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C O N T E N T S;
OF '. v v;
- ' Page.
Introduction - , . - -. i
On the Oak - - - ’ 3
The young Moufe . - - - 18
The Wafp and Bee - ' 20
Travellers’ Wonders - - 22
Alfred\ a Drama • - ' - ■ 32
„ Difcontented Squirrel — : 43 '
Dialogue on Different Stations - 49
Goldfinch .arid Linnet -- 5 9
O# 'the. Pine and Fir - - - 63
The Robkery - ' - 76
Dialogue on Things to be learned 84
Moufe 3 Lapdogt and Monkey . — 98
Animals md Countries - ' - 100
, ' . Canute's

- Page,
Canute's Reproof - - - 102
Adventures of a Cat - ~ ”105
I'he little Dog - - - 119
ST he Mafque of Nature - - 124
On the Martin - - 128
ST/^ - - - 134
things,by their right Names - 150
t Lately ■publijhed,
, 1. LESSONS for CHILDREN, from two to
four years of age; four parts, price 6d. each*
2 . HYMN'S in Profe for Children, Is.
- By Dr. A IE IN,
1. The CALENDAR of NATURE, is. ■„
graphical Defcription of England and Wales,
with Maps of all. the Counties 5 7s. bound.

Th e manfion-Koufe of the pleafant
•village of Beachgrove was inhabited by
the family of FAiRBORNE/confifting of
the mafter and miftrefs, and a numer
ous progeny of children of both fexes.
Of thefe, part were educated at home '
■under their parents’ care, and part were
fent out to fehool. The houfe was fel-
dom unprovided with vi'fitors, the in-
timate friends or relations of the owners,
who were entertained with theerfulnefs ,
and hofpitality,free from ceremony and
parade. They formed, 'during their
ftay-, part of the family * and were rea
dy to concur with Mr* and Mrs. Fair-
borne in any little domeftic plan for va
rying their amufements, -and particu
larly for promoting the inftrudtion and
entertainment of the younger part of
‘ Vol. I. B the

the boufehold. As fome of them were
accuftomed to writing, they would fre
quently produce a fable, a ftory, or
dialogue, adapted to the age and un-
derftanding of the young people.- It
was always con fide red as a high favour
when they would fo employ themfelves ^
and after the pieces were once read
, over, they were carefully depofited by
’ Mrs. Fairborne in a box, of which.te ,
kept the key. None of thele were al- ,
lowed to be taken out again till all the
children were alTemblcdin the holiday s.
It was then made one of the evening
. amufements of the family to rummage the
hidget , as their phrafe was. One of the
leaft children was fent to-the box, who
putting in its little hand, drew out the
paper that came next, and brought it
into the parlour. This was then read
diftinftly by one of the older ones ; and.
after it had undergone fufficient confi-
deration, another little meffenger was
difpatched for a frejfh fupply; and fo
' , .. on,

on, till as\much' time bad been fpent in 1
thismanner as the" parents thought pro-'
per. O ther children we re ‘admitted' to
thefe readings ; and as the Budget of
Beachgrove Hall' became fo me what ce
lebrated in the neighbourhood, its pro
prietors were at' length urged to lay it
open to the public. They were induced
to comply; and have prefented its con-'
tents in the promifcuous' order in which
they came to hand, which they think
will prove 1 more agreeable than, a trie-
thodical arrangement. Thus,, there
fore, without further preface, begins the
Futor—George* — Harry.
Tut. Come* my boys, let us fit down
awhile under yon (hady tree. I don’t
' B 2 know

know how your young .legs..feel, but.,,
mine are almoft tired.
Geo. 1 am not tired, but I am very
hot; ’
Har . And I am hot, and very dry
too. r*-
Tut. When you have cooled your-
felf you may drink out of that clear
brook. In the mean time we vvill read,
a little out of a book I have in my
[They .go and fit down at the foot of.
■the tree.
Har. What an amazing large tree !
How wide its branches .fpread ! Pray
what tree is it ?
Geo. I can tell you that. It is an Oak.
Don’t you fee the acorns ?
Tut. Yes, it is an Oak—the nobleft ■
tree this' country produces:—not only
grand and beautiful to the light, but of
the greateft importance from its ufes.
Har. I lhouLd like to know fome-
thing about it.
Tut. .

• • ON- T&E OAK . (' g
'J’ut. Very well ; then inftead of read
ing, vve will fit and talk about Oaks.
George, you knew the Oak by its acorns
•—fhould you have known it if there '
,fead been none ?
Geo* I don’t know—I believe not.
T’utr Ob'ferve, then, in the firft place,
that its bark is very rugged.. Then fee
in what manner it grows. Its great
,arms run out almoft horizontally from
its trunk, giving the whole tree a fort
'of round form, and making it.fpread
.faron every fide. Its branches are alfo
fubject to be jcrooked;, or kneed. By
;.thefe.marks>yoL] might guefs at an.Oak
•even in winter, when quite bare of
-leaves. ; ; But its leaves afford a furer
mark of diftindion 5 : fince they differ a
good deal from thofe of other; 1 ;
being neither whole ancf even at the
edges, nor yet cut like the teeth of a
faw, but'rather deeply fcolloped, and
formed into' feveral rounded divifions,
=• B 3 ' ' . Their

Their colour is a fine deep green.
Then the fruit—
Ear . Fruit!
Tut. Yes—all kinds of plants have
what may properly be called fruit,
though we are apt to give that name
(Only to fuch as are food for man. The
fruit of a plant is the feed, with what
contains it. This in the Oak, is call
ed an acorn, which is a kind of nur,
partly enclofed in a cup.
Geo. Acorn-cups are very pretty
things. I have made boats of them,
and fet them a fwimming in a bafon.
'Tut. And if you were no bigger than
a fairy you might ufe them for drink
ing cups, as thofe imaginary little be
ings are faid to do.
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn-cups fill’d to the brink.
Har. Are acorns good to eat ?
Geo . No, that they arc not. I have
tried, and did not like them at all.

1'iit. In the early ages of man, before
lie cultivated the earth, but lived upon
fuch wild products as nature afforded,
we are told that acorns made a conii-
derable part of his food; and at this day
I believe they'are eaten in fome coun
tries. But this is in warmer climates,
where they probably became fweeter
and better-flavoured than with us. The
chief ufe we make of them is to feed
hogs. In thofe parts of England where
Oak woods are common, great herds
of fwine are kept, winch are driven into
the woods in autumn, when the acorns
fall, and provide for themfelves plenti
fully for two or three months. This,
however, is a fmail part of the praife of
the Oak. You will be furprifed when
I tell you, that to this tree our country
owes its chief glory and fecurity.
Bar. Aye, how can that be ?
Tut. I don't know whether in your
reading you have ever met with the
ftory, that Athens, a famous city in
B a Grcece,

Greece, confulting the oracle how it
might beft defend itfelf againft its ene-
niies^was advifed totruftto wooden walls.
Har. Wooden walls!—that’s odd-—■
I fhould think ftone walls better, for
•wooden ones^ might fye fet on fire.
Tut. True; but the meaning-was,
that as Athens was a place of great trade,
and its people were fkilled in maritime
affairs, they ought to truft to their fhips.
Well, this is the cafe with. Great Bri
tain., As it is an ifland, it has no need
of walls and fortifications while it pof-
felfes fhips to keep, all enemies at a dif-
tance. Now, we? have the greateft and
fin eft navy- in the world', b.y which we
both defend purfelves, and attack other
nations when they infult us ; and this is
all built of Oak. • . '
Geo. Would no. other wood ,do to
build fhips ?
Tut. None nearly fo well, efpecially
for men of war; for it is the ftouteft
and ftrongeft wood- we have; 'and there

1 on ' the oak . ' 9
fore Iseft fitted, both to keep found un
der water, and to bear-the blows and
fhocks of the waves, and the terrible
ftrokes of cannon balls. It is a peculiar
excellence for this lafb pu.rpofe, that
Oak is' not fo liable to fplinter or fhiver
as other woods, fo that a ball" can pafs
through it without making a largc hole.
Did you never hear the old Tong,
Heart of Oak are our fliips, hearts of Oak
are our men, &c.?.
' Geo. No.
Tut. It was made at a time when
England, was more fuccefsful in war
than had ever before been known, and
our fuccefs- was-Aproperly. attributed
chiefly to our fleet, the great fupport
of which is the ; BritiQi Oak; fo I hope
1 you will' henceforth’ look upon Oaks
with due refpedt.
Har. Yes—it (half always be my ; fa«
vourite tree.., '
Tut. Had not Pope reafon, when ce
faid, .in his Wtndjbr Foreft^,
B 5. Let

IO FIRST evesih.c;
Let India boaft her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber, or the balmy tree,
"While by our Oah the precious loads are borne,
And realms commanded which thofe trees adorn?
Thefe lines refer to its ufe as well for
merchant fhips as for men of war*, and
in fad all our fhips are built either of
native or foreign Oak.
Geo . Are the mafts of fhips made of
Oak ?
‘Tut. No—‘it would be too heavy.
Befides, it would not be eafy to find
trunks of Oak long and ftraight enough
for that purpofe. They are made of
various forts of fir or pine, which grow
very tall and taper.
Geo. Is Oak wood ufed for any thing
befides fhip-building ?
Tut. O yes!—It is one of the prin
cipal woods of the carpenter, being em
ployed wherever great ftrength and du
rability are required. It is ufed for door
and window frames, and the beams that
are laid in vralls to ftrengthen them.

Floors and ftaircafes are fometimesmade
with it i and in old houfes in the coun
try, which were built when Oak was
more plentiful than at prefeik, almofl
all the timber about them is Oak. Ic
is alfo oceafionally nfed for furniture, as
tables, chairs, drawers, and bedfleads;
though mahogany has now much taken
its place for the better fort of goods,
and the lighter and fofter woods for the
cheaper: for the hardnefs of Oak ren
ders it difficult and expenfive to work.
It is (till, however, the chief material
ufed in mill-work, in bridge and water
works, for waggon and cart bodies, for
large cafks and tubs, and for the laft
piece of furniture a man has occafion
for. What is that, do you 'think,
George ?
Geo. I don’t know..
Har. A coffin.
Tut. So it is.
Har. But why fhould that be made
of fuch ftrong wood ?
B 6 y*/ r

2V. There can be no other reafon y
than that weak attachment we are apt
to have for our bodies when we-have
done with them, which has made men
in various countries defirous of keeping
them as long as poffiblc from- decay.
But I have not yet done with the ufes
of the Oak. Were either of you ever
in a'tanner’s yard ?
• Geo, We often go by one at the end
of the town 5 but we durft not go in for
fear of the great d©g.
Tut». But he is- always the
day-time. . s ,
Har. Yes*—but he barks fo loud;
and looks fo fierce, that we were afraid-
he would break his chain.
T#/. I do«bt you are a couple-of
cowards. However, I fuppofe yoir
came near enough to obferve ■ great
ftacks of bark in the yard*.
. Geo. O yes—there arefeveral.
• *£nt. Thofe are Oak bark, and 1 it is
ufed in tanning the hides,

. liar. What does it do .to them ?
. -Tut, I’ll tell you. Every part of the-
Oak abounds in-a quality called afirin -
gency y or a binding power., The effect
of this is to make more clofe and corn*
pa£Vj or to Ihrivel up, all foft things,
and thereby make them firmer and lefs
liable t© decay. The hide, then, when
taken from'the animal, after beingjleep-
ed in lime and water to get off the hair
and greafe, is put to foak in a liquor
made by boiling Oak bark in water.
This liquor is ftrongly aftringent, and
by ftiffening the foft hide, turns it in
to what we call leather. Other things
are alfo tanned for the purpofe of pre-
ferving them, as fi thing' nets, and boat-
fails. This ufe of the bark of the Oak
makes it a* very valuable, commodity ;
and you may fee people in the woods
carefully (tripping the Oaks-when cut
down, and piling up the bark in
” ' ' ' Geo.

Geo. I have feen fuch heaps of bark,
but I thought they were only to burn.
• tfuu No,-—they are much too valuV
able for that. Well, but I have an
other ufe-of the Oak to mention, arid-
that is in'dying.
liar. Dying ! 'I wonder what colour
it can dye ?
¥ut . Oak faw-duft is a principal in?-;
gredient in dying fuftians. By various
mixtures and managements it is made
to give them all the different fhades of
drab and brown. Then, all-the parts
-of the Oak,' like all other aftringent ve-1
getables, produce a dark blue or black
by the.addition of any preparation of
iron. The-b.ark is fometimes ufed in'
this way for dying black. And did"
you ever fee what .boys call an Oak-
apple? - /
Geo. Yes—I have ;'gathered them
myfelf. . : '■ ?
< Tut. Do you know what they are ? : :
• - Geo,

Geo . Ithought they were the fruit of
the Oak. . - /
, tfut. No-—I have told you that ;the
acorns are the fruit. Thefe are excref-
cences formed by an infe£t.
Geo . An infect;—-how' cari'they make
fuch a thing? .
^ut. It is a fort cf fly, that has a
power of piercing the outer Ikin of the
Oak boughs, under which it ‘lays its
eggs. The part then fweljs into a kind
of ball, and the young inle&s, when
hatched,eat their way out.. Well; this
ball or apple is ,a .pretty ilrong aftrin^
gent, and is fometimes ufed in dying
_black.- But in the warm countries,
there is a fpecies of Oak which bears
round excrefeences of the fame kind,,
called galls, which become hard, and
are the ftrongeft aftringents known;
They are the principal ingredients: in
the black dyes, 'and common ink is *
made with them^ together with a fub-
; 9 ftance

ftance called green vitriol or copperas,
which contains iron.
I have now toid you the chief ufes
that I can recoil eft of the Oak; and
i thefe are fo- important, that whoever
drops an acorn into the ground, andtakes-
proper care of it when it comes up, may
be faid to be a-benefactor to his country:
Befides, no fight can be more beautiful
and'majeilic than a fine Oak wood. ; It.
is an ornament fit for the habitation of
the firft nobleman in the land.
Har,~- 1 wonder, then, that all rich
gentlemen who have ground enough^
do not cover it with Oaks.'
Tut-. Many of them, efpecially of late
years, have great plantations of
thefe trees-. But all-i foils donotfuic
them: and then there is another-circum^
(lance which prevents many.frombeing
at this trouble and .expence* which is-,
theiong time an Oak takes in grow
ing, fo that no perfon , can reafonably

expect to profit by thofe of bis own
planting. An Oak of fifty years is
greatly fhort of its fu.ll growth, and they
are fcarcely arrived at perfection under
a century. However, it is our duty to
think of pofterity as well as ourfelves;
and they who receive Oaks from their
anceftors, ought certainly to furniGi
others to their fucceffors.
Har. Then I think that every one
who cuts down an Oak fhould be •
obliged to plant another.
Tut. Very right—but he fhould plant
two or three for one, for fear of acci
dents in their growing.
• I will now repeat to you fome verfes
defcribing the Oak in its flate of full
growth, or rather of beginning decay,
with the various animals living upon
it—and then we will walk.
See where yon Oak its awful ftructure rears,
The mnfiy growth of twice a hundred years ;
Survey his rugged trunk with mol's o'ergrown,
His lufty arms in rude difordcr thrown,

" J8, fjrst evening.
His forking branches wide at difta'nce fpread, v
And dark’ning half the. ; flky, his lofty head / .
A. mighty caffle, built by nature’s hands,
Peopled by yarious living tribes, he ftands.
His airy top; the clamorous rooks inveft,
And crowd the Waving boughs with many a nefl.
Midway,the nimble fquirrel builds his bow’r;.
And fliarp-bill’d pies the.infe6l tribes devour-j
And gnaw beneath the bark their fecret ways,
'While unperceiv’d the ftately pile decays.
- : A FABLE.
A young MoufeJived in,a.cupboard
where fweetmeats were kept: Ihe dined
'iev’ery day upon bifcuit, marmalade, or
fine fugar. Never any little Moufe
had lived fo well. She had often ven
tured to peep at the family while they
fat at fupper; nay, Ihe had fometimes
ftole down on the carpet,and picked up
the crumbs, and nobody had ever hurt
her. She would have been quite hap
py, but that fhe was fometimes fright-

ened by- the cat, and then (he ran trem
bling to her hole, behind j;he. wainfcor.
One day ilie came,running to her mo-?
ther in great joy.! MotheH faid ihe,
t the good people of this family have
built me a houfe to live in ; it is in the
cupboard: I am fure it is for me,- for
it is juft big enough : the bottom is of
wood, and it is covered all over with
wires; and I dare fay they have made
it on purpofe to' fcreen me from that
' terrible cat, which r ; an after me fo of
ten : there is an entrancejuft big enough
for me, but pufs cannot follow; and
they have been fo good as to put in
fome toafted chpefe, which fmells fo
delicioully, that I (hould have run in
dire&ly and taken pofleffion of my new
houfe, but I thought I would tell you
fir ft that we might go in together, and
both lodge there’'to-night, for . it will
' hold us both. ;
My dear child, faid the old Moufe*
it is.moft happy that you did not go in,

for this houfe is called'a trap, and'you
would-never ,have come out again, ex
cept to have been devoured, or put to
death in fome way or other. Though
man has not fo fierce a look as a car,
he i,s as much our enerny, and has Hill
more cunning., '
A fable:
A WASP : met a Bee,'a-nd : Taid*to him>
Pray, can you ; telLme what is the reafon
that men arefo illnatured to me, while
they are fo fond of you ? We are both
very much alike, only that the broad
golden rings about my body make me
much handfomer than you are: we are
both winged infects, we both love ho*
ney, and we both fling people when we
are angry s * vet men always hate me,
: . ’ • and

W A S'P AND EE E;.21
and try to kill me, though I am much
more familiar with them than you are*
and pay them vifits in their houfes, and
at their tea-table, and at alf their meals:
while you are very (by, and hardly ever
comc near them: yet they build you
curious houfes, thatched with ftraw, and
take care of, and .feed you, in the \vin-
ter very often :—I woncler what is the
The Bee faid r Becaufe you never do
them any good, but, on the contrary,
are very troublefome and mifchievous ;
therefore they do not like to fee you ;
•but they know that I am bufy all day
long in making them honey. You had
better pay them fewer •vifits, and try to
•be ufefuL

1 2
One winter's . evening, as Captain.
.Compafs was fitting by the fire-fide' with
his children all round him, little Jack
faid to him, Papa, pray tell us fbnie
(lories about what you have feen in- your
voyages* I have been vaftly entertain
ed whilft you were abroad, with Gul
liver's Travels, and the adventures of
Sinbad the Sailor} and I think,
have gone round and round the worlds
you mu ft have met with things as won
derful as they dido-—-No, my dear, faid
the Captain^ilhjnever met with Lillipu
tians or Brobdingnagians, I affurc you,
nor ever faw.the black loadftone moun
tain, or the valley of diamonds * but, to
be fure, I have feen a great variety of
people, and their different manners and
ways of living j and if it will be any
entertainment; to you, X will tell you
~ fome

fome .curious-particulars of what L ot>
ferved.—Pray do, Papa, cried Jack
and'all his brothers and fitters; fo they
drew clofe round him, and-he began
as follows. ■ ■
• ■ Well then—I was once, about this
time of the; year, in a country 1 where it
Was very cold, and the poor inhabitants
had much ado to keep thenifelves from
ftarving. They were clad partly in the'
fkins of beafts made foft and fmooth
by a particular art, but chiefly in gar
ments riiade from" the outer covering of
a middle-fized quadruped, which they
were fo cruel- as to ftrip off his back
while he was alive. They dwelt in ha~
bitations, part of which was funk under
ground. The materials Were either
{tones, or earth*hardened by fire; and
fo violent in that country were the
ftorms of wind and raiii, that many of
them covered their roofs all over with
flones. . The walls of their houfes had
holes to let in the light; but to prevent

the cold ;air and wet from coming
theywere covered with a fort of tranf-
. parent (lone, made artificially of-melted:
fand or flints. As wood; was rather
fcarce, I know not what they Would
have done for firing, had they not dif-
covered in the bowels of the earth a
very extraordinary kind ofItone, which
when put among burning woody caught
fire and flamed like a torch.'
Dear me, faid Jackj what a wonder
ful ftone! I fuppofe it was fomewhat
like what we call fire-ftones, that {hine
fo when we rub them together.—I don’t
think they would burn, replied the
Captain; befides, thefe are of a darker
Well—but their diet too w^as re
markable. /Some of them, eat £fli that
had been hung up in the fnioke till they
where quite dry and hard; and alon g with
v it they eat either the roots pf plants, op
a fort of coarfe black cake made of
powdered feeds. Thefe were the poorer
, clafs:

travellers ’ wonders . 25
clafs: the richer had a whiter kind of
cake, which they were fond of daubing
over with a greafy matter that was the
produdt of a large animal among them.
This greafe they ufed, too, in almoft all
their difhes, and when frefh, it really
was not Unpalatable. They like wife
devoured the fiefh of many birds and
beafts when they could get it $ and eat
the leaves and other parts of a variety -
of vegetables growing in the country,
fome abfolutely raw, others varioudy
prepared by the aid of fire. Another
great article of food was the curd of
milk, prelTed into a hard mafs and fak
ed. This had fo rank a fmell, that per-
fons of weak ftomachs often could not
bear to come.near it. For drink, they
made great ufe of the water in which
certain dry leaves had been fteeped.
Thefe leaves, I was told, came from a
great diflance. They had likewife a
method of preparing a liquor of the
feeds of a grafs-like-plant ileeped in
Vol. T. C water,

water, with the addition of a bitter herb,
j if
and then fet to work or ferment. I was >
!":■! prevailed upon to tafte it, and thought
j 01
it'at firft naufeous enough, but in time
j di
I liked it pretty well. When a large
quantity of the ingredients is ufed, -it
becomes perfectly intoxicating. But
what aftonilhed me moft, was their ufe
i dl
of a liquor fo exceflively hot and pun
| 'CC
gent, that it feems like liquid fire. I
;i ■ • once got a mouthful of it by miftake,
j cl !
: taking it for water, which it refembles
! k
in appearance ; but I thought it would
j tei
inftantly have taken away my breath.
Indeed, people are not unfrequently
> flii
killed by its and yet many of them will
; rie
fwallow -it greedily whenever they can
; S ei
' get it. This, too, is faid to be pre
; pai
pared from the feeds above mentioned,
j pai
which are innocent and even falutary in
their natural ftate, though made to yield
fuch a pernicious juice. The ftrangeft
: foi
cuftom that I believe prevails in any na
' fete
tion I found here, which was, that fome

take a mighty pleafure in filling their
mouths full of {linking fmoke $ -and
otliers 3 in thrilling a nafty powder up
their noftrils. 1
I fhould think it would choke, them,
laid Jack. It aim oil did me, anfwered
his father, only to Hand by while they
did it—“but tife, it is truly faid, is fe-
'Cond nature./ ■' , '
I was glad enough to leave this cold
•climate; and about half a year after, X
fell in with a people enjoying a delicious
temperature of air, and a country full
of beauty and verdure. The trees and
ihrubs were -furnifhed with a great va
riety of fruits, which with other ve
getable products, conftituted a large
|)art of the food of the inhabitants. I
particularly relifhed certain berries grow
ing in bunches, fome white and fome
red, of a very pleafant fourifh tafte, and
fo tranfparent, that one might fee the
feeds at their very-centre. Here were '
whele fields full of-extremely odorifer-
Ca ous

-ous'flowers, which they told me were
fu.cceedcd by pods bearing feeds,, that
afforded good nourilhment to man and
beaft.' A great variety of birds enli
vened the groves and woods ; among
which I was entertained with one, that
without any teaching (poke almoft as
.articulately as a parrot, though indeed
it was all the repetition of afingle word.
The people were tolerably gentle and
civilized, and poffeffed many of the arts
of life. Their drefs was very various.
Many were clad only in a thin cloth
made of the long fibres of the ftalk of
a plant cultivated for the purpofe, which
they prepared by foaking in water, and
then beating with large mallets. Others
wore cloth wove from a fort of vegeta
ble wool, growing in pods upon bulhes.
But the mofh Angular material was a fine
glofiy fluff, ufed chiefly by the richer
claffes, which, as I was credibly in
formed, is manufactured out of the webs
of caterpillars—a moll wonderful cir-

ctmftance, if we confider the immenfe;
number of caterpillars neceflary to the
produ&ion of fo large a quantify of the
fluff as I faw ufed, This people are
Very fantaftic in- their' drefs, efpecially
the women, whofe apparel corififts of a
great numb'er of articles impoffible to
bedefcribed, and ftrangely difguifing the
natural form of the body. In fomein-
fiances they feemvery cleanly> but in
, others,' the Hottentots can fcarce go
beyond them 3 particularly in the ma
nagement of their hair, which is all
matted- and ItifFened with the fat of
fwineand other animals, mixed 1 up'with
powders of various colours and ingre~
dients., Like mod Indian nations, they
life feathers in the head-drefs. One
thing furpriffed. me much, which was, .
that they bring up in their houfes an
animal of the tyger kind, with formi
dable teeth and claws, which, notwith-
ftanding its natural ferocity, is played
C 3 with

' 3 ° ■ FIRST EVENING a,
wich and careffed. by the moll timid and
delicate of their women.
I'am fure I would not play with it,. ,
faid Jack. Why you might chance to
get'an. ugly fcratch if you did, faid the
The language of this nation feems
veiy harfh and unintelligible to a fo
reigner,, yet they eonverfe'among one
another with great eafe and quicknefs.
Qne of the oddeft cuftoms is that which
men ufe on faluting each other. Let
the weather be what-it will, they un
cover their, heads, and - remain unco
vered for fome time, if . they mean to
be extraordinarily refpe£tful.
.. Why that’s like pulling off our hats,
faid Jack,.—Ah, ha I Papa, cried Bet-
fey, I have found out. Tou have
been telling us of our Own country and
what is,done at home all this while.
But, faid Jack,, we don’t burn ftones,
nor eat greafe and powdered feeds, nor
wear fkins and caterpillars’ webs, nor
: . pk|

play with tygers. No ? faid the Gapr
tain—-pray what are coals but {tones*
and is not butter, greafe; and corn,
feeds j and leather, -fldns ; and filk the
web of a kind of caterpillarand may,
we not as well Call A cat an animal of
the tyger-kind, as a tyger an animal of
the cat-kind ?: So, if you recoiled what'
I have been defcribing, you. will find,
with Betfey’s help, that all the other
iwonderful things I have told you ofare
matters familiar among ourfelves. ■ But
I meant to Ihow you* that a foreigner
might eafily reprefent every thing; as
equally ftrange and, wonderful among
us, as we could do with refpe6t to his
country; and alfo to make you fenfible
.that we daily call a great many things
by their names, without ever enquiring
into their nature, and properties 3 fo
that, in reality, it is only the names, and
not the things themfelves, with, which
we are acquainted.'

.Alfred, King of England.
Gubba, a Farmer.
Gandelin, his Wife.
Siia, an Officer of Alffed.
Scene— The JJJe of Aibelncy.
Alfred. HoV?.. retired and quiet is
every thing in this little fpot! The
river winds its filent waters round this
retreat 3 and the tangled bufhes of' the
thicket fence it in from the attack' of an
‘ enemy. The bloody Danes have not
yet pierced into this wild folitude. I
believe I am fafe from their purfuit.
But 1 hope I fhall find fome inhabitants
here> otherwife I fhall die of hunger.-—■
Ha ! here is a narrow path through the
wood; and I think I fee the fmoke of
a cottage rifing between the trees., 1
will bend my fteps thither.

Scene —Before the Cottage.
G u e b a coming forward. G a n d e l i n
/llfred. Good even to you, good
man. Are you difpofed to fhew hof-
pitality to a poor traveller ?
Gubba. Why truly there are fo many
poor travellers now a days, that if wc
entertain them all, we (hall have no
thing l£ft for ourfelves. However,
come along to my wife, and we will
fee what can be done for you.-
Wife, I' am very weary; I : have
been chopping-wood all day.
Ganddin. You are always ready for
your fupper, but it is not ready for you,
I’ affure you: - the cakes will take an
hour to bake, and the fun is yet high;
it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. .
But who have you with you, I trow ?
Alfred. Good mother,. 1 am a Gran
ger ; and entreat you to afford me food ■■
2 nd Ihelter.
C 5 Gat;Jc

34 SECOND I&EftlftG.
Gandelin. Good mother, quotha t
Good wife, if you pleafe, and wel
come. But I do not love, ftrarigersj-
and the land has no reafon to love them#
It has never been a merry day for Old
England fince ftrarigers came into it.
Alfred. I am riot a ftranger in Eng
land, though I am a ftranger here. I
am a true born Englishman.
Gubba . And do you hate thofe' wicked
Danes, that eat us up, and burn our
houfesi and drive away our cattle ?
Alfred. I do hate them.
Gandelin. Heartily! He does not
Ipeak heartily, hulband, -
Alfred, Heartily I hate them .3 moft
Gubba . Give me thy hand then ; thou
art an honeft fellow. *
Alfred. I was with King Alfred in
the laft battle he fought.
Gandelin. With King Alfred ? heaven
felefs him!
Gubba„ Whflt is become of our good
King ? Alfred.^

'-a©FKEtr* / , s§
Alfred. Did you love him, then'?
Gubba. Yes^as'much as a poor man
may love a king;> and kneeled down
and prayed for him every night, that
he might conquer thofe Danifh wolves*-,
but it was not to be fo*
Alfred. - You could not love Alfred
better than I did.
Gubba . But what is become of him? ;
Alfred. He is thought to be dead. ,
Gubba. Welly thefe are fad times;
heaven help us! ^ Come, you fhall be
welcome to fhare the brown loaf with
us; I fuppofe you are too fharp fet to
be nice. ,
Gandelin. Ay, come with; us;, you:
fhall be as welcome as a prince ! But
hark ye, hufband; • though I am very
willing to be charitable to this ftranger
(it would be a fin to be otherwife),. yet.
there is no reafon he fhould not do
fomethingto maintain hirnfelf: he looks
ilrong and capable.
, . C 6 - GuUa ;

Gubha. Why, that’s true. What can
you do, friend?
Alfred. I am very willing to help you
in any thing you choofe to fet me about;
It will pleafe me beft to earn-my bread
before I eat it..
Gubba. Let me fee. Can you tie
up faggots neatly ? 1
Alfred . I have not been ufed to it.
I am afraid I fhould be awkward.
Gubba. Can you thatch ? There is a
piece blown off the cow-houfe.
■Alfred. Alas, I cannot thatch.
Gandelin.. Aik'him if he can weave
rufhes: we want fome new baskets.
' Alfred. I have never learned.
Gubba. Can you flack hay ?
Alfred. No. \ ■■ /•
Gubba. Why, here’s a fellow ! and
yet, he hath as many pair of hands as
his neighbours. Dame, can you em
ploy him in the houfe ? He might lay
wood on the fire* and rub the tables.

Gandeltn . Let him watch thefe cakes,
,then: I muft go and milk the ldne.
Gubba. And I’ll go and ftack the
wood, fince fupper is not ready.
• Gandelin. But pray obferve, friend! .
do not let the cakes burn; ‘ turn them
often on the hearth.
Alfred . I fhall obferve your direc
Alfred dons .
Alfred. For myfelf, I' could bear it;
but England, my bleeding country,
for thee my heart is wrung with bitter
anguifh!— From the Humber to the
Thames the rivers are ftained with
blood! My brave foldiers cut to
pieces!—My poor people—fome maf- .
facred, others driven from their warm
homes,‘ftrippedj abufed, infulted:—and
I, whom heaven appointed their fhepi-
herd, unable to refcue my defencelefs
flock from the ravenous jaws of thefe
-devourers !—Gracious heaven !' if I am
6 not

■ , 1
,not worthy to fave this land from the
Danifh fword, raife up fome other hero
.to fight with more fuccefs than I have
done, and let me fpend my life ,in this
obfcure cottage, in thefe fervile offices:
I fhall be content, if England is happy.
O! here comes my blunt hoft and 1
hofcefs. - (
Enter Gubjsa and Gandelin.
Gandelin. Help me down with the
.pail, hufband. This new milk, with
the cakes, will make an excellent fup-
per: but,' mercy on us, how they are
burnt! black as my Ihoe; they have
not once been turned: you oaf, you
lubber, you lazy loon--—
Alfred. Indeed, dame, I am forry for
it; but my mind was full of fad thoughts.
Gubba. Come, wife, you muft forgive
him; perhaps he is in love.’ I remem
ber when I was in, love with thee——«
Gandelin. You remember!
Gubba, Yes, dame, I do remem-
, ber

ber It, though it is many a long year
fince; my mother was making a kettle
of furmety ; L
• Gandelin. Pr’ythee, hold thy tongue,
and let us eat our fuppers.
. Alfred. How refrefliing is this fweet
new milk, and this wholefome bread!
Gubba. Eat heartily, friend. Where
ihall we lodge him, Gandelin !
Gandelin . We' have but one bed,
you know 5 but there is frelh ftraw in
the barn. ,
. , Alfred (afide). If I fhall not lodge
like a king, at leaft I fhall lodge like
..a foldier. Alas! how many of my'
poor foldiers are ftretched on the bare
Gandelin. What noife do I hear? It
is ,the trampling of horfes. Good huf-
band, go and fee what is the matter.
Alfred. Heaven forbid my misfor
tunes fhould bring deftrudlion on this
fimple family! I had rather have pe-
rifhed in the wood,
9 Gubba

Gubba returns, followed by Ella with
his Jword drawn .
Gandelin. Mercy defend us, a fword!'
Gubba. The Danes 1 the Danes!. O
do not kill us!
Ella {kneeling). My Liege, my Lord,
my Sovereign j have I found you !‘ ‘
Alfred(embracinghim). My brave Ella! 1
Ella. I bring you good news, my
Sovereign ! Your troops that were ftiut
up in Kinwith Caftle -made a defperate
fally—the Danes were flaughtered. The
fierce Hubba lies gafping on the plain.
Alfred. Is it poffible! Am I yet a king?
Ella. Their famous ftandard, thfe
Danifh raven, is taken; their troops are
panic ft ruck; the Englifh foldiers call
aloud for Alfred; Here is a letter which
will inform you of -more particulars*.
(Gives a letter.)
Gubba (afide), What will become of
us I Ah ! dame, that tongue of thine:
has undone us !
Gandelin . O, my poor dear hulband t

ALFRED. • 4'i
•we (hall all be hanged, that’s certain.^-
But who could have thought it was
the 'King ?
Gubba. Why, Gandelin, do you fee*, ..
we might have gueffed he was born to
be a King, or fome Tuch great man,
becaufe, you know 3 he was fit for no
thing elfe.
Jlfred(tomingforward). God be praifed
for thefe tidings! Hope is fprung up out
of the depths of defpair. Q, my friend I
fhall l again Ihine in arms,—again fight
at the head of my brave Engliihmen,—
lead them on to vi&ory! Ou;* friend.s
(hall now )ift their heads again-.
Ella. Yes, you have many friends*
who have long been obliged, like their
mafter, to fkulk in deferts and caves,
and wander from cottage to cottage.
When they hear you are alive, and in
arms again, they will leave their faft~
neffes, and flock to your ftandard.
Alfred . I am impatient to meet them:
my people (hall be revenged.
,' - Gubba

Gubba and Gandelin . (throwing them
jelves at the feet of Alfred). O, my
Gandelin. We hope your majefty will
put us to a merciful death. Indeed*
we did not know your majefty’s grace.
Gubba . If your majefty could but
pardon my wife’s tongue; The means
no .harm, poor woman !
Alfred. Pardon you, good people I
I not only pardon you, but thank you.
You have afforded me protection in
my diftrefs; and if ever I am feated
again on the throne of England, my firft
care fhall be to reward your hofpitality.
I am now going to prot zGcyou. Come*
my faithful Ella, to arms! to arms! My .
bofom burns to face once 'more the
haughty Dane 5 and here I vow to hea- .
ven, that I will never fheath the fword
againft thefe robbers, till either I lofe
my life in this juft caufe, or
• Till dove-like Peace return to England’s fhore,
And war and {laughter vex the-land, no more.
' T HE

( 43 )
In a pleafant wood, on the weftern
fide of a ridge of mountains, there lived
a Squirrel , who had pafled two or three
years of his life very happily. At length
lie began to grow.difcontented, and one
day fell into the following foliloquy.
vYhatj muffc I fpend all my time in
this fpot, running up,and down the fame
trees, gathering nuts and; acorns, and
dozing away months together in a hole 1
I fee a great many of . the birds who in
habit this wood ramble about to a dis
tance wherever' their fancy leads them a
and at the approach of winter, fet out
for fome remote country, where they
enjoy fummer weather all the year round.
My neighbour,,Cuckow tells me he is
juft going 5 and even little Nightingale
will foon follow. To be fure, I have
_ . â–  not

not wings like them, but I have legs;
nimble enough; and if one does not ufe-
them, one might as well be a mole or
a dormoufe. I dare fay I could ‘eafily
reach to that blue ridge, which I fee
from the tops of the .trees y which no
doubt muft be a fine place, for the fun
comes diredtly from it every morning,,
and it often appears all covered with red
and yellow, and the fineft colours ima
ginable. There can be no harm, at
leaft, in trying, for I can foon get, back
again if I don't like it. I am refolved
to go,, and I will fet out to-morrow
When Squirrel had taken this refa
ction, he could not fleep all night for
thinking of it 3 and at peep of day, pru
dently taking with him as much provi-
fion as he could conveniently carry, he
began his journey in high fpirits. He
prefently got to the outfide of the wood,
■ and entered upon the open moors that
reached to the foot of th'e hills, Thefe he
' . crofTed

'cr.ofied before the fun was gotten high;
and then, having eaten his breakfaft-
with an excellent appetite, he began to
afcend. It was heavy, toilfome work
fcrambling up the fteep fides of the
mountains; but Squirrel was ufed to
climbing; fo for a while he proceeded
expeditioufly. Often, however, was he.
obliged to ftop and take breath; fo that
it was a good'deal paft noon before he
had arrived at the fummit of the fir ft
cliff. Here he fat down to eat his din
ner; and looking back, was wonder
fully pleafea with the fine prolpe£t. The
wood in which he lived lay far beneath
his feet; and he viewed with fcorn the
humble habitation in" which he had been
born and bred.
When he looked forwards, however*
he was fomewhat difcouraged to obferve
that another eminence rofe above him 5
full as diftant as that to wl?ich he had
already reached; and he now began to
lee 1 ftiff and fatigued. However, after
a little

a little reft, he fet out again, though
not fo brifkly as before. The ground
was rugged, brown, and bare; and to,
his great furprife, inftead of finding ic
•warmer as he got nearer the Tun, he felt
it grow colder and colder. He had' not
travelled two hours before his ftftength
and fpirits were almoft fpent j and he
ferioufly thought of giving up the point,
and returning before night fhould come
on. While he was thus deliberating
with himfelf, clouds began to gather
round the mountain, and to take away
all view of diftant obje£ts. Prefently ■
a ftorm of mingled fnow and h&il came
down, driven by a violent wind, which
pelted poor Squirrel moft pitifully, and
made him quite unable to move for
wards or backwards. Befides, he had
completely loft his road, and did not
know which way to turn towards that
defpifed home, which it was now his
only defire again to reach. The florin
lafted till the approach of night ; and
- it ’

It was as much as he could do, .be
numbed and weary as he was, to crawl
to the hollow of a rock at fome dis
tance, which was the beft lodging he
■could find for the night. His provi
sions were fpent; fo that, hungry and
fhivering, he-crept into the furtheft cor
ner of .the cavern, and rolling himfelf
( up, with his bufhy tail over his back,
-he got a little fleep, though difturbed
by the-cold, and the fhrill whittling of
•the wind amongit the ftones.
The morning broke over the diftant
'tops of the mountains, when Squirrel,
half frozen and famifhed, came out of
his lodging, and advanced, as well as
he could, towards the brow of the hill,
that he might difcover which way to
take. As he was flowly creeping a-
•long, a hungry kite, foaring in the air
above, defcried him, and making a
ftoop, carried him off in her talons.
Poor Squirrel, lofing his fenfes with
'the fright, was borne away with vaft ra

pidicy, and feemed inevitably doomed
to become food for the kite’s; young
ones: when an eagle, who had feen the
kite feize her prey, purfued her in order
to take it from her - } and' overtaking
her, gave her fuch a buffet, as caufed
her, to drop the Squirrel in order to de
fend herfelf. The poor animal kept .
falling through the' air a long time, till
at laft he alighted in the midft of a thick
tree, the leaves and tender boughs pf
which fo broke his fall, that, though
ftunfied and breathlefs, he efcaped with
out material injury, and after lying a-
while, came to himfelf again. But what
was hisr pleafure and furprife, to find
himfelfin the very tree which contained
his neft. Ah ! faid he, my dear native:
place and peaceful home ! if ever I am
again tempted to leave you, may-1 un
dergo a fecond time all the miferies
and dangers from which I am now fo
wonderfully'efcaped. -

( 49 )
Little Sally Meanwell had one day
been to pay an afternoon’s, vifit to Mifs
Harriet, the daughter of Sir Thomas
Pemberton. The evening proving
rainy, (lie was fent home in Sir Tho
mas’s coach; and on her return the
following converfation paffed between
her and her mother.
Mrs. Meanwell. Well, my dear, I
hope you have had a pleafant vifit. ^
■Sally. O yes, mamma, very pleafant;
you cannot think what a great many
fine things I have feen. And then it is
fo charming to ride in a coach'!'
Mrs. M. I fuppofe Mifs Harriet
fhewed you all her playthings.
Sally. O yes, fuch line large dolls
fo fmartly dreffed, as I never faw in my
life before. Then fhe has a baby-houfe,
Vol. I. D and

50., ■' SECOND EVENING. ■ " '
and all forts of furniture in it 5 and a
grotto all made of fhells, and fhining
llenes. .And then fhe Ihewed me all
her fine clothes for the next ball; there’s
a white flip all full of fpangles, and pink
■ribbons j you can’t think how beautiful
it looks.
Mrs. M. And what did you admire
moft of all . thefe fine things ? , •
Sally. I don’t know—I admired, them
alls and 1 think I, liked riding in the
coath. better than all the reft. Why
don’t we keep a coach, mamma ? and
why have not I fuch fine clothes and
■playthings as Mifs Harriet?.
Mrs. Becaufe we. cannot afforci
it, my dear. Your papa is not fo' rich,
by a. great deal, as Sir Thomas 3 and if
we were to lay out our money upon fuch
thirigs, we ihould not be able to pro
cure food and raiment and other necef-
faries for you all.
Sally.. But why is not papa as rich as
Sir Thomas ?

Mrs. M. Sir Thomas had- a large
cftate left him by his. father; but your
papa has. little but what he gains by his
own induftry.
Sally. But why; fhould not papa be as
rich as any body elfei I am fure he de-
ferves it as well.
Mrs. M ,. Do you not think that
there area^ great many people poorer
than he, that are alfo very deferving ?
Sally. Are' there ?
Mrs. M. Yes, to be fure. Don’t;you 1
Know what a number of poor people
there are all around ^us, who. have very
few of the comforts we enjoy I / What
do, you think of Plowman the labourer i
I believe you never faw him idle in
your life.
Sally ^ No ;, he is gone to work long -
before-! am up, and he does not return
till almoft bed-time, unlefs -it be for his
•Mrs. M. Well; how do you think
his wife and children live ? Should you
D 2 like

like that we fhould change places with
them ?
Sally. Q no! they are fo dirty- and
Mrs. M. They are indeed, poor crea
tures I but I am afraid they fuffer worfe
evils than that.
Sally., What, mamma ?
Mrs. M.. Why I am afraid they often
do not get as.much victuals as they could,
eat. ‘ And then in winter they muft be
half ftarved for want of fire and warm
clothing. How do you think you could
bear all this ? < ,
Sally, Indeed I don’t'know. But
I have feen Plowman’s wife carry great
brown loaves into the houfe; and I re
member dnce eating fome brown bread
and milk, and I thought it very good.
Mrs. M,_ I believe you would not
much like it conftantly: befides, they
can hardly get enough of that. But
you feem to know almoft as little of the
poor as the young French princefs did. •
' 7 Sally*

1 A DIALOGUE. ' 53
Sally, What was that, mamma ?
Mrs. M. Why there had been one
year fo bad a harveft in France, that
numbers of the poor were famifhed to
death.. This calamity was fo much
talked o£ that it reached the court, and
was mentioned before the young prin-
ceffes. Dearme l . faid one of them,
how filly that; was! Why, rather than,
be famifhed, il would eat bread and
cheefe. Her governefs was then oblig
ed to acquaint her, that\ the greateft
part of her father’s fubje&s fcarcely
ever eat any thing better than black
bread all their lives; and that vaftnum^
bers would now think themfelves very
happy to get only half their ufual pit-
tance of that. Such wretchednefs 1 as
this was what the princefs had .not the
leaft idea of j and the account fhocked
her fo much, that fhe was glad to facri-
fice all her finery to afford foi^ie relief
to the fufferings of the poor.
* D 3 Sally*

■Sally, But I hope there is nobody fa**
mifhed in our country. • ' 1
Mrs. M, I hope not,-for we‘Have
3a\vs by which every perfon is-entitled
to relief from the pariOr, if he is unable
to gain a fubfiftence'j and were there no
laws, about it,' I am fure it would be
our duty to part with every fuperfluity,
rather than let a fellow creature perifti
for want of neceffaries.
Sally. Then do you think, it was
wrong' for Mifs Pemberton to have all
thofe fine--things-? - ~ ;
Mrs , M. No, my dear,, if they are
fuitable to her fortune, anH do not con-
fume the money, which ought to be em
ployed in more ufefui things for herfelf
and others.
Sally. But why might not' Ihe be con
tented with fuch things as I have; and
give the money that the ref!: coft to the
poor? • - '
• Mrs, M, Becaufe fixe can afford both

to be charitable to the poor, and alfo to
indulge herfelfin thefe pleafures. But
do you recollect that the children of
Mr. White the baker, and Mr. Shape
the taylor, might juft afk the fame
queftions about you ? .
'Sally . How fo ?
Mrs. M. Are not you as much bet- ,
ter drefied, and as much more plenti
fully fupplied with playthings than they
are, as Mifs Pemberton is than you ?
Sally.: Why, I believe 1 may j for I
remember Polly White was very glad
of one of my old dolls ; and Nancy
Shape cried for fuch fafh as mine,
but her mother would not let her have
Mrs. M. Then 'you fee, my dear,
that there are 1 many who have fewer
things 'to be thankful for than you have;
, and you may alfo learn what ought to
be the true meafure of the expeditions
of.children, and the indulgences of pa
rents. ■ v
' ■ 33 4 Sally*

• Sally. I don’t quite underftand you,
mamma. , ■ ' >
Mrs. M. Every thing ought to be
fuited to the ftation in which we live,
or are likely to live 3 and the wants and
duties of it. Your papa and I do not
grudge laying out part of our money
to promote the innocent pleafure of our
children j but it would be very wrong
in us to lay out fo much on this ac
count as would oblige us to fpare in
more neceffary articles, as in their edu
cation, and the common houfehold ex-
pences required in our way of living.
Befides, it would be fo far from mak
ing you happier, that it would be do
ing you the greateft injury.
'Sally. How could that'be, mamma ?
Mrs. M. If you were now to be
dreffed like Mifs Pemberton, don’t you
think you fhould be greatly mortified
at being worfe dreffed when you came
to be a young woman ?
Sally. X believe I fhould, mamma;
’ for

for then perhaps I might go to affem-
blies i and to be fure I fhould like to
be as fmart then as at any time. x
Mrs. M. Well, but it would be ftill
more improper for us to drefs youthen
beyond our circumftances, becaufe your,
neceffary clothes will then coffc more,
you know. Then if we were now to hire
a coach or chair for you to go a vifiting
„ in, fhould you like to leave it off ever
> afterwards ? But you have no reafon to
expe<5t that you will be able to have
thofe indulgences when you are. a wo
man. And fo it is in every thing elfel
The more fine things, and the more
gratifications you. have now, the more
you will require hereafter j for cuftom
makes things fo familiar to us, that
while we enjoy them lefs, we want them
more. ■ ,
• Sally . How is that, mamma ?
- Mrs. M. Why, don’t you think you
have, enjoyed your ride in the coach this

evening' more than Mifs Harriet would
have done ? '
Sally. I fuppofe I have; becaufe if
Mifs Harriet liked it fo well> fhe would
be always riding, for I know fhe might
have the'coach whenever fhe pleafed. ‘
Mrs. M. But if you were both told
that you were never to ride in a coach,
again, which would think it the greater"
hardfhip ? You could walk, you know,
as you have always done before; but
fhe would rather flay at home, I be
lieve, than expofe herfelf to the cold
wind, and trudge through the wet 'and
dirt in pattens. . .
Sally.'I believe fo too ;' and now,
mamma, I fee that all you have told-me
is very right. - /
Mrs. M. Well, my dear, let it dwell
Xjpon your rriind, fo as to make you
cheerful and contented in your fta-
tion, which you fee is fo much happier
' than' that of many and many- other
> ■ ■ children.

goldfinch and linnet . 59
children. So now we will talk no more
on this fubjett.
A gaudy Goldfinch, pert and gay,
Hopping blithe from fpray to fpray,
Full of frolic, full of fpring,
With head well plum’d and burnilh’d wing,
Spied a fober Linnet hen,
Sitting all alone,
And bow’d, and chirp’d, and bow’d again ;
And with familiar tone,
He thus the dame addreft,
As to her fide he clofely preft.
■ I hope, my dear, I don’t intrude*
By breaking on your folitude ;
But it has always been my paffion
To forward pleafant converfation j.
And I Ihould be a ftupid bird
To pafs the fair without a word;:
J, who have been for ever noted 4
To be the fex’s molt devoted.
D6 Befides*

Befides, a^amfel unattended,
Left unnoticed and unfriended,.
Appears (excufe me) fo forlorn,
That I can fcarce fuppofe, >
By any fhe that e’er was born,
’Twould be the thing fhe chofe.
How happy, then,; I’m now at leifure ,
To wait upon a lady’s pleafure ;
And all this morn have nought to do
But pay my duty, love, to you.
What, filent J—Ah, thofe looks demure*
And eyes of languor, make me fure
That in my random idle chatter
I quite miftook the matter !
It is not fpleen or contemplation
That draws you to the cover; ’
But ’tis fome tender -affignation
Well!—who’s the favour’d lover? ■
I met hard by, in quaker fuit, ' •
A youth fedately grave and mute
And from the maxim, like to'like, '
Perhaps the filer youth might ftrike.. ,
Yes, yes, ’ti;s he, I’ll lay my life, •
Who hopes to for a wife. '
But come, my dear, I know you’re wife,
Compare and judge, and ufe your eyes.

No female s yet could e’er behold
The luftre of my red and gold,
My ivory bill and jetty creft,
But all was done, and I wasfbleft.
Come, brighten up, and aft with fpirit*
And take the fortune that you merit.” '
He ceas’d —’Linnetta thus replied,
With cool contempt and decent pride :
“ ’Tis pity, Sir, a youth fo fweet,
In form and manners fo complete,
Should do an humble maid the honour
To wafte his precious time upon her.
A poor forfaken fhe, you know,
Can do no credit to a beau ;
And worfe would be the cafe,v
If meeting one whofe faith was plighted s
He Ihould incur the fad difgrace
•• Of being flighte'd.
Now, Sir, the foier-fuited'youth ,
Whom you were pleas’d to mention,
To thofe fmall merits, fenfe and truth,
And generous love, has fome pretenlion*
And then, to give him all his due,
He fings, Sir, full as well as you,
And fometimes can be filent too.,

In fhort, my tafte is fo perverfe,
And fuch my wayward fate, '
That it would be my great eft curfe,
To have i Coxcomb to my mate.”.
This faid, away Ihe feuds,
And leaves beau Goldfinch in the fuds,

( 63 )
' c Tutor — 'George — Harry.
'Tut. Let us lit down a while on this
bench, and look about us. What a
charming profpe£t!
Har. I admire thofe pleafure grounds.
What beautiful clumps of trees there are
in that lawn!
Geo. But what a dark gloomy wood
that is at the back of the houfe !
Tut. It is a'fir plantation 5 and thofe
trees always look difmal in the fummer 3
when, there are fo many finer greens to
compare them with. But the winter is
. their time for fhow, when other trees
are ftripped of their verdure.
( , ' Geo* ~

Geo . Then they are evergreens ? s
7*^/. Yesj moft of the fir-tribe are
evergreens; and as they are generally
natives of cold mountainous countries,
they contribute greatly to cheer the
wintry landfcape.
Geo. You were fo good, when we
walked out laft, to tell us a good deal
about Oaks. I thought it one of the
prettieft leffons I ever heard. I fhould
be very glad if you would give us fuch
'another about Firs.
Har. So fhould I too, I am fure.
\Tut . With all my heart; and I am
pleafed that you afk me. . Nothing is
fo great an encouragement to a tutor as
to find his pupils of their own accord
feeking after ufeful knowledge:
Geo. And I think it is very ufeful to
.'know fuch things as thefe. 1
'tut. Certainly it is.' Well then—
You may know tlie Pine or Fir-ttibe
' in general at fi'rft fight,'as moft bf them'
are of a blui£h-green colour* and all
. : ' ■ have

on ; the pine and fir . 65
have leaves confining of a ilrong nar
row pointed blade, which gives them
fomewhat of a ■ ftiff appearance. Then
all of them bear a hard fcaly fruit, of a
longifli 01*1 conical form, ■
Bar. Are they what we call Fir-
apples ?
Hut. Yes; that is one of the names
boys give them.
Har. We often pick them up under
trees, and throw them at one another. •
Geo. I have fometimes brought home
my pocket full to burn. They make
a fine clear flame. ,
Hut. Well—do you know where the
feeds lie in them ?
Geo. No—-have they any ? ', •
Hut: Yes—at the bottom of every
fcale lie' two winged feeds; but when
the fcales open, the-feeds fall out; fo
that you can feldom find any in thofe
you’ pick up. , "
'Har, Are the feeds good for - any
thing? .' '

Tut, There is a kind of Pine in the
fouth of Europe called the Stone Pine,.
the kernels of which are eaten, and laid
to be as fweet as an almond-. And birds '
pick out the feeds of other forts, though
they are fo well defended by the woody
Bar. They mu ft have good flrong
bills, then.
Tut. Of this tribe of trees a variety
of fpecies are found in different coun
tries, and are cultivated in this. * But
the only kind native here, is th zTVild
Pine„ or Scotch Fir. Of this there are
large natural forefts. in the highlands of
Scotland; and the principal plantations
confift of it. It is a hardy fort, fit for
barren and mountainous foils, but grows.
Geo. Pray what are thofe very tall
trees that grow in two rows before the
old hall in our village I
'Tut, They are the Common or Spruce
Fir, a native of Norway and other

Northern countries, and jone of the lof-
tieft of the tribe. But obferve thofe
trees that grow fmgly in the grounds
oppofite to us, 'wit(r wide fpread
branches pointing downwards* and
trailing on the ground, thence gradu-
- ally leflening, till the top of the tree
ends almoft in a point.
Har. What beautiful trees! •
■<3Lut* They are the Pines called
luarchesj natives of the Alps and Apen-
, nines, and: now frequently planted to
decorate our gardens.' Thefe are not
properly evergreens, > as they fhed their
leaves in winter,'but quickly recover
them again. Then we have befides,-
the Weymouth Pine, which is the talleft
fpecies in America—the Silver Fir, lb
called from the filvery hue of its foliage
—the Pinajler—and a tree of ancient
fame, the Cedar of Lebanon.,' '
Geo . I fuppofe that .is a very great
tree. "
■ 'I'ut. It grows to a Targe fize a

but is tary flow in coming to its full
Geo ; Are Pines and Firs very ufeful
Tut., Perhaps the mod fo of any.
By much the greateft part of the wood
ufed among us comes from them.
' Har. What—more than from the
Oak ? • ^
Tut. Yes, much more. Almoft, all
the timber ufed in building houfes, for
floors, beams, rafters,' and roofs, is Fir.;
Geo . Does it ail grow in this
country? ,, , r
Tut. Scarcely any of it. Norway,
Sweden, and Ruffia, are the|- countries
from which we draw our timber, and a
vaft trade there is in it. You have
feen timber yards? ,
Geo. O yes—-feveral.
Tut. In them you would obferye.
fome very long thick beams, ( called
halks. Thofe are: whole trees, only
fbripped of the bark and fquared. You

would alfo fee great piles of planks and
-boards, of different lengths and thick-
nefs. Thofe are called deal, and are
brought over ready fawn from the coun
tries where they grow. ’ They are of
different colours. The white are chiefly
from the Fir-tree ; the yellow and red
from the Pine.
■ liar. I fuppofe there muft be great
forefts of them in thofe countries, or
elfe they could not fend us fo much.
Tut. Yes. The mountains of Nor
way are overrun with them, enough for
the fupply of all Europe j but on ac
count of their ruggednefs and want of
roads, it is found impoffible to get the
trees when felled down to the fea coaft,
unlefs they grow near fome river.
Geo. How do they manage them ?
Tut. They take the opportunity when
die rivers are fwelled with rains or melt
ed fnow, and tumble the trees into them,
when they are carried down to the

mouths of the rivers, where they arc
flopped by a kind of pens.
Ear. I fhould like to fee them fwim-
ing down the ftream.
‘Tut. Yes-—it would be curious
'enough; for in fome places thefe tor
rents roll over rocks, making fteep wa-
ter-falls, down which the trees are car
ried headlong, and often do not rife
again till they are got to a confider-
able diftance; and many of them are
broken and torn to pieces in the paf-
Geo. Are thefe woods ufed for any
thing befides building ?
2" ui. For a variety of purpofes j fuch
as boxes, trunks, packing-cafes, pales,
wainfcots, and the like. Deal is a very
foft wood, eafily worked, light, and
cheap, which makes it preferred for fo
many ufes, though it is not very dur
able, and is very liable to fpiit.
liar. Yes—I know my box is made
6 of

of deal, and the lid is fplit all to pieces
with driving nails into it.
Geo. Are fhips ever built with Fir ?
Tut. It was one of the firft woods
made ufe of for naval purpofes ; and in
the poets you will find the words Pins
and Fir frequently employed to fignify
pip. But as navigation has improved,
the ftronger and more durable woods
have generally taken its place. How
ever, in the countries where Fir is very
plentiful, large fhips ar^ ftill built with
it i for though they laft but: a fliort time,
theycoft fo little in proportion, that the
•profit of a few voyages is fufficient.
Then, from the great lightnefs of the
wood, they fwim higher in the water,
and confequently will bear more load
ing. Moft of the large fhips that bring
timber from Archangel in Ruffia are
built of Fir. As for the mads of fhips,
thofe I have already told you are all
made of Fir or Pine, on account of their
ftraightnefs and lightnefs.

Geo . Are there not fome lines in
Milton’s 'Paradtfe Loft x about that ?
Tut, Yes. The fpear of Satan is
magnified by a comparifon with aTofty
Pine. \
. His fpear 3 to equal which the tallefl: Pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the maft
OF Tome great ammiral, were'but a wand.
Har. I remembery too, that the walk
ing ftaff of the giant Polypheme was^a
Pine. , '
T* ut. Ay—fo Virgil and Ovid tell us;
and he muft have been a giant indeed,
to ufe fuch a ftick. Well, fo much, for
the wood of thefe trees. But I have
more to lay about their ufes.
. Har. I am glad of it. \ 1
int. All of the tribe contain a juice of
abitterifh tafte and ftrong fragrant fmelL ■
This, in fome, is fo abundant as to flow
out from incifions; when it is called 'Tur-
‘pentine. The larch, in particular-, yields a
large quantity. T urpentine is one of the
: ' lubftances

fubftances called refmous ; it is fticky, •
tranfparent, very inflammable, and will
not mix with water, but'will diffolvc
in fpirits of wine.
Geo. What is it ufed for ?
Tut. It is ufed medicinally, particu
larly in the compofition of plafters and
ointments. It aifo is an ingredient in
varnifhes, cements, and the like. An
oil diftilled from turpentine is employed
in medicine, and is much ufed by paint
ers for mixing up their colours. What
remains after getting this oil, is com
mon roftn. All thefe fubftances take
fire very eafily, and burn with a great
flame; and the wood of the Pine has
fo much of this quality, when dry, that
it has been ufed in many countries for
, Har. I know deal fhavings burn very
I brifkly.
Geo. Yes j and matches are made of
bits of deal dipped in brimftone>
Tut. True;—and when it was the
Vol. I. E cuftom


with pitch mixed with other ingredients.
Their teams, too, or- the places where
the planks join, are filled with tow dip
ped in a compofition of rofm, tallow 5
and pitch, to keep out the water. Wood
for paling, for piles, coverings of roofs,
and other' purpofes of the like"nature,
are often tarred over. Citterns and calks
are pitched to prevent leaking.'
Har, But what are fheep tarred for,-
'after they, are IBeared ?
. 'tut. To cure wounds and fores in
their Ikin. For the like purpofes an
ointment made-with tar is often rubbed
noon children’s heads. Several parts
of the' Pine are medicinal. The tops
and green cones of the Spruce Fir are
fermented with treacle, arid the liquor,
called fpruce-foer, is much drunk in
America, particularly for the fcurvy.
Gedi'l's it pleafant ?
: 'Hut: Not to thofe who are unaccuf-
tomed to it. Well-—I have now finifli-
ed toy leffon, fo let us walk. ,
■ E 2 liar.

liar .. Shall 'we go through the
grounds.? ' , '
c Tut . 1 Yes ; and then we will view
fotne of the different kinds of Fir and
Pine more clofely,. and I will fhew you
the difference of their leaves and cones,
by which they are diftinguifhed.
There the hoarfe voic’d hungry Rook,
i Near her Hick-built neft doth croak,
Waving on the topmolt bough.
These lines Mr. Siangrove repeated,
pointing up to a Rookery, as he was
walking in an avenue of tall trees, with
his Ton Francis.
- Francis. Is that a Rookery, papa?
Mr. St. It is. Do you hear what a
cawing the birds make ?
■Fr, Yes—and I. fee them hopping

about among the boughs. Pray, are
not Rooks the fame with crows ?
Mr. St. They are a fpecies of crow;
but they differ from the carrion crow
and raven in not living upon dead flefh*
but upon corn and other feeds, and grafs.
They indeed pick up beetles and other
infe&s, and worms. See what a num
ber of them have lighted on yonder
plowed field, almoft , blackening it
( Fr. What are they doing ?
Mr. St. Searching for grubs and
worms. You fee the men in the field
do not moleft them, for they do a great
deal of fervice by deftroying grubs,
which, if. they were fuffered to grow
to winged infe&s, would do much mif-
chief to the trees and plants.
Fr. But do they not hurt, the corn ?
Mr. St. Yes—they tear up a good
deal of green corn, if they are not driven
away. But upon the whole, Rooks are
reckoned'the farmer’s friends i and they
E , 3■ do

. do not ehoofe to have them deftroy-'
Fr. Do all Rooks live in Rookeries ?
Mr. St. It is the general nature of
them to affociate together, and build in
numbers, on the fame or adjoining trees.
But,this is often in the midil of woods
or natural groves. However, they have
no objeftion' to the neighbourhood of
man, but readily take to a plantation of
tall trees, though it be clofe to a houfe ;
and this is commonly called & Rookery.
They will even fix their habitations on.
trees in the midft of towns; and I have
feen a Rookery in. a churchyard in one
of the clofeft parts of London.
Fr I think a Rookery is a fort of
town itfelf.
Mr. St. It isa village in the air,
peopled with numerous inhabitants : and
nothing can be more amufing than to
view thfem all in motion, flying to and
fro y and bufied in their feveral occupa
tions. The fpringjs their bufieft time#

Early in the year they begin to repair,,
their nefts, or build new ones.
Fr. Do they all work together, or
every one for itfelf ?
■Mr. St. Each pair, after they have
coupled, builds its own neft; and inftead
of helping, they are very apt to fteal the
materials from one another. If both
birds go out at once in fearch of flicks,
they often find, at their return, the work.
•all deftroyed, and the materials carried
off; fo that one of them generally flays
at home to keep watch. However, I
have met with a flory which fhows that
they are not without fome fenfe of the
criminality of thieving. There was in
a Rookery a lazy pair of Rooks, who
never went out to get flicks for them-
felves, but made a pra&ice of watching
when their neighbours were' abroad,
and helped themfelves from their nefts.
They had ferved moft of the commu
nity in this manner, and by thefe means
had:'jufl finifhed their own neft; when
E 4 all

all the other Rooks in a rage fell upon
them at once, pulled their neft in pieces, ,
beat them foundly, and drove them^from
their fociety. •
Fr. That was very right-—I ftiould
have liked to have feen it. But why do ,
they live together, if they do not help
one another ?
Mr. St. They probably receive plea
sure from the company of. their own
kind, as' men and various other crea
tures do. Then, though they do not
affift one another in building, they are
mutually ferviceable in many ways. If
a large bird of prey hovers about a
Rookery for the purpofe of carrying off
any of the young ones, they all unite to
■drive him away. When they are feed
ing in a flock, feveral are placed as cen-
tinels upon the trees all round, who
give the alarm if any danger approaches.,
They often go a long way from home
to feed 5 bu,t every evening the whole
:flock returns^ making a loud cawing as
■ they

they fly, as if to direct and call in the
ftragglers. The older Rooks take the
lead : you may diftinguifh them by the
whitenefs of their bills, occafioned by.
their frequent digging in the grounds
by which the black feathers at the root
of the bill are worn off.
Fr. Do Rooks always keep to the
fame trees ?
Mr. St. Yes—they are much attach
ed to them j and when the trees happen
to be cut down, they feem greatly dif-
treffed, and keep hovering about them
as they are falling, and will fcarce-
ly defert them when they lie on the
Fr. Poor things ! I fuppofe they feel
as we fhould if our 1 town was burned
down or overthrown by an earthquake.
Mr. St. No doubt! The focieties of
animals greatly refemble thofe of men 5
and that of Rooks is like thofe of men
in a favage ftate, fuch as the communi
ties of the North American' Indians. It
' ' E 5 v ' is

is a fort of league for mutual aid and de
fence, but in which every one is left to
do as he pleafes, without any obligation
to employ himfelf for the whole body.
Others unite in a manner refembling
more civilized focieties of men. This
is the cafe with the beavers. They
perform great public works by the unit
ed efforts of the whole community, fuch
as damming up dreams, and conftruft-
ing mounds for their habitations. As
thefe are works of great art and labour,
fome of them muft probably a£t under
the dire£tion of others, and be compelled
to work whether they will or not. Ma
ny curious flories are told to this pur-
pofe by thofe who have obferved them
in their remoteft haunts, where they ex-
ercife their full fagacity.
Fr. But are they all true ?
Mr. £/. That is more than I can an-
fwerforj yet what, we certainly know
of the economy of bees may juftify us in
believing extraordinary things of the fa

gacity of animals. The fociety of bees, 7
goes further than that of beavers, and in
fome refpe£i:s, beyond moft among men
• themfelves. They not only inhabit a
common dwelling, ahd perform great,
works in common, but they lay up a
ftore of pr.ovifion which is the property
of the whole, community, and is not
ufed except at certain feafons and under
certain regulations. A bee-hive is a
i true image of a commonwealth, where
no member a6ts for himfelf alone, but
for the whole body.
Fr. But there are drones among
them, who do not work at all.
Mr. St, Yes—and at the approach
of winter they are driven . out of the
hive, and left to perifli with cold and
hunger. But 1 have not leifure at pre
fect to tell you more about bees. You
fhall one day fee them at work in a glafs
hive. In the mean time, remember
one thing, which applies- to all- the fo-
E 6 cieties

defies of animals; and I wifh it did as
well to all thbfe of men likewife.
Fr. What is that ?
Mr. St. The principle upoi^ which
they all aflociate, is to obtain fome be
nefit for the whole body , not to give
particular advantages to a few .
Kitty. Pray, mamma, may I leave
off working ? I am tired.
Mamma . You have done very little,
my dear; you know you were to finiih
all that hem. ,
K. But I'had rather write now* mam
ma, or read, or get my French gram- ;
M. I

M. I know very well what that
means, Kitty ; you had rather do any
thing but what I fet you about.
K. No, mamma but you know I
•can work very well already,, and I have
a great many other things to learn.
There’s Mifs Rich that cannot few half
fo well as I, and flie is learning mufic
and drawing already, befides dancing,
and I don’t know how many other
things. She tells me that they hardly
work at all in their fchool.
M. Your tongue runs at a great rate,
my dear; but in the firft place, you
cannot few very well, for if you could,
you would not'have been fo long in do
ing this little piece. Then I hope you
will allow, that mammas know better
what is proper for their little girls to
learn, than they do themfelves.
K. To be fure, mamma: but as I
fuppofe I muft learn all thefe things
fome time or other, I thought you would
like to have me begin them foon, for I

have often heard you fay that children
cannot be fet too early about what is
neceffary for them to do.
M. That’s very true,, but all things
are not equally neceffary to eVery one;,
but fome that are very fit for one, are,
fcarcely proper at all for others.
K. Why, mamma ?
M. Becaufe; my dear, it is the pur-
pofe of all education to fit perfons for
the ftation in which thfey are hereafter
to live; and you know there are very
great differences in that refpect, both
among men and women.
. K. Are there ? I thought all ladies
lived alike.
M. It is ufual to call all well edu
cated women, who have no occafion to
work for their livelihood, ladies ; but if
you will think a little, you muft fee that -
they live very differently from each
other, for their fathers and hufbands
are in very different ranks and fituations
in the world-, you know. . .
K» Yes,

K. Yes, I know that fome are lords,
and fome are fquires, and Tome are
clergymen, and fome are merchants,
and fome are do&ors, and fome are
M. Well; and do you think the
wives and daughters of all thefe perfons
can have juft the fame things to do, and
the fame duties to perform ? You know
how I fpend my time. I have to go to
market and-provide for the family, to
look after the fervants, to, help in tak
ing care of you children, and in teach
ing you, to fee that your clothes are
in proper condition, and affift in mak
ing and mending for myfelfj and you,
and your papa. All this is my neceffary
duty: and befides this, I muft go out a
vifiring to keep up our acquaintance 5
this I call partly bufinefs, and partly
amuferiient.. Then when I am tired,
and have done all that I think neceffary,
I may amufe myfelf with reading, or in
any other proper way. Now. a great

many of thefe employments do not be
long to Lady Wealthy/ or Mrs. Rich,
who keep houfekeepers and governeffes,
an^ fervants of all kinds,' to do -every
thing for them. It is very proper,
therefore, for them to pay more atten
tion to mufic, drawing, ornamental
work, and any other elegant manner of
palling their time, and making them-
felves agreeable. .
K. And fhall I have all the fame:
things to do, mamma, that you have ? ,
M.~ It is impoffible, my dear, to fbre^-
fee what your future ftation will ber
but-you have no reafon to expe&that if
you have a family, you will have fewer
duties to perform than I have. Xhis is
the way of life for which your education
fliould prepare you ; and every thing l
will be ufeful and important for you to
learn, in proportion as it will make you
fit for this. '
K. But when. I am grown a young
lady, fhall not ! have to vifit, and go to

alTemblies and plays, as Mifs Wilfons
and Mifs Johnfons do ? ■ ■
M. It is very likely you may. enter
jl into fome amufements of this fort: but
|J even then you will have feveral more
{j ferious employments, which will take
! up a much greater part of your time;
and if you do not do them properly,
•you wijl have no right to partake of the
K. What will they be, mamma?
M. Why 'don’t you think it proper
that you fhould affift me in my houfe-
hold affairs a little, as foon as you are
able ?
- K. O yes, mamma, I fhould Be very
glad to do that.
■ M. Well, confider what talents will
be neceffary for that purpofe; will not
a good hand at your needle be one of
the very firfb qualities ? ;
K. I believe it will.
M. Yes,/and not only in affift in g me,.
but in making things for yourjelf. You
1 ■ ‘ know

know how we admired Mifs Smart’s in
genuity when fhe was with us* in con
triving and making fo many articles of
her drefs, for which (he muft otherwife
have gone to the milliner’s, which would,
have coft a great deal of money.
K . Yes, fhe made my pretty bonnet,
and fhe made you a very handfome cap.
M. Very true; flie was fo clever as
not only to furnifh herfelf with thefe
things, but to oblige her friends with
.lome of her work. And I dare fay flic
does a great deal of plain work alfo for
herfelf and her mother. Well, then,
you are convinced of the importance of.
this bufmcfs, I hope.
K. Yes, mamma.
M. Reading and writing are fuch
necefiary parts of education, that I need
not fay much to you about them.
K . O no, for I love reading dearly.
M. I know you do, if you can get
entertaining (lories to read but there
are many things alfo to be read for in-

{lru6lionj which perhaps may not be fo
pleafant at firft.
K. But what need is there of fo many
books of this fort ? . ,
' M. Some are to teach you your dut/
to your Maker, and your fellow crea
tures, of which I hope you are fenfible
you ought not to be ignorant. Then it
- is very right to be acquainted with geo
graphy j for you remember how poor
‘ Mifs Blunder was laughed at for faying'
. that if ever fhe went to France, it Hiould
be by land.
K. That was becaufe England is ,an
ifland, and all fur rounded with water,
, was not it ? 7
M. Yes, Great Britain, which con
tains both .England and Scotland, is an
ifland. Well, it is very ufeful to know
Something of the nature of plants, and
animais, and minerals, becaufe we are
always ufmg fome or other of them.
Something, too, of the heavenly bodies,
is very proper to be known, both that

we may admire the power and wifdom
of God in creating them, and that we
may not make foolifli miftakes, when
their motions and properties are the fub-
je£t of converfation. The knowledge
of hiftory too, is very important, efpe-
dally that of our own country: and in
fhort every thing that makes part of the
difcourfe of rational and well-educated
people* ought in fome degree to be itu-
died by every one who has proper op
portunities. -
K . Yes, I like fome of thofe, things
very well. But pray, mamma, what
do I learn French for—am I ever to
live in France ? . ;
M, Probably not, my dear* but there A
are a great many books written in French
that are very well worth reading; and it
may every now and then happen that
you may be in company with foreigners
who cannot fpeak Englifh, and as. they
almoft all talk French, youmay be able
to conyerfe with them in that language.
K. Yes,

K. Yes, I remember there was a gen
tleman here that came from Germany,.
I think, and he could hardly talk a
word of Englifh, but papa and you
could talk with him in French j and I
wifhed very much to be able to under-
fland what you were faying, for I be
lieve part of it was about me.
'M. It was. Well then, you fee the
ufe of French. But I cannot fay this is
a neccjfary part of knowledge to young
women in general, only it is well worth,
acquiring, if a perfon has leifure and
opportunity. I will tell you, however,
what is quite neceffary for one in your
ftation, and that is, to write a good
hand, and to caft accounts well.
K. I fhould like to write well, be-
-'caufe then I could fend letters to my
friends when I pleafed, and it would-not
be fuch a fcrawl as our maid Betty
writes, that I dare fay her friends can
hardly make out.
M. She had not the advantage of

learning when young, for you know fhd
taught herfeif fince Ihe came to us, which
was a very fenfible thing of her, and I
fuppofe ihe will improve. Well, but
accounts are almoft as nece/Tary as writ
ing ; for how could I caft up all the
market'bills, and tradefmen’s accounts^,
and keep my houfe books without it ?
X And what is the ufe of that.,
M. It is of ufe to prevent our being'
overcharged in ^any thing, and to know
exaftly how much we fpend, and whe
ther.or no we are exceeding our income*
and in what articles we ought to be more
faving. Without • keeping accounts,
the richeft man might foon come to be
ruined before he knew'that his affairs
were going wrong.
: ‘K. But do women always keep ac
counts ? I thought that was generally
the bufinefs of the men.
M. It is their bufinefs to keep the
accounts belonging to_their trade,-or
9 pi of;flion*

profeffion, or eftate but it is the bufi-
nefs of their wives to keep all the houfe-
hold accounts: and. a woman almoft in
any rank, unlefs perhaps fome, of the
higheft of all, is to blame if fhe does
not take upon her this necefiary office.
1 remember a remarkable inftance of
the benefit which a young lady derived
from an attention to this point. An
eminent merchant in London failed for
a great fum.
. K. What does that mean, mamma ? ;
M. That he owed a great deal more
than he could pay. His creditors, that
is thofe to whom he was indebted, on'
examining his accounts found great de
ficiencies which they could not make
out; for he had kept his books very
irregularly, and had omitted to put down
many things which he had bought and
fold. They fufpe&ed, therefore, that
â–  great wafte had been made in the family
expehees; and they were the more fuf-
picious of this, as a daughter, who was
a very

a very genteel young lady, was his
houfekeeper, his wife being dead. She
..was told of this j upon which, when the
creditors were all met, fhe lent'them
her houfe books for their examination.
They were all written in a very fair'
hand, and every tingle article was en
tered with the greateft regularity, and
the fums were, all caft up with perfect
exa£tnefs. The gentlemen were fo
highly pleafed with the proof of the
young lady's ability, that they all agreed
to make her a handfome prefent out of
the effe&s; and one of the richeft of
them, who was in want of a clever wife,
foon after paid his addreffes to her, and.
married her.
K. That was very lucky, , for I fup-
pofe ihe took care of her poor father, ,
when (he was rich. But, I fhall have
nothing of that fort to; do a great
while. ' ; ,.. r ; .. ■_ , _■ -
M. No; but young women• fhould
keep their own accounts of clothes - and

pocket-money, and other expences, as
I intend you fhall do when you grow
K. Am not I to learn dancing, and
mufic, and drawing too, mamma ?
M. Dancing you fhall certainly learn
prettyToon, becaufe it is not only an,
Agreeable accompliftiment in itfelf, but
is ufeful in forming the body toeafe and
elegance in all its'motions. As to the
other two, they are merely ornamental ac-
complifhments, which though a woman
of middling ftation may be admired for
poffeffing, yet (lie cenfured
for bei ng without. The propriety of at
tempting to acquire them muft depend
on natural genius for them, and upon lei-
fure and other accidental circumftances.
For fome they are too expenfive, and
many are unable to make fuch progrefs
in them as will repay the pains of be
ginning. It is foon enough, however,
for us to think about thefe things, and
at any rate they are not to come in till
Vol. I. F . you

yon have made a very good proficiency
in what is ufeful and neceffary. But I
fee you have now finished what I fet you
about, fo you (hall take a walk with me
into the market-place, where I havetwo
. or three things to buy.
K. Shall not we call at the bookfel-
ler’s, to enquire for thofe new books
that Mifs Reader was talking about ?
M. Perhaps, we may. Now lay up
your work neatly, and get on your hat
and tippet.
A poor littleMoufe, being half ftarv-
ed, ventured one day to fteal from be
hind the wainfcot while the family were
at dinner, and trembling all the while/
i picked

MO U S E , ■ L A P - DO G j &C. ,9 9:
picked up; a few cnimbs which were
festered on-the ground* She was loon
obferved, hovvever: every body'wasim-
rfiediately alarmed j fome called for the
cat.; others took up whatever was at
hand, and endeavoured to crufh hertd
pieces *, and the poor terrified animal
was driven round the room in an agony
of terror. ; At length, however, fhe was
fortunate enough to gain her hole,where
fhe fat panting with fatigue. When the
family were again featedy a Lap-Dog
and a Monkey came into the, room.
The forrfier jumped into the lap of his
miftrefs, fawned upon every one of the
children, and made his court fo effec«
tually, that he was rewarded with fome
of the beftmorfelsof the entertainment.
The Monkey, on the other hand, forced
himfelf into notice by his grimaces. He
played a thpufand little mifchievbus
tricks, and,was regaled, at the appear
ance of the defert, with plenty of nuts
1 F 2, and

and apples. : The ! unfortunate "-littlej
Mbufe,- who faw fromher hidirig-pla'ce ;
every ..thing that -paffed, --fighed inah> - '
guifh of heart, and faid to herfelf/
“ Alas ! how ignorant wa : s I, to ima- •
gine that poverty and diftrefs were fuf-
iicient recommendations to the charity,
of the opulent. I now find, that who- •
ever is not mafter ©f fawning and buf- •
foonery,' is but ill qualified:for a de
pendant, and, will not be fuffered even;:
to pick'up the - crumbs that fall from
ihe table.”
O’er^nc’s fand the tawn^:L;pn ftalks: •
On Phajif banks the graceful Ph.eal ant walks.;
The lonely Eagle builds on Kudcfs fliore":
Germania's forefts-feed the tufky Boar:
From : AJp\Q'Alp the fprightly-lbex bounds:
• With

ANIMALS, &C. 101
With peaceful lowings Britain's ifle refounds:
The Lapland peafant o’er the frozen meer
Is drawn in-fledges by his fwift Rein-Deer:
The River-Horfe and fcaly Crocodile
Infeft the reedy banks of fruitful Nile :
Dire Difpas’ Infs o’er Mauritania s plain;
And Seals and fpouting Whales fport in the
- Northern Main. •. i ,• i >

.( roz )
Canute, King of England.
Oswald, Offa, Courtiers.
Scene —The Sea-Side , rear Southampton.
'The tide cming ir..
Canute, Is it true, my friends, what
you have fo often told me, that I am the
greateft of monarchs ?
Offa. It is true, my liege; you are
the mod powerful of all kings.
Ofivald. We arc all your ilaves; wc
kifs the dufl of your feet.
Offa. Not only we, blit even the ele
ments, arc your flaves. The land obeys

you fvbrh fhore to fliore; and the fea
obeys you.
Canute . Does the fea, with its loud
boifterous waves, obey me ? Will that
terrible element be Hill at my biddirig ?
0 fa. Yes, the Tea is yours 5 it was
made to bear yourfhips upon its bofom*
and to pour the treafuresof the world
at your royal feet. It is boifterous to
your enemies, but it knows you to be
Canute. Is not the tide coming up ?
- -Ofwtildi Y^eS, my liege| you may
perceive the fwell already. ^
me a chair-, then ; fet
it here upQn the'fonds. :
Offa* Where tbfe tide is cording up 5
my gracious ford ?
' 'Canute . Yes, fet-it juft here.
■' Ofwald (afide), I wonder what he
is going to do! • .
Offa (afide). Surely he-is not fuch a
fool as to believe us! .
Canute . 'O mighty Ocean! . thou art
F 4 • my

my'fubjedt-5 my courtiers tell mefo*
and it is thy boundeh duty to obey me.
Thus,then, I ftretch my fceptre over
thee, and command thee tp retire. Roll
. back, thy fweliing waves, nor let them
prefume to wetihe feet of me, thy royal
in after. ' . ^
; ; Ofwald (afide). I believe the fea will
pay very little regard to his royal com
mands.. '
Offa, See how fail the tide rifes! ^
Ofwald. The next wave will come
up to ; thechair. Itis.afolly toftay; we
fhall be covered with fait water.
. Canute. Well, does the fea obey my
commands ? If it be my fubjedt 3 it is a
very rebellious, fubjedt. See how it
fwells, and dafhes the angry foam and
fait fpray over my'facred perfon. Vile
fy'cophants ! did you. think I was the
dupe of your bafe lies ? that I believed
your abje£t flatteries ? Know, there is
only one Being whom the fea will obey.
He is Sovereign of heaven and earth,

King of kings, and Lord of lords. It
is only he who can fay-to the ocean,
“ Thus far fhalt thou go, but no farther,
and here fliall thy proud waves-be flay
ed.^ Aking is but a man; and a man is
but a worm. Shall a worm aflame the.
power of the great God., and think the
elements will obey him ? Take away this
crown, I will never wear it more. May
kings 1 earn to be humble from my ex
ample, and courtiers learn truth from
your difgrace! - • .
A CAT. :
- Some, days ago died Grimalkin,
the favourite tabby Cat of Mrs. Petlove .
Her diforder was a fhortnefs of breath,
proceedirig pa ; rtiy from old age, and
partly- from fat. As Ihe felt her end
/■ * x F 5 approach-

approaching, fhe called her children to
her*,and; .-with a good deal of. difficulty
fpoke as follows.
Before: I depart from this world, my :
children, I mean, if my breath will give
me leave, to relate to you. the princi
pal events? of my life, as the ; variety of
fcenes I have gone through may afford
you fome ufeful inftrudtion for avoiding
thofe dangers to which our fpecies are
particularly expofed.
'VYithout further preface, then, I was
born at a farm-houfe ia a village fome
miles from hence; and almoft as foon as
I came into the world, I was very near
leaving it again. ' My mother brought
five of us at a litter; and as the frugal
people of the houfe 6nly kept Cats to
be ufeful, and were already fufficiently
flocked, wei were immediately doomed
to bfe dtowned; and accordingly a;t>o?
was ordered to take us all and throw us
into the horfevporid. -This commiffion
he performed with the pleafure boys

feem naturally to take in ads 6 f cruelty,
and vve were prefently fe't a fwimming.
While we were ftruggling for life; a
little girl, daughter to the farmer,
came running to the pond fidd, and
begged very hard that Ihe might fave
one of us, ahd bring it up for her own.
After fome difputfe, 'her requeft was
granted ; arid-the boy, reaching out his
arm, took hold of me, who was luckily
neareft him, and brought me out when
I was juft fpent. I was laid 011 the
grafs, and it was fome time before I re
covered. The girl then reftored me to
my mother, who was overjoyed to gee
again one of her little ones; and for fear
of another mifchance, Ihe took me in
'heir mouth to a dark hole, where Die I could fee, and was able
to run: by her fide.. As foon as I came
to light again,, rhy little miftrefs took
poffeffion of me, and tended me very
carefully. Her fondriefs, indeed, was
fometimes troublefome, as (he pinched
f F 6 • my

my Tides with carrying me, and once or
twice hurt-me a good deal by letting me
fall. Soon, however, I became ftrong
"and aftive, and played and gamboled
all day long, to the great delight of my
miftrefs and her companions*
At this time I had another narrow
efcape. A man brought into the houfe
a itrange dog, who had been taught to
worry all the Cats that came in his way.
My mother flunk away at his entrance;
but I, thinking, like a- little fool as I
was, that I was able to protect my-
felf, ftaid on the floor, growling, and
fetting up my back by way of defiances
The dog inftantly ran at me, and before
I could get my claws ready, feized me
withhis mouth,and began togripeand
fliake me moft terribly. I fcreamed out,
and by good luck my miftrefs was with
in hearing. She ran to us, but was not
able to difengage me; however, a fer-
vant, feeing her diftrefs, took a great
flick, and gave the dog fuch a bang on

HIS TOR Y . OF' A CAT. 109
the back, that he was forced ( to let me
go. He had ufed me fo roughly, that
I was not able to ftand for fome time:
but by care and a good conftitution I
recovered. .
I was now running after every body’s
heels, by which means I got one day
locked lip in the dairy. I was not forry
for this accident, thinking to feaft upon •
the cream and other good things. But
jhaving climbed up a jfhelf to get at
a bowl of cream, I unluckily fell back
wards into a large velTel of butter-milk,
where I fhould probably have been
drowned, had not the maid heard the
noife, and 'come to fee what was the
matter. She took me out, fcolding bit—
‘ terly at me, and after making me under
go a fevere difcipline at the pump to
clean me, fhe difmifled me with a good
whipping. I took care never to follow
her into the dairy again.
After a while 1 began to get into the
yard, and my mother took me.into the

barn upon a moufing expedition. I
fhall never forget the pieafure this gave
•me. We fat by a hole, and prefently
out came a moufe with a brood of young
ones, My mother darted among them,
and firft demoliflied the old one, and
then purfued the little ones, who ran
about fqueakingin dreadful perplexity*
I now thought it was time for me to do
fomething, and accordingly ran after a
ftraggler, and foon overtook it. Oh,
how proud was I, as I flood over my
trembling captive, and patted him with
my paws! My pride, however, foon
met with a check; for feeing one day
a large rat, I couirageoully flew at hirfi;
but inftead of turning tail, he gave mef
fuch a bite on the nofe, that I ran
away to my mother mewing piteoufly,
with my face all bloody and fwelled.
For fome time I did not meddle with
rats again; but at length growing
ftronger and more Ikilful, . I feared
neither rats nor any other vermin, and

acquired -the reputation of ah excellent
hunter. ■ ■ ■ , '-. r '■ . :
■ T had fome'other efcapes about this -
time.. Once.I happened to meet .with
fame poifoned food laid for the rats, arid
eating it, I .was-thrown into a diforder
that was very near killing me. At ano
ther, time, I chanced to fet my foot in
a rat-trap, and received fo many deep >
wounds from its teeth, that though I was
loofened as gently as poflible by the
people who heard me cry, I was ren
dered lame for fom'e weeks after.
• Time went on, and I arrived at my
full growth; and forming an acquaint
ance with a he-cat about my age, after
a.decent reliftance by fcolding, biting,
and fcratching, we madfe a match .of it,
J became a mother in due time^and had
of my kittens difpofed of in the fame
manner as-my brothers and fitters had
been. . I Ihall mention two or three
other adventures in the order I'.remem-
■ bcr

ber them. I was once prowling for;
birds along a hedge at fome diftance
from home, when - the jfquire’s grey-
' hounds came that way a courfing.. As
foon as they fpied. me, they fetoff full
fpeed, and running muclr.fafter than I
could do, werejuftat my,tail,; when I
reached a tree, and faved
climbing up it. But a greater danger
befell me on meeting with a parcel of
boys returning from fchool. They, fur-
rounded me before I was aware, and
obliged me to take refuge in a tree :
but I foon found that a poor defence
againft fuch enemies ; for they affem-
bled about it, and threw ftones on all
lides, fo that I could not avoid receiv
ing many hard blows, .one of which
brought me fenfelefs to the grounds
The biggeft boy-now feized me, and
propofed to the reft making what he call
ed rare fport with me. This fport was
to tie me on a board, and launching me
on a pond, to fetfome water-dogs at me*

who were to duck and half,
while I was to defend myfelf by biting
their nofes, and fcratching their eyes.
Already was I bound,andjuft ready to
be fet a failing, when the ; fchoolmafterj
taking a .walk that way, and feeing the
buftle, came up, and obliged the b,oys.
to fet meat liberty, feverely reprimand- 1
ing them for their cruel intentions..
The next remarkable incident of my
life was the occafion of my removal
from the country. My miftrefs’s bro
ther, had a tame linnet, of which he was
very fond for it would come and light
on his fhoulder when he called it, and
feed out of his hand; and it.fung well
befides. This bird was ufually either in
its cage or upon a high perch; but one ■
unlucky day, when he and I were alone
in the room together, he.came down
on the table to pick up crumbs* I
fpied him, and not being able to refift
the temptation, fprung at him, arid
catching him in my claws, foon began

to ddvour him. J had almoft finiflied
when his rnafter came irito the room ;
and feeing me with the remains of pobr
linnet in my month, he ran to me in the
greateft fury, and after chafing me fe
deral times round the room, at length
caught m'e. He was proceeding in*
ftantly to hang me, when his filler, by
many entreaties and tears .perfuaded him
after a good whipping to forgive me,
ilpOnthe proriiile that Ifhould befent
away. Accordingly, the next market-
day I Was difpatched iri the' cart t6 a re-
jiation’s of theirs in this town, who want
ed a good Cat, as the. houfe was over-
Ain with mice, x, ‘
In the fervice of this family I conti
nued a good while, performing my duty
as a moufer extremely well, fo that I
was in high efteem. I foon became
acquainted with all the particulars of a
town life, and diftingtiiflied my activity
in climbing up walls and houfes, and
jumping from roof to roof* either in

HIS'fOtlY 'OF A CAT. 1 I •$
of prey , br. upon goftiping par
ties with friy companions. Once 3 how
ever, -I had lik'e to have fuffered formy
e it iring; for having made a great
11 p' from One hbtife to another, I lit
upon a loofe tile, which giving way
with me, I ffell from a vaft height into
thfe ftreetj and (hould-certainly have
been killed/had i-ndt -had the luck to
light- in a dung^om, whence! efdaped
with no others injury but being half
ftifleci witb iiteh* - .v/ ;•
- Nc|tvVithfta;nd-iligthedangdrl hadran.,
■from killing" *he /linnet* I :’ani f 6 rry to
confefs that I was again guilty-of a fi-
mila'r offence. I contrived one night
to leap down from a roof upon the board
of fome pigeon-holes, which led -to a
garret inhabited by thofe birds* I en
tered, and findiftg them afleep* made
fad havock among all that were within
my’reach, killing and fucking the blood
of near a . dozen. I was near paying
dearly for this,- too j for on atterripting

to return, I found it was impoffible for
me to leap, up again to, the place from
■whence ! had defcended, fo that after
feveral dangerous -trials* I was obliged
to wait trembling in the place where I
had committed all phefe 'murders, tilljthe'
owner came. u.p in : the morning to feed
his pigeons. I rufhe'd out between his
legs as foon as the door was opened,
and had ^the good fortune to get, fafe
down flairs, and ’make.'.my efcape
through a window unknown.;, .but ne
ver fhall I forget the horrors I felrthat
night! Let my double’.danger be a
warning to you, my children; to con-
troul your- favage appetites, and on ;no
account to do harm to thofe creatures
which like ourfei'ves are under the pro
tection of man. We Cats all lie under -
a bad name for treacherous'difpofitions
in this refpeft, and with Pname I muft
acknowledge it-is. but too well .merited.
Well-—but my breath begins to. fail
me, and I,muft haften to a conclufion.

I rbill lived in the fame:family, when
6;uf prefent kind miftrefs, Mrs.Petlove,
having loft a favourite tabby, advertifed
a very handfome price for another that
fliould as nearly as poffible refembl,eher
dead darling. My owners, tempted by
the offer, took me for the good lady’s
infpeftion, and I had the honour; of be
ing preferred to a multitude. of rivals,
I was immediately fettled in the com
fortable manfion we now inhabit,;and
had many favours and indulgences be-
flowed upon : me, fuch as I had never
before experienced. Among thefe I
reckon one of the principal, that of be
ing allowed to rear all my children, and.
to fee them grow up in peace and>plenty.;
My adventures here have Been' few;
for after the monkey had fpitefully bit
off the laft joint of my tail (for which I
had! the fatisfa&ion. to fee him foundly-
corre&ed) I kept .^beyond the length of
his chain; and; neither the parrot nor
lap-dogs.ever dared to moleft me^ One
' » of

of the greateft-afflictions I have felt here,
was the ftifling of a whole litter of. my\
kittens b,y a.fat .old lady, ^ friend of my;
miftrefs's, whb fat down on the chair-
where they lay, and never perceived the;
mifchief fhe was doing till fhe rofe,
though I pulled' her clothes, and ufed
all the means in my power to fhew my
uneafinefs. This misfortune my mif-
trefs took to heart almoft as much as
myfelf, and th6 lady, has never fince en«*
tered our doors. Indeed, both I and;
mine have ever been treated, here with;
the utmoft kindnefs—perhaps with too
much; for to the pampering me with
delicacies, together with Mrs. AbigaiPs
frequent wafhings, I attribute this aflh*
ma, which is now putting an end to my
life, rather fooner than its natural periodi
But I know all'was* meant well; and
with my laft breath I 1 charge you all*to.
lhew your gratitude to our worthy mif-
trefs, by every return in your power;
And now, my dear children, fare well 5 :

we (hall perhaps'‘meet again in a land
where there are'no dogs to worry us,
or. boys to torment us-—Adieu !
Having thus laid, Grimalkin became
fpeechlefs, and prefently departed this
life, to the great grief of all the family.
“ What fhall I do,” faid a very lit
tle dog one day to his mother, <c to
fhew my gratitude to our good mafter,
and make myfelf of fome value to him ?
I cannot draw or carry burdens, like
the horfe; nor give him milk, like the
cow; nor lend him my covering for his
clothing, like the lheep; nor produce
him eggs, like the poultry; nor catch
mice arid rats fo well as the cat. I can
not divert him with tinging, like the ca^

naries'and linnets; nor canldefend him
againft‘robbers, like our relation Tow-
zer. I (hould not be of ufe to him even
-if I were dead, as th'e hogs are. I am
a poor infignificant creature, not worth
the coft of keeping; and I don’t fee
that I can do a fingle thing to entitle
me to his regard.” So faying, the poor
little,Dog hung down his head in filent
defpondency. •
“ My dear child,” replied his mo
ther, “though your abilities are but
fmall, yet a hearty, good-will is fufiici-
ent to fupply all defe&s. Do but love
him dearly, and prove,your love by all
the means in your power, and you will
not fail to pleafe him.”
1 .The little Dog. was. comforted with
this affurance; and on his matter's ap
proach, ran to him, licked his feet,
gamboled before him, and every now
and then flopped, wagging his tail, and,
looking up to his .-matter with expref-
fions of the moft humble and affec-
” donate

' ' ' • THE LITTLE’ -DOG. 121 .
tionate attachment. 7 The matter obferv-
eid him. - Ah! little! Ficlo/'faid he^ you
are an.honefi,' good-natured' little fel
low !— and ftooped down to -pat 1 his
head. Poor Fido' was 'ready: to go out
of his wits with joy-' ‘ ■
••• Fido was ' now his maftePs conftant
cbmpanion in his walks, playin G ai d-
■ flipping round him, and amuling him
by a thoufand fportive tricks; He took'
care, however, not to be troublefbme
by leaping on him with dirty paws, liar
Would he follow him. into the parlour/
unlefs invited. He alfo attempted t6
make.himfelf ufeful by a number of lit
tle fer vices. He would drive away
the fparrows as . they were Healing the
chickens* meat ; and would 'run and
bark with, the/ptmo.ft fury at’any‘ftrai^e
pigs or other animals that offered to
come into, the .yard-, fite kept the
poultry, geefe.,.and. pigs, from ft raying
beyond their bounds/ 'nhcl, .parts cu~
!a-rly from :doing mifc.hief “m‘thc ^gar^
Vol., I. G- den-

den. He was always ready to alarm
Towzer if there was: any fufpicious
noife about the houfe* day or night. If.
his mafter c pulled off his coat in the
field to help his workmen, as he would
fometimes do, Fido always , fat by it,
and would not fuffer either, man or bead
to, touch it. By this means he came to-
be confidered as a very trufty protector
of his mafter’s property.
His mafter was once confined to his
bed with* a dangerous illnefs. Fido.
planted himfelf at the chamber door,
and could not be ’perfuaded to leave it,
even to take food j and as foon as his
mafter was, fo far recovered as to fit up,
Fido, being admitted into the room,
ran up to Kim with fuch marks of ex-
cefiive joy and affection, as would have
melted any heart to behold. This cir-
cumftance wonderfully endeared him to
his mafter j and fome time after he had'
an opportunity of doing him a very im
portant fervice. One hot day after din

ner, his mafcer was fleeping in a fum-
mer-houfe, wjth.Fido by his fide. The
buflding was old and crazy;'and the
Dog, who was faithfully watching his
matter, perceived the walls fhak^, and
pieces of mortar fall from the ceiling.
He comprehended the danger, and be
gan barking to awake his mailer j and
this not fufficing, he jumped up, and
gently bit his finger. The mailer, upon;
this, ilarted up, and had juil time to
get out of the. door before the whole
building fell down. Fido, who . was
behind, got hurt by fome rubbifh ^vhich
fell upon him; onv/hich his mailer had
him taken care of with the utmoft ten-
-*lernefs, and ever after acknowledged
his obligation to this little animal as
the preferver of his life. Thus his love
v and fidelity had their full reward.
Moral, the pooreil man may repay
his obligations to the richeil and great*
eft by faithful and affectionate fervice—
G 2 the

the meaneft creature may obtain the fa
vour and regard of the Creator him-,
felfi by humble gratitude, -and itedfafl:
obedience. / ( â– 
Who is this beautiful Virgin that
approaches, clothed in a robe of light
green ? She has a garland of flowers on A
her head, and flowers fpring up where-
ever (he fets her foot. The fnow which
covered the .fields, 'and .the ice which
was in the rivers, melt away when fhe
breathes upon them. The young lambs
trifle about her, and the birds warble in
their little throats to welcome her com-,
ingi and -when they fee .her, they begin
to choofe their mates, and to build their
nefts. , Youths and maidens, have ye
feen this beautiful Virgin ? If ye have,
tell me. who is fhe, .and what is her
name. , :
Who i

Who is this that cometh from the
i'outh, thinly clad in a light tranfparent
garment ? her breath, is hot and fultry ;>
llie fecks the refrdhment of the cool !
fhade; (he leeks the clear dreams, the
cryfial brooks, to bathe her languid
limbs. The brooks and rivulets fly
from her, and are dried up at her ap
proach. She cools her parched lips
with berries, and the grateful acid of
all fruits; the feedy melon, the fharp
apple, and the red pulp of the juicy cher
ry, which are poured out 'plentifully
around her. The tanned hay-makers
welcome her coming; and the fheep-
fhearer, who clips the fleeces off his
flock with his founding (hears. When
fhe cometh let me lie under the thick
fhade of a fpreading- beech tree,—let
me walk with her in the early morning,
when the dew is yet upon the grafs*—
let me wander with her in the foft twi
light,, when the fhepherd fliuts his fold,
G 3 and

126 —FtttJRTH EVENING. '
and the (far. of evening appears. Who
is fhe that cometh from the fouthi
Youths and maidens, tell me, if you
know, who is fhe,, and what is her
Who is he that c-omethwith fober
pace, dealing upon us unawares ? His
garments are'red with the blood .of the
grape, and his temples are bound with
;a fheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin
and begins, to fall, and the auburn is
mixed with mournful grey. He {hakes
the brown nuts from the tree. He winds
. the horn, and calls the hunters to their
. fport. -1^he gun. founds. The - trem
bling 'partridge and the beautiful phea-
fand flutter, bleeding in ; the air, and fall
dead at the fportfman’s feet. , Who is
. he that is 'crowned with the wheat-
iheaf? youths and maidens, tell me, if
ye knoyy, who is he* and w.hat is his
—rrr — Whq

Who is he that cometh from the
north, clothed in furs and warm wool ?
He wraps his cloak clofe about him.
His head is bald ; his beard is made of
iharp icicles.. He loves the blazing fire
high piled upon the hearth, and the wine
iparkling in the glafs. He binds fkates
to his feet, and Heims over the frozen
lakes. His breath is piercing and cold,
and no little flower dares to peep above
the furface of the ground, when he is
by. Whatever he. touches turns to ice.
If he were to ftroke you with his cold
hand, you would be quite ftiff and
dead, like a piece of marble. Youths
and maidens, do you fee him ? He is
coming fad upon us, and foon he will
be here. Tell me, if you know, who
is he, and what is his name.

( 12.8 }■
Look up, my dear (faid his papa to
•little William ), at thofe bird-nefts above
'the chamber - windows, berieath the
eaves of the houfe. Some, yon fee,
.'are but juft begun,—nothing but a lit
tle elay ftuck againft the wall. 1 Others
are half fmifhed ; and others are. quite
built—clofe and tight—leaving no
thing but a fmall hole for the birds to
come in and go out at.
What nefts are they ? faid William,.
They are Martins’ nefts, replied his
father: and there yob fee the owners.
How bufijy they fly backwards and for
wards, bringing clay and dirt in their
bills, and laying it upon their work,,

' t ON' THE MARTIN.. l"2gf<
forming itlnto fnape with their,bills and
feet! The nefts are built very ftrong
and thick, like a mud wall, and are
lined with feathers, to. make a foft bed
for the young. Martinsare a kind of
fwallows. They feed on flies, gnats, and
other infefts; and always build in towns.
and villages about the houfes. People
do not moleft: them, for they do good
rather-than 1 harm, and it is very am uf-
ihg to view their • manners and aftions*'
See how' fwiftly they fkim • through the.
air in purfnit of-their prey ! In the.morn
ing they are up, and twit- ‘
ter about your window white-you are
afleep in bed j and all day long they are
upon the wing,. getting: food for them-
felves and their young. As &on as they
have caught a few flies, they haften to
their nefts, poj^into; the -hole, . and feed
their little ones; Til tell you a= ftbry-
about the great, care they take, of their
young, A pair, of Martins once built
their'neft;in a porch ; and when they.

had young , ones, it happened that one
of them climbing up to the hole before
he was fledged,'fell out, and lighting
upon. the ftones, was killed. The old
birds, perceiving this accident, went
and got fhorj; bits of ftrong ftraw, and
ftuck them with mud, like palifades,
all round the hole of the neft, in order J
to keep the other little ones from tum
bling after their poor brother. 1 ,
How cunning that was I cried Wil
liam. 1
Yes, faid his father; and I can tell
you another ftory of tKeir fagacity, and '
alfo of their difpofition to help one
another. A faucy cock-fparrow (you
know what impudent rogues they are !)
had got into a Martin’s neft whilft the
owner was abroad; and when he re
turned, the fparrow put his head into
the hole, and pecked at the Martin with
open bill as he attempted to enter ,his
own houfe. T he poor Ma rtin was fad-
ly provoked at this injuftice, but was
6. unable

unable by his own ftrengthto right
himfelf. So he flew away, and gathered
a number of his companions, who all
came with a bit of their bills,
with which they plaftered up the hole
of the neft, and kept the fparrow in
prifon, who died miferably for want of
food and air.
He was rightly ferved, faid Wil
So he was, rejoined papa. Well;
I have more to fay about the fagacity
of thefe birds. In autumn, when it be
gins to be cold .weather, the Martins
and other fwallows affemble in great
numbers upon the roofs of high build
ings, and prepare for their departure to
a warmer country; for as all the infects
here die in the winter, they would have
nothing to live on if they were to ftay.
They take feveral fhort flights in flocks
round and round, in order to try their
ftrength, and then, on fome fine calm
day, they fet out together for a long
G 6 journey

journey fouth wards, over fea and land',
to a very diftant country.
But they find'the way I {aid
William,. ■ ' '
We-.lay, anfwered"his. father, that’
they are taught by injtinft that is,
God-has implanted in their minds a de
fire of travelling at the feafon which he
knows to be proper, and-; has alfo given
them an impulfe to take the right road'.
They fteer their.courfe through the wide
air, directly to-the proper fpot. Some
times, however, ftorms and contrary
winds meet them, and drive the poor
birds’about till they are quite fpent; and
fail into the fea, unlefs they happen to
meet with a friip, on which they can
light and reft themfelves. The fal
lows from the country are fuppofed to
go as far as the middle of Africa -to
fpend the winter, where the weather is
always warm, and infers are to be met
with all the year. In fpring they take
another long journey back again to thefe

northern countries. Sometimes, wheii
we havef fine, weather very early, a few
of them come toofocvn; for when-It
changes to- froft and fnow again* the
poor creatures 1 are ftarved for want of
-food, or p.erifhed with, the’’cold. Hence
arifes the proverb,
- One fwallow' does not make a fummer..
But when a great many of them are
come, we may 1 be fure that winter is
over, fo that we are always very glad to'
fee them again; The'Martins find their
way'back over fuch a vaft length, of fea
and 1 landj to the very fame villages-and'
houfes where they’ were bnd. This
has been difcovered by catching fome
of them, and' marking; them.' They
repair their old*nefts, or build new ones,
and then fet about -, laying eggs and
hatching- their- young. Pretty things-!
I hope you will never knock down their
neils, or take their eggs or yoiqpg ones;
for as diey come l’uch a long way to
■ vifk ■

vifit us, and lodge in our houfes with
out fear, we ought to ufe them kind-
^ '■
Charles O/bom, when at home in the
Holidays, had a vifit from a fchool-fel-
Jow who was juft entered as a midship
man on board a man of war. Tow
Hardy (that was his name) was a free
hearted fpirited lad, and a favourite
among his companions j but he never
liked his book, and had left fchool ig
norant of almoft every thing he. came
there to learn. What was worfe, he
had got a contempt for learning of all
kinds, and was fond of fhewing it.
“ What does' your father mean,” fays
he to Charles, <f to keep you moping
and ftudying over things of no ufe in
the world but. to plague folks ~Why
can’t you go into his majefty’s fervice

THE SHIP., , ' I35
like me, and be, made a gentleman of?
You are old enough, and I. know you
are a lad of fpirit.” This kind of talk
made fome impreffion upon young Of-
born. He became lefs attentive to the
leffons his father fet him, and lefs will-,
ing to enter into inftru&ive converfa-
tion. This change gave his father much
concern; but as he knew the caufe, he
thought it beft, inftead of employing
dire£t authority, to attempt to give a
new impreffion to his fon’s mind, which
might counteradt the effe&sof his com- -
panion’s fuggeftions.
Being acquainted with an Eaft-India
captain who was on the point of failing,
he went witl> his fon to pay him a fare-
wel vific on board his fhip, They were
fhewn all about the veffel, and viewed
all the preparations for fo long a voyage.
. They faw her weigh anchor and unfurl
. her fails; and they took leave of their
friend amid the ihouts of the feamen
and all the buftle of departure.

r-j6 , FfFTH evening".
Charles was highly delighted with this
fcene j and as they werejreturning, could
think and talk of nothing elfe. It was
eafy, therefore, for his father to lead him
into the following, train of difcourfe.
After Charles had" been warmly ex>
preffing His . admiration of the grand
fight of-a large fh.ip completely fitted
■ out and'getting under fail ;—I do not
wonder (faid his father)' that you are fo
much ftruck with it :—it is,, in reality,
one of the fineft fpedlacles created’,by
human (kill, and the nobleft triumph of
art over, untaught nature. Near'tw©
tHoufand years ago, when Julius Gaefar
came over to this ifland^ he found the na
tives in poffeffion ofno other kind ofvef-
fel’than a fort of canoe, formed'of wicker
work covered with hides, and no bigger
than-a man or two could carry. But
the larged ftiip in Casfar’s fleet was not .
more fuperior to thefe, than the India- -
man you have been feeing is to what
that was. Our- ravage ,anceiiors veri^ .
■ .. , tured

lured' only to paddle along the rivers
and coafts, or crofs fmall arms of the
fea in calm weather; and Cjefar. himfelf
would-have betn alarmed to be a few
days out of fight of land. But the fliip
we have juft: left is going by itfelf to the
oppofite fide of the globe, prepared to,
encounter the tempeftuous winds and
mountainous waves of the vaft.fouthern
ocean, and to find its way to its deftined
port, though many weeks muft pafs with
nothing in view but fea and fky. Now
what do you‘think can be the caufe of
this prodigious difference in the powers
of man at one period and another ? .
Charles was filent.
Is it not (faid his father) that there
is a great deal more knowledge in one
than in- the other r
To be fure it is, faid Charles .
Father . Would it not, think you, be
as impoflible for any number of men,
untaught, b)’ their utmoft efforts, to

build, and navigate fuch a fhip as We
have feen, as to fly 'through the air. ?■
Charles, I fuppofe it would. •
Fa. That we may be the more fen-
fible of this, let us confider how many
arts and profeffions are necefiary for this
purpofe. Gome,—you fhall begin to
name them, and if you forget any, I
will put you in mind. What is the
firft ? ' : v
"Ch. The fhip-carpenter, I think. '
Fa. True—What does he do ? .
Ch. He builds the fhip ?
Fa. How is that done ?
Ch. By fattening the planks and
beams together. ' '
Fa. But do you fuppofe he can do
this as a common carpenter makes a
box or fet of.fhelves ?'
Ch. I do not know.
‘ Fa. Do you riot think 'that fuch a
vaft bulk requires a good deal of con
trivance to bring it into fliape, and fit
it for all its purpofes ?

Ch. Yes.
Fa. Sonne fhips, you have heard,
,fail quicker than others—fome bear
ftorms better—fome carry more lad
ing—fome draw lefs water—-and fo on.
You do not fuppofe all thefe things arc
left to chance ?
. Ch. No.'
- Fa . In order with certainty to pro
duce thefe effects, it is riecefiary to
ftudy proportions very exactly, and to
lay down an accurate fcale by mathe
matical lines and figures after which to
build the jfhifj. Much has been writ
ten upon this fubjeft, and nice calcula
tions have . been made of the refift-
ance a Jfhip meets with in making-way
through the.water, and the belt.means
of overcoming it j alfo, of the a6tion of
the wind, on the fails, and their adion
in pufhing on the fhip by means of the
mafts. All thefe mu ft be underftood
by a'perfedt mafter of fhip-building. ; '
Ch. But I think I know ihip-build-

,>p ^ 7 ■ ' -
ers who have never had an education to
fit them for underftanding thefe things.
1 Fa. Very likely > but they have fol
lowed by rote the rules laid ■ down, by
others i and as they'work merely by. ,
.imitation, they cannot alter and im
prove as occafion may require. Then,
though common merchant fliips are
trufted to fuch. builders, yet in con-
-.ftrufting men of war and Indiamen, per-
fons of fcience are always- employed.
The French, however,, attend-, to- this
.matter more than we do,, and. in. confe-
quence, their, ihips generally fail better
than ours. • ;
. ' Ch. But need a ; captain of a Ihip'
know all thefe things ?
'Fa. It' may not be absolutely necef- ,
fary j yet occafions may frequently arife
in which it would be ,of great advan
tage for him to be able'to judge and
give directions in thefe matters., But
fuppofe the ihip. built—what« comes.
• OSXtJ. ^ ••
: . : , ' Ch.. ■

' Ch. I think fhe muft be rigged.
Fa. Well—-who -are employed foi*
this purpofe ?
Ch. Maft-makers, rope-makers, fail-
makers, and I know not how many
other people.
Fa. Thefe are all mechanical trades;
and though in carrying them on much
ingenuity has been applied in the inven
tion of machines and tools, yet we will
not flop to confider them. Suppofe
her, then, rigged—what next ?
Ch. 'She muft take in her guns and
powder. '
Fa. Stop there, and reflect how
many arts you have now fet to work.
Gunpowder is one of the greateft in
ventions of modern times, and what has
given fuch a fuperiority to civilifed na
tions over the barbarous. An Englifli
frigate furrounded by the canoes of all
the favages in the world, would eafily
beat them off by means of ,her guns;

and if; Csefar were to come again to
England with his fleet, a battery of can
non would fink all his fhips, and fet
his legions a fwimming in the fea. But
the making of gunpowder, and the call
ing of cannon, are arts that require
an exa<5t knowledge of the fcience of
Ch. What is that ? .
Fa. It comprehends the knowledge
of all the properties of metals and mi
nerals, /alts, fulphur, oils, and gums,
and of the a&ion of fire and water and
air upon all fubftances, and the effe&s
of mixing different things together^
Gunpowder is- a mixtute of three things
only, faltpetre or nitre, fulphur or brim-
ftone, arid charcoal. But who could,
have thought fuch a wonderful effe#:
would have been.produced by it?
Ch. Was it not firft difcovered by
Fa, Yes—-but it was by one who

was making'chemical experiments, and
many more experiments have been em- .
ployed to bring it to perfection.
Ch. But need a Captain know how
to make gunpowder and cannon ?
Fa. It is not neceflary, though it
may often be ufeful to him. However,
it is quite neceffary that he fliould know
how to employ them. Now the fci-
ences of gunnery and fortification de
pend entirely upon mathematical prin
ciples; for by thefe are calculated the
direction of a ball through the air, the
diftance it would reach'to, and the force
with which it will ftrike any thing. All
engineers, therefore, muft be good ma
Ch. But I think I have heard of gun
ners being little better than the common
Fa. True—there is a way of doing
that bufinefs, as well as many others,
by mere pra&icej and an uneducated
man may acquire fkill in pointing a

cannon, as well as in fhooting with a
common gun. But this is only in or
dinary cafes; and an abler head is re
quired to dire£t. Weil—now fuppofe
- yourfhip completely fitted out for Tea,
and the wind blowing fair; how will
you navigate her ?
Ch. I would Ipread the fails, and fteer
by the rudder.
Fa. Very well—but how would you
find your way to the port you were
bound for?
Ch. That I cannot tell.
Fa. Nor perhaps can I make you ex
actly comprehend it; but I can fhewyou
enough to convince yob that it is an af
fair that requires much knowledge, and
\ early ftudy.. In former times, when , a
veffel left the fight of land, it was fleered
by obfervation of the fun by day, ’ and
the moon and ftars by night. The
fun, you know, rifes in!.die eaft, and
lets in the weft; and at noon, in thefe
■ parts of the world, it is exa&ly fouth of
■ ' 3 . "«s.

us. Thefe points, therefore, may be
found out when the fun fliines. The
moon and ftars vary however, their
place in the Iky may be known by ex-
aft obferyation. Then, there is one
ftar that always points to the north pole,
and is therefore called the pole-ftar.
This was of great ufe in navigation, and
the word pole-ftar is often ufed by the
poets to ftgnify a fure guide. . . Do you
recoiled the defGription in’ Homer’s
Odyftey, when UlyHes fails away by
himfelf from the ifland of Calypfo,—
how he fteers by the ftars ? ,
Ch. I think I remember the lines in
Pope’s tranflation.
Fa. Repeat them, then.
Ch. Plac’d at the helm he 'fat, and mark’d the
Nor clos’d in fleep his ever watchful -eyes.
There view’d the Pleiads, and the northern team,
And great Orion’s more refulgent beam,
To which around the axle of £he iky,
The Bear revolving^ points'his golden eye:
... J VbuI. H Why

Who (hines.exalted on th’ethereal plain,
Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.
Fa. Very well—they are fine lines
indeed! You fee, then, how Jong ago
failors thought it nece-flary to ftudy aftro-
nomy. But as it frequently-happens,
efpecially in ftormy weather, that the
ftars are not to be feen, this method
was fubjed to great uncertainty, which
. rendered it dangerous to undertake dis
tant voyages. At length, near,. 500
years fince, a property was difcovered
in a mineral, called the magnqt or load-
ftone, which rem oved the difBculty.
This was, its plarity, or quality of al
ways pointing to the poles of,the' earth,
that is, due north and fouth. This it
can communicate to any. piece of iron,
fo that a needle well rubbed in a parti
cular manner by a loadftone, and then
balanced upon its centre fo as to turn
round freely, will always point to the
north. With an mftrument called a ma

THE SHIP. l'47
riner’s compafs, made of one of thefe
needles, and a card marked with all the
points, north, fouth 5 eaft, weft, and the
divifions between thefe, a (hip may be
fteeredjio any part of the globe. " -
Ch. It is a very eafy matter, then.
: Fa. Not; quite fo eafy, neither. In
a long voyage,- crofs or contrary winds
blow a (hip-out of her direct cpiirfe, fo ;
that, without nice calculations, both of
the ftraight track fhe has gone, and all
the deviations from it, the Tailors would
not know where they were, nor to what
point to fteer. 11 is alfo frequently ne-
ceffary to take obfervations, as they call
it 5 that is, to obferve with an : iriftru-
ment where the fun’s place in the Tky is
at noon, by which they can determine
the latitude they are in. Other obferva
tions are necefrary to determine their
longitude. What thefe mean, I can fhew
you upon the 'globe. It is enough now
to fay, that by means of both together,
they can tell .the exad fpot they are on

at anytime; and then, by confuking
their map, and fetting their compafs,
they can fteer right to the place they
want. But all this requires a very ex-
ad knowledge of aftrohomy > the ufe of
the globes, mathematics, and arithme
tic, which you may fuppofe is not to be
acquired without much ftudy. A great
number of curious, inftruments have
been invented to affift in thefe opera
tions j fo that there: is fcarcely any mat
ter in which fo much art and fcifence have •
been employed, as in navigation; and
none but a very learned and civilized
nation can excel in it. '
i Ch .; But how is Tom Hardy to do I
for I am pretty fure 'he does not under-,
itaiid any of thefe thing's. ;
•Fa -.; He muft learn them, if he. means
t9 come to any thing in his profeffion.
Ke'may, indeed, head, a prefs-gang, or
command a' boat’s crew, without them ;
but he will never be; fit to take charge of
a man of war, dr even a-merchant fhip*
; . • Ch, '

Ch. However, he need not leai;n La
tin and Greek.
Fa. I cannot fay, indeed, that a
failor has occafion for thofe'languages;
but a knowledge of Latin makes it
much eafier to acquire all modern lan
guages 5 and I hope you do not think
them unneceffary to him.
Ch. I did not know they were of
much importance.
Fa. No ! Do you think that one who
may probably vifit moft countries in
Europe, and their foreign, fettlements,
ihould be able to converfe in no other
language than his own? If the know
ledge of languages is not ufeful to 'him, I
know not to whom it is fo. He can
hardly <do at all without knowing fome^
and the more, the better.
Ch. Poor Tom! then I doubt he has
not chofen fo well as he thinks.
. .Fa. I doubt fo, too.
Here ended the converfation., They
fpon after reached home/ and Charles

did not forget to defire his father to fhe w ,
him on the globe what longitude and la
titude meant.
Charles . Papa, you grow very-lazy.
Laft winter you ufed to tell us ftories,
and now you never tell us any; and we
are all got round the fire quite ready to
hear you. Pray, dear papa, let us have
a very pretty one ?
Father. With all my • heart—What
fhall it be ?
C . A bloody murder, papa-! :
,F. A bloody 'murder ! Well then—-
Once upon a time, fome men, drefled
( all alike'. ... :
C. With black crapes over their faces.
. F. No; they,had fteel cap& on:—
having croffed a dark heath, wound cau-
tioufly along the Ikirts of a deep foreft..
■ ' a They

C. They were ill-looking fellows, I
dare fay.
F, I cannot fay fo; on the contrary,
they were tall perfonable men as moft
one fhall fee:—leaving on their right
hand an old ruined tower on the hill. . .
C. At midnight, juft as the clock,
{truck twelve; was it not, papa ?
F. No, really; it was on a fine bal
my fummer’s morning:—and moved
forwards, one behind another ....
C. As {till as death, creeping along
under the hedges.
F. On the contrary—they walked
remarkably upright; and fo far from
endeavouring to be hufhed and {till,
they made a loud noife as they came
along, with feveral forts of mftruments.
C. But, papa, they would be found
out immediately.
F. They did not feem to' vvifh to
conccal themfelves: on the contrary^
they gloried in what they were about.
-—They moved forwards, I fay, to a
7 large

large plain, where ftood a neat pretty
village, which they fet on fire ... .
C. Set a village on fire? .wicked
F. And while it was burning, they
murdered—twenty thoufand men.
C. Ofiel papal You don't intend
I fhould believe this 5 I thought all along
you were making up a tale, as, you often
do; but you fhall not catch me this
time. What! they lay ftill, I fuppofe,
and let thefe fellows cut their throats!
F. No, truly—they refilled as lbng
as they could.
C. How fhould thefe men kill twen- ^
ty thoufand people> pray ? .
F. Why not? the murderers were
thirty thoufand.
C. O, now I have found you out!
You mean a Battle. ,
F. Indeed I do. I do not know of
any murders half fo bloody.

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