is morning of a
party that is going on tonight at the widow St. Leonard's. It is only
fifteen years since her husband died. He was carried off with a three
days' illness, but two months after they were married. I have had a
domestic that lived with them at the time, so I know all about it. And
there she is now, living in an elegant house, and riding in her
carriage, and dressing and dashing, and giving parties, and enjoying
life, as she calls it. Poor creature, how I pity her! Thank heaven,
nobody that I know goes to her parties. If they did I would never wish
to see them again in my house. It is an encouragement to folly and
nonsense--and folly and nonsense are sinful. Do not you think so,
ma'am?"

"If carried too far they may certainly become so," replied Mrs.
Morland.

"We have heard," said Edward, "that Mrs. St. Leonard, though one of
the ornaments of the gay world, has a kind heart, a beneficent spirit
and a liberal hand."

"I know very little about her," replied Mrs. Watkinson, drawing up her
head, "and I have not the least desire to know any more. It is well
she has no children; they'd be lost sheep if brought up in her fold.
For my part, ma'am," she continued, turning to Mrs. Morland, "I am
quite satisfied with the quiet joys of a happy home. And no mother has
the least business with any other pleasures. My innocent babes know
nothing about plays, and balls, and parties; and they never shall. Do
they look as if they had been accustomed to a life of pleasure?"

They certainly did not! for when the Morlands took a glance at them,
they thought they had never seen youthful faces that were less gay,
and indeed less prepossessing.

There was not a good feature or a pleasant expression among them all.
Edward Morland recollected his having often read "that childhood is
always lovely." But he saw that the juvenile Watkinsons were an
exception to the rule.

"The first duty of a mother is to her children," repeated Mrs.
Watkinson. "Till nine o'clock, my daughter Jane and myself are
occupied every evening in hearing the lessons that they have learned
for to-morrow's school. Before that hour we can receive no visitors,
and we never have company to tea, as that would interfere too much
with our duties. We had just finished hearing these lessons when you
arrived. Afterwards the children are permitted to indulge themselves
in rational play, for I permit no amusement that is not also
instructive. My children are so well