PRIDE AND FOLLY.
One day Mr. Learning, having finished a whole volume of travels for
breakfast, made up his mind to pay a visit to his charges at the
cottages of Head. He walked, as usual, at a rapid pace, with long
strides, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left; his thoughts
too busy with researches into the manners and peculiarities of distant
lands, for him to notice how autumnal hues were already tinging the
trees, or how summer roses were giving place to the convolvulus and the
dahlia. Mr. Learning did not go empty-handed; he carried with him as
presents to the young Desleys four small hammers of Memory, and four
bags of brass nails called Dates.
This time the first cottage which he entered was that of Dick, and he
would doubtless have been pleased to see the numerous articles for
ornament and use with which it already was furnished, had not the first
object which met his eye been the ugly figure of Pride.
Pride was engaged in making a list of all the furniture in Dick's
dwelling, very much like an auctioneer's puff. Everything, according to
him, was "first-rate," "of superior quality," or, "fit for the residence
of any nobleman in the land." Pride sat with his back to the door, and
therefore was not aware of the entrance of Learning, till the stately
gentleman in spectacles tapped him on the shoulder with one of the
hammers.
Up jumped Pride in a moment. He had no time to hide himself, or to beat
a retreat, so, being one of the most impudent fellows in the world, he
resolved to brave out the matter with the solemn philosopher.
"I did not expect to find you here again," said Mr. Learning in his
stiffest and coldest manner.
"Well, I'm surprised to hear that," replied saucy Pride, resting his
hand on his hip, and trying to look quite at his ease; "as I go
everywhere, and am welcomed by everybody, it's natural enough that I
should chance to meet the most potent, grave, and reverend Mr.
Learning."
"Where is your master?" asked Learning shortly.
"_My_ master, indeed!" echoed Pride; "Dick never yet mastered me. I
should rather say that I am _his_ master!"
"Where has he gone?" inquired Learning, without seeming to notice the
insolent remark.
"He has gone to History's shop, to purchase a carpet for his parlour. He
is sure to select a pattern of the newest and most elegant design."
"Then I leave these for him," said the grave philosopher; "a bag full of
bright brass Dates, and a hammer of Memory to knock them well in."
"If you had brought a sackful instead of a bagful," observed Pride, "it
would not have been too much for Dick Desley; and as for the
hammer--don't you know that he has a prodigiously fine Memory of his
own?"
Without condescending to reply, Mr. Learning put down his gifts, turned
round, and, quitting the cottage which harboured so impudent a guest,
went to the next one, which was Lubin's. The door, as usual, was wide
open, and the place deserted and empty. Mr. Learning did not even cross
the threshold, so disgusted was he at the unfurnished, untidy state of
the sluggard's home.
"I may as well leave these for him, but he'll never know how to use
them," muttered Learning, throwing in the hammer and nails.
He then crossed over to Matty's pretty cottage. Her door was also ajar,
and grave Mr. Learning stopped at it for some moments in astonishment
at the sight which presented itself to his view.
Miss Folly, in her seven flounces, her beads and flowers, peacock's
plume, rouge, ribbons, and all, was half reclining on the uncarpeted
floor, engaged in blowing bubbles. As each rose from the bowl of her
pipe, swelling and shining, and then mounting aloft, she watched it with
a look of affected delight and admiration in her up-turned eyes. No
contrast could be imagined greater than that between the stately
gentleman clothed in black, with his broad intellectual brow, spectacled
eyes, and grave, solemn manner; and light, fantastical, frivolous Miss
Folly, clad in the most absurd of styles, but looking as though she
thought herself the very pink of perfection.
"Dear, who can that funny old fogie be!" exclaimed Folly, as she caught
sight of grave Mr. Learning.
"Who may _you_ be, and what are you doing?" asked Learning, with less
politeness than he usually showed to ladies.
"You don't mean to say that you've never heard of me!" cried Folly, her
words bubbling out fast like water out of a bottle; "you must be Mr.
Ignorance, if you don't know that I'm Mademoiselle Folly, the most
particular friend of lovely Lady Fashion, and the inventress of
tight-lacing, steel-hoops, hair-powder, masks, periwigs--"
"Flattened heads, blackened teeth, nose-rings, lip-rings, and
tattooing," added Mr. Learning, remembering the account of a tribe of
savages which he had been reading that morning.
"And as to what I am doing," continued Miss Folly, taking up her pipe,
which she had laid down on the entrance of a stranger, "I'm very
usefully employed: I'm furnishing the cottage of Miss Matty Desley."
"Furnishing!" exclaimed Mr. Learning in surprise, as Miss Folly, with
distended cheeks, commenced blowing another bubble.
Folly was too busy at that moment to reply, even her tongue for a while
was silent; but after she had succeeded in filling a big bubble, and had
loosened it from the pipe with a gentle shake, she vouchsafed a little
explanation.
"Yes, I'm furnishing the cottage with fancies; their poetical name is
day-dreams, cheap, elegant bubble-fancies."
"You must take me for an idiot!" exclaimed Mr. Learning; "no one in his
senses could ever dream of furnishing a house with bubbles!"
Miss Folly was so intently gazing after the ascending bubble that she
seemed to forget even the presence of the sage. As the airy globule
ascended, she began pouring forth a stream of disconnected nonsense,
seeming to speak merely for her own pleasure, as her words could
certainly not be intended for the information of any listener.
"A carriage and four--sleek bays with long tails; no, white horses
with pretty pink rosettes, and harness all glittering with silver!
Drive through London--up and down Hyde Park--taken for the
Queen--bowing--smiling--ah me, the bubble has burst!"
"This is some poor creature that has lost her wits!" thought the
astonished Mr. Learning, scarcely knowing whether to regard Miss Folly
with pity or with contempt. Already another bubble was swelling on the
bowl of her pipe, and in a minute another bright ball was floating aloft
in the air.
"Exquisite beauty--great attractions--such a voice--such a manner--such
a killing smile! An ode from the poet-laureate; bouquets, sent without
end; roses in the middle of winter; a hundred and fifty scented pink
notes on Valentine's day; the star of the season; the--lack-a-day! that
lovely bubble has gone for ever!"
"It's time that I should go too," said Mr. Learning; "I've heard enough
of nonsense to last for a lifetime!"
He was about to depart when Matty suddenly burst into the cottage, in
her eager haste almost knocking down her astonished guardian with a roll
of goods which she carried on her shoulder. The shock of the collision
was great, but not so great as the shock to poor Matty at so suddenly
coming upon Mr. Learning when she only expected to find Miss Folly. She
dropped her burden with an exclamation of surprise, and then tried to
stammer forth an apology, but knew not how to begin. Mr. Learning stood
straight before her, more erect and stately than ever, sternly looking
down through his steel spectacles at the confused and blushing girl.
Miss Folly, however, was quite at her ease, and hastily pushing aside
her basin and pipe, began instantly to unroll the large parcel which
Matty had dropped in her fright.
"Ah, I knew it would be so! You have chosen the sweetest pattern--the
prettiest--most tasteful--most charming little carpet that ever a girl
set eyes on!" and she began spreading out on the floor a fabric so thin,
that it seemed as if made of rose-leaves.
"Did you buy that trash from Mr. History?" said Mr. Learning sternly to
Matty.
"No--why--I own--Miss Folly recommended me rather to try Mr. Fiction,
who lives close to Amusement's bazaar. It is a great matter, you know,
not to have to cross over brook Bother, or carry a carpet up-hill. And
Mr. Fiction has such a magnificent shop, and his wares are so very
cheap."
"Cheap and often worthless!" exclaimed the angry guardian, striking the
carpet with his heel, and proving the truth of his words by tearing a
great hole in the middle. "I brought a gift for you, Matilda Desley, but
I have no intention of leaving it here now. My hammer of Memory, my
bright brass Dates, are not required to fasten down such miserable trash
as this! But," he muttered as he strode away, "it is at any rate all of
a piece! a carpet framed by Fiction is just the thing for a cottage
papered with fairies, furnished with fancies, and occupied by Miss
Folly!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Folly, the moment that his back was turned, "I'm
glad that the old owl has flown off--he looked ready to peck out my
eyes!"
I should like, with wise Mr. Learning, to bid farewell to Folly for
ever. Perhaps my readers may wonder that I should have introduced them
to a creature so very absurd. I should not have done so had I had no
suspicion that Folly might intrude herself, without introduction, when
they themselves are furnishing their own little cottages of Head. Has
no little girl who now gazes on this page, ever sat for hours blowing
bubbles of fancies with Folly, listening to worse--more ridiculous
nonsense than that which shocked Mr. Learning? Has she not delighted to
imagine herself great, rich, beautiful, and admired? has she not
consulted Folly about her dress--spent her precious minutes and hours on
a looking-glass--or a fanciful garment, or a worthless work of Fiction,
when duties had to be performed, when valuable things were to be bought
in the good town of Education?
Ah, dear little laughing reader, have I, like grave Mr. Learning, caught
some one in the very fact of harbouring Miss Folly? Turn her out--at
once turn her out! She is a silly companion, an unsafe guide; she will
never make you loved, respected, or happy. Though not quite so dark and
dangerous as Pride, she is much more closely related to him than people
would at first imagine; there is much of Pride in Folly--and oh, for
poor, weak, ignorant beings like ourselves, is not Folly seen in all
Pride!