n of the evergreens with
which the room was plenteously decorated, and laying out their movements
during the ensuing fortnight. Mrs. Aubrey and Kate were, with
affectionate earnestness, contrasting to Aubrey the peaceful pleasures
of a country life with the restless excitement and endless anxieties of
a London political life, to which they saw him more and more addicting
himself; he all the while playfully parrying their attacks, but
secretly acknowledging the truth and force of what they said,
when--hark!--a novel sound from without, which roused the old lady from
her nap. What do you think, dear reader, it was? The voices of very
little girls singing what seemed to be a Christmas hymn: yes, they
caught the words--

"Hark! the herald angels sing.
Glory to the new-born king;
Peace on earth and mercy mild"--

"Why, surely--it must be your little school-girls," said old Mrs.
Aubrey, looking at her daughter, and listening.

"I do believe it is!" quoth Kate, her eyes suddenly filling with tears,
as she sat eagerly inclining her ear towards the window.

"They must be standing on the grass-plot just before the window," said
Mr. Aubrey: the tiny voices were thrilling his very heart within him.
His sensitive nature might have been compared to a delicate AEolian harp
which gave forth, with the slightest breath of accident or
circumstance,--

"The still, sad music of humanity."

In a few moments he was almost in tears--the sounds were so unlike the
fierce and turbulent cries of political warfare to which his ears had
been latterly accustomed! The more the poor children sang, the more was
he affected. Kate's tears fell fast, for she had been in an excited mood
before this little incident occurred. "Do you hear, mamma," said she,
"the voice of the poor little thing that was last taken into the school?
The little darling!" Kate tried to smile away her emotion; but 'twas in
vain. Mr. Aubrey gently drew aside the curtain, and pulled up the
central blind--and there, headed by their matron, stood the little
singers exposed to view, some eighteen in number, ranged in a row on the
grass, all in snug gray woollen hoods effectually protecting them from
the cold. The oldest seemed not more than ten or twelve years old, while
the younger ones could not be more than five or six. They seemed all
singing from their very hearts. Aubrey stood looking at them with very
deep interest.

As soon as they had finished their hym