Chapter III: Part 3

Emily was so angry with the cook, and shed so many tears when she beheld the agony of her favourite, that one would have thought she had the best heart in the world, and that she had a very great regard for it; but as soon as it was recovered, and she saw it had lost one eye, and that all the side of its head, and its whole back, was without hair, she could not bear the sight of it: it was turned out of the parlour, and kicked about by every body, glad to pick up any bone it could meet with, and to sleep in a corner on straw, instead of the silk cushion it had been accustomed to; and, at length, had not Paulina arrived in time to save it, would have been given to half a dozen unfeeling boys, who would soon have destroyed it.

Paulina was very little pleased with her cousin Emily on this occasion, for her own disposition was very different: she was so humane, so kind to every body and every creature in distress, that she was beloved by all who knew her; she had quite a little hospital of sick and lame animals and birds: a dog, which had had its leg broken by being caught in a gin; a cat with one ear, the other having been bitten off by a large mastiff; and a blind squirrel; she had a little goldfinch in a cage, which had had its wings torn off by a cat, and as it could no longer fly down from its perch to drink, and return when it liked, she had contrived a little ladder, on which it could hop up and down without any difficulty; a blackbird, almost frozen to death, which she had picked up in the snow, but which never recovered the use of one of its legs, sung very merrily, however, in its cage, for it was well fed and taken care of; and one or two blind cocks, which she had bought from boys who had been fighting them, and were going to throw at them, by way of _finishing the fun_ (as they called it); and several lame hens, become so by some accident or other, lived comfortably in her little poultry-yard, for she took care to feed all her pensioners herself, and never trusted the care of them to any other person.

Paulina had great pleasure in procuring every comfort she could for her poor animals; and her papa and mamma, to encourage her kind and humane disposition, increased her pocket-money, that she might be able to purchase barley for her poultry, and seed for her birds: her brothers also, who were at school, often sent her presents for that purpose. As she grew up, her humanity was shewn to her fellow-creatures in distress, as much as it had been in her childhood to the dumb creation; and as God had given her the means of doing good, she freely indulged herself in acts of kindness, for which she received a thousand thanks and blessings wherever she appeared: she was beloved by all her neighbours, both poor and rich, every thing prospered with her, and she was happy and contented, as she deserved to be.

THE REWARD OF BENEVOLENCE.

Mrs. Clifford being particularly satisfied with the attention her three children, Alfred, Robert, and Helen, had for some time past paid to their lessons, and to the instruction of their masters, told them she would treat them with a charming walk in the woods on the opposite side of the river: and that, if they would carry some bread or biscuits with them, she thought they should have no difficulty in finding a house where they might procure some milk, and instead of returning home to drink tea, she would spend the whole afternoon and evening in rambling about with them.

This was charming news for the young folks, who took care not to give her the trouble of waiting for them, for they were all three ready at least half an hour before the time she had appointed for their departure, which they looked forward to with the utmost impatience; and the moment Mrs. Clifford joined them in the hall, away they all went, with joyful hearts and cheerful faces, through the field, and down the long lane, which led to the ferry.

"This is very pleasant, mamma," said Alfred; "I think I should never be tired of walking in the fields and woods; yet I must own I do long for winter, that we may purchase the magic lantern we are to have. I think, with the guinea grandpapa has given each of us, and what we had before in our little purses, we shall be able to have a very large one."

"O dear!" exclaimed Helen, "how delightful it will be to be able to see it as often as we please, and to show it to our friends; and, mamma, do you know that Robert is to be the person who shews it, for he says he can talk just like the man who came to our house last year."

"So I can," answered Robert; "and I wish it was bought, that you might hear what a long story I shall tell you about the sun and the moon, and the King of Prussia and his hussars, and the cat and the cook! I would rather have a magic lantern, than any thing in the whole world!"

Chatting in this manner, and amusing themselves by looking at different objects as they passed along, they found themselves at the ferry before they expected it; and the boat being just ready to put off, they stepped into it, and seated themselves with several others, who were going over to the other side of the river.

Their attention was very soon drawn to a poor woman, who with an infant on her knee, and a little girl and boy by her side, whom she frequently kissed and pressed to her bosom, wept as if her heart was breaking. As soon as they were landed, Mrs. Clifford stopped the woman, kindly inquired into the cause of her distress, and was immediately informed by her, that she had lately lost her husband, who, having been long in an ill state of health, and unable to work, had left her incumbered with several debts, which she had not the means of paying; and that though she laboured very hard, and had discharged some of the small ones, a hard-hearted man, to whom she owed six guineas, declaring he would not wait a day longer, had that morning seized upon her furniture, and all her little property, determined, as he said, to have his money before six o'clock, or to turn her and her children out to sleep in the high road, or where they thought fit.

She had been, she told Mrs. Clifford, to an uncle of her husband's, who lived at the market-town, begging him to take pity upon her and her innocent children: "but, Madam," added she, "he was deaf to my entreaties, and turned me from his door, and I am now going home to see all my things taken from me; and what will become of us this night, God alone can tell!"

Mrs. Clifford was extremely affected by this melancholy tale, and walked with the poor unhappy woman to her cottage, where they really found two ill-looking men taking down the bed, and packing up the furniture. The poor creature began to wring her hands and cry bitterly, and the children, though they did not understand what the men were going to do, clung to their mother, and would not move from her side.

Alfred, Robert and Helen were, however, old enough to understand perfectly well the distress of the poor woman, and the misery and wretchedness to which she and her helpless children were exposed; and, fortunately for her, their tender and compassionate hearts immediately prompted them to endeavour to relieve her. The pleasure they had promised themselves in purchasing a magic lantern, and in being in possession of such an amusement for the long evenings of the approaching winter, appeared to them very trifling in comparison to the delight of snatching this poor family out of the hands of the unfeeling wretches they had to deal with; and leading their mamma into the little garden, earnestly entreated her to take the three guineas their grandpapa had given them, as well as the contents of their little purses, and employ the whole to relieve the poor woman, and begged her in the most pressing manner to make up the deficiency.

Mrs. Clifford pressed them tenderly to her heart, expressing the greatest satisfaction at the resolution they had taken, and assuring them she would make up the sum with the greatest pleasure, and that the proof they now gave of their feeling and humanity made them dearer to her than ever; adding, that she was certain four-and-twenty hours would not pass before they would be rewarded for their goodness.

The men were immediately stopped, the debt discharged, and the furniture replaced in proper order: the poor woman knew not how to express her joy, and her gratitude; she scarcely knew what she was doing, but at length recollecting herself, entreated Mrs. Clifford and her children to be seated, and accept of such refreshment as she had to offer them. Her little table was soon covered with a cloth as white as snow; and fresh milk, eggs, butter, and a nice brown loaf were set before them, of which they partook with great satisfaction.

They did not quit this little family till a late hour, and could talk of nothing on their way home but the pleasure they felt in the reflection of having left them so happy; of how they had been delighted when they saw the two hard-hearted men walk out of the cottage, and how differently the poor woman and her children would pass the night, to what they might have expected. Alfred said, the good action they had done that afternoon would be the pleasantest they could have to talk of in the winter evenings; and Robert was of opinion that a visit now and then to the cottage (which their mamma had promised them) would afford prettier stories for him to repeat, than any thing he could tell of the King of Prussia or his hussars. As for Helen, she declared that her heart was so light, and she felt herself so happy and joyful, that she could almost jump over the moon.

They retired to rest in this pleasant disposition, and told their mamma the next morning, that they had never been so happy in their lives; that they went to bed, thinking on the good they had done, and, after thanking God, who had given them the means of doing it, they had immediately fallen into a sweet sleep; that the moment they awoke, they had found themselves in the same happy humour, pleased with themselves, and with every body they saw; and were very well convinced that the magic lantern could never have procured them one quarter of the pleasure which they now felt, and which would be renewed every time they visited the poor woman at the cottage, and whenever they recollected her story.

"I told you, my children," said Mrs. Clifford, "that four-and-twenty hours would not pass before you would be rewarded; and you must now, I am certain, be well convinced, that the heart-felt pleasure arising from the reflection of such an act of kindness and benevolence to a fellow-creature in distress, is the greatest and most solid reward that could possibly have been bestowed upon you, far superior to, and more lasting than any satisfaction you could have procured by laying out your money in any other way."

JEMIMA.

Mrs. Franklin, a widow lady of very considerable fortune, inhabited an elegant house on Richmond Hill, kept a number of servants, and had the most splendid equipage in the whole neighbourhood. She had an only daughter, to whom she was fondly indulgent, and on whom she determined to bestow the best education that could possibly be procured for her, let the expense be what it would.

Jemima was a very amiable child; and if she had been so fortunate as to have been placed under the care of any one a little more disposed than her mother was to combat her fancies and want of resolution, she would not have had to regret the immense sums squandered upon her to no kind of purpose, nor to wish she could recal (as she often vainly did) the time she had trifled away in doing nothing.

It must appear very extraordinary that this should have been the unhappy fate of a little girl, who wished so much to profit by the instruction procured for her, and had the greatest desire to be an accomplished woman; but Jemima wished to be accomplished, without having the _trouble_ of making herself so, and possessed neither the _resolution_ nor _perseverance_ so absolutely necessary to the attainment of the perfection she aimed at.

She began every thing with eagerness and alacrity; but the most trifling difficulty which came in her way put a total stop to her progress, and she immediately persuaded herself that it was not possible she ever should be able to surmount them.

She had from her infancy been extremely fond of drawing, and desiring to be instructed in that agreeable art, one of the first masters was procured for her: she had in a very short time succeeded in copying, with tolerable correctness, the first things he gave her to do; and the greatest hopes were entertained of her making a great proficiency in what she appeared to prefer to every other amusement. The master now gave her some other drawings to copy, which required a little more attention and study, and she began to find difficulties in her way, which she had not foreseen: she tried them twice--they were pretty well, but not perfect; a few faults still remained, which her master pointed out to her. Jemima concluded she _never_ should do them better; and as he insisted that she could not proceed till she had made herself mistress of the trifles he objected to, she determined to give up all thoughts of drawing figure, and apply herself entirely to landscape.

She was delighted with this new employment; her master had the sweetest drawings of trees, cottages, and rivers, that had ever been seen! She should never be tired of copying such pretty things, and she was sure she should not meet with half the difficulties which were to be found in drawing figure.

She made outlines of several trees, and had she but been possessed of perseverance enough to have perfected herself in that part, before she attempted to go farther, all would have been easy and pleasant; but Jemima knew nothing of perseverance or patience, and insisted on having a finished landscape to do directly; and the master, to shew her how incapable she was of executing such a thing, indulged her in her fancy: but when he endeavoured to explain to her the nature of perspective, light and shadow, and several other rules necessary for her to understand, Jemima dropped the pencil from her fingers. She had not perfectly comprehended his meaning, and wanted resolution to question him, and endeavour to make it clearer, and once more concluded she never should be able to make any thing of it, and that it would be much more prudent to turn to some other pursuit.

Accordingly the drawing-master was dismissed; and all the money her mamma had paid him for his attendance, for quantities of paper, pencils, chalk, and (which was of much more consequence, and which no sum could recal) the loss of her own precious time, were thrown away to no purpose. But Jemima did not mean to stop here; she should do very well without drawing, she said, and she would give all the time she had intended to employ that way entirely to music, and had no doubt, but that by the time she was sixteen she should be quite a proficient; was very sorry she had so long neglected her piano forte, and requested of her master that he would bring her some better music than the simple easy lessons she had been playing, assuring him that she intended to apply very seriously. But, alas! she had no better success in this than in her drawing; difficulties obtruded themselves whatever she turned to, and when she quitted the piano for the harp, and from the harp returned to the piano, she found herself just in the same predicament.

The music was given up for the French and Italian languages, geography, and botany, all of which ended in the same way: nothing was to be learnt without a sufficient stock of perseverance and resolution to surmount the obstacles which lay in the way; and as the _smallest_ was quite enough to stop Jemima's progress, it is not to be wondered at (as she was allowed to have her own way in every thing) that at the age of sixteen, though what would have been a comfortable independence to many, had been spent upon her education, that she knew no one thing in the world.

At twenty she had but too much cause to repent of her folly: her mother, by lawsuits, and other unforeseen events, lost the greater part of her fortune, and was obliged to retire into a remote part of the country; and in that lonely place what a comfort and amusement would she have found in music or drawing, had she but endeavoured, when she had so good an opportunity, to perfect herself in either! But she had nothing to do, no means of employing herself agreeably, but spent her time in loitering about from one window to another, tired of herself, and tiring every body who saw her.

THE TRIFLER.

William was come home to spend the holidays; but he had scarcely time to speak to his papa and mamma, before he ran out to visit his poultry, his rabbits, and his little garden; and from thence to the village, to see his nurse, and then to the cottage of old John, who had taught him how to catch birds, make little fishing-nets, and how to take care of his tame rabbits.

He found the poor old man in the utmost grief and consternation; a recruiting party had come into the village, and had enticed his son away from him. He had enlisted: he was gone from his aged father, who had no other comfort in the world: he depended upon him for his support, for he was a strong, healthy, hard-working young man; and John was grown old and infirm, and could no longer work to maintain himself.

"My dear young master," said he, "I am almost broken-hearted; a trifle of money would engage the sergeant to give him up, if I could get it before they take him to the magistrate at the next town; and he, poor boy! desires no better, for they had made him drink more than he is accustomed to do, or he never would have thought of leaving me: the moment he was sober he repented of it; but it is too late--I have no money, and they will soon be gone. Wretched old man that I am! what will become of me?"

"Pray do not grieve so, old John," said William; "I will return to my papa directly, and I am very sure he will not leave you in distress. I will be back again in half an hour, so pray be comforted--your son shall not be taken from you." And away he went, fully intending to do as he had said he would; but unfortunately William was not to be depended upon, for he continually deferred to another time what ought to be done at the moment, and trifled away hours in which he had engaged to render little services to people who depended upon his promises.

It is scarcely to be credited, that, anxious as he appeared to relieve the poor old man's distress, he should, before he got half way to his papa's house, if not _forget_ the errand on which he was going with so much seeming expedition, at least suffer a new object to draw off his attention from the principal part of it; and that he should accept of an invitation to dine, without once recollecting, that, unless the business could be settled immediately, the recruiting party would have left the village, and poor John would be abandoned to misery and distress.

Meeting with two young gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood, and being invited by them to go and dine at their house, their servant was dispatched, whilst they amused themselves in the wood; to ask his papa's leave; and as it was readily granted, and he did not return till evening, the recruiting party had left the village many hours before old John had the means sent him of procuring his son's discharge.

William was extremely grieved when he perceived the sad effects his neglect had occasioned, the agony of the poor old man, and the anger of his papa, who, after threatening to send him immediately back to school, took this opportunity of making him recollect how many times he had brought trouble and distress upon different persons by the unpardonable fault he was continually committing, through his trifling, unsteady disposition, and assured him, that if he suffered so bad a custom to grow up with him, he would be pointed out as a man on whose word no one could place the smallest confidence, and whose promises were of no value--a frivolous, despicable character, with whom no worthy people would associate. He then ordered his chaise to be got ready, and went over to the market town; the magistrate was his particular friend, and he had the pleasure (though not without some difficulty) of freeing the young man, and of sending him home to comfort and support his aged and afflicted father.

THE COUSINS.

Priscilla lost her mother when she was very young: her father was in the East Indies, and she was taken home by his sister, Mrs. Hamilton, who loved her for his sake, and shewed her the greatest kindness and attention; but her daughters, Emily and Lucy, were not both equally kind to their cousin. Lucy was very fond of her, but Emily was jealous and envious, and could not bear the marks of tenderness bestowed upon her by her mother.

Priscilla had a most affectionate heart, and would cry for hours together, when she thought she had done any thing to make her cousin angry; which she imagined must certainly be the case (though she could not recollect what it could possibly be), for it never entered into her head that any one could be displeased with her, when she had done nothing to offend them, and little suspected, that when she was praised by her aunt for her even temper and constant good humour, for her attention to her lessons, and the progress she made in every thing she undertook to learn, her kind and gentle manner towards the servants, and her charity and humanity to her fellow-creatures in distress: she had no idea that those praises increased the dislike which the ill-natured Emily had conceived to her the moment she came into the house, who, instead of endeavouring to imitate her good qualities, took every method in her power to cast a shade over them, and to fill every one's head with tales to her disadvantage.

As they grew older, Emily's dislike to her cousin increased every hour, as did the amiable Priscilla's endeavours to soften it by every mean she could employ, and by seeking every opportunity of obliging her. If Emily had any work to do, of which she appeared tired, Priscilla was sure to be ready to finish it for her: if she wished for a nosegay, Priscilla would search over the whole village till she had procured the prettiest and sweetest flowers to make one for her; but all was to no purpose--she hated her the more for the trouble she took to please her.

One day Mrs. Hamilton returned from the town, where she had been to purchase different things to send to her sister in Scotland; and, amongst the rest, a very beautiful netting-box, which she intended as a present to her, was shewn to the young ladies, and greatly admired by all three. It was extremely delicate, and, after they had sufficiently examined its beauty, it was placed on a small table, with positive orders from Mrs. Hamilton that it should not be touched; but returning in the evening from the house of a friend in the neighbourhood, with whom she had dined, and recollecting that curiosity might lead some of the servants to open it, she took it up in the paper, as it lay on the table, and locked it in a bookcase.

The following day, being busily employed in packing up the things she had purchased for her sister, and thinking to put some cotton into the little netting-box, to preserve the winders and other things from rubbing, how was she surprised at perceiving that the lining was green instead of pale pink, and that several parts of it were totally different from that which she had purchased the day before!

Lucy said she was very sure it was not the same box her mamma had shewn to them; Emily was of the same opinion: but Priscilla only blushed without saying a word.

"Somebody has broken my box, and replaced it with another not half so pretty," said Mrs. Hamilton in an angry tone; "I had positively forbid either of you to touch it, and I insist on knowing which of you has done this mischief."

"I am afraid," said Emily, pretending to feel extremely for her cousin's confusion, "that poor Priscilla has had the misfortune to break it; and indeed, mamma, if you will but observe how she blushes, and that she has not a word to say in her own defence, you need not have any doubt of the matter."

Priscilla assured her aunt that she had never touched her box after she had shewn it to her; Emily gave the same assurance with regard to herself, and Lucy declared that she had not been in the room where it was, from the time that her mamma went out, till she returned in the evening.

Mrs. Hamilton, determined to know the truth, asked the young ladies what use they had made of the guinea they had each received on new year's day, saying her box had cost that sum, and could not have been replaced without an equal one.

"Here is mine," eagerly exclaimed Emily, "in my little work-trunk."

"Half of mine, my dear mamma," said Lucy, "you will recollect, I paid for a box of colours, and some drawing paper; and here is the other half in my purse."

"And where is _your_ guinea, Priscilla?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton.--"And what is the reason, that, instead of shewing the same readiness with your cousins to clear yourself, you only blush and hang down your head, without speaking a single word?"

"I cannot produce my guinea," answered Priscilla; "but believe me, my dear aunt, when I assure you that I never touched your box."

Emily, who had her reasons for wishing the subject might be dropped, though not from any motive of tenderness for her cousin, now earnestly intreated her mamma not to inquire any farther into the matter, as it only distressed the _poor thing_, and would make her utter a thousand falsities. But old Martha, their maid, who had stood all the time pinching the strings of her apron, clasping her hands together, and then lifting them up to heaven, with many other gestures which marked her impatience, now no longer able to contain her indignation, burst out like thunder, and asked Emily how she could possibly stand there, looking her mamma in the face, and presume to talk of _falsities_, when she must be conscious she was at that moment guilty, not only of a most terrible and wicked falsity, in accusing an innocent person of the fault she had herself committed, but was also making the most ungrateful return that any one could be capable of, for an action which certainly deserved the greatest praise, and which she must be conscious she owed to her cousin's generosity and kindness. She then proceeded to acquaint her mistress, that walking with Priscilla round the garden, about half an hour after she had left the house, and coming near the parlour window, which happened to be open, they had perceived the netting-box lying on the marble hearth, broken into a dozen pieces, and Emily with her back towards them, picking them up; that Priscilla had, in a low whisper, entreated her in the most earnest manner not to speak; and that having stood a little aside, they had seen her go and throw all the pieces into the pond in the front garden, and then run up stairs as fast as possible.

"The dear Miss Priscilla," continued old nurse, "then begged me, as the greatest of all favours, to go immediately into the town, to the shop where you had bought the netting-box, and with _her_ guinea to get one exactly like it: and this I did to oblige her, and because it never was in my power to refuse her any thing she asks, though I must say I thought Miss Emily little deserved her kindness; for this is but one out of a hundred stories she has told of her, and ill-natured tricks she has played her, in return for her constantly doing every thing she could to oblige her, and for the trouble she has taken so many times to hide her faults. I thought the box I purchased so exactly like yours, Madam, that I concluded you never would discover what had happened; and Miss Priscilla was quite happy in thinking you would be spared the vexation of knowing it had been broken, and her cousin the anger which she would have incurred, by disobeying your orders. We were, however, disappointed; but Miss Emily must have guessed, when her cousin could not produce her guinea, what use she had made of it; and that was the reason why she wished you to drop the subject, for she might well suppose her falsity and ill nature must at length be made known to you."

It is almost needless to add, that Emily entirely lost her mamma's good opinion; Priscilla lived very happily from that time, affectionately beloved by Mrs. Hamilton and her cousin Lucy, and doated on by old Martha, who never forgot to entertain her friends and acquaintance with the story of the broken netting-box, so disgraceful to Miss Emily, and so much to the honour of her darling Priscilla.

THE TRAVELLERS.

At six o'clock on a fine morning in the beginning of September, Mrs. Cecil, with her daughter Matilda, stepped into a post-chaise in order to begin a journey towards London.

The house she had for some time inhabited stood in a distant and romantic part of Wales, many miles from the public road, so that they could advance but slowly, and often walked up steep hills, and over craggy mountains, either from regard to their own safety, or because they were tired of the carriage.

Matilda, after riding a whole day, wished she could perform the remaining part of the journey on foot, and often urged her mamma (even when the roughness of the road did not render it necessary) to get out of the chaise, that she might run up a rising ground, look round her, and pick up and examine a number of different things which caught her eye and struck her fancy; and Mrs. Cecil, who walked but slowly, was often left far behind, whilst her daughter made little excursions, and amused herself by talking to the country people.

The second day after their departure from home, she told her mamma she had, in one of her rambles into a narrow lane, seen a poor boy in great danger of being beaten by a woman who appeared to be mistress of a small cottage adjoining to that at the door of which he stood, and who threatened to lay a stick (which she held in her hand) over his shoulders, if ever he dared to touch her pears again. "But," said Matilda, "the boy insisted that they were not her pears, but his father's, and that he was in his father's garden when he picked them from a bough which hung down almost into his mouth."

Mrs. Cecil observed, that it would indeed have been a hard case if the boy had been punished by a neighbour for eating his father's pears; but when Matilda farther informed her, that the woman said the tree grew in _her_ garden, and that the bough with which he had made so free, because it hung over the wall, was a part of it, she said that entirely altered the case; and asked Matilda, whether, when her sister had lost one of her gloves, and that it was found to have slid into _her_ drawer, she thought that accident made it her property, or whether it still belonged to her sister? or whether, if the little rose-tree, of which she was so fond, should in another year extend its branches so much, as to spread over a corner of her sister's garden, she imagined it would give her a right to pluck all the roses which hung in her way, or whether she should not look upon them as _her_ roses, as much as those which were growing on the other parts of it? Matilda perceived she had been wrong, and thanked her mamma for shewing her her error.

The travellers arrived towards evening at the foot of a steep craggy hill, and in compassion to the poor horses, they determined to walk to the top of it. On gaining the summit, they saw an extensive common lying before them; and Matilda, who was accustomed to make observations, and to reflect on every thing she saw, and who never lost an opportunity of gaining information, asked her mamma if she did not think it a great pity, that any part of the world should remain so barren and uncultivated, and, as it appeared to her, so intirely useless; wishing, at the same time, she had the power to change the whole common in an instant into flourishing corn-fields and beautiful gardens.

Mrs. Cecil was just beginning to tell her daughter, that nothing was made which could be said to be entirely useless, when the post-boy came running up to inform her, that one of the wheels of the chaise was broken to pieces, and he did not know what he should do to get it up the hill.

"This is a sad accident indeed!" said Mrs. Cecil, "and I know not what any of us are to do, for I do not see a single habitation near us."

"Bless you! my lady," answered the boy, "do but please to turn about, and you will see plenty of habitations. I be no stranger here; and though there be no gentlefolks live in the place, I will be answerable for finding you a clean, neat cottage, with homely fare, but a hearty welcome. The first you see, over there by the trees, belongs to my aunt: do, Madam, please to walk up to it, whilst I go seek for two or three men to help me up with the _chai_."

During this speech, Mrs. Cecil had turned her head, and was very agreeably surprised at seeing, very near the spot where she stood, a little cluster of neat cottages among some trees, which, on ascending the hill, she had not perceived, having been equally struck, as Matilda was, with the extent of the plain before them.

They proceeded, as the post-boy had desired them, to the first cottage, where they found a woman busily employed in preparing her husband's supper, whilst four pretty little children, with ruddy complexions and smiling faces, were eating milk with wooden spoons out of a large bowl which was placed in the midst of them.

The good woman received them very kindly, and offered them every thing her cottage afforded, such as milk, whey, brown bread, eggs, and some common but ripe and relishing fruit. Matilda expressed much wonder, that she found the means of procuring even the necessaries of life on a bleak, wild common; and was extremely surprised when the woman assured her that the common, which she seemed to think so little of, was what furnished them with the greater part of the comforts they enjoyed: telling her also, that if it were more fertile, and were to be inclosed and cultivated, it would be quite lost to them, because they were too poor to be able to rent even the smallest portion of it. "As it is," added she, "all the cottagers on this little spot have a right to feed their cattle, and to cut turf for their winter fire. Neither my cow nor my goats cost me any thing; we have a little garden, which, between my husband and myself, is kept in pretty good order, and produces as many vegetables as we can make use of. I have plenty of poultry, which I carry to market, and have milk to feed my pig; so that we have nothing to wish for, but that God may preserve our health, and continue to us the blessings we enjoy."

Matilda was astonished at this account, and made many observations to her mamma on the pleasure of finding people happier than she expected, which gave her the greatest satisfaction, as they were convincing proofs of the goodness of her disposition: and she did not fail to observe to her, that the mixture of fertile vallies, barren mountains, hills, woods, and plains, with which the earth is diversified, each in various ways, and at different seasons of the year, are productive of good to the industrious.

Mrs. Cecil and Matilda were obliged to pass the night in the cottage: the next morning the wheel of the chaise being repaired, and having satisfied the good woman for the trouble they had given her, and made some little presents to her children, they continued their journey; and being but a short distance from a small village, through which lay the high road to London, they arrived at that city without any accident, or meeting with any thing farther, worthy of being related.

THE STRAWBERRIES.

Constance, Julia, and Dorothy had obtained their mamma's leave to spend the afternoon with a young lady who lived at the distance of a mile and a half from their house; and as soon as they had dined, their maid being ordered to attend them, they set forward down a shady green lane, and across the fields.

Nothing could be more agreeable and pleasant than the weather, or more beautiful than the way they had to go; the hedges were full of the sweetest flowers, and the birds sung with more than usual harmony. Susan, the maid, was quite delighted; she stopped every moment to look around, and admire the beauties which presented themselves to her eyes on every side.

Not so her young ladies: they had each a reason why they could neither enjoy the fragrance of the flowers, the music which echoed from every bush, nor any of the beauties which surrounded them.

Constance was so afraid of the smallest worm which happened to lie in her path, was so terrified at every fly which passed her, that she could enjoy nothing. She walked on, with her eyes bent on the ground, watching each blade of grass, and stepping with the utmost precaution, expecting every moment to be stung to death, or bit by some dangerous insect.

Julia had passed the whole time of dinner in bewailing the loss of a cold chicken on which she had set her heart; but her dear little pussy having wandered into the pantry in search of a mouse, and being just as fond of cold chicken as her young mistress, and thinking it preferable to the finest mouse (perhaps because it was a greater rarity to her), this ill-bred pussy had dragged it away into a corner, where, if she did not eat it all at one meal, she had leave to finish it the next day.

Julia had lost her dinner: disappointed of her cold chicken, she saw nothing else on the table (though there were several dishes which the rest of the family commended extremely) which she could possibly eat of. She was too nice to eat any thing common, and had persuaded herself that nothing but delicacies agreed with her: she could not taste either beef or mutton, or ever dine without fish, lamb, or poultry; she hated the winter because there were no vegetables to be had but potatoes, and was delighted when the season came for her to dine on green peas, cauliflower, and asparagus.

The delicate Julia often rose hungry from table; and as this had been the case on the day of their walk, she was sick and uncomfortable, sauntered along, complaining at every step, and, had she not suddenly recollected having a nice biscuit in her pocket, would probably have been unable to proceed.

Dorothy troubled herself as little as her sisters about the birds or the flowers, the lowing of the cattle, or the fine prospect. Naturally indolent, and hating to move from her place, she was much less inclined to do so after dinner, than at any other time of the day; for she had no objection to either beef, mutton, or potatoes, and would (if she had been suffered to do so) eat of all three, and as many more different things, as much as would have been sufficient, either of them, for the dinner of any child of her age.

"Come, Miss Dorothy," cried Susan, "do pray walk a little faster. Dear me! how heavy do you trudge along, with your arms hanging down by your sides! Why, you will not take the trouble to lift your feet from the ground--pray look what a dust you raise at every step. Come, take me by the arm--look, what a pretty wood this is we are got into, and--oh dear! what a quantity of strawberries there are upon that bank. Do you see how beautiful and red they appear among the brambles and dry sticks which lie over them?"

The very idea of something to eat was sure to rouse Dorothy. Constance and Julia also advanced to look at the strawberries; they were very tempting, and they each wished to taste them, but there were difficulties in the way not likely to be conquered.

Julia's desire for them soon vanished, for she recollected that she had neither cream nor sugar, without which she did not think them eatable.

Dorothy said they were very good without either, and she wished she had a good basket-full, she would soon shew them how well she liked them; but they could not be got at without removing the brambles and wood, which appeared to have been purposely laid over them, to preserve them till they were ripe; and Dorothy, after taking away three or four sticks, and a bush or two, began to puff and blow, as if she had been running a race, and declared she could do no more, much as she wished for the strawberries, if it would save her life.

"How can you be so extremely lazy?" exclaimed Constance, eager to get at the tempting fruit. "You cannot bear to take the least trouble, Dorothy--come, let me help you; I should be sorry to leave them. What a beautiful scarlet they are, and how finely they smell!--Come, come, let us remove these brambles."

Dorothy had thrown herself upon the grass, declaring she could not stir; and Susan, who was well acquainted with the dispositions of her three young ladies, determined not to interfere.

Constance began very briskly to take away the brambles; but she had scarcely uncovered a few of the strawberries, when a small insect, which she had disturbed, flew out of a bush directly against her, entangled its little wings in her hair, and almost frightened her into fits. She ran to Susan in the most terrible alarm, insisting that a hornet had got into her hair, and that she should be stung to death in an instant. She prevailed upon her sisters to leave the spot immediately, and nobody could persuade her but that she had disturbed a hornet's nest, and had had a most miraculous escape.

They spent the afternoon with their young friend much in the usual manner; each of them constantly meeting with something or other to disturb them and spoil their pleasure.

Returning in the evening through the wood, they saw a group of little boys and girls sitting under the trees, and eating strawberries; some had their hats full, some held them in their hands, and others in little baskets of their own making.

Susan asked them where they had gathered so many strawberries. "Why there," answered one of the boys, "where you see the bushes and brambles all in a heap. We covered them up above a week ago, to let them ripen; but I wonder we did not lose them all, for somebody has been here, I am sure, though I suppose they did not see the nice strawberries, or they never would have been such fools as to leave them: but it was well for us that they were so blind."

"And whom did you get to take the trouble to remove all those things for you?" inquired Dorothy, as she hung on Susan's arm with all her weight.

"Lauk-a-day! Miss," said the boy, grinning in her face, "to be sure you be joking. Do you call that trouble?"

Constance said he was very right; that it certainly could be _no trouble_; but she really wondered they had not been terrified from attempting to get at the strawberries, when they saw what a number of frightful and dangerous creatures were creeping and flying about them. And now the whole party not only grinned, but laughed aloud; and Julia told her sisters they had better not make such foolish observations, which only served to make the children laugh at them: that it was ridiculous to suppose they should think it a labour to remove a few brambles, or that they should be so weak as to be afraid of harmless flies and worms; but she must say, she was a little surprised that they did not go home with their strawberries, and get some cream and sugar to eat with them: no house in the country was without cream; there could be no difficulty in getting a bit of sugar, and it would make them so nice, that they would never afterwards relish them alone.

"That would be very unfortunate," replied a girl some years older than the others (who only noticed Julia's speech by redoubled peals of laughter), "for we should lose many such a treat as we are now enjoying, if we were to take such a foolish whim into our heads. Pray, Miss, do you imagine that my mother keeps a cow, to give us the cream to eat with strawberries? No! no! she sells her butter, and buys us clothes with the money. I wish you could all three spend a month in our cottage, you would learn to be glad enough of having one nicety, without wishing to add another to it; and to know that those who choose to eat must learn to work, and not call trouble that which is no more than play. You would also perceive, after spending two or three days on your knees in weeding the corn or the garden, that you are in no danger of being either stung or bit by innocent flies or caterpillars, and that till you get rid of all your foolish fancies, you will have no pleasure in any thing in the world, but that all your happiness and comfort will be sacrificed to whim, indolence, and weakness?"

THE END.

E. Hemsted, Printer, Great New-street, Gough-square.