Mr. Venables, one fine summer day, having promised his two children, Alfred and Dorinda, to treat them with a walk in a fine garden a little way out of town, went up into his dressing-room to prepare himself, leaving the two children in the parlour.
Alfred was so delighted with the thoughts of the pleasure he should receive from his walk, that he jumped about the room, without thinking of any evil consequence that could happen; but unluckily the skirt of his coatbrushed against a very valuable flower, which his father was rearing with great pains, and which he had unfortunately just removed from before the window, in order to screen it from the scorching heat of the sun.
"O brother, brother!" said Dorinda, taking up the flower which was broken off from the stalk, "what have you done!" The sweet girl was holding the flower in her hand, when her father, having dressed himself, came into the parlour. "Bless me! Dorinda," said Mr. Venables, in an angry tone, "how could you be so thoughtless as to pluck a flower, which you have seen me take so much care to rear, in order to have taken seed from it?" Poor Dorinda was in such a fright, that she could only beg her papa not to be angry. Mr. Venables, growing more calm, replied he was not angry, but reminded her, that as they were going to a garden where there was a variety of flowers, she might have waited till they got there to indulge her fancy. He therefore hoped she would not take it amiss if he left her at home.
This was a terrible situation for Dorinda, who held her head down, and said, nothing. Little Alfred, however, was of too generous a temper to keep silence any longer. He wentup to his papa, with his eyes swimming in tears, and told him, that it was not his sister but himself, who had accidentally beaten off the head of the flower with the flap of his coat. He therefore desired, that his sister might go abroad, and he stay at home.
Mr. Venables was so delighted with the generosity of his children, that he instantly forgave the accident, and tenderly kissed them both, being happy to see them have such an affection for each other. He told them, that he loved them equally alike, and that they should both go with him. Alfred and Dorinda kissed each other, and leaped about for joy.
They all three then walked to the garden, where they saw plants of the most valuable kinds. Mr. Venables observed with pleasure how Dorinda pressed her clothes on each side, and Alfred kept the skirts of his coat under his arms, for fear of doing any damage in their walk among the flowers.
The flower Mr. Venables had lost would have given him some pain had it happened from any other circumstance; but the pleasure he received from seeing such mutual affection and regard subsist between his two children,amply repaid him for the loss of his flower. I cannot omit the opportunity that here presents itself, of reminding my young friends, not only how necessary, but how amiable and praiseworthy it is, for brothers and sisters to live together in harmony. It is not only their most important interest to do so, but what should be a still stronger argument with them, such are the commands of Him who made them.
I would recommend to all my little readers who have had the misfortune to contract a vicious habit, very attentively to peruse the following historical fragment, in which, if they will but properly reflect, they will see that amendment is no very difficult thing, when once they form a sincere resolution to accomplish it.
Rosina was the joy of her parents until the seventh year of her age, at which period the glowing light of reason begins to unfold itself, and make us sensible of our infantine faults; but this period of life had a different effect on Rosina, who had then contracted an unhappy disposition, which cannot better be described, than by the practices of those snarling curs that grumble incessantly, and seem always ready to run and bite at those that approach them.
If a person touched any of her playthings, though it were by mistake, she would be out of temper for hours, and murmur about the house as though she had been robbed. If any one attempted to correct her, though in the most gentle manner, she would fly into a rage, equalled only by the fury of contending elements, and the uproar of the angry billows of the ocean.
Her father and mother saw this unaccountable change, with inexpressible sorrow; for neither they, nor any in the house, could now bear with her. Indeed, she would sometimes seem sensible of her errors, and would often shed tears in private, on seeing herself thusbecome the object of contempt to every one, not excepting her parents; but an ill habit had got the better of her temper, and she consequently every day grew worse and worse.
One evening, which happened to be new year's eve, she saw her mother going towards her room with a basket under her cloak. Rosina followed her mother, who ordered her to go back to the parlour immediately. As Rosina went thither, she threw about all the stools and chairs that stood in her way.
About half an hour after, her mamma sent for her; and great indeed was her surprise on seeing the room lighted up with a number of candles and the table covered with the most elegant toys.
Her mother called her to her, and desired her to read, in a bit of paper which she gave her, for whom those toys were intended, on which she read the following words, written in large letters; "For an amiable little girl, in return for her good behaviour." Rosina looked down, and could not say a word. On her mother's asking her for whom those toys were intended, she replied, with tearsin her eyes, that they could not be intended for her.
Her parent then showed her another paper, desiring her to see if that did not concern her. Rosina took it, and read as follows: "For a froward little girl, who is sensible of her faults, and in beginning a new year will take pains to amend them." Rosina, instantly throwing herself into her mother's arms, and crying bitterly, said, "O! that is I, that is I." The tears also fell from her parent's eyes, partly for sorrow, on account of her daughter's faults, and partly through joy in the promising hope of her amendment.
"Come, Rosina," said she to her, after a short pause, "and take what was intended for you; and may God, who has heard your resolution, give you ability to fulfil it." Rosina, however, insisted on it, that it belonged to the person described in the first paper, and therefore desired her mamma to keep those things for her till she answered that description. This answer gave her mother a deal of pleasure, and she immediately put all the toys into a drawer, giving the key of it to Rosina, and telling her to open the drawer whenever she should think it proper so to do.
Several weeks passed without the least complaint against Rosina, who had performed wonders on herself. She then went to her mamma, threw her arms round her neck, and asked her if she thought she had then any right to open the drawer. "Yes, my dear," said her mother, clasping her tenderly in her arms, "you may now open the drawer with great propriety. But pray tell me how you have so well managed to get the better of your temper?" Rosina said it had cost her a deal of trouble; but every morning and evening, and indeed almost every hour in the day, she prayed to God to assist her.
Her mother shed tears of delight on this occasion; and Rosina became not only mistress of the toys, but of the affections of all her friends and acquaintances. Her mother related this happy change in the temper of her daughter in the presence of a little miss, who gave way to the same unhappy disposition; when the little girl was so struck with the relation of it, that she immediately determined to set about the work of reformation, in order to become as amiable as Rosina. Her attempt was not made in vain; and Rosina had the satisfaction to find, that, in being useful to herself, she had contributed to make others happy.My youthful readers, if any of you labour under bad habits, set about a reformation immediately, lest you become hardened by time, and thus totally destroy your present and future happiness.
On one of those fine mornings, which the month of June frequently affords us, little Anthony was busily employed in preparing to set out with his father on a party of pleasure, which, for several days before, had engrossed all his attention. Though, in general, he found it very difficult to rise early, yet this morning he got up soon, without being called, so much was his mind fixed on the intended jaunt.
It often happens, with young people in particular, that, all on a sudden, they lose the object they flattered themselves they were almost in possession of. So it fared with little Anthony; for, just as they were ready to set out, the sky darkened all at once, the clouds grew thick, and a tempestuous wind bent down the trees, and raised a cloud of dust.
Little Anthony was running down the garden every minute to see how the sky looked, and then jumped up-stairs to examine the barometer; but neither the sky nor the barometer seemed to forbode any thing in his favour. Notwithstanding all this, he gave his father the most flattering hopes that it would still be a fair day, and that these unfavourable appearances would soon disperse. He doubted not but that it would be one of the finest days in the world; and he therefore thought, that the sooner they set out the better, as it would be a pity to lose a moment of their time.
His father, however, did not choose to be too hasty in giving credit to his son's predictions, and thought it more advisable to wait a little. While Anthony and his father were reasoning on this matter, the clouds burst, and down came a very heavy shower of rain.Poor Anthony was now doubly disappointed, and vented his grief in tears, refusing to listen to the voice of consolation.
The rain continued, without intermission, till three o'clock in the afternoon, when the clouds began to disperse, the sun resumed its splendour, the element its clearness, and all nature breathed the odours of the spring. As the weather brightened, so did the countenance of little Anthony, and by degrees he recovered his good humour.
His father now thought it necessary to indulge him with a little walk, and off they set. The calmness of the air, the music of the feathered songsters, the lively and enchanting verdure of the fields, and the sweet perfumes that breathed all around them, completely quieted and composed the troubled heart of the disappointed Anthony.
"Do not you observe," said his father to him, "how agreeable the change is of every thing before you? You cannot have yet forgotten how dull every thing appeared to you yesterday; the ground was parched up for want of rain; the flowers had lost their colour, and hung their heads in languor; and, in short,all nature seemed to be in a state of inaction. What can be the reason, that nature has so suddenly put on such a different aspect?"—"That is easily accounted for, Sir," said Anthony, "it undoubtedly is occasioned by the rain that has fallen to-day."
Anthony had no sooner pronounced these words, than he saw his father's motive for asking him the question. He now plainly perceived the impropriety of his late conduct, in being so unhappy about what was evidently so universally serviceable. He blushed, but his father took no notice of it, judging that his own sense would sufficiently teach him another time, without reluctance, to sacrifice selfish pleasure to the general good of the community at large.
In the city of Lincoln lived an honest and industrious gardener, whose name was Jonathan, and who was in general considered as the most skilful in his profession of any in that county. His fruits were much larger than any of his neighbours, and were generally supposed to have a more exquisite flavour.
It was the pride of all the neighbouring gentlemen to have Jonathan's fruits to form their desserts, so that he was under no necessity of sending the produce of his garden to market, as he was always sure of meeting with a sale for them at home. His prudence and assiduity increased as his good fortune enlarged, and, instead of riches making him idle, he attended more closely to cultivation.
Such a character and situation could not fail of procuring him a suitable matrimonial mate, and he accordingly married a young woman in the neighbourhood, whose name was Bella, and who was both prudent and handsome. The first year of their marriage was as comfortable as they could wish for; for Bella assisted her husband in his business, and every thing prospered with them.
This happiness, however, was not to last long; for near his house lived another gardener, whose name was Guzzle, and who spent his time, from morning to night, in an alehouse. The merry and thoughtless humour of Guzzle, by degrees, began to be pleasing to Jonathan, who soon fell into the same ruinous error. At first, he only went now and then to drinkwith him, and talk to him aboutgardening; but he very soon began to drop the subject of plants, and delight only in the praises of malt.
Bella saw this change in her husband with the utmost grief and consternation. As yet, not having sufficient experience to attend the wall-fruit herself, she was frequently obliged to fetch him home to his work, when she generally found him in a state of intoxication. It would often have been better had he kept out of the garden than gone into it; for his head was generally so muddled with beer, when he went to work on his trees, that his pruning-knife committed the greatest depredations, cutting away those branches which ought to have been left, and leaving those that were useless.
Hence it was not to be wondered at, that the garden fell off in the quality and quantity of its fruit, and the more Jonathan perceived the decay, the more he gave himself up to drinking. As his garden gradually failed in procuring him the means of getting strong liquor, he first parted with his furniture, and then with his linen and clothes.
Bella, in the mean time, did what little she could to keep things together; but all to no purpose. One day, when she was gone to market with some roots she had reared herself, he went and sold his working utensils, and immediately went and spent all with Guzzle. Judge what must be the situation of poor Bella on her return! It was indeed a heart-breaking consideration, to be thus reduced to poverty by the folly of her husband; but yet she loved him, and equally felt for him as for herself, but still more for an infant, as yet but six months old, and which received its nourishment from her breast.
In the evening Jonathan came home drunk, and, swearing at his wife, asked her for something to eat. Bella handed him a knife, and put before him a large basket covered with her apron; Jonathan, in a pet, pulled away the apron; but his astonishment was inexpressible, when he beheld nothing in the basket but his own child fast asleep. "Eat that," said Bella, "for I have nothing else to give you. It is your own child, and if you do not devour it, famine and misery will in a short time."
Jonathan seemed almost petrified into a stone at these words, and for some time remained speechless, with his eyes fixed on his little sleeping son. At last recovering himself, quite sobered, his heart eased itself in tears and lamentations. He rose and embraced his wife, asked her pardon, and promised to amend; and what was still better, he was faithful to his promise.
Though his wife's father had for some time refused to see him, yet, on being made acquainted with his promises of reformation, he advanced money sufficient to enable him to restore his garden to its former state, Jonathan did not deceive him; for his garden put on another appearance, and cut a more splendid figure than ever. After this, neither his prudence nor activity forsook him, but he became at once, and continued so even to old age, the honest man, the indulgent husband, and the tender father. He would sometimes tell this tale of his follies to his son, as a lesson to him, how dangerous it is to get connected with bad company, and how easily human nature is led astray by the poison of example. The son, who thus acquired knowledge at the father's former expense, became a wise andprudent man, and conceived such an aversion to idleness and drinking, that he continued all his life as sober as he was laborious. Thus was an innocent infant the cause of reformation in a deluded father.
Billy Jessamy, having one day espied a sparrow's nest under the eves of the house, ran directly to inform his sisters of the important discovery, and they immediately fell into a consultation concerning the manner in which they should take it. It was at last agreed, that they should wait till the young ones were fledged, that Billy should then get a ladder upagainst the wall, and that his sisters should hold it fast below, while he mounted after the prize.
As soon as they thought these poor little creatures were properly fledged, preparations were made for the execution of their intended plan. The old birds flew backwards and forwards about the nest, and expressed, as well as they were able, the sorrow and affliction they felt on being robbed of their young. Billy and his two sisters, however, paid no regard to their piteous moans; for they took the nest, with three young ones in it.
As they had now got the innocent prisoners in their possession, the next thing to be considered was, what they should do with them. The younger sister, being of a mild and tender-hearted disposition, proposed putting them into a cage, promising to look after them herself, and to see that they wanted for nothing. She reminded her brother and sister how pretty it would be to see and hear those birds when grown up.
Billy, however, was of a very different opinion;for he insisted on it, that it would be better to pluck off their feathers, and then set them down in the middle of the room, as it would be very funny to see how they would hop about without feathers. The elder sister was of the same way of thinking as the younger; but Billy was determined to have the matter entirely his own way.
The two little ladies, finding they were not likely to have things as they wished, gave up the point without much hesitation; for Billy had already begun to strip the poor helpless birds. As fast as he plucked them, he put them down on the floor, and it was not long before the little birds were stripped of all their tender feathers. The poor things criedWeet!Weet!and complained in the most piteous accents; they shook their little wings, and shuddered with cold.
Billy, however, who had not the least kind of feeling for their sufferings, carried his persecutions still further, pushing them with his toe, to make them go on when they stopped, and laughing most heartily whenever they staggered or tumbled down through weakness. Though his two sisters at first setting off hadpleaded against this cruel kind of sport, yet, seeing their brother so merry on the occasion, they forgot their former dictates of humanity, and joined in the cruel sport with him. Such, as we saw in the preceding tale, is the influence of bad example!
In the midst of this cruel kind of enjoyment, at a distance they saw their tutor approaching. This put them into some flurry, and each pocketed a bird. They would have avoided their tutor, but he called to them, and asked their reason for wishing to shun him. They approached him very slowly, with their eyes cast downwards, which convinced him that something amiss was going forwards.
On their answering, that they were only playing, their tutor observed to them, that they very well knew he never denied them innocent amusement, but, on the contrary, was always glad to see them cheerful and happy. He took notice that each held one of their hands in their pocket, upon which he insisted on their pulling them out, and letting him see what it was they endeavoured to conceal.
They were obliged to comply, much againsttheir will, when each produced a poor bird, that had been stripped of its feathers. The tutor was filled with pity and indignation, and gave each of them a look, that was more dreadful than any words he could have spoken. After some silence, Billy attempted to justify himself by saying, that it was a droll sight to see sparrows hopping about without feathers, and he could see no harm in it.
"Can you then," said the tutor to Billy, "take pleasure in seeing innocent creatures suffer, and hear their cries without pity?" Billy said he did not see how they could suffer from having a few feathers pulled off. The tutor, to convince him of his error, pulled a few hairs from his head, when he roared out loudly, that he hurt him. "What would your pain be then," said the tutor, "were I thus to pluck all the hair off your head? You are sensible of the pain you now feel, but you were insensible of the torment to which you put those innocent creatures, that never offended you. But that you, ladies, should join in such an act of cruelty, very much surprises me!"
The ladies stood motionless, and then, without being able to say a word, sat down, withtheir eyes swimming in tears; which their tutor observing, he said no more to them. But Billy still persisted in his opinion, that he did the birds no harm; on the contrary, he said, they showed their pleasure by clapping their wings and chirping.
"They clapped their wings," said the tutor, "from the pain you put them to; and what you call chirping, were cries and lamentations. Could those birds have expressed themselves in your speech, you would have heard them cry, 'Ah, father and mother! save us, for we have fallen into the hands of cruel children, who have robbed us of all our feathers! We are cold and in pain. Come, warm us and cure us, or we shall soon die!'"
The little ladies could no longer refrain from tears, and accused Billy of leading them into this act of cruelty. Billy was himself become sensible of his faults, and had already felt the smart of having a few hairs plucked from his head; but the reproaches of his own heart were now visible on his countenance. It appeared to the tutor, that there was no need of carrying the punishment any further; for the error Billy had committed did not arisefrom a natural love of cruelty, but merely from want of thought and reflection. From this moment Billy, instead of punishing and tormenting dumb creatures, always felt for their distresses, and did what he could to relieve them.
Or, the Contrast between Industry and Indolence.
In a village, at no small distance from the metropolis, lived a wealthy husbandman, who had two sons, William and Thomas, of whom the former was exactly a year older than the latter.
On the day that the second son was born, the husbandman set in his orchard two young apple-trees of an equal size, on which he bestowed the same care in cultivating, and they throve so much alike, that it was a difficult matter to say which claimed the preference.
As soon as the children were capable of using garden implements, their father took them, on a fine day, early in the spring, to see the two plants he had reared for them, and called after their names. William and Thomas having admired the beauty of these trees, now filled with blossoms, their father told them that he made them a present of them in good condition, and that they would continue to thrive or decay, in proportion to the labour or neglect they received.
Thomas, though the younger son, turned all his attention to the improvement of his tree, by clearing it of insects as soon as he discovered them, and propping up the stem, that it might grow perfectly upright. He dug all round it, to loosen the earth, that the root might receive nourishment from the warmth of the sun and the moisture of the dews. No mother could nurse a child more tenderly in its infancy, than Thomas did his tree.
His brother William, however, pursued a very different conduct; for he loitered away all his time in the most idle and mischievous manner, one of his principal amusements being to throw stones at people as they passed. He kept company with all the idle boys in theneighbourhood, with whom he was continually fighting, and was seldom without either a black eye or a broken shin. His poor tree was neglected, and never thought of, till one day in the autumn, when, by chance, seeing his brother's tree loaded with the finest apples, and almost ready to break down with the weight, he ran to his own tree, not doubting but he should find it in the same pleasing condition.
Great indeed was his disappointment and surprise, when, instead of finding the tree loaded with excellent fruit, he beheld nothing but a few withered leaves, and branches covered with moss. He instantly went to his father, and complained of his partiality in giving him a tree that was worthless and barren, while his brother's produced the most luxuriant fruit. He therefore thought that his brother should at least give him one half of his apples.
His father told him, that it was by no means reasonable, that the industrious should give up part of their labour to feed the idle. "If your tree," said he, "has produced you nothing, it is but a just reward of your indolence, since you see what the industry of your brother has gained him. Your tree was equally full ofblossoms, and grew in the same soil; but you paid no attention to the culture of it. Your brother suffered no visible insect to remain on his tree; but you neglected that caution, and left them even to eat up the very buds. As I cannot bear to see even plants perish through neglect, I must now take this tree from you, and give it to your brother, whose care and attention may possibly restore it to its former vigour. The fruit it shall produce must be his property, and you must no longer consider yourself as having any right therein. However, you may go to my nursery, and there choose any other which you may like better, and try what you can do with it; but, if you neglect to take proper care of it, I shall also take that from you, and give it to your brother, as a reward for his superior industry and attention."
This had the desired effect on William, who clearly perceived the justice and propriety of his father's reasoning, and instantly got into the nursery, to choose the most thriving apple-tree he could there meet with. His brother Thomas assisted him in the culture of his tree, advising him in what manner to proceed; and William made the best use of his time, and the instructions he received from his brother. He left off all his mischievous tricks, forsookthe company of idle boys, and applied himself cheerfully to work; and in autumn received the reward of his labour, his tree being then loaded with fruit.
From this happy change in his conduct, he derived the advantage, not only of enriching himself with a plentiful crop of fruit, but also of getting rid of bad and pernicious habits. His father was so perfectly satisfied with his reformation, that the following season he gave him and his brother the produce of a small orchard, which they shared equally between them.
Mr. Stevenson and his little son Richard, as they were one fine day walking in the fields together, passed by the side of a garden, in which they saw a beautiful pear-tree loaded with fruit. Richard cast a longing eye at it, and complained to his papa that he was very dry. On Mr. Stevenson's saying that he was dry also, but they must bear it with patiencetill they got home, Richard pointed to the pear-tree, and begged his papa would let him go and get one; for, as the hedge was not very thick, he said he could easily get through, without being seen by any one.
Richard's father reminded him, that the garden and fruit were private property, and to take any thing from thence, without permission, was nothing less than being guilty of a robbery. He allowed that there might be a possibility of getting into the garden without being seen by the owner of it; but such a wicked action could not be concealed from Him who sees every action of our lives, and who penetrates even to the very secrets of our hearts; and that is God.
His son shook his head, and said, he was sensible of his error, and would no more think of committing what might be called a robbery. He recollected that parson Jackson had told him the same thing before, but he had then forgotten it.
At this instant a man started up from behind the hedge, which had before concealed him from their sight. This was an old man, theowner of the garden, who had heard every thing that had passed between Mr. Stevenson and his son. "Be thankful to God, my child," said the old man, "that your father prevented you from getting into my garden with a view to deprive me of that which does not belong to you. You little thought, that at the foot of each tree is placed a trap to catch thieves, which you could not have escaped, and which might have lamed you for the rest of your life. I am, however, happy to find that you so readily listen to the first admonition of your father, and show such a fear of offending God. As you have behaved in so just and sensible a manner, you shall now, without any danger or trouble, partake of the fruit of my garden." He then went to the finest pear-tree, gave it a shake, and brought down near a hatful of fruit, which he immediately gave to Richard.
This civil old man could not be prevailed on to accept of any thing in return, though Mr. Stevenson pulled out his purse for that purpose. "I am sufficiently satisfied, Sir," said he, "in thus obliging your son, and were I to accept of any thing, that satisfaction would be lost." Mr. Stevenson thanked himvery kindly, and having shaken hands over the hedge, they parted; Richard at the same time taking leave of the old man in a polite manner.
Little Richard, having finished several of the pears, began to find himself at leisure to talk to his papa. "This is a very good old man," said he; "but would God have punished me, had I taken these pears without his leave?" "He certainly would," replied Mr. Stevenson; "for he never fails to reward good actions, and chastise those who commit evil. The good old man fully explained to you this matter, in telling you of the traps laid for thieves, into which you must have inevitably fallen, had you entered his garden in a clandestine manner. God orders every thing that passes upon earth, and directs events so as to reward good people for virtuous actions, and to punish the wicked for their crimes. In order to make this more clear to you, I will relate to you an affair which happened when I was a boy, and which I shall never forget." Richard seemed very attentive to his father; and having said he should be very glad to hear his story, Mr. Stevenson thus proceeded:—
"When I lived with my father, and was much about your age, we had two neighbours, between whose houses ours was situated, and their names were Davis and Johnson. Mr. Davis had a son named William, and Mr. Johnson one also of the name of Harry. Our gardens were at that time separated only by quickset hedges, so that it was easy to see into each others grounds.
"It was too often the practice with William, when he found himself alone in his father's garden, to take pleasure in throwing stones over the hedges, without paying the least regard to the mischief they might do. Mr. Davis had frequently caught him at this dangerous sport, and never failed severely to reprimand him for it, threatening him with severe punishment, if he did not desist.
"This child, unhappily, either knew not, or would not take the trouble to reflect, that we are not to do amiss, even when we are alone, for reasons I have already mentioned to you. His father being one day gone out, and therefore thinking that nobody could see him, or bring him to punishment, he filled his pockets with stones, and then began to fling them about at random.
"Mr. Johnson happened to be in his garden at the same time, and his son Harry with him. This boy was of much the same disposition as William, thinking there was no crime in committing any mischief, provided he were not discovered. His father had a gun charged, which he brought into the garden, in order to shoot the sparrows that made sad havoc among his cherries, and was sitting in a summer-house to watch them.
"At this instant a servant came to acquaint him that a strange gentleman desired to speak with him, and was waiting in the parlour. He therefore put down the gun in the summer-house, and strictly ordered Harry by no means to touch it; but he was no sooner gone, than this naughty son said to himself, that he could see no harm in playing a little with the gun; and therefore took it on his shoulder, and endeavoured to act the part of a soldier.
"The muzzle of the gun happened to be pointed towards Mr. Davis's garden; and, just as he was in the midst of his military exercises, a stone thrown by William hit him directly in one of his eyes. The fright andpain together made Harry drop the gun, which went off, and in a moment both gardens resounded with the most dismal shrieks and lamentations. Harry had received a blow in the eye with a stone, and the whole charge had entered William's leg; the sad consequences of which were, the one lost his eye, and the other a leg."
Richard could not help pitying poor William and Harry for their terrible misfortune; and Mr. Stevenson was not angry with his son for his tenderness. "It is true," said he "they were much to be pitied, and their parents still more, for having such vicious and disobedient children. Yet it is probable, if God had not early punished these boys, they would have continued their mischievous practices as often as they should find themselves alone; but by this misfortune they learned to know that God publicly punishes all wickedness done in secret. This had the desired effect, as both ever after left off all kinds of mischief, and became prudent and sedate. Certain it is, that an all-wise Creator never chastises us but with a view to add to our happiness."
Richard was very much struck with thisstory, and said, he hoped he should never lose either a leg or an eye by such imprudent conduct. This interesting conversation was interrupted by their arrival at their own house; when Richard hastened to find his brothers and sisters, to tell them the adventures of his walk, and the history of William and Harry.
A very early friendship commenced between Antony and Augustus, who were nearly of an age; and, as they were neighbours, they were almost inseparable companions. The father of Antony, whose name was Lenox, possessed a very lucrative employment under government, and was besides possessed of a considerable fortune; but Mr. Littleton, thefather of Augustus, was not in such affluent circumstances; though he livedcontentedly, and turned all his thoughts to the welfare and happiness of his son, in giving him a well-grounded education, which he thought might prove of more advantage to him than riches, or, at least, might amply supply the place of them.
As soon as Augustus was nine years of age, he was accustomed to bodily exercise, and his mind inured to study, which at once contributed to improve his health, strength, and understanding. Being thus used to exercise and motion, he was healthy and robust; and being contented and happy in the affection of his parents, he enjoyed a tranquil cheerfulness, which much influenced those who enjoyed his company.
Antony was one of his happy companions, who was always at a loss for amusement when Augustus was absent; and in that case, in order to fill up his time, he was continually eating without being hungry, drinking without being dry, and slumbering without being sleepy. This naturally brought on a weak habit of body, and frequent headaches.
Both parents ardently wished to see their children healthy and happy; but Mr. Lenox unfortunately pursued that object in a wrong channel, by bringing up his son, even from his cradle, in the most excessive delicacy. He was not suffered to lift himself a chair, whenever he had a mind to change his seat, but a servant was called for that purpose. He was dressed and undressed by other people, and even the cutting of his own victuals seemed a pain to him.
While Augustus, in a thin linen jacket, assisted his father to cultivate a small garden for their amusement, Antony, in a rich velvet coat, was lolling in a coach, and paying morning visits with his mamma. If he went abroad to enjoy the air, and got out of the carriage but for a minute, his great coat was put on, and a handkerchief tied round his neck, to prevent his catching cold. Thus accustomed to be humoured to excess, he wished for every thing he saw, or could think of; but his wish was no sooner obtained, than he became tired of it, and was constantly unhappy in the pursuit of new objects.
As the servants had strict orders to obeyhim with implicit submission, he became so whimsical and imperious, that he was hated and despised by every one in the house, excepting his parents. Augustus was his only companion who loved him, and it was upon that account he patiently put up with his humours. He was so perfectly master of his temper, that he would, at times, make him as good-humoured as himself.
Mr. Lenox would sometimes ask Augustus how he contrived to be always so merry; to which he one day answered, that his father had told him, that no person could be perfectly happy, unless they mixed some kind of employment with their pleasures. "I have frequently observed," continued Augustus, "that the most tedious and dull days I experience are those in which I do no kind of work. It is properly blending exercise with amusement that keeps me in such good health and spirits. I fear neither the winds nor the rain, neither the heat of summer nor the cold of winter, and I have frequently dug up a whole plat in my garden before Antony has quitted his pillow in the morning."
Mr. Lenox felt the propriety of such conduct,and a sigh unavoidably escaped him. He then went to consult Mr. Littleton in what manner he should act, in order to make Antony as hearty and robust as Augustus. Mr. Littleton informed him in what manner he treated his son. "The powers of the body and mind," said he, "should be equally kept in exercise, unless we mean them to be unserviceable, as money buried in the ground would be to its owner. Nothing can be more injurious to the health and happiness of children, than using them to excess of delicacy, and, under the idea of pleasing them, to indulge them in their whimsical and obstinate humours. The person who has been accustomed from his childhood to have his humours flattered, will be exposed to many vexatious disappointments. He will sigh after those things, the want or possession of which will equally make him miserable. I have, however, every reason to believe, that Augustus will never be that man."
Mr. Lenox saw the truth of these arguments, and determined to adopt the same plan for the treatment of his son. But it was now too late, for Antony was fourteen years of age, and his mind and body so much enervated,that he could not bear the least fatiguing exertions. His mother, who was as weak as himself, begged of her husband not to tease their darling, and he was at last obliged to give way to her importunities, when Antony again sunk into his former destructive effeminacy. The strength of his body declined, in proportion as his mind was degraded by ignorance.
As soon as Antony had entered his seventeenth year, his parents sent him to the university, intending to bring him up to the study of the law; and Augustus being intended for the same profession, he accompanied him thither. Augustus, in his different studies and pursuits, had never had any other instructor than his father; while Antony had as many masters as there are different sciences, from whom he learned only a superficial education, by retaining little more than the terms used in the different branches he had studied. Augustus, on the contrary, was like a garden, whose airy situation admits the rays of the sun to every part of it, and in which every seed, by a proper cultivation, advances rapidly to perfection. Already well instructed, he still thirsted after further knowledge, and his diligence and good behaviour afforded a patternfor imitation to all his companions. The mildness of his temper, and his vivacity and sprightly humour, made his company at all times desirable; he was universally beloved, and every one was his friend.
Antony was at first happy of being in the same room with Augustus; but his pride was soon hurt on seeing the preference that was given by every one to his friend, and he could not think of any longer submitting to so mortifying a distinction. He therefore found some frivolous excuse, and forsook the company of Augustus.
Antony, having now nobody to advise or check him, gave loose to his vitiated taste, and wandered from pleasure to pleasure in search of happiness. It will be to little purpose to say, how often he blushed at his own conduct; but, being hardened by a repetition of his follies, he gradually fell into the grossest irregularities. To be short, he at last returned home with the seeds of a mortal distemper in his bosom, and, after languishing a few months, expired in the greatest agonies.
Some time after, Augustus returned hometo his parents, possessed of an equal stock of learning and prudence; his departure from the university being regretted both by his teachers and companions. It may easily be supposed, that his family received him with transports of joy. You know not, my little readers, how pleasing are those tender parental feelings, which arise from the prospect of seeing their children beloved and respected! His parents thought themselves the happiest people, and tears of joy filled their eyes when they beheld him.
Augustus had not been long at home, before a considerable employment in his profession was conferred on him, with the unanimous approbation of all who were acquainted with his character. This enabled him to gratify his generous desire of promoting the felicity of his friends, and a sense of their happiness added to his own. He was the comfort of his parents in the evening of their lives, and with interest repaid their attention and care of him in his childhood. An amiable wife, equally endued with sense, virtue, and beauty, who bore him children like himself, completed his happiness.
In the characters of Antony and Augustus,we see the fatal consequences of giving way to folly and vice, and what a happy effect the contrary conduct has. Antony fell a victim to the misguided indulgence of his parents, while Augustus lived to be happy by the prudent management he received in his infancy.