aunt, and take care of me."

"Admirable reasons!" exclaimed Charles Weston,
who had laid aside his book to listen to this
conversation.

"They are forcible ones I must admit," said Miss
Emmerson, smiling affectionately on her niece; "but
now for the other kind of love."

"Why, Anna is my friend, you know," cried Julia,
with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I love her,
because she has feelings congenial with my own;
she has so much wit, is so amusing, so frank, so
like a girl of talents--so like--like every thing I
admire myself."

"It is a pity that one so highly gifted cannot furnish
herself with frocks," said the aunt, with a little
more than her ordinary dryness of manner, "and
suffer you to work for those who want them more."

"You forget it is in order to remember me," said
Julia, in a manner that spoke her own ideas of the
value of the gift.

"One would think such a friendship would not
require any thing to remind one of its existence,"
returned the aunt.