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, [...] order to make a workbag; which she intended as a present to one of her nieces. Miss Martha Airy, her eldest daughter, was about ten years old, and had been for some time indolently lolling with both her elbows on the table, to look at her Mamma while she was chusing the prettiest pattern for the purpose I just mentioned. Her chin rested on her two hands, which were crossed over each other, and she was seated on the back of her brother's [...]air, which he had 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 [Page 10] chair back came to the ground, while the other end mounted up like a piece of board for a seesaw; and she tumbled down backwards, and in her fall proved the occasion of a great deal of mischief, by oversetting a curious set of tea china, which her sister Charlotte was playing with; and which she had received as a present the day before from 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, and was extremely angry with Charlotte for her warmth. " Martha was not to blame," add­ed she, "as she had no intention of doing the least mischief to your cups and saucers. I think as I told her once before, she was not sitting in a graceful attitude, and had she moved at the time I spoke to her, it would have prevented her fall; but that is no justi­fication 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 [Page 11] 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 I desire you will ask Mar­tha's pardon for the blow you have given her." Charlotte coloured 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 confess to be wrong, and was withheld from acting in the noblest manner, by the false shame of con­fessing an errour. At length, however, upon her Mamma's coming towards her with an

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a­vowed [Page 12] intention of inflicting some farther punishment, she mumbled out, in a low voice, which was very difficult to be understood, That she was very sorry she had struck her. 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 so­licited their Mamma for a bit of silk to make a Pincushion. Mrs. Airy gave them several pieces to chuse 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 sattin, 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 Biographer, which is generally understood to mean a person who is writing an account of his own, or another's actions, I [Page 13] shall take the liberty to speak for myself, and tell you what I saw and heard in the character of a Pincushion. Perhaps you never thought that such things as are inanimate, could be sensible of any thing which happens, as they can neither hear, see, or 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, you sometimes call yourselves gentlemen, and ladies, though you know you are only little boys, or 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 stile, and adopt your own manner of speaking, therefore, you must imagine that a Pincushion is now making believe to address you, 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 appear 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 [Page 14] account of what farther befel me in the family of Mrs. Airy.

After the young ladies had amused them­selves a great while with the pieces of silk

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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 an heart, but had, by loosing 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 [Page 15] silk, she cut open the old pincushion, and then stuck all she could find upon my sides in the shape of letters, which she afterwards changed to flowers, and a third time altered to stars and circles; which afforded her full amusement until bedtime. Miss Charlotte, though her Mamma had given her as much silk as her sister, had only cut it to waste; while

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Martha, after she had finished me, had saved the rest towards making a house wife for her doll. I could not help reflecting when I saw all Charlotte's little shreads and slips littering the room; what a simple method may little [Page 16] girls are apt to get into, of wasting every thing which their friends are so kind as to give them, and which, properly 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; that 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 without 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 frequently 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, [Page 17] would call at one o'clock. After breakfast, Charlotte, who had found the mould of an old button in one of her papa's waistcoat pockets which she had been rummaging, and had cut to pieces an axletree of a little cart, which belonged to her brother, to make a spindle, in order to convert it into a teatotum; 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, Ma'am!" said she, and played on. "Do pray go to work, Charlotte!"

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[Page 18]"Presently, Ma'am." 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, until 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 stitched some wristbands she was about, and which were intended for her grandpapa, so very bad, they were obliged to be undone; and that made her so cross, that in pulling out the work, she broke the threads of the cloth, which 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 in as she took them out of a 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 Charlotte, who had a very pretty mouth, and very regular features, stuck out her lips in a manner so unbecoming, and tossed about [Page 19] her head with such very illiberal jerks, that she lost all her natural advantages in her wilful ill humour. A person happening to call on Mrs. Airy, 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 ac­complished it. But their Mamma at her return, immediately suspected the case to be as I have told you, and enquired what help Charlotte had had 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 permitted 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 srock, 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 unbecoming a young lady. Unfortunately she forgot 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, [Page 20]

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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, for I won't ask you any otherwise," and away she went, hang­ing the door after her, to call her sister, who was ready and waiting for the coach in her Mamma's room. Martha ran directly, and began to pin her srock 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 Pinchushion) in her service, so she had not one pin to proceed with after three; [Page 21] 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 an enquiry which might not turn out to her credit. So, in short, they both traversed the room backwards and forwards, and were quite overjoyed when they found two (one of which proved to be crooked) between the joining of the floor. Then they each returned and took me up repeatedly, and examined me over and over, though they were convinced 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 conscious shame, and remorse for her past conduct, and heart heaving sobs of disappointment, saw them drive away with­out her. I was left upon the table in the hurry of my mistress's departure, and Charlotte took me up, and earnestly wished she had had a pincushion of her own: and so I should think would any one, who had experienced the want of such a useful companion; though unless it is well furnished with pins, it is in itself but of little assistance, as she had but too fatally found. The slatternly appearance, and real inconve­nience, [Page 22]

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which many ladies suffer from a neglect to provide themselves with, and to retain a few such necessary implements of female eco­nomy about them, is really inconceivable by any person who is accustomed to a proper de­gree of attention. Trifles are frequently re­garded by the giddy and thoughtless as of no moment, 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, [Page 23] 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 chuse 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 objects 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 unpolite ac­tion, frequently they will do it without recol­lecting the impropriety, when if they thought, perhaps, they would have on no account been guilty of it. Miss Lounge, the young lady who accompanied Mrs. Airy to the exhibition, was a striking example of what I mentioned 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 u [...]genteel. Her method of walking was re­markably unpleasing. She had a strange way of tossing her legs round at every step, as if she was making circles. [...] her arms were crossed over each other [...] awkward a manner, and [Page 24] so 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 dinner; and Miss Charlotte was quite ashamed of entering 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 her Mamma's exposing her folly to Mrs. Gardner, had made her dislike to shew herself in company; and the consciousness of having deserved reproof, made her justly apprehensive of receiving it. She did not venture down stairs, therefore, until 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 committed it, even when they are not certain it will be publickly 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 her scissars (by mistake I suppose) [Page 25]

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as my proper place was certainly in her pocket. But as they are so very apropos 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.

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, on ac­count of Miss Martha having mentioned to her the impropriety 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. This reproof [Page 27]

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Charlotte highly resented, and was very angry that her sister should find fault with her; and as the following verses were applicable to the circumstance, she adopted them as her own on the occasion.

Mrs. Airy was so generous as not to expose her daughter's folly before Mrs. Gardner: and as she had met with a severe punishment in the consequence of her fault, and had promised [Page 29] amendment for the future, after a gentle re­primand, when she came down the next morn­ing, nothing further passed upon the subject. Charlotte was so conscious of her late misbe­haviour, that she had scarce courage to enquire what entertainment they had received from a sight of the pictures at the exhibition; and Mar­tha, who was extremely delicate and attentive, very cautiously avoided the subject, for 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 enquired if Martha had not particularly taken notice of a large picture, which represented the death of

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[Page 30] Earl Goodwin. 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 that picture refers.

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 thing but the truth, that the next mouthful he eat might choke him. Which accordingly happened, and the bread stuck in his throat and he died immediately at the table. Don't you think, my dear, added Mrs. Airy, it was a just punish­ment for his untruth; and an awful judgment for calling God to witness to a falsehood? In­deed, Ma'am, I think it was quite dreadful; but are you sure that this account is true? for though it is certainly very wicked to tell a lye on any occasion, yet, as sometimes many peo­ple are thus guilty, I wonder that such events do not more frequently happen! You know that Miss Ryeby said she had not been writing last week, although you saw that her fingers were inked; and Charlotte had seen her doing it; why then, did not the same accident hap­pen [Page 31] to her? "Because, my love, the punish­ment of such crimes do not always immediately follow the commission of them; but you may be sure that the remorse of conscience, and the secret uneasiness of mind which the guilty suf­fer, is a very great unhappiness, and the ap­prehension and the fear of a future account 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 extraordinary event which was recorded at the time it happened, and which every historian has mentioned since, and faithfully transmitted to us. This is the best authority we can have for any fact which happened before our own time, and 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 will make them liable to such terrible vengeance, yet, in general, a crime of this kind does not meet with immediate 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 [Page 32] is at present 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 his word is doubted on all occasions." The conversation was here interrupted by the arri­val of two young ladies with their Mamma, who came to pay a morning visit to Mrs. Airy; 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 admiring the merits of Miss Lucy. She chatters so quick, as frequently not to be understood; and has a very silly trick of beginning every sentence with a laugh, than which nothing can be more illbred. The person who is speaking, should never laugh, if she can help it, at her own wit, if she designs to excite mirth, or to meet with approbation [Page 33]

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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 elders 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 [Page 34] her opinion 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 vanity, and loses that esteem she might have attained by a proper degree of humility, and a better know­ledge of her station. This observation, my dear Martha, I would particularly address to you; as you are generally thought uncommonly tall, and are usually imagined to be much older than you are. This I know you fancy to be a compliment, which always appears to give you pleasure; but remember, that, if you assume airs of womanhood, and affect to be thought farther advanced in age, you will have the less allowance made for any errours you may com­mit, and consequently meet with contempt where you might otherwise have escaped censure. Youth, and inexperience, are justly al­lowed to excuse any slight inadvertence in man­ners, or want of grace in appearance; but if you chuse to be thought of more consequence, you must likewise expect, that the notice you may attract will not always be favourable 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 [Page 35] any question, and to speak distinctly when she is particularly addressed, without enquiring in Lucy's manner, into the reason of every word which is uttered, and deciding every ar­gument according 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 in­sulted, 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 agreeable 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 engaged 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 or prudent; and which they may, when they have time to reflect, long have reason to repent having im­prudently uttered. Any restraint at such a time, is, I know, always esteemed an ill na­tured interruption, 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 [Page 36] 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 admo­nitions are always intended for your advantage. To impress this deeper upon your mind, I will repeat to you a few lines which were wrote to me, when I was young, by my aunt, and which, as they frequently occurred to my me­mory, I found to be singularly useful.

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The ladies now all retired to dinner, but I am ignorant of what passed there, as I was left upon a piece of embroidery, which my mistress was covering with some white paper to keep it clean; and she did not fetch me until after tea; when she carried me in her hand down stairs with her work, to shew some ladies who were assembled in the drawing room. I then ac­companied [Page 38] her into what was usually called the green parlour, as the furniture was all of that colour; where she went to play with her young visitors, whose names were Eliza Meekly and Julia Norris. They amused themselves with playing on the harpsichord, while Miss Martha personated the musick-master, and Charlotte chose to teach them dancing. Some

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part of the evening they played at going to the exhibition; and just as they determined to vis­it the pictures, the footman came to acquaint the young ladies, that their coach was ready. Miss Meekly's bib was unpinned, and Martha [Page 39] gave me into her hand in a hurry, while she was looking for her cloak. So without recol­lecting that I was another's property, Eliza, put me into her pocket, made a very elegant courtesy, and stept into the carriage. I felt really very sorry to part from a family with which I had been some time connected; and to one of whom I owed my being a Pincushion. But my new mistress was so very 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 Meekly 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 circum­stances; 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; of whom two were those I have above men­tioned. The others were three sisters, whose [Page 40] names were Saxby, and a Miss Una; who, for her sweetness of temper, and excellence in every accomplishment, was esteemed superiour to all the rest of her companions. Harriet Una, was cousin to Miss Meekly, and they usually slept together. She was just turned of thirteen, was tall and large; had light brown hair, blue eyes, and a fine complexion: 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 Harriet, she was afraid Miss Airy would want her Pincushion; and she was more concerned, 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 Miss Airy with, when I see her; and I will keep this, as I have not one at 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 thoughts of sharing the fate of my predecessor. [Page 41]

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At this time Mrs. Stanley entered the room to wish them a good night, and to see if 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 your­self so uneasy? I will tell you, answered Miss Meekly, 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 [Page 42] 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 so much for being so foolish, as to imagine any thing so innocent could hurt me; but that she supposed, as I went to school, my mistress, for so she sneeringly called Mrs. Stanley, would whip me if I did. That 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 eat any thing lately which I ought not; and if she does 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 sensible 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 confidence, with which you are at present favoured: And by [Page 43] 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; and at the same time very generously commending her honour on every occasion, and urging her 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 abovementioned. But she received her with the greatest affection and tenderness; and after expressing, in the warmest terms, her approbation of such a ge­nerous confession, added "You need never my dear girl, be afraid either of anger, or punishment, when with such a degree of frank­ness, [Page 44] you acknowledge any fault you have committed. Be assured, your friends will be always willing to pardon those errours 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 suffered, 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 [Page 45] 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. Betsey, which was her usual appellation, went one day to visit a companion, with whom she was ex­tremely intimate; but who, unfortunately for her, was not possessed of that strict honour which

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[Page 46] should ever be the basis and foundation of friendship. When they had been for some time at play in the garden, she proposed to go to a little shop in the neighbourhood to make a purchase of some gingerbread; and though Miss Lloyd for a time objected to the proposal without leave, against her mamma's repeated command; yet, her companion's 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 ball [...] ▪ They staid very soberly until Miss Lloyd had taken out her purse to pay for the cakes she had pur­chased; but as the lock of her pocket book was entangled 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 secrets. This vexed her extremely, and she thoughtlessly pursued him, as he ran away with the prize, until she was a good way from home. He was joined by several of his school-fellows, [Page 47] who took part with him, and behaved in so wild a ma [...]er 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 tenderness and anxiety, as to the reason of her stay. She told them, she had been out with Miss Hannah (the compan­ion she had really visited) and her maid, and that a horse had been near running over her, which had frightened her so much, as to pre­vent her return.

This story was believed by Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd for some time, and Betsey who had at first been very unhappy at the thoughts of such a wicked deceit, at length grew reconciled as she found herself undetected. She there­fore ventured upon a second transgression, from the encouragement which she foolishly imag­ined the secresy her first fault had given her; and with her intimate Miss Hannah took another walk, without any person to have the care of them. But during their absence from home, an unexpected accident punished the imprudent Miss Lloyd for her disobedience and untruth, in a manner which will give her cause for re­pentence to the latest period of her life; for as she was crossing a road in her return, a horse [Page 48] which had been tied to the rails of a house at a little distance, broke the bridle which confined him, and gallopped away full speed, unre­strained by any opposition, until in his passage the unfortunate Miss Lloyd, who did not per­ceive his approach, was thrown down, and

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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 falshood 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 parents) that [Page 49] it was more difficult to support, than any bo­dily uneasiness she had suffered; and the re­flections that they would never be able to con­fide in her for the future, was the occasion of so much self reproach as to deprive her of every enjoyment. This instance may serve to convince you, that a slight errour is very fre­quently without any previous intention, and when least expected; such crimes seldom occur in the cooler moments of thought (that is, when you have time to reflect on the wicked­ness of the action you will never be capable of committing it) and as no person 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 falshood, 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 for 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, [Page 50]

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and encouraged them to ask any question which occurred to them; to make their own observa­tions upon those passages in history which struck their imaginations; 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 improving 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 en­quired one day how long the island had been [Page 51] 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 endeavour, 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 was going through the reigns of the Saxon Monarchs. Don't 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 afterwards divided the kingdom into shires, hundreds, and tithings?" I did not recollect it, said Miss Una. But pray, added Miss Saxy, did the same king set up all the crosses, for I remember something about their being erected, though I have forgot when it happened. Your memory is very short I am afraid, replied Mrs. Stanley; but if you was to write down such particulars, you would find it of great assistance; as it appears very illiberal to be unacquainted 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 Westminster. There were in all ten, I think. One at Lincoln, Granth [...]m, [Page 52] Stamford, Geddington, Northampton, Stony Strat­ford, Dunstable, St. Alban's, 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 present 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 relate an accident in which I was very nearly concerned.

The kitten I have before mentioned, who was a great favourite with Miss Meekly, was never allowed to enter her bed chamber; but one day, the weather being extremely warm, and the door left 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 [Page 53] her jacket, and I lay in her lap securely as I

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imagined, until a carriage 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 I was impelled. So that I unfortunately rolled on, until I touched the edge of a bookcase, and discovered myself to Mrs. Puss, who hooked me with her claws, and twirled 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 [Page 54] a mouse. I afforded her great enter­tainment for some time, until at last I found my­self a second time under one of the feet of the bookcase, and so fast wedged in, that it was beyond the art of even a kitten's invention, to extricate me from my situation. And 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 imperfections; 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 thank the publick for its indulgence, and to continue the account of my adventures.

[Page 55]If I am not so happy as to meet with appro­bation, I shall at least have the consolation to reflect, that these pages have suggested no wrong ideas to the youthful mind, have given no encouragement to vanity, nor exhibited any improper example with commendation; which is what better Authors, and works of higher genius cannot always be happy enough to boast. Such as it is, I submit this account of myself to the world, and only desire them to remmember, in the words of the admired Gay, That

THE ADVENTURES OF A PINCUSHION.
PART II.

I HAD lain so long in my dismal confinement, that I began to despair of ever presenting 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 opportuni­ties of seeing the different manners of man­kind, should be thus secluded from company, and condemned by the playful freaks of 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 reflection, I had frequently reason to feel the force of; [Page 57]

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namely, That although I fretted and fumed every day at my unfortunate condition, 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 bookcase, I found the attempt was impossible to accom­plish, and I hurt my sides against the foot of it. The space was so small between the bot­tom of my prison and the floor; that, I had no [Page 58] hopes of escape, as it was impossible for any broom to find its way under; or otherwise the cleanliness of Mrs. Stanley's maid would cer­tainly have effected my deliverance. But, alas! of this I had no prospect; and though my endeavours were fruitless, it taught me such a lesson of contentment, as I wish every little reader of my memoirs, may remember, and copy in their own conduct. For if they are tired of working, reading, musick, drawing, or any other employment at home; or what is frequently the case, are impatient of the con­finement and disagreeable circumstances of be­ing at school, I would have them take my ad­vice, and try to amuse themselves when they have opportunity, and wait with patience until they are of a proper age, either to leave the place they dislike, or have overcome the diffi­culty of learning those accomplishments which are neccessary to be acquired. For they may depend upon it, that fretfulness and ill hu­mour will make every condition unhappy; while a resolution to be pleased, and make the best of every thing, is the only method to be agreeable to others, or comfortable themselves. The foot of the bookcase will press the closer, when we petulantly try to escape; and though children are not Pincushions, yet they will find, that whenever they are fretful and dissatisfied, [Page 59] 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 I 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 bookcase move, and heard the sound of men's voices, who, after much pushing and hoisting, took away what had so long covered me from the eye of every beholder. In short, I found that Mrs. Stanley had taken another house, as her lease was ex­pired; and in consequence of the removal of her furniture, I again regained my liberty. One of the porters took me up, and blew off the flew which so long a confinement had covered me with, 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 got a bit of paper, I will wrap it up, for my hands [Page 60] art wet and dirty, and when I 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 was your present any thing

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to wear, she should not have it; for I think finery is not suitable for us. She is a good child, Jacob, and that is better than being a lady. Well, Mother Trusty, do as you please, replied Jacob; I don't know who the Pincushion belonged to, so if you like 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 [Page 61] 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 set upon 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 after him to his master. Another trick which this animal had been taught, was to shut the door at the word of command; and his last performance to the entertainment

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[Page 62] 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 bid adieu to mother Trusty, and they each separated to pursue their different employments. 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 bookcase 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:

FRAGMENT.

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 [Page 64] 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 were very busily shelling. They expressed great pleasure at the sight of Mrs. Trusty, who I found to be their grandmother,

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and with much good humour, told her they had each earned a half penny; for that Mrs. Traffick at the chandler's shop, had given them one penny, and promised them a farthing's worth of gin­gerbread, or a stale roll, for getting her peas ready for supper. Well, and I have brought [Page 65] you home something, replied Mrs. Trusty un­folding me to the child, who eagerly getting up to recive 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 until you have done, and have washed your hands, said her grandmother; for it would be a pity to spoil this nice sattin 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, I would go without any thing in the world for the sake of my Jenny; and I will give her my halfpenny with all my heart, though I have staid away from a nice game at cricket on the green to earn it. When I am a man you shall see how hard I will work, and take care of all the money I get, and give it to you, mother, to buy us victuals, and drink, and clothes; and you shall stay at home and knit; but never, while I have my health, shall you go out to such hard labour as you now do. Blessings on my generous boy, exclaimed the tender hearted mother [Page 66] 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 I 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 much better for you than gingerbread.

Jenny kissed her brother, and thanked him for his kind intention; 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 humor and cheerful contentment, which is not always an attendant on the meals of the rich and the 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 [Page 67]

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day, and two little hungry children, I could not help reflecting, how wicked it is in those who are blessed with plenty, to be dissatisfied 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 highly thankful to receive. When they had concluded the meal which their grandmother had brought them, Dick ran to a neighbouring pump, to replenish a broken red pitcher which had lost its handle and a piece out of the top; and after they [Page 68]

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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 lain 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 which I shall beg leave to present my readers with.

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 [Page 71] education. But there is no answering for the powers of natural genius, and many a one may regard an 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 had 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 very frequent) and by her assiduity recommended herself to her mistress, who would often pro­pose her example as a pattern to the rest of her scholars.

The next morning, when mother Trusty got up to her daily labour, she kissed her grand­children, 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 learnt their lessons, they affectionately hugged each other, and dili­gently set forward with their books in their hands. But Jenny in a few minutes returned to fetch me, in order to exhibit her new pre­sent [Page 72]

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to her school fellows. We soon arrived at a cottage, whose apartments were neither large or numerous; but the exquisite clean­ness of it was truly admirable. The mistress, whose name was Markall, 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 handkerchief; which, with the addition of a checked apron, and a black petticoat, will give a pretty good idea of her appearance. [Page 73] She commended Jenny for coming early, and having enquired after her grandmother and brother, heard her read, and repeat the lesson she had the day before given her to learn. Soon after which, Betsey Field, Nanny Hay, and the rest of the scholars arrived; among which num­ber 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 wheelbarrow; or to attend 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 spell; 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 acknowledg­ment of superior excellence. When they had finished their business, and the wished for [Page 74] hour of twelve struck, from the church clock, which was very near Mrs. Markall's house, they all made their rustick courtesies and bows to the Dame, and poured, like a swarm of sum­mer flies, into the lane. The whole body of them stood for a few moments to interchange 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, produced me to her companions. Though she was anxious to dis­play

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[Page 75] what she was so well pleased with herself, yet she began to be apprehensive for my safety, when the girls, with unpolished rudeness, all scrambled for a sight of her present at the same time. At last the two whose names were above mentioned, pursued Polly Chant, who was in pos­session of me, and after scuffling on the grass, until Nanny Hay knocked her head with great violence against one of the tomb stones, and Betsey 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 dirted 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 Chant, whose property I so unjustly became, was the daughter of the parish clerk. He was by trade a shoemaker, and had three children, two girls and a boy. His wife was a notable little woman, who [Page 76] took care of some poultry, pigs, and asses, which were allowed to feed upon a green be­fore the house.

As soon as my 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 answered 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 on 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, and 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. Chant had just been washing her hands. Upon this arose a quarrel between the sisters, [Page 77]

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which was terminated by the entrance of their father, who insisted upon their bringing his dinner immediately; and Polly, after having carefully wiped, laid me on a clean handker­chief 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 illi­beral abuse could afford any entertainment to my readers, I shall not trouble myself to repeat it. But the folly of such behaviour must be evident to every reflecting mind, [Page 78] when it is considered, that although the scenes I have mentioned passed in the low life of poverty, yet the same ill humour, would occasion equal animosity, in the most affluent circumstances. And though no situation can justify fretful petulence, yet, it is certainly more excusable in girls, who were untaught by education, and unpolished by politeness, than in those, with whom the utmost care has been exerted, and who have had all the advantages of reading and instruction to con­tribute to their improvement. That it is possible for good humour, and a determined endeavour to please, in a great measure to supply 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 reader's esteem, the agreeable Hannah Mindful, to whom I was given one Sunday afternoon, by Polly Chant, in a walk which they took together after church. And sincerely glad was I to exchange mistresses, as my last had been so ill tempered and quarrel­some, 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 [Page 79] 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 en­trust them.

After she had parted from my late owner she was met in her way home by the vicar, whose

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[Page 80] lady was mentioned as the benefactress of my favourite Jenny, and who with her husband was returning to his house. He stopt at the gate, aud 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 his return pre­sented her with a couple of fine peaches, 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 either of them herself. A niece of Mr. Mindful's lived at this time at 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 had left her no friend but her uncle. She was entirely un­provided 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 sufficient opportunity 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 [Page 81] in her silly opinion, unlike a lady to get up early. Without any fortune, or the slightest recommendation but her industry, she was ever foolishly aiming at a rank in life, to which she had no pretensions; and without sense to distinguish, that it is gracefulness of manners, and superiour learning, that forms 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 to imagine, that by imitating some of those foi­bles she had seen in girls who had more for­tune than understanding, she would 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 water 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 them­selves, and to be ready at the proper time, might go without food. When Sally therefore came down, she was much disappointed to [Page 82] hear, that a fast was for the present enjoined as her portion; and looking very much out of humour, she walked into the garden. He followed her out; and as she 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

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at her behaviour. "You are very foolish, Sally, said he, because you have been to school, to imagine that you have nothing farther to do, than set 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 [Page 83] your bread. Behave as you should, and I will treat you as my own child: but if you have too much pride to know your duty, and will not mind my advice, I will turn you out, to try where you can live better than with me." Sally knew she dare 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 passion. My good natured mistress compassionately kissed her, and wept to see her disturbance; 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 don't weep so sadly. "I can't, 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 [Page 84] 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, whenever 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 cannot 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 a manner as that. "What good things? retorted the haughty girl, raising her voice, and growing more angry. Do you call this dowlas shift, this coarse apron, this linsey wolsey gown, good things? Or do you call the brown bread we eat, or the hard dumplings you was 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 a little hole there is, quite crammed full of honeysuckles; 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 felt through yesterday, when she got upon it to reach [Page 85] 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 discon­tented with what my father and mother can afford. I think our bread is as good as any body need wish for? and I am sure the dump­lings you so scornfully mention, will be very well tasted and wholesome. As to the furni­ture, if it is old, I will answer for its being clean, Sally; and my father says he can nail a piece of board over that chair, which will last as many years as the back does. And as to our clothes, I am sure they are whole and tight; for I would work my fingers to 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 much money as would buy all the villages for twenty 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 [Page 86]

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with the bed. And Miss Goodall, although she is dressed so handsomely, never seems to think about it; and the last time she stopt here took the loaf out of my father's hand, and said, let me cut Mrs. Mindful a piece of bread and butter! I can do it very well, and it shall be thin, such as I know she can eat. And she brought with her a canister 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 shewed me the way to do it, with so much good nature, that I don't think you need be so very proud, Sally, and look so unhappy about your situation. And [Page 87] I assure you, she has sometimes eat 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, as 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 sweetness, 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 immediately 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 actions. It was impossible inded to see 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.

[Page 88] Hannah Mindful was a healthy looking country girl, her complexion was burnt by the sun, and her hands hardened by laborious 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 recommend the pos­sessor to general observation; but a constant cheerfulness, and a desire of obliging, which was never interrupted by petulance, 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 out to play, and forgot the business which fell to their share, or which their mo­ther had ordered them 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 ribbands from a fair, for her sister Molly and herself, he gave Hannah the liberty of chusing first. She directly took a pink, which was her favourite colour; and [Page 89] 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 her immediately, with as much readiness, as if she had approved of the exchange from the preference to the colour she disliked. Sally told her she thought it was foolish to give up

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what she had got 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 desirous to obtain: and I declare, added she, I feel a much higher gratification in the idea of giving [Page 90] 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 despicable meanness. By wishing for greater 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 the 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 your's 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 [Page 91] more respectable than a Prince, if he is sunk to indigence by misfortune; and exerts his utmost powers, to act with industry, and maintain the proper conduct which his situa­tion requires. Let me advise you then, not to wish for that finery which would be unsuita­ble to your circumstances; 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 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 performed, if it is done with sullenness and ill will, it becomes the most laborious toil, and most irksome em­ployment; but if it is executed with cheerful­ness, it is much sooner dispatched, and the fatigue is considerably abated. It is time, However, to return to my own adventures, without trespassing longer on your patience by my advice.

I had continued some time with my mis­tress, when Mr. Goodall (whose daughter I believe I have beforementioned) gave an enter­tainment to his tenants, on account of her at­taining [Page 92] her eighteenth year. Mr. Mindful out of kindness to his family, determined to stay at home himself, and take 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 rustick 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

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[Page 93] cheeks, prepared to set out for Oakley 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 mischievous. 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 her clothes, had been for some days busily 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 trimming 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 promised to assist her in [Page 94] 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 imagined would make her so much better respected by the family at Oakly Hall. To this place then she repaired, her heart beating 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 make any substitute for a cushion it would much improve 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 disdain, 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, [Page 95]

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which she had taken great pains to complete, and pinning her hair over it with a piece of black ribbon, she put on her cap; which ex­hibited the most tawdry collection of old gauze, bits of ribbon, and slatternly tassels, that can well be imagined. At last came the trial of the coat, which as it had been made very long behind, was in that respect tolerable; but its appearance in front was so short, as to be really ridiculous. 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 impossible to regain it, as it was so instantly [Page 96] 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 admire her appearance extremely, and to make it the more complete, he had before tied a coup­le of sheep'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 addi­tion to the streamers in her cap, he suspended a number of bits of straw, which he had tied together with a piece of pack thread. With these burlesque ornaments she hurried with

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[Page 97] him to the Hall; and as she was entering 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 on her back, to the unspeakable entertainment 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 treated 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 Chant, who was of the party, very maliciously pinned 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 salt seller, and several plates, knives, forks, and spoons; which had they been brittle materials, would have been certainly demolished; but as the whole service was of pewter, they escaped un­hurt. The bustle which this accident occa­sioned, still more disconcerted the unfortunate Sally Flaunt, who bursting into tears very hastily left the room. In the angry jirk with [Page 98] 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 repeat the imag­ined offence, the author of which, however, she found it impossible to discern. But as she was going through an apartment which led to the garden, she discovered 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 handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes, she whirled me out with it to a consider­able distance, 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 determined to mortify her pride, by mak­ing her an object of ridicule; and though his mischievous 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 [Page 99] disobey her aunt, by pretending to comply with her advice, at the very moment she was preparing to act in opposition to it, she would have escaped that mortification, which, how­ever it might excite pity, was undoubtedly deserved.

I lay unperceived by the door of a little closet until the next morning; when Mrs. Betty, who came to sweep the room, picked me up,

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and laid me for some time on a marble slab, and 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. Goodall's family. She sat down [Page 100]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 otherwise 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 compassion 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 thinking how much trouble it gives me to take them up again. But if she would but put her 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 [Page 101] so much like a young 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 (which is one way she makes her frock so dirty) and takes such great mouth­fuls, and eats so exceedingly fast, as if she was starving, and thought she should lose her din­ner; and sometimes she drinks without wip­ing her mouth, and very frequently when it is not empty. "O! I have seen her myself, interrupted Betty; I have seen her when I have waited at breakfast, grasp the spoon in her hand quite down to the bowl of it, and my mistress has told her it looked very ugly; and

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[Page 102] then she has altered it for a minute, but has 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 after I have rubbed them until they are as bright as looking-glasses; and then she smears her hand 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 master 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 don't fatigue yourself today, I hope you will be better tomorrow." I don't care how I slave when people are considerate, and seem to think I do my duty. During the latter part of this conversation, 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 breakfast things, folded me up in the table cloth, and [Page 103] 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 blue apron upon the dunghill, and did not see my

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fall. After her departure, I was peck [...] at alternately by almost all the sowls, until at last I was tossed by a bantam hen, under a little water tub, where I have 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.

[Page 104]The catastrophe which has 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 uncertain in pos­session.