The Shipwrecked (second plate)
Every man at first worked at every thing; and the same man dug his ground, caught his wild-fowl, gathered the eggs from the nests in the rocks, and repaired his house when necessary. In short, every man was what we call a jack-of-all-trades, and as happens commonly in such cases, hardly any was master of one. But when the first clothes which they had got from the ship were almost worn out, and every man tried to patch and mend his own, they began to think it would be better if one or two of the party should take thatbusiness into their own hands, and it was then given up to the women. When the looms were set to work, the two weavers were chiefly employed in making a coarse kind of cloth from a sort of hemp which grew on the island, from which, after it was steeped in water and beaten with sticks, a strong thread could be spun. Of this cloth, of various thicknesses, they helped the women to make coats and gowns, boots and shoes, and stockings. They made hats of a strong flat rush which grew on the sand-hills near the sea. This work took up so much of their time that the land of the two weavers was overrun with weeds, and it was found better for them to give up their farm to a neighbor, who should be paid for the produce in boots, coats, and money. The carpenter also was but a poor farmer, and his crop failed. So he gave up farming, and worked away at building houses, and making tables, and chairs, and bedsteads, receiving payment in potatoes, corn, wild-fowls, eggs, or sometimes in money. In the course of two or three years, some were bakers only, some poulterers, some potato merchants, and only about half of the company were farmers; of which the consequence was the land was better tilled, the corn better ground and baked, the fowls better fed, eggs more easily to be had, the potatoes better, and the huts kept in better repair. Each man had a trade of hisown, and each knew his trade pretty well. Each man was consequently better fed, clothed, and lodged, than when he worked at every trade himself.
The individual whom we have mentioned as the Philosopher, was not an idle man among all these working people. He was schoolmaster to all the children, who were so fond of him, that he was seldom to be seen without the strongest of them scrambling over the rocks or along the coast after him. He measured out and divided the land which was each man’s portion. He taught the rest of the men to select some of the roots with which the island abounded; and to cultivate near their dwellings the graceful trees which were natural to the soil. He made curious nets, which enabled others to catch a constant supply of fish and of birds. He constructed clocks of wood, which were found very useful in the different huts; and he taught some of the bigger boys to make vessels of clay as well as bricks, the latter of which made the foundation of the houses better able to resist the storms that now and then swept across the island. He also managed to make two or three musical instruments, on one or other of which he would occasionally play in an evening, whilst the children, and indeed often their fathers and mothers also, would dance on the grass after the labors of the day. He was the only person in the island who could keepan account of time; and he was of much use to the farmers in advising them when to sow different seeds, and in what soils. In short, there was no end to his contrivances. He also found time to make a collection of all the different plants that grew on the island, from some of which he prepared medicines for those who happened to be sick. He made a survey of the whole of the island, and made drawings of it and of the little town in which the shipwrecked people lived; cheering them by saying they would some day look at them in England. He persuaded every man and woman in the island to rest from work one day in seven; on which day he used to have them collected together, and on the long winter evenings, to read some prayers to them, and a chapter or two from a Bible which had come ashore with some other books. He taught many of the men and women to sing the hymns and ballads of their own country; and contrived to make them so busy and so comfortable, that many of them ceased to sigh for home; whilst their children, too, were growing up in the peaceful island, ignorant of all that was doing in any other land upon the globe, except what they learnt from the lessons and books of the good Philosopher.
A proper and judicious system of reading is of the highest importance. Two things are necessary in perusing the mental labors of others;—namely, not to read too much, and to pay great attention to the nature of what you do read. Many persons peruse books for the express and avowed purpose of consuming time; and this class of readers forms by far the majority of what are termed the “reading public.” Others, again, read with the laudable anxiety of being made wiser; and when this object is not attained, the disappointment may generally be attributed, either to the habit of reading too much, or of paying insufficient attention to what falls under their notice.
Hints on Reading
It is recorded of Madame De Stäel Holstein, that before she was fifteen years of age, she had “devoured” 600 novels in three months, so that she must have read more than six a day, upon an average. Louis XVI, during the five months and seven days of his imprisonment immediately preceding his death, read 157volumes, or one a day. If this species of gluttony is pardonable in circumstances like those of Louis, it is less so in those of a young lady of fourteen or fifteen. No one can have time for reflection who reads at this rapid rate; and, whatever may be thought, these devourers of books are guilty of abusing nature to an extent, as much greater than those who overcharge their stomachs, as the intellectual powers are higher than the animal propensities. Thousands of young persons spend their time in perpetual reading, or rather in devouring books. It is true, the food is light; but it occupies the mental faculties for the time in fruitless efforts, and operates to exclude food of a better quality.
The manners of a people are not to be found in the schools of learning, or the palaces of greatness, where the national character is obscured or obliterated by travel or instruction, by philosophy or vanity; nor is public happiness to be estimated by the assemblies of the gay, or the banquets of the rich. The great mass of nations is neither rich nor gay: they whose aggregate constitutes the people, are found in the streets and villages, in the shops and farms; and from them, collectively considered, must the measure of general prosperity be taken.
W. P.
“I left my home some prey to track,And promised my loved ones I soon would come back;But when I returned—alack! alack!I looked in vain for the well-known crack.”Thus spake a poor Roach as he wandered alone,And sad was his face, and mournful his tone;For he thought on the home he never should see,On Mrs. Roach and his loved family.He remembered with grief that their larder was bare,And young roaches he knew could not live upon air.Ah! do youhuman beingsthink what you’re aboutWhen you fill up the cracks, and the old roaches out?And poor Mrs. Roach sat sobbing at home,Dreading that to her sposa some evil had come,And the poor little young ones lay tumbling about,Grieving much for their father who stayed so long out.“At last,” quoth the eldest, “dear mother, I’ll goAnd find if I can what keeps father so”—And he started to go as he aye went before,But gone was the crack they had used for a door!Alas, human beings! do you know how you sin,When you fill up the cracks, and the young roaches in?Oh! then there was wailing within that dark hole,For their grief was too deep to be under control,—Said poor Mrs. Roach, “a widow I’ll be,And who will provide for my dear family?”Cheer up, little group! oh grieve not so sore!If you’ll wait but a little there is comfort in store.In the midst of their wailing a scraping they hear,And lo! in their midst doth their sire appear.“Cheer up, my dear wife, and ye children small,For see, I have eaten my way through the wall!”MORAL.Good people, ’tis vain for you to stop up the holes,For we roaches haveinstinct, if we have not got souls.Here we’ve long been at home, and here we’ll remain,And yourphosphorus,[2]yourelder,[2]andwafers,[2]are vain.You may give up your efforts, your trouble and pother,For when driven from one place, we will go to another:If we weary your patience, your best plan, beyond doubt,Will be to move off, ere we know that you’re out.Margaret R⸺.
“I left my home some prey to track,And promised my loved ones I soon would come back;But when I returned—alack! alack!I looked in vain for the well-known crack.”Thus spake a poor Roach as he wandered alone,And sad was his face, and mournful his tone;For he thought on the home he never should see,On Mrs. Roach and his loved family.He remembered with grief that their larder was bare,And young roaches he knew could not live upon air.Ah! do youhuman beingsthink what you’re aboutWhen you fill up the cracks, and the old roaches out?And poor Mrs. Roach sat sobbing at home,Dreading that to her sposa some evil had come,And the poor little young ones lay tumbling about,Grieving much for their father who stayed so long out.“At last,” quoth the eldest, “dear mother, I’ll goAnd find if I can what keeps father so”—And he started to go as he aye went before,But gone was the crack they had used for a door!Alas, human beings! do you know how you sin,When you fill up the cracks, and the young roaches in?Oh! then there was wailing within that dark hole,For their grief was too deep to be under control,—Said poor Mrs. Roach, “a widow I’ll be,And who will provide for my dear family?”Cheer up, little group! oh grieve not so sore!If you’ll wait but a little there is comfort in store.In the midst of their wailing a scraping they hear,And lo! in their midst doth their sire appear.“Cheer up, my dear wife, and ye children small,For see, I have eaten my way through the wall!”MORAL.Good people, ’tis vain for you to stop up the holes,For we roaches haveinstinct, if we have not got souls.Here we’ve long been at home, and here we’ll remain,And yourphosphorus,[2]yourelder,[2]andwafers,[2]are vain.You may give up your efforts, your trouble and pother,For when driven from one place, we will go to another:If we weary your patience, your best plan, beyond doubt,Will be to move off, ere we know that you’re out.Margaret R⸺.
“I left my home some prey to track,And promised my loved ones I soon would come back;But when I returned—alack! alack!I looked in vain for the well-known crack.”Thus spake a poor Roach as he wandered alone,And sad was his face, and mournful his tone;For he thought on the home he never should see,On Mrs. Roach and his loved family.He remembered with grief that their larder was bare,And young roaches he knew could not live upon air.Ah! do youhuman beingsthink what you’re aboutWhen you fill up the cracks, and the old roaches out?
“I left my home some prey to track,
And promised my loved ones I soon would come back;
But when I returned—alack! alack!
I looked in vain for the well-known crack.”
Thus spake a poor Roach as he wandered alone,
And sad was his face, and mournful his tone;
For he thought on the home he never should see,
On Mrs. Roach and his loved family.
He remembered with grief that their larder was bare,
And young roaches he knew could not live upon air.
Ah! do youhuman beingsthink what you’re about
When you fill up the cracks, and the old roaches out?
And poor Mrs. Roach sat sobbing at home,Dreading that to her sposa some evil had come,And the poor little young ones lay tumbling about,Grieving much for their father who stayed so long out.“At last,” quoth the eldest, “dear mother, I’ll goAnd find if I can what keeps father so”—And he started to go as he aye went before,But gone was the crack they had used for a door!Alas, human beings! do you know how you sin,When you fill up the cracks, and the young roaches in?
And poor Mrs. Roach sat sobbing at home,
Dreading that to her sposa some evil had come,
And the poor little young ones lay tumbling about,
Grieving much for their father who stayed so long out.
“At last,” quoth the eldest, “dear mother, I’ll go
And find if I can what keeps father so”—
And he started to go as he aye went before,
But gone was the crack they had used for a door!
Alas, human beings! do you know how you sin,
When you fill up the cracks, and the young roaches in?
Oh! then there was wailing within that dark hole,For their grief was too deep to be under control,—Said poor Mrs. Roach, “a widow I’ll be,And who will provide for my dear family?”
Oh! then there was wailing within that dark hole,
For their grief was too deep to be under control,—
Said poor Mrs. Roach, “a widow I’ll be,
And who will provide for my dear family?”
Cheer up, little group! oh grieve not so sore!If you’ll wait but a little there is comfort in store.In the midst of their wailing a scraping they hear,And lo! in their midst doth their sire appear.“Cheer up, my dear wife, and ye children small,For see, I have eaten my way through the wall!”
Cheer up, little group! oh grieve not so sore!
If you’ll wait but a little there is comfort in store.
In the midst of their wailing a scraping they hear,
And lo! in their midst doth their sire appear.
“Cheer up, my dear wife, and ye children small,
For see, I have eaten my way through the wall!”
MORAL.Good people, ’tis vain for you to stop up the holes,For we roaches haveinstinct, if we have not got souls.Here we’ve long been at home, and here we’ll remain,And yourphosphorus,[2]yourelder,[2]andwafers,[2]are vain.You may give up your efforts, your trouble and pother,For when driven from one place, we will go to another:If we weary your patience, your best plan, beyond doubt,Will be to move off, ere we know that you’re out.
MORAL.
Good people, ’tis vain for you to stop up the holes,
For we roaches haveinstinct, if we have not got souls.
Here we’ve long been at home, and here we’ll remain,
And yourphosphorus,[2]yourelder,[2]andwafers,[2]are vain.
You may give up your efforts, your trouble and pother,
For when driven from one place, we will go to another:
If we weary your patience, your best plan, beyond doubt,
Will be to move off, ere we know that you’re out.
Margaret R⸺.
Margaret R⸺.
[2]Various means for getting rid of roaches.
[2]Various means for getting rid of roaches.
[2]Various means for getting rid of roaches.
The Carter’s Helpmates
The minuter details of George IV’s life are not of a kind either to interest or edify young people, but here is an anecdote of his boyhood that will be certain of securing your sympathies.
The manners and appearance of George III and his family were entirely simple and unostentatious, and the early youth of the young princes and princesses was but very slightly different from that of other young people of rank throughout the kingdom. It was the frequent habit of the king to wander about the neighborhood of Windsor, altogether unattended, and accompanied only by the young Prince of Wales, who was his almost inseparable companion.
One morning they were pursuing their walk in their usual manner, when they met a farm servant driving a covered cart towards Windsor; they had passed himonly by a few paces, when a sudden stoppage of the vehicle, and the outcries of the driver, caused them to look around, and they then perceived that the cart had got fast into a rut of the road, and the man was vainly urging his horses to drag it out.
The prince sprang back, and with little thought of ceremony, began applying his strength to the wheel, his majesty watching his efforts for a moment in silence, but instantly after stepping forward himself in the same service. Encouraged by this unlooked for help, the carter flogged and bawled to his horses, while the royal shoulders heaved as heartily at the wheel; and Hercules—moved no doubt by their ship-shape mode of invoking his aid—gave them strength enough to accomplish what they desired: the vehicle was extricated, and the driver, grateful to his friends, swore roundly that they must take a draught of ale with him, offering at the same time a seat in front of his cart to the next public house.
This civil offer was not accepted; the King and Prince shook the dust of their late labor from their plain clothing, and prepared to bid their friend adieu; but first his majesty presented the fortunate carter with a guinea, which the prince, holding to be no very worthy gift, instantly amended by a couple from his own purse. The carter, lost in astonishment, stood lookingafter these surprising helpmates (first making any thing but graceful, though very sincere acknowledgments), and it was not until they had got fairly out of his sight that he could bethink himself of once more getting on with his team.
On arriving at the public house which he had destined as the place of his rejected treat, and relating the wondrous occurrence that had taken place, he was acquainted with the quality of his assistants; but he could in no way be brought to believe the fact. Above all, he insisted that, though the prince might be the prince, yet the king could not be the king; for, he argued, why else did the first give him two guineas, when the second, whom his informants would have to be the greater, gave him only one! No, this was not “in his philosophy,” and he was convinced that his friends were wrong.
The story, and especially the man’s obstinacy, was talked of till it reached the king, whom it greatly amused. Some time after, his majesty met the same man on the road, and thus accosted him:
“So, you think, my friend, that my present was not a king’s present, though my son’s might do for a prince, hey? But remember that I must be just before I am generous; the prince has only himself to think about, but I have many who look up to me, as your childrenat home do to you, for all they want—do not forgetthat, my friend; good morning, good morning.” And the monarch once more left John Carter to his cogitations.
The Folly of being Vain (first plate)
Caroline was trifling away her time in the garden with a little favorite spaniel, her constant companion, when she was sent for to her music-master. But the servant called her no less than three times, before she thought proper to go into the house. When the lesson was finished, and the master gone, she turned to her mother, and asked her, in a fretful and impatient tone of voice, how much longer she was to be plagued with teachers—for she had had them a very long time, and she really thought she now knew quite enough of every thing.
“That you have had them a very long while,” answered her mother, “I perfectly agree with you; but that you have profited so much by their instruction, as you seem to imagine, I am not so certain. I must, however, acquaint you, my dear Caroline, that you will not beplaguedwith them much longer. Your father says he has expended such large sums upon your education that he is quite vexed with himself for havingdone so, because he finds it impossible to be at an equal expense for your two little sisters. I should therefore advise you, whilst he is so good as to allow you to continue your lessons, to make the most of your time, that it may not be said you have been learning so long to no purpose.”
Caroline appeared quite astonished at her mother’s manner of speaking. The vain girl assured her that she knew every thing perfectly. She said, that if her father wished to save the expense of masters for her sisters,shewould undertake to make them quite as accomplished as she herself was.
Some time after this conversation, she accompanied her mamma on a visit to a particular friend, who resided in the country. As there were several gentlemen and ladies at the same time in the house, Caroline was extremely happy in the opportunity she thought it would give her of surprising so large a party by her music and other accomplishments. It was not very long before she gave them so many samples of her vanity and self-conceit, as rendered her quite ridiculous in their eyes.
She was never in the least ashamed to contradict those who were older and better instructed than herself. She would sit down to the harp, with the utmost unconcern, and attempt to play a sonata which she hadnever seen before, though at the same time she could not get through a little simple air, without blundering half a dozen times.
There lived, at about the distance of a mile from Mrs. Melvin’s house, a widow lady, with her daughter, a charming little girl, thirteen years of age. So very limited was the fortune of this lady, that she had never had it in her power to be at the smallest expense on account of her daughter’s education. Indeed, her income was so narrow, that, without the strictest economy in every respect, she could not have made it suffice to procure them the necessaries of life. So she was obliged to content herself with the little instruction she could give to her child. She encouraged her, as much as possible, to exert herself, and to endeavor to supply, by attention and perseverance, the want of a more able instructor.
When Caroline heard this talked of, she concluded immediately that Laura must be a poor little ignorant thing, whom she would astonish by a display of her accomplishments. The vain young lady enjoyed in idea the wonder she would show, when she beheld her beautiful drawings, heard her touch the keys of the piano, and speak French and Italian as well as her own language. This she wished to persuade herself was the case, though she knew no more of either of theselanguages than she did of all the other things of which she was so vain and conceited.
She told Mrs. Melvin that she really pitied extremely the situation of the poor unfortunate Laura, and wished, whilst she was so near, that she could have an opportunity of seeing her frequently, as she would give her some instruction, which would be of service to her. Mrs. Melvin was extremely disgusted with the vanity of her friend’s daughter. But, wishing to give her a severe mortification, which she thought would be of more use to her than any lesson she had ever received, she told her that she should pay Laura a visit the next morning.
The morning was very fine, and the whole company set forward immediately after breakfast. They were soon in sight of a very neat but small house, which they were informed belonged to the mother of Laura. A little white gate opened into a garden in the front of it. The grounds were so neat, and laid out with so much taste, that they all stopped to admire them, for the flowers and shrubs were tied up with the utmost nicety, and not a weed was to be seen in any part of the garden.
The Folly of being Vain (second plate)
“This is Laura’s care,” said Mrs. Melvin; “her mother cannot afford to pay a gardener, but she hires a laborer now and then to turn up the ground, and, withthe help of their maid, Laura keeps this little flower-garden in the order in which you see it. By inquiring of those who understand the subject, instead of fancying herself perfect in all things, she has gained so much information, that she is become a complete florist.”
They were shown into a very neat parlor, which was ornamented with a number of drawings. “Here,” said Mrs. Melvin, “you may again see the fruits of Laura’s industry and perseverance. She has had no instruction except the little her mother could give her, but she was determined to succeed, and has done so, as you may perceive. These drawings are executed with as much taste and judgment as could possibly be expected of so young a person, even if she had had the advantage of having a master to instruct her. The fringe on the window-curtains is entirely of her making. The pretty border and landscape on that fire-screen are of her cutting.”
Caroline began to fear she should not shine quite so much as she had expected to do. When Laura came into the room, and was desired to sit down at the piano, she was extremely mortified at hearing her play and sing two or three pretty little songs, so well and so sweetly, that every one present was delighted with her.
After they had amused themselves indoors, Laura’s mother invited them out into the garden, where the extreme neatness and care exhibited by Laura in its care was the theme of universal praise. One of the ladies of the party spoke in such extremely high terms of the beauty of the flowers, that Laura’s mother, who was now getting rather old and feeble, and was obliged to walk with a cane, picked a pretty bouquet and begged her to accept it.
Laura and her doings were so much the theme of praise from all, that Caroline found there was little opportunity of making the display she had expected to, and in fact felt her real inferiority, notwithstanding the many masters she had had, to the humble Laura, that she did not enjoy her visit near so much as she had anticipated to do. But her visit was of great service and benefit to her, for ever after she tried really to make good use of the instructions of her teachers; and it is therefore no wonder she became a better and wiser girl, casting aside her excessive vanity.
When my youthful readers attempt to show off, I think it will be of great use to them if they will remember this story of the vain little girl.
Orphan WanderersNEW-YORKD. APPLETON & CO. 200 BROADWAY.
NEW-YORK
D. APPLETON & CO. 200 BROADWAY.
Gentle lady, good and happy,Hear my simple tale, I pray;’Tis the sad, sad truth, I tell you,Send us not so soon away.Once we had a home of plenty,Once we knew a father’s care,Once a mother’s fond affectionBreathed for us the nightly prayer.Now we wander, lost, and lonely,Over many a weary mile;Gloomy night comes gathering round us,But we find no mother’s smile.Once there came a gloomy winter,Trade was bad, and wages low,Dark December rains were fallingOver heaps of melting snow.One sad evening—never, neverCan that evening be forgot;Something came, across our father,Anger—grief—we knew not what.From that time his mind seemed wandering,And his manly look was gone;Sometimes kind, and sometimes fretful,Constant to one vice alone.Constant to one guilty pleasure,When those fatal doors were passed,Shame was vanquished, conscience followed,All our comforts went at last.Long my mother bore in silenceLoss of plenty, loss of fame;Though sometimes the gossip’s slanderTinged her faded cheek with shame.Little did we know that sorrowHad such deep and deadly power,Little dreamed her strength was failing—Failing faster, hour by hour;Till one awful moment told usAll the fatal truth at last;To her restless bed she called us,O’er my brow her fingers passed.There were sighs, and words so broken,Yet so fond, and full of love;And her smiles—we ne’er forgot them,Like an angel’s from above.Thus she passed; and oh how lonely—Worse than lonely we were left!All too late, our wretched fatherSeemed of every hope bereft.Sometimes frantic, sometimes sullen,Weeping like a fretful child,Oftener to his haunts returning,Lost and reckless, weak and wild.Thus he died: we asked not whetherBy the public way he fell;Strangers brought him to our dwelling,None the dreadful tale would tell.Thus, kind lady, thus we wanderOver many a weary mile:I could work—but little Martha,Who would care for her the while?Would your daughters, gentle lady,Hear my little sister sing?Small the pittance that we ask you,Hunger is a fearful thing.May you never know how bitterSorrow is, and want, and shame;Gracious Heaven has made you happy,May it keep you still the same!M⸺ E⸺.
Gentle lady, good and happy,Hear my simple tale, I pray;’Tis the sad, sad truth, I tell you,Send us not so soon away.Once we had a home of plenty,Once we knew a father’s care,Once a mother’s fond affectionBreathed for us the nightly prayer.Now we wander, lost, and lonely,Over many a weary mile;Gloomy night comes gathering round us,But we find no mother’s smile.Once there came a gloomy winter,Trade was bad, and wages low,Dark December rains were fallingOver heaps of melting snow.One sad evening—never, neverCan that evening be forgot;Something came, across our father,Anger—grief—we knew not what.From that time his mind seemed wandering,And his manly look was gone;Sometimes kind, and sometimes fretful,Constant to one vice alone.Constant to one guilty pleasure,When those fatal doors were passed,Shame was vanquished, conscience followed,All our comforts went at last.Long my mother bore in silenceLoss of plenty, loss of fame;Though sometimes the gossip’s slanderTinged her faded cheek with shame.Little did we know that sorrowHad such deep and deadly power,Little dreamed her strength was failing—Failing faster, hour by hour;Till one awful moment told usAll the fatal truth at last;To her restless bed she called us,O’er my brow her fingers passed.There were sighs, and words so broken,Yet so fond, and full of love;And her smiles—we ne’er forgot them,Like an angel’s from above.Thus she passed; and oh how lonely—Worse than lonely we were left!All too late, our wretched fatherSeemed of every hope bereft.Sometimes frantic, sometimes sullen,Weeping like a fretful child,Oftener to his haunts returning,Lost and reckless, weak and wild.Thus he died: we asked not whetherBy the public way he fell;Strangers brought him to our dwelling,None the dreadful tale would tell.Thus, kind lady, thus we wanderOver many a weary mile:I could work—but little Martha,Who would care for her the while?Would your daughters, gentle lady,Hear my little sister sing?Small the pittance that we ask you,Hunger is a fearful thing.May you never know how bitterSorrow is, and want, and shame;Gracious Heaven has made you happy,May it keep you still the same!M⸺ E⸺.
Gentle lady, good and happy,Hear my simple tale, I pray;’Tis the sad, sad truth, I tell you,Send us not so soon away.
Gentle lady, good and happy,
Hear my simple tale, I pray;
’Tis the sad, sad truth, I tell you,
Send us not so soon away.
Once we had a home of plenty,Once we knew a father’s care,Once a mother’s fond affectionBreathed for us the nightly prayer.
Once we had a home of plenty,
Once we knew a father’s care,
Once a mother’s fond affection
Breathed for us the nightly prayer.
Now we wander, lost, and lonely,Over many a weary mile;Gloomy night comes gathering round us,But we find no mother’s smile.
Now we wander, lost, and lonely,
Over many a weary mile;
Gloomy night comes gathering round us,
But we find no mother’s smile.
Once there came a gloomy winter,Trade was bad, and wages low,Dark December rains were fallingOver heaps of melting snow.
Once there came a gloomy winter,
Trade was bad, and wages low,
Dark December rains were falling
Over heaps of melting snow.
One sad evening—never, neverCan that evening be forgot;Something came, across our father,Anger—grief—we knew not what.
One sad evening—never, never
Can that evening be forgot;
Something came, across our father,
Anger—grief—we knew not what.
From that time his mind seemed wandering,And his manly look was gone;Sometimes kind, and sometimes fretful,Constant to one vice alone.
From that time his mind seemed wandering,
And his manly look was gone;
Sometimes kind, and sometimes fretful,
Constant to one vice alone.
Constant to one guilty pleasure,When those fatal doors were passed,Shame was vanquished, conscience followed,All our comforts went at last.
Constant to one guilty pleasure,
When those fatal doors were passed,
Shame was vanquished, conscience followed,
All our comforts went at last.
Long my mother bore in silenceLoss of plenty, loss of fame;Though sometimes the gossip’s slanderTinged her faded cheek with shame.
Long my mother bore in silence
Loss of plenty, loss of fame;
Though sometimes the gossip’s slander
Tinged her faded cheek with shame.
Little did we know that sorrowHad such deep and deadly power,Little dreamed her strength was failing—Failing faster, hour by hour;
Little did we know that sorrow
Had such deep and deadly power,
Little dreamed her strength was failing—
Failing faster, hour by hour;
Till one awful moment told usAll the fatal truth at last;To her restless bed she called us,O’er my brow her fingers passed.
Till one awful moment told us
All the fatal truth at last;
To her restless bed she called us,
O’er my brow her fingers passed.
There were sighs, and words so broken,Yet so fond, and full of love;And her smiles—we ne’er forgot them,Like an angel’s from above.
There were sighs, and words so broken,
Yet so fond, and full of love;
And her smiles—we ne’er forgot them,
Like an angel’s from above.
Thus she passed; and oh how lonely—Worse than lonely we were left!All too late, our wretched fatherSeemed of every hope bereft.
Thus she passed; and oh how lonely—
Worse than lonely we were left!
All too late, our wretched father
Seemed of every hope bereft.
Sometimes frantic, sometimes sullen,Weeping like a fretful child,Oftener to his haunts returning,Lost and reckless, weak and wild.
Sometimes frantic, sometimes sullen,
Weeping like a fretful child,
Oftener to his haunts returning,
Lost and reckless, weak and wild.
Thus he died: we asked not whetherBy the public way he fell;Strangers brought him to our dwelling,None the dreadful tale would tell.
Thus he died: we asked not whether
By the public way he fell;
Strangers brought him to our dwelling,
None the dreadful tale would tell.
Thus, kind lady, thus we wanderOver many a weary mile:I could work—but little Martha,Who would care for her the while?
Thus, kind lady, thus we wander
Over many a weary mile:
I could work—but little Martha,
Who would care for her the while?
Would your daughters, gentle lady,Hear my little sister sing?Small the pittance that we ask you,Hunger is a fearful thing.
Would your daughters, gentle lady,
Hear my little sister sing?
Small the pittance that we ask you,
Hunger is a fearful thing.
May you never know how bitterSorrow is, and want, and shame;Gracious Heaven has made you happy,May it keep you still the same!
May you never know how bitter
Sorrow is, and want, and shame;
Gracious Heaven has made you happy,
May it keep you still the same!
M⸺ E⸺.
M⸺ E⸺.
Anticipations and Realities
“A party of pleasure! oh, mamma, let us go,” said Rosamond. “We shall be so happy, I am sure.”
“What! because it is a party of pleasure, my dear,” said her mother, smiling.
“Do you know,” continued Rosamond, without listening to what her mother said—“Do you know, mamma, that they are going in the boat, on the river; and there are to be streamers flying, and music playing all the time? And Mrs. Blisset, and Miss Blisset, and the master Blissets, will be here in a few minutes. Will you go, mamma? may Godfrey and I go with you?”
“Yes, my dears.”
Scarcely had her mother added the word “yes,” than Rosamond uttered a loud exclamation of joy, and ran to tell her brother Godfrey, and returned, repeating as she capered about the room—
“Oh! we shall be so happy! so happy!”
“Moderate your transports, my dear Rosamond,”said her mother. “If you expect so much happiness beforehand you may be disappointed.”
“Disappointed, mamma!—I thought people were always happy on parties of pleasure; Miss Blisset told me so.”
“My dear, you had betterjudge for yourself, than to trust to what Miss Blisset tells you, without knowing any thing of the matter yourself.”
“Mamma, if I know nothing of the matter, how can I judge? Why should I not trust what Miss Blisset says?”
“Wait and you will know, my dear.”
“You said, mamma, do not raise your expectations. Is it not well to expect to be happy?—to hope to be happy, makes me happynow. If I thought I should be unhappy, it would make me unhappy now.”
“I do not wish you to think you shall be unhappy; I wish you to have as much pleasure now as you can have, without being made unhappy by disappointment. I wish you to attend to your own feelings, to find out what makes you happy, and what makes you unhappy. You are going on a party of pleasure, I beg you to observe whether you are happy or not; observe what pleases and entertains you.”
Here the conversation was interrupted. A carriage came to the door, and Rosamond exclaimed—
“Here they are—Mrs. Blisset, Miss Blisset, and her two brothers. I see their heads in the coach; I will run and put on my hat.”
“I assure you, mamma,” continued she, as she was tying the string of her hat, “I will remember to tell you whether I have been happy or not.”
Rosamond went with her mother, and Mrs. Blisset and her children, on this party. The next morning, when Rosamond went into her mother’s room, her mother reminded her of her promise.
“You promised to tell, my dear, whether you were as happy as you expected to be.”
“I did, mamma. You must know, then, I was not happy all day yesterday; that is to say, I was not nearly so happy as I thought I should have been. I should have liked going in the boat, and seeing the streamers flying, and hearing the music, and looking at the prospect, and walking in the pretty island, and dining out of doors under the large shady trees, if it had not been for other things, which were so disagreeable that they spoiled all our pleasure.”
“What were those disagreeable things?”
“Mamma, they werelittlethings. Yet they were very disagreeable. Little disputes—little quarrels between Miss Blisset and her brothers, about every thing that was to be done. First, when he got into the boat,the youngest boy wanted us to sit on one side, and Miss Blisset wanted us to sit on the other side; now, mamma, you know we could not do both.
“But they went on disputing about this for half an hour; and Godfrey and I were so ashamed, and so sorry, that we could not have any pleasure in listening to the music or looking at the prospect. You were at the other end of the boat, mamma, and you did not see and hear all this. Then we came to the island, and then I thought we should be happy; but one of the boys said, ‘Come this way, or you will see nothing.’ The other boy roared out, ‘No, they must come my way;’ and Miss Blisset insisted on our going her way.
“All the time we were walking, they went on disputing about which of their ways was the best. Then they looked so discontented and so angry with one another. I am sure they were not happy ten minutes together, all day long; and I said to myself, ‘Is this a party of pleasure? how much happier Godfrey and I are every day, even without going to this pretty island, and without hearing this music, or seeing these fine prospects—much happier, because we do not quarrel with one another about every trifle.’”
“My dear,” said her mother, “I am glad you have had an opportunity of seeing all this.”
“Mamma, instead of its being a party of pleasure, it was a party ofpain. Oh, mamma, I never wish to go on another party of pleasure. I have done with parties of pleasure for ever,” concluded Rosamond.
“You know, my dear, I warned you not to raise your expectations too high, lest you should be disappointed. You have found that unless people are good-tempered, and obliging, and ready to please each other, they make pain even of pleasure; therefore avoid quarrelsome people as much as you can, and never imitate them; but do not declare againstall parties of pleasure, and decide against them for ever becauseonehappened not to be so delightful as you had expected it to be.”
I was born in a retired spot, along with four brothers and sisters. Our mother had made a nice soft bed of moss, in a hole which she had scooped in the side of a steep bank; and a comfortable dwelling it was. As soon as we were weaned, our parents supplied us with good food,—sometimes young hares, partridges, and such dainty provisions. Occasionally we had mice, which we did not relish quite so much; but our mother used to say, that we must accustom ourselves to every thing, for the time might perhaps come when we should be glad of even a mouse to make a meal of. We grew apace, and as the den soon became too small for us, we tried to escape out of our dwelling. But our parents strictly forbade this; saying, that nothing but dangers awaited us; but that, as soon as we were old enough, they would take us to a place of greater security.
A Fox’s Adventures (first plate)
Alas! it happened to us as to many other children, who will not obey their parents, but think themselves the wiser. Early one May morning, the sun shone in so brightly at the mouth of our hole, that we longed to know what it was to be outside; and, as soon as our parents had set out upon their hunting excursion, to bring provision for us, we slipped out softly, and jumped and tumbled about on the open sandy space in front of our cave, enjoying ourselves much, and hastening in as soon as we thought papa and mamma Fox would be coming back again.
We went on in this way for a long time, without being found out; but one day, while we were chasing a mouse in front of the den, and tumbling head over heels in great delight, we observed something looking at us through the bushes, which we concluded must be the face of a man. We hurried back into the den immediately, terribly frightened, and were right glad when we neither saw nor heard any more of the creature; little guessing, that from that moment our fate was decided. For, the very next morning, when father and mother were gone out as usual, we heard footsteps and voices; and, before we were aware, a savage, crooked-legged dog entered the den, barking very loud. Our agony was extreme. We drew back into the farthest corner of the den, barking as loud as we could:but this did not in the least deter our enemy; for, encouraged by the men, he seized hold of the foremost of us.
Despair will inspire the weakest with courage. We flew at our black foe, and scratched him so much, that he was obliged to draw back. Now we thought that the danger was over; but, alas! the greatest was to come, and from an unexpected quarter. How could we guess that the dog was sent into the den to find if we were still within, and where the cave ended! For one of the hunters had laid himself down with his ear to the ground, and listened as the dog barked; after which they began to dig a hole, and we listened in deadly fear to the strokes of the spade and pickaxe, as they came nearer to us. They had soon broken through; and, as all resistance was vain, we could do nothing better than bury our heads deep in the sand. Then a man stretched his arm down to us, drew one after another by the tail, and struck each one upon the back of his head with a club, so that he died immediately. I was the last, whom he pulled up with a cruel shout. He had raised his staff for the deadly blow, when a man, passing by, cried to him, “Hold! friend, just let me look at that little animal.” He looked in my face, and then added, “I wish you would give me that little Fox: I could make him useful!” “What!” repliedmy murderous captor, “would you bring him up to steal your cocks and hens? He will be true to his nature.” “No,” said the stranger, “I will make him useful to me in my trade.” “Well, then, take him;” and the man held me, while the other opened a great leathern pocket, into which I was popped; and thus he carried me to his dwelling in the city.
“Look here,” said my new master to his wife, jokingly, “what a pretty, sharp-nosed little dog I have met with!” as he drew me out of his pocket. “He shall learn by and by to blow the bellows.” The man was a locksmith, and had a wheel fixed to his bellows, in which a dog, by running round set the bellows in motion. But a short time before my capture, the dog had died; and the man was glad to have me, rather than a dog, for which he would have to pay an annual tax. I had a small collar put on to which a chain was fastened, and the other end secured to the dog-kennel. He brought me food and water: I quenched my thirst, but I was too much afraid and sorrowful to eat at first, until compelled by hunger. I was kindly treated: the man would stop as he went to or returned from his work, and stroke and feed me from his hand. “How goes it, little Foxy?” he would say: “thou wilt soon be able to help me in my business.” After a while he showed me the wheel, made me ascend intoit, and taught me how to run. I was glad to be in motion, after so long a confinement. I soon understood my office, and took pleasure in the work. When he was not smithying, I was allowed to rest; and then I amused myself by watching him at his filing and hammering, making large and small locks and keys. I could not complain of my treatment; for I was well fed, and always had my plate of meat not far from the wheel. But yet two circumstances troubled me. Liberty was not mine. Could I ever forget that I had once enjoyed freedom? I longed for the woods, the mountains, the sunny knolls, where my race wander so merrily about.
I had also an enemy in the person of a neighbor’s old, grizzly, red tom-cat, an envious, spiteful, and greedy animal. He would sit for hours in a gap of the wall, eyeing me with apparent indifference, as I went round and round at my work; but, if my master turned his back, if but for a moment, he was instantly down upon the spot, stole the best bits out of my dish, and was back again as swift as a bird could fly. He also plundered my master’s kitchen in various ways; and, as I was sometimes allowed to run about at liberty in the house, I was suspected of the thievery, and received the beating.
A Fox’s Adventures (second plate)
I was even with my enemy at last, and, moreover,against his will, he procured me my liberty, though but for a short time.
One day, when the master was absent, I felt very well and lively, and jumped merrily about in my wheel, and blew the bellows till the sparks began to fly. Then I sat down to enjoy my dinner. The cat came near, and contrary to custom, began to converse with me:—“Fox, you are merry; I wish I was so too: you seem happier in your work, than I in my sleepy dreaming on the wall.” “Yes,” I replied, “that is quite true. You see that I earn abundance of food by turning this wheel for my good master; and I may leap and jump about in it to my heart’s content. Just come up to me for once,” continued I, “and I will show you how merrily it runs.” So the cat ascended, and we shook the wheel awhile, which pleased the old fellow very well; then I invited him to sit down and eat; for I had a nice leg-bone of mutton left, and he found it quite to his taste.
When he had done, the old cat said, “Fox, that thing pleaseth me. I should like to learn thy trade, and then I can seek out a master. Wilt thou teach me?” “With pleasure,” I answered: “only put on my collar, and run on boldly in the wheel, you will learn quickly.” “Well, I will try,” said the cat. But first we had to get the collar off my neck, and it cost us some trouble.“Look!” said I: “this thing which hangs upon the collar is called a lock, and that thing which hangs upon the nail there, is called a key. Now, if you put the key into the hole in the lock, and turn it round, the lock will slip off, and the collar will be unfastened; then I can draw it off, and put it on you.” The cat fetched the key, and after many trials, at last managed to put it into the lock properly. “Now,” said I, “take the key between your teeth, and turn it round.” This he did easily; and, when he had drawn the padlock out of the ring of the collar, I trembled for joy. I quickly put the collar upon the cat, however, and turned the key in the padlock. “There,” said I, “now take care to run steadily, and you will find what a merry business it is. Good bye! cat;” and then I sprang through the open window.
“Stop! stop!” cried the cat, terrified; and he tried to spring after me, but found himself held back by the chain which was fastened to the collar; and I heard how he tugged in vain, and mewed pitifully.
But whoever diggeth a ditch for another, is pretty certain to fall into one himself. This proverb was verified in my case; for scarcely had I gained the street, when I was observed by a dog; which chased me so quickly, that I had but little hope of saving myself from his teeth. By chance I took the direction of themarket-place, in the middle of which there was a wooden booth, where there were apes, and parrots swinging on long sticks, outside, and a great brown bear kept guard at the entrance. “Brother bear,” I cried, out of breath, “take me under thy protection!” “Just jump in here,” said the bear kindly, and showed me the opening. I did so, and was saved from my enemy; but, to my great astonishment and terror, only to fall into the hands of more dreadful enemies. I found myself in a large room, surrounded on every side by wild animals, imprisoned in iron cages. I endeavored to make my escape, but in my confusion could not find the way out. The master and his men hunted me from one corner to another, till at last I was caught; and what did they with me—can you imagine? I was thrown into the den of a mighty lion: there I lay trembling in deadly fear, when the great king of beasts came slowly up, smelled at me, and then laid himself down quietly as before. When I found that he had no intention of taking away my life, I ventured to approach him very modestly. “I’ll do thee no hurt,” murmured the lion; “be without fear of me.” Then I took courage, seated myself near him, licked his paws, and looked up quite fearlessly into his face. When feeding time came, I had a bone thrown to me also. After our meal, I entertained thelion with merry feats, leaping over him, laying myself down before him, and inviting him to play.
Thus we went on from one day to another, and the lion began to take great pleasure in me. After some time, the dens were placed in great wagons, and conveyed to another town, where the people came in crowds, curious to behold the lion and the Fox.
Though we lived in great harmony, yet, before long, my life became tedious and sorrowful. “Lion,” said I one day, “we must try to obtain our freedom.”
“Well said!” replied lion: “can I break these iron bars which keep us within the den?” “That neither of us can do,” I rejoined; “but, where strength is vain, cunning may succeed. Just let us try; I have a device in my head.”
Now, the master of the menagerie had a tame peacock, which was allowed to go about in perfect liberty; and to secure his assistance formed a part of my plan. The servant whose office it was to feed the animals, was accustomed to slip the bolt only of our den, without locking it. This had not escaped my observation; and the knowledge I had picked up in my servitude with the locksmith, I was able to turn to good account. I therefore said one evening to the peacock, “Now, good friend, do me a little favor, and push back the iron thing at the door.” He did so, and thedoor opened instantly. “Now for it, lion,” said I, “break out: only take me with you, and protect me.”
The lion had no sooner left the den, and felt that he had once more the free use of his limbs, than he darted towards the entrance.
Almost terrified to death, every body fled out of his way, and the lion and the fox were once more free in open air. But a few leaps, and we were out of the town, and in the broad meadows. Whoever we met, instantly betook themselves to flight; and in a short time we reached a dark, thick forest, in whose shades we rested for the night. The lion wished to remain here; for he felt quite at home under the deep shadow of the great oak-trees: but I advised him to continue his flight. So, very early in the morning, we left the forest, and hastened to a distant woody mountain, which we reached the same day; and there, after devouring some hares, reposed in quiet. But alas! our escape could not remain a secret, nor could we doubt of being actively pursued.
In a few days, a crowd of hunters appeared; we were chased about, and with difficulty saved ourselves by flight to another forest. There neither were we suffered to remain in peace; for the number of our pursuers was constantly increasing, and day and night we were driven before them, from one place of refuge to another.
On the fifth night of our flight, we had lain down to rest on the edge of a cliff, which overlooked a deep hollow place, surrounded by trees; when we saw lights advancing through the wood, and I immediately advised the lion to fly with all speed. “No,” he replied, “I will be hunted no longer; if I must die, it shall be here!” We descried armed men approaching, carrying torches; and in the midst there rode a young man of beautiful countenance and majestic stature, and, by his side, a large, noble-looking dog. When the party had reached the hollow; they stopped, kindled a fire, seated themselves around it and began to eat. The young man had dismounted, and was standing at a little distance, leaning against the stem of a tree, when suddenly the dog uttered a sharp bark; and the men alarmed, rose up hastily, and followed the animal, who had evidently got scent of our track. With one mighty bound, the lion sprung from the overhanging rock, alighting on his feet, just opposite to the young man, who was no other than the son of the king. The king’s son drew back for a moment, and raised a sharp sword, putting himself in an attitude of defence. But the lion laid himself down in front of him, stretched his paws out on the earth, and looked up into the face of the prince, as much as to say, Let us be friends. At that moment the attendants returned, and would have attacked thelion with sword and lance, but the prince forbade, saying, “You shall do him no hurt, he has placed himself under my protection.” He advanced fearlessly, laying his hand upon the noble animal’s head. “Let us bind him at least,” cried one. “It is unnecessary,” replied the prince, as he seated himself on the ground near the lion: “he will follow me, I am sure, of his own accord.” And so he did.
The king’s son laid himself down to rest, and slept peacefully; the lion resting near him, while the attendants passed the night in anxious and fearful watching around them. As soon as the prince awoke in the morning, the whole party prepared for their return to the city; the lion following willingly with Ossian, the faithful dog, side by side.
Then I pressed forth from my hiding-place; and, as I could not bear to be separated from the lion, I hastened to join him, much to the astonishment of all present. “Lo! here is another follower,” said the prince; “he also shall receive protection.”
We traversed the forest, and before noon reached the capital city. News of the wonderful affair went before us, so that young and old crowded from all quarters to see the remarkable animals pass. When we arrived at the palace, the prince commanded comfortable dwellings to be prepared for us on each side ofthe principal gate; but every night the lion had to lie at the door of the royal sleeping chamber, in order to keep guard there. Besides these favors, we were well supplied with food, and daily received proofs of our lord’s attachment.
It was not long before we both had an opportunity of rendering him a good service for all his kindness. Some wicked men had plotted together to murder the prince, and had hidden themselves in a thicket, intending to lie in wait for him, when he should pass by on his daily walk. I happened to spy these wretches in their hiding-place; and, suspecting them of evil intentions, I told the lion, who agreed with me in opinion; and we both went and concealed ourselves, very near the spot where I had seen the villains. As soon as the prince approached, they started out with lifted daggers; but, just as they thought themselves sure of their victim, out broke the lion from the bushes, crushing them in his way. With one spring he seized the foremost by the throat, then tore down the next; and before the third could recover from his terror, he had caught him by the breast, and shaken him so violently, that he fell breathless and insensible to the ground. The guards hastened to the spot and secured the villains, who received the punishment of their crime that very day. From that time, the prince regarded us withmore favor than ever, and never went out without us for his attendants.
Thus we led a quiet, honorable life for some years; but at last the period of our separation arrived. The king engaged in a war, and the prince commanded his army which we accompanied to the field. When passing through towns I rode upon the baggage wagons, but when traveling in the country I scampered along over the fields. Lion fought bravely by the side of his lord, and I rendered considerable service as a spy. But one day, when I was out at a distance, the prince and his attendants fell into an ambuscade of the enemy. He defended himself bravely; and the lion broke through the opposing ranks, tearing down whoever came in his way. The enemy were soon overpowered and put to flight, when, from behind a tree, an arrow, aimed at the lion, pierced his heart: he sunk down at the feet of his master, giving him a loving look, and died. The prince was nearly inconsolable for the loss of the noble animal, and had him interred with honors, and a marble pillar erected to mark his grave.
I also grieved much for my generous companion and protector, and looked quite forlorn and unhappy. One day, therefore, the kind prince said to me, “Good Fox, since thou hast lost thy friend, I think thy liberty would be acceptable to thee.” I made signs that Iwould prefer to go. “Well,” said he, “go. I thank thee for thy fidelity, and will command my subjects to refrain from doing thee any harm.” And, in order to secure my safety, he had a king’s crown marked upon my haunches, which you may yet see plainly. Afterwards I departed, and sought out my place of birth, where I have lived ever since in undisturbed tranquillity.