er's
wife, battling about the world. I have not had your advantages. I had no
drawing-masters, nor music-masters as you have. You, dearest child, must
instruct me in these things." This poses Rosey: who prefers to have her
opinions dealt out to her like her frocks, bonnets, handkerchiefs, her
shoes and gloves, and the order thereof; the lumps of sugar for her tea,
the proper quantity of raspberry jam for breakfast; who trusts for all
supplies corporeal and spiritual to her mother. For her own part, Rosey
is pleased with everything in nature. Does she love music? Oh, yes.
Bellini and Donizetti? Oh, yes. Dancing? They had no dancing at
grandmamma's, but she adores dancing, and Mr. Clive dances very well
indeed. (A smile from Miss Ethel at this admission.) Does she like
the country? Oh, she is so happy in the country! London? London is
delightful, and so is the seaside. She does not really know which she
likes best, London or the country, for mamma is not near her to decide,
being engaged listening to Sir Brian, who is laying down the law to her,
and smiling, smiling with all her might. In fact, Mr. Newcome says
to Mr. Pendennis in his droll, humorous way, "That woman grins like
a Cheshire cat." Who was the naturalist who first discovered that
peculiarity of the cats in Cheshire?

In regard to Miss Mackenzie's opinions, then, it is not easy to discover
that they are decided, or profound, or original; but it seems pretty
clear that she has a good temper, and a happy contented disposition.
And the smile which her pretty countenance wears shows off to great
advantage the two dimples on her pink cheeks. Her teeth are even and
white, her hair of a beautiful colour, and no snow can be whiter than
her fair round neck and polished shoulders. She talks very kindly and
good-naturedly with Julia and Maria (Mrs. Hobson's precious ones)
until she is bewildered by the statements which those young ladies
make regarding astronomy, botany, and chemistry, all of which they
are studying. "My dears, I don't know a single word about any of these
abstruse subjects: I wish I did," she says. And Ethel Newcome laughs.
She too is ignorant upon all these subjects. "I am glad there is some
one else," says Rosey, with naivete, "who is as ignorant as I am." And
the younger children, with a solemn air, say they will ask mamma leave
to teach her. So everybody, somehow, great or small, seems to protect
her; and the humble, simple, gentle little thing wins