Chapter V (2)

"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's 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, nowadays. 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, whilst I comb your hair, unless that's against your new governess's 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 any body 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 Herbert_ing_ 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 malicious rage, turned towards the other door that opened into Mrs. Harcourt's bedchamber, for Mad. de Rosier, at this moment, appeared.--"I thought I heard a great noise?"--"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 am 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 to 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 times, as nobody knows better than you, Mrs. Rebecca, I had my mistress's 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 well-dressed 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 government 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 pleases _for 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 so 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?"

"Oh, surely! surely!" said Mrs. Rebecca; and having tasted Mrs. Grace's crême-de-noyau, it was decided that war should be declared against _the governess_.

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 whilst 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'agrément, 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--Oh, 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 affection 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 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, which 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 of 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 relations of numbers, and gave her rather more clear ideas of the nature and use of the common rules of arithmetic 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; this was not a matter that admitted of the uncertainty which alarms timid tempers. Mad. de Rosier began by asking her young arithmetician questions only when they were by themselves--but by and by 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.

With Herbert and Favoretta she pursued a similar plan. She scarcely ever left them alone together, that she might not run the hazard of their quarrelling 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 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 been 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 company: when Herbert was out in his little garden, he was impatient 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 in Mrs. Barbauld's excellent little books, and in "Evenings at Home;" she generally told them some interesting story when they had finished reading, and they 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 Mad. 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, whilst 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, because she carefully avoided urging him to do those things to which she knew him to be adverse; and she frequently desired him to do what she knew would be agreeable to him: she thought it best to suffer him gradually to forget his 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.

He exclaimed with admiration, upon hearing the account of Harry Sandford's fortitude, "That's right!--that's right!--I am glad Harry did not tell that cruel Squire Chace which way the hare was gone. I like Harry for bearing to be beaten, _rather than speak a word when he did not choose it_. I love Harry, don't you?" said he, appealing to Mad. de Rosier.

"Yes, I like him very much," said Mad. de Rosier: "but not for the reason that 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 him for bearing all the hard blows, and for saying, when the man asked him afterward why he didn't tell which way the hare was gone, 'Because I don't choose to betray the unfortunate?'"

"Oh! 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 or yourself, when you said just now that you liked Harry because he bore to be beaten 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 any body 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."

"Oh, 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, must be governed by force."

"I am not one of those," said Herbert; "for I hate force."

"But you 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 Herbert, 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," 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 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 afterwards 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? Oh, 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 treatment from his master than is the fate of the generality 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 seldom carries any instrument of incitement 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 any where; 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, and 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 regular; 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 instant; 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 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, if you were to pull my hair in that manner, I could not bear it so well."

"Your hair!--Oh, 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. Oh, mother, I wish I might do it for myself."

"And has Mad. de Rosier any objection to it?" said Mrs. Harcourt.

"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 madame," 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 you know that in the slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, I leave every thing implicitly to your better judgment: as to this business between Herbert and Grace, I don't understand it."

"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."

"Oh dear, ma'am! 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.

"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's 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 stayed at home to sup with Master Herbert upon radishes. At night she listened with malignant curiosity, as she sat at work in her mistress's 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. "Oh 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 criticized her language, in return for her criticism upon his radishes, "I don't 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?"

"Oh! 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 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 not understood--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 y rare_," he thought, was some particular kind of gingerbread; and "_Apples with cabbage net y covered o'er_" presented no delightful image to his mind, because, as he said, he did not know what the word _netycovered_ 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 woe, 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 out; 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 in 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, 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, he would ask Mad. de Rosier, the next time they passed by the pastrycook'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. de 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 pastrycook's shop, Herbert, with an honest countenance, asked Mad. de Rosier to give 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 good humour.

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, passionately.

"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."

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 efforts, 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 learnt, 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's presence, and had even been scrupulous, to a troublesome extreme, in obeying _the governess's 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 morning 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's 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 meantime Mrs. Harcourt, who had been used to be much attended to in her slight indispositions, expressed some surprise that Mad. de Rosier, or some of her children, when they heard that she was 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?"

"Oh 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 be 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.

"Oh! 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 you 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, because it was in the back parlour, ma'am."

"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 headache--Pray 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 farther 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 so 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 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 she 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?"

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 every body, 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----'s French reading parties.

Lady N---- was an elderly lady, whose rank made literature fashionable amongst 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."

"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 Matilda--and 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 a 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 words revealed the real state of her mind to Mad. de Rosier, 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."

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 unexperienced 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's 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--const!--made a judge?"

Isabella and Mrs. Harcourt laughed at this question; 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's 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 dead stop; and, after pondering for some time, said, "I don't understand what Cyrus's mother meant--what does she mean by _accounted just_?--_Accounted_, Matilda, I thought meant only about casting up sums?"

"It has another meaning, my dear," Matilda mildly began.