MR. AND MRS. BERNARD, EMILY, EDWARD LOUISA, FERDINAND, AND SOPHY,
_standing by her mother._
_Sophy_. Mamma, may I stay with you a little time to-night. I am not
sleepy at all.
_Mrs. B._ You may stay till seven o'clock, my dear, but not later, as we
must not break through good rules. When you are as old as Ferdinand, you
shall sit with us as long as he does; but, whilst you are such a little
girl, after tea, bed is quite the best place for you.
"Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to grow healthy, wealthy,
and wise."
_Sophy_. Well, mamma, I want very much to grow a clever girl, like
Emily; but how can going to bed early make me wise? If I might sit up
with you and papa, you would teach me a great many things, as you do
Fedinand; but when I am in bed, I go to sleep and learn nothing.
_Mrs. B._ But your sleep does you a vast deal of good, my little dear.
It makes you rosy and healthy, and will strengthen your memory too; so
that when you are older, you will learn your lessons much better, and
quicker, than those little unfortunate children who have been spoiled by
the silly indulgence of their nurses.
These arguments, together with an assurance that cheerful obedience
would make her dear father and mother very happy, soon convinced little
Sophy that going to bed early was very proper, though she could not
think it very agreeable; and promising to comply, the moment Mary made
her appearance, she added: "has papa ever heard grandpapa's verses,
which you taught me to-day? If he has not, I will repeat them to him;
for it is not seven o'clock yet. Is it, mamma?"
_Mrs. B._ No my dear; there will be quite time enough for you to repeat
them to your papa. But first tell him on what occasion they were
written.
_Sophy._ A good while ago, grand-papa had two nice little pigs, and they
one day found some paint in a pot, and thinking it something nice, they
ate it. There is something in paint that is poison, papa: pray, what is
it?
Mr. Bernard told Sophy that it was white-lead.
_Sophy._ Oh, well then, the white-lead that was in the paint, poisoned
these poor little pigs; and grand-papa had them buried in the orchard,
and wrote the verses, which mamma taught me, over their grave. Now do
you understand, papa? May I begin?
Mr. Bernard assured Sophy he understood her explanation perfectly well,
and was all attention, waiting for her recital.
Upon which she immediately repeated as follows:
"Ye passing pigs, I pray draw nigh, And hear a dreadful tragedy, Of two
fine pigs, as e'er were seen Grazing or grunting on the green: Till on a
time, and near this spot, We chanc'd to spy a painter's pot, White-lead
and oil it did contain, By which we pretty pigs were slain; Therefore a
warning let us be To future pigs, who this may see, With life prolong'd,
and free from pains, To be content with wash and grains."
_Mr. B._ Very well, Sophy. Here is a lesson for little boys and girls,
as well as pigs. Tell me what you have learnt from those lines.
_Sophy._ I do not know, papa: I learnt the verses, and that is all.
_Mr. B._ But that should not be all. There is a very useful lesson
hidden in that story. Try and find it out.
_Ferdinand._ I think I know it.
_Louisa._ And so do I.
_Mr. B._ And so will Sophy, when she has considered a little.
_Sophy._ Aye: yes. I think I have found it out, papa. You mean, that
the tale should teach little boys and girls never to taste things they
do not understand, for fear they should be killed, like the poor little
pigs.
_Mr. B._ That is exactly what I meant, Sophy; and, I assure you, I have
heard of children who have been actually poisoned, by incautiously
eating berries, and other things, which they had met with in their
country walks. You, my dear, have a sad habit of putting leaves and
flowers into your mouth. I hope you will endeavour to break yourself of
it, as, I assure you, it is very dangerous.
_Sophy._ I am going to try to leave it off, papa; for I made my tongue
very sore yesterday, by biting the stalk of a flower, that Ferdinand and
Louisa called lords and ladies.
_Mr. B._ That is an _arum_, the juice of which is, I believe, extremely
poisonous; so pray never put it in your mouth again.
_Sophy._ No, papa, I do not intend it, for it hurt me very much, I
assure you. Oh! here comes Mary. Good night, dear papa and mamma. Good
night all.
Little Sophy, after receiving many affectionate caresses, retired in
high good-humour, and soon forgot her sorrow for the little pigs, in a
gentle slumber.
_Louisa._ Mamma, I remember the names of the six classes in natural
history, which you were so kind as to teach me yesterday. Mammalia,
Birds, Amphibia, Fishes, Insects, and Worms; and now pray tell me the
seven orders, for I do like to know a little of every thing.
_Mr. B._ But that, Louisa, is exactly what I do not wish you to do. I
would greatly prefer that your information should be rather
circumscribed, provided it were correct, than that you should have a
slight smattering of many things, and a thorough knowledge of none. You
may impose upon the illiterate by this superficial information; but the
really wise will soon discover your ignorance, and despise you for
affecting a degree of knowledge you do not possess. Besides which, a
mere smattering of learning is very apt to fill the mind with self-
conceit and vanity, faults from which the really well-informed are
always free. My favourite poet, Pope, says:--
"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again."
Therefore, my dear, unless you intend to enter decidedly upon the study,
I shall certainly beg your mother not to say any thing further on the
subject.
_Louisa_. Oh, then, I assure you, papa, I will enter decidedly upon it;
as it seems to me as if it would be extremely entertaining.
_Mr. B_. I think, my dear, you have formed your opinion somewhat
prematurely, as you certainly, at present, know very little of the
matter. This, however, with the young and ignorant, is no uncommon
error. I hope your good opinion of the study, will continue when you are
better acquainted with it. There are seven orders belonging to the first
class, as your mother has already informed you; the names of which are,
Primates, Bruta, Ferae, Glires, Picora, Beluae, and Cete.
_Louisa_. Those words are harder than the classics. I doubt I shall find
them more difficult to remember: however, I must write them down, and
try my best. Please not to tell me any more at present, papa. I believe
I shall succeed best, if I do not puzzle myself by attempting too much
at a time.
"I am quite of your opinion there," replied her father.
_Louisa_. Natural history shall be one of my pleasures. I will not call
it a lesson; but will study it when I am most in the fit for it. And
will you be so kind as to help me, papa?
"Willingly, my dear, provided your fit comes on when I am at liberty,"
replied Mr. Bernard.
Louisa thanked her father, adding, "and now I must tell you, that I am
quite satisfied with the account I have read of Servius Tullius. I
perfectly understand now, who he is."
_Ferdinand_. Louisa, before we begin our history, I wish to ask papa a
question about those verses which he repeated a few minutes ago. There
is one line, which I do not think I understand. Please to say them over
once more, papa.
_Mr. B._
"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again."
_Ferdinand_. The first line is plain enough; but I do not at all know
the meaning of Pierian, which is in the second.
_Mr. B_. It is an epithet applied to the Muses and poetical
compositions, and takes its name from Pieria, a small tract of country
in Thessaly, in Macedonia, where stands a mountain called Pierius, on
which the nine Muses are said to have been born.
_Ferdinand_. Are not all those places in Greece?
_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear.
_Louisa_. Who were the Muses, pray, papa?
_Mr. B._ They were supposed to be goddesses, presiding over poetry,
music, dancing, and all the liberal arts, and were said to be daughters
of Jupiter.
_Emily_. Those stores of the heathen gods and goddesses are all
fabulous, I suppose, papa!
_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear, completely so. Do you understand the second
line now, Ferdinand?
_Ferdinand_. Yes. Pierian spring is another term for learning or
knowledge. That makes the sense of all the lines perfectly clear, I
think.
_Mr. B_ Louisa may then give us an account of Servius Tullius, who, you
will recollect, was the sixth king of Rome.
_Louisa_. He was the son of Ocrisia, a very beautiful and virtuous
lady, who was taken prisoner by the Romans when they sacked Corniculum.
_Mr. B._ Can you tell us, Edward, where Corniculum is situated?
_Edward_. Yes, papa, it is a town of Latium, a country of Italy, near
the river Tiber. This territory has now changed its name, and is called
Campagna di Roma.
_Ferdinand_. May we look in the map for it, papa?
_Mr. B._ By all means, my dear. I believe no plan of learning
geography is so effectual as that of finding, on the map, the different
towns that you meet with in the course of your reading. The names of
many places have been so completely changed latterly, that you will find
it useful to compare together the ancient and modern maps. By this
means, both names will become familiar to you. But now for the place in
question.
_Ferdinand_. I have found it, papa. It is bounded on the north by the
patrimony of St. Peter, on the east by Abruzzo, on the south by Terra di
Lavora, and on the west by the Mediterranean.
_Mr. B_ I see you are looking on the ancient map, Emily. How is it
bounded there?
_Emily_. On the north by Etruria, on the east by Salbina, on the south
by Samnium, and on the west by the Mediterranean Sea.
_Mr. B._ Very well, Now, Louisa, you may go on with your account of
Servius.
_Louisa_. I told you that his mother's name was Ocrisia, papa; but who
his father was, seems uncertain. Tarquin made a present of his fair
captive, to queen Tanaquil, who grew extremely attached to her, and
restored her to freedom. But as her son was born whilst she was in a
state of servitude, he took the name of Servius.
_Mr. B._ Is anything extraordinary related respecting the infancy of
this child, Ferdinand?
_Ferdinand._ Yes, papa; it is declared that a sudden flame, in the form
of a crown, surrounded his head one day whilst he was asleep, which was
supposed to foretel his future greatness.
_Mr. B._ Who had the charge of his education, Emily?
_Emily._ The king and queen, who loved him as tenderly as if he had been
their son. It was, however, chiefly to his own wise, noble, and amiable
conduct, that he owed his elevation to the throne. He distinguished
himself by his military achievements, even before he attained the age of
manhood; and his reputation increasing as he advanced in years, and
being joined to pleasing manners, manly eloquence, and uncommon
abilities in council, gained him the esteem and affection of the people.
He was twice married: first to a lady of illustrious birth, and, after
her death, to Tarquinia, daughter of the king and queen. Upon this
alliance, the king placed in him the most unbounded confidence,
entrusting him with the management, both of his public and private
affairs; of all which he acquitted himself so well, that the people were
perfectly indifferent whether they were governed by him or Tarquin. This
accounts for his having so easily gained possession of the throne, on
the death of his father-in-law.
_Mr. B._ In what manner did Servius conduct himself, after his accession
to the throne, Edward?
_Edward._ He determined, as much as possible, to make the peaceful Numa
his pattern, and directed his attention to the improvement of the civil
government of Rome. Although his accession to the throne had been
unattended by tumult, the beginning of his reign was disturbed by the
dissatisfaction of the nobles. They were not pleased at his ascending
the throne without being duly elected to it, and determined, if
possible, to oblige him to lay aside his royalty. In this emergency,
Servius endeavoured to gain over the people to his cause, that he might
employ their power against the patricians. For this purpose, he
assembled them together, and, with a grandson of Tarquin in each hand,
addressed them in a very moving speech, declared himself the protector
of the poor children, and the guardian of their helpless infancy, and
implored the assistance of the people in this arduous undertaking; at
the same time, promising them freedom from slavery.
_Mr. B_ Provided Servius performed this promise, this plan was
calculated to interest the people greatly in his behalf. "Well, papa,"
said Louisa, "he did keep his promise: for, a few days afterwards, he
commanded all those people who were too poor to pay their debts, to send
him an account of them; and then, causing counting-houses to be opened
in the Roman Forum, he there paid all with his own money. Besides which,
he made a much more equal distribution of the lands, and, by every means
in his power, endeavoured to gain the affection of the lower orders of
the people. Now, Edward, will you please to give papa some account of
the war in which Servius was obliged to engage against the Veientes; for
I like to speak about peaceable times best."
_Edward._ So do I, indeed, Louisa. I do not like war at all, I assure
you, nor did Servius Tullius. His inclination led him much more to works
of peace and civil government, than to military exploits; yet he found
himself obliged to embark in a war. It proved a very long one too, but
brought much glory, both to the Roman people and to their king. The
Veientes, whom Tarquin had often subdued, refused now to recognize the
sovereignty of Rome, and treated with scorn some ambassadors sent from
thence, to claim their submission. "We entered," said they, "into no
treaty with the _son of a slave_, nor will we ever submit to Servius's
dominion. Tarquin is dead, and our obligations to be subject to the
Romans, are dead with him."
_Mr. B._ Pray where did these haughty people reside, Edward?
_Edward._ At Veii, papa, a powerful city of Etruria, about twelve miles
distant from Rome.
_Mr. B._ Perfectly right. I imagine, the confidence of the Veientes
proceeded partly from the hopes they entertained of profiting by the
dissensions between the king and senate of Rome. Nothing weakens a state
so much as internal discord. The moral of the old man's bundle of
sticks, might be as properly applied to the larger communities of men,
as to his own little family. You all know the story to which I allude:
do you not?
_Ferdinand._ I do. You know, I read it to you the other day, papa.
_Emily._ But we do not; so, perhaps, papa, you will be so kind as to
tell is us.
_Mr. B._ We will not interrupt our Roman history now; when you have
finished your account, Ferdinand shall relate the story to you. Now,
Edward, proceed.
_Edward._ The Veientes prepared for war, and drew two other neighbouring
states, those of Caere and Tarquinia, into their party. But Servius, by
his courage and conduct, subdued the confederates, deprived them of
their lands, and transferred them to the new citizens of Rome, who had
no lands of their own. The success of Servius attached the people still
more to his interest, and he resolved to take advantage of their favour,
in order to render his title to the throne still more secure. He,
therefore, a second time assembled the citizens, and in a moving speech,
which drew tears from their eyes, complained of a design formed by the
patricians to take away his life, and bring back the sons of Ancus. In
the conclusion of his speech, he left the kingdom absolutely at their
disposal, and begged them to determine between him and his pupils on one
side, and their competitors on the other. Having finished his harangue,
he stepped down from the tribunal, and prepared to leave the assembly;
but they called to him to stay, and entreated him to be their king.
Accordingly, a day was appointed, and he was duly elected to the
sovereign power. The senate were not, however, reconciled to him, and
formed so dangerous a faction, that Servius was almost inclined to
renounce the dignity conferred upon him by the people; but imparting his
perplexities to Tanaquil, she disapproved of his intention, and
prevailed upon him to bind himself by an oath, never to resign the
kingdom.
_Mr. B._ Tanaquil was, in many respects, a great woman. She rendered
herself illustrious by her virtues, as well as by her political
abilities. Private life is the sphere most calculated for the display of
female perfection, and here her excellence conspicuously shone. The
king, to immortalize her memory, hung up her distaff in the Temple of
Hercules. I hope my dear girls will endeavour to imitate the domestic
virtues of this excellent woman, rather than her ambitious temper. I do
not wish to see them heroines.
_Emily._ I do not feel ambitious of any thing but my dear parents'
approbation.
_Mr. B._This, affection and obedience, my Emily, will never fail to
obtain. But let us now hear what further befell Servius. If Edward is to
be the recorder of his warlike achievements, I believe we must again
call upon him.
_Edward._ The Etrurians furnished him with an opportunity to increase
his glory. His victories over them obtained for him the honours of a
second triumph, and restored peace to his kingdom. Now, Emily, I again
resign the office of narrator to you.
_Emily._ Servius employed this interval of rest, in enlarging and
adorning the city. He divided the Roman territory into tribes, the
citizens into six different classes, and these classes into centuries. A
tax was levied on each century, according to the class to which it
belonged; by which means, each individual contributed towards the
exigencies of the state, in exact proportion to the amount of his
property. He also increased the number of the citizens, by giving
liberty to the unfortunate captives taken in war; permitting them either
to return to their own countries, or continue at Rome, with the
enjoyment of all the privileges of free citizens. The senate were at
first offended at this regard shown to a people they considered so mean;
but the king addressed to them a very persuasive speech, which entirely
appeased their anger, and they passed his institution into a law, that
subsisted ever after.
_Mr. B._ Another important regulation was, taking an estimate of the
population of the kingdom. It was performed every fifth year,
accompanied with sacrifices, and other religious rites, which were
called lustrations. This led to the computation of time amongst the
Romans, by _lustra_, or periods of five years.
_Louisa._ The most unfortunate thing Servius did, was marrying his
daughters so unsuitably. His two wards, Lutius Tarquinius and Aruns,
were now old enough to be capable of disturbing his government. To
secure their fidelity, therefore, he determined to marry them to his two
daughters; and, without consulting their dispositions, gave his eldest
daughter, who was mild and gentle, to the eldest of his wards, who was
fierce and haughty; and married his youngest girl, who was of a most
ungovernable disposition, to Aruns, who was extremely amiable and
virtuous. It was not likely that either of these marriages would prove
happy ones. Tarquin's wife endeavoured, by every winning way of
sweetness and insinuation, to soften the haughty fierceness of her
husband's temper; whilst her sister was always urging the quiet, good-
natured Aruns, to the most wicked attempts, in order to reach the
throne. She loudly lamented her fate, in being tied to such an indolent,
stupid husband; and being very much like Tarquin she soon began to love
him a great deal better than her own husband, and, at last, proposed to
him that he should murder her father and sister, together with the
gentle Aruns, that they might ascend the throne together. What a
dreadfully wicked woman she must have been, papa.
_Mr. B._ Dreadfully wicked, indeed, my dear. History presents us with
many very painful instances of the depravity of human nature. It is a
useful, but humiliating lesson. Proceed with your account, Louisa.
_Louisa._ A very little time afterwards, this wicked woman contrived to
poison her amiable husband, whilst Tarquin got rid of his virtuous and
gentle wife by the same means; and they were then so insolent as to ask
the consent of the king and queen to their marriage. Servius and
Tarquinia, though they did not give it, were silent. This disgraceful
marriage was celebrated shortly after, and was followed by intrigues
against the king. Tarquin and Tullia had not patience to wait till the
death of the good old monarch, which would have put them into quiet
possession of the crown, but endeavoured, by threats, to make him give
up his authority. When Tarquin found this plan was not likely to
succeed, he acted a new part. By the most affectionate behaviour, he
entirely regained the king's favour, and tranquillity seemed re-
established in the royal family. But it was not long before the cruel
Tullia put an end to it. She reproached her husband with cowardice,
insensibility, and stupidity. He was moved by these reproaches; gained a
number of young patricians over to his party; and contrived a stratagem,
which succeeded from the bold manner in which it was executed. I think
Ferdinand can explain it to you, papa.
_Mr. B._ Well, my boy, let us hear what it was.
_Ferdinand._ He clothed himself in the royal robes, sent some of
servants before, and, followed by a great number of his party, who had
swords under their robes, he crossed the Forum, and came to the gate of
the temple, where the senators used to assemble. He then sent messengers
to them all, commanding them, in king Tarquin's name, to attend
immediately, and seated himself on the throne. All the senators
assembled in haste; many concluded Servius was dead, and were afraid to
disobey the orders of the new king. When they were all collected
together, Tarquin began to rail against his father-in-law. In the midst
of his speech, Servius appeared; and, being enraged by the insolence of
Tarquin, rashly endeavoured to pull him from the throne. This raised a
loud shout, and occasioned great confusion, but nobody attempted to part
them. Tarquin, who was the strongest, seized the poor old man by the
waist, and harrying him through the temple, threw him down from the top
of the steps into the Forum. The old king, grievously hurt, and covered
with blood, raised himself up with much difficulty: but all his friends
had deserted him: scarcely a creature was found to lead him to his
palace, which he was not allowed to reach. Tullia advised her husband to
complete the bloody work he had begun; upon which he dispatched some of
his servants to overtake the venerable monarch, and deprive him of his
small remains of life. On her return home, the body of her murdered
father, still panting, lay in the street she had to pass. This inhuman
woman was not at all shocked at the horrid sight, but commanded the
charioteer to drive over it. The man, who had more feeling than the
cruel daughter, obeyed with reluctance; and, it is said, that not only
the chariot wheels, but even the clothes of the wicked Tullia, were
stained with her parent's blood.
_Edward._ Such horror was excited by these atrocities, and especially by
the barbarity of Tullia, that the street in which the transaction took
place, the day on which it was perpetrated, and the very name of the
parricide, were branded with perpetual infamy.
_Louisa._ I am glad that shocking account is finished: it really makes
one feel very uncomfortable. Servius was so good a man, too, I quite
pity him.
_Mr. B._ His wicked daughter is an object of still greater pity. The
sufferings of the good old king, we may hope, ended with this life;
whilst, we have every reason to believe, that the punishment of the
unnatural Tullia, would extend to the countless ages of eternity.
Servius was, indeed, an excellent prince: he subdued the enemies of
Rome, and was always desirous to avoid making new ones. He did not
conquer merely for the sake of glory, but for the public good. He made
Rome more formidable by twenty years' peace, than his predecessors had
done by many victories. He introduced order into the militia and public
revenues, extended the power of the senate, and yet kept its authority
within proper bounds. He was beloved by the people, and even his ancient
enemies, the patricians, esteemed his virtues; so that, if he could have
preserved the affection of his own family, he might have been said not
to have had a single enemy. He was, at the time of his death, seventy-
four years of age; of which he had reigned forty-four years. Tarquin
refused him the honours of a funeral, lest it might occasion a commotion
among the people. Tarquinia conveyed the body of her husband, privately,
by night, to his tomb, and she herself died on the following evening;
but whether from grief, or the wickedness of Tullia, is uncertain.
_Mrs. B._ This is, indeed, my dear children, a mournful account; but it
contains a very important lesson to all who are subject to the same
criminal enormities. At the commencement of her dreadful career, Tullia
would, perhaps, have recoiled with horror, from the hideous picture of
her own crimes. She might have remonstrated, as did Hazael to the
prophet: "What! is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great
thing?" The example of Tullia, forcibly teaches the progressive nature
and dreadful consequences of sin. It points out to us the danger of
entering upon a course of criminal indulgence, by showing the sad
extremes into which those are likely to be hurried, who resign
themselves slaves to ambition and to vice. Listen not, my children, to
the syren song of worldly pleasure; pursue not the gilded pageants of
time. Instead of amusing yourselces with these phantoms of a moment,
build up your happiness on the durable foundations of innocence and
virtue. Let us now turn from the dismal picture we have been
contemplating, though without forgetting the important lesson it
inculcates. Ferdinand, my dear, tell us your promised story of the old
mand and his bundle of sticks.
_Ferdinand_. An old man had several sons, who used very often to
quarrel with each other. Their father exerted his authority, and tried
every means in his power, in order to reconcile them, but all to no
purpose. At length he assembled his family together, and ordered a
short bundle of sticks be brought, which he commanded them, one by one,
to endeavour to break. They each tried, with all their might, but in
vain. The sticks were firmly bound together, and no force they could
employ, could break them. After this, the old man untied the bundle,
and gave a single stick to each of his sons, bidding them try to break
_that_, which they did with the greatest ease. The father then said:
"Behold, my dear children, the power of unity. If you would keep
yourselves strictly joined together by the bond of friendship, it would
not be in the power of any one to hurt you; but when once the ties of
brotherly love are dissolved, you are liable to be injured by the attack
of every enemy."
_Mr. B_. It is an excellent fable, and I hope, my beloved children, you
will all attend to the lesson it conveys. To see you united by the
tender hands of affection, is one of the first wishes of our hearts for
you.
"What a very pleasing manner of conveying instruction, is a fable," said
Edward.
"It is, my love," replied his father: "the ancients were aware of this,
and made great use of fables in their instruction of the young:
'Whatever is conceived by the mind, must enter by the senses; and moral
truth is never so easily understood, as when it is exemplified by
reference to some parallel case in nature.' The various instincts of
brute creatures, are particularly useful for this purpose. Moral good
and evil are, through their means, represented in a way which even
children can understand."
"Can you tell me, papa, what was the first origin of fables?" enquired
Ferdinand.
"It is not very clear, my dear," replied Mr. Bernard, "but it is
probable they are nearly as ancient as the history of mankind; or, at
least, that there never was a time, of which we have any knowledge, when
they were no familiar. We first read of them as being used in Palestine
and Egypt, from whence they were even borrowed by the Greeks and Romans.
The earliest specimen of fables with which I am acquainted, occurs in
the book of Judges, where Jotham signifies to the people, the temper and
fate of a usurper, under the similitude of the trees going forth to
choose them a king." [Footnote: See Jones, on the Origin and Use of
Fables.]
_Ferdinand._ It is in the ninth chapter of Judges. I read it this
morning, but did not quite understand the intention of it.
_ Mr. B._ I will endeavour to explain it to you then, my love. You will
recollect, that the fruitful trees, when applied to, all declined taking
upon them the sovereign authority; but the bramble offers his services,
and gets into power. The moral of which, as applicable to the person of
Abimelech, was this:--that the desire of reigning does not prevail in
wise and good men, who should feed the people, and protect them under
the shadow of their authority; but chiefly in men of rough minds and
bloody intentions, who harass the people, and are, at last, consumed
with them, in the unjust exercise of their power.
"The parables made use of by our Saviour, are, I think, very much in the
form of fables," said Emily.
_Mrs. B._ They are, my love. They were delivered in this manner, for
the sake of some moral, which would either be obscure without an
illustration, or offensive to the bearers, if it were delivered in plain
terms.
_Louisa._ Nathan's reproof to king David, when he took away the wife of
Uriah the Hittite, is very beautiful. I read it a little time ago, in
the twelfth chapter of the second book of Samuel. He made use of a fable
to gain his attention.
_Mrs. B._ He did, my love. By putting a case in which David seemed to
have no immediate concern, he interested his affections; and when his
indignation was raised against a fictitious person, the prophet turned
it upon himself, with that striking application: "Thou art the man."
Then there was no retracting: he had already condemned himself, in the
judgement he had passed upon the cruel offender in the parable.
Mrs. Bernard now took out her watch, and expressed her surprise upon
finding it near ten o'clock.
Their father immediately requested them to prepare to retire, adding:
"To-morrow will be Sunday: I hope you will be in my study by seven
o'clock, that we may begin early the important duties of that sacred
day."
_Ferdinand._ I have been often surprised to find, that many people lie
longer in bed on Sundays, then on the other mornings of the week. This
must be wrong. They can rise six days a week to work, and not one to
worship. [Footnote: This was an observation, _verbatim_, of the same
little boy before mentioned.]
_Mr. B._ Your remark is a just one, my dear boy; let us, in our own
family, endeavour to set a different example. Good night, my children.