‘ THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

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pretty little dance I had learned, (Polkas
were not known in your Grandmama’s
day,)and I began to think I had con-
quered the monster, but alas! I found,
that like the fabled Hydra that only
Hercules could kill, it had a hundred
heads, and when one was cut off another
would appear.

One morning I awoke, knowing that
my lessons were only half learned. I
had left them unfinished the evening be-
fore, for a walk with my cousin, and
that one wrong step was the cause of
much misery, I was mortified at the
idea of going to school with my lessons
unprepared, and I resolved to learn
them, if possible, that morning; but I
found by bitter experience that when we
once do wrong, it is hard to undo it.
The morning was gloomy, and like Ros-
amond, in the “Day of Misfortunes,”
(a story of Miss Edgeworth’s, which I
hope you have all read,) I was a long
time summoning resolution to rise, and
when I did rise I was so hurried and
worried that the breakfast bell rang be-
fore I was ready. The old proverb
says, “Haste makes waste,” and so I
found that morning. I was the last at
the table ; my brother came in, all glow-
ing with animation, with a bouquet from
the garden for Mama, while I felt
sleepy and cross. I upset my cup upon
the table cloth, and upon the dress of a
stranger guest, and interrupted papa in
the midst of a very interesting story,
which I knew he particularly disliked.
After breakfast my books were not in
their place. Finally, after a long search,
my geography was discovered in the
piazza, ruined by the rain which had
fallen during the night; Carlo had my
spelling book for a pillow, and my arith-

metic was found in the hands of my
baby brother, who had been quietly do-
ing a practical sum in subtraction, until
so many leaves were torn out that there
was a very small remainder. By the
time my poor dilapidated library had
been found, and I had cried over my
geography, slapped Carlo, and fright-
ened the innocent baby by my harsh
tones, the clock struck, and I was late
at school. When the time for recita-
tion came, I ought to have gone to my
teacher and told her that I had not
learned my lessons, for though that
would have distressed her, she could
more easily have forgiven any other
fault than my attempts at deception. I
am almost ashamed to tell you the ways
to which I resorted. I copied my sums
from my companion’s slate, and the first
question of my teacher revealed the truth.
I answered in geography, after having
been told wrong by Ellen D. I kept
my finger in at my spelling, and caught
my teacher’s eye just as I had looked in;
I despised myself for this acted false-
hood, and knew I had lost the confidence
of my teacher, and cried from mortifica-
tion and vexation through the whole of
the history recitation, which was the
only lesson I really did know. I hope
you may never know how I felt. I was
sorry, but it was not the right kind of
sorrow. I was less sorry for my faults
than for the consequences of my faults.
Though I knew I had done wrong, I was ~
unwilling to confess it, even to myself.
I tried to think everyone else more at
fault than myself. I wished my cousin
had not come for me to walk, not re-
membering that I should have had self-
denial enough to have refused to go
while my lessons were unfinished. I