and taking up her bag of books she hastened into a little back
parlour, in which she was in the habit of studying her lessons. For
some time she kept her attention very steadily fixed on her work;
but just as she had taken her geography and opened her map to trace
the boundaries of North America, a lady who frequently visited her
mother, and who sung very well, began at that moment in an adjoining
room to sing a song of which Emily was very fond. The little girl
had a very good ear for music, and was so exceedingly fond of it,
that it was with great difficulty that she could keep her attention
fixed upon what she was doing. Over and over again she was on the
point of leaving her lessons, and going into the parlour where the
musician was; but she recollected how soon it would be bed-time, and
how little time there was whilst the mornings were so very short, to
learn any lessons that had been neglected the evening before, and
determined to persevere; and clasping her little hands, and laying
them on the book before her, as if to hold fast her resolution, she
repeated, North America is bounded on the north by the Arctic ocean,
on the west and south by the Pacific ocean, and on the east by the
Atlantic ocean. It is true that as she repeated this, and found
answers to the rest of the questions which were contained in her
lesson, her feet beat time against the chair, and her head moved in
unison, whilst she sometimes found herself trying to make the words
of her lesson accord with the measure of the music, as she spun out
the words eighty-five degrees of north la-ti-tude, yet still she
contrived to keep her mind fixed upon what she was doing till she had
impressed it on her memory, so as to be sure of being able to call it
forward, when required, the following day. "Now I know all my lessons
perfectly," said she, as she replaced her books in her bag: "I am
sure of not losing my ticket to-morrow on account of my lessons."
So saying, she hastened into the other parlour, but the music was
over, the lady was gone, and the room was empty. Emily, however,
was seldom at a loss for means of amusement, and she skipped about
the room, singing "I'll be a butterfly," as if she were indeed that
light and airy creature of pleasure. Satisfied with herself for the
resolution that she had exercised, the rest of the evening was spent
in more than even her usual cheerfulness, and she laid her head down
upon the pillow with repeated resolutions of attention the following
day. When the little girl opened her eyes the next morning, it looked
so gloomy and dark that she very willingly persuaded herself it was
too soon to rise, and had just turned over to compose herself for
another nap when the clock struck eight. In an instant she was out
of bed. She had only a single hour in which to dress herself, to eat
her breakfast, and go to school; she had not, therefore, a single
moment to lose. Yet a strong temptation assailed her, for on a chair
by her bed-side lay a small paper parcel, directed to her, which on
opening she found to contain a cap, that her friend Julia had made
for her baby, and which had been sent to her after she was in bed
the night before, and placed by the servant near her bed-side, that
she might see it as soon as she rose in the morning. "Oh! what a
beautiful little cap," exclaimed Emily. "How sweet my baby will look
in it. I must try it on directly. But no," added she, recollecting
herself, "I must not stay to try it on now or I shall be too late
for school, and then away goes my ticket for good conduct at once."
And with an effort of self denial that would have done credit to
a much older mind, Emily put the tempting cap into a drawer and
hastened to finish her dressing. Her breakfast was soon swallowed,
and she was in the school-room before the school bell rang. "I think
now I am safe for to-day," said she, "only I hope Julia will not be
in one of her funny humours and try to make me laugh." To the credit
of our little heroine, however, though Julia was in a funny humour
and did frequently try to make her laugh, and though Emily's gay and
even volatile temper was ever ready to receive a lively impression,
yet still she succeeded in keeping herself so far within bounds
as to escape reproof, and she returned home in the evening with
the wished-for ticket. "Here it is, mamma! here it is!" cried she,
running to her mother, and holding out the testimony of her good
behaviour. Her mother took the ticket, and congratulated her upon
having got over half the time successfully. "More than half, mamma,"
returned Emma, "for to-morrow will be only half a day, and I have
very few lessons to learn to-night."
"I am not sure that you are any more safe on that account, Emma,"
replied her mother, "for you know I have often remarked to you, that
you generally prepare your lessons the worst when you consider them
the easiest; as then you are apt, from the idea that they can be
learnt in so very short a time, to put them off until you have no
time for them at all, instead of learning them first and amusing
yourself afterward." "But I will not do so to-night," said the little
girl, and away she went directly to study them. And fortunate it
was for her that she did so, for she had scarcely finished the last
thing that she had to learn before her friend Julia came to play with
her. She could now, however, play with safety, and the rest of the
evening was passed in amusement. The new cap was tried on and found
to fit beautifully, and the baby was dressed and undressed, put to
bed and taken up again; declared to be very sick and obliged to take
medicine; taken out to visit; sent to bed for being naughty; and, in
short, passed through all the vicissitudes of a moderate life-time
before the friends parted for the night.
"It is eight o'clock," cried Emily, capering about the room, half
dancing and half jumping as she spoke; "I am safe for to-day, and
I have only till twelve o'clock to-morrow, and then I shall get
my ticket, and then I shall be safe; and then I shall go to Mrs.
Cassy's."
"And then," rejoined her mother, "I hope you will have learned how
much better it is to work first and play after, than to play first
and run the risk of the work being neglected altogether."
"Oh! yes, mamma! I intend to remember that in future," said the
little girl, and away she went to bed, singing as she went, to a
tune of her own making,
"How pleasant it is at the end of the day,
Of no follies to have to repent."
"Emily!" said her mother, rousing her little girl from a sound sleep,
as she spoke; "Emily! Do you know it is nearly eight o'clock?"
"Oh! it is time enough, mamma," said Emily, starting up as she spoke;
"it struck eight o'clock before I was out of bed yesterday morning;
and yet I was in the school-room some minutes before the bell rang."
"But if you trifle in that way, it will be nine o'clock before you
are out of this room," continued her mother; as Emily, taking hold
of her little night-gown, instead of a frock, began to practice
her dancing steps. "You see, my dear, you have yet only got your
stockings and shoes on; so, at this rate, it will certainly take you
more than an hour to finish your dressing."
"Oh! indeed you are mistaken, mamma, you will see how soon I shall be
out of the room," and roused to recollection by this remonstrance,
the rest of her dressing was very quickly finished. Her breakfast
too was despatched with equal rapidity. "Now I am ready," said she,
starting from her chair, and putting on her little brown beaver
hat as she spoke; "and now for my coat; but stop," she continued,
throwing her coat carelessly over her arm; "I have not my bag: Where
is it, I wonder? Oh! I remember! I left it in the piazza when I went
to look what sort of a morning it was;" and off she went, dragging
her coat, which still hung over her arm, after her; and on the piazza
she found her bag, mittens, one of her books, and slate, all lying
as she had thrown them out of her hand, to run after some trifle
that had at the moment attracted her attention; but as she took up
her bag with the intention of putting her book and slate into it,
her favourite kitten, which had followed her to the piazza, running
after her coat as it dragged after her along the floor, now caught at
the bag, and tugged and scratched at it, as if it had been intended
entirely for its amusement. This was too congenial with Emily's own
frolicsome disposition to be resisted, and there she stood, at one
moment drawing the bag away, and the next throwing it back again to
the sportive little animal. And we must be permitted here to pause
and describe our little friend, as she looked while thus engaged. It
was one of those fine mild mornings, which of late years we have so
often witnessed in the very depth of winter, and the sun, which had
just risen, sent forth his beams to gild the landscape behind her,
defining her figure more clearly by the contrast. To the eye of fancy
and affection, that rising sun might have been thought to represent
her whose orb like his own was just rising; and though a few mists
yet obscured the bright rays of mind which had already begun to
beam, yet no one could look at the face, which, though not formed
according to any of the acknowledged rules of beauty, was bright
with innocence, animation, and happiness, without feeling assured,
that as it gained its meridian heights, it would shine forth with
pure, unclouded lustre, and prepare the way for a clear and glorious
evening. Though Emily, as she thus stood, presented a picture that
a painter might study, it was but of short duration, for whilst she
yet played with her favourite, the clock struck nine, and at once
recalled the little girl to a recollection of her folly. "Oh! what
shall I do?" she exclaimed. "It is nine o'clock, and I am not ready.
Get away, kitty! do not come near me again," she continued, as the
kitten, which had received no warning from the stroke of the clock,
still tried to catch at the strings of the bag whilst she was putting
in its usual contents; "get away! for if you had not come near me, I
should not have staid so long. I should not have been tempted with
any thing else. Oh! how hard my coat is to get on this morning. I
cannot tell what is the matter with this hook and eye! it will not
fasten. Yes! now it is fastened and I must run." But though poor
Emily did run, and put herself into a most violent heat; and though
she went into the school-room puffing and blowing, the words, as she
entered, of "Miss Emily Osman--you are too late," told her at once
that all chance of visiting her friend Mrs. Cassy was over.
A few tears chased each other silently down her cheek, as she took
her seat at her desk, and for the rest of the day it was little
effort to poor Emily to be silent and attentive. Julia tried a
thousand ways to excite a smile, but in vain; for the idea that she
had not only deprived herself of so much pleasure for the morrow, but
had disappointed her mamma and appeared ungrateful to Mrs. Cassy for
her kindness, weighed on her mind, and every now and then filled her
eyes with tears. "Do not cry, Emily, I beg of you," said Julia, as
they returned home together, after the school hours were over, "I am
quite sure your mamma will let you go to Mrs. Cassy's, after all. I
feel quite certain of it, for you know this is almost the last day we
have to be together; and I am sure she could not find in her heart to
deprive you of the pleasure for such a trifle."
"No! my mamma never changes her mind after she has promised me any
thing," said Emily, "and I am glad she does not, because it always
makes me sure that if I am good I shall get the reward I expect."
"Oh! well, but she may change her mind just about such a little
trifle as that, after all," returned Julia.
"I am quite sure she will not," was Emily's quiet reply, and the
friends parted, as their roads now lay in different directions.
As Emily entered the house, she felt almost ashamed of meeting her
mamma, and she blushed at the idea of the reluctance which she felt;
but she soon found that, for the present at least, she was saved
the pain of seeing her, for she was told that a very short time
after she went to school, her mother had been sent for to a very
particular friend, who was dangerously ill, and that she was not
yet returned. Emily always thought the house very forlorn and dull
when her mother was not in it, but now that she was out of spirits
herself, she felt it more so than ever, and she hung about listless
and uneasy, and unable to enter into any of her usual amusements.
She tried to sing, but her voice was husky and out of tune. She
began to practise her steps, but it was impossible to dance without
music, and Emily that day had no music in her soul. She took out
her baby, with the intention of amusing herself with it, but it
brought to her recollection the pleasure she had expected to enjoy
in playing with Mrs. Cassy's baby the next day; and she put it
aside, and forgot that she had expected entertainment from it. Even
her little kitten, which, from its fondness for play, seemed to be
so nearly allied to herself, played with a ball of cotton, or ran
after its own tail, round and round the room, in vain; for Emily
only recollected that it was it that had tempted her to the neglect
of her duty in the morning. "I wonder when my mamma will come home,"
said she to herself, as the short winter's day began to draw to a
close. "I wish she would come that I might see her, and hear her say
that she forgives me, and will not punish me any further than by not
letting me go to Mrs. Cassy's. I hope she will not look grave at me,
for that will be worse than all. I wish she would come that I might
know at once what she would say. Oh! perhaps that is she," added the
little girl, starting up and running to the window at the sound of
the door bell; but it was too dark for her to see who it was, and
she was returning to the fireside, when the room door opened and the
servant brought in a letter, which he said was for her. "For me!"
cried Emily, in great surprise; "who can have written to me? I never
received a letter in my life from any body." A lamp, however, was
lighted, and the letter opened, which proved to be from Julia, and,
after spelling and puzzling over it for a considerable time, Emily at
length made out the following epistle:
"My dear Emily,
"I have just heard that your mamma is not at home; and I wanted
to come round to you, but my aunt would not let me. But I have
sent you the ticket for good conduct, which I got to-day, and
you may call it your own. It will not be cheating, you know,
because you did behave very well at school, and then we shall
meet at Mrs. Cassy's to-morrow, which will be delightful; for
you know it is almost the last day that we can be together,
before I go away.
"Your affectionate friend,
"JULIA."
Julia, who was nearly two years older than Emily, had written this
letter with much more ease than her friend could read it. She, at
last, however, succeeded in deciphering it; and, after having made
herself fully acquainted with its contents, she took the ticket which
was enclosed in it, and putting it very carefully by, as deliberately
put the letter into the fire. From that moment Emily's face began
gradually to brighten, her voice became less husky, and though she
did not jump and skip about as she was in the habit of doing, yet she
ceased to stretch and yawn, and wish the evening was over; and her
countenance, though more thoughtful than usual, was expressive only
of composure and satisfaction. The return of her mamma, which she
had sometimes wished for and sometimes dreaded, now appeared to have
become of less importance to her, so that on finding, by her usual
bed-time, that she was not yet come home, she went very contentedly
to bed, and was soon wrapped in a sound sleep. Her first object, on
waking in the morning, was to ascertain whether her mother was yet
returned, but finding that she was not, she prepared to spend some
more hours alone. Emily, however, though a very little girl was able
not only to read, but to understand what she read; so that she could
easily find amusement from the variety of little books with which
her mamma had supplied her; and this made the morning pass over very
comfortably, till about twelve o'clock, when she began to feel very
anxious for her mother's return. It seemed a long time since she had
seen her; she did not remember, ever in her life having been so long
absent from her before, and she sighed and wondered when she would
come. At length she heard some one open the front door, and come
along the entry; and her little heart began to beat at the idea of
meeting her mother. The door opened, but instead of her mamma, Julia
entered, very prettily dressed, and evidently prepared for her visit.
"Why, Emily!" she exclaimed, as she came forward, "not dressed yet! I
expected to find you ready to go."
"Go where?" asked the little girl.
"Why, to Mrs. Cassy's to be sure. Where else could I mean?"
"You know I am not going to Mrs. Cassy's."
"Why not? has your mamma found out that the ticket was mine?"
"I have not seen my mamma since yesterday morning. She has never been
at home yet."
"Then why are you not going? You have no need to wait for her to give
you leave to go, when you know she said you should go if you could
bring her a ticket for good conduct, each day; and you can show her
one when she comes home."
"Yes! but not one of my own."
"Yes! it is your own, for I have given it to you."
"But it is not gained by my own good behaviour."
"But you deserved to have one, for you never behaved better in
school, in your life, than you did yesterday morning. You only lost
your ticket for being a very few minutes too late, and therefore,
it will not be cheating at all, to tell your mamma that you behaved
well." Happily, however, for Emily, there had been so much pains
taken to impress upon her mind, from her earliest dawn of thought,
a nice distinction between truth and falsehood, that she was not to
be deceived by this false reasoning of her friend, whose mind having
been less carefully guarded, had adopted the error, so common with
young people, that equivocation is not falsehood. Julia imagined
that she would be as unwilling to tell an untruth as Emily herself
could be, but she did not consider that a habit of equivocation is
as obnoxious as falsehood itself, to that nice sense of honour,
which can alone preserve the mind pure and untainted. She had not
been taught, with sufficient care, to know, that, though she told
a part of what was true, she was yet equally guilty of the crime
of falsehood, as long as what she said was dictated by a wish to
deceive. Emily, though so much younger, had, therefore, arrived at
much greater maturity in the art of reasoning, and had imbibed, even
at that early age, an ardent love of truth, and a keen contempt for
the meanness of deceit; and she replied, in a quiet but steady voice:
"Though I did behave well in school, I should still be cheating,
if I made my mamma believe that I got a ticket for good behaviour,
and that would take away all the pleasure of the visit;" and, as
she spoke, she took the ticket from the place in which she had
deposited it, with the intention of giving it to its right owner;
but, whilst she held it in her hand, the parlour door opened, and
Mrs. Osman entered the room. The moment Emily saw her mother, the
recollection of her own fault rose to her mind, and checked the
pleasure with which she would otherwise have welcomed her return, and
the constraint of her manner was immediately observed by her watchful
parent. "What is the matter, Emily, my dear?" asked she anxiously. "I
see by the ticket in your hand, that you have succeeded in gaining
your promised reward, and yet you do not appear to be in your usual
spirits." Emily's countenance became still more agitated, whilst the
colour of her face and neck, the skin of which readily told, by its
varying hue, the different fluctuations of her feelings, proved that
a severe conflict was passing within. To allow her mother to remain
in the error of supposing the ticket to be her own, was impossible:
yet how was she to explain the fact of its being Julia's, without
exposing the fault of her friend? for she knew that her mamma's
first question would be, "what had she to do with Julia's ticket?"
"What is the matter, my dear?" again asked the anxious mother, "is
there any objection, which I am ignorant of, to your going to Mrs.
Cassy's to-day?"
"Mamma, I have no right at all to go," replied Emily, almost
trembling with agitation as she spoke.
"Why not? You got your ticket yesterday I see."
"No, mamma, I did not! This is not my ticket."
"What ticket is it then? for I have all your others." Emily was
silent, and her agitation increased to a degree that was very painful
to observe; but Julia, who possessed a mind, which, though some
noxious weeds had been permitted to spring up in it, was yet adorned
with the rich and beautiful flowers of generosity and affection, saw
and understood her distress, and determined to relieve her even at
the pain of exposing herself; and therefore said, "I will tell you,
ma'am, all about it; for, although it was not very good in me, it
was so very good in Emily, that I know you will reward her for it."
She then related the circumstance of the ticket very simply, without
attempting either to excuse or extenuate her own conduct, though
she did full justice to the integrity and honourable behaviour of
her friend. Whilst Julia was speaking, Emily watched her mother's
countenance with an expression of great anxiety, and the moment she
had ceased, she turned to her and said, in a timid and supplicating
voice, "Mamma, do not be angry with Julia!"
"As Julia is now to be so short a time among us, Emily, I will
take no further notice of her conduct, but will leave it to the
animadversions of her own breast," replied Mrs. Osman, gravely.
"But you will let Emily go to Mrs. Cassy's," said Julia eagerly. "You
will surely, Mrs. Osman, reward her for behaving so well."
"I hope, Julia, that though Emily is so young a child, she yet knows
too well that it is her duty to be honest, to expect any other reward
for being so, than that which she has already secured to herself."
"But it is so trifling a fault that she lost her ticket for,"
remonstrated Julia.
"It was indeed a trifle, and her having so very nearly succeeded this
time, gives me hopes that she will be wholly successful the next
time."
"O! yes, I am sure, ma'am, if you will let her go to-day she will be
more careful the next time."
"I am of a different opinion, Julia," replied Mrs. Osman, smiling;
"and believe that this lesson, which I now hope will be of service to
Emily as long as she lives, would be lost entirely, were she not to
suffer the punishment for her fault that she knows it deserves."
"But ought she not to be rewarded for being good too? and if she is
not allowed to go she will have no reward at all."
"Oh! yes, I shall," interrupted Emily, who read, in her mother's
countenance, the approbation which she felt of her conscientious
conduct, "I shall have reward enough."
"Yes, Emily," replied her mother, "you will have the best of all
rewards, a self-approving mind; and I should be sorry to weaken its
effects by seeming to think that any further reward is necessary
for your having done your duty." But Emily showed that she did not
consider any thing more necessary to reward her for the part which
she had acted, and she saw her friend go to pay her visit to Mrs.
Cassy without a sigh; for though exceedingly sorry not to accompany
her, she felt an inward consciousness of having acted properly,
that made every thing appear cheerful and pleasant around her. The
day passed delightfully, therefore, though no particular pains were
taken to amuse her; for her mother was afraid, if she indulged in
any extraordinary expressions of approbation, she might lead her
little girl to imagine that she had performed some wonderful act of
virtue, instead of having merely done her duty. What Emily had done,
however, had been done purely because she knew it to be right, and
not for the sake of admiration or reward. The approbation of her own
conscience was all that she required; and, with such a companion,
she felt no difficulty in spending a delightful Christmas day. Her
voice, when she sung, had never, to her own ear at least, sounded so
well; nor had her feet ever before fallen so lightly on the floor, as
they did when she skipped about; and as to her little kitten, though
it had brought her into trouble, it was now forgiven, and they ran
about the room together, as if trying to show, by their light and
sportive movements, how graceful and beautiful a thing is the union
of childhood and innocence.
M. H.
THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER KITTEN.
Indeed ye are a happy pair,
Thyself and darling treasure--
With little heads unvexed by care,
And hearts brim full of pleasure.
Which spirit knows the least of grief,
'Tis very hard to say,--
The kitten jumping at a leaf,
Or she who joins the play.
Ye both are frisking, giddy things--
A play-ground earth before ye,
Where hours pass by with silken wings,
And fling no shadows o'er ye.
I wish it thus might always be,
My guileless little one:--
It makes me sad to look on thee,
And think what change may come.
Then freely pour thy young heart out,
And take thy fill of joy--
I love to hear thy merry shout,
And see thy blest employ.
[Illustration: Drawn by W. Sharp Engd. by F. Kearny
THE KITTEN.]
THE QUILTING.
"Only think, Charlotte," said Marianne Glanvil, on entering the
chamber where her sister was endeavouring to get through a warm
afternoon in August, by lolling on the bed in a loose gown,--"Susan
Davison has just been here with an invitation for us."
_Charlotte._--And pray, who is Susan Davison?
_Marianne._--The daughter of farmer Davison up the creek. We met her
at Trenchard's the day we were obliged to drink tea there.
_Charlotte._--I wonder how you can remember their names, or
theirselves either: I am sure I do not know one of these people from
another, and I never wish to know.
_Marianne._--But this Susan Davison is really not so bad. She is
diffident enough, to be sure, but is rather less awkward and uncouth
than the generality of country girls.
_Charlotte._--To me they are all alike; I do not profess to
understand the varieties of the species.
_Marianne._--Well, I was going to tell you, that after a sitting
of half an hour, Susan Davison, as she rose to depart, uttered an
invitation to her quilting to-morrow.
_Charlotte._--And what is a quilting?
_Marianne._--Now, I am sure you must have heard of quiltings. It
is an assemblage of all the females in the neighbourhood, for the
purpose of quilting, in one afternoon, a whole patch-work bed-cover.
_Charlotte._--I shall certainly not go. I never quilted any thing in
my life, and I hate the sight of a patch-work bed-cover.
_Marianne._--But my father and mother were in the parlour, and
promised at once that we should both go.