Mrs. M. I suppose Miss Harriet showed you all her playthings.

my

Sally. O yes, such fine large dolls so smartly dressed, as I never saw in life before. Then she has a baby-house, and all sorts of furniture in it and a grotto all made of shells, and shining stones. And then she showed me all her fine clothes for the next ball; 'there's a white slip all full of spangles, and pink ribbons; you can't think how beautiful it looks.

Mrs. M. And what did you admire most of all these fine things?

Sally. I don't know-I admired them all; and I think I liked riding in the coach better than all the rest. Why don't we keep a coach, mamma? and why have I not such fine clothes and playthings as Miss Harriet?

Mrs. M. Because we cannot afford it, my dear. Your papa is not so rich, by a great deal, as Sir Thomas; and if

we were to lay out our money upon such things, we should not be able to procure food and raiment and other necessaries for you all.

Sally. But why is not papa as rich as Sir Thomas?

Mrs. M. Sir Thomas had a large estate left him by his father; but your papa has little but what he gains by his own industry.

Sally. But why should not papa be as rich as any body else? I am sure he deserves it as well.

Mrs. M. Do you not think that there are a great many people poorer than he, that are also very deserving? Sally. Are there?

Don't

Mrs. M. Yes, to be sure. you know what a number of poor people there are all around us, who have very few of the comforts we enjoy? What do you think of Plowman the labourer?

I believe you never ssw him idle in your life.

Sally. No; he is gone to work 'long before I am up, and he does not return till almost bed-time, unless it be for his dinner.

Mrs. M. Well! how do you think his wife and children live? should you like that we should change places with them?

Sally. O no! they are so dirty and ragged.

Mrs. M. They are, indeed, poor creatures; but I am afraid they suffer worse evils than that.

Sally. What, mamma?

Mrs. M. Why I am afraid they often do not get as much victuals as they could eat. And then in winter they must be half starved for want of fire and warm clothing. How do you think you could bear all this?

Sally. Indeed I don't know. But

I have seen Plowman's wife carry great brown loaves into the house; and I remember once eating some brown bread and milk, and I thought it very good.

Mrs. M. I believe you would not much like it constantly; besides, they can hardly get enough of that. But you seem to know almost as little of the poor as the young French princess did. Sally. What was that, mamma? Mrs. M. Why there had been one year so bad a harvest in France that numbers of the poor were famished, to death. This calamity was so much talked of, that it reached the court, and was mentioned before the young princesses. Dear me said one of them, how silly that was! Why, rather than be famished, I would eat bread and cheese. Her governess was then obliged to acquaint her that the greatest part of her father's subjects scarcely ever ate any thing better than black bread

all their lives; and that vast numbers would now think themselves very happy to get only half their usual pittance of that. Such wretchedness as this was what the princess had not the least idea of; and the account shocked her so much, that she was glad to sacrifice all her finery to afford some relief to the sufferings of the poor.

Sally. But I hope there is nobody famished in our country.

Mrs. M. I hope not, for we have laws by which every person is entitled to relief from the parish, if he is unable to gain a subsistence; and were there no laws about it, I am sure it would be our duty to part with every superfluity, rather than let a fellow-creature perish for want of necessaries.

Sally. Then do you think it was wrong for Miss Pemberton to have all those fine things?

Mrs. M. No, my dear, if they are