The proud girl humbled, or the two school-mates
Date: 2024-06-02T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Pride and vanity -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The proud girl humbled, or the two school-mates

For little boys and girls

Author: Mrs. Hughs

Release date: June 1, 2024 [eBook #73746]

Language: English

Original publication: Philadelphia, PA: Lindsay and Blakiston, 1849

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73746

Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROUD GIRL HUMBLED, OR THE TWO SCHOOL-MATES ***

THE
PROUD GIRL HUMBLED,
OR THE
TWO SCHOOL-MATES;

FOR
LITTLE BOYS AND LITTLE GIRLS.

BY
MRS. HUGHS,

AUTHOR OF “FRANK WORTHY,” “MAY MORNING,” ETC. ETC.

PHILADELPHIA:
LINDSAY AND BLAKISTON.
1849.

Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN.
PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN.

PREFACE.

Dear Readers:

This little story has been written, to show you how often we are the cause of our own unhappiness by selfish conduct. To be happy, we should act kindly towards all who are worthy, (knowing good conduct more frequently commands respect than riches,) and not permit ourselves to feel envious of those who excel us in any way; but should rather strive to imitate their good actions, that we may thus, by correcting our faults, gain the love of those around us; ever bearing in mind, that “to be happy, we must be good.”

THE PROUD GIRL
HUMBLED.

“I SUPPOSE you will be at Miss Rosalba Pearson’s party to-morrow night,” said Isabella Ingersol to Matilda Hamilton, as they sat on the first resting-place of the steps leading up to the reservoir at Fairmount.

“No, I shall not be there,” returned Matilda in a contemptuous tone; “Rosalba Pearson is no acquaintance of mine.”

“I thought you went to the same school together.”

“So we do; but that is no reason that we should be acquainted. I never spoke to her in my life, except in such a manner as one is obliged, sometimes, to speak to a girl that is in the same class.”

“She seems, in general, to be a great favourite in the school,” said Isabella; “I have often heard her spoken of with much affection by many of the girls.”

“Perhaps so,” replied her companion; “but however good and sweet she may be, she is certainly not a proper acquaintance for me.”

“Why not? what is there amiss about her? I never heard any one say anything against her. On the contrary, she is universally loved and admired.”

“Ma is very particular about the acquaintances I form at school; for she says, it would be a very awkward thing to have to shake them off as I grow up.”

“But if you find them amiable and pleasant acquaintances, I cannot see why you need shake them off. For my part, I should be delighted to think that the friendships I form while a girl would last me through life.”

“That would be pleasant enough, provided they were suitable. But how would you feel if in a public assembly you were accosted familiarly by the daughter of a storekeeper?”

“If she were one that I admired and esteemed, I should not care what her father was,” replied Isabella with energy.

“So you think at present, because you find it very pleasant to go to Rosalba’s party; but wait a year or two, and see if you do not acknowledge that you are sorry your mother allowed you to form an acquaintance with girls who did not belong to the first circles.”

“I have heard Papa say, he considered Mr. Pearson equal to any man in Philadelphia, for integrity, benevolence, and information.”

“That may be very true; but still he never can belong to the first circles, you know.”

“Is there any thing that ought to be placed higher than virtue and knowledge?” asked Isabella with great simplicity. “I have always been taught to think that these were the criterion by which we ought to judge our friends.”

“We may respect a person or otherwise, in proportion as he possesses these qualities; but that is no reason that we should admit him as an intimate friend. People of an inferior class, Mamma says, are so much disposed to take advantage of any little kindness that is shown them, that it is difficult to keep them at a proper distance.”

“Has Rosalba Pearson ever shown any disposition to obtrude herself upon you?”

“No, not at all. I must do her the justice to say, that she has always behaved as if she knew her place.”

“Or that she had no wish to force herself into the first circles unsolicited;” said Isabella dryly. A slight flush passed over her companion’s cheek; for she had too much sense not to understand what Isabella meant.

“Both Ma and Pa have always been very particular in cautioning me against allowing myself to be drawn into low company,” said she, as if wishing to offer an excuse for what she could not vindicate.

“My parents have been equally particular,” returned her companion. “But perhaps your parents and mine do not agree as to what is low company. Some people judge of individuals according to their standing in the world; others by their manners and information, and consider them low or high in proportion to their excellence in these respects. But it is a subject on which it is folly for us to pretend to dispute. All that I know” she continued playfully, “is, that unless we sink a little lower by going down these steps pretty quickly, we shall be in danger of having to walk, instead of riding, home; for I see your Mamma and my Aunt Harriet going towards the carriage.”

So saying, Isabella, evidently desirous of putting a stop to a conversation in which she saw plainly they could not agree, began to run down the steps at a rapid rate.

“Oh, do stop, Isabella; don’t run so fast, I beg of you! It’s so vulgar to run!” exclaimed Matilda, following as rapidly as her dignity would permit.

“If I were in Chestnut street, it might be so,” replied Isabella, stopping for a moment at one of the landings; “but here in the country, I may surely indulge myself; and I do, in my heart, like a good run;” and away she flew again, nor stopped an instant till she had reached the carriage, where, with her sweet face glowing and her bosom heaving with the exercise she had taken, she waited for the arrival of her more dignified companion.

“It’s a pity but you could keep that colour captive, Isabella until to-morrow evening,” said her Aunt as she looked with pleasure on the bright face of her niece. “You would need little else to prepare you for the party.”

“What party is she going to?” asked Mrs. Hamilton, rather surprised that there was anything of the kind going on, without her daughter receiving an invitation.

“Rosalba Pearson’s,” replied the lady interrogated.

“Oh!” returned Mrs. Hamilton, in a tone that said as plainly as words could have spoken it, “she is welcome to all such parties.”

“Did you ever spend a more delightful evening than we had at Rosalba’s?” asked the occupant of the desk immediately behind Matilda’s, to the companion who shared it with her, the morning but one after the conversation we have recorded.

“No, never. Everything went off so pleasantly! I never saw a party better conducted. And yet it was very large.”

“No doubt,” thought Matilda, as she commented in her own mind upon what she heard; “for amongst the set that was likely to be there, a party is too great an event, for them not to flock to it.”

“Didn’t Charles Lisle and Rosalba dance the polka beautifully together?” resumed the first speaker.

“Charles Lisle!” thought Matilda, “is it possible he could condescend to go there! But I suppose Rosalba’s brother goes to the same school. Besides, it is not of so much consequence for a boy to form such acquaintances. Men can associate with whom they please, without compromising their dignity, Ma says.”

Again her ears were arrested, for the one who had been first addressed, said in reply; “I don’t think Henrietta Lisle danced so well as Rosalba did, though she certainly had a splendid partner. Did you ever see a handsomer boy than Edd Wharton? And didn’t his sister look lovely too?”

Matilda was thunder-struck! Henrietta Lisle at a party given by Rosalba Pearson! a storekeeper’s daughter! And Edd Wharton, too, her paragon of all that was genteel and elegant, both as regarded person, fortune, and family, and his beautiful sister, to be there!

She was sur-prised and shocked beyond measure. “But Ma says, people have latterly got some very strange notions into their heads about equality,” thought she; and at this moment, to her no small relief, she heard her class called up; for all that had been said of this party was gall and bitterness to her.

As the season was nearly over, all who wished to see their friends were anxious to do so before the weather became too warm for such amusements. Of this number was Isabella Ingersol; and Matilda, of course, received a card of invitation. Though delighted at the thought of the visit, her pleasure was somewhat damped, when she recollected that Rosalba Pearson must of course be one of the party. It is true she had no reason to fear that Rosalba would in any way force herself upon her notice; but still there was a something about this girl that she half feared, half envied. That this was so, she certainly would not have acknowledged, though she frequently found herself arguing against it, as if it was a fact that she could not wholy deny. That she should ever for a moment look upon Rosalba as a rival, was altogether unaccountable. It was true they were school-mates, and might be said to be of the same age, for they were both in their thirteenth year; but then Rosalba was much smaller, and much more childish looking. And as to beauty, there could not be any comparison, for she had never heard that young lady’s warmest admirers pretend to say she was handsome, though all declared she had a remarkably sweet countenance; whilst on the other hand it required no great stretch of vanity, in her, to say she knew herself to be so; for the fact had been acknowledged by those with whom she was well assured she was not a favourite. Neither could Rosalba cope with her in respect to acquirements; for every teacher she had declared her to be his best scholar.

Why then should she feel anything like rivalry towards this young girl, whose unassuming manners she could not herself refuse to acknowledge? Mr. Pearson was not only a storekeeper, but had never testified any desire to step beyond his calling, and had often been heard to say, that he was determined to give his children the best education he could, as that would be the chief thing they would have to depend upon, and as it was a fortune that could not be taken away from them, he considered it the best investment for his money. How different, then, was a girl so situated from herself, the only child of one of the richest men in the city, whose wealth had descended to him by inheritance, and who of course belonged to one of the oldest families in the State!

Still, after all this arguing, Matilda was conscious that there was something about Rosalba Pearson of which she was afraid; and consequently, on entering her friend Isabella’s ballroom, felt extreme mortification, when the first object that met her view was Edd Wharton promenading, with Henrietta Lisle holding by one arm and Rosalba Pearson the other. It was to no purpose that she was received by Isabella and her mother with the utmost cordiality and kindness, the former not leaving her side till she saw her engaged with a number of her particular friends: the cankerworm of jealousy had found its way into the unhappy girl’s heart, and poisoned every better feeling. In vain she compared her own splendid dress, and the costly jewelry with which she was adorned, with the simple but conspicuously graceful attire of her unconscious rival, who, in all the innocent simplicity of her heart, sent her merry laugh to the ears of the writhing Matilda.

At length, the musicians took their places, and the dancing commenced. Charles Lisle had already engaged her for the first set, and at any other time Matilda would have been highly satisfied with her partner; but in the same quadrille, opposite to her, stood Rosalba by the side of Edd Wharton, who talked and laughed with her with the utmost cordiality. This was sufficient to destroy all Matilda’s enjoyment, and she moved through the dance with even less than her usual animation, though she was always careful to avoid any appearance of enjoying herself, as being altogether unfashionable and vulgar. Rosalba, on the contrary, danced as if she did so for the pleasure of the thing; and though her movements were at all times easy and graceful, she evidently thought of the amusement alone, and allowed herself to be happy without considering how she looked whilst she was so.

A succession of partners, such as Matilda could not find the slightest fault with, engaged her for each succeeding dance, so that she had not the least cause to complain of being neglected; but the only one that she had set her heart upon dancing with, never came to ask her. Edmund Wharton not only belonged to what Matilda termed the first circles, but he was the oldest and by much the handsomest boy in the room. She knew also that his talents were far beyond the ordinary standard, and that he was remarkably intelligent and manly for his age. On these accounts she deemed herself the most fitting companion to whom he could have attached himself for the evening. But instead of such a selection, he had only noticed her when they had met in the first dance, with a familiar “How d’ye do, Tilly?” without evincing the least disposition to come near her afterwards, whilst he frequently joined the various groups of which Rosalba Pearson formed a part.

At length, the musicians retired for a time, and refreshments were brought in, after which the piano was opened, and Isabella led the way for other more skilful performers, by playing a simple piece, which having done she called upon Matilda to take her place. After some few objections, Matilda complied, and played a sonata of considerable difficulty, with great neatness and execution; but her touch was hard, and her style altogether was skilful but cold. As she rose from the instrument, all expressed admiration at the ease with which she executed exceedingly difficult passages; but no one seemed to be anxious to retain her at her place.

In a minute or two afterwards, she heard Rosalba, who stood near, say, as if in reply to some request that young Wharton had made, “Oh, I could not think of it, after the music we have just been listening to;” and being convinced by the tone of her voice that Rosalba was really alarmed at the idea of playing after her, Matilda immediately determined that she should do so, and for the first time that evening felt something like pleasure, when she thought of the difference that Edmund, who was himself a good musician, would discover between their performances.

“I should not have ventured to sit down to the instrument,” said she, “if I had not hoped by that means to secure the pleasure of hearing Miss Pearson play.”

“Oh, you know I don’t pretend to be anything of a musician,” said Rosalba, with unaffected earnestness.

“You only want to surprise us;” said the haughty girl, endeavouring for once to put on a condescending and encouraging look. “You cannot but know that I shall prove a most excellent foil.”

“Oh! you ought not to talk so,” remonstrated Rosalba, “for you know Mr. H—— invariably pronounces you to be his best scholar.”

“Your performance will prove how much his opinion is to be depended upon,” returned Matilda in the same graciously condescending tone; “and as I have gained the right to call upon you, I must beg leave to do so, however it may turn out to my own disadvantage.”

“There is nothing for you but to play, Rosalba,” said Wharton, who had stood by, listening to the dispute; “so come, I will fix the stool for you,” he added significantly turning the music-seat as he spoke, to raise it a little higher; “you are one of the lower class, you know, and we therefore must try to elevate you.” As he said this, his eye sought that of his friend Charles Lisle, who stood near, and who evidently understood it. Matilda, too, observed his look, and was as little at a loss to comprehend its meaning, and her bosom swelled almost to bursting.

Rosalba, finding that she was expected to play, took her seat at the instrument without any further hesitation, and selecting a beautiful, but far from difficult piece of music, began it in an easy and unaffected style. She was far from having the execution of which Matilda was mistress, but her touch was peculiarly sweet, and being keenly sensible of the charms of music herself, she touched the feelings, though she did not excite the wonder of those who listened to her. Edmund Wharton stood by her side, ready to turn over the leaves for her, and almost as much absorbed by the tones she drew forth as herself.

As she finished, and was about to rise, the words “Oh don’t leave the instrument yet!” “Do, pray, let us have some more!” “Oh, I wish you would play that piece over again!” resounded from those who were standing about her, and Edmund said with a look of exultation, “Miss Hamilton must feel proud at hearing her judgment so fully confirmed by the general voice.”

“I was sure that Miss Pearson knew how to take her hearers by surprise,” returned Matilda.

“She is indeed quite an artist,” said Edmund. “I had no expectation of finding her so much so.”

“You are not yet aware how great an artist she is,” replied the jealous girl, whose splenetic feelings had now got beyond her control; “for she possesses the art of not appearing to have any.”

Rosalba turned round to Matilda with a look of extreme surprise, at this ungenerous and unprovoked attack, and a flush of indignation reddened her cheek; but it disappeared the next instant, and with a gentle dignity that even Matilda could not be blind to, she put her arm through that of a young lady near her, and walked quietly to the further end of the room.

Matilda felt the humiliation that she had intended for another, recoil upon herself; but she tried to believe that it was either not observed, or not understood by Edmund, who, without making any comment upon what had passed, engaged himself in adjusting the stool, and fixing the music for other performers; and as several songs were sung, and sonatas played, by various individuals, though none of them had reached beyond a school-girl’s style of performance, Matilda had time to compose her angry and mortified feelings. She however very soon relapsed again, for on Isabella’s coming to say that she was sent by several of the company to beg that she would play once more for them, she found that she was allowed to screw the stool down for herself, though Edmund Wharton was standing close to her at the time. And even this was not all that she had to encounter, for having either by accident or design, let the piece of music drop from her fingers, just as she was about to place it on the desk, she was permitted to stoop to pick it up without any effort being made by him to prevent her. This, we are sorry to say, would not have been very extraordinary with many boys of Edward Wharton’s age, but with him it was an unequivocal mark of contempt; for he had ever been so remarkable for his polite attention to those about him, that when he failed in it, the circumstance could only be attributed to design. If Matilda, however, had entertained any doubt of that being the case, it would immediately have been dispelled when Charles Lisle said in a sort of whisper, but loud enough for her to hear, “Why, Wharton, how could you allow Miss Hamilton to pick her music up herself?”

“Because I thought it would do her good to stoop a little,” replied the other, laughing.—“She will have to practise a good deal before she becomes tolerable.” Not a word of this was lost upon Matilda.

She even fancied that it was intended she should hear it, and she shook so with passion that she had to turn over the music, as if in search of something she wanted, a considerable time before she dared to trust her trembling fingers to touch the keys; and when she did, she played with so unsteady a hand, that she rose from the piano when she had finished, still more humbled and mortified.

At length the dancing was renewed, and continued until all seemed anxious to rest, when Isabella proposed a game at Magical Music, which was agreed to by all hands; and many a merry peal of laughter resounded at the various mistakes that were made.

Then there were the forfeits to be worked for, and songs were sung, pas seuls danced, and various other penances performed, for their recovery. At length it was Edmund Wharton’s lot to redeem his pledge, by repeating some poetry. After turning it over for some time in his mind, he said, “I never was a good hand at remembering poetry, but a few lines have just come into my head, of which, however, I neither know the author, nor am I sure I am quite correct in the words: the sense is the only thing I can answer for, and will give it you, as well as I can.”

He then repeated with much distinctness, and with great effect, the following well-known lines:

“What is the finest tincture of the skin,

To peace of mind and harmony within?

What the bright sparkling of the finest eye,

To the sweet soothings of a mild reply?

Can comeliness of form or shape or air

With comeliness of looks and words compare?

Those for a while may the affections gain,

But these, these only, can the heart retain.”

“Miss Hamilton’s carriage!” called out a waiter, just as Edmund had uttered the last words; and Matilda rose, delighted to be released from the purgatory in which she had sat. On arriving home, she found only the old housekeeper sitting up for her, and she hastened to her chamber, glad to think she was at length to be alone. As she entered the room, her own figure, reflected at full length in the large dressing-glass, met her view; and she was startled at the contrast between her splendid attire and the mental wretchedness displayed in her countenance. Should the artist we have employed to depict her as she stood before her truthful mirror, succeed in giving expression to the feelings of mortification, shame, and humiliation, which rankled at that moment in her breast, we are sure that it cannot fail to present a striking lesson to our young readers.

How insufficient did she find the wealth, splendour, and consequence on which she had hitherto prided herself, to restore her self-respect, or blind her to the superiority of one whom she had treated with such undeserved contempt!

“Oh, Rosalba!” she exclaimed in a tone of deep feeling, “what would I not give, to exchange situations with you at this moment! How much do I envy you the respect and affection that all seem so anxious to testify towards you! and how happy should I be, could I learn your art of winning it!”

“Shall I tell you how you may gain it, Matilda?” asked a voice behind her, that made her start; and looking round, she saw an old lady—a distant relative of the family, who was, at the time, on a visit to Mrs. Hamilton, and, having heard Matilda come in, and concluding that she was much fatigued, had come to offer her assistance in undressing, and had by that means become an unintentional listener to the young girl’s soliloquy. Never was offer of assistance more à propos; for Matilda’s proud spirit was humbled, and in a right frame to receive admonition. Throwing herself therefore, on the neck of her friend, she exclaimed, “Yes, dear Aunt, advise, reprove, and assist me, for I am wretched.”

“Reproof, my child,” said the old lady, as she pressed the now weeping girl to her bosom, “you have little need of, for I understand the kind of an evening you have spent, and am persuaded you are already sufficiently punished. Neither do you need any other assistance than that of your own natural good sense. Let me therefore advise you to call it into action, and accustom yourself to remember that the advantages of birth and fortune are altogether adventitious, and though they may obtain for you a cold and distant respect, they never will gain the love of a single being. But seek to learn the law of love, and above all, accustom yourself to practise that divine rule of doing as you would be done unto, and you will soon find yourself surrounded by affectionate hearts, and feel that peace within, which no external circumstances can supply.”

With many tears, Matilda promised to lay this gentle admonition to heart, and after a little more conversation she laid her head upon her pillow, with a mind composed and tranquillized by good resolutions, in regard to her future conduct.

“Did you ever see so altered a girl as Matilda Hamilton is?” said Edmund Wharton to his friend Lisle, one day, about a year after Isabella Ingersol’s ball. “I declare she is grown quite handsome.”

“She always was that,” returned the other, “I never saw a finer complexion, nor a more regular set of features, in my life.”

“That is true, and yet, heretofore, I never could see any beauty in her: her haughty, supercilious manners destroyed it all. But she is become so gentle and amiable, and treats every one with such kind courtesy, that it actually makes her look beautiful; and I now take as much pains to meet as I used to take to avoid her.”

FINIS

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

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Table of Contents

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