Mr. Bernard having dined from home, the children had not, till they met
round the tea-table in the evening, an opportunity of telling him how
pleasantly they had spent their morning, and how much information their
mother had given them respecting the habits of the swallow tribes. "But
even now," added Edward, "I do not feel quite satisfied with regard to
their migration. Pray, papa, what is your opinion upon that subject?"
_Mr. B._ I am decidedly of opinion that they do migrate, my dear. The
internal structure of such animals as continue during winter in a torpid
state, is peculiar: both the formation of the stomach, and the organs of
respiration, differ from such as are constantly in a state of activity
and vigour. Mr. John Hunter, one of our most celebrated English
anatomists, dissected several of these birds, but did not find them in
any respect different from the other tribes; from which he concludes the
accounts of their turpitude to be erroneous. Now, although I feel no
doubt myself, that such instances have occurred, yet I by no means
believe them to be frequent. Indeed, a particular friend of mine, a
skilful navigator, tells me he has not infrequently seen, when many
hundreds of miles distant from shore, large flights of these birds; and
that his ship has often afforded the poor little travellers a most
seasonable resting-place, in their toilsome journeys.
"Oh, well papa," said Edward, "if a friend of yours has really seen
them, I can believe they do migrate; but I do not like to give up an
enquiry, till my mind is satisfied upon a subject."
_Mr. B_. Within certain restrictions, your resolution is good, Edward;
but if you can believe nothing but what I, or some friend of mine, can
attest from our own observation, your incredulity will deprive you of
much valuable information. The great advantage of reading is, that it
enables us to gain instruction from the observation of others, on
subjects beyond the reach of our own experience.
_Edward._ Very true, papa: but do you not think that many authors make
mistakes, and put things in books that are not facts?
_Mr. B._ I do, my dear boy; and I always endeavor, when I meet with a
difficulty, to consult a variety of authors upon the same subject, and,
by this means, generally find I can discover the truth.
"In future I will endeavour to do so too, papa," said Edward, "and will
not allow my doubts to prevent my improvement; for I am sure I am at
present very ignorant. Every day, and almost every hour, I meet with
something that I do not understand--something that surprises me. Papa,
you have read, and thought, and seen so much, I should think you would
never meet with any thing new."
_Mr. B._ Indeed, my dear boy, you are much mistaken; I seldom read any
book without gaining from it some new idea, or some additional
information upon a subject with which I was before but imperfectly
acquainted. This very morning, for instance, in the book you saw me
reading at breakfast-time, I gained information that was entirely new to
me.
_Louisa._ Oh, pray papa, was it upon a subject we could understand, if
you were to be so kind as to tell us?
_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear girl, I think you might understand it, if you were
to pay attention to it; although it was a treatise upon comparative
anatomy I was reading.
_Louisa._ Oh, then, papa, I am sure I could not understand any thing
about it. I never heard of such a subject before.
_Mr. B._ Is that any proof that you will not understand it when you do
hear of it, Louisa? Do not allow yourself to be frightened by a hard
name, my dear; it is a proof of great weakness of mind. Edward,
endeavour to explain to your sister the meaning of the word anatomy.
_Edward._ I believe, papa, it is the study of animal bodies; more
particularly, their internal organization.
_Mr. B._ Yes and it also implies the dissecting, or cutting them to
pieces, to ascertain the structure and uses of their several parts.
Well, Louisa, what do you now think of anatomy? You have been much
pleased with your mother's description of the external structure and
habits of the swallow, this morning; now pay the same attention to my
account of the internal organization of the ostrich and cassowary, to-
night, and I think you will find it quite within the limits of your
comprehension.
_Louisa._ I will, indeed, attend, papa; and I hope I shall understand
you.
_Mr. B._ The more minutely, my dear children, you investigate the hidden
wonders of nature, the more firmly will you be convinced of the
unlimited power, as well as infinite mercy, of its Supreme Author. The
superintending providence of God, is as plainly manifested in the
provision made for the meanest reptile, as it is in the wonderful
formation of man. Each bird, beast, fish, and insect, is endowed with
powers best suited to its wants, and most calculated to promote its
enjoyment. In the cassowary of Java, a region of great fertility, the
colon is no more than one foot long; whilst in the ostrich, doomed to
seek its food in the wide and sandy deserts of the African continent, it
is _forty-five_ feet in length.
"Pray, papa, what is the _colon?_? enquired Louisa.
"It is one intestine," replied Mr. Bernard, which converts the food into
nourishment. You will now instantly perceive the wisdom of this
arrangement. In the cassowary, the food passes very quickly through
this short channel, by which means, but a very small portion of its
nutritive particles is taken into the system, and the bird is thereby
preserved from many diseases, to which it would be liable, if the whole
of the food it devoured were converted into fat and nourishment. The
ostrich, on the contrary, who can gain but a slender supply of food in
the desolate regions which it inhabits, is provided with a colon so
long, that every particle of nourishment is extracted, before it has
passed this channel; hence, the latter derives as much actual support
from her slender supply of food, as the former does from her abundance.
_Louisa_. Thank you, papa. I understand what you have told us, quite
well, and think it a very curious and a very wise contrivance.
_Mr. B._ Now then, tell me, in your turn, Louisa, how history has gone
on since we last met.
_Louisa_. But, papa, we have not yet concluded the account of our walk.
Had we not better finish one subject first?
Mr. Bernard agreed to the propriety of Louisa's remark, and she entered
with great animation upon the description of the beautiful little
cottage, the pretty, innocent cottager, the nice, neat old woman, and
the bashful-looking youth, and concluded by expressing her sorrow, that
Mary and Henry could not be married; because she was such a pretty
creature, she had no doubt they would make the happiest couple in the
world.
Mr. Bernard endeavour to explain to Louisa, that beauty was by no means
the only requisite in a companion, where happiness was the object.
"Oh, no! I know that, papa," returned Louisa; "I recollect that Mrs.
Horton told us, that the peacock, beautiful as it is, has but few really
amiable qualities; but I cannot help admiring pretty people, and if you
saw Mary, I am sure you would admire her too; for she looks so good-
humoured and so modest, so cheerful, so industrious, and so very pretty,
papa, that you could not help loving her. Don't you think so, mamma?
_Mrs. B._ I think there certainly is something very interesting in her
appearance, and, I assure you, Louisa, I am quite disposed to think
favourably of her; but we shall have an opportunity of seeing more of
her, probably, and then we can form a more decided opinion of her
character. There is always danger in giving way to a sudden
prepossession in favour of a stranger.
_Edward._ But, mamma, do you think it possible not to feel a
prepossession in favour of such a sweet-looking girl as Mary?
_Mrs. B._ I do not think any one could avoid thinking favourably of
Mary; nor do I wish to check a generous sentiment in favour of a
stranger, at any time, my dear children. Caution is necessary, but
suspicion is hateful; and I would rather you should be often deceived,
than never feel a confidence. When I was young, I was once imposed upon
by a person quite as pleasing in manners and appearance as the young
cottager. I was warned that there was danger in trusting to appearances,
but disdained the caution of those who were older and wiser than myself.
I suffered for my folly, and would have you learn prudence from my
experience.
_Louisa_. Do, mamma, tell us the story. I dare say it is an
interesting one.
_Mrs. B._ Not at present, my dear; your father wishes to hear what
history you have read since Saturday. Besides, an account of the
depravity of a fellow-creature, can never be a very interesting topic of
conversation.
_Louisa._. No mamma, certainly it is not: but how did she impose upon
you? You are so careful, you know--so prudent.
_Mrs. B_ But at that time I was credulous and imprudent, as I have
already told you, my dear, and was deceived by a pleasing address, and a
mournful tale.
_Louisa_. Oh, do tell me, dear mamma. I do love a mournful tale.
_Mrs. B._ But this was, in all probability, a fabricated story, to
impose on the incautious: at least, I have every reason to consider it
so. I found out so many untruths, that I was inclined to think the
whole a complete falsehood. But we will not dwell longer upon this
subject at present: at some future time, if we have nothing upon which
we can more profitably employ our attention, I may perhaps give you a
full account of the affair; but I have mentioned it to your father
before, and will not, therefore, trouble him to listen to a repetition,
as nothing is more tedious than a twice-told tale.
_Ferdinand_. I want to ask you a question, papa, before we begin our
history. It is quite different from any thing we have been hitherto
talking of, to be sure; but I was reading a book to-day, in which,
speaking of some crime, it mentioned that it was punished by death,
without benefit of clergy. Now I do not know what benefit of clergy
means, and I thought you would be so good as to explain it to me.
_Mr. B._ That I shall most willingly, my dear boy. In order to encourage
the art of reading in England, which formerly made but slow progress,
the capital punishment for murder was remitted if the criminal could
read; and this, in law-language, is termed benefit of clergy.
_Edward._ I should think the art must have made very rapid progress,
when so highly favoured.
_Mr. B._ It does not appear that this was the case; for so small an
edition of the Bible as six hundred copies, translated into English, in
the reign of Henry the Eighth, was not completely sold in three years.
_Emily._ How different, my dear father, are the happy days in which we
live. No family, however indigent, need now be without a Bible.
_Edward._ And almost every poor child has an opportunity, in some of the
numerous charity-schools that are every where established, of learning
to read it too, which is better still.
_Mr. B._ We do, indeed, my beloved children, live in very glorious
times. The scriptural prophecy seems to be fast accomplishing, which
declares, that "the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the
waters cover the sea." May we prize our high privilege, and may our more
virtuous conduct bespeak our gratitude for the superior blessings we
enjoy.
_Louisa._ In the days of the cruel Tarquin, papa, of whom we have been
reading in our Roman history, the religion of Jesus Christ was not
known. The wicked Tullia could not, I think, have acted so basely, had
she been a Christian.
_Mr. B._ Those who act up to the _precepts_ taught by Christianity, my
dear girl, must act virtuously; but the _name_ of Christian will be
found by no means sufficient for any of us.
_Louisa._ Papa, it is very uninteresting to read about wicked people. I
do not feel the least inclination to give you any account of Tarquin and
Tullia. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed talking of the good Numa
Pompilius, and Servius Tullius.
_Mr. B._ Much is to be learned from history, my dear. It unmasks the
human character. You there read man as he is, and trace the fatal
effects of vice upon society, as well as the pleasing consequences of
virtue. But let me now hear how Tarquin behaved, on mounting the throne
so basely acquired. _Emily._ The whole series of his reign was suitable
to the manner of his accession to the throne. Scarcely had he seated
himself there, when, from his capricious humour and arrogant behaviour,
he acquired the surname of the Proud. He refused to consult, either
with the senate or people; but having secured a sufficient number of
soldiers to guard his person and execute his will, arbitrary power
actuated all his proceedings. Informers were dispersed throughout the
city, the king was sole judge of the accused, and wealth and merit were
considered unpardonable crimes.
_Edward_. The cruel murder of the venerable Marcus Janius, was a proof
of what Emily has just mentioned. He was descended from a noble family,
and possessed great riches, on which account, Tarquinius Priscus had
allowed him to marry his youngest daughter. The wicked Tarquin, in
order to get possession of his estate, caused both him and his son to be
assassinated. His youngest son escaped the same fate, by pretending to
be an idiot, from whom he supposed he had nothing to fear.
_Ferdinand_. He was mistaken, however; was he not, Emily?
_Edward_. Stop, stop, Ferdinand; you must not forestal our history.
Let Louisa give some account of Tarquin's government first.
_Louisa_. Emily has already told you it was very tyrannical. To avoid
the effects of his cruelty and avarice, the most worthy men in the
senate went into voluntary banishment. The people at first rejoiced to
see the great thus humbled; but they were soon treated quite as ill as
the patricians, and all the laws which had been made in their favour,
were unmade again.
_Mr. B._ You have not expressed yourself well, my dear Louisa. When a
law is unmade again, as you call it, we say it is annulled.
_Louisa_. Thank you, papa. Well then, all the laws made in favour of
the people, which had pleased them so much, were annulled. The poor
were obliged to pay the same taxes as the rich. Nor would they allow
any meetings, even for amusement, either in the town or country.
_Mrs. B._ It is astonishing that the people bore such oppressions
without revolt.
_Edward._ Indeed, mamma, Tarquin was justly afraid they would not; on
which account, he gave his daughter in marriage to a man of considerable
interest among the Latins, in hopes he should strengthen himself by this
foreign alliance. He also employed the people in finishing the common
sewers, and the great Circus which his grandfather had begun; knowing
that constant employment was the best means to prevent their brooding
over their oppressions, and planning schemes of revenge.
_Mr. B._ His conduct was well judged, and likely to be attended with
success, as far as the common people were concerned; but he could not
employ the patricians in these labours. How were they kept in
subjection? for their wrongs appear to have been quite as flagrant as
those of the plebeians.
_Edward._ Indeed, papa, they were not kept in subjection at all. A
great number of them fled from Rome, and took refuge in Gabii, a city of
Latium, about a hundred furlongs distant.
_Mr. B._ Can Ferdinand tell us how many miles that is?
_Ferdinand._ If I consider a minute, I think I can, papa. There are
eight furlongs in a mile, so I must divide a hundred by eight, which
will go twelve times and four over; therefore, it was exactly twelve
miles and a half from Rome.
_Mr. B._ You are quite right, my boy. You may now go on, Edward.
_Edward_. The inhabitants of Gabii were touched with compassion, to see
so many considerable persons thus cruelly persecuted, and resolved to
espouse their cause, by beginning a war with the king of Rome. This war
lasted seven years; sometimes one having the advantage, sometimes the
other. The inroads and devastations made on both sides, prevented the
regular sowing and reaping of the corn, which at length produced a great
scarcity in Rome. This increased the discontents of the people, who were
suffering so cruelly on account of the hatred borne by their neighbours,
not against them, but against their king; and they urgently demanded
either peace or provisions.
_Mr. B._ Affairs seem now coming to the extremities with Tarquin, I
think.
_Ferdinand._ They are, indeed, papa, and you cannot think what a
treacherous plan he contrived to extricate himself from his
difficulties.
_Louisa_. No indeed, Ferdinand, it was not Tarquin who contrived the
plot; it was his shocking son, Sextus Tarquinius, who was, I really
think, a more wicked man than his father.
_Ferdinand._ So it was, Louisa: pray let me tell about it. He pretended
to quarrel with his father, papa, declaring he was a great tyrant, who
had no compassion, even for his own children. Upon this, the king
ordered him to be publicly beaten in the Forum. All this was repeated at
Gabii, by persons who were in the secret, and whom they thought they
could trust. The Gabini believed it all, and were very anxious to get
Sextus amongst them. After many secret invitations, he agreed to their
request, provided they first gave him their solemn promise, never, on
any pretence, to deliver him up to his father. When he reached Gabii, he
talked constantly of the tyranny of the king of Rome, and acted, in
every respect, as the declared enemy of his country. He frequently made
inroads on the Roman lands, and came back loaded with spoil; his father
always contriving to send against him such weak parties, that he easily
conquered them. By these means, Sextus gained very great credit among
the Gabini. They at last chose him general of their army, and he was as
much master there, as Tarquin was in Rome.
_Louisa._ Ah! now comes the treachery. Oh, papa, what a very base thing
it is to betray those who place confidence in us. I cannot bear Sextus.
_Ferdinand._ Well, Louisa, now pray do not interrupt me just in this
very interesting part. Finding his authority so firmly established, he
sent a slave to his father, to enquire what he should do. The king dare
not treat the slave with his answer, even in writing; so he took him
into the garden, and there struck off the heads of all the tallest
poppies. Having done this, he sent back the messenger. Sextus, who
understood the meaning of this action, assembled the Gabini, and
pretended to have discovered a plot to deliver him up to his father. The
people, who were very fond of him, fell into a great rage, and begged
him to declare the names of the conspirators. He mentioned Antistius
Petro, who was, from his merit, the most considerable person in the
country. He, knowing his innocence, despised the accusation; but Sextus
had bribed his servants to convey amongst his papers some pretended
letters from the king of Rome, which being produced and read, the
populace, without further examination, immediately stoned him to death.
The Gabini then committed to Sextus the care of discovering his
accomplices, and appointing their punishment. He instantly ordered the
city gates to be shut, and sent officers into every quarter, to cut off
the heads of all the most eminent citizens, without any mercy; and in
the midst of the confusion occasioned by this dreadful massacre, he
opened the gates to his father, who had previously had notice of his
design, and who entered the city with all the pride of a conquerer.
Just as Ferdinand had finished this account, and before he had time to
make any comment upon it, Mr. Dormer was announced, a gentleman who
lived at no great distance from Mr. Bernard's, and who frequently, in an
evening, made one at his social fire-side. His kind, conciliatory
manners, had endeared him to the children, and he was, in his turn, much
pleased with their amiable frankness, and tender attachment to each
other.
Being a man of general information, and possessing an enlarged and
cultivated mind, his conversation was both amusing and instructive, and
he was always a welcome guest at Broomfield.
"I hope I have not interrupted any agreeable topic of conversation,"
said he, drawing Ferdinand between his knees.
Mr. Bernard assured him he could never be considered an interruption,
and proceeded to tell him how they had been engaged previously to his
entrance.
Mr. Dormer highly approved the plan of impressing instruction upon the
minds of young people by conversation, and regretted that it should be
generally so much neglected. "I dare say the little folks look forward
with great delight to the approach of evening," said he.
"Oh yes, Sir, that we do," replied Louisa: "we see so little of our dear
father in the day-time, that it is really quite a treat to sit down
altogether at night, and tell him what we have said, and thought, and
done, in the day; for I like that papa and mamma should know all my
thoughts, as well as my actions."
_Ferdinand_. And so do I too; but mine are often very silly thoughts,
not worth any one's knowing. I wish I could keep them in better order.
Those lines written by Cowper, which I learnt the other day, are very
true, mamma:--
"We may keep the body bound, but know not what a range the spirit
takes." [Footnote: This was an actual remark of the little boy that has
been before mentioned.]
Mr. and Mrs. Bernard looked at each other, and smiled with delight, to
find their dear boy entered so completely into the spirit of his
lessons, and was able to apply, in so proper a manner, the knowledge he
had acquired.
"Your fire-side circle seems so complete," said Mr. Dormer, "and you
appear so thoroughly to enjoy each other's society, that I fear a
proposition, which I have called this evening with the purpose of
making, will not be received so favourably as I could wish. What do you
say to my running away with one of your party?"
"Not papa or mamma," said all the children at once: "we cannot spare
them, indeed, Sir."
Mr. Dormer assured them he had no intention of depriving them of either
of their valuable parents, even for a single day. "But," added he,
"unexpected business calls me to Plymouth. I shall be absent about a
fortnight or three weeks, and shall be very dull without a companion.
Ned, my boy, what say you to accompanying me?"
Edward was delighted with the proposal, and anxiously looked at his
parents for their permission to accept Mr. Dormer's invitation. It was
willingly granted, and Edward received the affectionate congratulations
of his brother and sisters upon the occasion; who, far from envying him
the pleasure that awaited him, sincerely rejoiced in his good fortune,
and only requested to be made partakers of his pleasure, by letter.
"I shall set off the day after to-morrow," said Mr. Dormer, "so you have
no time to lose, Edward."
_Edward._ Oh sir, I shall be ready; you need not fear my
procrastination, on this occasion.
"Nor on any other occasion, I hope, my dear boy," said Mr. Dormer, "for
it is a most ruinous habit for a youth to indulge in."
Edward looked a little conscious of his deficiency in this particular,
but again promised strict punctuality.
The clock at this moment struck nine, a signal for the children to
retire. They instantly arose, and, taking an affectionate leave of the
party, withdrew.