Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The souvenir
 The cadet's sister
 Susanna Meredith; or, the village...
 The launch of the frigate
 The show girl
 The clean face, or, the boy washed...
 Frederick Ormsby

Title: Stories for summer days and winter nights
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00061195/00001
 Material Information
Title: Stories for summer days and winter nights
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Leslie, Eliza
Publisher: Kiggins & Kellogg
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1853
Copyright Date: 1853
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00061195
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: alh3336 - LTUF
002232937 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Table of Contents
        Page 4
    The souvenir
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    The cadet's sister
        Page 24
        Pages 25-32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
    Susanna Meredith; or, the village school
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
    The launch of the frigate
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    The show girl
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The clean face, or, the boy washed by his elder sister
        Page 149
    Frederick Ormsby
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
Full Text


*~ ~ ,y..~





8s 9 l -8


Author of Girl's Own Book," "Atlantdl TalM,"
"Mr. Wahlaton Pott," House Book," Book of BDehaor." Ae.

128 A 125 WILLIAM SIR91T.

&MUM amdnig to Ac of Cmjipoul I the yw ISA by
I he aCmk% Idof obe DWb"a Cort i, nh Smkn DWWW 4d


The following Tales by Miss Lasu., have been
published separately at different periods, within the
last twenty years, and tie publisher now present^
them in a collective form, for the eification of thl '
numerous admirers of the writiof the w this popular
Authoress. Of their merits he does not presume to
speak, sensible that nothing he could say would add
to the estimation in which they have ever beea desert
vedly held.

I'atudta. Augyrt, 1853.


The Souvenir ........................... ....................... b

- 1a fh Cadet's Sister,....... ..2............................... 24

imus na Meredith; or the Village School,............... 5

T Thb Launch of dk Frigate.................................. 86

The Show Girl,..................................................10

Tke Clean Face..................................................148

Frederick Ormsly,.....................................140


IT was the afternoon of Christmas ere. 'ie
weather was delightfully' mild for the semas
and the sky was without a clout. The streets
of Philadelphia were unusually crowded aid
the whole appearance of the city was gay and
animated. The fancy stores were resplendent
with elegant ribbons, laqs, scas,.and retieoas,
and the shops for artificial flowers, made a di-
play which nvalled nature in her most blooming
season. It was a pleasing spectacle. to see so
many parents leading their children, all with
happy faces; some full of hope and others
replete with satisfaction; some going to buy
Christmas gifts, others carrying home those
already purchased. Mr. Woodley went out with
his two boys to choose little presents for them,
regretting that Amelia, his eldest daughter. was
1* 6

6 TEM sOUY0v11.
oliged to remain at home in consequence of a
severe cold.
They soon entered a toy-shop, where Charles
made choice of a toy representing William
Tell directing his arrow toward the apple on the
head of his son, who stood blindfold at a little
distance, and, by pulling a string, the arrow took
A ight and struckjhe apple off the boy's head.
This Charles called a very sensible toy, and his
father bought him also a box containing little
wooden houses, churches, and trees, which could
be aoarranged as to form a village.
Oswald, who was long since pat the age of
toys, selected, at a neighboring shop, a very
pretty and curious littlejrriting apparatus of the
purest and most transparent white marble. It
looked like a very small vase, but it contained an
ink-stand, sand-box, wafer-box, a. candlestick for
a wax taper, and a receptacle for pens: all nicely
fiting into each other, and so ingeniously con-
trived as to occupy the smallest space possible.
"Oswald," said Mr. Woodley, you have
chosen so well for yourself, that I will leave to
you the selection of a present for your sister
Amelia. Oswald thought of many things before
he could fix on any one that he supposed would

Tnr iooUVrNI. 7
be useful or agreeable to Amelia. She I1d
already a handsome work-box, a bead-purse, and
a case of little perfume bottles. For a moment
hiachoice inclined to one of the elegant reticulesa
he saw in a window they were just passing,
ana then he recollected that Amelia could make
very beautiful reticules herself. At last, he
fixed on a Souvenir, and wondered that the
thought had noSttiick him before, as Amelia
drew very well, and was an enthusiastic admirer
of fine engravings.
They repaired to a neighboring book-store,
where, amid a variety of splendid SoTenirs,
Oswald selected for his sister one of those that
he considered the most beautiful, and had the
pleasure of carrying it home to her.
To describe the delight of Amelia on reeir-
ing this elegant present, is impossible. She
spread a lead handkerchief over her lap before
she drew the book from its case, that it might
not be soiled in the slightest degree, and shf
removed to a distance from the fire It the
cover should be warped by the heaF After ase4
had eagerly looked all through it, she commenced
again, and examined the plates with t moAt
minute attention. She then showed i to 1


her little brother and sister, carefully, however
keeping the book in her own hands.
Amelia," said Oswald, I know a boy that
.would be very happy to examine this Souvepir.
He has no opportunity of seeing anx thing of
the kind, except by gazing at the windows of
the book-stores."
Amelia.-And who is this boy
Oswald.-His'ather, who has seen better
days, is an assistant in our school, and the boy
himself is one of the pupils. His name is
Edwin Lovel. He has a most extraordinary
* genius for drawing, though he has never had
the means of cultivating it to any extent. He is a
very sensible boy, and I like him better than any
one in the school. His mother must be a nice
Woman, for though their income is very small,
Edwin always makes a genteel appearance, and
is uniformly clean and neat. He is also ex-
tremely handsome. All his leisure time is
w devoted to drawing. He first began on the slate,
when he was only four years old, and had
thing elsto draw on till he was nine or ten.
S Now he saves what little money he has, for
0 'me puupse of buying paper and pencils. He
a has l x of colours, but draws only in Indian

Tra sOUVNiR 9
ink, which he doe most beautifully. He never
likes tojsee any thing wasted that can be used
for drawing, and is even glad to get the cover
of a letter.
&melia-You remind me of the French artist
Godfrey's fine picture of the battle of Pulowa,
which he drew, while in prison, on the back of
letters pasted together; using, instead of Indian
ink or colours, the soot of the stove-pipe mixed
with water.
Oswald.-Well, Edwin Lovel is not quite
so much at a lose for drawing materials, for he
has a cake of Indian ink and four camel's hair
pencils. He draws with a pen beautiful title.
pages, decorated with vignettes, for his copy-
books and cyphering-books; and the boys paf
him for ornamenting their writing-pieces. Heg
was for a long time very unwilling to take money
for those things, but we finally prevailed on him,
though with great difficulty. He passes mostof
his evenings in drawing; that is, when he has
any candle of his own, for he will not, ren in
the pursuit of his favourite gratilttion, cause i
the slightest additional expense to his parents,
who find it very hard to live on h father'
small salary.

Tram seuvVIa.

Admsek.-What an exeellent boy he must be.
Owald.-Last Saturday afternoon, I thought
I would go for him and take him to see some
very fine pictures which were to be sold at auc-
tion on Monday. The door was opened by a
half-grown black girl, (their only servant,) who
was probably not accustomed to admitting
visitors, and therefore, knew no better than to
show me at once up stairs to Edwin's chamber;
a very small place, perfectly clean, but furnished
in the most economical manner. There was no
fire in the room. Edwin was sitting at a little
pine-table with his great coat on, and his feet
enveloped in an old muff of his mother's to keep
them wawn. He was busily engaged in copy-
ing a head of Decatur from a China pitcher,
W proving on ir so greatly as to make it a very
ie drawing.
.smelia.-Poor fellow had he nothing better
to copy I
Oswald.-Why, I asked him that question,
but he~onfessed that he was at so great a loss
for models that he was glad to imitate any thing
She could get; and that, having no instructor, he
knew no jtter way to pick up a little knowledge
of ti'g leral principles of the art, than by


copying very thing that ease in hi way,
provided it wa not absolutely bad. I the
reminded that,as he coiud make admimble
sketches tom his own hmaginatieo, I thought
he need not copy at all; but he disclaied all
pretensions to designing well, ad the said
that, even if his original attempt were toleraby
successful, as outlines, it was only by drawing
from prints or pictures that he could sequin a
just idea of keeping, or of the distribution of
light and shadow. He showed me, however,
several original drawings, which my father
would sy geinced an extraordinary degree of
talent, and some admirable copies, thoughmarwy
of them were taken from very coarse prints for
want of better.
.amlia.-How very glad he would be to
have this Souvenir to draw from.
Oswald.-He would indeed. But that Bop-
venir cots three dollars, and I do not suppete
that he ever had three dollars in his life, poor
boy-I mean three dollars at once.
Amelia.-I will willingly lend it to him.
Oswald.-He has so little time to draw, that
it would be a great while before he could reYt M
it; or rather, he would'be so uneasy at %

it log, that I know he would send it back before
he had half done with it. And, besides, he
would have no satisfaction in drawing from your
book, as he would be in continual fear of drop-
ping his brush on one of the leaves, or of
accidentally injuring it in some way or other.
He is very unwilling to borrow any thing that
is new or valuable.
.ameia.-What a pity that a boy of so much
Senius should find any difficulties in his way.
Oswald.-There are too many similar in-
stances. Some of the most distinguished artists
of the present age have been obligd, in early
life, to struggle with indigence, and indeed,
with absolute poverty, much as Edwin Lovel is
now doing.
The next morning, Amelia said to her brother
as soon as she found him alone, "Oswald, I
wish to ask you one question. When we re-
ceive a'present does it not become our own ?"
.Amelia.-And we are at liberty to do exactly
what we please with it ?
Oswald.-Precisely-only I think we had
better not destroy it.

.Tn seOvUts. 18

And.a-Ofun., note-but w may giv, it
OmwaMdWhy-I do not know-I should
not like t6 give away a present received from a
valued friend.
Ameia.--But if, in giving it away, you make
the person on whom you bestow it more happy
than you yourself could possibly be made by
keeping it? .
Oswald.-If you were sure that that would
be the case-- *
Amelia.-Oh I am very sure-I can answer
for myself. Therefore, dear brother, I beg your
acceptance of my Souvenir.
Oswald.-Why, Amelia, your kindnea sur-
prises me. You know I have already aChrist-
mas gift? the beautiful writing case that my
father bought for me yesterday. I cannot take
your Souvenir.
.mmdea.-Dear Oswald, for once allow me to
make you a present. It is the first time ia my
life I have had it in my power to offer you any
thing of consequence. I shall be so happy, if
you accept it.-There it is, (laying the Souvenir
on Oswald's knee.)

* y ..- T

Oswald.-But Amsli, howMU te pet so
soon with your beautiful'Souvenir ? You were
so delighted with it last evening. j
Jmelia.-I kuow every thing in it-I ex-
amined all the plates with the greatest attention,
and I read it through before I went to bed.
Oswald-(sailing).-Well, Amelia, though
you are so generous as to make me the owner
of the Souvenir, you know it will still remain in
the house. I will put it carefully away in my
little book-case, and whenever you wish to look
at.it, just tell me so, and you shall have it at
-any time.
Amelia-(looking diMppointed).-But, Os.
waldare you going to keep it always ?
Oaborn.-Always, as the gift of my loving
Jmelia.-But I do not insist on your keep-
ing it for ever, dear Oswald. You may give it
away again-I shall not be the least offended if
you give it away, provided you bestow it pro.
perly. Indeed, I would rather you should give
it away than not-and as soon as possible, too-
this very day, if you choose.
Oswald.-Surely, Amelia, you have a very

sTHua sMOVns. 1

stage wP aulldig a preset; desiring i
to be given away again immediately.
Amdia.-Why, Oswald, you know you do
not draw.
Oneald.-No, indeed, to my great regret.
Anmdia.-And, if you did, my father rould
always take care that you should be well sup-
plied with models.
Ostald.-I suppose he would, as he never
lets us want for any thing that could add to our
improvement: -
Amdia.-Had not the Souvenir better be
given to a person that does draw very *ell,-
beautifully, indeed,-but that has no money to
buy models ?
Owald.-In one word-Had not the SoB-
venir better be given to Edwin Lovel ?
Amedsi.-Yes, since it must be told, that is
exactly what I mean.
Osoald.-So I guessed from the beginning.
But why did you take such a roundabout.way
of getting the book put into his possession t
Amelia.-Why, I do not suppose he would
accept it from me, a young girl whom he has
never seen; but he would be less scrupulous in

16 TB. 80U II1R.

taking it as yur gift, as yean a aqqaaint-
ance of his.
Oswald.-Say, a friend.
)melia.-I know you so well, that, after our
conversation last night, I was certain, if I gave
the book to you, you would present it at once
to the poor boy; and I was much disconcerted
when you pretended at first that you would
keep it always.
Oswald.-Amelia, the book is yours and the
suggestionn is yours, and I will not assume to
myself more merit than I deserve. If you are
deterAinod on giving the Souvenir to Edwin
Lovel, the best way is to seal it up in a sheet of
whitt paper addressed to him, and with a few
words written on the inside, requesting his
acceptance of the book from an unknown
admirer of early genius.
Amelia.-An excellent plan-I wonder I
did not think of it before. I will set about it
Oswald.-Hero is a sheet of Amies's best
letter-paper, and here is my new writing-box.
Let it be used for the first time in a good cause.
9melia-(sits down and writes.)-I never
wrote any thing with more pleasure.

Oswald.--B sure to put early genius."
Amelia.-I have.
Oswald.-Let me see -.I never saw4ny
writing of yours look so pretty. Now, I will
put up the parcel, and tie it round with red
tape, and seal it, for girls seldom do such things
well-(he folds the book in the paper, ties, and
seals it.) There, now direct it.
.melia.-The next thing is, who shall we
get to carry it to Edwin?
Oswald.-Why not William ?
Amelia.-I do not wish my father toknow
it, lest he should think I set too little value on
his Christmas present; and I will never t*k a
servant to do any thing for me that is to be
kept from the knowledge ofmy parents.
Oswald.-That is right. I will take the
packet to the Intelligence Office, round the
' corner, and give one of the black boys that are
always loitering there, a trifle.to carry it to Mr.
Lovel's, and just leave it with whoever opens
the door.
Amelia.-That will* do very well. Now,
Oswald, make haste, for I hear my father
Osald easily procured a boy to carry the

rs8 Tr aUUVm SBN.
packet to the house of Mr. LoAl, who lived in
one of the upper cross streets. The door was
oped by the black girl, who immediately re-
cognized the boy as an old acquaintance, and
commenced a conversation with him. "c Why,
Ben," said she, what is this you have brought
for Master Edwin? I guess its a book. It
looks exactlyy like one. All done up so nice,
and sealed. Why, I'm puzzled who ended
it." He did not tell me his name," replied
the boy, but I guess I know who he is, for
all tlat. Its Master Oswald Woodley, Mr.
Woodley the great merchant's eldest son. My
aunt is cook there, and I've often been in the
kitchen. And he gave me a quarter-dollar for
carrying it; and it must be 'livered into Master
Edwin's ownuprivate particular hands."
So saying, he departed, and the girl ran up
to Edwin's room, holding out the parcel and.
saying, "Master Edwin, here's a book for you,
signed, sealed, and delivered; sent by Master
Oswald Woodley, oldest son of Mr. Woodley
the great merchant." .
Edwin took the book, and, on opening it, was
much surprised to find the note, written in a
female hand, and the name of Amelia Woodley

rTE sogvuasv If
on the prentati pLha ofthe Bouveair, which
had been inscribed by her father the pmeeding
evening, and which she had forgotten to eme
before abe sent it away. .For some time, his
pleasure in examining the beautiful plates ab-
WorbA every other consideration, and it was
not till he had gone twice over them, that he
thought of the mystery connected with the book.
His honorable principles determined him not to
accept it, as he saw that there was some secrecy
about the whole transaction, and that probably
the generous young lady, whose name it bore,
had sent it to him without the knowledge of her
parents. The beauty of the book was a great
temptation, and he would have derived maoch
pleasure from copying some of the fine plates,
but still he could not reconcile it to his con-
science to keep it, neither would he betray the
kind-hearted Amelia to her father. He resolved
to seal it up again, and' leave it himself at Mr.
Woodley's door, addressed to Oswald.
He took his last sheet of paper, and wrote in
it as follows:-
Accident has discovered to me to whom I
am indebted for a meat beautiful present, but
thdnu it has excited my warnmet atituds I


cannot consent to accept it under circumstances
of mystery to which the parents of my kind
fried may be stranger. I return it with a
thousand acknowledgments. EDowI LovIt."
Having looked once more at the engravings,
he put up the Souvenir, and set out himself to
leave it at Mr. Woodley's house, intending to
desire the servant that opened the door to give
it to Master Oswald.
Mr. Woodley was sitting at the centre-table
looking over some English newspapers, and he
found in one of them a high eulogium on a new
picture by an American artist, now in London.
He read the piece aloud, and when he had con.
eluded, Amelia," said he, if I am not mis-
taken, there is in your Souvenir an engraving
from this picture. Let me look at it again."
Amelia colored and knew not what to say, and
Oswald also seemed much embarrassed. t My
dear," pursued Mr. Woodley, "4 did you not hear
me P If you can get the book conveniently, I
should like to look at that plate." Amelia, con-
fused and trembling, tried to speak but could
not, and her eyes were immediately filled with
tears. Amelia," said Mr. Woodley, c has
any accidethppened to the Souvenir ?" 6 No,

1as 09UTESII.

my dear father she replied, -bI I have w
it away." Is it possible said Mr.Weodley,
" that you were so soo tired of your fathsi
Chritmas gift ?" "Oh no, no," replied Ame-
lia, but there is a poor boy who daw.beauti-
fully, and I thought it would make him so happy.
Dear Oswald, tell the whole."
Oswald then, as concisely as possible, lated
all the circumstances ; and Mr. Woodley, after
gently blaming the children for disposing of the
book without consulting their parents, kissed
Amelia, and commended her kindness and bene-
volence in bestowing her Bouvenir on poor
Edwin Lorel.
Just then a ring was heard at the front door,
and William brought in and gave to Oswald the
packet, which had been left that moment by
Edwin. c Ah !" exclaimed Oswald, on opening
the parcel, this is so like Edwin. He seds
back the Souvenir." He then gave Edwin's
note to Mr. Woodley, who, after reading it, went
to the desk and wrote a billet addressed to
Edwin's father, in which he requested him to
permit his son to join his family that day at their
Christmas dinner. William, was.umediately
despatched to Mr. Lovel's with the and in


a ~teti mEdwin arwird,lokig ve7y happy;
and Mr. Woodley shook him heartily by the
hand, on being introduced to him by Oswald.
Then, taking up the Souvenir, he held it out to
Amdia, and desired her to present it a second
timh to her brother's young friend. With my
sanction," said Mr. Woodley to Edwin, "you
will ot again refuse my daughter's gift, though
you so honorably returned it when you suspected
that she offered it unknown to her parents."
Edwin spent the day with the Wood ley family,
who were all delighted with his modesty and
good sense, and Mr. Woodley made him promise
to repeat his visit as ofted as he had leisure.
That evening, Amelia's uncle bought her a
present of an Album, bound in green moroceo
and handsomely gilt, and Edwin requested that
she would allow him to take it home and draw
something in it.
When he returned the Album, it contained
copies, in Indian ink, of the most beautiful
plates of the Bouvenir, executed in Edwin's
very beet manner. Mr. Woodley presented
Edwin with a port-folio, containing a selection
of fine pi~ and eventually made arrange-
meas wl a distinguished artist to take him


a a pupil; his taste for drawing being so
decided, and his indications of genki so extra.
ordinary, it was thought best to yield to his
desire of making painting his profession. "
Finding Edwin's father to be a vey deserving
man, Mr. Woodley assisted him to re-establish
himself in business, regretting that he should so
long have been condemned to the irksome life
of a teacher in a school. He was soon enabled
to occupy a better house, and to live once more
in the enjoyment of every comfort



7%t ee is at Mrs. Lesmore's house in one of the towns
on the banks of the ludnson-the time is the latter part
of a summer afternoon--Ars. Lesiore sewing at a
tabl in her front parlour--,aura sated opposite to
her, with her drawing materials.

LAURA. Dear mother, I believe I must put
up my drawing for this day. I cannot draw as
Swell even as usual, my mind being so much
engrossed with the expectation of seeing my
brother this afternoon.. I feel too happy to
think of any thing else. See, I have made
the squaw's face quite too dark even for an
Indian, and her child's hair looks as stiff as
bristles. If I touch the warrior again, I shall
certainly spoil him.


for his rooe, rather then go to the expense.os
buying them. When the cadets heq a bill he
stays away because he will not be one of the
' subscribers to it; and for the .ame reason he
Never seen at a concert or other entertain
Sent. In short, he declinesaubecribing to' any
,thing, and seems resolutely bent on saving as
much money as possible. He had been going
on in this penurious way for the last two years,
therefore it is strange you should not have
heard something of it before this time. Oh I
there is anothepthingq must not Torget. During
the summer recess he never, like the other
cadets, asks permission to visit the city, but he
remains in camp all the time.
MRs. LESOREn. Oh I no, not quite all the
time-he always comes up to pass a few daysF
with 6is mother and sister.
MRn. CLAPPERTON. But he goes no where
Mas. LEsIonI. It is trua that his anxiety
to make the most of his time, while his educa-
tion is yet unfinished, and his desire to improve
in tactics (the branch wifch is particularly
practised during encinpment), has

H riE CADYST'Sa ssTa.
pagrested him from paying us longfisit. But
this being last year, he is now exempt from
*military duty, and he can remain with u
several weeks, and next summer, he will be
commissioned. Still, I am surprised and
shocked at what fou tell me. My son's dis-
position was always generous and liberal;
exactly like his father's.
MRa. CLarnTroW. Excuse, me, my dear
Mrs. Lesmore, but as Marcus knows that his
father's liberality injured the circumstances od
the family, perhaps he thinks itetter to keep
on the safe side, and accustom himself thus
early to habits of strict economy. I admire his
prudence, but I am sorry he should go such
Sseagths as to be accounted mean.
& LLaurA. Oh! but indeed, a mean boy is
*such an unnatural character. I am certain my
dear Marcus cannot deserve it.
MRS. CLArPERTON. Well, I can assure yea
that from what Mr, Wansley said, Marcus Les-
more has actually obtained that character, and
is believed by the whole corps of cadets to de-
serve it. 1 am very sorry, for in the opinion
of boys there is nothing aore contemptible thap

.g90 SADE'*S OfSTla. t
Syouag miser. And I must own that I bae
never beard of his sending any titkt presents
to his nmthcr and sister.
Mas. Lau ORn Mrs. Caperton, say no-
thing on that subject. He undoubtedly fnd
his pay little enough for -hi unavoidble ex*
Mam. CLAPIXow. How is it, them, that as
young Wansley assured me the cadets can
generally defray all their 'unavoidable ex.
peases,' with their allowance of twenty-eight
dollar a month, and have still something left
for other purposes Bo close as he i, I really
think Marcus muat by this time have saved a
little fortune. He must have money in the
bank, or perhaps he intends buying a house.
Well, it is very prudent, though certainly not
very common, for a boy of eighteen to think ot
providing far his old age.
Mas. Lmasuoa. You mest excuse me, Mm.
Clapperton, but I cannot ,par any jesting at
the expense of my son.
MaM. Currwaro. Well, do not beangry,
but I have not told you the half that I heard
'abgt lp Wafisley related some of t moat
cprious anecdotes.


MM. IXsmonu. What you have already
told has given me so much pain, that I would
rather hear no more.
MaS. CLAAtrTON. Your Marcus is cer-
tainly very different from my William, whose
-money flies as it it was dust. He is never
satisfied except when he is down at New
York; and when there, he goes every night to
the theatre, and frequently to a ball after the
play is over. He is continually hiring horses
and gigs, and going on water-parties. And he
never spends less than a dollar a day at the
confectioner's or oyster-houses. Then, since
his trip to Philadelphia, be will not wear even
a light summer-jacket, unless it is made at
Watson's. But I like to see a boy of spirit,
and I make his father indulge him in every
thing he wants. However, I must now take
my leave, for I expect in the next boat five
new dresses, which were not "quite finished
before I left the city; and I must despatch John
to the wharf to be ready to get the boxes. If
you call to-morrow morning I will show them
to you. They are all in the very first .style.
So good b'ye.


Mu. L asmra. Good afternoon, Mrs. Clp.
[Laura aowompaesiu fr.. Clpperios to as deer, ow
then retwur.]
LAm A. (Bursting into tears.) Oh! my
aear mother
Mae. LUsmons. My beloved girl, I am as
much grieved and mortified as you can be, at
what Mrs. Clapperton has been telling us.
LAURA. I am sure it cannot be true,
MRs. LasXonr. There is undoubtedly some
exaggeration, both on the part of Mrs. Clapper-
ton and that of the cadet who was her inform-
ant. But the charge is of so unusual a nature
that I fear it must have some-foundation, other-
wise no one would dare to advance it.
LAURA. I believe it to be mere slander.
But Marcus is so sensible and so amiable, that
it is surprising he should have a single enemy.
Mis. Lasmol.. Whatever may be the good
qualities of a young man,4 e will never be
popular with his associates if they have reason
to suspect him of any thing that borders on
parsimony. In the eyes of youth meanness is
ah unpagonable failt.

* -

' THr CAD o T'I SISfTs.

LAURA. But how he must have changed I
When he was a boy at home, his money was
always laid out in some way or other as soor
as it was given to him. And he was so gene-
rous to his friends and to me, and so willing to
share whatever he had.
MRs. LasloRn. It is true, as Mrs. Clapper-
ton rudely and ill-naturedly reminded us, that
Marcus has never sent even the most trifling
present to you or to me.
LAURA. Oh dearest mother, never allade
to that again I dare say he finds hi pay
quite little enough.
MRs. LESORE. But if other cadets can live
on their pay, and still allow themselves many
indulgences--Oh I Laura, Lamra, I fear indeed,
that all is not right.
LAURA. Oh I that Marcus would arrive, and
then we might immediately ascertain the truth.
Mas. LESMORE. It is torture to think ill of
him even for a f4eft moments.
LAURA. I hear a wheelbarrow stop at the
door; it must be Marcus' baggage-(she run
to the windWte) ah I here he is I
MRs. LzsMORE. My dear Marcus S


[Thiry hst to Aheifro&M'dwue awl tahe to ka
parlour with Marcus, who throws his cap on te tafe,
and seats himself on the sofa between his mother and siser. ]
MAcus. Well, my dear mother, hee I am
once more. We had every thing to make our
passage from West Point delightful; but still it
seemed to me a very long one-I was so imps.
tient to arrive at my beloved home.
Mas. L~smoRs. How much you have
grown You look half a head taller than
when we last saw you.
LAURA. And how much handsomer you are
now, than before you went to West Point.
MARCVe. (smiling) You must allow some-
thing for my uniform-(a pause) But, my
dear mother, you look disturbed and uneasy,
and Laura has certainly been in tears. What
has happened --tell me at once.
LAURA. Did you never hear of any one
crying with joy ?
MaRcus. But joy isnL the cause of the
tears that are now filling your eyes. I have
more penetration than to believe that the only
emotion you feel at this moments pleasure mm
seeing me again, after a long siparatii. There
is something else-something lIthaLpened-


some recent cause of affliction-some new mis-
MRS. LzSMORE. Oh I no-no-
MAUtcU. Dearest mother, tell me the whole
-neither you nor Laura receive me as you
did when I came home' last summer. Some-
thing, I am sure, is wrong.
MRS. LESMORE. Marcus-I twil tell you
LAURA. (in a low voice to Mra. Lenmore)
Dear mother, do not say any thing about the
cadets calling him (young Elwees.'
Mas. LusMOnr. Mrs. Clapperton his just
been here, having recently returned from New
MARcvs. I am glad her visit to you was
over before my arrival. I think her a very
foolish, impertinent woman.
MRs. LESMORE. When she was going down
the river, a cadet (probably one that had just
been dismissed) came on board at West Point.
Mrs. Clapperton 4( into conversation with
him, and asked some questions concerning you.
MARCUS. May I know *hat he said of me t
*Mas. .LzswRE. He said that-how can I
tell you- know not in what manner to begin.
"L1wA. QC! dear mother, tell it not at all-

TS SADUDT'U 8latlB. -l

at lst not til to-mrrow. Let us try to be
happy as we can this first evening of Mar~us's
MARCUS. My curiosity is now so highly
excited that I must entreat, and were I not
addressing my mother, I would say, I must
insist on knowing.
SMam. LIsmOnz. Well, then, Marcus, I have
been surprised and mortified to hear that you
are accused by'your companions of an extraor-
dinary disposition to-to-what shall Icall it t
LAVA. To economize rather strictly. Dear
mother, you know that economy is a virtue.
[Marcus rise, and traver e the room is mucA emotion.
MRS. LasXoaR. In plain terms-that you
are more saving of your money than is usual,
or indeed becoming in a youth of your age..
That you carefully avoid every expense that is
not absolutely necessary. That you join in no
amusement which is likely to cost you any
thing, and that you take the utmost pains to
live on as Jittle as possible.
MARCUS. It is all.true.
LAURA. True !-Oh, Mecus I
MaR. Lumoan. Can it indeed be

you hnve carried your economy a far that it is
remarked and commented upon by all the
cadets, and that some of them look codly on
you, while others ridicule you I
MAacus.-I know they do--nd they have
nicknamed me young.Elwees.'
hAURA. Oh! Marcus! Why is all this
Marcus. Have you not always told me,
dear mother, that every one should endeavour
to live within his income-is it then right that
I should expend the whole of mine t
MRs. Lusmoar. I have always supposed
that your pay is no more than sufficient for the
expenses incident to your situation.
MaRcus. Excuse, me, dear mother, it ir
more than sufficient.
Mas. LKSMORE. But not if you live like
. other cadets. I am extremely sorry that this
singular and strict economy should have made
you unpopular with your comrades; but a
young man that is suspected of meanness
never has many friends.
MARcus. Have you ever heard any thing
.else against me ? Has any one told you that I
have electedd n1j studies, or infringed on the
rutal the institution; that I have on any

T44 qA6b p.T- sdi5L 0
occasion eriaced refctor or insuboopdinaa
spirit; or that I have ever been guiLy of say
thing dishonourable or imtnoral
Mns. Lasmoa. Oh I no, no-all that we
have heard, all that we know, convinces us of
the contrary.
MARCCs. Then, as, according to the. old
aphorism, t every one has his fault,' let me beg
a little indulgence for mine.
MaS. LESzORa. But, Marcus, parsimony,
or meanness, if I must speak plainly, is a fault
so unusual, so extraordinary in a very young
person, that I own it both surprises and grieves
me to hear it attributed to you.
LAURA. Dear brother, only junt tell us why
you are so saving of your clothes, and why you
avoid partaking of the few amusements that art
within your reach; and above all, why
have discontinued your newspaper?
MARCUs. As to my clothes, no one can say
that I ever make a shabby or slovenly appear-
LAURA. You certainly look very nicely now.
MAncus. As to amusements, they are alwa
matters of taste. My companions an the
selves in their way, and I th mine.


LAvUA. But we hare heard that you never
buy any ooks-you -that were always so fond
of reading!
Maacus. I have not yet read all the books
in the public library belonging to the academy.
LAURA. But books of amusement dear
MuAcus. I shall have time enough after I
am commissioned to read books of that descrip-
tion. At present it is my duty to restrict my-
self to such works as will be useful to me in my
profession, and with these I can amply supply
myself from the library.
LAURA All this is very right and proper,
Marcus, but still it is not like a boy.
Mis. LusMORE. Marcus, there is some mys-
nry connected with this subject. I know that
4 r natural disposition is generous and liberal,
that your perseverance in this system of
rigid economy must have cost you many pain-
ful sacrifices. There must be some powerful
-motive, and your family ought to know it. Tell
us, then, dear Marcus.
[fH reaixs silent.]
LAIRA. Oh! arcus, will you not speak

TUN OANST'S 5s1s629

when your sister, your oly iater treat
you t
Mas. Iasons. Or must you be told that
your mother commands you ?

[JMacu bowe to his aoter, cata down Ai eya, and
then throw hiA arm round Laura's seck.]
LAnRA. Dear Marcus, why have you so
long been acting unlike yourself I What is
the cause ?
MaRcus. (deeply fected)-You, Laura,
you are the cause.
LauRA. I-Oh! explain yourself.
MARcu, (taking a hand of each)-Mother
-sister-what shall I say ?-You know that
my father left you in circumstances far from
affluent. Fortunately he had yielded to A
earnest desire, and permitted me to iei&
myself for a military life. I had often, r
you became a widow, heard you regret your,
inability to afford my sister such an' education
as she would have had if my father still lived.
I, in the mean time, was enjoying the benefit
of an excellent course of instruction at the ex-
pense of my country ; and when I thlsght of
my dear Laura, I often wLed that shre- a

46 vMS 0 r'E T' 41ITUI

boy, and could participate in the same advan-
tages. But then again, I consoled myself by
rejecting on her happiness in being always
with her mother, and on the mutual comfort
and pleasure you both derived from being
always together. Knowing that the narrow-
ness of your income would not permit either of
you to mix much in society, and that you live
in comparative retirement, I anticipated 'the
satisfaction it would give you both if Laura
could be enabled to cultivate the talents that
Heaven has bestowed on her. And when
impressed with this idea, eaer the thought had
once struck me-how shall I go on ?-in short,
I determined to live as economically as possible
myself, in the hope ofteing able, at the end of
thyear, to save enough to meet the expenses
jay sister's education.
TAunA. (in tears)-Dear, dear Marcus.
MARCUs. I tried the experiment, and I found
it practicable; but I did not wish my mother
and sister to know it, lest they should refuse to
accept the fruits of my savings. Therefore, I
always contrived to send the money down to
New York, that thL letter which enclosed it
might hot have the West Point post mark, I

wrote in a disguised had a few ines implying
that this money was the gift of an unknown
friend of the late Cplonel Lesmore, and that it
was designed to assist in the education of his
daughter. All is now explained.
Mts. LaESORn. (embracing Aim)-My be-
loved son !
LAURA (pressing his hand to her heart)-
My darling brother.
Mas. LsWmoRE. How could I for a moment
suppose that my dear Marcus might be unable
to justify himself, however appearances and
reports were against him. And now, my child,
I have some excellent news for you, which I
heard but yesterday, and which I have not yet
disclosed to Laura, as p'ished to reserve it as
an addition to our happiness on the evening
your arrival at home. Mr. Adamson, by wi
bankruptcy yout father was ruined, has
returned from the West Indies, where he has .
made a fortune by some lucky speculations
He is now able to pay all his creditors, and,
being a very conscientious man, he is deter-
mined to do it immediately. The sum that will
fall to our share is large enough to enable us in
fqe to dispense with any further apsirsase.

48 TER CADET'S #1*S?33

from the kindness of dear Marcus. We shah
now have an income that will be amply
LAURA. delightfull news I
Mas. LESMoaz. And now, my dear Marcus,
you must promise me that on your retitn to
West Point you will be again yourself, and
cease to practise that rigid economy which,
while it was so advantageous to your sister,
must have subjected you to perpetual incon-
veniences and annoyances.
MaRcus. Dear mother, I will do as you
wish me; and now that I have no longer the
same motive for self-denial, I confess that I
shall resume my former, and let me add, my
natural habits, with pisure. My comrades
U again see me in my own character. But
assure you that my satisfaction in the
ght of being able to benefit my dear Laura,
amply compensated for any pain or inconven-
ience that I endured in consequence.
LAURA. How could you persevere so long
when the cadets ridiculed you, and called you
a young miser ?
Maanus. I bore the opprobrium patiently,
because I knew it to be unmerited, It is

*t OCADBT'Slll 5IT

easier to suffer under an erroneous imputation,
than to endure the shame and self-reproach of
a real fault.
Mas. LEUsMOa. You have chosen,my dear
Marcus, the profession of arms, and should the
peace of our country be again invaded, you
must, in the hour of danger, take your chance
for life or death; andas personal intrepidity is
one of the attributes of your sex, I trust that
when the hour comes you will not swerve from
your duty. But how highly to be prized is
that moral courage which, in a good cause;can
submit without shrinking to daily and hourly
privations, and endure with patience the pain
ful suspicion of a fault moet opposite to the
truth. w
There are many who, with unshaken fim-
ness, can see the front of battle lour,' but dti
energy of mind iAr more rare that can steadily
submit to a long course of self-denial, to unjust
animadversions, and. to unmerited ridicule, and
find sufficient consolation in" silent and
secret exercise of the best feelings ofgeneresity
and affection.


SUSAINA MZnIDnrr was the orphan niece of
Mrs. Weatherwax, an elderly lady who was
Spreceptress' of a school at a large and flourish-
ing village in one of thAniddle sections of the
Union. The aunt of our young heroine was
educating her with a view to her becoming an
assistant in the seminary s% .d imeed, pool
Susanna had already been .i into the
most laborious duties of thit ofce, though her
age was not yit fourteen.
It ,must not be supposed that Mrs. Weather-
as establishment bore any resemblance to
that English village school, whose sign bMs

been so facetiously described as coai
these words, Children taught reading, writing
and grammar, for sixpence a week. Thoris
learns manners pays eightpence.' On the
contrary, her was a lyceum of high prelnce,
and very select f none' being admitted whose
parents were not likely to pay their quarter
Mrs. Weatherwax was not one of those
teachers who strew the path of learning with
flowers. With her, as with most hard, dull,
heavy-minded people, the letter was always
paramount to the spirit. Provided that her
pupils could repeat the exact words of their
lessons, it was to her a matter of indifference
whether they underst4pd a single one of those.
words or not; and, in fact, as her own compre-
hension was not vTe extensive, it was by no
means surprisig that the governess should
carefully 'od th mgerous ground of expla-
nation. "'f *
Their chief class-book was Murray's English
Reader, where the little girls were expected to
be interested, and edified by dialogues loht
Locke and Bayle, orations of.Cicero, and parlia-
m dn ry speeches of Lord Mansfield. 4pd

usIe a week, by way of variety, they were
indulged with a few pages of Young's Night
Thoughts. Every Saturday they were required
to manufacture certain articles called composi-
tion,wrhich were moral and sentimental letters
on Beneficence, Gratitude, Modesty, Friend-
ship, &c. Mrs. Weatherwax also gave them
lessons in something she denominated French,
in which most of the words were pronounced
in English, or rather as if the letters that com-
posed them retained tht English pronunciation,
calling for instance, the three summer months,
Jesin, Juile, and .Augh.*
They wrote, or rather scratched their copies
with metallic pens, to save the trouble of mend-
ing, and they learned geography with the use
of the globes,' though all that was ever done
with the globes was to twi them ..fAnd now
and then a young lady of lpeaflir genius
accomplished, in the coursf- thr llonths, a
stool-cover or urn-stand, \orklwoe canvass,
and representing in caricature a cat, a dog, or
a flowerbasket.
uin"a Meredith had much native talent,

JUl., JaillAt and Aout

anited with the most inde&tiga applbAs,
and considering how little real benefit she 4.
rived from the tutorage of her aunt, her pro-
grem in everything she attempted was surpris-
ing. Her unpretending good sense, ano her e
mild and obliglg manners, tinctured with a
touch of melancholy, the consequence of feeling
deeply the loss of her parents, (both of whom
had died about the same time,) excited the
esteem and affection of her young companions,
whose indignation was often roused by the
manner in which poor Busanna was treated by
her aunt. She swept and dusted the school-
room, washed the desks, took care of the books,
fixed the sewing, inspected the sums, and
taught the little ones to read; and she never,
in any one instance, succeeded in'pleasing Mrs.

Her s compensated by being
allowed ilunt's left-offclothes, (after
she had a l them between school hours so
as to fit herself,) and by having permission to
sit at table with Mrs. Weatherwax, and lrinl
the grounds of the coffee in the morning, oa;
draining of the well-watered teapot In thl
evaping; and to eat at dinner the skinny, llr*j,


,ie utly parts of the meat, or the neck ad
'bcks of the poultry. Not that Mrs. Weather-
wax did not provide amply for herself, but,
though she said it was indispensably necessary
w for her tp sustain her strength by plenty of
good food, yet the same neceeity did not exist
with a young girl like Busanna, whom eating.
heartily would incapacitate for study. The old
lady's studies being over, she saw no motive
for abstemiousness on her own part.
It was on a warm afternoon in the early part
of July, that Mrs. Weatherwax, having dined
even more plentifully than-usual, felt herself
much inclined to drowsiness, and resorted to
her ordinary mode of keeping herself awake by
exercising a strict watch on her pupils and
-scolding and punishing them accordingly. Like
a peevish child, Mrs. Weatherwa~ was always
cross when she was sleepy. The girls, in
whispers, expressed more than ever .their long-
ings for the summer vacation; afr which, it
was understood that Mrs. Weatherwax was to
retire on her fortune; she having made enough
to 'edable her to give up her school to a lady
from New England, who had engaged to retain
Susanna Meredith as an assistant, and tomy


wMm VTiLAUB 33O0O,. .
her a small salary, which her aunt o
receive till she was of age.
About a dozen of her pupils were standingg'
up in a row before MrsrWeatherwat, reading
aloud and loudly from the Night Thoughts, and
in that monotonous tone which children always
fall into when they have no cAnprehension pf
the subject. Each read a paragraph, and
there was much miscalling of words, much
P'fshe emphasis, and much neglect of the proper
stops.e But of these errors the governess was
only at any time capable of distinguishing the
first, and as she gtew more sleepy, her correc-
tions of pronunciation became less frequent,
and at last they ceased altogether. In vais did
Maria Wilson call the opaque of nature,' the
O. P. Q. of nature, and in vain were futuri-
ties' denominated fruiterers, and 'hostilities'
termed hostlers. No word of reproof was now
The girls looked from their books at Mrs.
Weatherwax, and then at each other, biting
their lips to suppress their laughter, for her
eye-lids, though drooping, were not yet quite
closed. Gradually her neck seemed to lose
something of it usual stiffness, and to incline


t*IVr s her shoulder; her head slowly went
. to one aide; and in a few minutes, her tightly
shut eyes, her audible breathing, and her book
dropping from her hand and falling on the floor
without waking her, gave positive assurance
that tSe governSss had really and truly fallen
fast.asleep in her arm-chair.
As this fact became apparent, the faces 6f
her pupils brightened, and two of the mrpq&
courageous were deputed by the others to
approach close to her, and to examinKf she
absolutely was in a profound slumber. Their
report was fhvourable; and in a moment all
restraint was thrown aside, and a scene of joy-
ous tumult ensued, in which great risks were
run of wakening the sleeper. At first they
moved on tiptoe, sjoke in whispers, and
smothered their laughter; but, grown bolder
by practice, they at length ventured on such
daring exploits, that the continuation of their
governess's nap seemed almost miraculous.
*Some of them immediately fell to rummag-
ing the desk that always sat on Mrs. Weather-
wax's table, and from it they joyfully re-pos-
This scene was suggested by Rtihter's aebrteod
picture of The Girls' School.'

TEa VILLAGa S0100% T .

gesed themselves of some of theiso(iled
,Lucy Phillips took a snuff box from the.ald
lady's pocket, and threw msuff into thecs of
two other gils, who gneezed so loudly 4mon
sequence, that Mrs. Weatherwax was obk ed
to start in her sleep.
Ellen Welbrook hastened to the release of
her younger sister Mary, who had been sen-
tenced to stand for an hour on a high stool,
with'I2 -eap.jw her head, as a punishment
for sayTig Pallas' instead of < Mines,' as
she recited her lesson of mythology; and who,
now that she could do so with impunity, scowled
awfully at the slumbering governess, and sho*
her little fist in defiance.
Fanny Mills, the beaiftlf&e school, pinned
up a small silk shawl IMb a turban, and placing
in it a peacock's feather, taken from behinlhe
top of the looking glass, she practised attitudes,
and surveyed herself in the mirror with mosh
complacency. t
Catherine ~amsay diverted herself and her
companions by spreading out her frock as wide
as it would extend, and making ridiculous mock
curtsies to her sleeping governess.

L dir Linnel, a little girl whose chief del"
was in cutting paper, tore out several blank
eaves from her copy book seized a pair of
jci'so and strewed the floor with mimic dolls
and houses. 0 '<
Ad Isabella Smithson and MlWrgaret Wells
coldly walked out at the front door to go and
buy cakes.
There was also much unmeaning scampering,
prancing, scrambling, and giggling, without ant
definite object; and work-~baes,b chairs,
and 4ols, were overturned in the confusion.
And what did Susanna Meredith during this
saturnalia? Concerned at the disrespect so
unanimously evinced towards her aunt, and
still more conceded at knowing that the old
lady's nnpopulanty'a ras too well deserved,
Swanna remained steadily at her desk, en-
gaged at her writing piece, and unwilling to
raise her eyes, or to see what was going on;
but still not surprised that the children should
thus testify their joy at this jhort and unex-
pected relief from the iron rule of Mrs. Wea-
Two of the elder girls approached her-
SCope, Suasb a,* said Anne Clarkson, lay

Yas TIZan ****OL W
Sn 1PU S 146V 14*60L
fol your pen, ad join ns in oar en whi
we have an opportunity. I know ik your
heart you would lie to deo o.'
SExcuse me,' replied Susann, I aW w
ling to do'any thingqrhile my aunt is yleep,
that I would not attempt if she were asltke.'
cNow you are quite too good,' said Martha
Stevens, do not try to make us believe that
you feel any great respect for such anaunt as
'I iP1er think,' said Catharhie Ramsay,
coming up at the moment, 'that pAdence
lleeps Susanna out of the scrape, lest Dame
Weatherwax should wake up suddenly and
catch her. But only look at what Ihere
found in the old damsel's desk. You know
my mother is going toeave a tea-party to-
morrow evening for those western people that
arrived yesterday, and among the rest she has
invited Waxy. And so our accomplished 'pre
ceptress has made in this little book, memo-
randums of the subjects on which she iknds
talking. She is preparing for a grand showtfl
by way of astonishing the natives, as brother
Jack would say. H aisthe book-I just
now found it hidden a"' the ery back

M sUSAWnA -M3 3t3M, ,B

part of the desk. Only read these amO
dums, and see how they will make you laugh
BusAMA.-Oh I no, indeed-nothing could
inducere to meddle with that memorandum
book. I beg of you to r~urn it to its place in
my aunt's desk. It is highly dishonourable to
read any writing that you know is not intended
to be seen.
CArTH=iN.-Well, then, I'll be dishonour-
able for once, and so, I'll answer for it, will
every girl in the school but yourself. NBut see,
the little ones have taken flight into the garden.
Supposewe all adjourn thither. We can haws
better fun there, and without so much risk of
waking old Waxy.
kBrANNA-Let me entreat you to put back
that memorandum book.
CATIRRINE.-INot I, indeed-it shall be read
in a committee of the whole. You had better
come and hear it. I am sure it would divert
SpIANNA.-I really cannot join in such un-
watrantable proceedings. I would much rather
stay here. Do, pray, give me the book, and let
me put it back.
CAT zsn.- % lo,-not at least till we

TIE TvaIS11sAM Ise a
. 6e taken the cream of it. Come, then, gah,
let as all be off into the garden.'
In an instant they were out of thf school-
room, but Catherine Ramsay, turning WIk, ad
putting her head in at the door, said, Now
Susanna, do not carry your honour so fa as to
wake your aunt, and betray us all as son as
our backs are turned. She is sleeping away
now as if she was not to awaken for a hundred
years, like the princess in the fairy tale; though
no one, I am sure, will ever call her the Sleep-
ing Beauty. There is one good thing in fat
people-they always sleep soundly.',
BSUNANA.-Catherine, what have you seen
in me to authorize the suspicion that I could
act so meanly as to betray you to my aunt I
CATna urNm.-Oh nothing-but I thought
that with you, duty would %e always above
honour. Now mind that you do not deceive
us Of all things in the world I despise an
So saying, she turned from the door, and ran
out to the group that were romping through the
garden in the very hey-day of frolic, galloping
mischievously over tho flower-beds, committing
the most reckless depredations on the coaant

a 5sVweA A 3UsanDI W on
bhmbhe, eahimng the old chery tree, md riad,
each other on the gate; while Dido, Mm.
Weathe wax's only servant, a black girl about
t in the kitchen door, and held by
it ides to avoid falling down with laughter,
Catherine waved above her head the memo.
random book, ana assembling the elder girls
Sound her, they threw themselves on the grass
plt, while with a load voice she read m

Memoraidwnm for Mrs. Rmamy' A rty.

To stir my tea a long time, that I may my,
I like all the composite parts of the beverage
tbe both saturated and coagulated.'
o fan myself, that I may say, how sweetly
the zephyrs of MBoreas temper the heat of
To talk of the late eclipse, and to explain
that it was caused by the sun going behind the
To speak highly of the writings of Miss
Hannah More, and to say that she is known
throughout the civil world, and has spread over
Maie and eeorgia.


A*o speak French at times; for instauO it
Aere is any cheese among the relishes at ta,
to say that I am particularly fond of fromnmage.*
Also, if there are raspberries, to explss my
liking for framboys.t If the servant should
stumble in carrying round the waiter, to say
that he has made a fox pass.f
Catherine had proceeded thus far, whea
Susanna appeared at the door, and made a
sign that her aunt showed symptoms of waking.
Hastily, and as quietly as possible, all the girls
returned to the school-room, which Susanna,
daring their absence, had restored to its usual
order. They took their seats on the benches,
and found much difficulty in checking their
mirth. The breathing of Mrs. Weatherwax
was now less loud; she twisted her head:
threw out her arms, and was evidently about
to awaken.
Catherine hastily slipped the memorandum
book into Susanna's hand, whispering, Oh!
pray, pray, put it back into the desk immedi-
ately.' And the little heroine of the fool's cap
hurried that ornament again on her head, and
Froma, g he whse. t Fr d, rspberries.
$ F'u pa, fas step.


jumped on the stool of disgrace; but in w
doing she stumbled, the stool tipped over, anj
fell with so much noise as effectually to waken
Mrs. Weatherwax, who started upright in her
chair, rubbed her eyes and exclaimed, What
is all this ? I really think I was almost begin-
ning to lose myself-I do believe I must have
been nodding, or something very near it.'
The girls held down their heads, put their
books before their mouths, and made great
efforts to smother their laughter, and Catherine
Ramsay rose up, and said very saucily,' I hope
madam, you feel the better for your nap.'
cNap !' exclaimed the governess, who will
.dare to say that I have been taking a nap r
And, according to the custom of persons who
have been overtaken with sleep in company,
she declared she had heard every thing that
had passed.
So much the worse for us, then,' said Cathe-
rine, in a half whisper to the girl that sat next
to her.
SCome, go on,' said the governess, rubbing
her eyes, Ago on with your reading. You
have been a long time getting through that last

n' TILtAeOi setooL 8

k"he gifr tried to compose themselves to
read; and, in a few minutes, to their great
relik, the clock struck five, and Mrs. Weather-
wax, who was hardly more than half awake,
gladly dismissed the school. They could
scarcely wait till they had got out of doors,
before they simultaneously burst into a loud
laugh at the idea of the old lady's perfect
unconsciousness of all that had gone on during
her eeep.
The memorandum book was very small, and
on receiving it from Catherine, Susanna stipt
it into one of her pockets; she saw that while
school continued, she would have no oppor-
tunity of replacing in the desk ; but she deter,
mined to do so after her aunt had sat down to
tea. That repast Busanna prepared as usual
S the little back parlour, and when it was
lady she announced it to Mrs. Weatherwax;
but what was her confusion on seeing her aunt,
as soon as she rose from her chair, turn the
key which was sticking in the desk, a)d depo-
sit it in her pocket In what manner now
was Susanna to restore the memorandum book
to the desk, before her aunt should discover
that it had been removed I

6 SsUIAWNA M5iiDIT3, oa
After tea, Mrs. Weathenxr told BSuma to
make haste in washing up the cups, and then
bring her sewing into the school-room. She
did so, and found her aunt most ominously
employed in searching for hard words in
Entick's Dictionary, evidently with a view of
obtaining further materials for her memoran-
dum book. Susanna, who had often seen Mrs.
Weatherwax thus occupied, when she had a
visit in prospect, raised her eyes frequently
from the pillow-case she was hemming, anad
stole uneasy glances at her aunt.
At last she saw her unlock the desk-' My
stars' exclaimed Mrs. Weatherwax, I who has
dared to meddle in my desk I Somebody, I
see, has been here.' She searched into its
farthest recesses, and then called out, I can't
find my private memorandum book-has any
one dared to take it away t'-fixing her lard
eyes full on poor Susanna, who, unused to any
thing that resembled deception, buried her fac
in her wgrk.
Mrs. Weatherwax, however, seized her niece
by the arm, and dragging her forward, pulled
away her hands, exclaiming, 'Now look me
full in the face, and say you did hot take that

iex3 y Vs-IrAG s4eO. W

e-nmdamn, book t .o my 4Lek. Iea
out--peak loud.'
-I did not,' replied BSusan trying to look
at her aunt's inimed visag, 'I did aot
SI do not believe you,' vocifeated Ms.
Weatherwax, shaking her, so I shall make
bold to search.'
She thrust her hand into Susanna's pocket,
and drew out the memorandum book, which
she held up triumphantly.
*Indeed, indeed, I did not take it from the
desk sobbed poor Bmanoa.
Then you know who did,' cried Mrs. Wee-'
therwaz, so tell me this instant.'
Susanna was silent.
I know you took it yourself,' continued Mrs.
Weatherwax, 'it's exactly like you.'
Oh I aunt,' cried Susanna, to do such a thipg.'
'Not another word,' purued the enraged
governess,--' I shall believe that ou did it,
till you can prove your innocence bIlling me
the real culprit. But I am certain it was your-
self, and I shall mnish you accordingly. I

1 satAXn'A *, naaa; on
suppae yoe took ce to reed every ord df
it ?'
usanna, much hurt at so unjust a suspicion,
would have persisted in asseverating her inno-
cence, but she feared being compelled to a dis-
closure of the real offender, and she kept silent,
replying only by her tears.
Mrs. Weatherwax, highly incensed, bestowed
on her a torrent of opprobious and strangely
sounding epithets, (none of which were to be
found in Entick's Dictionary,) and ordered her
immediately to bed, though it was stilt day-
light. Poor Susanna could not sleep, and
passed a very uncomfortable night.
In the morning her aunt came to inform her
that she should be locked up for a week in her
chamber-' Not, however, in idleness,' she con-
tinued, for I have plenty of sewing for you.
You shall begin immediately to make up my"
new linen. But you shan't show your face in
the school-room, for I will allow you no chance
of whisperng to all the girls the contents of
that meqnndum book.'
'I really did not read one line of it,' said
'You did not read it,' said Mrs. Weatherwax,

8L v&aO*,a o04 00os. ,
hit's a likely story indeed. Then what Ai
you steal it for I Ye--you shall be shut up
in this room, and yeu shall sew at my linen
from morning till night, and you shall live on
short allowance too, I promise you.',
Poor Busanna cried, but submitted
When the girls assembled at school, they
were surprised to see nothing of 8usanna, but
Mr. Weatherwax told them she was sick.
When school was over for the moraing,Cathe-
rine Ramsay and several of the other girls
asked permission to go to Susanna's room to
see her. This request was promptly .refused
by Mrs. Weatherwax, on the plea that company
always made sick people worse.
SPoor Susanna I' murmured Catherine, all
I wonder at is that she'hould ever be well.'
In the evening Mrs. Weatherwax put her-
4uIf into full dress, and went to Mrs. Ramsay's
tea party, wher- Catherine and her cousin
Lucy Philips coula scarcely keep their counte-
nances when they heard the old lady take
occasion to bring out, one after another, all the
set speeches that she had noted in her memo-
randum book. When the tea waiter was
brought in, (on which Catherine had taken

70 ssSAUnA UsNS1Se on -
arm that thee should be a phte of slled
cheese,) -- Now,' whispered the biischevous
girl, 'she is going to sy frommage,' And
when the raspberries were handed round-
' Now she is going to talk of framboys,'- and
so she did. But as no servant happened to
stumble, there was unluckily no opportunity
for the fox-pas.
Ssanna had been invited to this party, but
Mn. Weatherwax alleged her illness a an
excuse for not bringing her.
SMr. Ramany's house was only on the oppo-
site side of Ie road, and about nine o'clock,
Catherine put some of the bet cakes intb a
little basket, with two oranges, and slipped
over to Mrs. Weatherwax's.
The door was opened by Dido, the bleck
girl, with the kitchen lamp in her hand
When Catherine told her that she wished
see Susanna, as Mrs. Weatherwax said she
was very sick, the girl grinned widely and
said, La I bless you, Miss Caterine, han't you
got no more sense than to believe old Missus ?
Miss Susannar can't no more sick than I am-
shes only shot up for a punishing. I wanted
to walk her about as soon as the old woman's

fA vLALIIGA O6seeek n
back wa tmred, (for all she gave me lh key,
and charged and overcharged me to keep her
fast); but Miss Buannar would not agree to
be let out. She's too paticlar about doing
what's 'actly right, and old Missua won't
even let nobody into see her. She's 'hibited
her from all 'manication with the known
But I must and will see her,' aid Cathe-
rine, giving the black girl a cake d an
STo be sure you shall, bw hurt,'
replied Dido, so folly on aft and I'll
'duct you up stairs to her sorrowful dungeon
As they proceeded up the staircase, Dido,
who went before with the light, turned her
head and said, I amy, Mis Caterine, don't
aiou hate old Mimeoa'
STo be sure I do,' replied Catherine.
SThat's me exactly exclaimed the girl-
'Me and you are birds of a feather. I hate
her like pion. When people's mean, and
pinching, and, crow, and hard-hearted beside,
they can't expect folks to love them.'

SMean people are always cross,' remarked
SIf I did'nt visit about among the neigh-
bours continued the girl, I could'nt make out
at all-old Missus keeps us so short of victuals.'
They now arrived at the door of Susanna's
room, which Dido threw open, saying, There
sets the poor creature. Here, Miss Susannar,
raise up your head from the window bench,
and look at Miss Caterine axing to see you.'
ShAken withdrew into a corner to suck her
orange, while Catherine threw her arms round
Susanna's ik, and eagerly inquired what
was the matter, and on what pretext Mrs.
Weatherwax had shut her up.
Susanna wept, but said nothing.
I'll tell you what, Miss Caterine,' cried
Dido, It's al about something that old Missus
cdl her random book, that she says Miss
Suannar stole out of her desk. I just put my
ear to the kgyhole a minute, (as I always do,)
and I heard her last night proper loud and
high. She couldn't have scolded worse if
she'd stole a pocket, book full of bank notes.
Now I don't b'leve Miss Susannar ever steal
any thing.'

tIN TVI6Aoa SOemOo. 9
SOht BSasna,' exclaimed Catherine, *I
feir you ar indeed suffering for that vile
memorandum book which I took out of the
desk myself, and thoughtlessly put into your
hands to replace. And you have really
allowed yourself to be unjustly blamed and
punished, rather than betray so worthless a
person as I am t'
An explanation now ensued, and Catherine
declared she would go home that moment,
and proclaim the truth to Mrs. Weaterwax.
Susanna, unwilling that any .hj shAld be
said or done which might lea man exposure
of her aunt, besought Catherine to wait at least
till next morning, when she could see Mrs.
Weatherwax before the school assembled.
They were still arguing the point, when a
heavy step was heard ascending the s
and Mrs. Weatherwax in all her terrors
before them.
The tea party was over, and attracted by
the light in Susanna's room, the old lady has-
tened thither immediately, to ascertain the
cause. Catherine instantly ran up to her, and
made a frank declaration of her own delin-
quency and Susanna's innocence, but which

Mr. Weatherwax pertinaciously insisted on
disbelieving. The fact was, the old ldy had
that strange delight which is felt by some
people, in trampling on the oppressed, and in
oppressing every one that is unfortunately in
their power. Being very much incensed, and
determined to punish somebody, she preferred
venting her anger on poor Susanna, in a way
that she was accustomed to, rather than to
devise a mode of correction for anch a spirit as
that of Catherine Ramsay. Also, she prudently
remendrred t Catherine was the child of
wealthy pareb.
Why, Mrs. Weatherwa,' said Catherie,
'do you persist in pretending to believe that
the memorandum book was taken out of your
desk by Susanna, and not by me ?'
V'es, I do,' answered the governess, not-
wi oding this fit of generosity, (as I suppose
y klnl it,) in laying the blame on yourself
I know she took it. All her ways are low and
'They are no such thing,' interrupted
cA youg lady like you,' pursued Mrs. Wea-
therwax, the only daughter of Mr. and Mr

in& VIAsIa e**LEl. To
Rmmy, with er father in the Assembly, couM
not be guilty of any thing so dishonumrble.'
'I stand corrected,' aid Catherine, coloring,
SI own it was dishonourable. Nevertheless I
actually did it. I felt so full of mischief at the
moment, that I was capable of any thing, and I
had no thought of the consequences. Do you
say that Susanna is still to be kept a prisoner
in her room t
Mrs. Weatherwax thought to herself,, I will
keep her there till she has finished making iay
linen, which ill be more adv ageoaLo me
just now than w~at she does in the school; and
I will make Dido sweep and dust, and put the
school-room in order.' Then raising her voice,
the old lady exclaimed loudly, I say that
Susanna Meredith shal go through the whole
of the punishment.'
SWell, madam,' said Catherine, I
once more that I alone am guilty. If Id
see Busanna in her place again to-morrow
morning, I shall explain the whole to my
father and mother, and then I am well per-
suaded they will at once take me away from
your school.t
8o saying,'Catherine immediately walked

at of the room with an a of resolute defi6ne,
and returned to her own home.
Mrs. Weatherwax, much enraged, scelded a
while longer, blamed poor Susanna for having
put all this impudence,' as she called it, into
Catherine's head, and again locking up her
unfortunate niece, she retired for the night.
Next morning about breakfast time, a letter
was brought to Mrs. Weatherwax, which she
read with much surprise and emotion, and then
caqefully secured it in her desk. She sat a
while and pondered, and afterjrds repaired
to Susanna's apartment, with a face drest in
Smiles, and a voice subdued to unusual softness.
Good morning, my love,' said she, kissing
ier cheek, you may ilow come down stairs.
Lay aside your sewing-breakfast is ready.'
usanna, much surprised at these unprece-
ded indications of kindness, gladly obeyed,
airMrs. Weatherwax actually herself placed
a chair for her at table. On this happy morn-
ing, her aunt gave her a cup of good coffee,
before the pot was filled up with water, and
put into it plenty of cream and sugar. She
also helped her to some ham and eggs, (though
she had often told her that relishes were unfit

>e vZi.ae soU eo0 TT
for children.) and she repeatedly handed b
the plate of warmrcakes, exhorting her to et
Susanna was thoroughly amazed, and began
to fear that all this was only a dream.
When the children assembled, Mrs. Weather-
wax had not yet appeared in the school-room,
and Catherine Ramsay, flying up to Susanna,.
congratulated her on her evident release, saying,
I am glad I threatened Mrs. Weatherwax with
quitting her school, and I know if I had -
plained all, father and mother would have
taken me away at once. They would have
done so long before this time, only that the old
woman is so soon to give up.'
Oh I Catherine,' claimed Susanna, do
not speak so disrespectfully of my aunt. You
know not how kind she has been to me this
Mrs. Weatherwax now came in, and sid to
her niece in the mildest maqner possible,
S usanna, you need not trouble yourself to-
day to hear the little 'girls their lessons. You
may go to the store and choose youbelf a
couple df frocks, and then take them to Becky
Walker, the mantuamaker, and get yourself

* sIriAriA 321*tjIb '&e

fld them. Tel het you thut has~ thef
Mide at once.'
The children all opened their eyes wide
with amazement, and peor Busanna stood
motionless, affected almost to tears at her aunt's
unaccountable kindness. If you pease, aunt,'
said she, in a faltering voice, I would rather
.you should choose the frocks for me. I am so
unaccustomed to getting things for myself.'
'Well, then, my dear,' answered Mrs.
1Iatherwax, I will go with you after school;
but I thought it would gratify R to leave the
choice to yourself. There are, beside the
frocks, some other things that I think you
would like to have.'
In the course of th$ morning, the grateful
Susanna had an opportunity of saying to
Catherine, Well, what do you think now?
Is not my aunt kind ?'
'Think !' answered Catherine, why, I am
thinking of a farce that I saw at the theatre
when I was last in the city. A farce in which
a termagant lady and a good humoured cob-
bler's wife are transformed by a con ror into
each other's likenesses, and placed in each
othlr's houses. We are all as muchastonfshed

as were the servants of Lady Loruls,
they found thelpelves treated with 1i3-
by Nell Jobson, whom they supposed to be
their mistress. I am inclined to believe that
some such conjuror has been at work last
night. 'Ihis cannot be the real old Waxy.'
Oh I do not talk so,' said Susanna.
Well,' replied Catherine, I only hope the
illusion may last as long as you wish it.'
But Mrs. Weatherwax (as one of the li*
girls remarked in a whisper,) < could noiq t
good all at once;' and as, from some unknd*n
motive, she now thought it expedient to be all
mildness towards Susanna, so she vented a
proportionate quantity of ill-humour on the
other girls-always eepting Catherine Ram-
say, and three or four more who had rich
At dinner Mrs. Weatherwax helped Susanna
to an excellent slice of roast lamb, and gave
her a large piece of currant pie, not telling her
as usual that pastry was unwholesome for
children, and that she had better finish with a
crust of bread. To be brief, her kindness con-
tinued *oo to increase, that Susanna could
scarcely, indeed believe in her idql ,

)d the mystery of this inexplicable gooknem
i 1all that regarded her giece, and which
abated not during two weeks, caused much
speculation among the school girls.
Not only two new frocks were procured for
Susanna, but also a new bonnet, aft many
other articles of dress, so that she now made a
very good appearance. She was no longer
kept all day in the school-rogm, but she was
*rowed the afternoon to herself, and desired to
seq, or read, or walk, or do whatever she
pased. But so much timidity had been
ground into her by seven years-of oppression
and hard upage, that poor Susanna was afraid
to avail herself freely of the indulgences that
were now offered to heAption.
Things had gone on in this manner for
about a fortnight, when Mrs. Weatherwax,
after receiving a second letter, announced to
her pupils that she would give them a holiday
the next day. This holiday, she told them,
was on account of the expected arrival of Mr.
Manderson from South Carolina, the grand-
father of Susanna Meredith. This gentleman
was going to remove to Boston, hip native
place, and, on his way thither, intended stop.


ping at the village to see Susanna ..
Weatherwax alsmannounced that Mr.'Maner
son was a man of great wealth, and that death
having deprived him of all his four children.
he had Etermined to take Susanna home with
him, ana make her his heiress. The girls
were all delighted with this news, of which
Susanna herself had only been apprised that
morning, and which, of course, made her very
happy. Catherine Ramsay was now furnish
with a key to all Mrs. Weatherwax's extMs-
dinary kindness towards Susanna for the last
two weeks.
The truth was that Mr. Manderson's fit
letter informed Mrs. Weatherwax, that he had
deeply repented having discarded his eldest
daughter in consequence of her marriage with
Mr. Meredith during a visit to the north, and
to whom he had objected as being a man of no
property, and of obscure family. But that
having recently lost the last of his children, he
had determined on claiming his long-neglected
grand-daughter, the orphan of his favourite
Mrs. Weatherwax was the step-sister of
Susanna's father, tnd had been set up in ha


Itool by money with which he had fuiished
her in his most prosperous days. She had
taken charge of Susanna on the- death of the
child's parents, pretending to do so out of pure
benevolence, but in reality of availi% herself
of her niece's services.
Mr. MNnderson's second letter notified the
precise day on which he expected to reach the
village; and Mrs. Weatherwax had an apart-
Ant prepared for him, determined to insist on
his staying at her house.
The holiday was given. A dinner extraor.
dinary was in the progress of preparation, and
the hour of his expected arrival approached.
Susanna was drest in the handsomest of her
new frocks, and seated beside her aunt, en-
gaged, by her order, in working a bobhbet
collar. Mrs. Weatherwax, also in her best,
was arranged in her arm-chair, with a French
book in her hand: and Dido, every few
minutes, deserted her cookery to look out at
the gate.
At length a carriage stopped before the
house, and, at the moment that the over-de-
lighted Dido ushered Mr. Manderon into the


parlr, the arm of Mrs. Weatherwax *a
fondly encircling'the waist of Susana.
'Is that my grand-daughter?' exclaimed
Mr. Manderson, as Susanna rose timidly to
meet his embrace.
Yes, sir,' said Mrs. Weatherwax, who on
this occasion thought it expedient to 4dlay
some French-< Here she is, looking mIe a
button de rose,* as she always does, and with
nothing to trouble her gaiety de curet but te
thought of leaving her. poor fond aunt,.whlse
greatest bonehewere is loving and petting her.
Is it not so, Susanna I'
To conclude, Mr. Manderson was much
affected by Susanna's resemblance to her
deceased mother, and he felt that the only
agement'he could make for his undue seve-
rity to the unfortunate Mrs. Meredith, was to
take her child to his heart, and cherish her
with the warmest tenderness.
He stayed till next morning; and in the
meantime, Mrs. Weatherwax so entirely over-
Louton de rcae, rose-bud.
t Gai e ed emur, literly, gaiety of hMrt
: Bonher, happiaess.

aotd her part, as to convince Mr. Manderon
that her excessive fondness 'for Susanna was
any thing but real. The old lady also gave
frequent' hints of a wish to be invited to pay
him and Susanna a visit when he should be
settled at his own house, taking care to inform
a hinat on the first of August she was going
to rgn her school, and should after that be
quite at leisure. But none of these hints made
any impression on Mr. Manderson. As he
could not for a moment think of allowing his
grand-daughter to be under the slightest obli.
nation to such a woman, he required of Mrs.
Weatherwax an estimate of Susanna's ex-
S penses, during the whole time she had been
in her charge. Mrs. Weatherwas, fearing that
nothing else was to be obtained froin the S
gentleman, made out a bill of enormous length,
amounting to five times as much as her actual
expenditure on Susanna. Mr. Manderson
looked only at the total, and without any com-
ment, gave her a check for that sum; but he
did not present Mrs. Weatherwax with a hand-
some watch that he bad brought with him as
a gift for her.
Dido, the black girl, took an'opportunity of

E N IL.AGI 801000L.

begging Susanna to speak a good word for
her' to her grandfather, that she might be
allowed to go and live with them. For you
know, Miss Susannar,' said she, old Missus is
going to board out when she breaks up, and she
would be glad enough to get rid of me, as she
don't want me no more; and she has bee ting
to get some of the'neighbours to take me-Wher
,hands, only none of them won't have mP.'
This business was soon arranged. Dido's
indentures were duly transferred to Mr. Man-
demon, and from that moment she called her-
self 1Ms Susanna's waiting-woman.
Susanna took an affectionate leave of her
young companions, particularly of Catherine
Ramsay, who parted from her with many
tlrs, and was invited by Mr. Manderson to
spend the ensuing winter with his grand-
Susanna was soon established in an elegant
mansion with her grandfather, who engaged
an amiable and accomplished woman as gover-
ness, to complete her education, assisted by the
best masters. And Catherine Ramsay improved
greatly during the long visit which she paid
next winter to her excellent yonng friend.



Coanwu. CAnLronR had jUst recovered
from a long and dangerous illness, and hd not
received the doctor's permission to go out, when
much interest was excited in Philadelphia by
the expected launch of the Guerrier, which was
built at Keo igton during the last war, a' L
called after te first British frigate that surren-
dered to the flag of America. Junius Camel-
ford, who was a midshipman and the eldest of
Cornelia's two brothers, vias highly elated with
the idea of the approaching spectacle, and ex-
tremely impatient for the glorious day (as he
called it) to arrive. At last it came: and the
children of Mrs. Camelford could think and
talk of nothing-else.


Janius was one of the midshipmen appointed
to the new frigate, and every hour seemed to
him an age until she should be fairly afloat in
her proper element. Boy as he was, he had
been on board the Constitution when she en-
gaged and sunk t*e British Ouerrier, and had
evinced on that memorable day the'courage of
a man. When Ie was afterwards in Phila-
4elphia, the progress of the new frigate became
the leading thought of his mind. He had talon
his sisters to see the keel the day after it was
laid: and ha'* furnished all the young ladies he
knew with hearts and anchors which he cut
out from chips of the wood.
Mrs. Camelford had been a widow about two
years, and since the death of hj husband she
iad felt an insurmountable gnance to
appearing in public, or mix io a crowd.
Therefore she had no intention of going herself
to see the frigate launched, but she knew that
her children would tke great pleasure in the
sight, and she loved them too much to deny
them this gratification because she could not
enjoy it herself.
Cornelia was just getting over the mme
malady that two years before had been fatal to


her father: and Mrs. Camelford still felt the
greatest anxiety about her, as she was particu-
larly susceptible of cold, which was always
very injurious to her; and the slightest impro-
dent exposure might probably bring on a dan
gerous relapse.
For this reason, when Mrs. Camelford con-
sented that her two sons and her daughter Octa-
via should go to see the frigate launched, she
did not extend the same permission to the inva-
lid. And I, dear mother," said Cornelia, as
she sat at the breakfast table the first time for
near three months, am I not also to enaoy the
sight ?"
Mas. CAMELtORD.-My dearest Cornelia, I
am sorry toa use you that or any other plea-
sure that u sisters and brothers partake of.
But the aiwbm the river may be cool. Re-
member that it was only yesterday you left
your chamber, after being confined to it more
than twelve weeks.
OcTralA.-Oh! indeed mother, this is quite
a warm day.
Mas. CAMELFORD.-To persons in health 1
know it is, but though the air is clear and mild,
it may be chilly to poor Cornelia, who is en-

esN ww ons M a NIoss .

feebled by sickness, and who has been so lng
shut up in her room. She has suffered o
much already, that I am sure she must dread
every thing that might cause a relapse.
ADRuA.-But, dear mother, how will it be
possible for Cornelia to take cold if she is wll .
wrapped up in her large shawl, and if she
wears her close bonnet t
Mua. CAMELFORD.-Indeed, I am afraid she
ought not to venture the slightest risk. Lieute-
nant Osbrook has politely offered accommodation
for the whole family, in one of the gun-boats at
Kensington, and I have accepted the invitation
for Adrian and Octavia, as Junius is to be on
board the frigate. I believe my dear Cornelia
must content herself with hearing a description
of the launch from her brothers and sister. I
cannot consent to her sitting an hear or two on
the deck of the gun-boat, in the open air, with
the breeze from the river blowing round her.
Coaula.u.-Indeed, mother, I am very sorry.
I hoped to be quite well and able.td go any
where, before the launch took place
Juvies. Still, I think there can be no dan-
ger. Her delight at the spectacle will set her

g9 o s L&vuw o. U N FlA5.

blood in a glow, as it has mine already, and
that will prevent-her taking cold.
V Mu. CAzLroRn. My dear children, do not
urge me any further. The sight will no doubt
be highly interesting, but it will be dearly pur-
chased by the return of Cornelia's late illness.
Cornelia did not reply, but she kissed her
mother in token of acquiescence, and seated
herself in a corner of the sofa with her sewing
In a few minutes her brother Adrian brought
her in a new and entertaining book, which he
had just purchased with the hope that it would
divert her mind from dwelling on her disap-
pointment. Cornelia took the book very grate-
fully, but though it was extremely amusing, her
thoughts still wandered, at times, to Kensing-
ton and the new frigate
In the course of the morning Mrs. Camellbrd
had a visit from her friend, Mrs. Dimsdale, who
expressed great pleasure at finding Cornelia
down stairs, and hoped she was well enough to
go to see the ship launched.
Mrs. Camelford explained that she had re-
fused Cornelia her permission to join the little
party in the gun-boat, being afraid of her taking
cold if exposed to the air of the river. Oh !

Mi A&V or m WaO mon 91

if that is all," aid Mrs. Dimsdale, the diffi-
culty, I hope, can be easily obviated. Mr.
Dimsdale and myself are going to take the chil-
drn up to Kensington in one of the steamboats.
You know the boats are all put in requistion
for the accommodation of persona that wish to se
the show. If you will permit Cornlia to ac-
company our family, she can stay all the time
in the cabin, and have an excellent view from
the stern-windows, without any exposure at
Cornelia's eyes turned upon her mother, with
a look of entreaty. Mrs. Camelford hesitated
a few moments, and Octavia ventured again to
supplicate in behalf of her sister. At last,Cor-
nelia obtained permission to go with the Dims-
dales; and it was arranged that Mrs. Camel-
for's carriage was to take them down to the
steamboat, after which it was to return imme-
diately and convey the other party to Kensing-
When Adrian came home from school, and
Junius from the ship-yard, (where he had almost
lived for several days,) the boys were delighted
to find that Cornelia was, at last, allowed an
opportunity of seeing the launch. They had

92 us MUSIe 01 OFE TrOo rA.

an early dinner, of which Lieutenant and Mm.
Osbrook had been invited to partake, and in a
short time after the carriage was at the door.
Cornelia was carefully wrapped in her large
shawl, and Mrs. Camelford said to her, Now,
my dear, you must promise me that you will
remain ji the time in the cabin of the boat, and
not allow yourself to be tempted to go on deck,
even for a few* moments." "Certainly, dear
mother," replied Cornelia, I will cheerfully
make that promise, for I am thankful that you
will allow me to see the frigate on any terms."
Mrs. Camelford kissed Cornelia, and her bre-
thers put her into the carriage, which, on
its way down to the wharf, stopped to take
up Mr. and Mrs. Dimsdale and their two chil-
Cornelia felt very happy at finding herself
once more riding through the streets, after so
long a confinement to her chamber. Every well
known store and house seemed to interest her as
she passed, and all the people she saw appedded
to her to look unusually well. She soon found
herself seated in the after-cabin of the steamboat,
which was crowded with females, and so warm
that Corneha had no occasion to wear her sbawl:

rna M0oas or tmr smaam. a
Sheer mother having told her that she might tae
it off, if she found it oppressive.
The carriage having returned, Mr. and Mrs.
Osbrook, with Adrian and Octavia, got into i*
and rode to Kensington; Junius, in a new suit
of uniform, and with a new cockade in his hat,
having long before set out on foot, as bilepised
riding when it was practicable to walk, and the
distance from his mother's hoeusto the shipyard
now seemed almost nothing, having been so
often traversed by him. In a very short time,
he was on the deck of the frigate, with a num-
ber of officers and other gentlemen, beside the
ship-wrights. That afternoon, almost all the
stores in Philadelphia were shut up, and few
of the inhabitants remained in their houses.
Till near three o'clock, the whole population of
the city seemed to be pouring towards the
Northern Liberties: all the streets in the di-
rection of Kensington being crowded with
hen the party from Mrs. Camelford's ar
rived at the river-side, the vast concourse far
exceeded their expectations, though Junius had
told them that the crowd had begun to assemble
as early as twelve o'clock. They were soon

94 w Laries or a2 mF Rar .
mated on chairs, on the deck of the gunboat,
and Lieutenant Osbrook left the ladies under
the care of another gentleman, while he went
on board the frigate.
The river was covered with boats of every
description, filled with people. The roofs, as
well as the windows of the houses and stores
that commanded a view of the water, were
crowded with spectators; and so also were the
trees. Scaffolds, which had been erected for
the purpose, were lined with tiers of occupants,
one row above another. All the ships then in
port, had gone up to Kensington, and their
decks were crowded with ladiesand gentlemen;
the sailors taking their staslht in the rigging
In two or three vessels were bands of military
music, and a third band was playing in the
frigate that was the object of so much interest.
All the officers then in the city (and many had
come thither on purpose) were present: and,
all, both of army and navy, were in full unifiox.
*Nothing could be more gay and animating tlan
the whole scene. Every one was attired to the
best advantage, and the white dresses and green
parasols of the ladies added much to the picture
esque effect of the scene. The steamboats

2m JAINO oN Of INSsus.

came up filled with passenger, ad wee
anchored at a convenient distance.
The gentlemen took out their watches frm
quently, as the time approached when the tide
was to turn; for the frigate was to be launched
on the top of high water. As the moment dqw
near, every eye was fixed on the noble vessel,
and there was a breathless anxiety of the most
intense interest. The carpenters stood with
their arms. raised, ready to knock away te
blocks that held her. The signal was given,
and it was done.' The frigate began to move
-every hat was simultaneously taken off-he
guns from all tfe armed vessels fired a salte.-
the music true ,, The Tars of Columbia"
--and loud huzzas resounded" from thousands
of voices. The frigate glided gracefully and
rapidly along, amidst repeated shouts of accla-
mation, with the colours of her country flyi' "
at her stern; and, when she plunged into the
war, (which she threw up tremendously about
l) the violent agitation of the river, for a
considerable distance round, announced that
she had reached the element which she was
nbver more to leave. On her bowsprit stad
the boatsAin, who christened her by breaking

S wa anssIs1 ofr T rfaS EA

a bottle of liquor over her head, and shouting,
" Hurra for the Guerrier I" And the shout was
repeated by every man present: thousands of
hats waving round from the river and from the
[Tbe moment ",the gallant Guerrier" was
afloat, she turned round majestically with the
tide, and an anchor, for the first time, descended
from her bow, mooring her for the present in the
place where she had entered the water. The
music continued for some time to play the
favourite national airs, and af length the vast
concourse of spectators began to turn their steps
towards home. Adrian and OAvia could talk
of nothing in the carriage bl the gcene they
had just witnessed, and they gave their mother
a most animated account of it. Mr. and Mrn.
Osbrook took their leave and returned to their
Iwn residence; and soon after Junius came
home in a state of the highest excitement, his
eyes sparkling, his cheeks glowing, and ull
of the honor and glory, as he called it, of haVLg
been on board of the new Guerrier when she
was launched, He inquired almost immedi-
ately for Cornelia. The carriage had be#a
sent down to the steamboat to brisnger home.

mu mon or a m nUoAMu.

and in a short time she arrived, but looking
very pale.
"< Well, my dear Cornelia," aid Junius, u
he led her to the sofa, was it not a glorious
sight ? Was it not a saw worth looking at ?
I never was so delighted in all my life, exqpt
when we heard the lee-gun of the British
Guerrier, as a signal of surrender, after her
colours had been shot away."
"Telljpe, dearest girl," said Adrian, were
not your expectations more than realized ? Did
you ever see any thing so interesting as' the
launch of the frigate ?"
Cornelia's eyes filled with tears, and her lips
trembled, as shaeeplied in a faltering voice,
" I did not see it at all."
Indeed, I did not," repeated Cornelia.
JUNIUs.-What I nothing of it nothing.
CORNELIA.-Nothing, whatever.
JuNIUs.-Oh! Cornelia, you are certainly
jesting. What go on purpose to see the
launch, and still not see it ?
MRs. CAMrLFORD.-My beloved Cornelia,
yeu alarm me. I hope you have not been ill.
CoRNNIr.-No, my dear mother, not at all.

so vua LAUmn Or O'TI tIIGAE.

But, indeed, I haV been very much disap
OcTAvu.-Oh pray tell us how.
CoaxrILU.-Mr. Dimsdale sat with me in
the ladies' cabin of the steamboat, till her hus-
bld, who had been on deck with the children,
came to conduct her up stairs, as the time for
the frigate to go off was drawing very near.
She then tried to persuade'me that no harm
could possibly arise from my going on deck for
a few minutes, and, to own the truth, I thought
so Myself. But I told her that I had obtained
permission to go ithe steamboat only on con-
dition of remaining all the time in the cabin,
and I could, on to account, break my promise
and disobey my mother. She then complimen-
ted me by saying that I was the most obedient
and'conscientious child she had ever known,
$i expressing her regret that I could not ac-
company her, she ran hastily on deck with Mr.
Dimsdale, lest she should be too late.
OCTAVIA.-But could you have no view from
the cabin ?
CORNBLIA.-I had anticipated no difficulty,
but when I rose to look out, I found the windows
entirely blocked up with women and babies, of

MS tUNsa r 0 ruGANs.

whom there are always slany in steamboats.
The shelves or high seats at the stern were
covered with them, crowded so closely that they
seemed almost wedged into a mass. I climbed
up and tried to get a peep between their heads,
but all in vain, for they were pressing on efth
other's shoulders. For a moment, I was tempted
to go on deck; but I remembered my promise.
Suddenly, iMedrd an exclamation of There
she goes," and I knew by the shouts, the firing,
and the music, that the frigate was moving In
vain I stretched my neck and strained my eyes,
to catch a glimpse between heads and bon-
nets; all the windows were entirely filled, and
I had not the smallest chance of seeing an&
thing. I soon gave up all hope; I sat down
in a chair, and I acknowledge that I could not
help crying a little, though I took care to -M
ceal my tears as much as I could. And
haps I would not have cried, only that my long
illness had weakened my spirits.
JnIus.-(Taking her hand)-Oh yes, my
por Cornelia, you wodld& have cried all the
same, even if yda had not been weak and ill.
I'am certain you would, for it was a disapplnt-
ment worth crying for.


Mrs. Camelford sp so much affected that i*
was some time before she could speak, and then
embracing Cornelia moat tenderly, she said,
" You are a dear good girl, and from this in-
stance of obedience and self-denial, at so early
an age, I anticipate the jnost happy results
when you are older. If the pleasure of know-
ing how much gratification your conduct has
afforded your mother, and howr'nh more than
ever she loves you, can compensate for your
djsagpointment, you may now enjoy that re
ward." Cornelia throw herself into her mother's
arms, and kissing r affectionately, wept in
silence, while Octavia sobbed aloud, tears
dropped on the cheeks of Adrian, and Junius
rew his hand across his eyes.
"Oh I" said Octavia, "how little did we
thjik, when we were all enjoying the sight
#n the gun-boat, with ample room and union
terrupted view, that our poor sister, after being
three months shut up in her chamber, was see
ing nothing at all."
ADRIaN.-Yes, and when we were riding
home, I wished that Cornelia *ere with us, that
shsmight tell us what she thought of it; sup-


posing, of ourse, that shad seen all that we
Jumus. -Well, dear Cornelia, be comforted.
There is no danger of your having taken cold,
since you so scrupulously kept your promise
and obeyed your mother: and,as you will now,
no doubt, continue well, I hope you will yet be
able to see the frigate before she sails on her
first cruise, tough you aWve missed the launch,
which was certainly one of thelinest sights ever
seen in the whole world. Do notsmile, Octa-
You are not, as I am, one of the "TTars
Columbia." ts
ADInuN.-No, indeed. And if she was a
sailor, I hope she would feel like one upon
such occasions.
Cornelia continued every day to improve in
health, and when the frigate was completely
fitted up and ready for sea, Lieutenant Osbrq*
came to invite the Camelford family on board,
and Mrs. Canplford herself was prevailed upon
to be one of the party. Junius, taking Cornelia's
hand, led her carefully through the vessel, ex-
plaining to her its different parts and their uses,
Sand replying, kindly and satisfactorily, is all
the various questions which she would ndt have
ventured to ask except of her brother.



"O Ih b or thLe weauela vuurI ba bw


Eiza.-Well, Francis, what makes you
look so delighted ?
Franci.-Oh sister, have you not heard of
the Recito Muuco P
Eliza.-Recito fiddlestick what is it you
Francis.-Well, then, have you not heard of
the infant phenomenon
Jenette-What sort of infant can that be ?
andmc.-Not exactly an infant, to be sure,
-not exactly a baby; but, according to the

Tlu SOW elBa.

bill that are up at all the 4omrers, a very won-
derful little girl, that has just .arrived from
London, is to be exhibited to-morrow evening
at Horton's hotel.
Jeanette.-Is she very big or very little T
Eliza.-A young giantess or a young dwarf .
Francis.-Neiiter. It is in mind, and not in
body, that she is wonderful. You have no idea
what surprising things she can do. First, she is
to deliver an address; then she is to appear in
the habit of a highlander, and to sing seveW
Scottish songs, and to recite passages from the
poems of Sir Walter Scott. Next she is to
assume the dress of a soldier, in which cha-
racter she is also to recite and to go through the
broad-sword exercise. Afterwards she is to
present herself in female attire, when she will
play on the harp, and dance. The whole to
conclude (as the advertisement says) with the
Bavarian Broom Girl."
Eliza.-S nust indeed be a most extra-
ordinary child .But what is her age t
Francis.--She is only seven.
Jeanette.-How can she possibly do all,
these things, and not older than I am? I camn
oely read little story books, and hem handker-


chiefs and towels, and recite "The Sick Duck,"
and "s The dog will come when he is called."
And I cannot sing all the words of any one
song, except, The Frog and the Mouse."
Francis.-It is no trifling exploit to get
through all the words of that-(patting his little
mister's head.)
Jeanette.-And as to dancing, I have got
no farther yet than the positions, and chassez
and balance. But still, I heard Mrs. Bingley
t* my mother the other day as I went out of
the room, that I was an uncommonly smart
Eliza.-Well, I am eleven years old, yet
I am sure I should make a very bad figure
were I to attempt to sing, dance, or recite in
Francis.-No doubt you would,-and this
little girl, who is only seven, has, according to
the bills, been received every where with un-
bounded applause. .ln
Eliza.-Well, she is fro ndon, and
English children are certainly much smarter
than those of America.
Awnmci.-Eliza, I do not like to hear you
say so: first, because it is not true; and seco*n-

91U *OBew e*ISL .
ly, because AmeriMan shoad ne dipaage
their own country *
1sa.-Oh t yes, my father ayewe may.
APands.-What t
ba.--That is, he says that all nations ave
their faults, and that our people ae by no means
perfect, and that if we do not perceive and
acknowledge those faults, we shallever be able
to correct them.
Franci.-There is no danger of our failing
to perceive them, when the British travellers
that come here take care to reproach us wi&
all that we Phme, and a thousand that we hdVe
aot. But, as you cannot seriously believe that
English children are more intelligent than we
Americans, it is shameful in you to sy so.
Eiza.-Why you could not be more dis-
pleased if there was an Englishman present to
write it down in his book.
Jarnci.-Well, we all know that it is not
true. This j girl has undoubtedly been
educated purlMy for a show, and taught all
these things with the view of her becoming a
source of profit to her parents.
lE/iz.-Her father must be a very nban-

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