which she gave her, for whom those toys were intended, on which she read
the following words, written in large letters; "For an amiable little
girl, in return for her good behaviour." Rosina looked down, and could
not say a word. On her mother's asking her for whom those toys were
intended, she replied, with tears in her eyes, that they could not be
intended for her.
Her parent then showed her another paper, desiring her to see if that
did not concern her. Rosina took it, and read as follows: "For a froward
little girl, who is sensible of her faults, and in beginning a new year
will take pains to amend them." Rosina, instantly throwing herself into
her mother's arms, and crying bitterly, said, "O! that is I, that is I."
The tears also fell from her parent's eyes, partly for sorrow, on
account of her daughter's faults, and partly through joy in the
promising hope of her amendment.
"Come, Rosina," said she to her, after a short pause, "and take what was
intended for you; and may God, who has heard your resolution, give you
ability to fulfil it." Rosina, however, insisted on it, that it belonged
to the person described in the first paper, and therefore desired her
mamma to keep those things for her till she answered that description.
This answer gave her mother a deal of pleasure, and she immediately put
all the toys into a drawer, giving the key of it to Rosina, and telling
her to open the drawer whenever she should think it proper so to do.
Several weeks passed without the least complaint against Rosina, who had
performed wonders on herself. She then went to her mamma, threw her arms
round her neck, and asked her if she thought she had then any right to
open the drawer. "Yes, my dear," said her mother, clasping her tenderly
in her arms, "you may now open the drawer with great propriety. But pray
tell me how you have so well managed to get the better of your temper?"
Rosina said it had cost her a deal of trouble; but every morning and
evening, and indeed almost every hour in the day, she prayed to God to
assist her.
Her mother shed tears of delight on this occasion; and Rosina became not
only mistress of the toys, but of the affections of all her friends and
acquaintances. Her mother related this happy change in the temper of her
daughter in the presence of a little miss, who gave way to the same
unhappy disposition; when the little girl was so struck with the
relation of it, that she immediately determined to set about the work of
reformation, in order to become as amiable as Rosina. Her attempt was
not made in vain; and Rosina had the satisfaction to find, that, in
being useful to herself, she had contributed to make others happy. My
youthful readers, if any of you labour under bad habits, set about a
reformation immediately, lest you become hardened by time, and thus
totally destroy your present and future happiness.
[Illustration]
LITTLE ANTHONY.
[Illustration]
On one of those fine mornings, which the month of June frequently
affords us, little Anthony was busily employed in preparing to set out
with his father on a party of pleasure, which, for several days before,
had engrossed all his attention. Though, in general, he found it very
difficult to rise early, yet this morning he got up soon, without being
called, so much was his mind fixed on the intended jaunt.
It often happens, with young people in particular, that, all on a
sudden, they lose the object they flattered themselves they were almost
in possession of. So it fared with little Anthony; for, just as they
were ready to set out, the sky darkened all at once, the clouds grew
thick, and a tempestuous wind bent down the trees, and raised a cloud of
dust.
Little Anthony was running down the garden every minute to see how the
sky looked, and then jumped up-stairs to examine the barometer; but
neither the sky nor the barometer seemed to forbode any thing in his
favour. Notwithstanding all this, he gave his father the most flattering
hopes that it would still be a fair day, and that these unfavourable
appearances would soon disperse. He doubted not but that it would be one
of the finest days in the world; and he therefore thought, that the
sooner they set out the better, as it would be a pity to lose a moment
of their time.
His father, however, did not choose to be too hasty in giving credit to
his son's predictions, and thought it more advisable to wait a little.
While Anthony and his father were reasoning on this matter, the clouds
burst, and down came a very heavy shower of rain. Poor Anthony was now
doubly disappointed, and vented his grief in tears, refusing to listen
to the voice of consolation.
The rain continued, without intermission, till three o'clock in the
afternoon, when the clouds began to disperse, the sun resumed its
splendour, the element its clearness, and all nature breathed the odours
of the spring. As the weather brightened, so did the countenance of
little Anthony, and by degrees he recovered his good humour.
His father now thought it necessary to indulge him with a little walk,
and off they set. The calmness of the air, the music of the feathered
songsters, the lively and enchanting verdure of the fields, and the
sweet perfumes that breathed all around them, completely quieted and
composed the troubled heart of the disappointed Anthony.
"Do not you observe," said his father to him, "how agreeable the change
is of every thing before you? You cannot have yet forgotten how dull
every thing appeared to you yesterday; the ground was parched up for
want of rain; the flowers had lost their colour, and hung their heads in
languor; and, in short, all nature seemed to be in a state of inaction.
What can be the reason, that nature has so suddenly put on such a
different aspect?"--"That is easily accounted for, Sir," said Anthony,
"it undoubtedly is occasioned by the rain that has fallen to-day."
Anthony had no sooner pronounced these words, than he saw his father's
motive for asking him the question. He now plainly perceived the
impropriety of his late conduct, in being so unhappy about what was
evidently so universally serviceable. He blushed, but his father took no
notice of it, judging that his own sense would sufficiently teach him
another time, without reluctance, to sacrifice selfish pleasure to the
general good of the community at large.
[Illustration]
THE HISTORY OF JONATHAN, THE
GARDENER.
[Illustration]
In the city of Lincoln lived an honest and industrious gardener, whose
name was Jonathan, and who was in general considered as the most skilful
in his profession of any in that county. His fruits were much larger
than any of his neighbours, and were generally supposed to have a more
exquisite flavour.
It was the pride of all the neighbouring gentlemen to have Jonathan's
fruits to form their desserts, so that he was under no necessity of
sending the produce of his garden to market, as he was always sure of
meeting with a sale for them at home. His prudence and assiduity
increased as his good fortune enlarged, and, instead of riches making
him idle, he attended more closely to cultivation.
Such a character and situation could not fail of procuring him a
suitable matrimonial mate, and he accordingly married a young woman in
the neighbourhood, whose name was Bella, and who was both prudent and
handsome. The first year of their marriage was as comfortable as they
could wish for; for Bella assisted her husband in his business, and
every thing prospered with them.
This happiness, however, was not to last long; for near his house lived
another gardener, whose name was Guzzle, and who spent his time, from
morning to night, in an alehouse. The merry and thoughtless humour of
Guzzle, by degrees, began to be pleasing to Jonathan, who soon fell into
the same ruinous error. At first, he only went now and then to drink
with him, and talk to him about gardening; but he very soon began to
drop the subject of plants, and delight only in the praises of malt.
Bella saw this change in her husband with the utmost grief and
consternation. As yet, not having sufficient experience to attend the
wall-fruit herself, she was frequently obliged to fetch him home to his
work, when she generally found him in a state of intoxication. It would
often have been better had he kept out of the garden than gone into it;
for his head was generally so muddled with beer, when he went to work on
his trees, that his pruning-knife committed the greatest depredations,
cutting away those branches which ought to have been left, and leaving
those that were useless.
Hence it was not to be wondered at, that the garden fell off in the
quality and quantity of its fruit, and the more Jonathan perceived the
decay, the more he gave himself up to drinking. As his garden gradually
failed in procuring him the means of getting strong liquor, he first
parted with his furniture, and then with his linen and clothes.
Bella, in the mean time, did what little she could to keep things
together; but all to no purpose. One day, when she was gone to market
with some roots she had reared herself, he went and sold his working
utensils, and immediately went and spent all with Guzzle. Judge what
must be the situation of poor Bella on her return! It was indeed a
heart-breaking consideration, to be thus reduced to poverty by the folly
of her husband; but yet she loved him, and equally felt for him as for
herself, but still more for an infant, as yet but six months old, and
which received its nourishment from her breast.
In the evening Jonathan came home drunk, and, swearing at his wife,
asked her for something to eat. Bella handed him a knife, and put before
him a large basket covered with her apron; Jonathan, in a pet, pulled
away the apron; but his astonishment was inexpressible, when he beheld
nothing in the basket but his own child fast asleep. "Eat that," said
Bella, "for I have nothing else to give you. It is your own child, and
if you do not devour it, famine and misery will in a short time."
Jonathan seemed almost petrified into a stone at these words, and for
some time remained speechless, with his eyes fixed on his little
sleeping son. At last recovering himself, quite sobered, his heart eased
itself in tears and lamentations. He rose and embraced his wife, asked
her pardon, and promised to amend; and what was still better, he was
faithful to his promise.
Though his wife's father had for some time refused to see him, yet, on
being made acquainted with his promises of reformation, he advanced
money sufficient to enable him to restore his garden to its former
state, Jonathan did not deceive him; for his garden put on another
appearance, and cut a more splendid figure than ever. After this,
neither his prudence nor activity forsook him, but he became at once,
and continued so even to old age, the honest man, the indulgent husband,
and the tender father. He would sometimes tell this tale of his follies
to his son, as a lesson to him, how dangerous it is to get connected
with bad company, and how easily human nature is led astray by the
poison of example. The son, who thus acquired knowledge at the father's
former expense, became a wise and prudent man, and conceived such an
aversion to idleness and drinking, that he continued all his life as
sober as he was laborious. Thus was an innocent infant the cause of
reformation in a deluded father.
[Illustration]
THE SPARROW'S NEST.
[Illustration]
Billy Jessamy, having one day espied a sparrow's nest under the eves of
the house, ran directly to inform his sisters of the important
discovery, and they immediately fell into a consultation concerning the
manner in which they should take it. It was at last agreed, that they
should wait till the young ones were fledged, that Billy should then get
a ladder up against the wall, and that his sisters should hold it fast
below, while he mounted after the prize.
As soon as they thought these poor little creatures were properly
fledged, preparations were made for the execution of their intended
plan. The old birds flew backwards and forwards about the nest, and
expressed, as well as they were able, the sorrow and affliction they
felt on being robbed of their young. Billy and his two sisters, however,
paid no regard to their piteous moans; for they took the nest, with
three young ones in it.
As they had now got the innocent prisoners in their possession, the next
thing to be considered was, what they should do with them. The younger
sister, being of a mild and tender-hearted disposition, proposed putting
them into a cage, promising to look after them herself, and to see that
they wanted for nothing. She reminded her brother and sister how pretty
it would be to see and hear those birds when grown up.
Billy, however, was of a very different opinion; for he insisted on it,
that it would be better to pluck off their feathers, and then set them
down in the middle of the room, as it would be very funny to see how
they would hop about without feathers. The elder sister was of the same
way of thinking as the younger; but Billy was determined to have the
matter entirely his own way.
The two little ladies, finding they were not likely to have things as
they wished, gave up the point without much hesitation; for Billy had
already begun to strip the poor helpless birds. As fast as he plucked
them, he put them down on the floor, and it was not long before the
little birds were stripped of all their tender feathers. The poor things
cried _Weet!_ _Weet!_ and complained in the most piteous accents; they
shook their little wings, and shuddered with cold.
Billy, however, who had not the least kind of feeling for their
sufferings, carried his persecutions still further, pushing them with
his toe, to make them go on when they stopped, and laughing most
heartily whenever they staggered or tumbled down through weakness.
Though his two sisters at first setting off had pleaded against this
cruel kind of sport, yet, seeing their brother so merry on the occasion,
they forgot their former dictates of humanity, and joined in the cruel
sport with him. Such, as we saw in the preceding tale, is the influence
of bad example!
In the midst of this cruel kind of enjoyment, at a distance they saw
their tutor approaching. This put them into some flurry, and each
pocketed a bird. They would have avoided their tutor, but he called to
them, and asked their reason for wishing to shun him. They approached
him very slowly, with their eyes cast downwards, which convinced him
that something amiss was going forwards.
On their answering, that they were only playing, their tutor observed to
them, that they very well knew he never denied them innocent amusement,
but, on the contrary, was always glad to see them cheerful and happy. He
took notice that each held one of their hands in their pocket, upon
which he insisted on their pulling them out, and letting him see what it
was they endeavoured to conceal.
They were obliged to comply, much against their will, when each
produced a poor bird, that had been stripped of its feathers. The tutor
was filled with pity and indignation, and gave each of them a look, that
was more dreadful than any words he could have spoken. After some
silence, Billy attempted to justify himself by saying, that it was a
droll sight to see sparrows hopping about without feathers, and he could
see no harm in it.
"Can you then," said the tutor to Billy, "take pleasure in seeing
innocent creatures suffer, and hear their cries without pity?" Billy
said he did not see how they could suffer from having a few feathers
pulled off. The tutor, to convince him of his error, pulled a few hairs
from his head, when he roared out loudly, that he hurt him. "What would
your pain be then," said the tutor, "were I thus to pluck all the hair
off your head? You are sensible of the pain you now feel, but you were
insensible of the torment to which you put those innocent creatures,
that never offended you. But that you, ladies, should join in such an
act of cruelty, very much surprises me!"
The ladies stood motionless, and then, without being able to say a word,
sat down, with their eyes swimming in tears; which their tutor
observing, he said no more to them. But Billy still persisted in his
opinion, that he did the birds no harm; on the contrary, he said, they
showed their pleasure by clapping their wings and chirping.
"They clapped their wings," said the tutor, "from the pain you put them
to; and what you call chirping, were cries and lamentations. Could those
birds have expressed themselves in your speech, you would have heard
them cry, 'Ah, father and mother! save us, for we have fallen into the
hands of cruel children, who have robbed us of all our feathers! We are
cold and in pain. Come, warm us and cure us, or we shall soon die!'"
The little ladies could no longer refrain from tears, and accused Billy
of leading them into this act of cruelty. Billy was himself become
sensible of his faults, and had already felt the smart of having a few
hairs plucked from his head; but the reproaches of his own heart were
now visible on his countenance. It appeared to the tutor, that there was
no need of carrying the punishment any further; for the error Billy had
committed did not arise from a natural love of cruelty, but merely from
want of thought and reflection. From this moment Billy, instead of
punishing and tormenting dumb creatures, always felt for their
distresses, and did what he could to relieve them.
[Illustration]
WILLIAM AND THOMAS;
_Or, the Contrast between Industry and Indolence._
[Illustration]
In a village, at no small distance from the metropolis, lived a wealthy
husbandman, who had two sons, William and Thomas, of whom the former was
exactly a year older than the latter.
On the day that the second son was born, the husbandman set in his
orchard two young apple-trees of an equal size, on which he bestowed the
same care in cultivating, and they throve so much alike, that it was a
difficult matter to say which claimed the preference.
As soon as the children were capable of using garden implements, their
father took them, on a fine day, early in the spring, to see the two
plants he had reared for them, and called after their names. William and
Thomas having admired the beauty of these trees, now filled with
blossoms, their father told them that he made them a present of them in
good condition, and that they would continue to thrive or decay, in
proportion to the labour or neglect they received.
Thomas, though the younger son, turned all his attention to the
improvement of his tree, by clearing it of insects as soon as he
discovered them, and propping up the stem, that it might grow perfectly
upright. He dug all round it, to loosen the earth, that the root might
receive nourishment from the warmth of the sun and the moisture of the
dews. No mother could nurse a child more tenderly in its infancy, than
Thomas did his tree.
His brother William, however, pursued a very different conduct; for he
loitered away all his time in the most idle and mischievous manner, one
of his principal amusements being to throw stones at people as they
passed. He kept company with all the idle boys in the neighbourhood,
with whom he was continually fighting, and was seldom without either a
black eye or a broken shin. His poor tree was neglected, and never
thought of, till one day in the autumn, when, by chance, seeing his
brother's tree loaded with the finest apples, and almost ready to break
down with the weight, he ran to his own tree, not doubting but he should
find it in the same pleasing condition.
Great indeed was his disappointment and surprise, when, instead of
finding the tree loaded with excellent fruit, he beheld nothing but a
few withered leaves, and branches covered with moss. He instantly went
to his father, and complained of his partiality in giving him a tree
that was worthless and barren, while his brother's produced the most
luxuriant fruit. He therefore thought that his brother should at least
give him one half of his apples.
His father told him, that it was by no means reasonable, that the
industrious should give up part of their labour to feed the idle. "If
your tree," said he, "has produced you nothing, it is but a just reward
of your indolence, since you see what the industry of your brother has
gained him. Your tree was equally full of blossoms, and grew in the
same soil; but you paid no attention to the culture of it. Your brother
suffered no visible insect to remain on his tree; but you neglected that
caution, and left them even to eat up the very buds. As I cannot bear to
see even plants perish through neglect, I must now take this tree from
you, and give it to your brother, whose care and attention may possibly
restore it to its former vigour. The fruit it shall produce must be his
property, and you must no longer consider yourself as having any right
therein. However, you may go to my nursery, and there choose any other
which you may like better, and try what you can do with it; but, if you
neglect to take proper care of it, I shall also take that from you, and
give it to your brother, as a reward for his superior industry and
attention."
This had the desired effect on William, who clearly perceived the
justice and propriety of his father's reasoning, and instantly got into
the nursery, to choose the most thriving apple-tree he could there meet
with. His brother Thomas assisted him in the culture of his tree,
advising him in what manner to proceed; and William made the best use of
his time, and the instructions he received from his brother. He left off
all his mischievous tricks, forsook the company of idle boys, and
applied himself cheerfully to work; and in autumn received the reward of
his labour, his tree being then loaded with fruit.
From this happy change in his conduct, he derived the advantage, not
only of enriching himself with a plentiful crop of fruit, but also of
getting rid of bad and pernicious habits. His father was so perfectly
satisfied with his reformation, that the following season he gave him
and his brother the produce of a small orchard, which they shared
equally between them.
[Illustration]
MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT,
EXEMPLIFIED IN THE HISTORY OF
WILLIAM AND HARRY.
[Illustration]
Mr. Stevenson and his little son Richard, as they were one fine day
walking in the fields together, passed by the side of a garden, in which
they saw a beautiful pear-tree loaded with fruit. Richard cast a longing
eye at it, and complained to his papa that he was very dry. On Mr.
Stevenson's saying that he was dry also, but they must bear it with
patience till they got home, Richard pointed to the pear-tree, and
begged his papa would let him go and get one; for, as the hedge was not
very thick, he said he could easily get through, without being seen by
any one.
Richard's father reminded him, that the garden and fruit were private
property, and to take any thing from thence, without permission, was
nothing less than being guilty of a robbery. He allowed that there might
be a possibility of getting into the garden without being seen by the
owner of it; but such a wicked action could not be concealed from Him
who sees every action of our lives, and who penetrates even to the very
secrets of our hearts; and that is God.
His son shook his head, and said, he was sensible of his error, and
would no more think of committing what might be called a robbery. He
recollected that parson Jackson had told him the same thing before, but
he had then forgotten it.