The CHILDREN.
I think you have never read Mr. Teachum's
tran&longs;lation, &longs;aid Emma, one evening, as I was sitting
by her, li&longs;tening to the innocent prattle of Harriet
and her little companion—I had &longs;ome months
before committed them to the care of Mrs.—of
Hammer&longs;mith.
Though I had always heard the highe&longs;t character
of this lady and her &longs;chool, yet my dear Harriet, who
at this time was at home for the holidays, rai&longs;ed it in
my opinion—Lucy, &longs;aid he, let us play at &longs;chool—
you &longs;hall be Mrs.—, and I will be a scholar.
You may always judge by the play of children
what company, regulations, and conver&longs;ation, they
are u&longs;ed to.
Come here, Mi&longs;s Harriet, &longs;aid Lucy; I hope you
are very well this morning, and quite prepared to
&longs;ay your ta&longs;k; you know I &longs;hall take no excu&longs;e.
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Come, Ladies, it is eight o'clock, and not all
dre&longs;&longs;ed yet!—Oh &longs;ye! Mi&longs;s, your face and hands
are not wa&longs;hed!—how indelicate that is!—well, now
we are all ready—&longs;o you mu&longs;t kneel down and &longs;ay
your prayers.
Do you always &longs;ay your prayers at &longs;chool, Harriet?
&longs;aid I.
Oh, yes, Papa; Mrs. — not only makes us
&longs;ay our prayers, but &longs;he &longs;ays her own prayers with
us.
Do you love Mrs. —, my dear?
Yes, indeed, Papa—I don't know any body but
what does love her, &longs;he is &longs;o good to us all.
I was &longs;o plea&longs;ed with the account the children
gave of this amiable woman, that by means of my
ring I frequently vi&longs;ited her un&longs;een—there was always
the &longs;ame decent regularity ob&longs;erved through the
whole hou&longs;e.
She had a relation lived with her—I would mention
&longs;ome acts of humanity which I have &longs;een this
relation perform, but I fear to hurt her delicacy—
Yet there is one which will never be era&longs;ed from
my mind. It was the kindne&longs;s &longs;he &longs;hewed to a poor
young woman who was di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed, calumniated, and
be&longs;et with dangers—Yet &longs;he knew not the full force
of her benevolence; But I, who vi&longs;ited, un&longs;een, the
object of her humanity, know, that &longs;he drew her
from an horrid precipice, from whence &longs;he mu&longs;t
have &longs;oon plunged into the gulf of infamy.
Oh! thou gentle pattern of benevolence and piety,
judge not the poor young woman from appearances—
could'&longs;t thou but &longs;ee her heart, thou would'&longs;t
there read gratitude to thee written in indelible characters—
and when &longs;he prays for thee, who&longs;e bounty
&longs;he has received,&longs;he humbly a&longs;ks of Heaven the power
to return it.—But I am always running from the
&longs;ubject I begin with.
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My Emma had reque&longs;ted me to read Teachum's
tran&longs;lation of the Ea&longs;tern tale; &longs;o di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ing the
children to the nur&longs;ery, and &longs;tirring up the fire, for
it was a cold evening in December, I &longs;tepped into
my &longs;ludy, and brought out the manu&longs;cript.
Rowson, Mrs., 1762-1824 [1793], The inquisitor, or, Invisible rambler, volume 2 (William Gibbons, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf324v2].
