Mr. Spencer sent for his two sons, Edward and Charles, into his closet; he took each of them by the hand, and drawing them affectionately towards him, told them he was going to undertake a long journey, that he hoped they would be very good boys during his absence, obedient and dutiful to their mamma, and never vex or teaze her, but do every thing she wished them to do; he also desired them to be kind to poor Ben, and to recollect, that, though his face was black, he was a very good boy, and that God would love him, whilst he continued to behave well, just as much as if his skin were as white as theirs, and much more than he would either of them, unless they were equally deserving of his love, as black Ben had rendered himself by his good-natured and amiable disposition.
Edward and Charles both promised their papa that they would do every thing he desired, but they were notbothequally sincere: Edward could with difficulty hide his joy, when his papa told him he was going from home, for he was a very naughty boy, and had no inclination to obey any body, but to be his own master, and do as he liked, to get into all kinds of mischief, and kick and cuff poor Ben whenever he pleased.
Thinking, however, it would be proper to appear sorry for what he was, in reality, extremely glad of, and seeing poor Charles take out his handkerchief to wipe away his tears, when he was taking leave of his papa, he pulled out his also; but it was not to wipe his eyes, but to hide his smiles, for he was so happy at the thought of all the tricks he could play, without having any one to control him, that he was afraid his joy would be perceived, and his hypocrisy detected.
Mrs. Spencer's health was so indifferent, that she seldom quitted her apartment, so that she knew very little of the behaviour of her sons. Edward, as soon as he had breakfasted, usually took his hat, and went out without telling any one where he was going, or when he should return.
One day, when he was gone away in this manner, and Charles was left quite alone, he went up stairs to his mamma, and asked her leave to take a walk in the fields; and away he went with his favourite dog, for he had no other company, and he said, "Come along, Trimbush, let us take a ramble together; my brother always quarrels and fights with me, but I know you will not, my poor Trimbush: here, my poor old fellow, here is a piece of bread which I saved from my breakfast on purpose for you."
Charles had not walked very far, before he thought he heard Ben crying; and thinking it very probable that his brother was beating him, he went as fast as he possibly could towards the place whence the sound came. There he found poor black Ben with a load of faggots upon his back, almost enough to break it, and Edward whipping him because he cried, and said they were too heavy.
Charles began immediately to unload the poor boy; but Edward said, if he attempted to do so, he would break every bone in his skin: he was, however, not to be frightened from his good-natured and humane intention, and therefore continued to take off the faggots, telling his brother, that if he came near to prevent him, he would try which had most strength; and as Edward was a great coward, and never attempted to strike any body but the poor black boy, who dared not return the blow, he thought it proper to walk away, and leave his brother to do as he liked. When they met afterwards, and Charles offered to shake hands with him, saying he was sorry for what he had said to him, and begged they might be good friends, he appeared very willing to forget what had passed, and assured him he forgave him with all his heart; but his whole thoughts were employed in finding out some way to be revenged on his brother, and he had soon an opportunity of doing what might have cost him his life, though it is to be hoped he was not quite wicked enough to desire it.
Walking one morning by the side of the river, he begged Charles to get into a little boat which lay close to the shore, to look for a sixpence which he pretended to have left in it, and began to sob and cry, because he was afraid he had lost his money. Charles, who was always glad to oblige his brother, jumped into the boat with the utmost readiness, but in an instant the wicked Edward, having cut the rope by which it was fastened, away it went into the middle of the river, and no one can tell whither it might have been driven, or what terrible accident might have happened, if the wind had been high, and had not the good affectionate Ben stripped off his clothes, and plunged into the river to go to Charles's assistance.
Ben could swim like a fish, and was soon within reach of the boat, which, by getting hold of the end of the rope, he brought near enough to the shore for Charles to jump out on a bank.
Edward fancied, that, as his mamma knew nothing of his tricks, and as he was certain Charles was too good-natured to tell tales, his papa would never hear of them: but he was very much mistaken. Old Nicholls, the butler, had observed his behaviour, and as soon as his master returned, took the first opportunity of telling him of every thing which had passed in his absence.
Mr. Spencer now recollected that he had been much to blame in keeping his sons at home, and determined to send them both to school immediately: he observed, however, that they were not equally deserving of kindness and indulgence, and that it would be proper and just to make Edward feel how much he was displeased by the accounts he had received of his conduct: he was therefore sent to a school at a considerable distance from home, so far off, that he neither came home at Christmas nor Whitsuntide, nor saw any of his friends from one year to the other; he was not allowed to have any pocket money, for his papa said he would only make an ill use of it; nor had he ever any presents sent him of any kind.
Charles was only twenty miles from his father's house, and was always at home in the holidays: he had a great many things given to him on new year's day, and his papa brought him a little poney that he might ride about the park; and he always let poor Ben have a ride with him, for he loved him very much; and Ben, who was a grateful, kind-hearted boy, did not forget how many times Charles had saved him from his wicked brother, and would have done any thing in the world to give him pleasure.
"What will become of us to-morrow?" exclaimed a boy at M—— school, to little George Clifton, as they were undressing to go to bed. "I am so frightened, that I shall not be able to close my eyes."
George, who was very sleepy, and had no inclination to be disturbed, scarcely attended to what he was saying; but, on being asked howhethought to get off, and howheshould relish a good sound flogging, if he could not excuse himself, he thought it time to inquire into his meaning, and was informed that some of the boys had that evening been robbing the master's garden, that they had taken away all the fruit, both ripe and unripe, and had trodden down and destroyed every thing.
George said he was very sorry for it, but he had no fears on his own account, for he could prove that he had drank tea and spent the whole evening at his aunt's, and was but just returned before their hour of going to bed; but Robert assured him, that all he could say would avail him nothing, and that he was very certain he would not be believed; and moreover, that the master had declared, as he could not discover the offenders he would punish the whole school: "And for my part," said Robert, "I am determined not to stay here, to suffer for what I do not deserve. I can easily slip out of this window into the yard, and at the dawn of day I intend to set off; and shall be many miles from M——, when you are begging in vain for forgiveness of your hard-hearted master."
George, who, though a good boy in other respects, had a very great dislike to the trouble of learning any thing, and had been sent to school much against his inclination, thought this an excellent opportunity of leaving it, and had no doubt, but having such a melancholy story to recount of the injustice of his master, added to the many hardships he fancied he had already endured on different occasions, he should be able to prevail upon his papa to keep him at home; and imagined, that, when he grew up to be a man, he should, by some means or other, have as much learning and knowledge as other people, without plaguing himself with so many books and lessons. Robert had therefore very little difficulty in persuading him to accompany him, which he had no reason to wish for, but that he knew he had always a good deal of pocket-money, which he hoped to get possession of, and cared very little, if once he could carry that point, what became of poor George. He knew him to be quite innocent, and also that the master was well acquainted with the names of the boys who had done the mischief, and consequently had no thought of punishing the whole school; but he was a wicked boy, had been the chief promoter of the robbery, long tired of confinement, and determined to run away. At four o'clock in the morning they got out of the window into the yard, jumped over a low wall, and were soon several miles from the school.
Poor little George began, before it was long, to grow very tired; he was hungry also, and had nothing to eat. Robert asked him if he had any money, and said he would soon procure him something to eat, if he would give him the means of paying for it; but the moment he had got his little purse in his hand, he told him that he must now wish him a good morning; that he was not such a fool as to go home to get a horsewhipping for having run away from school, but should go immediately to Portsmouth, where he should find ships enough ready to sail for different parts of the world, and would go to sea, which was, he said, the pleasantest life in the world; and making him a very low bow, he set off immediately across the fields towards the high road, and was out of sight in an instant.
George began to cry bitterly; he now repented having listened to this wicked boy's advice, and would have returned to school if he could; but he did not know the way back again, and, if he had known it, would have been afraid to see his master. He wandered on the whole long day, without seeing any body who thought it worth their while to stop to listen to his tale; and at length, towards the close of evening, quite ill for want of eating, and so tired that he could no longer stand, he seated himself by the side of a brook, and leaning his head upon his hand, sobbed aloud.
An old peasant returning from his labour, and passing that way, stopped to look at him, and perceiving that he was in much distress, went up to the place where he was sitting, and inquired kindly what ailed him.
"I am a naughty boy," said George, "and do not deserve that you should take notice of me."—"When naughty boys confess their faults, they are more than half cured of them," replied the old peasant. "Whatever you have done, I am sure you repent of it, and I will take care of you."
He then took him by the hand, and led him to his cottage, which was very near, and where he found an old woman spinning near the window, and a young one sitting with two pretty little girls and a boy, whom she was teaching to read: they had each a book in their hand, and were so attentive to their lessons, that they scarcely looked up when the door was opened.
"There," said the old peasant, "sits my good wife, this is my daughter, and these are her children: we are poor people, and cannot afford to spend much money on their education, but they are very good, and endeavour to learn what they can from their mother, and get their lessons ready against the hour they go to school in the morning, that they may make the most of their time, and not rob their parents by being idle."
"Rob their parents!" exclaimed George. "Yes, rob them," replied the old man. "Would it not be robbing their father and mother, if they allowed them to squander their money upon them in paying for their schooling to no purpose?"
George wiped the tears from his eyes, and said he was afraid he was a very bad boy; but he was sorry for it, and would endeavour to mend, if his papa could be prevailed on to pardon what was past. He then told the old man all that had happened, and how the wicked Robert had enticed him to run away from school; but he was so hungry, and so fatigued, that he could hardly speak or hold up his head. The young woman gave him a large bowl of milk and bread, and put him into a neat, clean bed, where he slept soundly till eight o'clock the next morning, when, after a comfortable breakfast, the good peasant accompanied him to his father's house, and said so much in his favour, and of the sorrow he had shewn for his ill behaviour, that he was immediately forgiven.
He was, at his own desire, taken back to school, where he entreated his master to pardon the little attention he had paid to his books, and the instruction he had been so good as to give him; as also his elopement, a fault he had, he said, repented of almost as soon as he had committed it.
The master readily forgave him upon his acknowledging his error, and assured him, that, though he always punished those who deserved it, he knew very well how to distinguish the innocent from the guilty, and that, whilst he behaved like a good boy, he would have no reason to fear his anger.
Rose was eight years of age when her sister Harriet was born: she was extremely fond of the baby, watched its cradle whilst it slept, and was never tired of looking at it, and admiring its little features; but she could not, without pain, observe, that she was no longer, as she had been accustomed to be, thesoleobject of her mamma's care and attention.
Harriet must not be left a moment! Harriet must not be disturbed! And even if her mamma had the head-ach, and Rose was not suffered to go into her room, the little stranger was admitted. She concluded that she was no longer loved by any body, for even the servants were, she fancied, more occupied with her little sister than with her, or any thing which concerned her; and before she was ten years of age, she was become so very jealous and fretful, that she took no pleasure in any thing, nor was it in the power of any one to please or amuse her.
One day walking in the garden with her mamma, who carried the little Harriet in her arms, and coming to a part of it where several tall and far-spreading trees afforded them a pleasant shade from the heat of the sun, they stopped to enjoy its coolness. The gardener was ordered to bring them some cherries, and they sat down on the grass to await his coming: the little one, however, had no inclination to be so long still, and her mamma, to please and keep her quiet, lifted her up, and seated her on the bough of a tree which spread above their heads.
Rose immediately changed colour; her countenance, which a moment before was tolerably cheerful, now became gloomy and sullen; she leaned her cheek upon her hand, and her eyes followed them, expressing nothing but discontent and jealousy.
Her mamma was not long before she perceived the angry glances thrown upon her, and asked her, in a tone of displeasure, what they signified? "I cannot help fearing," said Rose, "that you no longer love me, now that you have another little girl. I remember, when you played with me all day; I was then continually on your knee, and every thing you had was brought out to amuse me; the servants also thought of nothing but how to give me pleasure; but now I go neglected about the house, and nobody minds me: it is true, I have every thing I want, and my papa and you are always buying me toys and pretty things of one kind or another; and I have often some of my little friends, whom you allow me to invite to drink tea, and spend the afternoon with me; but——"
"But," interrupted her mamma, "I no longer take you upon my knee like a baby, or carry you in my arms; nor have I strength sufficient to lift you up, and place you upon the bough of a tree, to please and make you quiet, as I have done by your little sister. You forget, I imagine, that you are ten years old, and that if I were to treat you in the same manner as I do a child of two, we should both be laughed at by every creature who might happen to see us. Reflect, my dear Rose, and do not suppose, that, because the helpless age of this little darling demands more care and attention than is necessary to you—because, being her nurse, I am obliged to have her often with me, when the company of another would be troublesome and inconvenient to me—do not fancy, my love, from these circumstances, that you are less beloved by either your papa or myself; but that as you increase in years, we shall shew our affection to you in a very different way to that in which we now do; as at present we treat you much otherwise than we did when you were of the age of your sister Harriet.
"I have long observed, with much uneasiness and concern, the fretfulness and discontent you have exhibited in your countenance at every mark of tenderness and care shewn to your sister. If you suffer this humour to grow upon you, it will be observed by every body, and you will then, in reality, be disliked and shunned by all your acquaintance, though at present it is only in your own fancy that you are so. Recollect yourself in time, re-assume your cheerfulness, assist me in taking care of this sweet child, instead of being angry at the attention I shew her; and be assured that we feel an equal affection towards you both, though we do not think it proper to treat you, my dear Rose, as we do a baby of two years old."
"What an unlucky boy I am!" said Edmond, running towards his papa, whom he had been seeking over all the house and gardens. "My grandmamma has changed her mind about going to my uncle's, and, instead of taking me with her to spend a fortnight at his house, when I had set my heart upon it, I must content myself at home, she says, and wait for another opportunity. Every thing goes wrong with me—it was but last week that the pigs got into my little garden, and destroyed every thing in it."
"Stop! stop!" interrupted his papa, "and, before you complain of your evil destiny, recollect, that if you had not heard the pigs in your garden, and ran in haste to drive them out of it, you would not have seen your little brother, whom you seized by the arm on the very edge of the pond, and who, in another moment, would probably have fallen into it, and would have been drowned before any of the family had missed him. It is not impossible but that you may have cause to rejoice some time hence at what now appears to you such a mighty disappointment."
His papa's words were soon verified: for not more than ten days had elapsed after this conversation, when they received a letter which filled them with the severest affliction. A servant belonging to his uncle had caught a dreadful putrid sore throat and fever, of which he died almost immediately, and which had infected the whole family. Edmond heard with the utmost grief, that one of his cousins was no more, and that the other lay in so dangerous a state, that his life was despaired of: and he did not fail to offer his unfeigned thanks to God for having preserved him from the danger to which he would have been exposed, if his grandmamma had not suddenly changed her intention of going to his uncle's: he determined also, that he would never, in future, complain of any trifling disappointments he might chance to meet with, or find fault, as he had too often done, with the arrangements of Providence; but conclude, that, however extraordinary many things might appear to him, being ordered by Him who knows best what is fit for us, they must, some way or other, sooner or later, turn to our advantage and happiness.
Edmond, in the long walks he took with his papa, often met with things which appeared to him very strange, and which (notwithstanding the resolution he had made, and the rule he had laid down never to find fault) made him thoughtful, and wish to know why they were permitted.
An old man, who was universally esteemed in the village, had been involved in perplexity and trouble, as it appeared to him, very unjustly. He was tenant to a rich man, and had been long and comfortably settled in a prosperous way in a little farm, which lay in a fertile and beautiful valley belonging to his large estate.
The rich man was hard-hearted and revengeful, and, taking a dislike to poor old Davis on some very trifling occasion, had turned him out of the farm at so short a notice, that he had had the utmost difficulty to find a place to take shelter in. He had a great deal of trouble in removing his cattle and his poultry, his corn and his hay-mows, and every thing belonging to his farm; and said he was sure it would be a couple of years before he should be able to recover the expense and loss of time; and Edmond, who never went into the village without paying him a visit, and loved to chat with him and his old dame, never heard them talk of it without thinking is was, at least,a pitythat he had met with so great a misfortune.
The winter was very severe, the snow fell fast, it was deep, and lay very long on the ground. Davis was obliged to take his cattle in from the fields, and feed them entirely on hay; his poultry required the utmost care and attention, and every thing in his garden was in danger of perishing. "This is a sad winter for poor old Davis," said Edmond to his papa; "I am afraid it will put him another year behind hand; I wish he had not been driven from that flourishing farm in the valley."
"I wish so too," replied his papa, "if it would have been more for his good to have remained there—but God knows best!"
The spring returned, the snow melted, torrents of water fell from the hills—the brooks swelled, and overflowed the meadows—every thing was inundated: the farm in the valley was entirely destroyed, and all the cattle with which the rich man had stocked it were drowned. Davis, on his hill, had felt the sharpness and biting frost of winter; he had heard the wind roar, and the rain beat against his casement: but when the snow melted, he felt no ill effects from it, but turned out his cattle, which he had sheltered whilst it lay on the ground, to feast on the fresh herbage which had been preserved under it.
"I perceive now," said Edmond, "that I have been once more mistaken, and that, instead of thinking Davis an object of pity, I should look upon him as a fortunate man. If he had remained in the valley, his whole property would have been destroyed, and he would have been a beggar: now he has but to be doubly attentive to his labour, and he will soon recover the expense of his removal: he will then be just as well as he was, and he might this day have been without a morsel of bread, or a shilling to purchase one."
Sophy Benson, when she was only eleven years old, could write, read, draw, and play on the piano-forte, better than any little girl of her age in the whole neighbourhood; she was obedient to her papa and mamma, affectionate to her brothers and sisters, and would do any thing to oblige her friends, except going up stairs after night, staying in the garden alone a moment after the dusk of the evening, or going to bed before her sister. On these points, though she really wished to shew a readiness to do as she was desired, and had often attempted to do so, she never had been able to find resolution sufficient to carry her through with it; for she had heard of ghosts, giants, fairies, and monsters of divers kinds, and was never an instant alone in the dark, without expecting to see one or the other; concluding, it must be imagined, that it was customary with those gentlemen and ladies to pay their visits, each with a wax taper in their hands, to exhibit their persons by.
Sophy had a brother, a good-natured boy, one year younger than herself, whom she always contrived to get to accompany her when she had any thing to fetch from her chamber after night; but unfortunately, she had repeated so many terrible stories to him (to shew that she was not afraid without reason), that poor Harry soon became almost as great a coward as his sister; and they found, that whenever they had occasion to go out of the parlour after candlelight, it was necessary to procure a third person to be of their party, for they no longer thought themselves in safety together.
It may be thought a fortunate circumstance, that the infection did not spread, or the whole family would soon have been obliged to move in a body; but there was little danger of any thing so ridiculous: it was, on the contrary, much to be wondered at that a sensible girl, like Sophy Benson, should have been capable of such a weakness, and that she never gave herself time to reflect, that there could not be the smallest foundation for the silly fears with which she had filled her head.
Her mamma had taken a great deal of pains to endeavour to convince her of the folly of indulging herself in such ridiculous fancies, but it was to no purpose; her imagination was continually making her see strange sights, and hear extraordinary noises; and though she exposed herself to the ridicule and laughter of her elder brothers and sisters, when her giant proved to be a tree, and her dismal groans to be occasioned by the noise of a door or a window-shutter on a stormy night: still she went on in the same way, and had made poor little Harry as foolish as herself.
Whenever she was alone, either in the house or garden, a moment later than she liked to be, her heart immediately began to beat, and she flew like lightning to seek protection; her hands clasped, her elbows squeezed close to her sides, and her head hung down—and in this way, every object she glanced her eyes upon appeared to her fancy something extraordinary: had she but summoned resolution to take a second look, she must have laughed at her own folly.
One evening she came screaming into the parlour, and assured her mamma that she had had the greatest difficulty to escape from a hideous creature, who, with outspread arms, was on the point of seizing her, and begged the door might be locked immediately. Her mamma, and her brothers and sisters, laughed immoderately at her strange story, which mortified her extremely; but they could not prevail on her toshewthem where she had seen the terrible creature: she could, however, tell them the exact spot, though she endeavoured to dissuade them from venturing to go to it; but she could not prevail on any of them to be frightened, and they soon discovered the monster, with its outspread arms, to be nothing more than the horse on which the servant had been beating her papa's coat.
One evening, when the moon shone bright and fine, and Sophy and Harry had a very great desire to fetch a box of dominos which was in the nursery, and which they well knew they should not have, unless they went themselves to fetch it, after sitting half an hour, whispering and endeavouring to assume sufficient courage for so great an undertaking, they at length determined to go, for they were tired of having nothing to amuse themselves with, and had still a long winter evening before them.
Quaking through fear, and holding as fast as they possibly could by each other's hand, they ascended the stairs, got into the passage which led to the nursery, and were just going to open the door, when Sophy recollected, that if Harry was seen by her maid, she should be finely laughed at, and asked if she dared not venture to take a step without having him to protect her; she therefore begged he would wait at the door whilst she went into the nursery to fetch the dominos; but Harry would not hear of such a thing, and said he would not stay in the passage alone on any account whatever.
Sophy was so desirous of appearing courageous to her maid, that she tried every means she could think of to engage Harry to wait for her; told him she would not be a moment, that the moon shone as bright as day—but all was to no purpose, till by promising to give him her little box of colours, and her ivory cup and ball, she at length prevailed upon him to consent.
She walked into the nursery with an air of unconcern and boldness not at all usual to her; but it was quite lost, for Mary was not there and she knew not how to venture so far as a closet at the other end of it, to take out the box of dominos, but was on the point of calling Harry to come to her, when thinking the maid might be in the next room, she wished, if possible, to save her credit. With trembling steps she advanced towards the closet, reached it without anyterrible accident, and having opened the door, began to grope about for the box: it was neither on the first shelf nor the second, and passing her hand along the third, it fell upon something colder than stone.
Afraid of being laughed at, she determined not to scream, but with the utmost expedition quitted the nursery, without thinking of the dominos, and went to join her brother; but she had no sooner reached the passage, than she saw (too plainly she saw it to believe it to be the effect of fear) a figure dressed in long white robes, having one arm extended towards her, entirely covered with black, and in a low tremulous voice, it called "Sophy, Sophy, Sophy."
This was the most alarming and terrible adventure she had ever met with; and if she had command enough over herself not to scream when she touched the unaccountable cold thing in the closet, she now could shew no such fortitude; but sinking on the floor, for her knees could no longer support her weight, she screamed so loud, that the poor ghost, who had been as much terrified as herself, throwing aside his white robes, ran towards her for protection, crying, "Sophy, Sophy! my dear Sophy! is it you?—Oh dear! I thought it was all over with me; I have been almost smothered since you left me, and really thought I was going to be buried alive."
Mary, who heard the bustle, now made her appearance with a light, and, perceiving what had happened, became extremely angry, asking them if they imagined she had nothing to do but to wash their linen, to have it pulled about the dirty passage. "And here is my black silk handkerchief!" exclaimed she in a violent rage.—"Did I wash it so well in small beer, to make it look nice and fresh, for you to twist it about your arm, master Harry? Pray look what a condition you have made it in."
Harry looked extremely foolish, when he discovered that the only danger with which he had been menaced, was that of taking cold by having been covered with wet linen. The truth was, that, when his sister left him, he was so much afraid of being alone, that though he longed for the colours, and the cup and ball, he thought he was paying much too high a price for them, and almost repented of his promise. Willing, however, to gain the two things he most wished for, he determined to bear the lonely situation he was left in, but fancied if he could get away from the door, and place his back against the wall, he should be much safer, and more out of the way of danger.
Endeavouring by these means to secure himself, and shutting his eyes, that he might not see any thing disagreeable by the light of the moon, whose beams reflected different objects along the wall, he unfortunately stepped upon the end of a line, on which Mary had hung to dry the whole labour of the day, and having entangled his feet in it, by some means or other gave it such a jerk, that the nail sprung out, and in an instant poor Harry was half smothered under the weight of a quantity of wet linen, which he concluded (agreeably to the wonderful and surprising histories his sister had recounted to him) could be nothing less than some giant, who was going to bury him alive.
When Mary visited the closet, her anger rose to a prodigious pitch; for Sophy, in groping about for her box of dominos, had not only dirtied her fingers and hands, but had left the marks of them on Mary's new-washed caps and handkerchiefs, which she had put aside on a plate, till she could find time to iron them.
The whole story was repeated in the parlour, and the evening spent in mirth at the expense of the cowards.
Paulina going to spend the afternoon with her little cousins, arrived at their door at the very instant that they were dragging out a poor little dog, once so great a favourite that it was fed with every kind of nicety, and reposed, when it was inclined to sleep, on a beautiful silk cushion.
"What are you going to do with poor Fido?" inquired Paulina.
"Oh, the nasty thing!" replied her cousin Emily. "Pray look how ugly it is grown—I would not keep it in the house on any account—I am going to give it to those boys you see at the gate: I do not care what they do with it: my brother Charles has given me a most beautiful little creature—come in, and I will shew it to you."
"Stop, stop, for pity's sake!" exclaimed Paulina, "Pray do not give poor Fido to those boys, to be worried and tormented to death; let me have him; I will carry him home to my hospital, and will take care of him as long as he lives."
Fido had unfortunately strolled into the kitchen (where certainly neither young ladies nor their dogs can have any business), when the cook was very busy in getting ready for dinner, and (I hope without intending such a piece of cruelty) she had thrown a quantity of boiling water over the poor little creature's head and back, and scalded him in so terrible a manner, that no one thought he could have lived through the day.
Emily was so angry with the cook, and shed so many tears when she beheld the agony of her favourite, that one would have thought she had the best heart in the world, and that she had a very great regard for it; but as soon as it was recovered, and she saw it had lost one eye, and that all the side of its head, and its whole back, was without hair, she could not bear the sight of it: it was turned out of the parlour, and kicked about by every body, glad to pick up any bone it could meet with, and to sleep in a corner on straw, instead of the silk cushion it had been accustomed to; and, at length, had not Paulina arrived in time to save it, would have been given to half a dozen unfeeling boys, who would soon have destroyed it.
Paulina was very little pleased with her cousin Emily on this occasion, for her own disposition was very different: she was so humane, so kind to every body and every creature in distress, that she was beloved by all who knew her; she had quite a little hospital of sick and lame animals and birds: a dog, which had had its leg broken by being caught in a gin; a cat with one ear, the other having been bitten off by a large mastiff; and a blind squirrel; she had a little goldfinch in a cage, which had had its wings torn off by a cat, and as it could no longer fly down from its perch to drink, and return when it liked, she had contrived a little ladder, on which it could hop up and down without any difficulty; a blackbird, almost frozen to death, which she had picked up in the snow, but which never recovered the use of one of its legs, sung very merrily, however, in its cage, for it was well fed and taken care of; and one or two blind cocks, which she had bought from boys who had been fighting them, and were going to throw at them, by way offinishing the fun(as they called it); and several lame hens, become so by some accident or other, lived comfortably in her little poultry-yard, for she took care to feed all her pensioners herself, and never trusted the care of them to any other person.
Paulina had great pleasure in procuring every comfort she could for her poor animals; and her papa and mamma, to encourage her kind and humane disposition, increased her pocket-money, that she might be able to purchase barley for her poultry, and seed for her birds: her brothers also, who were at school, often sent her presents for that purpose. As she grew up, her humanity was shewn to her fellow-creatures in distress, as much as it had been in her childhood to the dumb creation; and as God had given her the means of doing good, she freely indulged herself in acts of kindness, for which she received a thousand thanks and blessings wherever she appeared: she was beloved by all her neighbours, both poor and rich, every thing prospered with her, and she was happy and contented, as she deserved to be.
Mrs. Clifford being particularly satisfied with the attention her three children, Alfred, Robert, and Helen, had for some time past paid to their lessons, and to the instruction of their masters, told them she would treat them with a charming walk in the woods on the opposite side of the river: and that, if they would carry some bread or biscuits with them, she thought they should have no difficulty in finding a house where they might procure some milk, and instead of returning home to drink tea, she would spend the whole afternoon and evening in rambling about with them.
This was charming news for the young folks, who took care not to give her the trouble of waiting for them, for they were all three ready at least half an hour before the time she had appointed for their departure, which they looked forward to with the utmost impatience; and the moment Mrs. Clifford joined them in the hall, away they all went, with joyful hearts and cheerful faces, through the field, and down the long lane, which led to the ferry.
"This is very pleasant, mamma," said Alfred; "I think I should never be tired of walking in the fields and woods; yet I must own I do long for winter, that we may purchase the magic lantern we are to have. I think, with the guinea grandpapa has given each of us, and what we had before in our little purses, we shall be able to have a very large one."
"O dear!" exclaimed Helen, "how delightful it will be to be able to see it as often as we please, and to show it to our friends; and, mamma, do you know that Robert is to be the person who shews it, for he says he can talk just like the man who came to our house last year."
"So I can," answered Robert; "and I wish it was bought, that you might hear what a long story I shall tell you about the sun and the moon, and the King of Prussia and his hussars, and the cat and the cook! I would rather have a magic lantern, than any thing in the whole world!"
Chatting in this manner, and amusing themselves by looking at different objects as they passed along, they found themselves at the ferry before they expected it; and the boat being just ready to put off, they stepped into it, and seated themselves with several others, who were going over to the other side of the river.
Their attention was very soon drawn to a poor woman, who with an infant on her knee, and a little girl and boy by her side, whom she frequently kissed and pressed to her bosom, wept as if her heart was breaking. As soon as they were landed, Mrs. Clifford stopped the woman, kindly inquired into the cause of her distress, and was immediately informed by her, that she had lately lost her husband, who, having been long in an ill state of health, and unable to work, had left her incumbered with several debts, which she had not the means of paying; and that though she laboured very hard, and had discharged some of the small ones, a hard-hearted man, to whom she owed six guineas, declaring he would not wait a day longer, had that morning seized upon her furniture, and all her little property, determined, as he said, to have his money before six o'clock, or to turn her and her children out to sleep in the high road, or where they thought fit.
She had been, she told Mrs. Clifford, to an uncle of her husband's, who lived at the market-town, begging him to take pity upon her and her innocent children: "but, Madam," added she, "he was deaf to my entreaties, and turned me from his door, and I am now going home to see all my things taken from me; and what will become of us this night, God alone can tell!"
Mrs. Clifford was extremely affected by this melancholy tale, and walked with the poor unhappy woman to her cottage, where they really found two ill-looking men taking down the bed, and packing up the furniture. The poor creature began to wring her hands and cry bitterly, and the children, though they did not understand what the men were going to do, clung to their mother, and would not move from her side.
Alfred, Robert and Helen were, however, old enough to understand perfectly well the distress of the poor woman, and the misery and wretchedness to which she and her helpless children were exposed; and, fortunately for her, their tender and compassionate hearts immediately prompted them to endeavour to relieve her. The pleasure they had promised themselves in purchasing a magic lantern, and in being in possession of such an amusement for the long evenings of the approaching winter, appeared to them very trifling in comparison to the delight of snatching this poor family out of the hands of the unfeeling wretches they had to deal with; and leading their mamma into the little garden, earnestly entreated her to take the three guineas their grandpapa had given them, as well as the contents of their little purses, and employ the whole to relieve the poor woman, and begged her in the most pressing manner to make up the deficiency.
Mrs. Clifford pressed them tenderly to her heart, expressing the greatest satisfaction at the resolution they had taken, and assuring them she would make up the sum with the greatest pleasure, and that the proof they now gave of their feeling and humanity made them dearer to her than ever; adding, that she was certain four-and-twenty hours would not pass before they would be rewarded for their goodness.
The men were immediately stopped, the debt discharged, and the furniture replaced in proper order: the poor woman knew not how to express her joy, and her gratitude; she scarcely knew what she was doing, but at length recollecting herself, entreated Mrs. Clifford and her children to be seated, and accept of such refreshment as she had to offer them. Her little table was soon covered with a cloth as white as snow; and fresh milk, eggs, butter, and a nice brown loaf were set before them, of which they partook with great satisfaction.
They did not quit this little family till a late hour, and could talk of nothing on their way home but the pleasure they felt in the reflection of having left them so happy; of how they had been delighted when they saw the two hard-hearted men walk out of the cottage, and how differently the poor woman and her children would pass the night, to what they might have expected. Alfred said, the good action they had done that afternoon would be the pleasantest they could have to talk of in the winter evenings; and Robert was of opinion that a visit now and then to the cottage (which their mamma had promised them) would afford prettier stories for him to repeat, than any thing he could tell of the King of Prussia or his hussars. As for Helen, she declared that her heart was so light, and she felt herself so happy and joyful, that she could almost jump over the moon.
They retired to rest in this pleasant disposition, and told their mamma the next morning, that they had never been so happy in their lives; that they went to bed, thinking on the good they had done, and, after thanking God, who had given them the means of doing it, they had immediately fallen into a sweet sleep; that the moment they awoke, they had found themselves in the same happy humour, pleased with themselves, and with every body they saw; and were very well convinced that the magic lantern could never have procured them one quarter of the pleasure which they now felt, and which would be renewed every time they visited the poor woman at the cottage, and whenever they recollected her story.
"I told you, my children," said Mrs. Clifford, "that four-and-twenty hours would not pass before you would be rewarded; and you must now, I am certain, be well convinced, that the heart-felt pleasure arising from the reflection of such an act of kindness and benevolence to a fellow-creature in distress, is the greatest and most solid reward that could possibly have been bestowed upon you, far superior to, and more lasting than any satisfaction you could have procured by laying out your money in any other way."
Mrs. Franklin, a widow lady of very considerable fortune, inhabited an elegant house on Richmond Hill, kept a number of servants, and had the most splendid equipage in the whole neighbourhood. She had an only daughter, to whom she was fondly indulgent, and on whom she determined to bestow the best education that could possibly be procured for her, let the expense be what it would.
Jemima was a very amiable child; and if she had been so fortunate as to have been placed under the care of any one a little more disposed than her mother was to combat her fancies and want of resolution, she would not have had to regret the immense sums squandered upon her to no kind of purpose, nor to wish she could recal (as she often vainly did) the time she had trifled away in doing nothing.
It must appear very extraordinary that this should have been the unhappy fate of a little girl, who wished so much to profit by the instruction procured for her, and had the greatest desire to be an accomplished woman; but Jemima wished to be accomplished, without having thetroubleof making herself so, and possessed neither theresolutionnorperseveranceso absolutely necessary to the attainment of the perfection she aimed at.
She began every thing with eagerness and alacrity; but the most trifling difficulty which came in her way put a total stop to her progress, and she immediately persuaded herself that it was not possible she ever should be able to surmount them.
She had from her infancy been extremely fond of drawing, and desiring to be instructed in that agreeable art, one of the first masters was procured for her: she had in a very short time succeeded in copying, with tolerable correctness, the first things he gave her to do; and the greatest hopes were entertained of her making a great proficiency in what she appeared to prefer to every other amusement. The master now gave her some other drawings to copy, which required a little more attention and study, and she began to find difficulties in her way, which she had not foreseen: she tried them twice—they were pretty well, but not perfect; a few faults still remained, which her master pointed out to her. Jemima concluded shenevershould do them better; and as he insisted that she could not proceed till she had made herself mistress of the trifles he objected to, she determined to give up all thoughts of drawing figure, and apply herself entirely to landscape.
She was delighted with this new employment; her master had the sweetest drawings of trees, cottages, and rivers, that had ever been seen! She should never be tired of copying such pretty things, and she was sure she should not meet with half the difficulties which were to be found in drawing figure.
She made outlines of several trees, and had she but been possessed of perseverance enough to have perfected herself in that part, before she attempted to go farther, all would have been easy and pleasant; but Jemima knew nothing of perseverance or patience, and insisted on having a finished landscape to do directly; and the master, to shew her how incapable she was of executing such a thing, indulged her in her fancy: but when he endeavoured to explain to her the nature of perspective, light and shadow, and several other rules necessary for her to understand, Jemima dropped the pencil from her fingers. She had not perfectly comprehended his meaning, and wanted resolution to question him, and endeavour to make it clearer, and once more concluded she never should be able to make any thing of it, and that it would be much more prudent to turn to some other pursuit.
Accordingly the drawing-master was dismissed; and all the money her mamma had paid him for his attendance, for quantities of paper, pencils, chalk, and (which was of much more consequence, and which no sum could recal) the loss of her own precious time, were thrown away to no purpose. But Jemima did not mean to stop here; she should do very well without drawing, she said, and she would give all the time she had intended to employ that way entirely to music, and had no doubt, but that by the time she was sixteen she should be quite a proficient; was very sorry she had so long neglected her piano forte, and requested of her master that he would bring her some better music than the simple easy lessons she had been playing, assuring him that she intended to apply very seriously. But, alas! she had no better success in this than in her drawing; difficulties obtruded themselves whatever she turned to, and when she quitted the piano for the harp, and from the harp returned to the piano, she found herself just in the same predicament.
The music was given up for the French and Italian languages, geography, and botany, all of which ended in the same way: nothing was to be learnt without a sufficient stock of perseverance and resolution to surmount the obstacles which lay in the way; and as thesmallestwas quite enough to stop Jemima's progress, it is not to be wondered at (as she was allowed to have her own way in every thing) that at the age of sixteen, though what would have been a comfortable independence to many, had been spent upon her education, that she knew no one thing in the world.
At twenty she had but too much cause to repent of her folly: her mother, by lawsuits, and other unforeseen events, lost the greater part of her fortune, and was obliged to retire into a remote part of the country; and in that lonely place what a comfort and amusement would she have found in music or drawing, had she but endeavoured, when she had so good an opportunity, to perfect herself in either! But she had nothing to do, no means of employing herself agreeably, but spent her time in loitering about from one window to another, tired of herself, and tiring every body who saw her.
William was come home to spend the holidays; but he had scarcely time to speak to his papa and mamma, before he ran out to visit his poultry, his rabbits, and his little garden; and from thence to the village, to see his nurse, and then to the cottage of old John, who had taught him how to catch birds, make little fishing-nets, and how to take care of his tame rabbits.
He found the poor old man in the utmost grief and consternation; a recruiting party had come into the village, and had enticed his son away from him. He had enlisted: he was gone from his aged father, who had no other comfort in the world: he depended upon him for his support, for he was a strong, healthy, hard-working young man; and John was grown old and infirm, and could no longer work to maintain himself.
"My dear young master," said he, "I am almost broken-hearted; a trifle of money would engage the sergeant to give him up, if I could get it before they take him to the magistrate at the next town; and he, poor boy! desires no better, for they had made him drink more than he is accustomed to do, or he never would have thought of leaving me: the moment he was sober he repented of it; but it is too late—I have no money, and they will soon be gone. Wretched old man that I am! what will become of me?"
"Pray do not grieve so, old John," said William; "I will return to my papa directly, and I am very sure he will not leave you in distress. I will be back again in half an hour, so pray be comforted—your son shall not be taken from you." And away he went, fully intending to do as he had said he would; but unfortunately William was not to be depended upon, for he continually deferred to another time what ought to be done at the moment, and trifled away hours in which he had engaged to render little services to people who depended upon his promises.
It is scarcely to be credited, that, anxious as he appeared to relieve the poor old man's distress, he should, before he got half way to his papa's house, if notforgetthe errand on which he was going with so much seeming expedition, at least suffer a new object to draw off his attention from the principal part of it; and that he should accept of an invitation to dine, without once recollecting, that, unless the business could be settled immediately, the recruiting party would have left the village, and poor John would be abandoned to misery and distress.
Meeting with two young gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood, and being invited by them to go and dine at their house, their servant was dispatched, whilst they amused themselves in the wood; to ask his papa's leave; and as it was readily granted, and he did not return till evening, the recruiting party had left the village many hours before old John had the means sent him of procuring his son's discharge.
William was extremely grieved when he perceived the sad effects his neglect had occasioned, the agony of the poor old man, and the anger of his papa, who, after threatening to send him immediately back to school, took this opportunity of making him recollect how many times he had brought trouble and distress upon different persons by the unpardonable fault he was continually committing, through his trifling, unsteady disposition, and assured him, that if he suffered so bad a custom to grow up with him, he would be pointed out as a man on whose word no one could place the smallest confidence, and whose promises were of no value—a frivolous, despicable character, with whom no worthy people would associate. He then ordered his chaise to be got ready, and went over to the market town; the magistrate was his particular friend, and he had the pleasure (though not without some difficulty) of freeing the young man, and of sending him home to comfort and support his aged and afflicted father.
Priscilla lost her mother when she was very young: her father was in the East Indies, and she was taken home by his sister, Mrs. Hamilton, who loved her for his sake, and shewed her the greatest kindness and attention; but her daughters, Emily and Lucy, were not both equally kind to their cousin. Lucy was very fond of her, but Emily was jealous and envious, and could not bear the marks of tenderness bestowed upon her by her mother.
Priscilla had a most affectionate heart, and would cry for hours together, when she thought she had done any thing to make her cousin angry; which she imagined must certainly be the case (though she could not recollect what it could possibly be), for it never entered into her head that any one could be displeased with her, when she had done nothing to offend them, and little suspected, that when she was praised by her aunt for her even temper and constant good humour, for her attention to her lessons, and the progress she made in every thing she undertook to learn, her kind and gentle manner towards the servants, and her charity and humanity to her fellow-creatures in distress: she had no idea that those praises increased the dislike which the ill-natured Emily had conceived to her the moment she came into the house, who, instead of endeavouring to imitate her good qualities, took every method in her power to cast a shade over them, and to fill every one's head with tales to her disadvantage.
As they grew older, Emily's dislike to her cousin increased every hour, as did the amiable Priscilla's endeavours to soften it by every mean she could employ, and by seeking every opportunity of obliging her. If Emily had any work to do, of which she appeared tired, Priscilla was sure to be ready to finish it for her: if she wished for a nosegay, Priscilla would search over the whole village till she had procured the prettiest and sweetest flowers to make one for her; but all was to no purpose—she hated her the more for the trouble she took to please her.
One day Mrs. Hamilton returned from the town, where she had been to purchase different things to send to her sister in Scotland; and, amongst the rest, a very beautiful netting-box, which she intended as a present to her, was shewn to the young ladies, and greatly admired by all three. It was extremely delicate, and, after they had sufficiently examined its beauty, it was placed on a small table, with positive orders from Mrs. Hamilton that it should not be touched; but returning in the evening from the house of a friend in the neighbourhood, with whom she had dined, and recollecting that curiosity might lead some of the servants to open it, she took it up in the paper, as it lay on the table, and locked it in a bookcase.
The following day, being busily employed in packing up the things she had purchased for her sister, and thinking to put some cotton into the little netting-box, to preserve the winders and other things from rubbing, how was she surprised at perceiving that the lining was green instead of pale pink, and that several parts of it were totally different from that which she had purchased the day before!
Lucy said she was very sure it was not the same box her mamma had shewn to them; Emily was of the same opinion: but Priscilla only blushed without saying a word.
"Somebody has broken my box, and replaced it with another not half so pretty," said Mrs. Hamilton in an angry tone; "I had positively forbid either of you to touch it, and I insist on knowing which of you has done this mischief."
"I am afraid," said Emily, pretending to feel extremely for her cousin's confusion, "that poor Priscilla has had the misfortune to break it; and indeed, mamma, if you will but observe how she blushes, and that she has not a word to say in her own defence, you need not have any doubt of the matter."
Priscilla assured her aunt that she had never touched her box after she had shewn it to her; Emily gave the same assurance with regard to herself, and Lucy declared that she had not been in the room where it was, from the time that her mamma went out, till she returned in the evening.
Mrs. Hamilton, determined to know the truth, asked the young ladies what use they had made of the guinea they had each received on new year's day, saying her box had cost that sum, and could not have been replaced without an equal one.
"Here is mine," eagerly exclaimed Emily, "in my little work-trunk."
"Half of mine, my dear mamma," said Lucy, "you will recollect, I paid for a box of colours, and some drawing paper; and here is the other half in my purse."
"And where isyourguinea, Priscilla?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton.—"And what is the reason, that, instead of shewing the same readiness with your cousins to clear yourself, you only blush and hang down your head, without speaking a single word?"
"I cannot produce my guinea," answered Priscilla; "but believe me, my dear aunt, when I assure you that I never touched your box."
Emily, who had her reasons for wishing the subject might be dropped, though not from any motive of tenderness for her cousin, now earnestly intreated her mamma not to inquire any farther into the matter, as it only distressed thepoor thing, and would make her utter a thousand falsities. But old Martha, their maid, who had stood all the time pinching the strings of her apron, clasping her hands together, and then lifting them up to heaven, with many other gestures which marked her impatience, now no longer able to contain her indignation, burst out like thunder, and asked Emily how she could possibly stand there, looking her mamma in the face, and presume to talk offalsities, when she must be conscious she was at that moment guilty, not only of a most terrible and wicked falsity, in accusing an innocent person of the fault she had herself committed, but was also making the most ungrateful return that any one could be capable of, for an action which certainly deserved the greatest praise, and which she must be conscious she owed to her cousin's generosity and kindness. She then proceeded to acquaint her mistress, that walking with Priscilla round the garden, about half an hour after she had left the house, and coming near the parlour window, which happened to be open, they had perceived the netting-box lying on the marble hearth, broken into a dozen pieces, and Emily with her back towards them, picking them up; that Priscilla had, in a low whisper, entreated her in the most earnest manner not to speak; and that having stood a little aside, they had seen her go and throw all the pieces into the pond in the front garden, and then run up stairs as fast as possible.
"The dear Miss Priscilla," continued old nurse, "then begged me, as the greatest of all favours, to go immediately into the town, to the shop where you had bought the netting-box, and withherguinea to get one exactly like it: and this I did to oblige her, and because it never was in my power to refuse her any thing she asks, though I must say I thought Miss Emily little deserved her kindness; for this is but one out of a hundred stories she has told of her, and ill-natured tricks she has played her, in return for her constantly doing every thing she could to oblige her, and for the trouble she has taken so many times to hide her faults. I thought the box I purchased so exactly like yours, Madam, that I concluded you never would discover what had happened; and Miss Priscilla was quite happy in thinking you would be spared the vexation of knowing it had been broken, and her cousin the anger which she would have incurred, by disobeying your orders. We were, however, disappointed; but Miss Emily must have guessed, when her cousin could not produce her guinea, what use she had made of it; and that was the reason why she wished you to drop the subject, for she might well suppose her falsity and ill nature must at length be made known to you."
It is almost needless to add, that Emily entirely lost her mamma's good opinion; Priscilla lived very happily from that time, affectionately beloved by Mrs. Hamilton and her cousin Lucy, and doated on by old Martha, who never forgot to entertain her friends and acquaintance with the story of the broken netting-box, so disgraceful to Miss Emily, and so much to the honour of her darling Priscilla.
At six o'clock on a fine morning in the beginning of September, Mrs. Cecil, with her daughter Matilda, stepped into a post-chaise in order to begin a journey towards London.
The house she had for some time inhabited stood in a distant and romantic part of Wales, many miles from the public road, so that they could advance but slowly, and often walked up steep hills, and over craggy mountains, either from regard to their own safety, or because they were tired of the carriage.
Matilda, after riding a whole day, wished she could perform the remaining part of the journey on foot, and often urged her mamma (even when the roughness of the road did not render it necessary) to get out of the chaise, that she might run up a rising ground, look round her, and pick up and examine a number of different things which caught her eye and struck her fancy; and Mrs. Cecil, who walked but slowly, was often left far behind, whilst her daughter made little excursions, and amused herself by talking to the country people.
The second day after their departure from home, she told her mamma she had, in one of her rambles into a narrow lane, seen a poor boy in great danger of being beaten by a woman who appeared to be mistress of a small cottage adjoining to that at the door of which he stood, and who threatened to lay a stick (which she held in her hand) over his shoulders, if ever he dared to touch her pears again. "But," said Matilda, "the boy insisted that they were not her pears, but his father's, and that he was in his father's garden when he picked them from a bough which hung down almost into his mouth."
Mrs. Cecil observed, that it would indeed have been a hard case if the boy had been punished by a neighbour for eating his father's pears; but when Matilda farther informed her, that the woman said the tree grew inhergarden, and that the bough with which he had made so free, because it hung over the wall, was a part of it, she said that entirely altered the case; and asked Matilda, whether, when her sister had lost one of her gloves, and that it was found to have slid intoherdrawer, she thought that accident made it her property, or whether it still belonged to her sister? or whether, if the little rose-tree, of which she was so fond, should in another year extend its branches so much, as to spread over a corner of her sister's garden, she imagined it would give her a right to pluck all the roses which hung in her way, or whether she should not look upon them asherroses, as much as those which were growing on the other parts of it? Matilda perceived she had been wrong, and thanked her mamma for shewing her her error.
The travellers arrived towards evening at the foot of a steep craggy hill, and in compassion to the poor horses, they determined to walk to the top of it. On gaining the summit, they saw an extensive common lying before them; and Matilda, who was accustomed to make observations, and to reflect on every thing she saw, and who never lost an opportunity of gaining information, asked her mamma if she did not think it a great pity, that any part of the world should remain so barren and uncultivated, and, as it appeared to her, so intirely useless; wishing, at the same time, she had the power to change the whole common in an instant into flourishing corn-fields and beautiful gardens.
Mrs. Cecil was just beginning to tell her daughter, that nothing was made which could be said to be entirely useless, when the post-boy came running up to inform her, that one of the wheels of the chaise was broken to pieces, and he did not know what he should do to get it up the hill.
"This is a sad accident indeed!" said Mrs. Cecil, "and I know not what any of us are to do, for I do not see a single habitation near us."
"Bless you! my lady," answered the boy, "do but please to turn about, and you will see plenty of habitations. I be no stranger here; and though there be no gentlefolks live in the place, I will be answerable for finding you a clean, neat cottage, with homely fare, but a hearty welcome. The first you see, over there by the trees, belongs to my aunt: do, Madam, please to walk up to it, whilst I go seek for two or three men to help me up with thechai."
During this speech, Mrs. Cecil had turned her head, and was very agreeably surprised at seeing, very near the spot where she stood, a little cluster of neat cottages among some trees, which, on ascending the hill, she had not perceived, having been equally struck, as Matilda was, with the extent of the plain before them.
They proceeded, as the post-boy had desired them, to the first cottage, where they found a woman busily employed in preparing her husband's supper, whilst four pretty little children, with ruddy complexions and smiling faces, were eating milk with wooden spoons out of a large bowl which was placed in the midst of them.
The good woman received them very kindly, and offered them every thing her cottage afforded, such as milk, whey, brown bread, eggs, and some common but ripe and relishing fruit. Matilda expressed much wonder, that she found the means of procuring even the necessaries of life on a bleak, wild common; and was extremely surprised when the woman assured her that the common, which she seemed to think so little of, was what furnished them with the greater part of the comforts they enjoyed: telling her also, that if it were more fertile, and were to be inclosed and cultivated, it would be quite lost to them, because they were too poor to be able to rent even the smallest portion of it. "As it is," added she, "all the cottagers on this little spot have a right to feed their cattle, and to cut turf for their winter fire. Neither my cow nor my goats cost me any thing; we have a little garden, which, between my husband and myself, is kept in pretty good order, and produces as many vegetables as we can make use of. I have plenty of poultry, which I carry to market, and have milk to feed my pig; so that we have nothing to wish for, but that God may preserve our health, and continue to us the blessings we enjoy."
Matilda was astonished at this account, and made many observations to her mamma on the pleasure of finding people happier than she expected, which gave her the greatest satisfaction, as they were convincing proofs of the goodness of her disposition: and she did not fail to observe to her, that the mixture of fertile vallies, barren mountains, hills, woods, and plains, with which the earth is diversified, each in various ways, and at different seasons of the year, are productive of good to the industrious.
Mrs. Cecil and Matilda were obliged to pass the night in the cottage: the next morning the wheel of the chaise being repaired, and having satisfied the good woman for the trouble they had given her, and made some little presents to her children, they continued their journey; and being but a short distance from a small village, through which lay the high road to London, they arrived at that city without any accident, or meeting with any thing farther, worthy of being related.