisturbed in the lapse of
years.

The complexion of the two children was a sort of compromise between the
complexions of their parents--chubby-faced, chestnut-coloured,
curly-headed, rollicking little pests, who would never be quiet, and whose
little black buttons of eyes were always peering into something, and whose
little plugs of fingers would, in spite of every precaution to prevent, be
diving into mother's work-box, and various other highly inconvenient and
inappropriate places.

"There!" said Esther, putting the last stitch into a doll she had been
manufacturing; "now, take sister, and go away and play." But little sister,
it appeared, did not wish to be taken, and she made the best of her way
off, holding on by the chairs, and tottering over the great gulfs between
them, until she succeeded in reaching the music-stand, where she paused for
a while before beginning to destroy the music. Just at this critical
juncture a young lady entered the room, and held up her hands in horror,
and baby hastened off as fast as her toddling limbs could carry her, and
buried her face in her mother's lap in great consternation.

Emily Garie made two or three slight feints of an endeavour to catch her,
and then sat down by the little one's mother, and gave a deep sigh.

"Have you answered your brother's letter?" asked Esther.

"Yes, I have," she replied; "here it is,"--and she laid the letter in
Esther's lap. Baby made a desperate effort to obtain it, but suffered a
signal defeat, and her mother opened it, and read--

"DEAR BROTHER,--I read your chilling letter with deep
sorrow. I cannot say that it surprised me; it is what I have
anticipated during the many months that I have been silent
on the subject of my marriage. Yet, when I read it, I could
not but feel a pang to which heretofore I have been a stranger.
Clar