style="font-size:15px;"> Mr. Evering had an aunt, the widow of a western merchant who had made a large fortune in business. After the death of her husband, Mrs. Marbury had removed to Philadelphia, which was her native place; and, being very plain in her habits and ideas, she had bought a small neat house in a retired street, where she kept but two servants, and expended more money in presents to her relations, than in any superfluities for herself. She generally went to a place of worship in her own neighbourhood; but hearing that a very celebrated minister from Boston was to preach one Sunday in the church to which her nephew's family belonged, she sent a message to Mr. Evering requesting that he would call for her with his carriage and give her a seat in his pew, that she might have an opportunity of hearing this distinguished stranger. Mr. and Mrs. Evering were both out when the message arrived, so that no answer could be sent till their return; which was not till evening.
It was dusk, and the lamps not being yet lighted, they did not perceive that Rosamond was lying on an ottoman in one of the recesses, or they would not have spoken as they did while she was present.
"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Evering, "that Mrs. Marbury has fixed on to-morrow for going to church with us, for I intended asking Miss Leeson, who will be delighted to have an opportunity of hearing this celebrated preacher; and his discourse, however excellent, will be lost on aunt Marbury, who always falls asleep soon after she has heard the text, that being all she ever remembers of a sermon. So that in reality, one preacher is the same to her as another; though she goes regularly to church twice a-day, and never could be convinced that she sleeps half the time. And then she is unfortunately so fat, and takes up so much room in the pew."
"My dear," said Mr. Evering, "we must show Mrs. Marbury as much kindness and civility as we possibly can, for she is a most excellent woman, is very liberal to us now, and at her death will undoubtedly leave us the greatest part of her large property. Even if we had no personal regard for the good old lady, it would be very impolitic in us to offend her."
When the room was lighted, Mr. and Mrs. Evering saw Rosamond on the ottoman, and felt so much uneasiness at her having heard their conversation, that they thought it best to caution her against repeating it. "Oh!" exclaimed Rosamond, "do you think I would be so wicked as to tell aunt Marbury what you have just been saying about her?"
"You have often," said Mrs. Evering, "told things almost as improper to be repeated."
"But never with any bad intention," replied Rosamond, "I am sure my feelings are always good."
"I know not," said her father, "how it is possible that people with good feelings and good intentions can take pleasure in repeating whatever they hear to a person's disadvantage, and above all to the very object of the unfavourable remarks. Beside the cruelty of causing them poignant and unnecessary pain, and wounding their self-love, there is the wickedness of embroiling them with their friends; or at least destroying their confidence, and imbittering their hearts. And all these consequences have frequently ensued from the tattling of a tell-tale child."
The next morning was Saturday; and the servants being all very busy, Mrs. Evering desired Rosamond to stop, as she returned from taking her music-lesson, and inform her aunt Marbury that they would be happy to accommodate her with a seat in their pew on Sunday morning; and that they would call for her in the carriage, as she had requested.
"Now, Rosamond," said Mrs. Evering, "can I trust you? Will you, for once, be discreet, and refrain from repeating to your aunt Marbury, what you unluckily overheard last evening?"
"O! indeed, dear mother," replied Rosamond, "bad as you think me, I am not quite wicked enough for that."
"But I fear the force of habit," said Mrs. Evering. "I believe I had better send Peter with the message."
"No," answered Rosamond, "I am anxious to retrieve my character. Rely on me this once; and you will see how prudent and honourable I can be."
On her way home from her music-lesson, Rosamond stopped at her aunt's, and delivered the message, exactly as it had been given to her.
While Rosamond was eating a piece of the nice plum-cake that her aunt always kept in the house for the gratification of her young visitors, Mrs. Marbury said to her, "This weather is quite too warm for the season; should it continue, it will be very oppressive in church to-morrow."
"No doubt," answered Rosamond, "and most probably our church will be crowded in every part. I wonder, aunt, that you are anxious to go, as you certainly must be, when you sent so long beforehand to engage a seat in our pew."
"In truth," returned Mrs. Marbury, "I am willing to suffer some inconvenience from the heat, for the sake of hearing this great preacher."
"But, aunt," said Rosamond, "if you get sleepy, you will not hear him after all."
"O!" replied Mrs. Marbury, "I am never sleepy in church. I am always so attentive that I never feel in the least drowsy."
"O! indeed, aunt, I have often seen you asleep in church," exclaimed Rosamond.
"Impossible, Rosamond, impossible," cried Mrs. Marbury. "You are entirely mistaken. It must have been merely your own imagination."
"Why, dear aunt," said Rosamond, "my father and mother, as well as myself, have all seen you asleep in church. If it was not true, the whole family could not imagine it. It was but last evening, I heard my mother say, that she wished you had not taken a notion to go to church with us on Sunday, as it would prevent her from inviting Miss Leeson, whom she likes far better than you. She said, beside, that fat people take up so much room, that they are always encumbrances every where; and that there was no use at all in your going to church, as you slept soundly all the time you were there, and even breathed so hard as to disturb the congregation."
"And what did your father say to all this?" asked Mrs. Marbury, turning very pale, and looking much shocked and mortified.
"My father," answered Rosamond, "said that, on account of your money, we must endure you, and all the inconveniences belonging to you; for if you were kept in good humour, he had no doubt of your leaving him all your property when you die."
Mrs. Marbury looked aghast. She burst into tears, and Rosamond, finding that she had gone quite too far, vainly attempted to pacify her.
"You may go home, child," exclaimed Mrs. Marbury, sobbing with anger, "you may go home, and tell your father and mother that I shall not trouble them with my company at church or any where else; and when I die, I shall leave my money to the hospital or to some other institution. How have I been deceived! But I shall take care in future not to bestow my affection on those that have any expectations from me."
Rosamond, now very much frightened, declared that she could not take such a message to her parents; and begged her aunt to screen her from their displeasure, by not informing them of the communication she had so indiscreetly made.
Her alarm and agitation were so great, that Mrs. Marbury consented, out of pity, not to betray her to her father and mother; and to excuse herself from going to church with them (which she declared she could never do again) by alleging the heat of the weather, and the probable crowd.
"And now, Rosamond," said her aunt Marbury, "do not think that I feel at all obliged to you for having opened my eyes as to the manner in which your parents really regard me. Their behaviour to me, as far as I could judge for myself, has always been exactly what I wished it; and if their kindness was not sincere, I still thought it so, and was happy in being deceived. And now, after what you have told me, how can I again think of them as I have hitherto done? You have acted basely towards them in repeating their private conversation, and cruelly to your kind aunt, in giving her unnecessary pain and mortification. You have
