The time had arrived for Miss Damer to go into a private family as a governess: all the young ladies were anxious to give her a proof of remembrance, and these tokens of esteem had chiefly been the work of leisure hours.

As Miss Damer was collecting her painted boxes, velvet bags, and all her little presents together, she thought, “who can say that there is no kindness or friendship in the world? I have been in sorrow, perhaps for a good purpose; at least, it has shewn me the disinterested regard of others.”While similar reflections were passing in her mind, Miss Arden hastily entered the chamber, and stepping towards her, abruptly put into her hand a small parcel. “I have not a moment to speak to you,” she exclaimed, with tears in her eyes, “I cannot for the world take a formal farewell; so when you leave us do not notice me: God bless you, Damer!” and she hurried out of the room.

Miss Damer looked at the parcel with a countenance of sorrow, and as she opened it a note dropped upon the floor; she took it up, and read the paper she held in her hand.

“Accept these notes, my dear Damer, they are all that I have been able to save from my scanty allowance; remit them to your father, whose troubles I know have grieved you, and when I can I will send you more. In fourteen months I shall be my own mistress. How joyfully do I anticipate the time! Then, my dear Damer, I shall have a home to offer you, and a purse to relieve every care, as far as wealth can go. Farewell, my kind friend; you and Mrs. Adair have all my affections in this world.

“Ann Arden.”

As young people are always anxious to learn the destination of the characters in the book they have been perusing,—in closing this little work, I will give you a short sketch of those I have attempted to delineate. And here let me observe, that the incidents are chiefly drawn from facts.

The name of one of the principal characters was given, by the desire of a young friend, two days before her death.

Miss Russel has lost her parents, and is wandering upon the Continent, as companion or friend to a lady well known in the fashionable world.

Miss Vincent is removed from her family by her marriage to a gentleman of consequence in Ireland. She is still the same character, haughty and insolent.

Her sister Isabella, is improving in all the graces of mind and person; she is the general favourite of the school.

Miss Bruce is becoming all that her father can desire.

When Miss Damer went into the situation as a governess, it was with the hope of remaining some time, perhaps years. We can easily fix our plans, but we are strangers to the future; it is not for us to say by what means they are to be frustrated. When Miss Damer had been two months a governess, she was told by the gentleman’s sister in whose family she was placed, that several friends were to dine with them, and she begged that she would join their party. On that day she attracted the notice of a gentleman who was one of the guests. When she entered the drawing-room, and he heard her name announced, he turned quickly to look at her; he beheld the same dark pensive eyes, the same noble features, and modest, dignified manner, which seventeen years before had struck him in another. But it was not her personal appearance altogether that interested him: it was the character that had been given of her by Mrs. Adair; and the remembrance of his feelings, when his daughter in her troubled sleep exclaimed, “O, my dear Miss Damer, do come to me! Papa then won’t punish me, you are so like mamma!”

But I will not prolong this subject; I have only to add, that Miss Damer is the happy wife of Mr. Bruce; and that few persons are more attached to each other than the mother and the daughter Mr. Bruce, though several years older than his wife, was exactly the person calculated to make her happy, being a man of excellent character and good sense; giving part of his time to the world, but considering home the chief place for happiness.

When Miss Arden came into possession of her fortune, she remained as a parlour boarder with Mrs. Adair, but the principal part of her time was spent with Mrs. Bruce. A lingering disease, however, came on, and she could not be happy separated from her friend: she therefore removed to her house. After experiencing the most affectionate attention from Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, she at length resigned her life, with hopes full of immortality. Mrs. Adair and her friend were with her in her last moments. She expressed her gratitude to them with all the energy of health; and then, clasping a hand of each, died serenely, hoping to meet them hereafter. To the father of her friend she left a very handsome annuity for life. “I know,” she had stated in her will, “that I cannot oblige my friend in any other shape but by contributing to her father’s comfort, and oh, may he see the error of his ways, before it is too late.”

Most of her school companions she had remembered; but particularly a young lady, whose parents had been unfortunate. After leaving tokens of regard to every one to whom she had considered herself the least indebted, she left the remainder of her fortune, to be equally divided between Mrs. Adair, her daughter, and Miss Bruce. And here let me remind young ladies of fortune, that they are too apt to neglect the instructress under whose care they have spent the early part of life. Surely, when young people have been years under one roof, gaining knowledge, and daily indebted for care and kindness, they should not discard from their thoughts one of their best friends; but how often is this the case! The moment a young lady steps into a carriage, and drives off for the last time from the dwelling of her instructress, she seems to forget that there had ever been such a person in existence. Perhaps, when her nuptial favours are preparing, and her hopes are bright, she may exclaim in a careless tone, “O, we must not forget—” here she mentions the lady to whom, next to her parents she is most indebted; and here finishes her remembrance of school, and the friend of her youth: in bridal favours, or flimsy letters, all her gratitude is shewn.

In giving a sketch of the young ladies, I must not forget Elizabeth, who is now the happy wife of Colonel Vincent’s brother. It had been her lot to be doubtful of his regard several years. Her spirits had been elated or depressed, as she had judged Mr. Vincent’s feelings interested towards herself. Had not that language which poets describe betrayed his sentiments, she might justly have concluded that, of all persons living, she would be the one to whom his affections would never seriously incline; but no sooner did fortune second his wishes, and a living was presented unto him, but his heart and hand were offered to the object of his earliest regard under the happiest auspices; therefore Elizabeth exchanged the useful employment of a teacher, for the meritorious duties of a wife.

When Mrs. Adair received the fortune due to her from her pupil’s will, her friends concluded that she would resign the school. To the intreaties of her daughter on the subject she gave this reply:

“Why should I give up an employment which is a relief to my mind? In my earliest and brightest days, I never particularly relished the gaieties of the world; with my friends, my chief happiness centred; the associates of my youth are, to my fancy, as friends departed. The later objects of my care are likewise withdrawn from me; but though I have lost one dear to my heart by death, and another by marriage, still I have affections warm and tender towards youth.

“There must be something to attach us to life, something to occupy time, and interest our regard. As worldly beings, with worldly thoughts, we must have resources independent of those in a religious point of view. I trust I have chosen the wiser part, in preferring an active to an idle life. At home, in the midst of my children (for so they are in my esteem), I shall always have something to excite interest; and if watchful care, tenderness, and exertion, can reclaim the stubborn, or add to the happiness of my pupils, I shall think that I have not lived in vain. When my course is finished upon earth, may you, my dear Elizabeth, be enabled to say with truth to your daughters, ‘Never was an instructress more happy with her pupils, or pupils happier with an instructress.’”

FINIS.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET.