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412 nevertheless that, although we know not exactly when and where, this international meeting must take place before long. Our age cannot exist without periodical Congresses. As cannons have been called the final arguments of Kings, so Congresses, with still more truth, may be denominated the last arguments of Nations. The latter are the necessary counterbalance of the former—more than ever necessary in our days of rifle guns, Whitworth and Armstrong machinery, and other scientific improvements in the art of men-killing. 2em

the young ladies were left alone, I am afraid they did not seriously devote themselves to the arithmetical problem propounded for their consideration by Some few abortive attempts at the solution of the intricate question of how a family can be supported upon an expenditure of 1200l. per annum were indeed made, but there was an obvious tendency in the minds of these fair young creatures to postpone the to the, and a total oblivion of such vulgar items as “water-rates,” “rent,” “butchers’ bills,” and so on. Miss S. was of opinion that it would be a good idea to increase her capital by keeping a Fashionable Circulating Library—a speculation from which, independently of the immediate commercial advantages on which she was surely entitled to calculate, she might hope for the collateral privilege of obtaining the earliest sight of the very newest Tales and Romances which issued from the Press; and, possibly, for the acquaintance of those ladies and gentlemen who delighted the human race by such outpourings of genius. Miss notion was, that it would be excellent fun to live in a caravan: a project which involved a total immunity from all vulgar disbursements, and released well nigh the whole of the available income for more pleasurable forms of expenditure. Miss, if driven to choose between a family residence and an Opera-Box, could not have a moment’s hesitation in electing for a sweet little retreat on the Pit Tier, just in face of the Royal Box. On the whole, there was possibly in all the estimates an over-allowance for dress, and a comparative ignoring of the claims of the Laundress and the Dairymaid.

One pupil only had kept apart from the sister-band during the very short time they devoted to the task imposed upon them by Miss Mountchauncey, and this one was little, whose “hopeless simplicity of character”—as Miss H. M. had often told her, and as has before been mentioned—“would eventually prove her ruin.” It was quite in vain that the two ladies, whose system had won for them so widely-extended and so honourable a reputation, attempted to give that hardness and polish to her mind which could alone fit her for the struggle of life. She was detected more than once in making up some little nick-nacks for her young brother and sister, who were now on their way home from India, under the charge of their parents. They had been driven from their indigo-plantations in Bengal by the events of the great mutiny; and since she had heard of the proximate arrival of her own people, poor little Lucy had spent her time between laughing and crying—a proceeding so undignified, and for so trivial a cause—that it had brought down upon her head the most severe and cutting rebukes from her excellent instructress. I grieve to say, that, taking a guilty advantage of that lady’s absence, little Lucy had drawn from her breast a letter bearing the Bombay post-mark, for the purpose of perusing its contents for the 117th time. It only contained some nonsense about “my own darling child,” and “the long years since my pretty Lucy was taken from me,” and “thousands of kisses from your loving mother,” and other such trivial stuff, utterly unworthy the attention of any person of well-regulated mind. Miss H. M.’s step was heard on the stairs, so Lucy smuggled her literary treasure again into its place of deposit—a proceeding effected in a sly and ignoble manner by thrusting it well down under the little linen collar and blue ribbon which kept all things in their place. Miss Harriet Mountchauncey entered, introducing a gentleman—our old acquaintance—Mr. .

“My loves,” said Miss Harriet, “young ladies—ahem!—I have taken the liberty of introducing to you a strange gentleman.”

The pupils looked up with a timid start, like fawns aware of the presence of their natural enemy.

“Yes, my sweet young friends, and I am fully conscious of the grave responsibilities I incur in taking such a step; but when I tell you that my reason for venturing to present Mr. Brown to your notice is, that Mr. Brown craves admission to your society, and to the advantages of Mountchauncey House, for three young ladies—his nieces—I am sure you will feel with me that I was not wholly unjustified in the course I adopted not without the maturest deliberation. When he has seen what he is about to see here, Mr. Brown will return to town more than ever satisfied with the result of his negotiations at Mountchauncey House.”

The six pupils made six stiff bows.

“And, now, Mr. Brown—be seated, sir—you would probably like to know something of the system which has earned for this establishment a reputation—as I trust—not altogether unmerited.”

“Certainly, madam, that was the object of my visit to Helmston.”

“Arrived, sir, at the point at which we are, I have no hesitation in furnishing you with the key of the Mountchauncey System. Before my time the usual plan was to keep such fair young beings as the lovely creatures you see around you in perfect ignorance of the ways of the world, where their great and decisive battle was to be fought. I adopt the very opposite course. I point out to them the pit-falls. I suggest the traps. No young lady ever left Mountchauncey House without being well aware of the great—the vast—the enormous—the impassable gulf which divides the from the younger. Do you follow me, sir?”