Transcriber's Note: Chapter headings in the table of Contents and in the main body of the book appear as they do in the original. Phrases printed in italics in the original version are indicated in this electronic version by _ (underscore). A list of amendments are given at the end of the book. 

THE

LOOKING-GLASS

FOR

THE MIND;

OR

INTELLECTUAL MIRROR;

BEING AN ELEGANT COLLECTION

OF

The most delightful Little Stories

AND INTERESTING TALES:

CHIEFLY TRANSLATED FROM THAT MUCH ADMIRED WORK

L'AMI DES ENFANS. 

WITH SEVENTY-FOUR CUTS, DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED ON WOOD, BY

I. BEWICK

THE SIXTEENTH EDITION. 

LONDON:

 PRINTED FOR JOHN HARRIS, G. WHITTAKER, HARVEY AND CO. , LONGMAN AND CO. , J. AND C. RIVINGTON, T. CADELL, H. S. KIRBY, BALDWIN AND CO. , HAMILTON AND CO. , J. SOUTER, SIMPKIN AND CO. , AND J. NUNN. 

1825

 Printed by S. And R. Bentley, Dorset Street, Fleet Street, London. 

PREFACE. 

The following pages may be considered rather as a Collection of theBEAUTIES of M. BERQUIN, than as a literally abridged translation of thatwork, several original thoughts and observations being occasionallyintroduced into different parts of them. 

The stories here collected are of a most interesting kind, since virtueis constantly represented as the fountain of happiness, and vice as thesource of every evil. Nothing extravagant or romantic will be found inthese tales: neither enchanted castles, nor supernatural agents, butsuch scenes are exhibited as come within the reach of the observationsof young people in common life; the whole being made familiar by aninnocent turn of thought and expression, and applied to describe theiramusements, their pursuits, and their necessities. 

As a useful and instructive _Pocket Looking-Glass_, we recommend it forthe instruction of every youth, whether miss or master; it is a _mirror_that will not flatter them, nor lead them into error; it displays thefollies and improper pursuits of youthful breasts, points out thedangerous paths they sometimes tread, and clears the way to the _Templeof Honour and Fame_. 

CONTENTS. 

 Little Adolphus 1 Anabella's Journey to Market 8 The Absurdity of young People's Wishes exposed 16 Louisa's Tenderness to the little Birds in Winter 21 The Story of Bertrand, a poor Labourer, and his little Family 31 Nancy and her Canary-bird, poor Cherry 38 The Birds, the Thorn-bushes, and the Sheep 48 Poor Crazy Samuel, and the mischievous Boys 54 Bella and Marian 60 Little Jack 75 Leonora and Adolphus 91 Flora and her little Lamb 97 The fruitful Vine 102 Sir John Denham and his worthy Tenant 107 Alfred and Dorinda 118 Rosina; or, the froward Girl reformed 122 Little Anthony 128 History of Jonathan the Gardener 132 The Sparrow's Nest 138 William and Thomas; or, the Contrast between Industry and Indolence 145 Mischief its own Punishment 150 Antony and Augustus; or, Rational Education preferable to Riches 158 The destructive Consequences of Dissipation & Luxury 167 William and Amelia 175 The Rival Dogs 187 Cleopatra; or, the Reformed little Tyrant 193 The Passionate Boy 197 Caroline; or, a Lesson to cure Vanity 201 Arthur and Adrian; or, Two Heads better than One 213 Madam D'Allone and her Four Pupils 217 The Bird's Egg 224 The Covetous Boy 234 Dissipation the certain Road to Ruin 242 Calumny and Scandal great Enemies to Society 247 Clarissa; Or, the Grateful Orphan 252 Returning Good for Evil, the noblest Revenge 257 Grey Hairs made Happy 263

THE

LOOKING GLASS. 

LITTLE ADOLPHUS. 

[Illustration]

In one of the villages in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, livedlittle Adolphus, who had the misfortune to lose his mother before he hadreached his eighth year. Notwithstanding his early age, this loss made astrong impression on his mind, and evidently affected the natural gaietyof his disposition. His aunt, the good Mrs. Clarkson, soon took him hometo her house, in order to remove him from the scene of his affliction, and to prevent his grief adding to the inconsolable sorrows of hisfather. 

After the usual time, they left off their mourning; but though littleAdolphus affected cheerfulness, yet his tender heart still felt for theloss of his mother. His father, whom he sometimes visited, could notavoid observing how little Adolphus endeavoured to conceal his grief;and this consideration made him feel the more for the loss of a wife, who had given birth to so promising a child. This made such animpression on his mind, that every one foresaw it would bring on hisfinal dissolution. 

Poor Adolphus had not been to see his dear father for some time; for, whenever he proposed it to his aunt, she constantly found some excuse toput it off. The reason was, that Mr. Clarkson being so ill, she fearedthat seeing him in that condition would increase the grief of Adolphustoo much, and lay on his heart a load too heavy for him to support. Inshort, the loss of his wife, and his uneasiness for his son, put an endto Mr. Clarkson's life on the day before he reached the fiftieth year ofhis age. 

The next morning, little Adolphus thus addressed his aunt: "This is mydear father's birth-day, I will go and see him, and wish him joy. " Sheendeavoured to persuade him from it; but, when she found that all herendeavours were in vain, she consented, and then burst into a flood oftears. The little youth was alarmed, and almost afraid to ask anyquestions. At last, "I fear, " said he, "my dear papa is either ill ordead. Tell me, my dear aunt, for I must and will know: I will sleep nomore till I see my dear father, who so tenderly loves me. "

Mrs. Clarkson was unable to speak; but when Adolphus saw his aunt takeout his mourning clothes, he was too well satisfied of what hadhappened. "My dear papa is dead!" cried he; "O my papa! my mamma! bothdead! What will become of poor Adolphus!" and then fainted, when Mrs. Clarkson found it difficult to bring him to his senses. 

As soon as he was a little come to himself, "Do not afflict yourself, mydear child, " said his aunt, "your parents are both living in heaven, andwill intercede with God to take care of you while on earth. While heyesterday was dying, his last prayer was for you, and his prayer willbe heard. "

"What! did my dear father die yesterday, while I was thinking of thepleasure I should this day have on seeing him? Oh! let me go and seehim, since I cannot now disturb him, or make him unhappy on my account. Pray, my dear aunt, let me go. "

Mrs. Clarkson could not resist his importunities, and, engaged to goalong with him, provided he would promise to keep himself composed. "Yousee my sorrow, " said she, "and how much I am grieved for the loss of abrother, who was good, charitable, and humane, and from whose bounty Ireceived the greater part of the means of my livelihood. Though I am nowleft poor and helpless, yet I trust in Providence, and you shall see mecry no more. Let me entreat you, my dear child, to do the same. " PoorAdolphus promised he would do as she would wish him; when Mrs. Clarksontook him by the hand, and led him to the melancholy scene. 

As soon as they were come to the house, Adolphus slipped from his aunt, and rushed into the room where his father lay in his coffin, surroundedby his weeping neighbours: he threw himself on the breathless body ofhis dear papa. After lying some little time in that state, without beingable to speak, he at last raised his little head, and cried out, "Seehow your poor Adolphus cries for having lost you. When mamma died, youcomforted me, though you wept yourself; but now, to whom am I to lookfor comfort? O my dear papa, my good papa!"

By this time his aunt got into the room, and, with the assistance of theneighbours, forced him from the coffin, and carried him to a friend'shouse, in order to keep him there till his father should be buried; forhis aunt dreaded the thoughts of letting him follow the funeral. 

The solemn scene was now preparing, and the bell began to toll, whichAdolphus heard, and every stroke of it pierced his little innocentheart. The woman to whose care he had been left, having stept intoanother room, he took that opportunity to regain his liberty, got out ofdoors, and ran towards the churchyard. On his arrival there, he foundthe funeral service finished, and the grave filling up, when on asudden, a cry was heard, "Let me be buried with my dear papa. " He thenjumped into the grave. 

Such a scene must naturally affect every one who saw it. They pulled himout of the grave, and carried him home pale and speechless. For severaldays he refused almost every kind of sustenance, being at intervalssubject to fainting fits. After some time, however, the consolations andadvice of his good aunt appeared to have some weight with him, and thetempest in his little heart began to abate. 

The affectionate conduct of Adolphus was the conversation for milesround their habitation, and at last reached the ears of a wealthymerchant, who had formerly been a little acquainted with the deceasedMr. Clarkson. He accordingly went to see the good Adolphus, and feelingfor his distresses, took him home with him, and treated him as his son. 

Adolphus soon gained the highest opinion of the merchant, and as he grewup, grew more and more in his favour. At the age of twenty, he conductedhimself with so much ability and integrity, that the merchant took himinto partnership, and married him to his only daughter. 

Adolphus had always too great a soul to be ungenerous: for even duringhis younger days he denied himself every kind of extravagance, in orderto support his aunt; and when he came into possession of a wife andfortune, he placed her in a comfortable station for the remainder of herlife. As for himself, he every year, on his father's birth-day, passedit in a retired room alone, sometimes indulging a tear, and sometimeslifting up his heart to heaven, from whence he had received so much. 

My little readers, if you have the happiness still to have parentsliving, be thankful to God, and be sensible of the blessing you enjoy. Be cautious how you do any thing to offend them; and should you offendthem undesignedly, rest neither night nor day till you have obtainedtheir forgiveness. Reflect on, and enjoy the happiness that you are not, like poor little Adolphus, bereft of your fathers and mothers, and leftin the hands, though of a good, yet poor aunt. 

[Illustration]

ANABELLA'S JOURNEY TO MARKET. 

[Illustration]

Nothing can be more natural and pleasing than to see young children fondof their parents. The birds of the air, and even the wild inhabitants ofthe forest, love and are beloved by their young progeny. 

Little Anabella was six years old, very fond of her mamma, and delightedin following her every where. Her mother, being one day obliged to go tomarket, wished to leave her little daughter at home, thinking it wouldbe too fatiguing for Anabella, and troublesome to herself; but thechild's entreaties to go were so earnest and pressing, that her mothercould not withstand them, and at last consented to her request. 

The cloak and bonnet were soon on, and the little maid set off with hermamma, in high spirits. Such was the badness of the paths in someplaces, that it was impossible for them to walk hand-in-hand, so thatAnabella was sometimes obliged to trudge on by herself behind her mamma;but these were such kind of hardships as her little spirit was abovecomplaining of. 

The town now appeared in sight, and the nearer they approached it, themore the paths were thronged with people. Anabella was often separatedfrom her mamma; but this did not at present much disturb her, as byskipping over a rut, or slipping between the people as they passed, shesoon got up again to her mother. However, the nearer they approached themarket, the crowd of course increased, which kept her eyes in fullemployment, to spy which way her mother went; but a little chaise drawnby six dogs having attracted her attention, she stopped to look at them, and by that means lost sight of her mother, which soon became the causeof much uneasiness to her. 

Here, my little readers, let me pause for a moment, to give you thisnecessary advice. When you walk abroad with your parents or servants, never look much about you, unless you have hold of their hand, or somepart of their apparel. And I hope it will not be deemed impertinent togive similar advice to parents and servants, to take care that childrendo not wander from them, since, from such neglect, many fatal accidentshave happened. But to proceed. --

Little Anabella had not gazed on this object of novelty for more than aminute, before she recollected her mamma, and turned about to look forher; but no mamma was there, and now the afflictions of her heart began. She called aloud, "Mamma, mamma;" but no mamma answered. She thencrawled up a bank, which afforded her a view all around; but no mammawas to be seen. She now burst into a flood of tears, and sat herselfdown at the foot of the bank, by which people were passing and repassingin great numbers. 

Almost every body that passed said something or other to her, but noneoffered to help her to find her mother. "What is the matter with you, mylittle dear, " said one, "that you cry so sadly?" "I have lost mymamma;" said Anabella, as well as the grief of her heart would permither to speak. Another told her never to mind it, she would find heragain by and by. Some said, "Do not cry so, child, there is nobody thatwill run away with you. " Some pitied her, and others laughed at her; butnot one offered to give her any assistance. 

Such, my little pupils, is the conduct of most people. When anymisfortune brings you into trouble, you will find enough ready to pityyou, but few who will give you any material assistance. They will tellyou what you then know yourselves, that you should not have done so andso; they will be sorry for you, and then take their leave of you. 

Little Anabella, however, was soon relieved from her present terribleanxieties. A poor old woman, with eggs and butter in a basket, happenedto be that day going to the same market, whither Anabella's mother wasgone before her. 

Seeing Anabella in so much distress, still crying as if her little heartwould break, she went up to her, and asked her what was the cause ofthose tears that fell from her little cheeks: She told her she had losther mamma. "And to what place, my dear, " cried the old woman, "was yourmamma going when you lost her?" "She was going to the market, " repliedAnabella. "Well, my sweet girl, " continued the old woman, "I am going tothe market too, and, if you will go along with me, I make no doubt butwe shall find your mother there. However, I will take care of you tillyou do find her. " She then took Anabella by the hand, and led her alongthe road. 

The good old woman put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a piece ofnice plum-cake, which she gave to Anabella, who thankfully accepted ofit; but her little heart was too full to permit her to think of eatingat that time. She therefore put it into her pocket, saying that shewould eat it by and by, when she had found her mamma, which she hopedwould be soon. 

As they walked along, the good old woman endeavoured to amuse Anabellaby telling her pretty stories, and enquiring of her what books she read. "I very well know, " said the old woman, "that you young children are tooapt to be fond of histories of haunted houses, of witches, ghosts, andapparitions, which tend only to fill you with idle fears andapprehensions, and make you afraid even of your own shadows. " But whenAnabella told her that her books were all bought at the corner of St. Paul's Church-yard, she seemed perfectly satisfied. 

They had hardly entered the market, when the little rambling eyes ofAnabella caught sight of her mamma. She shrieked with joy, and, like anarrow out of a bow, darted from the old woman, and flew to her parent, who clasped her pretty dear in her arms, and, after tenderly embracingher, "How came you, " said she, "my sweet angel, to wander from me? Ihave been so frightened as to be hardly able to contain myself. "

Anabella threw her arms round the neck of her mamma, and fixing her lipsto her cheeks, kept kissing her, till a torrent of tears gave ease toher heart. As soon as she was able to speak, "My dear mamma, " said she, "I stopped to look at a pretty little chaise drawn by six dogs, and inthe mean time I lost you. I looked for you, and called for you, but Icould neither see nor hear you. I sat down crying by the side of a bank;some as they passed pitied me, and others joked me; but none attemptedto take care of me, till this good old woman led me by the hand, andbrought me here. "

Anabella's mother was very thankful to the good old woman for hertenderness and humanity to her daughter; and not only bought of her whateggs and butter she had left, but even made her a small present besides, which she a long time declined accepting of, saying she had done no morethan what every good Christian ought to do. 

Anabella kissed the good old woman over and over again, and all her wayhome talked of nothing but her kindness. Nor did she afterwards forgetit, as she would frequently go and pay her a visit, when she always tookwith her some tea and sugar, and a loaf of bread. Anabella's motherconstantly bought all the eggs and butter the good old woman had tospare, and paid her a better price for them than she could have got atmarket, saving her, at the same time, the trouble of going thither. 

Thus you see, my young friends, what are the consequences of good natureand humanity. You must accustom yourselves early, not only to feel forthe misfortunes of others, but to do every thing that lies in your powerto assist them. Whatever may be your condition in life at present, andhowever improbable it may be, that you may ever want, yet there arestrange vicissitudes in this world, in which nothing can be said to bereally certain and permanent. Should any of my readers, like Anabella, lose themselves, would they not be happy to meet with so good an oldwoman as she did? Though your stations in life may place you abovereceiving any pecuniary reward for a generous action, yet the pleasingsensations of a good heart, on relieving a distressed fellow-creature, are inexpressible. 

[Illustration]

THE ABSURDITY OF YOUNG PEOPLE'S

WISHES EXPOSED. 

[Illustration]

The present moment of enjoyment is all young people think of. So long asmaster Tommy partook of the pleasure of sliding on the ice, and makingsnow up in various shapes, he wished it always to be winter, totallyregardless of either spring, summer, or autumn. His father hearing himone day make that wish, desired him to write it down in the first leafof his pocket-book; which Tommy accordingly did, though his handshivered with cold. 

The winter glided away imperceptibly, and the spring followed in duetime. Tommy now walked in the garden with his father, and withadmiration beheld the rising beauty of the various spring flowers. Theirperfume afforded him the highest delight, and their brilliant appearanceattracted all his attention. "Oh!" said master Tommy, "that it werealways spring!" His father desired him to write that wish also in hispocket-book. 

The trees, which lately were only budding, were now grown into fullleaf, the sure sign that spring was departing, and summer hastening onapace. Tommy one day, accompanied by his parents, and two or three ofhis select acquaintance, went on a visit to a neighbouring village. Their walk was delightful, afforded them a prospect sometimes of corn, yet green, waving smoothly, like a sea unruffled with the breeze, andsometimes of meadows enamelled with a profusion of various flowers. Theinnocent lambs skipped and danced about, and the colts and filliespranced around their dams. But what was still more pleasing, this seasonproduced for Tommy and his companions a delicious feast of cherries, strawberries, and a variety of other fruits. So pleasant a day affordedthem the summit of delight, and their little hearts danced in theirbosoms with joy. 

"Do you not think, Tommy, " said his father to him, "that summer has itsdelights as well as winter and spring?" Tommy replied, he wished itmight be summer all the year; when his father desired him to enter thatwish in his pocket-book also. 

The autumn at length arrived, and all the family went into the countryto view the harvest. It happened to be one of those days that are freefrom clouds, and yet a gentle westerly wind kept the air cool andrefreshing. The gardens and orchards were loaded with fruits, and thefine plums, pears, and apples, which hung on the trees almost to theground, furnished the little visitors with no small amusement anddelight. There were also plenty of grapes, apricots, and peaches, whichwere the sweeter, as they had the pleasure of gathering them. "Thisseason of rich abundance, Tommy, " said his father to him, "will soonpass away, and stern and cold winter will succeed it. " Tommy againwished that the present happy season would always continue, and that thewinter would not be too hasty in its approaches, but leave him inpossession of autumn. 

Tommy's father desired him to write this in his book also, and, orderinghim to read what he had written, soon convinced him how contradictoryhis wishes had been. In the winter, he wished it to be always winter; inthe spring, he wished for a continuance of that season; in the summer, he wished it never to depart; and when autumn came, it afforded him toomany delicious fruits to permit him to have a single wish for theapproach of winter. 

"My dear Tommy, " said his father to him, "I am not displeased with youfor enjoying the present moment, and thinking it the best that canhappen to you; but you see how necessary it is that our wishes shouldnot always be complied with. God knows how to govern this world muchbetter than any human being can pretend to. Had you last winter beenindulged in your wish, we should have had neither spring, summer, norautumn; the earth would have been perpetually covered with snow. Thebeasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, would either have beenstarved or frozen to death; and even the pleasures of sliding, ormaking images of snow, would have soon become tiresome to you. It is ahappiness that we have it not in our power to regulate the course ofnature: the wise and unerring designs of Providence, in favour ofmankind, would then, most probably, be perverted to their own inevitableruin. "

[Illustration]

LOUISA'S TENDERNESS TO THE

LITTLE BIRDS IN WINTER. 

[Illustration]

However long the winter may appear, the spring will naturally succeedit. A gentle breeze began to warm the air, the snow gradually vanished, the fields put on their enamelled livery, the flowers shot forth theirbuds, and the birds began to send forth their harmony from every bough. 

Little Louisa and her father left the city, to partake of the pleasuresof the country. --Scarcely had the blackbird and the thrush begun theirearly whistle to welcome Louisa, than the weather changed all on asudden; the north wind roared horribly in the grove, and the snow fellin such abundance, that every thing appeared in a silver-white mantle. 

Though the little maid went to bed shivering with cold, and muchdisappointed in her expectations, yet she thanked God for having givenher so comfortable a shelter from the inclemency of the elements. 

Such a quantity of snow had fallen during the night, that the roads werealmost impassable in the morning, which was a matter of great afflictionto poor Louisa; but she observed, that the birds were as dull as herselfupon the occasion. Every tree and hedge being so covered with snow, thatthe poor birds could get nothing to eat; not so much as a grain of cornor worm to be found. 

The feathered inhabitants now forsook the woods and groves, and fledinto the neighbourhood of inhabited towns and villages, to seek thatrelief from man, which nature alone would not then afford them. Incredibly numerous were the flight of sparrows, robins, and otherbirds, that were seen in the streets and courtyards, where their littlebeaks and claws were employed in turning over whatever they thoughtcould afford them a single grain. 

A large company of these feathered refugees alighted in the yardbelonging to the house in which little Louisa and her father then were. The distress of the poor birds seemed to afflict the tender-hearted maidvery much, which her father perceived as soon as she entered hischamber. "What is it makes you look so pensive now, " said her father, "since it is but a few minutes ago when you were so remarkablycheerful?"--"O my dear papa!" said Louisa, "all those sweet birds, thatsung so charmingly but a day or two ago, are now come into the yardstarving with hunger. Do, pray, let me give them a little corn!"

Her papa very readily granted her so reasonable a request, and away sheran, accompanied by her governess, to the barn on the other side of theyard, which had that morning been cleanly swept. Here she got a handfulor two of corn, which she immediately scattered in different parts ofthe yard. The poor little birds fluttered around her, and soon pickedup what the bounty of her generous hand had bestowed on them. 

It is impossible to describe the pleasure and satisfaction expressed inthe countenance of Louisa, on seeing herself the cause of giving so muchjoy to those little animals. As soon as the birds had picked up all thegrains, they flew to the house-top, and seemed to look down on Louisa asif they would say, "Cannot you give us a little more?" She understoodtheir meaning, and away she flew again to the barn, and down they allcame to partake of her new bounty; while Louisa called to her papa andmamma to come and enjoy with her the pleasing sight. 

In the mean time, a little boy came into the yard, whose heart was notof so tender a nature as Louisa's. He held in his hand a cage full ofbirds, but carried it so carelessly, that it was evident he cared verylittle for his poor prisoners. Louisa, who could not bear to see thepretty little creatures used so roughly, asked the boy what he was goingto do with those birds. The boy replied, that he would sell them if hecould; but, if he could not, his cat should have a dainty meal of them, and they would not be the first she had munched alive. 

"O fie, " said Louisa, "give them to your cat! What, suffer such innocentthings as those to be killed by the merciless talons of a cat?"--"Evenso, " said the boy, and giving the cage a careless swing, that tumbledthe poor birds one over another, off he was setting, when Louisa calledhim back, and asked him what he would have for his birds. "I will sellthem, " said he, "three for a penny, and there are eighteen of them. "Louisa struck the bargain, and ran to beg the money of her papa, who notonly cheerfully gave her the money, but allowed her an empty room forthe reception of her little captives. 

The boy, having thus found so good a market for his birds, told all hiscompanions of it; so that, in a few hours, Louisa's yard was so filledwith little bird-merchants, that you would have supposed it to be abird-market. However, the pretty maiden purchased all they brought, andhad them turned into the same room, with those of her former purchase. 

When night came, Louisa went to bed with more pleasure than she hadfelt for a long time. "What a pleasing reflection it is, " said she toherself, "to be thus capable of preserving the lives of so many innocentbirds, and save them from famine and merciless cats!--When summer comes, and I go into the woods and groves, these pretty birds will fly roundme, and sing their sweetest notes, in gratitude for my kind attention tothem. "--These thoughts at last lulled her to sleep, but they accompaniedher even in her dreams; for she fancied herself in one of the mostdelightful groves she had ever seen, where all the little birds werebusied, either in feeding their young, or in singing, and in hoppingfrom bough to bough. 

The first thing Louisa did, after she had got up in the morning, was togo and feed her little family in the room, and also those that came intothe yard. Though the seed to feed them cost her nothing, yet sherecollected that the many purchases she had lately made of birds musthave almost exhausted her purse; "and if the frost should continue, "said she to herself, "what will become of those poor birds that I shallnot be able to purchase! Those naughty boys will either give them totheir cats, or suffer them to die with hunger. "

While she was giving way to these sorrowful reflections, her hand wasmoving gently into her pocket, in order to bring out her exhaustedpurse; but, judge what must be her surprise and astonishment, when, instead of pulling out an empty purse, she found it brimful of money!She ran immediately to her papa, to tell him of this strangecircumstance, when he snatched her up in his arms, tenderly embracedher, and shed tears of joy on her blooming cheeks. 

"My dear child, " said her papa to her, "you cannot conceive how happyyou now make me! Let these little birds continue to be the objects ofyour relief, and, be assured, your purse shall never be reduced toemptiness. " This pleasing news gladdened the little heart of Louisa, andshe ran immediately to fill her apron with seed, and then hastened tofeed her feathered guests. The birds came fluttering round her, andseemed conscious of her bounty and generosity. 

After feeding these happy prisoners, she went down into the yard, andthere distributed a plentiful meal to the starving wanderers without. What an important trust had she now taken on herself!--nothing lessthan the support of a hundred dependants within doors, and a stillgreater number without! No wonder that her dolls and other playthingsshould be now totally forgotten. 

As Louisa was putting her hand into the seed-bag, to take out of it theafternoon food for her birds, she found a paper, on which were writtenthese words: "The inhabitants of the air fly towards thee, O Lord! andthou givest them their food; thou openest thy hand, and fillest allthings living with plenteousness. "

As she saw her papa behind her, she turned round and said, "I amtherefore now imitating God. "--"Yes, my sweet Louisa, " said her father, "in every good action we imitate our Maker. When you shall be grown tomaturity, you will then assist the necessitous part of the human race, as you now do the birds; and the more good you do, the nearer you willapproach the perfections of God. "

Louisa continued her attention to feed her hungry birds for more than aweek, when the snow began to melt, and the fields by degrees recoveredtheir former verdure. The birds who had lately been afraid to quit thewarm shelter of the houses, now returned to the woods and groves. Thebirds in our little Louisa's aviary were confined, and therefore couldnot get away; but they showed their inclination to depart, by flyingagainst the windows, and pecking the glass with their bills. Thesebirds, perhaps, were industrious, and wished not to be troublesome toLouisa, since they could not procure their own living. 

Louisa, not being able to comprehend what could make them so uneasy, asked her papa if he could tell the cause of it "I know not, my dear, "said her papa; "but it is possible these little birds may have left somecompanions in the fields, which they now wish to see. "--"You are veryright, papa, " replied Louisa, "and they shall have their libertyimmediately. " She accordingly opened the window, and all the birds flewout of it. 

These little feathered animals had no sooner obtained their liberty, than some were seen hopping on the ground, others darting into the air, or sporting in the trees, from twig to twig, and some flying about thewindows, chirping, as though out of gratitude to their benefactor. 

Louisa hardly ever went into the fields, but she fancied that some ofher little family seemed to welcome her approach, either by hoppingbefore her, or entertaining her with their melodious notes, whichafforded her a source of inexhaustible pleasure. 

[Illustration]

THE STORY OF BERTRAND, A POOR

LABOURER, AND HIS LITTLE FAMILY. 

[Illustration]

Think yourselves happy, my little readers, since none of you perhapsknow what it is to endure hunger day after day, without being able toenjoy one plentiful meal. Confident I am, that the following relationwill not fail to make an impression on your tender years. 

Bertrand was a poor labourer, who had six young children, whom hemaintained with the utmost difficulty. To add to his distresses, anunfavourable season much increased the price of bread. This honestlabourer worked day and night to procure subsistence for his family, andthough their food was composed of the coarsest kind, yet even of thathe could not procure a sufficiency. 

Finding himself reduced to extremity, he one day called his littlefamily together, and with tears in his eyes, and a heart overflowingwith grief, "My sweet children, " said he to them, "bread is now soextravagantly dear, that I find all my efforts to support youineffectual. My whole day's labour is barely sufficient to purchase thispiece of bread which you see in my hand; it must therefore be dividedamong you, and you must be contented with the little my labour canprocure you. Though it will not afford each of you a plentiful meal, yetit will be sufficient to keep you from perishing with hunger. " Sorrowand tears interrupted his words, and he could say no more, but lifted uphis hands and eyes to heaven. 

His children wept in silence, and, young as they were, their littlehearts seemed to feel more for their father than for themselves. Bertrand then divided the small portion of bread into seven equalshares, one of which he kept for himself, and gave to the rest eachtheir lot. But one of them, named Harry, refused his share, telling hisfather he could not eat, pretending to be sick. "What is the matter withyou, my dear child?" said his father, taking him up in his arms. "I amvery sick, " replied Harry, "very sick indeed, and should be glad to goto sleep. " Bertrand then carried him to bed, and gave him a tender kiss, wishing him a good night. 

The next morning the honest labourer, overwhelmed with sorrow, went to aneighbouring physician, and begged of him, as a charity, to come and seehis poor boy. Though the physician was sure of never being paid for hisvisit, yet such were his humanity and feelings, that he instantly wentto the labourer's house. 

On his arrival there, he found no particular symptoms of illness, thoughthe boy was evidently in a very low and languishing state. The doctortold him he would send him a cordial draught; but Harry begged he wouldforbear sending him any thing, as he could do him no good. The doctorwas a little angry at this behaviour, and insisted on knowing what hisdisorder was, threatening him, if he did not tell him immediately, hewould go and acquaint his father with his obstinacy. 

Poor Harry begged the doctor would say nothing about it to his father, which still more increased the doctor's wish to get at the bottom ofthis mystery. At last poor Harry, finding the doctor resolute, desiredhis brothers and sisters might leave the room, and he would acquaint himwith every particular. 

As soon as the physician had sent the children out of the room, "Alas!Sir, " said little Harry, "in this season of scarcity, my poor dearfather cannot earn bread enough to feed us. What little quantity he canget, he divides equally among us, reserving to himself the smallestpart. To see my dear brothers and sisters suffer hunger is more than Ican bear; and, as I am the eldest, and stronger than they, I havetherefore not eaten any myself, but have divided my share among them. Itis on this account that I pretended to be sick and unable to eat; Ibeseech you, however, to keep this a secret from my father. "

The physician, wiping away a tear which started involuntarily from hiseye, asked poor Harry if he were not then hungry. He acknowledged indeedthat he was hungry; but said that did not give him so much affliction asto see the distresses of his family. "But my good lad, " said the doctor, "if you do not take some nourishment, you will die. "--"I am indifferentabout that, " replied Harry, "since my father will have then one mouthless to feed, and I shall go to heaven, where I will pray to God toassist my dear father, and my little sisters and brothers. "

What heart but must melt with pity and admiration at the relation ofsuch facts? The generous physician, taking up Harry in his arms, andclasping him to his bosom, "No, my dear little boy, " said he, "thoushalt not die. God and I will take care of thy little family; and returnthanks to God for having sent me hither. I must leave you for thepresent, but I will soon return. "

The good physician hastened home, and ordered one of his servants toload himself with refreshments of every kind. He then hastened to therelief of poor Harry and his starving brothers and sisters. He made themall sit down at the table, and eat till they were perfectly satisfied. What could be a more pleasing scene, than that which the good physicianthen beheld, six pretty little innocent creatures smiling over thebounty of their generous and humane friend?

The doctor, on his departure, desired Harry to be under no uneasiness, as he should take care to secure them a supply of whatever might bewanting. He faithfully performed his promise, and they had daily causeof rejoicing at his bounty and benevolence. The doctor's generosity wasimitated by every good person, to whom he related the affecting scene. From some they received provisions, from some money, and from othersclothes and linen. So that, in a short time, this little family, whichwas but lately in want of every thing, became possessed of plenty. 

Bertrand's landlord, who was a gentleman of considerable fortune, was sostruck with the tender generosity of little Harry that he sent for hisfather, and paying him many compliments on his happiness of having sucha son, he offered to take Harry under his own inspection, and bring himup in his own house. This matter being agreed on, Bertrand's landlordsettled an annuity on him, promising, at the same time, to provide forhis other children as they grew up. Bertrand, transported with joy, returned to his house, and falling on his knees, offered up his mostgrateful thanks to that good God, who had graciously condescended tobestow on him such a son!

Hence you may learn, my young readers, how much you have it in yourpower to prove a blessing to your parents, and a comfort to yourselves. It is not necessary, that, in order to do so, you should be reduced tothe same necessity that poor Harry was: for, however exalted yourstation may be, you will always find opportunities enough to give proofsof your duty to your parents, your affection for your brothers andsisters, and your humanity and benevolence to the poor and needy. Happyindeed are those poor children, who have found a friend and protectorwhen they were needful and helpless; but much happier those who, withoutever feeling the griping hand of penury and want themselves, havereceived the inexpressible delight that never fails to arise from thepleasing reflection of having raised honest poverty to happiness andplenty. 

[Illustration]

NANCY AND HER CANARY BIRD, POOR CHERRY. 

[Illustration]

As Nancy was one day looking out of her window, a man happened to comeby, crying, "Canary-birds; come, buy my Canary-birds. " The man had alarge cage upon his head, in which the birds hopped about from perch toperch, and made Nancy quite in love with them. "Will you buy a prettybird or two, Miss?" said the man. "I have no objection, " replied thelittle maid, "provided my papa will give me leave. If you will stop alittle while, I will soon let you know. " So away ran Nancy down stairsto her papa, while the birdman put down his cage at the door. 

Nancy ran into her papa's chamber quite out of breath, crying, "O dearpapa, only come here! here is a man in the street that has a large cageon his head, with, I dare say, a hundred Canary-birds in it. "--"Well, and what of all that?" replied her papa; "why does that seem to rejoiceyou so much?" Nancy answering, that she should be happy to buy one ofthem; her papa reminded her, that the bird must be fed, and should it beneglected, even only for a day, it would certainly die. 

Nancy promised that she would never eat her own breakfast till she hadgiven her bird his; but her papa reminded her that she was a giddy girl, and that he feared she had promised too much. However, there was nogetting over her coaxings and wheedlings, so that her papa was at lastobliged to consent that she should buy one. 

He then took Nancy by the hand, and led her to the door, where the manwas waiting with his birds. He chose the prettiest Canary-bird in it:it was a male, of a fine lively yellow colour, with a little black tuftupon his head. Nancy was now quite cheerful and happy, and pulling outher purse, gave it to her father to pay for the bird. But what was to bedone with the bird without a cage, and Nancy had not money enough?However, upon her promising that she would take great care to feed herbird, her papa bought her a fine new cage, of which he made her apresent. 

As soon as Nancy had given her Canary-bird possession of his new palace, she ran about the house, calling her mamma, her brothers and sisters, and all the servants, to come and see her pretty Canary-bird, to whichshe gave the name of Poor Cherry. When any of her little friends came tosee her, the first thing she told them was, that she had one of theprettiest Canary-birds in the world. "He is as yellow as gold, " saidshe, "and he has a little black crest, like the plumes of my mamma'shat. Come, you must go and see him! His name is Cherry. "

Cherry was as happy as any bird need wish to be, under the care ofNancy. Her first business every morning was to feed Cherry: and wheneverthere was any cake at table, Cherry was sure to come in for a share ofit. There were always some bits of sugar in store for him, and his cagewas constantly decorated with the most lively herbage. 

Her pretty bird was not ungrateful, but did all in his power to makeNancy sensible how much he was obliged to her. He soon learned todistinguish her, and the moment he heard her step into the room, hewould flutter his wings, and keep up an incessant chirping. It is nowonder, therefore, if Cherry and Nancy became very fond of each other. 

At the expiration of a week he began to open his little throat, and sungthe most delightful songs. He would sometimes raise his notes to sogreat a height, that you would almost think he must kill himself withsuch vast exertions. Then, after stopping a little, he would beginagain, with a tone so sweet and powerful, that he was heard in everypart of the house. 

Nancy would often sit for whole hours by his cage, listening to hismelody. Sometimes so attentively would she gaze at him, that she wouldinsensibly let her work fall out of her hands; and after he hadentertained her with his melodious notes, she would regale him with atune on her bird organ, which he would endeavour to imitate. 

In length of time, however, these pleasures began to grow familiar tohis friend Nancy. Her papa, one day, presented her with a book ofprints, with which she was so much delighted, that Cherry began to loseat least one half of her attention. As usual, he would chirp the momenthe saw her, let her be at what distance she would; but Nancy began totake no notice of him, and almost a week had passed, without hisreceiving either a bit of biscuit, or a fresh supply of chick-weed. Herepeated the sweetest and most harmonious notes that Nancy had taughthim, but to no purpose. 

It now appeared too clearly, that new objects began to attract Nancy'sattention. Her birth-day arrived, and her godfather gave her a largejointed doll, which she named Columbine: and this said Columbine proveda sad rival to Cherry; for, from morning to night, the dressing andundressing of Miss Columbine engrossed the whole of her time. What withthis and her carrying her doll up and down stairs, and into every roomin the house, it was happy for poor Cherry if he got fed by theevening, and sometimes it happened that he went a whole day withoutfeeding. 

One day, however, when Nancy's papa was at table, accidentally castinghis eyes upon the cage, he saw poor Cherry lying upon his breast, andpanting, as it were, for life. The poor bird's feathers appeared allrough, and it seemed contracted into a mere lump. Nancy's papa went upclose to it; but it was unable even to chirp, and the poor littlecreature had hardly strength enough to breathe. He called to him hislittle Nancy, and asked her what was the matter with her bird. Nancyblushed, saying, in a low voice, "Why, papa, I--somehow, I forgot;" andran to fetch the seed-box. 

Her papa, in the mean time, took down the cage, and found that poorCherry had not a single seed left, nor a drop of water. "Alas! poorbird, " said he, "you have got into careless hands. Had I foreseen this, I would never have bought you. " All the company joined in pity for thepoor bird; and Nancy ran away into her chamber to ease her heart intears. However, her papa, with some difficulty, brought pretty Cherry tohimself again. 

Her father, the next day, ordered Cherry to be made a present of to ayoung gentleman in the neighbourhood, who, he said, would take muchbetter care of it than his little thoughtless daughter; but poor Nancycould not bear the idea of parting with her bird, and most faithfullypromised never more to neglect him. 

Her papa, at last, gave way to her entreaties; and permitted her to keeplittle Cherry, but not without a severe reprimand, and a strictinjunction to be more careful for the future. "This poor littlecreature, " said her papa, "is confined in a prison, and is thereforetotally unable to provide for its own wants. Whenever you want anything, you know how to get it; but this little bird can neither helphimself, nor make his wants known to others. If ever you let him wantseed or water again, look to it. "

Nancy burst out into a flood of tears, took her papa by the hand, andkissed it; but her heart was so full, that she could not utter asyllable. Cherry and Nancy were now again good friends, and he for sometime wanted for nothing. 

About a month afterwards, her father and mother were obliged to go alittle way into the country on some particular business; but, beforethey set out, he gave Nancy strict charge to take care of poor Cherry. No sooner were her parents gone, than she ran to the cage, and gaveCherry plenty of seed and water. 

Little Nancy now finding herself alone and at liberty, sent for some ofher companions to come and spend the day with her. The former part ofthe day they passed in the garden, and the latter in playing atblindman's buff and four corners. She went to bed very much fatigued;but, as soon as she awoke in the morning, she began to think of newpleasures. 

She went abroad that day, while poor Cherry was obliged to stay at homeand fast. The second and third day passed in the same playful manner asbefore; but no poor Cherry was thought of. On the fourth day, her fatherand mother came home, and, as soon as they had kissed her, her fatherenquired after poor Cherry. "He is very well, " said Nancy, a littleconfused, and then ran to fetch him some seed and water. Alas! poorlittle Cherry was no more; he was lying upon his back, with his wingsspread, and his beak open. Nancy screamed out, and wrung her hands, when all the family ran to her, and were witnesses of the melancholyscene. 

"Alas! poor bird, " said her papa, "what a melancholy end thou hast cometo! If I had twisted thy head off the day I went into the country, itwould have caused you but a moment's pain; but now you have endured allthe pangs of hunger and thirst, and expired in extreme agony. However, poor Cherry! you are happy in being out of the hands of so merciless aguardian. "

Nancy was so shocked and distressed on the occasion, that she would havegiven all her little treasure, and even all her playthings, to havebrought Cherry to life; but it was now too late. Her papa had the birdstuffed, and hung up to the ceiling, in memory of Nancy's carelessness. She dared not even to lift her eyes up to look at it, for, whenever shedid, it was sure to make her cry. At last she prevailed on her papa tohave it removed, but not till after many earnest entreaties and repeatedacknowledgments of the fault she had been guilty of. Whenever Nancy wasguilty of inattention, or giddiness, the bird was hung up again in itsplace, and every one would say in her hearing, "Alas, poor Cherry! whata cruel death you suffered!"

Thus you see, my little friends, what are the sad consequences ofinattention, giddiness, and too great a fondness for pleasure, whichalways make us forgetful of what we ought carefully to attend to. 

[Illustration]

THE BIRDS, THE THORN-BUSHES, AND THE SHEEP. 

[Illustration]

Mr. Stanhope and his son Gregory were one evening, in the month of May, sitting at the foot of a delightful hill, and surveying the beautifulworks of nature that surrounded them. The declining sun, now sinkinginto the west, seemed to clothe every thing with a purple robe. Thecheerful song of a shepherd called off their attention from theirmeditations on those delightful prospects. This shepherd was drivinghome his flocks from the adjacent fields. 

Thorn-bushes grew on each side of the road, and every sheep thatapproached the thorns was sure to be robbed of some part of its wool, which a good deal displeased little Gregory. "Only see, papa, " said he, "how the sheep are deprived of their wool by those bushes! You haveoften told me, that God makes nothing in vain; but these briars seemonly made for mischief; people should therefore join to destroy themroot and branch. Were the poor sheep to come often this way, they wouldbe robbed of all their clothing. But that shall not be the case, for Iwill rise with the sun to-morrow morning, and with my little bill-hookand snip-snap, I will level all these briars with the ground. You maycome with me, papa, if you please, and bring with you an axe. Beforebreakfast, we shall be able to destroy them all. "

Mr. Stanhope replied, "We must not go about this business in too great ahurry, but take a little time to consider of it; perhaps, there may notbe so much cause for being angry with these bushes, as you at presentseem to imagine. Have you not seen the shepherds about Lammas, withgreat shears in their hands, take from the trembling sheep all theirwool, not being contented with a few locks only. "

Gregory allowed that was true; but they did it in order to make clothes, whereas the hedges robbed the sheep without having the least occasionfor their wool, and evidently for no useful purpose. "If it be usual, "said he, "for sheep to lose their clothing at a certain time of theyear, then it is much better to take it for our own advantage, than tosuffer the hedges to pull it off for no end whatever. "

Mr. Stanhope allowed the arguments of little Gregory to be just; forNature has given to every beast a clothing, and we are obliged from themto borrow our own, otherwise we should be forced to go naked, andexposed to the inclemency of the elements. 

"Very well, papa, " said Gregory, "though we want clothing, yet thesebushes want none: they rob us of what we have need, and therefore downthey shall all come with to-morrow morning's rising sun. And I dare say, papa, you will come along with me, and assist me. "

Mr. Stanhope could not but consent; and little Gregory thought himselfnothing less than Alexander, merely from the expectation of destroyingat once this formidable band of robbers. He could hardly sleep, beingso much taken up with the idea of his victories, to which the nextmorning's sun was to be witness. 

The cheerful lark had hardly begun to proclaim the approach of morning, when Gregory got up, and ran to awaken his papa. Mr. Stanhope, though hewas very indifferent concerning the fate of the thorn-bushes, yet he wasnot displeased with having the opportunity of showing to his littleGregory the beauties of the rising sun. They both dressed themselvesimmediately, took the necessary instruments, and set out on thisimportant expedition. Young Gregory marched forwards with such hastysteps, that Mr. Stanhope was obliged to exert himself, to avoid beingleft behind. 

When they came near the bushes, they observed a multitude of littlebirds flying in and out of them, and fluttering their wings from branchto branch. On seeing this, Mr. Stanhope stopped his son, and desired himto suspend his vengeance a little time, that they might not disturbthose innocent birds. With this view, they retired to the foot of thehill where they had sat the preceding evening, and from thence examinedmore particularly what had occasioned this apparent bustle among thebirds. From hence they plainly saw, that they were employed in carryingaway those bits of wool in their beaks, which the bushes had torn fromthe sheep the evening before. There came a multitude of different sortsof birds, who loaded themselves with the plunder. 

Gregory was quite astonished at this sight, and asked his papa whatcould be the meaning of it. "You by this plainly see, " replied Mr. Stanhope, "that Providence provides for creatures of every class, andfurnishes them with all things necessary for their convenience andpreservation. Here, you see, the poor birds find what is necessary fortheir habitations, wherein they are to nurse and rear their young, andwith this they make a comfortable bed for themselves and their littleprogeny. The innocent thorn-bush, against which you yesterday so loudlyexclaimed, is of infinite service to the inhabitants of the air; ittakes from those that are rich only what they can very well spare, inorder to satisfy the wants of the poor. Have you now any wish to cutthose bushes down, which you will perhaps no longer consider asrobbers?"

Gregory shook his head, and said he would not cut the bushes down forthe world. Mr. Stanhope applauded his son for so saying; and, afterenjoying the sweets of the morning, they retired home to breakfast, leaving the bushes to flourish in peace, since they made so generous ause of their conquests. 

My young friends will hence be convinced of the impropriety ofcherishing too hastily prejudices against any persons or things, since, however forbidding or useless they may at first sight appear, a morefamiliar acquaintance with them may discover those accomplishments orperfections which prejudice at first obscured from their observation. 

[Illustration]

POOR CRAZY SAMUEL, AND THE MISCHIEVOUS

BOYS. 

[Illustration]

In the city of Bristol lived a crazy person, whose name was Samuel. Whenever he went out he always put four or five wigs on his head atonce, and as many muffs upon each of his arms. Though he hadunfortunately lost his senses, yet he was not mischievous, unless wickedboys played tricks with him, and put him in a passion. 

Whenever he appeared in the streets, all the idle boys would surroundhim, crying, "Samuel! Samuel! how do you sell your wigs and your muffs?"Some idle boys were of such mischievous dispositions as to throw dirtand stones at him. Though the unfortunate man generally bore all thistreatment very quietly, yet he would sometimes turn about in his owndefence, and throw among the rabble that followed him any thing thatcame in his way. 

A contest of this nature happened one day near the house of Mr. Denton, who, hearing a noise in the street, went to the window, and, with muchregret, saw his son Joseph concerned in the fray. Displeased at thesight, he shut down the sash, and went into another room. 

When they were at dinner, Mr. Denton asked his son who the man was, withwhom he and other boys in the street seemed to be so pleasingly engaged. Joseph said it was the crazy man, whom they called Samuel. On his fatherasking him what had occasioned that misfortune, he replied, that it wassaid to be in consequence of the loss of a law-suit, which deprived himof a large estate. 

"Had this man been known to you, " said Mr. Denton, "at the time when hewas cheated of his estate; and had he told you that he had just lost alarge inheritance, which he had long peaceably enjoyed; that all hisproperty was expended in supporting the cause, and that he had nowneither country nor town-house, in short, nothing upon earth left; wouldyou then have laughed at this poor man?"

Joseph, with some confusion, replied he certainly should not be guiltyof so wicked an action as to laugh at the misfortunes of any man; butshould rather endeavour to comfort him. 

"This man, " said Mr. Denton, "is more to be pitied now than he was then, since to the loss of his fortune is added that of his senses also; andyet you have this day been throwing stones at this poor man, andotherwise insulting him, who never gave you any cause. " Joseph seemedvery sorry for what he had done, asked his papa's pardon, and promisednot only never to do the like again, but to prevent others, as much aslay in his power, committing the same crime. 

His father told him, that as to his forgiveness, he freely had it, butthat there was another besides him, whose forgiveness was morenecessary. Little Joseph thought that his father meant poor Samuel; butMr. Denton explained the matter to him. "Had Samuel retained hissenses, " said he, "it would be certainly just that you should ask hispardon; but as his disordered mind will not permit him to receive anyapologies, it would be idle to attempt to make any. It is not Samuel, but God, whom you have offended. You have not shown compassion to poorSamuel, but, by your unmerited insults, have added to his misfortunes. Can you think that God will be pleased with such conduct?"

Joseph now plainly perceived whom he had offended, and thereforepromised that night to ask pardon of God in his prayers. He kept hisword, and not only forbore troubling Samuel for several weeksafterwards, but endeavoured to dissuade all his companions from doingthe like. 

The resolutions of young people, however, are not always to be dependedon. So it happened with little Joseph, who, forgetting the promises hehad made, one day happened to mix with the rabble of boys who werefollowing and hooting, and playing many naughty tricks with theunfortunate Samuel. 

The more he mixed among them, the more he forgot himself, and at lastbecame as bad as the worst of them. Samuel's patience, however, being atlength tired out by the rude behaviour of the wicked boys that pursuedhim, he suddenly turned about, and picking up a large stone, threw it atlittle Joseph with such violence, that it grazed his cheek, and almostcut off part of his ear. 

Poor Joseph, on feeling the smart occasioned by the blow, and findingthe blood trickling down his cheek at a great rate, ran home roaringmost terribly. Mr. Denton, however, showed him no pity, telling him itwas the just judgment of God for his wickedness. 

Joseph attempted to justify himself by saying, that he was not the onlyone who was guilty, and therefore ought not to be the only one that waspunished. His father replied, that, as he knew better than the otherboys, his crime was the greater. It is indeed but justice that a child, who knows the commands of God and his parents, should be doublypunished, whenever he so far forgets his duty as to run headlong intowickedness. 

Remember this, my young readers; and instead of adding to theafflictions of others, do whatever you can to alleviate them, and Godwill then undoubtedly have compassion on you, whenever your wants anddistresses shall require his assistance. 

[Illustration]

BELLA AND MARIAN. 

[Illustration]

The sun was just peeping above the eastern edge of the horizon, toenliven with his golden rays one of the most beautiful mornings of thespring, when Bella went down into the garden to taste with morepleasure, as she rambled through those enchanting walks, the delicaciesof a rich cake, of which she intended to make her first meal. 

Her heart swelled with delight, on surveying the beauties of the risingsun, in listening to the enlivening notes of the lark, and on breathingthe pleasing fragrance which the surrounding shrubs afforded. 

Bella was so charmed with this complication of delights, that her sweeteyes were bedewed with a moisture, which rested on her eyelids withoutdropping in tears. Her heart felt a gentle sensation, and her mind waspossessed with emotions of benevolence and tenderness. 

The sound of steps in the walk, however, all on a sudden interruptedthese happy feelings, and a little girl came tripping towards the samewalk, eating a piece of coarse brown bread with the keenest appetite. Asshe was also rambling about the garden for amusement, her eyes wanderedhere and there unfixed; so that she came up close to Bella unexpectedly. 

As soon as the little girl saw it was Miss Bella, she stopped short, seemed confused, and, turning about, ran away as fast as she could; butBella called to her, and asked her why she ran away. This made thelittle girl run the faster, and Bella endeavoured to pursue her; but, not being so much used to exercise, she was soon left behind. Luckily, as it happened, the little stranger had turned up a path leading intothat in which Bella was. Here they suddenly met, and Bella caught her bythe arm, saying, "Come, I have you fast now; you are my prisoner, andcannot get away from me. "

The poor girl was now more frightened than ever, and struggled hard forher liberty; but, after some time, the sweet accents of Bella, and herassurance that she meant only to be her friend, having rather allayedher fears, she became a little more tractable, and quietly followed herinto one of the summer-houses. 

Miss Bella, having made the stranger sit down by her, asked her if shehad a father living, and what was his profession. The girl told her, that, thank God, her father was living, and that he did any thing for anhonest livelihood. She said he was then at work in the garden, and hadbrought her with him that morning. 

Bella then observing that the young stranger had got a piece of brownbread in her hand, desired she would let her taste it; but she said itso scratched her throat on swallowing a bit of it, that she could eat nomore; and asked the little girl, why her father did not get better breadfor her. "Because, " replied the stranger, "he does not get so much moneyas your papa; and, besides that, there are four more of us, and we alleat heartily. Sometimes one wants a frock, another a jacket, and all hecan get is barely sufficient for us, without laying out hardly any thingupon himself, though he never misses a day's work while he has it todo. "

Upon Bella's asking her if she ever ate any plum-cake, she said she didnot even know what it was; but she had no sooner put a bit into hermouth, which Miss Bella gave her, than she said, she had never in herlife tasted any thing so nice. She then asked her what was her name, when the girl, rising, and making her a low curtsey, said it was Marian. 

"Well then, my good Marian, " said Bella, "stop here a moment; I will goand ask my governess for something for you, and will come back directly:but be sure you do not go away. " Marian replied, that she was now nowaysafraid of her, and that she should certainly wait her coming back. 

Bella ran directly to her governess, and begged she would give her somecurrant jelly for a little girl, who had nothing but dry bread forbreakfast. The governess, being highly pleased with the good-nature ofher amiable pupil, gave her some in a cup, and a small roll also. Bellainstantly ran away with it, and coming to Marian, said she hoped she hadnot made her wait, but begged her to put down her brown bread tillanother time, and eat what she had brought her. 

Marian, after tasting the jelly, and smacking her lips, said it was verynice indeed; and asked Bella if she ate such every day. Miss replied, that she ate those things frequently, and if she would come now andthen, she would always give her some. 

They now became very familiar together, and Miss Bella asked Marian anumber of questions, such as, whether she never was sick, seeing her nowlook so hearty, and in what manner she employed her time. 

Marian replied, she did not know what it was to be sick; and, as to heremployments, in winter she went to get straw for the cow, and dry sticksto make the pot boil; in summer she went to weed the corn; and, inharvest-time, to glean and pull hops. In short, they were never at aloss for work; and she said her mother would make a sad noise, if any ofher little ones should take it into their heads to be lazy. 

Miss Bella, observing that her little visitor went barefooted, whichmuch surprised her, was induced to ask the reason of it; when Marianreplied, that it would be too expensive for their father to think offinding shoes and stockings for them all, and therefore none of them hadany; but they found no inconvenience from it, since time had so hardenedthe bottoms of their feet, as to make shoes unnecessary. 

The time having slipped away in this kind of chit-chat, Marian told MissBella that she must be going, in order to gather some greens for hercow, who would want her breakfast by eight o'clock. This little girl didnot eat up all her roll and jelly, but saved some part of it to carryhome to her youngest sister, who, she said, she was sure would be veryfond of it. Bella was vastly pleased to find Marian was so tender of hersister, and desired she would not fail to come again at the same hourthe next morning. So, after a mutual good b'ye, they separated for thepresent. 

Miss Bella had now, for the first time, tasted the pleasure of doinggood. She walked a little longer in the garden, enjoying the pleasingreflection how happy she had made Marian, how grateful that little girlhad showed herself, and how pleased her sister would be to taste currantjelly, which she had never seen before. 

Miss Bella was enjoying the idea of the pleasure she should receive fromher future bounties to her new acquaintance, when she recollected thatshe had some ribands and a necklace, which her mamma had given her alittle time before, but of which she now began to grow tired. Besidesthese, she had some other old things to give her, which, though of nouse to herself, would make Marian quite fine. 

The next morning Marian came into the garden again, and Miss Bella wasready to receive her, with a tolerable good portion of gingerbread. Indeed, this interview was continued every morning; and Miss Bellaalways carried some dainties along with her. When her pocket failedher, she would beg her mamma to supply her with something out of thepantry, which was always cheerfully complied with. 

One day, however, it happened that Bella received an answer which gaveher some uneasiness. She had been begging her mamma to advance hersomething on her weekly allowance, in order to buy shoes and stockingsfor Marian; to which her mamma gave her a flat denial, telling her, thatshe wished she would be a little more sparing to her favourite, forwhich she would give her a reason at dinner-time. Bella was a littlesurprised at this answer, and every hour appeared an age tilldinner-time arrived. 

At length they sat down to table, and dinner was half over before hermamma said a word about Marian; but a dish of shrimps being then servedup, gave her mamma an opportunity of beginning the conversation. "Ithink, Bella, " said the lady, "this is your favourite dish. " Bellareplied it was, and could not help observing, how happy she supposedpoor Marian would be to taste them, who she imagined had never so muchas seen any. With her mamma's leave, she begged two of the smallest, togive to that little girl. 

Mrs. Adams, for such was her mamma's name, seemed unwilling to grant herrequest, urging, that she was afraid she would do her favourite moremischief than good. "At present, " said her mamma, "she eats her drybrown bread with an appetite, and walks barefooted on the gravel withoutcomplaining. Should you continue to feed her with dainties, and accustomher to wear shoes and stockings, what would she do, should she by anymeans lose your favour, and with it all those indulgences? She will thenlament that she had ever experienced your bounty. "

Miss Bella hastily replied, that she meant to be a friend to her all herlife, and only wished that her mamma, in order to enable her to do so, would add a little to her weekly allowance, and she would manage it withall the frugality possible. 

Mrs. Adams then asked her daughter, if she did not know of any otherchildren in distress; to which Bella replied, that she knew severalbesides, and particularly two in a neighbouring village, who had neitherfather nor mother, and who, without doubt, stood much in need ofassistance. Her mamma then reminded her, that it was somewhatuncharitable to feed Marian with sweetmeats and dainties, while otherpoor children were starving with hunger. To this Bella replied, that shehoped she should have something to spare for them likewise: but, at allevents, she loved Marian best. 

However, her mamma advised her to give her sweet things seldomer, andinstead thereof something that would be of more use to her, such as anapron or a gown. Miss Bella immediately proposed to give her one of herfrocks; but her mamma soon made her sensible of the impropriety ofdressing up a village girl, without shoes or stockings, in a muslinslip. "Were I in your place, " said her mamma, "I would be sparing in myamusements for some time, and when I had saved a little money, I wouldlay it out in buying whatever was most necessary for her. The stuffsthat poor children wear are not very expensive. " Bella followed mamma'sadvice. Marian was not, indeed, so punctual in her morning visits; butBella made her presents that were far more useful than sweetmeats. 

Miss Bella, besides frequently giving Marian an apron, a petticoat, orsuch like, paid a certain sum every month to the schoolmaster of thevillage, to improve her in reading. Marian was so sensible of thesekindnesses, that she grew every day more tenderly fond of her kindbenefactress. She frequently paid her a visit, and was never so happy aswhen she could do any little matters to oblige her. 

Marian came one day to the garden gate to wait for Bella's coming downto her; but she did not come, and she was obliged to go back againwithout seeing her. She returned two days successively, but no Bellaappeared, which was a great affliction to her little heart, and shebegan to fear she had inadvertently offended her. "I have, perhaps, "said she to herself, "done something to vex her: I am sure, if I knew Ihad, I would ask her a thousand pardons, for I cannot live withoutloving her. "

While she was thus reflecting, one of Mrs. Adams's maids came out of thehouse; when poor Marian stopped her, and asked her where Miss Bella was. "Miss Bella!" replied the woman, "she is ill of the small-pox; so ill, indeed, that there are no hopes of her recovery!" Poor Marian was alldistraction, and, without considering what she did, flew up stairs andburst into Mrs. Adams's room, imploring, on her knees, that she might bepermitted to see her dear Miss Bella. 

Mrs. Adams would have stopped Marian; but the door being half open, sheflew to her bedside like an arrow out of a bow. Poor Bella was in aviolent fever, alone, and very low spirited; for all her littlecompanions had forsaken her. Marian, drowned in tears, seized hold ofBella's hand, squeezed it in hers, and kissed it. "Ah! my dear Miss, "said she "is it in this condition I find you! but you must not die; whatwould then become of me? I will watch over you, and serve you: shall I, my dear Miss Bella?"

Miss Bella, squeezing Marian's hand, signified to her, that staying withher would do her a great favour. And the little maid, with Mrs. Adams'sconsent, became Bella's nurse, which she performed the part of toadmiration. She had a small bed made up for her, close beside her littlesick friend, whom she never left for a moment. If the slightest sighescaped Bella, Marian was up in an instant to know what she wanted, andgave her, with her own hands, all her medicines. 

This grateful girl did every thing she could to amuse her friend. Sheransacked Mrs. Adams's library for books that had pictures in them, which she would show to Bella; and during the time that her eyes weredarkened by her disorder, which was for near a week, Marian exertedherself to the utmost to divert her. When Bella grew impatient at thewant of sight, Marian told her stories of what happened in the village;and as she had made a good use of her schoolmaster's instructions, sheread whatever she thought would be amusing and diverting to her. 

Thus Marian was not only her nurse, but philosopher also; for she wouldsometimes say to her, "God Almighty will have pity upon you, as you havehad pity on me. Will you let me sing a pretty song to divert you?" Bellahad only to make a sign, and the little maid would sing her every songshe had learnt from the village nymphs and swains, endeavouring by thismeans to soften the affliction of her generous friend. 

At length she began to open her eyes, her lowness of spirits left her, the pock dried up, and her appetite returned. Her face was still coveredwith red spots; but Marian looked at her with more pleasure than ever, from the consideration of the danger she had been in of losing her;while the grateful Bella, on the other hand, regarded her with equaltenderness. "In what manner, " she would sometimes say, "can I think ofrequiting you, to my own satisfaction, for the tender care you havetaken of me?"

Miss Bella, as soon as she found herself perfectly recovered, asked hermamma in what manner she could recompense her faithful and tender nurse;but Mrs. Adams, whose joy on the recovery of her daughter wasinexpressible, desired Bella to leave that matter to her, as shelikewise was equally in her debt. 

Mrs. Adams gave private orders to have a complete suit of clothes madefor Marian; and Bella desired that she might have the pleasure ofdressing her the first time she was permitted to go into the garden. Theday arrived, and it was indeed a day of rejoicing throughout the wholefamily: for Bella was beloved by all the servants, as well as by all heracquaintance. 

This was a joyful day to Miss Bella, who had the double satisfaction ofseeing her health restored, and of beholding her little friend dressedout in her new clothes! It is much easier to conceive than to expressthe emotions of these two tender hearts, when they again foundthemselves in the garden, on the very spot where their acquaintancefirst commenced. They tenderly embraced each other, and vowed aninseparable friendship. 

It is evidently clear, from the story of Bella and Marian, howadvantageous it is to be generous and humane. Had not Bella, by herkindness, attached Marian to her interest, she might have sunk under thesevere indisposition, from which the kind attentions and the unremittingassiduities of Marian were perhaps the chief means of restoring her. 

[Illustration]

LITTLE JACK. 

[Illustration]

One day, as Mr. Glover was returning home after taking a ride over hisestates, and passing by the wall of a burying-ground belonging to asmall village, he heard the sound of groans and lamentations. As he hada heart that was ever open to the distresses of others, he alighted fromhis horse to see from whence the voice proceeded, and got over theinclosure. 

On his entering the place, he perceived a grave fresh filled up, uponwhich, at full length, lay a child about five years old, who was cryingsadly. Mr. Glover went up to him, and tenderly asked him what he didthere. "I am calling my mother, " said he; "they laid her here yesterday, and she does not get up!"

Mr. Glover then told him, that his poor mother was dead, and would getup no more. "I know, " replied the poor child, "that they tell me she isdead, but I do not believe it. She was perfectly well when she left methe other day with old Susan our neighbour; she told me she would sooncome back, but she has not kept her word. My father has gone away too, and also my little brother; and the other boys of the village will notplay with me, but say very naughty things about my father and mother, which vexes me more than all. O mammy, get up, get up!"

Mr. Glover's eyes were filled with tears; he asked him where his fatherand brother were gone to. He replied, that he did not know where hisfather was; and as to his little brother, he was the day before taken toanother town, by a person dressed in black just like their parson. Mr. Glover then asked him where he lived. "With our neighbour Susan, " saidhe. "I am to be there till my mother comes back, as she promised me. Ilove my other mammy Susan very well; but I love my mammy that lies herea great deal better. O mother! mother! why do you lie so long? when willyou get up?"

"My poor child, " said Mr. Glover, "it is in vain to call her, for shewill awake no more!"--"Then, " said the poor little boy, "I will lie downhere, and sleep by her. Ah! I saw her when they put her into a greatchest to carry her away. Oh, how white she was! and how cold! I will liedown here and sleep by her!"

The tears now started from the eyes of Mr. Glover, for he could nolonger conceal them, but stooping down, took the child up in his arms, and tenderly kissed him, asking him what was his name. "When I am a goodboy, they call me Jackey; and when I behave amiss, they say, you Jack. "Mr. Glover, though in tears, could not help smiling at the innocence andsimplicity of this answer, and begged Jackey to conduct him to the houseof the good Susan. 

The child very readily consented, and, running before him as fast as hislegs would carry him, conducted Mr. Glover to Susan's door. Susan wasnot a little surprised, on seeing Jack conduct a gentleman into hercottage, and then running to her, hid his little head in her lap, crying, "This is she! this is my other mammy!" Mr. Glover, however, didnot keep her long in suspense, but related to her what he had just seen, and begged Susan to give him the history of the parents of this littleboy. --Susan desired the gentleman to be seated, and then related to himthe following particulars:

"The father of this poor child is a shoemaker, and his house is next tomine. His wife, though a handsome, was not a healthy woman; but she wasa careful and good housewife. It is about seven years since they weremarried, always lived together on the best terms, and undoubtedly wouldhave been perfectly happy, had their affairs been a little better. 

"John had nothing beyond what his trade produced him; and Margaret, hiswife, being left an orphan, had only a little money which she hadscraped together in the service of a worthy neighbouring curate. Withthis they bought the most necessary articles of household furniture, anda small stock of leather to begin business with. However, by dint oflabour and good management, they for some years contrived to live alittle comfortably. 

"As children increased, so did their difficulties, and misfortunesseldom come alone. Poor Margaret, who had daily worked in the fieldsduring hay-time, to bring home a little money to her husband at night, fell ill, and continued so all the harvest and winter. John's customersleft him one after another, fearing that work could not go on properlyin a sick house. 

"Though Margaret at last grew better, yet her husband's work continuedto decline, and he was obliged to borrow money to pay the apothecary;while poor Margaret continued so weakly that nobody thought it worththeir while to employ her. The rent of their house and the interest ofthe money they had borrowed were heavy loads upon them; and they werefrequently obliged to endure hunger themselves, in order to give amorsel of bread to their poor children. 

"To add to their misfortune, the hardhearted landlord threatened to putpoor John in jail, if he did not pay the two quarters' rent that weredue; and though he is the richest man in the place, it was with thegreatest difficulty that they could obtain a month's delay. He declaredif they did not at the end of that time pay the whole, he would selltheir furniture, and put John in prison. Their house was now a pictureof melancholy and patient distress. How often have I lamented myinability to assist the distresses of this honest couple!

"I went myself to their landlord, and begged of him, for God's sake, tohave some compassion on these unfortunate people, and even offered topawn to him all I was possessed of in the world; but he treated me withcontempt, and told me I was as bad as they were. I was obliged, however, being only a poor widow, to bear the insult with patience, and contentedmyself by easing my heart with a flood of tears. 

"I advised poor Margaret to make her distresses known to the worthyclergyman, with whom she had so long lived with an unblemishedcharacter, and to beg of him to advance them a little money. Margaretreplied, that she supposed her husband would not like that proposal, fearing that their friend might suspect their necessities proceededfrom mismanagement. 

"It is but a few days ago since she brought me her two children, andbegged me to take care of them till the evening. Her intention was to goto a village at a little distance, and endeavour to get some hemp fromthe weaver to spin, with a view to get something towards the debt. Asshe could not persuade herself to wait upon the clergyman, her husbandhad undertaken it, and had accordingly set off on that business. AsMargaret was going, she clasped her two children to her breast andkissed them, little thinking it was to be the last time she should eversee them. 

"Soon after she was gone, I heard some noise in her house, but supposedit might be only the flapping of the door. However, the evening came on, and my neighbour did not come to fetch her children as usual. Itherefore determined to go to her house, and see if she was come home. Ifound the door open and went in; but how shall I express my horror andastonishment, when I found poor Margaret lying dead at the foot of thestairs!

"After trying in vain to recover her, I fetched the surgeon, who shookhis head, and said all was over. The coroner's inquest brought in theirverdict accidental death; but, as her husband was missing, ill-naturedpeople raised suspicious reports. Her death, however, was easily to beaccounted for; she had returned to her house, to go up to the loft for abag to hold her hemp, and as her eyes were still dimmed with tears, shehad missed her step in coming down, and fallen from the top of thestairs, with her head foremost, on the ground. The bag that lay by herside showed this to have been the case. 

"I made an offer to the parish officers to keep the two children myself, not doubting, but that the goodness of God, even a poor widow as I was, would enable me to support them. The worthy curate came yesterday to seethe unfortunate Margaret, and great indeed was his affliction when Irelated to him what I have been now telling you. I then told him, thatJohn was gone to him; but I was much surprised, when he declared he hadseen nothing of him. The two children came up to him; and little Jackasked him, if he could not awake his mother, who had been a long timeasleep. This brought tears into the eyes of the good curate, whoproposed to take the two children home to his own house and bring themup under his care; but as I could not consent to part with both theseinnocents, it was at last agreed, that he should take the younger andleave me the elder. 

"He asked little Jack if he should not like to go with him. 'What, wheremy mother is?' said Jack, 'oh! yes, with all my heart!' 'No, my littleman, ' replied the curate, 'I do not mean there, but to my handsome houseand garden. '--'No, no, ' answered Jack, 'I will stay here with Susan, andevery day go to where my mother is; for I would rather go there than toyour handsome garden. '

"This worthy curate did not choose to vex the child more, who went andhid himself behind my bed-curtains. He told me he would send his man forthe younger, who would be more trouble to me than the elder child, andbefore he went, left me some money towards the support of this. 

"This, Sir, is the whole of this unfortunate business. What makes meexceedingly uneasy at present is, that John does not return, and thatit is reported in the parish, that he has connected himself with a gangof smugglers, and that his wife put an end to her life through grief. These stories have obtained such credit in the village, that even thechildren have got it; and whenever poor Jack attempts to mix with them, they drive him away as though he were infectious. Hence the poor littlefellow is quite dull, and now never goes out but to pay a sad visit tohis mother's grave. "

Mr. Glover, who had silently listened to this melancholy tale, wasdeeply affected by it. Little Jack was now got close up to Susan; helooked at her with fondness, and often called her his mother. Mr. Gloverat length broke silence, and told Susan she was a worthy woman, and thatGod would not fail to reward her for her generosity towards thisunfortunate family. 

"Ah!" said Susan, "I am happy in what I have done, and I wish I couldhave done more; but my only possession consists in my cottage, a littlegarden, in which I have a few greens, and what I can earn by the labourof my hands. Yet for these eight years that I have been a widow, Godhas not suffered me to want, and I trust he never will. "

Mr. Glover reminded her, that keeping this little boy must be veryinconvenient to her, and that she would find it difficult to supply himwith clothes. She answered, "I leave the care of that to Him who clothesthe fields with grass and the trees with leaves. He has given me fingersto sew and spin, and they shall work to clothe my poor little orphan. Iwill never part with him. "

Mr. Glover was astonished at this good woman's resolution. "I must notsuffer you alone, " said he, "to have all the honour of befriending thispoor orphan, since God has bestowed on me those blessings of affluencewhich you do not enjoy. Permit me to take care of the education of thissweet boy; and, since I find that you cannot live separate, I will takeyou both home with me, and provide for you. Sell your cottage andgarden, and make my house your own, where you may spend the remainder ofyour life amidst peace and plenty. "

Susan gave Mr. Glover a most affectionate look, but begged he wouldexcuse her accepting his offer, as she was fond of the spot on which shewas born, and had lived in so long. Besides, she added, she could notsuit herself to the bustle of a great house, and should soon grow sick, were she to live upon dainties in idleness. "If you will please, "continued Susan, "now and then to send him a small matter to pay for hisschooling, and to supply him with tools when he shall take to business, God will not fail to reward you for your bounty. As I have no child, heshall be as one to me, and whatever I possess shall be his at my death. "

Mr. Glover, finding she did not choose to quit her habitation, told her, he should every month send her what would be sufficient for her support, and that he would sometimes come and see them himself. Susan lifted upher hands to heaven, and bid Jackey go and ask the gentleman's blessing, which he did. He then threw down his purse on the table, bid them afarewell, and mounting his horse, took the road that led to the parishin which the worthy curate lived. 

On Mr. Glover's arrival there, he found the worthy curate reading aletter, on which he had shed some tears. He explained the cause of hisvisit to this worthy divine, and asked him, if he knew what was becomeof the father of the two little unfortunate children. The curatereplied, that it was not a quarter of an hour since he received a letterfrom him to his wife. "It was, " said the curate, "inclosed in one to me, and contains a small draft for the use of his wife; he requests me todeliver it to her, and to console her for his absence. As she is dead, Ihave opened the letter, and here it is; be so kind as to read it. " Mr. Glover took the letter, the particulars of which were as follow:

He hoped his wife would not give herself any uneasiness on account ofhis absence. As he was going to the clergyman's house, he began to thinkthat it could be of no use to go thus a begging, and, if he shouldborrow money, he was not sure he should be able to pay it, which hethought would be as bad as thieving. At this instant a thought struckinto his head, that he was young and hearty, stout and able-bodied, andtherefore could see no harm if he entered on board a man of war for afew years, where he might stand a chance of getting a fortune for hiswife and children, at least get enough to pay all his debts. While hewas thinking of this matter, a press-gang came up, and asked him if hewould enter, telling him that they would give him five pounds bounty. The thought of receiving five pounds fixed his determination at once, and he accordingly entered, received the money, and sent every farthingof it to his wife, with his love and blessing, and hoping they would alljoin in their prayers to God for him. He hoped the war would soon beover, and that he should then return with inexpressible joy to his dearwife. 

Mr. Glover's eyes swimmed with tears all the time he was reading theletter. When he had finished it, "This man, " said he, "may indeed bejustly called a good husband, a tender father, and an honest man. Thereis an expressive pleasure in being a friend to such characters as these. I will pay John's debts, and enable him to set up his trade again. Lethis money be kept for the children, to be divided between them, as soonas they shall be at an age to know how to make use of it, and I will addsomething to this sacred deposit. "

So greatly was the worthy curate affected, that he could make no reply;and Mr. Glover perfectly understanding the cause of his silence, squeezed him by the hand, and took his leave; but he completelyaccomplished all his designs in favour of John, who at length returned, and enjoyed an easiness of circumstances beyond any thing he had beforeexperienced. 

Nothing now disturbed John's felicity, but the sorrowful reflection ofhaving lost his dear Margaret; she had experienced part of hismisfortunes, but had not lived to share in his felicity; and John's onlyconsolation is perpetually to talk about her to Susan, whom he looksupon as a sister to him, and as a mother to his children. Little Jackfrequently visits his mother's grave; and has made so good a use of Mr. Glover's generosity, in improving himself, that this excellent gentlemanintends placing him in a very desirable situation. John's younger sonhas likewise a share in his favours; and whenever Mr. Glover's mind isoppressed, a visit to this spot, where such an affecting scene passed, and where he has been enabled to do so much good, never fails to raisehis spirits. 

My readers will from hence learn, that God always assists those who puttheir trust in him. It is on Him we must rely on every occasion, and hewill not desert us, provided we ourselves also try to surmountdifficulties by patience and industry. 

[Illustration]

LEONORA AND ADOLPHUS. 

[Illustration]

A young widow lady, whose name was Lenox, had two children, Leonora andAdolphus, both equally deserving the affections of a parent, which, however, were unequally shared. Adolphus was the favourite, whichLeonora very early began to discover, and consequently felt no smallshare of uneasiness on the occasion: but she was prudent enough toconceal her sorrow. 

Leonora, though not remarkably handsome, had a mind that made ampleamends for the want of beauty; but her brother was a little Cupid, onwhom Mrs. Lenox lavished all her kisses and caresses. It is no wonderthat the servants, to gain the favour of their mistress, were veryattentive to humour him in all his whimsies. Leonora, on the other hand, was consequently slighted by every one in the house; and, so far fromwishing to study her humour, they scarcely treated her with commoncivility. 

Finding herself frequently alone and neglected, and taken little noticeof by any one, she would privately shed a torrent of tears; but shealways took care, that not the least mark of discontent should escapeher in the presence of any one. Her constant attention to the observanceof her duty, her mildness, and endeavours to convince her mother thather mind was superior to her face, had no effect; for beauty aloneattracts the attention of those who examine no further than externalappearances. 

Mrs. Lenox, who was continually chiding Leonora, and expecting from herperfections far beyond the reach of those more advanced in years, atlast fell sick. Adolphus seemed very sorry for his mother's illness; butLeonora, with the softest looks and most languishing countenance, fancied she perceived in her mother an abatement of her accustomedrigour towards her, and far surpassed her brother in her attention toher parent. She endeavoured to supply her slightest wants, exerted allher penetration to discover them, that she might even spare her the painof asking for any thing. So long as her mother's illness had the leastappearance of danger, she never quitted her pillow, and neither threatsnor commands could prevail on her to take the least repose. 

Mrs. Lenox, however, at length recovered, which afforded inexpressiblepleasure to the amiable Leonora; but she soon experienced a renewal ofher misfortunes, as her mother began to treat her with her usualseverity and indifference. 

As Mrs. Lenox was one day talking to her children on the pain she hadsuffered during her illness, and was praising them for the anxiety theyhad shown on her account, she desired them to ask of her whatever theythought would be the most pleasing to them, and they should certainly beindulged in it, provided their demands were not unreasonable. 

First addressing herself to Adolphus, she desired to know what he wouldchoose: and his desire was to have a cane and a watch, which his motherpromised he should have the next morning. "And pray, Leonora, " said Mrs. Lenox, "what is your wish?"--"Me, mamma, me?" answered she, trembling, "if you do but love me, I have nothing else to wish for!"--"This is notan answer;" replied the mother, "you shall have your recompenselikewise, miss, therefore speak your wish instantly. "

However accustomed Leonora might have been to this severe tone, yet shefelt it on this occasion more sensibly than ever she had before. Shethrew herself at her mother's feet, looked up to her with eyes swimmingin tears, and instantly hiding her face with both her hands, lisped outthese words: "Only give me two kisses, such as you give my brother. "

What heart could fail to relent at these words? Mrs. Lenox felt all thetender sentiments of a parent arise in her heart, and, taking her up inher arms, she clasped her to her breast, and loaded her with kisses. Thesweet Leonora, who now, for the first time, received her mother'scaresses, gave way to the effusion of her joy and love; she kissed hercheeks, her eyes, her breasts, and her hands; and Adolphus, who lovedhis sister, mixed his embraces with hers. Thus all had a share in thisscene of unexpected happiness. 

The affection which Mrs. Lenox had so long withheld from Leonora, shenow repaid with interest, and her daughter returned it with the mostdutiful attention. Adolphus, so far from being jealous at this change ofhis mother's affection for his sister, showed every mark of pleasure onthe occasion, and he afterwards reaped a reward of so generous aconduct; for his natural disposition having been, in some measure, injured by the too great indulgence of his mother, he gave way in hisearly days to those little indiscretions, which would have lost him theheart of his parent, had not his sister stepped in between them. It wasto the advice of this amiable girl that Adolphus at last owed his entirereformation of manners. They all three then experienced, that truehappiness cannot exist in a family, unless the most perfect unionbetween brothers and sisters, and the most lively and equal affectionbetween parents and children, are constantly and strictly adhered to. 

[Illustration]

FLORA AND HER LITTLE LAMB

[Illustration]

A poor countryman's little daughter, whose name was Flora, was onemorning sitting by the side of the road, holding on her lap a pan ofmilk for her breakfast, into which she was breaking some bits of coarseblack bread. 

While Flora was thus busily employed at her breakfast, a farmer waspassing the road with his cart, in which were about twenty lambs, andthese he was going to carry to the market for sale. These pretty littlelambs were tied together like so many criminals, and lay with their legsfastened with cords, and their heads hanging down. Their plaintivebleatings pierced the heart of poor Flora, but they had no manner ofeffect on the hardhearted farmer. 

As soon as he came opposite the place where little Flora was sitting, hethrew down to her a lamb, which he was carrying across his shoulder, saying, "There, my girl, is a poor sorry creature that has just died, and made me some shillings poorer than I was. You may take it if youwill, and do what you like with it. "

Flora put down her milk and her bread, and taking up the lamb, viewed itwith looks of tenderness and compassion. "But why should I pity you?"said she to the lamb. "Either this day or to-morrow they would have runa great knife through your throat, whereas now you have nothing tofear. "

While she was thus speaking, the warmth of her arms somewhat revivedthe lamb, who, opening its eyes a little, made a slight motion, andcried baa, in a very low tone, as if it were calling for its mother. Itwould be impossible to express little Flora's joy on this occasion. Shecovered the lamb in her apron, and over that put her stuff petticoat;she then bent her breast down towards her lap, in order to increase thewarmth, and blew into its mouth and nostrils with all the force shecould. By degrees the poor animal began to stir, and every motion itmade conveyed joy to her little heart. 

This success encouraged her to proceed; she crumbled some of her breadinto her pan, and, taking it up in her fingers, she with no smalldifficulty forced it between its teeth, which were very firmly closedtogether. The lamb, whose only disorder was hunger and fatigue, began tofeel the effects of this nourishment. It first began to stretch out itslimbs, then shake its head, to wag its tail, and at last to prick up itsears. In a little time, it was able to stand upon its legs, and thenwent of itself to Flora's breakfast pan, who was highly delighted to seeit take such pleasing liberties; for she cared not a farthing aboutlosing her own breakfast, since it saved the life of the little lamb. Inshort, in a little time, it recovered its usual strength, and began toskip and play about its kind deliverer. 

It may naturally be supposed, that Flora was greatly pleased at thisunexpected success. She took it up in her arms, and ran with it to thecottage to shew it her mother. Her Baba, for so Flora called it, becamethe first object of her cares, and it constantly shared with her in thelittle allowance of bread and milk, which she received for her meals. Indeed, so fond was she of it, that she would not have exchanged it fora whole flock. Nor was Baba insensible of the fondness of her littlemistress, since she would follow her wherever she went, would come andeat out of her hand, skip, and frisk round her, and would bleat mostpiteously whenever Flora was obliged to leave her at home. 

Baba, however, repaid the services of her little mistress in a moresubstantial manner than that of merely dancing about her, for shebrought forth young lambs: those lambs grew up, and brought forthothers; so that, within the space of a few years, Flora had a verycapital stock, that furnished the whole family with food and raiment. Such, my little readers, are the rewards which Providence bestows onacts of goodness, tenderness, and humanity. 

[Illustration]

THE FRUITFUL VINE

[Illustration]

It was in the beginning of the spring, when Mr. Jackson went to hiscountry-house, and took with him his little son Junius, in order totreat him with a walk in the garden. The primroses and violets were thendisplaying all their beauties, and many trees had begun to show whatlivery they were soon to wear. 

After walking some time about the garden, they happened to go into thesummer-house, at the foot of which grew the stump of a vine, whichtwisted wildly, and extended its naked branches in a rude and irregularmanner. As soon as little Junius saw this tree, he exclaimed sadlyagainst the ugly appearance it made, and began to exert all his strengthto pull it up, but he found his efforts in vain, it being too wellrooted to yield to his weak arm. He begged his papa to call the gardenerto grub it up, and make firewood of it; but Mr. Jackson desired his sonto let the tree alone, telling him that he would in a few months givehim his reasons for not complying with his request. 

This did not satisfy Junius, who desired his father to look at thoselively crocusses and snow-drops, saying, he could not see why thatbarren stump should be kept, which did not produce a single green leaf. He thought it spoiled and disfigured the garden, and therefore beggedhis father would permit him to fetch the gardener to pluck it up. 

Mr. Jackson, who could not think of granting him his request, told him, that it must stand as it then was, at least for some time to come. Little Junius still persisted in his entreaties, urging how disgracefulit was to the garden; but his father diverted his attention from thevine, by turning the conversation. 

It so happened, that Mr. Jackson's affairs called him to a differentpart of the country, from whence he did not return till the middle ofautumn. He no sooner came home, than he paid a visit to hiscountry-house, taking little Junius with him. As the day happened to beexceedingly warm, they retired to enjoy the benefit of the shade, andentered the arbour, in which the vine stump had before so much offendedhis son Junius. 

"Ah! papa, " said the young gentleman, "how charming and delightful isthis green shade! I am much obliged to you for having that dry and uglystump plucked up, which I found so much fault with when we were herelast, and for putting in its place this beautiful plant; I suppose youdid it in order to give me an agreeable surprise. How delightful andtempting the fruit looks! What fine grapes! some purple, and othersalmost black: I see no tree in the garden that looks in so blooming astate. All have lost their fruit; but this fine one seems in the highestperfection. See how it is loaded! See those wide-spreading leaves thathide the clusters. If the fruit be as good as it appears beautiful, itmust be delicious. "

Little Junius was in raptures when he tasted one of the grapes, whichhis father gave him, and still more when he informed him, that from suchfruit was made that delicious liquor which he sometimes tasted afterdinner. The little fellow was quite astonished on hearing his fathertalk thus; but he was far more surprised, when Mr. Jackson told him, that all those fine leaves, and delicious fruit grew from that verycrooked and misshapen stump, with which he had been so angry in thespring. His father then asked him, if he should now order the gardenerto pluck it up, and make firewood of it. Junius was much confused; but, after a short silence, told his papa, that he would rather see everyother tree in the garden cut down than that, so beautiful were itsleaves, and so delicious its fruit. 

As Mr. Jackson was a man of good sense, he thus moralized on thisoccasion. "You see then, my dear, " said he, "how imprudently I shouldhave acted, had I followed your advice, and cut down this tree. Dailyexperience convinces us, that the same thing happens frequently in thecommerce of this world, which has in this instance misled you. When wesee a child badly clothed, and of an unpleasing external appearance, weare too apt to despise him, and grow conceited on comparing ourselveswith him; and sometimes even go so far as cruelly to address him inhaughty and insulting language. But beware, my dear boy, how you runinto errors by forming a too hasty judgment. It is possible that in aperson so little favoured by nature may dwell an exalted soul, which mayone day astonish the world with the greatness of its virtues, orenlighten it with knowledge. The most rugged stem may produce the mostdelicious fruit, while a straight and stately plant may be worthless andbarren. "

[Illustration]

SIR JOHN DENHAM AND HIS WORTHY

TENANT. 

[Illustration]

One morning, Sir John Denham having shut himself up in his study, onsome particular business, his servant came to inform him, that one ofhis tenants, Farmer Harris, desired to speak with him. Sir John told himto show the farmer into the drawing-room, and to beg him to stay onemoment, until he had finished writing a letter. 

Sir John had three children, Robert, Arthur, and Sophia, who were in thedrawing-room when the farmer was introduced. As soon as he entered, hesaluted them very respectfully, though not with the grace of adancing-master, nor were his compliments very elegantly turned. The twosons looked at each other with a smile of contempt and disrespect. Indeed, they behaved in such a manner, that the poor farmer blushed, andwas quite out of countenance. 

Robert was so shamefully impertinent as to walk round him, holding hisnose, and asking his brother, if he did not perceive something of thesmell of a dung heap. Then he lighted some paper at the fire, andcarried it round the room, in order to disperse, as he said, theunpleasant smell. Arthur all the while stood laughing most heartily. 

Sophia, however, acted in a very different manner; for, instead ofimitating the rudeness of her brothers, she checked them for theirbehaviour, made apologies for them to the farmer, and approaching himwith the most complaisant looks, offered him some wine to refresh him, made him sit down, and took from him his hat and stick to put by. 

In a little time, Sir John came out of his study, and approaching thefarmer in a friendly manner, took him by the hand, inquired after thehealth of his family, and asked him what had brought him to town. Thefarmer replied, that he was come to pay him half a year's rent, and thathe hoped he would not be displeased at his not coming sooner, the roadshaving been so bad that he could not till then carry his corn to market. 

Sir John told him he was not displeased at his not coming sooner, because he knew him to be an honest man, who had no occasion to be putin mind of his debts. The farmer then put down the money, and drew outof his great coat pocket a jar of candied fruits. "I have broughtsomething here, " said he, "for the young folks. Won't you be so kind, Sir John, as to let them come out one of these days, and take a mouthfulof the country air with us? I'd try, as well as I could, to entertainand amuse them. I have two good stout nags, and would come for themmyself, and take them down in my four-wheeled chaise, which will carrythem very safely, I'll warrant it. "

Sir John said, that he would certainly take an opportunity to pay him avisit, and invited him to stay to dinner; but the farmer excusedhimself, saying, he had a good deal of business to do in town, andwished to get home before night. Sir John filled his pocket with cakesfor his children, thanked him for the present he had made to his, andthen took leave of him. 

No sooner was the farmer gone, than Sophia, in the presence of herbrothers, acquainted her papa of the very rude reception they had giventhe honest farmer. Sir John was exceedingly displeased at their conduct, and much applauded Sophia for her different behaviour. 

Sir John, being seated at breakfast with his children, opened thefarmer's jar of fruit, and he and his daughter ate some of them, whichthey thought were very nice; but Robert and Arthur were neither of theminvited to a single taste. Their longing eyes were fixed upon them; buttheir father, instead of taking any notice of them, continued conversingwith Sophia, whom he advised never to despise a person merely for theplainness of his dress; "for, " said he, "were we to behave politely tothose only who are finely clothed, we should appear to direct ourattention more to the dress than to the wearer. The most worthy peopleare frequently found under the plainest dress, and of this we have anexample in Farmer Harris. It is this man who helps to clothe you, andalso to procure you a proper education, for the money that he and myother tenants bring me, enables me to do these things. "

Breakfast being finished, the remainder of the fruit was ordered to belocked up; but Robert and his brother, whose longing eyes followed thejar, clearly saw they were to have none of them. In this they wereconfirmed by their father, who told them not to expect to taste any ofthose fruits, either on that or any future day. 

Robert endeavoured to excuse himself by saying, that it was not hisfault if the farmer did not smell well; and he thought there was no harmin telling him of it. If people will go among dung, they must expect tosmell of it. "And yet, " said Sir John, "if this man were not to manurehis land with dung, his crops would fail him, he would be unable to payme his rent; and you yourself would perhaps be obliged to follow a dungcart. " The two boys saw displeasure in their papa's countenance, andtherefore did not presume to say any thing more. 

Early on a morning, shortly after, the good farmer came to Sir JohnDenham's door, and sent up his compliments, kindly inviting him to makea little excursion to his farm. Sir John could not resist the friendlyinvitation, as a refusal might perhaps have made the honest farmeruneasy. Robert and Arthur begged very hard to go along with them, promising to behave more civilly in future; and Sophia begging for themlikewise, Sir John at last consented. They then mounted the four-wheeledchaise with joyful countenances, and, as the farmer had a pair of goodhorses, they were there in a short time. 

On their arrival, Mrs. Harris, the farmer's wife, came to the door toreceive them, helped the young gentlefolks out of the chaise, and kissedthem. All their little family, dressed in their best clothes, came outto compliment their visitors. Sir John would have stopped a moment totalk with the little ones, and caress them; but Mrs. Harris pressed himto go in, lest the coffee should grow cold, it being already pouredout; it was placed on a table, covered with a napkin as white as snow. 

Indeed, the coffee-pot was not silver, nor the cups china, yet everything was in the neatest order. Robert and Arthur, however, looked slilyat each other, and would have burst out into a laugh, had not theirfather been present. Mrs. Harris, who was a sensible woman, guessed bytheir looks what they thought, and therefore made an apology for thehumble style in which her table was set out, which she owned could notbe equal to what they met with at their own homes; but hoped they wouldnot be dissatisfied with her homely fare. The cakes she produced wereexcellent, for she spared no pains in making them. 

As soon as breakfast was over, the farmer asked Sir John to look at hisorchard and grounds; and Mrs. Harris took all the pains she could tomake the walk pleasing to the children. She showed them all her flocks, which covered the fields, and gave them the prettiest lambs to playwith. She then conducted them to her pigeon-house, where every thing wasclean and wholesome. There were some so young that they were unable tofly; some of the mothers sitting on their eggs, and others employed infeeding their young. From the pigeon-house, they proceeded to thebee-hive: but Mrs. Harris took care that they should not go too nearthem, for fear of being stung. 

Most of these sights being new to the children, they seemed highlypleased with them, and were even going to take a second survey of them, when the farmer's youngest son came to inform them that dinner wasready. They ate off pewter, and drank out of Delft ware; but Robert andArthur, finding themselves so well pleased with their morning-walk, dared not to indulge themselves in ill-natured observations. Mrs. Harris, indeed, had spared neither pains nor attention to produce everything in the best manner she was able. 

Sir John, after dinner, perceiving two fiddles hang up against the wall, asked who played on those instruments. The farmer answered, he and hisson; and, without saying a word more, he made a sign to his son Luke totake down the fiddles. They by turns played some old tunes, with whichSir John seemed highly pleased. As they were going to hang up theinstruments, Sir John desired his two sons to play some of their besttunes, putting the fiddles into their hands: but they knew not even howto hold the bow, and their confusion occasioned a general laugh. 

Sir John, now thinking it high time to return home, desired the farmerto order the carriage. Farmer Harris strongly pressed Sir John to stayall night, but the farmer was at last obliged to submit to Sir John'sexcuses. 

On his return home, he asked his son Robert how he had liked hisentertainment; and what he should have thought of the farmer, if he hadtaken no pains to entertain them. He replied, that he liked hisentertainment; but had he not taken pains to accommodate them, he shouldhave thought him an unmannerly clown. "Ah, Robert! Robert!" said SirJohn, "this honest man came to our house, and, instead of offering himany refreshment, you made game of him. Which, then, is the best bred, you or the farmer?"

Robert blushed, and seemed at a loss what answer to make; but at lengthreplied, that it was his duty to receive them well, as he got his livingoff their lands. "That is true, " answered Sir John, "but it may beeasily seen who draws the greatest profit from my lands, the farmer orI. He indeed feeds his horses with hay which he gets off my meadows, buthis horses in return plough the fields, which otherwise would be overrunwith weeds. He also feeds his cows and his sheep with the hay; but theirdung is useful in giving fertility to the ground. His wife and childrenare fed with the harvest corn; but they in return devote the summer toweeding the crops; and afterwards, some in reaping them, and some inthreshing. All these labours end in my advantage. The rest of the hayand corn he takes to market to sell, and with the produce thereof hepays his rent. From this, it is evident, who derives the greatest profitfrom my lands. "

Here a long pause ensued; but, at last, Robert confessed that he saw hiserror. "Remember, then, all your life, " said Sir John "what has now beenoffered to your eyes and ears. This farmer, so homely dressed, whosemanners you have considered as so rustic, this man is better bred thanyou; and, though he knows nothing of Latin, he knows much more than you, and things of much greater use. You see, therefore, how unjust it is todespise any one for the plainness of his dress, and the rusticity of hismanners. You may understand a little Latin, but you know not how toplough, sow grain, or reap the harvest, nor even to prune a tree. Sitdown with being convinced that you have despised your superior. "

[Illustration]

ALFRED AND DORINDA. 

[Illustration]

Mr. Venables, one fine summer day, having promised his two children, Alfred and Dorinda, to treat them with a walk in a fine garden a littleway out of town, went up into his dressing-room to prepare himself, leaving the two children in the parlour. 

Alfred was so delighted with the thoughts of the pleasure he shouldreceive from his walk, that he jumped about the room, without thinkingof any evil consequence that could happen; but unluckily the skirt ofhis coat brushed against a very valuable flower, which his father wasrearing with great pains, and which he had unfortunately just removedfrom before the window, in order to screen it from the scorching heat ofthe sun. 

"O brother, brother!" said Dorinda, taking up the flower which wasbroken off from the stalk, "what have you done!" The sweet girl washolding the flower in her hand, when her father, having dressed himself, came into the parlour. "Bless me! Dorinda, " said Mr. Venables, in anangry tone, "how could you be so thoughtless as to pluck a flower, whichyou have seen me take so much care to rear, in order to have taken seedfrom it?" Poor Dorinda was in such a fright, that she could only beg herpapa not to be angry. Mr. Venables, growing more calm, replied he wasnot angry, but reminded her, that as they were going to a garden wherethere was a variety of flowers, she might have waited till they gotthere to indulge her fancy. He therefore hoped she would not take itamiss if he left her at home. 

This was a terrible situation for Dorinda, who held her head down, andsaid, nothing. Little Alfred, however, was of too generous a temper tokeep silence any longer. He went up to his papa, with his eyes swimmingin tears, and told him, that it was not his sister but himself, who hadaccidentally beaten off the head of the flower with the flap of hiscoat. He therefore desired, that his sister might go abroad, and he stayat home. 

Mr. Venables was so delighted with the generosity of his children, thathe instantly forgave the accident, and tenderly kissed them both, beinghappy to see them have such an affection for each other. He told them, that he loved them equally alike, and that they should both go with him. Alfred and Dorinda kissed each other, and leaped about for joy. 

They all three then walked to the garden, where they saw plants of themost valuable kinds. Mr. Venables observed with pleasure how Dorindapressed her clothes on each side, and Alfred kept the skirts of his coatunder his arms, for fear of doing any damage in their walk among theflowers. 

The flower Mr. Venables had lost would have given him some pain had ithappened from any other circumstance; but the pleasure he received fromseeing such mutual affection and regard subsist between his twochildren, amply repaid him for the loss of his flower. I cannot omitthe opportunity that here presents itself, of reminding my youngfriends, not only how necessary, but how amiable and praiseworthy it is, for brothers and sisters to live together in harmony. It is not onlytheir most important interest to do so, but what should be a stillstronger argument with them, such are the commands of Him who made them. 

[Illustration]

ROSINA; OR, THE FROWARD GIRL

REFORMED. 

[Illustration]

I would recommend to all my little readers who have had the misfortuneto contract a vicious habit, very attentively to peruse the followinghistorical fragment, in which, if they will but properly reflect, theywill see that amendment is no very difficult thing, when once they forma sincere resolution to accomplish it. 

Rosina was the joy of her parents until the seventh year of her age, atwhich period the glowing light of reason begins to unfold itself, andmake us sensible of our infantine faults; but this period of life had adifferent effect on Rosina, who had then contracted an unhappydisposition, which cannot better be described, than by the practices ofthose snarling curs that grumble incessantly, and seem always ready torun and bite at those that approach them. 

If a person touched any of her playthings, though it were by mistake, she would be out of temper for hours, and murmur about the house asthough she had been robbed. If any one attempted to correct her, thoughin the most gentle manner, she would fly into a rage, equalled only bythe fury of contending elements, and the uproar of the angry billows ofthe ocean. 

Her father and mother saw this unaccountable change, with inexpressiblesorrow; for neither they, nor any in the house, could now bear with her. Indeed, she would sometimes seem sensible of her errors, and would oftenshed tears in private, on seeing herself thus become the object ofcontempt to every one, not excepting her parents; but an ill habit hadgot the better of her temper, and she consequently every day grew worseand worse. 

One evening, which happened to be new year's eve, she saw her mothergoing towards her room with a basket under her cloak. Rosina followedher mother, who ordered her to go back to the parlour immediately. AsRosina went thither, she threw about all the stools and chairs thatstood in her way. 

About half an hour after, her mamma sent for her; and great indeed washer surprise on seeing the room lighted up with a number of candles andthe table covered with the most elegant toys. 

Her mother called her to her, and desired her to read, in a bit of paperwhich she gave her, for whom those toys were intended, on which she readthe following words, written in large letters; "For an amiable littlegirl, in return for her good behaviour. " Rosina looked down, and couldnot say a word. On her mother's asking her for whom those toys wereintended, she replied, with tears in her eyes, that they could not beintended for her. 

Her parent then showed her another paper, desiring her to see if thatdid not concern her. Rosina took it, and read as follows: "For a frowardlittle girl, who is sensible of her faults, and in beginning a new yearwill take pains to amend them. " Rosina, instantly throwing herself intoher mother's arms, and crying bitterly, said, "O! that is I, that is I. "The tears also fell from her parent's eyes, partly for sorrow, onaccount of her daughter's faults, and partly through joy in thepromising hope of her amendment. 

"Come, Rosina, " said she to her, after a short pause, "and take what wasintended for you; and may God, who has heard your resolution, give youability to fulfil it. " Rosina, however, insisted on it, that it belongedto the person described in the first paper, and therefore desired hermamma to keep those things for her till she answered that description. This answer gave her mother a deal of pleasure, and she immediately putall the toys into a drawer, giving the key of it to Rosina, and tellingher to open the drawer whenever she should think it proper so to do. 

Several weeks passed without the least complaint against Rosina, who hadperformed wonders on herself. She then went to her mamma, threw her armsround her neck, and asked her if she thought she had then any right toopen the drawer. "Yes, my dear, " said her mother, clasping her tenderlyin her arms, "you may now open the drawer with great propriety. But praytell me how you have so well managed to get the better of your temper?"Rosina said it had cost her a deal of trouble; but every morning andevening, and indeed almost every hour in the day, she prayed to God toassist her. 

Her mother shed tears of delight on this occasion; and Rosina became notonly mistress of the toys, but of the affections of all her friends andacquaintances. Her mother related this happy change in the temper of herdaughter in the presence of a little miss, who gave way to the sameunhappy disposition; when the little girl was so struck with therelation of it, that she immediately determined to set about the work ofreformation, in order to become as amiable as Rosina. Her attempt wasnot made in vain; and Rosina had the satisfaction to find, that, inbeing useful to herself, she had contributed to make others happy. Myyouthful readers, if any of you labour under bad habits, set about areformation immediately, lest you become hardened by time, and thustotally destroy your present and future happiness. 

[Illustration]

LITTLE ANTHONY. 

[Illustration]

On one of those fine mornings, which the month of June frequentlyaffords us, little Anthony was busily employed in preparing to set outwith his father on a party of pleasure, which, for several days before, had engrossed all his attention. Though, in general, he found it verydifficult to rise early, yet this morning he got up soon, without beingcalled, so much was his mind fixed on the intended jaunt. 

It often happens, with young people in particular, that, all on asudden, they lose the object they flattered themselves they were almostin possession of. So it fared with little Anthony; for, just as theywere ready to set out, the sky darkened all at once, the clouds grewthick, and a tempestuous wind bent down the trees, and raised a cloud ofdust. 

Little Anthony was running down the garden every minute to see how thesky looked, and then jumped up-stairs to examine the barometer; butneither the sky nor the barometer seemed to forbode any thing in hisfavour. Notwithstanding all this, he gave his father the most flatteringhopes that it would still be a fair day, and that these unfavourableappearances would soon disperse. He doubted not but that it would be oneof the finest days in the world; and he therefore thought, that thesooner they set out the better, as it would be a pity to lose a momentof their time. 

His father, however, did not choose to be too hasty in giving credit tohis son's predictions, and thought it more advisable to wait a little. While Anthony and his father were reasoning on this matter, the cloudsburst, and down came a very heavy shower of rain. Poor Anthony was nowdoubly disappointed, and vented his grief in tears, refusing to listento the voice of consolation. 

The rain continued, without intermission, till three o'clock in theafternoon, when the clouds began to disperse, the sun resumed itssplendour, the element its clearness, and all nature breathed the odoursof the spring. As the weather brightened, so did the countenance oflittle Anthony, and by degrees he recovered his good humour. 

His father now thought it necessary to indulge him with a little walk, and off they set. The calmness of the air, the music of the featheredsongsters, the lively and enchanting verdure of the fields, and thesweet perfumes that breathed all around them, completely quieted andcomposed the troubled heart of the disappointed Anthony. 

"Do not you observe, " said his father to him, "how agreeable the changeis of every thing before you? You cannot have yet forgotten how dullevery thing appeared to you yesterday; the ground was parched up forwant of rain; the flowers had lost their colour, and hung their heads inlanguor; and, in short, all nature seemed to be in a state of inaction. What can be the reason, that nature has so suddenly put on such adifferent aspect?"--"That is easily accounted for, Sir, " said Anthony, "it undoubtedly is occasioned by the rain that has fallen to-day. "

Anthony had no sooner pronounced these words, than he saw his father'smotive for asking him the question. He now plainly perceived theimpropriety of his late conduct, in being so unhappy about what wasevidently so universally serviceable. He blushed, but his father took nonotice of it, judging that his own sense would sufficiently teach himanother time, without reluctance, to sacrifice selfish pleasure to thegeneral good of the community at large. 

[Illustration]

THE HISTORY OF JONATHAN, THE

GARDENER. 

[Illustration]

In the city of Lincoln lived an honest and industrious gardener, whosename was Jonathan, and who was in general considered as the most skilfulin his profession of any in that county. His fruits were much largerthan any of his neighbours, and were generally supposed to have a moreexquisite flavour. 

It was the pride of all the neighbouring gentlemen to have Jonathan'sfruits to form their desserts, so that he was under no necessity ofsending the produce of his garden to market, as he was always sure ofmeeting with a sale for them at home. His prudence and assiduityincreased as his good fortune enlarged, and, instead of riches makinghim idle, he attended more closely to cultivation. 

Such a character and situation could not fail of procuring him asuitable matrimonial mate, and he accordingly married a young woman inthe neighbourhood, whose name was Bella, and who was both prudent andhandsome. The first year of their marriage was as comfortable as theycould wish for; for Bella assisted her husband in his business, andevery thing prospered with them. 

This happiness, however, was not to last long; for near his house livedanother gardener, whose name was Guzzle, and who spent his time, frommorning to night, in an alehouse. The merry and thoughtless humour ofGuzzle, by degrees, began to be pleasing to Jonathan, who soon fell intothe same ruinous error. At first, he only went now and then to drinkwith him, and talk to him about gardening; but he very soon began todrop the subject of plants, and delight only in the praises of malt. 

Bella saw this change in her husband with the utmost grief andconsternation. As yet, not having sufficient experience to attend thewall-fruit herself, she was frequently obliged to fetch him home to hiswork, when she generally found him in a state of intoxication. It wouldoften have been better had he kept out of the garden than gone into it;for his head was generally so muddled with beer, when he went to work onhis trees, that his pruning-knife committed the greatest depredations, cutting away those branches which ought to have been left, and leavingthose that were useless. 

Hence it was not to be wondered at, that the garden fell off in thequality and quantity of its fruit, and the more Jonathan perceived thedecay, the more he gave himself up to drinking. As his garden graduallyfailed in procuring him the means of getting strong liquor, he firstparted with his furniture, and then with his linen and clothes. 

Bella, in the mean time, did what little she could to keep thingstogether; but all to no purpose. One day, when she was gone to marketwith some roots she had reared herself, he went and sold his workingutensils, and immediately went and spent all with Guzzle. Judge whatmust be the situation of poor Bella on her return! It was indeed aheart-breaking consideration, to be thus reduced to poverty by the follyof her husband; but yet she loved him, and equally felt for him as forherself, but still more for an infant, as yet but six months old, andwhich received its nourishment from her breast. 

In the evening Jonathan came home drunk, and, swearing at his wife, asked her for something to eat. Bella handed him a knife, and put beforehim a large basket covered with her apron; Jonathan, in a pet, pulledaway the apron; but his astonishment was inexpressible, when he beheldnothing in the basket but his own child fast asleep. "Eat that, " saidBella, "for I have nothing else to give you. It is your own child, andif you do not devour it, famine and misery will in a short time. "

Jonathan seemed almost petrified into a stone at these words, and forsome time remained speechless, with his eyes fixed on his littlesleeping son. At last recovering himself, quite sobered, his heart easeditself in tears and lamentations. He rose and embraced his wife, askedher pardon, and promised to amend; and what was still better, he wasfaithful to his promise. 

Though his wife's father had for some time refused to see him, yet, onbeing made acquainted with his promises of reformation, he advancedmoney sufficient to enable him to restore his garden to its formerstate, Jonathan did not deceive him; for his garden put on anotherappearance, and cut a more splendid figure than ever. After this, neither his prudence nor activity forsook him, but he became at once, and continued so even to old age, the honest man, the indulgent husband, and the tender father. He would sometimes tell this tale of his folliesto his son, as a lesson to him, how dangerous it is to get connectedwith bad company, and how easily human nature is led astray by thepoison of example. The son, who thus acquired knowledge at the father'sformer expense, became a wise and prudent man, and conceived such anaversion to idleness and drinking, that he continued all his life assober as he was laborious. Thus was an innocent infant the cause ofreformation in a deluded father. 

[Illustration]

THE SPARROW'S NEST. 

[Illustration]

Billy Jessamy, having one day espied a sparrow's nest under the eves ofthe house, ran directly to inform his sisters of the importantdiscovery, and they immediately fell into a consultation concerning themanner in which they should take it. It was at last agreed, that theyshould wait till the young ones were fledged, that Billy should then geta ladder up against the wall, and that his sisters should hold it fastbelow, while he mounted after the prize. 

As soon as they thought these poor little creatures were properlyfledged, preparations were made for the execution of their intendedplan. The old birds flew backwards and forwards about the nest, andexpressed, as well as they were able, the sorrow and affliction theyfelt on being robbed of their young. Billy and his two sisters, however, paid no regard to their piteous moans; for they took the nest, withthree young ones in it. 

As they had now got the innocent prisoners in their possession, the nextthing to be considered was, what they should do with them. The youngersister, being of a mild and tender-hearted disposition, proposed puttingthem into a cage, promising to look after them herself, and to see thatthey wanted for nothing. She reminded her brother and sister how prettyit would be to see and hear those birds when grown up. 

Billy, however, was of a very different opinion; for he insisted on it, that it would be better to pluck off their feathers, and then set themdown in the middle of the room, as it would be very funny to see howthey would hop about without feathers. The elder sister was of the sameway of thinking as the younger; but Billy was determined to have thematter entirely his own way. 

The two little ladies, finding they were not likely to have things asthey wished, gave up the point without much hesitation; for Billy hadalready begun to strip the poor helpless birds. As fast as he pluckedthem, he put them down on the floor, and it was not long before thelittle birds were stripped of all their tender feathers. The poor thingscried _Weet!_ _Weet!_ and complained in the most piteous accents; theyshook their little wings, and shuddered with cold. 

Billy, however, who had not the least kind of feeling for theirsufferings, carried his persecutions still further, pushing them withhis toe, to make them go on when they stopped, and laughing mostheartily whenever they staggered or tumbled down through weakness. Though his two sisters at first setting off had pleaded against thiscruel kind of sport, yet, seeing their brother so merry on the occasion, they forgot their former dictates of humanity, and joined in the cruelsport with him. Such, as we saw in the preceding tale, is the influenceof bad example!

In the midst of this cruel kind of enjoyment, at a distance they sawtheir tutor approaching. This put them into some flurry, and eachpocketed a bird. They would have avoided their tutor, but he called tothem, and asked their reason for wishing to shun him. They approachedhim very slowly, with their eyes cast downwards, which convinced himthat something amiss was going forwards. 

On their answering, that they were only playing, their tutor observed tothem, that they very well knew he never denied them innocent amusement, but, on the contrary, was always glad to see them cheerful and happy. Hetook notice that each held one of their hands in their pocket, uponwhich he insisted on their pulling them out, and letting him see what itwas they endeavoured to conceal. 

They were obliged to comply, much against their will, when eachproduced a poor bird, that had been stripped of its feathers. The tutorwas filled with pity and indignation, and gave each of them a look, thatwas more dreadful than any words he could have spoken. After somesilence, Billy attempted to justify himself by saying, that it was adroll sight to see sparrows hopping about without feathers, and he couldsee no harm in it. 

"Can you then, " said the tutor to Billy, "take pleasure in seeinginnocent creatures suffer, and hear their cries without pity?" Billysaid he did not see how they could suffer from having a few featherspulled off. The tutor, to convince him of his error, pulled a few hairsfrom his head, when he roared out loudly, that he hurt him. "What wouldyour pain be then, " said the tutor, "were I thus to pluck all the hairoff your head? You are sensible of the pain you now feel, but you wereinsensible of the torment to which you put those innocent creatures, that never offended you. But that you, ladies, should join in such anact of cruelty, very much surprises me!"

The ladies stood motionless, and then, without being able to say a word, sat down, with their eyes swimming in tears; which their tutorobserving, he said no more to them. But Billy still persisted in hisopinion, that he did the birds no harm; on the contrary, he said, theyshowed their pleasure by clapping their wings and chirping. 

"They clapped their wings, " said the tutor, "from the pain you put themto; and what you call chirping, were cries and lamentations. Could thosebirds have expressed themselves in your speech, you would have heardthem cry, 'Ah, father and mother! save us, for we have fallen into thehands of cruel children, who have robbed us of all our feathers! We arecold and in pain. Come, warm us and cure us, or we shall soon die!'"

The little ladies could no longer refrain from tears, and accused Billyof leading them into this act of cruelty. Billy was himself becomesensible of his faults, and had already felt the smart of having a fewhairs plucked from his head; but the reproaches of his own heart werenow visible on his countenance. It appeared to the tutor, that there wasno need of carrying the punishment any further; for the error Billy hadcommitted did not arise from a natural love of cruelty, but merely fromwant of thought and reflection. From this moment Billy, instead ofpunishing and tormenting dumb creatures, always felt for theirdistresses, and did what he could to relieve them. 

[Illustration]

WILLIAM AND THOMAS;

_Or, the Contrast between Industry and Indolence. _

[Illustration]

In a village, at no small distance from the metropolis, lived a wealthyhusbandman, who had two sons, William and Thomas, of whom the former wasexactly a year older than the latter. 

On the day that the second son was born, the husbandman set in hisorchard two young apple-trees of an equal size, on which he bestowed thesame care in cultivating, and they throve so much alike, that it was adifficult matter to say which claimed the preference. 

As soon as the children were capable of using garden implements, theirfather took them, on a fine day, early in the spring, to see the twoplants he had reared for them, and called after their names. William andThomas having admired the beauty of these trees, now filled withblossoms, their father told them that he made them a present of them ingood condition, and that they would continue to thrive or decay, inproportion to the labour or neglect they received. 

Thomas, though the younger son, turned all his attention to theimprovement of his tree, by clearing it of insects as soon as hediscovered them, and propping up the stem, that it might grow perfectlyupright. He dug all round it, to loosen the earth, that the root mightreceive nourishment from the warmth of the sun and the moisture of thedews. No mother could nurse a child more tenderly in its infancy, thanThomas did his tree. 

His brother William, however, pursued a very different conduct; for heloitered away all his time in the most idle and mischievous manner, oneof his principal amusements being to throw stones at people as theypassed. He kept company with all the idle boys in the neighbourhood, with whom he was continually fighting, and was seldom without either ablack eye or a broken shin. His poor tree was neglected, and neverthought of, till one day in the autumn, when, by chance, seeing hisbrother's tree loaded with the finest apples, and almost ready to breakdown with the weight, he ran to his own tree, not doubting but he shouldfind it in the same pleasing condition. 

Great indeed was his disappointment and surprise, when, instead offinding the tree loaded with excellent fruit, he beheld nothing but afew withered leaves, and branches covered with moss. He instantly wentto his father, and complained of his partiality in giving him a treethat was worthless and barren, while his brother's produced the mostluxuriant fruit. He therefore thought that his brother should at leastgive him one half of his apples. 

His father told him, that it was by no means reasonable, that theindustrious should give up part of their labour to feed the idle. "Ifyour tree, " said he, "has produced you nothing, it is but a just rewardof your indolence, since you see what the industry of your brother hasgained him. Your tree was equally full of blossoms, and grew in thesame soil; but you paid no attention to the culture of it. Your brothersuffered no visible insect to remain on his tree; but you neglected thatcaution, and left them even to eat up the very buds. As I cannot bear tosee even plants perish through neglect, I must now take this tree fromyou, and give it to your brother, whose care and attention may possiblyrestore it to its former vigour. The fruit it shall produce must be hisproperty, and you must no longer consider yourself as having any righttherein. However, you may go to my nursery, and there choose any otherwhich you may like better, and try what you can do with it; but, if youneglect to take proper care of it, I shall also take that from you, andgive it to your brother, as a reward for his superior industry andattention. "

This had the desired effect on William, who clearly perceived thejustice and propriety of his father's reasoning, and instantly got intothe nursery, to choose the most thriving apple-tree he could there meetwith. His brother Thomas assisted him in the culture of his tree, advising him in what manner to proceed; and William made the best use ofhis time, and the instructions he received from his brother. He left offall his mischievous tricks, forsook the company of idle boys, andapplied himself cheerfully to work; and in autumn received the reward ofhis labour, his tree being then loaded with fruit. 

From this happy change in his conduct, he derived the advantage, notonly of enriching himself with a plentiful crop of fruit, but also ofgetting rid of bad and pernicious habits. His father was so perfectlysatisfied with his reformation, that the following season he gave himand his brother the produce of a small orchard, which they sharedequally between them. 

[Illustration]

MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT, EXEMPLIFIED IN THE HISTORY OF

WILLIAM AND HARRY. 

[Illustration]

Mr. Stevenson and his little son Richard, as they were one fine daywalking in the fields together, passed by the side of a garden, in whichthey saw a beautiful pear-tree loaded with fruit. Richard cast a longingeye at it, and complained to his papa that he was very dry. On Mr. Stevenson's saying that he was dry also, but they must bear it withpatience till they got home, Richard pointed to the pear-tree, andbegged his papa would let him go and get one; for, as the hedge was notvery thick, he said he could easily get through, without being seen byany one. 

Richard's father reminded him, that the garden and fruit were privateproperty, and to take any thing from thence, without permission, wasnothing less than being guilty of a robbery. He allowed that there mightbe a possibility of getting into the garden without being seen by theowner of it; but such a wicked action could not be concealed from Himwho sees every action of our lives, and who penetrates even to the verysecrets of our hearts; and that is God. 

His son shook his head, and said, he was sensible of his error, andwould no more think of committing what might be called a robbery. Herecollected that parson Jackson had told him the same thing before, buthe had then forgotten it. 

At this instant a man started up from behind the hedge, which had beforeconcealed him from their sight. This was an old man, the owner of thegarden, who had heard every thing that had passed between Mr. Stevensonand his son. "Be thankful to God, my child, " said the old man, "thatyour father prevented you from getting into my garden with a view todeprive me of that which does not belong to you. You little thought, that at the foot of each tree is placed a trap to catch thieves, whichyou could not have escaped, and which might have lamed you for the restof your life. I am, however, happy to find that you so readily listen tothe first admonition of your father, and show such a fear of offendingGod. As you have behaved in so just and sensible a manner, you shallnow, without any danger or trouble, partake of the fruit of my garden. "He then went to the finest pear-tree, gave it a shake, and brought downnear a hatful of fruit, which he immediately gave to Richard. 

This civil old man could not be prevailed on to accept of any thing inreturn, though Mr. Stevenson pulled out his purse for that purpose. "Iam sufficiently satisfied, Sir, " said he, "in thus obliging your son, and were I to accept of any thing, that satisfaction would be lost. " Mr. Stevenson thanked him very kindly, and having shaken hands over thehedge, they parted; Richard at the same time taking leave of the old manin a polite manner. 

Little Richard, having finished several of the pears, began to findhimself at leisure to talk to his papa. "This is a very good old man, "said he; "but would God have punished me, had I taken these pearswithout his leave?" "He certainly would, " replied Mr. Stevenson; "for henever fails to reward good actions, and chastise those who commit evil. The good old man fully explained to you this matter, in telling you ofthe traps laid for thieves, into which you must have inevitably fallen, had you entered his garden in a clandestine manner. God orders everything that passes upon earth, and directs events so as to reward goodpeople for virtuous actions, and to punish the wicked for their crimes. In order to make this more clear to you, I will relate to you an affairwhich happened when I was a boy, and which I shall never forget. "Richard seemed very attentive to his father; and having said he shouldbe very glad to hear his story, Mr. Stevenson thus proceeded:--

"When I lived with my father, and was much about your age, we had twoneighbours, between whose houses ours was situated, and their names wereDavis and Johnson. Mr. Davis had a son named William, and Mr. Johnsonone also of the name of Harry. Our gardens were at that time separatedonly by quickset hedges, so that it was easy to see into each othersgrounds. 

"It was too often the practice with William, when he found himself alonein his father's garden, to take pleasure in throwing stones over thehedges, without paying the least regard to the mischief they might do. Mr. Davis had frequently caught him at this dangerous sport, and neverfailed severely to reprimand him for it, threatening him with severepunishment, if he did not desist. 

"This child, unhappily, either knew not, or would not take the troubleto reflect, that we are not to do amiss, even when we are alone, forreasons I have already mentioned to you. His father being one day goneout, and therefore thinking that nobody could see him, or bring him topunishment, he filled his pockets with stones, and then began to flingthem about at random. 

"Mr. Johnson happened to be in his garden at the same time, and his sonHarry with him. This boy was of much the same disposition as William, thinking there was no crime in committing any mischief, provided he werenot discovered. His father had a gun charged, which he brought into thegarden, in order to shoot the sparrows that made sad havoc among hischerries, and was sitting in a summer-house to watch them. 

"At this instant a servant came to acquaint him that a strange gentlemandesired to speak with him, and was waiting in the parlour. He thereforeput down the gun in the summer-house, and strictly ordered Harry by nomeans to touch it; but he was no sooner gone, than this naughty son saidto himself, that he could see no harm in playing a little with the gun;and therefore took it on his shoulder, and endeavoured to act the partof a soldier. 

"The muzzle of the gun happened to be pointed towards Mr. Davis'sgarden; and, just as he was in the midst of his military exercises, astone thrown by William hit him directly in one of his eyes. The frightand pain together made Harry drop the gun, which went off, and in amoment both gardens resounded with the most dismal shrieks andlamentations. Harry had received a blow in the eye with a stone, and thewhole charge had entered William's leg; the sad consequences of whichwere, the one lost his eye, and the other a leg. "

Richard could not help pitying poor William and Harry for their terriblemisfortune; and Mr. Stevenson was not angry with his son for histenderness. "It is true, " said he "they were much to be pitied, andtheir parents still more, for having such vicious and disobedientchildren. Yet it is probable, if God had not early punished these boys, they would have continued their mischievous practices as often as theyshould find themselves alone; but by this misfortune they learned toknow that God publicly punishes all wickedness done in secret. This hadthe desired effect, as both ever after left off all kinds of mischief, and became prudent and sedate. Certain it is, that an all-wise Creatornever chastises us but with a view to add to our happiness. "

Richard was very much struck with this story, and said, he hoped heshould never lose either a leg or an eye by such imprudent conduct. Thisinteresting conversation was interrupted by their arrival at their ownhouse; when Richard hastened to find his brothers and sisters, to tellthem the adventures of his walk, and the history of William and Harry. 

[Illustration]

ANTONY AND AUGUSTUS; OR A RATIONAL

EDUCATION PREFERABLE

TO RICHES. 

[Illustration]

A very early friendship commenced between Antony and Augustus, who werenearly of an age; and, as they were neighbours, they were almostinseparable companions. The father of Antony, whose name was Lenox, possessed a very lucrative employment under government, and was besidespossessed of a considerable fortune; but Mr. Littleton, the father ofAugustus, was not in such affluent circumstances; though he livedcontentedly, and turned all his thoughts to the welfare and happiness ofhis son, in giving him a well-grounded education, which he thought mightprove of more advantage to him than riches, or, at least, might amplysupply the place of them. 

As soon as Augustus was nine years of age, he was accustomed to bodilyexercise, and his mind inured to study, which at once contributed toimprove his health, strength, and understanding. Being thus used toexercise and motion, he was healthy and robust; and being contented andhappy in the affection of his parents, he enjoyed a tranquilcheerfulness, which much influenced those who enjoyed his company. 

Antony was one of his happy companions, who was always at a loss foramusement when Augustus was absent; and in that case, in order to fillup his time, he was continually eating without being hungry, drinkingwithout being dry, and slumbering without being sleepy. This naturallybrought on a weak habit of body, and frequent headaches. 

Both parents ardently wished to see their children healthy and happy;but Mr. Lenox unfortunately pursued that object in a wrong channel, bybringing up his son, even from his cradle, in the most excessivedelicacy. He was not suffered to lift himself a chair, whenever he had amind to change his seat, but a servant was called for that purpose. Hewas dressed and undressed by other people, and even the cutting of hisown victuals seemed a pain to him. 

While Augustus, in a thin linen jacket, assisted his father to cultivatea small garden for their amusement, Antony, in a rich velvet coat, waslolling in a coach, and paying morning visits with his mamma. If he wentabroad to enjoy the air, and got out of the carriage but for a minute, his great coat was put on, and a handkerchief tied round his neck, toprevent his catching cold. Thus accustomed to be humoured to excess, hewished for every thing he saw, or could think of; but his wish was nosooner obtained, than he became tired of it, and was constantly unhappyin the pursuit of new objects. 

As the servants had strict orders to obey him with implicit submission, he became so whimsical and imperious, that he was hated and despised byevery one in the house, excepting his parents. Augustus was his onlycompanion who loved him, and it was upon that account he patiently putup with his humours. He was so perfectly master of his temper, that hewould, at times, make him as good-humoured as himself. 

Mr. Lenox would sometimes ask Augustus how he contrived to be always somerry; to which he one day answered, that his father had told him, thatno person could be perfectly happy, unless they mixed some kind ofemployment with their pleasures. "I have frequently observed, " continuedAugustus, "that the most tedious and dull days I experience are those inwhich I do no kind of work. It is properly blending exercise withamusement that keeps me in such good health and spirits. I fear neitherthe winds nor the rain, neither the heat of summer nor the cold ofwinter, and I have frequently dug up a whole plat in my garden beforeAntony has quitted his pillow in the morning. "

Mr. Lenox felt the propriety of such conduct, and a sigh unavoidablyescaped him. He then went to consult Mr. Littleton in what manner heshould act, in order to make Antony as hearty and robust as Augustus. Mr. Littleton informed him in what manner he treated his son. "Thepowers of the body and mind, " said he, "should be equally kept inexercise, unless we mean them to be unserviceable, as money buried inthe ground would be to its owner. Nothing can be more injurious to thehealth and happiness of children, than using them to excess of delicacy, and, under the idea of pleasing them, to indulge them in their whimsicaland obstinate humours. The person who has been accustomed from hischildhood to have his humours flattered, will be exposed to manyvexatious disappointments. He will sigh after those things, the want orpossession of which will equally make him miserable. I have, however, every reason to believe, that Augustus will never be that man. "

Mr. Lenox saw the truth of these arguments, and determined to adopt thesame plan for the treatment of his son. But it was now too late, forAntony was fourteen years of age, and his mind and body so muchenervated, that he could not bear the least fatiguing exertions. Hismother, who was as weak as himself, begged of her husband not to teasetheir darling, and he was at last obliged to give way to herimportunities, when Antony again sunk into his former destructiveeffeminacy. The strength of his body declined, in proportion as his mindwas degraded by ignorance. 

As soon as Antony had entered his seventeenth year, his parents sent himto the university, intending to bring him up to the study of the law;and Augustus being intended for the same profession, he accompanied himthither. Augustus, in his different studies and pursuits, had never hadany other instructor than his father; while Antony had as many mastersas there are different sciences, from whom he learned only a superficialeducation, by retaining little more than the terms used in the differentbranches he had studied. Augustus, on the contrary, was like a garden, whose airy situation admits the rays of the sun to every part of it, andin which every seed, by a proper cultivation, advances rapidly toperfection. Already well instructed, he still thirsted after furtherknowledge, and his diligence and good behaviour afforded a pattern forimitation to all his companions. The mildness of his temper, and hisvivacity and sprightly humour, made his company at all times desirable;he was universally beloved, and every one was his friend. 

Antony was at first happy of being in the same room with Augustus; buthis pride was soon hurt on seeing the preference that was given by everyone to his friend, and he could not think of any longer submitting to somortifying a distinction. He therefore found some frivolous excuse, andforsook the company of Augustus. 

Antony, having now nobody to advise or check him, gave loose to hisvitiated taste, and wandered from pleasure to pleasure in search ofhappiness. It will be to little purpose to say, how often he blushed athis own conduct; but, being hardened by a repetition of his follies, hegradually fell into the grossest irregularities. To be short, he at lastreturned home with the seeds of a mortal distemper in his bosom, and, after languishing a few months, expired in the greatest agonies. 

Some time after, Augustus returned home to his parents, possessed of anequal stock of learning and prudence; his departure from the universitybeing regretted both by his teachers and companions. It may easily besupposed, that his family received him with transports of joy. You knownot, my little readers, how pleasing are those tender parental feelings, which arise from the prospect of seeing their children beloved andrespected! His parents thought themselves the happiest people, and tearsof joy filled their eyes when they beheld him. 

Augustus had not been long at home, before a considerable employment inhis profession was conferred on him, with the unanimous approbation ofall who were acquainted with his character. This enabled him to gratifyhis generous desire of promoting the felicity of his friends, and asense of their happiness added to his own. He was the comfort of hisparents in the evening of their lives, and with interest repaid theirattention and care of him in his childhood. An amiable wife, equallyendued with sense, virtue, and beauty, who bore him children likehimself, completed his happiness. 

In the characters of Antony and Augustus, we see the fatal consequencesof giving way to folly and vice, and what a happy effect the contraryconduct has. Antony fell a victim to the misguided indulgence of hisparents, while Augustus lived to be happy by the prudent management hereceived in his infancy. 

[Illustration]

THE DESTRUCTIVE CONSEQUENCES

OF DISSIPATION AND LUXURY. 

[Illustration]

On a fine evening, in the midst of summer, Mr. Drake and his son Alberttook a walk in some of the most agreeable environs of the city. The skywas clear, the air cool; and the purling streams, and gentle zyphyrsrustling in the trees, lulled the mind into an agreeable gloom. Albert, enchanted with the natural beauties that surrounded him, could not helpexclaiming, "What a lovely evening!" He pressed his father's hand, and, looking up to him, said, "You know not, papa, what thoughts rise in myheart!" He was silent for a moment, and then looked towards heaven, hiseyes moistened with tears. "I thank God, " said he, "for the happymoments he now permits me to enjoy! Had I my wish, every one shouldtaste the beauties of this evening as I do. Were I the king of a largecountry, I would make my subjects perfectly happy. "

Mr. Drake embraced his son, and told him, that the benevolent wish hehad just uttered came from a heart as generous as it was humane. "Butwould not your thoughts change with your fortune? Are you certain, thatin an exalted station you should preserve the sentiments which nowanimate you in that middling state, in which it has pleased Heaven toplace you?"

Albert was a little surprised that his father should ask such aquestion, for he had no idea that riches could bring with them crueltyand wickedness. 

Mr. Drake told him, that indeed was not always the case. "The world hasproduced fortunate persons, " said he, "who have remembered their pastdistresses, and have always retained the most charitable ideas for theunfortunate; but we too often see, what is a disgrace to the humanheart, that a change of fortune alters the most tender and sympatheticaffections. While we ourselves labour under misfortunes, we look upon itas a duty incumbent on every man to assist us. Should the hand of Godrelieve us, we then think that all his intentions in the preservation ofthe world are answered, and too often cease to remember thoseunfortunate wretches, who remain in the gulf from which we have beenrescued. You may see an instance of this in the man who frequently comesto beg charity of me, whom I relieve with reluctance, and cannot butcensure myself for so doing. "

Albert told his father that he had frequently observed how coolly he putmoney into his hands, without speaking to him in that tender language, which he generally used to other poor people. He therefore begged hisfather would tell him what could be his reason for it. 

"I will tell you, my dear, " said Mr. Drake, "what has been his conduct, and then leave you to judge how far I do right. Mr. Mason was alinen-draper in Cheapside; and though the profits of his business werebut moderate, yet a poor person never asked his charity in vain. This heviewed as his most pleasing extravagance, and he considered himselfhappy in the enjoyment of it, though he could not pursue this indulgenceto the extent of his wishes. Business one day called him on 'Change, heheard a number of capital merchants talking together of vast cargoes, and the immense profits to be expected from them. 'Ah!' said he tohimself, 'how happy these people are! Were I as rich, Heaven knows, Ishould not make money my idol, for the poor should plentifully partakeof my abundance. '

"This man went home with a bosom full of ambitious thoughts; but hiscircumstances were too narrow to embrace his vast projects, as itrequired no small share of prudence, in the management of his affairs, to make every thing meet the end of the year. 'Ah!' cried he, 'I shallnever get forward, nor rise above the middling condition, in which I atpresent linger. '

"In the midst of these gloomy thoughts, a paper inviting adventurers topurchase shares in the lottery was put into his hand. He seemed as ifinspired by Fortune, and caught the idea immediately. Withoutconsidering the inconvenience to which his covetousness might reducehim, he hastened to the lottery-office, and there laid out four guineas. From this moment he waited with impatience for the drawing, nor could hefind repose even at night on his pillow. He sometimes repented of havingso foolishly hazarded what he could not well bear the loss of, and atother times he fancied he saw riches pouring in upon him from allquarters. At last the drawing began, and, in the midst of his hopes andfears, Fortune favoured him with a prize of five thousand pounds. 

"Having received the money, he thought of nothing else for several days;but when his imagination had cooled a little, he began to think what usehe should make of it. He therefore increased his stock, extended hisbusiness, and, by care and assiduity in trade, soon doubled his capital. In less than ten years he became one of the most considerable men in thecity, and hitherto he had punctually kept his promise, in being thefriend and patron of the poor; for the sight of an unfortunate personalways put him in mind of his former condition, and pleaded powerfullyin behalf of the distressed. 

"As he now frequented gay company, he by degrees began to contract ahabit of luxury and dissipation: he purchased a splendid country-house, with elegant gardens, and his life became a scene of uninterruptedpleasures and amusements. All this extravagance, however, soon convincedhim, that he was considerably reducing his fortune; and his trade, whichhe had given up, to be the more at leisure for the enjoyment of hispleasures, no longer enabled him to repair it. Besides, having been solong accustomed to put no restraint on his vanity and pride, he couldnot submit to the meanness of lessening his expenses. 'I shall alwayshave enough for myself, ' thought he, 'and let others take care ofthemselves. '

"As his fortune decreased, so did his feelings for the distressed; andhis heart grew callous to the cries of misery, as with indifference wehear the roaring tempest when sheltered from its fury. Friends, whom hehad till then supported, came as usual to implore his bounty, but hereceived them roughly, and forbid them his house. 'Am I, ' said he, 'tosquander my fortune upon you? Do as I have done, and get one foryourselves. '

"His poor unhappy mother from whom he had taken half the pension he usedto allow her, came to beg a corner in any part of his house, where shemight finish her few remaining days; but he was so cruel as to refuseher request, and with the utmost indifference saw her perish for want. The measure of his crimes, however, was now nearly filled. His wealthwas soon exhausted in debaucheries and other excesses, and he hadneither the inclination nor ability to return to trade. Misery soonovertook him, and brought him to that state in which you now see him. Hebegs his bread from door to door, an object of contempt and detestationto all honest people, and a just example of the indignation of theAlmighty. "

Albert told his father, that if fortune made men so wicked andmiserable, he wished to remain as he was, above pity, and secure fromcontempt. 

"Think often, my dear child, " said his father to him, "of this story, and learn from this example, that no true happiness can be enjoyed, unless we feel for the misfortunes of others. It is the rich man's dutyto relieve the distresses of the poor; and in this more solid pleasureis found, than can be expected from the enervating excesses of luxuryand pomp. "

The sun was now sinking beneath the horizon, and his parting beamsreflected a lovely glow upon the clouds, which seemed to form a purplecurtain round his bed. The air, freshened by the approach of evening, breathed an agreeable calm; and the feathered inhabitants of the grovesung their farewell song. The wind rustling among the trees, added agentle murmur to the concert, and every thing seemed to inspire joy andhappiness, while Albert and his father returned to their house withthoughtful and pensive steps. 

[Illustration]

WILLIAM AND AMELIA. 

[Illustration]

In a pleasant village, at some distance from the metropolis, lived Lordand Lady Russel, who had brought up an orphan, named William, from hisinfancy; and had a stranger to the family seen in what a tender mannerhe was treated, he would have supposed him to be their son. This amiablecouple had only one child living, a daughter, named Amelia, who wasnearly of the same age with William, and the lady was pleased to seethat the two children had something beyond a common attachment for eachother. 

William and Amelia were one fine summer morning sauntering in theorchard with their little friend Charlotte, whose parents lived in theneighbourhood. Of the little misses, Amelia was the youngest, and notquite eight years of age. They were walking arm and arm, and hummingover a pretty song, then fashionable in the village collection ofBallads. At the same time William was walking before them, at somelittle distance, amusing himself with a shepherd's pipe. 

While Amelia and Charlotte were thus rambling about, they cast theireyes on some beautiful apples that hung on a fine tree, from which allthe fruit had been supposed to be gathered; but the branches had hiddensome from view, and in course had escaped the notice of the gatherers. The beautiful vermilion with which these apples were tinged, and whichthe leaves could not entirely hide, seemingly invited the hand to comeand take them. William instantly climbed the tree they were admiring, and threw down as many apples as he could reach, while the ladies belowheld their aprons to catch them as they fell. 

Chance directed it, that two or three, which were considered as thefinest, fell into the apron of Charlotte, who was much pleased with thisaccidental distribution, as she might with reason have been, had apremeditated preference been the cause of it; for William was in realitythe politest and prettiest little fellow in the village. 

Charlotte, with joy and triumph in her eyes, thus addressed herself toAmelia: "Only see how fine and large my apples are, while yours arenothing to compare to them!" Amelia was very much displeased with thesewords; she hung down her head, and putting on a serious countenance, remained silent during the remainder of the walk. William, by a hundredassiduities, endeavoured to recover Amelia's cheerfulness, again tospread a smile on her clouded countenance, and make her renew her usualpleasing prattle. 

As soon as they arrived near home, Charlotte took her leave. LittleWilliam then addressed his sister, for by that tender name he alwayscalled her, and asked her why she seemed so angry with him. "Certainly, "said he, "you cannot be angry at Charlotte having her share of theapples. You very well know that I always loved you best, and thereforeendeavoured to throw into your apron those apples, which, by chance, fell into Charlotte's. You must be sensible, that I could not afterwardstake them from her. Besides, I thought you of too generous a dispositionto take notice of such trifles. Be assured, the first opportunity thatshall offer, I will give you a convincing proof that I had no design tovex you, whatever you may at present think of my intentions. "

"Very pretty, indeed, Mr. William!" replied Amelia, with a look ofuneasiness and disdain. "Pray who told you that I was vexed? SupposeMiss Charlotte's apples had been ten times finer than mine, would thatbe any consideration to me? You very well know, Sir, that I am noglutton; neither should I have taken any notice of the preference youshowed her, had it not been for that saucy little creature's looks. Inever wish to see her more: and, as for you, fall down on your kneesthis instant, or I never will forgive you while I live. "

Little William could not think of submitting to such an indignity, asthat would be confessing a fault, of which he was not guilty, andtherefore now stood more upright than before. "I am no story-teller, Miss Amelia, " said he, "and therefore it is very wrong in you not tobelieve what I so positively affirm; for I certainly had no design tovex you. "

"Very wrong in me, Sir!" replied Amelia. "This is pretty indeed! But youneed not thus affront me, because Miss Charlotte is your favourite!" Sosaying, and bestowing a contemptuous curtsy on him, she left him with anaffected air of scorn and contempt. 

Dinner being now ready, they sat down at table, but pouted at each otherall the time it lasted. Amelia would not once drink, in order to avoidsaying, "Your good health, William;" and William, on his part, was sovexed at her treatment of him, that he was determined not to give up thepoint. Amelia, however, could not help sometimes stealing a glance atWilliam, and, from a corner of her eye, watch all his motions. As ithappened, one of these sly glances met the eye of William, who wasequally attentive to watch all the emotions of Amelia, without wishingto be observed. Their eyes thus meeting, she instantly turned hers awayto another object; and as William attributed this to contempt, which inreality it was not, he affected much indifference, and continued eatingwith the most apparent composure. 

As soon as the cloth was removed, and the wine and fruit put on thetable, poor Amelia, being sadly out of temper at the indifference sheexperienced from William, made a disrespectful answer to a question putto her by her mamma, and, for a second offence of the same nature, wasordered to retire from table. She obeyed, and bursting into a flood oftears, instantly withdrew, without caring whither she went. However, itso happened that the garden door was open; she therefore flew down thewalk, and went into the arbour, in order there, in secret, to vent hergrief. Here she cried most lamentably; and soon repented of herquarrelling with William, who constantly, whenever she happened to getinto disgrace with her mamma, would not only weep with her, butendeavour to bring about a reconciliation, which he never failed toaccomplish. 

Though William continued at table, he could not help feeling for thedisgrace of Amelia. He had fixed his eye on two peaches, andendeavoured to contrive means of getting them into his pocket, in orderto convey them to Amelia, whom he knew he should find somewhere in thegarden, and he could easily make an excuse to go thither; yet he wasfearful of having his intentions discovered. He pushed back his chair, then brought it forwards several times, and was continually lookingdown, as if for something on the carpet. "Pretty little Cæsar! sweetPompey!" cried he, speaking to two dogs then in the room. At this timehe held a peach in his hand, which he meant to slip into his pocket assoon as he could discover the eyes of my lord and lady attracted by anyother object. "Only see, papa and mamma, " continued he, "how prettilythey are playing!"

His lordship replied, that they would not eat one another, he wouldanswer for it; and having just looked at them, put himself into hisformer position. Thus poor William, who thought he was sure of thenpocketing the peach, was sadly disappointed, and obliged to replace iton the table. 

These motions, however, were observed by Lady Russel, who conjecturedwhat were his intentions. She therefore for some time enjoyed the poorfellow's embarrassments, and made his lordship acquainted with it bylooks and dumb motions. 

William, who had no idea that his scheme was suspected, being fearful oftrying the same stratagem twice, instantly thought of another expedient. He took a peach, and placed it in the hollow of his hands both puttogether, after which he conducted it to his mouth, and made believe asthough he was really eating it. Then, while with his left hand he foundmeans to clap his peach into a cavity he had previously hollowed in thenapkin on his knees, he put his right hand out to reach the other, whichhe disposed of in the same manner. 

In a few minutes my lord and lady forgot to watch the motions ofWilliam, and entered into conversation on various subjects. He thereforethought this a proper opportunity to get away, rose up from table withboth peaches in the napkin, and began to imitate the mewing of a cat, which a young shepherd's boy had lately taught him. His view in this wasto engage the attention of Cæsar and Pompey, in which he succeeded, asthey both got up, and jumped about the room. 

Lady Russel was a little angry with him for making such a noise, andtold him, if he wanted to make such a mewing as that, the garden was themost proper place. William pretended to be very much confused at thisreproof, though the consequence of it was the very thing he wanted. Hethen instantly ran up to Cæsar, "See, mamma, " said William, "he wants tobite Pompey!" and as he turned, he dexterously slipped the napkin intohis pocket, and pretended to run after Cæsar, to punish him. The dog rantowards the door Amelia had left open when she went into the garden, andaway went William in pursuit of her. 

Lady Russel called William back, and asked him where he was going. "Mydear mamma, " said he, "if you please, I will take a turn in the garden, and I hope you will not refuse me that favour. " As lady Russel did notimmediately answer him, he lowered his voice and spoke in a moresuppliant manner. At last, having obtained her permission, away he ranwith so much haste, that his foot slipped, and down he fell; but, luckily, neither he nor the peaches were hurt. 

After searching round the garden for his sister, he at last found herin the arbour, sitting in an attitude of sorrow. She was exceedinglyunhappy to think she had grieved the three best friends she had, herworthy parents and her dear William. "My sweetest Amelia, " said thelittle fellow, falling on his knees at the same time, "let us befriends. I would freely ask forgiveness for my fault, had I reallyintended to displease you. If you will ask my pardon, I will ask yoursalso. My pretty Amelia, let us be friends. Here are two nice peaches, which I could not think of eating while you were not present to partakeof them. "

"Ah, my dearest Billy, " said Amelia, squeezing his hand while she spoke, and weeping on his shoulder, "what a sweet good-tempered little fellowyou are! Certainly, " continued she, sobbing while she spoke, "those thatare friends to us in our misfortunes are truly valuable. It was verywrong in me to be so vexed, as I was this morning, about the loss of afew apples. It was the insulting look that Miss Charlotte gave me thatwas the cause of it; but I will think of her no more. Will you forgiveme?" added she, wiping off the tears she had let fall on William'shand. "I confess that I sometimes love to plague you; but keep yourpeaches, for I cannot think of eating them. "

"As to plaguing me, sister, " answered William, "you may do that as oftenas you like; but, I assure you, nobody shall do so but yourself: as tothe peaches, I most certainly will not eat them. I have already told youso, and my word is like the law of the Medes and Persians, whichaltereth not. "

"For the very same reason, " said Amelia, "I shall not eat them, " andimmediately threw them both over the garden wall; for, besides herhaving said she would not eat them, she could not bear the thought ofreceiving a bribe to reconcile a quarrel. Amelia's next considerationwas, how to make it up with her mamma; and she said she should be happyindeed, if she would but permit her to appear before her, and ask herpardon. 

The generous little William no sooner heard these words, than hepromised to settle that business, and away he instantly ran; but beforehe had taken many steps, he stopped short, and, turning round, said, "Iwill tell mamma, that it was I who made you anger her, by having vexedyou in the morning. "

Little William succeeded beyond his expectations, and all parties weresoon reconciled to each other. A friendship so affectionate and generousis highly worthy of the imitation of all my juvenile readers. 

[Illustration]

THE RIVAL DOGS. 

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A gentleman, whose name was Howard, had brought up two pretty dogs frompuppies. The one he called Castor and the other Pollux, hoping theywould live in such friendship together as did the two illustriousheroes, after whom they were named. Though they both came from the samemother, and, at the same time, had been fed together, and equallytreated, yet it was soon seen that there was a great difference in theirtempers and dispositions. 

Castor was of a meek and tractable nature; but Pollux was fierce andquarrelsome. When any person took notice of the generous Castor, hewould wag his tail, and jump about for joy, nor was he ever jealous onseeing more notice taken of his brother than of himself. The surlyPollux, on the contrary, whenever Mr. Howard had him on his lap, wouldgrowl and grumble at Castor if he attempted to come near him, or if anyone took notice of him. 

When any of Mr. Howard's friends happened to come on a visit to hishouse, and bring their dogs along with them, the good-natured Castorwould immediately mix among them, and, in his way, endeavoured to amusethem. As he was by nature extremely pliant and engaging, they were allpeace and harmony whenever it fell to his lot to entertain them. Theywould jump and play about the house, as boys do in school when they areleft to themselves. 

The surly Pollux acted a very different part. He would sneak into acorner, and bark all day at the strangers. If any one of them happenedto pass too near him, he would then be sure to snarl and grin, and wouldoften start up, and bite their ears or tails. If his master happened totake any notice of either of the strange dogs on account of theirgood-nature or handsomeness, Pollux would howl as loud as if thieveswere actually breaking into the house. 

This odious disposition of Pollux did not escape the notice of Mr. Howard, who gradually began to neglect him; while Castor, on thecontrary, was every day increasing in his master's favour. 

As Mr. Howard was one day sitting at table, it suddenly entered his mindto make a more particular trial of the temper of these two dogs than hehad hitherto done. Both happened to be attending at table, but Polluxwas nearest his master; for the good-natured Castor, in order to avoidstrife and contention, always let him choose his place. 

Mr. Howard threw a nice piece of meat to Pollux, which he devoured withmuch greediness. Castor showed no signs of uneasiness at this, butpatiently waited till his master should think it was his turn. Soonafterwards, Mr. Howard threw Castor a bone, with hardly any meat on it:but he took it without showing the least mark of discontent. The surlyPollux, however, no sooner saw his brother engaged on a meatless bone, though he had feasted on his own delicious morsel, than he fell uponhim, and took it from him. The good-natured Castor made no opposition, but gave up the bone without a murmur. 

My readers must not from hence imagine that Castor was a coward, or wasin the least afraid of the strength of his brother; for he had latelygiven sufficient proof of his courage and resolution, in a battle he hadbeen drawn into by Pollux, whose intolerable moroseness had brought onhim the vengeance of a neighbouring dog. Pollux, after engaging hisantagonist only a few minutes, though he had provoked the dog to try hisstrength, ran away like a coward; but Castor, in order to cover theretreat of his brother, and without any one to take his part, fought himlike a hero, and at last forced him to run away likewise. 

Mr. Howard was well acquainted with this circumstance; and, as he hadbefore established his credit in point of courage, so was his master nowfully convinced of his good temper, and the surly and cowardlydisposition of his brother. "My good fellow, " said Mr. Howard toCastor, "it is but just that you should, at least, fare as well as yourbrother, who does not deserve as much as you. " So saying, he cut off alarge piece of nice meat and gave it to Castor. 

Pollux, seeing so nice a morsel given to his brother, accompanied withsuch cutting words from his master, began to growl and snarl. "Since youhave shown so much complaisance and generosity to your brother, "continued Mr. Howard, still speaking to Castor, "who in return treatsyou with ill manners, jealousy, and envy, you shall in future be my owndog, and be at liberty to range about the house at your pleasure: butyour brother shall be confined in the yard. Here, " cried he, "bring achain for Pollux, and order the carpenter to make him a little house!"The order was instantly obeyed, and Pollux was led to his kennel, whilehis brother rambled about at liberty. 

Had Pollux received so singular a mark of favour, he would undoubtedlyhave supported it with insolence; but Castor was of a differentdisposition, and appeared very unhappy at his brother's disgrace. Whenever any nice bit was given to Castor, he would run away with it toPollux, wag his tail for joy, and invite him to partake of it. In short, the visited him every night in his house, and did every thing he couldto amuse him under his sufferings. 

Notwithstanding all these marks of tenderness, Pollux always receivedhis brother in the most surly manner, howling as though he were come todevour him, and treating him with every mark of disrespect. At length, rage and disappointment inflamed his blood, he pined away by degrees, and at last died a miserable spectacle. 

The moral of this history is so obvious, that there hardly appears anecessity to tell my young readers, that such a disposition as Pollux'smust render its possessor an object of contempt and abhorrence, whilethat of Castor will ever be beloved and respected. 

[Illustration]

CLEOPATRA; OR THE REFORMED

LITTLE TYRANT. 

[Illustration]

A pert little hussey, whose name was Cleopatra, was continually teasingand commanding her poor brother. "So, you will not do what I bid you, Mr. Obstinacy?" she would often say to him: "Come, come, Sir, obey, orit shall be worse for you. "

If Cleopatra's word might be taken for it, her brother did every thingwrong; but, on the contrary, whatever she thought of doing was themasterpiece of reason and sound sense. If he proposed any kind ofdiversion, she was sure to consider it as dull and insipid; but itoften happened, that she would herself the next day recommend the samething, and, having forgotten what she had said of it before, consider itas the most lively and entertaining. 

Her brother was obliged to submit to her unaccountable whims andfancies, or else endure the most disagreeable lectures a little femaletongue could utter. If ever he presumed to be so hardy as to reason withher on her strange conduct, instant destruction to his playthings werethe inevitable consequence of it. 

Her parents saw with regret this strange and tyrannical disposition oftheir daughter, and in vain did every thing they could think of to breakher of it. Her mother, in particular, continually enforced on her mind, that such children never procured the esteem of others; and that a girl, who set up her own opinion against that of every one else, would soonbecome intolerable and insupportable to all her acquaintance. Thisprudent advice, however, made no impression on her stubborn heart; andher brother, wearied out by her caprice and tyranny, began to have verylittle affection for her. It one day happened that a gentleman of a freeand open temper, dined at their house. He could not help observing withwhat a haughty air she treated her poor brother, and, indeed, everyother person in the room. At first, the rules of politeness kept himfrom saying any thing; but at last, tired out with her impertinence, hebegan addressing his discourse to her mamma in the following manner:

"I was lately in France, and, as I was fond of being present at thesoldiers' exercises, I used to go as often as I could, to see theirmanoeuvres on the parade, nearly in the same manner as they do here atSt. James's. Among the soldiers there were many I observed withwhiskers, which gave them a very fierce and soldier-like look. Now, hadI a child like your Cleopatra, I would instantly give her a soldier'suniform, and put her on a pair of whiskers, when she might, with rathermore propriety than at present, act the part of a commander. "

Cleopatra heard this, and stood covered with confusion; she could nothelp blushing, and was unable to conceal her tears. However, thisreproach perfectly reformed her, and she became sensible how unbecomingwas a tyrannizing temper. It has been observed, that to be sensible ofour errors is half the work of reformation. So it happened withCleopatra, who with the assistance of her mother's prudent counsels, became an amiable girl. 

Her reformation was a credit to her; and it is much to be wished thatall young ladies, who take no pains to conquer their passions, would atlast imitate Cleopatra, and wish to avoid being told, that a soldier'sdress and a pair of whiskers would better become them than nice cambricfrocks and silk slips. Had Cleopatra attended to the advice of herparents, and not have imagined that greatness consists in impertinence, she would have been happy much sooner than she was. 

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THE PASSIONATE BOY. 

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Young Frederick had naturally a noble soul, elevated thoughts, andgenerous notions. His turn of mind was lively, his imagination strongand quick, and his temper cheerful and pleasing. Indeed, the elegance ofhis person, and his behaviour and accomplishments, gained him therespect of every one; but, notwithstanding all these amiable qualities, he had one unhappy defect, which was that of giving way too readily tothe most violent emotions of passion. 

It would frequently happen that, while he was amusing himself in thecircle of his playmates, the most trifling contradiction would rufflehis temper, and fill him with the highest degree of rage and fury, little short of a state of madness. 

As he happened to be one day walking about his chamber, and meditatingon the necessary preparations for a treat his father had permitted himto give his sister, his dear friend and favourite, Marcus, came to him, to advise with him on that business. Frederick, being lost in thought, saw not his friend, who therefore having spoken to him in vain, drewnearer to him, and began to pull him by the sleeve. Frederick, angry, and out of patience with these interruptions, suddenly turned round, andgave Marcus such a push, that he sent him reeling across the room, andhe at last fell against the wainscot. 

Marcus lay motionless on the floor, without the least appearance oflife; for, in his fall, he had struck his head against something whichhad given him a deep and terrible wound, from which issued a greatquantity of blood. How shall we describe the situation of poorFrederick, who loved his friend tenderly, and for whom he would, onoccasion, have sacrificed his life?

Frederick fell down beside him, crying out most lamentably, "He is dead!he is dead! I have killed my dear friend Marcus!" So great were hisfright and consternation, that he had no idea of calling for assistance, but lay by his side, uttering the most dismal groans. Happily, however, his father heard him, and, instantly running in, took up Marcus in hisarms. He called for some sugar to stop the bleeding of the wound, andhaving applied some salts to his nose, and some water to his temples, they brought him a little to himself. 

Frederick was transported with joy when he perceived symptoms of life inhis friend; but the fear of relapse kept him in the greatest anxiety. They immediately sent for a surgeon, who, as soon as he arrived, searched the wound. He found it was not in the temple, but so very closeto it, that the tenth part of an inch nearer would probably have madethe wound dangerous indeed, if not mortal. 

Marcus, being carried home, soon became delirious, and Frederick couldnot be persuaded to leave him. He sat down by the side of his poorfriend, wholly absorbed in silence. Marcus, while he remained in thatdelirious state, frequently pronounced the name of Frederick. "My dearFrederick, " he would sometimes say, "what could I have done to deservebeing treated in this manner? Yet, I am sure, you cannot be less unhappythan myself, when you reflect you wounded me without a cause. However, Iwould not wish your generous nature should be grieved. Let us forgiveeach other; I for vexing you, and you for wounding me. "

In this manner did Marcus talk, without being sensible that Frederickwas near him, though he held him by the hand at the same time. Everyword, thus pronounced, in which there could be neither flattery nordeceit, went to the heart of the afflicted Frederick, and rendered hisgrief almost insupportable. 

In ten days time, however, it pleased God to abate the fever, and he wasenabled to get up, to the great joy of his parents; but how can weexpress the feelings of Frederick on this happy occasion! That task mustbe left for those who may have unfortunately been in a similarsituation; his joy now was undoubtedly as great as his sorrow had been. 

Marcus at last got perfectly well, and Frederick, in consequence, recovered his former cheerfulness and good humour. He now stood in needof no other lesson, than the sorrowful event that had lately takenplace, to break himself of that violence of temper, to which he had beenso long a slave. In a little time, no appearance of the wound remained, excepting a small scar near his temple, which Frederick could never lookat without some emotion, even after they were both grown up to manhood. Indeed, it ever afterwards was considered as a seal of that friendship, which they never lost sight of. 

[Illustration]

CAROLINE; OR, A LESSON TO CURE

VANITY. 

[Illustration]

A plain white frock had hitherto been the only dress of Caroline; silverbuckles in her red morocco shoes; and her ebon hair, which had neverfelt the torturing iron, flowed upon her shoulders in graceful ringlets, now and then disturbed by the gentle winds. 

Being one day in company with some little girls, who, though no olderthan herself, were dressed in all the empty parade of fashion, the glareand glitter of those fine clothes raised in her heart a desire she hadnever before felt. 

As soon as she got home, "My dear mamma, " said she, "I have thisafternoon seen Miss Flippant and her two sisters, whom you very wellknow. The eldest is not older than myself, and yet they were all dressedin the most elegant manner. Their parents must certainly have greatpleasure in seeing them so finely dressed; and, as they are not richerthan you, do, my dear mamma, let me have a fine silk slip, embroideredshoes like theirs, and let my hair be dressed by Mr. Frizzle, who issaid to be a very capital man in his profession!"

Her mother replied, that she would have no objection to gratify herwishes, provided it would add to her happiness; but she was ratherfearful it might have a contrary effect. As Miss Caroline could not givein to this mode of thinking, she requested her mamma to explain herreasons for what she had said. 

"Because, " said her mother, "you will be in continual fear of spottingyour silk slip, and even rumpling it whenever you wear it. A dress likethat of Miss Flippant will require the utmost care and attention topreserve it from accidents; for a single spot will spoil its beauty, andyou very well know there is no washing of silks. However extensive myfortune may be, I assure you, it is not sufficient to purchase you silkgowns as often as you would wish to have them. "

Miss Charlotte considered these arguments as very trifling, and promisedto give her mamma no uneasiness as to her carelessness in wearing herfine clothes. Though her mamma consented to let her be dressed in themanner she requested, yet she desired her to remember the hints she hadgiven her of the vexations to which her vanity would expose her. 

Miss Caroline, on whom this good advice had no effect, lost not a momentin destroying all the pleasure and enjoyment of her infancy. Her hair, which before hung down in careless ringlets, was now twisted up inpaper, and squeezed between a burning pair of tongs; that fine jet, which had hitherto so happily set off the whiteness of her forehead, waslost under a clod of powder and pomatum. 

In a few days the mantua-maker arrived with a fine slip of pea-greentaffety, with fine pink trimmings, and a pair of shoes, elegantly workedto answer the slip. The sight of them gave infinite pleasure toCaroline; but it was easily to be perceived, when she had them on, thather limbs were under great restraint, and her motions had lost theiraccustomed ease and freedom. That innocence and candour, which used toadorn her lovely countenance, began to be lost amidst the profusion offlowers, silks, gauzes, and ribands. 

The novelty, however, of her appearance quite enchanted her. Her eyes, with uncommon eagerness, wandered over every part of her dress, and wereseldom removed, unless to take a general survey of the whole in a pierglass. She prevailed on her mamma to let her send cards of invitation toall her acquaintances, in order to enjoy the inexpressible pleasure ofbeing gazed at. As soon as they were met, she would walk backwards andforwards before them, like a peacock, and seemed to consider herself asthe empress of the world, and they as her vassals. 

All this triumph and consequence, however, met with many mortifyingcircumstances. The children who lived near her were one day permitted toramble about the fields, when Caroline accompanied them, and led theway. What first attracted their attention was a beautiful meadow, enamelled with a variety of charming flowers; and butterflies, whosewings were of various colours, hovered over its surface. The littleladies amused themselves with hunting these butterflies, which theydexterously caught without hurting them; and, as soon as they hadexamined their beauties, let them fly again. Of the flowers that sprungbeneath their feet they made nosegays, formed in the prettiest taste. 

Though pride would not at first permit Miss Caroline to partake of thesemean amusements, yet she at last wanted to share in the diversion; butthey told her that the ground might be damp, which would infalliblystain her shoes, and hurt her silk slip. They had discovered herintention in thus bringing them together, which was only to show herfine clothes, and they were therefore resolved to mortify her vanity. 

Miss Caroline was of course under the necessity of being solitary andinactive, while her companions sported on the grass, without fear ofincommoding themselves. The pleasure she had lately taken in viewing herfine slip and shoes was, at this moment, but a poor compensation forthe mirth and merriment she thereby lost. 

On one side of the meadow grew a fine grove of trees, which resoundedwith the various notes of innumerable birds, and which seemed to inviteevery one that passed that way to retire thither, and partake of theindulgences of the shade. The little maidens entered this grove, jumpingand sporting, without fearing any injury to their clothes. Miss Carolinewould have followed them, but they advised her not, telling her, thatthe bushes would certainly tear her fine trimmings. She plainly saw thather friends, who were joyously sporting among the trees, were makingthemselves merry at her expense, and therefore grew peevish andill-humoured. 

The youngest of her visitors, however, had some sort of compassion onher. She had just discovered a corner, where a quantity of fine wildstrawberries grew, when she called to Miss Caroline, and invited her toeat part of them. This she readily attempted; but no sooner had sheentered the grove, than she was obliged to call out for help. Hereuponthe children all gathered to the spot, and found poor Caroline fastenedby the gauze of her hat to a branch of white-thorn, from which she couldnot disengage herself. They immediately took out the pins that fastenedher hat; but, to add to her misfortunes, as her hair, which had beenfrizzed with so much labour, was also entangled with the branch ofwhite-thorn, it cost her almost a whole lock before she could be set atliberty. Thus, in an instant, was all the boasted superstructure of herhead-dress put into a state of confusion. 

After what had passed, it cannot be difficult to suppose in what mannerher playmates viewed this accident. Instead of consolation, of whichCaroline stood in much need, they could not refrain laughing at the oddfigure she made, and did actually torment her with a hundred wittyjokes. After having put her a little into order, they quitted her insearch of new amusements, and were soon seen at the top of aneighbouring hill. 

Miss Caroline found it very difficult to reach this hill; for her fineshoes, that were made very tight, in order to set off her feet thebetter, greatly retarded her speed. Nor was this the onlyinconvenience; for her stays were drawn so close, that she could notproperly breathe. She would very willingly have gone home to change herdress, in order to be more at ease; but she well knew that her friendswould not give up their amusements to please her caprice. 

Her playmates having reached the summit of the hill, enjoyed thebeautiful prospect that surrounded them on all sides. On one hand wereseen verdant meadows; on the other the riches of the harvest, withmeandering streams that intersected the fields, and country seats andcottages scattered here and there. So grand a prospect could not fail ofdelighting them, and they danced about with joy; while poor Carolinefound herself obliged to remain below, overwhelmed with sorrow, notbeing able to get up the hill. 

In such a situation, she had leisure enough to make the most sorrowfulreflections. "To what purpose, " said she to herself, "am I dressed inthese fine clothes? Of what a deal of pleasure do they debar me; and donot all my present sufferings arise merely from the possession of them?"She was giving up her mind to these distressing thoughts, when shesuddenly saw her friends come running down the hill, and all crying outtogether as they passed her. "Run, run, Caroline! there is a terriblestorm behind the hill, and it is coming towards us: if you do not makehaste, your fine silk slip will be nicely soused!"

The fear of having her slip spoiled, recalled her strength; she forgother weariness, pinched feet, and tight-laced waist, and made all thehaste she could to get under cover. In spite of all her efforts, however, she could not run so fast as her companions, who were notincommoded by their dresses. Every moment produced some obstacle to herspeed; at one time by her hoop and flounces, in the narrow paths she hadto pass through; at another, by her train, of which the furzesfrequently took hold; and at others by Mons. Pomatum and Powder's finescaffold work about her head, on which the wind beat down the branchesof such trees as she was obliged, in her progress home, to pass under. 

At last, down came the storm with great fury, and hail and rain, mixed, fell in torrents. All her companions were safe at home before it began;and none were exposed to its rage but poor Caroline, who, indeed, gothome at last, but in a most disastrous condition. She had left one ofher fine shoes behind her in a large muddy hole, which in herprecipitate flight, she had hurried over without observing; and, to fillup the measure of her misfortunes, just as she had got over the meadow, a sudden gust of wind made free with her hat, and blew it into a pond ofstagnated and filthy water. 

So completely soaked was every thing she had on, and the heat and rainhad so glued her linen to her, that it was with some difficulty they gother undressed; as to her silk slip, it indeed afforded a miserablespectacle of fallen pride and vanity. 

Her mother, seeing her in tears, jocosely said to her, "My dear, shall Ihave another slip made up for you against to-morrow?"--"Oh no, mamma, "answered Caroline, kissing her, "I am perfectly convinced, fromexperience, that fine clothes cannot add to the happiness of the wearer. Let me again have my nice white frock, and no more powder and pomatumtill I am at least ten years older; for I am ashamed of my folly andvanity. "

Caroline soon appeared in her former dress, and with it she recoveredher usual ease and freedom, looking more modest and pleasing than sheever did in her gaudy finery. Her mamma did not regret the loss she hadsustained in the wreck of the slip, fine shoes, and hat, since itproduced the means of bringing her daughter back to reason and prudence. 

[Illustration]

ARTHUR AND ADRIAN; OR TWO HEADS

BETTER THAN ONE. 

[Illustration]

Adrian had frequently heard his father say, that children had but littleknowledge with respect to what was the most proper for them; and, thatthe greatest proof they could give of their wisdom, consisted infollowing the advice of people who had more age and experience. This wasa kind of doctrine Adrian did not understand, or at least would not, andtherefore it is no wonder he forgot it. 

This wise and good father had allotted him and his brother Arthur aconvenient piece of ground, in order that each might be possessed of alittle garden, and display his knowledge and industry in the cultivationof it. They had also leave to sow whatever seed they should thinkproper, and to transplant any tree they liked out of their father'sgarden into their own. 

Arthur remembered those words of his father which his brother Adrian hadforgotten, and therefore went to consult their gardener, Rufus. "Praytell me, " said he, "what is now in season to sow in my garden, and inwhat manner I am to set about my business. " The gardener hereupon gavehim several roots and seeds, such as were properest for the season. Arthur instantly ran and put them in the ground; and Rufus very kindlynot only assisted him in the work, but made him acquainted with manythings necessary to be known. 

Adrian, on the other hand, shrugged up his shoulders at his brother'sindustry, thinking he was taking much more pains than was necessary. Rufus, not observing this contemptuous treatment, offered him likewisehis assistance and instruction; but he refused it in a manner thatsufficiently betrayed his vanity and ignorance. He then went into hisfather's garden, and took from thence a quantity of flowers, which heimmediately transplanted into his own. The gardener took no notice ofhim, but left him to do as he liked. 

When Adrian visited his garden the following morning, all the flowers hehad planted hung down their heads, like so many mourners at a funeral, and, as he plainly saw, were in a dying state. He replaced them withothers from his father's garden; but, on visiting them the next morning, he found them perishing like the former. 

This was a matter of great vexation to Adrian, who consequently becamesoon disgusted with this kind of business. He had no idea of taking somuch pains for the possession of a few flowers, and therefore gave it upas an unprofitable game. Hence his piece of ground soon became awilderness of weeds and thistles. 

As he was looking into his brother's garden, about the beginning ofsummer, he saw something of a red colour hanging near the ground, which, on examination, he found to be strawberries of a delicious flavour. "Ah!" said he, "I should have planted strawberries in my garden. "

Sometime afterwards, walking again in his brother's garden, he sawlittle berries of a milk-white colour, which hung down in clusters fromthe branches of a bush. Upon examination, he found they were currants, which even the sight of was a feast. "Ah!" said he, "I should haveplanted currants in my garden. "

The gardener then observed to him, that it was his own fault that hisgarden was not as productive as his brother's. "Never, for the future, "said Rufus, "despise the instruction and assistance of any one, sinceyou will find by experience, that _two heads are better than one_. "

[Illustration]

MADAM D'ALLONE AND HER FOUR

PUPILS. 

[Illustration]

Madam D'Allone was the governess of four young ladies, Emilia, Harriot, Lucy, and Sophia, whom she loved with the tenderness of a mother. Herprincipal wish was, that her pupils might be virtuous and happy, andthat they might enjoy all the comforts of life with tranquillity. Theyeach experienced an equal share of her indulgence, and each received thesame treatment, either as to pardon for errors, or rewards, orpunishments. 

Her endeavours were crowned with the happiest success, and her fourlittle girls became the sweetest children upon earth. They told eachother of their faults, and as readily forgave offences; they shared ineach other's joys, nor were they ever happy when separated. 

An unforeseen event, however, disturbed this happy tranquillity, just atthe very moment they began to taste its charms, which served to convincethem how necessary it was to be guided by their prudent governess. 

Madam D'Allone was obliged to leave her pupils for a little time, afamily affair having made it necessary for her to visit France. She leftthem with much reluctance, even sacrificed her interest, in somemeasure, to the desire of speedily settling her affairs, and, in thecourse of a month, returned in safety to her little flock, who receivedher with the warmest expressions of joy; but the alteration sheperceived in her children very much surprised and alarmed her. 

She saw it frequently happen, that if one asked the slightest favour ofanother, it was ill-naturedly refused, and from thence arose tumults andquarrels. That gaiety and cheerfulness, which had used to accompany alltheir sports and pastimes, were now changed to a gloomy perverseness;and instead of those tender expressions of love and friendship, whichhad constantly dwelt in all their conversations, nothing was now heardbut perpetual jarrings and wranglings. If one proposed a walk in thegarden, another would give some reason why she wished to remain in herchamber; and, in short, their only study seemed to be to thwart eachother. 

It happened one day that, not contented with showing each other how muchthey delighted in perverseness, they mutually distressed themselves withreciprocal reproaches. 

Madam D'Allone beheld this scene with the greatest uneasiness, and couldnot help shedding tears on the occasion. She did not then think itprudent to say any thing to them, but retired to her chamber, in orderthere to think of the properest means of restoring peace and harmonyamong her unhappy pupils. 

While she was turning these afflicting thoughts in her mind, all thefour young ladies entered her apartment with a peevish and uneasy look, each complaining of the ill-temper of the rest. There was not one butwhat charged the other three with being the cause of it, and alltogether begged their governess would, if possible, restore to them thathappiness they once possessed. 

Their governess put on a very serious countenance, and said, "I haveobserved, my pupils, that you endeavour to thwart each other, andthereby destroy your pleasures. In order, therefore, that no such thingmay happen again, let each take up her corner in this room, if shechoose it, and divert herself in what manner she pleases, provided shedoes not interfere with either of her sisters. You may immediately haverecourse to this mode of recreation, as you have leave to play tillnight; but remember that neither of you stir from the corner in which Ishall place you. "

The little maidens, who were no way displeased with this proposal, hastened to their different quarters, and began to amuse themselves eachin her own way. Sophia commenced a conversation with her doll, or rathertold her many pretty little stories; but her doll had not the gift ofspeech, and consequently was no companion. She could not expect anyentertainment from her sisters, as they were playing, each asunder, intheir respective corners. 

Lucy took her battledore and shuttlecock, but there was none to admireher dexterity; besides, she was not allowed to strike it across theroom, as that would have been an invasion on one of her sister'sterritories. She could not expect that either of them would quit theiramusements to oblige her. 

Harriot was very fond of her old game of hunt the slipper; but what wasshe to do with the slipper by herself; she could only shove it from handto hand. It was in vain to hope for such service from her sisters, aseach was amusing herself in her assigned corner. 

Emilia, who was a very skilful pretty housewife, was thinking how shemight give her friends an entertainment, and of course sent out for manythings to market; but there was at present nobody near, with whom shemight consult on the occasion, for her sisters were amusing themselveseach in her corner. 

Every attempt they made to find some new amusement failed, and allsupposed that a compromise would be most agreeable; but, as matters werecarried so far, who was first to propose it? This each would haveconsidered as a humiliating circumstance; they therefore kept theirdistance, and disdainfully continued in their solitude. The day at lastclosing, they returned to Madam D'Allone, and begged her to think ofsome other amusement for them, than the ineffectual one they had tried. 

"I am sorry, my children, " said their governess, "to see you all sodiscontented. I know but of one way to make you happy, with which youyourselves were formerly acquainted, but which, it seems, you haveforgotten. Yet, if you wish once more to put it into practice, I caneasily bring it to your recollections. " They all answered together, asthough with one voice, that they heartily wished to recollect it, andstood attentive while their governess was looking at them, in eagerexpectation to hear what she had to say. 

"What you have lost, or at least forgotten, " replied Madam D'Allone, "isthat mutual love and friendship which you once had for each other, andwhich every sister ought cheerfully to cherish. O! my dearest littlefriends, how have you contrived to forget this, and thereby make me andyourselves miserable?"

Having uttered these few words, which were interrupted by sighs, shestopped short, while tears of tenderness stole down her cheeks. Theyoung ladies appeared much disconcerted, and struck dumb with sorrow andconfusion. Their governess held out her arms, and they all at onceinstantly rushed towards her. They sincerely promised that they wouldtenderly love each other for the future, and perfectly agree as theyformerly had done. 

From this time, no idle peevishness troubled their harmoniousintercourse: and, instead of bickerings and discontents among them, nothing was seen but mutual condescension, which delighted all who hadthe opportunity of being in their company. May this serve as a usefullesson to my youthful readers, how easy it is for them to promote ordisturb their own happiness. 

[Illustration]

THE BIRD'S EGG. 

[Illustration]

Master Gregory was fond of walking in a wood, which stood at a shortdistance from his father's house. The wood being young, the trees wereconsequently small, and placed very near to each other, with two orthree paths between them. As he was one day walking up and down, inorder to rest himself a little, he placed his back against a tree, whosestem was quite slender, and therefore all its branches shook as soon asit was touched. This rustling happened to frighten a little bird, whosprang from a neighbouring bush, and flew into another part of thewood. 

Gregory was vexed to think he had disturbed the bird, and fixed his eyesupon the bush, in hopes of seeing it return. While he was thusattentively on the watch, he imagined he saw among the twisted branchessomething like a tuft of hay. As his curiosity was raised to know whatit was, he went up close to the hedge, and found this tuft of hay washollow, like a bowl. On putting aside the branches, he saw somethinglike little balls within it, which were spotted, and of an oval shape. They lay close to each other, on something very soft. "Bless me, " saidGregory, "this must be certainly what I have heard some people call abird's nest, and the balls must be eggs. They are indeed less than oureggs, but then our hens are larger than these birds. "

He had some thoughts, at first, of taking away the whole nest; but, uponsecond consideration, he contented himself with taking only one of theeggs, with which he instantly ran home. In the midst of his haste, hemet his sister. "See this little egg, " said he to her, "I have just nowfound it in a nest, in which were five others. "

She desired to have it in her hand, examined it attentively, and thenreturned it to her brother. At last, they began rolling it up and downa table, just as they would a ball. One pushed it one way, and the othera different way, till at last they pushed it off the table, when it fellon the floor and broke. This set them a crying, and each mutuallyaccused the other of being the cause of this sad disaster. 

Their mamma, happening to hear them cry, came to inquire into the causeof it, when both began at once telling their sorrows; and, having heardtheir different stories, she took them affectionately by the hand, andled them to a tree, whose stately boughs afforded a pleasant shade to averdant bank, on which they all sat down together. 

"My dear children, " said their mamma, "make yourselves easy. You havebroken the egg between you, and that, to be sure, is a misfortune; butit is of too trifling a nature to suffer it to make you unhappy. Afterall, Gregory, there is some room of complaint against you, as it was anact of injustice to rob the poor bird of its egg. You must have seen howthe hen places her eggs in a nest, on which she sits to warm and animatethem. In about three weeks, from the eggs proceed chickens, which piercethe shell, and in a few days come and feed out of your hand. This egg, which you have just now broken, had you left it in the nest, would havebecome a sort of chick. The bird you saw fly out of the bush wasprobably the mother, who will, very likely, return again to see whatmischief you have done her, and perhaps she will forsake it altogether, which they frequently do when disturbed. 

"Though the loss is only a single egg, yet that perhaps will inform themthat their habitation is discovered, when they have every thing to beafraid of from our violence. They guess, that when their little onesshall be hatched, those that robbed them of an egg, will return andseize upon their infant family. If this nest you have been robbing, forI cannot call it anything less than a robbery, should be on that accountforsaken, I think you will be very sorry for it. "

Gregory replied that it would indeed give him much uneasiness, andseemed very sorry that he had meddled with the egg. "But, " said he tohis mamma, "I had not the least thought of what you have been tellingme, nor did I suppose there could be any harm in bringing it to mysister, for it was principally on that account that I took it. "

His mamma replied, that she readily believed him; for she told him shewas sensible that he had too good a heart to wish to do mischief, merelyfor the sake of tormenting others. Gregory was, indeed, a very good boy, and was as remarkable for his duty to his parents, his tender attachmentto his sister, and his universal benevolence to every one. 

The little girl observed to her mamma, that the nest which her brotherhad shown her did not in any degree resemble the swallow's nests thatwere seen about the corners of the windows of some houses. "My dear, "replied her mamma, "every nest is not alike, any more than every bird, some being great, and others little; some are never seen to perch ontrees, while others are hardly ever out of them; some are bulky andinactive, others slim, and full of cunning and industry; the plumage ofsome are beautiful beyond description, with an amazing variety ofcolours, and others have a plain and homely appearance; some subsist onfruits, some feed upon insects, and many live by making a prey of and ofdevouring the smaller birds. "

Here her little daughter exclaimed, "Oh, what wicked creatures! I amsure I should think it no crime to destroy the nest of such unnaturalbirds. "--"Very true, " replied her mamma, and there are many more of yourway of thinking; and therefore these great birds, who live upon thesmaller class, build their nests in places where they cannot be easilydisturbed, such as in woods, in crevices of rocks, and in other placesmost unfrequented by men, or at heights beyond our reach. 

"Since, therefore, my dear children, these birds are greatly differentfrom each other, as well in size as in the mode of living, and in thevariety of their plumage, it will naturally follow that their nests mustalso differ. The lark never perches on a tree, and sings only whenmounting in the air, and builds her nest on the ground. The swallowbuilds about the roofs of houses, under what we call the eaves, andsometimes in the corners of windows. The owl, which flies abroad only inthe night, seeks out deserted habitations, or some hollow trees, whereinto deposit her eggs; and the eagles, who soar above the clouds tillabsolutely out of sight, bring forth their young in the cliffs of craggyrocks. Those birds, which so prettily sport round our houses, and hopfrom branch to branch, make their nests in the trees and hedges. Thosewho sport on the water, and find their living therein, build theirnests among the rushes that grow on the banks. 

"We will, one fine day, take a walk into the little valley thatterminates our large meadow, and you will there see a number of thesepretty creatures busy in selecting the materials of which they composetheir nests. You will observe one employed in carrying off a wheatenstraw, another with wool or feathers in its beak, another with a driedleaf, and perhaps with a little moss. You may frequently notice theswallow, on the borders of a limpid stream, moistening in the water alittle bit of earth which he holds in his beak, and with this he buildshis habitation; and, though the outside of its nest is formed of hardand durable materials, the inside is lined with the softest and warmest. There are even some birds, who pull off their own feathers to make up acomfortable bed, wherein to secure their young from every inclemency ofthe elements. 

"Their nests are made large or small, in proportion to the number ofeggs they are to contain. Some birds hang up their nests by a kind ofthread, which they have the skill to form of flax, of different sorts ofweeds, and of the webs of spiders. Others place it in the middle of asoft and gluey substance, to which they carefully stick many feathers. All birds seek retired and solitary places, and use every endeavour tomake their nests strong and solid, to secure them from the attacks ofenemies of various species. 

"It is in this kind of habitation they lay their eggs, where the mother, and at times the father, sits upon them, puts every thing within theminto motion, and at last produce little creatures, who break throughtheir shell, and come forth. 

"I doubt not but you have often seen a fly in winter, which appeared tohave no life in it: yet, upon taking it into your hand, the warmthproceeding from it has brought it to life. It is nearly the same thingwith birds, the perseverance of whose parents, in brooding upon theireggs, converts them into living creatures. 

"While the mother is sitting, the cock is her constant attendant, andamuses her with his music. When the young birds are hatched, the oldones endeavour to release them from the confinement of the egg. At thisperiod their diligence is redoubled, they do everything to nourish anddefend them, and are constantly employed in that interesting pursuit. No distance deters them from seeking their food, of which they make anequal distribution, every one receiving in his turn what they have beenable to procure. So long as they continue young and helpless, theycontrive to procure such food as is adapted to their delicacy; but assoon as they are grown stronger by age, they provide for them food of amore solid nature. 

"The pelican, which is a very large bird, is obliged to go a greatdistance for food for its young, and therefore nature has provided itwith a sort of bag, which she fills with such food as she knows is mostagreeable to the palate of her young ones. She warms what she procures, and by such means makes it fitter for their tender stomachs. 

"While they are thus acting the parental part, they seem to be forgetfulof themselves, and attentive only to their little family. On theapproach of either rain or tempests, they hasten to their nest, andcover it as well as they can with expanded wings, thereby keeping outthe wind and water from hurting their infant brood. All their nights areemployed in nourishing and keeping them warm. The most timorous amongthe feathered race, who will fly away on the least noise that approachesthem, and tremble at the most trifling apprehensions of danger, becomestrangers to fear as soon as they have a young family to take care of, and are inspired with courage and intrepidity. We see an instance ofthis in the common hen, who, though in general a coward, no soonerbecomes a parent, than she gives proofs of courage, and boldly standsforth in defence of her young. She will face the largest dog, and willnot run even from a man, who shall attempt to rob her of her young. 

"In nearly a similar manner, the little birds endeavour to protect theirinfant family. When an enemy approaches, they will flutter round thenest, will seem to call out for assistance, will attack the invader, andpursue him. The mother will frequently prefer confining herself withthem, to the pleasure of rambling through the woods, and will not quither little progeny. "

Here their mamma ended, and her two children promised they never wouldany more disturb those pretty feathered animals. They promised only tolook at their nests, without being so cruel as to do them any harm. Theysaid they would be satisfied with gazing on them, while employed in thedelightful task of attending on their young, and comforting andcaressing their unprotected offspring. 

"My dear children, " said their mamma, "this is the conduct you ought topursue. Keep your resolutions, and I shall love you the more tenderlyfor it. Do no injury to any creature, for He who made you made themalso. Take no delight in giving pain to the most insignificant part ofthe creation; but endeavour on all occasions to contribute to theirhappiness. "

[Illustration]

THE COVETOUS BOY. 

[Illustration]

Young Samuel was the only son of a capital merchant, and was tenderlybeloved by his father. He had by no means a bad heart, his countenancewas pleasing, and his friends would all have been very fond of him, hadhe not shown, in every part of his conduct, a covetous propensity, thateclipsed all his accomplishments. 

His covetous disposition made him wish for every thing he saw otherspossessed of, and, even carried him to so great a length, that he wouldnot share among his playmates any thing that he had, or even let themsee it. 

It was with little Samuel, as it generally is with every body else, thathe lost more than he gained by his avarice. If any body gave him anysweetmeats, he would get into some private corner of the house and thereswallow them, for fear any of his acquaintance should want part of them. His father, in order to cure him of this greedy disposition, used, whilehe was feasting in private, to give a double portion to his companions. He perceived this, and therefore left off hiding himself; but he nosooner fixed his eyes on any nicety, than he appeared ready to devour itat once; and pursued the hand of those that held it, as a vulture doesits prey. 

From what has been already said, his father may be supposed to be muchhurt at this conduct; and, in order to save himself as much vexation aspossible, he ceased to give him any more niceties, or even have themwithin his house, so that they might not, at any rate, be within thereach of his voracious son. 

If Samuel had a pleasing toy of any kind, he would never show it, butconceal himself in the enjoyment of it, without ever being happy. If hehad any sort of fruit, he would not share it with his playmates, butdevour it in private, even refusing any to those he happened to lovemost. Consequently, none of his playmates would ever give him a part ofwhat they had, and seemed always desirous of shunning his company. Whenhe chanced to be engaged in a quarrel with any one, none appeared readyto take his part, not even when they knew him in the right; and, when hewas in the wrong, every one joined against him. 

It one day happened, that a little boy observed him with an apple in hishand, and gave him by surprise a knock on the elbow, which made him letthe apple fall. However, he picked it up hastily, and, in order torevenge himself on the boy, set off to catch him; but, in running, fellinto a hog-pond, and had like to have been suffocated in the soil. Heexerted all his power to get out, but to no effect: he endeavoured, butwithout succeeding, to prevail on his playmates to take hold of his handand help him out. 

Instead of assisting him, they laughed at his distress, and joyouslydanced about the pond, from which he could not relieve himself. Theytold him to ask the assistance of those to whom he had done the leastkindness; but among all his playmates, there was not one whose help hecould demand on that score. At last one of the boys, who took pity onhim, came forward and gave him his hand, when he safely got out. 

Samuel shook off the mud as well as he could, and then to show hisgratitude to the little boy who had assisted him, he bit off about aquarter of the apple which caused this disaster, and which he never letgo, and desired him to accept of it. But the boy, disgusted with sopitiful a gift, took the morsel, and then flung it in his face; and thisserved as a signal for all the boys to scout him. They pursued Samuelquite home, hooting him all the way he went. 

This was the first time he had ever been hooted, and, as he did not wantfor feeling, it threw him into a depth of thought. He kept out of hisfather's presence, and confined himself to his room for some days. Therehe reasoned with himself on the cause that could produce such treatmentfrom his playfellows. "For what reason, " said he to himself, "could mylittle neighbour, who even lent me his hand to get out of the pond, throw the apple in my face, and set the boys to hoot me? Why has he somany good friends, while I have not a single one?"

On comparing the good boy's behaviour with his own, he soon discoveredthe reason. To become sensible of our errors is half the work ofreformation. He recollected, that he had observed his friend was alwaysready to help every one; that whenever he had any fruit, confectionary, or the like, he seemed to feel more pleasure in sharing it with hiscompanions, than in eating it himself, and had no kind of amusement inwhich he did not wish every one to bear a part. On this short review ofcircumstances, he plainly perceived wherein lay the difference betweenhimself and this little good boy. He at last resolved to imitate him;and the next day, filling his pockets with fruit, he ran up to every boyhe met and gave him a part of it; but he could not, on a sudden, give up_self_, having left a little in his pocket to eat at home in private. 

Though it is evident that he had not yet completely conquered hisavarice, yet he was not a little pleased with the advances he had made, since his companions were now, on their part, more generous to him; theyshowed themselves much more satisfied with his company, and admitted hima partner in all their little pastimes; they divided with him whateverthey happened to have, and he always went home pleased and satisfied. 

Soon after, he made a still greater progress in conquering his selfishdisposition; for he pulled out of his pocket every thing he had, anddivided it into as many shares as there were mouths to eat it, withoutreserving any more than an equal part for himself. Indeed, it was thegeneral opinion of the boys, that his own share was the least. This dayhe was much more satisfied than before, and went home gay and cheerful. 

By pursuing this conduct, he soon acquired a generous habit, and becameliberal even to those who had nothing to give in return. He consequentlyacquired the love and esteem of his companions, who no sooner saw himthan they ran to meet him with joyful countenances, and made hispleasure their own. Thus, instead of being miserable and wretchedthrough avarice, he became completely happy in the practice ofgenerosity. 

His father was, undoubtedly, highly pleased with this change, and, tenderly embracing him, promised to refuse him nothing in future thatmight add to his pleasure and delight. Samuel hereby learned in whattrue happiness consists. 

[Illustration]

DISSIPATION THE CERTAIN ROAD TO

RUIN. 

[Illustration]

A young man, whose name was Humphries, was a dull companion, but anexcellent workman. Nothing ran in his head so much as the wish to becomea master, but he had not money to gratify that wish. A merchant, however, who was well acquainted with his industry, lent him a hundredpounds, in order that he might open a shop in a proper style. 

It will from hence naturally follow, that Humphries thought himself oneof the happiest men in the world. He supposed his warehouse alreadyfilled with goods, he reckoned how many customers would crowd to buythem, and what would be his profits thereon. 

In the midst of these extravagant flights of fancy, he perceived analehouse. "Come, " said he, on entering it, "I will indulge myself withspending one sixpence of this money. " He hesitated, however, some fewmoments, about calling for punch, which was his favourite liquor, as hisconscience loudly told him that his time for enjoyment ought to be atsome distance, and not till he had paid his friend the money he hadborrowed; that it would not be honest in him at present to expend afarthing of that money but in absolute necessaries. With these rightideas, he was nearly leaving the alehouse; but, bethinking himself, onthe other hand, that, if he spent a sixpence of his money, he shouldstill have a hundred pounds all but that sixpence, that such a sum wasfully sufficient to set him up in trade, and that a single half-hour'sindustry would amply make amends for such a trifling pleasure as hewished then to enjoy; he called for his punch, and the first glassbanished all his former qualms, little thinking that such a conductwould, by insensible degrees, open a way to his ruin. The next day herecollected the pleasures of the former glass, and found it easy toreconcile his conscience to the spending of another sixpence. He knew heshould still have a hundred pounds left, all but one shilling. 

The love of liquor had at last completely conquered him, and everysucceeding day he constantly returned to his favourite alehouse, andgradually increased his quantity, till he spent two shillings andsixpence at each sitting. Here he seemed to make a stand; and every timehe went he consoled himself, with saying, that he was spending onlyhalf-a-crown, and that he need not fear but he should have enough tocarry on his trade. 

By this delusive way of reasoning, he silenced the prudent whispers ofconscience, which would sometimes, in spite even of liquor, break inupon him, and remind him, that the proper use of money consisted inprudently applying every part of it to advantageous purposes. 

Thus you see how the human mind is led into destructive extravagances byinsensible degrees. Industry had no longer any charms to allure him, being blindly persuaded, that the money he had borrowed would prove aninexhaustible source for all its extravagance. He was at last convinced, and his conviction suddenly fell on him like a clap of thunder that hecould not recover the effects of his preceding dissipation, and that hisgenerous benefactor would have little inclination to lend anotherhundred pounds to a man who had so shamefully abused his kindness in thefirst instance. 

Entirely overcome with shame and confusion, his recourse to harddrinking, merely to quiet his conscience and reflections, served only tobring on his ruin the sooner. At last the fatal moment arrived, when, quite disgusted at the thoughts of industry, and becoming an object ofhorror even to himself, life became insupportable, and nothing presentedthemselves to him but scenes of poverty, desolation, and remorse. 

Overtaken by despair, he fled from his country, and joined a gang ofsmugglers, whose ravages were dreaded through every town and village onthe coast. Heaven, however, did not permit these iniquities to have along reign, for a disgraceful death soon put a period to the existenceof this unhappy wretch. 

Alas! had he listened to the first dictates of reason, and been wroughtupon by the reproaches of his conscience, he might have been easy andhappy in his situation, and have comfortably enjoyed the repose of areputable old age, instead of coming to that deplorable end, which isthe certain reward of vice and folly. 

[Illustration]

CALUMNY AND SCANDAL GREAT

ENEMIES TO SOCIETY. 

[Illustration]

Though Maria was of a tolerably good temper, yet she had contracted amost mischievous vice, and that was calumny. Whenever she fancied shesaw any thing amiss in others, though they were her most intimatefriends, she seemed to take pleasure in publishing it to the world. 

The inexperience of her age frequently led her to ascribe indifferentactions to improper motives; and a single word, or volatility ofdisposition, was sufficient to raise in her breast the worst suspicions, with which, as soon as she had formed them, she would run into company, and there publish them as indubitable facts. 

As she was never at a loss for embellishments for her own fancy, inorder to make her tales appear the more plausible, it may easily besupposed what mischief such a conduct was capable of producing. In alittle time, all the families in the neighbourhood were set together bythe ears, and the seeds of discord soon after sprung up amongstindividuals; husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, masters andservants, commenced perpetual variance between each other. All on asudden, mutual confidence seemed to be lost in every place where Mariavisited. 

Matters at last were carried so far, that every one shut their doorsagainst her, as they would have done against any one tainted with theplague; but neither hatred nor humiliation could reform a vice whichcustom and prejudice had so deeply rivetted in her heart. This gloriouswork of reformation was reserved for Angelica, her cousin, who was theonly one left that would keep her company, and who lived in hopes thatshe should in the end be able to convince her of her ruinous conduct. 

Maria went one day to see her cousin, and entertained her as usual witha long recital of scandal against their common friends, though she wellknew that such tales were disagreeable to Angelica. "And now, my dear, "said Maria, having stopped for want of breath, "your turn is come totell me something. You see such a variety of company, that you surelymust be acquainted with a number of anecdotes. "

"My dear Maria, " answered Angelica, "whenever I visit my friends, it isfor the sake of enjoying their company; and I am too sensible of my owninterest to forfeit their esteem by exposing their defects. Indeed, I amsensible of so many errors in myself, and find it so difficult tocorrect them, that I have no leisure to contemplate the imperfections ofothers. Having every reason to wish for their candour and indulgence, Ireadily grant them mine; and my attention is constantly turned todiscover what is commendable in them, in order that I may make suchperfections my own. Before we presume to censure others, we ought to becertain that we have no faults ourselves. I cannot, therefore, butcongratulate you on that faultless state, which I am so unhappy as towant. Continue, my dear Maria, this employment of a charitable censor, who would lead the world to virtue by exposing the deformity of vice, and you cannot fail of meeting your deserts. "

Maria well knew how much she was the public object of aversion anddisgust, and therefore could not help feeling the irony of Angelica. From that day she began very seriously to reflect on the danger of herindiscretion; and, trembling at the recollection of those mischiefs shehad caused, determined to prevent their progress. 

She found it difficult to throw off the custom she had long indulged ofviewing things on the worst side of the question. At last, however, shebecame so perfectly reformed, that she studied only the pleasing partsof characters, and was never heard to speak ill of any one. 

Maria became more and more convinced of the pernicious consequences thatarise from exposing the faults of others, and began to feel the pleasingsatisfaction of universal charity. My dear children, shun the vice ofscandal, and, still more, being the authors of it, as you would plague, pestilence, and famine. 

[Illustration]

CLARISSA; OR, THE GRATEFUL

ORPHAN. 

[Illustration]

The amiable Dorinda, soon after the misfortune of losing her husband, was so unhappy as to have a law-suit determined to her disadvantage, andthereby lost great part of her possessions, which were taken from herwith the most unrelenting hand. This reduced her to the necessity ofselling all her furniture, and the greater part of her jewels. Theproduce of these she placed in the hands of a banker, and retired to avillage, where she could live much cheaper than in the metropolis, andwith tolerable decency. 

She had not passed more than two months in this retreat, wheninformation was brought her, that her banker had failed in trade, andconsequently all her money was lost. Judge what must be the horrors ofher situation! Sickness and grief had so debilitated her constitution, that she was unable to do any kind of work, whereby to procure asubsistence; and, after having passed her youth in ease and pleasure, she had no resources left in the evening of her life, but that of aworkhouse, or common beggary. 

Not one of her acquaintance would see her, nor condescend to take theleast interest in her sufferings. Being brought by her husband from aforeign country, she had no friends to cry to for assistance, except adistant relation, whom she had brought with her to England, and who, byher husband's credit, gained great riches; but this man's avarice wasgreater than his wealth, and there was little charity to be expectedfrom a man who denied himself the common necessaries of life. 

Afflicted virtue, however, always finds resource in the bounteous handsof Providence, and she found the means of subsistence where she littleexpected it. In the former days of her prosperity, she had adopted afemale orphan, whose name was Clarissa, who now became her guardian andprotector. Clarissa had a grateful heart; she wept for the misfortunesof her friend, but she rejoiced at the thoughts of having an opportunityto show her gratitude. 

When Dorinda mentioned her design of seeking refuge in a parishworkhouse, "No, " said Clarissa, "you shall never leave me. From yourtenderness I formerly received the indulgences of a beloved child; and, if in your prosperity I thought myself happy in the idea of being sonearly related to you by adoption, I still think it more so now I seeyou in adversity. Thank heaven and your adoption for my comfortablesituation! your maternal conduct was amply displayed in teaching me allthe necessary female arts; and I am happy in the reflection, that I canmake use of my knowledge for your sake. With health and courage, I fearnot being able to procure for us both at least a comfortable living. "

This generous offer exceedingly affected the unhappy widow, who embracedClarissa, and with joy accepted of her proposal. This amiable girl, inher turn, became the mother, by adoption, of her former benefactress. Not contented with feeding her with the produce of an unremitted labour, she consoled her in affliction, attended her in sickness, andendeavoured, by the tenderest methods, to soften the iron hand offortune. 

For two years did the constancy and ardour of Clarissa continue withunwearied attention, and her only happiness seemed to consist inpromoting that of her friend. At the end of that period, when deathrelieved the unhappy Dorinda from the cares and troubles of this life, she sincerely lamented her death, and bewailed it as a grievousmisfortune. 

A short time after died also the relation of Dorinda, of whom we havelately spoken, and who had shown himself so shamefully insensible toevery claim of gratitude and kindred. As he could not carry his richeswith him, he supposed it would be making some atonement for hisungenerous conduct, by leaving the injured Dorinda every thing hepossessed. Alas! it came too late, for she was no more. 

The amiable Dorinda had not, before her death, the consolation ofknowing that such a change happened in her fortune, as in that case shemight have easily turned it to the advantage of the generous Clarissa. This large fortune, therefore, for want of an heir, fell to the king;but Providence so directed it, that the generous conduct of the orphanto her benefactress reached the ears of the prince. "Ah! then, " said he, "she merits this inheritance! I renounce my right in her favour, andshall be happy in being her father and friend. "

This generous act of the king was applauded by the whole nation; andClarissa, having thus received so glorious a reward for her gratitude, employed it in the maintenance of orphans, such as she herself had been. It was the summit of her delight to inspire them with sentiments similarto those she herself possessed. 

[Illustration]

RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL THE

NOBLEST REVENGE. 

[Illustration]

"I will be revenged of him, that I will, and make him heartily repentit, " said little Philip to himself with a countenance quite red withanger. His mind was so engaged, that, as he walked along, he did not seehis dear friend Stephen, who happened at that instant to meet him, andconsequently heard what he had said. 

"Who is that, " said Stephen, "that you intend to be revenged on?"Philip, as though awakened from a dream, stopped short, and, looking athis friend, soon resumed the smile that was natural to his countenance. "Ah!" said he, "come with me, my friend, and you shall see whom I willbe revenged on. I believe you remember my supple jack, a very prettylittle cane, which my father gave me. You see it is now all in pieces. It was farmer Robinson's son, who lives in yonder thatched cottage, thatreduced it to this worthless state. "

Stephen very coolly asked him what induced the farmer's son to break it. "I was walking very peaceably along, " replied Philip, "and was playingwith my cane, by twisting it round my body. By some accident or otherone of the two ends got out of my hand when I was opposite the gate justby the wooden bridge, and where the little miscreant had put down apitcher full of water, which he was carrying home from the well. It sohappened that my cane, in springing, overset the pitcher, but did notbreak it. He came up close to me, and began to call me names; when Iassured him I did not intend any harm, --what I had done was by accident, and I was very sorry for it. Without paying any regard to what I said, he instantly seized my supple jack, and twisted it here as you see; butI will make him heartily repent it. "

"To be sure, " said Stephen, "he is a very wicked boy, and he is alreadyvery properly punished for it, since nobody likes him, nor will do anything for him. He finds it very difficult to get any companion to playwith him, and, if he attempts to intrude himself into their company, they will all instantly leave him. To consider this properly, I think, should be sufficient revenge for you. "

"All this is true, " replied Philip, "but he has broken my cane. It was apresent from my papa, and a very pretty cane you know it was. My fatherwill perhaps ask me what has become of it; and, as he will suppose Ihave carelessly lost his present, he will probably be angry with me; ofwhich this little saucy fellow will be the cause. I offered to fill hispitcher again, having knocked it down by accident--I will be revenged. "

"My dear friend, " said Stephen, "I think you will act better in notminding him, as your contempt will be the best punishment you caninflict upon him. He is not upon a level with you, and you may beassured that he will always be able to do more mischief to you than youwould choose to do him. And now I think of it, I will tell you whathappened to him not long since. 

"Very unluckily for him, he chanced to see a bee hovering about aflower, which he caught, and was going to pull off its wings, out ofsport, when the animal found means to sting him, and then flew in safetyto the hive. The pain put him into a most furious passion, and, likeyou, he vowed to take a severe revenge. He accordingly procured a littlehazel-stick, and thrust it through the hole into the bee-hive, twistingit about therein. By this means he killed several of the little animals;but, in an instant, all the swarm issued out, and, falling upon him, stung him in a thousand different places. You will naturally supposethat he uttered the most piercing cries, and rolled upon the ground inthe excess of his agony. His father ran to him, but could not, withoutthe greatest difficulty, put the bees to flight, after having stung himso severely that he was confined several days to his bed. 

"Thus you see, he was not very successful in his pursuit of revenge. Iwould advise you, therefore, to pass over his insult, and leave othersto punish him, without your taking any part of it. Besides, he is awicked boy, and much stronger than you are; so that your ability toobtain revenge may be doubtful. "

"I must own, " replied Philip, "that your advice seems very good. So comealong with me, and I will go and tell my father the whole matter, and Ithink he will not be angry with me. It is not the cane that I value onany other consideration than that it was my father's present, and Iwould wish to convince him that I take care of every thing he gives me. "He and his friend then went together, and Philip told his father whathad happened, who thanked Stephen for the good advice he had given hisson, and gave Philip another cane, exactly like the first. 

A few days afterwards, Philip saw this ill-natured boy let fall, as hewas carrying home, a very heavy log of wood, which he could not get upagain. Philip ran to him, and replaced it on his shoulder. 

Young Robinson was quite ashamed at the thought of having received thiskind of assistance from a youth he had treated so badly, and heartilyrepented of his behaviour. Philip went home quite satisfied, to thinkhe had assisted one he did not love, and from pure motives of tendernessand humanity. "This, " said he, "is the noblest vengeance I could take, in returning good for evil. "

[Illustration]

GREY HAIRS MADE HAPPY. 

[Illustration]

Opposite to the house where Charlotte's parents lived, was a littleopening, ornamented with a grass-plot, and overshaded by a venerabletree, commanding an extensive view before it. On this delightful spotCharlotte used frequently to sit in her little chair, while employed inknitting stockings for her mamma. 

As she was one day thus employed, she saw a poor old man advancing veryslowly towards her. His hair was as white as silver, and his back bentwith age; he supported himself by a stick, and seemed to walk withgreat difficulty. "Poor man, " said Charlotte, looking at him mosttenderly, "he seems to be very much in pain, and perhaps is very poor, which are two dreadful evils!"

She also saw a number of boys, who were following close behind this poorold man. They passed jokes upon his thread-bare coat, which had verylong skirts, and short sleeves, contrary to the fashion of those days. His hat, which was quite rusty, did not escape their notice; his cheekswere hollow, and his body thin. These wicked boys no sooner saw him, than they all burst out a laughing. A stone lay in his way, which he didnot perceive, and over it he stumbled, and had like to have fallen. Thisafforded them sport, and they laughed loudly; but it gave great pain tothe poor old man, who uttered a deep sigh. 

"I once was as young as you are, " said he to the boys, "but I did notlaugh at the infirmities of age as you do. The day will come in whichyou will be old yourselves, and every day is bringing you forward tothat period. You will then be sensible of the impropriety of yourpresent conduct. " Having thus spoken, he endeavoured to hobble on again, and made a second stumble, when, in struggling to save himself fromfalling, he dropped his cane, and down he fell. On this, the wicked boysrenewed their laugh, and highly enjoyed his misfortune. 

Charlotte, who had seen every thing that had passed, could not helppitying the old man's situation, and, therefore, putting down herstockings on the chair, ran towards him, picked up the cane, and gave itto him, and then taking hold of his other arm, as if she had been asstrong as a woman, advised him to lean upon her, and not mind any thingthe boys might say to him. 

The poor old man, looking at her very earnestly, "Sweet child, " said he, "how good you are! This kindness makes me in a moment forget all theill-behaviour of those naughty boys. May you ever be happy!"--They thenwalked on together; but the boys being probably made ashamed of theirconduct by the behaviour of Charlotte, followed the old man no farther. 

While the boys were turning about, one of them fell down also, and allthe rest began laughing, as they had before done at the old man. He wasvery angry with them on that account, and, as soon as he got up, ranafter his companions, pelting them with stones. He instantly becameconvinced how unjust it was to laugh at the distress of another, andformed a resolution, for the future, never to laugh at any person'spain. He followed the old man he had been laughing at, though at somedistance, wishing for an opportunity to do him some favour, by way ofatonement for what he had done. 

The good old man, in the mean time, by the kind assistance of Charlotte, proceeded with slow, but sure steps. She asked him to stop and resthimself a little, and told him that her house was that before him. "Praystay, " said she, "and sit a little under that large tree. My parentsindeed are not at home, and therefore you will not be so well treated, yet it will be a little rest to you. "

The old man accepted Charlotte's offer. She brought him out a chair, andthen fetched some bread and cheese, and good small beer, which was allthe pretty maid could get at. He thanked her very kindly, and thenentered into conversation with her. 

"I find, my dear, " said he, "you have parents, I doubt not but you lovethem, and they love you. They must be very happy, and may they alwayscontinue to be so!"

"And pray, good old man, " said Charlotte, "I suppose you have gotchildren. "--"I had a son, " replied he, "who lived in London, loved metenderly, and frequently came to see me; but, alas! he is now dead, andI am left disconsolate. His widow, indeed, is rich; but she assumes thecharacter of a lady, and thinks it beneath her to inquire whether I bedead or living, as she does not wish it to be known that her husband'sfather is a peasant. "

Charlotte was much affected, and could hardly believe that such cruelpeople existed. "Ah! certain I am, " said she, "that my dear mother wouldnot behave so cruelly. " He then rose and thanked Charlotte with ablessing; but she was determined not to leave him, till she hadaccompanied him a little way farther. 

As they walked on, they saw the little boy who had been following them;for he ran on some way before, and was then sitting on the grass. Whenthey looked upon him, he cast his eyes downwards, got up after they hadpassed, and followed them again. Charlotte observed him, but saidnothing. 

She asked the old man if he lived alone; "No, little lady, " answered he, "I have a cottage on the other side of that mead, seated in the middleof a little garden, with an orchard and a small field. An old neighbour, whose cottage fell down through age, lives with me, and cultivates myground. He is an honest man, and I am perfectly easy in his society; butthe loss of my son still bears hard upon me, nor have I the happiness tosee any of his children, who must by this time have forgotten me. "

These complaints touched the heart of Charlotte, who told him, that sheand her mother would come and see him. The sensibility and kindness ofthis little girl served only to aggravate his grief, by bringing to hismind the loss he had sustained in his son. Tears came in his eyes, whenhe pulled out his handkerchief to wipe them; and, instead of againputting it into his pocket, in the agitation of his mind, it slippedaside, and fell unnoticed by him or Charlotte. 

The little boy, who followed them, saw the handkerchief fall, ran topick it up, and gave it the old man, saying, "Here, good old man, youdropped your handkerchief, and here it is. "--"Thank you, heartily, mylittle friend, " said the old man. "Here is a good natured lad, who doesnot ridicule old age, nor laugh at the afflictions that attend it. Youwill certainly become an honest man. Come both of you to my habitation, and I will give you some milk. " They had no sooner reached the old man'scottage, than he brought out some milk, and the best bread he had, which, though coarse, was good. They all sat down upon the grass, andmade a comfortable repast. However, Charlotte began to be afraid herparents might come home, and be uneasy at her absence; and the littleboy was sorry to go, but was sadly afraid, should he stay, of beingscolded by his mother. 

"This mother of yours, " said the old man, "must be very cross to scoldyou. "--"She is not always so, " replied the boy; "but though she lovesme, she makes me fear her. "--"And your father?"--"Oh, I scarcely knewhim, he having been dead these four years. "--"Dead these four years!"interrupted the old man, and fixing his eyes attentively on the boy. "Isit possible that I have some recollection of your features? Can it belittle Francis?"--"Yes, yes, Francis is my name. "

For a few moments the old man stood motionless, and, with an alteredvoice, his eyes swimming with tears, cried out, "My dear Francis, you donot recollect your grandfather! Embrace me! you have got the veryfeatures of my son! My dearest child, you were not thinking of me! Myson affectionately loved me, and his son will love me also. My old agewill not be so miserable as I expected, and the evening of my life willnot pass without some joy. I shall depart in peace!--But I forget thatby detaining you, I may expose you to your mother's anger. Go, my dearchild, for I do not wish that my joy should cost you tears. Go, loveyour mother, and obey her commands, even though you should not come andsee me. Come and see me if you can; but do not disobey or tell a storyon any account. "

He then turned to Charlotte, and said, though he then did not wish herto stay, for fear of offending her parents, yet he hoped she would comeagain. He then dismissed them, giving them a hearty blessing, and thetwo children walked away hand in hand. Charlotte got home safe beforeher parents, who were not long after her, when she told them everything that had passed, which furnished an agreeable conversation for theevening. 

The next day they all went to see the good old man, and afterwardsfrequently repeated their visits. Francis also came to see hisgrandfather, who was rejoiced to hear him speak, and to receive hisaffectionate caresses. Francis, on his side, was equally rejoiced, excepting when he did not meet with Charlotte, for then he went homesorrowful and sad. 

The nearer Francis arrived to manhood, the more his affections forCharlotte increased; and accordingly, when he was old enough to marry, he would think of no other woman, though she was not rich. The old manlived to see them married and happy, and then finally closed his eyesin peace. 

[Illustration]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | In the Contents, page 113 for the chapter titled "Alfred and | | Dorinda" has been changed to 118. | | | | Page 20, double closing quotation mark has been added to the | | end of the chapter--ruin. " | | | | Page 25, closing quotation mark has been removed--munched | | alive. | | | | Page 134, "about gardening. But" has been changed to "about | | gardening; but" | | | | Page 159 punctuation after "contentedly" has been | | interpreted as a comma | | | | Page 215 "Ah!"' said he" has been changed to "Ah!" said he" | | | | Page 223 "down her cheeks The" has been changed to "down her | | cheeks. The" | | | | Page 246 "treason, and been" has been changed to "reason, | | and been" | | | | Page 266 "entored into conversation" has been changed to | | "entered into conversation" | | | | Page 269 "and hear it is" has been changed to "and here it | | is" | +--------------------------------------------------------------+