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 had nestled amid its branches; yet in all the changes time had brought, no woodman's axe had been permitted to invade the luxuriant growth which often interfered with their own convenience.

At length Walter left his father's embrace and, resumed his task, but not until he had reminded Rosa of the burden she might possibly be if she kept her present position much longer. "I am afraid father is tired," said he, in a low voice.

"Oh I never thought of being heavy, I will get down a few minutes, but shall come back again, for I want you to sing to me yet father, as you did when I was a little girl, and mother must play on the piano."

"No, no, sit still, you are not very heavy."

"Then I will get a cricket which will make me a little lighter."

"Sit still Rosa, I'll get you a cricket; it seems to me you are calculating on a pretty long evening. It is already nine o'clock."

"We have talked enough for the present, only there's one thing I'd like to know. Speaking of Shakespeare, do you think there is anything of an immoral tendency in his plays, father?"

"No. He gave a faithful representation of his times, exposing their glaring inconsistencies under the fascinating guise of his own inventive genius. In general the highest order of plays acted at a theatre are his. Their historic character invests them with a deep interest, and impresses the mind so strongly with the pernicious consequences of the low estimate set upon morals, that we instinct-