with the real state of my feelings, and sought their advice upon the subject, but, for the first time in my life, I was anxious to conceal my thoughts from them, and continued to encourage and strengthen those passions which reason ought to have convinced me could never have been requited by the object who had inspired me with them. It was about a month after the Earl Mansville had quitted our house, that I arose rather earlier one morning than was my usual custom, induced by the fineness of the weather. I descended from my chamber, and entered the garden, which was beautifully and tastefully arranged, and in which, as well as my father and brother, I took much pleasure. My attention, however, was particularly devoted to a rose tree, which I had frequently heard the earl express his admiration of it while he was remaining at our house. Could I but get him by any means to receive one how happy should I have been. This day I had resolved to make my father and mother a little present of some of these roses, which I knew they would receive with more delight than the most costly gift, coming as they did from me. ‘How sweetly my roses have opened,’ I soliloquized; ‘they seem to know that they are destined to be gifts of affection, and to smile with the delight I shall feel in bestowing them on those I love so dearly. So this for my father, and this for my mother.’ I plucked two of the most beautiful, and had scarcely done so, when my father entered from the house, and greeted me with his usual affection. ‘Ah, father,’ I exclaimed, ‘I have such a nice gift for you and my dear mother.’ ‘Indeed, my child,’ returned my father, smiling fondly on me. ‘Yes,’ replied I, placing one of those roses which I had plucked in his hand, ‘there,—is there a painting in any mansion in the country half so beautiful? What a name a painter would get who could only give a perfect copy of these roses, and, you see, I give you the originals for nothing.’ ‘Dear girl, dear girl!’ ejaculated my father, his eyes glittering with fondness. ‘And yet I do not give them to you for nothing, my dear father,’ I added; ‘for you give me in exchange those sweet smiles of affection, which are to me of more value than anything else in the world.’ ‘Darling child,’ cried my father, raising his hand above his head, and invoking a blessing upon me; ‘the look of affection will always reward innocence.’ ‘After having thus spoken he was about to depart, when I ran towards him, saying: ‘What! leave us so soon, my dear father? Prithee stay till the air grows cooler.’ ‘My child,’ answered my affectionate parent, ‘these locks have withered in the hot sun. I have passed many years in toiling for others, and have never shrunk from its beams; and now, when it is partly for my darling girl I toil, the balm and comfort of my life, I cannot feel fatigue, and every drop that rolls down my weather-beaten forehead in such a cause, makes my old heart the lighter.’