Mrs. Covenant

[Enter Mrs. Covenant and daughter.] Viss Carlton, I presume. [Miss Carlton court sies.] Mrs. Covenant I am anxious to give my daughter a religions education. and hearing your school well recommended for every thing else I am induced to ask what religious instruction is given in your school. Do you teach your pupils how to pray?

Miss Carlton. No, madam, I leave them to follow the teaching of Jesus. He, you know, has told us how we ought to pray.

Mrs. Covenant. But don't you have public pravers in the school?

Miss Carlton No, madam. I advise the children to pray in secret; for I think few other prayers are sincere and from the heart. Mrs. Covenant. Do you give no Bible lessons?

Miss Carlton. We read the Scriptures,

madam.

Mrs. Covenant. Yes, but do they commit verses to memory, so that they can quote Scripture readily?

Miss Carlton. No, madam. Those who have the most Scripture in their mouths, do not necessarily have the most piety in their hearts. I explai to them the leading principles of our religion upon all proper occasions, and I am careful to set them a good example. Mrs. Covenant. Then you have no set religious exercises? Your pupils must be little better than heathen.

Miss Cariton. Most of them go to Sunday schools, madam; ail go to Church; and all have parents, who, no doubt, give them religious instruction at home; and I do all that I can here to aid in the all important work.

Mrs. Covenant. This will not do, Miss Cariton The religious part of education must supercede every thing else.

Child Mother, does that lady put her scholars down cellar, and slap 'em when they don't say "Now I lay me" right, as you

did

Mrs Covenant. Hush! hush! Child. Why, mother! you know you did, and how you scolded me, when I told you I didn't like to go to meeting without you. You know, mother, you shook me, and made

me cry

Mr. Corenant. Hush! hold your tongue, Susan! If I can't make you pious, it does not follow that I should not require it of one who professes to make teaching her business. I wish you good morning, Miss Carlton A school without set religious exercises must be very imperfect. It will never do for my children. [Exit]

Enter Mrs. Lovegood and daughter] Mrs. Lovegood. Miss Carlton. I suppose. Mix Cariton Yes, madam. Will you take that chair?

Mrs. Lovegood. No, I am obliged to you I called. Miss Carlton, to make some inquiries about your school. I understand that you use rewards, and encourage emulation in your school.

Miss Carlton. I do, madam. I can not get on without some encouragement myself,

and I know not how I can reasonably expect my pupils to do so.

Mrs. Lovegood. Excuse me, my dear, if I say that you are behind the age. No teacher can expect the patronage of intelligent parents, if she cannot lure children to knowledge and virtue for knowledge and virtue's sake. I think the spirit of emulation the very spirit of mischief, and I can never allow my child to be placed where she is exposed to such danger. My children obey me because they love me; and they yield a ready and cheerful obedience, because they know that I only require what is right, evidently right, and best for them. Maria, my dear, don't go so near that window-you may break it. strike the glass, my dear-you will surely break it. Come here, my dear.

Maria. I wout!

Don't

Mrs. Lovegood. Why, Maria! my dear! You don't say you won't to your mother? Maria. Yes, I do, though.

Mrs. Lovegood. My daughter, I am surprised to hear such unbecoming remarks from you, when you know I love you so.

Maria. Who cares for your love? [She breaks the glass, and Mrs. Lovegood seizes and shakes her]

Mrs. Lovegood. Why, you little, disobedient hussy! what do you mean? Slapping ker | There! take that! and that! and that !—and now see whether you will disobey me again. Miss Carlton. Is this drawing by the cords of love?

Mrs. Lovegood. I am aware that you have the advantage of me; but I will shut her p for a month but what I will make her obey me. There! go home! Good morning. Miss Carlton. I do not often get into such a passion. Good morning.

[Enter Mrs. Plainsay and child] Mrs. Plainsay. Miss Cariton? Miss Carlton. That is my name, madain. Mrs. Plainsay. I have a dear child, that I am anxious to place under an affectionate teacher; and I have heard so much of your skill, that I am induced to ask what are the general principles upon which you conduct your school.

Miss Carlton. I endeavor to make my pupils understand what they learn, and I endeavor to teach them only what will be useful to them.

Mrs. Plainsay. Yes, but how is your government? is it parental? Miss Carlton I endeavor to exercise such an authority as a judicious parent would approve.

Mrs. Plainsay. A judicious parent! Yes, I understand the insinuation. I presume you are unmarried, miss.

Aliss Carlton. I am obliged to plead guilty, madam.

Mrs. Plainsay. I thought 50. I have always maintained, that none but a parent can unde stand the feelings of a parent, and be prepared to treat children as they ought to be treated. Pray, how old are you, miss?

Miss Carlton [Smiling.] About twentyeight, madam.

Mrs Plainsay. You have not a moment to

lose, then. It is high time that you were beginning to think upon a certain subject.

Miss Carlton. I had almost come to the conclusion, that it was high time to leave off thinking of it; for, you know, madam, it is in vain for me to think of it alone.

Mrs. Plainsay. Then you had better give up teaching. You may rely upon it, that you will never be good for any thing while you remain single. You can never enter into the feelings of children, and exercise a parent's forbearance towards their faults. My children are so used to my indulgent care, that they could never submit to any harsher authority. This little dear

Child. I wish, mother, you would not always dear me so before every body; for it makes them think I am a little baby. You called me a little devil, this morning, when I broke the glass vase, though you know I did not mean to do it.

Mrs. Plainsay. Hold your tongue, Mary! How can you tell, before a stranger. what, in a moment of surprise, I may have said to you!

Child. Why, mother, it is not the first time you have called me so; and I have not I don't forgotten how you beat me for it. believe this lady, or any other, would punish a little girl so, when she was sorry, and did not mean to do wrong.

Miss Carlion. My dear, you must be in an error Your mother knows best how to feel for her children.

our sex.

A

Daughter. Ma, I wish you'd carpet my chamber; my feet get so cold on the bare floor.

Mrs. Doublerefined. My dear, when your elders are engaged in conversation, you should not interrupt them. Miss Carlton, you are aware, no doubt, that where ideology, as the phrenologists call that sublime aspiration of the mind which stretches after transcendental beauty-you are aware, that. when this ethereal imagination characterizes the individual, the mortal approximates to the immortal, and happiness is perennial.

Miss Carlton. I should think such delicacy of temperament would be an inlet to pain rather than pleasure. I have hitherto taken the world as my reason, and not as my imagination, paints it.

Mrs. Doublerefined. You are altogether too unimaginative, my dear. I should be happy to patronize your school, but, really, a stove will be an inshuperable objection. morning, my dear. My head already begins to swim.

Good

Miss Carlton. There has been no fire in the stove to-day, madam; but you probably feel the effects of the fire that is to be made in it one of these days. [Mrs. Doublerefined goes out.] Well, I must be patient, although it seems as if I was tried a little above what I am able to bear. Here comes another patron.

(Enter Mrs. Lofty and daughter.] Mrs. Lofty. Do I address Miss Carlton ? Miss Carlton. Courtesies.]

Mrs. Lofty. I have heard of your school. miss, and am inclined to send you one or two of my children.

Miss Carlton. I shall be happy to receive them, madam.

Mrs. Lofty. What number of pupils do you intend to receive?

Miss Carlton. Forty, madam.

Mrs. Lofty. Too many! too many by half! You can never get on with so many. I could never venture a child of mine in such a mob.

Miss Carlton. I hope there will be no reason to complain of their number, madam, or their conduct.

Mrs. Lofty. Who are they? Who send

children to your school? Do any come from Topknot Street? Have you any respectable people among your patrons ?

Miss Carlton. I have none other, madam. Mrs. Lofty. Does Mrs. Inflate send to

you!

Miss Carlton. No madam. Mrs. Lofty. Does Mrs. Puffton. Mrs. Upstart, Mrs. Fineton?

Miss Carlton. No, madam, none of them. Mrs. Lofty. Second rate, then! [tossing her head.] I suspect. My dear, I will make you a proposition. If you will limit your number to twenty, and charge three times what you do, so as to make your scholars select, I will try your school one quarter. Nothing but an exclusive school can expect to have respectable scholars.

Miss Carlton. I am satisfied with my pupils, madam, and not at all disposed to part with one of them-not even to have their places filled with what you call exclusively respectable pupils. Madam, you may insult me, but I cannot bear to hear you insult those who have protected and encouraged me. I will neither give up my present pupils, nor take your children, should you be disposed to send them. I am the daughter of a mechanic, madam, and not ashamed of my origin.

Daughter. Mother, was her father an oyster-man, as grandfather was?

Mrs. Lofty. Hold your tongue, child! Daughter. Why. mother, grandfather told me he used to cry Oys, buy oys?" about the streets, before you were married, and then you wouldn't let him.

Mrs Lofty. Hold your tongue! Your grandfather was a fool!

Daughter He told me he was, mother, to give up selling oysters.

Mrs. Lofty Come along. I will go and inquire after Mrs. Suitall's school, which I am told is the only respectable one in the city. [To her daughter.] Did not I tell you never to own that you had a grandfather?

[She goes out, with a toss of her head.] Miss Carlton. I fear I have been rude; but when I see such an assumption of superiority, I cannot forget that I am a human being, equal to her who would trample on

me

Oh dear! I am quite tired.

[Enter Mrs. Grumpy and daughter.] Mrs. Grumpy. Are you Miss Carlton, the school-ma'am?

Miss Carlton. My name is Carlton, madam. Mrs. Grumpy. I've heerd a great deal about your school, and I've determined to send you one of my gals, if you can only satisfy me on one pint. They tell me you have some new fangled notions on the subject of grammar; and I never will have nothing to do with no one that does not know Murray's Grammar. I larnt that myself, and I never had no trouble in getting along, and I want my children to have the same advantages.

Miss Carlton. My pupils are taught Murray's Grammar, madam, as thoroughly as that system is taught elsewhere; but we do not stop at tha system-we endeavor to go farther, and look deeper.

Mrs. Grumpy. That's deep enough. I've

Mrs. Grumpy. Oh, my dear, you must study some grammar, or how will you be able to pass through the world for the only object of grammar is passing.

Miss Carlton. Madam, your child will not be required to study any better Grammar than Murray's, if you prefer his alone.

Hepy. Mother, I don't want to study no grammar I can pass well enough without.

Mrs. Grumpy. Well, dear, you shan't, then. I'll larn you myself, for I have often heerd that there is no need of any one's larning grammar, when they never hear no bad language used at home. Good morning, Miss Carlton. Hepsy prefers to be under my care and I never use no violence when & child has any choice. Good morning. Come. Hepsy, dear, come. [Exit.] [Enter Mrs. Wilder and two daughters, with hoops.] Mrs. Wilder. Are you Miss Carlton? Miss Carlton. I am, madam. Will you

take a seat?

Mrs. Wilder. I will, for I have just had a race after Emma, who was driving her hoop around a carriage. They are full of spirits, my girls, full of innocent fun, I understand you let your pupils play, Miss Carlton.

Miss Carlton. I do, madam, but not in study hours.

[Mrs. Wilder goes to sit down, and one of her children removes the chair. Miss Carlton saves her from falling.]

Mrs. Wilder. My dear, you are naughty to do so. They are full of spirits, Miss Carlton, as I was before them I cannot bear to repress the generous enthusiasm of youth, though it may sometimes overstep the bounds of propriety."

Miss Carlton Is it not better to check it when it first appears? I like play, as much as I dislike and punish mischief. Respect to parents and teachers lies at the foundation of the youthful character.

Mrs. Wilder. Ah, that is too sentimental for me. Human nature is human nature, and it will act itself out, and must not be restrained because it perpetrates a little innocent mischief.

[While the mother is talking, the daughter twists up a piece of paper, and puts it for foolscap on her mother's bonnet]

Miss Carlton. [Throws away the cap, and says,] I could not overlook any insult offered by a child to an indulgent parent. If you expect me to do so, madam, I must decline receiving your children.

[One of the children picks up the cap, and pins it to Mise Carlton's dress}

Mrs. Wilder. Come, Emma and Hitty, dears, come. I will not place you in the hands of an old maid, who cannot bear a litt

world.

F. Next to the impulsion we receive from the performance of what is good or great, merely from itself, is the incentive arising from the plaudits of those who observe our conduct. When Leonidas and his little band of heroes, entered the avenue to immortality, at the straits of Thermopyla, animated by a desire of commanding the admiration of the world, and of meriting the glory they aspired after, allowing it to be owing to this motive, are we not charmed at their magnanimity? Where will you find an instance of heroism comparable to this, in modern times? Who, but an icy stoic, is not rapt in ecstacy, when he thinks on the sternuess of Cato's virtue? When Caesar "had thinned the ranks of his senate," had made himself lord of Rome, and proffered friendship and honors to the hoary republican, as the price of his submission, who can withhold the approving plaudit, or but admire his resolution and fortitude?

"Who sees him act, but envies every deed? Who hears him groan, that does not wish to bleed ?""

was

L. The true criterion of the worth of actions, is the motive which produces them. Of these, we are not always in situations favorable for judging. But, if patriotism is a virtue, which may influence men in inferior stations, and can be tested by actions, where, my friend, in all ancient example, can we find a greater instance of that virtue, than those Frenchmen exhibited, who, in a naval engagement with the English, during our revolutionary war, were suik in the ship called the Vengeur The event may be fresh in your mind; in mine, it is indelible. To behold the whole crew, with one voice, calling on Heaven to bless the Republic, while the ocean receiving their bodies, and their souls were treading the threshold of Elysium, was a sight, which must have attracted the attention and admiration of angels. I might mention one of our own country, whose talents, in the cabinet and field. are unrivalled, and who will remain, to distant ages, a monument of the perfection which is attainable by human nature. Your feelings will present to your mind, our first President. GENERAL WASHINGTON. We may likewise boast of other heroes and statesmen; heroes. who have scaled their patriotism with their blood, and who have died in defence of our liberties.

P. Scarce any age elapses, but is distinguished by the genius of some great men ; but I think the manners of the present day are more unfavorable to the production of men of genius, heroes, &c.. than in former times. Excessive thirst for property, is a weed, whose growth is encouraged more than formerly, and absorbs many of the finest feelings of humanity; and when age has BRONSON. 24

DIALOGUE BETWEEN CICERO AND LORD CHESTERFIELD.

Cicero. MISTAKE me not. I know how to value the sweet courtesies of life. Affability. attention, decorum of behaviour, if they have not been ranked by philosophers among the virtues, are certainly related to them, and have a powerful influence in promoting social happiness. I have recommended them as well as yourself. But I contend, and no sophistry shall prevail upon me to give up this point, that, to be truly amiable, they must proceed from goodness of heart. Assumed by the artful, to serve the purpose of private interest, they degenerate to contemptible grimace, and detestable hypocrisy.

I cannot enter farther into the controversy at Chesterfield. Excuse me, my dear Cicero; present. I have a hundred engagements at least; and see yonder my little elegant French comtesse. I promised her and myself the pleasure of a promenade. Pleasant walking enough in these Elysian groves. So much good company, too, that if it were not that the canaille are apt to be troublesome, I should not much regret the distance to the Tuilleries. But, adieu, my dear friend; for I see

Madame ** is joining the party. Adieu!

adieu!

Ci. Contemptible wretch!

Ch. Ah! what do I hear! Recollect that I am a man of honor, unused to the pity, or the insults of an upstart. But perhaps your exclamation was not meant for me. If so, why

Či. I am as little inclined to insult as to flatter you. Your levity excited my indigna tion; but my compassion for the degeneracy of human nature, exhibited in your instance, absorbs my contempt.

Ch. I could be a little angry, but as good breeding forbids it, I will be a philosopher for once. Appropos, pray, how do you reconcile your-what shall I call it-your unsmooth address, to those rules of decorum, that gentleness of manners, of which you say you know and teach the propriety, as well as myself.

Ci. To confess the truth, I would not advance the arts of embellishment to extreme refinement. Ornamental education, or an attention to the graces, has a connection with effeminacy. In acquiring the gentleman, I would not lose the spirit of a man. There is a gracefulness in a manly character, a beauty in an open and ingenuous disposition, which all the professed teachers of the arts of pleasing know not how to infuse.

Ch. You and I lived in a state of manners as different as the periods at which we lived, were distant. You, Romans-pardon me, my dear sir-you Romans had a little of the Brute in you. Come, come, I must overlook it. You were obliged to court plebeians for their suffrages; and if imilis simili gaudet, it must be owned that the greatest of you were secure of their favor. Why, Beau Nash would