S Mr. Harewood was one evening sitting with his wife and children, he told them that he expected soon to receive among them the daughter of a friend, who had lately died in the West Indies.

Mr. Harewood’s family consisted of his wife, two sons, and a daughter: the eldest, named Edmund, was about twelve years of age; Charles, the second, was scarcely ten; and Ellen, the daughter, had just passed her eighth birthday: they were all sensible, affectionate children, but a little different in disposition, the eldest being grave and studious, the second lively and active, and as he was nearer to Ellen’s age, she was often inclined to romp with him, when she should have minded her book; but she was so fond of her mamma, and was educated with such a proper sense of the duty and obedience she owed her, that a word or a look never failed to restrain the exuberance of her spirits.

Children are alike naturally curious and fond of society; the moment, therefore, Mr. Harewood mentioned their expected guest, every one had some question to ask respecting her; but as Ellen’s was uttered with most mildness and modesty, she was first answered; and her brother Charles, taking this hint, listened quietly to the following conversation, not joining in it, till he felt that he had a right to do so, from having practised a forbearance that cost him some effort.

Ellen.—Pray, papa, what is this little girl’s name, and how old is she?

Father.—She is called Matilda Sophia Hanson: her father was a man of good fortune, and she is an only child; I believe, however, his affairs are in an unsettled state, as her mother is under the necessity of remaining some time in the country, in order to settle them. It is at her earnest request that I have been prevailed upon to accept the charge of her daughter. I believe she is about a year younger than you; but as the growth of people in warm countries is more rapid than in this, I expect to see her quite as tall and forward as you, Ellen.

Ellen.—But, dear papa, how will she get here from a place on the other side of the globe? I mean, who will bring her? for I know, of course, that she must come in a ship.

Father.—She will be attended by a negro servant, who has always waited upon her; and who will return after she is safely landed, I suppose.

Ellen.—Poor thing! how she will cry when she leaves her own dear mamma, when she is to cross the wide sea! and then again, when she parts with her good nurse; I dare say she will kiss her very fondly, though she is a black.

Charles.—Oh, she will forget her sorrow when she sees so many things that are quite new to her. I’m afraid she’ll think Ellen, and us boys, very silly, ignorant creatures, compared to her, who has seen so much of the world: upon my word, we must be all upon our good behaviour.

Father.—I hope you will behave well, not merely from conscious inferiority, but because you would be both impolite and unkind, if you omitted any thing in your power that could render a stranger happy, who is so entirely thrown upon our protection—one, too, who has lost a fond father, and is parted from a tender mother.

Edmund.—But, papa, as Miss Hanson is coming to England for education, and is yet very young, surely Charles must be wrong in supposing that she is wiser, or, I ought to say, better informed, than we are, since it is utterly improbable that she should have had the benefit of such instructions as we have enjoyed.

Father.—True, my dear; but yet she will, of course, be acquainted with many things to which you are necessarily entire strangers, although I must remark that Charles’s expression, “she has seen much of the world,” is not proper; for it is only applied to people who have mixed much with society—not to those whose travels have shown them only land and water. However, coming from a distant country, a society very different from ours, and people to whom you are strangers, she cannot fail to possess many ideas and much knowledge which are unknown to you; I therefore hope her residence with us for a time will prove mutually advantageous; but if the advantage should prove to be on your side, I trust you will never abuse it by laughing, or in any way insulting and teazing your visitant; such conduct would ensure most serious displeasure.

Mother.—It would prove them not only very ignorant, and deficient in the education which even savages give their children, but prove that they were devoid of that spirit of courtesy which is recommended in the Scriptures, and which every Christian child will nourish in his heart and display in his manners: the same holy apostle, who inculcated the highest doctrines of his Divine Master, says also—“Be affable, be courteous, bearing one with another.”

The children for a few moments looked very serious, and each appeared to be inwardly making some kind of promise or resolution to themselves respecting the expected stranger: at length, Ellen, looking up, said to her mamma, with great earnestness—“Indeed, mamma, I will love Miss Hanson as much as if she were my sister, if she will permit me to do it.”

“You had better say, Ellen, that you will be as kind to her as if she were your sister; for until we know more of her, it is not possible for us to promise so much; nor is it advisable to give our hearts at first sight, even to those who have yet stronger claims upon our good will and friendly services.”

Mr. Harewood added his approbation of this sentiment, for he knew it was one that could not be repeated too often to young people, who are ever apt to take up either partialities or prejudices too strongly, and whose judgment has ever occasion for the attempering lessons of experience.