rather too late, Master No-book's attention became attracted by the
sound of many voices laughing, talking, and singing, which caused him
to turn his eyes in a new direction, when, for the first time, he
observed that the fairy Teach-all's garden lay upon a beautiful
sloping bank not far off. There a crowd of merry, noisy, rosy-cheeked
boys were busily employed, and seemed happier than the day was long,
while poor Master No-book watched them during his own miserable hours,
envying the enjoyment with which they raked the flower-borders,
gathered the fruit, carried baskets of vegetables to the poor, worked
with carpenter's tools, drew pictures, shot with bows-and-arrows,
played at cricket, and then sat in the sunny arbors learning their
tasks, or talking agreeably together, till at length, a dinner-bell
having been rung, the whole party sat merrily down with hearty
appetites and cheerful good humor, to an entertainment of plain roast
meat and pudding, where the fairy Teach-all presided herself, and
helped her guests moderately to as much as was good for each.
Large tears rolled down the cheeks of Master No-book while watching
this scene, and remembering that if he had known what was best for
him, he might have been as happy as the happiest of these excellent
boys, instead of suffering ennui and weariness, as he had done at the
fairy Do-nothing's, ending in a miserable death. But his attention was
soon after most alarmingly roused by hearing the giant Snap-'em-up
again in conversation with his cook, who said that, if he wished for a
good large dish of scolloped children at dinner, it would be necessary
to catch a few more, as those he had already provided would scarcely
be a mouthful.
As the giant kept very fashionable hours, and always waited dinner for
himself till nine o'clock, there was still plenty of time; so, with a
loud grumble about the trouble, he seized a large basket in his hand,
and set off at a rapid pace towards the fairy Teach-all's garden. It
was very seldom that Snap-'em-up ventured to think of foraging in this
direction, as he never once succeeded in carrying off a single captive
from the enclosure, it was so well fortified and so bravely defended;
but on this occasion, being desperately hungry, he felt as bold as a
lion, and walked, with outstretched hands, straight towards the fairy
Teach-all's dinner-table, taking such prodigious strides that he
seemed almost as if he would trample on himself.
A cry of consternation arose the instant this tremendous giant
appeared, and, as usual on such occasions, when he had made the same
attempt before, a dreadful battle took place. Fifty active little boys
bravely flew upon the enemy, armed with their dinner-knives, and
looked like a nest of hornets, stinging him in every direction, till
he roared with pain, and would have run away; but the fairy Teach-all,
seeing his intention, rushed forward with the carving-knife, and
brandishing it high over her head, she most courageously stabbed him
to the heart.
If a great mountain had fallen to the earth it would have seemed like
nothing in comparison with the giant Snap-em-up, who crushed two or
three houses to powder beneath him, and upset several fine monuments
that were to have made people remembered for ever. But all this would
have seemed scarcely worth mentioning had it not been for a still
greater event which occurred on the occasion, no less than the death
of the fairy Do-nothing, who had been indolently looking on at this
great battle without taking the trouble to interfere, or even to care
who was victorious; but being also lazy about running away, when the
giant fell, his sword came with so violent a stroke on her head that
she instantly expired.
Thus, luckily for the whole world, the fairy Teach-all got possession
of immense property, which she proceeded without delay to make the
best use of in her power.
In the first place, however, she lost no time in liberating Master
No-book from his hook in the larder, and gave him a lecture on
activity, moderation, and good conduct, which he never afterwards
forgot; and it was astonishing to see the change that took place
immediately in his whole thoughts and actions. From this very hour
Master No-book became the most diligent, active, happy boy in the
fairy Teach-all's garden; and on returning home a month afterwards, he
astonished all the masters at school by his extraordinary reformation.
The most difficult lessons were a pleasure to him, he scarcely ever
stirred without a book in his hand, never lay on a sofa again, would
scarcely even sit on a chair with a back to it, but preferred a
three-legged stool, detested holidays, never thought any exertion a
trouble, preferred climbing over the top of a hill to creeping round
the bottom, always ate the plainest food in very small quantities,
joined a temperance society, and never tasted a morsel till he had
worked very hard and got an appetite.
Not long after this an old uncle, who had formerly been ashamed of
Master No-book's indolence and gluttony, became so pleased at the
wonderful change that on his death he left him a magnificent estate,
desiring that he should take his name; therefore, instead of being
any longer one of the No-book family, he is now called Sir Timothy
Blue-stocking, a pattern to the whole country around for the good he
does to everyone, and especially for his extraordinary activity,
appearing as if he could do twenty things at once. Though generally
very good-natured and agreeable, Sir Timothy is occasionally observed
in a violent passion, laying about him with his walking-stick in the
most terrific manner, and beating little boys within an inch of their
lives; but on inquiry it invariably appears that he has found them out
to be lazy, idle, or greedy; for all the industrious boys in the
parish are sent to get employment from him, while he assures them that
they are far happier breaking stones on the road than if they were
sitting idly in a drawing-room with nothing to do.
THE INQUISITIVE GIRL
Dr. Hammond was a physician in great practice in the West of England.
He resided in a small market-town and his family consisted of one son,
named Charles, and two daughters, Louisa and Sophy.
Sophy possessed many amiable qualities, and did not want for sense,
but every better feeling was lost in her extreme inquisitiveness. Her
faculties were all occupied in peeping and prying about, and, provided
she could gratify her own curiosity, she never cared how much vexation
she caused to others.
This propensity began when she was so very young that it had become a
habit before her parents perceived it. She was a very little creature
when she was once nearly squeezed to death between two double doors as
she was peeping through the keyhole of one of them to see who was in
the drawing-room; and another time she was locked up for several hours
in a closet in which she had hid herself for the purpose of
overhearing what her mother was saying to one of the servants.
When Sophy was eleven and her sister about sixteen years old their
mother died. Louisa was placed at the head of her father's house, and
the superintendence of Sophy's education necessarily devolved on her.
The care of such a family was a great charge for a young person of
Miss Hammond's age, and more especially as her father was obliged to
be so much from home that she could not always have his counsel and
advice even when she most needed it. By this means she fell into an
injudicious mode of treating her sister.
If Louisa received a note she carefully locked it up, and never spoke
of its contents before Sophy. If a message was brought to her she
always went out of the room to receive it, and never suffered the
servant to speak in her sister's hearing. When any visitors came
Louisa commonly sent Sophy out of the room, or if they were intimate
friends she would converse with them in whispers; in short, it was her
chief study that everything which passed in the family should be a
secret from Sophy. Alas! this procedure, instead of repressing Sophy's
curiosity, only made it the more keen; her eyes and ears were always
on the alert, and what she could not see, hear, or thoroughly
comprehend she made out by guesses.
The worst consequence of Louisa's conduct was that as Sophy had no
friend and companion in her sister, who treated her with such constant
suspicion and reserve, she necessarily was induced to find a friend
and companion among the servants, and she selected the housemaid
Sally, a good-natured, well-intentioned girl, but silly and ignorant
and inquisitive like herself, and it may be easily supposed how much
mischief these two foolish creatures occasioned, not only in the
family, but also among their neighbors.
It happened soon after, that for an offence which was the cause of
very great vexation to her brother, and was the occasion of his being
for a time deprived of the friendship of Sir Henry and Lady Askham,
two of Dr. Hammond's nearest and most intimate neighbors, her father
ordered Sophy, as a still further punishment, to be locked up in her
own room till the Sunday following. This was on Friday, and Sophy had
two days of solitude and imprisonment before her. The first day she
passed very dismally, but yet not unprofitably, for she felt truly
ashamed and sorry for her fault, and made many good resolutions of
endeavoring to cure herself of her mischievous propensity. The second
day she began to be somewhat more composed, and by degrees she was
able to amuse herself with watching the people in the street, which
was overlooked by the windows of her apartment, and she began, almost
unconsciously to herself, to indulge in her old habit of trying to
find out what everybody was doing, and in guessing where they were
going.
She had not long been engaged in watching her neighbors before her
curiosity was excited by the appearance of a servant on horseback, who
rode up to the door, and, after giving a little three-cornered note to
Dr. Hammond's footman, rode off. The servant she knew to be Mrs.
Arden's, an intimate friend of her father, and the note she
conjectured was an invitation to dinner, and the guessing what day the
invitation was for, and who were to be the company, and whether she
was included in the invitation, was occupying her busy fancy, when she
saw her sister going out of the house with the three-cornered note in
her hand, and cross the street to Mr. McNeal's stocking shop, which
was opposite. Almost immediately afterwards Mr. McNeal's shopman came
out of the shop, and, running down the street, was presently out of
sight, but soon returned with Mr. McNeal himself. She saw Louisa
reading the note to Mr. McNeal, and in a few minutes afterwards return
home. Here was a matter of wonder and conjecture. Sophy forgot all her
good resolutions, and absolutely wearied herself with her useless
curiosity.
At length the term of her imprisonment was over, and Sophy was
restored to the society of her family. At first she kept a tolerable
guard over herself. Once she saw her father and sister whispering, and
did not, though she longed much to do it, hold her breath that she
might hear what they were saying. Another time she passed Charles's
door when it was ajar and the little study open, and she had so much
self-command that she passed by without peeping in, and she began to
think she was cured of her faults. But in reality this was far from
being the case, and whenever she recollected Mrs. Arden's mysterious
note she felt her inquisitive propensities as strong as ever. Her eyes
and ears were always on the alert, in hopes of obtaining some clue to
the knowledge she coveted, and if Mrs, Arden's or Mr. McNeal's names
were mentioned she listened with trembling anxiety in the hope of
hearing some allusion to the note.
At last, when she had almost given up the matter in despair, an
unlooked-for chance put her in possession of a fragment of this very
note to which she attached so much importance.
One day Louisa wanted to wind a skein of silk, and in looking for a
piece of paper to wind it upon she opened her writing-box, and took
out Mrs. Arden's note. Sophy knew it again in an instant from its
three-cornered shape. She saw her sister tear the note in two, throw
one-half under the grate, and fold the other part up to wind her silk
upon. Sophy kept her eye upon the paper that lay under the grate in
the greatest anxiety, lest a coal should drop upon it and destroy it,
when it seemed almost within her grasp. Louisa was called out of the
room, and Sophy, overpowered by the greatness of the temptation,
forgot all the good resolutions she had so lately made, and at the
risk of setting fire to her sleeve, snatched the paper from among the
ashes, and concealed it in her pocket. She then flew to her own room
to examine it at her ease. The note had been torn the lengthway of the
paper, and that part of it of which Sophy had possessed herself
contained the first half of each line of the note. Bolting her door
for fear of interruption, she read, with trembling impatience, as
follows:
Will you
be kind enough to go to
Mr. McNeal, and tell him
he has made a great mistake
the last stockings he sent;
charging them as silk) he has cheated
of several pounds.--I am sorry to say
that he has behaved very ill
And Mr. Arden tells me that
it must end in his being hanged
I am exceedingly grieved
but fear this will be the end
When Sophy had read these broken sentences she fancied that she fully
comprehended the purport of the whole note, and she now saw the reason
of her sister's hastening to Mr. McNeal's immediately on the receipt
of the note, and of the hurry in which he had been summoned back to
his shop. It appeared very clear to her that he had defrauded Mrs.
Arden of a considerable sum of money, and that he was no longer that
honest tradesman he had been supposed. The weight of this important
discovery quite overburdened her, and, forgetful of her past
punishment, and regardless of future consequences, she imparted the
surprising secret to Sally. Sally was not one who could keep such a
piece of news to herself; it was therefore soon circulated through
half the town that Mr. McNeal had defrauded Mrs. Arden, and that Mr.
Arden declared he would have him hanged for it. Several persons in
consequence avoided Mr. McNeal's shop, who saw his customers forsaking
him without being able to know why they did so. Thus the conduct of
this inconsiderate girl took away the good name of an honest
tradesman, on no better foundation than her own idle conjectures,
drawn from the torn fragments of a letter.
Mr. McNeal at length became informed of the injurious report that was
circulated about him. He immediately went to Mrs. Arden to tell her of
the report, and to ask her if any inadvertency of his own in regard to
her dealings at his shop occasioned her speaking so disadvantageously
of him. Mrs. Arden was much astonished at what he told her, as she
might well be, and assured him that she had never either spoken of him
or thought of him but as thoroughly an honorable and honest tradesman.
Mrs. Arden was exceedingly hurt that her name should be attached to
such a cruel calumny, and, on consulting with Sir Henry Askham, it was
agreed that he and Mrs. Arden should make it their business to trace
it back to its authors. They found no real difficulty in tracing it
back to Sally, Dr. Hammond's servant. She was accordingly sent for to
Mr. McNeal's, where Sir Henry Askham and Mr. Arden, with some other
gentlemen, were assembled on this charitable investigation. Sally, on
being questioned who had told her of the report, replied, without
hesitation, that she had been told by Miss Sophy, who had seen all the
particulars in Mrs. Arden's handwriting.
Mr. Arden was greatly astonished at hearing this assertion, and felt
confident that the whole must have originated from some strange
blunder. He and the other gentlemen immediately proceeded to Dr.
Hammond's, and having explained their business to him, desired to see
Sophy. She, on being asked, confirmed what Sally had said, adding that
to satisfy them she could show them Mrs. Arden's own words, and she
accordingly produced the fragment of the note. Miss Hammond, the
instant she saw the paper recollected it again, and winding off the
silk from the other half of Mrs. Arden's note, presented it to Mr.
Arden, who, laying the two pieces of paper together read as follows:
"MY DEAR MISS HAMMOND,--Will you as soon as you receive this
be kind enough to go to your opposite neighbor, Mr. McNeal,
and tell him I find by looking at his bill he has made a
great mistake as to the price of the last stockings he sent;
and it seems to me (by not charging them as silk) he has
cheated himself, as he'll see, of several pounds.--I am sorry
to say of our new dog, that he has behaved very ill and
worried two sheep, and Mr. Arden tells me he very much fears
it must end in his being hanged or he'll kill all the flock.
I am exceedingly grieved, for he is a noble animal, but fear
this will be the end of my poor dog.
"I am, dear Louisa, yours truly
"MARY ARDEN."
Thus by the fortunate preservation of the last half of the note the
whole affair was cleared up, Mrs. Arden's character vindicated from
the charge of being a defamer, and Mr. McNeal from all suspicion of
dishonesty. And all their friends were pleased and satisfied. But how
did Sophy feel? She did feel at last both remorse and humiliation. She
had no one to blame but herself; she had no one to take her part, for
even her father and her brother considered it due to public justice
that she should make a public acknowledgment of her fault to Mr.
McNeal, and to ask his pardon.
BUSY IDLENESS
By JANE TAYLOR
Mrs. Dawson being obliged to leave home for six weeks, her daughters,
Charlotte and Caroline, received permission to employ the time of her
absence as they pleased; that is, she did not require of them the
usual strict attention to particular hours and particular studies, but
allowed them to choose their own employments--only recommending them
to make a good use of the license, and apprising them, that, on her
return, she should require an exact account of the manner in which the
interval had been employed.
The carriage that conveyed their mother away was scarcely out of
hearing, when Charlotte, delighted with her freedom, hastened upstairs
to the schoolroom, where she looked around on books, globes, maps,
drawings, to select some new employment for the morning. Long before
she had decided upon any, her sister had quietly seated herself at her
accustomed station, thinking that she could do nothing better than
finish the French exercise she had begun the day before. Charlotte,
however, declined attending to French that day, and after much
indecision, and saying "I have a great mind to" three several times
without finishing the sentence, she at last took down a volume of
Cowper, and read in different parts for about half an hour. Then
throwing it aside, she said she had a great mind to put the
bookshelves in order--a business which she commenced with great
spirit. But in the course of her laudable undertaking, she met with a
manuscript in shorthand; whereupon she exclaimed to her sister,
"Caroline, don't you remember that old Mr. Henderson once promised he
would teach us shorthand? How much I should like to learn! Only, mamma
thought we had not time. But now, this would be such a good
opportunity. I am sure I could learn it well in six weeks; and how
convenient it would be! One could take down sermons, or anything; and
I could make Rachel learn, and then how very pleasant it would be to
write to each other in shorthand! Indeed, it would be convenient in a
hundred ways." So saying, she ran upstairs, without any further delay,
and putting on her hat and spencer, set off to old Mr. Henderson's.
Mr. Henderson happened to be at dinner. Nevertheless, Charlotte
obtained admittance on the plea of urgent business; but she entered
his apartment so much out of breath, and in such apparent agitation,
that the old gentleman, rising hastily from table, and looking
anxiously at her over his spectacles, inquired in a tremulous tone
what was the matter. When, therefore, Charlotte explained her
business, he appeared a little disconcerted; but having gently
reproved her for her undue eagerness, he composedly resumed his knife
and fork, though his hand shook much more than usual during the
remainder of his meal. However, being very good-natured, as soon as he
had dined he cheerfully gave Charlotte her first lesson in shorthand,
promising to repeat it regularly every morning.
Charlotte returned home in high glee. She at this juncture considered
shorthand as one of the most useful, and decidedly the most
interesting of acquirements; and she continued to exercise herself in
it all the rest of the day. She was exceedingly pleased at being able
already to write two or three words which neither her sister nor even
her father could decipher. For three successive mornings Charlotte
punctually kept her appointment with Mr. Henderson; but on the fourth
she sent a shabby excuse to her kind master; and, if the truth must be
told, he from that time saw no more of his scholar. Now the cause of
this desertion was twofold: first, and principally, her zeal for
shorthand, which for the last eight-and-forty hours had been sensibly
declining in its temperature, was, on the above morning, within half a
degree of freezing point; and, second, a new and far more arduous and
important undertaking had by this time suggested itself to her mind.
Like many young persons of desultory inclinations, Charlotte often
amused herself with writing verses; and it now occurred to her that an
abridged history of England in verse was still a desideratum in
literature. She commenced this task with her usual diligence; but was
somewhat discouraged in the outset by the difficulty of finding a
rhyme to Saxon, whom she indulged the unpatriotic wish that the Danes
had laid a tax on. But, though she got over this obstacle by a new
construction of the line, she found these difficulties occur so
continually that she soon felt a more thorough disgust at this
employment than at the preceding one. So the epic stopped short, some
hundred years before the Norman conquest. Difficulty, which quickens
the ardor of industry, always damps, and generally extinguishes, the
false zeal of caprice and versatility.
Charlotte's next undertaking was, to be sure, a rapid descent from the
last in the scale of dignity. She now thought, that, by working very
hard during the remainder of the time, she should be able to
accomplish a patch-work counterpane, large enough for her own little
tent bed; and the ease of this employment formed a most agreeable
contrast in her mind with the extreme difficulty of the last.
Accordingly, as if commissioned with a search warrant, she ransacked
all her mother's drawers, bags, and bundles in quest of new pieces;
and these spoils proving very insufficient, she set off to tax all her
friends, and to tease all the linen drapers in the town for their odds
and ends, urging that she wanted some particularly. As she was posting
along the street on this business, she espied at a distance a person
whom she had no wish to encounter, namely, old Mr. Henderson. To avoid
the meeting she crossed over. But this maneuver did not succeed; for
no sooner had they come opposite to each other, than, to her great
confusion, he called out across the street, in his loud and tremulous
voice, and shaking his stick at her, "How d'ye do, Miss Shorthand? I
thought how it would be! Oh, fie! Oh, fie!"
Charlotte hurried on; and her thoughts soon returned to the idea of
the splendid radiating star which she designed for the centerpiece of
her counterpane. While she was arranging the different patterns, and
forming the alternations of light and shade, her interest continued
nearly unabated; but when she came to the practical part of sewing
piece to piece with unvarying sameness, it began, as usual, to flag.
She sighed several times, and cast many disconsolate looks at the
endless hexagons and octagons, before she indulged any distinct idea
of relinquishing her task. At length, however, it did forcibly occur
to her that, after all, she was not obliged to go on with it; and
that, really, patchwork was a thing that was better done by degrees,
when one happens to want a job, than to be finished all at once. So,
with this thought (which would have been a very good one if it had
occurred in proper time), she suddenly drew out her needle, thrust all
her pieces, arranged and unarranged, into a drawer, and began to
meditate a new project.