it happened on one of those delightful summer afternoons, when the heat of the day was tempered with the gently-wafting zephyrs, that madam heathcote was entertaining a large company at tea in her arbour in the garden. no situation could be more delightful. the arbour looked full in front of a fine river, on which some were busily employed in fishing, or pursuing their different occupations, while others were skimming on its surface for amusement. all round the arbour the luxuriant grapes hung in clusters, and the woodbine and jessamine stole up between them. a situation like this will naturally incline the mind to be thoughtful, and the whole company, by imperceptible degrees, began to draw moral reflections. they remarked, how different were the objects of our pursuits, how unsteady and fickle are all human affairs, and what empty baubles frequently attract our most serious attention. after some time being spent in a kind of desultory conversation, the principal speakers began to arrange their ideas under distinct heads, and of this class the first who spoke was