Book: Domestic pleasures

F >> F. B. Vaux >> Domestic pleasures



Produced by Ted Garvin and the Distributed Proofreading Team





[Illustration: Frontispiece Eddystone Light House as erected
by Lord Bywater 1759.]

* * * * *

DOMESTIC PLEASURES;

OR

The happy Fire-side.

ILLUSTRATED
_BY INTERESTING CONVERSATIONS_.

BY F. B. VAUX.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of Paradise, that has surviv'd the
fall! Tho' few do taste thee unimpair'd and pure, Or tasting, long enjoy
thee! too infirm, Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets Unmix'd with
drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup;
Thou art the nurse of virtue; in thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in
truth she is, Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again.

COWPER.

ADDRESS.

* * * * *

MY DEAR YOUNG READERS,

When I was a child, if a new book were given to me, I recollect, my
first question invariably was:--"Is this true." If the answer were in
the affirmative, the volume immediately assumed, in my eyes, a new
value, and was perused with far greater interest than a story merely
fictitious. Now, as I am very desirous that you should take up this
little volume with a prepossession in its favour, I must inform you,
that the characters of the children here pourtrayed, are all _real_
characters. The little work was undertaken for the improvement of a
family very dear to me, and was, during its progress, regarded by them
as a faithful mirror, reflecting both their virtues and defects. You
will find in it, among other subjects, a slight sketch of the early part
of the Roman history; but you must not suppose, that in offering it to
you, I mean my little book to supersede the more detailed accounts that
are usually put into the hands of children. I have often found, that
even when a volume has been read entirely through, very few of the facts
have made any deep impression on the youthful mind; and the improvement
to be derived from those facts, is still more completely overlooked.
This I discovered to be the case with my little friends: they had read
the Roman history, and I had hoped that they had read it attentively;
but upon questioning them afterwards, even upon some leading events, I
found them exceedingly deficient in information. This suggested to me
the idea of the following little volume. I recommended them to begin
again the perusal of the Roman history; to take notes as they proceeded,
and write, from them, an abridgment for themselves; promising that I
would do the same, and give my manuscript to the one who should most
deserve it. They were pleased with the plan, and regularly brought their
little productions, once a fortnight, for my inspection. I, at the same
time, read them mine. They soon discovered in it their own characters,
delineated under fictitious names, and took a still more lively interest
in their task. By the time I had completed the regal government of Rome,
I found my manuscript had attained a considerable size; I therefore had
it neatly bound, and as Emily and Louisa equally deserved the prize,
they drew lots, and it fell to the former. Several young persons who had
perused the little work, united in begging it might be printed, that
they also might have it in their libraries. This, my dear young readers,
is the origin of DOMESTIC PLEASURES.

The conversations recorded in the following pages, are chiefly such as
have, at different times, taken place between my little friends and
myself. I sincerely wish you may derive, not only amusement, but
instruction, from the transcript; and that it may convince you, no
pleasures are so pure as _domestic pleasures_; no society so delightful,
as that experienced in the affectionate intercourse of parents and
children, by a _happy fire-side_.

FRANCES BOWYER VAUX.

* * * * *

The Persons.

MR. AND MRS. BERNARD.

EMILY, aged _Fifteen_.

CHARLES, _Fourteen_.

EDWARD, _Twelve_.

LOUISA, _Ten_.

FERDINAND, _Seven_.

SOPHY, _Five_.


DOMESTIC PLEASURES.

* * * * *

CONVERSATION I.

The rain came down in torrents, and beat violently against the parlour
windows, whilst a keen autumnal blast made the children shiver, even by
the side of a good fire. Their little hearts glowed with gratitude,
when they reflected on their happy lot, sheltered from the bitter wind
and driving sleet; and contrasted it with that of many miserable little
beings, who were, no doubt, exposed, at that very moment, to the
pitiless raging of the storm.

"Ah, mamma," said Ferdinand, a little boy of seven years old, "how I
feel for those poor children who have no home to shelter them, and no
fire to warm their cold hands. I often think of them, and it reminds me
of the hymn I learned some time ago.

"Not more than others I deserve, Yet God hath given me more; For I have
food whilst others starve, Or beg from door to door."

"I am glad to find that you can feel for others in distress, my boy,"
said Mrs. Bernard; "and hope you will each, my dear children, cultivate
that benevolent affection called compassion, which enables us to enter
into the distresses of others, and feel for them, in worse measure, as
we do for ourselves. But we must not rest satisfied with only pitying
their sorrows; as far as lies in our power, it is our duty to relieve
them."

"That would be delightful indeed, mamma," said Ferdinand; "but what can
such children as we are, do towards assisting our fellow creatures?--at
least, such a little boy a I am. I thought it was only men and women,
who could do good to others by their charity and benevolence."

His mother endeavoured to explain to him, that, although he might not at
present be able to do any very extensive good to society, still the
attempt to be useful, as far as lay in his power, would improve his own
disposition; in which case his efforts would not be thrown away; and
that, although he was so young, he might, nevertheless, be serviceable,
in some degree, to his poorer neighbours. "And it would be very silly,
my boy," added she, "to abstain from making the trial, merely because
you could not do all the good you wished."

Ferdinand quite agreed with his mother, and the rest of the children
cordially united in his wish to render themselves useful; but how to
effect their purpose was the next consideration. Mrs. Bernard had taught
her boys to net and knit, together with several other employments of the
same kind. These occupations, she found, had the excellent effect of
completely fixing their wandering attention, whilst she read to them,
which she was daily in the practice of doing.

Ferdinand was the first to recollect that he could plat straw for a hat,
which, he had no doubt, Emily and Louisa would afterwards sew together
for him.

_Louisa_. Oh, yes, that we will most willingly, Ferdinand. But let us
think what we can do, Emily: we might make a great many things, you
know, because we can do all sorts of work.

_Emily_. Very true, Louisa: the chief difficulty will be to procure
materials for the exercise of our abilities. I have several things that
I shall not wear again; these, if mamma has no objection, might, I
think, be converted to very useful purposes.

_Mrs. B._ You have my free permission, my dear girl, to exert all your
ingenuity upon them.

Edward said, he had just thought of an employment for himself, which he
hoped would please Ferdinand. "A few days ago," added he, "when I was
drinking tea with my aunt, she was making gloves of fine white cotton,
with a little ivory instrument hooked at the end; now, if I use worsted
instead of cotton, I think I shall make some nice warm gloves, which
will do instead of fire, to keep the poor children's hands warm; and I
can knit stockings for them too, so that I do not think any one of us
need be idle."

_Louisa._ And then our prize-money--that may be set apart to purchase
materials for more clothes, when the stock we have on hand is all used.
May it not, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ It is an excellent scheme, my dear Louisa, and, as a reward
for suggesting it, you shall make the box to hold your treasure,
provided you will take pains, and endeavour to do it as neatly as you
can.

_Ferdinand._ And make it strong too, Lousia, for I expect it will soon
be full. I shall be more anxious than ever to get a prize now.

_Louisa._ I have been thinking what I shall put upon the box as a motto.
Ought it not to have one, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ By all means, my dear; but it must be something appropriate.
What do you propose, Louisa?

_Louisa._ I was thinking of painting a little wreath of flowers, and
writing very neatly in the middle, "Charity is kind."

_Mr. B._ A very well-chosen motto, Louisa. I am delighted to witness
your benevolent dispositions, my beloved children. Make haste and sit
down to your respective employments. In the mean time, I will hasten and
finish my business in the counting-house, that I may enjoy your company
this evening.

_All._ Thank you, dear papa.

While Mr. Bernard was absent, the children were all busily employed,
preparing for their new occupations, and had just taken their seats
before a cheerful fire, when their father re-entered the room.

_Mr. B._ Well, what all seated?

_Louisa._ Yes, papa, we made great haste, that we might be ready for you
when you came in. Are we to read to-night, or will you be so kind as to
talk to us?

_Mr. B._ Suppose you talk to me a little, Louisa. Tell me what you have
been reading with your mother to-day.

_Louisa._ Emily would tell you best, papa; but if you wish to hear me, I
will give you as good an account as I can.

_Mr. B._ To do your best, is all that can be expected of you, my dear.
Remember to speak very distinctly.

_Louisa._ We began the Roman history, and read as far as the deaths of
Romulus. Nobody saw him die, and so--

_Mr. B._ Stop, stop--not so fast, recollect, you have not yet told me
who Romulus was.

_Louisa._ Oh! I thought you knew that, papa; he was the first king of
Rome, and he built the city, and--

_Mr. B._ Begin again, my dear Louisa. Do not be in such a hurry; give me
a clear account of Romulus, from his birth to his death.

_Louisa._ Oh dear, papa, I do not think I can do that.

_Mrs. B._ Try, however, my dear, as your father wishes it. Emily will
help you out, if you find yourself at a loss.

_Louisa, (laying aside her work and looking attentively at her father.)_
I do not at all know where to begin, papa. I think you will not
understand me, if I do not first tell you something about Numitor and
Amulius.

_Mr. B._ Then, by all means, begin with them.

_Louisa._ Numitor and Amulius were brothers. They were sons to the king
of Lavinium. Numitor was, by his father's will, left heir to the throne,
and Amulius was to have all the treasures. This, however, did not
satisfy him; he wanted to be king too, and, by means of his riches, soon
gained his wish. He was a very bad man indeed, for he killed Numitor's
two sons, and would not let his daughter marry, for fear she should have
a little baby, which, when it grew up, might deprive him of the crown he
had so wickedly taken from his brother. Notwithstanding his precaution,
she did have two little boys, whom she named Romulus and Remus. Amulius,
their cruel uncle, found them out, and ordered them to be drowned: so
the poor little creatures were put into a cradle, and thrown in the the
river Tiber. But it happened, just at that time, it had overflowed its
banks, and at the place where they were thrown in, the water was too
shallow to drown them.--Do I get on pretty well, papa?

_Mr. B._ Admirably, my dear Louisa. Edward, can you tell us where the
river Tiber flows?

_Edward._ Yes, father, it rises in the Apenine mountains in Italy, and
empties itself into the Mediterranean Sea, ten miles from Rome. Its
present name is Tivere.

_Mr. B._ Perfectly right, my boy. Now, Louisa, go on. I beg pardon for
interrupting you.

_Louisa._ I think I left my little babies in a very dangerous situation
on the banks of the Tiber: they, however, escaped the death prepared for
them. The cradle floated some time, and on the waters' retiring, was
left on dry ground. And now, papa, do you know, I do not quite believe
what the book says, about a wolf's coming and suckling them: it seems so
unnatural.

_Mr. B._ I am inclined to doubt the fact too, my dear; but not upon the
ground of its being unnatural, as I have heard of many circumstances
quite as extraordinary, which, nevertheless, I know to have been true.
But go on with your relation.

_Louisa_. At last, Faustulus, the king's shepherd, found them, and took
them home to his wife, Laurentia, who brought them up as her own
children. They followed the employment of shepherds, but soon discovered
abilities above the meanness of their supposed birth. As they grew up,
they were not content with watching their flocks, but used often to
employ themselves in hunting wild beasts, and attacking a band of
robbers that infested the country. One day Remus was taken prisoner,
carried before the king, and accused of having robbed upon his lands.
The king sent him to Numitor, that he might punish him as he thought
proper. Numitor, however, did not punish him at all, for he, by
accident, discovered that he was his grandson. Amulius was soon
afterwards killed, and Numitor restored to the throne. Now, papa, may
Emily tell you the rest?

_Mr. B._ Louisa has acquitted herself wonderfully well. Let me hear you,
my dear Emily, continue the account.

_Emily_. The two brothers leaving the kingdom to Numitor, determined
upon building a city on the spot where they had been so cruelly exposed,
and so wonderfully preserved: but a fatal desire of reigning seized them
both, and created a difference between the noble youths, which ended in
the death of Remus. Romulus being now without a rival, laid the
foundation of a city, which, in compliment to its founder, was called
Rome. In order to people this new settlement, admission was given to all
malefactors and slaves, so that it was soon filled with inhabitants. The
next object was to establish some form of government. Romulus left them
at liberty to appoint their own king, and they, from motives of
gratitude, elected him. He was accordingly acknowledged as chief of
their religion, sovereign magistrate of Rome, and general of the army.
Besides a guard to attend his person, it was agreed that he should be
preceded, wherever he went, by twelve Lictors, each bearing an axe tied
up in a bundle of rods. These were to serve as executioners of the law,
and to impress his new subjects with an idea of his authority.

_Mr. B._ Very well, Emily: now suppose Edward gives us an account of
the legislation of Rome.

_Edward_. The senate consisted of an hundred of the principal citizens,
who were appointed as counsellors to the king. The first of these
senators was nominated by the sovereign, and always acted as his
representative, whenever war or other emergencies called him from the
Capitol. The plebians, too, had considerable weight in the
administration, as they assumed the power of confirming the laws passed
by the king and senate. Their religion was mixed with much
superstition. They had firm reliance on the credit of soothsayers, who
pretended, from observations on the flight of birds, and from the
entrails of beasts, to direct the present, and dive into futurity.

_Mr. B._ Very well, Now can Ferdinand tell us any thing about Romulus.

_Ferdinand_. Yes, papa, I can tell you how wickedly he deceived the
Sabines, to get wives for his Roman people.

_Mr. B._ Who were the Sabines?

_Ferdinand_. A neighbouring nation, and reckoned the most warlike
people in all Italy.

_Mrs. B._ Well, now for your account of the treachery of Romulus.

_Ferdinand_. Romulus proclaimed that he should give a feast in honour
of the god Neptune, and made very great preparations for it. The Sabines
came, with the rest of their neighbours, and brought their wives and
daughters with them: but the poor things had better have been at home,
papa, for in the middle of the entertainment, the young Romans rushed in
with drawn swords, seized the most beautiful women, and carried them
off. I think it was one of the most wicked actions I ever heard of.

_Mr. B._ I am not surprised, my dear, at your warm expressions. If we
regard the deed merely as a breach of hospitality, we must pronounce it
both barbarous and unmanly; but to mediate such treachery, and veil it
under the cloak of religion, was indeed a sin of the deepest dye. Can
you, Edward, tell us what was the consequence of this treachery?

_Edward._ A bloody war ensued. Tatius, the Sabine king, entered the
Roman territories at the head of twenty-five thousand men; a force
greatly exceeding that which the Romans could bring against them into
the field.

_Mr. B._ Louisa, can you tell me how they gained possession of the
Capitoline hill?

_Louisa_. Tarpeia, daughter of the commander, offered to betray one of
the gates to the Sabine army, if the soldiers would give her, as a
reward, what they wore on their left arms--meaning their bracelets:
they, however, willing to punish her for such treachery, pretended to
think she meant their shields, which they threw upon her as they
entered, and crushed her to death. I think, papa, she was justly
punished, for it is every one's duty to love and protect their country.
It is very base to betray it to its enemies.

_Mr. B._ I am pleased with your remark, Louisa. Indeed, I have been
delighted to hear you all answer, so properly, the different questions
that have been proposed to you. But it is growing late, as it wants but
a quarter to nine o'clock; we must therefore defer the remainder of our
history till to-morrow. Farewell, my dear children.

The young folks immediately arose, and having carefully put by their
work, took an affectionate leave of their parents, and retired for the
night.


CONVERSATION II

After a day spent happily, because it was spent in the cheerful
performance of their several duties, the little family assembled round
the tea-table, and were rewarded by the approving smiles of their
affectionate parents.

_Louisa._ Let us make haste and finish our tea, that we may sit down to
work, with papa and mamma, as comfortably as we did last night.

_Mrs. B._ Rather let us endeavour, my dear Louisa, to prolong each
moment by employing it usefully. It is wrong to wish one instant of so
short a life to pass unimproved. Recollect, the wisest of men has said,
"To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under
heaven."

_Ferdinand._ When you speak of the wisest of men, do you not mean
Solomon, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ Yes, my dear. You have read that part of the sacred
Scriptures which contains the life of that great man, have you not?

_Ferdinand_. I have, mamma. When God gave him his choice of many
blessings, he preferred the gift of wisdom, which was granted him; and
honours and riches were also added, as a reward for his prudent choice.

_Louisa._ Is knowledge the same thing as wisdom, pray? [Footnote: The
conversation following, was held, _verbatim_, between the author and a
little boy seven years old.]

_Ferdinand_. I think not, Louisa. Wisdom is a much better thing than
knowledge. Is it not, mamma:

_Mrs. B._ I think so my dear; but you shall hear what my favourite
poet, Cowper, says upon this subject:

"Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connexion.
Knowledge dwells In heads, replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom,
in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which wisdom builds, Till smooth'd, and squar'd,
and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems t'enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; Wisdom is humble that he
knows no more."

_Ferdinand_. I do not quite understand those lines: they say that
knowledge is a mere unprofitable mass. You have told me, mamma, that I
ought to take pains, and gain improvement by means of books,
conversation, and observation; but if these lines are true, what good
will it do me?

_Mrs. B._ Read the next line, my dear boy. "The mere materials with
which wisdom builds." Now, if you provide no materials, you must be
aware that wisdom cannot build her temple in your mind. Do you
understand now the meaning of the lines?

_Ferdinand, (after a pause for consideration,)_ Yes, mamma: and I think
I understand the true meaning of the word wisdom, too. It is such power
as God possesses:--a great deal of knowledge joined to a great deal of
goodness.

_Mrs. B._ You are quite right, my dear Ferdinand. What is Emily
reflecting upon so seriously?

_Emily_. I was thinking, my dear mother, how much at a loss the English
must have been, before the introduction of tea into Europe. I have
heard my father say, it was not known here till within the last two
hundred years.

_Mr. B._ I did tell you so, my dear. Some Dutch adventurers [Footnote:
See Macartney's Embassy to China.], seeking, about that time, for such
objects as might produce a profit in China, and hearing of the general
use, there, of a beverage from a plant of the country, endeavoured to
introduce the use of the European herb, sage, amongst the Chinese, for a
similar purpose, accepting, in return, the Chinese tea, which they
brought to Europe. The European herb did not continue long in use in
China, but the consumption of tea has been gradually increasing in
Europe ever since. The annual public sales of this article, by the East
India Company, did not, however, in the beginning of 1700, much exceed
fifty thousand pounds weight: the annual sale now, approaches to upwards
of twenty millions of pounds.

_Emily._ It is indeed an amazing increase; but I am not surprised that
is has been so universally adopted. I know of no beverage so refreshing
and pleasant. Although we take it twice a day, we never seem to grow
tired of its flavour. I suppose it is cultivated in China, as carefully
as corn is with us?

_Mr. B._ It grows wild, like any other shrub, in the hilly parts of the
country; but where it is regularly cultivated, the seed is sown in rows,
at the distance of about four feet from each other, and the land kept
perfectly free from weeds. Vast tracts of hilly ground are planted with
it. It is not allowed to grow very tall, for the convenience of the more
readily collecting its leaves, which is done first in spring, and twice
afterwards in the course of the summer. Its long and tender branches
spring up almost from the root, without any intervening naked trunk. It
is bushy, like a rose tree, and the blossom bears some resemblance to
that flower.

_Emily._ There is a very great difference in the flavour of tea. Does
that depend upon the manner of drying it?

_Mr. B._ In some degree it does; but its quality is materially affected
by the soil in which it grows, and by the age of the leaves when plucked
from the tree. The largest and oldest leaves are least esteemed, and are
generally sold to the lowest of the people, with very little previous
preparation. The younger ones, on the contrary, undergo great care and
much attention, before they are delivered to the purchaser. Every leaf
passes through the fingers of a female, who rolls it up almost to the
form it assumed before it was expanded by growth. It is afterwards
placed upon very thin plates of earthen-ware, or iron, and exposed to
the heat of a charcoal fire, which draws all the moisture from the
leaves, and renders them dry and crisp.

_Emily._ I have heard that green tea is dried on copper, which gives it
its peculiar taste and colour, and renders it less wholesome than black
tea.

_Mr. B._ This is, I believe, a mistake: the chief use of copper, in
China, is for coinage. Scarcely any utensil is made of that metal, and
the Chinese themselves confidently deny the use of copper plates for
this purpose. The colour and flavour of green tea is thought to be
derived from the early period at which the leaves are plucked, and
which, like unripe fruit, are generally green and acrid.

Emily thanked her father for the account he had given her, and all the
children gratefully felt the value of their kind parents, who were ever
willing to devote their time and attention to the improvement of their
beloved family.

_Mr. B._ I hope you are all prepared to give me a further account of
Romulus, after tea.

_All_. We hope so, papa.

_Ferdinand_. May I first tell you a very curious account of a little
dwarf, which I read today?

_Mr. B._ By all means, my boy.

_Ferdinand_. It is now seventy-four years since he was born, at a
village in France. He was a very little creature indeed, as you will
suppose, when I tell you he only weighed a pound and a quarter. When he
was baptized, they handed him to the clergyman on a plate, and, for a
long time, he used to sleep in a slipper. He could not walk alone till
he was two years old, and then his shoes were only an inch and a half
long. At six years old he was fifteen inches high. Notwithstanding he
was so very small, he was well-made and extremely handsome, but he had
not much sense. The king of Poland sent for him to his court, called him
baby, and kept him in his palace. They tried to teach him dancing and
music, but he could not learn. He was never more than twenty-nine inches
tall. By the time he was sixteen he began to grow infirm, like an old
man. From being very beautiful, the poor little creature became quite
deformed. At twenty he was extremely feeble and decrepid, and two years
after, he died.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.