Kitabı oku: «The Looking-Glass for the Mind; or, Intellectual Mirror», sayfa 8
WILLIAM AND AMELIA
In a pleasant village, at some distance from the metropolis, lived Lord and Lady Russel, who had brought up an orphan, named William, from his infancy; and had a stranger to the family seen in what a tender manner he was treated, he would have supposed him to be their son. This amiable couple had only one child living, a daughter, named Amelia, who was nearly of the same age with William, and the lady was pleased to see that the two children had something beyond a common attachment for each other.
William and Amelia were one fine summer morning sauntering in the orchard with their little friend Charlotte, whose parents lived in the neighbourhood. Of the little misses, Amelia was the youngest, and not quite eight years of age. They were walking arm and arm, and humming over a pretty song, then fashionable in the village collection of Ballads. At the same time William was walking before them, at some little distance, amusing himself with a shepherd's pipe.
While Amelia and Charlotte were thus rambling about, they cast their eyes on some beautiful apples that hung on a fine tree, from which all the fruit had been supposed to be gathered; but the branches had hidden some from view, and in course had escaped the notice of the gatherers. The beautiful vermilion with which these apples were tinged, and which the leaves could not entirely hide, seemingly invited the hand to come and take them. William instantly climbed the tree they were admiring, and threw down as many apples as he could reach, while the ladies below held their aprons to catch them as they fell.
Chance directed it, that two or three, which were considered as the finest, fell into the apron of Charlotte, who was much pleased with this accidental distribution, as she might with reason have been, had a premeditated preference been the cause of it; for William was in reality the politest and prettiest little fellow in the village.
Charlotte, with joy and triumph in her eyes, thus addressed herself to Amelia: "Only see how fine and large my apples are, while yours are nothing to compare to them!" Amelia was very much displeased with these words; she hung down her head, and putting on a serious countenance, remained silent during the remainder of the walk. William, by a hundred assiduities, endeavoured to recover Amelia's cheerfulness, again to spread a smile on her clouded countenance, and make her renew her usual pleasing prattle.
As soon as they arrived near home, Charlotte took her leave. Little William then addressed his sister, for by that tender name he always called her, and asked her why she seemed so angry with him. "Certainly," said he, "you cannot be angry at Charlotte having her share of the apples. You very well know that I always loved you best, and therefore endeavoured to throw into your apron those apples, which, by chance, fell into Charlotte's. You must be sensible, that I could not afterwards take them from her. Besides, I thought you of too generous a disposition to take notice of such trifles. Be assured, the first opportunity that shall offer, I will give you a convincing proof that I had no design to vex you, whatever you may at present think of my intentions."
"Very pretty, indeed, Mr. William!" replied Amelia, with a look of uneasiness and disdain. "Pray who told you that I was vexed? Suppose Miss Charlotte's apples had been ten times finer than mine, would that be any consideration to me? You very well know, Sir, that I am no glutton; neither should I have taken any notice of the preference you showed her, had it not been for that saucy little creature's looks. I never wish to see her more: and, as for you, fall down on your knees this instant, or I never will forgive you while I live."
Little William could not think of submitting to such an indignity, as that would be confessing a fault, of which he was not guilty, and therefore now stood more upright than before. "I am no story-teller, Miss Amelia," said he, "and therefore it is very wrong in you not to believe what I so positively affirm; for I certainly had no design to vex you."
"Very wrong in me, Sir!" replied Amelia. "This is pretty indeed! But you need not thus affront me, because Miss Charlotte is your favourite!" So saying, and bestowing a contemptuous curtsy on him, she left him with an affected air of scorn and contempt.
Dinner being now ready, they sat down at table, but pouted at each other all the time it lasted. Amelia would not once drink, in order to avoid saying, "Your good health, William;" and William, on his part, was so vexed at her treatment of him, that he was determined not to give up the point. Amelia, however, could not help sometimes stealing a glance at William, and, from a corner of her eye, watch all his motions. As it happened, one of these sly glances met the eye of William, who was equally attentive to watch all the emotions of Amelia, without wishing to be observed. Their eyes thus meeting, she instantly turned hers away to another object; and as William attributed this to contempt, which in reality it was not, he affected much indifference, and continued eating with the most apparent composure.
As soon as the cloth was removed, and the wine and fruit put on the table, poor Amelia, being sadly out of temper at the indifference she experienced from William, made a disrespectful answer to a question put to her by her mamma, and, for a second offence of the same nature, was ordered to retire from table. She obeyed, and bursting into a flood of tears, instantly withdrew, without caring whither she went. However, it so happened that the garden door was open; she therefore flew down the walk, and went into the arbour, in order there, in secret, to vent her grief. Here she cried most lamentably; and soon repented of her quarrelling with William, who constantly, whenever she happened to get into disgrace with her mamma, would not only weep with her, but endeavour to bring about a reconciliation, which he never failed to accomplish.
Though William continued at table, he could not help feeling for the disgrace of Amelia. He had fixed his eye on two peaches, and endeavoured to contrive means of getting them into his pocket, in order to convey them to Amelia, whom he knew he should find somewhere in the garden, and he could easily make an excuse to go thither; yet he was fearful of having his intentions discovered. He pushed back his chair, then brought it forwards several times, and was continually looking down, as if for something on the carpet. "Pretty little Cæsar! sweet Pompey!" cried he, speaking to two dogs then in the room. At this time he held a peach in his hand, which he meant to slip into his pocket as soon as he could discover the eyes of my lord and lady attracted by any other object. "Only see, papa and mamma," continued he, "how prettily they are playing!"
His lordship replied, that they would not eat one another, he would answer for it; and having just looked at them, put himself into his former position. Thus poor William, who thought he was sure of then pocketing the peach, was sadly disappointed, and obliged to replace it on the table.
These motions, however, were observed by Lady Russel, who conjectured what were his intentions. She therefore for some time enjoyed the poor fellow's embarrassments, and made his lordship acquainted with it by looks and dumb motions.
William, who had no idea that his scheme was suspected, being fearful of trying the same stratagem twice, instantly thought of another expedient. He took a peach, and placed it in the hollow of his hands both put together, after which he conducted it to his mouth, and made believe as though he was really eating it. Then, while with his left hand he found means to clap his peach into a cavity he had previously hollowed in the napkin on his knees, he put his right hand out to reach the other, which he disposed of in the same manner.
In a few minutes my lord and lady forgot to watch the motions of William, and entered into conversation on various subjects. He therefore thought this a proper opportunity to get away, rose up from table with both peaches in the napkin, and began to imitate the mewing of a cat, which a young shepherd's boy had lately taught him. His view in this was to engage the attention of Cæsar and Pompey, in which he succeeded, as they both got up, and jumped about the room.
Lady Russel was a little angry with him for making such a noise, and told him, if he wanted to make such a mewing as that, the garden was the most proper place. William pretended to be very much confused at this reproof, though the consequence of it was the very thing he wanted. He then instantly ran up to Cæsar, "See, mamma," said William, "he wants to bite Pompey!" and as he turned, he dexterously slipped the napkin into his pocket, and pretended to run after Cæsar, to punish him. The dog ran towards the door Amelia had left open when she went into the garden, and away went William in pursuit of her.
Lady Russel called William back, and asked him where he was going. "My dear mamma," said he, "if you please, I will take a turn in the garden, and I hope you will not refuse me that favour." As lady Russel did not immediately answer him, he lowered his voice and spoke in a more suppliant manner. At last, having obtained her permission, away he ran with so much haste, that his foot slipped, and down he fell; but, luckily, neither he nor the peaches were hurt.
After searching round the garden for his sister, he at last found her in the arbour, sitting in an attitude of sorrow. She was exceedingly unhappy to think she had grieved the three best friends she had, her worthy parents and her dear William. "My sweetest Amelia," said the little fellow, falling on his knees at the same time, "let us be friends. I would freely ask forgiveness for my fault, had I really intended to displease you. If you will ask my pardon, I will ask yours also. My pretty Amelia, let us be friends. Here are two nice peaches, which I could not think of eating while you were not present to partake of them."
"Ah, my dearest Billy," said Amelia, squeezing his hand while she spoke, and weeping on his shoulder, "what a sweet good-tempered little fellow you are! Certainly," continued she, sobbing while she spoke, "those that are friends to us in our misfortunes are truly valuable. It was very wrong in me to be so vexed, as I was this morning, about the loss of a few apples. It was the insulting look that Miss Charlotte gave me that was the cause of it; but I will think of her no more. Will you forgive me?" added she, wiping off the tears she had let fall on William's hand. "I confess that I sometimes love to plague you; but keep your peaches, for I cannot think of eating them."
"As to plaguing me, sister," answered William, "you may do that as often as you like; but, I assure you, nobody shall do so but yourself: as to the peaches, I most certainly will not eat them. I have already told you so, and my word is like the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not."
"For the very same reason," said Amelia, "I shall not eat them," and immediately threw them both over the garden wall; for, besides her having said she would not eat them, she could not bear the thought of receiving a bribe to reconcile a quarrel. Amelia's next consideration was, how to make it up with her mamma; and she said she should be happy indeed, if she would but permit her to appear before her, and ask her pardon.
The generous little William no sooner heard these words, than he promised to settle that business, and away he instantly ran; but before he had taken many steps, he stopped short, and, turning round, said, "I will tell mamma, that it was I who made you anger her, by having vexed you in the morning."
Little William succeeded beyond his expectations, and all parties were soon reconciled to each other. A friendship so affectionate and generous is highly worthy of the imitation of all my juvenile readers.
THE RIVAL DOGS
A gentleman, whose name was Howard, had brought up two pretty dogs from puppies. The one he called Castor and the other Pollux, hoping they would live in such friendship together as did the two illustrious heroes, after whom they were named. Though they both came from the same mother, and, at the same time, had been fed together, and equally treated, yet it was soon seen that there was a great difference in their tempers and dispositions.
Castor was of a meek and tractable nature; but Pollux was fierce and quarrelsome. When any person took notice of the generous Castor, he would wag his tail, and jump about for joy, nor was he ever jealous on seeing more notice taken of his brother than of himself. The surly Pollux, on the contrary, whenever Mr. Howard had him on his lap, would growl and grumble at Castor if he attempted to come near him, or if any one took notice of him.
When any of Mr. Howard's friends happened to come on a visit to his house, and bring their dogs along with them, the good-natured Castor would immediately mix among them, and, in his way, endeavoured to amuse them. As he was by nature extremely pliant and engaging, they were all peace and harmony whenever it fell to his lot to entertain them. They would jump and play about the house, as boys do in school when they are left to themselves.
The surly Pollux acted a very different part. He would sneak into a corner, and bark all day at the strangers. If any one of them happened to pass too near him, he would then be sure to snarl and grin, and would often start up, and bite their ears or tails. If his master happened to take any notice of either of the strange dogs on account of their good-nature or handsomeness, Pollux would howl as loud as if thieves were actually breaking into the house.
This odious disposition of Pollux did not escape the notice of Mr. Howard, who gradually began to neglect him; while Castor, on the contrary, was every day increasing in his master's favour.
As Mr. Howard was one day sitting at table, it suddenly entered his mind to make a more particular trial of the temper of these two dogs than he had hitherto done. Both happened to be attending at table, but Pollux was nearest his master; for the good-natured Castor, in order to avoid strife and contention, always let him choose his place.
Mr. Howard threw a nice piece of meat to Pollux, which he devoured with much greediness. Castor showed no signs of uneasiness at this, but patiently waited till his master should think it was his turn. Soon afterwards, Mr. Howard threw Castor a bone, with hardly any meat on it: but he took it without showing the least mark of discontent. The surly Pollux, however, no sooner saw his brother engaged on a meatless bone, though he had feasted on his own delicious morsel, than he fell upon him, and took it from him. The good-natured Castor made no opposition, but gave up the bone without a murmur.
My readers must not from hence imagine that Castor was a coward, or was in the least afraid of the strength of his brother; for he had lately given sufficient proof of his courage and resolution, in a battle he had been drawn into by Pollux, whose intolerable moroseness had brought on him the vengeance of a neighbouring dog. Pollux, after engaging his antagonist only a few minutes, though he had provoked the dog to try his strength, ran away like a coward; but Castor, in order to cover the retreat of his brother, and without any one to take his part, fought him like a hero, and at last forced him to run away likewise.
Mr. Howard was well acquainted with this circumstance; and, as he had before established his credit in point of courage, so was his master now fully convinced of his good temper, and the surly and cowardly disposition of his brother. "My good fellow," said Mr. Howard to Castor, "it is but just that you should, at least, fare as well as your brother, who does not deserve as much as you." So saying, he cut off a large piece of nice meat and gave it to Castor.
Pollux, seeing so nice a morsel given to his brother, accompanied with such cutting words from his master, began to growl and snarl. "Since you have shown so much complaisance and generosity to your brother," continued Mr. Howard, still speaking to Castor, "who in return treats you with ill manners, jealousy, and envy, you shall in future be my own dog, and be at liberty to range about the house at your pleasure: but your brother shall be confined in the yard. Here," cried he, "bring a chain for Pollux, and order the carpenter to make him a little house!" The order was instantly obeyed, and Pollux was led to his kennel, while his brother rambled about at liberty.
Had Pollux received so singular a mark of favour, he would undoubtedly have supported it with insolence; but Castor was of a different disposition, and appeared very unhappy at his brother's disgrace. Whenever any nice bit was given to Castor, he would run away with it to Pollux, wag his tail for joy, and invite him to partake of it. In short, the visited him every night in his house, and did every thing he could to amuse him under his sufferings.
Notwithstanding all these marks of tenderness, Pollux always received his brother in the most surly manner, howling as though he were come to devour him, and treating him with every mark of disrespect. At length, rage and disappointment inflamed his blood, he pined away by degrees, and at last died a miserable spectacle.
The moral of this history is so obvious, that there hardly appears a necessity to tell my young readers, that such a disposition as Pollux's must render its possessor an object of contempt and abhorrence, while that of Castor will ever be beloved and respected.
CLEOPATRA; OR THE REFORMED LITTLE TYRANT
A pert little hussey, whose name was Cleopatra, was continually teasing and commanding her poor brother. "So, you will not do what I bid you, Mr. Obstinacy?" she would often say to him: "Come, come, Sir, obey, or it shall be worse for you."
If Cleopatra's word might be taken for it, her brother did every thing wrong; but, on the contrary, whatever she thought of doing was the masterpiece of reason and sound sense. If he proposed any kind of diversion, she was sure to consider it as dull and insipid; but it often happened, that she would herself the next day recommend the same thing, and, having forgotten what she had said of it before, consider it as the most lively and entertaining.
Her brother was obliged to submit to her unaccountable whims and fancies, or else endure the most disagreeable lectures a little female tongue could utter. If ever he presumed to be so hardy as to reason with her on her strange conduct, instant destruction to his playthings were the inevitable consequence of it.
Her parents saw with regret this strange and tyrannical disposition of their daughter, and in vain did every thing they could think of to break her of it. Her mother, in particular, continually enforced on her mind, that such children never procured the esteem of others; and that a girl, who set up her own opinion against that of every one else, would soon become intolerable and insupportable to all her acquaintance. This prudent advice, however, made no impression on her stubborn heart; and her brother, wearied out by her caprice and tyranny, began to have very little affection for her. It one day happened that a gentleman of a free and open temper, dined at their house. He could not help observing with what a haughty air she treated her poor brother, and, indeed, every other person in the room. At first, the rules of politeness kept him from saying any thing; but at last, tired out with her impertinence, he began addressing his discourse to her mamma in the following manner:
"I was lately in France, and, as I was fond of being present at the soldiers' exercises, I used to go as often as I could, to see their manœuvres on the parade, nearly in the same manner as they do here at St. James's. Among the soldiers there were many I observed with whiskers, which gave them a very fierce and soldier-like look. Now, had I a child like your Cleopatra, I would instantly give her a soldier's uniform, and put her on a pair of whiskers, when she might, with rather more propriety than at present, act the part of a commander."
Cleopatra heard this, and stood covered with confusion; she could not help blushing, and was unable to conceal her tears. However, this reproach perfectly reformed her, and she became sensible how unbecoming was a tyrannizing temper. It has been observed, that to be sensible of our errors is half the work of reformation. So it happened with Cleopatra, who with the assistance of her mother's prudent counsels, became an amiable girl.
Her reformation was a credit to her; and it is much to be wished that all young ladies, who take no pains to conquer their passions, would at last imitate Cleopatra, and wish to avoid being told, that a soldier's dress and a pair of whiskers would better become them than nice cambric frocks and silk slips. Had Cleopatra attended to the advice of her parents, and not have imagined that greatness consists in impertinence, she would have been happy much sooner than she was.
