The queen, in the meantime, suffered for the loss of her child more than words can express, till the good fairy Sybella returned. The queen burst into tears at the sight of her; but the fairy immediately cried out, ‘You may spare yourself, my royal guest, the pain of relating what has happened. I know it all; for that old man, whom I took such pity on, was a phantom, raised by Brunetta, to allure me hence, in order to have an opportunity, in my absence, of seducing the princess from her duty. She knew nothing but a probable story could impose on me, and therefore raised that story of the misery of the old man’s son (from motives which too often, indeed, cause the misery of mortals); as knowing I should think it my duty to do what I could to relieve such a wretch. I will not tell you all my journey, nor what I have gone through. I know your mind is at present too much fixed on the princess, to attend to such a relation I’ll only tell you what concerns yourself. When the phantom found, that by no distress he could perturb my mind, he said he was obliged to tell the truth, what was the intention of my being deluded from home, and what had happened since; and then vanished away.’ Here the fairy related to the queen everything that had happened to the princess, as has already been written; and concluded with saying, that she would wander about the castle walls (for Brunetta had no power over her); and if she could get a sight of the princess, she would endeavour to bring her to a true sense of her fault, and then she might again be restored to happiness.
The queen blessed the fairy for her goodness; and it was not long before Sybella’s continual assiduity got her a sight of the princess; for she often wandered a little way towards that wood she had once so much delighted in, but never could bring herself to enter into it: the thought of seeing her injured mother made her start back, and run half wild into the fatal castle. Rozella used frequently to throw herself in her way; and on hearing her sighs, and seeing her tears, would burst into a sneering laugh at her folly; to avoid which laugh, the poor princess first suffered herself to throw off all her principles of goodness and obedience, and was now fallen into the very contempt she so much dreaded.
The first time the fairy got a sight of her, she called to her with the most friendly voice; but the princess, stung to the soul with the sight of her, fled away, and did not venture out again in several days. The kind Sybella began almost to despair of regaining her lost child; but never failed walking round the castle many hours every day. And one evening, just before the sun set, she heard within the gates a loud tumultuous noise, but more like riotous mirth, than either the voice either of rage or anger; and immediately she saw the princess rush out at the gate, and about a dozen girls, laughing and shouting, running after her. The poor princess flew with all her speed till she came to a little arbour, just by the side of the wood; and her pursuers, as they intended only to tease her, did not follow her very close; but, as soon as they lost sight of her, turned all back again to the castle.
Sybella went directly into the arbour, where she found the little trembler prostrate on the ground, crying and sobbing as if her heart was breaking. The fairy seized her hand, and would not let her go till she had prevailed with her to return to the Placid Grove, to throw herself once more at her mother’s feet, assuring her, that nothing but this humble state of mind could cure her misery and restore her wonted peace.
The queen was filled with the highest joy to see her child; but restrained herself so much, that she showed not the least sign of it, till she had seen her some time prostrate at her feet, and had heard her with tears properly confess, and ask pardon for, all her faults. She then raised, and once more forgave her; but told her that she must learn more humility and distrust of herself, before she should again expect to be trusted.
The princess answered not, but with a modest downcast look which expressed her concern and true repentance, and in a short time recovered her former peace of mind; and as she never afterwards disobeyed her indulgent mother, she daily increased in wisdom and goodness.
After having lived on in the most innocent and peaceful manner for three years (the princess being just turned of eighteen years old) the fairy told the queen that she would now tell her some news of her kingdom, which she had heard in her journey; namely, that her sister-in-law was dead, and her brother-in-law had made proclamation throughout the kingdom, of great rewards to any one who should produce the queen and the Princess Hebe, whom he would immediately reinstate on the throne.
The Princess Hebe was by when she related this, and said she begged to lead a private life, and never more be exposed to the temptation of entering into vice, for which she already had so severely smarted.
The fairy told her, that, since she doubted herself, she was now fit to be trusted; for, said she, ‘I did not like your being so sure of resisting temptation, when first I conferred on you the gift of wisdom. But you will, my princess, if you take the crown, have an opportunity of doing so much good, that, if you continue virtuous, you will have perpetual pleasures; for power, if made a right use of, is indeed a very great blessing.’
The princess answered, that if the queen, her mother, thought it her duty to take the crown, she would cheerfully submit, though a private life would be otherwise her choice.
The queen replied, that she did not blame her for choosing a private life; but she thought she could not innocently refuse the power that would give her such opportunities of doing good, and making others happy; since, by that refusal, the power might fall into hands that would make an ill use of it.
After this conversation, they got into the same car in which they travelled to the wood of Ardella; arrived safely at the city of Algorada; and the Princess Hebe was seated, with universal consent, on her father’s throne; where she and her people were reciprocally happy, by her great wisdom and prudence; and the queen-mother spent the remainder of her days in peace and joy, to see her beloved daughter prove a blessing to such numbers of human creatures; whilst she herself enjoyed that only true content and happiness this world can produce; namely, a peaceful conscience, and a quiet mind.
When Miss Jenny had finished her story, Mrs. Teachum left them for the present, that they might with the utmost freedom make their own observations; for she knew she should be acquainted with all their sentiments from Miss Jenny afterwards.
The little hearts of all the company were swelled with joy, in that the Princess Hebe was at last made happy; for hope and fear had each by turns possessed their bosoms for the fate of the little princess; and Miss Dolly Friendly said, that Rozella’s artful manner was enough to have drawn in the wisest girl into her snares; and she did not see how it was possible for the Princess Hebe to withstand it, especially when she cried for fear of parting with her.
Miss Sukey Jennett said, that Rozella’s laughing at her, and using her with contempt, she thought was insupportable, for who could bear the contempt of a friend?
Many and various were the remarks made by Miss Jenny’s hearers on the story she had read to them. But now they were so confirmed in goodness, and every one was so settled in her affection for her companions, that, instead of being angry at any opposition that was made to their judgments, every one spoke her opinion with the utmost mildness.
Miss Jenny sat some time silent to hear their conversation on her fairy tale. But her seeing them so much altered in their manner of talking to each other, since the time they made their little remarks on her story of the giants, filled her whole mind with the most sincere pleasure; and with a smile peculiar to herself, and which diffused a cheerfulness to all around her, she told her companions the joy their present behaviour had inspired her with; but saying that it was as late as their governess chose they should stay out, she rose, and walked towards the house, whither she was cheerfully followed by the whole company.
Mrs. Teachum after supper, again, in a familiar manner, talked to them on the subject of the fairy tale, and encouraged them, as much as possible, to answer her freely in whatever she asked them; and at last said, ‘My good children, I am very much pleased when you are innocently amused; and yet I would have you consider seriously enough of what you read, to draw such morals from your books, as may influence your future practice; and as to fairy tales in general, remember, that the fairies, as I told Miss Jenny before of giants and magic, are only introduced by the writers of those tales, by way of amusement to the reader. For if the story is well written, the common course of things would produce the same incidents, without the help of fairies.
‘As for example, in this of the Princess Hebe, you see the queen her mother was not admitted to know the fairy’s history, till she could calm her mind enough to hearken to reason; which only means, that whilst we give way to the raging of our passions, nothing useful can ever sink into our minds. For by the fairy Sybella’s story you find, that by our own faults we may turn the greatest advantages into our own misery, as Sybella’s mother did her beauty, by making use of the influence it gave her over her husband, to tease him into the ruin of his child; and as also Brunetta did, by depending on her father’s gift, to enable her to complete her desires, and therefore never endeavouring to conquer them.
‘You may observe also on the other side, that no accident had any power to hurt Sybella, because she followed the paths of virtue, and kept her mind free from restless passions.
‘You see happiness in the good Sybella’s peaceful grove, and misery in the wicked Brunetta’s gaudy castle. The queen desiring the fairy to endow her child with true wisdom, was the cause that the Princess Hebe had it in her power to be happy. But take notice, that when she swerved from her duty, all her knowledge was of no use, but only rendered her more miserable, by letting her see her own folly in the stronger light. Rozella first tempted the princess to disobedience, by moving her tenderness, and alarming her friendship, in fearing to part with her; and then by persuading her to set up her own wisdom, in opposition to her mother’s commands, rather than be laughed at, and despised by her friends. You are therefore to observe, that if you would steadily persevere in virtue, you must have resolution enough to stand the sneers of those who would allure you to vice; for it is the constant practice of the vicious, to endeavour to allure others to follow their example, by an affected contempt and ridicule of virtue.
‘By the Princess Hebe’s being drawn at last beyond the prescribed bounds, by the cries and entreaties of that insidious girl, you are to learn, that whatever appearance of virtue any action may be attended with, yet if it makes you go contrary to the commands of those who know better what is for your good, than you do your selves, and who can see farther into the consequences of actions than can your tender years, it will certainly lead you into error and misfortune; and you find, as soon as the princess had once overleaped the bounds, another plausible excuse arose to carry her on; and by a false fear of incurring her mother’s displeasure, she really deserved that displeasure, and was soon reduced into the power of her enemy.
‘The princess, you see, could have no happiness till she returned again to her obedience, and had confessed her fault. And though in this story all this is brought about by fairies, yet the moral of it is, that whenever we give way to our passions, and act contrary to our duty, we must be miserable.
‘But let me once more observe to you, that these fairies are only intended to amuse you; for remember that the misery which attended the Princess Hebe, on her disobedience, was the natural consequence of that disobedience, as well as the natural consequence of her amendment and return to her duty, was content and happiness for the rest of her life.’
Here good Mrs. Teachum ceased, and Miss Jenny, in the name of the company, thanked her for her kind instructions, and promised that they would endeavour, to the utmost of their power, to imprint them on their memory for the rest of their lives.
This morning our little society rose very early, and were all dressed with neatness and elegance, in order to go to church. Mrs. Teachum put Miss Polly Suckling before her, and the rest followed, two and two, with perfect regularity.
Mrs. Teachum expressed great approbation, that her scholars, at this solemn place, showed no sort of childishness, notwithstanding their tender age; but behaved with decency and devotion suitable to the occasion.
They went again in the same order, and behaved again in the same manner, in the afternoon; and when they returned from church, two young ladies, Lady Caroline and Lady Fanny Delun, who had formerly known Miss Jenny Peace, and who were at present in that neighbourhood with their uncle, came to make her a visit.
Lady Caroline was fourteen years of age, tall and genteel in her person, of a fair complexion, and a regular set of features so that, upon the whole, she was generally complimented with being very handsome.
Lady Fanny, who was one year younger than her sister, was rather little of her age, of a brown complexion, her features irregular; and, in short, she had not the least real pretensions to beauty.
It was but lately that their father was, by the death of his eldest brother, become Earl of Delun; so that their titles were new, and they had not been long used to your ladyship.
Miss Jenny Peace received them as her old acquaintance: however, she paid them the deference due to their quality, and, at the same time, took care not to behave as if she imagined they thought of anything else.
As it was her chief delight to communicate her pleasures to others, she introduced her new-made friends to her old acquaintance, and expected to have spent a very agreeable afternoon. But to describe the behaviour of these two young ladies is very difficult. Lady Caroline, who was dressed in a pink robe, embroidered thick with gold, and adorned with very fine jewels, and the finest Mechlin lace, addressed most of her discourse to her sister, that she might have the pleasure every minute of uttering ‘Your ladyship,’ in order to show what she herself expected. And as she spoke, her fingers were in perpetual motion, either adjusting her tucker, placing her plaits of her robe, or fiddling with a diamond cross, that hung down on her bosom, her eyes accompanying her fingers as they moved, and then suddenly being snatched off, that she might not be observed to think of her own dress; yet was it plain, that her thoughts were employed on only that and her titles. Miss Jenny Peace, although she would have made it her choice always to have been in company who did not deserve ridicule, yet had she humour enough to treat affectation as it deserved. And she addressed herself to Lady Caroline with so many ladyships, and such praises of her fine clothes, as she hoped would have made her ashamed; but Lady Caroline was too full of her own vanity, to see her design, and only exposed herself ten times the more, till she really got the better of Miss Jenny, who blushed for her, since she was incapable of blushing for herself.
Lady Fanny’s dress was plain and neat only, nor did she mention anything about it; and it was very visible her thoughts were otherwise employed, neither did she seem to take any delight in the words ‘Your ladyship’: but she tossed and threw her person about into so many ridiculous postures, and as there happened unfortunately to be no looking-glass in the room where they sat, she turned and rolled her eyes so many different ways, in endeavouring to view as much of herself as possible, that it was very plain to the whole company she thought herself a beauty, and admired herself for being so.
Our little society, whose hearts were so open to each other, that they had not a thought they endeavoured to conceal, were so filled with contempt at Lady Caroline and Lady Fanny’s behaviour, and yet so strictly obliged, by good manners, not to show that contempt, that the reserve they were forced to put on, laid them under so great a restraint, that they knew not which way to turn themselves, or how to utter one word; and great was their joy when Lady Caroline, as the eldest, led the way, and with a swimming curtsey, her head turned half round on one shoulder, and a disdainful eye, took her leave, repeating two or three times the word ‘misses,’ to put them in mind, that she was a lady. She was followed by her sister Lady Fanny, who made a slow distinct curtsey to every one in the room, that she might be the longer under observation. And then taking Miss Jenny by the hand, said, ‘Indeed, Miss, you are very pretty,’ in order to put them in mind of her own beauty.
Our little society, as soon as they were released, retired to their arbour, where, for some time, they could talk of nothing but this visit. Miss Jenny Peace remarked how many shapes vanity would turn itself into, and desired them to observe, how ridiculously Lady Caroline Delun turned her whole thoughts on her dress, and condition of life; and how absurd it was in Lady Fanny, who was a very plain girl, to set up for a beauty, and to behave in a manner which would render her contemptible, even if she had that beauty her own vanity made her imagine herself possessed of.
Miss Nanny Spruce said, ‘She was greatly rejoiced that she had seen her folly; for she could very well remember when she had the same vanity of dress and superiority of station with Lady Caroline, though she had not, indeed, a title to support it; and in what manner, she said, she would tell them in the story of her life.
Miss Nanny Spruce was just nine years old, and was the very reverse of Patty Lockit, in all things; for she had little limbs, little features, and such a compactness in her form, that she was often called the little fairy. She had the misfortune to be lame in one of her hips; but by good management, and a briskness and alacrity in carrying herself, it was a very small blemish to her, and looked more like an idle childish gait, than any real defect.
‘My delight,’ said Miss Nanny Spruce, ‘ever since I can remember, has been in dress and finery; for whenever I did as I was bid, I was promised fine coats, ribbons, and laced caps; and when I was stubborn and naughty, then my fine things were all to be locked up, and I was to wear only an old stuff coat; so that I thought the only reward I could have was to be dressed fine and the only punishment was to be plainly dressed. By this means I delighted so much in fine clothes, that I never thought of anything but when I should have something new to adorn myself in; and I have sat whole days considering what should be my next new coat; for I had always my choice given me of the colour.
‘We lived in a country parish, my papa being the only gentleman, so that all the little girls in the parish used to take it as a great honour to play with me. And I used to delight to show them my fine things, and to see that they could not come at any but very plain coats. However, as they did not pretend to have anything equal with me, I was kind enough to them. As to those girls whose parents were so very poor that they went in rags, I did not suffer them to come near me.
‘Whilst I was at home, I spent my time very pleasantly, as no one pretended to be my equal; but as soon as I came to school, where other misses were as fine as myself, and some finer, I grew very miserable. Every new coat, every silver ribbon, that any of my schoolfellows wore, made me unhappy. Your scarlet damask, Miss Betty Ford, cost me a week’s pain; and I lay awake, and sighed and wept all night, because I did not dare to spoil it. I had several plots in my head, to have dirtied it, or cut it, so as to have made it unfit to wear; by some accident my plots were prevented; and then I was so uneasy, I could not tell what to do with myself; and so afraid, lest any body should suspect me of such a thing, that I could not sleep in peace, for fear I should dream of it, and in my sleep discover it to my bedfellow. I would not go through the same dreads and terrors again for the world. But I am very happy now, in having no thoughts but what my companions may know; for since that quarrel, and Miss Jenny Peace was so good as to show me what I’m sure I never thought of before, that is, that the road to happiness is by conquering such foolish vanities, and the only way to be pleased is to endeavour to please others, I have never known what it was to be uneasy.’
As soon as Miss Nanny had finished speaking, Miss Betty Ford said, that she heartily forgave her all her former designs upon her scarlet coat; but, added she, Lady Fanny Delun put me no less in mind of my former life, than Lady Caroline did you of yours; and if Miss Jenny pleases, I will now relate it.
Miss Betty Ford was of the same age with Miss Nanny Spruce, and much of the same height, and might be called the plainest girl in the school; for she had nothing pleasing either in her person or face, except an exceeding fair skin, and tolerable good black eyes; but her face was ill-shaped and broad, her hair very red, and all the summer she was generally very full of freckles; and she had also a small hesitation in her speech. But without preamble, she began her life as follows.
‘My life,’ said Miss Betty Ford, ‘has hitherto passed very like that of Miss Nanny Spruce, only with this difference, that as all her thoughts were fixed on finery, my head ran on nothing but beauty. I had an elder sister, who was, I must own, a great deal handsomer than me; and yet, in my own mind, at that time, I did not think so, though I was always told it was not for me to pretend to the same things with pretty Miss Kitty (which was the name of my sister); and in all respects she was taken so much more notice of than I was, that I perfectly hated her, and could not help wishing that, by some accident, her beauty might be spoiled: whenever any visitors came to the house, their praises of her gave me the greatest vexation; and as I had made myself believe I was a very great beauty, I thought that it was prejudice and ill-nature in all around me, not to view me in that light. My sister Kitty was very good natured; and though she was thus cried up for her beauty, and indulged most on that account, yet she never insulted me, but did all in her power to oblige me. But I could not love her, and sometimes would raise lies against her, which did not signify, for she could always justify herself. I could not give any reason for hating her, but her beauty, for she was very good; but the better she was, I thought the worse I appeared. I could not bear her praises without teasing and vexing myself. At last, little Kitty died of a fever, to my great joy, though, as everybody cried for her, I cried too for company, and because I would not be thought ill-natured.
‘After Kitty’s death, I lived tolerably easy, till I came to school. Then the same desire of beauty returned, and I hated all the misses who were handsomer than myself, as much as I had before hated my sister, and always took every opportunity of quarrelling with them, till I found my own peace was concerned, in getting the better of this disposition; and that, if I would have any content, I must not repine at my not being so handsome as others.’
When Miss Betty Ford ceased, Miss Jenny said, ‘Indeed, my dear, it is well you had not at that time the power of the eagle in the fable; for your poor sister might then, like the peacock, have said in a soft voice, “You are, indeed, a great beauty; but it lies in your beak and your talons, which make it death to me to dispute it.”’
Miss Betty Ford rejoiced, that her power did not extend to enable her to do mischief, before she had seen her folly. And now this little society, in good humour and cheerfulness, attended their kind governess’s summons to supper; and then, after the evening prayers, they retired to their peaceful slumbers.
Early in the morning, after the public prayers which Mrs. Teachum read every day, our little company took a walk in the garden whilst the breakfast was preparing.
The fine weather, the prospects round them, all conspired to increase their pleasure. They looked at one another with delight; their minds were innocent and satisfied; and therefore every outward object was pleasing in their sight.
Miss Jenny Peace said, she was sure they were happier than any other society of children whatever, except where the same harmony and love were preserved, as were kept up in their minds: ‘For (continued she) I think now, my dear companions, I can answer for you all, that no mischievous, no malicious plots disturb the tranquility of your thoughts; plots, which in the end, constantly fall on the head of those who invent them, after all the pains they cost in forming, and endeavouring to execute.’
Whilst Miss Jenny Peace was talking, Miss Dolly Friendly looked at her very earnestly. She would not interrupt her; but the moment she was silent, Miss Dolly said, ‘My dear Miss Jenny, what is the matter with you? your eyes are swelled, and you look as if you had been crying. If you have any grief that you keep to yourself, you rob us of the share we have a right to demand in all that belongs to you.’
‘No, indeed (answered Miss Jenny), I have nothing that grieves me; though, if I had, I should think it increased, rather than lessened, by your being grieved too; but last night, after I went upstairs, I found amongst my books the play of the Funeral, or, Grief-a-la-mode; where the faithful and tender behaviour of a good old servant, who had long lived in his lord’s family, with many other passages in the play (which I cannot explain, unless you knew the whole story) made me cry, so that I could hardly stop my tears.’
‘Pray, Miss Jenny, let us hear this play, that had such an effect on you,’ was the general request; and Miss Jenny readily promised, when they met in their arbour, to read it to them.
They eagerly ran to their arbour as soon as school was over, and Miss Jenny performed her promise, and was greatly pleased to find such a sympathy between her companions and herself; for they were most of them affected just in the same manner, and with the same parts of the play, as had before affected her.
By the time they had wiped their eyes, and were rejoicing at the turn at the end of the play, in favour of the characters with which they were most pleased, Mrs. Teachum entered the arbour, and inquired what they had been reading. Miss Jenny immediately told her, adding, ‘I hope, Madam, you will not think reading a play an improper amusement for us; for I should be very sorry to be guilty myself, or cause my companions to be guilty, of any thing that would meet with your disapprobation.’ Mrs. Teachum answered, that she was not at all displeased with her having read a play, as she saw by her fear of offending, that her discretion was to be trusted to. ‘Nay (continued this good woman), I like that you should know something of all kinds of writings, where neither morals nor manners are offended; for if you read plays, and consider them as you ought, you will neglect and despise what is light and useless, whilst you will imprint on your mind’s every useful lesson that is to be drawn from them. I am very well acquainted with the play you have been reading; but that I may see whether you give the proper attention to what you have heard, I desire, my little girls, that one of you will give me an account of the chief incidents in the play, and tell me the story, just as you would do to one of your companions that had happened to have been absent.’
Here they all looked upon Miss Jenny Peace, as thinking her the most capable of doing what their governess required. But Mrs. Teachum, reading their thoughts in their looks, said, ‘I exclude Miss Jenny in this case; for as the play was of her choosing to read to you, I doubt not but she is thoroughly enough acquainted with every part of it; and my design was to try the memory and attention of some of the others.’
They all remained silent, and seemed to wait for a more particular command, before any one would offer at the undertaking; not through any backwardness to comply with Mrs. Teachum’s request, but each from a diffidence of herself to perform it.
Miss Jenny Peace then said, that she had observed a great attention in them all; and she did not doubt but every one was able to give a very good account of what they had heard. ‘But, as Miss Sukey Jennet is the eldest, I believe, madam, (continued she), if you approve it, they will all be very ready to depute her as their speaker.’
Each smiled at being so relieved by Miss Jenny; and Mrs. Teachum, taking Miss Sukey Jennet by the hand, said, ‘Come, my dear, throw off all fear and reserve; imagine me one of your companions, and tell me the story of the play you have been reading.’
Miss Sukey, thus encouraged by her kind governess, without any hesitation, spoke in the following manner:
‘If I understand your commands, madam, by telling the story of the play, you would not have me tell you the acts and scenes as they followed one another for that I am afraid I can hardly remember, as I have heard it only once but I must describe the chief people in the play, and the plots and contrivances that are carried on amongst them.’
Mrs. Teachum nodded her head, and Miss Sukey thus proceeded:
‘There is an old Lord Brumpton, who had married a young wife, that had lived with him some years, and by her deceitful and cunning ways had prevailed with him to disinherit his only son Lord Hardy (who was a very sensible good young man) and to leave him but a shilling. And this Lord Brumpton was taken in a fit, so that all the house thought he was dead, and his lady sent for an undertaker, one Mr. Sable, to bury him. But coming out of his fit, when nobody but this Mr. Sable, and an old servant, called Trusty, were by, he was prevailed upon by the good old Trusty to feign himself still dead (and the undertaker promises secrecy) in order to detect the wickedness of his wife, which old Trusty assures him is very great; and then he carries his lord where he overhears a discourse between the widow (as she thinks herself) and her maid Tattleaid; and he bears his once beloved wife rejoicing in his supposed death, and in the success of her own arts to deceive him. Then there are two young ladies, Lady Charlotte and Lady Harriet Lovely, to whom this Lord Brumpton was guardian; and he had also left them in the care of this wicked woman. And this young Lord Hardy was in love with Lady Charlotte; and Mr. Camply, a very lively young gentleman, his friend, was in love with Lady Harriet and Lady Brumpton locked the two young ladies up, and would not let them be seen by their lovers. But there at last they contrived, by the help of old Trusty, who had their real guardian’s consent for it, both to get away; and Lady Harriet married Mr. Camply directly; but Lady Charlotte did not get away so soon, and so was not married till the end of the play. This Mr. Camply was a very generous man, and was newly come to a large fortune; and in the beginning of the play he contrives, in a very genteel manner, to give his friend Lord Hardy, who very much wanted it, three hundred pounds; but he takes care to let us know, that my lord had formerly, when he waited his assistance, been very kind to him. And there at last, when Lady Brumpton finds out that the two young ladies are gone, she goes away in a rage to Lord Hardy’s lodgings, and in an insulting manner she pays all due legacies, as she calls it, that is, she gives Lord Hardy the shilling, which, by her wicked arts, was all his father had left him; and she was insulting the young ladies, and glorying in her wickedness, when honest old Trusty came in, and brought in old Lord Brumpton, whom they imagined to be dead, and all but Lady Brumpton were greatly overjoyed to see him alive; but when he taxed her with her falsehood, she defied him, and said that she had got a deed of gift under his hand, which he could not revoke, and she WOULD enjoy his fortune in spite of him. Upon which they all looked sadly vexed, till the good old Trusty went out and came in again, and brought in a man called Cabinet, who confessed himself the husband to the pretended Lady Brumpton, and that he was married to her half a year before she was married to my Lord Brumpton; but as my lord happened to fall in love with her, they agreed to keep their marriage concealed, in order that she should marry my lord, and cheat him in the manner she had done; and the reason that Cabinet came to confess all this was, that he looked into a closet and saw my lord writing, after he thought he was dead, and, taking it for his ghost, was by that means frightened into this confession, which he first made in writing to old Trusty, and therefore could not now deny it. They were all rejoiced at this discovery, except the late pretended Lady Brumpton, who sneaked away with Cabinet her husband; and my Lord Brumpton embraced his son, and gave his consent, that he should marry Lady Charlotte; and they were all pleased and happy.’
Here Miss Sukey ceased, and Mrs. Teachum told her she was a very good girl, and had remembered a great deal of the play. ‘But (said she) in time, with using yourself to this way of repeating what you have read, you will come to a better manner, and a more regular method of telling your story, which you was now so intent upon finishing, that you forgot to describe what sort of women those two young ladies were, though, as to all the rest, you have been particular enough.’
‘Indeed, madam, (said Miss Sukey), I had forgot that, but Lady Charlotte was a very sensible, grave young lady, and lady Harriet was extremely gay and coquettish; but Mr. Camply tells her how much it misbecomes her to be so and she having good sense, as well as good nature, is convinced of her folly, and likes him so well for his reproof, that she consents to marry him.’
Mrs. Teachum, addressing herself to them all, told them, that this was a method she wished they would take with whatever they read; for nothing so strongly imprinted anything on the memory as such a repetition; and then turning to Miss Jenny Peace, she said, ‘And now, Miss Jenny, I desire you will speak freely what you think is the chief moral to be drawn from the play you have just read.’
Miss Jenny being thus suddenly asked a question of this nature, considered some time before she gave an answer; for she was naturally very diffident of her own opinion in anything where she had not been before instructed by some one she thought wiser than herself. At last, with a modest look, and an humble voice, she said, ‘Since, madam, you have commanded me to speak my sentiments freely, I think by what happened to each character in this play, the author intended to prove what my good mamma first taught me, and what you, madam, since have so strongly confirmed me in; namely, that folly, wickedness, and misery, all three, as constantly dwell together, as wisdom, virtue, and happiness do.’
‘’Tis very true (answered Mrs. Teachum); but this moral does not arise only from the happy turn in favour of the virtuous characters in the conclusion of the play, but is strongly inculcated, as you see all along, in the peace of mind that attends the virtuous, even in the midst of oppression and distress, while the event is yet doubtful, and apparently against them; and, on the contrary, in the confusion of mind which the vicious are tormented with, even whilst they falsely imagine themselves triumphant.’
Mrs. Teachum then taking the book out of Miss Jenny’s hands, and turning to the passage, said, ‘How does Lady Brumpton show us the wretched condition of her own mind, when she says,
‘“How miserable ‘tis to have one one hates always about one! And when one can’t endure one’s own reflections upon some actions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon them?”
‘Then with what perturbation of mind does she proceed, to wish it was in her power to increase her wickedness, without making use enough of her understanding, to see that by that means she would but increase her own misery.
‘On the other hand, what a noble figure does Lord Hardy make, when, by this wicked woman’s contrivances, he thinks himself disinherited of his whole fortune, ill-treated, and neglected by a father, he never had in thought offended! He could give an opportunity to a sincere friend, who would not flatter him, to say,
‘“No; you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy rather than pity, of your more fortunate, not more happy friends.”
‘This is a fine distinction between fortunate and happy; and intimates this happiness must dwell in the mind, and depends upon no outward accidents.
‘Fortune, indeed, is a blessing, if properly used; which Camply shows, when by that means he can assist and relieve his worthy friend.
‘With what advantage does Lady Charlotte appear over her sister, when the latter is trifling and dancing before the glass, and the former says,
‘“If I am at first so silly as to be a little taken with myself, I know it is a fault, and take pains to correct it.”
‘And on Lady Harriet’s saying, very giddily, that it was too soon for her to think at that rate, Lady Charlotte properly adds,
‘“They that think it too soon to understand themselves, will very soon find it too late.”
‘In how ridiculous a light does Lady Harriet appear, while she is displaying all that foolish coquetry! And how different a figure does she make, when she has got the better of it?
‘My Lady Brumpton, when alarmed with the least noise, breaks out into all the convulsive starts natural to conscious guilt.
‘“Ha! what noise is that—that noise of fighting?—Run, I say.—Whither are you going?—What, are you mad?—Will you leave me alone?—Can’t you stir?—What, you can’t take your message with you!—Whatever ‘tis, I suppose you are not in the plot, not you—nor that now they’re breaking open my house for Charlotte—Not you.—Go see what’s the matter, I say; I have nobody I can trust.—One minute I think this wench honest, and the next false.—Whither shall I turn me?”
‘This is a picture of the confused, the miserable mind of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman, as Lady Brumpton was, and as Lady Harriet very properly calls her.
‘Honesty and faithfulness shine forth in all their lustre, in the good old Trusty. We follow him throughout with anxious wishes for his success, and tears of joy for his tenderness. And when he finds that he is likely to come at the whole truth, and to save his lord from being deceived and betrayed into unjustly ruining his noble son, you may remember that he makes this pious reflection:
All that is ours, is to be justly bent; And Heaven in its own time will bless th’ event.
‘This is the natural thought that proceeds from innocence and goodness; and surely this state of mind is happiness.
‘I have only pointed out a few passages, to show you, that though it is the nature of comedy to end happily, and therefore the good characters must be successful in the last act; yet the moral lies deeper, and is to be deduced from a proof throughout this play, that the natural consequence of vice is misery within, even in the midst of an apparent triumph; and the natural consequence of goodness is a calm peace of mind, even in the midst of oppression and distress.
‘I have endeavoured, my little dears, to show you, as clearly as I can, not only what moral is to be drawn from this play, but what is to be sought for in all others; and where that moral is not to be found, the writer will have it to answer for, that he has been guilty of one of the worst of evils; namely, that he has clothed vice in so beautiful a dress, that, instead of deterring, it will allure and draw into its snares the young and tender mind. And I am sorry to say, that too many of our dramatic performances are of this latter cast; which is the reason, that wise and prudent parents and governors in general discourage in very young people the reading of plays. And though by what I have said (if it makes a proper impression) I doubt not but you will all have a just abhorrence of such immoral plays, instead of being pleased with them, should they fall in your way; yet I would advise you rather to avoid them, and never to read any but such as are approved of; and recommended to you by those who have the care of your education.’
Here good Mrs. Teachum ceased, and left her little scholars to reflect on what she had been saying; when Miss Jenny Peace declared, for her part, that she could feel the truth of her governess’s observations; for she had rather be the innocent Lord Hardy, though she was to have but that one shilling in the world which was so insolently offered him as his father’s last legacy, than be the Lady Brumpton, even though she had possessed the fortune she so treacherously endeavoured to obtain.
‘Nay (said Miss Dolly Friendly) I had rather have been old Trusty, with all the infirmities of age, following my Lord Hardy through the world, had his poverty and distress been ever so great, than have been the malicious Lady Brumpton, in the height of her beauty, surrounded by a crowd of lovers and flatterers.’
Miss Henny Fret then declared how glad she was that she had now no malice in her mind; though she could not always have said so, as she would inform them in the history of her past life.