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 a.s.sured her aunt that she had never touched her box after she had shewn it to her; Emily gave the same a.s.surance 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 a.s.sure 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 ap.r.o.n, 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 compa.s.sion 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 cl.u.s.ter 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 a.s.sured 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed her, that she could enjoy nothing. She walked on, with her eyes bent on the ground, watching each blade of gra.s.s, and stepping with the utmost precaution, expecting every moment to be stung to death, or bit by some dangerous insect.
Julia had pa.s.sed the whole time of dinner in bewailing the loss of a cold chicken on which she had set her heart; but her dear little p.u.s.s.y 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 p.u.s.s.y 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.