CHAPTER I.
Elizabeth Adair was stooping to prop a rose-tree in a viranda, when she hastily turned to her sister, and exclaimed, “it is useless attending either to plants or flowers now: I must give up all my favourite pursuits.”
“But you will have others to engage your attention,” returned Jane.
“And will they afford me pleasure? You may as well say that I shall listen with joy to the foolish commands of some parents, and the haughty remarks of others.”
“Let this be our comfort,” said Jane, “sensible people always treat the instructors of youth with respect; they neither command with pride, nor complain with insolence.”
“But think of the change! We, who have had every indulgence, and no cares to perplex us!”
“My dear Elizabeth, in the day of prosperity we seldom rejoice with thankfulness; but in the time of adversity, when our path is darkened, then we can bitterly repine. Surely we should place our joys and our sorrows against each other, as a defence from a murmuring spirit.”
“It is not late trials that trouble me, but future vexations that I dread. You know that I have never been accustomed to stupid, drawling, spoiled children.”
“I hope,” said Jane, “you will not have a class of this description to instruct.”