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The following day was as fine as the preceding one. Soon after breakfast, Miss Matilda, having gallopped and blundered through a few unprofitable lessons, and vengeably thumped the piano for an hour, in a terrible humour with both me and it, because her mama would not give her a holiday, had betaken herself to her favorite places of resort, the yards the stables, and the dog-kennels: and Miss Murray, was gone forth to enjoy a quiet ramble with a new fashionable novel for her companion, leaving me in the school-room, hard at