inasmuch as your object is to please your parents, and to do your part in promoting the amusements of others, you are fulfilling a duty in learning them. But you must know, Dora, that these are not exactly what is understood by the talents, for which the Bible says we are to be accountable. They must mean our reasoning and our thinking powers, the qualities of our minds and hearts, as well as all the outward gifts of God."

"Yes; I understand that."

'Well, I was going to say, that so much time being given up to the acquirement of accomplishments, but very little remains for the improvement of the mind, which is of much higher importance, and of that little you devote nearly all to the pleasures of imagination; for I am sure, that even while you are reading serious books to me, or while I am talking on grave subjects to you, your thoughts are very often wandering over this enchanted ground.”

Dora was silent for a moment or two, and then said"But if I knew more of what you call important things, would it still be wrong to read such books occasionally?"

"If your mind were (what it is hardly possible at your age that it should be) well stored with useful and valuable knowledge, I would still, were you a child of mine, forbid you to amuse yourself at any time with falsehood.”

"Still I can assure you, Miss Vaughan, that I have gained a great many ideas from novels and from poetry; even Lord Byron's poetry, that you do not like me to read; and, indeed,” she added hesitatingly, "some religious feelings, too."

"I am very sorry to hear it; very sorry, indeed, Dora. The Bible is the book to teach us religion, and no other in

the world. Can you really believe such a man as Byron, genius as he was, to be able to teach anything about religion? or any of the people who spend their precious time in writing useless trash? My dear child, you are in great danger; I wish I knew how to make you aware of it. But if I am unable to convince you by argument, remember at least this, that I once thought as you think now, and that I have lived to find out my error. I tell you from experience, that it is because they are deceitful that they are hurtful. They promise, by their highly-wrought pictures, what earth can never fulfil, though you are loth to believe it now. The world is yet unknown to you; and you form your expectations of it from this bright standard. It is a false one -it will cheat you, Dora: life is not what these books make it out to be; the people are not like, nor the events that you will meet with in it. If you will persist in finding this out for yourself, you must suffer the bitterness of disappointment; and with feelings quickened, hope elated, and pride and vanity stimulated—all unfitted in every way for the sober, every-day duties of life-you will meet with crosses and vexations, which will irritate the more from their very pettiness (as it will seem to you), and then yours will be 'the wounded spirit, which is hard to bear.""

"No one ever told me this before."

"Then, dear, you have been hitherto not much to blame; but you are warned now."

"But is fiction never to be indulged in at all? Would you consign all novels to destruction-historical ones, for instance?"

"I would not destroy them all, certainly, because many are very beautiful, considered as subjects of taste and genius;

but they are unfitted for the young,' who must be fed with milk, and not with strong meat.' Historical novels are, for the reasons that I have given you, as dangerous as others: the foundation of the story may be true; but the whole is so varnished over, and mixed up with untruth, that it is no more to be trusted, as a standard of moral opinion, than those which are confessedly fictitious. When you are grown up, and when you have seen enough of the world to know how to estimate it, and your opinions and principles are formed by experience, so that you will measure the book by its agreement with what you have learned to be truth, then, perhaps, you may read romances without injury to yourself, and enjoy their beauties without being misled by their honeyed falsehood. But, then, I would fain hope, my dear Dora, that you will find the active duties of this life, and the preparation for another, to be too engrossing to leave much time for such pursuits; in short, that your affections will be set upon higher things."

Dora's affectionate heart was touched by the tone of earnest feeling in which Miss Vaughan spoke to her; she knew that she could have no motive but her good. She felt, also, the power of truth, which will force itself even upon the unwilling mind; and she was convinced that the arguments she had listened to were unanswerable. "I am sure you are right," she said, "as you always are; and I promise you, Miss Vaughan, that I will not read another novel until you give me leave. I will not even finish this one, although I did leave off in a most tantalising part. But I shall hardly know what to do with myself out of school hours," she added with a sigh.

"You have made a good resolution, my dear girl; and I

promise to do the utmost on my part to help you to fill up the vacancy which must occur in your mind on first giving up a long-cherished indulgence. I know of nothing more likely to do this than the study of nature in any of its various branches; for there are stories, Dora, in the book of creation more deeply interesting than any novel that was ever written, and wonders far greater than those of the most marvellous romances. But it is not in the external world alone that I would have you commune with nature. The mind of man, the noblest work of God, is the highest and most useful of all studies. In the wide field of history you will discover much of romantic interest, with this advantage, it will not mislead you: it is the true record of humanity and of the world. And even if its details sometimes fail to please or elevate your taste, still they will not pervert it. And now, my love, I think we have talked long enough on the subject; with respect to this book, perhaps you would be able more readily to dismiss it from your mind if you knew the final catastrophe, which I dare say winds up all smoothly enough, so unlike the sorrows of real life. I cannot sanction your having it again in your hands; but as a reward for your ready compliance with my wishes, I promise to finish it for you myself, and to relate to you the particulars as faithfully as I can. Not now, for my head aches a little; but I will not keep you very long in suspense."

Dora put her arm round the neck of her friend, and kissed her flushed cheek. "How very kind of kind of you! you

shall see how I will try."

"But remember, Dora, that all unassisted efforts are useless."

E

CHAPTER VII.

O HOW canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms, which nature to her votaries yields !
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore ;
The pomp of groves and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,

O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?
THE MINSTREL.

"MAY we go down to the river this morning, and look out for Water-lilies?" demanded Fanny, as they were leaving the house a few days after the conversation related in the last chapter, "Papa told me one day, when we were riding that way, that one part of it higher up was covered with them last summer."

"I have no objection to walk that way, my dear," answered Miss Vaughan. "I am rather doubtful whether we shall find any Water-lilies; they do not blossom till July, and this is only the first. However, we can go and try."

"Talking of Water-lilies," said Mary, "reminds me that I wanted to ask you about that curious bit of stuff in your collection, marked 'Water-flannel.' What can that mean? It looks just like a common bit of very coarse flannel, only of rather a dirty colour. It cannot be a plant or a seed, I am sure; and what has water to do with it?"

Miss Vaughan smiled. "I do not wonder at your being