concealed him from their sight. This was an old man, the owner of the
garden, who had heard every thing that had passed between Mr. Stevenson
and his son. "Be thankful to God, my child," said the old man, "that
your father prevented you from getting into my garden with a view to
deprive me of that which does not belong to you. You little thought,
that at the foot of each tree is placed a trap to catch thieves, which
you could not have escaped, and which might have lamed you for the rest
of your life. I am, however, happy to find that you so readily listen to
the first admonition of your father, and show such a fear of offending
God. As you have behaved in so just and sensible a manner, you shall
now, without any danger or trouble, partake of the fruit of my garden."
He then went to the finest pear-tree, gave it a shake, and brought down
near a hatful of fruit, which he immediately gave to Richard.
This civil old man could not be prevailed on to accept of any thing in
return, though Mr. Stevenson pulled out his purse for that purpose. "I
am sufficiently satisfied, Sir," said he, "in thus obliging your son,
and were I to accept of any thing, that satisfaction would be lost." Mr.
Stevenson thanked him very kindly, and having shaken hands over the
hedge, they parted; Richard at the same time taking leave of the old man
in a polite manner.
Little Richard, having finished several of the pears, began to find
himself at leisure to talk to his papa. "This is a very good old man,"
said he; "but would God have punished me, had I taken these pears
without his leave?" "He certainly would," replied Mr. Stevenson; "for he
never fails to reward good actions, and chastise those who commit evil.
The good old man fully explained to you this matter, in telling you of
the traps laid for thieves, into which you must have inevitably fallen,
had you entered his garden in a clandestine manner. God orders every
thing that passes upon earth, and directs events so as to reward good
people for virtuous actions, and to punish the wicked for their crimes.
In order to make this more clear to you, I will relate to you an affair
which happened when I was a boy, and which I shall never forget."
Richard seemed very attentive to his father; and having said he should
be very glad to hear his story, Mr. Stevenson thus proceeded:--
"When I lived with my father, and was much about your age, we had two
neighbours, between whose houses ours was situated, and their names were
Davis and Johnson. Mr. Davis had a son named William, and Mr. Johnson
one also of the name of Harry. Our gardens were at that time separated
only by quickset hedges, so that it was easy to see into each others
grounds.
"It was too often the practice with William, when he found himself alone
in his father's garden, to take pleasure in throwing stones over the
hedges, without paying the least regard to the mischief they might do.
Mr. Davis had frequently caught him at this dangerous sport, and never
failed severely to reprimand him for it, threatening him with severe
punishment, if he did not desist.
"This child, unhappily, either knew not, or would not take the trouble
to reflect, that we are not to do amiss, even when we are alone, for
reasons I have already mentioned to you. His father being one day gone
out, and therefore thinking that nobody could see him, or bring him to
punishment, he filled his pockets with stones, and then began to fling
them about at random.
"Mr. Johnson happened to be in his garden at the same time, and his son
Harry with him. This boy was of much the same disposition as William,
thinking there was no crime in committing any mischief, provided he were
not discovered. His father had a gun charged, which he brought into the
garden, in order to shoot the sparrows that made sad havoc among his
cherries, and was sitting in a summer-house to watch them.
"At this instant a servant came to acquaint him that a strange gentleman
desired to speak with him, and was waiting in the parlour. He therefore
put down the gun in the summer-house, and strictly ordered Harry by no
means to touch it; but he was no sooner gone, than this naughty son said
to himself, that he could see no harm in playing a little with the gun;
and therefore took it on his shoulder, and endeavoured to act the part
of a soldier.
"The muzzle of the gun happened to be pointed towards Mr. Davis's
garden; and, just as he was in the midst of his military exercises, a
stone thrown by William hit him directly in one of his eyes. The fright
and pain together made Harry drop the gun, which went off, and in a
moment both gardens resounded with the most dismal shrieks and
lamentations. Harry had received a blow in the eye with a stone, and the
whole charge had entered William's leg; the sad consequences of which
were, the one lost his eye, and the other a leg."
Richard could not help pitying poor William and Harry for their terrible
misfortune; and Mr. Stevenson was not angry with his son for his
tenderness. "It is true," said he "they were much to be pitied, and
their parents still more, for having such vicious and disobedient
children. Yet it is probable, if God had not early punished these boys,
they would have continued their mischievous practices as often as they
should find themselves alone; but by this misfortune they learned to
know that God publicly punishes all wickedness done in secret. This had
the desired effect, as both ever after left off all kinds of mischief,
and became prudent and sedate. Certain it is, that an all-wise Creator
never chastises us but with a view to add to our happiness."
Richard was very much struck with this story, and said, he hoped he
should never lose either a leg or an eye by such imprudent conduct. This
interesting conversation was interrupted by their arrival at their own
house; when Richard hastened to find his brothers and sisters, to tell
them the adventures of his walk, and the history of William and Harry.
[Illustration]
ANTONY AND AUGUSTUS; OR A RATIONAL
EDUCATION PREFERABLE
TO RICHES.
[Illustration]
A very early friendship commenced between Antony and Augustus, who were
nearly of an age; and, as they were neighbours, they were almost
inseparable companions. The father of Antony, whose name was Lenox,
possessed a very lucrative employment under government, and was besides
possessed of a considerable fortune; but Mr. Littleton, the father of
Augustus, was not in such affluent circumstances; though he lived
contentedly, and turned all his thoughts to the welfare and happiness of
his son, in giving him a well-grounded education, which he thought might
prove of more advantage to him than riches, or, at least, might amply
supply the place of them.
As soon as Augustus was nine years of age, he was accustomed to bodily
exercise, and his mind inured to study, which at once contributed to
improve his health, strength, and understanding. Being thus used to
exercise and motion, he was healthy and robust; and being contented and
happy in the affection of his parents, he enjoyed a tranquil
cheerfulness, which much influenced those who enjoyed his company.
Antony was one of his happy companions, who was always at a loss for
amusement when Augustus was absent; and in that case, in order to fill
up his time, he was continually eating without being hungry, drinking
without being dry, and slumbering without being sleepy. This naturally
brought on a weak habit of body, and frequent headaches.
Both parents ardently wished to see their children healthy and happy;
but Mr. Lenox unfortunately pursued that object in a wrong channel, by
bringing up his son, even from his cradle, in the most excessive
delicacy. He was not suffered to lift himself a chair, whenever he had a
mind to change his seat, but a servant was called for that purpose. He
was dressed and undressed by other people, and even the cutting of his
own victuals seemed a pain to him.
While Augustus, in a thin linen jacket, assisted his father to cultivate
a small garden for their amusement, Antony, in a rich velvet coat, was
lolling in a coach, and paying morning visits with his mamma. If he went
abroad to enjoy the air, and got out of the carriage but for a minute,
his great coat was put on, and a handkerchief tied round his neck, to
prevent his catching cold. Thus accustomed to be humoured to excess, he
wished for every thing he saw, or could think of; but his wish was no
sooner obtained, than he became tired of it, and was constantly unhappy
in the pursuit of new objects.
As the servants had strict orders to obey him with implicit submission,
he became so whimsical and imperious, that he was hated and despised by
every one in the house, excepting his parents. Augustus was his only
companion who loved him, and it was upon that account he patiently put
up with his humours. He was so perfectly master of his temper, that he
would, at times, make him as good-humoured as himself.
Mr. Lenox would sometimes ask Augustus how he contrived to be always so
merry; to which he one day answered, that his father had told him, that
no person could be perfectly happy, unless they mixed some kind of
employment with their pleasures. "I have frequently observed," continued
Augustus, "that the most tedious and dull days I experience are those in
which I do no kind of work. It is properly blending exercise with
amusement that keeps me in such good health and spirits. I fear neither
the winds nor the rain, neither the heat of summer nor the cold of
winter, and I have frequently dug up a whole plat in my garden before
Antony has quitted his pillow in the morning."
Mr. Lenox felt the propriety of such conduct, and a sigh unavoidably
escaped him. He then went to consult Mr. Littleton in what manner he
should act, in order to make Antony as hearty and robust as Augustus.
Mr. Littleton informed him in what manner he treated his son. "The
powers of the body and mind," said he, "should be equally kept in
exercise, unless we mean them to be unserviceable, as money buried in
the ground would be to its owner. Nothing can be more injurious to the
health and happiness of children, than using them to excess of delicacy,
and, under the idea of pleasing them, to indulge them in their whimsical
and obstinate humours. The person who has been accustomed from his
childhood to have his humours flattered, will be exposed to many
vexatious disappointments. He will sigh after those things, the want or
possession of which will equally make him miserable. I have, however,
every reason to believe, that Augustus will never be that man."
Mr. Lenox saw the truth of these arguments, and determined to adopt the
same plan for the treatment of his son. But it was now too late, for
Antony was fourteen years of age, and his mind and body so much
enervated, that he could not bear the least fatiguing exertions. His
mother, who was as weak as himself, begged of her husband not to tease
their darling, and he was at last obliged to give way to her
importunities, when Antony again sunk into his former destructive
effeminacy. The strength of his body declined, in proportion as his mind
was degraded by ignorance.
As soon as Antony had entered his seventeenth year, his parents sent him
to the university, intending to bring him up to the study of the law;
and Augustus being intended for the same profession, he accompanied him
thither. Augustus, in his different studies and pursuits, had never had
any other instructor than his father; while Antony had as many masters
as there are different sciences, from whom he learned only a superficial
education, by retaining little more than the terms used in the different
branches he had studied. Augustus, on the contrary, was like a garden,
whose airy situation admits the rays of the sun to every part of it, and
in which every seed, by a proper cultivation, advances rapidly to
perfection. Already well instructed, he still thirsted after further
knowledge, and his diligence and good behaviour afforded a pattern for
imitation to all his companions. The mildness of his temper, and his
vivacity and sprightly humour, made his company at all times desirable;
he was universally beloved, and every one was his friend.
Antony was at first happy of being in the same room with Augustus; but
his pride was soon hurt on seeing the preference that was given by every
one to his friend, and he could not think of any longer submitting to so
mortifying a distinction. He therefore found some frivolous excuse, and
forsook the company of Augustus.
Antony, having now nobody to advise or check him, gave loose to his
vitiated taste, and wandered from pleasure to pleasure in search of
happiness. It will be to little purpose to say, how often he blushed at
his own conduct; but, being hardened by a repetition of his follies, he
gradually fell into the grossest irregularities. To be short, he at last
returned home with the seeds of a mortal distemper in his bosom, and,
after languishing a few months, expired in the greatest agonies.
Some time after, Augustus returned home to his parents, possessed of an
equal stock of learning and prudence; his departure from the university
being regretted both by his teachers and companions. It may easily be
supposed, that his family received him with transports of joy. You know
not, my little readers, how pleasing are those tender parental feelings,
which arise from the prospect of seeing their children beloved and
respected! His parents thought themselves the happiest people, and tears
of joy filled their eyes when they beheld him.
Augustus had not been long at home, before a considerable employment in
his profession was conferred on him, with the unanimous approbation of
all who were acquainted with his character. This enabled him to gratify
his generous desire of promoting the felicity of his friends, and a
sense of their happiness added to his own. He was the comfort of his
parents in the evening of their lives, and with interest repaid their
attention and care of him in his childhood. An amiable wife, equally
endued with sense, virtue, and beauty, who bore him children like
himself, completed his happiness.
In the characters of Antony and Augustus, we see the fatal consequences
of giving way to folly and vice, and what a happy effect the contrary
conduct has. Antony fell a victim to the misguided indulgence of his
parents, while Augustus lived to be happy by the prudent management he
received in his infancy.
[Illustration]
THE DESTRUCTIVE CONSEQUENCES
OF DISSIPATION AND LUXURY.
[Illustration]
On a fine evening, in the midst of summer, Mr. Drake and his son Albert
took a walk in some of the most agreeable environs of the city. The sky
was clear, the air cool; and the purling streams, and gentle zyphyrs
rustling in the trees, lulled the mind into an agreeable gloom. Albert,
enchanted with the natural beauties that surrounded him, could not help
exclaiming, "What a lovely evening!" He pressed his father's hand, and,
looking up to him, said, "You know not, papa, what thoughts rise in my
heart!" He was silent for a moment, and then looked towards heaven, his
eyes moistened with tears. "I thank God," said he, "for the happy
moments he now permits me to enjoy! Had I my wish, every one should
taste the beauties of this evening as I do. Were I the king of a large
country, I would make my subjects perfectly happy."
Mr. Drake embraced his son, and told him, that the benevolent wish he
had just uttered came from a heart as generous as it was humane. "But
would not your thoughts change with your fortune? Are you certain, that
in an exalted station you should preserve the sentiments which now
animate you in that middling state, in which it has pleased Heaven to
place you?"
Albert was a little surprised that his father should ask such a
question, for he had no idea that riches could bring with them cruelty
and wickedness.
Mr. Drake told him, that indeed was not always the case. "The world has
produced fortunate persons," said he, "who have remembered their past
distresses, and have always retained the most charitable ideas for the
unfortunate; but we too often see, what is a disgrace to the human
heart, that a change of fortune alters the most tender and sympathetic
affections. While we ourselves labour under misfortunes, we look upon it
as a duty incumbent on every man to assist us. Should the hand of God
relieve us, we then think that all his intentions in the preservation of
the world are answered, and too often cease to remember those
unfortunate wretches, who remain in the gulf from which we have been
rescued. You may see an instance of this in the man who frequently comes
to beg charity of me, whom I relieve with reluctance, and cannot but
censure myself for so doing."
Albert told his father that he had frequently observed how coolly he put
money into his hands, without speaking to him in that tender language,
which he generally used to other poor people. He therefore begged his
father would tell him what could be his reason for it.
"I will tell you, my dear," said Mr. Drake, "what has been his conduct,
and then leave you to judge how far I do right. Mr. Mason was a
linen-draper in Cheapside; and though the profits of his business were
but moderate, yet a poor person never asked his charity in vain. This he
viewed as his most pleasing extravagance, and he considered himself
happy in the enjoyment of it, though he could not pursue this indulgence
to the extent of his wishes. Business one day called him on 'Change, he
heard a number of capital merchants talking together of vast cargoes,
and the immense profits to be expected from them. 'Ah!' said he to
himself, 'how happy these people are! Were I as rich, Heaven knows, I
should not make money my idol, for the poor should plentifully partake
of my abundance.'
"This man went home with a bosom full of ambitious thoughts; but his
circumstances were too narrow to embrace his vast projects, as it
required no small share of prudence, in the management of his affairs,
to make every thing meet the end of the year. 'Ah!' cried he, 'I shall
never get forward, nor rise above the middling condition, in which I at
present linger.'
"In the midst of these gloomy thoughts, a paper inviting adventurers to
purchase shares in the lottery was put into his hand. He seemed as if
inspired by Fortune, and caught the idea immediately. Without
considering the inconvenience to which his covetousness might reduce
him, he hastened to the lottery-office, and there laid out four guineas.
From this moment he waited with impatience for the drawing, nor could he
find repose even at night on his pillow. He sometimes repented of having
so foolishly hazarded what he could not well bear the loss of, and at
other times he fancied he saw riches pouring in upon him from all
quarters. At last the drawing began, and, in the midst of his hopes and
fears, Fortune favoured him with a prize of five thousand pounds.
"Having received the money, he thought of nothing else for several days;
but when his imagination had cooled a little, he began to think what use
he should make of it. He therefore increased his stock, extended his
business, and, by care and assiduity in trade, soon doubled his capital.
In less than ten years he became one of the most considerable men in the
city, and hitherto he had punctually kept his promise, in being the
friend and patron of the poor; for the sight of an unfortunate person
always put him in mind of his former condition, and pleaded powerfully
in behalf of the distressed.
"As he now frequented gay company, he by degrees began to contract a
habit of luxury and dissipation: he purchased a splendid country-house,
with elegant gardens, and his life became a scene of uninterrupted
pleasures and amusements. All this extravagance, however, soon convinced
him, that he was considerably reducing his fortune; and his trade, which
he had given up, to be the more at leisure for the enjoyment of his
pleasures, no longer enabled him to repair it. Besides, having been so
long accustomed to put no restraint on his vanity and pride, he could
not submit to the meanness of lessening his expenses. 'I shall always
have enough for myself,' thought he, 'and let others take care of
themselves.'
"As his fortune decreased, so did his feelings for the distressed; and
his heart grew callous to the cries of misery, as with indifference we
hear the roaring tempest when sheltered from its fury. Friends, whom he
had till then supported, came as usual to implore his bounty, but he
received them roughly, and forbid them his house. 'Am I,' said he, 'to
squander my fortune upon you? Do as I have done, and get one for
yourselves.'
"His poor unhappy mother from whom he had taken half the pension he used
to allow her, came to beg a corner in any part of his house, where she
might finish her few remaining days; but he was so cruel as to refuse
her request, and with the utmost indifference saw her perish for want.
The measure of his crimes, however, was now nearly filled. His wealth
was soon exhausted in debaucheries and other excesses, and he had
neither the inclination nor ability to return to trade. Misery soon
overtook him, and brought him to that state in which you now see him. He
begs his bread from door to door, an object of contempt and detestation
to all honest people, and a just example of the indignation of the
Almighty."
Albert told his father, that if fortune made men so wicked and
miserable, he wished to remain as he was, above pity, and secure from
contempt.
"Think often, my dear child," said his father to him, "of this story,
and learn from this example, that no true happiness can be enjoyed,
unless we feel for the misfortunes of others. It is the rich man's duty
to relieve the distresses of the poor; and in this more solid pleasure
is found, than can be expected from the enervating excesses of luxury
and pomp."
The sun was now sinking beneath the horizon, and his parting beams
reflected a lovely glow upon the clouds, which seemed to form a purple
curtain round his bed. The air, freshened by the approach of evening,
breathed an agreeable calm; and the feathered inhabitants of the grove
sung their farewell song. The wind rustling among the trees, added a
gentle murmur to the concert, and every thing seemed to inspire joy and
happiness, while Albert and his father returned to their house with
thoughtful and pensive steps.
[Illustration]
WILLIAM AND AMELIA.
[Illustration]
In a pleasant village, at some distance from the metropolis, lived Lord
and Lady Russel, who had brought up an orphan, named William, from his
infancy; and had a stranger to the family seen in what a tender manner
he was treated, he would have supposed him to be their son. This amiable
couple had only one child living, a daughter, named Amelia, who was
nearly of the same age with William, and the lady was pleased to see
that the two children had something beyond a common attachment for each
other.
William and Amelia were one fine summer morning sauntering in the
orchard with their little friend Charlotte, whose parents lived in the
neighbourhood. Of the little misses, Amelia was the youngest, and not
quite eight years of age. They were walking arm and arm, and humming
over a pretty song, then fashionable in the village collection of
Ballads. At the same time William was walking before them, at some
little distance, amusing himself with a shepherd's pipe.
While Amelia and Charlotte were thus rambling about, they cast their
eyes on some beautiful apples that hung on a fine tree, from which all
the fruit had been supposed to be gathered; but the branches had hidden
some from view, and in course had escaped the notice of the gatherers.
The beautiful vermilion with which these apples were tinged, and which
the leaves could not entirely hide, seemingly invited the hand to come
and take them. William instantly climbed the tree they were admiring,
and threw down as many apples as he could reach, while the ladies below
held their aprons to catch them as they fell.
Chance directed it, that two or three, which were considered as the
finest, fell into the apron of Charlotte, who was much pleased with this
accidental distribution, as she might with reason have been, had a
premeditated preference been the cause of it; for William was in reality
the politest and prettiest little fellow in the village.
Charlotte, with joy and triumph in her eyes, thus addressed herself to
Amelia: "Only see how fine and large my apples are, while yours are
nothing to compare to them!" Amelia was very much displeased with these
words; she hung down her head, and putting on a serious countenance,
remained silent during the remainder of the walk. William, by a hundred
assiduities, endeavoured to recover Amelia's cheerfulness, again to
spread a smile on her clouded countenance, and make her renew her usual
pleasing prattle.