"My little manufacture continued to prosper--by practice I grew more and more expert, and I had no longer any fears that I should not be able to maintain myself. It was fortunate for me that I was obliged to be constantly employed: whenever I was not actually at hard work, whenever I had leisure for reflection, I was unhappy.

"A friend of Mr. S----, who was going to London, offered to take me with him--I had some curiosity to see this celebrated metropolis, and I had hopes of meeting with some of my friends amongst the emigrants in this city--amongst all the emigrants at Bristol there was not one person with whom I had been acquainted in France.

"Impelled by these hopes, I quitted Bristol, and arrived a few weeks ago in London. Mr. S---- gave me a direction to a cabinet-maker in Leicester Fields, and I was able to pay for a decent lodging, for I was now master of what appeared to me a large sum of money--seven guineas.

"Some time after I came to town, as I was returning from a visit to an emigrant, with whom I had become acquainted, I was stopped at the corner of a street by a crowd of people--_a mob_, as I have been taught to call it, since I came to England--who had gathered round a blind man, a little boy, and a virago of a woman, who stood upon the steps before a print-shop door. The woman accused the boy of being a thief. The boy protested that he was innocent, and his ingenuous countenance spoke strongly in his favour. He belonged to the blind man, who, as soon as he could make himself heard, complained bitterly of the damage which had been done to his dulcimer. The mob, in their first fury, had broken it.

I was interested for the man but more for the boy. Perhaps, said I to myself, he has neither father nor mother!

"When the woman, who was standing yet furious at the shop-door, had no more words for utterance, the little boy was suffered to speak in his own defence. He said, that, as he was pa.s.sing by the open window of the print-shop, he put his hand in to give part of a bun which he was eating to a little dog, who was sitting on the counter, near the window; and who looked thin and miserable, as if he was half-starved. 'But,'

continued the little boy, 'when I put the bun to the dog's mouth, he did not eat it; I gave him a little push to make him mind me, and he fell out of the window into my hands; and then I found that it was not a real dog, but only the picture of a dog, painted upon pasteboard. The mistress of the shop saw the dog in my hand, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it away, and accused me of being a thief; so then, with the noise she made, the chairmen, who were near the door, came up, and the mob gathered, and our dulcimer was broken, and I'm very sorry for it.' The mistress of the print-shop observed, in a loud and contemptuous tone, 'that all this must be a lie, for that _such a one as_ he could not have buns to give away to dogs!'--Here the blind man vindicated his boy, by a.s.suring us that 'he came honestly by the bun--that two buns had been given to him about an hour before this time by a young gentleman, who met him as he was coming out of a pastry-cook's shop.' When the mob heard this explanation, they were sorry for the mischief they had done to the blind man's dulcimer; and, after examining it with expressions of sorrow, they quietly dispersed. I thought that I could perhaps mend the dulcimer, and I offered my services; they were gladly accepted, and I desired the man to leave it at the cabinet-maker's, in Leicester Fields, where I lodged. In the meantime the little boy, whilst I had been examining the dulcimer, had been wiping the dirt from off the pasteboard dog, which, during the fray, had fallen into the street--'Is it not like a real dog?' said the boy, 'Was it not enough to deceive any body?'

"It was, indeed, extremely like a _real_ dog--like my dog, Caesar, whom I had taken care of from the time I was five years old, and whom I was obliged to leave at our house in Paris, when I was dragged to prison.

The more I looked at this pasteboard image, the more I was convinced that the picture must have been drawn from the life. Every streak, every spot, every shade of its brown coat I remembered. Its extreme thinness was the only circ.u.mstance in which the picture was unlike my Caesar.

I inquired from the scolding woman of the shop how she came by this picture--'Honestly,' was her laconic answer; but when I asked whether it were to be sold, and when I paid its price, the lady changed her tone; no longer considering me as the partisan of the little boy, against whom she was enraged, but rather looking upon me as a customer, who had paid too much for her goods, she condescended to inform me that the dog was painted by one of the _poor_ French emigrants, who lived in her neighbourhood. She directed me to the house, and I discovered the man to be my father's old servant Michael. He was overjoyed at the sight of me; he was infirm, and unequal to any laborious employment; he had supported himself with great difficulty by painting toys, and various figures of men, women, and animals, upon pasteboard. He showed me two excellent figures of French poissardes, and also a good cat, of his doing;--but my Caesar was the best of his works.

"My lodgings at the cabinet-maker's were too small to accommodate Michael; and yet I wished to have him with me, for he seemed so infirm as to want a.s.sistance. I consequently left my cabinet-maker, and took lodgings with this stationer; he and his wife are quiet people, and I hope poor Michael has been happier since he came to me; he has, however, been for some days confined to his bed, and I have been so busy, that I have not been able to stir from home. To-day the poor little boy called for his dulcimer; I must own that I found it a more difficult job to mend it than I had expected. I could not match the wire, and I sent the boy out to an ironmonger's a few hours ago. How little did I expect to see him return with--my mother!"

We shall not attempt to describe the alternate emotions of joy and sorrow which quickly succeeded each other in Mad. de Rosier's heart, while she listened to her son's little history. Impatient to communicate her happiness to her friends, she took leave hastily of her beloved son, promising to call for him early the next day. "Settle all your business to-night," said she, "and I will introduce you to _my_ friends to-morrow. _My_ friends, I say proudly--for I have made friends since I came to England; and England, amongst other commodities excellent in their kind, produces incomparable friends--friends in adversity. _We_ know their value. Adieu: settle all your affairs here expeditiously."

"I have no affairs, no business, my dear mother," interrupted Henry, "except to mend the dulcimer, as I promised, and that I'll finish directly. Adieu, till to-morrow morning! What a delightful sound!"

With all the alacrity of benevolence he returned to his work, and his mother returned to Mrs. Harcourt's. It was nearly eight o'clock before she arrived at home. Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, met her with inquiring eyes.

"She smiles," said Matilda; and Herbert, with a higher jump than he had ever been known to make before, exclaimed, "She has found her son!--I am sure of it!--I knew she would find him."

"Let her sit down," said Matilda, in a gentle voice.

Isabella brought her an excellent dish of coffee; and Mrs. Harcourt, with kind reproaches, asked why she had not brought her son _home_ with her. She rang the bell with as much vivacity as she spoke, ordered her coach to be sent instantly to Golden-square, and wrote an order, as she called it, for his coming _immediately_ to her, quitting all dulcimers and dulcimer boys, under pain of his mother's displeasure. "Here, Mad.

de Rosier," said she, with peremptory playfulness, "countersign my order, that I may be sure of my prisoner."

Scarcely were the note and carriage despatched, before Herbert and Favoretta stationed themselves at the window, that they might be ready to give the first intelligence. Their notions of time and distance were not very accurate upon this occasion; for before the carriage had been out of sight ten minutes, they expected it to return; and they exclaimed, at the sight of every coach that appeared at the end of the street, "Here's the carriage!--Here he is!" But the carriages rolled by continually, and convinced them of their mistakes.

Herbert complained of the dull light of the lamps, though the street was remarkably well lighted; and he next quarrelled with the glare of the flambeaux, which footmen brandished behind carriages that were unknown to him. At length a flambeau appeared with which he did not quarrel.

Herbert, as its light shone upon the footman, looked with an eager eye, then put his finger upon his own lips, and held his other hand forcibly before Favoretta's mouth, for now he was certain. The coach stopped at the door--Mad. de Rosier ran down stairs--Mrs. Harcourt and all the family followed her--Herbert was at the coach door before Henri de Rosier could leap out, and he seized his hand with the familiarity of an old acquaintance.

The sympathy of all her joyful pupils, the animated kindness with which Mrs. Harcourt received her son, touched Mad. de Rosier with the most exquisite pleasure. The happiness that we are conscious of having deserved is doubly grateful to the heart.

Mrs. Harcourt did not confine her attentions within the narrow limits of politeness--with generous eagerness she exerted herself to show her grat.i.tude to the excellent governess of her children. She applied to the gentleman who was at the head of the academy for the education of the sons of French emigrants, and recommended Henri de Rosier to him in the strongest terms.

In the meantime Lady N----, who had been warmly interested in Mad. de Rosier's favour, and more by what she had seen of her pupils, wrote to her brother, who was at Paris, to request that he would make every possible inquiry concerning the property of the late Comte de Rosier.

The answer to her letter informed her that Mad. de Rosier's property was restored to her and to her son by the new government of France.

Mrs. Harcourt, who now foresaw the probability of Mad. de Rosier's return to France, could not avoid feeling regret at the thoughts of parting with a friend to whom her whole family was sincerely attached.

The plan of education which had been traced out remained yet unfinished, and she feared, she said, that Isabella and Matilda might feel the want of their accomplished preceptress. But these fears were the best omens for her future success: a sensible mother, in whom the desire to educate her family has once been excited, and who turns the energy of her mind to this interesting subject, seizes upon every useful idea, every practical principle, with avidity, and she may trust securely to her own persevering cares. Whatever a mother learns for the sake of her children, she never forgets.

The rapid improvement of Mrs. Harcourt's understanding since she had applied herself to literature, was her reward, and her excitement to fresh application. Isabella and Matilda were now of an age to be her companions, and her taste for domestic life was confirmed every day by the sweet experience of its pleasures.

"You have taught me your value, and now you are going to leave me," said she to Mad. de Rosier. "I quarrelled with the Duke de la Rochefoucault for his a.s.serting, that in the misfortunes of our best friends there is always something that is not disagreeable to us; but I am afraid I must stand convicted of selfishness, for in the good fortune of my best friend there is something that I cannot feel to be perfectly agreeable."

MADEMOISELLE PANACHE.

SECOND PART[1]

[Footnote 1: The first part is in the Parent's a.s.sistant, vol. iv.]

The tendency of any particular mode of education is not always perceived, before it is too late to change the habits or the character of the pupil. To superficial observers, children of nearly the same age often seem much alike in manners and disposition, who, in a few years afterward, appear in every respect strikingly different. We have given our readers some idea of the manner in which Mrs. Temple educated her daughters, and some notion of the mode in which Lady Augusta was managed by Mlle. Panache; the difference between the characters of Helen and Lady Augusta, though visible even at the early age of twelve or thirteen to an intelligent mother, was scarcely noticed by common acquaintance, who contented themselves with the usual phrases, as equally applicable to both the young ladies. "Upon my word, Lady Augusta and Miss Helen Temple are both of them very fine girls, and very highly accomplished, and vastly well educated, as I understand. I really cannot tell which to prefer. Lady Augusta, to be sure, is rather the taller of the two, and her manners are certainly more womanly and fashioned than Miss Helen's; but then, Miss Helen Temple has something of simplicity about her that some people think very engaging. For my part, I don't pretend to judge--girls alter so; there's no telling at twelve years old what they may turn out at sixteen."

From twelve to sixteen, Lady Augusta continued under the direction of Mlle. Panache; whilst her mother, content with her daughter's progress in external accomplishments, paid no attention to the cultivation of her temper or her understanding. Lady S---- lived much in what is called the world; was fond of company, and fonder of cards, sentimentally anxious to be thought a good mother, but indolently willing to leave her daughter wholly to the care of a French governess, whose character she had never taken the trouble to investigate. Not that Lady S---- could be ignorant that, however well qualified to teach the true French p.r.o.nunciation, she could not be a perfectly eligible companion for her daughter as she grew up: her ladyship intended to part with the governess when Lady Augusta was fifteen; but from day to day, and from year to year, this was put off: sometimes Lady S---- thought it a pity to dismiss mademoiselle, because "she was the best creature in the world;" sometimes she rested content with the idea, that six months more or less could not signify; till at length _family reasons_ obliged her to postpone mademoiselle's dismission: part of the money intended for the payment of the governess's salary had been unfortunately lost by the mother at the card-table. Lady Augusta consequently continued under the auspices of Mlle. Panache till her ladyship was eighteen, and till her education was supposed to be entirely completed.

In the meantime Mlle. Panache endeavoured, by all the vulgar arts of flattery, to ingratiate herself with her pupil, in hopes that from a governess she might become a _companion_. The summer months seemed unusually long to the impatient young lady, whose imagination daily antic.i.p.ated the glories of her next winter's campaign. Towards the end of July, however, a reinforcement of visitors came to her mother's, and the present began to engage some attention, as well as the future.

Amongst these visitors was Lord George ----, a young n.o.bleman, near twenty-one, who was heir to a very considerable fortune. We mention his fortune _first_, because it was his _first_ merit, even in his own opinion. Cold, silent, selfish, supercilious, and silly, there appeared nothing in him to engage the affections, or to strike the fancy of a fair lady; but Lady Augusta's fancy was not fixed upon his lordship's character or manners, and much that might have disgusted consequently escaped her observation. Her mother had not considered the matter very attentively; but she thought that this young n.o.bleman might be no bad match for her Augusta, and she trusted that her daughter's charms would make their due impression on his heart. Some weeks pa.s.sed away in fashionable negligence of the lady on his part, and alternate pique and coquetry on hers, whilst, during these operations, her confidante and governess was too much occupied with her own manoeuvres to attend to those of her pupil. Lord George had with him upon this visit a Mr.

Dashwood, who was engaged to accompany him upon his travels, and who had had the honour of being his lordship's tutor. At the name of a _tutor_, let no one picture to himself a gloomy pedant; or yet a man whose knowledge, virtue, and benevolence, would command the respect, or win the affections, of youth. Mr. Dashwood could not be mistaken for a pedant, unless a c.o.xcomb be a sort of pedant. Dashwood pretended neither to win affection nor to command respect; but he was, as his pupil emphatically swore, "the best fellow in the world." Upon this best fellow in the world, Mlle. Panache fixed her sagacious hopes; she began to think that it would be infinitely better to be the wife of the gallant Mr. Dashwood, than the humble companion or the slighted governess of the capricious Lady Augusta. Having thus far opened the views and characters of these various personages, we shall now give our readers an opportunity of judging of them by their words and actions.

"You go with us, my lord, to the archery-meeting this evening?" said Lady S----, as she rose from breakfast--his lordship gave a negligent a.s.sent.

"Ah!" exclaimed Mlle. Panache, turning eagerly to Dashwood, "have you seen _de uniforme?--C'est charmant_; and I have no small hand in it."

Dashwood paid he expected compliment to her taste. "Ah! _non_," said she, "you are too good, too flattering; but you must tell me your judgment without flattery! _Vous etes homme de gout_, though an Englishman--you see I have got no _prejuges_." Dashwood bowed.

"_Allons!_" said she, starting up with vast gaiety: "we have got no time to lose. I have de _rubans_ to put to de bow; I must go and attend my Diane."

"Attend her Diane!" repeated Dashwood, the moment the door was shut, and he was left alone with Lord George. "Attend her Diane! a very proper attendant." Lord George was wholly indifferent to propriety or impropriety upon this, as upon all other subjects. "What are we to do with ourselves, I wonder, this morning!" said he, with his customary yawn; and he walked towards the window. The labour of finding employment for his lordship always devolved upon his companion. "I thought, my lord," said Dashwood, "you talked yesterday of going upon the water; the river is very smooth, and I hope we shall have a fine day."

"I hope so too; but over the hill yonder it looks confounded black, hey?

Well, at any rate we may go down and make some of them get ready to go with us. I'll take my black Tom--he's a handy fellow."

"But if you take black Tom," said Dashwood, laughing, "we must not expect to have the ladies of our party; for you know mademoiselle has an unconquerable _antipaty_, as she calls it, to a negro."

Lord George declared that, for this very reason, he would order black Tom down to the water-side, and that he should enjoy her affectation, or her terror, whichever it was, of all things. "I suppose," said he, "she'll scream as loud as Lady Augusta screamed at a frog the other day."

"I'll lay you a wager I spoil your sport, my lord; I'll lay you a guinea I get mademoiselle into the boat without a single scream," said Dashwood.

"Done!" said Lord George. "Two to one she screams."

"Done!" said Dashwood; and he hoped that, by proposing this bet, he had provided his pupil with an object for the whole morning. But Lord George was not so easily roused immediately after breakfast. "It looks terribly like rain," said he, going back and forward irresolutely between the door and the window. "Do you think it will rain, hey?"

"No, no; I'm sure it will not rain."

"I wouldn't lay two to one of that, however: look at this great cloud that's coming."

"Oh! it will blow over."

"I don't know that," said Lord George, shaking his head with great solemnity. "Which way is the wind?" opening the window. "Well, I believe it may hold up, hey?"