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They were so much struck with the impropriety of her manner towards her mother, that they did not immediately answer; Matilda at length said, “It is natural to like what we have been early used to;” and, from unaffected gentleness, eager to prevent Miss Fanshaw from further exposing her ignorance, she rolled up the print; and Lady N—-, smiling at Mrs. Harcourt, said, “I never saw a print more gracefully rolled up in my life.” Miss Fanshaw immediately rolled up another of the prints, but no applause ensued.

At the next pause in the conversation, Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter took their leave, seemingly dissatisfied with their visit.

Matilda, just after Mrs. Fanshaw left the room, recollected her pretty netting-box, and asked Lady N—- whether she knew any thing of the little boy by whom it was made.

Her ladyship gave such an interesting account of him, that Matilda determined to have her share in relieving his distress.

Matilda’s benevolence was formerly rather passive than active; but from Mad. de Rosier she had learned that sensibility should not be suffered to evaporate in sighs, or in sentimental speeches. She had also learnt that economy is necessary to generosity; and she consequently sometimes denied herself the gratification of her own tastes, that she might be able to assist those who were in distress.

She had lately seen a beautiful print[3] of the king of France taking leave of his family; and, as Mad. de Rosier was struck with it, she wished to have bought it for her; but she now considered that a guinea, which was the price of the print, might be better bestowed on this poor, little, ingenious, industrious boy; so she begged her mother to send to the repository for one of his boxes. The servants were all busy, and Matilda did not receive her box till the next morning.

[Footnote 3: By Egginton.]

Herbert was reading to Mad. de Rosier when the servant brought the box into the room. Favoretta got up to look at it, and immediately Herbert’s eye glanced from his book: in spite of all his endeavours to command his attention, he heard the exclamations of “Beautiful!–How smooth!–like tortoise-shell!–What can it be made of?”

“My dear Herbert, shut the book,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if your head be in that box. Never read one moment after you have ceased to attend.”

“It is my fault,” said Matilda; “I will put the box out of the way till he has finished reading.”

When Herbert had recalled his wandering thoughts, and had fixed his mind upon what he was about, Mad. de Rosier put her hand upon the book–he started–“Now let us see the beautiful box,” said she.

After it had passed through Favoretta and Herbert’s impatient hands, Matilda, who had scarcely looked at it herself, took it to the window, to give it a sober examination. “It is not made of paper, or pasteboard, and it is not the colour of tortoise-shell,” said Matilda: “I never saw any thing like it before; I wonder what it can be made of?”

Herbert, at this question, unperceived by Matilda, who was examining the box very earnestly, seized the lid, which was lying upon the table, and ran out of the room; he returned in a few minutes, and presented the lid to Matilda. “I can tell you one thing, Matilda,” said he, with an important face–“it is an animal–an animal substance, I mean.”

“Oh, Herbert,” cried Matilda, “what have you been doing?–you have blackened the corner of the box.”

“Only the least bit in the world,” said Herbert, “to try an experiment. I only put one corner to the candle that Isabella had lighted to seal her letter.”

“My dear Herbert, how could you burn your sister’s box?” expostulated Madame de Rosier: “I thought you did not love mischief.”

“Mischief!–no, indeed; I thought you would be pleased that I remembered how to distinguish animal from vegetable substances. You know, the day that my hair was on fire, you told me how to do that; and Matilda wanted to know what the box was made of; so I tried.”