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diff --git a/36507-0.txt b/36507-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b1333c --- /dev/null +++ b/36507-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3542 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mary Wollstonecraft's Original Stories, by +Mary Wollstonecraft, Edited by E. V. Lucas, Illustrated by William Blake + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Mary Wollstonecraft's Original Stories + + +Author: Mary Wollstonecraft + +Editor: E. V. Lucas + +Release Date: June 24, 2011 [eBook #36507] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT'S ORIGINAL +STORIES*** + + +This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler. + +[Picture: Look what a fine morning it is . . . Insects, Birds, & Animals, + are all enjoying existence] + + + + + + MARY + WOLLSTONECRAFT’S + ORIGINAL + STORIES + + + WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS + BY + WILLIAM BLAKE + + * * * * * + + WITH AN INTRODUCTION + BY + E. V. LUCAS + + * * * * * + + LONDON + HENRY FROWDE + 1906 + + * * * * * + + OXFORD: HORACE HART + PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY + + + + +EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION + + +The germ of the _Original Stories_ was, I imagine, a suggestion (in the +manner of publishers) from Mary Wollstonecraft’s employer, Johnson of St. +Paul’s Churchyard, that something more or less in the manner of Mrs. +Trimmer’s _History of the Robins_, the great nursery success of 1786, +might be a profitable speculation. For I doubt if the production of a +book for children would ever have occurred spontaneously to an author so +much more interested in the status of women and other adult matters. +However, the idea being given her, she quickly wrote the book—in 1787 or +1788—carrying out in it to a far higher power, in Mrs. Mason, the +self-confidence and rectitude of Mrs. Trimmer’s leading lady, Mrs. +Benson, who in her turn had been preceded by that other flawless +instructor of youth, Mr. Barlow. None of these exemplars could do wrong; +but the Mrs. Mason whom we meet in the following pages far transcends the +others in conscious merit. Mrs. Benson in the _History of the Robins_ +(with the author of which Mary Wollstonecraft was on friendly terms) was +sufficiently like the Protagonist of the Old Testament to be, when among +Mrs. Wilson’s bees, ‘excessively pleased with the ingenuity and industry +with which these insects collect their honey and wax, form their cells, +and deposit their store’; but Mrs. Mason, as we shall see, went still +farther. + +It has to be remembered that the _Original Stories_ were written when the +author was twenty-nine, five years before she met Gilbert Imlay and six +years before her daughter Fanny Imlay was born. I mention this fact +because it seems to me to be very significant. I feel that had the book +been written after Fanny’s birth, or even after the Imlay infatuation, it +would have been somewhat different: not perhaps more entertaining, +because its author had none of that imaginative sympathy with the young +which would direct her pen in the direction of pure pleasure for them; +but more human, more kindly, better. One can have indeed little doubt as +to this after reading those curious first lessons for an infant which +came from Mary Wollstonecraft’s pen in or about 1795, (printed in volume +two of the _Posthumous Works_, 1798), and which give evidence of so much +more tenderness and reasonableness (and at the same time want of Reason, +which may have been Godwin’s God but will never stand in that relation +either to English men or English children) than the monitress of the +_Original Stories_, the impeccable Mrs. Mason, ever suggests. I know of +no early instance where a mother talks down to an infant more prettily: +continually descending herself to its level, yet never with any of Mrs. +Mason’s arrogance and superiority. Not indeed that this poor mother, +with her impulsive warm heart wounded, and most of her illusions gone, +and few kindly eyes resting upon her, could ever have compassed much of +Mrs. Mason’s prosperous self-satisfaction and authority had she wished +to; for in the seven years between the composition of the _Original +Stories_ and the lessons for the minute Fanny Imlay, she had lived an +emotional lifetime, and suffering much, pitied much. + +In Lesson X, which I quote, although it says nothing of charity or +kindness, a vastly more human spirit is found than in any of Mrs. Mason’s +homilies on our duty to the afflicted:— + + See how much taller you are than William. In four years you have + learned to eat, to walk, to talk. Why do you smile? You can do much + more, you think: you can wash your hands and face. Very well. I + should never kiss a dirty face. And you can comb your head with the + pretty comb you always put by in your own drawer. To be sure, you do + all this to be ready to take a walk with me. You would be obliged to + stay at home, if you could not comb your own hair. Betty is busy + getting the dinner ready, and only brushes William’s hair, because he + cannot do it for himself. + + Betty is making an apple-pye. You love an apple-pye; but I do not + bid you make one. Your hands are not strong enough to mix the butter + and flour together; and you must not try to pare the apples, because + you cannot manage a great knife. + + Never touch the large knives: they are very sharp, and you might cut + your finger to the bone. You are a little girl, and ought to have a + little knife. When you are as tall as I am, you shall have a knife + as large as mine; and when you are as strong as I am, and have + learned to manage it, you will not hurt yourself. + + You can trundle a hoop, you say; and jump over a stick. O, I + forgot!—and march like men in the red coats, when papa plays a pretty + tune on the fiddle. + +Even a very little of the tender spirit that this lesson breathes, even a +very little of its sense of play, would have leavened the _Original +Stories_ into a more wholesome consistency. As it stands, that book is +one of the most perfect examples of the success with which, a century or +more ago, any ingratiating quality could be kept out of a work for the +young. According to William Godwin, his unhappy wife had always a pretty +and endearing way with children. Yet of pretty and endearing ways, as of +humour, I take him to have been a bad judge; for I do not think that any +woman possessing enough sympathy to attach children to her as he, in one +of the most curious biographies in the language, assures us that she had, +could have suppressed the gift so completely in her first book for young +minds. And the Mrs. Masonic character of her own Preface supports my +view. + +I do not wish to suggest that previous to 1787 Mary Wollstonecraft had +been a stranger to suffering. Far from it. Her life had known little +joy. Her father’s excesses, her mother’s grief and poverty, her sister’s +misfortunes, her own homelessness, and, to crown all, the death of her +close friend Frances Blood, must have dimmed if not obliterated most of +her happy impulses. But it is one thing to suffer bereavement and to be +anxious about the troubles of others near and dear; and it is quite +another to suffer oneself by loving, even to a point of personal +disaster, and then losing both that love and the friendliness (such as it +was) of the world. Imlay’s desertion and the birth of Fanny were real +things beside which a drunken father, unhappy sisters, and a dead friend +were mere trifles. + +This little book is to my mind chiefly interesting for two reasons apart +from its original purpose—for the light it throws on the attitude of the +nursery authors of that day towards children, and for the character of +Mrs. Mason, a type of the dominant British character, in petticoats, here +for the first time (so far as my reading goes) set on paper. + +I have no information regarding the success of the _Original Stories_ in +their day, and such spirited efforts as are now made to obtain them by +collectors are, we know, due rather to Blake than to Mary Wollstonecraft; +but any measure of popularity that they may have enjoyed illustrates the +awful state of slavery in which the children of the seventeen-nineties +must have subsisted. It is indeed wonderful to me to think that only a +poor hundred years ago such hard and arid presentations of adult +perfection and infantile incapacity should have been considered, even by +capable writers, all that the intelligence of children needed or their +tender inexperience deserved. I do not deny that children are not to-day +too much considered: indeed, I think that they are: I think there is now +an unfortunate tendency to provide them with literature in such variety +as to anticipate, and possibly supplant, the most valuable natural +workings of their minds in almost every direction; but such activity at +any rate indicates a desire on the part of the writers of these books to +understand their readers, whereas I can detect none in the _Original +Stories_ or in hundreds of kindred works of that day. _Sandford and +Merton_ and Mrs. Trimmer’s book stand apart: there is much humanity and +imaginative sympathy in both; but with the majority of nursery authors, +to fling down a collection of homilies was sufficient. + +The odd thing is that every one was equally thoughtless: it is not merely +that Mary Wollstonecraft should consider such an intellectual stone as +Chapter XV worth preparing for poor little fellow creatures that needed +bread; but that her publisher Johnson should consider it the kind of +thing to send forth, and that, with artists capable of dramatic interest +available, he should hand the commission to illustrate it to William +Blake, who, exquisitely charming as were his drawings for his own +_Songs_, was as yet in no sense of the word an ingratiating illustrator +of narratives of real life for young eyes. And there still remains the +parent or friend who, picking up the book in a shop, considered it the +kind of thing to strike a bliss into the soul of Master Henry or Miss +Susan as a birthday present. It is all, at this date, so incredible, so +shortsighted, so cruel, one could almost say. No one seems to have tried +at all: the idea of wooing a child was not in the air—certainly Mary +Wollstonecraft had none of it. + +Who it was that first discerned the child to be a thing of joy, a +character apart worth coming to without patronage, a flower, a fairy, I +cannot say. But Blake, in his writings, had much to do with the +discovery, and Wordsworth perhaps more. Certain, however, is it that +Mary Wollstonecraft, even if she had glimmerings of this truth, had no +more; and those she suppressed when the pen was in her hand. + +I might remark here that the circumstance that Blake’s drawings for +Salzmann’s _Elements of Morality_, which Mary Wollstonecraft translated +in 1791, also for Johnson, are more interesting and dramatic, is due to +the fact that he merely adapted the work of the German artist. Blake was +uniformly below himself in this kind of employment. Only in the rapt +freedoms of the angelic harper in his hut, in the picture opposite page +56 of the present work, does he approach his true genius; while in his +conception of Mrs. Mason I have no confidence. Not slim and willowy and +pensive was she in my mental picture of her: I figure a matron of sterner +stuff and solider build. + +But having said this against the _Original Stories_, I have said all, for +as the casket enshrining Mrs. Mason its value remains unassailable. + +It was well for Mrs. Mason that Mary Wollstonecraft set her on paper in +1788. Had she waited until the _Vindication of the Rights of Women_ was +written in 1792 (and dedicated to Talleyrand), had she waited until +little Fanny Imlay was born into a stony world, Mrs. Mason would never +have been. Because it is the likes of Mrs. Mason that keep the rights of +women, as Mary Wollstonecraft saw them, in the background, and demand the +production of marriage lines. Mrs. Mason would have been the first to +regret the unwomanliness of the publication both of the book and of the +baby. The Preface to this book suggests that Mary Wollstonecraft was at +that time, before she had loved and lost and suffered, something of a +Mrs. Mason herself; but Mrs. Mason remained Masonic to the end, whereas +poor Mary’s heart and mind were always in conflict. She may have loved +pure Reason, but she loved Gilbert Imlay too. And this Mrs. Mason never +did. + +Mrs. Mason never nods. Her tact, her mental reaction, her confidence, +her sense of duty and knowledge of duty, are alike marvellous. When the +higher mercy compels her to end a wounded lark’s misery by putting her +foot on its head, she ‘turns her own the other way’. At the close of a +walk during which her charges have been ‘rational’, she shakes hands with +them. Her highest praise to Mary, after the fruit-picking incident on +page 40, is to call her ‘my friend’; ‘and she deserved the name,’ adds +the lady, ‘for she was no longer a child.’ No child could be her friend. +One wonders what she made of the beautiful words ‘Suffer the little +children to come unto Me . . . for of such is the kingdom of Heaven’; but +of course she did not know them: her Testament was obviously the Old. + +Yet we have, as it happens, a comment on Christ’s remark, in her +statement on page 8, made in one of her recurring monologues on +superiority and inferiority, that it is ‘only to animals that children +_can_ do good’. Mrs. Mason’s expression of alarm and dismay on hearing +the words ‘A little child shall lead them’ could be drawn adequately, one +feels, only by Mary Wollstonecraft’s friend Fuseli. + +‘I govern my servants and you,’ said Mrs. Mason, ‘by attending strictly +to truth, and this observance keeping my head clear and my heart pure, I +am ever ready to pray to the Author of Good, the Fountain of truth.’ She +never paid unmeaning compliments, (and here it is interesting to compare +the second paragraph of Mary Wollstonecraft’s Preface, where she plays at +being a Mrs. Mason too), or permitted any word to drop from her tongue +that her heart did not dictate. Hence she allowed Mrs. Trimmer’s +_History of the Robins_ to be lent to a little girl, only on condition +that the little girl should be made to understand that birds cannot +really talk. She had in her garden, although large, only one bed of +tulips, because the tulip flaunts, whereas the rose, of which she had a +profusion, is modest. That God made both does not seem to have troubled +her. She thought that the poor who were willing to work ‘had a right to +the comforts of life’. During a thunderstorm she walked with the same +security as when the sun enlivened the prospect, since her love of virtue +had overcome her fear of death. She was weaned from the world, ‘but not +disgusted.’ When she visited those who have been reduced from their +original place in society by misfortunes, she made such alterations in +her dress as would suggest ceremony, lest too much familiarity should +appear like disrespect. She forbade Caroline to cry when in pain, +because the Most High was educating her for eternity. She thought that +all diseases were sent to children by the Almighty to teach them patience +and fortitude. She never sought bargains, wishing every one to receive +the just value for their goods; and when her two charges at last left +her, to return to their father, she dismissed them with the words, ‘You +are now candidates for my friendship, and on your advancement in virtue +my regard will in future depend.’ + +The great fault of Mrs. Mason is that she had none. One seems to +understand why her own children and husband died so quickly. + +Since I have read this little book a new kind of nightmare has come into +my slumbers: I dream that I am walking with Mrs. Mason. The greatness +and goodness of Mrs. Mason surround me, dominate me, suffocate me. With +head erect, vigilant eye, and a smile of assurance and tolerance on her +massive features, she sails on and on, holding my neatly-gloved hand, +discoursing ever of the infinite mercy of God, the infinite paltriness of +myself, and the infinite success of Mrs. Mason. I think that Mrs. +Mason’s most terrible characteristic to me (who have never been quite +sure of anything) is the readiness with which her decisions spring +fully-armed from her brain. She knows not only everything, but herself +too: she has no doubts. Here she joins hands with so much that is most +triumphant in the British character. The Briton also is without doubts. +He marches forward. He is right. It is when I contemplate him in this +mood—and Mrs. Mason too—that I most wonder who my ancestors can have +been. + +The awful reality of Mrs. Mason proves that Mary Wollstonecraft, had she +known her own power and kept her mental serenity, might have been a great +novelist. Mrs. Mason was the first and strongest British Matron. She +came before Mrs. Proudie, and also, it is interesting to note, before Sir +Willoughby Patterne. But she was, I fear, an accident; for there is +nothing like her in our author’s one experiment in adult fiction, _The +Wrongs of Woman_. + + E. V. LUCAS. + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +Look what a fine morning it is.—Insects, Birds, _Frontispiece_ +and Animals, are all enjoying existence. +Indeed we are very happy! _to face page_ 36 +Be calm, my child, remember that you must do all _to face page_ 46 +the good you can the present day +Trying to trace the sound, I discovered a little _to face page_ 56 +hut, rudely built +Economy and Self-denial are necessary, in every _to face page_ 86 +station, to enable us to be generous + + + + [Picture: Facsimile of the title page of the 1791 edition] + + + + +PREFACE + + +These conversations and tales are accommodated to the present state of +society; which obliges the author to attempt to cure those faults by +reason, which might never to have taken root in the infant mind. Good +habits, imperceptibly fixed, are far preferable to the precepts of +reason; but, as this task requires more judgment than generally falls to +the lot of parents, substitutes must be sought for, and medicines given, +when regimen would have answered the purpose much better. I believe +those who examine their own minds, will readily agree with me, that +reason, with difficulty, conquers settled habits, even when it is arrived +at some degree of maturity: why then do we suffer children to be bound +with fetters, which their half-formed faculties cannot break. + +In writing the following work, I aim at perspicuity and simplicity of +style; and try to avoid those unmeaning compliments, which slip from the +tongue, but have not the least connexion with the affections that should +warm the heart, and animate the conduct. By this false politeness, +sincerity is sacrificed, and truth violated; and thus artificial manners +are necessarily taught. For true politeness is a polish, not a varnish; +and should rather be acquired by observation than admonition. And we may +remark, by way of illustration, that men do not attempt to polish +precious stones, till age and air have given them that degree of +solidity, which will enable them to bear the necessary friction, without +destroying the main substance. + +The way to render instruction most useful cannot always be adopted; +knowledge should be gradually imparted, and flow more from example than +teaching: example directly addresses the senses, the first inlets to the +heart; and the improvement of those instruments of the understanding is +the object education should have constantly in view, and over which we +have most power. But to wish that parents would, themselves, mould the +ductile passions, is a chimerical wish, for the present generation have +their own passions to combat with, and fastidious pleasures to pursue, +neglecting those pointed out by nature: we must therefore pour premature +knowledge into the succeeding one; and, teaching virtue, explain the +nature of vice. Cruel necessity! + +The Conversations are intended to assist the teacher as well as the +pupil; and this will obviate an objection which some may start, that the +sentiments are not quite on a level with the capacity of a child. Every +child requires a different mode of treatment; but a writer can only +choose one, and that must be modified by those who are actually engaged +with young people in their studies. + +The tendency of the reasoning obviously tends to fix principles of truth +and humanity on a solid and simple foundation; and to make religion an +active, invigorating director of the affections, and not a mere attention +to forms. Systems of Theology may be complicated, but when the character +of the Supreme Being is displayed, and He is recognised as the Universal +Father, the Author and Centre of Good, a child may be led to comprehend +that dignity and happiness must arise from imitating Him; and this +conviction should be twisted into—and be the foundation of every +inculcated duty. + +At any rate, the Tales, which were written to illustrate the moral, may +recall it, when the mind has gained sufficient strength to discuss the +argument from which it was deduced. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Mary and Caroline, though the children of wealthy parents were, in their +infancy, left entirely to the management of servants, or people equally +ignorant. Their mother died suddenly, and their father, who found them +very troublesome at home, placed them under the tuition of a woman of +tenderness and discernment, a near relation, who was induced to take on +herself the important charge through motives of compassion. + +They were shamefully ignorant, considering that Mary had been fourteen, +and Caroline twelve years in the world. If they had been merely +ignorant, the task would not have appeared so arduous; but they had +caught every prejudice that the vulgar casually instill. In order to +eradicate these prejudices, and substitute good habits instead of those +they had carelessly contracted, Mrs. Mason never suffered them to be out +of her sight. They were allowed to ask questions on all occasions, a +method she would not have adopted, had she educated them from the first, +according to the suggestions of her own reason, to which experience had +given its sanction. + +They had tolerable capacities; but Mary had a turn for ridicule, and +Caroline was vain of her person. She was, indeed, very handsome, and the +inconsiderate encomiums that had, in her presence, been lavished on her +beauty made her, even at that early age, affected. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + CHAPTER I +_The Treatment of Animals.—The Ant.—The Bee.—Goodness.—The 1 +Lark’s Nest.—The Asses_ + CHAPTER II +_The Treatment of Animals.—The Difference between them and 6 +Man.—The Parental Affection of a Dog.—Brutality punished_ + CHAPTER III +_The Treatment of Animals.—The Story of crazy Robin.—The 10 +Man confined in the Bastille_ + CHAPTER IV +_Anger.—History of Jane Fretful_ 14 + CHAPTER V +_Lying.—Honour.—Truth.—Small Duties.—History of Lady Sly 18 +and Mrs. Trueman_ + CHAPTER VI +_Anger.—Folly produces Self-contempt_, _and the Neglect of 25 +others_ + CHAPTER VII +_Virtue the Soul of Beauty.—The Tulip and the Rose.—The 27 +Nightingale.—External Ornaments.—Characters_ + CHAPTER VIII +_Summer Evening’s Amusement.—The Arrival of a Family of 31 +Haymakers.—Ridicule of personal Defects censured.—A +Storm.—The Fear of Death.—The Cottage of Honest Jack_, +_the shipwrecked Sailor.—The History of Jack_, _and his +faithful Dog Pompey_ + CHAPTER IX +_The Inconveniences of immoderate Indulgence_ 37 + CHAPTER X +_The Danger of Delay.—Description of a Mansion-house in 40 +Ruins.—History of Charles Townley_ + CHAPTER XI +_Dress.—A Character.—Remarks on Mrs. Trueman’s Manner of 47 +Dressing.—Trifling Omissions undermine Affection_ + CHAPTER XII +_Behaviour to Servants.—True Dignity of Character_ 50 + CHAPTER XIII +_Employment.—Idleness produces Misery.—The Cultivation of 53 +the Fancy raises us above the Vulgar_, _extends our +Happiness_, _and leads to Virtue_ + CHAPTER XIV +_Innocent Amusements.—Description of a Welch 55 +Castle.—History of a Welch Harper.—A tyrannical +Landlord.—Family Pride_ + CHAPTER XV +_Prayer.—A Moon-light Scene.—Resignation_ 60 + CHAPTER XVI +_The Benefits arising from Devotion.—The History of the 64 +Village School-mistress.—Fatal Effects of Inattention to +Expense_, _in the History of Mr. Lofty_ + CHAPTER XVII +_The Benefits arising from Devotion.—The History of the 67 +Village School-mistress concluded_ + CHAPTER XVIII +_A Visit to the School-mistress.—True and False Pride_ 69 + CHAPTER XIX +_Charity.—The History of Peggy and her Family.—The 71 +Sailor’s Widow_ + CHAPTER XX +_Visit to Mrs. Trueman.—The Use of Accomplishments.—Virtue 74 +the Soul of all_ + CHAPTER XXI +_The Benefit of bodily Pain.—Fortitude the Basis of 77 +Virtue.—The Folly of Irresolution_ + CHAPTER XXII +_Journey to London_ 79 + CHAPTER XXIII +_Charity.—Shopping.—The distressed Stationer.—Mischievous 81 +Consequences of delaying Payment_ + CHAPTER XXIV +_Visit to a Poor Family in London.—Idleness the Parent of 84 +Vice.—Prodigality and Generosity incompatible.—The +Pleasures of Benevolence.—True and false Motives for +Saving_ + CHAPTER XXV +_Mrs. Mason’s farewell Advice to her Pupils.—Observations 86 +on Letter-writing_ + + + + + + +MORAL CONVERSATIONS AND STORIES + + +CHAPTER I + + +The treatment of animals.—The ant.—The bee.—Goodness.—The lark’s +nest.—The asses. + +One fine morning in spring, some time after Mary and Caroline were +settled in their new abode, Mrs. Mason proposed a walk before breakfast, +a custom she wished to teach imperceptibly, by rendering it amusing. + +The sun had scarcely dispelled the dew that hung on every blade of grass, +and filled the half-shut flowers; every prospect smiled, and the +freshness of the air conveyed the most pleasing sensations to Mrs. +Mason’s mind; but the children were regardless of the surrounding +beauties, and ran eagerly after some insects to destroy them. Mrs. Mason +silently observed their cruel sports, without appearing to do it; but +stepping suddenly out of the foot-path into the long grass, her buckle +was caught in it, and striving to disentangle herself, she wet her feet; +which the children knew she wished to avoid, as she had been lately sick. +This circumstance roused their attention; and they forgot their amusement +to enquire why she had left the path; and Mary could hardly restrain a +laugh, when she was informed that it was to avoid treading on some snails +that were creeping across the narrow footway. Surely, said Mary, you do +not think there is any harm in killing a snail, or any of those nasty +creatures that crawl on the ground? I hate them, and should scream if +one was to find its way from my clothes to my neck! With great gravity, +Mrs. Mason asked how she dared to kill any thing, unless it were to +prevent its hurting her? Then, resuming a smiling face, she said, Your +education has been neglected, my child; as we walk along attend to what I +say, and make the best answers you can; and do you, Caroline, join in the +conversation. + +You have already heard that God created the world, and every inhabitant +of it. He is then called the Father of all creatures; and all are made +to be happy, whom a good and wise God has created. He made those snails +you despise, and caterpillars, and spiders; and when He made them, did +not leave them to perish, but placed them where the food that is most +proper to nourish them is easily found. They do not live long, but He +who is their Father, as well as your’s, directs them to deposit their +eggs on the plants that are fit to support their young, when they are not +able to get food for themselves.—And when such a great and wise Being has +taken care to provide every thing necessary for the meanest creature, +would you dare to kill it, merely because it appears to you ugly? Mary +began to be attentive, and quickly followed Mrs. Mason’s example, who +allowed a caterpillar and a spider to creep on her hand. You find them, +she rejoined, very harmless; but a great number would destroy our +vegetables and fruit; so birds are permitted to eat them, as we feed on +animals; and in spring there are always more than at any other season of +the year, to furnish food for the young broods.—Half convinced, Mary +said, but worms are of little consequence in the world. Yet, replied +Mrs. Mason, God cares for them, and gives them every thing that is +necessary to render their existence comfortable. You are often +troublesome—I am stronger than you—yet I do not kill you. + +Observe those ants; they have a little habitation in yonder hillock; they +carry food to it for their young, and sleep very snug in it during the +cold weather. The bees also have comfortable towns, and lay up a store +of honey to support them when the flowers die, and snow covers the +ground: and this forecast is as much the gift of God, as any quality you +possess. + +Do you know the meaning of the word Goodness? I see you are unwilling to +answer. I will tell you. It is, first, to avoid hurting any thing; and +then, to contrive to give as much pleasure as you can. If some insects +are to be destroyed, to preserve my garden from desolation, I have it +done in the quickest way. The domestic animals that I keep, I provide +the best food for, and never suffer them to be tormented; and this +caution arises from two motives:—I wish to make them happy; and, as I +love my fellow-creatures still better than the brute creation, I would +not allow those that I have any influence over, to grow habitually +thoughtless and cruel, till they were unable to relish the greatest +pleasure life affords,—that of resembling God, by doing good. + +A lark now began to sing, as it soared aloft. The children watched its +motions, listening to the artless melody. They wondered what it was +thinking of—of its young family, they soon concluded; for it flew over +the hedge, and drawing near, they heard the young ones chirp. Very soon +both the old birds took their flight together, to look for food to +satisfy the craving of the almost fledged young. An idle boy, who had +borrowed a gun, fired at them—they fell; and before he could take up the +wounded pair, he perceived Mrs. Mason; and expecting a very severe +reprimand, ran away. She and the little girls drew near, and found that +one was not much hurt; but that the other, the cock, had one leg broken, +and both its wings shattered; and its little eyes seemed starting out of +their sockets, it was in such exquisite pain. The children turned away +their eyes. Look at it, said Mrs. Mason; do you not see that it suffers +as much, and more than you did when you had the small-pox, when you were +so tenderly nursed. Take up the hen; I will bind her wing together; +perhaps it may heal. As to the cock, though I hate to kill any thing, I +must put him out of pain; to leave him in his present state would be +cruel; and avoiding an unpleasant sensation myself, I should allow the +poor bird to die by inches, and call this treatment tenderness, when it +would be selfishness or weakness. Saying so, she put her foot on the +bird’s head, turning her own another way. + +They walked on; when Caroline remarked, that the nestlings, deprived of +their parents, would now perish; and the mother began to flutter in her +hand as they drew near the hedge, though the poor creature could not fly, +yet she tried to do it. The girls, with one voice, begged Mrs. Mason to +let them take the nest, and provide food in a cage, and see if the mother +could not contrive to hop about to feed them. The nest and the old +mother were instantly in Mary’s handkerchief. A little opening was left +to admit the air; and Caroline peeped into it every moment to see how +they looked. I give you leave, said Mrs. Mason, to take those birds, +because an accident has rendered them helpless; if that had not been the +case, they should not have been confined. + +They had scarcely reached the next field, when they met another boy with +a nest in his hand, and on a tree near him saw the mother, who, +forgetting her natural timidity, followed the spoiler; and her +intelligible tones of anguish reached the ears of the children, whose +hearts now first felt the emotions of humanity. Caroline called him, and +taking sixpence out of her little purse, offered to give it to him for +the nest, if he would shew her where he had taken it from. The boy +consented, and away ran Caroline to replace it,—crying all the way, how +delighted the old bird will be to find her brood again. The pleasure +that the parent-bird would feel was talked of till they came to a large +common, and heard some young asses, at the door of an hovel, making a +most dreadful noise. Mrs. Mason had ordered the old ones to be confined, +lest the young should suck before the necessary quantity had been saved +for some sick people in her neighbourhood. But after they had given the +usual quantity of milk, the thoughtless boy had left them still in +confinement, and the young in vain implored the food nature designed for +their particular support. Open the hatch, said Mrs. Mason, the mothers +have still enough left to satisfy their young. It was opened, and they +saw them suck. + +Now, said she, we will return to breakfast; give me your hands, my little +girls, you have done good this morning, you have acted like rational +creatures. Look, what a fine morning it is. Insects, birds, and +animals, are all enjoying this sweet day. Thank God for permitting you +to see it, and for giving you an understanding which teaches you that you +ought, by doing good, to imitate Him. Other creatures only think of +supporting themselves; but man is allowed to ennoble his nature, by +cultivating his mind and enlarging his heart. He feels disinterested +love; every part of the creation affords an exercise for virtue, and +virtue is ever the truest source of pleasure. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The treatment of animals.—The difference between them and man.—Parental +affection of a dog.—Brutality punished. + +After breakfast, Mrs. Mason gave the children _Mrs. Trimmer’s Fabulous +Histories_; and the subject still turned on animals, and the wanton +cruelty of those who treated them improperly. The little girls were +eager to express their detestation, and requested that in future they +might be allowed to feed the chickens. Mrs. Mason complied with their +request; only one condition was annexed to the permission, that they did +it regularly. When you wait for your food, you learn patience, she +added, and you can mention your wants; but those helpless creatures +cannot complain. The country people frequently say,—How can you treat a +poor dumb beast ill; and a stress is very properly laid on the word +dumb;—for dumb they appear to those who do not observe their looks and +gestures; but God, who takes care of every thing, understands their +language; and so did Caroline this morning, when she ran with such +eagerness to re-place the nest which the thoughtless boy had stolen, +heedless of the mother’s agonizing cries! + +Mary interrupted her, to ask, if insects and animals were not inferior to +men; Certainly, answered Mrs. Mason; and men are inferior to angels; yet +we have reason to believe, that those exalted beings delight to do us +good. You have heard in a book, which I seldom permit you to read, +because you are not of an age to understand it, that angels, when they +sang glory to God on high, wished for peace on earth, as a proof of the +good will they felt towards men. And all the glad tidings that have been +sent to men, angels have proclaimed: indeed, the word angel signifies a +messenger. In order to please God, and our happiness depends upon +pleasing him, we must do good. What we call virtue, may be thus +explained:—we exercise every benevolent affection to enjoy comfort here, +and to fit ourselves to be angels hereafter. And when we have acquired +human virtues, we shall have a nobler employment in our Father’s kingdom. +But between angels and men a much greater resemblance subsists, than +between men and the brute creation; because the two former seem capable +of improvement. + +The birds you saw to-day do not improve—or their improvement only tends +to self-preservation; the first nest they make and the last are exactly +the same; though in their flights they must see many others more +beautiful if not more convenient, and, had they reason, they would +probably shew something like individual taste in the form of their +dwellings; but this is not the case. You saw the hen tear the down from +her breast to make a nest for her eggs; you saw her beat the grain with +her bill, and not swallow a bit, till the young were satisfied; and +afterwards she covered them with her wings, and seemed perfectly happy, +while she watched over her charge; if any one approached, she was ready +to defend them, at the hazard of her life: yet, a fortnight hence, you +will see the same hen drive the fledged chickens from the corn, and +forget the fondness that seemed to be stronger than the first impulse of +nature. + +Animals have not the affections which arise from reason, nor can they do +good, or acquire virtue. Every affection, and impulse, which I have +observed in them, are like our inferior emotions, which do not depend +entirely on our will, but are involuntary; they seem to have been +implanted to preserve the species, and make the individual grateful for +actual kindness. If you caress and feed them, they will love you, as +children do, without knowing why; but we neither see imagination nor +wisdom in them; and, what principally exalts man, friendship and +devotion, they seem incapable of forming the least idea of. Friendship +is founded on knowledge and virtue, and these are human acquirements; and +devotion is a preparation for eternity; because when we pray to God, we +offer an affront to him, if we do not strive to imitate the perfections +He displays every where for our imitation, that we may grow better and +happier. + +The children eagerly enquired in what manner they were to behave, to +prove that they were superior to animals? The answer was short,—be +tender-hearted; and let your superior endowments ward off the evils which +they cannot foresee. It is only to animals that children _can_ do good, +men are their superiors. When I was a child, added their tender friend, +I always made it my study and delight, to feed all the dumb family that +surrounded our house; and when I could be of use to any one of them I was +happy. This employment humanized my heart, while, like wax, it took +every impression; and Providence has since made me an instrument of +good—I have been useful to my fellow-creatures. I, who never wantonly +trod on an insect, or disregarded the plaint of the speechless beast, can +now give bread to the hungry, physic to the sick, comfort to the +afflicted, and, above all, am preparing you, who are to live for ever, to +be fit for the society of angels, and good men made perfect. This world, +I told you, was a road to a better—a preparation for it; if we suffer, we +grow humbler and wiser: but animals have not this advantage, and man +should not prevent their enjoying all the happiness of which they are +capable. + +A she-cat or dog have such strong parental affection, that if you take +away their young, it almost kills them; some have actually died of grief +when all have been taken away; though they do not seem to miss the +greatest part. + +A bitch had once all her litter stolen from her, and drowned in a +neighbouring brook: she sought them out, and brought them one by one, +laid them at the feet of her cruel master;—and looking wistfully at them +for some time, in dumb anguish, turning her eyes on the destroyer, she +expired! + +I myself knew a man who had hardened his heart to such a degree, that he +found pleasure in tormenting every creature whom he had any power over. +I saw him let two guinea-pigs roll down sloping tiles, to see if the fall +would kill them. And were they killed? cried Caroline. Certainly; and +it is well they were, or he would have found some other mode of torment. +When he became a father, he not only neglected to educate his children, +and set them a good example, but he taught them to be cruel while he +tormented them: the consequence was, that they neglected him when he was +old and feeble; and he died in a ditch. + +You may now go and feed your birds, and tie some of the straggling +flowers round the garden sticks. After dinner, if the weather continues +fine, we will walk to the wood, and I will shew you the hole in the +lime-stone mountain (a mountain whose bowels, as we call them, are +lime-stones) in which poor crazy Robin and his dog lived. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The treatment of animals.—The story of crazy Robin.—The man confined in +the Bastille. + +In the afternoon the children bounded over the short grass of the common, +and walked under the shadow of the mountain till they came to a craggy +part; where a stream broke out, and ran down the declivity, struggling +with the huge stones which impeded its progress, and occasioned a noise +that did not unpleasantly interrupt the solemn silence of the place. The +brook was soon lost in a neighbouring wood, and the children turned their +eyes to the broken side of the mountain, over which ivy grew in great +profusion. Mrs. Mason pointed out a little cave, and desired them to sit +down on some stumps of trees, whilst she related the promised story. + +In yonder cave once lived a poor man, who generally went by the name of +crazy Robin. In his youth he was very industrious, and married my +father’s dairy-maid; a girl deserving of such a good husband. For some +time they continued to live very comfortably; their daily labour procured +their daily bread; but Robin, finding it was likely he should have a +large family, borrowed a trifle, to add to the small pittance which they +had saved in service, and took a little farm in a neighbouring county. I +was then a child. + +Ten or twelve years after, I heard that a crazy man, who appeared very +harmless, had piled by the side of the brook a great number of stones; he +would wade into the river for them, followed by a cur dog, whom he would +frequently call his Jacky, and even his Nancy; and then mumble to +himself,—thou wilt not leave me—we will dwell with the owls in the ivy.—A +number of owls had taken shelter in it. The stones which he waded for he +carried to the mouth of the hole, and only just left room enough to creep +in. Some of the neighbours at last recollected his face; and I sent to +enquire what misfortune had reduced him to such a deplorable state. + +The information I received from different persons, I will communicate to +you in as few words as I can. + +Several of his children died in their infancy; and, two years before he +came to his native place, one misfortune had followed another till he had +sunk under their accumulated weight. Through various accidents he was +long in arrears to his landlord; who, seeing that he was an honest man, +who endeavoured to bring up his family, did not distress him; but when +his wife was lying-in of her last child, the landlord dying, his heir +sent and seized the stock for the rent; and the person from whom he had +borrowed some money, exasperated to see all gone, arresting him +immediately, he was hurried to gaol, without being able to leave any +money for his family. The poor woman could not see them starve, and +trying to support her children before she had gained sufficient strength, +she caught cold; and through neglect, and her want of proper nourishment, +her illness turned to a putrid fever; which two of the children caught +from her, and died with her. The two who were left, Jacky and Nancy, +went to their father, and took with them a cur dog, that had long shared +their frugal meals. + +The children begged in the day, and at night slept with their wretched +father. Poverty and dirt soon robbed their cheeks of the roses which the +country air made bloom with a peculiar freshness; so that they soon +caught a jail fever,—and died. The poor father, who was now bereft of +all his children, hung over their bed in speechless anguish; not a groan +or a tear escaped from him, whilst he stood, two or three hours, in the +same attitude, looking at the dead bodies of his little darlings. The +dog licked his hands, and strove to attract his attention; but for awhile +he seemed not to observe his caresses; when he did, he said, mournfully, +thou wilt not leave me—and then he began to laugh. The bodies were +removed; and he remained in an unsettled state, often frantic; at length +the phrenzy subsided, and he grew melancholy and harmless. He was not +then so closely watched; and one day he contrived to make his escape, the +dog followed him, and came directly to his native village. + +After I had received this account, I determined he should live in the +place he had chosen, undisturbed. I sent some conveniences, all of which +he rejected, except a mat; on which he sometimes slept—the dog always +did. I tried to induce him to eat, but he constantly gave the dog +whatever I sent him, and lived on haws and blackberries, and every kind +of trash. I used to call frequently on him; and he sometimes followed me +to the house I now live in, and in winter he would come of his own +accord, and take a crust of bread. He gathered water-cresses out of the +pool, and would bring them to me, with nosegays of wild thyme, which he +plucked from the sides of the mountain. I mentioned before, that the dog +was a cur. It had, indeed, the bad trick of a cur, and would run barking +after horses heels. One day, when his master was gathering +water-cresses, the dog running after a young gentleman’s horse, made it +start, and almost threw the rider; who grew so angry, that though he knew +it was the poor madman’s dog, he levelled his gun at his head—shot +him,—and instantly rode off. Robin ran to his dog,—he looked at his +wounds, and not sensible that he was dead, called to him to follow him; +but when he found that he could not, he took him to the pool, and washed +off the blood before it began to clot, and then brought him home, and +laid him on the mat. + +I observed that I had not seen him pacing up the hills as usual, and sent +to enquire about him. He was found sitting by the dog, and no entreaties +could prevail on him to quit the body, or receive any refreshment. I +instantly set off for this place, hoping, as I had always been a +favourite, that I should be able to persuade him to eat something. But +when I came to him, I found the hand of death was upon him. He was still +melancholy; yet there was not such a mixture of wildness in it as +formerly. I pressed him to take some food; but, instead of answering me, +or turning away, he burst into tears,—a thing I had never seen him do +before, and, sobbing, he said, Will any one be kind to me!—you will kill +me!—I saw not my wife die—No!—they dragged me from her—but I saw Jacky +and Nancy die—and who pitied me?—but my dog! He turned his eyes to the +body—I wept with him. He would then have taken some nourishment, but +nature was exhausted—and he expired. + +Was that the cave? said Mary. They ran to it. Poor Robin! Did you ever +hear of any thing so cruel? Yes, answered Mrs. Mason; and as we walk +home I will relate an instance of still greater barbarity. + +I told you, that Robin was confined in a jail. In France they have a +dreadful one, called the Bastille. The poor wretches who are confined in +it live entirely alone; have not the pleasure of seeing men or animals; +nor are they allowed books.—They live in comfortless solitude. Some have +amused themselves by making figures on the wall; and others have laid +straws in rows. One miserable captive found a spider; he nourished it +for two or three years; it grew tame, and partook of his lonely meal. +The keeper observed it, and mentioned the circumstance to a superiour, +who ordered him to crush it. In vain did the man beg to have his spider +spared. You find, Mary, that the nasty creature which you despised was a +comfort in solitude. The keeper obeyed the cruel command; and the +unhappy wretch felt more pain when he heard the crush, than he had ever +experienced during his long confinement. He looked round a dreary +apartment, and the small portion of light which the grated bars admitted, +only served to shew him, that he breathed where nothing else drew breath. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Anger.—History of Jane Fretful. + +A few days after these walks and conversations, Mrs. Mason heard a great +noise in the play-room. She ran hastily to enquire the cause, and found +the children crying, and near them, one of the young birds lying on the +floor dead. With great eagerness each of them tried, the moment she +entered, to exculpate herself, and prove that the other had killed the +bird. Mrs. Mason commanded them to be silent; and, at the same time, +called an orphan whom she had educated, and desired her to take care of +the nest. + +The cause of the dispute was easily gathered from what they both let +fall. They had contested which had the best right to feed the birds. +Mary insisted that she had a right, because she was the eldest; and +Caroline, because she took the nest. Snatching it from one side of the +room to the other, the bird fell, and was trodden on before they were +aware. + +When they were a little composed, Mrs. Mason calmly thus addressed +them:—I perceive that you are ashamed of your behaviour, and sorry for +the consequence; I will not therefore severely reprove you, nor add +bitterness to the self-reproach you must both feel,—because I pity you. +You are now inferiour to the animals that graze on the common; reason +only serves to render your folly more conspicuous and inexcusable. +Anger, is a little despicable vice: its selfish emotions banish +compassion, and undermine every virtue. It is easy to conquer another; +but noble to subdue oneself. Had you, Mary, given way to your sister’s +humour, you would have proved that you were not only older, but wiser +than her. And you, Caroline, would have saved your charge, if you had, +for the time, waved your right. + +It is always a proof of superiour sense to bear with slight +inconveniences, and even trifling injuries, without complaining or +contesting about them. The soul reserves its firmness for great +occasions, and then it acts a decided part. It is just the contrary mode +of thinking, and the conduct produced by it, which occasions all those +trivial disputes that slowly corrode domestic peace, and insensibly +destroy what great misfortunes could not sweep away. + +I will tell you a story, that will take stronger hold on your memory than +mere remarks. + +Jane Fretful was an only child. Her fond weak mother would not allow her +to be contradicted on any occasion. The child had some tenderness of +heart; but so accustomed was she to see every thing give way to her +humour, that she imagined the world was only made for her. If any of her +playfellows had toys, that struck her capricious sickly fancy, she would +cry for them; and substitutes were in vain offered to quiet her, she must +have the identical ones, or fly into the most violent passion. When she +was an infant, if she fell down, her nurse made her beat the floor. She +continued the practice afterwards, and when she was angry would kick the +chairs and tables, or any senseless piece of furniture, if they came in +her way. I have seen her throw her cap into the fire, because some of +her acquaintance had a prettier. + +Continual passions weakened her constitution; beside, she would not eat +the common wholesome food that children, who are subject to the small-pox +and worms, ought to eat, and which is necessary when they grow so fast, +to make them strong and handsome. Instead of being a comfort to her +tender, though mistaken, mother, she was her greatest torment. The +servants all disliked her; she loved no one but herself; and the +consequence was, she never inspired love; even the pity good-natured +people felt, was nearly allied to contempt. + +A lady, who visited her mother, brought with her one day a pretty little +dog. Jane was delighted with it; and the lady, with great reluctance, +parted with it to oblige her friend. For some time she fondled, and +really felt something like an affection for it: but, one day, it happened +to snatch a cake she was going to eat, and though there were twenty +within reach, she flew into a violent passion, and threw a stool at the +poor creature, who was big with pup. It fell down; I can scarcely tell +the rest; it received so severe a blow, that all the young were killed, +and the poor wretch languished two days, suffering the most excruciating +torture. + +Jane Fretful, who was now angry with herself, sat all the time holding +it, and every look the miserable animal gave her, stung her to the heart. +After its death she was very unhappy; but did not try to conquer her +temper. All the blessings of life were thrown away on her; and, without +any real misfortune, she was continually miserable. + +If she had planned a party of pleasure, and the weather proved +unfavourable, the whole day was spent in fruitless repining, or venting +her ill-humour on those who depended on her. If no disappointment of +that kind occurred, she could not enjoy the promised pleasure; something +always disconcerted her; the horses went too fast, or, too slow; the +dinner was ill-dressed, or, some of the company contradicted her. + +She was, when a child, very beautiful; but anger soon distorted her +regular features, and gave a forbidding fierceness to her eyes. But if +for a moment she looked pleased, she still resembled a heap of +combustible matter, to which an accidental spark might set fire; of +course quiet people were afraid to converse with her. And if she ever +did a good, or a humane action, her ridiculous anger soon rendered it an +intolerable burden, if it did not entirely cancel it. + +At last she broke her mother’s heart, or hastened her death, by her want +of duty, and her many other faults: all proceeding from violent, +unrestrained anger. + +The death of her mother, which affected her very much, left her without a +friend. She would sometimes say, Ah! my poor mother, if you were now +alive, I would not teaze you—I would give the world to let you know that +I am sorry for what I have done: you died, thinking me ungrateful; and +lamenting that I did not die when you gave me suck. I shall never—oh! +never see you more. + +This thought, and her peevish temper, preyed on her impaired +constitution. She had not, by doing good, prepared her soul for another +state, or cherished any hopes that could disarm death of its terrors, or +render that last sleep sweet—its approach was dreadful!—and she hastened +her end, scolding the physician for not curing her. Her lifeless +countenance displayed the marks of convulsive anger; and she left an +ample fortune behind her to those who did not regret her loss. They +followed her to the grave, on which no one shed a tear. She was soon +forgotten; and I only remember her, to warn you to shun her errors. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Lying.—Honour.—Truth.—Small Duties.—History of Lady Sly, and Mrs. +Trueman. + +The little girls were very assiduous to gain Mrs. Mason’s good opinion; +and, by the mildness of their behaviour, to prove to her that they were +ashamed of themselves. It was one of Mrs. Mason’s rules, when they +offended her, that is, behaved improperly, to treat them civilly; but to +avoid giving them those marks of affection which they were particularly +delighted to receive. + +Yesterday, said she to them, I only mentioned to you one fault, though I +observed two. You very readily guess I mean the lie that you both told. +Nay, look up, for I wish to see you blush; and the confusion which I +perceive in your faces gives me pleasure; because it convinces me that it +is not a confirmed habit: and, indeed, my children, I should be sorry +that such a mean one had taken deep root in your infant minds. + +When I speak of falsehood, I mean every kind; whatever tends to deceive, +though not said in direct terms. Tones of voice, motions of the hand or +head, if they make another believe what they ought not to believe, are +lies, and of the worst kind; because the contrivance aggravates the +guilt. I would much sooner forgive a lie told directly, when perhaps +fear entirely occupied the thoughts, and the presence of God was not +felt: for it is His sacred Majesty that you affront by telling an +untruth. + +How so? enquired Mary. + +Because you hope to conceal your falsehood from every human creature: +but, if you consider a moment, you must recollect, that the Searcher of +hearts reads your very thoughts; that nothing is hid from him. + +You would blush if I were to discover that you told a lie; yet wantonly +forfeit the favour of Him, from whom you have received life and all its +blessings, to screen yourselves from correction or reproof, or, what is +still worse, to purchase some trifling gratification, the pleasure of +which would last but a moment. + +You heard the gentleman who visited me this morning, very frequently use +the word Honour. Honour consists in respecting yourself; in doing as you +would be done by; and the foundation of honour is Truth. + +When I can depend on the veracity of people, that is to say, am convinced +that they adhere to truth, I rely on them; am certain they have courage, +because I know they will bear any inconvenience rather than despise +themselves, for telling a lie. Besides, it is not necessary to consider +what you intend to say, when you have done right. Always determine, on +every occasion, to speak the truth, and you will never be at a loss for +words. If your character for this scrupulous attention is once fixed, +your acquaintance will be courted; and those who are not particularly +pleased with you, will, at least, respect your honourable principles. It +is impossible to form a friendship without making truth the basis; it is +indeed the essence of devotion, the employment of the understanding, and +the support of every duty. + +I govern my servants, and you, by attending strictly to truth, and this +observance keeping my head clear and my heart pure, I am ever ready to +pray to the Author of good, the Fountain of truth. + +While I am discussing the subject, let me point out to you another branch +of this virtue; Sincerity.—And remember that I every day set you an +example; for I never, to please for the moment, pay unmeaning +compliments, or permit any words to drop from my tongue, that my heart +does not dictate. And when I relate any matter of fact, I carefully +avoid embellishing it, in order to render it a more entertaining story; +not that I think such a practice absolutely criminal; but as it +contributes insensibly to wear away a respect for truth, I guard against +the vain impulse, lest I should lose the chief strength, and even +ornament, of my mind, and become like a wave of the sea, drifted about by +every gust of passion. + +You must in life observe the most apparently insignificant duties—the +great ones are the pillars of virtue; but the constant concurrence of +trifling things, makes it necessary that reason and conscience should +always preside, to keep the heart steady. Many people make promises, and +appointments, which they scruple not to break, if a more inviting +pleasure occurs, not remembering that the slightest duty should be +performed before a mere amusement is pursued—for any neglect of this kind +embitters play. Nothing, believe me, can long be pleasant, that is not +innocent. + +As I usually endeavour to recollect some persons of my acquaintance, who +have suffered by the faults, or follies, I wish you to avoid; I will +describe two characters, that will, if I mistake not, very strongly +enforce what I have been saying. + +Last week you saw Lady Sly, who came to pay me a morning visit. Did you +ever see such a fine carriage, or such beautiful horses? How they pawed +the ground, and displayed their rich harnesses! Her servants wore +elegant liveries, and her own clothes suited the equipage. Her house is +equal to her carriage; the rooms are lofty, and hung with silk; noble +glasses and pictures adorn them: and the pleasure-grounds are large and +well laid out; beside the trees and shrubs, they contain a variety of +summer-houses and temples, as they are called.—Yet my young friends, this +is _state_, not _dignity_. + +This woman has a little soul, she never attended to truth, and obtaining +great part of her fortune by falsehood, it has blighted all her +enjoyments. She inhabits that superb house, wears the gayest clothes, +and rides in that beautiful carriage, without feeling pleasure. +Suspicion, and the cares it has given birth to, have wrinkled her +countenance, and banished every trace of beauty, which paint in vain +endeavours to repair. Her suspicious temper arises from a knowledge of +her own heart, and the want of rational employments. + +She imagines that every person she converses with means to deceive her; +and when she leaves a company, supposes all the ill they may say of her, +because she recollects her own practice. She listens about her house, +expecting to discover the designs of her servants, none of whom she can +trust; and in consequence of this anxiety her sleep is unsound, and her +food tasteless. She walks in her paradise of a garden, and smells not +the flowers, nor do the birds inspire her with cheerfulness.—These +pleasures are true and simple, they lead to the love of God, and all the +creatures whom He hath made—and cannot warm a heart which a malicious +story can please. + +She cannot pray to God;—He hates a liar! She is neglected by her +husband, whose only motive for marrying her was to clear an incumbered +estate. Her son, her only child, is undutiful; the poor never have cause +to bless her; nor does she contribute to the happiness of any human +being. + +To kill time, and drive away the pangs of remorse, she goes from one +house to another, collecting and propagating scandalous tales, to bring +others on a level with herself. Even those who resemble her are afraid +of her; she lives alone in the world, its good things are poisoned by her +vices, and neither inspire joy nor gratitude. + +Before I tell you how she acquired these vicious habits, and enlarged her +fortune by disregarding truth, I must desire you to think of Mrs. +Trueman, the curate’s wife, who lives in yonder white house, close to the +church; it is a small one, yet the woodbines and jessamins that twine +about the windows give it a pretty appearance. Her voice is sweet, her +manners not only easy, but elegant; and her simple dress makes her person +appear to the greatest advantage. + +She walks to visit me, and her little ones hang on her hands, and cling +to her clothes, they are so fond of her. If any thing terrifies them, +they run under her apron, and she looks like the hen taking care of her +young brood. The domestic animals play with the children, finding her a +mild attentive mistress; and out of her scanty fortune she contrives to +feed and clothe many a hungry shivering wretch; who bless her as she +passes along. + +Though she has not any outward decorations, she appears superior to her +neighbours, who call her the _Gentlewoman_; indeed every gesture shews an +accomplished and dignified mind, that relies on itself; when deprived of +the fortune which contributed to polish and give it consequence. + +Drawings, the amusement of her youth, ornament her neat parlour; some +musical instruments stand in one corner; for she plays with taste, and +sings sweetly. + +All the furniture, not forgetting a book-case, full of well-chosen books, +speak the refinement of the owner, and the pleasures a cultivated mind +has within its own grasp, independent of prosperity. + +Her husband, a man of taste and learning, reads to her, while she makes +clothes for her children, whom she teaches in the tenderest, and most +persuasive manner, important truths and elegant accomplishments. + +When you have behaved well for some time you shall visit her, and ramble +in her little garden; there are several pretty seats in it, and the +nightingales warble their sweetest songs, undisturbed, in the shade. + +I have now given you an account of the present situation of both, and of +their characters; listen to me whilst I relate in what manner these +characters were formed, and the consequence of each adhering to a +different mode of conduct. + +Lady Sly, when she was a child, used to say pert things, which the +injudicious people about her laughed at, and called very witty. Finding +that her prattle pleased, she talked incessantly, and invented stories, +when adding to those that had some foundation, was not sufficient to +entertain the company. If she stole sweetmeats, or broke any thing, the +cat, or the dog, was blamed, and the poor animals were corrected for her +faults; nay, sometimes the servants lost their places in consequence of +her assertions. Her parents died and left her a large fortune, and an +aunt, who had a still larger, adopted her. + +Mrs. Trueman, her cousin, was, some years after, adopted by the same +lady; but her parents could not leave their estate to her, as it +descended to the male heir. She had received the most liberal education, +and was in every respect the reverse of her cousin; who envied her merit, +and could not bear to think of her dividing the fortune which she had +long expected to inherit entirely herself. She therefore practised every +mean art to prejudice her aunt against her, and succeeded. + +A faithful old servant endeavoured to open her mistress’s eyes; but the +cunning niece contrived to invent the most infamous story of the old +domestic, who was in consequence of it dismissed. Mrs. Trueman supported +her, when she could not succeed in vindicating her, and suffered for her +generosity; for her aunt dying soon after, left only five hundred pounds +to this amiable woman, and fifty thousand to Lady Sly. + +They both of them married shortly after. One, the profligate Lord Sly, +and the other a respectable clergyman, who had been disappointed in his +hopes of preferment. This last couple, in spite of their mutual +disappointments, are contented with their lot; and are preparing +themselves and children for another world, where truth, virtue and +happiness dwell together. + +For believe me, whatever happiness we attain in this life, must faintly +resemble what God Himself enjoys, whose truth and goodness produce a +sublime degree, such as we cannot conceive, it is so far above our +limited capacities. + +I did not intend to detain you so long, said Mrs. Mason; have you +finished _Mrs. Trimmer’s Fabulous Histories_? Indeed we have, answered +Caroline, mournfully, and I was very sorry to come to the end. I never +read such a pretty book; may I read it over again to Mrs. Trueman’s +little Fanny? Certainly, said Mrs. Mason, if you can make her understand +that birds never talk. Go and run about the garden, and remember the +next lie I detect, I shall punish; because lying is a vice;—and I ought +to punish you if you are guilty of it, to prevent your feeling Lady Sly’s +misery. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Anger.—Folly produces Self-contempt, and the Neglect of others. + +Mrs. Mason had a number of visitors one afternoon, who conversed in the +usual thoughtless manner which people often fall into who do not consider +before they speak; they talked of Caroline’s beauty, and she gave herself +many affected airs to make it appear to the best advantage. But Mary, +who had not a face to be proud of, was observing some peculiarities in +the dress or manners of the guests; and one very respectable old lady, +who had lost her teeth, afforded her more diversion than any of the rest. + +The children went to bed without being reproved, though Mrs. Mason, when +she dismissed them, said gravely, I give you to-night a kiss of peace, an +affectionate one you have not deserved. They therefore discovered by her +behaviour that they had done wrong, and waited for an explanation to +regain her favour. + +She was never in a passion, but her quiet steady displeasure made them +feel so little in their own eyes, they wished her to smile that they +might be something; for all their consequence seemed to arise from her +approbation. I declare, said Caroline, I do not know what I have done, +and yet I am sure I never knew Mrs. Mason find fault without convincing +me that I had done wrong. Did you, Mary, ever see her in a passion? No, +said Mary, I do believe that she was never angry in her life; when John +threw down all the china, and stood trembling, she was the first to say +that the carpet made him stumble. Yes, now I do remember, when we first +came to her house, John forgot to bring the cow and her young calf into +the cow-house; I heard her bid him do it directly, and the poor calf was +almost frozen to death—she spoke then in a hurry, and seemed angry. Now +you mention it, I do recollect, replied Caroline, that she was angry, +when Betty did not carry the poor sick woman the broth she ordered her to +take to her. But this is not like the passion I used to see nurse in, +when any thing vexed her. She would scold us, and beat the girl who +waited on her. Poor little Jenny, many a time was she beaten, when we +vexed nurse; I would tell her she was <not> to blame now if I saw her—and +I would not tease her any more. + +I declare I cannot go to sleep, said Mary, I am afraid of Mrs. Mason’s +eyes—would you think, Caroline, that she who looks so very good-natured +sometimes, could frighten one so? I wish I were as wise and as good as +she is. The poor woman with the six children, whom we met on the common, +said she was an angel, and that she had saved her’s and her children’s +lives. My heart is in my mouth, indeed, replied Caroline, when I think +of to-morrow morning, and yet I am much happier than I was when we were +at home. I cried, I cannot now tell for what, all day; I never wished to +be good—nobody told me what it was to be good. I wish to be a woman, +said Mary, and to be like Mrs. Mason, or Mrs. Trueman,—we are to go to +see her if we behave well. + +Sleep soon over-powered them, and they forgot their apprehensions. In +the morning they awoke refreshed, and took care to learn their lessons, +and feed the chickens, before Mrs. Mason left her chamber. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Virtue the Soul of Beauty.—The Tulip and the Rose.—The +Nightingale.—External Ornaments.—Characters. + +The next morning Mrs. Mason met them first in the garden; and she desired +Caroline to look at a bed of tulips, that were then in their highest +state of perfection. I, added she, choose to have every kind of flower +in my garden, as the succession enables me to vary my daily prospect, and +gives it the charm of variety; yet these tulips afford me less pleasure +than most of the other sort which I cultivate—and I will tell you +why—they are only beautiful. Listen to my distinction;—good features, +and a fine complexion, I term _bodily_ beauty. Like the streaks in the +tulip, they please the eye for a moment; but this uniformity soon tires, +and the active mind flies off to something else. The soul of beauty, my +dear children, consists in the body gracefully exhibiting the emotions +and variations of the informing mind. If truth, humanity, and knowledge +inhabit the breast, the eyes will beam with a mild lustre, modesty will +suffuse the cheeks, and smiles of innocent joy play over all the +features. At first sight, regularity and colour will attract, and have +the advantage, because the hidden springs are not directly set in motion; +but when internal goodness is reflected, every other kind of beauty, the +shadow of it, withers away before it—as the sun obscures a lamp. + +You are certainly handsome, Caroline; I mean, have good features; but you +must improve your mind to give them a pleasing expression, or they will +only serve to lead your understanding astray. I have seen some foolish +people take great pains to decorate the outside of their houses, to +attract the notice of strangers, who gazed, and passed on; whilst the +inside, where they received their friends, was dark and inconvenient. +Apply this observation to mere personal attractions. They may, it is +true, for a few years, charm the superficial part of your acquaintance, +whose notions of beauty are not built on any principle of utility. Such +persons might look at you, as they would glance their eye over these +tulips, and feel for a moment the same pleasure that a view of the +variegated rays of light would convey to an uninformed mind. The lower +class of mankind, and children, are fond of finery; gaudy, dazzling +appearances catch their attention; but the discriminating judgment of a +person of sense requires, besides colour, order, proportion, grace and +usefulness, to render the idea of beauty complete. + +Observe that rose, it has all the perfections I speak of; colour, grace, +and sweetness—and even when the fine tints fade, the smell is grateful to +those who have before contemplated its beauties. I have only one bed of +tulips, though my garden is large, but, in every part of it, roses +attract the eye. + +You have seen Mrs. Trueman, and think her a very fine woman; yet her skin +and complexion have only the clearness that temperance gives; and her +features, strictly speaking, are not regular: Betty, the housemaid, has, +in both these respects, much the superiority over her. But, though it is +not easy to define in what her beauty consists, the eye follows her +whenever she moves; and every person of taste listens for the modulated +sounds which proceed out of her mouth, to be improved and pleased. It is +conscious worth, _truth_, that gives dignity to her walk, and simple +elegance to her conversation. She has, indeed, a most excellent +understanding, and a feeling heart; sagacity and tenderness, the result +of both, are happily blended in her countenance; and taste is the polish, +which makes them appear to the best advantage. She is more than +beautiful; and you see her varied excellencies again and again, with +increasing pleasure. They are not obtruded on you, for knowledge has +taught her true humility: she is not like the flaunting tulip, that +forces itself forward into notice; but resembles the modest rose, you see +yonder, retiring under its elegant foliage. + +I have mentioned flowers—the same order is observed in the higher +departments of nature. Think of the birds; those that sing best have not +the finest plumage; indeed just the contrary; God divides His gifts, and +amongst the feathered race the nightingale (sweetest of warblers, who +pours forth her varied strain when sober eve comes on) you would seek in +vain in the morning, if you expected that beautiful feathers should point +out the songstress: many who incessantly twitter, and are only tolerable +in the general concert, would surpass her, and attract your attention. + +I knew, some time before you were born, a very fine, a very handsome +girl; I saw she had abilities, and I saw with pain that she attended to +the most obvious, but least valuable gift of heaven. Her ingenuity +slept, whilst she tried to render her person more alluring. At last she +caught the small-pox—her beauty vanished, and she was for a time +miserable; but the natural vivacity of youth overcame her unpleasant +feelings. In consequence of the disorder, her eyes became so weak that +she was obliged to sit in a dark room. To beguile the tedious day she +applied to music, and made a surprising proficiency. She even began to +think, in her retirement, and when she recovered her sight grew fond of +reading. + +Large companies did not now amuse her, she was no longer the object of +admiration, or if she was taken notice of, it was to be pitied, to hear +her former self praised, and to hear them lament the depredation that +dreadful disease had made in a fine face. Not expecting or wishing to be +observed, she lost her affected airs, and attended to the conversation, +in which she was soon able to bear a part. In short, the desire of +pleasing took a different turn, and as she improved her mind, she +discovered that virtue, internal beauty, was valuable on its own account, +and not like that of the person, which resembles a toy, that pleases the +observer, but does not render the possessor happy. + +She found, that in acquiring knowledge, her mind grew tranquil, and the +noble desire of acting conformably to the will of God succeeded, and +drove out the immoderate vanity which before actuated her, when her +equals were the objects she thought most of, and whose approbation she +sought with such eagerness. And what had she sought? To be stared at +and called handsome. Her beauty, the mere sight of it, did not make +others good, or comfort the afflicted; but after she had lost it, she was +comfortable herself, and set her friends the most useful example. + +The money that she had formerly appropriated to ornament her person, now +clothed the naked; yet she really appeared better dressed, as she had +acquired the habit of employing her time to the best advantage, and could +make many things herself. Besides, she did not implicitly follow the +reigning fashion, for she had learned to distinguish, and in the most +trivial matters acted according to the dictates of good sense. + +The children made some comments on this story, but the entrance of a +visitor interrupted the conversation, and they ran about the garden, +comparing the roses and tulips. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Summer Evening’s Amusement.—The Arrival of a Family of +Haymakers.—Ridicule of personal Defects censured.—A Storm.—The Fear of +Death.—The Cottage of honest Jack, the shipwrecked Sailor.—The History of +Jack, and his faithful Dog Pompey. + +The evening was pleasant; Mrs. Mason and the children walked out; and +many rustic noises struck their ears. Some bells in a neighbouring +village, softened by the distance, sounded pleasingly; the beetles +hummed, and the children pursued them, not to destroy them; but to +observe their form, and ask questions concerning their mode of living. +Sheep were bleating and cattle lowing, the rivulet near them babbled +along, while the sound of the distant ocean died away on the ear—or they +forgot it, listening to the whistling of the hay-makers, who were +returning from the field. They met a whole family who came every year +from another county where they could not find constant employment, and +Mrs. Mason allowed them to sleep in her barn. The little ones knew their +benefactress, and tried to catch a smile; and she was ever ready to smile +on those whom she obliged; for she loved all her fellow creatures, and +love lightens obligations. Besides, she thought that the poor who are +willing to work, had a right to the comforts of life. + +A few moments after, they met a deformed woman; the children stared her +almost out of countenance; but Mrs. Mason turned her head another way, +and when the poor object was out of hearing, said to Mary, I intended to +reprove you this morning for a fault which I have frequently seen you +commit; and this moment and the other evening it was particularly +conspicuous. When that deformed woman passed us, I involuntarily looked +at something else, and would not let her perceive that she was a +disgusting figure, and attracted notice on that account. I say I did it +involuntarily, for I have accustomed myself to think of others, and what +they will suffer on all occasions: and this lothness to offend, or even +to hurt the feelings of another, is an instantaneous spring which +actuates my conduct, and makes me kindly affected to every thing that +breathes. If I then am so careful not to wound a stranger, what shall I +think of your behaviour, Mary? when you laughed at a respectable old +woman, who beside her virtues and her age, had been particularly civil to +you. I have always seen persons of the weakest understandings, and whose +hearts benevolence seldom touched, ridicule bodily infirmities, and +accidental defects. They could only relish the inferiour kind of beauty, +which I described this morning, and a silly joy has elated their empty +souls, on finding, by comparison, that they were superiour to others in +that respect, though the conclusion was erroneous, for merit, mental +acquirements, can only give a just claim to superiority. Had you +possessed the smallest portion of discernment, you would soon have +forgotten the tones, loss of teeth made drawling, in listening to the +chearful good sense which that worthy woman’s words conveyed. You +laughed, because you were ignorant, and I now excuse you; but some years +hence, if I were to see you in company, with such a propensity, I should +still think you a child, an overgrown one, whose mind did not expand as +the body grew. + +The sky began to thicken, and the lowing of the cattle to have a +melancholy cadence; the nightingale forgot her song, and fled to her +nest; and the sea roared and lashed the rocks. During the calm which +portended an approaching storm, every creature was running for +shelter.—We must, if possible, said Mrs. Mason, reach yon cottage on the +cliff, for we shall soon have a violent thunder-storm. They quickened +their pace, but the hurricane overtook them. The hail-stones fell, the +clouds seemed to open and disclose the lightning, while loud peals of +thunder shook the ground; the wind also in violent gusts rushed among the +trees, tore off the slender branches and loosened the roots. + +The children were terrified; but Mrs. Mason gave them each a hand, and +chatted with them to dispel their fears. She informed them that storms +were necessary to dissipate noxious vapours, and to answer many other +purposes, which were not, perhaps, obvious to our weak understandings. +But are you not afraid? cried the trembling Caroline. No, certainly, I +am not afraid.—I walk with the same security as when the sun enlivened +the prospect—God is still present, and we are safe. Should the flash +that passes by us, strike me dead, it cannot hurt me, I fear not death!—I +only fear that Being who can render death terrible, on whose providence I +calmly rest; and my confidence earthly sorrows cannot destroy. A mind is +never truly great, till the love of virtue overcomes the fear of death. + +By this time they had mounted the cliff, and saw the tumultuous deep. +The angry billows rose, and dashed against the shore; and the loud noise +of the raging sea resounded from rock to rock. + +They ran into the cottage; the poor woman who lived in it, sent her +children for wood, and soon made a good fire to dry them. + +The father of the family soon after came in, leaning on crutches; and +over one eye there was a large patch. I am glad to see you honest Jack, +said Mrs. Mason, come and take your seat by the fire, and tell the +children the story of your shipwreck. + +He instantly complied. I was very young, my dear ladies, said Jack, when +I went to sea, and endured many hardships,—however I made a shift to +weather them all; and whether the wind was fair or foul, I ran up the +shrouds and sung at the helm. I had always a good heart, no lad fore or +aft had a better; when we were at sea, I never was the first to flinch; +and on shore I was as merry as the best of them. I married she you see +yonder, (lifting his crutch to point to his wife) and her work and my +wages did together, till I was shipwrecked on these rocks. Oh! it was a +dreadful night; this is nothing to it; but I am getting to the end of my +story before I begin it. + +During the war, I went once or twice to New York. The last was a good +voyage, and we were all returning with joy to dear England, when the +storm rose; the vessel was like a bird, it flew up and down, and several +of our best hands were washed clean overboard—My poor captain! a better +never plowed the ocean, he fell overboard too, and it was some time +before we missed him; for it was quite dark, except that flashes of +lightning, now and then, gave us light. I was at the helm, lashing it to +the side of the ship—a dreadful flash came across me, and I lost one of +my precious eyes.—But thank God I have one left. + +The weather cleared up next day, and, though we had been finely mauled, I +began to hope, for I hate to be faint-hearted, and certainly we should +have got into the channel very soon, if we had not fell in with a French +man of war, which took us; for we could not make any resistance. + +I had a dog, poor Pompey! with me. Pompey would not leave me, he was as +fond of me as if he had been a christian. I had lost one eye by the +lightning, the other had been sore, so that I could hardly call it a +peep-hole. Somehow I fell down the hatchway, and bruised one of my legs; +but I did not mind it, do ye see, till we arrived at Brest and were +thrown into a French Prison. + +There I was worse off than ever; the room we were all stowed in, was full +of vermin, and our food very bad; mouldy biscuits, and salt fish. The +prison was choke full, and many a morning did we find some honest fellow +with his chops fallen—he was not to be waked any more!—he was gone to the +other country, do ye see. + +Yet the French have not such hard hearts as people say they have! +Several women brought us broth, and wine; and one gave me some rags to +wrap round my leg, it was very painful, I could not clean it, nor had I +any plaister. One day I was looking sorrowfully at it, thinking for +certain I should lose my precious limb; when, would you believe it? +Pompey saw what I was thinking about, and began to lick it.—And, I never +knew such a surprizing thing, it grew better and better every day, and at +last was healed without any plaister. + + [Picture: Indeed we are very happy!] + +After that I was very sick, and the same tender-hearted creature who gave +me the rags, took me to her house; and fresh air soon recovered me. I +for certain ought to speak well of the French; but for their kindness I +should have been in another port by this time. Mayhap I might have gone +with a fair wind, yet I should have been sorry to have left my poor wife +and her children. But I am letting all my line run out! Well, +by-and-by, there was an exchange of prisoners, and we were once more in +an English vessel, and I made sure of seeing my family again; but the +weather was still foul. Three days and nights we were in the greatest +distress; and the fourth the ship was dashed against these rocks. Oh! if +you had heard the crash! The water rushed in—the men screamed, Lord have +mercy on us! There was a woman in the ship, and, as I could swim, I +tried to save her, and Pompey followed me; but I lost him—poor fellow! I +declare I cried like a child when I saw his dead body. However I brought +the woman to shore; and assisted some more of my mess-mates; but, +standing in the water so long, I lost the use of my limbs—yet Heaven was +good to me; Madam, there, sent a cart for us all, and took care of us; +but I never recovered the use of my limbs. So she asked me all about my +misfortunes, and sent for wife, who came directly, and we have lived here +ever since. We catch fish for Madam, and watch for a storm, hoping some +time or other to be as kind to a poor perishing soul as she has been to +me. Indeed we are very happy—I might now have been begging about the +streets, but for Madam, God bless her. + +A tear strayed down Mrs. Mason’s cheek, while a smile of benevolence +lighted up her countenance—the little girls caught each hand—They were +all silent a few minutes when she, willing to turn the discourse, +enquired whether they had any fish in the house? Some were produced, +they were quickly dressed, and they all eat together. They had a +chearful meal, and honest Jack sung some of his seafaring songs, and did +all he could to divert them and express his gratitude. Getting up to +reach the brown loaf, he limped very awkwardly, Mary was just beginning +to laugh, when she restrained herself; for she recollected that his +awkwardness made him truly respectable, because he had lost the use of +his limbs when he was doing good, saving the lives of his +fellow-creatures. + +The weather cleared up, and they returned home. The children conversed +gaily with each other all the way home, talking of the poor sailor, and +his faithful dog. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +The Inconveniences of immoderate Indulgence. + +The children were allowed to help themselves to fruit, when it made a +part of their meal; and Caroline always took care to pick out the best, +or swallow what she took in a hurry, lest she should not get as much as +she wished for. Indeed she generally eat more than her share. She had +several times eaten more than a person ought to eat at one time, without +feeling any ill effects; but one afternoon she complained of a pain in +her stomach in consequence of it, and her pale face, and languid eyes, +plainly shewed her indisposition. Mrs. Mason gave her an emetic, and +after the operation she was obliged to go to bed, though she had promised +herself a pleasant walk that evening. She was left alone, for Mary was +not permitted to stay at home with her, as she offered to do. Had her +sickness been accidental, we would both have tried to amuse her, said +Mrs. Mason; but her greediness now receiving its natural and just +punishment, she must endure it without the alleviation which pity +affords; only tell her from me, that the pleasure was but momentary, +while the pain and confinement it produced, has already lasted some +hours. + +The next morning, though scarcely recovered, she got up, as usual, to +have a walk before breakfast. During these walks, Mrs. Mason told them +stories, pointed out the wisdom of God in the creation, and took them to +visit her poor tenants. These visits not only enabled her to form a +judgment of their wants, but made them very industrious; for they were +all anxious that she might find their houses and persons clean. And +returning through the farmyard, Mrs. Mason stopped according to custom, +to see whether the poor animals were taken care of—this she called +earning her breakfast. The servant was just feeding the pigs, and though +she poured a great quantity into the trough, the greedy creatures tried +to gobble it up from one another. Caroline blushed, she saw this sight +was meant for her, and she felt ashamed of her gluttony. But Mrs. Mason, +willing to impress her still more strongly, thus addressed her. + +Providence, my child, has given us passions and appetites for various +purposes—two are generally obvious, I will point them out to you. First +to render our present life more comfortable, and then to prepare us for +another, by making us sociable beings; as in society virtue is acquired, +and self-denial practised. A moderate quantity of proper food recruits +our exhausted spirits, and invigorates the animal functions; but, if we +exceed moderation, the mind will be oppressed, and soon become the slave +of the body, or both grow listless and inactive. Employed various ways, +families meet at meals, and there giving up to each other, learn in the +most easy, pleasant way to govern their appetites. Pigs, you see, devour +what they can get; but men, if they have any affections, love their +fellow-creatures, and wish for a return; nor will they, for the sake of a +brutish gratification, lose the esteem of those they value. Besides, no +one can be reckoned virtuous who has not learned to bear poverty: yet +those who think much of gratifying their appetites, will at last act +meanly in order to indulge them. But when any employment of the +understanding, or strong affection occupies the mind, eating is seldom +thought a matter of greater importance than it ought to be. Let the idle +_think_ of their meals; but do you employ the intermediate time in a +different manner, and only enjoy them when you join the social circle. I +like to see children, and even men, eat chearfully, and gratefully +receive the blessings sent by Heaven; yet I would not have them abuse +those blessings, or ever let the care necessary to support the body, +injure the immortal spirit: many think of the sustenance the former +craves, and entirely neglect the latter. + +I remarked to you before, that in the most apparently trivial concerns, +we are to do as we would be done by. This duty must be practised +constantly; at meals there are frequent opportunities, and I hope, +Caroline, I shall never again see you eager to secure dainties for +yourself. If such a disposition were to grow up with you, you ought to +live alone, for no one should enjoy the advantages and pleasures which +arise from social intercourse, who is unwilling to give way to the +inclinations of others, and allow each their share of the good things of +this life. + +You experienced yesterday, that pain follows immoderate indulgence; it is +always the case, though sometimes not felt so immediately; but the +constitution is insensibly destroyed, and old age will come on, loaded +with infirmities. You also lost a very pleasant walk, and some fine +fruit. We visited Mrs. Goodwin’s garden, and as Mary had before +convinced me that she could regulate her appetites, I gave her leave to +pluck as much fruit as she wished; and she did not abuse my indulgence. +On the contrary, she spent most part of the time in gathering some for +me, and her attention made it taste sweeter. + +Coming home I called her my friend, and she deserved the name, for she +was no longer a child; a reasonable affection had conquered an appetite; +her understanding took the lead, and she had practised a virtue. + +The subject was now dropped; but, Caroline determined to copy in future +her sister’s temperance and self-denial. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +The Danger of Delay.—Description of a Mansion-house in Ruins.—The History +of Charles Townley. + +Mrs. Mason who always regulated her own time, and never loitered her +hours irresolutely away, had very frequently to wait for the children, +when she wished to walk, though she had desired them to be ready at a +precise time. Mary in particular had a trick of putting everything off +till the last moment, and then she did but half do it, or left it undone. +This indolent way of delaying made her miss many opportunities of +obliging and doing good; and whole hours were lost in thoughtless +idleness, which she afterwards wished had been better employed. + +This was the case one day, when she had a letter to write to her father; +and though it was mentioned to her early in the morning, the finest part +of the evening slipped away whilst she was finishing it; and her haste +made her forget the principal thing which she intended to have said. + +Out of breath she joined them; and after they had crossed several fields, +Mrs. Mason turning down a long avenue, bade them look at a large old +mansion-house. It was now in ruins. Ivy grew over the substantial +walls, that still resisted the depredations of time, and almost concealed +a noble arch, on which maimed lions couched; and vultures and eagles, who +had lost their wings, seemed to rest for ever there. Near it was a +rookery, and the rooks lived safe in the high trees, whose trunks were +all covered with ivy or moss, and a number of fungusses grew about their +large roots. The grass was long, and remaining undisturbed, save when +the wind swept across it, was of course pathless. Here the mower never +whet his scythe, nor did the haymakers mix their songs with the hoarse +croaking of the rooks. A spacious basin, on the margin of which water +plants grew with wild luxuriance, was overspread with slime; and afforded +a shelter for toads and adders. In many places were heaped the ruins of +ornamental buildings, whilst sun-dials rested in the shade;—and pedestals +that had crushed the figures they before supported. Making their way +through the grass, they would frequently stumble over a headless statue, +or the head would impede their progress. When they spoke, the sound +seemed to return again, as if unable to penetrate the thick stagnated +air. The sun could not dart its purifying rays through the thick gloom, +and the fallen leaves contributed to choke up the way, and render the air +more noxious. + +I brought you to this place on purpose this evening, said Mrs. Mason to +the children, who clung about her, to tell you the history of the last +inhabitant; but, as this part is unwholesome, we will sit on the broken +stones of the drawbridge. + +Charles Townley was a boy of uncommon abilities, and strong feelings; but +he ever permitted those feelings to direct his conduct, without +submitting to the direction of reason; I mean, the present emotion +governed him.—He had not any strength or consistency of character; one +moment he enjoyed a pleasure, and the next felt the pangs of remorse, on +account of some duty which he had neglected. He always indeed intended +to act right in every particular _to-morrow_; but _to-day_ he followed +the prevailing whim. + +He heard by chance of a man in great distress, he determined to relieve +him, and left his house in order to follow the humane impulse; but +meeting an acquaintance, he was persuaded to go to the play, and +_to-morrow_, he thought, he would do the act of charity. The next +morning some company came to breakfast with him, and took him with them +to view some fine pictures. In the evening he went to a concert; the day +following he was tired, and laid in bed till noon; then read a pathetic +story, well wrought up, _wept_ over it—fell asleep—and forgot to _act_ +humanely. An accident reminded him of his intention, he sent to the man, +and found that he had too long delayed—the relief was useless. + +In this thoughtless manner he spent his time and fortune; never applying +to any profession, though formed to shine in any one he should have +chosen. His friends were offended, and at last allowed him to languish +in a gaol; and as there appeared no probability of reforming or fixing +him, they left him to struggle with adversity. + +Severely did he reproach himself—He was almost lost in despair, when a +friend visited him. This friend loved the latent sparks of virtue which +he imagined would some time or other light up, and animate his conduct. +He paid his debts, and gave him a sum of money sufficient to enable him +to prepare for a voyage to the East Indies, where Charles wished to go, +to try to regain his lost fortune. Through the intercession of this +kind, considerate friend, his relations were reconciled to him, and his +spirits raised. + +He sailed with a fair wind, and fortune favouring his most romantic +wishes, in the space of fifteen years, he acquired a much larger fortune +than he had even hoped for, and thought of visiting, nay, settling in his +native country for the remainder of his life. + +Though impressed by the most lively sense of gratitude, he had dropped +his friend’s correspondence; yet, as he knew that he had a daughter, his +first determination was to reserve for her the greater part of his +property, as the most substantial proof which he could give of his +gratitude.—The thought pleased him, and that was sufficient to divert him +for some months; but accidentally hearing that his friend had been very +unsuccessful in trade, this information made him wish to hasten his +return to his native country. Still a procrastinating spirit possessed +him, and he delayed from time to time the arduous task of settling his +affairs, previous to his departure: he wrote, however, to England, and +transmitted a considerable sum to a correspondent, desiring that this +house might be prepared for him, and the mortgage cleared. + +I can scarcely enumerate the various delays that prevented his embarking; +and when he arrived in England, he came here, and was so childishly eager +to have his house fitted up with taste, that he actually trifled away a +month, before he went to seek for his friend. + +But his negligence was now severely punished. He learned that he had +been reduced to great distress, and thrown into the very gaol, out of +which he took Townley, who, hastening to it, only found his dead body +there; for he died the day before. On the table was lying, amidst some +other scraps of paper, a letter, directed in an unsteady hand to Charles +Townley. He tore it open. Few were the scarcely legible lines; but they +smote his heart. He read as follows:— + +‘I have been reduced by unforeseen misfortunes; yet when I heard of your +arrival, a gleam of joy cheered my heart—_I thought I knew your’s_, and +that my latter days might still have been made comfortable in your +society, for I loved you; I even expected pleasure; but I was mistaken; +death is my only friend.’ + +He read it over and over again; and cried out, Gracious God, had I +arrived but one day sooner I should have seen him, and he would not have +died thinking me the most ungrateful wretch that ever burdened the earth! +He then knocked his clinched fist against his forehead, looked wildly +round the dreary apartment, and exclaimed in a choked, though impatient +tone, You sat here yesterday, thinking of my ingratitude—Where are you +now! Oh! that I had seen you! Oh! that my repenting sighs could reach +you!— + +He ordered the body to be interred, and returned home a prey to grief and +despondency. Indulging it to excess, he neglected to enquire after his +friend’s daughter; he intended to provide amply for her, but now he could +only grieve. + +Some time elapsed, then he sent, and the intelligence which he procured +aggravated his distress, and gave it a severe additional sting. + +The poor gentle girl had, during her father’s life, been engaged to a +worthy young man; but, some time after his death, the relations of her +lover had sent him to sea to prevent the match taking place. She was +helpless, and had not sufficient courage to combat with poverty; to +escape from it, she married an old rake whom she detested. He was +ill-humoured, and his vicious habits rendered him a most dreadful +companion. She tried in vain to please him, and banish the sorrow that +bent her down, and made wealth and all the pleasures it could procure +tasteless. Her tender father was dead—she had lost her lover—without a +friend or confident, silent grief consumed her. I have told you +friendship is only to be found amongst the virtuous; her husband was +vicious. + +Ah! why did she marry, said Mary? + +Because she was timid; but I have not told you all; the grief that did +not break her heart, disturbed her reason; and her husband confined her +in a madhouse. + +Charles heard of this last circumstance; he visited her. Fanny, said he, +do you recollect your old friend? Fanny looked at him, and reason for a +moment resumed her seat, and informed her countenance to trace anguish on +it—the trembling light soon disappeared—wild fancy flushed in her eyes, +and animated her incessant rant. She sung several verses of different +songs, talked of her husband’s ill-usage—enquired if he had lately been +to sea? And frequently addressed her father as if he were behind her +chair, or sitting by her. + +Charles could not bear this scene—If I could lose like her a sense of +woe, he cried, this intolerable anguish would not tear my heart! The +fortune which he had intended for her could not restore her reason; but, +had he sent for her soon after her father’s death, he might have saved +her and comforted himself. + +The last stroke was worse than the first; he retired to this abode; +melancholy creeping on him, he let his beard grow, and the garden run +wild. One room in the house the poor lunatic inhabited; and he had a +proper person to attend her, and guard her from the dangers she wished to +encounter. Every day he visited her, the sight of her would almost have +unhinged a sound mind—How could he bear it, when his conscience +reproached him, and whispered that he had neglected to do good, to live +to any rational purpose—The sweets of friendship were denied, and he +every day contemplated the saddest of all sights—the wreck of a human +understanding. + +He died without a will. The estate was litigated, and as the title to +this part could not be proved, the house was let fall into its present +state. + + [Picture: Be calm, my child] + +But the night will overtake us, we must make haste home—Give me your +hand, Mary, you tremble; surely I need not desire you to remember this +story—Be calm, my child, and remember that you must attend to trifles; do +all the good you can the present day, nay hour, if you would keep your +conscience clear. This circumspection may not produce dazzling actions, +nor will your silent virtue be supported by human applause; but your +Father, who seeth in secret, will reward you. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Dress.—A Character.—Remarks on Mrs. Trueman’s Manner of +dressing.—Trifling Omissions undermine Affection. + +Mary’s procrastinating temper produced many other ill consequences; she +would lie in bed till the last moment, and then appear without washing +her face or cleaning her teeth. Mrs. Mason had often observed it, and +hinted her dislike; but, unwilling to burden her with precepts, she +waited for a glaring example. One was soon accidentally thrown in her +way, and she determined that it should not pass unobserved. + +A lady, who was remarkable for her negligence in this respect, spent a +week with them; and, during that time, very frequently disconcerted the +economy of the family. She was seldom fit to be seen, and if any company +came by chance to dinner, she would make them wait till it was quite +cold, whilst she huddled on some ill-chosen finery. In the same style, +if a little party of pleasure was proposed, she had to dress herself, and +the hurry discomposed her, and tired those, who did not like to lose time +in anticipating a trifling amusement. + +A few hours after she had left them, Mrs. Mason enquired of Mary, what +effect this week’s experience had had on her mind? You are fond of +ridicule, child, but seldom in the right place; real cause for it you let +slip, and heed not the silent reproof that points at your own faults: do +not mistake me, I would not have you laugh at—yet I wish you to feel, +what is ridiculous, and learn to distinguish folly. Mrs. Dowdy’s +negligence arises from indolence; her mind is not employed about matters +of importance; and, if it were, it would not be a sufficient excuse for +her habitually neglecting an essential part of a man’s as well as a +woman’s duty. I said habitually; grief will often make those careless, +who, at other times, pay a proper attention to their person; and this +neglect is a sure indication that the canker-worm is at work; and we +ought to pity, rather than blame the unfortunate. Indeed when painful +activity of mind occasions this inattention, it will not last long; the +soul struggles to free itself, and return to its usual tone and old +habits. The lady we have been speaking of, ever appears a sloven, though +she is sometimes a disgusting figure, and, at others, a very taudry +flirt. + +I continually caution Caroline not to spend much time in adorning her +person; but I never desired you to neglect yours. Wisdom consists in +avoiding extremes—immoderate fondness for dress, I term vanity; but a +proper attention to avoid singularity does not deserve that name. Never +waste much time about trifles; but the time that is necessary, employ +properly. Exercise your understanding, taste flows from it, and will in +a moment direct you, if you are not too solicitous to conform to the +changing fashions; and loiter away in laborious idleness the precious +moments when the imagination is most lively, and should be allowed to fix +virtuous affections in the tender youthful heart. + +Of all the women whom I have ever met with, Mrs. Trueman seems the freest +from vanity, and those frivolous views which degrade the female +character. Her virtues claim respect, and the practice of them engrosses +her thoughts; yet her clothes are apparently well chosen, and you always +see her in the same attire. Not like many women who are eager to set off +their persons to the best advantage, when they are only going to take a +walk, and are careless, nay slovenly, when forced to stay at home. Mrs. +Trueman’s conduct is just the reverse, she tries to avoid singularity, +for she does not wish to disgust the generality; but it is her family, +her friends, whom she studies to please. + +In dress it is not little minute things, but the whole that should be +attended to, and that every day; and this attention gives an ease to the +person because the clothes appear unstudily graceful. Never, continued +Mrs. Mason, desire to excel in trifles, if you do—there is an end to +virtuous emulation, the mind cannot attend to both; for when the main +pursuit is trivial, the character will of course become insignificant. +Habitual neatness is laudable; but, if you wish to be reckoned a well, an +elegantly dressed girl; and feel that praise on account of it gives you +pleasure, you are vain; and a laudable ambition cannot dwell with vanity. + +Servants, and those women whose minds have had a very limited range, +place all their happiness in ornaments, and frequently neglect the only +essential part in dress,—neatness. + +I have not the least objection to your dressing according to your age; I +rather encourage it, by allowing you to wear the gayest colours; yet I +insist on some degree of uniformity: and think you treat me +disrespectfully when you appear before me, and have forgotten to do, what +should never be neglected, and what you could have done in less than a +quarter of an hour. + +I always dress myself before breakfast, and expect you to follow my +example, if there is not a sufficient, and obvious excuse. You, Mary, +missed a pleasant airing yesterday; for if you had not forgotten the +respect which is due to me, and hurried down to breakfast in a slovenly +manner, I should have taken you out with me; but I did not choose to wait +till you were ready, as your not being so was entirely your own fault. + +Fathers, and men in general, complain of this inattention; they have +always to wait for females. Learn to avoid this fault, however +insignificant it may appear in your eyes, for that habit cannot be of +little consequence that sometimes weakens esteem. When we frequently +make allowance for another in trifling matters, notions of inferiority +take root in the mind, and too often produce contempt. Respect for the +understanding must be the basis of constancy; the tenderness which flows +from pity is liable to perish insensibly, to consume itself—even the +virtues of the heart, when they degenerate into weakness, sink a +character in our estimation. Besides, a kind of gross familiarity, takes +place of decent affection; and the respect which alone can render +domestic intimacy a lasting comfort is lost before we are aware of it. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Behaviour to Servants.—True Dignity of Character. + +The children not coming down to breakfast one morning at the usual time, +Mrs. Mason went herself to enquire the reason; and as she entered the +apartment, heard Mary say to the maid who assisted her, I wonder at your +impertinence, to talk thus to me—do you know who you are speaking to?—she +was going on; but Mrs. Mason interrupted her, and answered the +question—to a little girl, who is only assisted because she is weak. +Mary shrunk back abashed, and Mrs. Mason continued, as you have treated +Betty, who is ten years older than yourself, improperly, you must now do +every thing for yourself; and, as you will be some time about it, +Caroline and I will eat our breakfast, and visit Mrs. Trueman. By the +time we return, you may perhaps have recollected that children are +inferior to servants—who act from the dictates of reason, and whose +understandings are arrived at some degree of maturity, while children +must be governed and directed till _their’s_ gains strength to work by +itself: for it is the proper exercise of our reason that makes us in any +degree independent. + +When Mrs. Mason returned, she mildly addressed Mary. I have often told +you that every dispensation of Providence tended to our improvement, if +we do not perversely act contrary to our interest. One being is made +dependent on another, that love and forbearance may soften the human +heart, and that linked together by necessity, and the exercise of the +social affections, the whole family on earth might have a fellow feeling +for each other. By these means we improve one another; but there is no +real inferiority. + +You have read the fable of the head supposing itself superior to the rest +of the members, though all are equally necessary to the support of life. +If I behave improperly to servants, I am really their inferior, as I +abuse a trust, and imitate not the Being, whose servant I am, without a +shadow of equality. Children are helpless. I order my servants to wait +on you, because you are so; but I have not as much respect for you as for +them; you may possibly become a virtuous character.—Many of my servants +are really so already; they have done their duty, filled an humble +station, as they ought to fill it, conscientiously. And do you dare to +despise those whom your Creator approves? + +Before the greatest earthly beings I should not be awed, they are my +fellow servants; and, though superior in rank, which, like personal +beauty, only dazzles the vulgar; yet I may possess more knowledge and +virtue. The same feeling actuates me when I am in company with the poor; +we are creatures of the same nature, and I may be their inferiour in +those graces which should adorn my soul, and render me truly great. + +How often must I repeat to you, that a child is inferiour to a man; +because reason is in its infancy, and it is reason which exalts a man +above a brute; and the cultivation of it raises the wise man above the +ignorant; for wisdom is only another name for virtue. + +This morning, when I entered your apartment, I heard you insult a worthy +servant. You had just said your prayers; but they must have been only +the gabble of the tongue; your heart was not engaged in the sacred +employment, or you could not so soon have forgotten that you were a weak, +dependent being, and that you were to receive mercy and kindness only on +the condition of your practising the same. + +I advise you to ask Betty to pardon your impertinence; till you do so, +she shall not assist you; you would find yourself very helpless without +the assistance of men and women—unable to cook your meat, bake your +bread, wash your clothes, or even put them on—such a helpless creature is +a child—I know what you are, you perceive. + +Mary submitted—and in future after she said her prayers, remembered that +she was to endeavour to curb her temper. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Employment.—Idleness produces Misery.—The Cultivation of the Fancy raises +us above the Vulgar, extends our Happiness, and leads to Virtue. + +One afternoon, Mrs. Mason gave the children leave to amuse themselves; +but a kind of listlessness hung over them, and at a loss what to do, they +seemed fatigued with doing nothing. They eat cakes though they had just +dined, and did many foolish things merely because they were idle. Their +friend seeing that they were irresolute, and could not fix on any +employment, requested Caroline to assist her to make some clothes, that a +poor woman was in want of, and while we are at work, she added, Mary will +read us an entertaining tale, which I will point out. + +The tale interested the children, who chearfully attended, and after it +was finished, Mrs. Mason told them, that as she had some letters to +write, she could not take her accustomed walk; but that she would allow +them to represent her, and act for once like women. They received their +commission, it was to take the clothes to the poor woman, whom they were +intended for; learn her present wants; exercise their own judgment with +respect to the immediate relief she stood in need of, and act +accordingly. + +They returned home delighted, eager to tell what they had done, and how +thankful, and happy they had left the poor woman. + +Observe now, said Mrs. Mason, the advantages arising from employment; +three hours ago, you were uncomfortable, without being sensible of the +cause, and knew not what to do with yourselves. Nay, you actually +committed a sin; for you devoured cakes without feeling hunger, merely to +kill time, whilst many poor people have not the means of satisfying their +natural wants. When I desired you to read to me you were amused; and now +you have been useful you are delighted. Recollect this in future when +you are at a loss what to do with yourselves—and remember that idleness +must always be intolerable, because it is only an irksome consciousness +of existence. + +Every gift of Heaven is lent to us for our improvement; fancy is one of +the first of the inferiour ones; in cultivating it, we acquire what is +called taste, or a relish for particular employments, which occupy our +leisure hours, and raise us above the vulgar in our conversation. Those +who have not any taste talk always of their own affairs or of their +neighbours; every trivial matter that occurs within their knowledge they +convass and conjecture about—not so much out of ill-nature as idleness: +just as you eat the cakes without the impulse of hunger. In the same +style people talk of eating and dress, and long for their meals merely to +divide the day, because the intermediate time is not employed in a more +interesting manner. Every new branch of taste that we cultivate, affords +us a refuge from idleness, a fortress in which we may resist the assaults +of vice; and the more noble our employments, the more exalted will our +minds become. + +Music, drawing, works of usefulness and fancy, all amuse and refine the +mind, sharpen the ingenuity; and form, insensibly, the dawning +judgment.—As the judgment gains strength, so do the passions also; we +have actions to weigh, and need that taste in conduct, that delicate +sense of propriety, which gives grace to virtue. The highest branch of +solitary amusement is reading; but even in the choice of books the fancy +is first employed; for in reading, the heart is touched, till its +feelings are examined by the understanding, and the ripenings of reason +regulate the imagination. This is the work of years, and the most +important of all employments. When life advances, if the heart has been +capable of receiving early impressions, and the head of reasoning and +retaining the conclusions which were drawn from them; we have acquired a +stock of knowledge, a gold mine which we can occasionally recur to, +independent of outward circumstances. + +The supreme Being has every thing in Himself; we proceed from Him, and +our knowledge and affections must return to Him for employment suited to +them. And those who most resemble Him ought, next to Him, to be the +objects of our love; and the beings whom we should try to associate with, +that we may receive an inferiour degree of satisfaction from their +society.—But be assured our chief comfort must ever arise from the mind’s +reviewing its own operations—and the whispers of an approving conscience, +to convince us that life has not slipped away unemployed. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Innocent Amusements.—Description of a Welsh Castle.—History of a Welsh +Harper.—A tyrannical Landlord.—Family Pride. + +As it was now harvest time, the new scene, and the fine weather delighted +the children, who ran continually out to view the reapers. Indeed every +thing seemed to wear a face of festivity, and the ripe corn bent under +its own weight, or, more erect, shewed the laughing appearance of plenty. + +Mrs. Mason always allowing the gleaners to have a sufficient quantity, a +great number of poor came to gather a little harvest; and she was pleased +to see the feeble hands of childhood and age, collecting the scattered +ears. + +Honest Jack came with his family; and when the labours of the day were +over, would play on a fiddle, that frequently had but three strings. But +it served to set the feet in motion, and the lads and lasses dancing on +the green sod, suffered every care to sleep. + +An old Welsh harper generally came to the house about this time of the +year, and staid a month or more; for Mrs. Mason was particularly fond of +this instrument, and interested in the fate of the player; as is almost +always the case, when we have rescued a person out of any distress. + +She informed the children, that once travelling through Wales, her +carriage was overturned near the ruins of an old castle. And as she had +escaped unhurt, she determined to wander amongst them, whilst the driver +took care of his horses, and her servant hastened to the neighbouring +village for assistance. + + [Picture: Trying to trace the sound] + +It was almost dark, and the lights began to twinkle in the scattered +cottages. The scene pleased me, continued Mrs. Mason, I thought of the +various customs which the lapse of time unfolds; and dwelt on the state +of the Welsh, when this castle, now so desolate, was the hospitable abode +of the chief of a noble family. These reflections entirely engrossed my +mind, when the sound of a harp reached my ears. Never was any thing more +opportune, the national music seemed to give reality to the pictures +which my imagination had been drawing. I listened awhile, and then +trying to trace the pleasing sound, discovered, after a short search, a +little hut, rudely built. The walls of an old tower supported part of +the thatch, which scarcely kept out the rain, and the two other sides +were stones cemented, or rather plaistered together, by mud and clay. + +I entered, and beheld an old man, sitting by a few loose sticks, which +blazed on the hearth; and a young woman, with one child at her breast, +sucking, and another on her knee: near them stood a cow and her calf. +The man had been playing on the harp, he rose when he saw me, and offered +his chair, the only one in the room, and sat down on a large chest in the +chimney-corner. When the door was shut, all the light that was admitted +came through the hole, called a chimney, and did not much enliven the +dwelling. I mentioned my accident to account for my intrusion, and +requested the harper again to touch the instrument that had attracted me. +A partition of twigs and dried leaves divided this apartment from +another, in which I perceived a light; I enquired about it, and the +woman, in an artless manner, informed me, that she had let it to a young +gentlewoman lately married, who was related to a very good family, and +would not lodge any where, or with any body. This intelligence made me +smile, to think that family pride should be a solace in such extreme +poverty. + +I sat there some time, and then the harper accompanied me to see whether +the carriage was repaired; I found it waiting for me; and as the inn I +was to sleep at was only about two miles further, the harper offered to +come and play to me whilst I was eating my supper. This was just what I +wished for, his appearance had roused my compassion as well as my +curiosity, and I took him and his harp in the chaise. After supper he +informed me, that he had once a very good farm; but he had been so +unfortunate as to displease the justice, who never forgave him, nor +rested till he had ruined him. This tyrant always expected his tenants +to assist him to bring in his harvest before they had got in their own. +The poor harper was once in the midst of his, when an order was sent to +him to bring his carts and servants, the next day, to the fields of this +petty king. He foolishly refused; and this refusal was the foundation of +that settled hatred which produced such fatal consequences. Ah, Madam, +said the sufferer, your heart would ache, if you heard of all his +cruelties to me, and the rest of his poor tenants. He employs many +labourers, and will not give them as much wages as they could get from +the common farmers, yet they dare not go any-where else to work when he +sends for them. The fish that they catch they must bring first to him, +or they would not be allowed to walk over his grounds to catch them; and +he will give just what he pleases for the most valuable part of their +pannier. + +But there would be no end to my story were I to tell you of all his +oppressions. I was obliged to leave my farm; and my daughter, whom you +saw this evening, having married an industrious young man, I came to live +with them. When,—would you believe it? this same man threw my son into +jail, on account of his killing a hare, which all the country folks do +when they can catch them in their grounds. We were again in great +distress, and my daughter and I built the hut you saw in the waste, that +the poor babes might have a shelter. I maintain them by playing on the +harp,—the master of this inn allows me to play to the gentry who travel +this way; so that I pick up a few pence, just enough to keep life and +soul together, and to enable me to send a little bread to my poor son +John Thomas. + +He then began one of the most dismal of his Welsh ditties, and, in the +midst of it cried out, he is an upstart, a mere mushroom!—His grandfather +was cow-boy to mine!—So I told him once, and he never forgot it.— + +The old man then informed me that the castle in which he now was +sheltered formerly belonged to his family—such are the changes and +chances of this mortal life—said he, and hastily struck up a lively +tune.— + +While he was striking the strings, I thought too of the changes in life +which an age had produced. The descendant of those who had made the hall +ring with social mirth now mourned in its ruins, and hung his harp on the +mouldering battlements. Such is the fate of buildings and of families! + +After I had dismissed my guest, I sent for the landlord, to make some +further enquiries; and found that I had not been deceived; I then +determined to assist him, and thought my accident providential. I knew a +man of consequence in the neighbourhood, I visited him, and exerted +myself to procure the enlargement of the young man. I succeeded; and not +only restored him to his family; but prevailed on my friend to let him +rent a small farm on his estate, and I gave him money to buy stock for +it, and the implements of husbandry. + +The old harper’s gratitude was unbounded; the summer after he walked to +visit me; and ever since he has contrived to come every year to enliven +our harvest-home.—This evening it is to be celebrated. + +The evening came; the joyous party footed it away merrily, and the sound +of their shoes was heard on the barn-floor. It was not the light +fantastic toe, that fashion taught to move, but honest heart-felt mirth, +and the loud laugh, if it spoke the vacant head, said audibly that the +heart was guileless. + +Mrs. Mason always gave them some trifling presents at this time, to +render the approach of winter more comfortable. To the men, she +generally presented warm clothing, and to the women flax and worsted for +knitting and spinning; and those who were the most industrious received a +reward when the new year commenced. The children had books given to +them, and little ornaments.—All were anxious for the day; and received +their old acquaintance, the harper, with the most cordial smiles. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Prayer.—A Moon-light Scene.—Resignation. + +The harper would frequently sit under a large elm, a few paces from the +house, and play some of the most plaintive Welsh tunes. While the people +were eating their supper, Mrs. Mason desired him to play her some +favourite airs; and she and the children walked round the tree under +which he sat, on the stump of another. + +The moon rose in cloudless majesty, and a number of stars twinkled near +her. The softened landscape inspired tranquillity, while the strain of +rustic melody gave a pleasing melancholy to the whole—and made the tear +start, whose source could scarcely be traced. The pleasure the sight of +harmless mirth gave rise to in Mrs. Mason’s bosom, roused every tender +feeling—set in motion her spirits.—She laughed with the poor whom she had +made happy, and wept when she recollected her own sorrows; the illusions +of youth—the gay expectations that had formerly clipped the wings of +time.—She turned to the girls—I have been very unfortunate, my young +friends; but my griefs are now of a placid kind. Heavy misfortunes have +obscured the sun I gazed at when first I entered life—early attachments +have been broken—the death of friends I loved has so clouded my days; +that neither the beams of prosperity, nor even those of benevolence, can +dissipate the gloom; but I am not lost in a thick fog.—My state of mind +rather resembles the scene before you, it is quiet—I am weaned from the +world, but not disgusted—for I can still do good—and in futurity a sun +will rise to cheer my heart.—Beyond the night of death, I hail the dawn +of an eternal day! I mention my state of mind to you, that I may tell +you what supports me. + +The festivity within, and the placidity without, led my thoughts +naturally to the source from whence my comfort springs—to the Great +Bestower of every blessing. Prayer, my children, is the dearest +privilege of man, and the support of a feeling heart. Mine has too often +been wounded by ingratitude; my fellow-creatures, whom I have fondly +loved, have neglected me—I have heard their last sigh, and thrown my eyes +round an empty world; but then more particularly feeling the presence of +my Creator, I poured out my soul before Him—and was no longer alone!—I +now daily contemplate His wonderful goodness; and, though at an awful +distance, try to imitate Him. This view of things is a spur to activity, +and a consolation in disappointment. + +There is in fact a constant intercourse kept up with the Creator, when we +learn to consider Him, as the fountain of truth, which our understanding +naturally thirsts after. But His goodness brings Him still more on a +level with our bounded capacities—for we trace it in every work of mercy, +and feel, in sorrow particularly, His fatherly care. Every blessing is +doubled when we suppose it comes from Him, and afflictions almost lose +their name when we believe they are sent to correct, not crush us.—Whilst +we are alive to gratitude and admiration, we must adore God. + +The human soul is so framed, that goodness and truth must fill it with +ineffable pleasure, and the nearer it approaches to perfection, the more +earnestly will it pursue those virtues, discerning more clearly their +beauty. + +The Supreme Being dwells in the universe. He is as essentially present +to the wicked as to the good; but the latter delight in His presence, and +try to please Him, whilst the former shrink from a Judge, who is of too +pure a nature to behold iniquity.—The wicked wish for the rocks to cover +them, mountains, or the angry sea, which we the other day surveyed, to +hide them from the presence of that Being—in whose presence only they +could find joy. You feel emotions that incite you to do good; and +painful ones disturb you, when you have resisted the faithful internal +monitor. The wiser, and the better you grow, the more visible, if I may +use the expression, will God become—For wisdom consists in searching Him +out—and goodness in endeavouring to copy His attributes. + +To attain any thing great, a model must be held up to exercise our +understanding, and engage our affections. A view of the disinterested +goodness of God is therefore calculated to touch us more than can be +conceived by a depraved mind. When the love of God is shed abroad in our +hearts; true courage will animate our conduct, for nothing can hurt those +who trust in Him. If the desire of acting right is ever present with us, +if admiration of goodness fills our souls; we may be said to pray +constantly. And if we try to do justice to all our fellow-creatures, and +even to the brute creation; and assist them as far as we can, we prove +whose servants we are, and whose laws we transcribe in our lives. + +Never be very anxious, when you pray, what _words_ to use; regulate your +_thoughts_; and recollect that virtue calms the passions, gives clearness +to the understanding, and opens it to pleasures that the thoughtless and +vicious have not a glimpse of. You must, believe me, be acquainted with +God to find peace, to rise superior to worldly temptations. Habitual +devotion is of the utmost consequence to our happiness, as what oftenest +occupies the thoughts will influence our actions. But, observe what I +say,—_that_ devotion is mockery and selfishness, which does not improve +our moral character. + +Men, of old, prayed to the devil, sacrificed their children to him; and +committed every kind of barbarity and impurity. But we who serve a +long-suffering God should pity the weakness of our fellow-creatures; we +must not beg for mercy and not shew it;—we must not acknowledge that we +have offended, without trying to avoid doing so in future. We are to +deal with our fellow-creatures as we expect to be dealt with. This is +practical prayer!—Those who practise it feel frequently sublime +pleasures, and lively hopes animate them in this vale of tears; that seem +a foretaste of the felicity they will enjoy, when the understanding is +more enlightened, and the affections properly regulated. + +To-morrow I will take you to visit the school-mistress of the village, +and relate her story, to enforce what I have been saying. + +Now you may go and dance one or two dances; and I will join you after I +have taken a walk, which I wish to enjoy alone. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The Benefits arising from Devotion.—The History of the Village +School-mistress.—Fatal Effects of Inattention to Expences, in the History +of Mr. Lofty. + +The next morning Mrs. Mason desired the children to get their work, and +draw near the table whilst she related the promised history; and in the +afternoon, if the weather be fine, they were to visit the village +school-mistress. + +Her father, the honourable Mr. Lofty, was the youngest son of a noble +family; his education had been liberal, though his fortune was small. +His relations, however, seemed determined to push him forward in life, +before he disobliged them by marrying the daughter of a country +clergyman, an accomplished, sensible woman. + +Some time after the birth of his daughter Anna, his elder brother, the +Earl of Caermarthen, was reconciled to him; but this reconciliation only +led him into expences, which his limited fortune could not bear. Mr. +Lofty had a high sense of honour, and rather a profuse turn; he was, +beside, a very humane man, and gave away much more than he could afford +to give, when his compassion was excited. He never did a mean action; +but sometimes an ostentatious pride tarnished the lustre of very splendid +ones, made them appear to judicious eyes, more like tinsel, than gold. I +will account for it. His first impulse arose from sensibility, and the +second from an immoderate desire of human applause: for he seemed not to +be alive to devotional feelings, or to have that rock to rest on, which +will support a frail being, and give true dignity to a character, though +all nature combined to crush it. + +Mrs. Lofty was not a shining character—but I will read you a part of a +letter, which her daughter, the lady we are to visit, wrote to me. + +‘This being the anniversary of the day on which an ever loved, and much +revered parent was released from the bondage of mortality, I observe it +with particular seriousness, and with gratitude; for her sorrows were +great, her trials severe—but her conduct was blameless: yet the world +admired her not; her silent, modest virtues, were not formed to attract +the notice of the injudicious crowd, and her understanding was not +brilliant enough to excite admiration. But she was regardless of the +opinion of the world; she sought her reward in the source from whence her +virtue was derived—and she found it.—He, who, for wise and merciful +purposes, suffered her to be afflicted, supported her under her trials; +thereby calling forth the exercise of those virtues with which He had +adorned her gentle soul; and imparting to her a degree of heart-felt +comfort, which no earthly blessing could afford.’ + +This amiable parent died when Anna was near eighteen, and left her to the +care of her father, whose high spirit she had imbibed. However, the +religious principles which her mother had instilled regulated her notions +of honour, and so elevated her character, that her heart was regulated by +her understanding. + +Her father who had insensibly involved himself in debt, after her +mother’s death, tried many different schemes of life, all of which, at +first wore a promising aspect; but wanting that suppleness of temper, +that enables people to rise in the world, his struggles, instead of +extricating, sunk him still deeper. Wanting also the support of +religion, he became sour, easily irritated, and almost hated a world +whose applause he had once eagerly courted. His affairs were at last in +such a desperate state, that he was obliged, reluctantly, to accept of an +invitation from his brother, who with his wife, a weak fine lady, +intended to spend some time on the continent; his daughter was, of +course, to be of the party. + +The restraint of obligations did not suit his temper, and feeling himself +dependent, he imagined every one meant to insult him. + +Some sarcasms were thrown out one day by a gentleman, in a large company; +they were not personal, yet he took fire. His sore mind was easily hurt, +he resented them; and heated by wine, they both said more than their cool +reason would have suggested. Mr. Lofty imagined his honour was wounded, +and the next morning sent him a challenge—They met—and he killed his +antagonist, who, dying, pardoned him, and declared that the sentiments +which had given him so much offence, fell from him by accident, and were +not levelled at any person. + +The dying man lamented, that the thread of a thoughtless life had been so +suddenly snapped—the name of his wife and children he could not +articulate, when something like a prayer for them escaped his livid lips, +and shook his exhausted frame—The blood flowed in a copious stream—vainly +did Mr. Lofty endeavour to staunch it—the heart lost its vital +nourishment—and the soul escaped as he pressed the hand of his +destroyer.—Who, when he found him breathless, ran home, and rushed in a +hurry into his own chamber. The dead man’s image haunted his +imagination—he started—imagined that he was at his elbow—and shook the +hand that had received the dying grasp—yet still it was pressed, and the +pressure entered into his very soul—On the table lay two pistols, he +caught up one,—and shot himself.—The report alarmed the family—the +servants and his daughter, for his brother was not at home, broke open +the door,—and she saw the dreadful sight! As there was still some +appearance of life, a trembling ray—she supported the body, and sent for +assistance. But he soon died in her arms without speaking, before the +servant returned with a surgeon. + +Horror seized her, another pistol lay charged on the table, she caught it +up, but religion held her hand—she knelt down by a dead father, and +prayed to a superior one. Her mind grew calmer—yet still she +passionately wished she had but heard him speak, or that she had conveyed +comfort to his departing spirit—where, where would it find comfort? again +she was obliged to have recourse to prayer. + +After the death of her father, her aunt treated her as if she were a mere +dependent on her bounty; and expected her to be an humble companion in +every sense of the word. The visitors took the tone from her ladyship, +and numberless were the mortifications she had to bear. + +The entrance of a person about business interrupted the narration; but +Mrs. Mason promised to resume it after dinner. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +The Benefits arising from Devotion.—The History of the Village +School-mistress concluded. + +As soon as the cloth was removed, Mrs. Mason concluded the narration; and +the girls forgot their fruit whilst they were listening to the sequel. + +Anna endured this treatment some years, and had an opportunity of +acquiring a knowledge of the world and her own heart. She visited her +mother’s father, and would have remained with him; but she determined not +to lessen the small pittance which he had anxiously saved out of a scanty +income for two other grand-children. She thought continually of her +situation, and found, on examining her understanding, that the +fashionable circle in which she moved, could not at any rate have +afforded her much satisfaction, or even amusement; though the neglect and +contempt that she met with rendered her very uncomfortable. She had her +father’s spirit of independence, and determined to shake off the galling +yoke which she had long struggled with, and try to earn her own +subsistence. Her acquaintance expostulated with her, and represented the +miseries of poverty, and the mortifications and difficulties that she +would have to encounter. Let it be so, she replied, it is much +preferable to swelling the train of the proud or vicious great, and +despising myself for bearing their impertinence, for eating their bitter +bread;—better, indeed, is a dinner of herbs with contentment. My wants +are few. When I am my own mistress, the crust I earn will be sweet, and +the water that moistens it will not be mingled with tears of sorrow or +indignation. + +To shorten my story; she came to me, after she had attempted several +plans, and requested my advice. She would not accept of any considerable +favour, and declared that the greatest would be, to put her in a way of +supporting herself, without forfeiting her highly valued independence. I +knew not what to advise; but whilst I was debating the matter with +myself, I happened to mention, that we were in want of a school-mistress. +She eagerly adopted the plan, and persevering in it these last ten years, +I find her a most valuable acquisition to our society. + +She was formed to shine in the most brilliant circle—yet she relinquished +it, and patiently labours to improve the children consigned to her +management, and tranquillize her own mind. She succeeds in both. + +She lives indeed alone, and has all day only the society of children; yet +she enjoys many true pleasures; dependence on God is her support, and +devotion her comfort. Her lively affections are therefore changed into a +love of virtue and truth: and these exalted speculations have given an +uncommon dignity to her manners; for she seems above the world, and its +trifling commotions. At her meals, gratitude to Heaven supplies the +place of society. She has a tender, social heart, and, as she cannot +sweeten her solitary draught, by expressing her good wishes to her +fellow-creatures, an ejaculation to Heaven for the welfare of her friends +is the substitute. This circumstance I heard her mention to her +grandfather, who sometimes visits her. + +I will now make some alteration in my dress, for when I visit those who +have been reduced from their original place in society by misfortunes, I +always attend a little to ceremony; lest too much familiarity should +appear like disrespect. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Visit to the School-mistress.—True and false Pride. + +Their dress was soon adjusted, and the girls plucked flowers to adorn +themselves, and a nosegay to present to the school-mistress, whose garden +was but small. + +They met the children just released from confinement; the swarm came +humming round Mrs. Mason, endeavouring to catch her eye, and obtain the +notice they were so proud of. The girls made their best courtesies, +blushing; and the boys hung down their heads, and kicked up the dust, in +scraping a bow of respect. + +They found their mistress preparing to drink tea, to refresh herself +after the toils of the day; and, with the ease peculiar to well-bred +people, she quickly enabled them to partake of it, by giving the +tea-board a more sociable appearance. + +The harvest-home was soon the subject of conversation, and the harper was +mentioned. The family pride of the Welsh, said Anna, has often diverted +me; I have frequently heard the inhabitants of a little hut, that could +scarcely be distinguished from the pig-sty, which stood in the front of +it, boast of their ancestors and despise trade. They have informed me, +that one branch of their family built the middle aisle of the church; +that another beautified the chancel, and gave the ten commandments, which +blaze there in letters of gold. Some rejoice that their forefathers +sleep in the most conspicuous tombs—and that their ashes have an +inscription to point out where they are returning to their mother earth. +And those graves, which only a little stone at the head gives consequence +to, are adorned every Sunday with flowers, or ever-greens. We perceive, +in all the various customs of men, a desire to live in the past and in +the future, if I may be allowed the expression. + +Mrs. Mason then observed, that of all the species of pride which carry a +man out of himself, family pride was the most beneficial to society. +Pride of wealth produces vanity and ostentation; but that of blood seems +to inspire high notions of honour, and to banish meanness. Yet it is +productive of many ill consequences, the most obvious is, that it renders +individuals respectable to the generality, whose merit is only reflected: +and sometimes the want of this accidental advantage throws the most +shining personal virtues and abilities into obscurity. In weak minds +this pride degenerates into the most despicable folly; and the wise will +not condescend to accept of fame at second-hand, replied Anna. We ought +to be proud of our original, but we should trace it to our Heavenly +Father, who breathed into us the breath of life.—We are His children when +we try to resemble Him, when we are convinced that truth and goodness +must constitute the very essence of the soul; and that the pursuit of +them will produce happiness, when the vain distinctions of mortals will +fade away, and their pompous escutcheons moulder with more vulgar dust! +But remember, my young friends, virtue is immortal; and goodness arises +from a quick perception of truth, and actions conformable to the +conviction. + +Different subjects beguiled the time, till the closing evening admonished +them to return home; and they departed reluctantly, filled with respect. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Charity.—The History of Peggy and her Family.—The Sailor’s Widow. + +I have often remarked to you, said Mrs. Mason, one morning, to her +pupils, that we are all dependent on each other; and this dependence is +wisely ordered by our Heavenly Father, to call forth many virtues, to +exercise the best affections of the human heart, and fix them into +habits. While we impart pleasure we receive it, and feel the grandeur of +our immortal soul, as it is constantly struggling to spread itself into +futurity. + +Perhaps the greatest pleasure I have ever received, has arisen from the +habitual exercise of charity, in its various branches: the view of a +distressed object has made me now think of conversing about one branch of +it, that of giving alms. + +You know Peggy, the young girl whom I wish to have most about my person; +I mean, I wish it for her own sake, that I may have an opportunity of +improving her mind, and cultivating a good capacity. As to attendance, I +never give much trouble to any fellow-creature; for I choose to be +independent of caprice and artificial wants; unless indeed, when I am +sick; then, I thankfully receive the assistance I would willingly give to +others in the same situation. I believe I have not in the world a more +faithful friend than Peggy; and her earnest desire to please me gratifies +my benevolence, for I always observe with delight the workings of a +grateful heart. + +I lost a darling child, said Mrs. Mason, smothering a sigh, in the depth +of winter—death had before deprived me of her father, and when I lost my +child—he died again. + +The wintery prospects suiting the temper of my soul, I have sat looking +at a wide waste of trackless snow for hours; and the heavy sullen fog, +that the feeble rays of the sun could not pierce, gave me back an image +of my mind. I was unhappy, and the sight of dead nature accorded with my +feelings—for all was dead to me. + +As the snow began to melt, I took a walk, and observed the birds hopping +about with drooping wings, or mute on the leafless boughs. The mountain, +whose sides had lost the snow, looked black; yet still some remained on +the summit, and formed a contrast to diversify the dreary prospect. + +I walked thoughtfully along, when the appearance of a poor man, who did +not beg, struck me very forcibly. His shivering limbs were scarcely +sheltered from the cold by the tattered garments that covered him; and he +had a sharp, famished look. I stretched out my hand with some relief in +it, I would not enquire into the particulars of such obvious distress. +The poor wretch caught my hand, and hastily dropping on his knees, +thanked me in an extacy, as if he had almost lost sight of hope, and was +overcome by the sudden relief. His attitude, for I cannot bear to see a +fellow-creature kneel, and eager thanks, oppressed my weak spirits, so +that I could not for a moment ask him any more questions; but as soon as +I recollected myself, I learned from him the misfortunes that had reduced +him to such extreme distress, and he hinted, that I could not easily +guess the good I had done. I imagined from this hint that he was +meditating his own destruction when I saw him, to spare himself the +misery of seeing his infant perish,—starved to death, in every sense of +the word. + +I will now hasten to the sequel of the account. His wife had lately had +a child, she was very ill at the time, and want of proper food, and a +defence against the inclemency of the weather, hurried her out of the +world. The poor child, Peggy, had sucked in disease and nourishment +together, and now even that wretched source had failed—the breast was +cold that had afforded the scanty support; and the little innocent +smiled, unconscious of its misery. I sent for her, added Mrs. Mason, and +her father dying a few years after, she has ever been a favourite charge +of mine, and nursing of her, in some measure, dispelled the gloom in +which I had been almost lost.—Ah! my children, you know not how many, +‘houseless heads bide the pitiless storm!’ + +I received soon after a lesson of resignation from a poor woman, who was +a practical philosopher. + +She had lost her husband, a sailor, and lost his wages also, as she could +not prove his death. She came to me to beg some pieces of silk, to make +some pin-cushions for the boarders of a neighbouring school. Her lower +weeds were patched with different coloured rags; but they spoke not +variety of wretchedness, on the contrary, they shewed a mind so content, +that want, and bodily pain, did not prevent her thinking of the opinion +of casual observers. This woman lost a husband and a child suddenly, and +her daily bread was precarious.—I cheered the widow’s heart, and my own +was not quite solitary. + +But I am growing melancholy, whilst I am only desirous of pointing out to +you how very beneficial charity is—because it enables us to find comfort +when all our worldly comforts are blighted: besides, when our bowels +yearn to our fellow-creatures, we feel that the love of God dwelleth in +us—and then we cannot always go on our way sorrowing. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Visit to Mrs. Trueman.—The Use of Accomplishments.—Virtue the Soul of +all. + +In the afternoon they visited Mrs. Trueman unexpectedly, and found her +sitting in the garden playing to her children, who danced on the green +sod. She approached to receive them, and laid aside her guitar; but, +after some conversation, Mrs. Mason desired her to take it up again, and +the girls joined in the request. While she was singing Mary whispered +Mrs. Mason, that she would give the world to be able to sing as well. +The whisper was not so low but a part of it reached Mrs. Trueman’s ears, +who said to her, smiling, my young friend, you value accomplishments much +too highly—they may give grace to virtue—but are nothing without solid +worth.—Indeed, I may say more, for any thing like perfection in the arts +cannot be attained, where a relish; nay, a delight in what is true and +noble is wanting. A superficial observer may be pleased with a picture +in which fine colours predominate; and quick movements in music may +tickle the ear, though they never reach the heart: but it is the simple +strain which affection animates, that we listen to with interest and +delight. Mr. Trueman has a taste for the fine arts; and I wish in every +thing to be his companion. His conversation has improved my judgment, +and the affection an intimate knowledge of his virtues has inspired, +increases the love which I feel for the whole human race. He lives +retired from the world; to amuse him after the business of the day is +over, and my babes asleep, I sing to him. A desire to please, and the +pleasure I read in his eyes, give to my music energy and tenderness. +When he is ruffled by worldly cares, I try to smooth his wrinkled brow, +and think mine a voice of melody, when it has had that effect. + +Very true, replied Mrs. Mason, accomplishments should be cultivated to +render us pleasing to our domestic friends; virtue is necessary; it must +ever be the foundation of our peace and usefulness; but when we are +capable of affection, we wish to have something peculiar to ourselves. +We study the taste of our friends, and endeavour to conform to it; but, +in doing so, we ought rather to improve our own abilities than servilely +to copy theirs. Observe, my dear girls, Mrs. Trueman’s distinction, her +accomplishments are for her friends, her virtues for the world in +general. + +I should think myself vain, and my soul little, answered Mrs. Trueman, if +the applause of the whole world, on the score of abilities, which did not +add any real lustre to my character, could afford me matter of +exultation. The approbation of my own heart, the humble hope of pleasing +the Most High, elevates my soul; and I feel, that in a future state, I +may enjoy an unspeakable degree of happiness, though I now only +experience a faint foretaste. Next to these sublime emotions, which I +cannot describe, and the joy resulting from doing good; I am happy when I +can amuse those I love; it is not then vanity, but tenderness, that spurs +me on, and my songs, my drawings, my every action, has something of my +heart in it. When I can add to the innocent enjoyments of my children, +and improve them at the same time, are not my accomplishments of use? In +the same style, when I vary the pleasures of my fire-side, I make my +husband forget that it is a lonely one; and he returns to look for +elegance at home, elegance that he himself gave the polish to; and which +is only affected, when it does not flow from virtuous affections. + +I beg your pardon, I expatiate too long on my favourite topic; my desire +to rectify your notions must plead my excuse. + +Mr. Trueman now joined them, and brought with him some of his finest +fruit. After tea Mrs. Trueman shewed them some of her drawings; and, to +comply with their repeated request, played on the harpsichord, and Mr. +Trueman took his violin to accompany her. Then the children were +indulged with a dance, each had her favourite tune played in turn. + +As they returned home, the girls were eagerly lavishing praises on Mrs. +Trueman; and Mary said, I cannot tell why, but I feel so glad when she +takes notice of me. I never saw any one look so good-natured, cried +Caroline. Mrs. Mason joined in the conversation. You justly remarked +that she is good-natured; you remember her history, she loves truth, and +she is ever exercising benevolence and love—from the insect, that she +avoids treading on, her affection may be traced to that Being who lives +for ever.—And it is from her goodness her agreeable qualities spring. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +The Benefit of bodily Pain.—Fortitude the Basis of Virtue.—The Folly of +Irresolution. + +The children had been playing in the garden for some time, whilst Mrs. +Mason was reading alone. But she was suddenly alarmed by the cries of +Caroline, who ran into the room in great distress. Mary quickly +followed, and explaining the matter said, that her sister had +accidentally disturbed some wasps, who were terrified, and of course +stung her. Remedies were applied to assuage the pain; yet all the time +she uttered the loudest and most silly complaints, regardless of the +uneasiness she gave those who were exerting themselves to relieve her. + +In a short time the smart abated, and then her friend thus addressed her, +with more than usual gravity. I am sorry to see a girl of your age weep +on account of bodily pain; it is a proof of a weak mind—a proof that you +cannot employ yourself about things of consequence. How often must I +tell you that the Most High is educating us for eternity? + +‘The term virtue, comes from a word signifying strength. Fortitude of +mind is, therefore, the basis of every virtue, and virtue belongs to a +being, that is weak in its nature, and strong only in will and +resolution.’ + +Children early feel bodily pain, to habituate them to bear the conflicts +of the soul, when they become reasonable creatures. This, I say, is the +first trial, and I like to see that proper pride which strives to conceal +its sufferings. Those who, when young, weep if the least trifle annoys +them, will never, I fear, have sufficient strength of mind, to encounter +all the miseries that can afflict the body, rather than act meanly to +avoid them. Indeed, this seems to be the essential difference between a +great and a little mind: the former knows how to endure—whilst the latter +suffers an immortal soul to be depressed, lost in its abode; suffers the +inconveniences which attack the one to overwhelm the other. The soul +would always support the body, if its superiority was felt, and +invigorated by exercise. The Almighty, who never afflicts but to produce +some good end, first sends diseases to children to teach them patience +and fortitude; and when by degrees they have learned to bear them, they +have acquired some virtue. + +In the same manner, cold or hunger, when accidentally encountered, are +not evils; they make _us feel what wretches feel_, and teach us to be +tender-hearted. Many of your fellow-creatures daily bear what you cannot +for a moment endure without complaint. Besides, another advantage arises +from it, after you have felt hunger, you will not be very anxious to +choose the particular kind of food that is to satisfy it. You will then +be freed from a frivolous care. + +When it is necessary to take a nauseous draught, swallow it at once, and +do not make others sick whilst you are hesitating, though you know that +you ought to take it. If a tooth is to be drawn, or any other +disagreeable operation to be performed, determine resolutely that it +shall be done immediately; and debate not, when you clearly see the step +that you ought to take. If I see a child act in this way, I am ready to +embrace it, my soul yearns for it—I perceive the dawning of a character +that will be useful to society, as it prepares its soul for a nobler +field of action. + +Believe me, it is the patient endurance of pain, that will enable you to +resist your passions; after you have borne bodily pain, you will have +firmness enough to sustain the still more excruciating agonies of the +mind. You will not, to banish momentary cares, plunge into dissipation, +nor to escape a present inconvenience, forget that you should hold fast +virtue as the only substantial good. + +I should not value the affection of a person who would not bear pain and +hunger to serve me; nor is that benevolence warm, which shrinks from +encountering difficulties, when it is necessary, in order to be useful to +any fellow-creature. + +There is a just pride, a noble ambition in some minds, that I greatly +admire. I have seen a little of it in Mary! for whilst she pities +others, she imagines that she could bear their inconveniences herself; +and she seems to feel more uneasiness, when she observes the sufferings +of others, than I could ever trace on her countenance under the immediate +pressure of pain. + +Remember you are to bear patiently the infirmities of the weakest of your +fellow-creatures; but to yourselves you are not to be equally indulgent. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Journey to London. + +The girls were visibly improved; an air of intelligence began to animate +Caroline’s fine features; and benevolence gave her eyes the humid sparkle +which is so beautiful and engaging. The interest that we take in the +fate of others, attaches them to ourselves;—thus Caroline’s goodness +inspired more affection than her beauty. + +Mary’s judgment grew every day clearer; or, more properly speaking, she +acquired experience; and her lively feelings fixed the conclusions of +reason in her mind. Whilst Mrs. Mason was rejoicing in their apparent +improvement, she received a letter from their father, requesting her to +allow his daughters to spend the winter in town, as he wished to procure +them the best masters, an advantage that the country did not afford. +With reluctance she consented, determining to remain with them a short +time; and preparations were quickly made for the journey. + +The wished for morning arrived, and they set off in a tumult of spirits; +sorry to leave the country, yet delighted with the prospect of visiting +the metropolis. This hope soon dried the tears which had bedewed their +cheeks; for the parting with Mrs. Mason was not anticipated. The +autumnal views were new to them; they saw the hedges exhibit various +colours, and the trees stripped of their leaves; but they were not +disposed to moralize. + +For some time after their arrival, every thing they saw excited wonder +and admiration; and not till they were a little familiarized with the new +objects, did they ask reasonable questions. + +Several presents recruited their purses; and they requested Mrs. Mason to +allow them to buy some trifles they were in want of. The request was +modest, and she complied. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Charity.—Shopping.—The distressed Stationer.—Mischievous Consequences of +delaying Payment. + +As they walked in search of a shop, they both determined to purchase +pocket-books; but their friend desired them not to spend all their money +at once, as they would meet many objects of charity in the numerous +streets of the metropolis. I do not wish you, she continued, to relieve +every beggar that you casually meet; yet should any one attract your +attention, obey the impulse of your heart, which will lead you to pay +them for exercising your compassion, and do not suffer the whispers of +selfishness, that they may be impostors, to deter you. However, I would +have you give but a trifle when you are not certain the distress is real, +and reckon it given for pleasure. I for my part would rather be deceived +five hundred times, than doubt once without reason. + +They stopped at a small shop, Mrs. Mason always sought out such; for, +said she, I may help those who perhaps want assistance; bargains I never +seek, for I wish every one to receive the just value for their goods. + +In the shop which they chanced to enter, they did not find the kind of +pocket-book that they had previously fixed on, and therefore wished +precipitately to leave it; but were detained by their more considerate +friend. While they had been turning over the trinkets, the countenance +of the woman, who served them, caught her eye, and she observed her eager +manner of recommending the books. You have given much unnecessary +trouble, said she, to the mistress of the shop; the books are better, and +more expensive than you intended to purchase, but I will make up the +deficiency. A beam of pleasure enlivened the woman’s swollen eyes; and +Mrs. Mason, in the mild accents of compassion, said, if it is not an +impertinent question, will you tell me from what cause your visible +distress arises? perhaps I may have it in my power to relieve you.—The +woman burst into tears.—Indeed, Madam, you have already relieved me; for +the money you have laid out will enable me to procure some food for my +poor little grandchildren, and to send a meal to their poor father, who +is now confined for debt, though a more honest man never breathed. Ah! +Madam, I little thought I should come to this—Yesterday his wife died, +poor soul! I really believe things going so cross broke her heart. He +has been in jail these five months; I could not manage the shop, or buy +what was proper to keep up the credit of it, so business has been +continually falling off; yet, if his debts were paid, he would now be +here, and we should have money in our pockets. And what renders it more +provoking, the people who owe us most are very rich. It is true, they +live in such a very high style, and keep such a number of horses and +servants, that they are often in want of money, and when they have it, +they mostly have some freak in their heads, and do not think of paying +poor trades-people. At first we were afraid to ask for payment lest we +should lose their custom, and so it proved; when we did venture, forced +by necessity, they sent to other shops, without discharging our demand. + +And, my dear Madam, this is not all my grief; my son, before his +misfortunes, was one of the most sober, industrious young men in London; +but now he is not like the same man. He had nothing to do in the jail, +and to drive away care he learned to drink; he said it was a comfort to +forget himself, and he would add an oath—I never heard him swear till +then. I took pains when he was a child to teach him his prayers, and he +rewarded me by being a dutiful son. The case is quite altered now—he +seems to have lost all natural affection—he heeds not his mother’s +tears.—Her sobs almost suffocated her, as she strove to go on—He will +bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave—and yet I pity my poor boy, +he is shut up with such a number of profligate wretches, who laugh at +what is right. Every farthing I send him he spends in liquor, and used +to make his poor wife pawn her clothes to buy him drink—she was happy to +die, it was well for her not to live to hear the babe she gave suck to +despise her! + +A passion of tears relieved the sufferer, and she called her +grandchildren; these innocent babes, said she, I shall not be able to +keep them, they must go to the workhouse. If the quality did but know +what they make us poor industrious people suffer—surely they would be +more considerate. + +Mrs. Mason gave her something to supply her present wants, and promised +to call on her again before she left town. + +They walked silently down two or three streets; I hope you have learned +to think, my dear girls, said Mrs. Mason, and that your hearts have felt +the emotions of compassion; need I make any comments on the situation of +the poor woman we have just left. You perceive that those who neglect to +pay their debts, do more harm than they imagine; perhaps, indeed, some of +these very people do, what is called, a noble action, give away a large +sum, and are termed generous; nay, very probably, weep at a tragedy, or +when reading an affecting tale. They then boast of their +sensibility—when, alas! neglecting the foundation of all virtue, +_justice_, they have occasioned exquisite distress;—led a poor wretch +into vice; heaped misery on helpless infancy, and drawn tears from the +aged widow. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Visit to a poor Family in London.—Idleness the Parent of +Vice.—Prodigality and Generosity incompatible.—The Pleasures of +Benevolence.—True and false Motives for saving. + +After the impression which the story, and the sight of the family had +made, was a little worn off; Caroline begged leave to buy one toy, and +then another, till her money was quite gone. When Mrs. Mason found it +was all expended, she looked round for an object in distress; a poor +woman soon presented herself, and her meagre countenance gave weight to +her tale.—A babe, as meagre, hung at her breast, which did not seem to +contain sufficient moisture to wet its parched lips. + +On enquiry they found that she lodged in a neighbouring garret. Her +husband had been out of employment a long time, and was now sick. The +master who had formerly given him work, lost gradually great part of his +business; for his best customers were grown so fond of foreign articles, +that his goods grew old in the warehouse. Consequently a number of hands +were dismissed, who not immediately finding employment elsewhere, were +reduced to the most extreme distress. The truth of this account a +reputable shopkeeper attested; and he added that many of the unhappy +creatures, who die unpitied at the gallows, were first led into vice by +accidental idleness. + +They ascended the dark stairs, scarcely able to bear the bad smells that +flew from every part of a small house, that contained in each room a +family, occupied in such an anxious manner to obtain the necessaries of +life, that its comforts never engaged their thoughts. The precarious +meal was snatched, and the stomach did not turn, though the cloth, on +which it was laid, was died in dirt. When to-morrow’s bread is +uncertain, who thinks of cleanliness? Thus does despair increase the +misery, and consequent disease aggravate the horrors of poverty! + +They followed the woman into a low garret, that was never visited by the +chearful rays of the sun.—A man, with a sallow complexion, and long +beard, sat shivering over a few cinders in the bottom of a broken grate, +and two more children were on the ground, half naked, near him, breathing +the same noxious air. The gaiety natural to their age, did not animate +their eyes, half sunk in their sockets; and, instead of smiles, premature +wrinkles had found a place in their lengthened visages. Life was nipped +in the bud; shut up just as it began to unfold itself. ‘A frost, a +killing frost,’ had destroyed the parent’s hopes; they seemed to come +into the world only to crawl half formed,—to suffer, and to die. + +Mrs. Mason desired the girls to relieve the family; Caroline hung down +her head abashed—wishing the paltry ornaments which she had thoughtlessly +bought, in the bottom of the sea. Mary, meanwhile, proud of the new +privilege, emptied her purse; and Caroline, in a supplicating tone, +entreated Mrs. Mason to allow her to give her neck-handkerchief to the +little infant. + +Mrs. Mason desired the woman to call on her the next day; and they left +the family cheered by their bounty. + +Caroline expected the reproof that soon proceeded from the mouth of her +true friend. I am glad that this accident has occurred, to prove to you +that prodigality and generosity are incompatible. Economy and +self-denial are necessary in every station, to enable us to be generous, +and to act conformably to the rules of justice. + +Mary may this night enjoy peaceful slumbers; idle Fancies, foolishly +indulged, will not float in her brain; she may, before she closes her +eyes, thank God, for allowing her to be His instrument of mercy. Will +the trifles that you have purchased, afford you such heartfelt delight, +Caroline? + +Selfish people save to gratify their own caprices and appetites; the +benevolent curb both, to give scope to the nobler feelings of the human +heart. When we squander money idly, we defraud the poor, and deprive our +own souls of their most exalted food. If you wish to be useful, govern +your desires, and wait not till distress obtrudes itself—search it out. +In the country it is not always attended with such shocking circumstances +as at present; but in large cities, many garrets contain families, +similar to those we have seen this afternoon. The money spent in +indulging the vain wishes of idleness, and a childish fondness for pretty +things not regulated by reason, would relieve the misery that my soul +shrinks back from contemplating. + + [Picture: Economy and self-denial are necessary in every station] + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Mrs. Mason’s farewell Advice to her young Friends. + +The day before Mrs. Mason was to leave her pupils, she took a hand of +each, and pressing them tenderly in her own, tears started into her +eyes—I tremble for you, my dear girls, for you must now practise by +yourselves some of the virtues which I have been endeavouring to +inculcate; and I shall anxiously wait for the summer, to see what +progress you have made by yourselves. + +We have conversed on several very important subjects; pray do not forget +the conclusions I have drawn. I now, as my last present, give you a +book, in which I have written the subjects that we have discussed. Recur +frequently to it, for the stories illustrating the instruction it +contains, you will not feel in such a great degree the want of my +personal advice. Some of the reasoning you may not thoroughly +comprehend, but, as your understandings ripen, you will feel its full +force. + +Avoid anger; exercise compassion; and love truth. Recollect, that from +religion your chief comfort must spring, and never neglect the duty of +prayer. Learn from experience the comfort that arises from making known +your wants and sorrows to the wisest and best of Beings, in whose hands +are the issues, not only of this life, but of that which is to come. + +Your father will allow you a certain stipend; you have already _felt_ the +pleasure of doing good; ever recollect that the wild pursuits of fancy +must be conquered, to enable you to gratify benevolent wishes, and that +you must practise economy in trifles to have it in your power to be +generous on great occasions. And the good you intend to do, do +quickly;—for know that a trifling duty neglected, is a great fault, and +the present time only is at your command. + +You are now candidates for my friendship, and on your advancement in +virtue my regard will in future depend. Write often to me, I will +punctually answer your letters; but let me have the genuine sentiments of +your hearts. In expressions of affection and respect, do not deviate +from truth to gain what you wish for, or to turn a period prettily. + +Adieu! when you think of your friend, observe her precepts; and let the +recollection of my affection, give additional weight to the truths which +I have endeavoured to instill; and, to reward my care, let me hear that +you love and practice virtue. + + * * * * * + + FINIS. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT'S ORIGINAL +STORIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 36507-0.txt or 36507-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/5/0/36507 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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