Jemima Placid; or, The Advantage of Good-Nature

by Mary Ann Kilner

When the hour of her departure was nearly arrived, she retired into the garden to take leave of her brothers, and went round with them to all the different places she had been accustomed to play in. They visited together the poultry-yard, and Jemima fed her bantams before she left them [see the [following page]], bidding them all adieu, and looking behind her for the last time as she shut the gate. They then walked round by some walnut-trees, where a seat had been put up for them to sit in the shade.—I wish you were not going! said Charles; for I put this box, and drove in these nails, on purpose for you to hang up your doll's clothes, and now they will be of no farther use to us.—I wish so too! replied his sister; but I cannot help it.—Well, do not cry, added William; but come this way by the brewhouse, and bid my rabbits good-bye, and take this piece of lettuce in your hand to feed the old doe, and here is some parsley for the young ones; we shall have some more before you come back, and I will send you word, if I can, how many there be.—And, Jemima, said Charles, I wish I were going with you to London! for I should like to see it, it is such a large place; a great deal bigger than any villages which we have seen; and, they say, the houses stand close together for a great way; and there are no fields or trees, and the houses have no gardens to them; but then there is a great number of shops, and you might perhaps get a collar for Hector! Do pray try, Jemima, and buy him one, and have his name put upon it, and that he belongs to the Rev. Mr. Placid, of Smiledale; for then, in case we should lose him, folk would know where to return him.—And would it not be better to have a bell, said William, as the sheep have? I like a bell very much, it would make such a nice noise about the house! and then we should always know where he was when we were reading, as my father will not let us look after him. What else do we want her to buy, Charles? Cannot you write a list?—That will be the best way, replied he, taking out his pencil; and, very ungracefully, to be sure, he put the point of it to his mouth two or three times before it would write; and then, having but a small scrap of paper, he dispatched his brother, as the shortest way, to fetch a slate, and he would transcribe it afterwards with a pen and ink; for he had, in endeavouring to cut a new point to his pencil, broken it off so frequently, that the lead was all wasted, and nothing remained except the wood. William soon returned, with the slate under his arm. Charles took it from him, and then went to work to prepare a bill of necessary things, which his sister was to purchase in London. He leaned so hard, and scratched in such a manner, as, had any grown people been of the party, would have set their teeth on edge (a sensation, I believe, with which children are unacquainted, for they never seem to notice it at all).—First then, said he, I am to mention a collar for Hector, with his name and place of abode; and I should like very much to have some Indian glue, to mend our play things; such as papa uses, and which we cannot get here, you know.

William assented, and Jemima was as attentive as if she had been to remember all the things he was writing, without the assistance of his list. They sat some time in silence, to recollect the other necessary commissions, when she reminded them, that a new pencil would be a useful article; but Charles said, his father would supply that want, and there was no need to spend his own money for things he could have without any expense; but, if any how I could get a gun, with a touch-hole, I should be quite happy.—No, you would not, returned William; for then, Charles, you would want gunpowder, which you never could have; and if you had, might never use it.—To be sure that is true! I have long wished for it; but, as you say, I will be contented without it; so do not concern yourself about that, and I need not set it down.—I shall not trouble you with the rest of the consultation on this important subject, but transcribe the list itself, which, with the account of the preceding conversation, I received from a young lady, who frequently spent some months with Mrs. Placid; and to whose kindness I am indebted for many of the various incidents which compose this history.

A List of the Things Jemima is to bring from London.

A collar for Hector.—Indian glue.—Some little pictures to make a show.—A pair of skates; as we shall like skating better than sliding.—A large coach-whip for Charles, because John will not lend us his;—and some little books which we can understand, and which mamma told Mrs. West may be bought somewhere in London; but Jemima must inquire about it.

Such were the orders which Miss Placid received from her brothers on her first journey to the metropolis. They then attended her to bid adieu to her canary-bird, which she very tenderly committed to their care, and desired they would feed it every day, and give it water in her absence; and mind to turn the glass the right way, otherwise the poor thing might be starved. While she was taking her leave of little Dick, who hung in the hall by the window, her cat came purring to her, and rubbed its head against her frock, and pushed against her feet; then lay down on one side, and while Jemima stroked it with her hand, she licked her fingers, and at last jumped up into the window-seat to be still nearer to its mistress, who taking it into her arms, particularly desired her brothers to give Puss some of their milk every morning, and to save some bits of meat at dinner to carry to it; for my Pussey, added she, I am quite sorry to leave you!—Another affair remained, which was, to put away all her play-things; but this she had deferred so long, that the carriage was ready before she had concluded; so with that, likewise, she was obliged to entrust her brothers; and looking round her with a heavy heart upon every object she had been accustomed to, she quitted the room with regret; and after receiving the affectionate kisses of the whole family, her papa lifted her into the carriage; and the tears running down her cheeks, she looked out of the window as long as the house was in sight, and her brothers continued to stand at the gate, till the road to London turning into a contrary direction, they could no longer see each other. She then, with a melancholy countenance, watched the fields and lanes she passed by, till at last, quite fatigued, she sat down, and soon after fell asleep.

When they stopped at the inn where they intended to rest that night, she was so much fatigued, having been up very early, that she did not wake till she was nearly undressed; when finding herself in a house where she had never before been, she looked about, but was too good to fret at such a circumstance, though she wished to be at home again. The next morning they renewed their journey, and in two days arrived at Mr. Piner's house, about eight o'clock in the evening.

Jemima, who had not seen her cousins since she was two years old, had entirely forgotten them; and as they expected to find her as much a baby as at their last interview, they appeared like entire strangers to each other. They welcomed their papa and mamma, and looked at Miss Placid with silent amazement; both parties, indeed, said the civil things they were desired, such as, How do you do, cousin? rather in a low and drawling tone of voice; and Miss Sally, who was eight years old, turned her head on one side, and hung on her papa's arm, though he tried to shake her off, and desired her to welcome Miss Placid to London, and to say, She was glad to see her, to inquire after her papa, mamma, and brothers, and, in short, to behave politely, and receive her in a becoming manner. To do this, however, Mr. Piner found was impossible, as his daughters were not at any time distinguished by the Graces, and were always particularly aukward, from their shyness at a first introduction.—In this place, my dear Eliza, you must excuse me, if I stop to hint at a like error in your own conduct, and which indeed, young ladies in general are too apt to be inattentive to: that as first impressions are usually the strongest, it is of great consequence to impress your company with a favourable opinion of your appearance. As you are acquainted with the common forms of good breeding, you should consider, that it is quite immaterial whether you address a lady you have before seen, or one with whom you are unacquainted, since the compliments of civility are varied only by the circumstances of your knowledge, or the different connexions of the person to whom you are speaking. When, therefore, you are in company with strangers, you should accustom yourself to say what is proper (which will be to answer any question they may ask you) without at all considering how long you have known them; and, be assured, that as an easy behaviour is at all times most agreeable, you will certainly please when you speak with a modest degree of freedom. Do not, therefore, make yourself uneasy with the idea of appearing aukward, for by that means you will defeat your wishes; but endeavour to retain your natural voice, and express yourself with the same unconcern as you do in common conversation; since every species of affectation is disagreeable, and nothing will so strongly recommend you as simplicity.