ransacked Mrs. Adams's library for books that had pictures in them,
which she would show to Bella; and during the time that her eyes were
darkened by her disorder, which was for near a week, Marian exerted
herself to the utmost to divert her. When Bella grew impatient at the
want of sight, Marian told her stories of what happened in the village;
and as she had made a good use of her schoolmaster's instructions, she
read whatever she thought would be amusing and diverting to her.
Thus Marian was not only her nurse, but philosopher also; for she would
sometimes say to her, "God Almighty will have pity upon you, as you have
had pity on me. Will you let me sing a pretty song to divert you?" Bella
had only to make a sign, and the little maid would sing her every song
she had learnt from the village nymphs and swains, endeavouring by this
means to soften the affliction of her generous friend.
At length she began to open her eyes, her lowness of spirits left her,
the pock dried up, and her appetite returned. Her face was still covered
with red spots; but Marian looked at her with more pleasure than ever,
from the consideration of the danger she had been in of losing her;
while the grateful Bella, on the other hand, regarded her with equal
tenderness. "In what manner," she would sometimes say, "can I think of
requiting you, to my own satisfaction, for the tender care you have
taken of me?"
Miss Bella, as soon as she found herself perfectly recovered, asked her
mamma in what manner she could recompense her faithful and tender nurse;
but Mrs. Adams, whose joy on the recovery of her daughter was
inexpressible, desired Bella to leave that matter to her, as she
likewise was equally in her debt.
Mrs. Adams gave private orders to have a complete suit of clothes made
for Marian; and Bella desired that she might have the pleasure of
dressing her the first time she was permitted to go into the garden. The
day arrived, and it was indeed a day of rejoicing throughout the whole
family: for Bella was beloved by all the servants, as well as by all her
acquaintance.
This was a joyful day to Miss Bella, who had the double satisfaction of
seeing her health restored, and of beholding her little friend dressed
out in her new clothes! It is much easier to conceive than to express
the emotions of these two tender hearts, when they again found
themselves in the garden, on the very spot where their acquaintance
first commenced. They tenderly embraced each other, and vowed an
inseparable friendship.
It is evidently clear, from the story of Bella and Marian, how
advantageous it is to be generous and humane. Had not Bella, by her
kindness, attached Marian to her interest, she might have sunk under the
severe indisposition, from which the kind attentions and the unremitting
assiduities of Marian were perhaps the chief means of restoring her.
[Illustration]
LITTLE JACK.
[Illustration]
One day, as Mr. Glover was returning home after taking a ride over his
estates, and passing by the wall of a burying-ground belonging to a
small village, he heard the sound of groans and lamentations. As he had
a heart that was ever open to the distresses of others, he alighted from
his horse to see from whence the voice proceeded, and got over the
inclosure.
On his entering the place, he perceived a grave fresh filled up, upon
which, at full length, lay a child about five years old, who was crying
sadly. Mr. Glover went up to him, and tenderly asked him what he did
there. "I am calling my mother," said he; "they laid her here yesterday,
and she does not get up!"
Mr. Glover then told him, that his poor mother was dead, and would get
up no more. "I know," replied the poor child, "that they tell me she is
dead, but I do not believe it. She was perfectly well when she left me
the other day with old Susan our neighbour; she told me she would soon
come back, but she has not kept her word. My father has gone away too,
and also my little brother; and the other boys of the village will not
play with me, but say very naughty things about my father and mother,
which vexes me more than all. O mammy, get up, get up!"
Mr. Glover's eyes were filled with tears; he asked him where his father
and brother were gone to. He replied, that he did not know where his
father was; and as to his little brother, he was the day before taken to
another town, by a person dressed in black just like their parson. Mr.
Glover then asked him where he lived. "With our neighbour Susan," said
he. "I am to be there till my mother comes back, as she promised me. I
love my other mammy Susan very well; but I love my mammy that lies here
a great deal better. O mother! mother! why do you lie so long? when will
you get up?"
"My poor child," said Mr. Glover, "it is in vain to call her, for she
will awake no more!"--"Then," said the poor little boy, "I will lie down
here, and sleep by her. Ah! I saw her when they put her into a great
chest to carry her away. Oh, how white she was! and how cold! I will lie
down here and sleep by her!"
The tears now started from the eyes of Mr. Glover, for he could no
longer conceal them, but stooping down, took the child up in his arms,
and tenderly kissed him, asking him what was his name. "When I am a good
boy, they call me Jackey; and when I behave amiss, they say, you Jack."
Mr. Glover, though in tears, could not help smiling at the innocence and
simplicity of this answer, and begged Jackey to conduct him to the house
of the good Susan.
The child very readily consented, and, running before him as fast as his
legs would carry him, conducted Mr. Glover to Susan's door. Susan was
not a little surprised, on seeing Jack conduct a gentleman into her
cottage, and then running to her, hid his little head in her lap,
crying, "This is she! this is my other mammy!" Mr. Glover, however, did
not keep her long in suspense, but related to her what he had just seen,
and begged Susan to give him the history of the parents of this little
boy.--Susan desired the gentleman to be seated, and then related to him
the following particulars:
"The father of this poor child is a shoemaker, and his house is next to
mine. His wife, though a handsome, was not a healthy woman; but she was
a careful and good housewife. It is about seven years since they were
married, always lived together on the best terms, and undoubtedly would
have been perfectly happy, had their affairs been a little better.
"John had nothing beyond what his trade produced him; and Margaret, his
wife, being left an orphan, had only a little money which she had
scraped together in the service of a worthy neighbouring curate. With
this they bought the most necessary articles of household furniture, and
a small stock of leather to begin business with. However, by dint of
labour and good management, they for some years contrived to live a
little comfortably.
"As children increased, so did their difficulties, and misfortunes
seldom come alone. Poor Margaret, who had daily worked in the fields
during hay-time, to bring home a little money to her husband at night,
fell ill, and continued so all the harvest and winter. John's customers
left him one after another, fearing that work could not go on properly
in a sick house.
"Though Margaret at last grew better, yet her husband's work continued
to decline, and he was obliged to borrow money to pay the apothecary;
while poor Margaret continued so weakly that nobody thought it worth
their while to employ her. The rent of their house and the interest of
the money they had borrowed were heavy loads upon them; and they were
frequently obliged to endure hunger themselves, in order to give a
morsel of bread to their poor children.
"To add to their misfortune, the hardhearted landlord threatened to put
poor John in jail, if he did not pay the two quarters' rent that were
due; and though he is the richest man in the place, it was with the
greatest difficulty that they could obtain a month's delay. He declared
if they did not at the end of that time pay the whole, he would sell
their furniture, and put John in prison. Their house was now a picture
of melancholy and patient distress. How often have I lamented my
inability to assist the distresses of this honest couple!
"I went myself to their landlord, and begged of him, for God's sake, to
have some compassion on these unfortunate people, and even offered to
pawn to him all I was possessed of in the world; but he treated me with
contempt, and told me I was as bad as they were. I was obliged, however,
being only a poor widow, to bear the insult with patience, and contented
myself by easing my heart with a flood of tears.
"I advised poor Margaret to make her distresses known to the worthy
clergyman, with whom she had so long lived with an unblemished
character, and to beg of him to advance them a little money. Margaret
replied, that she supposed her husband would not like that proposal,
fearing that their friend might suspect their necessities proceeded
from mismanagement.
"It is but a few days ago since she brought me her two children, and
begged me to take care of them till the evening. Her intention was to go
to a village at a little distance, and endeavour to get some hemp from
the weaver to spin, with a view to get something towards the debt. As
she could not persuade herself to wait upon the clergyman, her husband
had undertaken it, and had accordingly set off on that business. As
Margaret was going, she clasped her two children to her breast and
kissed them, little thinking it was to be the last time she should ever
see them.
"Soon after she was gone, I heard some noise in her house, but supposed
it might be only the flapping of the door. However, the evening came on,
and my neighbour did not come to fetch her children as usual. I
therefore determined to go to her house, and see if she was come home. I
found the door open and went in; but how shall I express my horror and
astonishment, when I found poor Margaret lying dead at the foot of the
stairs!
"After trying in vain to recover her, I fetched the surgeon, who shook
his head, and said all was over. The coroner's inquest brought in their
verdict accidental death; but, as her husband was missing, ill-natured
people raised suspicious reports. Her death, however, was easily to be
accounted for; she had returned to her house, to go up to the loft for a
bag to hold her hemp, and as her eyes were still dimmed with tears, she
had missed her step in coming down, and fallen from the top of the
stairs, with her head foremost, on the ground. The bag that lay by her
side showed this to have been the case.
"I made an offer to the parish officers to keep the two children myself,
not doubting, but that the goodness of God, even a poor widow as I was,
would enable me to support them. The worthy curate came yesterday to see
the unfortunate Margaret, and great indeed was his affliction when I
related to him what I have been now telling you. I then told him, that
John was gone to him; but I was much surprised, when he declared he had
seen nothing of him. The two children came up to him; and little Jack
asked him, if he could not awake his mother, who had been a long time
asleep. This brought tears into the eyes of the good curate, who
proposed to take the two children home to his own house and bring them
up under his care; but as I could not consent to part with both these
innocents, it was at last agreed, that he should take the younger and
leave me the elder.
"He asked little Jack if he should not like to go with him. 'What, where
my mother is?' said Jack, 'oh! yes, with all my heart!' 'No, my little
man,' replied the curate, 'I do not mean there, but to my handsome house
and garden.'--'No, no,' answered Jack, 'I will stay here with Susan, and
every day go to where my mother is; for I would rather go there than to
your handsome garden.'
"This worthy curate did not choose to vex the child more, who went and
hid himself behind my bed-curtains. He told me he would send his man for
the younger, who would be more trouble to me than the elder child, and
before he went, left me some money towards the support of this.
"This, Sir, is the whole of this unfortunate business. What makes me
exceedingly uneasy at present is, that John does not return, and that
it is reported in the parish, that he has connected himself with a gang
of smugglers, and that his wife put an end to her life through grief.
These stories have obtained such credit in the village, that even the
children have got it; and whenever poor Jack attempts to mix with them,
they drive him away as though he were infectious. Hence the poor little
fellow is quite dull, and now never goes out but to pay a sad visit to
his mother's grave."
Mr. Glover, who had silently listened to this melancholy tale, was
deeply affected by it. Little Jack was now got close up to Susan; he
looked at her with fondness, and often called her his mother. Mr. Glover
at length broke silence, and told Susan she was a worthy woman, and that
God would not fail to reward her for her generosity towards this
unfortunate family.
"Ah!" said Susan, "I am happy in what I have done, and I wish I could
have done more; but my only possession consists in my cottage, a little
garden, in which I have a few greens, and what I can earn by the labour
of my hands. Yet for these eight years that I have been a widow, God
has not suffered me to want, and I trust he never will."
Mr. Glover reminded her, that keeping this little boy must be very
inconvenient to her, and that she would find it difficult to supply him
with clothes. She answered, "I leave the care of that to Him who clothes
the fields with grass and the trees with leaves. He has given me fingers
to sew and spin, and they shall work to clothe my poor little orphan. I
will never part with him."
Mr. Glover was astonished at this good woman's resolution. "I must not
suffer you alone," said he, "to have all the honour of befriending this
poor orphan, since God has bestowed on me those blessings of affluence
which you do not enjoy. Permit me to take care of the education of this
sweet boy; and, since I find that you cannot live separate, I will take
you both home with me, and provide for you. Sell your cottage and
garden, and make my house your own, where you may spend the remainder of
your life amidst peace and plenty."
Susan gave Mr. Glover a most affectionate look, but begged he would
excuse her accepting his offer, as she was fond of the spot on which she
was born, and had lived in so long. Besides, she added, she could not
suit herself to the bustle of a great house, and should soon grow sick,
were she to live upon dainties in idleness. "If you will please,"
continued Susan, "now and then to send him a small matter to pay for his
schooling, and to supply him with tools when he shall take to business,
God will not fail to reward you for your bounty. As I have no child, he
shall be as one to me, and whatever I possess shall be his at my death."
Mr. Glover, finding she did not choose to quit her habitation, told her,
he should every month send her what would be sufficient for her support,
and that he would sometimes come and see them himself. Susan lifted up
her hands to heaven, and bid Jackey go and ask the gentleman's blessing,
which he did. He then threw down his purse on the table, bid them a
farewell, and mounting his horse, took the road that led to the parish
in which the worthy curate lived.
On Mr. Glover's arrival there, he found the worthy curate reading a
letter, on which he had shed some tears. He explained the cause of his
visit to this worthy divine, and asked him, if he knew what was become
of the father of the two little unfortunate children. The curate
replied, that it was not a quarter of an hour since he received a letter
from him to his wife. "It was," said the curate, "inclosed in one to me,
and contains a small draft for the use of his wife; he requests me to
deliver it to her, and to console her for his absence. As she is dead, I
have opened the letter, and here it is; be so kind as to read it." Mr.
Glover took the letter, the particulars of which were as follow:
He hoped his wife would not give herself any uneasiness on account of
his absence. As he was going to the clergyman's house, he began to think
that it could be of no use to go thus a begging, and, if he should
borrow money, he was not sure he should be able to pay it, which he
thought would be as bad as thieving. At this instant a thought struck
into his head, that he was young and hearty, stout and able-bodied, and
therefore could see no harm if he entered on board a man of war for a
few years, where he might stand a chance of getting a fortune for his
wife and children, at least get enough to pay all his debts. While he
was thinking of this matter, a press-gang came up, and asked him if he
would enter, telling him that they would give him five pounds bounty.
The thought of receiving five pounds fixed his determination at once,
and he accordingly entered, received the money, and sent every farthing
of it to his wife, with his love and blessing, and hoping they would all
join in their prayers to God for him. He hoped the war would soon be
over, and that he should then return with inexpressible joy to his dear
wife.
Mr. Glover's eyes swimmed with tears all the time he was reading the
letter. When he had finished it, "This man," said he, "may indeed be
justly called a good husband, a tender father, and an honest man. There
is an expressive pleasure in being a friend to such characters as these.
I will pay John's debts, and enable him to set up his trade again. Let
his money be kept for the children, to be divided between them, as soon
as they shall be at an age to know how to make use of it, and I will add
something to this sacred deposit."
So greatly was the worthy curate affected, that he could make no reply;
and Mr. Glover perfectly understanding the cause of his silence,
squeezed him by the hand, and took his leave; but he completely
accomplished all his designs in favour of John, who at length returned,
and enjoyed an easiness of circumstances beyond any thing he had before
experienced.
Nothing now disturbed John's felicity, but the sorrowful reflection of
having lost his dear Margaret; she had experienced part of his
misfortunes, but had not lived to share in his felicity; and John's only
consolation is perpetually to talk about her to Susan, whom he looks
upon as a sister to him, and as a mother to his children. Little Jack
frequently visits his mother's grave; and has made so good a use of Mr.
Glover's generosity, in improving himself, that this excellent gentleman
intends placing him in a very desirable situation. John's younger son
has likewise a share in his favours; and whenever Mr. Glover's mind is
oppressed, a visit to this spot, where such an affecting scene passed,
and where he has been enabled to do so much good, never fails to raise
his spirits.
My readers will from hence learn, that God always assists those who put
their trust in him. It is on Him we must rely on every occasion, and he
will not desert us, provided we ourselves also try to surmount
difficulties by patience and industry.
[Illustration]
LEONORA AND ADOLPHUS.
[Illustration]
A young widow lady, whose name was Lenox, had two children, Leonora and
Adolphus, both equally deserving the affections of a parent, which,
however, were unequally shared. Adolphus was the favourite, which
Leonora very early began to discover, and consequently felt no small
share of uneasiness on the occasion: but she was prudent enough to
conceal her sorrow.
Leonora, though not remarkably handsome, had a mind that made ample
amends for the want of beauty; but her brother was a little Cupid, on
whom Mrs. Lenox lavished all her kisses and caresses. It is no wonder
that the servants, to gain the favour of their mistress, were very
attentive to humour him in all his whimsies. Leonora, on the other hand,
was consequently slighted by every one in the house; and, so far from
wishing to study her humour, they scarcely treated her with common
civility.
Finding herself frequently alone and neglected, and taken little notice
of by any one, she would privately shed a torrent of tears; but she
always took care, that not the least mark of discontent should escape
her in the presence of any one. Her constant attention to the observance
of her duty, her mildness, and endeavours to convince her mother that
her mind was superior to her face, had no effect; for beauty alone
attracts the attention of those who examine no further than external
appearances.
Mrs. Lenox, who was continually chiding Leonora, and expecting from her
perfections far beyond the reach of those more advanced in years, at
last fell sick. Adolphus seemed very sorry for his mother's illness; but
Leonora, with the softest looks and most languishing countenance,
fancied she perceived in her mother an abatement of her accustomed
rigour towards her, and far surpassed her brother in her attention to
her parent. She endeavoured to supply her slightest wants, exerted all
her penetration to discover them, that she might even spare her the pain
of asking for any thing. So long as her mother's illness had the least
appearance of danger, she never quitted her pillow, and neither threats
nor commands could prevail on her to take the least repose.
Mrs. Lenox, however, at length recovered, which afforded inexpressible
pleasure to the amiable Leonora; but she soon experienced a renewal of
her misfortunes, as her mother began to treat her with her usual
severity and indifference.
As Mrs. Lenox was one day talking to her children on the pain she had
suffered during her illness, and was praising them for the anxiety they
had shown on her account, she desired them to ask of her whatever they
thought would be the most pleasing to them, and they should certainly be
indulged in it, provided their demands were not unreasonable.
First addressing herself to Adolphus, she desired to know what he would
choose: and his desire was to have a cane and a watch, which his mother
promised he should have the next morning. "And pray, Leonora," said Mrs.
Lenox, "what is your wish?"--"Me, mamma, me?" answered she, trembling,
"if you do but love me, I have nothing else to wish for!"--"This is not
an answer;" replied the mother, "you shall have your recompense
likewise, miss, therefore speak your wish instantly."
However accustomed Leonora might have been to this severe tone, yet she
felt it on this occasion more sensibly than ever she had before. She
threw herself at her mother's feet, looked up to her with eyes swimming
in tears, and instantly hiding her face with both her hands, lisped out
these words: "Only give me two kisses, such as you give my brother."
What heart could fail to relent at these words? Mrs. Lenox felt all the
tender sentiments of a parent arise in her heart, and, taking her up in
her arms, she clasped her to her breast, and loaded her with kisses. The
sweet Leonora, who now, for the first time, received her mother's
caresses, gave way to the effusion of her joy and love; she kissed her
cheeks, her eyes, her breasts, and her hands; and Adolphus, who loved
his sister, mixed his embraces with hers. Thus all had a share in this
scene of unexpected happiness.
The affection which Mrs. Lenox had so long withheld from Leonora, she
now repaid with interest, and her daughter returned it with the most
dutiful attention. Adolphus, so far from being jealous at this change of
his mother's affection for his sister, showed every mark of pleasure on
the occasion, and he afterwards reaped a reward of so generous a
conduct; for his natural disposition having been, in some measure,
injured by the too great indulgence of his mother, he gave way in his
early days to those little indiscretions, which would have lost him the
heart of his parent, had not his sister stepped in between them. It was
to the advice of this amiable girl that Adolphus at last owed his entire
reformation of manners. They all three then experienced, that true
happiness cannot exist in a family, unless the most perfect union
between brothers and sisters, and the most lively and equal affection
between parents and children, are constantly and strictly adhered to.
[Illustration]
FLORA AND HER LITTLE LAMB
[Illustration]
A poor countryman's little daughter, whose name was Flora, was one
morning sitting by the side of the road, holding on her lap a pan of
milk for her breakfast, into which she was breaking some bits of coarse
black bread.