and you of the most tender parent. Alas, he is gone, to return
no more! If there be any thing that can enable me to support
this dreadful calamity, it is only in what I receive from
the recollection, that I have left in my son the dear image
of his father. It is from you only therefore I can look for
comfort; and I am willing to flatter myself, that I shall
receive as much pleasure from your conduct as I do from my
tender affection for you. Should I find myself disappointed
in my hopes, should you be only like your father in person,
and not resemble him in his industry, integrity, and virtue,
sorrow and despair will put a period to my miserable life.
By the person who brings you this letter, I have sent you a
miniature picture of your father. Wear it constantly at your
bosom, and frequently look at it, that it may bring to your
remembrance, and induce you to imitate, all the purest virtues
and uncommon endowments of the dear original. I shall leave
you in your present situation one year longer, by which time
I hope you will be complete in your education. In the mean
time, do not let this slip from your memory, that my happiness
or misery depends on your conduct, industry, and attention to
your studies. That God may bless you, and give you patience
cheerfully to tread the rocky paths of science, is my sincere
wish."
The errors of Marcus were the consequence of bad habits and customs he
had imbibed in his infancy, and not from any natural depravity of the
heart. He had no sooner read this letter than he found every sentiment
of virtue awakening in his bosom. He burst into a flood of tears, and
frequently interrupted by sighs, exclaimed, "O my dear father! my dear
father! have I then lost you for ever?" He earnestly gazed on the
miniature picture of his parent, pressed it to his bosom, while he,
in faultering accents, uttered these words:--"Thou dear author of my
existence, how unworthy am I to be called your son! How shamefully have
I abused your tenderness, in idling that time away for which you have
paid so dearly! But let me hope that reformation will not come too
late."
He passed that night in sorrow and contrition, he bedewed his pillow
with tears, and sleep was a stranger to his troubled mind. If he
happened but to slumber, he suddenly started, imagining he saw the
image of his deceased father standing before him in the dreadful garb
of death, and thus reproaching him: "Ungenerous youth! is this the
manner in which you ought to return my past cares and attention to
your interest?--Thou idle sloven, thou ungenerous son! awaken from
your state of indolence, and properly improve the little time you have
left for the pursuit of science, which you have hitherto so shamefully
neglected; and do not, by an unpardonable inattention to yourself,
shorten the few remaining days of your dear mother's life!"
I hope my youthful readers are well convinced that there are no such
things as ghosts or apparitions, and that they are nothing more than
the effects of a troubled imagination. Such was the ease with Marcus,
who fancied he saw his father on the one hand, reproaching him for what
was past, and his dear mother on the other, exhorting him to better
conduct in future. "What a wretch I am," said he to himself, "to act
in this manner! When my time for leaving this academy shall arrive,
and I must appear before my mother to give proofs of my literary
knowledge, what must be the pangs of her maternal heart, when she
shall find that the child, on whom she had placed all the prospects of
her future felicity, is an ungrateful, ignorant, and unworthy wretch?
She will call on the friendly hand of Death to take her from such an
insupportable scene!"
Poor Marcus thus lay rolling on the thorny bed of trouble and anxiety,
till, at last, totally overcome by grief and despair, he fell asleep.
As soon as he awoke in the morning, on his bended knees he implored
the assistance of the Almighty in the reformation he intended to
make in his conduct. He instantly hastened to his master's chamber,
and there threw himself on his knees before him: "Behold, sir," said
he, "prostrate before you, an ungrateful wretch, who has hitherto
treated, with the most shameful indifference, all the wise lessons you
would have bestowed on him. Yet, unworthy as I may be of your future
instructions, let me implore you, for the sake of my dear mother, whose
life I fear I shall shorten by my unworthy conduct, to extend your
bounty to me once more, and I will endeavour to convince you, by my
future conduct, how much ashamed I am of what is past."
His master raised him up, took him in his arms, and tenderly embracing
him, they shed tears together. "My dear Marcus," said his master to
him, "to be sensible of your errors is half way to reformation. You
have, it is true, squandered away, in the pursuit of trifles, two
years that ought to have been employed in the acquisition of useful
science. You have still one year left, and, as you appear to stand
self-convicted of the imprudence of your past conduct, I would not
wish to drive you to despair; but to encourage you by saying, that, by
proper application, great things may be done, even in the remaining
year. Begin this moment, lose no more time, and may God give you
resolution to proceed suitably to my wishes, and your own interest."
Marcus seized the hand of his master, tenderly kissed it, and then
retired, being totally unable to utter a single word. He instantly ran
to his chamber, there eased his heart in a flood of tears, and then
set about the necessary business. He applied himself so closely to his
books, and made therein so rapid a progress, as astonished his master
and teachers. His companions, who had hitherto treated him with the
utmost contempt, began to love and revere him. Marcus, thus encouraged
by the different treatment he now received, pursued his studies with
the utmost attention and alacrity. He was no longer despised for his
wickedness and perversity, but admired and caressed for the affability
and goodness of his temper. Formerly no severities or entreaties could
make him attend to his studies; but they were now forced to use some
degree of violence to make him partake of necessary recreations.
In this manner his last twelvemonth passed on, and he viewed with
regret the approach of that time when he was to leave school, and
engage in pursuits of a different nature. He was hereafter to study
men, and endeavour to acquire a knowledge of the latent motions of the
human heart, perhaps the most difficult study in the commerce of this
world.
The time allowed him being expired, his mother ordered him up to
London. By the end of the year, the change he had made in his conduct
so operated in his favour, that his departure was regretted by all
his school companions; and, when he took his leave, sorrow visibly
appeared in the countenance of every one. It was a pleasing reflection
to his master, that a youth he had given up as lost, should on a sudden
reform, and, in the circle of one year, make as great a progress in the
sciences as the generality of youths do in three.
The journey afforded Marcus the most pleasing reflections; for he had
now nothing to apprehend from the interrogatories of his mother, with
respect to his education; and though he sincerely lamented the two
years he had lost, yet he could not but feel the effects of the happy
employment of the third.
His schoolmaster had before acquainted his mother of the happy
reformation in her son, and the great improvement he had made since
the death of his father. These considerations, added to the natural
feelings of a mother, made their meeting a scene of the most tender
delights and heartfelt transports.
Marcus lost only a week in paying visits to his relations and friends,
and then applied himself to his father's business with unremitted
assiduity and the most flattering success. In a few years he took an
amiable partner for life, with whom he lived happy and contented. He
was blessed with dutiful children, to whom he would frequently give
this lesson: "My dear children, do not forget, that time once lost is
not to be recalled; and that those hours you trifle away in your early
years, you will severely lament the loss of when you shall have reached
the age of maturity. An old age of ignorance is despicable indeed; for
he who has neglected properly to cultivate his mind in his youth, will
embitter the evening of his life with self-accusations and reproaches.
Happy the youth who, having toiled hard during spring in the garden of
science, sits down in the autumn at leisure to regale on the fruits of
his labour!"
[Illustration]
_The Recompence of Virtue._
The northern confines of France boast of a small spot of ground, where
virtue renders law unnecessary, and procures the inhabitants a state
of peace as pure and unsullied as the air they breathe. In process of
time, this territory fell into the hands of a widow, who merited a much
more valuable patrimony.
Madam Clarisse, for that was the lady's name, joined benevolence of
heart to a cultivated mind and an elevated genius. The place afforded
neither physician nor apothecary; but Madam Clarisse supplied the want
of them by her own knowledge of the medical qualities of different
roots and plants. Her conduct evidently proved how much good a
generous heart is capable of doing, even where Fortune has not been
lavish of her smiles.
This lady had a servant maid, whose name was Maria, and who had seen
twelve revolving suns in her service. Her attachment to her mistress,
her disinterested behaviour, affability, and attention, procured
her the just esteem of all who lived in the neighbourhood. It was a
happiness for this girl, that she had all her life been brought up on
this spot of innocence, and had not been exposed to the corrupting and
pestiferous air of the metropolis.
Madam Clarisse had the highest opinion of the good qualities of Maria,
and had entertained a strong affection for her. Maria, who in her turn
tenderly loved her mistress, and was a little older than her, always
wished that her good lady might be the longer survivor; but Providence
had ordered it otherwise. Madam Clarisse was attacked with a disorder,
which, on its first appearance, was supposed to be of no consequence;
but, by the improper treatment of her physicians, who mistook her
disorder, it at last proved fatal.
The visible approach of death did not disturb the peace and tranquility
of the mind of this virtuous lady: her bosom was fortified with
religious consolations; her heart had never been the receptacle of
evil; and, while every one around her was bewailing her approaching
dissolution, she alone seemed peaceful and tranquil. The salutary
regimen she exactly followed, protracted her death for a little while,
and her courage gave her strength. She was not confined to her bed, but
walked about, and had the village girls around her, whom she instructed
in the principles of religion and virtue.
One delightful morning, in the blooming month of May, she rose very
early, and took a walk in the fields, accompanied by Maria, who never
forsook her. She reached the summit of a verdant hill, from whence the
eye wandered over the most delightful prospects. She sat down on the
enamelled turf, and Maria by her side.
"What a delightful view!" said she. "See, Maria, that verdant meadow,
over which we have so frequently walked! It is not long since, if you
remember, that we there met the good old Genevive, who bent beneath
the load on her back, while she carried in her hand a basket full of
apples: you insisted on taking the load from her, and, in spite of all
her resistance, I seized her basket of apples. Do you not remember what
joy and pleasure every step afforded us, how grateful the good creature
seemed, and what a hearty breakfast we ate in her cottage?
"Look a little to the right, and there you see the willow-walk by the
lake, in which, when we were young, we used so frequently to angle.
How often have we there made ozier baskets, and then filled them with
cowslips and violets! You recollect that cottage in front of us, the
peaceful habitation of Myrtilla, for whom you in two days made up the
wedding clothes I gave her. To the left, see the entrance of the wood,
where I used every holiday to keep my evening school in the summer, for
the instruction of the peasants' children. How happily those moments
glided away, while surrounded by my youthful neighbours! How many sweet
and delightful tales has the lovely Priscilla there told, and how many
enchanting songs did the sweet Miranda there warble forth, while the
feathered songsters seemed to stop their own notes to listen to her
divine warblings! Methinks every thing around me brings back something
pleasing to my reflection, and gives an inexpressible delight to my
present sensations!
"You are sensible, Maria, that there is a school in this village kept
by a poor old woman. Many who attend her school can pay for instruction
without any inconvenience, while there are others, who, for want of
money, are obliged to keep their children at home in ignorance. Had I
any hopes of living a few years longer, I should be much pleased with
the idea, that I should by that time have saved a hundred crowns, which
would have been sufficient to provide education for the children of
those who cannot afford to pay for it; but, since it is the will of God
that such shall not be the case, I submit without repining."
Here Maria turned her head aside, in order to conceal from her lady the
tender tear that stole down her cheeks. Madam Clarisse perceiving the
situation of her amiable servant, "My dear Maria," said she, "why do
you weep? We shall again meet each other to part no more, and for the
present let my serenity console you. I have not a doubt but you will
always have a sure asylum in my house long after I shall have left it.
Had it pleased God, I should have been happy to have it in my power to
make some provision for you; but I cannot; and it is for me to submit."
Lifting up her hands, she exclaimed, "Accept, O gracious God! my most
grateful acknowledgments for having placed me in a situation far from
the temptations and vanities of this world. A stranger to headstrong
passions and delusive pleasures, I have passed my tranquil life on this
retired spot of innocence, secure from the tumultuous pursuits of pride
and vanity, and a perfect stranger to the gnawing pangs of jealousy or
envy. Innocence and peace, and all the tender feelings of friendship
and humanity, have been my constant companions. In that critical
and awful moment, when the remembrance of past actions is not to be
supported by the wicked, my mind enjoys inexpressible serenity and
composure."
Madam Clarisse here stopped short, and her head sunk on the bosom of
Maria; who, looking on the face of her amiable mistress, found it
turned pale, and her eyes closed-never more to be opened!--Thus cracked
the cordage of a virtuous heart;--good night, thou amiable woman; may
choirs of angels sing you to your rest!
Maria was undoubtedly much afflicted at the death of her lady, and her
sorrow on that account, added to the fatigues she had undergone, threw
her into a fever, from which her recovery was for a long time doubtful.
Nature, however, at last conquered her disorder, when she determined
to quit that place, as soon as her strength would permit her. When
she found herself capable of pursuing the journey, she packed up the
little matter she had, and first repaired to the church-yard where her
amiable lady lay buried. Having there paid the tribute of a tear upon
her grave, she instantly set out for Charleville, her native place,
sincerely regretted by the minister and people, who knew not what was
become of her.
Two years had elapsed, and no news was heard of Maria, though every
possible enquiry was made in the neighbourhood. About that time,
however, the minister of the parish received a parcel containing some
money, and the following letter with it:
"At last, my dear reverend sir, I am enabled to send you the
hundred crowns which my worthy lady, in her expiring moments,
so ardently wished to be possessed of, not for her own use,
but for the emolument of others. Her wishes shall now be
fulfilled, and the pious work she projected shall be completed.
Had not this been the all I am possessed of in this world, I
would have brought it myself. I am too poor to support myself
among you; but I am happy in my poverty, and feel no anxieties
but those occasioned by the loss of my dear lady. I beseech
you to put this money out to interest, and inform the mistress
of the school that it is for her use. This I hope will enable
her to take under her care the children of such poor people,
who cannot afford to pay for their education. If I have any
favour to ask of Heaven, it is only this, that I may, before I
am called hence, be enabled to save a little money, in order
to be in a condition to pay you a visit. Should I live to see
this school established on the plan my deceased lady wished
for, I shall then be perfectly happy, and shall quit this world
without envying those who roll in the gifts of fortune, but
have not a heart properly to use them.--MARIA."
The curate, who was a man of generous feelings, read this letter with
admiration, and the next day, in the church, communicated the contents
of it to his congregation, who could not refrain from tears on the
relation of so generous an action. According to Maria's request, he
placed the hundred crowns out to interest; and thus, from the produce
of two year's incessant labour of this amiable woman, was a foundation
laid for the education of the poor children of the parish.
The generous Maria, having thus disposed of every thing she was
possessed of, again sat down to work; but not with so much ardour as
before, as she had now only to labour for her own maintenance. About
this time, however, a relation died and left her ten pounds a year,
which to her was a little fortune.
It soon came to the knowledge of Maria, that the curate had read
her letter to his congregation, which gave her no small degree of
uneasiness, as she wished it to remain unknown. However, it soon became
the conversation of every one, and at last reached the place where she
lived.
People of the first character and fortune in Charleville, at which
place she then lived, were anxious to be acquainted with her; and some
of them even went so far as to offer her apartments in their house. But
she preferred her present situation to a life of ease and indolence.
The curate, having occasion soon after to visit Paris, mentioned Maria
in all companies, and related the affecting story of her charity, which
soon became the general subject of conversation in that metropolis, was
publicly related in the Paris Gazette, and from thence copied into most
of the public papers in Europe.
A young prince, who lived with his parents, at Paris, and who was
hardly nine years of age, was so affected, young as he was, with this
generous action of Maria, that he talked of nothing else from morning
till night. "I wish I were a man," said the little prince one morning
in his father's hearing. "And if you were a man," replied the peer,
"what then would you do?"
The young prince threw his arms round his father's neck, and having
obtained a promise that he would grant him what he asked, "I would,"
said he, "give Maria a pension." His father embraced him, applauded the
generosity of his heart, and instantly settled fifty pounds a year on
Maria for life.
We may learn from hence, that virtue often meets with its recompence
in the possession of the good things of this life, besides that
inexpressible delight it receives from the inward feelings of the
heart. Maria received this donation with all becoming gratitude; but
she used it as though she were only the steward of it: she fed the
hungry, she clothed the naked, and diffused through the whole village a
spirit of industry, prudence, and benevolence.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_The Pleasures of Contentment._
Amidst all the objects of our pursuits in this world, in order to
acquire happiness, Contentment is the first. Without this, all the
parade of grandeur, the possession of the most beautiful villa, and
all the studied delicacies of the table are dull and tasteless. When
contentment has taken up its seat in the bosom, the straw-built hut is
a palace, and the coarsest viands are preferable to the most sumptuous
delicacies. The following history of an eastern vizier will contribute
to support this opinion.
Alibeg, in his youth, had been a very great favourite of the Sultan
Mahmud: he had been the partner of his childish sports, and, as they
grew up, the companion of his more manly amusements. He entrusted him
with all his secrets, and generally followed his advice in most matters
of importance. Mahmud, therefore, out of gratitude, advanced him to the
first office of state in the empire.
Alibeg was a man of a noble and generous heart, and of a complexion
of mind very different from those who generally flock about royalty,
like drones about the hive, only to rob it of its sweets. The inferior
ministers of Mahmud were avaricious, cruel, and oppressive, and
sacrificed the ease and happiness of the people to gratify their own
pleasure, avarice, and ambition. Alibeg was determined, whatever might
be the consequences, to set about a reformation of many shameful abuses.
An attempt of this nature naturally brought upon him the united
opposition of the imans and grandees. They first endeavoured to ruin
Alibeg in the opinion of the sultan, by charging him with those very
crimes, which he was in reality endeavouring to correct; but their
endeavours were for a long time ineffectual. The sultan loved Alibeg,
and well knew that all the accusations against him were false and
groundless.
Men in power, who have no other object in view but the gratification of
their unbounded passions, dread nothing so much as the influence which
wise and virtuous minds sometimes have over good princes. The wicked
courtiers finding they could not prevail on the sultan, by fair means,
to give up his favourite Alibeg, called in to their aid diabolical
rebellion.
The deluded multitude rose against their best friend, whose only wish
was to make them happy, by freeing them from the shameful tyranny in
which the ministers and great men held them. What a pity it is, that
the lower class of people, on whom the prosperity of almost every
nation undoubtedly depends, should be so often blind to their own
interest, as to be persuaded, by artful and designing men, to forge
fetters for themselves!
The sultan, finding he must either give up his empire or his favourite,
consented to the disgrace of Alibeg; but not till the leaders of
the rebellion had sworn, by the holy Prophet, that Alibeg should
be permitted to retire where he pleased, without being insulted or
molested.
Alibeg, thus divested of power and all his property, without a friend
who dared to give him the least assistance, retired to spend the
remainder of his days among the rocks and deserts of the Korasan. Here,
on the borders of a limpid and meandering stream, he erected himself
a little hut; and here, remote from the converse of ambitious and
deceitful man, he passed his time unnoticed by any human being.
He had lived in this solitary retreat, amidst rocks and deserts for
upwards of two years, when the virtuous Mentor discovered his gloomy
abode. This good man, who was the intimate friend of Alibeg, and who
had advised him to attempt the reformation of the state, was thereby
instrumental in the ruin of his friend. However, as soon as Alibeg
was banished by the people, Mentor banished himself, and retired to a
little village at a great distance from the capital.
Mentor sighed for the absence of his friend, and, as he knew he was
retired to the Korasan, he determined to set out in search of him. As
he was walking on, and at about a furlong distant from the abode of
Alibeg, they suddenly met in a winding path. They instantly knew each
other, embraced, and wept. When they had wiped away their tears, and
had got over the first emotions of joy which so sudden and unexpected a
meeting had occasioned, Mentor was astonished to see how much serenity
and composure were visible on the countenance of his friend Alibeg,
whose bosom was the repository of peace and contentment.