reat, he would not be fixed in our house, unless in
the servant's room, with Jemmy and Sandy, and the Storm, and Auld Robin
Grey. Whatever you may think, it is a very great honour to be noticed by
somebody that I could name."

"I have not any thing to do with honour," cried Isabella, "and talking
of things I don't know."

"Hush! don't speak! Can't you see that I am busy. I wish I knew what
people do when they have great books to write. My thoughts jumble so
together, I can't tell what to make of them; it is sad teasing work."

"If Caroline was here, she could tell you what to write."

"And do you think that I should ask a dunce? If I could but begin, I
know I could go on." Here Miss Bruce considered a little. "I must think
of my thoughts: no, I must write them down."

"O, Miss Bruce, Miss Bruce!" cried Isabella, eagerly, "do look through
the window; there is a balloon flying, and a paper boy tied to it!"

"I wish you were flying too: don't you see that I want to write my
fable. Let me see: Ass, 1; Farmer Killwell, 2; somebody's papa, but not
mine. Turkey, 3; Barn-fowls, 4; Little schoolgirl, 5. O, how shall I put
all these words together to make any thing of them! O, that I could but
begin! There it is!" said Miss Bruce joyfully; and she wrote several
words upon her slate. "Well, there is nothing like a good beginning! I
will finish to-night; so now let us go to the ladies," and Miss Bruce
skipped out of the room, with her slate and Isabella.

CHAPTER XII.

With some surprise, Miss Damer, in looking over the themes, read the
following fable:

"One bleak, cold winter morning, an ass and her foals were loitering
upon the edge of a wild common; not a tree was to be seen, and scarcely
a bit of herbage for their breakfast to be found. 'This is a comfortless
life!' said the ass; 'the winds are chilly, the snow will soon fall, and
we have not a shed to cover us! What shall we do? for I fear we shall
be lost.' The ass turned her head, for she heard the tinkling of bells,
and saw a shepherd driving sheep from the common. 'Ah! a happy thought!
we will go to Farmer Killwell, and tell our sorrows unto him.' No sooner
said than done; they plodded through miry lanes, waded through shallow
brooks, and at length arrived at the farmer's gate. The tale was soon
told. The farmer pitied their piteous case; 'but,' said he, 'idleness
bringeth want. Exert yourselves, and you will find friends. Begin a
school at once; here ar