"But why,' I said, 'do you dislike that little girl they call Gabrielle?'

"I never said that I did dislike her,' returned Amelia.

"Then why would you not let her lend me the scissars?'

Clara,' she replied, "if you wish to enjoy any peace in this house, or, indeed, in any other situation in this world, you must learn one important lesson, which is this-do not concern yourself with other people's business.'

"While I was pondering on this new idea, (for it was quite a new one to me,) I heard a loud knocking at the outer door of our room, for, as the season was at that time cold, all the doors were closed. Amelia, however, immediately answering the summons, in came Miss Beaumont, sobbing bitterly, with her eyes swelled, and her whole frame in violent disorder. 'Amelia,' she said, 'you have grieved me excessively.' Then, lowering her voice, she added, 'If Chatterton, or Atkins, or twenty more whom I could name, had behaved as you did to-night, I should not have cared: but you, whom I loved, honoured, looked up to as the only Christian in the house, to see you behave in a manner so cold, so insolent, to a poor unprotected child, I cannot bear it. Account to me, I beseech you, as a friend, for your conduct. This is not, I can tell you, the first nor the second time that I have observed your aversion to Gabrielle; but it never before broke out as it did this evening.'

"Amelia replied with surprising composure, saying, 'Do you understand, my dear, that Miss Clara Lushington has been placed under my care at the joint requests both of her father and of mine?'

"To be sure I do,' she answered.

“And pray, my dear,' added Amelia, still lowering her voice, in your zeal for Gabrielle, are you not forgetting your duty to me?'

In what way?' said Miss Beaumont.

"Amelia took her by the hand, and led her out into the verandah; where they both stood still, just without the door, which they closed.

"I immediately got out of my bed, and, prompted by

curiosity of the meanest kind, crept close to the door, and listened when I heard Amelia say, 'You are weakening my influence; you are greatly injuring Clara. Cannot you see that, my dear? You are hurting her more than you are serving Gabrielle.'

"I cannot help that,' said Miss Beaumont: 1 hate injustice.'

"So do I too,' rejoined Amelia. But how do you know that I am unjust?'

"You are unjust,' returned the other, unless you think ill of Gabrielle: and thus we come to the point in question. Do you think ill of Gabrielle?'

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"Are you Gabrielle's friend?' said Amelia. 'No,' returned Miss Beaumont, she is nothing to me; but I pity her as an orphan. I remember that you used to be kind to her: I see that you have lately neglected her, and, this evening, treated her with great contempt. She has no friend, and I, therefore, feel myself called upon to protect her. But you evade my question. Do you think ill of Gabrielle or not?'

“Permit me,' said Amelia, after some reflection, to answer this question to-morrow. You shall, in the morning, have a note from me on the subject.'

"Then I am to understand,' returned the other, hastily, that you really think very ill of Gabrielle?' "I am weary of this foolish dispute,' replied Amelia, and could almost say, You may think what you please on the subject, provided you will but keep your thoughts to yourself.'

666

No,' said Miss Beaumont, I will not keep my thoughts to myself: and unless you speak out, Amelia, and tell me upon what principle you treat Gabrielle as you do, I shall certainly continue to defend and support her.'

'Promise me,

"I cannot help it,' returned Amelia. however, only one favour, Miss Beaumont; let this matter rest till you have received my letter to-morrow morning.'

"I now, fearing lest Amelia should suddenly return to the room, flew back to my bed, and, in consequence, heard no more.

"Amelia sat up late that night, being employed in writing; and the next morning, when we were called to

breakfast, she gave me a sealed letter to put into Miss Beaumont's hand. As I was afterwards favoured with a copy of this letter, I shall give it to you, my dear 'friend, in this place.

66 6 MY BELOVED JULIA,-(for still will I call you beloved, though mone either of your former kindness or confidence have been discoverable on the late occasion,) I am at a loss how to answer the question which you last night proposed to me, because it is scarcely possible to reply to such an enquiry in words which might not include either too much or too little. You ask me publicly to pronounce upon a character in a case where such a decision is no part of our concern; and in my so doing, you would perhaps compel me to act in direct contradiction to the precept of Scripture-Judge not, that ye be not judged. (Matt. vii. 1.)

"But, to leave Gabrielle and her affairs, permit me, my dear friend, to repeat here what I have many times said to you on former occasions,—that I am convinced it would conduce greatly both to your happiness and to your permanent advantage, not only in this family, but in every other situation which you may hereafter fill, if you could bring yourself to cease from interfering with the affairs of others. I would, my dear Julia, gladly signify this sentiment by an expression which might be more acceptable; but as no other at present offers, I hope you will pardon the plainness of that which I have used. It is now not more than a twelvemonth since I lost one of the tenderest and most pious of mothers; and if, as I have heard my dear father say, there was any one quality in which she excelled more than in another, it was that peculiar and unusual control of the tongue, which rendered her at once lovely and beloved in the estimation of all who knew her--a quality which I fear is much more rarely found in females than in men.

"It was during one of the last conversations that I ever had with my poor mother, but shortly before that final and dreadful illness which, in the course of a very few hours, deprived me of the best of parents, that she, as if foreseeing the loss that I was about to sustain, urged strongly upon me the duty and advantages of

self-command in this respect: and I remember that, having first referred me to the well-known passage of Scripture-The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison; (James iii. 8.) she proceeded to remark, that that which no man could tame, might, nevertheless, be tamed by the power and grace of God. And she assured me, that wherever religion produced the natural and complete effect, peculiarly its own, of humbling the individual who professed it, of emptying him of self, of inducing him to distrust his own judgment, and to conclude that others might be right as well as himself, its consequent result would be to silence him on those points relative to which he would otherwise be most liable improperly to interfere with the affairs of his neighbours.

"You, my dear Julia, have a knowledge of religion, a much superior knowledge to what I have, and a consequent high sense of honour, justice, and virtue; you are above every mean and low habit and custom; but you will not be offended, if I say, that you have not yet, I fear, learned to distrust yourself. And this self-confidence induces you to judge hastily and to speak decidedly on many occasions where you are not called upon so to do, and before you have had it in your power to weigh the subject on which you unguardedly venture to give an opinion: and by this haste and decision, you have not unfrequently, even since I have had the pleasure of knowing you, seriously injured those whom you have intended essentially to serve. In the moment of heat and high indignation against what you fancy to be wrong, you sacrifice, without reflection, the interest of the dearest friend; and if an improper confidence is denied you, you indignantly throw aside every pledge of former regard.

"The sin of bearing false witness against a neighbour, my dear Julia, may be committed in various ways, and is as often the consequence of a hot and fiery, though noble spirit, such as yours, as of one that is sly, mean, and deceitful; and perhaps the hasty indignation of a noble character is more to be dreaded than the most cruel arts of one that is despicable.

"O my friend, permit me, who am now in disgrace with you, still to avail myself of the privilege of your

friendship, while I humbly entreat you, as you would honour your Christian profession in this house, to be more careful of what you say. Consider your youth and inexperience; not a year more advanced than my own! and consider, too, how imperfect is your acquaintance with the world, and how much more effectual would be your rebukes of whatever might be amiss, if they were given only in silence and by example.

'Depend upon it, that a blameless and lovely example is ever, in youth especially, the most effective check upon that which is really sinful, and is much more strongly felt by the sinner than is the most loud and vehement expression of anger to which words can give utterance. It possesses also this valuable property, that it wounds only where it ought to wound, while its arrows play harmlessly about those whose consciences, humanly speaking, are at rest from evil.

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Pardon, my dear Julia, all that in this letter may offend; and believe me to be your ever affectionate friend,

“AMELIA Carrisforth.'

66 6 When I delivered this letter to Miss Beaumont, she opened it hastily, and stood up to read it, while all the rest of the party were seated at the breakfast-table. It was evident, however, that she was not satisfied by its contents; for, as she again folded it up, and put it into her work-bag, she said to Amelia, over the table, 'You have not now answered my question, Miss Carrisforth; suppose that I must, however, rest contented with this partial confidence.' Then, with a certain toss of her head, which was habitual with this high-spirited young lady whenever she happened to be displeased, she began to eat her breakfast with as much unconcern as if nothing unusual had occurred.

I

"At this moment, the attention of the company was diverted to another subject by one of the young ladies exclaiming, 'To night is dancing-night!'

"Yes,' said Miss Atkins; and we know who is to be here, don't we, Chatterton?'

Some of your favourites, I presume, Miss Atkins,' said Miss Crawford, laughing.

"Miss Atkins has many favourites,' remarked Ma