Lydia.
Oh! Mamma: but I am good sometimes; and I am sure I always wish to be good, and am uncomfortable whenever I am not; but I do not know how it is,—I think I cannot help being naughty sometimes.
Mamma.
Pray do not fancy so my dear; you certainly might help it; but I will tell you the real case—you just follow your present inclination; instead of resolving always to do what is right, you sit down, perhaps, with an inclination to be very good at your lessons, and to read very well, and translate your French very well; as long as that inclination lasts you proceed with pleasure; but you happen to meet with something in your books not quite so entertaining as you expected, or a little difficult, and then you have an inclination to fret, or to look off your book, and complain of being tired; or it may be, you come into the room very good-humoured and cheerful, and find somebody has taken your seat, or that you cannot have the book you wished for, and then you have an inclination directly to whine, grumble, and draw your lip on one side; and, I am sorry to say, Lydia, you are too apt to give way to such inclinations.
Lydia.
What must I do then, Mamma?
Mamma.
I will tell you, my dear, you must, in the first place, very heartily wish to be good; and that I hope you do. In the next place, you must, when you say your prayers, very earnestly beg of God to make you good; and then, instead of doing just what you have a mind to do, you must resolve with yourself, and try upon all occasions, not to do any thing you know is wrong, and which I have told you not to do.
Lydia.
Do you think, if I were to try then, I could always be good, Madam?