Book: Domestic pleasures

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




"We have both worked hard for our livelihood," said Mary, (for that was
the young cottager's name,) "and, thank Heaven, we have never wanted the
_necessaries_ of life; _more_ we have never wished for. My grandmother
weeds in the squire's garden hard by, and I earn a trifle at my wheel."

Just as Mary had said these words, they perceived an old woman
approaching. She was leaning on the arm of a fine, healthy-looking
youth. A deeper blush, which at this moment dyed the cheeks of the
pretty young cottager, told a tale she would wittingly have concealed.

"Is that your grandmother, Mary?" enquired Mrs. Bernard.

_Mary_. Yes, Madam.

_Mrs. B._ And the young man is your brother, I suppose?

"No, Ma'am," said Mary, blushing still more deeply: "I have no brother.
That is Henry, our neighbour Farmer Wilson's son; and he is always very
kind to my grandmother."

By this time, the old woman had reached the cottage door, and was
introduced by Mary to her new guests. The young man made a rustic bow
and retired.

Mrs. Bernard soon entered into conversation with the old woman, and was
not less pleased with her, than she had before been with her grand-
daughter. There was an air of cheerful content in her countenance, which
bespoke that all was peace within, and prepossessed you more completely
in her favour than any words could have done.

After some conversation, the old woman, turning to her grand-daughter,
said: "The ladies will perhaps eat an apple, Mary."

Mary instantly left the cottage to gather some; and her grandmother took
that opportunity of passing upon the good girl, a well-merited eulogium.
"She is my greatest comfort, Madam," said she; "and I may truly say.
from the day she was born, she never willingly gave me a single moment's
uneasiness. To be sure, I do feel very anxious about her at times;
particularly since she and Henry have taken such a fancy to each other.
Times are so hard, Ma'am, and money so scarce, that I dare not consent
to their marrying. And yet it grieves me to the heart to keep them
asunder; for he is as good as she herself, and almost as dear to me."

Mrs. Bernard enquired what means Henry had of supporting a wife, and
found he was the younger son of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, who
had a large family to establish in the world, and very little to
accomplish it with.

Mary's return at this moment, with a basket of fresh-gathered apples,
interrupted the conversation; and the children, after regaling
themselves with her little offering, took their leave, and, accompanied
by their mother, bent their steps towards home.

Ferdinand, who was a child of great observation, seldom proceeded far
without discovering some object to interest his attention. He had
remained a considerable distance behind his mother, exploring the hedges
for some new flower or insect that he had not before examined, when his
attention was attracted by a wasp, which, having seized a fly almost as
large as himself, was endeavouring to carry the prize to his nest; but
the wind blowing in a contrary direction, acted so forcibly upon the
extended wings of the fly, that the poor wasp, with all his efforts,
could make no progress. Ferdinand was anxious to see how he would act in
this difficulty, and called his mother and sisters, to smile with them
at the insect's perplexity. In a few minutes, the wasp alighted upon the
ground, and, with the most persevering industry, sawed off, with his
teeth, the two wings of the fly, and then flew away with the body, in
triump, to his young ones.

"Well done, wasp," cried Ferdinand; "you do deserve that meal, however.
But is it not a wonderful instance of sagacity, mamma? Who would expect
it in an insect! Do you suppose it knew this by instinct?"

"We are led to believe, my love," repied Mrs. Bernard, "that man alone
acts by the higher principle of reason; but I have met with many
instances of sagacity in the brute creation, which almost puzzle me,
when I ascribe their actions merely to instinct:

Remembrance and reflection -- how allied!
What thin partitions sense from thought divide!"

"It is astonishing how completely some animals will accommodate
themselves to circumstances. I will relate to you an anecdote which a
friend of mine told me a few weeks ago."

"Pray do, dear mamma," said Ferdinand; "I quite enjoy an anecdote. I
suppose it is true?"

"Yes, my dear, it is quite true," returned Mrs. Bernard: "the gentleman
of whom I spoke, has a little monkey, which frequently affords him much
amusement, by his sagacious, imitative tricks. As he was one day
sitting near the pen in which the monkey was confined, he observed him
making many ineffectual efforts to regain a nut which had rolled beyond
his reach. After several vain attempts, he took up a stick, and with
this he endeavoured to draw it towards him, but still without success.
Baffled, but not discouraged, he proceeded to select a second stick,
from a bundle that lay beside him, measuring it against the one he had
before found useless. With this longer twing he set himself again to
his task. This proving aslo insufficient, he adopted the same plan in
the selection of a third, and so on; always discarding the shortest, til
he found one that was long enough to touch the nut. But this increased
his difficulty, by rolling it to a still greater distance. Upon this he
sat himself in a contemplative posture for a few minutes, as if
considering what was best to be done in this emergency; when, hastily
turning over the whole bundle of sticks he made choice of one of
considerable length, and hooked at the end, by means of which he, with
much apparent delight, accrued his prize."

"Well, that was a most capital contrivance," said Ferdinand; "and it
puts me in mind of a clever plan which I saw our own dog, Brush, adopt
yesterday. A bone that was thrown him, fell, like the monkey's nut,
beyond the reach of his chain, and, finding he could not obtain it by
means of his fore paws, he turned round, and throwing out his hinder
legs, readily reached it, and drew it to his kennel."

Just as Ferdinand had concluded his story of Brush, his attention was
caught by a beautiful dragon-fly, which flitted above his head. He
hastily threw up his handkerchief, and took the insect prisoner.

"It is rather late in the season, is it not, mamma, to see these insects
abroad?" said he, carefully unfolding his handkerchief, and discovering
his prize. "Do look what a beautiful crature. Do they sting, pray?"

"No, my dear, but they bit sometimes, rather fiercely. Their bite,
however, is perfectly harmless, therefore you need not look so much
alarmed, Ferdinand. Examine its eyes. You perceive they are very large
and prominent, covering almost the whole head. As it seeks its food
flying in the air, this seems a very necessary provision. By means of
these eyes, it can see in almost every direction at the same instant.
Dragon-flies are extremely voracious, and are the greatest tyrants of
the insect tribe. When we think them idly and innocently flitting about
in the cheerful sunshine, they are, in fact, only hovering up and down
to seize their prey."

"Which are the insects upon which they particularly feed, mamma?"
enquired Ferdinand.

_Mrs. B There is none, how large soever, that they will not attack and
devour. The blue fly, the bee, the wasp, and the hornet, are their
constant prey; and even your favourite butterfly is often caught, and
treated without mercy. Their appetite seems to know no bounds; and they
have been seen to devour three times their own size, in the space of a
single hour.

"Oh, the greedy creatures; I cannot forgive them for destroying the
pretty butterflies," said Ferdinand: "to wasps and hornets they are
perfectly welcome. Are they produced from eggs, like other insects,
pray, mamma?"

"Yes, my dear: the female deposits her eggs in the water, where they
remain some time, apparently without life or motion. The form they first
assume, is that of a worm with six legs, much resembling the dragon-fly
in its winged state, the wings being as yet concealed within a sheath
peculiar to this animal."

"What do they feed upon in this state, pray, mamma?" enquired Louisa.

"Upon the soft mud and glutinous earthy substances that are found at the
bottom," replied her mother.

"Pray, mamma, how long do they continue in their reptile state?" said
Emily.

"For a whole year, my dear," returned her mother. "When they parepare to
change to their flying state, they move out of the water to a dry place;
such as into grass, to pieces of wood, stone, or any thing else they may
meet with. There they firmly fix their sharp claws, and, for a short
time, continue quite immovable. It has been observed, that the skin
first opens on the head and back, and out of this aperture they exhibit
their real head and eyes, and at length their six legs; whilst the
hollow and empty skin remains firmly fixed in its place. After this the
creature creeps forward by degrees; drawing, first its wings, and then
its body, out of the skin; it then sits at rest for some time. The
wings, which were moist and folded together, now begin to expand. The
body is likewise insensibly extended, until all the limbs have attained
their proper size. The insect cannot at first make use of its new wings,
and is, therefore, obliged to remain stationary until its limbs are
dried by the air. It soon, however, begins to enter upon a more noble
life than it had before led at the bottom of the brook; and from
creeping slowly, and living accidentally, it now wings the air, adorning
the fields with beauty, and expanding the most lively colours to the
sun."

"Well, my pretty fly," said Ferdinand, "you have afforded me much
amusement, and now I will release you from your captivity." So saying,
he opened his handkerchief, and gave his prisoner liberty.

In a few minutes they reached home, highly pleased with their morning's
ramble.


CONVERSATON IX.


Mr. Bernard having dined from home, the children had not, till they met
round the tea-table in the evening, an opportunity of telling him how
pleasantly they had spent their morning, and how much information their
mother had given them respecting the habits of the swallow tribes. "But
even now," added Edward, "I do not feel quite satisfied with regard to
their migration. Pray, papa, what is your opinion upon that subject?"

_Mr. B._ I am decidedly of opinion that they do migrate, my dear. The
internal structure of such animals as continue during winter in a torpid
state, is peculiar: both the formation of the stomach, and the organs of
respiration, differ from such as are constantly in a state of activity
and vigour. Mr. John Hunter, one of our most celebrated English
anatomists, dissected several of these birds, but did not find them in
any respect different from the other tribes; from which he concludes the
accounts of their turpitude to be erroneous. Now, although I feel no
doubt myself, that such instances have occurred, yet I by no means
believe them to be frequent. Indeed, a particular friend of mine, a
skilful navigator, tells me he has not infrequently seen, when many
hundreds of miles distant from shore, large flights of these birds; and
that his ship has often afforded the poor little travellers a most
seasonable resting-place, in their toilsome journeys.

"Oh, well papa," said Edward, "if a friend of yours has really seen
them, I can believe they do migrate; but I do not like to give up an
enquiry, till my mind is satisfied upon a subject."

_Mr. B_. Within certain restrictions, your resolution is good, Edward;
but if you can believe nothing but what I, or some friend of mine, can
attest from our own observation, your incredulity will deprive you of
much valuable information. The great advantage of reading is, that it
enables us to gain instruction from the observation of others, on
subjects beyond the reach of our own experience.

_Edward._ Very true, papa: but do you not think that many authors make
mistakes, and put things in books that are not facts?

_Mr. B._ I do, my dear boy; and I always endeavor, when I meet with a
difficulty, to consult a variety of authors upon the same subject, and,
by this means, generally find I can discover the truth.

"In future I will endeavour to do so too, papa," said Edward, "and will
not allow my doubts to prevent my improvement; for I am sure I am at
present very ignorant. Every day, and almost every hour, I meet with
something that I do not understand--something that surprises me. Papa,
you have read, and thought, and seen so much, I should think you would
never meet with any thing new."

_Mr. B._ Indeed, my dear boy, you are much mistaken; I seldom read any
book without gaining from it some new idea, or some additional
information upon a subject with which I was before but imperfectly
acquainted. This very morning, for instance, in the book you saw me
reading at breakfast-time, I gained information that was entirely new to
me.

_Louisa._ Oh, pray papa, was it upon a subject we could understand, if
you were to be so kind as to tell us?

_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear girl, I think you might understand it, if you were
to pay attention to it; although it was a treatise upon comparative
anatomy I was reading.

_Louisa._ Oh, then, papa, I am sure I could not understand any thing
about it. I never heard of such a subject before.

_Mr. B._ Is that any proof that you will not understand it when you do
hear of it, Louisa? Do not allow yourself to be frightened by a hard
name, my dear; it is a proof of great weakness of mind. Edward,
endeavour to explain to your sister the meaning of the word anatomy.

_Edward._ I believe, papa, it is the study of animal bodies; more
particularly, their internal organization.

_Mr. B._ Yes and it also implies the dissecting, or cutting them to
pieces, to ascertain the structure and uses of their several parts.
Well, Louisa, what do you now think of anatomy? You have been much
pleased with your mother's description of the external structure and
habits of the swallow, this morning; now pay the same attention to my
account of the internal organization of the ostrich and cassowary, to-
night, and I think you will find it quite within the limits of your
comprehension.

_Louisa._ I will, indeed, attend, papa; and I hope I shall understand
you.

_Mr. B._ The more minutely, my dear children, you investigate the hidden
wonders of nature, the more firmly will you be convinced of the
unlimited power, as well as infinite mercy, of its Supreme Author. The
superintending providence of God, is as plainly manifested in the
provision made for the meanest reptile, as it is in the wonderful
formation of man. Each bird, beast, fish, and insect, is endowed with
powers best suited to its wants, and most calculated to promote its
enjoyment. In the cassowary of Java, a region of great fertility, the
colon is no more than one foot long; whilst in the ostrich, doomed to
seek its food in the wide and sandy deserts of the African continent, it
is _forty-five_ feet in length.

"Pray, papa, what is the _colon?_? enquired Louisa.

"It is one intestine," replied Mr. Bernard, which converts the food into
nourishment. You will now instantly perceive the wisdom of this
arrangement. In the cassowary, the food passes very quickly through
this short channel, by which means, but a very small portion of its
nutritive particles is taken into the system, and the bird is thereby
preserved from many diseases, to which it would be liable, if the whole
of the food it devoured were converted into fat and nourishment. The
ostrich, on the contrary, who can gain but a slender supply of food in
the desolate regions which it inhabits, is provided with a colon so
long, that every particle of nourishment is extracted, before it has
passed this channel; hence, the latter derives as much actual support
from her slender supply of food, as the former does from her abundance.

_Louisa_. Thank you, papa. I understand what you have told us, quite
well, and think it a very curious and a very wise contrivance.

_Mr. B._ Now then, tell me, in your turn, Louisa, how history has gone
on since we last met.

_Louisa_. But, papa, we have not yet concluded the account of our walk.
Had we not better finish one subject first?

Mr. Bernard agreed to the propriety of Louisa's remark, and she entered
with great animation upon the description of the beautiful little
cottage, the pretty, innocent cottager, the nice, neat old woman, and
the bashful-looking youth, and concluded by expressing her sorrow, that
Mary and Henry could not be married; because she was such a pretty
creature, she had no doubt they would make the happiest couple in the
world.

Mr. Bernard endeavour to explain to Louisa, that beauty was by no means
the only requisite in a companion, where happiness was the object.

"Oh, no! I know that, papa," returned Louisa; "I recollect that Mrs.
Horton told us, that the peacock, beautiful as it is, has but few really
amiable qualities; but I cannot help admiring pretty people, and if you
saw Mary, I am sure you would admire her too; for she looks so good-
humoured and so modest, so cheerful, so industrious, and so very pretty,
papa, that you could not help loving her. Don't you think so, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ I think there certainly is something very interesting in her
appearance, and, I assure you, Louisa, I am quite disposed to think
favourably of her; but we shall have an opportunity of seeing more of
her, probably, and then we can form a more decided opinion of her
character. There is always danger in giving way to a sudden
prepossession in favour of a stranger.

_Edward._ But, mamma, do you think it possible not to feel a
prepossession in favour of such a sweet-looking girl as Mary?

_Mrs. B._ I do not think any one could avoid thinking favourably of
Mary; nor do I wish to check a generous sentiment in favour of a
stranger, at any time, my dear children. Caution is necessary, but
suspicion is hateful; and I would rather you should be often deceived,
than never feel a confidence. When I was young, I was once imposed upon
by a person quite as pleasing in manners and appearance as the young
cottager. I was warned that there was danger in trusting to appearances,
but disdained the caution of those who were older and wiser than myself.
I suffered for my folly, and would have you learn prudence from my
experience.

_Louisa_. Do, mamma, tell us the story. I dare say it is an
interesting one.

_Mrs. B._ Not at present, my dear; your father wishes to hear what
history you have read since Saturday. Besides, an account of the
depravity of a fellow-creature, can never be a very interesting topic of
conversation.

_Louisa._. No mamma, certainly it is not: but how did she impose upon
you? You are so careful, you know--so prudent.

_Mrs. B_ But at that time I was credulous and imprudent, as I have
already told you, my dear, and was deceived by a pleasing address, and a
mournful tale.

_Louisa_. Oh, do tell me, dear mamma. I do love a mournful tale.

_Mrs. B._ But this was, in all probability, a fabricated story, to
impose on the incautious: at least, I have every reason to consider it
so. I found out so many untruths, that I was inclined to think the
whole a complete falsehood. But we will not dwell longer upon this
subject at present: at some future time, if we have nothing upon which
we can more profitably employ our attention, I may perhaps give you a
full account of the affair; but I have mentioned it to your father
before, and will not, therefore, trouble him to listen to a repetition,
as nothing is more tedious than a twice-told tale.

_Ferdinand_. I want to ask you a question, papa, before we begin our
history. It is quite different from any thing we have been hitherto
talking of, to be sure; but I was reading a book to-day, in which,
speaking of some crime, it mentioned that it was punished by death,
without benefit of clergy. Now I do not know what benefit of clergy
means, and I thought you would be so good as to explain it to me.

_Mr. B._ That I shall most willingly, my dear boy. In order to encourage
the art of reading in England, which formerly made but slow progress,
the capital punishment for murder was remitted if the criminal could
read; and this, in law-language, is termed benefit of clergy.

_Edward._ I should think the art must have made very rapid progress,
when so highly favoured.

_Mr. B._ It does not appear that this was the case; for so small an
edition of the Bible as six hundred copies, translated into English, in
the reign of Henry the Eighth, was not completely sold in three years.

_Emily._ How different, my dear father, are the happy days in which we
live. No family, however indigent, need now be without a Bible.

_Edward._ And almost every poor child has an opportunity, in some of the
numerous charity-schools that are every where established, of learning
to read it too, which is better still.

_Mr. B._ We do, indeed, my beloved children, live in very glorious
times. The scriptural prophecy seems to be fast accomplishing, which
declares, that "the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the
waters cover the sea." May we prize our high privilege, and may our more
virtuous conduct bespeak our gratitude for the superior blessings we
enjoy.

_Louisa._ In the days of the cruel Tarquin, papa, of whom we have been
reading in our Roman history, the religion of Jesus Christ was not
known. The wicked Tullia could not, I think, have acted so basely, had
she been a Christian.

_Mr. B._ Those who act up to the _precepts_ taught by Christianity, my
dear girl, must act virtuously; but the _name_ of Christian will be
found by no means sufficient for any of us.

_Louisa._ Papa, it is very uninteresting to read about wicked people. I
do not feel the least inclination to give you any account of Tarquin and
Tullia. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed talking of the good Numa
Pompilius, and Servius Tullius.

_Mr. B._ Much is to be learned from history, my dear. It unmasks the
human character. You there read man as he is, and trace the fatal
effects of vice upon society, as well as the pleasing consequences of
virtue. But let me now hear how Tarquin behaved, on mounting the throne
so basely acquired. _Emily._ The whole series of his reign was suitable
to the manner of his accession to the throne. Scarcely had he seated
himself there, when, from his capricious humour and arrogant behaviour,
he acquired the surname of the Proud. He refused to consult, either
with the senate or people; but having secured a sufficient number of
soldiers to guard his person and execute his will, arbitrary power
actuated all his proceedings. Informers were dispersed throughout the
city, the king was sole judge of the accused, and wealth and merit were
considered unpardonable crimes.

_Edward_. The cruel murder of the venerable Marcus Janius, was a proof
of what Emily has just mentioned. He was descended from a noble family,
and possessed great riches, on which account, Tarquinius Priscus had
allowed him to marry his youngest daughter. The wicked Tarquin, in
order to get possession of his estate, caused both him and his son to be
assassinated. His youngest son escaped the same fate, by pretending to
be an idiot, from whom he supposed he had nothing to fear.

_Ferdinand_. He was mistaken, however; was he not, Emily?

_Edward_. Stop, stop, Ferdinand; you must not forestal our history.
Let Louisa give some account of Tarquin's government first.

_Louisa_. Emily has already told you it was very tyrannical. To avoid
the effects of his cruelty and avarice, the most worthy men in the
senate went into voluntary banishment. The people at first rejoiced to
see the great thus humbled; but they were soon treated quite as ill as
the patricians, and all the laws which had been made in their favour,
were unmade again.

_Mr. B._ You have not expressed yourself well, my dear Louisa. When a
law is unmade again, as you call it, we say it is annulled.

_Louisa_. Thank you, papa. Well then, all the laws made in favour of
the people, which had pleased them so much, were annulled. The poor
were obliged to pay the same taxes as the rich. Nor would they allow
any meetings, even for amusement, either in the town or country.

_Mrs. B._ It is astonishing that the people bore such oppressions
without revolt.

_Edward._ Indeed, mamma, Tarquin was justly afraid they would not; on
which account, he gave his daughter in marriage to a man of considerable
interest among the Latins, in hopes he should strengthen himself by this
foreign alliance. He also employed the people in finishing the common
sewers, and the great Circus which his grandfather had begun; knowing
that constant employment was the best means to prevent their brooding
over their oppressions, and planning schemes of revenge.

_Mr. B._ His conduct was well judged, and likely to be attended with
success, as far as the common people were concerned; but he could not
employ the patricians in these labours. How were they kept in
subjection? for their wrongs appear to have been quite as flagrant as
those of the plebeians.

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