every window, there too, had a rosebush, full of roses, in it. And that lemon tree belonging to Mrs. Green—did I tell you, Hannah, that I bought you that fine, large lemon tree? Poor Mrs. Green hated to part with it; but it was too large for her room. It has ten large, ripe lemons on it; and ever so many blossoms."
For fear of a mistake, Hannah feigned a little more of deafness than belonged to her; but to have her hopes destroyed by misapprehension was painful; for, of all things, she coveted a lemon tree, she so loved the smell of its delicate white blossoms.
Fanny repeated it loud enough to bring conviction to poor Hannah; and in a few moments the ten lemons were appropriated to more uses than one hundred could satisfy. Custard! oh, how much superior was a boiled custard, with the gratings of a fresh lemon; and many a glass of jelly did she fancy herself making with the sprightly well ripened juice; so much sprighther, and having so much more of a perfume with it, than the stale, unripe lemons of the shop—oh, how Hannah French, at that moment, despised the shop lemons. And then to surprise Mr. Floss with the half of a fine, well rolled, plump, ripe lemon on Sunday, to eat with his fish or cutlet—on Sunday, when none could be bought—and Hannah laughed out in very happiness. The deaf have many pleasant, innocent fancies.
I hope, gentle reader, you do not think that Fanny was an insipid kind of person. Oh, if you could but know how much of beauty and loveliness there is in a nature wherein truth dwells constantly, you would covet to be like my Fanny. Yet, although she never read any thing but the Bible, or some good little pattern book, now and then,—although she only visited the poor and com-
