Chapter II: Part 2

Henrietta Harwood, as leader of the conspiracy, was extremely busy every moment that she could snatch from the presence of Mrs. Middleton and the teachers, in making arrangements for the feast of the evening. There was a great deal of whispering and consulting, between her and the elder girls, as to what they should have; and a great deal of talking on the stairs to Mary the chambermaid; who, for the bribe of a quarter of a dollar, had consented to procure for them whatever they wished, without the knowledge of Mrs. Middleton. It was unanimously agreed that none of the _little_ girls were to be let into the secret, as their discretion was not to be depended on; and there was much lamentation that the bed-hour for the children was so late as eight o'clock. The little girls all slept in one large room, and as soon as they had gone to be prepared for bed, under the superintendence of Mary, Henrietta proposed that herself and six other young ladies should volunteer to assist in undressing them. "You know," said she, "there are eight of the children, and if we each take a child and leave one to Mary, they can be got to bed in an eighth part of the time that it will require for Mary to attend to all of them herself. Just, you know, as they have quilting frolics and husking frolics in the country, when a whole week's work is accomplished in a few hours, by assembling a great many persons to join in it."

This proposal was immediately assented to; and a committee of half a dozen young ladies, with Henrietta at their head, adjourned to the children's apartment. "Come, little chits," said Henrietta, "as it is a cold night, we are going to have an undressing frolic, and to help Mary to put you all to bed: for the sooner you are tucked up in your nests the better it will be for you,--and for us too," she added in a low voice aside to Miss Thomson. "Here, Rosalie Sunbridge," she continued, "come to me, I will do the honours for _you_, as you are a sort of pet of mine."

The elder girls then began undressing the little ones with such violence that strings snapped, buttons were jerked off, and stockings torn in the process. The children wondered why the young ladies were seized with such a sudden and unusual fit of kindness, and why they went so energetically to work in getting them undressed and put to bed.

An altercation, however, ensued between Henrietta Harwood and Rosalie Sunbridge, who declared that it was her mother's particular desire that her hair behind should be curled in papers every night; a ceremony that Henrietta proposed omitting, telling her that there was already sufficient curl remaining in her hair to last all the next day, and reminding her that there was no such trouble with the hair of the other little girls. "That is because they have no hair to curl," replied Rosalie; "you know that they are all closely cropped. But if you will not roll up mine in papers, Miss Harwood, I would rather have Mary to put me to bed, though you _do_ call me your pet." "Well, well, hush, and I _will_ do it," said Henrietta; "but it shall be done in a new way which saves a great deal of trouble, and makes very handsome curls when the hair is opened out next morning." So saying, she snatched up a great piece of coarse brown paper, and seizing the little girl's hind hair in her hand, she rolled it all up in one large curl; Rosalie crying out at the violence with which she pulled, and the other children laughing, when it was done, at the huge knob, and telling Rosalie she had a knocker at her back.

In a short time the night-gowns and night-caps were scrambled on, and the children all deposited in their respective beds, and all hastily kissed by their undressers; who hurried out of the room, anxious to enter upon their anticipated delights.

"Now, good Mary, dear Mary," said Henrietta, "do tell me if you have got every thing?" "Every thing, miss," replied Mary, "except the calves-foot jelly; and the money fell short of that. But I have got the iced pound-cake, and the mince pies, and the oyster patties, and the little cocoa-nut puddings, and the bottle of lemon-syrup, and all the other things. They are snug and safe in the market-basket in the back-kitchen-closet; and nobody can never guess nothing about it."

Just at this moment the man-servant came to tell the young ladies that Mrs. Middleton wished them all to go down into the front parlour to look at some prints. These prints were the coloured engravings of Wall's beautiful views on the Hudson, and which had just been purchased by Mrs. Middleton's brother-in-law, who was going to leave the city the following morning. At any other time the young ladies (at least those who had a taste for drawing) would have been grateful for Mrs. Middleton's kindness in allowing them an opportunity of looking at these fine landscapes; but _now_ every moment that detained them from the feast, seemed like an hour. Henrietta murmured almost aloud; and they all went down with reluctance, except Isabella Caldwell, who had made up her mind not to partake of the banquet.

In the mean time, little Rosalie Sunbridge, who was a very cunning child, and had a great deal of curiosity, suspected that something more than usual was going on, from the alertness of the young ladies in hurrying the children to bed. _Her_ bed being nearest to the door, she had overheard the elder girls in earnest consultation with the chambermaid in the passage, and although she could not distinguish exactly what was said, she understood that something very delightful was to go on that evening in the front school-room. Having a great desire to know precisely what was in agitation, she waited a short time till all her companions were asleep; and then getting up softly, she opened one of the shutters to let in a little light, as the storm had subsided and there was a faint moon. She then got her merino coat, and put it on over her night-gown, and covering her feet with her carpet moccasins that she might make no noise in walking, she stole softly into the front school-room, determined to watch all that went on.

Two lamps were burning on the table; but no person was in the room; the young ladies having all gone down into the parlour to look at the prints. Rosalie, by climbing on a chair, managed, with much difficulty, to get on the upper shelf of a large closet; having hastily cleared a space for herself to lie down in, among the books and rolls of maps. Then pushing away the chair, she drew the closet-door nearly close; leaving only a small crack, through which she could observe all that was done.

Presently, she saw Mary come cautiously into the room with a basket, and taking out of it the materials for the feast, the girl arranged them all to great advantage on the table. When this was accomplished, she went down stairs; and immediately after, the young ladies, having looked hastily at the prints, all came up, and expressed much satisfaction at the inviting appearance of the banquet. Isabella lighted a small lamp, and said she was going to bed.

"Why, Caldwell," exclaimed Henrietta, "are you absolutely in earnest? What, after contributing to the expense of the feast, will you really leave us before it begins, and go dismally to bed? See how nice every thing looks."

"Every thing, indeed, looks nice," replied Isabella, "but still I have no desire to partake of them. I am out of spirits, and I have other reasons for not wishing to join your party." "Just take something before you go," said Henrietta. "No," answered Isabella, "I feel as if I could not taste a single article on the table."

She then withdrew to her room, and her companions took their seats and began to regale themselves; Henrietta presiding at the head of the table. They would have enjoyed their feast very much, only that, notwithstanding their expected security, they were in continual dread of being discovered. They started, and listened at every little noise; fearing that Miss Loxley might possibly have returned, or that Mrs. Middleton might possibly be coming up stairs.

"Really," said Henrietta, "it is a great pity that poor Isabella Caldwell, after she gave her dollar with so much reluctance, should refuse to take any share of our feast. Perhaps to-morrow she will think better of it. Suppose we save something for her. I dare say she will have no objection to eat some of these good things in the morning."

"Put by one of the little cocoa-nut puddings for her," said Miss Scott. "And one of the mince pies," said another young lady. "And a large slice of pound-cake," said a third. "And a bunch of white grapes," said a fourth.

Henrietta then selected some of the nicest articles of their banquet, to offer to Isabella in the morning; and after some consultation, it was concluded to deposit them, for the present, in the farthest corner of the upper shelf of the closet; which upper shelf was only used as a repository for old maps and old copy books, and waste paper, and with these the things could be very conveniently covered. "Do not take a light to the closet," said Miss Marley, "you may set something on fire. If you stand on tiptoe and raise your arm as high as you can, you may easily reach the upper shelf."

Henrietta accordingly walked to the closet; and was in the act of shoving a mince-pie into a dark corner of the upper shelf, when suddenly she gave a start and a shriek, and let fall the cocoa-nut pudding which she held in her hand. "What is the matter?" exclaimed all the girls at once. "Oh!" cried Henrietta, "when I reached up the mince-pie to the top shelf, it was taken from me by a cold hand that met mine--I felt the fingers." "Impossible," said some of the girls. "What could it actually be?" cried others. Just then, Rosalie made a rustling among the loose papers on the top shelf. "There it is again," screamed Henrietta. "Oh!" cried Miss Watkins, "we have done very wrong to plot this feast in secret, and something dreadful is going to happen to us as a punishment."

Another rustling set all the young ladies to screaming; and, with one accord, they rushed towards the door, with such force as to overset the table and all its contents. The lamps were broken and extinguished in the fall; several of the girls were thrown down by the others; and the shrieks were so violent that Mrs. Middleton heard them into the parlour, where, her friends having left her, she was sitting with Miss Loxley, who had just come in; and taking a light with them, the two ladies ran up to the front school-room.

The scene which then presented itself transfixed them with astonishment. The floor was strewed with the remains of the feast. The oil from the shattered lamps was running among the cakes and pies, which were also drenched with water from a broken pitcher; near which the bottle of lemon-syrup was lying in fragments. The table was thrown down on its side. Some of the young ladies were still prostrate on the floor, and all were screaming. Rosalie (frightened at the uproar she had caused) was on her hands and knees, looking out from the upper shelf of the closet, and crying "O, take me down, take me down! somebody bring a chair and take me down."

Isabella Caldwell, hearing the noise, had thrown on her flannel gown, and ran also to see what was the matter. As soon as the surprise of Mrs. Middleton would allow her to speak, she inquired the cause of all this disturbance; but she could get no other answer than that there was some horrible thing in the closet. "There is indeed something in the closet," said Mrs. Middleton, perceiving Rosalie. "Miss Sunbridge, how came you up there, and in that dress? and what is the meaning of all this?"

The young ladies, having recovered from their terror when they found it to be groundless, and Miss Loxley having taken down Rosalie, Henrietta made a candid confession of the whole business. Acknowledging herself to be the proposer and leader of the plot, she expressed her readiness to submit to any punishment Mrs. Middleton might think proper to inflict on her, but hoped that her governess would have the goodness to pardon all the other young ladies; none of whom would have thought of a secret feast, if she had not suggested it to them. "Above all," continued Henrietta, "I must exculpate Isabella Caldwell, who declined going to table with us or partaking of any thing, but retired to her bed; as may be known by her being now in her night-clothes."

Mrs. Middleton was touched with the generosity of Henrietta Harwood, in taking all the blame on herself to exonerate her companions; and as her kind heart would not allow her to send any of her pupils to bed in the anticipation of being punished the next day, she said, "Miss Harwood, I will for this time permit your misdemeanour to go unpunished, but I require a promise from you that it shall never be repeated. Make that promise sincerely, and I feel assured that you will keep it."

"O, yes, indeed, dear madam!" sobbed Henrietta, "you are too kind; and I cannot forgive myself for having persuaded my companions to join in a plot which I knew you would disapprove."

"Go now to your beds," said Mrs. Middleton, "and I will send a servant to clear away the disorder of this room. Rosalie, I see, has already slipped off to hers."

Next morning, before school commenced, Mrs. Middleton addressed the young ladies mildly but impressively, on the proceedings of the day before. She dwelt on the general impropriety of all secret contrivances; on the injury done to the integrity of the ignorant servant-girl, by bribing her to deceive her employer; on the danger of making themselves sick by eating such a variety of sweet things; and on the folly of expending in those dainties, money which might be much better employed.

"That," said Henrietta, "was one of Isabella Caldwell's objections to joining our feasting party. I am now convinced that she had in view some more sensible manner of disposing of her money. I regret that she was prevailed on to contribute her dollar, as she must have had an excellent reason for her unwillingness; and she seemed really unhappy, and went to bed without touching any of our good things."

"I can guess how it was," said Miss Loxley. "One very cold morning last week, I met Diana, Miss Caldwell's washerwoman, going up stairs with the clean clothes, and having nothing on her shoulders but an old cotton shawl. I asked her if she had no cloak, and she replied that she had not; but added, that Miss Isabella had been so kind as to promise her one, which was to be ready for her when she came again. I suspect that Miss Caldwell has been saving her money for the laudable purpose of furnishing this poor woman with a cloak."

"Oh! no doubt she has," exclaimed Henrietta. "Why, dear Isabella, did you not say so? and bad as I am, I would not have persisted in persuading you out of your dollar."

"The woman, however, did not get her cloak," resumed Miss Loxley, "for I again saw her without one, yesterday, though the weather had increased in severity."

"It is true," said Isabella. "The cloak was to have cost four dollars, and after subscribing one dollar to the feast, I could not buy it; as I had not then sufficient money."

_Mrs. Middleton._ Miss Harwood, had you often these feasts at Madame Disette's.

_Henrietta._ Oh! very often, and as the teacher, Miss Benson, was always one of the party, we managed so well, that Madame Disette never discovered us. Or if she had any suspicion, she said nothing about it; for after all, she cared very little what we did out of school-hours provided that our proceedings _cost her nothing_.

_Mrs. Middleton._ You must not speak so disrespectfully of your former governess. But I will explain to you that _I_ care very much what you do, even in your hours of recreation. It is when the business of the school is over, and they are no longer in the presence of their instructors, that girls are in the greatest danger of forming bad habits, and imitating bad examples. All deceit, all tricks, are highly unjustifiable. A little feast may seem in itself of small moment; but if you persist in plotting little feasts, you will eventually be led on to plot things of more importance, and which may lead to the worst consequences. Then, as I always allow you as large a portion of sweet things as comports with your health, it is the more reprehensible in you to seek to procure them for yourselves, without my knowledge. Tell me now, do any of you feel the better for last night's frolic?

_Miss Thomson._ O, no, no! Miss Watkins and Miss Roberts were sick all night; and, indeed, none of us feel very well this morning.

_Mrs. Middleton._ I observed that you all had very little appetite for your breakfast.

_Miss Brownlow._ And then _I_ had my new frock spoiled when I fell down in the lamp-oil.

_Miss Wilcox._ And I got some lamp-oil into my mouth. I tasted it all night. Even my nose was rubbed in it, as I lay struggling on the floor.

_Miss Snodgrass._ And _I_ fell with my knees on half a dozen pieces of orange, and stained my black silk frock, so that it is no longer fit to wear.

_Miss Marley._ And _I_ was thrown down with the back of my head on a bunch of grapes, mashing them to a jelly.

_Miss Scott._ But _my_ hair was so very sticky, with falling into the lemon syrup, that I was obliged, this morning, to wash it all over with warm soap-suds.

_Miss Roberts._ And _I_ put my foot into the bottom of the broken pitcher, and cut my heel so that it bled through the stocking.

_Miss Watkins._ Still, nothing of this would have happened if Rosalie Sunbridge had stayed in her bed. It was her hiding in the closet and frightening us, that caused all the mischief.

_Rosalie._ I am sure I was punished enough for my curiosity; for when I got on the closet-shelf I was obliged to lie so cramped that I was almost stiff; and I was half dead with cold, notwithstanding I had put on my merino coat. And then I was longing all the time for some of the good things I saw you eating; so that when Miss Harwood came to hide the mince-pie, I could not forbear taking it out of her hand. When I found that you were all so terrified, I thought I would make a noise among the loose papers to frighten you still more, supposing that you would all quit the room; and that then I could come down from the shelf, and regale myself awhile, before I stole back to-bed. I did not foresee that you would overset the table in your flight, and make such a violent noise. But I will never again attempt to pry into other people's secrets.

_Mrs Middleton._ I hope you never will. This feast, you see, has caused nothing but discomfort, which is the case with all things that are in themselves improper. Yet I think the greatest sufferer is Isabella Caldwell's washerwoman, who has, in consequence, been disappointed of her cloak.

_Isabella._ Next week, madam, when I receive my allowance, I hope to be able to buy it for her.

_Mrs. Middleton._ You need not wait till next week. The poor woman shall suffer no longer for a cloak. Here is a dollar in advance; and after school, you can go out and purchase it, so that it may be ready for her to-morrow when she brings home your clothes.

_Isabella._ Dear Mrs. Middleton, how much I thank you.

* * * * *

The young ladies having promised that they would attempt no more private feasts, Mrs. Middleton kissed, and forgave them. After school, Isabella, accompanied by Miss Loxley, went out and bought the plaid cloak, which was sent home directly. Next day, she longed for Diana to arrive with the clothes, that she might enjoy her pleasure on receiving so useful a gift, but, to her great disappointment they were brought home by another mulatto woman, who informed Isabella that she was Diana's next door neighbour, and that poor Diana having taken a violent cold from being out in the snow-storm, was now confined to her bed with the rheumatism. "Ah!" thought Isabella, "perhaps if she had had this good warm cloak to go home in, the day before yesterday, she might have escaped the rheumatism. I see now that whenever we allow ourselves to be persuaded to do a thing which we know to be wrong, evil is sure to come from it."

She desired the woman to wait a few minutes; and hastening to Mrs. Middleton, begged that she would allow her to go and see poor Diana, who, she feared was in great distress. Mrs. Middleton readily consented, and had a basket filled with various things, which she gave to the woman to carry with the plaid cloak to Diana. She sent by Isabella a bottle of camphor, and some cotton wadding, for Diana's rheumatism, and a medicine for her to take internally. Miss Loxley accompanied Isabella; and they found Diana in bed and very ill, and every thing about her evincing extreme poverty. Isabella engaged the woman to stay with Diana till she got well, and to take care of her and her children, promising to pay her for her trouble. When they returned and made their report to Mrs. Middleton, she wrote a note to her physician, requesting him to visit Diana and attend her as long as was necessary.

Next week, Henrietta Harwood, and the other young ladies, subscribed all their allowance of pocket-money for the relief of Diana; who very soon was well enough to resume her work. It is unnecessary to add that their contribution to the support of the poor woman and her family, gave them far more pleasure than they had derived from the unfortunate feast. They never, of course, attempted another. And Henrietta Harwood, at Mrs. Middleton's school, lost all the faults she had acquired at Madame Disette's.

THE WEEK OF IDLENESS.

"Their only labour was to kill the time,
And labour dire it was, and weary wo."
_Thomson._

Adelaide and Rosalind, the daughters of Mr. Edington, looked forward with much pleasure to the arrival of their cousin, Josephine Sherborough, from Maryland. She was to spend the summer with them, at their father's country residence on the beautiful bay of New York, a few miles below the city; and, though they had never seen her, they were disposed to regard Josephine as a very agreeable addition to their family society. Having had the misfortune to lose their mother, Adelaide and Rosalind had been for several years under the entire care of their governess, Mrs. Mortlake; a highly accomplished and most amiable woman, whom they loved and respected as if she had been their parent, and by whose instructions they had greatly profited.

It was on a beautiful evening in June, that Josephine Sherborough was _certainly_ expected, after several disappointments within the last two or three weeks. The Miss Edingtons and their governess were seated on one of the settees in the portico that extended along the front of Mr. Edington's house. Mrs. Mortlake was sewing, Rosalind reading aloud, and Adelaide, with her drawing materials before her, was earnestly engaged in colouring a sketch of a fishing-boat at anchor, beautifully reflected in the calm water, and tinted with the glowing rays of the declining sun. As she put in the last touches, she hoped, before the summer was over, that she should improve so much in her drawing as to be enabled to attempt a view of the bay with its green shores; its island fortresses; and its numerous ships, some going out on a voyage to distant regions, others coming home with the merchandise and the news of Europe.

"Now," exclaimed Adelaide, "I see the smoke of the steamboat, just behind Castle Williams. My father and Josephine will soon be here. I am glad my drawing is so nearly completed. In a few minutes it will be finished."

"And in a few minutes," said Rosalind, "I shall conclude the story that I am reading."

"Do you not now think," asked Mrs. Mortlake, "I was right in proposing that we should protract our usual afternoon occupations an hour beyond the usual time, as we are expecting the arrival of your father and your cousin? This last hour would have seemed twice its real length, if we had done nothing, all the while, but strain our eyes in gazing up the bay for the steamboat, saying every few minutes, 'Oh, I wish they were come!'"

In a short time, Adelaide exclaimed, "Here is the steamboat. I see they are depositing several trunks in the little boat at the side. And now it is let down to the water. And now a gentleman and a young lady descend the steps, and take their seats in it. How fast it cuts its way through the foam that is raised by the tow-line. In a moment it will touch the wharf. Here they come. There is my father; and it _must_ be Josephine that is with him!"

The sisters then ran down the steps of the portico, and in a moment were at the landing-place, where Mr. Edington, as soon as he had assisted her to step on shore, introduced them to Josephine Sherborough, a fat, fair, pale young lady, about fourteen, with a remarkably placid countenance which immediately won the regard of Rosalind: who determined in her own mind that Josephine was a very sweet girl, and that they should, ever hereafter, be intimate and most particular friends. Adelaide, who was two years older than Rosalind, and who had more penetration, was not so violently prepossessed in favour of her cousin, whose face she thought deficient in animation, and whose movements were more slow and heavy than those of any young girl she had ever seen.

When tea was over, the sisters proposed to Josephine a walk round the garden, which was large and very beautiful; but she complained of being excessively tired, and said that she would much rather go to bed. This somewhat surprised her cousins, as they knew that Josephine had been three days in the city with the friends under whose care she had come from Maryland; and they thought that she must have had ample time to recover from the fatigue of her journey: to which her last little trip in the steamboat could not have added much. Rosalind, who was a year younger than Josephine, accompanied her to the chamber prepared for her accommodation, where Josephine, looking round disconsolately, inquired if there was no servant to undress her. Rosalind volunteered to perform this office; and Josephine said she would ring the bell for one of the maids, when she wished to get up in the morning.

She kept the family waiting breakfast for her till nine o'clock, and then came down in a white slip or loose gown; her hair still pinned up; her eyes half shut; and her face evidently not washed. Mr. Edington, whose business in the city made it necessary for him to be there at an early hour, had long since breakfasted, and gone up to town in the boat; and after a few days, the rest of the family ceased to wait for her; and the housekeeper was directed to have a fresh breakfast prepared for Miss Sherborough whenever she came down.

The first days of Josephine's visit ought, in Rosalind's opinion, to have been devoted entirely to the amusement of their guest, and she was urgent with Mrs. Mortlake, to allow Adelaide and herself a week of holiday. Their governess told them that she would have been willing to grant this indulgence if Josephine was to remain with them a week only: but as she was to stay all summer, it would, of course, be impossible for them, every day, to give up their usual occupations; and therefore it was better to begin as they were to go on. She reminded Rosalind that if they were attentive and industrious, they would get through their lessons the sooner, and have the more time for recreation with their visitor.

After Josephine had breakfasted, Mrs. Mortlake offered to show her the children's library, that she might amuse herself with any of the books she chose, while her cousins were engaged in their morning employments. Josephine thanked her; but said she could entertain herself very well without books, and that she believed she would take a walk in the garden. She accordingly put on her bonnet, and strolled up and down the walks, gazing listlessly at the flowers. She attempted to gather some strawberries, but found it too fatiguing to stoop down to the beds; and satisfied herself with plucking currants and gooseberries from the bushes. She then sat in the arbour for awhile, and looked all the time straight down the middle walk. When she was tired of the arbour, she established herself on a circular bench which ran round a large walnut tree; and then she counted all the windows at the back part of the house. When this was accomplished, she counted them all over again. And then, finding the sun had become very powerful, she went into the front-parlour, the shutters of which were bowed to exclude the heat, and throwing herself at full length on the sofa, she in a few minutes fell into a profound sleep, from which she did not awaken till her cousins entered the room in search of her, after their lessons were over. They took her up stairs into the apartment they called their play-room, and showed her a variety of things which would have been very amusing to a girl that knew how to be amused. There was a lacquered Chinese cabinet, containing a great number of curiosities brought by their uncle from Canton: and a large box with shelves, on which were various specimens of Indian ingenuity, presented to the children by a gentleman who had travelled all over the country beyond the Mississippi. Their library consisted of a beautiful and entertaining selection of juvenile books; and they had a port-folio filled with fine prints of such subjects as are particularly interesting to young people. They showed her a representation of the grand procession at the coronation of the sovereign of England, printed on a long narrow roll of paper pasted on silk; which paper was unwound like a ribbon-yard from a Tunbridge-ware box, and it could be screwed up again after being sufficiently seen. It was many yards in length, and the figures (which were almost innumerable) were elegantly designed, and beautifully coloured. They had also a little theatre, with a great number of scenes; and a variety of very small dolls, dressed in appropriate habits to personate the actors. Beside all these things, they had a closet full of amusing toys; and in short the play-room was amply stored with a profusion of whatever was necessary to the enjoyment of their leisure hours.

But all was lost on Josephine. While Adelaide and Rosalind were assiduous in showing and explaining to her every thing, she heard them with listlessness and apathy, and made not the slightest remark. At last, she said "We will reserve some of these sights for to-morrow. I must go and dress myself for dinner. Oh! how I hate to dress. It is an odious task. I must have Mary to assist me again; for I never _can_ get through the fatigue of dressing myself, and fixing my hair."

In the afternoon, Adelaide and Rosalind took their sewing, and seated themselves with Mrs. Mortlake in the porch. As Josephine appeared to have no work, Mrs. Mortlake gave her a volume of Miss Edgeworth's Moral Tales, and requested her to read one of them aloud. Josephine took the book and began to read "The Prussian Vase," but with so monotonous and inarticulate a tone, or rather drawl, that it was painful to hear her: and her cousins were not sorry when, at the end of three or four pages, she stopped, and complained that she was too much fatigued to read any more.

Mrs. Mortlake then desired Adelaide, who read extremely well, to take the book and continue the story, but in a short time Josephine was discovered to be asleep. When Adelaide ceased reading, Josephine awoke, and saying that she could not live without her afternoon nap, went up stairs to lie down on her bed.

She slept till near tea-time, and when tea was over, her cousins and Mrs. Mortlake prepared for a walk, and invited Josephine to join them. This she did; but in less than ten minutes she complained so much of fatigue, that Rosalind turned back and accompanied her home, and she reclined on the settee in the porch till the lamps were lighted in the front-parlour. The girls then showed Josephine a portable diorama, containing twelve beautiful coloured views of castles, abbeys, temples, and mountain scenery. Each of these exquisite little landscapes was fixed, in turn, as the back scene of a sort of miniature stage. The skies and lights of these views were all transparent, and there were other skies which turned on rollers, and represented sunrise, moonlight, sunshine, and thunder-clouds. These second skies being placed behind those of the picture, were slowly unrolled by turning a small handle, and produced the most varied and beautiful effects on the scenery, which could thus at pleasure be illuminated gradually with sunshine or moonbeams, or darkened with the clouds of a gathering storm. But Josephine saw this charming exhibition without a single comment; being evidently much inclined to yawn as she looked at it. And getting again very sleepy, she soon retired to her bed.

Next morning, Mrs. Mortlake invited her to bring her sewing into the school-room, and sit there while her cousins were at their lessons. But Josephine replied that she hated sewing, and never did any. However, she took her seat in the school-room, and a kitten soon after came purring round her; so she put it on her lap, and stroked and patted it till the lessons were over, and the girls went up stairs to amuse themselves till dinner-time.

Adelaide tried to induce Josephine to look at some of the beautiful prints in the port-folio; but she found it necessary to explain them all, as if she was showing them to a child of three years old.

Rosalind proposed that they should all go on the roof of the house (it being flat on the top and guarded with a railing) to look at the beauty and wide extent of the prospect; and taking their parasols to screen their heads from the sun, they went up through a very convenient trap-door at the head of an easy little staircase. The view from the roof of Mr. Edington's house was certainly very fine, comprising the bay with its islands and fortresses; its boats and vessels of every description; the distant lighthouse at Sandy Hook, and the blue ocean rolling beyond it: and at the other end of the scene, behind a forest of masts, rose the city of New York with its numerous spires glittering in the sunlight.

Fine as the prospect was, Josephine showed no symptom of admiration; but as they came down through the garret-passage, she spied an old rocking-chair standing in a corner among some lumber. (Parlour rocking-chairs were not yet in general use.) She turned her head, and looked at it with longing eyes. "Ah!" said she, "that is the very thing I have been suffering for ever since I left home. Do let me beg to have it in my room." The chair, accordingly, was carried into the apartment of Josephine, who immediately seated herself, and began to rock with great satisfaction; at which most interesting amusement she continued till near dinner-time. The rocking-chair was next day taken into the school-room, and with that and the kitten, Josephine appeared to get through the morning rather contentedly.

The afternoon was again devoted to a long nap: and in the evening Josephine reclined on the front-parlour sofa, and entertained herself by running her finger a hundred times over the brass nails.

Several days passed on in a similar manner. One morning when they were all in the play-room, Josephine said to her cousins, "What a very hard life you are obliged to endure. Neither of you have a moment of rest, from the time you leave your beds in the morning, till you return to them at night. First, there is your rising with the sun, and going to work in your little gardens. I am sure you might make your father's gardener do all that business."

_Adelaide_. But we take great pleasure in it; and when we see our flowers growing and blooming, the interest they excite in us is much increased by knowing that we have raised them from the seed, or planted the roots ourselves; and that we have assisted their growth by watering, weeding, tying them, and clearing them from insects. And is it not pleasant to find that the fruit-stones, we planted a few years since in our little orchard, have produced trees that are now loaded with fruit? The red cherries, we had last evening after tea, were from one of my trees; and the large black cherries were from Rosalind's. And in August, we shall have our own plums and peaches.

_Josephine_. I am sure it is much less trouble to buy these things, than to cultivate them; and as to the amusement, I can see none. Then there are those awful lessons that are always to come on after breakfast. The writing, and cyphering, and grammar, and geography, and history, one day: and the French, and music, and drawing, the next: and-the reading and sewing every afternoon; and the walk every evening. Even your play-time (as you call it) is a time of perpetual fatigue: your plays all seem to require so much skill and ingenuity. And then on Saturday morning, to think that you are obliged to go into the housekeeper's room and learn to make cakes, and pastry, and sweetmeats, and all such things. I am sure if I was never to eat cakes till I assisted in making them, I should go without all my life. It seems to me that your whole existence is a course of uninterrupted toil.

_Rosalind_. There is much truth in what you say, my dear Josephine. But I own it never struck me before.

_Adelaide_. We have always been perfectly happy in our occupations and amusements: and the longest day in summer seems too short for us.

_Josephine_. Too short, perhaps, to get through such a quantity of work; for I consider all this as _real hard work_. I am glad that I have not been brought up in such a laborious manner. My parents love me too much to make me uncomfortable, even for a moment; or to cause me in any way the slightest fatigue. I have spent my whole life in ease and peace; doing nothing but what I pleased, and never learning but when I chose. I have not been troubled with either a school or a governess; my mother (who was herself educated at a boarding-school) having determined, as I was her only child, to instruct me at home.

Adelaide saw that it was in vain to argue the point any farther. But the foolish reasoning of Josephine made a great impression on Rosalind; so true it is, that "evil communication corrupts good manners," and she was seized with an earnest desire to participate in the happiness of doing nothing.

Next morning, Rosalind went to her lessons with great reluctance, and consequently did not perform them well. On the following day she was equally deficient; and in the afternoon when Josephine went up stairs to take her nap, Rosalind, looking after her, exclaimed, "Happy girl! How I envy her!"

"Envy her!" said Adelaide, "of all the people I am acquainted with, I think Josephine Sherborough is the least to be envied."

_Rosalind._ She is not troubled with lessons, and sewing, as we are. She can do whatever she pleases the whole day long. No wonder she is fat, when she is so perfectly comfortable. For my part, I expect, in the course of another year, to be worn to a skeleton with such incessant application.

_Adelaide._ But without application how is it possible to learn?

_Rosalind._ I would rather put off my learning till I am older, and have strength to bear such dreadful fatigue.

_Adelaide._ I do not find it fatiguing. I am sure our lessons are not very long, and Mrs. Mortlake is so kind and gentle, that it is a pleasure to be instructed by her; and she explains every thing so sensibly and intelligibly.

_Rosalind._ But where is the use of learning every thing before we grow up?

_Adelaide._ Because, as Mrs. Mortlake says, children (if they are not _too young_) learn faster than grown persons; their memories are better, as they have not yet been overloaded, and they have nothing of importance to divert their attention from their lessons.

_Rosalind._ I would rather grow up as ignorant as our tenant's wife, Dutch Katy, than be made such a slave as I am now. I am sure Katy's life is an easy one compared to mine.

_Adelaide, smiling._ Consider it not so deeply.

_Rosalind._ Yes, I will, for I am out of patience. I wish it was the fashion to be ignorant.

_Adelaide._ Fortunately it is _not_. To say nothing of the disgrace of being ignorant when it is known we have had opportunities of acquiring knowledge, persons whose minds are vacant, have but few enjoyments. For instance, as Josephine knows nothing of music, it gives her no pleasure to hear the finest singing and playing, even such as Mrs. Mortlake's. As she has no idea of drawing, she takes not the least delight in looking at beautiful pictures. Having never been in the habit of reading, she wonders how it is possible to be amused with a book; and as she has no knowledge of history or geography, she often, when she _does_ read, is puzzled with allusions to those subjects; and a French word is as unintelligible to her, as if it were Greek. Plants and animals do not interest her, because she has scarcely an idea of the properties or attributes of any of the productions of Nature. And what is worse than all, she takes no pleasure in listening to the conversation of sensible people, because she is incapable of understanding it: her comprehension being only equal to the most frivolous topics.

_Rosalind._ Notwithstanding all this, her life passes calmly and pleasantly; and I am sure she is much happier than we are.

_Adelaide._ Speak for yourself, dear Rosalind. For my part, I do not wish to be more happy than I am.

_Rosalind._ Well, I thought so too, till I knew Josephine. And she is by no means so dull as you suppose.

_Adelaide._ Perhaps she is not naturally stupid; but indulgence and indolence have so benumbed her understanding, that it seems now incapable of the smallest effort.

At this moment Mrs. Mortlake came down with a book in her hand, for the afternoon reading.

"Rosalind," said she, "as my room is over the porch, and the windows are open, I could not avoid hearing all you have just been saying, particularly as you spoke very loudly. As I do not wish to see either of my pupils _unhappy_, I will gratify your desire, and both you and Adelaide (if it is also her wish) may pass a week entirely without occupation; in short, a week of idleness."

_Adelaide._ O no, dear Mrs. Mortlake: I have no desire to avail myself of your offer. I would much rather continue my usual employments.

_Rosalind._ A week of entire leisure! O, how delightful!

_Mrs. Mortlake._ But, during that time, neither you nor Josephine must come into the school-room.

_Rosalind._ O, indeed! we shall not desire it.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ Neither must you read.

_Rosalind._ Well!--I am sure I have read enough to last my lifetime. Where is the use of reading story-books that are all invention, describing people that never lived; or of poring over voyages and travels to countries I shall never visit; or of studying the histories of dead kings.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ You must not sew.

_Rosalind._ I never _did_ find it very entertaining to stick a needle and thread into a piece of muslin, and pull it through again.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ You must not draw.

_Rosalind._ I do not see the pleasure of rubbing red, and blue, and green paint on little plates; and dabbling in tumblers of water with camel's-hair pencils, and daubing colours on white paper.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ You must not play on the piano, nor on the harp.

_Rosalind._ Well! What sense is there in pressing down your fingers first on bits of ivory, and then on bits of ebony; and staring at crotchets and quavers all the time? or where is the use of twanging and jerking the strings of a harp?

_Mrs. Mortlake._ You must not work in your garden.

_Rosalind._ So much the better. Then I shall neither dirty my hands with pulling up the weeds, nor splash my feet with the water-pot.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ You may sleep as much as you please; but you must not rise before nine o'clock.

_Rosalind._ O, how delightful, not to be obliged to jump out of bed at daylight! Dearest Mrs. Mortlake, if I could have a _month_ of ease and comfort, instead of only a week---

_Mrs. Mortlake._ Well,--if at the end of the week you still desire it, perhaps I may protract the indulgence to a longer period.

_Rosalind._ Dear Mrs. Mortlake, how kind you are. When shall my happiness begin? As to-morrow is Saturday, when we _always_ have a half holiday, and next day Sunday, when we go to the city to attend church, I think, notwithstanding my impatience, I would rather commence my week of felicity regularly on Monday morning.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ Very well, then. On Monday morning let it be.

_Adelaide._ I am sorry to hear you call your anticipated week of idleness a week of felicity.

_Rosalind._ Oh! I am sure I shall find it so; and you will regret not having also accepted Mrs. Mortlake's kind offer.

_Adelaide._ I fear no regret on that subject.

_Mrs. Mortlake._ Say no more, Adelaide. Wait till we see the event of Rosalind's experiment.

_Rosalind._ I hope Josephine's afternoon nap will not be as long as usual: I am so impatient to tell her. O, how we shall enjoy ourselves together!

* * * * *

When Josephine awoke and heard of the new arrangement, she was as much delighted as _she_ could be at any thing; and she begged that Rosalind might be allowed to share her chamber during this happy week.

Monday morning came; and Rosalind (such is the power of habit) awoke, as usual, with the dawn; but soon recollected that she was not to get up till nine o'clock. She saw the light gleaming through the Venetian shutters, and she heard the morning song of the scarlet oriole, whose nest was in a locust tree close to the window; and the twittering of the martins as they flew about their box, which was affixed to the wall just below the roof of the house. She heard Adelaide, who was in the next room, get up to dress herself, and exclaim as she threw open the shutters, "O, what a beautiful sunrise!" Rosalind felt some desire to enjoy the loveliness of the early morning; but determined to remain in bed, and indulge herself with another nap. She turned and shook her pillow, and tumbled about for a long time before she could get to sleep; and at last she awoke again just as the clock was striking seven. She had still two hours to remain in bed, and she found the time extremely tedious. "Are you asleep, Josephine?" said she. "No," replied Josephine, "I am never asleep after this hour."

_Rosalind._ Why, then, do you remain in bed?

_Josephine._ O, because I hate to get up.

_Rosalind._ Well then let us talk.

_Josephine._ O, no! I never talk in bed. For, even when I do not sleep, I am not quite awake.

At length it was nine; and at the first stroke of the clock, Rosalind started from her bed, and began to wash and dress herself. When the girls went down stairs, they found the family breakfast had long been over, and they had theirs on a little table in a corner of the room. Rosalind thought her breakfast did not taste very well; probably, because remaining so long in bed, had taken away her appetite.

After breakfast, they went out and walked a little while in the most shady part of the garden. Then they sat down; first in the arbour of honeysuckles, then on the green bank behind the ice-house; then on a garden chair; and then on the bench at the foot of the great walnut tree. They picked a few currants and ate them; and they gathered some roses and smelled them. For some time they held their parasols over their heads; and then they shut them, and made marks on the gravel with the ends of the ivory sticks. They looked awhile at a nursery of young peach-trees at one side of the garden; and then they turned and looked towards a clover-field on the other side. Josephine pulled the strings of her reticule backwards and forwards; and Rosalind counted the palisades in the fence of the kitchen-garden. At last a bright idea struck her; and she gathered some dandelions that were going to seed, and blew off the down; recommending the same amusement to Josephine, who, after two or three trials, gave it up.

"Suppose we go to the play-room," said Rosalind. Josephine assented, and they slowly walked back to the house, and ascended the stairs. "Now," said Rosalind, "we can play domino _in the morning_. Generally, we never amuse ourselves with any of those little games in the day-time; though we have domino, draughts, and loto, sometimes in the evening." They played domino awhile in a very spiritless manner, and then they tried draughts and loto, which they also soon gave up; Josephine saying that all these games required too much attention. She then had recourse to the rocking-chair, and Rosalind took some white paper and cut fly-traps; in which amusements they tried to get rid of the time till near the dinner-hour, when they combed their hair, and changed their dresses. Adelaide did not join them in the play-room, being much engaged with a very amusing book.

After dinner, Rosalind, accompanied Josephine to her room to take a nap likewise. But she found it so warm, and turned and tossed about so much, and had such difficulty in fixing herself in a comfortable position, that she thought, if it was not for the name of taking a nap, she had better have stayed up as usual. Josephine had less difficulty, being accustomed to afternoon-sleeping; and at length Rosalind shut her eyes, and fell into a sort of uneasy doze.

When they awoke, Rosalind proposed that they should put on their frocks, and go down into the porch, where Mrs. Mortlake and Adelaide were reading and sewing. But Josephine thought it would be much less trouble to sit in their loose gowns until near tea-time. To this Rosalind agreed, and they sat and gazed at the river. But it happened _this_ afternoon that no ships came in, and only one went out; and all the steamboats kept far over towards the opposite shore. They were glad when the bell rung for tea; for when people do nothing, their meals are a sort of amusement, and are therefore expected with anxious interest. In the evening, they declined joining Mrs. Mortlake and Adelaide in their usual long walk, and took a short stroll under the willows on the bank of the river; after which they returned to the parlour, where Mr. Edington sat reading the newspaper, and Josephine threw herself on the sofa; while Rosalind sat beside her on a chair, and played with the kitten.