or take me away, and I don't know half enough
yet, even to be a nursery governess, and it would
be a dreadful thing."

Again she took breath.

"You see," she resumed, "I try to learn as
much as ever I can, and they do certainly teach
you a lot of things here, and Madame is awfully
clever. They say that she was a nun, years ago,
and broke her vows at the Revolution. But I
am always getting into scrapes. I can't help it.
I'm merry, and it won't do to be merry here.
If you want to get on, you must be grievous. I
can't be grievous, and I'm continually in trouble.
If it wasn't that I was wanted just now to take
care of you, I ought to be in solitary confinement
on bread-and-water for two days, for having got a
hundred bad marks in the course of two years.
Those I got for pulling your dress just made up
my hundred. I'm always in arrear with half a
dozen tasks, always in disgrace. I'm too big to
be put en pénitence with the fool's cap on; but
I'm had up almost every day to Madame's cabinet
to be scolded out of my wits. I tell you, my dear,
Madame's tongue hurts much worse than a ruler
over your knuckles. Oh! I'm a most unhappy
Marygold!",

And so she went rambling on, only too
delighted to find a listener who could understand
the gist of her complaints.

"And you, dear," she suddenly said, "who
sent you here? Your papa?"

"I don't know anything about my papa,"
returned poor Lily. "They could never tell me
anything about him at Mrs. Bunnycastle's. I
think he must be dead, and in Heaven. I am
Quite Alone."

So she was, God help her.

"And your mamma? You must have a mamma,
you know, or, perhaps you are an orphan. There
are four girls here who are orphans."

"I'm sure I don't know," little Lily responded,
shaking her head dubiously. "The lady who
brought me here said she was my mamma, but
she was unkind to me, and frightened me. You
oughtn't to be frightened of your mamma."

"Oh, I don't know that," interrupted the
Marygold. "I used to be, dreadfully."

"Was she unkind, then?"

"No!" returned the girl, compressing her
lips as though she had a great deal to say that
was disagreeable, but was wishful to reveal only
so much as was absolutely necessary. "She was
worse than unkind. She drank, and was the
ruin of poor pa. Don't talk any more about her.
She's dead, and pa forgave her, as he, poor dear,
hopes to be forgiven. Not that my pa's done
anything to be forgiven for. He's the best of
men. But we're all sinners, you know, dear.
And now—oh good gracious me! you mustn't talk
any more, for I've got two pages of the Morale
en Action about that stupid old Monsieur de
Montesquieu and the Marseilles boatman—it's
a horrible book, and I don't believe a word of it
—to learn by heart before bedtime. Taking care
of you isn't to save me altogether, you see."

She turned to a much dog's-eared edition of the
interesting work she had mentioned; but her
assiduity in study very soon came to an end.

"No papa! No mamma that you're certain
about!" she repeated, with a perplexed look.
"Why, my poor dear little innocent darling you
must be quite alone in the world."

"Indeed I am," said poor Lily. She did not
sigh. Children seldom sigh. Suspiration is an
accomplishment to be learnt, like curtseying
But her voice trembled as she spoke.

"Never mind, dear," the Marygold continued,
pressing the child's hand. "We must make the
best of it. You must belong to somebody, to
have been sent here at all. Do you know whether
you are to be brought up as a governess?"

No; Lily had not the slightest idea on that
topic. As yet, she had not fathomed the
possibility of anybody being "brought up" to the
profession of tuition. She had a dim notion that
governesses grew, or came at once to maturity,
with black silk dresses and sour looks.

"It seems to me," remarked the Marygold,
"that there are a great deal too many governesses
in the world. I forget how many hundreds of
millions of people the geography says there are on the
earth; but, as far as I have seen, all the old girls
seem to be governesses, and all the young girls
are being brought up to be governesses. Madame
turns 'em out here by the dozen, like cakes.
Where the children are to come from that we are
all to teach, I'm sure I don't know."

Not much progress was made in the study of
M. de Montesquieu's transactions with the
Marseilles boatman. The girl went prattling on to
the child, and telling her she must call her
Polly, and that she, Polly, would call her Lily,
and that they would be as happy as the arrangements
of the establishment and the severity of
Madame would permit. And then it grew dusk,
and at about nine o'clock, when forty girls came
trooping silently to bed in Dormitory Number
Three, Lily fell off into sound and refreshing
slumber.

OUR BREEDS AND RACES.

FOR years, we might almost say for centuries,
the world has come to England for horses, just
as it goes to France for fashions, to China for
teas, or to Spain for sherries. The connexion,
indeed, has been gradually increasing upon us,
until we are fain to confess that we can hold
it no longer. The country is on the verge of
a national bankruptcy in the item of horse-
flesh. Either we have oversold ourselves, or,
flushed with success, have become culpably
careless of the 'proper conduct of the business.
We have so neglected this that we have not
even sufficient stock for our own wants, much
less to meet the requirements of other nations,
which will probably soon set up in opposition
against us; very manifest, as it is, that some of
them are cultivating the pursuit with earnestnes
and attention. Still, it cannot be said that