"You are great readers, young ladies, I see: may we know what are your studies?"

Miss Fanshaw, to show how well she could walk, crossed the room, and took up one of the books.

"'Alison upon Taste'--that's a pretty book, I dare say--but la! what's this, Miss Isabella? 'A Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments'--dear me!

that must be a curious performance--by a smith! a common smith!"

Isabella, good-naturedly, stopped her from farther absurd exclamations by turning to the t.i.tle-page of the book and showing her the words _"Adam Smith."_

"Ah! _A_ stands for _Adam!_ very true--I thought it was _a_ smith," said Miss Fanshaw.

"Well, my dear," said her mother, who had quickness enough to perceive that her daughter had made some mistake, by the countenances of the company, but who had not sufficient erudition to know what the mistake could be--"well, my dear, and suppose it was _a_ smith, there's nothing extraordinary in that--nothing extraordinary in a smith's writing a book nowadays,--why not a common blacksmith, as well as a common ploughman?--I was asked, I know, not long ago, to subscribe _to_ the poems of a common ploughman."

"The Ayrshire ploughman?" said Lady N----.

"Yes, they called him so, as I recollect, and I really had a mind to put my name down, for I think I saw your ladyship's amongst the subscribers."

"Yes, they are beautiful poems," said Lady N----.

"So I understand--there are some vastly pretty things in his collection--but one hears of so many good things coming out every day,"

said Mrs. Fanshaw, in a plaintive voice. "In these days, I think, every body writes--"

"And reads," said Lady N----.

"And reads," said Mrs. Fanshaw. "We have learned ladies now, wherever one goes, who tell one they never play at cards--I am sure they are very bad company. Jane," said she, turning to her daughter, "I hope you won't take it into your head to turn out a reading lady!"

"Oh dear, no!" said Miss Fanshaw: "we had not much time for reading at Suxberry House, we were so busy with our masters;--we had a charming English master though, to teach us elocution, because it's so fashionable now to read loud well. Mrs. Harcourt, _isn't it odd_ to read English books to a French governess?" continued this young lady, whose constrained taciturnity now gave way to a strong desire to show herself off before Lady N----. She had observed that Isabella and Matilda had been listened to with approbation, and she imagined that, when she spoke, she should certainly eclipse them. Mrs. Harcourt replied to her observation, that Mad. de Rosier not only read and spoke English remarkably well, but that she had also a general knowledge of English literature.

"Oh! here are some French books," said Miss Fanshaw, taking down one out of the book-case--"'Journal etranger'--dear me! are you translating _of_ this, Miss Isabella?"

"No," said Mrs. Harcourt; "Madame de Rosier brought it down stairs yesterday, to show us an essay of Hume's on the study of history, which is particularly addressed to women; and Mad. de Rosier says that it is not to be found in several of the late editions of Hume's Essays--she thought it singular that it should be preserved in a French translation."

"There is," said Isabella, "an entertaining account in that essay of a lady who asked Hume to lend her some novels! He lent her Plutarch's Lives, which she thought very amusing, till she found out that they were true. As soon as she came to the names of Caesar and Alexander, she returned the books."

Mrs. Fanshaw was surprised that Lady N---- begged to look at this essay; and was much disappointed to observe that the graceful manner in which Miss Fanshaw presented the book to her ladyship escaped notice.

"Pray, Miss Matilda, is that a drawing?" said Mrs. Fanshaw, in hopes of leading to a more favourable subject.

"Oh, dear me! do pray favour us with a sight of it!" cried Miss Fanshaw, and she eagerly unrolled the paper, though Matilda a.s.sured her that it was not a drawing.

It was Hogarth's print of a country dance, which was prefixed to his "a.n.a.lysis of Beauty."

"It is the _oddest_ thing!" exclaimed Miss Fanshaw, who thought every thing _odd_ or _strange_ which she had not seen at Suxberry house.

Without staying to observe the innumerable strokes of humour and of original genius in the print, she ran on--"La! its hardly worth any one's while, surely, to draw such a set of vulgar figures--one hates low humour." Then, in a hurry to show her taste for dress, she observed that "people, formerly, must have had no taste at all;--one can hardly believe such things were ever worn."

Mrs. Fanshaw, touched by this reflection upon the taste of former times, though she seldom presumed to oppose any of her daughter's opinions, could not here refrain from saying a few words in defence of sacks, long waists, and whalebone stays, and she pointed to a row of stays in the margin of one of these prints of Hogarth.

Miss Fanshaw, who did not consider that, with those who have a taste for propriety in manners, she could not gain any thing by a triumph over her mother, laughed in a disdainful manner at her mother's "_partiality for stays_," and _wondered_ how any body could think long waists becoming.

"Surely, any body who knows any thing of drawing, or has any taste for an antique figure, must acknowledge the present fashion to be most graceful." She appealed to Isabella and Matilda.

They were so much struck with the impropriety of her manner towards her mother, that they did not immediately answer; Matilda at length said, "It is natural to like what we have been early used to;" and, from unaffected gentleness, eager to prevent Miss Fanshaw from further exposing her ignorance, she rolled up the print; and Lady N----, smiling at Mrs. Harcourt, said, "I never saw a print more _gracefully_ rolled up in my life." Miss Fanshaw immediately rolled up another of the prints, but no applause ensued.

At the next pause in the conversation, Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter took their leave, seemingly dissatisfied with their visit.

Matilda, just after Mrs. Fanshaw left the room, recollected her pretty netting-box, and asked Lady N---- whether she knew any thing of the little boy by whom it was made.

Her ladyship gave such an interesting account of him, that Matilda determined to have her share in relieving his distress.

Matilda's benevolence was formerly rather pa.s.sive than active; but from Mad. de Rosier she had learned that sensibility should not be suffered to evaporate in sighs, or in sentimental speeches. She had also learnt that economy is necessary to generosity; and she consequently sometimes denied herself the gratification of her own tastes, that she might be able to a.s.sist those who were in distress.

She had lately seen a beautiful print[3] of the king of France taking leave of his family; and, as Mad. de Rosier was struck with it, she wished to have bought it for her; but she now considered that a guinea, which was the price of the print, might be better bestowed on this poor, little, ingenious, industrious boy; so she begged her mother to send to the repository for one of his boxes. The servants were all busy, and Matilda did not receive her box till the next morning.

[Footnote 3: By Egginton.]

Herbert was reading to Mad. de Rosier when the servant brought the box into the room. Favoretta got up to look at it, and immediately Herbert's eye glanced from his book: in spite of all his endeavours to command his attention, he heard the exclamations of "Beautiful!--How smooth!--like tortoise-sh.e.l.l!--What can it be made of?"

"My dear Herbert, shut the book," said Mad. de Rosier, "if your head be in that box. Never read one moment after you have ceased to attend."

"It is my fault," said Matilda; "I will put the box out of the way till he has finished reading."

When Herbert had recalled his wandering thoughts, and had fixed his mind upon what he was about, Mad. de Rosier put her hand upon the book--he started--"Now let us see the _beautiful_ box," said she.

After it had pa.s.sed through Favoretta and Herbert's impatient hands, Matilda, who had scarcely looked at it herself, took it to the window, to give it a sober examination. "It is not made of paper, or pasteboard, and it is not the colour of tortoise-sh.e.l.l," said Matilda: "I never saw any thing like it before; I wonder what it can be made of?"

Herbert, at this question, unperceived by Matilda, who was examining the box very earnestly, seized the lid, which was lying upon the table, and ran out of the room; he returned in a few minutes, and presented the lid to Matilda. "I can tell you one thing, Matilda," said he, with an important face--"it is an animal--an animal substance, I mean."

"Oh, Herbert," cried Matilda, "what have you been doing?--you have blackened the corner of the box."

"Only the least bit in the world," said Herbert, "to try an experiment.

I only put one corner to the candle that Isabella had lighted to seal her letter."

"My dear Herbert, how could you burn your sister's box?" expostulated Madame de Rosier: "I thought you did not love mischief."

"Mischief!--no, indeed; I thought you would be pleased that I remembered how to distinguish animal from vegetable substances. You know, the day that my hair was on fire, you told me how to do that; and Matilda wanted to know what the box was made of; so I tried."

"Well," said Matilda, good-naturedly, "you have not done me much harm."

"But another time," said Mad. de Rosier, "don't burn a box that costs a guinea to try an experiment; and, above all things, never, upon any account, take what is not your own."

The corner of the lid that had been held to the candle was a little warped, so that the lid did not slide into its groove as easily as it did before. Herbert was disposed to use force upon the occasion; but Matilda with difficulty rescued her box by an argument which fortunately reached his understanding in time enough to stop his hand.

"It was the heat of the candle that warped it," said she: "let us dip it into boiling water, which cannot be made _too_ hot, and that will, perhaps, bring it back to its shape."

The lid of the box was dipped into boiling-water, and restored to its shape. Matilda, as she was wiping it dry, observed that some yellow paint, or varnish, came off, and in one spot, on the inside of the lid, she discovered something like writing.

"Who will lend me a magnifying gla.s.s?"

Favoretta produced hers.