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MARIA EDCEWORTH.
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MORAL TALES,
BY
MARIA EDGEWORTH.
EMBELLISHED WITH ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY DARLEY.
CONTENTS.
FORESTER.
THE PRUSSIAN VASE.
THE GOOD AUNT.
MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.
ANGELINA; OR) L)AMIE INCONNUE.
THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.
THE KNAPSACK.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEORGE S. APPLETON,' 164 CHESTNUT STREET.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND CO.. 200 BROADWAY.
1851.








PREFACE.
IT has been somewhere said by Johnson, that merely
to invent a story is no small effort of the human understanding. How much more difficult is it to construct
stories suited to the early years of youth, and at the
same time conformable to the complicate relations of
modern societv —fictions that shall display examples of
virtue without initiating the young reader into the ways
of vice-narratives written in a style level to his capacity, without tedious detail or vulgar idiom! The
author, sensible of these difficulties, solicits indulgence
for such errors as have escaped her vigilance.
In a former work the author has endeavoured to add
something to the increasing stock of innocent amusement and early instruction which the laudable exertions
of some excellent modern writers provide for the rising
generation; and in the present an attempt is made to
provide for young people of a more advanced age a few
tales that shall neither dissipate the attention nor inflame
the imagination.
In a work upon education which the public has been
pleased to notice, we have endeavoured to show that
under proper management amusement and instruction
may accompany each other through many paths of lite3




iv                   PREFACE.
rature, while at the same time we have disclaimed and
reprehended all attempts to teach in play. Steady untired attention is what alone produces excellence. Sir
Isaac Newton, with as much truth as modesty, httributed to this faculty those discoveries in science which
brought the heavens within the grasp of man, and
weighed the earth in a balance. To inure the mind to
athletic vigour is one of the chief objects of good education; and we have found, as far as our limited experience has extended, that short and active exertions, interspersed with frequent agreeable relaxation, form the
mind to strength and endurance better than long-continued feeble study.
Hippocrates, in describing the robust temperament,
tells us that the athletce prepare themselves for the gymnasium by strong exertion, which they continued till
they felt fatigue; they then reposed till they felt returning strength and aptitude for labour: and thus, by alternate exercise and indulgence, their limbs acquired the
firmest tone of health and vigour. We have found that
those who have tasted with the keenest relish the beauties of Berquin, Day, or Barbauld, pursue a demonstration of Euclid, or a logical deduction, with as much
eagerness, and with more rational curiosity, than is
usually shown by students who are nourished with the
hardest fare and chained to unceasing labour.
"Forester" is the picture of an eccentric charactera young man who scorns the common forms and dependencies of civilized society; and who, full of
visionary schemes of benevolence and happiness,
might, by improper management or unlucky circumstances, have become a fanatic and a criminal.




PREFACE.
The scene of "The Knapsack" is laid in Sweden, to
produce variety, and to show that the rich and poor,
the young and' old, in all countries, are mutually serviceable to each other; and to portray some of those
virtues which are peculiarly amiable in the character
of a soldier.
"Angelina" is a female Forester. The nonsense of
sentimentality is here aimed at with the shafts of ridicule, instead of being combated by serious argument.
With the romantic eccentricities of Angelina are contrasted faults of a more common and despicable sort.
Miss Burrage is the picture of a young lady who
meanly flatters persons of rank, and who, after she has
smuggled herself into good company, is ashamed to acknowledge her former friends, to whom she was bound
by the strongest ties of gratitude.
" Madame Panache" is a sketch of the necessary consequences of imprudently trusting the happiness of a
daughter to the care of those who can teach nothing but
accomplishments.
The " Prussian Vase" is a lesson against imprudence
and on exercise of judgment, and a eulogium upon
our inestimable trial by jury. This tale is designed
principally for young gentlemen who are intended for
the bar.
"The Good. Governess" is a lesson to teach the art
of giving lessons.
In', The Good Aunt" the advantages which a judicious early education confers upon those who are intended for public seminaries are pointed out. It is a
common error to suppose. that let a boy be what he
may, when sent to Eton, Westminister, Harrow, or any
A2




vi                  PREFACE.
great school, he will be moulded into proper form by
the fortuitous pressure of numbers; that emulation will
necessarily excite, example lead, and opposition polish
him. But these are vain hopes; the solid advantages
which may be attained in these large nurseries of youth
must be in a great measure secured by previous domestic instruction.
These tales have been written to illustrate the opinions delivered in " Practical Education." As their truth
has appeared to me to be confirmed by increasing expe-.
rience, I sat down with pleasure to write this preface
for my daughter.' It is hoped that the following stories
will afford agreeable relaxation from  severer studies,
and that they will be thought-what they profess to be
— Toral Tales.
R. L. EDGEWORTH.




FO R E S T E R.








FORESTER.
FORESTER was the son of an English gentleman,
who had paid some attention to his education, but who
had some singularities of opinion, which probably influenced him in his conduct towards his children.
Young Forester was frank, brave, and generous; but
he had been taught to dislike politeness so much, that
the common forms of society appeared to him either
odious or ridiculous; his sincerity was seldom restrained by any attention to the feelings of others. His
love of independence was carried to such an extreme,
that he was inclined to prefer the life of Robinson
Crusoe in his desert island to that of any individual in
cultivated society. His attention had been early fixed
upon the follies and vices of the higher classes of
people; and his contempt for selfish indolence was so
strongly associated with the name of gentleman, that
he was disposed to choose his friends and companions
from among his inferiors; the inequality between the
rich and the poor shocked him: his temper was enthusiastic as well as benevolent; and he ardently wished
to be a man, and to be at liberty to act for himself, that
he might reform society, or at least his own neighbourhood. When he was about nineteen years old, his
father died, and young Forester was sent to Edinburgh,
to Dr. Campbell, the gentleman whom his father had
appointed his guardian. In the choice of his mode of
travelling his disposition appeared. The stage-coach
9




10               MORAL TALES.
and a carrier set out nearly at the same time from Penrith. Forester, proud of bringing his principles immediately into action, put himself under the protection of
the carrier, and congratulated himself upon his freedom
from prejudice. He arrived at Edinburgh in all the
glory of independence, and he desired the carrier to set
him down at Dr. Campbell's door.
"The doctor's not at home," said the footman who
opened the door.
" He is at home," exclaimed Forester, with indignation; " I see him at the window."
"My master is just going to dinner, and can't see
any body now," said the footman; " but if you will
call again at six o'clock, maybe he may see you, my
good lad."
"My name is Forester-let me in," said Forester,
pushing forwards.
"Forester!-Mr. Forester!" said the footman; "the
young gentleman that was expected in the coach today?"
Without deigning to give the footman any explanation, Forester took his own portmanteau from  the
carrier; and Dr. Campbell came down stairs just when
the footman was officiously struggling with the young
gentleman for his burden. Dr. Campbell received his
pupil very kindly; but Forester would not be prevailed
upon to rub his shoes sufficiently upon the mat at the
bottom of the stairs, or to change his disordered dress
before he made his appearance in the drawing-room.
He entered with dirty shoes, a threadbare coat, and hair
that looked as if it never had been combed; and he was
much surprised by the effect which his singular appearance produced upon the risible muscles of some of the
company.
" I have nothing to be ashamed of," said he to himself; but, notwithstanding all his efforts to be and to
appear at ease, he was constrained and abashed. A
young laird, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, seemed to enjoy his confusion with malignant, half-suppressed merriment, in which Dr. Campbell's son was too good



FORESTER.                    11
natured and too well-bred to participate.. Henry Campbell was three or four years older than Forester, and
though he looked like a gentleman, Forester could not
help being pleased with the manner in which he drew
him into conversation. The secret magic of politeness
relieved him insensibly from the torment of false shame.
"It is a pity this lad was bred up a gentleman,"
said Forester to himself, " for he seems to have some
sense and goodness."
Dinner was announced, and Forester was provoked
at being interrupted in an argument concerning carts
and coaches which he had begun with Henry Campbell. Not that Forester was averse to eating, for he
was at this instant ravenously hungry; but eating in
company he always found equally repugnant to his
habits and his principles. A table covered with a clean
table-cloth, dishes in nice order, plates, knives, and
forks laid at regular distances, appeared to our young
Diogenes absurd superfluities, and he was ready to exclaim, "How many things I do not want!" Sitting
down to dinner, eating, drinking and behaving like other
people, appeared to him difficult and disagreeable ceremonies. He did not perceive that custom had rendered
all these things perfectly easy to every one else in company; and as soon as he had devoured his food his
own way, he moralized in silence upon the good sense
of Sancho Panza, who preferred eating an egg behind
the door to feasting in public; and he recollected his
favourite traveller Le Vaillant's* enthusiastic account
of his charming Hottentot dinners, and of the disgust
that he afterward felt on the comparison of European
etiquette and African simplicity.
"Thank God, the ceremony of dinner is over," said
Forester to Henry Campbell, as soon as they rose from
table.
All those things which seemed mere matter of course
in society appeared to Forester strange ceremonies. In
the evening there were cards for those who liked cards,
* Le Vaillant's Travels in Africa, vol. i. p. 114.




t2                MORAL TALES.
and there was conversation for those who liked conversation. Forester liked neither; he preferred playing
with a cat; and he sat all night apart from the company in a corner of a sofa. He took it for granted that
the conversation could not be worth his attention, because he heard Lady Catherine Mackenzie's voice
among others; he had conceived a dislike, or rather a
contempt for this lady, because she showed much of
the pride of birth and rank in her manners. Henry
Campbell did not think it necessary to punish himself
for her ladyship's faults by withdrawing from entertaining conversation: he knew that his father had the
art of managing the frivolous subjects started in general
company, so as to make them lead to amusement and
instruction; and this Forester would probably have discovered this evening, had he not followed his own
thoughts, instead of listening to the observations of
others. Lady Catherine, it is true, began with a silly
history of hereditary antipathy for pickled cucumbers;
and she was rather tiresome in tracing the genealogy
of this antipathy through several generations of her ancestry; but Dr. Campbell said "that he had heard,
from an ingenious gentleman of her ladyship's family,
that her ladysk:p's grandfather, and several of his
friends, nearly lost their lives by pickled cucumbers,"
and thence the doctor took occasion to relate several
curious circumstances'concerning the effects of different
poisons.
Dr. Campbell, who plainly saw both the defects and
the excellent qualities of his young ward, hoped that,
by playful raillery and by well-timed reasoning, he
might mix a sufficient portion of good sense with
Forester's enthusiasm; might induce him gradually to
sympathize in the pleasure of cultivated society, and
might convince him that virtue is not confined to any
particular class of men; that education, in the enlarged
sense of the word, creates the difference between individuals more than riches or poverty. He foresaw that
Forester would form a friendship with his son, and that
this attachment would cure him of his prejudic''




FORESTER.                  13
against gentlemen, and would prevent him from indulging his taste for vulgar company. Henry Campbell had more useful energy, though less apparent
enthusiasm, than his new companion: he was always
employed; he was really independent, because he had
learned how to support himself either by the labours of
his head or of his hands; but his independence did not
render him unsociable; he was always ready to sympathize with the pleasures of his friends, and therefore
he was beloved; following his father's example, he did
all the good in his power to those who were in distress;
but he did not imagine that he could reform every
abuse in society, or that he could instantly new-model
the universe. Forester became, in a few days, fond of
conversing, or rather of holding long arguments with
Henry; but his dislike to the young laird Archibald
Mackenzie hourly increased. Archibald and his mother, Lady Catherine Makenzie, were relations of Mrs.
Campbell, and they were now upon a visit at her
house. Lady Catherine, a shrewd woman, fond of
precedence, and.fully sensible of the importance that
wealth can bestow, had sedulously inculcated into the
mind of her son all the maxims of worldly wisdom
which she had collected in her intercourse with society;
she had inspired him with family pride, but at the same
time had taught him to pay obsequious court to his
superiors in rank or fortune: the art of rising in the
world, she knew, did not entirely depend upon virtue
or ability; she was consequently more solicitous about
her son's manners than his morals, and was more
anxious that he should form high connexions than that
he should apply to the severe studies of a profession.
Archibald was, nearly what might be expected from his
education, alternately supple to his superiors and insolent to his inferiors: to insinuate himself into the
favour of young men of rank and fortune, he affected to
admire extravagance; but his secret maxims of parsimony operated even in the midst of dissipation. Meanness and pride usually go together. It is not to be
supposed, that young Forester had such quick peneB




14               MORAL TALES.
tration that he could discover the whole of the artful
Archibald's character in the course of a few days' acquaintance; but he disliked him for good reasons,
because he was a laird, because he had laughed at his
first entr6e, and because he was learning to dance.
THE SKELETON.
About a week after our hero's arrival at Dr. Campbell's, the doctor was exhibiting some chymical experiments, with which Henry hoped that his young friend
would be entertained; but Forester had scarcely been
five minutes in the laboratory, before Mackenzie, who
was lounging about the room, sneeringly took notice of
a large hole in.his shoe. "It is easily mended," said
the independent youth; and he immediately left the
laboratory, and went to a cobbler's, who lived in a
narrow  lane at the back of Dr. Campbell's house.
Forester had, from his bed-chamber window, seen this
cobbler at work early every. morning; he admired his
industry, and longed to be acquainted with him. The
good-hu moured familiarity of Forester's manner pleased
the cobbler, who was likewise diverted by the eagerness
of the young gentleman to mend his own shoe. After
spending some hours at the cobbler's stall, the shoe was
actually mended, and Forester thought that his morning's work was worthy of admiration. In a court (or,
as such places are called in Edinburgh, a close) near the
cobbler's, he saw some boys playing at ball: he joined
them; and while they were playing, a dancing-master,
with his hair powdered, and who.seemed afraid of spattering his clean stockings, passed through the court,
and interrupted the ball-players for a few seconds. The
boys, as soon as the man was out of hearing, declared
that he passed through their court regularly twice a day,
and that he always kicked their marbles out of the ring.




FORESTER.                   15
Without staying to weigh this evidence scrupulously,
Forester received it with avidity and believed all that
had been asserted was true, because the accused was a
dancing-master: from his education he had conceived
an antipathy to dancing-masters, especially to such as
wore silk stockings, and had their heads well powered.
Easily fired at the idea of any injustice, and eager to
redress the grievances of the poor, Forester immediately
concerted with these boys a scheme to deliver them
from what he called the insolence of the dancing-master,
and promised that he would compel him to go round by
another street.
In his zeal for the liberty of his new companions,
our hero did not consider that he was infringing upon
the liberties of a man who had never done him any
injury, and over whom he had no right to exercise any
control.
Upon his return to Dr. Campbell's, Forester heard
the sound of a violin; and he found that his enemy,
M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master, was attending Archibald Mackenzie: he learned that he was engaged to
give another lesson the next evening, and the plans of
the confederates in the ball-alley were arranged accordingly, In Dr. Campbell's room Forester remembered
to have seen a skeleton in a glass case; he seized upon
it, carried it down to his companions, and placed it in a
niche in the wall, on the landing place of a flight of
stone stairs down which the dancing-master was
obliged to go. A butcher's son, one of Forester's new
companions, he instructed to stand at a certain hour
behind the skeleton with two rushlights, which he was
to hold up to the eyeholes in the scull.
The dancing-master's steps were heard approaching
at the expected hour; and the boys stood in ambush to
enjoy the diversion of the sight. It was a dark night;
the fiery eyes of the skeleton glared suddenly upon the
dancing-master, who was so terrified at the spectacle,
and in such haste to escape, that his foot slipped, and
he fell down the stone steps: his ankle was sprained
by the fall, and he was brought to Dr. Campbell's.




16               MORAL TALES.
Forester was shocked at this tragical end of his intended
comedy. The poor man was laid upon a bed, and he
writhed with pain. Forester, with vehement expressions of concern, explained to Dr. Campbell the cause
of this accident, and he was much touched by the
dancing-master's good-nature, who, between every
twinge of pain, assured him that he should soon be
well, and endeavoured to avert Dr. Campbell's displeasure. Forester sat beside the bed, reproaching himself bitterly; and he was yet more sensible of his folly
when lie heard that the boys whosepart he had hastily
taken had frequently amused themselves with playing mischievous tricks upon this inoffensive man, who
declared that he had never purposely kicked their marbles out of the ring, but had always implored them to
make way for him with all the civility in his power.
Forester resolved that before he ever again attempted
to do justice he would at least hear both sides of the
question.
THE ALARM.
Forester would willingly have sat up all night with
M. Pasgrave, to foment his ankle from time to time,
and, if possible, to assuage the pain: but the man would
not suffer him to sit up, and about twelve o'clock he
retired to rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep when his
door opened, and Archibald Mackenzie roused him by
demanding in a peremptory tone how he could sleep
when the whole family were frightened out of their wits
by his pranks.
"Is the dancing-master worse? What's the matter t"
exclaimed Forester, in great terror.
Archibald replied that he was not talking nor thinking
about the dancing-master, and desired Forester to make




FORESTER.                 17
haste and dress himself, and that he would then soon
hear what was the matter.
Forester dressed himself as fast as he could, and followed Archibald through a long passage which led to a
back staircase.  "Do you hear the noise?" said
Archibald.
"Not I," said Forester.
"Well, you'll hear it plain enough presently," said
Archibald: "follow me down stairs."
He followed, and was surprised when he got into the
hall to find all the family assembled. Lady Catherine
had been awakened by a noise, which she at first
imagined to be the screaming of an infant. Her bedchamber was on the ground-floor, and adjoining to Dr.
Campbell's laboratory, from which the noise seemed to
proceed. She wakened her son Archibald and Mrs.
Campbell; and, when she recovered her senses a little,
she listened to Dr. Campbell, who assured her that what
her ladyship thought was the screaming of an infant
was the noise of a cat: the screams of this cat were terrible, and when the light approached the door of the
laboratory, the animal flew at the door witb so much
fury that nobody could venture to open it. Everybody
I6oked at Forester, as if they suspected that he had confined the cat, or that he was in some way or other the
cause of the disturbance. The cat, who, from  his
having constantly fed and played with it, had grown
extremely fond of him, used to follow him often from
room to room; and he now recollected that it followed
him the preceding evening into the laboratory when he
went to replace the skeleton. He had not observed
whether it came out of the room again, nor could he
now conceive the cause of its yelling in this horrible
manner. The animal seemed to be mad with pain.
Dr. Campbell asked his son whether all the presses
were locked. Henry said he was sure that they were
all locked. It was his business to lock them every
evening, and he was so exact that nobody doubted his
accuracy.
Archibald Mackenzie, who all this time knew, or at
B2




18               MORAL TALES.
least suspected, the truth, held himself in cunning
silence. The preceding evening he, for want of something to do, had strolled into the laboratory, and, with
the pure curiosity of idleness, peeped into the presses
and took the stoppers out of several of the bottles. Dr.
Campbell happened to come in, and carelessly asked
him if he had been looking in the presses; to which
question Archibald, though with scarcely any motive
for telling a falsehood, immediately replied in the negative. As the doctor turned his head, Archibald put
aside a bottle, which he had just before taken out of the
press; and, fearing that the noise of replacing the glass
stopper would betray him, he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.-How much useless cunning! All this
transaction was now fully present to Archibald's memory; and he was well convinced that Henry had not
seen the bottle when he afterward went to lock the
presses; that the cat had thrown it down; and that
this was the cause of all the yelling that disturbed the
house. Archibald, however, kept his lips fast closed;
he had told one falsehood; he dreaded to have it discovered; and he hoped the blame of the whole affair
would rest upon Forester.'At length the animal flew
with diminished fury at the door; its screams became
feebler and feebler, till at last they totally ceased.
There was silence: Dr. Campbell opened the door: the
cat was seen stretched upon the ground, apparently
lifeless. As Forester looked nearer at the poor animal
he saw a twitching motion in one of its hind legs; Dr.
Campbell said that it was the convulsion of death.
Forester was just going to lift up his cat when his
friend Henry stopped his hand, telling him that he
would burn himself if he touched it. The hair and
flesh of the cat on one side were burned away quite to
the bone. Henry pointed to the broken bottle, which,
he said, had contained vitriolic acid.
Henry in vain attempted to discover by whom the
bottle of vitriolic acid had been taken out of its place.
Suspicion naturally fell upon Forester, who, by his
own account, was the last person in the room before




FORESTER.                  19
the presses had been locked for the night. Forester, in
warm terms, asserted that he knew nothing of the matter. Dr. Campbell coolly observed that Forester ought
not to be surprised at being suspected upon this occasion; because everybody had the greatest reason to suspect the person whom they had detected in one practica joke of planning another.
"Joke!" said Forester, looking down upon his lifeless favourite: "do you think me capable of such
cruelty? Do you doubt my truth?" Exclaimed Forester, haughtily. "You are unjust. Turn me out of
your house this instant. I do not desire your protection
if I have forfeited your esteem."
"Go to bed for to-night in my house," said Dr.
Campbell, "moderate your enthusiasm, and reflect
coolly upon what has passed."
Dr. Campbell, as Forester indignantly withdrew, said,
with a benevolent smile, as he looked after him, "He
wants nothing but a little common sense. Henry, you
must give him a little of yours."
In the morning Forester first went to inquire how the
dancing-master had slept; and then knocked impatiently
at Dr. Campbell's door.' My father is not awake," said Henry; but Forester
marched directly up to the side of the bed, and drawing
back the curtain with no gentle hand, cried, with a loud
voice, "Dr. Campbell, I am come to beg your pardon.
I was angry when I said you were unjust."
"And I was asleep when you begged my pardon,"
said Dr. Campbell, rubbing his eyes.
"The dancing-master's ankle is a great deal better,
and I have buried the poor cat," pursued Forester:
"and I hope now, doctor, you'll at least tell me that
you do not really suspect me of any hand in her death."
"Pray let me go to sleep," said Dr. Campbell, "and
time your explanations a little better."




20               MORAL TAIE S.
THE GERANIUM.
The dancing-master gradually recovered from his
sprain; and Forester spent all his pocket-money in
buying a new violin for him, as his had been broken in
his fall: his watch had likewise been broken against
the stone steps. Though Forester looked upon a watch
as a useless bauble, yet he determined to get this
mended; and his friend Henry went with him for this
purpose to a watchmaker's.
While Henry Campbell and Forester were consulting
with the watchmaker upon the internal state of the
bruised watch, Archibald Mackenzie, who followed
them for a lounge, was looking over some new watches,
and ardently wishing for the finest that he saw. As he
was playing with this fine watch, the watchmaker
begged that he would take care not to break it.
Archibald, in the insolent tone in which he was used
to speak to a tradesman, replied, that if he did break it,
he hoped he was able to pay for it. The watchmaker
civilly answered, "he had no doubt of that, but that
the watch was not his property; it was Sir Philip Gosling's, who would call for it, he expected, in a quarter
of an hour."
At the name of Sir Philip Gosling, Archibald quickly
changed his tone: he had a great ambition to be of Sir
Philip's acquaintance; for Sir Philip was a young man,
who was to have a large fortune when he should come
of age, and who, in the mean time, spent as much of it
as possible with great spirit and little judgment. He
had been sent to Edinburgh for his education; and he
spent his time in training horses, laying bets, parading
in the public walks, and ridiculing, or, in his own
phrase, quizzing every sensible young man who applied
to literature or. science. Sir Philip, whenever he frequented any of the professor's classes, took care to
make it evident to everybody present that he did not
come there to learn, and that he looked down with con



FORESTER.                  21
tempt upon all who were obliged to study: he was the
first always to make any disturbance in the classes, or,
in his elegant language, to make a row.
This was the youth of whose acquaintance Archibald Mackenzie was ambitious. He staid in the shop,
in hopes that Sir Philip would arrive: he was not disappointed; Sir Philip came, and, with address which
Lady Catharine would perhaps have admired, Archibald entered into conversation with the young baronet,
if conversation that might be called which consisted of a
species of fashionable dialect, devoid of sense, and destitute of any pretence to wit. To Forester this dialect
was absolutely unintelligible; after he had listened to
it with sober contempt for a few minutes, he pulled
Henry away, saying, "Come, don't let us waste our
time here; let us go to the brewery that you promised
to show me."
Henry did not immediately vield to the rough pull of
his indignant friend, for, at this instant, the door of a
little back parlour behind the watchmaker's shop opened slowly, and a girl of about seven years old appeared,
carrying, with difficulty, a flower-pot, in which there
was a fine large geranium in full flower. Henry, who
saw that the child was scarcely able to carry it, took it
out of her hands, and asked her, " Where she would
like to have it put?"
" Here, for to-day!" said the little girl, sorrowfully;
" but to-morrow, it goes away for ever!"
The little girl was sorry to part with this geranium,
because "she had watched it.all the winter," and said,
"6 that she was very fond of it; but that she was willing
to part with it, though it was just come into flower, because the apothecary had told her that it was the cause
of her grandmother's having been taken ill. Her grandmother lodged," she said, "in that little room, and the
room was very close, and she was taken ill in the night
— so ill that she could hardly speak or stir; and when
the apothecary came, he said,?' continued the little girl,' it was no wonder anybody was ill, who slept in such
a little close room, with such a great geranium in it to




22                MORAL TALES.
poison the air. So my geranium must go!" concluded
she with a sigh: "but as it is for grandmother, I shall
never think of it again."
Henry Campbell and Forester were both struck with
the modest simplicity of this child's countenance and
manner, and they were pleased with the unaffected generosity with which she gave up her favourite geranium.
Forester noted this down in his mind, as a fresh instance in favour of his exclusive good opinion of the
poor.  This little girl looked poor, though she was
decently dressed; she'was so thin that her little cheek
bones could plainly be seen; her face had not the round,
rosy beauty of cheerful health: she was pale and sallow, and she looked in patient misery. Moved with compassion, Forester regretted that he had no money to
give where it might have been so well bestowed. He
was always extravagant in his generosity; he would
often give five guineas where five shillings would have
been enough, and by these means he reduced himself
to the necessity'sometimes of refusing assistance to deserving objects. On his journey from his father's house
to Edinburgh, he lavished, in undistinguishing charity,
a considerable sum of money; and all that he had remaining of this money he spent in purchasing the new
violin for M. Pasgrave. Dr. Campbell absolutely refused to advance his ward any money till his next quarterly allowance should become due. Henry, who always perceived quickly what passed in the minds of
others, guessed at Forester's thoughts by his. countenance, and forebore to produce his own money, though
he had it just ready in his hand: he knew that he could
call again at the watchmaker's, and give what he pleased, without ostentation.
Upon questioning the little girl further concerning
her grandmother's illness, Henry discovered that the
old woman had sat up late at night knitting, and that,
feeling herself extremely cold, she got a pan of charcoal into her room; that, soon afterward, she felt uncommonly drowsy, and when her little granddaughter
spoke to her, and asked her why she did not come to




FORESTER.                 23
bed? she made no answer: a few minutes after this
she dropped from her chair. The child was extremely
frightened, and though she felt it very difficult to rouse
herself; she said she got up as fast as she could, opened
the door, and called to the watchmaker's wife, who
luckily had been at work late, and was now raking the
kitchen fire. With her assistance the old woman was
brought into the air, and presently returned to her senses:
the pan of charcoal had been taken away before the
apothecary came in the morning; as he was in a great
hurry when he called, he made but few inquiries, and
consequently condemned the geranium without sufficient evidence. As he left the house, he carelessly
said, "My wife would like that geranium, I think."
And the poor old woman, who had but a very small fee
to offer, was eager to give any thing that seemed to
please the doctor.
Forester, when he heard this story, burst into a contemptuous exclamation against the meanness of this
and of all other apothecaries. Henry informed the little
girl that the charcoal had been the cause of her grandmother's illness, and advised them never, upon any
account, to keep a pan of charcoal again in her bedchamber; he told her that many people had been killed
by this practice. "Then," cried the little girl joyfully,
"if it was the charcoal, and not the geranium, that
made grandmother ill, I may keep my beautiful geranium:" and she ran immediately to gather some of the
flowers, which she offered to Henry and to Forester.
Forester, who was still absorbed in the contemplation
of the apothecary's meanness, took the flowers, without perceiving that he took them, and pulled them to
pieces as he went on thinking. Henry, when the little
girl held the geraniums up to him, observed that the
back of her hand was bruised and black; he asked her
how she had'hurt herself, and she replied innocently,
" that she had not hurt herself, but that her schoolmistress was a verj strict woman." Forester, roused from
his revery, desired to hear what the little girl meant by
a strict woman, and she explained herself more fully:




24                 MORAL TALES
she said, that as a favour, her grandmother had obtained
leave from some great lady to send her to a charityschool: that she went there every day to learn to read
and work, but that the mistress of the charity-school
used her scholars very severely, and often kept them for
hours, after they had done their own tasks, to spin for
her; and that she beat them if they did not spin as much
as she expected. The little girl's grandmother then said
that she knew all this, but that she did not dare to complain, because the school-mistress was under the patronage of some of " the grandest ladies in Edinburgh,"
and that as she could not afford to pay for her little
lass's schooling, she was forced to have her taught as
well as she couldfor nothing.
Forester, fired with indignation at this history of injustice, resolved, at all events, to stand forth immediately in the child's defence; but, without staying to
consider how the wrong could be redressed, he thought
only of the quickest, or, as he said, the most manly
means of doing the business: he declared,. that if the
little girl would show him the way to the school, he
would go that instant and speak to the woman in the
midst of all her scholars. Henry in vain represented
that this would not be a prudent mode of proceeding..Forester disdained prudence, and, tiusting securely to
the power of his own eloquence, he set out with the
child, who seemed rather afraid to come to open war
with her tyrant. Henry was obliged to return home to
his father, who had usually business for him to do about
this time. The little girl had staid at home on account
of her grandmother's illness, but all the other scholars
were hard at work, spinning in a close room, when
Forester arrived.
He marched directly into the school-room. The
wheels stopped at once on his appearance, and the
school-mistress, a raw-boned, intrepid-looking woman,
eyed him with amazement; he broke silence in the following words:"Vile woman, your injustice is come to light! How
can you dare to tyrannize over these poor children? Is




FORESTER.                 25
It because they are poor? Take my advice, children,
resist this tyrant, put by your wheels, and spin for her
no more."
The children did not move, and the school-mistress
poured out a torrent of abuse in broad Scotch, which to
the English ear of Forester was unintelligible. At
length she made him comprehend her principal questions-Who he was? and by whose authority he interifered between her and her scholars? "By nobody's
authority," was Forester's answer: "I want no authority to speak in the cause of injured innocence." No
sooner had the woman heard these words than she called to her husband, who was writing in an adjoining
room: without further ceremony, they both seized upon
our hero, and turned him out of the house.
The woman revenged herself without mercy upon the
little girl whom Forester had attempted to defend, and
dismissed her, with advice never more to complain of
being obliged to spin for her mistress.
Mortified by the ill success of his enterprise, Forester
returned home, attributing the failure of his eloquence
chiefly to his ignorance of the Scotch dialect.
THE CANARY-BIRD.
At his return, Forester heard that all Dr. Campbells'
family were going that evening to visit a gentleman
who had an excellent cabinet of minerals. He had
some desire to see the fossils; but when he came to
the gentleman's house, he soon found himself disturbed at the praises bestowed by some ladies in company
upon a little canary-bird which belonged to the mistress
of the house. He began to kick his feet together, to
hang first one arm and then the other, over the back of
his chair, with the obvious expression of impatience
and contempt in his countenance. Henry Campbell,
in the mean time, said, without any embarrassment,
c




26                MORAL TALES.
just what he thought about the bird. Archibald Mackenzie, with artificial admiration, said a vast deal more
than he thought, in hopes of effectually recommending
himself to the lady of the house. The lady told him
the history of three birds which had successively inhabited the cage before the present occupier. "They all
died," continued she, "in a most extraordinary manner, one after another, in a short space of time, in convulsions."
"Don't listen," whispered Forester, pulling Henry
away from the crowd who surrounded the bird-cage;
"how can you listen, like that polite hypocrite, to this
foolish woman's history of her extraordinary favourites?
Come down stairs with me. I want to tell you my ad.
venture with the school-mistress; we can take a turn in
the hall and come back before the cabinet of minerals is
opened, and before these women have finished the ceremony of tea-come."
" I'll come presently," said Henry; "I really want to
hear this."
Henry Campbell was not listening to the history of
the lady's favourite birds like a polite hypocrite, but
like a good natured, sensible person; the circumstances
recalled to his memory the conversation that we formerly mentioned, which began about pickled cucumbers, and ended with Dr. Campbell's giving an account
of the effects of some poisons. In consequence of this
conversation, Henry's attention had been turned to the
subject, and he had read several essays, which had informed him of many curious facts. He recollected, in
particular, to have met with the account- of a bird, who
had been poisoned, and whose case bore a strong resemblance to the present. He begged leave to examine
the cage, in order to discover whether there were any
lead about it, with which the birds could have poisoned
themselves. No lead was to be found: he next examined whether there were any white or green paint
about it; he inquired whence the water came which the
* Falconer on the Poison of Lead and Copper.




FORESTER.                  27
birds had drunk; and he examined the trough which
held their seeds. The lady, while he was pursuing
these inquiries, said she was sure that the birds could not
have died either for want of air or exercise, for that she
often left the cage open on purpose, that they might
fly about the room. Henry immediately looked -round
the room, and at length he observed in an inkstand
wvhich stood upon a writing table a number of wafers,
which were many of them chipped round the edges;
upon sweepihg out the bird-cage, he found a few very
small bits of wafer mixed with the seeds and dust; he
was now persuaded that the birds had eaten the wafers,.and that they had been poisoned by the red lead which
they contained; he was confirmed in this opinion by
being told that the wafers had lately been missed very
frequently, and it had been imagined that they had been
used by the servants. Henry begged the lady would try
an experiment, which might probably save the life of
her new favourite; the lady, though she had never before tried an experiment, was easily prevailed upon.
She promised Henry that she would lock up the wafers;
and he prophesied that her bird would not, like his predecessors, come to an untimely end. Archibald Mackenzie was vexed to observe that knowledge had in this
instance succeeded better, even with a lady, than flattery.
As for Forester, he would certainly have admired his
friend Henry's ingenuity, if he had been attending to
what had passed; but he had taken a book, and had
seated himself in an arm-chair, which had been placed
on purpose for an old gentleman in company, and was
deep in the history of a man who had been cast away,
some hundred years ago, upon a desert island.
He condescended, however, to put down his book
when the fossils were produced: and, as if he had just
awakened from a dream, rubbed his eves, stretched himself, and joined the rest of the company. The malicious
Archibald, who observed that Forester had seated himself, through absence of mind, in a place which prevented some of the ladies from seeing the fossils, instantly
made a parade of his own politeness, to contrast him.




28               MORAL TALES.
self advantageously with the rude negligence of his
companion; but Archibald's politeness was always
particularly directed to the persons in company whom
he thought of the most importance. " You can't see
there," said Forester, rousing himself, and observing
that Dr. Campbell's daughter, Miss Flora Campbell,
was standing behind him; "had you not better sit
down in this chair? I don't want it, because I can see
over your head; sit down."  Archibald smiled at Forester's simplicity in paying his awkward compliment to
the young lady, who had, according to his mode of estimating, the least pretensions to notice of any one present.
Flora Campbell was neither rich nor beautiful, but she
had a happy mixture in her manners of Scottish sprightliness and English reserve. She had an eager desire to
improve herself, while a nice sense of propriety taught
her never to intrude upon general notice, or to recede
from conversation with airs of counterfeit humility.
Forester admired her abilities, because he imagined that
he was the only person who had ever discovered them;
as to her manners, he never. observed these, but, even
while he ridiculed politeness, he was anxious to find
out what she thought polite. After he had told her all
that he knew concerning the fossils, as they were produced from the cabinet, and he was far from ignorant, he
at length perceived that she knew full as much of natural
history as he did, and he was surprised that a young
lady should know so much, and should not be conceited.
Flora, however, soon sank many degrees in his opinion;
for, after the cabinet of mineralogy was shut, some of
the company talked of a ball which was to be given in
a few days, and Flora, with innocent gayety, said to
Forester, " Have you learned to dance a Scotch reel
since you came to Scotland?"-" I!" cried Forester,
with contempt; " do you think it the height of.human
perfection to dance a Scotch reel?-thern that fine young
laird Mr. Archibald Mackenzie will suit you much better than I shall."
And Forester returned to his arm-chair and his desert
island.




FORESTER.                  29
THE KEY.
It was unfortunate that Forester retired from company
in such abrupt displeasure at Flora Campbell's question;
for had he borne the idea of a Scotch reel more like a
philosopher, he would have heard of something interesting relative to the intended ball, if any thing relative to
a ball could be interesting to him. It was a charityball, for the benefit of the mistress of the very charityschool* to which the little girl with the bruised hand
belonged. " Do you know," said Henry to Forester,
when they returned home, " that I have great hopes we
shall be able to get justice done to the poor children. I
hope the tyrannical school-mistress may yet be punished.
The lady with whom we drank tea yesterday is one'of
the patronesses of the charity-school."
"Lady patronesses!" cried Forester; "we need not
expect justice from a lady patroness, depend upon it,
especially at a ball; her head will be full of feathers, or
some such things. I prophesy you will not succeed
better than I have."
The desponding prophecies of Forester did not deter
Henry from pursuing a scheme which he had formed.
The lady who was the mistress of the canary-bird came
in a few days to visit his mother, and she told him that
his experiment had succeeded, that she had regularly
locked up the wafers, and that her favourite bird was in
perfect health.  "And what fee, doctor," said she,
smiling, "shall I give you for saving his life?"
"I will tell you in a few minutes," replied Henry;
and in a few minutes the little girl and her geranium
were sent for, and appeared. Henry told the lady all
the circumstances of her story with so much feeling,
and at the same time with so much propriety, that she
became interested in the cause: she declared that she
would do every thing in her power to prevail upon the
* There is no charity-school of this description in Edinburgh; this
cannot, therefore, be mistaken for private satire.
c2




30               MORAL TALES.
other ladies to examine into the conduct of the schoolmistress, and to have her dismissed immediately, if it
should appear that she had behaved improperly.
Forester, who was present at this declaration, was
much astonished that a lady whom he had seen ca/essing a canary-bird could speak with so much decision
and good sense.  Henry obtained his fee: he asked
and received permission to place the geranium in the
middle of the supper-table at the ball; and he begged
that the lady would take an opportunity at supper to
mention the circumstances which he had related to her;
but this she declined, and politely said that she was
sure Henry would tell the story much better than she
could.
"Come out and walk with me," said Forester to
Henry, as soon as the lady was gone. Henry frequently
left his occupations with great good-nature to accompany our hero in his rambles, and he usually followed
the subjects of conversation which Forester started. He
saw, by the gravity of his countenance, that he had
something of importance revolving in his mind. After
he had proceeded in silence for some time along the
walk, under the high rock called Arthur's Seat, he suddenly stopped, and turning to Henry, exclaimed, "I
esteem you; do not make me despise you!"
"I hope I never shall," said Henry, a little surprised
by his friend's manner: "what is the matter?"
"Leave balls, and lady patronesses, and petty artifices, and supple addresses to such people as Archibald Mackenzie," pursued Forester, with enthusiasm:"Who noble ends by noble means pursues-"
"Will scorn canary-birds, and cobble shoes,"
replied Henry, laughing: " I see no meanness in my
conduct: I do not know what it is you disapprove?"
" I do not approve," said Forester, " of your having
recourse to mean address to obtain justice."
Henry requested to know what his severe friend
meant by address; but this was not easily explained.




FORESTER.                  31
Forester, in his definiton of mean address, included all
that attention to the feelings of others, all those honest
arts of pleasing, which make society agreeable, Henry
endeavoured to convince him that it was possible for i
person to wish to please, nay, even to succeed in that
wish, without being insincere. Their argument and
their walk continued, till Henry, who, though very active, was not quite so robust as his friend, was completely tired, especially as he perceived that Forester's
opinions remained unshaken.
"How effeminate you gentlemen are!" cried Forester: "see what it is to be brought up in the lap of
luxury. Why I am  not at all tired; I could walk a
dozen miles farther, without being in the least fatigued!"
Henry thought it a very good thing to be able to
walk a number of miles without being fatigued, but he
did not consider it as the highest perfection of human
nature. in his friend's present mood, nothing less could
content him, and Forester went on to demonstrate to
the weary Henry, that all fortitude, all courage, and all
the manly virtues were inseparably connected with pedestrian indefatigability. Henry, with good-natured presence of mind, which perhaps his friend would have
called mean address, diverted our hero's rising indignation by proposing that they should both go and look at
the large brewery, which was in their way home, and
with which Forester would, he thought, be entertained.
The brewery fortunately turned the course of Forester's thoughts, and, instead of quarrelling with his friend
for being tired, he condescended to postpone all further
debate. Forester had, from his childhood, a habit of
twirling a key whenever he was thinking intently: the
key had been produced, and had been twirling upon its
accustomed thumb during the argument upon address;
and it was still in Forester's hand when they went into
the brewery. As he looked and listened, the key was
essential to his power of attending; at length, as he
stopped to view a large brewing vat, the key unluckily
slipped from his thumb, and fell to the bottom of the
vat; it was so deep, that the tinkling sound of the key,




32               MORAL TALES.
as it touched the bottom, was scarcely heard. A young
man who belonged to the brewery immediately descended by a ladder into the vat to get the key, but
scarcely had he reached the bottom, when he fell down
senseless. Henry Campbell was speaking to one of the
clerks of the brewery when this accident happened: a
man came running to them with the news, "The vat
has not been cleaned-it's full of bad air,"-" Draw
him up, let down a hook and cords for him instantly, or
he's a dead man," cried Henry, and he instantly ran to
the place. What was his terror when he beheld Forester descending the ladder! He called to him to stop;
he assured him that the man could be saved without his
hazarding his life; but Forester persisted: he had one
end of a cord in his hand, which he said he could fasten
in an instant round the man's body. There was a skylight nearly over the vat, so that the light fell directly
upon the bottom.
Henry saw his friend reach the last rung of the ladder. As Forester stooped to put the rope round the
shoulders of the man, who lay insensible at the bottom
of the vat, a sudden air of idiocy came over his animated countenance; his limbs seemed no longer to obey
his will; his arms dropped, and he fell insensible.
The spectators, who were looking down from above,
were so much terrified that they could not decide to do
any thing: some cried, "It's all over with him! Why
would he go down?" Others ran to procure a hookothers called to him to take up the rope again, if he possibly could: but Forester could not hear or understand
them. Henry Campbell was the only person who, in
this scene of danger and confusion, had sufficient presence of mind to be of service.
Near the large vat into which Forester had descended
there was a cistern of cold water.  Henry seized a
bucket which was floating in the cistern, filled it with
water, and emptied the water into the vat, dashing it
against the sides to disperse the water, and to displace
the mephitic air.* He called to the people who sur* Carbonic acid gas.




FORESTER.                   33
rounded him for assistance; the water expelled the air;
and, when it was safe to descend, Henry instantly went
down the ladder himself, and fastened the cord round
Forester, who was quite helpless.
"Draw him up!" said Henry. They drew him up.
Henry fastened another cord round the body of the other
man who lay at the bottom of the vessel, and he was
taken up in the same manner. Forester soon returned
to nis senses when he was carried into the air; it was
with more difficulty that the other man, whose animation had been longer suspended, was recovered; at
length, however, by proper applications, his lungs
played freely, he stretched himself, looked round upon
the people who were about him with an air of astonishment, and was some time before he could recollect what
had happened to him. Forester, as soon as he had recovered the use of his understanding, was in extreme
anxiety to know whether the poor man who went down
for his, key had been saved. His gratitude to Henry,
when he heard all that had passed, was expressed in the
most enthusiastic manner.
"I acted like a madman, and you like a man of
sense,' said Forester. "You always know how to do
good: I do mischief whenever I attempt to do good.
But now don't expect, Henry, that I should give up any
of my opinions to you because you have saved my life.
I shall always argue with you just as I did before.
Remember, I despise address. I don't yield a single
point to you. Gratitude shall never make me a sycophant."
THE FLOWER-POT.
Eager to prove that he was not a sycophant, Forester, when he returned home with his friend Henry,
took every possible occasion to contradict him, with even




34               MORAL TALES.
more than his customary rigidity; nay, he went further
still to vindicate his sincerity.
Flora Campbell had never entirely recovered our
hero's esteem since she had unwittingly expressed her
love for Scotch reels; but she was happily unconscious.
of the crime she had committed, and was wholly intent
upon pleasing her father and mother, her brother Henry,
and herself. She had a constant flow of good spirits,
and the charming domestic talent of making every trife
a source of amusement to herself and others: she was
sprightly, without being frivolous; and the uniform
sweetness of her temper showed that she was not in the
least in want of flattery or dissipation to support her
gayety. But Forester, as the friend of her brother,
thought it incumbent upon him to discover faults in her
which no one else could discover, and to assist in her
education, though she was only one year younger than
himself. She had amused herselfthe morning that Forester and her brother were at the brewery with painting a
pasteboard covering for the flower-pot which held the
poor little girl's geranium. Flora had heard from her
brother of his intention to place it in the middle of the
supper-table at the ball; and she flattered herself that
he would like to see it ornamented by her hands at his
return. She produced it after dinner. Henry thanked
her, and her father and mother were pleased to see her
eagerness to oblige her brother. The cynical Forester
alone refused his sympathy. He looked at the flowerpot with marked disdain. Archibald, who delighted to
contrast himself with the unpolished Forester, and who
remarked that Flora and her brother were both somewhat surprised at his unsociable silence, slyly said,
" There's something in this flower-pot, Miss Campbell,
which does not suit Mr. Forester's correct taste; 1 wish
he would allow us to profit by his criticisms."
Forester vouchsafed not a reply.
"Don't you like it, Forester?" said Henry.
"No, he does not like it," said Flora, smiling; " don't
force him to say that he does."?




FORESTER.                   36
" Force me to say I like what I don't like." repeated
Forester; "no, I defy anybody to do that."
"But why," said Dr. Campbell, laughing, "why
such a waste of energy and magnanimity about a trifle?
If you were upon your trial for life or death, Mr. Forester, you could not look more resolutely guarded,more as if you had' worked up each corporal agent' to
the terrible feat! "
"Sir," said Forester, who bore the laugh that was
raised against him with the air of a martyr, " I can bear
even your ridicule in the cause of truth." The laugh
continued at the solemnity with which he pronounced
these words, "I think," pursued Forester, " that those
who do not respect truth in trifles will never respect it
in matters of consequence."
Archibald Mackenzie laughed more loudly, and with
affectation, at this speech: Henry and Dr. Campbell's
laughter instantly ceased.
" Do not mistake us," said Dr. Campbell; " we did
not laugh at your principles,'we only laughed at your
manner."
" And are not principles of rather more consequence
than manners'"
"Of infinitely more consequence," said Dr. Campbell; (' but why to excellent principles may we not add
agreeable manners?  Why should not truth be amiable
as well as respectable? You, who have such enlarged
views for the good of the whole human race, are, I make
no doubt, desirous that your fellow-creatures should
love truth as well as you love it yourself."
"Certainly, I wish they did," said Forester.
"And have your observations upon the feelings of
others, and upon your own, led you to conclude that
we are most' apt to like those things which always give
us pain? And do you, upon this principle, wish to
make truth as painful as possible, in order to increase
our love for it?"
" I don't wish to make truth painful," said Forester,
"but, at the same time, it is not my fault if people can't
bear pain. I think people who can't bear pain, both of




36                MORAL TALES.
body and mind, cannot be good for any thing; for, in
the first place, they will always" said Forester, glancing
his eye at Flora and her flower-pot, " they will always
prefer flattery to truth, as all weak people do."
At this sarcastic reflection, which seemed to be aimed
at the sex, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Campbell, and all the
ladies present, except Flora, began to speak at once in
their own vindication.
As soon as there was any prospect of peace Dr.
Campbell resumed his argument, in the calmest voice
imaginable.
" But, Mr. Forester, without troubling ourselves for the
present with the affairs of the ladies, or of weak people,
may I ask what degree of unnecessary pain you think it
the duty of a strong person, a moral Samson, to bear?"
"Unnecessary pain! I do not think it is anybody's
duty to bear unnecessary pain."
"Nor to make others bear it I."
"Nor to make others bear it."
"Then we need argue no further. I congratulate you,
Mr. Forester, upon your becoming so soon a proselyte
to politeness."
"To politeness!" said Forester, starting back.
" Yes, my good Sir: real politeness only teaches us
to save others from unnecessary pain; and this you have
just allowed to be your wish.-And now for the grand
affair of Flora's flower-pot. You are not bound by politeness to tell any falsehoods; weak as she is, and a
woman, I hope she can bear to hear the painful truth
upon such an important occasion."
"Why," said Forester, who at last suffered his features to relax into a smile, "the truth then is, that I
don't know whether the flower-pot be pretty or ugly;
but I was determined not to say it was pretty."
" But why," said Henry, " did you look so heroically
severe about the matter?"
"The reason I looked grave," said Forester, was,
because I was afraid your -sister Flora would be spoiled
by all the foolish compliments that were paid to her anal
ner flower-pot."




FORESTER.                  37
"You are very considerate; and Flora, I am sure, is
much obliged to you," said Dr. Campbell, smiling, " for
being so clear-sighted to the dangers of female vanity.
You would not then, with a safe conscience, trust the
completion of her education to her mother, or to myself?"
1" I am sure, sir," said Forester, who now, for the first
time, seemed sensible that he had not spoken with perfect propriety, "I would not interfere impertinently for
the world. You are the best judges; only I thought
parents were apt to be partial. Henry has saved my
life, and I am interested for every thing that belongs to
him. So I hope, if I said any thing rude, you will attribute it to a good motive. I wish the flower-pot had
never made its appearance, for it has made me appear
very impertinent."
Flora laughed with so much good humour at his odd
method of expressing his contrition, that even Forester
acknowledged the influence of engaging manners and
sweetness of temper. He lifted up the flower-pot, so as
completely to screen his face, and, while he appeared to
be examining it, he said, in a low voice, to Henry,
" She is above the foibles of her sex."
"Oh, Mr. Forester, take care!" cried Flora.
"Of what?" said Forester, starting.
"It is too late now," said Flora.
And it was too late:-Forester, in his awkward manner of lifting the flower-pot and its painted case, had
put his thumbs into the mould, with which the flowerpot had been newly filled. It was quite soft and wet.
Flora, when she called to him, saw the two black thumbs
just ready to stamp themselves upon her work, and her
warning only accelerated its fate; for the instant she
spoke, the thumbs closed upon the painted covering,
and FQrester was the last to perceive the mischief that
he had done.
There was no possibility of effacing the stains, nor
was there time to repair the damage, for the ball was to
commence in a few hours, and Flora was obliged to send
her disfigured work without having had the satisfaction
D




38               MORAL TALES.
of hearing the ejaculation which Forester pronounced
in her praise behind the flower-pot.
THE BALL.
Henry seized the moment when Forester was softened by the mixed effect of Dr. Campbell's raillery and
Flora's good humour, to persuade him that it would be
perfectly consistent with sound philosophy to dress
himself for a ball, nay, even to dance a country-dance.
The word reel, to which Forester had taken a dislike,
Henry prudently forbore to mention; and Flora, observing and artfully imitating her brother's prudence, sub.
stituted the word hays instead of reels in her conversation. When all the party were ready to go to the ball,
and the carriages at the door, Forester was in Dr.
Campbell's study, reading the natural history of the
elephant.
"Come," said Henry, who had been searching for
him all over the house, "we are waiting for you: I'm
glad to see you dressed-come!"
" I wish you would leave me behind," said Forester,
who seemed to have relapsed into his former unsociable
humour, from having been left half an hour in his beloved solitude; nor would Henry probably have prevailed, if he had not pointed to the print of the elephant.* ~" That mighty animal, you see, is so docile
that he lets himself be guided by a young boy," said
Henry: "and so must you."
As he spoke he pulled Forester gently, who thought
he could not show less docility than his favourite animal. When they entered the ball-room, Archibald Mackenzie asked Flora to dance, while Forester was considering where he should put his hat. " Are you going
* Cabinet of Quadrupeds.




FORESTER.                  39
to dance without me? I thought I had asked you to
dance with me.  I intended it all the time we were
coming in the coach."
Flora thanked him for his kind intentions; while Archibald, with a look of triumph, hurried his partner
away, and the dance began. Forester saw this transaction in the most serious light, and it afforded him
subject for meditation till at least half a dozen countrydances had been finished. In vain the Berwick Jockey,
the Highland Laddie, and the Flowers of Edinburgh
were played; "they suited not the gloomy habit" of
his soul. He fixed himself behind a pillar, proof against
music, mirth, and sympathy: he looked upon the dancers
with a cynical eye. At length he found an amusement
that gratified his present splenetic humour; he applied
both his hands to his ears, effectually to stop out the
sound of the music, that he might enjoy the ridiculous
spectacle of a number of people capering about without
any apparent motive.  Forester's attitude caught the
attention of some of the company; indeed it was strikingly awkward. His elbows stuck out from his ears,
and his head was sunk beneath his shoulders. Archibald Mackenzie was delighted beyond measure at his
figure, and pointed him out to his acquaintance with all
possible expedition. The laugh and the whisper circulated with rapidity. Henry, who was dancing, did not
perceive what was going on till his partner said to him,
" Pray, who is that strange mortal?"
" My friend," cried Henry: " will you excuse me
for one instant?"  And he ran up to Forester, and
roused him from his singular attitude. "He is," continued Henry, as he returned to his partner, "an excellent young man, and he has superior abilities; we
must not quarrel with him for trifles."
With what different eyes different people behold the
same objects! While Forester had been stopping his
ears, Dr. Campbell, who had more of the nature of the
laughing than of the weeping philosopher, had found
much benevolent pleasure in contemplating the festive
scene. Not that any folly or ridicule escaped his keen




40               MORAL TALES.
penetration;. but he saw every thing with an indulgent
eye; and, if he laughed, laughed in such a manner that
even those who were the objects of his pleasantry could
scarcely have forborne to sympathize in his mirth.
Folly, he thought, could be as effectually corrected by
the tickling of a feather as by the lash of the satirist.
When Lady Margaret M'Gregor and Lady Mary Macintosh, for instance, had almost forced their unhappy
partners into a quarrel, to support their respective
claims to precedency, Dr. Campell, who was appealed
to as the relation of both the furious fair ones, decided
the difference expeditiously, and much to the amusement of the company, by observing, that, as the pretension of each of the ladies were incontrovertible, and
precisely balanced, there was but one possible method
of adjusting their precedency-by their age. He was
convinced, he said, that the youngest lady would with
pleasure yield precedency to the elder. The cbntest
was now which should stand the lowest, instead of
which should stand the highest, in the dance: and
when the proofs of seniority could not be settled, the
fair ones drew lots for their places and submitted that
to chance which could not be determined by prudence.
Forester stood beside Dr. Campbell while all this
passed, and wasted a considerable portion of virtuous
indignation upon the occasion. " And look at that absurd creature!" exclaimed Forester, pointing out to Dr.
Campbell a girl who was footing and pounding for
fame at a prodigious rate. Dr. Campbell turned from
the pounding lady to observe his own daughter Flora,
and a smile of delight came over his countenance: for
"parents are apt to be partial"-especially those who
have such daughters as Flora. Her light figure and
graceful agility attracted the attention even of many
impartial spectators; but she was not intent upon admiration: she seemed to be dancing in the gayety of
her heart; and that was a species of gayety in which
every one sympathized, because it was natural, and of
which every one approved, because it was innocent.
There was a certain delicacy mixed with her sportive




FORESTER.                  41
humour, which seemed to govern, without restraining,
the tide of her spirits. Her father's eye was following
her as she danced to a lively Scotch tune, when Forester pulled Dr. Campbell's cane, on which he was leaning, and exclaimed,'" Doctor, I've just thought of an
excellent plan for a tragedy!"
"A  tragedy!" repeated Dr. Campbell, with unfeigned surprise; "are you sure you don't mean a
comedy?"
Forester persisted that he meant a tragedy, and was
proceeding to open the plot. —" Don't force me to your
tragedy now," said Dr. Campbell, " or it will infallibly
be condemned. I cannot say that I have my buskin on;
and I advise you to take yours off. Look, is that the
tragic muse?i
Forester was astonished to find that so great a man
as Dr. Campbell had so little the power of abstraction;
and he retired to muse upon the opening of his tragedy
in a recess under the music gallery. But here he was
not suffered long to remain undisturbed; for near this
spot Sir Phillip Gosling presently stationed himself;
Archibald Mackenzie, who left off dancing. as soon as
Sir Philip entered the room, came to the half-intoxicated
baronet; and they, with some other young men worthy
of their acquaintance, began so loud a contest concerning the number of bottles of claret which a man might,
could, or should drink at a sitting, that even Forester's
powers of abstraction failed, and his tragic muse took
her flight.
"Supper! supper! thank God!" exclaimed Sir Philip, as supper was now announced. " I'd never set my
foot in a ball-room," added he, with several suitable
oaths, " if it was not for the supper."
"Is that a rational being I" cried Forester to Dr.
Campbell, after Sir Philip had passed them.
"Speak a little lower," said Dr. Campbell, "or he
will infallibly prove his title to rationality by shooting you, or by making you shoot him, through the
head.'
"But, sir," said Forester, holding Dr. Campbell fast,




42                MORAL TALES.
while all the rest of the company were going down to
supper, "how can you bear such a number of foolish,
disagreeable people with patience?"
"What would you have me do?" said Dr. Campbell. " Would you have me get'up and preach in the
middle of a ball-room? Is it not as well, since we are
here, to amuse ourselves with whatever caa afford us
any amusement, and to keep in good humour with all
the world, especially with ourselves?-and had we not
better follow the crowd to supper?"
Forester went down stairs; but as he crossed an antechamber which led to the supper-room, he exclaimed,
"If I were a legislator, I would prohibit balls."
"And if you were a legislator," said Dr. Campbell,
pointing to a tea-kettle which was on the fire in the
antechamber, and from the spout of which a gray cloud
of vapour issued-" if you were a legislator, would not
you have stoppers wedged tight into the spouts of all
tea-kettles in your dominions?"
" No, sir," said Forester; " they would burst."
"And do you think that folly would not burst, and
do more mischief than a tea-kettle in the explosion, if
you confined it so tight 2?"
Forester would willingly have staid in the antechamber to begin a critical dissection of this allusion; but Dr.
Campbell carried him forwards into the supper-room.
Flora had kept a seat for her father; and Henry met
them at the door.
" 1 was just coming to seek for you, sir," said he to
his father. " Flora began to think you were lost."
"No," said Dr. Campbell, "I was only detained by
a would-be Cato, who wanted me to quarrel with the
whole world, instead of eating my supper. What would
you ad vise me to eat, Flora?" said he, seating himself
beside her.
"Some of this trifle, papa;" and, as she lightly removed the flowers with which it was ornamented, her
father said, "Yes, give me some trifle, Flora. Some
characters are like that trifle —flowers and light froth at
the top, and solid, good sweetmeat beneath."




FORESTER.                   43
Forester immediately stretched out his plate for some
trifle. "' But I don't see any use in the flowers, sir,"
said he.
"Nor any beauty," said Dr. Campbell.
Forester picked the troublesome flowers out of his
trifle, and ate a quantity of it sufficient for a stoic. Towards the end of the supper, he took some notice of
Henry, who had made several ineffectual efforts to
amuse him by such slight strokes of wit as seemed to
suit the time and place. Time and place were never
taken into Forester's consideration: he was secretly
displeased with his friend Henry for having danced all
the evening instead of sitting still; and he looked at
Henry's partner with a scrutinizing eye. "So," said
he, at last, "I observe I have not been  thought
worthy of your conversation to-night: this is what
gentlemen, polite genltlemen, who dance reels, call friendship!"
"If I had thought that you would have taken it ill I
should dance reels," said Henry, laughing, "I would'have made the sacrifice of a reel at the altar of friendship; but we don't come to a ball to make sacrifices to
friendship, but to divert ourselves."
"If we can," said Forester, sarcastically: here he
was prevented from reproaching his friend any longer,
for a party of gentlemen began to sing catches, at the
desire of the rest of company.
Forester was now intent upon criticising the. nonsensical words that were sung; and he was composing an
essay upon the power of the ancient bards, and the
effect of national music, when Flora's voice interrupted
him: "Brother," said she, " I have won my wager."
The wager was, that Forester would not during supper
observe the geranium that was placed in the middle of
the table.
As soon as the company was satisfied, both with their
supper and their songs, Henry, whose mind was always
present, seized the moment when there was silence to
turn the attention of the company towards the object
upon which his own thoughts were intent. The lady




44                MORAL TALES.
patroness, the mistress of the canary-bird, had performed
her promise: she had spoken to several of her acquaintance concerning the tyrannical school-mistress; and
now, fixing the attention of the company upon the geranium, she appealed to Henry Campbell, and begged
him to explain its history. A number of eager eyes
turned upon him instantly; and Forester felt that if he
had been called upon in such a manner he could not
have uttered a syllable. He now felt the great advantage of being able to speak without hesitation or embarrassment, before numbers. When Henry related the
poor little girl's story, his language and manner were
so unaffected and agreeable that he interested every one
who heard him in his cause. A subscription was immediately raised; every body was eager to contribute
something to the child who had been so ready, for her
old grandmother's sake, to part with her favourite geranium. The lady who superintended the charityschool agreed to breakfast the next morning at Dr.
Campbell's,'and to go from his house to the school
precisely at the hour when the school-mistress usually
set her unfortunate scholars to their extra task of spinning.
Forester was astonished at all this; he did not consider that negligence and inhumanity are widely different. The lady patronesses had, perhaps, been rather
negligent in contenting themselves with seeing the
charity-children show well in procession to church, and
they had not sufficiently inquired into the conduct of the
school-mistress; but as soon as the facts were properly
stated, the ladies were eager to exert themselves, and
candidly acknowledged that they had been to blame in
trusting so much to the reports of the superficial visiters,
who had always declared that the school was going on
perfectly well.
"More people who are in the wrong," said Dr.
Campbell to Forester, "would be corrected, if some
people who are in the right had a little candour and patience joined with their other virtues."
As the company rose from the supper-table, several




FORE STER.                 45
young ladies gathered round the geranium to admire
Flora's pretty flower-pot. The black stains, however,
struck every eye. Forester was standing by, rather embarrassed. Flora, with her usual good-nature, refrained
from all explanation, though the exclamations of " How
was that done?"'-" Who could have done that?" were
frequently repeated.
"It was an accident," said Flora; and, to change
the conversation, she praised the beauty of the geranium;
she gathered one of the fragrant leaves, but as she was
going to put it among the flowers in her bosom, she
observed she had dropped her moss-rose. It was a
rarity at this time of year: it was a rose which, Henry
Campbell had raised in a conservatory of his own construction.
" Oh! rmy brother's beautiful rose! " exclaimed Flora.
Forester, who had been much pleased by her goodnature about the stains on the flower-pot, now, contrary
to his habits, sympathized with her concern for the loss
of her brother's moss-rose. He exerted himself so far
as to search under the benches and under the suppertable. He was fortunate enough to find it; and, eager
to restore the prize, he, with more than his usual gallantry, but not with less than his customary awkwardness, crept from under the table, and, stretching half his
body over the bench, pushed his arm between two
young ladies into the midst of the group which surrounded Flora. As his arm extended his wrist appeared,
and at the sight of that wrist all the young ladies shrank
back with unequivocal tokens of disgust. They whispered-they tittered; and many expressive looks were
lost upon our hero, who still resolutely held out the
hand upon which every eye was fixed. " Here's your
rose! Is not this the rose?" said he, still advancing
the dreaded hand to Flora, whose hesitation and blushes
surprised him. Mackenzie burst into a loud laugh;
and in a whisper, which all the ladies could hear, told
Forester, that "Miss Campbell was afraid to take the
rose out of his hands, lest she should catch from him
what he had caught from the carter who had brought




46              MORAL TALES.
him to Edinburgh, or from some of his companions at
the cobbler's."
Forester flung the rose he knew not where, sprang
over the bench, rushed between Flora and another lady,
made towards the door in a straight line, pushing every
thing before him, till a passage was made for him by
the astonished crowd, who stood out of his way as if
he had been a mad dog.
"Forester!" cried Henry and Dr. Campbell, who
were standing upon the steps before the door, speaking
about the carriages; "What's the matter? Where are
you going? The carriage is coming to the door."
" I had rather walk-don't speak to me," said Forester; " I've been insulted: I am in a passion, but I can
comm'and myself. I did not knock him down. Pray
let me pass!"
Our hero broke from Dr. Campbell and Henry with
the strength of an enraged animal from his keepers;
and he must have found his way home by instinct, for
he ran on without considering how he went. He
snatched the light from the servant who opened the
door at Dr. Campbell's-hurried to his own apartment
-locked, double locked, and bolted the door-flung himself into a chair, and taking breath, exclaimed, "Thank
God! I've done no mischief. Thank God! I didn't knock
him down. Thank God! he is out of my sight, and I
am cool now-quite cool: let me recollect it all."
Upon the coolest recollection, Forester could not reconcile his pride to his present circumstances. " Archibald spoke the truth-why am I angry? why was I
angry, I mean?" He reasoned much with himself
upon the nature of true and false shame: he represented
to himself that the disorder which disfigured his hands
was thought shameful only because it was vulgar; that
what was vulgar was not therefore immoral; that the
young tittering ladies who shrank back from him were
not supreme judges of right and wrong; that he ought
to despise their opinions, and he despised them with all
his might for two or three hours, as he walked up and
down his room with unremitting energy. At length




FORESTER.                  47
our peripatetic philosopher threw himself upon his bed,
determined that his repose should not be disturbed by
such trifles: he had by this time worked himself up to
such a pitch of magnanimity, that he thought he could
with composure meet the disapproving eyes of millions
of his fellow-creatures; but he was alone when he
formed this erroneous estimate of the strength of the
human mind. Wearied with passion and reason, he
fell asleep, dreamed that he was continually presenting
flowers which nobody would accept; awaked at the
imaginary repetition of Archibald's laugh, composed
himself again to sleep, and dreamed that he was in a
glover's shop, trying on gloves, and that among a hundred pair which he pulled on, he could not find one that
would fit him. Just as he tore the last pair in his hurry,
he awaked, shook off his foolish dream, saw the sun
rising between two chimneys many feet below his windows; recollected that in a short time he should be summoned to breakfast; that all the lady-patronesses were
to be at this breakfast; that he could not breakfast in
gloves; that Archibald would perhaps again laugh, and
Flora perhaps again shrink back. He reproached himself for his weakness in foreseeing and dreading this
scene: his aversion to lady-patronesses and to balls was
never at a more formidablle height; he Sighed for liberty
and independence, which he persuaded himself were
not. to be had in his present situation. In one of his
long walks he remembered to have seen, at some miles'
distance from the town of Edinburgh, a gardener and
his boy, who were singing at their work. These men
appeared to Forester to be yet happier than the cobbler
who formerly was the object of his admiration; and he
was persuaded that he should be much happier at the
gardener's cottage than he could ever be at Dr. Campbell's house.
"I am not fit," said he to himself, " to live among idle
gentlemen and ladies; I should be happy if I were a
useful member of society; a gardener is a useful member of society, and I will be a gardener, and live with
gardeners."




48               MORAL TALES.
Forester threw off the clothes which he had worn
the preceding night at the fatal ball, dressed himself in
his old coat, tied up a small bundle of linen, and took
the road to the gardener's.
BRE &KFAST.
When Henry found that Forester was not in his room
in the morning, he concluded that he had rambled out
towards Salisbury Craigs, whither he talked the preceding day of going to botanize.
"I am surprised," said Dr. Campbell, "that the
young gentleman is out so early, for I have a notion
that he has not had much sleep since we parted, unless
he walks in his sleep, for he has been walking over my
poor head half the night."
Breakfast went on —no Forester appeared. Lady Catherine began to fear that he had. broken his neck upon
Salisbury Craigs, and related all the falls she had ever
had, or had ever been near having, in carriages, on
horseback, or otherwise. She. then entered into the
geography of Salisbury Craigs, and began to dispute
upon the probability of his having fallen to the east or
to the west.
" My dear Lady Catherine," said Dr. Campbell, "we
are not sure that he has been upon Salisbury Craigs;
whether he have fallen to the east or to the west, we
cannot, therefore, conveniently settle."
But Lady Catherine, whose prudential imagination
travelled fast, went on to inquire of Dr. Campbell, to
whom the great Forester estate would go in case of any
accident having happened or happening to the young
gentleman before he should come of age.
Dr. Campbell was preparing to give her ladyship satisfaction upon this point, when a servant put a letter into
his hands. HIenry looked in great anxiety. Dr. Camp



FORESTER.                 49
tell glanced his eye over the letter, put it into his
pocket, and desired the servant to show the person who
brought the letter into his study.
" It's only- a little boy," said Archibald; " I saw him
as I passed through the hall."
" Cannot a little boy go into my study?" said Dr.
Campbell, coolly.
Archibald's curiosity was strongly excited, and he
slipped out of the room a few minutes afterward, resolved
to speak to the boy, and to discover the purpose of his
embassy. But Dr. Campbell was behind him before he
was aware of his approach, and just as Archibald began
to. cross-examine the boy in these words, " So you came
from a young man who is about my size!" Dr. Campbell put both his hands upon his shoulders, saying,
" He came from a young man who does not in the least
resemble you, believe me, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie."
Archibald started, turned round, and was so abashed
by the civilly contemptuous look with which Dr. Campbell pronounced these words, that he retired from the
study without even attempting any of his usual equivocating apologies for his intrusion. Dr. Campbell now
read Forester's letter. It was as follows:
" Dear Sir,
"Though I have quitted your house thus abruptly, I
am not insensible of your kindness. For the step I have
taken, I can offer no apology merely to my guardian;
but you have treated me, Dr. Campbell, as your friend,
and I shall lIty my whole soul open to you.
"Notwithstanding your kindness,-notwithstanding
the friendship of your son Henry, whose excellent qualities I know how to value, I most ingenuously own to
you that I have been far from happy in your house. I
feel that I cannot be at ease in the vortex of dissipation;
and the more I see of the higher ranks of society, the
more I regret that I was born a gentleman. Neither my
birth nor my fortune shall, however, restrain me from
pursuing that line of life which, I am persuaded, leads
to virtue and tranquillity. Let those who have no virE




50                MORAL TALES.
tuous indignation obey the voice of fashion, and at her
commands let her slaves eat the bread of idleness till it
palls upon the sense! I reproach myself with having
yielded, as I have done of late, my opinions to the persuasions of friendship; my mind has become enervated,
and I must fly from the fatal contagion. Thank Heaven, I have yet the power to fly: I have yet sufficient
force to break my chains. I am not yet reduced to the
mental degeneracy of the base monarch who hugged
his fetters because they were of gold.
" I am conscious of powers that fit me for something
better than to waste my existence in a ball-room; and I
will not sacrifice my liberty to the absurd ceremonies of
daily dissipation. I, that have been the laughing-stock
of the mean and frivolous, have yet sufficient manly
pride unextinguished in my breast to assert my claim
to your esteem: to assert that I never have committed,
or shall designedly commit, any action unworthy of the
friend of your son.
"I do not write to Henry, lest I should any way involve him in my misfortunes: he is formed to shine in
the polite world, and his connexion with me might tarnish the lustre of his character in the eyes of the' nice
judgingfair.' I hope, however, that he will not utterly
discard me from his heart, though 1 cannot dance a reel.
I beg that he will break open the lock of the trunk that
is in my room, and take out of it my Goldsmith's Animated Nature, which he seemed to like.
"In my table-drawer there are my Martyn's Letters
on Botany, in which you will find a number of plants
that I have dried for Flora —JMiss Flora Campbell, I
should say. After what passed last night, I can scarcely
hope they will be accepted. I would rather have them
burned than refused; therefore please to burn them, and
say nothing more upon the subject. Dear Sir, do not
judge harshly of me; I have had a severe conflict with
myself before I could resolve to leave you. But I would
rather that you should judge of me with severity than
that you should extend to me the same species of indul



FORESTER.                  51
gence with which you last night viewed the half-intoxicated baronet.
"I can bear any thing but contempt,
" Yours, &c.
"P. S. I trust that you will not question the bearer;
he knows where I am; I therefore put you on your
guard. I mean to earn my own bread as a gardener; I
have always preferred the agricultural to the commercial
system.
To this letter, in which the mixture of sense and
extravagance did not much surprise Dr. Campbell, he
returned the following answer:" My dear cobbler, gardener, orator, or by whatever
other name you choose to be addressed, I am too old to
be surprised at any thing, otherwise I might have been
rather surprised at some things in your eloquent letter.
You tell me that you have the power to fly, and that
you do not hug your chains, though they are of gold!
Are you an alderman, or Dedalus? or are these only
figures of speech? You inform me that you cannot
live in the vortex of dissipation, or eat the bread of idleness, and that you are determined to be a gardener.
These things seem to have no necessary connexion with
each other. Why you should reproach yourself so bitterly for having spent one evening of your life in a ballroom, which I suppose is what you allude to when you
speak of a vortex of dissipation, I am at a loss to discover. And why you cannot, with so much honest
pride yet unextinguished in your breast, find any occupation more worthy of your talents, and as useful to
society as that of a gardener, I own puzzles me a little.
Consider these things coolly; return to dinner, and we
will compare at our leisure the advantages of the mercantile and the agricultural system. I forbear to question your messenger, as you desire; and I shall not
show your letter to Henry till after we have dined. I
hope by that time you will insist upon my burning it;
which, at your request, I shall do with pleasure, al



52                MORAL TALES.
though it contains several good sentences. As I am not
yet sure you have departed this life, I shall not enter
upon my office of executor; I shall not break open the
lock of your trunk (of which I hope you will some
time, when your mind is less exalted, find the key), nor
shall I stir in the difficult case of Flora's legacy. When
next you write your will, let me, for the sake of your
executor, advise you to be more precise in your direc —
tions; for what can be done if you order him to give
and burn the same thing in the same sentence?'As you
have, among your other misfortunes, the misfortune to
be born heir to five or six thousand a year, you should
learn a little how to manage your own affairs, lest you
should, among yourpoor or rich companions, meet with
some who are not quite so honest as yourself..
" If, instead of returning to dine with us, you should
persist in your gardening scheme, I shall have less
esteem for your good sense, but I shall forbear to reproach you. I shall leave you to learn by your own
experience, if it be not in my power to give you the
advantages of mine gratis. But, at the same time, I shall
discover where you are, and shall inform myself exactly
of all your proceedings. This, as your guardian, is my
duty. I should further warn you, that I shall not, while
you choose to live in a rank below your own, supply
you with your customary yearly allowance. Two hundred guineas a year would be an extravagant allowance
in your present circumstances. I do not mention money
with any idea of influencing your generous mind by
mercenary motives; but it is necessary that you should
not deceive yourself by inadequate experiments: you
cannot be rich and poor at the same time. I gave you
the day before yesterday five ten-pound notes for your
last quarterly allowance; I suppose you have taken
these with you, therefore you cannot be in any immediate distress for money. I am sorry, I own, that you
are so well provided, because a man who has fifty
guineas in his pocket-book cannot distinctly feel what
it is to be compelled to earn his own bread.
" Do not, my dear ward, think me harsh; my frienfI



FORESTER.                   53
ship for you gives me courage to inflict present pain
with a view to your future advantage. You must not
expect to see any thing of your friend Henry until you
return to us. I shall, as his father and your guardian,
request that he will trust implicitly to my prudence upon
this occasion; that he will make no inquiries concerning you; and that he will abstain from all connexion
with you while you absent yourself from your friends.
You cannot live among the vulgar (by the vulgar I
mean the ill-educated, the ignorant, those who have
neither noble sentiments nor agreeable manners), and
at the same time enjoy the pleasures of cultivated society. I shall wait, not without anxiety, till your choice
be decided.
"Believe me to be
"Your. sincere friend and guardian,
" H. CAMPBELL."
As soon as Dr. Campbell had despatched this letter
he returned to the company. The ladies, after breakfast, proceeded to the charity-school; but Henry was
so anxious to learn what was become of his friend Forester, that he could scarcely enjoy the effects of his
own benovolent exertions. It was with difficulty, such
as he had never before experienced, that Dr. Campbell
obtained from him the promise to suspend all intercourse with Forester. Henry's first impulse when he
read the letter, which his father now found it prudent
to show him, was to search for his friend instantly.
"I am sure," said he, " I shall be able to find him out;
and, if I can but see him and speak to him, I know I
could prevail upon him to return to us."
"Yes," said Dr. Campbell, "perhaps you might
persuade him to return; but that is not the object: unless his understanding be convinced, what should we
gain?'
" It should be convinced. I could convince him,"
cried Henry.
" I have, my dear son," said Dr. Campbell, smiling,
"the highest opinion of your logic and eloquence; but
E 2




54                MORAL TALES.
are your reasoning powers stronger to-day than they
were yesterday. Have you any new arguments to
produce? I thought you had exhausted your whole
store without effect."
Henry paused.
"Believe me," continued his father, lowering his
voice, "I am not insensible to your friend's good, and,
I will say, great qualities; I do not leave him to suffer
evils without feeling as much perhaps as you can do;
but I am convinced that the solidity of his character
and the happiness of his whole life will depend upon
the impression that is now made upon his mind by realities. He will see society as it is. He has abilitiy
and generosity of mind which will make him a firstrate character, if his friends do not spoil him out of false
kindness."
Henry, at these words, held out his hand to his father, and gave him the promise which he desired.
"But," added he, "I still have hopes from your letter,-I should not be surprised to see Forester at dinner
to-day."
" I should," said Dr. Campbell.
Dr. Campbell, alas! was right. Henry looked eagerly towards the door every time it opened when they
were at dinner; but he was continually disappointed.
Flora, whose gayety usually enlivened the evenings,
and agreeably relieved her father and brother after their
morning studies, was now silent.
While Lady Catherine's volubility overpowered even
the philosophy of Dr. Campbell, she wondered-she
never ceased wondering —that Mr. Forester did not appear; and that the doctor and Mrs. Campbell, and Henrv
and Flora were not more alarmed. She proposed sending twenty different messengers after him. She was
now convinced that he had not fallen from Salisbury
Craigs, because Dr. Campbell assured her ladyship that
he had a letter from him in his pocket, and that he was
safe; but she thought that there was imminent danger
of his enlisting in a frolic, or, perhaps, marrying some
cobbler's daughter in a pet. She turned to Archibald




FORESTER.                     65
Mackenzie, and exclaimed, " He was at a cobbler's!. it
could not be merely to mend his shoes. What sort of
a lassy is the cobbler's daughter? or has the cobbler
a daughter?"
"She is hump-backed, luckily," said Dr. Campbell,
coolly.
"That does not signifv," said Lady Catherine; I'm
convinced she is at the bottom of the whole mystery;
for I once heard Mr. Forester say-and I'm sure you
must recollect it, Flora, my dear, for he looked at you
at the time-I once heard him say that personal beauty
was no merit, and that ugly people ought to be likedor some suih thing —out of humanity. Now, out of
humanity, with his odd notions, it's ten to one, Dr.
Campbell, he marries this cobbler's hump-backed daughter. I'm sure, if I was his guardian, I could not rest an
instant with such a thought in my head."
"Nor I," said Dr. Campbell, quietly; and in spite of
her ladyship's astonishment, remonstrances, and conjectures, he maintained his resolute composure.
THE GARDENER.
The gardener who had struck Forester's fancy was a
square, thick, obstinate-eyed, hard-working, ignorant,
elderly man, whose soul was intent upon his petty daily
gains, and whose honesty was of that " coarse-spun,
vulgar sort"" which alone can be expected from men of
uncultivated minds. Mr. MI'Evoy, for that was the cardener's name, was both good-natured and selfish; his
views and ideas all centred in his own family; and his
affection was accumulated and reserved for two individuals,-his son and his daulhter. The son was not so
industrious as the father; he was ambitious of seeing
something of the world, and he consorted with all the
* Mrs. Barbauld's "Essay on the Inconsistency of IIuman Wishes."




56                MORAL TALES.
young'prentices in Edinburgh who would condescend
to forget that he was a country boy, and to remember
that he expected, when his father should die, to be rich.
Mr. M'Evoy's daughter was an ugly, cross-looking girl,
who spent all the money that she could either earn or
save upon ribands and fine gowns, with which she fancied she could supply all the defects of her person.
This powerful motive for her economy operated incessantly upon her mind, and she squeezed all that could
possibly be squeezed for her private use from the frugal
household. The boy whose place Forester thought himself so fortunate to supply had left the gardener because
he could not bear to work and be scolded without eating
or drinking.
The gardener willingly complied with our hero's first
request; he gave him a spade, and he set him to work.
Forester dug with all the energy of an enthusiast, and
dined like a philosopher upon long kail; but long kail
did not charm him so much the second day as it had
done the first; and the third day it was yet less to his
taste; besides, he began to notice the difference between
oaten and wheaten bread. He however recollected that
Cyrus lived, when he was a lad, upon water-cresses,the black broth of the Spartans he likewise remembered,
and he would not complain. He thought that he should
soon accustom himself to his scanty homely fare. A
number of the disagreeable circumstances of poverty he
had not estimated when he entered upon his new way
of life; and though at Dr. Campbell's table he had often
said to himself, "I could do very well without all these
things," yet, till he had actually tried the experiment,
he had not clear ideas upon the subject. He missed a
number of little pleasures and conveniences which he
had scarcely noticed while they had every day presented
themselves as matters of course. The occupation of
digging was laborious, but it afforded no exercise to his
mind, and he felt most severely the want cf Henry's
agreeable conversation; he had no one to whom he
could now talk of the water-cresses of Cyrus,.or the
black broth of the Spartans; he had no one with whom




FORESTER.                    57
he could dispute concerning the Stoic or the Epicurean
doctrines, the mercantile or the agricultural system.
Many objections to the agricultural system which had
escaped him occurred now to his mind; and his compassion for the worms, whom he was obliged to cut in
pieces continually with his spade, acted every hour
more forcibly upon his benevolent heart. He once attempted to explain his feelings for the worms to the
gardener, who stared at him with all the insolence of
ignorance, and bade him mind his work with a tone of
authority which ill suited Forester's feelings and love
of independence.
"Is ignorance thus to command knowledge? Is
reason thus to be silenced by boorish stupidity?" said
Forester to himself, as he recollected the patience and
candour with which Dr. Campbell and Henry used to
converse with him. He began to think that in cultivated
society he had enjoyed more liberty of mind, more
freedom of opinion, than he could taste in the company
of an illiterate gardener. The gardener's son, though
his name was Colin, had no Arcadian simplicity, nothing
which could please the classic taste of Forester, or
which could recall to his mind the Eclogues of Virgil,
or the Golden Age; the Gentle Shepherd, or the Ayrshire Ploughman. Colin's favourite holiday diversion
was playing at goff: this game, which is played with a
bat loaded with lead, and with a ball which is harder than
a cricket-ball, requires much strength and dexterity. Forester used sometimes to accompany the gardener's son
to the Links,* where numbers of people of different descriptions are frequently seen practising this diversion.
Our hero was ambitious of excelling at the game of goff;
and, as he was not particularly adroit, he exposed himself, in his first attempts, to the derision of the spectators, and he likewise received several severe blows.
Colin laughed at him without mercy; and Forester
could not help comparing the rude expressions of his
new zompanion's untutored vanity with the unassum* A lea or common near Edinburgh.




58               MORAL TALES.
ing manners and unaffected modesty of Henry Campbell. Forester soon took an aversion to the game of
goff, and recollected Scotch reels with less contempt.
One evening, after having finished his task of digging (for digging was now become a task), he was going to take a walk to Duddingstone lake; when Colin,
who was at the same iristant setting out for the Links,
roughly insisted upon Forester's accompanying him.
Our hero, who was never much disposed to yield to
the taste of others, positively refused the gardener's son,
with some imprudent expressions of contempt. From
this moment Colin became his enemy, and, by a thousand malicious devices, contrived to show his vulgar
hatred.
Forester now, to his great surprise, discovered that
hatred could exist in a cottage. Female vanity, he likewise presently perceived, was not confined to the precincts of a ball-room; he found that Miss M'Evoy spent
every leisure moment in the contemplation of her own
coarse image in a fractured looking-glass. He once ventured to express his disapprobation of a many-coloured
plaid in which Miss M'Evoy had arrayed herself for
a dance; and the filry of her looks, and the loud-toned
vulgarity of her conceit, were strongly contrasted with
the recollection of Flora Campbell's gentle manners and
sweetness of temper. The painted flower-pot was present to his imagination, and he turned from the lady who
stood befobre him with an air of disgust which he had
neither the wish nor the power to conceal. The consequences of offending this high-spirited damsel our hero
had not sufficiently considered: the brother and sister,
who seldom agreed in any thing else, now agreed, though
from different motives, in an eager desire to torment
Forester. Whenever he entered the cottage, either to
rest himself or to partake of those "savoury messes
which the neat-handed Phillis dresses," he was received with sullen silence, or with taunting reproach.
The old gardener, stupid as he was, Forester thought
an agreeable companion compared with his insolent son
and his vixen daughter. The happiest hours of the day




FORESTER.                  59
to our hero were those which he spent at his work; his
affections, repressed and disappointed, became a source
of misery to him.
1" Is there nothing in the world to which I can attach
myself?" said Forester, as he one day leaned upon his
spade in a melancholy mood. " Must I spend my life
in the midst of absurd altercations? Is it for this that I
have a heart and an understanding? No one here comprehends one word I say-I am an object of contempt
and hatred, while my soul is formed for the most benevolent feelings, and capable of the most extensive views.
And of what service am I to my fellow-creatures?
Even this stupid gardener, even a common labourer, is
as useful to society as I am! Compared with Henry
Campbell what am  I?  Oh, Henry! —Flora!-could
you see me at this instant you would-pity me!"
But the fear of being an object of pity wakened Forester's pride; and though he felt that he was unhappy,
he could not bear to acknowledge that he had mistaken
the road to happiness. His imaginary picture of rural
felicity was not, to be sure, realized; but he resolved to
bear his disappointment with fortitude, to fulfil his engagements with his master the gardener, and then to
seek some other more eligible situation. In the mean
time his benevolence tried to expand itself upon the
only individual in this family who treated him tolerably
well: he grew fond of the old gardener, because there
was nothing else near him to which he could attach himself, not even a dog or a cat. The old man, whose ternper was not quite so enthusiastical as Forester's, looked
upon him as an industrious simple young man, above
the usual class of servants, and rather wished to keep
him in his service, because he gave him less than the
current wages. Forester, after his late reflections upon
digging, began to think that, by applying his understanding to the business of gardening, he might perhaps make some discoveries which should excite his
master's everlasting gratitude, and immortalize his own
name. He pledged a shirt and a paIr of stockings at a
poor bookseller's stall for some volumes upon garden



60                MORAL TALES.
ing; and these, in spite of the ridicule of Colin and
Miss M'Evoy, he studied usually at his meals. He at
length met with an account of some experiments upon
fruit-trees, which he thought would infallibly make the
gardener's fortune.
" Did you not tell me," said Forester to the gardener,
"that cherries were sometimes sold very high in Edinburgh?"
" Five a penny," said the gardener; and he wished,
from the bottom of his heart, that he had a thousand
cherry-trees, but he possesed only one.
He was considerably alarmed when Forester proposed
to him, as the certain means of making his fortune, to
strip the bark off'this cherry-tree, assuring him that a
similar experiment had been tried and had succeeded;
that his cherry-tree would bear twice as many cherries
if he would only strip the bark from it. "Let me try
one branch for an experiment,-I will try one branch."
But the gardener peremptorily forbade all experiments; and, shutting Forester's book, bade him leave
such nonsense and mind his business.
Provoked by this instance of tyrannical, ignorance,
Forester forgot his character of a servant boy, and at
length called his master an obstinate fool.
No sooner were these words uttered than the gardener
emptied the remains of his watering-pot coolly in Forester's face; and, first paying him his wages, dismissed
him from his service.
Miss M'Evoy, who was at work, seated at the door,
made room most joyfully for Forester to pass, and observed that she had long since prophesied he would not
do for them.
Forester was now convinced that it was impossible to
reform a positive old gardener, to make him try new experirnents upon cherry-trees, or to interest him for the
progress of science. He deplored the perversity of human nature, and he began, when he reflected upon the
characters of Miss M'Evoy and her brother, to believe
that they were beings distinct from the rest of their species; he was, at all events, glad to have parted with




FORESTER.                   61
such odious companions. On his road to Edinburgh he
had time for various reflections.
"Thirty shillings, then, with hard bodily labour, I
have earned for one month's service!" said Forester to
himself.  "Well, I will keep to my resolution. I will
live upon the money I earn, and upon that alone; I will
not have recourse to my bank notes till the last extremity." He took out his pocket-book, however, and looked
at them, to see that they were safe. " How wretched,"
thought he, "must be that being who is obliged to purchase, in his utmost need, the assistance of his fellowcreatures with such vile trash as this! I have been unfortunate in my first experiment; but all men are not
like this selfish gardener and his brutal son,-incapable
of disinterested friendship."
Here Forester was interrupted in his meditations by a
young man, who accosted him  with "Sir, if I don't
mistake, I believe I have a key of' yours."
Forester looked up at the young man's face, and recollected him to be the person who had nearly lost his
life in descending for his key into the brewing-vat.
"I knew you again, sir," continued the brewer's
clerk, "by your twirling those scissors upon your finger,
just as you were doing that day at the brewery."
Forester was not conscious till this moment that he
had a pair of scissors in his hand; while the gardener
was paying him his wages, to relieve his maunvaise honte,
our hero took up Miss M'Evoy's scissors, which lay
upon the table, and twirled them upon his fingers, as he
used to do with a kev. He was rather ashamed to perceive that he had not yet cured himself of such a silly habit. " I thought the lesson I got at the brewery," said
he, " would have cured me for ever of this foolish trick;
but the diminutive chains of Hlabit,* as somebody says,
are scarcely ever heavy enough to be felt till they are
too strong to be broken."
" Sir!" said the astonished clerk.
" O, I beg your pardon," said our hero, who now per*Dr. Johnson's Vision of Theodore.
F




632              MORAL TALES.
ceived by his countenance that his observation on the
peculiar nature of the chains of habit was utterly unintelligible to him; "pray, sir, can you tell me what
o'clock it is?"
"Half-after-four-I amsir," said the clerk, producing his watch, with the air of a man who thought
a watch a matter of some importance. "Hum! he
can't be a gentleman; he has no watch!" argued he
with himself'; and he looked at Forester's rough apparel
with astonishment. Forester had turned back, that he
might return Miss M'Evoy her scissors. The brewer's
clerk was going in the same direction to collect some
money for his master. As they walked on, the young
man talked to our hero with good-nature, but with'a
species of familiarity which was strikingly different from
the respectful manner in which he formerly addressed
Forester, when he had seen him in a better coat, and in
the company of a young gentleman.
" You have left Dr. Campbell's then?" said he,
looking with curiosity. Forester replied that he had
left Dr. Campbell's, because he preferred earning his
own bread to living an idle life among gentlemen and
ladies.
The clerk, at this speech, looked earnestly in Forester's face, and began to suspect that he was deranged
in his mind.
As the gravity of our hero's looks and the sobriety
of his demeanour did not give any strong indications of
insanity, the clerk, after a few minutes' consideration,
inclined to believe that Forester concealed the truth
from him: that probably he was some dependant of Dr.
Campbell's family: that he had displeased his friends,
and had been discarded in disgrace. He was confirmed
in these suppositions by Forester's telling him, that he
had just left the service of a gardener; that he did not
know where to find a lodging for the night; and that
he was in want of some employment, by which he
might support himself independently.
The clerk, who remembered with gratitude the intrepidity with which Forester had hazarded his life to save




FORESTER.                  63
him the morning that he was at the brewery, and who
had also some compassion for a young gentleman reduced to poverty, told him that if he could write a good
hand, knew any thing of accounts, and could get a
character for punctuality (meaning to include honesty
in this word) fromn any creditable people, he did not
doubt that his master, who had large concerns, might
find employment for him as an under-clerk. Forester's
pride was not agreeably soothed by the manner of this
proposal, but he was glad to hear of a situation, to use
the clerk's genteel expression; and he moreover thought
that he should now have an opportunity of comparing
the commercial and agricultural systems.
The clerk hinted that he supposed Forester would
choose to "make himself smart" before he called to
offer himself at the brewery, and advised him to call
about six, as by that time in the evening his master was
generally at leisure.
A dinner at a public-house (for our hero did not know
where else to dine), and the further expense of a new
pair of shoes, and some other articles of dress, almost
exhausted his month's wages: he was very unwilling
to make any of these purchases, but the clerk assured
him that they were indispensable; and, indeed, at last
his appearance was scarcely upon a par with that of
his friendly adviser.
THE BET.
Before we follow Forester to the brewery, we must
request the attention of our readers to the history of a
bet of Mr. Archibald Mackenzie's.
We have already. noticed the rise and progress of
this young gentleman's acquaintance with Sir Philip
Gosling. Archibald,




64                MORAL TALE S.
"Whose ev'ry frolic had some end in view,
Ne'er play'd the fool but play'd the rascal too."*
cultivated assiduously the friendship of this weak, dissipated, vain young baronet, in hopes that he might in
process of time make some advantage of his folly. Sir
Philip had an unfortunately high opinion of his own
judgment; an opinion which he sometimes ibund it
difficult to inculcate upon the minds of others, till he hit
upon the compendious method of laying high wages in
support of all his assertions. Few people chose to
venture a hundred guineas upon the turn of a straw.
Sir Philip, in all such contests, came off victorious;
and he plumed himself much upon the success of his
purse. Archibald affected the greatest deference for Sir
Philip's judgment; and as he observed that the baronet
piqued himself upon his skill as a jockey, he flattered
him indefatigably upon this subject. He accompanied
Sir Philip continually in his long visits to the liverystables; and he made himself familiarly acquainted with
the keeper of the livery-stables, and even with the
hostlers. So low can interested pride descend! All this
pains Archibald took, and more-for a very small
object. He had set his fancy upon Sawney, one of
his friend's.horses; and he had no doubt but that he
should either induce Sir Philip to make him a present
of this horse, or that he should jockey him out of it, by
some well-timed bet.
In counting upon the baronet's generosity Archibald
was mistaken. Sir Philip had that species of good nature which can lend, but not that which can give. He
offered to lend the horse to Archibald most willingly;
but the idea of giving it was far distant from his imagination. Archibald, who at length despaired of his
friend's generosity, had recourse to his other scheme of
the wager. After having judiciously lost a few guineas
to Sir Philip in wagers, to confirm him in his extravagant opinion of his own judgment, Archibald, one
evening, when the fumes of wine and vanity, operating
together, had somewhat exalted the man of judgment's
* Anonymous.




FORESTER.                  65
imagination, urged him by artful, hesitating contradiction, to assert the most incredible things of one of his
horses, to whom he had given the name of Favourite.
Archibald knew, from  the best authority-from  the
master of the livery-stables, who was an experienced
jockey-that Favourite was by no means a match for
Sawney; he therefore waited quietly till Sir Philip
Gosling laid a very considerable wager upon. the head
of his "Favourite."  Archibald immediately declared
he could not, in conscience-that he could not, for the
honour of Scotland, give up his friend Sawney.
" Sawney!" cried Sir Philip; " I'll bet fifty guineas
that Favourite beats him hollow at a walk, trot, or
gallop, whichever you please."
Archibald artfully affected to be startled at this defiance; and, seemingly desirous to draw back, pleaded
his inability to measure purses with such a rich man as
Sir Philip.
"Nay, my boy," replied Sir Philip, "that excuse
sha'n't stand you in stead. You have a pretty little
pony there, that Lady Catherine has just given you; if
you won't lay me fifty guineas, will you risk your pony
against my judgment?"
Archibald had now brought his friend exactly to the
point at which he had been long aiming. Sir Philip
staked his handsome horse Sawney against Archibald's
sorry pony, upon this wager, that Favourite should, at
the first trials, beat Sawney at a walk, a trot, and a
gallop.
Warmed with wine, and confident in his own judgment, the weak baronet insisted upon having the bet
immediately decided. The gentlemen ordered out their
horses, and the wager was to be determined upon the
sands of Leith.
Sir Philip Gosling, to his utter astonishment, found
himself for once mistaken in his judgment.  The
treacherous Archibald coolly suffered him to exhale his
passion in unavailing oaths, and at length rejoiced to
hear him consoling himself with the boast that this was.
the first wager upon horse-flesh that he had ever lost
F2




66               MORAL TALES.
in his life. The master of the livery-stables stared with
well-affected incredulity, when Sir Philip, upon his
return from  the sands of Leith, infbrmed him  that
Favourite had been beat hollow by Sawney; and Archibald, by his additional testimony, could scarcely convince him of' the fact till he put twvo guineas into his
hand, when he recommended his new horse Sawney to
his particular care. Sir Philip, who was not gifted with
quick observation, did not take notice of this last convincing argument. While this passed, he was talking
eagerly to the hostler, who confirmed him in his opinion,
which he still repeated as loud as ever, " that Favourite
ought to have won." This point Archibald prudently
avoided to contest; and he thus succeeded in duping
and flattering his friend at once.
"Sawney for ever!" cried Archibald, as soon as Sir
Philip had left the stables. "Sawney for ever!" repeated the hostler, and reminded Mackenzie that he had
promised him half a guinea. Archibald had no money
in his pocket; but he assured the hostler that he would
remember him the next day. The next day, however,
Archibald, who was expert in parsimonious expedients,
considered that he had better delay giving the hostler
his half-guinea till it had been earned by his care of
Sawney.
It is the usual error of cunning people to take it for
granted that others are fools. This hostler happened to
be a match for our young laird in cunning; and as
soon as he perceived that it was Archibald's intention
to cheat him of the interest of his half-guinea, he determined to revenge himself in his care of Sawney. We
shall hereafter see the success of his devices.
TIIE SADDLE AND BRIDLE.
Scarcely had Archibald Mackenzie been two days in
possession of the long-wished-for object of his mean




FORESTER.                  67
soul, when he became dissatisfied with his own saddle
and bridle, which certainly did not, as Sir Philip observed, suit his new horse. The struggles in Archibald's mind, between his taste for expense and his habits
of saving, were often rather painful to him. He had
received from Lady Catherine a ten-guinea note when
he first came to Dr. Campbell's; and he had withstood
many temptations to change it. One morning (the day
that he had accompanied Henry and Forester to the
watchmaker's) he was so strongly charmed by the
sight of a watch-chain and seals, that he actually took
his bank-note out of his scrutoire at his return home,
put it into his pocket when he dressed for dinner, and
resolved to call that evening at the watchmaker's, to indulge his fancy by purchasing the watch-chain, and to
gratify his family pride by getting his coat-of-arms
splendidly engraven upon the seal. He called at the
watchmaker's, in company with Sir Philip Gosling, but
he could not agree with him respecting the price of the
chain and seals; and Archibald consoled himself with
the reflection that his bank-note would still remain. He
held the note in his hand while he higgled about the
price of the watch chain.
"Oh, d-n the expense!" cried Sir Philip.
"Oh, I mind ten guineas as little as any man," said
Archibald, thrusting the bank-note, in imitation of the
baronet, with affected carelessness, into his waistcoat
pocket. He was engaged that night to go to the play
with Sir Philip, and he was much hurried in dressing.
His servant observed that his waistcoat was stained, and
looked out another for him.
Now this man sometimes took the liberty of wearing
his master's clothes; and, when Archibald went to the
play, the servant dressed himself in the stained waistcoat, to appear at a ball which was given that night in
the neighbourhood, by some "gentleman's gentleman."~
The waistcoat was rather too tight for the servant: he
tore it; and, instead df sending i.t to the washerwoman's
to have the stain washed out, as his master had desired,




68               MORAL TALES.
he was now obliged to send it to the tailor's to have it
mended.
Archibald's sudden wish for a new saddle and bridle
for Sawney could not be gratified without changing the
bank-note; and, forgetting that he had left it in the
pocket of his waistcoat the night that he went to the
play, he searched for it in the scrutoire, in which he
was accustomed to keep his treasures. He was greatly
disturbed when the note was not to be found in the
scrutoire; he searched over and over again; not a
pidgeon-hole, not a drawer remained to be examined.
He tried to recollect when he had last seen it, and at
length remembered that he put it into his waistcoat
pocket when he went to the watchmaker's; that he had
taken it out to look at while he was in the shop; but
whether he had brought it home safely or i4Ot he could
not precisely ascertain. His doubts upon this subject,
however, he cautiously concealed, resolved, if possible,
to make somebody or other answerable for his loss.
He summoned his servant, told him that he had left a
ten-guinea bank-note in his waistcoat pocket the night
that he went to the' play; and that as the waistcoat
was given into his charge, he must be answerable for
the note. The servant boldly protested that he neither
could nor would be at the loss of a note which he had
never seen.
Archibald now softened his tone; for he saw that he
had no chance of bullying the servant. " I desired you
to send it to the washerwoman's," said he.
"And so I did, sir," said the man.
This was true, but not the whole truth. He had
previously sent the waistcoat to the tailor's to have the
rent repaired which it received the night he wore it at
the ball. These circumstances the servant thought
proper to suppress; and he was very ready to agree
with his master in accusing the poor washerwoman of
having stolen the note. The washerwoman was extremely industrious, and perfectly honest; she had a
large family, that depended upon her labour and upon
her character for support. She was astonished and




FORESTER.                  69
shocked at the charge that was brought against her;
and declared, that, ift' she were able, she would rather
pay the whole money at once than suffer any suspicion
to go abroad against her. Archibald rejoiced to find
her in this disposition; and he assured her that the only
method to avoid disgrace, a lawsuit, and ruin, was instantly to pay, or to promise to pay, the money. It
was out of her power to pay it; and she would not
promise what she knew she could not perform.
Archibald redoubled his threats; the servant stood by
his master. The poor woman burst into tears, but she
steadily declared that she was innocent; and no promise could be extorted from her, even in the midst of
her terror. Though she had horrible, perhaps not absolutely visionary, ideas of the dangers of a lawsuit,
yet she had some confidence in the certainty that justice
was on her side. Archibald said that she might talk
about justice as much as she pleased, but that she must
prepare to submit to the law. The woman trembled
at the sound of these words; but, though ignorant,
she was no fool, and she had a friend in Dr. Campbell's family, to whom she resolved to apply in her distress. Henry Campbell had visited her little boy when
he was ill, and had made him some small present; and
though she did not mean to encroach upon Henry's
good-nature, she thought that he had so much learning,
that he certainly could, without its costing her any
thing, put her in the right way to avoid the law, with
which she had been threatened by Archibald Mackenzie
and his servant.
Henry heard the story with indignation, such as
Forester would have felt in similar circumstances; but
prudence tempered his enthusiastic feelings; and prudence renders us able to assist others, while enthusiasm
frequently defeats its own purposes, and injures those
whom  it wildly attempts to serve. Henry, knowing
the character of Archibald, governed himself accordingly; he made no appeal to his feelings; for he saw
that the person must be deficient in humanity who
could have threatened a defenceless woman with such




70               MORAL TALES.
severity; he did not speak of justice to the tyrannical
laird, but spoke of law. He told Archibald, that being
thoroughly convinced of the woman's innocence, he
had drawn up a statement of her case, which she, in
compliance with his advice, was ready to lay before an
advocate, naming the first counsel in Edinburgh.
The young laird repeated, with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion, "Drawn up a case! No; you
can't know how to draw up cases; you are not a lawyer-you only say this to bully me."
Henry replied, that he was no lawyer; that he could,
notwithstanding, state plain facts in such a manner, he
hoped, as to make a case intelligible to any sensible
lawyer; that he meant to show what he had written to
his father.
" You'll show it to me first, won't you?" said Archibald, who wished to gain time for consideration.
Henry put the paper which he had drawn up into
his hands, and waited with a determined countenance
beside him, while he perused the case. Archibald
saw that Henry had abilities and steadiness to go
through with the business; the facts were so plainly
and forcibly stated that his hopes even from law began
to falter. He therefore talked about humanity-said
he pitied the poor woman; could not bear to think of
distressing her; but that, at the same time, he had
urgent occasion for money; that if he could even recover five guineas of it, it would be something. He
added, that he had debts which he could not, in honour,
delay to discharge.
Now, Henry had five guineas, which he had reserved
for the purchase of some additions to his cabinet of
mineralogy, and he offered to lend this money to
Archibald, to pay the debts that he could not, in honour,
delay to discharge, upon express condition that he should
say nothing more to the poor woman concerning the
bank-note.
To this condition Archibald most willingly acceded;
and as Henry, with generous alacrity, counted the five
guineas into his hand, this mean, incorrigible being saia




FORESTER.                  71
to himself, " What fools these bookish young men are,
after all! Though he can draw up cases so finely, I've
taken him in at last; and I wish it was ten guineas, instead of five!"
Fatigued with the recital of the various petty artifices
of this avaricious and dissipated young laird, we shall
now relieve ourselves by turning from the history of
meanness to that of enthusiasm. The faults of Forester we hope and wish to see corrected; but who can
be interested for the selfish Archibald Mackenzie?
FORESTER A CLERK.
We left Forester, when he was just going to offer
himself as clerk to a brewer. The brewer was a prudent man; and he sent one of his porters with a letter
to Dr. Campbell, to inform him that a young lad, whom
he had formerly seen in company with Mr. Henry
Campbell, and who, he understood, was the doctor's
ward, had applied to him, and that he should be very
happy to take him into his service, if his friends approved of it, and could properly recommend him. In
consequence of Dr. Campbell's answer to the brewer's
letter, Forester, who knew nothing of the application
to his friends, obtained the vacant clerkship. He did
not, however, long continue in his new situation. At
first, he felt happy, when he found himself relieved
from the vulgar petulance of Miss M'Evoy and her
brother Colin: in comparison with their rude ill-humours, the clerks who were his companions appeared
patterns of civility. By hard experience, Forester was
taught to know that obliging manners in our companions add something to the happiness of our lives. " My
mind to me a kingdom is," was once his common
answer to all that his friend Henry could urge in
favour of the pleasures of society; but he began now




72                MORAL TALES.
to suspect that, separated fromn social intercourse, his
mind, however enlarged, would afford him but a dreary
kingdom.
He flattered himself that he could make a friend of
the clerk who had found his key: this young man's
name was Richardson; he was good-natured, but ignorant; and neither his education nor his abilities distinguished him from any other clerk in similar circumstances. Forester invited him to walk to Arthur's Seat,
after the monotonous business of the day was over, but
the clerk preferred walking on holidays in Prince's
street; and, after several ineffectual attempts to engage
him in moral and metaphysical arguments, our hero
discovered the depth of his companion's ignorance with
astonishment. Once, when he found that two of the
clerks, to whom he had been talking of Cicero and Pliny,
did not know any thing of these celebrated personages,
he said, with a sigh.
"But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrol;
Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of their soul."
The word penury, in this stanza, the clerks at least
understood, and it excited their "noble rage;" they
hinted that it ill became a person who did not dress
nearly as well as themselves to give himself such airs,
and to taunt his betters with poverty; they said that
they supposed, because he was an Englishman, as they
perceived by his accent, he thought he might insult
Scotchmen as he pleased. It was vain for him to attempt any explanation; their pride and their prejudices
combined against him; and, though their dislike to him
was not so outrageous as that of the gardener, gentle
Colin, yet it was quite sufficient to make him uneasy
in his situation. Richardson was as steady as could
reasonably be expected; but he showed so little desire
to have " the ample page, rich with the spoils of time,"
unrolled to him, that he excited our young scholar's
contempt. No friendships can be more unequal than
those between ignorance and knowledge. We pass




FORESTER.                   73
over the journal of our hero's hours which were spent
in casting up and verifying accounts; tnis occupation,
at length, he decided must be extremely injurious to
the human understanding: "All the higher faculties
of my soul," said he to himselt," are absolutely useless
at this work, and I am reduced to a mere machine."
But there were many other circumstances, in the mercantile system, which Forester had not foreseen, and
which shocked him. extremely. The continual attention to petty gain, the little artifices which a tradesman
thinks himself justifiable in practising upon his customers, could not be endured by his ingenuous mind.
One morning the brewery was in an uncommon bustle;
the clerks were all in motion. Richardson told Forester
that they expected a visit in a few hours from the gauger
and the supervisor, and that they were preparing for
their reception. When the nature of these preparations
was explained to Forester; when he was made to understand that the business and duty of a brewer's clerk
was to assist his master in evading certain clauses in
certain acts of parliament; when he found that to trick
a gauger was thought an excellent joke, he stood in
silent moral astonishment. He knew about as much
of the revenue laws as the clerks did of Cicero and
Pliny; but his sturdy principles of integrity could not
bend to any of the arguments, founded on expediency,
which were brought by his companions in their own
and their master's justification. He declared that he
must speak to his master upon the subject immediately.
His master was as busy as he could possibly be; and
when Forester insisted upon seeing him, he desired
that he would speak as quickly as he could, for that he
expected the supervisor every instant. Our hero declared that he could not, consistently with his principles, assist in evading the laws of his country. The
brewer stared, and then laughed; assured him that he
had as great a respect for the laws as other people; that
he did nothing but what every person in his situation
was obliged to do in their own defence. Forester resolutely persisted in his determination against all clandesG




74                MORAL TALES.
tine practices. The brewer cut the matter short, by
saying he had not time to argue; but that he did not
choose to keep a clerk who was not in his interests;
that he supposed the next thing would be to betray him
to his supervisor.
"I am  no traitor!" exclaimed Forester: "I will
not stay another instant with a master who suspects
me."
The brewer suffered him to depart without reluctance;
but what exasperated Forester the most was, the composure of his friend Richardson during this scene, who
did not even offer to shake hands with him when he
saw him going out of the house: for Richardson had
a good place, and did not choose to quarrel with his
master for a person whom he now verily believed to be,
as he had originally suspected, insane.
"This is the world! —this is friendship!" said Forester to himself:
His generous and enthusiastic imagination supplied
him with eloquent invectives against human nature,
even while he ardently desired to serve his fellowcreatures. He wandered through the streets of Edinburgh, indulging himself alternately in misanthropic
reflections and benevolent projects. One instant, he
resolved to study the laws, that he might reform the revenue laws; the next moment, he recollected his own
passion for a desert island; and he regretted that he
could not be shipwrecked in Edinburgh.
The sound of a squeaking fiddle roused Forester
from his revery; he looked up, and saw a thin pale man
fiddling to a set of dancing-dogs that he was exhibiting
upon the flags for the amusement of a crowd of men,
women, and children. It was a deplorable spectacle;
the dogs appeared so wretched, in the midst of the merriment of the spectators, that Forester's compassion was
moved, and he exclaimed,
"' Enough, enough! —They are quite tired; here are
some halfpence! "
The showman took the halfpence; but several fresh
spectators were yet to see the sight; and, though the




FORESTER.                   75
exhausted animals were but little inclined to perform
their antic feats, their master twitched the rope that was
fastened round their necks sb violently, that they were
compelled to renew their melancholy dance.
Forester darted forward, stopped the fiddler's hand,
and began an expostulation, not one word of which
was understood by the person to whom it was addressed.
A stout lad, who was very impatient at this interruption
of his diversion, began to abuse Forester, and presently
from words he proceeded to blows.
Forester, though a better orator, was by no means so
able a boxer as his opponent. The battle Was obstinately fought on both sides; but, at length, our young
Quixote received what has no name in heroic. language,
but in the vulgar tongue is called a black eye; and,
covered with blood and bruises, he was carried by some
humane passenger into a neighbouring house. It was
a printer and bookseller's shop. The bookseller treated
him with humanity; and, after advising him not to be
so hastily engaged to be the champion of dancing-dogs,
inquired who he was, and whether he had any friends
in Edinburgh to whom he could send.
This printer, from having been accustomed to converse with a variety of people, was a good judge of the
language of gentlemen; and, though there was nothing
else in Forester's manners which could have betrayed
him, he spoke in such good language that the bookseller
was certain that he had received a liberal education.
Our hero declined telling his history; but the printer
was so well pleased with his conversation that he readily
agreed to give him employment; and as soon as he recovered from his bruises, Forester was eager to learn
the art of printing.
"The art of printing," said he, " has emancipated
mankind, and printers ought'to be considered as the
most respectable benefactors of the human race."
Always warm in his admiration of every new phantom that struck his imagination, he was now persuaded
that printers' devils were angels, and that he should be
supremely blessed in a printer's office.




76                MORAL IALES.
"What employment so noble!" said he, as he first
took the composing-stick in his hand-" what employ-.ment so noble as that of disseminating knowledge over
the universe!"
FORESTER A PRINTER.
It was some time before our hero acquired dexterity
in his new trade; his companions formed, with amazing
celerity, whole sentences, while he was searching for
letters which perpetually dropped from his awkward
hands; but he was ashamed of his former versatility,
and he resolved to be steady to his present way of life.
His situation at this printer's was far better suited to
him than that which he had quitted with so mnuch disgust at the brewer's. He arose early; and by great
industry overcame all the difficulties which at first so
much alarmed him. He soon became the most usefil
journeyman in the office. His diligence and good behaviour recommended him to his master's employers.
Whenever any work was brought, Forester was sent
for. This occasioned him to be much in the shop,
where he heard the conversation of many ingenious men
who frequented it; and he spent his evenings in reading.
His understanding had been of late uncultivated; but
the fresh seeds that were now profusely scattered upon
the vigorous soil took root and flourished.
Forester was just at that time of life when opinions
are valued for being new; he heard varieties of the most
contradictory assertions in morals, in science, in politics.
It is a great advantage to a young man to hear opposite arguments,-to hear all that can be said upon every
subject.
Forester no longer obstinately adhered to the set of
notions which he had acquired from his education; he
heard many whom he could not think his inferiors in




'ORESTER.                  77
abilities, debating questions which he formerly imagined
scarcely admitted of philosophic doubt. His mind became more humble; but his confidence in his own
powers, after having compared himself with numbers,
if less arrogant, was more secure and rational: he no
longer considered a man as a fool the moment he differed from  him in opinion; but he was still a little
inclined to estimate the abilities of authors by the party
to which they belonged. This failing was increased
rather than diminished by the company which he now
kept.
Among the young students who frequented Mr. —'s,
the bookseller, was Mr. Thomas -, who, from his
habit of blurting out strange opinions in conversation,
acquired the name of Tom Random. His head was confused between politics and poetry; his arguments were
paradoxical, his diction florid, and his gesture something between the spouting action of a player and the
threatening action of a pugilist.
Forester was caught by the oratory of this genius from
the first dav he heard him speak.
Tom Random asserted, that "this great globe, and
all that it inhabits," must inevitably be doomed to destruction, unless certain ideas of his own, in the government of the world, were immediately adopted by uinversal acclamation.
It was not approbation, it was not esteem, which Forester felt for his new friend; it was for the first week
blind, enthusiastic admiration-every thing that he had
seen or heard before appeared to him trite and obsolete;
every person who spoke temperate common sense he
heard with indifference or contempt; and all who were
not zealots in literature, or in politics, he copsidered as
persons whose understandings were so narrow, or
whose hearts were so depraved, as to render them " unfit to hear themselves convinced."
Those who read and converse have a double chance
of correcting their errors.
Forester, most fortunately, about this time, happened
to meet with a book which in some degree counteracted
G2




78                MORAL TALES.
the inflammatory effects of Random's conversation,
and which had a happy tendency to sober his enthusiasm, without lessening his propensity to useful exertions: this book was the life of Dr. Franklin.
The idea that this great man began by being a printer
interested our hero in his history; and while he followed him, step by step, through his instructive narrative, Forester sympathized in his feelings, and observed
how necessary the smaller virtues of order, economy,
industry and patience were to Franklin's great character and splendid success. He began to hope that it
would be possible to do good to his fellow-creatures
without overturning all existing institutions.
About this time another fortunate coincidence happened in Forester's education. One evening, his friend
Tom Random, who was printing a pamphlet, came,
with a party of his companions, into Mr. -, the
bookseller's shop, enraged at the decision of a prize
in a literary society to which they belonged.
All the young partizans who surrounded Mr. Random loudly declared that he had been treated with the
most flagrant injustice; and the author himself was too
angry to affect anv modesty upon the occasion.
" Would you believe it?" said he to Forester,-" my
essay has not been thought worthy of the prize! The
medal has been given to the most wretched, tame, commonplace performance you ever saw. Every thing in
this world is done by corruption, by party, by secret
influence! "
At every pause the irritated author wiped his forehead, and Forester sympathized in his feelings.
In the midst of the author's exclamations, a messenger
came with the manuscript of the prize essay, and with
the orders of the society to have a certain number of
copies printed off with all possible expedition.
Random snatched up the manuscript, and with all the
fury of criticism began to read some of the passages
which he disliked aloud.
Though it was marred in the reading, Forester could
not agree with his angry friend in condemning the per



FORESTER.                  79
formance. It appeared to him excellent writing and excellent sense.
"Print it-print it then, as fast as you can —tiat is
your business —that's what you are paid for. Every
one for himself," cried Random, insolently throwing
the manuscript at Forester: and as he flung out of the
shop with his companions, he added, with a contemptuous laugh, "A  printer's devil setting up for a critic! He may be a capital judge of pica and brevier,
perhaps-but let not the compositor go beyond his
stick."
"Is this the man,," said Forester, "whom  I have
heard so eloquent in The praise of candour and liberality?
Is this the man who tallis of universal toleration and
freedom of opinion, and who yet cannot bear that any
one should differ from him in criticising a sentence? Is
this the man who would have equality among all his
fellow-creatures, and who calls a compositor a pr-nter's
devil? Is this the man who cants about the pre-eminence
of mind, and the perfections of intellect; and yet now
takes advantage of his rank, of his supporters, of the
cry of his partisans, to bear down the voice of reason?
-' Let not the compositor go beyond his composingstick!'-And why not? why should not he be a judge
of writing?' At this reflection Forester eagerly took
up the manuscript which had been flung at his feet.
All his indignant feelings instantly changed into delightful exultation-he saw the hand-he read the name of
Henry Campbell. The title of the manuscript was ".si
Essay on the best MJethod of reforming.Zbuses."  This
was the subject proposed by the society; and Henry
had writtea:tlln the question with so much moderation, and yerwith such unequivocal decision had showti:himself the friend of rational liberty, that all the members of the society who were not borne away by their
prejudices were unanimous in their preference of this
performance.
Random's declamation only inflamed the minds of his
own partisans. Good judges of writing exclaimed as
they read it. " This is all very fine; but what would this




80               MORAL TALES.
man be at? His violence hurts the cause he wishes to
support."
Forester read Henry Campbell's essay with all the
avidity of friendship; he read it again and again-his
generous soul was incapable of envy; and while he admired, he was convinced by the force of reason.
His master desired that he would set about the essay
early in the morning; but his eagerness for his friend
Henry's fame was such that he sat up above half the.
night hard at work at it. He was indefatigable the next
day at the business; and as all hands were employed on
the essay, it was finished that evening.
Forester rubbed his hands with delight when he had
set the name of Henry Campbell in the title page-but
an instant afterward he sighed bitterly.
" I am only a printer," said he to himself. These just
arguments, these noble ideas, will instruct and charm
hundreds of my fellow-creatures: no one will ever ask,' Who set the types?'"
His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of
Tom Random and two of his partisans: he was ex
tremely displeased to find that the printers had not been
going on with his pamphlet; his personal disappointments seemed to increase the acrimony of his zeal for
the public good; he declaimed upon politics-upon the
necessity for the immediate publication of his sentiments,
for the salvation of the state. His action was suited to
his words: violent and blind to consequences, with one
sudden kick, designed to express his contempt for the
opposite party, this political Alnaschar unfortunately
overturned the form which contained the types for the
newspaper of the next day, which was just going to the
press-a newspaper in which he had written splendid
paragraphs.
Forester, happily for his philosophy, recollected the
account which Franklin, in his history of his own life,
gives of the patienqe with which he once bore a similar
accident. The printers, with secret imprecations against
oratory, or at least against those orators who think that




FORESTER.                  81
action is every thing, set to work again to repair the
mischief.
Forester, much fatigued, at length congratulated himself upon having finished his hard day's work; when a
man from the shop came to inquire whether three hundred cards, which had been ordered the week before to
be printed off, were finished. The man to whom the
order was given had forgotten it, and he was going
home: he decidedly answered, "No; the cards can't
be done till to-morrow: we have left work for this night,
thank God."
" The gentleman says he must have them," expostulated the messenger.
" He must not, he cannot have them. I would not
print a card for his majesty at this time of night," replied the sullen workman, throwing his hat upon his
head, in token of departure.
"What are these cards?" said Forester.
"Only a dancing-master's cards for his ball," said
the printer's journeyman. "I'll not work beyond my
time for any dancing-master that wears a head."
The messenger then said that he was desired to ask
for the manuscript card.
This card was hunted for all over the room; and at
last Forester found it under a heap of refuse papers; his
eye was caught with the name of' his old friend Monsieur Pasgrave, the dancing-master whom he had formerly frightened by the skeleton with the fiery eyes.
" I will print the cards for him myself; I am not at
all tired," cried Forester, who was determined to make
some little amends for the injury which he had formerly
done to the poor dancing-master. He resolved to print
the cards for nothing, and he staid up very late to finish
them. His companions all left him, for they were in
a great hurry to see, what in Edinburgh is a rare sight,
the town illuminated.
These illuminations were upon account of some
great naval victory.
Forester, steady to Monsieur Pasgrave's cards, did




82              MORAL TALES.
what no other workman would have done, he finished
for him, on this night of public joy, his three hundred
cards. Every now and then, as he was quietly at work,
he heard the loud huzzas in the street: his waning
candle sunk in the socket as he had just packed up his
work.
By the direction at the bottom of the cards he learned
where M. Pasgrave lodged, and as he was going out to
look at the illuminations, he resolved to leave them
himself at the dancing-master's house.
THE ILLUMINATIONS.
The illuminations were really beautiful. He went
up to the castle, whence he saw a great part of the Old
Town and all Prince's-street lighted up in the most
splendid manner. He crossed the Earth-mound into
Prince's street. Walking down Prince's-street he saw
a crowd of people gathered before the large illuminated
window of a confectioner's shop. As he approached
nearer he distinctly heard the voice of Tom Random,
who was haranguing the mob. The device and motto
which the confectioner displayed in his window displeased this gentleman; who, beside his public-spirited
abhorrence of all men of a party opposite to his own,
had likewise private causes of dislike to this confectioner,
who had refused him his daughter in marriage.
It was part of Random's new system of political justice to revenge his own quarrels.
The mob, who are continually, without knowing it,
made the instruments of private malice, when they
think they are acting in a public cause, readily joined
in Tom Random's cry of "Down with the motto!
Down with the motto!"
Forester, who, by his lesson from the dancing-dogs,
had learned a little prudence, and who had just printed




FORESTER.                  83
Henry Campbell's Essay on the best means of reforming abuses, did not mix with the rabble, but joined in
the entreaties of some peaceable passengers who prayed
that the poor man's windows might be spared. The
windows were, notwithstanding, demolished with a
terrible crash, and the crowd then, alarmed at the mischief they had done, began to disperse. The constables
who had been sent for appeared. Tom Random was
taken into custody. Forester was pursuing his way to
the dancing-master's, when one of the officers of justice exclaimed, " Stop!-stop him!-he's one of'em:
he's a great friend of Mr. Random: I've seen him often
parading arm-in-arm in High-street with him."
This, alas! was too true: the constables seized Forester, and put him, with Tom Random and the ringleaders of the riot, into a place of confinement for the
night.
Poor Forester, who was punished for the faults of
his former friend and present enemy, had, during this
long night, leisure for much wholesome reflection upon
the danger of forming imprudent intimacies. He resolved never to walk again in High-street arm-in-arm
with such a man as Tom Random.
The constables were rather hasty in the conclusions
they drew from this presumptive evidence.
Our hero, who felt the disgrace of his situation, was
not a little astonished at Tom Random's consoling himself with drinking instead of philosophy. The sight of
this enthusiast, when he had completely intoxicated
himself, was a disgusting but useful spectacle to our indignant hero. Forester was shocked at the union of
gross vice and rigid pretentions to virtue: he could
scarcely believe that the reeling, stammering idiot whom
he now beheld, was the same being from whose lips he
had heard declamations upon the omnipotence of intelleet-from whose pen he had seen projects for the government of empires.
The dancing-master, who, in the midst of the illuminations, had regretted that his cards could not be printed,




84               MORAL TALES.
went early in the morning to inquire about them at the
printer's.
The printer had learned that one of his boys was
taken up among the rioters: he was sorry to find that
Forester had got himself into such a scrape; but he
was a very cautious snug man, and he did not choose
to interfere: he left him quietly to be dealt with according to law.
The dancing-master, however, was interested in finding him out, because he was informed that Forester
had sat up almost all night to print his cards, and that
he had them now in his' pocket.
M. Pasgrave, at le'ngth gained admittance to him in
his confinement: the officers of justice were taking him
and Random before Mr. W-e, a magistrate, with
whom information had been lodged by the confectioner
who had suffered in his windows.
Pasgrave, when he beheld Forester, was surprised to
such a degree that he could scarcely finish his bow, or
express his astonishment, either in French or English.
"Eh, monsieur! —mon Dieu! —bon Dieu! I beg ten
million pardons —I am come to search for a printer who
has my cards in his pocket."
" Here are your cards," said Forester: " let me speak
a few words to you." He took M. Pasgrave aside —"I
perceive," said he, "that you have discovered who I
am. Though in the service of a printer, I have still as
much the feelings and principles of a gentleman as I
had when you saw me in Dr. Campbell's house. I have
particular reasons for being anxious to remain undiscovered by Dr. Campbell, or any of his family; you
may depend upon it that my reasons are not dishonourable. I request that you will not, upon any account,
betray me to that family. I am going before a magistrate, and am accused of being concerned in a riot which
I did every thing in my power to prevent."
"Ah! monsieur," interrupted the dancing-master,
"-but you see de grand inconvenience of concealing
your rank and name. You, who are comme it faut,




FORE S TER.                85
a,  confounded with the mob: permit me at least to
follow you to Mr. W-, the magistrate: I have de
honneur to teach les demoiselles his daughters to dance;
dey are to be at my ball-dey take one half-dozen
tickets.. I must call dere wid my cards; and I shall, if
you will give me leave, accompany you now, and
mention dat I know you to be un homme cornme il
faut, above being guilty of an unbecoming action. I
flatter myself I have some interest wid de ladies of de
family, and dat dey will do me de favour to speak to
monsieur leur cher pere sur votre compte."
Forester thanked the.good-natured dancing-master,
but he proudly said that he should trust to his own innocence for his defence.
M. Pasgrave, who had seen something more of the
world than our hero, and who was interested for him,
Decause he had once made him a present of an excellent
violin, and because he had sat up half the night to print
the ball cards, resolved not to leave him entirely to his
innocence for a defence: he followed Forester to Mr.
W —-'s. The magistrate was a slow, pompous man,
by no means a good physiognomist, much less a good
judge of character. He was proud of his authority,
and glad to display the small portion of legal knowledge
which he possessed. As soon as he was informed that
some young men were brought before him who had
been engaged the preceding night in a riot, he put on all
his magisterial terrors, and assured the confectioner,
who had a private audience of him, that he should have
justice; and that the person or persons concerned in
breaking his window or windows should be punished
with the utmost severity that the law would allow.
Contrary to the humane spirit of the British law, which
supposes every man to be innocent till it is proved that
he is guilty, this harsh magistrate presumed that every
man who was brought before him was guilty till he was
proved to be innocent. Forester's appearance was not
in his favour: he had been up all night; his hair was
dishevelled; his linen was neither fine nor white; his
shoes were thick-soled and dirty; his coat was that in
H




86               MORAL TALES.
which he had been at work at the printer's the preceding
day; it was in several places daubed with printer's ink;
and his unwashed hands bespoke his trade. Of all these
circumstances the slow circumspect eye of the magistrate took cognizance qne by one. Forester observed
the effect which this survey produced upon his judge;
and he felt that appearances were against him, and that
appearances are sometimes of consequence. After
having estimated his poverty by these external symptoms, the magistrate looked, for the first time, in his
face, and pronounced that he had one of the worst
countenances he ever beheld. This judgment once pronounced, he proceeded to justify, by wresting to the
prisoner's disadvantage every circumstance that appeared.  Forester's having been frequently seen in
Tom Random's company was certainly against him;
the confectioner perpetually repeated that they were
constant companions; that they were intimate friends;
that they were continually walking together every Sunday, and that they often had come arm-in-arm into his
shop, talking politics; that he believed Forester to be of
the same way of thinking with Mr. Random; and that
he saw him close behind him at the moment the stones
were thrown that broke the windows. It appeared
that Mr. Random was at that time active in encouraging
the.mob. To oppose the angry confectioner's conjectural evidence, the lad who threw the stone, and who
was now produced, declared that Forester held back his
arm, and said, "My good lad, don't break this man's
windows: go home quietly; here's a shilling for you."
The person who gave this honest testimony, in whom
there was a strange mixture of the love of mischief and
the spirit of generosity, was the very lad who fought
with Forester, and beat him, about the dancing-dogs.
He whispered to Forester, "Do you remember me?
I hope you don't bear malice." The magistrate, who
heard this whisper, immediately construed it to the
prisoner's disadvantage.-" Then, sir," said he, addressing himself to our hero, " this gentleman, I understand, claims acquaintance with you; his acquaintance




FORESTER.                     87
really does you honour, and speaks strongly in favour
of your character. If I mistake not, this is the lad
whom I sent to the Tolbooth, some little time ago, for a
misdemeanour;.and he is not, I apprehend, a stranger
to the stocks."'
Forester commanded his temper as well as he was
able, and observed, that whatever might be the character
of the young man who had spoken in his favour, his
evidence would, perhaps, be thought to deserve some
credit when the circumstances of his acquaintance with
the witness were known. He then related the adventure of the dancing-dogs, and remarked that the testimony of an enemy came with double force in his favour.
The language and manner in which Forester spoke surprised all who were present; but the history of the
dancing-dogs appeared so ludicrous and so improbable
that the magistrate decidedly pronounced it to be "a
fabrication, a story invented to conceal the palpable
collusion of the witnesses."  Yet, though he one moment declared that he did not believe the story, he the
next inferred from it that Forester was disposed to riot
and sedition, since he was ready to fight with a vagabond in the streets for the sake of a parcel of dancingdogs.
M. Pasgrave, in the mean time, had, with great goodnature, been representing Forester in the best light he
possibly could to the young ladies, the magistrate's
daughters. One of them sent to beg to speak to their
father. M. Pasgrave judiciously dwelt upon his assurances of Forester's being a gentleman: he told Mr.
W   -   that he had met him in one of the best families
in Edinburgh; that he knew he had some private reasons
for concealing that he was a gentleman: "perhaps the
young gentleman was reduced to temporary distress,"
he said; but whatever might be these reasons, M. Pasgrave vouched for his having very respectable friends
and connexions. The magistrate wished to know the
family in which M. Pasgrave had met Forester: but he
was, according to his promise, impenetrable on this subject. His representations had, however, the desired




88               MORAL TALES.
effect upon Mr. W-: when he returned to the examination of our hero, his opinion of his countenance
somewhat varied; he. despatched his other business;
bailed Tom Random on high sureties; and when Forester was the only person that remained, he turned to him
with great solemnity; bade him sit down; informed
him that he knew him to be a gentleman; that he was
greatly concerned that a person like him, who had respectable friends and connexions, should involve himself in such a disagreeable affair; that it was a matter
of grief and surprise to him to see a young gentleman
in such apparel; that he earnestly recommended to him
to accommodate matters with his friends; and, above
all things, to avoid the company of seditious persons.
Much good advice, but in a dictatorial tone, and in cold,
pompous language, he bestowed upon the prisoner;
and at length dismissed him. "How different," said
Forester to himself, "is this man's method'of giving
advice from Dr. Campbell's!"
This lesson strongly impressed, however, upon our
hero's mind the belief that external appearance, dress,
manners, and the company we keep, are the usual circumstances by which the world judge of character and
conduct. When he was dismissed from Mr. W   -'s
august presence, the first thing he did was to inquire for
Pasgrave: he was giving the magistrate's daughters a
lesson, and could not be interrupted; but Forester left a
note for him, requesting to see him at ten o'clock the
next day, at Mr. —, the bookseller's. New mortifications awaited our hero: on his return to his master's, he
was very coldly received: Mr. -    let him know in unqualified terms, that he did not like to employ any one
in his work who got into quarrels at night in the public
streets. Forester's former favour with his master, his
industry and talents, were not considered without envy
by the rest of the journeymen printers; and they took
advantage of his absence to misrepresent him to the
bookseller: however, when Forester came to relate his
own story, his master was convinced that he was not to
blame; that he had worked extremely hard the preceding




FORESTER.                     89
day; and that, far from having been concerned in a riot,
he had done every thing in his power to prevent mischief. He desired to see the essay which was printed
with so much expedition: it was in the hands of the
corrector of the press. The sheets were sent for, and
the bookseller was in admiration at the extraordinary
correctness with which it was printed; the corrector of
the press scarcely had occasion to alter a word, a letter,
or a stop. There was a quotation in the manuscript
from Juvenal. Henry Campbell had, by mistake, omitted to name the satire and line, and the author from
which it was taken, though he had left a blank in which
they were to be inserted. The corrector of the press,
though a literary gentleman, was at a stand. Forester
immediately knew where to look for the passage in the
original author: he found it, and inserted the book and
line in their proper place. His master did not suffer
this to pass unobserved; he hinted to him that it was a
pity a young man of his abilities and knowledge should
waste his time in the mere technical drudgery of printing. " I should be glad now," continued the bookseller,
"to employ you as a corrector of the press, and to advance you according to your merits, in the world; but,"
glancing his eye at Forester's dress, "you must give
me leave to say, that some attention to outward appearance is necessary in our business. Gentlemen call here,
as you well know, continually, and I like to have the
people about me make a creditable appearance. You
have earned money since you have been with me-surely you can afford yourself a decent suit of clothes and
a cleaner shirt. I beg your pardon for speaking so freely; but I really have a regard for you, and wish to see
you get forward in life."
H2




90               MORAL TALES.
FORESTER A CORRECTOR OF THE PRESS.
Forester had not, since he left Dr. Campbell's, been
often spoken to in a tone of friendship. The bookseller's
well-meant frank remonstrance made its just impression.;
and he resolved to make the necessary additions to his
wardrobe; nay, he even went to a hairdresser to have
his hair cut and brought into decent order. His companions, the printers, had not been sparing in their remarks upon the meanness of his former apparel, and
Forester pleased himself with anticipating the respect
they would feel for him when he should appear in better
clothes. "Can such trifles," said he to himself, " make
such a change in the opinion of my fellow creatures?-,
And why should I fight with the world for trifles? My
real merit is neither increased nor diminished by the
dress I may happen to wear; but I see that, unless I
waste all'my life in combating the prejudices of superficial observers, I should avoid all those peculiarities in
my external appearance which prevent whatever good
qualities I have from obtaining their just respect." He
was surprised at the blindness of his companions, who
could not discover his merit through the roughness of
his manners and the disadvantages of his dress; but he
determined to shine out upon them in the superior dress
and character of a corrector of the press. He went to
a tailor's, and bespoke a suit of clothes. He bought
new linen; and our readers will perhaps hear with surprise, that he actually began to consider very seriously
whether he should not take a few lessons in dancing.
He had learned to dance formerly, and was not naturally
either inactive or awkward: but his contempt for the
art prevented him, for some years, from practising it;
and he had nearly forgotten his wonted agility. Henry
Campbell once, when Forester was declaiming against
dancing, told him, that if he had learned to dance, and
excelled in the art, his contempt for the trifling accomplishment would have more effect upon the minds of




FORESTER,                  91
others, because it could not be mistaken for envy. This
remark made a deep impression upon our hero, especiallv as he observed that his friend Henry was not in the
least vain of his personal graces, and had cultivated his
understanding, though he could dance a Scotch reel.
Scotch reels were associated in Forester's imagination
with Flora Campbell; and in balancing the arguments
*for and against learning to dance, the recollection of
Archibald Mackenzie's triumphant look, when he led
her away as his partner at the famous ball, had more
influence perhaps upon Forester's mind than his pride
and philosophy apprehended. He began to have some
confused design of returning, at some distant period, to
his friends; and he had hopes that he should appear in
a more amiable light to Flora, after he had perfected
himself in an accomplishment which he fancied she
admired prodigiously. His esteem for that lady was
rather diminished by this belief; but still a sufficient
quantity remained to excite in him a strong ambition to
please. The agony he felt the night he left the ballroom, was such, that he could not even now recollect
the circumstances without confusion and anguish of
mind. His hands were now such as could appear without gloves; and he resolved to commence the education
of his feet.
M. Pasgrave called upon him in consequence of the
message which he left at the magistrate's: his original
design in sending for the dancing-master was to offer
him some acknowledgment for his obliging conduct.
"M. Pasgrave," said he, " you have behaved towards
me like a man of honour; you have kept my secret; I
am convinced that you will continue to keep it inviolate." As he spoke, he produced a ten-guinea banknote; for at length he had prevailed upon himself to
have recourse to his pocket-book, which, till this day,
had remained unopened. Pasgrave stared at the sight
of the note, and withdrew his hand at first, when it was
offered; but he yielded at length, when Forester assured
him that he was not in any distress, and that he could
perfectly well afford to indulge his feelings of gratitude




92                 MORAL TALE S.,"Nay," continued Forester, who, if he had not always
practised the maxims of politeness, notwithstanding possessed that generosity of mind and good sense on which
real politeness must depend, "you shall not be under
any obligation to me, M. Pasgrave: I am just going to
ask a favour from you. You must teach me to dance."
"Wid de utmost pleasure," exclaimed the delighted
dancing-master; and the hours of his attendance were
soon settled. Whatever Forester attempted he pursued
with energy. M. Pasgrave, after giving him a few lessons, prophesied that he would do him infinite credit; and
Forester felt a secret pride in the idea that he should
surprise his friends some time or other with his new
accomplishment.
He continued in the bookseller's service, correcting
the press for him, much to his satisfaction; and the
change in his personal appearance pleased his master,
as it showed attention to his advice. Our hero, from
time to time, exercised his talents in writing; and, as
he inserted his compositions under a fictitious signature
in his master's newspaper, he had an opportunity of
hearing the most unprejudiced opinions of a variety of
critics, who often came to read the papers at their house.
He stated, in short essays, some of those arguments
concerning the advantages and disadvantages of politeness, luxury, the love of society, misanthropy, &c.,
which had formerly passed between him and Henry
Campbell; and he listened to the remarks that were
-made upon each side of the questions. How it happened we know not; but after he had taken lessons for about
six weeks, from M. Pasgrave, he became extremely
solicitous to have a solution of all his stoical doubts,
and to furnish himself with the best possible arguments
in favour of civilized society. He could not bear the
idea that he yielded his opinions to any thing less than
strict demonstration: he drew up a list of queries, which
concluded with the following question: —" What should
be the distinguishing characteristics of the higher classes
of people in society?"-This query was answered in one
of the public papers a few days after it had appeared in




FORESTER.                   93
Mr. -—'s paper, and the answer was signed H. C., a
Friend to Society. Even without these initials Forester
would easily have discovered it to be Henry Campbell's
writing; and several strokes seemed to be so particularly addressed to him, that he could not avoid thinking
Henry had discovered the querist. The impression
which arguments make upon the mind varies with time
and change of situation. Those arguments in favour of
subordination in society, in favour of' agreeable manners, and attention to the feelings of others in the small
as well as in the great concerns of life, which our hero
had heard with indifference from Dr. Campbell and
Henry in conversation, struck him, when he saw them
in a printed essay, with all the force of conviction; and
he wondered how it had happened that he never before
perceived them to be conclusive.
He put the newspaper which contained this essay in
his pocket; and after he had finished his day's work,
and had taken his evening lesson from M. Pasgrave,
he went out, with an intention of going to a favourite
spot upon Arthur's Seat, to read the essay again at his
leisure.
But he was stopped at the turn from the North Bridge
into High-street by a scavenger's cart. The scavenger,
with his broom which had just swept the High-street,
was clearing away a heap of mud. Two gentlemen on
horseback, who were riding like postillions, came up
during this operation-Sir Philip Gosling and Archibald
Mackenzie. Forester had his back towards them, and
he never looked round, because he was too intent upon
his own thoughts. Archibald was mounted upon Sawney, the horse which he had so fairly won from his
friend Sir Philip. The half-guinea which had been
promised to the hostler had not yet been paid; and the
hostler, determined to revenge himself upon Archibald,
invented an ingenious method of gratifying his resentment. He taught Sawney to rear and plunge whenever
his legs were touched by the broom with which the stables were swept. When Sawney was perfectly well
trained to this trick, the cunning hostler communicated




94               MORAL TALES.
his design, and related his cause of complaint against
Archibald to a scavenger who was well-known at the
livery-stables. The scavenger entered into his friend
the hostler's feelings, and promised to use his broom in
his cause whenever a convenient and public opportunity
should offer. The hour of retribution was now arrived:
the scavenger saw his young gentleman in full glory,
mounted upon Sawney; he kept his eye upon him while,
in company with the baronet, he came over the North
Bridge: there was a stop, from the meeting of carts and
carriages. The instant Archibald came within reach
of the broom, the scavenger slightly touched Sawney's
lea; Sawney plunged and reared-and reared and plunged. The scavenger stood grinning at the sight. Forester attempted to seize the hoyse's bridle; but Sawney, who seemed determined upon the point, succeeded.
When Forester snatched at his bridle, be reared, then
plunged; and Archibald Mackenzie was fairly lodged in
the scavenger's cart.  While the well-dressed laird
floundered in the mud, Forester gave the horse to the
servant, who had now ridden up; and, satisfied that
Mackenzie had received no material injury, inquired
no further. He turned to assist a poor washerwoman,
who was lifting a large basket of clean linen into her
house, to get it out of the way of the cart. As soon as
he had helped her to lift the basket into her passage,
he was retiring, when he heard a voice at the back-door,
which was at the other end of the passage. It was the
voice of a child; and he listened, for he thought he had
heard it before.-" The door is locked," said the washerwoman.'[ know who it is that is knocking; it is only
a little girl who is coming for a cap which I have there
in the basket."  The door was unlocked, and Forester
saw the little girl to whom the fine geranium belonged.
What a number of ideas she recalled to his mind! She
looked at him, and hesitated, courtesied, then turned
away, as if she was afraid she was mistaken, and asked
the washerwoman if she had plaited her grandmother's
cap. The woman searched in her basket, and produced
the cap nicely plaited. The little girl, in the mean time,




-: 
Jonl








FORESTER.                  95
considered Forester with anxious attention. " I believe,"
said she, timidly, " you are, ot you are very like, the
gentleman who was so good as to-"-"-Yes," interrupted Forester, " I know what you mean. I am the
man who went with you to try to obtain justice from
your tyrannical school-mistress: I did not do you any
good. Have you seen-have you heard any thing of
-?"   Such a variety of recollections pressed upon
Forester's heart that he could not pronounce the name
of Henry Campbell; and he changed his question. " Is
your old grandmother recovered?"-" She is quite well,
thank you, Sir; and she is grown young again since
you saw her: perhaps you don't know how good Mr.
Henry and the young lady have been to us. We don't
live now in that little, close, dark room at the watchmaker's. We are as happy, Sir, as the day is long."-."But what of Henry?-what of-.?"-" Oh sir! but
if you are not very busy, or in a great hurry-it is but
a little way off-if you could come and look at our new
house-I don't mean oumr house, for it is not ours; but
we take care of it, and we have two little rooms to ourselves; and Mr. Henry and Miss Flora very often come
to see us. I wish you could come to see how nice our
rooms are! The house is not far off, only at the back
of the meadows."-" Go, show me the way-I'll follow
you," said Forester, after he had satisfied himself that
there was no danger of his meeting any of Dr. Campbell's family.
THE MEADOWS.
Our hero accompanied the little girl with eager, benevolent curiosity. " There," said she, when they came
to the meadows, " do you see that white house with the
paling before it?"-" But that cannot be your house!"
— " No, no, sir: Dr. Campbell and several gentlemen




96               MORAL TALES.
have the large room, and they come there twice a week
to teach something to a great many children. Grandmother can explain all that better to you, sir, than I can;
but all I know is, that it is our business to keep the
room aired and swept, and to take care of the glass
things which you'll see; and you shall see how clean
it is: it was I swept it this morning."
They had now reached the gate, which was in the
paling before the house. The old woman came to the
door, clean, neat, and cheerful; she recollected to have
seen Forester in company with Henry Campbell at the
watchmaker's; and this was sufficient to make him a
welcome guest. " God bless the family, and all that belongs to them, for ever and ever!" said the woman.
" This way, sir."-" 0, don't look into our little rooms
vet; look at the great room first, if you please, sir," said
the child.
There was a large table in the middle of this long
room, and several glass retorts, and other chemical vessels, were ranged upon shelves; wooden benches were
placed on each side of the table. The grandmother, to
whom the little girl had referred for a clear explanation,
could not, however, tell Forester very exactly the uses
of the retorts; but she informed him that many of the
manufacturers in Edinburgh sent their sons hither twice
a week; and Dr. Campbell, and Mr. Henry Campbell,
and some other gentlemen, came by turns to instruct
them. Forester recollected now that he once heard
Henry talking to his father about a scheme for teaching
the children of the manufacturers of Edinburgh some
knowledge of chemistry, such as they might afterward
employ advantageously to the arts and every-day business of life.
" I have formed projects, but what good have I ever
actually done to my fellow-creatures?" said Forester to
himself. With melancholy steps he walked to examine
every thing in the room. "Dr. Campbell sits in this
arm-chair, does not he? And where does Henry sit?'
The old woman placed the chairs for him as they usually
were placed. Upon one of the shelves there was a slate,




FORESTER.                    97
which, as it had been written upon, the little girl had
put by very carefully; there were some calculations
upon the weight of different gases, and the figures Forester knew to be Henry's: he looked at every thing that
was Henry's with pleasure. " Because I used to be so
rough in my manner to him," said Forester to himself,
"I dare say that he thinks I have no feeling, and I suppose he has forgotten me by this time: I deserve, indeed,
to be forgotten by every body! How could I leave such
friends!"  On the other side of the slate poor Forester
saw his own name written several times over, in his
friend's hand-writing, and he read two lines of his own
poetry, which he remembered to have repeated to Henry
the day that they walked to Arthur's Seat. Forester felt
much pleasure from this little proof of his friend's affection. " Now won't you look at our nice rooms?" said
the child, who had waited with some patience till he
had done pondering upon the slate.
The little rooms were well arranged, and their neatness was not now as much lost upon our hero as it
would have been some time before. The old woman
and her grand-daughter, with all the pride of gratitude,
exhibited to him several little presents of furniture
which they had received from Dr. Campbell's familyv.
"c Mr. hIenry gave me this! Miss Flora gave me that'"
was frequently repeated. The little girl opened the door
of her own room. On a clean white deal bracket, which
" JMr. Henry had put up with his own'hands," stood the
well-known geranium in its painted flower-pot. Forester saw nothing else in the room, and it was in vain
that both the old woman and her grand-daughter talked
to him at once; he heard not a word that was said to
him. The flowers were all gone, and the brown calyces
of the geranium flowers reminded him of the length of
time which had elapsed since he had first seen them. " I
am sorry there are no flowers to offer you," said the
little girl, observing Forester's melancholy look; "but
I thought you did not like geraniums; for I remember
when I gave you a fine flower in the watchmaker's shop
you, pulled it to pieces, and threw it on the ground." —
1




98                MORAL TALES.
"I should not do so now," said Forester. The black
marks on the painted flower-pot had been entirely
effaced: he turned away, endeavoured to conceal his
emotion, and took leave of the place as soon as the
grateful inhabitants would suffer him to depart. The
reflection that he had wasted his time, that he had never
done any good to any human being, that he had lost opportunities of makling both himself and others happy,
pressed upon his mind; but his stoical pride still resisted
the thought of returning to Dr. Campbell's. " It will be
imagined that I yield my opinions from meanness of
spirit," said he to himself. "Dr. Campbell certainly
has no further regard or esteem for me; neither he nor
Henry have troubled themselves about my fate: they
are doing good to more deserving objects; they are intent upon literary pursuits, and have not time to bestow
a thought upon me. And Flora, I suppose, is as gay
as she is good. I alone am unhappy,-a wanderer,an outcast,-a useless being."
Forester, while he was looking at the geranium, or
soon afterward, missed his handkerchief; the old woman and her grand-daughter searched for it all over the
house, but in vain; he then thought he must haveleft it
at the washerwoman's, where he met the little girl; he
called to inquire for it, upon his return to Edinburgh.
When he returned to this woman's house for his handkerchief, he found her sitting upon a low stool, in her
laundry, weeping bitterly' her children stood round her.
Forester inquired into the cause of her distress, and she
told him that a few minutes after he left her, the young
gentleman who had been thrown from his horse into the
scavenger's cart was brought into her house, while his
servant went home for another suit of clothes for him.
"I did not at first guess that I had ever seen the young
gentleman before," continued she; " but when the mud
was cleared from his face I knew him to be Mr. Archibald Mackenzie. I am sure I wish I had never seen his
face then, or at any time. He was in a very bad humour after his tumble; and he began again to threaten
me about a ten-guinea bank-note which he and his ser



FORESTER.                  99
vant declare they sent in his waistcoat pocket to be
washed: I'm sure I never saw it. Mr. Henry Campbell quieted him about it for awhile; but just now he
began again with me, and he says he has spoken to a
lawyer, and that he will make me pay the whole note;
and he swore at ime as if I had been the worst. creature
in the world; and, God knows, I work hard for my
children, and never wronged any one in my days!"
Forester, who forgot all his own melancholy reflections
as soon as he could assist any one who was in distress,
bade the poor woman dry her tears, and assured her that
she had nothing to fear; for he would instantly go to
Dr. Campbell, and get him to speak to Mackenzie. " If
it is necessary," said he, " I'll pay the money myself."
She clasped her hands joyfully as he spoke, and all her
children joined in an exclamation of delight. I'll go to
Dr. Campbell's this instant," said our hero, whose pride
now yielded to the desire of doing justice to this injured
woman: he totally forgot himself, and thought only of
her: " I'll go to Dr. Campbell's, and I will speak to Mr.
Mackenzie immediately."
A SUMMONS.
While Forester was walking through the streets, with
that energy which the hope of serving his fellow-creatures always excited in his generous mind, he even forgot a scheme which he had, in spite of his stoical pride
and his dread of being thought to give up his opinions
from meanness, revolved in his imagination. He had
formed the design of returning to his friends an altered
being in his external appearance: he had ordered a
fashionable suit of clothes, which were now ready. He
had laid aside the dress and manners of' a gentleman,
from the opinion that they were degrading to the character of a man: as soon as this prejudice had been con



100               MORAL TALE-S.
quered he began to think he might resume them. Many
were the pleasing anticipations in which he indulged
himself: the looks of each of his friends, the generous
approving eye of Henry, the benevolent countenance of
Dr. Campbell, the arch smile of Flora, were all painted
by his fancy; and he invented every circumstance that
was likely to happen-every word that would probably
be said by each individual. We are sure that our readers
will give our enthusiastic hero credit for his forgetting
these pleasing reveries,-for his forgetting himself, nay,
even Flora Campbell,-when humanity and justice
called upon him for exertion.
WThen he found himself in George's-square, within
sight of Dr. Campbell's house, his heart beat violently,
and he suddenly stopped to recollect himself. He had
scarcely stood a few instants, when a hard, stout-looking man came up to him, and asked him if his name
were Forester: he started, and answered, " Yes, sir;
what is your business with me?" The stranger replied
by producing a paper, and desiring him to read it. The
paper, which was half-printed, half-written, began with
these words: —" You are hereby required to appear before me-"
" WNhat is all this?" exclaimed our hero. " It is a summons," replied the stranger: "I am a constable, and
you will please to come with me before Mr. W —.
This is not the first time you have been before him, I am
told." To this last insolent taunt Forester made no reply; but in a firm tone said that he was conscious of no
crime, but that he was ready to follow the constable, and
to appear before Mr.  V —, or any other magistrate
who wished to inquire into his conduct. Though he summooned all his fortitude, and spoke with composure, he
was much astonished by this proceeding; he could not
help reflecting that an individual in society who has
friends, an established character, and a home, is in a
more desirable situation than an unconnected being who
has no one to answer for his conduct,-no one to rejoice in his success, or to sympathize in his misfortunes.
"Al, Dr. Campbell! happy father! in the midst of




FORESTER.                101
your own family, you have forgotten your imprudent
ward!" said Forester to himself, while his mind revolted
from seeking his friend's assistance in this discreditable
situation. " You do not know how near he is to you!
you do not know that he was just returning to you!
you do not see that he is, at this moment, perhaps, on
the brink of disgrace!"
TIIE BANK-NOTES.
Forester was mistaken in his idea that Dr. Campbell
had forgotten him; but we shall not yet explain further
upon this subject, we only throw out this hint that our
readers may not totally change their good opinion of
the doctor. We must now beg their attention to the
continuation of the history of Archibald Mackenzie's
bank-note.
Lady Catherine Mackenzie one day observed that the
colours were changed in one spot on the right-hand
pocket of her son's waistcoat. " My dear Archibald,"
said she, "what has happened to your smart waistcoat?
What is that terrible spot?"-" Really, ma'arn, I don't
know," said Archibald, with his usual soft voice and
deceitful smile.  Henry Campbell observed that it
seemed as if the colours had been discharged by some
acid. " Did you wear that waistcoat," said he, " the
night the large bottle of vitriolic acid was broken-the
night that poor Forester's cat was killed: don't you remember?""-" Oh, I did not at first recollect; I cannot
possibly remember, indeed,-it is so long ago,-what
waistcoat I wore on that particular night."  The extreme embarrassment in Archibald's manner, surprised
Henry. " I really don't perceive your drift," continued
Mackenzie: "what made you ask the question so earnestly?" He was relieved when Henry answered that
he only wished to know whether it was probable that it
l2




102              MORAL TALES.
was stained with vitriolic acid; " because," said he, "I
think that is the pocket in which you said you left your
ten-guinea note; then, perhaps, the note may have been
stained."-" Perhaps so," replied Mackenzie, dryly."And if it were, you could identify the note: you have
forgotten the number, but if the note has been stained
with vitriolic acid, we should certainly be able to know
it again: the acid would have changed the colour of
the ink."  Mackenzie eagerly seized this idea; and immediately, in pursuance of Henry's advice, went to
several of the principal bankers in Edinburgh, and requested that if a note stained in such a manner should
be presented to them, they would stop payment of it
till Mackenzie should examine it.. Some time elapsed,
and nothing was heard of the note. Mackenzie gave
up all hopes of recovering it; and, in proportion as
these hopes diminished, his old desire of making the
poor washerwoman answerable for his loss increased.
We have just heard this woman's account of his behaviour to her, when he came into her house to be refitted, after his tumble from Sawney into the scavenger's
cart. All his promises to Henry he thought proper to disregard: promises appeared to him mere matters of convenience; and the idea of "taking in" such a young
man as Henry Campbell was to him an excellent joke.
He resolved to keep the five guineas quietly which
Henry lent him; and, at the same time, to frighten this
innocent, industrious woman into paying him the value
of his bank-note.
Upon Mackenzie's return to Dr. Campbell's, after his
fall from Sawney, the first thing he heard was that his
note was found; that it had been stopped at the bank of
Scotland; and that one of' the clerks of the- bank, who
brought it for his examination, had been some time
waiting for his return from riding. W'hen the note was
produced, Henry saw that two or three of the words
which had been written in ink, the name of the person
to whom it was payable, and the date of the month and
year, were so pale as to be scarcely visible; and that
there was a round hole through one corner of the paper.




FORESTER.                 103
This round hole puzzled Henry, but he had no doubt
that the ink had been thus nearly obliterated by vitriolic
acid. He poured a few drops, diluted with water, upon
some printing, and the ink was quickly turned to nearly
the same pale colour, as that in Mackenzie's note. The
note was easily traced, as it had not passed through
many hands-our readers will be sorry to hear it-to
M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master. Mackenzie and the
clerk went directly to his house, found him at home,
and without much preface informed him of their business. The dancing-master trembled from head to foot;
and, though innocent, exhibited all the signs of guilt:
he had not the slightest knowledge of business, and the
manner and language of the banker's clerk who accompanied Mackenzie terrified him beyond measure,
because he did not comprehend one word in ten that he
said about checks, entries, and day-books; and he was
nearly a quarter of an hour before he could, recover
sufficient presence of mind to consider from whom he
received the note. At length, after going over, in an
unintelligible manner, all the puzzled accounts of moneys received and paid which he kept in his head, he
declared that he clearly recollected to have received the
ten-guinea note at Macpherson's, the tailor; that he went
a few weeks ago to settle his year's account with him;
and that, in change for a twenty-pound note, he received that which the banker's clerk now produced.  To
Mackenzie it was perfectly indifferent who was found
guilty, so that he could recover his money. " Settle it
as you will among you," said he, " the money must be
refunded, or I must have you all before a magistrate directly."  Pasgrave, in great perturbation, set out for
Mr. Macpherson's, showed him the note, and reminded
him of the day when he paid his account. "If you
received the note from us sir," said the master-tailor,
very calmly, "it must be entered in our books; for we
keep regular accounts."  The tailor's foreman, who
knew much more of the affair than his master, appealed, with assumed security, to the entry in the books.
By this entry it appeared that iM'. Pasgrave settled his




104               MORAL TALES.
account the 17th of October; that he paid the balance
by a twenty-pound note, and that he received in change
a ten-guinea note on Sir William Forbes' bank. " You
see, sir," said the tailor, "this cannot possibly be Mr.
Mackenzie's; for his note is on the bank of Scotland.
Our entry is as full as possible; and I am ready to produce my books, and to abide by them, in any court of
justice in the world." M. Pasgrave was totally at a
loss; he could only repeat that he remembered to have
received Mackenzie's note from one of the tailor's men,
-who brought it to him from an inner room. The foreman boldly asserted that he brought the change exactly
as his master gave it to him, and that he knew nothing
more of the matter. But, in fact, he knew a great deal
inore; he had found the note in the pocket of Mackenzie's waistcoat, which his servant had left to be mended,
after he had torn it furtively, as has been already related.
When his master called him into the inner room, to
give him the change for Pasgrave, he observed that
there was a ten-guinea note wrapped up with some
halfpence; and he thought that it would be a prudent
thing to substitute Mackenzie's note, which he had by
him, in the place of' this. He accordingly gave Pasgrave Mackenzie's, and thrust the note which he had
received from his master into a corner of his trunk,
where he usually kept little windfalls that came to him
by the negligence of customers-toothpick cases, loose
silver, odd gloves, &c., all which he knew how to dispose of. But this bank-note was a higher prize than
usual, and he was afraid to pass it till all inquiry had
blown over. He knew his master's regularity; and-he
thought that if the note wYas stopped afterwards at any
of the banks, it could never be traced farther than to M.
Pasgrave. He was rejoiced to see that this poor man
was in such trepidation of mind that he could not, in the
least, use his understanding; and he saw, with much
satisfaction, that his master, who was a positive man,
and proud of the accuracy of his books, was growing
red in the face in their defence.  Mackenzie, in the
mean time, who had switched his boots with great im




FORESTER.                ]105
patience during their debate, interfered at last with"Come, gentlemen, we can't stand here all day to hear
you give one another the lie. One of you, it's plain,
must shell out your corianders; but as you can't settle
which, we must put you to your oath, I see." —" Mr.
W's is not far off, and I'm ready to go before him
with my books this instant," said the fiery master tailor.' My books were never called in question since I
was in trade till this instant; and nobody but a French
dancing-master, who understands no more of debtor and
creditor than my goose, would stand out against such
an entry as this."
To Mr. W:-'s, the tailor, his foremlan, the dancingmaster, the banker's clerk, and AMackenzie repaired.
Pasgrave turned paler than ever dancer turned before;
and gave himself, his character, and his wife and children, all up for lost, when he heard lie was to be put
upon his oath. He drew back when Mr. W- -  held
the book to him, and demanded whether he would swear
to the person from whom he received the note. He said
he could not swear; but to the best of' his belief-en
conscience-en lhonneur-foi d'honnete homme-he
was convinced he received it from Mr. Macpherson's
foreman. The foreman, who, from one step in villainy,
found himself hurried on to another and another, now
scrupled not to declare that he was ready to take his
oath that he delivered the note and change, just as his
master gave it to him, to M. Pasgrave. The magistrate turned to the paler, conscientious, incapacitated
dancing-master, and in a severe tone said, "Appearances are strangely against you, M. Pasgrave. Here's
a young gentleman has.lost a bank-note-it is stopped
at the bank of Scotland-it is traced home to you-Iyou
say you got it from Mr. Macpherson or his foreman —
his books are produced-the entry in them  is clearly
against you; for it states that the note given to you in
chance was one of Sir William Forbes' bank: and this
which I hold now in nmy hand is of the bank of Scotland. Please now to tell how this note of' the bank of
Scotland, which has been proved to be the property oi




106               MORAL TALES.
Mr. Mackenzie, came into your possession. From whoni
did you receive it? or how did you come by it? I am
not surprised that you decline taking an oath upon this
occasion."-" Ah, monsieur, ayez pitie de moi!" cried
the innocent but terrified man, throwing himself upon
one knee, in an attitude which,.on the stage, would have
produced a sublime effect —" Ah, monsieur, ayez pitii
de moi! I have no more dan de child no sense in affairs!" Mackenzie interrupted him with a brutal laugh
The more humane banker's clerk was moved by the
simplicity of this avowed ignorance of business. He
went up to the distracted dancer, and said, " It is not to
be expected that every body should understand business
as we do, sir: if you are innocent only give yourself
time to recollect; and though it's unfortunate that you
never keep any regular accounts, maybe we shall be
able to make out this affair of the entry.'If Mr.
will give me leave to take this pen and ink, and if you
will try to recollect all the persons from whom you have
received money lately-"-""Ah, mon Dieu! dat is
impossible." Then he began to name the quarterly
and half-yearly payments that he had received from his
various pupils."-" Did any of them lately give you a
ten-guinea note?"-" Ah, oui, je me rappelle-un jeune
monsieur-un certain monsieur, qui ne veut pas queque est la incognito-who I would not betray for the
world; for he has behave wid de most pairfaite generosite to me." —" But did he give you a ten-rguinea banknote?-that is all we want to know," said the magistrate. "Mais —oui-yes."-" About what time?" said
the clerk. It was about the beginning of October: and
this was so near the time when he settled accounts with
Mr. Maipherson, the tailor, that he even himself began
to believe it possible that he had mistaken one note for
the other.  "c When the young gentleman gave you the
note," said the banker's clerk, " surely you must have
looked at it-you must have observed these remarkable
stains?"  Pasgrave replied that he did look at it, he
supposed; that he saw it was a ten-guinea note; it
might be stained; it might not be stained; he could not




FORESTER.                  107
pretend to be certain about it. He repeated his assurances that he was ignorant of business, and of every
thing in this world but dancing. "Pour la danse, je
m'y connois,-pour les affaires, je n'en sais rien, moi."
He, with his usual simplicity added, that if Mr. WV —--
would give him leave; he would go to the young gentleman, his friend, and learn from him exactly the nuimber of the note which he had given him; that he was
sure he could recollect his own note immediately. Mackenzie, who thought that this was merely pretence, in
order to escape, told him that he could not be suffered to
go out upon his parole. " But," said Mr. W   -, "tell
us the name of this young gentleman who has so much
generosity, and who lives incognito. I don't like gentlemen who live incognito. I think I had a young man
here before me, about two months ago, charged with
breaking a confectioner's windows in a riot, the night
of the great illuminations —ley! don't I relnember
some such thing? And you, M. Pasgrave, if I mistake not, interested yourself mightily about this young
man; and Iold me and my daughters, sir, that he was a
young gentleman incognito. I begin to see through this
affair. Perhaps this is the same young gentleman front
whom you received the note. And pray what value
did you give for it?"  Pasgrave, whose fear of betraying Forester now increased his confusion, stammered,
and first said the note was a present, but afterward
added, "I have been giving the young person lessons
in dancing for' dese six week."
" Well, then, we must summon this young person,"
said Mr. W. "Tell us his name, if you please,"
said Mackenzie; "I have some suspicion that I know
your gentleman incognito." —" You need not trouble
him," said the magistrate; " I know the name already,
and I know where the bird is to be found: his name, if
he has not changed it since he was last in this room, is
Forester."-" Forester!" exclaimed Mackenzie; "I
thought so! I always thought how he would turn out.
I wonder what his friends the Campbells will have to
say for him now!"




108              MORAL TALES.
Mr. W -'s pen stopped. "Hi-s friends the Campbell's-humph! So the Campbells are his friends, are
they?" repeated he. " They were his friends," answered
Mackenzie; "but Mr. Forester thought proper, nobody
knows why, to run away from them, somne months ago;
the only reason I could ever learn was that he did not
like to live among gentlemen; and he has been living
ever since incognito among blackguards, and we see the
fruits of it." Mackenzie eagerly handed the summons,
as soon as it was signed, to a constable; and Mr. W -.
directed the constable to Mr. —'s, the bookseller, adding, "booksellers and printers are dangerous persons."
The constable, who had seen Forester the night that he
was confined with Tom Random, knew his face and person; and we have told our readers that he met Forester
in George's-square, going to Dr. Campbell's to vindicate the innocence of the poor washerwoman.
The tailor's fbreman was not a little alarmed when the
summons was sent for our hero; he dreaded that the
voice of truth should be heard, and he skulked behind
the rest of the company. What astonishment did Forester feel when he entered the room, and saw the group
that surrounded the justice's table!-Archibald Mackenzie, with an insulting sneer on his lips —Pasgrave, with
eyes fixed on himn in despair-Mr. Macpherson, the
tailor, pointing to an entry in his book-his foremai
shrinking from notice —the banker's clerk, with benevo.
lent skepticism in his countenance —and the justice,
with a portentous scowl upon his brow.
" Comre forward, Mr. Forester," said the magistrate,
as our hero made a sudden pause of astonishment;
"come forward, sir!" Forester advanced with calm intrepidity. " You are better dressed than when I had the
honour of seeing you here some time ago, sir. Are you
a printer still, or a gentleman? Your dress certainly bespeaks a change in your condition." —"I am sure I
should hardly know Mr. Forester again, he has grown
such a beau-comparatively speaking, I mean," said
Mackenzie.-" But certainly, M. Pasgrave, you must
have made some mistake; I don't know how to believe




FORESTER.                  109
my senses! Is this the young gentleman to whom you
alluded?-do you know him-?" —" Give me leave,
Mr. Mackenzie," interrupted the justice: " I shall examine this young incognito myself: I think I know how
to come at the truth. Will you do me the favour, sir, to
inform me whether you recollect any thing of a tenguinea bank-note which you gave or paid, some time in
last October, to this gentleman?" pointing to M. Pasgrave.-" I do," replied Forester, in a distinct, unembarrassed voice. " Perfectly well remember giving M.
Pasgrave a ten-guinea bank-note." Ah, monsieur, je ne
snis pas un ingrat.-Ne pensez pas que  -"-" 0, M.
Pasgrave," interrupted Mackenzie, "this is no time for
compliments and fine speeches: for Gods sake, let us
get to the bottom of this affair without further ceremony."-" Sir," said the banker's clerk, "All we want to
know is the number of your note, and the firm of the
house. WMas your note one of Sir William Forbes', or
of the bank of Scotland?" Forester was silent. " I do
not recollect," said he, after some pause. "You don't
recollect, sir," said the justice, "is something like an
evasive answer. You must have a vast number of
bank-notes then, we must presume, if you cannot recollect to what bank your ten-guinea note belonged." Forester did not understand this looic; but he simply repeated his assertion.-" Pray, sir," said the tailor, who could
no longer restrain his impatience-" Pray, sir," said
the magistrate, in a solemn manner, "be silent. I shall
find out the truth. So, Mr. Forester, you cannot possibly
recollect the house of your note? You will tell us next,
I dare sav, that you cannot possibly recollect how you
came by it."-" Sir," said Forester, "if it is necessary,
I can readily tell you how I came by it."2-" It is very
necessary, sir, for your own credit." —" I received it
from Dr. Campbell." —" Dr. Campbell!" repeated the
magistrate, changing his tone. " And I have some idea
that the Dr. gave me a list of the numbers of that and
four other notes, with which I fortunately have not
parted."-" Some idea means nothing in a court of justice, sir: if you have any such paper, you can do us
li




110               MORAL TALES.
the favour to produce it." Now this list was locked up
in the trunk, of which the key was dropped into the
brewing-vat. Richardson, the clerk, had returned the
key to him; but, such is the force of habit, he had not
cured himself of the foolish trick of twirling it upon his
thumb; and about two months ago he dropped it in one
of his walks to Arthur's Seat. He long searched for it
among the rocky fragments, but at last gave it up-he
little imagined of how much consequence it might be to
him. Dr. Campbell had once refused to break open the
lock, and he felt very unwilling to apply to him in his
present circumstances. However, he wrote a few lines
to Henry Campbell; but as soon as he had written them,
his pride again revolted from the thoughts of supplicating the assistance of his friend in such a disgraceful
situation. " If you don't choose to write," said the officious malevolence of Archibald, "EI can, however,
speak; I'll desire Dr. Campbell to open your trunk, and
search for the paper."  He left the room before Forester could make any further opposition.
" I have answered, I hope, both distinctly and respectfully, all the questions that you have asked me," said
Forester, turning to Mr. W   -. "I hope, you will no
longer keep me in the dark. Of what am I suspected?".-" I will tell you, sir," replied the deliberate, unfeeling
magistrate: " you are suspected of having, I will not say
stolen, but you are more than suspected of having come
unfairly by a certain ten guinea bank-note, which the
young gentleman who has just left the room lost a few
months ago." Forester, as this speech was slowly pronounced, sat down, folded his arms, and appeared totally insensible-quite unconscious that he was in the
presence of a magistrate, or that any human being was
observing him. "A h, mon cher monsieur, pardonnez! "
cried Pasgrave, bursting into tears. " N'en parlons
plus," added he, turning to the magistrate. " Je payerai tout ce qu'il faut. I will pay de ten guineas. I will
satisfy every body. I cannot never forgive myself if I
bring him into any disgrace." —" Disgrace!'" exclaimed
Forester, starting up, and repeating the word in a tone




FORESTER.                 111
which made every person in the room, not excepting the
phlegmatic magistrate, start and look up to him, with a
sudden feeling of inferiority. His ardent eye spoke the language of his soul. No words could express his emotion.
The master-tailor dropped his day-book. "Constablecall a constable!" cried the justice. "Sir, you forget
in whose presence you are-you think, I suppose, that
your friends the Campbells will bear you out. Sir, I
would have you to know that all the Campbells in Scotland can't bail you for a felony.  Sir, philosophers
should know these things. If you cannot clear yourself to my entire satisfaction, Mr. Forester, I shall commit you-in one word-to jail: —yes-look as you
please, sir-to jail. And if the doctor and his son, and
all his family, come up to bail you, I shall, meo periculo,
refuse their bail. The law, sir, is no respecter of persons. So none of your rhodomontades, young gentleman, in my presence; but step into this closet, if you
please; and, I advise you, bring your mind into a becoming temperament, while I go to dinner. " Gentlemen," continued he to Macpherson and Pasgrave,
"you'll be so good as to wait here in this apartment. Constable, look to your prisoner," pointing to the door of
the closet. "John, let me know when Dr. Campbell
arrives; and tell them to send up dinner directly," said
the justice to his butler.
While he dines, we must leave the tailor complaining
that he was wasting precious time; the foreman in the
panic of guilt; and the good-natured dancing-master
half-distracted between his fears and his ignorance.
He looked from time to time through the key-hole of
the closet in which Forester was confined, and exclaimed, " Grand Dieu! comme il a l'air noble a cet
instant!  Ah! lui coupable! —he go to jail!-it is impossible!"
"' We shall see how that will be presently," said the
foreman, who had hitherto preserved absolute silence.
"I abide by my books," said the master-tailor; " and I
wish Dr. Campbell would make haste. I have lost a
day!"




112             MORAL TALES.
In spite of the tailor's imperial exclamation, he was
obliged to wait some time longer. When Mackenzie
arrived at Dr. Campbell's, Henry was not at home: he
was gone to the house at the back of the meadows, to
prepare some chemical experiments for the next day's
lecture. Mackenzie, however, found Dr. Campbell'at
home in his study; and, in a soft hypocritical voice, lamented that he was obliged to communicate some disagreeable circumstances relating to young Mr. Forester.
" You do not, I presume, know where that unfortunate,
misguided youth is at present-at this moment, I mean,"
-" I do not know where he is at this moment," said
Dr. Campbell calmly; but I know where he has been
for some time-at Mr.'s, the bookseller. I have
had my eye upon him ever since he left this house. ~ I
have traced him from place to place. Though I have
said little about him, Mr. Mackenzie, I have a great regard for my unfortunate ward."-" I am sorry for it,"
said Mackenzie: " I fear I must wound your feelings the
more deeply. —" What is the matter? pray speak at
once," cried Dr. Campbell, who now forgot all his usual
calmness. " Where is Forester?"-" He is at this moment before Mr. W —, the magistrate, sir, charged
with —but, I own, I cannot believe him guilty-""Charged with whmt? For God's sake, speak plainly,
Mr. Mackenzie!"-"Then, in one word, sir, my lost
bank-note is traced home to Mr. Forester. Mr. Pasgrave
says he received it from him." —" Surely, sir," said Dr.
Campbell, with indignation, "you would not insinuate
that Forester has stolen your bank-note?"-" I insinuate
nothing, doctor," said Archibald; " but I fear the thing
is too plainly proved. My bank-note has certain stains,
by which it has been identified. All that I know is that
Mr. W - says he can take no bail; and that he must
commit Mr. Forester to jail, unless he can clear himself. He says that a few.days before he left your house
you paid him his quarterly allowance of fifty guineas
in five ten guinea bank notes."-" He says true-I did
so," said Dr. Campbell eagerly. —" And he says that
you gave them to him wrapped in a piece of paper, on




FORESTER.                 113
which the numbers of the notes were written.'.-?  " I
remember it distinctly: I desired him to take care of that
paper."-" He is not famous for taking care, you know,
sir, of any thing. He says he believes he threw it into
his trunk; but he has lost the key of the trunk, I understand."-" No matter; we can break it open this instant, and search for the paper," cried Dr. Campbell,
who was now extremely alarmed for his ward. Mackenzie stood by without offering any assistance, while
Dr. Campbell broke open the trunk, and searched it
with the greatest anxiety. It was in terrible disorder.
The coat and waistcoat which Forester wore at the ball
were crammed in at the top; and underneath appeared
unfolded linen, books, boots, maps, shoes, cravats, fossils,
and heaps of little rumpled bits of paper, in which the fossils had once been contained. Dr. Campbell opened every
one of these. The paper he wanted was not among
them. He took every thing out of the box, shook and
searched all the pockets of the coat, in which Forester
used, before his reformation, to keep hoards of strange
papers. No list of bank-notes appeared. At length Dr.
Campbell espied the white corner of a paper-mark, in a
volume of Goldsmith's Animated Nature. He pulled
out this mark, and, to his great joy, he found it to be
the very paper he wanted. "So it's found, is it?" said
Mackenzie, disappointed; while Dr. Campbell seized
his hat, left every thing upon the floor, and was very
near locking the door of the room  upon Mackenzie.
" Don't lock me in here, doctor-I am going back with
you to Mr. W —'s" said Archibald. "Won't you
stay-dinner's going up-Mr. W -  was going to his
dinner when I came away." Without listening to him,
Dr. Campbell just let him out, locked the door, and hurried away to his poor ward.
"I have let things go too far," said he to himself.
"As long as Forester's credit was not in danger, as long
as he was unknown, it was very well; but now his
character is at stake; he may pay too dear for his experience."
"Dr. Campbell," said the pompous magistrate, who
K2




114              MORAL TALES.
hated philosophers, rising from the table as Dr. Campbell entered. " do not speak to me of bailing this ward
of yours-it is impossible, sir; I know my duty."  " I
am not come to offer bail for my ward," said Dr. Campbell, " but to prove his innocence."-" IWVe must'hope
the best," said Mr. W —; and, having forced the doctor to pledge him in a bumper of port-" now I am
ready to proceed again to an examination of all the parties concerned."
Dr. Campbell was now shown into the room where
Mr. Macpherson, his foreman, and Pasgrave were
waiting. "Ah, monsieur, Dieu merci, vous voili!"
exclaimed Pasgrave. " You may go," said Mr. W —to the constable, " but wait below stairs." He unlocked the closet-door. Forester, at the sight of Dr. Campbell, covered his face with his hands; but, an instant
afterward, he advanced with intrepidity. "You cannot, I am sure, believe me to be guilty of any meanness, Dr. Campbell," said he.  "Imprudent I have
been, and I suffer for my folly." —" Guilty!" cried Dr.
Campbell: "no; I could almost as soon suspect my
own son of such an action. But my belief is nothing
to the purpose.  We must prove your innocence.""Ah oui, monsieur-and mine too; for I am innocent,
I can assure you," cried M. Pasgrave. " The whole business, sir," said the banker's clerk, who had by this time
returned to hear the termination of the affair-" the
whole thing can be settled in two minutes by a gentleman like you, who understands business. Mr. Forester
cannot recollect the number or the firm of a ten-guinea
bank-note which he gave to M. Pasgrave. M. Pasgrave
cannot recollect either; and he is in doubt whether he
received this stained note, which Mr. Mackenzie lost,
from Mr. Forester or from Mr. Macpherson the tailor."
— " There can be no doubt about me," said Macpherson. "'Dr. Campbell, will you be so good as to look
at the entry? I acknowledge [ gave M. Pasgrave a tenguinea note; but here's the number of it, 177, of Forbes'
bank. Mr. Mackenzie's note, you see, is of the bank
of Scotland; and the stains upon it are so remarkable,




FORESTl.                 115
that if I had ever seen it before I should certainly remember it. I'll take my oath I never saw it before.""Sir," said Forester eagerly to Dr. Campbell, "you
gave me five ten-guinea notes: here are four of them in
this pocket-book; the fifth I gave to M. Pasgrave. Can
you tell me the number of that note?."I" I can," said
Dr. Campbell, producing the paper which he found in
Goldsmith's Animated Nature. "I had the precaution
to write down the numbers of all your notes myself.
Here they are." Forester opened his pocket-book. His
four remaining notes were compared, and perfectly
agreed with the numbers in the list. The fifth, the
number of the note which he gave to Pasgrave, was
1260, of the New Bank. "One of your ten-guinea
notes," said Dr. Campbell to Pasgrave, " you paid into
the bank of Scotland; and this gentleman," pointing
to the banker's clerk, "stopped it this morning. Now
you have had another ten-guinea note; what became
of that?" Pasgrave, who understood Dr. Campbell's
plain method of questioning him, answered immediately,
", I did give the other to my hairdresser-not long ago
-who lives in -     street."  Dr. Campbell instantly
went himself to the hairdresser-found that he had the note
still in his possession-brought him to Mr. W  -'s,
and, when the note was examined, it was found to be
1260, of the New Bank, which exactly corresponded
with the entry in the list of notes which Dr. Campbell
had produced.' Then all is right," said Dr. Campbell.-" Ah, oui!
-" Ah, non!" exclaimed Pasgrave. "What will become of me?",-"_ Compose yourself, my good sir," said
Dr. Campbell. "You had but two ten-guinea notes,
you are sure of that?" —" But two-but two-I will
swear, but two."-" You are now certain which of these
two notes you had from my ward. The other, you say,
you received from  - " —" From dis gentleman, I will
swear," cried Pasgrave, pulling the tailor's foreman forward. "I can swear now I am in no embarrass; I am
sure I did get de oder note from dis gentleman."  The
master-tailor was astonished to see all the pallid marks




116             MORAL TALES.
of guilt in his foreman's countenance. " Did you change
the note that I gave you in the inner room?" said Mr.
Macpherson. The foreman, as soon as he could command his voice, denied the charge; and persisted in it
that he gave the note and change, which his master
wrapped up, exactly as it was, to the dancing-master.
Dr. Campbell proposed that the tailor's shop and the
foreman's room should be searched. Mr. W - sent
proper people to Mr. Macpherson's; and while they are
searching his house we may inquire what is become of
Henry Campbell.
THE CATASTROPHE.
Henry Campbell, the last time we heard of him, was
at the house at the back of the meadows. When he
went into the large room to his chemical experiments,
the little girl, who was proud of having arranged it
neatly, ran on before him, and showed him the places
where all his things were put. " The writing and the
figures are not rubbed off your slate-there it is, sir,"
said she, pointing to a high shelf. "But whose handkerchief is this?" said Henry taking up a handkerchief
which was under the slate. " Gracious! that must be
the good gentleman's handkerchief; he missed it just as
he was going out of the house. He thought he had left
it at the washerwoman's, where I met himn; and he's
gone back to look for it there. I'll run with it to the
washerwoman's —maybe she knows where to find him."
"But you have not told me who he is. Who do you
mean by the good gentleman?" —"The good gentleman,
sir, that I saw with you at the watchmaker's the day
that you helped me to carry the great geranium out of
my grandmother's room." —" Do you mean that Forester has been here?" exclaimed Henry. "I never
heard his name, sir; but I mean that the gentleman has
been here, whom I call the good gentleman, because it




FORESTER.                 117
was he who went with me to my cross schoolmistress,
to try to persuade her to use me well. She beat me, to
be sure, after he was gone, for what he had said; but
I'm not the less obliged to him, because he did every
thing as he thought fbr the best. And so I'll run with
his handkerchief to the woman's, who will give it safe
to him."
Henry recollected his promise to his father. It required all his power over himself to forbear questioning
the child, and endeavouring to find out something more
of his friend. He determined to mention the circumstance to his father, and to Flora, as soon as he returned
home. He was always impatient to tell any thing to
his sister that interested himself or his friends: for Flora's gayety was not of that unfeeling sort which seeks
merely for amusement, and which, unmixed with sympathy for others, may divert in a companion, but disgusts in a friend.
While Henry was reflecting upon the manner in which
he might most expeditiously arrange his chemical experiments and return home, the little girl came running
back, with a face of great distress. As soon as she had
breath to speak, she told Henry that when she went to
the washerwoman's with the handkerchief, she was told
a sad piece of news-that Mr. Forester had been taken
up and carried before Mr.`W-, the magistrate. " We
don't know what he has done. I'm sure I don't think
he can have done any thing wrong."  Henry no sooner
heard these words than he left all his retorts, rushed out of
the house, hurried home to his father, and learned from
Flora with great surprise, that his father had already
been sent for, and was gone to Mr. W's. She did
not know the circumstances that Mackenzie related to
Dr. Campbell; but she told him that her father seemed
much alarmed; that she met him crossing the hall, and
that he could not stop to speak to her. Henry proceeded directly to Mr. W -'s, and he arrived there just as
the people returned from the search of the tailor's house.
His opinion of Forester's innocence was so strong,
that when he entered the room he instantly walked up




118             MORAL TALES.
to him, and embraced him with a species of frank confidence in his manner which, to Forester, was more expressive than any thing that he could have said. The
whole affair was quickly explained to him; and the people who had been sent to Mr. Macpherson's now came
up stairs to Mr. W —, and produced a ten-guinea
bank-note, which was found in the foreman's box.
Upon examination, this was discovered to be the very
note which Mr. Macpherson sent with the change to
Pasgrave. It was No. 177, of Sir William Forbes'
bank, as mentioned in the circumstantial entry in the
day-book. The joy of the poor dancing-master at this
complete proof of his innocence was rapturous and voluble. Secure of the sympathy of Forester, Henry, and
Dr. Campbell, he looked at them by turns, while he
congratulated himself upon this " eclaircissement;" and
assured the banker's clerk that he would in future keep
accounts. We are impatient to get rid of the guilty
foreman: he stood a horrible image of despair. He was
committed to jail; and was carried away by the constables, without being pitied by any person present.
Everybody, however, was shocked. Mackenzie broke
silence first, by exclaiming, "Well, now, I presume,
Mr. W-, I may take possession of my bank-note
again." He took up all the notes which lay upon the
table to search among them for his own, " Mine, you
know, is stained," said Archibald.-" But it is very singular," said Henry Campbell, who was looking over
his shoulder, "that here are two stained notes. That
which was found in the foreman's box is stained in one
corner, exactly as yours was stained, Mr. Mackenzie."
Macpherson, the tailor, now stooped to examine it. " Is
this No. 177, the note that I sent in change, by my foreman, to M. Pasgrave? I'll take my oath it was not
stained in that manner when I took it out of my desk.
It was a new and quite clean note. It must have been
stained since."-" And it must have been stained with
vitriolic acid," continued Henry.-," Ay, there's cunning
for you," cried Archibald. "The foreman, I suppose,
stained it, that it might not be known again."-" Have




FORESTER.                119
you any vitriolic acid in your house?" pursued Henry,
addressing himself to the master-tailor.-." Not I, indeed,
sir: we have nothing to do with such things. They'd
be very dangerous to us."-" Pray," said Henry, "will
you give me leave, Mr. W-, to ask the person who
searched the foreman's box a few questions?"-" Certainly, sir," said Mr. WV-; " though, I protest, I cannot see what you are driving at." Henry inquired what
was fobund in the'box with the bank-note. The man who
searched it enumerated a variety of things. "None of
these," said Henry, " could have stained the note. Are
you sure that there was nothing else?" -" Nothing in the
world-nothing but an old glass stopper, I believe."-" I
wish I could see that stopper," said Henry. —" This note
was rolled round it," said the man, " but I threw it into
the box again. I'll go and fetch it, sir, if you have any,curiosity to see it." —" Curiosity to see an old stopper?
No!" cried Archibald Mackenzie, with a forced laugh;
"what good would that do us? We have been kept
here long enough. I move that we go home to our dinners." But Dr. Campbell, who saw that Henry had
some particular reason for wishing to see this glass stopper, seconded his son. The man went for it; and when
he brought it into the room, Henry Campbell looked at
it very carefully, and then decidedly said, fixing his
eyes upon Archibald Mackenzie, who in vain struggled
to keep his countenance from changing, "This glass
stopper, Mr. Mackenzie, is the stopper of my father's
vitriolic acid bottle, that was broken the night the cat
was killed. This stopper has stained both the banknotes. And it must have been in the pocket of your
waistcoat."-'" My pocket!" interrupted Archibald:
" how should it come into my pocket? It never was in
my pocket, sir.". Henry pointed to the stain on his waistcoat. He wore the very waistcoat in question. " Sir,"
said Archibald, "I don't know what you mean by pointing at my waistcoat. It is stained, it is true, and very
likely by vitriolic acid; but, as I have been so often in
the doctor's laboratory, when your chemical experiments
have been going on, is it not very natural to suppose




120              MORAL TALES.
that a drop of one of the acids might have fallen on my
clothes? I have seen your waistcoats stained, I am sure
Really, Mr. Campbell, you are unfriendly, uncharitable; your partiality for Mr. Forester should not blind
you, surely. I know you want to exculpate him from
having any hand in the death of that cat; but that
should not, my dear sir; make you forget what is due to
justice. You should not, permit me to say, endeavour
to criminate an innocent person."-" This is all very
fine," said Henry; "and you may prove your innocence to me at once, Mr. Mackenzie, if you think proper, by showing that the waistcoat was really, as you
assert, stained by a drop of vitriolic acid falling upon
the outside of it. Will you show us the inside of the
pocket?"-Mackenzie, who was now in too much confusion to know distinctly what Henry meant to prove,
turned the pocket inside out, and repeated, " That stopper was never in my pocket, I'll swear."-"Don't
swear to that, for God's sake," said Henry. "Consider what you are saying. You see that there is a hole
burnt in this pocket. Now if a drop of acid had fallen,
as you said, upon the outside of the waistcoat, it must
have been more burnt on the outside than on the inside."
"I don't know —I can't pretend to be positive," said
Archibald; " but what signifies all this rout about the
stopper?"-" It signifies a great deal to me," said Dr.
Campbell, turning away from Mackenzie with contempt, and addressing himself to his ward, who met his
approving eye with proud delight-" it signifies a great
deal to me. Forgive me, Mr. Forester, for having
doubted your word for a moment."  Forester held his
guardian's hand, without being able for some instants to
reply. You are coming home with us, Forester?" said
Henry. —" No," said Dr. Campbell, smiling; "you
must not ask him to come home with us to-night. We
have a little dance at our house to-night. Lady Catherine M. ackenzie wished to take leave of her Edinburgh
friends. She goes from us to-morrow. We must not
expect to see Forester at a ball; but to-morrow morning-"-" I see," said Forester, smiling, "you have




FORESTER.                 121
no faith in my reformation. Well. I have affairs to settle with my master, the printer. I must go home, and
take leave of him. He has been a good master to me;
and I must go and finish my task of correcting. Adieu."
He abruptly left Dr. Campbell and Henry, and went to
the bookseller's, to inform him of all that had passed,
and to thank him for all his kindness. " You will be at
a loss to-morrow for a corrector of the press," said he.
" I am determined you shall not suffer for my vagaries.
Send.home the proof-sheets of the work in hand to me,
at Dr. Campbell's, and I will return them to you punctually corrected. Employ me till you have provided
yourself with another, I will not say a.better, hand. I
do not imagine," continued Forester, " that I can pay
you for your kindness to me by presents; indeed I know
you are in such circumstances that you disdain money.
But I hope' you will accept of a small mark of my regard-a complete fount of new types."
While Forester's generous heart expanded with joy
at the thoughts of returning once more to his friends,
we are sorry to leave him to finish, the history of Archibald Mackenzie. He sneaked home after Dr. Campbell and Henry, whose silent contempt he well understood. Dr. Campbell related all that had passed to
Lady Catherine.  Her ladyship showed herself more
apprehensive that her son's meanness should be made
known to the world, than indignation or sorrow for his
conduct. Archibald, while he was dressing for the ball,
began to revolve in his mind certain words which his
mother had said to him about his having received the lie
direct from Henry Campbell-his not having the spirit
of a gentleman. "She certainly meant," said he to
himself, " that I ought to fight him. It's the only way
I can come off, as he spoke so plainly before Mr.
W   -, and all those people: the banker's clerk too
was by; and, as my mother says, it will be talked of.
I'll get Sir Philip Gosling to go with my message. I
think I've heard Dr. Campbell say he disapproved of
duels. Perhaps Henry won't fight.. —Has Sir Philip
Gosling sent to say whether he would be with us at the
L




122               MORAL TALES.
ball to-night?" said Archibald to the servant who was
dressing his hair.-" No, sir," replied the servant:
"Sir Philip's man has not been here; but Major
O'Shannon has been here twice since you were away,
to see you. He said he had some message to deliver
from Sir Philip to you."-"To me!-message to me!"
repeated Archibald, turning pale. Archibald knew Major O'$hannon, who had of late insinuated himself into
Sir Philip Gosling's favour, had a particular dislike to
him, and had successfully bullied him upon one or
two occasions.  Archibald had that civil cowardice
which made him excessively afraid of the opinion of
the world; and Major O'Shannon, a gamester, who
was jealous of his influence over the rich dupe Sir Philip, determined to entangle him in a quarrel. The major knocked at the door a third time before Archibald
was dressed; and when he was told that he was dressing, and could not see any one, he sent up the following note:"Sir,
"The last time I met you at the livery stables, in company with my friend, Sir Philip Gosling, I had the
honour of telling you my mind, in terms sufficiently
explicit, concerning a transaction which cannot have
escaped your memory. My friend, Sir Philip, declares
you never hinted that the pony was spavined. I don't
pretend to be so good a jockey as you; but you'll excuse my again saying I can't consider your conduct as
that of a gentleman. Sir Philip is of my mind; and if
you resent my interference, I am ready to give you the
satisfaction of a gentleman. If not, you will do well to
leave Edinburgh along with your mother to-morrow
morning; for Edinburgh is no place for cowards, as
long as one has the honour of living in it who calls himself (by courtesy),
"Your humble servant,
" CORNELIUS O'SHANNON.
"P. S. Sir Philip is at your service, after your sotdting with me."




FORESTER.                125
"With candour and with truth," replied Dr. Campbell.
"I cannot pretend to feel friendship merely on the
moore of relationship."
The proud blood mounted into Lady Catherine's
face, and she replied, " Some consideration of one's own
relations, I think, is not unbecoming. Archibald, I
should have thought, had as strong a claim upon Dr.
Campbell's friendship as the son of an utter stranger to
the family. Old Mr. Forester had a monstrous fortune,'tis true; but his wife, who was no grand affair, I believe-a merchant's daughter, I'm  told-brought.him
the greatest part of it; and yet without any natural connexion between the families, or any thing very desirable,
setting fortune out of the question, you accept the guardianship of this young man, aud prefer him, I plainly
see, to my Archibald. I candidly ask you the question,
and answer me candidly."
"As you have explicitly asked the question, I will
answer your ladyship candidly. I do prefer my ward
to your son. I have avoided drawing comparisons between your son and Forester; and I now wish to avoid
speaking of Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, because I have
little hopes of being of service to him."
"Nay, said Lady Catherine, softening her tone, " you
know you have it in your power to be of the greatest
service to him."
" I have done all I could," said Dr. Campbell, with a
sigh; "but habits of-"
" 0, but I'm not talking of habits," interrupted Lady
Catherine. " I'll make him alter his habits. We shall
soon turn him into what you like: he's very quick;
and you must not expect every young man to be just
cut out upon the pattern of our dear Henry. I don't
want to trouble you to alter his habits, or to teach him
chemistry, or any of those things. But you can, you
know, without all that, do him an essential service."
"' How?" said Dr. Campbell.
" Why how! I don't know you this evening, you
are so dry. Ken you not what I mean? Speak three
words for him to your friend the general."
L2




126              MORAL TALES.
"Your ladyship must excuse me," said Dr. Campbell.
Lady Catherine was stunned by this distinct refusal.
She urged Dr. Campbell to explain the cause of his dislike to her son.
"There is a poor washerwoman now below stairs,"
replied Dr. Campbell, "who can explain to you more
than I wish to explain; and a story about a horse of Sir
Philip Gosling was told to me the.other day, by one of
the baronet's friends, which I should be glad Mr. Archibald Mackenzie could contradict effectually."
"Archibald, come here," said Lady Catherine: before the next dance begins, I must speak to you. What
is this about a horse of Sir Philip Gosling?"
"Ma'am!" said Archibald, with great astonishment.
At this instant one of Dr. Campbell's servants came
into the room, and gave two notes to Archibald, which,
he said, two gentlemen had just left, and desired him to
deliver to Mr. Mackenzie while he was in the ball-room,
if posible.
" What is it?-What are they, child?" cried Lady
Catherine. " I will see them." Her ladyship snatched
the notes, read, and when she saw that her son, in the
grossest terms, was called a coward, for refusing the
challenges of two such fashionable men as Sir Philip
Gosling and Major O'Shannon, all her hopes of him
were at an end. " Our family is disgraced for ever!"
she exclaimed; and then preceiving that she had uttered this unguarded'sentence loud enough for several of
the company to hear, she endeavoured to laugh, and fell
into violent hysterics. She was carried out of the ballroom. A whisper now ran round the room of-" What's
the matter with Lady Catherine Mackenzie?" It was
an unfortunate moment that she was carried out, for all
the dancers had just seated themselves, after a brisk
country-dance; and the eyes of all the young and old
were upon her ladyship as she made her exit. A
young man, a friend of Major O'Shannon, who was
present, whispered the secret to his partner; she, of
course, to her next neighbour. Archibald saw that the




FORESTER.                 127
contents of the notes were made public; and he quitted
the apartment "to inquire how his mother did."
The buzz of scandal was general for some moments;
but a new object soon engrossed the attention of' the company. " Pray," said a young lady, who was looping up
Flora Campbell's gown, " who is this gentleman who is
just coming into the room?."  Flora looked up and saw
a well-dressed stranger entering the room, who had much
the appearance of a gentleman. He certainly resembled
a person she had seen before; but she could scarcely
believe that her eyes did no deceive her. Therefore she
hesitatingly replied to the young lady's question, "I
don't know-I am not sure." But she, an instant afterward, saw her brother Henry and her father advance so
eagerly to meet the stranger, that her. doubts vanished;
and, as he now directed his steps towards the spot where
she was standing, she corrected her first answer to her
companion's question, and said, " Yes, I fancy-it certainly is-Mr. Forester." Forester, with an open countenance, slightly tinged with the blush of ingenuous shame,
approached her, as if he was afraid she had not forgotten some things which he wished to be forgotten; and
yet as if he were conscious that he was not wholly unworthy of her esteem. "Among other prejudices of
which I have cured myself," said he to Dr. Campbell,
"since we parted, I have cured myself of my foolish
antipathy to Scotch reels."
"That I can scarcely believe," said Dr. Campbell,
with an incredulous smile.
"I will convince you of it," said Forester, "if you
will promise to forget all my other follies."
"11 l!"1 said Dr. Campbell. "Convince me first;
and then it will be time enough to make such a desperate
promise."
Flora was rather surprised when our once cynical
hero begged the favour of her hand, and led her to dance
a reel. M. Pasgrave would have been in ecstasy if he
had seen his pupil's performance.
"And now, my dear Forester," said Dr. Campbell,
as his ward returned to claim his promise of a general




128              MORAL TALES.
amnesty, " if you do not turn out a coxcomb, if you do
not'mistake reverse of wrong for right,' you will infallibly be a very great man. Give me a pupil who can
cure himself of any one foible, and I have hopes of him.
What hopes must I have of him who has cured himself of so many!"








s~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ll                                           i i,~'                                   I                1 -.._ 




THE
PRUSSIAN VASE.
FREDERICE.the Second, King of Prussia, after his conquest of Saxony, transported, it is said,* by fbrce, several
manufacturers from Dresden to Berlin, where he was
very desirous of establishing the manufacture of china.
These unfortunate people, separated from their friends,
their home, and their native country, were compelled to
continue their labours for the profit and for the glory of
their conqueror. Among the number of those sufferers
was Sophia Mansfeld, She was young, handsome, and
possessed considerable talents. Several pieces of porcelain of her design and modelling were shown to Frederick when he visited the manufactory at Meissen, in
Saxony; and their taste and workmanship appeared.to
him so exquisite, that he determined to transport the
artist to his capital. But from the time of her arrival at
Berlin, Sophia Mansfeld's genius seemed to forsake her.
It was her business to sketch designs, and to paint them
on the porcelain; but either she could not or would not
execute these with her former elegance: the figures
were awkward and spiritless; and it was in vain that
the overseer of the works attempted to rouse her to exertion: she would sit for hours, with her pencil in her
hand, in a sort of revery, It was melancholy to see her.
The overseer had compassion upon her; but his compassion was not so great as his dread of the king's displeasure; and he at length declared, that the next time
Frederick visited the works he must complain of her
obstinate idleness.
The monarch was expected in a few days; for, in the
midst of his various occupations, Frederick, who was at
* Vide Wraxall's Memoirs of the Court of Berlin.
131




132              MORAL TALES.
this time extremely intent upon the establishment of the
porcelain manufactory at Berlin, found leisure frequently
to inspect it in person. The king, however, was prevented from coming at the appointed hour by a review
at Potsdam. His majesty had formed the singular project of embodying, and training to the science of arms,
the Jews in his dominions?` They were rather awkward in learnihg the manual exercise; and the Jewish
review, though it afforded infinite amusement to the
spectators, put Frederick so much out of humour, that,
as soon as it was over, he rode to his palace at Sans Souci,
and shut himself up for the remainder of the morning.
The preceding evening an English traveller, who had
passed some time at Paris with the Count de Lauragais,
in trying experiments upon porcelain clays, and who
had received much instruction on the subject from Mr.
Wedgewood, of Etruria, had been presented to the king,
and his majesty had invited him to be present at a trial
of some new process of importance, which was to be
made this morning at his manufactory. The English
traveller, who was more intent upon his countryman
Mr. Wedgewood's fame than upon the martial manceuvres of the Jews, proceeded, as soon as the review
was finished, to exhibit his English specimens to a party
of gentlemen who had appointed to meet him at the
china-works at Berlin.
Of this party was a young man of the name of Augustus Laniska, who was at this time scarcely seventeen
years old. He was a Pole by birth-a Prussian by
education. He had been bred up at the military school
at Potsdam, and being distinguished by Frederick as a
boy of high spirit and capacity, he was early inspired
with enthusiastic admiration of this monarch. His admiration, however, was neither blind nor servile. He
saw Frederick's faults as well as his great qualities; and
he often expressed himself with more openness and
warmth upon this subject than prudence could justify.
He had conversed with unusual freedom about Fre* Wraxall's Memoirs of the Court of Berlin, &c.




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              133
derick's character with our English traveller; and while
he was zealous to display every proof of the king's greatness of mind, he was sometimes forced to acknowledge
that "there are disadvantages in living under the power
of a despotic sovereign."'A despotic sovereign! You will not then call your
Frederick a despot?" whispered the English traveller to
the young Pole, as they entered the china-works at Berlin. " This is a promising manufactory, no doubt," continued he; "and Dresden china will probably soon be
called Berlin china, by which the world in general will
certainly be much benefited. But in the meantime look
around you, and read your monarch's history in the eyes
of those prisoners of war-for such I must call these
expatriated manufacturers."
There were indeed many countenances in which great
dejection was visible. " Look at that picture of melancholy," resumed the Englishman, pointing to the figure
of Sophia Mansfeld; "observe even now, while the
overseer is standing near her, how reluctantly she
works!'Tis the way with all slaves. Our English
manufacturers (I wish you could see them) work in
quite another manner-for they are free —
"And are free men, or free women, never sick?"
said Laniska; "or do you Englishman blame your
king whenever any of his subjects turn pale? The
woman at whom you are now looking is evidently ill.
I will inquire from the overseer what is the matter with
her."
Laniska then turned to the overseer, and asked him
in German several questions, to which he received
answers that he did not translate to the English
traveller; he was unwilling that any thing unfavourable to the cause of his sovereign should appear; and,
returning to his companion, he changed the conversation. When all the company were occupied round the
furnaces, attending to the Englishman's experiments,
Laniska went back to the apartment where Sophia
Mansfeld was at work. " My good girl," said he to
her, " what is the matter with you? The overseer tells
M




134              MORAL TALES.
me that since you came here you have done nothing
that is worth looking at; yet this charming piece"
(pointing to a bowl of her painting, which had been
brought from Saxony) " is of your design, is not it?"
"Yes, sir," replied Sophia, "I painted it-to my
sorrow. If the king had never seen or liked it, I should
now be-"  The recollection of her home, which at
this instant rushed full upon her mind, overpowered
her, and she paused.
" You would now be in Saxony," resumed Laniska;
"but forget Saxony, and you will be happy at Berlin."
"I cannot forget Saxony, sir," answered the young
woman, with modest firmness; I cannot forget a father
and mother whom I love, who are old and infirm, and
who depended on me for their support. I cannot for —
get every thing-every body that I have ever loved: I
wish I could."
"Sir," whispered a Prussian workman who stood
by; "sir, she has a lover in Saxony, to whom she was
just going to be married, when she was carried off
from her cottage, and brought hither."
" Cannot her lover follow her?", said Laniska.
"He is in Berlin, in concealment," replied the
workman, in a whisper; "you won't betray him, I ani
sure."
"Not I," said Laniska; "I never betrayed any one,
and I never, shall-much less the unfortunate. But
why is her lover in concealment?"
" Because it is the king)s pleasure," replied the Prussian, "that she should no longer consider him as her
lover. You know, sir, several of these Saxon women
nave been compelled, since their arrival at Berlin, to
marry Prussians. Sophia Mansfeld has fallen to the lot
of a Prussian soldier, who swears that if she delays another month to marry him, he will complain to the
king of her obstinacy. Our overseer, too, threatens to
complain of her idleness. She is ruined if she go on in
this way: we tell her so; but she seems to have lost
all sense; for she sits as she does now, like one stupifled, half the day, let us say what we will to her. We




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             135
pity her; but the king knows best: the king must be
obeyed."
" Slave!" exclaimed Laniska, bursting into a sudden
transport of indignation: "slave! you are fit to' live
only under a tyrant. The king knows best! the king
must be obeyed!' What! when his commands are contrary to reason, to justice, to humanity!"  Laniska
stopped short, but not before the high tone of his voice,
and the boldness of the words he uttered, had astonished
and dismayed all present,-all except Sophia Mansfeld:
her whole countenance became suddenly illuminated;
she started up, rushed forward, threw' herself at the
feet of Laniska, and exclaimed, "Save me! you can
save ime! you have courage; and you are a powerful
lord, and you can speak to the king. Save me from this
detested marriage!"
The party of gentleman who had been in the next
chamber now entered the room, curious to know what
had drawn thither such a crowd of workmen. On
seeing them enter, Sophia, recollecting herself, rose,
and returned to her work quietly; while Laniska, much
agitated, seized hold of the Englishman's arm, and
hurried out of the manufactory.
" You are right, you are right," cried he; " Frederick
is a tyrant! But how canl I save his victim?"
"' Not by violence, my Augustus; not by violence!"
replied a young man of the name of Albert, who fol
lowed Laniska, anxious to restrain the impetuosity of
his friend's temper, with which he was well ac
quainted. "By imprudence," said he, "' you will but
expose yourself to danger; you will save, you will
serve no one.
" Tame prudence will neither save nor serve any one,
however it may prevent, its possessor from exposing
himself to danger," retorted Laniska, casting upon
Albert a look of contemptuous reproach. "Prudence
be your virtue, —courage mine."
" Are they incompatible?" said Albert, calmly.
"I know not," replied Laniska; " but this I know,
that I am in no humour to reason that point, or any




136               MORAL TALES.
other, according to all those cursed forms of logic
which, I believe, you love better than any thing else."
" Not better than I love you, as I prove by allowing
you to curse them as much and as often as you think
proper," replied Albert, with a smile, which could not,
however, force one from his angry friend.
"You are right to practise logic and rhetoric," resumed Laniska, "as much and as often as you can,
since in your profession you are to make your bread
by your tongue and your pen. I am a soldier, or soon
to be a soldier, and have other arms and other feelings."
"I will not dispute the superiority of your arms,"
replied Albert; " I will only beg, of you to remember,
that mine will be at your service whenever you want
or wish for them."
This temperate and friendly reply entirely calmed
Laniska. " What would become of Augustus Laniska,"
said he, giving Albert his hand, " if he had not such a
friend as you are! My mother mav well say this, as
she does ten times a day; but now take it in your sober
manner, what can we do for this poor woman?-for
something must be done."
After some consideration, Albert and Laniska determined to draw up a petition for Sophia, and to present
it to the king, who was known to pay ready and minute
attention to every application made to him in writing,
even by the meanest of his subjects. The petition was
presented, and an answer anxiously expected..Frederick, when at Potsdam, often honoured the Countess
Laniska with a visit. She was a woman of considerable information and literature,-acquirements not common among the Polish or Prussian ladies; and the king
distinguished the countess by his approbation, in order
to excite some emulation among his female subjects.
She held a sort of conversazione at her house, which
was frequented by all foreigners of distinction, and
especially by some of the French literati, who were at
this time at Frederick's court.
One evening-it was a few days after Sophia Mansfeld's petition had been presented-the king was at the




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              137
Countess Laniska's, and the company were conversing
upon some literary subject, when Frederick, who had
been unusually silent, suddenly turned to the English
traveller, who was one of the company, and asked him
whether his countryman Mr. Wedgewood had not
made a beautiful imitation of the Barberini, or Portland vase.
The Englishman replied, that the imitation was so
exquisite as scarcely to be known by the best judges
from the original; and he went on with much eagerness to give a description of the vase, that he might
afterward, for the honour of his country, repeat some
lines written upon the subject by a great English
poet.*  Frederick was himself a poet and a judge of
poetry; he listened to the lines with attention; and, as
soon as the Englishman had finished speaking, he exclaimed, "I will write a description of the Prussian
vase myself."
"The Prussian vase!" said the English traveller:
"I hope I may have the honour of seeing it before I
leave Berlin."
"If you prolong your stay another month, your
curiosity will probably be gratified," replied Frederick.
" The Prusian vase is not yet in being; but I have this
day determined to offer a reward that I know will produce a vase worthy of Prussia. Those who have the
command of motives, and know their power, have also
the command of all that the arts, or what is called a
genius for the arts, can produce. The human mind and
human fingers are much the same in Italy, in England,
and in Prussia. Then, why should not we have a
Prussian as well as a Wedgewood's, or a Barberini
vase'? We shall see. I do not understand mon meitier
de rol, if I cannot call forth talents where I know them
to exist. There is," continued the king, fixing his.eyes
full upon Laniska, "there is in my porcelain manufactory at Berlin a woman of considerable talents, who
* Darwin.-See his description of the Barberini vase in the Bo.
tanic Garden. We hope our readers will pardon this anachronism.
M2




138               MORAL TALES.
is extremely anxious to return alotw with some lover
of hers to Saxony. Like all other prisoners of war, she
must purchase her liberty from the conqueror; and if
she cannot pay her ransom in gold, let her pay it by
her talents. I do not give premiums to idleness or obstinacy.  The king must be obeyed, whether he knows
how to command or not: let all the world, who are able
to judge, decide." Frederick, as soon as he had finished
this speech, which he pronounced in a peremptory
tone, left the room; and Laniska's friends, who perceived that the imprudent words he had uttered in Berlin had reached the king's ear, gave the young man up
for lost. To their surprise, however, the king took no
further notice of what had happened, but received Laniska the next day at Sans Souci with all his usual
kindness. Laniska, who was of an open, generous
temper, was touched by this conduct; and, throwing
himself at Frederick's feet, he exclaimed" My king! forgive me, if in a moment of indignation
I called you a tyrant."
"My friend, you are yet a child, and I let children
and fools speak of me as they please," replied Frederick. " When you are an older man you will judge
more wisely, or, at least, you will speak with more discretion within twenty miles of a tyrant's palace. Here
is my answer to your Sophia Mansfeld's petition,"
added he, giving Laniska the paper which Albert had
drawn up; at the bottom of which was written, in the
king's own hand, these words:
"I will permit the artist who shall produce, before
this day month, the most beautiful vase of Berlin china,
to marry or not to marry whoever he or she shall think
proper, and to return to Saxony with all imaginable
expedition. If the successful artist choose to remain at
Berlin, I will add a reward of 500 crowns. The artist's
name shall be inscribed on the vase, which shall be
called the Prussian vase." No sooner had Sophia
Mansfeld read these words than she seemed animated
with new life And energy. She was likely to have
many competitors; for the moment the king's intentions




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             139
were made known in the manufactory, all hands and
heads were at work. Some were excited by the hope
of regaining their liberty; others stimulated by the
mention of 500 crowns; and some were fired with ambition to have their name inscribed on the Prussian
vase. But none had so strong a motive for exertion as
Sophia. She was indefatigable. The competitors consulted the persons whom they believed to have the best
taste in Berlin and Potsdam. Sophia's designs were
shown as soon as they were sketched to the Countess
Laniska, whose advice was of material use to her.
At length the day which was to decide her fate
arrived. The vases were all ranged, by the king's order,
in his gallery of paintings at Sans Souci; and in the
evening, when Frederick had finished the business of
the day, he went thither to examine them. Laniska
and some others were permitted to accompany him; no
one spoke while Frederick was comparing the works
of the different competitors.
" Let this be the Prussian vase," said the king. It
was Sophia Mansfeld's. Laniska just staid to show
her name, which was written underneath the foot of the
vase, and then he hurried away to communicate the
happy news to Sophia, who was waiting with her lover
at the house of the Countess Laniska in Potsdam, impatient to hear her fate. She heard it with inexpressible joy; and Laniska's generous heart sympathized
in her happiness. It was settled that she should the
next morning be married to her lover, and return with
him to her father and mother in Saxony. The happy
couple were just taking leave of the young count and
his mother, when they were alarmed by the sound of
many voices on the great staircase. Some persons
seemed to be disputing with the countess's servants
for admittance. Laniska went out to inquire into the
cause of the disturbance. The hall was filled with
soldiers.
"Are you the young Count Laniska?" said an officer
to himr the moment he appeared.
" I am the young Count Laniska," replied he, in a




140              MORAL TALES.
firm tone. "What do you want with me? and why
this disturbance in my mother's house at this unseasonable hour?"
"We come here by the king's order," replied the
soldier. " Is not there in this house a woman of the
name of Sophia Mansfeld?"
"Yes," replied Laniska: " what do you want with
her?"
" She must come with us; and you are our prisoner,
count," replied the soldier.
It was in vain to ask for further explanation. The
soldiers could give none; they knew nothing, but that
their orders were to convey Sophia Mansfeld immediately
to Meissen in Saxony, and to lodge Count Laniska in the
castle of Spandau, a state prison.
"I must know my crime before I submit to punishment," cried Laniska, in a passionate voice; but he restrained the natural violence of his temper on seeing his
mother appear; and, at her request, yielded himself up
a prisoner without resistance and without a murmur.
" I depend on your innocence, my son, and on the justice
of the king," said the countess; and she took leave of
him without shedding a tear. The next day, even before
the king arrived at Potsdam, she went to the palace, determined to wait there till she could see him, that she
might hear from his own lips the cause of her son's imprisonment. She waited a considerable time; for, without alighting from horseback, Frederick proceeded to the
parade, where he was occupied for some hours; at
length he alighted, and the first person he saw, on entering his palace, was the Countess Laniska.
"I am willing to believe, madam," said he, "that you
have no share in }your son's folly and ingratitude."
"My son is, I hope, incapable of ingratitude, sir,"
answered the countess, with an air of placid dignity. "I
am well aware that he may have been guilty of great
imprudence."
"' At six o'clock this evening let me see you, madam,"
replied the king, " at Sans Souci, in the gallery of paintings and you shall know of what your son is accused."




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.            141
At the appointed hour she was in the gallery of paintings at Sans Souci. No one was there. She waited
quietly for some time, then walked up and down the gallery with extreme impatience and agitation; at last she
heard the king's voice and his step; the door opened,
and Frederick appeared. It was an awful moment to
the mother of Laniska. She stood in silent expectation.
" I see madam," said the king, after fixing his penetrating eye for some moments on her countenance, "I
see that you are, as I believed you to be, wholly ignorant of your son's folly." As he spoke Frederick put
his hands upon the vase made by Sophia Mansfeld, which
was placed on a small stand in the middle of the gallery.
The countess, absorbed by her own reflections, had not
noticed it.
"' You have seen this vase before," said the king; " and
you have probably seen the lines which are inscribed on
the foot of it?"
"Yes," said the countess; "they are my son's
writing."
"And they are written by his own hand," said the
king.
"They are. The poor Saxon woman who draws so
admirably cannot write; and my son wrote the inscription for her."
"The lines are in a high strain of panegyric," said
the king; and he laid a severe emphasis on the word
panegyrzc.
" Whatever may be my son's faults," said the countess,
"your majesty. cannot suspect him of being a base flatterer. Scarcely a month has elapsed since his unguarded
openness exposed him to your displeasure. Your majesty's magnanimity in pardoning his imprudent expressions convinced him at once of his error in having used
them; and in the fit of enthusiasm with which your
kindness upon that occasion inspired him, he, who is by
no means a poet by profession, composed the two lines
of panegyric which seem to have given your majesty
offence; but which I should never have conceived could
be the cause of his imprisonment."




142               MORAL TALES.
"You plead like a mother, madam," said the king;'but you reason like a woman. Have I ever said that
your son was imprisoned for having written two lines of
flattery? No, madam: I know how to smile both at
flattery and satire, when they are undisguised; but there
is a degree of baseness which I cannot so easily pardon.
Be patient, madam; I will listen to all you can say in
your son's defence, when you have read this inscription.
But, before you read it, understand that I was upon the
point of sending this vase to Paris. I had actually given
orders to the man who was packing up that case (pointing to a half-packed case of porcelain) to put up the
Prussian vase as a present for a Prussian bel esprit of
your acquaintance. The man showed me the inscription at the bottom of the vase. I read the flattering
lines with pleasure, and thought them-as people usually
think flattering lines made on themselves-excellent. I
was even foof enough immediately to consider how I
could reward the author, when my friend, the packer, interrupted the course of my thoughts by observing, with
some exclamation of astonishment, that the blue colour
of the vase came off in one spot where he had been rubbing it. I looked and saw that part of the inscription of
the bottom of the vase had been covered over with blue
paint. At first sight, I read the words,' On the character of Frederick the Great;' -the blue paint had concealed
the next word, which is now, madam, sufficiently legible." The word to which the king pointed was-tyrant.
"Those flattering lines, madam, you comprehend, were
written-' On the character of Frederick the great tyrant.'
"I shall spare you, madam, all the reflections I have
made on this occasion. Tyrant as I am, I shall not punish the innocent mother obr the follies of her son. I
shall be at your house, along with the rest of your friends,
on Tuesday evening."
The unhappy mother of Laniska withdrew from the
presence of the king without attempting any reply.
Her son's conduct admitted, she thought, of no apology,
if it were really true that he had written the words to
which his name was signed. Of this she doubted: but




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             143
ner consternation was at first so great that she had not
the power to think. A general belief remained in her
mind of her son's innocence; but then a number of his
imprudent words and actions came across her memory:
the inscription was, apparently, in his own handwriting.
The conversation which had passed in the porcelain
manufactory at Berlin corroborated the idea expressed
in this inscription. The countess, on her return home,
related the circumstances with as much composure as
she could to Albert, who was waiting to hear the result
of her interview with the klin. Albert heard her relation with astonishment; he could not believe in his
friend's guilt, though he saw no means of proving his in —
nocence. He did not, however, waste his time in idle
conjectures, or more idle lamentations; he went immediately to the man who was employed to pack up the
vase; and after questioning him with great care, he went
to Berlin, to the porcelain manufactory, and inquired
whether any person was present when Laniska wrote
the inscription for Sophia Mansfeld. After Albert had
collected all the information that could be obtained, his
persuasion of Laniska's innocence was confirmed.
On Tuesday Frederick had promised to come to the
countess's conversazione. The company, previous to
his majesty's arrival, were all assembled round the sofa
on which she was seated, and they were eagerly talking
over Laniska's affair. "What a blessing it is," cried the
English traveller, "to live in a country where no man
can be imprisoned without knowing of what he is accused! What a blessing it is to live under a government
where no man can be condemned without trial, and
where his trial must be carried on in open day, in the
face of his country, his peers, his equals!"-The Englishman was in the midst of a warm eulogium upon the
British mode of trial by jury, when Frederick entered the
room, as it was his custom, without being announced:
and the company were so intently listening to our traveller, they did not perceive that the king was one of his
auditors. "Would to heaven!" cried the Countess
Laniska, when the Ernglishman paused-" would to




144               MORAL TALES.
heaven my son could have the advantage of such a
trial!"
" And would to heaven," exclaimed Albert, " that I
might plead his cause!"
" On one condition," said Frederick; and at the sound
of his voice every one started-" on one condition,
young man, your prayer shall be granted. You shall
plead your friend's cause upon condition that, if' you do
not convince his judges of his innocence you shall share
his punishment. His punishment will be a twelvemonth's
imprisonment in the castle of Spandau; and yours the
same, if you fail to establish your cause and his. Next
to the folly of being imprudent ourselves, that of choosing imprudent friends is the most dangerous. Laniska
shall be tried by his equals; and since twelve is the
golden, harmonic, divine number for which justice has
a blind predilection, let him have twelve judges, and call
them, if you please, a jury. But I will name my counsel, and you counsel for Laniska. You know the conditions-do you accept of them?"
"Willingly, sire!" cried Albert, joyfully. "You will
permit me to have access to the prisoner in the castle of
Spandau?"
-" That is a new condition; but I grant it. The governor shall have orders to admit you to see and converse
with his prisoner for two hours; but if, after that conversation, your opinion of your friend should change,
you will not blame me if I hold you to your word."
Albert declared that he desired no more: and the
Countess Laniska, and all who were present, joined in
praising Frederick's clemency and Albert's generosity.
The imprisonment of Laniska had been much talked of
not only in public companies at Potsdam and at Berlin,
but, what affected Frederick much more nearly, it
had become the subject of conversation among the
literati in his own palace at Sans Souci. An English
traveller of some reputation in the literary world also
knew the circumstances, and was interested in the fate
of the young count. Frederick seems to have had a
strong desire to be represented in an aihiable point of




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             145
view by writers who, he believed, could transmit his
fame to posterity. Careless of what might be said of
him, he was anxious that nothing should be printed
derogatory to his reputation. Whether the desire to give
to fbreigners a striking proof of his magnanimity, or
whether his regard for the young count, and his friendship for his mother, were his motives in granting to
Laniska this trial by jury, cannot and need not be determined. Unmixed virtue is not to be expected from kings
more than from common men.
After his visit to the'prisoner in the castle of Spandau, Albert felt no inclination to recede from the agreement into which he had entered; but Laniska was much
alarmed when he was told of what had passed. " Oh!
my generous friend!" exclaimed the young count,
"why did you accept of the conditions offered to you by
the king? You may —I am sure you do-believe in my
innocence; but you will never be able to prove it. You
will soon be involved in my disgrace."
" I shall think it no disgrace," replied Albert, "to be
the fellow-prisoner of an innocent friend."
" Do not you remember,' said Laniska, " that as we
were returning from Berlin, after my unlucky visit to
the porcelain manufactory, you promised me, that
whenever I should be ini want of your weapons they
should be at my service? I little thought that I should
so soon be in such need of them. Farewell; I pray for
their success."
On the day appointed for the trial of Laniska, crowds
of people of all ranks flocked to hear the proceedings.
A spacious building in Potsdam, intended for a barrack,
was, upon this occasion converned into a hall of justice;
a temporary gallery was erected for the accommodation
of the audience; and a platform was raised in the centre
of the hall, where the judge's chair was placed; on the
right hand of the chair a space was railed in for the reception of the twelve young gentlemen who were to act
as jurors; on the left another.space was railed in for
spectators.  In the front there was a large table, on
each side of whith were benches for the counsel and witN               13




146              MORAL TALES.
nesses: those for the crown on the right-hand; those
for the prisoner on the left. Every thing had, by the
king's orders, been prepared in this manner, according
to the English custom.
The countess Laniska now entered the court, with a
few friends who had not yet forsaken her. They took
their seats at the lower end of the gallery; and as every
eye turned upon the mother, who waited to hear the
trial of her son, an awful silence prevailed. This lasted
but for a few moments; it was succeeded by a general
whispering among the crowds both in the hall and in
the gallery.  Each individual gave his opinion concerning the event of the trial: some declared that the
circumstances which must appear against Laniska
were so strong that it was madness in Albert to undertake his defence; others expressed great admiration of Albert's intrepid confidence in himself and his
friend.  Many studied the countenance of the king,
to discover what his wishes might be; and a thousand
idle conjectures were formed from his most insignificant
movements.
At length, the temporary judge having taken his seat,
twelve young gentlemen were chosen from the most respectable families in Potsdam, to act as jurors.  The
prisoner was summoned to answer to the charges'brought against him, in the name of Frederick the Second, king of Prussia. Laniska appeared, guarded by
two officers: he walked up to the steps of the platforrm
with an air of dignity, which seemed expressive of conscious innocence; bust his countenance betrayed involuntary marks of emotion, too strong for him to command, when on raising his eyes he beheld his friend
Albert, who stood full in his view. Albert maintained
an immoveable composure of countenance. The prisoner was now asked whether he had any -objections to
make to any of the twelve persons who had been selected to judge his cause. He made none. They proceeded to take an oath, "that, in their decision, they
would suffer no motives to influence them but a sense




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             147
of truth and justice."  The judge then rose, and addressing himself to the jury, said:"Gentlemen,
"You are here by the king's order, to form your opinions concerning the guilt or innocence of the prisoner,
commonly known by the name of Count Augustus Laniska. You will learn the nature and circumstances of
the accusation against him from Mr. Warendorff, the
gentleman on my right hand, who in this cause, has the
honour of being counsel for his majesty. You will hear
from the gentleman on my left, Albert Altenburg, all
that can be said in behalf of the prisoner, for whom he
voluntarily offers himself as counsel. After having listened to the arguments that may be adduced, and to the
witnesses that shall be examined on each side, you are,
gentlemen, according to the tenor of the oath which has
just been administered to you, to decide, without regard
to any consideration but truth and justice. Your opinion
is to be delivered to me by the eldest among you, and it
is to be expressed in one or other of these phrasesguilty, or not guilty.
" When I shall have heard your decision, I am, in his
majesty's name, to pronounce sentence accordingly. If
the prisoner be judged by you not guilty, I am to announce to him that he is thenceforward at liberty, and
that no stain affixes to his honour from the accusation
that has been preferred against him, or from his late
imprisonment, or fromn this public trial. If, on the
contrary, your judgment shall be that the prisoner is
guilty, I am to remand him to the castle of Spandau,
where he is to remain confined twelve months from this
day. To the same punishment I am also to condemn
Albert Altenburg, if he fail to establish in your minds
the innocence of the Count Laniska. It is upon this
condition that he is permitted to. plead the'cause of his
friend.
"Gentlemen, you are called upon to give impartial
attention in this cause, by your duty to your king and
to your country."'
As soon as the judge, after making this short address




148              MORAL TALES.
to the jury, had seated himself, Mr. Warendorff, counsel for the crown, rose, and spoke in the following manner:
" My lord, and gentlemen of the jury;
"It is with inexpressible concern that I find myself
called upon to plead in this cause. To be the accuser
of any man is an invidious task: to be the accuser of
such a man as I once thought-as you perhaps still
think-the young Count Laniska, must, to a person of
generous feelings, be in a high degree difficult and distressing. I do not pretend to more generosity or delicacy of sentiment than others; but I beg any of you,
gentlemen, to imagine yourselves for a moment in my
place, and to conceive what must be my sensations as a
man and as an advocate. I am not ignorant how popular the name of Augustus Laniska is, both in Berlin
and Potsdam. I am not ignorant that the young count
has been in the habit of living among you, gentlemen,
on terms of familiarity, friendship, and confidence; nor
can I doubt that the graceful, manly manner and open
deportment for which he is so eminently distinguished
must have strongly prepossessed you in his favour. I
am not ignorant that I have to plead against him before
his friends, in the presence of his mother,-a mother
respected even in a higher degree than her son is beloved; respected for her feminine virtues-for her more
than feminine endowments; who, had she no. other
claim upon your hearts, must, by the unfortunate
situation in which she now appears, command your
sympathy.
" You must all of you feel, likewise, strongly prepossessed in favour of that noble-minded youth who has
undertaken to defend the prisoner's cause at the hazard
of' sharing his punishment. I respect the general character of Albert Altenberg; I admire his abilities; I applaud him for standing forward in defence of his friend;
I pity him because he has a friend for whom, I fear,
even he will find it impossible to establish any plausible defence. But the idea that he is acting handsomely, and that he has the sympathy of numbers in his




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              149
favour, will doubtless support the young advocate in
his arduous task. He appears in this court in striking character, as counsel, disinterested counsel, for his
friend.
" Gentlemen, I also appear in this court as counsel,
disinterested counsel, for a friend. Yes, gentlemen, I
am permitted to call Frederick the Great, my friend.
He is not, as other great monarchs have been, ambitious to raise himself above the sphere of humanity; he
does not desire to be addressed in the fulsome strains
either of courtly or of poetical adulation; he wishes not
to be worshipped as a god, but to be respected as a
man.* It is his desire to have friends that shall be
faithful, or subjects that shall be obedient. Happy his
obedient subjects-they are secure of his protection;
happy, thrice happy, his faithful friends-they are honoured with his favour and his confidence. It was in
the power of the prisoner now before you to have been
in this enviable class. You all of you know that the
Countess Laniska, his mother, has for years been honoured by the friendship of her sovereign; even the
conduct of her son has not been able to shake his confidence in her. A Pole by birth, Augustus Laniska was
educated among the first of the Prussian nobility at the
military academy at Potsdam,-that nursery of heroes.
From such an education, from the son of such a mother, honourable sentiments and honourable conduct
were to be expected. Most confidently were they expected by his king, who distinguished the young count,
as you all know, even in his boyish days. The count
is said to be of a temper naturally impetuous; the errors into which such a temper too publicly betrayed him
were pardoned by the indulgence of his king. I am
compelled to recall one recent instance of the truth of
these assertions, as it is immediately connected with the
present cause."
Here Mr. Warendorff related all that had passed at
the porcelain manufactory at Berlin, and the king's sub
* 2Eschylus.
2                13*




150              MORAL TALES.
sequent conduct towards Count Laniska. On the magnanimity of his majesty, the eloquent counsel expatiated for a considerable time; but the applauses with which
this part of his oration was received by a party in the
gallery who were seated near the king were so loud as
almost to drown the voice of the orator, and effectually to distract the attention of' those employed to take
down his words. When he could again be heard distinctly, he resumed as follows:
" I am not surprised at these testimonies of admiration which burst from the warm hearts of his majesty's
subjects; I am only surprised that a heart could be found
in his dominions on whom  such magnanimity could
make no impression. I am shocked, I am grieved,
when I find such a heart in the person of Count Laniska.
Can it be believed, that in the course of one short
month after this generous pardon, that young nobleman
proved himself the basest of traitors-a traitor to the
king who was his friend and benefactor?-Daring no
longer openly to attack, he attempted secretly to wound
the fame of his sovereign. You all of you know what
a degree of liberty, even licence, Frederick the Great
permits to that species of satirical wit with which the
populace delight to ridicule their rulers. At this instant
there are various anonymous pasquinades on the garden gates at Sans Souci, which would have provoked
the resentment-the fatal resentment-of any other monarch upon earth. It cannot be doubted that the authors of these things could easily be discovered, if the
king condescended to make any inquiries concerning
them: it connot be doubted that the king has power to
punish the offenders; yet they remain untouched, perhaps unknown. Our sovereign is not capable of feeling the petty emotions of vulgar spleen or resentment;
but he could not be insensible to the treacherous ingratitude of one whom he imagined to have been attached
to. him by every tie of' kindness and of duty. That the
Count Laniska should choose the instant when the king
was showing him unusual favour, to make that favour
an instrument of his base malice, is scarcely credible.




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              1.51
Yet, Prussians, incredible as it sounds to us, it is true.
Here are my proofs; here are my witnesses."
Mr. Warendorff, at this instant, uncovered the Prussian vase, and then pointed to a Jew, and to the master
of the porcelain manufactory, who stood beside him,
ready to give their evidence. We omit that part of Mr.
Warendorff's speech which contained the facts that have
been already related. The Prussian vase was handed to
the jury: the verses in praise of Frederick the Great
were read, and the word tyrant was seen, afterward,
with the utmost surprise. In the midst of the general
indignation, Mr. Warendorff called upon the Jew to come
forward and give his evidence. This Jew was an old
man, and there was something remarkable in his looks.
His head was still; his neck was stiff; but his eyes
moved with incessant celerity from side to side, and he
seemed uneasy at not being able to see what was passing behind him: there was a certain firmness in his
attitude; but his voice trembled when he attempted to
speak. All these circumstances prepossessed Laniska's
friends against the Jew the moment he appeared; and
it was justly observed, that his having the misfortune
to be a Jew was sufficient to prejudice many of the
populace against him, even before a word he uttered
reached their ears. But impartial spectators judged
that the poor man was only terrified at being called upon
to speak in so large an assembly. Solomon, for that
was the name of the Jew, after having taken an oath
upon the Talmud that he would speak nothing but the
truth, made the following answers to the questions put
to him by Mr. Warendorff:J.M. Warendorff. "Did you ever see this vase before?"  Solomon. "Yes."
JMr. Warendorff. "Where? when?-Tell all you
know about it to the gentlemen of the jury."
Solomon. "The first time I saw that vase was in the
gallery of paintings at the king's palace of Sans Souci;
to the best of my recollection it was on the night of the
first day cof the month, about ten o'clock, or perhaps it




152              MORAL TALES.
might be eleven: I wish to be exact; but I cannot be
certain as to the hour precisely."
JMr. Warendorff. " The exact hour is not of any consequence: proceed. Tell us how you came to see this
vase. Take your time to speak. We are in no hurry:
the truth will appear sooner or later."
Solomon. " His majesty himself put'the vase into my
hands, and commanded me to pack it up, with some
other china, which he was going to send as a present to
a gentleman at Paris. I am something of a judge of
china myself, being used to selling small peices of it up
and down the town and country. So I was struck with
the first sight of this beautiful vase; I looked at it very
carefully, and wiped away with my handkerchief the
dust which had settled on the white figures: here is the
very handkerchief. I wiped the vase all over: but
when I came to rub the bottom, I stopped to read the
verses on the character of Frederick the Great; and
having read these I rubbed the white letters quite clean:
the ground on which they were written was blue. I
found that some of the blue colour came off upon my
handkerchief, which surprised me a good deal. Upon
examining further, I perceived that the colour came off
only in one spot, of about an inch long and half an inch
broad. The king was at this tim.e standing with his
back to me, looking at a new picture which had just
been hung up in the gallery; but hearing me make an
exclamation, ('Father  ibraham!' I believe it was that
I said,) his majesty turned around.'What is the
matter with you, Solomon? You look wondrous wise,'
his majesty was pleased to say.'Why do you call on
Father Abraham at this time of day?  Do you expect
that he will help you to pack up that.china?-hey,
Solomon, my friend?' I had no power to answer this
question, for by this time, to my utter astonishment, I
had discovered. that on the spot where I had rubbed off
the blue paint, there was a word written-the word was
tyrant.' On the character of Frederick, the great tyrant!'
said I to myself —'what can this mean?' The king




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             153
snatched the vase from my hands, read what I had read,
saw the paint which had been rubbed off upon my
handkerchief, and, without saying one word, left the
gallery. —This is all I know about the matter."
The Jew bowed to the court, and Mr. WVarendorff
told him that, having closed his evidence, he might depart. But Albert rose to desire that the judge would
order him to remain in court, as he purposed to examine, or, according to the English term, to cross-examine him further at a proper time. The judge ordered
the Jew to remain in court. The next witness called,
on the part of the crown, was the master of the porcelain manufactory of Berlin; to whom Mr. Warendorff
put the following questions: —
Q. " Have you seen the verses which are inscribed
on the foot of this vase l".answer. "Yes, I have."
Q. " Do you recollect what words are written over
the verses?".answer. "I do: the words are-' On the character
of Frederick, the great tyrant.' "
Q. "Do you know by whom those words and these
verses are written.".answer. " I believe that they were written by Count
Augustus Laniska."
Q.." How do you know? or why do you believe it?".Answer. " I was present when Sophia Mansfeld, the
woman by whom the vase was designed, told the count
that she did not know how to write, and that she would
be obliged to him if he would write the inscription himself on it. The vase at this time had not been put into
the furnace. It was in what we call biscuit. The
Count Laniska took a proper tool, and said that he
would write the inscription as she desired. I saw him
writing on the bottom of the vase for some minutes. I
heard him afterward call to one of the workmen, and
desire that he would put the vase into the furnace: the
workman accordingly carried it into the next room to the
furnace, as I believe."
Q. " Did you see the inscription on the vase after it




154              MORAL TALES.
was taken out of the furnace? and was the word tyrant
then on it?".Answer. "I did not see the vase immediately upon
its being taken out of the furnace; but I saw it about
an hour afterward. At that time I read the inscription:
the word tyrant was not then visible on the vase; the
place where it now appears was blue. I carried it myself, along with some others, to the king's palace at
Sans Souci. The night of the first day of this month
his majesty sent for me, and showed me the word tyrant
on the vase: I had never seen it there till then. It
could not have been written after the china was baked:
it must have been written while the biscuit was soft;
and it must have been covered over with the blue paint
after the vase was taken out of the furnace. I believe
the word was written by Count Laniska, because I saw
nobody else write upon the vase but him; because the
word exactly resembles the handwriting of the rest of
the inscription; and because I, upon a former occasion,
heard the count make use of that very word in speaking
of Frederick the Great."
Here the master of the porcelain manufactory finished
speaking, and was going, with Mr. Warendorff's permission, to retire; but Albert signified his intention to
cross-examine him also, and the judge commanded that
he should remain in court. The next two witnesses
who were produced and examined were the workman
who carried the vase to the furnace, and the man whose
business it was to put the biscuit into the furnace.
Neither of these witnesses could write or read. The
workman deposed, that he carried the Prussian vase, as
he was desired, to the furnace; that no one touched it
on the way thither. The man whose business it was
to put the biscuit into the furnace swore that he put it
along with several other vases into the furnace; that he
attended the fire, and that no one touched any of them
till they were baked and taken out by him. Here the
evidence for the prosecution closed. Mr. Warendorff
observed that he should forbear to expatiate further
upon the conduct of the prisoner; that he had been




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             155
ordered by his sovereign to speak of him with all possible moderation; that he earnestly hoped the defence
that should be made for Count Laniska might be satisfactory; and that the mode of trial which had been
granted to him by the king was a sufficient proof of the
clemency of his majesty, and of his earnest desire to
allow the prisoner every possible means of re-establishing his character in the eyes of the public.
Albert now rose. The Count Laniska, who had appeared unmoved during Mr. Warendorff's oration,
changed countenance the moment Albert rose in his defence; the Countess Laniska leaned forward over the
rails of the gallery in breathless anxiety: there was no
sound heard in the whole gallery, except the jingling of
the chain of the king's sword, with which he was playing.
"I shall not attempt, gentleman," said Albert, "to
move your sympathy by a pathetic description of my
own feelings as a man, and as an advocate. Whatever
mine may be, it is my wish and my duty to repress
them. I have need of that calm possession of my understanding which will be necessary to convince yours
of the innocence of my friend. To convince is my object. If it were in my power I should, upon the present occasion, disdain to persuade. I should think it
equally incompatible with my own honour and that of
the Count Laniska. With these sentiments I refrain,
Prussians, from all eulogium upon the magnanimity of
your king. Praises from a traitor, or from the advocate
of a traitor, must be unworthy of a great monarch, or'of
a generous people. If the prisoner before you shall be
proved to be no traitor, he will doubtless have opportunities of expressing by actions, better than I can by
words, his gratitude to his sovereign for having allowed
him this public trial by his equals —men who are able
to discern and to assert the truth. It cannot have
escaped their observation that no positive evidence whatever has yet been produced against the prisoner. No
one has yet been heard to swear that he sato Count
Laniska write the word tyrant upon this vase. The
first witness, Solomon the Jew, has informed us of




156              MORAL TALES.
what our senses could not leave us room to doubt, that
the word is actually engraved upon the porcelain: further he has told us, that it was covered over with blue
paint, which be rubbed off with his handkerchief. All
this may be true; but the wisdom of Solomon, united
to that (f Baron Warendorff, has failed to point out to
us any certain connexion between this blue paint, this
handkerchief, and the supposed guilt of the Count Laniska. The master of the porcelain manufactory came
next, and I apprehended that, as being a more respectable witness than the Jew, it was reserved for him to
supply this link in the chain of evidence. But this respectable witness simply swore, that he heard a woman
say she could not write or read; that she asked Count
Laniska to write an inscription upon a vase for her;
that, in consequence of this request, the count wrote
something upon the vase, he does not pretend to know
what; but he believes that the word tyrant must have
been one of the words then written by the count, be,
cause he saw no one else write on the vase; because the
handwriting of that word resembles the rest of the inscription; and because the count, in his hearing, had,
upon a former occasion, made use of the same expression in speaking of the king. I recapitulate this evidence to show that it is in-no part positive; that it all
rests upon circumstances. In order to demonstrate to
you that the word in question could not have been
written by any person but Laniska, two witnesses are
produced-the workman who carried the vase to the
ifrnace, and he who put it into the fire. The one has
positively sworn that no person touched the vase on
the way to the furnace. The other as positively swears
that no one meddled with the vase after it was put into
the furnace.
" It is granted that the word could not have been engraved after the buscuit was baked. The.witness, however, has not sworn or asserted that there was no interval of time between his receiving the vase and his putting it into the fire. What became of it during this




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             151
interval? How long did it last? Will the witness
swear that no one touched it during this interval?
"These are questions which I shall put to him presently. I hope I have established my first assertion,
that you have no positive evidence of the prisoner's
guilt.
"You well know, gentleman, that where positive
evidence of any supposed fact cannot be produced, our
judgments must be decided by the balance of probabilities; and it is for this reason that the study of probabilities, and the power of comparing them, has, in a
late celebrated essay, been called the Science of Judges?.
To you, judges of my friend, all the probabilities of his
supposed guilt have been stated. Weigh and compare
them with those which I shall produce in favour of his
innocence. His education, his character, his understanding, are all in his favour. The Count Laniska
must be much below the common standard of human
virtue and capacity, if, without any assignable motive,
he could have committed an action at once so base and
so absurd as this of which he is accused. His temper
is naturally or habitually open and impetuous, even to
extreme imprudence. An instance of this imprudence,
and of the manner in which it was pardoned by the
king has been stated to you. Is it probable that the
same man should be both ingenuous and mean?  Is it
probable that the generosity with which he was treated
made no impression upon his heart? His heart must,
upon this suppostion, be selfish and unfeeling. Look
up, gentlemen, towards that gallery —look at that
anxious mother! those eager friends!-Could Laniska's
fate excite such anxiety if he were selfish and unfeeling?
Impossible!-But suppose him destitute of every generous sentiment, you cannot imagine Count Laniska to
be a fool. You have been lately reminded that he was
early distinguished for his abilities by a monarch whose
penetration we cannot doubt. tie was high in the favour of his sovereign; just entering upon life-a mili* Voltaire-Essai sur les Probabilit6s en fait de Justice.
O                 14




158               MORAL TALES.
tary life; his hopes of distinction resting entirely upon
the good opinion of his general and his king; all these
fair expectations he sacrifices-for what? for the
pleasure-but it could be no pleasure-for the folly of
writing a single word. Unless the Count Laniska be
supposed to have been possessed with an insane desire
of writing the word tyrant, how can we account for his
writing it upon this vase? Did he wish to convey to
France the idea that Frederick the Great is a tyrant?
A man of common sense could surely have found, at
least, safer methods of doing so than by engraving it as
his opinion upon a vase which he knew was to pass
through the hands of the sovereign whom he purposed
thus treacherously to insult. The extreme improbability
that any man in the situation, with the character, habits,
and capacity of Count Laniska, should have acted in
this manner, amounts, in my judgment, almost to a
moral impossibility. I knew nothing more, gentlemen,
of this cause when I first offered to. defend Laniska at
the hazard of my liberty: it was not merely from the
enthusiasm of friendship that I made this offer: it was
from the sober conviction of my understanding, founded
upon the accurate calculation of moral probabilities.
"It has been my good fortune, gentlemen, in the
course of the inquiries which I have since made, to
obtain further confirmation of my opinion.  Without
attempting any of that species of oratory which may be
necessary to cover falsehood, but which would encumber instead of adorning truth, I shall now, in the simplest manner in my power, lay the evidence before
the court.
The first witness Albert called was the workman who
carried the vase to the man at the furnace. Upon his
cross-examination, he said that he did not deliver the
vase into the hands of the man at the furnace, but that
he put it, along with several other pieces, upon a tray,
on a table which stood near the furnace.
3.lbert. "You are certain that you put it upon a
tray?"
Witness. "QQuite certain."




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              153
Albert. "What reason have you for remembering
that circumstance particularly?"
Witness.  " I remember it, because I at first set this
vase upon the ledge of the tray, and it was nearly falling. I was frightened at that accident, which makes
me particularly remember the thing. I made room upon
the tray for the vase, and left it quite safe upon the tray:
I am positive of it."
Albert. "That is all I want with you, my good
friend."
The next witness called was the man whose business
it was to put the vases into the furnace.
Albert. "Did you see the witness who was last examined put this vase upon a tray when he left it under
your care?"
Witness. "I did."
fAlbert. " You are certain that he put it upon the tray.
What reason have you to remember that circumstance
particularly?"
Witness. "I remember it, because I heard the witness cry out,' There, William, I had like to have thrown
down this cursed vase; but, look you here, I've left it
quite safe upon the tray.' Upon this I turned and looked,
and saw that vase standing upon the tray, safe, with
some others.".ilbert. "Do you recollect any thing else that passed?"
Witness. " Only that the witness told me I must put
it-the vase I mean-into the furnace directly; and I
answered to that,'All in good time; the furnace is not
ready yet; it will go in along with the rest.'".Albert. " Then you did not put it into the furnace
immediately after it was left with you?"
Witness. " No, I did not-but that was not my fault
-I could not; the furnace was not hot enough."
Albert. "How long do you think it was from the
time it was left upon the tray till you put it into the
furnace."
Witness. " I don't know-I can't be positive: it might
be a quarter of an hour, or twenty minutes; or it might




160              MORAL TALES.
be half an lour. I cannot be positive, sir; I cannot be
positive."
glbert. "You need not be positive. Nobody wants
you to be positive. Nobody wants to entrap you, my
good friend. —During this quarter of an hour, or twenty
minutes, or half an hour, that you speak of, did you ever
lose sight of this vase?"
Witness. " To be sure I did. I did not stand watching it all the while. Why should I? It was safe
enough."
Albert. " Do you recollect where you found the vase
when you took it to put it into the furnace?"
Witness. " Yes: it was standing, as it might be here,
in the middle of the table."
d.lbert. " Do you recollect whether it was standing
upon the tray or not?"
Witness. " It was not upon the tray, as I recollect:
no, I'm sure it was not, for I carried to the furnace first
the tray and all that was on it, and then, I remember,
I came back for this, which was standing, as I said before, as it might be here, in the middle of the table.".llbert. "' Was any body, except yourself, at the furnace, or in the room, from the time that this vase was
brought to you, till you put it into the furnace?"
FWitness.  " Not as I remember. It was our dinner
time. All the men, except myself, were gone to dinner:
I staid to mind the furnace.".dlbert. " It was you, then, that took this vase off
the tray, was it?"
Witness. "No, it was not. I never took it off the
tray.  I told you it was not upon the tray with the
others; I told you it was upon the table, as it might be
here."
J.lbert.  "Yes, when you were going to put it into
the furnace, you said that you saw it standing in the
middle of the table; but you recollect that you saw the
workman who brought it put it upon the tray. You told
us you remembered that circumstance perfectly."
Witness. " Yes, so I do."./lbert. " The vase could not have got off the tray of




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              161
itself. You did not take it off. How came it off, do
you think?"
Witness. "I don't know. I can't tell. Somebody,
to be sure, must have taken it off. I was minding the
furnace. My back was to the door. I don't recollect
seeing anybody come in; but many might have come
in and out, without my heeding them."
Allbert. "Take your own time, my good friend. Recollect yourself; perhaps you may remember."
Witness. "0 yes, now you put me upon recollecting, I do remember that Solomon the Jew came in, and
asked me where Sophia Mansfeld was; and it certainly
must have been he who took the vase off the tray; for,
now I recollect, as I looked round once from the furnace
I saw him with it in his hand; he was looking at the
bottom of it, as I remember; he said, here are some fine
verses, or some such thing; but I was minding the furnace. That's all I know about the matter.".Albert. " That is enough."
The next witness who came forward was the husband
of Sophia Mansfeld.-He deposed, that on the 29th of
April, the day on which the Prussian vase was finished,
as stated by the former evidence, and sent to be put into
the furnace, he met Sophia Mansfeld in the street: she
was going home to dinner. He asked to see the vase:
she said that it was, she believed, put into the furnace,
and that he could not then see it; that she was sorry
he had not come sooner, for that he could have written
the inscription on it for her, and that would have spared
her the shame of telling Count Laniska that she could
not read or write. She added, that the count had written all that was wanting for her. The witness, being
impatient to see the vase, went as fast as he could to the
manufactory, in hopes of gettingr  a sight of it before it
was put into the furnace. He met Solomon the Jew at
the door of the manufactory, who told him that he was
too late, that all the vases were in the furnace; he had
just seen them put in. The Jew as the witness now
recollects, though it did not strike him at the time, was
eager to prevent him from going into the furnace room.
o 2              14*




162              MORAL TALES.
Solomon took him by the arm, and walked with him up
the street, talking to him of some money which he was
to remit to Meissen, to Sophia Mansfeld's father and
mother.
Aflbert asked the witness on whose account this money
was to be remitted by the Jew to Meissen.
Witness. " The money was to be remitted on Sophia
Matsfeld's account.".Albert. " Did she borrow it from the Jew?"
Witness. "No; the Jew owed it to her for work
done by her. She had the art of painting on glass. She
had painted some glasses for a large magic lantern, and
several small pictures on glass. She did these things at
the hours when she was not obliged to be at the manufactory. She rose very early in the morning, and worked hard. She sold her work to the Jew upon condition
that he would remit the price agreed upon to her father
and mother, who were old, and depended on her for
support."
filbert. " Was the money punctually remitted to her
father and mother by the Jew?"
Witness. " Not a farthing of it was remitted by him,
as Sophia discovered since her return to Meissen.":Albert. " Did you ever hear this Jew say any thing
about Sophia Mansfeld's returning to Saxony?"
Witness. "Yes; I once heard the Jew say that he
hoped she never would leave Berlin, because she was
of great use to him. He advised me to settle in Berlin.
This passed about six weeks ago. About a week before
the prize was decided by the king, I met the Jew, and
told him Sophia had good hopes of getting back to
Saxony. He looked very much vexed, and said,' She
is not sure of that.' ".Albert. " Did you ever hear this Jew speak of Count
Laniska?"
Witness.  "Yes, about two months ago I saw him in
the street when I was speaking to Solomon, and I asked
the Jew who. he was. He answered,' He is the Count
Laniska-a man that I hate, and on whom I will be revenged some time or other.' I asked why he hated the




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.             163
count. The Jew replied,'Because the Christian doc
has made the corps of Jews his laughing-stock. This
day, when my son was going through his manual exercise before the king, Count Laniska was holding his
sides with laughter. I'll be revenged upon him some
time or other.'"
A.lbert. " I have no occasion, sir, to trouble you with
any further questions."'The next witness who appeared was a druggist of
Berlin. Ie deposed that on the 30th of April Solomon
the Jew came to his shop and asked for blue paints;
that, after trying the colours very carefully upon the
back of a letter, which he took out of his pocket, he
bought a small quantity of a shade of blue, which the
witness produced in court.
Albert ordered that the paint should be handed to the
gentlemen of the jury, that they might compare it with
the blue ground of the Prussian vase. With this it was
found, upon comparison, to match exactly..Albert to the druggist. " Do you know what became
of the paper upon which you say the Jew tried your
colours?2"
Witness. "Yes; here it is. I found it under the
counter, after the Jew went away, and I kept it to return to him, as I saw there was an account on the other
side of the paper, which I imagined he might want.
He never happened to call at my shop afterward, and I
forgot that I had such a paper, till you, sir, called upon
me about a week ago, to make inquiry on this subject.
You desired me to keep the paper carefully, and not to
let any one know that it was in my possession till the
day on which the trial of Count Laniska was to come
on. I have complied with your request, and here is the
paper."
The paper was handed to the jury; and one of the
shades of blue exactly matched that of the ground of
the Prussian vase. Albert now called upon the Jew to
produce, once more, the handkerchief with which he
had rubbed off the paint. The chain of' evidence was
now complete, fot the blue on the handkerchief was




164              MORAL TALES.
precisely the same as the colours on the paper and on
the vase. After the jury had satisfied themselves of this
resemblance, Albert begged that they would read what
was written upon the paper. The first thing that struck
their eyes was the word tyrant frequently repeated, as
if by some one who had been practising to write different hands. One of these words was an exact resemblance of the word tyrant on the Prussian vase: and
Albert pointed out a circumstance which had till now
escaped attention, that the letter r in this word was
made differently from all the r's in the rest of the inscription. The writing of the Count Laniska had, in
every other respect, been successfully imitated.
After Albert had shown these things to the jury, he
here closed the evidence in favour of the prisoner, observing that the length- of time which the trial had lasted
seemed to have somewhat fatigued both the judge and
jury; and knowing that it was now their usual hour of
dinner, he prudently forbore to make a long speech upon
the evidence which had been laid before them in favour
of his friend: he left it to their own understandings to
determine the balance of probabilities between the honour of Count Laniska and the honesty of Solomon
the Jew.
The judge, in a manner which would have done honour even to the English bench, summed up the evidence on both sides, and gave a distinct and impressive
charge to the jury, who, without leaving the court, gave
a verdict in favour of the prisoner. Loud acclamations
filled the hall. In the midst of these acclamations, the
word " Silence!" was pronounced by that voice which
never failed to command instantaneous obedience in
Prussia. All eyes turned upon the monarch.
"This court is now dissolved," said his majesty.' My judgment confirms the verdict of the jury. Count
Laniska, I took your sword from you too hastily. Accept of mine in its stead." And as he pronounced these
words, Frederick ungirded his sword, and presented it
to the young count. " As for you, sir," continued the
king, addressing himself to Albert, " you want no sword




THE PRUSSIAN VASE.              165
for the defence of your friends.  Your arms are superior to ours. Let me engage them in my service; and
trust me, I shall not leave them long unemployed, or
unrewarded."
There was but one person present to whom this speech
seemed to give no satisfaction.  This person was Solomon the Jew, who stood apart waiting in black silence
to learn his own fate. I-e was sentenced, not to a year's
imprisonment in the castle of Spandau, but to sweep the
streets of Potsdam (including the court in front of Count
Laniska's palace) for a twelvemonth.
After havingo heard this sentence, which was universally approved, the spectators began to retire.
The king dined-it is always important to know where
great men dine-Frederick the Great dined this day at
the Countess Laniska's, in company with her son, his
friend Albert, and the Engnsn traveller. After dinner,
the king withdrew to attend parade; and it was observed
that he wore the Count Laniska's sword.
"' You will allow," said the countess to the English
traveller, "that our king is a great man; for none but
great men can bear to acknowledge that they have been
mistaken."
"You will allow, madam," continued the Englishman, " that it was our English trial by jury which convinced the king of his mistake."
"And you applaud him ior granting that trial?" said
Albert.
"To a certain degree, I do," said the Englishman,
from whom it was difficult to extort praise of a despotic
king: "to a certain degree, I do; but you will observe,
that this trial by jury, which is a matter of favour to
you Prussians, is a matter of right to us Englishmen.
Much as I admire your king of Prussia, I admire our
English constitution more."








GOOD AUNT












;~A~I ~
\\\\~NK AI
~Q2yik~p




THE
GOOD AUNT.
CHARLES HOWARD was left an orphan when he was
very young. His father had dissipated a large fortune,
and lost his life in a duel, about some debt of honour
which had been contracted at the gaming-table. Without
fortune and without friends, this poor boy would probably
have lived and died in wretchedness, but for the humanity
of his good aunt Mrs. Frances Howard. This lady possessed a considerable fortune, which, in the opinion of
some of her acquaintance, was her highest merit; others
respected her as the branch of an ancient family; some
courted her acquaintance because she was visited by the
best conmpany in town; and many were ambitious of
being introduced to her because they were sure of meeting at her house several of those distinguished literary
characters who throw a radiance upon all who can contrive to get within the circle of their glories. Some few,
some very few of Mrs. Howard's acquaintance admired
her for her real worth, and.merited the name of friends.
She was a young and cheerful woman when she first
undertook the education of her little nephew. She had
the courage to resist the allurements of dissipation, or
all that by her sex are usually thought allurements. She
had the courage to apply herself seriously to the cultivation of her understanding: she educated herself, that
she might be able to fulfil the important duty of educating a child. Hers was not the foolish fondness of a
foolish aunt; she loved her nephew, and she wished to
educate him so that her affection might increase, instead
of diminishing, as he grew up. By associating early
A2     15    (5)




6                MORAL TALE S.
pleasure with reading, little Charles soon became fond
of it: he was never forced to read books which he did
not understand; his aunt used, w len he was very young,
to read aloud to him any thing entertaining that she met
with; and whenever she perceived by his eye that his
attention was not fixed, she stopped. When he was able
to read fluently to himself, she selected for him passages
from books which she thought would excite his curiosity
to know more; and she was not in a hurry to cram himn
with knowledge, but rather anxious to prevent his growing appetite for literature from being early satiated. She
always encouraged him to talk to her freely about what
he read, and to tell her when he did not like any of the
books which she gave him. She conversed with him
with so much kindness and cheerfulness, she was so
quick at perceiving his latent meaning, and she was so
gentle and patient when she reasoned with him, that he
loved to talk to her better than to any body else: nor could
little Charles ever thoroughly enjoy any pleasure without
her sympathy.
The conversation of the sensible, well-informed people who visited Mrs. Howard contributed to form her
nephew's taste. A child may learn as much from conversation as from books-not so many historic facts, but
as much instruction. Greek and Latin were the grand
difficulties. Mrs. Howard did not understand Greek and
Latin; nor did she, though a woman, set too high or too
low a value upon the learned languages. She was convinced that a man might be a great scholar without being
a man of sense; she was also persuaded that a man of
sense might be a good scholar. She knew that, what.
ever abilities her nephew might possess, he could not be
upon a footing with other men in the world without possessing that species of knowledge which is universally
expected from gentlemen, as an essential proof of their
having received a liberal education; nor did she attempt
to undervalue the pleasures of classic taste merely because she was not qualified to enjoy them: she was convinced by the testimony of men of candour and judgment,
that a classical taste is a source of real enjoyment, and




THE GOOD AUNT.                    7
sne wished her nephew's literary pleasures to have as
extensive a range as possible.
To instruct her nephew in the learned languages, she
engaged a good scholar and a man of sense: his namefor a man is nothing without a name-was Russell.*
Little Charles did not at first relish Latin; he used sometimes to come from his Latin lessons with a very dull,
stupified face, which gradually brightened into intelligence after he had talked for a few minutes with his
aunt. Mrs. Howard, though pleased to perceive that he
was fond of her, had not the weakness to sacrifice his
permanent advantage to her transient gratification. One
evening Charles came running up stairs to his aunt, who
was at tea; several people happened to be present.-" I
have done with Mr. Russell and my Latin, ma'am, thank
goodness-now may I have the elephant and the camel,
or the bear and her cubs, that you marked for me last
night?.'
The company laughed at this speech of Charles; and a
silly lady-for even Mrs.' Howard could not make all her
acquaintance wise-a silly lady whispered to Charles,
" I've a notion, if you'd tell the truth, now, that you like
the bear and her cubs a great deal better than you do
Latin and Mr. Russell."
"' I like the bear a great deal better than I do Latin, to
be sure," said the boy; "but as for Mr. Russell-why I
think," added he, encouraged by the lady's smiles, " I
think I like the bear better than Mr. Russell."
The lady laughed affectedly at this sally.
-" I am sure," continued Charles, fancying that every
person present was delighted with his wit, " I am sure
at any rate, I like the learned pig fifty times better than
Mr. Russell!"
The judicious lady burst into a second fit of laughter.
Mrs. Howard looked very grave. Charles broke from the
lady's caresses, and going up to his aunt, timidly looking
up in her face, said, " Anm I a fool?"
* RUSSELL.-This name is chosen for that of a good tutor, because
it was the name of Mr. Edgworth's tutor, at Oxford: Mr Russell was
also tutor to the late Mr. Day. Both by Mr. Day and Mr. Edgeworth
he was respected, esteemed, and beloved in no common degree.
~t




8                 MORAL TALES.
"You are but a child," said Mrs. Howard; and turning
away from him, she desired the servant who waited at
tea to let Mr. Russell know that she desired the honour
of his company. Mrs. Holloway-for that was the silly
lady's name-at the words " honour of his company."
resumed her gravity, but looked round to see what the
rest of the company thought.
"Give me leave, Mr. Russell," said Mrs. Howard as
soon as he caine into the room, " to introduce you to a
gentleman for whose works I know you have a great
esteem." The gentleman was a celebrated traveller, just
returned from abroad, whose conversation was as much
admired as his writings.
The conversation now took a literary turn. The traveller being polite, as well as entertaining, drew out Mr.
Russell's knowledge and abilities. Charles now looked
up to his tutor with respect. Children have sufficient
penetration to discover the opinions of others by their
countenance and manner, and their sympathy is quickly
influenced by the example of those around them. Mrs.
Howard led the traveller to speak of what he had seen in
different countries-of natural history-of the beaver,
and the moose-deer, and the humming-bird, that is scarcely larger than a humble-bee; and the mocking-bird, that
can imitate the notes of all other birds. Charles niched
himself into a corner of the sofa upon which the gentlemen were sitting, and grew very attentive. He was
rather surprised to perceive that his tutor was as much
entertained with the conversation as he was himself.
" Pray sir," said Mrs. Howard to the traveller, " is it
true that the humming-bird is a passionate little animal'?
Is the story told by the author of the Farmer's Letters
true?"
"W Vhat story?" said Charles, eagerly.
"Of a humming-bird that flew into a fury with a flower,
and tore it to pieces because it could not get the honey
out of it all at once."'
i' 0, ma'am," said little Charles, peeping over his tutor's
shoulders, "will you show me that? Have you got the
book, dear aunt?"




THE GOOD AUNT.                  9
"It is Mr. Russell's book," said his aunt.
"Your book!" cried Charles; "what! and do you
know all about animals, and those sort of entertaining
things, as well as Latin? And can you tell me, then,
what I want very much to know, how they catch the
humming-bird?"
"They shoot it."
" Shoot it! but what a large hole they must make in
its body and beautiful feathers! I thought you said its
whole body was no bigger than a bee-a humble-bee."
"They make no hole in its body-they shoot it without ruffling even its feathers."
" How, how?" cried Charles, fastening upon his tutor,
whom he now regarded no longer as a mere man of
Latin.
" They charge the gun with water," said Mr. Russell,
"and the poor little humming-bird is stunned by the discharge."
The conversation next turned upon the entertaining
chapter on instinct in Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia. Charles
did not understand all that was said, for the gentlemen
did not address themselves to him. He never listened
to what he did not understand: but he was very quick
at hearing whatever was within the limits of his comprehension. He heard of the tailor-bird, that uses its
long bill as a needle, to sew the dead and the living leaf
together, of which it makes its light nest, lined with
feathers and gossamer: of the fish called the "old soldier," who looks out for the empty shell of some dead
animal, and fits this armour upon himself: of the Jamaica spider, who makes himself a house under ground,
with a door and hinges, which door the spider and all
the members of his family take care to shut after them,
whenever they go in and out.
Little Charles, as he sat eagerly attentive in his corner of the sofa, heard of the trumpet of the common
gnat, * and of its proboscis, which serves at once for an
awl, a saw, and a pump.
* St. Pierre, Etudes de la Nature.
15*




10               MORAL TALES.
" Are there any more such things," exclaimed Charles,
" in these books?"
" A great many," said Mr. Russell.
"I'll read them all!" cried Charles, starting up"may I? may not I, aunt?"
"Ask Mr. Russell," replied his aunt: "he who is
obliged to give you the pain of learning what is tiresome, should have the pleasure of rewarding you with
entertaining books. Whenever he asks me tor Dr.
Darwin and St. Pierre, you shall have them. We are
both of one mind. We know that learning Latin is not
the most amusing occupation in the world, but still it
must be learned."
"'Why," said Charles, modestly, " you don't understand Latin, do you?"
" No," said Mrs. Howard: " but I am a woman, and
it is not thought necessary that a woman should understand Latin; nor can I explain to you, adt your age, why
it is expected that a gentleman should; but here are several gentlemen present —ask them whether it be not
necessary that a gentleman should."
Charles gathered all the opinions, and especially that
of the entertaining traveller.
Mrs. Holloway, the silly lady, during that part of the
conversation from which she might have acquired some
knowledge, had retired to the further end of the room,
to a game of trictrac with an obsequious chaplain. Her
game being finished, she came up to hear what the
crowd round the sofa could be talking about; and hearing Charles ask the opinions of the gentlemen about the
necessity of learning Latin, she nodded sagaciously at
Mrs. Howard, and, by way of making up for former errors, said to Charles, in the most authoritative tone,
" Yes, I can assure you, Mr. Charles, I am quite of
the gentlemen's opinion, and so is everybody-and this
is a point upon which I have some right to speak; for
my Augustus, who is only a year and seven months
older than you are, sir, is one of the best scholars of his
age, I am told, in England. But then, to be sure, it was
flogged into him well at first at a public school, which,




THE GOOD AUNT.                11
I understand, is the best way of making good scholars."
"And the best way of making boys love literature,"
said Mrs. Howard.
" Certainly, certainly," said Mrs. Holloway, who mistook Mrs. Howard's tone of inquiry for a tone of assertion, a tone more familiar to her —" Certainly ma'am, I
knew you would come round to my notions at last. I'm
sure my Augustus must be fond of his Latin, for never
in the vacations did I ever catch him with any English
book in his hand."
"Poor boy!" said Charles, with unfeigned compassion.
" And when, my dear Mrs. Howard," continued Mrs.
Holloway, laying her hand upon Mrs. Howard's arm,
with a yet untasted pinch of snuff between her fingers,
" when will you send Mr. Charles to school?"
"Oh, aunt, don't send me away from you-Oh, Sir!
Mr. Russell, try me —I will do my very, very best, without having it flogged into me, to learn Latin-only try
mne."
" Dear Sir, I really beg your pardon," said Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Russell; ""I absolutely only meant to support Mrs. Howard's opinion for the sweet boy's good;
and I thought I saw you go out of the room, or somebody else went out, when I was at trictrac. But I'm
convinced a private tutor may do wonders at the same
time: and if my Augustus prejudiced me in favour of
public education, you'll excuse a mother's partiality.
Besides, I make it a rule never to interfere in the education of my boys. Mr. Holloway is answerable for them,
and if he prefer public schools to a private tutor, you
must be sensible, sir, it would be very wrong in me to
set my poor judgment in opposition to Mr. Holloway's
opinion."
Mr. Russell bowed; for when a lady claims a gentleman's assent to a series of inconsistent propositions,
what answer can he make but-a bow? Mrs. Holloway's carriage was now at the door, and, without




12               MORAL TALES.
troubling herself any further about the comparative me
rits of public and private education, she departed.
When Mrs. Howard was left alone with her nephew,
she seized the moment while his mind was yet warm,
to make a lasting impression. Charles, instead of going
to Buffon's account of the elephant, which he was very
impatient to read, sat down resolutely to his Latin lesson. Mrs. Howard looked over his shoulder, and when
he saw her smile of approbation, he said, "Then y'ou
won't send me away from you?"
"Not unless you oblige me to do so," said his aunt.
I  love to have you with me, and I will try for one year
whether you have energy enough to learn what is disagreeable to you, without-"
"Without its being flogged into me," said Charles:"you shall see."
This boy had a great deal of energy and application.
The Latin lessons were learned very perfectly; and as
he did not spend above an hour a day at them, he was
not disgusted with application. His general taste for
literature, and his fund of knowledge, increased rapidly
from year to year, and the activity of his mind promised
continual improvement. His attachment to Mrs. Howard increased as he grew up, for she never claimed any
gratitude from her pupil, or exacted from him any of
those little observances which women sometimes consider as essential proofs of affection. She knew that these
minute attentions are particularly irksome to boys, and
that they are by no means the natural expression of their
feelings. She had sufficient strength of mind to be secure
in the possession of those qualities which merit esteem
and love, and to believe that the child whom she had
educated had a heart and understanding that must feel
and appreciate her value.
When Charles Howard was about thirteen, an event
happened which changed his prospects in life. Mrs.
Howard's large fortune was principally derived from an
estate in the West Indies, which had been left to her by
her grandfather. She did not particularly wish to be
the proprietor of slaves; and from the time that she came




THE GOOD AUNT.                13
to the management of her own affairs, she had been desirous to sell her West India property: Her agent represented to her that this could not be done without considerable loss. From year to year the business was delayed, till at length a gentleman, who had a plantation
adjoining to hers, offered to purchase her estate. She
was neither one of those ladies who, jealous of their
free-will, would rather actfor themselves, that is to say,
follow their own whims in matters of business, than
consult men who possess the requisite information; nor
was she so ignorant of business, or so indolent, as to be
at the mercy of any designing agent or attorney. After
consulting proper persons, and after exerting a just proportion of her own judgment, she concluded her bargain
with the West Indian. Her plantation was sold to him,
and all her property was shipped for her on board the
Lively Peggy. Mr. Alderman Holloway, husband to the
silly Mrs. Holloway, was one of the trustees appointed
by her grandfather's will. The alderman, who was supposed to be very knowing in all worldly concerns, sanctioned the affair with his approbation. The lady was at
this time rich; and Alderman Holloway applauded her
humanity in having stipulated for the liberty and provision grounds of some old negroes upon her plantation;
he even suggested to his son Augustus, that this would
make a very. pretty, proper subject for a copy of verses,
to be addressed to Mrs. Howard. The verses were
written in elegant Latin; and the young gentleman was
proceeding with some difficulty in his English translation of them, when they were suppressed by parental
authority. The alderman changed his opinion as to the
propriety of the argument of this poem: the reasons
which worked upon his mind were never distinctly expressed; they may, however, be deduced from the perusal of the following letter:



14               MORAL TALES.
TO MRS. FRANCES HOWARD.
"DEAR MADAM,
" Sorry am I to be under the disagreeable necessity
of communicating to you, thus abruptly, the melancholy
news of the loss of' the Lively Peggy,' with your valuable consignment on board, viz. sundry puncheons of
rum, and hogsheads of sugar, in which commodities (as
usual) your agent received the purchase-money of your
late fine West India estate. I must not, however reluctantly, omit to mention the casket of your grandmother's jewels, which I now regret was sent by this
opportunity.'lis an additional loss —sone thousands,
I.apprehend.
" The captain of the vessel I have just seen, who was
set on shore, on the 15th ultimo, on the coast of Wales;
his mate mutinied, and, in conspiracy with the crew,
have run away with the vessel.
"I have only to add, that Mrs. Holloway and my
daughter Angelina sincerely unite with me in compliments and condolence; and I shall be happy if I can be
of any service in the settlement of your affairs.
"' Mrs. Holloway desires me to say, she would do herself thle honour of waiting upon you to-morrow, but is
setting out for Margate.
" I am, dear madam,
"Your most obedient and humble servant,
"A. T. HOLLOWAY.
P. S. Your agent is much to blame for neglecting to
insure."
Mrs. Howard, as soon as she had perused this epistle,
gave it to her nephew, who was reading in the room
with her when she received it. Heshowed more emotion
on reading it than she had done. The coldness of the
alderman's letter seemed to strike the boy more than the
loss of a fortune-" And this is a friend!" he exclaimed
with indignation.




THE GOOD AUNT.               15
"No, my love," said Mrs: Howard, with a calm
smile, "I never thought Mr. Holloway any thing more
than a common acquaintance: I hope-I am sure I have
chosen myfriends better."
Charles fixed an eager, inquiring eye upon his aunt,
which seemed to say, "Did you mean to call me one
of your friends?" and then he grew very thoughtful.
"My dear Charles," said the aunt, after nearly a
quarter of an hour's silence, "may I know what you
have been thinking of all this time?"
" Thinking of, ma'am!" said Charles, starting from
his reverie-" of a great many things-of all you have
done for me-of-of what I could do-I don't mean
now; for I know I am a child, and can do nothing-I
don't mean nothing.-I shall soon be a man, and then I
can be a physician, or a lawyer, or something.-Mr.
Russel told me the other day, that if I applied myself, I
might be whatever I pleased. What would you wish
me to be, ma'am?-because that's what I will be-if I
can."
"Then I wish you to be what you are."
"Oh madam," said Charles, with a look of great mortification, "but that's nothing. Won't you make me of
some use to you!-But I beg your pardon,=I know you
can't think about me just now.-Good night," said he,
and hurried out of the room.
The news of the loss of the Lively Peggy, with all
the particulars mentioned in Alderman Holloway's letter, appeared in the next day's newspapers, and in the
succeeding paper appeared an advertisement of Mrs.
Howard's house in Portman-square, of her plate, china,
furniture, books, &c.-She had never in affluence disdained economy. She had no debts; not a single tradesman was a sufferer by her loss. She had always lived
within her annual income and though her generous disposition had prevented her from hoarding money, she
had a small sum in the funds, which she had prudently
reserved for any unforeseen exigence. She had also a
few diamonds which had been her mother's, which Mr.
Carat, the jeweller, who had new set them, was very




16               MORAL TALES.
willing to purchase. He waited upon Mrs. Howard,
in Portman-square, to complete the bargain.
The want of sensibility which Charles showed when
his aunt was parting with her.jewels to Mr. Carat would
have infallibly ruined him in the opinion of most ladies.
He took the trinkets up, one by one, without ceremony,
and examined them, asking his aunt and the jeweller
questions about the use and value of diamonds-about
the working of the mines of Golconda-about the shining of diamonds in the dark, observed by the children
of Cogi Hassan, the rope-maker, in the Arabian Talesabout the experiment of Francis the First upon.melting
of diamonds and rubies. Mr. Carat was a Jew, and,
though extremely cunning, profoundly ignorant.
" Dat king wash very grand fool, beg his majesty's
pardon," said the Jew, with a shrewd smile; "but
kings know better now-a-days.-Heaven bless dere majesties."
Charles had a great mind to vindicate the philosophic
fame of Francis the First, but a new idea suddenly
started into his head. "My dearest aunt," cried he,
stopping her hand as she was giving her diamond earrings to Mr. Carat —" stay, my dearest aunt, one instant,
till I have seen whether this is a good day for selling
diamonds."
"Oh, my dear young gentleman, no day in de Jewish
calender more proper for de purchase," said the Jew.
" For the purchase! yes," said Charles; "but for the
sale?"
"My love," said his aunt, "surely you are not so
foolish as to think there are lucky and unlucky days."
"No, I don't mean any thing about lucky and unlucky days," said Charles, running up to consult the
barometer; "but what I mean is not foolish indeed; in
some book I've read that the dealers in diamonds buy
them when the air is light, and sell them when it is
heavy, if they can; because their scales are so nice that
they vary with the change in the atmosphere. Perhaps
I may not remember exactly the words, but that's the
sense I know: I'll look for the words; I know where




THE GOOD AUNT.                 17
abouts to find them." He jumped upon a chair to get
down the book.
"But, master Charles," said the Jew, with a show
of deference, " I will not pretend to make a bargain with
you —I see you know a great deal more than I of dese
traffics.1"
To this flattery Charles made no answer, but continued looking for the passage he wanted in his book.
While he was turning over the leaves, a gentleman,
a friend of Mrs. Howard, who had promised her to meet
Mr. Carat, came in. He was the gentleman formerly
mentioned by the name of the traveller: he was a good
judge of diamonds, and, what is better, he was a good
judge of the human heart and understanding. He was
much pleased with Charles' ready recollection of the
little knowledge he possessed, with his eagerness to
make that knowledge of use to his aunt, and more with
his perfect simplicity and integrity; for Charles, after a
moment's thought, turned to the Jew and said,
" But the day that is good for my aunt must be bad
for you. The buyers and sellers should each have fair
play. Mr. Carat, your weights should be diamonds,
and then the changes in the weight of the air would not
signify one way or the other." *
Mr. Carat smiled at this speech, but, suppressing his
contempt for the young gentleman, only observed, that
he should most certainly follow Mr. Charles' advice,
whenever he wash rich enough to have diamqnds for
weights.
The traveller drew from his pocket a small book, took
a pen, and wrote in the title-page of it, For one who will
make a good use of it; and, with Mrs. Howard's permission, he gave the book to her nephew.
"I do not believe," said the gentleman, "that there
is at present another copy in England: I have just got
this from France by a private hand."
The sale of his aunt's books appeared to Charles a
much more serious affair than the parting with her dia* This observation was literally made by a boy of ten years old.
B2                 16




18               MORAL TALES.
monds. HIle understood something of the value of books,
and he took a sorrowful leave of many which he had
read, and of many more which he had intended to read.
Mrs. Howard selected a few for her own use, and she
allowed her nephew to select as many for himself as she
had done. He observed that there was a beautiful edition
of Shakspeare, which he knew his aunt liked particularly, but which she did not keep, reserving instead of
it Smith's Wealth of Nations, which would in a few
years, she said, be very useful to him. He immediately
offered his favourite Etudes de la Nature to redeem the
Shakspeare; but Mrs. Howard would not accept of it,
because she justly observed, that she could read Shakspeare almost as well without its being in such a beautiful
binding. Her readiness to part with all the luxuries to
which she had been for many years accustomed, and
the freedom and openness with which she spoke of all
her affairs to her nephew, made a great impression
upon his mind.
Those are mistaken who think that young people
cannot be interested in these sort of things: if no mystery be made of the technical parts of business, young
people easily learn them, and they early take an interest
in the affairs of their parents, instead of learning to sepa.
rate their own views from those of their friends. Charles,
young as he was at this time, was employed by his
aunt frequently to copy, and sometimes to write letters
of business for her. He drew out a careful inventory
of all the furniture before it was disposed of; he took
lists of all the books and papers; and at this work, however tiresome, he was indefatigable, because he was encouraged by the hope of being useful. This ambition
had been early excited in his mind.
When Mrs. Howard had settled her affairs, she took
a small neat house near Westminster school,* for the
purpose of a boarding-house for some of the Westmninster boys. This plan she preferred, because it
secured an independent means of support, and at the
*See the account of Mrs. C. Ponten, in Gibbon's Life.




THE GOOD AUNT,                 19
same time enabled her, in some measure, to assist in
her nephew's education, and to enjoy his company.
She was no longer able to afford a sufficient salary to a
well-informed private tutor; therefore she determined to
send Charles to Westminster school; and, as he would
board with her, she hoped to unite by this scheme, as
much as possible, the advantages of a private and of a
public education. Mr. Russell desired still to have the
care of Mrs. Howard's nephew; he determined to offer
himself as a tutor at Westminster school; and, as his
acquirements were well known to the literary world, he
was received with eagerness.
" My dear boy," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew,
when he first went to Westminster, " I shall not trouble
you with a long chapter of advice: do you remember
that answer of the oracle which seemed to strike you
so much the other day, when you were reading the life
of Cicero?".
"Yes," said Charles, "I recollect it-I shall never
forget it. When Cicero asked how he should arrive at
the height of glory, the oracle answered,' By making
his own genius, and not the opinion of the people, the
guide of his life.'"
"Well," said Mrs. Howard, smiling, " if I were your
oracle, and you were to put the same question to me, I
think I should make you nearly the same answer; except that I should change the word genius into good
sense; and, instead of the people, I should say the world,
which, in general, I think, means all the silly people of
one's' acquaintance. Farewell: now go to the Westminster world."
Westminster.was quite a new world to young
Howard. The bustle and noise at first astonished his
senses, and almost confounded his understanding; but
he soon grew accustomed to the din, and familiarized
to the sight of numbers. At first, he thought himself
much inferior to all his companions, because practice
had given them the power of doing many things with
ease which to him appeared difficult, merely because he
had not been used to them. In all their games and




20                MORAL TALES.
ture of the rooms was very different from the luxury and
elegance to which Angelina had been accustomed in the
apartments of Lady Diana Chillingworth. Coarse and illdressed was the food which Betty Williams, with great
bustle and awkwardness, served up to her guest; but
Angelina was no epicure. The first dinner which she
ate on wooden trenchers delighted her; the second, third,
fourth, and fifth appeared less and less delectable, so that
by the time she had boarded one week at her cottage she
was completely convinced that
"A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
And water from the spring,"
though delightful to Goldsmith's hermit, are not quite
so satisfactory in actual practice as in poetic theory; at
least to a young lady who had been habituated to all the
luxuries of fashionable life. It was vain that our
heroine repeated,
"Man wants but little here below:"
she found that even the want of double-refined sugar,
of green tea, and Mocha coffee, was sensibly felt. Hour
after hour, and day after day, passed with Angelina in
anxious expectation of her Araminta's return home.
Her time hung heavily upon her hands, for she had no
companion with whom she could converse; and one
odd volume of Rousseau's Eloise and a few well-thumbed
German plays were the only books which she could
find in the house. There was, according to Betty
Williams's report, " a vast sight of books in a press,
along with some table-cloths," but Miss Hodges had
the key of this press in her pocket. Deprived of the
pleasures both of reading and. conversation, Angelina
endeavoured to amuse herself by contemplating the
beauties of nature. There were some wild, solitary
walks in the neighbourhood of Angelina Bower; but
though our heroine was delighted with these, she
wanted, in her rambles, some kindred soul to whom she
might exclaim, "How charming is solitude!" The
day after her arrival in Wales, she wrote a long letter
to Araminta, which Betty Williams undertook to send
by a careful. lad, a particular friend of her own, who
would deliver it without fail into Miss Hodges' own




THE GOOD AUNT.                 21
tic, made him the laughing-stock of the school. The
poor boy felt inexpressible shame and anguish; his
cheek burned with blushes, when every day in the
public class he was ridiculed and disgraced; but his
dark complexion, perhaps, prevented those blushes
from being noticed by his companions, otherwise they
certainly would have suppressed, or would have endeavoured to repress, some of their insulting peals of
laughter. He suffered no complaint or tear to escape
himn in public; but his book was sometimes blistered
with the tears that fell when nobody saw them: what
was worse than all the rest, he found insurmountable
difficulties at every step in his grammar. He was unwilling to apply to any of his more learned companions
for explanations or assistance. He began to sink into
despair of his own abilities, and to imagine that he must
for ever remain, what indeed he was every day called,
a dunce. He was usually flogged three times a week.
Day after day.brought no relief, either to his bodily or
mental sufferings: at length his honest pride yielded,
and he applied to one of the elder scholars for help.
The boy to whom he applied was Augustus Holloway,
Alderman Holloway's son, who was acknowledged to
be one of the best Latin scholars at Westminster. He
readily helped Oliver in his exercises, but he made him
pay most severely for this assistance by the most tyrannical usage; and, in all his tyranny, he thought himself fully justifiable, because little Oliver, besides his
other misfortunes, had the misfortune to be a fag.
There may be-though many schoolboys will, perhaps, think it scarcely possible-there may be, in the
compass of the civilized world, some persons so barbarously ignorant as not to know what is meant by the
term fag. To these it mnay be necessary to explain, that
at some English schools it is the custom that all little
boys, when they first go to school, should be under the
dominion of the elder boys. These little boys are called
fags, and are forced to wait upon andpobey their mastercompanions. Their duties vary in different schools. I
have heard of' its being customary, in some places, to
16*




22                MORAL TALES.
malne use of a fag, regularly in the depth of winter instead of a warming-pan, and to send the shivering urchin
through ten or twenty beds successively, to take off the
chill of cold for their luxurious masters. They are expected in most schools to run of all the elder boys'
errands, to be ready at their call, and to do all their high
behests. They must never complain of being tired, or
their complaints will, at least, never be regarded, because, as the etymology of the word implies, it is their
business to be tired. The substantive fag is not to be
found in Dr. Johnson's Dictionary; but the verb to fag
is there a verb neuter, from fatigo, Latin, and is there
explained to mean, " to grow weary, to faint with
weariness." This is all the satisfaction we can, after
the most diligent research, afford the curious and learned
reader upon the subjects of fags in general.
In particular, Mr. Augustus Holloway took great delight in teasing his fag, little Oliver. One day it happened that young Howard and Holloway were playing
at ninepins together, and little Oliver was within a few
yards of them, sitting under a tree, with a book upon
his knees, anxiously trying to make out his lesson.
Holloway, whenever the ninepins were thrown down,
called to Oliver, and made him come from his book and
set them up again: this he repeatedly did, in spite
of Howard's remonstrances, who always offered to
set up the ninepins, and who said it teased the poor
little fellow to call him every minute from what he was
about.
" Yes," said Holloway, " I know it teases him-that
I see plain enough, by his running so fast back to his
form like a hare-there he is, squatting again; halloo!
halloo! come, start again here," cried Holloway; " you
haven't done yet: bring me the bowl, halloo!"
Howard did not at all enjoy the diversion of hunting
the poor boy about in this manner, and he said, with
some indignation, " How is it possible, Holloway, that
the boy can get his lesson if you interrupt him every
instant?"
"Pooh! what signifies his foolish lesson?"




THE GOOD AUNT,               23
"It signifies a great deal to him," replied Howard:
"you know what he suffered this morning because he
had not it."
"Suffered! why, what did he suffer?" said Holloway, upon whose memory the sufferings of others made
no very deep impression. "0, ay, true-you mean,
he was flogged: more shame for him! —why did not
he mind and get his lesson better?"
" I had not time to understand it rightly," said Oliver,
with a deep sigh; " and I don't think I shall have time
to-day either."
"More shame for you," repeated Holloway: "I'll
lay any bet on earth I get all you have to get in three
minutes."
"Ah, you, to be sure," said Oliver, in a tone of great
humiliation; "but then you know what a difference
there is between you and me."
Holloway misunderstood him; and thinking he meant
to allude to the difference in their age, instead of the
difference in their abilities, answered sharply,
"When I was your age, do you think I was such a
dunce as you are, pray?"
" No, that I am sure you never were," said Oliver;
"but perhaps you had some good father or mother, or
somebody who taught you a little before you came to
school."
"I don't remember any thing about that," replied
Holloway; " I don't know who was so good as to teach
me, but I know I was so good as to learn fast enough,
which is a goodness, I've a notion, some folks will
never have to boast of-so trot and fetch the bowl for
me, do you hear, and set up the ninepins. You've
sense enough to do that, have not you? and as for your
lesson, I'll drive that into your head by-and-by, if I can,"
added he, rapping with his knuckles upon the little
boy's head.
"As to my lesson," said the boy, putting aside his
head fiom the insulting knuckles, "I had rather try
and make it out myself, if I can."




24               MORAL TALES.
"If you can!" repeated Holloway, sneering; "but
we all know you can't."
"Why can't he, Mr. Holloway?" exclaimed Howard,
with a raised voice, for he was no longer master of his
indignation.
" Why can't he?" repeated Holloway, looking round
upon Howard with a mixture of surprise and insolence.
" You must answer that question vourself, Mr. Howard:
I say he can't."
"And I say he can, and he shall," replied Howard;
"and he shall have time to learn; he's willing, and, I'll
answer for it, able to learn; and he shall not be called
a dunce; and he shall have time; and he shall have
justice."
"Shall! shall! shall!" retorted Holloway, vociferating with a passion of a different sort from Howard's.
" Pray, sir, who allowed you to say shall to me? and
how dare you to talk in this here style to me about justice?-and what business have you, I should be glad to
know, to interfere between me and my fag? What
right have you to him or his time either? And if I
choose to call him a dunce forty times a day, what
then? he is a dunce, and he will be a dunce to the end
of his days, I say, and who is there thinks proper to contradict me?"
" I," said Howard, firmly; "and I'll do more than
contradict you-I'll prove that you are mistaken.
Oliver, bring your book to me."
"Oliver, stir at your peril!" cried Holloway, clenching his fist with a menacing gesture: nobody shall
give any help to my fag but myself, sir," added he to
Howard.
"I am not going to help him, I am only going to
prove to him that he may do it without your help," said
Howard.
The little boy sprang forward at these words for his
book; but his tormentor caught hold of him, and, pulling
him back, said, "He's my fag! do you recollect, sir,
he's my fag?"




THE GOOD AUNT.               25
"Fag or no fag," cried Howard, "you shall not
make a slave of him."
"I will I shall! I will!" cried Holloway, worked
up to the height of tyrannical fury: "I will make a
slave of him, if I choose it-a negro-slave, if I please!"
At the sound of negro-slave, the little Creole burst
into tears. Howard sprang forward to free him from
his tyrant's grasp: Holloway struck Howard a furious
blow, which made him stagger backwards.
"Ay," said Holloway, "learn to stand your ground
and fight before you meddle with me, I advise you."
Holloway was an experienced pugilist, and he knew
that Howard was not; but before his defiance had escaped his lips, he felt his blow returned, and a battle
ensued. Howard fought with all his soul; but the body
has something to do, as well as the soul, in the art of
boxing, and his body was not yet a match for his adversary's. After receiving more blows than Holloway,
prhaps, could have borne, Howard was brought to the
ground.
" Beg my pardon, and promise never to interfere between me and my fag any more," said Holloway,
standing over him triumphant: "ask my pardon."
"Never," said the fallen hero: " I'll fight you again,
in the same cause, whenever you please; I can't have
a better;" and he struggled to rise.
Several boys had, by this time, gathered round the
combatants, and many admired the fortitude and spirit
of the vanquished, though it is extremely difficult to
boys, if not to men, to sympathize with the beaten.
Everybody called out that Howard had had enough for
that night; and though he was willing to have renewed the battle, his adversary was withheld by the
omnipotence of public opinion. As to the cause of the
combat, some few inquired into its merits, but many
more were content with seeing the fray, and with hearing vaguely, that it began about Mr. Howard's having
interfered with Mr. Holloway's fag in an impertinent
manner.
Howard's face was so much disfigured, and his clothes
C




26              MORAL TALES.
were so much stained with blood, that he did not wish
to present himself in such a deplorable spectacle before
his aunt; besides, no man likes to be seen, especially by a
woman, immediately after he has been beaten; therefore, he went directly to bed as soon as he got home,
but desired that one of his companions, who boarded at
Mrs. Howard's, would, if his aunt inquired for him at
supper, tell her " that he had been beaten in a boxingmatch, but hoped to be more expert after another lesson
or two." This lady did not show her tenderness to her
nephew by wailing over his disaster: on the contrary, she
was pleased to hear that he had fought in so good a cause.
The next morning, as soon as Howard went to school,
he saw little Oliver watching eagerly for him.
"Mr. Howard-Charles," said he, catching hold of
him; "I've one word to say: let him call me dunce, or
slave, or negro, or what he will, don't you mind any
more about me-I can't bear to see it," said the affectionate child: "I'd rather have the blows myself, only
I know I could not bear them as you did."
Oliver turned aside his head, and Howard, in a playful voice, said, " Why, my little Oliver, I did not think
you were such a coward: you must not make a coward
of me."
No sooner did the boys go out to play in the evening,
than Howard called to Oliver, in Holloway's hearing,
and said, "If you want any assistance from me, remember, I'm ready."
", You may be ready, but you are not able," cried
Holloway, "to give him  any assistance-therefore,
you'd better be quiet: remember last night."
"I do remember it perfectly," said Howard, calmly.
"And do you want any more?-Come, then, I'll tell
you what, I'll box with you every day, if you please,
and when you have conquered me, you shall have my
fag all to yourself, if you please; but till then, you
shall have nothing to do with him."
"I take you at your word," said Howard, and a
second battle began. As we do not delight in fields of
battle, or hope to excel, like Homer, in describing variety




THE GOOD AUNT.                 27
of wounds, we snall content ourselves with relating that,
after five pitched battles, in which Oliver's champion
received bruises of all shapes and sizes, and of every
shade of black, blue, green, and yellow, his unconquered spirit still maintained the justice of his cause,
and with as firm a voice as at first he challenged his
constantly victorious antagonist to a sixth combat.
"I thought you had learned by this time," said the
successful pugilist, " that Augustus Holloway is not to
be conquered by one of woman breed."  To this taunt
Howard made no reply; but whether it urged him to
superior exertion, or whether the dear-bought experience of the five preceding days had taught him all the
caution that experience only can teach, we cannot determine; but, to the surprise of all the spectators, and
to the lively joy of Oliver, the redoubted Holloway was
brought, after an obstinate struggle, fairly to the ground.
Everybody sympathized with the generous victor, who
immediately assisted his fallen adversary to rise, and
offered his hand in token of reconciliation. Augustus
Holloway, stunned by his fall, and more by his defeat,
returned from the field of battle as fast as the crowd
would let him, who stopped him continually with their
impertinent astonishment and curiosity; for though the
boasted unconquerable hero had pretty evidently receivedI a black eye, not one person would believe it
without looking close in his face; and many would not
trust the information of their own senses, but pressed
to hear the news confirmed by the reluctant lips of the
unfortunate Augustus. In the mean time, little Oliver, a
fag no longer, exulting in his liberty, clapped his joyful
hands, sang, and capered round his deliverer. " And
now," said he, fixing his grateful, affectionate eyes
upon Howard; "you will suffer no more for me;
and, If you'il let me, 1'11 be your fag. Do, will you?
pray let me! I'll run of your errands before you can
say one, two, three, and away: only whistle for me,"
said he, whistling, "and I'll hear you, wherever I am.
If you only hold up your finger when you want me, I'm
sure I shall see it; and I'll always set up your nine



28               MORAL TALES.
pins, and fly for your ball, let me be doing what I
will. May I be your fag?"
" Be myfriend!" said Howard, taking Oliver in his
arms, with emotion which prevented him from articulating any other words. The word friend went to the little Creole's heart, and he clung to Howard in silence.
To complete his happiness, little Oliver this day obtained
permission to board at Mrs. Howard's, so that he was
now constantly to be with his protector. Howard's
friendship was not merely the sudden enthusiasm of a
moment; it was the steady, persevering choice of a
manly mind, apt the caprice of a schoolboy. Regularly,
every evening, Oliver brought his books to his friend,
who never was too busy to attend to him. Oliver was
delighted to find that he understood Howard's manner
of explaining: his own opinion of himself rose with the
opinion which he saw his instructor had of his abilities.
He was convinced that he was not doomed to be a dunce
for life; his ambition was rekindled: his industry was
encouraged by hope, and rewarded by success. He no
longer expected daily punishment, and that worst of all
punishments, disgrace. His heart was light, his spirits
rose, his countenance brightened with intelligence, and
resumed its natural vivacity; to his masters and his
companions he appeared a new creature. What has
inspired you?' said one of his masters to him one day,
surprised at the rapid development of his understanding
-" what has inspired you?"
"My good genius," said the little boy, pointing to
Howard.
Howard had some merit in giving up a good deal of
his time to Oliver, because he knew the value of time,
and he had not quite so much as he wished for himself.
The day was always too short for him; every moment
was employed; his active mind went from one thing to
another, as if it did not know the possibility of idleness,
and as if he had no idea of any recreation but in a change
of employment. Not that he was always poring over
books, but his mind was active, let him be about what
he would; and, as his exertions were always voluntary,




THE GOOD AUNT.                29
there was not that opposition in his opinion between the
ideas of, play and work, which exists so strongly in the
imaginations of those schoolboys who are driven to
their tasks by fear, and who escape from them to that
delicious exercise of their free-will which they call play.
"Constraint, that sweetens liberty,"
often gives a false value to its charms, or rather a false
idea to its nature.-Idleness, ennui, noise, mischief, riot,
and a nameless train of mistaken notions of pleasure,
are often classed, in a young man's mind, under the
general head of liberty.
Mr. Augustus Holloway, who is necessarily recalled
to our recollection when we want to personify an illeducated young man, was, in the strictest sense of the
word, a schoolboy-a clever schoolboy —a good scholar
-a good historian: he wrote a good hand-read with
fluency-declaimed at a public exhibition of Westminster
orators with no bad grace and emphasis, and had always
extempore words, if not extempore sense, at command.
But still he was but a schoolboy. His father thought
him a man and more than a man. Alderman Holloway
prophesied to his friends that his son Augustus would be
one of the first orators in England. He was in a hurry
to have him ready to enter the college, and had a borough
secure for him at the proper age. The proper age, he
regretted, that parliament had fixed to twenty-one; for
the alderman was impatient to introduce his young
statesman to the house, especially as he saw honours,
perhaps a title, in the distant perspective of his son's advancement.
While this vision occupied the father's imagination,
a vision of another sort played upon the juvenile fancy
of his son-a vision of a gig; for, though Augustus was
but a schoolboy, he had very manly ideas-if those ideas
be manly which most young men have. Lord Rawson,
the son of the Earl of Marryborough, had lately appeared to Augustus in a gig. The young Lord Rawson had
lately been a schoolboy at Westminster like Algustus:
c2               17




30                MORAL TALES.
lhe was now master of himself and three horses at col,
lege. Alderman Holloway had lent the Earl of AMarryborough certain moneys, the interest of which the earl
scrupulously paid in civility. The alderman valued himnself' upon being a shrewd man; lie looked to one of the
earl's boroughs as a security for his principal, and from
longsighted political motives, encouraged an intimacy'between the young nobleman and his son. It was one of
those useful fiiendships, one of those fortunate connexions, which some parents consider as the peculiar
advantage of a public school. Lord Rawson's example
already powerfully operated upon his young friend's
mind, and this intimacy was most likely to have a decisive influence upon the future destiny of Augustus.
Augustus was the son of an Alderman. Lord Rawson
was two years older than Holloway-had left school*had been at college-had driven both a curricle and a
barouche, and had gone through all the gradations of
coachmanship-was a man, and had seen the world. How
many things to excite the ambition of a schoolboy!
Augustus was impatient for the moment when he might
" be what he admired." The drudgery of Westminster,
the confinement, the ignominious appellation of a boy,
were all insupportable to this young man. He had obtained from his father a promise that he should leave
school in a few months; but these months appeared to
him an age. It was rather a misfortune to Holloway
that he was so far advanced in his Latin and Greek
studies, fobr he had the less to do at school; his schoolbusiness quickly despatched, his time hung upon his
hands. He never thoucht of literature as an amusement
for his leisure hours; he had no idea of improving himself farther in general science and knowledge. He was
told that his education was nearly at an end; he believed
it was quite finished, and he was glad of it, and glad it
was so well over. In the idle time that hung upon his
hands, during this intermediate state at Westminster, he
heartily regretted that he could not commence his manly
career by learning to drive-to drive a curricle. Lord
Rawson had carried him down to the country, the last




THE GOOD AUNT.                 31
summer vacation, in his dog-cart, driven random-tandem.
The reins had touched his fingers. The whip had been
committed to his hand, and he longed for a repetition of
these pleasures. From the windows of the house in
Westminster where he boarded, Holloway at every idle
moment lolled, to enjoy a view of every carriage and of
every coachman that passed.
Mr. Supine, Mr. Holloway's tutor, used, at these leisure
moments, to employ himself with practising upon the
German flute, and was not sorry to be relieved from his
pupil's conversation. Sometimes it was provoking to
the amateur in music to be interrupted by the exclamations of his pupil; but he kept his eyes steadily upon his
music-book, and contented himself with recommending
a difficult passage, when Mr. Holloway's raptures about
horses, and coachmanship, and driving well in hand,
offended his musical ear. Mr. Supine was, both from
nature and fashion, indolent; the trouble of reproving or
of guiding his pupil was too much for him; besides, he
was sensible that the task of watching, contradicting, and
thwarting a young gentleman, at Mr. Holloway's time
of life, would have been productive of the most disagreeable scenes of altercation, and could possibly have no
effect upon the gentleman's character, which he presumed, was perfectly well formed at this time. Mr. and
Mrs. Holloway were well satisfied with his improvements. Mr. Supine was on the best terms imaginable
with the whole family, and thought it his business to
keep himself well with his pupil; especially as he had
some secret hope that, through Mr. Holloway's interest
with Lord Rawson, and through Lord Rawson's influence
with a young nobleman who was just going abroad, he
might be invited as a travelling companion in a tour upon
the continent. His taste for music and painting had
almost raised him to the rank of a connoisseur: an amateur he modestly professed himself, and he was frequently stretched in elegant ease upon a sofa, already in
revery in Italy, while his pupil was conversing out of
the window, in no very elegant dialect, with the driver
of a stage coach in the neighbourhood. Young Hollo



32                MORAL TALES.
way was almost as familiar with this coachman as with
his father's groom, who, during his visits at home, supplied the place of Mr. Supine, in advancing his education.
The stage-coachman so effectually wrought upon the
ambition of Augustus, that his desire to learn to drive
became uncontrollable. The coachman, partly by entreaties,. and partly by the mute eloquence of a crown,
was prevailed upon to promise, that, if Holloway could
manage it without his tutor's knowledge, he should
ascend to the honours of the box, and at least have the
satisfaction of seeing some good driving.
Mr. Supine was soon invited to a private concert, at
which Mrs. Holloway was expected, and at which her
daughter Miss Angelina Holloway was engaged to perform. Mr. Supine's judicious applause of this young
lady's execution was one of his greatest recommendations to the whole family, at Ieast to the female part of
it: he could not, therefore, decline an invitation to this
concert. Holloway complained of a sore throat, and desired to be excused from accompanying his tutor, adding, with his usual politeness, that "music was the
greatest bore in nature, and especially Angelina's music." For the night of the concert Holloway had arranged his plan with the stage-coachman. Mr. Supine
dressed, and then practised upon the German flute till
towards nine o'clock in the evening. Holloway heard
the stage-coach rattling through the street, while his tutor was yet in the middle of a long concerto: the coachman was to stop at the public-house, about ten doors off
to take up parcels and passengers, and there- he was to
wait for Holloway; but he had given him notice that he
could not wait many minutes.
"You may practise the rest without book, in the
chair, as you are going to —street, quite at your ease,
Mr. Supine," said Holloway to his tutor.
" Faith, so I can, and I'll adopt your idea, for it's quite a
novel thing, and may take, if the fellows will only carry
one steady. Good night: I'll mention your sore throat
properly to Mrs. Holloway."
No sooner were the tutor and his German flute safely




THE GOOD AUNT.               33
raised upon the chairmen's shoulders, than his pupil
recovered from his sore throat, ran down to the place
where the stage was waiting, seized the stage-coachman's
down-stretched hand, sprang up, and seated himself triumphantly upon the co ach-box.
"Never saw a cleverer fellow," said the coachman:
"now we are off."
" Give me the reins, then," said Holloway.
"Not till'we are out o' town said the coachman:
"when we get off the stones, we'll see a little of your
driving."
When they got on the turnpike-road, Holloway impatiently seized the reins, and was as much gratified by this
coachman's praises of his driving as ever he had been
by the applauses he had received for his Latin verses.
A taste for vulgar praise is the most dangerous taste a
young man can have; it not only leads him into vulgar
company, but it puts him entirely in the power of his
companions, whoever they may happen to be. Augustus
Holloway, seated beside a coachman, became, to all intents and purposes, a coachman himself; he caught, and
gloried in catching, all his companions slang, and with
his language caught all his ideas. The coachman talked
with rapture of some young gentleman's horses which
he had lately seen; and said that, if he was a gentleman,
there was nothing he should pride himself so much upon
as his horses. Holloway, as he was a gentleman, determined to have the finest horses that could be had for
money, as soon as he should become his own master.
"And then," continued the coachman, "if I' was a
gentleman born, I'd never be shabby in the matters of
wages and perquisites to them that be to look after my
horses, seeing that horses can't be properly looked after
for nothing."
Certainly not," agreed the young gentleman: "my
friend, Lord Rawson, I know, has a prodigious smart
groom, and so will I all in good time."
"To be sure," said the coachman; "but it was not in
regard to grooms I was meaning, so much as in regard to
a coachman, which, I take i:, is one of the first persons
17*




34               MORAL TALES.
to be considered in a really grand family, seeing how
great a trust is placed in him-(mind, sir, if you please,
the turn at the corner, it's rather sharp)-seeing how
great a trust is placed in him, as I was observing, a good
coachman is worth his weight in gold."'
Holloway had not leisure to weigh the solidity of this
observation; for the conversation was now interrupted
by the sound of a postchaise, which drove rapidly by.
"The job and four!" exclaimed the coachman, with
as many oaths " as the occasion required."
"Why did you let it pass us?" And with enthusiasm,
which forgot all ceremony, he snatched the whip from
his young companion, and, seizing the reins, drove at a
furious rate. One of the chaise postillions luckily dropped
his whip. They passed the job and four; and the
coachman, having redeemed his honour, resigned once
more the reins to Holloway, upon his promising not to
let the job and four get ahead of them. The postillions
were not without ambition: the men called to each other
and to their horses; the horses caught some portion of
their masters' spirit, and began to gain upon the coach.
The passengers in the coach put out their heads, and female voices screamed in vain. All these terrors, increased the sport; till at length, at a narrow part of the
road, the rival coachman and postillions hazarded every
thing for precedency. Holloway was desperate in proportion to his ignorance. The coachman attempted to
snatch the reins, but missing his grasp, he shortened
those of the off-hand horse, and drew them the wrong
way: the coach ran upon a bank, and was overturned.
Holloway was dismayed and silent; the coachman
poured forth a torrent of abuse, sparing neither friend
nor foe; the complaints of the female passengers were
so incoherent, and their fears operated so much upon
their imagination, that, in the first moments of confusion, each asserted that she had broken either an arm or
a leg, or fractured her skull.
The moon, which had shone bright in the beginning
of the evening, was now under a cloud, and the darkness
increased the impatience of the various complainers; at




THE GOOD AUNT.                35
length a lantern was brought from the turnpike-house,
which was near the spot where the accident happened.
As soon as the light came, the ladies looked at each
other, and after they had satisfied themselves that no
material injury had been done to their clothes, and that
their faces were in no way (lisfigured, they began to recover from their terrors, and were brought to allow that
all their limbs were in good preservation, and that they
had been too hasty in declaring that their skulls were
fractured.  Holloway laughed loudly at all this, and
joined in all the wit of the coachman upon the occasion.
The coach was lifted up; the passengers got in; the'
coachman and Holloway mounted the box, when, just
as they were setting off the coachman heard a voice
crying to him to stop. He listened, and the voice, which
seemed to be that of a person in great pain, again called
for assistance.
"It's the mulatto woman," said the coachman: "we
forgot her in the bustle. Lend me hold of the lantern,
and stand at the horses' heads, while I see after her,"
added the coachman, addressing himself to the man who
had come from the turnpike-house.
"I shan't stir for a mulatto, I promise you," said
Holloway, brutally: "she was on the top of the coach,
wasn't she?  She must have had a fine hoist!"
The poor woman was found to be much hurt: she
had been thrown from the top of the coach into a ditch,
which had stones at the bottom of it. She had not been
able to make herself heard by anybody, while the ladies'
loud complaints continued; nor had she been able long
to call for any assistance, for she had been stunned by
her fall, and had not recovered her senses for many minutes. She was not able to stand; b.ut when the coachman held her up, she put her hand to her head, and in
broken English, said she felt too ill to travel further that
night.
"You shall have an inside place, if you'll pluck up
your heart; and you'll find yourself better with the motion of the coach."
"What, is she hurt-the mulatto woman?-I say,




36               MORAL TALES.
coachy, make haste," cried Iiolloway, " I want to be
off."
"So do I," said the coachman, "but we are not likely
to be off yet: here's this here poor woman can't stand,
and is all over bruises, and won't get into the inside of
the coach, though I offered her a place."
Holloway, who imagined that the sufferings of all
who were not so rich as himself could be bought off for
money, pulled out a handful of silver, and leaning from
the coach-box, held it towards the fainting woman;" Here's a shilling for every bruise at least, my good
woman:"-but the woman did not hear him, for she
was very faint. The coachman was forced to carry her
to the turnpike-house, where he left her, telling the people of the house that a return chaise would call for her
in an hour's time, and would carry her either to the next
stage, or back to town, whichever she pleased. Holloway's diversion for the rest of the night was spoiled, not
because he had too much sympathy with the poor woman that was hurt, but because he had been delayed so
long by the accident, that he lost the pleasure of driving
into the town of * * ". He had intended to have gone
the whole stage, and to have returned in the job and
four. This scheme had been arranged before he set out
by his friend the coachman; but the postillions in the
job and four having won the race, and made the best of
their way, had now returned, and met the coach about
two miles from the turnpike-house.
" So," said Holloway, " I must descend, and get home,
before Mr. Supine wakens from his first sleep."
Holloway called at the turnpike-house, to inquire after the mulatto; or rather one of the postillions stopped
as he had been desired by the coachman, to take her up
to town, if she was able to go that night.
The postillion, after he had spoken to the woman,
came to the chaise-door, and told Holloway " that he
could hardly understand what she said, she talked such
outlandish English; and that he could not make out
where she wanted to be carried to."




THE GOOD AUNT.                 37
*" Ask the name of some of her friends in town," cried
Holloway, and don't let her keep us here all night."
"She has -no friends, as I can find," replied the postillion, "nor acquaintance neither."
"Well, who does she belong to then?"
"She belongs to nobody-she's quite a stranger in
these parts, and doesn't know no more than a child
where to go in all London; she only knows the Christian name of an old gardener, where she lodged, she
says."
"What would she have us do with her, then?" said
Holloway.'"Drive on, for I shall be late."
The postillion, more humane than Holloway, exclaimed, "No, master, no!-it's a sin to leave her upon
the road this ways, though she's no Christian, as we
are, poor copper-coloured soul! I was once a stranger
myself in Lon'on, without a sixpence to bless myself;
so I know what it is, master."
The good-natured postillion returned to the mulatto
woman. "Mistress," said. he, "I'd fain see ye safe
home, if you could but think of the t'other name of that
gardener that you mentioned lodging with; because
there be so many Pauls in London town, that I should
never find your Paul, as you don't know neither the
name of his street —but I'll tell ye now all the streets
I'm acquainted with, and that's a many: do you stop
me, mistress, when I come to the right; for you're sadly bruised, and I won't see you left this ways on the
road."
He then named several streets; the mulatto woman
stopped him at one name which she recollected to be the
name of the street in which the gardener lived. The
woman at the turnpike-house, as soon as she heard the
street in which he lived named, said she knew this gardener; that he had a large garden about a mile off, and
that he came from London early almost every morning
with his cart, for garden-stuff for the market: she advised the mulatto woman to stay where she was that
night, and to send to ask the gardener to come on to the
turnpike-house for her in the morning. The postillion
D




38               MORAL TALES.
promised to go to the gardener's "by the first break of
day."' The woman raised her head to bless him; and
the impatient Holloway loudly called to him to return to
his horses, swearing that he would not give him one
farthing for himself if he did not.
The anxiety which Holloway felt to escape detection
kept him in pain; but Holloway never measured or estimated his pleasures and his pains; therefore he never
discovered that, even upon the most selfish calculations
he had paid too dear for the pleasure of sitting upon a
coach-box for one hour.
It was two o'clock in the morning before the chaise
arrived in town, when he.as set down at the house at
which the stage-coach put up, walked home, got in at
his bedchamber window —his bed chamber was upon
the ground-floor. Mr. Supine was fast asleep, and his
pupil triumphed in his successfulfrolic.
While Holloway, in his dreams, was driving again,
and again overturning stage coaches, young Howard, in
his less manly dreams, saw Dr. B., the head master of
Westminster school, ad vancing to wards him, at a public
examination, with a prize medal in his hand, which
turned, Howard thought, as he looked upon it, first into
the face of his aunt, smiling upon him; then into a
striking likeness of his tutor, Mr. Russell, who also smiled upon him; and then changed into the head of little
Oliver, whose eyes seemed to sparkle with joy. Just
at the instant, Howard awoke, and opening his eyes,
saw Oliver's face close to him, laughing heartily.
"Why," exclaimed Oliver, "you seized my head
with both your hands when I came to waken you: what
could you be dreaming of, Charles?"
"I dreamed I took you for a medal, and I was right
glad to have hold of you," said Howard, laughing; " but




THE GOOD AUNT.                39
I shall not get my medal by dreaming about it. What
o'clock is it?  I shall be ready in half a second."
" Ay," said Oliver, " I won't tell you what o'clock it
is till you're dressed: make haste; I've been up this
half-hour, and I've got every thing ready, and I've carried the little table, and all your books, and the pen and
ink, and all the things, out to our seat; and the sun
shines upon it, and every tling looks cheerful, and you'll
have a full hour to work, for it's only half after five."
At the back of Mrs. Howard's house there was a little garden; at the end of the garden was a sort of roothouse, which Oliver had cleaned out, and which he
dignified by the title of the seat. There were some pots
of geraniums and myrtles kept in it, with Mrs. Howard's
permission, by a gardener, who lived next door to her,
and who frequently came to work in her garden. Oliver watered the geraniums, and picked off the dead
leaves, while Howard was writing at the little table
which had been prepared for him. Howard had at this
time two grand works in hand, on which he was enthusiastically intent: he was translating the little French
book which the traveller had given to him; and he was
writing an essay for a prize. The young gentlemen at
Westminster were engaged in writing essays for a periodical paper; and Dr. B. had promised to give a prize
medal as the reward for that essay, which he, and a
jury of critics to be chosen from among the boys themselves, should pronounce to be the best composition.
" I won't talk to you, I won't interrupt you," said
Oliver to Howard; " but only answer me one question:
what is your essay about?"
Howard put his finger upon his lips, and shook his
head.
"I assure you I did not look, though I longed to peep
at it this morning before you were ulp. Pray, Charles,
do you think I shall ever be able to write essays?"
"To be sure," said Howard, "why not."
"Ah," said Oliver with a sigh, "because I've no
genius, you know."
"But," said Howard, "have you not found out that




40               MORAL TALES.
you could do a great many things that you thought you
could not do?"
" Ay, thank you for that: but then, you know, those
are the sort of things which can be done without genius."
"And what are the things," replied Howard, " which
cannot be done without genius?"
"O,  a great, great many, I believe," said Oliver:
"you know Holloway said so."
"But we are not forced to believe it, because Holloway said so, are we?  Besides, a great many things
may mean any thing, buckling your shoes, or putting
on your hat, for instance."
Oliver laughed at this, and said, "These, to be sure,
are not the sort of things that can't be done without
genius."
"What are the sort of things?" repeated Howard.
"Let us, now I've the pen in my hand, make a list of
them."
"Take a longer bit of paper."
"No, no, the list will not be so very long as you think
it will. What shall I put first?-make haste for I am in
a hurry."' "Well —writing, then-writing, I'm sure, requires
genius."
" Why?"
"Because I never could write, and I've often tried
and tried to write something, but I never could; because I've no genius for it."
"What did you try to write?" said Howard.
"Why, letters," said Oliver: "my uncle and my
aunt, and my two cousins desired I would write to them
regularly once a fortnight; but I never can make out a
letter, and I'm always sorry when letter-writing day
comes; and if I sit thinking and thinking for ever so long,
I can find nothing to say. I used always to beg a beginning from somebody; but then, when I've got over the
beginning, that's only three or four lines; and if I stretch
it out ever so much, it won't make a whole letter; and
what can I put in the middle? There's nothing but




THE GOOD AUNT.                  41
that I ant well, and hope they are all well; or else, that
I am learning Latin, as you desired, dear uncle, and am
foruward in may English. The end I can manage well
enough; because there's dut)y an<d love to send to every
bod y; and about the post is just going 07t, and believe me
to be in~ haste, your dutifutl and q'ectionate nephew. But
then," continued little Oliver, " this is all nonsense, I
know, and I'm ashamed to write such bad letters. Now
your pen goes on, scratch, scratch, scratch, the moment
you sit down to it; anld you can write three pages of a
nice, long, good letter, while I am writing,' Jly dear
uncle Johr,' and that's what I call having a genius for
writinl.  I wonder how you came by it: could you
write good letters when you were of my age?"
"I never wrote any letters at your age," said Howard
", how happy you must have been! But then, if
you never learned, how comes it that you can write
them  now?  How can you always find something to
say 2"
" I never write but when I have something to say;
and you know, when you had something to say last post
about Easter holydays, your pen, Oliver, went scratch,
scratch. scratch, as fast as anybodv's."
"So it did," cried Oliver; "but then the thing is,
I'm forced to write when I've nothing about the holydays to say."
" Forced?"
" Yes, because I'm afraid my uncle and cousins should
be angry if I didn't write."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Howard, " to my
dear aunt, who never forced me to write: she always
said,' Never write, Charles, but when you like it;' and
I never did. When I had any thing to say, that is, any
thing to describe, or any reasons to give upon any subject, or any questions to ask which I very much wished
to have answered, then you know I could easily write,
because I had nothing to do but to write down just the
words which I should have said if I had been speakIng."
"But I thought writing was quite a different thing
D2               18




42               MORAL TALES.
from speaking, because in writing there must be sentences, and long sentences, and fine sentences, such as
there are in books."
"In some books," said Howard, "but not in all."
" Besides," continued Oliver, " one person's speaking
is quite different from another person's speaking. Now
I believe I make use of a great number of odd words,
and vulgar expressions, and bad English, which I learned
from being with the servants, I believe, at home. You
have never talked to servants, Charles, I dare say, for
you have not one of their words.'"
"No," said Charles, "never; and my aunt took a
great deal of pains to prevent me from hearing any of
their conversation; therefore it was impossible that I
should catch-"
Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of old Paul the gardener.
" So, Paul," cried little Oliver, " I've been doing your
work for you this morning: I've watered all the geraniums, and put the Indian corn in the sun; what kept
you so late in your bed this fine morning, Paul? fie,
Paul!"
" You would not'say fie, master," replied Paul, "if
you knew how early I had been out of my bed, this
morning: I was abroad afore sunrise, so I was, master."
"And why didn't you come to work then, Paul?
You shall not have the watering-pot till you tell me:
don't look so grave about it; you know you must smile
when I please, Paul."
"I can't smile just now, master," said old Paul, but
he smiled, and then told Oliver, that "the reason he
could not smile was, that he was a little sick at heart,
with just coming from the sight of a poor soul who had
been sadly bruised by a fall from the top of the stage
which was overturned last night. She was left all night
at the pike, and as she had no other friends, she sent for
me by a return chay-boy, and I went for her, and brought
her home in my covered cart to my good woman, which
she liked with good reason, better ten to one than the




THE GOOD AUNT.                 43
stage. And she's terribly black and blue, and does not
seem quite right in her head to my fancy."
"I wish we could do something for her," said Howard. " As soon as Mr. Russell is up, I'll ask him to go
with us to see her. We will call as we go by to school
this morning."
"But, master," said the gardener, " I should warn ye
beforehand, that mayhap you mayn't pity her so much,
for she's rather past her best days; and bad must have
been her best, for she's swarthy, and not like one of this
country; she comes from over the seas, and they call
her a-a-not quite a negro.'"
"A  mulatto! —I like her the better," cried Oliver,
"for my nurse was a mulatto. I'll go and waken Mr.
Russell fhis instant, for I'm  sure he'll not be angry."
He ran away to Mr. Russell, who was not angry at being awakened, but dressed himself almost as expeditiously as Oliver wished, and set out immediately with
his pupils, delighted to be the companion of their benevolent schemes, instead of being the object of their
fear and hatred.  Tutors may inspire affection, even
though they have the misfortune to be obliged to teach
Greek and Latin.*
When the boys arrived at the gardener's, they found
the poor mulatto woman lying upon a bed, in a small
close room, which was so full of smoke, when they
came in, that they could hardly breathe; the little window that let in but a glimmering light, could not without difficulty be opened. The poor woman made but
few complaints; she appeared to be most concerned at
the thoughts of being a burden to the good old gardener
and his wife. She said that she had been long in England; that she came to London in hopes of finding a
family who had been very kind to her in her youth; but
that after inquiry at the house where they had formerly
lived she could hear nothing of them. After a great
deal of trouble, she discovered that a West India gen* Vide Dr. Johnson's assertion, to the contrary in Mrs. Piozzi's
Anecdotes.




44               MORAL TALES.
tleman, who had known her abroad, was now at Bath;
but she had spent the last farthing of her money, and
she was therefore unable to undertake the journey. She
had brought over with her, she said, some foreign seeds
of flowers, which her young mistress used to be fond of
when she was a child, which she had kept till hunger
obliged her to offer them to a gardener for a loaf of
bread. The gardener to whbm she offered them wasold
Paul, who took compassion upon her distress, lodged
her for a week, and at last paid for an outside place for
her upon the Bath coach. There was such an air of
truth and simplicity in this woman, that Mr. Russell,
nmore experienced than his pupils, believed her story at
once, as implicitly as they did. "0," exclaimed little
Oliver, "I have but this half-crown for her: I wish
Holloway had but paid me my half-guinea; I'll ask
him for it again to-day; and will you come with us
here. again, this evening, Mr. Russell, that I may bring
it then?"
Mr. Russell and Howard hired the room for a fortnight in which the mulatto woman was now lying, and
paid old Paul the gardener for it, promising at the same
time to supply her with food. The gardeners wife, at
the poor woman's earnest request, promised that as
soon as she was able to sit up, she would get her some
coarse plain work to do.
"But," said Oliver, "how can she see to work in
this smoke? I'm sure it makes my eyes water so that
I can. hardly bear it, though I have been in it scarcely
ten minutes."
" I wish," exclaimed Howard, turning to Mr. Russell,
"that this chimney could be cured of smoking."
" 0, welladay," said the gardener, " we must put up
with it as it is, for I've had doctors to it, at one time or
another, that have cost me a power of money; but, after
all it's as bad as ever, and my good dame never lights a
fire in it this fine spring weather; howsomever, she
(pointing to the mulatto woman) is so chilly, coming
from a country that, by all accounts, is a hot-house
compared with ours, that she can't sleep o' nights, or




THE GOOD AUNT.                45
live o' days without a small matter of fire, which she's
welcome to; though you see it almost fills the house
with smoke."
Howard, during the gardener's speech, had been trying to recollect where it was that he had lately seen some
essay upon smoky chimneys; and he suddenly exclaimed,
"It was in Dr. Pranklin's works-was it not, Mr. Russell."
"What?" said Mr. Russell, smiling.
"That essay upon smoky chimneys which I said I
would skip over, the other day, because I had nothing
to do with it, and I thought I should not understand.
Don't you remember telling me, sir, that I had better not
skip it, because it might some time or other be useful to
me? I wish I could get the book now; I would take
pains to understand it, because, perhaps, I might find
out how this poor man's chimney miht be cured of
smoking. As for his window, I know how that can be
easily mended, because I once watched a man who was
hanging some windows for my aunt-I'll get some sashline."
"Do you recollect what o'clock it is, my good friend?"
said Mr. Russell, holding out his watch to How/rard.
"We cannot wait till you are perfect master of the
theory of smoky chimneys and the practice of hanging
windows; it is time that we should be gone."  Mr.
Russell spoke this with an air of raillery, as he usually
did when he was particularly pleased.
As they were going away, Oliver earnestly repeated
his request, that Mr. Russell would come again in the
evening, that he might have an opportunity of giving
the poor woman his half-guinea. Mr. Russell promised
him that he would; but he at the same time added, "all
charity, my dear Oliver, does not consist in giving
money-it is easy for a man to put his hand in his
pocket, and take out a few shillings to give to any person
in distress."
" I wish," said Oliver, "I was able to do more! what
can I do? I'll think of something. Howard, will you
think of something that I can do? But I must see about
1 8 *




46               MORAL TALES.
my Latin lesson first, for I had not time to look it over
this morning before I came out."
When they got back, the business of the day for some
hours suspended all thoughts of the mulatto woman;
but in the first interval of leisure, Oliver went in search
of Mr. Holloway, to ask for his half-guinea. Holloway
had a crowd of his companions round him, whom he
seemed to be entertaining with some very diverting story,
for they were laughing violently when little Oliver first
came up to them: but they' no sooner perceived him
than all their merriment suddenly ceased. Holloway
first lowered his voice into a whisper, and then observing
that Oliver still stood his ground, he asked lPim, in his
usual peremptory tone, what might be his business?
Oliver drew him aside, and asked him to pay him the
half-guinea. " The half-guinea?" repeated Holloway:
"man, you talk of the half-guinea as if there was but
one half-guinea in the world: you shall have the halfguinea, for I hate to be dunned-stay, I believe I have
no half-a-guinea about me: you can't give me two halfguineas for a guinea, can ye?"
"Me!"
"Well, then, you must wait till I can get change."
"Must I wait? But I really want it for a particular
reason this evening: I wish you could give it me nowyou know you promised; but I don't like putting people
in mind of their promises, and I would not ask you
about the money, only that I really want it."
"Want it! nonsense: what can you want money
for, such a little chap as you? I'll lay you any wager,
your particular reason, if the truth was told, is, that you
can't resist the tart-woman."
" I can resist the tart-wonman," cried Oliver, proudly;' I have a much better use for my money: but I don't
want to boast, neither; only, Holloway, do give me the
half-guinea. Shall I run and ask somebody to give you
two half-guineas for a guinea?"
"No, no, I'll not be dunned into paying you. If you
had not asked me for it, I should have given it you to



THE GOOD AUNT.               47
night: but since you could not trust to my honour,
you'll please to wait till to-morrow morning."
"But I did trust to your honour for a whole month."
"A month! a great while, indeed; then trust to it a
day longer; and if you ask me for the money to-morrow,
you sha'nt have it till the next day. I'll teach you not
to be such a little dun: nobody that has any spirit can
bear to be dunned, particularly for such small sums. I
thought you had been above such meanness, or, I promise you, I should never have borrowed your halfguinea," added Holloway; and he left his unfortunate
creditor to reflect upon the new ideas of meanness and
spirit which had been thus artfully thrown out.
Oliver was roused from his reflections by his friend
Howard. "Mr. Russell is ready to go with us to the
gardener's again," said Howard: " have you a mind to
come?2'
"A great mind; but I am ashamed, for I've-not got
my half-guinea which I lent."  Here his newly-acquired fear of meanness checked Oliver; and without
complaining of his debtor's want of punctuality, he
added,' but I should like to see the poor woman, though,
*for all that."
They set out, but stopped in their way at a bookseller's, where fHoward inquired for that essay of Dr.
Franklin on smoky chimneys, which he was impatient
to see. This bookseller was well acquainted with Mr.
Russell. Howard had promised to give the bookseller
the translation of the little French book which we formerly mentioned; and the bookseller, on his part, was
very obliging in furnishing Howard with any books he
wanted.
Howard was deep in the essay on smoky chimneys,
and examininz the references in the print belonging to
it, while Mr. Russell was looking over the prints in the
Encyclopedia, with little Oliver. They were all so intent upon what they were about, that they did not perceive the entrance of Holloway and Mr. Supine. Mr.
Supine called in merely to see what Mr. Russell could
be looking at with so much appearance of interest. The




48              MORAL TALES.
indolent are always curious, though they will not al
ways exert themselves even to gratify their curiosity.
" Only the Encyclopedia prints," said Supine, looking over Mr. Russell's shoulder: "I thought you had
got something new."
"Only smoky chimneys," Exclaimed Holloway,
looking over Howard's shoulders; "what upon earth,
Howard, can you find so entertaining in smoky chimneys? Are you turned chimnev-doctor or chimneysweeper? This will be an excellent thing for Lord
Rawson, won't it, Mr. Supine? We'll tell it to him on
Thursday; it will be a good joke for us for half the day.
Pray, Doctor Charles Howard," continued the wit,
with mock solemnity, "do you go up the chimneys
yourself?"
Howard took this raillery with so much good-humour
that Holloway looked quite disappointed; and Mr.
Supine, in a careless tone, cried, "I take it, reading
such things as these will scarcely improve your style,
sir: will they, think ye, Mr. Russell?"
"I am not sure," replied Mr. Russell, "that Mr.
Howard's first object in reading is to improve his style;
but," added he, turning to the titlepage, and pointing
to Franklin's name, "you, perhaps, did not know-"
"Oh! Dr. Franklin's works!" interrupted Supine:
"I did not see the name before-to be sure I must bow
down to that."
Having thus easily satisfied Mr. Supine's critical
scruples by the authority of a name, Mr. Russell rose to
depart, as he perceived that there was no chance of getting rid of the idlers.
"What are you going to do with yourself, Russell!"
said Mr. Supine. " We'll walk with you, if you are
for walking this fine evening; only don't let's walk like
penny-postmen."
"But he's in a hurry," said Oliver; " he's going to
see a poor woman."
"A poor woman!" said Supine; "down this close
lane, too!"
" O, let's see all that's to be seen," whispered Hol



THE GOOD AUNT.               49
loway: "ten to one we shall get some diversion out
of it: Russell's a quiz worth studying, and Howard's
his ditto."
They came to the gardener's house. Holloway's
high spirits suddenly subsided when he beheld the figure
of the mulatto woman.
" What's the matter?" said Oliver, observing that he
started; "why did you start so "
"Tell Howard I want to speak one word with him
this instant, in the street; bid him come out to me,"
whispered Holloway; and he hastily retreated before
the poor woman saw his faces"
"Howard," cried Holloway, " I sent for you to tell
you a great secret."
" I'm sorry for it," said Charles, " for I hate secrets."
" But you can keep a secret, man, can't you?"
"' If it was necessary, I hope I could; but I'd rather
not hear-"
"Pooh," nonsense!" interrupted Holloway; "you
must hear it; I'll trust to your honour; and, besides, I
have not a moment to stand shilly-shall-y: I've got a
promise from my father to let me go down, this Easter,
with Lord Rawson to Marryborough, in his dog-cart,
random-tandern, you know."
"I did not know it, indeed," said Charles; "but
wahat then?"
" Why then, you see, I must be upon my good behaviour-and you would not do such an ill-natured
trick as to betrav me.''
" Betray you! I don't know what you mean," said
Howard, astonished.
Holloway now briefly told him his stage-coach adventure, and concluded by saying he was afraid that the
mulatto woman should recollect either his face or voice,
and should blow him.
"And what,'" said Howard, shocked at the selfishness which Holloway showed; "and what do you want
me to do? why do you tell me all this?"
"Because," said Holloway, " I thought if you heard
what the woman said when she saw me, you would
E




50               MORAL TALES.
have got it all out of her, to be sure; therefore I thought
it best to trust you with my secret, and so put you upon
honour with me. All I ask of you is to hold your
tongue about my-my —my —frolic, and just make
some excuse for my not going inta the room again
where the mulatto woman is: you may tell Supine, if
he asks what's become of me, that I'm gone to the musicshop to get some new music for him: that will keep
him quiet.- Good-bye."
When Howard returned to the room where the mulatto woman lay, he expected to be questioned by Mr.
Supine about Holloway's sudden departure; but this
gentleman was not in the habit of paying great attention to his pupil's motions. He took it for granted
that Holloway had escaped, because he did not wish to
be called upon for a charitable subscription. From the
same fear, Mr. Supine affected unusual absence of
mind while Mr. Russell talked to the mulatto woman,
and at length, professing himself unable to endure any
longer the smell of smoke, le pushed his way into the
street. "Mr. Holloway, I suppose," said he, "has
taken himself home, very wisely, and I shall follow
him: we make it a rule, I think, to miss one another;
but to keep a young man in leading-strings would be a
great bore. We're upon the' best footing in the world
together: as to the rest —"
New difficulties awaited Holloway. He got home
some time before Mr. Supine, and found his friend the
stage-coachman waiting for him with a rueful face.
"Master," said he, "here's a sad job; there was
a parcel lost last night in the confusion of the overturn
of the coach, and I must make it good; for it's booked,
and it's booked to the value of five guineas, for it was
a gold muslin gown that a lady was very particular
about; and, master, I won't peach if you'll pay: but as
for losing my place, or making up five guineas afore
Saturday, it's what I can't take upon me to do.."
Holloway was much dismayed at this news; he now
began to think he should pay too dear for his frolic. The
coachman persisted in his demand. Mr. Supine appear



THE GOOD AUNT.                  51
ed at the corner of the street; and his pupil was forced
to get rid immediately of the coachman, by a pronise
that the money should be ready on Saturday. When
Holloway made this promise, he was not master of two
guineas in the world; how to procure the whole sum
was now the question. Alderman Holloway, with the
hope of exciting in his son's mind a love for literature
made it a practice to reward him with solid gold. whenever he brought homne any certificate of his scholarship.
Holloway had lately received five guineas from his father
for an approved copy of Latin verses; and the alderman
had promised to give him five guineas more if he brought
home the medal which was to be the reward for the best
essay in the periodical paper which the Westminster
boys were now writing. Holloway, though he could
write elegant Latin verses, had not any great facility in
English composition; he, consequently, according to
the. usual practice of little minds, undervalued a talent
which he did not possess. He had ridiculed the scheme
of writing an English essay, and had loudly declared
that he did not think it worth his while to write English.
His opinion was, however, somewhat changed by his
father's promised reward; and the stage-coachman's
impatience for his money now impelled Holloway to
exertion. IHe began to write his essay late on Friday
evening-the medal was to be given on Saturday morning-so that there could not be much time for revisal
and corrections. Corrections he affected to disdain, and
piqued himself upon the rapidity with which he wrote.
"' Howard," said he, when they met to deliver in their
compositions, "you have been three weeks writing
your essay; I ran mine off in three hours and a quarter."
Mr. Holloway had not considered that what is written with ease is not always read with ease. His essay
was written with such a careless superfluity of words,
and such a lack of ideas appeared'in the performance,
that the judges unanimously threw it aside, as unworthy
of their notice. " Gentlemen," cried Dr. B., coming




52                MORAL TALES.
forward among the anxious crowd of expectants, which
of you owns this motto?"' Hear it, ye senates, hear this trlth sltblime,
[le who allows oppression shares the crime.'" *
"It's his!-it's his! —it's his!" exclaimed little Oliver,
clapping his hands-" it's lloward's, sir.'"
Dr. B., pleased with this grateful little boy's honest
joy, put the medal into his hands, without speaking,
and Oliver ran with it to his friend. " Only," said he,
" only let me be by, when you show it to your aunt."
How much the pleasure of success is increased by
the sympathy of our friends! The triumph of a schoolboy over his competitors is sometimes despicable; but
Howaid's joy was not of the selfish puerile sort, All
the good passions had stimulated him to exertion, and
he was rewarded by his own generous fe elings. He would
not have exohanged the delight which he saw in his
little friend Oliver's face, the approving smile of his
aunt, and the proud satisfaction Mr. Russell expressed
at the sight of his medal, for all the solid gold which
Alderman Holloway deemed the highest reward of
literature.
Alderman Holloway was filled with indignation when
he heard fromn Mr. Supine that his son's essay had been
rejected with contempt. The young gentleman was also
much surprised at the decision of the judges; and his
tutor, by way of pleasing his pupil's friends, hesitated
not to hint, that there " certainly was great injustice done
to Mr. Augustus Holloway's talents." The subject was
canvassed at a turtle dinner at the alderman's. "There
shall not be injustice done to my Augustus," said the
irritated father, wisely encouraging his Augustus in all
his mean feelings. " Never mind'em all, my boy; you
have a father, you may thank Heaven, who can judge
for himself, and will: you shall not be the loser by Dr.
B.'s or doctor anybody"s injustice; I'll make it up to you,
my boy; in the mean time join us in a bumper of port.
* Botanic Garden, vol. ii.




THE' GOOD AUNT.              53
Here's to Dr. B.'s better judgment; wishing him health
and happiness these Easter hqlydays, and a new pair of
spectacles-h.ey, Mr. Supine!"
This well-chosen toast was drunk with much applause
and laughter by the company. The alderman insisted
upon having his Augustus' essay produced in the evening. Holloway had now ample satisfaction, for the
whole company were unanimous in their plaudits, after
Mr. Supine had read two or three sentences: the alderman, to confirm his own critical judgment, drew out his
purse, and counting out ten bright guineas, presented
them, with a look of high self-satisfaction, to his son.
" Here, Augustus, my boy," said he: " I promised you
five guineas if you brought me home the prize medal;
but I now present you with ten, to make you the amends
you so richly deserve, for not having got their medal.
Thank God, I am able to afford it; and I hope," added
the alderman, looking round, and laughing, " I hope I'm
as good a patron of the belles lettres as the head doctor
of Westminster himself."
Holloway's eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the
glittering bribe. He began some speech in reply, in
which he compared his father to Maecenas; but being
entangled in a sentence in which the nominative case
had been too long separated from the verb, he was compelled to pause abruptly. Nevertheless, the alderman
rubbed his hands with exultation; and, "Hear him!
hear him!-hear your member!" was vociferated by
all the friends of the young orator. "Well, really,"
concluded his mother to the ladies, who were complimenting her upon her son's performance, "it was not
a bad speech, considering he had nothing to say!"
Lord Rawson, who was one of the company, now
congratulated his friend in a whisper-" You've made
a good job of it to-day, Augustus," said he: "solid
pudding's better than empty praise. We're going,"
continued his lordship to the alderman, " to try my new
horses this evening;" and he pulled Augustus with him
out of the room.
"There they go," said the prudent father, delighted
Es f2            19




5`4               MORAL TALES.
with -his own son's being the chosen friend of a nobleman-" there they go, arm in arm, a' couple of rale
ones: we shall have fine work with them, I foresee,
when Augustus gets to college-but young men of
spirit must not be curbed like common boys-we must
make allowances-I have been young myself-hey, Mr.
Supine?"
"Certainly, sir," said the obsequious tutor; "and
you have still all the sprightliness of youth; and my
ideas of education square completely with yours.".
According to Alderman Holloway's ideas of education, the holydays were always to be made a season
of complete idleness and dissipation, to relieve his son
from his school studies. It was his great delight to
contrast the pleasures of home with the hardships of
school, and to make his son compare the indulgence of
a father with the severity of a schoolmaster. How he
could expect an education to succeed which he sedulously endeavoured to counteract, it may be difficult for
any rational person to conceive.
After Lord Rawson and Holloway had enjoyed the
pleasures of driving the new horses, tandem, in a dogcart, and had conversed about dogs and horses till they
had nothing left to say to each other, his lordship proposed stepping in to Mr. Carat, the jeweller's shop, to
look at some new watches: his lordship said he was
tired of his own, for he had had it six months. Mr.
Carat was not in the way when they first went in. One
of the young men who attended in the shop said, "that
his master was extremely busy, in settling some accounts with a captain of a ship who was to leave England in a few days."
" Don't tell me of settling accounts," cried Lord
Rawson-" I hate the sound of settling accounts:
run and tell Mr. Carat that Lord Rawson is here, and
must speak to him this instant,.for I'm in a desperate
hurry."
A quarter of an hour elapsed before the impatient
lord could be obeyed; during this time, his lordship and
Holloway rummaged over every thing in the shop. A




THE GOOD AUNT.               55
pretty bauble to hang to his watch caught his lordship's
fancy. His lordship happened to have no money in his
pocket. " Holloway," said he, " my good fellow, you've
ten guineas in your pocket, I know: do lend me them
here."  Holloway, rather proud of' his riches, lent his
ten guineas to his noble friend with alacrity; but a few
minutes afterward recollected that he should want five
of ther, that very night, to pay the poor stage-coachman. His recollection came too late, for after Lord
Rawson had paid three or four guineas for his trinket,
he let the remainder of the money down, with an absent nonchalance, into his pocket. "We'll settle-I'll
pay you, Holloway, to-morrow morning, you know."
Holloway, from  false shame, repried, "0, very
well." And at this instant Mr. Carat entered the shop,
bowing and apologizing to his lordship for having been
busy.
"I'm  always, to be sure, in a very great hurry,"
cried Lord Rawson; "I never have a minute that I can
call my own. All I wanted. though. Just now. was to




56                MORAL TALES.
his part, took the young gentleman, with an air of
mystery and confidence, into a little room behind the
shop; there he produced a box full of old-fashioned
second-hand trinkets, and without giving Holloway time
to examine them, said that he Was going to make a
lottery of these things. " If I had any young favourite
friends," continued the wily Jew, " I should give them
a little whisper in the ear, and bid them try their fortune; they never will have a finer opportunity."  He
then presented a handbill, drawn up in a style which
even Messrs. Goodluck and Co. need not have disdained
to admire. The youth was charmed with the composition. The Jew made him a present of a couple. of
tickets for himself, and gave him a dozen more to distribute among his companions at Westminster. Holloway readily undertook to distribute the tickets, upon
condition that he might have a list of the prizes in the
lottery. "If they don't see a list of the prizes," said
he, " not a soul will put in."
The Jew took a pen immediately, and drew up a captivating list of prizes.
Holloway promised to copy it, because Mr. Carat
said his hand must not appear in t.he business, and it
must be conducted with the strictest secrecy; because
"the law," added the Jew, " has a little jealousy of
these sort of things-government likes none but licensed
lotteries, young gentleman."
"The law! I don't care what the law.likes," replied
the schoolboy; "If I break the law I hope I'm rich
enough to pay the forfeit, or my father will pay for me,
whichi is better still."
To this doctrine the Jew readily assented, and they
parted, mutually satisfied with each other.
It was agreed that Lord Rawson should drive his
friend to Marryborough the next Tuesday, and that he
should return on Wednesday, with Holloway, to Westminster, on purpose that he might meet Mr. Carat there,
who was then to deliver the prizes.
"I'll lay you a bet," cried Lord Rawson, asl he left




THE GOOD AUNT.                 57
the Jew's, " that you'll have a prize yourself. Now are
you not obliged to me for introducing you to Carat?"
" Yes, that I am," replied Holloway: "its easier to
put into the lottery than to write Latin'verses and English essays. 1'11 puzzle and bore myself no more with
those things, I promise my father."
"Who does, after they've once left school, I want to
know?" said his noble friend. " I'm sure I've forgot
all I ever learned from Latin and Greek fellows.; you
know they tell just for nothing when one gets into the
world. I make it a principle never to talk of books, for
nobody does, you know, that has any thing else to talk
of. None but quizzes and quozzes ever came out with
any thing of that sort. Now, how they'd stare at Marryborough, Holloway, if you were to begin sporting
some of your Horace and Virgil!"
The dashing, yet bashful schoolboy, with much emotion, swore that he cared as little for Horace and Virgil
as his lordship did. Holloway was really an excellent
scholar, but he began to be heartily ashamed of it in his
lordship's company, and prudently resolved to adopt
the principles he had just heard; to forget, as fast as
possible, all he had learned; never to talk of books; and
to conceal both his knowledge and abilities, lest they
should stare at him at.Marryborough.
The lottery-tickets were easily disposed of among the
young gentlemen at %Westminster. As young men can
seldomn calculate, they are always ready to trust to their
individual good fortune, and they are, consequently,
ever ready to put into any species of lottery.
"Look here!"' cried little Oliver, showing a lotteryticket to IHoward; "look what Holloway has just
offered to give me, instead of half-a-guinea, which he
owes me. I told him I would just run and ask your
advice. Shall I accept of it?"
"I would advise you not," answered Howard:
"you are sure of your half-guinea, and you have only
a chance of getting any thing in the lottery."
" 0, but then I've a chance of such a number of fine
things! You have not seen the list of prizes. Do you
19*




68               MORAL TALES.
know there's a watch among them'. Now, suppose my
ticket should come up a prize, and that I should get a
watch for my half-guinea! —a real watch!-a watch
that would go!-a watch'that I should wind up myself
every night! 0, Charles! would not that be a good
bargain for my half-guinea? I'm sure you have not
read the list of prizes, have you?"
"CC No; I have not," said Howard: "have you seen
the list of blanks 2"
" Of blanks! no," said Oliver, with a changed countenance; "I never thought of the blanks."
"And vet in most lotteries there are many more
blanks than prizes, you know."
"Are there? Well, but I hopeI shall not have a
blank," said Oliver.
"So everybody hopes, but some people must be disappointed."'
"Yes," said the little boy, pausing —" but then some
people must win, and I have as good a chance as another,
have not I?"
" And do you know what the chance against your
winning is? Once I had a great mind, as you have
now, Oliver, to put into a lottery. It was just after my
aunt lost all her fortune, and I thought that if I were
to get the twenty thousand pound prize, I could give it
to her."
" I'll give my watch (if I get it, I mean) to somebody. I'll give it to the mulatto woman, because she is
poor. No; I'll give it to you, because you are the best,
and I love you the best, and I am more obliged to you
than to anybody in the world, for you have taught me
more; and you have taught me as I was never taught
before, without laughing at, or scolding, or frightening,
or calling me blockhead or dunce; and you have made
me think a great deal better of myself; and' I am always
happy when I'm with you; and I'm  quite another
creature since you came to school. I hope you'll never
leave school while I am here," cried Oliver.
"But you have quite forgot the lottery," said How



THE GOOD AUNT.                69
ard, smLing, and much touched by his little friend's
simplicity and enthusiasm.
" 0, the lottery! ay," said Oliver, " you were telling
me something about yourself; do go on."
"I once thought, as you do now, that it would be a
charming thing to put into a lottery."
"Well, and did you win?"
"No."
"Did you lose?"
" No.")
"How then 2"
"I did not put into the lottery, for I was convinced
that it was a foolish way of spending money."
"If you think it's foolish or wrong," said Oliver,
I'll have nothing to do with this lottery."
" I don't want to. govern you by my opinion," said
Howard; " but if you have patience to attend to all the
reasons that convinced me, you will be able to judge,
and form an opinion for yourself. You know I must
leave school some time or other, and then —"
"W Vell, don't talk of that, but tell me all the reasons,
quick."
" I can't tell them so quickly," said Howard, laughing: " when we go home this evening, I'll ask my aunt
to look for the passage in Smith's Wealth of Nations,
which she showed me."
"0!" interrupted Oliver, with a sigh, "Smith's
Wealth of What? That's a book, I'm sure, I shall
never be able to understand: is it not that great large
book that Mr. Russell reads?"
" Yes."
" But I shall never understand it."
"Because it's a large book?"
"No," said Oliver, smiling, "but because I suppose
it's Very difficult to understand."
" Not what I have read of it: but I have only read
passages here and there. That passage about lotteries,
I think you would understand, because it is so plainly
written."
" I'll read it, then," said Oliver, " and try; and in the




60               MORAL TALES.
mean time I'll go and tell Holloway that I had rather
not put into the lottery till I know whether it's right or
not."
Holloway flew into a violent passion with little Oliver
when he went to return his lottery-ticket. He abused
and ridiculed Howard for his interference, and succeeded
so well in raising a popular cry, that the moment Howard appeared on the play-ground, a general hiss, succeeded by a deep groan, was heard. Howard recollected
the oracle's answer to Cicero, and was not dismayed
by the voice of the multitude. Holloway threw down
half-a-guinea, to pay Oliver, and muttered to himself,
"I'll make you remember this, Mr. Oliver."
" I'll give this half-guinea to the mulatto woman, and
that's much betterthan putting it into a lottery, Charles,"
said the little boy; and as soon as the business of the
day was done, Oliver, Howard, and Mr. Russell took
their usual evening's walk towards the gardener's house.
"Ay, come in," cried old Paul, " come in! God. bless
you all! I don't know which is the best of you. I've
been looking out of my door this quarter of an hour for
ye," said he, as soon as he saw them; "and I don't
know when I've been idle a quarter of an hour afore.
But I've put on my best coat, though it's not Sunday,
and wife has treated her to a dish of tea, and she's up
and dressed-the mulatto woman, I mean-and quite
hearty again. Walk in, walk in; it will do your hearts
good to see her; she's so grateful too, though she can't
-speak good English, which is her only fault, poor soul;
but we can't be born what we like, or she would have
been as good an Englishman as the best of us. Walk
in, walk in. And the chimney does not smoke, master,
no more than I do; and the window opens too; and the
paper's up, and looks beautiful. God bless ye, God
bless ye-walk in." Old Paul, while he spoke, had
stopped the way into the room; but at length he.recdllected that they could not walk in while he stood in the
doorway, and he let them pass.
The little room was no longer the smoky, dismal,
miserable place which it was formerly. It was neatly.




THE GOOD AUNT.                61
papered; it was swept clean; there was a cheerful fire,,which burnt quite clearly: the mulatto woman was
cleanly dressed, and rising from her work, she clasped
her hands together with an emotion of joyful gratitude,
which said more than any words could have expressed.
This room was not papered, nor was the chimney
cured of smoking, nor was the woman clad in new clothes
by magic. It was all done by human means-by the
industry and abilities of a benevolent boy.
The translation of the little French book, which Howard had completed, procured him the means of doing
good. The bookseller, to whom he offered it, was both
an honest man, and a good judge of literary productions.
Mr. Russell's name also operated in his pupil's favour,
and Howard received ten guineas for his translation.
Oliver was impatient for an opportunity to give his
half-guinea, which he had held in his hand till it was
quite warm. " Let me look at that pretty thimble of
ours," said he, going up to the mulatto woman, who
had now taken up her work again; and as he playfully
pulled off the thimble, he slipped his half-guinea into her
hand: then he stopped her thanks by running on to a
hundred questions about her thimble. " What a strange
thimble! How came you by such a thimble? Was it
given to you? Did you buy it? What's the use of this
screw round the inside of the rim of it? Do look at it,
Charles!"
The thimble was, indeed, remarkable; and it seemed
extraordinary that such a one should belong to a poor
woman, who had lately been in great distress.
"It is gold," said Mr. Russell, examining it, "and
very old gold."
The mulatto woman sighed; and as she put the thimble upon her finger again, said, that she did not know
whether it was gold or not; but she had a great value
for it; that she had had it a great many years; that it
had been given to her by the best friend she had ever
had.
" Tell me about that best friend," said Oliver; " I like
to hear about best friends."
F




62                MORAL TALES.
" She was a very good friend indeed; though she was
but young, scarcely bigger than yourself, at the time
she gave me this thimble: she was my young mistress;
I came all the way from Jamaica on purpose to find her
out, and in hopes to live with her in my elder days.
"Jamaica!" cried Howard —" Jamaica!" cried Oliver,
in the same breath; " what was her name?"
"Frances Howard."
"My aunt!" exclaimed Howard.
" I'll run and tell her; I'll run and bring her here this
instant!" said Oliver. But Mr. Russell caught hold of
him, and detained him while they further questioned the
woman. Her answers were perfectly consistent and
satisfactory. She said that her mistress' estate, in
Jamaica, had been sold just before she left the island;
that some of the old slaves had been set at liberty, by
orders which came, she understood, in her mistress' last
letter; and that, among the rest, she had been freed;
that she had heard say, that her good mistress had desired the agent to give her also some little provision
ground upon the plantation, but that this had never been
done; and that she had sold all the clothes and little
things she possessed to raise money to pay for her passage to England, hoping to find her mistress in London.
She added, that the agent had given her a'direction to
her mistress; but that she had in vain applied at the
house, and at every house in the same street. " Show
us the direction, if you have it," said Mr. Russell.
The woman said she had kept it very carefully; but now
it was almost worn out. The direction was, however,
still legible upon the ragged bit of paper, which she
produced-To JMrs. Frances Howard, Portman-square,
London. The instant Mr. Russell was satisfied, he was
as expeditious as Oliver himself; they all three went
home immediately to Mrs. Howard: she had some time
before been confined to her room by a severe toothache.
" You promised me, aunt," said her nephew, " that as
soon as you were well enough, you would go to old
Paul's with us to see our poor woman; can you go this
evening?"




THE GOOD AUNIT.              63
"0 do! do, pray; I'm sure you won't catch cold,"
said Oliver; " for we have a very particular reason for
wishing you to go."
"There is a sedan chair at the door," said Mr. Russell,
"if you are afraid, madam, of catching cold."
"I am not rich enough to go out in sedan chairs," in-.
terrupted Mrs. Howard, "nor prudent enough, I am
afraid, to stay at home."
"Oh! thank you," said Oliver, who had her clogs
ready in his hands; " now you'll see something that will
surprise you."
" Then take care you don't tell me what it is, before
I see it," said Mrs. Howard.
Oliver with some difficulty held his tongue during the
walk, and contented himself' with working off his superfluous animation by jumping over every obstacle in his
way.
The meeting between the poor mulatto woman and
her mistress was as full of joy and surprise as little
Oliver had expected; and this is saying a great deal, for
where much is expected there is usually much disappointmlent; and very sympathetic people are often angry
with others for not being as much astonished, or as
much delighted, as they think the occasion requires.
The day which Mr. Augustus Holloway imagined
would bring him such complete felicity-the day on
which Lord Rawson had promised to call for him in his
dog-cart, and to drive him down, random-tandem, to Marryborough-was now arrived. His lordship, in his dogcart, was at the door; and Holloway, in high spirits, was
just going to get into the carriage, when some one pulled
his coat, and begged to speak a few words with him. It
was the stage-coachman, who was absolutely in distress
for the value of the lost parcel, which Holloway had
promised him should be punctually paid: but Holloway,
now that his excursion to Marryborough was perfectly




64               MORAL TALES.
secure, thought but very little of the poor coachman's
difficulties; and though he had the money which he had
raised by the lottery-tickets in his pocket, he determined
to keep that for his amusements during the Easter holidays. "You must wait till I come back from Marryborough; I can't possibly speak to you now; I can't possibly, you see, keep Lord Rawson waiting. Why didn't
you call sooner? I am not at all convinced that any
parcel was lost."
"I'll show you the books-it's book'd sir," said the
man, eagerly.
"Well, well, this is not a time to talk of booking. I'll
be with you in an instant, my lord," cried Holloway
to Lord Rawson, who was all impatience to be off. But
the coachman would not quit his hold. " I'm  sorry to
come to that, master," said he: " as long as we were
both upon honour together it was very well; but if you
break squares with me, being a gentleman, and rich, you
can't take it ill, I being a poor man and my place and all
at stake, if I take the shortest way to get my own: I
must go to Dr. B. for justice, if you won't give it me
without my peaching," said the coachman.
" I'll see you again to-morrow morning," said Holloway, alarmed: " we come up to town again to morrow."
"To-morrow won't do," said the coachman; "I shall
lose my place and my bread to-day. I know how to
trust to young gentlemen's to-morrows."
A volley of oaths from Lord Rawson again summoned
his companion. At this instant, Mr. Russell, young
Howard, and little Oliver, came up the street, and were
passing on to Mrs. Howard's, when Holloway stopped
Howard, who was the last of the party. " For Heaven's
sake," said he, in a whisper, " do settle for me with this
confounded coachman! I know you are rich; your
bookseller told me so; pay five guineas for me to him,
and you shall have them again to-morrow, there's a good
fellow. Lord Rawson's waiting; good-by."
"Stay, stay." said Howard, who was not so easily to
be drawn into difficulties by a moment's weakness, or by




THE GOOD AUNT.               65
the want of a moment's presence of mind; " I know nothing of this business; I have other uses for my money;
I cannot pay five guineas for you, Holloway."
"Then let it alone," cried Holloway with a brutal execration; and he forcibly *broke from the coachman,
shook hands with his tutor, Mr. Supine, who was talking
to Lord Rawson about the varnish of his gig, jumped into
the carriage, and was whirled away from all reflection in
a moment by his noble companion.
The poor coachman entreated Howard to stay one instant to hear him. He explained the business to him,
and reproached himself bitterly for his folly. "' I'm sure
I thought," said he, " I was sure of a gentleman's honour; and young gentlemen ought to be above not paying
handsome for their frolics, if they must have frolics; and
a frolic's one thing, and cheating a poor man like me is
another; and he had like to have killed a poor mulatto
woman, too, by the overturn of the coach, which was all
his doings."
"The woman is got very well and is very well off
now," interrupted Howard; "you need say nothing
about that."
"Well, but my money, I must say about that," said the
coachman. Here Howard observed that Mr. Supine had
remained at the door in a lounging attitude, and was
quite near enough to overhear, their conversation. Howard, therefore, to avoid exciting his attention by any
mysterious whispers, walked away from the coachman
but in vain; he followed: " I'll peach," said he," I must,
in my own defence."
" Stay till to-morrow morning," said Howard; " pernaps you'll be paid then."
The coachman, who was a good-natured fellow, said,
"Well, I don't like making mischief among young gentlemen, I will wait till to-morrow, but not a day more,
master, if you'd go down on your knees to me."
Mr. Supine, whose curiosity was fully awake, called to
the coachman the moment Howard was out of hearing,
and tried by various questions to draw the secret from
F 2              20




66               MORAL TALES.
him. The words "overturn cf the coach —mulatto woman," and the sentence, which the irritated coachman
had pronounced in a raised voice, that "young gentlemen should be above notpaying handsomefor their frolics," 
had reached Mr. Supine's attentive ear before Howard
had been aware that the tutor was a listener. Nothing
more could Mr. Supine draw, however, from the coachman, who now felt himself upon honour, having prornised Howard to not peach till the next morning. Difficulties stimulated Mr. Supine's curiosity; but he remained,.
for the present, satisfied in the persuasion that he had
discovered a finefrolic of the immalculate Mr. Charles
Howard; his own pupil he did not suspect upon this occasion. Holloway's whisperings with the coachman had
ended the moment Mr. Supine appeared at the door, and
the tutor had in the same moment been so struck with
the beautiful varnish of Lord Rawson's dog-cart, that
his pupil might have whispered longer without rousing
his attention. Mr. Supine was further confirmed in his
mistake about Howard from the recollection of the
mulatto woman whom he had seen at the gradener's; he
knew that she had been hurt by a fall from a stage-coach.
He saw Howard much interested ab6ut her. All this
he joined with what he had just overheard about afrolic,
and he was rejoiced at the idea of implicating in this
business Mr. Russell, whom he disliked.
Mr. Supine, having got rid of his pupil, went immediately to Alderman Holloway's where he had a general
invitation to dinner. Mrs. Holloway approved of her
son's tutor full as much for his love of gossiping as for
his musical talents: Mr. Supine constantly supplied her
with news and anecdotes; upon the present occasion,
he thought that his story, however imperfect, would be
eagerly received, because it concerned Howard.
Since the affair of the prize essay and the medal, Mrs.
Holloway had taken a dislike to young Howard, whom
she considered as the enemy of her dear Augustus. No
sooner had she heard Mr. Supine's blundering information than, without any further examination, she took the




THE GOOD AUNT.              67
whole for granted:, eager to repeat the anecdote to Mrs.
Howard, she instantly wrote a note to her, saying that
she would drink tea with her that evening.
When Mrs. Holloway, attended by Mr. Supine, went
in the evening to Mrs. Howard's, they found with her
Mrs. B., the lady of Dr. B., the master of Westminster
School.
" Is not this an odd rencounter?" whispered Mrs.
Holloway to Mr. Supine, as she drew him to a recessed
window, commodious for gossiping: "I shall be called
a tell-tale, I know, at Westminster; but I shall tell our
story notwithstanding. I would keep any other boy's
secret; but Howard is such a saint: and I hate saints."
A knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Holloway; she
looked out of the window. "0 here he comes up the
steps," continued she, "after his sober evening promenade, and his Mr. Russell with-and, I declare, the mulatto woman with him. Now for it!"
Howard entered the room, went up to his aunt, and
said, in a low voice.
" Ma'am, poor Cuba is come; she is rather tired with
walking, and she is gone to rest herself in the front
parlour."
" Her lameness, though," pursued little Oliver, who
followed Howard into the room, "is almost well. I just
asked her how high she thought the coach was from
which she was-"
A look from Howard made Oliver stop short; for
though he did not understand the full meaning of it, he
saw it was designed to silence him. Howard was afraid
of betraying Holloway's secret to Mr. Supine or to Mrs.
Holloway; his aunt sent him out of. the room with some
message to Cuba, which gave Mrs. Holloway an opportunity of opening her business.
"Pray," said she, "might I presume to ask-for I
perceive the young gentleman has some secret to keep
from me, which he may have good reason for-may I,
just to satisfy my own -mind, presume to ask whether,
as her name leads one to guess, your Cuba, Mrs. Howard, is a mulatto woman?"




68               MORAL TALES.
Surprised by the manner of the question, Mrs. Howard coldly replied, "Yes madam-a mulatto woman."
" And she is lame, I think sir, you mentioned?" persisted the curious lady, turning to little Oliver.
"Yes, she's a little lame still; but she will soon be
quite well."
" O, then her lameness came, I presume, from an accident, sir, and not from her birth?"
"From an accident, ma'am."
"Oh! an accident-a fall-a fall from a coach-from
a stage-coach, perhaps," continued Mrs. Holloway,
smiling significantly at Mr. Supine; " you take me for
a conjuror, young gentleman, I see by your astonishment," continued she to Oliver; " but a little bird told
me the whole story, and I see Mrs. Howard knows how
to keep a secret as well as myself."
Mrs. Howard looked for an explanation.
"Nay," said Mrs. Holloway; "you know best, Mrs.
Howard; but as we're all out of school now, I shall not
be afraid to mention such a little affair, even before the
doctor's latly; for, to be sure, she would never let it
reach the doctor's ears."
"Really, ma'am," said Mrs. Howard, "you puzzle
me a little; I wish you would explain yourself: I don't
know what it is that you would not have reach the doctor's ears."
"You don't!-well, then, your nephew must have
been very clever, to have kept you in the dark; mustn't
he, Mr. Supine?"
" I always, you know, thought the young gentleman
very clever, ma'am," said Mr. Supine, with a malicious
emphasis.
Mrs. Howard's colour now rose, and with a mixture
of indignation and anxiety she pressed both Mr. Supine
and Mrs. Holloway to be explicit. "I hate mysteries!"
said she. Mrs. Holloway still hung back, saying it was
a tender point, and hinting that it would lessen her
esteem and confidence in one most dear to her, to hear
the whole truth.
"Do you mean Howard, ma'am?" exclaimed little




THE GOOD AUNT.                69
Oliver:' O. speak! speak! it's impossible Charles Howard can have-done any thing wrong,"
" Go for him, my dear," said Mrs. Howard, resuming her composure; "let him be present. I hate mysteries."
"But, my dear Mrs. Howard," whispered Mrs. Holloway, " you don't consider; you'll get your nephew
into a shocking scrape; the story will infallibly go from
Mrs. B. to Dr. B. You are warm, and don't consider
consequences."
"Charles," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the
moment he appeared, "from  the time'you were five
years old till this instant I have never known you tell a
falsehood; I should therefore be very absurd, as well
as very unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell
me-have you got into any difficulties? I would rather
hear of them from yourself than from anybody else.
Is there any mystery about overturning a stage-coach,
that you know of, and that you have concealed from
me."
"There is a mystery, ma'am, about overturning a
stage-coach," replied Howard, in a firm tone of voice;
" but when I assure you that it is no mystery of mine
-nothing in which I have myself any concern, I am
sure that you will believe me, my dear aunt; and that
you will press me no further."
" Not a word further, not a frown further," said his
aunt, with a smile of entire confidence; in which Mr.
Russell joined, but which appeared incomprehensible to
Mr. Supine.
"Very satisfactory indeed!" said that gentleman,
leaning back in his chair; "I never heard any thing
more satisfactoryv to my mind."
" Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!" echoed Mrs.
Holloway; but no looks, no innuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard's security, or disconcert the resolute
simplicity which appeared in her nephew's countenance.  Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was compelled to submit in silence.  This re20*




70               MORAL TALES.
straint soon became so irksome to her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could.
In crossing the passage to go to her carriage, she
caught a glimpse of the mulatto woman, who was going
into a parlour. Resolute, at all hazards, to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating Cuba —began by asking some civil questions about her health;
then spoke of the accident she had lately met with; and,
in short, by a skilful cross-examination, drew her whole
story from her. The gratitude with which the poor
woman spoke of Howard's humanity was by no means
pleasing to Mr. Supine.
" Then it was not he who overturned the coach?"
said Mrs. Holloway.
The woman eagerly replid, "0 no, madam!" and
proceeded to draw, as well as she could, a description
of the youth who had been mounted upon the coachbox: she had seen him only by the light of the moon,
and afterward by the light of a lantern; but she recollected his figure so well, and described him so accurately, that Mr. Supine knew the picture instantly,
and Mrs. Holloway whispered to him, " Can it be Augustus?"
", Mr. Holloway! —-.impossible!-I suppose —"
But the woman interrupted him by saying that she
recollected to have heard the young gentleman called by
that name by the coachman.
The mother and the tutor were nearly alike confounded by this discovery. Mrs. Holloway got into her carriage, and, in their way home, Mr. Supine represented
that he should be ruined for ever with the alderman, if
this transaction came to his knowledge; that, in fact,
it was a mere boyish frolic; but that the alderman
might not consider it in that light, and would, perhaps,
make Mr. Augustus feel his serious displeasure. The
foolish mother, out of mistaken good-nature, at length
promised to be silent upon the subject. But before he
slept, Aldetman Holloway heard the whole story. The
footman who had attended the carriage was at the door




THE GOOD AUNT.                 71
when Mrs. Holloway was speaking of the nmulatto -woman, and had listened to every word that was said.
This fbotman was in the habit of telling his master,
when he attended him at night, all the news which he
had been able to collect in the day. Mr. Supine was no
favourite of his; because, whenever the tutor came to
the house, he gave a great deal of trouble, being too indolent to do any thing for himself, and yet not sufficiently rich, or sufficiently generous, to pay the usual
premiums for the active civility of servants. This footman was not sorry to have an opportunity of repeating
any story that might injure Mr. Supine with his master. Alderman Holloway heard it under the promise of
concealing the name of the person who had given him
the information, and resolved to discover the truth of
the affair the next day, when he was to visit his son at
Westminster.
But we, must now return to Mrs. Howard's.  We
mentioned that Mrs. B. spent the evening with her.
Dr. B., soon after Mrs. Holloway went away, called
to take his lady home: he had been engaged to spend
the evening at a card assembly; but as he was a man
who liked agreeable conversation better than cards, he
had made his escape from a rout, to spend half an hour
with Mrs. Howard and Mr. Russell. The doctor was
a man of various literature; able to appreciate others,
he was not insensible to the pleasure of seeing himself
appreciated. Half an hour passes quickly in agreeable
conversation: the doctor got into an argument concerning the propriety of the distinction made by some late
metaphysical writers between imagination and fancy.
Thence he was led to some critical remarks upon Warton's beautiful Ode to Fancy; then to the neyer-ending
debate upon original genius; including also the doctrine of hereditary temper and dispositions, which the
doctor warmly supported, and which Mrs. Howard
coolly questioned.
In the midst of their conversation they were suddenly
interrupted by. a groan. They all looked round to see
whence it came. It came from little Oliver: he was




72                MORAL TALES.
sitting at a little table at the farther end of the room,
reading so intently in a large book, that he saw nothing
else: a long unsnuffed. candle, with a perilous fiery
summit to its black wick, stood before him, and his left
arm embraced a thick china jar, against which he
leaned his head. There was, by common consent, a
general silence in-the room, while every one looked at
Oliver as at a picture. Mrs. Howard moved gently
round behind his chair to see what he was reading: the
doctor followed her. It was the account of the execution of two rebel Koromantyn negroes, related ia
Edward's History of the West Indies.* To try whether
it would interrupt Oliver's deep attention, Mrs. Howard leaned over him, and snuffed his dim candle; but
the light was lost upon him-he did not feel the obligation. Dr. B. then put his hand upon the jar, which he
pulled from  Oliver's embrace. "Be quiet! I must
finish this!" cried Oliver, still holding fast the jar, and
keeping his eyes upon the book. The doctor gave a
second pull at the jar, and the little boy made an impatient push with his elbow; then casting his eye upon
the large hand which pulled the jar, he looked up, surprised, in the doctor's face.
The nice china jar which Oliver had held so sturdily
was very precious to him. His uncle had just sent him
two jars of fine West India sweetmeats. One of these
he had shared with his companions: the other he had
kept to give to Mrs. Howard, who had once said in his
hearing, that she was fond of West India sweetmeats.
She accepted Oliver's little present. Children sometimes feel as much pleasure in giving away sweetmeats
as in eating them; and Mrs. Howard too well understood the art of education, even in trifles, to deny to
grateful and generous feelings'their natural and necessary
exercise. A child can show gratitude and generosity
only in trifles.
"Are these all the sweetmeats that you have left,
Oliver?" said Mrs. Howard.
* Vol. ii. p. 57, second edition.




THE GOOD AUNT.                 73
Yes-all."
"Was not Rousseau wrong, Dr. B.," said Mrs.
Howard, "when he asserted that no child ever gives
his last mouthful of any thing good?"
"Of any thing good!" said the doctor, laughing;
"when I have tasted. these sweetmeats, I shall be a
better judge."
"You shall taste them this minute, then," said Mrs.
Howard; and she rang for a plate, while the doctor, to
little Oliver's great amusement, exhibited various pretended signs of impatience, as Mrs. Howard deliberately
untied the cover of the jar. One cover after another she
slowly took off; at length the last transparent cover
was lifted up; the doctor peeped in; but lo! instead
of sweetmeats, there appeared nothing but paper. One
crumpled roll of paper after another Mrs. Howard
pulled out; still no sweetmeats. The jar was entirely
stuffed with paper to the very bottom. Oliver was
silent with amazement.
"The sides of the jar are quite clean," said Howard.
"But the inside of the paper that covered it is stained
with sweetmeats," said Dr. B.
" There must have been sweetmeats in it lately,"
said Mrs. Howard, " because the jar smells so strongly
of them."
Among the pieces of crumpled paper which had been
pulled out of the jar, Dr. B. espied one on which there
appeared some writing: he looked it over.
"Humph!  What have we here?  What's this?
What can this be about a lottery?-tickets, price halfa-guinea-prizes-gold watch! —silver ditto-chased
tooth-pick case-buckles —knee buckles. What is all
this?-April 10th, 1797 —the drawing to begin-prizes
to be delivered at Westminster School, by Aaron Carat,
jeweller! Hey, young gentlemen," cried Dr. B., looking at Oliver and at Charles, "do you know any thing
of this lottery?"
"I have no concern in it, sir, I'assure you," said
Howard.
"Nor I, thank goodness-I mean, thank  you,
G




74               MORAL TALES.
Charles," exclaimed Oliver; "for you hindered me
from putting into the lottery: how very lucky I was to
take your advice!"
"How very wise, you should say, Oliver," said Dr.
B. " I must inquire into this business; I must find out
who ordered these things from  Mr. Aaron Carat.
There shall be no lotteries, no gaming at WestminSter
School, while I have power to prevent it. To-morrow
morning I'll inquire into this affair; and to-morrow
morning we shall also know, my little fellow, what became of your sweetmeats."
" 0 never mind that," cried the good-natured Oliver;
"don't say any thing, pray, sir, about my sweetmeats:
I don't mind about them; I know already-I guess,
now, who took them; therefore you need not ask; I
dare say it was only meant for a joke."
Dr. B. made no reply, but folded up the paper which
he had been reading, put it into his pocket, and soon
after took his leave.
Lord Rawson was one of those young men who
measure their own merit and felicity by the number of
miles which their horses can go in a day; he undertook
to drive his friend up from Marryborough to Westminster, a distance of forty miles; in five hours. The
arrival of his lordship's gig was a signal for which
several people were in waiting at Westminster School.
The stage-coachman was impatiently waiting to demand
his money from Holloway. Mr. Carat, the jeweller,
was arrived, and eager to settle with Mr. Holloway
about the lottery: he had brought the prizes in a small
case, to be delivered, upon receiving from Holloway the
money for all the tickets of which he had disposed.
Dr. B. was waiting for the arrival of Mr. Holloway, as
he had determined to collect all his pupils together,
and to examine into the lottery business. Little Oliver
was also watching for Holloway, to prevent mischief,
and to assure him of forgiveness about the sweetmeats.




THE GOOD AUNT.                75
Lord Rawson's dog-cart arrived: Holloway saw the
stage-coachman as he alighted, and abruptly turning
from him, shook hands with little Oliver, saying, " You
look as if you had been waiting for me."
"Yes," said Oliver: " but I can't say what I want
to say before everybody."
"1'11ll wait upon you presently," said Holloway, escaping from the coachman. As he crossed the hall, he
descried Mr. Carat, and a crowd of boys surrounding
him, crying, "Mr. Carat's come-he has brought the
prizes-he's brought the prizes! he'll show them all as
soon as you've settled with him." Holloway called
to the Jew; but little Oliver insisted upon being heard
first.
" You must hear me: I have something to say to you
about the prizes-about the lottery.'
The words arrested Holloway's attention: he followed Oliver; heard with surprise and consternation
the history of the paper which had been found in the
jar, by Dr. B. "I've done for myself now, faith!" he
exclaimed; " I suppose the doctor knows all about the
hand I have in the lottery."
" No," replied Oliver, " he does not."
"Why, you must have known it; and did not he
question you and Howard?"
" Yes: but when we told him that we had nothing
to do with it, he did not press us further."
"You are really a noble little fellow," exclaimed
Holloway, "to bear me no malice for the many ill
turns I have done you: this last has fallen upon myself; as ill-luck would have it; but before we go any
further-your sweetmeats are safe in the press, in my
room; I didn't mean to steal them; only to plague you,
child: —but you have your revenge now."
"I don't want any revenge, indeed," said Oliver,' for I'm never happy when I've quarrelled with anybody: and even when people quarrel with me, I don't
feel quite sure that I'm in the right, which makes me
uncomtbrtable; and, besides, I don't want to find out
that they ark quite in the wrong; and that makes me




76               MORAL TALES.
uncomfortable the other way. After all, quarrelling and
bearing malice are very disagreeable things, somehow
or-other. Don't you, when you have made it up with
people, and shaken hands, Holloway-don't you feel
quite light, and ready to jump again? So shake hands,
if you are not above shaking hands with such a little
boy as I am; and I shall never think again about the
sweetmeats, or old fag times."
Holloway could not help feeling touched. "Here's
my hand," cried he; "I'm sorry I've tormented you
so often; I'll never plague you any more. But now-I
don't know what upon earth to do. Where's Charles
Howard? If he can't help me, I'm undone. I have
got into more scrapes than I can get out of, I know. I
wish I could see Howard."
"I'll fun and bring him to you; he's the best person
at knowing what should be done-at least for me, I
know-that ever I saw."
Holloway abruptly began, as soon as Howard came
up to him: " Howard," said he, "you know this plaguy lottery business-but vou don't know half yet:
here's Carat come to be paid for his tickets; and here's
that dunning stage-coachman sticks close to me for his
five guineas; and not one farthing have I upon earth!"
" Not a farthing! but you don't mean that you have'
not the money for Mr. Carat?"
" But I do though."
"Why, you cannot have spent it since yesterday
morning?"
"No; but I have lost half and lent half; and the half
that I have lent is gone for ever, I'm afraid, as much as
that which I lost."
"'Who did you lend the money to? How did you
lose it?"
"I lost part to Sir John O'Shannon, last night, at
billiards-more fool I to play, only because 1 wanted to
cut a figure among those fine people at Marryborough.
I wonder my father lets me go there; I know I sha'n't
go back there this Easter; unless Lord Rawson makes
me an apology, I can tell him. I've as good a right to




THE GOOD AUNT.               77
be upon my high horse as he has; for though his father's an earl, my father's a great deal richer, I know;
and has lent him a great deal of money too, and that's
the only reason he's civil to us; but I can tell him-,-"
Here Howard brought the angry Holloway from his
high horse, by asking what all this had to do with Mr.
Carat, who was waiting to be paid?
"Why, don't I explain to you," said Holloway,
"that I lent hinm-Lord Rawson I mean-all the money
I had left yesterday, and I couldn't get it out of him
again, though I told him my distress about the stagecoachman! Did you ever know any thing so selfish?
Did you ever know any thing so shabby? so shameful'?
And then to make me his butt, as he did last night at
supper, because there were two or three dashing young
men by; I think more of that than all the rest. Do
you know, he asked me to eat custard with my applepie, just to point me out for an alderman's son; and
when I only differed from him about Captain Shouldham's puppy's ears, Lord Rawson said, to be sure, I
must know about dogs' ears, just to put me in mind
that I was a schoolboy; but I'll never go to Marryborough any more, unless he begs my pardon. I've no
notion of being an humble friend; but it does not signify
being in a passion about it now," continued Holloway.
" What I want you, Howard, to do for me is, just to
think; for I'can't think at present, I'm in such a hurry,
with all these things coming across me at once. What
can I do to find money for the stage-coachman and for
Mr. Carat? Why both together come to fifteen guineas.-And what can I do about Dr. B.? And do you
know my father is coming here this very morning?
How shall I manage? He'd never forgive me: at
least he'd not give me any money, for I don't know
how long, if these things were to come out. What
would you advise me to do?"
Howvard, with his usual honest policy, advised Holloway at once to tell all the circumstances to his father.
Holloway was at first much'alarmed at this proposal,
and insisted upon it that this method would not do at all
G 2                21




78               MORAL TALES.
with the alderman, though it might do very well with
such a woman as Mrs. Howard. At length, however,
overcome, partly by the ariguments, and partly by the
persuasion of his new adviser, Holloway determined
upon his confession.
Alderman Holloway arrived, and was beginning to
talk to Dr. B. of his son's proficiency in his studies, when
the young gentleman made his appearance, with a
countenance extremely embarrassed and agitated. The
sight of Dr. B. deprived Holloway of courage to speak.
The doctor fixed his penetrating eye upon the pale
culprit, who immediately stopped short in the middle
of the room, stammering out, "I came to speak, sir-I
had something to say to my father, sir-I came, if you
please, to speak to my father, sir." To Holloway's
utter astonishment, Dr. B.'s countenance and manner.
suddenly changed at these words; all his severity vannished; and, with a look and voice the most encouraging, he led the abashed youth towards his father.
"You carne to speak to your father, sir? Speak to
him then without fear, without reserve: you will certainly find in a father your most indulgent friend. I'll
leave you together."
This opening of the case by Dr. B. was of equal advantage both to the father and to the son. Alderman
Holloway, though without literature, was not without
understanding; his affection for his son made him quickly
comprehend the good sense of the doctor's hint. The
alderman was not surprised by the story of the overturn
of the stage-coach, because he had heard it before from.
his footman. But the lottery transaction with the Jew
-and, above all, with the loss and loan of so much
money to his friend Lord Rawson struck him with some
astonishment; yet he commanded his temper, which
was naturally violent; and after a constrained silence,
he begged his son to summon Mr. Supine. " At least,"
cried the alderman, "I've a right to be in a passion with
that careless, indolent, dilettanti puppy, whom I've been
paying all this while for taking such care of you. I
wish I had hold of his German flute at this instant.




THE GOOD AUNT.                79
You are very right, Augustus, to come like a man and
tell me all these things; and now I must tell you that
some of them I had heard of before. I wish I haG that
Jew, that Mr. Carat of yours, here! and that stage-coachman, who had the impertinence to take you out with
him at night. But it's all Mr. Supine's fault-and mine,
for not chosing a better tutor for you. As to Lord Rawson, I can't blame you either much for that, for I encouraged the connexion, I must own. I'm glad you
have quarrelled with him, however; and pray look out
for a better friend as fast as possible. You were very
right to tell me all these things; on that consideration,
and that only, I'll lend my hand to getting you out of
these scrapes."
"For that," cried Holloway, "I may thank Howard,
then; for he advised and urged me to tell you all this at
once."
" Call him; let me thank him," said the alderman;
"he's an excellent young man then —call him."
Dr. B. now entered the room with little Oliver.
When Holloway returned with Howard, he beheld
the stage-coachman standing silent on one side of his
father; Mr. Carat, the Jew, on the other side, jabbering
an unintelligible vindication of himself; while Dr. B.
was contemplating the box of lottery prizes, which lay
open upon the table. Mr. Supine leaning against the
chimney-piece, appeared in the attitude of an Antinous
in despair.
" Come, my little friend," said Dr. B. to Oliver, "you
did not put into the lottery, I understand. Choose from
among these things whatever you please. It is better
to trust to prudence than fortune, you see. Mr. Howard,
I know that I anm rewarding you at this instant, in the
manner you best like, and best deserve."
There was a large old-fashioned chased gold toothpick
case, on which Oliver immediately fixed his eye. After
examining it very carefully, he drew the doctor aside,
and, after some consultation, Oliver left the room hastily;
while the alderman, with all the eloquence of which he
was master, expressed his gratitude to Howard for the




80               MORAL TALES.
advice which he had given his son. " Cultivate this
young gentleman's friendship," added he, turning to Holloway: "he has not a title; but even I, Augustus, am
now ready to acknowledge he is worth twenty Lord Rawsons. Had he a title, he would grace it; and that's as
much as I can say for any man."
The Jew, all this time, stood in. the greatest trepidation; he trembled lest the alderman should have him
taken up and committed to jail for his illegal, unlicensed
lottery. He poured forth as many protestations as his
knowledge of the English language could afford of the
purity of his. intentions; and, to demonstrate his disinterestedness, began to display the trinkets in his prizebox, with a panegyric upon each. Dr. B. interrupted
him by paying for the toothpick case which he had
bought for Oliver. " Now. Mr. Carat," said the doctor,
" you will please to return, in the first place, the money
you have received for your illegal lottery tickets."
The word illegal, pronounced in a tremendous tone,
operated instantaneously upon the Jew; his hand, which
had closed upon Holloway's guineas, opened; he laid the
money down upon the table; but mechanically seized
his box of trinkets, which he seemed to fear would be
the next seized, as forfeits. No persons are so apprehensive of injustice and fraud as those who are themselves dishonest. Mr. Carat, bowing repeatedly to Alderman Holloway, shuffled towards the door, asking if
he might now depart; when the door opened with such
a force as almost to push the retreating Jew upon his
face.
Little Oliver, out of breath, burst into the room, whispered a few words to Dr. B. and Alderman Holloway,
who answered, "He may come in;" and a tall, stout
man, an officer from Bow-street, immediately entered.
"There's your man, sir," said the alderman, pointing
to the Jew; " there is Mr. Carat."  The man instantly
seized Mr. Carat, produced a warrant from Justice  -,
for apprehending the Jew upon suspicion of his having
in his possession certain valuable jewels, the property
of Mrs. Frances Howard.




THE GOOD AUNT.               81
Oliver was eager to explain. " Do you know, Howard," said he, "how all this came about?  Do you
know your aunt's gone to Bow-street, and has taken
the mulatto woman with her, and Mr. Russell has gone
with her; and she thinks-and I think-she'll certainly
have her jewels, her grandmother's jewels, that were
left in Jamaica."
"How? but how?" exclaimed Howard.' Why," said Oliver, i by the toothpick case. The
reason I chose that toothpick case out of the Jew's box
was because it came into my head, the minute I saw it,
that the mulatto woman's curious thimble-you remember her thimble, Howard-would just fit one end of
it. I ran home and tried it, and the thimble screwed on
as nicely as possible; and the chasing, as Mr. Russell
said, and the colour of the gold, matched exactly. O!
Mrs. Howard was so surprised when we showed it to
her-so astonished to see this toothpick case in England;
for it had been left, she said, with all her grandmother's
diamonds and things, in Jamaita."
"Yes," interrupted Howard; "I remember my aunt
told us, when you asked her about Cuba's thimble, that
she gave it to Cuba when she was a child, and that it
belonged to some old trinket. Go on."
"Well, where was I?-O, then, as soon as she saw
the toothpick case, she asked how it had been found;
and I told her all about the lottery and Mr. Carat; then
she and Mr. Russell consulted, and away they went,
with Cuba, in a coach; and all the rest you know; and
I wish I could hear the end of it!"
" And so you shall, my good little fellow; we'll all go
together, to hear the Jew's examination: you shall go
with me in my coach to Bow-street," said Alderman
Holloway.
In the midst of their bustle, the poor stage-coachman,
who had waited with uncommon patience in hopes that
Alderman Holloway would at last recollect him, pressed
forward, and petitioned to be paid his five guineas for the
lost parcel. "I have lost my place already," said he,
21 *




82                MORAL TALES.
"and the little goods I have will be seized this day for
the value of that unlucky parcel, master."
The alderman put his hand slowly into his-purse; but
just when he had pulled out five guineas, a servant came
into the room to inform Dr. B. that a sailor was waiting
in the hall, who desired to speak, directly, about something of consequence, to the stage-coachman.
Dr. B., who imagined that the sailor might have something to do with the business in question, ordered that
he might be shown into the room.
"I wants one Gregory Giles, a stace-coachman, if
such a one be here amongst ye, gentlefolks, and nobody
else," cried the sailor, producing a parcel, wrapped up
in brown paper.
" It's my very parcel," exclaimed the stage-coachman.
"I am Gregory Giles!  God bless your honest heart!
-Where did ye find it?-Give it me!"
The sailor said he had found it in a dry ditch on the
Bath road, a little beyond the first turnpike going out of
town; that he had inquired at the turnpike-house; had
heard that the stage had been overturned a few days before, and that a parcel had been lost, about which the
coachman had been in great trouble.; that he had gone
directly to the inn where the coach put up; had traced
the coachman from place to place, and was heartily glad
he had, found him at last.
"Thank'ee, with all my heart," said the coachman,
"for all the trouble you've been at; and here's the
crown reward that I offered for it, and my thanks into
the bargain."
"No, no," said the honest sailor, pushing back the
money; "I won't take any thing from a poor fellow
like myself: put your silver into your pocket: I hear you
lost your place already by -that parcel. There was a
great talk at the turnpike-house about your losing your
place, for giving some young gentleman a lift. Put up
your money."
All present were eager in rewarding the honest sailor.
A hackney-coach was now come to the door for Mr.
Carat, and everybody hurried off as fast as possible.




THE GOOD AUNT.                83
"Where are they all steering to?"  said the sabor.
The stage-coachman told him all that he had heard of
the matter. "I'll be in their wake, then," cried the
sailor; "I shall like to see the Jew upon his court-martial; I was choused once by a Jew myself." He got to
Bow-street as soon as they did.
The first thing Howard learned was, that the jewels,
which had been all found at Mr. Carat's, precisely answered the description which his aunt had given of them.
The Jew was in the utmost consternation: finding that
the jewels were positively sworn to. he declared, upon
his examination, that he had bought them from a captain
of a ship; that he had paid the full value for them; and
that, at the time he purchased them, he had no suspicion
of their having been fraudulently obtained. This defence
appearing evidently evasive, the magistrates who examined Mi. Carat, informed him, that unless he could
produce the person from whom he had bought the jewels,
he must be committed to Newgate, for receiving stolen
goods. Terrified at this sentence, the Jew, though he
had at first asserted that he knew nothing of the captain
from whom he had received the diamonds, now acknowledged that he actually lodged at his house.
" Hah!" exclaimed Holloway: " I remember the day
that I and Lord Rawson called at your house, you were
settling accounts, your foreman told us, with a captain
of a ship, who was to leave England in a few days; it's
well he's not off."
An officer was immediately sent to Mr. Carat's in
quest of this captain; but there were great apprehensions that he might have escaped at the first alarm of
the search for the jewels. Fortunately, however, he
had not been able to get off, as two constables had been
stationed at Mr. Carat's house. The officer from Bowstreet found him in his own bed-chamber, rummaging a
portmanteau for some papers which he wanted to burn.
His papers were seized, and carried along with him,
before the magistrate.
Alderman Holloway knew the captain the moment
he was brought into the room, though his dress and




84               MORAL TALES.
whole appearance were very different from what they
had been when he had waited upon the alderman some
months before this time, with a dismal, plausible story
of his own poverty and misfortunes. He had then told
him that his mate and he had a quarrel, upon the vovage from Jamaica; that the mate knew what a valuable
cargo he had. on board: that just when they got in sight
of land, the crew rose upon him; the mate seized him,
and by force put him into a boat and set him ashore.
The discovery of the jewels at Mr. Carat's, at once
overturned the captain's whole story; cunning people
often insert something in their narration to make it better, which ultimately tends to convict them of falsehood.
The captain, having now no other resource, and having
the horrors of imprisonment, and the certainty of condemnation upon a public trial full before him, threw
himself, as the only chance that remained for him, upon
Mrs. Howard's mercy; confessed that all that he had
told her before was false; that his mate and he had
acted in concert; that the rising of the crew against him
had been contrived between them; that he had received
the jewels, when he was set ashore, for his immediate
share of the booty; and that the mate had run the ship
off to Charleston, to sell her cargo. According to agreement, the captain added, he was to have had a shate in
the cargo; but the mate had cheated him of that; he had
never heard from h'in, or of him, he would take his
oath, from the day he was set ashore, and knew nothing
of him or the cargo.
"Avast, friend, by your leave," cried the honest
sailor who had found the stage-coachman's parcel"avast, friend, by your leave," said he, elbowing his
way between Alderman Holloway and his next neighbour, and getting clear into the middle of the circle — I
know more of this matter, my lord, or please your worship, which is much the same thing, than anybody here;
and I'm glad on't, mistress," continued the tar, pulling
a cud of tobacco out of his mouth, and addressing himself to Mrs. Howard: then turning to the captain,
"Wasn't she the Lively Peggy, pray?-it's no use tack



THE GOOD AUNIT.              85
ing. Wasn't your mate one John Matthews, pray?
Captain, your face tells truth, in spite of your teeth."
The captain instantly grew pale, and trembled: on
which the sailor turned abruptly from him, and went on
with his story. "Mistress," said he, "though I'm a
loser by it, no matter. The Lively Peggy and her cargo
are safe and sound in Plymouth at this very time being,
and we have her mate in limbo, curse him. We made
a prize of him coming from America, fbr he was under
French colours, and a fine prize we thought we'd made.
But her cargo belongs to a British subject; and there's
an end of our prize-money: no matter for that. There
was an ugly look with Matthews from the first; and I
found the day we took her, something odd in the look
of her stern. The rascals had done their best to paint
over her name; but I, though no great scholar, made a
-shift to spell the Lively Peggy through it all. We have
the mate in limbo at Plymouth': but it's all come out,
without any more to do; and, mistress, I'll get you her
bill of lading in a trice, and I give ye joy with all my
heart."
Alderman Holloway, a man used to business, would
not indulge himself in a single compliment upon this
occasion, till he had cautiously examined.the captain's
papers. The bill of lading which had been sent with
the Lively Peggy from Jamaica, was found among them;
it was an exact list, corresponding precisely with that
which Mrs. Howard's agent hed sent her by post, of the
consignment shipped after the sale of her plantation.
The alderman, satisfied, after counting the puncheons
of rum and hogsheads of sugar, turned to Mrs. Howard,
and shook hands with her, with a face of mercantile
congratulation, declaring that "she was now as good a
woman as ever she had been, and need never desire to
be better."
"My dear Oliver," cried Howard, "this is all owing
to you: you discovered-"
"No, no, no!"  interrupted Oliver, precipitately: "all
hmat I (lid was accident; all that you did was not acciH




86               MORAL TALES.
dent. You first made me love you, by teaching me that
I was not a blockhead, and by freeing me from —"
"11J tyrant, you were going to say,'" cried Holloway,
colouring deeply; " and if you had, you would have said
the truth. I thought, Howard, afterward, that you were
a brave fellow for taking his part, I confess. But, Oliver,
I thought you had forgiven me for all these things."
"Forgiven! Oh yes, to be sure," cried little Oliver;
"I wasn't thinking of myself, or you either; I was only
thinking of Howard's good nature; and then," continued
he, "Howard was just as good to the mulatto woman
as he was to me-wasn't he, Cuba?"
"That he was!" replied the poor woman; and looking at Mrs. Howard, added, "Massa's heart as good as
hers."
"And his head's as good as his heart, which makes
it all better still," continued Oliver, with enthusiasm.
" Mr. Russell, you linow how hard he worked at that
translation to earn money to support poor Cuba, and to
paper the room, and to pay the bricklayerfor the smoky
chimney: these things weren't done by accident, were
they? though it was by accident that I happened to observe Cuba's curious thimble."
"There are some people," interrupted Mr. Russell,
"who, by accident, never observe any thing. We will
not allow you, Oliver, to call y.our quick habit of observation, accident; your excellent capacity will —"
"5,ly excellent capacity!" repeated Oliver, with' unfeigned surprise: " why you know I get by rote slower
than anybody in the world."
"You may," said Dr. B., "notwithstanding, have
an excellent capacity: much may be learned without
books; much more with books, Oliver; but for your
comfort you need not learn them by rote.","I'm glad of it, heartily," cried Oliver; "but this put
something out of my head that I was in a great hurry
to say-Oh, one other thing about accident. It was not
accident, but it was Howard's.sense in persuading me
not to put into the lottery, that was the very cause of




THE GOOD AUNT.                  87
Dr. B.'s giving me the choice of all the things in the
Jew's box-was it?"
"Well, Oliver, we are ready to allow all you want
us to perceive; in one word, that your friend Howard
has not been educated by accident," said Dr. B., looking
at Mrs. Howard.
The Jew, and the captain of the Lively Peggy were
now left in the hands of the law. The sailor was properly rewarded. Mr. Russell was engaged to superintend
the education of Holloway.  He succeeded, and was
presented by the alderman with a living in Surrey. Mr.
Supine never visited Italy, and did not meet with any
consolation but in his German flute. Howard continued
eager to improve himself; nor did he imagine that the
moment he left school, and parted from his tutor, his
education was finished, and that his books were " like
past misfortunes," good for nothing but to be forgotten.
His love for literature he found one of the first pleasures
of his life; nor did he, after he came into the possession
of a large fortune, find that his habits of constant occupation lessened his enjoyments, for he was never knovn
to yawn at a window upon a rainy morning!
Little Oliver's understanding rapidly improved; his
affection for his friend Howard increased as he grew up,
for he always remembered that Howard was the first
person who discovered that he was not a dunce. Mrs.
Howard had the calm satisfaction of seeing an education
well finished, which she had well begun; and she enjoyed in her nephew's friendship, esteem, and unconstrained gratitude, all the rewards wvhich her good sense,
firmness, and benevolence had so well deserved.








MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.
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MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.
PART I.
MRS. TEMPLE had two daughters, Emma and Helen.
She had taken a great deal of care of their education, and
they were very fond of their mother, and particularly
happy whenever she had leisure to converse with them.
They used to tell her every thing that they thought and
felt; so that she had it in her power early to correct, or
rather to teach them to correct, any little faults in their
disposition, and to rectify those errors of judgment to
which young people, from want of experience, are so
liable.
Mrs. Temple lived in the country, and her society was
composed of a few intimate friends; she wished, especially during the education of her children, to avoid the
numerous inconveniences of what is called an extensive
acquaintance. However, as her children grew older, it
was necessary that they should be accustomed to see a
variety of characters, and still more necessary that they
should learn to judge of them. There was little danger of
Emma's being hurt by the first impressions of new faces
and new ideas; but Helen, of a more vivacious temper,
had not yet acquired her sister's good sense. We must
observe, that Helen was a little disposed to be fond of
novelty, and sometimes formed a prodigiously high
opinion of persons whom she had seen but for a few
hours. " Not to admire" was an art which she had to
learn.
When Helen was between eleven and twelve years
old, Lady S- returned from abroad, and came to reside
91




92                MORAL TALES.
at her country seat, which was very near Mrs. Temple's.
The lady had a daughter, Lady Augusta, who was a
little older than Helen. One morning a fine coach drove
to the door, and Lady S  - and her daughter were
announced. We shall not say any thing at present of
either of the ladies, except that Helen was much delighted with them, and talked of nothing else to her sister all
the rest of the day.
The next morning, as these two sisters were sitting at
work in their mother's dressing-room, the following conversation began:"' Sister, do you like pink or blue the best?" said Helen.
"I don't know; blue, I think."
" O, blue to be sure. Mother, which do you like best?"
"Why'tis a question of such importance, I must
have time to deliberate. I am afraid I like pink the
best."
"Pink! dear, that's very odd! But, mamma, didn't
you think yesterday, that Lady Augusta's sash was a
remarkably pretty pale blue?"
"Yes; I thought it was very pretty; but as I have
seen a great many such sashes, I did not think it was
any thing very remarkable."
"Well, perhaps it was not remarkably pretty; but
you'll allow, ma'am, that it was very well put on?"
"It was put on as other sashes are, as well as I rememrrber."
"I like Lady Augusta exceedingly, mother."
"What, because she has a blue sash!"
"No, I'm  not quite so silly as that," said Helen,
laughing; "not because she has a blue sash?"
"Why then did you like her?-because it was well
put on?"
"CO no, no."
"Why then?"
"Why, mamma why do you ask why? I can't tell
why. You know one often likes and dislikes people at
first without exactly knowing why."
"One? whom do you mean by one?"
"Myself, and every body."




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            93
"You perhaps, but not every body; for only silly
people like and dislike without any reason."
"But I hope I'm not one of the silly people. I only
meant that I had no thought about it. I dare say if I
were to think aliout it I should be able to give you a
great many reasons."
"I shall be contented with one good one, Helen."
"Well then, ma'am, in the first place, I liked her
because she was so good-humoured."
"You saw her but for one half hour. Are you sure
that she is good-humored?"
"No, ma'am; but I'm sure she looked very goodhumoured?"
" That's another affair. However, I acknowledge it
is reasonable to feel disposed to like any one who has a
good-humoured countenance, because the temper has, I
believe, a very strong influence upon certain muscles
of the face; and Helen, though you are no great physiognomist, we will take it for granted that you were not
mistaken. Now 1 did not think Lady Augusta had
a remarkably good-tempered countenance, but I hope
that I am mistaken. Was this your only reason for
liking her exceedingly?
"No, not my only reason. I liked her-becausebecause-indeed, ma'am," said Helen, growing a little
impatient at finding herself unable to arrange her own
ideas, " indeed, ma'am, I don't just remember any thing
in particular, but I know I thought her very agreeable
altogether."
"Saying that you think a person very agreeable
altogether may be a common mode of expression, but 1
am obliged to inform you that it is no reason, nor do I
exactly comprehend what it means, unless it means, in
other words, that you don't choose to be at the trouble
of thinking. I am sadly afraid, Helen, that you must
be content at last to be ranked among the silly ones,
who like and dislike without knowing why-Hey,
Helen?"
"0 no, indeed, mother," said Helen, putting down
her work.
22*




94               MORAL TALES.
"My dear, [ am sorry to distress you, but what has
become of the great many good reasons?"
"0, I have them still; but then I'm afraid to Leil
them, because Emma will laugh at me."
"C No, indeed I won't laugh," said Emma; "besides,
if you please, I can go away."
"No, no, sit still; I will tell them directly. Why,
mother, you know, before we saw Lady Augusta, every
body told us how pretty, and accomplished, and agreeable she was."
" Every body! nobody that I remember," said Emma,
"but Mrs. H. and Miss K."
"0, indeed, sister, and Lady M. too."
"Well, and Lady M.; that makes three. But are
three people every body?"
1" No, to be sure," said Helen, a little disconcerted.
"But you promised not to laugh at me, Emma. However, mother, without joking, I am sure Lady Augusta
is very accomplished at least. Do you know, ma'am,
she has a French governess? But I forget her name."
"Never mind her name; it is little to the purpose."
" 0, but I recollect it now;-Mademoiselle Panache."
" Why, undoubtedly, Lady Augusta's having a French
governess, and her name being Mademoiselle Panache,
are incontrovertible proofs of the excellence of her education; but I think you said you were sure that she was
very accomplished. What do you mean by accomplished?"
"Why, that she dances extremely well, and that she
speaks French and Italian, and that she draws exceedingly well indeed-takes likenesses, mamma, likenesses
in miniature, mother!"
"You saw them, I suppose?"
" Saw them? No, I did not see them, but I heard of
them."
"That's a singular method of judging of pictures."
"But however, she certainly plays extremely well
upon the piano-forte, and understands music perfectly.
I have a particular reason for knowing this, however."
"You did not hear her play?"




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.              95
"No; but I saw an Italian song written ith her own
hand, and she told me she set it to music herself."
" You saw her music, and heard of her drawings;
excellent proofs! Well, but her dancing?"
"Why, she told me the name of her dancing-master,
and it sounded like a foreign name."'
"So I suppose he must be a good one?" said Emma,
laughing.
"But, seriously, I do believe she is sensible."
"Well; your cause of belief?"
"Why, I asked her if she had read much history, and
she answered,'i. little;' but I saw by her look she
meant'a great deal.' Nay, Emma, you are laughing
now; I saw you smile."
"Forgive her, Helen; indeed it was very difficult to
help it," said Mrs. Temple.
"Well, mother," said Helen, "I believe I have been
a little hasty in my judgment, and all my good reasons
are reduced to nothing. I dare say all this time Lady
Augusta is very ignorant and very ill-natured."
" Nay; now you are going into the opposite extreme.
It is possible she.may have all the accomplishments
and good qualities which you at first imagined her to
have. I only meant to show you that you had no
proofs of them hitherto."'
"But surely, mother, it would be but good-natured
to believe a stranger to be amiable and sensible when
we knew nothing to the contrary; strangers may be as
good as the people we have known all our lives; so it
would be very hard upon them, and very silly in us
too, if we were to take it for granted they were every
thing that was bad merely because they were strangers."
" You do not yet reason with perfect accuracy, Helen.
Is there no difference between thinking people every
thing that is good and amiable, and taking it for granted
that they are every thing that is bad?"
" But then, mother, what can one do? To be always
doubting and doubting is very disagreeable; and at first,
when one knows nothing of a person, how can we
judge?"




96                MIORAL TALES.
" There is no necessity, that I can perceive, for your
judging of people's characters the very instant they
come into a room, which I suppose is what you mean
by'at first.' And though it be disagreeable to be
always'doubting and doubting,' yet it is what we
must submit to patiently, Helen, unless we would submit to the consequences of deciding ill; which, let me
assure you, my little daughter, are infinitely more disagreeable."
"Then," said Helen, "I had better doubt and doubt
a little longer, mother, about Lady Augusta."
Here the conversation ended. A few days afterwards
Lady Augusta came with her mother to dine at Mrs.
Temple's. For the first hour Helen kept her resolution,
and with some difficulty maintained her mind in the
painful, philosophic state of doubt; but the second
hour Helen thought that it would be unjust to doubt
any longer, especially as Lady Augusta had just shown
her a French pocket fan, and at the very same time observed to Emma that her sister's hair was a true auburn
colour.
In the evening, after theyr had returned from a walk,
they went into Mrs. Temple's dressing-room, to look at
a certain black japanned cabinet, in which Helen kept
some dried specimens of plants, and other curious
things. Half the drawers in this cabinet were hers, and
the other half her sister's. Now Emma, though she
was sufficiently obliging and polite towards her new acquaintance, was by no means enchanted with her; nor
did she feel the least disposition suddenly to contract a
friendship with a person she had seen but for a few
hours. This reserve Helen thought showed some want
of feeling, and seemed determined to make amends for
it by the warmth and frankness of her own manners.
She opened all the drawers of the cabinet; and whilst
Lady Augusta looked and admired, Helen watched
her eye, as Aboulcasem, in the Persian Tales, watched
the eye of the stranger to whom he was displaying his
treasures. Helen, it seems, had read the story, which
had left a deep impression upon her imagination; and




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.              97
she had long determined, on the first convenient opportunity, to imitate the conduct of the "generous Persian."
Immediately, therefore, upon observing that any thing
struck her guest's fancy, she withdrew it, and secretly
set it apart for her, as Aboulcasem set apart the slave,
and the cup, and the peacock. At night, when Lady
Augusta was preparing to depart, Helen slipped out of
the room, packed up the things, and as Aboulcasem
wrote a scroll with his presents, she thought it necessary to accompany hers with a billet. All this being
accomplished with much celerity and some trepidation,
she hurried down stairs, and gave her packet to one
of the servants, and saw it lodged in Lady S-'s
coach.
When the visit was ended, and Helen and Emma had
retired to their own room at night, they began to talk
instead of going to sleep. " Well, sister," said Helen,
"and what did you give to Lady Augusta?"
"I? nothing."'
" Nothing!" repeated Helen, in a triumphant tone.' Then she will not think you very generous."
"I do not want her to think me very generous,"
said Emma, laughing; "neither.do I think that giving
of presents to strangers is always a proof of generosity."
"' Strangers or no strangers, that makes no difference;
for surely a person's giving away any thing that they
like themselves is a pretty certain proof, Emma, of their
generosity."
" Not quite so certain," replied Emma; "at least I
mean as far as I can judge of my own mind. I know
I have sometimes given things away, that I liked myself, merely because I was ashamed to refuse. Now I
should not call thatgenerosity, but weakness. And besides,
I think it does make a great deal of difference, Helen,
whether you mean to speak of strangers or friends. I
am sure, at this instant, if there is any thing of mine in
that black cabinet that you wish for, Helen, I'll give it
you with the greatest pleasure."
" And not to Lady Augusta?"
"No; I could not do both. And do you think I
I




98               MORAL TALE S.
would make no distinction between a person I have
lived with and loved for years; and a stranger, whom I
know and care very little about?"
Helen was touched by this speech, especially as she
entirely believed her sister, for Emma was not one who
made sentimental speeches.
A short time after this visit, Mrs. Temple took her
two daughters with her, to dine at Lady S's. As
they happened to go rather earlier than usual, they found
nobody in the drawing-room but the French governess,
Mademoiselle Panache. Helen, it seems, had conceived
a very sublime idea of a French governess, and when
she first came into the room she looked up to Mademoiselle Panache with a mixture of awe and admiration.
Mademoiselle was not much troubled with any of that
awkward reserve which seems in England sometimes
to keep strangers at bay for the first quarter of an hour
of their acquaintance. She could not, it is true, speak
English very fluently, but this only increased her desire
to speak it; and between two languages she found
means, with some difficulty, to express herself. The
conversation, after the usual preliminary nothings had
been gone over, turned upon France and French literature. Mrs.' Temple said she was going to purchase
some French books for her daughters, and very politely
begged to know what authors Mademoiselle would particularly recommend. " FVat auteurs?" —you do me
much honour madame —" Vat auteurs? why, JAIesdenwiselles, there's Telemaque and Belisaire."
Helen and Emma had read Telemaque and Belisaire,
so Mademoiselle was obliged to think again. "./ttendez!" cried she, putting up her fore-finger in an attitude of recollection. But the result of all her recollection
was still "Belisaire" and " Telemaqlue," and an Jibbe's
book, whose name she could not rernember: though she
remembered perfectly well that the work was published " I'an mille six cent quatre-vingts dix."
Helen could scarcely forbear smiling, so much was
her awe and admiration of a French governess abated.
Mrs. Temple, to relieve Mademosielle from the per.




MADEMOlSELLE PANACHE.                99
plexity of searching for the Abbe's name, and to avoid
the hazard of going out of her circle of French literature, mentioned Gil Blas, and observed, that though it
was a book universally put into the hands of very
young people, she thought Mademoiselle judged well in
preferring" Oh!" interrupted Mademoiselle, " Je ne trouve bien
heureuse-I am quite happy, madame, to be of your
way of tinking. I never would go to choose to put
Gil Bias into no pupil's of mine's hands, until they were
perfectly mistress of de ideome de la langue."
It was not the idiom, but the morality of the book to
which Mrs. Temple had alluded. But that, it was very
plain, occupied no part of Mademoiselle Panache's
attention; her object was solely to teach her pupil
French, "Ml.fais pour JMiladi Augusta," cried she,
"c'est vraiment un petit prodi-e!  You, madame, you
are a judge-On le voit bien  You know how much
difficile it be to compose French poesie, because of de
rhymes, de masculin, feminine, de neutre genre of noun
substantive and adjective, all to be consider in spite of de
sense in our rhymes. Je ne m'explique pas. JMlais, elfin,
-de natives themselves very few come to write passably
in poesie; except it be your great poets by profession.
Cependant, nmdame, 711iladi duglusta —I speak de truth,
not one vord of lies-M-iladi JAugusta write poesie just the
same with prose.  Veritablement comme un ange! Et
puis-" continued Mademoiselle Panache.
But she was interrupted by the entrance of the
"little angel" and her mother. Lady Augusta wore a
rose-coloured sash to-day, and Helen no longer preferred
blue to pink. Not long after they were seated, Lady
S-    observed that her daughter's face was burned by
being opposite to the fire, and, after betraying some
symptoms of anxiety, cried, "Mademoiselle, why will
you always let Augusta sit so near the fire? My dear,
ow can you bear to burn your face so? Do be so
good, for my sake, to take a screen."
" There is no screen in the room, ma'am, I believe,"




100               MORAL TALES.
said the young lady, moving, or seeming to move her
chair three quarters of an inch backwards.
"No screen!" said Lady S-, looking round. " 1
thought, Mademoiselle, your screens were finished."
" 0, oui, madame, dey be finish; but Iforget to make
demn come down stairs."
"I hate embroidered screens," observed Lady S —,
turning away her head; "for one is always afraid to
use them."
Mademoiselle immediately rose to fetch one of hers.
"JAVe vous derangez pas, JMademoiselle," said Lady
S-  carelessly. And whilst she was out of the room,
turning to Mrs. Temple, "Have you a French governess'" said she. " I think you told me not."
"No," said Mrs. Temple, "I have no thoughts of
any governess for my daughters."
" Why, indeed, I don't know but you are quite right,
for they are sad plagues to have in one's house; besides, I believe too, in general, they are a sad set of people. But what can one do, you know? One must
submit to all that; for they tell me there's no other way
of securing to one's children a good French pronunciation. H1ow will you manage about that?"
"Helen and Emma," said Mrs. Temple, "read and
understand French as well as I could wish, and if they
ever go to France I hope they will be able to catch the
accent as I have never suffered them to acquire any
fixed bad habits of speaking it."
" O." said Lady S —, "bad habits are what I dread
of all things for Augusta. I assure you I was particularly nice about the choice of a governess for her; so
many of these sort of people come over here from Switzerland, or the French provinces, and speak a horrid
jargon. It's very difficult to meet with a person you
could entirely depend upon."
"Very difficult indeed," said Mrs. Temple.
"However," continued her ladyship, "I think myself most exceedingly fortunate. I am absolutely certain
that Mademoiselle Panache comes from Paris, and was
born and educated there; so I feel quite at ease. And




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             101
as to the rest," said she, lowering her voice, but only
lowering it sufficiently to fix Lady Augusta's attention
-"as to the rest, I shall part with her when my
daughter is a year or two older; so you know she can
do no great harm.'Besides," said she, speaking louder,
"I really have great confidence in her, and Augusta
and she seem to agree vastly well."
"0 yes," said Lady Augusta, "Mademoiselle is exceedingly good-natured. I am sure I like her vastly."
" Well, that's the chief thing. I would work upon a
child's sensibility; that's my notion of education," said
Lady S-    to Mrs. Temple, affecting a sweet smile.
"' Take care of the heart at any rate. There I'm  sure,
at least, I may depend on Mademoiselle Panache, for
she is the best creature in the world. I've the highest
opinion of her. Not that I would trust my own judgment, but she was most exceedingly well recommended
to me."
Mademoiselle Panache came into the room again just
as Lady S-  finished her last sentence. She brought
one of her own worked screens in her hand. Helen
looked at Lady Augusta, expecting that she would at
least have g,one to meet her governess; but the young
lady never offered to rise from her seat; and when poor
Mademoiselle presented the screen to her, she received
it with the utmost nonchalance, only interrupting her
conversations by a slight bow of the head. Helen and
Emma looked down, feeling both ashamed and shocked
at manners which they could neither think kind nor
polite. However, it was no wonder that the pupil
should not be scrupulously respectful towards a governess whom her mother treated like a waiting-maid.
More carriages now came to the door, and the room
was soon filled with company. The young ladies dined
at the side-table with Mademoiselle Panache, and during dinner Emma and Helen quite won her heart.
" Voild des demoiselles des plus polies!" she said with
emphasis; and it is true that they were particularly
careful to treat her with the greatest attention and respect, not only from their general habits of good breed1 2             23




102              MORAL TALES.
ing, and from a sense of propriety, but from a feeling
of pity and generosity. They could not bear to think
that a person should be treated with neglect or insolence
merely because their situation and rank happened to be
inferior.
Mademoiselle, pleased with their manners, was par
ticularly officious in entertaining them; and when the
rest of the company sat down to cards, she offered to
show them the house, which was large and magnificent.
Helen and Emma were very glad to be relieved from
their seats beside the card-table, and from perpetually
hearing of trumps, odd tricks, and honours; so that they
eagerly accepted Mademoiselle's proposal.
The last room which they went into was Lady
Augusta's apartment, in which her writing-desk, her
drawing-box, and her piano-forte stood. It was very
elegantly furnished; and at one end was a handsome
bookcase, which immediately attracted Helen's and
Emma's attention. Not Lady Augusta's. Her attention, the moment she came into the room, was attracted by a hat, which Mademoiselle had been making
up in the morning, and which lay half finished upon
the sofa. "Well, really this is elegant!" said she.
" Certainly, Mademosielle, you have the best taste in
the world! Isn't it a beautiful hat?" said she, appealing to Helen and Emma.
" 0 yes," replied Helen instantly; for as she was no
great judge, she was afraid to hazard her opinion, and
thought it safest to acquiesce in Lady Augusta s.
Emma, on the contrary, who did not think the hat particularly pretty, and who dared to think for herself, was
silent. And certainly it requires no common share of
strength of mind to dare to think for one s self about a
hat.
In the mean time Mademoiselle put the finishing stroke
to her work; and observing the colour of the ribbon
would become Helen's complexion —" dMerveilleusement! Permittez, JMademoiselle," said she, putting it
lightly upon her head-" Qu'elle est charmante! Qu'elle
est bien cornme pa! Quite anoder ting!,Mademoiselle




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            103
Helen est charmante! cried the governess with enthusiasm; and her pupil echoed her exclamation with equal
enthusiasm, till Helen would absolutely have been persuaded that some sudden metamorphosis had taken
place in her appearance, if her sister's composure had
not happily preserved her in her sober senses. She
could not, however, help feeling a sensible diminution
of merit and happiness when the hat was lifted off her
head.
"What a very pretty-coloured ribbon!" said she.
"That's pistachio colour," said Lady Augusta.
"Pistachio colour!" repeated Helen with admiration.
"Pistachio colour," repeated her sister coolly. " I did
not know that was the name of a colour."
" Bon Dieu!" said Mademoiselle, lifting up her
hands and eyes to heaven-'" Bon Dieu! not know de
pistachea colour!"
Emma, neither humbled nor shocked at her own ignorance, simply said to herself, "Surely it is no crime
not to know a name." But Mademoiselle's abhorrent
and amazed look produced a very different effect upon
Helen's imagination; she felt all the anguish of false
shame, that dangerous infirmity of weak minds.
" Bon!" said Mademoiselle Panache to herself, observing the impression which she had made; " voila un
bon sujet au moins." And she proceeded, with more
officiousness perhaps than politeness, to reform certain
minutiae in Helen's dress, which were not precisely adjusted according to what she called the mode; she having the misfortune to be possessed of that intolerant spirit which admits but of one mode; a spirit which is
common to all persons who have seen but little of the
world or of good company, and who, consequently,
cannot conceive the liberality of sentiment upon all
matters of taste and fashion which distinguishes wellbred and well-educated people.
" Pardonnez, Mademoiselle Helen," said she. " Permettez" —altering things to her fancy-" un petit pluset un petitplus: oui, comme ~a —comme ~a-Bien! bien!




104               MORAL TALES.
— Jlh! non! —Cela est vilain-affreuse!  JMais tenez,
toujours comrnme pa; ressouvenez vous bien,.Mademoiselle
-.fh bon! vois voild mise d quatres lepingles."
"s  quatres'pingles!" repeated Helen to herself.
"Surely," thought Emma, "that is a vulgar expression. Mademoiselle is not as elegant in her taste for
language as for dress." Indeed, two or three technical
expressions, which afterwards escaped from this lady,
joined to the prodigious knowledge she displayed of the
names, qualities,'and value of ribbons, gauzes, feathers,
&c., had excited a strong suspicion in Emma's mind
that Mademoiselle Panache herself might possibly have
had the honour to be a milliner.
The following incident sufficiently confirmed her suspicions: whilstMademoiselle was dressing and undressing Helen, she regularly carried every pin which she
took out to her mouth.  Helen did not perceive this
manceuvre, it being performed with habitual celerity;
but seeing that all the pins were vanished, she at first
glanced her eye upon the table, and then on the ground,
and still not seeing her pins, she felt in her pocket for
her pincushion, and presented it-" J'en ai assez bien
obligee, Jlademoiselle;"~ and from some secret receptacle in her mouth she produced first one pin, then another, till Emma counted seventeen, to her utter astonishment,-more, certainly, than any mouth could contain but a milliner's.
"Unfortunately, however, in Mademoiselle's haste
to speak, a pin and an exclamation, contending in her
mouth, impeded her utterance, and put her in imminent
danger of choking.  They all looked frightened."Qu'avez vous done!" cried she, with admirable dexterity,-qu'avez vous done!  Ce n'est rien. Jh, si vous
aviez vue JMademoselle 3lexandre!.Jh! dat would
frighten you indeed!  Mlany de time I see her put one
tirty, forty, fifty, aye one hundred, two hundred in her
mouth, and she all de time laugh, talk, eat, drink, sleep
wid em, and no harm —nonobstant never happen JMademoiselle JIlexandre."
"And who is Mademoiselle Alexandre 2" said Emma.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             105
"Eh donc! —fameuse marchande de modes, rue St.
Honor —rivale celebre de JMademoiselle Baulara."
"Yes, I know!" said Lady Augusta, delighted to
appear to know the names of two French milliners,
without in the least suspecting that she had the honour
to have a third for a governess.
Emma smiled, but was silent. She fortunately possessed a sound discriminating understanding. Observing
and judging for herself, it was not easy to impose upon
her by names and grimaces.
It was remarkable that Mademoiselle Panache had
never once attempted to alter any thing in Emma's
dress, and directed very little of her conversation to her,
seeming to have an intuitive perception that she could
make no impression; and Lady Augusta too treated
her with less familiarity, but with far more respect.
" Dear Helen," said Lady Augusta, for she seemed,
to use her own expression, to have taken a great fancy
to her-" dear Helen, I hope you are to be at the ball
at the races."
" I don't know," said Helen; " I believe my mother
intends to be there."
" Et vous 2" said Mademoiselle Panache, " you to be
sure, I hope;-your mamma could not be so cruel as to
leave you at home! zine demoisellefaite comme vous!"
Helen had been quite indifferent about going to the
ball, till these words inspired her with a violent desire
to go there, or rather with a violent dread of the misfortune and disgrace of being left " at home."
We shall, for fear of being tiresome, omit a long conversation which passed about the dress and necessary
preparations for this ball. It is enough to say that Helen was struck with despair at the idea that her mother
probably would not procure for her all the fine things
which Lady Augusta had, and which Mademoiselle assured her were absolutely necessary to her being " presentable." In particular her ambition was excited by a
splendid watch-chain of her ladyship's, which Lady Augusta assured her " there was no possibility of living
without." Emma, however, reflecting that she had
23*




106              MORAL TALES.
lived all her life without even wishing for a watch-chain,
was inclined to doubt the accuracy of her ladyship's assertion.
In the meantime poor Helen fell into a profound and
somewhat painful reverie. She stood with the watchchain in her hand, ruminating upon the vast, infinite
number of things she wanted to complete her happiness
-things of which she had never thought before. Indeed, during the short time she had been in company
with Mademoiselle Panache, a new world seemed to
have been opened to her imagination-new wants, new
wishes, new notions of right and wrong, and a totally
new idea of excellence and happiness had taken possession of her mind.
So much mischief may be done by a silly governess
in a single quarter of an hour! But we are yet to see
more of the genius of Mademoiselle Panache for education. It happened, that, while the young ladies were busily talking together, she had gotten to the other end of the
room, and was as busily engaged at a looking-glass, receding and advancing by turns, to decide the exact distance at which rouge was liable to detection. Keeping
her eye upon the mirror, she went backwards and backwarder, till unluckily she chanced to set her foot upon
lady Augusta's favourite little dog, who instantly set
forth a piteous yell.
"  O, my dog! O, my dog!" exclaimed Lady Augusta, running to the dog, and taking it into her lap-" 0,
chere Fanfan! where is it hurt, my poor, dear, sweet,
darling little creature?"
" Chere Fanfan!" cried Mademoiselle, kneeling down,
and kissing the offended paw —"pardonnez, Fanfan!"
and they continued caressing and pitying Fanfan, so as
to give Helen a very exalted opinion of their sensibility,
and to make her wiser sister doubt of its sincerity.
Longer would Fanfan have been deplored with all
the pathos of feminine fondness, had not Mademoiselle
-suddenly shrieked and started up. "What's the matter-what's the matter?" cried they all at once. The
aftrighted governess pointed to her pupil's sash, ex



MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             107
claiming, " Regardez! regardez!"  There was a moderate-sized spider upon the young lady's sash. " La
voila! ah la voila!" cried she at an awful distance."
" It is only a spider," said Emma.
"A spider!" said Lady Augusta, and threw Fanfan
from her lap as she rose; "where? where? on my
sash?"
"I'll shake it off," said Helen.
"0O shake it, shake it!" and she shook it herself, till
the spider fell to the ground, who seemed to be almost
as much frightened as Lady Augusta, and was making
his way as fast as possible from the field of battle.
0' OU est it! ou' est ii   Le vilain animal!" cried
Mademoiselle, advancing.  "i.h que je l'Ncraise au
moins," said she, having her foot prepared.
"Kill it!"- "O  Mademoiselle, don't kill it," said
Emma, stooping down to save it. " Ill put it out of the
window this instant."
"Ah! how can you touch it?" said Lady Augusta
with disgust, while Emma carried it carefully in her
hand; and Helen, whose humanity was still proof
against Mademoiselle Panache, ran to open the window. Just as they had got the poor spider out of the
reach of its enemies, a sudden gust of wind blew it back
again; it fell once more upon the floor.
" O, kill it; kill it, any body-for heaven's sake do
kill it!" Mademoiselle pressed forward and crushed the
animal to death.
" Is it dead? quite dead?" said her pupil, approaching timidly.
".Ivancez!" said her governess, laughing. " Que
craignez vous done?  Elle est morte, je vous dis."
The young lady looked at the entrails of the spider,
and was satisfied.
So much for a lesson on humanity.
It was some time before the effects of this scene were
effaced from the minds of either of the sisters; but at
length a subject very interesting to Helen was started.
Lady Augusta mentioned the little ebony box which
had been put into the coach, and Miss Helen's very




108              MORAL TALES.
obliging note. However, though she affected to be
pleased, it was evident, by the haughty carelessness of
her manner, whilst she returned her thanks, that she
was rather offended than obliged by the present.
Helen was surprised and mortified. The times, she
perceived, were changed since the days of Aboulcasem.
"I am particularly distressed," said Lady Augusta,
who often assumed the language of a woman, " I am
particularly distressed to rob you of your pretty prints;
especially as my uncle has just sent me down a set of
Bartolozzi's from town."
"But I hope, Lady Augusta, you liked the little
prints, which are cut out. I think you said you wished
for some such things to put on a work-basket."
"O, yes. I'm sure I'm exceedingly obliged to you
for remembering that; I had quite forgotten it; but I
found some beautiful vignettes the other day in our
French books, and I shall set about copying them for
my basket directly. I'll show them to you if you
please," said she, going to the book-case. " Mademoiselle, do be so good as to reach for me those little books
in the morocco binding."
Mademoiselle got upon a stool, and touched several
books, one after another, for she could not translate
"morocco binding."
"Which did you mean?-Dis-dis-dis, or date 
said she.
"' No, no; none of those, Mademoiselle; not in that
row. Look just above your hand in the second row
from the top."
" 0 no, not in dat row, I hope."
" Why not there?"
",.Jliladi lugusta, vous scavez bien,-ce sont id les
livres defendues. I dare not touch one-Vous le sfavez
bien, JMliladi; votre chire mere."
".Miladi, votre chire mere!" repeated the young
lady, mimicking her governess; " pooh, nonsense;
give me the books."
"Eh non —absolument non. Croyez moi, lMademoi



MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             109
selle, de book is not good. Ce n'est pas comme il faut;
it is notfit for young ladies-for nobody to read."
" How do you know that so well, Mademoiselle?"
"JV'importe," said Mademoiselle, colouring, "n'importe-je la scais. But not to talk of dat; you know 1
cannot disobey JlIiladi; de row of Romans she forbid to
be touch, on no account, by nobody but herself in de
house. You know dis, JIadensoiselle dIugusta. So, en
conscience," said she, descending from the stool"En conscience!" repeated Lady Augusta, with the
impatient accent of one not used to be opposed. " I
can't help admiring the tenderness of your conscience,
Mademoiselle Panache. Now would you believe it,"
continued she, turning to Emma and Helen-" now,
would you believe it-Mademoiselle has had the second
volume of that very book under her pillow this fortnight. I caught her reading it one morning, and that
was what made me so anxious to see it; or else ten to one
I never should have thought of the book-so, en consczence! Mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle coloured furiously.
"Mais vraiment, JMiladi J.ugusta, vous me manquez
en face!"
The young lady made no reply, but sprang upon the
stool, to reach the books for herself; and the governess,
deeming it prudent not to endanger her authority by an
ineffectual struggle for victory, thought proper to sound
a timely retreat.
"allons! JMademoiselles," cried she. "I fancy de
tea wait by dis time. Descendans;" and she led the
way. Emma instantly followed her. "Stay a moment for me, Helen, my dear."  Helen hesitated.
"Then you won't take down the books?" said she.
"Nay, one moment; just let me show you the vignette."
"No, no; pray don't. Mademoiselle said you must
not."
"Yes, she said I must not; but you see she went
away, that I might; and so I will," said Lady Augusta,




110              MORALXTALES.
jumping off the stool with the red books in her hand.
"Now look here."
"0 no; I can't stay indeed!" said Helen, pulling
away her hand.
"La! what a child you are!" said lady Augusta,
laughing. " Its mamma shan't be angry with it, she
shan't. La! what harm can there be in looking at a
vignette."
"Why, to be sure, there can be no harm in looking
at a vignette," said Helen, submitting from the same
species of false shame which had conquered her understanding before about the pistachio colour.' "Well, look!" said Lady Augusta, opening the
book; " isn't this exceedingly pretty?"
"Exceedingly pretty," said Helen, scarce seeing it.
"Now shall we go down?"
" No, stay; as you think that pretty, I can show you
a much prettier."
"Well, only one then."
But when she had seen that Lady Augusta still said,
"One other," and "one other," till she had gone
through a volume and a half; Helen all the while alternately hesitating and yielding, out of pure weakness
and mauvaise honte.
The vignettes, in fact, were not extraordinarily beautiful; nor, if they, had been, would she have taken the
least pleasure in seeing them in such a surreptitious
manner. She did not, however, see all the difficulties
into which this first deviation from proper conduct
would lead her. Alas! no one ever can!
Just when they were within three leaves of the end
of the last volume, they heard -voices upon the stairs.
" Good God! there's my mother!-They're coming!What shall we do?" cried Lady Augusta; and though
there could be " no harm in looking at a print," yet the
colour now forsook her cheek, and she stood the picture
of guilt and cowardice. There was not time to put the
books up in their places. What was to be done?
" Put them into our pockets," said Lady Augusta.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE..           111
" 0 no, no! I won't —I can't. What meanness!"
"But you must. I can't get them both into mine,"
said Lady Augusta, in great distress. " Dear Helen,
for my sake!"
Helen trembled, and let Lady Augusta put the book
into her pocket.
" My dear," said Lady S —, opening the door just
as this operation was effected, "we are come to see your
room; will you let us in?"
"0, certainly, madame," said Lady Augusta, commanding a smile. But Helen's face was covered with
so deep a crimson, and she betrayed such evident symptoms of embarrassment, that her mother, who came up
with the rest of the company, could not help taking notice of it.
" Ar'n't you well, Helen, my dear?" said her mother.
Helen attempted no answer.
" Perhaps," said Lady Augusta, " it was the grapes
after dinner which disagreed with you."
Helen refused the look of assent which was expected;
and at this moment she felt the greatest contempt for
Lady Augusta, and terror to see herself led on step by
step in deceit.
"My love, indeed you don't look well," said Lady:5 —, in a tone of pity.
" It must be de grapes!" said Mademoiselle.
"No, indeed," said Helen, who felt inexpressible
shame and anguish, "no indeed, it is not the grapes;"
turning away, and looking up to her mother with tears
in her eyes.
She was on the point of producing the book before
all the company; but Lady'Augusta pressed her arm,
and she forbore; for she thought it would be dishonourable to betray her.
Mrs. Temple did not choose to question her daughter
farther at this time, and relieved her from confusion by
turning to something else.
As they went down stairs to tea, Lady Augusta, with
familiar fondness, took Helen's hand.




112               MORAL TALES.
" You need not fear," said Helen, withdrawing her
hand coolly; "I shall not betray you, Augusta."
"You'll promise me that?"
"Yes," said Helen, with a feeling of contempt.
After tea, Lady Augusta was requested to sit down
to the piano-forte, and favour the company with an
Italian song. She sat down, and played and sung with
the greatest ease and gaiety imaginable; whilst Helen,
incapable of feeling, still more incapable of affecting
gayety, stood beside the harpsichord, her eyes bowed
down with "penetrative shame."
" Why do you look so wo-begone?" said Lady Augusta, as she stopped for a music book; "why don't
you look as I do?"
"I can't," said Helen.
Her ladyship did not feel the force of this answer;
for her own self-approbation could, it seems, be recovered at a very cheap rate. Half a dozen strangers
listening, with unmeaning smiles and encomiums, to
her execution of one of Clementi's lessons, were sufficient to satisfy her ambition. Nor is this surprising,
when all her education had tended to teach her that
what are called accomplishments are superior to every
thing else. Her drawings were next to be produced
and admired. The table was presently covered with
fruit, flowers, landscapes, men's, women's and children's
heads; whilst Mademoiselle was suffered to stand
holding a large port-folio, till she was ready to faint;
nor was she, perhaps, the only person in the company
who was secretly tired of the exhibition.
These external exhibitions of accomplishments have
of late become private nuisances. Let young women
cultivate their tastes or their understandings in any
manner that can afford them agreeable occupation, or,
in one word, that can make them happy. If they are
wise, they will early make it their object to be permanently happy, and not merely to be admired for a few
hours of their existence.
All this time poor Helen could think of nothing but
the book which she had been persuaded to secrete. It




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           113
grew late in the evening, and Helen grew more and
more uneasy at not having any opportunity of returning it.
Lady Augusta was so busy talking and receiving compliments, that it was impossible to catch her eye.
At length Mrs. Temple's carriage was ordered; and
now all the company were seated in form, and Helen
saw with the greatest distress that she was farther than
ever from her purpose. She once had a mind to call
her mother aside and consult her; but that she could
not do, on account of her promise.
The carriage came to the door; and whilst Helen put
on her cloak, Mademoiselle assisted her, so that she
could not speak to Lady Augusta. At last, when she
was taking leave of her, she said, " Will you let me
give you the book?" and half drew it from her pocket.
" O, goodness! not now; I can't take it now."
" What shall I do with it?"
" Why, take it home, and send it back, directed to me
-remember —by the first opportunity-when you have
done with it."
" Done with it! I have done with it. Indeed, Lady
Augusta, you must let me give it you now."
" Come, Helen, we are waiting for you, my dear,"
said Mrs. Temple; and Helen was hurried into the
carriage with the book still in her pocket. Thus was
she brought from one difficulty into another.
Now she had promised her mother never to borrow
any book without her knowledge; and certainly she
had not the slightest intention to forfeit her word when
she first was persuaded to look at the vignettes. "0,"
said she to herself, "where will all this end?  What
shall I do now? Why was I so weak as to stay and
look at the prints? And why did I fancy I should like
Lady Augusta, before I knew any thing' of her? O,
how much I wish I had never seen her!"
Occupied by these thoughts all the way they were
going home, Helen, we may imagine, did not appear
as cheerful, or as mach at ease as usual. Her mother
and sister were conversing very agreeably; but if she
had been asked when the carriage stopped, she could
K2                24




114             MORAL TALES.
not have told a single syllable of what they had been
saying.
Mrs. Temple perceived that something hung heavy
upon her daughter's mind; but trusting to her long
habits of candour and integrity, she was determined to
leave her entirely at liberty; she therefore wished her a
good night, without inquiring into the cause of her melancholy.
Helen scarcely knew what it was to lie awake at
night; she generally slept soundly from the moment
she went to bed till the next morning, and then awakened
as gay as a lark. But now it was quite otherwise. She
lay awake uneasy and restless; her pillow was wet
with tears; she turned from side to side, but in vain; it
was the longest night she ever remembered. She
wished a thousand times for morning; but when the
morning came she got up with a very heavy heart; all
her usual occupations had lost their charms; and what
she felt the most painful was, her mother's kind, open,
unsuspicious manner. She had never, at least she had
never for many years, broken her word; she had long
felt the pleasure of integrity, and knew how to estimate
its loss.
"And for what," said Helen to herself, " have I forfeited this pleasure? for nothing."
But besides this, she was totally at a loss to know
what step she was next to take; nor could she consult
the friends she had always been accustomed to apply to
for advice. Two ideas of honour, two incompatible ideas,
were struggling in her mind. She thought that she
should not betray her companion, and she knew that
she ought not to deceive her mother. She was fully
resolved never to open the book which she had in her
pocket, but yet she was to keep it she knew not how
long. Lady Augusta had desired her to send it home;
but she did not see how this was to be accomplished
without having recourse to the secret assistance of serrants, a species of meanness to which she had never
stooped. She thought she saw herself involved in in



MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            115
extricable difficulties. She knew not what to do; she
laid her head down upon her arms and wept bitterly.
Her mother just then came into the room.
"Helen, my dear," said she, without taking any notice of her tears, "here's a fan, which one of the servants just brought out of the carriage. I find it was
left there by accident all night. The man tells me that
Mademoiselle Panache put it into the front pocket, and
said it was a present from Lady Augusta to Miss Helen."  It was a splendid French fan.
" 0," said Helen, "I can't take it! I can't take any
present from Lady Augusta —I wish-"
"You wish perhaps," said Mrs. Temple, smiling,
"that you had not begun the traffic of presents; but
since you have, it would not be handsome, it would
not be proper, to refuse the fan."
"But I must —I will refuse it," said Helen. "O,
mother! you don't know how unhappy I am!" She
paused. Didn't you see that something was the matter, madam, when you came up yesterday into Lady
Augusta's room!"
" Yes," said her mother, " I did; but I did not choose
to inquire the cause. I thought if you had wished I
should know it that you would have told it to me. You
are now old enough, Helen, to be treated with confidence."
" No," said Helen, bursting into tears, " I am not,
indeed I am not. I have-but 0, mother! the worst
of all is, that I don't know whether I should tell you
any thing about it or not-I ought not to betray any
body; ought I' "
"Certainly not. And as to me, the desire you now
show to be sincere is enough; you are. perfectly at
liberty. If I can assist to advise you my dear, I will;
but I do not want to force any secret from you: do
what you think right and honourable."
"But I have done what is very dishonourable," said
Helen. " At least I may tell you all that concerns myself. I am afraid you will think I have broken my promise," said she, drawing the book from her pocKet.




CA               MORAL TALES.
"I have brought home this book." She paused, and
seemed to wait for her mother's reproaches; but her mother was silent; she did not look angry, but surprised
and sorry.
" Is this all you wished to say?"
" All that I can say," replied Helen. Perhaps if you
heard the whole story you might think me less to blame,
but I cannot tell it to you. I hope you will not ask me
any more."
"No," said her mother, "that I assure you I wil
not."
"And now, mother, will you-and you'll set my
heart at ease again-will you tell me what I shall do
with the book?"
"That I cannot possibly do. I cannot advise when
I don't know the circumstances. I pity you, Helen, but
I cannot help you. You must judge for yourself."
Helen, after some deliberation, resolved to write a
note to Lady Augusta, and to ask her mother to send it.
Her mother sent it, without looking at the direction.
" 0, mother! how good you are to me!" said Helen.
"And now, madam, what shall be my punishment?"
" It will be a very severe punishment, I'm afraid;
but it is not in my power to help it. My confidence in
you does not depend upon myself; it must always depend upon you."
" 0, have I lost your confidence?"
"Not lost, but lessened it," said her mother. "I
cannot possibly feel the same confidence in you now
that I did yesterday morning; I cannot feel the same
dependence upon a person who has deceived me, as
upon one who never had —Could you?"
"No certainly," said Helen, with a deep sigh.
"O," said she to herself, "if Lady Augusta knew
the pain she has cost me! But I'm sure, however,.e'll tell her mother all the affair when she reads my
Aote."
Helen's note contained much eloquence, and more
simplicity; but as to the effect upon Lady Augusta,
she calculated ill. No ant 7er was returned but a few




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             117
ostensible lines: —" Lady Augusta's compliments, and
she was happy to hear Miss Helen T. was better," &c.
And strange to tell, when they met about three weeks
after at a ball in town, Lady Augusta did not think proper to take any notice of Helen or Emma. She looked
as if she had never seen them before, and by a haughty
stare —for girls can stare now almost as well as women
-cancelled all her former expressions of friendship for
her "dear Helen."  It is to be observed, that she was
now in company with two or three young ladies of
higher rank, whom she thought more fashionable, and
consequently more amiable.
Mrs. Temple was by no means sorry to find this intimacy between Lady Augusta and her daughter dissolved.
"I am sure the next time," said Helen, "I'll take
care not to like a stranger merely for having a blue
sash."
" But, indeed," said Emma, "I do think Mademoiselle Panache, from all I saw of her, is to blame for
many of Lady Augusta's defects."
"For all of them, I'll answer for it," said Helen.
"I would not have a French governess for the world.
Lady S      might well say they were a sad set of people."
" That was too general an expression. Helen," said
Mrs. Temple; "and it is neither wise nor just to judge
of any set of people by an individual, whether that individual be good or bad. All French governesses are
not like Mademoiselle Panache."
Helen corrected her expression, and said. "Well,
I mean I would not for the world have such a governess
as Mademoiselle Panache."
24*




118              MORAL TALES.
MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.
PART II.
THE tendency of any particular mode of education is
not always perceived before it is too late to change the
habits or the character of the pupil. To superficial observers, children of nearly the same age, often seem
much alike in manners and disposition, who, in a few
years afterward, appear in every respect strikingly different. We have given our readers some idea of the
manner in which Mrs. Temple educated her daughters,
and some notion of the mode in which Lady Augusta
was managed by Mlle. Panache: the difference between
the characters of Helen and Lady Augusta, though visible even at the early age of twelve or thirteen to an intelligent mother, was scarcely noticed by common acquaintance, who contented themselves with the usual
phrases, as equally applicable to both the young ladies.
" Upon my word, Lady Augusta and Miss Helen Temple
are both of them very fine girls, and very highly accomplished, and vastly well educated, as I understand. I
really cannot tell which to prefer. Lady Augusta, to be
sure, is rather the taller of the two, anrd her manners
are certainly more womanly and fashioned than Miss
Helen's; but then Miss Helen Temple has something of
simplicity about her that some people think very engaging. For my part I don't pretend to judge-girls
alter so; there's no telling at twelve years old what they
may turn out at sixteen."
From twelve to sixteen Lady Augusta continued under
the direction of Mlle. Panache; while her mother, con



MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             119
tent with her daughter's progress in external accomplishments, paid no attention to the cultivation of her
temper or her understanding. Lady S —  lived much
in what is called the world; was fond of company, and
fonder of cards; sentimentally anxious to be thought a
good mother, but indolently willing to leave her daughter wholly to the care of' a French governess, whose
character she had never taken the trouble to investigate.
Not that Lady S-. could be ignorant that, however
well qualified to teach the true French pronunciation,
she could not be a perfectly eligible companion for her
daughter as she grew up: her ladyship intended to part
with the governess when Lady Augusta was fifteen; but
from day to.day, and from year to year, this was put
off: sometimes Lady S- thought it a pity to dismiss
Mademoiselle, because " she was the best creature in the
world;" sometimes she rested content with the idea that
six months more or less could not signify; till at length
family reasons obliged her to postpone Mademoiselle's
dismission: part of the money intended for the payment
of the governess's salary had been unfortunately lost by
the mother at the card-table. Lady Augusta consequently continued under the auspices of Mlle. Panache
till her ladyship was eighteen, and till her education was
supposed to be entirely completed.
In the mean time Mlle. Panache endeavoured, by all
the vulgar arts of flattery, to ingratiate herself with her
pupil, in hopes that from a governess she might become
a companion. The summer months seemed unusually
long to the impatient young lady, whose imagination
daily anticipated the glories of her next winter's canipaign. Towards the end of July, however, a reinforcement of visiters came to her mother's, and the present
began to engage some attention as well as the future.
Among these visiters was Lord George —, a young nobleman near twenty-one, who was heir to a very considerable fortune. We mention his fortune first, because it
was hisfirst merit, even in his own opinion. Cold, silent,
selfish, supercilious, and silly, there appeared nothing in
him to engage the affections or to strike the fancy of a




120              MORAL TALES.
fair lady; but Lady Augusta's fancy was not fixed upon
his lordship's character or manners, and much that
might have disgusted, consequently escaped her observation. Her mother had not considered the matter very
attentively; but she thought that this young nobleman
might be no bad match for her Augusta, and she trusted
that her daughter's charms would make their due inpression on his heart. Some weeks passed away in
fashionable negligence of the lady on his part, and alternate pique and coquetry on hers, while, during these
operations, her confidante and governess was too much
occupied with her own manceuvres to attend to those
of her pupil. Lord George had with him upon this visit
a Mr. Dashwood, who was engaged to accompany him
upon his travels, and who had the honour of being his
lordships tutor. At the name of a tutor let no one picture to himself a gloomy pedant; or yet a man whose
knowledge, virtue, and benevolence would command the
respect or win the affections of a youth. Mr. Dashwood could not be mistaken for a pedant, unless a coxcomb be a sort of pedant. Dashwood pretended neither
to win affection nor to command respect; but he was,
as his pupil emphatically swore, " the best fellow in the
world." Upon this best fellow in the world Mlle. Panache fixed her sagacious hopes; she began to think that
it would be infinitely better to be the wife of the gallant
Mr. Dashwood than the humble companion or the
slighted governess of the capricious Lady Augusta.
Having thus far opened the views and characters of these
various personages, we shall now give our readers an
opportunity of judging of them by their words`and
actions.
"You go with us, my lord, to the archery-meetirg
this evening?" said Lady S ——, as she rose from breakfast: his lordship gave a negligent assent.
"Ah!" exclaimed Mlle. Panache, turning eagerly to
Dashwood, " haveyou seen de uniforme?-C'est charmant; and I have no small hand in it."
Dashwood paid the expected'compliment to her taste.
" Ah! non," said she, " you are too good, too flattering;




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           121
but you must tell me your judgment without flattery.
Vous etes hommnre de gotut, though an. Englishman,you see I have got no prejuggs." Dashwood bowed.
"Jfllons!" said she, starting up with vast gayety; " we
have got no time to lose. I have de rubans to put to de
bow; I must go and attend my Diane."
"Attend her Diane!" repeated Dashwood, the moment
the door was shut, and he was left alone with Lord
George; "attend her Diane! a very proper attendant."
Lord George was wholly indifferent to propriety or impropriety upon this as upon all other subjects. " What
are we to do with ourselves, I wonder, this morning?"
said he, with his customary yawn; and he walked towards the window. The labour of finding employment
for his lordship always devolved upon his companion.
" I thought, my lord," said Dashwood, " you talked yesterday of going upon the water; the river is very
smooth, and I hope we shall have a fine day."
" I hope so too; but over the hill yonder it looks confounded black, hey? Well, at any rate, we may go
down and make some of them get ready to go with us.
I'll take my black Tom-he's a handy fellow."
" But if you take black Tom," said Dashwood, laughing, "we must not expect to have the ladies of our
party; for you know Mademoiselle has an unconquerable antipaty, as she calls it, to a negro."
Lord George declared that for this very reason he
would order black Tom down to the water-side, and that
he should enjoy her affectation, or her terror, whichever
it was, of all things. "1 suppose," said he, "she'll
scream as loud as Lady Augusta screamed at a frog the
other day."
"I'll lay you a wager I spoil your sport, my lord; I'll
lay you a guinea I get Mademoiselle into the boat without a single scream," said Dashwood.
"Done!" said Lord George. "Two to one she
screams."
" Done!" said Dashwood; and he hoped that by proposing this bet he had provided his pupil with an object
for the whole morning. But Lord George was not so
2 L




122             1MORAL TALES.
easily roused immediately after breakfast. "It looks
terribly like rain," said he, going back and forward irresolutely between the door and the window. " Do you
think it will rain, hey?"
"No, no; I'm sure it will not rain."
" I wouldn't lay two to one of that, however: look at
this great cloud that's coming."
"Oh! it will blow over."
"I don't know that," said Lord George, shaking his
head with great solemnity. "Which way is the wind?"
opening the window. "Well, I believe it may hold up,
hey?"
"Certainly —I think so."
"Then I'll call black Tom, hey?-though I think one
grows tired of' going upon the water," muttered his lordship, as he left the room. "Couldn't one find something
better?"
" Nothing better," thought Dashwood, "but to hang
yourself, my lord, which, I'll be bound, you'll do before
you are forty, for want of something better. But that's
not my affair."
"' Where's Mademoiselle?" cried Lady Augusta, entering hastily, with a bow and arrow in her hand:
" I've lost my quiver: where's Mademoiselle?"
" Upon my word I don't know," said Dashwood, assuming an air of interest.
" You don't know, Mr. Dashwood!" said Lady Augusta, sarcastically; "that's rather extraordinary.  I
make it a rule whenever I want Mademoiselle to ask
where you are, and I never found myself disappointed
before."
" I am sorry, Madam, you should ever be disappointed," said Dashwood, laughing.  "Is this your own
taste?" added he, taking the painted bow out of her hand.
" It's uncommonly pretty."
" Pretty or not, Lord George did not think it worth
while to look at it last night.  His lordship will go
through the world mighty easily, don't you think so,
Mr. Dashwood'" —Dashwood attempted an apology for
his pupil, but in such a sort, as if he did not mean it to




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           123
be accepted, and then, returning the bow to her ladyship's hand, paused, sighed, and observed, that, upon
the whole, it was happy for his lordship that he possessed so much nonchalance.  "Persons bf a different
cast," continued he, "cannot, as your ladyship justly
observes, expect to pass through life so easily." This
speech was pronounced in a tone so different from
Dashwood's usual careless gayety, that Lady Augusta
could not help being struck with it; and, by her vanity,
it was interpreted precisely as the gentleman wished.
Rank and fortune were her serious objects, but she had
no objection to amusing herself with romance. The idea
of seeing the gay, witty Mr. Dashwood metamorphosed,
by the power of her charms, into a despairing, sighing
swain, played upon her imagination, and she heard his
first sigh with a look which plainly showed how well
she understood its meaning.
" Why now, was there ever any thing so provoking!"
cried Lord George, swinging himself into the room.
" What's the matter, my lord?" said Dashwood.
" Why, don't you see it's raining as hard as it can
rain?" said his lordship, with the true pathos of a man
whose happiness is dependent upon the weather. His
scheme of going upon the water being now impracticable, he lounged about the room all the rest of the morning, supporting that miserable kind of existence which
idle gentlemen are doomed to support, they know not
how, upon a rainy day. Neither Lady Augusta nor
her mother, in calculating the advantages and disadvantages of an alliance with his lordship, ever once considered his habits of listless idleness as any objection in a
companion for life.
After dinner the day cleared up-the ladies were
dressed in their archery uniform-the carriages came to
the door, and Lord George was happy in the prospect
of driving his new phaeton. Dashwood handed the ladies to their coach; for his lordship was too much engaged in confabulation with his groom, on the merits
of his off-leader, to pay attention to any thing else upon
earth.




124              MORAL TALES.
His phaeton was presently out of sight, for he gloried
in driving as fast as possible; and, to reward his exertions, he had the satisfaction of hearing two strangers,
as he passed them, say-" Ha! upon my word, those
horses go well!" A postillion at a turnpike-gate, moreover, exclaimed to a farmer, who stood with his mouth
wide open —" There goes Lord George! he cuts as fine
a figure on the road as e'er a man in England." Such
was the style of praise of which this young nobleman
was silly enough to be vain.
"I've been in these three quarters of an hour!" cried
he, exultingly, as Lady S5- got out of her coach.
"There has been no shooting yet though, I hope?"
said Lady Augusta.
"No, no, ma'am," replied Dashwood; " but the ladies
are all upon the green —a crowd of fair competitors;
but I'd bet a thousand pounds upon your ladyship's arrows. Make way there-make way," cried the man of
gallantry, in an imperious tone, to some poor people,
who crowded round the carriage; and, talking and laughing loud, he pushed forward, making as much bustle in
seating the ladies as they could have wished. Being
seated, they began to bow and nod to their acquaintance.
"There's Mrs. Temple and her daughters," said Lady
"Where, ma'am?" said Lady Augusta: " I'm sure
I did not expect to meet them here. Where are they?"
" Just opposite to us. Pray, Mr. Dashwood, who is
that gentleman in brown, who is talking to Miss Helen
Temple?"
" Upon my word, I don't know, madam; he bowed
just now to Lord George."
"Did he?" said Lady Augusta.'I wonder who
he is."
Lord George soon Isatisfied her curiosity, for, coming
up to them, he said, negligently, "Dashwood, there's
young Montague, yonder."
" Ha! is that young Montague? Well, is his father
dead? What has he done with that old quiz?"
"Ask him yourself," said Lord George sullenly: " I




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           125
asked him just now, and he looked as black as November."
" He was so fond of his father-it is quite a bore,"
said Dashwood.'I think he'll be'a quiz himself in due
time."
" No," said Lord George, " he knows better than that
too in some things.  He has a monstrous fine horse
with him here; and that's a good pretty girl that he's
going to marry."
" Is he going to be married to Miss Helen Temple?"
said Lady -S. " Who is he, pray? I hope a suitable match?'"
"That I can't tell, for I don't know what she has,"
replied Lord George. " But Montague can afford to
do as he pleases-very good family-fine fortune."
"Yes; old quiz made an excellent nurse to his estate," observed Dashwood; "he owes him some gratitude for that."
" Is not he very young to settle in the world?' said
Lady S -.
" Young-yes-only a year older than I am," said
Lord George; " but I knew he'd never be quiet till he
got himself noosed."
"I suppose he'll be at the ball to-night," said Lady
Augusta, "and then we shall see something of him,
perhaps. It's an age since we've seen the Miss Temples anywhere.  I wonder whether there's any thing
more than report, my lord, in this conquest of Miss
Helen Temple?  Had you the thing from good authority?"
"Authority!" said Lord George; "I don't recollect
my authority, faith!-somebody said so to me, I think.
It's nothing to me, at any rate." Lady Augusta's curiosity, however, was not quite so easily satisfied as
his lordship's; she was resolved to study Mr. Montague thoroughly at the ball; and her habitual disposition to coquetry, joined to a, dislike of poor Helen,
which originated while they were children, made her
form a strong desire to rival Helen in the admiration of
this young gentleman of —" very good family and fine
L2               25




12f6             MORAL TALES.
fortune."  Her ladyship was just falling into a reveiy
upon this subject, when she was summoned to join the
archeresses.
The prize was a silver arrow. The ladies were impatient to begin-the green was cleared. Some of the
spectators took their seats on benches under the trees,
while a party of gentlemen stood by, to supply the ladies with arrows. Three ladies shot, but widely from
the mark; a fourth tried her skill, but no applause ensued; a fifth came forward, a striking figure, elegantly
dressed, who, after a prelude of very becoming diffidence,
drew her bow, and took aim in the most graceful attitude imaginable.
"Who is that beautiful creature?" exclaimed Mr.
Montague, with enthusiasm; and as the arrow flew
from the bow, he started up, wishing it success.
"The nearest, by six inches, that has been shot yet,"
cried Dashwood. " Here, sir! here!" said he to Mr.
Montague, who went up to examine the target, " this is
Lady Augusta S's arrow, within the second circle,
almost put out the bull's eye!" The clamour of applause at length subsiding, several other arrows were
shot, but none came near to Lady Augusta's, and the
prize was unanimously acknowledged to be hers.
The silver arrow was placed on high over the mark,
and several gentlemen tried to reach it in vain: Mr.
Montague sprung from the ground with great activity,
brought down the arrow, and presented it, with an air
of gallantry, to the fair victor.
"My dear Helen," said Emma to her sister in a low
voice, "you are not well."
"I!" replied Helen, turning quickly: "why, can
you think me so mean as to-"
"Hush, hush! you don't consider how loud you are
speaking."
"Am  I?" said Helen, alarmed, and lowering her
tone; " but then why did you say I was not well?"
"Because you looked so pale."
"Pale! I'm sure I don't look pale," said Helen,
do I?"




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.              127
", Not now, indeed," said Emma, smiling.
"Was it not an excellent shot?" said Mr. Montague,
returning to them; " but you were not near enough to
see it; do come and look at it." Mrs. Temple rose and
followed him.-" I can't say," continued he, "that I
particularly admire lady archeresses; but this really is
a surprising shot."
" It really is a surprising shot," said Helen, looking
at it quite at ease. But a moment afterward she observed that Mr. Montague's eyes were not intent upon the
surprising shot, but were eagerly turned to another side
of the green, where, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, stood a beautiful figure, playing with a silver
arrow, totally unconscious, as he imagined, either of
her own charms or his admiration. —" Are you. acquainted with Lady Augusta?" said Mr. Montague.
"Yes," said Mrs. Temple. "Are you?"
"Not yet; but I have met her mother often in town
-a silly card-playing woman. I hope her daughter is
as little like her in her mind as in h&r person." Here
Mr. Montague paused, for they had walked up quite
close to the seemingly unconscious beauty.-" Oh, Mrs.
Temple!" said she, starting, and then recovering herself, with an innocent smile —"is it you? I beg ten
thousand pardons," and, offering a hand to Helen and
Emma, seemed delighted to see them. Helen involuntarily drew back her hand, with as much coldness as
she could, without being absolutely rude.
It was now late in the evening, and as the ball was to
begin at ten, the ladies called for their carriages, that
they might drive to their lodgings, in an adjacent town,
to change their dress. In the crowd, Helen happened
to be pretty close behind Lady S —, so close, that she
could not avoid hearing her conversation.
" Dear ma'am!" an elderly lady in black was saying
to her, " I can assure you, your ladyship has been misinformed. I assure you, it is no such thing. He's a
relation of the family-he has paid a long visit in this
country, but then it is a parting visit to his uncle: he
sets out immediately for Italy, I'm told. I assure you,




128               MORAL TALES.
your ladyship has been misinformed; he and his uncle
are often at Mrs. Temple's; but depend upon it, he has
no thoughts of Miss Helen."
These words struck Helen to the heart; she walked
on, leaning upon her sister's arm, who fortunately happened to know where she was going. Emma helped
her sister to recollect that it was necessary to get into
the carriage when the step was let down. The carriage
presently stopped with them at the inn, and they were
shown to their rooms. Helen sat down, the moment
she got up stairs, without thinking of dressing; and her
mother's hair was half finished, when she turned round
and said, "Why, Helen, my dear! you certainly will
not be ready."
"Shan't I, ma'am?" said Helen, starting up. "Is
there any occasion that we should dress any more?"
"Nay, my dear," said Mrs. Temple, laughing, "look
in the glass at your hair; it has been blown all over
your face by the wind."
" It is a great deal of useless trouble," said Helen, as
she began the duties of the toilet.
"Why, Helen, this is a sudden fit of laziness," said
her mother.
"No, indeed, mamma; I'm  not lazy. But I really
don't think it signifies. Nobody will take notice how I
am dressed, I dare say."
" A sudden fit of humility, then?" said Mrs. Temple,
still lauahing.
"No ma'am; but you have often told us how little it
signifies. When the ball is over, every thing about it is
forgotten in a few hours."
" O, a sudden fit of philosophy, Helen?"
"No, indeed, mother," said Helen, sighing; "I'm
sure I don't pretend to any philosophy."
"Well, then, a sudden fit of caprice, Helen?"
"No, indeed, ma'am."
"No, indeed, ma'am!" said Mrs. Temple, still rallying her. —" Why, Helen, my dear, you have answered'No, indeed, ma'am,' to every thing I've said this halfhour."




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            129
"No, indeed, mother," said Helen; " but I assure you,
ma'am," continued she, in a hurried manner, "if you
would only give me leave to explain-"
"My dear child," said Mrs Temple, "this is no time
for explanations: make haste and dress yourself, and
follow me down to tea."  Mr. Montague was engaged
to drink tea with Mrs. Temple.
How many reflections sometimes pass rapidly in the
mind in the course of a few minutes!
"I am weak, ridiculous, and unjust," said Helen to
herself. "Because Lady Augusta won a silver arrow,
am I vexed? Why should I be displeased with Mr.
Montague's admiring her? I will appear no more like
a fool; and Heaven forbid I should become envious."
As this last thought took possession of her mind, she
finished dressing herself, and went with Emma down to
tea. The well-wrought-up dignity with which Helen
entered the parlour was, however, thrown away upon
this occasion; for opposite to her mother at the tea-table
there appeared, instead of Mr. Montague, only an empty
chair, and an empty tea-cup and saucer, with a spoon
in it. He was gone to the ball; and when Mrs. Temple
and her daughters arrived there, they found him at the
bottom of the countrv-dance, talking in high spirits to
his partner, Lady Augusta, who, in the course of the
evening, cast many looks of triumph upon Helen. But
Helen kept to her resolution of commanding her own
mind, and maintained an easy serenity of manner, which
the consciousness of superior temper never fails to bestow. Towards the end of the night, she danced one
dance with Mr. Montague, and as he was leading her
to her place, Lady Augusta, and two or three of her
companions came up, all seemingly stifling a laugh.
"What is the matter?" said Helen. "Why, my dear
creature," said Lady Augusta, who still apparently laboured under a violent inclination to laugh, and whispering to Helen, but so loud that she could distinctly be
overheard —" you must certainly be in love."
"Madam!" said Helen, colouring, and much distressed.
25 "




130              MORAL TALES.
"Yes; you certainly must," pursued Lady Augusta,
rudely; for ladies of quality can be as rude, sometimes
ruder than other people. "Must not she, Lady Di,"
appealing to one of her companions, and laughing affectedly —" must not she be either in love, or out of her
senses? Pray, Miss Temple, put out your foot." Helen
put out her foot.
"Ay, that's the black one-well, the other."  Now
the other was white. The ill-bred raillery commenced.
Helen, though somewhat abashed, smiled with great
good-humour, and walked on towards her seat.
"; What is the matter, my dear?" said her mother.
Nothing, madam," answered Mr. Montague, "but
that Miss Helen Temple's shoes are odd, and her temper
-even." These few words which might pass in a ballrourn, were accompanied with a look of approbation,
which made her ample amends for the pain she had felt.
He then sat down by Mrs. Temple, and, without immediately adverting to any one, spoke with indignation of
coquetry, and lamented that so many beautiful girls
should be spoiled by affectation.
"If they be spoiled, should they bear all the blame?"
said Mrs. Temple. " If young women were not deceived
into a belief that affectation pleases, they would scarcely
trouble themselves to practise it so much."
"Deceived!" said Mr. Montague, "but is anybody
deceived by a person's saying'I have the honour to be,
madam, your obedient humble servant?' Besides, as to
pleasing-what do we mean? pleasing for a moment,
for a day, or for life?"
"Pleasing for a moment," said Helen, smiling, "is.
of some consequence; for, if we take care of the momnents, the years will take care of themselves, you
know."
"Pleasing for one moment, though," said Mr. Montague, "is very difl'erent, as you must perceive, from
pleasing every moment."
Here the country-dances suddenly stopped, and three
or four couple were thrown into confusion. The gentlemen were stooping down, as if looking for something on




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             131
the floor. " Oh, I beg, I insist upon it; you can't think
how much you distress me!" cried a voice which sounded
like Lady Augusta's. Mr. Montague immediately went
to see what was the matter. "It is only my bracelet," said she, turning to him. "Don't, pray don't
trouble yburself," cried she, as he stooped to assist in
collecting the scattered pearls, which she received with
grace in the whitest hand imaginable. "Nay, now I
must insist insist upon it," said she to Mr. Montague as he
stooped again-" you shall not plague yourself any
longer." And in her anxiety to prevent him fromn
plaguing himself any longer, she laid upon his aarm the
white hand which he had an instant before so much
admired. Whether all Mr. Montague's sober contempt
of coquetry was at this moment the prevalent feeling in
his mind, we cannot presume to determine; we must
only remark, that the remainder of the evening was devoted to Lady Augusta; he sat beside her at supper and
paid her a thousand compliments, which Helen in vain
endeavoured to persuade herself meant nothing more
than-" I am, madam, your obedient humble servant."
"It is half after two," said Mrs. Temple, when she
rose to go.
" Half after two!" said Mr. Montague, as he handed
Mrs. Temple to her carriage; "bless me! can it be so
late?"
All the way home, Emma and Mrs. Temple were
obliged to support the conversation; for Helen was so
extremely entertained with watching the clouds passing
over the moon, that nothing else could engage her attention.
The gossiping old lady's information respectiig Mr.
Montague was as accurate as the information of gossips
usually is found to be. Mr. Montague, notwithstanding her opinion and sagacity, had thoughts (f JMiss Helen
Temple. During sohe months which he had spent at
his uncle's, who lived very near Mrs. Temple, he had
had opportunities of studying Helen's character and
temper, which he found perfectly well suited to his
own; but he had never yet declared his attachment to




132              MORAL TALES.
her. Things were in this undecided situation when he
saw, and was struck with the beauty of Lady Augusta
S-., at this archery-ball. Lord George —  introduced
him to Lady S; and, in consequence of a pressing.
invitation he received from her ladyship, he went to
spend a few days at S- Hall.
"So Mr. Montague is going to spend a week at
S-~ Hall, I find," said Mrs. Temple, as she and her
daughters were sitting at work, the morning after the
archery-ball. To this simple observation of Mrs. Temple a silence, which seemed as if it never would be
broken, ensued.
" Helen, my dear!" said Mrs. Temple in a soft voice.
" Ma'am!" said Helen, starting.
"You need not start so, my dear; I am not going to
say any thing very tremendous. When you and your
sister were children, if you remember, I often used to
tell you that I looked forward with pleasure to the time
when I should live with you as friends and equals.
That time is come; and I hope, now that your own
reason is sufficiently matured to be the guide of your
conduct, that you do not think I any longer desire you
to be governed by my will. Indeed," continued she,
"I consider you as my equals in every respect but in
age; and I wish to make that inequality useful to you,
by giving you, as far as I can, that advantage which
only age can give-experience."
" You are very kind, dear mother," said Helen.
" But you must be sensible," said Mrs. Temple, in a
graver tone, "that it will depend upon yourselves, in a
great measure, whether I can be so much your friend
as I shall wish."
"0  mother," said Helen, " be my friend! I shall
never have a better; and, indeed, I want a friend,"
added she, the tears starting from her eyes. "You'll
think me very silly, very vain. He never gave me any
reason, I'm sure, to think so, but I did fancy that Mr.
Montague liked me."
"And," said Mrs. Temple, taking her daughter's
hand, "without being very silly or very vain, may not




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            133
one sometimes be mistaken?  Then you thought you
had won Mr. Montague's heart? But what did you
think about your own? Take care you don't make
another mistake (smiling). Perhaps you thought he
could never win yours?"
" I never thought much about that," replied Helen,
"till yesterday."
"And to-day," said Mrs. Temple-" what do you
think about it to-day?"
"Why," said Helen, " don't you think, mother, that
Mr. Montague has a great many good qualities?"
" Yes; a great many good qualities, a great many
advantages, and, among them, the power of pleasing
you."
"He would not think that any advantage," said
Helen; " therefore I should be sorry that he had it."
"And so should I," said Mrs. Temple, "be very
sorry that my daughter's happiness should be out of her
own power."
" It is the uncertainty that torments me," resumed
Helen, after a pause. " One moment I fancy that he
prefers me, the next moment I am certain he prefers
another. Yesterday, when we were coining away
from the green, I heard Mrs. Hargrave say to Lady
S —; but why, mother, should I take up your time
with these minute circumstances? I ought not to think
any more about it."
"Ought not!" repeated Mrs. Temple; " my dear, it
is a matter of prudence, rather than duty. By speaking
to your mother with so much openness, you secure her
esteem and affection; and among the goods of this life,
you will find the esteem and affection of a mother
worth having," concluded Mrs. Temple, with a smile;
and Helen parted from her mother with a feeling of gratitude which may securely be expected from an ingenuous, well-educated daughter who is treated with similar
kindness.
No one was ready for breakfast the morning that Mr.
Montague arrived at S —--  Hall, and he spent an hour
alone in the breakfast-room. At length the silence was
M




134              MORAL TALES.
interrupted by a shrill female voice, which, as it approached nearer, he perceived to be the voice of.a foreigner, half suffocated with ineffectual desire to make
her anler intelligible. He could only distinguish the
words —" I ring, ring, ring, ah, twenty time, and nobody mind my bell nor me, no more dan noting at all."
With a violent push, the breakfast-room door flew open,
and Mile. Panache, little expecting to find anybody
there, entered, volubly repeating —" Dey let me ring,
ring, ring!" Surprised at the sight of a gentleman, and
a young gentleman, she repented having been so loud
in her anger. However, upon the second reconnoitering
glance at Mr. Montague, she felt much in doubt how
to behave towards him. Mlademoiselle boasted often
of the well-bred instinct by which she could immediately distinguish " un hornme comme ilfaut" from any
other; yet sometimes, like Falstaff's, her instinct was
fallacious. Recollecting that Lady S —  had sent for
an apothecary, she took it into her head that Mr. Montague was this apothecary. " Miladi is not visible yet,
sir," said she; " does she know you are here?"
"I hope not, ma'am; for I should be very sorry she
were to be disturbed, after sitting up so late last night."
" 0 dat will do her no harm, for I gave her, pardonnez, some excellent white wine whey out of my own
head last night, when she got into her bed. I hope
you don't make no objection to white wine whey, sir?"
" I!-not in the least, ma'am."
"0, I'm  glad you don't disapprove of what I've
done! You attend many family in this country, sir?"
"Madam!" said Mr. Montague, taking an instant's
time to consider what she could mean by attend.
"You visit many famnily in this country, sir!" persisted Mademoiselle.
"Very few, ma'am; I am a stranger in this part of
the world, except at Mrs. Temple's."
" Madame Temple, ah, oui! I know her very well;
she has two fine daughters-I mean when dey have
seen more of de world. It's a great pity, too, dey have
never had de advantage of a native to teach de good




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            135
pronunciation de la langue Francois. Madame Temple
will repent herself of dat when it is too late, as I tell her
always. But, sir, you have been at her house. I am
sorry we did not hear none of de family had been indisposed."
" They are all now perfectly well, ma'am," replied
Mr. ]M~ontague, "except, indeed, that Mrs. Temple
had a slight cold last week."
" But she is re-establish by your advise, I suppose?
and she —did she recommend you to miladi?"
"No madam," said Mr. Montague, not a little puzzled by Mademoiselle's phraseology: "Lord George
-  did me the honour to introduce me to Lady  -."
"Ah, Milord George! are you a long time acquainted
wid milord?"
"'Yes, ma'am, I have known Lord George many
years."' Ah, many year! —you be de family physician, apparemment?"
"The family physician! Oh no, ma'am!" said Mr.
Montague, smiling.
"Eh!" said Mademosielle, "but dat is being too
modest. Many take de titre of physician, I'll engage,
wid less pretensions. And," added she, looking graciously, " absolumrent, I will not have you call yourself
de family apothicaire."
At this moment Lord George came in, and shook his
family apothecary by the hand, with an air of familiarity
which astounded Mademoiselle. " Qu'est ce que c'est?"
whispered she to Dashwood, who followed his lordship:
"is not dis his apothicaire?"  Dashwood, at this question, burst into a loud laugh.' "Mr. Montague," cried
he, " have you been prescribing for Mademoiselle? she
asks if you are not an apothecary."
Immediately Lord George, who was fond of a joke,
especially where there was a chance of throwing ridicule upon anybody superior to him in abilities, joined
most heartily in Dashwood's mirth; repeating the story
as "an excellent thing," to every one, as they came
down to breakfast; especially to Lady Augusta, whom




136              MORAL TALES.
he congratulated the moment she entered the room,
upon her having danced the preceding evening with an
apothecary. " Here he is!" said he, pointing to Mr.
Mt ntague.
" Ja ch're amie! mon ceur! tink of my mistaking
your Mr. Montague for such a sort of person? If you
had only told me, sir, dat you were miladi Augusta's
partner last night, it would have saved me de necessity
of making ten million apologies for my stupidity, dat
could not find it out. J.Ia chere armie! mon cceur! miladi
Augusta, will you make my excuse?"
"'JMa chere amie! mon cceur!" repeated Mr. Montague to himself: "is it possible that this woman can
be an intimate friend of Lady Augusta?" What was
his surprise when he discovered that Mlle. Panache had
been her ladyship's governess! He fell into a melancholy' revery for some moments. "So she has been
educated by a vulgar, silly, conceited French governess!"
said he to himself; " but that is her misfortune, not her
fault. She is very young, and a man of sense might
make her what he pleased." When Mr. Montague
recovered from his revery, he heard the company, as
they seated themselves at the breakfast-table, begin to
talk over the last night's ball. " You did not tire yourself last night with dancing, my lord," said Dashwood.
" No; I hate dancing," replied Lord George; " I wish
the ladies would take to dancing with one another; I
think that would be an excellent scheme." An aunt of
his lordship, who was present, took great offence at this
suggestion of her nephew. She had been used to the
deference paid in former times to the sex; and she said
she could not bear to see women give up their proper
places in society. " Really, George," added she, turning
to her nephew, " I wish you would not talk in this manner. The young men now give themselves the strangest
airs! Lady S-, I will expose him: do you know, last
night he was lolling at his full length upon a bench in
the ball-room, while three young handsome ladies were
standing opposite to him, tired to death?"




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.              137,"They could not be more tired than I was, I am sure,
ma'am."
"Why, you had not been dancing, and they had."
"Had they, ma'am? that was not my fault. J did not
ask'em to dance, and I don't see it was my business to
ask'em to sit down. I did not know who they were, at
any rate," concluded his lordship, sullenly.
"You knew they were women, and as such entitled
to your respect."
Lord George gave a sneering smile, looked at Dashwood, and pulled up his boot.
" Another thing —you were in the house three weeks
with Miss Earl last summer; you met her yesterday
evening, and you thought proper not to take the least
notice of her."
"Miss Earl, ma'am; was she there?"
" Yes, close to you, and you never even bowed to
her."
"I did not see her, ma'am."
"Mrs. Earl spoke to you."
"I didn't hear her, ma'am."
" I told you of it at the moment."
" I didn't understand you, ma'am."
"'Besides, ma'am," interposed Dashwood, "as to
Miss Earl, if she meant that my lord should bow to her,
she should have courtesied first to him."
" Courtesied first to him!"
e"Yes, that's the rule-that's the thing now. The
ladies are always to speak first."
"I have nothing more to say, if that be the case.
Lady Augusta, what say you to all this?"
"O, that it's shocking, to be sure!" said Lady Augusta, "if one thinks of it; so the only way is not to
think about it."
" An excellent bon-mot! " exclaimed Dashwood. "It's
thinking that spoils conversation, and every thing else."
"      But," added Lady Augusta, who observed that her
bon-mot was not so much admired by all the company
as by Dashwood, " I really only mean, that one must
do as other people do."
M 2             26




138              MORAL TALES.
",Assurement," said Mademoiselle; "not dat I aprove of the want of gallantry in our gentlemen, neider,
But I tink Mademoiselle Earl is as stiff as de poker,
and I don't approve of dat, neider-Je n'aimne pas les
prudes, nwi."
" But, without prudery, may not there be dignity of
manners?" said the old lady, gravely.
"Dignite!  Oh, I don't say nothing against dignite,
neider; not but I tink de English reserve is de trop. I
tink a lady of a certain rank has always good principes
enough, to be sure, and as to the rest, qu'importe? —dat's
my notions."
"Mr. Montague looked with anxiety at Lady Augusta, to see what she thought of her governess's notions; but all that he could judge from her countenance was, that she did not think at all. " Weli, she
has time enough before her to learn to think," said he
to himself; " I am glad she did not assent to Mademoiselle's notion, at least. I hope she has learned nothing
from her but' the true French pronunciation.''
No sooner was breakfast finished than Lord George
ed — gave his customary morning yawn, and walked as usual to the window. " Come," said Dashwood,
in his free manner; " come, Mademoiselle, you must
come down with us to the water-side, and Lady Augusta, I hope."
"Ay," whispered Lord George to Dashwood; "and
let's settle our wager about Mademoiselle and my blackamoor-don't think I'll let you off that."
" Off! I'm ready to double the bet, my lord," said
Dashwood, aloud, and in the same moment turned to
Mademoiselle with some high-flown compliment about
the beauty of her complexion, and the dangers of going
without a vail on a hot sunny day.
"Well Mr. Dashwood, when you've persuaded Mademoiselle to take the vail, we'll set out, if you please,"
said Lady Augusta.
Mr. Montague, who kept his attention continually
upon Lady A ugusta, was delighted to see that she waited for the elderly lady who, at breakfast, had said so




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            139
much in favour of dignity of manners. Mr. Montague
did not at this moment consider that this elderly lady
was Lord George's aunt, and that the attention paid to
her by Lady Augusta might possible proceed from motives of policy, not from choice. Young men of open
tempers and generous dispositions are easily deceived
by coquettes, because they cannot stoop to invent the
meanness of their artifices. As Mr. Montague walked
down to the river, Lady Augusta contrived to entertain
him so completely that Helen Temple never once came
into his mind; though he had sense enough to perceive
his danger, he had not sufficient eou)lage to avoid it: it
sometimes requires courage to fly from danger. From
this agreeable trte-d-trte he was roused, however, by the
voice of Mlle. Panache, who, in an affected agony, was
struggling to get away from Dashwood, who held both
her hands: "No! no!-./Non! non: I will not-I will
not, I tell you, I will not."
"Nay, nay," said Dashwood; "but I have sworn to
get you into the boat."'" Ah! into de boat d la bonne heure; but not wid dat
vilain black."
" Well, then, persuade Lord George to send back his
man; and you'll acknowledge, my lord, in that case it's
a drawn bet," said Dashwood.
"I! not I. I'll acknowledge nothing," said his lordship; and he swore his black Tom should not be sent
away; "he's a capital boatman, and I can't do without
him."
" Den I won't stir," said Mademoiselle, passionately,
to Dashwood.
" Then I must.carry you, must I?" cried Dashwood,
laughing; and immediately, to Mr. Montague's amazement, a romping scene ensued between this tutor and
governess, which ended in Dashwood's carrying Mademoiselle in his arms into the boat, amid the secret derision of two footmen, and the undisguised laughter of
black Tom, who were spectators of the scene.
Mr. Montague trembled at the thoughts of receiving
a wife from the hands of a Mlle. Panache; but, turning




140               MORAL TALES.
his eye upon Lady Augusta, he thought she blushed, and
this blush at once saved her in his opinion, and increased his indignation against her governess. Mademoiselle being now alarmed, and provoked by the laughter
of the servants, the dry sarcastic manner of Lord George,
the cool air of Mr Montague, and the downcast looks of
her pupil, suddenly turned to Dashwood, and in a high,
angry tone assured him " that she had never seen nobody have so much assurance;" and she demanded furiously, "how he could ever tink to take such liberties
wid her? Only tell me how you could dare to tink
of it."
" I confess I did not think as I ought to have done,
Mademoiselle," replied Dashwood, looking an apology
to Lady Augusta, which however, iHe took great care
Mademoiselle should not observe. "But your bet, my
lord, if you please," added he, attempting to turn it off
in a joke; "there was no scream-my bet's fairly
won."
"I assure you, sir, dis won't do; it's no good joke,
I promise you —Ma chere amie, mon cceur," cried Mademoiselle to Lady Augusta: " Viens-come, let us go.
Don't touch that," pursued she, roughly to black Tom,
who was going to draw away the plank that led to the
shore. " 1 will go home dis minute, and speak to miladi S —. Viens! viens ma chere amie!"-aqd she darted out of the boat, while Dashwood followed, in vain
attempting to stop her. She prudently, however, took
the longest way through the park, that she might have
a full opportunity of listening to reason, as Dashwood
called it; and before she reached home, she was perfectly convinced of the expediency of moderate measures. " Let the thing rest where it is," said Dashwood;
" it's a joke, and there's an end of it; but if you take it
in earnest, you know the story might not tell so well,
even if you told it, and there would never be an end of
it.'" All this, followed by a profusion of compliments,
ratified a peace, which the moment he had made, he
laughed at himself for having taken so much trouble to
effect: while Mademoiselle rested in the blessed persua



MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            141
sion that Dashwood was desperately in love with her;
nay, so little knowledge had she of the human heart as
to believe that the scene which had just passed was a
proof of his passion.
"I wonder where's Miladi Augusta? I tought she
was wid me all dis time, said she.
"She's coming; don't you see her at the end of the
grove withl Mr. Montague? We have walked fast."
" 0, she can't never walk so fast as me; I tink I am
as young as she is."
Dashwood assented, at the same time pondering upon
the consequences of the attachment which he saw rising
in Mr. Montague's mind for Lady Augusta. If a man
of sense were to gain an influence over her, Dashwood
feared that all his hopes would be destroyed, and he resolved to use all his power over Mademoiselle to prejudice her, and by her means to prejudice her pupil against
this gentleman. Mademoiselle's having begun by taking
him for an apothicaire was a circumstance much in favour of Dashwood's views, because she felt herself
pledged to justify, or at least to persist in her opinion,
that he did not look like un homme comrne ilfaut.
In the mean time, Mr. Montague was walking slowly towards them with Lady Augusta, who found it necessary to walk as slowly as possible because of the
heat. He had been reflecting very soberly upon her
ladyship's late blush, which, according to his interpretation, said, as plainly as a blush could say, all that the
most refined sense and delicacy could dictate. Yet such
is, upon some occasions, the inconsistency of the human
mind, that he by no means felt sure that the lady had
blushed at all. Her colour was, perhaps, a shade higher
than usual; but then it was hot weather, and she had
been walking.  The doubt, however, Mr. Montague
thought proper to suppress; and the reality of the blush
once thoroughly established in his imagination, formed
the foundation of several ingenious theories of moral
sentiment, and some truly logical deductions. A passionate admirer of grace and beauty, he could not help
wishing that he might find Lady Augusta's temper and
26 *




142              MORAL TALES.
understanding equal to her personal accomplishments.
When we are very anxious to discover perfections in
any character, we generally succeed. Mr. Montague
quickly discovered many amiable and interesting qualities in this fair lady; and, though he perceived some
defects, he excused them to himself with the most philosophic ingenuity.." Affectationi," the judicious Locke observes, " has
always the laudable aim of pleasing:" upon this principle Mr. Montague could not reasonably think of it
with severity. " From the desire of pleasing," argued
he, "proceeds not only all that is amiable, but much of
what is most estimable in the female sex. This desire
leads to affectation and coquetry; to folly and vice, only
when it is extended to unworthy objects. The moment
a woman's wish to please becomes discriminative, the
moment she feels any attachment to a man superior to
the vulgar herd, she not only ceases to be a coquette,
but she exerts herself to excel in every thing -that he
approves, and, from her versatility of manners she has
the happy power of adapting herself to his taste, and of
becoming all that his most sanguine wishes could desire." The proofs of this discriminative taste, and the
first symptoms of this salutary attachment to a man superior to the common herd, Mr. Montague thought he
discerned very plainly in Lady Augusta, nor did he
ever forget that she was but eighteen. " She is so very
young," said he to himself, "that it is but reasonable I
should constantly consider what she may become, rather
than what she is." To do him justice we shall observe,
that her ladyship, at this time, with all the address of
which so young a lady was capable, did every thing in
her power to confirm Mr. Montague in his favourable
sentiments of her.
Waiting for some circumstance to decide his mind, he
was at length determined by the generous enthusiasm,
amiable simplicity, and candid good sense which Lady
Augusta showed in speaking of a favourite friend of hers,
of whom he could not approve. This friend, Lady Diana, was one of the rude ladies who had laughed with




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             143
so much ill nature at Helen's white and black shoes, at
ihe archery-ball. She was a dashing, rich, extravagant,
fashionable widow, affecting bold horsermanlike manners, too often "touching the brink of all we hate,"
without exciting any passions allied to love. IHer look
was almost an oath-her language was suitable to her
looks-she swore and dressed to the height of the fashion-she could drive four horses in hand-was a desperate huntress-and so loud in the praises of her dogs
and horses, that she intimidated even sportsmen and
jockeys. She talked so much of her favourite horse
Spanker, that she acquired arnong a particular set of
gentlemen the appellation of my Lady Di Spanker. —
Lady Augusta perceived that the soft affectations remarkable in her own manners were in agreeable contrast in the company of this masculine dame; she therefore cultivated her acquaintance, and Lady S5- could
make no objection to a woman who was well received
everywhere; she was rather flattered to see her daughter taken notice of by this dashing belle; consequently,
Lady Di Spanker, for by that name we also shall call
her, frequently rode over from Cheltenham, which was
some miles distant from S-  Hall. One morning she
called upon Lady Augusta, and insisted upon her com-.
ing out to try her favourite horse. All the gentlemen
wenrt down immediately to assist in putting her ladyship on horseback; this was quite unnecessary, for Lady Diana took that office upon herself. Lady Augusta
was all timidity, and was played off to great advantage
by the rough raillery of her friend. At length she conquered her fears so much as to seat herself upon the
side-saddle; her riding-mistress gathered up the reins for
her, and fixed them properly in her timid hands; then
armed her with her whip, exhorting her, "for God's
sake not to be such a coward!" Scarcely was the word
coward pronounced when Lady Augusta, by some unguarded motion of her whip, gave offence to her highmettled steed, which instantly began to rear; there was
no danger, for Mr. Montague caught hold of the reins,
and Lady Augusta was dismounted in perfect safety.




144              MORAL TALES.
"How now, Spanker!" exclaimed Lady Di, in a voice
calculated to strike terror into the nerves of a horse" How now, Spanker!" and mounting him with masculine boldness and gesture —" I'll teach you, sir, who's
your mistress," continued she; " I'll make you pay for
these tricks!"  Spanker reared again, and Lady Di
gave him what she called " a complete dressing!"  In
vain Lady Augusta screamed: in vain the spectators
entreated the angry amazon to spare the whip; she persisted in beating Spanker till she fairly mastered him.
When he was perfectly subdued, she dismounted with
the same carelessness with which she had mounted;
and, giving the horse to her groom, pushed back her hat,
and looked round for applause. Lord George, roused
to a degree of admiration which he had never before
been heatd to express for any thing female, swore that,
in all his life, he had never seen any thing better done;
and Lady Di Spanker received his congratulations with
a loud laugh, and a hearty shake of'the hand. " Walk
him about, Jack," added she, turning to the groom, who
held her horse; "walk him about, for he's all in a lather; and when he's cool, bring him up here again.
And then, my dear child," said she to Lady Augusta,
" you shall give him a fair trial."
" I!-O! never, never!" cried Lady Augusta, shrinking back with a faint shriek: " this is a trial to which
you must not put my friendship. I must insist upon
leaving Spanker to your managements I would not
venture upon him again for the universe."
"c How can you talk so like a child-so like a woman?" cried her friend.
" I confess, I am a very woman," said Lady Augusta, with a sigh; "and I fear I shall never be otherwise."
" Fear!" repeated Mr. Montague, to whom even the
affectation of feminine softness and timidity appeared
at this instant charming, from the contrast with the
masculine intrepidity and disgusting coarseness of Lady
Diana Spanker's manners. The tone in which he pronounced the single word fear was sufficient to betray




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            145
his feelings towards both the ladies. Lady Di gave him
a look of sovereign contempt. " All 1 know and can tell
you," cried she, is, "thatfear should never get a-horseback."  Lord George burst into one of his loud laughs.
"But as to the rest, fear may be a confounded good
thing in its proper place; but they say it's catching; so
I must run away from you, child," said she to Lady Augusta. "Jack, bring up Spanker. I've twenty miles
to ride before dinner. I've no time to lose," pulling out
her watch: "faith, I've fooled away an hour here;
Spanker must make it up for me. God bless you all!
good-by!" and she mounted her horse, and galloped
off full speed. God bless ye! good-by to ye, Lady Di
Spanker," cried Dashwood, the moment she was out
of hearing. —" Heaven preserve us from amazons!"
Lord George did not say.dmen. On the contrary, he
declared she was a fine dashing woman, and seemed to
have a great deal of blood about her. Mr. Montague
watched Lady Augusta's countenance in silence, and
was much pleased to observe that she did not assent to
his lordship's encomiums. "She has good sense enough
to perceive the faults of her friend, and now her eyes
are open she will no longer make a favourite companion,
I hope, of this odious woman," thought he.  "I am
afraid, I am sadly afraid you are right," said Lady Augusta, going up to the elderly lady whom we formerly mentioned, who had seen all that had passed from
the open windows of the drawing-room. "I own I do
see something of what you told me the other day you
disliked so much in my friend Lady Di;" and Lady
Augusta gave the candid sigh of expiring friendship as
she uttered these words.
Do you know," cried Dashwood, " that this spanking horsewoman has frightened us all out of our senses?
I vow to Heaven, I never was so much terrified in my
life as when I saw you, Lady Augusta, upon that vicious animal."
"To be sure,"s said Lady Augusta, " it was very silly
of mle to venture; I almost broke my neck, out of pure
friendship."
N




146              MORAL TALES.
" It is well it is no worse," said the elderly lady: "If
a fall from a horse was the worst evil to be expected
from a friendship with a womah of this sort, it would
be nothing very terrible."
Lady Augusta, with an appearance of ingenuous candour, sighed again, and replied, " It is so difficult to see
any imperfections in those one loves! Forgive me, if I
spoke with too much warmth, madam, the other day,
in vindication of my friend. I own I ought to have
paid more deference to your judgment and knowledge
of the world, so much superior to my own; but certainly I must confess, the impropriety of her amazoniaa
manners, as Mr. Dashwood calls them, never struck my
partial eyes till this morning. Nor could I, nor would
I, believe half the world said of her; indeed, even now,
I am persuaded she is, in the main quite irreproachable;
but I feel the truth of what you said to me, madam, that
young women cannot be too careful in the choice of
their female friends; that we are judged of by our companions; how unfairly one must be judged of sometimes!" concluded her ladyship, with a look of pensive
reflection.
Mr. Montague never thought her half so beautiful
as at this instant. " How mind embellishes beauty!"
thought he; " and what quality of the mind more amiable than candour! —All that was wanting to her character was reflection; and.could -one expect so much
reflection as this from a girl of eighteen, who had been
educated by a Mlle. Panache?" Our readers will observe that this gentleman now reasoned like a madman,
but not like a fool; his deductions from the appearances
before him were admirable; but these appearances were
false. He had not observed that Lady Augusta's eyes
were open to the defects of her amazonian friend, in
the very moment that Lord George ---- was roused to
admiration by this horseman-belle. Mr. Montague
did not perceive that the candid reflections addressed to
his lordship's aunt were the immediate consequence of
female jealousy.
The next morning, at breakfast, Lord George was




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            147
summoned three times before he made his appearance;
at length he burst in, with a piece of news he had just
heard from his groom-" that Lady Di Spanker, in
riding home full gallop the preceding day, had been
thrown from her horse by an old woman. Faith, I
couldn't believe the thing," added Lord George, with a
loud laugh; "for she certainly sits a horse better than
any woman in England; but my groom had the whole
story from the granddaughter of the old woman who
was run over."
"Run over!" exclaimed Lady Augusta, "was the
poor woman run over? —was she hurt?"
"Hurt! yes, she was hurt, I fancy," said Lord
George "I never heard of anybody's being run over
without being hurt. The girl has a petition, that will
come up to us just now, I suppose. I saw her in the
back yard as 1 came in."
" O! let us see the poor child," said Lady Augusta;
"do let us have her called to this window."  The
window opened down to the ground, and, as soon as
the little girl appeared with the petition in her hand,
Lady Augusta threw open the sash, and received it from
her timid hand with a smile, which to Mr. Montague
seemed expressive of sweet and graceful benevolence.
Lady Augusta read the petition with much feeling, and
her lover thought her voice never before sounded so
melodious. She wrote her name eagerly at the head of
a subscription. The money she gave w:-s rather more
than the occasion required; but, thought Mr. Montague,
" If the generous spirit flow
Beyond whore prudence fears to go,
Those errors are of nobler kind,
Than virtues of a narrow mind."*
By a series of petty artifices Lady Argusta contrived
to make herself appear most engaging and amiable to
this artless young man: but the moment of success was
to her the moment of danger. She was litile aware that
when a man of sense began to think seriously of her as
* Soame Jenyns.




148               MORAL TALES.
a wife, he would require very different qualities front
those which please in public assemblies. Her ladyship
fell into a mistake not uncommon in her sex; she
thought that "Love blinds when once he wounds the
swain."  Coquettes have sometimes penetration sufficient to see what will please their different admirers:
but even those who have that versatility of manners
which can be all things to all men, forget that it is possible to support an assumed character only for a time;
the moment the immediate motive for dissimulation diminishes, the power of habit acts, and the real dispositions and manners appear.
When Lady Augusta thought herself sure of her captive, and consequently when the power of habit was beginning to act with all its wonted force, she was walking out with him in a shrubbery near the house, and
Mademoiselle, with Mr. Dashwood, who generally was
the gallant partner of her walks, accompanied them.
Mademoiselle stooped to gather some fine carnations;
near the carnations was a rose-tree. Mr. Montague,
as three of those roses, one of them in full blow, one
half-blown, and another a pretty bud, caught his eye,
recollected a passage in Berkeley's rotnance of Gaudentio di Lucca.t  "Did you ever happen to meet with
Gaudentio di Lucca? do you recollect the story of!perilla, Lady Augusta?" said he.
"No; I have never heard of Berilla: what is the
story?" said she.
"I wish I had the book," said Mr. Montague; "I
cannot do it justice, but I will borrow it for you from
Miss Helen Temple. I lent it to her some time ago; I
dare say she has finished reading it."
At these words, Lady Augusta's desire to have Gaudentio di Lucca suddenly increased; and she expressed
vast curiosity to know the story of Berilla. "And
pray what put you in mind of this book just ncw?"
said she.
"These roses. In Berkeley's Utopia, which he calls
* Collin's Eclogues.  t Gaudentio di Lucca, p. 202.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            149
MNezzorania-(every philosopher, you know, Mr. Dashwood, must have a Utopia, under whatever name he
pleases to call it)-in Mezzorania, Lady Augusta, gentlemen did not, as among us, make declarations of love
by artificial words, but by natural flowers. The lover
in the beginning of his attachment declared it to his mistress by the offer of an opening bud; if she felt favourably inclined towards him, she accepted, and wore-the
bud. When time had increased his affection-for in
Mezzorania it is supposed that time increases affection
for those that deserve it-the lover presented a halfblown flower; and after this also was graciously accepted, he came, we may suppose not long afterward,
with a full-blown flower, the emblem of mature affection.
The ladies who accepted these full-blown flowers, and
wore them, were looked upon among the simple Mezzoranians as engaged for life; nor did the gentlemen,
when they offered their flowers, make one single protestation or vow of eternal love, yet they were believed,
and deserved, it is said, to be believed."' Qu'est ce que c'est? qu'est ce que c'est?" repeated
Mademoiselle several times to Dashwood, while Mr.
Montague was speaking: she did not understand English sufficiently to comprehend him, and Dashwood was
obliged to make the thingr intelligible to her in French.
While he was occupied with  her, Mr. Montague
gathered three roses, a bud, a half-blown, and a fullblown rose, and playfully presented them to Lady
Augusta for her choice. "o I'm dying to see this Gaudentio di Lucca; you'll get the book fbr me to-morrow
from Miss Helen Temple, will you?" said Lady
Augusta, as she with a coquettish smile took the rosebud and put it into her bosom.
"Bon!" cried Mademoiselle, stooping to pick up the
full-blown rose, which Mr. Montague threw away
carelessly: "bon! but it is great pity dis should be
thrown away."
" It is not thrown away upon Mlle. Panache!" said
Dashwood.
" Dat may be," said Mademoiselle; "but I observe,
N 2             27




150             MORAL TALES.
wid all your fine compliment, you let me stoop to pick
it up for myself —d 1'.ngloie!"
"q la Franqoise, then," said Dashwood, laughing,
"permit me to put it into your nosegay."
" Dat is more dan you deserve," replied Mademoiselle.-" Eh! non, non. I can accommodate it, I tell
you, to my own taste best."  She settled and resettled
the flower; but suddenly she stopped, uttered a piercing
shriek, plucked the full-blown rose from her bosom, and
threw it upon the ground with a theatrical look of horror. A black earwig now appeared creeping out of the
rose; he was running away, but Mademoiselle pursued, set her foot upon him, and crushed him to death.' O0! I hope to Heaven, Mr. Montague, there are none
of these vile creatures in the bud you've given me!"
exclaimed Lady Augusta. She looked at her bud as
she spoke, and espied upon one of the leaves a small
green caterpillar: with a look scarcely less theatrical
than Madernoiselle's, she tore off the leaf and flung it
from her; then, from habitual imitation of her governess, she set her foot upon the harmless caterpillar, and
crushed it in a mnoment.
In the same moment Lady Augusta's whole person
seemed metamorphosed to the eyes of her lover. Sheceased to be beautiful: he seemed to see her countenance distorted by malevolence; he saw in her gestures
disgusting cruelty; and all the graces vanished.
When Lady Augusta was a girl of twelve years old,
she saw MIle. Panache crush a spider to death without
emotion: the lesson on humanity -was not lost upon
her. From imitation she learned her governess' foolish
terror of insects; and from example she was also taught
that species of cruelty by which at eighteen she disgusted a man of humanity who was in love with her.
Mr. Montague said not one word upon the occasion.
They walked on. A few minutes after the caterpillar
had been crushed, Lady Augusta exclaimed, "Why,
Mademoiselle, what have you done with Fanfan? I
thought my dog was with us: for Heaven's sake; where
is he?"




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           151
" He is run, he is run on," replied Mademoiselle.
"O, he'll be lost! he'll run down.the avenue, quite
out upon the turnpike-road. Fanfan! Fanfan!"
" Don't alarm, don't distress yourself," cried Dashwood: "if your ladyship will permit me; I'll seek for
Fanfan instantly, and bring her back to you, if she is to
be found in the universe."
"O Lord! don't trouble yourself; I only spoke to
Mademoiselle, who regularly loses Fanfan when she
takes him out with her." Dashwood set out in search
of the dog; and Lady Augusta, overcome with affectation, professed herself unable to walk one yard further,
and sank down upon a seat under a tree, in a very graceful, languid attitude. Mr. Montague stood silent beside her. Mademoiselle went on with a voluble defence
of her conduct towards Fanfan, which lasted till Dashwood reappeared, hurrying towards them with the dog
in his arms —" tAh, la voild! chere Fanfan!" exclaimed
Mademoiselle.
"I am sure I really am excessively obliged to Mr.
Dashwood, I must say," cried Lady Augusta, looking
reproachfully at Mr. Montague.
Dashwood now approached with panting, breathless
eagerness, announcing a terrible misfortune, that Fanfan
had got a thorn or something in his fore-foot. Lady
Augusta received Fanfan upon her lap, with expressions
of the most tender condolence; and Dashwood knelt
down at her feet to sympathize in her sorrow, and to
examine the dog's paw. Mademoiselle produced a
needle to extract the thorn.
" I wish we had a magnifying glass," said Dashwood,
looking with strained solicitude at the wound.
"O, you insensible monster! positively you sha'n't
touch Fanfan," cried Lady Augusta, guarding her lapdog from Mr. Montague, who stoopped now, for the
first time, to see what was the matter. " Don't touch
him, I say; I would not trust him to you for the universe; I know you hate lapdogs. You'll kill him. —
you'll kill him."




152               MORAL TALES.
"I kill him! 0 no," said Mr. Montague; "I would
not even kill a caterpillar."
Lady Augusta coloured at these words; but she recovered herself when Dashwood-laughed, and asked Mr.
Montague how long it was since he had turned brahmin, and how long since he had professed to like caterpillars and earwigs.
"-Bon Dieu!-earwig!" interrupted Mademoiselle:
"is it possible that Monsieur or anybody dat has sense,
can like dose earwig?"
"I do not remember," answered Mr. Montague,
calmly, " ever to have professed any liking for earwigs."
"Well, pity; you profess pity for them," said Mr.
Dashwood, "and pity, you know, is' akin to love.'
Pray, did your ladyship ever hear of the man who had
a pet toad?"'
"0, the odious wretch!" cried Lady Augusta, affectedly; " but how could the man bring himself to like
a toad?"
" He began by pitying him, I suppose," said Dashwood. " For my part, I own I must consider that man
to be in a most enviable situation whose heart is sufficiently at ease to sympathize with the insect creation."
" Or with the brute creation," said Mr. Montague,
smiling and looking at Fanfan, whose paw Dashwood
was at this instant hursing with infinite tenderness.
" O, gentlemen, let us have no more of this, for
Heaven's sake!" said Lady Augusta, interposing with
affected anxiety, as if she imagined a quarrel would
ensue. "Poor dear Fanfan, you would not have anybody quarrel about you, would you, Fanfan?" She
rose as she spoke, and, delivering the dog to Dashwood
to be carried home, she walked towards the house with
an air of marked displeasure towards Mr. Montague.
Her ladyship's displeasure did not affect him as she
expected. Her image —her gesture stamping upon the
caterpillar, recurred to her lover's mind many times in
the course of the evening; and in the silence of the
* Vide Smellie's Natural History, vol. ii.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             153
night, and whenever the idea of her came into his mind,
it was attended with this picture of active cruelty.
"Has your ladyship," said Mr. Montague, addressing himself to Lady S-, " any commands for
Mrs. Temple? I am going to ride over to see her this
morning."
Lady S-  said that she would trouble him with a
card for Mrs. Temple; a card of invitation for the ensuing week. " And pray don't forget my kindest reinembrances," cried Lady Augusta, "especially to
Miss Helen Temple; and if she should have entirely
finished the book we were talking of, I shall be glad'o see it."
When Mr. Montague arrived at Mrs. Temple's, he
was shown into the usual sitting-room: the servants
told him that none of the ladies were at home, but that
they would soon return, he believed, from their walk,
as they were gone only to a cottage at about half a
mile's distance.
The room in which he had passed so many agreeable
hours awakened in his mind a number of dormant associations —work, books, drawing, writing! he saw every
thing had been going forward just as usual in his absence. All the domestic occupations, thought he, which
make home delightful, are here: I see nothing of these
at S —--  Hall. Upon the table, near a neat workbasket, which he knew to be Helen's, lay an open book;
it was Gaudentio di Lucca. Mr. Montague recollected
the bud he had given to Lady Augusta, and he began
to whistle, but not for want of thought. A music-book
on the desk of the piano-forte caught his eye; it was
openat a favourite lesson of his, which he remembered
to have heard Helen play the last evening he was in
her company. Helen was no great proficient in music;
but she played agreeably enough to please her friends,
and she was not ambitious of exhibiting her accomplishments. Lady Augusta, on the contrary, seemed
never to consider her accomplishments as occupations,
but as the means of attracting admiration. To interrupt the comparison which Mr. Montague was begin27*




154              MORAL TALES.
ning to enter into between her ladyship and Helen, he
thought the best thing he could do was to walk to meet
Mrs. Temple; wisely considering that putting the body
in motion sometimes stops the current of the mind. He
had at least observed that his schoolfellow, Lord
George -—, seemed to find this a specific against
thought; and for once he was willing to imitate his
lordship's example, and to hurry about from place to
place, without being in a hurry. He rang the bell, inquired in haste which way the ladies were gone, and
walked after them, like a man who had the business of
the nation upon his hands; yet he slackened his pace
when he came near the cottage where he knew he was
to meet Mrs. Temple and her daughters. When he
entered the cottage the first object that he saw was
Helen, sitting by the side of a decrepit old woman, who
was resting her head upon a crutch, and who seemed
to be in pain. This was the poor woman who had been
ridden over by Lady Di Spanker. A farmer who lived
near Mrs. Temple, and who was coming homewards at
the time the accident happened, had the humanity to
carry the wretched woman to this cottage, which was
occupied by one of Mrs. Temple's tenants. As soon as
the news reached her, she sent for a surgeon, and went
with her daughters to give that species of consolation
which.the rich and happy can so well bestow upon the
poor and miserable-the consolation not of gold, but of
sympathy.
There was no affectation, no ostentation of sensibility, Mr. Montague observed, in this cottage scene;
the ease and simplicity of Helen's manner never appeared to him more amiable. He recollected Lady Augusta's picturesque attitude, when she was speaking to
this old woman's granddaughter; but there was something in what he now beheld that gave him more the
idea of nature and reality: he heard, he saw, that much
had actually been done to relieve distress, and done when
there were no spectators to applaud or admire. Slight
circumstances show whether the mind be intent upon
self or not. An awkward servant-girl brushed by Helen




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             155
while she was speaking to the old woman, and with a
great black kettle, which she was going to set upon the
fire, blackened Helen's white dress, in a manner which
no lady intent upon her personal appearance could have
borne with patience. Mr. Montague saw the black
streaks before Helen perceived them, and when the
maid was reproved for her carelessness, Helen's goodnatured smile assured her "that there was no great
harm done."
When they returned home, Mr. Montague found that
Helen conversed with him with all her own ingenuous
freedom, but there was something more of softness and
dignity, and less of sprightliness than formerly, in her
manner. Even this happened to be agreeable to him,
for it was in contrast with the constant appearance of
effort and artificial brilliancy conspicuous in the manners
of Lady Augusta. The constant round of cards and
qompany, the noise and bustle at S-    Hall, made it
more like town than country life, and he had often observed that in the intervals between dressing, and visiting, and gallantry, his fair mistress was frequently subject to ernnui. He recollected that in the many domestic
hours he had spent at Mrs. Temple's he had never beheld this French demon, who makes the votaries of dissipation and idleness his victims. What advantage has
a man, in judging of female character, who can see a
woman in the midst of her own family, " who can read
her history" in the eyes of those who know her most
intimately, who can see her conduct as a daughter and
a sister, and in the most important relations of' life can
form a certain judgment from what she has been, of what
she is likely to be!  But how can a man judge of what
sort of wife he may probably expect in a lady, whom
he meets with only at public places, or whom he never
sees, even at her own house, without all the advantages
or disadvantages of stage decoration! A man who
marries a showy entertaining coquette, and expects she
will make him a charming companion for life, commits
as absurd a blunder as that of the famous nobleman
who, delighted with the wit and humour of Punch at a




156               MORAL TALES.
puppet-show, bought Punch, and ordered him  to he
sent home for his privatd amusement.
Whether all or any of these reflections occurred to
Mr. Montague during his morning visit at Mrs. Ternple's, we cannot pretend to say; but his silence and
absence seemed to show that his thoughts were busily
engaged. Never did Helen appear to him so amiable
as she did this morning, when the dignity, delicacy, and
simplicity of her manners were contrasted in his imagination with the caprice and coquetry of his new mistress. He felt a secret idea that he was beloved, and a
sober certainty that Helen had a heart capable of sincere
and permanent affection, joined to a cultivated understanding and reasonable principles, which would wear
through life, and ensure happiness, with power superior to the magic of passion.
It was with some difficulty that he asked Helen for
Gaudentio di Lucca, and with yet greater difficulty that
he took leave of her. As he was riding towards SHall, " revolving in his altered mind the various turns
of fate below," he was suddenly roused from his meditations by the site of a phaeton overturned in the middle
of the road, another phaeton and four empty, and a group
of people gathered near a bank by the road-side. Mr.
Montague rode up as fast as possible to the scene of
action: the overturned phaeton was Lord George's, the
other Lady Di Spanker's; the group of people was composed of several servants, Lord George, Lady Di, and
Mademoiselle, all surrounding a faintinting fair one, who
was no other than Lady Augusta herself. Lord George
was shaking his own arms, legs, and head, to make himself' sure of their safety. Lady Di eagerlv told the whole
story to Mr. Montague, that Lord George had been
running races with her, and by his confounded bad
driving had overturned himself and Lady Augusta.
"Poor thing, she's not hurt at all, luckily; but she's
terrified to death, as usual, and she has been going from
one fainting fit to another."
"Bon Dieu!" interrupted Mademoiselle; "but what




MIADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            157
will Miladi S- say to us? I wish Miladi Augusta
would com.e to her senses."
Lady Augusta opened her beautiful eyes, and, just
came sufficiently to her senses to observe who was
looking at her; she put aside Mademoiselle's smellingbottle, and in a.soft voice begged to have her own salts.
Mademoiselle felt in one of her ladyship's pockets for
the salts in vain; Lady Di plunged her hand into her
other pocket, and pulled out, in the first place a book,
which she threw upon the bank, and then came out the
salts. In due time the lady was happily restored to the
full use of her senses, and was put into her mother's
coach, which had been sent for to convey her home.
The carriages drove away, and Mr. Montague was just
mounting his horse, when he saw the book which had
been pulled out of Lady Augusta's pocket, and which,
by mistake, was left where it had been thrown upon the
grass. What was his astonishment when, upon opening it, he saw one of the very worst books in the French
language; a book which never could have been found
in the possession of any woman of delicacy-of decency. Her lover stood for some minutes in silent
amazement, disgust, and we may add, terror.
These feelings had by no means subsided in his mind
when, upon his entering the drawing-room at SHall, he was accosted by Mlle. Panache, who, with no
small degree of alarm in her countenance, inquired
whether he knew any thing of the book which had been
left upon the road. No one was in the room but the
governess and her pupil. Mr. Montague produced the
book, and Lady Augusta received it with a deep blush.
"Put a good face upon the matter at least," whispered
her governess in French.'I can assure you," said her ladyship, "I don't
know what's in this book; I never opened it; I got it
this morning at the circulating library in Cheltenham;
I put it in my pocket in a hurry-pray what is it?"
" If you have never opened it," said Mr. Montague,
laying his hand upon the book, "I may hope that you
never will -but this is the second volume."
0




158              MORAL TALES.
" Maybe so," said Lady Augusta; " I suppose in my
hurry I mistook-"
"She never had the first I can promise you," cried
Mademoiselle.
"Never," said Lady Augusta. The assertions had
not the power to convince: they were pronounced with
much vehemence, but not with the simplicity of truth.
Mr. Montague was determined to have the point cleared
up; and he immediately offered to ride back to Cheltenham and return the second volume. At this proposal
Lady Augusta, who foresaw that her falsehood would
be detected, turned pale; but Mademoiselle, with a
laugh of effrontery, which she thought was putting a
good face upon the matter, exclaimed.
"Eh! listen to me —you may spare yourself de
trouble of your ride," said she, " for the truth is, I have
de first volume. MIon Die?! I have not committed
murder-do not look so shock-what signify what I
read at my age?"
"But Lady Augusta, your pupil!" said Mr. Montague.
" I tell you she has never read one word of it; and
after all, is she child now? When she was,. Miladi
S-. was very particular, and I of consequence and
of course, in de choice of her book; -but now, oder af-'aire, she is at liberty, and my maxim is-Tout est saitn
aux sains. 
Mr. Montague's indignation was now strongly raised
against this odious governess, and he looked upon her
pupil with an eye of compassion. "So early, so
young, tainted by the pernicious maxims of a worthless
womrlan! "
"Elh, donc, what signify your silence and your salts?"
cried Modemoiselle, turning to her.
"If I could be spared this scene at present," said
Lady Augusta, faintly —" I really am not well. We
had better talk over this business some other time, Mr.
Montague:" to this he acceded, and the lady gained
more by her salts and silence than her governess did by
her garrulous effrontery.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             159
When she talked over the business with Mr. Montague, she threw all the blame upon Mademoiselle, and
she appeared extremely shocked and alarmed at the idea
that she had lessened herself by her folly, as she called
it, in the esteem of a man of superior sense and taste.
It was perhaps possible that at this moment of her lile
her character might have taken a new turn; that she
might really have been awakened to higher views and
nobler sentiments than any she had ever yet known:
but the baleful influence of her constant attendant and
conductress prevailed against her better self. Mademoiselle continually represented to her, that she did not
know or exert the whole of her power over Mr. Montague: and she excited her to caprice and coquetry.
The fate of trifling characters is generally decided by
trifles: we' must beg leave to relate the important his
tory of a turban.
Mlle. Panache, who piqued herself much upon her
skill as a milliner, made up a certain turban for Lady
Augusta, which Dashwood admired extremely, but
which Mr. Montague had the misfortune not to think
perfectly beautiful. Vexed that he should dare to differ
from her in taste, Lady Augusta could not rest without endeavouring to make him give up his opinion: he
thought that it was not worth while to dispute about a
trifle; and though he could not absolutely say that it
was pretty, he condescended so far as to allow that it
might perhaps be pretty, if it were put on differently.
" This is the way I always wear it-everybody wears
it so —and I shall not alter it," said Lady Augusta, who
was quite out of temper.
Mr. Montague looked grave: the want of temper was
an evil which he dreaded beyond measure in a companion for life. Smiles and dimples usually adorned Lady
Augusta's face; but these were artificial smiles: now
passions, which one would scarcely imagine such a trifle
could excite, darkened her brow, and entirely altered the
air of her whole person, so as to make it absolutely disagreeable to her admirer. Lord George, who was standing by, and who felt delighted with such scenes, winked




160              MORAL TALES.
at Dashwood, and, with more energy than he usually expressed upon any subject, now pronounced that, in his
humble opinion, the turban was quite the thing, and could
not be better put on. Lady Augusta turned a triumphant,
Insulting eye upon Mr. Montague: he was silent-his
silence she took as a token of' submission-in fact, it
was an expression of contempt. The next (lay, at dinner, her ladyship appeared in the same turban, put on
sedulously in the same manner. Lord George seated
himself beside her; and as she observed that he paid her
unusual attention, she fancied that at length his icy heart
would thaw. Always more intent upon making cages,*
Lady Augusta bent her mind upon captivating a new
admirer. Mr. Montague, she saw, was displeased, but
she now really felt and showed herself indifferent to his
opinion. How variable, how wretched is the life of a
coquette! The next day Lord George's heart froze
again as hard as ever, and Lady Augusta lightened upon
the impassive ice in vain. She was mortified beyond
measure, for her grand object was conquest. That she
might triumph over poor Helen, she had taken pains to
attract Mr. Montague. Dashwood, though far beneath
her ladyship in fortune and in station, she deemed worth
winning, as a man of wit and gallantry. Lord George,
to be sure, had little wit, and less gallantry; but he was
Lord George, and that was saying enough. In short,
Lady Augusta exacted tribute to her vanity without any
discrimination, and she valued her treasures by number,
and not by weight. A man of sense is mortified to see
himself confounded with the stupid and the worthless.
Mr. Montague, after having loved like a madman, felt
it not in the least incumbent upon him to love like a fool;
he had imprudently declared himself an admirer of Lady
Augusta, but he now resolved. never to unite himself to
her without some more reasonable prospect of happiness.
Every day some petty cause of disagreement arose between them, while Mademoiselle, by her silly and impertinent interference, made matters worse. Mademoi* Swift.




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            161
selle had early expressed her strong abhorrence of
prudes; her pupil seemed to have caught the same abhorrence; she saw that Mr. Montague was alarmed by
her spirit of coquetry, yet still it continued in full force.
For instance, she would continually go out with Lord
George in his phaeton, though she declared every time
he handed her in, "that she was certain he would break
her neck." She would receive verses from Dashwood,
and keep them embalmed in her pocket-book, though she
allowed that she thought them "sad stuff."
However, in these verses, something more was meant
than met the ear. He began with addressing a poem to
her ladyship, called " The Turban," which her silly mother extolled with eagerness, and seemed to think by no
means inferior to the "Rape of the Lock."  Lady Augusta wrote a few lines in answer to the " Turban"-reply produced reply-nonsense, nonsense-till Dashwood
now and'then forgot his poetical character. Lady Augusta forgave it: he, of course, forgot himself again into
a lover in prose. For some time the sonnets were
shown to Lady S —, but at length some were received
which it was thought as well not to show to anybody. In
short, between fancy, flattery, poetry, passion, jest, and
earnest, Lady Augusta was drawn on till she hardly
knew where she was; but Dashwood knew perfectly
well where he was, and resolved to keep his ground
resolutely.
When encouraged by the lady's coquetry, he first
formed his plans, he imagined that a promise of a wedding-present would easily secure her governess: but
this was a slight mistake; avarice happened not to be
the ruling, or, at least at this time, the reigning passion
of Mademoiselle's mind; and quickly perceiving his
error, he paid assiduous court to her vanity. She firmly
believed that she had captivated him, and was totally blind
to his real designs. The grand difficulty with Dashwood
was, not to persuade her of his passion, but to prevent
her from believing him too soon; and he thought it expedient to delay completing his conquest of the governess
til he had gained an equally powerful influence over her
o2              28




162             MORAL TALES.
pupil. One evening, Dashwood, passing through a sheltered walk, heard Lady Augusta and Mr. Montague
talking very loudly and eagerly: they passed through
the grove so quickly that he could catch only the words
"phaeton-imprudence."
"Pshaw! jealousy-nonsense."
"Reasonable woman for a wife."
"Pooh, no such thing."
" My unalterable resolution" were the concluding words
of Mr. Montague, in a calm but decided voice; and,
"As you please, sir! I've no notion of giving up my will
in every thing," the concluding words of Lady Augusta,
pronounced in a pettish tone, as she broke from him;
yet pausing for a moment, Dashwood, to his great surprise and concern, heard her in a softer tone add a but,
which showed she was not quite willing to break from
Mr. Montague for ever. Dashwood was alarmed beyond measure; but the lady did not long continue in this
frame of mind, for, upon going into her dressing-room
to rest herself, she found her governess at the glass.
6 Bon Dieu!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, turning round:
" miladi told me you was gone out-maris qu'est ce que
c'est. vousvoildpdle —you are as white-blauc comme mon
tinge," cried she, with emphasis, at the same time touching a handkerchief which was so far from white that her
pupil could not help bursting out into a laugh at the unfortunate illustration. "Pauvre petit! tenez," continued
Mademoiselle, running up to her with salts, apprehensive
that she was going into fits.
"I am not ill, thank you," said Lady Augusta, taking
the smelling-bottle.
"But don't tell me dat," said Mademoiselle; " I saw
you walking out of de window wid dat man, and I know
dis is some new dmnei/ wid him. Come, point de secret,
mon enfant. Has not he been giving you one good lecture?"
"Lecture!" said Lady Augusta, rising with becoming
spirit: "no, Mademoiselle, I am not to be lectured by
anybody."
"No, to be sare; dat is what I say, and, surtout, not




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            163
by a lover. Quel homme! why I would not have him to
pay his court to me for all de world. Why, pauvre petite, he has made you look ten years older ever since he
began to fall in love wid you. Dis what you call a lover
in England? Bon, why, I know noting of de matter, if
he be one bit in love wid you, mon enfant."
" O, as to that, he certainly is in love with me: whatever other faults he has, I must do him that justice."
"Juzstice! O, let him have justice, de tout mon cceur;
hut I say, if he be a man in love, he is de oddest man in
love I ever happen to see; he eat, drink, sleep, talk,
laugh, se possede tout contme un autre. Bon Dieu! Iwould
not give noting at all myself for such a sort of a lover.
JMon enfant, dis is not de way I would wish to see you
loved; dis is not de way no man ought for to dare for
to love you."
" And how ought I to be loved?" asked Lady Augusta,
impatiently.
"La belle question! Eh! don't every body, de stupidest person in de world, know how dey ought to be
love?  JMais passionnement, eperdument-dere is a-a
je ne sais quoi dat infalliblement distinguish de true lover
from de false."
" Then," said Lady Augusta, " you really don't think
that Mr. Montague loves me?"
"Tink!" replied Mademoiselle, "I don't tink about
it; but have not I said enough? Open your eyes; make
your own comparaisonl."
Before Lady Augusta had made her comparisons, a
knock at the door from her maid came to let her know
that Lord George was waiting.
"Ah, Milord George! I won't keep you den: va-t-en."
"But now, do you know, it was only because 1 just
said that I was going out with Lord George that Mr.
Montague made all this rout."
"Den let him make his rout; qu'importe?  Miladi
votre chere mere make no objections. Quelle impertinence!
If he was milord duc he could not give himself no more
airs. Va, moon enfant; dis a lover!  Quel honmme, quel
tyran! and den, of course, when he grows to be a hus



164             MORAL TALES.
band, he will be worserer and worserer, and badderer
and badderer, when he grows to be your husband."
"0," cried Lady Augusta, snatching up her gloves
hastily,' my husband he shall never be, I am determined.
So now I'll give him his coup de grace."
"Bon!" said Mademoiselle, following her pupil, " and
I must not miss to be by, for I shall love to see dat man
mortify."
"You are going then?" said Mr. Montague, gravely,
as she passed.
"Going, going, going, gone!" cried Lady Augusta,
who tripping carelessly by, gave her hand to the sulky
lord; then springing into the phaeton, said, as usual, " I
know, my lord, you'll break my neck;" at the same time
casting a look at Mr. Montague, which seemed to say,
"I hope you'll break your heart, at least."
When she returned from her airing, the first glance at
Mr. Montague's countenance, convinced her that her
power was at an end. She was not the only person who
observed this. Dashwood, under his air of thoughtless
gayety, watched all that passed with the utmost vigilance, and he knew how to avail himself of every circumstance that could be turned to his own advantage.
He well knew that a lady's ear is never so happily prepared for the voice of flattery as after having been forced
to hear that of sincerity. Dashwood contrived to meet
Lady Augustat  just after she had been mortified by her
late admirer's total recovery of his liberty, and seizing
well his moment, pressed his suit with gallant ardour.
As he exhibited all those signs of passion which her
governess would have deemed unequivocal, the young
lady thought herself justified in not absolutely driving
him to despair.
Where was Lady S- all this time? Where?-at
the card-table, playing very judiciously at whist. With
an indolent security, which will be thought incredible by
those who have not seen similar instances of folly in
great families, she let every thing pass before her eyes
without seeing it. Confident that her daughter, after
having gone through the usual routine, would meet with




XMADEMOISELLE PANACHE.           16'
some suitable establishment, that the settlements would
then be the father's business, the choice of the jewels
hers, she left her dear Augusta, in the mean time, to
conduct herself; or, what was ten times worse, to be
conducted by Mlle. Panache. Thus to the habitual indolence or temporary convenience of parents are the
peace and reputation of a family secretly sacrificed.
And we may observe, that those who take the least precaution to prevent imprudence in their children.are
most enraged and implacable when the evil becomes
irremediable.
In losing Mr. Mountague's heart, Lady Augusta's
vanitv felt a double pang from the apprehension that
Helean would probably recover her captive. Acting
merely from the impulse of the moment, her ladyship was
perfectly a child in her conduct; she seldom knew her
own mind two hours together, and really did not foresee
the consequences of any one of her actions. Half a
dozen incompatible wishes filled her heart, or, rather, her
imagination. The most immediate object of vanity had
always the greatest power over her; and upon this habit
of mind Dashwood calculated with security.
In the pride of conquest, her ladyship had rejoiced at
her mother's inviting Mrs. Temple and her daughters to
an entertainment at S5-  Hall, where she flattered herself that Mr. Montague would appear as her declared
admirer. The day, alas! came; but things had taken a
new turn, and Lady Augusta was as impatient that the
visit should be finished as she had been eager to have the
invitation sent. Lady S    was not precisely informed
of all that was going on in her own house, as we have
observed; and she was therefore a little surprised at the
look of vexation with which her daughter heard that she
had pressed Mrs. Temple to stay all night. " My dear,"
said Lady S-, "you know you can sleep in Mademoiselle's room for this one night, and Miss Helen Temple will have yours. One should be civil to people,
especially when one sees them but seldom." Lady Augusta was much out of humour with her mother's ill28*




166              MORAL TALES.
timed civility; but there was no remedy. In the hurry
of movin(r her things at night, Lady Augusta left in her
dressing-table drawer a letter of Dashwood's-a letter
which she would not have had seen by Miss Helen Temple for any consideration. Our readers may imagine what
her ladyship's consternation must have been, when, the
next morning, Helen put the letter into her hand, saying
"There's a paper you left in your dressing-table, Lady
Augusta."  The ingenuous countenance of Helen, as
she spoke, might have convinced any one but Lady
Augusta that she was incapable of having opened this
paper; but her ladyship judged otherwise;* she had no
doubt that every syllable of the letter had been seen, and
that her secret would quickly be divulged. The company
had not yet assembled at breakfast. She retired precipitately to her own room, to consider what could possibly
be done in this emergency. She at length resolved to
apply to Mr. Montague for assistance; *she had seen
enough of him to feel assured that he was a man of
honour, and that she might safely trust him. When
she heard him go down stairs to breakfast she followed,
and contrived to give him a note, which he read with
no small degree of surprise.
" How to apologise for myself I know not, nor have I
one moment's time to deliberate. Believe me, I feel my
sensibility and delicacy severely wounded; but an illfated, uncontrollable passion must plead my excuse. I
candidly own that my conduct must appear to you in a
strange light; but spare me, I beseech you, all reproaches
and pardon my weakness, for on your generosity and
honour must I rely in this moment of' distress.
"A letter of mine-a fatal letter from Dashwood-has
fallen into the hands of Miss Helen Temple. All that I
hold most dear is at her mercy. I am fully persuaded
that, were she to promise to keep my secret, nothing on
earth would tempt her to betray me; but I know she has
so much the habit of speaking of' every thing to her
mother, that I am in torture till this promise is obtained.
Your influence I must depend upon. Speak to her, I




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            167
conjure you, the moment breakfast is over; and assure
yourself of my unalterable gratitude.
" AUGUSTA."
The moment breakfast was over, Mr. Montague followed Helen into the library; a portfolio full of prints
lay open on the table, and as he turned them over, he
stopped at a print of Alexander putting his seal to the
lips of Hephaestion, whom he detected reading a letter
over his shoulder. Helen, as he looked at the print, said.
she admired the delicacy of Alexander's reproof to his
friend; but observed, that it was scarcely probable the
seal should bind Hephoestion's lips.
"How so?" said Mr. Montague, eagerly.
" Because," said Helen, " if honour could not restrain
his curiosity, it would hardly secure his secrecy."
" Charming girl!" exclaimed Mr. Montague, with enthusiasm. Helen, struck with surprise and a variety of
emotions, coloured deeply. "I beg your pardon," said
Mr. Montague, changing his tone, " for being so abrupt.
You found a letter of Lady Augusta's last night. She is
is in great, I am sure, needless, anxiety about it."
"Needless, indeed; I did not think it necessary to
assure Lady Augusta, when I returned her letter, that I
had not read it. I gave it to her, because I thought she
would not like to have an open letter left where it might
fall into the hands of servants. As she has mentioned
this subject to you, I hope, sir, you will persuade her
of the truth; you seem to be fully convinced of it yourself."
"I am, indeed, fully convinced of your integrity, of
the generosity, the simplicity of your mind. May I ask
whether you formed any conjecture, whether you know
whom that letter was from?"
Helen, with an ingenuous look, replied, "Yes, sir, I
did form a conjecture-I thought it was from you."
"From  me!" exclaimed Mr. Montague. "I must
undeceive you there: the letter was not mine. I am
eager," continued he, smiling, "to undeceive you. I
wish I might flatter myself this explanation could ever




168               MORAL TALES.
be half as interesting to you as it is to me. That letter
was not mine, and I can never, in future, be on any
other terms with Lady Augusta than those of a common
acquaintance."
Here they were interrupted by the sudden entrance
of Mademoiselle followed by Dashwood, to whom she
was talking with great earnestness. Mr. Montague,
when he had collected his thoughts sufficiently to think
of Lady Augusta, wrote the following answer to her
letter:"Your ladyship may be perfectly at ease with respect
to your note. Miss Helen Temple has not read it, nor
has she, I am convinced, the slightest suspicion of its
contents, or its author. I beg leave to assure your ladyship that I am sensible of the honour of your confidence,
and that you shall never have any reason to repent of
having trusted in my discretion. Yet permit me, even
at the hazard of appearing impertinent, at the still greater
hazard of incurring your displeasure, to express my
most earnest hope, that nothing will tempt you to form
a connexion which, I am persuaded, would prove fatal
to the happiness of your future life. I am, with much
respect,
"Your ladyship's obedient servant,
- F. MONTAGUE."
Lady Augusta read this answer to her note with the
greatest eagerness: the first time she ran her eye over
it, joy, to find her secret yet undiscovered, suspended
every other feeling; but upon a second perusal, her ladyship felt extremely displeased by the cold civility of the
style, and somewhat alarmed at the concluding paragraph. With no esteem and little affection for Dashwood, she had suffered herself to imagine that her passion for himn was uncontrollable.
What degree of felicity she was likely to enjoy with a
man destitute equally of fbrtune and principle, she had
never attempted to calculate; but there was something
awful in the words, " I earnestly hope that nothing will




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.            169
tempt you to form a connexion which would prove fatal
to your future happiness." While she was pondering
upon these words, Dashwood met her in the park,
where she was walking alone. " Why so grave?" exclaimed he, with anxiety.
"I am only thinking-that-I am afraid-I think this
is a silly business: I wish, Mr. Dashwood, you wouldn't
think any more of it, and give me back my letters."
Dashwood vehemently swore that her letters were
dearer to him than life, and that the "last pang should
tear them from his heart."
" But, if we go on with all this," resumed Lady Augusta, "it will at least break my mother's heart, and
Mademoiselle's into the bargain; besides, I don't half
believe you; I really-"
" I really what?" cried he, pouring forth protestations
of passion, which put Mr. Montague's letter entirely out
of her head.
A number of small motives sometimes decide the mind
hi the most important actions of our lives; and faults
are often attributed to passion which arise from folly.
The pleasure of duping her governess, the fear of witnessing Helen's triumph over her lover's recovered
affections, and the idea of the bustle and eclat of an elopement, all mixed together, went under the general denomination of love!-Cupid is often blamed for deeds in
which he has no share.
" But," resumed Lady Augusta, after making the last
pause of expiring prudence, "what shall we do about
Mademoiselle?"
" Poor Mademoselle!" cried Dashwood, leaning back
against a tree to support himself, while he laughed violently, "what do you think she is about at this instant?
-packing up her clothes in a bandbox."
"Packing up her clothes in a bandbox!"
"Yes; she verily believes that I am dying with impatience to carry her off to Scotland, and at four o'clock
to-morrow morning she trips down stairs out of the
garden-door, of which she keeps the key, flies across
the park, scales the gate, gains the village, and takes
P




170             MORAL TALES.
refuge with her good friend, Miss Lacey, the milliner,
where she is to wait for me. Now, in the mean time,
the moment the coast is clear, I fly to you, my real
angel."'
"0, no, upon my word," said Lady Augusta, so
faintly, that Dashwood went on exactly in the same
tone.
" I fly to you, my angel, and we shall be half way on
our trip to Scotland before Mademoiselle's patience is
half exhausted, and before XMiladi S —-- is quite
awake."
Lady Augusta could not forbear smiling at this idea;
and thus, by an unlucky stroke of. humour, was the
grand event of her life decided.
Marmontel's well-known story, called Heureusement,
is certainly not a moral tale: to counteract its effects,
he should have written Malheureusement, if he could.
Nothing happened to disconcert the measures of Lady
Augusta and Dashwood.
The next morning Lady S-   came down, according
to her usual custom, late to breakfast. Mrs. Temple,
Helen, Emma, Lord George, Mr. Montague, &c. were
assembled. " Has not Mademoiselle made breakfast for
us yet?" said Lady S ——. She sat down, and expected every moment to see Mlle. Panache and her daughter
make their appearance; but she waited in vain. Neither Mademoiselle, Lady Augusta, nor Dashwood were
anywhere to be found. Everybody round the breakfasttable looked at each other in silence, waiting the event.
"They are out walking, I suppose," said Lady S ——;
which supposition contented her for the first five minutes; but then she exclaimed, " it's very strange they
don't come back!"
"Very strange-I mean rather strange," said Lord
George, helping himself, as he spoke, to his usual quantity of butter, and then drumming upon the table; while
Mr. Montague, all the time, looked down, and preserved
a profound silence.
At length the door opened, and Mlle. Panache, in a
riding-habit, made her appearance. " Bon jour, miladi!




MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.             171
Bon jour!" said she, looking round at the silent party,
with a half-terrified, half-astonished countenance.-" Je
vous demande millepardons-Qu'est ce que c'est? I have
only been to take a walk dis morning into de village to
de milliner's. She has disappointed me of my tings,
dat kept me waiting; but I am come back in time for
breakfast I hope?"
"But where is my daughter?" cried Lady S  -,
roused at last from her natural indolence —" Where is
Lady Augusta?"
"Bon Dieu! Miladi, I don't know. Bon Dieu! in
her bed, I suppose. Bon Dieu! exclaimed she a third
time, and turned as pale as ashes. " But where den is
Mr. Dashwood?"  At this instant a note, directed to
Mademoiselle, was brought into the room: the servant
said that Lady Augusta's maid had just found it upon
her lady's toilette-Mademoiselle tore open the note.
"Excuse me to my mother-you can best plead my
excuse.
"You will not see me again till I am
AUGUSTA DASHWOOD.)"
".h scle'rat!.JIh sce'lerat. 11 m'a trahi!" screamed
Mademoiselle: she threw down the note, and sank upon
the sofa in real hysterics; while Lady S ——, seeing in
one and the same moment her own folly and her daughter's ruin, fixed her eyes upon the words " Augusta
Dashwood," and fainted.  Mr. Montague led Lord
George out of the room with him, while Mrs. Temple,
Helen, and her sister ran to the assistance of the unhappy mother and the detected governess.
As soon as Mademoiselle had recovered tolerable
composure, she recollected that she had betrayed too violent emotion on this occasion. "In m'a trahi," were
words, however, that she could not recall; it was in
vain she attempted to fabricate some apology for herself. No apology could avail: and while Lady S ——,
in silent anguish, wept for her own and her daughter's
folly, the governess, in loud and gross terms, abused




172              MORAL TALES.
Dashwood, and reproached her pupil with having shown
duplicity, ingratitude, and a bad heart.
"A bad education!" exclaimed Lady S —, with a
voice of mingled anger and sorrow. " Leave the room,
Mademoiselle; leave my house. How could I choose
such a governess for my daughter?  Yet, indeed,"
added her ladyship, turning to Mrs. Temple, "she was
well recommended to me, and how could I foresee all
this?"
To such an appeal at such a time there was no reply
to be made: it is cruel to point out errors to those who
feel that they are irreparable; but it is benevolent to
point them out to others, who have yet their choice to
make.




AN GELINA;
OR)
L'AMIE INCONNUEs
29








ANGELINA;
OR)
L'AMIE  INCONNUE.
CHAPTER I.
"BUT, my dear lady Di, indeed you should not let this
affair prey so continually upon your spirits," said Miss
Burrage, in the condoling tone of an humble companion:
-" you really have almost fretted yourself into a nervous fever. I was in hopes that change of air, and
change of scene, would have done every thing for you,
or I never would have consented to your leaving London; for you know your ladyship's always better in
London than anywhere else. And I'm sure your ladyship has thought and talked of nothing but this sad affair
since you came to Clifton."
"I confess," said Lady Diana Chillingworth, "I deserve the reproaches of my friends for giving way to my
sensibility, as I do, upon this occasion: but I own I cannot help it. Oh, what will the world say! what will
the world say!-The world will lay all the blame upon
me; yet I'm sure I'm the last, the very last person that
ought to be blamed."
"Assuredly," replied Miss Burrage, "nobody can
blame your ladyship; and nobody will, I am persuaded.
The blame will all be thrown, where it ought to be, upon
the young lady herself."
"If I could but be convinced of that!" said her ladyship in a tone of great feeling; " such a young creature,
scarcely sixteen, to take such a step!-I am sure I wish
to heaven her father had never made me her guardian.
I confess, I was most exceedingly imprudent, out of regard to her family, to take under my protection such a
A2              5




6                 MORAL TALES.
self-willed, unaccountable, romantic girl. Indeed, my
dear," continued Lady Diana Chillingworth, turning to
her sister, Lady Frances Somerset, "it was you that
misled me. You remember you used to tell me that
Anne Warwick had such great abilities!"
"That I thought it a pity they had not been well directed," said Lady Frances.
" And such generosity of temper, and such warm affections!" said Lady Di.
" That I regretted their not having been properly cultivated."
" I confess, Miss Warwick was never a great favourite
of mine," said Miss Burrage; "but now that she has
lost her best friend""She is likely to find a great number of enernfens,"
said Lady Frances.
" She has been her own enemy, poor girl! I am sure
[pity her," replied Miss Burrage; "but, at the same
time, I must say, that ever since she came to my Lady
Di Chillingworth's, she has had good advice enough."
"Too much, perhaps; which is worse than too little,"
thought Lady Frances.
"Advice!" repeated Lady Di Chillingworth; "why,
as to that, my conscience, I own, acquits me there; for,
to be sure, no young person of her age, or of any age,
had ever more advice, or more good advice, than Miss
Warwick had from me; I thought it my duty to advise
her, and advise her I did from morning till night, as Miss
Burrage very well knows, and will do me the justice, I
hope, to say in all companies."
" That I shall certainly make it a principle to do," said
Miss Burrage. " I am sure it would surprise and grieve
you, Lady Frances, to hear the sort of foolish, imprudent
things that Miss Warwick, with all her abilities, used to
say. I recollect'," Very possibly," replied Lady Frances; " but why
should we trouble ourselves to recollect all the foolish
imprudent things.which this poor girl may have said?This unfortunate elopement is a sufficient proof of her
folly and imprudence. With whom did she go off?"
" With nobodhv  there'.g the wnnndr_. y




ANGELINA.                   7
"With nobody!-Incredible!-She had certainly some
admirer, some lover, and she was afraid, I suppose, to
mention the business to you.
"No such thing, my dear: there is no love at all in
the case: indeed, for my part, I cannot in the least comprehend Miss Warwick, nor ever could. She used,
every now and then, to begin and talk to me some nonsense about her hatred of the forms of the world, and
her love of liberty, and I know not what; and then she
had some female correspondent, to whom she used to
write folio sheets, twice a week, I believe; but I never
could see any of these letters. Indeed, in town, you
know, I could not possibly have leisure for such things;
but Miss Burrage, 1 fancy, has one of the letters, if you
have any curiosity to see it. Miss Burrage can tell you
a great deal more of the whole business than I can; for
you know, in London, engaged as I always was, with
scarcely a moment ever to myself, how could I attend to
all Anne Warwick's oddities? I protest I know nothing
of the matter, but that one morning Miss Warwick was
nowhere to be found, and my maid brought me a letter,
of one word of which I could not make sense: the letter
was found on the young lady's dressing-table, according
to the usual custom of eloping heroines. Miss Burrage,
do show Lady Frances the letters-you have them
somewhere; and tell my sister all you know of the matter, for I declare I'm quite tired of it; besides, I shall be
wanted at the card-table."
Lady Diana Chillingworth went to calm her sensibility
at the card-table: and Lady Frances turned to Miss Burrage for further information.
"All I know," said Miss Burrage, "is, that one night 1
saw Miss Warwick putting a lock of frightful hair into a
locket, and I asked her whose it was.-' My amiable
Araminta's,' said Miss Warwick.-' Is she pretty?' said
I. —' I have never seen her,' said Miss Warwick;' but I
will show you a charming picture of her mind!'_anal
she put this long letter into my hand. I'lr leave it wilth
your ladyship, if you please; it is a good or rather a bad
hour's work to read it."
".lraminta!" exclaimed Lady Frances, looking at the
his, A;




8                MORAL TALES.
signature of the letter —" this is only a nom de guerre, I
suppose."
" Heaven knows!" answered Miss Burrage; " but Miss
Warwick always signed her epistles Angelina, and her
unknown friend's were' always signed Araminta. I do
suspect that Araminta, whoever she is, was the instigator of this elopement."
" I wish," said Lady Frances, examining the postmark
of the letter, "' I wish that we could find out where Araminta lives; we might then, perhaps, recover this poor
Miss Warwick, before the affair is talked of in the world
-before her reputation is injured."
" It would certainly be a most desirable thing," said
Miss Burrage; " but Miss Warwick has such odd notions,
that I question whether she will ever behave like other
people; and, for my part, I cannot blame Lady Diana
Chillingworth for giving her up. She is one of those
young ladies whom it is scarcely possible to manage by
common sense."
" It is certainly true," said Lady Frances. " that young
women of Miss Warwick's superior abilities require
something more than common sense to direct them properly. Young ladies who think of nothing but dress,
public amusements, and forming what they call high
connexions, are undoubtedly most easily managed, by
the fear of what the world will say of them; but Miss
Warwick appeared to me to have higher ideas of excellence; and I therefore regret that she should be totally
given up by her friends."
" It is Miss Warwick who has given up her friends,"
said Miss Burrage, with a mixture of embarrassment and
sarcasm in her manner; "it is Miss Warwick who has
given up her friends; not Miss Warwick's friends who
have given up Miss Warwick."
The letter from the " amiable Araminta," which Miss
Burrage left for the perusal of Lady Frances Somerset,
contained three folio sheets, of which, it is hoped, the
following abridgment will be sufficiently ample to satisfy
the curiosity even of those who are lovers of long letters:
"Yes, my Angelina! our hearts are formed for that




ANGELINA.                   9
higher species of friendship of which common souls are
inadequate to form an idea, however their fashionable
puerile lips may, in the intellectual inanity of their conversation, profane the term. Yes, my Angelina, you are
right-every fibre of my frame, every energy of my intellect, tells me so. I read your letter by moonlight!
The air balmy and pure as my Angelina's thoughts!The river silently meandering!-The  rocks!-The
woods!-Nature in all her majesty. Sublime confidante! sympathizing with my supreme felicity. And
shall I confess to you, friend of my soul! that I could
not refuse myself the pleasure of reading to my Orlando
some of those passages in your last which evince so
powerfully the superiority of that understanding which,
If'I mistake not strangely, is formed to combat, in all its
Proteus forms, the system of social slavery?  With
what soul-rending eloquence does my Angelina describe
the solitariness, the isolation of the heart she experiences
in a crowded metropolis! With what emphatic energy
of inborn independence does she exclaim against the
family phalanx of her aristocratic persecutors!-Surely
-surely she will not be intimidated from' the settled
purpose of her soul' by the phantom-fear of worldly
censure!-The garnish-tinselled wand of fashion has
waved in vain in the illuminated halls of folly-painted
pleasure; myAngelina's eyes have withstood-yes, without a blink-the dazzling enchantment. And will she
-no, I cannot —I will not think so for an instant-will
she now submit her understanding, spell-bound, to the
soporific charm of nonsensical words, uttered in an awful
tone by that potent enchantress Prejudice?  The declamation, the remonstrances of self-elected judges of right
and wrong should be treated with deserved contempt by
superior minds, who claim the privilege of thinking and
acting for themselves. The words ward and gouardian
appal my Angelina! but what are legal technical formalities, what are human institutions, to the view of
shackle-scorning Reason?-Oppressed, degraded, enslaved,-must our unfortunate sex for ever submit to
sacrifice their rights, their pleasures, their will, at the
altar of public opinion; while the shouts of interested




10                MORAL TALES.
priests and idle spectators raise the senseless enthusiasm of the self-devoted victim, or drown her cries in
the truth-extorting moment of agonizing nature! You
will not perfectly understand, perhaps, to what these
last exclamations of your Araminta allude:-but, chosen
friend of my heart!-when we meet-and 0 let that be
quickly!-my cotttage longs for the arrival of my unsophisticated Angelina! —when we meet you shall know
all-your Araminta, too, has had her sorrows.-Enough
of this!-But her Orlando has a heart, pure as the infantine god of love could, in his most perfect mood, delight at once to wound, and own —joined to an understanding-shall I say it?-worthy to judge of your Araminta's. And will not my sober-minded Angelina prefer,
to all that palaces can afford, such society in a cottage?
— I shall reserve for my next the description of a cottage, which I have in my eye, within view of -; but
I will not anticipate.-Adieu, my amiable Angelina.-I
enclose, as you desire, a lock of my hair.-Ever, unalterably, your affectionate, though almost heart-broken,
" ARAMINTA.
"April, 1800. —/ngelina Bower!'So let me christen my cottage!"
What effect this letter may have on sober-minded readers in general can easily be guessed; but Miss Warwick,
who was little deserving of this epithet, was so charmed
with the sound of it, that it made her totally to forget to
judge of her amiable Araminta's mode of reasoning"Garnish-tinselled wands" —" shackle-scorning  Reason"-" isolation of the heart" —" soul-rending eloquence"-with "rocks and woods, and a meandering
river-balmy air-moonlight-Orlando- energy of intellect-a cottage-and a heart broken friend," made,
when all mixed together, strange confusion in Angelina's
imagination. She neglected to observe that her Araminta was, in the course of two pages, "almost heartbroken"-and in the possession of "supreme felicity."
Yet Miss Warwick, though she judged so like a simpleton, was a young woman of considerable abilities: her
want of what the world calls common sense arose from




ANGELINA.                  11
certain mistakes in her education. She had passed her
childhood with a father and mother who cultivated her
literary taste, but who neglected to cultivate her judgment: her reading was confined to works of imagination;
and the conversation which she heard was not calculated
to give her any knowledge of realities. Her parents
died when she was about fourteen, and she then went'to reside with Lady Diana Chillingworth, a lady who
placed her whole happiness in living in a certain circle
of high company in London. Miss Warwick saw the
follies of the society with which she was now mixed;
she felt insupportable ennui fiom the want of books and
conversation suited to her taste; she heard with impatience Lady Diana's dogmatical advice; observed with
disgust the meanness of her companion, Miss Burrage;
and felt with triumph the superiority of her own abilities.
It was in this situation of her mind, that Miss Warwick
happened at a circulating library to meet with a new
novel, called " The Woman of Genius." The character
of Araminta the heroine, charmed her beyond measure;
and having been informed by the preface that the story
was founded on facts in the life of the authoress herself,
she longed to become acquainted with her, and addressed
a letter to " The Woman of Genius," at her publisher's.
The letter was answered in a highly flattering, and consequently very agreeable style, and the correspondence
continued for nearly two years; till at length Miss W.
formed a strong desire to see her unknownfriend. The
ridicule with which Miss Burrage treated every thing
and every idea that was not sanctioned by fashion, and
her total want of any taste for literature, were continually
contrasted, in Miss Warwick's mind, with the picture
she had formed of her Araminta. Miss Burrage, who
dreaded, though certainly without reason, that she might
be supplanted in the good graces of Lady Diana, endeavoured by every petty means in her power, to disgust her
young rival with the situation in which she was placed.
She succeeded beyond her hopes. Miss Warwick determined to accept her unknown friend's invitation to Angelina Bower,-a charming romantic cottage in South
Wales, where, according to Araminta's description, she




12                MORAL TALES.
might pass her halcyon days in tranquil, elegant retirement. It was not difficult for our heroine, though unused
to deception, to conceal her project from Lady Diana
Chillingworth, who was much more observant of the
appearance of her protegee in public, than interested
about what passed in her mind in private. Miss Warwick quitted her ladyship's house without the least difficulty; and the following is the letter which our heroine
left upon her dressing-table. Under all the emphatic
words, according to the custom of some letter-writers,
were drawn emphatic lines.
"Averse, as I am, to every thing that may have the
appearance of a clandestine transaction, I have, however,
found myself under the necessity of leaving your ladyship's house without imparting to you my intentions.
Confidence and sympathy go hand-in-hand, nor can either
be commanded by the voice of authority. Your ladyship's opinions and mine, upon all subjects, differ so
essentially, that I could never hope for your approbation,
either of my sentiments or my conduct. It is my unalterable determination to act and think upon every occasion for myself; though I am well aware that they who
start out of the common track, either in word or action,
are exposed to the ridicule and persecution of vulgar or
illiberal minds. They who venture to carry the first
torch into unexplored or unfrequented passages in the
mine of truth, are exposed to the most imminent danger.
Rich, however, are the treasures of the place, and cowardly the soul that hesitates! But I forget myself.
" It may be necessary to inform your ladyship that,
disgusted with the frivolity of what is called fashionable
life, and unable to live without the higher pleasures of
friendship, I have chosen for my asylum the humble,
tranquil cottage of a female friend, whose tastes, whose
principles have long been known to me; whose genius
I admire! whose virtues I revere! whose example 1
emulate!
"Though I do not condescend to use the fulsome language of a mean dependant, I am not forgetful of the
kindness I have received from your ladyship. It has not




ANGELINA.                   13
been without a painful struggle that I have broken my
bonds asunder-the bonds of what isfalsely called dutty:
spontaneous gratitude ever will have full, indisputable,
undisputed power over the heart and understanding of
" ANNE-ANGELINA WARWICKC.
"P. S. It will be in vain to attempt to discover the
place of my retreat. All I ask is to be left in peace, to
enjoy in my retirement perfectfelicity."
CHAPTER II.
FULL of her hopes of finding "perfect felicity" in her
retreat at Angelina Bower, exulting in the idea of the
courage and magnanimity with which she had escaped
from her " aristocratic persecutors," our heroine pursued
her.journey to South Wales.
She had the misfortune,-and it is a great misfortune
to a young lady of her way of thinking,-to meet with
no difficulties or adventures-nothing interesting upon
her journey. She arrived with inglorious safety at Cardiffe. The inn at Cardiffe was kept by a landlady of the
name of Hoel. "Not high-born Hoel. Alas!" said
Angelina to herself, when the name was screamed in
her hearing by a waiter, as she walked into the inn.
"Vocal no more to high born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellynn's lay!" A harper was sitting in the passage, and
he tuned his harp to catch her attention as she passed.
"-A harp!-tO, play for me some plaintive air!" The
harper followed her into a small parlour.
"How  delightful!" said Miss Warwick, who, in
common with other heroines, had the habit of talking to
herself; or, to use more dignified terms, who had the
habit of indulging in soliloquy; " how delightful to taste
at last the air of Wales. But'tis a pity'tis not North
instead of South Wales, and Conway instead of Cardiffe
Castle."
The harper, after he had finished playing a melancholy
air, exclaimed, "That was but a melancholy ditty, Miss;
we'll try a merrier." And he began,
"Of a noble race was Lhenkin."
B




14               MORAL TALES
"No more!" cried Angelina, stopping her ears; "no
more, barbarous man! You break the illusion."
"Break the what?" said the harper to himself; "I
thought, Miss, that tune would surely please you, for it
is a favourite one in these parts."
"A favourite with Welsh squires, perhaps," said our
heroine; " but, unfortunately, I am not a Welsh squire,
and have no taste for your'Bumper Squire Jones.."
The man tuned his harp sullenly. "I'm sorry for it,
Miss," said he: "more's the pity, I can't please you
better!"
Angelina cast upon him a look of contempt. "He no
way fills my idea of a bard!-an ancient and immortal
bard!  He has no soul-fingers without a soul!  No'master's hand,' or' prophet's fire!' No' deep sorrows!'
No' sable garb of wo!' No loose beard or hoary hair'streaming like a meteor to the troubled air!''No
haggard eves!' Heigho!"
" It is time for me to be going," said the harper, who
began to think, by the young lady's looks and manners,
that she was not in her right understanding: " it is time
for me to be going; the gentleman above, in the Dolphin,
will be ready for me."
"A mere modern harper! He is not even blind!"
Angelina said to herself, as he examined the shilling
which she gave him. "Begone, for Heaven's sake!"
added she, aloud, as he left the room; "and leave me,
leave me to repose."
She threw up the sash to taste the evening air; but
scarcely had she begun to repeat a sonnet to her Araminta-scarcely had she repeated the first two lines,
"Hail, far-famed, fairest unknown friend,
Our sacred silent sympathy of soul,"when a little ragged Welsh boy, who was playing with
his companions in a field at the back of Cardiffe inn,
espied her, gave the signal to his playfellows, and immediately they all came running up to the window at which
Angelina was standing, and with one loud shrill chorus
of " Gi' me ha'penny! Gi' me ha'penny! Gi' me one
ha'penny!" interrupted the sonnet. Angelina threw
out some money to the boys, though she was provoked




ANGE LINA.                 15
by their interruption: her donation was, in the true spirit
of a heroine, much greater than the occasion required;
and the consequence was, that these urchins, by spreading the fame of her generosity through the town of Cardiffe, collected a Lilliputian mob of petitioners, who
assailed Angelina with fresh vehemence. Not a moment's peace, not a moment for poetry or revery would
they allow her; so that she was impatient for her
chaise to come to the door. Her Araminta's cottage was
but six miles distant from Cardiffe; and, to speak in due
sentimental language, every moment that delayed her
long-expected interview with her beloved unknown friend
appeared to her an age.
" And what would you be pleased to have for supper,
ma'am?" said the landlady. " We have fine Tenby oysters, ma'am; and if you'd like a Welsh rabbit —"
" Tenby oysters! Welsh rabbits!" repeated Angelina,
in a disdainful tone; "O, detain me not in this cruel
manner! I want no Tenby.oysters, I want no Welsh
rabbits; only let me be gone-I am all impatience to see
a dear friend. 0, if you have any feeling, any humanity,
detain me not!" cried she, clasping her hands.
Miss Warwick had an ungovernable propensity to make
a display of sensibility; a fine theatrical scene upon
every occasion; a propensity which she had acquired
from novel-reading. It was never more unluckily displayed than in the present instance; for her audience
and spectators, consisting of the landlady, a waiter, and
a Welsh boy who just entered the room with a knifetray in his hand, were all more inclined to burst into
rude laughter than to join in gentle sympathy. The
chaise did not come to the door one moment sooner than
it would have done without this pathetic wringing of
the hands. As soon as Angelina drove from the door,
the landlady's curiosity broke forth" Pray tell me, Hugh Humphries," said Mrs. Hoel,
turning to the postillion who drove Angelina from Newport-" pray, now, does not this seem strange, that such
a young lady as this should be travelling about in such
wonderful haste?-I believe, by her flighty airs, she is
upon no good errand-and I would have her to know, at
30




16               MORAL TALES.
any rate, that she might have done better than to sneei,
in that way, at Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe, and her Tenby
oysters, and her Welsh rabbit-O, I'll make her repent
herpehaviour to Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe.-' Not high-born
Hoel,' forsooth!-How does she know that, I should be
glad to hear?-The Hoels are as high-born, I'll venture
to say, as my young Miss herself, I've a notion; and
would scorn, moreover, to have a runaway lady for a
relation of theirs. 0, she shall learn to repent of her
disrespects of Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe-I pelieve she shall
soon meet herself in the public newspapers-her eyes,
and her nose, and her hair, and her inches, and her description at full length she shall see-and her friends
shall see it too-and maybe they shall thank, and maybe
they shall reward handsomely Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe."
While the angry Welsh lady was thus forming projects
of revenge fbr the contempt with -which she imagined
that her high birth and her Tenby oysters had been treated, Angelina pursued her journey towards the cottage of.
her unknown friend, forming charming pictures in her
imagination, of the manner in which her amiable Araminta would start, and weep, and faint, perhaps, with
joy and surprise, at the sight of her Angelina. It was a
fine moonlight night;-an unlucky circumstance, for the
by-road which led to Angelina Bower, was so narrow
and bad, that if the night had been dark, our heroine
must infallibly have been overturned, and this overturn
would have been a delightful incident in the history of
her journey; but fate ordered it otherwise. Miss Warwick had nothing to lament, but that her delicious reveries were interrupted for several miles by the Welsh
postillion's expostulations with his horses.
" Good heavens!" exclaimed she, "cannot the man
hold his tongue?-His uncouth vociferations distract
nme! —So fine a scene, so placid the moonlight-but
there is always something that is not in perfect unison
with one's feelings."
"Miss, if you please, you must light here, and walk
for a matter of a quarter of a mile, for I can't drive up
to the house-door, because there is no carriage road
down the lane; but, if you be pleased, I'll go on before




ANGELINA.                    17
you-my horses will stand quite quiet here-and I'll
knock the folks up for you, Miss."
"Folks!-O don't talk to me of knocking the folks
up," cried Angelina, springing out of the carriage:
"stay with your horses, man, I beseech you. You
shall be summoned when you are wanted-I choose to
walk up to the cottage alone."
"As you please, Miss," said the postillion; " only hur
had better take care of the dogs."
This last piece of counsel was lost upon our heroine;
she heard it not-she was " rapt into future times."
"By moonlight will be our first interview —just as I
had pictured to myself-but can this be the cottage?-It
does not look quite so romantic as I expected —but'tis
the dwelling of my Araminta-happy, thrice happy moment! -Now for our secret signal-I am to sing the first,
aid my unknown friend the second part of the same air."
Angelina then began to sing th? following stanza:" O0 waly waly up the bank,
O waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burnside,
Where I and my love were wont to gae."
She sang, and paused in expectation of hearing the
second part from her amiable Araminta-but no voice
was heard.
"All is hushed," said Angelina-" ever tranquil be
her slumbers! Yet I must waken her-her surprise
and joy at seeing me thus will be so great! —by moonlight too!"
She knocked at the cottage window-still no answer.
"All silent as night!" said she"' When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene.'"
Angelina, as she repeated these lines, stood with her
back to the cottage window: the window opened, and a
Welsh servant girl put out her head; her night-cap, if
cap it might be called, which shape had none, was half
off, her black hair streamed over her shoulders, and her
face was the face of vulgar superstitious amazement.
"Oh,'tis our old ghost of Nelly Gwynn, all in white,
walking and saying her prayers packwards —I heard'em
B 9




18                BIORAL TALES.
quite plain, as I hope to preathe," said the terrified girl
to herself; and shutting the window with a trembling
hand, she hastened to waken an old woman who slept
in the same room with her. Angelina, whose patience
was by this time exhausted, went to the door of the cottage, and shook it with all her force. It rattled loud,
and a shrill scream was heard from within.
" A scream!" cried Angelina; " Oh, my Araminta!all is hushed again." Then raising her voice, she called
as loudly as she could at the window, " My Araminta!
my unknown friend! be not alarmed,'tis your Angelina."
The door opened slowly and softly, and a slip-shod
beldam peeped out, leaning upon a stick; the head of
Betty Williams appeared over the shoulder of this sybil;
Angelina was standing, in a pensive attitude, listening
at the cottage window; at this instant the postillion,
who was tired of waiting, came whistling up the lane;
he carried a trunk on. his back, and a bag in his hand.
As soon as the old woman saw him, she held up her
stick, exclaiming"A  man! a man!-a ropper and murterer!-Cot
save us! and keep the door Fast polted." They shut
the door instantly.
"What is all this?" said Angelina, with dignified
com posure.
"' A couple of fools, I take it, Miss, who are afraid and
in tred of roppers," said the postillion; "put I'll make'em come out, I'll pe pound, plockheads." So saying,
he went to the door of Angelina Bower, and thundered
and kicked at it, speaking all the time very volubly in
Wtelsh. In about a quarter of an hour he made them
comprehend that Angelina was a young lady come to
visit their mistress: then they came forth courtesying.
"My name's Betty Williams," said the girl, who was
tying a clean cap under her chin.'"Welcome to Llanwaetur, Miss!-pe pleased to excuse our keeping hur
waiting, and polting the toor, and taking hur for a ghost
and a ropper —put we know who you are now-the
young lady from London, that we were told to expect."
" Oh, then I have been expected? all's right-and my
Araminta, where is s-he?- where Ls she 2"




ANGELINA.                  19
"Welcome to Llanwaetur, welcome to Llanwaetur,
and Cot bless hur pretty face," said the old woman,
who followed Betty Williams out of the cottage.
"Hur's my grandmother, Miss," said Betty.
"Very likely-but let me see my Araminta," cried
Angelina: "cruel woman! where is she, I say?"
" Cot pless hur!-Cot pless hur pretty face," repeated the old woman, courtesying.
"My grandmother's as deaf as a post, Miss-don't
mind her; she can't tell Inglis well, put I can: who
would you pe pleased to have?"
" In plain English, then, the lady who lives in this
cottage."
"Our Miss Hodges?"
This odious name of Hodges provoked Angelina, who
was so used to call her friend Araminta, that she had
almost forgotten her real name.
O Miss," continued Betty Williams, " Miss Hodges
has gone to Pristol for a few days."
"Gone! how unlucky! mny Araminta gone!"
"Put Miss Hodges will pe pack on Tuesday-Miss
Hodges did not expect her till Thursday-put hur ped
is very well aired —pe pleased to walk in, and light hur
a candle, and get hur a night-cap."
"Heigho! must I sleep again without seeing my
Araminta! —well, but I shall sleep in a cottage, for the
first time in my life"' The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed.'"
At this moment Angelina, forgetting to stoop, hit herself a violent blow as she was entering Angelina Bower
-the roof of which, indeed, "was too low for so lofty
a head." A headache came on, which kept her awake
the greatest part of the night. In the morning she set
about to explore the cottage; it was nothing like the species of elegant retirement of which she had drawn such
a charming picture in her imagination. It consisted of
three smnall bed-chambers, which were more like what
she had been used to call closets; a parlour, the walls of
which were, in many places, stained with damp; and a
kitchen which smoked. The scanty moth-eaten furni30*




20                MORAL TALES.
ture oftthe rooms was very different from the luxury and
elegance to which Angelina had been accustomed in the
apartments of Lady Diana Chillingworth. Coarse and illdressed was the food which Betty Williams, with great
bustle and awkwardness, served up to her guest; but
Angelina was no epicure. The first dinner which she
ate on wooden trenchers delighted her; the second, third,
fourth, and fifth appeared less and less delectable, so that
by the time she had boarded one week at her cottage she
was completely convinced that
" A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
And water from the spring,"
though delightful to Goldsmith's hermit, are not quite
so satisfactory in actual practice as in poetic theory; at
least to a young lady who had been habituated to all the
luxuries of fashionable life. It was vain that our
heroine repeated,
"Man wants but little here below:"
she found that even the want of double-refined sugar,
of green tea, and Mocha coffee, was sensibly felt. Hour
after hour, and day after day, passed with Angelina in
anxious expectation of her Araminta's return home.
Her time hung heavily upon her hands, for she had no
companion with whom she could converse; and one
odd volume of Rousseau's Eloise and a few well-thumbed
German plays were the only books which she could
find in the house. There was, according to Betty
Williams's report, " a vast sight of books in a press,
along with some table-cloths," but Miss Hodges had
the key of this press in her pocket. Deprived of the
pleasures both of reading and. conversation, Angelina
endeavoured to amuse herself by contemplating th.e
beauties of nature. There were some wild, solitary
walks in the neighbourhood of Angelina Bower; but
though our heroine was delighted with these, she
wanted, in her rambles, some kindred soul to whom she
might exclaim, "How charming is solitude!" The
day after her arrival in Wales, she wrote a long letter
to Araminta, which Betty Williams undertook to send
by a careful, lad, a particular friend of her own, who
would deliver it without fail into Miss Hodges' own




ANGELINA.                   21
hands, and who would engage to bring an answer by
three o'clock the next day. The careful lad did not return till four days afterward, and he then could give no
account of his mission, except that he had left the letter
at Bristol with a particular friend of his own, who would
deliver it, without fail, into Miss Hodges' own hands,
if he could meet with her. The post seems to be the
last expedient which a heroine ever thinks of for the
conveyance of her letters; so that, if we were to judge
from the annals of romance, we should infallibly conclude there was no such thing as a post-office in England. On the sixth day of her abode at this comfortless
cottage, the possibility of sending a letter to her friend
by the post occurred to Angelina, and she actually discovered that there was a post-office at Cardiffe. Before
she could receive an answer to this epistle, a circumstance happened which made her determine to abandon
her present retreat. One evening she rambled out to a
considerable distance from the cottage, and it was long
after sunset ere she recollected that it would be necessary to return homewards before it grew dark. She
mistook her way at last, and following a sheep-path
down the steep side of a mountain, she came to a point
at which she apparently could neither advance nor recede. A stout Welsh farmer, who was counting his
sheep in a field at the top of the mountain, happened to
look down its steep side in search of one of his flock that
was missing: the farmer saw something white at a distance below him, but there was a mist-it was dusk in
the evening-and whether it were a woman or a sheep
he could not be certain. In the hope that Angelina was
his lost sheep, he went to her assistance, and though,
upon a nearer view, he was disappointed in finding that
she was a woman, yet he had the humanity to hold out
his stick to her, and he helped her up by it, with some
difficulty. One of her slippers fell off as she scrambled
up the hill-there was no recovering it; her other slipper,
which was of the thinnest kid leather, was cut through
by the stones; her silk stockings were soon stained withi
the blood of her tender feet; and it was with real gratitude that she accepted the farmer's offer to let her pass




22                MORAL TALES.
the night at his farm-house, which was within view.
Angelina Bower was, according to his computation,
about four miles distant, as well, he said, as he could
judge of the place she meant by her description: she
had unluckily forgotten that the common name of it
was Llanwaetur. At the farner's house she was at first
hospitably received by a tight-looking woman; but she
had not been many minutes seated, before she found
herself the object of much curiosity and suspicion. In
one corner of the room, at a small round table, with a
jug of ale before him, sat a man, who looked like the
picture of a Welsh squire, a candle had just been lighted
for his worship, for he was a magistrate and a great
man in those parts, for he could read the newspaper,
and his company was, therefore, always welcome to the
farmer, who loved to hear the news; and the reader was
paid for his trouble with good ale, which he loved even
better than literature.
"What news, Mr. Evans?" said the farmer.
" What news?" repeated Mr. Evans, looking up
from his paper, with a sarcastic smile. "Why, news
that might not be altogether so agreeable to the whole of
this good company; so'tis best to keep it to ourselves."
" Every thing's agreeable to me, I'm sure," said the
farmer —" every thing's agreeable to me in the way of
news."
"And to me, not excepting politics, which you gentlemen always think so polite," said the farmer's wife,
"to keep to yourselves; but, you recollect, I was used
to politics when I lived with my uncle at Cardiffe; —not
having, though a farmer's wife, always lived in the
country, as you see, ma'am-nor being quite illiterate.
-.Well, Mr. Evans, let us have it. What news of the
fleets?"
Mr; Evans made no reply, but pointed out a passage
in the newspaper to the farmer, who leaned over his
shoulder, in vain endeavouring to spell and put it together: his smart wife, whose curiosity was at least
equal to her husband's, ran immediately to peep at the
wonderful paragraph, and she read aloud the beginning
of an advertisement:




ANGELINA.                  23
"Suspected to have strayed or eloped from her friends
br relations, a young lady, seemingly not more than sixteen years of age, dressed in white, with a straw hat:
blue eyes, light hair."
Angelina coloured so deeply while this was reading,
and the description so exactly suited with her appearance, that the fannrmer's wife stopped short; the farmer
fixed his eyes upon her; and Mr. Evans cleared his
throat several times with much significance. A general
silence ensued; at last the three heads nodded to one
another across the round table; the farmer whistled and
walked out of the room; his wife fidgeted at a buffet,
in which she began to arrange some cups and saucers;
and, after a few minutes, she followed her husband.
Angelina took up the newspaper to read the remainder of
the advertisement. She could not doubt that it was
meant for her, when she saw that it was dated the very
day of her arrival at the inn at Cardiffe, and signed by the
landlady of the inn, Mrs. Hoel. Mr. Evans swallowed
the remainder of his ale, and then addressed Angelina
in these words:"Young lady, it is plain to see you know when the
cap fits: now, if you'll take my advice, you'll not make
the match you have in your eye; for though a lord's
son, he is a great gambler. I dined with one that has
dined with him not long ago. My son, who has a
living near Bristol, knows a great deal-more about you
than you'd think; and'tis my advice to you, which I
wouldn't be at the trouble of giving if you were not as
pretty as you are, to go back to your relations; for
he'll never marry you, and marriage, to be sure, is your
object. I have no more to say, but only this-I shall
think it my duty, as a magistrate, to let your friends
know as soon as possible where you are, coming under
my cognizance as you do; for a vagabond, in the eye
of the law, is a person"Angelina had not patience to listen to any more of
this speech; she interrupted Mr. Evans with a look of
indi.gnation, assured him that he was perfectly unintelI gible to her, and walked out of the room with great
dignitv.  Her dignity made no impression upon the




24               MORAL TALES.
farmer or his wife, who now repented having offered
her a night's lodging in their house. In the morning
they were as eager to get rid of her as she was impatient to depart. Mr. Evans insisted upon seeing her
safe home, evidently for the purpose of discovering precisely where she lived. Angelina saw that she could
no longer remain undisturbed in her retreat, and determined to set out immediately in quest of her unknown
friend at Bristol. Betty Williams, who had a strong
desire to have a jaunt to Bristol, a town which she had
never seen but once in her life, offered to attend Miss
Warwick, assuring her that she perfectly well knew
the house where Miss Hodges always lodged. Her
offer was accepted; and what adventures our heroine
met with in Bristol, and what difficulties she encountered before.she discovered her Araminta, will be seen
in the next chapter.
CHAPTER III.
ANGELINA went by water from Cardiffe to Bristol;
the water was rather rough, and, as she was unused to
the motion of a vessel, she was both frightened and sick.
She spent some hours very disagreeably, and without
even the sense of acting like a heroine to support her
spirits. It was late in the evening before she arrived at
the end of her voyage: she was landed on-the quay at
Bristol. No hackney-coach was to be had, and she was
obliged to walk to the Bush. To find herself in the
midst of a bustling, vulgar crowd, by whom she was unknown, but not unnoticed, was new to Miss Warwick.
While she was with Lady Diana Chillingworth, she had
always been used to see crowds make way for her; she
was now surprised to feel herself jostled in the streets
by passengers who were all full of their own affairs,
hurrying different ways, in pursuit of object which probably seemed to them as important as the search for an
unknown friend appeared to Angelina.
Betty Willianls's friend's friend, the careful lad who
was to deliver the letter to Miss Hodges, was a waiter
at the Bush. Upon inquiry. it was found that he had




ANGELINA.                   25
totally forgotten his promise: Angelina's letter was,
after much search, found in a bottle-drainer, so much
stained with port wine that it was illegible. The man
answered with the most provoking nonchalance, when
Angelina reproached him for his carelessness, "that,
indeed, no such person as Miss Hodges was to be found;
that nobody he could meet with had ever heard the
name."  They who are extremely enthusiastic suffer
continually from the total indifference of' others to their
feelings; and young people can scarcely conceive the
extent of this indifference until they have seen something
of the world. Seeing the world does not always mean
seeing a certain set of company in London.
Angelina, the morning after her arrival at the Bush,
took a hackney-coach, and left the care of directing the
coachman to Betty Williams, who professed to have a
perfect knowledge of Bristol. Betty desired the man to
drive to the drawdridge; and at the sound of the word
drawbridge, various associations of ideas with the drawbridges ot' ancient times were called up in Miss Warwick's imagination. How different was the reality
from her castles in the air! She was roused from her
revery by the voices of Betty Williams and the coachman.
"Where will I drive ye to, I ask you?" said the
coachman, who was an Irishman: "' ill I stand all day
upon the drawbridge stopping the passage?'
" Trive on a step, and I will get out and see apout
me," said Betty: " I know the look of the house as well
as I know any thing."
Betty got out of the coach, -and walked up and down
the street, looking at the houses like one bewildered.
" Bad luck to you, for a Welsh woman as you are!"
exclaimed the coachman, jumping down from the box;
~" will I lave the young lady standing in the streets all
day alone for you to be making a fool this way of us
both? Sorrow take me now! If I do-"
" Pless us r pe not in a pet or a pucker, or how shall
I recollect anybody or anything! Cood! cood! Stand
you there while I just say over my alphabet:-a, p, c,
t, e, f, g, h, i, k, i, rn, n, o, b. It was some name which
pegins with' nmi opds with a t,! peTieve."




26               MORAL TALE S.
"Here's a pretty direction, upon my troth! Some
name which begins with a p and ends with a t!" cried
the coachman; and after he had uttered half a score of
Hibernian execrations upon the Welsh woman's folly,
he with much good nature went along with her to read the
names on the street doors. "Here's a name now that's
the very thing for you: here's Pushit, now. Was the
name Pushit? Ricollict yourself, my good girl; was
that your name?"
" Pushit! 0 yes, I am sure and pelieve it was Pushit
-Mrs. Pushit's house, Pristol, where our Miss Hodges
lodges alway."
" Mrs. Pushit-but this is quite another man; I tell you
this is Sir John. Faith, now we are in luck," continued the coachman; " here's another p just at hand;
here's Mrs. Puffit: sure she begins with a p and ends
with a t, and is a milliner into the bargain! so, sure
enough, I'll engage the young lady lodges here. Puffit
— hey? Ricollict now, and don't be looking as if you'r'
just been pulled out of' your sleep, and had never been
in a Christian town before now."'
" Pless us! Cot pless us!" said the Welsh girl, who
was quite overpowered by the Irishman's flow of words;
and she was on the point of havinrg recourse, in her own
defence, to her native tongue, in which she could have
matched either male or female in fluencv; but, to Angelina's great relief, the dialogue between the coachman
and Betty Williams ceased. The coachman drew up to
Mrs. Puffit's; but, as there was a handsome carriage at
the door, Miss Warwick was obliged to wait in her
hackney-coach some time longer. The handsome carriage belonged to Lady Frances Somerset. By one of
those extraordinary coincidences which sometimes occur
in real life, but which are scarcely believed to be natural
when they are related in books, Miss Warwick happened to come to this shop at the very moment when
the persons she most wished to avoid were there.
While the dialogue between Betty Williams and the
hackney-coachman was passing, Lady Diana Chillingworth.and Miss Burrage were seated in Mrs. Puffit's
shop: Lady Diana was extremely busy bargaining




ANGELINA.                  27
with the milliner; for, though rich, and a woman of
quality, her ladyship piqued herself upon making the
cheapest bargains in the world.
"Your la'ship did not look at this eight-and-twenty
shilling lace," said Mrs. Puffit; "'tis positively the
cheapest thing your la'ship ever saw. Jessy! the laces
in the little blue bandbox. —Quick! for my Lady Di.Quick! "
"But it is out of my power to stay to look at any
thing more now," said Lady Diana; "c and yet," whispered she to Miss Burrage, "when one does go out a
shopping, one certainly likes to bring home a bargain."
"Certainly; but Bristol's not the place for bargains,"
said Miss Burrage; " you will find nothing tolerable, I
assure you, my Dear Lady Di, at Bristol."
"Why, my dear," said her ladyship, " were you ever
at Bristol before? How comes it that I never heard that
you were at Bristol before? Where were you, child?"
"At the Wells, at the Wells, ma'am," replied Miss
Burrage, and she turned pale and red in the space of a
few seconds; bt Lady Diana, who was very nearsighted, was holding her head so close to the blue bandbox full of lace, that she could not see the changes in
her companion's countenance. The fact was, that Miss
Burrage was born and bred in Bristol, where she had
several relations, who were not in high life, and by
whom she consequently dreaded to be claimed. When
she first met Lady Diana Chillingworth at Buxton,- she
had passed herself upon her for one of the Burrages of
Dorsetshire, and she knew that if her ladyship was to
discover the truth she would cast her off with horror.
For this reason, she had done every thing in her power
to prevent Lady Di from coming to Clifton; and for-this
reason she now endeavoured to persuade her that nothing tolerable could be met with at Bristol.
"I am  afraid, Lady Di, you will be late at Lady
Mary's," said she.
" Look at this lace, child, and give me your opinion —
eight-and-twenty shillings, Mrs. Puffit, did you say?"
"Eight-and-twenty, my lady; and I lose by every
yard I sell at that price. " Ma'am, you see," said Mrs.
31




28               MORAL TALES.
Puffit, appealing to Miss Burrage, "'tis real Valenciennes, you see."
"I see'tis horrid dear," said Miss Burrage: then, in
a whisper to Lady Di, she added, " at Miss Trenthham's, at the Wells, your ladyship will meet with such
bargains!"
Mrs. Puffiit put her lace upon the alabaster neck of
the large doll which stood in the middle of her shop.
"Only look, my lady —only see, ma'am, how beautiful
becoming'tis to the neck, and sets off a dress too, you
know, ma'am. And" (turning to Miss Burrage) " eightand-twenty, you know, ma'am, is really nothing for
any lace you'd wear; but more particularly for real
Valenciennes, which can scarce be had real, for love or
money-, since the French revorlution-real Valenciennes!-and will wear and wash, and wash and wear
(not that your ladyship minds that) for ever and ever-and
is such a bargain, and so becoming to the neck, especially to ladies of your ladyship's complexion."'
"Well, I protest, I believe, Burraje. I don't know
what to say, my dear, hey?"
"I'm told," whispered Miss Burrage, "that Miss
Trentham's to have a lace raffle at the Wells next week."
" A raffle!" cried Lady Di, turning her back immediately upon the doll and the lace.
"Well," cried Mrs. Puffit, "instead of eight say
seven-and —twenty shillings, Miss Burrage for old acquaintance sake."
" Old acquaintance!" exclaimed Miss Burrage: " la!
Mrs. Puffit, I don't remember ever being twice in your
shop all the time I was at the Wells before.'"
"No, ma'amr," replied Mrs. Puffit, with a malicious
smile, "but when you was living on St. Augustin's
Back."
" Saint Augustin's Back, my dear!" exclaimed
Lady Diana Chillingwo)rth, with a look of horror and
amazement.
Miss Burrage, laying down a bank-note on the
counter, made a quick and expressive sign to the mil3liner to hold her tongue.' Dear Mrs.. Puffit," cried she, "you certainly mis



ANGELINA.                 29
take me for some other strange person. Lady Di, now
I look at it with my glass, this lace is very fine, I mus*
agree with you, and not dear by any means for real
Valenciennes: cut me off three yards of this lace; 1
protest there's no withstanding it, Lady Di."
"Three yards at eight-and-twenty-here, Jessy,"
said Mrs. Puffit. " I beg your pardon, ma'am for my
mistake; I supposed it was some other lady of the
same name; there are so many Burrages.  Only three
yards did you say, ma'ani?"
" Nay, I don't care if you give me four. I'm of the
Burrages of Dorsetshire."
" A very good family, those Burrages of Dorsetshire,
as any in England," said Lady Di; " and put up twelve
yards of this for me, Mrs. Puffit."
"Twelve at eight-and-twenty-yes, my lady-very
much obliged to your ladyship-much obliged to you,
Miss Burrage. Here, Jessy, this to my Lady Di Chillingworth's carriage." Jessy called at the shop-door, in
a shrill voice, to a black servant of Lady Frances Somerset-" Mr. Hector, Mr. Hector! —Sir, pray put this
parcel into the carriage for Lady Diana Chillingworth."
Angelina, who was waiting in her hackney-coach,
started; she could scarcely believe that she heard the
name rightly: but, an instant afterward, the voice of
Lady Diana struck her ear, and she sank back in great
agitation. However, neither Miss Burrage nor Lady Di
saw her; they got into their carriage and drove away.
Angelina was so much alarmed, that she could
scarcely believe that the danger was past when she saw
the carriage at the farthest end of the street.
"Would'nt you be pleased to'light, ma'am  " said
Jessy. " We don't bring things to the door."
"Who have we here?" cried Mrs. Puffit; "who
have we here?"
" Only some folks out of a hack that was kept waiting, and couldn't draw up while my Lady Di's carriage
was at the door," said Jessv.
" A good pretty girl, the'foremost," said Mrs. Puffit.
"But, in the name of wonder, what's that odd fish
coming behind her?"
c2




30                MORAL TALES.
"A queer-looking pair, in good truth!" said Jessy.
Angelina seated herself, and gave a deep sigh-_
c"Ribands, if you please, ma'am," said she to Mrs.
Puffit. "I must," thought she, "ask for something
before I ask for my Araminta."
"Ribands-yes, ma'am-what sort? —Keep an eye
upon the glass," whispered the milliner to her shopgirl, as she stooped behind the counter for a drawer of
ribands —" keep an eye on the glass, Jessy-a girl of
the town, I take it. What colour, ma'am?"
"Blue-' cerulean blue.' Here child," said Angelina,
turning to Betty Williams, " here's a riband for you."
Betty Williams did not hear, for Betty was fascinated
by the eyes of the great doll, opposite to which she stood
fixed..
" Lord, what a fine lady! and how hur stares at Betty
Williams!" thought she: "I wish hur would take her
eyes off me."
" Betty!-Betty Williams!-a riband for you," cried
Angelina, in a louder tone.
Betty started —" Miss!-a riband!" She ran forward,
and in pushing by the doll threw it backward: Mrs.
Puffit caught it in her arms, and Betty, stopping short,
courtesied, and said to the doll, "Peg pardon, misspeg pardon, miss-tit I hurt you?-peg pardon. Pless
us'tis a toll, and no woman I teclare."
The milliner and Jessy now burst into uncontrollable,
and, as Angelina feared, " unextinguishable laughter.'>
Nothing is so distressing to a sentimental heroine as
ridicule: Miss Warwick perceived that she had her
share of that which Betty Williams excited; and she
who imagined herself to be capable of " combating, in
all its Proteus forms, the system of social slavery," was
unable to withstand the laughter of a milliner and her'prentice.
" Do you please to want any thing else, ma'arn?"
said Mrs. Puffit, in a saucy tone-" Rouge, perhaps.'"
" I wish to know, madam," said Angelina, " whether
a lady of the name of Hddges does not lodge here?"
"A lady of the name of Hodges-no, ma'am —I'm
very particular about lodgers-no such lady ever lodged




ANGELINA.                  31
with me.-Jessy! to the door-quick!-Lady Mary
Tasselton's carriage."
Angelina hastily rose and departed. While Jessy ran
to the door, and while Mrs. Puffit's attention was fixed
upon Lady Mary Tasselton's carriage, Betty Williams
twitched from off the doll's shoulders the remainder of
the piece of Valenciennes lace which had been left there.
"Since hur's only wood, I'll make free," said she to
herself, and she carried off the lace unobserved.
Angelina's impatience to find her Araminta was increased by the dread of meeting Lady Di Chillingworth
in every carriage that passed, and in every shop,where
she might call. At the next house at which the coachman stopped, the words Dinah Plait, relict of Jonas Plait,
cheesemonger, were written in large letters over the
shop-door. Angelina thought she was in no danger
of meeting her ladyship here, and she alighted. There
was no one in the shop but a child of seven years old;
he could not understand well what Angelina or Betty
said, but he ran to call his aunt. Dinah Plait was at
dinner; and when the child opened the door of the parlour, there came forth such a savoury smell that Betty
Williams, who was extremely hungry, could not forbear putting her head in, to see what was upon the table.
" Pless hur! heggs and pacon and toasted cheeseCot pless hur!" exclaimed Betty.
"Aunt Dinah," said the child, " here are two women
in some great distress, they told me; and astray and
hungry."
" In some great distress, and astray and hungry! then
let them in here, child, this minute."
There was seated at a small table, in a perfectly neat
parlour, a Quaker, whose benevolent countenance
charmed Angelina the moment she entered the room.
"Pardon this intrusion," said she.
"Friend, thou art welcome," said Dinah Plait and
her looks said so more expressively than her words.
An elderly man rose, and leaving the corkscrew in the
half-drawn cork of a bottle of cider, he set a chair for
Angelina and withdrew to the window.
"Be seated, and eat, for verily thou seemest to be
31*




32                MORAL TALES.
hungry," said Mrs. Plait to Betty Williams, who instantly obeyed, and began to eat like one that had been
half-famished.
" And now, friend, thy business, thy distress-what
is it?" said Dinah,; turning to Angelina: "so young
to have sorrows."
" I had best take myself away," said the elderly gentleman who stood at the window —" I had best take myself away, for Miss may not like to speak before methough she might for that matter."
" Where is the gentleman going?" said Miss Warwick; "I have but one short question to ask, and I
have nothing to say that need""I dare say, young lady, you can have nothing to say
that you need be ashamed of, only people in distress
don't like so well to speak before third folks, I guessthough, to say the truth, I have never known by my
own experience what it was to be in much distress since
I came into the world-but I hope I am not the more
hard-hearted for that-for I can guess, I say, pretty
well, how those in distress feel when they come to
speak. Do as you would be done by, is my maxim till
I can find a better-so I take myself away, leaving my
better part behind me, if it will be of any service to you,
Madam."
As he passed by Miss Warwick he dropped his purse
into.her lap, and he was gone before she could recover
from her surprise.
"' Sir! —Madam!" cried she, rising hastily, "here
has been some strange mistake-I am not a beggar-I
am much, very much obliged to you, but""Nay, keep it friend; keep it," said Dinah Plait,
pressing the purse upon Angelina; "John Barker is as
rich as a Jew, and as generous as a prince. Keep it,
friend, and you'll oblige both him and me-'tis dangerous in this world for one so young and so pretty as you
are to be in great distress; so be not proud."
"I am not proud," said Mis Warwick, drawing her
purse from her pocket; " but my distress is not of a, pecuniary nature.-Convince yourself-I am in distress
only for a friend, an unknown friend."




ANGELINA.'33
"Touched in her brain, I doubt," thought Dinah.
"Coot ale! " exclaimed Betty Williams —" Coot heggs
and pacon."
"Does a lady of the name of Araminta-Miss
Hodges, I mean —lodge here?" said Miss Warwick.
"Friend, I do not let lodgings; and I know of no
such person as Miss Hodges."
"Well, I swear hur name, the coachman told me,
did begin with a p and end with a t," cried Betty Williams, " or I would never have let him knock at hur toor."
" Oh, my Araminta! my Araminta! " exclaimed Angelina, turning up her eyes towards heaven-" when,
O when shall I find thee? I am the most unfortunate
person upon earth."
"Had not her petter eat a hegg and a pit of pacon?
here's one pit left," said Betty: " hur must be hungry,
for'tis two o'clock past, and we preakfasted at ninehur must be hungry;" and Betty pressed her to try the
pacon,; but Angelina put it away} or, in the proper
style, motioned the bacon from her.
I am in no want of food," cried she, rising: " happy they who have no conception of any but corporeal
sufferings. Farewell, Madam!-may the sensibility of
which your countenance is so strongly expressive never
be a source of misery to you!"-and with that depth
of sigh which suited the close of such a speech, Angelina withdrew.
" If I could but have felt her pulse," said Dinah Plait
to herself, "I could have prescribed something that,
maybe, would have done her good, poor distracted thing!
Now it was well done of John Barker to leave this purse
for her-but how is this-poor thing! she's not fit to be
trusted with money-here she has left her own purse
full of guineas."
i Dinah ran immediately to the house-door in hopes of
being able to catch Angelina; but the coach had turned
down into another street, and was out of sight. Mrs.
Plait sent for her constant counsellor, John Barker, to
deliberate on the means of returning the purse. It
should be mentioned, to the credit of Dinah's benevolence, that at the moment when she was interrupted by




34                MORAL TALES.
the entrance of Betty Williams and Angelina, she was
hearing the most flattering things from a person who
was not disagreeable to her: her friend, John Barker,
was a rich hosier, who had retired from business; and
who, without any ostentation, had a great deal of real
feeling and generosity. But the fastidious taste of fine
or sentimental readers will probably be disgusted by our
talking of the feelings and generosity of a hosier and a
cheesemonger's widow. It belongs to a certain class of
people to indulge in the luxury of sentiment; we shall
follow our heroine, therefore, who, both from her birth
and education, is properly qualified to have "exquisite
feelings."
The next house at which Angelina stiped to search
for her amiable Araminta was at Mrs. Porett's academy
for young ladies.
"' Yes, ma'am, Miss Hodges is here.-Pray walk into
this room, and you shall see the young lady immediately." Angelina burst into the room instantly, exclaiming" Oh my Araminta, have I found you at last?"
She stopped short, a little confounded at finding herself in a large room full of young ladies, who were
dancing reels, and who all stood still at one and the same
instant, and fixed their eyes upon her, struck with astonishment at her theatrical entree and exclamation.
" Miss Hodges!" said Mrs. Porett-and a little girl of
seven years old came forward:-" here, ma'am," said
Mrs. Porett to Angelina, " here is Miss Hodges."
"'Not my Miss Hodges! not my Araminta! alas!"
" No, ma'am," said the little girl; "I am only Letty
Hodges."
Several of her companions now began to titter.
"These girls," said Angelina to herself, "' take me for
a fool; and, turning to Mrs. Porett, she apologized for
the trouble she had given, in language as little romantic
as she could condescend to use:
"Tid you bid me, Miss, wait in the coach or the passage?" cried Betty Williams, forcing her way in at the
door, so as almost to push down the dancing-master,
who stood with his back to it.-Betty stared round, and




ANGELINA.                  35
dropped courtesy after courtesy, while the young ladies
laughed and whispered, and whispered and laughed; and
the words odd-vulgar-strange-who is she?-what is
she?-reached Miss Warwick.
"This Welsh girl," thought she, "is my torment.
Wherever I go she makes me share the ridicule of her
folly."
Clara Hope, one of the young ladies, saw and pitied
Angelina's confusion.
"Gif over, an ye have any gude-nature-Gif over
your whispering and laughing," said Clara to her companions: "ken ye not ye make her so bashful she'd
fain hide her face wi' her twa hands."
But it was in vain that the good-natured Clara Hope
remonstrated: her' companions could not forbear tittering, as Betty Williams, upon Miss Warwick's laying
the blame of the mistake on her, replied in strong Welsh
accent" I will swear almost the name was Porett or Plait,
where our Miss Hodges tid always lodge in Pristol.
Porett, or Plait, or Puffit, or some of hur names that
pekin with a p and ent with a t."
Angelina, quite overpowered, shrank back as Betty
bawled out her vindication, and she was yet more confused when Monsieur Richelet, the dancing-master, at
this unlucky instant, came up to her, and with an elegant
bow, said, "It is not difficult to see by her air that
Mademoiselle dances superiorly.-Mademoiselle, vould
she do me de plaisir-de honneur to dance one minuetS "
"Oh, if she would but dance!" whispered some of
the group of young ladies.
"Excuse me, sir," said Miss Warwick.
"Not a minuet?-den a minuet de la cour, a cotillon,
or contre danse, or reel; vatever Mademoiselle please
vill do us honneur."
Angelina, with a mixture of impatience and confusion,
repeated, "Excuse me, sir-I am going-I interruptI beg I may not interrupt."
" A coot morrow to you all, creat and small," said
Betty Williams, courtesying awkwardly at the door as
she went out before Miss Warwick.




36                MORAL TALES.
The young ladies were now diverted so much beyond
the bounds of decorum that Mrs. Porett was obliged to
call them to order.
"Oh, my Araminta, what scenes have I gone through!
to what derision have I exposed myself for your sake?"
said our heroine to herself.
Just as she was leaving the dancing room, she was
stopped short by Betty Williams, who, with a face of
terror, exclaimed, "''1'ls a poy in the hall that I tare not
pass for my lifes; he has a pasket full of pees, in his
hand, and I cannot apide pees ever since one tay when I
was a chilt, and was stung on the nose by a pee. The
poy in the hall has a pasket full of pees, ma'am," said
Betty, with an imploring accent, to Mrs. Porett.
"A basketful of bees!" said Mrs. Porett, laughing:
"0, you are mistaken: I know what the boy has in his
basket —they are only flowers; they are not bees; you
may safely go by them."'Put 1 saw pees with my own eyes," persisted Betty.
"Only a basketful of the bee orchis, which I commissioned a little boy to bring from St. Vincent's rocks for
my young botanists," said Mrs. Porett to Angelina:
"' you know the flower is so like a bee, that at first sight
you might easily mistake it." Mrs. Porett, to convince
Betty Williams that she had no cause for fear, went on
before her into the hall; but Betty still hung back, crying" It is a pasket full of pees! I saw the pees with my
own eves."'
The noise she made excited the curiosity of the young
ladies in the dancing-room: they looked out to see what
was the matter.
"Oh,'tis the wee wee French prisoner boy, with the
bee orchises for us-there, I see him standing in the
hall," cried Clara Hope, and instantly she ran, followed
by several of her companions, into the hall.
" You see that they are not bees," said Mrs. Porett to
Betty Williams, as she took several of the flowers in her
hand. Betty, half-convinced, yet half-afraid, moved a
few steps into the hall.
"You have no cause for dread," said Clara Hoper




ANGELINA.                  37'c poor boy, he has nought in his basket that can hurt
anybody."
Betty Williams' heavy foot was now set upon the
train of Clara's gown, and, as the young lady sprang
forward, her gown, which was of thin muslin, was torn
so as to excite the commisseration of all her young companions.
"What a terrible rent! and her best gown!" said
they. " Poor Clara Hope!"
"Pless us! peg pardon, Miss!" cried the awkward,
and terrified Betty: "peg pardon, Miss."
" Pardon's granted," said Clara; and while her companions stretched out her train, deploring the length and
breadth of her misfortune, she went on speaking to the
little French boy. " Poor wee boy!'tis a sad thing to
be in a strange country, far away from one's ane kin
and happy. hame-poor wee thing," said she, slipping
some money into his hand.
" What a heavenly countenance!" thought Angelina,
as she looked at Clara Hope: " Oh that my Araminta
may resemble her!"
" Plait il-take vat you vant-tank you," said the little boy, offering to Clara Hope'his basket of flowers,
and a small box of trinkets which he held in his hand.
"Here's a many pretty toys-who'll buy?" cried
Clara, turning to her companions.
The young ladies crowded round the box and the basket.,
" Is he in distress?" said Angelina; " perhaps I can be
of some use to him!" and she put her hand into her
pocket, to feel for her purse.
" He's a very honest, industrious little boy," said Mrs.
Porett; "and he supports his parents by his active ingenuity."
"And, Louis. is your father sick still!" continued
Clara Hope to the poor boy.
"Bien malade! bien malade! very sick! very sick!"
said he.
The unaffected language of real feeling and benevolence is easily understood, and is never ridiculous; even
in the broken French of little Louis, and the broad Scotch
tone of Clara, it was both intelligible and agreeable.
D




38                MORAL TALES.
Angelina had been for some time past feeling in her
pocket for her purse.
"Tis gone-certainly gone!" she exclaimed: "I've
lost it! lost my purse! Betty, do you know any thing of it?
I had it at Mrs. Plait's!-What shall I do for this poor
little fellow?-This trinket is of gold!" said she, taking
from her neck a locket —" Here, my little fellow, I have
no money to give you, take this-nay, you must, indeed."
" Tanks! tanks! bread for my poor fader! joy! joy!
-too much joy! too much!"
"You see you were wrong to laugh at her," whispered
Clara Hope to her companions: "I liked her lukes from
the first."
Natural feeling, at this moment, so entirely occupied
and satisfied Angelina, that she forgot her sensibility for
her unknown friend; and it was not till one of the children observed the lock of hair in her locket that she
recollected her accustomed cant of" 0 my AQraminta! my amiable.Iraminta! could I part
with that hair, more precious than gold!"
"Pless us!" said Betty; "put if she has lost- her
purse, who shall pay for the coach, and what will pecome
of our tinners?I"
Angelina silenced Betty Williams with peremptory
dignity.
Mrs. Porett, who was a good and sensible woman, and
who had been interested for our heroine, by her good
nature to the little French boy, followed Miss Warwick
as she left the room.
" Let me detain you but for a few minutes," said she,
opening the door of a little study. " You have nothing
to fear from any impertinent curiosity on my part; but,
perhaps, I may be of some assistance to you." Miss
Warwick could not refuse to be detained a few minutes
by so friendly a voice.
" Madam, you have mentioned the name of Araminta
several times since you came into this house," said Mrs.
Porett, with something of embarrassment in her manner,
for she was afraid of' appearing impertinent. " I know,
or at least I knew, a lady who writes under that name,
and whose real name is Hodges."




ANGELINA.                 39
" O, a thousand, thousand thanks!" cried Angelina:
" tell me, where can I find her?"
"Are you acquainted with her? You seem to be a
stranger, young lady, in Bristol? Are you acquainted
with Miss Hodges' whole history?"
"' Yes, her whole history; every feeling of her soul,
every thought of her mind!" cried Angelina, with e-i
thusiasm. " We have corresponded for two years past."
Mrs. Porett smiled: " It is not always possible," said
she, " to judge of ladies by their letters. I am not
inclined to believe above half what the world says,
according to Lord Chesterfield's allowance for scandalous stories; but it may be necessary to warn you, as
you seem very young, that-"
" Madam," cried Angelina, "young as I am, I know
that superior genius and virtue are the inevitable objects
of scandal. It is in vain to detain me further."
" I am truly sorry for it," said Mrs. Porett; "but perhaps you will allow me to tell you that-"
" No, not a word; not a word more will I hear," cried
our heroine; and she hurried out of the house, and
threw herself into the coach. Mrs. Porett contrived,
however, to make Betty Williams hear, that the most
probable means of gaining any intelligence of Miss
Hodges would be to inquire for her at the shop of Mr.
Beatson, who was her printer. To Mr. Beatson's they
drove-though Betty professed that she was half-unwilling to inquire for Miss Hodges from any one whose
name did not begin with a p. and end with a t.
" What a pity it is," said Mrs. Porett, when sne returned to her pupils-" what a pity it is that this young
lady's friends should permit her to go about in a hackneycoach, with such a strange, vulgar-servant-girl as that!
She is too young to know how quickly, and often how
severely, the world judges by appearances. Miss Hope,
now we talk of appearances, you forget that your gown
is torn, and you do not know, uprhaps, that your friend,
Lady Frances Somerset-"
"Lady Frances Somerset!" cried Clara Hope-" I
love to hear her very name."
"For which reason you interrupt me the moment I
32




40                MORAL TALE S.
mention it-I have a great mind not to tell you-that
Lady Frances Somerset has invited you to go to the play
with her to-night:-' The Merchant of Venice, and the
Adopted Child.'"
" Gude-natured Lady Frances Somerset, I'm sure an'
if Clara Hope had been your adopted child twenty times
over, you cude not have been more kind to her nor you
have been. No, not had she been your ane countrywoman, and of vour ane clan-and all for the same
reasons that make some neglect and look down upon
her-because Clara is not meikle rich, and is far away
from her ane friends. Gude Lady Frances Somerset!
Clara Hope loves you in her heart, and she's as blythe
wi' the thought o' ganging to see you as if she were
going to dear Inverary."
It is a pity, for the sake of our story, that Miss Warwick did not stay a few minutes longer at Mrs. Porett's,
that she might have heard this eulogium on Lady Frances
Somerset, and might have a second time, in one day,
discovered that she was -on the very brink of meeting
with the persons she most dreaded to see; but, however
temptingly romantic such an incident would have been,
we must, according to our duty as faithful historians,
deliver a plain unvarnished tale.
Miss Warwick arrived at Mr. Beatson's, and as soon
as she had pronounced the name of Hodges, the printer
called to his devil for a parcel of advertisements, which
he put into her hand; they were proposals for printing
by subscription a new novel —"The Sorrows of Araminta."
"O my Araminta! my amiable Araminta! have I
found you at last?-The Sorrows of dAraminta, a novel, in
nine volumes —O charming! —together with a tragedy on
the same plan —Delightful!-Subscriptions received at
Joseph Beatson's, printer and bookseller; and by Rachael
lodges-Odious name!-at JMrs. Bertrand's."
"Bartrand! —There now, you, do ye hear that? the
lady lives at Mrs. Bartrand's: how will you make out
now that Bartrand begins with ap, and ends with a t,
now?" said the hackney-coachman.to Betty, who was
standing at the door.




ANGELINA.                 41
"Pertrant! why," cried Betty, "what would you
have?"
"Silence, 0 silence!" said Miss Warwick, and she
continued reading —" Subscriptions received at.Mrs. Bertrand's."
"Pertrant, you ear, plockhead, you Irishman!" cried
Betty Williams.
"Bartrand-you have no ears! Welsh woman as you
are." retorted Terence O'Grady.
" Subscription two guineas, for the Sorrows of Araminta," continued our heroine; but, looking up, she saw
Betty Williams and the hackney-coachman making
menacing faces and gestures at one another.
"Fight it out in the passage, for Heaven's sake!"
said Angelina; "' if you must fight,fight out of my sight."
"For shame, before the young lady!" said Mr. Beatson, holding the hackney coachman: "have done disputing so loud."
" I've done, but she is wrong," cried Terence.
"I've done, put he is wrong," said Betty.
Terence was so much provoked by the Welsh woman,
that he declared he would not carry her a step farther
in his coach-that his beasts were'tired, and that he
must be paid his fare, for that he neither could nor
would wait any longer. Betty Williams was desired by
Angelina to pay him. She hesitated; but after being
assured by Miss Warwick that the debt should be punctually discharged in a few hours, she acknowledged that
she had silver enough " in a little box at the bottom of
her pocket;" and after much fumbling she pulled out a
snuff-box, which, she said, had been given to her by her
"creat-crandmother."-While  she was paying the
coachman, the printer's devil observed one end of a piece
of lace hanging out of her pocket; she had, by accident,
pulled it out along with the snuff-box.
" And was this your great-grandmother's too?" said
the printer's devil, taking hold of the lace.
Betty started. —Angelina was busy, making inquiries
from the printer, and she did not see or hear what was
passing close to her: the coachman was intent upon
the examination of his shillings. Betty, with great asD2




4'2              MORAL TALES.
surance, reproved the printer's devil for touching such
lace with his plack fingers.
"'Twas not my crandmother's-'tis the young lady's,1"
said she: " let it pe, pray-look how you have placked
it, and marked it with plack fingers."
She put the stolen lace hastily into her pocket, and
immediatly went out, as Miss Warwick desired, to call
another coach.
Before we follow our heroine to Mrs. Bertrand's, we
must beg leave to go, and, if we can, to transport our
readers with us, to Lady Frances Somerset's house, at
Clifton.
CHAPTER IV.
"WELL, how I am to get up this hill again Heaven
knows!" said Lady Diana Chillingworth, who had been
prevailed upon to walk down Clifton Hill to the Wells." Heigho! that sister of mine, Lady Frances, walks, and
talks, and laughs, and admires the beauties of nature till
I'm half dead."
" Why, indeed, Lady Frances Somerset, I must allow,"
said Miss Burrage, "is not the fittest companion in the
world for a person of your ladyship's nerves; but then
it is to be hoped that the glass of water which you have
just taken fresh at the pump will be of service, provided
the racketing to Bristol to the play don't counteract it,
and undo all again."
" How I dread going into that Bristol playhouse!"
said Miss Burrage to herself-" some of my precious
relations may be there to claim me. My aunt Dinah —
God bless her for a starched Quaker-would not be seen
at a play, I'm sure-so she's safe;-but the odious sugarbaker's daughters might be there, dizened out; and between the acts, their great tall figures might rise in
judgment against me-spy me out —stare and courtesypop —pop-pop at me without mercy, or bawl out across
the benches,' Cousin Burrage! cousin Burrage!' and
Lady Diana Chillingworth to hear it!-O, I should sink
into the earth."




ANGELINA.                  43
"What amusement," continued Miss Burrage, addressing herself to Lady Di, "what amusement Lady
Frances Somerset can find at a Bristol playhouse, and
at this time of the year too, is to me really unaccountable."
"I do suppose," replied, Lady Diana, " that my sister
goes only to please that child-(Clara Hope, I think they
call her)-not to please me, I'm sure;-but what is she
doing all this time in the pump-room? does she know
we are waiting for her?-O, here she comes.-Frances,
I am half dead."
" Half dead, my dear! well, here is something to bring
you to life again," said Lady Frances: "I do believe I
have found out Miss Warwick."
"I am sure, my dear, that does not revive me; I've
been almost plagued to death with her already," said Lady
Diana.
" There's no living in this world without plagues of
some sort or other; but the pleasure of doing good makes
one forget them all. Here, look at this advertisement,
my dear," said Lady Frances: " a gentleman whom I
have just met with in the pump-room was reading it in
the newspaper when I came in, and a whole lot of scandal-mongers were settling who it could possibly be. One
snug little man, a Welsh curate, I believe, was certain
it was the bar-maid of an inn at Bath, who is said to
have inveigled a young nobleman into matrimony. I left
the Welshman in the midst of a long story about his
father and a young lady who lost her shoe on the Welsh
mountains, and I ran away with the paper to bring it
to you." Lady Diana received the paper with an air of
reluctance.
"Was not I very fortunate to meet with it?" said Lady
Frances.
"I protest I see no good fortune in the business, from
beginning to end."
"Ah, because you are not come to the end yet: look-'tis from Mrs. Hoel, of the inn at Cardiff, and, by the
date, she must have been there last week."
"Who-Mrs. Hoel'?"
"Miss Warwick, my dear; I beg pardon for my pro32 *




44                MORAL TALES.
noun-but do read this: eyes-hair-complexion —age
-size-it certainly must be Miss Warwick."
"And what then?" said Lady Di, with provoking
coldness, walking on towards home.
"Why then, my dear, you know we can go to Cardiffe
to-morrow morning, find the poor girl, and before anybody knows any thing of the matter, before her reputation is hurt or you blamed, before any harm can happen,
convince the girl of her folly and imprudence, and bring
her back to you and common sense."
"To common sense, and welcome, if you can; but
not to me."
" Not to you! Nay, but, my dear, what will become
of her?"
"Nay, but my dear Frances, what will the world
say?"
"Of her?"
" Of me."
"My dear Di, shall I tell you what the world would
say?"
"No, Lady Frances; I'll tell you what the world
would say-that Lady Diana Chillingworth's house
was an asylum for runaways."
" An asylum for nonsense! I beg your pardon, sister,
but it always provokes me to see a person afraid to do
what they think right, because, truly,'the world will
say it is wrong.' What signifies the uneasiness we may
suffer from the idle blame or tittle-tattle of the day, compared with the happiness of a young girl's whole life,
which is at stake?"
" O, Lady Frances, that is spoke like yourself; I love
you in my heart-that's right! that's right!" thought
Clara Hope.
Lady Diana fell back a few paces, that she might consult one whose advice she always found agreeable to her
own opinions.
"In my opinion," whispered.Miss Burrage to Lady
Diana, " you are right, quite right, to have nothing more
to do with the happiness of a young lady who has taken
such a step."
They were just leaving St. Vincent's parade, when




ANGELINA.                   45
they heard the sound of music upon the walk by the
river-side, and they saw a little boy there, seated at the
foot of a tree, playing on the guitar, and singing,
"J'ai quitt6 mon pays et mes amis,
Pour jouer de la guittarre,
Qui va clin, clin, qui va clin, clin,
Qui va clin, clin, clin, clin."
"Ha! my wee wee friend," said Clara Elope, "are
you here?  I was just thinking of you —just wishing
for you. By gude luck, have you the weeny locket
about you that the young lady gave you this morning?
-the weeny locket, my bonny boy?"
"Plait il?" said little Louis.
" He don't understand one word," said Miss Burrage,
laughing sarcastically; " he don't understand one word
of all your bonnys, and wee wees and weenies, Miss Hope;
he unfortunately don't understand broad Scotch, and
maybe he mayn't be so great a proficient as you are in
boarding-school French; but I'll try if he can understand
me, if you'll tell me what you want."
" Such a trinket as this," said Clara, showing a locket
which hung from her neck.
" Ah, oui-yes, I comprehend now," cried the boy,
taking from his coat-pocket a small case of trinkets; " la
voila! here is vat de young lady did give me-good
young lady!" said Louis, and he produced the locket.
"I declare," exclaimed Miss Burrage, catching hold
of it, "'tis Miss Warwick's locket! I'm  sure of ithere's the motto: I've read it, and laughed at it twenty
times-L'Amie Inconnue."
" When I heard you all talking just now about that
description of the young lady in the newspaper, I cude
not but fancy," said Clara Hope, " that the lady whom
I saw this morning, must be Miss Warwick."
"Saw-where?" cried Lady Frances, eagerly.
"At Bristol-at our academy-at Mrs. Porett's," said
Clara; " but, mark me, she is not there now: I do not
ken where she may be now."
"Moi je sais! I do know de demoiselle did stop in a
coach at one house; I was in de street-I can show you
de house."




46              MORAL TALES.
" Can you so, my good little fellow? then let us begone
directly," said Lady Frances.
"You'll excuse me, sister," said Lady Di.
" Excuse you! I will, but the world will not. You'll
be abused, sister-shockingly abused."
This assertion made more impression upon Lady Di
Chillingworth than could have been made either by ar
gument or entreaty..
"One really does not know how to act, people take
so much notice of every thing that is said and done by
persons of a certain rank: if you think that I shall be so
much abused-I absolutely do-not know what to say."
"But I thought," interposed Miss Burrage, "that
Lady Frances was going to take you to the play to-night,
Miss Hope?"
" O, never heed the play-never heed the play, or
Clara Hope; never heed taking me to the play: Lady
Frances is going to do a better thing. Come on, my
bonny boy," said she to the little French boy, who was
following them.
We must now return to our heroine, whom we left
on her way to Mrs. Bertrand's. Mrs. Bertrand kept a
large confectionary and fruit-shop in Bristol.
"Please aio  walk through this way, ma'am-Miss
Hodges is above stairs: she shall be apprized directly.Jenny! run up stairs," said Mrs. Bertrand to her maid;
"run up stairs, and tell Miss Hodges here's a young
lady wants to see her in a great hurry.-You'd best sit
down, ma'am," continued Mrs. Bertrand to Angelina,
"till the girl has been up with the message."
"' 0 my Araminta! how my heart beats!" exclaimed
Miss Warwick.
"How my mouth waters!" cried Betty Williams,
looking round at the fruit and confectionaries.
" Would you, ma'am, be pleased," said Mrs. Bertrand,
" to take a glass of ice this warm evening? cream-ice or
water-ice, ma'am? pineapple or strawberry-ice?"  As
she spoke, Mrs. Bertrand held a salver covered with ices
towards Miss Warwick: but, apparently, she thought
that it was not consistent with the delicacy of friendship
to think of eating or drinking when she was thus upon




ANGELINA.                  47
the eve of her first interview with her Araminta. Betty
Williams, who was of a different nature from our heroine, saw the salver recede with excessive surprise and
regret; she stretched out her hand after it, and seized a
glass of raspberry-ice; but no sooner had she tasted it,
than she made a frightful face, and let the glass fall,
exclaiming,
"Pless us!'tis not as cood as cooseperry fool."
Mrs. Bertrand next offered her a cheesecake, which
Betty ate voraciously.
"She's actually a female Sancho Panza," thought
Angelina: her own more striking resemblance to the
female Quixote never occurred to our heroine-so blind
are we to our own failings.
"Who is the young lady?" whispered the mistress
of the fruit-shop to Betty Williams, while Miss Warwick
was walking-we should say pacing-up and down the
room, in anxious solicitude and evident agitation.
" Hur's a young lady," replied Betty, stopping to take
a mouthful of cheesecake between every member of her
sentence, "a young lady-that has-lost hur"' —
"Her heart-so I thought."
"Hur purse!" said Betty, with an accent which
showed that she thought this the more serious loss of the
two.
"Her purse! that's bad indeed. You pay for your
own cheesecake and raspberry-ice, and for the glass that
you broke?" said Mrs. Bertrand.
"Put hur has a great deal of money in hur trunk, 1
pelieve, at Llanwaetur," said Betty.
"Surely Miss Hodges does not know I am here,'
cried Miss Warwick-" her Angelina!"
" Ma'amr she'll be down immediately, I do suppose,'
said Mrs. Bertrand. "What was it you pleased to call
for —angelica, Ma'am, did you say? At present we are
quite out, I'm ashamed to say, of angelica, Ma'am.Well, child," continued Mrs. Bertrand to her maid, who
was at this moment seen passing by the back-door of the
shop in great haste.
"Ma'am-anan?" said the maid, turning back her
cap from off her ear.




48              MORAL TALEFS.
" Anan! deaf doll! didn't you hear me tell you to tel
Miss Hodges a lady wanted to speak to her in a great
hurry?"
" No Ma'am," replied the girl, who spoke in the broad
Somersetshire dialect: "I heard you zay, Up to.Tliss
Hodges-zoo I thought it was the bottle o' brandy, and
zoo I took it alung with the tea-kettle; but I'll go up
again now, and zay Miss bes in a hurry az she zays."
"Brandy!" repeated Miss Warwick, on whom the
word seemed to make a great impression.
"Pranty, ay, pranty," repeated Miss Betty Williams;
"our Miss Hodges always takes pranty in her teas at
Llanwaetur."
"Brandy! then she can't be my Araminta."
" 0, the very same, and no other; you are quite right,
Ma'am," said Mrs. Bertrand, "if you mean the same
that is publishing the novel, Ma'am,-' The So-rows of
Araminta'-for the reason I know so much about it is,
that I take in the subscriptions, and distribute the purposals."
Angelina had scarcely time to believe or disbelieve
what she heard before the maid returned with, " Maim,
Mizz Hodges haz hur best love to you, Miss, and please
to walk up. There be two steps; please to have a care,
or you'll break your neck."
Before we introduce Angelina to her "unknown
friend," we must relate the conversation which was
actually passing between the amiable Araminta and her
Orlando, while Miss Warwick was waiting in the fruitshop.-Our readers will be so good as to picture to themselves a woman with a face and figure which seemed to
have been intended for a man, with a voice and gesture
capable of setting even man, "imperial man," at defiance-such was Araminta. She was at this time sitting
cross-legged in an arm-chair at a tea-table, on which,
beside the tea equipage, was a medley of things of which
no prudent tongue or pen would undertake to give a
correct inventory. At the feet of this fair lady, kneeling
on one knee, was a thin, subdued, simple-looking Quaker, of the name of Nathaniel Gazabo.
" But now Natty," said Miss Hodges, in a voice more




ANGELINA.                  49
masculine than her looks, " you understand the conditions:-if I give you my hand, and make you my husband, it is upon condition that you never contradict any
of my opinions. Do you promise me that'?"
" Yea, verily," replied Nat.
"And you promise to leave me entirely at liberty to
act, as well as to think, in all things as my own independent understanding shall suggest?"
"Yea, verily,)' was the man's response.
"And you will be guided by me in all things!'"
"Yea, verily."
"And you will love and admire me all your life as
much as you do now?"
"Yea, verily."
"Swear!"; said the unconscionable woman.
" Nay, verily," replied the meekest of mea, " I cannot
swear, my Rachel, being a Quaker; but I will affirm."
" Swear, swear!" cried the lady in an imperious tone,' or I will never be your Araminta."
"I swear," said Nat Gazabo, in a timid voice.
"Then, Natty, I consent to be Mrs. Hodges Gazabo:
only remember always to call me your dear Araminta."
"My dear Aramrinta, thus," said he, embracing her,
" thus let me thank thee, my, dear Araminta!"
It was in the midst of these thanks that the maid interrupted the well-matched pair with the news that a
young lady was below who was in a great hurry to see
Miss Hodges:
"' Let her come," said Miss Hodges; "I suppose it is
only one of the Miss Carvers. Don't stir, Nat; it will
vex her to see you kneeling to me: don't stir, I say""Where is she? Where is my Araminta?" cried Miss
Warwick, as the maid was trying to open the outerpassage door for her, which had a bad lock.
" Get up, get up, Natty, and get somc fresh water in
the tea-kettle —quick!'" cried Miss Hodg,-s; and she began to clear away some of the varieties of literature, &c.,
which lay scattered about the room. Nat, in obedience
to her commands, was making his exit with all possible
speed, when Angelina entered, exclaiming,
"My amiable Araminta! my unknown friend!" 




50               3MORAL TALES.
" My Angelina! my charming Angelina!" cried Miss
Hodges.
Miss Hodges was not the sort of person our heroine
expected to see; and to conceal the panic with which
the first sight of her unknown friend struck her disap
pointed imagination, she turned back to listen to the
apologies which Nat Gazabo was pouring forth about
his awkwardness and thetea-kettle.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear!" cried Miss Hodges,
with the tone and action of a bad actress who is rehearsing an embrace: "turn, Angelina, ever dear!-thus,
thus let us meet to part no more."
"But her voice is so loud," said Angelina to herself,
"and her looks so vulgar, and there is such a smell of
brandy! How unlike the elegant delicacy I had expected in my unknown friend!"  Miss Warwick involuntarily shrank from the stifling embrace.
"You are overpowered, my Angelina; lean on me,"
said her Araminta.
Nat Gazabo re-entered with the tea-kettle.
" Here's boiling water, and we'll have fresh tea in a
trice-the young lady's overtired seemingly. Here's a
chair, Miss; here's a chair," cried Nat. Miss Warwick
sank upon a chair: Miss Hodges seated herself beside
her, continuing to address her in a theatrical tone.
" This moment is bliss unutterable! my kind, my noble minded Angelina! thus to leave all your friends for
your Araminta!"  Suddenly changing her voice, "Set
the tea-table, Nat."
"Who is this Nat, I wonder?" thought Miss Warwick.
" Well, and tell me," said Miss Hodges, whose attention was awkwardly divided between the ceremonies of
making tea and making speeches —" and tell me, my
Angelina-that's water enough, Nat-and tell me, my
Angelina, how did you find me out?"
" With some difficulty, indeed, my tiraminta!" Miss
Warwick could hardly pronounce the words.
" So kind, so noble-minded!" continued Miss Hodges;
"and did you receive my last letter-three sheets? And
hoiv did you contrive-Stoop the kettle, do, Nat."




ANGELINA.                  51
" O, this odious Nat! how I wish she would send him
away!" thought Miss Warwick.
"And tell me, my Araminta,-my Angelina, I meanhow did you contrive your elopement; and how did you
escape from the eye of your aristocratic Argus'? how
did you escape from all your unfeeling persecutors?
tell me, tell me all your adventures, my Angelina!Butter the toast, Nat," said Miss Hod(ges, who was cut.
ting bread and butter, which she did not do with the celebrated grace of Charlotte, in the Sorrows of Werter.
"I'll tell you all, my Araminta," whispered Miss
Warwick, " when we are by ourselves."
"O, never mind Nat," whispered Miss Hodges.
"Couldn't you tell him," rejoined Miss Warwick,
"that he need not wait'any longer?"
" Wait, my dear! why, what do you take him for?"
"Why, is not he your footman?" whispered Angelina.
"My footman!-Nat!" exclaimed Miss Hodges,
bursting out a-laughing, " my Angelina took you for my
footman."
"Good heavens! what is he?" said Angelina in a
low voice.
"Verily," said Nat Gazabo, with a sort of bashful,
simple laugh, "verily Iam the humblest of her servants."
"And does not my Angelina-spare my delicacy,"
said Miss Hodges —" does my Angelina not remember,
in any of my long letters, the name of-Orlando? There
he stands."
" Orlando!-Is this gentleman your Orlando, of whom
I have heard so much?"
"He! he! he!" simpered Nat. "I am Orlando, of
whom you have heard so much; and she" (pointing to
Miss Hodges) —" she is to-morrow morning, God willing, to be Mistress Hodges Gazabo."
"Mrs. Hodges Gazabo, my Araminta!" said Angelina with astonishment which she could not suppress."
"Yes, my Angelina: so end' the sorrows of Araminta'-Another cup?-do I make the tea too sweet?"
said Miss Hodges, while Nat handed the bread and butter to the ladies officiously..33




52                MORAL TALES.
"The man looks like a fool," thought Miss Warwick.
"Set down the bread and butter, and be quiet, Nat.
Then, as soon as the wedding is over,'we fly, my Angelina, to our charming cottage in Wales:-there may we
bid defiance to the storms of fate"' The world forgetting, by the world forgot.'"
"That," said Angelina, "'is the blameless vestal's
lot:'-but you forget that you are to be married, my
Araminta; and you forget that in your letter of three
folio sheets, you said not one word to me of this intended marriage."
" Nay, my dear, blame me not for a want of confidence, that my heart disclaims," said Miss Hodges;
"' from the context of my letters you must have suspected the progress my Orlando had made in my affections;
but, indeed, I should not have brought myself to decide
apparently so precipitately, had it not been for the opposition, the persecution of my friends-I was determined
to show them that I know, and can assert, my right to
think and act, upon all occasions, for myself."
Longer, much longer Miss Hodges spoke in the most
peremptory voice; but while she was declaiming on her
favourite topic, her Angelina was "revolving in her altered mind" the strange things which she had seen and
heard in the course of the last half-hour; every thing
appeared to her in a new light: when she compared the
conversation and conduct of' Miss Hodges with the sentimental letters of her Araminta; when she coinpared
Orlando in description to Orlando in reality, she could
scarcely believe her senses; accustomed as she had been
to elegance of manners, the vulgarity and awkwardness
of Miss Hodges shocked and disgusted her beyond measure. The disorder and-for the words must be saidslatternly dirty appearance of her Araminta's dress, and
of every thing in her apartment, were such as would
have made a hell of heaven; and the idea of spending
her fife in a cottage with Mrs. Hodges Gazabo and Nat
overwhelmed our heroine with the double fear of wretchedness and ridicule.
"Another cup of tea, my Angelina?" said Miss




ANGELINA.                   53'
Hodges, when she had finished her tirade against her persecutors-that is io say, her friends. "Another cup,
my Angelina?-do-after your journey and fatigue,
take another cup."
"No more, I thank you."
"Then reach me that tradegy, Nat-you know""Your own tragedy, is it, my dear?" said he.
"Ah Nat, now! you never can keep a secret," said
Miss Hodges. "I wanted to have surprised my Angelina."
"I am  surprised!"  thought Angelina —"O how
much surprised!"
" I have a motto for our cottage here somewhere,"
said Miss Hodges, turning over the leaves of her tragedy
-" but I'll keep that till to-morrow-since to-morrow's
the day sacred to love and friendship."
Nat, by way of showing his joy in a becoming manner, rubbed his hands, and hummed a tune. His mistress frowned, and bit her lips; but the signals were
lost upon him, and he sang out, in an exulting tone" When the lads of the village so merrily, ah!
Sound their tabours, I'll hand thee along."
"Fool! dolt! idiot!" cried his Araminta, rising furious-" out of my sight!" Then, sinking down upon
the chair, she burst into tears, and threw herself into the
arms of her pale, astonished Angelina. "0  my Angelina!" she exclaimed, "I am  the most ill-matched!
most unfortunate! most wretched of women!"
" Don't befrighted, Miss," said Nat; "i she'll come to
again presently-'tis only her way."  As he spoke, he
poured out a bumper 6f brandy, and kneeling, presented
it to his mistress. "'Tis the only thing in life does her
good," continued he, 1" in these sort of fits."
"Heavens, what a scene!" said Miss Warwick to
herself —" and the woman so heavy, I can scarce support her weight-and is this my unknown friend?"
How long Miss Hodges would willingly have continued to sob upon Miss Warwick's shoulder, or how
long that shoulder could possibly have sustained her
weight, is a mixed problem in physics and metaphysics,
whfih must forever remain unsolved; but suddenly a
E 2




54                MORAL TALES.
loud scream was heard. Miss Hodges started up-the
Joor was thrown open, and Betty Williams rushed
in, crying, loudly, "0 shave me, shave me! for the
love of Cot, shave me, Miss!" and pushing by the
swain, who held the unfinished glass of brandy in his
hand, she threw herself on her knees at the feet of'
Angelina.
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Nat, "whatever you are,
you need not push one so."
"What now, Betty Williams? is the wench mad or
drunk?"' cried Miss Hodges.
" We are to have a mad scene next, I suppose," said
Miss Warwick, calmly; "I am  prepared for every
thing after what I have seen."
Betty Williams continued crying bitterly, and wringing her hands —" O shave me this once, Miss!'tis the
first thing of the kind I ever did, inteet inteet! O, shave
me this once-I tid not know it was worth so much as
a shilling, and that I could be hanged, inteet-and I"Here Betty was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs.
Puffit the milliner, the printer's devil, and a stern-looking man, to whom Mrs. Puffit, as she came in, said,
pointing to Betty Williams and Miss Warwick, " There
they are-do your duty, Mr. Constable: I'll swear to
my lace."
"And I'll swear to my black thumbs," said the
printer's devil. "I saw the lace hanging out of her
pocket, and there's the mark of my fingers upon it.
" Fellow!" cried Miss Hodges, taking the constable
by the arm, "this is my apartment, into which no
minion of the law has a right to enter; for in England
every man's house is his castle."
" I know that as well as you do, IMadamn!" said the
constable; "but I make it a principle to do nothing
without a warrant: here's my warrant."
"0 shave me! the lace is her's inteet!" cried Betty
Williams, pointing to Miss Warwick. " O, Miss is my
mistress, inteet"" Come, Mistress, or Miss, then, you'll be pleased to
come along with me," said the constable, seizing hold
of Angelina —" Like mistress, like maid."




ANGELINA.                 55
"Villain! unfeeling villain! 0 unhand my Angelina,
or I shall die! I shall die!" exclaimed Araminta, falling
into the arms of Nat Gazabo, who immediately held the
replenished glass of brandy to her lips —" 0 my Angelina, my Angelina!"
Struck with horror at her situation, Miss Warwick
shrank from the grasp of the constable, and leaned motionless on the back of a chair.
" Come, my angel, as they call you, I think-the lady
there has brandy enough, if you want spirits-all the
fits and faintings in Christendom won't serve you now.
I'm used to the tricks o' the trade-the law must take
its course; and if you can't walk, I must carry you."
" Touch me at your peril! I am innocent," said Angelina.
"Innocent-innocence itself! pure, spotless, injured
innocence!" cried Miss Hodges. "I shall die! I shall
die! I shall die on the spot! barbarous, barbarous
villain! "
While Miss Hodges spoke, the ready Nat poured out
a fresh glass of that restorative which he always had
ready for cases of life and death; and she screamed and
sipped, and sipped and screamed, as the constable took
up Angelina in his arms and carried her towards the
door.
"Mrs. Innocence," said the man, "you shall see
who you shall see."
Mrs. Puffit opened the door; and, to the utter astonishment of every body present, Lady Diana Chillingworth
entered the room, followed by Lady Frances Somerset
and Mrs. Bertrand. The constable set down Angelina.
Miss Hodges set down the glass of brandy. Mrs. Puffit
courtesied. Betty Williams stretched out her arms to
Lady Diana, crying, " Shave me! shave me this once!"
Miss Warwick hid her face with her hands.
" Only my Valenciennes lace, that has been found in
that girl's pocket, and"- said Mrs. Puffit.
Lady Diana Chillingworth turned away with indescribable haughtiness, and, addressing herself to her
sister, said, "Lady Frances Somerset, you would not,
I presume, have Lady Diana Chillingworth lend her
33*




66                MORAL TALES.
countenance to such a scene as this-I hope, sister, that
you are satisfied now," As she said these words, her
ladyship walked out of the room.
" Never was further from being satisfied in my life,"
said Lady Frances.
" If you look at this, my lady," said the constable,
holding out the lace, " you'll soon be satisfied as to what
sort of a young lady that is."
"0, you mistake the young lady," said Mrs. Bertrand, and she whispered to the constable, " Come away:
you may be sure you'll be satisfied-we shall all be
satisfied, handsomely, all in good time. Don't let the
delinquency there on her knees," added she aloud,
pointing to Betty Williams —" don't let the delinquency
there on her knees escape."
" Come along, mistress," said the constable, pulling
up Betty Williams from her knees. "But I say the
law must have its course, if I'm not satisfied."
" O, I am confident," said Mrs. Puffit the milliner,
"we shall all be satisfied, no doubt; but Lady Di
Chillingworth knows my Valenciennes lace, and Miss
Burrage too, for they did me this morning the honour-"
"Will you do me the favour," interrupted Lady
Frances Somerset, "to leave us, good Mrs. Puffit, for
the present?  Here is some mistake-the less noise we
make about it the better. You shall be satisfied."
",. your ladyship-I'm  sure, I'm  confident-I
sha'n't utter another syllable-nor never would have
articulated a syllable about the lace (though Valenciennes, and worth thirty guineas, if it is worth a
farthing) had I had the least intimacy or suspicion the
young lady was your la'ship's protegee. I sha'n't, at
any rate, utter another syllable."
Mrs. Puffit, having glibly run off this speech, left the
room, and carried in her train the constable and Betty
Williams, the printer's devil, and Mrs. Bertrand, the
woman of the house.
Miss Warwick, whose confusion during this whole
scene was excessive, stood without power to speak or
move.
"Thank God, they are gone!" said Lady Frances;




ANGELINA.                  57
and she went to Angelina, and taking her hands gently
from  before her face, said in a soothing tone, "Miss
Warwick, your friend, Lady Frances Somerset, you
cannot think that she suspects-"
" La, dear, no!" cried Nat Gazabo, who had now
sufficiently recovered from his fright and amazement to
be able to speak: "dear heart! who could go for to
suspect such a thing? but they made such a bustle and
noise, they quite flabbergasted me, so mwany on them in
this small room. Please to sit down, my lady-is there
any thing I can do?"
"If you could have the goodness, sir, to leave us for a
few minutes," said Lady Frances, in a polite, persuasive
manner-" if you could have the goodness, sir, to leave
us for a few minutes."
Nat, who was not always spoken to by so gentle a
voice, smiled, bowed, and was retiring, when Miss
Hodges came forward with an air of defiance:'Aristocratic insolence!" exclaimed she: " stop, Nat-stir not
a foot, at your peril, at the word of command of any of
the privileged orders upon earth-stir not a foot, at your
peril, at the behest of any titled she in the universe!madam, or my lady-or by whatever other name more
high, more low, you choose to be addressed-this is my
husband."'
"' Very probably, madam," said Lady Frances, with
an easy calmness which provoked Miss Hodges to a
louder tone of indignation.
"Stir not a foot, at your peril, Nat,"' cried she. " I
will defend him, I say, madam, against every shadow,
every penumbra of aristocratic insolence."
" As you and he think proper, madam," replied Lady
Frances. "'Tis easy to defend the gentleman against
shadows."
Miss Hodges marched up and down the room with
her arms folded. Nat stood stock-still.
"The woman," whispered Lady Frances to Miss
Warwick, "is either mad or drunk, or both; at all
events, we shall be better in another room." As she
spoke, she drew Miss WVarwick's arm within hers.
"Will you allow aristocratic insolence to pass by you,




58                MIORAL TALES.
sir?" said she to Nat Gazabo, who stood like a statue
in the doorway-he edged himself aside"And is this your independence of soul, my Angelina?" cried Araminta, setting her back to the door, so
as effectually to prevent her from passing —" and is this
your independence of soul, my Angelina, thus tamely
to submit, to resign yourself-again to your unfeeling.
proud, prejudiced, intellect-lacking persecutors?"
"This lady is my friend, madam," said Angelina, in
as firm and tranquil a tone as she could command, for
she was quite terrified by her Araminta's violence.
" Take your choice, my dear; stay or follow me, as
you think best," said Lady Frances.
" Your friend!" pursued the oratorical lady, detaining Miss Warwick with a heavy hand. " Do you feel
the force of the word? Can you feel it, as I once
thought you could? Your friend! am not I your friend,
your best friend, my Angelina? your own Araminta,
your amiable Araminta, your unknownfriend!"
"My unknown friend, indeed!" said Angelina. Miss
Hodges let go her struggling hand, and Miss Warwick*
that instant followed Lady Frances, who, having effected her retreat, had by this time gained the staircase.
" Gone" cried Miss Hodges; "then never will I see
or speak to her more. Thuk I whistle her off, and let
her down the wind to prey at fortune."
"Gracious heart! what quarrels," said Nat, "and
doings, the night before our wedding day!"
We leave this well-matched pair to their happy prospects of conjugal union and equality.
Lady Frances, who perceived that Miss Warwick
was scarcely able to suppport herself, led her to a sofa,
which she luckily saw through the half-open door of a
drawing-room, at the head of the staircase.
"To be taken for a thief!-O, to what have I exposed myself!" said Miss Warwick.
" Sit down, my dear, now we are in a room where
we need not fear interruption-sit down, and don't
tremble like an aspen leaf," said Lady Frances Somerset, who saw that at this moment reproaches would
have been equally unnecessary and cruel.




ANGELINA.                  59
Unused to be treated with judicious kindness, Angelina's heart was deeply touched by it, and she opened
her whole mind to Lady Frances, with the frankness of
a young person conscious of her own folly, not desirous to apologize or extenuate, but anxious to regain the
esteem of a fiiend.
"To be sure, my dear, it was, as you say, rather
foolish to set out in quest of an unknown friend," said
Lady Frances, after listening to the confessions of Angelina. " And why, after all, was it necessary to have
an elopement?"'
"O, Madam, I am sensible of my folly-I had long
formed a project of living in a cottage in Wales. Miss
Burrage described Wales to me as a terrestrial paradise."
"Miss Burrage! then why did she not go to paradise
along with you?" said Lady Frances.
" I don't know-she was so much attached to Lady
Di Chillingworth, she said, she could never think of
leaving her: she charged me never to mention the cottage scheme to Lady Di, who would only laugh at it.
Indeed Lady Di was almost always out while we were
in London, or dressing, or at cards, and I could seldom
speak to her, especially about cottages; and I wished
for a friend to whom I could open my whole heart, and
whom I could love and esteem, and should have the
same tastes and notions with myself."
" I am sorry that last condition is part of your definition of a friend,'" said Lady Frances, smiling; " for I
will not swear that my notions are the same as yours,
but yet I think you would have found me as good a
friend as this Araminta of yours. Was it necessary to
perfect felicity to have an unknownfriend?"
"Ah! there was my rmistake,'" said Miss Warwick."I had read Araminita's writings, and they speak so
charmingly of friendship and felicity, that I thought
"' Those best can paint them who can feel them most.' "
"No uncommon mistake," said Lady Frances.
"But I am fully sensible of my folly," said Angelina.
"Then there is no occasion to say any more about it
at present-to-morrow, as you like romances, we'll read
Arabella, or the Female Quixote; and you shall tell me




60                MORAL TALES.
which of all your acquaintance the heroine resembles
most. And, in the mean time, as you seem to have
satisfied your curiosity about your unknownfriend, will
you come home with me?"
" O, Madam," said Angelina, with emotion, "your
goodness" —
"But we have not time to talk of my goodness yetstay-let me see-yes, it were best that it should be
known that you are with us as soon as possible-for there
is a thing, my dear, of which, perhaps, you are not
full~ sensible-of which you are too young to be fully
sensible-that, to people who have nothing to do or to.say, scandal is a necessary luxury of' life; and that, by
such a step as you have taken, you have given room
enough for scandal-mongers to make you and your
friends completely miserable."
Angelina burst into tears —though a sentimental lady,
she had not yet acquired the art of bursting into tears
upon every trifling occasion. Hers were tears of real
feeling. Lady Frances was glad to see that she had
made a sufficient impression upon her mind; but she
assured Angelina that she did not intend to torment her
with useless lectures and reproaches. Lady Frances
Somerset understood the art of giving advice rather
better than Lady Diana Chillingworth.
" I do not mean, my dear," said Lady Frances, "to
make you miserable for life-but I mean to make an
impression upon you that may make you prudent and
happy for life. So don't cry till you make your eyes so
red as not to be fit to be seen at the play to-night, where
they must positively be seen."
" But Lady Diana is below," said Miss Warwick:
" I am ashamed and afraid to see her again."
"It will be difficult, but I hope not impossible, to convince my sister," said Lady Frances, " that you clearly
understand that you have been a simpleton; but that a
simpleton of sixteen is more an object of mercy than a
simpleton of sixty.-So my verdict is-Guilty;-but recommended to mercy."
By this mercy Angelina was more touched than she
could have been by the most severe reproaches.




ANGELINA.                   61
CHAPTER V.
WHILE the preceding conversation was passing, Lady
Diana Chillingworth was in Mrs. Bertrand's frulit-shop,
occupied with her smelling-bottle and Miss Burrage.
Clara Hope was there also, and Mrs. Puffit the milliner
and Mrs. Bertrand, who was assuring her ladyship that
not a word of the affair about the young lady and the
lace should go out of her house.
"Your la'ship need not be in the least uneasy," said
Mrs. Bertrand, " for I have satisfied the constable;,and
satisfied everybody; and the constable allows Miss
Warwick's name was not mentioned in the warrant;
and as to the servant girl, she's gone before the magistrate, who, of course, will send her to the house of' correction; but that will no ways implicate the young lady,
and nothing shall transpire from this house detrimental
to the young lady who is under your la'ship protection.
And I'll tell your la'ship how Mrs. Puffit and I have
settled to tell the story: with your ladyship's approbation, I shall say" —
"Nothing, if you please," said her ladyship, with
more than her usual haughtiness.  "The young lady
to whom you allude is under Lady Frances Somerset's
protection, not mine; and whatever you do or say, I
beg that in this affair the name of Lady Diana Chillingworth may not be used."
She turned her back upon the disconcerted milliner as
she finished this speech, and walked to the farthest end
of the long room, followed by the constant flatterer of
all her humours, Miss Burrage.
The nilliner and Mrs. Bertrand now began to console
themselves for the mortification they had received from
her ladyship's pride, and for the insolent forgetfulness of
her companion, by abusing them both in a low voice.
Mrs. Bertrand began with, " Her ladyship's so touchy,
and so proud; she's as high as the moon, and higher."
"Oh, all the Chillingworths, by all accounts, are so,"
said Mrs. Puffit; " but then, to be sure, they have a right
to be so, if anybody has, for they certainly are real highborn people."




62                MORAL TALES.
" But I can't tolerate to see some people, that aren't
no ways born nor entitled to it, give themselves such
airs as some people do. Now, there's that Miss Burrage,
that pretends not to know me, ma'am."
"And me, na'am, —just the same. Such provoking
assurance; I that knew her from this high."
"On St. Augustin's Back, you know," said Mrs. Puffit.
"On St. Augfustin's Back, you know," echoed Mrs.
Bertrand.
"So I told her this morning, ma'am," said Mrs. Puffit.
"And so I told her this evening, ma'am, when the three
Miss Herrings came in to give me a' call in their way to
the play; girls that she used to walk with, ma'am, for
ever and ever in the green, you know."
" Yes; and that she was always glad to drink tea
with, ma'am, when asked, you know," said Mrs. Puffit.
"Well, ma'am," pursued Mrs. Bertrand, "here she had
the impudence to pretertl not to know them. She takes
up her glass, —my Lady Di herself couldn't have done
it better, and squeezes up her ugly face this way, pre
tending to be near sighted, though she can see as well
as you or I can."
" Such airs! she near-sighted!" said Mrs. Puffit: " what
will the world come to!"
" O, I wish her pride may have a fall," resumed the
provoked milliner, as soon as she had breath. "I dare
to say now she wouldn't know her own relations if she
was to meet them; I'd lay any wager she would not
vouchsafe a courtesy to that good old John Barker, the
friend of her father, you know who gave up to this Miss
Burrage I don't know how many hundreds of pounds,
that were due to him, or else Miss wouldn't have had a
farthing in the world; yet now, I'll be bound, she'd forget this as well as St. Augustin's Back, and wouldn't
know John Barker from Abraham; and I don't doubt but
she'd pull out her glass at her aunt Dinah, because she is
a cheesemonger's widow."
"0  no," said Mrs. Bertrand, "she couldn't have the
baseness to be near-sighted to good Dinah Plait, that bred
her up, and was all in all to her."
Just as Mrs. Bertrand finished speaking, into the fruit



ANGELINA.                    68
shop walked the very persons of whom she had been
talking' —Dinah Plait and Mr. Barker.
"Mrs. Dinah Plait, I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Bertrand.
"I never was so glad to see you, Mrs. Plait and Mr.
Barker, in all my days," said Mrs. Puffit.
"Why you should be so particularly glad to see me,
Mrs. Puffit, I don't know," said Mr. Barker, laughing;
" but I'm not surprised Dinah Plait should be a welcome
guest wherever she goes, especially with a purse full of
guineas in her hand."
" Friend Bertrand," said Dinah Plait,producinga purse
which she held under her cloak, "I am come to restore
this purse to its rightful owner; after a great deal of
trouble, John Barker (who never thinks it a trouble to
do good) hath traced her to your house."
"' There is a young lady there, to be sure," said Mrs.
Bertrand; " but you can't see her just at present, for she
is talking on petticlar business with my Lady Frances
Somerset above-stairs."
"'Tis well," said Dinah Plait: " I would willingly restore this purse, not to the young creature herself, but to
some of her friends, —for I fear she is not quite in a right
state of mind,-if I could see any of the young lady's
friends."
" Miss Burrage," cried Mrs. Bertrand, in a tone of voice
so loud that she could no avoid hearing it, " are not you
one of the young lady's friends?"
"What young lady's friend?" replied Miss Burrage,
without stirring from her seat.
" Miss Burrage, here's a purse for a young lady," said
Mrs. Puffit.
" A purse for whom? Where." said Miss Burrage,
at last deigning to rise, and come out of her recess.
" There, ma'am," said the milliner. "Now for her
glass!" whispered Mrs. Puffit to Mrs. Bertrand. And,
exactly as it had been predicted, Miss Burrage eyed her
aunt Dinah through herglass, pretending notto know her.
"The purse is not mine," said she, coolly: " I know
nothing of it-nothing.'"
"Hetty!" exclaimed her aunt: but as Miss Burrage
34




64                MORAL TALES.
still eyed her through her glass with unmoved invincible
assurance, Dinah thought that, however strong  the resemblance, she was mistaken. " No, it can't be Hetty.
I beg pardon, Madam, but I took you for-Did not I
hear you say the name of Burrage, friend Puffit?"
" Yes, Burrage; one of the Burrages of Dorsetshire,"
said the milliner, with malicious archness.
One of the Burrages of Dorsetshire: I beg pardon.
But did you ever see such a likeness, friend Barker, to
my poor niece, Hetty Burrage?"
Miss Burrage who overheard these words, immediately
turned her back upon her aunt. " A grotesque statue of
starch, —one of your Quakers, I think they call themselves; Bristol is full of such primitive figures," said Miss
Burrage to Clara Hope, and she walked back to the recess and to Lady Di.
" So like, voice and all, to my poor Hester," said Dinah
Plait, and she wiped the tears from her eyes. " Though
Hetty has neglected me so of late, I have a tenderness
for her; we cannot but have some for our own relations."
" Grotesque or not,'tis a statue that seems to have a
heart, and a gude one," said Clara Hope.
"1 wish we could say the same of everybody," said
Mrs. Bertrand.
All this time old Mr. Barker, leaning on his cane, had
been silent: "Burrage of Dorsetshire!" said he; "I'll
soon see whether she be or no; for Hetty has a wart on
her chin that I cannot forget, let her forget whom and
what she pleases."
Mr. Barker, who was a plain-spoken, determined man,
followed the young lady to the recess; and after looking
her full in the face, exclaimed in a loud voice, " Here's
the wart!-'tis Hetty!"
" Sir! —wart!-man!-Lady Di," cried Miss Burrage,
in accents of the utmost distress and vexation.
Mr. Barker, regardless of her-:frowns and struggles,
would by no means relinquish her hand; but leading, or
rather pulling her forwards, he went on with barbarous
steadiness: "Dinah," said he, "'tis your own niece.
Hetty,'tis your own aunt, that bred you up! What,
struggle- Burrage of Dorsetshire!"




ANGELINA.                 65
"There certainly," said Lady Diana Chillingworth, in
a solemn tone, "is a conspiracy, this night, against my
poor nerves. These people, among them, will infallibly
surprise me to death. What is the matter now?-why
do you drag the young lady, sir? She came here with
me, sir,-with Lady Diana Chillingworth; and consequently, she is not a person to be insulted."
"Insult her!" said Mr. Barker, whose sturdy simplizity was not to be baffled or disconcerted, either by the
cunning of Miss Burrage or by the imposing manner
and awful name of Lady Diana Chillingworth. " Insult
her! why,'tis she insults us; she won't know us."
" How should Miss Burrage know you, sir, or anybody here?" said Lady Diana, looking round, as if upon
beings of a species different from her own.
" How should she know her own aunt that bred her
up?" said the invincible John Barker, "and me, who
have had her on my knee a hundred times, giving her
barley-sugar till she was sick?"
" Sick! I am sure you make me sick,"said Lady Diana.
"Sir, that young lady is one of the Burrages of Dorsetshire, as good a family as any in England."
"Madam," said John Barker, replying in a solemnity
of tone equal to her ladyship's, " that young lady is one
of the Burrages of Bristol, drysalters; niece to Dinah
Plait, who is widow to a man who was, in his time, as
honest a cheesemohger as any in England.i"
"Miss Burrage!-My God!-don't you speak!" cried
Lady Diana, in a voice of terror.
"The young lady is bashful, my lady, among strangers," said Mrs. Bertrand.
" O, Hester Burrage, is this kind of thee?" said Dinah
Plait, with an accent of mixed sorrow and affection;
"but thou art my niece, and I forgive thee."
"A cheesemonger'~ niece!" cried Lady Diana, with
horror; "how have I been deceived! But this is the
consequence of making acquaintance at Buxton, and
those watering places: I've done with her, however.
Lord bless me! here comes my sister, Lady Frances!
Good heavens! my dear," continued her ladyship, going
to meet her sister, and drawing her into the recess at
r2




66               MORAL TALES.
the farthest end of the room, " here are more misfortunes
— misfortunes without end. What will the world say'
Here's this Miss Burrage,-take no more notice of her,
sister; she's an impostor: who do you think she turns
out to be? Daughter to a drysalter, niece to a cheesemonger! Only conceive!-a person that has been
going about with me everywhere!-What will the world
say?"
"That it is very imprudent to have unknown friends,
my dear," replied Lady Frances. " The best thing you
can possibly do is to say nothing about the matter, and
to receive this penitent ward of yours without reproaches;
for if you talk of her unknown friends, the world will
certainly talk of yours."
Lady Diana drew back with haughtiness when her
sister offered to put Miss Warwick's hand into hers;
but she condescended to say, after an apparent struggle
with herself, " I am happy to hear, Miss Warwick, that
you have returned to your senses. Lady Frances takes
you under her protection, I understand; at which, for all
our sakes, I rejoice; and I have only one piece of advice,
Miss Warwick, to give you-"
"Keep it till after the play, my dear Diana," whispered
Lady Frances: " It will have more effect."
" The play!-Bless me!" said Lady Diana, " why
you have contrived to make Miss Warwick fit to be seen,
I protest. But, after all I have gone through to-night,
how can I appear in public?  My dear, this Miss Burrage's business has given me such a shock,-such ner.
vous affections!"
"Nervous affections!-some people, I do believe have
none but nervous affections," thought Lady Frances.
"Permit me," said Mrs. Dinah Plait, coming up to
Lady Frances, and presenting Miss Warwick's purse;
" permit me, as thou seemest to be a friend to this young
lady, to restore to thee her purse, which she left by mistake at my house this forenoon. I hope she is better,
poor thing."
" She is better, and I thank you for her, madam." said
Lady Frances, who was struck with the obliging manner
and benevolent countenance of Dinah Plait, and who




ANGELINA.                  67
did not think herself contaminated by standing in the
same room with the widow of a cheesemonger.
"Let me thank you myself, Madam,' said Angelina;
"I am perfectly in my senses now, I can assure you;
and I shall never forget the kindness which you and this
benevolent gentleman showed me when you thought I
was in real distress."
" Some people are more grateful than other people,"
said Mrs. Puffit, looking at Miss Burrage, who in mortified, sullen silence, followed the aunt and the benefactor of whom she was ashamed, and who had reason to
be ashamed of her.
We do not imagine that our readers can be much interested for a young lady who was such a compound
of pride and meanness; we shall therefore only add,
that her future life was spent at St. Augustin's Back,
where she made herself at once as ridiculous and as unhappy as she deserved to be.
As for our heroine, under the friendly and judicious
care of Lady Frances Somerset, she acquired that which
is more useful to the possessor than genius-good sense.
Instead of rambling over the world in search of an unknown friend, she attached herself to those of whose
worth she received proofs more convincing than a letter
of three folio sheets, stuffed with sentimental nonsense.
In short, we have now, in the name of Angelina Warwick, the pleasure to assure all those whom it may concern, that it is possible for a young lady of sixteen to
cure herself of the affectation of sensibility, and the folly
of romance.
34*








GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.












'i ~ ~   ~ ~ (,~ ~b
ii~
1 I \i\1  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~,:~   ~




THE
GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.
AMONG the sufferers during the bloody reign of Robespierre was Mad. de Rosier, a lady of good family, excellent understanding, and most amiable character. Her
husband, and her only son, a promising young man of
about fourteen, were dragged to the horrid prison of the
Conciergerie, and their names soon afterward appeared
in the list of those who fell a sacrifice to the tyrant's
cruelty. By the assistance of a faithful domestic, Mad.
de Rosier, who was destined to be the next victim,
escaped from France, and took refuge in EnglandEngland! that generous country which, in favour of the
unfortunate, forgets her national prejudices, and to whom,
in their utmost need, even her "natural enemies" fly for
protection. English travellers have sometimes been
accused of forgetting the civilities which they receive in
foreign countries;, but their conduct towards the French
emigrants has sufficiently demonstrated the injustice of
this reproach.
Mad. de Rosier had reason to be pleased by the delicacy of several families of distinction in London, who
offered her their services under the name of gratitude;
but she was incapable of encroaching upon the kindness
of her friends. Misfortune had not extinguished the
energy of her mind, and she still possessed. the power
of maintaining herself honourably by her own exertions.
Her character and her abilities being well known, she
easily procured recommendations as a preceptfess. Many
ladies anxiously desired to engage such a governess for
their children, but Mrs. Harcourt had the good fortune
to obtain the preference.
Mrs. Harcourt was a widow, who had been a very fine
71




72                MORAL TALES.
woman, and continued to be a very fine lady; she had
good abilities, but, as she lived in a constant round of
dissipation, she had not time to cultivate her understanding, nor to attend to the education of her family;
and she had satisfied her conscience by procuring for her
daughters a fashionable governess and expensive masters.
The governess whose place Mad. de Rosier was now to
supply, had quitted her pupils to go abroad with a lady
of quality, and Mrs. Harcourt knew enough of the world
to bear her loss without emotion;-she however stayed
at home one whole evening, to receive Mad. de Rosier,
and to introduce her to her pupils. Mrs. Harcourt had
three daughters and a son —Isabella, Matilda, Favoretta,
and Herbert. Isabella was about fourteen; her countenance was intelligent, but rather too expressive of confidence in her own capacity, for she had, from her infancy,
been taught to believe that she was a genius. Her
memory had been too much cultivated; she had learned
languages with facility, and had been taught to set a
very high value upon her knowledge of history and
chronology. Her temper had been hurt by flattery, yet
she was capable of feeling all the generous passions.
Matilda was a year younger than Isabella; she was
handsome, but her countenance, at first view, gave the
idea of hopeless indolence; she did not learn the French
and Italian irregular verbs by rote as expeditiously as
her sister, and her impatient preceptress pronounced,
with an irrevocable nod, that Miss Matilda was no genius.
The phrase was quickly caught by her masters, so that
Matilda, undervalued even by her sister, lost all confidence in herself, and, with the hope of success, lost the
wish for exertion. Her attention gradually turned to
dress and personal accomplishments; not that she was
vain of her beauty, but she had more hopes of pleasing
by the graces of her person than of her mind. The
timid, anxious blush which Mad. de Rosier observed to
vary in Matilda's countenance, when she spoke to those
for whom she felt affection, convinced this lady that, if
Matilda were no genius, it must have been the fault of
her education. On sensibility all that is called genius,
perhaps, originally depends: those who are capable of




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           73
feeling a strong degree of pain and pleasure may surely
be excited to great and persevering exertion, by calling
the proper motives into action.
Favoretta, the youngest daughter, was about six years
old. At this age, the habits that constitute character
are not formed, and it is therefore absurd to speak of
the character of a child of six years old. Favoretta had
been from her birth the plaything of her mother and of
her mother's waiting-maid. She was always produced
when Mrs. Harcourt had company, to be admired and
caressed by the fashionable circle; her ringlets and her
lively nonsense were the never-failing means of attracting attention from visiters. In the drawing-room,
Favoretta, consequently, was happy, always in high
spirits, and the picture of good-humour; but, change
the scene, and Favoretta no longer appeared the same
person: when alone, she was idle and spiritless; when
with her maid, or with her brother and sisters, pettish
and capricious. Her usual play-fellow was Herbert, but
their plays regularly ended in quarrels-quarrels in which
both parties were commonly in the wrong, though the
whole of the blame necessarily fell upon Herbert, for
Herbert was neither caressing nor caressed.  Mrs.
Grace, the waiting-maid, pronounced him to be the
plague of her life, and prophesied evil of him, because,
as she averred, if she combed his hair a hundred times
a day, it would never be fit to be seen; besides this, she
declared "there was no managing to keep him out of
mischief;" and he was so "thick-headed at his book,"
that Mrs. Grace, on whom the task of teaching him his
alphabet had, during the negligent reign of the late governess, devolved, affirmed that he would never learn to
read like any other young gentleman. Whether the
zeal of Mrs. Grace for his literary progress were of service to his understanding may be doubted; there could
be no doubt of its effect upon his temper; a sullen gloom
overspread Herbert's countenance whenever the shrill
call of " Come and say your task, Master Herbert!" was
heard; and the continual use of the imperative mood —
"Let that alone, do, Master Herbert!" —" Don't nmake
a racket, Master Herbert!" —" Do hold your tongue and
G




74                MORAL TALES.
sit still where I bid you, Master Herbert!" operated so
powerfully upon this young gentleman, that, at eight
years old, he partly fulfilled his tormentor's prophecies,
for he became a little surly rebel, who took pleasure in
doing exactly the contrary to every thing that he was
desired to do, and who took pride in opposing his powers
of endurance to the force of punishment. His situation
was scarcely more agreeable in the drawing-room than
in the nursery, for his mother usually announced him to
the company by the appropriate appellation of Rough,
head; and Herbert Roughhead, being assailed at his entrance into the room by a variety of petty reproaches
and maternal witticisms upon his uncouth appearance,
became bashful and awkward, averse to polite society,
and prone to the less fastidious company of servants in
the stable and the kitchen. Mrs. Harcourt absolutely
forbade his intercourse with the postillions, though she
did not think it necessary to be so strict in her injunctions as to the butler and footman; because, argued she,
"children will get to the servants when one's from
home, and it is best that they should be with such of
them as one can trust-now Stephen is quite a person
one can entirely depend upon, and he has been so long
in the family, the children are quite used to him, and
safe with him."
How many mothers have a Stephen, on whom  they
can entirely depend!
Mrs. Harcourt, with politeness, which in this instance
supplied the place of good sense, invested Mad. de Rosier with full powers as the preceptress of her children,
except as to their religious education; she stipulated that
Catholic tenets should not be instilled into them. To
this Mad. de Rosier replied,' that children usually follow the religion of their parents, and that proselytes seldom do honour to their conversion; that were she, on
the other hand, to attempt to promote her pupils' belief
in the religion of their country, her utmost powers could
add nothing to the force of public religious instruction,
and to the arguments of those books which are necessarily put into the hands of every well educated person."
With these opinions, Mad. de Rosier readily promised




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           75
to abstain from all direct or indirect interference in the
religious instruction of her pupils. Mrs. Harcourt then
introduced her to them as " a friend, in whom she had
entire confidence, and whom she hoped and believed
they would make it their study to please."
While the ceremonies of the introduction were going
on, Herbert kept himself aloof, and with his whip suspended over the stick on which he was riding, eyed Mad.
de Rosier with no friendly aspect: however, when she
held out her hand to him, and when he heard the encouraging tone of her voice, he approached, held his
whip fast in his right hand, but very cordially gave the
lady his left to shake.
" Are you to be my governess?" said he:" you won't
give me very long tasks, will you?"
" Favoretta, my dear, what has detained you so long?"
cried Mrs. Harcourt, as the door opened, and as Favoretta, with her hair in nice order, was ushered into the
room by Mrs. Grace. The little girl ran up to Mad. de
Rosier, and, with the most caressing freedom, cried"Will you love me? Ihave not my red shoes on
to davy?"
While Mad. de Rosier assured Favoretta that the
want of the red shoes would not diminish her merit, Matilda whispered to Isabella, "Mourning is very becoming
to her, though she is not fair;" and Isabella, with a look
of absence, replied, "But she speaks English amazingly well for a.French woman."
Mad. de Rosier did speak English remarkably well;
she had spent some years in England in her early youth,
and perhaps the effect of her conversation was heightened by an air of foreign novelty. As she was not hackneyed in the common language of conversation, her ideas
were expressed in select and accurate terms, so that her
thoughts appeared original, as well as just.
Isabella, who was fond of talents, and yet fonder of
novelty, was charmed the first evening with her new
friend, more especially as she perceived that her abilities had not escaped Mad. de Rosier. She displayed all
her little treasures of literature, but was surprised to observe that, though every shining thing she said was
35




76                MORAL TALES.
taken nbtice of, nothing dazzled the eyes of her judge;
gradually her desire to talk subsided, and she felt some
curiosity to hear. She experienced the new pleasure of
conversing with a person whom she perceived to be her
superior in understanding, and whose superiority she
could admire, without any mixture of envy.
" Then," said she, pausing one day, after having successfully enumerated the dates of' the reigns of all the
English kings; "I suppose you have something in
French, like our Gray's Memoria Technica, or else you
never could have such a prodigious quantity of dates in
your head. Had you as much knowledge of chronology
and history when you were of my age as-as —"
"'As you have?" said Mad. de Rosier: "I do not
know whether I had at your age, but I can assure you
that I have not now."
"Nay," replied Isabella, with an incredulous smile,
" but you only say that from modesty."
" From vanity, more likely."
"Vanity! impossible-you don't understand me."
" Pardon me, but you do not understand me."
" A person/,' cried Isabella, " can't, surely, be vainwhat we, in English, call vain-of not remembering any
thing."' Is it then, impossible that a person should be what
you in English call vain of not remembering what is useless,? I dare say you can tell me the name of that wise
man who prayed for the art of forgetting."
"No, indeed, I don't know his name! I never heard
of him before: was he a Grecian, or a Roman, or an
Englishman? can't you recollect his name? what does
it begin with?"
" I do not wish, either for your sake or my own, to
remember the name; let us content ourselves with the
wise man's sense, whether he were a Grecian, a Roman, or an Englishman: even the first letter of his name
might be left among the useless things-might it not?"
" But," replied Isabella, a little piqued, " I do not know
what you call useless."
"i Those of which yol can make no use," said Mad.
de Rosier, with simplicity.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          77
"You don't mean, though, all the names, and dates,
and kings, and Roman emperors, and all the remarkable
events that I have learned by heart?"
"It is useful, I allow," replied Mad. de Rosier, "to
know by heart the names of the English kings and Roman emperors, and to remember the dates of their
reigns, otherwise we should be obliged, whenever we
wanted them, to search in the books in which they are
to be found, and that wastes time."
"Wastes time-yes; but, what's worse," said Isabella, "a person looks so awkward and foolish in company who does not know these things —things that every body knows."
" And that everybody is supposed to know," added
Mad. de Rosier.'. A person," continued Isabella, "could make no
figure in conversation, you know, among well-informed
people, if she didn't know these things."
"' Certainly not," said Mad. de Rosier, " nor could she
make a figure among well-informed people, by telling
them what, as you observed just now, every body knows."
" But I do not mean," said Isabella, after a mortified
pause, "that everybody knows the remarkable events,
though they may have learned the reigns of the kings by
heart; for I assure you, the other day I found it a great
advantage, when somebody was talking about the powder-tax, to be able to tell, in a room full of company,
that powder for the hair was first introduced into England in the year 1614; and that potatoes, which, very
luckily for me, were next to powder in " the Tablet of
Memory;" were first brought to England in the year
1586. And the very same evening, when mamma was
showing some pretty coloured note-paper, which she
had just got, I had an opportunity of saying that white
paper was first made in England in the year 1587; and
a gentleman made me a bow, and said he would give the
world for my memory. So you see that these, at least, are
not to be counted among the useless things-are they?"
" Certainly not," replied Mad. de Rosier: "we can
form sorlme idea of the civilization of a country at any
period, by knowing that such a frivolous luxury as pow
G2




78                MORAL TALES.
der was then first introduced: trifles become matters of
importance to those who have the good sense to know
how to makle them of use; and as for paper, that and
the art of printing are so intimately connected-"
"Ah!" interrupted Isabella, " if they had asked me, I
could have told them when the first printing-press was
established in Westminster Abbey-in 1494."
"And paper was made in England?"
"Have you forgot so soon! —in 1587."
" It is well worth remarking," said Mad. de Rosier,
"(that literature in England must have, at that time,
made but a very slow progress, since a hundred years
had elapsed between the establishing of your printingpress, and the making of your white paper; I allow
these things are not useless facts."
" That never struck me before," said Isabella ingenuously; "I only remembered these things to repeat in
conversation."
Here Mad. de Rosier, pleased to observe that her pupil had caught an idea that was new to her, dropped the
conversation, and left Isabella to apply what had passed.
-Active and ingenious young people should have much
left to their own intelligent exertions, and to their own
candour."
Matilda, the second daughter, was at first pleased with
Mad. de Rosier, because she looked well in mourning;
and afterward she became interested for her, from hearing the history of her misfortunes, of which Mad. de Rosier, one evening, gave her a simple, pathetic account.
Matilda was particularly touched by the account of the
early death of this lady's beautiful and accomplished
daughter; she dwelt upon every circumstance, and,
with anxious curiosity, asked a variety of questions.
"I think I can form a perfect idea of her now," said
Matilda, after she had inquired concerning the colour of
her hair, of her eyes, her complexion, her height, her
voice, her manners, and her dress —" I think I have a
perfect idea of her now."
" Oh no!" said Mad. de Rosier, with a sigh; "you
cannot form a perfect idea of my Rosalie from any of
these things; she was handsome and graceful: but it




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          79
was not her person-it was her mind," said the mother, with a faltering voice: her voice had, till this instant, been steady and composed."
" I beg your pardon-I will ask you no more questions," said Matilda.
" My love," said Mad. de Rosier, " ask me as many
as you please-I like to think of her-I may now speak
of her without vanity-her character would have pleased you."
" I am sure it would," said Matilda: "do you think
she would have liked me or Isabella the best?"
" She would have liked each of you for your different
good qualities, I think; she would not have made her
love an object of competition, or the cause of jealousy
between two sisters; she could make herself sufficiently
beloved, without stooping to any such mean arts. She
had two friends who loved her tenderly; they knew that
she was perfectly sincere, and that she would not flatter
either of them-you know that is only'childish affection
which is without esteem. Rosalie was esteemed autant
qu'aimSe."
" How I should have liked such a friend! but I am
afraid she would have been so much my superior, she
would have despised me-Isabella would have had all
her conversation, because she knows so much, and I
know nothing!"
" If you know that you know nothing," said Mad. de
Rosier, with an encouraging smile, " you know as much
as the wisest of men. When the oracle pronounced
Socrates to be the wisest of men, he explained it by observing,'that he knew himself to be ignorant, while
other men,' said he,'believing that they know every
thing, are not likely to improve.'"
" Then you think I am likely to improve?" said Matilda, with a look of doubttful hope.
"Certainly," said Mad. de Rosier: " if you exert yourself, you may be any thing you please."
"t Not any thing I please, for I should please to be as
clever, and as good, and as amiable, and as estimable
too, as your Rosalie-but that's impossible. Tell me,
however, what she was at my age —and what sort of
35*




80                MORAL TALES.
things she used to do and say-and what books she
read-and how she employed herself from morning till
night."
" That must be for to-morrow," said Mad. de Rosier;
"I must now show Herbert the book of prints that he
wanted to see."
It was the first time that Herbert had ever asked to
look into a book. Mad. de Rosier had taken him entirely out of the hands of Mrs. Grace, and finding that
his painful associations with the sight of the syllables in
his dog's-eared spelling-book could not immediately be
conquered, she prudently resolved to cultivate his powers of attention upon other subjects, and not to return to
syllabic difficulties until the young gentleman should
have forgotten his literary misfortunes, and acquired
sufficient energy and patience to ensure success.
"It is of little consequence," said she, "whether the
boy read a year sooner or later; but it is of great consequence that he should love literature."
" Certainly," said Mrs. Harcourt, to whom this observation was addressed; "I am sure you will manage all
those things properly-I leave him entirely to youGrace quite gives him up: if he read by the time we
must think of sending him to school I shall be satisfied
-only keep him out of my way," added she, laughing,
" when he is stammering over that unfortunate spellingbook, for I don't pretend to be gifted with the patience
of Job."
" Have you any objection," said Mad. de Rosier, "to
my buying for him some new toys?"
"None in the world-buy any thing you will-do any
thing you please-I give you carte-blanche," said Mrs.
Harcourt.
After Mad. de Rosier had been some time at Mrs. Harcourt's, and had carefully studied the characters, or,
more properly speaking, the habits of all her pupils, she
took them with her one morning to a large toy-shop, or
rather warehouse for toys, which had been lately opened
under the direction of an ingenious gentleman, who had
employed proper workmen to execute rational toys for
the rising generation.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           81
When Herbert entered "the rational toy-shop,*' he
looked all around, and, with an air of disappointment,
exclaimed, "Why, I see neither whips nor horses! nor
phaetons, nor coaches!" —"Nor dressed dolls!" said
Favoretta, in a reproachful tone; "nor baby houses!""Nor soldiers, nor a drum!" continued Herbert.-" I am
sure I never saw such a toy-shop," said Favoretta; "I
expected the finest things that ever were seen, because
it was such a new great shop, and here are nothing but
vulgar-looking things —great carts and wheelbarrows,
and things fit for orange-women's daughters, I think."
This sally of wit was not admired as much as it would
have been by Favoretta's flatterers in her mother's drawing-room: her brother seized upon the very cart which
she had abused, and, dragging it about the room with
noisy joy, declared he had found out that it was better
than a coach and six that would hold nothing; and he
was even satisfied without horses, because he reflected
that he could be the best horse himself; and that wooden
horses, after all, cannot gallop, and they never mind if
you whip them ever so much; " You must drag them
along all the time, though you make believe," said Herbert, " that they draw the coach of themselves; if one
gives them the least push they tumble down on their
sides, and one must turn back, for ever and ever, to
set them up upon their wooden legs again. I don't like
make-believe horses; I had rather be both man and horse
for myself." Then, whipping himself, he galloped away,
pleased with his centaur character.
When the little boy in Sacontala is offered for a plaything " apeacock of ear}thenware,painted with rich colours,"
he answers, "' I shall like the peacock if it can run andfly
-not else." The Indian drama of Sacontala was written
many centuries ago. Notwithstanding it has so long
been observed that children dislike useless, motionless,
playthings, it is but of late that more rational toys have
been devised for their amusements.
While Herbert's cart rolled on, Favoretta viewed it
with scornful eyes; but at length, cured by the neglect
of the spectators of this fit of disdain, she condescended
to be pleased, and spied a few things worthy of her no



82               MORAL TALES.
tice. Bilboquets, battledores, and shuttlecocks she acknowledged were no bad things. "And pray," said she,
"what are those pretty little baskets, Mad. de Rosier?
And those others, which look as if they were but just
begun? And what are those strings that look like mamma's bell-cords; and is that a thing for making laces,
such as Grace laces me with? And what are those
cabinets with little drawers for?"
Mad. de Rosier had taken notice of these little cabinets
-they were for young mineralogists; she was also
tempted by a botanical apparatus; but as her pupils were
not immediately going into the country, where flowers
could be procured, she was forced to content herself with
such things as could afford them employment in town.
The making of baskets, of bell-ropes, and of cords for
window- curtains were occupations in which, she thought,
they might successfully apply themselves. The materials for these little manufactures were here ready prepared; and only such difficulties were left as children
love to conquer. The materials for the baskets- and a
little magnifying glass which Favoretta wished to have,
were just packed up in a basket which was to serve for a
model, when Herbert's voice was heard at the other end
of the shop: he was exclaiming in an impatient tone, "I
must and I will eat them, I say." He had crept under
the counter, and, unperceived by the busy shopman, had
dragged out of a pigeon-hole near the ground' a parcel
wrapped up in brown paper: he had seated himself upon
the ground with his back to the company, and with patience worthy of a better object at length untied the difficult knot, pulled off the string, and opened the parcel.
Within the brown paper there appeared a number of little
packets, curiously folded in paper of a light brown.
Herbert opened one of these, and finding that it contained
a number of little round things which looked like comfits, he raised the paper to his mouth, which opened wide
to receive them. The shopman, stopping his arm, assured him that they were " not good to eat;" but Herbert
replied in the angry tone which caught Mad. de Rosier's
ear. "They are- the seeds of radishes, my dear," said
she: "if' they be sown in the ground they will bealne




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            83
radishes; then they will be fit to eat, but not till then.
Taste them now, and try." He willingly obeyed; but
put the seeds very quickly out of' his mouth, when he
found that they were not sweet. He then said " that he
wished he might have them, that he might sow them in
the little garden behind his mother's house, that they
might be fit to eat some time or other."
Mad. de Rosier bought the radish-seeds, and ordered a
little spade, a hoe, and a watering-pot, to be sent home
for him.
Herbert's face brightened with joy: he was surprised
to find that any of his requests were granted, because
Grace had regularly reproved him for being troublesome
whenever he asked for any thing: hence he had learned
to have recourse to force or fraud to obtain his objects.
He ventured now to hold Mad. de Rosier by the gown:
" Stay a little longer," said he; " I want to look at every
thing;" his curiosity dilated with his hopes.
When Mad. Rosier complied with his request to
" stay a little longer," he had even the politeness to push
a stool towards her, saying, "You'd better sit down;
you will be tired of standing, as some people say they
are; but I'm not one of them. Tell'em to give me down
that wonderful thing, that I may see what it is, will you?"
The wonderful thing which had caught Herbert's attention was a dry printing press. Mad. de Rosier was
glad to procure this little machine for Herbert, for she
hoped that the new associations of pleasure which he
would form with the types in the little compositors stick
would efface the painful remembrance of his early difficulties with the syllables in the spelling-book. She also
purchased a box of models of common furniture, which
were made to take to pieces, and to be put together
again, and on which the names of all the parts were
printed. A number of other useful toys tempted her, but
she determined not to be too profuse: she did not wish
to purchase the love of her little pupils by presents; her
object was to provide them with independent occupations: to create a taste for industry without the dangerous excitation of continual variety.
Isabella was delighted with the idea of filling up a small




84                MORAL TALES.,
biographical chart, which resembled Priestley's; she was
impatient also to draw the map of the world upon a small
silk balloon, which could be filled with common air, or
folded up flat at pleasure.
Matilda, after much hesitation, said she had decided
her mind, just as they were going out of the shop. She
chose a small loom for weaving riband and tape, which
Isabella admired, because she remembered to have seen
it described in "Townsend's Travels;" but before the
man could put up the loom for Matilda, she begged to
have a little machine for drawing in perspective, because
the person who showed it assured her that it required
no sort of genius to draw perfectly well in perspective
with this instrument.
In their way home Mad. de Rosier stopped the carriage
at a circulating library. "Are you going to ask for the
novel we were talking of yesterday?" cried Matilda.
"A  novel!" said Isabella, contemptuously; "no, I
dare say Mad. de Rosier is not a novel reader."
"Zeluco, Sir, if you please," said Mad. de Rosier.
"You see, Isabella, notwithstanding the danger of forfeiting your good opinion, I have dared to ask for a
novel."
" Well, I always understood, I am sure," replied Isabella, disdainfully, "that none but trifling, silly people
were novel readers."
"Were readers of trifling, silly novels, perhaps you
mean," answered Mad. de Rosier, with temper; " but I
flatter myself you will not find Zeluco either trifling or
silly."
"No, not Zeluco, to be sure," said Isabella, recollecting herself; " for now I remember Mr. Gibbon, the great
historian mentions Zeluco in one of his letters; he says
it is the best philosophical romance of the age. I particularly remember that, because somebody had been
talking of Zeluco the very day I was reading that letter;
and I asked my governess to get it for me, but she said
it was a novel; however, Mr. Gibbon calls it a philosophical romance."
"The name," said Mad. de Rosier, " will not make
such difference to us; but I agree with you in thinking,




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.             85
that as people who cannot judge for themselves are apt
to be misled by names, it would be advantageous to invent some new name for philosophical novels, that they
may no longer be contraband goods —that they may not
be confounded with the trifling, silly productions for
which you have so just a disdain."
" Now, Ma'am, wrill you ask," cried Herbert, as the
carriage stopped.at his mother's door, " will you ask
whether the man has brought home my spade and the
watering-pot? I know you don't like that I should go
to the servants for what I want; but I'm in a great hurry
for the spade, because I want to dig the bed for my
radishes before night: I've got my seeds safe in my
hand."
Mad. de Rosier, much pleased by this instance of
obedience in her impatient pupil, instantly inquired for
-that he wanted, to convince him'that it was possible he
could have his wishes gratified by a person who was not
an inhabitant of the stable or the kitchen. Isabella might
have registered it in her list of remarkable events, that
Herbert, this day, was not seen with the butler, the footman, or the coachman. Mad. be Rosier, who was aware
of the force of habit, and who thought that no evil could
be greater than that of hazarding the integrity of her
little pupils, did not exact from them any promise of abstaining from the company of the servants, with whom
they had been accustomed to converse; but she had provided the children with occupations, that they might not
be tempted by idleness to seek for improper companions;
and by interesting herself with unaffected good-nature
in their amusements, she endeavoured to give them a
taste for the sympathy of their superiors in knowledge,
instead of a desire for the flattery of inferiors. She arranged their occupations in such a manner, that without
watching them every instant, she might know what they
were doing, and where they were; and she showed so
much readiness to procure for them any thing that was
reasonable, that they found it the shortest method to address their petitions to her in the first instance. Children
will nec{essarily delight in the company of those who
make them happy: Mad. de Rosier knew how to make
H




86                MORAL TALES.
her pupils contented, by exciting them to employments
in which they felt that they were successful.
" Mamnma! namirna! dear mamma!" cried Favoretta
running into the hall, and stopping Mrs. Harcourt, who
was dressed, and going out to dinner, "do come into the
parlour, to look at my basket, my beautiful basket, that
I am making all myself." "And do, mother, or some
of ye, come out into the garden, and seethe bed that I've
dug, with my own hands, for my radishes.-l'm as hot
as fire, I know," said Herbert pushing his hat back from
his forehead.
"O0! don't come near me with the watering-pot in
your hand," said Mrs. Harcourt, shrinking back, and
looking at Herbert's hands, which were not as white as
her own.
" The carriage is but just come to the door, Ma'am,"
said Isabella, who next appeared in the hall; "I only
want you for one instant, to show you something that
is to hang up in your dressing-room, when I have finished it, mamma; it is really beautiful."
"WVell, don't keep me long," said Mrs. Harcourt,
"for, indeed, I am too late already."
"0, no! indeed you will not be too late, mammaonly look at my basket," said Favoretta, gently pulling
her mother by the hand into the parlour.-Isabella
pointed to her silk globe, which was suspended in the
window, and, taking up her camel-hair pencil, cried,
" Only look, Ma'am, how nicely I have traced the Rhine,
the Po, the Elbe, and the Danube; you see I have not
finished Europe; it will be quite another looking thing
when Asia, Africa, and America are done, and when the
colours are quite dry."
" Now, Isabella, pray let her look at my basket," cried
the eager Favoretta, holding up the scarcely begun
basket; " I will do a row to show you how it is done;"
and the little girl, with busy fingers, began to weave.
The ingenious and delicate appearance of the work, and
the happy countenance of the little workwoman, fixed
the mother's pleased attention, and she, for a moment,
forgot that her carriage was waiting.
"The carriage is at the door, Ma'am," said the footman.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.             87
"I must be gone!" cried Mrs. Harcourt, starting from
her revery. " What am I doing here? I ought to have
been away this half-hour. —Matilda! —why is she not
among you?"
Matilda, apart from the busy company, was reading
with so much earnestness, that her mother called twice
before she looked up.
" How happy you all look," continued Mrs. Harcourt;
" and I am going to one of those. terrible great dinners
— I sha'u't eat one morsel: then cards all night, which I
hate as much as you do, Isabella-pity me, Mad. de Rosier!-Good-by, happy creatures!"-and  with some
real, and some affected reluctance, Mrs. lIarcourt departed-.
It is easy to make children happy, for one evening,
with new toys and new employments; but the difficulty
is to continue the pleasure of occupation after it has lost
its novelty: the power of habit may well supply the
place of the charm of novelty. Mlad. de Rosier exerted
herself, for some weeks, to invent occupations for her
pupils, that she might induce in their minds a love for
industry; and when they had tasted the pleasure and
formed the habit of doing something, she now and then
suffered them to experience the misery of having nothing
to do. The state of ennui, when contrasted with that
of pleasurable mental or bodily activity, becomes odious
and insupportable to children.
Our readers must have remarked that Herbert, when
he seized upon the radish-seeds in the rational toy-shop,
had not then learned just notions of the nature of property. Mad. de Rosier did not, like Mrs. Grace, repeat
ineffectually, fifty times a day-" Master Herbert, don't
touch that!-i' — Master Herbert, for shame! "-" Let that
alone, sir!"-"Master Herbert, how dare you, sir!"
but she prudently began by putting forbidden goods entirely out of his reach: thus she, at least, prevented the
necessity for perpetual irritating prohibitions, and diminished, with the temptation, the desire to disobey; she
gave him some things for his own use, and scrupulously
refrained from encroaching upon his property: Isabella
and Matilda followed her example, in this respect, and
36




88                MORAL TALES.
thus practically explained to Herbert the meaning of the
words mine and yours. He was extremely desirous of
going with Mad. de Rosier to different shops, but she
coolly answered his entreaties by observing, "that she
could not venture to take him into any one's house, till
she was sure that he would not meddle with what was
not his own."  Herbert now felt the inconvenience of
his lawless habits: to enjoy the pleasures, he perceived
that it was necessary to submit to the duties of society;
and he began to respect " the rights of things and persons." When his new sense of right and wrong had
been sufficiently exercised at home, Mad. de Rosier ventured to expose him to more dangerous trials abroad:
she took him to a carpenter's workshop, and though the
saw, the hammer, the chisel, the plane, and the vice
assailed him in various forms of temptation, his powers
of forbearance came off victorious.
"To bear and forbear" has been said to be the sum
of manly virtue: the virtue of forbearance in childhood
must always be measured by the pupil's disposition to
activity; a vivacious boy must often have occasion to
forbear more in a quarter of an hour, than a dull, indolent child in a quarter of a year.
"May 1 touch this?" —" May I meddle with that?'
were questions which our prudent hero now failed not
to ask before he meddled with the property of others,
and he found his advantage in this mode of proceeding.
He observed that his governess was, in this respect, as
scrupulous as she required that he should be, and he
consequently believed in the truth and general utility
of her precepts.
The eoach-maker's, the cooper's, the turner's, the
cabinet-maker's, even the black ironmonger's and
noisy tinman's shop afforded entertainment for many a
morning; a trifling gratuity often purchased much instruction, and Mad. de Rosier always examined the
countenance of the workman before she suffered her
little pupils to attack him with questions. The eager
curiosity of children is generally rather agreeable than
tormenting to tradesmen, who are not too busy to be




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.             89
benevolent; and the care which Herbert took not to be
troublesome pleased those to whom he addressed himself. EHe was delighted, at the upholsterer's, to observe
that his little models of furniture had taught him how
several things were put together, and he soon learned
the workmen's names for his ideas. He readily understood the use of all that he saw, when he went to a
bookbinder's, and to a printing office, because, in his
own printing and book-binder's press, he had seen similar contrivances in miniature.
Prints, as well as models, were used to enlarge his
ideas of visible objects. Mad. de Rosier borrowed the
Dictionnaire des Arts et des Metiers, Buffon, and several books which contained good prints of animals, machines, and architecture; these provided amusement
on rainy days. At first she found it difficult to fix the
attention of the boisterous Herbert, and the capricious
Favoretta. Before they had half examined one print,
they wanted to turn over the leaf to see another; but
this desultory impatient curiosity she endeavoured to
cure by steadily showing only one or two prints for each
day's amusement.  Herbert, who could but just spell
words of one syllable, could not read what was written
at the bottom of the prints, and he was sometimes
ashamed of applying to Favoretta for assistance; —the
names that were printed upon his little models of furniture he at length learned to make out. The press was
obliged to stand still when Favoretta or his friend Mad.
de Rosier were not at hand, to tell him, letter by letter,
how to spell the words that he wanted to print. He
one evening went up to Mad. de Rosier, and, with a resolute face, said, "I must learn to read."
" If anybody will be so good as to teach you, I suppose you mean," said she, smiling.
"Will you be so good?i" said he: "perhaps you
could teach me, though Grace says'tis very difficult;
I'll do my best."
" Then I'll do my best too," said Mad. de Rosier.
The consequences of these good resolutions were
surprising to Mrs. Grace. Master Herbert was quite
changed, she observed; and she wondered why he
H2




90                MORAL TALES.
would never read when she took so much pains with
him for an hour every day to hear him his task. "Madame de What d'ye call her," added Mrs. Grace, "need
not boast much of the hand she has had in the business:
for I've been by at odd times, and watched her ways,.
while I have been dressing Miss Favoretta, and she has
been hearing you your task, Master Herbert."
"She doesn't call it my task-I hate that word."
" Well, I don't know what she calls it;. for I don't
pretend to be a French governess, for my part; but I
can read English, Master Herbert, as well as another;
and it's strange if I could not teach my mother tongue
better than an emigrant. What I say is, that she never
takes much pains one way or the other; for by the
clock in mistress' dressing-room, I minuted her twice,
and she was five minutes at one time, and not above
seven the other. Easy earning money for governesses,
now-a-days.-No tasks!-no, not she!-Nothing all day
long but play-play-play, laughing, and running, and
walking and going to see all the shops and sights, and
going out in the coach to bring home radishes and
tongue-grass, to be sure-and every thing in the house
is to be as she pleases, to be sure. I am sure my mistress is too good to her, only because she was born a
lady, they say.-Do, pray, Master Herbert, stand still,
while I comb your hair, unless that's against your new
governess' commandments."'
"' I'll comb my own hair, Grace," said Herbert manfully. "I don't like one word you have been saying;
though I don't mind any thing you or anybody else
can say against my friend. She is my friend-and she
has taught me to read, I say, without bouncing me about
and shaking me, and Master Herberting me for ever.
And what harm did it do the coach to bring home my
radishes? My radishes are come up, and she shall
have some of them.-And I like the sights and shops she
shows me;-but she does not like that I should talk to
you; therefore, I'll say no more; but good morning to
you, Grace."
Herbert, red with generous passion, rushed out of the
room, and Grace, pale with malicidus rage, turned to




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            91
wards the other door that opened into Mrs. Harcout's
bed-chamber, for Mad. de Rosier at this moment appeared.-" I thought I heard a great noise?i'-" It was
only Master Herbert, ma'am that won't never stand still
to have his hair combed-and says he'll comb it for himself,-I arn sure I wish he would."
Mad. de Rosier saw, by the embarrassed manner and
stifled choler of Mrs. Grace, that the whole truth of the
business had not been told, and she repented her indiscretion in having left Herbert with her even for a few
minutes. She forbore, however, to question Herbert,
who' maintained a dignified silence upon the subject;
and the same species of silence would also become the
historian upon this occasion, were it not necessary that
the character of an intriguing lady's-maid should, for
the sake both of parents and children, be fully delineated.
Mrs. Grace, offended by Mad. de Rosier's success in
teaching her former pupil td read, jealous of this lady's
favour with her mistress and with the young ladies,
irritated by the bold defiance of the indignant champion
who had stood forth in his friend's defence, formed a
secret resolution to obtain revenge. This she imparted,
the very same day, to her confidant, Mrs. Rebecca.
Mrs. Rebecca was the favourite maid of Mrs. Fanshaw,
an acquaintance of Mrs. Harcourt. Grace invited Mrs.
Rebecca to drink tea with her. As soon as the preliminary ceremonies of the tea-table had been adjusted, she
proceeded to state her grievances.
" In former tines, as nobody knows better than you,
Mrs. Rebecca, I had my mistress' ear, and was all in
all in the house, with her and the young ladies, and the
old governess; and it was I that was to teach Master
Herbert to read; and Miss Favoretta was almost constantly, from morning to night, except when she was.
called for by company, with me, and a sweet little welldressed creature always, you know, she was."
"A sweet little creature, indeed, ma'am, and I was
wondering, before you spoke, not to see her in your
room, as usual, to-night," replied Mrs. Rebecca.
"Dear Mrs. Rebecca, you need not wonder at that,
or any thing else that's wonderful, in our present go36*




92                MORAL TALES.
vernment above-stairs, I'll assure you; for we have a
new French governess, and new measures. Do you
know, ma'am, the coach is ordered to go about at all
hours, whenever she pleasesfor to take the young ladies
out, and she is quite like my mistress. But no one can
bear two mistresses, you know, Mrs. Rebecca; wherefore, I'm  come to a resolution, in short, that either she
or I shall quit the house, and we shall presently see
which of us it must be. Mrs. Harcourt, at the upshot
of all things, must be conscious, at the bottom of her
heart, that, if she is the elegantest dresser about town,
it's not all her own merit."
" Very true, indeed, Mrs. Grace," replied her complaisant friend; " and what sums of money her millinery
might cost her, if she had no one clever at making up
things at home! You are blamed by many, let me tell
you, for doing as much as you do. Mrs. Private, the
milliner, I know from the best authority, is not your
friend —now, for my part, I think it is no bad thing to
have friends abroad, if one comes to any difficulties at
home. —Indeed, my dear, your attachment to Mrs. Harcourt quite blinds you-but, to be sure, you know your
own affairs best."
" Why, I am not for changing when I am well," replied Grace. "Mrs. Harcourt is abroad a great deal,
and hers is, all things considered, a very eligible house.
Now, what I build my hopes upon, my dear Mrs. Rebecca, is this-that ladies, like some people who have
been beauties, and come to make themselves up, and wear
pearl powder, and false auburn hair, and twenty things
that are not to be advertised, you know, don't like quarrelling with those that are in the secret-and ladies who
have never made a rout about governesses and edication,
till lately, and now, perhaps, only for fashion's sake,
would upon a pinch-don't you think-rather'part with
a French governess, when there are so many, than with
a favourite maid who knows her ways, and has a good
taste in dress, which so few can boast?"
" O, surely! surely!" said Mrs. Rebecca; and having
tasted Mrs. Grace's crdme-de-noyau, it was decided that
war should be declared against the governess.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            93
Mad. de Rosier, happily unconscious of the machinations of her enemies, and even unsuspicious of having
any, was, during this important conference, employed
in reading Marmontel's Silvain, with Isabella and Matilda. They were extremely interested in this little play;
and Mrs. Harcourt, who came into the room while they
were reading, actually sat down on the sofa beside Isabella, and, putting her arm round her daughter's waist,
said, " Go on, love; let me have a share in some of your
pleasures-lately, whenever I see you, you all look the
picture of happiness.-Go on, pray, Mad. de Rosier."
"It was I who was reading, mamma," said Isabella,
pointing to the place over Mad. de Rosier's shoulder"'Une femme douce et sage
A toujours tant d'avantage
Elle a pour elle en partage
L'agrdment, et la raison.'"
"Isabella," said Mrs. Harcourt, from whom a scarcely
audible sigh had escaped-" Isabella really reads French
almost as well as she does English."
" I am improved very much since I have heard Mad.
de Rosier read," said Isabella.
"I don't doubt that, in the least; you are, all of you,
much improved, I think, in every thing; I am sure I
feel very much obliged to Mad. de Rosier."
Matilda looked pleased by this speech of her mother,
and affectionately said, "I am glad, mamma, you like
her as well as we do,-O! I forgot that Mad. de Rosier
was by-but it is not flattery, however."
" You see you have won all their hearts" —from me,
Mrs. Harcourt was near saying, but she paused, and
with a faint laugh, added, " yet you see I am not jealous.-Matilda! read those lines that your sister has just
read; I want to hear them again."
Mrs. Harcourt sent for her work, and spent the evening at home. Mad. de Rosier, without effort or affectation, dissipated the slight feeling of jealousy which she
observed in the mother's mind, and directed towards her
the attention of her children, without disclaiming, however, the praise that was justly her due.  She was
aware that she could not increase her pupils' real afflec




94                MORAL TALES.
tion for their mother by urging them to sentimental hypocrisy.
Whether Mrs. Harcourt understood her conduct this
evening, she could not discover-for politeness does not
always speak the unqualified language of the heart; but
she trusted to the effect of time, on which persons of
integrity may always securely rely for their reward.
Mrs. Harcourt gradually discovered that as she became
more interested in the occupations and amusements of
her children, they became more and more grateful for
her sympathy; she consequently grew fonder of domestic life, and of the person who had introduced its pleasures into her family.
That we may not be accused of attributing any miraculous power to our French governess, we shall explain
the natural means by which she improved her pupils.
We have already pointed out how she discouraged, in
Isabella, the vain desire to load her memory with historical and chronological facts, merely for the purpose of
ostentation. She gradually excited her to read books of
reasoning, and began with those in which reasoning and
amusement are mixed. She also endeavoured to cultivate her imagination by giving her a few well-chosen
passages to read, from the best English, French, and
Italian poets. It was an easier task to direct the activity
of Isabella's mind than to excite Matilda's dormant powers. Mad. de Rosier patiently waited till she discovered
something which seemed to please Matilda more than
usual. The first book that she appeared to like particularly was "Les Conversations d'Emilie;" one passage
she read with great delight aloud; and Mad. de Rosier,
who perceived by the manner of reading it that she completely understood the elegance of the French, begged
her to try if she could translate it into English: it was
not more than half a page. Matilda was not terrified at
the length of such an undertaking: she succeeded, and
the praises that were bestowed upon her translation excited in her mind some portion of ambition.
Mad. de Rosier took the greatest care in conversing
with Matilda to make her feel her own powers: whenever she used good arguments, they were immediately




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            95
attended to; and when Matilda perceived that a prodigious memory was not essential to success, she was inspired with courage to converse unreservedly.
An accident pointed out to Mad. de Rosier another resource in Matilda's education. One day Herbert called
his sister Matilda to look at an ant who was trying to
crawl up a stick; he seemed scarcely able to carry his
large white load in his little forceps, and he frequently
fell back, when he had just reached the top of the stick.
Mad. de Rosier, who knew how much the art of instruction depends upon seizing the proper moments to introduce new ideas, asked Herbert whether he had ever
heard of the poor snail, who, like this ant, slipped back
continually, as he was endeavouring to climb a wall
twenty feet high.
" I never heard of that snail-pray tell me the story,"
cried Herbert.
"It is not a story-it is a question in arithmetic," replied Mad. de Rosier. "This snail was to crawl up a
wall twenty feet high; he crawled up five feet every
day, and slipped back again four feet every night: in
how many days did he reach the top of the wall?"
" I love questions in arithmetic," exclaimed Matilda,
"when they are not too difficult!" and immediately she
whispered to Mad. de Rosier the answer to this easy
question.
Her exclamation was not lost; Mad. de Rosier determined to cultivate her talents for arithmetic.  Without fatiguing Matilda's attention by long exercises in the
common rules, she gave her questions which obliged her
to think, and which excited her to reason and to invent;
she gradually explained to her pupil the:elations of
numbers, and gave her rather more clear ideas of the
nature and use of the common rules o; arittimetic than
she had acquired from her writing-master, who had
taught them only in a technical manner. Matilda's confidence in herself was thus increased. When she had
answered a difficult question, she could not doubt that
she had succeeded; ihis was not a matter that admitted
of the uncertainty which alarms timid tempers. Mad.
de Rosier began by asking her young arithmetician ques



96                MORAL TALES.
tions only when they were by themselves —but by-andby she appealed to her before the rest of the family.
Matilda coloured at first, and looked as if she knew nothing of the business; but a distinct answer was given
at last, and Isabella's opinions of her sister's abilities
rose with amazing rapidity, when she heard that Matilda understood decimal fractions.
" Now, my dear Matilda," said Mad. de Rosier, " since
you understand what even Isabella thinks difficult, you
will, I hope. have sufficient confidence in yourself to attempt things which Isabella does not think difficult."
Matilda shook her head —" I am not Isabella yet,"
said she.
" No!" cried Isabella with generous, sincere warmth,
"but you are much superior to Isabella: I am certain
that I could not answer those difficult questions, though
you think me so quick-and when once you have learned any thing, you never forget it; the ideas are not superficial," continued Isabella, turning to Mad. de Rosier; "they have depth, like the pins in Mosaic work."
Mad. de Rosier smiled at this allusion, and, encouraged
by her smile, Isabella's active imagination immediately
produced another simile.
" I did not know my sister's abilities till lately-till
you drew them out, Mad. de Rosier, like your drawing
upon the screen in sympathetic inks; when you first
produced it, I looked, and said there was nothing; and
when I looked again, after you had held it to the fire for
a few moments, beautiful colours and figures appeared."
Mad. de Rosier, without using any artifice, succeeded
in making Isabella and Matilda friends instead of rivals,
by placing them, as much as possible, in situations in
which they could mutually sympathize, and by discouraging all painful competition.
WAith Herbert and Favoretta she pursued a similar
plan. She scarcely ever left them alone together, that
she might not run the hazard of their quarreling in her
absence. At this age children have not sufficient command of their tempers-they do not understand the nature of society and of justice: the less they are left together, when they are of unequal strength, and when they




THE GOOD FRENCH  GOVERNESS.             97
have not any employments in which they are mutually interested, the better.  Favoretta and Herbert's petty but
loud and violent disputes had nearly ceased since these
precautions had beep regularly attended to. As they
had a great deal of amusement in the few hours which
they spent together, they grew fond of each other's cornpany: when Herbert was out in his little garden, he was
fimpatient for the time when Favoretta was to come to
visit his works; and Favoretta had equal pleasure in
exhibiting to her brother her various manufactures.
Mad. de Rosier used to hear them  read ill Mrs. Barbauld's excellent little books, and in " Evenings at Home;"
she generally told them some interesting story when
they had finished reading, and thiy regularly seated
themselves side by side on the carpet, opposite to her.
One day Herbert established himself in what he called
his "happy corner," Favoretta placed herself close beside him, and AMad. de Rosier read to them that part of
Sandford and Merton in which Squire Chace is represented beating Harry; Sandford unmercifully because he
refused to tell which way the hare was gone. Mad. de
Rosier observed that this story made a great impression
upon Herbert, and she thought it a good opportunity,
while his mind was warm, to point out the difference
between resolution and obstinacy. Herbert had been
formerly disposed to obstinacy; but this defect in his
temper never broke out towards Mad. de Rosier, she
carefuilly avoided urging him to do those things to which
she knew him to be averse; and frequently desired him
to do what she knew would be agreeable to him; she
thought it best to suffer him gradually to forget h'is former bad habits and false associations, before she made
any trial of his obedience; then she endeavoured to give
him new habits, by placing him in new situations. She
now resolved to address herself to his understanding,.which she perceived had opened to reason.
lHe exclaimed with admiration, upon hearing the account of Harry Sandford.s fortitude, "'That's right!
that's right!-I am glad that Harry did not tell that cruel
Squire Chace which way the hare was gone. I like
Harry for bearing to be beaten, rather than.peak a word
I




98                MORAL TALES.
when he did not choose it. I love Harry, don't you?1'
said he, appealing to Mad. de Rosier.
"Yes, I like him very much," said Mad. de Rosier;
"but not for the reason which you have just given."
"No!" said Herbert, starting up. "Why, ma'am,
don't you like Harry for saving the poor hare? don't
you admire hinm for bearing all the hard blows, and for
saying, when the man asked him afterwards why he
didn't tell which way the hare was gone,' Because I
don't choose to betray the unfortunate!7'
"0 don't you love him for that?'" said Favoretta,
rising from her seat; "-I think Herbert himself would
have given just such an answer, only not in such good
words. I wonder, Mad. de Rosier, you don't like that
answer! "
"I have never said that I did not like that answer,"
said Mad. de Rosier, as soon as she was permitted to
speak.
"Then you do like it? then you do like Harry?" exclaimed Herbert and Favoretta, both at once.
" Yes, I like that answer, Herbert; I like your friend
Harry for saying that he did not choose to betray the
unfortunate. You did not do him justice, nor yourself,
when you said just now that you liked Harry because he
bore to be beat rather than speak a word when he did
not choose it." Herbert looked puzzled.
"I mean," continued Mad. de Rosier, "that before I
can determine whether I like and admire anybody for
persisting in doing or in not doing any thing, I must
hear their reasons for their resolution.' I don't choose
it,' is no reason; I must hear their reasons for choosing
or not choosing it before I can judge."
"And I have told you the reason Harry gave for not
choosing to speak when he was asked, and you said it
was a good one; and you like him for his courage, don't
you?" said Herbert.
"'Yes," said Mad. de Rosier; "those who are resolute, when they have good reasons for their resolution, -I
admire; those who persist merely because they choose it,
and who cannot, or will not, tell why they choose it, I
despise."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           99
"O, so -do I!" said Favoretta: "you know, brother,
whenever you say you don't choose it, I am always
angry, and ask you why."
"And if you were not always angry," said Mad. de
Rosier, " perhaps sometimes your brother would tell you
why.."
" Yes, that I should," said Herbert; "I always have
a good reason to give Favoretta, though I don't always
choose to give it."
"Then," said Mad. de Rosier, "you cannot always
expect your sister to admire the justice of your decisions.
"No," replied Herbert; " but when I don't give her
a reason,'tis generally because it is not worth while.
There can be no great wisdom, you know, in resolutions
about trifles; such as whether she should be my horse
or I her horse, or whether I should water my radishes
before breakfast or after."
"Certainly, you are right: there can be no great
wisdom in resolutions about such trifles; therefore wise
people never are obstinate about trifles."
" Do you know," cried Herbert, after a pause, " they
used, before you came, to say that I was obstinate; but
with you I have never been so, because you know how
to manage me; you manage me a great deal more cunningly than Grace used to do."
"I would not manage you more cunningly than Grace
used to do, if I could," replied Mad. de Rosier, " for then
I should manage you worse than she did. It is no
pleasure to me to govern you; I had much rather that
you should use your reason to govern yourself."
Herbert pulled down his waistcoat, and drawing up
his head, looked with conscious dignity at Favoretta.
"You know," continued Mad. de Rosier, "that there
are two ways of governing people-by reason and by
force. Those who have no reason, or who do not use
it, mutt be governed by force."
"I am not one of those," said Herbert; "for I hate
force."
" Butyou must also love reason," said Mad. de Rosier,
" if you would not be one of those."
"Well, so I do, when I hear it from you," replied Her37




100               MORAL TALES.
bert, bluntly; " for you give me reasons that I can understand, when you ask me to. do or not to do any thing:
I wish people would always do so."
"But, Herbert,.' said Mad. de Rosier, "you must
sometimes be contented to do as you are desired, even
when I do not think it proper to give you my reasons;
you will hereafter find that I have good ones."'
" I have found that already in a great many things,1"
said Herbert, "especially about the caterpillar."
"What about the caterpillar?" said Favoretta.
" Don't you remember," said Herbert, "the day that
I was going to to tread upon what I thought was a little bit
of black stick, and she desired me not to do it, and I
did not, and afterward I found out that it was a caterpillar; ever since that day I have been more ready, you
know," continued he, turning to Mad. de Rosier, " to
believe that you might be in the right, and to do as you
bid me-you don't think me obstinate, do you?"
"No," said Mad. de Rosier.
"No! no! —do you hear that, Favoretta?" cried Herbert, joyfully: " Grace used to say I was as obstinate
as a mule, and she used to call me an ass, too; but even
poor asses are not obstinate when they are well treated.
Where is the ass, in the Cabinet of Quadrupeds, Favoretta, which we were looking at the other day?-O let
me read the account to you, Mad. de Rosier. It is towards the middle of the book, Favoretta; let me look, I
can find it in a minute-it is not long —may I read it to
you?"
Mad. de Rosier consented, and Herbert read as follows:
"'Much has been said of the stupid and stubborn
disposition of the ass, but we are greatly inclined to suspect that the aspersion is ill-founded: whatever bad
qualities of this kind he may sometimes possess, they do
not appear to be the consequences of any natural defect
in his constitution or temper, but arise from the manner
used in training him, and the bad treatment he receives.
We are the rather led to this assertion from having lately
seen one which experiences a very different kind of
treatnlent from his master than is the fate of the gene



THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          101
rality of asses. The humane owner of this individual is
an old man, whose employment is the selling of vegetables, which he conveys from door to door on the back
of his ass. He is constantly baiting the poor creature
with handfuls of hay, pieces of bread, or greens, which
he procures in his progress. It is with pleasure we relate, for we have often curiously, observed the old man's
demeanour towards his ass, that he seldoms carries any
instrument of excitement with him, nor did we ever see
him lift his hand to drive it on.
"'Upon our observing to him that he seemed to be
very kind to his ass, and inquiring whether he were apt
to be stubborn, how long he had had him, &c., he replied,
"Ah master, it is no use to be cruel, and as for stubbornness, I cannot complain, for he is ready to do any
thing, and will go anywhere; I bred him myself, and
have had him these two years; he is sometimes skittish
and playful, and once ran away from me: you will hardly believe it, but there were more than fifty people after
him to stop him, but they were not able to effect it; yet
he turned back of himself, and never stopped till he run
his head kindly into my breast."
"'The countenance of this individual is open, lively,
and cheerful; his pace nimble and regul-ar; and the only
inducement used to make him increase his speed is that
of calling him by name, which he readily obeys."'
"I am not an ass," said Herbert, laughing, as he finished this sentence, "but I think Mad. de Rosier is very
like the good old man, and I always obey whenever she
speaks to me. By-the-by," continued Herbert, who
now seemed eager to recollect something by which he
could show his readiness to obey —"by-the-by, Grace
told me that my mother desired I should go to her and
have my hair combed every day; now I don't like it, but
I will do it, because mamma desires it, and I will go this
instawt will you come and see how still I can stand? I
will show you that I am not obstinate."
Mad. de Rosier followed the little hero, to witness his
triumph over himself. Grace happened to be with her
mistress, who was dressing.
"Mamma, I am come to do as you bid me," cried
i2




102               MORAL TALES.
Herbert, walking stoutly into the room: " Grace, here's
the comb;" and he turned to her the tangled locks at
the back of his head. She pulled unmercifully, but he
stood without moving a muscle of his countenance.
Mrs. Harcourt, who saw in her looking-glass what
was passing, turned round and said, "Gently, gently,
Grace; indeed, Grace, you do pull that poor boy's hair
as if you thought that his head had no feeling; I am
sure, that if you were to pull my hair in that manner, I
could not bear it so well."
"Your hair!-O.dear, ma'am, that's quite another
thing-but Master Herbert's is always in such a tangle,
there's no such thing as managing it." Again Mrs. Grace
gave a desperate pull: Herbert bore it, looked up at
Mad. de Rosier, and said, "Now, that was resolution
not obstinacy, you know."
"Here is your little obedient and patient boy," said
Mad. de Rosier, leading Herbert to his mother; "who
deserves to be rewarded with a kiss from you."
" That he shall have," said Mrs. Harcourt; " but why
does Grace pull your hair so hard'? and are not you
almost able to comb your own hair?"
"Able! that I am. 0, mother, I wish I might do it
for myself."
"And has Mad. de Rosier any objection to it?"
"None in the least," said Mad. de Rosier; "on the
contrary, I wish that he should do every thing that he
can do for himself; but he told me that it was your desire that he should apply to Mrs. Grace, and I was pleased
to see his ready obedience to your wishes: you may be
very certain that, even in the slightest trifles, as well as
in matters of consequence, it is our wish, as much as it
is our duty, to do exactly as you desire."
"My dear madam," said Mrs. Harcourt, laying her
hand upon Mad. de Rosier's, with an expression of real
kindness, mixed with her habitual politeness; " I am
sensible of your goodness, but vou know that, in the
slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, 1
leave every thing implicitly to your better judgment: as
to this business between Herbert and Grace, I don't understand it."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          103
"Mother"- said Herbert.
"Madam," said Grace, pushing forward, but not very
well knowing what she intended to say, " if you recollect,
you desired me to comb Master Herbert's hair, ma'am,
and I told Master Herbert so, ma'am, that's all."
"I do not recollect any thing about it, indeed, Grace."
"0 dear, madam! don't you recollect the last day
there was company, and Master Herbert came to the top
of the stairs, and you was looking at the organ's lamp, I
said,' Dear! Master Herbert's hair's as rough as a porcupine's;' and you said directly, ma'am, if you recollect,' I wish you would make that boy's hair fit to be seen;'
those was your'very words, ma'am, and I thought you
meant always, ma'am."
"You mistook me, Grace," said Mrs Harcourt, smiling at her maid's eager volubility: "in future, you understand, that Herbert is to be entire master of his own
hair."
"Thank.you, mother," said Herbert.
" Nay, my dear Herbert, thank Mad. de Rosier: I only
speak in her name. You understand, I am sure, Grace,
now," said Mrs. Harcourt, calling to her maid, who
seemed to be in haste to quit the room,-" you, I hope,
understand, Grace, that Mad. de Rosier and I are always
of one mind about the children; therefore, you need
never be puzzled by contradictory orders-hers are to be
obeyed."
Mrs. Harcourt was so much pleased when she looked
at Herbert, as she concluded this sentence, to see an expression of great affection and gratitude, that she stooped
instantly to kiss him."
"Another kiss! two kisses to-day from my mother,
and one of her own accord!" exclaimed Herbert, joyfully, running out of the room to tell the news to Favoretta.
"That boy has a heart," said Mrs. Harcourt, with
some emotion; "you have found it out for me, Mad. de
Rosier, and I thank you."
Mad. de Rosier seized the propitious moment to present a card of invitation, which Herbert, with much
labour, had printed with his little printing-press.
37*




104               MORAL TALES.
"What have we here?" said Mrs. Harcourt, and she
read aloud"' Mr. Herbert Harcourt's love to his dear mother,
and, if' she be not engaged this evening, he should be
exceedingly glad of her company to meet Isabella, Matilda, Favoretta, and Mad. de Rosier, who have promised
to sup with him upon his own radishes to-night. They
are all very impatient for your answer.'"
" My answer they shall have in an instant," said Mrs.
Harcourt: —" why, Mad. de Rosier, this is the boy who
could neither read nor spell six months ago. Will you
be my messenger?" added she, putting a card into
Mad. de Rosier's hand, which she had written with
rapidity:"Mrs. Harcourt's love to her dear little Herbert; if
she had a hundred other invitations, she would accept
of his."
"Bless me!" said Mrs. Grace, when she found the
feathers which she had placed with so much skill in
her mistress' hair, lying upon the table half an hour
afterward —"why I thought my mistress was going
out!"
Grace's surprise deprived her even of the power of
exclamation, when she learned that her mistress staid
at'home to sup with Master Herbert upon radishes. At
night she listened with malignant curiosity, as she sat
at work in her mistress' dressing room, to the frequent
bursts of laughter, and to the happy little voices of the
festive company, who were at supper in an adjoining
apartment.
" This will never do!" thought Grace, but presently
the laughter ceased, and listening attentively, she heard
the voice of one of the young ladies reading. —" O ho!"
thought Grace, "if it comes to reading, Master Herbert
will soon be asleep."-But though it had come to reading,
Herbert was, at this instant, broad awake.
At supper, when the radishes were distributed, Favoretta was very impatient to taste them; the first which
she tasted was hot, she said, and she did not quite like it.
" Hot!" cried Herbert, who criticised her language in
return for her criticism  upon his radishes; "I don't




THE GOOD FARENCH GOVERNESS.           105
think you can call a radish hot-it is cold, I think: I
know what is meant by tasting sweet, or sour, or bitter."
" Well," interrupted Favoretta, " what is the name for
the taste of this radish which bites my tongue?"
"Pungent," said Isabella, and she eagerly produced
a quotation in support of her epithet"'And pungent radish biting infant's tongue.' "
"I know for once," said Matilda, smiling, " where you
met with that line, I believe: is it not in Shenstone's
Schoolmistress, in the description of the old woman's
neat little garden?"
" O! I should like to hear about that old woman's neat
little garden," cried Herbert.' And so should I," said Mrs. Harcourt and Mad. de
Rosier.
Isabella quickly produced the book after supper, and
read the poem.
Herbert and Favoretta liked the old woman and her
garden, and they were much interested for the little boy
who was whipped for having been gazing at the pictures
on the horn-book instead of learning his lesson; but, to
Isabella's great mortification, they did not understand
above half of what she had read-the old English expressions puzzled them.
"' You would not be surprised at this, my dear Isabella,"
said Mad. de Rosier, " if you had made as many experiments upon children as I have. It is quite a new language to them; and what you have just been reading is
scarcely intelligible to me, though you compliment me
so much upon my knowledge of the English language."
Mad. de Rosier took the book, and pointed to several
words which she had notunderstood; such as " eftsoons."
"Dan Phoebus," and "ne and y," which had made
many lines incomprehensible.
Herbert, when he heard Mad. de Rosier confess her
ignorance, began to take courage, and came forward
with his confessions.
" Gingerbread yrarc," he thought, wvas some particular kind of gingerbread; and "l.pples with cabbagenet
ycovered o'er," presented no delightful image to his




i:06             MORAL TALES.
mind, because, as he said, he did not know what the
word net ycovered could mean.
These mistakes occasioned some laughter; but as
Herbert perceived that he was no longer thought stupid,
he took all the laughter with good-humour, and he determined to follow, in future, Mad. de Rosier's example
in pointing out the words which were puzzling.
Grace was astonished, at the conclusion of the evening, to find Master Herbert in such high spirits. The
next day she heard sounds of wo-sounds agreeable to
her wishes-Favoretta crying upon the stairs. It had
been a rainy morning; Favoretta and Herbert had been
disappointed in not being able to walk put; and, after
having been amused the preceding evening, they were
less disposed to bear disappointment, and less inclined to
employ themselves than usual. Favoretta had finished
her little basket, and her mother had promised that it
should appear at the dessert; but it wanted some hours
of dinner-time; and between the making and the performance of a promise, how long the time appears to an
impatient child! how many events happen which may
change the mind of the promiser!
Mad. de Rosier had lent Favoretta and Herbert, for
their amusement, the first number of "The Cabinet of
Quadrupeds," in which there are beautiful prints; but,
unfortunately, some dispute arose between the children.
Favoretta thought her brother looked too long at the
hunchbacked camel; he accused her of turning over
leaves before she had half seen the prints; but she listened not to his just reproaches, for she had caught a
glimpse of the royal tiger springing upon Mr. Munro,
and she could no longer restrain her impatience. Each
party began to pull at the book; and the camel and the
royal tiger were both in imminent danger of being torn
to pieces, when Mad. de Rosier interfered, parted the
combatants, and sent them into separate rooms,-as it
was her custom to do whenever they could not agree
together.
Grace, the moment she heard Favoretta crying, went
up to the room, where she was, and made her tiptoe approaches, addressing Favoretta in a tone of compassion,




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           107
which, to a child's unpractised ear, might appear, perhaps, the natural voice of sympathy. The sobbing
child hid her face in Grace's lap; and when she had
told her complaint against Mad. de Rosier, Grace comforted her for the loss of the royal tiger by the present of
a queen-cake. Grace did not dare to stay long in the
room, lest Mad. de Rosier should detect her; she therefore left the little girl, with a strict charge " not to say
a word of the queen-cake to her governess."
Favoretta kept the queen-cake, that she might divide
it with Herbert; for she now recollected that she had
been most to blame in the dispute about the prints.
Herbert absolutely refused, however, to have any share
of the cake, and he strongly urged his sister to return it
to Grace.
Herbert had, formerly, to use his own expression,
been accused of being fond of eating; and so, perhaps,
he was: but since he had acquired other pleasures
(those of affection and employment), his love of eating
had diminished so much that he had eaten only one of
his own radishes, because he felt more pleasure in distributing the rest to his mother and sisters.
It was with some difficulty that he prevailed upon Favoretta to restore the queen-cake: the arguments that he
used we shall not detail, but he concluded with promising that, if Favoretta would return the cake, lhe would
ask Mad. de Rosier, the next time they passed by the
pastry-cook's shop, to give them  some queen-cakes;
"and I dare say she will give us some, for she is much
more really good-natured than Grace."
Favoretta, with this hope of a future queen-cake, in
addition to all her brother's arguments, at last determined to return Grace's present: "' Herbert says I had
better give it you back again," said she, " because Mad.'le Rosier does not know it."
Grace was somewhat surprised by the effect of Herbert's oratory, and she saw that she must change her
ground.
The next day, when the children were walking with
Mad. de Rosier by a pastry-cook's shop, Herbert, with
an honest countenance, asked Mad. de Rosier to give




108              MORAL TALES.
Favoretta and him a queen-cake. She complied, for she
was glad to find that he always asked frankly for what
he wanted, and yet that he bore refusals with goodhumour.
Just as Herbert was going to eat his queen-cake he
heard the sound of music in the street; he went to the
door, and saw a poor man who was playing on the dulcimer: a little boy was with him, who looked extremely
thin and hungry; he asked Herbert for some halfpence.
"I have no money of my own," said Herbert, " but
I can give you this, which is my own."
Mad. de Rosier held his hand back, which he had just
stretched out to offer his queen-cake; she advised him
to exchange it for something more substantial; she told
him that he might have two buns for one queen-cake.
He immediately changed it for two buns, and gave them
to the little boy, who thanked him heartily. The man
who was playing on the dulcimer asked where Herbert
lived, and promised to stop at his door to play a tune for
him, which he seemed to like particularly.
Convinced by the affair of the queen-cake that Herbert's influence was a matter of some consequence in the
family, Mrs. Grace began to repent that she had made
him her enemy; and she resolved, upon the first convenient occasion, to make him overtures of peace,-overtures which, she had no doubt, would be readily accepted.
One morning she heard him sighing and groaning, as
she thought, over some difficult sum which Mad. de Rosier had set for him; he cast up one row aloud several
times, but could not bring the total twice to the same
thing. When he took his sum to Mad. de Rosier, who
was dressing, he was kept waiting a few minutes at the
door, because Favoretta was not dressed. The young
gentleman became a little impatient, and when he gained admittance his sum was wrong.
"Then I cannot make it right," said Herbert, passlonately.
" Try," said Mad. de Rosier; "go into that closet by
yourself, and try once more, and perhaps you will find
that you can make it right."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           109
Herbert knelt down in the closet, though rather unwillingly, to this provoking sum.
"Master Herbert, my dear," said Mrs. Grace following him, " will you be so good as to go for Miss Favoretta's scissors, if you please, which she lent you yesterday? she wants'em, my dear."
Herbert, surprised by the unusually good-natured tone
of this request, ran for the scissors, and at his return
found that his difficult sum had been cast up in his absence; the total was written at the bottom of it, and he
read these words which he knew to be Mrs. Grace's
writing; " Rub out my figurs, and write them in your
own." Herbert immediately rubbed out Mrs. Grace's
figures with indignation, and determined to do the sum
for himself. He carried it to Mad. de Rosier,-it was
wrong: Grace stared, and when she saw Herbert patiently stand beside Mad. de Rosier, and repeat his
effobrts, she gave up all idea of obtaining any influence
over him.
"Mad. de Rosier," said she to herself, " has bewitched'em all; I think it's odd one can't find out her art!"
Mrs. Grace seemed to think that she could catch the
knack of educating children, as she had surreptitiously
learned, from a fashionable hairdresser, the art of dressing hair. Ever since Mrs. Harcourt had spoken in such
a decided manner respecting Mad. de Rosier, her maid
had artfully maintained the greatest appearance of respect for that lady in her mistress' presence; and had
even been scrupulous, to a troublesome extreme, in
obeying the governess' orders: and'by a studied show of
attachment to Mrs. Harcourt, and much alacrity at her
toilette, she had, as she flattered herself, secured a fresh
portion of favour.
One mnrning Mrs. Harcourt found, when she awoke,
that she had a headache and a slight feverish complaint.
She had caught cold the night before in coming out of a
warm assembly-room. Mrs. Grace affected to be much
alarmed at her mistress' indisposition, and urged her to
send immediately for Dr. X —. To this Mrs. Harcourt
half consented, and a messenger was sent for him. In
the mean time Mrs. Harcourt, who had been used to be




110               MORAL TALES.
much attended to in her slight indispositions, expressed
some surprise that Mad. de Rosier or some of her children, when they heard that she wa-s ill, had not come to
see her.
" Where is Isabella? where is Matilda? or Favoretta? what is become of them all? do they know I am ill,
Grace?"
" 0 dear! yes, ma'am; but they're all gone out in the
coach, with Mad. de Rosier."
"All?" said Mrs. Harcourt.
"All, I believe ma'am," said Grace; "though, indeed,
I can't pretend to bq sure, since I make it my business
not to scrutinize, and to know as little as possible of
what's going on in the house, lest I should seem to be
too particular."
" Did Mad. de Rosier leave any message for me before
she went out?"
" Not with me, ma'am."
Here the prevaricating waiting-maid told barely the
truth in words: Mad. de Rosier had left a message with
the footman in Grace's hearing.
" I hope, ma'am," continued Grace, " you weren't disturbed with the noise in the house early this morning?"'What noise? —I heard no noise," said Mrs. Harcourt.
"No noise! dear ma'am, I'm as glad as can possibly
be of that, at any rate; but to be sure there was a great
racket. I was really afraid, ma'am, it would do no good
to your poor head."
"What was the matter?" said Mrs. Harcourt, drawing back the curtain.
" 0! nothing, ma'am, that need alarm you-only music and dancing."
" Music and dancing so early in the morning!-Do,
Grace, say all you have to say at once, for yei keep me
in suspense, which, I am sure, is not good for my head."
"La, ma'am, I was so afraid it would make you angry, ma'am-that was what made me so backward in
mentioning it; but, to be sure, Mad. de Rosier, and the
young ladies, and Master Herbert, I suppose, thought
you couldn't hear, becaEuse it was in the back parlour,
ina'am."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.         111
"Hear what? what was in the back parlour?"
"Only a dulcimer man, ma'am, playing for the young
ladies."
" Did you tell them I was ill, Grace?"
It was the second time Mrs. Harcourt had asked this
question. Grace was gratified by this symptom.
"Indeed, ma'am," she replied, "I did make bold to
tell Master Herbert that I was afraid you would hear
him jumping and making such an uproar up and down
the stairs; but, to be sure, I did not say a word to the
young ladies-as Mad. de Rosier was by, I thought she
knew best."
A gentle knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Grace's
charitable animadversions.
"Bless me, if it isn't the young ladies! I'm sure I
thought they were gone out in the coach."
As Isabella and Matilda came up to the side of their
mother's bed, she said, in a languid voice,
"I hope, Matilda, my dear, you did not stay at home
on my account-Is Isabella there?-What book has she
in her hand?"
"Zeluco, mamma-I thought, perhaps, you. would
like to hear some more of it-you liked what I read to
you the other day."
"But you forget that I have a terrible headachePray don't let me detain either of you, if you have any
thing to do for Mad. de Rosier."
" Nothing in the world, mamma," said Matilda;
"she is gone to take Herbert and Favoretta to Exeter'Change."
No further explanation could take place, for, at this
instant, Mrs. Grace introduced Dr. X —. Now Dr.
X   - was not one of those complaisant physicians who
flatter ladies that they are very ill when they have any
desire to excite tender alarm.
After satisfying himself that his patient was not quite
s, ill as Mrs. Grace had affected to believe, Dr. X -
insensibly led from medical inquiries to general conversation: he had much playful wit and knowledge of the
human heart, mixed with a variety of information, so
that he could with happy facility amuse and interest
38




112               MORAL TALES.
nervous patients, who were beyond the power of the
solemn apothecary.
The doctor drew the young ladies into conversation by
rallying Isabella upon her simplicity in reading a novel
openly in her mother's presence; he observed that sht
did not follow the example of the famous Serena, in
" The Triumphs of Temper."  "Zeluco!" he exclaimed, in an ironical tone of disdain; " why not the charming' Sorrows of Werter,' or some of our fashionable
hobgoblin romances 2"
Isabella undertook the defence of her book with much
enthusiasm-and either her cause, or her defence, was
so much to Dr. X   -'s taste, that he gradually gave up
his feigned attack.
After the argument was over, and everybody, not excepting Mrs. Harcourt, who had almost forgotten her
headache, was pleased with the vanquished doctor, he
drew from his pocket-book three or four small cards;
they were tickets of admittance to Lady N-'d French
reading parties.
Lady N — was an elderly lady, whose rank made
literature fashionable among many, who aspired to the
honour of being noticed by her. She was esteemed such
an excellent judge of manners, abilities, and character,
that her approbation was anxiously courted, more especially by mothers, who were just introducing their
daughters into the world. She was fond of encouraging
youthful merit; but she was nice, some thought fastidious, in the choice of her young acquaintance.
Mrs. Harcourt had been very desirous that Isabella
and Matilda should be early distinguished by a person
whose approving voice was of so much consequence in
fashionable, as well as in literary society; and she was
highly flattered by Dr. X —-—'s prophecy. that Isabella
would be a great favourite of this " nice-judging lady"
-" Provided," added he, turning to Isabella, "you
have the prudence not to be always, as you have been
this morning, victorious in argument."
"I think," said Mrs. Harcourt-after the doctor had
taken his leave —" I think I am much better-ring for
Grace, and I will get up."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS..    113
"Mamma," said Matilda, "if you will give me leave,
I will give my ticket for the reading party to Mad. de
Rosier, because, I am sure, it is an entertainment she
will like particularly-and, you know, she confines herself so much with us-"
"I do not wish her to confine herself so much, my
dear, I am sure," said Mrs. Harcourt, coldly, for, at this
instant, Grace's representations of the morning's music
and dancing, and some remains- of her former jealousy
of Mad. de Rosier's influence over her children's affections, operated upon her mind.  Pride prevented her
from explaining herself further to Isabella or Matildaand though they saw that she was displeased, they had
no idea of the reason. As she was dressing, Mrs. Harcourt conversed with them about the books they were
reading. Matilda was reading Hogarth's Analysis of
Beauty; and she gave a distinct account of his theory.
Mrs. Harcourt, when she perceived her daughter's
rapid improvement, felt a mixture of joy and sorrow.
"My dears," said she, "you will all of you be much
superior to your mother-but girls were educated, in my
days, quite in a different style from what they are now."
"Ah! there were no Mad. de Rosiers then," said
Matilda, innocently."'" What sort of woman was your mother, mamma,"
said Isabella, " my grandmother, mamma?"
"She-she was a very good woman."
" Was she sensible?" said Isabella."
"Matilda, my dear," said Mrs. Harcourt, " I wish
you would see if Mad. de Rosier has returned-I should
be very glad to speak with her, for one moment, if she
be not engaged."
Under the veil of politeness, Mrs. Harcourt concealed
her real feelings, and declaring to Mad. de Rosier that
she did not feel in spirits, or sufficiently well to go out
that evening, she requested that Mad. de Rosier would
go, in her stead, to a dinner, where she knew her company would be particularly acceptable.-" You will trust
me, will you, with your pupils for one evening?" added
Mrs. Harcourt.
The tone and manner in which she pronounced these
K2




114              MORAL TALES.
words revealed the real state of her mind to Mad. de Ro
sier, who immediately complied with her wishes.
Conscious of this lady's quick penetration', Mrs. Harcourt was abashed by this ready compliance, and she
blamed herself for feelings which she could not suppress.
"I am sorry that you were not at home this morning,"
she continued, in a hurried manner —" you would have
been delighted with Dr. X-; he is one of the most
entertaining men I am acquainted with-and you would
have been vastly proud of your pupil there," pointing to
Isabella; " I assure you, she pleased me extremely.2'
In the evening, after Mad. de Rosier's departure, Mrs.
Harcourt was not quite so happy as she had expected.
They who have only seen children in picturesque situations, are not aware how much the duration of this domestic happiness depends upon those who have the care
of them. People who, with the greatest abilities and the
most anxious affection, are inexperienced in education,
should not be surprised or mortified if their first attempts
be not attended with success. Mrs. Harcourt thought
that she was doing what was very useful in hearing Herbert read; he read with tolerable fluency, but he stopped
at the end of almost every sentence, to weigh the exact
sense of the words. In this habit he had been indulged,
or rather encouraged, by his preceptress; but his simple
questions, and his desire to have every word precisely
explained, were far from amusing to one who was little
accustomed to the difficulties and misapprehensions of a
young reader.
Herbert was reading a passage, which Mad. de Rosier
had marked for him in Xenophon's Cyropaedia. With
her explanations, it might have been intelligible to him.
Herbert read the account of Cyrus' judgment upon the
two boys who had quarrelled about their great and little
coats, much to his mother's satisfaction, because he had
understood every word of it, except the word constituted.
" Constituted judge-what does that mean, mamma?"
" Made a judge, my dear; go on."
"I saw a judge once, mamma, in a great wig-had
Cyrus a wig, when he was con-consti-made a judge?"
Isabella and Mrs. Harcourt laughed at this question;




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           115
and they endeavoured to explain the difference between
a Persian and an English judge.
Herbert with some difficulty separated the ideas which
he had so firmly associated, of a judge and a great wig;
and when he had, or thought he had, an abstract notion
of a judge, he obeyed his mother's repeated injunctions
of " Go on-Go on." He went on, after observing, that
what came next was not marked by Mad. de Rosier for
him to read.
Cyrus' mother says to him: " Child, the same things
are not accounted just with your grandfather here, and
yonder in Persia."
At this sentence Herbert made a deep stop; and, after
pondering for some time, said, " I don't understand what
Cyrus' mother meant-what does she mean by accounted
just?-.-ccounted, Matilda, I thought meant only about
casting up sums."
"It has another meaning, my dear," Matilda mildly
began.
"O, for Heaven's sake, spare me!" exclaimed Mrs.
Harcourt; " do not let me hear all the meanings of all
the words in the English language. Herbert may look
for the words that he does not understand in the dictionary, when he has done reading-Go on, now, pray; for,"
added she, looking at her watch, " you have been half
an hour reading half a page: this would tire the patience
of Job."
Herbert, perceiving that his mother was displeased,
began, in the same instant, to be frightened; he hurried
on as fast as he could, without understanding one word
more of what he was reading; his precipitation was
worse than his slowness: he stumbled over the words,
missed syllables, missed lines, made the most incomprehensible nonsense of the whole; till; at length, Mrs.
Harcourt shut the book in despair, and soon afterward
despatched Herbert, who was also in despair, to bed.
At this catastrophe, Favoretta looked very grave, and a
general gloom seemed to overspread the company.
Mrs. Harcourt was mortified at the silence that prevailed, and made several ineffectual attempts to revive
the freedom and gayety of conversation:-"Ah!" said
38 *




116                  MORAL TALES.
she to herself, "I knew it would be so; they cannot be
happy without Mad. de Rosier."
Isabella had taken up a book. —" Cannot you read for
our entertainment, Isabella, my dear, as well as for your
own?" said her mother: "I assure you, I am as much
interested always in what you read to me, as Mad. de
Rosier herself can be.
"1 was just looking, mamma, for some lines that we
read the other day, which Mad. de Rosier said she was
sure you would like. Can you find them, Matilda?You know Mad. de Rosier said that mamma would like
them, because she has been at the opera."
"I have been at a great many operas," said Mrs.
Harcourt, dryly; "but I like other things as well as
operas-and I cannot precisely guess what you mean by
the opera-has it no name t"
" Medea and Jason, ma'am."
" The ballet of Medea and Jason —It's a very fine thing
certainly: but one has seen it so often.-Read on, my
dear."
Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding
Mrs. Harcourt's inclination to be displeased, captivated
her ear, and seized her imagination.
"Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds,
On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds,
Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car,
Received the queen, and, hov'ring, flamed in air,
As with raised hands the suppliant traitors kneel,
And fear the vengeance they deserved to feel;
Thrice, with parch'd lips, her guiltless babes she press'd:
And thrice she clasp'd theim to her tortured breast.
Awhile with white uplifted eyes she stood,
Then plunged her trembling poinards in their blood.
Go, kiss your sire! go, sh!are the bridal mirth!
She cried, and hurl'd their quiv'ring limbs on earth.
Rebellowing thunders rock the marble tow'rs,
And red-tongucd lightnings shoot their arrowy show'rs.
Earth yawns!-the crashing ruin sinks!-o'er all
Death with black hands extends his mighty pall."
"They are admirable lines, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs
Harco.urt.
" I knew, mamma, you would like them," said Isabella,
"and I'm  sure I wish I had seen the ballet too."
" You were never at an opera," said Mrs. Harcourt




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          117
after Isabella had finished reading; " should you, either
of you, or bbth, like to go with me to-night to the
opera?"
"To-night, ma'am!" cried Isabella, in a voice of joy.
"To-night, mamma!" cried Matilda, timidly; "but
you were not well this morning."
"But I am very well now, my love; at least quite
well enough to go out with you-let me give you some
pleasure.-Ring for Grace, my dear Matilda," added
Mrs. Harcourt, looking at her watch, "and do not let
us be sentimental, for we have not a moment to losewe must prevail upon Grace to be as quick as lightning
in her operations."
Grace was well disposed to be quick-she was delighted with what she called the change of measures; she
repeated continually, in the midst of their hurried toilette"Well, I am so glad, young ladies, you're going out
with your mamma, at last-I never saw my mistress look
so well as she does to-night."
Triumphant, and feeling herself to be a person of consequence, Grace was indefatigably busy, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that her talkative zeal was the overflowing
of an honest heart.
After Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, were
gone to the opera, Favoretta, who had been sent to bed
by her mother, because she was in the way when they
were dressing, called to Grace, to beg that she would
close the shutters in her room, for the moon shone upon
her bed, and she could not go to sleep.
"I wish mamma would have let me sit up a little
longer," said Favoretta, "for I am not at all sleepy."
"You always go to bed a great deal earlier, you know,
Miss," said Grace, "when your governess is at home;
I would let you get up, and come (down to tea with me,
for I'm just going to take my late dish of tea, to rest myself, only I dare not let you, because""Because what?"
"Because, Miss, you remember how you served me
about the queen-cake."
"But I do not want you to give me any queen-cake




118               MORAL TALES.
I only want to get up for a little while," said Favoretta.
"Then get up," said Grace;. "but don't make a noise
to waken Master Herbert."
" Do you think," said Favoretta, " that Herbert would
think it wrong?"
Indeed, I don't think at all about what he thinks,"
said Mrs. Grace, tossing back her head, as she adjusted
her dress at the glass; " and, if you think so much about
it, you'd better lie down again."
"O! I can't lie down again, " said Favoretta; "I have
got my shoes on-stay for me, Grace-I'm just ready."
Grace, who was pleased with an opportunity of indulging this little girl, and who flattered herself that she
should regain her former power over Favoretta's undistinguishing affections, waited for her most willingly.
Grace drank her late dish of tea in her mistress' dressingroom, and did every thing in her power to humour "her
sweet Favoretta."
Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw's maid, was summoned;
she lived in the next street. She was quite overjoyed,
she said, at entering the room, to see Miss Favorettait was an age since she had a sight or a glimpse of her.
We pass over the edifying conversation of those two
ladies-Miss Favoretta was kept awake, and in such
high spirits by flattery, that she did not perceive how
late it was-she begged to stay up a little longer, and a
little longer.
Mrs. Rebecca joined in these entreaties, and Mrs.
Grace could not refuse them; especially as she knew
that the coach would not go for Mad. de Rosier till after
her mistress' return from the opera.
The coachman had made this arrangement for his own
convenience, and had placed it entirely to the account
of his horses.
Mrs. Grace depended rather imprudently upon the
coachman's arrangement; for Mad. de Rosier, finding
that the coach did not call for her at the hour she had
appointed, sent for a chair, and returned home; while
Grace, Mrs. Rebecca, and Favoretta, were yet in Mrs.
Harcourt's dressing-room.
Favoretta was making a great noise, so that they did
niOt hear the knock at the door.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           119
One of the house- maids apprized Mrs. Grace of Mad.
de Rosier's arrival. "' She's getting out of her chair,
Mrs. Grace, in the hall."
Grace started up, put Favoretta into a little closet,
and charged her not to make the least noise for her life.
Then, with a candle in her hand, and a treacherous smile
upon her countenance, she sallied forth to the head of
the stairs to light Mad. de Rosier.-" Dear ma'am! my
mistress will be so sorry the coach didn't go for you in
time;-she found herself better after you went-and the
two young ladies are gone with her to the opera."
"And where are Herbert and Favoretta?"
"In bed, ma'am, and asleep hours ago.-Shall I light
you, ma'am, this way to your room?"
" No," said Mad. de Rosier; "I have a letter to write:
and I'll wait in Mrs. Harcourt's dress-ing-room till she
comes home."
"Very well, ma'am. Mrs. Rebecca, it's only Mad.
de Rosier —Mad de Rosier, it's only Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw's maid, ma'amr, who's here very often when my
mistress is at home, and just stepped up to look at the
young ladies' drawings, which my mistress gave me
leave to show her the first time she drank tea with me,
ma'am."
Mad. de Rosier, who thought all this did not concern
her in the least, listened to it with cold indifference, and
sat down to write her letter.
Grace fidgeted about the room as long as she could
find any pretence for moving any thing into or out of its
place; and, at length, in no small degree of anxiety for
the prisoner she had left in the closet, quitted the dressing-room.
As Mad. de Rosier was writing, she once or twice
thought that she heard some noise in the closet; she
listened, but all was silent; and she continued to write
till Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda came home.
Isabella was in high spirits, and began to talk with
considerable volubility to Mad. de- Rosier about the
opera.
Mrs. Harcourt was full of apologies about the coach
and Matilda rather anxiou's to discover what it was that




120               MORAL TALES.
had made a change in her mother's manner towards
Mad. de Rosier.
Grace, glad to see that they were all intent upon their
own affairs, lighted their candles expeditiously, and stood
waiting, in hopes that they would immediately leave the
room, and that she should be able to release her prisoner.
Favoretta usually slept in a little closet within Mrs.
Grace's room, so that she foresaw no difficulty, in getting
her to bed.
" I heard!-did not you hear a noise, Isabella? "said
Matilda.
"A noise!-No; where!" said Isabella, and went on
talking alternately to her mother and Mad. de Rosier,
whom she held fast, though they seemed somewhat inclined to retire to rest.
"Indeed," said Matilda, "I did hear a noise in that
closet."
" 0 dear, Miss Matilda," cried Grace, getting between
Matilda and the closet, "it's  nothing in life but a
mouse."
"A mouse, where!" said Mrs Harcourt.
"Nowhere, ma'am," said Grace, " only Miss Matilda
was hearing noises, and I said they must he mice."
"'There, mamma! there! that was not a mouse
surely!" said Matilda. " It was a noise louder, certainly, than any mouse could make."
"Grace is frightened," said Isabella, laughing.
Grace, indeed, looked pale and terribly frightened.
Mad. de Rosier took a candle, and walked directly to
the closet.
"R' ing for the men," said Mrs. Harcourt.
Matilda held back Mad. de Rosier; and Isabella, whose
head was now just recovered from the opera, rang the
bell with considerable energy.
"Dear Miss Isabella, don't ring so;-dear ma'am,
don't be frightened, and I'll tell you the whole truth,
ma'am,', said Grace to her mistress; it't nothing in the
world to frighten any body-it's only Miss Favoretta,
ma'am.)"
"Favoretta!" exclaimed everybody at once, except




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           121
Mad. de Rosier, who instantly opened the closet-door,
but no Favoretta appeared.
"Favoretta is not here," said Mad. de Rosier.
"Then I'm undone!" exclaimed Grace; "she must
have got out upon the leads." The leads were at this
place narrow, and very dangerous.
"Don't scream, or the child is lost," said Mad. de
Rosier.
Mrs. Harcourt sank down into an.arm-chair. Mad.
de Rosier stopped Isabella, who pressed into the closet.
" Don't speak, Isabella —Grace, go into the closetcall Favoretta-hear me, quietly," said Mad. de Rosier,
steadily, for Mrs. Grace was in such confusion of mind
that she was going to call upon the child without waiting
to hear what was said to her-" Hear me," said Mad.
de Rosier, " or you are undone: go into that closet with.out making any bustle-call Favoretta gently; she will
not be frightened when she hears only your voice."
Grace did as she was ordered, and returned from the
closet in a few instants with Favoretta. Grace instantly
began an exculpatory speech, but Mrs. Harcourt, though
still trembling, had sufficient firmness to say, "Leave
us, Grace, and let me hear the truth from the child."
Grace left the room. Favoretta related exactly what
had happened, and said, that when she heard all their
voices in the dressing-room, and when she heard Matilda
say there's a noise, she was afraid of being discovered
in the closet, and had crept out through a little door,
with which she was well acquainted, that opened upon
the leads.
Mrs. Harcourt now broke forth into indignant exclamations against Grace. Mad. de Rosier gently pacified
her, and hinted that it would be but just to give her a
fair hearing in the morning.
"You are always yourself! always excellent!" cried
Mrs. Harcourt; "you have saved my child: we none of
us had any presence of mind but yourself."
"Indeed, mamma, I did ring the bell, however," said
Isabella.
With much difficulty those who had so much to say,
submitted to Mad. de Rosier's entreaty of'" Let us talk
L




122               MORAL TALES.
of it in the morning."  She was afraid that Favoretta,
who was present, would not draw any salutary moral
from what might be said in the first emotions of joy for
her safety. Mad. de Rosier undressed the little girl herself, and took care that she should not be treated as a
heroine just escaped from imminent danger.
The morning came, and Mrs. Grace listened with anxious ear for the first sound of her mistress' bell; but no
bell rang; and when she heard Mrs. Harcourt walking
in her beltchamber, Grace augured ill of her own fate,
and foreboded the decline and fall of her empire.
"If my mistress can get up and dress herself without
me, it's all over with me," said Grace; "but I'll make
one trial." Then she knocked, with her most obliging
knock, at her mistress' door, and presented herself with
a Magdalen face. " Can I do anything for you, ma'am?"
"Nothing, I thank you, Grace. Send Isabella and
Matilda."
Isabella and Matilda came, but Mrs. Harcourt finished
dressing herself in silence, and then said,
" Come with me, my dear girls, to Mad. de Rosier's
room. I believe I had better ask her the question that I
was going to ask you-is she up?"
"Yes, but not dressed," said Matilda; "for we have
been reading to her."
"And talking to her," added Isabella, "which, you
know, hinders people very much, mamma, when they
are dressing."
At Mad. de Rosier's door they found Herbert, with his
slate in his hand, and his sum ready cast up.
" May I bring this little man in with me?" said Mrs.
Harcourt to Mad. de Rosier. " Herbert, shake hands
with me," continued his mother: "I believe I was a
little impatient with you and your Cyrus last night, but
you must not expect that everybody should be as good
to you as this lady has been," leading him up to Mad.
de Rosier.
" Set this gentleman's heart at ease, will you?" continued she, presenting the slate upon which his sum was
written to Mad. de Rosier. "He looks the picture, or
rather the reality, of honesty and good-humour this morn




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           123
ing, I think. I am sure that he has not done any thing
that he is ashamed of."
Little Herbert's countenance glowed with pleasure at
receiving such praise from his mother; but he soon
checked his pride, for he discovered Favoretta, upon
whom every eye had turned as Mrs. Harcourt concluded
her speech.
Favoretta was sitting in the furthest corner of the room,
and she turned her face to the wall when Herbert looked
at her; but Herbert saw that she was in disgrace. Your
sum is quite right, Herbert," said Mad. de Rosier.
" Herbert take your slate," said Matilda; and the young
gentleman had at length the politeness to relieve her
mut-stretched arm.
"Send him out of the way," whispered Mrs. Harcourt.
"Go out of the room, Herbert, my dear," said Mad.
de Rosier, who never made use of artifices upon any
occasion to get rid of children: "go out of the room,
Herbert, my dear; for we want to talk about something
that we do not wish that you should hear."
Herbert, though he was anxious to know what could
he the matter with Favoretta, instantly withdrew, saying,
"Will you call me again when you've done talking?"
" We can speak French," added Mad. de Rosier, looking at Favoretta; " since we cannot trust that little girl
in a room by herself, we must speak in a language which
she does not understand, when we have any thing to say
that we do not choose she should hear."
"After all this preparation," said Mrs. Harcourt in
French, "my little mouse will make you laugh: it will
not surprise or frighten you, Matilda, quite so much as
the mouse of last night. You must know that I have
been much disturbed by certain noises."
" More noises!" said Matilda, drawing closer to listen.
"More noises!" said Mrs. Harcourt, laughing; "but
the noises which disturbed my repose were not heard in
the dead of the night, just as the clock struck twelve —
the charming hour for being frightened out of ones wits,
Matilda: my noises were heard in broad daylight, about
the time
"When lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake."
39




124               MORAL TALES.
Was not there music and dancing here early yesterday
morning, when I had the headache, Isabella?"
"Yes, mamma," said Isabella; Herbert's dulcimerboy was here! —we call him Herbert's dulcimer-boy,
because Herbert gave him two buns the other day: the
boy and his father came from gratitude to play a tune
for Herbert, and we all ran and asked Mad. de Rosier to
let them in."
" We did not know you had the headache, mamma,"
said Matilda, "till after they had played several tunes,
and we heard Grace say something to Herbert about
racketing upon the stairs-he only ran up stairs once for
my music-book; and the moment Grace spoke to him
he came to us, and said that you were not well; then
Mad. de Rosier stopped the dulcimer, and we all left off
dancing, and we were very sorry Grace had not told us
sooner that you were ill: at that time it was ten-nearly
eleven o'clock."
".Grace strangely misrepresented all this," said Mrs.
Harcourt: " as she gave her advice so late, I am sorry
she gave it at all; she prevented you and Isabella from
the pleasure of going out with Mad. de Rosier."
" We prevented ourselves-Grace did not prevent us,
I assure you, mamma.,' said Isabella, eagerly: "we
wished to stay at home with you: Herbert and Favoretta
were only going to see the royal tiger."
" Then you did not stay at home by Mad. de Rosier's
desire?"
" No, indeed, madam," said Mad. de Rosier, who had
not appeared in any haste to justify herself; " your children always show you affection by their own desire,
never by mine: your penetration would certainly discover
the difference between attentions prompted by a governess, and those which are shown by artless affection."
"My dear madam, say no more," said Mrs. Harcourt,
holding out her hand; " you are a real friend."
Mad. de Rosier now went to call Herbert, but on opening the door, Mrs. Grace fell forward upon her face into
the room; she had been kneeling with her head close to
the key-hole of the door; and probably the sound of her
own name, and a few sentences now and then spoken




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            125
in English, had so fixed her attention that she did not
prepare in time for her retreat.
"Get up, Grace, and walk in if you please," said
Mrs. Harcourt, with much calmness; " we have not the
least objection to you hearing our conversation."
"Indeed, na'am," said Grace, as soon as she had recovered her feet, "I'm above listening to anybody's conversation, except that when one hears one's own name,
and knows that one has enemies, it is but natural to listen
in one's own defence."
"' And is that all you can do, Grace, in your own defence?" said Mrs. Harcourt.
" It's not: all I can say, ma'am,' replied Grace, pushed
to extremities, and still with a secret hope that her mistress, upon a pinch, would not part with a favourite maid:
"I see I'm  of no further use in the family, neither to
young or old-and new comers have put me quite out
of favour, and have your ear to themselves; so, if you
please, ma'am, I had better look out for another situation."
"If you please, Grace," said Mrs. Harcourt.
" I will leave the house this instant if you think proper, ma'am."
"' If you think proper, Grace," said her mistress, with
immoveable philosophy.
Grace burst into tears: "I never thought it would
come to this, Mrs. Harcourt: I, that have lived so long
such a favourite! But I don't blame you, madam; you
have been the best and kindest of mistresses to me; and
whatever becomes of me, to my dying words, I shall
always give you and the dear young ladies, the best of
characters."
"The character we may give you, Grace, is of rather
more consequence."
"Every thing that I say and do," interrupted the sobbing Grace, "is vilified and misinterpreted by those who
wish me ill. I "
" You have desired to leave me, Grace; and my desire is that you should leave me," said MVrs. Harcourt,
with firmness. " Mad. de Rosier and I strictly forbade
you to interfere with any of the children in our absence;
L2




1 i26            MORAL TALES.
you have thought proper to disregard these orders; and
were you to stay longer in my house I perceive that you
would teach my children first to disobey, and afterward
to deceive me."
Grace, little prepared for this calm decision, now in a
frightened, humble tone, began to make promises of
reformation; but her promises and apologies were vain;
she was compelled to depart, and everybody was glad to
have done with her.
Favoretta, young as she was, had already learned
from this cunning waiting-maid habits of deceit which
could not be suddenly changed. Mad. de Rosier at-'empted her cure by making her feel, in the first place,
the inconveniences and the disgrace of not being trusted.
Favoretta was ashamed to perceive that she was the
only person in the house who was watched: and she
was heartily glad when by degrees she had opportunities
allowed her of obtaining a character for truth, and all
the pleasures and all the advantages of confidence.
Things went on much better after the gnome-like influence of Mrs. Grace had ceased: but we must now hasten
to introduce our readers to Mrs. Fanshaw. Mrs. Fanshaw was a card-playing lady, who had been educated
at a time when it was not thought necessary for women
to have any knowledge, or any taste for literature. As
she advanced in life, she continually recurred to the maxims as well as to the fashions of her youth; and the improvements in modern female education she treated as
dangerous innovations. She had placed her daughter at
a boarding-school in London, the expense of which was
its chief recommendation; and she saw her regularly at
the Christmas and Midsummer holydays. At length,
when Miss Fanshaw was about sixteen, her prudent
mother began to think that it was time to take her from
school, and to introduce her into the world. Miss Fanshaw had learned to speak French passably, to read a
little Italian, to draw a little, to play tolerably well upon
the piano-forte, and to dance as well as many other young
ladies. She had been sedulously taught a sovereign contempt of whatever was called vulgar at the school where
she was educated; but as she was profoundly ignorant




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          127
of every thing but the routine of that school, she had no
precise idea of propriety; she only knew what was
thought vulgar or genteel at Suxberry House; and the
authority of Mrs. Suxberry (for that was the name of
her schoolmistress) she quoted as incontrovertible upon
all occasions. Without reflecting upon what was wrong
or right, she decided with pert vivacity on all subjects,
and firmly believed that no one could know or could
learn any thing who had not been educated precisely as
she had been. She considered her mother as an inferior
personage, destitute of genteel accomplishments: her
mother considered her as a model of perfection, that
could only have been rendered thus thoroughly accomplished by the most expensive masters-her only fear was,
that her dear Jane should be rather too learned.
Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, paid Mrs.
Fanshaw a visit as soon as they heard that her daughter
was come home.
Miss Fanshaw, an erect.stiffened figure, made her entree; and it was impossible not to, perceive that her
whole soul was intent upon her manner of holding her
head and placing her elbows as she came into the room.
Her person had undergone all the ordinary and extraordinary tortures of' back-boards, collars, stocks, dumbbells, &c. She looked at Isabella and Matilda with some
surprise and contempt during the first ten minutes after
her entrance; for they were neither of them seated in
the exact posture which she had been instructed to think
the only position in which a young lady should sit in company. Isabella got up to look at a drawing; Miss Fanshaw watched every step she took, andsettled it in her
own mind that Miss Harcourt did not walk as if she had
ever been at Suxberry House. Matilda endeavoured to
engage the figure that sat beside her in conversation;
but the figure had no conversation, and the utmost that
Matilda could obtain was a few monosyllables pronounced with affected gravity; for at Suxberry House
this young lady had been taught to maintain an invincible silence when produced to strangers; but she made
herself amends for this constraint the moment she was
with her companions, by a tittering, gossiping species
39*




128               MORAL TALES.
of communication which scarcely deserves the name of
conversation.
While the silent Miss Fanshaw sat so as to do her
dancing-master strict justice, Mrs. Fanshaw.was stating
to Mrs. Harcourt the enormous expense to which she
had gone in her daughter's education. Though firm to
her original doctrine, that woman had no occasion for
learning-in which word of reproach she included all
literature —she nevertheless had been convinced, by the
unanimous voice of fashion, that accomplishments were
most desirableforyoung ladies-desirable, merely because
they were fashionable; she did not, in the least, consider
them as sources of independent occupation.
Isabella was struck with sudden admiration at the
sight of a head of Jupiter which Miss Fanshaw had just
finished, and Mrs. Harcourt borrowed it for her to copy;
though Miss Fanshaw was secretly but decidedly of
opinion, that no one who had not learned from the drawing-master at Suxberry House could copy this head of
Jupiter with any chance of success.
There was a pretty little netting-box upon the. table
which caught Matilda's eye, and she asked the silent
figure what it was made of.. The silent figure turned
its head mechanically, but could give no information
upon the subject. Mrs. Fanshaw, however, said that'
she had bought the box at the Repository for ingenious
works, and that the reason she chose it was because
Lady N — had recommended it to her.
"It is some kind of new manufacture, her ladyship
tells me, invented by some poor little boy that she patronises; her ladyship can tell you more of the matter,
Miss Matilda, than [ can," concluded Mrs. FanshavQ;
and, producing her netting, she asked Mrs. Harcourt,
" if she had not been vastly notable to have got forward
so fast with her work."
The remainder of the visit was spent in recounting her
losses at the card-table, and in exhortation to Mrs. Harcourt to send Miss Isabella and Matilda to finish their
education at Suxberry House.
Mrs. Harcourt was somewhat alarmed at the idea that
her daughters would not be equal to Miss Fanshaw in




THE GOOD FREINClH GOVERNESS.         129
accomplishment; but fortunately for Mad. de Rosier and
herself, she was soon induced to change her opinion by
further opportunities of comparison.
In a few days her visit was returned. Mrs. Harcourt.appened to mention the globe that Isabella was painting: Miss Fanshaw begged to see it, and she went into
Mrs. Harcourt's dressing-room, where it hung. The
moment she found herself with Isabella and Matilda, out
of company, -the silent figure became talkative. The
charm seemed to be broken, or rather reversed, and she
began to chatter with pert incessant rapidity.
"Dear me," said she, casting a scornful glance at
Matilda's globe, " this is vastly pretty, but we've no such
thing at Suxberry House.  I wonder Mrs. Harcourt
didn't send both of you to Suxberry House-everybody
sends their daughters, who can afford it, now, to Suxberry House; but, to be sure, it's very expensive-we
had all silver forks, and every thing in the highest style,
and Mrs. Suxberry keeps a coach. I assure you, she's
not at all like a schoolmistress, and she thinks it very
rude and vulgar of anybody to call her a schoolmistress.
Won't you ask your mamma to send you, if it's only for
the name of it, for one year, to Suxberry House?"'
" No," said Matilda; "we are so happy under the
care of Mad. de Rosier."
" Ah, dear me! I forgot-mamma told me you'd got a
new French governess lately-our French teacher, at
Suxberry House, was so strict, and so cross, if one made
a mistake in the tenses: it's very well for you your governess is not cross-does she give you very hard exercises?-let me look at your exercise book, and I'll tell
you whether it's the right one-I mean that we used to
have at Suxberry House."
Miss Fanshaw snatched up a book, in which she saw
a paper, which she took for a French exercise.
"Come, show it me, and I'll correct the faults for
you, before your governess sees it, and she'll be so surprised!"
"Mad. de Rosier has seen it," said Matilda;-but
Miss Fanshaw, in a romping manner, pulled the paper
out of her hands. It was the translation of a part of




130               MORAL TALES.
" Les Conversations d'Emilie," which we formerly mentioned.
"La!" said Miss Fanshaw, " we had no such book as
this at Suxberry House."
Matilda's translation she was surprised to find correct.
" And do you write themes?" said she —" We always
wrote themes once every week, at Suxberry House,
which I used to hate of all things, for I never could find
any thing to say-it made. me hate writing, I know;but that's all over now; thank goodness I've done with
themes and French letters, and exercises, and translations, and all those plaguing things; and now I've left
school for ever, I may do just as I please-that's the best
of going to school; it's over with some time or other,
and there's an end of it; but you that have a governess
and masters at home, you go on for ever and ever, and
you have no holydays either; and you have no out-of
school hours; you are kept hard at it from morning till
night; now I should hate that of all things. At Suxberry House, when we had got our task done, and finished with the writing-master and the drawing-master,
and when we had practised for the music-master, and
all that, we might be as idle as we pleased, and do what
we liked out of school-hours-you know that was very
pleasant: I assure you, you'd like being at Suxberry
House amazingly."
Isabella and Matilda, to whom it did not appear the
most delightful of all things to be idle, nor the most
desirable thing in the world to have their education finished., and then to lay aside all thoughts of further improvement, could not assent to Miss Fanshaw's concluding assertion. They declared that they did not feel any
want of holvdavs; at which Miss Fanshaw stared; they
said that they had no tasks, and that they liked to be
employed rather better than to be idle; at which Miss
Fanshaw laughed, and sarcastically said, "You need
not talk to me as if your governess was by, for I am not
a tell-tale-I shan't repeat what you say."
Isabella and Matilda, who had not two methods of
talking, looked rather displeased at this ill-bred speech.
"Nay," said Miss Fanshaw, " I hope you aren't af



THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           131
fronted rewv at what I said; when we are by ourselves,
you know one says just what comes into one's head.
Whose handsome coach is this, pray, with a coronet?"
continued she, looking out of the window: "I declare
it is stopping at your door; do let us go down. I'm
never afraid of going into the room when there's company, for we were taught to go into a room at Suxberry
House; and Mrs. Suxberry says it's very vulgar to be
ashamed, and I assure you its all custom. I. used to
colour, as Miss Matilda does, every minute; but I got
over it before I had been long at Suxberry House."
Isabella, who had just been reading "A  Father's
Legacy to his Daughters," recollected at this instant
Dr. Gregory's opinion' " that when a girl ceases to blush,
she has lost the most powerful charm of beauty." She
had not, however, time to quote this in Matilda's defence;
for Miss Fanshaw ran down stairs, and Isabella recollected, before she overtook her, that it would not be polite to remind her of her early loss of charms.
Lady N      was, in the coach which had excited
Miss Fanshaw's admiration; and this young lady had
a glorious opportunity of showing the graces that she
had been taught at such expense, for the room was full
of company. Several morning visitors had called upon
Mrs. Harcourt, and they formed a pretty large circle,
which Miss Fanshaw viewed upon her entrance with a
sort of studied assurance.
Mrs. Fanshaw watched Lady N's eye as her
daughter came into the room; but Lady N     did not
appear to be much struck with the second-hand graces
of Suxberry House; her eye passed over Miss Fanshaw, in search of some thing less affected and more interesting.
Miss Fanshaw had now resumed her company face
and attitude; she sat in prudent silence, while Lady
N-     addressed her conversation to Isabella and Matilda,
whose thoughts did not seem to be totally engrossed by
their own persons.
Dr. X-    had prepared this lady to think favourably
of Mad. de Rosier's pupils, by the account which he
had given her upon Isabella's remarks upon Zeluco.




132               MORAL TALES.
A person of good sense who has an encouraging countenance, can easily draw out the abilities of young people; and from their manner of listening, as well as from
their manner of speaking, can soon form a judgment of
their temper and understanding.
Miss Fanshaw, instead of attending with a desire to
improve herself from sensible conversation, sat with a
look as absent as that of an unskilful actress, while the
other performers are engaged in their parts.
There was a small book-case in a recess at the further end of the room, and upon a little table there were
some books, which Isabella and Matilda had been reading with Mad. de Rosier. Mrs. Fanshaw looked towards
the table, with a sarcastic smile, and said" You are great readers, young ladies, I see: may we
know what. are your studies?"
Miss Fanshaw, to show how well she could walk,
crossed the room, and took up one of the books.
"' Alison upon Taste'-that's a pretty book, I dare
say-but la! what's this, Miss Isabella?'./ Smith's
Theory of Moral Sentiments'-dear me! that must be a
curious performance-by a smith! a common smith!"
Isabella good-naturedly stopped her from further absurd exclamations by turning to the titlepage of the
book, and showing her the words ".-/dam Smith."
"Ah! A./ stands fbr A1dam! very true-I thought it
was a smith," said Miss Fanshaw.
"Well, my dear," said her mother, who had quickness enough to perceive that her daughter had made
some mistake by the countenances of the company, but
who had not sufficient erudition to know what the mistake could be —" well, my dear, and suppose it was a
smith, there's nothing extraordinary in that-nothing
extraordinary in a smith's writing a book now-a-days;
-why not a common blacksmith, as well as a common
ploughman?-I was asked, I know, not long ago, to
subscribe to the poems of a common ploughman."
"The Ayrshire ploughman?" said Lady N"Yes, they called him so, as I recollect, and I really
had a mind to put my name down, for I think I saw your
ladyship's among the subscribers."




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          133
"Yes, they are beautiful poems," said Lady N —.
"So  I understand-there are some vastly pretty
things in his coliection-but one hears of so many good
things coming out every day," said Mrs. Fanshaw, in a
plaintive voice. "In these days, I think, everybody
writes-"
"And reads," said Lady N-.
"And reads," said Mrs. Fanshaw.
"'te have learned ladies now, wherever one goes,
who tell one they never play at cards-[ am sure they
are very bad company. Jane," said she, turning to her
daughter, "I hope you won't take it into your head to
turn out a reading lady?"
"0 dear, no!" said Miss Fanshaw: "we had not
much time for reading at Suxberry House, we were so
busy with our masters; —we had a charming English
master, though, to teach us elocution, because it's so
fashionable now to read aloud well. Mrs. Harcourt, isn't
it odd to read English books to a French governess?"
continued this young lady, whose constrained taciturnity
now gave way to a strong desire to show herself off before Lady N —. She had observed that Isabella and
Matilda had been listened to with approbation, and she
imagined that when she spoke, she should certainly
eclipse them.
Mrs. Harcourt replied to her observation, that Mad.
de Rosier not only read and spoke English remarkably
well, but that she had also a general knowledge of English literature.
" O0! here are some French books," said Miss Fanshaw, taking down one out of the book-case-"' Journal Etranger'-dear me! are you translating of this,
Miss Isabella?"
"No," said Mrs. Harcourt; " Mad. de Rosier brought
it down stairs yesterday to show us an essay of Hume's
on the study of history, which is particularly addressed
to women; and Mad. de Rosier says that it is not to be
found in several of the late editions (;f Hurae's Essays —
she thought it singular that it should be preserved in a
French translation."
"There is," said Isabella, " an entertaining account in
M




134               MORAL TALES.
that essay of a lady who asked Hume to lend her some
novels!-He lent her Plutarch's Lives, which she
thought very amusing, till she found out that they were
true. As soon as she came to the names of Caesar and
Alexander, she returned the books."
Mrs. Fanshaw was surprised that Lady N   begged
to look at this essay; and was much disappointed to observe that the graceful manner in which Miss Fanshaw
presented the book to her ladyship escaped notice.
" Pray, Miss Matilda, is that a drawing." said Mrs.
Fanshaw, in hopes of leading to a more favourable
subject.
" O, dear me! do pray favour us with a sight of it!"
cried Miss Fanshaw, and she eagerly unrolled the paper,
though Matilda assured her that it was not a drawing.
It was Hogarth's print of a country dance, which is
prefixed to his " Analysis of Beauty."
" It is the oddest thing!" exclaimed Miss Fanshaw,
who thought every thing odd or strange which she had
not seen at Suxberry House. Without staying to observe the innumerable strokes of humour and of original
genius in the print, she ran on-" La! it's hardly worth
any one's while, surely, to draw such a set of vulgar
figures-one hates low humour."  Then, in a hurry to
show her taste for dress, she observed that " people, formerly, must have had no taste at all;-one can hardly
believe such things were ever worn."'
Mrs. Fanshaw, touched by this reflection upon the
taste of former times, though she seldom presumed to
oppose any of her daughter's opinions, could not here
refrain from saying a few words in defence of sacks,
long waists, and whalebone stays, and she pointed to a
row of stays in the margin of one of these prints of Hogarth.
Miss Fanshaw, who did not consider that with those
who have a taste for propriety in manners she could not
gain any thing by a triumph over her mother, laughed
in a disdainful manner at her mother's "partiality for
stays," and wondered how anybody could think long
waists becoming.
" Surely anybody who knows any thing of drawing,




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            135
or has any taste for an antique figure, must acknowledge the present fashion to be most graceful." She appealed to Isabella and Matilda.
They were so much struck with the impropriety of
her manner towards her mother, that they did not immediately answer; Matilda at length said, " It is natural
to like what we have been early used to;" and, from
unaffected gentleness, eager to prevent Miss Fanshaw
from further exposing her ignorance, she rolled up the
print; and Lady N —, smiling at Mrs. Harcourt, said,' I never saw a print more gracefully rolled up in my
life."  Miss Fanshaw immediately rolled up another of
the prints, but'no applause ensued.
At the next pause in the conversation, Mrs. Fanshaw
and her daughter took their leave, seemingly dissatisfied
with their visit.
Matilda, just after Mrs. Fanshaw left the room, recollected her pretty netting box, and asked Lady N -
whether she knew any thing of the little boy by whom
it was made.
IHer ladyship gave such an interesting account of him,
that Matilda determined to have her share in relieving
his distress.
Matilda's benevolence was formerly rather passive
than active; but from Mad. de Rosier she had learned
that sensibility should not be suffered to evaporate in
sighs or in sentimental speeches. She had also learnt
that economy is necessary to generosity; and she consequently sometimes denied herself the gratification of
her own tastes, that she might be able to assist those
who were in distress.
She had lately seen a beautiful print of the king of
France taking leave of his family; and as Mad. de Rosier was struck with it, she wished o10 have bought it for
her; but she now considered that a guinea, which was
the price of the print, might be better bestowed on this
poor, little, ingenious, industrious boy: so she begged
her mother to send to the repository for one-of his boxes.
The servants were all'busy, and Matilda did not receive
her box till the next morning.
Herbert was reading to Mad. de Rosier when the ser40




136               MORAL TALES.
vant brought the box into the room. Favoretta got up
to look at it, and immediately Herbert's eye glanced
from his book: in spite of all his endeavours to command his attention he heard the exclamations of " Beautiful!-how smooth!-like tortoise-shell!-What can it
be made of?"
"My. l dear Herbert, shut the book," said Mad. de Rosier, " if your head be in that box. Never read one moment after you have ceased to attend."
"It is my fault," said Matilda; I will put the box out
of the way till he has finished reading."
When Herbert had recalled his wandering thoughts
and had fixed his mind upon what he was about; Mad.
de Rosier put her hand upon the, book-he started"' Now let us See the beautiful box," said she.
After it had passed through Favoretta and Herbert's
impatient hands, Matilda, who had scarcely looked at it
herself, took it to the window, to give it a sober examination. (' It is not made of paper or pasteboard, and it
is not the colour of tortoise-shell," said Matilda: "I
never saw any thing like it before; I wonder what it can
be made of?"
Herbert, at this question, unperceived by Matilda,
who was examining the box very earnestly, seized the
lid, which was lying upon the table, and ran out of the
room; he returned in a few minutes, and presented the
lid to Matilda. "I can tell you one thing, Matilda,"
said he, with an important face —" it is an animal-an,animal substance I mean."
"O, Herbert," cried Matilda, " what have you been
doing!-you have blackened the corner of the box."
"Only the least bit in the world," said Herbert, "to
try an experiment. I only put one corner to the candle,that Isabella had lighted to seal her letter."
"My dear Herbert, how could you burn your sister's
box?" expostulated Mad. de Rosier: " I thought you did
not love mischief."'?
"Mischief! —no, indeed; I thought you would be
pleased that I remembered how to distinguish animal
from vegetable substances. You know the day that my
hair was on fire, you told me how to do that; and Ma



THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.          137
tilda wanted to know what the box was made of; so I
tried."
" Well,'" said Matilda, good-naturedly, " you have not
done me much harm."
"But another time," said Mad. de Rosier, " don't
burn a box, that costs a guinea, to try an experiment;
and, above all things, never, upon any account, take
what is not your own."
The corner of the lid that had been held to the candle
was a little warped, so that the lid did not slide into its
groove as easily as it did before. Herbert was disposed
to use force upon the occasion; but Matilda with difficulty rescued her box by an argument which fortunately
reached his understanding time enough to stop his hand.
"It was the heat of the candle that warped it," said
she: " let us dip it into boiling water, which cannot be
made too hot, and that will, perhaps, bring it back to its
shape."
The lid of the box was dipped into boiling water, and
restored to its shape. Matilda, as she was wiping it dry,
observed that some yellow paint, or varnish, came off,
and in one spot, on the inside of the lid, she discovered
something like writing.
"Who will lend me a magnifying glass?"
Favoretta produced hers.
" I have kept it," said she, " a great great while, ever
since we were at the Rational Toy-shop."
"Mad. de Rosier, do look at this!" exclaimed Matilda
-" here are letters quite plain!-I have found the name
I do believe, of the boy who made the box!" and she
spelled, letter by letter, as she looked through the magnifying glass, the words Henri-Montmorenci.
Mad. de Rosier started up; and Matilda, surprised at
her sudden emotion, put the box and magnifying glass
into her hand. Madame de Rosier's hand trembled sc
much that she could not fix the glass.
"Je ne vois rien' lisez-vite!-ma chere amie-un
mot de plus!" said she, putting the-glass again into Matilda's hand, and leaning over her shoulder with a look
of agonizing expectation.
The word de was all that Matilda could make out.
2




138               MORAL TALES.
Isabella tried-it was in vain-no other letters were
visible.
" De what!-de Rosier!-it must be! my son is alive!"
said the mother.
Henri-Montmorenci was the name of Mad. de Rosier's
son; but when she reflected for an instant that this might
also be the name of some other person, her transport of
joy was checked, and seemed to be converted into despair.
Her first emotions over, the habitual firmness of her
mind returned. She sent directly to the repository-no
news of the boy could there be obtained. Lady N —
was gone, for a few davs, to Windsor: so no intelligence
could be had from her. Mrs. Harcourt was out-no
carriage at home-but Mad. de Rosier set out immediately, and walked to Golden-square, near which place
she knew that a number of French emigrants resided.
She stopped first at a bookseller's shop; she described
the person of her son, and inquired if any such person
had been seen in that neighbourhood.
The bookseller was making out a bill for one of his
customers, but struck with Mad. de Rosier's anxiety, and
perceiving that she was a foreigner by her accent, he put
down his pen, and begged her to repeat once more the
description of her son. He tried to recollect whether he
had seen such a person-but he had not. He, however,
with true English good-nature, told her that she had an
excellent chance of finding him in this part of the town,
if he were in London-he was sorry that his shopman
was from home, or he would have sent him with her
through the streets near the square, where he knew the
emigrants chiefly lodged;-he gave her in writing a list
of the names of these streets, and stood at his door to
watch and speed her on her way.
She called at the neighbouring shops-she walked
down several narrow streets, inquiring at every house,
where she thought there was any chance of success, but
in vain. At one a slip-shod maid-servant came to the
door, who stared at seeing a well-dressed lady, and who
was so bewildered, that she could not for some time answer any questions; at another house the master was




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           139
out; at another the master was at dinner. As it got towards four o'clock, Mad. de Rosier found it more difficult
to obtain civil answers to her inquiries, for almost all the
tradesmen were at dinner, and when they came to the
door, looked out of humour at being interrupted and disappointed at not meeting with a customer. She walked
on, her mind still indefatigable: she heard a clock in the
neighbourhood strike five; her strength was not equal to
the energy of her mind; and the repeated answers of
"We know of no such person"-" No such boy lives
here, ma'am," made her. at length despair of success.
One street upon her list remained unsearched-it was
narrow, dark, and dirty; she stopped for a moment at
the corner, but a porter, heavily laden, with a sudden
"By your leave, ma'am!" pushed forwards, and she
was forced into the doorway of a small ironmonger's
shop. The master of the shop, who was weighing some
iron goods, let the scale go up, and, after a look of surprise, said" You've lost your way, madam, I presume-be pleased
to rest yourself-it is but a dark place;" and wiping a
stool, on which some locks had been lying, he left Mad.
de Rosier, who was, indeed, exhausted with fatigue, to
rest herself, while, without any officious civility, after
calling his wife from a back shop to give the lady a glass
of water, he went on weighing his iron and whistling.
The woman, as soon as Mad. de Rosier had drunk
the water, inquired if she should send for a coach for her,
or could do any thing to serve her.
The extreme good-nature of the tone in which this
was spoken, seemed to revive Mad. de Rosier; she told
her that she was searching for an only son, whom she
had for nearly two years believed to be dead: she showed
the paper on which his name was written: the woman
could not read-her husband read the name, but he shook
his head -" he knew of no lad who answered to the
description."
While they were speaking, a little boy came into the
shop with a bit of small iron wire in his hand, and
twitching the skirt of the ironmonger's coat to attract his
attention, asked if he had any such wire as that in his
40*




140              MORAL TALES.
shop. When the ironmonger went to get down a roll
of wire, the little boy had a full vie~w of Mad. de Rosier.
Though she was naturally disposed to take notice of
children, yet now she was so intent upon her own
thoughts, that she did not observe him till he had bowed
several times just opposite to her.
"Are you bowing to me, my good boy?" said she:
"you mistake me for somebody else; I don't know you;"
and she looked down again upon the paper on which
she had written the name of her son.
"But indeed, ma'am, I know you," said the little boy:
"aren't you the lady that was with the. good-natured
young gentleman, who met me going out of the pastrycook's shop, and gave me fhe two buns?"
Mad. de Rosier now looked in his face; the shop was
so dark that she could not distinguish his features, but
she recollected his voice, and knew him to be the little
boy belonging to the dulcimer-man.
" Father would have come again to your house," said
the boy, who did not perceive her inattention-" Father
would have come to your house again, to play the tune
the young gentleman fancied so much, but our dulcimer
is broke."
" Is it? I am sorry for it," said Mad. de Rosier. " But
can you tell me," continued she to the ironmonger,
"'whether any emigrants lodge in the street to the left
of your house?" The master of the shop tried to recollect: she again repeated the name and description of her
son.
"I know a young French lad of that make," said the
little dulcimer-boy.
"' Do you? Where is he? Where does he lodge?"
cried Mad. de Rosier.
" I am not speaking as to his name, for I never heard
his name," said the little boy; " but I'll tell you how I
came to know him. One day lately — 
Mad. de Rosier interrupted him with questions concerning the figure, height, age, eyes, of the French lad.
The little dulcimer-boy, by his answers, sometimes
made her doubt, and sometimes made her certain, that
he was her son.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           141
"Tell me," said she,' where he lodes: I must see
him immediately."
"I am just come from him, and I'm going back to
him with the wire; I'll show you the way with pleasure; he is the best natured lad in the world; he is mending my dulcimer; he deserves to be a great gentleman,
and I thought he was not what he seemed,'7 continued
the little boy, as he walked on, scarcely able to keep before Mad. de Rosier.
" This way, ma'am-this way-he lives in the corner
house, turning into Golden-square." It was a stationer's.
" I have called at this house already," said Mad. de
Rosier; but she recollected that it was when the family
were at dinner, and that a stupid maid had not understood her questions. She was unable to speak, through
extreme agitation, when she came to the shop: the little dulcimer-boy walked straight forward, and gently.
drew back the short curtain that hung before a glass door,
opening into a back parlour. Mad. de Rosier sprang
forward to the door, looked through the glass, and was
alarmed to see a young man taller than her son; he was
at work; his back was towards her.
When he heard the noise of some one trying to open
the door, he turned and saw his mother's face! The
tools dropped from his hands, and the dulcimer-boy was
the only person present who had strength enough to open
the door.
How sudden, how powerful is the effect of joy! The
mother, restored to her son, in a moment felt herself invigorated; and, forgetful of her fatigue, she felt herself
another being. When she was left alone with her son,
she looked round his little workshop with a mixture of
pain and pleasure. She saw one of his unfinished boxes
on the window-seat, which served him for a work-bench;
his tools were upon the floor. "These have been my
support," said her son, taking them up: " how much
am I indebted to my dear father for teaching me early
how to use them."
"Your father!" said Mad. de Rosier, "I wish he
could have lived to be rewarded as I am! But tell me
your history from the moment you were taken from me




142              MORAL TALES
to prison: it. is nearly two years ago; how did you
escape? how have you supported yourself since?  Sit
down, and speak again, that I may be sure that I hear
your voice."
".You shall hear my voice, then,. my dear mother,"
said her son, " for at least half an hour, if that will not
tire you. I have a long story to tell you. In the first
place, you know that I was taken to prison; three months
I spent in the Conciergerie, expecting every day to be
ordered out to the guillotine. The jailer's son, a boy
about my own age, who was sometimes employed to
bring me food, seemed to look upon me with compassion; I had several opportunities of obliging him: his
father often gave him long returns of the names of the
prisoners and various accounts to copy into a large book;
the young gentleman did not like this work; he was
much fonder of exercising as a soldier with some boys
in the neighbourhood, who were learning the national
exercise; he frequently employed me to copy his lists
for him, and this I performed to his satisfaction; but
what completely won his heart was my mending the.
lock of his fusil. One evening he came to me in a new
uniform, and in high spirits; he was just made a captain by the unanimous voice of his corps; and he talked
of his men, and his orders, with prodigious fluency; he
then played his march upon his drum, and insisted upon
teaching it to me; he was much pleased with my performance, and suddenly embracing me he exclaimed,'I
have thought of an excellent thing for you; stay till I
have arranged the plan in my head, and you shall see if
I am not a great general.' The next evening he did not
come to me till it was nearly dusk; he was in his new
uniform; but out of a bag which he brought in his
hand, in which he used to carry his father's papers, he
produced his old uniform, rolled up into a surprisingly
small compass.'I have arranged every thing,' said he;'put on this old uniform of mine-we are just of a size
-by this light nobody will perceive any difference; take
my drum, and march out of the prison slowly; beat my
march on the drum as you go out; turn to the left, down
to the Place de -, where I exercise my men. You'll




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           143
meet with one of my soldiers there, ready to forward
your escape.' I hesitated; for I feared that I should.endanger my young general; but he assured me that he
had taken his precautions so' admirably,' that even after
my escape should be discovered, no suspicion would fall
upon him,' But it you delay,' cried he,' we are both of
us undone.' I hesitated not a moment longer, and never
did I change my clothes so expeditiously in my life; I
obeyed my little captain exactly, marched out of the
prison slowly, playing deliberately the march which I
had been taught; turned to the left, according to orders,
and saw my punctual guide waiting for me on the Place
de -, just by the broken statue of Henry the Fourth.
"' Follow me, fellow-citizen,' said he in a low voice;'we are not all Robespierres.'
~" Most joyfully I followed him. We walked on in
silence till at length we came to a narrow street, where
the crowd was so great that I thought we should both of
us have been squeezed to death. I saw the guillotine at
a distance, and I felt sick.
"'Come on,' said my guide, who kept fast hold of
me; and he turned sharp into a yard, where I heard the
noise of carts and the voices of muleteers.' This man,'
said he, leading me up to a muleteer, who seemed to be
just ready to depart,' is my father; trust yourself to him.'
" I had nobody else to trust myself to. I got into the
muleteer's covered cart; he began a loud song; we proceeded through the square where the crowd were'assembled. The enthusiasm of the moment occupied them
so entirely, that we were fortunately disregarded. We
got out of Paris safely: I will not tire you with all my
terrors and escapes. I at length got on board a neutral
vessel, and landed at Bristol. Escaped from prison and
the fear of the guillotine, I thought myself happy; but
my happiness was not very lasting. I began to apprehend that I should be starved to death; I had not eaten
for many hours. I wandered through the bustling streets
of Bristol, where everybody I met seemed to be full of
their own business, and brushed by me without seeing
me. I was weak, and I sat down upon a stone by the
door of a public house.




144                MORAL TALES.
" A wornln was twirling a mop at the door. I wiped
away the drops with which I was sprinkled by this operation.  I was too weak to be angry; but a hairdresser,
who was passing by, and who had a nicely powdered
wig poised upon his hand, was furiously enraged, because a few drops of the shower which had sprinkled me
reached the wig. He expressed his anger half in French
and half in English; but at last I observed to hint in
French, that the wig was still' bien poudr&e' —this calmed his rage; and he remarked that I also had been horribly drenched by the shower.  I assured.him  that this
was a trifle in comparison with my other sufferings.
" He begged to hear my misfortunes, because I spoke
French; and as I followed him to the place where he
was going with the wig, I told him that I had not eaten
for many hours; that I was a stranger in Bristol, and
had no means of earning any food.  He advised me to
go to a tavern, which he pointed out to me —' The Rummer;' —le told me a circumstance which convinced me
of the humanity of the master of the house.*
" I resolved to apply to this benevolent man.  When
I first went into his kitchen I saw his cook, a man with
a very important face, serving out a large turtle. Several people were waiting with covered dishes, for turtle
soup and turtle, which had been bespoken in different
parts of the city. The dishes, as fast as they were filled,
continually passed by me, tantalizing me by their savoury odours. I sat down upon a stool near the fire-I
saw food within my reach that honesty forbade me to
* During Christmas week it is the custom in Bristol to keep a
cheap ordinary in taverns: the master of the Rummer observed a
stranger, meanly dressed, who constantly frequented the public table.
It was suspected that he carried away some of the provision, and a
waiter at length communicated his suspicions to the master of the
house. Hie watched the stranger, and actually detected him putting
a large mince-pie into his pocket. Instead of publicly exposing him,
the landlord, who judged from the stranger's manner that lie was
not an ordinary pilferer, called the man aside as he was going away,
and charged him with the fact, demanding of him what could tempt
him to such meanness. The poor man immediately acknowledged
that he had for several days carried off precisely what he would have
eaten himself, for his starving wife, but he had eaten nothing.
The humane, considerate landlord, gently reproved him for his con
duct, and soon found means to have him usefully and profitably employed.




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           145
touch, though 1 was starving: how easy is it to the rich
to.be honest! I was at this time so weak, that my ideas
began to be confused-my head grew dizzy-I'elt the
heat of the kitchen fire extremely disagreeable to me.
I do not know what happened.afterward; but when I
carne to myself, I found that I was leaning against some
one who supported me near an open window; it was
the master of the house. I do not know why I was
ashamed to ask him for food; his humanity, however,
prevented me. He first gave me a small basin of broth,
and afterward a little bit of bread, assuring me with infinite good nature, that he gave me food in such small
quantities, because he was afraid that it would hurt me to
satisfy my hunger at once-a worthy humane physician,
he said, had told him,that persons in my situation should
be treated in this manner. I thanked him for his kindness, adding, that I did not mean to encroach upon his
hospitality. He pressed me to stay at his house for
some days, but I could not think of being a burden to
him, when I had strength enough to maintain myself.
" In the window of the little parlour, where I ate m,
broth, I saw a novel which had been left there by the
landlord's daughter, and in the beginning of this book
was pasted a direction to the circulation library in Bristol. I was in hopes that I might earn my bread as a
sceribe. The landlord of the Rummer told me that he
was acquainted with the master of the library, and that
I might easily procure employment from him on reasonable terms.
"Mr. S —, for that was the name of the master of
the library, received me with an air of encouraging benevolence, and finding that I could read and write English tolerably well, he gave me a manuscript to copy,
which he was preparing for the press. I worked hard,
and made, as I fancied, a beautiful copy; but the printers complained of my upright French hand, which they
could not easily decipher: —I began to new-model my
writing, to please the taste of my employers; and as I
had sufficient motives to make me take pains, I at last
succeeded. I found it a great advantage to be able to
read and write the English language fluently; and when
N




146               MORAL TALES.
my employers perceived my education had not been
neglected, and that I had some knowledge of literature,
their confidence in my abilities increased. I hope you
will not think me vain if I add, that I could perceive my
manners were advantageous to me. I was known to be
a gentleman's son; and even those who set but little
value upon manners seemed to be influenced by them,
without perceiving it. But, without pronouncing my
own eulogium, let me content myself with telling you
my history.'" I used often, in carrying my day's work to the printer's, to pass through a part of the town of Bristol which
has been allotted to poor emigrants, and there I saw a
variety of little ingenious toys, which were sold at a
high price, or at a price which appeared to me to be
high. I began to consider that I might earn money by
invention, as well as by mere manual labour; but before
I gave up any part of my time to my new schemes, I
regularly wrote as much each day as was sufficient to
maintain me. Now it was that I felt the advantage of
having been taught, when I was a boy, the use of carpenter's tools, and some degree of mechanical dexterity.
I made several clumsy toys, and I tried various unsuccessful experiments, but I was not discouraged. One
day I heard a dispute near me about some trinket-a
tooth-pick case, I believe-which was thought by the
purchaser to be too highly priced; the man who made
it repeatedly said, in recommendation of the toy —' Why,
sir, you could not know it from tortoise-shell.'
"I, at this instant recollected to have seen, at the
Rummer, a great heap of broken shells, which the cook
had thrown aside, as if they were of no value. Upon
inquiry, I found that there was part of the inside shell
which was thought to be useless-it occurred to me that
I might possibly make it useful.  The good-natured
landlord ordered that all this part of the shells should be
carefully collected and given to me. I tried to polish it
for many hours in vain. I was often tempted to abandon
my project-there was a want of finish, as the workmen
call it, in my manufacture, which made me despair of
its being saleable. I will not weary you with a history




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.           147
of all my unsuccessful processes; it was fortunate for
me, mly dear mother, that I remembered one of the principles which you taught me whe.n I was a child, that it
is not genius, but perseverance, which brings things to
perfection. I persevered, and though I did not bring nmy
manufacture to perfection, I actually succeeded so far as
to make a very neat-looking box out of my refuse shells.
I offered it for sale-it was liked: I made several more
and they were quickly sold for me, most advantageously,
by my good friend, Mr. S-. He advised me to make
them in the shape of netting-boxes; I did so, and their
sale extended rapidly.
" Some benevolent lady, about this time, raised a subscription for me; but as I had now an easy means of
supporting myself, and as I every day beheld numbers
of my countrymen, nearly in the condition in which I
was when I first went to the Rummer, I thought it was
not fit to accept of the charitable assistance which could
be so much better bestowed upon others. Mr. S —  told
me, that the lady who raised the contribution, so far
from being offended, was pleased by my conduct in declining her bounty, and she undertook to dispose of as
many of my netting-boxes as I could finish. She was
one of the patronesses of a repository in London, which
has lately been opened, called the'Repository for Ingenious Works.' When she left Bristol, she desired
Mr. S5- to send my boxes thither.
" My little manufacture continued to prosper-by practice I grew more and more expert, and I had no longer
any fears that I should not be able to maintain myself.
It was fortunate for me that I was obliged to be constantly
employed; whenever I was not actually at hard work,
whenever I had leisure for reflection, 1 was unhappy.
"A friend of Mr. S-, who was going to London,
offered to take me with him-I had some curiosity to
see this celebrated metropolis, and I had hopes of meeting with some of my friends among the emigrants in this
city —among all the emigrants at Bristol there was not
one person with whom I had been acquainted in France.
" Impelled by these hopes I quitted Bristol, and arrived
a few weeks ago in London. Mr. S- gave me a direction
41




148               MORAL TALES.
to a cabinet-maker in Leicester Fields, and I was able to
pay for a decent lodging, for I was now master of what
appeared to me a large sum of money-seven guineas.
"Some time after I came to town, as I was returning
from a visit to an emigrant, with whom! had become
acquainted, I was stopped at the corner of a street by a
crowd of people —a mob, as I have been taught to call it,
since I came to England-who had gathered round a
blind man, a little boy, and a virago of a woman, who
stood upon the steps before a print-shop door. The
woman accused the boy of being a thief. The boy protested that he was innocent, and his ingenuous countenance spoke strongly in his favour. He belonged to the
blind man, who, as soon as he could make himself heard,
complained bitterly of the damage which had been done
to his dulcimer: the mob in their first fury had broken it.
1 was interested for the man, but more for the boy. Perhaps, said I to myself, he has neither father nor mother!
" When the woman who was standing yet furious at
the shop-door, had no more words for utterance, the little
boy was suffered to speak in his own defence. Hei said
that, as he was passing by the open window of the printshop, he put his hand in to give part of a bun which he
ivas eating to a little dog, who was sitting on the counter, near the window; and who looked thin and miserable, as if he was half-starved.' But,'. continued the
little boy,' when I put the bun to the dog's mouth, he
did not eat it; I gave him a little push to make him
mind me, and he fell out of the window into my hands;
and then I found that it was not a real dog, but only the
picture of a dog painted upon pasteboard. The mistres3 of the shop saw the dog in my hand, and snatched
it away, and accused me of being a thief; so then, with
the noise she made, the chairmen, who were near the
door came up, and the mob gathered, and our dulcimer
was broke. and I'm very sorry for it.' The mistress of
the print-sklop observed, in a loud and contemptuous
tone,' that all this must be a lie, for that such a one as
he could not have buns to give away to dogs!'-Here
the blind man vindicated his boy, by assuring us that
he came honestly by the bun-that two buns had been




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.         149
given to him about an hour before this time by a young
gentleman who met him as he was coming out of a
pastry-cook's shop.' When the mob heard this explanation, they were sorry for the mischief they had done
to the blind man's dulcimer; and, after examining it
with expressions of sorrow, they quietly dispersed. I
thought that I could perhaps mend the dulcimer, and I
offered my services; they were gladly accepted, and I
desired the man to leave it at the cabinet-maker's in
Leicester Fields, where I lodged. In the mean time the
little boy, while I had been examining the dulcimer, had
been wiping the dirt from off the pasteboard dog, which,
during the fray, had fallen into the street —' Is it not like
a real dog?' said the boy:' Was it not enough to deceive?'
" It was, indeed, extremely like a real dog-like my
dog, Caesar, whom I had taken care of from the time I
was five years old, and whom I was obliged to leave
at our house in Paris, when I was dragged to prison.
The more I looked at this pasteboard image, the more I
was convinced that the picture must have been drawn
from the life. Every streak, every spot, every shade
of its brown coat I remembered. Its extreme thinness
was the only circumstance in which the picture was unlike my Ccesar. I inquired from the scolding woman
of the shop how she came by this picture-' Honestly,'
was her laconic answer; but when I asked her whether
it were to be sold, and when I paid its price, the lady
changed her tone, no longer considering me as the partisan of the little boy against whom she was enraged,
but rather looking upon me as a customer, who had paid
too much for her goods, she condescended to inform me
that the dog was painted by one of the poor French emigrants who lived in her neighbourhood. She directed
me to the house, and I discovered the man to.be my
father's old servant Michael. Ile was overjoyed at the
sight of me; he was infirm, and unequalto any laborious
employment; he had supported himself with great difficulty by painting toys, and figures of men, women, and
animals upon pasteboard. He showed me two excellent
figures of French poissardes, and also a good cat of his
doing; —but my Caesar was the best of his works.
N 2




150                MORAL TALES.
"My lodgings at the cabinet-maker's were too small
to accomodate Michael; and yet I wished to have him
with me, for he seemed so infirm as to want assistance:
I consequently left my cabinet-maker, and took lodgings
with this stationer: he and his wife are quiet people,
and I hope poor Michael has been happier since he came
to me: he has, however, been for some days confined to
his bed, and I have been so busy that I have' not been
able to stir from home. To-day the poor little boy called
for his dulcimer; I must own that I found it a more difficult job to mend it than I expected. I could not match
the wire, and I sent the boy out to an ironmonger's a
few hours ago. How little did I expect to see him return with-my mother!"
We shall not attempt to describe the alternate emotions
of joy and sorrow which quickly succeeded each other
in Mad. de Rosier's heart while she listened to her son's
little history. Impatient to communicate her happiness
to her friends, she took leave hastily of her beloved son,
promising to call for him early the next day. "Settle
all your business to-night," said she, and "I will introduce you to my friends to-morrow. 3Jy friends, I say
proudly; for I have made friends since I came to England; and England, among other commodities excellent
in their kind, produces incomparable friends-friends in
adversity. We know their value. Adieu; settle all
your affairs here expeditiously."
"I have no affairs, no business, my dear mother,"
interrupted Henry, " except to mend the dulcimer, as I
promised, and that I'll finish directly.  Adieu, till tomorrow morning! What a delightful sound?"
With all the alacrity of benevolence, he returned to
his work, and his mother returned to Mrs. Harcourt's.
Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda met her with inquiring eyes.
"She smiles!" said Matilda; and Herbert, with a
higher jump than he had ever been known to make before, exclaimed, "She has found her son! —I am sure
of it!-I knew she would find him."
"Let her sit down,'" said Matilda, in a gentle voice.
Isabella brought her an excellent dish of coffee; and




THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS.            51
Mrs. Harcourt, with kind reproaches, asked why she
had not brought her son home with her. She rang the
bell with as much vivacity as she spoke, ordered her
coach to be sent instantly to Golden-square, and wrote
an order, as she called it, for his coming immediately to
her, quitting all dulcimers and dulcitner-boys, under pain
of his mother's displeasure. " Here, Mad. de Rosier,"
said she, with peremptory playfulness, " countersign my
order, that I may be sure of my prisoner."
Scarcely were the note and carriage despatched, before
Herbert and Favoretta stationed themselves at the window, that they might be ready to give the first intelligence. Their notions of time and distance were not very
accurate upon this occasion; for before the carriage had
been out of sight ten minutes they expected it to return;
and they exclaimed, at the sight of every coach that appeared at the end of the street, " Here's the carriage!Here he is!" But the carriages rolled by continually,
and convinced them of their mistakes.
Herbert complained of the dull light ot the lamps,
though the street was remarkably well lighted; and he
next quarrelled with the glare of the flambeaux, which
footmen brandished behind carriages that were unknown
to him, At length a flambeau appeared with which he
did not quarrel. Herbert, as its light shone upon the
footman, looked with an eager eye, then put his finger
upon his own lips, and held his other hand forcibly before Favoretta's mouth, for now he was certain. The
coach stopped at the door-Mad. de Rosier ran down
stairs-Mrs. Harcourt and all the family followed herHerbert was at the coach-door before Henry de Rosier
could leap out, and he seized his hand with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance.
The sympathy of all her joyful pupils, the animated
kindness with which Mrs. Harcourt received her son,
touched Mad. de Rosier with the most exquisite pleasure.
The happiness that we are conscious of having deserved
is doubly grateful to the heart.
Mrs. Harcourt did not confine her attentions within
the narrow limits of politeness, —with generous eagerness she exerted herself to show her gratitude to the
41'




152               MORAL TALES.
excellent governess of her children. She applied to the
gentleman who was at the head of the academy.for the
education of the sons of French emigrants, and recommended Henry de Rosier to him in the strongest terms.
In the mean time Lady N —, who had been warmly
interested in Mad. de Rosier's favour-and more by what
she had seen of her pupils-wrote to her brother, who
was at Paris, to request that he would make every possible inquiry concerning the property of the late Compte
de Rosier. The answer to her letter informed her that
Mad. de Rosier's property was restored to her and to her
son by the new government of France.
Mrs. Harcourt, who now foresaw the probability of
Mad. de Rosier's return to France, could not avoid feeling regret at thoughts of parting with a friend to whom
her whole family was sincerely attached. The plan of
education which had been traced out remained yet unfinished; and she feared, she said, that Isabella and
Matilda might feel the want of their accomplished preceptress. But these fears were the best omens for her
future success: a sensible mother, in whom the desire to
educate her family has once been excited, and who turns
the energy of her mind to this interesting subject, seizes
upon every useful idea, every practical principle, with
avidity, and she may trust securely to her own persevering cares. Whatever a mother learns for the sake
of her children, she never forgets.
The rapid improvement of Mrs. Harcourt's understanding since she had applied herself to literature was
her reward and her excitement to freshl application.
Isabella and Matilda were now of an age to be her companions, and her taste for domestic life was confirtmed
every day by the sweet experience of its pleasures:
"You have taught me your value, and now you are
going to leave me," said she to Mad. de Rosier. "I
quarrelled with the Duke de Rochefoucault for his asserting that in the misfortunes of our best friends there
is always something that is not disagreeable to us; but
I am afraid I must stand convicted of selfishness, for in
the good fortune of my best friend there is something
that I cannot feel to be perfectly agreeable."




THE KI -AP SACK.
153




DRAMATIS PERSONXE.
COUNT HELMAAR, a Swedish Nobleman.
CHRISTIERN, a Swedish Soldier.
ALEFTSON, Count IHelmaar's Fool.
THOMAS, a Footman.
ELEONORA, a Swedish Lady, beloved by Count Ielmaar.
CHRIST1NA, Sister to Helmaar.
ULRICA, an old Ilousekfepei.
CATHERINE, Wife to Christiern.
ULRIC and KATE, the Son and Daughter of Catherine: they are
six and seven years old.
Sergeant, and a Troop of Soldiers, a Train of Dancers,
a Page, 4c.
154




THE KNAPSACK.*
ACT I.
SCENE-.-   cottage in Sweden.-CATHERINE, a young
and handsome woman,c is sitting at her spinning-wheel.
-ZJ little Boy and Girl, of six and seven years of age,
are seated on the ground eating their dinner.
CATHERINE SiIngS, while she is spinning.
Haste from the wars, oh, haste to me,
The wife that fondly waits for thee;
Long are the years, and long each day,
While my loved soldier's far away.
Haste from the wars, &c.
Lone ev'ry field, and lone the bower;
Pleasant to me nor sun nor shower;
The snows are gone, the flowers are gay;
Why is my life of life away X
Haste from the wars, &c.,Little Girl. When will father come home?
Little Boy. When will he come, mother'? when, today? to-morrow?
Cath. No, not to-day, nor to-morrow; but soon, I
hope, very soon; for they say the wars are over.
Little Girl. I am glad of that, and when father
comes home, I'll give him  some of my flowers.
Little Boy. (who is still eating). And I'll give him
some of my bread and cheese, which he'll like better
* In the Travels of M. Beaujolin in Sweden, he mentions having,
in the year 1790, met carriages laden with the knapsacks of Swedish
soldiers who had fallen in battle in Finland. These carriages were
escorted by peasants who were relieved at every stage, and thus the
property of the deceased was conveyed from one extremity of the
kingdom to the other, and faithfullg restored to their relations. The
Swedish peasants are so remarkably honest, that sc arcely any thing
is ever lost in these convoys of numerous and ill-secured packages.
155




156              _MORAL'TALES.
than flowers, if he is as hungry as I am; and that to be
sure he. will be, after coming such a long, long journey.
Little Girl. Long, long journey! how long — how
far is father off, mother?-where is he?
Little Boy. I know, he is in-in-in-in-in Finland? how far off; mother?
Cath. A great many miles, my dear; I don't know
how many.
Little Boy. Is it not two miles to the great house,
mother, where we go to sell our fagots?
Cath. Yes, about two miles-and now you had best
set out towards the great house, and ask Mrs. Ulrica,
the housekeeper, to pay you the little bill she owes you
for fagots-there's good children; and when you have
been paid for your fagots, you can call at the baker's,.n the village, and bring home some bread for to-morrow-(patting the little boy's head)-you that love bread
and cheese so much must work hard to get it.
Little Boy. Yes, so I will work hard, then I shall
have enough for myself and father too, when he comes.
Come along-come-(to his sister)-and as we come
home through the forest, I'll show you where we can
get plenty of sticks for to-morrow, and we'll help one
another.
Little Girl sings.
That's the best way,
At work and at play,
To help one another-I heard mother sayTo help one another-I heard mother say.
[The children go off, sibging these words.
Cath. (alone). Dear, good children, how happy their
father will be to see them, when he comes back! —(She
begins to eat the remains of the dinner which the children
have left.) The little rogue was so hungry, he has not
left me much; but he would have left me all, if he had
thought that I wanted it: he shall have a good: large bowl
of milk for supper. It was but last night he skimmed
the cream off his milk for me, because he thought I liked
it. Heigho!-God knows how long they may have
milk to skim-as long as I can work they shall never
want; but I'm not so strong as I used to be; but then I




THE KNAPSACK.                 157
shall get strong, and all will be well, when my husband
comes back (a drum beats at a distance). Hark! a drum!
-some news from abroad, perhaps-nearer and nearer
(she sinks upon a chair)-why cannot I run to see-to
ask (the drum' beats louder and louder)-fool that I am!
they will be gone! they will be all gone! (she starts up.)
[Exit hastily.
SCENE changes to a high road, leading to a village.d party of ragged, tired soldiers, marching slowly.
Sergeant ranges them.
Serg. Keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, we have
not a great way farther to go: keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, through yonder village; (The drum beats.)
[Soldiers exeunt.
Scrg. (alone). Poor fellows, my heart bleeds to see
them! the sad remains, these, of as fine a regiment as
ever handled a musket. Ah! I've seen them march quite
another guess sort of way, when they marched, and I
among them, to face the enemy —heads up-step firmthus it was —quick timle-march!-(he nmarches proudly)
-My poor fellows, how they lag now (looking after
them)-ay, av, there they go, slower and slower; they
don't like going through the village; nor I neither; for,
at every village we pass through, out come the women
and children, running after us, and crying, "Where's
my father?-What's become of my husband?"-Stout
fellow as I am, and a sergeant too, that ought to know
better, and set the others an example, I can't stand these
questions.
Enter CATHERINE, breathless.
Cath. I-I-I've overtaken him  at last.-Sir —Mr.
Sergeant, one word!  What news from Finland?
Serg. Thebest-the war's over.-Peace is proclaimed.
Cath. (clasping her hands joyfully). Peace! happy
sound!-Peace! The war's over! -Peace! -And the
regiment of Helmaar —(The Sergeant appears anxious
to get away)-Only one word, good sergeant: when
will the regiment of Ilelmaar be back?
Serg. All itat remain of it will be home next week.
0




158              MORAL TALES.
Cath. Next week! —But all that remain, did you
say? —Then many have been killed?
Serg. Many, many-too many. Some honest peasants are bringing home the knapsacks of those who
have fallen in battle.'Tis fair that what little they had
should come home to their families. Now, I pray you,
let me pass on.
Cath. One word more: tell me, do you know, in the
regiment of IJelmaar, one Christiern Aleftson?
Serg. (with eagerness). Christiern Aleftson! as brave
a fellow, and as good, as ever lived, if it be the same as
I knew.
Cath. As brave a fellow, and as good, as ever lived!
0, that's he! he is my husband —where is he! where
is he?
Serz. (aside). She wrings my heart!-(aloud). He
wasCath. Was!
Serg. He is, I hope, safe.
Cath. You hope!-don't look away-I must see your
face: tell me all you know.
Serg. I know nothing for certain.-When the peasants come with the knapsacks, you will hear all from
them. Pray you let me follow my men; they are already
at a great distance.  [Exit Serg.follotoed by Catherine.
Cath. I will not detain you an instant-only one
word more-                                  [Exit.
SCENE-An apartment in Count Helmaar's Castle —A
train of dancers. —.fter they have dancedfor some time,
Enter a Page.
Page. Ladies! I have waited, according to youl
commands, till Count Helmaar appeared in the antechamber —he is there now, along with the ladies Christina and Eleonora.
Ist Dancer. Now is our time-Count Helmaar shall
hear our song to welcome him home.
2d Dancer. None was ever more welcome.
3d Dancer. But stay till I have breath to sing.




THE KNAPSACK.                  159
SONG.
I.
Welcome, Helmaar, welcome home 
In crowds your happy neighbours come,
To hail with joy the cheerful morn
That sees their Hielmaar's safe return.
II.
No hollow heart, no borrowed face,
Shall ever Helmaar's hall disgrace.
Slaves alone on tyrants wait;
Friends surround the good and great.
Enter ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, and COUNT HELMAAR.
Helnaar. Thanks, my friends, for this kind welcome.
1st Dancer. (looking at ablackfillet on Helnaar's head)
He has been wounded.
Christina. Yes-severely wounded.
Helmaar. And had it not been for the fidelity of the
soldier who carried me from the field of battle, I should
never have seen you more. my friends, nor yoll, my
charming Eleonora.  (U. noise of one singing behind the
scenes.) What disturbance is that without?
Christina.'Tis only Aleftson, the fool. In your absence, brother, he has been the cause of great diversion
in the castle: I love to play upon him, it keeps him in
tune; you can't think how much good it does him.
Helmaar. And how much good it does you, sister;
from your childhood you had always a lively wit, and
loved to exercise it; but do you waste it upon fools?
Christina. I'm sometimes inclined to think this Aleftson is more knave than fool.
Eleon. By your leave, Lady Christina, he is no knave,
or I am much mistaken. To my knowledge, he has carried his whole salary, and all the little presents he has
received from us, to his brother's wife and children. I
have seen him chuck his money, thus, at those poor children when they have been at their plays, and then run
away, lest their mother should make them give it back.
Enter ALEFTSON, the Fool, in afool's coat,fool's cap and
bells, singing.
I.
There's the courtier who watches the nod of the great,
Who thinks much of his pension and naught of the state;
When for ribands and titles his honour he sellsWhat is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?
42




160                   MORAL TALES.
II.
There's the gamester, who stakes on the turn of a die
His house and his acres, tihe levil knows why;
His acres he loses, hIis forests he sellsWhat is he, my friends, but a fool without bells!
III.
There's the student so crabbed and wonderful wise,
With his plus and his minus, his x's and y's;
Pale at midnight he pores o'er his magical spellsWhat is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?
IV.The lover, who's ogling, and rhyming, and sighing,
Who's musing, and pining, and whining, and dying;
When a thousand of lies every minute he tellsWhat is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?
V.
There's the lady so fine, with her air and her graces,
With a face like an angel's-if angels have faces;
She marries, and t-Iynlen the vision dispelsWhat's her husband, my friends, but a fool without bells )
Christina, Eleonora, Ielmaar, Sc. Bravo! bravissimo! excellent fiol!  Encore!
[The Fool folds his arms, and begins to cry bitterly.
Christina. What now, Aleftson?  I never saw  yOU
sad before: what's the matter?  Speak.
[Fool sobs, but gives no answer.
Helm. Why do you weep so bitterly?,Jleft. Because I am a fool.
Helm. Many should weep if that were cause sufficient.
Eleon. But, Aleftson, you have all your life, till now,
been a merry fool.
Fool. Because always till now I was a fool, but now
I am grown wise; and'tis difficult to all but you, lady,
to be merry and wise.
Christina. A  pretty compliment:'tis a pity it was
paid by a fool.
Fool. Who else should pay compliments, lady, or
who else believe them?
Christina. Navy, I thought it was the privilege of a
fool to speak the truth without offence.
Fool. Fool as you take me to be, I'm not fool enough
yet to speak truth to a lady, and think to do it without
offence.
Eleen. Why, you have said a hundred severe things
to me within this week, and have I ever been angry with
you?




THE KNAPSACK.                 161
Fool. Never; for out of the whole hundred not one
was true. But have a care, lady —fool as I am, you'd
be glad to stop a fool's mouth with your white hand this
instant. rather than let him tell the truth of you.
Christina (laughing, and all the other ladies, except Eleonora exclaim). Speak on, good fool, speak on.
Helm. I am much mistaken, or the Lady Eleonora
fears not to hear the truth from either wise men or fools
-Speak on.
Fool. One day, not long ago, when there came news
that our count there was killed in Finland —I, being a
fool, was lying laughing, and thinking of nothing at all,
on the floor in the west drawing-room, looking at the
count's picture-in comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears.
Eleon. (stepping his mouth). 0, tell any thing but that,
good fool.
Helm. (kneels andkisses her hand). Speak on, excellent
fool.
Christina and ladies. Speak on, excellent fool. In
came the Lady Eleonora, all in tears.
Fool. In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears-(pauses
and looks round) —Whv now, what makes you all so
curious about these tears?-Tears are but salt-water, let
them come fiom what eyes they will: my tears are as
good as hers. In came John Aleftson, all in tears, just
now, and nobody kneels to me-nobody kisses my hands
-:nobody cares half a straw for my tears-(folds his arms
and looks melancholy). I am not one of those-I know
the cause of my tears too well.
Helm. Perhaps they were caused by my unexpected
return, hey?
Fool. (scornfully). No; I amn not such a fool as that
comes to. Don't I know that when you are at home the
poor may hold up their heads, and no journeyman-gentleman of an agent dares then to go about plaguing those
who live in cottages?  No, no; I am not such a fool as
to cry because Count Helmaar is come back; but the
truth is, I cried because I am tired and ashamed of wearing this thing-(throwin. g down his fool's cap upon the
floor, changes his tone entirely)-I! who am brother to
o02




162               MORAL TALES.
the man who saved Count Helmaar's life! 1 to wear a
fool's cap and bells-O shame! shame!
[ The ladies lookgat one another with signs of astonishment.
Christina (aske). A lucid interval: poor fool! I will
torment him no more-he has feeling:'twere better he
had none.
Eleon. Hush! hear him!./left. (throwing himself at the count'sfeet). Noble count,
I have submitted to be thought a fool; I have worn this
fool's cap in your absence that I might indulge my humour, and enjoy the liberty of speaking my mind freely
to the people of all conditions. Now that you are returned, I have no need of such a disguise: I may now
speak the truth without fear, and without a cap and bells.
I resign my salary, and give back the ensign of my office.
-(presents thefool's cap).                  [Exit.
Christina. He might well say that none but fools
should pay compliments; this is the best compliment
that has been paid you, brother.
Eleon. And observe, he has resigned his salary.
Helm. From this moment let it be doubled: he made
an excellent use of money when he was a fool; may he
make half as good a use of it now he is a wise man.
Christina. Amen! And now I hope we are to have
some more dancing.                        [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE-By moonlight-a forest-a castle illuminated
at a distance. J1 group of peasants seated on the ground
each with a knapsack beside him.  One peasant lies
stretched on the ground.
1st Peasant. Why, what I say is, that the wheel of the
cart being broken, and the horse dead lame, and Charles
there in that plight-(points to the sleeping peasant)-it
is a folly to think of getting on farther this evening.
2d Peasant. And. what I say is, it's folly to sleep here,
seeing I know the country, and am certain sure we have
not above one mile at farthest to go before we get to the
end of our journey.




THE KNAPSACK.                 163
1st Peasant (pointing to the sleeper). He can't walk a
mile: he's done for-dog-tired3d Peasant. Are you certain sure we have only one
mile farther to go t
2d Peasant. Certain sureJill, except the sleeper and the 1st Peasant. O, let us
go on, then, and we can carry the knapsacks on our
backs for this one mile.
1st Peasant. You must carry him, then, knapsack and
all.
ll11 together. So we will.
2d Peasant. But first, do you see, let's waken him; for
a sleeping man's twice as heavy as one that's awake.
Holla, friend! waken! waken! (He shakes the sleeper,
who snores loaidly)-Good Lord! he snores loud enough to
waken all the birds in the wood! [3ll the peasants shout
in the sleeper's ear, and he starts up, shaking himself.
Charles. Am I awake? (stretching.)
2d Peasant. No, not yet, man. Why, don't you know
where you are? Ay —here's the moon; and these be
trees; and-I be a man; and what do you call this?(holding up a knapsack.)
Charles. A knapsack, I say, to be sure: I'm as broad
awake as the best of you.
2d Peasant. Come on, then; we've a great way farther
to go befbre you sleep again.
Charles. A great way farther! farther to night!-No,
no.
2d Peasant. Yes, yes; we settled it all while you were
fast asleep: you are to be carried, you and your knapsack.                     [ They prepare to carry him.
Charles (starting up, and struggling with them). I've
legs to walk; I won't be carried'. I, a Swede, and be
carried! No, no.
Jill together. Yes! Yes!
Charles. No, no!-(he struggles for his knapsack, which
comes untied in the struggle, and all the things fall out.)
There, this comes of playing the fool.
[They help him to pick  vp the things and exclaim,
11l. There's no harm done-(throwing the knapsack
over his shoulder.)
42*




164                  MORAL TALES.
Charles. I'm the first to march, after all.
Peasants. Ay, in your sleep!        [Exeunt, laughing.
Enter CATHERINE'S two little Children.
Little Girl. I am sure I heard some voices this way.
Suppose it was the fairies!
Little Boy. It was only the rustling of the leaves. There
are no such things as fairies; but if there were any such,
we have no need to fear them.
Little Boy sings.
I.
Nor elves, nor fays, nor magic charm,
Have-power, or will, to work us harm;
For those who dare the truth to tell,
Fays, elves, and fairies wish them well.
II.
For us they spread their dainty fare,
For us they scent the midnight air;
For us their glow-worm lamps they light,
For us their music cheers the night.
Little Girl sings.
I.
Ye fays and fairies, hasten here,
Robed in glittering gossamere;
With tapers bright, and music sweet,
And frolic dance, and twinkling feet.
II.
And, little Mable, let us view
Your acorn goblets filled with dew;
Nor warn us hence till we have seen
The nut-shell chariot of your queen.
III.
In which on nights of yore she sat,
Driven by her gray-coated gnat;
With spider spokes and cobweb traces
And horses fit for fairy races.
IV.
And bid us join your revel ring,
And see you dance, and hear you sing:
Your fairy dainties let us taste,
And speed us home with fairy haste.
Little Boy. If there were really fairies, and if they
would give me my wish, I know what I should ask.
Little Girl. And so do I: I would ask them  to send
father home before I could count ten.




THE KNAPSACK.                165
Little Boy. And I would ask to hear his general say to
him, in the face of the whole army, "This is a brave
man!" Andfather should hold up his head as I do now,
and march thus by the side of his general.
[.ds the little Boy marches, he stumbles.
Little Girl. Oh, take care! Come, let us march home;
but stay, I have not found my fagot.
Little Boy. Never mind your fagot; it was not here
you left it.
Little Girl. Yes, it was somewhere here, I'm sure,
and I must find it, to carry it home to mother, to make
a blaze for her before she goes to bed.
Little Boy. But she will wonder what keeps us so late.
Little Girl. But we shall tell her what keeps us. Look
under those trees, will you, while I look here, for my
fagot. When we get home, I shall say, " Mother, do
you know there is great news? There's a great many,
many candles in the windows of the great house, and
dancing and music in the great house, because the master's come home, and the housekeeper had not time to
pay us, and we waited and waited with our fagots! At
last the butler"Little Boy. Heyday! what have we here?  A purse,
a purse —a heavy purse!
Little Girl. Whose can it be?  Let us carry it home
to mother.
Little Boy. No, no-it can't be mother's: mother has
no purse full of money. It must belong to somebody at
the great house.
Little Girl. Ay, very likely to Dame Ulr'it, the housekeeper; for she has more purses and money than anybody else in the world.
Little Boy. Come, let us run back with it to hermother would tell us to do so, I am sure, if she was here.
Little Girl. But I'm afraid the housekeeper won't see
us to-night.
Little Boy. 0 yes; but I'll beg, and pray, and push,
till I get into her room.
Little Girl. Yes; but don't push me, or I shall knock
my head against the trees. Give me your hand, brother.
0 my fagot! I shall never find you.       [Exeunt.




166                MORAL TALES.
SCENE-CATHERINE'S Cottage.
CATHERINE, spinning, sings.
Turn swift, my wheel, my busy wheel,
And leave my heart no time to feel;
Companion of my widowed hour,
My only friend, my only dower.
II.
Thy lengthening thread I love to see,
Thy whirring sound is dear to me:
0, swiftly turn by night and day,
And toil fof him that's far away.
Catherine. Hark! here come the children. No,'twas
only the wind. What can keep these children so late?
But it is a fine moonlight night: they'll have brave appetites for their supper when they come back. But I
wonder they don't come home. Heigho! since their
father has been gone, I am grown a coward-(a knock
at the door heard). Come in!  Why does every knock
at the door startle me in this way?
Enter CHARLES with a knapsack on his back.
Charles. Mistress! mayhap you did not expect to see
a stranger at this time o'night, as I guess by the looks
of ye-but I'm only a poor fellow, that has been a-foot a
great many hours.
Cath. Then, pray ye, rest yourself, and such fare as
we have, you're welcome to.
[She sets milk, &c. on a table.  Charles throws himself into a chair, and flings his knapsack behind him.
Charles.'Tis a choice thing to rest one's self: —I say,
mistress, you must know, I, and some more of us, peasants, have come a many, many leagues since break of
dav.
Cath. Indeed, you may well be tired-and where do
you come from? —Did you meet on your road any soldiers coming back from Finland?
Charles (eats and speaks). Not the soldiers themselves,
I can't say as I did; but we are them that are bringing
home the knapsacks of the poor fellows that have lost
their lives in the wars in Finland.




THE KNAPSACK.                 167
Catherine (during this speech of Charles, leans on the
back of a chair. —-side). Now I shall know my fate.
Charles (eating and speaking.) My comrades are gone
on to the village beyond with their knapsacks, to get
them owned by the families of them to whom they belonged, as it stands to reason and right. Pray, mistrsss,
as you know the folks hereabouts, could you tell me
whose knapsack this is, here, behind me?-(looking up
at Catherine.)-Oons, but how pale she looks! (aside.)
Here, sit ye down, do. (dside.) Why I would not have
said a word if I had thought on it-to be sure she has a'lover now, that has been killed in the wars. (Jloud.)
Take a sup of the cold milk, mistress.
Catherine (goes fearfilly towards the knapsack.)'Tis
his!'tis mly husband's!
[She sinks down on a chair, and hides her face with
her hands.
Charles. Poor soul! poor soul! —(he pauses.)  But
now it is not clear to me that you may not be mistaken,
mistress: —these knapsacks be all so much alike, I'm
sure I could not, for the soul of me, tell one from t'other
-it is by what's in the inside only one can tell for certain, (Charles opens the knapsack, pulls out a waistcoat,
carries it towards Catherine, and holds it before herface'.)
-Look ye here, now; don't give way to sorrow while
there's hope left.-Mayhap, mistress-look at this now,
can't ye, mistress?
[ Catherine timidly moves her handsfrom before herface,
sees the waistcoat, gives a faint screamn, and falls
back in a swoon.  The peasant runs to support her.
St this instant the back door of the cottage opens,
and ALEFTSON enters.
dlleft. Catherine!
Charles. Poor soul!-there, raise her head-give her
air-she fell into this swoon at the sight of yonder knapsack —her husband's-he's dead. Poor creature!-'twas
my luck to bring the bad news-what shall we do for
her!-I'm no better than a fool, when I see a body this
way.
dleft. (sp)rindklbingz water o:L her face). She'll be as well
as ever she was, you'll see, presently-leave her to me!




168               MORAL TALES.
Charles. There! she gave a sigh-she's coming to
her senses.                 [ Catherine raises herself.
Cath. What has been the matter!-(She starts at the
sight of dleftson.)-My husband!-no-'tis Aleftsonwhat makes you look so like him?-you don't look like
yourself..1left. (aside to the peasant.) Take that waistcoat out
of the way.
Cath. (looking round sees the knapsack). What's
there -O0, I recollect it all now.-(To Jleftson.) Look
there! look there! your brother! your brother's dead!
Poor fool, you have no feeling.
Jileft. I wish I had none.
Cath. 0 my husband!-shall I never, never see you
more-never more hear your voice-never more see my
children in their father's arms?
3.left. (takes up the waistcoat, on which her eyes are
fixed). But we are not sure this is Christiern's.
Charles (snatching it from him). Don't show it to her
again, man!-you'll drive her mad.
1Aleft. (aside). Let me alone; I know what I'm about.
-(.aloud.)'Tis certainly like a waistcoat I once saw him
wear; but perhapsCath. It is his-it is his-too well I know it-my own
work-I gave it to him the very day he went away to
the wars-he told me he would wear it again the day
of his coming home-hbut he'll never come home again.
a.left. How can you be sure of that?
Cath. How! —why, am I not sure, too sure?-hey!
-what do you mean?-he smiles!-have you heard
any thing?-do you know any thing?-but he can know
nothing-he can tell me nothing-he has no sense. —
(She turns to thepeasant.) Where did you get this knapsack?-did you seeAJleft. He saw nothing-he knows nothing-he can
tell you nothing: —listen to me, Catherine-see, I have
thrown aside the dress of a fool-you know I had my
senses once-I have them now as clear as ever I had in
my life-ay, you may well be surprised-but I will surprise you more —Count Helmaar's come home.
Cath. Count Helmaar!-impossible!




THE KNAPSACK.                 169
Charles. Count Helmaar!-he was killed in the last
battle in Finland..Jleft. I tell ye he was not killed in any battle —he
is safe at home —I have just seen him.
Cath. Seen him!-but why do I listen to hiam, poor
fool! he knows not what he says —and yet, if the count
be really aliveCharles. Is the count really alive? I'd give my best
cow to see him.
J/left. Ccme with me, then, and in one quarter of an
hour you shall see him.
Cath. (clasping her hands). Then there is hope for me
-Tell me, is there any news?
Mleft. There is.
Cath. Of my husband?.~left. Yes-ask me no more-you must hear the rest
from Count Helmaar himself-he has sent for you.
Cath. (springs forward). This instant let me go, let
me hear-(she stops short at the sight of tle waistcoat,
which lies in herpassage).-But what shall I hear?-there
can be no good news for me-this speaks too plainly.
[Jleftson pulls her arm betveen his, and leads her away.
Charles. Nay, master, take mne, as you promised,
along with you —I won't he left behind-I'm wide awake
now-I must have a sight of Count Helmrnaar in his own
castle-why, they'll make much of me in every cottage
on my road home, when I can swear to'em I've seen
Count Helmaar alive, in his own castle, face to faceGod bless him, he's the poor man'sfriend.    [Exeunt.
SCENE —The housekeeper's room in Count HELMAAR'S
Castle.
ULR1CA and CHRISTIERN.
CHRISTIERN is drawing on his boots.-J3Mrs. ULRICA is
sitting at a tea-table, making coffee.,Mrs. Ulrica. Well, well; I'll say no more: if you
can't stay to-night, you can't-but I had laid it all out
in my head so cleverly, that you should stay, and take a
P




170               MORAL TALES.
good night's rest here, in the castle; then, in the morning, you'll find yourself as fresh as a lark.
Christiern. O! I am not at all tired.
MJrs. Utrica. Not tired! don't tell me that, now, for I
know that you are tired, and can't help being tired, say
what you will.-Drink this dish of coffee, at any rate(he drinks coffee.)
Christiern. But the thoughts of seeing my Catherine
and my little onesMIrs. Ulrica. Very true, very true: but, in one word, I
want to see the happy meeting, for such things are a
treat to me, and don't come every day, you know; and
now, in the morning, I could go along with you to the
cottage, but you must be sensible I could not be -spared
out this night, on no account or possibility.
Enter Footman.
Footman. Ma.am, the cook is hunting high and low
for the brandy-cherries.
_Mrs. Ulriea. Lord bless me! are not they there before
those eyes of yours? —But I can't blame nobody for being out of their wits a little with joy on such a night as
this.                                [Exit Footman.
Christiern. Never was man better beloved in the regiment than Count Helrnaar.
Mlrs. Ulrica. Ay! ay! so he is every where, and so
he deserves to be. Is your coffee good? sweeten to your
taste, and don't spare sugar, nor don't spare any thing
that this house affords; for, to be sure, you deserve it
all-nothing can be too good for him  that saved my
master's life. So now that we are comfortable and quiet
over our dish of coffee, pray be so very good as to tell
me the whole story of my master's escape, and of the
horse being killed under him, and of your carrying him
off on your shoulders; for I've only heard it by bits and
scraps, as one may say; I've seen only the bill of fare,
ha! ha! ha!-so now pray set out all the good things
for me, in due order, garnished and all: and, before you
begin, taste these cakes-they are my own making.
Christiern. (aside).'Tis the one-and-twentieth time




THE KNAPSACK.                171
I've told the story to-day; but no matter. —(.loud.)
Why, then, madam, the long and the short of the story
isMJIrs. Ulrica. 0, pray, let it be the long, not the short
of the story, if you please: a story can never be too
long for my taste, when it concerns my master-'tis, as
one may say, fine spun sugar, the longer the finer, and
the more I relish it-but I interrupt you, and you eat
none of my cake-pray go on. —(. call behind the scenes
of Mrs. Ulrica!.Mrs. Ulrica!)-Coming!-coming!patience.
Christiern. Why, then, madam, we were, as it might
be, here-just please to look; —I've drawn the field of
battle for you here, with coffee, on the table-and you
shall be the enemy!
1Mrs. Ulrica. I — no; I'll not be the enemy-my master's enemy!
Christiern. Well, I'll be the enemy.
JMrs. Ulrica. You!-O no, you sha'n't be the enemy.
Christiern. Well, then, let the cake be the enemy.
2Mrs. Ulrica. The cake-mny cake! —no, indeed.
Christiern. Well, let the candle be the enemy.
JIlrs. Ulrica. Well, let the candle be the enemy; and
where was my master, and where are you-I don't understand-what is all this great slop?
Christiern. Why, ma'am, the field of battle; and let
the coffee-pot be my master: here comes the enemyEnter Footman.
Footman. Mrs. Ulrica, more refreshments wanting for
the dancers above.
MJrs. Ulrica. More refreshments!-more! —bless my
heart,'tis an unpossibility they can have swallowed down
all I laid out, not an hour ago, in the confectionary room.
Footman. Confectionary room! 0, I never thought
of looking there.
JMrs. Ulrica. Look ye there now! —fwhy, where did
you think of looking, then!-in the stable, or the cockloft, hey!-[Exit Footman.]-But I can't scold on such
a night as this; their poor heads are all turned with joy;
and my own's scarce in a more properer condition43




172               MORAL TALES.
Well, I beg your pardon-pray go on- the coffee-pot is
my master, and the candle's the enemy.
Christiern. So, ma'am, here comes the enemy, full
drive, upon Count Helmaar.
[. call without of Mrs. Ulrica! JMrs. Ulrica!
Mirs. Ulrica!.JMis. Ulrica. Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!- can't you
do without Mrs. Ulrica one instant, but you must call,
call-(JIrs. Ulrica! JMrs. Ulrica!)-Mercy on us, what
do you want? I must go for one instant.
Christiern. And I must bid ye a good night.,Mrs. Ulrica. Nay, nay, nay (eagerly) —you won't go
-I'll be back.
Enter Footman.
Footman. Ma'am! Mrs. Ulrica! the key of the blue
press.
JMrs. Ulrica. The key of the blue press-I had it in
my hand just now-I gave it —I-(looks among a bunch
of keys, and then all round the room)-I know nothing at
all about it, I tell you-I must drink my tea, and I will
-[Exit Footman].'Tis a sin to scold on such a night
as this, if one could help it. —Well, Mr. Christiern so
the coffee-pot's my master.
Christiern. And the sugar-basin-Why, here's a key
in the sugar-basin.
JTIrs. Ulrica. Lord bless me!'tis the very key, the
key of the blue press-why dear me-(feels in herpocket)
-and here are the sugar-tongs in my pocket, I protest
-where was my poor head? Here, Thomas! Thomas!
here's the key; take it, and don't say a word for your
life, if you can help it: you need not come in, I say(she holds the door-the footman pushes in).
Footman. But, Mna'am I have something particular to
say..Mrs. Tlrica. Why, you've always something particular to say-is it any thing about my master?
Footman. No, but about your purse, ma'am..Mrs. UIrica. What of my purse?
Footman. Here's your little godson, ma'am, is here,'who has found it.




THE KNAPSACK.                 173
JMirs. Ulrica. (aside). Hold your foolish tongue, can't
you?-don't mention my little godson, for your life.
L The little Boy creeps in under the Footman's arm; his
sister Kate follows him. MJrs. Ulrica lifts up her hands
and eyes with signs of impatience.
JMrs. Ulrica. (aside). Now I had settled in my head
that their father should not see them till to-morrow
morning.
Little Girl. Who is that strange man.
Little Boy. He has made me forget all I had to say.
Christiern (aside). What charming children!
JMrs. Ulrica (aside). He does not know them to be his
— they don't know him to be their, father. —(sl1oud.)
Well, children, what brings you here at this time of
night?
Little Boy. What I was going to say was-(the little
Boy looks at the stranger between every two or three words,
and Christiern looks at him) —what I was going to say
wasLittle Girl. Ha! ha! ha!-he forgets that we found
this purse in the forest as we were going home.
Little Boy. And we thought that it might be yours.
JMrs. Ulrica. Why should you think it was mine?
Little Boy. Because nobody else could have so much
money in one purse: so we brought it to you-here
it is.
JMrs. Ulrica.'Tis none of my purse. —(.side.) Oh!
he'll certainly find out that they are his children-(she
stands between the children and Christiern).'Tis none
of my purse; but you are good, honest little dears, and
I'll be hanged if I won't carry you both up to my master himself this very minute, and tell the story of your
honesty before all the company.
[She pushes the children towards the door. Ulrica
looks back.
Little Boy. He has a soldier's coat on-let me ask
him if he is a soldier.
JMrs. Ulrica. No-what's that to you?
Little Girl. Let me ask him if he knows any thing
about father..Mrs. Ulrica (puts her hand before the little Girl's mouth).
P 2




174               MORAL TALES.
Hold your little foolish tongue, I say-what's that to
you?
[Exeunt,.Mrs. Ulrica, pushing forward the children.
Enter, at the opposite door, THOMAS, the footman.
Footman. Sir, would you please to come into our
servants' hall, only for one instant: there's one wants
to speak a word to you.
Christiern. Oh, I cannot stay another moment; I
must go home: who is it?
*Footman.'Tis a poor man who has brought in two
carts full of my master's baggage; and my master begs
you'll be so very good as to see that the things are all
right, as you know'em, and no one else here does.
Christiern (with impatience). How  provoking?-a
full hour's work:-I. sha'n't get home this night, I see
that-I wish the man and the baggage were in the Gulf
of Finland.                               [Exeunt.
SCENE-The apartment where the COUNT, ELEONORA,
CHRISTINA, jC. were dancing.
Enter JMirs. ULRICA, leading the two children.
Christina. Ha! Mrs. Ulrica, and her little godson.
Jlrts. Ulrica. My lady, I beg pardon for presuming to
interrupt; but I was so proud of my little godson and
his sister, though not my goddaughter, that I couldn't
but bring them up, through the very midst of the company, to my master, to praise them according to their
deserts; for nobody can praise those that deserve it so
well as my master-to my fancy.
Eleonora (aside). Nor to mine.
Jlrs. Ulrica. Here's a purse, sir, which this little boy
and girl of mine found in the woods as they were going
home; and, like honest children as they are, they came
back with it directly to me, thinking that it was mine.
Helmaar. Shake hands, my honest little fellow-this
is just what I should have expected from a godson of
Mrs. Ulrica, and a son of



THE KNAPSACK.                175
MJrs. Ulrica (aside to the Count). Oh Lord bless you,
sir, don't tell him.-My lady-(to Christina)-would
you take the children out of hearing?
Eleon. (to the children) Come with us, my dears?
[Exeunt ladies and children.
MJrs. Ulrica. Don't sir, pray, tell the children any
thing about their father: they don't know that their
father's here, though they've just seen him; and I've
been striving all I can to keep the secret, and to keep
the father here all night, that I may have the pleasure
of seeing the meeting of father and mother and children
at their own cottage to-morrow. I would not miss the
sight of their meeting for fifty pounds; and yet I shall
not see it after all-for Christiern will go, all I can
say or do. Lord bless me! I forgot to bolt him in when
I came up with the children-the bird's flown, for certain-(going in a great hurry).
Helmaar. Good Mrs. Ulrica, you need not be alarmed;
your prisoner is very safe, I can assure you, though you
forgot to bolt him in: I have given him an employment
that will detain him a full hour, for I design to have the
pleasure of restoring my deliverer myself to his family.
MJrs. Ulrica. Oh! that will be delightful!-Then
you'll keep him here all night!-but that will vex him
terribly, and of all the days and nights of the year, one
wouldn't have anybody vexed this day or night, more
especially the man who, as I may say, is the cause of
all our illuminations, and rejoicings, and dancings-no,
no, happen what will, we must not have him vexed.
Helmanar. He shall not be vexed, I promise you; and,
if it be necessary to keep your heart from breaking, my
good Mrs. Ulrica, I'll tell you a secret which I had intended, I own, to have kept from you one half-hour
longer.
JMrs. Ulrica. A secret! dear sir, half an hour's a great
while to keep a secret from one when it's about one's
friends; pray, if it be proper-but you are the best judge
— I should be very glad to hear just a little hint of the
matter, to prepare me.
Helmaar. Then prepare in a few minutes to see the
happy meeting between Christiern and his family; I
43*




176               MORAL TALES.
have sent to his cottage for his wife, to desire that she
would come hither immediately.
Jrs. Ulr.ica. Oh! a thousand thanks to you, sir; but
I'm afraid the messenger will let the cat out of the bag.
Helmaar. The man I have sent can keep a secret.Which way did the Lady Eleonora go?  Are those
peasants in the hall?                   [Exit Count.,Mrs. Ulrica (following). She went towards the west
drawing-room, I think, sir. —Yes, sir, the peasants are
at supper in the hall. —(side.)  Bless me! I wonder
what messenger he sent, for I don't know many-men
I mean-fit to be trusted with a secret.       [Exit.
SCENE —Jn apartment in Count HELMAAR'S Castle.ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, —Little KATE and ULRIC
asleep on thefloor.
Eleon. Poor creatures! they were quite tired by sitting
up so late: is their mother come yet?
Christina. Not yet; but she will soon be here, for my
brother told Aleftson to make all possible haste.-Do
you know where my brother is?-he is not among the
dancers. I expected to have found him sighing at the
Lady Eleonora's feet.
Eieon. He is much better employed than in sighing at
anybody's feet; he is gone down into the great hall, to
see and reward some poor peasants who have brought
home the knapsacks of those unfortunate soldiers who
fell in the last battle: your good Mrs. Ulrica found out
that these peasants were in the village near us-she
sent for them, got a plentiful supper ready, and the count
is now speaking to them.
Christina. And can you forgive my ungallant brother
for thinking of vulgar boors, when he ought to be intent
on nothingt but vour bright eyes?-then all I can say is,
you are both of you just fit for one another; every fool,
indeed, saw that lonng agro.
[Jr cry behind the scenes of "Long live Count Helmaar!
long live the good count! long live the poor man's
friend!"




THE KNAPSACK.                177'
Christina (joins the cry). Long live Count Helmaar!
— join me, Eleonora —long live the good count!*long
live the poor man's friend!
[The little children waken, start up, and stretch
themselves.
Eleon. There, you have wakened these poor children.
Ulric. What's the matter? I dreamed father was
shaking hands with me.
Enter )Mrs. ULRICA.
Little Kate. Mrs. Ulrica! where am I? I thought I
was in my little bed at home-I was dreaming about a
purse, I believe.
Jdirs. Ulrica. Was it about this purse you were dreaming? —(shows the purse which the children found in the
wood.)-Come, take it into your little hands, and waken
and rouse yourselves, for you must come and give this
purse back to the rightful owner; I've found him out for
you. —(aside to Christina and Eleonora.) And now,
ladies, if you- please to go up into the gallery, you'll see
something worth looking at.               [Exeunt.
SCENE-.  hall in Count HELMAAR'S Castle.-Peasants rising from supper in the back scene.
Ist Peasant. Here's a health to the poor man's friend;
and may every poor man, every poor honest man-and
there are none other in Sweden-find as good a friend
as Count Helmaar.
Enter CHARLES eagerly.
Charles. Count Helmaar! is he here?
Omnes. Heyday! Charles, the sleeper, broad awake!
or is he walking in his sleep.
Charles. Where's Count Helmaar, I say?-I'd walk
in my sleep, or any way, to get a sight of him.
Ist Peasant. Hush! stand back! —here's some of the
quality coming, who are not thinking of you.




178              MORAL TALES.
[The peasants all retire to the back scene. — Count HELMAAR, CHRISTINA, and ELEONORA appear looking
from a gallery.
Enter ALEFTSON and CATHERINE at one door, JMrs. ULRICA at the opposite door, with CHRISTIERN, followed
by the two children.
Cath. (springs forward). Christiern! my husband!
alive  -is it a dream?
Christiern (embracing her). Your own Christiern,
dearest Catherine.
[The children clap their hands and run to theirfather.
Ulric. Why, I thought he was my father, only he
did not shake hands with me.
Kate. And Mrs. Ulrica bade me hold my tongue.
Christiern. My Ulric! my little Kate!
MJrs. Ulrica. Ay, my little Kate, you may speak now
as much as you will. —(Theirfather kisses them eagerly.)
Ay, kiss them, kiss them; they are as good children as
ever were born-and as honest: Kate, show him the
purse, and ask him if it be his.
Kate. Is it yours, father?-(holds up the purse.)
Christiern.'Tis mine;'twas in my knapsack; but
how it came here heaven knows.
Ulric. We found it in the wood, father, as we were
going home, just at the foot of a tree.
Charles (comesforward). Why, mayhap, now I recollect, I might have dropped it there-more shame for me,
or rather more shame for them-(looking back at his cornpanions) —that were playing the fool with me, and tumbled out all the things on the ground. —Master, I hope
there's no harm done: we poor peasant fellows have
brought home all the other knapsacks safe and sound to
the relations of them that died; and yours came by mistake, it seems.
Christiern. It's a very lucky mistake; for I wouldn't
have lost a waistcoat which there is in that knapsack
for all the waistcoats in Sweden.-My Catherine,'twas
that which you gave me the day before I went abroaddo you remember it?




THE KNAPSACK.                 179
Charles. Ay, that she does; it had like to have been
the death of her-for she thought you must be dead for
certain when she saw it brought home without youbut I knew he was not dead, mistress-did not I tell
you mistress, not to give way to sorrow while there was
hope left?
Cath. 0 joy! joy!-too much joy!
AJleft. Now are you sorry you came with me when I
bade you?-but I'm a fool!-I'm a fool!
Ulric. But where's the cap and coat you used to
wear?
Kate. You are quite another man, uncle..left. The same man, niece, only in another coat.
Mrs. Ulrica (laughing).  How they stare! —Well,
Christiern, you are not angry with my master and me
for keeping you now? —but angry or not, I don't care,
for I wouldn't have missed seeing this meeting for an)
thing in the whole world.
Enter Count HELMAAR, ELEONORA, and CHRISTINA.
Christina. Nor I.
Eleon. Nor I.
Helmaar. Nor I.
The Peasants. Nor any of us.
Helmaar (to little Ulric.). My honest little boy, is that
the purse which you found in the wood?
UZric. Yes, and it's my own father's.
Helmaar. And how much money is there in it?
[The child opens the purse, and spreads the money on
the floor.
Ulric. (to JMrs. Ulrica). Count you, for I can't count
so much.
JMrs Ulrica (counts). Eight ducats, five rix dollars,
and let me see how many-sixteen carolines:*-'twould
have been pity, Catherine, to have lost all this treasure,
which Christiern has saved for you.
Helmaar. Catherine, I beg that all the money in this
purse may be given to these honest peasants.-(To
* A rix dollar is 4s. 6d. sterling; two rix dollars are equal in value
to a ducalt; a caroline is Is. 6d.




180             gMORAL TALES.
Kate.) Here take it to them, my little modest girl.-As
for you and your children, Catherine, you may depend
upon it that 1 will not neglect to make you easy in the
world: your own gopd conduct, and the excellent manner in which you have brought up these children, would
incline me to serve.you, even if your husband had not
saved my life.
Cath. Christiern, my dear husband, and did you save
Count Helmaar's life?
JMrs Ulrica. Ay, that he did.
Cath. (embracing him). I am the happiest wife, and
-(turning to kiss her children)-the happiest mother
upon earth.
Charles (staring up in Count Helmaar's face). God
bless him! I've seen him face to face at last; and now
I wish in my heart I could see his wife.
Christina. And so do I most sincerely; my dear brother, who has been all his life labouring for the happiness of others, should now surely think of making himself happy.
Eleonora (giving her hand to Helmaar). No, leave that
to me, for I shall think of nothing else all my life.
THE END.