"Where's the soap?" said a third voice, which was that of the lady's maid.

"O you are wonderfully tender-hearted!" said the cook, still addressing herself to the housemaid.

"I am

"Tender-hearted!" repeated the lady's maid. sure I don't understand where her tender heart is. What! to go and cut a poor creature's head off for pleasure? Is that the sign of a tender heart? I am sure, if you would give me the whole world, I could never do such a thing as to kill any animal."

"What, not to save them greater pain, Mrs. Bridget?" said the housemaid.

No," said the lady's maid, "indeed, I could not, Sally. My feelings would not let me; and I am sure you have not the delicate nerves I have, or you never could have gone and killed all those eels, when it was no part of your business to do so.

"Well, as you have taken upon you to kill the eels, now help me to skin them, Sally, and talk no more about it," said the cook. "I suppose you are made of the same stuff as your neighbours, neither better nor worse."

When the eels were skinned, and the damsels had washed their hands, they made their appearance in the kitchen. First, the lady's maid; an ordinary looking woman, though much set off by dress: secondly, the housemaid, a pretty, neat looking young woman, of a peculiarly modest and agreeable aspect: and thirdly, the cook, who proved to be no other than Dolly Webb.

The women all seemed somewhat startled at the appearance of Marten Taylor; but more especially Dolly Webb, who nevertheless soon expressed her joy in a very loud manner. But as business then pressed, she was obliged to leave it to the lady's maid and footman to make an old acquaintance welcome.

While Marten was listening to the polite and complimentary speeches of these persons, he could not help now and then looking towards a little table at the farther end of the kitchen, at which the housemaid had sat down to her sewing, apparently paying little regard to what was passing. Marten had, from the first, been much gratified with the humane sentiments of this young woman; and this prepared him to admire the modest expression of her countenance, and the great neatness of her person. He was also pleased to observe that, happen what would in the kitchen, she still seemed intent

on her work; and he remarked that he had seldom seen any one more diligent or expeditious with her needle.

By this time dinner was dished up; so the footman being engaged up-stairs, and the lady's maid being called away also, no one was left below but the housemaid and cook; the latter of whom bustled in and out, sometimes standing to talk a minute, and sometimes running to prepare what the footman called for. In the mean time Marten Taylor had got up from his chair, and moved near to the little table at which the housemaid sat at work; and leaning his back against the window, he ventured to put one or two questions to the young woman. As he accosted her in terms of great civility, she answered him in like manner: and Marten could not but admire the propriety with which she spoke, without boldness on the one hand, or awkward bashfulness on the other.

The conversation between Marten Taylor and this young woman did not last long: for Sally being called away by the cook, he was left alone standing near the table.

Marten, as I have before remarked, had thought for some time past that a virtuous and agreeable wife would greatly add to his happiness; and especially, as he had wherewithal to keep a family comfortably. It was natural for him, therefore, to look with an inquiring eye on every young woman whom he thought within his reach. Had Dolly Webb been a modest and pious girl, he no doubt would have chosen her; and indeed it had cost him many struggles in time past to acquire any thing like a feeling of indifference towards her. But what he had heard that day concerning the cruelty of her temper, trifling as some might have considered it, had so entirely turned his heart from her, that he could no longer think of her without disgust.

While Marten stood with his back to the window, thinking upon these subjects, his eyes wandered over the table on which Sally's work was laid; where he perceived, in the midst of the working materials, though nearly concealed by them, a book which, from its being set open, he had every reason to believe that the young woman had been consulting, and perhaps committing to memory as she worked. Marten thought that much depended upon the character of that unknown book. This book was not put here for me or any one to see,"

said Marten to himself, "because it seems to have been carefully hid. If this is a light book, I will think no more of the young woman; but if it be a godly book, I should surely do well to look farther after her."

Hereupon Marten ventured, somewhat cautiously, to lift up a part of the muslin which covered the book; when he perceived it to be no other than the Bible.

The history of Marten Taylor has now run to such a length that I must endeavour to bring it to an end: otherwise, I could tell you a great deal about his meeting with his old master, to whom he broke his mind concerning the housemaid, and was encouraged to seek her as a wife by Mr. Hartley, who informed him that she had been reared in Mr. Jameson's family, and was known to be a truly pious girl.

Marten made several visits to Salisbury before he fully opened his mind to Sally; but when he did so he was favourably heard, and, after a short courtship, she became his wife.

The last account I heard of Marten, which is now as much as thirty years ago, was, that he was living happily in his house on the forest, where he was blest with three sweet babies: and, to add to his satisfaction, his old master had fitted up two rooms in his house, resolving, if Heaven should permit, there to finish his days.

Marten, though holding the office of game and forestkeeper, continued to display, among many other tokens of a truly religious feeling, a peculiar degree of tenderness towards all the dumb creatures depending on him; insomuch that he never put any animal to needless pain -thus verifying the words of holy writ, A good man is merciful even to his beast.

Of Alice and her husband, of Marten's brothers, and Dolly Webb, I never could get any tidings.

END OF THE YOUNG FORESTER.

THE

BITTER SWEET.

PART I.

A CERTAIN Venerable man who had for many years ministered in holy things to a small congregation of serious Christians in the city of London, one day received a letter requesting his attendance in an obscure court at the west end of the town. This letter was addressed to him by a distant relation, of whom he had some remembrance in his native village, which was at least two hundred miles from the capital.

He had heard of the marriage of this cousin many years since, but from that time had totally lost sight of her insomuch that when he read the signature of the letter, viz. "Your affectionate cousin, Mary Bennet," he was for some moments at a loss to recollect who this Mary Bennet might be. Having, however, ascertained this point, he failed not to obey the call, hoping that some good of a spiritual nature might be the consequence of this visit; and accordingly, one foggy evening in the month of November, the good old gentleman set out, with his staff in his hand, and his Bible in his pocket, to answer the summons of his cousin.

After having traversed nearly one-third of the great city, and passed through many long streets and noble squares at the west end of the town, in pursuance of his cousin's directions, he entered into a little narrow and dark court, where he knocked at the door of a house, which would have been sufficiently large and commodious, could its inhabitants have enjoyed without diminution the pure air of heaven, and the unclouded splendour of the light of day. Having rung and knocked some minutes at this door, it was at length opened by a servant-maid, whose dusky garments and sooty complexion were ill assorted with a pair of large gilt ear-rings, to

gether with a lace cap and pink ribands, both however a little the worse for the smoky atmosphere in which the wearer of them commonly resided.

As soon as the old gentleman had announced his name, to wit, Henry Goodman, the door, which the damsel had hitherto held nearly closed, was immediately opened wide, with this courteous expression, "Please to walk in, sir; mistress is at home." Mr. Goodman was led through a narrow and greasy-looking passage into a parlour, where his cousin Mrs. Bennet was evidently seated in expectation of his visit. The walls of this parlour were covered with what some time past had been a white wainscot in panels, but which was now become yellow, and in some places nearly black; over the two windows were dirty white curtains, hanging in scanty festoons over gilt curtainrods, which seemed nearly as much out of place as the glittering ear-rings of the waiting-maid; between the windows was a cracked mirror, under which stood a Grecian couch, with gilt feet and faded cover; over the chimney-piece was some old portrait with a shattered frame; and on the mantel-shelf a number of painted flower-pots filled with faded artificial flowers: the rest of the furniture was of a piece with those articles which first met the eye of Mr. Goodman, being curiously compounded of the magnificent and the mean, and indicating but too plainly the taste of their owner, who was no doubt still sighing for the glories of this passing world in a situation in which every circumstance ought to have admonished her, that nothing remained to be done but to renounce these vanities, and to look for a more enduring inheritance. The figure of Mrs. Bennet herself, as she rose to meet her cousin, was even more striking than the arrangements of her parlour. She had been a handsome woman, and had once prided herself on this circumstance; neither did she yet seem aware that all pretensions of this kind were wholly passed away, if a judgment might be formed from the style of her dress; for she wore a turban and a flaxen wig, from beneath which last a few gray hairs having escaped, would have told the melancholy tale that she was no longer young, although many wrinkles in a sallow face, and the loss of many teeth, had not borne their witness to the same unhappy truth.

The first salutation of the two cousins was kind on