The things we do!

The little governess trotting home after her lesson would often look in
to Clive's studio in Charlotte Street, where her two boys, as she called
Clive and J. J., were at work each at his easel. Clive used to laugh, and
tell us, who joked him about the widow and her daughter, what Miss Cann
said about them. Mrs. Mack was not all honey, it appeared. If Rosey
played incorrectly, mamma flew at her with prodigious vehemence of
language, and sometimes with a slap on poor Rosey's back. She must make
Rosey wear tight boots, and stamp on her little feet if they refused to
enter into the slipper. I blush for the indiscretion of Miss Cann; but
she actually told J. J., that mamma insisted upon lacing her so tight, as
nearly to choke the poor little lass. Rosey did not fight: Rosey always
yielded; and the scolding over and the tears dried, would come simpering
downstairs with mamma's arm round her waist, and her pretty artless happy
smile for the gentlemen below. Besides the Scottish songs without music,
she sang ballads at the piano very sweetly.


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