the highest place at exercises. His mother was told it. She could
nohow keep from dreaming of the pleasure; and when morning came, she
got up early, went to speak with the cook and said as follows:
"'Cook, you are to make a cake for Henry, who yesterday was very good
at school.'
"'With all my heart,' replied the cook, and set immediately about it.
It was as big as--let me see--as big as--as a hat when flapped. The
cook had stuffed it with nice almonds, large pistachio nuts, and
candied lemon-peel, and iced it over with a coat of sugar, so that it
was very smooth and a perfect white. The cake no sooner was come home
from baking than the cook put on her things, and carried it to school.
"When Henry first saw it, he jumped up and down like any Merry Andrew.
He was not so patient as to wait till they could let him have a knife,
but fell upon it tooth and nail. He ate and ate till school began, and
after school was over he ate again; at night, too, it was the same
thing till bedtime--nay, a little fellow that Henry had for a playmate
told me that he put the cake upon his bolster when he went to bed, and
waked and waked a dozen times, that he might take a bit. I cannot so
easily believe this last particular; but, then, it is very true, at
least, that on the morrow, when the day was hardly broke, he set about
his favorite business once again, continuing at it all the morning,
and by noon had eaten it up. The dinner-bell now rung; but Henry, as
one may fancy, had no stomach, and was vexed to see how heartily the
other children ate. It was, however, worse than this at five o'clock,
when school was over.
"His companions asked him if he would not play at cricket, tan, or
kits. Alas! he could not; so they played without him. In the meantime
Henry could hardly stand upon his legs; he went and sat down in a
corner very gloomily, while the children said one to another: 'What is
the matter with poor Henry, who used to skip about and be so merry?
See how pale and sorrowful he is!'
"The master came himself, and, seeing him, was quite alarmed. It was
all lost labor to interrogate him. Henry could not be brought to speak
a single word.
"By great good luck, a boy at length came forward in the secret; and
his information was that Henry's mother had sent him a great cake the
day before, which he had swallowed in an instant, as it were, and that
his present sickness was occasioned only by his gluttony. On this, the
master sent for an apothecary, who ordered him a quantity of physic,
phial after phial. Henry, as one would fancy, found it very nauseous,
but was forced to take the whole for fear of dying, which, had he
omitted it, would certainly have been the case. When some few days of
physic and strict regimen had passed, his health was re-established as
before; but his mother protested that she would never let him have
another cake."
_Percival_. He did not merit so much as the smell of such a thing. But
this is but one cake, father; and you informed me that there were
three, if you remember, in your story.
_Mr. G._ Patience! patience! Here is another cake in what I am now
going to tell.
"Henry's master had another scholar, whose name was Francis. He had
written his mother a very pretty letter, and it had not so much as a
blotted stroke; in recompense for which she sent him likewise a great
cake, and Francis thus addressed himself: 'I will not, like that
glutton Henry, eat up my cake at once, and so be sick as he was; no, I
will make my pleasure last a great deal longer.' So he took the cake,
which he could hardly lift by reason of its weight, and watched the
opportunity of slipping up into his chamber with it, where his box
was, and in which he put it under lock and key. At playtime every day
he slipped away from his companions, went upstairs a-tiptoe, cut a
tolerable slice off, swallowed it, put by the rest, and then came down
and mixed again with his companions. He continued this clandestine
business all the week, and even then the cake was hardly half
consumed. But what ensued? At last the cake grew dry, and quickly
after moldy; nay, the very maggots got into it, and by that means had
their share; on which account it was not then worth eating, and our
young curmudgeon was compelled to fling the rest away with great
reluctance. However, no one grieved for him."
_Percival_. No, indeed; nor I, father. What, keep a cake locked up
seven days together, and not give one's friends a bit! That is
monstrous! But let us have the other now.
"There was another little gentleman who went to school with Henry and
Francis likewise, and his name was Gratian. His mother sent him a cake
one day, because she loved him, and, indeed, he loved her also very
much. It was no sooner come than Gratian thus addressed his young
companions: 'Come and look at what mother has sent me; you must every
one eat with me.' They scarcely needed such a welcome piece of
information twice, but all got round the cake, as you have doubtless
seen the bees resorting to a flower just blown. As Gratian was
provided with a knife, he cut a great piece off, and then divided it
into as many shares as he had brought boys together by such a
courteous invitation. Gratian then took up the rest, and told them
that he would eat his piece next day; on which he put it up, and went
to play with his companions, who were all solicitous to have him
choose whatever game he thought might entertain him most.
"A quarter of an hour had scarcely passed as they were playing, when a
poor old man, who had a fiddle, came into the yard.
"He had a very long white beard, and, being blind, was guided by a
little dog, who went before him with a collar round his neck. To this
a cord was fastened, which the poor blind man held in his hand.
"It was noticed with how much dexterity the little dog conducted him,
and how he shook a bell, which, I forgot to say, hung underneath his
collar, when he came near any one, as if he had designed to say by
such an action, 'Do not throw down or run against my master.' Being
come into the yard, he sat him down upon a stone, and, hearing several
children talking round him, 'My dear little gentlemen,' said he, 'I
will play you all the pretty tunes that I know, if you will give me
leave.' The children wished for nothing half so much. He put his
violin in tune, and then thrummed over several jigs and other scraps
of music, which, it was easy to conjecture, had been new in former
times.
"Little Gratian saw that while he played his merriest airs, a tear
would now and then roll down his cheeks, on which he stopped to ask
him why he wept?
"'Because,' said the musician, 'I am very hungry. I have no one in the
world that will give my dog or me a bit of of anything to eat. I wish
I could but work, and get for both of us a morsel of something; but I
have lost my strength and sight. Alas! I labored hard till I was old,
and now I want bread.'
"The generous Gratian, hearing this, wept too. He did not say a word,
but ran to fetch the cake which he had designed to eat himself. He
brought it out with joy, and, as he ran along, began: 'Here, good old
man, here is some cake for you.'
"'Where?' replied the poor musician, feeling with his hands; 'where is
it? For I am blind, and cannot see you.'
"Gratian put the cake into his hand, when, laying down his fiddle on
the ground, he wiped his eyes, and then began to eat. At every piece
he put into his mouth, he gave his faithful little dog a bit, who came
and ate out of his hand; and Gratian, standing by him, smiled with
pleasure at the thought of having fed the poor old man when he was
hungry."
_Percival_. Oh, the good, good Gratian! Let me have your knife,
father.
_Mr. G._ Here, Percival; but why my knife?
_Percival_. I will tell you. I have only nibbled here a little of my
cake, so pleased I was in listening to you! So I will cut it smooth.
There, see how well I have ordered it! These scraps, together with the
currants, will be more than I shall want for breakfast; and the first
poor man that I meet going home shall have the rest, even though he
should not play upon the violin.
AMENDMENT
Charles Grant lived in a good house, and wore fine clothes, and had a
great many pretty toys to play with; yet Charles was seldom happy or
pleased; for he was never good. He did not mind what his mother said
to him, and would not learn to read, though he was now seven years
old.
He called the servants names, pinched and beat his little sister
Clara, and took away her playthings, and was not kind and good to her,
as a brother should be. "Oh, what a sad boy Charles is!" was his
mother's daily bitter exclamation.
His father was a proud, bad man, who let Charles have his own way,
because he was his only son, and he thought him handsome. But how
could anyone be handsome that was so naughty? I am sure that when he
was froward, and put out his lip, and frowned, he looked quite ugly.
Mother told him so, and said that no one was pretty that was not good;
but Charles did not mind his mother, and was so vain he would stand
before the looking-glass half the day, instead of learning his
lessons; and was so silly he would say, "What a pretty little boy I
am! I am glad I am not a shabby boy, like Giles Bloomfield, our
cowboy." At such times his mother would say to him: "I wish, Charles,
you were only half as good as Giles; he is not much older than you,
yet he can read in the Bible quite well; he works hard for his poor
mother, and never vexes her, as you do me; and when he comes home of
an evening, he nurses the baby, and is kind to all his sisters. I dare
say he never pinched nor beat any of them in his life."
"Oh!" said that wicked Charles, "I hate him for all that, for he wears
ragged clothes, and has no toys to play with."
"Oh fie, Charles!" said his mother; "you are a wicked boy: have not I
often told you that God made the poor as well as the rich, and He will
hate those who despise them? Now, Charles, if God, to punish you for
your pride, were to take away your father and me, and you had no money
to buy food, and your clothes became old and ragged, you would then
be a poor, shabby boy, and worse off than Giles; for you could not
earn your own living, as he does; and you would consequently be
starved to death if God did not take care of you. And if, while you
were rich, you hated the poor, how could you expect God to care for
you when you grew poor, like those you had scorned?"
But Charles, however, was so naughty he would not stay to hear what
his mother said, but ran away into the fields.
Then Charles's mother was so vexed that she could not help crying at
his being such a wicked, proud boy; and she could not sleep all that
night for the grief his conduct had occasioned her. The next day she
was forced to take a long journey to visit a friend who was very ill,
and who lived in London. She was very sorry to leave her children, for
she knew if Charles behaved naughty when she was with him, he would be
a sad boy indeed when he was left to himself, and had none to correct
him and tell him of his faults.
When the carriage that was to take Mrs. Grant to London drove to the
door, she kissed her children a great many times, and begged that they
would be very good while she was away from them.
"You, my dear Clara, I know, will mind what nurse says to you, and
will try to be good while I am gone; for you know that God will see
everything you do amiss, if I do not; and I hope you will never forget
to say your prayers to Him night and morning."
Clara kissed her dear mother, and promised that she would attend to
all she said; and her mother was satisfied, for she knew that Clara
never told stories, though she was but a little girl.
Then Mrs. Grant turned to Charles, and said: "As for you, Charles, I
cannot help feeling great pain at leaving you; for you are such a bad,
wilful boy that I shall not have a happy moment while I am away from
you, lest you should do anything amiss. But if you love me, you will
try to be good; and whenever you are about to do anything wrong, say
to yourself, 'How much this would grieve my poor mother if she knew
it! and how much it will offend God, who does see, and knows, not
only everything I do, but even my most secret thoughts! And He will
one day bring me to an account for all I do or say against His holy
will and my kind parents' commands.'"
Charles, who knew he was a bad boy, hung down his head, for he did not
like to be told of his faults.
Then his mother said: "My dear Charles, do try and be good, and I will
love you dearly."
"But what will you bring me from London," said Charles, "if I am a
good boy? for I never will behave well for nothing."
"Do you call the love of God and of dear mother nothing?" said Clara;
"I will behave well, even if mother forgets to bring me the great wax
doll, and the chest of drawers to keep her clothes in, which she told
me about yesterday."
Mrs. Grant smiled fondly on her little girl, but made no reply to
Charles; and soon the coach drove away from the door.
Charles was very glad when his mother was gone, and he said: "Now
mother is gone to London, I will do just as I please: I will learn no
ugly lessons, but play all day long. How happy I shall be! I hope
mother may not come for a whole month."
But Charles soon found he was not so happy as he thought he should
have been; he did not know the reason, but I will tell you why he was
not happy. No one can be happy who is not good, and Charles was so
naughty as to resolve not to obey his kind mother, who loved him so
much.
Charles brought out all his toys to play with, but he soon grew weary
of them, and he kicked them under the table, saying, "Nasty dull toys,
I hate you, for you do not amuse me or make me happy. I will go to
father, and ask him to give me something to please me that I am not
used to."
But father was busy with some friends in the study, and could not
attend to his wants. Charles was a rude, tiresome boy; so he stood by
his father, and shook his chair, and pulled his sleeve, and teased him
so much that his father at last grew angry, and turned him out of the
room.
Then Charles stood and kicked at the door, and screamed with all his
might, when one of the gentlemen said to him: "If you were my little
boy, I would give you something to cry for." So Charles's father told
him if he did not go away, he would come out of the study and whip
him.
When Charles heard this, he ran away, for he was afraid of being
beaten; but, instead of playing quietly with his toys, he went and
laid under the great table in the hall and sulked and fretted till
dinner-time.
When nurse came to call him to dinner, he said: "I won't come; Go
away, ugly nurse!"
Then said nurse: "Master Charles, if you like to punish yourself by
going without your dinner, no one will prevent you, I am sure."
Then Charles began to cry aloud, and tried to tear nurse's apron; but
nurse told him he was a bad boy, and left him.
Now, when Clara sat down to dinner, she said to nurse: "Where is
brother Charles? Why is he not here?"
"Miss Clara, he is a naughty child," said nurse, "and chooses to go
without his dinner, thinking to vex us; but he hurts no one but
himself with his perverse temper."
"Then," said Clara, "I do not like to dine while Charles goes without;
so I will try and persuade him to come and eat some pie."
"Well, Miss Clara," said nurse, "you may go, if you please; but I
would leave the bad boy to himself."
When Clara came to Charles, and asked him if he would come and eat his
dinner, he poked out his head, and made such an ugly face that she was
quite frightened at him, and ran away.
Nurse did not take the trouble of calling him to tea; and, though he
was very hungry, he was too sulky to come without being asked; so he
lay under the table, and cried aloud till bedtime. But when it grew
dark, he was afraid to stay by himself, for bad children are always
fearful; so he came upstairs and said in a cross, rude tone of voice:
"Nurse, give me something to eat."
Nurse said: "Master Charles, if you had been good, you would have had
some chicken and some apple-pie for your dinner, and bread and butter
and cake for your tea; but as you were such a bad boy, and would not
come to your meals, I shall only give you a piece of dry bread and a
cup of milk, and you do not deserve even that."
Then Charles made one of his very worst faces, and threw the bread on
the ground, and spilt the milk.
Nurse told him that there were many poor children in the world who
would be glad of the smallest morsel of what he so much despised, and
that the time would come when he might want the very worst bit of it;
and she bade him kneel down and say his prayers, and ask God to
forgive him for having been such a wicked boy all day.
But Charles did not mind what she said, and went crying to bed. Thus
ended the first day of Charles Grant's happiness.
He awoke very early the next morning, and told nurse to get him his
breakfast, for he was very hungry. But nurse said he must wait till
eight o'clock, which was the breakfast hour.
He now found it was of no use sulking, as no one seemed to care for
his tempers; so he looked about for something to eat, but found
nothing but the piece of bread he had thrown on the ground the night
before; and he was glad to eat that, and only wished there had been
more of it.
As soon as breakfast was over, Clara brought her books, and began to
learn her lessons, and nurse asked Charles if he would do the same.
But Charles said, "No, indeed! I do not mean to learn any lessons
while mother is away, for I mean to please myself and be happy."
"You did as you pleased yesterday, Master Charles," said nurse; "yet I
do not think you were so very happy, unless happiness consists in
lying under a table and crying all day, and going without dinner and
tea, merely to indulge a sullen, froward temper."
Now, Charles hated to be told of his faults, so he left nurse, and
went into the garden to try and amuse himself. When there, instead of
keeping in the walks, as he ought to have done, he ran on the beds,
trampled down the flowers, and pulled the blossoms from the
fruit-trees.
The gardener's boy earnestly requested Charles not to do so much
mischief; but Charles told him he was a gentleman's son, and would do
as he pleased. So he again ran over the new-raked borders, and pulled
up the flowers; and the poor boy was sadly vexed to see his nice work
all spoiled.
Charles did not care for that, and would have behaved still worse, had
not the gardener, who then came up, taken him in his arms, and carried
him into the house, in spite of his kicking and screaming. He cried
for a long time, and made a sad noise; but, finding that no one paid
any regard to him, he became quiet, and went into the nursery, and
asked Clara to come and play with him.
"I cannot come just now, brother Charles," said she; "for I want to
finish this frock that I am making for Giles Bloomfield's little
sister."
"I am sure," said Charles, "if I were you, I would much rather play
than sit still and sew."
"Not if you knew what pleasure there is in doing good," said Clara;
"but if you will wait till I have finished it, you shall go with me
and give it to the poor woman, and then you will see how pleased she
will be, and how nicely the baby will look when she is dressed in this
pretty frock, instead of her old faded, ragged one."
Charles did not know how to amuse himself, so he sat down on his
little stool, and watched his sister while she worked.
When Clara had finished making the frock, she said: "Thank you, dear
nurse, for cutting out and fixing the frock for me." So she threw her
arms round nurse's neck, and kissed her cheek; and nurse put on
Clara's tippet and her new bonnet, and walked with Charles and her to
Dame Bloomfield's cottage.
The good woman took the baby out of the cradle, and laid it on Clara's
lap, and Clara had the pleasure of dressing it herself in the nice new
frock; and the baby looked so neat and pretty, and the poor mother was
so pleased, that Clara was much happier than if she had spent her time
in playing or working for her doll.
While Clara was nursing and caressing the baby, Charles went into the
little garden, where he found Giles Bloomfield, who had just returned
from working in the fields, with a beautiful milk-white rabbit in his
arms, which he had taken out of the hutch, and was nursing with much
affection.
"Oh, what a pretty rabbit!" said Charles. "Giles, will you sell it to
me?"
"No, Master Charles," said Giles, "I cannot sell my pretty Snowball."
"And why not?" asked Charles in a fretful tone.
"Because, Master Charles, the old doe, its mother, died when Snowball
was only a week old, and I reared it by feeding it with warm milk and
bran; and it is now so fond of me that I would not part with it for a
great deal."
So saying, he stroked his pretty favorite, who licked his hand all
over, and rubbed her soft white head against his fingers.
Then Giles said: "My dear Snowball, I would not sell you for the
world."
"But you shall sell Snowball to me," said Charles, making one of his
ugly faces. "I will give you a shilling for her; and if you do not let
me carry her home this very day, I will tell father of you, and he
will turn you out of the cottage."
When Giles's mother heard Charles say so, she came out of the house,
and said: "Pray, Giles, let Master Charles have the rabbit."
"Dear mother," said Giles, "Master Charles has a pony and a dog, and a
great many fine toys to play with, and I have only my pretty Snowball;
and it will break my heart to part with her."
"Then," said his mother, "would you rather see your mother and sisters
turned out of doors than part with your rabbit? You know, Giles, that
I had so many expenses with your poor father's illness and death that
I have not paid the rent due last quarter-day; and you know it is in
our landlord's power to turn us into the streets to-morrow."
"Well, mother," cried Giles, bursting into tears, "Master Charles must
have the rabbit. But oh!" continued he, "he does not love you as I do,
my pretty Snowball; he will not feed and take care of you as I have
done, and you will soon die, and I shall never see you again." And his
tears fell fast on the white head of his little pet as he spoke.
Clara was quite grieved, and begged her naughty brother not to
deprive poor Giles of his rabbit; but Charles was a wicked and
covetous boy; he therefore took Snowball from Giles, and carried her
home in his arms, and put her in a box. He went into the fields and
gathered some green herbs for her to eat, and said: "I am glad I have
got Snowball; now I shall be quite happy."
But how could Charles be happy when he had broken God's holy
commandment, which says, "Thou shalt not covet?" Nurse and Clara told
him so, and begged him to give Snowball back again to Giles. But
Charles said he would not, for he meant to keep her all his life; but
the next morning, when he went into the stable to look at her, he
found her stretched at the bottom of the box. He called her, but
Snowball did not stir; he then took her out of the box to see what
ailed her; but she was quite cold and dead.
Oh dear! how Charles did cry! But it was of no use. He had better not
have taken her away from Giles, for he did not know what to feed her
with, and had given her among the greens he had gathered a herb called
hemlock, which is poisonous and will kill whatever eats of it; and it
had killed poor Snowball.
The coachman told Charles so when he saw how swollen she was, and
Charles cried the more. Giles cried too when he heard what a sad death
poor Snowball had died; but he had been a good dutiful boy in parting
with her when his mother wished it, though it had cost him much pain
and many tears.
Well, Charles's mother was gone a long time, more than a month, and it
would quite shock you to be told how naughty Charles was all that
time; at last a letter came to say she was very ill, and then another
to tell them she was dead.
What would Charles then have given if he had not grieved her so often
with his perverse temper and wicked conduct? He now said when he saw
her again, he would beg her to forgive him; but when Charles did see
his poor mother again she was in her coffin and could not hear him;
and he cried exceedingly, and wished he had been good. Clara, though
she cried as much as Charles for her dear mother, was glad she had
obeyed her, and been so good while she was away.
"And I will always be as good as if dear mother could see me, and love
me for it too," said she to nurse the day after her mother was buried.
"My dear young lady," said nurse, "your mother _will_ see it, and love
you for doing your duty."
"How can dear mother see me? Her eyes are closed, and she is in the
dark grave," said Clara.