with doing from sudden impulse you will end with doing from habit and
choice; and then you would, indeed, according to our definition, have a
bad heart."

"Oh, madam! I hope--I am sure I never shall."

"No, indeed, Cecilia; I do, indeed, believe that you never will; on the
contrary, I think that you have a very good disposition, and, what is of
infinitely more consequence to you, an active desire of improvement.
Show me that you have as much perseverance as you have candour, and I
shall not despair of your becoming every thing that I could wish."

Here Cecilia's countenance brightened, and she ran up the steps in
almost as high spirits as she ran down them in the morning.

"Good night to you, Cecilia," said Mrs. Villars, as she was crossing the
hall. "Good night to you, madam," said Cecilia; and she ran up stairs
to bed.

She could not go to sleep, but she lay awake reflecting upon the events
of the preceding day, and forming resolutions for the future; at the
same time, considering that she had resolved, and resolved without
effect, she wished to give her mind some more powerful motive; ambition
she knew to be its most powerful incentive.

"Have I not," said she to herself, "already won the prize of
application, and cannot the same application procure me a much higher
prize? Mrs. Villars said that if the prize had been promised to the most
amiable it would not have been given to me; perhaps it would not
yesterday--perhaps it might not to-morrow; but that is no reason that I
should despair of ever deserving it."

In consequence of this reasoning, Cecilia formed a design of proposing
to her companions that they should give a prize, the first of the
ensuing month (the first of June), to the most amiable. Mrs. Villars
applauded the scheme, and her companions adopted it with the greatest
alacrity.

"Let the prize," said they, "be a bracelet of our own hair;" and
instantly their shining scissors were procured, and each contributed a
lock of her hair. They formed the most beautiful gradation of colours,
from the palest auburn to the brightest black. Who was to have the
honour of plaiting them was now the question.

Caroline begged that she might, as she could plait very neatly, she
said.

Cecilia, however, was equally sure that she could do it much better, and
a dispute would inevitably have ensued, if Cecilia, recollecting herself
just as her colour rose to scarlet, had not yielded--yielded with no
very good g