The Governess [The Little Female Academy]

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He went first to Chloe, and (finding her alone) told her, that he
had the greatest liking in the world to her cousin; and had really
a mind to propose himself to her: but as he saw a very great
friendship between them, he was willing to ask her advice in the
matter; and conjured her to tell him sincerely, whether there was
anything in Caelia's temper (not discoverable by him) which as a
wife would make him unhappy? He told her, that, if she knew any
such thing, it would be no treachery, but rather kind in her to
declare it, as it would prevent her friend's being unhappy; which
must be the consequence, in marriage, of her making him so.

Chloe could not help seeing very plainly, that if Caelia was
removed she stood the very next in Sempronius's favour. Her lover
was present--her friend was absent--and the temptation was too
strong and agreeable to be resisted. She then answered, that
since he insisted upon the truth, and had convinced her that it
was in reality acting justly and kindly by her friend, she must
confess, that Caelia was possessed (though in a very small degree)
of what she had often heard him declare most against of anything
in the world; and that was, an artfulness of temper, and some few
sparks of envy.

Chloe's confused manner of speaking, and frequent hesitation, as
unwilling to pronounce her friend's condemnation (which, as being
unused to falsehood, was really unaffected) he imputed to
tenderness and concern for Caelia; but he did not in the least
doubt, but on his application to her he should soon be convinced
of the truth of what Chloe had said.

He then went directly to the arbour at the end of the garden, and
there to his wish he found Caelia quite alone; and he addressed
her exactly in the same manner concerning her cousin, as he had
before spoke to Chloe concerning her. Caelia suddenly blushed
(from motives I leave those to find out who can put themselves in
her circumstances) and then fetched a soft sigh, from the thought
that she was hearing a man she loved declare a passion of which
she was not the object. But after some little pause, she told
him, that if Chloe had any faults, they were to her yet
undiscovered, and she really and sincerely believed her cousin
would make him extremely happy. Sempronius then said, that of all
other things, TREACHERY and ENVY were what he had the greatest
dislike to: and he asked her, if she did not think her cousin was
a little tainted with these?--Here Caelia could not help
interrupting, and assuring him, that she believed her totally free
from both. And, from his casting on her friend an aspersion which
her very soul abhorred, forgetting all rivalship, she could not
refrain from growing quite lavish in her praise. 'Suppose then
(said Sempronius) I was to say the same to your cousin concerning
my intentions towards you as I have to you concerning her, do you
think she would say as many fine things in your praise as you have
done in hers?'

Caelia answered, that she verily believed her cousin would say as
much for her as she really deserved; but whether that would be
equal to what with justice she could say of Chloe, her modesty
left her in some doubt of.

Sempronius had too much penetration not to see the real and true
difference in the behaviour of these two women, and could not help
crying out, 'O Caelia! your honest truth and goodness in every
word and look are too visible to leave me one doubt of their
reality. But, could you believe it? this friend of yours is
false. I have already put her to the trial, by declaring to her
my sincere and unalterable passion for you. When, on my
insisting, as I did to you, upon her speaking the truth, she
accused you of what nothing should now convince me you are guilty
of. I own, that hitherto my regard, esteem, and love, have been
equal to both; but now I offer to the sincere, artless, and
charming Caelia, my whole heart, love, and affection, and the
service of every minute of my future life; and from this moment I
banish from my mind the false and ungrateful Chloe.'

Caelia's friendship for Chloe was so deeply rooted in her breast,
that even a declaration of love from Sempronius could not blot it
one moment from her heart; and on his speaking the words 'false
Chloe,' she burst into tears, and said, 'Is it possible that Chloe
should act such a part towards her Caelia! You must forgive her,
Sempronius: it was her violent passion for you, and fear of
losing you, which made her do what hitherto her nature has ever
appeared averse to.'

Sempronius answered, 'that he could not enough admire her goodness
to her friend Chloe; but such proofs of passion, he said, were to
him at the same time proofs of its being such a passion as he had
no regard for; since it was impossible for any one to gain or
increase his love by an action which at the same time lessened his
esteem.' This was so exactly Caelia's own way of thinking, that
she could not but assent to what he said.

But just as they were coming out of the arbour, Chloe, unseen by
them, passed by; and from seeing him kiss her hand, and the
complacency of Caelia's look, it was easy for her to guess what
had been the result of their private conference. She could not
however help indulging her curiosity, so far as to walk on the
other side of a thick yew hedge, to listen to their discourse; and
as they walked on, she heard Sempronius entreat Caelia to be
cheerful, and think no more of her treacherous friend, whose
wickedness he doubted not would sufficiently punish itself. She
then heard Caelia say, 'I cannot bear, Sempronius, to hear you
speak so hardly of my Chloe. Say that you forgive her, and I will
indeed be cheerful.'

Nothing upon earth can be conceived so wretched as poor Chloe, for
on the first moment that she suffered herself to reflect on what
she had done, she thoroughly repented, and heartily detested
herself for such baseness. She went directly into the garden in
hopes of meeting Sempronius, to have thrown herself at his feet,
confessed her treachery, and to have begged him never to have
mentioned it to Caelia; but now she was conscious her repentance
would come too late; and he would despise her, if possible still
more, for such a recantation, after her knowledge of what had
passed between him and Caelia.

She could indeed have gone to him, and not have owned what she had
seen or heard; but now her abhorrence of even the appearance of
treachery or cunning was so great, that she could not bear to add
the smallest grain of falsehood or deceit to the weight of her
guilt, which was already almost insupportable: and should she
tell him of her repentance, with a confession of her knowledge of
his engagement with Caelia, it would (as has been before observed)
appear both servile and insincere.

Nothing could now appear so altered as the whole face of this once
happy family. Sempronius as much as possible shunned the sight of
Chloe; for as she was the cause of all the confusion amongst them,
he had almost an aversion to her. Though he was not of an
implacable temper, yet, as the injury was intended to one he
sincerely loved, he found it much harder to forgive it, than if it
had even succeeded against himself; and as he still looked upon
Chloe as the cause of melancholy in his dear Caelia, he could
hardly have any patience with her.

No words can describe the various passions which were expressed in
the sad countenance of Chloe, when first she met her friend. They
were both afraid of speaking. Shame, and the fear of being (and
with too good reason) suspected of insincerity, withheld Chloe;
and an unwillingness to accuse or hurt her friend withheld the
gentle Caelia. She sometimes indeed thought she saw repentance in
Chloe's face, and wished for nothing more than to seal her pardon.
But till it was asked, she was in doubt (from what had passed)
whether such pardon and proffered reconciliation might not be
rejected. She knew that her friend's passions were naturally
stronger than hers; and she therefore trembled at the consequences
of coming to an explanation.

But there was hardly a greater sufferer in this scene of confusion
than the poor old Lady Amanda. She saw a sort of horror and
wildness in the face of Chloe; and in Caelia's a settled
melancholy, and such an unusual reserve in both towards each
other, as well as to herself, as quite astonished her.

Sempronius came indeed to the house as often as usual; but in his
countenance she could perceive a sort of anger and concern which
perfectly frightened her. But as they did not speak to her, she
could not bring herself to ask the cause of this woeful change,
for fear of hearing something too bad to bear.

Caelia had absolutely refused granting to Sempronius leave to ask
her aunt's consent, till she should come to some explanation with
Chloe, which seemed every day farther off than ever.

The great perturbation of Chloe's mind threw her into a disorder
not many degrees short of madness; and at last she was seized with
a violent fever so as to keep her bed. She said she could not
bear to look on Amanda; but begged Caelia to be with her as much
as possible; which she did, in hopes of bringing herself to ease
her mind, by speaking to her of what had given them all this
torment.

Caelia watched with her night and day for three days, when the
physician who attended her pronounced that there was no hope of
her life. Caelia could not any longer bear to stay in the room,
and went downstairs, expecting every moment to hear she was
expired.

Chloe soon perceived by Caelia's abrupt leaving the room, and the
looks of those who were left in it, that her fate was pronounced;
which, instead of sinking her spirits, and making her dejected,
gave a tranquillity to her mind; for she thought within herself,
'I shall now make my dear cousin happy, by removing out of her way
an object that must embitter all her joy; and now likewise, as she
is convinced I am on my death-bed, she will once more believe me
capable of speaking truth; and will, in the manner I could wish,
receive my sincere repentance.' Then sending for Caelia up to her
bedside, she in a weak voice, with hardly strength for utterance,
spoke in this manner: 'My dear Caelia, though you know me to be a
worthless base wretch, yet do not think so hardly of me, as to
imagine I would deceive you with my last breath. Believe me then
when I tell you, that I sincerely repent of my treachery towards
you; and as sincerely rejoice that it has in reality been the
cause of your happiness with Sempronius. Tell him this; and then,
perhaps, he will not hate my memory.' Here she fainted away, and
they forced Caelia out of the room, thinking her breath was for
ever flown. But in some time she came again to herself, and cried
out, 'What! would not my dear Caelia say that she forgave me?
Methinks I would not die, till I had obtained her pardon. She is
too good to refuse her friend this last request.' Her attendants
then told her, that seeing her faint away, they had forced Caelia
out of the room; and they begged her to try to compose herself,
for they were sure that seeing her friend again, at this time,
would only disturb her mind, and do her an injury.

Chloe, from the vent she had given her grief in speaking to
Caelia, found herself something more easy and composed; and
desiring the room to be made perfectly quiet, she fell into a
gentle sleep, which lasted two hours; and when she awaked she
found herself so much better, that those about her were convinced,
from her composed manner of speaking, that she was now able to
bear another interview.

They again called for Caelia, and told her of her cousin's
amendment. She flew with all speed to her chamber; and the moment
she entered, Chloe cried out, 'Can you forgive me, Caelia?'
'Yes, with the greatest joy and sincerity imaginable, my dearest
Chloe,' answered Caelia, 'and never let it be again mentioned or
remembered.'

The sudden recovery of Chloe was almost incredible; for in less
than a week she was able to quit both her bed and room, and go
into her aunt's chamber. The good old lady shed tears of joy, to
see such a return of Chloe's health, and of cheerfulness in the
family; and was perfectly contented, now she saw their melancholy
removed, not to inquire into the late cause of it, for fear of
renewing their trouble even one moment by the remembrance of it.

Sempronius, in the meantime, upon some affairs of his duty in the
army, had been called away, and was absent the whole time of
Chloe's illness, and was not yet returned. Caelia spent almost
her whole time with Chloe; but three weeks passed on, and they
were often alone; yet they had never once mentioned the name of
Sempronius, which laid Caelia still under the greatest difficulty
how to act, so as to avoid giving her friend any uneasiness, and
yet not disoblige Sempronius; for she had promised him at his
departure, that she would give him leave to ask her aunt's consent
immediately upon his return. But the very day he was expected,
she was made quite easy by what passed between her and her friend.

Chloe, in this time, by proper reflections, and a due sense of
Caelia's great goodness and affection to her, had so entirely got
the better of herself in this affair, that she found she could
now, without any uneasiness, see them married; and calling Caelia
to her, she said with a smile, 'I have, my dear friend, been so
long accustomed to read in that intelligible index, your
countenance, all your most inmost thoughts, that I have not been
unobserving of those kind fears you have had on my account; and
the reason I have so long delayed speaking was, my resolution, if
possible, never again to deceive you. I can with pleasure now
assure you, that nothing can give me so much joy as to see your
wedding with Sempronius. I make no doubt, but if you ask it, you
will have my aunt's consent; and, if any intercession should be
wanting towards obtaining it, I will (if you can trust me) use all
my influence in your behalf. Be assured, my dear Caelia, I have
now no farther regard left for Sempronius, than as your husband;
and that regard will increase in proportion as he is the cause of
your happiness.'

They were interrupted in their discourse by news being brought of
the arrival of Sempronius, and Chloe received him with that ease
and cheerfulness as convinced Caelia her professions were unfeigned.

Caelia related to Sempronius all that had passed between her and
Chloe; and by her continued cheerfulness of behaviour, the peace
and tranquillity of the family was perfectly restored, and their
joy greatly increased by Amanda's ready consent to the marriage of
Sempronius and Caelia, having first settled all her fortune to be
divided at her death equally between her nieces; and in her
lifetime there was no occasion of settlements, or deeds of gift,
for they lived all together, and separate property was not so much
as mentioned or thought on in this family of harmony and peace.

Here Miss Dolly ceased reading; and all her hearers sat some
little time silent, and then expressed their great joy that Caelia
and Chloe were at last happy; for none of them had been able to
refrain from tears whilst they were otherwise. On which Miss
Jenny Peace begged them to observe from this story, the miserable
effects that attend deceit and treachery: 'For,' continued she,
'you see you could not refrain from tears, only by imagining what
Chloe must feel after her wickedness (by which indeed she lost the
very happiness she intended treacherously to gain); nor could she
enjoy one moment's peace, till by confessing her fault, and
heartily repenting of it, her mind was restored to its former calm
and tranquility.' Miss Dolly thanked Miss Jenny for her remarks;
but Miss Lucy Sly was most sensibly touched with this story, as
cunning had formerly entirely possessed HER mind; and said, that
if her companions were not weary at present of their arbour, she
would now recount to them the history of her life, as this story
was a proper introduction to it.

THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS LUCY SLY.

Miss Lucy Sly was of the same age as Miss Dolly Friendly; but
shorter, at least, by half the head. She was generally called a
pretty girl, from having a pair of exceeding fine black eyes, only
with the allay of something cunning in their look. She had a high
forehead, and very good curling black hair. She had a sharp high
nose, and a very small mouth. Her complexion was but indifferent,
and the lower part of her face ill-turned, for her chin was too
long for due proportion.

THE LIFE OF MISS LUCY SLY.

From the time I was two years old, (said Miss Lucy) my mamma was
so sickly, that she was unable to take any great care of me
herself, and I was left to the care of a governess, who made it
her study to bring me to do what she had a mind to have done,
without troubling her head what induced me so to do. And whenever
I did anything wrong, she used to say it was the foot-boy, and not
miss, that was naughty. Nay, she would say, it was the dog, or
the cat, or anything she could lay the blame upon, sooner than own
it was me. I thought this pure, that I was never in fault; and
soon got into a way of telling any lies, and of laying my own
faults on others, since I found I should be believed. I remember
once, when I had broken a fine china-cup, that I artfully got out
of the scrape, and hid the broken cup in the foot-boy's room. He
was whipped for breaking it; and the next day whilst I was at play
about the room, I heard my governess say to a friend who was with
her, "Yesterday Miss Lucy broke a china-cup; but the artful little
hussy went and hid it in the foot-boy's room, and the poor boy was
whipped for it. I don't believe there was ever a girl of her age
that had half her cunning and contrivance." I knew by her tone of
voice, and her manner of speaking, that she did not blame me in
her heart, but rather commended my ingenuity. And I thought
myself so wise, that I could thus get off the blame from myself,
that I every day improved in new inventions to save myself, and
have others punished in my place.

'This life of endeavouring to deceive I led till I came to school.
But here I found that I could not so well carry on my little
schemes; for I was found out and punished for my own faults; and
this created in me a hatred to my companions. For whatever Miss I
had a mind to serve as I used to serve our foot-boy, in laying the
blame falsely upon her, if she could justify herself, and prove me
in the wrong, I was very angry with her, for daring to contradict
me, and not submitting as quietly to be punished wrongfully, as
the foot-boy was forced to do.

'This is all I know of my life hitherto.'

Thus ended Miss Lucy Sly: and Miss Jenny Peace commended Miss
Lucy for her free confession of her faults, and said, 'She doubted
not but she would find the advantage of amending, and endeavouring
to change a disposition so very pernicious to her own peace and
quiet, as well as to that of all her friends;' but they now obeyed
the summons of the supper-bell, and soon after retired to rest.

THURSDAY.
THE FOURTH DAY.

Our little company, as soon as the morning school-hours were over,
hastened to their arbour, and were attentive to what Miss Jenny
Peace should propose to them for their amusement till dinner-time;
when Miss Jenny, looking round upon them, said, 'that she had not
at present any story to read; but that she hoped, from Miss Dolly
Friendly's example yesterday, some of the rest might endeavour
sometimes to furnish out the entertainment of the day.' Upon
which Miss Sukey Jennett said, 'that though she could not promise
them such an agreeable story as Miss Dolly's; yet she would read
them a letter she had received the evening before from her Cousin
Peggy Smith, who lived at York; in which there was a story that
she thought very strange and remarkable. They were all very
desirous of it, when Miss Sukey read as follows:

'Dear cousin,--I promised, you know, to write to you when I had
anything to tell you; and as I think the following story very
extraordinary, I was willing to keep my word.

'Some time ago there came to settle in this city, a lady, whose
name was Dison. We all visited her: but she had so deep a
melancholy, arising, as it appeared, from a settled state of ill
health, that nothing we could do could afford her the least
relief, or make her cheerful. In this condition she languished
amongst us five years, still continuing to grow worse and worse.

'We all grieved at her fate. Her flesh was withered away; her
appetite decayed by degrees, till all food became nauseous to her
sight; her strength failed her; her feet could not support her
tottering body, lean and worn away as it was; and we hourly
expected her death. When, at last, she one day called her most
intimate friends to her bedside, and, as well as she could, spoke
to the following purpose: 'I know you all pity me; but, alas! I
am not so much the object of your pity, as your contempt; for all
my misery is of my own seeking, and owing to the wickedness of my
own mind. I had two sisters, with whom I was bred up; and I have
all my lifetime been unhappy, for no other cause but for their
success in the world. When we were young, I could neither eat nor
sleep in peace, when they had either praise or pleasure. When we
grew up to be women, they were both soon married much to their
advantage and satisfaction. This galled me to the heart; and,
though I had several good offers, yet as I did not think them in
all respects equal to my sisters, I would not accept them; and yet
was inwardly vexed to refuse them, for fear I would get no better.
I generally deliberated so long that I lost my lovers, and then I
pined for that loss. I never wanted for anything; and was in a
situation in which I might have been happy, if I pleased. My
sisters loved me very well, for I concealed as much as possible
from them my odious envy; and yet never did any poor wretch lead
so miserable a life as I have done; for every blessing they
enjoyed was as so many daggers to my heart. 'Tis this envy that
has caused all my ill health, has preyed upon my very vitals, and
will now bring me to my Grave."

'In a few days after this confession she died; and her words and
death made such a strong impression on my mind, that I could not
help sending you this relation; and begging you, my dear Sukey, to
remember how careful we ought to be to curb in our minds the very
first risings of a passion so detestable, and so fatal, as this
proved to poor Mrs. Dison. I know I have no particular reason for
giving you this caution; for I never saw anything in you, but what
deserved the love and esteem of

'Your very affectionate cousin,
'M. SMITH.'

As soon as Miss Sukey had finished her letter, Miss Patty Lockit
rose up, and, flying to Miss Jenny Peace, embraced her, and said,
'What thanks can I give you, my dear friend, for having put me
into a way of examining my heart, and reflecting on my own
actions; by which you have saved me, perhaps, from a life as
miserable as that of the poor woman in Miss Sukey's letter!' Miss
Jenny did not thoroughly understand her meaning; but imagining it
might be something relating to her past life, desired her to
explain herself; which she said she would do, telling now, in her
turn, all that had hitherto happened to her.

THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS PATTY LOCKIT.

Miss Patty Lockit was but ten years old; tall, inclined to fat.
Her neck was short; and she was not in the least genteel. Her
face was very handsome; for all her features were extremely good.
She had large blue eyes; was exceeding fair; and had a great bloom
on her cheeks. Her hair was the very first degree of light brown;
was bright and shining; and hung in ringlets half way down her
back. Her mouth was rather too large; but she had such fine
teeth, and looked so agreeably when she smiled, that you was not
sensible of any fault in it.

This was the person of Miss Patty Lockit, who was slow to relate
her past life; which she did, in the following manner:

THE LIFE OF MISS PATTY LOCKIT.

I lived, till I was six years old, in a very large family; for I
had four sisters, all older than myself, and three brothers. We
played together, and passed our time much in the common way:
sometimes we quarrelled, and sometimes agreed, just as accident
would have it. Our parents had no partiality to any of us; so we
had no cause to envy one another on that account; and we lived
tolerably well together.

'When I was six years old, my grandmother by my father's side (and
who was also my godmother) offering to take me to live with her,
and promising to look upon me as her own child, and entirely to
provide for me, my father and mother, as they had a large family,
very readily accepted her offer, and sent me directly to her
house.

'About half a year before this, she had taken another goddaughter,
the only child of my Aunt Bradly, who was lately dead, and whose
husband was gone to the West Indies. My cousin, Molly Bradly, was
four years older than I; and her mother had taken such pains in
her education, that the understood more than most girls of her
age; and had so much liveliness, good humour, and ingenuity, that
everybody was fond of her; and wherever we went together, all the
notice was taken of my cousin, and I was very little regarded.

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