The Indolent Beauty.
WE too often see beauty contaminated by vanity, and a fine genius by indolence. Bella was the only daughter of a tender and affectionate mother, whose virtue and discretion were a source of happiness to her family, and a credit to her sex. Bella, on her arrival at six years of age, afforded every symptom of a good heart, complaisance, affability, and a tolerable share of understanding. This was the glaring part of the picture; for the shade afforded a strange attachment to indolence, and a disgust to every species of refined education.
Though her mother possessed all the talents necessary for an excellent instructress, yet she had never before any opportunity of reducing them to practice, and an only child was not perhaps the most proper object for her experience in the science of juvenile education. It should ever be one important point with parents, never to give up a command they have once laid on their children, but punctually to insist on its performance. The observation of this rule would frequently save a great deal of uneasiness to both parents and children.
Her mother could not think of applying even the most tender correction, and the use of threatenings only added to her own uneasiness. She hoped, as her daughter grew older, she would become more sensible of her indolence and inattention to business, and, as she ripened in years, would proportionably increase in sense and judgment; but the older the twig grew the less pliant it became, and what might have been accomplished in its younger state, was by time become almost impracticable.
Bella, however, when she arrived at eight years of age, showed very little inclination to make any alteration in her conduct; the little creature's idleness rather increased than diminished, and she began to be troublesome even to herself. Her mother now conceived the plan of putting down on paper, every evening, the value of such things as she had lost or spoiled in the course of the day, in consequence of her carelessness and invincible indolence.
Her mother had flattered herself that Bella, when she came to know the value of money, would act in a more prudent manner; but she read over the account with the utmost indifference, and considered the sums there mentioned as too insignificant for her notice and attention. A pretended head-ache was almost her constant excuse to avoid her attendance on her masters; and thus, though naturally sincere, she began to accustom herself to deviate from the truth.
Bella had reached her thirteenth year, without the least appearance of alteration in her conduct, and the lost and broken account, kept by her mother, was increased to a large sum. One irregularity, if not timely checked, brings on others; and thus Bella to indolence soon added inconsistence. She presently grew tired of every thing; her harpsichord, which was one week her favourite instrument, was the next discarded with disgust, to make room for the guitar; and this, in a short time after, for something else. She had masters to teach her geography, French, and Italian; writing, accounts, dancing, drawing, and music. These added to her mother's long catalogue of expences, contributed but little to her improvement.