*SrrmwIoo mmd 8SAW,
A SEQUEL TO ROSAMOND, IN
" Oh teah her, while your leome lt,
Tojude the pneent by the p.:;
I he mind to trentthen and nnel,
While on the sttby Ilokw the estL"
IN TWO VOLUME.
THE FIFTH EDITION.
LONOMAK AND CO.; sIMKINm, mAIsUsA, AlD CO.;
WHTTAKR AND CO.; N. WAUIHBoUS ; iOUSTO
AND CO.; Ou AND CO.; I. LuvUT; TWO AND 00.;
NoTLMUIa AND Co.; J. COMIEU; SOTNrNAN AMD
ROSAMOND,' when we last saw her in
the days of "The Black Bonnet,"
"The India Cabinet," and "The Mi-
croscope," was, we believe, about nine
or ten years old. This Sequel to her
history comprises about three years,
from eleven to fourteen. Her Bio.
grapher mentions this to prevent mis.
takes, and to enforce the advice, the
entreaty, that this book may not be read
at an earlier age than ten years old.
The same principles will here be
found a in all the preceding Early
Lessons, but applied to those new
views of character, new thoughts, feel-
ings and objects, which present them-
selves at this time of life. The young
readers will still see, in Rosamond's less
childish but ever fluctuating mind, an
image of their own. Few may have
her infinite variety of faults, follies, and
foibles; but some of her youthful
errors will probably fall to the share of
each, and some passing likeness will be
continually caught by the young, or
imputed by the old. May all, who are
at any time conscious of resembling
Rosamond, or reproached with being
like her, imitate her constant candour,
and follow her example in that ardent,
active desire to improve, by which she
was characterized in childhood, still
more in youth, which made her the
darling of her own family, and which
will, we hope, influence generous
strangers in her favour.
Though the following little volumes
are not intended for young children,
yet it is not here attempted to give
what is called a knowledge of the
world, which ought not, cannot be
It is the object of this book to give
young people, in addition to their
moral and religious principles, som
knowledge and control of their own
minds in seeming trifles, and in all
those lesser observances on which the
greater virtues often remotely, but
necessarily depend. This knowledge,
and this self-command, which cannot
be given too early, it is in the power
of all to obtain, even before they are
called into the active scenes of life.
Without this, all that gold can pur-
chase or fashion give, all that mas-
ters, governesses, or parents can say
or do for their pupils, will prove un-
availing for their happiness, because
insufficient for their conduct. But
with this power over their own minds,
confirmed by habit, and by conviction
of its utility and its necessity, they
may, in after life, be left securely to
their own guidance; and thus early
leuonr, judiciously given, will prevent
the necessity of late lecture.
"I have been labouring to make
myself useless," was the saying of an
excellent writer on education. A stu-
pid commentator concluded, that this
must be a mistake, and in a note added,
for uwdes read ueul.
"I HAVE been dreaming of Anne
Townsend," said Rosamond, ooe morn-
ing a she awakened. My dear Lanur
you did not hear all the things she was
telling us last night. She emai)y is
the mot entertaining perien I tib
"In the world !" repeated Laura,
with somewhat of an incredulotu amilef
which provoked Rosamond to startup
in her bed.
"*Yes, indeed, Laura! cried she,
"'without any exaggeration, Anne
Townsend is the most entertaimig
person that I ever knew in the. ortj
and you would have *rbds it
VOL I. B
if you had heard her last night; but
you never would see my nods, and
becks, and signs to you to come to us;
you seemed as if you could not stir
from your place among the wise ones;
and there you were all the evening look-
ing at those prints, which you have seen
fifty times. How I pitied you I "
"Thank you," said Laura, "but I
was not at all to be pitied; I was very
much entertained listening to an account,
which a gentleman, who has lately re-
turned from Italy, was giving of his
visit to Pompeii, that town which was
buried, you know, under a shower of
ashes, and which remains as perfect--
"Yes, yes," interrupted Rosamond,
"I read an account of it long ago; and
I remember it put me in mind of the
old desert town in the Arabian Tales,
where every body was dead, and all
turned to stone I and all silence I Very
shocking, and very entertaining, the first
mntr wnC*AL. 8
time one hebm of it but I've bew it
very often. I like something new."
"And I heard something that was
quite new to me, about Pompeii," said
Very likely; and you can tell me
that another time," interrupted Rowe
mond; "but I must go on now about
Anne Townsend; and in the first place
I may observe, that she never tells of all
the grand, musty things one can find in
books; but of those little things of
living people, that are so excessively
What kind of little things?" said
I cannot describe them," said Roa,
mond; but all sorts of anecdotes, and
stories of all sorts of people; for Anne
Townsend has seen a vast deal of the
Anne Townsed I What, at their,
teen I aid Laura.
Fourteen at least, if not fifteen,"
aid Rosamond;" and she has been
going about lately every where with
her Mamma; she counted to me twelve
houses in the country where they have
been paying visits this summer, and
where the people were exceedingly fond
of her, and kind to her; and she did
make me laugh so much, by describing
the odd ways of many of these people !"
Of these people who had been so
kind to her?" said Laura.
That is so like you, a cried
Rosamond, "I knew you il d say
that I And I wn. I did notink that
it was quite right of Anne Townsend
to reea some things; but I am sure
she did not mean to be ill-natured. It
was all to divert me, and only for me,
But you have not yet told me any of
thse entertaining things," said Laura.
Because, though they were excel
PETTY IKANNAL. 8
eively entertaining at the time when I
heard them,"*aid Romoamnd, "I es.-
not repeat them in the way Ane
Townsend told them."
"Pray tell me om of them; I shah
be content with your way of telling
them," Said Laura.
But almost all the anecdotes were
about people you do not know, and I
forget the names, and it is all confusion
in my head.-Stay, I remember oome
curious things bout the pretty Mis
Belmonts. My dear I you cannot .con.
ceive hoq excessively poor and .ezes.
sirely shabby they are. Anne Townsend
says, that they have only one riding
habit among the three; that is the eason
that they never ride more tham one at a
time; and they never subsesibe to rnle,
or charity sermons, or charity ball, or
any.of hose sorts .of things, and I forget
how much-I mean I forget how little-
pockt-money they have. That is their
mother's fault indeed, but, as Anie
Townsend says, avarice runs in the
Laura was going to interpose some-
thing in favour of the Mis Belmonts,
but Rosamond ran on to another anee.
dote, and another, and another, and
another, and at every close repeated,
"Anne Townsend is so entertaining
But, my dear Laura," continued she,
" what name do you think Anne Towns.
sad has found for old Mrs. Cole ? Red.
hot Coal I You must not repeat this."
"No," aid Laurs, "I should be
sorry to repeat it; because, though
Mrs. Cole is, perhaps, a little pasionate,
Maama says, that she is a very good-
natured woman, and very kind to the
poor in our neighbourhood in the
country. Do not you recollect hearing
of that little orphan girl to whom she is
"That is all a mistake," aid Remi
mond, giving a very significant, my.
It cannot be aU a mistake," replied
Laura, because I saw, and know Mime
of her kindness to that little Bessy
"No matter, my dear Laura, what
you saw," said Rosamond, ( for I have
heard just the contrary from the best
"But," mid Laura, "I head from
Bessy Bell herself, that Mrs. Cole was
as kind as possible to her; and I loved
that child for the affection and gratitude
with.wrlich she spoke of her dear good
"That is all quite changed now,"
persisted Rosamond, for Bessy Bell
hates her now: Bessy Bell was the very
person who said so, and who told this
to Anne Towns"md.
"I am sorry for it," said Laura,
You would be sorry for her," said
Rosamond, "if you knew but all. Mn.
Cole is a terribly passionate, horribly
My dear Rosamond, do not believe
it," said Laura; "and do not repeat
such things, when you are not sure that
they are true."
I am quite sure that what I have
heard is true," said Rosamond. I will
tell you the whole story, and then I will
answer for it you will acknowledge, that
Mrs. Cole is, and ought to be called, a
horribly passionate, cruel woman.
"One day, just in the dusk of the
Rosamond stopped short in her story,
for her mother came into the room, and
told her that breakfast was ready. As
they were going into the breakfast room,
Rosamond whispered to Laura, You
must not ask me to go on with that
story till we are by ourselves."
Laura looked grave:. he said*inhdg
however at that time, but, moo as
breakfast was over, she asked Rosamond
to come to their own room, where they
could be by themselves.
Ho ho aid Rosamond, a soon
as they were in their room, I ee that
I have excited your curiosity at last,
Mrs. Laura. I know the reason you
are in such a hurry to have me done
with you again, to hear my sed.. of
"I confess I am curious to bae it,
and anxious too," sid Laura.
'* Anxious and curious to be sure you
are, I don't doubt it in the least," cried
Rosamond : and I am delighted to find
that I have made the sage Laur so
curious and so anxious."
But you don't understand me. The
reason why I am anxious is --'
I suppose," interrupted Rosamond,
"that you are anxious only for poor
dear Mrs. Cole's sake, and that you
have no curiosity for your own part, at
least so you would make me believe.
But, as Anne Townsend says, I under.
stand human nature a little too well, to
be taken in so easily. Ah, Laura, you
may sigh, and look as demure, or as im.
patient as you please. I have you in
my power. Oh I the joy of having a
good story, and a good secret to tell !"
continued Rosamond. "But I assure
you, that you should not hear it this
half hour, but that I am afraid my
dancing master will come, before I have
time to tell it to you, if I don't tell it
directly. But, Laura, if you do not
quite laugh, and almost cry, I will never
tell you any thing again."
That is a threat that does not
frighten me much," mid Laura,
Because you think I can't help tell.
ing every thing; that is very provoking;
PBTTY SCANDAL. It
but the dancing master will be here, so
this once I will tell you.
"* One winter's day, just in the dusk
of the evening, when people sit round
the fire, before the candles come, old
Mrs. Cole was sitting by the fire in her
arm chair, making that poor little girl
read to her, that Bessy Bell: and she
went on and on, reading, while old
Mrs. Cole, never perceiving that there
was not light enough, cried, Go on, go
on,' while she was all the time going
to sleep; till at last little Bessy heard a
loud snoring, and, looking up, she saw
Mrs. Cole fast asleep, with her head
back and her mouth open; and just then,
the servant coming in with the candles,
and Mrs. Cole stirring a little, cap, wig,
and all, fell off, over the back of the
chair; and she did look so very droll,
that the child could not help bursting
out laughing," said Rosamond, who was
here obliged to pause in her story, she
was so much diverted at the recollection
of Anne Townsend's description of her.
" Well, my dear, Mrs. Cole wakened
while Bessy Bell was laughing, and she
was extremely angry; and all the time
she was scolding, she looked so exces-
sively ugly, and so odd without cap or
wig, so very odd, that though Bessy
Bell did all she could to stop it, hbe
could not help laughing again : so Hot
Coal, Red-hot Coal, came up to her,
saying, I'll teach you to laugh at mel'
and gave her such a box on the ear, that
flashes of light cmne from her eyes; and
before she knew where she was, Mrs. Cole
gave her another blow, which knocked
her down, and she fell now comes the
shocking part she fell on the spikes
of the fender, and one of the spikes ra
into her arm, and she cried out; sid
that horrible woman, when she saw tis,
lft her there, I cannot tell you how long,
saying, That will teach you to laugh,
Prrrr SCAeND U5
Again at me, you ungratefl creatre.'
Oh, my dear, think of leaving her with.
ing on the spikes I"
I do not believe that part of the
story in the least," said Laura.
But I give you my word it is true,"
said Rosamond: "but stay, you have
not heard all. When at last she took
Ae child up, who was all streaming with
Wood, and just fainting, what do you
think he did ? She took her by the
very arm that the spike had run into,
and shook her so that she broke the
SBrok it I" cried Laura, with a look
of horror: "but I am share it is not true.
I cannot believe it."
But you must believe it: I assure
you it is certainly true," said Rosamond.
How can you be certain of that,"
said Laura; "you did not see it?"
"No, but I heard it," said RdLoi~ d
"from one who heard it from tb i V
girl herself, who, you know you my, is a
girl that speaks truth."
That is true; but you heard this
account from Miss Townsend, did not
I did; but surely you do not sus-
pect that Anne Townsend would tell a
falsehood, and such a falsehood, such a
horrible lie I You do not think that she
invented the whole! Oh, my dear
Laura, could you, who are so good,
think so ill of any human creature! I
could not have conceived it."
Stay, Rosamond, you do not under-
stand me; I do not suspect Miss Towns-
end of having invented the whole of this
story, or think her capable of telling such
a horrible falsehood."
No, nor a falsehood of any kind,"
cried Rosamond; surely you do not
think she would."
Not intentionally," said Laura;
"but, my dear Rosamond, I have heard
her, for the sake of making out a good
story, and to divert or surprise people,
in short, to produce a great effect, exag.
gerate sometimes, so that I cannot think
her so exact about the truth as she ought
Rosamond became serious and
thoughtful, and after some minutes si.
lence, said, "I acknowledge, that some.
times Anne Townsend does exaggerate
a little; but that is only in droll stories,
or in describing, and that she says is
allowable: but in earnest, I am sure she
would be careful, and you will see, that
all she has told me will prove to be true,
But is it not more likely, my dear
Rosamond, that she should have exagge,
rated or misunderstood, than that any
body should have been so cruel as she
represents Mrs. Cole to have been, a
woman who was never known or sus-
pected to be cruel before ?"
But, Laura, you a re posed
in favour of Mrs. Cole," a Rms
mond, "and prejudiced aga.ast poor
Anne Townsend; but I shall see her
again to-morrow, when we go to Mrs.
Townsend's to practise the quadrille,
and then I will ask her to tell me over
again every particular, and you shall be
Here Rosamond was interrupted by
a servant, who came to tell her, that her
dameing master was waiting. Laur
said she was sorry that they had been
called so soon, for that she had not had
time to sy what she was most anxious
to may to Rosamond."
"What can you mean," cried Rosa.
mond, stopping short, "I thought you
were anxious only about my story."
I am much more anxious about you,
my dear Rosamond," said Laura. Do
not be angry with me if I say, that,
though Miss Townsend is very enter.
training, I should be sorry you were like
her; and I should be sorry, my dear
Rosamond, that you wee to imitate
her; I don't think hae is a good friend
"Why so ?" asked Rosamond. in a
tone of much disappointment and dis-
Because I don't like her habic of
laughing at every body. Even those
who have been most kind to her, she
ridicules, you mee, the moment she is
out of their company. Then she repeats
every thing she sees and hears in every
family she.goes into, and almost all the
anecdotes she tells are ill-natured: what
Mamma calls petty scandal. Besides
I do not like her desiring you not to
mention to Mamma what she told you."
Now that is very unjust indeed,"
said Rosmmond; you blame her both
for not telling, and for telling; you my
you don't like her habit of repeating
every thing she hears, and you do not
like her desiring me not to repeat to
Mamma what she said."
But is not there a great deal of dif.
ference," said Laura, "between telling
little ill-natured stories, and telling what
we hear and what we think, to bur best
friends, to Mamma for instance; but I
have not time to explain what I mean
entirely," said Laura, we must go
down to the dancing master."
Rosamond acknowledged, that there
was some truth in Laura's general
opinion of Miss Townsend's love of
scandal; but she was eager to prove,
that, in the present instance, what she
had said was perfectly true.
"But, my dear Rosmond," sid
Laura, "how happens it, that you, who
are in general so good-natured, should
be anxious to prove that this horrible
story of Mrs. Cole is quite true! Is it
merely because you have heard it, or
because you have told it?"
Whether Rosamond heard this last
question, or not, never appeared; she
made no answer to it, but observed, that
she could not keep poor M. Deschamps
waiting any longer.
THE next day, Laura and Rosamond
went to Mrs. Townsend's, as it was their
custom at this time to do, twice a week,
to practise quadrilles with the Miss
Townsends, and with some other young
people, who met by turns at each other's
houses. Rosamond, impatient to see
Miss Anne Townsend, flattered herself,
that she should have an opportunity, if
they went early, to talk to her in private,
before the rest of their companions
should come. But, to her disappoint-
ment, on their arrival, she heard from
Mrs. Townsend, that her daughter Anne
had caught such a cold, that she was not
allowed this night to join the dancing
party, and was confined to her bed.
* But you will not lose your quadrille,
Mis Rossand," aid Mrs. Townsend,
observing Rosamond's look of disap.
pointment and despair. I have invited
one of the Miss Belmonts here, to take
Anne's place for to-night. To be sure
Mis Belmont does not dance quite so
well as our own set, and may, perhaps,
put you ot ut; but we can manage it for
once; and I must do her the justice to
may that she is very obliging, which
makes up for many little deficiencies.
Here she is; I believe you have never
been introduced to each other," con-
tinued Mrs. Townsend; and taking
Roeamond's hand, she led her to Miss
Belmont. As the dancing did not im-
mediately begin, Romnond and Miss
Belmont were left together. With the
recollection of all she had heard, and all
she had said, of this young lady's shab-
biness full in her mind, Rosamond felt
somewhat embarrassed: whatever she
tried to talk of, all the stories she had
heard, crossed and puzzled her thoughts,
so that she never could finish any one
distinct sentence. Miss Belmont, mean
time, quite at her ease, in the most
obliging manner tried to find subjects
of conversation, not disdaining to talk to
Rosamond, though she was some years
younger than herself: of dancing, music,
drawing, she spoke, but in vain; Rosa-
mond did not know what she said, and
the conversation dropped: at length
some one came up, and said to Miss
Belmont, "I hope you had a pleasant
ride this morning; do you ride to-
Miss Belmont answered that she did
not, that it was her sister's turn to ride
the next day, and that they never rode
on the same days.
Ha, ha I.I know the reason of that,"
thought Rosamond. Anne Townsend
is certainly right about this."
The friend, who was speaking to Mis
Belmont, and who was her near relation,
said, "I know that you have but one
horse that you like to ride; but I can
lend you my little Jannette tomorrow,
and all next week, so, if you please, you
and your sister can ride together."
Mis Belmont thanked her friend, but
declined her kind offer, saying, in a
whisper, "There is another difficulty:
we have only one habit as well as one
horse amongst us;" and, with a slight
blush, ingenuous countenance, and sweet
voice, she added, "you know we are
poor, and in Mamma's circumstances, we
should be of as little expense to her as
possible, in our dress or our pleasures."
Mis Belmont's partner then taking
her out to dance, her relation, turning to
another friend, said, Though they am
my own relations, I hope I may be al-
PETTT SCANDAL. S
lowed to say, that the Mis Belmonts
are most amiable girls."
"Yes," replied the friend, "so ge.
nerous too; come with me, and I will
tell you such an instance I"
What a different person she is from
what she was represented to me!"
thought Rosamond. Anne Townsend
did not exaggerate the circumstances,
but she misrepresented the motives, that
is, she did not understand, or she did
not know them; and I will tell her how
much she was mistaken."
Dancing interrupted Rosamond's
moral reflections, and dancing employed
her till late in the evening, when, a* she
was drinking some lemonade, Mrs.
Townsend came to her, and said, If
you are quite cool now, Miss Rosamond,
I can take you up to Anne for a few
minutes, as you are so anxious to see
her. She is awake now, and will be
delighted to see you."
Rosamond looked back for Laura, as
Mrs. Townsend took her out of the
room; but Laura was dancing, and
Mrs. Townsend could not wait.
The history of what passed in this
interview, Rosamond gave to her sister
at night, when they were going to bed,
in the following manner:-
Well, my dear Laura, it is all over;
and how do you think it has ended?
We have come to an explanation, and I
am convinced you were quite right, and
that Anne Townsend is too fond of
scandal; and I told her so; and we have
had such a quarrel! When I went to
her room we began by talking about
her cold, and all that; then we went on
to the dancing and the quadrille, and
she asked me how Miss Belmont had got
through it, and regretted that her mo-
ther had asked her; then I took Miss
Belmont's part, and said, that I was
sure, if Miss Townsend knew her she
would like her; I aid, I thought that
she had been quite misrepresented by
whoever told the ill-natured stories. I
repeated what I had heard her say, and
added what her friend and relation had
said of her being generous: but Miss
Townsend still insisted upon it she was
right, instead of fairly acknowledging
that she had been wrong, or that she
was convinced she had been misin-
formed. She only laughed at my cre-
dulity, as she called it, and said, that
when I had seen more of the world, I
should know better-worse she meant.
That it was very natural, that Miss Bel.
month's own friend and relation should
say the best she could for her, but this
was no proof she deserved it; that she
is shabby, and that all the Belmonts are
shabby; and that she could tell me fifty
other stories of them worse than the
habit, and more diverting. And, as
Miss Townsend said this, that flatter-
ing, mincing maid of hers, who was
fidgeting about the bed with jelly, or
something which nobody wanted, smiled,
and said, To be sure; that she knew
enough of the shabbiness of the Bel.
months, of which she could tell a hun-
dred instances, if she pleased. But I
said I had no curiosity to hear any such
stories. I perceived, from this, where
Anne Townsend's anecdotes came from,
and I felt ashamed for her; and I believe
I looked as if I wished the maid away;
but she did not go till Anne, who per-
baps was a little ashamed herself, told her
she need not stay. As soon as she was
gone I lost no time, for I was deter-
mined to know the truth, and to see the
very bottom of Anne Townsend's mind.
Ah, my dear Roammond," said
Laura, you think it is as easy to see to
the bottom of every body's mind as it is
to see to the bottom of your own open
On I went into the very middle of
the Hot Coal business," continued Ro-
samond; "and I told her, that I had
repeated the story to you, and that you
doubted the truth of it, and thought she
had been misinformed. She began to
look angry directly, and reproached me
with always repeating every thing I
hear.- Only think of her charging me
with the very thing she does herslf!
She wondered why you doubted the
story ; she asserted that she knew it was
all perfectly true, and that she had it
from the very best authority: 'Yes,'
said I, I assured Laura that you heard
it from Bessy Bell herself.' But Anne
Townsend interrupted me, and explained
to me, that the story was not actually
told to her by Bessy Bell, but only that
it came from herself; that is, the perse
who told it to Anne Townsend heard it
from somebodywho heard it from Bessy
Oh I that makes a great difference,m
Yes," said Rosamond, "quite a new
thing! Then came out another change
in the business: I thought that the
affair had but just happened, and that
the child was lying wounded and half
dead at this moment; but this was all
a mistake in my foolish imagination, as
Anne Townsend says, for at this mo-
ment the girl is as well as I am. All
this happened a year ago; Therefore,'
said she, it is not worth while to say
any thing more about it;' and she
added, that unless I wanted to make
mischief, I must never speak of it again,
and must never let any body know that
I had heard it. She bid me recollect,
that when she told me this, I had pro-
mised her I would not tell a word of it
to Mamma. But this I could not recol-
lect, because it was not so. When I
insisted upon this fact, she was very
much vexed, and then aiked what
reason I could have for wanting to tell
it to Mamma, except to make mischief.
I said, that I tell Mamma every thing,
and that you, who are my best friend,
advised me not to hear any secrets
which I must not tell my mother. She
said that this was all 'mighty ine,'
but that she was sure I had some other
reason for wishing to tell it to Mamma.
I answered, that I had another reason;
that I desired to find out the exact truth
of the Cole story, that I might prove
to you, that she had not exaggerated in
telling it. She thanked me proudly,
and after a little silence she said, Now
pray tell me exactly all you told year
sister Laura.' I repeated it as exactly
as I could. But when I came to Bemsy
Bell's being knocked down by old
Mrs. Cole, and falling on the spikes of
the fender, and the stream of blood,'
Anne Townsend cried, No such thing:I
No such thing and protested, that she
had never said a word of a stream of
blood.' But, worse and worse-when
I came to Mrs. Cole's shaking Bessy
Bell's arm till she broke it, Anne
Townsend stopped me again, and put
in an almost, that entirely altered the
case. But indeed, my dear Laura, I
remember, when she first told me the
story, exclaiming with horror, What I
broke her arm I' and Miss Townsend
could have set me right then. When
I reminded her of this, she would not
listen to me. She knew she was wrong,
and would not acknowledge it, and she
wanted to throw all the blame upon me.
At last she was quite out of humour,
and said I had misrepresented and ex-
aggerated the whole story. Then I
confess I grew very angry, and I cannot
exactly remember what I said, but I
believe that the sense of it was, that I
should be very sorry to have any per.
son for my friend who was not exact
about truth, and that I was very glad
that I had found out her real character
before I had grown too fond of her,
She laughed, which provoked me more
than all the rest; and only think of
her punning at such a time I She said,
she believed I was indeed fitter to be a
friend of old Hot Coal; that she fancied
I was of the family of the Hot Coals,
nearly related-Kindle Coal, certainly.
I wished her a good night, and left her;
and I never desire to see her again. She
may be as entertaining and witty as she
pleases, I shall never love her again.
Who would wish to have such a friend
as Anne Townsend? You were very
right, Laura, and I was very foolish."
The next morning, when Rosamond
wakened, she began the day with this
sage rejection, How different the
same person and the same things ap-
pear to me now, from what they did
even this time yesterday! Anne Towns-
end for instance, and Anne Townsend's
wit; wit is very entertaining; but,
my dear Laura, I think I like people
better for friends who have no wit."
Why so, my dear Rosamond," said
Laura, smiling; "would you keep all
the wit for yourself?"
"No," said Rosamond, I would
rather not have wit myself; it may tempt
people to be ill-natured, and to ridicule
every thing, and every body."
But by the same rule," said Laura,
"you would rather not have any fire,
I suppose, because 'fire sometimes burns
people, if they are not careful about it."
Rosamond laughed, and soon gave up
her rash resolution against wit, when
Laura reminded her of the character of
"A wit, that temperatel bright,
With inffensive light,
All pleasing shone, nor ever pt
The decent bounds that wisdom's sober hsad,
And sweet benevolence's mild command,
And bahful modesty, before it cast."
love those lines," cried Rosamond;
" that is the kind of wit I should like
to have I But I must make haste and
dress myself, that I may go to Mamma,
and tell her the whole affair."
And when she had related all that
had passed, she was very anxious to
know what her mother thought of the
whole. Her mother told her, that she
thought, she had been too sudden in
her liking for Miss Anne Townsend at
first, and perhaps a little too angry at
last; yet she was upon the whole well
satisfied with her conduct, and glad that
she felt such aversion to any appearance
of prevarication and falsehood. It was
not yet possible to decide, whether or
not Miss Townsend had told an ab.
solute intentional falsehood; but it was
plain, that, in her desire to surprise
or to entertain, she had been careless
about truth, and had considerably ex-
aggerated and misrepresented facts.
That she certainly did," cried Rosa-
mond. But now, Mamma, that we
may get quite to the bottom of the truth,
will you be so kind as to call this morn.
ing to inquire how poor old Mrs. Cole
does ? If she lets you in, as I dare say
she will, you can find out for me, with-
out making any mischief, the whole
truth exactly about Bessy Bell, and the
fender, and the blood; for I am excess.
sively curious to know all the particulars
But I do not see that any good
purpose can be answered by gratifying
this curiosity of yours, my dear," aid
her mother; "therefore let me advise
you to repress it. You are assured,
that the child is quite well; and as to
PETTY SCANDAL. 9
the rest, you cannot do her any good,
and you might do her injury by inter-
ference. From all that has passed,
you may observe the danger of exagge-
ration; and, I advise you, take warn.
ing by this. Do not repeat what Miss
Townsend told you to any of your
"* But, Mamma," said Rosamond, I
wish you would explain to me the right
and the wrong about repeating: I am
very much puzzled about it.-Let me
consider; it is right, always, to tell you
and Laura every thing I hear; and it
is wrong, sometime, to tell the same
things to my young companions; and
I do not know how to settle these con.
tradictions; and, Mamma, you love those
who have an open temper, and you
esteem those who are sincere; and yet
some things are never to be repeated:
you like people that are entertaining,
and yet people cannot be entertaining
if they never tell any thing they hear,
can they? I am sure, that many of
those you like, Mamma, and whom
you think the most sensible, agreeable
people, often, in conversation, relate
anecdotes that amuse you, and that
show the characters of different per-
sons; and how am I to distinguish the
difference between this and what you
call petty scandal ?"
"My dear, you have put so many
difficult questions," said her mother,
smiling, ( I shall find it impossible, I
am afraid, to answer them all at once.
But to begin with your puzzle about
secrecy and sincerity: you may be per-
fectly sincere and open about every thing
that concerns yourself, and at the same
time you may forbear to tell what does
not concern you, and what might injure
others. Never repeat any thing to the
disadvantage of any person, unless you
are sure it is true; never tell any thing
ill-natured of any one, even if it be true,
unless it is to be of use, and to do some
good, greater than the pain you inflict;
in short, never repeat what is ill-natured,
merely for the pleasure of telling what
may divert others, or show your own
cleverness, as it is called."
That last is a very good rule, Mam-
ma," said Rosamond, blushing.
"And to this rule there can be no
exception," continued her mother. To
my other general rules there may be
some exceptions. Circumstances may
possibly occur, in which, for the sake of
justice and truth, it is our duty to repeat
or to reveal what may be much to the
disadvantage of others."
Ah there's the thing, Mamma; how
am I to distinguish?"
At your age, and with your inex-
perience, you cannot yet judge in these
difficult circumstances, my dear," an-
swered her mother; "therefore I advise
VOL. r. B
you to consult those who have more ex-
perience; and it is safest to apply, in all
difficulties, to those who are most inter-
ested for your happiness."
That is to you, Mamma, -yes cer-
tainly, and to Laura. I will always
tell you when I am in doubt about right
If you do, my dear, I will always,
to the best of my power, give you my
advice. I acknowledge, that petty scan-
dal may be entertaining, and-"
Oh I yes, Mamma, Anne Townsend
is very entertaining."
," But you perceive some of the mis.
chief she might do. And when you
know more of the world, you will find,
that a scandalous story is scarcely ever
repeated without inaccuracy or exagge-
ration: even by those who do not intend
to alter or exaggerate in the least,
some little difference is made in the
warmth of description, the eagerness
to interest, and the desire to produce
"Very true: I recollect, that even I
said streaming with blood, when I was
telling Laura about Bessy Bell; and, if
I had been quite exact, I should have
only said bleeding, or covered with
blood; for, to do Anne Townsend justice,
that was, as she reminded me, all she
said. But go on, Mamma, for I am
really anxious to know how to do right
for the future."
"I am sure you are," said her mother,
kissing her affectionately; "and with
such good dispositions and good princi-
ples, you cannot go very wrong. You
have as yet, however, so little know.
ledge of the world, that it is not possible
for me to explain to you all the mischief
that may be done by spreading trifling
reports. Some instances may give you
an idea of the sort of things you should
avoid repeating. Your own feelings tell
you how painful it would be to yourself
to hear repeated to you what any one
you love had said of you, at some time
when they were displeased with you, or
when they had spoken hastily of you or
"Yes, Mamma, I remember Anne
Townsend once told me something that
was said by somebody-I will not tell
you who-it gave me a great deal of
pain, and made me like that person
less, and much less, than if she had
found fault with me to my face."
Yes, such repetitions are injurious,"
said her mother. "You know, Rosa.
mond, how sorry you would feel, if every
hasty word you say was repeated."
"Certainly, Mamma; people forget
so soon what they say when they are
angry; and they never mean half so
much as they say."
"And," continued her mother, "in
repeating such things, the tone and
manner in which they were mid must
often be altered by the repeater, and then
they appear a great deal worse than they
really were. What might be said half
in jest is turned into earnest, and per-
haps these trifling, vexatious things are
repeated at a time when those to whom
they are told are not in good humour,
or when they have other causes of com-
plaint; so that altogether they produce
suspicions and quarrels among acquaint-
ance and friends."
I recollect, Mamma, your being dis-
pleased once, when somebody repeated
to you some dispute which they had
overheard, no, heard (let me take care
to be exact) between a husband and
wife. You stopped them by turning the
conversation to something else; and you
said afterwards to Laura, that such
things should never be repeated. Laura,"
continued Rosamond, as she turned to
look for her, "what are you searching
for in that book, instead of listening to
what we are saying?"
"I have heard all you were saying,"
said Laura; "and I am looking for a
story that I think you will like to read;
it is an account of a girl, who ruined a
whole family by repeating something
about family affairs which she did not
"Oh give it me I" cried Rosamond:
"but is it true?"
I should think it is true; I am sure
it might be true," answered Laura.
"What is the name of the book ?"
"Mrs. Palmerstone's Letters to her
I will read the story before I stir
from this place," said Rosamond.
Accordingly she read the story. It
interested her very much -so much,
that she could hardly think of any thing
else for some hours.
But the impressions on Rosamond's
mind, though easily made, and seemingly
strong and deep, were like the writing
on sand, often shaken and quickly obli-
Not more than a fortnight afterwards,
when she was at Mrs. Belmont's, where
it had been arranged that she was to
meet her young companions to practise
quadrilles, it happened, that one of the
Miss Belmonts asked her, what was the
cause of her not liking Anne Townsend
so well as she did formerly? She at
first answered, prudently, I cannot
tell you any thing about it:-Oh, don't
But some one present declared, that
she knew the whole already, and that
she had had it all from Miss Townsend.
Rosamond was provoked at perceiving
that the whole had been told to her dis-
advantage; and that it was insinuated,
that the fear, that something discredit-
able to herself should come out, was the
cause of her present reserve. Forget-
ting her mother's cautions and her own
resolutions, Rosamond then began, and
told all that had passed, and all that she
had heard from Miss Townsend. It
was not till she was in the middle of her
story that she recollected herself, and,
stopping short, exclaimed, But I can-
not, I must not tell you any more about
Mrs. Cole and Bessy Bell; for Mamma
desired that I would not repeat it."
Oh, my dear Rosamond," cried one
of her companions, you have gone so
far you must go on, for poor Mrs. Cole's
sake, or we shall think it something hor-
rible, much worse probably than it really
"That's true," said Rosamond; "but
still I ought not to repeat it."
But we shall never tell it again; it
will be as safe with us as with yourself;
you may depend upon it we shall never
say any thing about it," said the young
ladies, adding all the arguments of this
sort, with all the asseverations and pro-
mises, usually made by the curious upon
such occasions. Poor Rosamond was
overpowered by their persuasions, went
on, and bit by bit told the whole; and
while she was in the midst and warmth
of her narration, her eyes always fixed
on the young lady to whom she was
speaking, she did not perceive, that one
or two more of their acquaintance came
into the little music room, where they
were standing, and joined the party of.
listeners. When at last Rosamond
wakened to the sight of the new faces
among her auditors, she stopped and
started: but one of her companions
whispered her, Go on, go on, she is
my cousin Susan, I will answer for her;
and the other is only Mary Law, she
will not understand what you are saying;
you may say any thing before her, she
is deaf, and stupid besides, and too full
of the quadrille to think of any thing
else." Rosamond, thus reassured, went
on to the end of her story. When all
was over, and when she went home, and
found herself again with Laura and her
mother, she told them what had passed,
not without some shame: but still, she
said, she hoped that none of the com-
pany would repeat what she had said.
Her mother and Laura hoped so too.
They did not reproach Rosamond, but
they were sorry that she had been tempted
,to break her wise resolutions.
Some days passed. No more was
said upon the subject. Rosamond for-
gave herself, and had almost forgotten
the circumstance, when one morning it
was brought to her recollection in a pain.
She happened to go with her mother
and sister to a glover's shop: the woman
who kept this small shop had been once
a faithful servant in her mother's family,
and therefore they were interested for
her. Laura first remarked, that the
poor woman did not look as well as
usual. She answered, that she was well,
but that she had been very much vexed
this day; she begged pardon, however,
it was not a matter of great consequence,
and she would not trouble them about it.
While she was speaking, Rosamond
thought she heard the sound of some
one sobbing. The sound came from a
room within the shop. The woman
shut the door close, which had been a
little open; and, in doing this, she by
accident pushed aside the green curtain,
that hung before the glass panes in the
upper part of the door.
Rosamond looked into the. room, and
saw a child knmeling by a chair, with
her head down, and her face hid in her
hands, crying as if her heart would
break. Rosamond looked at Laura, and
with much emotion exclaimed, "What
can be the matter with her, poor little
Ah, poor thing, she may well cry as
she does," said Mrs. White, the woman
of the shop; she has lost a good friend,
and the best friend she had in the world;
and the only one, I may say, that could
and would have served her through life;
but she is an unfortunate little creature,
an orphan; Bessy Bell, ladies, that you
may remember to have seen in the
country with good old Mrs. Cole; -but
Miss Rosamond! my dear Mis Rosa-
mond I is as pale as death "
Oh cried Rosamond, as soon as
she could speak, "I am certain I am the
cause of all the mischief; but go on, go
on, tell me all."
Mrs. White, much astonished, then
related all she knew of the matter; that
Mrs. Cole had been so extremely dis-
pleased by some report, that had been
repeated to her, of Bessy Bell's having
complained of her cruelty, and having
told, with many circumstances that were
not true, something that happened in her
family above a year ago, that she had
resolved to have nothing more to do
with the child. "Indeed," continued
Mrs. White, "considering how exces-
sively generous and kind, and like a
mother, Mrs. Cole has been to Besy, and
the pains she has taken with her, and
the affection she had for her, I cannot
wonder she should be cut to the heart,
and made as angry as she is, by what
must appear to her such base ingratitude
and treachery in this child. I don't
like to tell all the circumstances, lest I
should be guilty of spreading scandalous
false reports, as others have been."
But Rosamond told her, that she
knew all the circumstances, she believed;
and as well as she could, in the extreme
agitation of her mind, repeated what she
had heard from Anne Townsend, and
asked if this was the report to which
Mrs. White alluded.
Yes, ladies, the very same, as far as
I can make out: it was written as news
to the country, and so came round again
to Mrs. Cole, and never was a story more
exaggerated. Bessy Bell I Bess Come
here, child, and tell how it was; or
please to step in here, ladies, for she is
ashamed poor thing, and she is in such a
Bessy wiped the tears from her face,
tried to stop her sobs, and endeavoured
to speak. She said, she had done wrong,
very wrong indeed; but not as wrong
or as wickedly as had been reported of
her: she had a year ago, when she was
angry, told her friend the apothecary's
daughter, that Mrs. Cole had been very
passionate one evening, and had given
her such a box on the ear, as had nearly
knocked her down; and she had said,
that if she had fallen, she might have
fallen upon the spikes of the fender.
But the letter asserted, that she had
fallen down, and that the spikes of the
fender had run into her arm to the bone;
and that while she was all streaming
with blood, Mrt. Cole shook her till he
broke her arm; "but oh, Ma'am I I never,
never uttered such falsehoods! I was
very wrong ever to tell any thing about
it; for Mrs. Cole was so very, very
kind to me; what I did let out, Ma'am,
I told at the minute when I was in-a
passion, and that was a year ago, and I
had forgotten it, and every thing I said;
and how it came up, and how it came
out again, I cannot conceive."
Rosamond's mother inquired, whether
Bessy knew the name of the lady who
had written the letter. She replied,
that she was not quite certain, for that
the letter was put into her hands but for
a minute, but that she believed it was
Law-Martha or Mary Law.
It appeared now too plain, that the
whole mischief had arisen from that
young lady's having written an ex-
aggerated account of what she had
imperfectly heard, and imperfectly un.
derstood, of the story Rosamond told to
her companions in the music room at
Mrs. Belmont's. She had not heard the
explanation and contradiction of the first
part of Anne Townsend's assertions, and
had gone off with the falsehoods instead
of the truth; then, for want of some.
thing to say in her next letter, slow,
dull Miss Law had repeated this story.
Thus it often happens, that the stupid
and slow, as well as the quick and lively,
become spreaders of false reports.
Rosamond was miserable when she
saw the mischief she had occasioned;
she could not cry, she could not speak,
she stood pale and motionless, while
her mother and Laura thought for her
what could be done. They proposed
immediately, that they should go to
Mrs. Cole's, and that Rosamond should
tell her exactly what had passed; but
Bessy Bell said their going to her house
in town would be of no use, for that she
had left London this morning early.
And then Mrs. White increased Ross-
mond's sorrow by saying, that little
Bessy was to have gone with Mrs. Cole
to the country, to Devonshire, to the sea,
and that every thing had been arranged
for the journey, and clothes and books
even, Ma'am, bought for her: see there!"
pointing to a little trunk half packed up.
"But all is over now."
"Bessy, why did not you tell Mrs.
Cole," said Laura, what you have told
us; and why did not you assure her,
that the falsehoods, which have been
reported, did not come from you."
I did, Ma'am; but I could not deny,
that there was some part of the story
true. I could not deny, that I had
talked foolishly, and that I had told
some part of what was repeated. This
vexed her exceedingly, as well it might;
and she did not perhaps believe me, or
perhaps she did not hear the rest of
what I was saying, to explain to her
that I did not say all the horrible things
that were reported. Oh I she was very
Aye," said Mrs. White, "the only
fault Mrs. Cole has upon earth is the
being a little too touchy and hasty."
"Pray pray don't say any thing
more about that I" cried little Bessy,
"because Mrs. Cole has been so very
kind to me: she has taught me every
thing good that I know, and she
has given me almost every thing I
have, and she has been a mother to
me: I was an orphan, and starving
when she first took me in." "Oh I"
said the child, kneeling down again, and
hiding her face on the chair, "I have
PETTY SCAnDAL. 00
been very, very ungrateful, and I shall
never forgive myself."
Poor Rosamond said Laura.
Rosamond's mother forbore to re-
proach her for her imprudence. It was
plain, that the reproaches of her own
heart, at this moment, were sufficiently
acute: but what was to be done to re-
pair the evil ? Mrs. Cole was to stay
in Devonshire two months at least. It
was proposed, that Rosamond should
write to her; she did so, and gave as
clear a statement of the facts as she
could, and as pathetic a petition in favour
of the orphan.
During the days that elapsed, before
an answer to this letter could be re-
ceived, Rosamond suffered bitterly: nor
did the answer, when it arrived, relieve
her mind. Mrs. Cole's physicians had
advised her, instead of staying in De-
vonshire, to proceed immediately to the
Continent for her health; and she was
upon the point of sailing, when she
wrote a short, hurried answer to Rosa-
mond's petition. She regretted, she
said, the mistakes and misrepresent.
tions that had occurred. She wished
that it was now in her power to take
the child with her, but it was impossible
she could delay her voyage; and she
could only hope, that when she should
return to England, in the course of six
or seven months, she should be able to
take Bessy Bell again: in the mean
time, she desired that Bessy might re-
main with Mrs. White. The letter con-
cluded with a kind message of forgive-
ness to the child, and of regret for her
This message was some consolation
to Rosamond. But still she felt very
unhappy till a bright idea darted across
her imagination, a generous project,
which, if she could but execute, would
turn all her sorrow into joy. She asked
her mother, if she would give her leave
to have Bessy Bell, and to take care of
her while Mrs. Cole was away. But
her mother did not approve of her plan.
Changing suddenly from the tone of de-
light in which she had made the request,
Rosamond exclaimed, "Oh, Mamma I
what objections can you have?"
Several, my dear, on the child's own
account, and with respect to Mrs. Cole,
who has desired, that her pupil should
remain with Mrs. White. But my chief
objection is on your own account."
"My own account I Oh I my dear
mother, nothing in this world could
make me so happy."
Yes, my dear, I know, that, to your
kind and generous temper, it would be
a great pleasure to do all this-it would
be as great a reward as I could give you.
But, Rosamond, do you think that you
deserve to be rewarded ? "
I acknowledge that I do not," aid
Rosamond; but have not I been pu-
nished enough, Mamma? I see so
strongly the bad consequences of my
folly and imprudence, I cannot be more
convinced than I am, nor more resolved
never to fall into the same fault again.
All that I have felt has made such a
deep impression upon me, I never, never
can forget it."
"Do you recollect your former good
resolutions, my dear Rosamond," said
her mother, and the deep impression
made by reading that affecting story ? "
I do, Mamma," said Rosamond,
colouring; "and I cannot conceive how
I could ever forget it, when I was so
very much struck and touched by it,
and so resolved But," added she,
after a pause, *, I do not mean it as an
excuse; but I may say, that I did not
know, at least I was not quite sure, that
it was a true story; and certainly no
story can make such an impression as
PETTY SCANDAL. 59
what is true, and especially what really
has happened to oneself."
"* And why, Rosamond ? Shall I tell
you?" said her mother.
If you please, Mamma, and if you
"One reason," said her mother,
"may be, that the consequences- of our
actions last longer in real life than in
fiction. The moral of a story is read
or perceived in three or four minutes;
the consequences of our own actions
last often for months, for years. If
they did not, perhaps we should forget
them, and benefit as little by experience,
even by our own experience, as by good
advice, or good stories."
"Oh, Mamma, what a reproach," said
My love, I do not reproach, or wish
to give you pain; but I speak seriously,
because, Rosamond, you are no longer
a child, and you must consider not only
the present, but the future. I know it
is your sincere wish to correct your own
faults, and to make yourself an amiable
woman. This habit of exaggeration, of
repeating every thing you hear, is not
easily broken; it is a fault to which
we women are, it is said, peculiarly
liable, because we have fewer subjects
of importance to engage our thoughts,
and we come frequently into those little
competitions and rivalships, which lead
to envy and jealousy, and thence to
detraction and slander. Lively people,
who can entertain by mimicry, or ex-
aggerated description, are, of all others,
the most exposed to continually recur-
ring temptation on that subject; and
you, Rosamond, should therefore watch
over yourself. Now I will say no more,
my dear daughter, judge and decide for
"Temptations will recur," repeated
Rouamond. "Yes, I know they will,
when I am again in company, Mamma,
where example encourages me, and the
wish to amuse. Oh! I know, Mamma,
all the difficulties; and I am convinced,
that it is better that all my sorrow should
not be turned to joy immediately, or else
perhaps I should, as you say, quite forget
it. Well, my dear mother, I will prove
to you, that I am earnestly resolved to
make myself an amiable woman : I sub-
mit; I will give up my scheme. I am
only sorry for Bessy Bell; but it will do
me good for life, I am almost sure. It
will be a great punishment to know and
recollect every day, that this poor child
is suffering for my imprudence," said
Rosamond, in a faltering voice; "but
let it be so."
Her mother was so well satisfied, not
only with the candour, but with the
resolution, which Rosamond showed by
this determination, that she mitigated
the punishment by giving her permits.
sion, that Bessy Bell might come to her
every morning for one hour. It was
settled, that this must not interfere with
any of Rosamond's own lessons or daily
duties. The time fixed was, as she had
proposed, an hour before breakfast.
And, to Rosamond's credit be it re-
corded, that, well as she loved sleeping
late, she was regularly up in good time,
and never, even for a single morning,
missed hearing this child read, seeing
her work, and attending to all that she
Bessy Bell was sweet-tempered and
docile, and her gratitude might be de-
pended upon, because she was grateful,
not only to Rosamond, but to the bene-
factress who was at a distance, of whom
she often spoke with great affection, and
about whose health she expressed great
At last, happily for this child and for
Rosamond, Mrs. Cole recovered, re-
turned to England, and sent for Bessy
Bell, who went to her, and was received
by her benefactress again with all her
Nothing more is to be known con-
cerning Mrs. Cole and Bessy Bell; but
we have the pleasure to assure all, who
are interested for Rosamond, that the
pain which she endured, in consequence
of the imprudence of which she had been
guilty, made a lasting and useful im-
pression upon her mind. Whenever
she was tempted to tell an ill-natured
anecdote, to amuse, or to produce sur-
prise or effect, she recollected Bessy
Bell, checked herself, and carefully re-
frained from any exaggeration, and from
all Petty Scandal.
AIRS AND GRACES.
ROSAMOND had now arrived at that
age, when girls are considered neither
quite as children, nor quite as women.
She became very desirous to please, and
anxious about her appearance and man-
ners. Her mother was in London; and
Rosamond, though she was much too
young to go out, as it is called, had op-
portunity of seeing, at her mother's, and
of meeting, at different houses, many
young companions. Uncertain which
of their manners she liked best, or what
would best become her, she tried a great
variety; sometimes catching involun-
tarily, sometimes purposely imitating
every new tone, look, gesture, and mode
of expression, of those whom she heard
admired, or whom she thought pretty,
graceful, or fashionable. In consequence
AIRS AND GRACES.
of these imitations and changes of man.
ner, Rosamond had become a little,
perhaps not a little, affected.
About this time her brother Godfrey,
who had been at school, returned to
spend the holidays at home.
One morning, a few days after his
arrival, he found Rosamond alone,
practising attitudes before a large
I am practising; I am going to
practise my chass6 for the quadrille this
evening, Godfrey," said she. You have
never seen me dance since I learned
quadrilles. I'll show you my steps."
Do so," said Godfrey; "but I am
afraid I shall not do as well for you as
Never mind, you'll do very well:
better, indeed, for you can speak to me,"
And then, in the hope of surprising
and delighting him, she ran her female
exercises o'er," displaying all her newly-
acquired airs and graces.
Godfrey, when she stopped to take
breath, and when she looked towards
him with modest expectation of applause,
sang, in a mock tone of rapture, the
words of an old song,
"With an air and a grace,
And a shape and a face,
She charms like beauty's goddess "
Rosamond was not quite pleased with
Godfrey's tone the first time he sang
her praises; but when, at each pause, as
her eye ever involuntarily turned upon
him for approbation, he recommended
the same song, she was no longer able
to conceal her disappointment, and,
in a tone of vexation, she exclaimed,
"Godfrey, I do wish you would not
sing so I"
"And suppose I was to answer,
Rosamond, I do wish you would not
How, brother?" asked Rosamond.
AIRS AND GRACES. ~7
"This way," replied he, imitating
the affected turns of the head, and all
her favourite grimaces, in a ludicrous
"How very odd! how very awk-
ward!" said Rosamond, half laughing.
" To be sure, nobody could like to see
any body dance so."
That is just what I was thinking,"
But, my dear Godfrey, I don't dance
in that ridiculous way."
"Are you sure that my way is at
all more ridiculous than yours?" said
I can only assure you," said Rosa-
mond, with a little conceited motion of
her head, and with a look and tone of
decided superiority, "I must only beg
leave to assure you, brother, that my
way was learned from somebody, who
is not thought at all ridiculous, but who
is universally admired."
Univerally admired I Who can
"One whom M. Deschamps called
*La reine des sylphes.' Lady Cecilia
Bouverie's niece, too, Susanetta Man-
," Susanetta Manners I Before I went
to school, did not I know one Susan
Manners?" said Godfrey.
"One Susan Manners! such a way
of speaking! Yes, you did know
her, Godfrey, and you thought her
very pretty; but she is much prettier
now, since she has been in Paris and
But how comes she to have turned
into Susanetta?" said Godfrey.
Not turned at all," replied Rosa-
mond; "but Susanetta is the Italian
for Susan: little Susan, the Italian di-
minutive, you know. She was always
Susanetta in Italy."
"But why not Susan in England,"
AIRS AND GRACES.
said the downright Godfrey, with a look
Oh, I don't know, because Susanetta
is so much prettier, and shows she has
been abroad. She learned to dance from
M. Deschamps in Paris; and she, like a
dear creature, as she is, taught me all
her steps, and the right way of doing
every thing. So you need not laugh at
Well, I will be serious; you know
I am but an ignoramus. Let me see
you do it again," said Godfrey; "en-
With all the simplicity, all the cre-
dulity of vanity, Rosamond recommended
her dance, exhibiting new graces for
Godfrey, who, she hoped, was now really
in admiration, for he was quite silent,
and profoundly attentive; till, just at
the moment when the favourite turn of
the neck, at the end of the chasse, came,
he burst forth again,
"With an air and a grace,
And a shape and a face,
She charm'd like beauty's god-des,"
bowing when he came to the flourish in
the middle of goddess. He sang in so
rude and insulting a strain, that Rosa-
mond, stopping in the midst of her dance,
exclaimed, Indeed, Godfrey, you put
me out entirely; I can not do my
I am only admiring you, my dear,
to the best of my ability; I thought
you wanted to be admired."
No, I do not in the least want you
to admire me, Godfrey," said Rosamond:
,"only do not put me out with that
odious 'beauty's god-dess.'"
"( What can beauty's goddess have to
do with your chass8?"
I don't say that it has any thing to
do with it; but-"
At this moment Laura, opening the
folding doors of the front drawing room,
told Rosamond, that she was ready to
AIRS AND GRACE.
play for her, if she was ready to
I am quite ready," said Rosamond,
" if Godfrey will be quiet. Now,
brother, do pray," added she, turning
to him with a look and tone of affected
distress, when I tell you it really
annoys me so."
It really annoys you so," repeated
Godfrey. An-noys me: I wish I
could say annoy with that pretty turn
of my head, that sweet close of my
eyelids, and that languid drawl of my
voice. Rosamond, could you teach me,
do you think ? Look now, is this it?
-It an-noys me so."
Pray, Godfrey, do not be so pro.
yoking, so foolish," said Rosamond.
" Did you never hear the word annoy
before ? Every body says annoy, I
assure you; and if you had not been
at school, you would have learned it too.
But," continued she, there is poor dear
Laura playing II Pastorale for me, wast-
ing her music on the desert air."
II Pastorale! Poor dear Labra
wasting her sweetness on the desert
air!" repeated Godfrey. "How fine;
I wish I could talk so. How I have
wasted my time at school! Oh Virgil
OvidI Homer! Horace! Caesar, and
all your commentaries I where are you
now? What are you all to this ?"
It is too much, Godfrey !" I cannot
bear it I" cried Rosamond. She ran to
the pianoforte, and, stopping Laura's
hand, Stop, and hear me," said she.
" Now, Laura, I appeal to you: when I
have not seen Godfrey for such a length
of time, and when I expected such plea-
sure, you know, from his coming home
at his holidays, is it kind of him, is it not
cruel of him, when I was doing all I
could to please him, too; is not it very
ill-natured of him to laugh at me, and
ring at me, and mimic me ?"
AIRS AND GRACES.
Laura was going to speak, but God-
frey put his hand before her mouth.
Ha I my own dear little sister
Rosamond I Now I hear your own
voice again; now I see you yourself
again; and now I love you with all my
"Love me!" said Rosamond, and
tears would have flown, but pride strug.
gled and repressed them.
"My dear, dear Rosamond," cried
Godfrey, "I love you with all my heart,
and that is the very reason I cannot
bear to see you any thing but what you
really are -so be my own dear Rosa.
"Welll am not I your own dear
Now you are."
"I am sure I am the same to you,
Godfrey; I love you as well as ever,"
VOL. I. H
But I could not love you as well as
ever," said Godfrey, "if "
"If what ?" said Rosamond. "Now
finish your sentence."
"Well, then; if you were to have
all those airs and graces that you have
lately learned, I could not like you so
well, Rosamond. You can't think how
the boys at school hate all affectation;
and I would not for any thing have a
sister of mine affected I "
"I am sure, Godfrey, I am not af-
fected. I don't know what you mean
by affectation. Nobody hates affectation
more than I do."
I am glad to hear that," replied
Godfrey. "But if you hate it so much,
you must acknowledge that you know
what I mean by it, else you say you hate
you don't know what. You see, my
dear, I have not been at school and
learned logic for nothing."
Indeed, I see you have not been at
AIRS AND GRACES.
school for nothing," said Rosamond;
" you have learned to triumph over, and
laugh at, your poor little sister."
"Come, come, I will triumph over
you no more, Rosamond," said Godfrey,
kissing her affectionately. Here is my
hand; I promise you I will not laugh
at you any more, if you will be your
own dear self. Only promise me that."
Rosamond, though now touched by
her brother's tone of tenderness and
affection, felt some remains of resent.
ment for his former irony, and had a
strong desire to make him retract his
charge of affectation, on which point
she was perhaps the more nice, from
a secret consciousness that there was
some truth in the reproach. She gave
him her hand, but not quite cordially.
Upon condition, brother," said she,
that you will never say I am affected
Upon condition, Rosamond, that
you will never be affected any more,"
But who is to be judge ?" said Rosa-
mond; "we shall never agree."
Will you agree that Laura shall be
judge?" said Godfrey.
With all my heart," said Rosamond;
"for I am sure she never thought me
affected: did you, Laura?"
A slight downcast look, and a playful
smile upon Laura's countenance, pre-
vented Rosamond from repeating her
question: but Godfrey pressed for an
Now do, Laura, answer, that Ros.a
mond may be convinced I am not un-
just, and that it is not all my fancy, and
that I am not so very hard upon her.
Now, Laura, can you say that you never
thought her affected?"
No, I cannot say that," replied
Laura; "I acknowledge I have seen
her sometimes, lately, appear a little
AIRS AND GRACES.
affected; but I don't think she is really
so, that is, I don't think she has the
habit of affectation. She has caught
looks, and manners, and ways, from
"Oh yes, I know. I acknowledge,
Laura, you told me of that, but in such
a different way from Godfrey-"
" That it did you no good, you find,"
said Godfrey, laughing.
No, no," said Rosamond; "but the
truth is, I imitate them often without
intending it, and I really don't always
know when I do it. If you would tell
me at the minute -"
Then, my dear," said Godfrey, I
will tell you whenever you do it and
don't know it. I'll always sing,
With an air and a grace," &e.
SBut you cannot sing in company,
you know," said Rosamond.
"But I could hum in a low tone,
just loud enough for you, and nobody
else, to hear."
"No, you could not hum; that will
never do," said Rosamond.
"Well, then, just the two words,
beauty's goddess, will do."
"No- beauty's goddess-nonsense:
how could you bring them in?" said
Trust to my ingenuity for that,"
said Godfrey; "or, without my saying
a word, this look, Rosamond will put
you in mind, and you will comprehend
my meaning, I will answer for it."
Pleased to see his power over Rosa-
mond, eager to exercise it, and flatter-
ing himself that his only motive was
the wish to do his sister good, Godfrey
spared no opportunity of singing, hum-
ming, saying, "beauty's goddess," call-
ing up his warning look. Rosamond
felt sometimes ashamed, sometimes
vexed. Often she appealed in private
AIRB AND GRACES.
to Laura, who endeavoured, u kindly
and gently u she could, to do justice
between them, and neither to fatter
Rosamond, nor to indulge Godfrey in
his love of power, and habit of teasing.
Rosamond, sincerely wishing to please
her brother, and as earnestly wishing to
avoid his dreaded ridicule, laid aside, in
the course of a fortnight, most of the
little affected habits of which she was
conscious; but still there were some
remaining to which she adhered, either
because they had grown habitual, and
she was therefore unconscious of them,
or because she thought that they were
too becoming, and too like some fashion.
able and charming model, to be hastily
abandoned, even in complaisance to
Godfrey. She thought he might not be
a perfect judge of fashion and manner,
and that he might be a little prejudiced,
a little perverse, and perhaps a little.
One instance of what she thought
caprice in him, she keenly felt. In con-
sequence of his dislike and ridicule of
what he had called the twist, and she
the turn, of her head in the quadrille,
she had taken pains to alter it, and had
abandoned various attitudes and graces
of the dance which she had learned from
Susanetta, "the queen of the sylphs;"
Godfrey had thanked her and approved
of her, and had declared, he liked her
own natural style of dancing a thousand
She was, or she endeavoured to be,
satisfied with his being pleased, though
it was some sacrifice, she thought, to
give up what others admired so much.
But Godfrey had not seen Susanetta's
dancing, till one night, when he met her
at a "children's ball," where she was
acknowledged to be the prettiest girl
in the room. Rosamond heard some
mothers near her wish, that their
AIRB AND GRACES. 81
daughters could dance like Min Su.
sanetta Manners; and many gentlemen
exclaimed, "Graceful! beautiful little
creature! certainly she dances inimita-
bly "Inimitably! Now," thought
Rosamond, "I could imitate that ex-
actly, and did; but I gave it up because
Godfrey called it affectation. Yet there
he is admiring it, after all."
At the first convenient opportunity,
when she and her brother were together,
Rosamond reproached him with his in-
So, Godfrey, after all, I saw you ad-
miring Susanetta's dancing last night."
Certainly," said he; "she dances
"Very well! So I told you," said
"I am happy to agree with you,
sister," said Godfrey.
"Happy to disagree with me, you
mean; else why did you laugh at me
for the very same way of dancing that
you admire in Miss Manners?"
It did not appear to me the same,"
But it was the same, I assure you:
I imitated her exactly, though some
people say she is inimitable," said Ro.
By your own account there was one
"Great difference I What ?"
SThat one was original, and the
other imitation," said Godfrey.
Ah I there was my folly in telling
you that I imitated her," said Rosa.
mond; "if I had not told it to you,
you never could have found it out."
"I beg your pardon, Rosamond: I
should have found it out immediately."
"YouI so little used to dancing!
pretend to be such a judge! such a
connoisseur I If this is not affectation !"
cried Rosamond I only wish that
AIRS AND RACES. W
Laura were here, that I might appeal to
Without appealing to any body, try
me, not only au to your dancing, but
as to your manners in general, and I
will tell you from whom you imitate
various tones, and twists, and words,
and even thoughts."
Rosamond doubted whether he could
do so, but not much liking to put him
to the proof, she passed over his offer
hastily, and said, "Well! but suppose
I did imitate those people, what then?
Where is the shame? Where is the
The shame is in your cheeks at this
moment: you blush at being found out,"
"At being suspected," aid Rosa.
mond. "But still I don't know the
harm of copying what I think engaging
or graceful in others."
Only the chance of making yourself
ridiculous and disagreeable," replied
But why disagreeable ? Why ri-
diculous? Why should that be dis-
agreeable in me," said Rosamond,
" which is thought agreeable in another?
I come round to my first question."
"And I to my first answer," said
Godfrey; "that one is original, and
the other imitation; and I detest all
imitations, of manners at least."
But still your detesting them is no
reason," said Rosamond.
"Every body detests them!" cried
That, begging your pardon, is a mis-
take," said Rosamond, "for many people
have liked and admired in me the very
same things that you detest. So you see
there's no disputing about tastes. But
why do you detest imitations? Now,
for the sake of argument, as you say,
Godfrey, suppose that you were one of
AIM AND GRACIS.
the persons who did not find out the
difference, why should not my dancing,
or my manner, in all those things that
you dislike, be as agreeable a the origi.
nals, if the imitation is quite perfect?"
But I tell you there is always this
difference, that one is natural and the
other affected; and though some few
may be taken in for a little time, it is
always found out at last."
And when it is found out, why is it
disagreeable," persisted Rosamond.
"Oh, you are arguing in a circle,"
cried Godfrey, impatiently.
We are," said Rosamond, and I
can't help it."
"s And I can't bear it," aid Godfrey;
" so I am off."
Rosamond felt that she was not con-
vinced by any thing he had said, and
saw that he went off because he was not
able to explain himself farther or to give
her any farther reason or answer to
her questions. She, after this conver.
nation, became much less submissive to
his opinion, and even withstood his ridi-
cule, in a manner that surprised him.
Sometimes she relapsed, as he said, into
her former follies, and then he exerted
all his wit and power over her, not only
to cure her, as he professed, but to
prove that he was in the right, and to
obtain the victory. Rosamond at last
became quite puzzled, and her manners
suddenly altered, and grew constrained
and awkward, especially when Godfrey
was present. When he was out of the
room she was more at her ease, but her
manner was not more natural or agree.
able, because, when relieved from his
observation, and from the fear of his
laughing at her, she took the opportunity
of trying experiments on new graces,
which she found, or fancied she found,
succeeded with new spectators.
All this had not passed unobserved
by her mother, who, one morning at
breakfast, took notice of some sudden
change in Rosamond's look and manner
when Godfrey came into the room, and
asked her to explain the cause of her
sudden silence, reserve, and constraint.
Rosamond, blushing, and seeming yet
more constrained and embarrassed, aid
only she was sorry, but she could not
help feeling awkward sometimes.
This answer not being quite satis-
factory, Godfrey could not forber smil-
ing: but then Rosamond's discomfiture
increasing, and Laura looking at him
reproachfully, he became serious, and a
very awkward silence ensued for at
least five minutes, which appeared, to
the parties concerned, of incalculable
length. Indeed, Rosamond doubted
whether it ever would end, or how, or
who would next venture to speak: she
was certain she could not, she hoped
Godfrey would not, and she wondered
Laura did not. Laura understood her
wishes, and made the effort, but what
she said will never reach posterity, as
not a creature present heard or under.
stood more, than that it was some obser-
vation on hot rolls.
6* I believe, Mother," exclaimed God-
frey, "I am the cause of it all; for I
believe I have gone too far, and done
more harm than good. Poor Rosamond!
I have plagued her too much, and I am
very sorry for it."
Well, then, if you are, it's all over,"
said Rosamond; "I am sure I forgive
you with all my heart, and there is an
end of the matter-only don't let us say
any more about it."
My dear Rosamond," said her
father, "I love your generous, forgiving,
amiable temper: it is particularly amia-
ble in a woman to be ready to yield, and
avoid disputing about trifles. And I am
convinced this will make your brother
more careful not to tease you;
AIRS AND GRACES.
SAnd tut me, dew, good hiro wil pnmil,
When an, and oiht, and ohreaum, ad moldingU
"But, Papa," mid Roamond, shrink-
ing back a little as her father was going
to kiss her, "I am afraid I don't quite
deserve it, for it was not all, or only
good humour that made me in such a
hurry to forgive Godfrey, and that made
me sy, Let us say no more about it; I
was rather ashamed of telling before
you, and Mamma, and every body, all
Whom do you mean by every body,
Rosamond, my dear," said her mother.
* Here are only your father, your sister,
your brothers, and myself. Which of
us stands for every body "
"I suppose I must be every body."
said Orlando, as Rosamond timidly
looked towards him. Since I am such
a terrific person, Ill go away a soon as
I have swallowed this cup of tea."
'( Pray don't go, Orlando," aid Ro-
samond. It is better for me that you
should stay; indeed, my dear Orlando,
it is my real wish."
She pressed so urgently upon his
shoulder, that he could not rise, in oppo-
sition to what he felt was her "real
And now, my dear, go on," said her
"You must know, then, Papa," said
Rosamond, "that Godfrey's dispute and
mine-I mean Godfrey's argument and
mine, was about affectation "
It seemed to be with some shame
or difficulty that she pronounced the
"Affectation, my dear," said her
father, "is, after all, as the wise and
indulgent Locke has observed, only a
mistaken attempt to please."
"Mistaken, indeed!" cried Orlando,
AIRS. AND GRACES.
and he spoke with a tone and look of
contempt, which Rosamond deeply felt.
But Orlando was so much taken up with
his own thoughts, that he did not per.
ceive the effect of his words.
Well, Rosamond, go on," said her
As soon as I can-as soon as I can
recollect what I was going to say, Papa:
I do not know, then, exactly what is
meant by affectation."
Not know what is meant by affecta-
tion!" cried Orlando, turning with a
look of astonishment.
Oh, Rosamond I Rosamond I" said
*"Take your own time, my dear
Rosamond," said her mother; "your
father will hear you patiently."
That I will, if 1 sit here till dinner
time," said her father.
Heaven forbid thought Godfrey,
making some sort of interjection be-