Edgeworth's delightful story of Murad, that ill-luck is generally but another name for want of forethought-and unlucky, when applied to a school-girl, may be best translated careless-and partly on the principle which caused Frederick the Great of Prussia to punish the soldier whose hat was blown off by a high wind at a review. The sentence seemed abundantly unjust, but it produced the desired effect-the wind blew off no more hats.

Between twenty and thirty years ago, when I, a small damsel of twelve years, or thereabout, was at Mrs. Meadows's respectable seminary for young ladies in Cadogan Place, the several parts of Miss Edgeworth's hero, Murad the unlucky, and Frederick of Prussia's unhatted soldier, were enacted by a young country-girl called Caroline Cleveland, the scape-goat of the school. Among the twenty select pupils to whom our governess bounded her cares, not one was half so often in trouble as Miss Cleveland. She tore more frocks, lost more gloves, blotted more books, blurred more drawings, than all the rest of the young ladies put together, and was, in short, a very by-word for indolence, awkwardness, and untidiness. Drawing-masters, writing-masters, musicmasters, and dancing-masters, were never weary of complaining of her inattention; and, from the housemaid, as she dressed her, grumbling at her for spoiling her clothes, to Mrs. Meadows, lecturing her for not knowing her lessons, poor Caroline was scolded and thwarted every day and all day long.

Notwithstanding her faults, however, there was a pretty general feeling of liking for the culprit, even among those who scolded her most. There was something exceedingly disarming in the good-humour of the poor little girl; her entire submission to reproof, the total absence of sullenness and self-justification towards her superiors, and the unenvying and affectionate disposition which she evinced towards her more fortunate companions. Generous, disinterested, and benevolent, she was full of that general good-will, that overflowing and warm-hearted kindness, which are so certain to be repaid in kind. It was impossible not to like one who was so ready to like, and so zealous to serve, every creature that came in her way. If there had been a prize for sweetness of temper, she would have had no compe

titor.

Another motive, too, caused more than usual interest to be felt in Miss Cleveland. Her father filled a high situation in one of our colonies; her mother and eldest sisters lived abroad with him; and Caroline, left in England for education, under the care of a worthy but rigid grand-aunt, who lived in far Northumberland, and whom she never saw from holydays to holydays, was regarded by those whose own dear parents lived near, and saw them frequently, with much of the pity due to an orphan. Such was the position of Caroline Cleveland at the time my story commences.

If any among her innumerable transgressions against the rules of the school might be accounted her besetting sin, it was speaking English. French was the universal language of the house, and an English mark was passed among the young ladies, transferred from culprit to culprit as they were detected in the fact, and called for three times a day, when the unlucky damsel who happened to be in possession of the badge was amerced in the sum of threepence; the collective threepences being, every second day, transmuted into silver, and deposited in a money-box, a sort of mimic savings' bank, to be expended in a feast at the close of the halfyear.

The usual wearer of this order of discredit-an oval piece of wood, with ENGLISH in large capitals engraven on its front, suspended by a riband from the neck-the common bearer of this unseemly decoration was poor Caroline, who never could take the trouble of talking French on the one hand, or find in her heart to listen after her fellow-talkers in English on the other; so that, being, from her parents' absence, not very amply supplied with cash, her habitual thoughtlessness extending itself in a remarkable degree to the financial department, she had, at the date of our story, about a month before the holydays, not only arrived at the bottom of the purse which had been furnished to her for the half-year, but actually contracted a debt amounting to the almost incredible sum of two guineas to that grand joint-stock property, the mark.

Not one of the shareholders but would most willingly have abandoned her part of the claim against the defaulter. Readily would the whole company have foregone all the luxuries of the mark-feast— the oranges, the almonds and raisins, thè dried cherries, the candied angelica, the

brioches, the macaroons, all the confections, French and English-with which that auspicious half-holyday was wont to be celebrated, as well as the orgeat, the capillaire, the eau de groseille, and even the two bottles of ginger wine-innocuous beverage!-the crowning two bottles that closed the banquet-readily would the whole festival have been abandoned rather than distress the universal favourite.

But the head teacher, who acted as a sort of trustee to the fund, felt it her duty to report the defalcation to Mrs. Meadows, who might be esteemed the president, or, at the least, a bank director; and she, in her turn, anxious to inculcate on the thoughtless offender the value of money, and the wickedness, as well as misery, of debt, however incurred, resolved to make the present a lesson which should not soon be forgotten. Accordingly, she told her that the money must be paid before she went to her grand-aunts for the holydays, a visit to which she had long looked forward with delight, as one of her sisters, recently married, was expected to meet her there from abroad-or that she must pass the holydays at school. But, aware how slight was her chance of obtaining the sum needed from her rigid, methodical guardian, who always, on sending her to school, supplied her stated pocket-money for the half-year, and would be horrified by such a demand for forfeits, aware of her situation, Mrs. Meadows added an offer that she herself would pay the debt, and set down the money in Mr. Cleveland's bill, provided Caroline would get by heart the whole of Athalie.

The whole of Athalie! Caroline, who never yet had managed to repeat correctly a fable of La Fontaine's, or a page of the Henriade, or even a chorus of Esther-to learn by rote the entire drama of Athalie ! The poor girl was in despair. Little did it comfort her that Athalie was the chefd'œuvre of a great poet, written to please the wife of a great king, and acted by her pupils at an institution founded by herself. However the young élèves of St. Cyr might have gloried in the representation of Athalie, to Caroline it seemed only the dreariest and weariest task ever imposed upon school-girl. She discovered none of the imputed sublimity; her uncritical eye could only scan the tremendous number of pages"where lines immeasurably spread"--those Alexandrines are atrocities -"seemed lengthening," as slowly and

Poor dear Caroline! Just as she was turning over the leaves for the third time, tasking her arithmetic to reckon up the speeches and the lines, and vainly hoping to make them out to be fewer and shorter, we as vainly trying to insinuate hopes from a projected general petition to Mrs. Meadows, from which we all knew that no hope could rationally be entertainedthat lady's decisions being as unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Persians

even at this dismal moment, as if to read us a practical lesson on the mutability of fortune, a packet arrived for Miss Cleveland from her sister, the bride, containing, besides the usual nuptial prettinesses of cake, and gloves, and silver favours, an affectionate note from her new brother, the bridegroom, together with a delicately wrought Indian purse, freighted with a golden guinea at either end.

Never was money so welcome! Who now so fortunate as Caroline? She uttered a cry of joy-almost a shriek; flung up to the ceiling the volume of Racine, containing Athalie, which, in its descent, touched, as I well remember, on my nose, as I happened to be looking up at the instant; and hastened to the head teacher to pay her debt, and be quit of the very thought of Athalie. Miss Stevens, the functionary in question, was not, however, at leisure to settle her account: she was just preparing to walk out with the school, and bade Miss Cleveland get ready as fast as she could, and put her money in her pocket until they returned from their promenade.

The walk, a dull and orderly procession of nicely-dressed and prim demoiselles, arranged in pairs, adjusted according to the height rather than the inclination of the parties, passed as monotonously as usual. But, on our return, Miss Stevens indulged us, and perhaps herself-for it was the very prime and flush of May, and the beauty and fragrance of the trees and flowering shrubs were almost irresistible—–—

by a brief ramble in the delightful shades of the Cadogan Gardens. The half-hour's liberty was worth an age. The gay blossoms of the lilac, the laburnum, the double peach, and the double cherry, mingled their vivid colours with the tender green of the young leaves. The morning had been rainy, and the light drops still glittered on the grass; the birds twittered among the branches; the bright sunshine and the balmy air shed their sweet influences around us; and we were returning, full of the joyous spirit of youth, quickened by this short taste of nature and of freedom, thinking of our own dear gardens and our country homes, when one of those miserable objects, seldom seen but in great cities, brought us back to London and its most painful associations. Leaning against the iron palisade close beside the gate, stood a young woman with one child at her breast, and two others, emaciated and almost naked, clinging to her own squalid rags-a sad spectacle of human misery! She implored out charity, first in broken English, then in the patois of one of the southern provinces of France. Her looks and tears, and the famished appearance of the whole party, were more intelligible than her words. We gathered, however, that she was the wife of a French sailor, whose frigate had been captured by the English, and who was then imprisoned, with many hundreds of his countrymen, at Norman Cross; that a letter from one of his comrades had informed her that he was labouring under a mortal disorder; that she had prevailed on a smuggler, her relation, to land her and her children in England, that she might receive his last breath; that her little money had been expended on her road to London, whither she had travelled in hopes of finding a kind and wealthy Provençal, to whom she was furnished with letters, and who would, she was assured, forward her and her children to the prison, that her poor husband might bless them before he died; but that she had lost these letters of recommendation, and with them the address of her good countryman; and she had wandered about, friendless and homeless, a begger in a foreign land, till now that all hopes of seeing her Henri had departed, and her only comfort was, that she and her little ones must soon die too. As she uttered the last mournful words, the poor young woman

VOL. II.

pressed her baby closer to her bosom, and sank down on the pavement, with a gush of tears so suffocating and so passionate, that her very heart seemed bursting.

There is something in a real and a deep sorrow which goes straight to the feelings of youth. We crowded round the sufferer, in true though unavailing sympathy, and showered upon her the little money that we happened to have about us, or that the prudence of our conductress would allow. It was enough, and more than enough, to procure present support and decent lodging, but not enough to reclothe herself and her half-naked children, or to enable them to reach their place of destination; and, though received with the ardent thankfulness of her nation, our gift evidently excited more gratitude than joy. We continued round her, questioning her as to her plans and the sum necessary for their accomplishment, until roused by a peremptory summons from the teacher, who crossed the street rapidly towards Mrs. Meadows's house-Caroline, who had taken an animated part in the discussion, lingering a moment behind, and joining us with some difficulty as we reached the hall-door.

On re-entering the school-room, Miss Stevens called for Miss Cleveland, and announced to her that she was then ready to receive her money, and settle the account of the mark. The little girl blushed and hesitated, and at last, picking up the volume of Racine, which she had tossed into the air two hours before, announced her intention of accepting Mrs. Meadows's kind offer, and learning Athalie. She was sure that by getting up at four o'clock every morning [N.B. She was always the latest riser in the school]-by being up every day at four o'clock, she was sure that she could do it, and she was sure that the task would do her good; she should be able to learn the common school lessons more easily another time. She would get Athalie by heart, with Mrs. Meadows's leave. ¡

All at once the truth burst upon us. She had given her two guineas to the Frenchwoman! and, on being questioned by Miss Stevens, she avowed the fact much in the style in which she might have confessed a great fault. She could not help it, she said, the poor young woman cried so; and two guineas was the exact sum needed. Besides, she was sure that her sister, Gertrude, whose husband had