"Cry? oh, dear! And all about a tailor! But tell the story, aunt." "Some other time, dear." "Oh, no. I'm just in the humour to hear it now. I'm as full of fun as I can stick, and shall need all this overflow of spirits to keep me up while listening to the pathetic story of a tailor." "Perhaps you are right, Kate. It may require all the spirits you can muster," returned Aunt Prudence, in a voice that was quite serious. "So I will tell you the story now." And Aunt Prudence thus began: A good many years ago,--I was quite a young girl then,--two children were left orphans, at the age of eleven years. They were twins--brother and sister. Their names I will call Joseph and Agnes Fletcher. The death of their parents left them without friends or relatives; but a kind-hearted tailor and his wife, who lived neighbours, took pity on the children and gave them a home. Joseph was a smart, intelligent lad, and the tailor thought he could do no better by him than to teach him his trade. So he set him to work with the needle, occasionally sent him about on errands, and let him go to school during the slack season. Joseph was a willing boy, as well as attentive, industrious, and apt to learn. He applied himself to his books and also to his work, and thereby gave great satisfaction to the good tailor. Agnes was employed about the house by the tailor's wife, who treated her kindly. As Joseph grew older, he became more useful to his master, for he rapidly acquired a knowledge of his trade, and did his work remarkably well. At the same time, a desire to improve his mind made him studious and thoughtful. While other boys were amusing themselves, Joseph was alone with his book. At the age of eighteen he had grown quite tall, and was manly in his appearance. He had already acquired a large amount of information on various subjects, and was accounted by those who knew him a very intelligent young man. About this time, a circumstance occurred that influenced his whole after-life. He had been introduced by a friend to several pleasant families, which he visited regularly. In one of these visits, he met a young lady, the daughter of a dry-goods dealer, toward whom he felt, from the beginning, a strong attachment. Her name was Mary Dielman. Led on by his feelings, he could not help showing her some attention, which she evidently received with satisfaction. One evening, he was sitting near where she was chatting away at a lively rate, in the midst of a gay circle of young girls, and, to his surprise, chagrin, and mortification, heard her ridiculing, as you too often do, the business at which he was serving an apprenticeship. "Marry a tailor!" he heard her say, in a tone of contempt. "I would drown myself first."