OF A

_PINCUSHION_.

It happened one very fine afternoon in the latter end of _May_, that

Mrs. _Airy_ had been collecting together a great number of different

pieces of silk, in order to made a work-bag; which she intended as a

present to one of her nieces. Miss _Martha Airy_, her eldest daughter,

was about ten years old, and had been for some time indolently lolling

with both her elbows on the table, looking at her Mamma while she was

chusing the prettiest pattern for the purpose I just mentioned. Her chin

rested on her two hands, which were crossed over each other, and she was

seated on the back of her brother’s chair, which he had turned down in

that manner for the purpose of serving him as a horse. At last, however,

her weight proving too great for the seat she had chosen, as she did not

keep still, the upper part of the chair-back came to the ground, while

the other end mounted up like a piece of board for a sea-saw; and in her

fall tumbling down backwards, proved the occasion of a great deal of

mischief, by oversetting a curious set of tea-china, which her sister

_Charlotte_ was playing with; and which she had received as a present

the day before from her grandpapa. _Charlotte_ was so enraged at the

loss of her play-things, that without offering to help her sister, she

gave her a slap on the face, and told her, she was very naughty to spoil

things in such a manner by her carelessness; and that she would break

her plates whenever they came in her way. She was proceeding in this

manner when Mrs. _Airy_ thought it time to interfere, and was extremely

angry with _Charlotte_ for her warmth. “_Martha_ was not to blame,”

added she, “as she had no intention of doing the least mischief to your

cups and saucers. I think, as I told her once before, she was not

sitting in a graceful attitude, and had she moved at the time I spoke to

her, it would have prevented her fall; but that is no justification of

your behaviour to your sister. She has not deserved your reproaches, and

I did not think you could have behaved so improperly, as well as

unkindly, as to strike anyone, especially your elder sister. Indeed I am

much displeased with you, and the threat you made of breaking her plates

in return, is so very naughty and wicked, that I think you deserve to be

punished; and I desire you will ask _Martha_’s pardon for the blow you

have given her.” _Charlotte_ coloured with indignation and anger, at the

thoughts of submitting in such a manner to humble herself. She had heard

some silly girls declare, they would never own their being in the wrong,

and was withheld from acting in the noblest manner, by the false shame

of confessing an error. At length however, upon her Mamma coming towards

her with an avowed intention of inflicting some further punishment, she

mumbled out, in a low voice, which was very difficult to be understood,

That she was sorry that she had struck her sister. _Martha_, who was

extremely generous, and uncommonly good-natured, very affectionately

kissed her sister; and told her, she was much concerned at the mischief

she had occasioned; though she could not have helped it; as she fell

down before she was aware of it, and did not see that her tea-things

were near her. _Charlotte_ grew reconciled by degrees; but it was a long

time before she regained her usual cheerfulness. After some time,

however, the sisters seated themselves in a window by the table, and

solicited their Mamma for a bit of silk to make a _Pincushion_. Mrs.

_Airy_ gave them several pieces to chuse which they liked best; and

after they had taken them up a dozen times, or perhaps as many more, had

they been reckoned, _Martha_ made a choice of a square piece of pink

sattin, which she neatly sewed and stuffed with bran, and which, gentle

reader, when it was finished, was the identical _Pincushion_ whose

adventures form the subject of this little volume. Assuming, therefore,

the title of an Historian, or Biographer, which is generally understood

to mean a person who is writing an account of his own, or another’s

actions, I shall take the liberty to speak for myself, and tell you what

I saw and heard in the character of a _Pincushion_. Perhaps you never

thought that such things as are inanimate, could be sensible of any

thing which happens, as they can neither hear, see, nor understand; and

as I would not willingly mislead your judgment: I would previous to your

reading this work, inform you, that it is to be understood as an

imaginary tale; in the same manner as when you are at play, you

sometimes call yourselves gentlemen, and ladies, though you know you are

only little boys or girls. So, when you read of birds and beads speaking

and thinking, you know it is not so in reality, any more than your

amusements, which you frequently call _making believe_. To use your own

style, and adopt your own manner of speaking, therefore, you must

imagine, that a _Pincushion_ is now _making believe_ to address you, and

to recite a number of little events, some of which really have happened,

and others might do so with great probability: and if any of the

characters here represented should appear to be disagreeable, the Author

hopes you will endeavour to avoid their failings, and to practice those

virtues or accomplishments, which render the contrary examples more

worthy of imitation. And now, if you please, we will return to the

account of what further befell me in the family of Mrs. _Airy_.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

After the young ladies had amused themselves a great while with the

pieces of silk I have so often had occasion to mention, and Miss

_Martha_ had completed me to her entire satisfaction; she took all the

pins out of an old green one, which was originally in the shape of a

heart, but had, by looping a great part of its inside, through various

little holes, quite lost its form; and which, that she might find those

pins which had gone through the silk, she cut open on an old news-paper,

and then stuck all she could find upon my sides in the shape of letters,

which she afterwards changed to flowers, and a third time altered to

stars and circles; which afforded her full amusement till bed time. Miss

_Charlotte_, though her mamma had given her as much silk as her sister,

had only cut it into waste; while _Martha_, after she had furnished me,

had saved the rest towards making a housewife for her doll. I could not

help reflecting when I saw all _Charlotte_’s little shreds and slips

littering the room; what a simple method many little girls are apt to

get into, of wasting every thing which their friends are so kind as to

give them, and which, properly employed, might, make them many useful

ornaments for their dolls; and sometimes pretty trifles for themselves.

_Charlotte Airy_ as such children usually are, was desirous of having

every thing she saw, so that her drawers were always filled with bits of

ribbon, pieces of silk, cuttings of gauze, catgut, and muslin: and if

she wanted to find her gloves, tippet, tuckers, or any part of her

dress, she was obliged to search for them in twenty different places,

and frequently to go without what she was looking for. _Martha_ on the

contrary, by taking care of what might be of use, and laying it by in a

proper place, always knew where to find what she had occasion for

directly. So that it frequently happened that she went out with her

Mamma, when her sister was forced to stay at home; because she had lost

something which had delayed her so long to lock for, that she could not

get ready in time. This very circumstance happened the day after I

became acquainted with her, to her no small mortification. Mrs. _Airy_

was going to see the exhibition of pictures, at the _Royal Academy_, and

told her daughters if they behaved well they should accompany her; as

Mrs. _Gardner_ and her niece Miss _Lounge_ would call at one o’clock.

After breakfast, _Charlotte_, who had found the mould of an old button

in one of her papa’s waistcoat pockets which she had been rummaging, had

cut to pieces an axle-tree of a little cart, which belonged to her

brother, to make a spindle, in order to convert it into a tea-totum;

with which she was so much entertained, that she was very unwilling to

leave it to go to work, though her mamma repeatedly told her, she would

not be ready against Mr. _Gardner_’s coach came. “Yes, I shall, Madam!”

said she, and played on. “Do pray go to work, _Charlotte_!”

[Illustration]

“Presently, Madam.” But still she thought she would give it another

twirl. “You shall not go if you have not finished your morning

business!” “In a minute I will!” And so she simply idled away her time,

without heeding her mamma’s admonition, till near an hour beyond her

usual time of beginning. This put her into such a hurry to finish when

she found it was so late, that she stitched some wristbands she was

about, and which were intended for her grandpapa, so very badly, they

were obliged to be undone; which made her so cross, that in pulling out

the work, she broke the threads of the cloth, and entirely spoiled it.

_Charlotte_ was a very fair complexioned pretty girl; but you cannot

imagine how ugly her ill-humour made her appear; nor how much more

agreeable her sister looked, who was much browner, was pitted with the

small pox, and a much plainer child. I surveyed them both as I lay on

the table, where my Mistress had placed me to stick her pins as she took

out of the shirt collar which she was putting on; _Martha_ looked so

placid and cheerful, and seemed to speak so kindly when she asked a

question, that it made her really charming; while _Charlotte_, who had a

very pretty mouth, and very regular features, stuck out her lips in a

manner so unbecoming, and tossed about her head with such very illiberal

jirks that she lost all natural advantages in her wilful ill-humour.

[Illustration]

A person happening to call on Mrs. _Airy_, to speak about some

particular business, she left the children to attend him; and _Martha_,

who pitied her sister’s distress, and saw the impossibility of her

finishing the task she was ordered to do, very kindly offered to assist

her, without which, she never could have accomplished it. But their

mamma at her return, immediately suspected the case to be as I have told

you, and inquired what help _Charlotte_ had received in her absence?

They were both girls of too much honour to deny the truth, and in

consequences of her frankly owning her sister’s kindness, Mrs. _Airy_,

permitted her to retire; in order to prepare for the intended

expedition; but alas! poor _Charlotte_, who indeed was not always so

good as she ought to have been, was not to go that morning, although her

mamma had consented to it. _Betty_, who came to put on her frock, was

not very fond of her, for she was sometimes apt, when her mamma was not

in the way, to speak very haughtily, and in a manner quite unbecoming a

young lady. Unfortunately she forgot herself on the present occasion,

and very rudely said, “You must come and dress me, and you must make

haste, or I shall not be ready.” “_Must I?_” replied _Betty_, “That is

if _I please_, Miss _Charlotte_, though you, forgot to put that in, and

unless you speak in a prettier way, I will not help you at all.” “Then

you may let it alone, for I will not ask you any otherwise,” and away

she went, banging the door after her, to call her sister, who was ready

and waiting for the coach in her mamma’s room. _Martha_ ran directly,

and began to pin her frock as she desired. But a new distress arose, for

as she was too careless ever to retain any of my fellow-servants

(commonly called a _Pincushion_) in her service, so she had not one pin

to proceed with after three, which had stuck at one end of me, had been

employed. Neither of them chose to apply to _Betty_, because they were

sure from _Charlotte_’s ill-behaviour to be denied: and she would not

permit her sister to ask her mamma, for fear of an inquiry which might

not turn out to her credit. So, in short, they both traversed the room

backwards and forwards, and were quite overjoyed when they found two,

(one of which proved to be crooked) between the joining of the floor.

Then they each returned and took me up repeatedly, and examined me over

and over, though they were convinced I had been empty long ago. At last,

a loud rap at the door announced Mrs. _Gardner_’s arrival. The ladies

were called, and _Martha_ obeyed, though with reluctance to leave her

sister: and _Charlotte_, with conscious shame, and remorse for her past

conduct, and heart-heaving sobs of disappointment, saw them drive away

without her. I was left upon the table in the hurry of my mistress’s

departure, and _Charlotte_ took me up, and earnestly wished she had had

a pincushion of her own: and so I should think would any one who had

experienced the want of such a useful companion; though unless well

furnished with pins, it is in itself but of little assistance, as—she

had but too unfortunately found. The slatternly appearance, and real

inconvenience, which many ladies suffer from neglecting to provide

themselves with and retaining a few such necessary implements of female

œconomy about them, is really inconceivable by any person accustomed to

a proper degree of attention. _Trifles_ are frequently regarded by the

giddy and thoughtless as of no moment, when _essentials_ are taken care

of: but it is the repetition of _trifles_ which constitutes the chief

business of our existence. In other words, people form their opinion of

a young lady from her personal appearance; and if, because she is at

work, and in want of pins, and destitute of a _Pincushion_, she has

quite undressed herself, and her cloaths are dropping off, she will be

thought a negligent slattern; which, I suppose, is what no one would

chuse to be esteemed: so, when children accustom themselves to loll

their elbows, stoop their heads, stand upon one foot, bite their nails,

or any other ungraceful actions, it makes them disagreeable, and the

object of dislike to all their friends, and every one who is acquainted

with them. And it is very foolish to imagine, that because they are not

in company with _strangers_ it does not signify; for ill-habits, when

once they are acquired, are very difficult to leave off; and by being

used to do an impolite action frequently, they will do it without

recollecting the impropriety; when if they thought, perhaps, they would

have on no account been guilty of it.

[Illustration]

Miss _Lounge_, the young lady who accompanied Mrs. _Airy_ to the

exhibition was a striking example of what I mention above. She was about

sixteen, and very tall of her age; so that she appeared quite womanly in

person, though her manners were to the highest degree remarkable

unpleasing, she had a strange way of tossing her legs round at every

step, as if she was making circles, and her arms were crossed over each

other in so awkward a manner, and so unfashionably low, that it made her

still more ungraceful in her appearance: besides this, she had acquired

a drawling tone in conversation, which made her completely an object of

disgust: as it was entirely the consequence of her own neglect, and

therefore, was by no means deserving of that pity which is due to every

natural defect, or accidental deformity. She returned with her aunt to

dinner.

Miss _Charlotte_ was quite ashamed of entering the drawing room, though

she was now dressed, and had promised Mrs. _Betty_ she would behave with

more civility for the future. But the fear of her mamma’s exposing her

folly to Mrs. _Gardner_, had made her dislike to show herself in

company; and the consciousness of having deserved reproof, made her

justly apprehensive of receiving it. She did not venture down stairs,

therefore, till dinner was on the table; and then with her neck and face

as red as blushes could make them, she paid her compliments to the

company, without daring to look at her mamma. So cowardly and

uncomfortable does the thought of a wrong action make those who have

committed it, even when they are not certain it will be publicly known.

And this reminds me of a few stanzas I found in Miss _Martha_’s work-bag

one day, when she put me into it with her scissars, (by mistake I

suppose) as my proper place was certainly in her pocket. But as they are

so very apropos to my present subject, I will present my readers with

them: and as the author is quite unknown, if they should not be thought

deserving of a favourable reception, they will not at least subject the

writer to any mortification.

[Illustration]

_’Tis innocence only true courage can give,

or secure from the fear of disdain;

To be conscious of gilt all affiance destroys,

And the hope of enjoyment is vain._

_If to error betrayed, then delay not to own

The crime which has robb’d you of peace;

As penitence only can wash out the stain,

Or cause your vexation to cease._

_When the ermine of conscience is spotted by guilt,

Most severe are the pangs of the mind;

’Tis a woe which no sympathy e’er can relieve,

Nay, is hurt by a treatment too kind._

_To feel undeserving of friendly esteem,

Is the worst of all evils below:

We may suffer from pain, but the stings of remorse,

Is the heaviest grief we can know._

_Then careful your innocence ever maintain,

Be assured, it is worthy your care;

Since no other distress so deprives us of hope,

Or so soon sinks the soul in despair._

There was another short piece by the same hand, which my mistress had

transcribed, to give her sister on occasion of a little quarrel which

had happened between them: Miss _Martha_ having mentioned to her the

impropriety of speaking rudely to servants, and behaving in a different

manner when her mamma was absent, to what she could dare to do in her

presence; which reproof _Charlotte_ highly resented, and was very angry

that her sister should find fault with her: as the following verses were

applicable to the circumstance, she adopted them as her own on the

occasion.

[Illustration]

_Nay_, Charlotte, _why so much displeas’d to be told,

That your friends have discernment to see?

If you could descend to_ deserve _my reproach,

The error lies sure not in_ me.

_I mentioned the fault that in future your care,

Might secure from unguarded surprize;

I thought you had sense to rely on my love;

To resent it I deem’d you too wise._

_The freedom of friendship should never displease,

Tho’ harsh its reproofs may appear;

Since often in public who flatter us most,

Are the first at our weakness to sneer._

_Then should not gladly, with candour receive,

The advice which affection bestows;

For sincerity rarely we meet with in life,

Few will aid us, but numbers oppose._

_As to you, I am bound by the dearest of ties,

My_ sister, _as well as my_ friend:

_No undue command did I mean to usurp,

Nor ever design to offend._

_Then let us united in harmony live,

For sisters should ne’er disagree;

And when_ I _am wrong, equal freedom exert;

To complain of these errors to me_.

Mrs. _Airy_ was so generous as not to expose her daughter’s folly before

Mrs. _Gardner_; and as she had met with a severe punishment in the

consequence of her fault, and had promised amendment for the future,

after a gentle reprimand, when she came down the next morning, nothing

further passed on the subject.

[Illustration]

_Charlotte_ was so conscious of her late misbehaviour, that she had

scarce courage to inquire what entertainment they had received from a

sight of the pictures at the exhibition; and _Martha_, who was extremely

delicate and attentive, very cautiously avoided the subject, from fear

of appearing to insult her sister, or to remind her mamma of the reason

which had occasioned her absence from the party. Mrs. _Airy_ inquired

whether _Martha_ had not particularly taken notice of a large picture,

which represented the death of Earl _Goodwin_. She replied, that Mrs.

_Gardner_ had pointed it out to her observation; but that she had not

remarked any particulars, except the figure of a King, and a large

company at dinner. “I will tell you the story then, my dear, to which

this picture refers,” said Mrs. _Airy_.

“In the reign of _Edward_ the Confessor, in the year 1042, Earl

_Goodwin_, who had been accessary to the murder of Prince _Alfred_, was

at dinner with the King at _Windsor_; and taking a piece of bread,

called God to witness his innocence, and wished if he uttered any thing

but the truth, that the next mouthful he ate might choak him. Which

accordingly happened, and the bread stuck in his throat and he died

immediately at the table. Do not you think my dear,” added Mrs. _Airy_,

“it was a just punishment for his untruth, and an awful judgment for

calling God to witness a falsehood?” “Indeed, Madam, I think it was

quite dreadful: but are you sure that this account is true? for though

it is certainly very wicked to tell a lie on any occasion, yet, as

sometimes many people are thus guilty, I wonder that such events do not

more frequently happen! You know that Miss _Riby_ said she had not been

writing last week, although you saw that her fingers were inked; and

_Charlotte_ had seen her doing it; why then, did not the same accident

happen to her?” “Because, my love, the punishment of such crimes does

not always immediately follow the commission of them; but you may be

sure that the remorse of conscience, and the secret uneasiness of mind

which the guilty suffer, is a very great unhappiness; and the

apprehension and the fear of a future account after death, besides the

idea of present detection, is such a degree of misery as no other

punishment can equal. As to your question, whether I believe this

account to be true? I certainly do! It was an extraordinary event which

was recorded at the time it happened, and which every historian has

mentioned since, and faithfully transmitted to us. This is the best

authority we can have for any fact which happened before our own time,

and is therefore entitled to our belief. But why such examples are so

rare, is not to be wondered at; because you know that wicked people will

be punished hereafter; and though such instances sometimes happen, to

teach others to be good, and to make them afraid of doing what will make

them liable to such terrible vengeance, yet, in general, a crime of this

kind does not meet with immediate chastisement; because, after death, as

I have before told you, those who have been wicked, will suffer such

misery as their sins deserved. Besides which, the liar is at present

detested by every one, and loses all the advantage of confidence, and

the pleasure of being believed: even when he does speak truth, he is

liable to be suspected, and his word is doubted on all occasions.” The

conversation was here interrupted by the arrival of two young ladies and

their mamma, who came to pay a morning visit to Mrs. _Airy_; but as they

did not say any thing worth the attention of my readers, I shall not

trouble myself to repeat more of what passed than may be imagined, from

the comments of my mistress and her sister, with which I shall present

them.

[Illustration]

_Martha_, before the room door was well shut after them, began to

observe that the eldest Miss _Chantillon_ was very ugly, and very

stupid; and the youngest a good pretty girl, and talked a great deal

indeed. “I wish,” added she, “I could speak as fast as she does.” “To

talk so fast, my love,” said her mamma, “is by no means any

accomplishment; and I am far from your opinion, in so highly admiring

the merits of Miss _Lucy_. She chatters so fast, as frequently not to be

understood: and has a very silly trick of beginning every sentence with

a laugh, than which nothing can be more ill-bred. The person, who is

speaking, should never laugh, if she can help it, at her own wit, if she

design to excite mirth, or to meet with approbation from others. But

without any such intention, _Lucy_ assumes an affected giggle whenever

she attempts to speak. She has likewise a very unbecoming pertness in

her manner, and, by frequent interruptions, when her elders are

otherwise engaged, renders herself extremely disagreeable. I would have

you, my good girls, possess that desirable degree of proper courage, as

never to feel ashamed of speaking when it is necessary; but I think it

is an unpleasing sight to perceive a young woman, or child I should say,

for _Lucy_ is young enough for that epithet, affecting to understand

every thing, and giving her opinion unasked, upon subjects which

frequently expose her ignorance an presumption. This is aiming at a

character to which she has no pretensions; and by wishing to rise into a

woman, before she has reached the age of understanding, she is despised

for her vanity, and loses that esteem she might have attained by a

proper degree of humility, and a better knowledge of her station. This

observation, my dear _Martha_, I would particularly address to you; as

you are generally thought uncommonly tall, and are usually imagined to

be much older than you are. This I know you fancy to be a compliment,

which always appears to give you pleasure? but remember, that, if you

assume airs of womanhood, and affect to be thought further advanced in

age, you will have the less allowance made for any errors you may

commit, and consequently meet with contempt where you might otherwise

have escaped censure. Youth, and inexperience, are justly allowed to

excuse any slight inadvertence in manners, or want of grace in

appearance; but if you chuse to be thought of more consequence, you must

likewise expect, that the notice you may attract will not always be

favourable to your vanity. I assure you, I think Miss _Jenny Chantillon_

is much more agreeable than her sister, as she has courage sufficient to

reply to any question, and to speak distinctly when she is particularly

addressed, without inquiring, in _Lucy_’s manner, into the reason of

every word which is uttered, and deciding every argument according to

her own fancy: and, I dare say, if you will be careful to observe, you

will find that _Jenny_ always meets with attention from the company,

while _Lucy_ is frequently insulted, by being enjoined to silence, and

by her hearers turning from her with disdain. In short, my dear, it

requires a great deal of thought and propriety, to behave in an

agreeable manner at your age. It is best not to be anxious to be taken

notice of, since that eagerness always defeats its aim. Girls have not

had the advantage of experience to teach them wisdom; and when once they

are engaged in conversation, and find themselves attended to, their

volatile spirits hurry them on, with the desire of obtaining applause

for their wit, to say things which are sometimes neither delicate nor

prudent; and which they may, when they have time to reflect, long have

reason to repent having imprudently uttered. Any restraint at such a

time, is, I know, always esteemed an ill-natured interruption, and is

apt to damp their harmony, and lower their spirits. I would therefore

warn you of the danger before-hand, that your own prudence may be a

check to that unlimited indulgence, which at such a period is liable to

excess: and, I dare say, that your good sense will teach you, that my

admonitions are always intended for your advantage. To impress this

deeper upon your mind, I will repeat to you a few lines which were

written to me, when I was young, by my aunt, and which, as they

frequently occurred to my memory, I found to be singularly useful.

[Illustration]

_Recollect, my sweet girl, ere you mix with the world.

There is need of some caution to guide;

Then wisely remember to govern your tongue,

As silence much folly may hide._

_Most useful I think you this maxim will find,

And never its precepts neglect;

That who giddy and thoughtless will chatter away,

Shall ne’er gain applause or respect._

_Like the Parrot, awhile they may please and amuse;

But no real esteem will acquire;

And I trust that your wish when in converse you join,

Is a nobler regard to inspire._

_Remember that memory long may record,

The folly you utter’d in jest;

And a secret unmarked when escaped from your lips,

May long rob your bosom of rest._

_Then conscious of error ’tis vain to repent,

As the mischief admits no relief;

And surely ’tis simple, so thoughtless to lay

The dismal foundations of grief._”

The ladies now all retired to dinner, but I am ignorant of what passed

there, as I was left upon a piece of embroidery, which my mistress was

covering with some white paper to keep it clean: and she did not fetch

me till after tea; when she carried me in her hand down stairs with her

work, to show some ladies who were assembled in the drawing room. I then

accompanied her into what was usually called the green parlour, as the

furniture was all of that colour; whither she went to play with her

young visiters, whose names were _Eliza Meekly_ and _Julia Norris_.

[Illustration]

They amused themselves with playing on the Harpsichord, while Miss

_Martha_ personated the music-master, and _Charlotte_ chose to teach

them dancing. Some part of the evening they played at going to the

exhibition; and just as they determined to visit the pictures, the

footman came to acquaint the young ladies, that their coach was ready.

Miss _Meekly_’s bib was unpinned, and _Martha_ gave me into her hand in

a hurry, while she was looking for her cloak. So without recollecting

that I was another’s property, _Eliza_ put me into her pocket, made a

very elegant courtesy, and stepped into the carriage. I felt really very

sorry to part from a family with which I had been some time connected;

and to one of whom I owed my being a _Pincushion_. But my new mistress

was so very engaging, that I was in hopes she would take care of me, and

not leave me about to the mercy of a little kitten, who jumped into her

lap the moment she got home; and who afterwards frisked away with a

little tassel which dropped off from one corner of a work-bag which lay

on the table. But before I proceed with my history, it will be necessary

to introduce my readers to Miss _Meekly_ and her companions, and to make

them better acquainted with this new family, who are all of them

deserving their notice.

Mrs. _Stanley_, to whom the house belonged, was the widow of a

clergyman, who had at his death left her in rather indigent

circumstances; and she had been advised (to support herself and two

younger sisters who lived with her) to take a small number of young

ladies to board. Her number was confined to six; two of whom were those

I have above mentioned. The others were three sisters, whose names were

_Saxby_, and a Miss _Una_; who, for her sweetness of temper, and

excellence in every accomplishment, was esteemed superior to all the

rest of her companions. _Harriet Una_, was cousin to Miss _Meekly_, and

they usually slept together. She was just turned of thirteen, was tall

and large; had light brown hair, blue eyes, and a fine complexion: but

her good-nature and willingness to oblige every one, made her the

general favourite, and recommended her to universal esteem.

[Illustration]

When the young ladies retired to bed, _Eliza_ found me in her pocket,

and told _Harriet_, she was afraid Miss _Airy_ would want her

_Pincushion_; and she was the more concerned, as the family were to go

into the country very early the next morning, and she should have no

opportunity to return it. However, continued she, “I will make a new one

to present to Miss _Airy_ when I see her; and I will keep this, as I

have not one at present, my kitten having pulled mine to pieces this

morning: but I will take care this shall not come to the same

mischance.” I was glad to hear that was her intention, as I should by no

means have liked the thought of sharing the fate of my predecessor. At

this time Mrs. _Stanley_ entered the room to wish them a good-night, and

to see whether they were properly taken care of. “I am very unhappy

to-night,” said _Eliza_, as soon as she was gone: “and I feel ashamed of

receiving Mrs. _Stanley_’s kisses, because I behaved in a manner I am

sure she would not approve.” “What have you done, my dear cousin,”

replied _Harriet_, “to make you so uneasy?” “I will tell you,” answered

Miss _Meekly_, “though I do not like to confess my weakness. Just before

dinner, Miss _Charlotte Airy_ asked me to eat some preserved plums,

which she said had been made a present of to her Mamma, and which came

from _Portugal_. They were very sweet and luscious, and as I am not

allowed to have any thing of that kind, I refused her offer. But when we

had dined, she pressed me again, and laughed at me very much for being

so foolish, as to imagine any thing so innocent could hurt me; but

supposed, as I went to _school_, my _mistress_, for so she sneeringly

called Mrs. _Stanley_, would _whip_ me if I did. At last, overcome with

her persecutions, and vexed to be treated so much like a baby, and as if

I was afraid of punishment, I took the plum, and have not been easy

since. And now, my dear _Harriet_, what shall I do? Suppose Mrs.

_Stanley_ should ask me whether I have eaten any thing lately which I

ought not: and if she does not put that question, I feel so undeserving

of her caresses, that she will see by my looks I have behaved

improperly.” “I am very sorry,” replied Miss _Una_; “but as you are so

sensible it was wrong, I may spare my recriminations. However, I think

the noblest reparation you can now make, would be honestly to inform

Mrs. _Stanley_ of the crime, and the sincerity of your regret for having

been guilty of it: should it be discovered by any other means, you will

forfeit her esteem, and lose that confidence, with which you are at

present favoured; by such an unsolicited confession, you will restore

satisfaction to your own conscience, and be certain of her approbation.”

_Eliza_ was convinced of the propriety and justice of her friend’s

advice, and promised to comply with it the next morning. But her

excessive timidity prevented her making use of several opportunities

which presented, though the subject occupied all her attention, and she

could scarce think of any thing else. She again applied therefore to

_Harriet_, and told her it was impossible for her to summon up courage

to do as she had desired; and begged she would, from her, acquaint Mrs.

_Stanley_ with what had happened. Miss _Una_, in the mildest terms,

complied with her request; at the same time very generously commending

her honour on every occasion, and urging her present uneasiness to

engage Mrs. _Stanley_’s compassion. Miss _Meekly_, when she was

acquainted with her cousin’s having revealed this secret, which had

oppressed her mind, was very unwilling to attend her to the lady

above-mentioned. Mrs. _Stanley_ received her with the greatest affection

and tenderness; and after expressing, in the warmest terms, her

approbation of such a generous confession, added, “You need never, my

dear girl, be afraid either of anger, or punishment, when with such a

degree of frankness, you acknowledge any fault you have committed. Be

assured, your friends will be always willing to pardon those errors

which you promise to amend: but let the present instance warn you, my

_Eliza_, never to be led into actions which you know are improper,

because the company you are with may ridicule your refusal. Miss

_Charlotte Airy_ is, in my opinion, a very naughty girl, to endeavour to

persuade you to do any thing which you have been forbidden. And I hope

from the remorse you have suffered, you will reflect on the folly of

complying with any proposals, which your conscience suggests to you is

wrong. Do not be afraid of being laughed at for being good. Every person

of real sense will esteem you for your resolution: and because a silly

girl may _sneer_ at your apprehension of punishment, it will be much

more ridiculous, and wicked at the same time, to be guilty of what you

are conscious is a crime, for which you will _deserve_, and perhaps

_receive_ correction. Besides, _one_ bad action, is but too often the

cause of the commission of others; and when once we have deviated from

what is right in a small instance, it is frequently the occasion of

accumulated guilt. I will tell you an instance of this kind that may

illustrate my meaning, and which, as I was acquainted with the person

who is the subject of it, will perhaps make a deeper impression on your

mind.”

[Illustration]

“A young lady, whose real name I shall (for the sake of charity) conceal

under that of _Lloyd_, and who was, my dear _Eliza_, nearly of the same

age with yourself, was educated with the utmost attention; and as she

was an only child, was the darling of her parents, and the centre of all

their future expectations. _Betsey_, which was her usual appellation,

went one day to visit a companion, with whom she was extremely intimate;

but who unfortunately for her, was not possessed of that strict honour

which should be the basis and foundation of friendship. When they had

been for some time at play in the garden, she proposed to go back to a

little shop in the neighbourhood to make a purchase of some gingerbread;

and though Miss _Lloyd_ for a time objected to the proposal without

leave, against her mamma’s repeated command; yet, her companion’s

laughing at her squeamishness (as she wickedly called an adherence to

her duty) prevailed over her better resolutions, and she accompanied her

to the place I mentioned. As it was the only shop of the kind which the

village afforded, the boys of an adjacent school very frequently went

there for the same purpose, as the two young ladies who now entered; and

two of the most unlucky of their number, happened at that time to be

bargaining for some balls. They staid very soberly till Miss _Lloyd_ had

taken out her purse to pay for the cakes she had purchased; but as the

lock of her pocket book was entangled in it, it came out of her pocket

at the same time, when one of the boys snatched it from her hand, and

rudely declared he would see its contents, and know all the girl’s

secrets. This vexed her extremely, and she thoughtlessly pursued him, as

he ran away with the prize, till she was a good way from home. He was

joined by several of his school-fellows, who took part with him, and

behaved in so wild a manner as to terrify her greatly. At length,

however, she got away from them, and ran back with all the speed in her

power: but as it was later than her usual time of returning, her parents

were uneasy, and questioned her with great tenderness and anxiety, as to

the reason of her stay. She told them, she had been out with Miss

_Hannah_ (the companion she had really visited) and her maid, and that a

horse had been near running over her, which had frightened her so much,

as to prevent her return.

[Illustration]

“This story was believed by Mr. and Mrs. _Lloyd_ for some time, and

_Betsey_ who had at first been very unhappy at the thoughts of such a

wicked deceit, at length grew reconciled as she found herself

undetected. She therefore ventured upon a second transgression, from the

encouragement which she foolishly imagined the secresy her first fault

had given her; and with her intimate Miss _Hannah_ took another walk,

without any person to have the care of them. But during their absence

from home, an unexpected accident punished the imprudent Miss _Lloyd_

for her disobedience and untruth, in a manner which will give her cause

for repentance to the latest period of her life; for as she was crossing

a road in her return, a horse which had been tied to the rails of a

house a little distance, broke the bridle which confined him, and

gallopped away full speed, unrestrained by any opposition, till in his

passage the unfortunate Miss _Lloyd_, who did not perceive his approach,

was thrown down, and broke her leg in such a terrible manner, as to

occasion her being a cripple ever after. She has since confessed, the

consciousness of her falsehood was such a conviction to her mind of the

wickedness of her conduct, (when she was made sensible that the accident

was the consequence of her disobedience to her parents) that it was more

difficult to support, than any bodily uneasiness she had suffered; and

the reflections that they would never be able to confide in her for the

future, was the occasion of so much self-reproach, as to deprive her of

every enjoyment. This instance may serve to convince you, that a slight

error is very frequently without any previous intention; and when least

expected, the occasion of such crimes, as in the cooler moments of

thought (that is, when you have time to reflect on the wickedness of the

action) you would never be capable of committing; and as none can be

sure they would be able to resist temptation, it is best never to do any

thing which you know to be wrong, though it may appear to be in the

smallest instance, since the desire of concealing a _trifling_ fault,

may lead you to hide it by a falsehood, which is one of the _greatest_

you can be guilty of.”

[Illustration]

Miss _Meekly_ was convinced of the truth and propriety of this argument,

and promised to be more attentive for her future conduct. She then

joined her companions with that cheerful good-humour, which

distinguished her character, and attended them into the great parlour,

where they usually spent the morning. When they had concluded their

work, writing, &c. Mrs. _Stanley_ always made them read to her, and

encouraged them to ask any question which occurred to them; to make

their own observations upon those passages in history which struck their

imaginations; or to propose to her any objection, which arose in their

minds. She desired them to ask the meaning and origin of those customs

they did not comprehend; and by so doing, had frequent opportunities of

improving their understandings. Instances of this kind very frequently

occurred, and supplied them with subjects of conversation. Miss _Una_

was working a map of _England_, and inquired one day how long the island

had been divided into shires and counties. Mrs. _Stanley_ applied to the

young ladies to know if any of them could resolve the question, but as

they were all silent, “you should endeavour, my dears, said she, to

remember what you read, or it will be of very little advantage. I

believe _Harriet_, you read an account of this division a few months

ago, when you were going through the reigns of the _Saxon_ Monarchs. Do

not you remember that the great King _Alfred_, in the year 886 repaired

the city of _London_, which had been burnt by the _Danes_ in 839, and

that he afterwards divided the kingdom into shires, hundreds, and

tithings?” “I did not recollect it,” said Miss _Una_. “But pray,” added

Miss _Saxby_, “did the same king set up all the crosses, for I remember

something about their being erected, though I have forgotten when it

happened.” “Your memory is very short I am afraid,” replied Mrs.

_Stanley_; “but if you were to write down such particulars, you would

find it of great assistance: as it appears very illiterate to be

unacquainted with those facts, which have occurred in the history of

your native country. All the crosses you mention, were erected by King

_Edward_ the first, in every place where the funeral procession of his

Queen stopped from _Lincolnshire_ (where she died) to _Westminster_.

There were in all ten, I think. One at _Lincoln_, _Grantham_,

_Stamford_, _Geddington_, _Northampton_, _Stony Stratford_, _Dunstable_,

St. _Albans_, _Waltham_, and _Westminster_, called _Charing_ _Cross_.

You should always endeavour to observe what you read; but those things

which relate to the island in which you live, have a particular claim to

your remembrance. For this purpose I think your present work is

singularly useful, as it will so strongly impress the geography of your

country upon your mind, that I hope, my dear _Harriet_, you will never

forget it.” As nothing material happened to my mistress, and very little

variation occurred in her manner of living, I shall pass over the usual

events of every day, which my readers can easily imagine; such as her

taking me out of her pocket during the time of dressing, and restoring

me to that place of confinement when she had concluded, and proceed to

relate an accident in which I was very nearly concerned.

[Illustration]

The kitten I have before-mentioned, who was a great favourite with Miss

_Meekly_, was never allowed to enter her bed-chamber; but one day, the

weather being extremely warm, and the door left open, it walked in, and

laid itself down at a little distance from the window, in a spot where

the sun shone; the shutters being half closed to exclude the heat.

_Eliza_ was employed in putting a pair of ruffles into her jacket, and I

lay in her lap securely as I imagined, till a carriage stopping at the

gate, she precipitately jumped up to look out at the visiters, and in

her haste let me fall upon the floor. Her motion was so sudden and

unexpected that I could not save myself, or check the velocity with

which I was impelled. So that I unfortunately rolled on, till I touched

the edge of a bookcase; and discovered myself to Mrs. _Puss_, who hooked

me with her claws, and twisted me round several times, with as much

dexterity as if I had been spinning; or, to use a more proper simile, as

if I had represented a mouse. I afforded her great, entertainment for

some time, till at last I found myself a second time under one of the

feet of the bookcase, and so fast wedged in, that it was beyond the art

of even a kitten’s invention, to extricate me from my situation. Mrs.

_Stanley_ coming up stairs, Miss _Meekly_ turned out my antagonist, and

with unavailing care searched for me in every drawer, on every table,

and upon the bed.

Long have I remained in this dull state of obscurity and confinement,

unable to make known my distress, as I want the power of articulation:

at least my language can be only understood to things inanimate as

myself. A pen, however, which fell down near me, engaged to present

these memoirs to the world, if ever it should be employed by the hand of

kindness, to rescue my name from oblivion. Should the eye of youth read

this account with any pleasure, it is hoped the candour of generosity

will over look its imperfections; and should fate, in some fortunate

moment of futurity, again restore me to the possession of Miss _Meekly_,

or any of her companions, my gratitude will engage me to thank the

public for its indulgence, and to continue the account of my adventures.

If I am not so happy as to meet with approbation, I shall at least have

the consolation to reflect, that these pages have suggested no wrong

ideas to the youthful mind, have given no encouragement to vanity, nor

exhibited any improper example with commendation; which is what better

Authors, and works of higher genius cannot always be happy enough to

boast. Such as it is, I submit this account of myself to the world, and

only desire them to remember, in the words of the admired _Gay_, That

“_From objects most minute and mean,

A virtuous mind may morals glean._”

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