THE
BLOSSOMS OF MORALITY;
INTENDED FOR THE
AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION
OF
Young Ladies and Gentlemen.
BY THE EDITOR OF
THE LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND.
WITH FORTY-SEVEN CUTS, DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED
BY
[Illustration: I. Bewick]
_THE FOURTH EDITION._
LONDON:
Printed by J. Swan, 76, Fleet Street,
FOR J. HARRIS; SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN; B. CROSBY AND CO.
DARTON AND HARVEY; LACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO.
J. WALKER; AND VERNOR AND HOOD.
1806.
PREFACE.
The very flattering encouragement the Public have been pleased to give
"The Looking-glass for the Mind, or Intellectual Mirror," has invited
the Editor of that work to intrude once more on their indulgence. As
a general preceptor, he wishes to be useful to the rising generation,
and with that view recommends to their serious perusal "The Blossoms of
Morality."
The Looking-glass is a _very free_ translation of some of the most
interesting tales of Mons. Berquin, and other foreign writers, whose
works in the juvenile line undoubtedly merit the highest encomiums,
and claim the most extensive patronage of their fellow-citizens. It
certainly must be allowed, that great merit is due to those foreign
celebrated writers, who, after studying the higher branches of
literature, instead of attempting to acquire honour and fame by
delivering lectures on the abstruse sciences, have condescended to
humble themselves to the plain language of youth, in order to teach
them wisdom, virtue, and morality.
With respect to the present work, though we have not so largely
borrowed from foreign writers, yet we have endeavoured to supply that
deficiency by the introduction of original matter. The juvenile mind
very early begins to enlarge and expand, and is capable of reflection
much sooner than we are generally apt to imagine.
From these considerations, we have carried our ideas in this volume one
step higher than in the last: and, though we have given many tales that
may contribute to amuse the youthful mind, yet we have occasionally
introduced subjects which, we hope, will not fail to exercise their
judgment, improve their morals, and give them some knowledge of the
world.
For instance: in the History of Ernestus and Fragilis, which is the
first, and one of the original pieces inserted in this volume, the
youthful reader is led to reflect on the instability of all human
affairs; he is taught to be neither insolent in prosperity nor mean in
adversity; but is shown how necessary it is to preserve an equality of
temper through all the varying stages of fortune. He is also shown,
how dangerous are the indulgences of parents, who suffer children to
give themselves up to indolence and luxury, which generally, as in this
history, terminate in a manner fatal to all the parties concerned.
May these Blossoms of Morality, in due time, ripen to maturity, and
produce fruit that may be pleasing to the youthful taste, tend to
correct the passions, invigorate the mental faculties, and confirm in
their hearts true and solid sentiments of virtue, wisdom, and glory.
CONTENTS.
_Ernestus and Fragilis_ Page 7
_Juvenile Tyranny conquered_ 19
_The Book of Nature_ 28
_The unexpected Reformation_ 39
_The Recompence of Virtue_ 49
_The Pleasures of Contentment_ 58
_The happy Effects of Sunday Schools on the Morals of the
rising Generation_ 68
_The Happy Villager_ 76
_The Indolent Beauty_ 86
_An Oriental Tale_ 98
_Generosity rewarded_ 104
_An Evening Vision_ 109
_The Anxieties of Royalty_ 113
_The generous Punishment_ 124
_Female Courage properly considered_ 134
_The beautiful Statue_ 141
_Dorcas and Amarillis_ 156
_The Conversation_ 170
_Edwin and Matilda_ 188
_The pious Hermit_ 197
_The Caprice of Fortune_ 207
_The melancholy Effects of Pride_ 216
_The Nettle and the Rose_ 224
[Illustration]
_Ernestus and Fragilis._
The faint glimmerings of the pale-faced moon on the troubled billows
of the ocean are not so fleeting and inconstant as the fortune and
condition of human life. We one day bask in the sunshine of prosperity,
and the next, too often, roll in anguish on the thorny bed of adversity
and affliction. To be neither too fond of prosperity, nor too much
afraid of adversity, is one of the most useful lessons we have to learn
and practise in the extensive commerce of this world. Happy is the
youth whose parents are guided by these principles, who govern their
children as good princes should their subjects, neither to load them
with the chains of tyranny, nor suffer them to run into the excesses
of dissipation and licentiousness. The following History of Ernestus
and Fragilis is founded upon these general principles.
Ernestus and Fragilis were both the children of Fortune, but rocked
in two different cradles. Philosophy and Prudence were the nurses
of the first, and Vanity and Folly lulled the second to his repose.
Ernestus was early used to experience the various changes of the air,
and accustomed to a regular diet; while Fragilis was treated in a very
different manner, being kept in a room where, it was supposed, no rude
wind could intrude itself; and hurtful delicacies were given him, under
the idle notion, that strength is to be acquired in proportion to the
dainties and excesses of our meals.
Hence it is no wonder if, after a few years had strengthened their
limbs and mental faculties, that there appeared an indisputable
difference between the two youths.
Ernestus was all life and gaiety, and soon showed a propensity to be
at the head of all kinds of mischief. Though this disposition often
got him into disgrace with his parents, yet he always showed much
contrition and sorrow when he really found he had injured any one, and
seldom slept after the commission of a boyish crime till he had made
ample amends to the party injured.
Fragilis had very different passions, and very contrary notions of
things. Being accustomed to be indulged with whatever he cried for,
his ideas soon wandered from real to imaginary wants, and as these
could not possibly be gratified, he naturally became peevish, fretful,
and ill-natured. Whenever the mind is affected, the body must partake
of the shock it occasions. Fragilis was weak, rickety, and feeble; and
the remedies they applied to relieve him only contributed to increase
the evil.
As the two little heroes of my history lived in the same neighbourhood,
and their parents were nearly equal in point of fortune, they
consequently became intimate companions, and frequently visited each
other. It was easily to be discovered which of these two children would
one day figure most on the busy stage of the world. Ernestus and his
lady with pleasure beheld in their little son an ample share of spirit
and activity, kindness and affability, resolution and integrity. The
parents of Fragilis, however, had not the same pleasing prospect in
their favourite and darling; for he was of a dull and gloomy turn,
seldom contented with any thing, perpetually wrangling with every one
about him, and constantly pining after those things which he knew were
not to be procured.
Ernestus made a rapid progress in his literary pursuits, under the
tuition of his masters; for his application to his books was equal to
the genius nature had bestowed on him. On the other hand, Fragilis
advanced very slowly in the paths of science; for his genius had been
spoiled by the pernicious indulgences of his parents in his infant
years, and he had been suffered to acquire a habit of indolence, which
made the least labour of body or of mind tiresome and disgustful.
These circumstances, however, did not seem to interrupt the rising
friendship between these two youths, their connections growing stronger
as they ripened in years. They were joint proprietors in their kites,
their tops, their marbles, and their dumps; though Ernestus was
generally the manufacturer of the first and last articles. Indeed, the
kites made by Fragilis were always too heavy, and not equally balanced
on both sides; consequently they were difficult to be raised into the
air, and when there, they had a wavering and unsteady motion; whereas,
those made by Ernestus were light and elegant, darted into the air like
an eagle, and remained there as steady as a hawk resting on its wings;
his dumps had the elegance of medals; and his tops and marbles were so
judiciously chosen as to claim the admiration of all the neighbouring
youths.
The time at length arrived, when it is usual for parents to begin
to think of sending their children from home, to engage in the busy
commerce of the world, and to learn how to provide for themselves. The
feathered inhabitants of the woods and groves give up every pleasure to
that of rearing their little brood; but, as soon as they have acquired
a proper degree of maturity, they then drive them from their nests, to
form new connections, and to shift for themselves. Man, more helpless
than birds, requires the assistance of the parental hand, for some
years, to rear and cherish him; nor do their cares and anxieties for
him cease till life is no more.
Though Ernestus loved his parents with all the affections of a dutiful
child, yet he could not help rejoicing at the idea of embarking in
the bustle of the world, and making a figure as a man. On the other
hand, Fragilis could not prevail on himself to quit the apron-string
of his mother, and engage in the rude clamour of a commercial life, in
which so much attention, thought, and industry, are required. Neither
could his parents part with their darling, whose constitution they had
spoiled, and rendered unfit for business. Ernestus, in a short time
after, by his own desire, was placed as a clerk in a merchant's house
in London; while Fragilis continued with his parents, to squander away
his time in destructive scenes of indolence and luxury.
Five years had glided away as it were imperceptibly, when Ernestus
found himself disengaged from the ties of his clerkship. His person was
by this time arrived at the state of manhood, his figure was graceful
and genteel, and his mind was improved from the polite companies he
had engaged in at his leisure hours. As business had ever been the
first object of his attention, and as he had thereby made himself of no
small consequence to his late master, the latter, to connect him more
closely with his interests, offered Ernestus his daughter in marriage,
and a considerable share in the trade of the house. Such a flattering
offer could not admit of a moment's hesitation, especially as a secret
passion had long mutually glowed in the bosom of each party. They were
married, and they were happy.
Soon after this period, a most dreadful inundation happened on the
sea-coast, on the very spot where the houses and lands of the parents
of Ernestus and Fragilis were situated. Dreadful indeed it was, for it
not only washed down their houses, but drowned some hundreds of cattle,
and left that as a part of the briny ocean, which, but a few hours
before, was beautiful meadows and gardens, adorned with every thing
pleasing to regale the appetite, or please the eye.
Deplorable indeed was now the situation of those two families:
their houses washed away, their cattle destroyed, and all their
fruitful lands, on the produce of which their fortunes depended, were
irrecoverably lost, and become of no value. Surely, to support such a
situation with any tolerable degree of tranquility of mind, requires
more courage and philosophy than generally fall to the lot of imperfect
mortals!
After the first transports of terror and affright were a little
abated, and calm reason and reflection succeeded the sad emotions of
horror and despair, the old Ernestus thus addressed the fair partner of
his misfortunes:--
"My dearest Emelia," for that was the name of his amiable lady, "in the
midst of this terrible misfortune, we have the happiness to reflect,
that what has befallen us is not derived from any fault of our own,
but by the pleasure of Him who gave us every thing, and who has a just
right to take what he pleases from us. Though he has taken from us our
house and lands, he has still graciously left us our beloved son, who
will not fail to console us in our misery, and who will perhaps help us
in our distresses. Though we are deprived of our fortune, we have the
pleasing consolation to reflect, that, by bringing him up in the school
of Prudence and Industry, we have secured him from sinking under the
wreck of our present calamity. Nothing can more contribute to soften
the calamities of good parents, than to reflect that their children are
not exposed to partake of their miseries."
The heart of this amiable spouse was, for some time, too full of grief
for the misfortune she felt, to give any immediate reply: but, at last,
recovering her usual spirits and sensibility, she withdrew her head
from the bosom of her generous husband, on which it had been for some
time tenderly reclined.
"Ah! my beloved partner of happiness and misery," said she, "why
am I thus sorrowful and wretched? why do I thus fly in the face of
Providence, for depriving us only of the baubles of life? Have I not
still left an amiable and tender husband, and a dutiful and beloved
son. These are treasures which I still possess--treasures infinitely
beyond those I have lost--treasures that will support me in the stormy
hour of adversity, and enable me to make a mockery and derision of
every thing that the cruel hand of fabled Fortune can inflict."
She then caught her husband in her arms, and there fainted, rather
through excess of joy than grief. Virtuous minds, however they may
be distressed for a moment, by unforeseen accidents, soon find an
inexpressible consolation in the integrity of their hearts.
Such was the character of Ernestus and his lady, that this dreadful
calamity was no sooner known, than all the neighbouring gentry flocked
round them, and seemed to contend with each other for the honour of
assisting such distinguished characters. What is the empty parade of
riches acquired by fraud, rapine, and plunder, when compared to the
heartfelt satisfaction which virtue in distress must have here felt?
It may reasonably be supposed, that it was not long before this
dreadful calamity of these amiable parents reached the ears of young
Ernestus. A youth, brought up in the wilds of modern extravagance,
would have exclaimed, perhaps in bitter terms, on being thus suddenly
deprived of a fine patrimonial estate; he would, probably, have even
arraigned the severe hand of Providence, and have dared to utter
impieties against his omnipotent Maker!
Such was not the conduct of Ernestus. His parents had taken care to
give him, not a flighty and frothy, but a rational and manly education,
the foundation of which was honour, probity, and virtue; not folly,
luxury, and vanity. It is a just proverb, that the first seasoning
sticks longest by the vessel, and that those who have been accustomed,
in their early days, to tread the paths of Prudence, will seldom, when
they grow up, run into those of Folly.
Ernestus received the news of this terrible calamity, just as he and
his lady returned from a party of pleasure. It is too often found, that
after pleasure comes pain, and never was it more truly verified than
in this instance; with this exception, that here the one was not the
consequence of the other.
He tenderly embraced his lady, took leave of her for the present, and
instantly set out for the fatal scene of ruin, to assist, console,
and comfort, his unfortunate parents. What passed between them in the
first moments of their meeting, afforded such a scene of tenderness
and affection, as exceeds the possibility of description to reach: the
feelings of the heart, in such a situation, exceed every thing the most
lively imagination can fabricate.
Ernestus found his dear parents had taken shelter in the house of an
old gentleman, who lived in the neighbourhood, who was immensely rich,
and had neither children nor relations living. Here they enjoyed all
the consolation and comfort their generous hearts could wish for;
nor was the young Ernestus suffered to contribute his mite to their
aid. "It is enough," said the old gentleman of the house, "that you
have lost your patrimony; but I have riches sufficient, and have no
near relation to succeed me. How can I dispose of it better than in
cherishing the distressed, and in taking virtue by the hand to raise it
above the wrecks of fortune?"
In a little time after, this worthy old gentleman paid the debt of
nature, and left the bulk of his fortune to the parents of Ernestus;
who, by this act of generosity, were become as opulent as ever, and
consequently resumed their former figure in the world. The fortune
of young Ernestus was every day increasing, from his great success
in commerce, till he at length found himself master of a sufficient
independency, when he quitted trade; and he and his lady retired to the
country, where they passed their days under the same roof with their
parents, happy in themselves, and diffusing happiness to all who lived
within the circle of their knowledge.
We could wish here to drop the curtain, and leave the mind filled with
those pleasing ideas, which the good fortune of the family of Ernestus
must raise in the bosoms of the generous and humane--but we must return
to the unhappy family of Fragilis.
Young Fragilis, owing to the mistaken manner in which he was brought
up, was feeble and enervated at that age, in which youths generally
grow strong and robust. Hence it happened, from the sudden inundation
of the waters, that it was with great difficulty he could save his
life. However, though he escaped the fury of the unrelenting waves,
he caught such a cold, that a fever ensued, which, heightened by the
fright he had received, proved too much for his weakly constitution to
support, and put a period to his existence in a few days.
Trying indeed was the situation of Mr. Fragilis and his lady: in one
day, deprived of all their wealth and possessions, and in a few days
afterwards of their only son, whom they loved to excess, whom they
ruined by false indulgences, and by whom they were reproached for
their mistaken conduct in his dying moments. To be reproached by the
only object they loved in this world, as being in some distant degree
instrumental to his death, was too cutting a consideration for them to
bear. They felt the wound effectually, it festered in their hearts, and
they soon followed their son to his untimely tomb.
Reflect, ye too tender and indulgent parents, how dangerous it is
to rear your children in the lap of Luxury and Indolence, since you
thereby make them unfit members of the community, frequently a heavy
load to themselves, and always a source of anxiety and fear to their
mistaken parents. Without health, strength, and vigour, life is but a
burthen; why should then so many parents take such trouble to deprive
their children of the three principal blessings of this life, which,
when once lost, are never known to return?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_Juvenile Tyranny conquered._
Mr. Wilson, his lady, and little family, left the noise and bustle
of the city, to pass the more agreeable half of the year amidst the
delights of rural scenes and prospects. Mr. Wilson, to a refined
education, had added much knowledge and experience in the commerce
of the polite world. His lady, though an amiable and sensible woman,
had, in the education of her children, given rather too much into the
fashionable errors of the metropolis.
As soon as they were properly settled in their rural retirement, Mr.
Wilson thus addressed his lady: "I flatter myself, my dear, that you
will now leave me at liberty to manage our two children, in the manner
that shall appear to me most proper; for I wish to eradicate those
seeds of pride, obstinacy, and perversity, which the little circle of
their acquaintance in London has sown in their minds, and to which the
corrupted manners of the city have given deep root."
Mrs. Wilson seemed a little angry at this introduction, and wished to
know what were those defects he imagined to have discovered in the
minds of her two little ones: she entreated him not to conceal them
from her, as it was equally her duty to assist in every thing where the
happiness of their children was concerned.
"I do not wish, my dear," replied Mr. Wilson, "to complain of your
conduct as a wife; but I think you are too fond and indulgent as a
mother, you encourage them too much in the pride of dress, and fill
their minds with the love of those things, which, so far from being
of any use to them, may in time be productive of the worst of evils.
Children, who are taught to value themselves only on their dress, or in
proportion as they expect a superiority of fortune to others, will with
difficulty consent to be governed by the rigid rules of prudence, or
submit with cheerfulness to those laborious studies, from which alone
true greatness is derived."
Mrs. Wilson laughed at the oddities of her husband, as she called them,
and represented him as one born in the beginning of the last century.
She considered it as an indispensable duty to educate her children in
conformity to the manners of the times, and the modes of education
almost universally adopted in the fashionable world.
Mr. Wilson, however, was of a very different opinion, and considered
nothing so dangerous to the morals of his children, as to suffer them
to be brought up in the modern school of extravagance and pride. He
owned it was a privilege which most wives claimed, of being permitted
to spoil their daughters in their own way; and if, out of complaisance,
he gave up that point, he hoped he should be permitted to educate his
son as he thought proper.
The first thing he should endeavour to break him of, he said, should
be his pride, which induced him to despise every one who was not
dressed like himself, or whom he otherwise thought beneath him. Mr.
Wilson considered it as very pernicious, to suffer children to value
themselves merely on account of their dress or fortune.
Mrs. Wilson, however, could not be convinced of the truth of these
arguments. "I suppose," said she, "you would have him brought up like
a ploughman, or as if he were born to nothing greater than little
Jackson, the son of the gardener, who lives at the bottom of your
grounds."
The conversation now began to grow serious, and the gentleman could
not help saying, he most heartily wished that his son, born as he
was to an ample fortune, possessed all the good qualities which were
conspicuous in that _poor_ boy. He very judiciously observed, that
what the world generally calls a _polite_ education, often falls short
of producing those happy effects, which Nature sometimes bestows on
uncultivated minds. Children of humble birth are often despised, merely
on account of their poverty, without considering, whether Nature may
not have done more for them than for the children of Fortune. "Happy
should I think myself," said he, "if my son and heir possessed half
the civility and condescension which are so much taken notice of and
admired in that little fellow you seem inconsiderately to despise."
Mrs. Wilson, though a little disconcerted by these observations,
seemed by no means inclined to give up the argument. "Did I not know
otherwise," said the lady, "I should suspect you of being prejudiced
against every thing the world considers as polite, in favour of poverty
and rusticity. With all your boasted qualifications of this little
Jackson, what would you say, should I clearly prove to you, that he
possesses secret faults, such as may be hurtful to your son; that he is
guilty of robbing yours and every orchard in the neighbourhood? that he
gluttonizes on the fruits of his robberies in private? and that, though
he is so very complaisant with the children of Fortune in the presence
of their parents, he is a tyrant over the little ones in private?"
Mr. Wilson observed, that if his lady could prove little Jackson to be
guilty of one half of the crimes she had laid to his charge, he would
instantly order, that he should never more be suffered to enter his
house.
The lady then proposed to make a fair and candid experiment of this
matter. "I will," said she, "order a little feast for our son and
daughter, and young Jackson shall be one of the party. We will find an
opportunity to conceal ourselves, when we shall hear every thing that
passes. From thence we shall have an opportunity of judging whether you
or I be right."
The proposal was so just and reasonable, that both parties instantly
agreed to it. Some fruit and other things were immediately ordered to
be brought into the parlour, and Miss and Master Wilson were sent for,
as well as little Jackson. As soon as the latter entered, the little
lady and her brother complained of the strong smell of dung he brought
with him; and, though he was very clean and decent, they were afraid of
his coming too near them, lest he should spoil their fine clothes.
Though Mr. Wilson did not approve of this kind of behaviour in his
children, he took no notice of it at present, but desired that they
would be all happy together, while he and his lady took a walk into
the garden. They then left the room, but softly entered it at another
door, before which a screen was designedly placed, by which means they
plainly overheard every thing that passed among the young folks.
The first thing they heard, was their little daughter calling to her
brother to come and sit by her; at the same time telling young Jackson
he must stand, and think himself happy that he was, at any rate,
permitted to remain in their company. The little fellow seemed no ways
displeased at this treatment, but told them he was not at all tired,
and was very happy to be with them in any situation.
Master Wilson and his sister then divided the fruit into three parcels,
as though they intended one of them for young Jackson; but, as soon
as they had eat up their own shares, they began upon that intended
for him, and eat it all up without giving him a taste, and even made
ridicule of him all the time. They told him they would give him the
parings of the apples, which were as much as such a poor creature as
he could expect, and that he ought to think himself happy he could be
indulged with them.
Young Jackson told them he was not hungry, and he hoped they would not
deny themselves any thing on his account. They promised him they would
not, and then set up a loud laugh; all which Jackson bore without
uttering the least word of complaint.
At last, Miss Wilson and her brother having eaten up all the fruit,
without permitting poor Jackson to taste a bit of it, they ordered him
to go into the garden, and steal them some apples, promising, if he
behaved well, to give him one for his obedience.
"I cannot think of doing any such thing," replied Jackson. "You indeed
forced me twice to do so, and then went and told the gardener that I
stole them for myself, though you very well know I did not eat a morsel
of them."
"Poor thing!" said the young gentlefolks in derision, "and did they
serve you so? Well, we insist on your going and doing the same now, or,
look you, that cane in the corner shall be laid across your shoulders.
We will teach you, that it is the duty of you beggars to obey us
gentlefolks."
Jackson still persisting in his refusal to be again guilty of any thing
of the kind, Master Wilson took up the cane, and gave poor Jackson two
or three blows with it, as hard as he could, while Miss Wilson stood
looking on, encouraging her brother, telling Jackson at the same time,
that if he complained of being beaten to their papa, they would again
accuse him of stealing fruit, and that their words would be sooner
believed than his.
Poor Jackson replied, that he would rather be beaten all day than do
so dishonest a thing as they desired him. He observed to them, that
this was not the first by many times that he had been beaten by them
unjustly and wantonly, and he did not suppose this would be the last.
However, he said he should put up with it, without complaining to any
one.
Mr. Wilson and his lady could not patiently hear any more, but
instantly came from behind the screen.--"Sweet children, indeed!" said
Mrs. Wilson. "We have, behind that screen, unseen by you, heard all you
have been saying, and in what manner you have treated that poor little
fellow!" Little Jackson was all in a tremble, and told her, that they
were only at play, and meant no harm. But this would not satisfy the
lady, who was now convinced of the bad conduct of her son and daughter.
"You wicked children," said she to them, with a resolute look and stern
voice, "you have accused this innocent child of gluttony and theft,
while you only are the authors of those abominable crimes. You have not
scrupled to tell me the grossest falsehood, such as God will one day
call you to account for, and severely punish you in the next world,
where it will not be in my power to intercede for you. This moment
ask pardon of that little boy, whom you have so unjustly treated, and
sincerely ask pardon of God, for the wickedness you have been guilty
of!"
Her children were so overcome with shame, confusion, and sorrow, that
they both fell down at their mother's feet, and with tears of sincerity
most humbly begged pardon of God and her, promising never to be again
guilty of such crimes. Little Jackson ran to them, and endeavoured to
lift them up, while the tears stole down his cheeks in abundance. "Do
not be angry with them, madam," said he to the lady, "for we were only
in play; and I am sorry I am come here to breed so much uneasiness.
But, if you are angry with them, let me humbly beg of you to forgive
them."
Mr. Wilson also interfered, and promised, if their mamma would forgive
them this time, to be bound for their better conduct in future. The
lady ordered them instantly to rise, to kiss little Jackson, and
beg his pardon. This they did in so affecting a manner, as gave the
most pleasing satisfaction to both their parents, who were now fully
persuaded, that reason and tenderness will do more with children than
the iron hand of correction.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_The Book of Nature._
My dear papa, said young Theophilus to his father, I cannot help
pitying those poor little boys, whose parents are not in a condition
to purchase them such a nice gilded library, as that with which you
have supplied me from my good friend's at the corner of St. Paul's
Church-yard. Surely such unhappy boys must be very ignorant all their
lives; for what can they learn without books?
I agree with you, replied his father, that you are happy in having
so large a collection of books, and I am no less happy in seeing
you make so good a use of them.--There is, however, my dear child,
another book, called _The Book of Nature_, which is constantly open
to the inspection of every one, and intelligible even to those of the
tenderest years. To study that book, nothing more is required, than to
be attentive to the surrounding objects which Nature presents to our
view, to contemplate them carefully, and to explore and admire their
beauties; but without attempting to search into their hidden causes,
which youths must not think of, till age and experience shall enable
them to dive into physical causes.
I say, my dear Theophilus, that even children are capable of studying
this science; for you have eyes to see, and curiosity sufficient to
induce you to ask questions, and it is natural for human nature to wish
to acquire knowledge.
This study, if it may be so called, so far from being laborious or
tiresome, affords nothing but pleasure and delight. It is a pleasing
recreation, and a delightful amusement.
It is inconceivable how many things children would learn, were we but
careful to improve all the opportunities with which they themselves
supply us. A garden, the fields, a palace, are each a book open to
their view, in which they must be accustomed to read, and to reflect
thereon. Nothing is more common among us than the use of bread and
linen; and yet how few children are taught to know the preparation of
either! through how many shapes and hands wheat and hemp must pass
before they are made into bread and linen!
A few examples will serve to show, how far we ought to study nature in
every thing that presents itself to our view, and therein trace out the
handy-works of the great Creator.
The first preacher that proclaimed the glory of the supreme God was the
sky, where the sun, moon, and stars shine with such amazing splendour;
and that book, written in characters of light, is sufficient to render
all inexcusable who do not read and contemplate it. The Divine Wisdom
is not less admirable in its more humble productions of what the earth
brings forth, and these we can survey with more ease, since the eye is
not dazzled by them.
Let us begin with plants. What appears to us mean and despicable, often
affords wherewith to astonish the sublimest minds. Not a single leaf is
neglected by Nature; order and symmetry are obvious in every part of
it, and yet with so great a variety of pinking ornaments and beauties,
that none of them are exactly like the others.
What is not discoverable by the help of microscopes in the smallest
seeds! and with what unaccountable virtues and efficacies has it not
pleased God to endow them! Nothing can more demand our admiration, than
the choice which our great Creator has made of the general colour that
beautifies all plants. Had he dyed the fields in white or scarlet,
we should not have been able to bear either the brightness or the
harshness of them. If he had darkened them with more dusky colours, we
should have taken little delight in so sad and melancholy a prospect.
A pleasant verdure keeps a medium between these two extremes, and it
has such an affinity with the frame of the eye, that it is diverted,
not strained by it, and sustained and nourished, rather than wasted.
What we considered at first but as one colour, is found to afford an
astonishing diversity of shades: it is green every where, but it is in
no two instances the same. Not one plant is coloured like another, and
that surprising variety, which no art can imitate, is again diversified
in each plant, which is, in its origin, its progress, and maturity, of
a different sort of green.
Should my fancy waft me into some enamelled meadow, or into some garden
in high cultivation, what an enamel, what variety of colours, what
richness, are there conspicuous! What harmony, what sweetness in their
mixture, and the shadowings that temper them! What a picture, and by
what a master! But let us turn aside from this general view, to the
contemplation of some particular flower, and pick up at random the
first that offers to our hand, without troubling ourselves with the
choice.
It is just blown, and has still all its freshness and brightness. Can
the art of man produce any thing similar to this? No silk can be so
soft, so thin, and of so fine a texture. Even Solomon's purple, when
contrasted with the flowers of the fields, is coarse beyond comparison.
From the beauties of the meadows and gardens, which we have just been
surveying, let us take a view of the fruitful orchard, filled with all
sorts of fruits, which succeed each other, according to the varying
seasons.
View one of those trees bowing its branches down to the ground,
and bent under the weight of its excellent fruit, whose colour and
smell declare the taste. The quantity, as well as the quality, is
astonishing. Methinks that tree says to me, by the glory it displays
to my eyes, "Learn of me what is the goodness and magnificence of that
God, who has made me for you. It is neither for him, nor for myself
that I am so rich: he has need of nothing, and I cannot use what he has
given me. Bless him, and unload me. Give him thanks; and since he has
made me the instrument of your delight, be you that of my gratitude."
The same invitations catch me on all sides, and, as I walk on, I
discover new subjects of praise and adoration. Here the fruit is
concealed within the shell; there the fruit is without, and the kernel
within: the delicate pulp without shines in the most brilliant colours.
This fruit sprung out of a blossom, as almost all do; but this other,
so delicious, was not preceded by the blossom, and it shoots out of
the very bark of the fig-tree. The one begins the summer, the other
finishes it. If this be not soon gathered, it will fall down and
wither; if you do not wait for that, it will not be properly ripened.
This keeps long, that decays swiftly; the one refreshes, the other
nourishes.
Among the fruit-trees, some bear fruit in two seasons of the year,
and others unite together spring, summer, and autumn, bearing at the
same time the blossom and green and ripe fruit; to convince us of the
sovereign liberality of the Creator, who, in diversifying the laws of
nature, shows that he is the master of it, and can at all times, and
with all things, do equally what he pleases.
It is observable, that weak trees, or those of an indifferent pith, are
those that bear the most exquisite fruits; and the higher they grow,
the less rich is their productions. Other trees, which bear nothing but
leaves, or bitter and very small fruit, are nevertheless useful for the
important purposes of building and navigation.
If we had not seen trees of the height and bigness of those that are
in forests, we could not believe that some drops of rain falling from
heaven were capable to nourish them; for they stand in need of moisture
not only in great plenty, but also such as is full of spirits and
salts of all kinds, to give the root, the trunk, and branches, the
strength and vigour we admire in them. It is even remarkable, that the
more neglected these trees are, the handsomer they grow; and that if
men applied themselves to cultivate them, as they do the small trees
of their gardens, they would do them more harm than service. You,
therefore, O Author of all things! thus establish this indisputable
proof, that it is you alone who have made them; and you teach man to
know, that his cares and industry are useless to you. If indeed you
require his attention to some shrubs, it is but to employ him, and warn
him of his own weakness, in trusting weak things only to his care.
Let us now turn to the scaly inhabitants of the water, and what a
number and variety of fishes are there formed!
At the first sight of these creatures they appear only to have a head
and tail, having neither feet nor arms. Even their head has no free
motion; and were I to attend their figure only, I should think them
deprived of every thing necessary for the preservation of their lives.
But, few as their exterior organs are, they are more nimble, swift,
artful, and cunning, than if they had many hands and feet; and the use
they make of their tail and fins shoot them forward like arrows, and
seem to make them fly.
How comes it to pass, that in the midst of waters, so much impregnated
with salt that I cannot bear a drop of them in my mouth, fishes live
and sport, and enjoy health and strength? How, in the midst of salt do
they preserve a flesh that has not the least taste of it?
It is wonderful when we reflect, how the best of the scaly tribe, and
those most fit for the use of man, swarm upon our shores, and offer
themselves, as it were, to our service; while many others, of less
value to him, keep at a greater distance, and sport in the deep waters
of the ocean.
Some there are that keep in their hiding places unknown to men, whilst
they are propagating and growing to a certain size, such as salmon,
mackerel, cod, and many others. They come in shoals, at an appointed
time, to invite the fishermen, and throw themselves, as it were, of
their own accord, into their nets and snares.
We see several sorts of these scaly animals, and those of the best kind
get into the mouths of rivers, and come up to their fountain head, to
communicate the benefits of the sea to those who are distant from it.
The hand that directs them, with so much care and bounty for man, is at
all times, and every where to be seen; but the ingratitude of man, and
the capricious wanderings of his heart, often make him forgetful of the
greatest bounties.
From the scaly inhabitants of the water, let us turn our attention to
the feathered animals of the air. In several dumb creatures we see
an imitation of reason which is truly astonishing; but it no where
appears in a stronger degree, than in the industry and sagacity of
birds in making their nests.
In the first place, what master has taught them that they had need of
any? Who has taken care to forewarn them to get them ready in time,
and not to be prevented by necessity? Who has told them how they must
be contrived? What mathematician has given them such regular plans for
that purpose? What architect has directed them to chuse a firm place,
and to build upon a solid foundation? What tender mother has advised
them to line the bottom of them with materials so soft and nice as down
and cotton? and when these are wanting, who suggested to them that
ingenious charity, which urges them to pluck from their breast with
their bill, as much down as is requisite to prepare a convenient cradle
for their young ones?
In the second place, what wisdom has traced out to each kind a
particular way of making their nest, where the same precautions are
kept, but in a thousand different ways? Who has commanded the swallow,
the most industrious of all birds, to come near man, and chuse his
house to build her habitation, immediately in his view, without fearing
to have him for a witness, but on the contrary, seeming to invite him
to survey her works? She does not imitate other birds, who build their
nests with hay and small twigs: she uses cement and mortar, and makes
her whole work so solid, as not to be destroyed without some labour.
Her bill is her only instrument; and she has no other means of carrying
her water, than by wetting her breast while she expands her wings.
It is with this dew she sprinkles the mortar, and with this only she
dilutes and moistens her masonry, which she afterwards arranges and
sets in order with her bill.
In the third place, who has made these little feathered animals
sensible, that they are to hatch their eggs by sitting over them? that
both the father and mother must not be absent at the same time from the
nest; and that if one went in quest of food, the other was to wait till
its partner returned? Who has taught them that knowledge of calculating
time, so as to make them able to know precisely the number of days of
this rigorous attendance? Who has told them how to relieve the egg
of the burthen of the young one, perfectly formed therein, by first
breaking the shell at the critical moment, which they never fail to
perform?
Lastly, what lecturer has read lessons to birds, to teach them to
take care of their young, till they have proper strength and agility
to shift for themselves? Who has taught them that wonderful sagacity
and patience, to keep in their mouths either food or water, without
permitting them to pass into their stomachs, and there preserve them
for their young ones, to whom it supplies the place of milk? Who has
made them capable of distinguishing between so many things, of which
some are adapted to one kind, but are pernicious to another; and
between those which are proper for the old ones, but would be hurtful
to their young? We have daily opportunities of seeing the anxities of
mothers for their children, and the tenderness of nurses for the little
ones committed to their charge; but it will admit of a doubt, whether
we see any thing so perfect in the nursing of the human race as we see
among the feathered inhabitants of the air.
It cannot be for birds alone that the Omnipotent Creator has united in
their natures so many miracles, of which they are not sensible. It is
obvious, that his design was to direct our attention to Him, and to
make us sensible of his providence and infinite wisdom; to fill us with
confidence in his goodness. Think of these things, my Theophilus, and
do not fail to read the Book of Nature, from which you will learn to
perceive your own insignificancy, and the omnipotency of him who made
you.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_The Unexpected Reformation._
Little Marcus was the only child of a wealthy tradesman, who had
acquired an ample fortune by the sweat of his brow, and the reputable
character he had invariably supported in the course of his business.
He had always been an enemy to those little arts which some people
put in practice to deceive those they have dealings with, being fully
persuaded in his own mind, that no fortune could be so pleasing and
grateful as that acquired by integrity and honour.
Being much hurried in his business, both he and his amiable spouse
agreed, that it would be more prudent to send young Marcus into the
country for his education, where he would not be likely to receive
those pernicious examples he would every day see before him in the
metropolis.
After a very nice enquiry, they were satisfied with the account they
received of an academy at the distance of about a hundred miles from
London, for the good management of which they were referred to several
young gentlemen, who had there received their education, and were
universally admired for their learning and prudence.
The master of the academy considered all his pupils as his children;
he was equally attentive to instruct them in the different branches
of science, and to admonish them against those errors which young
people are naturally prone to run into. He endeavoured to excite their
industry by proper encouragement, and, by example, to implant in their
minds the seeds of honour and probity. He had also taken the most
prudent precautions in the choice of those who were to assist him in so
arduous an undertaking.
From so promising a situation, every parent would naturally expect the
most happy consequences; but their son Marcus, whether from too tender
a treatment at home, or not having been properly attended to, had an
unhappy turn of mind, and an utter aversion to every kind of study.
His thoughts were perpetually wandering after childish pastimes, so
that his masters could make him comprehend nothing of the rudiments
of science. The same marks of indolence appeared in the care of his
person; for every part of his dress was generally in disorder; and
though he was well made and handsome, yet his slovenly appearance made
him disgustful to every one.
Let me advise my young readers to be particularly attentive, next to
their studies, to the neatness of their persons; for no character is
more prejudicial to a youth than that of a sloven. But do not let
them mistake me, and suppose that I mean, by neatness in their dress,
foppish and ridiculous apparel.
It may easily be supposed, that these defects in his conduct rendered
him contemptible in the eyes of those children who were at first much
behind him, but soon overtook him, to his inevitable disgrace. His
master was so much ashamed of him, as well on account of his ignorance
as slovenliness, that whenever any visitors came to the school, poor
Marcus was sent out of the way, lest such a figure as he was might
bring disgrace on the academy.
It might reasonably be expected, that so many humiliating circumstances
would have made some impression on his mind; but he continued the same
course of inconsistence, indolence, and dissipation; nor did there
appear the least dawn of hope, that he would ever return into the paths
of industry and prudence.
His master was very uneasy on his account, and knew not how to act:
to keep him at his school, he considered as a robbery on his parents,
and to send him home as a dunce and a blockhead would be a cutting
consideration to his father and mother. He would sometimes say to his
unworthy pupil, "Marcus, what will your father and mother think of me,
when I shall send you home to them, so little improved in learning and
knowledge?" It was, however, in vain to talk to him; for he seldom made
any answer, but generally burst into tears.
Two years had glided away in this miserable manner, without his having
made the least progress in learning, and without showing the least
inclination for study. One evening, however, just as he was going to
bed, he received a letter sealed with black wax, which he opened with
some degree of indifference, and then read as follows:
"MY DEAR MARCUS,