knows by the
bumps on your head, all that is contained inside. Let me see if I could
do so! There is a large bump of reading, and a small one of writing and
arithmetic. Here is a terrible organ of breaking dolls and destroying
frocks. There is a very small bump of liking uncle David, and a
prodigious one of liking almonds and raisins!"

"No! you are quite mistaken! It is the largest bump for loving uncle
David, and the small one for every thing else," interrupted Laura,
eagerly. "I shall draw a map of my head some day, to show you how it is
all divided."

"And leave no room for any thing naughty or foolish! Your head should be
swept out, and put in order every morning, that not a single cobweb may
remain in your brains. What busy brains they must be for the next ten
years! But in the meantime let us hope that you will never again be
reduced to your

"LAST CLEAN FROCK."

CHAPTER VI.

THE LONG LADDER.

There was a young pickle, and what do you think?
He liv'd upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of his diet,
And yet this young pickle could never be quiet.

One fine sultry day in the month of August, Harry and Laura stood at the
breakfast-room window, wondering to see the large broken white clouds,
looking like curds and whey, while the sun was in such a blaze of heat,
that every thing seemed almost red hot. The street door had become
blistered by the sun-beams. Jowler the dog lay basking on the pavement;
the green blinds were closed at every opposite house; the few gentlemen
who ventured out, were fanning themselves with their pocket
handkerchiefs; the ladies were strolling lazily along, under the
umbrageous shade of their green parasols; and the poor people who were
accustomed in winter to sell matches for lighting a fire, now carried
about gaudy paper hangings for the empty grates. Lady Harriet found the
butter so melted at breakfast, that she could scarcely lift it on her
knife; and uncle David complained that the sight of hot smoking tea put
him in a fever, and said he wished it could be iced.

"I wonder how iced porridge would taste!" said Harry. "I put mine at the
open window to cool, but that only made it seem hotter. We were talking
of the gentleman you mentioned yesterday, who toasted his muffins at a
volcano; and certainly yours might almost be done at the drawing-room
window this morning."

"Wait till you arrive at the