LIES OF AUTHORSHIP.
SOME of the young misses had noticed Miss Salsbury's displeasure when
one of the compositions was read, and wondered at the cause. They did
not have to wait long for an explanation. The next morning, just before
the preceptress struck the bell for school to be dismissed, she said,—
"Young ladies, I would like your attention for a few moments.
Yesterday, among the compositions I noticed one which sounded strangely
familiar. I at once examined the private mark by which I identify the
writings of each of my pupils, and immediately after the close of the
session, I took a book from my library and compared the two. They were
precisely alike. Not a comma or semicolon wanting in one which was not
in the other. You may imagine my surprise and displeasure when I found
that I had one scholar who could thus be guilty of a lie of plagiarism,
in attempting a composition on the sin of lying.
"I will not at present expose the young lady, whose punishment I have
not yet decided upon. As for the rest of you, the consciousness that
you have been guilty of no wrong in this respect will uphold you under
the common blame which the sin of one of your number has caused you to
bear. This crime is as truly a sin as any other lie. The scholar here
virtually says to her teachers and schoolmates, 'These are my thoughts
and opinions,' when she has been guilty of the meanness of stealing
them from others.
"I remember once," added the lady, "of travelling in a stage-coach,
when one of the company produced a book to while away the tedious hours
of travel. It was a work which had been published anonymously, and had
by its merit caused quite an excitement in the reading public.
"'Ah,' exclaimed one lady present, 'you have the new work I see. May I
ask you how you like it?'
"I noticed that another lady in the corner seemed greatly confused
by this remark; and when the one addressed replied that she greatly
admired it, remarked,—
"'You do me too much honor.'
"This of course was as much as saying to the company that she was the
author of the book; and from that moment every one of them regarded her
with great interest.
"In due time, I reached the end of my journey, and found my friend
had invited a large party to do honor to the author of the new work.
I entertained not a doubt but I should meet my acquaintance of the
stage-coach. Imagine my surprise when I was led forward by my hostess
to a seat in the corner, where sat a youthful matron, blushing at the
attention paid her, and begging my friend to allow the fact of her
being an author to remain, at least for the present, a profound secret.
"In great distress for the truthfulness of my stage companion, I
withdrew my friend to another room, and asked her what ground she had
for believing Mrs. Gordon, the lady present, to be the author.
"'The very best of reasons,' she said, smiling: 'I read the work in
manuscript, and subscribed for a dozen copies of the first edition,
before I could persuade my modest friend that the public would regard
her work with favor.'
"Now, I ask you, young ladies, what is your opinion of the traveller,
who, by her manner, led her companions to believe her the author?"
"It was mean!" "I should die of shame!" "She was guilty of a wicked
lie!" exclaimed one and another from different parts of the school.
"And is not that young lady equally guilty who appropriates the words
and thoughts of another, and claims them as her own?"
"She is. I'm glad I didn't do it," "And I'm glad," was the echoed
response.
"Young ladies," said the preceptress, "before you are dismissed, I
have only to add the inspired words, 'These six things doth the Lord
hate, yea seven are an abomination to him: a proud look, a lying
tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that deviseth
wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief; a
false witness that speaketh lies, and him that soweth discord among
brethren.'"
For the next fortnight, there was great curiosity among the scholars to
know who was the guilty individual referred to; but as Miss Salsbury
maintained the most profound silence on the subject, nothing certain
could be learned. Several times when the topic was mentioned in the
presence of Alice, a contemptuous curl of the lips was her only answer.
By this time, however, her sentiments on ethics were pretty well-known,
and shrewd conjectures began to be whispered about as to the author of
the plagiarism.
Alice found the moral atmosphere of Miss Salsbury's establishment so
entirely uncongenial that she would, long ere this, have resorted to
some method of leaving, had it not been for private plans which could
not be carried out if she were removed to another school.
She had so far conducted herself with the strictest regard to propriety
while in her own room, and Miss Farley, her room-mate, though often
questioned by her aunt, answered most favorably of the new scholar.
But there were methods by which she disobeyed the rules and evaded the
laws which her teachers dreamed not of. Neither did they imagine what
an influence for evil this heartless, deceitful girl was constantly
exercising over one of her young companions.
Ella Morris was a girl of only thirteen years, warm and ardent in
temperament, of generous noble impulses, but easily influenced by those
she loved. When Alice first entered the school, Ella regarded her with
admiration. Miss Saunders's beauty and style were her constant theme
out of study hours. The least notice from the handsome stranger was
reported to her companions with emotions of pride and pleasure.
Ella had a brother in Dr. Bowles's school who called upon her soon
after Alice's first appearance at church. Ned Morris told his sisters
to invite Miss Saunders to the parlor, as he wished to be introduced
to her. He was a tall youth of eighteen years, with small, effeminate
features, going among his companions by the name of "Our Dandy." He
was good-natured to a proverb, with a weak mind, but entirely moral
in his character. He had been dazzled by Alice's beauty, and now was
just shallow enough to imagine her as intelligent as she was lovely
in person. Even during that first interview, he had to put a constant
constraint on himself to keep from betraying his warm admiration.
After this, Ella had no need to complain of want of attention from her
brother. He was constantly sending her notes with presents of oranges,
figs, or pine-apples,—all of which he directed her to share with her
new friend.
The little girl was almost intoxicated with delight at the praises
bestowed upon her by her new friend, until Alice, who one day heard her
boasting of some favors, cautioned her not to do so, lest others of her
companions should expect the same notice.
After a few weeks, a small perfumed envelope came, enclosed in Ella's
letter from her brother, directed to Miss Saunders. Alice would not yet
trust the sister sufficiently to confide an answer to her care, but
dropped a sentimental epistle into the office with her own hand. After
this, the correspondence became very frequent, sometimes Ella's letters
and sometimes the mail being the medium of communication between the
friends.
Alice now found the benefit of having liberty for early walks;—indeed,
it was this very reason that had induced her to write her father to
intercede for that privilege with the preceptress. Every morning she
was up and dressed before many in the household were awake, and met by
appointment Ned Morris, when they walked and talked together.
At last the frequency of Ella's letters and her brother's unusual
devotion to her interests began to excite suspicion; and one of the
under teachers reported to the preceptress that when Mr. Morris called,
he always asked for Miss Saunders to play to him.
The same evening, Miss Salsbury summoned Ella to her private parlor,
and made careful inquiries whether there was any correspondence between
her brother and any of the scholars.
Alice had already anticipated this question, and bade Ella, as
she valued her friendship, never to reveal anything that she knew
or suspected on the subject; so that the child at once denied any
knowledge of such letters.
But the evils attending wicked companionship had only just commenced.
Before this, Ella, though sometimes equivocating, had not told a
downright falsehood since she came to the school. Now, unless she would
criminate herself, she was obliged often to repeat the sin. From being
a merry, contented child, she soon became peevish and ill-tempered.
Alice was obliged to employ all her arts of fascination to retain what
she considered necessary influence over her.
Through other young gentlemen from Dr. Bowles's seminary, who visited
their sisters, the story of Ned Morris's admiration for Miss Saunders
began to be circulated through the school, and at last reached the ears
of the preceptress.
Summoning Alice to her parlor, she put the question directly to her:
"Are you acquainted with young Morris?"
"Slightly," answered the young girl, in the most indifferent tone. "I
was passing the hall door when Ella met me going out with her brother
and introduced him; but I was in haste and did not stop long."
"And how many times have you seen him since?"
The lady gazed searchingly in her pupil's face, but could detect
nothing to induce the suspicion that the young miss was trying to
deceive.
"Really," said she, with a smile, "I cannot remember, as I did not
consider it a circumstance of any importance. I suppose I may have seen
him four or five times."
"I do not ask the questions from curiosity," added the teacher, "but
because your father placed you in my care, telling me that you were a
motherless child, and needed special watching. You are well aware that
the rules of my school absolutely forbid all correspondence, or special
attention even, between my pupils and those connected with Dr. Bowles's
seminary. Have you ever violated these rules?"
"Never to my knowledge," was the unhesitating reply.
"I heard a rumor of a communication to you through his sister," said
the lady.
"I have not received any such. If Ella knows of a communication, she
has not delivered it to me."
"I am relieved to know that such is the fact. Both you and the young
gentleman are far too young to form any attachment at present."
In recalling this interview at a later hour, Alice did not feel one
qualm of conscience in regard to the dreadful untruths of which she
had been guilty; but she was somewhat vexed that anything should
have excited the suspicion of the teachers, as now it would be more
difficult to evade them.
That very evening, she wrote a note to Mr. Morris, begging him to be
more careful what he said of her, and consenting to ride with him the
next afternoon which was a half-holiday.
Throwing a veil over her head, she stole softly out to the garden to a
place in the hedge accessible from the street, where of late she had
placed her letters.
Miss Salsbury acknowledged to her niece that she felt much easier
after her interview with Alice, who appeared wholly indifferent to the
admiration of Mr. Morris, if indeed any such feelings existed. She even
owned that she had been prejudiced against the young lady ever since
the affair of the composition; but Alice had explained that, if not
to her satisfaction, at least so as to prove that she might have been
guilty of such a plagiarism without understanding that it was improper.
It was true that soon after the event occurred, Alice was summoned to
account for her misdemeanor. She told the preceptress that in Mrs.
Lerow's school, the young ladies all made selections from favorite
authors; that the teachers were not only aware of it, but often
referred them to particular passages when they found it difficult to
select for themselves. This, like most of her other statements, since
her arrival at the seminary, was wholly false.
When the teacher explained the deception, she thanked the lady warmly
and declared she would never be guilty of copying again.