. AVl^li '^d9k:j9tU*^ 8BS8 tiBRARY i KRANCIS & CO.'S E.n^j'i'iLis iL n® IE Amir s A Series of Volumes, for Young People of all ages, by some of ths Bc^t Writers for Cliildrcu — uniformly printed and bound, and Em- bellished by handsome Engravings. Turns of Fortune ; All is not Gold that Glittei-s, &c. 13Y MRS. S. C. HALL. The Favoiirit€ Scholar, Little Chatterbox, Perseverance, AND OTHER TALES. BY MARY HOWITT, MRS. S. C. HALL, ETC. Piowers for Chiltei. in prose and verse. BY L. MARIA CHILD. No. 1. — For Children Eight or Nine Years old. No. 2.— For Children Three or Four Years old. %^ Several other volumes are in preparation, designed for children of various ages. The Robins; or Domestic Life among the Birds. Designed for thelnf^truction of Children re.specting their Treatment of Animals. BY MRS. TRIMMER. Kate and Lizzie ; or Six Months out of School. BY ANNE W. ABBOT. Facts to Correct Fancies, Or Short Narratives compiled from the Biography of Remarkable Women, written for Children. BY A MOTHER. ^^ Several other works preparing for the preea. Publisbed by C S, M^^attcia » Co. New Yorb. WRITIJSGS OF MRS. CHILD. Philothea, a Grecian Romauce. new EcnioN-Revised. TJiis novel, as its title indicates, is an attempt to paint the manners and life of Grecian Ciiissical times. Mrs. Cliilil has tome intellectual traits, which are well suited lo success in this held ot literary enterprize. She has a vigorous and exhuberanl imagination, and an accurate eye for beauty of form. She understands the harmonious construction of lan- guage, and can describe both nature and society with liveliness and traih. Her style, in its general character, is rich and eloquent ; abounding in brilliant turns and fanciful illustrations. It is generally simple, energetic, and impressive ; but sometimes it is too dazzling. 'J'he time selected by ilrs. Child is the most brilliant period in the "history ot Athens. We cannot leave the book, without expressing our persuasion that it will take a prominent place in our elegant literature. Every page of it breathes the inspiration of genius, and shows a highly cultiv&led lastfl in literature and art. — J\iort/i Jimencan Review. Letters from New York. second Eumoi*. We have read this charming volume as we used to read books years ago, and at the close found ourselves refreshed and gladdened. Spirited, keen, witty — with an eye true lo the beautiful and a sense tor the riglit and good 'vhich never Jails her — satirical without malice, and clever without pedantry — richly cndowpd with all the constituents ot an able writer, and with a woman's heart, like a crown of glory, shining over all, Mrs. Child is deservedly |)Opular as one ot the voiy hrst amoig liv- ing authors. Her paintings are all true to nature, her anecdotes pointed and to the purpose, her conversations easy and full of dramatic power, and her moral, like the Iragrance of the violet, felt without being seen by those who linger over tho beauties uf hei writings. — vV. York 7'ribane. Tlie Mother's Book. New edition— Revised and Amended, The value and tisefulness of this little book is well known, — it having passed through eight editions in this country and twelve in England. Flowers for Children. A series of volumes in Prose and Verse, for Children of various ages. Extract from the Preface. To Parents. — Several years ago 1. published a little periodical called the Juvenile Miscellany. It found favor in the eyes of parents and chil- dren ; and, since it has been out of print, I have had frequent requests to republish it. 1 did not think it advisable to do this. But I have con- cluded to pulilish a series of small books, under the title of Flowers 'or Children. About half of each of these volumes will consist of new arti- cles, written expressly for the occasion, and the other half will be a se- lection of what seem to me the best of my own articles formerly publish- ed in the Juvenile Miscellany. Upon reviewing the book for this purpose, I find that my matuicr judgment rejects some inaccuracies, some moral inferences, and many imperfections of style. 1 have therefore carefully ••wtiUteu all the articles liicd in the pres&iit selei.ticn. L.M.C. FRANCIS & CO.'S IL n y 'J IL I® a. 3 IB IS A IS T 3 FOR YOUNG TERSONS OF VARIOUS AGES. THE PRIVATE PURSE, &.c. BY MRS. S, C. HALL. THE PRIVATE PURSE: AND OTHER TALES. BY M R S. S. C. H A L L N E W - Y O R K : C. S. FRANCIS &, CO., 252 BROADWAY. BOSTON : J. H. FRANCIS, 123 WASHINGTON STREET. 1845. CONTENTS. Page The Private Purse 9 Cleverness 55 The Governess 92 Dlmmy 171 THE PRIVATE PURSE. CHAPTER I. ** Tell my niece, Miss Geraldine — I mean, tell Mrs. Leeson — that as soon as she has put off her bridal and put on her travelling dress, I wish to see her," said Mrs. Gascoigne to her maid, who had not answered her bell until she had rung it twice. " Yes, ma'am," rephed the flushed maiden, who was bowed out with white satin ribbon, as if she too were just made a bride. " And hsten — When all this mummery is over, take off these white fal-lals, and lay them by ; they will do for the next fool of the family who chooses to enter the ' holy bonds ' — ah ! ah!" The servant hardly murmured " Yes, ma'am" to this, nor had she quite closed the door on the crackhng laugh of her mistress, when she mut- tered, " Well, that beats all ! She to come on a visit to her own sister on her niece's wedding- day, and grudge me wearing of the ribbons that cost her nothing ! But it's just like her ! Stin- gy ! — augh ! It's no use talking — I cant a-bear 10 THE PRIVATE PURSE. Stinginess. I wonder why she could not stay below at the breakfast hke other Christians ; but it's none of my business. Put by the ribbons, indeed, that never cost her a brass farthing !" A group of ladies passing from one room to anoth- er interrupted this soliloquy, and turned the rip- pling current of the waiting-maid's small mind from meditation to observation. In an instant she became spell-bound by the white roses that garlanded the bridesmaids' bonnets. ]\Irs. Gascoigne, a lady of some five-and-fifly years, who had been a wife for a year and a widow for ten, was occupied after her own fash- ion. She was seated at a table in her dressing- room, and upon it was her open desk. Her long narrow features were pinched into a mean expression ; her hair grew thinly above her hrow ; and yet it was short and frizzed, as if it had not the heart to grow long. Her lips were thin and compressed, betokening, however, se- crecy rather than firmness. I liave noted ugly mouths, still of a bland and generous formation ; but 1 never saw a mouth like Mrs. Gascoigne's that was not indicative of meanness and subter- fuge. Her eyes were fine — that is to say, well set, and of a good colour ; but their expression was unpleasing — it was sharp and suspicious. Her dress was neither good nor becoming, and she had flung aside the silver favour indicative of the motive that had drawn her from her own home. A faded purse of blue and white was be- tween her fingers, and into it she had dropped THE PRIVATE PURSE. 11 some guineas — not sovereigns, but old-fashioned golden guineas — which she had, as it were, pur- loined from her own desk. She shook them once or twice, and an unconscious smile dis- turbed the gravity of her face — It was evident that she loved the golden chimes. Then she picked one out, and put it into its secret hiding- place in her desk. " Forty-nine," she said to herself — '•' forty-nine will go as far with a foolish girl as fifty ; but it is an odd number — she may wonder why it was not fifty." Another was taken from the purse and returned to the drawer. A moment's pause — she looked out a third, a fourth ; weighed it for a moment on her well- practised finger — it was a thought light, so she exchanged it for one that pleased her better, and it was dropped into the hoard. Another — she cliinked the purse again. " Forty-five good guineas — forty and five," she repeated — "hum ! quite enough to commence a private purse for the wife of a young banker;" and she shut it to with a determined snap. " May I come in, dear aunt ?" said a sweet voice at the door — " may I come in 1" Until the desk was shut and locked she made no answer ; and then, affecting not to have re- cognised tones the sweetness of which told upon every ear, as the joy bells sound upon the sum- mer air, she inquired, "Who is there?" " Me, aunt — Geraldine," answered the same music. " Oh yes, dear, come in," said Mrs. Gas- 12 THE PRIVATE PURSE. coigne. For a moment she looked with pride upon the young and lovely being who had that day committed her entire destiny into the hands of one who had promised, with his whole heart and soul, to *' love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health ; and, for- saking all others, keep him only unto her so long as they both should live." " Why, dear," exclaimed Mrs. Gascoigne, as the mind returned to its old habits, " what a deal of money that dress must have cost ! it is a real pity to hack it travelling — a real pity. Dear Geraldine, have you no turned silk you could wear on the journey 1 — eh !" " You know, aunt, I brought Henry no for- tune, so mannna thought the least thing I might have was a handsome wardrobe;" and she looked as much annoyed as she could have been with anything on such a day. " Ah, dear — well, that's true ; I suppose your poor mother scraped together all she could to make up the trousseau, and has no little purse to give you, eh?" " My dear mother," rephed the bride — and the ready tears rose to her eyes — " has indeed done every thing to make me happy — I was jroing to say independent — but every woman is dependent upon her husband ; and Henry is so gentle and affectionate, I have no fear that he will make me feel he was rich and I was poor. Mamma gave me ten guineas, and," added the fair girl (she had not numbered nineteen sum- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 13 mers,) with a proud air, " it will be a long time before I spend all that." *' That's my own Geraldine — keep it, dear — don't spend it — keep it. Gold grows by the keeping; it does not rust or mildew — keep it ; it is power — all that man or woman wants. I know that — by wanting it, Geraldine. Ay, you may smile, and I daresay your mother and all of them think it not true : poor Mr. Gascoigne left me enough, but no more. You, Geraldine, were my god- child — called after me — and I must say that you have been as good and as affectionate as if I had made you a present every birthday, which, perhaps, I might have done, had I not been afraid you would have married your cousin Arthur Harewell." " My dearest aunt !" ejaculated Geraldine, in a tone of surprise. " Oh, yes ! 1 know he was very fond of you; but I hate every one of the Harewells ; they are ^as poor as charcli mice, and yet as proud of their intellect as if they had been every one city mem- bers. Now, my dear, I am going to tell you a secret, which I must not have you tell Henry ; your own secrets you may tell him, if you are foolishly fond of talking, but as this is my se- cret, you have no right to tell it." " No," said Geraldine, somewhat hastily, " I will not tell him your secret, aunt. 1 have no right to do that, I think." " Certainly not, my dear ; all men have odd notions, and it is a foohsh thing to tell them every 14 THE PRIVATE PURSE. nonsense ; it makes them think httle of us wo- men, to keep up a tittle-tattle about every trifle." Geraldme gave no reply to this. She had made up her mind to tell Henry every thing ; this was her own right-minded impulse; for her mother, a quiet, amiable, fashionably-thinking woman, fancied she performed her duly when she sent Geraldine to a boarding-school, heard her play and sing, and saw her dance during the vacations — restricted her own expenditure in all things that she might have the best masters, and be as well dressed as girls who had ten times her fortune — a sure way to enfeeble the mind — took it for granted, that, as she knew her cat- echism, had been confirmed, and went every Sunday to church, her religious education was such as to beht the high calling of a Christian — and had never spoken to her of the duties a Avoman is called upon to fulfil as wife and moth- er, until about a week previous to the wedding- day, when she told her to be affectionate and forbearing, and "not to forget her own dignity." Something she added about the duties of a moth- er, and the advantage of cold bathing for inlants ; but quickly concluded by saying that there would be "time enough to think of that." No wonder that Geraldine was unable to reply to her aunt's common-places, and at once unravel their fallacy and penetrate their danger. There are, to my knowledge, at this moment, when volumes on female education pour from the press — when national education is rendering the lower supe- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 15 rior to the higher class in sohd and usefiil knowl- edge — there are scores of well-intentioned ladies, gentlewomen by birth and in manner, who love their daughters, who would (if thej knew how) forward their temporal and eternal welfare in eveiy possible way — and yet do no more than Geraldine Leeson's mother did. When shall we have a school for mothers 1 Mrs. Gascoigne resumed the broken thread of her discourse more quickly than 1 have finished my digression. " Well, my dear Geraldine, I have here a lit- tle present for you — ^just enough to prevent your running to your husband's pocket every mo- ment ; but i/ou must not tell him a ivord about it — it is my secret. If he or your mother were to know 1 had scraped together fifty — no, five-and- forty — guineas for you, they would expect me to go on givmg ; and the more you give, the more you may. So, take it with my blessing, child, and take caie of it; spend it secretly for any httle thing you may want, and say nothing about it.'» Geraldine was really surprised and pleased ; she had never in all her life had so much money of her own, and least of all had she expected it from her " stingy aunt." She reiterated her thanks most sincerely ; and little thought she had taken the first step towards deceivmg her husband and working her own misery. " Remember," repeated Mrs. Gascoigne — "remember, it is rny secret, and you have 16 THE PRIVATE PURSE. promised; you cannot conceive how I should suffer if you broke your word." Again Geral- diiie kissed her, and bade her affectionately fare- well — not before she had been twice summoned by her bridesmaids. " I might as well," said this dangerous moni- tor, as she took her seat by the window to ob- serve the departing carriages — " I might as well have taken back that odd five ; and then the ten her mother gave would have just made up the fifty. I hope she'll take care of it, poor dear child ! There she goes, and her cousin, Arthur Hare well, handing her in ! Well, I shall con- ceive it my duty to give Henry Leeson a hint to look after his pretty wife when Master Harewell is in the way. It is a very queer world we live in !" The people who make the world " queer," as they caU it, are the first to complain of this queer- ness ; and so it was with Mrs. Gascoigne. Her own marriage had been entirely dictated by in- terested motives. She married a rich old miser for the sake of his wealth when she was past forty ; and upon her " queer" ways his *' queer" ways became engrafted. Geraldine's match pleased her, because Mr. Leeson was rich ; and she fancied her god-child had inherited her dis- position, because she had discarded a poor cousin, whom she beheved, erroneously, she loved, and married a wealthy man, whom she, as erroneously, believed she did not love. If Geral- dine had chanced to like and wed her poor THE PRIVATE PURSE. 17 cousin, Mrs. Gascoigne would never have given her five- and forty pence. CHAPTER 11. Geraldixe Leeson had escaped many of the contaminations of a pubUc school, from a sincere desire to learn thoroughly whatever she under- took ; consequently she had little spare time. She knew the sacrifices her mother made that sha might become accomplished ; and besides, slie loved her home dearly and devotedly. She had not left it as early as many children do, so that the home affections, if not full-grown, had taken ro-jt before her departure into a commu- nity as varied and as dangerous as that of all large schools must be, until their entire system is thoroughly regenerated. Still, as this was a " finishing school," she could not but hear vari- ous speculations, on the part of many of the elder girls, as to " when they should come out.'* How anxious the mamma of one was to get papa into good humour, to spend a winter in Paris — whether he could afford it or not — because her cousin had made an excellent match there ; to be sure, the gentleman thought at first, from the style they lived in, that they were very rich, but he knew the difference now ; and the other girls 18 THE PRIVATE PURSE. laughed at this, and exclaimed, " What fun !" Another mourned bitterly " papa's stinginess," and how her poor mamma was obhged to alter the house bills to make them appear more than they were, or else they never could have any- thing fit to wear; while a third rejoiced that such never could be the case at home, as her mamma's pin money was secured, and she did as she pleased without consulting any one ! All this sort of poisoning is carried on, like all poison- ings, secretly : I do believe that few women, un- dertaking the charge of youth, would suffer such observations to go unreproved ; but no governess can have ear and eye for fifty, or even five-and- iwenty, " grown-up " young ladies, who are permitted to sleep, four or two, in the same room, and to wallv attended by foreign teachers, who frequently do not understand the language spo- ken by their pupils. Geraldine had escaped systematic corruption ; she loved music and dancing for their own sakes, and never cared a great deal for creating a sen- sation. She, of course, desired to be loved ; but she never degraded affection by calculation. She would have paused, certainly, before she wedded poverty; but she would not have mar- ried simply because her lover was rich. So far she was tolerably right ; but, unfortunately, many mothers, and hers among the number, have con- fused notions as to the boundaries of the dehcate and indehcate. If love is mentioned, instead of impressing the young mind with a just idea of THE PRIVATE PURSE. 19 its sacred nature, its holy attributes, its natural impulses, it is dimissed with an " Oh fie !" or a reproving look, which at once assures the daugh- ter that her mother cannot be her confidant, and thus a mother loses a stronghold in her child's mind ; whereas, making it the subject of conver- sation, speaking of it as an event on which much of the happiness or misery of after-life depends, would strengthen the reasoning powers against its undue influence, and, while subduing its vio- lence, lead to its being considered in its more holy and sacred bearings. Geraldine's motJier would have almost blushed herself at mentioning a husband to her, in the abstract ; and yet she could not fail to perceive to what the hint of, " Geraldine, wear your blue and white, and let Esther dress your hair; I want you to look particularly well to-night " tended — for this was done when only one eldest son was expected to " come in and try his new flute." Hov/ much of the dignity of truth, with whicli every British mother ought to be crowned, is sacrificed to those petty arts; how much mis- ery ensured, by domestic duties feebly sustained ! " I hope," said her mother — " I hope and pray you may make a good wife ;" and she meant what she said, but she had never adopted the means to make her one. Geraldine read over the marriage ceremony, thought for a moment how harsh that word " obey" sounded, then wondered she had thought it would be so easy to obey one she loved 20 THE PRIVATE PURSE. as she loved Henry^ — obedience would be pleas- ure ;" and so she closed the book. Her nature was very timid. She had little strength of either body or mind, but she had much affection, a gen- tle yielding temper, and wished to do right in aU things. Her husband had settled a handsome independence upon her in case of his death ; but the idea of wanting anything while he lived she had put far from her. Although induced by her selfish aunt to promise not to mention her fatal gift, it had never entered into her head that she was doing wrong in keeping a secret from her husband. Six months had elapsed since Geraldine be- came the wife of Henry Leeson. She was es- tabhshed in a pretty house at the " West End ;" had a chariot of the newest build, a pair of un- exceptionable bays, a very tall footman, and a very little page ; went sometimes to the opera, presided at a small dinner party, and assisted at a soiree, with infinite propriety ; and so liberally had her husband ministered even 1o her fancies, that she had only spent five guineas of her store. She had told him of her mother's gift, but re- mained silent as to her aunt's. Her cousin had come to town to " keep his terms," and her aunt had succeeded her mother as an inmate for a month. " The season," as it is called, had com- menced ; and if it had not been that her aunt's presence damped her spirits, she would have been as happy as any wife could be. Her hus- band never was late at his club, and, hke most THE PRIVATE PURSE. 21 junior partners in a bank, did not remain at his counting-house longer than was absolutely ne- cessary. One evening, soon after the aunt and her niece had taken their places in fi'ont of a private box at Covent Garden — for they did not move in the very high sphere which eschew English theatres altogether — Henry, leaning over his wife's chair exclaimed, " Why, Geraldine, what a handsome chain ! I have not seen it before. Where did you get it T' " I bought it, love." "When?" " Oh ! let me see — this week.'* " This week ! and never consulted me ! I hope," he added, looking somewhat serious, " that it is paid for." " Of course it is, Henry. Why do you ask 1" " Because that chain must have cost twenty- five guineas at least, and, you know, last week you shook your empty purse at me, and I put only ten guineas into it. Where did you get the money '?" Her aunt contrived to press her foot, as a warning. " I told you mamma gave me ten guineas when I left home." " But you told me how you spent five of that at Cheltenham. We young bankers understand subtraction." " Well, then," she replied, colouring with con- fusion, " if you must know, mamma made me up the money, as I fancied the chain." 22 THE PRIVATE PURSK. Mr. Leeson bit his lip. "Indeed!" he re- phed; " she is richer than I fancied." " It does not need a mother to be very rich to give a child ten guineas even for such a toy as this," she said, flinging the links over her pretty shoulder. "Certainly not, my dear; but riches are compa- rative. One person is rich with a pound, another poor with a thousand." He looked serious, even stern for a moment, as if something very unpleas- ant was presented to his mind; and then his fine animated face brightened up, and he added, " I hope my little Geraldine has not made a pri- vate purse!" She could not reply ; she felt agitated, degra- ded; she had told a falsehood, and one likely to be detected. The performance passed unheed- ed ; she tried to smile, but, instead of smihng, burst into tears. Mr. Leeson had not been long enough married to slight a wife's tears ; he with- drew her from the front, and thought he had spoken harshly, when he had only spoken se- riously; he caressed and apologised, and every affectionate word he spoke added to her self- reproach. Soon after, her cousin entered the box ; his manner was only that of most anima- ted young men, light and careless, with an occa- sional empressement, rendered more striking when contrasted with his ordinary trifling. Still, that manner was the one, of all others, her husband disliked most. Nor had Mrs. Gascoigne's inju- dicious hint been wanting, to increase the an- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 23 tipathy he had felt towards this well-intentioned bnt frivolous young man, from the first. Arthur Harewcll used a cousin's privilege to the full; inquired — Henry thought more tenderly than was necessary — after her health, then rallied her on her seriousness, talked the usual quan- tity of nonsense, which women, who know any thing of the world, understand to be matter of course, and then offered some observations on her dress. She complained that the chain had an unsafe clasp, and he offered to take it to the jeweller's to get it repaired — conveying the idea to Henry's mind that he knew where it had been purchased. Mrs. Gascoigne, who hated every one of the Harewells, did not fail to cast in as many inuendoes as she could, to annoy the young barrister, who had too much tact to retort on an elderly rich relative, yet became gradually irrita- ted by his own forbearance. Geraldine was so unhappy as to seem constrained; Henry grew snappish and morose ; and the only one of the party who seemed contented with the evening's proceedings was Mrs. Gascoigne. Not that she acknowledged a wisli to make any one, particu- larly her god-child, unhappy; but, like all other discontented people, she did not quite under- stand why any thing in this world should go smoothly forward, and it was consolatory to im- agine that others were as uncomfortable as her- self. There are persons in this world who de- rive much consolation from the belief that many are more unhappy than themselves. Geraldine 24 THE PRIVATE PURSE. was Linacciistomecl to deception ; as long as the five-and -forty guineas had lain dormant in her desK, there was no visible proof of their existence, and she had no temptation to deceive ; but the chain coming so palpably before her husband's eyes, had changed altogether the nature of the case, and called her deceptive powers into action. She was, however, a bad actress, and felt so. Her impulses were good. "I will not," she said, "run a second risk; I will return my aunt her twenty guineas, and not suffer myself to be again tempted : I was fortunate to get off so well last night." She took out the money, and entered her aunt's room. " You look pale enough," was the morning salutation she received; "and truly, my dear, I am not astonished at it. Mr. Leeson's condiLct was very harsh to you last nifjht, and, I confess, I thought rude to me ; yes, dear, rude to me- — to fly into a passion about a trumpery chain, be- cause, forsooth, he was not consulted — to ask if my niece and god-child had paid for what she wore — to inquire how she got the money — taunt- ing you with your want of fortune." " Oh, dear aunt, he never thought of tliat !" " Permit me to know best, if you please, I\Irs. Leeson. If your mother had done as she ought, she would have stood out for piji-money, and not have left you the degrading task of dunning your husband for every little foolish thing — turn- ing men into molly-cots — Ah ! you may smile if you like, Geraldine ; the phrase is not very ele- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 25 gant, but it is very expressive — you will allow that, I suppose. However, you were no child of mine, or I would have managed differently, and taught you difterently. Men change, my poor girl ; and it is quite right for a woman to provide against that change." "By a large stock of affection 1" inquired Geraldine, half amused, and more than half awakened by her aunt's theory. " No, my dear, but as large a stock of cash as she can muster. Henry makes you an al- lowance for house-keeping; you do not spend it all, I hopel" " No, aunt; he has giveu me great credit for good management. I saved nearly five pounds out of my first month's allowance." *' And you told him sol" '* I certainly did. Now, my dear aunt, why do you look so ] Where would have been the pleasure of saving without his praise ? I saved five pounds, and gave it him.' " And he took it?" " Yes ; of course he did." " And after that to speak so meanly about the chain ! (which, to confess the truth, was a bit of extravagance ; but he did not think that) — a pretty clear proof that he expects you to consult him on ewnYy inch of ribbon. Don't be a fool, Geraldine. I know the world, and I know that the more you give in, the more you may. Why, you do not expect a business-man, such as Mr. Leeson surely is, to suffer you to lay out his 26 THE PRIVATE PURSE. money for what you may fancy? — he know? how money grows out of money, too well for that. No ; make up your mind ta one of two courses — either be content to sink into an upper ser- vant, spending your month's allowance upon the house, and giving in your honest account, or do as T did — as other women do — and keep a little for yourself; you do not know how yoii may want it; and, from the fuss he made last night about that stupid chain — in public, too — I think you may very easily judge that he in- tends to draAV the purse-strings tight ; and you looked all the night as penitent as if you had committed a crime. Well, well, you will know better. I once knew a woman who manager! to scrape a purse together so cleverly, that, when her husband got into difficulties, she was able to provide all sorts of little comforts for the house, without the knowledge of the creditors." "But was that honest "?" inquired the young wife, "as it was saved out of his means." " But surely he intended it to have been spent 1" " Yes, very likely," replied Mrs. Leeson, who was musing on her husband's rudeness; and then she added, " Yet such a system destroys mutual confidence." "My poor foolish child!" retorted her aunt, with an ominous shake of the head — " My poor foolish child ! you do not surely believe that your husband tells you everything — makes you a con- fidant ! A handsome, would-be-fashionable young man make his wife his confidant! — tell her every THE PRIVATE PURSE. 27 thing! Why, what a fool you must be! — ah ah !" and the old crackhng laugh grated on Ger- aldine's heart. "By the way," resumed the ad- viser, " who was with you when you bought that chain r' " My cousin." " Oh! and you told Mr. Leeson that, too, I suppose." "No, I did not; but I would in a moment, for I saw no harm in it." " Well my dear he ivould; he's as jealous as a Turk. I would not wonder he thought that Arthur IJarewell had given you that chain." "I told him mamma gave me the money." "Oh! ah! so you did; I daresay he thought her a great fool, for he must know how little she has to spare ; however, dear, there's an end of it now. Take my advice — do not invite Arthur to the house yourself, keep what money you have safely, and add to it whenever you can. You'll find Henry, with all his love, will draw the purse-strings tighter and tighter every year ; it's always the way with those business-men : and men of independence are just as bad in the other way, they draw in to meet their own greedy extravagance." Geraldine was so confounded by the variety of new ideas — the suspicion that she did not pos- sess her husband's confidence, that he insulted her by his jealousy, that let her be as confiding as she would, she would meet with no return, that he was, or would be, avaricious, not from 28 THE PRIVATE PURSE. want but caprice — all caused her such pain, that she retired to her room to find rehef in tears, without returning the remainder of her money. If she had preconceived notions upon the subject — if her mind had been decided that, let her hus- band''s conduct be what if would, her duties, sol- emnly pledged at the altar, remained the same, all would have been well. But, poor thing, she had no fixed principles to build on. Her cousin called a couple of hours after, and she did not ask him to dinner. When her husband returned he found her languid and cold, with an inde- scribable air of offended dignity; whereas he, on the other hand, felt constrained and afflicted at a duplicity he had discovered for the first time. If either had confided in the other, how much after misery would have been spared to both ! Mr. Leeson heard from the footman that Mr. II are well had called, and thought it was odd his wife did not as usual mention his name, with those of two or three other visiters ; then he ask- ed her abruptly, *' Why she had not detained her cousin Arthur to dinner 1" Her aunt's insinuation as to her husband's jealousy immediately occurred to her, and she stammered and blushed so as to recall vividly to his mind the young man's frivolous manner on the preceding evening; and the consequence was, that both felt exceedingly unhappy. THE PRIVATE PURSE. 29 CHAPTER III. It is not to be wondered at that Mr. Leeson suffered a good deal of anxiety ; for it so hap- pened he had discovered that his wife's mother was exceedingly distressed for money before she liad quitted his house to return to her own ; and, with a deUcacy which deserved increased confi- dence, he had placed a sum at her disposal as she was leavino: London, intreatino; her not to mention it to Geraldine, lest the shadow of ob- ligation might give her pain. The old lady thanked him with tears of gratitude, confessing tliat she had wished to borrow a few pounds from her daughter, but thought it better not, lest it miojht lead to uncomfortable feelinos. This proved to him that his beloved wife — she whom he loved with all the passion of a strong, truthfid, and fervent affection — she in whose simple purity he trusted, and would have trusted for ever — had deceived him by a mean falsehood. If she had not returned him the five pounds already men- tioned, he would again have taxed her with forming a private purse, but that act militated so strongly against such a supposition, that he re- pudiated the idea for one far more painful — he believed slie had either accepted the chain from her cousin, or borrowed the money from him. Henry Leeson's nature was none of the softest. He entertained the highest possible sense of fe- male honour. Whatever the fact might be, he 30 THE PRIVATE PURSE. boasted of always making his affections subject to his reason. And on that same evening-, when they were alone, he said, after about twenty min- utes had been spent in a restless and painful dia- logue, in which neither were explicit, yet both saw that something remained untold — he said, sternly, for the fair and gentle face he looked upon had lost the radiance of truth, *' Thus much, Geraldine — thus much; beware at and attempt to deceive me ; for, if you do so once, you will never do so a second time." The young wife wept, and wept bitterly ; but tliough only four-and-twenty hours had elapsed since he dried her tears so anxiously, yet then he had not thought, and calculated, and placed one circumstance with another, to see how they tallied ; and he had clung to the hope that she would have fi-ankly told the truth when they were alone — he had pictured her with her pale weep- ing face, he had framed the gentle counsel, and beard the fond promise ; he had hoped even that she had gone in debt rather than have been obliged to any man for a golden gift, which she feared to confess. Her aunt's extreme niggard- liness prevented the supposition that she had be- stowed anything upon her save what even misers {j-ive — advice. Yet little did he imagine what the nature of that advice would be. Young men in general are careful enouo^h as to what male society their wives mingle with ; but they ought to be even more careful as to the female. A woman is on her guard amongst men, but THE PRIVATE PURSE. 31 {imoiiT?t women her heart and ears are both open ; yet what pernicious notions may she not imbibu from that dangerous class of persons called " women of the world." It would be almost impossible to trace how one small suspicion grew out of another ; how Geral- dine's heart heaved and ached under the con- sciousness that her husband regarded every tiling she did with a prejudiced eye, and listened to her words with a jealous ear ; how, having asked him for soma fancy of hers, when he was in a myod not to grant a favour, he refused; and her aunt, who unfortunately happened to be present, took occasion to exult in the truth of her evil prophecy. " You see, Geraldine, I was right ; every Inis- band grows selfish sooner or later ; and a poor woman who has no spirit is sure to be trampled on — never has a shilhng to spend on herself, un- less she manages.'''* Geraldine had no broad ideas as to the duties of wedded life. She, happily for herself, had never thought of discussing the rights of women apart from the rights of men. She did not seek to disturb the beautiful harmony of natui'e, by setting up the weak against the strong — by en- deavouring to reason a woodbine into becoming an oak ; but she did think sometimes that as the oak did not afford much generous support to the woodbine, the woodbine might manage a little artificial support for itself. So she fell, by de- grees, into her aunt's plan. She stinted the 32 THE PRIVATE PURSE. house to fill lier private purse, and tliis narrow- ness rendered his home anj thing but comforta- ble to her husband ; but even this was not the worst. She, who had felt and mourned over her first untruth with so much real bitterness of spirit, had become accustomed to falsehood ; it was necessary to tell one little lie to hide an- other ; the holy beauty of truth had altogether departed from her. Whenever her conscience reproached her, she whispered to it " that she could not help it — that if Henry had continued the Henry he was at first, it would have been dif- ferent — that it was his fault — that he was severe — that he had grown suspicious — that as he often blamed her without a cause, she might as well have a little of her own way as not — that he was frightfully stingy." It was impossible for any one to have proceeded in this course, Avithout be- coming morally degraded ; it is wonderful how slowly yet surely this degradation progresses ; until, when a review of the past takes place, we are astonished that what tcere principles should now be called prejudices^ and marvel at our past simplicity. Such were generally Geraldine's re- flections. She almost smiled to think how she had blushed and trembled at an equivocation; but such smiles are only as gleams of sunshine on a sepulchre, and when they pass, woe, woe, for the rottenness within ! Arthur Hare well always came to London in term time, and sometimes remained until it had been long over. Henry Leeson would hai'dly THE PRIVATE PURSE. 33 confess to himself that he regarded him with sus- picion ; and yet, though they frequented the same club, walked together, went to the theatres to- gether, and Arthur was the constant guest of his table, Mr. Leeson was any thing but comfortable in his society. In indulging this feeling, he did his wife gross injustice. She loved her husband, and practised no deception towards him, except on the one point ; but it would have been next to impossible to convince him of this. She was universally admired ; her lovehness was matured into beauty. She was never absent from her husband's thoughts for ten minutes together ; and yet he was the only person who appeared indifferent to her. Her memory was not always true to her false- hood : she often betrayed herself. She had lost her husband's respect. The vase was broken, and though much of the perfume remained, he did not seek to treasure it, but rather desired to have the power of turning fi'om it altogether: each had a separate interest. And when he looked upon the only child God had given them — a girl — his heart sunk within him. " For," he said, " she will grow up a liar like her mother!" To do Geraldine justice, ^he en- deavoured, strange as it may seem, to impress her daughter with a love of truth ; but her ideas of right and wrong, in their bravest and highest sense, were confused — and precept in education is nothing worth without practice. 3 34 THE PRIVATE PURSE. She had not seen her mother since the birth of her child, as she had been abroad from ill health. Her amit visited her but too often, for she became, unfortunately, the depositary of her secrets, and still advised her to keep her purse closer than ever, as be sure her child, as slie grew up, would want so many things its father would not give it. It would be impossible to particularise the va- rious instances of mistrust that occasioned so many bickerings between Geraldine and her hus- band ; but they had led to this result — that, even when she spoke the truth, her husband did not believe her. A disbelief in her truth as regarded money matters, was not the only doubt that passed through and occasionally took possession of Henry's mind. He fastened upon her a care- less impropriety of conduct, which was altogether apart from her nature ; and never did she wear the chain which occasioned her first act of dissim- ulation, without its rendering him silent and mo- rose. At last her mother, whom much sickness had made a wiser woman, came to visit them ; and so great was the change apparent in both, that she resolved to probe its cause as far as she was able. THE PRIVATE PUKSE. 35 CHAPTER IV. " How is it, Geraldine," said her mother to Mrs. Leeson — *' how is it that you and Henry are so changed in your manner to each other '? Four years ago, I left you all affection ; now, I find you hardly civil — this is very bad." " It is," rephed her daughter ; "but it is not my faidt. Henry is perpetually hisulting, by asking me the most frivolous questions, and then sneering at my replies. He never believes a word I say. It was only yesterday he took our child on his knee, and read her such a homily on the beauty of truth that she looked at him, poor innocent, in fear and astonishment, without understanding his meaning, and then he looked at me. Oh ! mother, I wish I had never mar- ried. It is very true what my aunt says — ^you never can know how a man will turn out." " Your aunt, my dear, is a very bad counsellor. I fear she has caused mischief between you." " Oh, no ! but she told me how it would be. AVhy, before we were six months married, he took me to task about a chain ! But that is nothing; I assure you he is niggardly in the ex- treme." " You must be wrong, Geraldine," said her mother, earnestly ; " indeed, you must be wrong. When I left you to go abroad — though I did not tell you so, lest it would make you unhappy — my finances were deplorably reduced. He ques- 36 THE PRIVATE PURSE. tioned me upon them with the greatest delicacy ; and when he found how I was circumstanced, as he was handing me into the carriage, he shpped a purse containing a hundred guineas into my hand." Geraldine felt her colour change. " But how did he find that out, in the first instance T' she inquired, after a pause. " 1 really do not know," rephed her mother ; " but you remember, dear, I was always a very bad dissembler. Your aunt says I can be seen through in a moment, which I dare say is the case, and I do not care about it. What does it matter when one has nothing to conceal ! I never led him to suppose that you had a penny, or that I had sixpence beyond my small annuity ; so I confessed that when I came to pay you the bridal visit, I had not five pounds iu the world." " Good heavens !" exclaimed Geraldine, the falsehood she had fi-amed as to her mother giving her ten pounds towards the purchase of the chain, and the effect it must have had upon her husband's mind, flashing upon her Ibr the first time. " Oh ! mamma, why did you not tell me this before 1 What must my husl^and have thought of me?' "Thought of yoM, my dear?" replied her mother, not understanding her allusion. " Why, what had you to do with it ? He knew, as I have told you, perfectly well that you had noth- ing whatever to do with the matter ; but I called it very handsome of him — very handsome in- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 37 deed." And the lady resumed the perusal of her book, thinking it better to let this anecdote of her son-in-laAv's generosity operate of icself upon her daughter. Geraldine felt the blood rush to her head, and in another moment she was chill and trembhng. She went to her own room, and traced back circumstance to circum- stance. She saw clearly that on that evening she must have appeared guilty of duphcity. She remembered her husband's deep-seated and con- stant love and aftection previous to that event ; how her every wish was anticipated by him. She remembered how pleased, how happy he. looked, when she gave him the five pounds she had saved from her housekeeping ; and she could not but acknowledge that all the satisfac- tion she had received from her secret peculations had been gall and wormwood, in comparison to the approving smiles which she now knew how she had at first forfeited. Truly her tears were many and sincere. She would willingly have retraced her steps had she known how ; but she felt she had not strength to do so. She fancied confession more humiliating than deception ; and, moreover, Henry's late unkindnesses were so numerous and so severe, that she forgot, when recalling them, how much was owing to the sus- picions she herself had created. She resolved to confide in her mother the par- ticulars regarding the chain, hoping she should be able to prevail on her to say, if she was ques- tioned on the subject, that she had borrowed the 30 THE PRIVATE PURSE. money to lend her ; for, as I have said before, lies yield ample fi-uitage. She had of late men- tioned some of her perplexities to her cousin ; and here I am forced to pause, to observe that one of the most foolish acts of a young woman's life is the confiding- in any man, either what she fears to intrust to her husband, or any complaint against him. It is almost always sure to betray itself; and if it does not, the step is so imprudent, so likely to lead to results affecting her character, and certainly to affect her conduct, that of all things it ought to be the most dreaded, the most avoided. It is seldom that a woman, resolved to bear and forbear, cannot succeed in winning her husband's friendship in the end. When this is really impossible — which I think can only be the case when a man is thoroughly unprincipled — may God help her ! It is wiser for her not to complain of him she has sworn to "love, honour, and obey." Her own sex are, with a few most honourable exceptions, too feeble for friendship ; and where there is youth and beauty, men are dangerous friends. It is wiser, then, I repeat, under such circumstances, for a woman to con- ceal her sorrows, and to alleviate them by active and duteous employment, rather than by idle and dangerous repinings. If scandal catches her character, injury will be, at best, sustained in setting it free ; and the wretchedness of having been doubted, when forgotten by friends (if it ever be,) is never uni'emembered by her upon whom suspicion has rested. The very reputa- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 39 tion of having a male friend is injurious to a young English wife. It is only a vigorous mind that can bear being thus shut in with itself. A firm and noble one will bear it, because it is right ; and perhaps, after years of firm endurance, be rewarded by the friendship it has so richly de- served — the friendship of him in whom a young heart trusted. Geraldine loved her cousin really as a sister loves a brother ; but no more. She had never bestowed upon him an atom of affection that she need have blushed to own even to her husband ; and though her cousin may be acquitted of all premeditated wrong towards her, he was not averse to being rallied on the preference evmced for him by his lovely relative. He assured every one " that it was a brother and sister affection," — that, "it was impossible it could be anything else, as they had been children together " — that *' Geraldine was too devoted to her husband to indulge even a friendship for any one — except her cousin." But he did not say these things frankly, and seriously, and boldly, as it becomes a man of high honour to do ; he said them with a smile or a shrug, or a dolce sort of self-satisfied expression, which made the careless young men of his acquaintance declare him a " lucky fellow," and married men say " that Leeson should look after his wife ;" while matrons and old maids began to throw somethino^ of siathies is the hap- 52 THE PRJVATE PURSE. py effect of chance, but a union of interests is a positive duty; and so at last Geraldine felt it. Time passed on. Mr. Leeson, although he despised the feeble mind of his wife's mother, and kept her out of the way of her grandchild, ministered liberally to her necessities. His daughter grew up in mind all that the fondest parent could desire, although her fragile form and sensitive face told of constitutional delicacy; and he had almost forgotten that ever he doubted his wife's truth. They had removed into a new neighbourhood, and formed new friends. The son of one of these, a man of high rank, was paying his address to their daughter; and not only were the young girl's affections engaged, but both parents were delighted at the prospect of her happiness. Father and son Mere dining one day at Mr. Leeson's splendid country scat, when the old gentleman, who was chiefly remarkable for ex- treme propriety, and was moreover exceedingly deaf, said, as they were chatting over dessert, " By the way, Leeson, my cousin. Sir George, was telling me an odd story about a person of your name, no relation I suppose — ehV^ Mr. Leeson did not know. "No; but it could not be — very improper indeed if it was. Leeson is a general, 1 do not mean to say a common name, but a general one. Something about an affair that ought to have given employment to the gentlemen of the long robe ; but the lady, who was a dreadful storv-tellsr. managed to con- THE PRIVATE PURSE. 53 vince her husband of her innocence, though she convinced nobody else. And only fancy, by Jove ! the husband parading- St. James's Street arm-in-arm with the very cousin whom he had winged ! Now, did you ever hear any thing so absurd? How the fellows at the club windows must have laughed!" Poor Mrs. Leeson ! After the lapse of years, to hear this at such a moment ! She was car- ried out of the room fainting. An explanation followed, and the match was, at least for a time, broken off. The shock was of too severe a nature to be endured by so gentle and tender minded a girl as Miss Leeson. Sli^ had known her mother only as good and pure. She had been more proud of her character and virtue than of any- thing else in the whole world; but after that fatal dinner she never spoke upon the subject, nor asked a question, until at the very last. Within an hour of her death (and she died within a month,) raising herself on her pillow, while her parents were at either side, she folded her arm round her father's neck, and drawing his ear close to her hps, whispered, " Tell me, father — tell me truth — was she guilty 1" " No, dearest — God knows, she was not." The gii'l's face became radiant with joy, and the last word she spoke was a repetition of the sound she loved so well — "My mother! — my mother! — my mother!" And then she passed away, as the leaves from the summer cistus, as 54 THE PRIVATE PURSE. fragile and as fair — the first rough blast of a rough world had borne her to the earth. For years and years her parents lived, two mourning creatures, he strengthening her, and she, patient and silent, save to the young, whom she counselled, as I do you — that when you wed, do it not lightly; but when done, en- deavour as much as lieth in you to be of one mind and one interest in all things. CLEVERNESS. CHAPTER I. It would be difficult to picture a more delight- ful village than East-court ; its fine old manor- house, combining the architecture of half a dozen reigns, bound together by ivy, the growth of at least two centuries ; its straggling grotesque houses, with high gables and tall chimneys, fenced along the road by broad yew hedges, cut here and there into various patterns — owls, and peacocks, and arches, where small birds had nested time out of mind. Yes ; East-court was a pleasant village. There was in the centre of a sort of common green that flanked one side, a pond, large enough to entitle it to the dignity of being termed " a lake." But the people of East-court having originally been an unambitious race, were satisfied that the pond should be simply called a pond — and a beautiful pond it was. Two noble willows extended their branches nearly to the water's midst, and a clump of mingled holly, and taper- ing feathery birch, was so beautiful in its growth and colour, that an artist once came ten miles to 56 CLEVERNESS. sketch it; a fact which the old landlord of the " Three Bee-Hives" repeated several times each day of his life, forgetting altogether, good old soul, that every one in East-court was aware of a circumstance so flattering to the beauty of their long-loved home. The cottages at East-court were so disposed, as to add to the effect of the larger dwellings — pretty white and brown erec- tions ; the walls as white as lime and labour could make them; and the dark-brown thatch nearly covered by those sweet and beautiful climbers which belong of right to the cottage homes of England. On the very summit of an abrupt conical hill, that sprung up suddenly at the back of the manor-house, was a windmill, with wide extended arms and snow-white sails ; and at the foot of the hill on the other side, guarded by some venerable trees, stood East-court church with the adjoining parsonage-house. There were but few shops at East-court, for the village was only three miles from the county town. But the very shops partook of the picturesque character of this truly English hamlet; and many persons declared that there never was so quiet, so venerable, and yet, withal, so cheerful a village as East-court, or, as the very old people called it, " East-court o' the Hill." It might well be a cheerful village ; the gen- tleman who resided in the manor-house was a magistrate, and landlord of every adjacent dwell- ing. He was, in all acts of love and charity, a second Sir Roger de Coverley ; and had a bro- CLEVERNESS. 57 ther, a physician, who had one wing of the old manor-house fitted up as a surgery and dispen- sary; but he never took fee for advice, or pay- ment for medicine, from any human being ; feel- ing — at least so it would appear, from the alacri- ty with which he dispensed both — that he was under particular obligation to all who took his prescriptions, and was never happy after a baby was born in the parish until it was vaccinated. It was rare, indeed, to meet with such men as the squire and his good brother. Well might East-court be the very paradise of English vil- lages. I have said nothing of the rector ; but cer- tainly, unless he had carefully laboured in, and pruned and trimmed his vineyard, the old would not have descended to their graves with such hope and humility, nor would the young have lived together with such peace and good-will. For the rest, a dancing, music, and a species of drawing master, who combined drawing and wri- ting together, made each the round of the neigh- bourhood once a week ; thus the simple-minded people imagined that the means of " a pohte edu- cation" were safely secured to their children ; and the village school was under the immediate do- minion of the parish-clerk and his wife, and en- dowed in every way by the lord of the manor, so that the peasant class were considered well provided for as to their sources of information. I could say a great deal more in favour of East- court and its inhabitants as they were about fif- teen years ago, but perhaps have detailed enough 58 CLEVERNESS. to create an interest for them, and may be permit- ted to pass on to the day on which a story con- nected with its inhabitants may be considered to open. " A new family, a rich and respectable family, did you say, Isaac, wanting the Deerstone house, where Mr. Rowley died?' inquired Squire Rus- sel of East-court, of his land-steward Isaac Hey- wood. " Yes, your honour," rephed Isaac, bowing; *' a lady and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Diggons by name, three young masters, two young Miss- es (doll-looking young things,) seven servants, a tutor, and a governess." "Diggons," repeated the squire, who had a little leaning towards aristocratic names ; " Dig- gons; it is not an old name, Isaac, though it may belong to respectable people." "Certainly, sir; he's a fine gentleman, and wears chains and rings; a fine gentleman, and has (his man says) a great library, for his lady is very clever; indeed, his man says, they are an extraordinary clever family." " We never, I think, had a family of that des- cription, Isaac, in the village," answered Mr. Russel, after a pause. " I cannot say 1 like peo- ple who appear more clever than their neigh- bours. However, this is perhaps a prejudice, and we should guard against prejudices. We will look into the references." The references were looked into, and Mr. Diggons was found an eligible tenant for Deer- CLEVERNESS. 59 Stone. The arrival of the " clever family" occa- sioned more than the ordinary commotion, for they brouglit with them various things that the good people of the village had only heard of in an obscure manner — chemical apparatus, elec- trifying machines, various astronomical instru- ments ; in short, some of the older and simpler people regarded Mr. Diggons very much in the light of a necromancer, and the small, pale, acute-faced tutor as his familiar — something or' other which they did not like to name. When everything was settled, and every one got used to everything, Mr. Russel and his brother, Mr. Graham Russel, agreed that the Diggonses were a good set of people, eaten up with a desire to be celebrated, which of course prevented its accomplishment; leaving town where they were nobodies, to reside in the coun- try, where they hoped to be "somebodies," at the very least, labouring to acquu-e conversable knowledge of abstruse sciences, not being par- ticular loho approved, as long as approbation was bestowed ; unable to persevere to the amount of being informed, and yet having a smattering of everything. Bating this eager thirsting after admiration — not after science for its own noble sake, but for the gaping admu-ation of the many — the family were kindly, cheerful, and hospita- ble people ; not selfish, either, in their pursuits, but willing to inform others. Three or four self-thinking inhabitants of East-court agreed with Mr. Russel and his brother in their rational 60 CLEVERNESS. estimate of the new family ; but the many open- ed wide their mouths, and gave their " most sweet voices " in applause. The Diggonses were pronounced to be the most "talented people in England !" Science has many triflers in her train ; and certainly amongst them she number- ed every member of the Diggons family ; from Mr. Diggons, who trifled with all the sciences, down to pretty little pale Elizabeth, who sighed and smiled over a miniature galvanic battery. On the left-hand side of the village, com- manding a view of the green, the huge pond, and the picturesque cottages beyond, was a pretty cheerful-looking house ; " happy " you would have called it, for inanimate things can be so placed, so garnished, as to look happy. The draperies within the windows were of white muslin trimmed with blue silk lace and fringe ; and the trellis-work outside was almost concealed by the wreaths of flowers that owed their lux- uriance and beauty to much care and a warm southern aspect. There was an ample bow window and several other long narrow ones, that seemed playing hide-and-seek among the roses and myrtles that were always in blow; and the chimneys were tall and square, and the gables very high. There was also a conserva- tory, and you could see that, besides plants, it contained several birds of splendid plumage. In short, the outward appearance of the dwelling combined so much that was tasteful and expen- sive, the looker-on was assured there was both CLEVERNESS. 61 wealth iiid taste within the latter, keeping the former in subjection. This house had the quaint name of East-in- Rest, why, I know not, and no one at East- court seemed to think it strange. It was almost as large, and of the same date as the manor- house, and had been, time out of mind, inhabited by the same family, once as numerous as honour- able, but now dwindled down to a widow and two children — a boy and girl. The lady was still lovely, her children beautiful ; the boy, tall, fair, and handsome, but whose movements par- took of the irregularity and languor of ill, or at least delicate health ; the gh-1 was also fair and delicate, but with an energy and decision of character marking every movement, that de- ceived even her motlier as to her bodily strength. When the " clever family " came to reside at Deerstone, Alfred Erris was nearly seven, and Lucy between eight and nine ; and as the two children clung together, gazing at the evolutions of a good-natured macaw, wlio invariably exer- cised himself to amuse them, Mrs. Diggons might almost be excused, when returning Mrs. Erris' visit, for the encomium she injudiciously passed on their beauty. " Well, Mrs. Erris, you may certainly be proud of their beauty," she exclaimed; "I never saw two such darlings— loves — quite. I should so like my son Robert to paint them; he does such charming thinps. There is no doubt but, 6-2 CLEVERNESS. if he chofie, he coiild be an R. A. in three months." *' Alfred draws a Httle," said Mrs. Erris. *'A httle!" repeated Mrs. Diggons. "My dear lady, at his age Robert copied the car- toons ; but I do not wonder at your spoiling such angels. I assure you I had plenty of strug- gles with myself ere I could make my boys and girls work. I lost the flower of the flock about five years ago — died, sweet child, in six days, of brain fever ! A wonderful memory he had, poor darling; could repeat poetry for two hours by my watch, when only eight years old." It never occurred to Mrs. Erris that this killed him ; but she said that though Alfred could not do that, he, too, had an excellent memory. " Which," said the lady, " you must work. Memory, of all things, must be cultivated ; but 1 do not wonder at your spoiling such an angel." Mrs. Erris assured her that she did not "spoil" him, and in proof thereof, asserted that he could repeat a great number of Watts' hymns. "Watts' hymns!" answered Mrs. Diggons with an irreverent sneer at the purest child- poetry in any language, living or dead ; " such a creature as that should be able to repeat ora- tions from Shakspere and Milton." " In time," said Mrs. Erris, making a secret resolve that he should do so immediately, and beginning to think that she had really neglected his education. CLEVERNESS. 63 "Is he fond of the languages'?" continued the lady. " He has commenced Latin, and learnt French and English together orally, I may say," replied the abashed mother. "Only commenced Latin!" exclaimed Mrs. Diggons in a compassionate tone. " Well, to be sure, he will never want it, as they say ; but I should have an ambition to see such a noble creature as that 'far on' in everything; but per- haps, if he is not much advanced in languages, he is ' well up' in the sciences." Mrs. Erris was a timid, gentle woman, very anxious for her children, and fearful lest they should grow to think she had not done her duty. " Indeed," she replied, blushing, " he hardly knows the meaning of the word. His taste leads him to study; but my good friend Doctor Graham Russel says his brain is already too large, and insists so much on air and exercise, and out-door amusements, that my dear boy is backward, rather, in absolute study; not that he is ignorant; he knows the names of all the trees and flowers, the " "Botanical names'?" mildly suggested Mrs. Diggons. " No ; the homely English names and their uses," replied the widow ; " remember, he is only seven years old." "Well, well," ejaculated the lady; "I can perfectly understand Dr. Russel's prejudice ; he has arrived at that time of life when men look 64 CLEVERNESS. at improvements suspiciously, because they are not of their time. He is an old man ; and if I had minded our family physician even in poor Elizabeth's case, ma'am, she'd have been a dis- grace to me ; that unhappy curve in her spine, he declared arose from her sitting so closely to the harp, and she was obliged to rechne; but during the three years she laid upon a slightly inclined plane, she never missed a single lesson, nor did I yield her any indulgence — never suf- fered her to have an amusing book. 'No,' I said to the physician ; ' smce she cannot go on with the harp, she shall be remarkable at some- thing else;' that was my ambition, to have re- markable children. Her nature was soft and gentle, but we hardened it with mathematics and algebra." This, at the moment, startled Mrs. Erris. She thought of the deformed girl, and her pale, anxious, thoughtful face, from which every ray of joy seemed banished. She had struck her, at first, as being the only one of this " clever family" who was not superficial. Such had been her first impression. But Mrs. Diggons' manner was imposing in more senses than one ; and the timid, retiring mother, who had really done her duty by not overtasking, and yet sufii- ciently exercising the infant intellect of her chil- dren, felt bitter self-reproach while her new neigh- bour enumerated the acquirements of her off- spring, without calling to mind that one of them had fallen a victim to brain fever, while another was deformed for life. CLEVERNESS. 65 CHAPTER 11. Alfred and Lucy Erris were invited to spend a day with the family at Deerstone ; and — in- stead of the canter on the pony, the race on the upland lawn, the whoop and merry play, which is the healthy relaxation of healthful children, and which they had expected with an interest which was a pleasure in itself — there was a grand show-off of science, a parade of hard names, a display of precocious understanding, or rather its distorted shadow, which rendered Alfred and Lucy uncomfortable, and Alfred for the first time in his life thoughtful of display, and straining after effect which rendered him unnatural. Mrs. Erris, who dined there, felt thoroughly ashamed of her children. One young Diggons painted, another excelled in languages, another made crude poetry, which, though correct in numbers, was without idea ; and as to the " ologies," hard words, and parrotted sentences, there was no end of them ! Poor Mrs. Erris wondered why she had suffered her beautiful boy — who looked like a Grecian statue amid plaster and rough stone images — to display his ignorance, and innately resolved to adopt Mr. Diggons's plan, and abridge his hours of relaxation and exercise, that he might " make the most of time " — a duty doubtless ; but let how the most can be made of this ffold from God be ascertained before the vaiu- 5 66 CLEVERNESS. est and most injurious of all vain-glories, that of making " show-children" is attempted. In accordance with her determination, Mrs. Erris dismissed her son's tutor, (whom Mr. Dig- gons had pronounced " merely a classic ") for one who was " classical and scientific," a hard stern man, with an iron constitution; and direct- ed Lucy's governess to " keep her at work " un- der the tutor's direction. There was no difficul- ty in making these children study — no difficulty in getting them to rise in the morning ; their do^ cile and intelligent minds were open to receive, and fertile to produce. In natural capabilities, they were far superior to their showy neighbours; and their moral and thinking qualities were far beyond those of Mr. Diggons's otf spring. Alfred was indeed a boy of the noblest qualities, enter- ing into the spirit of history, comprehending and analysing, idealising, too, until his dry hot hand, flushed cheek, and throbbing brow, would have warned any teacher of feeling and observation, that it was time to lay by the book and the pen, and away into the bright fields, and among the joy-giving and health-giving beauties of nature. And yet this tutor loved the boy ; he delighted in him, because he delighted in learning, and be- cause he felt no expressed fatigue in poring over ^he world of knowledge, which delighted him u■«*^e and more every day. He knew that he was the only son of an ancient house, and that much depended on him ; and he thought how fine it would be to see liim carry the hin in science and art — two words which her pupils had imbibed a hatred for, from lengthy catechisms and dry details — were illuminated at once by her simple and happy method of conveying instruction. A new exist- ence dawned upon their minds : they understood THE GOVERNESS. 143 why their hoop rolled, and why it came to the ground ; they understood why morning followed night, and why the heat was at noon the most intense. They had learned more orally than they ever learned from books. Poor Emily knew this; and as her arm encircled her trunk, and her hot fevered breath hung upon the closed windows of the rattlincr cab, which was takiiijr her she knew not where, the words of the French teacher rang in her ears — " Torment the flesh otl' your bones — plague yourself to death — fag, faj;- — and see ! At the last you will have no more thanks for your heavy toil than ] shall have for my light labour." " Still," she murmured, " I have done my duty." " Please ma'am," said the man to an elderly woman who opened the door of a small house, " here's a lady, like, your daughter in Kensmg- ton has sent you, as a lodger ; and you are to be particular kind to her, and she'll try and run down to-morrow nioht, between lights. The fare is paid, miss — the young woman paid it. She said she knew you hadn't changed your cheque." Mary's mother did not look as good-natured as Mary herself. But Emily was so bowed down by circumstances as hardly to observe the differ- ence. " Well," observed the woman to her youngest daughter — " well, I never saw any one so care- less about accommodation. Why, she said, the back would do as well as the fi-ont room, though 144 THE GOVERNESS. I told her she might have either at the same rent; and if I had not undressed her, she'd have either sat up all night, or lain down in her clothes. She's more like a dead than a living CHAPTER V. The next morning the pat, pat, pat, of Mr. Byiield's cane was heard ascending the steps leading to Mr. Hylier's hall door; his knock had the determined sound of " I will come in." " Remember, James," said his mistress, " pop- ping" her head out of the breakfast-room, " i am not at home — I shall not be home all day — I am out for a week — went down to meet your master last night." James bowed, and the lady disappeared. " My mistress is not at home, sir," observed the sapient footman. Mr. Byfield poked him aside with his cane, and having entered the hall, said, "I want to speak to Miss Dawson." " Miss Dawson, sir, left the house last night." "Left last night! Then where is she gone to?" " I really can't say, sir ; she's left for good, trunk and all." fflft 66VERNESS. 145 "Lcft^— gone; but surely you must know- where she drove tol" " The housemaid saw her off, sh\" Mr. By- field commanded Mary to appear; but she having always hved "in the best families," hed with superior firmness. *' The very words Miss Dawson said, sir, were, ' Tell the cab to drive to Oxford Street, and then I will direct him the number;' these were her last words, sir, and I can tell no more." Mary was in haste — not agitated by the untruth — so she stayed no farther question, but dived down the kitchen stairs. "Now," said the old gentleman, "I must see your mistress." " Not at home sir," repeated James. " When Avill she be at home?" " Not for a week. She's gone down to where master's stopping." " That's the third falsehood you have told since I entered this house, young man," ob- served Mr. Byfield. " Your mistress cannot have gone down to where your master is, be- cause business obliged your master to come to my house this morning, even before he visited his own ;" and Mr. Byfield turned and entered the breakfast-room so suddenly as almost to knock down the fair mistress of the mansion, who certainly was as close to the door as if she had been about to open it for her unwelcome intruder. " Good morning, madam !" he said, with the exceeding courtesy of an angfy man, before the 10 146 THE OOYERNESS. Storm that has gatliered, breaks. " Good morn- ing. Will you have the kindness to tell me where Miss Dawson is gone, and why she is gone?" Mrs. Hylier suffered Mr. Bjfield to repeat his question before she answered ; she was de- bating within herself whetlier she should assume the tone of indignant and outraged propriety, or tli.it of a gentle upbraiding ; her temper triumph- ed, and she lost sight of her husband's interests and her husband's wishes. In loud and unqual- ified terms she upbraided Mr. By field with what she termed his sinful duphcity, in forcing a per- son, whom she called by no gentle nama, into her house; exhausted a dictionary of epithets upon Miss Dawson — talked wildly and at ran- dom of depravity — and wound all up by a move- ment something between an hysteric and a faint. Mr. Byfield sat — his great gray eyes dilating and contracting, like those of a cat in the sun- shine, according as his passions were moved ; and notwithstanding his age, such was their fire, that they would have scorched the noisy fragile thing — who had sunk into her luxurious chair, a trembling heap of mull-muslin and En- glish blonde — if she had had the moral courage once to look him fairly and bravely in the face. There sat Mr. Byfield, white and motionless — so white, that the flakes of his snowy hair could hardly be distinguished from his cheeks ; his eyes flashing, as I have said ; his long bony fingers grasping either knee, and grasping it so THE GOVERNESS. 147 tightly, that the dark veins stood out hke purple ridges on his hands. " Ring the bell !" she said, at last perceiving that he took no more notice of her sobs than lie had done of her words. "Ring the bell!" He neither spoke nor moved ; and at last the lady essayed to do it herself. He seized her arm — and Lord Lynd say's mailed glove did not press more deeply into the soft arm of Mary of Scot- land, than the old man's animated bones did into the wrists of Mrs. Hylier. She screamed with spleen and pain, but resumed her seat, and there he continued to sit opposite to her, without trusting himself to speak, yet, by his presence, eft'ectualiy preventing her moving. Suddenly Mr. Hylier's well-known knock re- sounded through the house. There was a rush of light young feet — the echoes of the beatings of anxious hearts — and exclamation of "Oh, papa !" — " Dear papa !" — and a whisper or two, and then Mr. Hylier came in, just in time to catch his wife, in another faint, upon his arm. Questions followed; and the two young ladies were turned out of the room ; while Mrs. Hylier sobbed and moaned, and called herself an ill- used woman. And at last the old man, gather- ing up his energies, girded himself and spoke. He stated fairly and plainly, in agitated tones, that he had placed Miss Dawson with Mrs. Hylier, because he wished to observe how she would bear the ill and careless manner in which he knew she would be tr'^at^d. It was (he said) 148 THE GOVEilNESS. of paramount importance to him that he should observe how she bore up against the disagree- able ness of her situation ; it had not (he con- tinued) escaped him, that, as long as the impres- sion remained upon Mrs. Hyher's mind, that it would phase him to be kind to his proteg'e, slie was tolerably considerate; but when she found that he neglected her altogether — the circum- stance that would have drawn a noble mind to be more gracious to one so utterly deserted by the world — rendered Mrs. Hylier careless and unfeehng. Mr. Byiield had his own way of doing every thing ; and there is little doubt, from his own statement^ that he would have gone on, heaping mystery on mystery, had he not been suddenly aroused to a sense of Miss Dawson's uncomplaining illness, by her appearance in the park; and, after much mental deliberation, he determined — still after his own strange fashion — to provide her a quiet home, and be himself the bearer of his reasons to Mrs. Hylier. " I thought," he said, "that fertile as you and your friend Mrs. Ryal are in attributing impurity to pure motives, you would hardly hdve dared t(j pin a slander upon these white hairs, or sup- posed that so single-minded and self-sacrificing a creature as Miss Dawson would rush into vice — and such vice! I imagined, indeed, that you would have considered me her father; but to have thought and acted as you have done — to have turned her pennyless" *'I did not!" screamed Mrs. Hylier; " I gave THE GOVERNESS. 149 her a month's salary — I — I " and then she appealed to Mr. Hylier, to know why he suffered her to be msulted ; and, losing all command of herself, reiterated her opinion of Mr. By field's conduct. " For shame," said her husband. "Mr. By- field, 1 intreat you to consider how Mrs. Hylier has been acted upon by the misrepresentation of Mrs. Ryal. She does not think her own tlioug'hts, or speak her own words." " I do !" repeated the foolish woman. "If it is not as I say — what connexion is he of Miss Dawson's 1" " Her Grandfather !" answered the old man. " And had I not beheved that I could place no dependence upon a character that had not been steeped to the lips in the bitter waters of the world's strife, I ouglit to be ashamed to own it. Why, then, should I feel such bitterness towards you — poor thing of a whirling world ! You ! — upon whom she had no claim ; but that is false. Madam, there are women in the world who acknowledge the claim of sisterhood, even when it is covered by the rags of shame ; who seek to save — whose hands are filled to overflowing by the charity which God pours into then' hearts ; whose means, however small, like the widow's cruise, increase by giving ; whose names will ascend and form part of the glory of the everlast- ing heavens, when ours wi41 leave no record save upon the cold and lying tombstone ! Oh, 150 THE GOVERNESS. my God ! my God ! why do you not soften our hearts before it is too late!" Mrs. Hyher would have essayed, if she dared, to say that she did not believe he was Emily's orandfather, but she could not; and Mr. Hyher, wiiile the old man paced the room violently, and wrung his hands, whispered her he had but that morning returned from the neighbourhood where her mother died, and where her extraordinary and unceasing efforts for the support of that dear mother, particularly during the last years of her life, were talked of amongst a domestic and parent-loving people, as something so endur- ing, so patient, so gentle, so holy, as to be quite wonderful. " And this is the creature," he added, " that the gossip of a chattering neighbourhood, eager to pick up the crumbs of court or any news, prompted you to insult. I felt honoured by my friend's desire that I should investigate for myself, and all I can say is, that if I had had the slightest knowledge of her high qualities, she should never have been treated as she has been." " A lesson! — a lesson !" said the old man, in a voice hoarse with an emotion he used every exertion to control — "A lesson to us all, Hylier. But now to find my — yes, my child — the child of my daughter, to tell her who I am." He again paced the room, pressing his hands to- gether, and almost convulsed. " May I hope, sir" stammered Mrs. Hy- lier. THE GOVERNESS. 151 " Hope nothing, madam," he interrupted, " as I do, but that time may be given you, as well as me, to render justice." And now, if the tale were to end, as made-up stories do, with a record that the old man found his grandchild much better than he had antici- pated; that they lived for a short time happily together, and then the governess was married to a great lord, to the discomfiture of all gossips, I should substitute fiction for fact — which I cannot do. The life of a young woman, devoted to the instruction of youth, may be likened to those streams we read of — springing up we know not where — which murmur along, fertilising as they flow ; and then, after trees, and flowers, and sightly plants, have sprung up through their un- honoured influence — behold! they have disap- peared into the bowels of the earth, and are seen no more ! In society, we constantly meet young and accomplished ladies ; their acquirements are universally acknowledged and admired; until they " came out," they were attended to always in their hours of study, of illness, of amusement by their " governess." She is gone now ; no one ever inquires after her. She is gone, if young enough, to another situation, again to attend upon young ladies in their hours of study, amusement, and illness — again to be dismissed — again forgotten. I think it is a high privilege to be intrusted with the education of youth — one of the very highest that a woman can enjoy ; but if she perform her duty, her services should l$% THE GOVERNESS. never be slighted or forgotten. The "teacher" should rank, after her own immediate family, in the pupil's affections; or, if that cannot be (for we can all respect many whom we do not love,) in her esteem ; she should always be honoured, and never permitted to want; her importance to society is as vital as the unseen sap to the bloomint^ tree ; her situation subordinate, her influence paramount — not in the usual course of influences; but if we look back to our own young days, we shall remember how mucli of what we learnt from some patient teacher has directed us through life. My astonishment has often been excited, not by the little which gover- nesses know, but by their knowing so much. Nevertheless, until some decided step is taken by the legislature to regulate not only schools, but the education of teachers, there must always be a chance of their incompetency to perform at least a portion of all that is required of them. Still, in nine cases out of ten, what has been done for ourselves in the way of education, has been done by this hardly-used race. And cer- tainly Mr. Byfield ought to have been satisfied with what Emily Dawson had already accom- plished, without turning her over to one whom he knew would try her to the uttermost. His feelings were hardened, and he was rendered suspicious — by the past circumstances of a varied life — of there being any good in human nature ; his benevolence was often frozen over ; but whei?L THE GOVERNESS. 153 it thawed, the verdure of a generous nature came quickly forth. Tlie first step he found it necessary to take was to find out where Miss Dawson was; but here lie was baffled. The housemaid had receiv- ed warning from her mistress the previous night, ill consequence, she said, of lier attention to "the Sjoveriiesses ; " and a few moments after Mr. By- field had spoken to her, had gone, as Mrs. Hy- lier liad commanded she shoukl. TJie other ser- vants pretended to be, or were ignorant, of lier residence ; and sucli was her firmness of manner in the falsehood, that Mr. Byfield believed she had told him the truth. The natural impetuosi- ty of his character was now directed to find her out ; and fancying she had gone to her old friends, he posted ofl', leaving a wonderful story to the good people of Kensington, which was told in at least twenty different ways, the last being the most extraordinary. While all was agitation and confusion in her former home — while Mrs. Hyher re-approached Mrs. Ryal, and Mrs. Ryal continued to assert that, despite all, she knew she was right — while Mrs. Gresham's soft heart yielded in all the weak lovingnessofits nature to the conviction that Emi- ly Dawson was a "wonder among governesses," and Miss Colette Mercier divided her feelings as equally as possible between "chere Emily," her new parasol, her chere maman, and a certain leaning towards a gentleman who always wore "such sweet kid gloves" — while the servants re- 154 THE GOVERNESS. ^retted they had not been more civil, and the visiters that they had not been more poUte — Emi- ly Dawson, overpowered by the weight of an ill- ness she had so long borne np against, was lying utterly incapable of sustaining thought or action ii) the small back room of a tiny house at Chel- sea. Mary's arrival was a great consolation to her. She sat by her bedside " mending up her things," and "quilling her caps," as a preparato- ry step to her " looking for a new place." Emi- ly would have been glad had she talked I'ss ; but as she never expected an answer, and chat- ted in a low, sleepy, rippling tone of voice, it did not disturb her much. She spoke in what she considered would be the most consohng manner, showing how much better off Emily was "than mar^y a poor lady governess she knew long ago." She told of one who, having lost her health, died in a workhouse, and no one ever looked after her; of another, who was the only comfort and support of a blind father, who would sit holding her hands in his, running his fingers over the arm worn to a shadow, listening for the doctor's tread, and turning his sightless eyes to his face, as if .trying to read an opinion it gave the good doctor pain to pronounce. And then, how she did pray that God would take her father first ; but the prayer was not heard, for she died, and every morning the father crawled to the churchyard. The little children would go out of their way to lead him to his daughter's grave; and at last he died upon it, without a complaint; and the core- THE GOVERNESS. 155 ner returned a verdict — " Died by the visitation of God;" but she knew it was by the visitation of famine. " Another young person" passed them by every morning ; there, that was her walk, she knew it by the lialting, as she was lame, though for all that, she got over many a mile in a week. She had a turn for lans^uaoes, and tauoht a great many at a sliilling a lesson, and had con- stant employment ; and one sister instructed in music, and another in dancing. They worked very hard, and did not earn much, but they lived happy with one another, and liked it better than going out for good, though Miss Fanny (the dancer) was fearful she couldn't teach this last winter, from a wheezing she caught from damp feet, as she could not afford to ride. Indeed, Mary declared, in her time she had seen much misery under a thin silk gown ; poor ladies were obliged to seem rich, for if they did not dress "respectable," no one would have them, tliough they hardly paid them enough to earn salt. Miss Dawson was happy, compared to many she knew. It was a pity that tradesmen did not keep their daughters to the shop instead of giv- ing them notions above one thing and below another. Making them governesses half times, was little better than making them slaves. Miss Dawson ought to bless her stars ; for as soon as her cold wore away, she'd be sure of a good sit- uation. And she would have talked thus much longer, had not her mother called her out to inquire, if 156 THE GOVERNESS. she knew '* what property the ' poor lady ' had," as a doctor ought to see her ; • and Mary, good- natured girl, spurned at the question, yet coinci- ded in the opinion, saying she was no expense to them, for she had neither ate nor drank ; and if she had, she had wherewith to pay — it may be remembered that Mary did not particularly adhere to truth — and that the doctor had better come at once ; she would go and fetch him — and so she did ; and when he heard her cough, and saw the flush upon her cheek, and her hair moist with the dews of that English disease to which thousands are sacrificed, he blistered her chest to relieve her breathing, ordered a hght diet, and particularly recommended Italy, the south of France, or Madeira ; and that to a governess, with three pounds five and sixpence in her purse, and no friend ! " Oh, I shall be soon better, sir," she said — " very soon. I have been much worse ; a few days' rest and quiet will quite set me up." *' Send to her friends," said the doctor to Mary. " Lord, sir !" replied Mary, opening her eyes, *' sure she^s only a governess ! " THE GOVERNESS. 157 CHAPTER VI. Let any one recall the sick-bed of a beloved object siifFering from hectic fever ; how wearing that everlasting cough, which only ceases to begin again ; how sad, after you have drawn the cur- tain, softened the night-lamp, and given the com- posing draught, with an earnest prayer to Al- mighty God that the patient may enjoy sleep, how sad still to hear die hack, hack, of that gasping chest breaking up the false repose, and then to know, by the movement and the sigh, that the poor patient has turned; and though the pillows are down, and the sheets cambric, and though thoughts and hands of tenderest love have smoothed them, and poured out the most soothing and reviving perfumes — that still, though there is little positive pain, there is no rest — and you are called ; — that sweet silver voice steals its melodious way from your ear to your heart; the church clock has struck two, and the watchers' eyes are heavy, but the eyes of the watched are bright; and she will have you open the curtain, and she talks of things to come in this world — of the spring time and the summer, and of when she shall be better, and of how pleasantly the autumn will pass at the sea- side; the summer will fly quite away with her cough, and then she shall so enjoy the autumn! And while she talks, her thin pure face and 158 THE GOVERNESS. glorious brow, round whicli the damp hair cHngs, rest on your bosom, and you know that it is now December; but that autumn, summer, spring, will never be gladdened by that hopefnl voice ! Nothing can bring her back the ease of body which the poor cat enjoys before tlie fire ; tended, as she is by the watchful love of a whole house, slie knows not rest. How much more must the governess have suffered in that small room, upon a hard bed, shaken by kmdly but rough hands, believing that if God prolonged the life which, despite our sufferings, we all cling to, it would be ended — where? Alas! no hospital will open its doors to consumption ; the lagging, certain, wearing, wasting, complaint, engendered by our shivering atmosphere, of which so many hundreds, especially governesses, perish, finds no public friend m charitable Eng- land.* But it was not only the wretched, unrelieved, weariness and pain of body that Emily suffered from; it was, that she had been hooted forth characterless; she, the pure, high- minded, upright, honourable girl, trembled lest she was sinking into her grave tainted ; that slie would meet her mother with the mark of shame, which passeth not away, upon her brow. The notion haunted her ; the thought of it would not * I am happy to say that this will not be much longer a reproach to England ; a few kind-hearted estimable persons in this neighbour- hood (Old Brompton) have already advanced considerably with a plan and subscription to open an asylum for the relief— if euro be impossible — of consumptive patients. THE GOVERNESS. 159 let her sleep by night or by day ; she said in the morning she would be better by the evening, and in the evening she would certainly be better in the morning ; for she was of a hopeful spirit; and her disease — slow, pallid, traitor that it is — encouraged hope. Several days elapsed, and her little money, despite Mary's exertions, was nearly gone. With the high-toned generosity of a noble mind, she would not write to her friend of her distress, for she knew she had not the means to relieve her, and why should she make her unhappy. She did write, though a little every day, resolving to send the letter off lohen she was better. The doctor saw she grew rapidly worse, more rapidly than usual, for her niiad was goading the disease to double speed ; her money was gone, though Mary stoutly said it was not, and showed her silver, which the girl had pledged her own Sunday-shawl to obtain. In the mean time, Mr. Byfield was driven almost to madness. What would he not have given to have had ihe power of recalling his for- mer harshness? — how he deprecated the bitter- ness which made him change even his name, that his child might never hear of him ! how cruel did he deem what a little time before he would have called his consistency ! how did he mingle tears with his morning and evening pray- ers, and in positive agony call upon his wife to forgive him his unforgiveness toward his child ! He found no trace of his grandaughter in her native place, and in London he was bewildered 160 THE GOVERNESS. by the difficulties and negatives he experienced every where. Mary had only been a few weeks in her place, and had covered her retreat with Avhat she con- sidered admirable skill. The abruptness and violence of Mr. Byfield's manner defeated his own inquiries ; but fortunately, Mrs. Grcsham, who had taken from the first a warm interest in Emily, was more successful. She made inqui- ries with a woman's tact, and at last communi- cated the good news, that slie had traced Miss Dawson to Mary's house. The old man intreat- ed her to accompany him there, and she con- sented. Mary's mother had become very discon- tented at her lodger's poverty, and mother and daugliter were in loud altercation on the subject, vrhen Mr. Byfield, unable to restrain his impa- tience, thundered so loudly at the door, as to bring all the inhabitants of the street to their windows. *' I tell you, sir, I know nothing about her. How should I ? " exclaimed Mary to Mr. By- field, who could only get his stick through the open door, for she held it close with a considera- ble share of strength. " It's no use your coming ill ; she's not here ; and if she was, what is it to you, you old sinner?" " I tell you," said Mr. Byfield, '* she is my grandchild. God help me ! " muttered the old man, as he leant against the door-post ; " God help me ! that rough girl guards her honour mor6 carefully than I did." THE GOVERNESS. 161 "That's impossible !" answered Mary. " If you was her grandfather, you'd never have sent her governessing to Mrs. Hyher, I know." " I am here, Mary," said the gentle voice of Mrs. Gresham ; " and it is quite true that Miss Dawson is Mr. Byfield's grandaughter." Mary opened the door with what, in the poor, is deemed " impertinence," in the rich, " self- possession," as if nothing had occurred ; curtsied them in, and hoped that Mr. Byfield would not think the worse of her ; she was a poor girl ; and though great folks might live without a character, she could not. Mrs. Gresham told Miss Dawson the fact she had learned as delicately and carefully as it could be told ; and accounted for the old man's strange- ness by expressing the desire he felt to see, him- self, how she would bear the rubs of life. She thanked God earnestly for the disclosure. The old man knelt by her bedside, and called her *' his child" — "his dear child" — " his only hope and comfort on this side the grave." Alas ! people who are liberal of the bitters of existence, should remember that poison even unto death, may steal into the cup. In a few hours, Emily was removed upon lux- urious cushions to the house of which she had become the most honoured mistress ; even Mrs. Hylier sent her little girls to minister to her com- forts ; and Mary was of course with her. A sudden spirit of sisterly love and tenderness sprang up amongst those who had been account- 11 162 THE GOVERNESS. ed censorious and malevolent ; and the sur- rounding maids, wives, and widows, became ani- mated by a most extraordinary longing for in- quiring into the state of Miss Dawson's health. They ascertained what Mr. Byfield's name had been, and that he had changed it to avoid his dauifhter's recognition. This knowledge afforded them satisfaction ; they did not even venture to censure the unpardonable harshness from a father to a child, though some of the more independent spirits amongst them insinuated, that " it was at least very strange, and carrying resentment farther than they could have done." Mrs. Ryal was the only one who remained firm to her first *' princi- ples " and opinions. Every thing that skill could suggest, or luxury invent, was resorted to for the relief and comfort of the long-neglected girl. The great physician of the day told her grandfather, who stood before him with clasped and trembling hands, watchful eyes and ears, drinking in his words, that when she was able to be removed, he would recommend the south of Italy. This was in her dressing- room — a room hung with pale pink silk, where the softest breeze whispered its way amid crowd- ed exotics, and the very light of heaven stole through tinted glass ; where the old man himself removed his shoes before he entered, lest the smallest noise might disturb the ci eature cushion- ed upon satin, who, only a few weeks before, was expected to brave cold winds and everlasting fatigue. The reaction upon the grandfather's THE GOVERNESS. l63 mind amounted almost to insanity. The stern, bitter satirist, had melted into a fond old man, who seemed absorbed in having once more some- thing upon which he could safely pour out his long pent-up affections. It was not that a new" nature had sprung up in him ; it was only the nature cf his youth reTurned. The truth was, it loas him- self with whom he had been ill at ease, and not the ivorld. This is more frequently the case tliaii we are inclined to believe. The physician again felt her pulse, spoke a faw kindly words, and departed. So softly did Mr. Byfield follow him down stairs, that he did not even hear his foot-fall ; but he arrested his atten- tion when in the hall, by pressing his arm. " Sir, sh'," he said in a trembling tone : " in here — speak softly — she does not love noise. You said, when she was able, we were to go to the south of Italy. Now, how soon w^ill that be 1 We have had some sharp north winds — those keep her back ; but it will be when the wind changes 1 " " Not so soon as that, my good sir ; but I hope soon — indeed I hope it — she has interested me much. You must keep her quiet — perfect re- pose — she must speak but as little as possible ; she must not exert herself in the least ; her lungs have been over- worked." *' God forgive me ; they have, they have ! " *' Very natural, my dear sir, you should have liked her to read and talk to you ; but you must 164 THE GOVERNESS. give that up," continued the physician, not know- ing her past history. *' Ay, sir, ay — but Italy; when will she be able to be removed — in a week — a fortnight, per- haps — three weeks'?" " Indeed, I hope so. We can, you know, only do our best, and hope." " Yes, sir ; we can pray — and I do. You think it may be a month ? " " I cannot possibly tell to a particular time. We must watch the symptoms, and act accord- ingly." " Certainly, sir ; but you say the climate is not fit for her?' *' It is not ; but she cannot bear exertion yet. Good morning, my dear sir ; I will try and be here to-morrow precisely at the same hour." " You do not trifle with me, sir, do you? — raising hope to destroy it ? " inquired the old man, almost fiercely. " I have raised no hope," returned the doctor. " If she bears removal, it must be to the south of Italy." Mr. Byfield caught at the back of a chair, and gasped for breath ; at last he repeated, " If — if; you said if. Is there any doubt, then 1 " The agony and despair lined in the old man's face compelled the doctor to lay down his hat : and the next moment found him seated by Mr. Byfield's side. " My dear, good sir, I never deceive ; but 1 hope you will nerve yourself as becomes a Chris- THE GOVERNESS. 165 tian. All things are possible ; and every thing shall be, indeed of late has been, done, to over- throw our insidious foe. " If I had seen her sooner" the old man started as if an asp had stung ; him " though indeed that might not have availed much," continued the ready doctor ; " she is young — the summer before her — let us hope for the best, and do our best ; but I tell you frankly, the symptoms are against us." " But she said she was so much better this morning 1" " It is a cause of exceeding thankfulness to find her so cheerful." "And a good sign, sir ? " " The sign of a good mind," rephed the medi- co, evasively. Mr. Byfield was gratified by the idea. " And so she has — an angel's mind," he answered. *' Perhaps you can tell me to-morrow about Italy, sir. I have worked hard all my life, and have been a thriving man — more rich than people think, sir. I will heap gold upon that table, so that you can hardly move it, if you but save her life." " What an extraordinary development of char- acter ! " thought the physician, as his carriage rolled away ; " why, a tithe of this care would have saved her — ay, six months ago ! " "And where have you been, dear grandpapa," said Emily, as he stole again into her room, to sit and look at her, as he had done duiing the past 166 THE GOVERNESS. weeks, until they had grown into months. " Where have you been 1 " " Hush ! you must not talk ! " he said. " Oh, but I may, a little under my breath. I used to be obliged to talk, but now it is a plea- sure. Do let me mention what we spoke of yes- terday — the nice alms-houses you said you would build for old governesses. Oh, how glad I shall be to see the first stone laid ! When shall it be ? Next August, on my birth-day ? Or, come here, J will speak very sofdy, if you will not be angry. My poor mother ! She used to be so proud of her governess-child ! Would you lay the first stone on her birth-day — the first of September 1 Thank you, dear grandpapa ! Bless you ! I see you will ! I shall not want to go to Italy ; that will cure me ! " It was beautiful to observe, that, though this creature loved life, as a young bird loves to poise upon its feeble wings, she did not fear death. As her frame decayed — as she wasted into a shad- owy outline of what all those who had known her note declared had been so beautiful, her mind, freed from the grosser particles of earth, became more buoyant — purer it could hardly be — though more etherial, when her cough permitted short snatches of sleep. She seemed as if, through those thin eyelids, she gazed upon all the myste- ries of the unclouded world ; a perpetual smile parted the pallid lip, like the division of a lily- bud ; and when she awoke, it was to confer fresh THE GOVERNESS. 167 interest on the things of hfe — an angel bringing the odour of paradise on its wings. Poor Miss Mercier woidd kneel for hours by her side, and smile and weep by turns. " It did her good," she said ; and she said rightly. Such scenes do good ; they strike upon the heart ; there is no deception in them. " Do not weep for me," said Emily ; " I shall be better soon. Every day I become better ; and if I could only make you feel the importance of your duties, I should be so much happier. I am changed, though, a good deal. Were I to teach again, I would try and interest my pupils more about Hereafter than I did before. 1 would talk to them much more about the heavens, those lightsome heavens, where the just are made per- fect ; it is so happy to think of their radiance, their glory, their everlastingness ; and to think of this beautiful world, in which I once sorrowed and laboured, and yet loved ; for surely it was created by God as a place of transit, where the good may have a foretaste of that happiness pre- pared for them hereafter ! " She would talk tlius to all, pouring forth the very sweetness of wisdom, so that people won- dered how she had gained such knowledge. Her two former pupils could hardly be separated from her ; and though her grandfather manifested much impatience at being disturbed from her side by any one, still he was so proud, even during those awfid hours, of her goodness and sweet mind, that he could not refuse them admission, 168 THE GOVERNESS. but made up for disappointments by stealing into the room during the night, and watching or pray- ing while the heavy-eyed nurse slept. Each day the physician came, and each day the old gentie- m in would follow him outside the door, and in- quire, as though the question were still new — " When will the time come 1 When may we go to Italy ] " And the doctor would reply, with a kind look, " Not yet." Even to Mr. Byfield, to every one but herself, it was evident she was dying ; it is almost too hard a word to apply to such a passing away ; it was as if a rose dropped leaf by leaf, until the last few that remained trembled on the stem. She said, every day, she was better, much better; she had no pain now ; and she should soon be able to drive out in the warm sunshine. Her friend, the clergyman's sister, came to her from the country. And the clergyman himself, he who had attended her mother's death-bed, prayed beside hers. It might have been that the young man loved her ; but she never dreamt he did — never. She talked a great deal of the past and future, and of what blessings would arise from a higher-toned education. And one morning in particular, when the doctor called, he reproved her for wasting her strength in words. Again Mr. By field followed him outside the room, and the physician led him into another apartment, and closed the door. " My dear sir," he said, " our dear patient is very weak to-day." THE GOVERNESS. 169 " She said she was better," rephed Mr. By- field. "She is not ; her mind is purer, and higher, and holier than ever ; but she is sinking." " Not unto death ? " muttered the old man. The physician turned away ; he could not bear to look upon his earnest features. " God bless you, sir ; you have a great conso- lation ; every thing has been done that could be done; I wish I was as sure of heaven; good morning — be composed." The old man turned away — he was alone — he sank into a chair ; burst after burst of tears convulsed his frame. . It was nearly four hours l)efore he could enter her room again; he saw she was greatly changed in that short space of time, and yet she hailed him with her feeble voice, declaring she was better; he motioned Miss Mercier, who had been with her, to leave the chamber. He took her hand in his, gazed earnestly into her face, and sank upon his knees. " It is not time for prayer yet, is iti — it is not night yetl" she said; "but pray, dear grand- father, I was wrong — it is always time for prayer." "I am going," he answered, "to pray to you. Listen ! Here, on my knees, I do intreat your pardon; an old man, whose harshness deprived you of your mother — whose harshness has abridged the length of your sweet life. I did not intend to try you beyond your strength, but I ought to have known better. I chained you 170 THE GOVERNESS. with those hands to the galley, when I should have given you freedom. Can you forgive me, Emily? And when you meet your mother, will you ask her not to turn from me in heaven as I turned from her on earth. I will never rise till you forgive and bless me !" The poor girl was deeply affected ; she threw herself feebly forward and clasped her arms round his neck, and pressed her cheek to his. She poured forgiveness and blessings on his white head, and fondly pushed back the silver hair from his brow. He replaced her on her pillow ; but the exertion had shaken the sand in the glass of life ; it was passing rapidly. " You will be kind to those I love," she said, " and truly forgive those who were harsh to me ; and you will be very good to poor Mary; and — oh, heavenly Father, receive my spirit!" These were her last words. The old man, frantic with grief, dispatched the nurse, who had just entered the room, for help; and when she returned, the dead face of his grandchild was resting on his breast, and he held up his finger, and said, " Hush ! hush ! " as though she slept, which he believed she did ; and all night long he remained in the same position, murmuring every now and then as if soothing a slumbering infant. The old man is still living, but they say his mind is gone. Certainly his affections are in the grave, which he persists m saying was dug by his own hands. DUMMY "l WAS BORN SO, MOTHER." " I ASSURE you it was all Dummy's fault, grandmamma ; you know that when she gets a notion into her head it is quite impossible to prevent her from persisting in doing whatever she determines to do !" " She is a little obstinate, now and then, I confess," replied Lady Isabella Lloyd to her granddaughter Margaret, who censured so se- verely one who had been sorely afflicted. — " A little obstinate, now and then," repeated the noble old lady — " but that ought not to provoke injustice : you forget, Margaret, who sate by your bed of long continued illness — you forget who watches your every movement — you forget who humbles to your every caprice — you for- get"— " No, grandmamma," interrupted the young lady, "I do not forget — I love dear Dummy very much, but she vexes me sometimes." '* You vex both her and me very often," re- 172 plied her mother — " and you should remember that her infirmity frequently causes her to be impetuous, while you, my child, have, thank God, no such excuse !" " Dummy," as the subject of this conversation had been always called, was a young and ex- ceedingly beautiful Indian girl, who had been committed to the care of Lady Isabella and Mr. Lloyd, no one exactly knew why, when not more than five years old ; nobody knew who she was ; — the servants called her " Miss Dummy," — Lady Isabella " little Dummy," — and Margaret (when she was in a good humour) " dear Dum- my." — The captain of the vessel who brought her over, designated her as Dummy in a sort of bill-of lading letter which he wrote to Mr. Lloyd, intimating her arrival and consignment to his care ; and when the poor child appeared at Lloyd Park, why she was so described was but too apparent. She had not been born deaf; but so very imperfect were her organs of speech, that she could not pronounce the simplest sen- tence without such painful hesitation, that it was perfect agony both to herself and others — and it is not to be wondered at that she learned with avidity the signs which interpreted her thoughts, and saved her so much labour and excitement. Lady Isabella treated her with great kind- ness, and the little stranger returned her love with a sevenfold interest. She was one of those creatures made up of tenderness and affection, with whom the world has little sympathy, be- DUMMY. 173 cause it cannot understand the earnestness, the uncalculating fondness, the devotion, the sim- pheity of its emotions. She was of singular and peculiar beauty : her limbs appeared as if bound together more by will than the power of muscle ; they were so small, so agile, so graceful, so full of motion, and so beautiful when in repose. To her the world appeared as one huge mass of poetry : she wept with tlie showers and danced with the sunshine ; she loved flowers, and moon- light and music ; and every bird and beast that was young and helpless was, as it were, cherish- ed in her bosom, or carried in her arms. It was singular to observe how completely the luxuries and enjoyments of society failed to excite her interest; this was the principal reason why she w^as so little seen by persons of rank and fashion who visited at Lloyd Park, or joined the fetes during the family's sojourn at their old-fashioned mansion in Grosvenor Place. Added to this distaste for society, or perhaps the real cause of its existence, was the knowledge she had of her defect ; not to be able to reply when spoken to must have caused a mind like hers a painful and constantly recurring misery ; and though she wrote apt and piquant answers to all who ques- tioned, and wrote them in an exquisite hand upon her little tablets of the whitest ivory, still she would retire from society to her books, her music, or her flowers, leaving her lofty and mag- nificent friend Margaret in quiet possession of 174 DUMMY. the homage she appreciated far more highlj than it deserved. Sometimes Lady Isabella would force her into society, and display her beautiful charge calling sweet music from the harp, upon which she ex- celled, — yet in a way dift'erent from all others. Her execution was not startling, but the tones were deep and low, swelling and melodious, shadowing forth the gentler passions, and play- ing with the feelings, until she tuned them to her own sweet will. She felt all she expressed, and expressed it all the better for the feeling ; and her smiles would quiver, or her dark lus- trous eyes overflow with tears, as she revelled ill melody, the cadences of which sunk into the heart. Lady Isabella Lloyd had the misfortune to lose her only son the same year that Dummy was consigned to her care : the calamity^ was in- creased by the fact that the only child he left had lost her mother, who unfortunately died the day on which she was born. Margaret and her young companion grew in stature and in aifection together ; I say affection, because, notwithstanding Margaret's hasty and imperious temper, and her proneness to cast blame upon her friend, she loved her, not per- haps with a very strong affection, for that would have overcome all jealousy, and those little pain- ful fits of occasional ill-temper which she in- dulged in ; but she really liked the Indian girl very much when she did not fancv thut her DUMMY. 175 grandmamma loved her too well. The observa- tion which drew forth Lady Isabella's reproof was one she was rather too often in the habit of making: if the pitch of the piano did not ex- actly suit her voice, it was Dummy's fault ; if she misplaced her drawings, Dummy was blamed : if her harp-playing was not admired as much as she thought it deserved to be, Dummy was secretly condemned. " It is her playing," imagined Margaret, " that throws mine into the shade." My young friends, have you ever thought of the meanness and despicable nature of envy ? Have you considered its dangerous tendency ? have you called to mind how it lowers and de- grades every generous principle of your nature 1 have you observed how it debases the mind, and cramps the understanding ? have you not read how Cain envied Abel 1 Envy was the first murderer. I would say to you earnestly, most earnestly, suffer it not to enter your hearts, for, if once it enters, it will dwell therein ; it is the most creeping and insidious of all sins; its pro- gress is almost imperceptible, but it is sure ; and its effects on yourself and towards others are ter- rible to think upon. If any one had told Margaret that she envied her afflicted companion, she would have tossed her haughty head, and demanded lohy ? Yet she did envy her. She envied her the share she possessed of her grandmamma's affections ; she envied her the admiration excited by her beauty, 176 DUMMY. and her skill in music. She forgot how great were her privations, and she suffered her niiiid to become tainted by this despicable vice. You must not suppose that Dummy was faultless ; she was irritable ; she was apt to imagine that she was the object of slight and remark, when she was neither ; and, though she had latterly conquered herself to a great degree, and did not exhibit the impatience she used in her childhood, yet her cheek would flush, her eyes overflow with tears, and she would seek the privacy of her own room, and weep away her irritation. Du- ring her early days it had never entered into her mind to inquire how she was supported ; wheth- er she possessed any property of her own, or was entirely dependent upon the bounty of Mr. and Lady Isabella Lloyd. When, however, she had attained her sixteenth year, she became very anxious about it, and ventured to question Lady Lsabella upon the subject ; it was with a tremb- ling hand that she presented her the tablet upon which the inquiry was written, with a request to tell her who she was. " Are you not happy 1" said the old lady. Dummy threw her arms around her friend's neck as an assurance that she loved her, rather than as a reply to her question. " You will never want the means of living as you now live," continued Lady Isabella ; " will not that content you 1" Dummy hung her head. " I do not like to refuse you any reasonable request ; and yet, perhaps it is better that you know nothing 177 more about yourself." Tlie girl closed her hands m supplication. Lady Isabella paused : — " You have a claim upon us ; in point of feeling, almost as strong as Margaret's ; — listen ; — Mr. Lloyd has been twice married ; I am his second wife. His first marriage produced him a daughter, who became, as she grew up, any- thing but a blessing to him. Without his per- mission she went to India, where she died, leav- ing you upon the world." — " And my father?" wrote the Indian on her tablets. " We suppose him dead ; at all events he deserted you. My husband felt his daughter's disobedience and evil conduct so bitterly, that I could only prevail upon him to receive you on one condition, that your relationship was never to be mentioned." " I could not help my poor mother's error," — she pencilled — " I am not disobedient." " My dear child," said Lady Isabella, " per- haps I have not done right in telling you so much ; you can form no idea of the cause of Mr. Lloyd's displeasure ; it was great, it was terrible ! Your mother almost broke his heart. Margaret has no idea of this ; she does not know that her grandfather had ever more than one child, and it is better that she continue to think so." Dummy seized her tablets eagerly, and wrote, " She would love me better if she thought I was her cousin." " No," said Lady Isabella, " she would not ; and I command voii not to inform her of it." 12 178 DUMMY. Lady Isabella had seen the envious disposition of her otherwise beloved Margaret, and bitterly did she lament it. Dummy felt most sensibly this excellent lady's kindness ; and, while she wept upon her bosom, her voiceless prayers were offered that God might reward her generosity to the poor girl, who, but for her intercession, would have been indeed an outcast. Then she again wrote, " I have nothing of my own !" *' You have enough," was Lady Isabella's re- ply, " and you will always have enough." " But I owe all to charity !" was her next re- mark, and she blushed while she wrote it. " My dear," said Lady Isabella gravely, " we owe all to charity — to the charity of God !" Dummy was not satisfied. She longed to tell Margaret of her relationship — she longed to think of Mr. Lloyd, (though he was a harsh, stern man) — she longed to ivrite him " Grand- papa." She often wept for her mother, and wondered if, when the end of all things came, she should be able to recognise her in another world. Her father too, she wondered if he were yet alive, and inquired of herself if he would look stern and cold like Mr. Lloyd. Margaret, whom she tenderly loved, repulsed her in a thousand different ways ; her behaviour to her was dic- tated by caprice. At one moment she would play with or sing to her ; the next she would re- fuse to walk or sit in the same room ; the truth was that Margaret at times struggled against her DUMMY. 179 envious feelings ; at others yielded most culpably to their sug^gestioiis. Lady Isabella had grown old, and Margaret might almost be called the mistress of the establishment. It is a great dis- advantage to young persons to be intrusted with power before they know how to use it. I need hardly repeat what has been so often and so wisely said, that, to command properly, we must first learn to obey. No mind is ever healthy that is not properly disciplined ; and Margaret had been indulged to excess from her birth. As an heiress, she was certain of having plenty of flattery and admiration, and both had become necessary to her as the air she breath- ed. Was it not melancholy to think that she grudged her afflicted friend the affection be- stowed on her by her grandmother, and that latterly she never saw her seated at the harp without feeling a sharp and bitter pain at the applause bestowed upon her exquisite music] One evening Dummy had been playing to Lady Isabella ; Margaret, who seldom spent many minutes with her grandmother, came in. " Mar- garet," said the old lady, " send for this harp, before the company you expect arrive : she plays on it better than she does on yours." " Dummy professes to love music so much for your sake and its own," she replied bitterly, " that perhaps she may prefer remaining with you." '* She does prefer remaining with me, when one, the child of my child, prefers society and 180 DUMMY. amusement to the care it would be natural to suppose slie ought to bestow upon her grand- mother. Yet — " The object of this encomium did not permit her ladyship to finish the sentence ; she threw her arms round her neck, and murmured the only word she could pronounce without pain, " No — no — no — no." " My sweet child," said the old lady, " it is ever thus ; you are always the peace-maker, my sweet — sweet child !" *' Sheer hypocrisy," muttered Margaret. — Then indeed the colour mounted to the Indian's cheek ; fire flashed from her bright black eyes, as they rested oti Margaret. Lady Isabella laid her hand on her arm, and looked imploringly in her face. The same moment Margaret quitted the room. Dummy wept sadly all that night. Her feel- ings had long been subject to bitter injury, but they had never before been so insulted. Not even the command of her protectress could in- duce her to make one in the festivities ; and Margaret's animosity was increased by the nu- merous inquiries which were made after " La Belle Indienne !" How different were the feelings of those two girls on that memorable night, — memorable, in- asmuch as it was the first on which they retired to their several chambers without exchanging a well-understood " good night — good night !" How many sweet remembrances are linked with DUMMY. 181 those two simple words ; the dear " good night," seldom unaccompanied bj a blessing when it comes from the lips of an affectionate father or a tender mother; — the delicious " good night" murmured when brothers and sisters kiss each other's cheeks, and linger, loath to part, even to enjoy the refreshment of sleep, which they per- haps think sad, because it is solitary ; — the kind " good night" of friends — of those we esteem — of those separated by distance, and whom per- haps we may never meet again ! — It is a gentle courtesy that ought never to be forgotten — born of good feeling — trained by good breeding. Dummy knew that Margaret must pass her chamber to go to her own, and she watched for her soft but rapid footfill with a beating heart. It came, it went ; it did not even linger ; and when she heard the closing door she threw her- self on her bed in an agony of grief. When her grief subsided she knelt and prayed. She ex- amined her own heart ; she found it more full of indignation than was seemly in a Christian girl. She prayed again, and, though her thoughts were voiceless, they found their way to the Al- mighty's throne. At last she prayed truly and earnestly for Margaret, and then she slept. Let it be remembered how differently those two girls had spent the evening; — the Indian by Lady Isabella's sick couch, or in the solitude of her own room ; Margaret in the gaiety and splendour which surround the rich and beautiful. Will it be believed that it did not cost the young 182 DUMMY. heiress a single pang to omit the " good night," to which she had been accustomed for years ? She had argued herself into the belief that she had been injured by Dummy. She could not bear the hideous aspect of envy, and sought to conceal its deformity under the garb of indigna- tion. She repeated to herself that *' Dummy had supplanted her in her grandmamma's affec- tions, that she tried to supplant her every where. She, a poor dependent on their bounty — she sneered at her affliction — she — but it is an ugly pic- ture ; I will not continue it, and only add, that night she either did not or could not pray ; and her maid told the servants the next morning, " that in- deed if Miss Lloyd continued in such a temper as she was last night, she hoped she might sleep till Doomsday." She awoke feverish and unrefresh- ed, only in time to receive a summons to attend her grandmamma. The excellent Lady Isabella was dying. She had been taken ill during the night, and had used her last energies to per- suade her husband (who had grown more stern and harsh than ever) to acknowledge poor Dum- my as his granddaughter. " It will in some degree repay her," said the old lady, " for the mortifications she has en- dured ; it may curb Margaret's overbearing ha- bits. It is an act of justice to one whose unde- viating obedience and good conduct have, I hope, in some degree atoned in your eyes for her parent's fault. Do not turn away your head my dear husband," she continued ; *' if you will DUMMY. 183 not do so much for the dear girl's sake, surely you will for miney The stern man yielded, and before death had forever sealed thoSe mild blue eyes, which never opened but to beam a blessing upon all around her, Mr. Lloyd had pressed "Dummy" to his bosom, and called her his " Child." Margaret was so mortified that she refused to acknowledge her cousin as a relative, and was cruel enough to omit no opportunity of hinting at her mother's misconduct. But this system could not last for ever ; God would not permit it ; the cloud only concealed the sunshine. Mar- garet married a gay, glittering, fashionable, care- less man, and in a very few years she found her- self the mother of two children, deserted by her husband, and without the means of supporting either herself or them. This was indeed a change ! Dummy remained with Mr. Lloyd until his death, and a little before that event oc- curred she received an extraordinary addition to her fortune, by the death of her father, of whom she had never heard until apprised by his exe- cutors of her wealth, which he had accumulated in a distant part of India. I forgot to mention that she married before her cousin ; and it was a pleasant thing to see the stern harsh features of the venerable old gentleman relax into a child- like smile when Dummy's little Isabella would climb his knee, or, in its lisping voice, ask its ever-silent mamma " Why she did not talk?'* I have written " ever-silent ;" perhaps I should 184 DUMMY. have written " ever eloquent," for her good works, her benevolence, her charities, spoke trumpet-tongued unto the world. Margaret and her cousin had long ceased to be even ac- quainted, until the misfortunes of the former ; then Dummy nobly forgave the past, and wrote to her as follows : — " We were friends in youth, dear Margaret ; let us be so in age. My Isabella desires sisters ; let me teach your little ones to be sisters to her. My husband is busied in state affairs, and I am lonely. Will you not come and live with me, so that I may be no longer solitary in this large house 1 You shall talk to me of your dear grandmother; and I — you know / caji listen. Come, and be to me again a friend ; the re- membrance of our very early days will bring them back to us again. You will be, as indeed you ever were, my beloved Margaret — and I will be, what I was so long, and ever hope to be, your *'Dear Dummy 1" SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. PUBLILHED BT C. S. FRANCIS & CO. 252 Broad-way, l^evr York, ♦-^ A detailed account of the contents and character of these works, and the price of each, may be found in ' The Literary Advertiser ' of the publishers, which is furnished gratis, either iu New York or Boston. LIBRARY OE ENTERTAINING AND USEFUL READING. Twelve volumes, large 18mo. 288 pages each, namely : — with 22 Engravings. 1. THE MIRROR 2. THE CABINET . 3. THE CASKET 4. T H E TREASURY 5. THE BUDGET 6. THE REPERTORY - THE TABLET 8. THE MEMORIAL 9. THE GLEANER . 10. THE EMPORIUM 11. THE SELECTOR 12. THE GALAXY LIBRARY OE INSTRUCTIVE AMUSEMENT. Six volumes, 18mo. 336 pages each, namely : — YOUNG MAN'S EVENING BOOK 50 Engravings. WINTER EVENING BOOK SUMMER DAY BOOK EVERY DAY BOOK PARLOUR BOOK LEISURE HOUR BOOK 19. BELZONI'S TRAVELS IN EGYPT, with 13 Platet. 20. TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY. By a Lady. 21. 22. AROUND THE W O R L D , by an Officer of the Navy. 93. 24. ZEN OBI A, or the Fall of Palmtra. WrattdB » Co»>9 School District liibrary. a5 — 28. LIFE OF WALTER SCOTT, by J. G. Lockhart. 29. SANDFORDANDMERTON, Corrected, Pictorial ed. 30—39. PARLEY'S MAGAZINE. 10 large volumes. SECOND SERIES. 40. PRINCIPLES OF MORALITY. By Jonathan Dymond. 41. A NEWHOME— WHO'LL FOLLOW? 42. 43. FOREST LIFE. By Mrs. C. M. Kirkland. 44. LETTERS FROM NEW YORK. By Mrs. Child. 45. CONVERSATIONS ON COMMON THINGS. 46—52. TALES OF A GRANDFATHER. Walter Scott. 53. MENTAL AND MORALCULTURE. By S.S.Randall. 54. THE LIBRARIAN. 55. PARLEY'S MAGAZINE, Vol. xi. 56. HISTORICAL TALES. By Agnes Strickland. BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY. 58. ADVENTURES OF QUINTIN HAREWOOD. 59. FAREWELL TALES. By Mrs. Hofland. 60. 61. ROBINSON CRUSOE. 62. P A R L E Y'S BIBLE STORIES. 63. PAUL PRESTON'S VOYAGES and TRAVELS. 64. SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON. 65. BOY'S STORY BOOK. 66. 67. PARENT'S ASSISTANT. By Mrs. Edgeworth 68. CASKET OF GEMS. 69. THE EVERGREEN. 70—83. THE ROLLO BOOKS 84—89. THE LUCY BOOKS. %* These books have been submitted to the Superintendent of Com- mon Schools of the State of New York, and the introduction of them into all the District Libraries throuirhout the State is approved bj him. They have also been highly recommended by the County and Town Superintendents throughout the State. PARLEY'S MAGAZINE. PUBLISHED EVERY MONTH AT ONE DOLLAR A YEAR. Postage for a single number, 1| cent ; if over 100 miles, 2^ cents. The design of the publishers, in this Magazine, is fo offer a regular and joiistant su[)ply of valuahie and entertaining Reading for young persons. A book tliat may become with them a favorite; one that "will please and in- struct them ; one that they will regard not as a thing that they must lead as a task, but which they will love to consult as a companion and friend ; one, in short, the readini;of which may be considered as a reward and the denial of which may be felt as a punishment. The work comprises pieces adapted to all stages of the youthful faculties from childhood upwards. It may thus pass from hand to hand in the family circle, and the parents will not disdain to find amusement in what they are called upon to explain to their children ; while the elder branches will be induced to try to lead un, by easy t-ti-ps, their still younger companions to that enjoyment which they have already experienced tiienisolves The Contents of the Work are too various to be enumerated in this place; but in order to convey some idea of tlie intentions of the conductors, the following may be mentioned as forming a portion of the more prominent subjects ; I. Geographical Descriptions of manners, customs, and countries. I' Travels, Voyages, and Adventures, in various parts of the world. III. Interesting -Historical iN'otices and Anecdotes of each State, and of the United States, as well as of foreign countries. IV. Biography, particularly of young persons. V. Natural Hititory, as birds, beasts, hshes,&,c.; as well as plants, trees, flowers, &c. VI. A familiar description of the objects that daily surround Children in the Parlor, Nursery, Carden, &.C. VII. Original Tales, consisting of Home Scenes, Stories of .Adventure, &c. calculated to stimulate the curiosity, exercise the affections, and im- prove the judgment. VI II. An Account of various trades and pursuits, and some branches of commerce, IX. Cheerful and pleasing Rhymes, adapted to the feelings and compre- hension of youth. The Publishers have made arrangements to have the work abundantly il- lustrated with spirited engravings, and every effort will be made to render it a useful auxilliary to the cause of education. All Persons interested in the rising generation and its advancement in Knowledge and Virtue are invited to assist in the circulation of this little work. Teachers, by adopting it as a Beading book in schools will find it a great reliu'' to the tedium of their daily occupation , as Children will take hold of it with eagerness and consequently with evident improvement. Six copies will be sent for -------$5 Thirteen " ** " lO Remittances can always be made by mail, free of postage, on application ts tha Postmaster of any town. BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY. PUBLISHED BY C. S. FlUiNClS & CO. i^EW YORK. AND J. H. FRANCIS, BOSTON. 1. Perilous Adventures of Qiiiiilin Harewood, And his BR( iTFIKR BUI AN, in ASI A, AFRICA, and AMERICA llJustraltd witli Scrciity Engrucings. Ex 1 Ract from Contents. — (.iuiiitin's birth-place, Youthful feats, Adven- ture at the wuterlall, Boat upset. Lives saved, Visit to Paris, Gaming table, Fat.il disaster. 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Contents — Stories from the Old Testament — The Creation, Cain and Abel, NoaJi and the flood, Abraham, Joseph, Moses and the Israelites, Jews wandering forty years, Isiaelites' journey to Canaan, Ruth, ."-amuel, I 'avid, David and Goliath, Saul's persecution of David, Solomon, Jeroijoani, Elijah, Elisha, Jonah, King Hezekiah, Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar, Bel- shazzur's feast and King Darius, King Ahasuerus and the Jews. — Mew Tfstamrnt — Birth of John the Hapti.st, Birth of Christ, Shepherds, Wise men, Passover, Baptism, Temptation, VA'oman of Samaria, JSoblenian's son. Draught oftislies. Pool of Bethesda, Widow of Nain, Sower, Murdt^r of John, Loaves and lishes, Storm, Good Samaritan, Prodigal son, Kich man, Little children, Lazarus, Ten Virgins, Christ's agony, the iJenial, Crucihxion, Resurrection. 8. Bo/s Story Book Or EDWARD'S HOLIDAYS with his COUSINS, containing Tvventy-Eigiit Moral Tales. Ten Engravings. Contents. — Tho Parrot, the Sacrifice, Little friend, the Walk, Christmas feast, Cousin Philip, tlie Kitle, Arrival of travellers, Conversation, the 'I'asK, xNevv year's day, the Wonders, l''airy tale, JNosegay.s, Tale oftlie Woo Is, Snake in ihe grass. Little moralist, Coin(ileto gardener, the Island, l.'oi)_v lx)ok. Village feasts. Generous rivals, the Ring,Zoe, Young painter, the Visit, the Auricula, the Farewell. 9 & 10. Parent's Assistant. By M.\RrA Edgeworth. Containing the following seventeen excel- lent Stories for Young Persons. TIUrty-Four Engravings. Contents. — Simple Susan, Tarlton, False key. Orphans, Lazy Lawrence, Basket woman, Birth day ]>resent, iMademoiselle I'anache, Barring out, Old I'oz, Little Mercliants, Eton Alontem, Waste not, want not, For- give and forget. White i)igeon, Bracelets, IViimic. ^^ .Maria Edgeworth is universally acknowledged to stand at the head ol all authors of books for young people. 11 Casket of Gems. Being a collection of ORIGINAL MORAL TALES Illustrating the following Maxims, with lUustrations to each: — Never be down-hearted. Be cheerful Do it well. Be orderly. Be in time. Be humble. Make a good use of it. Be considerate. Is it honest .'' Be use- ful Be steady. Be kind. Sot about it directly. Be upright. Be tidy. Be satisfied. Envy not another. Be collected. Think Vv'ill it mend the mailer ;' Be grateful. Uo not deceive yourself. Beware ol pride. Elm tree hall. The heavy cross. The hard task. The mad dog. Snowballing. 12 The Eveim^en; Or STORIES for CHILDREN and YOUTH, by Walter West. TtoenUj Engravings. CoNTLNTS. — Forest home, Eleanor Wilmot, Balloon, Happy New year, In U!Hiation, Naughty l)oy punished, Noisy Cecilia, Ninepins, Insolent boy, • Cood little Miiry, Ellen, Curiosity, Young teaohcr, George, Sailor boy's R-;tiirn, Truiint Emmelino, the Careless girl, Miss ttecil, Too late for a rile. 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