palace of Holyrood, the public libraries, and the castle, felt not a little fagged; but in returning to our hotel, through George's Street, we were invited to go into the Assembly Rooms, to a sale of ladies work, for the benefit of a society engaged in the education of the highlanders. We followed our friend Miss Hamilton into the rooms, and were happy to see them appropriated to so good a purpose, though considerably surprised on our entrance to be greeted with the sounds of a band of military music, and to meet at the very outset the "whisker'd Pandor and the fierce hussar," with all the apparatus of caps, chains, scarabouch and sword, strolling through the apartments as if on parade. There were a number of elegant works spread out on the different tables, and such a crowd of purchasers, that it was with difficulty we could move from one spot to another. Mamma bought several little articles for the sake of the charity, and to carry home with us as presents to our friends. Among all other things that which she prized the most was a little drawing of Barley Wood, the cottage of Hannah More, in Somersetshire. It was a pretty compliment to this eminent individual, to see so many sketches of her cottage exhibited on this occasion, and few women were ever more deserving of the respect and gratitude which this delicate mode of expressing admiration, so simply conveyed.

"This reminds me," said mamma, "of the old Roman method of rewarding the merits of a citizen, by a wreath of pine or parsley. The sentiment is every thing; the reward is nothing." "Yet it is nevertheless just that kind of reward," said Miss Hamilton, "which nerit may receive without the sacrifice of independence, or the charge of self-interest—it is a sort of homage which, while it confers every thing, yet confers nothing. I question if the victors in the Olympic Games, who gave name to the era of a nation's annals, were more elated than Hannah More would be, should she hear of this sweet and simple tribute to her worth,"

"I have no doubt," said mamma, "that many of her own sex now present will be influenced by this very circumstance, to endeavor to deserve the same simple honors by the same virtuous course of action."

"There is a young friend of mine," continued mamma, as

we walked home, "who has done more to elevate the toy, and trifles which generally cover the tables of ladies' bazaars, than any one I know of, and who has shewn that a Christian, even in the most unpropitious circumstances, still endeavors to make her little light shine in the world, that she may glorify her Father in heaven. Though confined to bed, or to her couch for many years by sickness and disease, my young friend has employed the intervals of pain which have been vouchsafed to her, in contributing her mite to benevolent institutions by the work of her hands; and by a series of little fantaccini, has at once amused and instructed such of the rising generation as have seen or possessed her various productions. The last time I saw her, or rather was in her apartment, for she was too ill to converse with me, a variety of little works were placed upon different tables in the room preparatory to being packed up and sent off to a ladies sale."

On the first table was represented, by a group of figures composed of little wax dolls, an interesting scene from that beautiful tract by the Rev. Charles Tayler, entitled, "A Letter to one who cannot read." The platform represented the village school, the children at play, one little girl saying to her companion, "Can you hop like me?" others playing at leap-frog, others at blind man's buff. The village dame is seated in her chair with spectacles on nose, and an air of considerable importance; she is reading the letter, while Widow Warren close beside her is anxiously listening to its contents; but the young artist, if I may so speak, has drawn her portrait precisely at the moment when touched by the tender expressions of her dear son's affection, she exclaims, "What! does he say that of me! of me, his poor old mother!" The size, costume, attitudes, and expression of the little Marionettes, are exceedingly well designed, and as ably executed as the nature of the materials would admit of.

Another group conveyed a gentle reprimand to those who have the care of children. It represented a scene in a nursery. The principal figure in this group is a very smartly dressed nurse-maid, with a baby in her arms-the rest of the children are at table, and are quarrelling with each other. “Look nurse," says a little girl, "Henry has got my spoon!" Nurse,

too much engaged with her own pet to attend to them, merely says, "Miss Charlotte, if you fight you must be taken down from table; mind the words you say to mamma in your hymn "Let dogs delight to bark and bite," &c.

Another group conveyed the same kind of reproof to mammas. Mamma is there represented as dressed in the height of the fashion, seated on an ottoman, in an elegant drawing-room, and receiving a morning visitor. The visitor is a young man of fashion equipped in all the dandyism of the day. The children are brought into the room by nurse, to see mamma and the stranger. The youngest child, either unaccustomed to pay morning visits to mamma, or fonder of her nurse than of her mother, has turned round and hid its face in nurse's apron. The eldest girl stands as if intimidated and afraid of approach. ing. The lady-mother exclaims, "Dear me, why you look as if afraid to approach me! They are quite wedded to the nursery. Take them away nurse." On which the sensible visitor remarks" I dare say ma'am, your various engagements fully occupy your time.”

Another contained a hint to grandmamma's, not to dote too much on their own likeness. Here grandmamma in suitable costume, &c. is represented with a lovely baby in her arms; there is another dear little child in the room who is annoyed because a great cat has taken possession of his chair, and he intreats grandmamma in vain to redress his grievance. · Grandmamma, however, is too much absorbed in the admiration of her own likeness in the baby, to attend to her other grandsonwho cries out "Gran'mamma, pussey in my chair!-pussey in my chair!"-But the old lady holding up baby in her arms, exclaims in an ecstacy, MY picture! My picture!"

I only remember another, which was the prettiest group of the whole. It was the arrival of a parcel from Aunt Lovechild, containing a beautiful doll for her niece, and a box of ivory letters for the little boys. Mamma is seated by a table with the parcel open before her, and reading a letter which had accompanied it. A neat little girl is standing opposite to her, looking with delight on the doll, but not offering to touch it till mamma is pleased to give it her. Two beautiful little boys' in petticoats are standing on tiptoe on each side the table trying

Mamma,

to get a peep at the doll. They both say at once, Henry want to see."- Mamma, Willy want to see!-want to see!-want to see!"-While mamma sweetly and calmly answers, "Do not touch any thing, my dears, till I have read the letter." The contents of Aunt Lovechild's letter was excellent, but of course you do not expect me to remember it. "On coming out from my visit to this dear invalid,” continued mamma, "I was forcibly reminded of the observations made by a woman of rank and talent on the continent, when speaking of some ladies' needle-work she had seen, which was sold for the benefit of the funds of a missionary society abroad. After enumerating the different articles she had examined, 'There is,' says she, 'to my view, a peculiar charm in these little details that appear almost vulgar, yet to which are attached the interests of eternal life. There is a delight and an infinite beauty of contrast in the thought, that an occupation in itself stripped of all grandeur, holds notwithstanding an indissoluble connection with the most sublime of all causes— the triumph of truth-the regeneration of souls-that work which rejoices the angels in heaven, and in which all the wise and good on earth are fellow-labourers." Though the labours of my young friend do not soar so high as this, yet they go the length of producing a moral impression on the objects for which they are designed; they combine instruction with amusement; and while fitted at first sight only to "please like a rattle, or tickle like a straw," they are calculated to convey both reproof and encouragement. The execution of them enlivened the solitude of a sick chamber; they increased the funds of an infant school; and I hope they served for an advertisement of one of the most striking little tracts which I have lately read.

As mamma concluded this account of dear Fanny Grainger's toys, we arrived at the door of our hotel, and having promised to take a walk in the environs of this city of palaces in the evening, we prevailed on our friend Miss Hamilton and her niece, to come in with us, and partake of our soup and chicken. It was a delightful evening, and notwithstanding the fatigues of the morning, we were ready for another excursion after

tea.

We walked towards the Calton Hill, the most beautiful

The views from it are up with so many histo

promenade in the world, though not so much frequented by the inhabitants as you would expect. splendid and interesting, being mixed rical recollections. There is the Abbey or Palace of Holyrood in the valley, with its grey towers, and ruined chapel, which, touchingly reminded us of a dynasty that has passed away; of scenes of feudal rudeness, and barbaric manners, of strife and wrath, mingled with the song and the mask-revelry and superstition-a persecuted princess, and a murdered king. There is Craigmillar Castle, where Mary, in the days of her liberty, delighted to reside; where she tuned her lute to the vaudevilles of her beloved France, and where, in the moments of elegant leisure, she composed those chansons which her presumptuous favorite set to music. In the distance is the Bass, a rude rock rising from the sea, which recalled the sufferings of those men in later times, who driven by persecution from their homes, and severed from their flocks, endured as seeing Him who is invisible-men of whom the world was not worthy. The Forth lay spread out before us under the splendid light of a setting sun. Beyond it was pointed out the hill of Falkland, where, in the royal palace, Rothsay, eldest son of Robert the III. was starved to death, by order of the Duke of Albany. The Forth is sprinkled with a few inches or islets. On Inch Colm are the ruins of a monastery, the votive offering of one of Scotland's kings, who found shelter there in a storm. On the Calton Hill itself are many buildings, in different styles of architecture, each very beautiful, but strangely mingled together: a monument to the memory of Nelson, resembling a light-house-two or three prisons, or penitentiaries, Saxon or Gothic, in their structure-an observatory, of some Grecian order; and a few columns, unfinished, of a copy of the Parthenon. We saw the church-yard, where Hume, the historian lies buried; his monument awakened painful thoughts. "Ah!" said mamma, on viewing it, "what a poor thing is unsanctified talent! I never think of Hume, your historian, without thinking of Gibbon, our historian, and contrasting the levity of the one, in his conversation on the Dialogues of Lucian, and the answer he proposed to give to Charon, who he fancied waited to ferry him over the Styx, with the burst of nature