Not often did Betsy Newbiggin meet with her match in the way of trade, but she met with it this morning, in Sally. Our little sallow-faced mother had the natural cravings of a daughter of Eve for sweet things, and she cast a longing glance at Betsy's bottle of liquorice-water. Betsy observing the glance, scented a customer, and she carelessly shook the bottle two or three times, and removing the paper cork applied it to her tongue with an air of great enjoyment. "Is it nice, Betsy?" inquired Sally anxiously. "I should rather think it was," replied Betsy, placing the bottle close to Sally's nose; "smell it. How many pins have yer got?" Sally passed her hand over the bosom of her frock, and found never a pin. "Trust us," pleaded Sally. Betsy laughed scornfully, and made a feint of moving away to more profitable pastures. "Stop a bit, Betsy," cried Sally, "I want to tell you somethink. I live at Mr. Dumbrick's, you know--me and my baby. And, oh! it's such a place! There never was nothink like it. It's full of the most beautifullest things as ever was, and there's a large glass river with all sorts of fish a swimming about--wouldn't you like to see it?" "I'd like to," said Betsy. "It's better than a show, and Mr. Dumbrick he tells such stories--wouldn't you like to hear 'em?" "I'd like to," repeated Betsy. "Well, now," said Sally in unconscious imitation of Seth Dumbrick's manner of speaking, "I don't know. Perhaps I'll let you--perhaps I won't. Will you trust us two pins'orth?" "Yes, I will, I will," exclaimed Betsy eagerly, and measured out four teaspoonfuls of the precious beverage, and gave full measure, mainly in consequence of Sally's watchful eyes being upon her. Long parleying took place thereafter between the cunning and wily Sally and the shrewd but in this instance over-reached Betsy, for before they parted, Sally had emptied every drop of liquorice-water in the bottle, and had besides wheedled Betsy out of twelve pins, to be returned at some remote and convenient period. But Betsy had her reward, in perspective, for she received the first invitation to the feast on Monday evening, in Seth's cellar, and she departed in a glow of triumph to boast of the invitation to her acquaintance. There is no person in the world, however insignificant or humble, who does not build for himself a dunghill upon which he delights to crow, to the exaltment of himself and the depreciation of his neighbours.