by the use of those few plants I am acquainted with, and of their
behaviour to me I never had any reason to complain. I always took care
to set them a good example; for though in my youth I was as wild as
any other, and there could not be a dance in this or any neighbouring
parish but I was sure to be there, yet, as soon as I was married, I
left off those pranks. My wife was fortunately handsome, good, and
sprightly, and that kept me in awe.
"I took my boys into the fields with me as soon as they could walk, and
I presently made them useful in one way or other. I put my youngest son
on the plough, and was pleased to see the others frolic round him; and,
on my return home in the evening, my little girls would divert me with
singing, while they were spinning at their wheel.
"I used to go among my children and grandchildren, to see if every
thing went on properly; but now, since old age has prevented me, they
come and see me. The sermon is no sooner over on a Sunday, than my
daughters and grand-daughters bring their little ones; and it would
please you, sir, to behold me in the midst of twenty women dressed as
for a marriage, and as pretty as angels. There is a family resemblance
in their children, and that charms me."
Mr. Jackson observed, that the other six days of the week must be very
tiresome to him, since he could not have the company of his family to
amuse him. To this the old man replied, "If I be denied this pleasure,
yet I have others to supply its place. I know every inch of ground in
this parish, and am as well acquainted with all who live in it. My
neighbours, therefore, frequently come to ask my opinion on matters
of husbandry, in which they are engaged. I give them my advice with
pleasure; and if they be poor people, I provide them with the seed they
want, and they repay it me the ensuing harvest. Thus am I serviceable
to others, without injuring myself or my family.
"In my endeavours to do good to my neighbours, I am assisted by our
vicar, who is a very good man, and of whom I have, in some degree,
made a bishop, by the weddings, christenings, and tithes with which I
have enriched him. I have even given him some instructions concerning
his business in the pulpit; for the country people, in general, like
example better than precept. The general rule I taught him to lay down
to his congregation was no more than this: _No rest, good neighbours,
to your land; but peace among yourselves._"
Mr. Jackson could not help applauding such principles, and told the
good old villager, that he apprehended he was of more service to the
vicar than he was to the lawyer, if any such professional man lived
near them.
The good old man replied, "We have indeed one lawyer among us, but I
have pretty well spoiled his trade. Had I taken only sixpence every
time I have been consulted, in order to settle disputes, I should at
this time have been a very rich man. In all places, there frequently
will happen disputes of one kind or other, and principally when
the ground of any deceased person is to be parceled out among his
successors.
"On these occasions, they generally come to me for my advice; and if
there be children to be married, I soon settle the affair. If there
be any ground in dispute, and the parties cannot agree about it, they
take me in their little cart, and, being on the spot, I have the ground
surveyed; I then weigh the good and bad qualities of it in my mind, and
endeavour, if I can, to satisfy the different parties.
"When I find the parties are not inclined to agree, the next day I get
them all together here, and I always keep a barrel of good ale on the
run, such as will soften the most obdurate and flinty heart. I give
them a glass or two of it, and in the mean time I tell them, that a
lawsuit would cost ten times more than the ground is worth; that if
they proceed in it, they will lose a great deal of time as well as
money, and ever after be enemies to each other. These arguments and a
few glasses of ale, never fail to make up the matter, and bring about a
perfect reconciliation. It is true, I lose my ale by such a practice;
but then I am amply repaid by the reflection of having done good."
Here the cottager called to his wife, and told her to bring a jug
of their ale. Mr. Jackson drank some of it, and confessed that it
was admirably calculated to make peace among his neighbours in the
village, especially when administered by so able a hand, who knew how
to extract friendship from the very means that often produce strife and
disaffection.
By this time the storm was entirely abated, Nature had put off her
gloomy aspect, and the returning sun began to enliven every thing. Mr.
Jackson took a friendly leave, and promised to see them again in a few
days. On his return home, "Who would not," said he to himself, "prefer
the healthful age of this good cottager, happy in his own esteem and
the love of others, to the vanity of those great men, who make no other
use of their abundance, than to set examples of luxury and dissipation,
who make light of public scorn and hatred, and whom the very grave will
not protect from infamy and execration!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_The Indolent Beauty._
We too often see beauty contaminated by vanity, and a fine genius by
indolence. Bella was the only daughter of a tender and affectionate
mother, whose virtue and discretion were a source of happiness to her
family, and a credit to her sex. Bella, on her arrival at six years of
age, afforded every symptom of a good heart, complaisance, affability,
and a tolerable share of understanding. This was the glaring part of
the picture; for the shade afforded a strange attachment to indolence,
and a disgust to every species of refined education.
Though her mother possessed all the talents necessary for an excellent
instructress, yet she had never before any opportunity of reducing them
to practice, and an only child was not perhaps the most proper object
for her experience in the science of juvenile education. It should
ever be one important point with parents, never to give up a command
they have once laid on their children, but punctually to insist on its
performance. The observation of this rule would frequently save a great
deal of uneasiness to both parents and children.
Her mother could not think of applying even the most tender correction,
and the use of threatenings only added to her own uneasiness. She
hoped, as her daughter grew older, she would become more sensible of
her indolence and inattention to business, and, as she ripened in
years, would proportionably increase in sense and judgment; but the
older the twig grew the less pliant it became, and what might have
been accomplished in its younger state, was by time become almost
impracticable.
Bella, however, when she arrived at eight years of age, showed very
little inclination to make any alteration in her conduct; the little
creature's idleness rather increased than diminished, and she began to
be troublesome even to herself. Her mother now conceived the plan of
putting down on paper, every evening, the value of such things as she
had lost or spoiled in the course of the day, in consequence of her
carelessness and invincible indolence.
Her mother had flattered herself that Bella, when she came to know
the value of money, would act in a more prudent manner; but she read
over the account with the utmost indifference, and considered the sums
there mentioned as too insignificant for her notice and attention.
A pretended head-ache was almost her constant excuse to avoid her
attendance on her masters; and thus, though naturally sincere, she
began to accustom herself to deviate from the truth.
Bella had reached her thirteenth year, without the least appearance
of alteration in her conduct, and the lost and broken account, kept
by her mother, was increased to a large sum. One irregularity, if not
timely checked, brings on others; and thus Bella to indolence soon
added inconsistence. She presently grew tired of every thing; her
harpsichord, which was one week her favourite instrument, was the next
discarded with disgust, to make room for the guitar; and this, in a
short time after, for something else. She had masters to teach her
geography, French, and Italian; writing, accounts, dancing, drawing,
and music. These added to her mother's long catalogue of expences,
contributed but little to her improvement.
It is natural to suppose, that when the follies of youth are not
early corrected, they will, like pernicious weeds, thrive so fast
as to check the growth of every thing that is valuable in the same
soil. Hence it happened, that after three years more had elapsed,
the lovely Bella, instead of growing wiser by age, as her mother had
vainly expected, became more indolent, whimsical, and capricious. All
the money paid to her masters was thrown away, she learned nothing,
and was in fact little more than an _ignorant beauty_: a character I
most sincerely wish is not applicable to any of my fair readers, since
nothing can be more dangerous, pernicious, and derogatory to female
reputation.
At this period of her folly, a young gentleman of fortune and
character, whom I shall call by the name of Honestus, among other
company, visited the parents of Bella. He was struck with her charms,
and immediately conceived some thought of paying his addresses to that
capricious beauty; but, when he learned what was her character, he
declined all thoughts of forming such a connection.
The tender mother did not fail to represent this disappointment to
her daughter, who was then of an age capable to receive remonstrances
of that nature. To her natural disposition for indolence she had now
added pride, the forerunner of all evils to a female mind. Instead
of properly feeling the reproaches of a tender mother, she haughtily
replied, "It is true, I have lost a great deal of time, and have not
improved myself much from the lessons of my masters; but what need
have I of learning, when my parents are so rich, and you yourself
acknowledge I am so pretty?"
As soon as Bella had attained her eighteenth year, she began to think
herself happy in being no longer incommoded with the visits of her
teachers; so, when a young lady arrives at that age, she is supposed
to be accomplished in point of education, and has nothing else to do
but to apply herself to the application of those rules she learned from
her masters. Alas! this was not the case of the lovely Bella: she had
learned nothing but those principles which never fail to be pernicious
to the youthful mind.
That morning, which on its opening appeared to her so delightful and
brilliant, was soon enveloped in dark and heavy clouds. Her mother
entered her chamber with a countenance that convinced Bella something
was amiss. After an awful pause, she thus addressed her daughter:
"My dear child, you are this day eighteen years of age; but I fear
your education is far short of what it now ought to be. I fear the
indulgences I have granted you have made you too vain of yourself, and
have fatally induced you to believe, that you had less occasion for an
education than others. Will beauty make you lovely? separated from the
graces of the mind, it will not so much as please. Are you not always
uneasy in yourself, and constantly dissatisfied with others? Besides,
rich as you imagine your father to be, are you sure that, while we are
now speaking, he is not a ruined and undone man?"
The last words awakened in the bosom of Bella all the alarms which an
unexpected disappointment to ambition is capable of feeling. Her mother
got up, and left the room without saying any thing more.
The apprehensions of Bella on this occasion were but too well founded;
for, in a few days after this conversation, her father stopped payment.
This imprudent gentleman, not contented with a fortune of six thousand
pounds a year, engaged in a very hazardous undertaking, which,
happening to fail, brought on a bankruptcy. He had all his life been
the child of fortune, and therefore made but a poor pupil in the school
of adversity: he took this matter so to heart, that in spite of all the
care and attention of his wife and daughter, he soon bid adieu to the
cares of this world, and fled for repose to the next. He died perfectly
sensible, exhorting those around him, never to give way to the emotions
of avarice and rapacity, since these first brought him to ruin, and
then to his grave.
His wife undoubtedly felt this shock severely, though she supported
it with Christian fortitude. She had a small jointure, which the
creditors could not, nor did they wish to touch. Having performed the
duties of the last funeral rites to her husband, she and her daughter
retired to a private situation in the west of England, where every
necessary article of life was cheaper than in the metropolis.
Bella, however, behaved with all the propriety that could be expected
from a repenting daughter, and made every effort she was capable of to
console her unhappy mother. She would frequently reproach herself with
her past negligence, and reckon up the vast sums of money that had been
squandered away upon her to so little purpose.
Bella had valued herself much on the fortune she supposed herself born
to; but it pleased Providence to deprive her of it. She had, however,
her beauty still left to boast of; but even of this she was soon to be
deprived. Be cautious, my youthful readers, how you place too great
a confidence in the possession of wealth and beauty, since they are
fleeting as the wind, and as unsteady as the vessel on the troubled
billows of the ocean. Fortify your minds with religion and virtue, and
a proper knowledge of the useful sciences; the storms and hurricanes of
Fortune may then attack you, but you will always safely withstand their
rage, and deride their fury.
One evening, while she was bewailing her past neglect, and vowing a
reform for the future, she was seized with a head-ache, and being
otherwise very ill, she went to bed. The next morning a violent fever
seized her, and a physician being sent for, her disorder was declared
to be that which is frequently so fatal to female beauty.
It was one of the most unpromising kind; the doctors could say but
little, and the mother was driven to despair. Day after day, and night
after night, her mother never left her bed-side, but was constantly
with her, in a state of uncertainty, worse than that of death itself.
The afflicted Bella became delirious, the disorder made a rapid
progress, and her eyes were soon excluded from the light.
Though this circumstance is not uncommon in this fatal disorder, and
therefore did not at first create any alarm in her mother, yet at last
it increased to such a dangerous height, that the physicians were
no longer able to dissemble matters, and candidly confessed their
apprehensions, that her daughter would be blind all her life. Judge, if
you can, what must be the feelings of a tender mother on so trying a
calamity!
However, youth got the better of her disorder, very contrary to the
expectation of her mother, the physicians, and every one around her;
she also recovered her sight, but there were left terrible marks on
her face of the devastation it had there made. As soon as she was able
to walk about the room, she looked in the glass, and then exclaimed:
"Ah! what is become of that lovely face, of which the proud Bella so
lately boasted? Has cruel fortune robbed her of all she boasted, of all
she valued herself for but a month ago, her fortune and her beauty? I
am justly punished, and I will patiently submit."
Bella, thus instructed by misfortune, soon conquered her indolence, and
all her former imperfections; a sudden revolution took place, and her
very nature seemed to be reformed. Her mother's conversation now became
delightful to her, and she began to sit down to study with unwearied
attention. Reading, music, and drawing were her daily amusements; and
so great were her improvements therein, that she soon made up for the
time she had before thrown away in the most shameful indolence.
Her beauty was indeed vanished, but the improvements she made in her
mind procured her more friends than she was ever before able to acquire
by the charms of her person. Her shape was still truly elegant, and
her eyes and countenance were still expressive of the vivacity of her
heart. She was no longer expensive in her dress, though she was always
neat and fashionable.--Though her visitors did not look upon her with
that astonishment as formerly, yet they soon became captivated with the
charms of her mind and the politeness of her conversation.
Two years had passed away in this retired situation, when Honestus,
who had long before ceased to think of making a partner of Bella, on
account of her capricious and indolent temper, being on some business
in that quarter, called on the mother and daughter to see them. He
was introduced into a parlour elegantly furnished, and adorned with
pictures. "Is not this," said the lady, "a neat apartment? Every thing
you here see, and these drawings in particular, are the works of my
daughter."
Honestus was much surprised at hearing what he considered as a
tale, and his looks expressed his incredulity. He turned round, and
stedfastly gazing on the face of Bella, was equally astonished at
seeing her so changed. "Is this the lovely creature," said he to
himself, "with whose beauty I was once so much enraptured, and whom I
forsook on account of her pride, vanity, and indolence!"
Out of politeness he entered into conversation with her, and found in
her a most pleasing alteration: before she was a beauty without sense;
now she had lost the charms of her face, but had found those of the
mind, which are infinitely the most to be valued.
Honestus passed day after day in the company of Bella, whose
conversation was so pleasing and attracting, that he began to feel
himself uneasy when she was out of his sight. In order, therefore, that
he might enjoy the pleasure of her company without interruption, he
offered her his hand for life. "You certainly deserve her," said her
mother, "since you refused her in the bloom of her beauty, when her
fortune too afforded the most splendid promises, and now admire her
when they are both for ever vanished."
Though the fortune of Honestus was not very splendid, yet it was
sufficient, with the assistance of his trade, to keep up a genteel
appearance, and to provide decently for a family, should such be the
consequence of their marriage. They soon quitted this rural retreat and
returned to London, where they now live in the enjoyment of all those
pleasures which conjugal love, friendship, and virtue are capable of
producing.
Let my youthful readers reflect on what they have here read, and they
will then become sensible how vain and momentary, how fickle and
inconstant are the possession of riches and beauty. They are like
habitations built on the sands of the ocean, which are perpetually
liable to be swept away by the violence of winds and floods. I mean
not, that fortune and beauty are to be spised, I mean only that they
should be used properly, and that the possessor of them should not
vainly imagine, that they will supply the place of education, industry,
benevolence, charity, and virtue.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_An Oriental Tale._
Time, the devourer of all things, has permitted me to be the spectator
of a long series of events. The colour of my locks is now changed to
that of the swans, which sport in the gardens of the mighty kings
of the earth. Age and experience have taught me to believe, that
the sovereign Disposer of our destinies has given to man a heart
susceptible of virtue, and a soul capable of tasting the pleasures
which arise from doing good. A noble and disinterested action must
somewhere meet with its reward. Listen, O sons of Adam! listen to my
faithful tale.
In one of those delightful valleys which cut the chain of the mountains
in Arabia, for a long time lived a rich pastor. He was happy because
he was contented, and his happiness consisted in doing good. One day,
as he was walking on the enamelled borders of a purling stream, under
the shade of a grove of palm-trees, which extended their verdant
branches even to the heads of the lofty cedars with which the mountain
was crowned, he heard a voice that frequently echoed into the valley
the most piercing cries, and sometimes low murmuring plaints, which
were lost in the noise of the torrent.
The venerable pastor hastened to the place from whence the voice
proceeded, when he saw a young man prostrate on the sand, at the foot
of a rock. His garment was torn, and his hair, in wild confusion,
covered his face, on which were easily to be traced the flowers of
beauty, faded by grief: tears trickled down his cheeks, and his head
was sunk on his bosom: he appeared like the rose which the rude blast
of a storm had leveled to the earth. The pastor was touched at the
sight: he approached the youth, and said to him, "O child of Grief!
hasten to my arms. Let me press to my bosom the offspring of Despair!"
The youth lifted up his head in mournful silence; in astonishment
he fixed his eyes on the pastor; for he supposed no human being was
capable of feeling for his sufferings. The sight of so venerable a
figure inspired him with confidence, and he perceived in his eyes the
tear of pity and the fire of generosity. If to a generous soul it is
pleasure to complain, and unfold the latent secrets of the heart, that
pleasure surely must be heightened when we complain to those who will
not shut their ears to the voice of truth, but will weigh every thing
in the scale of reason, even though those truths may be disagreeable,
and such as they wish to have no existence.
The youth rose up, covered with dust, and, as he flew to the arms of
the pastor, uttered cries which the neighbouring mountains trebly
echoed. "O my father!" said he: "O my father!" when he had a little
recovered himself, after the tender embraces and the wise counsels of
the old man who asked him many questions.
"It is," continued the unfortunate youth, "behind those lofty cedars,
which you behold on those high mountains, it is there dwells Shel-Adar,
the father of Fatima. The abode of my father is not far distant from
thence. Fatima is the most beautiful damsel of all those in the
mountains. I offered my service to Shel-Adar, to conduct one particular
part of his flock, and he granted me my request. The father of Fatima
is rich; mine is poor. I fell in love with Fatima, and she fell in love
with me. Her father perceived it, and I was ordered to retire from the
quarter in which lived every thing that was dear to my heart.
"I besought Shel-Adar, in the most suppliant terms, to permit me to
attend his far-distant flocks, where I could have no opportunity to
speak to the object of my soul. My entreaties were in vain, and I was
ordered instantly to retire. My mother is no more; but I have an aged
father, and two brothers so young, that they can yet hardly reach
the most humble of the palm-tree branches. They have long depended
on me for support; but that support is now at an end. Let me die,
hoary-headed sire, and put an end to my woes!"
The pastor went instantly in search of Shel-Adar, and having found
him, thus addressed him. "A dove from Aleppo took refuge at Damos, and
lived with a dove of that country. The master feared that the dove
from Aleppo would one day entice away his companion, and therefore
caused them to be separated. They would eat no grain but that which
they received when together; they languished; they died. O Shel-Adar!
separate not those who cannot live unless they live together!"
Shel-Adar listened with attention to the words of the pastor; and, when
he found that the flock and the horses he had brought with him were now
given to the bewailing youth, he took Fatima by the hand, and led her
to the arms of her lover. They then retired to the neighbouring grove,
where the nymphs and swains from the mountains assembled around them,
crowned them with garlands, and in circles tripped over the enamelled
grass to the sweet notes of the lute.
The day had passed too swiftly, when the twinkling stars appearing in
the heavens, gave the signal for retiring each to their habitation.
The reverend pastor then withdrew, but not till he had uttered these
words:--