TALEVI.Polly Brownwent one day to carry her grandmam a little broth, for the poor can do good to others as well as the rich. Her mother desired her to go carefully, not to stay by the way, and to come strait back: she said she would. As she was going, she met Sukey Playful and Dolly Careless: where are you going? said they. To take my grandmam some broth. Come, said they, set it down a little while, and have a run with us. O no, said she, I cannot now, my mammy desired I would make haste; beside, the broth will be cold. When a little girl knows what is right, she ought to listen to no persuasions to do wrong. They told her, her mammy would never know anything about it: that they were going to buy a half-penny worth of apples, and would give her one if she would go with them. Come, said they, you mayset down the jug in this snug place, and we shall soon be back again. At last she consented; but she had no comfort as she went, nor when she had got her apple; for she thought, if the jug should be thrown down, what should she do. They made haste, but when they came back to the place, a dog had thrown down the jug, and spilt all the broth. Polly began to cry most terribly, and scolded Sukey and Dolly for persuading her to go, when she might have recollected that it was her own fault for not minding her duty. They were a good deal frightened: however, they said, never mind it, as the jug is not broke, you can go home and tell your mammy you took the broth, and, perhaps, she will never know any thing about it. Polly dried her eyes, took up the jug, and went home; but she was very uneasy, and felt that she did not like her play-fellows half so well as she had done before, forthey had now taught her to do wrong. When she got home, well, said her mother, how does your grandmam do, my dear, and how did she like the broth; for I dare say she was hungry enough, poor soul, and would eat them directly? Polly said, she was much as usual, and liked them very well. All the day she was very dull, and found she could not work with half so much pleasure as she used to do. At night, when she went to bed, she was very uncomfortable indeed; she had been taught always to tell the truth, as the only way to be happy herself, or of any use to others. She now felt that she had deceived her mother, and therefore did not deserve to be trusted by her. Thus she continued very uneasy all the week: On Saturday night, when her mother had done all her work, and washed the young children and put them to bed, Polly, said she, I think I will just step and see how your grandmother does:you, my dear, will take care of the house; and mend a hole in your father’s stocking for to-morrow. You begin to be a great help to me now, and I thank God that I have one child to depend upon for a little comfort and assistance: be sure to take care against the fire and candle, I shall soon be back again. She then went out, but Polly’s heart was ready to break: she had always, before, deserved her mother’s praise, and it was the next comfort she had to the satisfaction of her own mind. But now she had deceived her; she was miserable; she was going to be found out; and she could no more expect to be trusted. The grandmother was very glad to see her daughter, and began to enquire after all the children, and particularly Polly, who, she said, was now a notable little maid, and would soon, she hoped, be a great comfort to them all. But child, said she, I am afraid you haveraised no broth lately, for you used to be so good as to send me some, and it is now many a long day since I have had any. Mother, said she, you forget, we made broth on Monday, and Polly brought you some then. Well, said she, I believe my memory fails me, but I thought it had been longer. Here is my neighbour Green, who brings in her wheel sometimes, she has sat with me a good deal this week, it may be that she can tell. Monday, Monday, let me see, said Betty Green; no, neighbour, I am sure Polly brought none on Monday, for that was the day we made some at our house, and I brought you a little of mine. Well, said Polly’s mother, I do not know how it could be, but I will enquire when I get home. I must now wish you a good night, for my husband will want his supper. You have a shift here over the line that wants mending I see: Polly is now very ready with her needle, they havetaught her so well in the charity-school. I am sure she will be glad to mend her grandmother’s shift; for the more useful she is, the more happy you know she will be: so I will take it with me. Good night, God bless you, I must make haste, for we poor people have no time to lose. Away she set off: when she got home, well, Polly, said she, you have had no accident? Polly was very dull, and said no, mother. Your grandmother enquired kindly after you, and was very glad that you are such a comfort and help to me; but how was it, my dear, about the broth you last went with? Your grandmother has never had them. Polly trembled in every limb; at first she thought of still saying that she took them, but she found that she had been miserable enough already, and that it would only make her more so. O, mother, said she, I have deceived you: I have made myself very unhappy, and I am very wicked indeed.She then told her mother what had happened. Her mother was very much shocked, and could hardly speak. I know, said she, very well, that other people are often wishing and asking us to do wrong; it is possible your naughty companions might persuade you; but, to come home and deceive me, this is dreadful indeed. I know of no other right use of words, but for us to tell one another of things as they really are. You have, perhaps, heard quarrels in the street, and seen a good deal of sorrow and trouble in houses; a great part of this is owing to people’s deceiving one another in their words, and not telling the strict clear truth. For my part, I would rather have had a child who could not speak, than one who deceives me. How can I trust you? How can I depend upon what you say? Nay, how do I know that this account of the matter is truth? When shall I be able to believeyou again? O, my dear mother, said she, do forgive me this once, and I hope I shall always speak the truth for the future. Yes, said she, I can forgive you, but do you forgive yourself? that is the matter. Can you be as happy as you was before? I will try: I will watch my words, and tell you all. Well, said her mother, you seem very sorry; I do not wish to make you more so, only you will find that I cannot, at present, trust to what you say; neither can your grandmother, nor neighbour Green; but this you must endure as the consequence of the fault you have committed. It is a dreadful effect of doing wrong, that it makes us unhappy; but the more unhappy it makes you, the more you must strive against it in future. I hope you are sincerely sorry; if so, we shall perceive it by your speaking the truth, for deceit is soon found out, and thenwe shall trust you as usual; and, I hope, you will always remember, that none can deceive another without injuring himself.Better be dumb than dare to lie;For words which are not truth,Far as they reach, spread miseryOn childhood, age, and youth.flower
Polly Brownwent one day to carry her grandmam a little broth, for the poor can do good to others as well as the rich. Her mother desired her to go carefully, not to stay by the way, and to come strait back: she said she would. As she was going, she met Sukey Playful and Dolly Careless: where are you going? said they. To take my grandmam some broth. Come, said they, set it down a little while, and have a run with us. O no, said she, I cannot now, my mammy desired I would make haste; beside, the broth will be cold. When a little girl knows what is right, she ought to listen to no persuasions to do wrong. They told her, her mammy would never know anything about it: that they were going to buy a half-penny worth of apples, and would give her one if she would go with them. Come, said they, you mayset down the jug in this snug place, and we shall soon be back again. At last she consented; but she had no comfort as she went, nor when she had got her apple; for she thought, if the jug should be thrown down, what should she do. They made haste, but when they came back to the place, a dog had thrown down the jug, and spilt all the broth. Polly began to cry most terribly, and scolded Sukey and Dolly for persuading her to go, when she might have recollected that it was her own fault for not minding her duty. They were a good deal frightened: however, they said, never mind it, as the jug is not broke, you can go home and tell your mammy you took the broth, and, perhaps, she will never know any thing about it. Polly dried her eyes, took up the jug, and went home; but she was very uneasy, and felt that she did not like her play-fellows half so well as she had done before, forthey had now taught her to do wrong. When she got home, well, said her mother, how does your grandmam do, my dear, and how did she like the broth; for I dare say she was hungry enough, poor soul, and would eat them directly? Polly said, she was much as usual, and liked them very well. All the day she was very dull, and found she could not work with half so much pleasure as she used to do. At night, when she went to bed, she was very uncomfortable indeed; she had been taught always to tell the truth, as the only way to be happy herself, or of any use to others. She now felt that she had deceived her mother, and therefore did not deserve to be trusted by her. Thus she continued very uneasy all the week: On Saturday night, when her mother had done all her work, and washed the young children and put them to bed, Polly, said she, I think I will just step and see how your grandmother does:you, my dear, will take care of the house; and mend a hole in your father’s stocking for to-morrow. You begin to be a great help to me now, and I thank God that I have one child to depend upon for a little comfort and assistance: be sure to take care against the fire and candle, I shall soon be back again. She then went out, but Polly’s heart was ready to break: she had always, before, deserved her mother’s praise, and it was the next comfort she had to the satisfaction of her own mind. But now she had deceived her; she was miserable; she was going to be found out; and she could no more expect to be trusted. The grandmother was very glad to see her daughter, and began to enquire after all the children, and particularly Polly, who, she said, was now a notable little maid, and would soon, she hoped, be a great comfort to them all. But child, said she, I am afraid you haveraised no broth lately, for you used to be so good as to send me some, and it is now many a long day since I have had any. Mother, said she, you forget, we made broth on Monday, and Polly brought you some then. Well, said she, I believe my memory fails me, but I thought it had been longer. Here is my neighbour Green, who brings in her wheel sometimes, she has sat with me a good deal this week, it may be that she can tell. Monday, Monday, let me see, said Betty Green; no, neighbour, I am sure Polly brought none on Monday, for that was the day we made some at our house, and I brought you a little of mine. Well, said Polly’s mother, I do not know how it could be, but I will enquire when I get home. I must now wish you a good night, for my husband will want his supper. You have a shift here over the line that wants mending I see: Polly is now very ready with her needle, they havetaught her so well in the charity-school. I am sure she will be glad to mend her grandmother’s shift; for the more useful she is, the more happy you know she will be: so I will take it with me. Good night, God bless you, I must make haste, for we poor people have no time to lose. Away she set off: when she got home, well, Polly, said she, you have had no accident? Polly was very dull, and said no, mother. Your grandmother enquired kindly after you, and was very glad that you are such a comfort and help to me; but how was it, my dear, about the broth you last went with? Your grandmother has never had them. Polly trembled in every limb; at first she thought of still saying that she took them, but she found that she had been miserable enough already, and that it would only make her more so. O, mother, said she, I have deceived you: I have made myself very unhappy, and I am very wicked indeed.She then told her mother what had happened. Her mother was very much shocked, and could hardly speak. I know, said she, very well, that other people are often wishing and asking us to do wrong; it is possible your naughty companions might persuade you; but, to come home and deceive me, this is dreadful indeed. I know of no other right use of words, but for us to tell one another of things as they really are. You have, perhaps, heard quarrels in the street, and seen a good deal of sorrow and trouble in houses; a great part of this is owing to people’s deceiving one another in their words, and not telling the strict clear truth. For my part, I would rather have had a child who could not speak, than one who deceives me. How can I trust you? How can I depend upon what you say? Nay, how do I know that this account of the matter is truth? When shall I be able to believeyou again? O, my dear mother, said she, do forgive me this once, and I hope I shall always speak the truth for the future. Yes, said she, I can forgive you, but do you forgive yourself? that is the matter. Can you be as happy as you was before? I will try: I will watch my words, and tell you all. Well, said her mother, you seem very sorry; I do not wish to make you more so, only you will find that I cannot, at present, trust to what you say; neither can your grandmother, nor neighbour Green; but this you must endure as the consequence of the fault you have committed. It is a dreadful effect of doing wrong, that it makes us unhappy; but the more unhappy it makes you, the more you must strive against it in future. I hope you are sincerely sorry; if so, we shall perceive it by your speaking the truth, for deceit is soon found out, and thenwe shall trust you as usual; and, I hope, you will always remember, that none can deceive another without injuring himself.
Better be dumb than dare to lie;For words which are not truth,Far as they reach, spread miseryOn childhood, age, and youth.
Better be dumb than dare to lie;For words which are not truth,Far as they reach, spread miseryOn childhood, age, and youth.
Better be dumb than dare to lie;
For words which are not truth,
Far as they reach, spread misery
On childhood, age, and youth.
flower