Early in the morning, after the public prayers which Mrs. Teachum read every day, our little company took a walk in the garden whilst the breakfast was preparing.

The fine weather, the prospects round them, all conspired to increase their pleasure. They looked at one another with delight; their minds were innocent and satisfied; and therefore every outward object was pleasing in their sight.

Miss Jenny Peace said, she was sure they were happier than any other society of children whatever, except where the same harmony and love were preserved, as were kept up in their minds: ‘For (continued she) I think now, my dear companions, I can answer for you all, that no mischievous, no malicious plots disturb the tranquility of your thoughts; plots, which in the end, constantly fall on the head of those who invent them, after all the pains they cost in forming, and endeavouring to execute.’

Whilst Miss Jenny Peace was talking, Miss Dolly Friendly looked at her very earnestly. She would not interrupt her; but the moment she was silent, Miss Dolly said, ‘My dear Miss Jenny, what is the matter with you? your eyes are swelled, and you look as if you had been crying. If you have any grief that you keep to yourself, you rob us of the share we have a right to demand in all that belongs to you.’

‘No, indeed (answered Miss Jenny), I have nothing that grieves me; though, if I had, I should think it increased, rather than lessened, by your being grieved too; but last night, after I went upstairs, I found amongst my books the play of the Funeral, or, Grief-a-la-mode; where the faithful and tender behaviour of a good old servant, who had long lived in his lord’s family, with many other passages in the play (which I cannot explain, unless you knew the whole story) made me cry, so that I could hardly stop my tears.’

‘Pray, Miss Jenny, let us hear this play, that had such an effect on you,’ was the general request; and Miss Jenny readily promised, when they met in their arbour, to read it to them.

They eagerly ran to their arbour as soon as school was over, and Miss Jenny performed her promise, and was greatly pleased to find such a sympathy between her companions and herself; for they were most of them affected just in the same manner, and with the same parts of the play, as had before affected her.

By the time they had wiped their eyes, and were rejoicing at the turn at the end of the play, in favour of the characters with which they were most pleased, Mrs. Teachum entered the arbour, and inquired what they had been reading. Miss Jenny immediately told her, adding, ‘I hope, Madam, you will not think reading a play an improper amusement for us; for I should be very sorry to be guilty myself, or cause my companions to be guilty, of any thing that would meet with your disapprobation.’ Mrs. Teachum answered, that she was not at all displeased with her having read a play, as she saw by her fear of offending, that her discretion was to be trusted to. ‘Nay (continued this good woman), I like that you should know something of all kinds of writings, where neither morals nor manners are offended; for if you read plays, and consider them as you ought, you will neglect and despise what is light and useless, whilst you will imprint on your mind’s every useful lesson that is to be drawn from them. I am very well acquainted with the play you have been reading; but that I may see whether you give the proper attention to what you have heard, I desire, my little girls, that one of you will give me an account of the chief incidents in the play, and tell me the story, just as you would do to one of your companions that had happened to have been absent.’

Here they all looked upon Miss Jenny Peace, as thinking her the most capable of doing what their governess required. But Mrs. Teachum, reading their thoughts in their looks, said, ‘I exclude Miss Jenny in this case; for as the play was of her choosing to read to you, I doubt not but she is thoroughly enough acquainted with every part of it; and my design was to try the memory and attention of some of the others.’

They all remained silent, and seemed to wait for a more particular command, before any one would offer at the undertaking; not through any backwardness to comply with Mrs. Teachum’s request, but each from a diffidence of herself to perform it.

Miss Jenny Peace then said, that she had observed a great attention in them all; and she did not doubt but every one was able to give a very good account of what they had heard. ‘But, as Miss Sukey Jennet is the eldest, I believe, madam, (continued she), if you approve it, they will all be very ready to depute her as their speaker.’

Each smiled at being so relieved by Miss Jenny; and Mrs. Teachum, taking Miss Sukey Jennet by the hand, said, ‘Come, my dear, throw off all fear and reserve; imagine me one of your companions, and tell me the story of the play you have been reading.’

Miss Sukey, thus encouraged by her kind governess, without any hesitation, spoke in the following manner:

‘If I understand your commands, madam, by telling the story of the play, you would not have me tell you the acts and scenes as they followed one another for that I am afraid I can hardly remember, as I have heard it only once but I must describe the chief people in the play, and the plots and contrivances that are carried on amongst them.’

Mrs. Teachum nodded her head, and Miss Sukey thus proceeded:

‘There is an old Lord Brumpton, who had married a young wife, that had lived with him some years, and by her deceitful and cunning ways had prevailed with him to disinherit his only son Lord Hardy (who was a very sensible good young man) and to leave him but a shilling. And this Lord Brumpton was taken in a fit, so that all the house thought he was dead, and his lady sent for an undertaker, one Mr. Sable, to bury him. But coming out of his fit, when nobody but this Mr. Sable, and an old servant, called Trusty, were by, he was prevailed upon by the good old Trusty to feign himself still dead (and the undertaker promises secrecy) in order to detect the wickedness of his wife, which old Trusty assures him is very great; and then he carries his lord where he overhears a discourse between the widow (as she thinks herself) and her maid Tattleaid; and he bears his once beloved wife rejoicing in his supposed death, and in the success of her own arts to deceive him. Then there are two young ladies, Lady Charlotte and Lady Harriet Lovely, to whom this Lord Brumpton was guardian; and he had also left them in the care of this wicked woman. And this young Lord Hardy was in love with Lady Charlotte; and Mr. Camply, a very lively young gentleman, his friend, was in love with Lady Harriet and Lady Brumpton locked the two young ladies up, and would not let them be seen by their lovers. But there at last they contrived, by the help of old Trusty, who had their real guardian’s consent for it, both to get away; and Lady Harriet married Mr. Camply directly; but Lady Charlotte did not get away so soon, and so was not married till the end of the play. This Mr. Camply was a very generous man, and was newly come to a large fortune; and in the beginning of the play he contrives, in a very genteel manner, to give his friend Lord Hardy, who very much wanted it, three hundred pounds; but he takes care to let us know, that my lord had formerly, when he waited his assistance, been very kind to him. And there at last, when Lady Brumpton finds out that the two young ladies are gone, she goes away in a rage to Lord Hardy’s lodgings, and in an insulting manner she pays all due legacies, as she calls it, that is, she gives Lord Hardy the shilling, which, by her wicked arts, was all his father had left him; and she was insulting the young ladies, and glorying in her wickedness, when honest old Trusty came in, and brought in old Lord Brumpton, whom they imagined to be dead, and all but Lady Brumpton were greatly overjoyed to see him alive; but when he taxed her with her falsehood, she defied him, and said that she had got a deed of gift under his hand, which he could not revoke, and she WOULD enjoy his fortune in spite of him. Upon which they all looked sadly vexed, till the good old Trusty went out and came in again, and brought in a man called Cabinet, who confessed himself the husband to the pretended Lady Brumpton, and that he was married to her half a year before she was married to my Lord Brumpton; but as my lord happened to fall in love with her, they agreed to keep their marriage concealed, in order that she should marry my lord, and cheat him in the manner she had done; and the reason that Cabinet came to confess all this was, that he looked into a closet and saw my lord writing, after he thought he was dead, and, taking it for his ghost, was by that means frightened into this confession, which he first made in writing to old Trusty, and therefore could not now deny it. They were all rejoiced at this discovery, except the late pretended Lady Brumpton, who sneaked away with Cabinet her husband; and my Lord Brumpton embraced his son, and gave his consent, that he should marry Lady Charlotte; and they were all pleased and happy.’

Here Miss Sukey ceased, and Mrs. Teachum told her she was a very good girl, and had remembered a great deal of the play. ‘But (said she) in time, with using yourself to this way of repeating what you have read, you will come to a better manner, and a more regular method of telling your story, which you was now so intent upon finishing, that you forgot to describe what sort of women those two young ladies were, though, as to all the rest, you have been particular enough.’

‘Indeed, madam, (said Miss Sukey), I had forgot that, but Lady Charlotte was a very sensible, grave young lady, and lady Harriet was extremely gay and coquettish; but Mr. Camply tells her how much it misbecomes her to be so and she having good sense, as well as good nature, is convinced of her folly, and likes him so well for his reproof, that she consents to marry him.’

Mrs. Teachum, addressing herself to them all, told them, that this was a method she wished they would take with whatever they read; for nothing so strongly imprinted anything on the memory as such a repetition; and then turning to Miss Jenny Peace, she said, ‘And now, Miss Jenny, I desire you will speak freely what you think is the chief moral to be drawn from the play you have just read.’

Miss Jenny being thus suddenly asked a question of this nature, considered some time before she gave an answer; for she was naturally very diffident of her own opinion in anything where she had not been before instructed by some one she thought wiser than herself. At last, with a modest look, and an humble voice, she said, ‘Since, madam, you have commanded me to speak my sentiments freely, I think by what happened to each character in this play, the author intended to prove what my good mamma first taught me, and what you, madam, since have so strongly confirmed me in; namely, that folly, wickedness, and misery, all three, as constantly dwell together, as wisdom, virtue, and happiness do.’

‘’Tis very true (answered Mrs. Teachum); but this moral does not arise only from the happy turn in favour of the virtuous characters in the conclusion of the play, but is strongly inculcated, as you see all along, in the peace of mind that attends the virtuous, even in the midst of oppression and distress, while the event is yet doubtful, and apparently against them; and, on the contrary, in the confusion of mind which the vicious are tormented with, even whilst they falsely imagine themselves triumphant.’

Mrs. Teachum then taking the book out of Miss Jenny’s hands, and turning to the passage, said, ‘How does Lady Brumpton show us the wretched condition of her own mind, when she says,

‘“How miserable ‘tis to have one one hates always about one! And when one can’t endure one’s own reflections upon some actions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon them?”

‘Then with what perturbation of mind does she proceed, to wish it was in her power to increase her wickedness, without making use enough of her understanding, to see that by that means she would but increase her own misery.

‘On the other hand, what a noble figure does Lord Hardy make, when, by this wicked woman’s contrivances, he thinks himself disinherited of his whole fortune, ill-treated, and neglected by a father, he never had in thought offended! He could give an opportunity to a sincere friend, who would not flatter him, to say,

‘“No; you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy rather than pity, of your more fortunate, not more happy friends.”

‘This is a fine distinction between fortunate and happy; and intimates this happiness must dwell in the mind, and depends upon no outward accidents.

‘Fortune, indeed, is a blessing, if properly used; which Camply shows, when by that means he can assist and relieve his worthy friend.

‘With what advantage does Lady Charlotte appear over her sister, when the latter is trifling and dancing before the glass, and the former says,

‘“If I am at first so silly as to be a little taken with myself, I know it is a fault, and take pains to correct it.”

‘And on Lady Harriet’s saying, very giddily, that it was too soon for her to think at that rate, Lady Charlotte properly adds,

‘“They that think it too soon to understand themselves, will very soon find it too late.”

‘In how ridiculous a light does Lady Harriet appear, while she is displaying all that foolish coquetry! And how different a figure does she make, when she has got the better of it?

‘My Lady Brumpton, when alarmed with the least noise, breaks out into all the convulsive starts natural to conscious guilt.

‘“Ha! what noise is that—that noise of fighting?—Run, I say.—Whither are you going?—What, are you mad?—Will you leave me alone?—Can’t you stir?—What, you can’t take your message with you!—Whatever ‘tis, I suppose you are not in the plot, not you—nor that now they’re breaking open my house for Charlotte—Not you.—Go see what’s the matter, I say; I have nobody I can trust.—One minute I think this wench honest, and the next false.—Whither shall I turn me?”

‘This is a picture of the confused, the miserable mind of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman, as Lady Brumpton was, and as Lady Harriet very properly calls her.

‘Honesty and faithfulness shine forth in all their lustre, in the good old Trusty. We follow him throughout with anxious wishes for his success, and tears of joy for his tenderness. And when he finds that he is likely to come at the whole truth, and to save his lord from being deceived and betrayed into unjustly ruining his noble son, you may remember that he makes this pious reflection:

All that is ours, is to be justly bent; And Heaven in its own time will bless th’ event.

‘This is the natural thought that proceeds from innocence and goodness; and surely this state of mind is happiness.

‘I have only pointed out a few passages, to show you, that though it is the nature of comedy to end happily, and therefore the good characters must be successful in the last act; yet the moral lies deeper, and is to be deduced from a proof throughout this play, that the natural consequence of vice is misery within, even in the midst of an apparent triumph; and the natural consequence of goodness is a calm peace of mind, even in the midst of oppression and distress.

‘I have endeavoured, my little dears, to show you, as clearly as I can, not only what moral is to be drawn from this play, but what is to be sought for in all others; and where that moral is not to be found, the writer will have it to answer for, that he has been guilty of one of the worst of evils; namely, that he has clothed vice in so beautiful a dress, that, instead of deterring, it will allure and draw into its snares the young and tender mind. And I am sorry to say, that too many of our dramatic performances are of this latter cast; which is the reason, that wise and prudent parents and governors in general discourage in very young people the reading of plays. And though by what I have said (if it makes a proper impression) I doubt not but you will all have a just abhorrence of such immoral plays, instead of being pleased with them, should they fall in your way; yet I would advise you rather to avoid them, and never to read any but such as are approved of; and recommended to you by those who have the care of your education.’

Here good Mrs. Teachum ceased, and left her little scholars to reflect on what she had been saying; when Miss Jenny Peace declared, for her part, that she could feel the truth of her governess’s observations; for she had rather be the innocent Lord Hardy, though she was to have but that one shilling in the world which was so insolently offered him as his father’s last legacy, than be the Lady Brumpton, even though she had possessed the fortune she so treacherously endeavoured to obtain.

‘Nay (said Miss Dolly Friendly) I had rather have been old Trusty, with all the infirmities of age, following my Lord Hardy through the world, had his poverty and distress been ever so great, than have been the malicious Lady Brumpton, in the height of her beauty, surrounded by a crowd of lovers and flatterers.’

Miss Henny Fret then declared how glad she was that she had now no malice in her mind; though she could not always have said so, as she would inform them in the history of her past life.