THE following morning the young people arose early, and were surprised to find Mrs. Harewood also stirring; her amiable, affectionate heart promised itself a treat, in witnessing the sweet emotions of Matilda, on hearing the joyful tidings of her mother’s arrival; nor was she disappointed—the delighted girl manifested all the rapture of which her warm susceptible heart was capable; and on hearing her mother slept in the crimson room, was hastily bending her steps to the chamber, thus named from the colour of the bed.

“But, my dear, it is yet early; your mamma was much fatigued with her long journey from Falmouth: is it not a pity to disturb her, especially as she has already seen and kissed you, although she would not awake you?”

Matilda stopped—“I do so wish to see mamma,” said she, “and to hear her speak! but then to awake her for my own pleasure would be selfish, as I used to be—I won’t be selfish.”

“That’s right, my dear—you are now proving yourself truly affectionate—you are preferring mamma to yourself.”

“But I may just stand at the door and listen to her breathing, and so wait till she moves.”

“Certainly, my dear.”

Away flew Matilda, happiest of the happy; and she had scarcely been ten minutes on her station when Mrs. Hanson’s bell rang, and Matilda instantly opened the door, in silent but delightful expectation.

“Is my daughter awake?” said the fond mother.

“Oh, yes, yes, dear mamma, I am here!” cried she, springing to the outstretched arms of her loved parent, who, in embracing her joyfully, yet felt solicitude mingle with her joy, from the consciousness that her earthly happiness was centred in this single object, and that upon her future conduct rested the peace of both.

Mrs. Hanson did not rise for some hours, and her daughter breakfasted with her, and spent the time principally in making inquiries after their old friends in Barbadoes, so that Mrs. Hanson had no opportunity of observing how her daughter was looked upon in the family, and on this eventful day, the ball in the evening was naturally the subject uppermost on Matilda’s mind, so that there was yet no development of her real improvement.

At length Mrs. Hanson arose; her maid came in to dress her, and whilst this took place, the mother beheld with delight the improvement which had taken place in her darling’s person, which was taller, and considerably better formed, as she had cured herself of stooping, and all her motions indicated sprightliness and agility.

Whilst Mrs. Hanson congratulated herself on this appearance, Zebby tapped at the door, and, on being admitted, said, with a very long face and doleful accent—“Oh dear, Missy, very bad ting have happened; de milliner have sentee home Miss Ellen new frock, and no sentee yours. She say she cannot makee till next week, because she very busy for little girls that losee their mamma, and must have blackee clothes to-morrow day.”

Mrs. Hanson’s heart sunk, and she felt as if her pleasure for this day at least was over, for she fully expected to see Matilda fly into a rage with the messenger, the milliner, and indeed all the house; and she could scarcely believe her own senses, when Matilda replied calmly—“Well, Zebby, it cannot be helped, and it does not signify much; I am sure Mrs. Harewood will excuse my want of a new dress on this occasion. To be sure, I should have liked to look the same as dear Ellen; but how can I think of such a trifling disappointment, when I remember it was caused by those unhappy children, who are now mourning for their mamma?”

So saying, she turned, and eagerly threw her arms round a mother, who, in the course of her whole life, had not embraced her with equal satisfaction; but before she had time to express her pleasure, and injure her who caused it, by the exaggerated praise which sprung to her lips, Matilda had run down stairs, just to peep at Ellen’s new dress, speak of the delight she experienced in having gained her mother’s society, and consult Miss Campbell as to the frock she must substitute for the one intended to be worn; and when Mrs. Hanson was left alone, she almost fancied that the foregoing scene was a kind of drama, which had been introduced for the purpose of surprising and pleasing her.

But observation confirmed her hopes, and justified her happiness. She descended at dinner-time, and was introduced to the children of the family, who, although little seen among so large a party, yet won her regard, from the unaffected kindness and ease with which they treated her daughter; and she observed, with approbation, that Matilda and Ellen were dressed exactly alike; the latter having declined wearing the frock bought for her, since her friend’s could not be procured. Mrs. Hanson could not fail to love Ellen, in whose countenance the good temper, modesty, and sensibility which characterized her, were strongly expressed; but she had not much time to comment upon it, for the young party were now coming in, and attention was in some degree divided. In a short time dinner was announced, and the company, about thirty in number, were soon commodiously arranged round the hospitable table.

Mrs. Harewood had thought it right to disperse her own family among her guests, in order that they might pay proper attention to those near them, as by that means she hoped that none of the invited would be neglected; and according to this arrangement, which was made the preceding day, Matilda took the place appointed for her, which happened to be at some distance from her mamma, who sat, of course, next to Mrs. Harewood. In the bustle of so large a party, Mrs. Hanson could scarcely observe even her daughter at the beginning of the meal; but when the second course came in, she saw with some pain a large dish of custards placed exactly before Matilda; and on one of the company observing she had never seen such a noble dish of custards before, Mrs. Hanson said—“Matilda is remarkably fond of them; I am sorry they are so near her, for they are not wholesome.”

“We seldom have such things on that account,” said Mrs. Harewood; “but I must own I think them well placed, because Matilda can help her friends to them with ease.”

These words drew the attention of the young ones, and Matilda soon received so many plates to supply, that there appeared little probability of her sharing in the feast. Edmund was near her, and gladly receiving his mother’s approving smile, he secured one for Matilda, which he put upon her plate just before the last was demanded.

Ellen was equally busy distributing tarts near the bottom of the table. The footman brought her a custard, which he said Miss Hanson had sent for her.

“She is very good,” said Ellen, “but I had rather take a jelly, if she will excuse my returning it.”

The happy mother perceived that Matilda had sent Ellen the very custard which Edmund’s kindness had ensured for her. Delicious tears sprang to her eyes; she perceived that Matilda was indeed a different creature; that she had not only conquered a disgraceful propensity, but acquired a habit of generous attention to others, of which there was at one period no hopes in her character.

The dancing now commenced, and the West Indian acquitted herself with great propriety; for although she did not perform so well as the greater part of the company, yet she was never awkward; and when at a loss for the figure, she listened with modesty, and obeyed with precision the rules laid down to her. Many of the party now assembled were amiable and obliging, but in so large a number, some were of course present, whose manners were less agreeable: but as Matilda considered herself one of the family, so she deemed it her duty to partake their cares, and render every person as happy as possible. She neither suffered rudeness to disturb her temper, nor awkwardness to excite her contempt; her conduct, under every temptation of this nature, was uniformly marked by self-command, modesty, and civility.

There was in this young party two Master Eustons, who, happening to be richer and a little older than the rest of the party, thought themselves entitled to quiz all around them at some times, and lord it over them at others. On their first coming into the room, they sought out Matilda, as a proper companion for them, because they had heard her named as a great West-Indian heiress; but when they saw her a modest, unassuming girl, they rather shunned her, as not being likely to enter into their sports. These boys would not have been voluntarily chosen as companions for his own by such a careful and observant father as Mr. Harewood, but they were the nephews of an old friend of his, and were then on a visit to their uncle, who would have felt himself neglected if Mr. Harewood had not invited them; and as, that gentleman very justly observed to his excellent lady, his children must necessarily mix with the world, both at school and elsewhere, it was desirable that they should do it sometimes under the eye of those kind parents, who might teach them how to distinguish what was good, and lead them, from general company, to choose particular society.

There was also a young lady who wished to render herself the particular companion of Matilda, for the same reason the Eustons had done, because she considered her the most wealthy child in the place; and from her person, and the elegance she observed in her mamma’s dress and manners, she concluded that in a few years she would be the most dashing. It is astonishing how soon the eye of even a child can discriminate, in that particular which has been rendered the sole subject of its studies and the grand object of its wishes; so that people who pique themselves upon being men of the world, or women of fashion, are rivalled in all their boasted knowledge and discernment by young creatures, whose faculties they may deem very inefficient, and which are indeed so in all the higher requisites of mind and the attainments of knowledge.

The parents of Miss Holdup, the young lady in question, had acquired a large fortune, but were both called, at a very early period, from the enjoyment of it; and this their only child was placed, by the will of her father, under the sole guardianship of his solicitor, a man of integrity and of large fortune, and without any children of his own; so that the little girl had apparently every blessing her desolate situation demanded, for kindness was accorded to her in the family, as an orphan, without a rival, and her fortune was well secured by the skill of her guardian.

But, alas! false judgment and mistaken indulgence rendered this situation totally subversive of her improvement and her happiness; the lady to whose care she was immediately consigned was a vain and dissipated woman, who had no greater pleasure than in spending the fortune, laboriously acquired by her industrious spouse, in all the various amusements the metropolis presents to the idle and extravagant part of the community; and although she was what is generally termed a very good-natured woman, yet the moment her schemes of diversion or expense were thwarted, she could be as pettish, sullen, or even vulgar and violent, as the lowest servant. She piqued herself on being a woman of family, and when little Miss Holdup came into her household, the first care she took with her was to eradicate, as far as possible, the memory of her parents, and all their former connections, from her mind.—“My dear child, now you are, by great good fortune, got into a gentleman’s family, remember you must never mention those creatures in the city your mamma used to visit. I must have no cheese-factor cousins introduced at my table; no, nor even the great linen-draper’s daughter that gave you the doll; you have money enough to buy dolls of your own, and must have no more concern with those kind of people now.”

“But,” said the child, “I suppose I may talk about Miss Turner and her sister Anne, because they nursed me through the measles, and my father said I must always be grateful—I suppose he meant thankful, ma’am, for their kindness.”

“Who are they, child? if they are decent people, it alters the case entirely.”

“They are not decent people,” said the child, pettishly; “they are very genteel people, and dress quite beautifully, and have a country-house, where I have played many a time; and they have a fine instrument, and more books than you have, and I love them dearly.”

“But who are they, my dear?”

“Why, to be sure, they are their father’s daughters, Mr. Turner, the great baker; every body knows Mr. Turner’s shop, I suppose.”

The lady was distressed. She began a speech, endeavouring to prove, that although gratitude was very good in its place, yet, when it was advisable to forget its object, then it was no longer good, but foolish, and improper, and unfashionable; but she checked herself in the midst of this exordium, by recollecting that the intellects of her pupil were unequal to all investigation, but that her inclination, youth, and temper could be more easily wrought upon. She began to load her with finery, take her to the play, though she fell asleep in the second act, speak of her in her own hearing as a wit and a beauty, shake her head knowingly whenever her city connections were alluded to; and therefore it was no wonder that in a short time the child forgot the friends she had loved, grew ashamed of the parents she had honoured, learnt to prattle on subjects of which she knew nothing, and to affect all the premature airs of a woman, with more than the usual ignorance of a child, as children are now usually instructed.

Perhaps a womanized child of this description is the most disagreeable thing in existence, and is rendered only the more so, from any talent or natural acuteness it may happen to possess, since that never fails to give a spice of sin to what would otherwise be mere folly. The thinking mind shudders at the airs of infantine coquetry and malicious sneers, which are merely ludicrous to another stander-by; but how any person can be either indifferent to such a waste and perversion of human nature, or behold it with pleasure, is inconceivable. Mrs. Thornton was, however, so far the dupe of her own folly, that she conceived Miss Holdup the finest child she had ever known, and a decisive proof of her own talents for education. It was true, she had lavished upon her all her stores of information, in the same way that, agreeably to her own notions of dress and pleasure, she had expended upon her sums which her husband thought prodigious; and the result of both had been to make her what might be truly called a grand serious pantomime, or an artificial curiosity, for nature was completely banished her composition.

“Look at my lovely ward,” she would exclaim, in rapture; “how totally different she is from any other child! she will never be mistaken for one of the lower order!”

True; but neither could she be mistaken for a gentlewoman: the appearance of the child was that of a figurante, ready equipped for her part at the opera; for, although in her twelfth year, she wore trowsers and petticoats that did not reach to her knees; they were, it is true, trimmed with the most costly Mechlin, formed by the most tasteful milliner; but as her shape was by no means graceful, and her mode of life, by harassing her into puny ill health, kept her wretchedly thin, she resembled at a distance a small windmill about to be set in motion; and when near her, it was impossible not to believe that her clothes had been stripped to the middle, for the sake of washing her bony shoulders perfectly clean.

But, alas! the interior was more naked, or dressed in some parts merely for exhibition: the poor child knew the steps of the last new dance and the name of new music; she could finger a little, and knew a few words of French from the vocabulary; but to the history of her country she was a perfect stranger, and, what was far worse, was ignorant of all religion, all duties. When she was out of temper, which was an increasing evil as she grew up, she was told only that it “spoiled her face;” if she were guilty of gluttony, she was warned against injuring her shape; but the real motive of good action, the foundation of pure principles, the necessity of self-control, were utterly unknown to her; she never saw them acted upon, nor heard them explained.

Such was the girl who now, with a bustling parade of affection, singled out Matilda as the only child whom she thought worthy of her patronage, and whom she intended to win and to use, when it suited her, in the very same way that ladies of twice her age so frequently make their selection of friends in the acquaintance of an hour.

Miss Holdup was disappointed in perceiving that Matilda did not act as if she were much pleased, or much flattered, by her partiality; but this she imputed to pride, and being very proud herself, she concluded that, on a little farther acquaintance, it would only render them better friends. Besides, she observed that Ellen was at present the dearest friend of Matilda; and although she considered this a degrading choice, yet she had patience to wait, and cunning enough to aid, the time when Matilda should see the superiority of such a girl as herself to poor Ellen, whom she concluded to be simple, because she perceived her to be modest and mild.

In the blithesome round of gaiety inspired by dancing, designs and airs of all kinds were for a time forgotten, and the sprightly movements of the feet kept pace with the hilarity of heart which banishes, for a time, all those unnatural combinations which disgrace the ingenuous breast of early life; but when a pause was given for the purpose of refreshment, various little parties were formed for conversation, and Miss Holdup contrived to monopolize Matilda, in a way that was painful to Ellen, disrespectful to the rest of the party, and embarrassing to her who was thus singled out; who became, with some, an object of envy, because the most fashionable girl distinguished her; with others, one of contempt, for the same reason. It will be readily conceived that Miss Holdup was never insignificant: where she did not attract admiration, she never failed to excite contempt: and as the party were, of course, for the most part amiable and well-educated children, whom Mr. and Mrs. Harewood held up as examples to their own, so the greater number, by many, regarded this young lady as a weak, ridiculous girl, whose appearance excited surprise and disgust, and whom nothing but good manners could prevent them from laughing at; and Matilda felt herself involved, from her union with her, in that kind of snare which, of all others, was the most galling to her, as from her very cradle she could never endure to be laughed at.

Mrs. Harewood perceived, from the expression of her countenance, that she laboured under very considerable vexation, and she was at times afraid that, by some irritating expression or haughty toss, Matilda would tarnish the honours of the day, by giving a pang to the heart of that fond and still happy parent, whose eyes were continually bent upon her, but who wished to see her act on the present occasion, without those influences her more immediate presence was likely to inspire. While with all the anxiety of a true friend, this good lady watched Matilda, a quick rattling sound was heard against the windows, and Matilda, a little surprised by the sound, and desirous of escaping the tedious and affected conversation of Miss Holdup, inquired what it was that she heard.

“Quiz the West Indian,” said the younger Euston; “she never saw it hail before.”

With a very grave face, the elder immediately came up to her, and told her it was raining comfits—“If you please,” said he, “you may see them through the windows, for it is not dark, though the moon is clouded.”

Matilda went eagerly to the window, for she was curious to observe a phenomenon entirely new to her. She soon perceived thousands of little balls, that fell as hard as stones, lying on the ground and the window frames, and she was desirous of examining them further; but just as she was turning to make inquiries of her friend Edmund, young Euston interrupted her, by saying—“Well, Miss Hanson, you now see the comfits; would you like to taste them? if you please, I will get you a spoonful.”

“I should like to have a few certainly,” replied she, “and will feel obliged to you to procure me some of them.”

“Hush, hush!” said the young ones to each other, all desirous to see how Matilda would look, many merely from that love of play which is inherent at their age, others from a malicious spirit which is too frequently blended with a passion for fun. Mr. Harewood apparently took no notice, but he hovered about them, and had the satisfaction of hearing several girls condemn the Eustons, and profess an intention of saving Matilda from swallowing the cold hailstones.

“You may be easy,” said Edmund, as they stood consulting together on the subject, when in ran the youth with eagerness, crying—“Here is a spoonful of beautiful comfits; now open your mouth and shut your eyes—that is the way to taste them in perfection.”

“Thank you, sir; I do not want to eat them; I know they must be snow, some kind of condensed snow, or ice, and I wished to examine them.”

“Snow! how you talk!—it never snows in July.”

“It never snows at all in my country—of course I know little about it; but unless Edmund assures me to the contrary, I shall certainly conclude that these little balls are frozen rain-drops, of the same nature with snow.”

“You are perfectly right, Matilda,” said Edmund, “and you have quizzed your quizzers very completely.”

“Miss Hanson has studied natural philosophy,” said a young lady, sneeringly, being one of those who sought Miss Holdup’s acquaintance. “I always thought that young ladies in the West India islands studied physical subjects more than any other.”

“Physical subjects!” exclaimed several of the party; “how very strange a study! what a very singular thing for girls to think of!”

“I think you are quite mistaken,” said Ellen, with more spirit than was usual to her; for, although she could not conceive that there was any harm in the study, she saw plainly that some spleen was intended against Matilda, and she loved her too dearly, to stand by whilst any wound was inflicted which her interference might avert. Though the most gentle and unoffending in her nature, yet she was capable of warm and active friendship, and, of course, was not a little astounded and hurt when the young lady replied—“Surely, Miss Harewood, you cannot be ignorant that all our great medical practitioners torture and kill animals, for the purpose of ascertaining the nature of diseases, and, in many cases, undoubtedly for the purpose of learning how much suffering bodies of a certain size and texture are capable of enduring? Now I don’t doubt, Miss Hanson, being so wise in other matters, can tell you exactly how much pain is necessary to kill a slave, how many stripes a child can endure, and how long hunger, beating, and torturing, may be applied without producing death; and prove that in case they do destroy a few blackies, that don’t signify, if they can afford to buy more.”

“Well, and suppose Miss Hanson did kill some of those creatures,” cried Miss Holdup, “she can afford to buy more; at least, her mamma can, which is much the same; though to be sure, ’tis a fine thing to be independent. For my part, I think there is ten times more said about those filthy negroes than signifies: dear me! they are not to compare to my Frisky; ’tis the most angelic creature of a dog! worth fifty blacks any day, unless, to be sure, they were in handsome liveries.”

Matilda had suffered in every nerve while the first lady spoke, but the defence of the second hurt her ten times more, as it appeared to indicate a hardness of heart, a daring to make light of a most solemn subject, and one to which she had given much serious thought, and she hastily plucked away the arm Miss Holdup had taken, and would have retired, but she was hemmed in by a circle, and could not escape. The young lady replied to her advocate, in a fawning voice—“Ah, dear Miss Holdup! you are fond of defending any body you take a fancy for; but I am certain, if you were really on the spot, you could not bear to see those things your new friend has been in the habit of doing. I am told, mere children amuse themselves in Barbadoes with sticking pins into the legs of little children, dropping scalding sealing-wax upon their arms, and cutting lines and stars in their necks with knives and scissors.”

“Yes,” added one of the Eustons, “and the most delicate ladies are waited upon by naked slaves, whose bare backs are probably bleeding from the recent effects of a sound whipping, inflicted, probably, because Missy’s dolly had fallen, and broken her nose, out of Missy’s own hands.”

“Shocking creatures!”—“Dreadful wretches!”—“Wicked creatures!”—“How terrible!”—“How abominable!” were exclamations naturally uttered on every side, and those who, on Matilda’s innocent triumph, had in the first instance pressed around her, now withdrew from her side, shrinking as from something monstrous and loathsome in nature; and such was the bustle and confusion between those who were eager to inquire, and those who were more eager to inform, that the few who endeavoured to divert attention from the subject, or insist upon the pictures presented being overcharged, could not be heard.

Matilda, overwhelmed with burning blushes, was utterly unable to articulate a syllable, much less to stem the torrent which, in accusing her country in general terms, was aimed at her in particular: her conscience accused her of many crimes, which, though far removed from atrocity like this, were yet utterly unjustifiable, and, as she now believed, might have led to the utmost limits of tyranny, cruelty, and oppression; and all she felt or feared in her own conduct, seemed to rise to her memory, and stamp conscious guilt on her expressive features; and while thus labouring under the torments of a wounded spirit, the Eustons, rejoicing in her confusion, pointed it out as a certain proof of her conscience upbraiding her, and a fresh volley of crimes and accusations were poured forth. It was in vain that Edmund attempted to be heard, and that Charles challenged every one to fight in her behalf, and that Ellen, with distressed vociferation and tears gushing into her eyes, kept again and again exclaiming—“It is not true—I am sure it is not; there are many good people in the West Indies, and nobody can be so wicked in the wide world. You tell these tales on purpose to make us ill—fie! fie!”

The agonized countenance of Ellen, by presenting a striking contrast to its usual expression of mild benevolence, told Mr. Harewood it was time for him to interfere. He had, for some minutes, hovered near, perceiving some kind of conspiracy, and thinking that his presence would be less observed than that of either of the ladies; and at his near approach, the aggrieved, accused, discomfited Matilda, whose eyes had been long cast on the ground, ventured to look up; for although she had a considerable general feeling of awe for Mr. Harewood, yet she had the most perfect reliance on his justice and kindness; and ashamed and conscious of past error as she now was, she yet felt assured of his protection and mercy.

The moment her eye met his, she felt all her hopes confirmed; and in the joy and exultation it gave her, she acquired strength to burst through the crowd; rushing forward, she sought refuge in his arms, and laid her burning cheek on the kind hand he extended towards her.

Ellen, at this moment, was, for the first time, attended to, as she cried out, with still stronger pathos—“Dear papa, I am so glad you are here! for you will tell us the truth—you will convince every body, that people in the West Indies do not torture their poor slaves for nothing but their own wicked pleasure.”

“My dear little advocate, as I have never been in the West Indies, I have no right to contradict such evidence as has been brought forward by respectable witnesses.”

A cry of exultation began to pass the lips of the Euston party; but they were silent, as Mr. Harewood began to speak again.

“I am the more inclined to think these cruelties may sometimes take place in our islands, because I have myself witnessed similar effects in this country, where the barbarians who practised them were much curtailed in their power, and proved rather the disposition than the actual treatment of which you speak towards their unhappy victims.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed they, with anxious curiosity, pressing nearer to the speaker.

“Yes,” added Mr. Harewood, raising his voice, and assuming a serious aspect, “I have this very evening heard words applied to the heart of an unoffending individual, more painful than the lash, and seen looks directed against her, more torturing than any of the hateful operations you have mentioned; and I have not the least hesitation in saying, that those who could thus treat an amiable fellow-creature, and one who, as a stranger, is thrown upon their kindness, and entitled at least to their politeness, would, if they had the power, wound the body also, and might, by hardening their hearts against the claims of humanity, in a short time become capable of every possible enormity.”

An awful silence, strikingly contrasted with the late lively dance and its following conversational bustle, now sat on every tongue; the self-convicted were ashamed of their conduct, the doubtful satisfied, and the friendly delighted; and desirous of stamping an important lesson, in the moment of awakened feeling and intelligence, Mr. Harewood continued to say—“Human nature, alas! is full of bad propensities; and when situation and the power of indulgence strengthen them, no wonder that man becomes selfish first, then hard-hearted, and lastly, even ferocious towards others. When, enlightened by education and taught by religion, he rises from this state of barbarity, and becomes not only civilized, but humane, gentle, condescending, and charitable, he merits great praise, for he has achieved great labour—he has conquered great difficulty; the very angels in heaven rejoice over him; and this child, this blushing, trembling, self-condemning, but self-corrected child, has done this. Look up, my dear Matilda! let who will sneer at you, I am proud of you; and there is not one person present who would not honour themselves, if they could secure your friendship. I was the first to correct you, nor will I ever flatter you; but I will always protect and defend you, so long as you continue to merit the high regard I now feel for you.”

The sweetest tears she had ever shed now ran down the cheeks of Matilda, as Mr. Harewood pronounced this eulogy; and it will be easily conceived, that all the really good and sensible part of the company eagerly sought to soothe her spirits, and convince her of their regard, while her late tormentors either slunk away, as much ashamed as they were despised, or by an ingenuous confession of error, paved the way for returning esteem.

Miss Holdup arrogated to herself great praise for having defended what she called the right side; and so delighted was poor Ellen with every body and every thing which favoured her young friend, that she began to take a great fancy to the silly affected girl, merely because she thought that she loved Matilda; but Matilda herself felt that her severest pang had arisen from the very defence thus adopted; and while she thanked Miss Holdup for her good wishes, she yet shrank more than ever from forming an intimate acquaintance with one whom she considered as little better than an automaton figure on which fine clothes might be hung, and whose tongue had been taught to move, for the purpose of repeating the silly gibberish which ill-formed women repeat to uninformed children, in order to render them as stupid, proud, and silly as themselves.

On the following day, the party were naturally the subject of conversation, and Mrs. Hanson had great pleasure in finding that the bedizened doll, who had been so decidedly her daughter’s companion the evening before, was by no means her chosen one, that distinction being reserved for Ellen only, whose kind heart would have been almost broken, had she imagined such a partiality indeed reciprocal, but who was as free from jealousy of Miss Holdup, as she was full of confidence in Matilda.

Mrs. Harewood on this occasion remarked, that she had never seen two girls more likely to form a mutual and lasting friendship than Ellen and Matilda, because they were likely mutually to benefit each other, since they would, she trusted, possess the same good principles and dispositions, but each having a character of her own, would become serviceable to the other. Matilda had more discrimination and firmness than Ellen, who, on her part, had a forbearance, patience, and gentleness, which nature as well as habit had in a degree left her friend but poorly provided with; but she said it would not be surprising if their mutual affection and reciprocal admiration should, in time, ingraft the virtues of each upon the other, and she hoped to see Matilda as meek as Ellen, and Ellen as firm and energetic as Matilda.