Now, I suppose you think that Rosalie was very happy. Not at all! She was in a perfect fidget lest she should not get all the admiration she wanted. She was torturing herself all the while, for fear some prettier face would come along, and eclipse hers. If she went to a party and every person in the room (but one) admired her, she would fret herself sick, because that one didn't bow down and worship her.
Never having studied or read anything, Rosalie could talk nothing but nonsense; so, everybody who conversed with her, talked nonsense, too, and paid her silly compliments, and made her believe that all she needed to make her quite an angel was a pair of wings; and then she would hold her pretty head on one side, and simper; and they would go away laughing in their sleeves, and saying, "What a vain little fool Rosalie is!"
Now, Rosalie's cousin Hetty was as plain as a chestnut-bur. She had not a single pretty feature in her face. Nobody ever thought of calling Hetty a beauty, and she knew it! She was used to being overlooked; but she didn't go whining round and making herself unhappy about it,—not she. She just put her mind on something else. She studied, and read books, and learned a great many useful things; so, she had a great deal in her mind to think of, and went singing about as happy as could be, without minding whether anybody noticed her or not.
So she grew up sweet-tempered, amiable, generous and happy. When she went into company, strangers would say, "What a plain little body Hetty is." If they could not find anybody else to talk to, they'd go speak to her. Then Hetty would look up at them with one of her quiet smiles, and commence talking. She would say a great many very sensible things, and some queer ones, and they would listen—and listen—and listen—and by and by look at their watch and wonder what had made time fly so; and then go home, wondering to themselves how they could ever call such an agreeable girl as Hetty "homely."
So you see, everybody learned to love her when they found out what a beautiful soul she had; and while Rosalie was pining and fretting herself sick because her beauty was fading, and her admirers were dropping off one by one, to flatter prettier faces, Hetty went quietly on her way, winning hearts and——keeping them, too.
How many of my little readers have seen the Crystal Palace, in New-York? Those of you who have, can skip these pages, while I talk to some of your little bright-eyed country cousins, who have never been there.
You know, my dear little daisies, that poor city children, who have to walk on brick pavements, and breathe bad air, ought to have something by way of a sugar plum, now and then, to make up for it. So, you mustn't pout because they have seen the Crystal Palace, and you have not.
You know John Bull got up a Crystal Palace in England, some time since, to which people of all nations sent articles of their own making,—not to sell, but to show the great crowd who came to look at them what they could do when they tried. It was a grand thing, because it made them anxious to finish off everything in the best possible manner; and as many of the articles were very useful, it did a great deal of good. Then, it brought thousands of people to see it, and that made Adam's sons and daughters better acquainted, and more sociable, and happier; so, it was a very excellent thing on that account.