--(another sigh coupled
with the recollection of, and _how much they admire me!_)--"But I do
so hate being a little girl, and having to go to bed. I wish the time
would come quicker for me to be grown up, and be down stairs
altogether, and talk, and enjoy myself all the evening!" Oh, Aurora,
Aurora, with that dissatisfied face where is your beauty? with that
discontented mind where is your happiness?

"Your charm is not working perfectly, Sister," observed Euphrosyne to
Ianthe.

"Her's is not the age for perfect happiness and enjoyment as a beauty,
remember," replied Ianthe, "and she feels this herself."

"Man never is but always _to be_ blest," cried Ambrosia laughing. "You
see I can quote their own poets against them."

"You are prejudging now, Ambrosia, wait till another ten years is
over; but we must see our little beauty through the twenty-four
hours." Ianthe now waved a tiny wand in a circle around Aurora's
head,--the long eyelashes sank over her eyes, and the beautiful child
fell into a sweet and placid sleep.

Morning, which awakens all young creatures to life, enjoyment, and
action, awoke Aurora among the rest, and she arose in health and
strength, and the full glow of animal spirits. "_This is_ happiness,
however," exclaimed Ianthe to her companions, as the young girl sprang
about, carolling to herself the while. And so it was, for at that
moment no forecastings into futurity disturbed the comfort of present
pleasure: but an accidental glimpse of her face caught in a
looking-glass as she passed, recalled Aurora to the recollection of
HERSELF! and the admiration she had obtained the evening before. At
first some pleasure attended the remembrance, and she gazed with a
childish triumph at her pretty face in the glass. In a few minutes,
however, the voice of her Governess calling her to lessons disturbed
the egotistical amusement, and the charming Aurora frowned--yes,
_frowned!_ and looked cross at the looking-glass before she quitted
the apartment.

And now, dear little readers, let me remind you that Aurora was a
clever little girl, for the Fairy had taken care of that. She had
every faculty for learning, and no real dislike to it; but this
unlucky Fairy gift was in the way of every thing she did, for it took
away her interest in every thing but herself; and so, though she got
through her lessons respectably, it was with many yawns, and not a few
sighs, and wonderings what Mamma was doing; and did the Go