Charlotte and Emma were now talking over their morning visiters, and Emma again spoke with some warmth of Mrs. Willing’s remarks on Mrs. Norton, who happened to be Emma’s particular admiration, her extravagance being, in her opinion, “very natural.” “I can conceive,” she added, “of people’s ‘Compounding sins they are inclined for, By damning those they have no mind for,’ but to abuse people for doing what you are doing yourself, is rather too much.” “It’s the old principle, I suppose,” said Charlotte, “of ‘Lord, I thank thee that I am not as other men.’” “Yes, but,” persisted Charlotte, “when you _are_ like as other men.” “Well, then—not so bad, then,” said Charlotte, laughing—“Mrs. Willing takes comfort in thinking she is only expensive, while Mrs. Norton is extravagant. Every body has their besetting sin it seems.” “I wonder what ours is,” said Emma. “If we have one,” said Charlotte, laughing. “For my part, I think we approach perfection as near as possible—‘_Sans peur et sans reproche._’” “_Sans peur_, certainly,” said Emma, in the same tone of playful mockery, “if not _sans reproche_. Well, but what do we abuse others most for?” she added. “For, depend upon it, that’s the particular weakness we are given to ourselves.” “What do we most criticise others for?” said Charlotte. “Why, for abusing others, I think. And we are called satirical, you know. ‘People in glass houses should not throw stones.’” “No,” said Emma carelessly. “That is, if they care about having their windows broken.” “Nobody likes to have their windows broken,” said Mrs. Appleton gravely, who, just entering, caught the last part of the sentence, which she took literally, with a true housekeeper’s feeling. “That’s true, mother,” said the girls, laughing at the odd application of her remark. “It’s very true, though you did not mean it.” But whether they remembered these sage reflections and kept them the next “reception morning,” we think very doubtful. * * * * * THE SKY. BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR. THE sky, the ever-changing sky, How broadly spans that arch on high! How calmly in the morning’s light Blends its rich hues so purely bright, And lit by golden sunbeams now In glory bends its azure brow. The sky, the sky, serenely bright, No cloud sits on thy bosom’s light, No fleecy folds beneath the eye Of the sun’s light are glancing by, Nor gath’ring clouds of misty spray Play round the sun’s imperial way. And with a look of light and love That azure sea bends far above, Its glories to the day unfurled Are resting o’er our circling world, And lit by many a brilliant star At night that archway beams afar.