all occasions; from the receiving him at his
own door, on the evening of arrival, to the
defending him in every trifle in which he
vexed her orderly father. When Mr. Carey
complained of his being found at breakfast
unshaven, and wondered how he would like
to see Joanna come down with her hair in
papers, Charlotte contended that these things
mattered less in a gentleman than a lady;
and that it was from a meditative turn that
he forgot to shave, even as Newton forgot to
dine. If he fell over all his new furniture in
turn, she declared it was because the affection
of his friends had overcrowded his cottage
with memorials of their love. If he was met
half–way to the town without his hat, she
looked with reverence in his face for a
foretaste of his next Sunday's sermon. When it
came out that Joanna had paid all the post-
boys and bills on the journey; that Joanna
had to go with him to the tailor's, when he
was to be measured for a new coat; that
Joanna had to carve, because he did not
know the wing of a fowl from the leg——
But we will not dwell further on the foibles
of a good man whose virtues were as
uncommon in their degree, as his weaknesses, it
may be hoped, in kind.

Full as the cottage was of pretty things, it
was destined to be yet fuller in another year.
Never was there a prettier little wardrobe of
tiny caps and robes, and the like, than room
must be found for, the next autumn, in
preparation for that prettiest of all things—a
baby. Half the ladies in the congregation
brought their offerings of delicate work, in
cambric and lace, and the softest of flannel,
and most fantastical of pincushions and
baskets. It was a delightful season to the
whole family; and Joanna was so well and
bright! And when the great day was over,
there were such rallyings of Mr. and Mrs.
Carey, on their being so early a grand-papa
and grand-mamma; and it was so droll to see
Mr. Ellison, who seemed never to have seen a
baby, but in baptising the little creatures,
whom he had always hitherto regarded as
young Christians, and never as little infants!
Mr. Carey was rather ashamed of the extent
of his ignorance, shown on the first sight of
his child in its sleep, by its mother's side.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "a baby!" in as
much surprise as if it had been the last thing
he expected to see.

"Yes; there is your baby. How do you
like her?"

He gazed in silence, and at length said—
"But can she walk?"

"My dear Ellison! At a day old!"

"But can she talk?"

"All in good time. You will have enough
of that by-and-by."

"Dear, dear! Ha!" said he, again and
again, till he was sent off to dinner, at a
friend's house.

He dined at some friend's house every day.
On the fourth day it was at a distance of
three miles. Mrs. Carey had gone home, in
the twilight of a November day. As soon as
she was gone, the nurse stepped out, very
improperly, for something that she wanted,
the child being asleep beside Joanna. She
desired the servant girl to carry up her
mistress's gruel in a quarter-of-an-hour, if she
was not back. The girl did so; and
approached the bed, with the basin in one hand
and a candle in the other. She poked the
candle directly against the dimity curtains,
and set the bed on fire. It was a large bed,
in a small crowded room, close to two walls,
and near the window-curtain. The flame
caught the tester instantly, and then the
corner of the pillow, and the edge of the
sheet. Before that, the girl had thrown down
the basin of hot gruel on the baby, rushed to
the window, thrown up the sash, and screamed;
and she next rushed out at the door, leaving
it wide open, and then at the house-door,
leaving that wide open too. The air streamed
up the staircase, and the bed was on fire all
round.

Poor Joanna crept off the bed, and took the
child in one arm, whilst with the other she
tried to pull off a blanket. She was found
weakly tugging at it. He who so found her
was a sailor, who had seen the light from the
road, and run up the stairs.

"I see how it is, Madam," said he, in a
cheerful voice. "Don't be alarmed; you are
very safe. Come in here." And he carried
her into the next room—the little drawing-
room, and laid her, with her baby on her arm,
on the sofa. He summoned a comrade, who
was in the road. They pulled up the drugget
from the floor, doubled it again and again,
laid it over her, and tucked it nicely in, as if
there was no hurry.

"Now, Madam," said he, "where shall we
carry you?" She was carried through damp
and dusk to her father's house. Her mother
was not there. Such news spreads, nobody
knows how. Her mother was then in the
streets, without her bonnet, imploring everybody
she met to save her child. She presently
encountered one of the sailors, returning to
the fire. He assured her the lady and child
were safe, and sent her home. Mr. Carey
was almost as much beside himself. His first
idea was, that it was Mr. Ellison who had, by
some awkwardness, set his house on fire; and
he said so, very publicly; and very sorry he
was for it afterwards.

Mr. Ellison was called from the dinner-
table, and told he was wanted at home. He
strode along, in a bewildered state, till he saw
the flames from a distance. As he stood
before the cottage, which was now one blaze,
nobody could tell him where his wife was.
He was trying to break from many hands,
and enter the house, when some one at last
came up with the news of the safety of his
wife and babe. As for the servant, it was
some days before she was heard of; and there
were serious apprehensions about her, when