o eldest boys--then preparing for school--my eldest daughter, and
the two maid-servants, all tumbling into the parlour in a world of
amazement. My wife, however, having recovered from her first surprise
and burst of natural affection, began, very naturally, to speculate
about the parentage of the uninvited visitant. She examined its dress;
and, amongst other discoveries, found a piece of paper attached to the
body of the frock, inscribed with these words, in a plain printed
hand--"I am not what I seem. My name is Phebe." On searching a little
more particularly, a hundred-pound note was found stitched into a small
purse or bag, suspended from the infant's neck. We were all amazement.
My wife was all at once persuaded that the infant must be the offspring
of some lady of high quality, and that, by keeping her in our family, we
should be absolutely enriched by presents of hundred-pound notes every
other morning. She seemed to look upon poor Phebe as the philosopher's
stone, and thought that gold would, in future, be as plentiful in our
house as brass coinage had hitherto been. But who could be the mother of
this pretty, sweet, dear, darling, lovely child? Could it be--and she
whispered me knowingly in the ear; but I shook my head, and looked
equally knowing. Could it be Lady M----? I looked incredulity, and my
wife pushed her speculations no further. By this time my oldest daughter
had arranged Phebe's dress, and made all snug; and the poor little
infant gave audible intimation of a desire for food. What was to be
done? This question occupied us for about a quarter of an hour, when we
at last recollected that Lord C----'s gardener's wife had yesterday
buried her infant. She was immediately sent for, and, having no children
of her own, agreed, after some persuasion and the promise of a handsome
reward, to suckle poor Phebe. It was, indeed, beautifully interesting to
observe how Phebe's little hands wandered over the source of her
sustenance, and seemed to say, as plainly as hands could speak it, "I
have you now, and will not part with you again." Phebe grew--opened her
sweet blue eyes--smiled--and won all hearts in the course of a month.
But she was still a heathen, or, in other words, unbaptised; and, after
consulting the session, whom I advertised of all the circumstances, it
was agreed that the gardener's wife should take the vows, and name the
child. We all wept at the christening; there was something so unusual
and overp