At this moment they turned into a little glen, and were delighted with the rural appearance of a cottage, shaded by lofty trees. They approached its humble door, which stood open, and beheld a young cottager, who was singing at her spinning-wheel, and too much engaged by her occupation to notice their approach. Mrs. Bernard drew back a few paces, and whispered to Emily the following lines, which this sweet scene recalled to her mind: "E'en from the straw-roof'd cot, the note of joy Flows full and frequent, as the village fair, Whose little wants the busy hour employ, Chaunting some rural ditty, soothes her care. "Verse softens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings, Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitude of things." Then, again approaching the cottage, she accosted the young girl, who, with a modest blush, arose from her wheel, and hastily pushing it on one side, invited her unexpected visitors to take a seat, and rest themselves after their walk. Pleased with their reception, Mrs. Bernard accepted her invitation; and, upon entering into conversation with the young cottager, became more and more interested in her favour. There was that modest reserve in her manner, which is particularly pleasing in youth. In answer to Mrs. Bernard's questions, she informed her, that she was, in very early life, left an orphan; having lost both her parents before she had attained her third year. Since which time, she had been indebted to an aged grandmother for protection and support. "We have both worked hard for our livelihood," said Mary, (for that was the young cottager's name,) "and, thank Heaven, we have never wanted the _necessaries_ of life; _more_ we have never wished for. My grandmother weeds in the squire's garden hard by, and I earn a trifle at my wheel." Just as Mary had said these words, they perceived an old woman approaching. She was leaning on the arm of a fine, healthy-looking youth. A deeper blush, which at this moment dyed the cheeks of the pretty young cottager, told a tale she would wittingly have concealed. "Is that your grandmother, Mary?" enquired Mrs. Bernard. _Mary_. Yes, Madam. _Mrs. B._ And the young man is your brother, I suppose? "No, Ma'am," said Mary, blushing still more deeply: "I have no brother. That is Henry, our neighbour Farmer Wilson's son; and he is always very kind to my grandmother." By this time, the old woman had reached the cottage door, and was introduced by Mary to her new guests. The young man made a rustic bow and retired. Mrs. Bernard soon entered into conversation with the old woman, and was not less pleased with her, than she had before been with her grand- daughter. There was an air of cheerful content in her countenance, which bespoke that all was peace within, and prepossessed you more completely in her favour than any words could have done.