Kitabı oku: «The Looking-Glass for the Mind; or, Intellectual Mirror», sayfa 9

THE PASSIONATE BOY

Young Frederick had naturally a noble soul, elevated thoughts, and generous notions. His turn of mind was lively, his imagination strong and quick, and his temper cheerful and pleasing. Indeed, the elegance of his person, and his behaviour and accomplishments, gained him the respect of every one; but, notwithstanding all these amiable qualities, he had one unhappy defect, which was that of giving way too readily to the most violent emotions of passion.

It would frequently happen that, while he was amusing himself in the circle of his playmates, the most trifling contradiction would ruffle his temper, and fill him with the highest degree of rage and fury, little short of a state of madness.

As he happened to be one day walking about his chamber, and meditating on the necessary preparations for a treat his father had permitted him to give his sister, his dear friend and favourite, Marcus, came to him, to advise with him on that business. Frederick, being lost in thought, saw not his friend, who therefore having spoken to him in vain, drew nearer to him, and began to pull him by the sleeve. Frederick, angry, and out of patience with these interruptions, suddenly turned round, and gave Marcus such a push, that he sent him reeling across the room, and he at last fell against the wainscot.

Marcus lay motionless on the floor, without the least appearance of life; for, in his fall, he had struck his head against something which had given him a deep and terrible wound, from which issued a great quantity of blood. How shall we describe the situation of poor Frederick, who loved his friend tenderly, and for whom he would, on occasion, have sacrificed his life?

Frederick fell down beside him, crying out most lamentably, "He is dead! he is dead! I have killed my dear friend Marcus!" So great were his fright and consternation, that he had no idea of calling for assistance, but lay by his side, uttering the most dismal groans. Happily, however, his father heard him, and, instantly running in, took up Marcus in his arms. He called for some sugar to stop the bleeding of the wound, and having applied some salts to his nose, and some water to his temples, they brought him a little to himself.

Frederick was transported with joy when he perceived symptoms of life in his friend; but the fear of relapse kept him in the greatest anxiety. They immediately sent for a surgeon, who, as soon as he arrived, searched the wound. He found it was not in the temple, but so very close to it, that the tenth part of an inch nearer would probably have made the wound dangerous indeed, if not mortal.

Marcus, being carried home, soon became delirious, and Frederick could not be persuaded to leave him. He sat down by the side of his poor friend, wholly absorbed in silence. Marcus, while he remained in that delirious state, frequently pronounced the name of Frederick. "My dear Frederick," he would sometimes say, "what could I have done to deserve being treated in this manner? Yet, I am sure, you cannot be less unhappy than myself, when you reflect you wounded me without a cause. However, I would not wish your generous nature should be grieved. Let us forgive each other; I for vexing you, and you for wounding me."

In this manner did Marcus talk, without being sensible that Frederick was near him, though he held him by the hand at the same time. Every word, thus pronounced, in which there could be neither flattery nor deceit, went to the heart of the afflicted Frederick, and rendered his grief almost insupportable.

In ten days time, however, it pleased God to abate the fever, and he was enabled to get up, to the great joy of his parents; but how can we express the feelings of Frederick on this happy occasion! That task must be left for those who may have unfortunately been in a similar situation; his joy now was undoubtedly as great as his sorrow had been.

Marcus at last got perfectly well, and Frederick, in consequence, recovered his former cheerfulness and good humour. He now stood in need of no other lesson, than the sorrowful event that had lately taken place, to break himself of that violence of temper, to which he had been so long a slave. In a little time, no appearance of the wound remained, excepting a small scar near his temple, which Frederick could never look at without some emotion, even after they were both grown up to manhood. Indeed, it ever afterwards was considered as a seal of that friendship, which they never lost sight of.

CAROLINE; OR, A LESSON TO CURE VANITY

A plain white frock had hitherto been the only dress of Caroline; silver buckles in her red morocco shoes; and her ebon hair, which had never felt the torturing iron, flowed upon her shoulders in graceful ringlets, now and then disturbed by the gentle winds.

Being one day in company with some little girls, who, though no older than herself, were dressed in all the empty parade of fashion, the glare and glitter of those fine clothes raised in her heart a desire she had never before felt.

As soon as she got home, "My dear mamma," said she, "I have this afternoon seen Miss Flippant and her two sisters, whom you very well know. The eldest is not older than myself, and yet they were all dressed in the most elegant manner. Their parents must certainly have great pleasure in seeing them so finely dressed; and, as they are not richer than you, do, my dear mamma, let me have a fine silk slip, embroidered shoes like theirs, and let my hair be dressed by Mr. Frizzle, who is said to be a very capital man in his profession!"

Her mother replied, that she would have no objection to gratify her wishes, provided it would add to her happiness; but she was rather fearful it might have a contrary effect. As Miss Caroline could not give in to this mode of thinking, she requested her mamma to explain her reasons for what she had said.

"Because," said her mother, "you will be in continual fear of spotting your silk slip, and even rumpling it whenever you wear it. A dress like that of Miss Flippant will require the utmost care and attention to preserve it from accidents; for a single spot will spoil its beauty, and you very well know there is no washing of silks. However extensive my fortune may be, I assure you, it is not sufficient to purchase you silk gowns as often as you would wish to have them."

Miss Charlotte considered these arguments as very trifling, and promised to give her mamma no uneasiness as to her carelessness in wearing her fine clothes. Though her mamma consented to let her be dressed in the manner she requested, yet she desired her to remember the hints she had given her of the vexations to which her vanity would expose her.

Miss Caroline, on whom this good advice had no effect, lost not a moment in destroying all the pleasure and enjoyment of her infancy. Her hair, which before hung down in careless ringlets, was now twisted up in paper, and squeezed between a burning pair of tongs; that fine jet, which had hitherto so happily set off the whiteness of her forehead, was lost under a clod of powder and pomatum.

In a few days the mantua-maker arrived with a fine slip of pea-green taffety, with fine pink trimmings, and a pair of shoes, elegantly worked to answer the slip. The sight of them gave infinite pleasure to Caroline; but it was easily to be perceived, when she had them on, that her limbs were under great restraint, and her motions had lost their accustomed ease and freedom. That innocence and candour, which used to adorn her lovely countenance, began to be lost amidst the profusion of flowers, silks, gauzes, and ribands.

The novelty, however, of her appearance quite enchanted her. Her eyes, with uncommon eagerness, wandered over every part of her dress, and were seldom removed, unless to take a general survey of the whole in a pier glass. She prevailed on her mamma to let her send cards of invitation to all her acquaintances, in order to enjoy the inexpressible pleasure of being gazed at. As soon as they were met, she would walk backwards and forwards before them, like a peacock, and seemed to consider herself as the empress of the world, and they as her vassals.

All this triumph and consequence, however, met with many mortifying circumstances. The children who lived near her were one day permitted to ramble about the fields, when Caroline accompanied them, and led the way. What first attracted their attention was a beautiful meadow, enamelled with a variety of charming flowers; and butterflies, whose wings were of various colours, hovered over its surface. The little ladies amused themselves with hunting these butterflies, which they dexterously caught without hurting them; and, as soon as they had examined their beauties, let them fly again. Of the flowers that sprung beneath their feet they made nosegays, formed in the prettiest taste.

Though pride would not at first permit Miss Caroline to partake of these mean amusements, yet she at last wanted to share in the diversion; but they told her that the ground might be damp, which would infallibly stain her shoes, and hurt her silk slip. They had discovered her intention in thus bringing them together, which was only to show her fine clothes, and they were therefore resolved to mortify her vanity.

Miss Caroline was of course under the necessity of being solitary and inactive, while her companions sported on the grass, without fear of incommoding themselves. The pleasure she had lately taken in viewing her fine slip and shoes was, at this moment, but a poor compensation for the mirth and merriment she thereby lost.

On one side of the meadow grew a fine grove of trees, which resounded with the various notes of innumerable birds, and which seemed to invite every one that passed that way to retire thither, and partake of the indulgences of the shade. The little maidens entered this grove, jumping and sporting, without fearing any injury to their clothes. Miss Caroline would have followed them, but they advised her not, telling her, that the bushes would certainly tear her fine trimmings. She plainly saw that her friends, who were joyously sporting among the trees, were making themselves merry at her expense, and therefore grew peevish and ill-humoured.

The youngest of her visitors, however, had some sort of compassion on her. She had just discovered a corner, where a quantity of fine wild strawberries grew, when she called to Miss Caroline, and invited her to eat part of them. This she readily attempted; but no sooner had she entered the grove, than she was obliged to call out for help. Hereupon the children all gathered to the spot, and found poor Caroline fastened by the gauze of her hat to a branch of white-thorn, from which she could not disengage herself. They immediately took out the pins that fastened her hat; but, to add to her misfortunes, as her hair, which had been frizzed with so much labour, was also entangled with the branch of white-thorn, it cost her almost a whole lock before she could be set at liberty. Thus, in an instant, was all the boasted superstructure of her head-dress put into a state of confusion.

After what had passed, it cannot be difficult to suppose in what manner her playmates viewed this accident. Instead of consolation, of which Caroline stood in much need, they could not refrain laughing at the odd figure she made, and did actually torment her with a hundred witty jokes. After having put her a little into order, they quitted her in search of new amusements, and were soon seen at the top of a neighbouring hill.

Miss Caroline found it very difficult to reach this hill; for her fine shoes, that were made very tight, in order to set off her feet the better, greatly retarded her speed. Nor was this the only inconvenience; for her stays were drawn so close, that she could not properly breathe. She would very willingly have gone home to change her dress, in order to be more at ease; but she well knew that her friends would not give up their amusements to please her caprice.

Her playmates having reached the summit of the hill, enjoyed the beautiful prospect that surrounded them on all sides. On one hand were seen verdant meadows; on the other the riches of the harvest, with meandering streams that intersected the fields, and country seats and cottages scattered here and there. So grand a prospect could not fail of delighting them, and they danced about with joy; while poor Caroline found herself obliged to remain below, overwhelmed with sorrow, not being able to get up the hill.

In such a situation, she had leisure enough to make the most sorrowful reflections. "To what purpose," said she to herself, "am I dressed in these fine clothes? Of what a deal of pleasure do they debar me; and do not all my present sufferings arise merely from the possession of them?" She was giving up her mind to these distressing thoughts, when she suddenly saw her friends come running down the hill, and all crying out together as they passed her. "Run, run, Caroline! there is a terrible storm behind the hill, and it is coming towards us: if you do not make haste, your fine silk slip will be nicely soused!"

The fear of having her slip spoiled, recalled her strength; she forgot her weariness, pinched feet, and tight-laced waist, and made all the haste she could to get under cover. In spite of all her efforts, however, she could not run so fast as her companions, who were not incommoded by their dresses. Every moment produced some obstacle to her speed; at one time by her hoop and flounces, in the narrow paths she had to pass through; at another, by her train, of which the furzes frequently took hold; and at others by Mons. Pomatum and Powder's fine scaffold work about her head, on which the wind beat down the branches of such trees as she was obliged, in her progress home, to pass under.

At last, down came the storm with great fury, and hail and rain, mixed, fell in torrents. All her companions were safe at home before it began; and none were exposed to its rage but poor Caroline, who, indeed, got home at last, but in a most disastrous condition. She had left one of her fine shoes behind her in a large muddy hole, which in her precipitate flight, she had hurried over without observing; and, to fill up the measure of her misfortunes, just as she had got over the meadow, a sudden gust of wind made free with her hat, and blew it into a pond of stagnated and filthy water.

So completely soaked was every thing she had on, and the heat and rain had so glued her linen to her, that it was with some difficulty they got her undressed; as to her silk slip, it indeed afforded a miserable spectacle of fallen pride and vanity.

Her mother, seeing her in tears, jocosely said to her, "My dear, shall I have another slip made up for you against to-morrow?" – "Oh no, mamma," answered Caroline, kissing her, "I am perfectly convinced, from experience, that fine clothes cannot add to the happiness of the wearer. Let me again have my nice white frock, and no more powder and pomatum till I am at least ten years older; for I am ashamed of my folly and vanity."

Caroline soon appeared in her former dress, and with it she recovered her usual ease and freedom, looking more modest and pleasing than she ever did in her gaudy finery. Her mamma did not regret the loss she had sustained in the wreck of the slip, fine shoes, and hat, since it produced the means of bringing her daughter back to reason and prudence.

ARTHUR AND ADRIAN; OR TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE

Adrian had frequently heard his father say, that children had but little knowledge with respect to what was the most proper for them; and, that the greatest proof they could give of their wisdom, consisted in following the advice of people who had more age and experience. This was a kind of doctrine Adrian did not understand, or at least would not, and therefore it is no wonder he forgot it.

This wise and good father had allotted him and his brother Arthur a convenient piece of ground, in order that each might be possessed of a little garden, and display his knowledge and industry in the cultivation of it. They had also leave to sow whatever seed they should think proper, and to transplant any tree they liked out of their father's garden into their own.

Arthur remembered those words of his father which his brother Adrian had forgotten, and therefore went to consult their gardener, Rufus. "Pray tell me," said he, "what is now in season to sow in my garden, and in what manner I am to set about my business." The gardener hereupon gave him several roots and seeds, such as were properest for the season. Arthur instantly ran and put them in the ground; and Rufus very kindly not only assisted him in the work, but made him acquainted with many things necessary to be known.

Adrian, on the other hand, shrugged up his shoulders at his brother's industry, thinking he was taking much more pains than was necessary. Rufus, not observing this contemptuous treatment, offered him likewise his assistance and instruction; but he refused it in a manner that sufficiently betrayed his vanity and ignorance. He then went into his father's garden, and took from thence a quantity of flowers, which he immediately transplanted into his own. The gardener took no notice of him, but left him to do as he liked.

When Adrian visited his garden the following morning, all the flowers he had planted hung down their heads, like so many mourners at a funeral, and, as he plainly saw, were in a dying state. He replaced them with others from his father's garden; but, on visiting them the next morning, he found them perishing like the former.

This was a matter of great vexation to Adrian, who consequently became soon disgusted with this kind of business. He had no idea of taking so much pains for the possession of a few flowers, and therefore gave it up as an unprofitable game. Hence his piece of ground soon became a wilderness of weeds and thistles.

As he was looking into his brother's garden, about the beginning of summer, he saw something of a red colour hanging near the ground, which, on examination, he found to be strawberries of a delicious flavour. "Ah!" said he, "I should have planted strawberries in my garden."

Sometime afterwards, walking again in his brother's garden, he saw little berries of a milk-white colour, which hung down in clusters from the branches of a bush. Upon examination, he found they were currants, which even the sight of was a feast. "Ah!" said he, "I should have planted currants in my garden."

The gardener then observed to him, that it was his own fault that his garden was not as productive as his brother's. "Never, for the future," said Rufus, "despise the instruction and assistance of any one, since you will find by experience, that two heads are better than one."

MADAM D'ALLONE AND HER FOUR PUPILS

Madam D'Allone was the governess of four young ladies, Emilia, Harriot, Lucy, and Sophia, whom she loved with the tenderness of a mother. Her principal wish was, that her pupils might be virtuous and happy, and that they might enjoy all the comforts of life with tranquillity. They each experienced an equal share of her indulgence, and each received the same treatment, either as to pardon for errors, or rewards, or punishments.

Her endeavours were crowned with the happiest success, and her four little girls became the sweetest children upon earth. They told each other of their faults, and as readily forgave offences; they shared in each other's joys, nor were they ever happy when separated.

An unforeseen event, however, disturbed this happy tranquillity, just at the very moment they began to taste its charms, which served to convince them how necessary it was to be guided by their prudent governess.

Madam D'Allone was obliged to leave her pupils for a little time, a family affair having made it necessary for her to visit France. She left them with much reluctance, even sacrificed her interest, in some measure, to the desire of speedily settling her affairs, and, in the course of a month, returned in safety to her little flock, who received her with the warmest expressions of joy; but the alteration she perceived in her children very much surprised and alarmed her.

She saw it frequently happen, that if one asked the slightest favour of another, it was ill-naturedly refused, and from thence arose tumults and quarrels. That gaiety and cheerfulness, which had used to accompany all their sports and pastimes, were now changed to a gloomy perverseness; and instead of those tender expressions of love and friendship, which had constantly dwelt in all their conversations, nothing was now heard but perpetual jarrings and wranglings. If one proposed a walk in the garden, another would give some reason why she wished to remain in her chamber; and, in short, their only study seemed to be to thwart each other.

It happened one day that, not contented with showing each other how much they delighted in perverseness, they mutually distressed themselves with reciprocal reproaches.

Madam D'Allone beheld this scene with the greatest uneasiness, and could not help shedding tears on the occasion. She did not then think it prudent to say any thing to them, but retired to her chamber, in order there to think of the properest means of restoring peace and harmony among her unhappy pupils.

While she was turning these afflicting thoughts in her mind, all the four young ladies entered her apartment with a peevish and uneasy look, each complaining of the ill-temper of the rest. There was not one but what charged the other three with being the cause of it, and all together begged their governess would, if possible, restore to them that happiness they once possessed.

Their governess put on a very serious countenance, and said, "I have observed, my pupils, that you endeavour to thwart each other, and thereby destroy your pleasures. In order, therefore, that no such thing may happen again, let each take up her corner in this room, if she choose it, and divert herself in what manner she pleases, provided she does not interfere with either of her sisters. You may immediately have recourse to this mode of recreation, as you have leave to play till night; but remember that neither of you stir from the corner in which I shall place you."

The little maidens, who were no way displeased with this proposal, hastened to their different quarters, and began to amuse themselves each in her own way. Sophia commenced a conversation with her doll, or rather told her many pretty little stories; but her doll had not the gift of speech, and consequently was no companion. She could not expect any entertainment from her sisters, as they were playing, each asunder, in their respective corners.

Lucy took her battledore and shuttlecock, but there was none to admire her dexterity; besides, she was not allowed to strike it across the room, as that would have been an invasion on one of her sister's territories. She could not expect that either of them would quit their amusements to oblige her.

Harriot was very fond of her old game of hunt the slipper; but what was she to do with the slipper by herself; she could only shove it from hand to hand. It was in vain to hope for such service from her sisters, as each was amusing herself in her assigned corner.

Emilia, who was a very skilful pretty housewife, was thinking how she might give her friends an entertainment, and of course sent out for many things to market; but there was at present nobody near, with whom she might consult on the occasion, for her sisters were amusing themselves each in her corner.

Every attempt they made to find some new amusement failed, and all supposed that a compromise would be most agreeable; but, as matters were carried so far, who was first to propose it? This each would have considered as a humiliating circumstance; they therefore kept their distance, and disdainfully continued in their solitude. The day at last closing, they returned to Madam D'Allone, and begged her to think of some other amusement for them, than the ineffectual one they had tried.

"I am sorry, my children," said their governess, "to see you all so discontented. I know but of one way to make you happy, with which you yourselves were formerly acquainted, but which, it seems, you have forgotten. Yet, if you wish once more to put it into practice, I can easily bring it to your recollections." They all answered together, as though with one voice, that they heartily wished to recollect it, and stood attentive while their governess was looking at them, in eager expectation to hear what she had to say.

"What you have lost, or at least forgotten," replied Madam D'Allone, "is that mutual love and friendship which you once had for each other, and which every sister ought cheerfully to cherish. O! my dearest little friends, how have you contrived to forget this, and thereby make me and yourselves miserable?"

Having uttered these few words, which were interrupted by sighs, she stopped short, while tears of tenderness stole down her cheeks. The young ladies appeared much disconcerted, and struck dumb with sorrow and confusion. Their governess held out her arms, and they all at once instantly rushed towards her. They sincerely promised that they would tenderly love each other for the future, and perfectly agree as they formerly had done.

From this time, no idle peevishness troubled their harmonious intercourse: and, instead of bickerings and discontents among them, nothing was seen but mutual condescension, which delighted all who had the opportunity of being in their company. May this serve as a useful lesson to my youthful readers, how easy it is for them to promote or disturb their own happiness.