From the first day that Miss Vincent entered Mrs. Adair’s house as a pupil, she was anxious to return to Madame La Blond’s. Whilst the Colonel was at home, she knew it would be in vain to mention the subject; but no sooner was he called abroad, than she wrote in the most urgent terms to her mamma to remove her. “I shall never be happy here,” she added, in her letter, “for Mrs. Adair is so strict, and tiresome! You will be surprised, mamma, when I assure you that she is quite a sanctified Methodist: we have prayers in a morning, and prayers in an evening, and are obliged to write sermons! She is not by any means a suitable person to finish my education; and there are not five young ladies in the school, whose parents drive four horses. At Blazon Lodge how different! They were all fashionable, excepting two. Do, my good mamma, let me return to my dear Madame La Blond. Miss Adair has actually put me into Murray’s small grammar, and I am only in the third class.”

In passing through the gallery, Mrs. Adair found the copy of the letter; and whilst she was reading it, Miss Vincent cautiously advanced, looking earnestly upon the floor. On seeing the paper in Mrs. Adair’s hands, she hastily exclaimed,

“O, ma’am, that is mine! I have just dropped it: it is a copy of music, I believe!”

“Then I will look it over again,” said Mrs. Adair, as she entered the school-room with the paper in her hand.

Miss Vincent followed, with a countenance of scorn and vexation.

“Take your seat, Miss Vincent.” Here there was a long pause; the young ladies looked at each other, wondering what was to come next. Mrs. Adair read the copy again. “Why do you censure us so severely?” she asked.

“I only think, ma’am—I think—” and here she hesitated; but at length her former assurance returned, and she said in a more audible voice, “I think, ma’am, we have too much religion introduced. In the circles where mamma presides, it is never mentioned.”

“From my own knowledge of your mamma, I do not think you are exactly correct. But let that pass: and now answer one question: no doubt you are anticipating the time when you will be released from all school duties: when you enter the gay world, how many years do you expect to partake of the joys of a fashionable life?”

Miss Vincent was silent.

“Bating all casualties,” continued Mrs. Adair, “forty years of gaiety is the utmost that a female can expect; and in scenes of pleasure, days, months, and years glide swiftly away. The value of time is unknown: at least, it is not properly estimated, till grey hairs, wrinkled features, and a debilitated frame check the career; then eternity, with all its hopes and fears, opens to the view. We will for a moment consider you upon the bed of sickness, surrounded by your family; a physician, with an air of irresolution, writing a prescription, and your anxious countenance denoting the insufficiency of all earthly aid; will the remembrance of balls, routs, and artificial scenes, cheer the dying hour? The moment arrives when you close your eyes upon this world and its vanities; ‘ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,’ finish the scene! The mouldering earth is lightly scattered over the coffin, and the tomb is deserted by survivors. But remember, a day will come when you will be called to judgment, to answer for your deeds upon earth. In what manner will days, months, and years of folly be justified, in the presence of your Creator and Judge?”

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