This was a treat, indeed; and I never should have finished, if I told you all the bag contained. The first thing that Willy saw was a dissecting puzzle, but he was too impatient to look at the other things to stop to put it together; besides, he was afraid he might drop some of the pieces, and that the old lady might grow cross again. The next was a box of paints. The different colours were so beautifully arranged that they looked very pretty, though they were only colours to paint with. Then there was a little palette to spread them on, and a number of brushes, of different sorts and sizes, to paint with. Next came a work-box, which did not please Willy so much as the painting-box, because he knew nothing about needlework; and if the truth must be told, he did not know much more about painting; but, as he sometimes daubed over with colours a drawing his Mamma made for him, he fancied he understood something about painting. Then there was a large doll carefully wrapped up in silver paper, so nicely dressed and so pretty, that he thought he should like to play with it, as well as a little girl could do; but he was afraid of crumpling its dress, so he only turned it round, and looked at it all over. Then there was a portfolio for writing, fitted up with pens, ink, and paper, sealing wax, and in short every thing that could be wanted for writing. This, he guessed, was for a little boy, for though a little girl can write as well as a little boy, she does not write so much, having needlework and other things to do, that do not belong to little boys. When Willy had finished the examination of the bag, and put all the things back in their places, he returned it to the lady, and thanked her. THE TUNNEL. Willy was lying at his ease and resting himself after having done so much business, when he suddenly heard a loud and harsh sound which frightened him; he crept close to his Mamma, saying he had never heard such a horrid screeching noise in his life. "It is only a signal for something," said she, "but for what, I cannot tell." "I dare say it comes from that terrible fire carriage," said Willy. "It does," replied his father, "a little steam is let out through a very small hole, and the difficulty the steam has to force its way through the hole makes this disagreeable whistle." "You complain of my little whistle sometimes, Mamma," said Willy, "but I am sure it does not make half so disagreeable a noise as this." Very soon after, to the great astonishment of Willy, it became suddenly dark, so dark that he could hardly see his Papa or his Mamma, though the sun had shone brightly a minute before. He laid hold of his mother's hand, and asked what was the matter. "Nothing, my dear," said she, "we are only going through a tunnel." "A tunnel? what's that?"