frequent, as the village fair, Whose little wants the busy hour employ,
Chaunting some rural ditty, soothes her care.

"Verse softens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang
the while she sings, Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves
the sad vicissitude of things."

Then, again approaching the cottage, she accosted the young girl, who,
with a modest blush, arose from her wheel, and hastily pushing it on one
side, invited her unexpected visitors to take a seat, and rest
themselves after their walk.

Pleased with their reception, Mrs. Bernard accepted her invitation; and,
upon entering into conversation with the young cottager, became more and
more interested in her favour. There was that modest reserve in her
manner, which is particularly pleasing in youth.

In answer to Mrs. Bernard's questions, she informed her, that she was,
in very early life, left an orphan; having lost both her parents before
she had attained her third year. Since which time, she had been indebted
to an aged grandmother for protection and support.

"We have both worked hard for our livelihood," said Mary, (for that was
the young cottager's name,) "and, thank Heaven, we have never wanted the
_necessaries_ of life; _more_ we have never wished for. My grandmother
weeds in the squire's garden hard by, and I earn a trifle at my wheel."

Just as Mary had said these words, they perceived an old woman
approaching. She was leaning on the arm of a fine, healthy-looking
youth. A deeper blush, which at this moment dyed the cheeks of the