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IN the North of England lived a gentle∣man and lady of the name of Davenport; they had two boys and two girls. Mrs. Da∣venport took care herself of the education of her daughters, whilst her husband attended to that of the boys. These children were very good and dutiful to their parents; and, indeed, it would have been a shame had they been otherwise.
Their names were,
Though their house was several miles dis∣tant from any town, yet it had the advantage of a very good neighborhood; this, however, did not last all the year, as most of the fami∣lies who lived thereabout, spent the winter in London: yet, during this dreary season, our little family wished not for more society than was to be found under their own roof; they were always happy and cheerful within themselves. Mrs. Davenport had a brother, who was a widower, with two daughters: Sophia and Amelia Easy. Having occasion to visit the continent, he begged the favor of his brother and sister to take care of them during their absence from school at Christ∣mas. This request was readily complied with; and, accordingly, when the holidays were nearly arrived, Mr. Davenport set off for London, to convey these young ladies from thence down to his own house. Mary and Caroline expected the arrival of their cousins
with a deal of pleasure. During the week that Mr. Davenport was absent, their leisure hours were employed in making up new clothes for their dolls, and getting all their playthings in order. At length, the happy day arrived, their papa returned, and intro∣duced Sophia and Amelia to them; hoping that they would be good friends, and love one another as sisters.
Sophia Easy was fourteen years old, Amelia was twelve. They had the misfortune to lose their mother when they were very young, and having been from that time brought up at one of the first schools, great attention had been paid to their French, mu∣sic, and other accomplishments, but they were girls of very perverse and wayward dis∣positions. Sophia was very proud and unwil∣ling to take any advice, haughty to servants, and impertinent to her superiors; at school she had connected herself with a set of those silly girls who laughed at every one 〈◊〉〈◊〉 knew better than themselves, and tyran••••s∣ed
over those who would not enter into their ••••diculous schemes. Amelia was vain and conceited; she never let slip an opportunity 〈◊〉〈◊〉 admiring herself in a looking glass, and, had the time been allowed her, would with pleas∣ure have spent the whole morning at her toi∣let. Besides these foibles, they had each of them contracted a habit of telling falsehoods. Such were the Miss Easys, and from what I have said of the little Davenports, my young readers will readily suppose that they were not much pleased with their visitors.
Mr. Davenport read short prayers to the whole family every night, which were always over by nine o'clock, when the children went to bed. They rose at six in summer, and at eight in winter; though used to earlier hours at school, Sophia and Amelia did not chuse to get out of bed till past eleven. Mrs. Davenport took no notice of this the first morning, thinking that the journey had fa∣tigued them; but the next day when the clock struck eleven, and they had not made their appearance, she went up stairs and gent∣ly reproved them, adding, that she hoped
〈◊〉〈◊〉 would not happen again. The moment she quitted the room, "Come," says Amelia to her sister, "let us get up, or she will be coming again to pla••••e us." "Let her come," 〈…〉〈…〉; "we have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to pretend to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉."
"Ah, but she will find us out!"
And what if she does? she has no right to punish us.
After this they continued their conversation for a long time, till it was interrupted by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 entrance of Caroline; who, coming towards the bed, and gently undrawing the curtains, "Come, my dear cousins," said she, "pray get up; for if you stay up stairs any long∣er you will vex mama, and I am sure you would not wish to do so." "I don't care whether she is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or not," said Sophia; "what is it to her how long we lay in bed?" This was the first time Caroline had ever heard her mama spoken of slightingly; it hurt her, and she quickly answered,
My mama is very good,
and is never angry or vexed without reason•••• If we get up, it will be of our own accord,said Amelia;
we shall ••ot do it a bit the sooner for her."〈…〉〈…〉 you please," ••••••••••ned Caroline; 〈…〉〈…〉 to avoid a quarrel, hastily left th•• ••oom; but recollect∣i••g that her cousins might want some help, she came back and offered her assistance; it was accepted, and, when they were dressed, she conducted them to the breakfast room. "This is a very late hour for breakfast," said Mrs. Davenport, as they entered the room; we are a regular family, and it must not "happen again." "What," said Sophia, "are we to get up by four?" "I did not say four," replied Mrs. Davenport, rather displeased at her pertness; "but nine is our breakfast hour, and those who are not down by that tim•• ••ust go without." This was spoken in so resolute a manner that it totally silenced her nieces. They soon fin∣ished their breakfast, and Mary took them to walk in the grounds. The sharpness of the
weather, however, soon brought them back again; Mary then produced some dissected maps, but they would not suffer her even to open them; saying, that they had enough of geography at school, and that they did not intend to study in holiday time. "Study, do you call it?" said Mary; "well you can∣not imagine how we all like it, for papa teaches us; and we find it very entertaining; however, if you do not like it, we will find out some other amusement; will you go up stairs and play with our dolls?" "D•• you take us for babies?" said Amelia. "I am sure I did not mean to affront you," re∣plied Mary; "and I do not know what else to offer you.—Stay—now I think of it, there is a great book of prints in the study, will you come and look over them?" Pray can't you fetch them?" said Amelia.
I would with pleasure, but they are so heavy.
"You can ring the bell for a ser∣vant, I suppose."
Just then Mrs. Davenport entered the room:— "What my dear Mary," said she,
can you find nothing to entertain your cousins with?—Where are your Maps?
"They do not like them, mama."
"And pray why not?"
Dear me, ma'am, we are sick of them at school. I hate geography.
That is a great pity in∣deed, for it is a very useful study.
Besides, ma'am we know en∣ough about it already.
I am very glad to hear that you are so clever, and I wish you would instruct Mary and Caroline. Let me hear you inform them of the meaning of the word continent.
A continent—a continent—is a vast tract of water.
Is it indeed!—well, now that is quite new to me; I always un∣derstood it to be a vast tract of land; eve∣ry part of which you might visit without crossing any sea whatever.
Aye, aye, a tra•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 land; it is much the same thing.
I beg your pardon; land and water are two very different things. Never again, my dear Amelia, pretend to more knowledge than you really have. 'Tis a common remark, that those who make the greatest parade of their learning, generally prove, upon examination, the most ignorant.
Mrs. Davenport then proposed a walk, but her nieces loudly opposed her, saying, That indeed it was too cold to attempt it. "I fear then," said she, "you must stay by your∣selves, as Mary 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Caroline make a prac∣tice of walking every day; for there is nothing so unwholesome as sitting over the fire all the day long."—"I cannot see any necessity for walking out," said Sophia, "in such horrid cold weather, when the very idea of it is enough to freeze one."
I do not know what you mean by horrid weather; but if you never stir out except in summer, you lose many a pleasant walk, and your health will suffer for it.
I am forced to go out at school: but, if I had my own will, I am sure I would never set my foot but of doors but when it was warm.
My dear girl, you do not shew your sense by such a declaration; for certain it is, that those who do not use exercise whilst young, are more subject to all kinds of disorders than those who pur∣sue a contrary metho••••▪ In the midst of pain, they regret their inattention to the advice of their friends, and lament with bitterness that it is now too late to fol∣low it.
This dialogue was here interrupted by the return of Mr. Davenport, and his two sons,
from their morning's ••ide. They brought with them Harry Lively, a pretty little boy, the son of a 〈…〉〈…〉 who lived five miles from the••. Bei•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••ly child, he was too much i••••ulged to be q••ite ••greeable; but upon the whole; his ••••aviour was not amiss. The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gentleman prevent∣ed the walk Mrs. D••v••••port had proposed, and the children being left by themselves, all fa•• round t••e fire; and began talking. Lit∣tle Lively po••••••••••ed a book, which he said his pape 〈◊〉〈◊〉 given him that morning, and that if the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had no objection, he would read them a very entertaining story. They all agreed to it, and he began reading as follows.
The History of Harry Headstrong.* 2.1
HARRY HEADSTRONG had exceeding kind parents, who were willing ••o indulge him in
every thing that was proper; but he, like a foolish boy, would never take their advice. His papa one day bought a horse that was rather unruly, and strictly charged his groom never to let Harry ride it. Harry, however, soon found an opportunity for so doing; for one day when his papa was out, he went into the stables, and finding no groom there, he quickly saddled the horse, and was just preparing to mount, when his father returned. "What are you doing there, Sir?" said he.—"Only going to ride Crop, papa."—"Then," replied Mr. Head∣strong, "you are only going to do what I have expressly forbid; so pray put off your ride for the present; go into the house, and let me not see your face again to day." The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Headstrong was so good as not to take any notice of what had happened the pre∣ceding day: but this indulgence, far from having the proper effect, only served to make Harry worse. His father and mother being obliged to go on a visit for some days, where they could not conveniently take him with
them, Mr. Headstrong, before his departure, gave him some very good advice, and above all, desired him upon no account to get upon Crop's back. Harry assured him he would not, but no sooner was his father gone, than he went to Dick the groom, and contrived to send him out of the way upon some message or other. In the mean time, he mounted Crop, and the moment he was out of the sta∣ble yard, set off on a gallop. When he had got about a quarter of a mile from the house, he wished to turn back again, but he checked the bridle in vain—on Crop went, with such impetuosity, that Harry could no longer keep his seat. Luckily, however, before he quite lost it, he had time to disengage his feet from the stir∣rups, otherwise he must have been dragged a considerable way; which circumstance would, most likely, have proved fatal to him, as the road was very uneven and flinty. His fall de∣prived him of his senses, and he lay some time on the ground before any one passed by. At last a countryman came that way, and placing
him upon some hay in his cart, carried him to his own cottage. As soon as his wife saw Harry, "Good lack a day!" quoth she, "if this is not 'squire Headstrong's own son and heir! goodness me! if he should die!—do, there's a good man," said she to her hus∣band, "take Ball, and ride to tow•• for a sur∣geon, pathecary, or something." Tomkin thought Joan's advice was good, so getting on Ball, he trotted away to the next town. Dur∣ing his absence, Harry came to himself, but was so bruised, that he could not move. Mo∣ther Joan was a good sort of a woman enough, but was rather inquisitive, and not a little talkative. She make Harry relate the whole adventure, and interrupted him every mo∣ment with some remark or other. At last, when he had finished, she exclaimed, Good gemini! how could you be so venturesome! 'Tis well for you that you did not break your neck; nay, I don't know but what 〈◊〉〈◊〉've got some broken bones as it is. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will the 'squire say! he will be out of his wits almost.Harry suffered so much pain that he hardly knew what the
good woman said, but lay crying and roar∣ing at a great rate. "Oh," says Joan, you must not be in such low spirits neither.She then ran out of the room, and quickly returned with a cup of elder wine made hot with spices. It was lucky for Harry that the surgeon arrived just time enough to prevent the dose, for had he taken it, it would have increased his fever much, which was already at an alarming height. Mr. Hopkin said, that none of his bones were broke, but gave it as his opinion, that he ought to be removed to his father's house. This was agreed to, and for three weeks he kept his bed, dangerously ill. When his father and mother heard of the misfortune, they hastened back; so that, instead of staying from home a fortnight, as they had originally intended, they were absent but one day.Any one would suppose that this accident would have been sufficient to warn ••••rry from disobeying his parents again; indeed it made an impression upon him for some time, but this wore away by degrees, and he be∣come
as bad as ever. At last he grew so mischievous, that no gentlemen would suffer their sons to keep company with him, fear∣ing they should follow his bad example. His father kept pistols in his bed chamber, and they were generally lo••ded: Harry was or∣dered never to touch them, and that he might have no opportunity of doing it, he was for∣bid entering the room. One day, however, when Mr. and Mrs. Headstrong, were gone out to dinner, he stole in unperceived by the servants, and getting one of them down, he pulled the trigger and discharged it. Unhap∣pily the pistol had not been looked at for some time, and was in so bad a condition that it burst. The consequence was, that his hand was shattered in so terrible a manner that he was forced to have it cut off. The excrutiat∣ing pain he then underwent, made him re∣flect seriously on his disobedience. Oh! (thought he to himself) if I had but minded what my father said to me, I should never have suffered thus! In fine, this last accident
had so good an effect upon him, that for the future he did every thing his parents desired him to do, and consequently became a very good boy.
Here follows a deal of ad∣vice, but that I always skip.
Indeed, that is very foolish.
And why foolish?
Papa has often told me so: I own to you, I used at one time to be of the same way of thinking, till he convinced me of the folly of it. "My dear Charles," said he one day,
how, when you grow older, will you ever be able to study at all, if, whilst young, you make a practice of skipping every page that is not enlivened with an anecdote: You will next get into a habit of never reading any but trifling books, that contain no real in∣formation, but only serve to amuse for an hour or two at best.Mr. Davenport now entered, and inquired how they had been em∣ployed.
"We have been hearing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pretty story, Sir," said Caroline, "w••••oh Harry Lively has been reading to us." Harry Lively then handed the book to him, and Mr. Davenport, having just looked over it, said,
This story seems a good one, and I hope you will all remember the advice at the end of it.
Oh, I did not read that to them.
And why not?
It is so dull and stupid—I ••••••∣er do.
Then you lose 〈…〉〈…〉 useful pi•••••• of information. Yo•• 〈…〉〈…〉 dull and stupid▪ you would th•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 dif∣ferently were you to read it with 〈…〉〈…〉 ••in∣ation to profit by it. Be assured it is your ••••at of attention that makes it appear ••••en∣tertaining. Young people cannot have too much advice given them, their inexperience requires it. Without some one to direct
the•••• they would be continually falling into error and misfortune. Yet, strange it is, there are children who have kind parents to guide them, who will, notwithstanding, ob∣stinately follow their own inclinations.
The second dinner bell now rang, and they all went together into the eating room. Af∣ter dinner the children all went up into an unfurnished room that was kept on purpose for them to run about in, when the weather was bad. Here they amused themselves with b••••••d man's buff, thread the needle, &c. till a servant acquainted them that tea was ready. Afterwards they had a pool at commerce, 〈…〉〈…〉 them till bed time.
〈…〉〈…〉 in winter, were very bad be∣tween 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Davenport's house and Mr. Live∣ly's, these two gentlemen had settled, that Ha•••••• should not ride home till the next day. Mrs. Davenport when taking leave of her nei∣ces for the night, reminded them of the break∣fast hour, adding, that if it was a fine morn∣ing,
she would take them out with her to pay some visits. Sophia and Amelia were half determined not to rise any earlier than they had hither to done; but recollecting, that by so doing, they might go without their break∣fast, they thought it better to obey, and ac∣cordingly were down by half past eight. Mrs. Davenport commended their punctuality, but as she had discernment enough 〈◊〉〈◊〉 discov∣er the true cause, it gave her pain to think, that nothing but the fear of punishment was sufficient to make them act p••••••••ly. As breakfast was not ready, they we•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their aunt into Mr. Davenport's study 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they found Mary and Caroline translating ••rench, and Charles and George at their Latin. Har∣ry Lively was looking over a folio book of prints, in which amusement Sophia and Ame∣lia readily accompanied him. When they had been thus employed for some time, they went to breakfast; when that was over, Mrs. Davenport, her two daughters, and nieces, went into the carriage to pay some visits in the neighborhood.
This lady, being desirous of making the holidays of Sophia and Amelia pass as pleas∣antly as possible, invited some young people, intending to have a dance, and Harry Lively's father was prevailed upon to let him stay at Mr. Davenport's till it was over. The day was expected with great impatience, as So∣phia and Amelia were never at any ball but that of ••••••ir dancing master's, and the little Davenports had never been at any at all. At last the time came, and the children who were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 arrived. Mrs. Davenport was not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with their company merely for the ev••••••ng, but wished them to dine there also.
The company consisted of five young ladies, and six young gentlemen; there names were.
It to these we add Harry Lively, the Dav∣enport, and their cousins, we shall find just enough to make nine couple. They began dancing at six o'clock, and would willingly have continued their sport till midnight, if Mrs. Davenport had thought proper; but that lady judged ten a better hour for supper, as none of them were above fourteen years old. Though the ball had been purposely made for the entertainment of Sophia and her sister, they were so ungrateful as to pout, and give themselves airs, because they could not dance any longer. Mrs. Davenport, however, chose to be obeyed, and all but her neices went to bed in perfect good humour. The next day there arrived a packet of letters from France. Mr. Easy's letter to his eldest daughter was as follows:
Paris, Dec. 12.
MY DEAR SOPHIA,
As I have not heard to the contrary, I am willing to flatter myself that you, Amelia, and all at Thorn Park are well. As I have
sent my direction to your uncle, you may write as often as you please (the of∣tener indeed, the better.) I hope, my dear girl, that both you and Amelia behave prop∣erly to my brother and sister. Independent of the duty you owe them as your uncle and aunt, you ought to esteem yourselves partic∣ularly obliged to them for their kindness in permitting you to be at their house during your vacation. You must be sensible how much more comfortable you are in that situa∣tion, than if you had spent the holidays at school. You, my dear children, have no mother alive: there must be many little things to correct in your dispositions, which I have no opportunity of attending to, and which your governess, having so many more young people under her care, is very likely to overlook. But yet, these circumstances form no ex•••••••• for any mishehaviour of your's, as you have an aunt who is highly ca∣pable of directing you, and loves you as if you were her own children. Consider this, my
dear girls, and be particularly attentive to any advice she may give you, as you may depend upon it, 'tis for your good. I shall be at Thorn Park about the begin∣ning of next month. I have written to my brother, to ask him to give you house room till then; as I should wish to spend a few days with you before you return to school. Adieu, my dear children, believe me to be
Your affectionate father, HENRY EASY.
Though Sophia and Amelia were very glad to hear from their father, they were not al∣together pleased to find that he differed from them in thinking that they were to pay obe∣dience to Mrs. Davenport. They were so foolish as to imagine that she only reproved them for the sake of finding fault, and were inwardly determined to pay 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more atten∣tion to her than they had hitherto done. They kept their resolution; and though Mrs. Dav∣enport was always proposing some party of
pleasure for them, they took no pains to please her in return.
As to their getting up early in the morn∣ing, though their aunt was continually re∣presenting to them how unwholesome it is to spend so many hours in bed, they did not heed her, till Mrs. Davenport put her threat in execution of letting them go without their beakfast, if they were not down by nine o'clock. She was sorry to be obliged to have recourse to so harsh a method, but finding that a milder one had no effect upon them, thought it her duty to do all she could, to make them follow a custom so beneficial to their health. Twelfth Night now came on, and Mrs. Davenport, still indulgent, again invited the young people who were at the dance. Her own maid supplied the place of a pastry-cook, and instead of sugar figures, which generally constitute the prizes on this occasion, Mr. Davenport made up several parcels containing toys, &c. with names pin∣ned upon them to answer to those which they
were to draw. Thus, if one drew king, the parcel fell to his lot that was marked king.
James Tumble had a dissected Map of Eu∣rope.
William Wynn, The Lookingglass for the Mind.
John Fry, Gay's Fables.
George Fry, Blossoms of Morality.
Edward Smith, a silver pencil case.
Harry Lively, the Game of Human Life, with counters and teetotum.
Charles, a silver pocket ink-stand.
George, Sandford and Merton.
John Sprightly was king, and had Ward's Natural History, in twelve volumes.
Eliza Tumble had Tunbridge ware work box.
Julia Tumble, The Oriental Moralist.
Lucy Wynn, a dissected map of England.
Emma Wynn, a red morocco housewife.
Elizabeth Sprightly, a pocket book with silver instruments.
Amelia, a fan.
Sophia, Choice Emblems for the Improve∣ment of Youth.
Mary, Mentoria, or the Young Ladies, In∣structor.
Caroline was queen, and her prize was a mother-of-pearl and silver fruit-knife and fork.
The young people were all much pleased with their presents, and spent the evening very happily in examining them and playing at different games till their separate carriages arrived. The next morning Mrs. Daven∣port took her nieces and daughters to the cot∣tages in the neighborhood, which she had al∣ways made a practice of doing, wishing to see herself how the poor people fared, and to relieve their poverty as much as lay in her power. They were rejoiced to see her, for they all loved and respected her greatly, as
she never quitted them without leaving marks of her bounty behind her. It was not for these visits alone that they were indebted to her, for she frequently sent them clothes, butcher's meat, &c. &c. and in winter they came every other day for soup, which Mrs. Davenport caused her servants to distribute in quantities according to the number of dif∣ferent families. Mary and Caroline, too, of∣ten begged of their mama to let them make some clothes for the younger children, which request Mrs. Davenport was ever ready to agree to; and such great pleasure did they find in this employment, that when they had done any thing worthy of a reward, Mrs. Davenport gave them m••••erials for making a petticoat, gown, &c. for some little peasant girl or other. Mary was this day provided with a gown for Madge, their late gardener's daughter, and Caroline with a petticoat; as they had observed, the last time they paid the little girl a visit, that she was in great want of both these articles. Now, as I think it ve∣ry likely that my young readers wish to know
how Mary and Caroline had purchased this indulgence, I shall inform them, that they had been particularly attentive to their dif∣ferent exercises for a month past, and this at∣tention their kind mama never failed to re∣ward.
When they had all stepped into the car∣riage, the servant put in a bundle containing little Madge's gown and petticoat. "What's this," said Sophia; "what are you put∣ting this in for?"—"Oh," says Caroline, that bundle belongs to me and my sister; it must not be left behind upon any ac∣count"—"Indeed but it shall," returned So∣phia, "if it is to be placed against my feet in this manner."—"Well then." said Caroline, I will take it up in my lap; pray don't quarrel about it." "Pray, miss Caroline," said Amelia (who sat upon the same side), "don't think I'll permit the nasty bundle to crowd me up; is not the coach full enough already, without bundles?" Mrs. Davenport cast an angry look at her nieces,
and without saying any thing to them, order∣ed "the postillions ••o drive on. Here then," said Amelia (holding the bundle to the out-rider as she spoke)
here, do you take it back to the house, for I declare it shall not be on my side.
Mrs. Davenport, however, forbade the ser∣vant to take it, and turning to her niece,
Here, Amelia, let me have it; it takes up but very little room, and even if it were twice as big, you ought not to complain; but I hope you will cease so to do, when you know what it contains.She then opened it, and displaying the contents, said,
These clothes are for a poor little girl who wants them very much this cold weather, as her own are very old and thread-bare; would you then be so uncharitable as to suffer her to remain a week or two longer in this uncomfortable situation, because you cannot submit to the small inconve∣nience of being crowded for a little time? Or, supposing it were to be four hours be∣fore
we reach her cottage, is it not much better that you should be a little incom∣moded for that time, than that she should be shivering for a week?
That is very likely, indeed, when coals hereabouts are as cheap as dirt, and you cannot stir half a dozen steps without meet∣ing with a coal-pit. There is not a single cottage that has not a roaring fire in it.
But you forget that she has something else to do besides sitting by the fire-side all the day. Young as she is, she goes to market to sell the poultry she rears herself, and to bring back provisions for the family—draws water—keeps the cottage and the little yard that belongs to it clean; and when she can be spared from home, earns nine-pence a day by working at the farmers' houses round about, as a chair-woman. Thus you see she has a great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of business upon her hands, and of such a nature as of course exposes her very much to the severity of the weather, I cannot always spare my
servants from their work, so wish to take this opportunity of conveying some warm cloathing to the poor child, or otherwise (as I said before) she must be shivering for a week, if not longer.
I fancy, ma'am, there is not much chance of that, as part of her family come three times a week for soup.
Now pray tell me, So∣phia, did you think of that when you first objected to our carrying the bundle?
Yes, ma'am, I did—for I knew very well her father comes every other day to Thorn Park.
She has no father.
Then her mother.
She is an orphan.
Then her cousin, brother, or some one.
You have told one false∣hood, and to get out of the scrape, are only
plunging deeper. She lives with her grand∣father and grandmother, who are both too infirm to walk six miles; and therefore, in∣stead of the soup, I give them more clothes and money than sails to the share of any oth∣er of the poor cottagers hereabout.
Sophia knew she was in the wrong, and be∣ing sensible that it would be to no purpose to endeavour to defend herself, made her aunt no answer, but sat in sullen silence till the carriage stopped at the cottage in which Madge lived.
They entered a little room that serv∣ed both for parlor and kitchen, where they found her grandmother knitting, and at the same time attending to a saucepan full of broth that was on the fire. She rose with difficulty at their entrance, and upon being desired by Mrs. Davenport to keep her seat, cried out,
God bless you, my dear lady! you have always been good to me, and I wish I was strong enough to work day and night to serve you.
I have done nothing ex∣traordinary for you, my good woman; you was always a faithful servant to my mother, and your poor son and daughter, whilst alive, were the same to me. But tell me, how is the good man your husband?
And Madge.
Ah! ma'am, it goes to my heart to tell you that he is very bad indeed.
How! my good mother!
No, no, not very bad, I hope.
Bless your little honest hearts, I wish I could say he will not—but I fear in∣deed—he will not live—long.
Oh, no, my good old woman, do not say so—your fears make you think him worse. Let me see him; where is he?
Your ladyship is so good; he is up stairs—the stair-case is so narrow and steep—that—
Oh! never mind that, you know, I have often been up before now, when you were confined with the rheuma∣tism.
Ah! I am sure I ought never to forget that as long as I live, and—
But if old Joseph is real∣ly bad, there is no time to be lost: so pray say no more, but let me go.
Well, to be sure your lady∣ship is very good; but he won't expect such a great honour.
The old woman, with some reluctance, now shewed Mrs. Davenport and her party up a kind of ladder, which conducted them into a small apartment, the walls of which
were neatly white-washed, and the boards as clean as possible. In one corner was a bed in which lay old Joseph. Mrs. Davenport observing that he had his eyes shut, offered to go down again, lest she should disturb him; but was prevented by his waking from his slumber. The old woman approached and said, "Here is my lady Davenport come to "see you:—how do you now, my dear?" Joseph raised his head, and seeing the visitors, apologised for his not being able to receive them in a better manner; adding, that, (ill as he was) if he had known of their coming, he would have got up. "Then," said Mrs. Davenport,
I am very glad you had no no∣tice of it, as my intention is to comfort all the cottagers I visit, and not to put them out of their way.
Thank you, madam, your charity is very well known: every body who knows you, loves you, and I can safely say, (and I have now lived eighty-six years) that I never
have heard a disrespectful word spoken of you, 'Squire Davenport, or any of your family before you.
They have always con∣sidered it as their duty to assist their fellow creatures, and I and my husband endeavour to bring up our children in the same way of thinking.
You are perfectly right, my good lady: depend upon it, the only way to be happy, is to be virtuous; and surely charity is a great virtue. You, young ladies, perhaps will believe an old man, when he tells you, that, both among poor and rich, he never knew a wicked person happy. I myself have always endeavoured to perform my duty to∣wards GOD and my neighbor; and as I know I have done my uttermost, die contented.
Pray, my good man, do not talk of dying yet, I hope to see you alive
and merry, keeping my eldest boy's birth-day on the 2d of June.
God bless you, my lady, and all your worthy family—That is a long time to look forward. May you all live many, ma∣ny years! But as for me, my days are very nearly at an end.
At this part of the conversation, she could not refrain from tears; but, amidst all her anx∣iety for the poor man, felt a gleam of joy up∣on seeing her two nieces equally affected with the scene. As for Caroline and Mary, they sobbed aloud. Joseph, perceiving their sor∣row, begged them to be comforted;
For indeed, ma'am," said he, "you cannot think how happy and lightsome I feel; and if it was not for my poor wife's and grand child's sake, should die as easy as if I was going to sleep: but, when I see them miser∣able at the thoughts of my death, I cannot help pitying them. My dear Joan has al∣ways
ways been a good and tender wife to me, and as for my little Madge, she is as dutiful and clever a little lass as you would wish to see: your ladyship's goodness to her has been great, and your promise to take her (when a few year's older) into your ser∣vice, has given my Joan and me many an happy hour. But your ladyship must let her stay with her poor grandmother (for she loves her dearly) till she follows me: how soon that may be, God alone knows! She is now, and has been for many months, very infirm. The wine good 'Squire Da∣venport sent us, has helped to cheer her much—till this last illness of mine, we used constantly to take a glass of it together ev∣ery night: and my dear little Madge, when she had finished all her work, would sit down by us and read a chapter or two in the Bible. And let me tell you, ma'am, she has a very good hand at it. When I was a little boy, your ladyship's grandfath∣er paid for my schooling, and would often
take delight to hear me read; and as my learning cost the good gentleman so much, I thought it should not be thrown away, so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 instructed my boy as well as I was able; and as he had not much time on his hands, I thought I might as well teach his little Madge▪ and if, poor man, he was alive now, what joy it would give his dear hon∣est heart to see her so well provided for; as such I already consider her, knowing that your ladyship's promises will never be broken.
Mrs. Davenport renewed her promises to the good old man; and was shewing the lit∣tle gown and petticoat to him, when Joan en∣tered the room with the broth she had been preparing for him.
You are a good wo∣man, Joan," said he, "and I will (with my lady's leave) drink the broth; not that I am hungry, but because I know it will give you pleasure. You deserve to have your heart made glad every hour of your life, and my lady here s••••ms to try to do it
as often as she can. For look here, my dear, (shewing the clothes) here is a fresh instance of the worthy noble family's goodness to us.
Bless you, my lady, and you too, my charming young ladies, for I guess this is your work. Our little Madge is bound to pray for you every hour.
Mary and Caroline courtesying, modestly, replied,
that they thought it a pleasure to do any thing for little Madge, they loved her so dearly.Ah! cried Joan, you will both be as good as your mama, my little dears. "They cannot be better!" said Joseph, as he emptied the bason of broth. "But," con∣tinued he,
would not these young ladies choose some little refreshment? I have not the happiness of knowing, these two, but if I may judge by their likeness to you, madam, they are your relations.
They are my brother's children.
What, madam! your brother Henry? I beg pardon—I recollect you had no other. Ah! your brother Henry, he used to love me dearly—I remember he had a lit∣tle garden of his own—I marked it out for him—a pretty little fellow he was, with his little rosy cheeks and hazle eyes; I think I see him now running towards me, with his brown hair blowing about; "Here Joseph, Joseph," cried he, "my papa has been so kind, he has given me leave to have a piece of ground to myself, if you will give it me, in one of the kitchen gardens, or any where you please out of sight; for my papa says, he supposes I shall make fine work of it; and as you like to keep the pleasure-arounds so neat, he thought you would not wish me to have it thereabouts." Then away we both trotted as fast as we could, he pulling along. When we got to the place, I marked out the ground, and weeded it for him. "Now," says he, "you must, dear Joseph, give me some flower roots, for I should
like to have flowers as well as sallad; for mama likes flowers, and so does Mary (that was you, ma'am) and I shall give them a nosegay very often." Thus would he run on, dear little fellow! I wish I could see him now.
Mrs. Davenport made the old man very happy, by informing him that she expected her brother every week: Joseph had not seen him for near four years; for when Mr. Easy was last at Thorne Park, he (the old man) was gone into Wales, to transact some business for his landlord, Mr. Davenport. So∣phia and Amelia listened with great atten∣tion to the above account of their father, and when their annt reminded them, that she had other cottages to visit, took their leave with some reluctance.
Mrs. Davenport, upon quitting the house, inquired of Joan, whether there was any thing they wanted; adding that till she had an opportunity of calling again, she should
send a servant every day to inquire after Joseph, and to bring them wine, or any assistance they were in need of. Joseph's wife returned her many thanks, said, they wanted nothing at present, and that if Mr. Easy would honor them with a visit, it would give great pleasure to her poor husband; but, as the sur∣prise might be too much for him in his pre∣sent weak state, begged of Mrs. Davenport to let them know an hour or two beforehand. That lady promised to attend to the cau∣tion, and leaving her love (with that of her neices and daughters) for little Madge, step∣ped into the carriage, and directed the pos∣tillions to drive home, and in their way to stop at the next cottage; which was inhabited by a poor laborer, his wife, and five children. The eldest was a boy, thirteen years old, who (with his father) earned his brea•• ••oy mend∣ing the roads, and occasionlly acting as a brick∣layer, carpenter, &c. to the neighboring fami∣lies. The mother and eldest girl sold their spinning, and in the summer worked in the
fields. These endeavors (though poor) pro••••••∣ed them some trifling comforts, but much was still wanting. The Davenport family sought every opportunity of relieving those poor who were endeavouring to help themselves, and shewed a spirit of industry; and likewise those who were incapacitated from earning an honest livelihood by casualties, or extreme old age. When the carriage stopt, two little girls ran out of the house, and seeing Mrs. Davenport, who was just getting out, cried,
Sister! sister! here is 'Squire Davenport's lady, and all the young ladies! and the coach! and the horses! and the servants! and all the fine things!Upon hearing this ex∣clamation, Molly, the second daughter, left her knitting, to meet Mrs. Davenport, who with her four companions, was now half way between the coach and cottage. Molly acquainted her, that both her mother and el∣dest sister were gone out, the one to market, and the other to sell her work; "but," con∣tinued she, "for all that, if your ladyship and
the young ladies will walk in, there is a ve∣ry good fire, and the room is quite tidy."— Ah! that it is," cried little Doll; "for I and my sister have just now been sweep∣ing it, and the fire is as bright as the sun; and all comfortable against mother and fa∣ther and sister Hetty come home." Mrs. Davenport smiled at the little girl's vivacity and taking her and the youngest by the hand, walked on; upon which the eldest cried out, "Pray, Dolly, do not go nigh the lady with those dirty hands, and that dirty apron."— "Very true," said Dolly, "I quite forgot that, but I hope I have not done any harm yet, and I'll run directly to the pump and wash my hands, and take off my apron, and be back in a trice!" and away she ran. Mrs. Davenport and the rest sat round the fire, and the following dialogue passed between them.
Well, Molly, and how do your father and mother do?
Quite hearty, thank your ladyship.
How does my little Peg∣gy go on with her knitting?
Oh, miss, I have begun a stocking; I have done with garters now.
That is a very clever thing to be able to knit stockings. Then you have made great haste in learning.
Ay, marry, that she has—she is a good little girl, so mother says.
And mother says that Dolly is good too.
Yes, I know it—mother would not say so if she did not think so.
Where is Dolly?—she is a long while washing her hands.
I will go and call her, miss. She must be ready by this time.
No, no, do not trouble yourself, I dare say she'll soon return. How goes on reading?
Not over well, madam; father has taught my brother and eldest sister, and moth∣er has taught me and Dolly.
And you have taught me a little.
Ah, but little, indeed, for I am not over clever at it myself—and, besides, we have not much time for it.
How far have you got, Peggy, in the spelling book?
Oh, miss, not farther than bla, ble; but Molly and Dolly have got a great deal farther.
Not a great deal, sister.
Molly, will you read to me?
To you, ma'am! oh dear, I should be so frightened—I am but a very bad schol∣lar.—
You have learned in so short a time, and have so much employment
of another kind, that I should be much sur∣prised if you were any thing like a good one.
Pray read, Molly.
If your ladyship and the young la∣dies will not laugh at me, I am very ready to read.
I will take upon me to answer for all; they would never be so uncivil when you are doing all you can to oblige them.
Molly rose up, and opening a chest, took out a little gilt book; in which, after some hesitation, she read as follows:
The Poor Man's Legacy.
THERE was once a poor man who had two daughters: Jenny was the eldest, and Martha the youngest. Their father was taken ill and died. On his death bed, he called them both to him, and thus addressed them:
My dear
girls, you will soon be turned into the wide world, I have worked as much as I have been able, but all my endeavours to leave you a little money have been fruitless; and all I can do is to give you a little advice. You must both work hard for your living, as you must be sensible there is not a single person from whom you can expect any as∣sistance. That you Jenny will be industri∣ous, I have not the least doubt: I wish I could be as confident, Martha, with respect to you; but as you have always loved me tenderly, I have some hope that my death bed advice will not be thrown away. You will be both left to yourselves, without a soul to direct you; but still you may suc∣ceed, if you will be but good and indus∣trious. To be happy one must be good, in all stations of life. To those who live in affluence, it is a necessary qualification as well as to the cottager▪ In the former case, it directs the minds to a proper use of riches, it teaches the only way of enjoying
Jenny and Martha received their father's advice with heartfelt gratitude. They prom∣ised to follow it, and, weeping bitterly, beg∣ged his blessing. He gave it them with great earnestness, and expired.
Mrs. Davenport commended Molly's read∣ing, and was making some remarks upon the story, when Dolly returned, with intelligence that "she spied her mother coming down the hill;" adding, "that, she had been hunting
all over the garden for some snow drops and crocuses for the young ladies, but could only find one of each; and I am very sorry for it," continued she, "for I do not know which to give them to. They have all been very civil to me, but this young lady (pointing to Mary) made me four nice bibs and aprons—so I think, miss, I must give them to you (that is, if you will take them) for I know you have very fine flow∣ers indeed at home—such as I seldom see, but you look so smiling and good natured, that I am sure—yes, I am quite sure, you will accept them."—Mary returned the pres∣ent with a kiss, and told the little girl, that if she had but drawn up the flowers by the roots, she would have taken them home and planted them.—"Oh, if that's all," replied Dolly, "I can soon get you some snow drop roots, though they are not in flower!"—and away she ran into the garden. The mother now entered the room, and testified her acknowl∣edgements for Mrs. Davenport's kind visit,
I fear, my good woman," replied that lady,
I cannot stay much longer, as the day shuts in apace, and the roads are so bad, I am afraid of returning in the dark; but,ad∣ded she,
you must tell me if you want any thing and I will endeavour to send, or bring it as soon as possible.
I am bound to pray for you, ma'am, and so is my whole family. I want nothing at present, for I and my daughter have had plenty of good work lately, which (with my husband's and son's wages) has brought us in a good deal. I have now nine shillings and sixpence by me, which will last some time; and I have a prospect of work for three weeks longer. I know your good∣ness so well, that you will never let a family perish for want of a little assistance: This madam is a great comfort to us all, but while we can work we will never come upon you.
I highly approve of your sentiments, and while you continue in the same way of thinking, you will continue to thrive;
nothing but ill health can prevent it; that, I hope none of your family will ever feel the ill effects of: but even then you must not de∣spair, as you will always find a friend in your landlord. By the bye, he desired me to tell your husband, that there were some repairs wanting in the stables; and that whenever he was at leisure, he wished him to come and look at them. Good bye, my dear girls, whatever leisure time you have, give up to your reading; give my love to your sister Hetty, and you, my good woman, remem∣ber me to your husband. Adieu!
The little girls and their mother accom∣panied Mrs. Davenport and the young ladies to the carriage door, and courtesyed respect∣fully as they drove away.
What a charm∣ing thing is industry!cried Mrs. Daven∣port, still looking at the cottage;
those poor people maintain themselves entirely by it. They are far more happy than if they were fed by the bounty of any one. They go to bed every night with the pleas∣ing
reflection that they have spent the day well. They are always cheerful, being conscious that they fulfil their duty.
The conversation now turned upon old Jo∣seph: "I wish," said Mary,
my uncle may come soon; not only because I long to see him, but that his arrival will make old Jo∣seph so happy.—"I know," returned Mrs. Davenport,
that the interview will be equal∣ly pleasing to my brother; he had always a great respect for the old man, and regret∣ted much his being in Wales when he visited us last."—"How affectionately the poor man spoke about him," cried Sophia▪—that is because he always treated him well,said Mrs. Davenport;
he never thought worse of him for his poverty, he was well assured of his honesty; and though so much his superior in life, paid him as much at∣tention as if he had been the first man in the kingdom, because he knew him to be a man of integrity.
As soon as they got home, Mary put her snow-drop roots into some water, not hav∣ing time to plant them immediately. Mr. Davenport had that morning received from his bookseller at York a great many new pub∣lications, some of which were designed for young people. After tea, when they were all assembled in the library, he went to a large packing case, and taking out a small volume, asked the children if they had a mind to hear a fairy tale; "A fairy tale!" they all ex∣claimed, "Oh, pray, Sir, let us hear it."—"With all my heart," said Mr. Davenport; "but then Charles must read it to you."—"Oh, that I will, with pleasure," cried he; and taking the book from his father, began reading.
The Fairy Tale.
THE king and queen of Rosyland had an only daughter, whose name was Melpomene. She was extremely beautiful, but of so bad a temper, that no stranger could sit an hour in
her company, without thoroughly disliking her. She was passionate and proud, but had a good heart; and if her parents had correct∣ed her foibles when a child, she would have made an amiable princess. The fairy, Ben∣evolenta, who presided 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her birth, had fore∣told, that if her father 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mother kept her in the palace after she was two years old, it would prove a great source of uneasiness to both parties. She perceived that this predic∣tion gave them great pain, and in some meas∣ure to mitigate it, proposed her own habita∣tion as a proper asylum for Melpomene, till such time as her magical books should inform her that she might live with her father and mother. The queen acknowledged herself much obliged to Benevolenta for this offer, but inwardly determined not to profit by it, as she could not imagine where a daughter could be so well situated as under a father's roof. The king was of the same opinion with his royal consort; he had long wished for a child, and now when he had got one,
was in no great hurry to part with it. When Melpomene was a month old, the queen was carried round the city in a car made of ivory and gold, drawn by white horses, harnessed with white and silver ribbon, and led by little boys, dressed in white, and garlands of roses. Four and twenty g••••••s (none older than twelve preceded the carriage, strewing flowers. The queen's household closed the procession. When the festival was over, the fairy Ben∣evolenta took her leave of the king and queen, and taking Melpomene in her arms, kissed her tenderly, and turning to the queen, "Oh, Asteria!" said she,
have compassion on this poor babe: sacrifice a little self-gratification to her happiness, and when the destined hour arrives, consign her to my care; and though maternal fondness must regret the separation, be not so weak as to give way to a wish, which, if gratified, will involve your child in misery.
She then waved her wand, and immediate∣ly a car appeared in the heavens, drawn by four doves; it descended, and mounting it, she was presently out of sight. Two years soon passed away: Benevolenta appeared in Rosyland, and conjured Asteria to confide the princess to her care. But the queen was inexorable; neither threats or en∣treaties could prevail upon her to part with her darling. The king was equally obstinate, and Benevolenta departed with infinite re∣gret. Her enxiety for the fate of the prin∣cess, and natural goodness of heart, prompt∣ed her to take a long and very dangerous journey, in order to consult a superior gen∣ius, respecting the possibility of softening the rigor of her destiny. From him she received the following answer:
If Melpomene had quitted Rosyland at the age of TWO YEARS, her days would have been crowned with bliss. Her ill-judging parents, by their folly, have doom∣ed
The fairy was overjoyed upon hearing this decree; and immediately set out for Rosy∣land. Upon entering the palace, she observ∣ed all the attendants countenances filled with dismay. She eagerly inquired the cause, and was told by one of them, that the princess had that morning been stolen away by an in∣visible hand. She was making farther inqui∣ries respecting the truth of this intelligence, when she perceived Asteria approaching. She appeared half distracted, staring wildly about her, and calling upon the princess. Benevolenta hastily went to meet and em∣brace her, but the queen starting back, ex∣claimed,
It is not she! Why did you tell me she was found! You all take pleasure in deceiving me, but I do not care—Benevo∣lenta will soon be here, and she will tell me news of her. She will not be so cruel.
"I am Benevolenta," returned the fairy (shocked at her situation,) I am Benevolen∣ta, come to give you comfort.Queen. YOU Benevolenta!—No, no! do not think I will believe it. Do you imagine I do not know Benevolenta when I see her? Benevolenta is by far more kind than you.
The fairy finding it was impossible to ad∣minister consolation to the queen in her pre∣sent state of mind, consigned her to the care of her domestics strictly charging them not to lose sight of her for one moment. She herself repaired to the king's apartments, where she found him in all the agonies of sor∣row. "Oh! my friend," said he,
in what a situation do you find me! To what pur∣pose was a child granted to my prayers, if I was to be bereft of it so soon?"Stop!" cried Benevolenta,
when the superior Powers blessed thee with a daughter, they conditioned that she was to
"Oh!" replied the king
do not add to my misery by these just reproaches. I have been greatly to blame; and I now, with sufficient weight, feel the punishment of my errors. But I have still a small ray of hope left:—From you I expect succour— intercede for me, and—"It is already done," replied the fairy;
I have obtained from the great ALMANZO-ROASTER a promise, that she will not always be unhappy, THAT HER MISERY WILL NOT BE ENDLESS.
The king, upon hearing these last words, threw himself at the fairy's feet, and caught hold of her robe. "Benevolenta," said he; you have restored me to life; you have laid me under eternal obligations. Then you can give me hopes of my daughter; I shall again have her in my arms, again embrace her! what joy!—But while I thus anticipate my delights, what may she be enduring! How can I tell but what some evil genius has got her in his possession— cruel thought!—Oh, Benevolenta! release me from my torture—tell where she is.These interrogations troubled the fairy. She well knew his conjectures were very well founded; but, fearing to increase his anxie∣ty, totally discouraged them: adding, that she had not the least doubt but that the prin∣cess would soon be restored to him and his be∣loved consort; and, assuring him of her ut∣most assistance, vanished from his sight, and the instant she found herself in her own pa∣lace,
set about preparing a charm for the dis∣covery of Melpomene.—
The children were all listening with great attention, when a servant, who had been sent that morning to the next post town, returned with a packet of letters, and it afforded no little joy to the circle to find that among the rest there was a long one from France. The children crowded with eagerness round Mr. Davenport, whilst his amiable wife, hanging on the back of his chair, shared in the pleasure they all received upon being acquainted with the contents.
My dear friends at Thorne Park will be very happy to hear, that, by the time they receive this, I shall be but a few miles from them. If the wind proves but favorable, it is most probable I shall have it in my power to embrace them on the fifteenth.
"The fifteenth!" they all exclaimed,
why that's tomorrow! No—surely—is it?
[figure]
Yes, today is the fourteenth—Ah, so it is.— Well, now that is clever—tomorrow!— Dear me, how soon that will be here.—I shall jump for joy—I am sure I shall not get a wink of sleep all night with the thoughts of seeing him.—And Joseph too! what joy 'twill be to him. But pray, Sir, let us hear the rest.Mr. Davenport, ever ready to indulge, continued as follows:
I look forward to that moment with in∣finite satisfaction: I shall be surrounded by those who are dear to me; and, if I find them all perfectly well, it will be no small addition to my happiness.(Mr. Daven∣port reads to himself.)
Mr. Davenport. What follows, my dears, relates to business which can only concern your mother and myself. When we meet with any thing that you would wish to hear, I will read it aloud.
Mr. Davenport kept his promise, but as I have already inserted as much of the letter as
is necessary, I shall say no more on the sub∣ject; only informing my young readers, that the expectation of Mr. Easy's return employ∣ed their thoughts so much, that, in short, they could think of nothing else; and therefore deferred hearing the conclusion of the Fairy Tale to another day.
And now I must take my leave of those who have indulged me with the perusal of the foregoing pages; with an assurance, that, I will conclude the Fairy Tale,—Introduce En∣tertaining Stories—Put the Miss Easys under Mrs. Davenport's care, &c. in the second vol∣ume: In the hope, by her instructions, to make them nearly as amiable as Mary and Caroline; and to return my thanks to those who have been kind enough to henor my first and feeble effort with their attention.
H. S.
Though this ••••o••y is here inserted as if ••••k∣en from some other book, it is entirely new; as well as the Fairy Tal••, and the Poor Man's Legacy.