carlet head; (I know how to pull off my shoes and wade in after it,
too); and I know how to make a wreath of it for your pretty little
head. Oh, I know how to make your eyes shine--and your little heart
happy. So tie on your sun-bonnet, and come with me,--the more the
merrier. I don't believe your mammas will ever know you, when I bring
you back.

ROSALIE AND BETTY.

Everybody called Rosalie a beauty. Everybody was right. Her cheeks
looked like a ripe peach; her hair waved over as fair a forehead as
ever a zephyr kissed; her eyes and mouth were as perfect as eyes and
mouth could be; no violet was softer or bluer than the one, no rose-bud
sweeter than the other. All colors became Rosalie, and whatever she did
was gracefully done.

Yes, everybody thought Rosalie was "a beauty." _Rosalie thought so
herself._ So, she took no pains to be good, or amiable, or obliging.
She never cared about learning anything, for she said to herself, I can
afford to have my own way; I can afford to be a dunce if I like; I
shall be always sought and admired for my pretty face.

So, Rosalie dressed as tastefully as she and the dress-maker knew how,
and looked _up_ to show her fine eyes, and _down_ to show her long
eye-lashes, and held up her dress and hopped over little imaginary
puddles, to show her pretty feet; and smiled to show her white teeth;
and danced to show her fine form--and was as brilliant and as brainless
as a butterfly.

Now, I suppose you think that Rosalie was very happy. Not at all! She
was in a perfect fidget lest she should not get all the admiration she
wanted. She was torturing herself all the while, for fear some prettier
face would come along, and eclipse hers. If she went to a party and
every person in the room (but one) admired her, she would fret herself
sick, because _that one_ didn't bow down and worship her.

Never having studied or read anything, Rosalie could talk nothing but
nonsense; so, everybody who conversed with her, talked nonsense, too,
and paid her silly compliments, and made her believe that all she
needed to make her _quite_ an angel was a pair of wings; and then she
would hold her pretty head on one side, and simper; and they would go
away laughing in their sleeves, and saying, "What a vain little fool
Rosalie is!"

Now, Rosalie's cousin Hetty was as plain as a chestnut-bur. She had not
a single pretty feature in her face. Nobody ever thought of calling
Hetty a beauty, and _she knew i