"to tell me why the poor men, whom we saw yesterday, are shut up in those dismal rooms :-dear Mamma, why do you sigh and look so grave, when I talk of them; do you love them?" "No, my dear," said Mrs. Somerville, while her heart silently owned a fondness unequalled for one, and that one the dear partner of her life, the father of her beloved children; but she suppressed her tears, and replied, she could not help feeling for those who were unhappy. "Then they are not all wicked, are they, Mamma? Henry Rundle told me they were, and said I ought not to go near them." Henry, my dear, is an unfeeling boy; none of us are so good as we ought to be, many are unfortunate; God deprives them of riches, and if they owe money, they are distressed, and obliged to go to prison: there are others who are wicked; but I know my boy will feel for the wicked, as well as unfortunate, for all wicked people are unhappy." "Oh yes, that they are," said Tommy, "for when I am naughty, and will not say my spelling, I feel so unhappy that even you cannot help kissing me, and telling me to be good ;

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but look, we are driving through some large gardens; oh, it is the Blind Boys' house; I will jump out, may I?" "Yes, my dear," answered Mrs. Somerville, "if you will be very good and not touch any thing."-She ordered the carriage to stop, and they alighted.

"Look!" exc.aimed Tommy, as he and his Mamma followed their guide into a large room, where sat a great many girls spinning, “look! how hard they work; cannot they see at all, Mamma ?" "No, my dear; but hush! do not talk, they are going to sing." Tommy was silent, and they sung, in perfect harmony, the following song:

Oh! wond'rous Being, what thou art

Surpasses us to know;

Yet sure we are that known to Thee

Are all thy works below.

Oh, if we must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design,

Then man our souls with firm resolve

To bear, and not repine.

"Oh, Mamma ;" whispered Tommy, as soon as they had finished, "how prettily they sing; I dare say they are very good." "I hope they are, my love, for then, no doubt, they are hap

py." "And may I love them? for you told me I ought to love all good people; and I do love you all," exclaimed Tommy, as he went out of the room, half-pleased, halfthoughtful, to the boys' apartment. Here all was hurry and business; some making mats, others baskets, while the younger boys were employed in the less arduous task of pulling shavings, and preparing them for use: one of the boys did not appear older than Tommy, and soon our hero was by his side, watching him at his work, and at length ventured to ask him if he was quite blind.-The little boy raised his head to Tommy, as if he would fain have seen the face of the person who had spoken, and then replied, "all is darkness to poor Edwin! I never saw any thing, Sir." What," said Tommy, "did you never see the pretty green fields, or the blue sky?" "No, never," said the poor boy; "but I am happy since I came here, for at home I lived on nothing but bread and water, and my bed was of straw; my father and mother were often very angry with me because I was of no use to them, and they could not afford to keep an idle boy about

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them. But one day" continued Edwin, as I was seated on a stone by our door, I heard a carriage stop, and a lady enquired her way to the village of Newton. I said, mother could tell, and I would call her; while waiting, the lady asked me how long I had been blind, and said she would have me taught to work, if I liked it: I replied, indeed I should, for that mother was poor, and could not tell what to do with me. So the lady, after talking with mother, consented to take me with her; and when I was going away, mother kissed me for the first time since I can remember, and I thought she cried too, for her cheek was wet. I was very frightened at first to be alone with a stranger, but she spoke so kindly to me, that I soon forgot every thing, but the delight of learning to make baskets, and thought, when I was able, I would make the good lady one, for having me taught; but I cannot help crying sometimes to think of poor mother and father, for I am their only boy, and if I had not been blind I would have gone to see them again." "Well," said Tommy," while he wiped away a tear of sympa

thy at the relation of poor Edwin's tale," would you like to come to our house, and I will give you some pretty flowers, and Geraldine will play to you, and you shall learn to play on my flute, for Mamma has promised to buy me one. Would you like to come, poor Edwin?" "Thank you, master, you are very kind to a poor blind boy." "Well then," impatiently exclaimed Tommy, "I will go and ask Mamma;" and he ran away to his Mamma, who, with the guide, was standing at the other end of the room, examining the various works of the elder boys. "Mamma, dear Mamma! come and see poor Edwin; he has been telling me how unhappy he once was: and says, he will come and visit us."-" Stay, my dear," retorted Mrs. Somerville, do not be impatient; you know not, whether he will be allowed to go out." "I can ask the master if he has any ob jection, Ma'am," interrupted the guide, "though I dare say, if you are so good as to take the trouble to have him, he will be allowed to go out sometimes, for he is a very good little boy, and seldom visits any where as the others do."

Mrs, Somerville was much interested in the