_’Tis a folly, my friend, thus to envy the great,
Since content may be found in the lowest estate;
Tho’ Miss * * * exults that she’s splendidly drest,
Of true happiness_, Martha, _she ne’er was possess’d_.
_I have seen her, my friend, when no art could assuage,
Her anger, vexation, and petulant rage;
Because an inferior had treated with scorn,
Those Trinkets and gauze which her person adorn._
_But, believe me, esteem from true merit must rise,
Or the world will the pageants of fortune despise;
’Tis ridiculous, surely, for pride to expect,
Any better return than disdain and neglect._
_Let us then, my_ Martha, _more prudent and wise,
Endeavour with nobler ambition to rise;
Let kind emulation our bosoms expand,
The foolish suggestions of pride to withstand_.
_Let us trust that_ perfection _each effort shall bless,
As industry ever is crown’d with success:
Tho’ hard is the task, yet ’tis great to aspire,
And the deep-buried embers of_ genius _to fire_.
_’Tis a laudable aim, when we seek to excel,
And conquer that sloth which is apt to rebel:
Then let us attentive each precept obey,
And snatch the proud laurels of glory away._
[Illustration]
The business of the day being concluded, the good mother _Trusty_ shut
up the house; and taking me down from the shelf, put me carefully in her
pocket. We were not long before we arrived at her habitation, which
consisted of two neat little rooms, in a small house, about the middle
of a very pleasant lane, A clean looking boy and girl were sitting at
the door, with a coloured apron full of peas, which they were very
busily shelling. They expressed great pleasure at the sight of Mrs.
_Trusty_, whom I found to be their grandmother, and with much
good-humour, told her they had each earned a halfpenny; for that Mrs.
_Traffick_ at the chandler’s shop, had given them one penny, and
promised them a farthing’s worth of gingerbread, or a stale roll, for
getting her peas ready for supper. “Well, and I have brought you home
something,” replied Mrs. _Trusty_, unfolding me to the child, who
eagerly getting up to receive her present, had nearly overset the apron
and its contents; but her brother luckily caught it, so as to prevent
the peas from falling into the dirt. “But pray, _Jenny_ stay till you
have done, and have washed your hands,” said her grandmother; “for it
would be a pity to spoil this nice sattin _Pincushion:_”
“And what have you brought for me?” cried rosy _Dick_, as he emptied a
handful of peas into the bason. “Why nothing at all, my good boy,”
replied Mrs. _Trusty_, “but a piece of bread and cheese: but I hope you
are not jealous that your sister should have any thing, when you cannot
partake of it?” “_Jealous!_” said he: “No, I would go without any thing
in the world for the sake of my _Jenny;_ and I will give her my
half-penny with all my heart, though I have staid away from a nice game
at cricket on the green to earn it. When I am a man you shall see how
hard I will work, and take care of all the money I get, and give it to
you, grandmother, to buy us victuals, and drink, and cloaths; and you
shall stay at home and knit; but never, while I have any health, shall
you go out to such hard labour as you now do.” “Blessings on my generous
boy,” exclaimed the tender hearted mother _Trusty_, while the tears of
affection rolled down her aged cheeks. “Just such a man was thy father
_Dick_. While he was alive, we never wanted for any thing. He was a good
man, indeed he was; and I hope that you will resemble him. But go, my
boy! carry home your work, and bring the stale roll which you was
promised: it will be much better for you than gingerbread.”
[Illustration]
_Jenny_ kissed her brother, and thanked him for his kind intention: “but
we will give the penny to our grandmother,” said she; “you know she has
got five pence three farthings which we have had given us already; and
when there is enough we will ask her to buy you a pair of new shoes;
because those are too bad to walk with.” Away ran _Richard_ with the
peas, and returned in triumph with the roll; when the little party sat
down to supper, with that smiling good-humour and cheerful contentment,
which is not always an attendant on the meals of the rich and great. But
when I saw how very little was sufficient (or was obliged to be so) for
a woman who had been hard at labour all day, and two little hungry
children, I could not help reflecting, how wicked it is in those who are
blessed with plenty, to be dissatisfied with their food, and idly waste
when they are not disposed to eat it, that which would keep the poor
from starving, and which many an unhappy child would be highly thankful
to receive. When they had concluded the meal which their grandmother had
brought them, _Dick_ ran to a neighbouring pump, to replenish a broken
red pitcher which had lost its handle and a piece out of the top: and
after they had each of them drank with thirsty eagerness he kissed his
grandmother and sister, and wished them a good-night, went quietly to
bed. Little _Jenny_ followed her brother’s example, as soon as she had
laid me in a drawer with great care, where all her treasures were
deposited. Among that number was a little paper, which was nearly worn
out with frequent perusal, and with which I shall beg leave to present
my readers.
[Illustration]