sZV -.- . .d'.LJZ.Z1-:

C O N T E N T S;

OF '.vv;


-    '    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 Moufe3 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

SThe 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.    ■„

2. ENGLAND DELINEATED;    or,    a Geo

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 numerous 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 ready to concur with Mr* and Mrs. Fair-borne in any little domeftic plan for varying their amufements, -and particularly 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 frequently 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 in1 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 celebrated in the neighbourhood, its proprietors 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 prove1 more agreeable than, a trie-thodical arrangement. Thus,, therefore, without further preface, begins the





Tut. Come* my boys, let us fit down awhile under yon (hady tree. I don’t ' B 2    know

4    FIRST    EVENING,- ■

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 pocket.

[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 reading, 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 diftindion5: fince they differ a good deal from thofe of other; tre.es1; 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 called 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 drinking cups, as thofe imaginary little beings 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 countries. 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 plentifully 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 Britain., 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 therefore

1 on' the oak. '    9

fore Iseft fitted, both to keep found under 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 principal woods of the carpenter, being employed wherever great ftrength and durability 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 country, 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 renders it difficult and expenfive to work. It is (till, however, the chief material ufed in mill-work, in bridge and waterworks, 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

12    ’    FIRST    EVENING.-

2V. There can be no other reafony 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 chained.in 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, and1 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-gencyy 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 into 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 heaps.

”    '    '    '    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 another 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,

ON THE OAK.    1    $

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

TtS '    FTRS-T-    EVENTNG.

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 ma.de 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 growing, fo that no perfon , can reafonably expert

ON THE OAK.    17

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 accidents 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 ventured 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 happy, but that fhe was fometimes fright-

THE YOUNG MOUSE, i .19 ened by- the cat, and then (he ran trembling 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 often : 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,


20    • FIRST EVENING.    '    (

for this houfe is called'a trap, and'you would-never ,have come out again, except 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.,    '

THE WASP. AND ,BEE.. ■' 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 reafon.

The Bee faidrBecaufe 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 daylong in making them honey. You had better pay them fewer •vifits, and try to •be ufefuL




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 entertained whilft you were abroad, with Gulliver's Travels, and the adventures of Sinbad the Sailor} and I think, as.you have gone round and round the worlds you mu ft have met with things as wonderful as they dido-—-No, my dear, faid the Captain^ilhjnever met with Lilliputians or Brobdingnagians, I affurc you, nor ever faw.the black loadftone mountain, 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 country1 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 garments 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


24    .    FIRS,T    EVENING. .

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 wonderful 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 colour.

Well—but their diet too w^as remarkable. /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 faked. 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

; Sei

' 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 otliers3 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 variety of fruits, which with other vegetable products, conftituted a large |)art of the food of the inhabitants. I particularly relifhed certain berries growing 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 enlivened 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 vegetable 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 informed, is manufactured out of the webs of caterpillars—a moll wonderful cir-cumftance,


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 management of their hair, which is all matted- and ItifFened with the fat of fwineand other animals, mixed1 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 formidable 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 Captain..

The language of this nation feems veiy harfh and unintelligible to a foreigner,, 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 uncover their, heads, and - remain uncovered 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 ..you 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.'

C 4.    SECOND





.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.


ALFRED.    33

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 nothing 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 Granger ; and entreat you to afford me food ■■ 2nd Ihelter.

C 5    Gat;Jc

34    SECOND    I&EftlftG.

Gandelin. Good mother, quotha t Good wife, if you pleafe, and welcome. 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 England, 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 heartily.

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*    / ,

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 employ him in the houfe ? He might lay wood on the fire* and rub the tables.


ALFRED.    37'

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 directions.

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 remember when I was in, love with thee——« Gandelin. You remember!

Gubba, Yes, dame, I do remem-,    ber

ALFRED.    39

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 ground!

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 misfortunes 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 know3 he was fit for nothing 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 lord-—

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 protzGcyou. 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 inhabit this wood ramble about to a distance wherever' their fancy leads thema 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 _    .    ■    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 imaginable. 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 morning.

When Squirrel had taken this refaction, he could not fleep all night for thinking of it 3 and at peep of day, prudently 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 dinner; and looking back, was wonderfully 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 him5 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 forwards 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, .benumbed and weary as he was, to crawl to the hollow of a rock at fome distance, which was the beft lodging he ■could find for the night. His provisions were fpent; fo that, hungry and fhivering, he-crept into the furtheft corner 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 rapidity,


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 defend 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 without 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 undergo 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 Thomas’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 procure 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;you1 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 dinner.

•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 gagged.

Mrs. M. They are indeed, poor creatures 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 remember 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 obliged 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 wretchednefs1 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 employed in more ufefui things for herfelf and others.

Sally. But why might not'Ihe be contented with fuch things as I have; and give the money that the ref!: coft to the poor? •    -    '

Mrs, M, Becaufe fixe can afford both

A DIALOGUE. "    55

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 plentifully 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 one.

Mrs. M. Then 'you fee, my dear, that there are1 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 parents. ■ 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 live3 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 account as would oblige us to fpare in more neceffary articles, as in their education, and the common houfehold ex-pences required in our way of living. Befides, it would be fo far from making you happier, that it would be doing 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 woman. 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


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 believe, 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 get.you for a wife. '

But come, my dear, I know you’re wife, Compare and judge, and ufe your eyes.

GOLDFINCH AND. LINNET.' No femalesyet 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 plighteds 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 )




' cTutor'GeorgeHarry.

'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 fummer3 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 narrow 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?    .'    '


66'    THIRD    EVENING.

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 fcaJes.

Bar. They mu ft have good flrong bills, then.

Tut. Of this tribe of trees a variety of fpecies are found in different countries, and are cultivated in this. * But the only kind native here, is thzTVild 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. flowly.

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

ON THE PINE N AND -FIR. 6j 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 fizea


6$:    ...    THIRD    EVENING.

but is tary flow in coming to its full


Geo; Are Pines and Firs very ufeful trees?

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


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 countries 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 Norway are overrun with them, enough for the fupply of all Europe j but on account 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 melted fnow, and tumble the trees into them, when they are carried down to the mouths


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 torrents roll over rocks, making fteep wa-ter-falls, down which the trees are carried 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-fage.

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 durable, 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. However, 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 loading. 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 Loftxabout that ?

Tut, Yes. The fpear of Satan is magnified by a comparifon with aTofty Pine.    \

. His fpear3 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 walking 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, particularly 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 painters for mixing up their colours. What remains after getting this oil, is common 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 torches.

,    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

74    •    third    evening.

cuftom to bum the bodies of the dead, as .you read in:Homer and other old authors, the pines and pitch-trees com-pofed great part of the funeral pile.

Har. But what are pitch-trees ?. Does pitch grow upon trees ?

Tut. I wa§ going on to tell you about that, 'tar is a produdt of the trees of this kind, efpecially of one fpecies, called the Pitch-pine. The wood is burned in a fort of oven made in the earth, and the refinous juice .fweats out, and acquires a peculiar tafte and a black colour from the fire. This is tar. Tar \yhen boiled down, to drynefs becomes pitch.

Geo. Tar and pitch are chiefly ufed about fhips; are they not ?

Tut. They refift moifture, and therefore are of great fervice in preventing things from decaying that are expofed to wet. For this reafon, the cables and other ropes of fhips are well foaked with tar} and the fides of Ihips are covered



with pitch mixed with other ingredients. Their teams, too, or- the places where the planks join, are filled with tow dipped in a compofition of rofm, tallow5 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.

7 6    THIRD    EVENING.

liar.. Shall 'we go through the grounds.? '    ,    '

cTut.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

THE ROOKERY.    .    77

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 number of them have lighted on yonder plowed field, almoft , blackening it over.

( 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

78    THIRD    E-VENING.

. do not ehoofe to have them deftroy-' ed.’

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 froy and bufied in their feveral occupations. 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 community 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 pleasure from the company of. their own kind, as' men and various other creatures 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 feeding 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

THE ROOKERY.    8    I

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 attached 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 ground.

Fr. Poor things ! I fuppofe they feel as we fhould if our1 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 communities of the North American' Indians. It ' '    E    5    v    '    is

'8a    THIRD    EVENING.

is a fort of league for mutual aid and defence, 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 united 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. Many 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 fagacity


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 prefect 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 benefit 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* mamma, or read, or get my French gram-; mar.

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 doing 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 educated 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, 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 fhopkeepers.

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 taking care of you children, and in teaching you, to fee that your clothes are in proper condition, and affift in making 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


many of thefe employments do not belong 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 attention 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 affemblies


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 others.

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

90    THIRD    EVENING.,

know how we admired Mifs Smart’s ingenuity when fhe was with us* in contriving 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-ftrudion,


{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 creatures, of which I hope you are fenfible you ought not to be ignorant. Then it - is very right to be acquainted with geography 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 contains 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

92 '    . THIRD EVENING. '

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 opportunities.    -

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 gentleman 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 believe 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

C)4    THfRD    EVENING.

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 writing ; 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., mamma?

M. It is of ufe to prevent our being' overcharged in ^any thing, and to know exaftly how much we fpend, and whether.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 accounts ? 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*

THINGS TO EE LEARNED. 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 deficiencies 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 ■ 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

THIRD EVENING, 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 entered 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-


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 willnever.be cenfured for bei ng without. The propriety of attempting 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 beginning. 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 behind 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 appearance 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 dependant, 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 elements, 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 ?

0fa. 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 itsSovereign.

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 up5 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 commands..    '

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 fubjedt3 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,


HISTORY ■ OF A CA-Ti 105 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 flayed.^ 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 example, 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-

VsS    FOJJ    UTH    EVE    NIN G >:'

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 principal 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  .....feeni

HISTORY OF A CAT. IO7 feem naturally to take in ads 6f 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 recovered. 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 kept..me-till 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 within 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 backwards 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 undergo 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


110 FOURTH EVENING, 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


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 another, 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 rendered lame for fom'e weeks after.

• Time went on, and I arrived at my full growth; and forming an acquaintance 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 themortificationoffeeingfeverarbroods 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

IIS '3F0UHTH EVENING. 7 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 myfelf.by 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 receiving 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 called 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 drown.me, 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 brother, 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 federal 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 wanted a good Cat, as the. houfe was over-Ain with mice, x,    ‘

In the fervice of this family I continued 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 purfuit

HIS'fOtlY 'OF A CAT. 1 I •$ of prey , br. upon goftiping parties with friy companions. Once3 however, -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 f6rry 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 entered, 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 never 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 protection 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.


HISTORY 'OF A'CAT. 14 7. 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 being preferred to a multitude. of rivals, I was immediately fettled in the comfortable 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 being 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 I1 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:

THE LITTLE DOG. '    11$

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 little 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 cannot divert him with tinging, like the ca^ naries


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 mother, “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 approach, 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 fellow !— and ftooped down to -pat1 his head. Poor Fido' was 'ready: to go out of his wits with joy-' ‘    ■

••• Fido was ' now his maftePs conftant cbmpanion in his walks, playinG 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 little 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 mafterc 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 important fervice. One hot day after dinner,

THE LITTLE DOG. ' I 2’J-' 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 began 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 vand 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 favour and regard of the Creator him-, felfi by humble gratitude, -and itedfafl: obedience.    /    (    ■


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 approach. 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 cherry, 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 twilight,, 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 name.:

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 - trembling '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 name.



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 little elay ftuck againft the wall. 1 Others are half fmifhed; and others are. quite built—clofe and tight—leaving nothing 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 forwards, bringing clay and dirt in their bills, and laying it upon their work,, forming

' 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-than1 harm, and it is very amuf-ihg to view their • manners and aftions*' See how' fwiftly they fkim • through the. air in purfnit of-their prey ! In the.morning they are up by.day-break, 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.

130    FIFTH    EVENING.

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 orderJ to keep the other little ones from tumbling after their poor brother. 1 , How cunning that was I cried William. 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 returned, 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 clay.in 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 William.

So he was, rejoined papa. Well; I have more to fay about the fagacity of thefe birds. In autumn, when it begins to be cold .weather, the Martins and other fwallows affemble in great numbers upon the roofs of high buildings, 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

13 2    FIFTH' EVENING--.

journey fouth wards, over fea and land', to a very diftant country.

But how.do. they find'the way I {aid William,.    ■ '    '

We-.lay, anfwered"his. father, that’ they are taught by injtinftthat is, God-has implanted in their minds a defire 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. Sometimes, 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 fallows 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


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 may1 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 and1 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    ■

1^4    FIFTH    EVENING.

vifit us, and lodge in our houfes without 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 midshipman on board a man of war. Tow Hardy (that was his name) was a freehearted fpirited lad, and a favourite among his companions j but he never liked his book, and had left fchool ignorant 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 natives 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

THE SHIP.    I37

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 contrivance to bring it into fliape, and fit it for all its purpofes ?


THE SHIP.    I39

Ch. Yes.

Fa. Sonne fhips, you have heard, ,fail quicker than others—fome bear ftorms better—fome carry more lading—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 produce thefe effects, it is riecefiary to ftudy proportions very exactly, and to lay down an accurate fcale by mathematical lines and figures after which to build the jfhifj. Much has been written upon this fubjeft, and nice calculations 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-ers

,>p      ^.....7    ■ '    -

•.    '.I4O    • FIFTH-EVENING,

ers who have never had an education to fit them for underftanding thefe things.

1 Fa. Very likely but they have followed by rote the rules laid ■ down, by others i and as they'work merely by. , .imitation, they cannot alter and improve 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 advantage for him to be able'to judge and give directions in thefe matters., But fuppofe the ihip. built—what« comes.

• OSXtJ.    ^    ••

:    . :    , '    Ch..    ■

■ THE- SHIT.    I^I

' 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 invention 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 inventions of modern times, and what has given fuch a fuperiority to civilifed nations 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 cannon would fink all his fhips, and fet his legions a fwimming in the fea. But the making of gunpowder, and the calling of cannon, are arts that require an exa<5t knowledge of the fcience of chemiftry.

Ch. What is that ? .

Fa. It comprehends the knowledge of all the properties of metals and minerals, /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 accident?

Fa, Yes—-but it was by one who

THE SHIP.    143

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 depend entirely upon mathematical principles; 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 mathematicians.

Ch. But I think I have heard of gunners being little better than the common men.

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,

144    FIFTH    EVENING.

cannon, as well as in fhooting with a common gun. But this is only in ordinary cafes; and an abler head is required 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 exactly comprehend it; but I can fhewyou enough to convince yob that it is an affair 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.

. THE SHIP.    I45

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 fkies,

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:

... JVbuI.    H    Why

,14-6    FIFTH    EVENING.

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 distant 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 always 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 particular 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 mariner’s

THE SHIP.    l'47

riner’s compafs, made of one of thefe needles, and a card marked with all the points, north, fouth5 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 obfervations 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

148    .FIFTH    EVENING.

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 arithmetic, 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 operations j fo that there: is fcarcely any matter 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,    '

THE SHIP.    I49

Ch. However, he need not leai;n Latin 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 languages 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 knowledge 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 latitude 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 balmy 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 wretches!

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.


o' j

> 1111111j 11ji ■ 11 <

©©©©©©se I EVENING A.T

H 0 M t


V 0 ■ „ 1’ o