A Grandmothers Recollections | Page 3

forward that my grandmother might see how small it was. But no well-timed compliment soothed my irritated feelings; and more dissatisfied with myself than ever, I pursued my investigations.
My grandmother, as if talking to herself, murmured: "How little do we know, when we set out in life, of the many disappointments before us! How little can we deem that the heart which then is ours will change with the fleeting sunshine! It is fearful to have the love of a life-time thrown back as a worthless thing!"
"Fearful!" I chimed in. "Death were preferable!"
"You little goose!" exclaimed my grandmother, as she looked me full in the face, "What can you possibly know about the matter?"
I had nothing to do but bury my head down low in the trunk I was exploring; it was my last attempt at sentiment. My grandmother took occasion to give me some very good advice with respect to the behavior of hardly-grown girls; she remarked that they should be careful not to engross the conversation, and also, that quiet people were always more interesting than loud talkers. I resolved to try my utmost to be quiet and interesting, though at the same time it did occur to me as a little strange that, being so great an admirer of the species, she was not quiet and interesting herself. But being quiet was not my grandmother's forte; and it is generally understood that people always admire what they are not, or have not themselves.
CHAPTER II.
The old lady also possessed rather strict ideas of the respect and deference due to parents and elders; and poor mamma, whose authority did not stand very high, felt considerable relief in consequence of our, (or, as I am tempted to say, the children's) improved behavior. I remember being rather startled myself one day, when one of the before-mentioned little sisters commenced a system of teazing for some forbidden article.
"Mother, mother,--can't I have that set of cards? We want it in our play-room--Phemie and me are going to build a house."
"I do not like to give you permission," replied mamma, looking considerably worried, "for George does not wish you to have them."
"Oh, but George is out, mother--out for all day," rejoined the precocious canvasser, "and will never know anything about it."
"But perhaps he might come home before you had done with them, and George is so terribly passionate, and hates to have his things touched, that he will raise the whole house."
"Poor boy!" observed my grandmother dryly, "What a misfortune to be so passionate! A deep-seated, and, I fear, incurable one, Amy; for of course you have used your utmost endeavors, both by precept and example, to render him otherwise."
I almost pitied my mother's feelings; for well did I remember the cried-for toy placed within his hands, to stop the constant succession of screams sent forth by a pair of lungs whose strength seemed inexhaustible--the comfort and convenience of the whole family disregarded, not because he was the best, but the worst child--and often the destruction of some highly-prized trinket or gem of art, because he was "passionate;" the result of which was, that my poor brother George became one of the most selfish, exacting, intolerable boys that ever lived.
There was no reply, save a troubled look; and the little tormentor continued in a fretful tone; "We'll put 'em all away before he gets in, and never tell him a word of it--can't we have them, mother?"
My mother glanced towards her mentor, but the look which she met impelled her to pursue a course so different from her usual one, that I listened in surprise: "No, Caroline, you can not have them--now leave the room, and let me hear no more about it."
"I want them," said the child in a sullen tone, while she turned to that invariable resource of refactory children who happen to be near a door; namely, turning the knob, and clicking the lock back and forth, and swinging on it at intervals.
This performance is extremely trying to a person of restless, nervous temperament, and my grandmother, setting up her spectacles, exclaimed commandingly: "Caroline, how dare you stand pouting there? Did you not hear your mother, naughty girl? Leave the room--this instant?"
The child stood a moment almost transfixed with surprise; but as she saw my grandmother preparing to advance upon her--her ample skirts and portly person somewhat resembling a ship under full sail--she made rather an abrupt retreat; discomposing the nerves of a small nursery-maid, whom she encountered in the passage, to such a degree that, as the girl expressed it, "she was took all of a sudden."
I had given a quick, convulsive start as the first tones fell upon my ear, and now sat bending over my sewing like a chidden child, almost afraid to look up. I was one