The Governess [The Little Female Academy]
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Sarah Fielding >> The Governess [The Little Female Academy]
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'No,' says Miss Nancy Spruce, 'it was not half so much like that,
as it was like Brunetta's fine castle; and I could not help
thinking myself the Princess Hebe, and how much I should have been
pleased with such a fine place at first, just as she was.'
'Indeed,' says Miss Betty Ford, 'you are in the right of it, Miss
Nanny; for 'twas much more like the description of Brunetta's
castle, than what I said myself.'
Miss Jenny was pleased to hear Miss Betty so ready to own herself
mistaken; and said to Miss Nanny Spruce, 'I am glad, my dear, to
find that you so well remember what you read; for it is by
recalling frequently into our memories the things we have read,
that they are likely to be of any service to us.'
Being now come home, they entered into the presence of their
governess with that pleasure, and proper confidence, which ever
attends innocence and goodness; and Mrs. Teachum received them
with a pleasing smile.
Miss Jenny gave her governess a faithful account of all that had
passed, with the agreeable entertainment they had accidentally met
with, of seeing Lord X--'s fine house, and the great civility of
Mrs. Wilson, 'Which I hope, madam,' said Miss Jenny, 'I did not do
wrong in accepting.' 'You did very properly, my dear,' said Mrs.
Teachum, 'for when any person is willing to oblige you, without
any inconvenience to themselves, it is always right to accept
their offer, as you thereby gratify them, by putting it in their
power to give you pleasure.'
Miss Jenny then with great cheerfulness and freedom, told her
governess all that had paled in conversation, both in their walk
to the dairy house, and at Lord X--'s, what little Polly had said
in the housekeeper's room, as also Mrs. Wilson's answer; and said,
by Mrs. Wilson's downcast look, she was afraid that poor Lord X--
and his lady were not so happy as might be wished. 'But,'
continued she, 'I did not ask Mrs. Wilson any questions, because
you have taught me, madam, carefully to avoid the least appearance
of impertinent curiosity.'
'You was very right, my dear,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'in asking no
farther questions; nor would she, I dare say, as she is a prudent
woman, have gratified you if you had; for though the unhappy story
is too well known all over the country, yet it would have been
very unbecoming in one of the family to have published it.' Mrs.
Teachum saw in her little scholars' eyes, a secret wish of knowing
what this story was; and, after a short pause, she said, 'Since I
find you disposed, my good girls, to make the proper use of what
you hear, I will indulge your curiosity.
'Lord X-- and his lady have been married seven years; Lord X-- is
the wretchedest creature breathing, because he has no children,
and therefore no heir to his title and large estate. He was
naturally of a haughty impetuous temper, and impatient of any the
least disappointment; and this disposition not being subdued in
his youth, has led him into all sort of excesses. His lady is not
much better tempered than himself, and valuing herself highly upon
her beauty, and the large fortune she brought him, greatly resents
his sometimes insolent, and always neglectful usage of her. They
have hitherto lived on in the most jarring, disputing manner, and
took no care to conceal their quarrels from the world; but at last
they have agreed to part by consent, and the different journeys
they this morning took, I suppose, was with an intent of final
separation.
'That grandeur and happiness do not always go together (as Mrs.
Wilson observed to you) is seen by this story, which I was the
more willing to tell you, as it was a proper introduction to a
fable I have been collecting together from others, for your use.
You know that all my endeavours to make you good, are only
intended to make you happy; and if you thoroughly reflect upon the
truth of this maxim, which I so often endeavour to inculcate, you
will doubtless reap no small advantage from it.'
Here Mrs. Teachum ceased speaking, and, giving Miss Jenny Peace a
paper, she bid her read it aloud; which she did, and it contained
the following fable:
THE ASSEMBLY OF THE BIRDS.
A FABLE.
In ancient days, there was a great contention amongst the birds,
which, from his own perfections, and peculiar advantages, had the
strongest title to happiness; and at last they agreed to refer the
decision of the debate to the eagle.
A day was appointed for their meeting; the eagle took his seat,
and the birds all attended to give in their several pleas.
First spoke the parrot. Her voice so dearly resembling human
speech, and which enabled her to converse with such a superior
race, she doubted not (she said) would have its just weight with
the eagle, and engage him to grant a decree in her favour; and to
this plea she also added, that she dwelt in a fine cage adorned
with gold, and was fed every day by the hands a fair lady.
'And pray, Mrs. Poll,' said the eagle, 'how comes it, since you
fare so sumptuously, that you are so lean and meagre, and seem
scarcely able to exert that voice you thus make your boast of?'
'Alas!' replied the parrot, 'poor Poll's lady has kept her bed
almost this week; the servants have all forgot to feed me; and I
am almost starved.' 'Pray observe,' said the eagle, 'the folly of
such pride! Had you been able to have conversed only with your
own kind, you would have fared in common with them; but it is to
this vaunted imitation of the human voice, that you owe your
confinement, and consequently (though living in a golden cage)
your dependence upon the will and memory of others, even for
common necessary food.'
Thus reproved, the parrot, with shame, hastily retired from the
assembly.
Next stood forth the daw, and, having tricked himself in all the
gay feathers he could muster together, on the credit of these
borrowed ornaments, pleaded his beauty, as a title to the
preference in dispute. Immediately the birds agreed to divest the
silly counterfeit of all his borrowed plumes; and, more abashed
than the parrot, he secretly slunk away.
The peacock, proud of native beauty, now flew into the midst of
the assembly. He displayed before the sun his gorgeous tail.
'Observe (said he) how the vivid blue of the sapphire glitters in
my neck; and when thus I spread my tail, a gemmy brightness
strikes the eye from a plumage varied with a thousand glowing
colours.' At this moment, a nightingale began to chant forth his
melodious lay; at which the peacock, dropping his expanded tail,
cried out, 'Ah what avails my silent unmeaning beauty, when I am
so far excelled in voice by such a little russet-feathered wretch
as that!' And, by retiring, he gave up all claim to the
contended-for preference.
The nightingale was so delighted with having got the better of the
peacock, that he exerted his little voice, and was so lost in the
conceit of his own melody, that he did not observe a hawk, who
flew upon him, and carried him off in his claws.
The eagle then declared, 'That as the peacock's envy had taken
away all his claim, so no less had the nightingale's self-conceit
frustrated all his pretensions; for those who are so wrapped up in
their own perfections, as to mind nothing but themselves, are
forever liable to all sorts of accidents.' And, besides, it was
plain, by the exultation the nightingale expressed on his imagined
glory over the peacock, that he would have been equally dejected
on any preference given to another.
And now the owl, with an affected gravity, and whooting voice,
pleaded his well-known wisdom; and said, 'He doubted not but the
preference would be granted to him without contest, by all the
whole assembly for what was so likely to produce happiness as
wisdom?'
The eagle declared, 'That, if his title to wisdom could be proved,
the justice of his claim should be allowed; and then asked him,
how he could convince them of the truth of what he had advanced?'
The owl answered, 'That he would willingly appeal to the whole
assembly for their decision in this point; for he was positive
nobody could deny his great superiority as to wisdom.' Being
separately asked, they most of them declared, that they knew no
one reason, either from his words or actions, to pronounce him a
wise bird; though it was true, that by an affected solemnity in
his looks, and by frequent declarations of his own, that he was
very wife, he had made some very silly birds give him that
character; but, since they were called upon to declare their
opinions, they must say, that he was ever the object of contempt
to all those birds who had any title to common understanding. The
eagle then said, 'He could by no means admit a plea, which as
plainly appeared to be counterfeit, as were the jay's borrowed
feathers.' The owl, thus disappointed, flew away, and has ever
since shunned the light of the sun, and has never appeared in the
daytime, but to be scorned and wondered at.
It would he endless to repeat all the several pleas brought by the
birds, each desiring to prove, that happiness ought to be his own
peculiar lot. But the eagle observing that the arguments made use
of to prove their point were chiefly drawn from the disadvantages
of others, rather than from any advantage of their own, told them,
'There was too much envy and malice amongst them, for him to
pronounce any of them deserving or capable of being happy; but I
wonder,' says he, 'why the dove alone is absent from this
meeting?' 'I know of one in her nest hard by,' answered the
redbreast, 'shall I go and call her?' 'No,' says the eagle,
'since she did not obey our general summons, 'tis plain she had no
ambition for a public preference; but I will take two or three
chosen friends, and we will go softly to her nest, and see in what
manner she is employing herself; for from our own observations
upon the actions of any one, we are more likely to form a judgment
of them, than by any boasts they can make.'
The eagle was obeyed, and, accompanied only by the linnet, the
lark, the lapwing, and the redbreast for his guide, he stole
gently to the place where the dove was found hovering over her
nest, waiting the return of her absent mate; and, thinking herself
quite unobserved,
[*] While o'er her callow brood she hung,
She fondly thus address'd her young:
'Ye tender objects of my care,
Peace! peace! ye little helpless pair.
Anon! he comes, your gentle sire,
And brings you all your hearts require;
For us, his infants and his bride,
For us, with only love to guide,
Our lord assumes an eagle's speed,
And, like a lion, dares to bleed:
Nor yet by wintry skies confin'd,
He mounts upon the rudest wind,
From danger tears the vital spoil,
And with affection sweetens toil.
Ah! cease, too vent'rous, cease to dare;
In thine, our dearer safety spare.
From him, ye cruel falcons stray;
And turn, ye fowlers, far away,
--All-giving Pow'r, great source of life,
Oh! hear the parent, hear the wife:
That life thou lendest from above,
Though little, make it large in love.
Oh! bid my feeling heart expand
To ev'ry claim on ev'ry hand,
To those, from whom my days I drew,
To these in whom those days renew,
To all my kin, however wide,
In cordial warmth as blood allied.
To friends in steely fetters twin'd
And to the cruel not unkind;
But chief the lord of my desire,
My life, myself, my soul, my sire,
Friends, children, all that wish can claim,
Chaste passion clasp, and rapture name.
Oh! spare him, spare him, gracious Pow'r:
Oh! give him to my latest hour,
Let me my length of life employ,
To give my sole enjoyment joy.
His love let mutual love excite;
Turn all my cares to his delight,
And ev'ry needless blessing spare,
Wherein my darling wants a share.
--Let one unruffled calm delight
The loving and belov'd unite;
One pure desire our bosoms warm;
One will direct, one wish inform;
Through life one mutual aid sustain;
In death one peaceful grave contain.'
While, swelling with the darling theme,
Her accents pour'd an endless stream.
The well-known wings a sound impart
That reach'd her ear, and touch'd her heart.
Quick dropp'd the music of her tongue,
And forth, with eager joy, she sprung.
As swift her ent'ring consort flew,
And plum'd, and kindled at the view.
Their wings, their souls, embracing, meet,
Their hearts with answ'ring measure beat,
Half lost in sacred sweets, and bless'd
With raptures felt, but ne'er express'd.
Strait to her humble roof she led
The partner of her spotless bed;
Her young, a flutt'ring pair, arise,
Their welcome sparkling in their eyes,
Transported, to their sire they bound,
And hang, with speechless action, round.
In pleasure wrapt, the parents stand,
And see their little wings expand;
The sire his life sustaining prize
To each expecting bill applies;
There fondly pours the wheaten spoil,
With transport giv'n, though won with toil;
While, all collected at the sight,
And silent through supreme delight,
The fair high heav'n of bliss beguiles,
And on her lord and infants smiles.
[*] These verses are a quotation from that tender fable of the
Sparrow and the Dove, in the 'Fables for the Female Sex.'
The eagle now, without any hesitation, pronounced the dove to be
deservedly the happiest of the feathered kind; and however
unwilling the rest of the birds were to assent to the judgment
given, yet could they not dispute the justice of the decree.
Here Miss Jenny ceased reading, and all the little company
expressed by their looks, that they were overjoyed at the eagle's
determination; for they had all in their own minds forestalled the
eagle's judgment, of giving the preference to the dove. 'Now, my
good children,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'if you will pass through this
life with real pleasure, imitate the dove; and remember, that
innocence of mind, and integrity of heart, adorn the female
character, and can alone produce your own happiness, and diffuse
it to all around you.'
Our little company thanked their governess for her fable; and,
just at that instant, they heard a chariot drive into the court,
and Mrs. Teachum went out to see what visitor could be arrived so
late in the evening; for it was near eight o'clock.
They all remained in the room where their governess left them; for
they had been taught never to run out to the door, or to the
windows, to look at any strangers that came, till they knew
whether it was proper for them to see them or not.
Mrs. Teachum soon returned with a letter open in her hand, and
remained some little time silent; but cast on every one round such
a tender and affectionate look, a tear almost starting from her
eye, that the sympathising sorrow seemed to spread through the
whole company, and they were all silent, and ready to cry, though
they knew not for what reason. 'I am sorry, my little dears,'
said Mrs. Teachum, 'to give your tender bosoms the uneasiness I
fear the contents of this letter will do, as it will deprive you
of that your hearts so justly hold most dear.' And, so saying,
she delivered to Miss Jenny Peace, the following letter:--
'To Miss Jenny Peace.
'Monday night, June 24.
'My dear niece,--I arrived safe at my own house, with your cousin
Harriet, last Saturday night, after a very tedious voyage by sea,
and a fatiguing journey by land. I long to see my dear Jenny as
soon as possible, and Harriet is quite impatient for that
pleasure.
'I have ordered my chariot to be with you tomorrow night; and I
desire you would set out on Wednesday morning, as early as your
inclination shall prompt you to come to
'Your truly affectionate aunt,
'M. NEWMAN.
'I have writ a letter of thanks to your kind governess, for her
care of you.'
It is impossible to describe the various sensations of Miss
Jenny's mind, on the reading this letter. Her rising joy at the
thoughts of seeing her kind aunt safely returned from a long and
tedious voyage, was suppressed by a sorrow, which could not be
resisted, on parting with such dear friends, and so good a
governess; and the lustre which such a joy would have given to her
eye, was damped by rising tears. Her heart for some time was too
full for utterance. At last, turning to her governess, she said,
'And is the chariot really come, to carry me to my dear aunt?'
Then, after a pause, the tears trickling down her cheeks, 'And
must I so soon leave you, madam, and all my kind companions?'
Mrs. Teachum, on seeing Miss Jenny's tender struggles of mind, and
all her companions at once bursting into tears, stood up, and left
the room, saying, 'She would come to them again after supper.'
For this prudent woman well knew, that it was in vain to contend
with the very first emotions of grief on such an occasion, but
intended, at her return, to show them how much it was their duty
and interest to conquer all sorts of extravagant sorrow.
They remained some time silent, as quite struck dumb with concern,
till at last Miss Dolly Friendly, in broken accents, cried out,
'And must we lose you, my dear Miss Jenny, now we are just settled
in that love and esteem for you, which your goodness so well
deserves?'
Miss Jenny endeavoured to dry up her tears, and then said,
'Although I cannot but be pleased, my dear companions, at every
mark of your affection for me; yet I beg that you would not give
me the pain to see that I make so many dear friends unhappy. Let
us submit cheerfully to this separation (which, believe me, is as
deeply felt by me as any of you) because it is our duty so to do;
and let me entreat you to be comforted, by reflecting, how much my
good aunt's safe return must be conducive to my future welfare;
nor can you be unhappy, while you continue with so good a
governess, and persist in that readiness to obey her, which you
have lately shown. She will direct who shall preside over your
innocent amusements in my place. I will certainly write to you,
and shall always take the greatest delight in hearing from each of
you, both while you continue here, and when your duty and
different connections shall call you elsewhere. We may some, and
perhaps all, of us, happen often to meet again; and I hope a
friendship, founded on so innocent and so good a foundation as
ours is, will always subsist, as far as shall be consistent with
our future situations in life.'
Miss Jenny's friends could not answer her but by sobs and tears;
only little Polly Suckling, running to her, clung about her neck,
and cried, 'Indeed, indeed, Miss Jenny, you must not go; I shall
break my heart, if I lose you: sure we shan't, nor we can't, be
half so happy, when you are gone, though our governess was ten
times better to us than she is.'
Miss Jenny again entreated them to dry up their tears, and to be
more contented with the present necessity; and begged, that they
would not let their governess see them so overwhelmed in sorrow on
her return; for she might take it unkindly, that they should be so
afflicted at the loss of one person, while they still remained
under her indulgent care and protection.
It was with the utmost difficulty, that Miss Jenny refrained from
shedding tear for tear with her kind companions; but as it was her
constant maxim to partake with her friends all her pleasure, and
to confine her sorrows as much as possible within her own bosom,
she chose rather to endeavour, by her own cheerfulness and
innocent talk, to steal insensibly from the bosoms of her little
companions half their sorrow; and they begin to appear tolerably
easy.
After supper, Mrs. Teachum returned; and, seeing them all striving
who should most conceal their grief, for fear of giving uneasiness
to the rest, yet with a deep dejection fixed in every countenance,
and little Polly still sobbing behind Miss Jenny's chair, she was
so moved herself with the affecting scene, that the tears stole
from her eyes; and the sympathising company once more eased their
almost bursting hearts, by another general flow of melting sorrow.
'My dear children,' said Mrs. Teachum, 'I am not at all surprised
at your being so much concerned to part with Miss Jenny. I love
her myself with a motherly affection (as I do all of you, and
shall ever continue to do so while you so well deserve it); and I
could wish, for my own sake, never to part with her as long as I
live; but I consider, that it is for her advantage, and I would
have you all remember, in her absence, to let her example and
friendship fill your hearts with joy, instead of grief. It is now
pretty late in the evening, and as Miss Jenny is to set out very
early in the morning, I must insist upon shortening your pain (for
such is your present situation), and desire you would take your
leave of this your engaging friend.'
They none of them attempted to speak another word, for their
hearts were still too full for utterance; and Miss Jenny took
every one by the hand as they went out of the room, saluted them
with the tenderest affection, mingling tears with those which
flowed from every streaming eye; and, wishing them all happiness
and joy till their next meeting, they all, with heavy hearts,
retired to rest.
Miss Jenny returned the warmest and most grateful acknowledgments
to her good governess, for all her care of her; and said, 'I shall
attribute every happy hour, madam, that I may hereafter be blessed
with, to your wise and kind instruction, which I shall always
remember with the highest veneration, and shall ever consider you
as having been to me no less than a fond and indulgent mother.'
Mrs. Teachum kept Miss Jenny in the room with her no longer than
to assure her how sincerely she should regret her absence, and
confessed how much of the regularity and harmony of her school she
owed to her good example, for sweetness of temper, and conformity
to rules.
THE END OF THE NINTH DAY.
THE CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OF MRS. TEACHUM, &C.
Although Miss Jenny Peace did not return any more to school; yet
she ever gratefully remembered the kindness of her governess, and
frequently corresponded with all her companions. And as they
continued their innocent amusements and meetings in the arbour,
whenever the weather would permit, there was no day thought to be
better employed than that in which they received a letter from
their absent instructive friend, whose name was always mentioned
with gratitude and honour.
Mrs. Teachum continued the same watchful care over any young
persons who were entrusted to her management; and she never
increased the number of her scholars, though often entreated so to
do. All quarrels and contentions were banished her house; and if
ever any such thing was likely to arise, the story of Miss Jenny
Peace's reconciling all her little companions was told to them; so
that Miss Jenny, though absent, still seemed (by the bright
example which she left behind her) to be the cement of union and
harmony in this well-regulated society. And if any girl was found
to harbour in her breast a rising passion, which it was difficult
to conquer, the name and story of Miss Jenny Peace soon gained her
attention, and left her without any other desire than to emulate
Miss Jenny's virtues.
In short, Mrs. Teachum's school was always mentioned throughout
the country, as an example of peace and harmony; and also by the
daily improvement of all her girls, it plainly appeared how early
young people might attain great knowledge, if their minds were
free from foolish anxieties about trifles, and properly employed
on their own improvement; for never did any young lady leave Mrs.
Teachum, but that her parents and friends were greatly delighted
with her behaviour, as she had made it her chief study to learn
always to pay to her governors the most exact obedience, and to
exert towards her companions all the good effects of a mind filled
with benevolence and love.
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