[Illustration]
BROTHERLY LOVE;
SHEWING
That as merely human it may not always be depended upon.
BY
MRS. SHERWOOD
AND HER DAUGHTER,
MRS. STREETEN.
1851.
THE BROTHERS;
OR,
BE NOT WISE IN YOUR OWN CONCEIT.
It was at that time of year when leaves begin to lose their green hue,
and are first tinctured with a brown shade that increases rather than
decreases their beauty, that Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer received a letter
from a brother of Mrs. Mortimer's, at Portsmouth, requiring such
immediate attention that it was thought advisable that the answer should
be given in person and not in writing, and without a day's loss of time.
So it was determined that Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer should leave their home,
even as soon as the following morning, to visit their brother at
Portsmouth, and that they then should settle the business for which they
went as quickly as possible, that their absence from home need not be
prolonged unnecessarily, nor indeed for any length of time. It did not
take long to arrange this part of the affair, and what packing was
requisite was also done quickly, but the point which required most
attention and thought was, what was to become of Marten and his young
brother Reuben while their papa and mamma were away. "I have never left
them before," said their mamma, "and I feel somewhat anxious about their
being left now."
"Anxious, dear mamma," exclaimed Marten, who had overheard the remark.
"Anxious," he repeated, "why I am a great boy now, and I shall soon be a
man, when I shall have to take care of myself altogether; and if I
cannot take care of myself for a week, what is to become of me when I
am grown up? Indeed, mamma, I think you forget how old I am. I was
thirteen on the 21st of April."
"Tirteen," lisped little Reuben--"Marten tirteen--April--Oh, Marten very
old mamma--very, very wise;" and Reuben opened his eyes quite wide and
looked so very earnestly in his mother's face, that one would have
thought he was trying to read therein what she could mean about being
anxious as to leaving Marten,--the Marten who appeared so very old and
so very wise to him,--to take care of himself for a few days without his
parents protection. "Thirteen," repeated Mrs. Mortimer, "thirteen no
doubt seems very, aye very old, to you Reuben, for you are not yet half
that age; but I am more than three times that age," she added, smiling,
"and that you know must make me very, very much wiser than Marten, and
now once again I say I am anxious about leaving you without your father
or myself, and I should be more anxious than I am if I did not believe
it is our duty to go at once to Portsmouth; and that it being right for
us to go, I can leave you, my boys, in God's care, who is the tenderest
of fathers to his children."
"But mamma," asked Marten, "why do you fear for me? Am I not steady,
mamma? Do not I like to do what you and papa tell me to do? Am I ever
obstinate or rebellious to you? Indeed, mamma, I feel quite grieved; I
think it is unjust to mistrust me, mamma, really I do."
"If you feared for yourself, I should have less fear for you, Marten,"
replied Mrs. Mortimer, "for I know well that the heart of man is by
nature prone to sin, and that our thoughts and desires while we are on
earth are like our natures, full of imperfections. Temptations are ever
before us--they press upon us every minute, and it is not in our own
strength we can resist or overcome even one of them, and while this
life lasts we are not safe, unless we acknowledge their powerful
influence and trust in the Divine Spirit alone to be able to withstand
them."
"I have not been thought a disobedient boy till now," said Marten
somewhat sulkily. "I think my usual conduct should plead for me."
"Every child has temptations, Marten," replied his mamma, "and every
well behaved child, though not a pious one, resists them: and in truth
these temptations are so numerous, that one scarcely thinks of them,
unless we witness the conduct of a spoiled baby, as shame prevents grown
up persons giving way to many things. But I want you to see that in this
life we are in a state of constant trial, and as St. Paul says, if it
were only for this life, a Christian is of all men most miserable; for
added to these outward temptations, which assail all mankind daily and
hourly, the Christian knows he must resist inward temptations, which
perhaps are known to none but himself and his God. These temptations are
more pressing than other temptations, on account of their peculiar
nature: for the one, if indulged in, brings the displeasure or frowns of
the world--the other, as I said before, is perhaps unknown to all human
beings but oneself."
"Well, but mamma," said Marten impatiently, "I do know all this, for you
have taught it me before. It is not like as if I had to learn the thing
now for the first time. I think you are too severe, mamma, indeed I do;
and when you come back, I believe you will say so. Trust me, mamma, and
do not be anxious about me. I shall do very well, and I promise to take
good care of Reuben. I will see to his lessons, and do my own, and he
shall sleep with me while you are away, and I will attend carefully to
him and never leave him, and when I am learning my Latin, he can be in
the room with me, and we shall do very well together, I promise you. So
trust me, mamma, without anxiety of any sort."
"I will trust you," replied Mrs. Mortimer smiling kindly, "but not with
yourself Marten, for I see clearly you have a lesson to learn, my boy,
and I hope you will learn it shortly, without much trouble to yourself.
You think you are going to fulfil all your duties in your own strength,
as they ought to be fulfilled. You will see that you cannot. Could human
nature, unassisted by the Divine nature, have done so, then what need
would there have been for the Son of God to have taken our form and
purified our nature in himself? By grace alone are we saved, for there
is none good--no, not one; but as God is holy, we must be holy, ere we
can dwell with Him, and the work of the Divine Spirit is to make us
pure; and while we are in the flesh, to uphold us in the right and
straight road, till being made one with God our sanctification is
accomplished. Now then is our hour of temptation. Marten--and believe
me, my boy, if you attempt to withstand that temptation in your own
strength, you are like one putting fire to tow, and expecting it will
escape conflagration."
Marten made no reply, for he was tired of the subject; but after Mrs.
Mortimer had left the room, he said to Reuben--"Well, we shall see what
we shall see, and mamma shall acknowledge I am right after all." So the
carriage came to the door next morning betimes, and Mr. and Mrs.
Mortimer got into it, and Marten and Reuben stood in the coach drive to
hold the gate open for the carriage to pass through; and the great dog
Nero stood by them very much excited, not knowing whether to go with the
carriage or to stay with the boys.
"Be sure you see Nero has a run every day, Marten," said Mr. Mortimer,
as the carriage passed through the gate--"that dog wants plenty of
exercise."
"Oh! don't fear, papa, I shall not forget him," replied Marten, running
a step or two after the carriage; "and mamma, I will attend to your
doves--you had forgotten to speak about them, had you not, mamma? I will
remember them and Nero too, papa, and Reuben also. Yes, I will attend to
all--I shall have plenty of time for all. Have you anything more you
wish done, papa?" and Marten was obliged to stop speaking, as the
carriage was now going on rapidly, and he found he could not talk and
keep up with it at the same time.
"No, no, Marten," replied Mr. Mortimer laughing--"No, no, my boy--you
have got more on your hands now than will suffice you: so off with you
home, and take care that when we return we do not find the doves flown,
Nero lost, or Reuben with black eye or bruised leg, and yourself in some
unlucky plight, my boy. Now go home, and God bless and watch over you,
my sons. We hope it will not be long before we return," and he waved his
hand to bid good bye. Marten had run himself out of breath, so he was
not able to answer his father, and he was not sorry to stand still an
instant or two to watch the carriage out of sight, and give time for
Reuben to overtake him, for the child could not keep up with his
brother's quick running. And even now Marten might have read this
lesson, had he been wise enough so to do that already, he had been led
away by temptation to forget his brother, and that though he had done
so, Nero had been more faithful than himself; for Nero, though he could
have outran Marten, yet would not forsake the child, but restrained his
impatience that he might keep near the little one, who ever needed a
protector by his side, for the child was young, and his mother had
perhaps reared him too delicately.
Reuben had never before been separated from his mamma, and he was half
inclined to cry, and perhaps fret at her absence; but Marten, who was a
very kind brother, and really loved the child tenderly, contrived so to
divert his attention that he soon forgot his troubles.
Marten was so bent upon behaving well during his mamma's and papa's
absence and of fulfilling every duty, that though Reuben wished to stay
out all morning and play, his brother would not allow it, but persuaded
him to go in with him and say his lessons, as if his mamma had been at
home. But Marten had taken upon himself much more than was required of
him by his parents, and it was not without difficulty, even on the first
day, determined as he was upon the point, that he could fulfil all his
intentions, for Marten had not taken into consideration that if he
thoroughly devoted himself to Reuben, he could not spend his time in
learning his own lessons, which usually occupied the best hours of the
morning. The doves could be fed whilst Reuben was by his side--indeed
Reuben could be very useful in this matter, for he had been accustomed
to visit the aviary daily with his mamma, and the pretty birds knew him
and were not as afraid of him as they were of his big brother Marten. So
Reuben fed the doves himself, and stroked their soft feathers, and
washed out their little tin in which the water was put for them to
drink; and he placed the food for them in its right corner, and he swept
out the floor of the aviary, for he was small enough to stand upright
within it, and he knew how to do it without frightening the birds. So
far all was well, and all was well too whilst Reuben was saying his
lessons; but when Marten wanted to study his Latin exercise, the child
was so restless and troublesome, that it was only by speaking very
decidedly to him--indeed almost crossly--that Marten could get a moment
to himself.
But even then Marten had to shut up his book somewhat hastily, for
Reuben began to cry for his mamma, who never spoke sharply to him, and
was always ready to attend to the little one by a kind look or tender
word.
Marten was, however, so satisfied with himself in having accomplished
all his plans for the day, that he did not see how he had given way to
temptation in being cross when provoked; and as he put Reuben to bed,
for he chose to do it himself, he could not help saying aloud, "I wish
mamma could have followed me unseen all day: how pleased she would have
been with me, for I have done all I meant to do, even though I was
tempted more than once to leave something undone."
The next morning Marten arose, perhaps not quite so earnest in his
intentions as the day before, but still there was only a slight
disinclination to fulfil all his duties--so slight, indeed, that he
would have been very angry if any one had spoken to him about it, and
hinted at the truth. In this frame of mind, though most things were
done, some few were slurred over, particularly the Latin Exercise and
Grammar, for Marten's papa had not set him any task, and had even said
Marten might have a holiday during his absence; and at any other time
the boy would have been glad of this indulgence, but now he fancied
himself so good, that he believed he could do everything, and everything
well.
"I will do an exercise to-morrow, Reuben," said Marten. "Papa does not
expect any done, and if I have one for every other day to shew him, he
will be very much pleased, I know."
Reuben, as may be supposed, could not make a suitable reply to this; for
all he understood about it was, that Marten was going out with him
instead of staying at home to do that troublesome Latin. So Reuben was
pleased and Marten was thoughtless, and out together they went and
enjoyed themselves not a little, in the pleasant autumn weather.
Thus hours passed on, and the third day brought a letter from Mrs.
Mortimer, which was not quite satisfactory, for it said that the
business which took her and her husband from home could not be easily
settled, and they feared they would be detained a whole fortnight at
Portsmouth. Mrs. Mortimer, however, was not uneasy about her boys, for
she knew that the servants, with whom she had left them, were quiet
steady persons, who would not allow them to do what was wrong without
speaking to them; and then Reuben was such an universal favourite, that
she felt sure no one would be wilfully unkind to him. But above all,
Mrs. Mortimer trusted her children with Him who "knoweth our frame and
remembereth we are but dust." Psal. ciii. 14.
Mrs. Mortimer had been absent about a week, and Marten was still in
ignorance of the weakness of human nature, at least as far as he was
himself personally concerned, when one morning Reuben came running to
him in great distress, to say that the doves were missing--his mamma's
own pretty birds that she loved so much; and Reuben, whose tears were
somewhat too ready, began to cry, for he feared, poor child, the cat had
eaten them, or some other misfortune equally distressing had befallen
them.
"Was the door of the aviary open?" asked Marten. "Are you sure it was
open, Reuben? or did you open it yourself?"
"It was open," said Reuben, "wide, wide open--so wide, Marten;" and he
made his brother understand that he had gone inside without stirring it
the least little bit.
"It was open, you say," replied the elder boy, "but how could that be?
You or some one have been careless, very careless, Reuben; for it is
certain the birds could not open it for themselves." Reuben was about to
cry again, but Marten soothed him, for all at once Marten remembered
that the careless--very careless person was none other than himself; for
on the day before, whilst Reuben was sweeping out the aviary, Marten had
called him hurriedly, and though the child had once proposed to return,
his brother had kept him by his side for some trifling purpose, and so
they had both forgotten the aviary door was open. However, the doves
were gone, and they must be reclaimed, if alive, but if dead--what a sad
story would there be for Mrs. Mortimer. So the books were put by, and
the two boys went out in search of the birds, and Reuben, who understood
their ways, took the precaution to carry with him the box in which their
food was usually placed. On this occasion there was a nice piece of cake
put into the box, which was to be crumbled for the doves, and Reuben
knew that they liked cake as well as he did himself, and more especially
the kind of cake which cook had given him.
Have you ever heard of a person who it is said once looked for a needle
in a pottle of hay? for if so, you may picture to yourself the feelings
of Marten when he started to find the ringdoves. But perhaps you will
say, anyhow, the needle would lie still, unless the man who was
searching for it should shake the straw too roughly, and throw it out,
therefore the space of its concealment, being a limited space, supposing
the pottle the very largest ever made, there would be a chance in time
of its discovery, but not so the case of the birds. They had wings to
fly with, and miles of lovely blue sky to fly through, and green
branches to rest on, and harvest fields to alight in, that is if they
were in the land of the living; but, perhaps, after all, mistress pussy
had destroyed them, and their pretty feathers, perhaps their only
relics left, might be so scattered by the wind, that already they might
be yards and yards separated from each other. With these sad forebodings
clouding his brow, Marten set off with Reuben on his search, feeling
that it was a hopeless one, and not one word did the boy utter to all
Reuben's lamentations as they crossed the meadow which was spread in
front of their house towards a little wood, which was the home of many a
bird of the pigeon or dove species, and therefore Marten thought would
be the most likely place to go first to look after the strayed ones.
Think, then, what must have been his joy as they entered the second
meadow not far from the stile, absolutely to behold the ringdoves, his
mamma's own ringdoves walking upon the grass cooing and billing, and
turning about their soft eyes in this direction and the other, as if
half afraid of the freedom they had acquired for themselves. As to
Reuben, he was so pleased, that the little foolish fellow clapped his
hands and shouted for joy, which so alarmed the doves, that they took to
their wings and soared high, but flutteringly in the air, as if in their
fright they did not know what they ought to do for their own safety.
Marten was very angry with Reuben for his folly--very angry indeed, and
I hardly know what it was he said; only this I do know, that he took the
box of cake from the child's hand, and bade him stand at a particular
spot--about twenty yards or so, in a direction farthest from the wood,
and from the stile leading to their home; "and there," he added, "remain
till I tell you you may stir, if you are so stupid as not to know that
clapping your hands and shouting loud will frighten any birds,
particularly timid ones like doves--tame doves, especially, who have
strayed from their home."
Marten looked so cross, that Reuben did not even like to cry, for he
felt he had been very silly; so the poor little fellow stood where his
brother had bade him stand, half afraid to breathe, and quite afraid of
moving--lest by any noise he should again drive away the doves, and
Marten should again be angry. And there we will leave him to speak of
how his brother set himself to work to reclaim his mother's birds.
I have said before that he had some cake in a box in his hand, and
having tossed off his hat--lest by any accident it should fall off when
he was stooping forwards, he threw himself upon the grass his full
length, and as he rested on his right hand; with his left he sprinkled
some of the cake he had with him on the ground, to attract the doves
near to him, in the hope he would catch one; and the second, he rightly
guessed, would not then be long out of his power. Marten relied on the
tame habits of the doves, who had been accustomed not only to eat out of
his brother's hands, but also from his mother's, and occasionally of
late from his own; but it is a different thing feeding birds in their
own aviary, and when they have escaped half wild to their native haunts.
And now, whilst the boy stretched upon the ground, was wholly occupied
in the earnest desire of reclaiming the wanderers, Reuben's attention
after awhile was diverted by seeing that some one was approaching
towards them from a hill, in a direction farthest from their home. This
person was riding at no slow pace, and as I said before, as his road led
him down hill, he seemed not to spare his horse; meeting the wind, as
Reuben thought gloriously, and passing along at a pace, the child
considered more glorious still. "When I am a man," the little fellow
said to himself, "I will ride so, I will have a horse, and I will ride
very very fast,--yes,--that I will."
Now it seemed that the rider from the elevated road could look over the
meadows below, and probably having good eyes, for they certainly were
young and sharp ones, he soon spied out Marten and Reuben, and as it
came out afterwards that Marten was the person he sought after, he
caused his pony to leap over a small ditch that was in his way, and then
guiding it to a gate he dismounted and fastened the animal to the post
by its bridle. In leaping the ditch his hat had fallen off, and making
signs to a large Newfoundland dog that had accompanied him, the noble
animal was by him directed to lie down near the horse and take charge of
the hat, whilst his master stepped lightly along the grass in the
direction where Marten lay extended, so occupied about the doves as to
regard nothing that was passing round him. The new comer was a youth of
about Marten's own age, the only child of a gentleman who lived about
four miles from Marten's father, and the most constant companion that
Marten possessed. His name was Edward Jameson, and he shall himself say
the cause of his present visit. Reuben knew Edward well, and he
recognized him before he had tied his pony to the gate post, but he had
not seen the fine Newfoundland dog before, and Reuben was so fond of
dogs. The little fellow remembered that Marten had forbidden him to
leave the tree or to speak, but he could not keep his small feet from
moving up and down restlessly, nor could he scarce command himself not
to call out and tell his brother of Edward's arrival. But Edward wanted
to see what Marten was doing in the very odd attitude he had taken, so
he crept noiselessly on, his head turned somewhat sideways to Reuben,
and his hand held up threateningly to the child, for he saw he had been
recognised, and he was afraid of some hasty word, which would cause
Marten to start up, and then he feared he should not surprise his
friend. Edward was able to get quite close to Marten, and even to touch
him before Marten was aware of his presence; and he stepped up so
quietly, that the doves were so little frightened, that they hardly
stopped a moment from picking up the crumbs.
"Why Marten, old fellow, what are you doing here?" asked Edward. "Whose
doves are those, I say? are they your mother's? have you let them
loose--Eh?" Edward spoke softly, but not so softly that he did not cause
Marten to start at the unexpected sound of his voice; still, as the
birds were at some little distance, and were accustomed to the human
voice, they scarcely were alarmed, and hardly moved a step or two away
from the crumbs scattered for them, and Marten recovering himself
quickly, said--"Oh! Edward, do help me to catch these doves: they have
escaped from their aviary, and my mother will be so vexed if they fly
away."
"To be sure I will," replied Edward; "but my boy, who is in the habit
of feeding them, for that person would best know how to catch them I
should say."
"My mother feeds them herself chiefly," said Marten, "and Reuben
sometimes attends to them when she is engaged."
"Well, set Reuben to decoy them now, for I am in a hurry and have got
something to say to you as quickly as possible, and it is very
important. Anyhow, the child can watch them whilst you are attending to
me."
So Reuben was called from his station at the tree, and Marten gave him
directions what he was to do; and the now little important one lay down
on the grass, as Marten had done before him; and as might have been
expected, the doves, accustomed to his baby voice and small figure, soon
drew nearer and nearer to him, so that when the conference was over
between the two elder boys, Reuben was able proudly to shew not one,
but both doves, so wrapped up in his pinafore, that though they
fluttered about a little, they were quite secure. "Come here a step or
two from the child," said Edward, "and don't think of those troublesome
birds just now, but tell me at once, can you come and pay me a visit for
a couple of days? my cousins William Roscoe and Jane and Mary are
expected at our house to night on their way to London. You know William
Roscoe, Marten, and what a fine fellow he is and I have asked my father
and mother, and they have allowed me to get as many young ones together
as the short time would allow, and we are to have splendid fun. Won't
you come, Marten? I promise you a glorious time of it, if you will but
come."
[Illustration]
"My father is from home," replied Marten thoughtfully, "and so is my
mother, but I don't think that matters, Edward: they have never refused
my visiting you, and I do not think they would now. Indeed, I am sure
they would not, if they were at home, but what am I to do with Reuben? I
have taken charge of Reuben whilst mamma is away, and what can I do
about him?"
"About Reuben," returned Edward? "can't the servants take care of him at
home? he will do very well at home, and be very contented, I know."
"But I have undertaken the charge of him," said Marten, "and I should
not like, after what I have said, to leave him, even for a couple of
days. I must either bring him with me, Edward, or stay at home with
him--indeed, I must."
"Well, then, bring the little fellow," replied Edward kindly; "anything
so as you come, Marten; and remember there will be plenty of girls
invited, for Jane and Mary Roscoe, and Reuben can surely play with them,
and they will take care of him, no doubt. So bring him, by all means, if
that is the only hindrance; but still, I say, you would do better to
leave him at home with the servants; however, that's your business, not
mine. I reckon on you to-morrow, about eleven o'clock--to stay all
night, next day, and the night following, if you like; so good bye, till
then. I have half the country to ride over to beat up my recruits;" and
without waiting another word from his friend, Edward ran across the
meadow, snatched up his hat from where the faithful dog was carefully
guarding it, sprang upon his pony, and then once again leaping the
ditch, he cantered off at a pace so rapid, he was soon lost to Marten's
sight.
How pleased was Reuben to shew his brother that he had caught the doves,
and Marten was also pleased: for any how he need not distress himself
about them, as they were secured, but he thought it advisable to take
them under his own charge, as he considered he could hold them firmer
than the little one. And now the boys ran home as quickly as they could,
and the pretty birds were shut up in their aviary, and Marten hastened
to the kitchen to find the house-maid, who was called nurse, as she had
been Reuben's nurse before she had changed her occupation in the family,
the child no longer requiring a personal attendant. In the kitchen
Marten learnt that she was gone out into the garden to gather some herbs
for the cook, and thither he followed her to tell her that his friend
Edward Jameson had been with him, and what had been the purport of his
visit.
"Nurse," said Marten, when he found her, "I am come to ask you to get
mine and Reuben's things ready to-night, for I am going to take him with
me to spend a couple of days at Mr. Jameson's; and there will be company
there in the evenings, so we must have our best things, nurse, and will
you be so kind as to see after the doves, and tell Thomas to loosen
Nero's chain every day, that he may have a good scamper over the
fields, for papa says he should have plenty of exercise."
"Stop, stop, master Marten," replied nurse, "what is all this about?
your things and master Reuben's, do you say, are to be got ready for two
day's visit--and the doves fed? am I to find them before I feed them,
master Marten?" and nurse laughed.
"They are found, nurse," answered the boy, "and they are now safe in the
aviary, and I will take care the door shall not be opened again while
mamma is away. I mean to put a padlock on, nurse, so you see no one can
let them out, and I shall keep the key myself."
"Oh! master Marten, master Marten!" said nurse, laughing again--"I see,
if it depended upon you, we should all be in a bad way, and so the poor
birds are to be locked up, are they: and master Reuben is not to be
allowed to go into the aviary to talk to them, as the little one loves
to do--and all for what? Give me a steady ruler, if you please--not such
as you, master Marten--a fine head of a family you will make, if one may
judge of your boasted management of the doves in the first part of the
story, and then the leaving the aviary door open and finishing with
locking them up and keeping the key yourself. Well for their
happiness--mistress will soon be at home to attend to them herself; but
what are you going to do with the child, my own darling? I can't have
any tricks played with him, I tell you."
"Tricks, nurse," repeated Marten passionately. "What? do you mean to say
I would play tricks with my own brother? No one loves Reuben, I am sure,
better than I do, unless it is mamma. What do you mean, nurse?"
"What do you mean, then, master Marten, by saying you are going to take
the child amongst strangers, neither me nor his mamma being with him,
and he never accustomed to strangers--and company in the house too--I
don't half like it--and I know I feel half inclined to say he shan't
go."
"And pray under whose charge was he left?" asked Marten. "Your's or
mine, nurse? I should like to know."
"It was much of a muchness," replied the good woman. "Missis said to
you, take care of your brother; but missis knew I loved the sweet
darling too dearly to require even half a word on the subject. And
supposing he does go with you, master Marten, who is to put the dear
child to bed at nights? I must insist, indeed I must, that you see to it
yourself. I know how frightened he will be amongst strangers at bed
time."
"To be sure I will, nurse," said Marten, glad to see the good woman was
so far giving in to his wishes. "I promise not only to sleep with him,
but to take him to bed myself and stay with him till he is asleep."
"Well, well, master Marten," exclaimed nurse impatiently--"Well, well,
don't undertake too much and then do nothing; and I must say again," she
continued warming with her subject, "that the child had better be left
at home where there are plenty to look after him, and not be carried off
to that strange house, away from us all."
"Oh! me go with Marten, nurse, dear nurse! me go with Marten!" said
little Reuben imploringly, for the child had just joined them in time to
hear nurse's last remark. "Oh! Reuben so like to go with Marten."
"You don't know what is best for you, silly one," replied nurse, "nor
who is your truest friend either, but your little head is bent upon
being a man soon, and you must ever be trying to do what your brother
does. But, master Marten, how can you play or go about with master
Jameson, and yet attend to this child too?"
"Oh! I can take care of Reuben, and yet have plenty of time for myself,
nurse, I am sure," said Marten.
"That's according," answered nurse, "for if you are always giving your
company to this little one here, and she patted Reuben on the back, he
will keep you smartly to it whenever he is awake, I promise you. Won't
you, my pet? Are you not a weary little fellow, darling?" she added, as
she stooped to kiss him, "that is when you can get folks to be wearied
with you."
"No, nurse," answered the child stoutly;--"no--me not weary--me not
tired--me don't want to go to bed."
"Bless your pretty tongue," exclaimed nurse; "but here, take this
parsley to cook, and say it is the finest double parsley I can find,
there's a darling."
As Reuben ran away on his errand, nurse addressed herself to Marten in
a kind motherly manner, for nurse was not a young woman, and she was
also a pious one. "Master Marten," she said, "I am sure you will be kind
to the little one--you always are--for I must say you are one of the
very best brothers I know, and that is saying a deal for you--for I
believe there are many good brothers and sisters in the world, and yet,
pardon your old nurse, young master, when she tells you you are doing
wrong, though I think your intention is good. Look to your own heart,
master Marten, and ask yourself why are you dragging this poor child
after you to Mr. Jameson's. I was in the room with Missis when she was
speaking to you the day before she left, and I heard what she said about
temptation, and how we are tempted every hour in the day. You did not
believe her, master Marten, and you do not believe her now, and you are
going to try temptation to the very utmost, and you think you will stand
it, and I know you won't, for I remember what my dear lady said, that no
one can resist temptation in their own strength. This is the reason why
I don't like my baby to go with you, but if you, my dear young master,
will just think over what your mamma said, and ask for the approval of
your Saviour and the direction of his Holy Spirit in all things--why
then, as I said before, I will trust my darling with you any where, for
I know that you love him dearly, and would not willingly hurt a hair of
his precious little head."
"Nurse," exclaimed Marten indignantly, "one would imagine I had been
very unkind to Reuben whilst mamma has been away; now I don't think it
is fair, and if I were to leave my brother at home and stay out a couple
of days enjoying myself, papa and mamma might both justly think I had
neglected him; No, I have undertaken the care of him till their return,
and I mean to fulfil my undertaking: and I must say, unless you have any
unkindness to charge me with, I consider you have no business to speak
to me as you have done." And Marten walked away with a heart determined
to resist the wise advice of nurse.
And now nurse had nothing for it but to get the things ready for the
boys the next day, for nurse knew that Marten was always allowed, if
convenient, to go to Mr. Jameson's when invited, and as the houses were
about four miles apart, she also knew he was in the habit of staying
there all night, if asked so to do. As regards Reuben, he too had been
there once or twice to stay with his mamma, but nurse considered very
wisely, that it was a very different thing, a child of the little one's
age going from home with or without his mamma; but still she could not
interfere more than she had done, for Reuben had certainly been put
under his brother's care. She did, however, try to persuade the little
one that he would be better at home with her, but any person who knows
the ways of children might easily guess nurse might as well have spoken
to a post as to Reuben, for all the good she did, for the boy began to
cry, and begged so hard to go with his brother to play with the big boys
at Mr. Jameson's, that she thought it as well to say no more on the
subject.
And now I must pass over some hours till the time came for John to drive
the boys over in the pony carriage to Mr. Jameson's. Marten could have
walked the four miles very well, or he could have rode there on his own
pony, but Reuben could not have walked half so far, and thus it
happened, that as John had something to do he could not leave undone, it
was quite twelve o'clock before the three arrived at Mr. Jameson's
house, and thus it chanced that they were almost the last comers of the
party of children invited to meet the Roscoes.
It was a lovely day, and as warm as any summer day, though the autumn
was just setting in, and such a group of young children were at play on
the grass plat, near the house, that the like Marten nor Reuben had
never seen before. It was such a very pretty sight, that John quite
forgot to give out of the carriage the parcel nurse had made of the
young gentlemen's clothes; and the consequence was, he had all the
trouble to come back half a mile of the road, when he suddenly bethought
himself of his forgetfulness. But as to the pretty sight John saw, I
wish I could draw you a picture of it; if I could I would, I promise
you, and I would put it in this very page for you to see. Fancy, then, a
beautifully soft velvet lawn, in front of a large handsome house, upon
which lawn the sun shines warmly but kindly, and the blue sky looks
most pleasingly there and here, broken by white clouds that relieve the
eye without obscuring the light. At the farthest end of the lawn from
the house were some fine trees, under the shelter of which two girls
were playing at battledore and shuttlecock, and very well they played
too. A little nearer this way, that is where John and the carriage
stood, in the direction of the house, was a young child seated on the
turf holding a dog, whilst two other children were trying to make it
jump to catch a flower, one held in her hand. There was also a big boy
on a pony talking to a great girl, who was lying on the grass; but the
prettiest group of girls were standing or kneeling round a pet lamb
which they were decking with wreaths of flowers. They none of them wore
bonnets nor walking dresses, and even the boy on the pony was without a
hat. Why they had all agreed to uncover their heads, I cannot say
exactly, but I know they had been having some joke about it before the
young Mortimers arrived; and the great girl on the turf had even then
got her brother's cap and had hidden it somewhere, and it was to ask her
about it he had ridden up to her on his pony, as she rested on the
grass.
[Illustration]
"Oh! they are all girls but one," exclaimed Marten in a disappointed
tone, "and I am afraid I shall not find the boys easily, and I hate
playing with girls."
"As much as we girls dislike playing with rude boys, master Mortimer,"
said Jane Roscoe, advancing forwards and replying to Marten's speech,
which had really been addressed to John; "but understand we are the
fairies of this lawn--this is our territory, and my aunt Jameson has
bestowed it upon us. We take tribute if you intrude on our premises, so
either be off to your own mates, or lay down your cap as owning our sway
as ladies and queens of the lawn."
"I am sure I would rather go to your brother, or Edward, Miss Roscoe,"
replied Marten, "if you would but tell me where I should find them."
"No doubt near the stables, or at the dog kennels," she answered pertly,
"so you had better go, for I tell you we don't want boys amongst us; we
have had some trouble in ridding ourselves of them just now."
"And if they are all like you, I am sure I for one don't want to stay,"
thought Marten; and he took Reuben's hand to seek his friends, where the
young lady had so uncourteously directed him to find them.
And here, before I would follow Marten to find his young friends, I
would wish to remark that it is such girls as Jane Roscoe who make rude
boys, and such young women that make rude men. Boys and men generally
take their manners from the females with whom they associate, and when
one sees a very rude boy, it does not speak well for his sisters at
home, or at least for the young ladies with whom he may happen to be
most intimate. As to regular schoolboys, they are rude, because
schoolboys in general are famed for bad manners, and young gentlemen
seem to like to bring this odium on schools, fancying rudeness is
manliness, when in reality it is a decided sign of the contrary. Think
of the bravest men that have been known, that is bravest in their own
persons, and I will venture to say they have been gentle and courteous
in female society, for they know and feel they can dare to be so, as
their credit for manly daring is known and acknowledged by every one.
Take one of your rough ones, and I for one set him down as a mere bully,
that hides his cowardice under blustering words. But I have wandered
somewhat from my point, for I was saying rude girls make rude boys, as
shewn in the case of Jane Roscoe; and civil girls make civil boys, as
evinced in her sister Mary, as I am going to relate.
"Me want to go to the pretty lamb," said Reuben, hanging heavily on his
brother:--"Me go to the lamb--me don't like horses."
"But you shall see the great big Newfoundland, Reuben, that you admired
so much yesterday," said his brother. "Should you not like to see the
large black dog?"
"Reuben wants to go to lamb," replied the child, and he resolutely stood
still. "Pretty lamb, Reuben, go to lamb now."
"You can't go to the lamb, Reuben," said his brother impatiently, "so
you must be content to go with me to see the large black dog. I am not
going to give up my cap to any one, I promise you; so come on now, and
don't keep me staying here all day."
But Reuben, as nurse had said, was a weary little fellow when bent upon
any thing, and now he was bent upon going to play with the lamb, so he
was determined not to move, or if he did it should only be in the
direction of the lawn. Marten was, however, almost as determined to go
the other way, on account of Jane Roscoe, and for a moment there seemed
a doubt which boy should carry the day. The elder had the most strength,
and he was inclined to use it, for Miss Roscoe had offended him, and
lifting the child from the ground he was about to run off with him in
the direction of the stables, when Reuben, not accustomed to opposition
of this description, set up a loud cry of passion, which at once drew
the attention of all near to himself and his brother.
"There," exclaimed Jane, "what are you teasing the little one so for?
why not let him have his own way and come amongst us, if he will?"
"Well, go," said Marten angrily, "go, Reuben, if you like; but I tell
you I will not come with you."
But this was not what Reuben desired, and he stood at a little distance
from his brother looking, I am sorry to say, very naughty and selfish,
for he was really wishing Marten to give up his own desires to attend to
and humour his; and so now he stood moving neither one way nor another,
his face turned towards the lamb so finely bedecked with flowers. His
cry, however, had aroused the young girls from their occupation, and
Mary Roscoe, whom one would have supposed had been really kissing the
lamb, so close was her face to it, when Marten had first seen her;
sprang from her knees, and running across the lawn to the gravel path,
now stooped down to Reuben, and looking him kindly in the face--"Little
boy," she said, "what did you cry for? what did you want? tell me,
little boy, and I will see what I can do. I am a fairy, little boy. We
are all fairies on that turf, and I will take you with me to fairy land
and shew you some fairy wonders."
Reuben at once and without hesitation put his hand in hers, saying--"Me
go see pretty lamb me go with you--me will go."
"Then come along," said Mary, and turning her head over her shoulder
towards Marten, she added, "I will take care of him; so you may go to
Edward and William if you like, and I dare say you will like it better
than playing with girls."
"Oh! thank you, Miss Mary, thank you," replied Marten most gratefully to
the kind little girl, "thank you, I am so much obliged to you."
But Marten spoke aloud, and thus drew Reuben's attention to the fact
that he was going to be left with strangers, and once more he raised a
cry as much of passion as of fear. So Marten, to soothe him, made a step
towards the lawn with the child, though Mary still held his hand,
giving a private sign to Marten that he might slip away on the first
opportunity.
"Your tribute, your tribute," exclaimed Jane Roscoe: "not one step upon
the grass, Master Mortimer, without giving up your cap as a sign you own
us 'The ladies of the lawn.' Give it up, I command, or stay where you
are."
"Will you give it me again in a minute or two, as I come back," asked
Marten?
"Ask Frank Farleigh there if he has got his," said Jane. "You shall have
yours when he has found his, that is if we can hide it as securely."
"Then you may get it as you can," retorted Marten rudely, stepping upon
the grass, and on Jane's springing after him setting off on a race as
fast as he could across the lawn, in utter defiance of the young girls.
A cry was raised instantly, and all the children left their sports to
pursue the boy, who had thus boldly defied their power; and lucky was
it for him that he was agile and could twist and turn in his course as
rapidly as a hare. But when there is at least twelve to one and a clear
space, the raced has little chance, and thus it came about that the boy
in self defence was forced to fly towards the stables as the only place
of safety, having no leisure even to think that he was leaving his
brother amongst strangers, proving himself unable to withstand
temptation, even during one short hour of his visit. Marten, too, had
raised a war between himself and the young girls of the party, which was
not likely to be settled peacefully during the time of their stay at
Mrs. Jameson's, and thus he had, to a certain sense, separated himself
either from Reuben or from the bigger boys, without intending to do so
for the two parties, as might be foreseen by any experienced eye, were
of too different a sort to get on hourly together, as their tastes and
amusements were utterly at variance.
As my story is intended to shew that temptations hourly assail us, and
that in our own strength we cannot often resist them, else wherefore did
Our Lord teach his disciples to pray that they might not be led into
temptation, but because he knew that man of himself never turns away
from the forbidden fruit. I shall not here speak much of how after a
good run hither and thither, Marten at last found Edward and his
companions in an open field, most of the horses and dogs from the
stables being collected together, and such a scene of excitement going
on that the boy had no leisure to think of anything that was not passing
before his eye; and therefore, as Reuben did not appear, he, like the
rest being unseen, was forgotten. In excuse for Marten I must say that
he first ran to the stables, and there learnt from a boy whom he found
there, that Master Jameson had had permission that morning from his papa
to have out one or two of the horses and ponies, on condition that
Chambers, the old coachman, and Rogers, the groom, were present with the
young gentlemen, and that every obedience were paid to their directions,
so that if they saw anything wrong they might enforce attention to their
requests.
As many of the young gentlemen too had ridden over on their ponies to
Mr. Jameson's, there were a goodly collection of horses assembled
together, and the races that ensued, and the leaping over low fences
that followed, so quickly passed away the time that when the first bell
rang, announcing that dinner would shortly be served, Marten was quite
astonished to find that it was nearly three o'clock, and that almost two
hours had passed since he had seen his brother. But now, as the boys
were taking the horses and dogs to the stables, he hastened towards the
house as fast as he could, for he saw the lawn was tenant-less, and
knowing the way to the room where he usually slept when at Mrs.
Jameson's, he hurried up the stairs only to find that his things had
been placed there, and that Reuben's little parcel had been taken
elsewhere and was probably where the child also was, for no Reuben was
to be seen. As Marten could meet with no servant, he ran along the
gallery trying to distinguish amongst the many voices he heard on all
sides that of his brother's, but in vain, so many were the sounds that
reached his ear, and as he did not like to open any of the doors, or
push those farther open that were not quite closed, he raised his voice
and called aloud "Reuben, Reuben, I want you--Reuben come to me in the
passage--here I am--come to me Reuben."
To Marten's annoyance, instead of his brother replying to his call, Jane
Roscoe stepped out into the gallery, exclaiming--"Oh! it is you, is it?
Whom do you want? What are you come here for? these are the girl's
rooms! those are our bedrooms, and this is our sitting room. Are you
come to make an apology for your rudeness this morning? If so, I will
call the rest out to hear what you have to say."
"I want my brother, Miss Roscoe," replied Marten, trying to speak
civilly. "May I go into your sitting room, or would you have the
goodness to tell him to come to me here."
"I shall do no such thing," answered Miss Jane, "you may get him as you
can, though I do not know how you will manage to do that either; for
Mary has taken such a fancy to the little fellow, that she will not give
him up easily."
"Would you tell me if Reuben is content?" asked Marten, "for if so I
would rather leave him with Miss Mary."
"Just pop your head inside that door," said the rude girl, "and judge
for yourself, that is, if you dare to do so--for your brother is there,
and Mary and a dozen more girls. Do you dare?" she inquired mockingly,
"come let me see you do it, then."
"Dare," repeated Marten indignantly, "and why should I not dare--I want
my brother."