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Imagination here supplies 
What Nature's sparing hand denies ; 
And by her magic powers dispense, 
To meanest objects, thought and sense. 

Eontron : 

J. FAIRBURN, Featherstone Street, City Road. 





IT happened one very fine afternoon in the 
latter end of May, that Mrs. Airy had been 
collecting together a great number of different 
pieces of silk, in order to make a work-bag ; 
which she intended as a present to one of her 
nieces. Miss Martha Airy, her eldest daugh- 
ter, was about ten years old, and had been for 
some time indolently lolling with both her 
elbows on the table, looking at her mamma 
while she was choosing the prettiest pattern 
for the purpose I just mentioned. Her chin 
rested on her two hands, which were crossed 
over eacli other, and she was seated on the 
the back of her brother's chair, which he had 
B 3 


turned down in that manner for the purpose 
of serving him as a horse. At last, however, 
her weight proving too great for the seat she 
had chosen, as she did not keep still, the 
upper-part of the chair-back came to the 
ground, while the other end mounted up like 
a piece of board for a see-saw ; and in her fall 
tumbling down backwards, proved the occasion 
of a great deal of mischief, by over- setting a 
curious set of tea-china, which her sister 
Charlotte was playing with; and which she 
had received as a present the day before horn 
her grand-papa. Charlotte was so enraged 
at the loss of her play-things, that, without 
offering to help her sister, she gave her a 
slap on the face, and told her, she was very 
naughty to spoil things in such a manner by 
her carelessness ; and that she would break 
her plates whenever they came in her way. 
She was proceeding in this manner, when 
Mrs. Airy thought it time to interfere, am 
was extremely angry with Charlotte for he 
warmth. " Martha was not to blame," adde 
die, " as she had no intention of doing tht 


least mischief to your cups and saucers. I 
thick, as I told her once before, she was not 
sitting in disgraceful attitude, and had she 
moved at the time I spoke to her, it would 
have prevented her fall ; but that is no jus 
tification of your behaviour to your sister. 
She has not deserved your reproaches, and I 
did not think you could have behaved so 
improperly, as well as unkindly, as to strike 
any one, especially your elder sister. Indeed, 
I am much displeased with you ; and the 
threat you made of breaking her plates in 
return, is so very naughty and wicked, that I 
think you deserve to be punished ; and 1 
desire you will ask Martha's pardon for the 
blow you have given her." Charlotte colour- 
ed with indignation and anger, at the thoughts 
of submitting in such a manner to humble 
herself. She had heard some silly girls declare, 
they would never own their being in the wrong, 
and was withheld from acting in the noblest 
manner, by the false shame of confessing an 
error. At length, however, upon her mamma 
coming towards her with an avowed intention 


of inflicting some further punishment, she 
mumbled out, in a low voice, which was very 
difficult to be understood, " That she was 
sorry she had struck her sister/' Martha, 
who was extremely generous, and uncommonly 
good-natured, very affectionately kissed her 
sister, and told her, she was much concerned 
at the mischief she had occasioned ; though 
she could not have helped it, as she fell 
down before she was aware of it, and did 
not see that her tea-things were near her. 
Charlotte grew reconciled by degrees ; but it 
was a long time before she regained her usual 
cheerfulness. After some time, however, the 
sisters seated themselves in a window by the 
table, and soliciting their mamma for a bit of 
silk to make a Pincushion. Mrs. Airy gave 
them several pieces to choose which they liked 
best; and after they had taken them up a 
dozen times, or perhaps as many more, had 
they been reckoned, Martha made choice of a 
square piece of pink satin, which she neatly 
sewed and stuffed with bran, and which, 
gentle reader, when it was finished, was the 


identical Pincushion whose adventures form 
the subject of this little volume. Assuming, 
therefore, the title of an Historian, or Bio- 
grapher, which is generally understood to 
mean a person, who is writing an account of 
his own, or another's actions, I shall take the 
liberty to speak for myself, and tell you what 
I saw and heard in the character of a Pin- 
cushion. Perhaps you never thought that 
such things as are inanimate could be sensible 
of any thing which happens, as they can nei- 
ther hear, see, nor understand ; and as I would 
not willingly mislead your judgment, I would 
previous to your reading this work, inform 
you, that it is to be understood as an imaginary 
tale ; in the same manner as when you are 
at play, ygu sometimes call yourselves gen- 
tlemen and ladies, though you know you are 
only -little boys and girls. So, when you read 
of birds and beasts speaking and thinking, you 
know it is not so in reality, any more than your 
amusements, which you frequently call making 
believe. To use your own style, and adopt 
your own manner of speaking, therefore, you 



must imagine, that a Pincushion is now making 
believe to address jptf, and to recite a number 
of little events, some of which really have 
happened, and others might do so with great 
probability : and if any of the characters here 
represented should appeal: to be disagreeable, 
the author hopes you will endeavour to avoid 
their failings, and to practise those virtues or 
accomplishments, which render the contrary 
examples more worthy of imitation. And 
now, if you please, we will return to the ac- 
count of what further befel me in the family 
of Mrs. Airy. 

After the young ladies had amused them- 
selves a great while with the pieces of silk I 
have so often had occasion to mention, and 
Miss Martha had completed me to her entire 
satisfaction; she took all the pins out of an 
old green one, which was originally in the 
shape of a heart, but had by losing a great 
part of its inside, through various little holes, 
quite lost its form : and which, that she 
might find those pins which had gone through 
the silk, she cut open an old newspaper, 


and then stuck all she could find u t /on my 
sides in the shape of letters, which she after- 
wards changed to flowers, and a third time 
altered to stars and circles; which afforded 
her full amusement till bed-time. Miss Char- 
lotte, though her mamma had given her as 
much silk as her sister, had only cut it into 
waste ; while Martha, after she had furnished 
me, had saved the rest towards making a 
housewife for her doll. I could not help 
reflecting when I saw all Charlotte's little 
shreds and slips littering the room, what a 
imple method many little girls are apt to get 
into, of wasting every thing which their friends 
are so kind as to give them, and which pro- 
perly employed, might make them many 
useful ornaments for their dolls, and sometimes 
pretty trifles for themselves. Charlotte Airy, 
as such children usually are, was desirous of 
having every thing she saw ; so that her 
drawers were always filled with bits of ribbon, 
pieces of silk, cuttings of gauze, catgut, and 
muslin : aud if she wanted to find her gloves, 
tippet, tuckers, or any part of her dress, she 


was obliged to search for them in twenty 
different places, and frequently to go with- 
out what she was looking for. Martha, on 
the contrary, by taking care of what might 
be of use, and laying it by in a proper 
place, always knew where to find what she 
had occasion for directly. So that it fre- 
quently happened that she went out with her 
mamma, when her sister was forced to stay 
at home ; because she had lost something 
which had delayed her so long to look for, 
that she could not get ready in time. This 
very circumstance happened the day after 
I became acquainted with her, to her no 
small mortification. Mrs. Airy was going 
to see the exhibition of pictures at the Royal 
Academy, and told her daughters if they 
behaved well they should accompany her; as 
Mrs. Gardner and her niece Miss Lounge 
would call at one o'clock. After breakfast, 
Charlotte, who had found the mould of 
an old button in one of her papa's waist- 
coat pockets which she had been rummag- 
ing, had cut to pieces an axle-tree of a 


little cart, which belonged to her brother, to 
make a spindle, in order to convert it into a 
tee-totum ; with which she was so much 
entertained that she was very unwilling to 
leave it to go to work, though her mamma 
repeatedly told her she would not be ready 
against Mr. Gardner's coach came. " Yes I 
shall, madam !" said she, and played on. 
" Do pray go to work, Charlotte !" " Pre- 
sently, madam." But still she thought she 
would give it another twirl. " You, shall 
not go if you have not finished your morning 
business !" " In a minute I will !" And so 
she simply idled away her time, without 
heeding her mamma's admonition, till near 
an hour beyond her usual time of beginning.- 
This put her into such a hurry to finish^ 
when she found it was so late, that she stitchea 
some wristbands she was about, and which 
were intended for her grand-papa, so very 
badly, they were obliged to be undone ; 
which made her so cross, that in pulling 
out the work, she broke the threads of the 
cloth, and entirely spoiled it. Charlotte was 


a very fair complexioned pretty girl ; but you 
cannot imagine how ugly her ill-humour made 
her appear; nor how much more agreeable 
her sister looked, who was much browner, 
was pitted with the small-pox, and a much 
plainer child. I surveyed them both as I 
lay on the table, where my mistress had placed 
me to stick her pins as she took out of the 
shirt collar which she was putting on ; Martha 
looked so placid and cheerful, and seemed to 
speak so kindly when she asked a question, 
that it made her really charming ; while Char- 
lotte, who had a very pretty mouth, and very 
regular features, stuck out her lips in a man- 
ner so unbecoming, and tossed about her head 
with such very illiberal jerks that she lost all 
natural advantages in her wilful ill-humour. 

A person happening to call on Mrs. Airy r 
to speak about some particular business, she 
left the children to attend him; and Martha, 
who pitied her sister's distress, and saw the 
impossibility of her finishing the task she was 
ordered to do, very kindly offered to assist her, 
without which she never could have accom- 


plished it. But their mamma, at her return, 
immediately suspected the case to be as I have 
told you, and inquired what help Charlotte 
had received in her absence? They were 
both girls of too much honour to deny the 
truth, and in consequence of her frankly 
owning her sister's kindness, Mrs. Airy per- 
mitted her to retire, in order to prepare for 
the intended expedition ; but, alas ! poor 
Charlotte, who indeed was not always so good 
as she ought to have been, was not to go that 
morning, although her mamma had consented 
to it, Betty, who came to put on her frock, 
was not very fond of her, for she was sometimes 
apt, when her mamma was not in the way, 
to speak very haughtily, and in a manner 
quite becoming a young lady. Unfortunately 
she forget herself on the present occasion, and 
very rudely said, " You must come and 
dress me, and you must make haste, or I shall 
not be ready." " Must I ?" replied Betty, 
" That is if I please, Miss Charlotte, though 
you forgot to put that in ; and unless you 
speak in a prettier way, I will not help you at 


all." " Then you may let it alone, foi 
I will not ask you any otherwise," and awaj 
she went, banging the door after her, to caL 
her sister, who was ready and waiting for 
the coach in her mamma's room. Martha 
ran directly, and began to pin her frock as 
she desired. But a new distress arose; for 
as she was too careless ever to retain any of my 
fellow-servants (commonly called a Pincushion) 
in her service, so she had not one pin to pro- 
ceed with after three, which had stuck at 
one end of me, had been employed. Neither 
of them chose to apply to Betty, because 
they were sure, from Charlotte's ill-behaviour 
to be denied : and she would not permit 
her sister to ask her mamma, for fear of ang^ 
inquiry which might not turn out to herH 
credit. So, in short, they both traversed the 
room backwards and forwards, and were 
quite overjoyed when they found two (one ot 
which proved to be crooked) between the 
joining of the floor. Then they each return 
ed and took me up repeatedly, and examined 
me over and over, though they were con- 


vinced I had been empty long ago. At last 
a loud rap at the door announced Mrs. 
Gardner's arrival. The ladies were called, 
and Martha obeyed, though with reluctance 
to leave her sister : and Charlotte, with con- 
scious shame and remorse for her past conduct, 
and heart -heaving sobs of dissappointment, 
saw them drive away without her. I was left 
upon the table in the hurry of my mistress's 
departure. Charlotte took me up, and earnest- 
ly wished she had a Pincushion of her own ; 
and so I should think would any one, who 
had experienced the want of such an useful 
companion ; though, unless well furnished 
with -pins, it is in itself but of little assistance, 
as she had but too unfortunately found. The 
slatternly appearance, and real inconvenience, 
which many ladies suffer from neglecting to 
provide themselves with, and retaining a few 
such necessary implements of female oeconomy 
about them is really inconceivable by any 
person accustomed to a proper degree of at- 
tention. Trifles are frequently regarded by 
the giddy and thoughtless as of no moment, 
c3 - 


when essentials are taken care of: but it is 
the repetition of trifles which constitutes the 
chief business of our existence. In other 
words, people form their opinion of a young 
lady from her personal appearance; and if, 
because she is at work, and in want of pins, 
and destitute of a Pincushion, she has quite 
undressed herself, and her clothes are dropping 
off, she will be thought a negligent slattern ; 
which I suppose, is what no one would choose 
to be esteemed : so, when children accustom 
themselves to loll their elbows, stoop their 
heads, stand upon one foot, bite their nails, or 
any other ungraceful actions, it makes them 
disagreeable, and the object of dislike to all 
their friends, and every one who is acquainted 
with them. And it is very foolish to imagine, 
that because they are not in company with 
strangers it does not signify ; for ill habits, 
when once they are acquired, are very difficult 
to leave off; and by being used to do an un- 
polite action frequently, they will do it without 
recollecting the impropriety ; when, if they 
thought, perhaps, they would on no account 
tiave been guilty ot it. 


Miss Lounge, the young lady who accom - 
panied Mrs. Airy to the exhibition was a stri- 
king example of what I mention above. She 
was about sixteen, and very tall of her age ; so 
that she appeared quite womanly in person, 
though her manners were to the highest degree 
remarkable and unpleasing ; she had a strange 
way of tossing her legs round at every step, 
as if she was making circles, and her arms 
were crossed over each other in so awkward a 
manner, and unfashionably low, that it made 
her still more ungraceful in her appearance : 
besides this, she had acquired a drawling tone 
in conversation, which made her completely 
an object of disgust ; as it was entirely the 
consequence of her own neglect, and therefore 
was by no means deserving of that pity which 
is due to every natural defect or accidental 
deformity. She returned with her aunt to 

Miss Charlotte was quite ashamed of enter- 
ing the drawing room, though she was now 
dressed, and had promised Mrs. Betty she 
would behave with more civility for the future. 


But the fear of mamma's exposing her folly 
to Mrs. Gardner, had made her dislike to 
show herself in company ; and the conscious- 
ness of having deserved reproof, made her 
justly apprehensive of receiving it. She did 
not venture down stairs, therefore, till dinner 
was on the table; and then, with her neck 
and face as red as blushes could make them, 
she paid her compliments to the company, 
without daring to look at her mamma. So 
cowardly and uncomfortable does the thought 
of a wrong action make those who have com- 
mitted it, even when they are not certain it 
will be publicly known. And this reminds 
me of a few stanzas I found in Miss Martha's 
work-bag one day, when she put me into it 
with the scissars, (by mistake, I suppose) as 
my proper place was certainly in her pocket. 
But as they are so very a-propos to my 
present subject, I will present my readers with 
them : and as the author is quite unknown, if 
they should not be thought deserving of a 
favourable reception they will not at least, 
subject the writer to any mortification. 


'TIS innocence only true courage can give, 
Or secure from the fear of disdain ; 

To be conscious of guilt all affiance destroys, 
And the hope of enjoyment is vain. 

If to error betrayed, then delay no to own 
The crime which has robb'd you of peace ; 

As penitence only can wash out the stain, 
Or cause your vexation to cease. 

When the ermine of conscience is spotted by 

Most severe are the pangs of the mind ; 
'Tis a woe which no sympathy e'er can relieve, 

Nay, is hurt by a treatment too kind. 

To feel undeserving of friendly esteem, 

Is the worst of all evils below : 
We may suffer from pain, but the sting of re- 

Is the heaviest gnef we can know. 

Then caretul your innocence ever maintain, 
Be assured it is worthy your care ; 

Since no other distress so deprives us of hope, 
Or so soon sinks the soul in despair. 

There was another short piece by the same 
hand, which my mistress had transcribed, to 
give her sister on occasion of a little quarrel 


which had happened between them : Miss 
Martha having mentioned to her the impro- 
priety of speaking rudely to servants, and 
behaving in a different manner when her 
mamma was absent, to what she could dare 
to do in her presence ; which reproof Char 
lotte highly resented, and was very angry 
that her sister shou Id find fault with her : as 
the following verses were applicable to the 
circumstance, she adopted them as her own on 
the occasion. 

Nay, Charlotte, why so much displeased to be 

That your friends have discernment to see ? 
If you could descend to deserve my reproach 

The error lies sure not in me. 

I mentioned the fault, that in future your care 
Might secure from unguarded surprise ; 

I thought you had sense to rely on my love ; 
To resent it I deemed you too wise. 

The freedom of friendship should never displease, 
Tho' harsh its reproofs may appear; 

Since often in public who flatter us most, 
Are the first at our weakness to sneer. 


Then should you not g.adly with candour receive 
The advice >\hich affection bestows ; 

For sincerity rarely we meet with in life, 
Few will aid us, but numbers oppose. 

As to you, I am bound by the dearest of ties, 

My sister, as well as my friend ; 
No undue command did I mean to usurp, 

Nor ever design to offend. 

Then let us united in harmony live, 
For sisters should ne'er disagree ; 

And when I am wrong, equal freedom exert, 
To complain of these errors to me. 

Mrs. Airy was so generous as not to ex- 
pose her daughter's folly before Mrs. Gard- 
ner ; and as she had met with a severe punish- 
ment in consequence of her fault, and had 
promised amendment for the future, after a 
gentle reprimand, when she came down the 
next morning, nothing further passed on the 

Charlotte was so conscious of her late mis- 
behaviour, that she had scarce courage to en- 
quire what entertainment they had received 
from a sight of pictures at the exhibition; 


and Martha, who tfas extremely delicate and 
attentive, very cautiously avoided the subject, 
from fear of appearing to insult her sister, or 
to remind her mamma of the reason which 
had occasioned her absence from the party 
Mrs. Airy inquiring whether Martha had not 
particularly taken notice of a large picture, 
which represented the death of Earl Good- 
win ; she replied that Mrs. Gardner had 
pointed it out to her observation; but that 
she had not remarked any particulars, except 
the figure of a king, and a large company at 
dinner. I will tell you the story then, my 
dear, to which this picture refers, said Mrs, 

In the reign of Edward the Confessor, in 
the year 1042, Earl Goodwin, who had been 
accessary to the murder of Prince Alfred, 
was at dinner with the King at Windsor; and 
taking a piece of bread, called God to witness 
his innocence, and wished, if he uttered any 
but the truth, that the" next mouthful he ate 
might choak him : which accordingly hap- 


pened, and the bread stuck in his throat, and 
he died immediately at the table. Do not 
you think, my dear, added Mrs. Airy, it was 
a just punishment for his untruth, and an 
awful judgment for calling God to witness a 
falsehood ? Indeed, Madam, I think it was 
quite dreadful ; but are you sure that this ac- 
count is true ? for though it is certainly very 
wicked to teJl a lie on any occasion, yet, as 
sometimes many people are thus guilty, I 
wonder that such events do not more fre- 
quently happen ! You know that Miss Riby 
said she had not been writing last week, al- 
though you saw that her fingers were inked : 
and Charlotte had seen her doing it; why 
then did not the same accident happen to 
her? 6< Because, my love, the punishment of 
such crimes does not always immediately fol- 
low the commission of them ; but you may 
be sure that the remorse of conscience, and 
the secret uneasiness of mind which the guil- 
ty suffer, is a very great unhappiness ; and 
the apprehension and the fear of a future ac- 
count after death, besides the idea of present 



detection, is such a degree of misery as no 
other punishment can equal. As to your 
question, whether I believe this account to be 
true ? I certainly do ! It was an extraordi- 
nary event which was recorded at the time it 
happened, and which every history has men- 
tioned since, and faithfully transmitted to us. 
This is the best authority we can have for any 
fact which happened before our own time, 
and is therefore entitled to our belief. But 
why such examples are so rare, is not to be 
wondered at ; because you know that wicked 
people will be punished hereafter ; and though 
such instances sometimes happen, to teach 
others to be good, and to make them afraid 
of doing what might make them liable to 
such terrible vengeance, yet, in general, a 
crime of this kind does not meet with imme- 
diate chastisement; because, after death, as 
I have before told you, those who have been 
wicked, will suffer such misery as their sins 
deserved. Besides which, the liar is at pre- 
sent detested by every one, and loses all the 
advantage of confidence, and the pleasure of 


being believed : even when he does speak 
truth, he is liable to be suspected, and In* 
word is doubted on all occasions." The con- 
versation was here interrupted by the arrival 
of two young ladies and their mamma, who 
came to pay a morning visit to Mrs. Airy. 
v But as they did not say any thing worth the 
attention of my readers, I shall not trouble 
myself to repeat more of what passed than 
may be imagined, from the comments of my 
mistress and her sister, with which I shall 
present them. 

Martha, before the room door was well 
shut after them, began to observe that the 
eldest Miss Chantillon was very ugly, and 
very stupid ; and the youngest a good pretty 
girl, and talked a great deal indeed. I wish, 
added she, I could speak as fast as she does. 
To talk so fast, my love, said her mamma, 
is by no means any accomplishment ; and I 
am far from your opinion, in so highly ad- 
miring the merits of Miss Lucy. She chat- 
ters so fast, as frequently not to be under- 
stood ; and has a very silly trick of beginning 


every sentence with a laugh, than which noth- 
ing can be more ill-bred. The person who is 
speaking, should never laugh, if she can help 
it, at her own wit, if she design to excite 
mirth, or to meet with approbation from 
others. But without any such intention, 
Lucy assumes an affected giggle whenever 
she attempts to speak. She has likewise a 
very unbecoming pertness in her manner, 
and, by frequent interruptions, when her el- 
ders are otherwise engaged, renders herself 
extremely disagreeable. I would have you, 
my good girls, possess that desirable degree 
of proper courage, as never to feel ashamed 
of speaking when it is necessary ; but I think 
it is an unpleasing sight to perceive a young 
woman, or child I should say, for Lucy is 
young enough for that epithet, affecting to 
understand every thing, and giving her opi- 
nion unasked, upon subjects which frequently 
expose her ignorance and presumption. This 
is aiming at a character to which she has 
no pretensions; and by wishing to rise into 
a woman, before she has reached the age 


of understanding, she is despised for her va- 
nity, and loses that esteem she might have 
attained by a proper degree of humility, and 
her better knowledge of her station. This 
observation, my dear Martha, I would par- 
ticularly address to you ; as you are gene- 
rally thought uncommonly tall, and are 
usually imagined to be much older than you 
are. This I know you fancy to be a com- 
pliment which always appears to give you 
pleasure ; but remember, that, if you assume 
airs of womanhood, and affect to be thought 
further advanced in age, you will have the 
less allowance made for any errors you may 
commit, and consequently meet with contempt 
where you might otherwise have escaped cen- 
sure. Youth, and inexperience, are justly 
allowed to excuse any slight inadvertence in 
manners, or want of grace in appearance; 
but if you choose to be thought of more con- 
sequence, you must likewise expect, that the 
notice you may attract will not always be fa- 
vourable to your vanity. I assure you, I 
think Miss Jenny Chantillon is much more 


agreeable than her sister, as she has courage 
sufficient to reply to any question, and to 
speak distinctly when she is particularly ad- 
dressed, without enquiring, in Lucy's man- 
ner, into the reason of every word which is 
uttered, and deciding every argument accord- 
ing to her own fancy; and, I dare say, if 
you will be careful to observe, you will find 
that Jenny always meets with attention from 
the company, while Lucy is frequently in- 
sulted, by being enjoined to silence, and by 
her hearers turning from her with disdain. 
In short, my dear, it requires a great deal of 
thought and propriety, to behave in an agree- 
able manner at your age. It is best not to 
be anxious to be taken notice of, since that 
eagerness always defeats its aim. Girls have 
not had the advantage of experience to teach 
them wisdom; and when once they are en- 
gaged in conversation, and find themselves 
attended to, their volatile spirits hurry them 
on, with the desire of obtaining applause for 
their wit, to say things which are sometimes 
neither delicate nor prudent; and which they 


may, when they have time to reflect, long 
have reason to repent having imprudently ut- 
tered. Any restraint at such a time, is, I 
know, always esteemed an ill-natured inter- 
ruption, and is apt to damp their harmony, 
and lower their spirits. I would therefore 
warn you of the danger before-hand, that 
your own prudence may be a check to that 
unlimited indulgence, which at such a period 
is liable to excess: and, I dare say, that your 
good sense will teach you, that my admoni- 
tions are always intended for your advantage. 
To impress this deeper upon your mind, I 
will repeat to you a few lines which were 
written to me, when I was young, by my 
aunt, and which, as they frequently occurred 
to my memory, I found to be singularly 

RECOLLECT, my sweet girl, 'ere you mix with 
the world, 

There is need for some caution to guide ; 
Then wisely remember to govern your tongue, 

As silence much folly may hide. 


Most useful, f think, you this maxim will find, 

And never its precepts neglect; 
That who giddy and thoughtless will chatter away, 

Shall ne'er gain applause or respect. 

Like the Parrot,awhile they may please and an 1 use; 

But no real esteem will acquire ; 
And I trust that your wish when in converse 3011 

Is a nobler regard to inspire. 

Remember that memory long may record 

The folly you. uttered in jest ; 
And a secret unmark'd. when escaped from your 

May long rob your bosom of rest. 

Then conscious of error 'tis vain to repent, 

As the mischief admits no relief; 
And surely 'tis simple so thoughtless to lay 

The dismal foundation of grief. 

The ladies now all retired to dinner: but I 
am ignorant of what passed there, as I was 
Jeft upon a piece of embroidery, which my 
misstress was covering with some white paper 
to keep it clean : and she did not fetch me till 
pfter tea; when she carried me in her hand 


down stairs with her work, to show some 
ladies who were assembled in the drawing- 
-oom. I then accompained her into what was 
usually called the green parlour, as the fur- 
niture was all of that colour ; whither she 
went to play with her young visitors, whose 
names were Eliza Meekley and Julia Norris. 

They amused themselves with playing on 
the harpsichord, while Miss Martha person- 
ated the music-master, and Charlotte chose 
to teach them dancing. Some part of the 
evening they played at going to the exhibition ; 
and just as they determined to visit the pic- 
tures, the footman came to acquaint the young 
ladies, that their coach was ready. Miss 
Meekley's bib was unpinned, and Martha 
gave me into her hand in a hurry while she 
was looking for her cloak. So without recol- 
lecting that I was another's property, Eliza 
put me into her pocket, made a very elegant 
curtsey, and stepped into the carriage. I felt 
really very sorry to part with a family with 
which I had been some time connected, and 
to one of whom I owed my being as a Pin- 


cushion. But my new mistress was so veiy 
engaging, that I was in hopes she would take 
care of me, and not leave me about to the 
mercy of a little kitten, who jumped into her 
lap the moment she got home; and who 
afterwards frisked away with a little tassel 
which dropped off from one corner of a work- 
bag which lay on the table. But before I 
proceed with my history, it will be necessary 
to introduce my readers to Miss Meekley and 
her companions, and to make them better 
acquainted with this new family, who are all 
of them deserving their notice. 

Mrs. Stanley, to whom the house belonged , 
was the widow of a clergyman, who had at 
his death left her in rather indigent circum- 
stances ; and she had been advised (to support 
herself and two younger sisters who lived with 
her) to take a small number of young ladies 
to board. Her number was confined to six ; 
two of whom were those I have before men- 
tioned. The others were three sisters, whose 
names were Saxby, and a Miss Una, who for 
her sweetness of temper, and excellence in 


every accomplishment, was esteemed superior 
to all the rest of her companions. Harriet 
Una was cousin to Miss Meekley, and they 
usually slept together. She was just turned 
of thirteen, was tall and large ; had light 
brown hair, blue eyes, and a fine conplexion : 
but her good-nature and willingness to oblige 
every one, made her the general favourite, 
and recommended her to universal esteem. 

When the young ladies retired to bed 
Eliza found me in her pocket, and told Har- 
riet she was afraid Miss Airy would want 
her Pincushion; and she was the more con- 
cerned, as the family were to go into the 
country very early the next morning, and 
she should have no opportunity to return it. 
However, continued she, I will make a new 
one to present to Miss Airy when I see her ; 
and I will keep this, as I have not one a; 
present, my kitten having pulled mine to 
pieces this morning : but I will take care this 
shall not come to the same mischance. I 
was glad to hear that was her intention, as I 
should by no means have liked the thought 


of sharing the fate of my predecessor. A 
this time Mrs. Stanley entered the room to 
wish them a good night, and to see whethei 
they were properly taken care of. I am very 
unhappy to-night, said Eliza, as soon as she 
was gone; and I feel ashamed of receiving 
Mrs. Stanley's kisses, because I behaved in a 
manner I am sure she would not approve. 
What have you done, my dear cousin, replied 
Harriet, to make you so uneasy ? I will tell 
you, answered Miss Meekley, though I do not 
like to confess my weakness. Just before 
dinner, Miss Charlotte Airy asked me to eat 
some preserved plums, which she said had 
been made a present of to her mamma, and 
which came from Portugal. They were very 
sweet and luscious ; and as I am not allowed 
to have any thing of that kind, I refused her 
offer. But when we had dined, she pressed 
me again, and laughed at me very much for 
being so foolish, as to imagine any thing so 
innocent could hurt me ; but supposed, as I 
went to school, my mistress, for so she sneer- 
ingly called Mrs. Stanley, would whip me if I 


did. At last, overcome with her persecutions, 
and vexed to be treated so much like a baby, and 
as if I was afraid of punishment, I took the 
plum, and have not been easy since. And now, 
my dear Harriet, what shall I do ? Suppose Mrs. 
Stanley should ask me whether I have eaten any 
thing lately which I ought not: and if she doe* 
not put that question, I feel so undeserving 
of her caresses, that she will see by my looks 
I have behaved improperly. I am very sorry, 
replied Miss Una ; but as you are so sonsible 
it was wrong, I may spare my recriminations. 
However, I think the noblest reparation you 
can now make, would be honestly to inform 
Mrs. Stanley of the crime, and the sincerity 
of your regret for having been guilty of it : 
should it be discovered by any other means, 
you will forfeit her esteem, and lose that con- 
fidence with which you are at present favoured ; 
by such an unsolicited confession, you will 
restore satisfaction to your own conscience, 
and be certain of her approbation. 

Eliza was convinced of the propriety and 
justice of her friend's advice, and promised to 


comply with it the next morning. But 
her excessive timidity prevented her making 
use of several opportunities which presented, 
though the subject occupied all her attention, 
and she could scarce think of any thing else. 
She again applied, therefore, to Harriet, and 
told her it was impossible for her to summon up 
courage to do as she had desired ; and begged 
she would, from her, acquaint Mrs. Stanley 
with what had happened. Miss Una, in the 
mildest terms, complied with her request ; at 
Jie same time very generously commended 
her honour on every occasion, and urging hei 
present uneasiness to engage Mrs. Stanley s 
compassion. Miss Meekly, when she was 
acquainted with her cousin's having revealed 
this secret, which had oppressed her mind, 
was very unwilling to attend her to the lady 
above-mentioned Mrs. Stanley received her 
with the greatest affection and tenderness; 
and after expressing in the warmest terms, her 
approbation of such a generous confession, 
added, u You need never, my dear girl, be 
afraid either of anger or punishment, when 


with such a degree of frankness you acknow- 
ledge any fault you have committed. Be 
assured your friends will be always willing to 
pardon those errors which you promise to 
amend : but let the present instance warn you, 
my Eliza, never to be led into actions which 
you know are improper, because the company 
you are with may ridicule your refusal. Miss 
Charlotte Airy is, in my opinion, a very 
naughty girl, to endeavour to persuade you to 
do any thing which you have been forbidden. 
And I hope, from the remorse you have suffer- 
ed, you will reflect on the folly of complying 
with any proposals which your conscience 
suggests to you is wrong. Do not be afraid 
of being laughed at for being good. Every 
person of real sense will esteem you for your 
resolution : and because a silly girl may sneer 
at your apprehension of punishment, it will be 
much more ridiculous, and wicked at the same 
time, to be guilty of what you are conscious is a 
crime, for which you will deserve, and perhaps 
receive, correction. Besides one bad action 
is but too often the cause of the commission 


of others ; and when once we have deviated 
from what is right in a small instance, it is 
frequently the occasion of accumulated guilt. 
I will tell you an instance of this kind that 
may illustrate my meaning, and which, as I 
was acquainted with the person who is the 
subject of it, will, perhaps, make a deeper 
impression on your mind. 

A young lady, whose real name I shall (for 
the sake of charity) conceal under that of 
Lloyd, and who was, my dear Eliza, nearly 
of the same age with yourself, was educated 
with the utmost attention ; and as she was an 
only child, was the darling of her parents, 
and the centre of all their future expectations. 
Betsy, which was the usual appellation, went 
one day to visit a companion, with whom she 
was extremely intimate ; but who, unfortu- 
nately for her, was not possessed of that strict 
honour which should be the basis and foun- 
Jution of friendship. When they had been 
for some time at play in the garden, she pro- 
posed to go back to a little shop in the neigh- 
bourhood to make a purchase of some ginger- 
bread; and though Miss Lloyd for a time 


objected to the proposal without leave, against 
her mamma's repeated command; yet, her 
companion, laughing at her squeamishness (as 
she wickedly called an adherence to her duty) 
prevailed over her better resolutions, and she 
accompanied her to the place I mentioned. 
As it was the only shop of the kind which 
the village afforded, the boys of an adjacent 
school very frequently went there for the 
same purpose as the two young ladies who 
now entered ; and two of the most unlucky 
of their number happened at that time to be 
bargaining for some balls. They staid very 
soberly till Miss Lloyd had taken out her 
purse to pay for the cakes she had purchased ; 
but as the lock of her pocket-book was en. 
tangled in it, it came out of her pocket at the 
same time, when one of the boys snatched it 
from her hand, and rudely declared he would 
see its contents, and know all the girl's se- 
crets This vexer 1 her extremely, and she 
thoughtlessly pursued him, as he ran away 
with the prize, till she was a good way from 
nome. He was joined by several of his 



school- fellows, \vho took part with him, ana 
behaved in so wild a manner as to terrify her 
greatly. At length, however, she got away 
from them, and ran back with all the speed 
in her power : but as it was later than her 
usual time of returning, her parents were 
uneasy, and questioned her with great ten- 
derness and anxiety, as to the reason of her 
stay. She told them, she had been out with 
Miss Hannah (the companion she Iiad really 
visited) and her maid, and that a horse had 
oeen near running over her, which had 
frightened her so much, as to prevent her re-f 

This story was believed by Mr. and Mrs, 
Lloyd for some time, and Betsy, who had at 
first been very unhappy at the thoughts of 
such a wicked deceit, at length grew recon- 
ciled as she found herself undetected. She 
therefore ventured upon a second transgres-? 
sion, from the encouragement which she fool- 
ishly imagined the secrecy of her first fault 
had given her ; and with her intimate Miss 
Hannah, touk another walk, without any 


person to have the care of them. But dur- 
ing their absence from home, an unexpected 
accident punished the imprudent Miss Lloyd 
for her disobedience and untruth, in a man- 
ner which will give her cause for repentance 
to the latest period of her life ; for as she was 
crossing a road in her return, a horse, which 
had been tied to the rails of a house at a lit- 
tle distance, broke the bridle which confined 
him, and galloped away full speed, unre- 
strained by any opposition, till in his passage 
the unfortunate Miss Lloyd, who did not 
perceive his approach, was thrown down, and 
broke her leg in such a terrible manner, as to 
occasion her being a cripple ever after. She 
has since confessed, the consciousness of her 
falsehood was such a conviction to her mind 
of the wickedness of her conduct (when she 
was made sensible that the accident was the 
consequence of her disobedience to her pa- 
rents) that it was more difficult to support 
than any bodily uneasiness she had suffered, 
and the reflection that they would never be 
able to confide in her for the future, was the 


occasion of so much self-reproach, as to de- 
prive her of every enjoyment. This instance 
may serve to convince you, that a slight error 
s very frequently, without any previous in- 
tention, and when least expected, the occa- 
sion of such crimes, as in the cooler moments 
of thought (that is, when you have time to 
reflect on the wickedness of the action) you 
would never be capable of committing ; and 
as none can be sure they would be able to 
resist temptation, it is best never to do any 
thing which you know to be wrong, though 
it may appear to be in the smallest instance, 
since the desire of concealing a trifling fault, 
may lead you to hide it by a falsehood, which 
is one of the greatest you can be guilty of. 

Miss Meekly was convinced of the truth 
and propriety of this argument, and promised 
to be more attentive in her future conduct. 
She then joined her companions with that 
cheerful good humour, which distinguished 
her character, and attended them into the 
great parlour, where they usually spent the 
morning. When they had concluded their 


work, writing, &c. Mrs. Stanley always made 
them read to her, and encouraged them to 
ask any question which occurred to them ; to 
make their own observations upon those pas- 
sages in history which struck their imagina- 
tions ; or to propose to her any objection 
which arose in their minds. She desired 
them to ask the meaning and origin of those 
customs they did not comprehend, and by so 
doing had frequent opportunities of impro- 
ving their understandings. Instances of this 
kind very frequently occurred, and supplied 
them with subjects of conversation. Miss 
Una was working a map of England, and in- 
quired one day how long the island had been 
divided into shires and counties. Mrs. 
Stanley applied to the young ladies to know 
if any of them could resolve the question, but 
as they were all silent, " you should endea- 
vour, my dears," said she, " to remember 
what you [read, or it will be of very little 
advantage. I believe, Harriet, you read an 
account of this division, a few months ago, 
when you were going through the reigns of 


the Saxon Monarchs. Do not you remember 
that the great King Alfred, in the year 886, 
repaired the city of London, which had been 
burnt by the Danes in 839, and that he after- 
wards divided the kingdom into shires, hun- 
dreds, and tithings ?" " J did not recollect 
it," said Miss Una. " But pray," added 
Miss Saxby, " did the same king set up all 
the crosses ? for I remember something about 
their being erected, though I have forgotten 
when it happened." " Your memory is very 
short, I am afraid," replies Mrs. Stanley; 
u but if you were to write down such parti- 
culars, you would find it of great assistance ; 
as it appears very illiterate to be unacquaint- 
ed with those facts which have occurred in the 
history of your native country." All the 
crosses you mention, were erected by King 
Edward the First, in every place where the 
funeral procession of his Queen stopped, from 
Lincolnshire (where she died) to Westmin- 
ster. There v/ere in all ten, I think. One at 
Lincoln, Granthara, Stamford, Geddington, 
Northampton, Stoney Stratford, Dunstable, 


St. Albarfs, Waltham, and Westminster, 
called Charing Cross. You should always 
endeavour to observe what you read; but 
those things which relate to the island in 
which you live, have a particular claim to 
your remembrance. For this purpose I think 
your preseut work is singularly useful, as it 
will so strongly impress the geography of your 
country upon your mind, that I hope, my 
dear Harriet, you will never forget it." As 
nothing material happened to my mistress, 
and very little variation occurred in her 
manner of living, I shall pass over the usual 
events of every day, which my readers can 
easily imagine ; such as her taking me out of 
her pocket during the time of dressing and 
restoring me to that place of confinement 
when she had concluded, and proceed to re- 
late an accident in which I was very nearly 

The kitten I have before mentioned, who 
was a great favourite with Miss Meekly, was 
never allowed to enter into her bed-chamber ; 
but one day, the weather being extremely 


warm, and the door Jeft open, it walked in, 
and laid itself down at a little distance from 
the window, in a spot where the sun shone ; 
the shutters being half closed to exclude 
the heat. Eliza was employed in putting 
a pair of ruffles into her jacket, and I lay 
in her lap securely, as I imagined, till a car- 
riage stopping at the gate, she precipitately 
jumped up to look out at the visitors, and in 
her haste let me fall upon the floor. Her 
motion was so sudden and unexpected that I 
could not save myself, or check the velocity 
with which Iwas impelled. So that I unfor- 
tunately rolled on, till I touched the edge 
of a book-case, and discovered myself to 
Mrs. Puss, who hooked me with her claws, 
and twisted me round several times with 
as much dexterity as if I had been spinning ; 
or, to use a more proper simile, as if I had 
represented a mouse. I offered her great 
entertainment for some time, till at last 1 
found myself a second time under one of the 
feet of the book-case, and so fast wedged in, 
that it was beyond the art of even a kitten's 


invention to extricate me from my situation. 
Mrs. Stanley coming up stairs, Miss Meekly 
turned out my antagonist, and with unavailing 
care searched for me in every drawer, on 
every table, and upon the bed. 

Long have I remained in this dull state of 
obscurity and confinement, unable to make 
known my distress, as I want the power of 
articulation ; at least my language can be only 
understood to things inanimate as myself. 
A pen, however, which fell down near me, 
engaged to present these memoirs to the 
world, if ever it should be employed by the 
hand of kindness, to rescue my name from 
oblivion. Should the eye of youth read 
this account with any pleasure, it is hoped the 
candour of generosity will overlook its imper- 
fections : and should fate, in some fortunate 
moment of futurity, again restore me to the 
possession of Miss Meekly, or any of her 
companions, my gratitude will engage me to 
tnanK the public for its indulgence, and to 
continue the account of my adventures 


If I am not so happy as to meet with ap- 
probation, I shall at least have the consola- 
tion to reflect that these pages have suggest- 
ed no wrong ideas to the youthful mind; 
have given no encouragement to vanity, nor 
exhibited any improper example with com- 
mendation ; which is what better authors and 
works of higher genius cannot always be hap- 
py enough to boast. Such as it is, I submit 
this account of myself to the world, and only 
desire them to remember, in the words of the 
admired Gay, that, 

" From objects most minute and mean, 
" A virtuous mind may morals glean. 

I had lain so long in my dismal confine- 
ment, that I began to despair of ever pre- 
senting the world with any second part of my 
adventures. And yet, thought I, it is very 
hard that a Pincushion so new, so clean, and 
so beautiful, that might have a thousand op- 
portunities of seeing the different manners of 
mankind, should be thus secluded from com- 
pany, and condemned, by the playful freaks 


Df an insignificant kitten, thus to pass away 
its best days in obscurity. And here let me 
take this opportunity to suggest a useful hint 
to my young readers, which, as my inactive 
situation allowed me sufficient time for reflec- 
tion, I had frequently reason to feel the force 
of; namely, That although I fretted and 
fumed every day at my unfortunate condi- 
tion, I never found it was at all improved by 
it, or that my ill- humour in the least degree 
made me happier, or assisted my escape. 

When I determined to submit quietly, I 
was as happy as any Pincushion in such a 
state of retirement could be. But when in a 
cross fit I tried to roll myself from under the 
book-case, I found the attempt was impossible 
to accomplish, and I hurt my sides against 
the foot of it. The space was so small be- 
tween the bottom of my prison and the floor, 
that I had no hopes uf escape, as it was im- 
possible for any broom to find its way under ; 
or otherwise the cleanliness of Mrs. Stanley's 
maid would certainly have effected my deli- 
verance. But, alas ! of this I had no pros- 



pect ; and though my endeavours were fruit- 
less, it taught me such a lesson of content- 
ment, as I wish every little reader of my me- 
moirs may remember, and copy in their own 
conduct. For if they are tired of working 
reading, music, drawing, or any other em- 
ployment at home ; or, what is frequently the 
case, are impatient of the confinement of be- 
ing at school ; I would have them take my 
advice, and try to amuse themselves when 
they have opportunity, and wait with pati- 
ence till they are of a proper age, either to 
leave the place they dislike, or have overcome 
the difficulty of learning those accomplish- 
ments which are necessary to be acquired. 
For they may depend upon it, that fretful- 
ness and ill-humour will make every condi- 
tion unhappy ; while a resolution to be pleased, 
and make the best of every thing, is the only 
method to be agreeable to others, or comfort- 
able themselves. The foot of the book-case 
will press closer, when we petulantly try to 
escape: and though children are not Pin- 
cushions, yet they will find, that whenever 


they arc fretful and dissatisfied, they will be 
unhappy, and never succeed in any thing 
they undertake. I hope I shall be pardoned 
for this digression ; but as the event of my 
escape was so strong in my mind, I could not 
pass it by without a pause of observation. 

Let me now, however, proceed to inform 
my readers, that one fine day, when 1 had 
determined to make myself contented, and 
when, from the quietness in which I had been 
for some days, I had reason to believe the 
family were absent, and had therefore little 
hope for release, on a sudden I felt the book- 
case move, and heard the sound of men's 
voices, who, after much pushing and hoisting, 
took away what had so long covered me from 
tne eye of every beholder. In short, I found 
that Mrs. Stanley had taken another house, 
. her lease was expired : and, in consequence 
of the removal of her furniture, I regained 
my liberty. One of the porters took me up, 
and blew off the flue with which so long a 
confinement had covered me; and, taking me 
down stairs, presented me to a chair- woman, 


who was hired to clean the house. " There, 
mother Trusty," said he, " is a present for 
you, which, if you please, you may give to 
little Jenny: it will make her as fine as a 
lady." " Thank you," returned she, " I 
will keep it safe for my girl ; and if you have 
a bit of paper, I will wrap it up, for my hands 
are wet and dirty, and when 1 take any thing 
out of my pocket I may spoil it, you know, 
But as to making her fine, Jacob, indeed I 
do not desire it ; and were you to present any 
thing to wear, she could not have it, for I 
think finery is not suitable for us. She is a 
good child, Jacob, and that is better than be. 
ing a lady." " Well, mother Trusty, do as 
you please, replied Jacob; I do not know 
who the Pincushion belonged to; so if you 
lika Jane should have it, why I am glad I 
found it." So saying, he complained that the 
weather was very hot, and, after wiping his 
face with a coarse apron, which was tied round 
him, he drank Mrs. Trusty's health; and 
took a good draught of porter, which stood 
on the table. He then sat down to eat some 


bread and cheese, and, calling a great dog 
which lay in one corner of the kitchen, made 
him sit up on his hind legs to beg for some 
victuals, and afterwards bring him his knot, 
which he very dexterously did, by taking the 
buckle of it in his mouth, and dragging it af- 
ter him to his master. Another trick which 
this animal had been taught, was to shut the 
door at word of command ; and his last per- 
formance to the entertainment of my new 
Mistress and Mr. Jacob, was to pick up his 
master's wig and bring it upon his head, 
which made indeed a very droll figure to the 
spectators. At the conclusion of his meal, 
Jacob bade adieu to mother Trusty, and they 
each separated to pursue their different em- 
ployments. I was in the mean time laid on 
one of the shelves, curiously wrapped up in 
a bit of paper, which had fallen from the back 
of that very book-case under which I had so 
long resided ; it was torn in two by Jacob, 
who took one half to put up some bits of 
cheese rinds for his dog ; and I found it was 
a fragment of poetry, which I suppose had 


been sent to Miss Saxby , as her name was 
Martha. I amused myself with the perusal 
of the lines, which were as follow : 


Tis a folly, my friend, thus to envy the great, 
Since content may be found in the lowest estate ; 
Tho' Miss*** exults that she's splendidly drest, 
Of true happiness, Martha, she ne'er was pos- 

I have seen her, my friend, when no art could 


Her anger, vexation, and petulant rage ; 
Because an inferior had treated with scorn 
Those trinkets and gauze which her person adorn. 

But, believe me, esteem from true merit must rise, 
Or the world will the pageants of fortune despise ; 
'Tis ridiculous surely, for pride to expect 
Any better return than disdain and neglect. 

Let us, then, my Martha, more prudent and wise, 

Endeavour with nobler ambition to rise : 

Let kind emulation our bosoms expand, 

The foolish suggestions of pride to withstand. 


Let us trust that perfection each effort shall bless 
As industry e'er is crown'd with success : 
Tho* hard is the task, yet 'tis great to aspire, 
And the deep-buried embers of genius to fire. 

Tis a laudable aim, when we seek to excel, 
And conquer that sloth which is apt to rebel : 
Then let us attentive each precept obey, 
And snatch the proud laurels of glory away. 

The business of the day being concluded 
the good mother Trusty shut up the house ; 
and taking me down from the shelf, put me 
carefully in her pocket. We were not long 
before we arrived at her habitation, which 
consisted of two neat little rooms in a small 
house, about the middle of a very pleasant 
lane. A clean-looking boy and girl were 
sitting at the door, with a coloured apron full 
of peas, which they weie very busily shelling. 
They expressed great pleasure at the sight of 
Mrs. Trusty, whcm I found to be their 
grandmother, and with much good humour 
told her they had each earned a halfpenny; 
for that Mrs. Traffic at the chandler's shop, 
had given them one penny, and promised 


them a farthings worth of gingerbread, or a 
stale roll, for getting her peas ready for 
supper. *' Well, and I have brought you 
home something," replied Mrs. Trusty, un- 
folding me to the child, who eagerly getting 
up to receive her present, had nearly overset 
the apron and its contents ; but her brother 
luckily caught it, so as to prevent the peas 
from falling into the dirt. " But pray, 
Jenny, stay till you have done, and have 
washed your hands, said her grandmother: 
for it would be a pity to spoil this nice satin 
pincushion ;" (( And what have you brought 
for me ?" cried rosy Dick, as he emptied a 
handful of peas into the bason. " Why, 
nothing at all, my good boy, replied Mrs. 
Trusty, but a piece of bread and cheese : but 
I hope you are not jealous that your sister 
should have any thing, when you cannot 
partake of it ?" '' Jealous !" said he : " No, 1 
would go without any thing in the world for 
the sake of my Jenny ; and I will give her 
my half-penny with all my heart, though I 
have staid away from a nice game at cricket 


on tlie green to earn it. When I am a man, 
yon shall see how hard I will work, and take 
care of all the money I get, and give it to 
you, grandmother, to buy us victuals and 
drink, and clothes; and you shall stay at 
home and knit ; but never, while I have any 
health, shall you go out to such hard labour 
as you now do." " Blessings on my gen- 
erous boy," exclaimed the tender-hearted 
Mother Trusty, while the tears of affection 
rolled down her aged cheeks. " Just such a 
man was thy father, Dick. While he was 
alive, we never wanted for any thing. He was 
a good man, indeed he was ; and 1 hope that 
you will resemble him. But go, my boy ; 
carry home your work, and bring the stale 
roll which you was promised ; it will be mucl. 
better for you than gingerbread." 

Jenny kissed her brother, and thanked him 
for his kind attention ; c< But we will give the 
penny to our grandmother, said she ; you know 
she has got five-pence three-farthings which 
we have had given us already ; and when 
there is enough, we will ask her to buy you a 


pair of new shoes ; because those are too bad to 
walk with." Away ran Richard with the peas, 
and returned in triumph with the roll, when 
the little party sat down to supper, with that 
smiling good-humour and cheerful content- 
ment, which is not always an attendant on the 
meals of the rich and great. But when I saw 
how very little was sufficient (or was obliged 
to be so) for a woman who had been hard at 
labour all day, and two little hungry children, 
I could not help reflecting, how wicked it is in 
those who are blessed with plenty, to be dis- 
satisfied with their food, and idly waste, when 
they are not disposed to eat it, that which 
would keep the poor from starving, and which 
many an unhappy child would be be highly 
thankful to receive. When they had concluded 
the meal which their grandmother had brough. 
them, Dick ran to a neighbouring pump, to re 
plenish a broken red pitcher which had lost its 
handle and a piece out of the top : and after 
they had each of them drank with thirsty 
eagerness, he kissed his grandmother and sister, 
and wishing them a good night, went quietly to 


bed. Little Jenny followed her brother's 
example, as soon as she had laid me in a 
drawer with great care, where all her treasures 
were deposited. Among that number, was a 
little paper, which was nearly worn out with 
frequent perusal, and with which I shall beg 
leave to present my readers. 


THOUGH I am but a boy, yet I'll do the best I can, 
And I'll try to earn something, although I'm not a 


But when I am older, nay, Jenny, do not cry, 
For the loss of thy father and mother I'll supply. 

I'll go to yon farm-house, and beg a bit of bread; 
And if I get a morsel, my Jenny shall be fed ; 
Then do not weep so sore, for I hope we know the 

And to see you look so dismal, my heart it will burst 

Old grannam she will help us, and work for to 

maintain ; 

And when I am bigger, I will pay it all again. 
Tho' as yet I cannot dig, yet a gleaning I may go 
Then stop your tears, my Jenny, for I cannot see 

them flow. 



When 1 pass tnro the church-yard, where Dadd) 

is at rest ; 
."" cannot help sobbing," and a sigh will heave my 

breast ; 

Mid I think to myself, if my Jenny too should die 
Ah! who would her place to her Richard e'e, 


Then my sister cheer thine heart, and do not look 

so sad : 
If we can live together, matters will not be sj 

Now the blackberries are ripe, and I'll gather some 

for thee ; 
And well eat them, my Jenny, beneath yon hollow 


I know too, my love, where some honey may be 

found ; 
For I have often mark'd the place, which the bees 

do surround ; 
And I'll take som e for thee, for young Robin taught 

me how, 
One day when he followed in the field with his 


Then, my J enny, be but happy, and cheer us with 

a smile; 

For I fain would make thee blest, and thy sorrows 
all beguile 


Tho' poor Daddy is no more, yet Richard loves 

his Jane, 
And all thy tears, my sister, can't bring him back 


Perhaps it may be thought an uncommon 
effort for little Dick to turn poet at so early 
an age, and with so few advantages from edu- 
cation. But there is no answering for the 
powers of natural genius, and many a one 
may -regard the attempt as impossible, merely 
because they are too indolent to exert their 
faculties. Richard had been taught to read 
and write at the charity school of the parish 
where he lived ; and as no application had 
been wanting on his part, the progress he 
made did equal credit to his own abilities and 
the attention of his master, with whom his 
merit made him a great favourite. 

Jenny was likewise put to a small school 
at a little distance, by the benevolence of the 
vicar's wife (with whom such instances were 
verv frequent), and by her assiduity recom- 
mended herself to her mistress, who would 


often propose her example as a pattern to tht 
rest of her scholars. 

The next morning, when mother Trusty 
got up to her daily labour, she kissed her 
grand-children, and told them to go to school 
early, and not stay and play afterwards; but 
to return back again, for she would probably 
come home to dinner. This they promised 
to do ; and after they had learned their les- 
sons, they affectionately hugged each other, 
and diligently set forward with their books in 
their hands. But Jenny in a few minutes re- 
turned to fetch me, in order to exhibit her 
new present to her school-fellows. We soon 
arrived at a cottage, the apartments of which 
were neither large nor numerous; but the 
exquisite cleanliness of it was truly admira- 
ble. The mistress, whose name was Mark all, 
was dressed in a blue and white striped gown, 
which was rather of the coarsest materials; 
but was put on with the neatness of a Quaker, 
as was a plain bordered mob, with a white 
cloth binder, and a coloured silk handker- 
chief; which, >vith the addition of a checked 


apron, and a black petticoat, will give a pretty 
good idea of her appearance. She commend- 
ed Jenny for coming early, and having in- 
quired after her grandmother and brother, 
heard her read, and repeat the lesson she had 
the day before given her to learn. Soon after 
which, Betsy Field, Nanny Hay, and the rest 
of the scholars arrived ; among which num^ 
ber were likewise several boys. As the room 
door (which indeed was the door of the house 
too) was left open for the benefit of the air, 
and as one of the forms where the girls were 
at work was placed on that side, they were 
many of them better disposed to watch the 
passing of a cart or a wheel-barrow, or to at- 
tend the flight of birds and butterflies, than 
to mind their works: and Mrs. Markall 
punished several of them with a few strokes 
of a little cane, which lay on her table for 
that purpose. 

After she had heard them read, they stood 
round her in a circle to spejl ; and those who 
were so negligent as to mistake, lost their 
place in the set, and exchanged with their 


more attentive companions. A precedency in 
the ring was coveted with great ardour, and 
encouraged a spirit of emulation among them, 
as to stand first (which was my mistress's 
distinction) was regarded as an acknowledg- 
ment of superior excellence. When they had 
finished their business, and the wished for 
hour of twelve struck from the church clock, 
which was very near Mrs. MarkalPs house, 
they all made their rustic curtsies and bows 
to the Dame, and poured like a swarm of 
summer flies into the lane. The whole body 
of them stood Tor a few moments to inter- 
change their mutual salutations: when some 
divided to the right hand, and the other party 
to the left, which led to the church porch, 
where they seated themselves to be sheltered 
from the intense heat of the sun ; and Jenny, 
with a smile of conscious satisfaction, pro- 
duced me to her companions. Though she 
was anxious to display what she was so well 
pleased with herself, yet she began to be ap- 
prehensive for my safety, when the girls, with 
unpolished rudeness, all scrambled for a sigl 


of her present at the same time. At last the 
two whose names are above mentioned, pur- 
sued Polly Chaunt, who was in possession of 
me, and after scuffling on the grass, till 
Nanny Hay knocked her head with great vio- 
lence against one of the tomb-stones, and 
Betsy sprained her wrist in trying to wrench 
me from Polly, she ran home with the prize 
with so much swiftness, as to outstrip all her 
competitors. What became of poor Jenny I 
cannot tell, nor how she bore the loss of me ; 
but I could not help reflecting how much 
better it would have been, had these girls 
been sufficiently polite, to have each satisfied 
their own curiosity and then have resigned 
me to the inspection of others. Whereas, by 
all eagerly snatching me at once, they dirtied 
my outside, and pulled me quite out of shape; 
together with making them all very angry, 
and foolishly commencing a quarrel, of which 
the first consequences were the wounds I have 
mentioned. Polly Chaunt, whose property 
I so unjustly became, was the daughter of 
the parish clerk. He was by trade a shoe- 


maker, and had three children, two girls and 
a boy. His wife was a notable little woman, 
who took care of some poultry, pigs, and 
asses, which were allowed to feed upon a 
green before the house. 

As soon as niy new mistress arrived at 
home, her mother ordered her to prepare 
what was wanted for dinner, at the same time 
telling her, she was much displeased that she 
did not return from school sooner. Polly an- 
swered in a manner which convinced me, she 
was more pert than prudent ; and ran into a 
little back wash-house to her sister, who was 
taking a piece of bacon out of the saucepan, 
and who likewise chid her delay; adding, 
that dinner was ready, and she had been 
wanted to lay the table-cloth. In reply to 
this, she told the history I have just related, 
and produced me to her sister, who, wiping 
her hands on a bit of rag which hung upon 
a nail in the window, took me up to examine ; 
when lo! Polly, who was at all times too 
hasty to attend to reason, not chusing that 
Sukey should touch me for fear of spoiling 


my beauty, hastily snatched me from her, 
aifd dropped me, not into the saucepan, 
which I escaped, but into a bason of soap and 
water which stood near it, and in which Mrs. 
Chaunt had just been washing her hands. 
Upon this arose a quarrel between the sisters, 
which was terminated by the entrance of their 
father, who insisted on their bringing his din- 
ner immediately; and Polly, after having 
carefully wiped, laid me on a clean handker- 
chief to dry. I staid with this family some 
days, and was witness to many disagreements 
between the different parties which composed 
it ; but as I do not think the recital of illibe- 
ral abuse could afford any entertainment to 
my readers, I shall not trouble myself to re- 
peat it. But the folly of such behaviour 
must be evident to every reflecting mind, 
when it is considered that although the scenes 
I have mentioned passed in the low life of 
poverty, yet the same ill-humour would occa- 
sion equal animosity in the most affluent cir- 
cumstances. And though no situation can 
justify fretful petulance, yet it was certainly 


more excusable in girls who were untaugtit 
by education, and unpolished by politeness 
than in those with whom the utmost care has 
been exerted, and who have had all the ad- 
vantages of reading and instruction to contri- 
bute to their improvement. That it is pos- 
sible for good-humour, and a determined en- 
deavour to please, in a great measure to sup- 
ply the deficiency of acquired graces, may be 
seen in the characters of Richard and Jenny > 
whose affection to each other must interest 
every one in their favour : and the same 
sweetness of temper will likewise recommend 
to my readers' esteem the agreeable Hannah 
Mindful, to whom I was given one Sunday 
afternoon by Polly Chaunt, in a walk which 
they took together after church. And sin- 
cerely glad was I to exchange mistresses, as 
my last had been so ill-tempered and quarrel- 
some, and had taken me in so unjustifiable a 
manner from the good-natured little Jenny. 
Hannah was near fourteen years old, and the 
eldest of six children. Her mother was a 
very worthy woman, but was afflicted with 


such bad health, that she was seldom able to 
leave her bed. Her father had a small farm, 
and was very industrious in his business, and 
very careful of his family ; and I was quite 
astonished to think of how much service 
Hannah's attention proved to her brothers 
and sisters ; and what a comfort it was to her 
sick mother to have such a good girl, in 
whom she could confide, and to whose care 
she could intrust them. 

After she had parted from my late owner, 
she was met in her way home by the vicar, 
whose lady was mentioned as the benefactress 
of my favourite Jenny, and who, with her 
husband, was returning to his house. He 
stopped at the gate, and desired Hannah to 
wait there, or amuse herself in the garden, 
while he went to fetch a medicine which he 
had promised to send to her mother ; and at 
Lis return presented her with a couple of fine 
teaches, which he told her to eat, as she was 
a good girl. She thanked him very civilly, 
and, after wishing him good night, ran home 
as fast as possible, for fear her mother should 


want her ; to whom she immediately presented 
her present, without offering to taste them 
herself. A neice of Mr. MindfuPs lived at 
this time in his house, whose name was Sally 
Flaunt ; and who had been a half-boarder at 
a great school near London, where she was 
put by a relation, whose death left her no 
friend but her uncle. She was entirely un- 
provided for ; yet was so inconsiderately 
proud, as to make herself a burden to the 
family^ instead of trying to be of any service ; 
which she might have had a sufficient oppor- 
tunity of being, as she was near fifteen, and 
very tall of her age. When Hannah rose in 
the morning to assist in getting breakfast, 
dressing her sisters, and making the beds. 
Sally would disdainfully turn round to sleep, 
because it was, in her silly opinion, unlike 
a lady to get up early. Without any for- 
tune, or the slightest recommendation but her 
industry, she was ever foolishly aiming at 
a rank in life to which she had no preten- 
sions ; and without sense to distinguish, that 
it is gracefulness of manners and superior 


(earning that form the essential difference 
between high life and poverty, and that merit 
is as much entitled to respect in the lowest 
circumstances of indigence, as in the most 
exalted station, she was so weak as toimagine^ 
that by imitating some of those foibles she 
had seen in girls who had more fortune than 
understanding, she should be thought to 
resemble them, and meet with that regard 
which is not bestowed on riches, but on the 
supposed worth of those who possess them. 
While Hannah went up stairs to carry some 
tfater-gruel to her mother, she dispatched 
one of her little sisters to tell Sally that 
breakfast was ready ; but as she had slept so 
long, it was some time before she could make 
her appearance ; and Mr. Mindful, who was 
justly displeased with her indolence, told one 
of his children to carry her milk away ; for 
that those who were too lazy to provide for them- 
selves, and to be ready at the proper time, 
might go without food. When Sally there- 
fore came down, she was much disappointed 
to hear that a fast was for the present enjoin- 


ed as her portion ; and looking very much 
out of humour, she walked into the garden. 
He followed her out ; and as he was turning 
round a little yew hedge which fronted a 
field, he took hold of her hand, and pulling 
her into the kitchen, told her he was displeased 
at her behaviour. " You are foolish, Sally, 
taid he, because you have been to school to ima- 
gine that you have nothing further to do than 
sit with your hands before you, and play the 
fine lady. You have no money to provide for 
yourself, and there is no person will take 
care of you if you do not work hard to get 
your bread. Behave as you should, and I 
will treat you as my own child ; but if you 
have two much pride to know your duty 
and will not mind my advice, I will turn yori 
out to try where you can live better than 
with me." Sally knew she durst not reply to 
this positive speech; and fearing her uncle 
should become more angry, she promised 
to behave better, and walked up stairs to 
Hannah, who was dusting the furniture in 
her own room. 


To her she related the above particulars, 
with the tears running down her cheeks, and 
with the most dismal sobs of distress and pas- 
sion. My good natured mistress compas- 
sionately kissed her, and wept to see her dis- 
turbance ; " but indeed, my dear Sally," 
said she, *' I wish you would try to exert 
yourself, and as you cannot be a lady, you 
had better endeavour to please my father. 
You see we all live very happily, and I am 
sure I would do all in my power to make you 
do so too ; so cheer up your spirits, and do 
net weep so sadly." " 1 cannot," replied 
Sally, very crossly : " indeed you may, who 
have never seen any higher life ; but where I 
was at school do you think any of the ladies 
scoured the rooms, or milked the cow, or went 
to such work as washing and ironing ? O ! 
Hannah, had you seen the caps, and feathers, 
and muslin and gauze frocks, which they 
used to wear on a dancing-day, and how smart 
they looked in their silk shoes, or else red 
morocco ones, you would not wonder that I 
do not like these great black leather things, 


(and she scornfully tossed out her foot as she 
spoke). Indeed, Hannah, I could cry when- 
ver I see you and your sisters clothed in 
such coarse gowns, with your black worsted 
stockings, and with that check handkerchief 
on your neck, and your round cloth caps, 
with that piece of linen for a ribbon. I can- 
not bear it ! and I wish I was any thing but 
what I am." " O fie, Sally !" said Hannah, 
" that is quite ungrateful for the good things 
which you are blessed with, to talk in such i 
manner as that." " What good things ?" re- 
torted the haughty girl, raising her voice, 
and growing more angry. " Do you call 
this dowlas shift, this coarse apron, this lin- 
sey-woolsey gown, good things ? Or do you 
call the brown bread we eat, or the hard dump- 
lings you were making just now, good things ? 
And pray, this old worm-eaten bed, without 
any curtains to it, and this little window, 
which is too small to admit one's head out, 
and what little hole there is, is quite crammed 
full of honey-suckles; or this propped-up 
chest of drawers, or that good-for-nothing 


chair with a great hole in the bottom, which 
you know Bet nearly fell through yesterday, 
when she got upon it to reach the box which 
holds her Sunday straw-hat; do you call 
these good things ? because, if you do, I am 
sorry you know no better." ". I should be 
sorry indeed," rejoined Hannah, with rather 
more displeasure than was usual to her, " if 
I knew so much of high life as to be disor- 
iented with what my father and mothei ran 
afford. I think our bread is as good as any 
body need wish for ; and I am sure the dump- 
lings you so scornfully mention, will be very 
well tasted and wholesome. As to the furni- 
ture, if it is old, I will answer for its being 
clean, Sally; and my father says, he can 
nail on a piece of board over that chair, which 
will last as many years as the bafk Iocs. And 
as to our clothes, I am sure tney are whole 
and tight; for I would work my fingers u> 
the bone before I would see them otherwise. 
They are coarse to be sure ; but they are as 
good as our neighbours', and many a one 
would be thankful to have such to put on: 


and though you speak so proudly of the 
house and every thing in it, I have seen the 
ladies at Oakly Hall, who are worth as muco 
money as would buy all the villages for twen- 
ty miles round, come as kindly and sit down 
in my mother's room, and take hold of my 
hand, and my sister's, and speak as prettily 
as if I had been a lady too; without looking 
at the chairs, or finding fault with the bed. 
And Miss Goodall, although she is dressed so 
handsomely, never seems to think about it ; 
and the last time she stopped here, took the 
loaf out of my father's hand, and said, let me 
cut Mrs. Mindful a piece of bread and but-p 
ter ! I can do it very well ; and it shall be 
thin, such as I know she can eat. And she 
brought with her a cannister of sago, and 
went herself to the fire, and poured the water 
to mix it, and put some wine into it, which 
she brought with her ; and showed me the 
way to do it, with so much good-natute, that 
J do not think you need be so very proud, 
SaJly, and look so unhappy about your situa- 
tion. And I assure you she has sometimes 



eaten our bread, and always said it was very 
good." Hannah was here interrupted by one 
of* her sisters, who came to call her to assist 
her mother, who was going to get up. She 
attended her immediately, and taking me out 
of her pocket, into which she hastily put me 
at the conclusion of the above conversation, 
she placed me on the table, while she assisted 
Mrs, Mindful in putting on a clean cap and 
bed-gown; and after she had helped her to 
an old elbow chair, she made the bed ; which. 
4s soon as she had finished, she went into the 
garden, and, returning with a nice nosegay 
of flowers, placed them in a little white stone 
mug, upon the table, in order, by their sweet- 
ness, to refresh and please her mother, as she 
was very fond of them. She then kissed her 
with great tenderness, and begged her to take 
an egg beat up with some milk, which she im- 
mediately got ready. These little services 
were all performed with so much alacrity and 
good nature, and such visible pleasure in her 
countenance, as doubled the merit of all her 
fictions. It was impossible indeed to sec her. 


without thinking how very agreeable it is in 
the power of good-nature and industry to 
make those who have no other advantages to 
recommend them. 

Hannah Mindful was a healthy-looking 
country girl ; her complexion was burnt by 
the sun, and her hands hardened by labo- 
rious toil ; she was not ornamented by dress, 
though her person was at all times made 
agreeable by neatness: she had never been 
taught those graces which so forcibly re- 
commend the possessor to general observation ; 
but a constant cheerfulness, and a desire 
of obliging, which was never interrupted 
by petulence, made her beloved by every 
one who knew her. To be as good-natured 
as Hannah Mindful, was the highest praise 
of every girl in the village ; and every 
mother was ready to propose her conduct 
as an example to her own children. If 
there was a piece of bread which her sisters 
liked better than the rest of the loaf, she 
would save it for them by turns, whenever 
she had opportunity. If any of them went 


to play, and forgot the business which feJl to 
their share, or which their mother had ordered 
Jieni to do, she would either fetch them home 
again, or (if in her power) do it for them 
herself. By this she often saved them from 
punishment. One day when her father had 
brought two ribbons from a fair, for her sister 
Molly and herself, he gave Hannah the liberty 
of choosing first. She directly took a pink, 
which was her favourite colour, and left a 
dark green, which was what she most disliked ; 
but afterwards finding her sister wished for 
the one she had chosen, she gave it to her 
immediately, with as much* readiness as if she 
had approved of the exchange from the pre- 
ference to the colour she disliked. Sally told 
her she thought it was foolish to give up 
what she had in her possession ; but Hannah, 
with a generosity which did great credit to 
the goodness of her disposition, replied, that 
she should never have worn with comfort 
what she evidently saw her sister was desi- 
rous to obtain :" " and I declare," added 
she, " I feel a much higher gratification in 


the idea of giving pleasure to my dear Molly, 
than I should receive from any difference of 
colour, or from a present of much greater 
value." Sally was not of that opinion; for 
the indulgence of pride is the occasion of 
selfishness, and the cause of the most des- 
picable meanness. By wishing for great 
riches, and despising that way of life to which 
she was destined, her heart was constantly 
agitated by anxious vexation. Whereas, 
Hannah was always cheerful, good-humoured, 
and contented: and the same incidents, which 
to the one were the occasion of dissatisfaction 
and complaint, the other submitted to without 
repining, and rejoiced with gratitude at tfie 
felicity of her lot. And thus, my young 
readers, will it be with persons of higher rank 
than those of whom I am now writing. If 
you make yourself unhappy because some of 
your companions have more elegant clothes, 
or a greater variety than yourself; or because 
it may suit the fortune of their parents to 
make more splendid entertainments than the 
choice or circumstances of yours will admit 


if they ride in their father's carriage, while you 
walk on foot and unattended, remember, that 
is no rational cause of uneasiness. It is not 
the station, but the propriety with which it is 
sustained, that is the real matter of concern. 
A beggar may be more respectable than 
a prince, if he is sunk to indigence by mis- 
fortune ; and exerts his utmost powers to act 
with industry, and maintain the proper con- 
'luct which his situation requires. Let me 
advise you, then, not to wish for that finery, 
which would be unsuitable to your circum- 
stances ; but to submit to the discretion of 
your parents, because they must know best 
what is proper for you. Sally Flaunt had 
not the power to make her uncle's brown 
bread in the least degree whiter, although 
she was too fretful to eat it with satisfaction. 
She could not enlarge the rooms, or repair 
the furniture, by her discontent; but she 
might have been as happy as her cousin, had 
she been disposed to be good-humoured. 
When any business is necessary to be per- 
formed, if it is done with sullcnness and ill- 


will, it becomes the most laborious toil and 
most irksome employment ; but if it is exe- 
cuted with cheerfulness, it is much saoner 
dispatched, and the fatigue is considerably 
abated. It is time, however, to return to my 
own adventures, without trespassing longar 
on your patience by my advice. 

I had continued so 112 time with my mis- 
tress, when Mr. Goodall (whose daughter, I 
believe, I have before mentioned,) gave an 
entertainment to his tenants, on account of 
her attaining her eighteenth year. Mr. 
Mindful, out of kindness to his family, 
detej mined to stay at home himself, and 
..ake care of his wife, while he dispatched all 
the young ones who were of a proper age, to 
enjoy an amusement which would afford them 
so much pleasure. Hannah dressed herself 
and two sisters, as neat as rustic simplicity 
could adorn them. They had each of them 
light brown stuff gowns, white aprons and 
handkerchiefs, with straw hats ; her own 
with green, and her sisters with pink ribbons. 
They had all a nosegay of flowers in their 


bosoms, and with the freshness of innocence 
and health glowing in their cheeks, prepared 
to set out for Oakly Hall. Hannah did not 
forget to get ready every thing she thought 
her mother might want in her absence; and, 
with a kiss of filial affection, bade her adieu. 
Jack Mindful, her brother, was a lad of 
about thirteen, very active and sprightly, 
and sometimes apt to be extremely mischie- 
vous. I have had no opportunity before this 
to introduce him to the notice of my readers ; 
but the part he took in dressing his cousin 
for the intended sport, will make it necessary 
to exhibit him on the present occasion. Sally, 
whose attention was wholly engrossed by the 
pride of excelling her companions in the 
finery of clothes, had been for some days bu- 
sily employed in mending an old silk coat, 
which had been given her during her stay at 
school. It had originally been ornamented 
with gauze cuffs, which were grown dirty and 
yellow with keeping: the rest of the trim- 
ming was sufficiently decayed, to make it a 
rather despicable garb; and Mrs. Mindful, 


who justly thought such shabby finery very 
improper for her niece's situation, insisted 
upon her going in a new garnet-coloured stuff, 
which she had lately bought her. This Sally 
was much distressed at, and communicated 
her intention to her cousin Jack, who pro- 
mised to assist her in her design ; which was, 
after she had taken leave of Mrs. Mindful, to 
carry her clothes to a barn at some distance, 
and there put on the silk coat which she ima- 
gined would make her so much better re- 
spected by the family at Oakly Hall. To 
this place she then repaired, her heart beat- 
ing with expectation, and flattered with the 
imagination of outshining all her companions. 
She had made up a new cap for the occasion ; 
and as she was very tall and womanly in her 
appearance, thought if she could form any 
substitute for a cushion, it would much im- 
prove her fashionable appearance. On this 
great occasion, she borrowed me of Hannah, 
who went before her cousin; as she did not 
chuse to have any witness but Jack, who was 
the only person entrusted with this important 


secret. At the barn then we soon arrived, 
and her stuff gown was thrown off with dis- 
dain, while she prepared, with the assistance 
of an old triangular bit of a broken looking 
glass, to equip for the desirable expedition. 
After placing the cushion, which she had 
taken great pains to complete, and pinning 
her hair over it with a piece of black ribbon, 
she put on the cap ; which exhibited the most 
tawdry collection of old gauze, bits of ribbon, 
and slatternly tassels, that can well be ima- 
gined. At last came the trial of the coat, 
which as it had been made very long behind, 
was in that respect tolerable ; but its appear- 
ance in front was so short as to be really ridi- 
culous. During the time she was looking at 
her head in the glass, Jack, in turning round 
hastily threw it down a hole, which he had 
purposely contrived, and where it was impos- 
sible to regain it, as it was so instantly out of 
sight, that Sally had not an idea where it had 
vanished. Her search was totally in vain, 
and she could only finish her dress by Jack's 
direction. He pretended to admirp her !> 


pearance extremely ; and, to make it the more 
complete, he had before tied a couple of 
gheep^s feet to a piece of ribbon, which he 
now pinned to her shoulders, fastening them 
close to her back with another string which 
he likewise pinned down ; and by way of ad- 
dition to the streamers in her cap, he sus- 
pended a number of bits of straw, which he 
had tied together with a piece of packthread. 
With these burlesque ornaments she hurried 
with him to the Hall ; and as she was enter- 
ing the door which led to the house, under 
pretence of fastening a piece of the trimming 
which he said he could improve, he undid 
the lower pins, and let the sheep's feet dance 
about upon her back, to the unspeakable en- 
tertainment of every beholder. The laugh 
which her appearance occasioned covered her 
with confusion : and her pride was mortified 
in the highest degree, to find her finery treat- 
ed with such a degree of contemptuous mirth, 
instead of that admiration, with which she 
had flattered herself. The boys were eager 
to dissect her head-dress ; and Polly Chaunt, 


who was of the party, very maliciously pin- 
ned one of her cuffs to the table-cloth, as she 
was lolling her head on her hand, to hide 
those tears of vexation which she could not 
forbear. Unfortunately she rose in some 
haste, upon the appearance of Mr. Goodall, 
who entered the room to welcome his guests, 
and dragged down the saltseller, and several 
plates, knives, forks, and spoons ; which had 
they been brittle materials would have been 
certainly demolished ; but as the whole ser- 
vice was of pewter, they escaped unhurt. 
The bustle which this accident occasioned, 
still more disconcerted the unfortunate Sally 
Flaunt ; who, bursting into tears, very hasti- 
ly left the room. In the angry jerk, with 
which she walked away from the company, 
her two shoulders were saluted with the 
sheep's feet, in such a manner as to make her 
imagine she had received a blow, which she 
turned round very quickly in order to resent; 
but the agility of her motions, only served to 
rc'peat the imagined offence, the author of 
which, however, she found it impossible to 
i 3 


discern. But, as she was going through an 
apartment which led to the garden, she dis- 
covered her own figure in a large pier-glass; 
the sight of which so fully completed her 
vexation, that she determined to hurry home 
immediately ; and snatching her handker- 
chief from her pocket to wipe her eyes, she 
whirled me out with it to a considerable dis- 
tance, and without perceiving her loss, left 
me to enjoy my own reflections. -The thought 
of Sally's ridiculous vanity entirely took up 
my attention. How happily might she have 
passed the day, had she been contented to do 
so in her proper character! But, by assuming 
a superiority to her companions, she excited 
the contempt of Jack Mindful, who was de- 
termined to mortify her pride, by making her 
an object of ridicule; and though his mis- 
chievous intention was certainly extremely 
blameable, yet it was her own folly which 
put the execution of it into his power. Had 
she not determined so meanly to deceive, and 
disobey her aunt, by pretending to comply 
with her advice at the very moment she was 


prepared to act in opposition to it, she would 
have escaped that mortification, which was 
undoubtedly deserved. 

I lay unperceived by the door of a little 
closet till the next morning; when Mrs. 
Betty, who came to sweep the room, picked 
me up, and laid me some time on a marble 
slab; after she had finished her business, I 
accompanied her to breakfast. My new 
mistress was a pleasing young woman, who 
was a housemaid in Mr. GoodalPs family. 
She sat down with the laundry-maid, whose 
name was Joice, and who complained very 
much of the heat of the weather. " I have 
been so ill for some days past," said she, 
" that I can with difficulty stand to wash ;** 
and the heat of the fire when I am ironing, 
makes me much worse than I should other- 
wise be: and then Miss Sophy is so careless, 
she never considers what will dirt her clothes, 
nor how much work she occasions. I am 
sure her sister at her age was always neat 
and nice, with half the number of frocks and 
petticoats which she requires I wonder that 


a young lady should not have more com- 
passion for a poor servant." " That is 
because they do not know the trouble it is," 
replied Betty : " but indeed, Joice, Miss 
Sophy is the same in every thing. If she is 
cutting a piece of gauze, or paper, she is sure 
to make a litter all over the room ; and I 
have often seen her cut a card into a thousand 
bits on the carpet, without making any use of 
it at all : and if she is undoing her work, or 
picking her doll's clothes to pieces, she will 
strew the threads on the floor, without think- 
ing how much trouble it gives me to take 
them up again. But if she would but put 
the bits of rubbish into a piece of paper, it 
might be taken away without any difficulty .* 
" She will never be beloved like her sister," 
said Joice. *' And then she does not look 
so much like a lady ; for Jerry says, that 
when he is waiting at dinner, he cannot help 
looking at her, to see how she leans against 
the table (that is one way in which she makes 
her frock so dirty,) and takes such great 
mouthfuls, and eaU so exceeding fast, as if 


S.-n-ante at Tta m the 


she were starving, and thought she should 
lose her dinner ; and sometimes she drinks 
without wiping her mouth, and very frequent- 
ly when it is not empty." " O ! I have seen 
her myself," interrupted Betty ; " I have seen 
her, when I have been waiting at breakfast, 
grasp the spoon in her hand quite down to 
the bowl of it, and my mistress has told her it 
looked very unmannerly ; and then she 
altered it for a minute, but as soon held it as 
awkwardly as ever. But what I am most 
angry with her for, is slopping her milk, or 
tea, on the tables, just afterl have rubbed them 
till they are as bright as looking-glasses; 
and then she smears her hands across, and 
all my labour goes for nothing. I wonder 
how she would like this hot day to have such 
violent exercise. But ladies have often little 
consideration for their servants' feelings." 
" To be sure," said Mrs. Joice, " my mastei 
and mistress and Miss Goodall are very good- 
natured, Betty ; and Miss Sophy will, I hope, 
think more of the consequence of her actions 
when she is older. I would do any thing in 


the world for my mistress, she speaks so 
kindly; and when I am ill, she says, 'Take 
your time, Joice, and do not fatigue yourself 
to day; I hope you will be hetter to-morrow.' 
I do not care how I slave when people are 
considerate, and seem to think I do my 
duty." During the latter part of this con- 
versation, Mrs. Betty had laid me on the 
table, and was pinning her gown close, which 
had before hung loose, only fastened with 
one pin at the top, and the two sides turned 
behind : and, at the conclusion of it, Mrs. 
Joice, who had been clearing away the break- 
fast things, folded me up in the table-cloth, 
and carrying me under her arm to the 
poultry yard, shook me out with the crumbs. 
She turned round at the same time to speak 
to a gardener, who was emptying some weeds 
out of his apron upon the dunghill, and did 
not see my fall. After her departure, I was 
pecked at alternately by almost all the fowls* 
till at last I was tossed by a bantam hen 
under the little water-tub, where I had lain 
ever since. My last unfortunate adventure 


has so dirtied my outside, that I should not 
now be known. But if the recital of what 
has hitherto befallen me has at all engaged 
the reader's regard I hope I shall not lose 
their approbation, from a change of situation 
or appearance. 

The catastrophe which had thus reduced 
me, was entirely unexpected ; and should 
teach them, that no seeming security can 
guard from those accidents, which may in a 
moment reduce the prospect of affluence to a 
state of poverty and distress ; and therefore 
it is a mark of folly, as well as meanness, to 
be proud of those distinctions, which are at 
all times precarious in enjoyment, and uncer- 
tain in possession. 



Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, 
The rest is all but leather and prunello. POPE. 

IN the midst of the vast ocean commonly 
called the South Sea, lie the Islands of Solo- 
mon. In the centre of these lies one, not 
only distant from the rest, which are imme- 
diately scattered round it, but also larger 
beyond proportion. An ancestor of the 
prince who now reigns absolute in the cen- 
tral island, has, through a long descent of 
ages, entailed the name of Solomon's Islands 
on the whole, by the effect of that wisdom 


wherewith he polished the manners of the 

A descendant of one of the great men of 
these happy islands, becoming a gentleman 
to so improved a degree, as to despise the 
good qualities which originally ennobled his 
family, thought of nothing but how to support 
and distinguish his dignity by the pride of 
an ignorant mind, and a disposition aban- 
doned to pleasure. He had a house on the 
sea-side, where he spent great part of his 
time in hunting and fishing : but he found 
himself at a loss in pursuit of those important 
diversions, by means of a long slip of marsh 
land, over-grown with high reeds that lay 
between his house and the sea. Resolving, at 
length, that it became not a man of his quality 
to submit to restraint in his pleasures for the 
ease and convenience of an obstinate me- 
chanic; and having often endeavoured in vain 
to buy out the owner, who was an honest 
poor basket-maker, and whose livelihood de- 
pended on working up the flags of those 
re^ds in a manner peculiar to himself, the 



gentletnati took advantage of a very high 
wind, and commanded his servants to burn 
down the barrier. 

The basket-maker, who saw himself un- 
f'pne, complained of the oppression in terms 
more suited to his sense of the injury, than 
the respect due to the rank of the offender : 
and the ' reward this imprudence procured 
him, was the additional injustice of blows 
and reproaches, and all kinds of insult and 

There was but one way to remedy, and 
he took it; for going to the capital with 
the marks 01 his hard usage upon him, 
he threw himself at the feet of the king, and 
procured a citation for his oppressor's ap- 
pearance, who, confessing the charge, pro- 
ceeded to justify his behaviour by the poor 
man's unmindfulness on the submission due 
from the vulgar to a gentleman of rank and 

But pray, replied the king, what dis- 
tinction of rank had the grandfather of your 
father, when, being a cleaver of wood in the 


palace of my ancestors, he was raised from 
among those vulgar you speak of with such 
contempt, in reward for an instance he gave 
of his courage and loyalty in defence of his 
master ! Yet his distinction was nobler than 
yours ; it was the distinction of soul, not of 
birth ; the superiority of worth, not of for- 
tune ! I am sorry I have a gentleman in my 
kingdom, who is base enough to be ignorant, 
that ease and distinction of fortune were 
bestowed on him but to this end, that, being 
at rest from all cares of providing for himself, 
he might apply his heart, head, and hand 
for the public advantage of others. 

Here the king, discontinued his speech, 
fixed an eye of indignation on a sullen resent- 
ment of mien which he observed in the 
haughty offender, who muttered out his dis- 
like of the encouragement this way of think- 
ing must give to the commonalty, who he 
Baid, were to be considered as persons of no 
consequence, in comparison of men who were 
born to be honoured. Where reflection is 
wanting, replied the king, with a ^mile of 


disdain, men must find their defects in the 
pain of their sufferings. Yanhuma, added he, 
turning to a captain of his galleys, strip the 
injured and the injurer ; and convey them to 
one of the most barbarous and remote of the 
islands, set them ashore in the night, and leave 
them both to their fortune. 

The place in which they were landed was 
a marsh ; under cover of whose flags the 
gentlemen was in hopes to conceal himself, 
and give the slip to his companion, whom he 
thought it a disgrace to be found with ; but 
the lights in the galley having given an alarm 
to the savages, a considerable body of them 
came down, and discovered, in the morning, 
the two strangers in their hiding-place. Set- 
ting up a dismal yell, they surrounded them ; 
and advancing nearer and nearer with a kind 
of clubs, seemed determined to dispatch them, 
without sense of hospitality or mercy. 

Here the gentleman began to discover that 
the superiority of his blood was imaginary: 
for between the consciousness of shame and 
cold, under the nakedness he had never been 


used to ; a fear of the event from the 
fierceness of the savages* approach, and 
the want of an idea whereby to soften or 
divert their asperity, he fell behind the poor 
sharer of his calamity, and with an unsin- 
ewed apprehensive unmanly sneakingness of 
niuin, gave up the post of honour, and made 
a leader of the very man whom he had 
thought it a disgrace to consider as a com- 

The basket- maker, on the contrary, to 
whom the poverty of his condition had made 
nakedness habitual; to whom a life of pain 
and mortification represented death as not 
dreadful ; and whose remembrance of his 
skill in arts, of which these savages were 
ignorant, gave him hopes of becoming safe, 
from demonstrating that he could be useful, 
moved with bolder and more open freedom ; 
and, having plucked a handful of the flags, 
sat down without emotion, and making 
signs that he would show them something 
worthy of their attention, fell to work with 
tmilcs and noddings ; while the savages 


drew near, and gazed with expectation of the 

It was not long before he had wreathed a 
kind of coronet, of pretty workmanship; and 
rising with respect and fearfulness, approached 
the savage who appeared the chief, and placed 
it gently on his head; whose figure under 
this new ornament, so charmed and struck 
his followers, that they all threw down their 
clubs, and formed a dance of welcome and 
congratulation round the author of so prized 
a favour. 

There was not one but showed the marks 
of his impatience to be made as fine as the 
captain: so the poor basket-maker had his 
hands full of employment : and the savages 
observing one quite idle, while the other was 
so busy in their service, took up arms in be- 
half of natural justice, and began to lay on 
arguments in favour of their purpose. 

The basket-maker's pity now effaced the 
remembrance of his sufferings: so he arose 
and rescued his oppressor, by making signs 
that he was ignorant of the art ; but might, 


if they thought fit, be usefuJly employed in 
waiting on the work, and fetching flags to his 
supply, as fast he should want them. 

This proposition luckily fell in with a 
desire the savages expressed to keep them- 
selves at leisure, that they might crowd 
round, and mark the progress of a work 
they took such pleasure in. They left the 
gentleman, therefore, to his duty in the 
basket-maker's service; and considered him, 
from that time forward, as one who was, 
and ought to be treated as inferior to their 

Men, women, and children, from all corners 
of the island, came in droves for coronets; 
and setting the gentleman to work to gather 
boughs and poles, made a fine hut to lodge 
the basket-maker ; and brought down daily 
from the country such provisions as they 
lived upon themselves ; taking care to offer 
the imagined servant nothing till his master 
had done eating. 

Three months' reflection, in this mortified 


condition, gave a new and just turn to our 
gentleman's improved idea; insomuch, that 
lying weeping and awake, one night, he 
thus confessed Jus sentiments in favour of 
the basket-maker: I have been to blame, 
and wanted judgment to distinguish between 
accident and excellence. When I should 
have measured nature, I but looked to va- 
nity. The preference which fortune gives is 
empty and imaginary : and I perceive, too 
late* that only things of use are naturally 
Honourable. I am ashamed, when I com 
pare my malice, to remember your humanity : 
but if the gods should please to call me to 
repossession of my rank and happiness, I 
would divide all with you in atonement for 
my justly punished arrogance. 

He promised, and performed his promise : 
for the king, soon after, sent the captain who 
had landed them, with presents to the savages ; 
and ordered him to bring both back again. 
And it continues to this day a custom in that 
island, to degrade all gentlemen who cannot 


give a better reason for their pride, than 
that they were born to do nothing : and 
the word for this due punishment, is, Send 
him back to the basket-maker. 


The soul that feels for others'owe, 
From heav'n its origin doth show. 

ZACCHOR and Esreff, two youths, beg- 
ged the dervise Morat, their tutor, who 
was a Seer, and blessed by Mahomet with 
vhe knowledge of future events, to permit 
them to visit the curiosities of Aleppo, to 
which place they were but lately come for 
the advantage of the wise and holy man's 
instructions, and who had undertaken thei* 
education : he gave each of them a few aspei 
on going forth, to expend on whatever the ' 


racli nations prompted to ; and on their return, 
he inquired how they had disposed of the 
money ? I, said Zacchor, cast my eyes on 
some of the finest dates Syria ever produced, 
I laid out my aspers, and indulged in what 
perhaps I shall never meet the like again. 
And I, said Esreff, met a poor helpless 
wretch with an infant at her breast, whose 
cries pierced my soul ; she was reduced to 
the very utmost extremity; the angel of 
death seemed to glare forth at her eyes, and 
she had scarce strength left to beg the Assis- 
tance my heart yearned to give her, and 
which our prophet commands all Mussul- 
men to bestow on misery like her's. She had 
my aspers, and I grieved I had not more to 
Bestow. The money, said Morat to Zaccho*. 
which you exchange^^br the dates, will in a 
few hours be converted into the most odious 
of substances, mere excrements : but Esreff, 
said he, turning to the other, besides the 
pleasure you must enjoy, whenever you 
leflect on what you have done, know that your 
well bestowed aspers will produce a never 


fading fruit, and contribute to your happiness, 
both in this world and the world to come : and 
moreover know, that the infant whose life you 
have saved, and who, without your assistance 
must, with its mother, have perished, will, 
(so heaven has decreed it) live to repay your 
goodnese, by saving your life many years 
hence, and rescuing you from the most immi- 
nent of dangers.