■& *" * ♦ * m fu/. V 6 / f< 4j I CO) iM V ^, \ $>-' is. \ I Frontispiece to Ostentation, and Liberality. 7W_Z] I canxe to return yon. thanks ma'am", said ISP. 8 Dawson, cm^s'ying* to IMifs Corville; "-your land x^ecoaxanendation nas saved nxe and xnine iroxuruin. .r played upon the piano; you arc not yet sufficiently advanced in this sci- ence to judge how far she excels in it ; but you say the company were profuse in their compliments ; — they might say a little more than was necessary; for compliments are often polite fibs. Yet, from my knowledge of her musical ta- lent, 1 should say, none but persons unacquainted with music, or unwilling to allow merit, could be insensible to the excellence of her performance. Lad v Jane's dancing with a mere child, I could safely pronounce to be choice ; she is particularly fond of children. I think you said she gave great praise to Miss Percivafs skill: this is one of the traits in her character which always met fny admiration ; she is willing to be pleased with everyone; and has of- ten made me smile at the beauty and talent she discovered, where I saw little of either." "Then you do not think she said so, because she found it necessary to 22 please those who paid her fine compli- ments?' 1 asked Frances. " I will venture to say, so mean an idea never entered her imagination," returned Miss Colville ; " and, strange as it may appear to you, my dear, 1 can assure you, she is much more dis- posed to laugh at such line compli- ments, than to remember them." "I never can believe that, " inter- rupted Frances ; "why, you have often said that it was laudable to desire the praise of sensible people." "Understand me, my dear girl," returned Miss Colville, " I should pity the being, who, having exercised his or her ability in the acquirement of any knowledge, subsequently recedes from the praise due to perseverance. I consi- der such a state of the feelings quite un- natural ; the re is a pleasure in well-doing, which must produce a certain portion of self-satisfaction. The danger, in all these cases, consists in the false, the 23 undue estimation, we attach to things in themselves trivial." "I should like to know what you really will allow one to he proud of?" asked Frances. " I will answer you in a few words," said Miss Colville. " Pride is an odious vice; and there is no know- ledge, nor accomplishment, which does not become valueless, when pride is at- tached to it." "Well, I am afraid I should be proud, if people praised me as 1 heard them praise Lady Jane, " said Frances : "indeed, I think it would be impossi- ble to avoid it." " I rather think you intended to say vou should be vain," observed Miss Colville. " Whv, is it not the same thino-? ' asked Frances. "No," replied Miss Colville, "pride and vanity are distinct : pride leads its possessor to think well of himself; va- 24 nity makes him desire the good opinion of others." "I understand that: yes, that is clear enough," said the pupil. "Still, my dear Miss Colville, if the praise of seusihle people is to he desired, how can weJbesure we shall not in time he- come vain r" "The question is fair," returned Miss Colville ; " yet, a little reflection may help to guard against, this defor- mity. As people of sense even will sometimes exceed those limits which anxious friendship would avoid, you should frequently ask yourself a few questions, such as, For what did Mrs- Lin ton praise me? Was it for any thing that can make me more valued by my parents ? more useful in my par- ticular station of- life? and, above all, more acceptable to my Maker? If your conscience does not assent to these positions, assure yourself that, tlie acquirement, though innocent and pleasing as an embellishment, does VJ not in reality confer any lasting cause for self-satisfaction." "I am not in danger of being spoil- ed by praise," said Frances, with a smile that conveyed something: like reproach. "Admiration had nearly done you irreparable mischief, when you were, shall I say so unhappy, as to be placed under my care?" observed Miss Col- ville. " I never said I was unhappy with you," rejoined the subdued girl ; "I am sure my papa knows it ; for I often tell him how much I love you, though you do find out all my faults." "Well then, my dear," said Miss Colville, "as I give full credit to your avowal, and have lately had occasion to applaud your self-correc- tion in a few trivial points, let me hope that you will reflect upon what I have now said. Kely upon it, my dear child, evil dispositions are easily roused, Envy, malice, and uncharitableness, G 26 are of one family ; and, when once we take pleasure in depreciating our: fel- low-creatures, it it is impossible to say where our criminality will end." "But I hope you do not think I wished to humble La*dy Jane in your opinion ?" inquired Frances. " You could not do that," said Miss Colville ; " you might lessen my respect for you, by betraying a love of detraction. But, let me finish my analysis of this formidable, but I trust fortunate, visit." Here Frances sighed, and shook her head. Miss Colville proceeded: " I see nothing ostentatious in Lady Jane's going to the nursery of her cousin, which she is in the habit of doing j and perhaps you do not know that the child's nurse is the daughter of one of her papa's te- nants. In making a present to a person so situated there is nothing remarkable; and that her ladyship is able to indulge her feelings in this way, is creditable to 27 her economy ; for, as you observed, her pocket-money is not equal to yours. " It was that which surprise J me so much," said Frances; "and then, you know, she buys her own gloves. But, do you really think it a good plan to keep an account-book : is it not pom- pous in a girl ?" "Is it pompous to be just?" asked M iss Colville. ' ' My dear, you must learn to think before you speak. The word pompous is here out of all place : you would ask, ' is it not too womanly, too much like setting yourselves above others?' I reply No: Lady Jane en- gaged, vvhen the allowance was made her, to keep herself in gloves, and al- ways to appear neat, and like a gentle- woman. Justice therefore requires that she should know exactly what she ex- pends ; and it is this just and sensible mode of ascertaining her means, which gives her the pleasurable power of being useful." c 2 28 " Well, you are determined to defend Lady Jane," observed Frances; "so it will be nonsense for me to say any more." " If I had done so at the expense of truth, I am persuaded you would have set me right," returned Miss Colville; u but, my dear Frances, you are pretty certain that I have been but just ; nay, more; your own sentiments have under- gone a revolution within the last half hour, and I congratulte you upon the improvement." "What do you mean?" asked Frances, half smiling; — "I am sure I cannot guess." " We will leave time to decide how far I am correct in my surmises," replied Miss Colville ; "only now remember my present prediction : when next you meet Lady Jane, you will not follow her, to watch and animadvert upon her man- ners and actions ; no, you will see her with a new eye, and silently assent to what I have said of her." 29 " Do you think so ?" said Frances ; "indeed, my dear Miss Colville, though Lady Jane may be all you say, she is not the sort of girl I ever can like." The arrival of Mrs. Nixon checked any farther conversation. Frances was per- mitted to accompany her aunt: and she followed to her carriage, with a counte- nance full of mysterious importance. If it were possible to expose all the workings of an envious mind, how few would indulge dispositions so inimical to goodness; so contrary to that temper of the soul, which the whole tenor of the Christian religion so strongly enforces Miss Colville was not what is called a learned or highly accomplished woman : her mind was well cultivated ; but, with every disposition to shew kindness to her charge, she w r as scrupulously zealous in detecting those shades in the character which are too often placed to the ac- count of youth and inexperience. The most common observer of nature is aware that the young plant is trained, c 3 ^ so the exuberant shoot pruned, and the diseased one probed. Are we then to infer, that the only production destined for immortality by the great Author of all things, is to be excluded from that prepa- ration we bestow upon every thing around us ? Common sense refutes such a be- lief; and, while we may hope that actual vice is a stranger to the bosom of the young, it will be found that, in many, the germs of evil are latently hidden : nor is it kindness which induces the guardians of children to believe that time will correct their unreproved errors. Time matures: granted. It swells the acorn to an oak, and it nourishes the deadly nightshade. All general theorv must fail where the dispositions of human nature are the ob- ject : in the right application of means much skill is requisite ; but never let mis- taken tenderness withhold the appropriate leproof. Children know when they of- fend ; they are not prone to respect the feelings of others ; nor should we be too 31 lenient in addressing theirs. So much depends upon tracing their feelings and opinions, and bringing them home; so much may be gained, by convincing them that experience is not to be de- ceived by the mere decoration of words ; that I know not a more cruel over- sight, than that of leaving children to make acquaintance with their own hearts when habit has blunted their sensibility. Conscience may, and will, silently admo- nish us ; but much of the salutary effects of this divine part of our nature is abridged, when our reasoning powers have been slumbering when they should have been vigilant. Did we bestow as much time upon proving the heart and correcting the temper of children, as is cheerfully employed in polishing their ex- terior, we, as a nation, should be a more acceptable people. Frances returned in high spirits. Three or four small parcels, which she appear- ed sedulously to guard from the scrutiny of her friend, were instantly conveyed to her own room. Miss Colville made no remark upon the mysterious manner of her little friend ; convinced, from her knowledge of children, that they are al- ways prone to communication when they think they deserve praise. " I have been very extravagant to- day," said Frances, as she re-entered the school-room : " how ranch do you think I have spent ?" Miss Colville guessed a few shillings; r ranees smiled; and with an air of con- sequence added, " No ! I have laid out one pound fourteen shillings ; and I am certain you will admire one of my pur- chases ; but it will not come home before six o'clock : don't then ask me what it is. Yon will see it in time : I want to surprise jom" Miss Colville promised to restrain her curiosity ; and Frances applied herself to business till the hour of tea. "Well, now I may tell you all about the Bazaar ; it is really beautiful ; M said Frances : "I am certain I could lav out S3 twenty pounds, without getting all I should like to have." "1 believe you," said Miss Colville, smiling. "Oh! you can have no idea of its gaiety," returned Frances; "and such a quantity of people." "A number of persons, and a quantity of goods," ihterjoined Miss Colville. "True," said Frances, " that would have been more proper : but only think, mv dear Miss Colville, how odd it was I should meet Lady Jane at the Bazaar. I could not help smiling when I saw her; it was so droll, after our late con- versation." "In London such meetings must oc- cur daily, my dear," observed Miss Col- ville; " persons whose habits of life are similar, will necessarily resort to known and approved places of traffic. " " I suppose so," returned Frances, for I saw many I knew. Lady, Jane made very trifling purchases indeed, — only three steel bodkins and a pair of 34 common scissars : but I can assure you I did not watch her to-day ; she was at the same s'and, so I could not help seeing what she bought. It is no matter what I bought there ; you will hear, if you do not see the articles. Well, then we paid a few visits ; and afterwards my aunt ordered the carriage to a straw- hat shop in Oxford-street: there we again found Ladv Jane. She laughed, and said we haunted each other ; indeed she w-as quite civil to me : I did not ex- pect she would remember me, but she did. She had a great pile of coarse cot- tage-bonnets before her; you never saw such coarse things in your life, not fit for a beggar to wear : and for whom do you think she bought them ?" Miss Colville could not say. "Why," continued Frances, "for a school in the country: she took twelve of them. To be sure they were cheap enough, only a shilling a-piece ; for my part, I would not make presents at all, 35 if I did not give things worth accept- ance ?" "Poor Lady Jane !" sighingly said Miss Colville ; "if I did not know you pos- sessed resources in your own pure mind, which must make you indifferent to the opinion of strangers, 1 should pity you." "But now, indeed," said Frances, " if you had seen the bonnets, you would think as I do. Oh ! here is the parcel I expected," continued she, jumping up, and taking: a hat-box from a servant. " Now tell me, is not this a very pretty hat for a child ? see, what beautiful fea^ thers and band 1" "It is a very handsome hat," said Miss Colville; "I never saw a better beaver : but this hat is not intended for a child belonging to a public charity- school?" "Oh, no!" returned Frances, "J mean this for Nurse Dawson's little boy . you saw her one day, soon after you came to me, and you admired the child," "J remember the circumstance per- S6* fecriy well," said Miss Colville; "the mother of the bahe was in extreme po- verty ; and one of your servants, who was acquainted with her distress, asked me for any old apparel I could spare, to assist the poor woman in clothing her child. Now, can you think a hat of this description is suitable for a child so situated ?" Frances admired her purchase ; and "was not inclined to believe her present could not be proper. Yet she looked grave, and as though she had some in- ternal convictions which she was un- willing to avow. " May I enquire what this hat cost ?" asked Miss Colville. " Eighteen shillings," was the reply. "Then, my dear," returned Miss Colville, "only calculate how much more advantageously such a sum might have been laid out; nay, perhaps the money itself would have been of greater service to poor Mrs. Dawson." "But I did not think of that," said 37 the disappointed pupil; "and, besides, I preferred giving the child something to wear for my sake." " You have pleased yourself, then," observed Miss Colville; " but you can- not convince me that a shilling hat, and one or two cotton frocks, would not have been a more useful and suitable present." "1 know the child will look beautiful in it, — so I am quite glad I bought it," said Frances, hastily ; " and, indeed, I should not think Airs, Dawson would like people to know she was so poor as to want a few shillings." " Yet she told you she was in some need," returned Miss Colville. " I beg your pardon, Miss Colville; "but I do not recollect her saying any thing of the kind." "Did she not tell you," said Miss Colville, " that her husband had been out of employment more than two months ; and that she had been trying to get work from a warehouse, but had not succeeded." VOL. I, D o 8 "O yes, she said that/' replied Frances; " but I did not understand what she meant. "I do not expect you to enter into the views and feelings of persons to whose habits you have hitherto been a stranger," resumed Miss Colville ; ci but be assured, my dear child, even at your age, it is possible you may, by little ob- servation and civil attention to the lan- guage addressed to you, render yourself very useful to your fellow-creatures." " I wish I had not bought this odious hat," said Frances petulantly: "yet I don't know either; 1 won't decide till I have seen papa." Frances joined her papa in the even- ing ; and the result was soothing to her ostentation :— * her papa commended her liberality. The smart hat with its feathers was conveyed to the abode of poverty ; and Miss Austen retired, greatly satisfied with herself. Miss Colville was not disheartened : she could make allowance for the feel- 4 39 ings of a fond father ; who, in the act of his child, saw only its disinterestedness. Nor did she omit to take into consider- ation the address with which a lively child can carry a favourite point, where the parent is indulgent. The next morning saw Frances trium- phant : yet she was not more faulty than many girls similarly situated. There is something so congenial to human feel- ings jn believing that those whose judg- ment we approve are sometimes found to be fallible, it would be unjust to visit this infirmity in Miss Austen too severely. Her best friend accordingly observed her usual manner towards her pupil ; neither revert- ing to the past, nor dwelling upon the line of conduct she wished her to pursue. Miss Colville trusted to the great eluci- dator of truth — Time ; not doubting but future events would better illustrate her views for the happiness of her charge, than any advice prematurely offered. Upon going into the apartment of a - female servant, a few days afterwards, d 2 40 the extent of Miss Austen's liberality was very conspicuously displayed. A fine pasteboard box and pincushion, highly gilt and ornamented, was shown to the governess as the gift of Miss. "But she always was a generous young lady," said the loquacious Sarah ; "and, as I often say, when she's a wo- man, she'll make a pattern for a mistress." "Indeed !" said Miss Colville, smiling; who had heard the same person declare 'it was impossible to please Miss Aus- ten, — she was so uncertain in her tem- per.' "And I'm sure I never saw a prettier ruff than this," added a slatternly girl, who attended upon Miss Austen, and was constantly reproved for her untidy dress. "I'm quite delighted with my present : — Miss bought it for me at the Bazaar." Frances entered the room at this mo- ment : her eyes glanced transiently over these proofs of her liberality, to rest upon those of her governess. In them she saw 41 nothing like approbation. Half-vexed at this insensibility to her merits, she was up- on the point of venturing an observation, when Miss Colville was called away to see a person who waited below stairs. Frances followed. What was her sur- prise to find it was Nurse Dawson with her little boy; but, strange to relate, the child was not dressed in the smart beaver hat. I came to return you thanks, said Mrs. Dawson, curtsying to Miss Colville; "your kind recom- mendation has saved me and mine from ruin." "The young lady gave you employ- ment;" said Miss Colville. " Yes, ma'am," returned Mrs. Dawson; "she did more than that. The day I took your letter, she gave me a one-pound note, and talked to me in the kindest way: if she bad been a woman of eighty, she could not have been more thoughtful. It was quite overpowering, to hear such a young d 3 i ( ma am, 42 creature enter into the affairs of a per- son like me. I have clone a good deal of needle- work for her ladyship ; and she was pleased to say she liked it much. But to-day, ma'am, she has made us so happy: — we are to have the charge of his lordship's house while they are out of town ; and my husband is to be engaged directly in place of the old porter ; who is not well, and is going to the family- seat. God will reward you, ma'am ; but indeed I cannot tell you how much we feel your goodness." " I hoped my young friend would serve you," returned Miss Colvilie^t'and I am truly glad to find she' has met with a family so worthy of protection." Frances sat in breathless expectation of hearing the name of this young pa- troness ; but it did not reach her ear: an intuitive feeling seemed to point at Lady Jane, She longed for, yet shrunk from seeking, intelligence; when, turning to the child, whose shabby hat annoyed 43 her vanity, she half- carelessly inquired "if the heaver hat fitted the child?" ".I ought to ask your pardon, Miss Austen," replied Nurse Dawson ; "out you must excuse me, Miss; we have been in such trouble, I could not think of any thing. I am much obliged to you for the handsome hat you sent; it is a little too big for him just now, but by the au- tumn it will do nicely." " What a pity he cannot wear it now," said Frances; " it will be old-fashioned by that time." "My dear young lady," said Daw- son, " that is of little consequence to people like us; but I hope it will last him two years at least. My husband begged his duty and thanks to you, Miss, for thinking of little George; but he hopes you won't take it amiss that we take the feathers out of the hat: he says they are not fit for a child of hfe; and I'm quite of his mind." Frances looked disconcerted. She feared Miss ColvTile's moment for tri- 44 umph had arrived; and, though she se- cretly condemned the mean taste of Dawson and his wife, it is probable that regret for having laid out her money so uselessly had some influence on her feelings at the moment. The departure of Nurse Dawson and her 4 child did not relieve the embarrassment of poor Frances. Silence might imply that she was contrasting her own plans with those of the young lady just eu- logized. Such an idea did not 6uit her present frame of mind ; so, in order to say something, she fixed upon the sub- ject of all others least likely to sooth her wounded pride. " I dare say you will not agree with me," she observed; "but I must think Dawson is not of a grateful disposition : she might not like feathers; but she need not have told me so. I did not ask her what she iiked; I chose what pleased myself" "Really, my dear," returned Miss Colville, "I do not see Mrs. Dawson's AS conduct in that light. She very re- spectfully told you that she and her husband thought feathers were not fit for their child. There was nothing ungrate- ful in this." "The fact is ; " continued Frances, "her head was full of the rich lady and her one-pound note ; — she could not think of a poor present like mine." " You do Mrs. Dawson injustice," returned Miss Colville ; "and you as- cribe to the young lady what does not pertain to her ; — she is not rich." "Do i~ know her? Did 1 ever see her?" asked Frances eagerly. "You have," replied Miss Colville; it is Lady Jane Milner to whom Mrs. Dawson alluded." " Lady Jane Milner !" echoed Frances in a thoughtful tone of voice ; then rous- ing herself, she added: "Forgive me, Miss Colville, but the whole world cannot make me believe that Lady Jane has not a larger allowance than she acknow- ledges." 46 " I should be sorry if even a small part of what is called the world were to sit in judgment upon the possessions or merits of my young friend,'' replied Miss Colville; "and I really grieve, my dear Frances, to perceive how ready you are to misconstrue the character of a young person to whom you are almost a stranger." "Why," observed Frances, " is she not constantly brought forward ? Do I hear of any thing but Lady Jane's ta- lents, — Lady Jane's liberality, — Lady Jane's everything?" "Not one of }our assertions are te- nable, child," returned Miss Colville ; I will not say you dislike Lady Jane ; but, as it is evident that the qualities of her heart and understanding are not of a character to please you, I rather won- der you so constantly revert to her name." " Who? I !" exclaimed Frances: " I revert to her name ? I should never men- 47 tion her I am certain, if I were left to myself." 11 1 shall leave you to yourself now," said Miss Colville, rising; "but, before I go, remember I do so in compassion to your feelings. Employ the half hour I give you in proving your heart ; recollect how far your prejudices have transported you ; that they have not only betrayed you into the most unjustifiable cruelty towards my former pupil, but that they have led you to utter things totally void of truth." Miss Colville withdrew : and Frances sat overpowered by contending emotions. She was an object for compassion : for the reproof of her governess was ap- propriate. With that hardihood which generally accompanies error, she had at- tempted to defend her opinions by throw- ing blame upon another. This could not avail her in the moment of impartial investigation. No ; she felt all the truth of Miss Colville's exposition ; she was ashamed of her own heart; and only 48 wondered how feelings which she had hoped were hidden from all, could have been so accurately known by her go- verness. From the moment of Miss Colville's becoming a resident in the house of Mr. Austen, it was the practice of Frances to make minute but natural in- quiries respecting the attainments of Lady Jane Milner. That the female who had watched the growth, and cul- tivated the mind of the amiable Lady Jane, should take delight in speaking of the structure she had reared, cannot surprise ; yet, from her knowledge of human nature, Miss Colville carefully avoided all mention of her former pupil, unless solicited to do so. How far Miss Austen was correct in saying she never quoted the name of Lady Jane, it is not necessary to affirm : facts speak for themselves, and to them the reader is referred. Nearly an hour elapsed ; and Frances, who really loved her governess, be- 49 gan to think that something was re- quired from her, beforeMissColville could understand the present state of her feel- ings. How to open the subject, was the difficulty; yet it must be done. The ar- rival of the tea-equipage gave her the desired opportunity. She fled to the apartment of Miss Colville; and, tapping gently at the door, said, "Tea is rea- dy." Miss Colville returned, she would join her in a few minutes; and Frances with equal speed hastened to place a chair, and have all things ready. Miss Colville upon her entrance looked grave ; but her manner was kind as ever. Frances regarded her for a moment in silence : — her heart was full ; and, bursting into tears, she declared 4 ' she should never be happy again, if Miss Colville would not say she forgave her." '•'What am I to forgive?" was Miss Colville's question in return. "My foolish, my cruel injustice to Lady Jane," replied Frances ; ■■ I know, E t I am sure she is an amiable girl ; but I did not like to allow it ; because — indeed I cannot tell how I came to be so unjust." " Unfortunately, I cannot attempt to set you at ease upon the nature of your former feelings but by the mention of that name which offended you," said Miss Colville. " What can I do, Fran- ces?" "Talk of her," answered Frances; " tell me all she ever did and said ; and I will try to be as good, — if you will but love me." Miss Colville seized this moment of self-conviction ; and, with the tenderness of a true friend, dilated much, and made Frances acquainted with her own heart. The susceptible girl, when she heard her governess describe the tendency of the rancour she had ex- pressed towards Lady Jane, the effect it would have upon her own happiness, and the consequences that might finally fall upon her, as she was accountable 51 for every word she uttered, wept un- restrainedly. M I rejoice at these tears," said Miss Colville, throwing her arms round her Frances. " lean now talk to vou. That you really admired the girl you strove to depreciate, I was well aware ; but, when I tell you you have been anxious to imi- tate her from the first time of your meet- ing, you will say I am not right : this is however true. Shall I tell you how, and why you failed." Frances becked she w 7 ould. " You mistook, then, the mode of vying with Lady Jane for imitation, n said Miss Colville; "in the same way that envy is often mistaken for emula- tion ; yet no two feelings are more distinct. My late pupil is generous, but she is eco- nomical; therefore I call her liberal. You determined to outdo her in the value of your gifts : you have not learned the very necessary art of fitness, — of giving what we do give appropriately. For instance, a pasteboard box is, or ought to be, a use- e 2 #8 less ornament to a housemaid's toilet; in the same way that a fashionable ruff can- not be useful to a young woman, whose stockings but too often evince her inat- tention to those decencies to which every woman should attend. Thus, while Lady Jane's actions are characteristic of liberality, yours have betrayed — what? 7 ' " Ostentation," said Frances; "I see it as clearly as possible ; you are quite right, my dear Miss Colville. And then, the ridiculous hat and feathers j — what do you say to them r" " That such a gift was most injudici- ous," replied Miss Colville. " You en- courage me to go on, my dear Frances ; so I will not soften the matter;" added Miss Colville. Frances pressed her hand ; and begged she would proceed. " Well then," continued Miss Colville, " 1 condemn the practice of giving finery of any kind to persons in the humbler walks of life. If they have been so for- tunate as to escape this injurious sort of emulation, you may unintentionally per- 53 vert their happy simplicity; if, on the contrary, they pretend to vie with their superiors, you give them a just reproof, when, by the plainness of your gift, or, more properly speaking, its fitness, you convince them that you thought only of its usefulness. " " How happy Lady Jane must feel when she sees poor Dawson made so comfortable !" exclaimed Frances. " I wish I had not bought those silly fea- thers ; but indeed, my dear Miss Coi- ville, I did not understand that my nurse was in such distress." " No, my love, you did not attend to her little tale," said Miss Colville, smi- ling; "your head was then projecting something out of the common, some- thing that was to outvie, — no matter whom :" Miss Colville still smiled. " Let us now picture," she continued, " to our- selves Mrs. Dawson, her sick husband, and nice little baby, in their poor habi- tation, perhaps without a fire, and want- ing ail the comforts she so feelingly la- E o 54 merited, as requisite for Mr. Dawson's then weak state of health. Well, a foot- man arrives with a parcel ; — her heart bounds with joy; — it comes from the child she has nursed ; — she opens it, and tinds — a hat and feathers. Conceive her disappointment ! Can any thing appear more absurd? or, do you think that vour intended kindness could at such a moment be of any value ?" "No! no! it must appear almost cruel," said Frances : " I am afraid poor Nurse will think me a ridiculous girl." " She would not be justified in so do- ing," returned Miss Colville. No; though your present might arrive at a period when it was impossible for her to estimate your intended kindness; she must, and has, no doubt, reflected upon your attention to her child with real gratitude." A few days subsequent to this pro- mising dawn of better things in the mind of Frances, she was unfortunately 5.5 led into a situation, which partially re- tarded the amendment so necessary to her happiness. Mr. Austen, though a man of sense, was toofondlv attached to his daughter, to bear even the most tran- sient separation from her. He had en- gaged himself to make a visit of a week to a widow lady, a distant connexion of his late wife. Mrs. Wilton had two daughters; and Frances w r as expected to accompany her father, in order to be in- troduced to the voting ladies. Miss Col- ville regretted the separation, more es- pecially at this period ; when the happi- est results might have been expected from her newly-awakened sense of right. The arrangement however gave so much plea- sure to Frances and Mr. Austen, who had expressed his delight in the intel- lectual improvement of his child, and seemed so desirous of introducing her to her mother's connexions, that Miss Col- vilie was forced to vieid, though she did it with reluctance. Of the Miss Wiltons she had some 56 knowledge. They resided near Bloom Hill, the seat of Ladv Jane's father. The young people met occasionally; but the Earl of was too judicious a pa- rent, to permit any very strict intimacy between them. The Miss Wiltons were showy girls, not only in their persons but their acquirements. With great wealth to sanction their self-importance, they had a thorough contempt for every- thing and every body that did not an- swer their ideas of magnificence. To expose a girl like Frances to an associa- tion so dangerous, gave Miss Colville real uneasiness ; yet, to guard her against persons with whom she was connected by blood, was at once unnatural and illi- beral. All she could do, w 7 as to beg she would think before she spoke; be scru- pulous of giving her opinion upon sub- jects with which she was not perfectly acquainted ; to avoid entering into the concerns of others upon frivolous occa- sions ; and to bear in mind, that, as she :>7 had lately discovered the fallacy of being hasty in her judgments, so she hoped that a lesson, bv which she had so mate- rially benefited, would often be present to her perception. Frances promised all and every thing that was required of her. She was too happy, to restrain her feelings ; and, though she really disliked parting with Miss Colville, and shed a few tears when the carriage was announced, her sensi- bility was not lasting. On the second day after her depar- ture, the following letter reached Miss Colville. Mount JVilton; Sept. 4th. C£ MY DEAR MISS COLVILLE, " We reached this charming place about five yesterday evening. I was greatly pleased with the view of Mount Wilton from the valley ; but I had no idea it was so magnificent a place. Papa is making a sketch of the scenery this morning, which I shall hope to shew 5$ you. My cousins are very nice girls; I think Marian quite beautiful. I can assure you I shall not find my ball-dress too fine for this place. The Miss Wil- tons dress so elegantly, I look quite shabby by them : so you see I was not wrong in begging so hard for my ball- frock. Mrs. Wilton is a very nice wo- man, and behaves kindly to me ; she says I ought not to go ut of doors with- out a veil ; so I sent for one this morn- ing from the village. She is trying to persuade papa to change my masters; and has given him a list of those she wishes him to engage. You would have been pleased with papa's reply. He said he left these things to vou ; and that he was quite satisfied with my present instruc- tors : So I do'nt know how it will end ; for Mrs. Wilton told me she should at- tack papa again. My cousins have finished their education; vet Caroline is only fifteen, and Marian one year young- er. I do not think they are very fond of their studies ; for they laughed at m}' 59 bringing my portfolio, and have locked it up till I go away. They will not let me look into their books, of which they have a vast quantity ; but, as this is all from a wish to have my copjpany, I ought not to complain. I tell you of it, because you wished me to attempt a sketch from nature, which I fear I shall not be able to accomplish. Papa begs me to make his compliments to you ; and I hope it is unnecessary to add, that I am, my dear Miss Colville, Yours, with much affection, Frances Austen." "P. S. Papa peeped over my shoul- der just now, and said he anticipates your remarks on a few words in this let- ter ; but he will not say which they are." The fears of Miss Colville did not di- minish upon the perusal of this epistle. She foresaw that her pupil must be in- jured, by the suspension of those habits of diligence which the young in parti- cular do not readilv continue. Fran- 60 ces was but too much prone to value personal decoration ; it was therefore peculiarly unfortunate she should have been thrown into a situation where its influence would be recommended by tbe really handsome persons of her cou- sins. On replying to her pupil, Miss Colville glanced slightly at the " ball- frock ;" and rather smiled at the taste of Frances, which could lead her to think blond lace and flowers a dress suitable for any private party. She hoped her young friend would use persuasion to induce the Miss Wiltons to return her sketch-book; as she still hoped to see a specimen of her taste in drawing, which she could in feu- places have a better op- portunity of displaying than at Mount Wilton. Upon the poster ipt, Miss Colville ex- pressed herself thus: "I should ima- gine your papa's remarks to refer to the words ' nice,' and the ' vast quantity of books,' your cousins possess. The word nice is often applied where the existence 61 of the habit of cleanliness cannot in rea- son be questioned. It is a word that has latterly crept into conversation, to the exclusion of half a hundred terms in- finitely more appropriate. For instance, Mrs. Wilton is rich, dresses well, and, (of course, ) is never dirty : still, the word 1 nice' can hardly apply to her appear- ance. She may be pleasing, agreeable, or elegant; but I do not see the fitness of calling her nice. Your cousins being 'nice girls,' is liable to the same objection. You describe them as very elegant in their dress; and I am apt to think, that your ideas of elegance must make this term more particularly out of place. When we speak of a nice servant, we understand a neat person, though the word is in this case nearly superfluous; as * neatness' would express all we mean to say. I think you will make your own deductions from my remarks, and agree with me, that this word is unnecessarily pressed into use. 'A vast quantity of books,' is not an unusual mode of ex- F 62 prcssion ; but, 'an extensive library,' or, 'a great number of books,' appears to me better," &c. Had this letter reached Frances one day earlier than it did, not a sentence of its kindly-disposed writer would have been lost. Alas 1 it came too late. Frances had walked to Bloom Hill ; and that walk produced a relapse in her sentiments respecting Lady Jane Ivlilner. The Miss Wiltons were pro- fuse in their censure of Lady Jane; and, after numberless insinuations, which betrayed their dislike to her ladyship, they concluded by observing, that their mamma quite rejoiced that they were not wonders ; for that nothing was so fatigu- ing as those " wonderful'' young ladies. Frances smiled ; and this smile was taken for assent. The most eloquent narra- tions ensued — all equally edifying and authentic : for, though the Miss Wiltons were slightly acquainted with Lady Jane, their anecdotes of her ladyship were collected from a discarded servant.of the 63 Earl's; — an authority which the Miss Wiltons would have despised, had the ohject been any other than Lady Jane Milner. Again Frances thought Miss Colville must be mistaken ; it was some time since she quitted the Earl's family; and, though she might answer for Lady*" Jane while under her guidance, it was very possible she might be changed. Poor Frances ! how weak are the reasonings of a half- formed mind ! how incompetent are the unsettled and pre- judiced in all their judgments! Did she believe, or did she Wish to find her conclusions just? Could Lady Jane's defalcations raise her in the esteem of her own friends ; or, did she hope that her ladyship's descent would make her a more practicable model for imitation ? The latter could not be the case; for, in proportion as we lower others, we secretly ascribe some new excel- lence to ourselves, — a something hi- therto unnoticed recurs to memory, F 2 I G* We wonder we ever suffered our dis- cernment to be blinded by the false glare of the eulogized party; and we feel we have not been true to our- selves. This sort of self-delusion is so far pardonable, as it offers the only apo- logy that can be made for illiberal feelings and sentiments. For, if we depreciate and deform the good, for the mere pleasure of being ill-na- tured, the sin were enormous. But this deceit, though usual, is short- lived; — no human being continues to err without a consciousness of so do- ing; and, though the force of ex- ample is sometimes offered, as extenu- ating those errors of imitation into which the young are frequently led. the excuse is insufficient. Circum- stances may place us in the vicinity of the unworthy. Does it necessarily follow, that we must imbibe their faults? How would it sound in the ear of the youthful and supposed mo- 65 ral girl, were she told she was wicked ? Yet is the term applicable, where the mind has assented to the censorious tale! It is observable, that intelli- gent children will question the truth of well-authenticated histories; while the hasty anecdote, framed to suit the purposes of the malicious, will find im- mediate credit. Yet, how distinct is the danger we incur in either parti- cular ! If the judgment be misled by the admission of hypothesis as fact, of fic- tion in place of truth, w r e injure no one ; our knowledge may be incorrect, but the mind is pure. Whereas, in listening to the tale of malevolence, the understanding is degraded; and, worse than all, the heart is corrupted. The Miss Wiltons gave much weight to their descriptions, by frequently declaring that everybody thought Lady Jane an odd sort of girl. To be sure, there were a few old ladies in the neighbourhood who held her ladyship f 3 66 up as a model for those of her own age. But these warm eulogists were just the sort of persons whose opinions were of no value ; — they were old-fashioned — quite old quizzes. Frances did not ex- actly know what was meant by the word quiz; but she was disposed to be quies- cent, and therefore did not cavil with words. In the course of conversation it trans- pired, that the governess of Frances had rilled a similar station in the Earl of • 's familv. The young ladies in- stantly recognised her as another, but more offensive, kind of quiz. "Do'nt you remember how imperti- nent she was to mamma. Marian ? ,r said Miss Wilton. Frances could not bear this attack ; she assured her cousins, "Miss Colville was incapable of rudeness to any one." li O\ but she was, I can assure you," returned Miss Wilton : "I will tell you all about it. Lord happened to be in London ; we had a little dance, 67 and mamma invited Lady Jane; and, do you know she refused to let her come: and, (it was so cunning of her !) she made Lady Jane write the refusal herself ; as if any girl would have given up a dance of her own accord.'' " Perhaps Lord might have de- sired her to refuse all invitations while he was absent;" observed Frances. ct No, indeed, that was not the case," said Marian; "for, a few evenings af- terwards, we met her at a stupid little party at Mrs. Musgrove's; and mamma was so vexed, she spoke to the Miss Somebody the governess, and said she thought it very strange Lady Jane should have declined her invitation, when it was evident she was permitted to go out. I remember mamma said the governess carried herself very high ; but I forget what she said ; only 1 know we never spoke to her from that time, though we always continued to be acquainted with Lady Jane." Frances was firm here ; she was sure 6$ there was some mistake: but, upon her saying she would ask Miss Colville to ex- plain the business, the young ladies beg- ged she would not, for they required no explanation. There was a something in the manner of her cousins at this moment which rather startled Frances. She was in the habit of pressing all subjects home in which she believed she was right She could only account for a contrary line of conduct, by supposing that the party were not quite so sure of their own rectitude. On the ensuing morning, Mr. Austen accompanied the young ladies in a walk of some length ; the object of their excur- sion was to view a tunnel upon the estate of Lord . Thev were on their re- turn to Mount Wilton, when they over- took a gentleman. and lady on horseback. Mr. Austen recognized Lord ; and the Miss Wiltons, with apparent delight, exclaimed, "Dear Lady Jane, when did you arrive?*' Her ladyship replied po- litely, but with great calmness, that she had arrived late the preceding evening. see Tc'l.J .pages 68. 6p. The ^MiCs Wiltons were astonislie-t.-n. 5/ a great pity. It may be 105 conceit; but I positively think she is much improved since she came among us; — she has caught Marian's manner. " Mr, Austen alaiost started. "She has, I can assure you," continued Mrs. Wilton; "a mother's eye, you know, is wonderfully acute." Mr. Austen did not seem to acquiesce in this assertion. "So you must go! Well, then, now about the masters; vou will rind the persons I recommend very superior in their respective departments; in fac% they are the only people employed by a certain rank ; and" ■ "My dear madam," said Mr. Aus- ten; "such persons cannot want my patronage. You must excuse me, if I decline your well-intended recommen- dations ; I have no idea of making any alteration in the plan at present in pro- gress for the advantage of my child. I shall return home, more than ever convinced that the kind friend to whose care I have committed my daughter, is admirably qualified for the charge. If 106 1 meditate any change at all, it is that of yielding her up to Miss Colville en- tirely. That lady has often told me ' that I am prone to make Frances a holiday pet, while it was her object to make her my rational friend. " "You are wrong," returned Mrs. Wilton ; "and you will repent placing implicit confidence in a person of that description. The dear child's spirits too; — you have no idea of the hazard to which you expo c e my poor little Frances:" and Mrs. Wilton kissed her young relative, and whispered her to " beg papa to let her stay with them till Christmas : he could then come for her." Frances was placed in an awkward dilemma : she could not prefer a peti- tion ; she had no wish left to attain. She had been long enough at Mount Wilton, to feel all the value of the home to which she was returning; and, though no ac- tual un kindness had been done her, the volatility of her cousins had led her into faults she was ashamed to acknowledge 107 —even to herself. She hoped to un- burthen her heart to the friend, whose advice at parting now seemed almost prophetic. " She had not thought be- fore she spoke;" "avoided the fault of hasty judgment;" "refrained from talking of the concerns of strangers;" or "re- membered how lately she had lamented her defalcation on these several points." As this review passed through her mind, her courage rose ; and, with a manner firm but respectful, she confessed "she should not be happy, if separated from her father ;" adding, that "she likewise wished to return to her regular lessons." "You have frightened the child," said Mrs. Wilton, addressing Mr. Aus- ten; "such sentiments are not at all natural at her age. I believe few mo- thers (though I ought not to say so in their presence), have more reason to be satisfied with the attainments of their children than myself; yet, I confess, we have had many thorns in our path, — many difficulties iu our progress ; but 108 you see what has been done ? Indeed, my dear sir, we must allow, that our present enlightened mode of education necessarily imposes much fatigue, con- siderable mental effort: that children should shrink from a system, which in some particulars seems to abridge that personal liberty so much prized in the season of juvenile health and spirits, is quite natural. JVe know it is for their good, therefore we persevere ; but that a young person can really take pleasure in the system, is certainly out of the question. My sweet love," continued Mrs. Wilton, patting her young relative on the cheek; "we do not expect you to like your lessons ; you like them, be- cause you know it is dear papa's wish that you should be clever and accom- plished ; but you know you would rather play, and dispose of your time according to your own pleasure : would you not, Frances?" a I have nothing to do at home but 109 what I like, ma'am," said Frances* *' I have as much leisure as I desire.'' '•Astonishing docility !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilton: "mark that, girls'" addressing herself to her daughters. " Well, if this lasts, I have nothing to say; but, my dear Mr. Austen, you must be vigilant. I suspect there is some negligence in the plan at present pursued; remember mere mediocrity will not do in these times: being an only child, much will be expected from her." "I hope not," said Mr. Austen, laughing; "happily, there is no dan- ger of my daughter's being conspicu- ous in any way : did I conceive it pos- sible that she should disappoint my expectations, and become the sort of being you describe, it would give me real concern ; nay, I believe I should make her retrace her path to child- hood, and adopt some other system, that would make her effectually un- learn all she had imbibed." VOL. i, k 110 "Understand me, my good sir, 5 ' returned Mrs. Wilton; "I do not wish our clear Frances to be a wonder. Ob, no [ I bave seen enough of that sort of thing, to dislike it as much as you do ; our neighbour Lady Jane has surfeited me in this way; and, be- tween ourselves, there is something vastly unfeminine in a girl's professing a predilection for studies that belong exclusively to the other sex. No, it is not the study of algebra or geome- try that I would wish your daughter to pursue; — she must be a musician, an artist, a linguist; and the accomplish- ment of dancing must not be omitted. Now all this is a very arduous under- taking, and necessary, if she wish to equal those of her own rank." " But, suppose my daughter has nei- ther taste nor talents for the acquire- ments you deem essential," returned Mr. Austen; " would it not be a deplor- able waste of time and money, to compel her to learn these things? admitting it Ill to be fair that she should attempt what is usually thought requisite in female education. I consider it unfeeling as well as useless, to make mere embellish- ments compulsory. I might regret the deficiencies in her natural taste, which made her indifferent to pursuits which, if moderately pursued, are pleasing and harmless; but, if she evinced a desire to learn those of a more abstruse kind, — if she preferred figures to music ; I see no objection to her devoting a portion of her time to algebra. Geometry might also in the same way employ -some of her leisure hours, while the pursuits of a fe- male are quietly followed : so long as we can believe she is interested in them for themselves, and not with any view to their placing her above others of her age; so long they are innocent, and claim our respect. Every intellectual exertion repays the diligent inquirer. The returns are not immediate. I grant it is in after-life that the treasures of a *reJl-s?£ored mind remunerate their pos- K 2 112 sessor ; and believe me, my dear madam, we do. well when we apply education to the pupil, in place of expecting a ge- neral system to be of use with creatures as various in their capacities as their features. , ' "I have done," said Mrs. Wilton; " I perceive this dear little treasure is to be reared upon the Milner-plan ; but nothing can be more erroneous, and you will yet find / am in the right." " The Milner-plan, as you are pleased to call it," returned Mr. Austen, smi- ling, "can only prove efficient where si- milar intellect is discoverable. Frances gives no promise of being able to vie with that charming and elegant young person. On the contrary, I see much that requires correction. She must learn to feel and act correspondingly, before she can be classed with anv other than the most frivolous and unthinking of her age." Frances stood abashed : her heart was full. Her father saw her distress; and, as 113 he drefa her affectionately to his side, said: "It may appear harsh to tell you thus much before your cousins, but they have witnessed your errors. Your friends here consider you with indul- gence, and will, I trust, place your foi- bles in the most favourable light ; and, though I cannot accuse myself of any intentional neglect as a father, I look back with shame on numberless omis- sions, which mv mistaken fondness led me to believe were proofs of affection. Henceforth we will be guided, Frances; the means are in our power, and we will avail ourselves of them." The conscious Frances w,as soothed by this appeal. Uncertain as are all our projects for the future, the human mind as gladly grasps at the promise it holds out, as it fearfully shrinks from all un- pleasant reminiscences- The Mount- Wilton family now looked forward to the departure of their visit- ors as a period that would release them from a fatiguing restraint, The young K. 5 1 14 ladies were infinitely amused when alone in talking of their quizzical relative. They agreed it was a pity Lady Jane should remain ignorant of Mr. Austen's good opinion; but they did not promise to be the bearers of his sentiments. For poor Frances they felt the utmost com- passion, more especially as she was not a girlof talent; and theyreadily concluded the chi**d would be bored to death with study, if not sent to a premature grave. That the Miss Wiltons really thought as they said, is questionable ; for Caro- line, in her cooler moments, had more than once pronounced Frances "a sen- sible girl, and bv no means so unrao- dern as she had expected to find her." While they were engaged in a new reading of their cousin's character, Frances was employed in apprizing Miss Colville of her father's resolution to re- turn home. As she took her pen for this purpose, all the awkwardness at- tendant upon epistolary delays pressed on her mind. She had promised to write 115 frequently — voluntarily promised ; for Miss Colville had not exacted it of her ; and yet she had only written once since her arrival. After some uncomfortable thinking, and a trifling waste of writing- paper, she expressed herself thus : "MY DEAR MISS COLVILLE, " I am quite ashamed of myself; and, if you had not the best reasons for doubt- ing my word, I would promise never to make a promise again. But I know you disapprove engagements in girls ; so I will only say I am sorry for it. We shall be in Harley-street on Friday; and I hope to find you as willing to overlook my neglect, as I am sincerely delighted at the thought of seeing you again. I have much to tell you ; pray bje prepared to hear that I have been very, very faulty since we parted ; and, what grieves me more than I can describe, I am sure my papa is not satisfied with me. He has looked so grave, and spoken to me in such serious terms, that I never felt so 316 unhappy in my life. You shall know all when we meet. Lady Jane is at Bloom- Hill. I have seen her, and she was ex- tremely kind to me. Will you have the goodness to order dinner for us : we hope to reach town by six o'clock. My papa presents his best compliments; and I an), Mv dear Miss Colville, Yours affectionately, Frances Austen.*' JdounUTfiltofi ; Sept. \7th. Indefinite as was the confession contained in this letter, Frances felt more satisfied with herself when it was dispatched ; and, when her cousins joined her, she was able to meet their raillery with cheerfulness. "So yoy have been writing to your governess," said Caroline ; ''what could you say to her? I suppose she expects you to express great pleasure at return- ing to your studies; — is not that the word, Frances ?"' "Net the word she likes, 5 ' replied 117 Frances; "for she laughs at it, and says it is almost affectation when applied to girls." " Then your duties !" interjoined Marian ; ' ' am not I excellent at a guess ? But really, child, you xvill write remark- ably well," looking at the superscription of Frances's letter; "and without lines too : why it is only very lately that / could scribble a note without ruling my paper." " Miss Colville objects to letters being ruled, " returned Frances ; " she said it was only by practice I could conquer the habit of writing uneven, and I could not begin too early." "How provoking it must be," said Marian, "to have one's writing torn up, which I suppose was your case at first, Caroline ? If poor Marsden had pro- posed such a plan to us, how black we should have looked." ' ' I think so, indeed, " observed Caro- line, laughing ; "but", to do her justice, she did not trouble us much with plans, which was all the better; for your syste- 118 mafic people are very fatiguing-,-— great bores. Don't you think so, Frances ?" ' 'If I understand the meaning of the word systematic," replied Frances, I think people may be very pleasing, though they may think it necessary to pursue a regular plan in their habits and conduct." " How like an old woman you talk, " exclaimed Caroline, laughing ; " but I see vou are pleading the cause of your governess. It is quite unnecessary with us, my dear ; we know her to be a great quiz. " It is so impossible to please you by any thing I can say," retorted Frances, "that I shall not attempt to set you right respecting Miss Col vi lie. She must know you ; yet I never heard her speak of you ; though you say you never took any notice of her from the day Lady Jane declined your ball-invitation." "She could expect nothing else from us, after such rudeness," returned Miss Wilton; "and I thinkit wowldhavebeeu 119 rather presumptuous, had she ventured to give an opinion concerning us, more especially to you, who are our relation." Frances looked as though she re- gretted the reserve Miss Colville had adopted on this subject; yet she had the good sense to understand the liberality which dictated it. Greatly as the Miss Wiltons relied upon their talents for ridicule, they were not satis- fied that Frances was affected by their wit. They had tried her in all ways ; had laughed at those she esteemed, — misrepresented one she was inclined to admire; and, though they had brought her to laugh with them upon more than one occasion, it was evident she soon re- ceded from their dictation, and was ashamed of their temporary influence. Such a girl was more likely to humble them, even with their mother, whose mind was by no means so easy on their account as her parental gentleness too often represented it to be. On the con- trary, Mrs. Wilton was beginning to find 120 her system of education somewhat im- perfect : her authority was frequently op- posed, and her partial praises of them as often adduced in argument as proofs of her internal satisfaction ; though she thought it judicious to stimulate them to exertion, by affecting her disappointment. On one of these occasions Frances had been present; and, upon Marian's pertly denying that more money had been ex- pended upon them than upon most girls in their station of life, she exclaimed, " Oh ! Marian, — it is your mother that speaks !" Convinced of her error, she instantly apologized to her cousin, and ran out of the room. Mrs. Wilton was touched by this trait of just feeling; and, in all her subsequent views for the im- provement of her young friend, was heard to say " that Frances was a child of excellent sense and good feeling, and that her anxiety to see hec finished by a certain polish of manners, &c. wasgreat- ly increased since she made her out :" as she termed it. 121 Mr. Austen was firm. It really appear- ed that his visit to Mount- Wilton had riven a new bias to his judgment. He saw the fallacy in suffering fashion to in- fluence or guide education ; — that two girls, whom nature had destined to be the comfort of their widowed parent, were, in reality, the causes of much silent anxiety ; and, while he exonerated Mrs. Wilton from any intention of leading him into a similar mistake, he was compelled to wonder how she could continue to prize things unessential in themselves, arfd in their result so unsatisfactory, in her own family. "Good sense and good feeling," ex- claimed he one day when Mrs. Wilton had so designated the character of France? ; " my dear ma'am, we must not decide too hastily ; what more is requisite to form a perfect character ? Good sense is reason adorned by industry and reflection ; and the good feeling which such training must produce, is that spe- cies of equity which teaches its possessor L 14$ to do as they would be done by. Is not this the perfection of human nature ; — that the point to which it is wisdom to aspire, but presumptuous to claim?" The inconsistencies which mistaken tenderness will lead too-ductile parents into, instantly led Mrs. Wilton to press the necessity of muking Frances accomplished, according to the fashion- able interpretation of the word. "She trembled," she said, "lest the dearchild was only to be made good and amiable; and she entreated that her studies might be diversified: — so many hours given to music, so many to drawing, &c. Let her study history in all its branches ; without that, you know, a wo- man now appears a Hottentot in society. " " I will consult her future happiness no less than her capacity, " returned Mr. Austen: "she shall read; and I shall hope to see her acquire that taste fov the highest of all intellectual enjoyments, that may ultimately make it a source oi' pleasing reflection and certain profit. A 12; late excellent divine* has remarked, that ' man's wisdom hath filled innumerable volumes ; the Gospel is comprised in one :' it shall be my endeavour to make her comprehend the value of that one. I will, if possible, teach her from it to feel her obligations as a Christian ; and, if afterwards she can depart from its pre- cepts and the practice it enjoins, who will then dare tell me that she posseses sense and good feeling ?" To dissent from opinions thus seri- ously avowed, was impossible ; nor did Mrs. Wilton attempt it : her heart told her it was a system that lay open to all, and could not conscientiously be disre- garded. She sighed, as she allowed that the earlier years of her daugh- ters had been directed by a female of an erroneous faith : her plan had retarded, or delayed, the religious part of their edu- cation. She supposed all children were alike ; for she had not found them fond of * Dr. Gilpin, prebendary of Salisbury. L <2 124 serious reading, as they might have been, had they applied themselves to it early. With sentiments that appeared to be so diametrically opposite, though they were in reality more in unison than one party felt inclined to allow, there follow- ed a visible restraint on their behaviour. Mr. Austen was unwilling to urge opi- nions that glanced at the oversight of a fond but mistaken mother; while that mother evidently shrunk from an analysis of her feelings. They parted. Frances returned to her home ; and Mrs. Wilton seriously proposed to herself the adoption of the very plan she had recently avowed to be unsuccessful with her daughters. Frances met Miss Colville with un- feigned warmth. A brief but faithful ac- count of all she had said and done was poured to the ear of her governess. Miss Colville, smiling, declared she must take time to separate the chaff from the wheat. u Oh ! I have been wrong altogether," said Frances; Ci yet believe me, dear 125 Miss Colville, I had no sooner erred than I discovered my fault." "I do believe you," observed Miss Col- ville ; " for conscience is an active moni- tor : the heart will condemn us for a \vrongact, though all the world applaud." " It will indeed," returned Frances; "but in me it was very wrong; for you know I had previously regretted my pre- judices, and acknowledged that they had no foundation in truth." " Few prejudices are founded in truth, Frances," said Miss Colville; "and it is the conviction of this which adds to our criminality in retaining them. Now observe the contrast. I cannot imagine your manner towards Lady Jane to have been very engaging, vet hear how she speaks of you." Miss Colville produced a letter from her ladyship, and read as fol- lows : 'llikeyourpupilmuch; sheappears intelligent and amiable ; I believe I told you so much, after meeting her at my aunt's. I have seen more of her herqi i 3 V26 The Miss Wiltons 'cannot agree with me respecting her abilities : I did not ven- ture, in consequence, to broach the sub- ject ; nor was I qualified to do so : for how could I know her dispositions or at- tainments, from the casual interviews I had with her in London ? It was in a morning-visit at Bloom-Hill I discovered her to be a very pleasing, sensible girl. I have asked Mr. Austen's permission to let her accompany you hither at Christ- mas : he made no objection, and I shall hope to see her with you.' " How kind, how very good !*' said Frances : and the tears stood in her eyes. " Please to read that part again, about judging of dispositions at first sight." Miss Col ville complied. "How liberal !" continued Frances; "so she really thought favourably of me when we met at Mrs. PercivaFs ; and at that moment I was seeking to find out her defects ! Lady Jane must in- deed be an amiable girlF' "She thinks and acts properly upon 127 most occasions, my love," returned Miss Colville ; "and is naturaly dis- posed to take the fairest view of things generally. I should have thought her illiberal, hadshedecided upon your cha- racter at a first interview. But only reflect, Frances, had such been her dis- position, how disadvantageous the re- sult would have proved to you !" " She would have despised me," said Frances, " could she have formed an idea of my meanness." " I hope she is incapable of despising any thing but vice," returned Miss Colville ; "your expressions are strong, because your feelings are roused. We must correct this habit, my love ; but, while ne are upon the subject of preju- dices, let me add, that their indul- gence, as connected with our happi- ness in this life, are highly dangerous ; and, though we may forget their injus- tice, there yet is something lamentable in seeing people thus making misery for themselves. What peace can that 128 mind enjoy which is always judging its fellow-creatures, perverting their thoughts, and misconstruing their ac- tions ? An existence so carried on must be wretched; but to see infants in the ways of the world putting themselves forward as censors, calls up the most painful considerations. I .am willing to grant that their ignorance, the peculiarity of their judgment, may make the assumption of the task of such criticism appear ridiculous ; yet, believe me, habit is a dangerous erf- croacher ; and the girl who sets out by decrying the faults of her sex br fel- low-beings, will never render herself estimable to the better part of it." Among the minor difficulties that marked this period of Frances's life, was the embarrassment she felt respect- ing her cousins. She knew no; how to couch her opinions of their general behaviour, their unrestrained vay of speaking of every one ; and, abore all, the very pointed language thef had 129 used whenever her governess had been mentioned. To be silent on subjects that really occupied her mind, and on which it was so natural she should speak, required more prudence than Frances Austen possessed ; nor was it desirable that a reserve so great should exist between persons living in their relative situation. But how to begin, was the question. Happily Miss Col- ville spared her this difficulty, by in- quiring if the Miss Wiltons were go- ing to France, as she had heard they intended. Frances could not answer this ; but the opening thus presented was not lost. She wondered her governess had not told her she knew the Miss Wil- tons. "They know you very well ;" — and she endeavoured to translate from the expression of Miss Colville's coun- tenance what efrect this information produced. All was calm and good- humoured: her governess seemed to retain no recollection of their rudeness. 130 Perhaps, after all, they are like me, thought Frances ; and can say rude things of people distantly, while they appear very civil in their presence. "Miss Wilton is very handsome," said Miss Colville ; "and her sister has the finest countenance I ever saw." "I think them both beautiful," ob- served Frances ; ' ' and they are reckoned highly accomplished; but" She paused. "There is no harm in say- ing what one really thinks ; is there ?" "Not if we think well of a person, or the occasion demands us to speak what we know," returned Miss Col- ville, smiling; "ours is only common chit-chat; therefore you have no right to give me an unfavourable impression of the party." " I hope I did not intend that," said Frances ; "yet I should like to ask you a few questions. Did you think my cousins very accomplished when you knew them? Were they polite in their manners P And do you believe that 131 Caroline's foot is smaller than Lady Jane Milner's?" Miss Colville could not avoid a smile at the last question ; it was one she had heard before contested, but greatly to the discomfort of Caroline "VViiton. Her unfortunate shoe-maker had lost her favours for having as- serted, and immediately after proved, the impracticability of forcing a short broad foot into a slim well-proportioned slipper. " I did not consider the young ladies particularly successful in accom- plishments," said Miss Colville; "they appeared to want the chief qualification to success in any pursuit— perseve- rance. They tried every thing ; but, with the exception of dancing, I do not think they can be said to be ac- complished." "Now then I may speak out," said Frances. "You know as well as I do that Lady Jane excels them in that art too ; but that's nothing. Ma- rian plays the harp prettily ; and, since t i>2 she has learned to touch that instru- ment she has entirely given up the piano, though Mrs. Wilton wants her to keep up the practice. She told papa Marian had had more than two hun- dred pounds expended on her music masters and mistresses : is not that a pity ?" "It is very ungrateful in a child to resist the wishes of her parent, cer- tainly; " returned Miss Colvilie. "Drawing they neither of them like," continued Frances; "yet they make comical sketches sometimes. Do you know they can draw such laugh- able caricatures, and such likenesses, that you would know the persons in- stantly. They drew one of Lady Jane, and one of her papa. I was quite vexed with myself; but indeed it was im- possible to help laughing at them ; that is, at the first sight."' "I pity the girls who can find plea- sure in the exercise of a talent so un- amiable," said Miss Colvilie; "your 3 133 laughing at a design of the kind, is by no means extraordinary ; we are all more or less affected by the sight of tilings ludicrous ; but I hope you did not partake of their error, by applauding that which really deserved reprehen- sion ?" ' ' I did not, " replied Frances ; * ■ for I was so sorry at having laughed, that I -begged them to shut up their portfolio, and I declared I would not see any more of their caricatures." "That was delicate, Frances," re- turned Miss Colville ; — " the very best reproof you could have given them. We are all liable to be involved in the mistakes of others; and the only assu- rance we can give that our minds are not similarly disposed, is by openly dissenting from the principles we disap- prove. You must yet be aware, there are situations in which this may be done without saying a word. The case in question, however, I can readily believe to have been too prominent to M 134 admit of silent dissent ; I therefore commend your candour?" "I am sure you know more of my cou- sins than you choose to avow," said Frances, smiling; "youunderstandtheip dispositions so exactly. You are quite right in saying silence would not do with them ; for when I turned away from the caricatures, and was looking at some views in Marian's hook, they still kept holding up different likenesses to me, and hegged me not to cry at seeing dear Mrs. Musgrave in her Sunday- gown. Many other sketches of visitors I saw; so I was at last forced to say what I have told you." "Of the Miss Wiltons I had certainly formed a decided opinion previously to your visit, my dear," returned Miss Colville; " hut to have impressed you unfavourahly against persons to whom you were then a stranger, — a family connected with your late excellent mo- ther, would have heen most unjust. Exertion and time miq;ht have ini- 13.5 proved them ; and had I spoken* as I really thought of them, should I not have committed the very error I had endeavoured to correct in you? How could you be certain I was not preju- diced? No : I avoided this ; but I pre- pared your papa to meet two hand- some girls, with quick lively imagina- tions, and an uncommon flow of lan- guage, considering their years. I at the same time pointed out those traits in their dispositions most likely to affect a girl of your temper; and I suggested the necessity of his guarding you against a foible very usual at your age, that of imitating the whims and ca- prices of anew acquaintance, which, re- commended as I knew they would be by the vivacity and personal beauty of your cousins, were likely to catch your attention, if not more." " How well you know my disposi- tion," said Frances, laughing ; "I own I thought the Miss Wiltons the most delightful girls I ever saw ; in- m 2 }36 deed, I was so much pleased with them the two first davs, that I could do no- thins; but admire them. I almost thought papa unkind ; for, when I spoke of their beauty, and called him to admire their accomplishments, he called me a silly girl, and desired me not to speak of things I did not understand. Now you have explained what you said to him be- fore we left home, I can account for his being so indifferent to my remarks. In- deed, I soon altered my opinion respect- ing their abilities; my papa only laughed at me when I said so, and begged me to think again, if I did not mean the attain- ments of my cousins when I spoke of their abilities." " Your eagerness to speak frequently leadsyou to express yourself ambiguously, my dear," said Miss Colville. " In the instance you have related, it must be evident you did not express what you in- tended. But allow me to observe, the Miss Wiltons, in this particular, seldom commit themselves. I do not say that I 137 like to hear girls give their opinions as they do ; yet I must confess, they seldom use expressions that are not applicable to the sentiments they would impart." "But you say it is vulgar to call every thing a bore," rejoined Frances; "and they do that constantly; — indeed, they make use of many odd phrases. Papa was very angry with me for saying I did not care two-pence about a walk we had projected one morning, but were prevented from taking by a shower of rain. He asked me where I had learn- ed such vulgarisms? I could not reply ; for it was Marian who was always saying so : and more than once she said papa was quizzical, and that I should be a per- fect faddle by the time I came out." "Then I fear your cousins have not acquired steadiness of character since I knew them," said Miss Colville. "Elo- quence, like any other natural gift, may, by bad taste or vanity, lose its value. The phrases you adduce are certainly inele- gant; and, though you may perchance M 3 138 hear them repeated in the society of grown persons, you must avoid con- tracting a habit of imitation. They cannot be justified; though I allow they prevail where better things might be expected. There is a sort of fashion in all cant words, which may for the most part be traced to the stage. There, however, they are assigned to some prominent personage, some cha- racter that is to be conspicuous from its affectation or its ignorance. In private life, no such motive can or ou^ht to be observable. If a man fall into this error, he becomes a mimic, a buffoon ; while a female, who adopts this sort of language, loses sight of that delicacy which should be distin- guishable in all she says. It is, in fact, masculine ; and, whatever bears that character, must be unlit for wo- men." " I agree with you," said Frances ; 1 'my cousins do express themselves very well sometimes ; and I almost 159 envy them in one particular, — they have such excellent memories." '-'The Miss Wiltons have heen un- fortunate in being brought forward so early in life," returned Miss Colville. " When mere infants, they were per- mitted to give their opinions upon sub- jects that could neither improve their intellects, nor give real satisfaction to those who listened to them. I think they would have been intelligent girls, had their understanding been culti- vated ; as it is, I fear their poor mamma has yet to experience the disappoint- ment usually consequent on all cases of extreme and undeviating indul- gence." 6 ' But, is it not very wrong to indulge children so much?" asked Frances. 4 ' Were you to put this o^iestion to your cousins, Frances," returned Miss Colville, "they would deny that they had been indulged more than other girls ; nay, you have adduced one in- stance in which Marian Wilton said 140 something similar respecting her mu- sic. Does this contradict my assertion ? or is it not favourable to what I have often told you, that indulged children are seldom grateful, to those who, through mistaken fondness or affec- tion, certainly intended to make them happy. This, however, cannot soften the deep, the complicated guilt of those who, forgetting their obligations to their parents, presume to blame the conduct of their early guardians. Yet I have known many who have " O'erstepped the modesty of fearful duty." I pity them : the hour will come, when they will deeply lament the breach of a commandment, which never yet was broken without ultimately producing the most poignant grief in the trans- gressor." " Suppose a girl was to perceive that her parents indulged her too much," said Frances ; " I mean agrown-up girl : what ought she to do, if she feels their 14 { tenderness does harm in place of good ?" "I can scarcely imagine such a case, Frances," returned Miss Col- ville; "if by tenderness you would signify an anxious parent, one who de- votes herself to her children ; if such a mother meets in her daughter dispo- sitions that are not soothed bv her kindness, and grateful for her care, I should say that the mother perhaps erred in bestowing her affections so unreservedly; but the child must be deficient in common sense and com mon feeling, if she did not value the attentions of a mother ; her heart must be insensible, or her temper una- miable." "Yet I am almost certain Caroline Wilton," said Frances, "thinks her mother has been too indulgent to her. She said as much ; but, for all that, I know she loves her mamma ; and, when she looks pale, and has those terrible head-achs she is subject to, I never J42 sawanv one more wretched than Caro- line." 4 ' "I consider this very possible, my dear," returned Miss Colville; "for it is then Miss Wilton is conscious that she has failed in her duty; and this, added to the alarm which the indispo- sition of a parent must always excite, makes her unhappy." " Might not a daughter try to im- prove herself, and strive to correct the foibles whichindulgencehad occasion- ed ?" asked Frances. " Safely ; and such an attempt would do her honour," replied Miss Colville ; "provided that vanity, an opinion of her own method and plans, did not suggest the effort. I do not expect young persons to be blind or indiffer- ent to what is passing before them. We are constantly calling upon them to exercise their reason, and correct their judgment, by detecting the fallacies, and pursuing the real ornaments, of existence. For, contrary toyour maxim, 143 Frances, life is one scene of imitation ; and happy are they who select the best models ! But, in this laudable endea- vour, we must guard against that pride of heart which self-correction is too apt to inspire. Nor must he who has seen the evil of his ways erect himself into a judge of others. By departing from what is erroneous, we prove our desire to amend. It is not possible to look back upon mispent time, errors of temper, or want of duty, without regret. But the radical improvement of a mind thus awakened must be doubtful, if, in his new character, he throws all the blame of his past life upon his advisers. There must have heen something in our own breast which aided the impression given, — a something that suited the then temper of our mind." "I think / shall not be spoiled by indulgence," said Frances, with a lan- guid smile ; " I only hope papa has not seen any thing so very wrong in my be- haviouV as to lessen his love for me." 144 The tears rose in her eyes as she ven- tured to express a fear so wounding to an affectionate heart. Miss Coi- ville quieted her douhts ; and, while she expatiated on those points in her conduct which had justly excited alarm in the mind of Mr. Austen, she did not allow her pupil to feel too certain of her- self. " From false indulgence, my dear child, I trust I have saved you/' she continued ; "yetwho will dare to say the motives of your papa were not such as he thought would conduce to your hap- piness? Your situation, as a motherless girl, imposed an arduous task upon your remaining parent; deeply sensible of his own loss, your father beheld in you a little helpless being, whose claims were enhanced by the deprivation she had sustained : and while you grew into power, and usurped rights it had not en- tered his mind to confer, he uncon- sciously ministered to that self-will, which would, in time, have made you arrogant, if not unaratefuL" 145 Conversations like these, resumed as circumstances favoured their intro- duction, produced the best effects on the mind of Frances Austen; for, though she had been successively treated as a woman and an infant, during her visit at Mount Wilton, she was of an age to be pleased by those appeals to the understanding, which are too often withheld from a fear of damping the spirits of youth, or wounding their sensibility. The spi- rits of children are generally in pro- portion to their health ; and reproof, however offered, seldom makes any lasting impression. Of sensibility, in its true accepta- tion, children possess very little; — simply beeause this quality of the heart embraces a much wider field of ac- tion than can attach to the half-formed mind of youth. It is allowed, that the steds of this " gracious quality" are sometimes found in children ; but it is asserted; that they are often VOL, I. N Ho* choked in their growth by the in- iudicious culture of too indulgent friends. How common is it to hear obvious selfishness thus miscalled ! and the child who displays the deformity soothed, and almost persuaded to con- tinue the practice. The memory of childhood, as connected with external circumstances, is, for the most part, brief and indefinite. Let self inter- pose, and their acuteness is wonderful ! The whim that has succeeded ; the humour that proved effective in pro- curing the object for which it was adopted ; how readily do they suggest themselves at the moment of need !— and the young adept, clad in his fear- less armour, opposes himself to the veteran in years. It may be said this language is harsh, and inapplicable to children ; it is maintained to be just, that even in- fants will elicit this species of address ; and that we are all in the habit of en- couraging them to pursue a system, U" which, if equally prominent in after- life, would render them artful and hv- poeritical. Human life, that hrief tale, so often told and so constantly forgotten, is but the record of commissions and omissions ; and, while the former are held up to view, as partiality or malice shall dictate, the latter escape the no- tice of the commentator; when, in truth, it is our omissions, those miner oversights which our pride deems too insignificant to deserve consideration; — it is these which poison the sources of human happiness, and render us un- worthy of our calling as Christians. Temper, which, like the current coin of the realm, is the medium through which most of our comforts are pro- cured, is so little- cultivated at that season when improvement is easy? and success almost certain, that it is need- less to wonder that we prove " light in the balance, " and become counter - N 2 148 feit, when we might have been ster- ling and real. Were the young from infancy taught to love virtue for its own sake, — were they strangers to rewards for well-doing, by which those bribes which inculcate avarice are meant, and which set a price on things that should have their source in innate principle; much that disfigures our nature would be never seen. Mr. Austen, though delighted to per- ceive the mind of his daughter expand- ing, became cautious in his commenda- tions : her society was now his solace ; and, while her cheerfulness charmed many an hour that had formerly been passed in solitude, he was vigilant in detecting all approaches to levity, either in her language or manner. The peculiarities of age, the infirmi- ties or deformities of her fellow-crea- tures, if Frances imitated or derided either, his displeasure wais marked and scr ous ; nor was he less particular in U9 regard to that custom now so prevalent — quizzing. "That you are liable to the insult you offer, is no excuse for its practice," would he say; "the indulgence of a taste of this description is particularly unbecoming a female : it occasions her to talk more than she should do; — her ]an£uao;e must be suited to her sub- ject ; consequently, it becomes mean; and from such habitual volubility the mind easily descends ; so that the fe- male who had given promise of some- thing better, will, from adhering to this habit, sink into a common triller." In the latter part of the autumn Marian Wilton announced the intel- ligence Lady Jane had partially in- timated. Mrs. Wilton proposed pass- ing the winter at Paris; and Marian detailed her anticipations in this trip with all imaginable warmth. Her posteript, however, which >ras some- what diffuse, gave Mr. Austen some alarm. N 3 150 "Is not Caroline a great quiz?" said the giddy writer. "She zvas in extacies at the idea of our trip ; now she wishes we were not going; and complains of her side, and fancies she has a cough. Fortunately she has en- joined me to secresy ; for, as mamma is as pleased at going as I am, she is afraid it might delay, if not do away the project altogether, if mamma thought her at all indisposed. You may he sure I shall keep the secret." "You see how far a thoughtless disposition may lead those who really love us!" said Mr. Austen, as he re- turned Marian's letter to his daughter. "These girls are warmly attached to each other ; yet one consents to keep a secret, that may prove fatal to the other. I will not say that a selfish feeling influences your cousin ; hut I consider her not only wrong in the concealment, but faulty that she does not immediately impart all Caroline has said of herself, with such pirxticu- 151 Jars as she may have observed con- nected with her sister's health." "But would it be right, sir, to be tray a secret?" asked Frances. "Poor Caroline erred in making- such a request of her sister, my dear," returned her father; "her motive for so doing evinces self-denial; but it is committing a second fault to keep a criminal promise; and affection should have dictated to Marian the propriety of apprizing her mother of a fact so serious. — I must take that upon my- self," continued Mr. Austen, "since Marian is so imprudent." Fiances started; and, after a mo- ment's pause, said: "If you look at this part of the letter, sir, you will see Marian hopes I shall keep its general contents to myself." "In which she was extremely ab- surd," returned Mr. Austen, smiling; "my daughter's correspondents must be well known to me; — she can re- ceive no letter that I ought not to see; and, when a juvenile correspondence becomes mysterious, it ceases to be desirable. In the present instance, Marian has unintentionally explained enough for me to act upon; and, as I see a prospect of bringing my plan into action, I will spare your feelings upon this occasion. I shall invite Mrs. Wilton and her daughters to pass a week with us, preparatory to their trip ; I shall make my own observations on the health of Caroline ; and offer an opinion accordingly." Frances was greatly relieved by this arrangement : she dreaded the raillerv of Marian, who, she well knew, would consider this breach of confidence as one of those lamentable weaknesses connected with her character of "a primitive little quiz." That our modes of expression are not always applicable, or illustrative of the ideas we would convey, must be obvious to all who attend to the oonimou run of conversation. But 15 a certainly there cannot be a greater solecism than that of calling Frances Austen "a primitive little quiz." Habits of order, an attention to her language, or that preciseness in her personal appearance, which might have procured a designation of this descrip- tion, were not to be found in Frances. It was rather by contrasting what she had been, with those gleams of just thinking and gentle forbearance which were beginning to shew them- selves in her manner, that led to the distinction here described : and, as it is the province of the witty to see tri- fles in that point of view that shall make them conspicuous and absurd, Frances bad upon numberless occasi- ons borne the character of a quiz, when, really, she was only the selected victim of a quizzer. With all her knowledge of the Miss Wiltons' talent for ridicule, Frances felt sensible pleasure in the idea of receiving them as her guests. Change is always 154 agreeable to the young: she had many curiosities to shew them; — her cabinet of shells was allowed to be valuable; — her specimens of stones considered rare : and in her hours of leisure she was actively employed in arranging her trea- sures to the best advantage. Mrs. Wilton accepted the invitation ; and the party were expected in a few days. On the evening previous to their ar- rival, Mr. Austen was surprised by a visit from a young gentleman of the name of Douglas. He was the son of an offi- cer on service in the East Indies. His guardian, an Irish baronet, had accom- panied a party to Paris, and wholly for- got to make any arrangement for the disposal of Charles Douglas during his absence. He had left him at a public school; but a vacation, always a season of joy to the young scholar, had occur- red. Douglas repaired to the house of his guardian ; and with feelings of dismay 155 learned he was absent, and his return uncertain. In this dilemma he waited upon Mr. Austen, and, with an air as unembarrassed as he could command, requested his pro- tection for one night ; as it was his pur- pose to return to the next morning. Mr. Austen received the overture w r itli readiness, applauded his application, and with hospitable, warmth proposed his remaining in Harley-street during the holidays. Douglas blushed, and hesi- tated: he was ashamed to confess how congenial SU ch an arrangement would be to his feelings. Mr. Austen saw the struggle, and de- cided that it must be so. 4t I will make no apology," said he, " for lodging you in an attic ; it would be an affront to a school-boy; who frequently rejects com- forts, that he may enjoy life according to his own irregular taste." Douglas, laughing, declared "he could sleep any-where; but at the same time hinted his fear that his present ap- 156 plication looked so much like seeking the invitation proposed, that he believed lie must reject it,- however agreeable." Mr. Austen silenced the scruples of his young friend ; and Douglas was im- mediately established in Harley-street for the vacation. Late in the afternoon of the succeed- ing day, the Mount-Wilton family ar- rived. The greetings of the young peo- ple were lively. Caroline seemed in good spirits ; and Mr. Austen hoped his fears for her would prove groundless. In the first interchange of How-d'y's, it could not be expected that a person in Miss Colville's situation should be re- membered. Marian, however, after ex- amining the drawing-room, and admiring all she saw, whispered an inquiry, "Where is your governess? will she dine with us ?" ''Miss Colville prefers her own room," replied Frances. "She declines mixing with company whenever she can do so conveniently ; and papa begged she U7 would do as she pleased while our friends were with us." Marian smiled at her sister, and in a subdued voice said, "How we shall all grieve for this lady's absence." Caroline shook her head, and begged her sister to remember what their mamma had said upon that subject. " Oh, Frances, come here," continued Marian, " I have great news for you ; Caroline is getting so good, you cannot think. She calls me Madcap, and I call her Goody Graveairs; so we are even." It was agreed that Frances should pass her mornings with Miss Colville, as usual ; after which, if the reports of her gover- ness were satisfactory, she was to join her cousins. Marian disliked this arrangement ; and with her usual aptness decided that the fastidious governess had projected this mode of depriving Frances of an enjoyment that would otherwise have been permitted. She appealed to Mr. Austen whether Frances might liQt have o us holidays while they were in Harley- street. "Frances has no time to lose, Ma- rian," said Mr; Austen; "consider, my dear, she was at Mount Wilton three weeks : her afternoons shall be at her own disposal while you favor us with your company ; but even this in- dulgence she must cam. . She knows the terms; and I am persuaded thinks them equitable." Disappointed in her object, the un- daunted Marian soon found an op- portunity for facilitating an association which she greatly desired, viz. a meet- ing with Miss Colville. The motives which influenced her, would not, if explained, do much credit to her heart or understanding; as such, their delineation will not be attempted. Miss Colville and her pupil dined at the usual hour. Marian begged permis- sion to take her luncheon with them. Mr, Austen assented ; convinced that this vo- latile and incorrigible girl would in Miss 159 Colvillc meet that firmness and amenity of manner which must for the time si- ]ence the mere babbler. lie apprised Miss Colville of this little arrangement, and begged her to endure it no longer than was perfectly agreeable to herself. Poor Marian imagined that Miss Colville's recollections of the Mount- Wilton family must have left certain im- pressions of awe; and an unwillingness to mix with persons who had evinced their contempt for her must be the conse- quence. Such were her prepossessions. Had Miss Colville been called togiveher sen- timents upon this knotty point, the case had been reversed. She might have hoped to perceive an improvement in their understanding, and perhaps ima- gined that a better knowledge of them- selves must by this period have taught them, that politeness is not made for any particular rank of life; that all persons whom we meet in respectable society have a claim to our civility ; and o 2 ! 6o wherever this is dipensed with, the de- faulter is the degraded party. Unswayed hy such principles, because a stranger to those niceties by which po- lished intercourse is distinguished, Ma- rian rushed into the eating-room at the appointed hour ; and, nodding a sort of half-recognition, took her place at table. Frances blushed, and seemed ready to apologize for her guest ; but contented herself by saying, " Marian, what an odd girl you are:" at the same time glanc- ing* at Miss Colville. "I intended to bring you another oddity, my dear," returned the volatile girl ; " but Caroline is grown so shy, I could not persuade her to come." "What excellent potatoes!" the in- truder exclaimed, taking one from a dish at some distance from her, and clipping it in the salt she had elegantly strewed upon the table-cloth. Frances was all eye ; and, between her desire to reconcile Marian's actions to that ''oddness" to which she had \6 alluded, and her wish that Miss Cot- ville might see it in the same point of view, became so embarrassed as to ex- cite the attention of Marian. "Ah ! Frances, I see you are shock- ed at my gaucherie; but recollect, my dear, our forefathers did the same. For my part, I should like to revive some of the old customs ; it is certainly quite natural to use one's ringers, and much more safe. Don't you think so, ma'am ?" The latter sentence was ad- dressed to Miss Colville, with an iro- nical expression of countenance. 4 'That the practice is natural, does not admit a question," returned Miss Colville, smiling; "for, Wherever man is found in an unenlightened state, the custom obtains. That it is worthy of imitation, is not so certain." "Oh! then, I suppose I am very naughty," said Marian ; "but I won't spoil Frances, if I can help it." " I do not fear your influence in this particular," said Miss Colville; "but, o 3 162 will you allow me to send you some chicken, ma'am."' c ' If you please, " said Marian ; * ' but positively, Frances, if it was not that I have an amazing affection for you, I should be tempted to take this bone in. my fingers ; it eats so much sweeter ; and, at a luncheon, you know, one does not attend to the graces ; at least, it is not of consequence. Are you quite sure you can resist such a naught} 7 example ?" "Marian, you are so ridiculous," said Frances gravely ; " Caroline may well call you Madcap." <( 1 dare say you will permit Miss Wilton to enjoy her luncheon, my dear? 1 ' said Miss Col ville ; and, taking it for granted, turning to Marian she added, "I beg, ma'am, you will use your pleasure. 1 ' Marian was rather disconcerted; she had hoped to vex Miss Colville: it did not appear that she had succeeded. A new attack must be made; and her 163 fertile disposition suggested an infalli- ble specific for the purpose. "At what hour, Frances," she asked, "did your papa say we should have the carnage ? You know we are to have yours to-day ; ours is gone to the coach- maker's to be made ready for travelling. Can you tell ? was it at two or half-past ?" Frances did not know. " I hope mamma," continued Marian, " will call-in Portman-square. I am dying to see Lady Jane. It is true, I assure you; so you need not look so full of wonder, child. Would you believe that such a pattern-lady could conde- scend to follow us in any thing ?" Miss Colville could not resist a look of incre- dulity. " Yes," said Marian, "she ac- tually has done so ; she has had a dress made after one of Caroline's, and a pe- lisse exactly like mine." The smile with which Frances re- ceived this important information dilated into a downright fit of laughter, as she caught the countenance of her governess ; 164 for even Miss Colviile seemed to put some restraint upon herself, to guard against the error of her pupil. But the half-imploring look she directed towards Frances, as if entreating her to spare the giddy babbler, so completely deranged the mortified Marian, that, with some asperity, she inquired " what she had said that was so very ridiculous?" "I must deprecate your indulgence for Miss Austen, ma'am," said Miss Colvjlle: "her expectation was some- what raised ; and, unfortunately, the denouement , as I imagine, reminded her of a circumstance somewhat similar ; one with which we had both been greatly amused." Nothing could have been more vexa- tious than this apology ; which, to the if- ritated Marian, seemed invented to mor- tify her. The very idea of such an insult from a person she considered so much beneath her, roused all her resentment; and, with a bitterness she could notcon- troul, she said. "Of course; tiane 165 but an idiot can be surprised by a com- mon occurrence; it is the contempt one feels for the people who set themselves so much above others. I detest such af- fectation ; but I always knew she was a great quiz." " If such be the case," returned Miss Colville ; " I think it must be satisfactory to you to find your prediction so fully verified : for, next to the pleasure of giving certain attributes to particular persons, must be the conviction that our judgment is correct." Marian stared : this was not like a vindication ! What could she mean ! perhaps the party was mistaken. To place this beyond a doubt, was now her purpose ; yet there was a something in the manner of Miss Colville that led her to distrust the efficacy of her ridicule. It is probable she would have paused here, had not the features of Frances seemed to express satisfaction at her temporary defeat. This was not to be endured ; so, rallying her spirits, she half- 1.66 smiling, observed, " Indeed, lam not so illiberal as to increase the eccentricities of the lady in question : all who know Lady Jane Milner most know she is a great quiz." u May I ask you to define the mean- ing of this fashionable expression ?" said Miss Colville calmly : " I have heard it applied variously ; but, perhaps you will illustrate it so as to convince me of its fitness in the present instance." " O dear; well, I declare I had almost forgotten that you lived with Lady Jane, " returned Marian. " Of course, it can- not be pleasant to you to hear her laugh- ed at : but indeed she is a verv strange girl : every body thinks so." " Ah ! that indefinite mischief-making phantom *every-body,'whois indeed no- body," cried Miss Colville, laughing; " I have not the least respect for his ta- lents: he is cruel as a flatterer, because his praise is injudicious; while, as an ene- my, his prejudices, though contemptible, #re dangerous." 167 "I do not quite understand the ex- pression, " said Frances ; " though I often hear it used." The word 'every-body,' my love," ob- served Miss Colville, "is sometimes used to convey the praise or censure of a small number of persons who may have flattered or debased an individual ; but it is more frequently adopted by an in- dividual as a vehicle for disseminating a his own private sentiments, which are favourable, or the reverse, as his disposi- tion suggests." " You are much wiser, Frances, for this explanation, 5 ' interjoined Marian, with a saucy sneer ; "but, whatever this lady may say, you will find that ( every- body' will stand its ground." "Lain sure you are right, ma'am,"' said Miss Colville; " for the expression is convenient as an ally, and formidable as a subterfuge." " Mow warmly you espouse the cause of Lady Jane," exclaimed Marian, smi- ling. She ought to be much obliged to 163 you. To be sure, I might have expected you would be angry at my finding fault withyour favourite pupil ; but I never can think before I speak ; it requires more lameness than I possess." Miss Colville made no reply; but an expressive glance at the speaker, seemed to imply that she did not give implicit credit to her statement. Marian felt this ; and was meditating how to extricate herself from a predica- ment she had not anticipated, when the entrance of a man-servant checked her eloquence. " Lady Jane Milner is at the door, ma'am," said the man, addressing Miss Colville; "and, if you are not particu- larly engaged, would be glad to speak with you." Miss Colville bade Frances dismiss the dinner according to custom; and, slightly curtsying to Marian, followed the servant to the carriage. There we will leave her, and attend to the occupants of the eating-room, 169 If ever Frances Austen felt satisfied with herself, it was at this moment: her feelings were new, but delightful; she had no thought she wished to hide ; and, with that openness so natural and pleas- ing in the young, she approached the window, desirous of catching a glance of recognition from Lady Jane. Not so Marian : her mind was a^i- tated ; all was tumult in her bosom ; and, (such is the meanness of the merely proud,) she half-regretted having suffer- ed Miss Colville to depart, without re- questing her silence respecting the free- dom of her opinions connected with Lady Jane. It was now too late ; and for a few minutes she seemed absorbed in her own reflections ; till, hearing the window thrown up, she turned, and saw Frances kissing her hand with all the cordiality of a familiar acquaintance. "Do pray put down the sash," said Marian petulantly; "you think only of yourself ; it is a cold wind :— do you hear me, Frances ?" 170 " I do," replied Frances ; "but, in- deed, I cannot put it down just now; Lady Jane is looking this way ; when she turns, I will. But you had better go nearer to the fire." " Come here, Frances," coaxingly said Marian ; "I want to speak to you ; I have something very particular to say." Frances felt at liberty to accede; forhef ladyship had intimated by the motion of her hand, that she had better avoid the keen air. "Well, Marian, what have you to say?" inquired Frances. ""Why," re- turned Marian, "do you think Miss Colville is the sort of person who would repeat what I have been saying of Lady Jane ? You know one says a thousand things without thinking ; — at least I do, because I am naturally giddy ; yet, of course, one would not Ike such trifles to be told to the party." "Miss Colville is too kind to do any thing ill-natured," replied Frances; "but indeed I must say, Marian, you behaved 171 very rudely to her. However, I am sure she pities'you; nay, I saw she could hardly refrain from laughing at you more than once." "indeed! really !" returned Marian ; " I should not have thought of that; I admire the idea of such a person laugh- ing at her su ." She paused ; for Frances, anticipating her words, with a good-humoured laugh begged her to de- sist. "Now, my dear Marian, do not talk nonsense," said Frances; "I was very sorry for you ; but indeed you looked foolish when Miss Colville asked you to explain yourself. Yet she did it politely; but I know so well how uncom- fortable one feels when a sensible person presses for an explanation, that I was quite vexed you had brought it upon yourself." "Why I never heard such nonsense as you talk, Frances !" returned Marian warmly. " Do you suppose_ I am to be awed by your governess? You shall see I am not afraid of her or any body. p g U<2 Mamma said you were in a way to be spoiled ; and I am sure she is quite right." The entranceof Miss Colville abridged the acrimony of the young reviler ; who, with an address lamentable in one of her age, assumed an air of indifference, and began to lament the non-arrival of the carriage. Frances proposed adjourn- ing to the drawing-room; and, as she followed her visitor, she, in a fearless voice, '■' hoped Lady Jane was well?" "I never saw her look better, or in better spirits," replied Miss Colville. M She offers her congratulations to you on the important change in your hair ; and begged me to say she saw the tortoise- shell comb ; and, judging by herself, could imagine your happiness on this great event." As they reached the drawing-room, Mrs. Wilton, followed by Caroline, crossed the stair-head. "Indeed, mamma, I should be quite satisfied by Marian's choice ; I am nui. 173 particular about the colour," said Caro- line. Mrs. Wilton did not seem disposed to yield : on perceiving the dinner-party, however, she advanced. " My dear Ma- rian," she exclaimed, wounded where they were most amen- able; and not the least part of their vexation was that which exonerated Frances from a participation in their de- gradation. 'These things are quite common, my loves," resumed Mrs. Wilton. " By the way, Douglas, your friend Roche, (who ]s certainly one of the cleverest young men I ever saw,) amused me excessively one evening, by trying to persuade a very eccentric old man that he did not spell his name right. Yes, he almost prevailed upon the credulous man to be- lieve that his name was Roche, and that they must be connected. I whispered to him that Mr. Rochet had been in trade; though his riches procured him his present place in society. This only in- creased his desire to please Mr. Rochet ; and I really believe your friend would have made a sensible impression upon the old man, if Roche had not touched upon his descent from the monarchs of Ireland. Toor Rochet had an antipathy 192 to the Irish ; and he became intractable from that moment" " Roche is just the fellow to venture in such a hoax," said Douglas. "His effrontery is extraordinary ; but, having no wish to be included in his frolics, I cut with him some time since." " He has so much spirit," said Caro- line; — " I wonder any young person should dislike him ; indeed, I heard he was a favourite with every body.' " He was not much liked at — ," returned Douglas ; "his spirit was not to our taste." "You surprise me," said Mrs. Wil- ton ; " there is something so attractive in vivacity, especially in the young. I cannot understand how such a disposi- tion could fail to please those of his own age." "He is by no means cheerful," re- turned Douglas. Roche was the only fellow at ' ■ » whose fits of gloom used to annoy us ; he never was lively, but 193 when he had some joke in hand, or some practical hoax to play off." The entrance of Mr. Austen caused Douglas to pause. " Who is this hoax- er?" said he; "I hope you are not a patron of this sort of wit, Douglas ; for it cannot be effective but at the ex- pense of some one's feelings ; and cer- tainly always to the degradation of those who profess the practice." " My dear Mr. Austen," said Mrs. Wilton; "what can you expect from boys ? For my part, I love their little tricks; nay, I am persuaded that most of our great men were ' Pickles' in their youth." "Great men," said Mr. Austen, lausfhinsj: "ah ! there's the rub. What do you mean by great men? I know* the ladies are fond of superlatives ; so I sav that he is the greatest man who unites goodness to intellectual superio- rity. Now such a man cannot delight in wounding the feelings of others, sim- ply because he would not do that which R is is unjust. His own sensibility will al- ways dictate what is correct; for he knows exactly what he himself could bear." " Sensibility I" reiterated Mrs. Wil- ton; "who desires to see too much of this in your sex? Indeed, 1 cannot bear to hear the word applied to a man." Indeed," said Mr. Austen, smiting; that is because you do not take the word in its true acceptation. Believe me, my dear madam, sensibility is not a feminine attribute, but a quality designed for all reflecting creatures. Marian smiles — but yet so it is. Come, be in- genuous," added Mr. Austen, taking the hand of the incredulous Marian: "you understand sensibility to be a tearful young lady weeping over fictitious sor- row, tenderly alive to every thing con- nected with self; sensitive upon all oc- casions in which timidity is becoming. In short, you know her in her holiday <>arb; which, after all, is a borrowed one. I do not deny that under the 193 disguise she does not sometimes pass current with slight observers ; but these are not the real characteristics of poor insulted sensibility." The eyes of Frances had more than once glanced towards Miss Colville, as Mr. Austen thus expressed himself. Caroline Wilton looked disconcerted; the sentiments of Mr. Austen seemed too like those she had recently attempted to combat ; and she rather dreaded any farther development of his opinions. "So much for the unreal, the osten- tatious semblances of a qualky which we are all prone to think we possess;" con- tinued Mr. Austen. " Marian is weary of my prosing ; but I owe it to you, Frances, to say something more :" and he threw his arm round his daughter. "A case in point presents itself. A young lady was this morning making purchases at a superior kind of grocer's, where cer- tain luxurious sweets are to be had. She was buying articles for her father's table, and might be supposed to be too R 2 196 much engaged to hear what other cus- tomers were requiring. This however was not the case. A meanly-dressed fe- male asked if they had any genuine ar- row-root; the answer 'was in the affir- mative. The price was the next ques- tion : the answer seemed to give the in- quirer surprise ; but, after a little hesi- tation, she ordered an ounce to be put up. The young lady, who had been at- tending to what passed, leaned across the counter, and spoke to the shopman ; — a rather large quantity was put up, and presented to the humble customer. She then, with an expression of meek asto- nishment, turned to thank the lady. 'You have some sick friend, I fear,' said the young philanthropist?' 'I have a sister, ma'am, who has been confined to her bed nearly two years,' said the stranger. I saw the young lady undraw her purse, and afterwards heard repeated some broken expressions of thanks. Some- thing was said about a court in Oxford- street. The young lady retreated from 197 the gaze of those persons present; — beg- ged her carriage might be called, and was hastening away, when I stepped for- ward, and seizing her hand, led her to it — proud of announcing myself as wor- thy of her acquaintance." " () ! it was, I am sure it was, Lady Jane Milaer !*' said Frances, grasping the hand of her father. 4 'You are right," returned her fa- ther, fondly pressing her hand; "it was Lady Jane ; and mark, my dear girl, the decisive character of genuine sensibility : it is totally abstracted from self; it has an eye to see, and an ear to hear, where the ostentatious and insen- sible are both blind and deaf. It shews itself in all situations; and, as you know how naturally animated and lively this charming young creature is, you will understand that the offices of pure sensibility are suited to the young and happy; and though, in the exer- cise of this gracious quality, the feel- ings arc occasionally depressed, be- r 3 195: lieve me, they ultimately confer a self- satisfaction, a peace of mind, which the world cannot give." Frances whispered a £ew words to her father. "You say truly," returned Mr. Austen; "Miss Colville must feel proud of her work ; there cannot be a more enviable distinction than that of feel- ing that she has helped to form a cha- racter so inestimable. — " I do not deny the satisfaction your little relation has afforded me, sir," said Miss Colville; "for, though convinced that where Lady Jane is best known she will be most esteemed, I am not always so happy as to hear her supported with the liberality she deserves." "I begin to think there must be more in the character of this young person than I have yet made out," said Mrs. Wilton ; "though I am sure I have tried to understand her ; per- haps I shall be enlightened on this subject at some future period." There l-M was a sarcastic expression in the fea- tures of Mrs. Wilton, which did not promise any very favourable result from her subsequent observations. " My friend General Monkfield, who lives opposite, would not be flattered, were you to decide on the costume of his drawing-room as it is seen through the fog now floating between us," said Mr. Austen, laughing, and at the same time directing the attention of Marian and Frances to the state of the atmos- phere. "Nor must we hope to draw a just analysis of the human character, while our vision is deformed by those impenetrable fogs raised by preju- dice." " Poor defenceless woman!" said Mrs. Wilton, shrugging her shoulders; " we are always represented as the slaves of prejudice. We could retort ; but I spare you. Come loves," turn- ing to her daughters ; ' ' we must dress ; it is getting late." ♦'The Miss Wilton^ followed their 3 £00 mother,' glad to escape from a group in which their talents were so iishtiv esti- mated. Mr. Austen nowinouired how Ions* Douglas had known tlie Wilton family. *• I met them first at General *s: I danced with Miss Wilton. The Gene- ral was very kind to the fellows; and, as it was at the time of a vacation, he invited four of us, who had not friends in London, to take up our ahode at the Locl^e. Roche was of the number ; and he made himself so agreeable by his tricks, that the rest of us were for some days quite in the back ground. However, we all enjoyed ourselves excessively. " Miss Colville smiled, and said, " I believe Mr. Roche has not since visited at Carrow Lodge?" " He has not," replied Douglas ; " do you know the General ?" " Perfectly, sir," answered Miss Col- ville ; "I have the honour to be distantly connected with the General. But, though your liberality induces you to he silent 3 201 respecting Mr. Roche, I am not disposed to shield this very delightful and amusing young gentleman from the censure he merits. You have done justice to the hospitality of Carrow Lodge; and I may venture to add that few persons of good taste and feeling but would agree that the General is an amiable and ac- complished man ?" Douglas answered in the affirmative ; and continuing, said, "Well, having given a ball for the amusement of his young visitors, he arranged to have a little music the next evening. The Ge- neral plays upon the violoncello ; a few neighbours were added to the party ; and the concert, if not numerous, promised to be excellent. It appears Mr. Roche disliked the idea of a musical evening ; he had, in my hearing, voted it 'a great bore.' The party most interested in the meeting were however sttaneers to the distaste of Mr. Roche, and adjourn- ed to the music-room. A disappoint* ment wholly unexpected awaited them. 202 The violoncello of the General wanted a principal string ; and the case in which he usually kept a supply of these articles was missing. A strict search was made, but unsuccessfully. I confess, that the overacted zeal of Mr. Roche raised some suspicion in my mind, yet 1 did not ha- zard an opinion. After some delay, a new selection was made ; and the Gene- ral, always happy when he can make others so, contented himself as an audi- tor. I was rather pleased when the ama- teurs in this later arrangement disco- vered so many beauties in the music as greatly lengthened the duration of the concert. It seemed a just mortification for him who had selfishly designed a very different result. * 1 am completely bit,' said Mr. Roche, in a half-whisper to one of his school-friends. His obser- vation was no less conclusive of my sur- mise than offensive to him to whom it was addressed. ' I hope you will be able to fight your own battle,' returned the other; 'for I warn you that I for ona ^03 will leave you to your fate. J Mr. Roche laughed immoderately ; and declared he should like nothing better than a court- martial at which the General should pre- side. In short, he was as eloquent as people of his disposition usually are when courage is talked of in perspec- tive." Douglas smiled. "You understand him perfectly, 1 perceive, ma'am," said he. "Why it does not require much dis- cernment to make out a character like Mr. Roche's," returned Miss Colville : "it is too prominent not to force itself into notice. The General, on the next morning, as you may remember, pre- served the same urbanity of manner to- wards his young visitors. I knew he at- tributed the mischief of the preceding evening to the right party; but he stood in a relation which called for the exer- cise of feelings it would be most difficult for him to forego. As the entertainer of a juvenile group, he was in a manner £04 pledged to mix in their enjoyments, or at least contribute to them. I must think there are few beings who could have withstood a kindness so unmerited. "I really looked forward with a hope that a lesson so benignly given would have its weight with Mr. Roche ; and lead him voluntarily to apologise for bis insolence. I was mistaken : he certainly- comprehended the bearings of the Ge- neral's politeness, but he had no faith in its continuance; and in a day or two withdrew from the Lod^e. About a fortnight afterwards, a friend of the Ge- neral called ; and, in the course of con- versation, inquired respecting the fa- milv and connexions of Mr. Roche. The General explained as far as he knew ; when the gentleman declared that though always pleased to countenance youth, and shew civility to such as he knew deserved it, he had yet been some- what annoyed, (as indeed had most of the gentlemen who met Mr. Roche at Car- row Lodge,) by that young gentleman's 205 attacking them with obtrusively civil re- collections of their late meeting at the General's ; and his obtrusions had always ended in their being compelled to invite him to their tables. * My good lady/ said Sir Edward Gosport, ' is much pleased with the boy's address, and de- clares he will make a shining character.* 4 We all know that brass will take a cer- tain polish ; nevertheless, it is still but an inferior metal. No ; /can make allow- ance for the vivacious mirth of the un tried spirit ; but give me the ingenuous boy whose thoughts we can read. A bold forward youth is odious ; so, unless it would please you to shew him cour- tesy, / shall dispense with his future visits. ' The General begged Sir Edward would use his own pleasure upon this occasion ; adding, that he ' had no pre- sent intention of receiving Mr. Roche at the Lodge. ' Yet he took the trouble of calling upon this young man with the be- nevolent wish of guarding him against a conduct that must prove disadvantageous 206 to himself and injurious to his family. What effect this intended kindness might have produced, is uncertain; for, upon the General's arrival at , he was unexpectedly ushered into the study of Mr. Roche. The first object that at- tracted his attention was a well-executed caricature of the concert-party, in which my relation was a principal and most lu- dicrous figure. It appears that Mr. Roche was over- come for a moment ; and in the next strove to place himself before the obnoxi- ous sketch. The General took his glass, and, putting the artist on one side, ex- amined it minutely; and then ssid, 'You have some talent for this sort of thing; its tendency, however, is dange- rous.' Roche was beginning an apo- logy. — 'A few words, and I have done, sir;' resumed the General. 'A boy- caricaturist can only excite the contempt of those he presumes to satirize; — at least, such would be the opinion of most persons upon this occasion. However, £07 as one who knows the world, and has been accustomed to observe those rules of civil life which can alone enable man to live in fellowship with man, I warn you that this habit, if indulged, may lead to the commission of a crime or* the deepest turpitude; — an insult of this nature, at a more advanced age, would expose you to a challenge from your equal in society ; and, though it is not quite clear to me that the professed sa- tirist is really a courageous person, he of all men should avoid such a contest. For of this I am assured, that whoever pursues a practice so void of liberality, must be deficient in those benevolent feelings, that just temper of mind, which can make a' mere mortal regard theyw- ture with becoming humility. ' "Thus ended," added Miss Colville, " General — — 's acquaintance with Mr. Roche. I have been too prolix, perhaps ; but it really grieved me to hear a boy eulogized for practices so truly presumptuous; and, indeed, knowing s <2 208 how much young persons are caught, if not fascinated, by description of * Pic- kles/ I was desirous of convincing my pupil that such characters are not ex- actly as inoffensive and undesigning as they are represented." Mr. Austen avowed his disgust for a character so void of principle. "I can conceive," said he, "nothing more un- amiable than an effrontery of this kind in a boy. Roche wants the sensibility of a man, and ignorantly mistakes impu- dence for courage. We are obliged to Miss Colville for this clear view of a very common but often flattered por- trait. Vivacity, thoughtlessness, and good-humour, to a casual observer ap- pear to be a natural connexion; — no- thing can be more problematical. Uni- form vivacity can only belong to the na- turally cheerful. Thoughtlessness may deform a well-meaning but unsteady character; while good-humour, though an attribute that must pertain to the persons we esteem, is frequently the so*- :og litary recommendation of a character that may claim our notice, but can never engage our respect. Good-humour, however, is always valuable; so do not mistake me, Frances. I repeat, it is indispensable as a part, but is not of itself sufficient to raise us in the opinion of persons who know the capacities of the human mind, and what should con- stitute the character of creatures so highly gifted. Douglas has said that Roche was subject to fits of gloom that annoyed his companions; his vivacity is therefore remote from that genuine hi- larity elicited by the really cheerful heart. Indeed, I have often heard the charm- ing spirits of such a person admired, when their conduct to me appeared nearly allied to insanity. Again, those dear thoughtless beings who speak with- out thinking, are to be judged leniently! Why so? If they have no regard for their own reputation, they are yet to be told that a want of deference for those with whom we converse, is a strong s 3 210 mark of a mean mind. It is true, the impertinent babbler cannot bring his hearers down to the level of his unre- strained eloquence; but, in presuming to think that coarse bluntness can be mis- taken for openness of character, he in- sults the understanding of his auditors, and betrays that love of self, which is the sure accompaniment of an ill-regu- lated and shallow capacity." With the liveliest respect for the fa- ther of her pupil, Miss Colville had of- ten regretted that Frances was so much in the habit of hearing the sentiments and opinions of grown persons. She thought it injurious in many points; and more especially as tending to form a factitious character. " Intelligent girls," she would say, "are quick in perceiving what is approved. They adopt expres- sions and imbibe opinions, as it were mechanically; and, what is worse, they frequently act upon them without being conscious of their error. Thinking thus, her situation was one of great de- 211 licacy. Frances had not, indeed, in her presence displayed this imitative talent; yet Mr. Austen had more than once, in confidence, declared his high approba- tion of the clearness and justness with which his daughter had expressed her- self. There is something apparently un- gracious in destroying an illusion so de- lightful to a fond parent; nor must the person whom integrity thus actuates al- ways expect to make her motives satis- factorily evident. Even Mr. Austen, who had learned to value his child more appropriately than at any former period of his life, felt sensible disappointment at the manner of Miss Colville, on a sub ject which, he had persuaded himself, must greatly interest her. U I am not unjust, sir," said the go- verness, smiling; "I trust, and really believe, your daughter will make an ami- able and intelligent woman. The com- mendations you are now bestowing upon her, strictly speaking, are not her due. ■~ 1 /it She has used a little of that ostentation which is often displayed in the world ; but which, to me, is far from allowable. I mean that of adopting such oral, or written maxims, as she has heard ad- mired, or been directed to observe. I will this evening place the matter be- yond a doubt, by sending you the Ex- ercise Book of Miss Austen : vou will find the observations you have so par- ticularly noticed." Miss Colville did so : she made Frances the bearer of the book — not from any desire of humbling her charge, whom she believed to have acted without considering the deception she was prac- tising; but in the expectation that Mr. Austen would seize a moment so oppor- tune, for explaining the danger and hu- miliations to which such a habit must lead into. She was disappointed; — the highest encomiums were passed upon the hand- writing of Frances. The good taste of Miss Colville, in the general arrangement 213 of the selections, met similar praise; but not one word of reproof to the young lady who, Sjke a parrot, had repeated what she had learned. What could the governess do ? simply this. She changed her plan; and, in place of giving her pu- pil selections, which she had hoped to make subservient to the formation of an intellectual enjoyment at some future period, she now confined her to gram- matical and historical subjects. It so happened, that this book had not been seen by Mr. Austen since the evening to which we have referred. Frances, now perfectly tractable and obedient, after a few regrets, pursued the new adoption of her governess ; but, as no explanation had been required by the pupil, Miss Colville rather imagined that Frances felt the reproof. She therefore delayed all discussion of this subject, trusting that some suitable opportunity would occur, when it might with pro - priety be introduced. §14 While the mornings of Mrs. Wilton xrere occupied in purchasing articles for which she could have no possible occa- sion when she had crossed the straits of Dover, Caroline, whose reluctance to the projected trip was hourly increasing, suddenly entered the apartment of Miss Colville one morning, and requested Frances to allow her a few minutes' con- versation with her governess, at the same time flinging herself into a chair. Miss Colville was alarmed ; there was an agi- tation in the manner of Caroline Wilton, and a languor in her whole appearance, which called forth the liveliest sympathy. " Let me give you a glass of water," said Miss Colville, rising; "you have hurried yourself. Pray sit quiet for a few minutes ; it is a great way from the breakfast-room to this floor. " "You are very sjood." returned Ca- roline ; " but that is not the cause of my agitation. I have a favour to ask ofyou, ma'am !" and she blushed. ••" You look surprised ; it is however true. O, will £ ftU you persuade my mother to leave me here? [ mean in this house."' She paused. — "I am sure Mr. Austen would agree to it, if he knew how much I de- sired to be with Frances, — -to be with you I mean :" and she burst into tears. Miss Colville was affected by the ear- nestness of this appeal, and the too-evi- dent debility of the speaker. " You, my dear Miss Wilton," said she, "are aware that my situation in this family gives me no right to say who shall or shall not become an inmate. I can have no objection to suggest to Mr. Austen your wish of remaining in Harley-street ; but / have no idea that any thing I could say to Mrs. Wilton would meet with concurrence." " You think not," said Caroline; "you are justified in believing this, and more ; but / know better. It was only last night my mother regretted she had not engaged you for us when you quitted Lady Jane. Will you make the experi- meat? I am not equal to the proposed Q16 journey; irideed I dread the thoughts of going. Yet I should grieve if Marian was to be disappointed ; and I know my mother anticipates great pleasure from her French visit." Though greatly at a loss to account for this change in Miss Wilton, it was not possible to decline an interference thus solicited. Miss Colville assented ; and, after many apologies for the liberty she had taken, Caroline withdrew. In this short conference, however, Miss Colville had with real concern observed the flushed cheek and quick respiration of the young petitioner. She silently wondered that symptoms so ob- vious and alarming should so lightly im- press those connected with her. In the interview she had promised to demand, she was determined to speak explicitly on the state of Miss Wilton's health. END OF VOL, I.