condescension of the governor's family in deigning to be on visiting
terms with the farmer's.
"And why not?" said Mr. Glanvil. "Andrew Davison is a good citizen,
and a respectable, sensible and worthy man; and his children,
though he has wisely forborne to make any attempt at giving them
what is called a fashionable education, are by no means coarse. The
old-fashioned plainness of decent country people is not vulgarity;
and if they are ignorant of the conventional forms of city society,
they generally make amends by having a large share of that natural
civility which springs from good feeling; and it is easy in our
intercourse with them to avoid imitating such of their habits and
expressions as are at variance with our standard of refinement. As
fellow-citizens, their rights are the same as ours, and, like us,
they call no man master. Not one of them would bend his knee to any
monarch upon earth.
"Governor Milford has lived in this part of the country nearly his
whole life, and is, of course, acquainted with all the old settlers,
of whom Andrew Davison is one. And he has very judiciously brought
up his family in the mutual interchange of civilities with all
his respectable neighbours, knowing that nothing is ever lost by
cultivating the good opinion of those among whom our lot is cast."
"I suspect, after all," said Charlotte, ill-naturedly, "that the
governor's affability, and that of his children, originate in the
expectation of securing the votes of farmer Davison and his sons at
the next election."
"You are entirely mistaken," replied Mr. Glanvil. "Governor Milford
and the Davisons, though old friends, are of opposite parties. They
did not vote for him at the last election, and he has declined being
a candidate for the next."
Next day, the Glanvils were visited by the governor, with his wife
and daughter. Captain Selman did not accompany them, having set out
to return to his station. Mr. and Mrs. Glanvil were not at home, but
the young ladies overwhelmed the Milford family with civilities;
Charlotte, in particular, was absolutely obsequious in her attentions.
Upon farther acquaintance, they found that Fanny Milford had been
educated in the city, and was quite as accomplished as either
of themselves, though she had too much good sense to make any
unseasonable display. Her example was not lost upon Marianne, who
improved greatly by occasional intercourse with this amiable girl. We
wish we could say the same of Charlotte; but pride is of all faults
one of the most difficult to conquer, as it is seldom found except in
persons of weak understanding. Sensible people are never offensively
proud.
ELIZA LESLIE.
THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.
Down in the glade, where nibbling sheep
In verdant pasture stray,
A little boy was seen to keep
His weary-footed way.
A faithful dog, his fav'rite guard,
Protects the youth from harm,
A Robin dear his steps retard,
So playful on his arm:
Sweet little boy of rosy smiles,
In health and beauty drest,
A few fond friends their duteous toils
Pursue, to find thy rest:
Thy infant head knows not the care,
That bears them anxious on;
Through meadows wild, and sunny air,
To seek where thou art gone.
The vernal fields are daisied o'er,
With life the hawthorns teem;
The busy bee with flowery store,
Hums in the sultry beam:
But thou--so active in thy play,
From parents absent far;--
Heed'st not the meddling cares of day,
Nor what _their_ sorrows are.
'Tis thus, thought I, in childhood's morn
We think creation ours;
From sport to sport, our night is borne,
Like butterflies on flow'rs:
But when parental cares come round
In manhood's riper years,
The loveliest pleasures most abound
When hope succeeds our fears.
J. W. S.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE RUNAWAY.
Drawn & Engraved by J. W. Steel]
THE SOUVENIR.
It was the afternoon of Christmas eve. The weather was delightfully
mild for the season, and the sky without a cloud. The streets of
Philadelphia were unusually crowded, and the whole appearance of the
city was gay and animated. The fancy stores were resplendent with
elegant ribbons, laces, scarfs, and reticules, and the shops for
artificial flowers, made a display which rivaled nature in her most
blooming season. It was a pleasing spectacle to see so many parents
leading their children, all with happy faces; some full of hope, and
others replete with satisfaction; some going to buy Christmas gifts,
others carrying home those already purchased. Mr. Woodley went out
with his two boys to choose little presents for them, regretting
that Amelia, his eldest daughter, was obliged to remain at home in
consequence of a severe cold.
They soon entered a toy-shop, where Charles made choice of a toy
representing William Tell directing his arrow toward the apple on the
head of his son, who stood blindfold at a little distance, and, by
pulling a string, the arrow took flight and struck the apple off the
boy's head. This Charles called a very sensible toy, and his father
bought him also a box containing little wooden houses, churches, and
trees, which could be so arranged as to form a village.
Oswald, who was long since past the age of toys, selected, at a
neighbouring shop, a very pretty and curious little writing apparatus
of the purest and most transparent white marble. It looked like a
very small vase, but it contained an ink-stand, sand-box, wafer-box,
a candlestick for a wax taper, and a receptacle for pens: all nicely
fitting into each other, and so ingeniously contrived as to occupy
the smallest space possible.
"Oswald," said Mr. Woodley, "you have chosen so well for yourself,
that I will leave to you the selection of a present for your sister
Amelia." Oswald thought of many things before he could fix on any
one that he supposed would be useful or agreeable to Amelia. She
had already a handsome work-box, a bead-purse, and a case of little
perfume bottles. For a moment his choice inclined to one of the
elegant reticules he saw in a window they were just passing, and
then he recollected that Amelia could make very beautiful reticules
herself. At last, he fixed on a Souvenir, and wondered that the
thought had not struck him before, as Amelia drew very well, and was
an enthusiastic admirer of fine engravings.
They repaired to a neighbouring book-store, where, amid a variety of
splendid Souvenirs, Oswald selected for his sister one of those that
he considered the most beautiful, and had the pleasure of carrying it
home to her.
To describe the delight of Amelia on receiving this elegant present,
is impossible. She spread a clean handkerchief over her lap before
she drew the book from its case, that it might not be soiled in the
slightest degree, and she removed to a distance from the fire lest
the cover should be warped by the heat. After she had eagerly looked
all through it, she commenced again, and examined the plates with the
most minute attention. She then showed them to her little brother and
sister, carefully, however, keeping the book in her own hands.
"Amelia," said Oswald, "I know a boy that would be very happy to
examine this Souvenir. He has no opportunity of seeing any thing of
the kind, except by gazing at the windows of the book-stores."
AMELIA.--And who is this boy?
OSWALD.--His father, who has seen better days, is an
assistant in our school, and the boy himself is one of the pupils.
His name is Edwin Lovel. He has a most extraordinary genius for
drawing, though he has never had the means of cultivating it to any
extent. He is a very sensible boy, and I like him better than any
one in the school. His mother must be a nice woman, for though their
income is very small, Edwin always makes a genteel appearance, and
is uniformly clean and neat. He is also extremely handsome. All his
leisure time is devoted to drawing. He first began on the slate, when
he was only four years old, and had nothing else to draw on till he
was nine or ten. Now, he saves what little money he has, for the
purpose of buying paper and pencils. He has no box of colours, but
draws only in Indian ink, which he does most beautifully. He never
likes to see any thing wasted that can be used for drawing, and is
even glad to get the cover of a letter.
AMELIA.--You remind me of the French artist Godfrey's fine
picture of the Battle of Pultowa, which he drew, while in prison, on
the backs of letters pasted together; using, instead of Indian ink or
colours, the soot of the stove-pipe mixed with water.
OSWALD.--Well, Edwin Lovel is not quite so much at a loss
for drawing materials, for he has a cake of Indian ink and four
camel's hair pencils. He draws with a pen beautiful title-pages,
decorated with vignettes, for his copy-books and ciphering-books;
and the boys pay him for ornamenting their writing-pieces. He was
for a long time very unwilling to take money for those things, but
we finally prevailed on him, though with great difficulty. He passes
most of his evenings in drawing; that is, when he has any candle
of his own, for he will not, even in the pursuit of his favourite
gratification, cause the slightest additional expense to his parents,
who find it very hard to live on his father's small salary.
AMELIA.--What an excellent boy he must be.
OSWALD.--Last Saturday afternoon, I thought I would go for
him and take him to see some very fine pictures which were to be sold
at auction on Monday. The door was opened by a half-grown black girl,
(their only servant,) who was probably not accustomed to admitting
visiters, and, therefore, knew no better than to show me at once up
stairs to Edwin's chamber; a very small place, perfectly clean, but
furnished in the most economical manner. There was no fire in the
room. Edwin was sitting at a little pine table with his great coat
on, and his feet enveloped in an old muff of his mother's to keep
them warm. He was busily engaged in copying a head of Decatur from a
China pitcher, improving on it so greatly as to make it a very fine
drawing.
AMELIA.--Poor fellow! had he nothing better to copy?
OSWALD.--Why, I asked him that question, but he confessed
that he was at so great a loss for models that he was glad to imitate
any thing he could get; and that, having no instructer, he knew no
better way to pick up a little knowledge of the general principles of
the art, than by copying every thing that came in his way, provided
it was not absolutely bad. I then reminded him that, as he could make
admirable sketches from his own imagination, I thought he need not
copy at all; but he disclaimed all pretensions to designing well,
and then said that, even if his original attempts were tolerably
successful, as outlines, it was only by drawing from prints or
pictures that he could acquire a just idea of keeping, or of the
distribution of light and shadow. He showed me, however, several
original drawings, which my father would say evinced an extraordinary
degree of talent, and some admirable copies, though many of them were
taken from very coarse prints for want of better.
AMELIA.--How very glad he would be to have this Souvenir to
draw from.
OSWALD.--He would, indeed. But that Souvenir cost three
dollars, and I do not suppose that he ever had three dollars in his
life, poor boy--I mean three dollars at once.
AMELIA.--I will willingly lend it to him.
OSWALD.--He has so little time to draw, that it would be
a great while before he could return it; or rather, he would be so
uneasy at keeping it long, that I know he would send it back before
he had half done with it. And, besides, he would have no satisfaction
in drawing from _your book_, as he would be in continual fear of
dropping his brush on one of the leaves, or of accidentally injuring
it in some way or other. He is very unwilling to borrow any thing
that is new or valuable.
AMELIA.--What a pity that a boy of so much genius should
find any difficulties in his way.
OSWALD.--There are too many similar instances. Some of the
most distinguished artists of the present age have been obliged, in
early life, to struggle with indigence, and, indeed, with absolute
poverty, much as Edwin Lovel is now doing.
The next morning, Amelia said to her brother as soon as she found him
alone, "Oswald, I wish to ask you one question. When we receive a
present, does it not become our own?"
OSWALD.--Certainly.
AMELIA.--And we are at liberty to do exactly what we please
with it?
OSWALD.--Precisely--only I think we had better not destroy
it.
AMELIA.--Of course, not--but we may give it away?
OSWALD.--Why--I do not know--I should not like to give away
a present received from a valued friend.
AMELIA.--But if, in giving it away, you make the person on
whom you bestow it more happy than you yourself could possibly be
made by keeping it?
OSWALD.--If you were sure that that would be the case----
AMELIA.--Oh! I am very sure--I can answer for myself.
Therefore, dear brother, I beg your acceptance of my Souvenir.
OSWALD.--Why, Amelia, your kindness surprises me. You know
I have already a Christmas gift; the beautiful writing case that my
father bought for me yesterday. I cannot take your Souvenir.
AMELIA.--Dear Oswald, for once allow me to make you a
present. It is the first time in my life I have had it in my power
to offer you any thing of consequence. I shall be so happy, if you
accept it--There it is, (_laying the Souvenir on Oswald's knee._)
OSWALD.--But, Amelia, how can you part so soon with your
beautiful Souvenir? You were so delighted with it last evening.
AMELIA.--I know every thing in it--I examined all the plates
with the greatest attention, and I read it through before I went to
bed.
OSWALD.--(_smiling._)--Well, Amelia, though you are so
generous as to make me the owner of the Souvenir, you know it will
still remain in the house. I will put it carefully away in my little
book case, and whenever you wish to look at it, just tell me so, and
you shall have it at any time.
AMELIA.--(_looking disappointed._)--But, Oswald, are you
going to keep it always?
OSWALD.--Always, as the gift of my loving sister.
AMELIA.--But I do not _insist_ on your keeping it for ever,
dear Oswald. You may give it away again--I shall not be the least
offended if you give it away, provided you bestow it properly.
Indeed, I would rather you should give it away than not--and as soon
as possible, too--this very day, if you choose.
OSWALD.--Surely, Amelia, you have a very strange way of
making a present; desiring it to be given away again immediately.
AMELIA.--Why, Oswald, you know you do not draw.
OSWALD.--No, indeed, to my great regret.
AMELIA.--And, if you did, my father would always take care
that you should be well supplied with models.
OSWALD.--I suppose he would, as he never lets us want for
any thing that could add to our improvement.
AMELIA.--Had not the Souvenir better be given to a person
that _does draw_ very well,--beautifully, indeed,--but that has no
money to buy models?
OSWALD.--In one word--Had not the Souvenir better be given
to Edwin Lovel?
AMELIA.--Yes, since it must be told, that is exactly what I
mean.
OSWALD.--So I guessed from the beginning. But why did
you take such a roundabout way of getting the book put into his
possession?
AMELIA.--Why, I do not suppose he would accept it from me, a
young girl whom he has never seen; but he would be less scrupulous in
taking it as _your_ gift, as you are an acquaintance of his.
OSWALD.--Say, a friend.
AMELIA.--I know you so well, that, after our conversation
last night, I was certain, if I gave the book to you, you would
present it at once to the poor boy; and I was much disconcerted when
you pretended at first that you would keep it always.
OSWALD.--Amelia, the book is yours, and the suggestion is
yours, and I will not assume to myself more merit than I deserve. If
you are determined on giving the Souvenir to Edwin Lovel, the best
way is to seal it up in a sheet of white paper addressed to him, and
with a few words written on the inside, requesting his acceptance of
the book from an unknown admirer of early genius.
AMELIA.--An excellent plan--I wonder I did not think of it
before. I will set about it directly.
OSWALD.--Here is a sheet of Ames's best letter-paper, and
here is my new writing-box. Let it be used for the first time in a
good cause.
AMELIA.--(_sits down and writes._)--I never wrote any thing
with more pleasure.
OSWALD.--Be sure to put "early genius."
AMELIA.--I have.
OSWALD.--Let me see--I never saw any writing of yours look
so pretty. Now, I will put up the parcel, and tie it round with red
tape, and seal it, for girls seldom do such things well--(_he folds
the book in the paper, ties, and seals it._) There, now direct it.
AMELIA.--The next thing is, who shall we get to carry it to
Edwin?
OSWALD.--Why not William?
AMELIA.--I do not wish my father to know it, lest he should
think I set too little value on his Christmas present; and I will
never ask a servant to do any thing for me that is to be kept from
the knowledge of my parents.
OSWALD.--That is right. I will take the packet to the
Intelligence Office, round the corner, and give one of the black boys
that are always loitering there, a trifle to carry it to Mr. Lovel's,
and just leave it with whoever opens the door.
AMELIA.--That will do very well. Now, Oswald, make haste,
for I hear my father coming.
Oswald easily procured a boy to carry the packet to the house of
Mr. Lovel, who lived in one of the upper cross streets. The door
was opened by the black girl, who immediately recognised the boy as
an old acquaintance, and commenced a conversation with him. "Why,
Ben," said she, "What is this you have brought for Master Edwin? I
guess it's a book. It looks 'xactly like one. All done up so nice,
and sealed. Why, I'm puzzled who sended it." "He did not tell me his
name," replied the boy, "but I guess I know who he is, for all that.
It's Master Oswald Woodley, Mr. Woodley, the great merchant's eldest
son. My aunt is cook there, and I've often been in the kitchen. And
he gave me a quarter-dollar for carrying it; and it must be 'livered
into Master Edwin's own private, particular hands."
So saying, he departed, and the girl ran up to Edwin's room, holding
out the parcel and saying, "Master Edwin, here's a book for you,
signed, sealed, and delivered; sent by Master Oswald Woodley, oldest
son of Mr. Woodley the great merchant."
Edwin took the book, and, on opening it, was much surprised to
find the note written in a female hand, and the name of Amelia
Woodley on the presentation plate of the Souvenir, which had been
inscribed by her father the preceding evening, and which she had
forgotten to erase before she sent it away. For some time, his
pleasure in examining the beautiful plates absorbed every other
consideration, and it was not till he had gone twice over them, that
he thought of the mystery connected with the book. His honourable
principles determined him not to accept it, as he saw that there
was some secrecy about the whole transaction, and that probably the
generous young lady, whose name it bore, had sent it to him without
the knowledge of her parents. The beauty of the book was a great
temptation, and he would have derived much pleasure from copying
some of the fine plates, but still he could not reconcile it to his
conscience to keep it, neither would he betray the kind-hearted
Amelia to her father. He resolved to seal it up again, and leave it
himself at Mr. Woodley's door, addressed to Oswald.
He took his last sheet of paper, and wrote in it as follows:--
"Accident has discovered to me to whom I am indebted for a most
beautiful present, but though it has excited my warmest gratitude, I
cannot consent to accept it under circumstances of mystery to which
the parents of my kind friend may be strangers. I return it with a
thousand acknowledgments.
EDWIN LOVEL."
Having looked once more at the engravings, he put up the Souvenir,
and set out himself to leave it at Mr. Woodley's house, intending to
desire the servant that opened the door to give it to Master Oswald.
Mr. Woodley was sitting at the centre-table looking over some English
newspapers, and he found in one of them a high eulogium on a new
picture by an American artist, now in London. He read the piece
aloud, and when he had concluded, "Amelia," said he, "if I am not
mistaken, there is in your Souvenir an engraving from this picture.
Let me look at it again." Amelia coloured and knew not what to say,
and Oswald also seemed much embarrassed. "My dear," pursued Mr.
Woodley, "did you not hear me? If you can get the book conveniently,
I should like to look at that plate." Amelia, confused and trembling,
tried to speak but could not, and her eyes were immediately filled
with tears. "Amelia," said Mr. Woodley, "has any accident happened to
the Souvenir?" "No, my dear father," she replied, "but I have given
it away." "Is it possible," said Mr. Woodley, "that you were so soon
tired of your father's Christmas gift?" "Oh! no, no," replied Amelia,
"but there is a poor boy who draws beautifully, and I thought it
would make him so happy. Dear Oswald, tell the whole."
Oswald then, as concisely as possible, related all the circumstances:
and Mr. Woodley, after gently blaming the children for disposing
of the book without consulting their parents, kissed Amelia, and
commended her kindness and benevolence in bestowing her Souvenir on
poor Edwin Lovel.
Just then a ring was heard at the front door, and William brought in
and gave to Oswald the packet, which had been left that moment by
Edwin. "Ah!" exclaimed Oswald, on opening the parcel, "this is so
like Edwin. He sends back the Souvenir." He then gave Edwin's note
to Mr. Woodley, who, after reading it, went to the desk and wrote
a billet addressed to Edwin's father, in which he requested him to
permit his son to join his family that day at their Christmas dinner.
William was immediately despatched to Mr. Lovel's with the note, and
in a short time Edwin arrived, looking very happy; and Mr. Woodley
shook him heartily by the hand, on being introduced to him by Oswald.
Then, taking up the Souvenir, he held it out to Amelia, and desired
her to present it a second time to her brother's young friend. "With
my sanction," said Mr. Woodley to Edwin, "you will not again refuse
my daughter's gift, though you so honourably returned it when you
suspected that she offered it unknown to her parents."
Edwin spent the day with the Woodley family, who were all delighted
with his modesty and good sense, and Mr. Woodley made him promise to
repeat his visit as often as he had leisure. That evening, Amelia's
uncle brought her a present of an Album, bound in green morocco and
handsomely gilt, and Edwin requested that she would allow him to take
it home and draw something in it.
When he returned the Album, it contained copies, in Indian ink, of
the most beautiful plates of the Souvenir, executed in Edwin's very
best manner. Mr. Woodley presented Edwin with a portfolio, containing
a selection of fine prints, and eventually made arrangements with a
distinguished artist to take him as a pupil: his taste for drawing
being so decided, and his indications of genius so extraordinary,
it was thought best to yield to his desire of making painting his
profession.
Finding Edwin's father to be a very deserving man, Mr. Woodley
assisted him to re-establish himself in business, regretting that he
should so long have been condemned to the irksome life of a teacher
in a school. He was soon enabled to occupy a better house, and to
live once more in the enjoyment of every comfort.
E. L.
MOTHER'S JOY
Why, what a busy maid thou art,
With eyes so like a dove!
And I am sure thy little heart
Is running o'er with love.
No grief hast thou, save now and then
Thy bread and butter falls,--
Or careless little bantam hen
Escapes from her wooden walls.
Sometimes thy roguish brother comes
Along with stealthy tread,
And in thy startled ear he drums,
Or pulls thy curly head.
And these are all the troubles thou
E'er hast, my gentle Mary--
No wonder thou, with happy brow,
Art listening to Canary.
And then thou art so very kind
To every thing that moves--
Thy little feather'd brood all find
How sweetly Mary loves.
James is an active, winning child--
Dearly we love the boy--
But thou, my little maiden mild,
Thou art thy Mother's Joy!
THE PERCEVALS.