Rachel.—Why, Laura, how you blush! Do you think you deserve such a reproof?
Laura.—I do, I do. Here, this Sunday morning, I have been thinking more of my new summer silk than of any thing else. Like that screeching peacock, I have been vain of my fine feathers. Yes, let us hurry on to church. One sermon I have had already. It was all given in a look.
Rachel.—You are quick to take a hint, I see.
Laura.—I hope I may be as quick to profit by it. "Pride shall have a fall," says the proverb; and my pride has fallen.
Rachel.—I shall not try to help it up, my dear.
Anna Livingston.
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.
One summer afternoon, when grandmother was sitting in her old arm-chair, just outside of the door, little Jane looked fondly up in her face, and said,—