The Baldwin Library
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MARGARET AND TII ARDENIR.
MAROARET AND THE (ARDEF1R.
SUARTHU JHALL,VIRTU A C"
J ** PATERNOSTER TtOW.
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
a IBookt for Girls.
JANE M. WINNARD.
"Children are bleat and powerful; their world lies
More justly balanced, partly at their feet
And part far from them."-WORDSwoRTH.
"Wer fertig ist, dem ist nichts recht zu machen;
Ein Werdender wird immer dankbar aeyn."-GoETHS.
ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW.
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
As the following story is intended for the amuse-
ment of young people, not one word about
systems of education will be found in it. The
little I have to say on that head will be said
here, in the Preface; because girls and boys do
not read Prefaces, and parents and guardians do.
In these days of general enlightenment, when
new and improved modes of Female Education
are being tried in all quarters of the British
empire, with more or less faith in the result,-
when Ladies' Colleges, various systems of Home
Training, and other "aids to development,"
have established their superiority over the old
Boarding-schools for Young Ladies, and driven
them towards the vast limbo of bygone things, it
is somewhat bold for a simple individual, person-
ally unconcerned in the matter, to say a word
in favour of the old fashion. But it shall be
There are good boarding-schools for girls, as
well as bad ones-schools conducted by women
who are not mean, grasping, vulgar-minded, and
ignorant (as, I fear, too many schoolmistresses
are); but generous, large-hearted, highly-edu-
cated gentlewomen. The lives of these women
are often full of noble, touching lessons, which
great ladies who neither toil nor spin would do
well to get by heart when they come in their
way. The life of many a schoolmistress is one
steady course of industry and self-sacrifice for the
good of others; and the influence of such a
person over the young is always beneficial.
Women of this kind think of something beyond
half-yearly bills when they take charge of a
pupil (and are sometimes defrauded of their
well-earned money, in consequence); they edu-
cate her according to their knowledge and
ability, and take a real interest in her character
and future life. Until the middle classes get
a better-educated race of mothers than they
have at present, the occupation of such women
will not be gone, it seems to me. The great
want in Female Education, as in the rearing of
great men, is a want of well-educated mothers.
Girls ought to be trained to be mothers. They
should be made to understand early the dignity
and sanctity of the maternal life. They ought to
be taught that women (except here and there one)
have no higher duty in this world than
to rear, to teach,
Becoming as is meet and fit,
A link among the days to knit
The generations each with each."
This is a woman's proper task-perhaps it is
above all her other work. To fulfil this, she
requires high moral and intellectual culture-
a finely-balanced conscience, a steady will, know-
ledge and skill, taste and judgment. She must
also keep alive within her the habit of self-
improvement-bearing in mind that she will not
always be the nurse of babes and the teacher of
little children, but that she may live to be the
mother of grown men and women; and that, for
the sake of being their companion and friend (if
for no higher reason), she must not let her best
faculties grow inert, or keep them always tethered
down to the small necessities of the household.
Girls who have such a mother are blessed in-
deed; they are sure to be well educated-edu-
cated so as to be worthy to rear immortal beings
in their turn.
But society cannot be endowed with good
mothers as soon as it perceives its deficiency in
that particular; it must do the best it can to
produce them for future generations. In the
meantime the influence of a cultivated, high-
minded mother, and the warm, invigorating atmo-
sphere which she (the household sun) creates
around her, will be but poorly supplied in the
best school. Still, we cannot help thinking that
the generality of girls (under sixteen) would be
quite as well off for moral and religious train-
ing, and rather better off for intellectual dis-
cipline, in such a school, than they would be in
running about from one lecture to another at
a college, without the special direction of a com-
petent mother; or than they would be under a
scrambling, careless, inefficient system of edu-
cation at home, where an ill-regulated family is
presided over by bickering, discordant parents,
and where a governess is engaged, not to educate
the children under the mother's direction, but to
do so under her espionnage-the painfully sus-
picious espionnage-of an intensely interested, but
consciously incompetent ruler. Surely a select
and well-constituted school, managed by such a
mistress as I have described, would in most
cases be better for a girl than such a home-
education. It is not the best state of things,
certainly, but it may lead to a better one than
I have another word to say on the subject of
the Ladies' Colleges-institutions which appear
to me calculated to produce great and lasting
benefit to the country. It is only under the
direction of good mothers-and, failing them,
of good governesses-that lectures at a college,
or any where else, can really be beneficial to very
young girls. To young women whose school-
room education is finished, and who are earnestly
desirous of acquiring knowledge, lectures by
accomplished professors are of real value; they
are no longer children, and may be safely left to
pursue their studies by themselves; but little
girls are not the sort of students to learn
much from academic lectures. This is, I find,
the opinion of many professors at the colleges
already established: and new arrangements and
limitations with regard to age are being made in
consequence, which will facilitate the good work
to be achieved by these institutions.
Although this little book attempts to give a
truthful idea of life in a good school, the whole
is fictitious, nothing in it being copied from
real life except the name and uses of the "Grey
Room" and the sketch of Inez Olivarez, which
was suggested by a Portuguese girl whom I
knew at school. It was written some years ago,
when school-days were fresher in my memory
than they are now; but I cannot say that my
respect for the feelings and aspirations of that
little world is very much diminished by an in-
creased acquaintance with this great world and
its ways. J. M. W.
MY FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL
LAZY LAURA AND KATE MURRAY
ELLEN WARWICK .
MARY BELL AND OTHERS .
THE AWKWARD GIRL, THE STUPID GIRL,
MORE OF ELLEN WARWICK
AND THE POR-
THE GREY ROOM AND ELLEN'S RETURN
OUR BED-ROOM, AND A PRIVATE CONVERSATION
THE FRENCH TEACHER .
THE ENGLISH TEACHER
MISS CRAWFORD AND MISS ALLAN .
A JOURNEY ROUND THE SCHOOL-ROOM
SATURDAY AFTERNOON .
MISS ALLAN'S STORY.
AN UNCOMMON EVENT .
THE END OF MISS ALLAN'S STORY 203
PREPARING TO ACT A PLAY 227
THE END OF THE HALF-YEAR 242
THE EXAMINATIONS 258
SCHOOL THEATRICALS, AND THE BREAKING UP 274
MRS, ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
MY FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL.
THE manifold evil of Boarding-schools for Young
Ladies has been so frequently discussed, and is
now so generally recognized, that I almost despair
of being believed when I declare that Mrs.
Anderson's establishment at was
really excellent. As I was a pupil there for five
years (from the age of twelve to that of seven-
teen), it can scarcely be denied that I ought to
know something of the matter. I must confess
that my school-days were happy; and what is
more, that I thought so while they lasted. Most
of the girls were amiable and well-disposed; two
of them were, then, and still are, my dearest
friends. The teachers were, in general, sweet-
tempered, patient, and clever; and as to Mrs.
Anderson herself, she was just what a school-
mistress ought to be,-a mixture of firmness,
gentleness, cheerfulness, and good sense.
How well I remember first going to school !
As the carriage entered the gate and drove up the
formal avenue, I looked out eagerly, and was
struck with the novelty of all I saw. It was so
unlike our own cheerful-looking home! The
trees were cut into odd forms; -I saw no flowers;
and the grass plats were surrounded by low iron
rails, indicating that little girls were not allowed
to run or lie on them. Then the house displeased
me. It was large, old, built of red brick, with
no balconies, verandahs, or pretty ornaments of
any kind; and there was an ugly little belfry at
one end of the roof, which I did not like, at all.
The only thing which I did like, was a pretty
little arched window, at one side of the house,
which was half hidden by honeysuckle and
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
clematis. There were two peacocks, too, moving
slowly in front of the house door, that I considered
redeeming points amid the surrounding ugliness.
A strange feeling of coldness came over me as
I waited, with my mamma, in the drawing-room
of Avenue House until Mrs. Anderson should
make her appearance. I had been told, a hundred
times, that she was kind and gentle, and mamma's
oldest friend; but still I had never seen her, and
she was a school-mistress. How my heart palpi-
tated when the door opened, and Mrs. Anderson
entered! And then, how different she was from
what I had expected! She was certainly very
tall and dignified, but then it was so very unlike
the tallness and dignity I had pictured to myself.
Besides, she had mild, blue eyes, instead of
piercing, commanding black ones; her nose was
not in the least sharp or aquiline; on the con-
trary, it was short and round, like the rest of her
face. Her joyful, affectionate manner, as she
embraced mamma, quite re-assured me, and I felt
that I should love her very soon. At length she
turned her attention to me; examined my coun-
tenance attentively, and then smiled at mamma,
as if the examination had satisfied her, saying,
" How much she is like what you were at twelve
years old That pleased me, for I had often
heard that mamma had been a very pretty little
"And so you mean to leave her with me, while
you and the Major go to India?" asked Mrs.
Anderson, looking affectionately from mamma to
"Yes, if you will undertake the charge, Mary.
I bring her now that she may get accustomed to
school, and learn to love you, before papa and I
As mamma said these words, the tears almost
came into my eyes, and I asked, "But I am to go
home again before you and papa sail?"
Surely, my darling," cried mamma, pressing
me to her, with more than usual fondness. I
only wish you to remain here, now, because papa
and I shall be very busy with preparations for our
voyage during the next week or two; if you were
to be at home, we could see but very little of you,
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
and therefore we think it better that you should
come here and learn something of your new mode
of life. As soon as we have more leisure, papa
and I shall only be too glad to have our own
sweet Meg again, to stay with us until we sail."
To grown-up people, all this must have seemed
very reasonable;-not so to me;-I thought it
very hard that I could not be allowed to stay
with my parents during the bustle and confusion
attendant upon giving up house-keeping, and
preparing for a year's sojourn in India, whither
my papa (a major in the then king's troops) was
obliged to go upon some important military
business. I was not otherwise an unreasonable
child. I did not cry because I was not to go
to India with them; but I did think it rather
unkind of mamma to send me away from her, on
any account, now that we were to be separated for
so long a time. Of course I did not understand
that mamma was really sacrificing her own greatest
pleasure (the daily sight of her only child), for
the good of that child, who, she justly supposed
would suffer less when her parents left the
country, if she had learned, to know and to like
the household in which she was to reside.
I suppose that my countenance betrayed my
feelings; for Mrs. Anderson took me kindly by
the hand, and putting back my hair from off my
face, looked steadily but affectionately into my
eyes, and said, "My dear little Margaret, you
must not fancy that it is a very terrible thing to
come to school and live with me."
"No, ma'am; -but to leave mamma,"-I
"That is an evil, certainly; but as it cannot be
avoided, as papa and mamma think it best to
choose this little evil out of others that are
greater, Margaret Granby will bear it bravely
and cheerfully, I am sure, if it were only to avoid
giving mamma unnecessary anxiety. If Margaret
does this, she will be like her mamma in mind as
well as in face."
These words produced a great effect on me.
There was something so gentle yet so steady-
so affectionate and yet so reasonable-in Mrs.
Anderson's manner, that I felt at once her
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
ascendancy over me. From that moment Mrs.
Anderson's good opinion became necessary to my
happiness. I wanted to make her love me as she
used to love my mamma; for to be as good, as
wise, and as clever as mamma, was the height of
Impelled by an irresistible inclination, I put
my arms round Mrs. Anderson's neck, and she
gave me a sweet kiss. I then turned to kiss
mamma, and said that I was quite sure I should
be happy there. This pleased them both, and I
remember mamma laughed in her sweet way, and
shaking her head at Mrs. Anderson, she said,
"Ah! I see, Mary, you have lost none of your
old tricks; you win every heart, just as you did
twenty years ago. Pray what is the use of your
keeping a school ? You have not got your heart
petrified yet, in spite of your fear." I looked at
Mrs. Anderson curiously. How dreadful, I
thought, must be a disease that is likely to turn
the heart into stone It was some days before I
was assured that Mrs. Anderson was not suffering
from a painful disease of the heart. The reader
will perceive, by this mistake of mine, that I
was not a clever child, but always took things
Avenue House, or, as the gardener was pleased
to call it, Have a new house, as the name intimates,
was approached by an avenue of trees, and stood
in the midst of an extensive old-fashioned garden.
This avenue and garden attracted my attention as
I looked out of the window while mamma and
Mrs. Anderson were talking. Presently one of
the two peacocks came to the window, and spread
his beautiful tail.
"Oh, mamma; mamma, may I go into the
garden ?" Permission was given, and in a
moment I was trying to make friends with the
bird. I was devotedly fond of animals, and
could not bear to part from my little menagerie
at home, so mamma was to ask Mrs. Anderson
to let me have my Italian greyhound, Fani, and
my squirrel, Jacko, and Goldee, my sweet little
canary bird, all at school with me. If this
request were granted I thought I should not
so much mind having my pony and the dear
Illl \ \\
THF PFT OF TITF PL4X OR4W)I'nD
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
little doves and rabbits sold. Mrs. Anderson
very kindly allowed me to have my pets with me,
because, as she said, her house was to be home,
as well as school, to me, while papa and mamma
At last the time came for mamma to go-the
carriage was at the door-
Some natural tears I shed, but wiped them soon."
This was not to be a long separation, and papa
was to come and see me in three days; therefore
I stood with my hand in Mrs. Anderson's on the
lawn, and watched the carriage with tolerable
composure, and when mamma waved her hand-
kerchief to me, just as it turned out at the gate,
I returned the salutation with great energy.
Then came my first visit to the school-room.
How strange and bewildered was my feeling in
the midst of that room full of girls! When Mrs.
Anderson led me into it, it was not school-time,
and the girls were all talking and amusing them-
selves in different parts of the room. The noise
was considerable; but it gradually ceased when
the governess with "a new girl" made her
appearance. I stood abashed and awkward,
feeling that twenty pairs of eyes were all on me
at once, and wishing, most heartily, that mamma
were not gone, or that I could run after her. But
there was no escape, and impossible as it seemed,
I must get accustomed to all those strangers.
Mrs. Anderson called Rose Wilson," and a
cheerful looking girl, apparently about two years
older than myself, advanced.
"Rose, my dear, I give my little friend here
into your charge, to initiate her into our mode
of living. Take her over the house, and do all
that you can to make her forget we are strangers
to her. She is to sleep in the little white room,
and you are to sleep there also."
Rose smiled, and took my hand. How re-
luctantly I left Mrs. Anderson's side She
seemed to bear about her the last faint reflection
of the light of home, for I had last seen mamma
talking with her. Yet there was no help for it,
so I was obliged to go from her and follow my
new guide. She led me into a corner at the
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
farther end of the room, and we sat down together,
on a form. Mrs. Anderson soon retired; and
when the twenty pairs of eyes had looked at
me, some with broad stares, others with furtive
glances, until the first edge of girlish curiosity
was blunted, the noise gradually recommended,
and my companion began to speak to me.
How do you like coming to school ?"
"I do not know, yet. I never was at school
Never at school before ? Why, how old are
"I was twelve the third of last May."
"Oh, then, I suppose you have had a governess
at home ?"
"No, I never had a governess. Mamma
A pause-during which Miss Wilson looked
as if she fancied I must be very ignorant, and I
looked as if it were not the case. Nor was it;
as I certainly did great credit to maternal instruc-
tion. Perhaps I excelled the more, that I was
anxious to prove to every one that it was quite
possible to learn grammar, history, and geography
as well at home as at school, and that my mamma
took as much pains, and was as able to teach, as
the best governess in the world.
I suppose you feel rather dull at first coming
to school ?" enquired Rose Wilson.
Yes," and a little sigh, was the answer.
Then Rose put her arm gently round my waist,
and said, with a face beaming with kindness,
"Never mind, dear, you will soon get over
that. I thought when I first came to school that
I should never be happy, but I soon found I
was mistaken. You will like nearly all the
girls; and as to Mrs. Anderson, you will adore
her. And Miss Stuart is very kind, although
she is obliged to be strict, you know; and
Madame d'Almette will let you do whatever
you like provided your French lesson is well
"Who is that pretty little girl playing at ball
"Oh, that is my little sister. Do you think
she is pretty ?"
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Oh, yes, very. Do call her here, and let me
speak to her."
"Grace; Grace, dear;" cried Rose Wilson,
Grace was not a shy child, and came directly.
She was a lovely little black-eyed girl, of about
seven years old, with soft curly dark hair and a
very animated expression. I was as fond of
little children as I was of animals, and when I
had prevailed on Grace to sit on my lap I forgot
that I was in a strange place. Presently I heard
the great bell ring, and Rose Wilson told me
that we were all going to tea, now. I observed
all the young ladies hastening from the room,
and we followed them, Grace holding my hand
while I linked my arm in that of Rose.
When we arrived in the tea-room (which was
one appropriated to meals only), I stared in utter
astonishment at the two long tables, spread with
white cloths, and surrounded by young ladies
ranged on forms. Before each girl was a white
china mug with a gold rim round the top, of
rather larger dimensions than the well-remem-
bered one from which I used to drink milk, in the
nursery, at home. These mugs were filled, some
with weak tea, and some with milk, according to
the taste of the owner. On each table were
placed three plates of bread and butter, cut as
hot buttered toast is generally cut; that is to say,
a loaf is cut in slices rather less than half-an-inch
thick, and these slices are afterwards cut into
quarters. It appeared to me that the young
ladies could not possibly eat all that bread and
butter; but I found out my mistake, for the plates
were soon emptied, and the bell was rung for
more. At the head of one of these tables sat
Mrs. Anderson; before her was an ordinary tea
equipage, and she made the tea for herself and
the teachers, and such of the young ladies as
preferred tea to milk. At the other end of her
table sat Miss Crawford, the music teacher. At
the two ends of the other table sat Miss Stuart
and Madame d'Almette, the English and French
teachers. These three ladies, I was given to
understand by my new friend, Rose Wilson, were
recent arrivals in the establishment, and parties
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
ran high among the girls, on the subject of their
respective merits. She herself preferred Miss
Stuart, "because she was so very clever, and
Mrs. Anderson seemed to respect her so much.
It was a pity she was so very plain. Miss Craw-
ford was pretty enough, but she seemed a con-
ceited, cross thing;" but, as for Madame
d'Almette-she was "a dear creature, quite a
love; only she was so strict about their verbs."
This information, together with many more
minute particulars concerning all the elder girls,
did Rose contrive to give me before we went to
bed. Just before we retired for the night, the
school-room was cleared of books, slates, work-
boxes; everything was put into its place, and
the forms were ranged against the walls; every
young lady took her own place, and a mes-
senger was sent into the parlour to inform
Mrs: Anderson that we were ready for prayers.
The bell was then rung for the servants, and
when all were assembled, Mrs. Anderson read
a chapter from the Bible, and afterwards a
prayer, in which we all joined, in silence, on
our knees. On this first night, as on every other,
while I was at school, my thoughts turned with
affectionate solicitude to my parents. I am quite
sure that, to many of us, this regular morning and
evening prayer was not a mere tedious form; -
although to the rest I believe it was. After
prayers we each went up to Mrs. Anderson to
kiss her and wish her "good night."
I did not quite like the little white room" at
first. I had just come from my own sweet
bedroom, with its carpet, and writing-table, and
pretty toilette, and a hundred trifles which could
not be given to every girl in a school.
How do you like this room ?" asked Rose.
"Why, I do not like it much; there is no
carpet, and no curtains to the window-no long
curtains, I mean-and the paper is ugly and old,
"Ah, I see," interrupted Rose; "you have
been accustomed to a very pretty bedroom at
home. Come, you must tell me all about your
home,-will you ?"
"Oh, yes!" cried I, joyfully, and I was be-
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL. 17
ginning an animated description of Granby Lodge,
when Rose reminded me that I must undress;
for that "we were only allowed half-an-hour at
night, and three quarters of an hour in the morn-
ing."--4 Wait till we are in bed, and Madame
has taken our candle, and then you can tell
me all." I did as she said ;-and I forgot that
I was at school in talking about my home. This
lasted until we both fell asleep.
LAZY LAURA AND KATE MURRAY.
I Do not intend to give a regular chronological
account of my school life. Indeed, as I remained
with Mrs. Anderson five years (owing to the
unexpected detention of my parents in India),
such an account would, necessarily, be mono-
tonous. Life, in a school, affords no striking
adventures or moving accidents, yet it is not
altogether devoid of interest or of entertainment.
Some of my readers will perhaps peruse this
little book with pleasure, because it may recall
their own school days; and those who have never
been to school may be curious to hear how
school-girls pass their time.
I had always been accustomed to early rising,
so that getting up at six o'clock was not a trouble;
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
but to dress in three-quarters of an hour, that I
could not accomplish at first; for I had been
accustomed to be dressed by mamma's maid. I
complained of the inconvenience of dressing
myself; but my companions, instead of pitying,
laughed at me;-and, for a long time, I was called
"the helpless young lady." This was very
unpleasant to me. I, who had always been
petted, to be laughed at! Indeed it made me
quite unhappy, for a few days; however, I bore
all raillery about that and other things without
getting into a passion; therefore I soon became a
favourite, and after a few months nobody laughed
at that good-natured thing, Margaret Granby."
At one period I was rendered uncomfortable by a
careless or ill-natured report of one of the girls, that
I was very proud because my family was good and
my papa was a distinguished officer, and that I
looked down with contempt upon one or two girls
in the school whose parents were manufacturers, or
engaged in some sort of trade. Now, it was true
that I disliked the manners and style of thought
of those very girls ; but I should have liked them
no better had their parents been noble; they were
always boasting of the wealth and expenditure of
their families. This was, to me, very disgusting,
especially as it was generally done for the
purpose of mortifying some poor girl whose
friends were far from wealthy. And I confess
that once, in a fit of indignation on the subject, I
said more than was kind or proper about vulgar,
purse-proud parvenus, who were so anxious to
make their gentility oppressive to such as might
not have so much money, but who had far more
refinement of mind and manner. Did it follow
because Mrs. B. came in a handsome carriage, to
see her daughters, and Mrs. A. came by the
omnibus to the end of the road, and was obliged
to walk up to the house, to see hers,-did it follow,
as a necessary consequence, that Mrs. A. was not
a lady in the true sense of the word, or that
Mrs. B. was ? I could form some opinion, for I
had seen both ladies, in this house, and in their
own homes, to which I had accompanied Mrs.
Anderson, in the holidays; and, whatever might
be the fortune of Mrs. B., she was far inferior in
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
all that marks the gentlewoman to Mrs. A."
This speech of mine made me many enemies, but
it was the cause of a sincere affection between me
and one of the girls, the daughter of a lady who
had lost wealth and station by the death of her
The Great Bell was a subject of dispute among
the girls. Those who liked it, asserted that
the bell had a cheerful sound, and that it was
aristocratic to be summoned to meals by it;
the other party, on the contrary, asserted that it was
doleful to hear, and that it was "just like being
common workmen" to be called to meals by a bell.
However, no one ever gave the poor bell so
many angry words and disparaging epithets as
Laura Harrington, otherwise known among us as
" Lazy Laura." As soon as the bell sounded at six
o'clock in the morning, Laura would begin a low
inarticulate grumbling; this became gradually
louder and more distinct, being generally accom-
panied with impatient plunges about her bed,
while her head was carefully kept under the
clothes. At the end of a quarter of an hour's
grumbling and plunging, Laura would venture to
look out, and on seeing her two companions in
the bed-room, half dressed, she would inquire
angrily why they got up so soon ?"
Soon, Laura!-why it is a quarter-of-an-hour
since the bell rang."
Whereupon Laura would begin-" Oh that tire-
some, nasty, stupid, old bell I am sure it rang
too soon this morning-it cannot be six o'clock
yet; I have not been asleep more than an hour,
I'm sure! I shall not get up yet! I hate the
bell! I wish it would fall down &c. &c.
By the time she had given vent to her anger
at being obliged to get up, it was generally time
for her to go down stairs, and she was still in her
night-dress; in which, indeed, it is probable she
might have remained all day, but for the timely
assistance of a friend. Poor Laura! I can see
her now, with her large blue eyes half shut, her
hair hanging deplorably about her long heavy
face; her listless figure constantly drooping
forward, and her frock always falling off her left
shoulder. Oh Laura Harrington! dear Lazy
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Laura If ever a good-natured, odd, sleepy,
indolent girl lounged through that busy school-
life, you were she! Now that you have gone
back to your own dear Jamaica, may you have no
more "abominable bells" to disturb you; and
may you be as idle as your heart can desire for
active to any useful purpose you surely never
A striking contrast to Laura was her "very
particular friend," Kate Murray. At the first
sound of the morning bell it was Kate's wont to
start up in bed and jump immediately to the
middle of the floor, where after cutting a caper,
or making a pirouette, she would settle down and
put on her shoes and stockings, and then proceed
to the other parts of her toilette with a silent
energetic rapidity quite edifying to behold. No
one could get Kate to converse while she was
dressing; it was a business to be got through
without trifling; for was there not Laura to be
dressed, as well as herself, in the three-quarters of
an hour allotted to us ?
As Kate observed, "Laura would never be
dressed at all if she had not some one to help
her. Mrs. Anderson would always be displeased
with her, and then poor Laura would cry herself
into a consumption In order to avoid this
melancholy catastrophe, Kate became a sort of
guardian angel to Laura. By her aid, Laura was
dressed and undressed; it was Kate who carried
her through the business of the day, reminding
her of every duty, helping her with her lessons,
exercises, drawing, music;-in short, Kate, was
indispensable to Laura's school existence.
In school time such snatches of dialogue as
the following might frequently be overheard.
Kate. Come, don't you know that lesson yet,
Laura. Very nearly.
Kate. Well, I told you, you could only have
twenty minutes for it. Now do be quick, there's
a dear industrious girl or I shall not have time
to hear you say it over before I go to the French
Laura. Oh! never mind hearing me to-day,
Kitty; I will be sure to know it.
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Kate. Yes, I dare say! just as if I could
trust you to yourself! There, go on again as fast
as you can; for Miss Stuart is in a very par-
ticular humour this morning, and will not pass
over anything, I can tell you that.
Laura would then bury her head in her book,
and gabble inarticulately for several minutes with
surprising vigour. Then a whispered admonition
Kate. Laura, dear! do take your arms off
the table, and put your frock on your shoulder,
and sit a little more upright; for there is Miss
Stuart looking at you.
Laura. Well! Let her look !
Kate. Nonsense You will have a mark for
mal tenue, and you had one yesterday, and
one the day before, and then what will Mrs.
Anderson say at the end of the week ?
Laura. I do not care. When I was at home,
Kate. Oh! never mind about Jamaica, now.
Let me hear if you know that lesson.
Laura would begin to repeat the lesson. In the
midst of it the French teacher's voice would
be heard calling for "La premiere classes de
Kate. There, Laura I told you so Come,
be quick. I cannot keep Madame waiting for
me. What are the other chief towns on the
Laura. Oh oh !-now I know !-Hamburgh
Kate. Oh Laura! After all this time! What
shall I do with you? In five minutes more,
Miss Stuart will call you to say this lesson, and
you know nothing about it.
Laura. Well, Kitty, dear, never "mind me!
What does it signify ? I am a dunce, you know;
and you can't alter me. There's Madame calling
again you'll get in disgrace with her if you do
not go directly; that, indeed, would be something
to care about, and you at the top of the class!
Here, take your French exercise, dear-go, go !
I will learn my geography so well! Oh, do go,
dear!--Chief cities on the Danube, Vienna,
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Kate would then snatch up her books, and go
reluctantly to join her class; but in such circum-
stances, it was a rare thing that she did not,
cheminfaisant, pounce upon some friend who did
not seem particularly occupied, and entreat her
"to help that poor Laura with her geography."
To see Laura preparing for a walk was highly
amusing. It was the custom for us all to put
on our bonnets and pelisses in the same apart-
ment, one called the dressing-room, so that there
was generally no little bustle among us. In vain
Kate would collect the various articles necessary
for Laura's toilet, and give them into her hands
with a stimulating -
"Now, Laura do be quick,-there's a dear
girl! Let us be the very first in the Hall to-day."
It was in vain. Laura would either drop each
thing, and not know that she had dropped it; or
she would put it down and forget where she had
laid it; and the dressing-room would resound
with her voice,-now hurried, now plaintive:
"Oh have you seen my cap ?-There, now my
collar has gone !-I had it this moment.-Now,
who has taken my collar ?-Oh, I see it !-Here,
Grace! little Grace Wilson! just crawl under
the table, and pick up my bonnet, there's a dear
little thing! Thank you, darling! Oh, how
it is bent! What will Kate say? I wonder
how it got under the table It never will come
straight. Grace, dearest, just run and tell Kate
to come to me, or I shall never be ready. Oh !
There now! There goes that horrid bell I
never shall be ready, and now my gloves are
gone How provoking! What an unfortunate
girl I am !-Somebody always takes my gloves !
I am sure it is done on purpose "
By this time Laura's voice had generally
assumed the tone of entire desolation. At this
critical moment Kate would arrive, fully equipped,
and with a few rapid motions and judicious
twistings-about of Laura's person, would contrive
to get it arrayed, not without a considerable
amount of running to and fro, on the part of
Grace Wilson, who was a great pet of the two
friends, and was very proud to render either of
them a service.
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
To me there was always something interesting
about the friendship of these two girls. Kate's
devotion to Laura was like that of a mother to a
child;-nothing could alter it. In vain the
other girls ridiculed her; remonstrated with her;
said Laura was idle, stupid, and good for nothing;
and wondered what Kate could see in her to
love. Kate still loved Laura through evil and
good report. Laura, on her side, loved and
honoured Kate-she felt her superiority, acknow-
ledged it, and was proud of it. As to Kate's
acquirements, she believed them to be very
extensive ;-certainly, second to none but those of
Miss Stuart and Mrs. Anderson. With what
firm incredulity she would listen to any one who
should say that Kate Murray was not the most
clever girl in the school,-that Mary Bell knew
a great deal more about music; Margaret Granby
(that was myself) knew much more about
drawing; and Ellen Warwick knew more about
everything else that was taught at school! Laura
was immoveable in her belief, and persisted in it
-to the frequent annoyance of Kate, who would
30 MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
get quite angry in her endeavours to persuade
Laura that she was not very learned and accom-
Now they have long left school. One lives in
Jamaica, the other in Edinburgh-both are
married. Time and circumstances have doubtless
changed their views, opinions, and feelings; yet
I am persuaded that they now remember with
unmixed pleasure the days they spent together at
Mrs. Anderson's school.
IN that little world there was the same variety I
have since found in this great one. We had
among us the strong and the weak-the poor and
the rich-the overbearing and the sycophantic-
the noble-minded and the mean-the naturally
refined and the naturally coarse-hearted. Among
us, also, there were strange fellows of Nature's
framing-we had our dullards and laughing-
stocks-our buffoons and oddities-our wits and
higher intelligence. One, indeed, we had'with
a spark of the sacred fire of genius; and she
created a greater sensation and caused more dis-
cussion than any six of the other girls. Ellen
Warwick had the portion of genius, even at school.
She was wondered at, and laughed at, misunder-
stood and suspected, admired and depreciated,
loved and hated, with more intensity than any of
us. I am proud to say that she was one of my
two friends, and in spite of the tracasserie of a
school and the trials of after-life, we have always
loved each other.
How shall I describe her? Her person and
manners, like every thing belonging to Ellen,
were subjects of dispute among us. "Ellen
Warwick pretty !" some one would exclaim:
"How very absurd Why, all her features are
Then there would be an outcry of-" Oh oh !
how can you say so ? Look at her eyes !"
"Well, even they are not a good colour; they
are quite grey, they are not blue,-and how low
her forehead is! "
"Yes; but it is very broad, and so white."
"Her mouth is as broad as her forehead."
"It is not a silly, insignificant, little mouth,
certainly; but she has beautiful teeth, and such a
smile And, then, what a quantity of beautiful
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Well, I think her quite plain "
"That's because you do not like her, I
know many persons who think her more than
Of course that must be because they are so
fond of her that they are blind to her defects.
For my part, I cannot see what there is in Ellen
Warwick to make such a fuss about. I think
she is very conceited and very proud; because
people think her so very clever."
"She is very clever; but I am sure she is not
half so conceited as some people I could name."
"I do not know who you mean; but I think
Ellen Warwick is a disagreeable girl, and a plain
girl; and I do not like her at all. It is quite
ridiculous to hear so much said about her;--one
would think she was a duke's daughter,-she is
made of so much importance."
And if she were a duke's daughter she would
not be more really important, in my opinion, than
she is now."
And thus the question could never be settled.
As I said before, Ellen Warwick was the
genius of our school. She wrote poetry, which
we thought very beautiful, and which certainly
was far superior to the verses of other young
ladies of fifteen. She drew caricatures (without
a grain of ill-nature in them) which threw us
into convulsions of laughter; they were so droll
and so like the originals. She found out the
meaning of every inexplicable passage in our
lessons; she was always applied to to solve a
difficulty, or to invent a means to an end. She
was unrivalled in fictitious narratives; she would
often entertain Mary Bell and myself (who
occupied the little white room with her) by telling
such wonderful stories of her own invention
that we listened half the night, and occasionally
until the dawn of the next day. As regards
her school progress, she was too irregular to
keep the first place among us,-she had alternate
moods of activity and languor, very provoking
to her instructors; she got more scoldings and
lectures than any of us. Her carelessness became
a proverb,-she always forgot to put things in
their right places, and her dress, without being
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
slovenly, was never distinguished by extraordi-
nary precision and neatness. She sometimes
stepped unconsciously beyond the limits of the
school customs and rules, which, to others, were,
as the laws of nature, unquestioned and inevitable.
For instance,-one day during the drawing-lesson
(at which a strict silence was always preserved)
the drawing-master happened to take from his
pocket a small volume, which he placed on the
table near Ellen's drawing. While waiting for
some paint to dry, she took up this book: it was a
volume of Shakspeare, containing her favourite
play, "As you like it." To the astonishment of her
companions she made some observations to Mr.
Bernard on the comparative beauties of Rosalind
and Celia. Mr. Bernard was struck with her
remark, and replied with animation. I believe
they conversed for nearly ten minutes. Her
companions, who for the most part understood
nothing of what was said, "did in gaping
wonderment abound," and looked anxiously at
Mrs. Anderson to see what she thought of so
unprecedented an event. That lady was at first
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
dumb with astonishment, but she, at length,
recovered, and, with a good-natured smile, told
Mr. Bernard that "if he allowed Miss Warwick
to talk about poetry she would do no more
painting that morning." Ellen, re-called to a
sense of her infringement of school proprieties,
became painfully embarrassed, and never raised
her eyes from her drawing again until the lesson
was finished. This little circumstance was long
remembered against Ellen by those among us
who disliked her; she was accused of vanity and
conceit, and of a wish to attract Mr. Bernard's
admiration,-which accusations she cast back
with scorn and anger, or with silent contempt.
Poor Ellen! Yes, she was then somewhat
proud; but how gentle! how affectionate! how
full of sensibility and the truest generosity! I
shall have more to say of Ellen in another place.
I will only add now that she was a year younger
than I, and did not come to Mrs. Anderson's
school until I had been there three years.
MARY BELL AND OTHERS.
I WILL now say something about a few more
of the girls who occur to my mind as the most
remarkable. I shall pass over in silence many
who came and went during the first three years
of my stay, and shall mention those who were my
schoolfellows when I was in my sixteenth year.
The teachers I reserve for a later part of my little
book. To begin with my other friend, Mary
Bell. Mary Bell was not pretty; Mary Bell
was decidedly plain. She was not clever,-
indeed she was the reverse of clever; but she
had a power of steady perseverance that I have
seldom seen equalled; and one bright gift she
had, which all the world has since admired.
Even you yourself, dear reader, whether school-
. RECOLLECTIONS OF
girl or not, must have heard of her vocal power,
even if you have never heard her sing in concert
or oratorio ; for the unassuming, insignificant
Mary Bell is now acknowledged to have one of
the finest voices ever produced in this anti-vocal-
excellence climate. Mary was the eldest of a
large family. Her mother was the widow of a
professional man who died young, leaving a deli-
cate and somewhat weak-minded wife to bring up
seven children on a very small income.
Poor Mrs. Bell! I am sure in her case, the
back seemed very ill-suited to the burden yet
she soon received powerful aid, and from the last
quarter to which she would have looked for it.
Her daughter Mary was now fourteen. Up to
this time she had been remarked for nothing but
strong physical health-a love of singing, an
abhorrence of all books, and a seeming inability
to comprehend anything but the most obvious
appeals to the senses. She was a girl whom
everybody called "good-natured" out of charity,
because no one could call her graceful or pretty,
not even her father,-and fathers do make the
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
wildest misjudgments concerning their daughters'
looks. They seem to me far more blind in that
respect, than mothers,-than lovers. As to
calling her sensible or clever, it was out of the
question. She was what her own family mildly
termed rather dull," and what other unpreju-
diced people emphatically pronounced "stupid."
Her younger brothers and sisters cheated her in
play, imposed on her, and laughed at her.
As I said before, Mary was about fourteen
when her father died. His death operated on
her in a wonderful manner,-as the magic kiss
of Riquet changed the nature of the princess in
the fairy tale. She sprung at once into a careful
thoughtful girl. Her mother could scarcely
believe it possible that it was her Mary, who
would sit for hours by her bed-side to soothe her
grief,-who quieted the little ones,-who delivered
messages, to and from gentlemen on business,
clearly and distinctly,-and who understood so
well what was said to her. In a few months
Mary spoke of plans for the future,-the silly
thoughtless Mary no more.
Among Mrs. Bell's friends was a musical com-
poser of eminence. He had once said that Mary's
voice would be worth a fortune to a public singer.
Mary, who never used to remember anything,
remembered this now. She prevailed on her
mother to write to this gentleman, inquiring the
best course she could pursue in order to cultivate
her voice properly as a professional singer. For,
said Mary, "I can never gain my own living in
any other way, I am sure. I am a great deal too
stupid to learn enough to be a governess; besides
I could earn much more money as a singer, they
tell me: don't you remember, mamma, Mr. B.
said I might make a fortune by my voice-only
think, mamma! if I were able to gain money
enough to help you and the children!" Mrs.
Bell behaved at first like a very weak-minded
woman, as she was. "No daughter of hers
should ever be a public singer; she would rather
see her starve first," &c. However, a little more
reflection, and a more pressing feeling of pecu-
niary deficiency, made her alter her opinion; and
she wrote to Mr. B., as Mary had requested. He
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
was a kind-hearted man, and had himself
struggled hard with poverty in early life; he now
offered to superintend Mary's musical education
gratis. At his suggestion Mary was placed at
Mrs. Anderson's school, where she gave what
assistance she could give, in consideration of the
smallness of the sum her mother paid for her.
In honour to Mrs. Anderson be it said, no one in
the house could have supposed that Mary Bell
was not received into it on precisely the same
terms as any other young lady; indeed it was a
general notion in the school that Miss Bell was
Mrs. Anderson's favourite. Mr. B., who resided
near Avenue House, never neglected his self-
imposed task; he came regularly twice a week, to
give lessons in music and singing to Mary, who
was his only pupil; he taught for love, but he
would not teach for money. Mrs. Anderson
allowed Mary to practise four hours a day at first,
and afterwards six. This was a great rock of
offence to the music teacher, who was no great
friend to musical genius in another, probably
because she was utterly without it herself. But
if she had had it, could she have been a musical
teacher in a school ? As a reward to Mary for
her intense application to the science of music,
Mrs. Anderson allowed her to take drawing
lessons, because she had evinced no trifling taste
in that art; besides which she took lessons from
Signor Contaro, the Italian master, because a
correct pronunciation of Italian is indispensable
to a public singer. Gentle, hard-working Mary !
You seemed too oppressed with a feeling of grati-
tude. We none of us understood your devoted
love of Mrs. Anderson How eager you were to
save her trouble-to prevent her knowing little
school matters that would give her pain How
affectionate, how respectful, you were to all your
teachers As Madame d'Almette used to say,
"C'est un vrai plaisir que de lui apprendre
quelque chose !" It is true, Mary was still a
dunce in all but music and drawing; the easiest
school lessons were Herculean labours to her,
poor girl! And thorough bass was a sad
wearying to her spirit; but she went on, on, on-
plodding, plodding, until she attained an emi-
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
nence few have attained. But what made me
love her so, was her sweet moral nature. She
was not envious, or jealous, or resentful; she
loved those who were distinguished by personal
and mental endowments which she so much
wanted. She coveted no one's beauty, though
she was the plainest girl in the school; although,
in after years, I have heard her say it would have
made her path to fame much smoother had she
only possessed a pretty face. To Ellen Warwick
and to me her attachment was most disinterested,
most generous; for, at that time, we never loved
her as she deserved to be loved; we were occupied
with each other, and often forgot Mary: but
Mary never forgot us; and, I verily believe, was
never jealous. Ellen, indeed, often told me there
was much more in Mary than any of us thought.
One day Ellen said, She will turn out great in
something, I am sure!" I answered lightly,
" Great-in what ? In grammar, perhaps, when
she can tell the difference between a nominative
and an accusative." "No, not in grammar,"
answered Ellen, "but in singing and in self-
sacrifice!" Ellen's words were prophetic. Mary
has since become great in singing, as you, courteous
reader, are aware; and great in self-sacrifice, as
her mother and all her family can testify. But
even now I do not think that Mary is appre-
ciated; her manners are not graceful or pleasing;
she is silent and backward, and she is often
thought sullen when she is only thinking. She
is one of those persons who, because they do not
do themselves justice, do not get justice from
other people. Yet Mary Bell must be happy if
any one on earth is happy-she has accomplished
her desire; she now supports her mother, and all
those of her family who cannot yet support
themselves. She is an illustration of that scrip-
ture which says, The race is not always to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong."
Susanna Jones was a pretty, but silly looking
girl of sixteen. She was remarkable for never
knowing her lessons, and for being amazingly
ignorant on all subjects except personal appear-
ance, dress, and what she was pleased to call love.
Susanna was not ill-natured, and the only one
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
in the school whom she disliked was myself.
We were the two (so-called) beauties of the
school. Then there was Susanna's younger
sister, Sarah: she was about eleven or twelve,
quick-witted, lively, very pert, and very plain.
These two sisters could never agree, and at their
parents' request they were separated as much as
I must not omit Grace Wilson's friend, Maria
Chester, who, though two years younger than
Ellen Warwick, was generally next to her in
all our classes. She had great natural ability,
and was what was called an odd girl, never
doing things as other people do them. She
was passionate, impetuous, romping, but had a
heart full of affectionate sensibility; she was
candid, frank, generous, and alive to every noble,
every tender feeling. She was always wishing
she had been born a boy; perhaps because, with
her character, she never could be masculine.
She was a bright-looking creature, although not
really handsome then, as I hear she is now. She
had a profusion of glossy deep red-brown hair,
a clear brilliant complexion, "like roses floating
on milk," as a poet of the Elizabethan age might
have said, and large blue eyes, "like violets
bathed in dew," as many of us said who were
not poets at all. Maria was occasionally quite
beautiful, like a Hebe or Euphrosyne; at other
times she was positively plain. It just depended
upon the mood she chanced to be in, for she was
very variable. She was subject to fits of jealousy,
fits of despondency, fits of moodiness, fits of
poetic inspiration, fits of melancholy, fits of
laughter, fits of tears, fits of self-reproach, fits of
idleness, and fits of energetic industry. She was
very clever, and knew much for her age, which,
at the time I speak of, was about thirteen. She
was petulant and rude in manner very often.
She was ready at repartee, and flippancy made
her unamiable, as it does everybody. She could
not bridle her tongue, and she suffered bitterly for
that fault. She said too many cutting things to
the girls when they provoked her, to be generally
liked, and she was too saucy to the teachers
to be a favourite with any of them, except,
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
indeed, with Miss Stuart. Still Maria Chester
was esteemed for her cleverness, her generosity,
and her strength of attachment, and I am
happy to say, that as she grew older she became
more amiable. She is now a remarkably hand-
some woman, and a great wit. I heard the other
day that she is about to be married to an M.P.,
after having refused a few dozen eligible young
men of her native county. Whether their offers
are attributable to Maria's beauty, talents, and
amiability, or to her father's large fortune and
open-housekeeping, is not easy to determine; she
herself decided that the latter was the attraction
in all cases, except in that of the M.P. in ques-
tion. But as he is a handsome young man of
great ability, and some fame as a litterateur, it is
not unlikely that Maria's judgment may have
been influenced by her heart. But,-to return to
our school days,-Maria Chester and Grace Wilson
were sworn friends (after Grace's eldest sister,
Rose, had left school); they quarrelled very
often; and then numerous little three-cornered
notes passed between them before they were
48 MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
reconciled. Maria was always a favourite with
me, and I liked her more for what she promised
to become than for what she was.
Then there was Caroline Webster, the most
awkward girl in the school, and there was Jane
Worthington, the most stupid girl in the school,
besides Inez Oliveira, the Portuguese. The
nature and habits of these young ladies will
fill a chapter, and as this is already long enough,
they shall have one to themselves.
THE AWKWARD GIRL, THE STUPID GIRL, AND
DEAR READER, recall to mind all the awkward
people you ever knew, and put all their awkward-
ness together, and you will not then realise the
amount of Caroline Webster's awkwardness. It
was incredible. It was not in the power of
language to exaggerate it: there I am quite safe;
I need not fear, in anything I may say on the
subject, to overstep the truth. Fancy a large,
tall, bony girl of sixteen, not absolutely ill-made
-that is to say, she had the usual number of
arms and legs, and they were of the ordinary
length and shape, but were so attached to her
body as to give one an apprehension that they
would drop off every moment. She had a large
head, adorned with the stiffest and coarsest black
hair; a broad, unmeaning face; two large, dreamy,
black eyes; she had no neck, or one so short as
to be imperceptible, a hand as broad as a shoulder
of mutton, and a back about as extensive as
Salisbury Plain. Her frock was always in dis-
array, never securely fastened, but always looked
as if it would slip from her person with the next
motion. She had a slouching gait, gestures all
angles; add to this, an inability to move without
throwing something down, and you will have
some faint idea of Caroline. To have anything
like an accurate conception of her, you must have
seen her as she was then. Time, the alleviator
of all ills, may have done something for Caroline
Webster's awkwardness: at the time of which
I am speaking, every action was the sublime of
gaucherie. It was not the pretty little gaucherie
of bashfulness. Oh no! there was nothing of
that in it; it was a broad, uncompromised un-
couthness which no dancing-master, no dumb-
bells, no gymnastic exercises could mitigate.
Perhaps her awkwardness was never so exag-
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
gerated in its display as during a dancing lesson.
You should have seen her perform a chasse.
She looked like an obstinate elephant, urged
forward in a succession of heavy bounds; a
balance was a serious butting at her partner, in
which the unfortunate partner was sure to suffer
one or two bumps or pushes. In l'te she used
to advance with a pas de charge which generally
precipitated her into the arms of her vis-d-vis,
and she retreated in such a manner as to jump
heavily on her partner's toes. Poor M. Pirouette,
the dancing-master, was not the most patient of
men, and Caroline tried him to the utmost,
although she was neither inattentive nor lazy.
She would take a whole month to learn a single
step or figure, and at the end of that time she
would perform it so as to throw him into despair.
It added not a little to the drollery of the effect,
that she expended considerable energy on the
matter. It was so evident, that all the powers of
her mind were brought to bear on the important
movement. How she laboured to put her arms
in an easy position! In her anxiety to spring
lightly, as desired, she frequently lost her equi-
librium, and came to the ground in a very
precarious attitude. She would point her toe
to such a degree, that she tottered with the
effort. In vain M. Pirouette would exclaim-
Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle Vebestere, ayez un
peu plus de grace. Do not look to your feet, Mees.
Levez la tete Mais !-mademoiselle, qu'est ce
que c'est que cela? A-t-on jamais vu balancer de
la sorte? Prenez garde! Mon Dieu, mademoiselle,
prenez garde de tomber! Doucement-vat you
call gentlie. C'est bizarre, cela! Encore une fois.
Enfin, c'est vrai, mademoiselle,-you have not de
genie for the dance."
In the daily business of the school-room it was
impossible to watch Caroline without laughing.
If she attempted to move an inkstand, she was
sure to overturn it. She would let things fall
from her hands in the most helpless style. In
walking across the room, she would make straight
for the point of destination without any regard
to intervening objects; she would clamber in the
most uncouth fashion upon all the forms in her
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
way; she would bounce against all the people,
big and little, teachers and pupils. Her awk-
wardness was like the British law, no respecter
of persons. It was a common thing for one girl
to say to another, Get out of the way ; here
comes Caroline Webster."
With all this, Caroline Webster was the most
good-natured girl living. She would do any-
thing for anybody. The quantity of mischief
she achieved by way of rendering service to
others was incalculable. Good, blundering,
headlong Caroline If she volunteered to
fasten a string or button, she would invariably
break it off,-if to fasten up your hair, she
would surely break your comb,-if to put away
your work-box, she would seize it violently, and
away would go all the contents rolling over the
floor,-then loudly would she exclaim against
herself, and be so very sorry, that you could
not have the heart to scold her, especially when
you saw, that in her eagerness to collect all the
scattered articles she would run a quantity of
pins and needles into her hands.
If Mrs. Anderson or one of the teachers
inquired "What was that noise?" the answer
was generally, "Only Caroline Webster falling
Once, I remember, Caroline had rashly mounted
on a chair, and was looking out of the upper,
unpainted panes of the Grey Room window.
Several girls had warned her. "You will break
the window, Caroline." "You will certainly
fall." "How absurd for you to get on a chair !"
" Some people should learn to stand before they
begin to climb." "Good bye, Caroline; you'll
be out through the window presently." Caroline
grew indignant. "Why should she fall, indeed?
Why should she break a window rather than
any one else ? (Cries of Oh oh Caroline!"
and laughter.) She "sometimes met with an
accident, it is true, but so did everybody; and
as to breaking a window, it was quite absurd!"
She had no sooner said the words, than, giving
her head an awkward toss, she ran it right
through a pane. She lost her balance and fell
forward: fortunately her chin rested on the
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
frame of the pane. She would have been preci-
pitated into the garden, some twenty feet below,
if her knees had not lodged on a narrow ledge
inside the window, while her chin remained
propped above. She screamed; the girls rushed
to her rescue, dragged her from her perilous
position, and, with a rueful look, she fell
clumsily to the ground in the midst of their
irrepressible laughter, which was only interrupted
by her angry exclamations, that they were very
unfeeling to laugh when she had hurt herself so
much. This was very true; but it is a fault in
schools, as in other communities, to laugh when
cause for laughter is seen, without much regard
to the feelings of others.
Poor Caroline Webster felt this truth acutely.
She tried to hide her sensitiveness; and succeeded
so well, that it was a common saying in the
school, "Oh, you may laugh at Caroline just
as much before her face as you would behind
her back. She does not mind it."
But Caroline did mind it, as a painful blush
and increased awkwardness often showed. Per-
haps few persons are so sensitive to ridicule as
the awkward. I think we should all keep a
strict check over our inclination to laugh at those
who are so unfortunate as to be distinguished by
any remarkable deficiency of personal grace. It
is matter of regret to me now that I so thought-
lessly used poor Caroline for my mirth,"
while she, perhaps, writhed under a sense of
As Caroline Webster was awkward in all things,
so was Jane Worthington stupid in all things.
In her case, appearances were not deceitful. She
looked very stupid, and nobody could say she was
not as stupid as she looked. She was fourteen
or fifteen years of age,-short, stout, broad, and
heavy, for her age. She had been at school five
years, and had been taught at home before that;
but she could not read. She made a sad jumble
of words,-mis-pronouncing, mis-spelling, utterly
mistaking them. I wonder whether she can read
now! Then, as to writing She could make
letters well enough (many stupid persons write
a good hand), but that was of little use; for how
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
could she write when she could not even spell the
easiest words ? and if she could have spelt them,
she had no ideas to express by them. What she
thought? What she knew ? She could not think,
though, like many dunces, she thought that she
did think. She really knew nothing, though she
fancied that she knew a good deal. Hers was the
densest mind I ever came in contact with-" not
pierceable by power of any" idea. She was, I
believe, the nearest approach to idiotcy that it
is possible for a sane being to make. In
proportion to her dullness was the trouble taken
with her by Mrs. Anderson :-and at fifteen all
who endeavoured to teach her gave up the task
as hopeless,-all except Miss Allan, the under-
teacher, who still persevered. That lady had, as
she thought, succeeded in giving her some notion
of the rudiments of geography, grammar, and
history. One day she asked her, with the
anticipation of a correct answer, "Into how
many parts or quarters is the world divided ?"
Jane, after considering a few moments, replied,
"Four." "Very right, my dear," said Miss
Allan; now tell me their names." "Ortho-
graphy, Etymology, Syntax, and Prosody," quoth
the sapient Jane. Another time, Miss Allan
asked, "What Roman General first invaded
Britain?" and Jane informed her that it was
Edward the Black Prince. Meeting in her
reading the term "debt of nature," she was
asked if she knew what it meant. She replied,
with great self-sufficiency, "Oh, yes; she knew
very well what it meant." "Well, what did it
mean ? "Why, the National Debt, to be sure;
any one knew that She was once sent to find
out on a map all the places of which she had
been reading. After looking for a very long
time, she came to Miss Allan and said, "I have
found out all the places but Caractacus, ma'am.
I do not think that is marked." One Sunday,
after a sermon about the destruction of Babylon,
she asked Miss Stuart, "Who was Babylon?"
Madame D'Almette was quite sure she would
never learn French. Her errors in that language
were most absurd. The most ingenious, I
remember, was translating les Pays Bas "the
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
stocking countries," and "an eye-glass une
cuisinidre (quizzingniere). Jane was very silent,
and very fond of plum-cake. If provoked, she
became dogged, perverse, and vindictive. Vain
were all persuasions. "Now do, dear Jane."-
"No, I won't." "Why will you not ?"-"Be-
cause I won't." There was one happy epoch to
which she always looked forward-the time when
she should be sixteen; for then her "education
would be finished, and she should never open a
book any more." Oh! Jane was a glorious
Inez Oliveira was the daughter of a Portuguese
merchant, who had spent part of his youth in
England, where he had acquired a few opinions
concerning female education, which remained
with him in after-life. One of these opinions
was, that a woman is more likely to be amiable
and virtuous if she can read, write, understand,
and reflect, than if she cannot. He was aware
that he exposed himself to the ill-natured animad-
versions of most of his friends, when he brought
his daughter to England to be educated after a
fashion differing in most respects from that in
which Portuguese ladies are generally educated.
But Senor Juan Alfonso Oliveira was not a person
to do as others do, merely because others expected
him to do so. His wife was dead; his two sons,
Juan and Roderigo, were intelligent, well-educated
youths of nineteen and twenty; his daughter Inez
was about twelve years of age, as yet utterly
uncultivated; but as he wished her to become a
companion and friend to her brothers, he came
to England with his children, travelled in this
country for a year, with them, and at the end of
that period, being obliged to return to his affairs,
he placed Inez at Mrs. Anderson's school, and
returned to Portugal with his second son, leaving
Juan, the eldest, in the house of his London
correspondent, to become a regular English man
of business. Thus, the young Inez was not quite
alone in a strange land. Her brother came to
see her frequently. Inez had been two years at
school when I first saw her, so that she was then
about fifteen years old. She was not in the
school-room when I was introduced there; and
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
some hours after that event I was wandering
about the house alone (as Rose Wilson had been
called to some lesson), when I came before the
door of the Grey Room (an apartment which shall
be described presently). It was half-open; I
heard a sound of music from within, and peeped
into the room. Inez Oliveira was there alone;
she was seated on a low stool, playing on her
guitar and singing a Portuguese song, which she
seemed trying to remember. At that time I had
never seen a foreigner; that is, a foreign young
lady. Her beauty was new to me, and therefore
its effect was the stronger. She seemed to me what
all ladies from a far countries" are, in the opinion
of a certain class of English people,-" beautiful
exceedingly." Her small, slender, exquisitely pro-
portioned figure was attired in a plain black silk
frock. From one side of her waist hung a rosary
of lapis lazuli and gold. Her pretty little hands
moved lightly over the strings, and her sweet face
was now bent over the instrument, and partially
hidden by the long black curls which really swept
over it, and now raised towards the ceiling, as she
tried to recall a word or a note of the half-for-
gotten song. For a moment the dark, pencilled
brows would be contracted with vexation as she
struck a wrong chord; again, they would become
smooth, and a smile would overspread her face as
she struck a right one. Again and again she
tried the air, until all seemed to be right, and
then she settled herself once more, and sang the
song through, in a clear, distinct, and very melo-
dious little voice. As soon as it was ended, she
jumped up, threw down the guitar, and began to
dance about the room for very joy. At last she
ran to the door breathless with excitement, and
for the first time perceived me, whom (in the
twilight) she mistook for one of the other girls,
and exclaimed Hi! hi! hi! I have sing it all-
all-all! I shall not forget no more! It is so
pretty, so pretty Hi! hi! hi! My dear Juan
shall be so please! Then perceiving that I was
the new girl, she stopped short, her long eye-
lashes fell-they literally shaded her cheek-her
clear olive skin became suffused with crimson,
and she said, "I bege your pard6ne." I was
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
even more embarrassed than she, for I was
younger, and I had been caught in the act of
I am sorry to say that Inez was not as amiable
as she was pretty; her face had a certain uncul-
tivated, semi-barbarous look when at rest, that was
very characteristic; at times, too, when she was
angry, the expression of her countenance became
dark and almost deadly in its fierceness; and she
was so revengeful that few of the girls cared to
offend her. She liked and disliked with vehe-
mence; she was not deficient in intellectual
power, but she was too indolent and impatient
to exercise it systematically. To her teachers
she was always respectful, except indeed to
Miss Crawford, whom she hated and generally
designated as "that silly old thing." She called
everything that she disliked old. She was some-
times languid and moody, at other times frolicsome
and full of the most mischievous tricks. In her
bed-room she played strange pranks. When the
fit seized her, she would suddenly spring out of
her own bed and on to another, where she would
perform a rapid little dance on the body of the
half-sleeping occupant, who would in vain call for
mercy; and before it was possible for her to rise
in self-defence, Inez would be off, on to the next
bed, and would there repeat her dance on some
other unfortunate girl; whenever she elicited a
cry louder than ordinary, she would manifest
great delight, making her usual wild chuckle of
pleasure, and exclaiming, "Never mind never
mind !-be still, good old thing I such fun-oh !
such fun I shall be finish by-and-by." She
was rather vain of her face, and objected to
washing it often, on the plea that it would wear
out her eye-lashes and eye-brows, which were
very beautiful; but, to make amends for her own
imperfect ablutions, she would wash with her own
sponge and towel the busts of Shakspeare and
Milton, which stood on the mantel-piece in her
bed-room-this she did every morning. Her
affection for her family was unbounded. No one
ever had such a father as hers, no one could have
such brothers. How proud she was of Juan !
There was always a considerable eagerness among
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
the girls to get a sight of Don Juan, as he was
called. Juan himself, like most young men en-
gaged in commerce, was not over anxious to face
a dozen girls, unsupported by any of his own sex.
Juan was a good-looking young man enough;
he looked just like what he was, a gentlemanly
young merchant of the nineteenth century. But to
the imaginations of my school-fellows, Don Juan
Carlos Oliveira was a Hero-a Paladin-a Cid,
with all the beauties of Adonis, and all the court
breeding of Lord Chesterfield. But, then, was
not his name Juan Carlos ? Did he not wear a
moustache ? Was he not tall and slender ? Did
he not speak English with a most bewitching
accent? As we had very seldom seen him, it was
no wonder we believed everything Inez said of
him. I am sure it never occurred to any of us
that Juan Oliveira did anything but compose
songs, and sing them to his guitar, or walk in
groves "by moonlight alone"-wrapped in a cloak
of genuine bandit or hidalgo dimensions, with
plenty of fur round the collar, and a sharp stiletto
hidden in the folds. We never pictured to our-
selves anything like the reality. How could we
imagine such a person seated on a high stool in
a dingy counting-house, with a huge ledger before
him, and a pen behind his ear, or, in hours of
refined relaxation, lounging on a bench with a
cigar in his mouth and a glass of porter beside
him? Then, what tales Inez told us of her
country! How beautiful it was! Such skies!
such water! such flowers such trees Lisbon
was, of course, a much larger and finer city than
London. If any one doubted the fact, how
indignant, how furious she became Yes, yes,
I tell you, Lisbon is two times more big as your
dirty old London. Oh! if you shall see Lisbon,
you shall never like to live in your London no
more. You shall be quite ashamed;-Ah ah !
My country is not such a stupid little old place
as your England!" "Oh but, Inez, you used
to say you saw some very pretty places in
England ?" "Yes, vare pretty for England, but
not so good as the ugly places in my country. I
tell you," (she was fond of comparisons,) I tell
you, your country is like that candle; it is better
MRS. ANDERSON S SCHOOL.
as nothing but my country, Portugal, it is like
the sun, better as everything in the world !"
No one attempted to argue seriously with Inez
about the merits of the two countries, but we
often joked her about her incomparable native
MORE OF ELLEN WARWICK.
ELLEN'S father was a wealthy brewer in Nor-
thumberland, who had married the daughter of a
literary man of some reputation. Mrs. Warwick
had an only sister, whose marriage had been less
fortunate, in a pecuniary sense, than her own.
To this sister she was fondly attached, and after
the death of their father Mrs. Warwick's only
anxiety was about her sister, Mrs. Vaughan; for
Mr. Warwick was an attentive husband, and their
only child, Ellen, was all that a mother's heart
could desire. Her education had been conducted
with great success at home, until she was nearly
fourteen, when she was sent to Mrs. Anderson's
school for three years, that she might have the
benefit of London masters. As Mrs. Anderson
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
was an old and tried friend of Mrs. Warwick, the
latter had no troubles about Ellen, except the
constant yearning of a mother to see her child;
she had, therefore, leisure and sympathy to give
to her sister, in all ler trials. Dr. Vaughan was
a younger son of a good family, and had followed
no profession but that of a gentleman, until the
period of his marriage, when he became indus-
trious,-entered the medical profession,-esta-
blished himself as a physician in Newcastle-upon-
Tyne, and worked hard to support his rising
family. At first, matters went on very well; but
at the end of seven years they had four children,
and found it difficult to keep up appearances.
Year after year their expenses increased, and year
after year Dr. Vaughan's practice fell off; he
wrote clever articles for Reviews, but that did not
bring enough money; and, in a fit of disgust, he
determined to quit Newcastle for ever, and try
his fortune elsewhere; for which purpose he con-
verted all his effects into money. Mrs. Vaughan
and their children remained with Mrs. Warwick
while this business was in progress, and when it
was terminated, Dr, Vaughan joined them, and
communicated to his wife his intention of going
to London. To this she made no objection, for
she loved and honoured him too much to have
any will but his; and, in three days after
Dr. Vaughan's arrival, his family departed with
him from Mr. Warwick's house, much to that
gentleman's satisfaction, for he was a wealthy
man, and had a natural antipathy to poor
A short time after these events happened in
Northumberland, our whole school was to go out
for a long anticipated ramble in Bushy Park.
Ellen Warwick and I were both rather indis-
posed, and, as Mrs. Anderson decided, unfit for
the fatiguing pleasure in prospect. We were
ordered to remain at home. This was a sad dis-
appointment to Ellen, who hoped that when we
were at Bushy, Mrs. Anderson would take us to
Hampton Court, as she longed greatly to see the
pictures there. However we soon ceased regret-
ting what could not be altered, and after they
were all gone we enjoyed the unusual quiet of
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
the house, and found much pleasure in wander-
ing from room to room, without any particular
design. We at length established ourselves in
the drawing-room, with needle-work and books.
Ellen had no gift for needle-work, but she read
aloud with peculiar grace; we were in the middle
of "Coleridge's Ancient Mariner," which Miss
Stuart had lent us to read, when a servant
entered the room, and announced-" A lady and
gentleman to see Miss Warwick."
Ellen's first thought was of her parents, and
she sprang forward to embrace them; but, as the
visitors advanced, she saw her error, and was so
moved at the disappointment that she looked at
the lady for some moments, without recognizing
her, until she said-
"What! Ellen! Have you quite forgotten
your aunt ? "
"Oh my Aunt Vaughan! My dear, dear
aunt! How glad I am to see you But what is
the matter? Are papa and mamma well ? "
"Yes, my love, quite well. All is well in your
home. We have only come to see you."
At this "we Ellen looked at the lady's com-
panion. He was a tall, manly-looking boy of about
Ellen's age (i. e., sixteen); he had a dark com-
plexion, and a serious expression of countenance.
His eyes had been fixed on Ellen from the moment
he entered the room; now they were turned away;
while she looked at him with the timid embar-
rassment of a young girl who is expected to say
something to a person whom she does not know.
Her aunt relieved her by laughingly exclaiming,
"Why, Ellen! you must have lost your
memory! Don't you recollect who this is ?"
Ellen looked again; and this time the youth
looked at her, and smiled.
"Is it possible? Can this be Lewis? Oh
yes, I see it is," cried she, eagerly taking his
hand. "Dear Lewis how you are altered! But
it is four years since you went to Germany, and
you are quite a man now "
"You have altered, too; but I should have
known you any where, Ellen," said her cousin.
After a little while Ellen presented me to them
as her dearest friend. Mrs. Vaughan took my
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
hand and looked kindly at me, and her son
scrutinised me attentively. They all went to take
a turn in the garden, but they would not go
without me. Mrs. Vaughan walked first with
Ellen, to converse on family matters, and Lewis
Vaughan and I were left together-a most un-
comfortable position for both parties, let me tell
you, good reader. I cannot say that my girlish
vanity was gratified by any attention from Master
Lewis. His grave face seemed full of thought as
he watched each motion of Ellen, or his mother,
I could not tell which. To be sure he did talk
to me; he talked of how many miles it was to
London, and how many miles to Newcastle; how
he admired Avenue House and the garden; how
he thought my Fani very pretty. He asked me
what I thought of Mrs. Anderson; spoke of oaks
and elms, and the great bell, and the peacocks,
with other absorbingly interesting topics; but he
never spoke of Ellen. I did not know then how
instinctively a very young pure love seeks to hide
itself; and I did not know then that Lewis
Vaughan's nature was precisely that which could
sanctify itself by a dreamy poetical attachment to
such a girl as Ellen. Lewis was at heart a poet,
therefore it was not necessary that the object of
first fancy should be beautiful in the ordinary
acceptation of the word. As I have said before,
Ellen was not pretty; but Lewis remembered
her high, generous disposition, and her childish
sympathy with all his boyish tastes; and the
unmistakable soul which now spoke in her face,
the sweet affection manifested towards himself,
were sufficient to turn the half ideal fancy for his
cousin which he had cherished at Bonn (for want
of some real object to adore) into a genuine
feeling-not a passion, perhaps, but something
rarer and better.
Some of my readers may cry out at this,
"What nonsense! A boy of sixteen! How
unnatural! Others will know better, and say,
" Quite natural, for such a boy I" And they,
perhaps, will agree with me that it is a great
blessing to be able to love anything as Lewis
Vaughan loved Ellen. Such love is more enno-
bling than the order of the Garter.
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
But of course I did not philosophise thus,
at the time of which I speak, when seventeen
years had not passed over my head.
I did not remain long in the garden, but
retired to the house, leaving my friend alone with
her relations. I recollect how melancholy I felt
at the reflection that papa and mamma had not
seen me for more than three years, and that even
if I were dying they could not come to me. This
thought was always forced on me when I saw any
of my companions elated by a sight of "some
one from home."
When the school returned, Mrs. Anderson
spent an hour with Mrs. Vaughan; and after
that, Ellen went away with her aunt and cousin
for a visit of a few days.
That evening I could not learn my lessons for
thinking of Lewis Vaughan and his earnest noble
face. He was certainly like Ellen-yes, but there
was a quiet strength in his face which seemed to
demand my respect, and awaked my curiosity.
Suddenly the idea of his probable love for Ellen
came upon me like an inspiration; and then came
76 MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
the question, "Will she love him ? "-what was
that to me? I ought not to think of love and
lovers. I was too young-I ought to be occupied
with my lessons. But, again, Ellen was my
friend, and I ought to be interested in what
concerned her; so there could be nothing wrong
in ruminating on the probability of her loving
Lewis Vaughan, and becoming his wife when they
were old enough. However, I could come to no
conclusion until Ellen's return.
All that week I was idle and low-spirited, and
every one said, How stupid and disagreeable
Margaret Granby has been since Ellen went
away "-all but one, and that one was Mary
Bell. She was more attentive and affectionate to
me than ever, and wished that Ellen would return,
with such sincerity, that it set me thinking
whether I was as purely anxious for Ellen's
happiness as Mary was for mine.
,I i r .
I !! i i '' :'I
I I i I i ;
THE GREY ROOM AND ELLEN'S RETURN.
THERE was a certain grey room at Avenue House
which was much liked by the girls. It was
devoted to the practice of music and drawing.
The walls were of wainscot, painted grey. It
contained an old grand pianoforte, and a long
table, with desks, for drawing; instead of school-
room forms to sit on, there were cane-bottomed
chairs. An individual of lively imagination might
have been deluded into the idea that this apart-
ment was a sort of parlour, had it not been for
the uncarpeted floor. Comfortless as it always
seemed to the girls when they arrived at school
at the beginning of the half-year, fresh from
the glowing luxury of home, in a few short
weeks the grey room resumed its character of
superiority to the school room (called in school
time, when we always spoke French), la classes.
The habituees of the grey room were those only
who learnt music and drawing. They often re-
treated to it, under colour of the practice of those
arts, for a lounge, or a snug half-hour's reading, or
that dear delight of a school-girl, a good gossip.
The music teacher, Miss Crawford, was the
sovereign of this apartment. She gave her
lessons on the above-named grand piano, whose
tone need not be particularised to those who have
heard school pianos, appropriated to the juvenile
pupils; suffice it to say, it was like no other
instrument under heaven. Mr. Bernard, the
drawing master, gave his lessons here every
Tuesday and Friday.
The grey room had two large windows looking
into the avenue, and as these were the only
windows accessible to the girls, from which per-
sons coming to or going from the house could
be seen, it is scarcely necessary to add, that no
one ever came or went without being reconnoitred
from the grey room window. To be sure, the
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
lower half of each window was covered by a thick
coat of white paint, for the express purpose of
restraining the wandering gaze; but curiosity,
like love (if it be of the genuine sort), will find
out a way." The painted panes merely served
the purpose of exciting a strong desire to look
through them;-and that any person but a school-
mistress would have known. Had the windows
been transparent, it is probable that we might
sometimes desire to turn from our duties and
look through them; but as they were painted,
we always desired to do so, and the thing became
of importance because it was forbidden. It was
vain for Miss Crawford to exclaim, Come away
from the windows, young ladies." There the
young ladies were to be seen continually, perched
upon chairs, peeping through the upper panes,
which were guiltless of paint. It was rare,
indeed, that a visitor escaped these vigilant
spies. If no one else chanced to be on the look-
out, little Grace Wilson, who was "altre le pit!
curiose curiosa," never failed to catch a glimpse
of the passing individual.
One day Miss Crawford's voice was heard,
speaking in this style:-" One, two, three, four;
one, two, three, four; one, two-wrong in the
bass. Come down from the window, Grace.
One, two-first finger on D sharp-three, four-
do you hear me, Miss Grace? Come down."
"Yes, Ma'am, directly," cried Grace, still
looking eagerly out into the avenue, and flat-
tening her face against the window, in her
"How many times am I to speak to you,
"Not once more, Ma'am," cried Grace, spring-
ing down, and taking her seat by my side at the
drawing table. "Not once more, if I could help
it, you cross old thing," she added, sotto voce.
Hush, Grace," said I; "that is very rude.
You know you ought not to have been at the
window at all."
"Ha, ha !" retorted Grace in a knowing tone.
"I know somebody who would like to have been
at the window just now, for all its being against
MRS. ANDERSON'S SCHOOL.
Why, what did you see, then?"
"I thought Miss Granby was much too proper
to be curious," retorted Grace; she won't look
out of the window herself upon any consideration.
It's against rule; but she don't mind asking that
naughty, tiresome, inquisitive Grace what she
saw when she looked out."
I could not help smiling, but I replied with
all the dignity of an elder girl to one of "the
little ones,"-"Well, never mind. It was
thoughtless in me. Go on with your drawing,
now. If it be any one to see me, I shall know
Oh! it is not any one to see you. Do not
think it is, or you will be disappointed. Come,
if you will just shade this horrible old man's nose
for me, I will tell you who I saw just now. Did
you ever see such a mess as I have made of this
head ? Do just look at it, dear !-What fun !-
How droll it looks !"
"Oh, Grace! How careless of you! You
began it so nicely, too Mr. Bernard praised
you last time, and now what will he say? All