and stunted: that, my good sister, is your fault. You have planted them too close, and not pruned them properly." "Nay, sister," said Education, "I am sure I have taken all possible pains about them; but you gave me bad acorns, so how should they ever make fine trees?"

The dispute grew warm; and, at length, instead of blaming one another for negligence, they began to boast of their own powers, and to challenge each other. to a contest for the superiority. It was agreed that each should adopt a favourite, and rear it up in spite of the ill offices of her opponent. Nature fixed upon a vigorous young Weymouth Pine, the parent of which had grown to be the main-mast of a man-of-war. Do what you will to this plant," said she to her sister, "I am resolved to push it up as straight as an arrow." Education took under her care a crab-tree. This," said she, "I will rear to be at least as valuable as your pine."

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Both went to work. While Nature was feeding her pine with plenty of wholesome juices, Education passed a strong rope round its top, and, pulling it downwards with all her force, fastened it to the trunk of a neighbouring oak. The pine laboured to ascend, but not being able to surmount the obstacle, it pushed out to one side, and presently became bent like a bow. Still, such was its vigour, that its top, after descending as low as its branches, made a new shoot upwards; but its beauty and usefulness were quite destroyed.

The crab-tree cost Education a world of pains. She pruned and pruned, and endeavoured to bring it into shape, but in vain. Nature thrust out a bow this way, and a knot that way, and would not push a single leading shoot upwards. The trunk was, indeed, kept tolerably straight by constant efforts; but the head grew awry and ill-fashioned, and made a scrubby figure. At length, Education, despairing of making a sightly plant of it, ingrafted the stock with an apple, and brought it to bear tolerable fruit.

At the end of the experiment, the sisters met, to compare their respective success. Ah, sister!" said Nature, "I see it is in your power to spoil the best my works." Ah, sister!" said Education, "it is a hard matter to contend against you; however, something may be done by taking pains enough."

of

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AVERSION SUBDUED,

A Drama.

Scene. A Road in the Country-Arbury, Belford, walking. Belford. PRAY, who is the present possessor of the Brookby estate ?

Arbury. A man of the name of Goodwin.

B. Is he a good neighbour to you ?

A. Far from it; and I wish he had settled a hundred miles off, rather than come here to spoil our neighbourhood.

B. I am sorry to hear that; but what is jection to him?

your ob

A. O, there is nothing in which we agree. In the first place, he is quite of the other side in politics; and that, you know, is enough to prevent all intimacy.

B. I am not entirely of that opinion; but what else ?

A. He is no sportsman, and refuses to join in our association for protecting the game. Neither does he choose to be a member of any of our clubs.

B. Has he been asked?

A. I don't know that he has directly; but he might easily propose himself, if he liked it. But he is of a close, unsociable temper, and, I believe, very niggardly. B. How has he shown it?

A. His style of living is not equal to his fortune; and I have heard of several instances of his attention to petty economy.

B. Perhaps he spends his money in charity.

A. Not he, I dare say. It was but last week that a

poor fellow, who had lost his all by a fire, went to him with a subscription-paper, in which were the names of all the gentlemen in the neighbourhood; and all the answer he got was, that he would consider of it.

B. And did he consider?

A. I don't know; but I suppose it was only an excuse. Then his predecessor had a park well stocked. with deer, and used to make liberal presents of venison to all his neighbours. But this frugal gentleman has sold them all off, and got a flock of sheep instead.

B. I don't see much harm in that, now mutton is so dear.

A. To be sure, he has a right to do as he pleases with his park; but that is not the way to be beloved, you know. As to myself, I have reason to think he bears me particular ill-will.

B. Then he is much in the wrong, for I believe you are as free from ill-will to others as any man living. But how has he shown it, pray?

A. In twenty instances. He had a horse upon sale the other day, to which I took a liking, and bade money for it. As soon as he found I was about it, he sent it off to a fair, on the other side of the country. My wife, you know, is passionately fond of cultivating flowers. Riding lately by his grounds, she observed something new, and took a great longing for a root or cutting of it. My gardener mentioned her wish to his (contrary, I own, to my inclination), and he told his master; but instead of obliging her, he charged the gardener on no account to touch the plant. A little while ago, I turned off a man for saucy behaviour; but as he had lived many years with me, and was a very useful servant, I meant to take him again, upon his submission, which, I did not doubt, would soon happen. Instead of that, he goes and offers himself to my civil neighbour, who, without deigning to apply to me even for a character, entertains him immediately. In short, he has not the least of a gentleman about him; would give anything to be well rid of him.

and I

B. Nothing, to be sure, can be more unpleasant in the country than a bad neighbour, and I am concerned it is your lot to have one. But there is a man who

seems as though he wanted to speak with you.

[A countryman approaches. A. Ah! it is the poor fellow that was burnt out. Well, kichard, how go you on?-what has the subscription produced you?

Richard. Thank your honour, my losses are nearly all made up.

A. I am very glad of that; but when I saw the paper last, it did not reach half way.

R. It did not, sir; but you may remember asking me, what Mr. Goodwin had done for me, and I told you he took time to consider of it. Well, sir-I found that the very next day he had been at our town, and had made very particular inquiry about me and my losses, among my neighbours. When I called upon him in a few days after, he told me he was very glad to find that I bore such a good character, and that the gentlemen around had so kindly taken up my case; and he would prevent the necessity of my going any further for relief. Upon which he gave me, God bless him! a draught upon his banker for fifty pounds. A. Fifty pounds!

R. Yes, sir-it has made me quite my own man again; and I am now going to purchase a new cart and team of horses.

A. A noble gift, indeed; I could never have thought it. Well, Richard, I rejoice at your good fortune. I am sure you are much obliged to Mr. Goodwin.

R. Indeed I am, sir, and to all my good friends. God bless you!

[Goes on.

B. Niggardliness, at least, is not this man's foible. A. No-I was mistaken in that point. I wronged. him, and I am sorry for it. But what a pity it is that men of real generosity should not be amiable in their manners, and as ready to oblige in trifles as in matters of consequence.

B. True 'tis a pity, when that is really the case. A. How much less an exertion it would have been, to have shown some civility about a horse or a flowerroot!

B. A-propos of flowers!-there's your gardener carrying a large one in a pot.

Enter Gardener.

A. Now, James, what have you got there? Gard. A flower, sir, for Madam, from Mr. Goodwin's.

A. How did you come by it?

G. His gardener, sir, sent me word to come for it. We should have had it before, but Mr. Goodwin thought it would not move safely.

A. I hope he has got more of them.

G. He has only a seedling plant or two, sir; but hearing that Madam took a liking to it, he was resolved to send it her; and a choice thing it is! I have a note for Madam in my pocket.

A. Well, go on.

[Exit Gardener.

B. Methinks this does not look like deficiency in civility.

A. No-it is a very polite action-I can't deny it, and I am obliged to him for it. Perhaps, indeed, he may feel he owes me a little amends.

B. Possibly-It shows he can feel, however.

A. It does. Ha! there's Yorkshire Tom coming with a string of horses from the fair. I'll step up and speak to him. Now, Tom! how have horses gone at Market-hill?

Tom. Dear enough, your honour!

A. How much more did you get for Mr. Goodwin's mare than I offered him?

T. Ah! sir, that was not a thing for your riding, and that Mr. Goodwin well knew. You never saw such a yicious toad. She had like to have killed the groom two or three times. So I was ordered to offer her to the mail-coach people, and get what I could