'It is, dear madam,' answered the princess, 'because I have not yet had it in my power to convince you of my repentance, which (though I know it to be sincere) you have had no proof of, but in words only; and, indeed, my heart longs for an occasion to show you, that I am now able to resist any allurement which would tempt me from my duty; and I cannot be easy till you have given me an opportunity of showing you the firmness of my resolution; and if you will give me leave to take a walk in the wood alone, this evening, I shall return to you with pleasure, and will promise not to exceed any bounds that you shall prescribe.'

The queen was not much pleased with this request; but the princess was so earnest with her to grant it, that she could not well refuse, without seeming to suspect her sincerity; which she did not, but only feared for her safety, and, giving her a strict charge, not to stir a step out of the wood, or to speak to the false Rozella, if she came in her way, she reluctantly gave her consent.

The princess walked through all the flowery labyrinths, in which she had so often strayed with Rozella; but she was so shocked with the thoughts of her wickedness, that she hardly gave a sigh for the loss of a companion once so dear to her; and as a proof that her repentance was sincere, though she heard Rozella singing in an arbour (purposely perhaps to decoy her) she turned away without the least emotion, and went quite to the other side of the wood; where looking into the meadow, in which she first beheld that false friend, she saw a girl about her own age, leaning against a tree, and crying most bitterly. But the moment she came in sight, the young shepherdess (for such by her dress she appeared to be) cried out, 'O help, dear young lady, help me; for I am tied here to this tree, by the spiteful contrivance of a wicked young shepherdess called Rozella: my hands too, you see, are bound behind me, so that I cannot myself unloose the knot; and if I am not released, here must I lie all night and my wretched parents will break their hearts, for fear some sad accident should have befallen their only child, their poor unhappy Florimel!'

The Princess, hearing her speak of Rozella in that manner, had no suspicion of her being one of that false girl's deluding companions; but rather thought that she was a fellow-sufferer with herself; and therefore, without any consideration of the bounds prescribed, she hastened to relieve her, and even thought that she should have great pleasure in telling her mother, that she had saved a poor young shepherdess from Rozella's malice, and restored her to her fond parents. But as soon as she had unloosed the girl from the tree, and unbound her hands, instead of receiving thanks for what she had done, the wicked Florimel burst into a laugh, and suddenly snatching from the Princess Hebe's side her father's picture, which she always wore hanging in a ribbon, she ran away with it, as fast as she could, over the meadow.

The Princess was so astonished at this strange piece of ingratitude and treachery, and was so alarmed for fear of losing what she knew her mother so highly valued, that hardly knowing what she was about, she pursued Florimel with all her speed, begging and entreating her not to bereave her so basely and ungratefully of that picture, which she would not part with for the world: but it was all to no purpose for Florimel continued her flight, and the princess her pursuit, till they arrived at Brunetta's castle-gate; where the fairy herself appeared dressed and adorned in the most becoming manner, and, with the most bewitching smile that can come from dazzling beauty, invited the princess to enter her castle (into which Florimel was run to hide herself) and promised her, on that condition, to make the idle girl restore the picture.

It was now so late, that it was impossible for the princess to think of returning home that night; and the pleasing address of Brunetta, together with the hopes of having her picture restored, soon prevailed with her to accept of the fairy's invitation.

The castle glittered with gaudy furniture; sweet music was heard in every room; the whole company, who were all of the most beautiful forms that could be conceived, strove who should be most obliging to this their new guest. They omitted nothing that could amuse and delight the senses. And the Princess Hebe was so entranced with joy and rapture, that she had not time for thought, or for the least serious reflection; and she now began to think, that she had attained the highest happiness upon earth.

After they had kept her three days in this round of pleasure and delight, they began to pull of the mask; nothing was heard but quarrels, jars, and galling speeches. Instead of sweet music, the apartments were filled with screams and howling; for every one giving way to the most outrageous passions, they were always doing each other some malicious turn, and only universal horror and confusion reigned.

The princess was hated by all, and was often asked, with insulting sneers, why she did not return to her peaceful grove, and condescending mother? But her mind having been thus turned aside from what was right, could not bear the thoughts of returning; and though by her daily tears, she showed her repentance, shame prevented her return: but this again was not the right sort of shame; for then she would humbly have taken the punishment due to her crime; and it was rather a stubborn pride, which, as she knew herself so highly to blame, would not give her leave to suffer the confusion of again confessing her fault; and till she could bring herself to such a state of mind, there was no remedy for her misery.

Just as Miss Jenny had read these words, Mrs. Teachum remembering some orders necessary to give in her family, left them, but bid them go on, saying she would return again in a quarter of an hour. But she was no sooner gone from them, than our little company, hearing the sound of trumpets and kettle-drums, which seemed to be playing at some little distance from Mrs. Teachum's house, suddenly started from their seats, running directly to the terrace; and, looking over the garden wall, they saw a troop of soldiers riding by, with these instruments of music playing before them.

They were highly delighted with the gallant and splendid appearance of these soldiers, and watched them till they were out of sight, and were then returning to their arbour, where Miss Jenny had been reading; but Miss Nanny Spruce espied another such troop coming out of the lane from whence the first had issued, and cried out, 'O! here is another fine sight; let us stay, and see these go by too.' 'Indeed (said Miss Dolly Friendly) I am in such pain for the poor princess Hebe, while she is in that sad castle, that I had rather hear how she escaped (for that I hope she will) than see all the soldiers in the world; and besides, it is but seeing the same thing we have just looked at before.' Here some were for staying, and others for going back; but as Miss Dolly's party was the strongest, the few were ashamed to avow their inclinations; and they were returning to the arbour, when they met Mrs. Teachum, who informed them their dancing master was just arrived, and they must attend him; but in the evening they might finish their story.

They were so curious (and especially Miss Dolly Friendly) to know what was to become of the princess, that they could have wished not to have been interrupted; but yet, without one word of answer, they complied with what their governess thought most proper; and in the evening, hastening to their arbour, Mrs. Teachum herself being present, Miss Jenny went on in the following manner:



THE FAIRY TALE CONTINUED.

The queen, in the meantime, suffered for the loss of her child more than words can express, till the good fairy Sybella returned. The queen burst into tears at the sight of her; but the fairy immediately cried out, 'You may spare yourself, my royal guest, the pain of relating what has happened. I know it all; for that old man, whom I took such pity on, was a phantom, raised by Brunetta, to allure me hence, in order to have an opportunity, in my absence, of seducing the princess from her duty. She knew nothing but a probable story could impose on me, and therefore raised that story of the misery of the old man's son (from motives which too often, indeed, cause the misery of mortals); as knowing I should think it my duty to do what I could to relieve such a wretch. I will not tell you all my journey, nor what I have gone through. I know your mind is at present too much fixed on the princess, to attend to such a relation I'll only tell you what concerns yourself. When the phantom found, that by no distress he could perturb my mind, he said he was obliged to tell the truth, what was the intention of my being deluded from home, and what had happened since; and then vanished away.' Here the fairy related to the queen everything that had happened to the princess, as has already been written; and concluded with saying, that she would wander about the castle walls (for Brunetta had no power over her); and if she could get a sight of the princess, she would endeavour to bring her to a true sense of her fault, and then she might again be restored to happiness.

The queen blessed the fairy for her goodness; and it was not long before Sybella's continual assiduity got her a sight of the princess; for she often wandered a little way towards that wood she had once so much delighted in, but never could bring herself to enter into it: the thought of seeing her injured mother made her start back, and run half wild into the fatal castle. Rozella used frequently to throw herself in her way; and on hearing her sighs, and seeing her tears, would burst into a sneering laugh at her folly; to avoid which laugh, the poor princess first suffered herself to throw off all her principles of goodness and obedience, and was now fallen into the very contempt she so much dreaded.

The first time the fairy got a sight of her, she called to her with the most friendly voice; but the princess, stung to the soul with the sight of her, fled away, and did not venture out again in several days. The kind Sybella began almost to despair of regaining her lost child; but never failed walking round the castle many hours every day. And one evening, just before the sun set, she heard within the gates a loud tumultuous noise, but more like riotous mirth, than either the voice either of rage or anger; and immediately she saw the princess rush out at the gate, and about a dozen girls, laughing and shouting, running after her. The poor princess flew with all her speed till she came to a little arbour, just by the side of the wood; and her pursuers, as they intended only to tease her, did not follow her very close; but, as soon as they lost sight of her, turned all back again to the castle.

Sybella went directly into the arbour, where she found the little trembler prostrate on the ground, crying and sobbing as if her heart was breaking. The fairy seized her hand, and would not let her go till she had prevailed with her to return to the Placid Grove, to throw herself once more at her mother's feet, assuring her, that nothing but this humble state of mind could cure her misery and restore her wonted peace.

The queen was filled with the highest joy to see her child; but restrained herself so much, that she showed not the least sign of it, till she had seen her some time prostrate at her feet, and had heard her with tears properly confess, and ask pardon for, all her faults. She then raised, and once more forgave her; but told her that she must learn more humility and distrust of herself, before she should again expect to be trusted.

The princess answered not, but with a modest downcast look which expressed her concern and true repentance, and in a short time recovered her former peace of mind; and as she never afterwards disobeyed her indulgent mother, she daily increased in wisdom and goodness.

After having lived on in the most innocent and peaceful manner for three years (the princess being just turned of eighteen years old) the fairy told the queen that she would now tell her some news of her kingdom, which she had heard in her journey; namely, that her sister-in-law was dead, and her brother-in-law had made proclamation throughout the kingdom, of great rewards to any one who should produce the queen and the Princess Hebe, whom he would immediately reinstate on the throne.

The Princess Hebe was by when she related this, and said she begged to lead a private life, and never more be exposed to the temptation of entering into vice, for which she already had so severely smarted.

The fairy told her, that, since she doubted herself, she was now fit to be trusted; for, said she, 'I did not like your being so sure of resisting temptation, when first I conferred on you the gift of wisdom. But you will, my princess, if you take the crown, have an opportunity of doing so much good, that, if you continue virtuous, you will have perpetual pleasures; for power, if made a right use of, is indeed a very great blessing.'

The princess answered, that if the queen, her mother, thought it her duty to take the crown, she would cheerfully submit, though a private life would be otherwise her choice.

The queen replied, that she did not blame her for choosing a private life; but she thought she could not innocently refuse the power that would give her such opportunities of doing good, and making others happy; since, by that refusal, the power might fall into hands that would make an ill use of it.

After this conversation, they got into the same car in which they travelled to the wood of Ardella; arrived safely at the city of Algorada; and the Princess Hebe was seated, with universal consent, on her father's throne; where she and her people were reciprocally happy, by her great wisdom and prudence; and the queen-mother spent the remainder of her days in peace and joy, to see her beloved daughter prove a blessing to such numbers of human creatures; whilst she herself enjoyed that only true content and happiness this world can produce; namely, a peaceful conscience, and a quiet mind.

When Miss Jenny had finished her story, Mrs. Teachum left them for the present, that they might with the utmost freedom make their own observations; for she knew she should be acquainted with all their sentiments from Miss Jenny afterwards.

The little hearts of all the company were swelled with joy, in that the Princess Hebe was at last made happy; for hope and fear had each by turns possessed their bosoms for the fate of the little princess; and Miss Dolly Friendly said, that Rozella's artful manner was enough to have drawn in the wisest girl into her snares; and she did not see how it was possible for the Princess Hebe to withstand it, especially when she cried for fear of parting with her.

Miss Sukey Jennett said, that Rozella's laughing at her, and using her with contempt, she thought was insupportable, for who could bear the contempt of a friend?

Many and various were the remarks made by Miss Jenny's hearers on the story she had read to them. But now they were so confirmed in goodness, and every one was so settled in her affection for her companions, that, instead of being angry at any opposition that was made to their judgments, every one spoke her opinion with the utmost mildness.

Miss Jenny sat some time silent to hear their conversation on her fairy tale. But her seeing them so much altered in their manner of talking to each other, since the time they made their little remarks on her story of the giants, filled her whole mind with the most sincere pleasure; and with a smile peculiar to herself, and which diffused a cheerfulness to all around her, she told her companions the joy their present behaviour had inspired her with; but saying that it was as late as their governess chose they should stay out, she rose, and walked towards the house, whither she was cheerfully followed by the whole company.

Mrs. Teachum after supper, again, in a familiar manner, talked to them on the subject of the fairy tale, and encouraged them, as much as possible, to answer her freely in whatever she asked them; and at last said, 'My good children, I am very much pleased when you are innocently amused; and yet I would have you consider seriously enough of what you read, to draw such morals from your books, as may influence your future practice; and as to fairy tales in general, remember, that the fairies, as I told Miss Jenny before of giants and magic, are only introduced by the writers of those tales, by way of amusement to the reader. For if the story is well written, the common course of things would produce the same incidents, without the help of fairies.

'As for example, in this of the Princess Hebe, you see the queen her mother was not admitted to know the fairy's history, till she could calm her mind enough to hearken to reason; which only means, that whilst we give way to the raging of our passions, nothing useful can ever sink into our minds. For by the fairy Sybella's story you find, that by our own faults we may turn the greatest advantages into our own misery, as Sybella's mother did her beauty, by making use of the influence it gave her over her husband, to tease him into the ruin of his child; and as also Brunetta did, by depending on her father's gift, to enable her to complete her desires, and therefore never endeavouring to conquer them.

'You may observe also on the other side, that no accident had any power to hurt Sybella, because she followed the paths of virtue, and kept her mind free from restless passions.

'You see happiness in the good Sybella's peaceful grove, and misery in the wicked Brunetta's gaudy castle. The queen desiring the fairy to endow her child with true wisdom, was the cause that the Princess Hebe had it in her power to be happy. But take notice, that when she swerved from her duty, all her knowledge was of no use, but only rendered her more miserable, by letting her see her own folly in the stronger light. Rozella first tempted the princess to disobedience, by moving her tenderness, and alarming her friendship, in fearing to part with her; and then by persuading her to set up her own wisdom, in opposition to her mother's commands, rather than be laughed at, and despised by her friends. You are therefore to observe, that if you would steadily persevere in virtue, you must have resolution enough to stand the sneers of those who would allure you to vice; for it is the constant practice of the vicious, to endeavour to allure others to follow their example, by an affected contempt and ridicule of virtue.

'By the Princess Hebe's being drawn at last beyond the prescribed bounds, by the cries and entreaties of that insidious girl, you are to learn, that whatever appearance of virtue any action may be attended with, yet if it makes you go contrary to the commands of those who know better what is for your good, than you do your selves, and who can see farther into the consequences of actions than can your tender years, it will certainly lead you into error and misfortune; and you find, as soon as the princess had once overleaped the bounds, another plausible excuse arose to carry her on; and by a false fear of incurring her mother's displeasure, she really deserved that displeasure, and was soon reduced into the power of her enemy.

'The princess, you see, could have no happiness till she returned again to her obedience, and had confessed her fault. And though in this story all this is brought about by fairies, yet the moral of it is, that whenever we give way to our passions, and act contrary to our duty, we must be miserable.

'But let me once more observe to you, that these fairies are only intended to amuse you; for remember that the misery which attended the Princess Hebe, on her disobedience, was the natural consequence of that disobedience, as well as the natural consequence of her amendment and return to her duty, was content and happiness for the rest of her life.'

Here good Mrs. Teachum ceased, and Miss Jenny, in the name of the company, thanked her for her kind instructions, and promised that they would endeavour, to the utmost of their power, to imprint them on their memory for the rest of their lives.



SUNDAY. THE SEVENTH DAY.

This morning our little society rose very early, and were all dressed with neatness and elegance, in order to go to church. Mrs. Teachum put Miss Polly Suckling before her, and the rest followed, two and two, with perfect regularity.

Mrs. Teachum expressed great approbation, that her scholars, at this solemn place, showed no sort of childishness, notwithstanding their tender age; but behaved with decency and devotion suitable to the occasion.

They went again in the same order, and behaved again in the same manner, in the afternoon; and when they returned from church, two young ladies, Lady Caroline and Lady Fanny Delun, who had formerly known Miss Jenny Peace, and who were at present in that neighbourhood with their uncle, came to make her a visit.

Lady Caroline was fourteen years of age, tall and genteel in her person, of a fair complexion, and a regular set of features so that, upon the whole, she was generally complimented with being very handsome.

Lady Fanny, who was one year younger than her sister, was rather little of her age, of a brown complexion, her features irregular; and, in short, she had not the least real pretensions to beauty.

It was but lately that their father was, by the death of his eldest brother, become Earl of Delun; so that their titles were new, and they had not been long used to your ladyship.

Miss Jenny Peace received them as her old acquaintance: however, she paid them the deference due to their quality, and, at the same time, took care not to behave as if she imagined they thought of anything else.

As it was her chief delight to communicate her pleasures to others, she introduced her new-made friends to her old acquaintance, and expected to have spent a very agreeable afternoon. But to describe the behaviour of these two young ladies is very difficult. Lady Caroline, who was dressed in a pink robe, embroidered thick with gold, and adorned with very fine jewels, and the finest Mechlin lace, addressed most of her discourse to her sister, that she might have the pleasure every minute of uttering 'Your ladyship,' in order to show what she herself expected. And as she spoke, her fingers were in perpetual motion, either adjusting her tucker, placing her plaits of her robe, or fiddling with a diamond cross, that hung down on her bosom, her eyes accompanying her fingers as they moved, and then suddenly being snatched off, that she might not be observed to think of her own dress; yet was it plain, that her thoughts were employed on only that and her titles. Miss Jenny Peace, although she would have made it her choice always to have been in company who did not deserve ridicule, yet had she humour enough to treat affectation as it deserved. And she addressed herself to Lady Caroline with so many ladyships, and such praises of her fine clothes, as she hoped would have made her ashamed; but Lady Caroline was too full of her own vanity, to see her design, and only exposed herself ten times the more, till she really got the better of Miss Jenny, who blushed for her, since she was incapable of blushing for herself.

Lady Fanny's dress was plain and neat only, nor did she mention anything about it; and it was very visible her thoughts were otherwise employed, neither did she seem to take any delight in the words 'Your ladyship': but she tossed and threw her person about into so many ridiculous postures, and as there happened unfortunately to be no looking-glass in the room where they sat, she turned and rolled her eyes so many different ways, in endeavouring to view as much of herself as possible, that it was very plain to the whole company she thought herself a beauty, and admired herself for being so.

Our little society, whose hearts were so open to each other, that they had not a thought they endeavoured to conceal, were so filled with contempt at Lady Caroline and Lady Fanny's behaviour, and yet so strictly obliged, by good manners, not to show that contempt, that the reserve they were forced to put on, laid them under so great a restraint, that they knew not which way to turn themselves, or how to utter one word; and great was their joy when Lady Caroline, as the eldest, led the way, and with a swimming curtsey, her head turned half round on one shoulder, and a disdainful eye, took her leave, repeating two or three times the word 'misses,' to put them in mind, that she was a lady. She was followed by her sister Lady Fanny, who made a slow distinct curtsey to every one in the room, that she might be the longer under observation. And then taking Miss Jenny by the hand, said, 'Indeed, Miss, you are very pretty,' in order to put them in mind of her own beauty.

Our little society, as soon as they were released, retired to their arbour, where, for some time, they could talk of nothing but this visit. Miss Jenny Peace remarked how many shapes vanity would turn itself into, and desired them to observe, how ridiculously Lady Caroline Delun turned her whole thoughts on her dress, and condition of life; and how absurd it was in Lady Fanny, who was a very plain girl, to set up for a beauty, and to behave in a manner which would render her contemptible, even if she had that beauty her own vanity made her imagine herself possessed of.

Miss Nanny Spruce said, 'She was greatly rejoiced that she had seen her folly; for she could very well remember when she had the same vanity of dress and superiority of station with Lady Caroline, though she had not, indeed, a title to support it; and in what manner, she said, she would tell them in the story of her life.



THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS NANNY SPRUCE.

Miss Nanny Spruce was just nine years old, and was the very reverse of Patty Lockit, in all things; for she had little limbs, little features, and such a compactness in her form, that she was often called the little fairy. She had the misfortune to be lame in one of her hips; but by good management, and a briskness and alacrity in carrying herself, it was a very small blemish to her, and looked more like an idle childish gait, than any real defect.



THE LIFE OF MISS NANNY SPRUCE.

'My delight,' said Miss Nanny Spruce, 'ever since I can remember, has been in dress and finery; for whenever I did as I was bid, I was promised fine coats, ribbons, and laced caps; and when I was stubborn and naughty, then my fine things were all to be locked up, and I was to wear only an old stuff coat; so that I thought the only reward I could have was to be dressed fine and the only punishment was to be plainly dressed. By this means I delighted so much in fine clothes, that I never thought of anything but when I should have something new to adorn myself in; and I have sat whole days considering what should be my next new coat; for I had always my choice given me of the colour.

'We lived in a country parish, my papa being the only gentleman, so that all the little girls in the parish used to take it as a great honour to play with me. And I used to delight to show them my fine things, and to see that they could not come at any but very plain coats. However, as they did not pretend to have anything equal with me, I was kind enough to them. As to those girls whose parents were so very poor that they went in rags, I did not suffer them to come near me.

'Whilst I was at home, I spent my time very pleasantly, as no one pretended to be my equal; but as soon as I came to school, where other misses were as fine as myself, and some finer, I grew very miserable. Every new coat, every silver ribbon, that any of my schoolfellows wore, made me unhappy. Your scarlet damask, Miss Betty Ford, cost me a week's pain; and I lay awake, and sighed and wept all night, because I did not dare to spoil it. I had several plots in my head, to have dirtied it, or cut it, so as to have made it unfit to wear; by some accident my plots were prevented; and then I was so uneasy, I could not tell what to do with myself; and so afraid, lest any body should suspect me of such a thing, that I could not sleep in peace, for fear I should dream of it, and in my sleep discover it to my bedfellow. I would not go through the same dreads and terrors again for the world. But I am very happy now, in having no thoughts but what my companions may know; for since that quarrel, and Miss Jenny Peace was so good as to show me what I'm sure I never thought of before, that is, that the road to happiness is by conquering such foolish vanities, and the only way to be pleased is to endeavour to please others, I have never known what it was to be uneasy.'

As soon as Miss Nanny had finished speaking, Miss Betty Ford said, that she heartily forgave her all her former designs upon her scarlet coat; but, added she, Lady Fanny Delun put me no less in mind of my former life, than Lady Caroline did you of yours; and if Miss Jenny pleases, I will now relate it.



THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS BETTY FORD.

Miss Betty Ford was of the same age with Miss Nanny Spruce, and much of the same height, and might be called the plainest girl in the school; for she had nothing pleasing either in her person or face, except an exceeding fair skin, and tolerable good black eyes; but her face was ill-shaped and broad, her hair very red, and all the summer she was generally very full of freckles; and she had also a small hesitation in her speech. But without preamble, she began her life as follows.



THE LIFE OF MISS BETTY FORD.

'My life,' said Miss Betty Ford, 'has hitherto passed very like that of Miss Nanny Spruce, only with this difference, that as all her thoughts were fixed on finery, my head ran on nothing but beauty. I had an elder sister, who was, I must own, a great deal handsomer than me; and yet, in my own mind, at that time, I did not think so, though I was always told it was not for me to pretend to the same things with pretty Miss Kitty (which was the name of my sister); and in all respects she was taken so much more notice of than I was, that I perfectly hated her, and could not help wishing that, by some accident, her beauty might be spoiled: whenever any visitors came to the house, their praises of her gave me the greatest vexation; and as I had made myself believe I was a very great beauty, I thought that it was prejudice and ill-nature in all around me, not to view me in that light. My sister Kitty was very good natured; and though she was thus cried up for her beauty, and indulged most on that account, yet she never insulted me, but did all in her power to oblige me. But I could not love her, and sometimes would raise lies against her, which did not signify, for she could always justify herself. I could not give any reason for hating her, but her beauty, for she was very good; but the better she was, I thought the worse I appeared. I could not bear her praises without teasing and vexing myself. At last, little Kitty died of a fever, to my great joy, though, as everybody cried for her, I cried too for company, and because I would not be thought ill-natured.

'After Kitty's death, I lived tolerably easy, till I came to school. Then the same desire of beauty returned, and I hated all the misses who were handsomer than myself, as much as I had before hated my sister, and always took every opportunity of quarrelling with them, till I found my own peace was concerned, in getting the better of this disposition; and that, if I would have any content, I must not repine at my not being so handsome as others.'

When Miss Betty Ford ceased, Miss Jenny said, 'Indeed, my dear, it is well you had not at that time the power of the eagle in the fable; for your poor sister might then, like the peacock, have said in a soft voice, "You are, indeed, a great beauty; but it lies in your beak and your talons, which make it death to me to dispute it."'

Miss Betty Ford rejoiced, that her power did not extend to enable her to do mischief, before she had seen her folly. And now this little society, in good humour and cheerfulness, attended their kind governess's summons to supper; and then, after the evening prayers, they retired to their peaceful slumbers.



MONDAY. THE EIGHTH DAY.

Early in the morning, after the public prayers which Mrs. Teachum read every day, our little company took a walk in the garden whilst the breakfast was preparing.

The fine weather, the prospects round them, all conspired to increase their pleasure. They looked at one another with delight; their minds were innocent and satisfied; and therefore every outward object was pleasing in their sight.

Miss Jenny Peace said, she was sure they were happier than any other society of children whatever, except where the same harmony and love were preserved, as were kept up in their minds: 'For (continued she) I think now, my dear companions, I can answer for you all, that no mischievous, no malicious plots disturb the tranquility of your thoughts; plots, which in the end, constantly fall on the head of those who invent them, after all the pains they cost in forming, and endeavouring to execute.'

Whilst Miss Jenny Peace was talking, Miss Dolly Friendly looked at her very earnestly. She would not interrupt her; but the moment she was silent, Miss Dolly said, 'My dear Miss Jenny, what is the matter with you? your eyes are swelled, and you look as if you had been crying. If you have any grief that you keep to yourself, you rob us of the share we have a right to demand in all that belongs to you.'

'No, indeed (answered Miss Jenny), I have nothing that grieves me; though, if I had, I should think it increased, rather than lessened, by your being grieved too; but last night, after I went upstairs, I found amongst my books the play of the Funeral, or, Grief-a-la-mode; where the faithful and tender behaviour of a good old servant, who had long lived in his lord's family, with many other passages in the play (which I cannot explain, unless you knew the whole story) made me cry, so that I could hardly stop my tears.'

'Pray, Miss Jenny, let us hear this play, that had such an effect on you,' was the general request; and Miss Jenny readily promised, when they met in their arbour, to read it to them.

They eagerly ran to their arbour as soon as school was over, and Miss Jenny performed her promise, and was greatly pleased to find such a sympathy between her companions and herself; for they were most of them affected just in the same manner, and with the same parts of the play, as had before affected her.

By the time they had wiped their eyes, and were rejoicing at the turn at the end of the play, in favour of the characters with which they were most pleased, Mrs. Teachum entered the arbour, and inquired what they had been reading. Miss Jenny immediately told her, adding, 'I hope, Madam, you will not think reading a play an improper amusement for us; for I should be very sorry to be guilty myself, or cause my companions to be guilty, of any thing that would meet with your disapprobation.' Mrs. Teachum answered, that she was not at all displeased with her having read a play, as she saw by her fear of offending, that her discretion was to be trusted to. 'Nay (continued this good woman), I like that you should know something of all kinds of writings, where neither morals nor manners are offended; for if you read plays, and consider them as you ought, you will neglect and despise what is light and useless, whilst you will imprint on your mind's every useful lesson that is to be drawn from them. I am very well acquainted with the play you have been reading; but that I may see whether you give the proper attention to what you have heard, I desire, my little girls, that one of you will give me an account of the chief incidents in the play, and tell me the story, just as you would do to one of your companions that had happened to have been absent.'

Here they all looked upon Miss Jenny Peace, as thinking her the most capable of doing what their governess required. But Mrs. Teachum, reading their thoughts in their looks, said, 'I exclude Miss Jenny in this case; for as the play was of her choosing to read to you, I doubt not but she is thoroughly enough acquainted with every part of it; and my design was to try the memory and attention of some of the others.'

They all remained silent, and seemed to wait for a more particular command, before any one would offer at the undertaking; not through any backwardness to comply with Mrs. Teachum's request, but each from a diffidence of herself to perform it.

Miss Jenny Peace then said, that she had observed a great attention in them all; and she did not doubt but every one was able to give a very good account of what they had heard. 'But, as Miss Sukey Jennet is the eldest, I believe, madam, (continued she), if you approve it, they will all be very ready to depute her as their speaker.'

Each smiled at being so relieved by Miss Jenny; and Mrs. Teachum, taking Miss Sukey Jennet by the hand, said, 'Come, my dear, throw off all fear and reserve; imagine me one of your companions, and tell me the story of the play you have been reading.'

Miss Sukey, thus encouraged by her kind governess, without any hesitation, spoke in the following manner:

'If I understand your commands, madam, by telling the story of the play, you would not have me tell you the acts and scenes as they followed one another for that I am afraid I can hardly remember, as I have heard it only once but I must describe the chief people in the play, and the plots and contrivances that are carried on amongst them.'

Mrs. Teachum nodded her head, and Miss Sukey thus proceeded:

'There is an old Lord Brumpton, who had married a young wife, that had lived with him some years, and by her deceitful and cunning ways had prevailed with him to disinherit his only son Lord Hardy (who was a very sensible good young man) and to leave him but a shilling. And this Lord Brumpton was taken in a fit, so that all the house thought he was dead, and his lady sent for an undertaker, one Mr. Sable, to bury him. But coming out of his fit, when nobody but this Mr. Sable, and an old servant, called Trusty, were by, he was prevailed upon by the good old Trusty to feign himself still dead (and the undertaker promises secrecy) in order to detect the wickedness of his wife, which old Trusty assures him is very great; and then he carries his lord where he overhears a discourse between the widow (as she thinks herself) and her maid Tattleaid; and he bears his once beloved wife rejoicing in his supposed death, and in the success of her own arts to deceive him. Then there are two young ladies, Lady Charlotte and Lady Harriet Lovely, to whom this Lord Brumpton was guardian; and he had also left them in the care of this wicked woman. And this young Lord Hardy was in love with Lady Charlotte; and Mr. Camply, a very lively young gentleman, his friend, was in love with Lady Harriet and Lady Brumpton locked the two young ladies up, and would not let them be seen by their lovers. But there at last they contrived, by the help of old Trusty, who had their real guardian's consent for it, both to get away; and Lady Harriet married Mr. Camply directly; but Lady Charlotte did not get away so soon, and so was not married till the end of the play. This Mr. Camply was a very generous man, and was newly come to a large fortune; and in the beginning of the play he contrives, in a very genteel manner, to give his friend Lord Hardy, who very much wanted it, three hundred pounds; but he takes care to let us know, that my lord had formerly, when he waited his assistance, been very kind to him. And there at last, when Lady Brumpton finds out that the two young ladies are gone, she goes away in a rage to Lord Hardy's lodgings, and in an insulting manner she pays all due legacies, as she calls it, that is, she gives Lord Hardy the shilling, which, by her wicked arts, was all his father had left him; and she was insulting the young ladies, and glorying in her wickedness, when honest old Trusty came in, and brought in old Lord Brumpton, whom they imagined to be dead, and all but Lady Brumpton were greatly overjoyed to see him alive; but when he taxed her with her falsehood, she defied him, and said that she had got a deed of gift under his hand, which he could not revoke, and she WOULD enjoy his fortune in spite of him. Upon which they all looked sadly vexed, till the good old Trusty went out and came in again, and brought in a man called Cabinet, who confessed himself the husband to the pretended Lady Brumpton, and that he was married to her half a year before she was married to my Lord Brumpton; but as my lord happened to fall in love with her, they agreed to keep their marriage concealed, in order that she should marry my lord, and cheat him in the manner she had done; and the reason that Cabinet came to confess all this was, that he looked into a closet and saw my lord writing, after he thought he was dead, and, taking it for his ghost, was by that means frightened into this confession, which he first made in writing to old Trusty, and therefore could not now deny it. They were all rejoiced at this discovery, except the late pretended Lady Brumpton, who sneaked away with Cabinet her husband; and my Lord Brumpton embraced his son, and gave his consent, that he should marry Lady Charlotte; and they were all pleased and happy.'

Here Miss Sukey ceased, and Mrs. Teachum told her she was a very good girl, and had remembered a great deal of the play. 'But (said she) in time, with using yourself to this way of repeating what you have read, you will come to a better manner, and a more regular method of telling your story, which you was now so intent upon finishing, that you forgot to describe what sort of women those two young ladies were, though, as to all the rest, you have been particular enough.'

'Indeed, madam, (said Miss Sukey), I had forgot that, but Lady Charlotte was a very sensible, grave young lady, and lady Harriet was extremely gay and coquettish; but Mr. Camply tells her how much it misbecomes her to be so and she having good sense, as well as good nature, is convinced of her folly, and likes him so well for his reproof, that she consents to marry him.'

Mrs. Teachum, addressing herself to them all, told them, that this was a method she wished they would take with whatever they read; for nothing so strongly imprinted anything on the memory as such a repetition; and then turning to Miss Jenny Peace, she said, 'And now, Miss Jenny, I desire you will speak freely what you think is the chief moral to be drawn from the play you have just read.'

Miss Jenny being thus suddenly asked a question of this nature, considered some time before she gave an answer; for she was naturally very diffident of her own opinion in anything where she had not been before instructed by some one she thought wiser than herself. At last, with a modest look, and an humble voice, she said, 'Since, madam, you have commanded me to speak my sentiments freely, I think by what happened to each character in this play, the author intended to prove what my good mamma first taught me, and what you, madam, since have so strongly confirmed me in; namely, that folly, wickedness, and misery, all three, as constantly dwell together, as wisdom, virtue, and happiness do.'

''Tis very true (answered Mrs. Teachum); but this moral does not arise only from the happy turn in favour of the virtuous characters in the conclusion of the play, but is strongly inculcated, as you see all along, in the peace of mind that attends the virtuous, even in the midst of oppression and distress, while the event is yet doubtful, and apparently against them; and, on the contrary, in the confusion of mind which the vicious are tormented with, even whilst they falsely imagine themselves triumphant.'

Mrs. Teachum then taking the book out of Miss Jenny's hands, and turning to the passage, said, 'How does Lady Brumpton show us the wretched condition of her own mind, when she says,

'"How miserable 'tis to have one one hates always about one! And when one can't endure one's own reflections upon some actions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon them?"

'Then with what perturbation of mind does she proceed, to wish it was in her power to increase her wickedness, without making use enough of her understanding, to see that by that means she would but increase her own misery.

'On the other hand, what a noble figure does Lord Hardy make, when, by this wicked woman's contrivances, he thinks himself disinherited of his whole fortune, ill-treated, and neglected by a father, he never had in thought offended! He could give an opportunity to a sincere friend, who would not flatter him, to say,

'"No; you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy rather than pity, of your more fortunate, not more happy friends."

'This is a fine distinction between fortunate and happy; and intimates this happiness must dwell in the mind, and depends upon no outward accidents.

'Fortune, indeed, is a blessing, if properly used; which Camply shows, when by that means he can assist and relieve his worthy friend.

'With what advantage does Lady Charlotte appear over her sister, when the latter is trifling and dancing before the glass, and the former says,

'"If I am at first so silly as to be a little taken with myself, I know it is a fault, and take pains to correct it."

'And on Lady Harriet's saying, very giddily, that it was too soon for her to think at that rate, Lady Charlotte properly adds,

'"They that think it too soon to understand themselves, will very soon find it too late."

'In how ridiculous a light does Lady Harriet appear, while she is displaying all that foolish coquetry! And how different a figure does she make, when she has got the better of it?

'My Lady Brumpton, when alarmed with the least noise, breaks out into all the convulsive starts natural to conscious guilt.

'"Ha! what noise is that—that noise of fighting?—Run, I say.—Whither are you going?—What, are you mad?—Will you leave me alone?—Can't you stir?—What, you can't take your message with you!—Whatever 'tis, I suppose you are not in the plot, not you—nor that now they're breaking open my house for Charlotte—Not you.—Go see what's the matter, I say; I have nobody I can trust.—One minute I think this wench honest, and the next false.—Whither shall I turn me?"

'This is a picture of the confused, the miserable mind of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman, as Lady Brumpton was, and as Lady Harriet very properly calls her.

'Honesty and faithfulness shine forth in all their lustre, in the good old Trusty. We follow him throughout with anxious wishes for his success, and tears of joy for his tenderness. And when he finds that he is likely to come at the whole truth, and to save his lord from being deceived and betrayed into unjustly ruining his noble son, you may remember that he makes this pious reflection:

All that is ours, is to be justly bent; And Heaven in its own time will bless th' event.

'This is the natural thought that proceeds from innocence and goodness; and surely this state of mind is happiness.

'I have only pointed out a few passages, to show you, that though it is the nature of comedy to end happily, and therefore the good characters must be successful in the last act; yet the moral lies deeper, and is to be deduced from a proof throughout this play, that the natural consequence of vice is misery within, even in the midst of an apparent triumph; and the natural consequence of goodness is a calm peace of mind, even in the midst of oppression and distress.

'I have endeavoured, my little dears, to show you, as clearly as I can, not only what moral is to be drawn from this play, but what is to be sought for in all others; and where that moral is not to be found, the writer will have it to answer for, that he has been guilty of one of the worst of evils; namely, that he has clothed vice in so beautiful a dress, that, instead of deterring, it will allure and draw into its snares the young and tender mind. And I am sorry to say, that too many of our dramatic performances are of this latter cast; which is the reason, that wise and prudent parents and governors in general discourage in very young people the reading of plays. And though by what I have said (if it makes a proper impression) I doubt not but you will all have a just abhorrence of such immoral plays, instead of being pleased with them, should they fall in your way; yet I would advise you rather to avoid them, and never to read any but such as are approved of; and recommended to you by those who have the care of your education.'

Here good Mrs. Teachum ceased, and left her little scholars to reflect on what she had been saying; when Miss Jenny Peace declared, for her part, that she could feel the truth of her governess's observations; for she had rather be the innocent Lord Hardy, though she was to have but that one shilling in the world which was so insolently offered him as his father's last legacy, than be the Lady Brumpton, even though she had possessed the fortune she so treacherously endeavoured to obtain.

'Nay (said Miss Dolly Friendly) I had rather have been old Trusty, with all the infirmities of age, following my Lord Hardy through the world, had his poverty and distress been ever so great, than have been the malicious Lady Brumpton, in the height of her beauty, surrounded by a crowd of lovers and flatterers.'

Miss Henny Fret then declared how glad she was that she had now no malice in her mind; though she could not always have said so, as she would inform them in the history of her past life.



THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS HENNY FRET.

Miss Henny Fret was turned of nine years old. She was very prettily made, and remarkably genteel. All her features were regular. She was not very fair, and looked pale. Her upper lip seemed rather shorter than it should be; for it was drawn up in such a manner, as to show her upper teeth; and though this was in some degree natural, yet it had been very much increased by her being continually on the fret for every trifling accident that offended her, or on every contradiction that was offered to her. When you came to examine her face, she had not one feature but what was pretty; yet, from that constant uneasiness which appeared in her countenance, it gave you so little pleasure to look at her, that she seldom had common justice done her, but had generally hitherto passed for a little insignificant plain girl, though her very face was so altered since she was grown good natured, and had got the better of that foolish fretfulness she used to be possessed of, that she appeared from her good-humoured smiles quite a different person; and, with a mild aspect, thus began her story:



THE LIFE OF MISS HENNY FRET.

'I had one brother,' said Miss Henny, 'as well as Miss Jenny Peace; but my manner of living with him was quite the reverse to that in which she lived with her brother. All my praise or blame was to arise from my being better or worse than my brother. If I was guilty of any fault, it was immediately said, "Oh! fie, miss! Master George (that was my brother's name) would not be guilty of such a thing for the world." If he was carried abroad, and I stayed at home, then I was bemoaned over, that poor Miss Henny was left at home, and her brother carried abroad. And then I was told, that I should go abroad one of these days, and my brother be left at home so that whenever I went abroad, my greatest joy was, that he was left at home; and I was pleased to see him come out to the coach-door with a melancholy air that he could not go too. If my brother happened to have any fruit given him, and was in a peevish humour, and would not give me as much as I desired, the servant that attended me was sure to bid me take care, when I had anything he waited, not to give him any. So that I thought, if I did not endeavour to be revenged of him, I should show a want of spirit, which was of all things what I dreaded most. I had a better memory than my brother, and whenever I learnt anything, my comfort was to laugh at him because he could not learn so fast; by which means I got a good deal of learning, but never minded what I learnt, nor took any pains to keep it; so that what I was eager to learn one day, to show George how much I knew more than he, I forgot the next. And so I went on learning, and forgetting as fast as I learnt; and all the pains I took served only to show that I COULD learn.

'I was so great a favourite, that I was never denied any thing I asked for; but I was very unhappy for the same reason that Miss Dolly Friendly's sister was so; and I have often sat down and cried, because I did not know what I would have, till at last I own I grew so peevish and humoursome, that I was always on the fret, and harboured in my mind a kind of malice that made me fancy whatever my brother got, I lost; and in this unhappy condition I lived, till I came to school, and here I found that other misses wanted to have their humours as well as myself. This I could not bear, because I had been used to have my own will, and never to trouble myself about what others felt. For whenever I beat or abused my brother, his pain did not make me cry; but I believe it was thinking wrong made me guilty of these faults; for I don't find I am ill-natured; for now I have been taught to consider that my companions can feel as well as myself, I am sorry for their pain, and glad when they are pleased, and would be glad to do anything to oblige them.'

Here Miss Henny ceased, and Miss Jenny Peace then told her how glad she was to hear that she had subdued all malice in her mind, adding, 'These weeds, my dear, unless early plucked up, are (as I have heard our good governess observe upon a like occasion) very apt to take such deep root, as to choke every good seed around them; and then who can tell whether, with the same opportunities, they might not become Lady Brumptons before the end of their lives?'

Little Polly Suckling remembered that all the company had told the story of their past lives, except herself; and she thought she would not be left out; but yet she had a mind to be asked to tell it, hoping that her companions thought her of consequence enough not to leave her out of any scheme; therefore, addressing herself to Miss Jenny, she said she thought it was very pleasant to hear anybody tell the history of their own lives. Miss Jenny saw her meaning, and answered, 'So it is, my little dear; and now, if you please, you shall oblige us with relating the history of yours.' Polly smiled at this request, and said she was ready to comply.



THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS POLLY SUCKLING.

Miss Polly Suckling was just turned of eight years old, but so short of her age, that few people took her to be above five. It was not a dwarfish shortness; for she had the most exact proportioned limbs in the world, very small bones, and was as fat as a little cherub. She was extremely fair, and her hair quite flaxen. Her eyes a perfect blue, her mouth small, and her lips quite plump and red. She had the freshness of a milkmaid; and when she smiled and laughed, she seemed to show an hundred agreeable dimples. She was, in short, the very picture of health and good-humour, and was the plaything and general favorite of the whole school.



THE LIFE OF MISS POLLY SUCKLING.

'Now,' said little Polly, 'I will tell you all my whole history. I hardly remember anything before I came to school, for I was but five years old when I was brought hither.

'All I know is, that I don't love quarrelling, for I like better to live in peace and quietness. But I have been always less than any of my companions, ever since I have been here; and so I only followed the example of the rest; and as I found they contended about everything, I did so too. Besides, I have been always in fear that my schoolfellows wanted to impose on me, because I was little; and so I used to engage in every quarrel, rather than be left out, as if I was too little to give any assistance; but, indeed, I am very glad now we all agree, because I always came by the worst of it. And, besides, it is a great pleasure to me to be loved, and every Miss is kind and good to me, and ready to assist me whenever I ask them. And this is all I know of my whole life.'

When little Polly ceased, she was kissed and applauded by the whole company, for the agreeable simplicity of her little history.

And thus ended the eighth day's amusement.



TUESDAY. THE NINTH DAY.

Miss Jenny rose early in the morning, and, having collected the lives of her companions (which she had wrote down each day, as they related them) she carried them, after morning school, according to her promise, to her governess.

Mrs. Teachum, when she had perused them, was much pleased; and said that she perceived, by the manner in which her scholars had related their lives, how much they were in earnest in their design of amendment. 'For (continued she) they have all confessed their faults without reserve; and the untowardly bent of their minds, which so strongly appeared before the quarrel, has not broke out in these their little histories; but, on the contrary, they all seem, according to their capacities, to have endeavoured at imitating your style, in the account you gave of your own life. I would have you continue to employ your leisure hours in the manner you have lately done, only setting apart a proper time for exercise; and today I will dispense with your attendance in the school-room and indulge you this afternoon in another walk, either to the dairy house, or to the cherry-garden, whichever you all agree on. But as I shall not go with you myself, and shall only find a servant to take care of you, I hope to hear from you, Miss Jenny, so good an account of the behaviour of your little friends and companions, that I shall have no cause to repent my indulgence.'

Miss Jenny Peace respectfully took leave of her governess, and hastened to the arbour, where her little friends were met, in expectation of her coming. She told them how well pleased their governess was with them all, for the ingenuous confession of their faults in their past lives; and she then declared Mrs. Teachum's kind permission to them to take another walk that afternoon.

As no one had at present any story to read or relate, they employed their time till dinner, some in walking and running about the garden; others in looking after and tending some plant or flower, that they had taken particularly under their care, which Mrs. Teachum both permitted and encouraged them in, whilst Miss Jenny Peace, Miss Sukey Jennett, and Miss Dolly Friendly, remained in the arbour, the two latter asking a thousand questions of the former, both concerning all the instructions she had ever learned from her mamma, and by what means they should best be able to preserve that friendship and happiness, which had of late subsisted amongst them; saying, how pleased their friends and relations would be, to see such a change in their temper and behaviour, and how much they should be beloved by every one.

When they met at dinner, Mrs. Teachum asked them, whether they had determined upon the choice she had given them in their afternoon's walk; and they were all desirous of going to the dairy house; for little Polly said, she longed to see the good-humoured old woman again, and, indeed, she would not now say anything to her of her shaking head, or her grey hair. Mrs. Teachum was pleased, that little Polly so gratefully remembered the old woman, who had been so kind to her; and readily consented to their choice, and approved of their determination.

Being soon equipped for their walk, they set out, attended by two maidservants; and as soon as they arrived, the good old woman expressed the highest joy on seeing them, and told little Polly, that she should have plenty of cream and strawberries, for her daughter had been that day in the wood, and had brought home three baskets of very fine ones. Mrs. Nelly, her daughter, said very crossly, that she supposed there would be fine work amongst them, now their governess was not with them; but 'twas her mother's way, to let all children be as rude as they pleased. Miss Sukey Jennett, with some indignation in her look, was going to answer her; but Miss Jenny Peace, fearing she would say something less mild than she wished, gave her a nod; and, turning to the young woman, with great modesty and temper, thus said: 'You shall see, Mrs. Nelly, that our good governess's instructions are of more force with us, than to lose all their effect when we are out of her presence; and I hope you will have no cause, when we go away, to complain of the ill behaviour of any of us.'

The good old woman declared she never saw such sweet-tempered children in all her life; and after they had eat their strawberries and cream, and were loaded with pinks and roses by the good woman's bounty (for they did not gather one without her permission), they took their leave with the utmost civility, and Miss Jenny handsomely rewarded the old woman for her good cheer. Mrs. Nelly herself was so pleased with their regular and inoffensive behaviour, that she could not help telling Miss Jenny, that she, and all her companions, had, indeed, behaved as well as if their governess had been with them: on which Miss Jenny (as they were walking home) observed to Miss Sukey Jennett (whom she had prevented from making any reply to Mrs. Nelly's speech) how much better it was to gain another's good will by our own endeavours to be obliging, than to provoke them to be more cross, by our angry answers and reproaches.

When this little company, employed in pleasing talk and lively observations, were come within about a mile of Mrs. Teachum's house, and within view of a nobleman's fine seat, Miss Jenny said, that the next time their governess permitted them to walk out, she would ask her leave, that they might go and see that fine house; for some time ago she had told them, that they should go thither when the family were absent. Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, who by chance was walking that way, and heard what Miss Jenny said, came up to them, and told Miss Jenny that her lord and lady were now both absent, having set out, one for London, and the other for another fine seat, forty miles off, that very morning; and as she knew them to be Mrs. Teachum's well-regulated family, they should be welcome to see the house and gardens now, if they liked it. Miss Jenny thanked her, and said, as it was near two hours sooner than their governess expected them home, she would accept of her kind offer. The housekeeper led them through an avenue of tall elm-trees into this magnificent house, in which were many spacious apartments, furnished with the utmost grandeur and elegance. Some of the rooms were adorned with fine pictures, others were hung with tapestry almost as lively as those paintings, and most of the apartments above stairs were furnished with the finest sorts of needle-work. Our little company were struck into a sort of silent wonder and admiration at the splendid appearance of everything around them; nor could they find words to express the various reflections that passed in their minds, on seeing such a variety of dazzling gaudy things: but when they came to the needlework, Miss Jenny could not help smiling, to see how every one seemed most fixed in attention upon that sort of work, which she herself was employed in, and she saw in every face a secret wish, that their own piece of work might be finished with equal neatness and perfection. The housekeeper was greatly pleased to see them so much delighted, and answered all their questions concerning the stories that were represented in the pictures and tapestry as fully as the time would permit; but Miss Jenny, being fearful of exceeding the hour in which they would be expected home, told them they must not now stay any longer, but if their governess would give them leave, and it would not be troublesome to Mrs. Wilson, they would come another time. She answered, that it was so far from being troublesome, that she never had more pleasure in her life, than to see so many well-behaved young ladies, who all seemed not only pleased with what they saw, but doubly delighted, and happy, in seeing each other so; and for her part, she could wish they were to stay with her all their lives; and, in short, they should not go till they had been in her room, and eat some sweetmeats of her own making. The good woman seemed to take so much delight in giving them any pleasure, that Miss Jenny could not refuse accepting her offer; and, when they were all in her room, Polly Suckling said, 'Well, this is a most charming house; I wish we could all live here for ever. How happy must the lord and lady of this fine place be!'

'Indeed, my little Polly,' said Miss Jenny, 'you may be very much mistaken; for you know our good governess has taught us, that there is no happiness but in the content of our own minds; and perhaps we may have more pleasure in viewing these fine things, than the owners have in the possession of them.'

'It is very true,' said the housekeeper, 'for my lord and lady have no delight in all this magnificence; for, by being so accustomed to it, they walk through all these apartments, and never so much as observe or amuse themselves with the work, the pictures, or anything else, or if they observe them at all, it is rather with a look that denotes a sort of weariness, at seeing the same things continually before them, than with any kind of pleasure.' And then, with a deep sigh, she added, 'You are, indeed, young lady, perfectly in the right, when you say grandeur and happiness do not always go together.' But turning off the discourse, Mrs. Wilson forced them to take as many dried sweetmeats as they could carry away with them, and insisted upon their promise (with Mrs. Teachum's consent) that they should come another time to see the gardens. They then took their leave with many thanks, and the greatest civility; and discoursed all the way home, on the fine things they had seen. Miss Betty Ford said, that the fine gilding, and so many glittering looking-glasses, made her think herself in Barbarico's great hall, where he kept all his treasure.

'No,' says Miss Nancy Spruce, 'it was not half so much like that, as it was like Brunetta's fine castle; and I could not help thinking myself the Princess Hebe, and how much I should have been pleased with such a fine place at first, just as she was.'

'Indeed,' says Miss Betty Ford, 'you are in the right of it, Miss Nanny; for 'twas much more like the description of Brunetta's castle, than what I said myself.'

Miss Jenny was pleased to hear Miss Betty so ready to own herself mistaken; and said to Miss Nanny Spruce, 'I am glad, my dear, to find that you so well remember what you read; for it is by recalling frequently into our memories the things we have read, that they are likely to be of any service to us.'

Being now come home, they entered into the presence of their governess with that pleasure, and proper confidence, which ever attends innocence and goodness; and Mrs. Teachum received them with a pleasing smile.

Miss Jenny gave her governess a faithful account of all that had passed, with the agreeable entertainment they had accidentally met with, of seeing Lord X——'s fine house, and the great civility of Mrs. Wilson, 'Which I hope, madam,' said Miss Jenny, 'I did not do wrong in accepting.' 'You did very properly, my dear,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'for when any person is willing to oblige you, without any inconvenience to themselves, it is always right to accept their offer, as you thereby gratify them, by putting it in their power to give you pleasure.'

Miss Jenny then with great cheerfulness and freedom, told her governess all that had paled in conversation, both in their walk to the dairy house, and at Lord X—'s, what little Polly had said in the housekeeper's room, as also Mrs. Wilson's answer; and said, by Mrs. Wilson's downcast look, she was afraid that poor Lord X—— and his lady were not so happy as might be wished. 'But,' continued she, 'I did not ask Mrs. Wilson any questions, because you have taught me, madam, carefully to avoid the least appearance of impertinent curiosity.'

'You was very right, my dear,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'in asking no farther questions; nor would she, I dare say, as she is a prudent woman, have gratified you if you had; for though the unhappy story is too well known all over the country, yet it would have been very unbecoming in one of the family to have published it.' Mrs. Teachum saw in her little scholars' eyes, a secret wish of knowing what this story was; and, after a short pause, she said, 'Since I find you disposed, my good girls, to make the proper use of what you hear, I will indulge your curiosity.

'Lord X—— and his lady have been married seven years; Lord X—— is the wretchedest creature breathing, because he has no children, and therefore no heir to his title and large estate. He was naturally of a haughty impetuous temper, and impatient of any the least disappointment; and this disposition not being subdued in his youth, has led him into all sort of excesses. His lady is not much better tempered than himself, and valuing herself highly upon her beauty, and the large fortune she brought him, greatly resents his sometimes insolent, and always neglectful usage of her. They have hitherto lived on in the most jarring, disputing manner, and took no care to conceal their quarrels from the world; but at last they have agreed to part by consent, and the different journeys they this morning took, I suppose, was with an intent of final separation.

'That grandeur and happiness do not always go together (as Mrs. Wilson observed to you) is seen by this story, which I was the more willing to tell you, as it was a proper introduction to a fable I have been collecting together from others, for your use. You know that all my endeavours to make you good, are only intended to make you happy; and if you thoroughly reflect upon the truth of this maxim, which I so often endeavour to inculcate, you will doubtless reap no small advantage from it.'

Here Mrs. Teachum ceased speaking, and, giving Miss Jenny Peace a paper, she bid her read it aloud; which she did, and it contained the following fable:



THE ASSEMBLY OF THE BIRDS. A FABLE.

In ancient days, there was a great contention amongst the birds, which, from his own perfections, and peculiar advantages, had the strongest title to happiness; and at last they agreed to refer the decision of the debate to the eagle.

A day was appointed for their meeting; the eagle took his seat, and the birds all attended to give in their several pleas.

First spoke the parrot. Her voice so dearly resembling human speech, and which enabled her to converse with such a superior race, she doubted not (she said) would have its just weight with the eagle, and engage him to grant a decree in her favour; and to this plea she also added, that she dwelt in a fine cage adorned with gold, and was fed every day by the hands a fair lady.

'And pray, Mrs. Poll,' said the eagle, 'how comes it, since you fare so sumptuously, that you are so lean and meagre, and seem scarcely able to exert that voice you thus make your boast of?' 'Alas!' replied the parrot, 'poor Poll's lady has kept her bed almost this week; the servants have all forgot to feed me; and I am almost starved.' 'Pray observe,' said the eagle, 'the folly of such pride! Had you been able to have conversed only with your own kind, you would have fared in common with them; but it is to this vaunted imitation of the human voice, that you owe your confinement, and consequently (though living in a golden cage) your dependence upon the will and memory of others, even for common necessary food.'

Thus reproved, the parrot, with shame, hastily retired from the assembly.

Next stood forth the daw, and, having tricked himself in all the gay feathers he could muster together, on the credit of these borrowed ornaments, pleaded his beauty, as a title to the preference in dispute. Immediately the birds agreed to divest the silly counterfeit of all his borrowed plumes; and, more abashed than the parrot, he secretly slunk away.

The peacock, proud of native beauty, now flew into the midst of the assembly. He displayed before the sun his gorgeous tail. 'Observe (said he) how the vivid blue of the sapphire glitters in my neck; and when thus I spread my tail, a gemmy brightness strikes the eye from a plumage varied with a thousand glowing colours.' At this moment, a nightingale began to chant forth his melodious lay; at which the peacock, dropping his expanded tail, cried out, 'Ah what avails my silent unmeaning beauty, when I am so far excelled in voice by such a little russet-feathered wretch as that!' And, by retiring, he gave up all claim to the contended-for preference.

The nightingale was so delighted with having got the better of the peacock, that he exerted his little voice, and was so lost in the conceit of his own melody, that he did not observe a hawk, who flew upon him, and carried him off in his claws.

The eagle then declared, 'That as the peacock's envy had taken away all his claim, so no less had the nightingale's self-conceit frustrated all his pretensions; for those who are so wrapped up in their own perfections, as to mind nothing but themselves, are forever liable to all sorts of accidents.' And, besides, it was plain, by the exultation the nightingale expressed on his imagined glory over the peacock, that he would have been equally dejected on any preference given to another.

And now the owl, with an affected gravity, and whooting voice, pleaded his well-known wisdom; and said, 'He doubted not but the preference would be granted to him without contest, by all the whole assembly for what was so likely to produce happiness as wisdom?'

The eagle declared, 'That, if his title to wisdom could be proved, the justice of his claim should be allowed; and then asked him, how he could convince them of the truth of what he had advanced?' The owl answered, 'That he would willingly appeal to the whole assembly for their decision in this point; for he was positive nobody could deny his great superiority as to wisdom.' Being separately asked, they most of them declared, that they knew no one reason, either from his words or actions, to pronounce him a wise bird; though it was true, that by an affected solemnity in his looks, and by frequent declarations of his own, that he was very wife, he had made some very silly birds give him that character; but, since they were called upon to declare their opinions, they must say, that he was ever the object of contempt to all those birds who had any title to common understanding. The eagle then said, 'He could by no means admit a plea, which as plainly appeared to be counterfeit, as were the jay's borrowed feathers.' The owl, thus disappointed, flew away, and has ever since shunned the light of the sun, and has never appeared in the daytime, but to be scorned and wondered at.

It would be endless to repeat all the several pleas brought by the birds, each desiring to prove, that happiness ought to be his own peculiar lot. But the eagle observing that the arguments made use of to prove their point were chiefly drawn from the disadvantages of others, rather than from any advantage of their own, told them, 'There was too much envy and malice amongst them, for him to pronounce any of them deserving or capable of being happy; but I wonder,' says he, 'why the dove alone is absent from this meeting?' 'I know of one in her nest hard by,' answered the redbreast, 'shall I go and call her?' 'No,' says the eagle, 'since she did not obey our general summons, 'tis plain she had no ambition for a public preference; but I will take two or three chosen friends, and we will go softly to her nest, and see in what manner she is employing herself; for from our own observations upon the actions of any one, we are more likely to form a judgment of them, than by any boasts they can make.'

The eagle was obeyed, and, accompanied only by the linnet, the lark, the lapwing, and the redbreast for his guide, he stole gently to the place where the dove was found hovering over her nest, waiting the return of her absent mate; and, thinking herself quite unobserved,

[*] While o'er her callow brood she hung, She fondly thus address'd her young: 'Ye tender objects of my care, Peace! peace! ye little helpless pair. Anon! he comes, your gentle sire, And brings you all your hearts require; For us, his infants and his bride, For us, with only love to guide, Our lord assumes an eagle's speed, And, like a lion, dares to bleed: Nor yet by wintry skies confin'd, He mounts upon the rudest wind, From danger tears the vital spoil, And with affection sweetens toil. Ah! cease, too vent'rous, cease to dare; In thine, our dearer safety spare. From him, ye cruel falcons stray; And turn, ye fowlers, far away, —All-giving Pow'r, great source of life, Oh! hear the parent, hear the wife: That life thou lendest from above, Though little, make it large in love. Oh! bid my feeling heart expand To ev'ry claim on ev'ry hand, To those, from whom my days I drew, To these in whom those days renew, To all my kin, however wide, In cordial warmth as blood allied. To friends in steely fetters twin'd And to the cruel not unkind; But chief the lord of my desire, My life, myself, my soul, my sire, Friends, children, all that wish can claim, Chaste passion clasp, and rapture name. Oh! spare him, spare him, gracious Pow'r: Oh! give him to my latest hour, Let me my length of life employ, To give my sole enjoyment joy. His love let mutual love excite; Turn all my cares to his delight, And ev'ry needless blessing spare, Wherein my darling wants a share. —Let one unruffled calm delight The loving and belov'd unite; One pure desire our bosoms warm; One will direct, one wish inform; Through life one mutual aid sustain; In death one peaceful grave contain.' While, swelling with the darling theme, Her accents pour'd an endless stream. The well-known wings a sound impart That reach'd her ear, and touch'd her heart. Quick dropp'd the music of her tongue, And forth, with eager joy, she sprung. As swift her ent'ring consort flew, And plum'd, and kindled at the view. Their wings, their souls, embracing, meet, Their hearts with answ'ring measure beat, Half lost in sacred sweets, and bless'd With raptures felt, but ne'er express'd. Strait to her humble roof she led The partner of her spotless bed; Her young, a flutt'ring pair, arise, Their welcome sparkling in their eyes, Transported, to their sire they bound, And hang, with speechless action, round. In pleasure wrapt, the parents stand, And see their little wings expand; The sire his life sustaining prize To each expecting bill applies; There fondly pours the wheaten spoil, With transport giv'n, though won with toil; While, all collected at the sight, And silent through supreme delight, The fair high heav'n of bliss beguiles, And on her lord and infants smiles.

[*] These verses are a quotation from that tender fable of the Sparrow and the Dove, in the 'Fables for the Female Sex.'

The eagle now, without any hesitation, pronounced the dove to be deservedly the happiest of the feathered kind; and however unwilling the rest of the birds were to assent to the judgment given, yet could they not dispute the justice of the decree.

Here Miss Jenny ceased reading, and all the little company expressed by their looks, that they were overjoyed at the eagle's determination; for they had all in their own minds forestalled the eagle's judgment, of giving the preference to the dove. 'Now, my good children,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'if you will pass through this life with real pleasure, imitate the dove; and remember, that innocence of mind, and integrity of heart, adorn the female character, and can alone produce your own happiness, and diffuse it to all around you.'

Our little company thanked their governess for her fable; and, just at that instant, they heard a chariot drive into the court, and Mrs. Teachum went out to see what visitor could be arrived so late in the evening; for it was near eight o'clock.

They all remained in the room where their governess left them; for they had been taught never to run out to the door, or to the windows, to look at any strangers that came, till they knew whether it was proper for them to see them or not.

Mrs. Teachum soon returned with a letter open in her hand, and remained some little time silent; but cast on every one round such a tender and affectionate look, a tear almost starting from her eye, that the sympathising sorrow seemed to spread through the whole company, and they were all silent, and ready to cry, though they knew not for what reason. 'I am sorry, my little dears,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'to give your tender bosoms the uneasiness I fear the contents of this letter will do, as it will deprive you of that your hearts so justly hold most dear.' And, so saying, she delivered to Miss Jenny Peace, the following letter:—

'To Miss Jenny Peace.

'Monday night, June 24.

'My dear niece,—I arrived safe at my own house, with your cousin Harriet, last Saturday night, after a very tedious voyage by sea, and a fatiguing journey by land. I long to see my dear Jenny as soon as possible, and Harriet is quite impatient for that pleasure.

'I have ordered my chariot to be with you tomorrow night; and I desire you would set out on Wednesday morning, as early as your inclination shall prompt you to come to

'Your truly affectionate aunt,

'M. NEWMAN.

'I have writ a letter of thanks to your kind governess, for her care of you.'

It is impossible to describe the various sensations of Miss Jenny's mind, on the reading this letter. Her rising joy at the thoughts of seeing her kind aunt safely returned from a long and tedious voyage, was suppressed by a sorrow, which could not be resisted, on parting with such dear friends, and so good a governess; and the lustre which such a joy would have given to her eye, was damped by rising tears. Her heart for some time was too full for utterance. At last, turning to her governess, she said, 'And is the chariot really come, to carry me to my dear aunt?' Then, after a pause, the tears trickling down her cheeks, 'And must I so soon leave you, madam, and all my kind companions?' Mrs. Teachum, on seeing Miss Jenny's tender struggles of mind, and all her companions at once bursting into tears, stood up, and left the room, saying, 'She would come to them again after supper.' For this prudent woman well knew, that it was in vain to contend with the very first emotions of grief on such an occasion, but intended, at her return, to show them how much it was their duty and interest to conquer all sorts of extravagant sorrow.

They remained some time silent, as quite struck dumb with concern, till at last Miss Dolly Friendly, in broken accents, cried out, 'And must we lose you, my dear Miss Jenny, now we are just settled in that love and esteem for you, which your goodness so well deserves?'

Miss Jenny endeavoured to dry up her tears, and then said, 'Although I cannot but be pleased, my dear companions, at every mark of your affection for me; yet I beg that you would not give me the pain to see that I make so many dear friends unhappy. Let us submit cheerfully to this separation (which, believe me, is as deeply felt by me as any of you) because it is our duty so to do; and let me entreat you to be comforted, by reflecting, how much my good aunt's safe return must be conducive to my future welfare; nor can you be unhappy, while you continue with so good a governess, and persist in that readiness to obey her, which you have lately shown. She will direct who shall preside over your innocent amusements in my place. I will certainly write to you, and shall always take the greatest delight in hearing from each of you, both while you continue here, and when your duty and different connections shall call you elsewhere. We may some, and perhaps all, of us, happen often to meet again; and I hope a friendship, founded on so innocent and so good a foundation as ours is, will always subsist, as far as shall be consistent with our future situations in life.'

Miss Jenny's friends could not answer her but by sobs and tears; only little Polly Suckling, running to her, clung about her neck, and cried, 'Indeed, indeed, Miss Jenny, you must not go; I shall break my heart, if I lose you: sure we shan't, nor we can't, be half so happy, when you are gone, though our governess was ten times better to us than she is.'

Miss Jenny again entreated them to dry up their tears, and to be more contented with the present necessity; and begged, that they would not let their governess see them so overwhelmed in sorrow on her return; for she might take it unkindly, that they should be so afflicted at the loss of one person, while they still remained under her indulgent care and protection.

It was with the utmost difficulty, that Miss Jenny refrained from shedding tear for tear with her kind companions; but as it was her constant maxim to partake with her friends all her pleasure, and to confine her sorrows as much as possible within her own bosom, she chose rather to endeavour, by her own cheerfulness and innocent talk, to steal insensibly from the bosoms of her little companions half their sorrow; and they begin to appear tolerably easy.

After supper, Mrs. Teachum returned; and, seeing them all striving who should most conceal their grief, for fear of giving uneasiness to the rest, yet with a deep dejection fixed in every countenance, and little Polly still sobbing behind Miss Jenny's chair, she was so moved herself with the affecting scene, that the tears stole from her eyes; and the sympathising company once more eased their almost bursting hearts, by another general flow of melting sorrow.

'My dear children,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'I am not at all surprised at your being so much concerned to part with Miss Jenny. I love her myself with a motherly affection (as I do all of you, and shall ever continue to do so while you so well deserve it); and I could wish, for my own sake, never to part with her as long as I live; but I consider, that it is for her advantage, and I would have you all remember, in her absence, to let her example and friendship fill your hearts with joy, instead of grief. It is now pretty late in the evening, and as Miss Jenny is to set out very early in the morning, I must insist upon shortening your pain (for such is your present situation), and desire you would take your leave of this your engaging friend.'

They none of them attempted to speak another word, for their hearts were still too full for utterance; and Miss Jenny took every one by the hand as they went out of the room, saluted them with the tenderest affection, mingling tears with those which flowed from every streaming eye; and, wishing them all happiness and joy till their next meeting, they all, with heavy hearts, retired to rest.

Miss Jenny returned the warmest and most grateful acknowledgments to her good governess, for all her care of her; and said, 'I shall attribute every happy hour, madam, that I may hereafter be blessed with, to your wise and kind instruction, which I shall always remember with the highest veneration, and shall ever consider you as having been to me no less than a fond and indulgent mother.'

Mrs. Teachum kept Miss Jenny in the room with her no longer than to assure her how sincerely she should regret her absence, and confessed how much of the regularity and harmony of her school she owed to her good example, for sweetness of temper, and conformity to rules.



THE END OF THE NINTH DAY.

THE CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OF MRS. TEACHUM, &C.

Although Miss Jenny Peace did not return any more to school; yet she ever gratefully remembered the kindness of her governess, and frequently corresponded with all her companions. And as they continued their innocent amusements and meetings in the arbour, whenever the weather would permit, there was no day thought to be better employed than that in which they received a letter from their absent instructive friend, whose name was always mentioned with gratitude and honour.

Mrs. Teachum continued the same watchful care over any young persons who were entrusted to her management; and she never increased the number of her scholars, though often entreated so to do. All quarrels and contentions were banished her house; and if ever any such thing was likely to arise, the story of Miss Jenny Peace's reconciling all her little companions was told to them; so that Miss Jenny, though absent, still seemed (by the bright example which she left behind her) to be the cement of union and harmony in this well-regulated society. And if any girl was found to harbour in her breast a rising passion, which it was difficult to conquer, the name and story of Miss Jenny Peace soon gained her attention, and left her without any other desire than to emulate Miss Jenny's virtues.

THE END