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 point by hard words and cramped unintelligible terms and phrases, when the meaning was so clear to them. As to the doctrine of the Trinity—even Fanny, the least gifted, as to acuteness of intellect—even she could believe all and adore; for a tree, the sun, moon and stars, a living, moving being, and, above all, that perpetual spring of love which she felt within her towards the Almighty, towards her family, and towards her husband—all this was quite as incomprehensible to her as what her religion enjoined on her to believe. So that Fanny never speculated even on this subject.

Mr. Bangs felt nothing of all this; and his Sunday walk was to the shipyards or arsenal; and his Sunday talk, scanty enough, was of laying that that are ship would outsail the other; and that that are cannon would do for the English. He never would walk with his daughters, because they were not boys; and he always wound up by saying, "Time enough to walk out with you when Fanny gives me a grandson; there will be some sense in my going then."

But Mr. Bangs was doomed to disappointment; for the little boy did not come; nor was there any sister to put his nose out of joint; yet Mr. Floss did not grieve, for Fanny was pet enough for him. When he was tired out with business, and did not want to take up a book, she would talk over her thoughts and feelings. Heavens! what a gush of tenderness and pathos it was; and how the young man's soul melted away in him as she talked—and yet, what could it be about?

You will ask, perhaps, if Fanny ever read. Not much. When a child, and learning to read, she had little story-books of good and naughty boys and girls, which she read over and over again—wept over often—but sensible Mrs. Bangs saw no use in all this, and she therefore seldom opened her polish-