passing the road with his cart, in which were about twenty lambs, and
these he was going to carry to the market for sale. These pretty little
lambs were tied together like so many criminals, and lay with their legs
fastened with cords, and their heads hanging down. Their plaintive
bleatings pierced the heart of poor Flora, but they had no manner of
effect on the hardhearted farmer.
As soon as he came opposite the place where little Flora was sitting, he
threw down to her a lamb, which he was carrying across his shoulder,
saying, "There, my girl, is a poor sorry creature that has just died,
and made me some shillings poorer than I was. You may take it if you
will, and do what you like with it."
Flora put down her milk and her bread, and taking up the lamb, viewed it
with looks of tenderness and compassion. "But why should I pity you?"
said she to the lamb. "Either this day or to-morrow they would have run
a great knife through your throat, whereas now you have nothing to
fear."
While she was thus speaking, the warmth of her arms somewhat revived
the lamb, who, opening its eyes a little, made a slight motion, and
cried baa, in a very low tone, as if it were calling for its mother. It
would be impossible to express little Flora's joy on this occasion. She
covered the lamb in her apron, and over that put her stuff petticoat;
she then bent her breast down towards her lap, in order to increase the
warmth, and blew into its mouth and nostrils with all the force she
could. By degrees the poor animal began to stir, and every motion it
made conveyed joy to her little heart.
This success encouraged her to proceed; she crumbled some of her bread
into her pan, and, taking it up in her fingers, she with no small
difficulty forced it between its teeth, which were very firmly closed
together. The lamb, whose only disorder was hunger and fatigue, began to
feel the effects of this nourishment. It first began to stretch out its
limbs, then shake its head, to wag its tail, and at last to prick up its
ears. In a little time, it was able to stand upon its legs, and then
went of itself to Flora's breakfast pan, who was highly delighted to see
it take such pleasing liberties; for she cared not a farthing about
losing her own breakfast, since it saved the life of the little lamb. In
short, in a little time, it recovered its usual strength, and began to
skip and play about its kind deliverer.
It may naturally be supposed, that Flora was greatly pleased at this
unexpected success. She took it up in her arms, and ran with it to the
cottage to shew it her mother. Her Baba, for so Flora called it, became
the first object of her cares, and it constantly shared with her in the
little allowance of bread and milk, which she received for her meals.
Indeed, so fond was she of it, that she would not have exchanged it for
a whole flock. Nor was Baba insensible of the fondness of her little
mistress, since she would follow her wherever she went, would come and
eat out of her hand, skip, and frisk round her, and would bleat most
piteously whenever Flora was obliged to leave her at home.
Baba, however, repaid the services of her little mistress in a more
substantial manner than that of merely dancing about her, for she
brought forth young lambs: those lambs grew up, and brought forth
others; so that, within the space of a few years, Flora had a very
capital stock, that furnished the whole family with food and raiment.
Such, my little readers, are the rewards which Providence bestows on
acts of goodness, tenderness, and humanity.
[Illustration]
THE FRUITFUL VINE
[Illustration]
It was in the beginning of the spring, when Mr. Jackson went to his
country-house, and took with him his little son Junius, in order to
treat him with a walk in the garden. The primroses and violets were then
displaying all their beauties, and many trees had begun to show what
livery they were soon to wear.
After walking some time about the garden, they happened to go into the
summer-house, at the foot of which grew the stump of a vine, which
twisted wildly, and extended its naked branches in a rude and irregular
manner. As soon as little Junius saw this tree, he exclaimed sadly
against the ugly appearance it made, and began to exert all his strength
to pull it up, but he found his efforts in vain, it being too well
rooted to yield to his weak arm. He begged his papa to call the gardener
to grub it up, and make firewood of it; but Mr. Jackson desired his son
to let the tree alone, telling him that he would in a few months give
him his reasons for not complying with his request.
This did not satisfy Junius, who desired his father to look at those
lively crocusses and snow-drops, saying, he could not see why that
barren stump should be kept, which did not produce a single green leaf.
He thought it spoiled and disfigured the garden, and therefore begged
his father would permit him to fetch the gardener to pluck it up.
Mr. Jackson, who could not think of granting him his request, told him,
that it must stand as it then was, at least for some time to come.
Little Junius still persisted in his entreaties, urging how disgraceful
it was to the garden; but his father diverted his attention from the
vine, by turning the conversation.
It so happened, that Mr. Jackson's affairs called him to a different
part of the country, from whence he did not return till the middle of
autumn. He no sooner came home, than he paid a visit to his
country-house, taking little Junius with him. As the day happened to be
exceedingly warm, they retired to enjoy the benefit of the shade, and
entered the arbour, in which the vine stump had before so much offended
his son Junius.
"Ah! papa," said the young gentleman, "how charming and delightful is
this green shade! I am much obliged to you for having that dry and ugly
stump plucked up, which I found so much fault with when we were here
last, and for putting in its place this beautiful plant; I suppose you
did it in order to give me an agreeable surprise. How delightful and
tempting the fruit looks! What fine grapes! some purple, and others
almost black: I see no tree in the garden that looks in so blooming a
state. All have lost their fruit; but this fine one seems in the highest
perfection. See how it is loaded! See those wide-spreading leaves that
hide the clusters. If the fruit be as good as it appears beautiful, it
must be delicious."
Little Junius was in raptures when he tasted one of the grapes, which
his father gave him, and still more when he informed him, that from such
fruit was made that delicious liquor which he sometimes tasted after
dinner. The little fellow was quite astonished on hearing his father
talk thus; but he was far more surprised, when Mr. Jackson told him,
that all those fine leaves, and delicious fruit grew from that very
crooked and misshapen stump, with which he had been so angry in the
spring. His father then asked him, if he should now order the gardener
to pluck it up, and make firewood of it. Junius was much confused; but,
after a short silence, told his papa, that he would rather see every
other tree in the garden cut down than that, so beautiful were its
leaves, and so delicious its fruit.
As Mr. Jackson was a man of good sense, he thus moralized on this
occasion. "You see then, my dear," said he, "how imprudently I should
have acted, had I followed your advice, and cut down this tree. Daily
experience convinces us, that the same thing happens frequently in the
commerce of this world, which has in this instance misled you. When we
see a child badly clothed, and of an unpleasing external appearance, we
are too apt to despise him, and grow conceited on comparing ourselves
with him; and sometimes even go so far as cruelly to address him in
haughty and insulting language. But beware, my dear boy, how you run
into errors by forming a too hasty judgment. It is possible that in a
person so little favoured by nature may dwell an exalted soul, which may
one day astonish the world with the greatness of its virtues, or
enlighten it with knowledge. The most rugged stem may produce the most
delicious fruit, while a straight and stately plant may be worthless and
barren."
[Illustration]
SIR JOHN DENHAM AND HIS WORTHY
TENANT.
[Illustration]
One morning, Sir John Denham having shut himself up in his study, on
some particular business, his servant came to inform him, that one of
his tenants, Farmer Harris, desired to speak with him. Sir John told him
to show the farmer into the drawing-room, and to beg him to stay one
moment, until he had finished writing a letter.
Sir John had three children, Robert, Arthur, and Sophia, who were in the
drawing-room when the farmer was introduced. As soon as he entered, he
saluted them very respectfully, though not with the grace of a
dancing-master, nor were his compliments very elegantly turned. The two
sons looked at each other with a smile of contempt and disrespect.
Indeed, they behaved in such a manner, that the poor farmer blushed, and
was quite out of countenance.
Robert was so shamefully impertinent as to walk round him, holding his
nose, and asking his brother, if he did not perceive something of the
smell of a dung heap. Then he lighted some paper at the fire, and
carried it round the room, in order to disperse, as he said, the
unpleasant smell. Arthur all the while stood laughing most heartily.
Sophia, however, acted in a very different manner; for, instead of
imitating the rudeness of her brothers, she checked them for their
behaviour, made apologies for them to the farmer, and approaching him
with the most complaisant looks, offered him some wine to refresh him,
made him sit down, and took from him his hat and stick to put by.
In a little time, Sir John came out of his study, and approaching the
farmer in a friendly manner, took him by the hand, inquired after the
health of his family, and asked him what had brought him to town. The
farmer replied, that he was come to pay him half a year's rent, and that
he hoped he would not be displeased at his not coming sooner, the roads
having been so bad that he could not till then carry his corn to market.
Sir John told him he was not displeased at his not coming sooner,
because he knew him to be an honest man, who had no occasion to be put
in mind of his debts. The farmer then put down the money, and drew out
of his great coat pocket a jar of candied fruits. "I have brought
something here," said he, "for the young folks. Won't you be so kind,
Sir John, as to let them come out one of these days, and take a mouthful
of the country air with us? I'd try, as well as I could, to entertain
and amuse them. I have two good stout nags, and would come for them
myself, and take them down in my four-wheeled chaise, which will carry
them very safely, I'll warrant it."
Sir John said, that he would certainly take an opportunity to pay him a
visit, and invited him to stay to dinner; but the farmer excused
himself, saying, he had a good deal of business to do in town, and
wished to get home before night. Sir John filled his pocket with cakes
for his children, thanked him for the present he had made to his, and
then took leave of him.
No sooner was the farmer gone, than Sophia, in the presence of her
brothers, acquainted her papa of the very rude reception they had given
the honest farmer. Sir John was exceedingly displeased at their conduct,
and much applauded Sophia for her different behaviour.
Sir John, being seated at breakfast with his children, opened the
farmer's jar of fruit, and he and his daughter ate some of them, which
they thought were very nice; but Robert and Arthur were neither of them
invited to a single taste. Their longing eyes were fixed upon them; but
their father, instead of taking any notice of them, continued conversing
with Sophia, whom he advised never to despise a person merely for the
plainness of his dress; "for," said he, "were we to behave politely to
those only who are finely clothed, we should appear to direct our
attention more to the dress than to the wearer. The most worthy people
are frequently found under the plainest dress, and of this we have an
example in Farmer Harris. It is this man who helps to clothe you, and
also to procure you a proper education, for the money that he and my
other tenants bring me, enables me to do these things."
Breakfast being finished, the remainder of the fruit was ordered to be
locked up; but Robert and his brother, whose longing eyes followed the
jar, clearly saw they were to have none of them. In this they were
confirmed by their father, who told them not to expect to taste any of
those fruits, either on that or any future day.
Robert endeavoured to excuse himself by saying, that it was not his
fault if the farmer did not smell well; and he thought there was no harm
in telling him of it. If people will go among dung, they must expect to
smell of it. "And yet," said Sir John, "if this man were not to manure
his land with dung, his crops would fail him, he would be unable to pay
me his rent; and you yourself would perhaps be obliged to follow a dung
cart." The two boys saw displeasure in their papa's countenance, and
therefore did not presume to say any thing more.
Early on a morning, shortly after, the good farmer came to Sir John
Denham's door, and sent up his compliments, kindly inviting him to make
a little excursion to his farm. Sir John could not resist the friendly
invitation, as a refusal might perhaps have made the honest farmer
uneasy. Robert and Arthur begged very hard to go along with them,
promising to behave more civilly in future; and Sophia begging for them
likewise, Sir John at last consented. They then mounted the four-wheeled
chaise with joyful countenances, and, as the farmer had a pair of good
horses, they were there in a short time.
On their arrival, Mrs. Harris, the farmer's wife, came to the door to
receive them, helped the young gentlefolks out of the chaise, and kissed
them. All their little family, dressed in their best clothes, came out
to compliment their visitors. Sir John would have stopped a moment to
talk with the little ones, and caress them; but Mrs. Harris pressed him
to go in, lest the coffee should grow cold, it being already poured
out; it was placed on a table, covered with a napkin as white as snow.
Indeed, the coffee-pot was not silver, nor the cups china, yet every
thing was in the neatest order. Robert and Arthur, however, looked slily
at each other, and would have burst out into a laugh, had not their
father been present. Mrs. Harris, who was a sensible woman, guessed by
their looks what they thought, and therefore made an apology for the
humble style in which her table was set out, which she owned could not
be equal to what they met with at their own homes; but hoped they would
not be dissatisfied with her homely fare. The cakes she produced were
excellent, for she spared no pains in making them.
As soon as breakfast was over, the farmer asked Sir John to look at his
orchard and grounds; and Mrs. Harris took all the pains she could to
make the walk pleasing to the children. She showed them all her flocks,
which covered the fields, and gave them the prettiest lambs to play
with. She then conducted them to her pigeon-house, where every thing was
clean and wholesome. There were some so young that they were unable to
fly; some of the mothers sitting on their eggs, and others employed in
feeding their young. From the pigeon-house, they proceeded to the
bee-hive: but Mrs. Harris took care that they should not go too near
them, for fear of being stung.
Most of these sights being new to the children, they seemed highly
pleased with them, and were even going to take a second survey of them,
when the farmer's youngest son came to inform them that dinner was
ready. They ate off pewter, and drank out of Delft ware; but Robert and
Arthur, finding themselves so well pleased with their morning-walk,
dared not to indulge themselves in ill-natured observations. Mrs.
Harris, indeed, had spared neither pains nor attention to produce every
thing in the best manner she was able.
Sir John, after dinner, perceiving two fiddles hang up against the wall,
asked who played on those instruments. The farmer answered, he and his
son; and, without saying a word more, he made a sign to his son Luke to
take down the fiddles. They by turns played some old tunes, with which
Sir John seemed highly pleased. As they were going to hang up the
instruments, Sir John desired his two sons to play some of their best
tunes, putting the fiddles into their hands: but they knew not even how
to hold the bow, and their confusion occasioned a general laugh.
Sir John, now thinking it high time to return home, desired the farmer
to order the carriage. Farmer Harris strongly pressed Sir John to stay
all night, but the farmer was at last obliged to submit to Sir John's
excuses.
On his return home, he asked his son Robert how he had liked his
entertainment; and what he should have thought of the farmer, if he had
taken no pains to entertain them. He replied, that he liked his
entertainment; but had he not taken pains to accommodate them, he should
have thought him an unmannerly clown. "Ah, Robert! Robert!" said Sir
John, "this honest man came to our house, and, instead of offering him
any refreshment, you made game of him. Which, then, is the best bred,
you or the farmer?"
Robert blushed, and seemed at a loss what answer to make; but at length
replied, that it was his duty to receive them well, as he got his living
off their lands. "That is true," answered Sir John, "but it may be
easily seen who draws the greatest profit from my lands, the farmer or
I. He indeed feeds his horses with hay which he gets off my meadows, but
his horses in return plough the fields, which otherwise would be overrun
with weeds. He also feeds his cows and his sheep with the hay; but their
dung is useful in giving fertility to the ground. His wife and children
are fed with the harvest corn; but they in return devote the summer to
weeding the crops; and afterwards, some in reaping them, and some in
threshing. All these labours end in my advantage. The rest of the hay
and corn he takes to market to sell, and with the produce thereof he
pays his rent. From this, it is evident, who derives the greatest profit
from my lands."
Here a long pause ensued; but, at last, Robert confessed that he saw his
error. "Remember, then, all your life," said Sir John "what has now been
offered to your eyes and ears. This farmer, so homely dressed, whose
manners you have considered as so rustic, this man is better bred than
you; and, though he knows nothing of Latin, he knows much more than you,
and things of much greater use. You see, therefore, how unjust it is to
despise any one for the plainness of his dress, and the rusticity of his
manners. You may understand a little Latin, but you know not how to
plough, sow grain, or reap the harvest, nor even to prune a tree. Sit
down with being convinced that you have despised your superior."
[Illustration]
ALFRED AND DORINDA.
[Illustration]
Mr. Venables, one fine summer day, having promised his two children,
Alfred and Dorinda, to treat them with a walk in a fine garden a little
way out of town, went up into his dressing-room to prepare himself,
leaving the two children in the parlour.
Alfred was so delighted with the thoughts of the pleasure he should
receive from his walk, that he jumped about the room, without thinking
of any evil consequence that could happen; but unluckily the skirt of
his coat brushed against a very valuable flower, which his father was
rearing with great pains, and which he had unfortunately just removed
from before the window, in order to screen it from the scorching heat of
the sun.
"O brother, brother!" said Dorinda, taking up the flower which was
broken off from the stalk, "what have you done!" The sweet girl was
holding the flower in her hand, when her father, having dressed himself,
came into the parlour. "Bless me! Dorinda," said Mr. Venables, in an
angry tone, "how could you be so thoughtless as to pluck a flower, which
you have seen me take so much care to rear, in order to have taken seed
from it?" Poor Dorinda was in such a fright, that she could only beg her
papa not to be angry. Mr. Venables, growing more calm, replied he was
not angry, but reminded her, that as they were going to a garden where
there was a variety of flowers, she might have waited till they got
there to indulge her fancy. He therefore hoped she would not take it
amiss if he left her at home.
This was a terrible situation for Dorinda, who held her head down, and
said, nothing. Little Alfred, however, was of too generous a temper to
keep silence any longer. He went up to his papa, with his eyes swimming
in tears, and told him, that it was not his sister but himself, who had
accidentally beaten off the head of the flower with the flap of his
coat. He therefore desired, that his sister might go abroad, and he stay
at home.
Mr. Venables was so delighted with the generosity of his children, that
he instantly forgave the accident, and tenderly kissed them both, being
happy to see them have such an affection for each other. He told them,
that he loved them equally alike, and that they should both go with him.
Alfred and Dorinda kissed each other, and leaped about for joy.
They all three then walked to the garden, where they saw plants of the
most valuable kinds. Mr. Venables observed with pleasure how Dorinda
pressed her clothes on each side, and Alfred kept the skirts of his coat
under his arms, for fear of doing any damage in their walk among the
flowers.
The flower Mr. Venables had lost would have given him some pain had it
happened from any other circumstance; but the pleasure he received from
seeing such mutual affection and regard subsist between his two
children, amply repaid him for the loss of his flower. I cannot omit
the opportunity that here presents itself, of reminding my young
friends, not only how necessary, but how amiable and praiseworthy it is,
for brothers and sisters to live together in harmony. It is not only
their most important interest to do so, but what should be a still
stronger argument with them, such are the commands of Him who made them.
[Illustration]
ROSINA; OR, THE FROWARD GIRL
REFORMED.
[Illustration]
I would recommend to all my little readers who have had the misfortune
to contract a vicious habit, very attentively to peruse the following
historical fragment, in which, if they will but properly reflect, they
will see that amendment is no very difficult thing, when once they form
a sincere resolution to accomplish it.
Rosina was the joy of her parents until the seventh year of her age, at
which period the glowing light of reason begins to unfold itself, and
make us sensible of our infantine faults; but this period of life had a
different effect on Rosina, who had then contracted an unhappy
disposition, which cannot better be described, than by the practices of
those snarling curs that grumble incessantly, and seem always ready to
run and bite at those that approach them.
If a person touched any of her playthings, though it were by mistake,
she would be out of temper for hours, and murmur about the house as
though she had been robbed. If any one attempted to correct her, though
in the most gentle manner, she would fly into a rage, equalled only by
the fury of contending elements, and the uproar of the angry billows of
the ocean.
Her father and mother saw this unaccountable change, with inexpressible
sorrow; for neither they, nor any in the house, could now bear with her.
Indeed, she would sometimes seem sensible of her errors, and would often
shed tears in private, on seeing herself thus become the object of
contempt to every one, not excepting her parents; but an ill habit had
got the better of her temper, and she consequently every day grew worse
and worse.
One evening, which happened to be new year's eve, she saw her mother
going towards her room with a basket under her cloak. Rosina followed
her mother, who ordered her to go back to the parlour immediately. As
Rosina went thither, she threw about all the stools and chairs that
stood in her way.
About half an hour after, her mamma sent for her; and great indeed was
her surprise on seeing the room lighted up with a number of candles and
the table covered with the most elegant toys.