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[Illustration]


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                                  THE

                              _ADVENTURES_

                                  OF A

                             _PINCUSHION_.


                            DESIGNED CHIEFLY

                      For the use of Young Ladies.

              -------------------------------------------

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

              -------------------------------------------

                               _LONDON._

          Printed and Sold by _JOHN MARSHALL_, No. 17, Queen
          Street, Cheapside; and No. 4, Aldermary Church Yard,
          in Bow-Lane.

                       [Price SIX-PENCE, Bound.]


------------------------------------------------------------------------

              -------------------------------------------




                                PREFACE.


The Author of the following sheets is well aware of the objections which
may be made to the performance but hopes the candour of the public will
excuse those defects, which the nature of the undertaking rendered it
almost impossible to avoid. The pointed satire of ridicule, which would
perhaps have given a zest to those scenes in which the subject of these
pages was engaged, was not, in the opinion of the writer, at all proper
for those readers for whom it was solely designed: to exhibit their
superiors in a ridiculous view, is not the proper method to engage the
youthful mind to respect: to represent their equals as the objects of
contemptuous mirth, is by no means favourable to the interest of
good-nature: and to treat the characters of their inferiors with levity,
the Author thought was inconsistent with the sacred rights of humanity.
Circumscribed therefore to the narrow boundaries of simple narrative, it
has been the design of the following pages, carefully to avoid exciting
any wrong impression, and, by sometimes blending _instruction_ and
_amusement_, to make it the more easily retained.

To multiply incidents in these circumstances, was a very difficult task,
especially, as it was wished to make them arise naturally from the
subject; and not obtrude unnecessarily without any seeming cause to
produce them. The avidity with which children peruse books of
entertainment, is a proof how much publications proper for their
attention are required. Though the sentiments should be suited to their
simplicity, they ought to be expressed with propriety; since a taste for
elegance may be insensibly acquired; and we should always _endeavour_ to
present them with proper models of imitation. Conscious of the
difficulty of the undertaking, the Author of these adventures will
gladly have declined the task, in the expectation of such a work’s
engaging the attention of those, whose genius were more equal to its
accomplishment. With the hope, therefore, of inspiring others to excel
the example, it is now submitted to the world “with all its
imperfections on its head,” trusting for a candid reception to the
motive which first suggested the idea: _That of presenting the juvenile
reader with a a few pages which should be innocent of corrupting, if
they did not amuse_.


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[Illustration]


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                                  THE

                              _ADVENTURES_

                                  OF A

                             _PINCUSHION_.


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 made a work-bag; 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, looking 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 chair, 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 chair-back came to the ground, while
the other end mounted up like a piece of board for a sea-saw; and in her
fall tumbling down backwards, 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 grandpapa. _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 anyone, 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 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 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 that 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
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 a 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 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, 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, you
sometimes call yourselves gentlemen, and ladies, though you know you are
only little boys or girls. So, when you read of birds and beads 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 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 practice those
virtues or accomplishments, which render the contrary examples more
worthy of imitation. And now, if you please, we will return to the
account of what further befell me in the family of Mrs. _Airy_.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

After the young ladies had amused themselves 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 looping 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 on an old news-paper,
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 till bed time. Miss
_Charlotte_, 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 simple 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, 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: and 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 lock 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 waistcoat pockets which she had been rummaging, 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 tea-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_!”

[Illustration]

“Presently, 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 stitched some wristbands she was
about, and which were intended for her grandpapa, 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 _Charlotte_, who had a
very pretty mouth, and very regular features, stuck out her lips in a
manner so unbecoming, and tossed about her head with such very illiberal
jirks that she lost all natural advantages in her wilful ill-humour.

[Illustration]

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 inquired what help _Charlotte_ had received in her absence?
They were both girls of too much honour to deny the truth, and in
consequences 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 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 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_, “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 will not ask you any otherwise,” and away
she went, banging 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 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 proceed 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 an inquiry 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 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
œconomy about them, is really inconceivable by any person 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, and destitute of a _Pincushion_, she has
quite undressed herself, and her cloaths 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
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 impolite 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.

[Illustration]

Miss _Lounge_, the young lady who accompanied Mrs. _Airy_ to the
exhibition was a striking 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
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 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.

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 show herself in
company; and the consciousness 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
committed 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 her scissars, (by mistake I
suppose) 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.

[Illustration]

           _’Tis innocence only true courage can give,
             or secure from the fear of disdain;
           To be conscious of gilt all affiance destroys,
             And the hope of enjoyment is vain._

           _If to error betrayed, then delay not 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 guilt,
             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 stings of remorse,
             Is the heaviest grief we can know._

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

[Illustration]

          _Nay_, Charlotte, _why so much displeas’d to be told,
            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 surprize;
          I thought you had sense to rely on my love;
            To resent it I deem’d 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 not gladly, with candour receive,
            The advice which 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 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 amendment for the future,
after a gentle reprimand, when she came down the next morning, nothing
further passed on the subject.

[Illustration]

_Charlotte_ was so conscious of her late misbehaviour, that she had
scarce courage to inquire 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, 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_ inquired
whether _Martha_ had not particularly taken notice of a large picture,
which represented the death of 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
this picture refers,” said Mrs. _Airy_.

“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 ate might choak him. Which
accordingly happened, 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 account is true? for though
it is certainly very wicked to tell a lie 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 _Riby_ 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 to her?” “Because, my love, the punishment of such crimes does
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 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 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 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 and
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.

[Illustration]

_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 fast, 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 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 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 her opinion unasked, upon subjects which
frequently expose her ignorance an 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 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 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 any question, and to speak distinctly when she is particularly
addressed, without inquiring, 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 nor
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 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
written to me, when I was young, by my aunt, and which, as they
frequently occurred to my memory, I found to be singularly useful.

[Illustration]

         _Recollect, my sweet girl, ere you mix with the world.
           There is need of some caution to guide;
         Then wisely remember to govern your tongue,
           As silence much folly may hide._

         _Most useful I 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 amuse;
           But no real esteem will acquire;
         And I trust that your wish when in converse you join,
           Is a nobler regard to inspire._

         _Remember that memory long may record,
           The folly you utter’d in jest;
         And a secret unmarked when escaped from your lips,
           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 foundations of grief._”

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 till after tea; when she carried me in her hand down stairs with her
work, to show some ladies who were assembled in the drawing room. I then
accompanied her into what was usually called the green parlour, as the
furniture was all of that colour; whither she went to play with her
young visiters, whose names were _Eliza Meekly_ and _Julia Norris_.

[Illustration]

They amused themselves with playing on the Harpsichord, while Miss
_Martha_ personated 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 pictures, the
footman came to acquaint the young ladies, that their coach was ready.
Miss _Meekly_’s bib was unpinned, and _Martha_ 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 stepped 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; two of whom were those
I have above mentioned. 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 _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.

[Illustration]

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 the 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 to Miss _Airy_ 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 thought of sharing the fate of my predecessor. At
this time Mrs. _Stanley_ entered the room to wish them a good-night, and
to see whether 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 _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 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 sneeringly
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 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; 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 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
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, “You need never, my
dear girl, be afraid either of anger, or punishment, when with such a
degree of frankness, you acknowledge 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 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
who is the subject of it, will perhaps make a deeper impression on your
mind.”

[Illustration]

“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 should be the basis and foundation of friendship. When they had
been for some time at play in the garden, she proposed to go back 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 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 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, till she was a good way from home. He was
joined by several of his school-fellows, who took part with him, and
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 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.

[Illustration]

“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 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 a little distance, broke the bridle which confined him, and
gallopped away full speed, unrestrained 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 parents) that 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
error is very frequently without any previous intention; and when least
expected, the occasion 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.”

[Illustration]

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, 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 inquired 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 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 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 afterwards divided the kingdom into shires, hundreds, and
tithings?” “I 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,” replied Mrs.
_Stanley_; “but if you were to write down such particulars, you would
find it of great assistance: as it appears very illiterate 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_, _Grantham_,
_Stamford_, _Geddington_, _Northampton_, _Stony Stratford_, _Dunstable_,
St. _Albans_, _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.

[Illustration]

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 her jacket, and I
lay in her lap securely as I imagined, till a carriage stopping at the
gate, she precipitately jumped up to look out at the visiters, 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, till I touched
the edge of a bookcase; 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 afforded her great, entertainment for
some time, till 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. 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 over look 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
public for its indulgence, and to continue the account of my adventures.

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 remember, in the words of the admired _Gay_, That

                  “_From objects most minute and mean,
                   A virtuous mind may morals glean._”


------------------------------------------------------------------------


                                  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: 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.

[Illustration]

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 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, music, drawing, or any other employment at
home; or what is frequently the case, are impatient of the confinement
of being at school, I would have them take my advice, and try to amuse
themselves when they have opportunity, and wait with patience till they
are of a proper age, either to leave the place they dislike, or have
overcome the difficulty of learning those accomplishments which are
necessary 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, 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.

[Illustration]

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 regained my liberty. One of the porters
took me up, and blew off the flew 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 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 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 being a lady.” “Well,
mother _Trusty_, do as you please,” replied _Jacob_; “I do not 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 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 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 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 or his meal, _Jacob_ bade 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:

[Illustration]


                               FRAGMENT.

        _’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 possess’d_.

        _I have seen her, my friend, when no art could assuage,
        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 ever 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._

[Illustration]

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 were very
busily shelling. They expressed great pleasure at the sight of Mrs.
_Trusty_, whom I found to be their grandmother, and with much
good-humour, told her they had each earned a halfpenny; 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 you home
something,” replied Mrs. _Trusty_, unfolding 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 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
half-penny 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, grandmother, to buy us victuals, and drink, and cloaths; 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 generous
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 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.”

[Illustration]

_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-humour and cheerful contentment,
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 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 had each of them drank with thirsty eagerness he kissed his
grandmother and sister, and wished 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.

[Illustration]

                          DICK TO HIS SISTER.


     _Tho’ I am but a boy, yet I’ll do the best I can,
     And I’ll try to earn something, altho I’m not a man;_
     _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 worst,
     And to see you look so dismal my heart it will burst_.
     _Old grannum she will help us, and work for to maintain;
     And when I am bigger, I’ll 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 I pass thro’ the church yard, where Daddy is at rest;
     I cannot help sobbing, and a sigh will heave my breast:
     And I think to myself, if my_ Jenny _too should die,
     Ah! who would her place to her_ Richard _e’er supply.
     Then, my sister, cheer thine heart, and do not look so sad;
     If we can but live together, matters will not be so bad.
     Now the blackberries are ripe, and I’ll gather some for thee;
     And we’ll eat them, my_ Jenny, _beneath yon hollow tree.
     I know too, my love, where some honey may be found;
     For I have oft mark’d the place, which the bees do surround;
     And I’ll take some for thee, for young_ Robin _taught me how,
     One day when I followed in the field with his plow.
     Then, my_ Jenny, _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 again_.

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 education. 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 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.

[Illustration]

The next morning, when mother _Trusty_ got up to her daily labour, she
kissed her grand-children, and told then 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 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 to
her school-fellows. We soon arrived at a cottage, the apartments of
which were neither large nor 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. She commended
_Jenny_ for coming early, and having inquired 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 wheel-barrow;
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.

[Illustration]

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 acknowledgement 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.
_Markall_’s house, they all made their rustic courtesies and bows to the
Dame, and poured, like a swarm of summer flies, into the lane. The whole
body of them stood a 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 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 whole names were above-mentioned, pursued _Polly Chaunt_
who was in possession of me, and after scuffling on the grass, till
_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 Chaunt_, 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
took care of some poultry, pigs, and asses, which were allowed to feed
upon a green before the house.

[Illustration]

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, nor 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.
_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 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, 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 petulance, yet, it was 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 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 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 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.

[Illustration]

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 stopt
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 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 them herself. A niece
of Mr. _Mindful_’s 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 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 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 superior learning,
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 to
imagine, 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 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 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 in to the kitchen, told her, he was displeased at her
behaviour. “You are very foolish, _Sally_,” said he, “because you have
been to school, to imagine 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 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.”

[Illustration]

_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 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 do not weep so sadly. “I 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, whenever I see you and your sisters cloathed 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 dowlass shift, this coarse apron,
this linsey woolsey gown, _good things_? Or do you call the brown bread
we eat, or the hard dumplings you were making just now, _good things_?
And, pray this old worm-eaten bed without any curtains to it, and this
little widow which is too small to admit one’s head out, and what 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 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 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 cloaths, 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 sisters, 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
_Goodhall_, 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 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-nature, that I do not think you need be so very proud, _Sally_, and
look so unhappy about your situation. 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,
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
indeed 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.

[Illustration]

_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 ribbons
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 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 preference 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 desirous 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
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.

[Illustration]

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 cloaths, 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 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 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 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.

[Illustration]

I had continued some time with my mistress, 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, 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 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 off filial affection bade her
adieu.

[Illustration]

_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 cloaths, 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, infilled 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 her design; which was, after she had taken leave of Mrs.
_Mindful_, to carry her cloaths 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 she then
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, 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 taudry
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 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 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 sheeps 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.

[Illustration]

The boys were eager to dissect her head dress, and _Polly Chaunt_, 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 which she
walked away from the company, her two shoulders were saluted with the
sheeps 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 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.

[Illustration]

I lay unperceived by the door of a little closet till the next morning;
when Mr. _Betty_, who came to sweep the room, picked me up, and laid me
for 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 housmaid in Mr. _Goodall_’s 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 otherwise be: and
then Miss _Sophy_ is so careless, she never considers what will dirt her
cloaths, 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 cloaths 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.”

[Illustration]

She will never be beloved like her sister, said _Joice_. And then she
does not look 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, (that is one way in which she makes her frock
so dirty) and takes such great mouthfuls, and eats so exceeding fast, as
if she were 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 unmannerly: and then she 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
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 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 do not fatigue yourself to-day, I
hope you will be better 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 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 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
seeds out of his blue 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 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 readers regard,
I hope I shall not lose their approbation, from a change of situation or
appearance.

[Illustration]

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.




                                THE END


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 ● Transcriber’s Notes:
    ○ There seems to be some text missing in the publisher’s list of
      books in the sentence beginning “of Rational Sports”.
    ○ As much as was possbile, the inconsistent use of quotation marks
      has been regularized.
    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
      when a predominant form was found in this book.
    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).







End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of a Pincushion, by Anonymous