yman has warbled sacred melodies over it, and Miss Honeyman
considers it a delightful instrument), kisses her languid little brother
laid on the sofa, and performs a hundred gay and agile motions suited to
her age.

"Oh, what a piano! Why, it is as cracked as Miss Quigley's voice!"

"My dear!" says mamma. The little languid boy bursts out into a jolly
laugh.

"What funny pictures, mamma! Action with Count de Grasse; the death of
General Wolfe; a portrait of an officer, an old officer in blue, like
grandpapa; Brazen Nose College, Oxford: what a funny name!"

At the idea of Brazen Nose College, another laugh comes from the
invalid. "I suppose they've all got brass noses there," he says; and
explodes at this joke. The poor little laugh ends in a cough, and
mamma's travelling-basket, which contains everything, produces a bottle
of syrup, labelled "Master A. Newcome. A teaspoonful to be taken when
the cough is troublesome."

"'Oh, the delightful sea! the blue, the fresh, the ever free,'" sings
the young lady, with a shake. (I suppose the maritime song from which
she quoted was just written at this time.) "How much better this is than
going home and seeing those horrid factories and chimneys! I love Doctor
Goodenough for sending us here. What a sweet house it is! Everybody is
happy in it, even Miss Quigley is happy, mamma. What nice rooms! What
pretty chintz! What a--oh, what a--comfortable sofa!" and she falls
down on the sofa, which, truth to say, was the Rev. Charles Honeyman's
luxurious sofa from Oxford, presented to him by young Cibber Wright
of Christchurch, when that gentleman-commoner was eliminated from the
University.

"The person of the house," mamma says, "hardly comes up to Dr.
Goodenough's description of her. He says he remembers her a pretty
little woman when her father was his private tutor."

"She has grown very much since," says the girl. And an explosion takes
place from the sofa, where the little man is always ready to laugh at
any joke, or anything like a joke, uttered by himself or by any of his
family or friends. As for Doctor Goodenough, he says laughing has saved
that boy's life.

"She looks quite like a maid," continues the lady. "She has hard hands,
and she called me mum always. I was quite disappointed in her." And she
subsides into a novel, with many of which kind of works, and with other
volumes, and with workboxes, and with wonderful inkstands, portfolios,
portable days of the month, s