sense, or his sister either; you can't think, Sir, how they love me, or how I love them! Dear little creatures, whenever I am out for a day's work, they sit by the road-side together, and as soon as they see me, if it is at half a mile's distance, William leads little Lucy towards me, and they meet me with such delight!" "Why, my good woman," said Mr. Beaufort, whose eyes bore witness to the pleasure with which he heard her artless relation, "your other children will be jealous, if you thus speak of them." "No, they won't, Sir," said she, "they are very good; they know that I ought to love these best, because they are unfortunate. And this poor baby, Sir," added she, pressing it to her bosom, "I fear it is in the same state: it takes no notice of any thing but what it sees." "I am sorry for you," replied the good-natured man, "but we will hope better things: it may be only a temporary deafness. At present, this little boy is the most to be attended to;" and he took his name and age down in his pocket-book, while the grateful mother put up a secret prayer that it might be attended with success.

William watched all that was done, with an expression of anxiety which could not be accounted for, unless he thought that something either very pleasant or distressing was to happen to his mother from it. The rest stood in silent attention, listening to what was said; and the countenance of each bespoke their earnest wishes for their brother's welfare.

Mr. Beaufort now invited Henry to ride with him to the spot Mr. Rawlinson had wished him to see; and Mrs. Goldsmith, seeing it was just one o'clock, pointed to the door, for William to go and call his father home to dinner. Lucy, who had been accustomed always to accompany him on that errand, made a sign to do so now; but William, by stepping out his feet in a peculiar manner, let her know that he must make great haste, and that she could not walk so fast as he; and with this information she was made satisfied to remain at home.

While Henry was riding before Mr. Beaufort, all their conversation was respecting William and the Asylum. "I will give all the money I have, for him to go," said the kind-hearted boy; "and I think that Caroline will too: I'll ask her when I get back." And on his return he called his sister on one side, to make the request: "Mr. Beaufort says that a great deal is wanting to support the children," said he, "and that they have built a new house for them to live in; the other was not large enough: won't you give your money towards it." "Yes, that I will;" replied she, "and as soon as we get home, we will speak to papa and mamma about it."

Mr. Beaufort had taken his leave, but not without a liberal earnest of his generosity to Mrs. Goldsmith, and an assurance that William should not be forgotten. He had brought his father and eldest brother home to dinner, to whom the poor woman related the circumstance of Mr. Beaufort's visit, with the greatest pleasure.

Never was such a happy dinner as these affectionate parents sat down to with their young guests, though their feelings could scarcely allow either of them to partake of what was placed before them. "Why he'll speak as well as neighbour Goodyer's boy," said the delighted father, "he has been up to London to see him, and he says all the children are treated so kindly!" "The time of admission is the second Monday in next month," said his mother, "and perhaps he may be admitted then. We are only expected to keep him decently clothed. I must begin making him some shirts; won't you let me buy him a few?" continued she. To this her husband readily consented; and Miller said she was sure her mistress would give him a jacket and trowsers. This point being settled, and the dinner ended, the children returned to their play, till the time of tea; after which, the horse was again harnessed to take them home, and the same party which he had brought in the morning, with the squirrel, and two rabbits Henry had obtained leave to take with him, were all placed in the cart, with a large basket of nuts, and some greens for the rabbits. They took their leave of nurse, with many thanks for the pleasure they had had, and expressions of kindness to all the children, particularly William and Lucy, the latter of whom had, in the course of the day, become so sociable with Caroline, as to cry at seeing her depart.

When they reached home, they found their parents, and Mr. Beaufort, sitting, after dinner, with another gentleman or two, and the little Goldsmiths were the subject of their conversation. Henry would have directly asked his mamma for his little store of money, that he might put it into Mr. Beaufort's hands, for the benefit of the charity, had not a significant look from Caroline prevented him. When they retired for the night, he asked her the reason. "It is like asking the gentlemen, who were strangers, to praise you," said she; "and besides, you know mamma has told us, that whenever we give any thing away, we should not speak of it: to-morrow, when she is alone, will be time enough."

In a day or two after this, Mr. Beaufort returned to town, after fixing the day for William and his mother to come up, in time for the meeting, when he hoped to be so fortunate as to get him admitted. The intervening time was fully employed in preparing his clothes, in which Caroline assisted, and in endeavouring to make him understand the good fortune which awaited him. Mrs. Rawlinson had him to visit her, a day or two before he was to go; she took him to the school, to which, he recollected, his eldest brother had gone, and gave him a copy-book, pen and ink, and slate. William blushed, and lifted up his hand affectingly, he shook his head, as if to say, "I don't know how to use them." He had been very fond of their neighbour's son, who was already in the Asylum, and before he went they were constant companions. William had for a long time understood he was gone somewhere greatly to his advantage, and whenever he went into the cottage of his parents, he pointed to the stool on which his old companion used to sit, as if to enquire how he was, while an approving smile from Mrs. Goodyer always told him he was well off.

On their return from Mrs. Rawlinson's, his mother took him to their neighbour's, and directing his attention to the stool, which always recalled the idea of his friend, she showed him the books and slate which Mrs. Rawlinson had given him, and made him understand that he was gone to be instructed how to use them. William nodded his approval, but when she distinctly said, "you are to go to him, (and such a sentence as this he could understand by the motion of her lips,) he danced for joy, he kissed his mother and Mrs. Goodyer, caught up the books and hugged them, then the pen, with which he showed them he should soon know how to write; and then, by every means in his power, he asked the question when he should go? He looked up to the sky, then waved his hand with the sun, once, twice, thrice, as if to enquire, was it in such a number of days? His mother held up one finger; and then, by moving his hand, as if in the act of driving, he asked if that was to be the mode of their conveyance. On receiving a nod of assent to this question also, he again capered round the room, and all the way, as they walked home, delighted his mother with his expressive gestures of