For sisters should ne’er disagree;
And when I am wrong, equal freedom exert;
To complain of these errors to me.
Mrs. Airy was so generous as not to expose her daughter’s folly before Mrs. Gardner; and as she had met with a severe punishment in the consequence of her fault, and had promised amendment for the future, after a gentle reprimand, when she came down the next morning, nothing further passed on the subject.
Charlotte was so conscious of her late misbehaviour, that she had scarce courage to inquire what entertainment they had received from a sight of the pictures at the exhibition; and Martha, who was extremely delicate and attentive, very cautiously avoided the subject, from fear of appearing to insult her sister, or to remind her mamma of the reason which had occasioned her absence from the party. Mrs. Airy inquired whether Martha had not particularly taken notice of a large picture, which represented the death of Earl Goodwin. She replied, that Mrs. Gardner had pointed it out to her observation; but that she had not remarked any particulars, except the figure of a King, and a large company at dinner. “I will tell you the story then, my dear, to which this picture refers,” said Mrs. Airy.
“In the reign of Edward the Confessor, in the year 1042, Earl Goodwin, who had been accessary to the murder of Prince Alfred, was at dinner with the King at Windsor; and taking a piece of bread, called God to witness his innocence, and wished if he uttered any thing but the truth, that the next mouthful he ate might choak him. Which accordingly happened, and the bread stuck in his throat and he died immediately at the table. Do not you think my dear,” added Mrs. Airy, “it was a just punishment for his untruth, and an awful judgment for calling God to witness a falsehood?” “Indeed, Madam, I think it was quite dreadful: but are you sure that this account is true? for though it is certainly very wicked to tell a lie on any occasion, yet, as sometimes many people are thus guilty, I wonder that such events do not more frequently happen! You know that Miss Riby said she had not been writing last week, although you saw that her fingers were inked; and Charlotte had seen her doing it; why then, did not the same accident happen to her?” “Because, my love, the punishment of such crimes does not always immediately follow the commission of them; but you may be sure that the remorse of conscience, and the secret uneasiness of mind which the guilty suffer, is a very great unhappiness; and the apprehension and the fear of a future account after death, besides the idea of present detection, is such a degree of misery as no other punishment can equal. As to your question, whether I believe this account to be true? I certainly do! It was an extraordinary event which was recorded at the time it happened, and which every historian has mentioned since, and faithfully transmitted to us. This is the best authority we can have for any fact which happened before our own time, and is therefore entitled to our belief. But why such examples are so rare, is not to be wondered at; because you know that wicked people will be punished hereafter; and though such instances sometimes happen, to teach others to be good, and to make them afraid of doing what will make them liable to such terrible vengeance, yet, in general, a crime of this kind does not meet with immediate chastisement; because, after death, as I have before told you, those who have been wicked, will suffer such misery as their sins deserved. Besides which, the liar is at present detested by every one, and loses all the advantage of confidence, and the pleasure of being believed: even when he does speak truth, he is liable to be suspected, and his word is doubted on all occasions.” The conversation was here interrupted by the arrival of two young ladies and their mamma, who came to pay a morning visit to Mrs. Airy; but as they did not say any thing worth the attention of my readers, I shall not trouble myself to repeat more of what passed than may be imagined, from the comments of my mistress and her sister, with which I shall present them.
Martha, before the room door was well shut after them, began to observe that the eldest Miss Chantillon was very ugly, and very stupid; and the youngest a good pretty girl, and talked a great deal indeed. “I wish,” added she, “I could speak as fast as she does.” “To talk so fast, my love,” said her mamma, “is by no means any accomplishment; and I am far from your opinion, in so highly admiring the merits of Miss Lucy. She chatters so fast, as frequently not to be understood: and has a very silly trick of beginning every sentence with a laugh, than which nothing can be more ill-bred. The person, who is speaking, should never laugh, if she can help it, at her own wit, if she design to excite mirth, or to meet with approbation from others. But without any such intention, Lucy assumes an affected giggle whenever she attempts to speak. She has likewise a very unbecoming pertness in her manner, and, by frequent interruptions, when her elders are otherwise engaged, renders herself extremely disagreeable. I would have you, my good girls, possess that desirable degree of proper courage, as never to feel ashamed of speaking when it is necessary; but I think it is an unpleasing sight to perceive a young woman, or child I should say, for Lucy is young enough for that epithet, affecting to understand every thing, and giving her opinion unasked, upon subjects which frequently expose her ignorance an presumption. This is aiming at a character to which she has no pretensions; and by wishing to rise into a woman, before she has reached the age of understanding, she is despised for her vanity, and loses that esteem she might have attained by a proper degree of humility, and a better knowledge of her station. This observation, my dear Martha, I would particularly address to you; as you are generally thought uncommonly tall, and are usually imagined to be much older than you are. This I know you fancy to be a compliment, which always appears to give you pleasure? but remember, that, if you assume airs of womanhood, and affect to be thought further advanced in age, you will have the less allowance made for any errors you may commit, and consequently meet with contempt where you might otherwise have escaped censure. Youth, and inexperience, are justly allowed to excuse any slight inadvertence in manners, or want of grace in appearance; but if you chuse to be thought of more consequence, you must likewise expect, that the notice you may attract will not always be favourable to your vanity. I assure you, I think Miss Jenny Chantillon is much more agreeable than her sister, as she has courage sufficient to reply to any question, and to speak distinctly when she is particularly addressed, without inquiring, in Lucy’s manner, into the reason of every word which is uttered, and deciding every argument according to her own fancy: and, I dare say, if you will be careful to observe, you will find that Jenny always meets with attention from the company, while Lucy is frequently insulted, by being enjoined to silence, and by her hearers turning from her with disdain. In short, my dear, it requires a great deal of thought and propriety, to behave in an agreeable manner at your age. It is best not to be anxious to be taken notice of, since that eagerness always defeats its aim. Girls have not had the advantage of experience to teach them wisdom; and when once they are engaged in conversation, and find themselves attended to, their volatile spirits hurry them on, with the desire of obtaining applause for their wit, to say things which are sometimes neither delicate nor prudent; and which they may, when they have time to reflect, long have reason to repent having imprudently uttered. Any restraint at such a time, is, I know, always esteemed an ill-natured interruption, and is apt to damp their harmony, and lower their spirits. I would therefore warn you of the danger before-hand, that your own prudence may be a check to that unlimited indulgence, which at such a period is liable to excess: and, I dare say, that your good sense will teach you, that my admonitions are always intended for your advantage. To impress this deeper upon your mind, I will repeat to you a few lines which were written to me, when I was young, by my aunt, and which, as they frequently occurred to my memory, I found to be singularly useful.
