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 prinDear me said one of them,

cesses.

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

suitable to her fortune, and do not consume the money which ought to be employed in more useful things for herself and others.

Sally. But why might not she be contented with such things as I have; and give the money that the rest cost to the poor?

Mrs. M. Because she can afford both to be charitable to the poor, and also to indulge herself in these pleasures. But do you recollect that the children of Mr. White the baker and Mr. Shape the taylor, might just ask the same questions about you?

Sally. How so?

Mrs. M. Are not you as much better dressed, and as much more plentifully supplied with playthings than they are, as Miss Pemberton is than you?

Sally. Why, I believe I may, for I remember Polly White was very glad of one of my old dolls; and Nancy

Shape cried for such a sash as mine, but her mother would not let her have

one.

Mrs. M. Then you see, my dear, that there are many who have fewer things to be thankful for than you have; and you may also learn what ought to be the true measure of the expectations of children, and the indulgences of parents.

Sally. I don't quite understand you,

mamma.

Mrs. M. Every thing ought to be suited to the station in which we live, or are likely to live, and the wants and duties of it. Your papa and I do not grudge laying out part of our money to promote the innocent pleasure of our children: but it would be very wrong in us to lay out so much on this ac count as would oblige us to spare in more necessary articles, as in their edu cation, and the common household ex

pences required in our way of living. Besides, it would be so far from making you happier, that it would be doing you the greatest injury.

Sally. How could that be, mamma ?

Mrs. M. If you were now to be dressed like Miss Pemberton, don't you think you would be greatly mortified at being worse dressed when you came to be a young woman?

Sally. I believe I should, mamma; for then perhaps I might go to assemblies; and to be sure I should like to be as smart then as at any time.

Mrs. M. Well, but it would be still more improper for us to dress you then beyond our circumstances, because your necessary clothes will then cost more, you know. Then if we were now to hire a coach or chair for you to go a visiting in, should you like to leave it off ever afterwards? But you have no reason to expect that you will be able