Every body present was moved—they looked up to Leonora with respectful and affectionate admiration.
"O, Leonora, how I love you! And how I wish to be like you!" exclaimed Cecilia. "To be as good, as generous!"
"Rather wish, Cecilia," interrupted Mrs. Villars, "to be as just; to be as strictly honourable, and as invariably consistent.
"Remember that many of our sex are capable of great efforts, of making what they call great sacrifices to virtue or to friendship; but few treat their friends with habitual gentleness, or uniformly conduct themselves with prudence and good sense."
[LAZY LAWRENCE.]
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IN the pleasant valley of Ashton, there lived an elderly woman of the name of Preston; she had a small, neat cottage, and there was not a weed to be seen in her garden. It was upon her garden that she chiefly depended for support; it consisted of strawberry-beds, and one small border for flowers. The pinks and roses she tied up in nice nosegays, and sent either to Clifton or Bristol to be sold; as to her strawberries, she did not send them to market, because it was the custom for numbers of people to come from Clifton, in the summer time, to eat strawberries and cream, at the gardens in Ashton.
Now the widow Preston was so obliging, active, and good-humored, that every one who came to see her was pleased. She lived happily in this manner for several years; but, alas! One autumn she fell sick, and during her illness every thing went wrong: her garden was neglected, her cow died, and all the money which she had saved was spent in paying for medicines. The winter passed away, while she was so weak that she could earn but little by her work; and when the summer came, her rent was called for, and the rent was not ready in her little purse, as usual. She begged a few months' delay, and they were granted to her; but at the end of that time there was no resource but to sell her horse, Lightfoot.
Now Lightfoot, though perhaps he had seen has best days, was a very great favourite: in his youth he had always carried the dame to market behind her husband; and it was now her little son Jem's turn to ride him. It was Jem's business to feed Lightfoot, and to take care of him; a charge which he never neglected; for, besides being a very good-natured, he was a very industrious boy.
"It will go near to break my Jem's heart," said Dame Preston to herself, as she sat one evening beside the fire stirring the embers, and considering how she had best open the matter to her son, who stood opposite to her, eating a dry crust of bread, very heartily, for supper.