tell us the truth after all. She rebuked me
once viciously for saying, "an old lady of
fifty." I understand it now, alas! but then
I thought it very unjust: fifty is not so old
as it once was.

When candles came, Miss Radley gathered
us round her, and heard us read the Bible,
or questioned us in ancient and modern
history, or heathen mythology, and
sometimes we read poetry. She was of a
tender, sentimental turn, in spite of red
hair and a turn-up nose; and, in moments of
confidence, would show us a little box of
treasures to be gazed at lovingly when we
were asleep. The gem of the collection was
what I took to be a paper of tobacco, the
contents being about that colour and texture,
with this inscription outside,—"The sweet
remembrance of my beloved brother." She
soon set my error at rest, by explaining that
it was her brother's whiskers, which he had
cut off on returning from the wars; and she
had treasured them up ever since. This was
a remarkable brother too; for he was very
deaf when he went into battle, and the roar
of the cannon did something to his ears, for
he heard quite well when he came out.

At this time of the evening we were
allowed, now and then, to subscribe, and
send the housemaid out for hardbake,
parliament, apples, or biscuit, or a cocoa-
nut, which we peeled, sliced, and boiled in
brown sugar, then turned out on a dish, and
called ambrosia. Seven o'clock brought tea,
and Madame took her place again at the
head of the table; each girl had a large
breakfast cup full,—we might have more if
we liked, but we never had. After tea, one
read aloud in that cheerful specimen of polite
literature, Rollin's Ancient History (I have
never looked into it since), while the rest
worked. I hate Cyrus to this day. We had
a very little joke upon Darius, who was nick-
named Dosen, because he made promises that
he did not keep, like our next door neighbour
Mr. Moses, who promised to send Mrs. Ruleit
a bag of coffee, and didn't; so we called him
"dosen," and held him in contempt. At nine
o'clock we put up our work, the prayer-book
was brought out, and we knelt in a circle
before Madame. Prayers were read by the
girls in turn; and, after "bon soir," we were
dismissed for the night; not without suspicion
that Mrs. Ruleit and her daughter had
something good to eat after we were gone,—
but this was never confirmed, and cook would
not tell.

Our Italian master, Signer Gagliardini,
only taught the girls who could sing; for, to
pronounce the words of Italian songs properly,
was the chief object of the instruction; occasionally
he brought his little boy who informed
us in a thin, shrill voice, that his name was,
"Titus Telemàque Terence Themistocle;" the
weight of his name seemed to have crushed
his growth. The Signor gave a concert on a
plan common enough at the time. A lady in
Upper Brook Street lent her house for the
evening, on condition of having a certain
number of tickets for herself and friends.
Mrs. R. took two or three of us herself,
accompanied by Cadney, a neighbouring
greengrocer, dressed in black, and whom we were
told to call "James " (his name was Isaac),
when he went out with us, that he might look
like our own footman. The concert was in the
dining-room, and the suite of drawing-rooms
was open to the company; who examined
the ornaments, lolled on the sofas, read the
cards, and counted the candles, under the
very eyes of the owner herself, for anything
they knew. The notes and cards of the
greatest and most fashionable acquaintances
were uppermost, as usual. The unfortunate
giver of the concert must have passed a
wretched evening. Signor Ronzi de Begnis
was late, Sapio never came at all, the lady
singers were capricious; so, between hoping
and fearing, and filling up gaps himself, and
apologising, and a wonderful air with variations
on the harp, and Adelaide by a gentleman
sorely afflicted within, the concert
terminated.

One of the girls was to be left at home for
the night in Hanover Square; and, as we
watched the footman give her a bed candle
and saw her glide up the painted staircase,
we drew ourselves up and affected to think it
very grand but very comfortless, as all people
do who are not grand themselves. I don't
know that we had any such very particular
comforts in Wriothesley Place; but we thought
the Hanover Square carriage might have
taken us, but it didn't. So it was pleasant to
despise carriages and luxuries in general.

But, all this time, my secret about sincerity
lay heavy on my mind; and, one unlucky
morning (the first of September, I remember
it well), for want of a secret to tell about a
lover—for I had not one—I confided this
to one of my companions in return for
the excitement I experienced about the
shadowy captain in the East Indies. I
repented it from that moment; for if she
should reveal it I was a lost character. I
pictured to myself the disgrace I should fall
into at home with good Mr. France, with the
family who told us in confidence, and, above
all, the disturbance it would cause in
Wriothesley Place. Oh, what I suffered! I
had no pleasure in the thought of going
home—the sunshine was taken out of my
life—I had committed a breach of trust
society could not overlook. My distress reached
its climax, when, one morning, Madame
received a letter from a friend in the country
saying she considered it her duty to tell her
that Mrs. Horseman, our neighbour over the
way, had been visiting in the country, and
there said, in company, that there was one
school in London where she would not send a
girl, and that was Madame Ruleit's; and
this opinion was calculated to do great injury,
as Mrs. Horseman was called intellectual, and