Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Anne and Jane
 The trial of charity
 Squire Gray's fruit feast
 Back Cover

Title: Pleasant Tales for Little People
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001676/00001
 Material Information
Title: Pleasant Tales for Little People
Series Title: Pleasant Tales for Little People
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Publisher: Thomas Dean and Son
Place of Publication: London
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001676
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA1723
ltuf - ALH6549
oclc - 43132388
alephbibnum - 002236080

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
    Anne and Jane
        Page A-6
        Page A-7
        Page A-8
        Page A-9
        Page A-10
        Page A-11
        Page A-12
        Page A-13
        Page A-14
        Page A-15
        Page A-16
        Page A-17
        Page A-18
        Page A-19
        Page A-20
        Page A-21
        Page A-22
        Page A-23
        Page A-24
        Page A-25
        Page A-26
        Page A-27
        Page A-28
        Page A-29
        Page A-30
        Page A-31
        Page B-6
        Page B-7
        Page B-8
        Page B-9
        Page B-10
        Page B-11
        Page B-12
        Page B-13
        Page B-14
        Page B-15
        Page B-16
        Page B-17
        Page B-18
        Page B-19
        Page B-20
        Page B-21
        Page B-22
        Page B-23
        Page B-24
        Page B-25
        Page B-26
        Page B-27
        Page B-28
        Page B-29
        Page B-30
        Page B-31
        Page B-32
    The trial of charity
        Page C-5
        Page C-6
        Page C-7
        Page C-8
        Page C-9
        Page C-10
        Page C-11
        Page C-12
        Page C-13
        Page C-14
        Page C-15
        Page C-16
        Page C-17
        Page C-18
        Page C-19
        Page C-20
        Page C-21
        Page C-22
        Page C-23
        Page C-24
        Page C-25
        Page C-26
        Page C-27
        Page C-28
        Page C-29
        Page C-30
        Page C-31
    Squire Gray's fruit feast
        Page D-4
        Page D-5
        Page D-6
        Page D-7
        Page D-8
        Page D-9
        Page D-10
        Page D-11
        Page D-12
        Page D-13
        Page D-14
        Page D-15
        Page D-16
        Page D-17
        Page D-18
        Page D-19
        Page D-20
        Page D-21
        Page D-22
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        Page D-25
        Page D-26
        Page D-27
        Page D-28
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        Page D-30
        Page D-31
    Back Cover
        Back Cover
Full Text



I will relate a pretty tale, which will explain this in
a pleasing manner to my young readers.


Little Jane Basy and
Anne Redgrave were
the eldest daughters
of two poor labouring
men, with large fami.
Slices, who were in con-
sequence but indiffer-
ently fed and clothed,
and were obliged to
work very hard for a living. They lived near to each
other, and sometimes chatted together when sewing,
or nursing their brothers and sisters, for they had but
little time for play. Their station in life was much
the same as to outward appearance; but there was a
great difference in reality, for Redgrave was a pious
man, and taught his children "to remember God in
all their ways." When he was sick and in affliction,
he bore pain and poverty with much patience.-" It is
the Lord's doing," he would say; "what He does,
must be good."


Poor Red-
grave had but
little learning,
and with dif-
ficulty could
read through
a chapter; yet
it was no less
true that you
could scarcely
open one any-
where in the
sacred Scriptures, but you would find him familiar
with its contents, so constant was he in his attendance
upon public worship, and so careful to bear in mind
what he heard there. He could not affot to put
any of his children to day-school, but sent them to the
Sunday School; knowing that constant attendance
there would teach them something useful, and put
them in the way of becoming good Christians. In
short, though poor and often sickly, he might still be
called a happy man; for his children were kind and
attentive to him, and his wife was a pattern of clean-
liness and good management


Ralph Easy
was also an in-
dustrious man:
but oppressed
with the cares
of the world,
and the heavy
burden of a
large family,
you might see
it in his anxi-
ous brow, and
hear it in his
dejected tone of voice. He bore a fair character, and
avoided the public-house, and so far all was well; but
he was a Aranger to real piety; and therefore knew
little of the contented mind of his neighbour. "Come
unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and
I will give you rest," says the Saviour: Ralph was
indeed heavy laden; he groaned under the burden of
his earthly cares, but he did not cast them down at
the feet of his Lord; the cheering invitations of the
Spirit he was yet a stranger to, for the weightier load
of sin be had not become aware of. His wife and chil-

dren were, like himself, dissatisfied and complaining:
they all loved each other, it is true; but in their affec-
tion there was little comfort to be seen, for the love of
God did not act upon them. Poor things! they were
unhappy at all times; but at this time the serious ill-
ness of Ralph filled them with bitter sorrow for their
present prospects, and with anxiety for the future.
Jane and Anne
were returning,.
one lovely even-
ing in May, from
the labours of the
day. Anne Red-
grave had been
keeping sheep on
*- the brow of the
hill that skirted
the village: she had not been idle while her flock were
feeding round her. A large roll of plaited straw-the
fruits of her industry-was in her hand; and as she
came near the village, the little shepherdess was talk-
ing to herself, perhaps unconscious that she was ut-
tering her thoughts aloud-" Well, I have made my
time go very far to-day; let me see, I have plaited six
yards towards father's new straw hat, besides tending


my dear baa-lambs; and I have read in my Parables
about the Prodigal Son, and learned my collect and
spelling-lesson for Sunday. I learned all my Scripture
verses (and very pretty ones they were) and my hymn
yesterday. Let me try to repeat it:

Goo of mercy, thron'd on high,
Listen from thy lofty seat,
Hear, oh I hear our feeble cry;
Guide, oh I guide our wandering feet.
Young and erring trv'llers, we
All our danger do not know;
Scarcely fear the stormy sea,
Hardly feel the tempest blow.
Jess, lover of the young,
Cleanse us with thy blood divine;
Ere the tide of sin grow strong,
Save us, keep us,-make us thine.
When perplex'd in danger's snare,
Thou alone our guide canst be:
When opprest with woe and care,
Whom have we to trust but thee?
Let us ever hear thy voice,
Ask thy counsel every day;
Saints and angels will rejoice,
If we walk in Wisdom's way.


Saviour, give us faith, and pour
Hope and love on ev'ry moul;
Hope-til time shall be no more,
Love-while endless ages roll.'

"Yes, now I shall have time to step into neighbour
Easy's, to give him two eggs that my hens laid in the
morning: mother said I might; and then I can show
Jane how to finish the stockings she is knitting. She
was rather cross yesterday; but father says we must
forget and forgive, or Jesus will not love us; but here
she comes, poor thing! skipping and dancing; what
can she be so merry about? Ralph Easy was worse
when Tom brought me my dinner. Jane has been out
all day, and does not know that; but she was crying
when she went out to keep birds in the morning."
The little girls now met by the stile near the church-
yard, when Anne naturally enough asked the cause of
Jane's joy.
Jane smiled as she replied, "If you will promise
to keep my secret, I will tell you the reason. Oh, I
am so glad, for I have met with such good luck! You
must know while I was keeping birds off Farmer Ball's
new-sown barley, I saw the young Squire come riding
up to the gate: so I ran, of course, to open it, and


made my manners.* 'Whose pretty little maid are
you?' said he; and when I told him, he said, 'Here's
six-pence for you, child,' and nodded quite familiarly,
not at all like his proud father, who never notices any
body; and when he was gone I looked at my six-pence,
but it was not a six-pence-it was gold, half a sove-
reign; as much as father, when he is well, gets for a
whole week's work! Look at it, Anne, it is worth ten
silver shillings. Oh, I am so happy!" and the little
girl skipped about with joy.

"But, Jane, I don't think you ought to keep it, for

Making a curtsey is called making manners, by children in Norfolk
and Sufolk.


the gentleman gave it to you through mistake; he
meant to give you six-pence only: I wish you had run
after him and given it back at the time, but it is not
too late now."
Give it back to him, indeed! no, I shall keep it: not
for myself, but for my sick father. How cruel it is of
you, Anne, when you know how ill he is, and how we
are almost starved, to want me to return it. The
young Squire is rich, and we are poor; he will never
know it."
"Yes, but he will; for rich people count up their
money as well as poor people; and if he misses it he
will know that you are not an honest little girl.
Besides, God will know it, if the Squire does not."
"I am sorry I told you about it, Anne; I hate to
hear what you say. Mother will buy good things with
it to nourish father, who is too ill to eat our coarse
bread, and we have nothing else to give him: how
pleased they will be! Anne, this money will do him
such a deal of good."
"No, it will not, for God's blessing will not be upon
it; besides, we must not do evil that good may come.
If I took money home that I had got in such a way, I
am sure my father would starve rather than touch it,
and so would mother too."


Poor Jane was silent, for she was by no means so
sure that her parents would act so uprightly. Indeed,
her father had found a fur tippet only the week before,
and had sold it without even enquiring for an owner
for it; which was a very dishonest thing, and Jane
knew this, and no wonder she remained silent. Ralph
had never stolen any thing in his life; but this was
selling what was not his own, and thus he had broken
God's commandment as much as if he had taken it off
the lady's shoulders.
Anne went on-" Indeed, Jane, you had better
return it to the gentleman, as I said before. You will
displease God, and do your father no good, but rather
harm, by keeping it, for it will be wicked to do so."
I wish he had not said six-pence, and then all would
have been quite right," said Jane, scraping along -the
path with one of her feet-a way with her while de-
liberating upon any thing: "then there would have
been no sin in keeping the money."
Yes, there would be, for he did not intend to give
you so much; and the Scriptures say, Defraud not one
another,' and 'Render unto every one his due.' These
words are on my last Sunday's reward-ticket; and my
teacher says We must not only be hearers of the word,
but doers also.' Indeed, dear Jane, you must not


break this commandment; you know which one I
mean now."
"Yes I do-it is the eighth," replied Jane; but for
once, only for once-and that to help a sick father,"
continued she, bursting into tears. "Anne, I cannot
do what I ought: you are too hard upon me. This
money may save my father's life; and who will help
him, if I don't?"

"God will, if you pray to him. He has helped us a
thousand times, and will help us a thousand times
more. Come, Jane, and sit on the stile, and I will tell

you what happened to father when he was first out at
service; and you will find what trouble he got into by
keeping what was not his own, just as you are going
to do. I may tell you, for he tells it himself to young
folks like us, that they may take warning by his fall."
"Pray do," replied Jane, wiping her eyes. The
children sat down together on the stile, and Anne
Redgrave began her simple tale in the following



he first went
out, lived with
a widow lady
rs and her daugh-
ter, and very
nice kind la-
dies they were. All he had to do
was to work in the pretty little garden,
groom the pony, and wait at table: the
rest of the house-work was done by Han-
nah, the maid, and as she was a good-tempered girl, he
was as happy as a little serving lad could be. He
loved his ladies, and liked Hannah; and as for the
pony, pretty dear, that would follow him about like a
dog. Those dumb things know when they are well
used, and father was dearly fond of dumb things, and
so he is still.


Well, it fell out that after he had lived two years
very happily, a gentleman came to spend the day with
the ladies, and he seemed pleased with the care Robert
(that was father) took of his horse, and he was de-
lighted with the fondness of the poney for him; and
when father brought his horse at night, he took out his
purse and gave him a shilling, as he thought, but when
father came to look at it he found it was gold-yes, a
whole guinea, which is worth twenty-one shillings."
"What did he do?" asked Jane: "did he tell any
"Not that night," said Anne; "but as soon as it
was light in the morning, he ran to my grandmother,
who lived more than a mile off, to ask her advice about
the money."
"And what did she say? did she advise him to
keep it?"
Oh dear no, she was too good a mother to do that;
she was a Christian, and though she had fallen into
great poverty, she would not have done a wrong thing
for the world. She told him (what he was not then
quite sure of) that the gold was given him by mistake,
and when she heard that the gentleman lived a great
many miles off, she desired him to tell his mistress,
and give the guinea to her."


"And did he obey her?" asked Jane.
"You shall hear presently," continued Anne. "As
he went home, he thought that ten shillings and six-
pence would have bought his mother a new gown,
which she wanted very much, and some caps; for a
Mrs. Dormer always made her servants divide what-
ever was given them, he only considered what half a
guinea would do. When he came in, Hannah asked
him If the gentleman had given him any thing ?' and
he told her the truth, and what his mother had said,
and then showed her the gold.
"Now though Hannah was an easy-tempered girl,
she was not good; for though she talked as if she were
religious, she was not really so. When she saw the
money she coveted it, and from coveting it, she wanted
to get half of it; and so persuaded father to let her
keep it till she could get it changed, that they might
divide it together, and not to give it to his mistress, as
he had promised his mother. It was some time before
father could be persuaded to be so wicked; but Han-
nah was artful, and said, 'No doubt the gentleman
meant to give the guinea; and if he did not, he lives a
great way off, and will not trouble himself to write
about money given to poor servants like us; I dare say
he will never miss it;' and so he yielded at last, and


did as she would have him. That morning Hannah
asked her mistress's leave to go to see her aunt, who
lived at a large market-town five miles off. Mrs.
Dormer not only gave her leave, but dined early, that
she might return before dark.

"In the evening home she came, with a power of
nice things; a beautiful gownpiece, and a silk hand-
kerchief, and some muslin caps, all neat and good;
for Mrs. Dormer did not like her maid to be fine.
Hannah showed the things to her mistress, and said
that her aunt had given them to her; and her mistress
said 'they were quite fit for her, and that her aunt
was kind to make her such handsome presents.' 'I


don't like them, ma'am,' said naughty Hannah, 'now
I have got them;' for no doubt her sin was on her
mind; and she felt it the more because of the false-
hood she was telling to hide it. 'That is not grateful
of you to say so,' said the lady, who had no thought
how the matter really was."
Pray," asked Jane, "did she pay your father his
part of the money?"
Yes, she did; and then his sin stared him in the
face, he said, and made him ashamed to look up; and
when he.came in to prayers, it was worse still; every
word seemed to tell him of his fault. Before he got
into bed he knelt as usual, but he could not pray.
He seemed to be mocking God, and he could not sleep
all that night for thinking of his fault. When he got
up, he felt so ill and wretched that he was inclined to
tell his mistress the whole truth, and he told Hannah
so; but the naughty girl had got over her feelings,
and frightened him by telling him that they would
both be sent to jail, if he did."
"How did he get on, poor fellow, at last?"
"Badly enough, for that very day the lady had a
letter come to her from the gentleman, who had just
found out his mistake; and he said in it, "If Robert
has given you the money for me, give him five shillings


as a reward for his honesty; but if he has kept it, re-
prove him sharply, and make him return it all but a
shilling, which is his due."
Oh dear, what did he say ? how did he feel?"
Wretched enough: nobody could feel worse; but
he told the whole truth, and how he had disobeyed his
mother, as well as sinned against the witness of his
own heart. Still he was glad that it all came out, for
he felt much happier when he had confessed his fault,
and given the half-guinea back; and his mistress be-
haved more like a mother to him than a mistress, and
told him how God would forgive him for Jesus Christ's
sake, if he truly repented of his sin and resolved to do
so no more."
"And what did Hannah's mistress say to her?"
asked Jane.
"She reproved her very sharply, and Hannah
seemed as sorry as father; but then, as he said, she
did not truly repent, for as one of my hymns says,-

"Til not enough to ay
We're aorry, and repent,-
And go from day to day,
Just a we always went;
For real repenting is to leave
Our wicked way as well u grieve.'


"Now, Hannah's grief was more for being found
out, than sorrow for having offended God. She got
on from bad to worse after she left Mrs. Dormer's,
and was sent over sea, to where those bad people are
sent who are transported."

S"How sad!" cried Jane; "well,
I am glad though that I have heard
S this tale, or I might have come to
'aS the same end. But what said your
grandmother to all this ?"
"She was very sorry that her son had been so
naughty; but the lady was so pleased at her conduct


and the good advice she had given him, that she gave
her a new gown and two new caps; so 'honesty is the
best policy' after all. Father took warning from that
time, never to keep what was not his own, and you
know that he is a very honest man."
"Yes, every body says so," replied Jane; "and
speaks well of the family; but some are good, by
nature, I think."
"Now that is a great mistake, for the Bible says,
'We are all gone out of the way; there is not one
good, no not one.' We are born in sin, and go on
sinning from day to day, till the grace of God touches
our hard hearts. Jesus Christ came into the world to
put away our sin: if any one could be good of them-
selves, they would not have needed a Saviour to die
for them."
"How came you to know about these things ?"
asked Jane.
"From the parson at Church, and from father at
home, and at Sunday-school from my teacher. The
Bible says so throughout; but you can't read it, or
you would see these things for yourself."
Father can't pay for schooling for us," said Jane
But at Sunday-school you might learn for nothing,


and have books found you too. I have a great many
pretty ones of my own. The parson's daughter teaches
us all, and she is so kind to us, though she never lets
us do wrong without telling us of our fault. She is a
dear young lady; why do you not go to her school?"
Mother wants me at home; but I should like to
go. I will beg her to spare me, for Miss Mortimer
asked about me three years ago."
I have been taught by her ever since I was five
years old, and I am turned of eleven now. I hope you
will soon be able to go with me; but as it is, I wil
teach you a little out of my books every day," said
kind Anne.
Jane thanked her with tears in her eyes, and then
said, "Now what must I do with this money which I
was so wicked as to want to keep; but indeed I did
not know what a great sin I was going to commit. I
have not been so well taught at home as you, but since
you have been talking with me I see things plainer
than I did before. Will you go up to the hall with
me, Anne, for I shall be ashamed if I go by myself.-
If the young Squire is at home, I shall not be so afraid
of him; but I am sure I dare not speak to such a
proud gentleman as his father."


Yes, I will go with you, though it is getting late,
for it will not look honest to keep it till the morning."

The children then turned round to
Sget over the stile, and were much sur-
prised at seeing the Squire himself standing on the
other side, and they could see plainly enough by his
face that he had overheard all their discourse. Anne
made the gentleman a modest curtsey, and so did
Jane; but she trembled so much that she could
hardly stand. He made them a bow, quite a low


one, not such as rich gentlemen make to poor girls,
and looked comically at frightened Jane; as much as
to say, "I do notice children sometimes, though I am
so proud." Jane felt ready to sink into the earth.
"Well, little Jane, though I am not such a kind
gentleman as my son, I am glad to find you have the
sense to take good advice when it is offered you. If
you had kept the money, it might have been the worse
for you, for 'honesty is the best policy,'" and he
nodded to Anne Redgrave quite familiarly, and smiled
so kindly; Is it not, my maid ?" tapping her on the
shoulder as he said so. Anne did not know what to
say, but curtsied again.
Jane curtsied too, and put the gold into the Squire's
hand; she wanted to ask him to give it to his son;
but, poor child I she remembered that she had called
him proud, and she could not get up her heart to
The Squire took out his purse, and put the gold into
it; then he took out two six-pences, and gave one to
each child; he looked hard at Jane, expecting to see
her appear a little disappointed, but he saw his mis-
take, for she seemed relieved; the feeling that she had
done rightly was springing up in her heart; for there
is a monitor within every person's breast that tells


them when they do well or il,-that monitor is con-
science, or the knowledge of good and evil; a light
put into the heart by God himself, that people may
learn to reject evil and follow good. This feeling of
conscience does not arise from our own choice, for the
bad would not hear its reproofs, if they could help it;
it is the voice of the Holy Spirit. Happy are those
who hear that blessed voice warning them from sin,
or encouraging them to persevere in well-doing, and
obey its dictates, for those dictates are unerring
The Squire then took out of his purse two pieces of
gold, much larger than the one that his son had given
Jane, and putting one into her hand, said, My dear,
this is no mistake;" and slipping the other into Anne's,
walked off before they had time to thank him. Jane
was so overcome with joy, that she hung weeping
round her companion's neck, and it was some minutes
before she could walk home, where she found her
father much worse, and the good clergyman praying
with him. Poor man! in his hour of darker he re-
membered his forgotten Maker; but it would have
been better for him if he had remembered Him before
he was ill, for the sense of his unpardoned sin made
his mind as sick as his body.


After the clergyman was gone, Jane's mother began
to chide her for being so late. She told her simple
story, and poor Easy raised his drooping head from
the pillow to smile approvingly at his little girl. Not
for worlds would he now have done a dishonest thing;
but when Jane came to an end, and showed the
sovereign, he could scarcely believe his own eyes.
Jane's father soon got well, for the Squire ordered
his housekeeper to make him good broth and jelly;
and the sovereign his child gave him, bought him a
great many necessaries. He became an altered man,
and prospered; because the blessing of God, and con-
tentment and peace, were within his humble dwelling.

/ Q d. 1 -~ -.,- %.f


The Squire, hitherto no friend to the education of
the poor, thought quite differently about that matter
after he had overheard Anne'P advice to Jane. That
very week he gave five pounds for books, to the
Sunday-school, and became a liberal subscriber to it
all the rest of his life. Nor was this all; for he built
and endowed a fre school for the village children,
where they were taught to read, and write, and work;
and furnished them with nice warm stuff frocks, and
neat caps, and straw bonnets. Anne and Jane went
there every day; Anne became general monitor, and
Jane soon learned to read, and got on so fast that
when Anne left the school she was able to take
her place. Thus my young readers may see that
04 e 4/ 0, o wy

"Pho! what signifies that? I don't mind a lecture,
for I never listen to it; but you've no spirit!"

"Indeed I have," replied Miss
Camplin, "and to prove it, I'll
fetch my bonnet, and go with
you as soon as you like."
The speakers were head scho-
lars at a first-rate seminary, situate about half a mile
from the city of Bath. They both belonged to parents
whose wealth gave great importance to their daughters
in the eyes of their school-fellows: and as the two young

ladies were nearly of the same age, and both possessing
a large share of pride, and looking with contempt on
all whose families did not ride in their own carriages,
they were inseparable friends,-if an intimacy formed
on such a foundation, may be termed friendship.
Miss Camplin, a native of the East Indies, was sent
to England for her education, and confided to the care
of Mrs. Mellish until her parents should revisit this coun-
try; an event that would release her from the restraints
of a school, and which she hoped was not far distant, as
she was fifteen, an age when most young ladies begin to
think themselves of great consequence.
Miss Charlotte Leslie was the only child of an East
India merchant, whose wife was as amiable as she was
lovely; but their daughter, although she inherited a
considerable portion of her mother's beauty and talents,
assumed so much vanity and self-importance, that all
her better qualities were obscured.
Her parents saw with infinite regret these unamiable
conceits increase to such a degree, that she was shunned
by the children who were selected as proper companions
for her; indeed, she treated every one whose parents did
not maintain a fine house and a splendid equipage, with
disdain. No governess would remain longer than a
month or two; and her masters, after a few lessons, left

on various pretences. Yet, with all her faults, she was
gifted with surprising natural abilities, so that, even
under all the disadvantages of frequently changing her

instructors, she made rapid progress in every branch of
education.-At the age of fifteen, she had attained a
proficiency in music very uncommon in one so young;
her drawings were in a masterly style; she spoke French
and Italian with proficiency, danced elegantly, and
sang well; in short, she wanted nothing to render her
an ornament to society, but amiable manners and a
good temper.
Grieved to the heart at Charlotte's want of gentle
and natural graces, Mr. and Mrs. Leslie determined to

send her from home; hoping that a few years of school
discipline might work a reformation.
It had happened, just before this time, that the only
brother of Mr. Leslie died; leaving one daughter, about
a year older than Charlotte; but in nothing except their
ages did the two cousins resemble each other.
Emma Leslie was a young lady of good temper
and disposition, and although her education had been

somewhat neglected, she was loved by every one for her
gentleness and readiness to oblige.


( 10 )
The poor bereaved girl, left but scantily provided for,
was, as might be expected, immediately received into
her uncle's family; and, although deeply dejected at her
loss, the sensitive Emma evinced a natural and grateful
disposition to be happy in her new home; where the
kindness of her aunt and uncle would soon have
lightened her sorrows; but the haughtiness of her
cousin perpetuated those mental wounds that time and
affection might have healed.
Mrs. Leslie proposed that Emma should be sent to
the same school with Charlotte, hoping that, as they
would be treated alike, Charlotte would naturally re-
gard her as an equal, and would become attached to
her, when separated from all other relations.
With these views, then, the two girls were placed at
Mrs. Mellish's seminary; where Emma tried by every
means in her power to conciliate the -affetion of her
proud cousin, but in vain her tender heart, however,
was soothed and gratified by finding herself the fa-
vourite, not only of the governess, but the teachers,
scholars, and every being belonging to the establish-
ment, except Charlotte and Miss Camplin; these two
having selected each other as a friend.
On the day following that when Charlotte and her
friend left the house without leave, Mrs. Mellish, the

( 1I )

circumstance having been reported
to her, proceeded to a particular
room which the young ladies had
named the 'Hall of Judgement,' and desired that Miss
Leslie might be sent to her.
It was some time before that young lady thought
proper to obey the summons: at length she did, curtsey-
ing negligently, and stood before her governess with an
air which at once implied that although she expected a
severe reproof, she would receive it with indifference.

( 12 )
"I am very sorry, Miss Leslie," said Mrs. Mellish,
"to hear such repeated complaints of your conduct.
I understand, from Miss Saunders, that you went out
yesterday afternoon with Miss Camplin, against her
positive commands; and that you refuse to apologise for
the impropriety of your behaviour."
"I apologise to a teacher!" exclaimed the haughty
young lady, "never;-nor will I hold myself account-
able to her for any thing that I may choose to do."
"But you are accountable to me, Miss Leslie," said
Mrs. Mellish, angrily, "and I desire to know where
you went, and for what purpose?"
"Only to Simmons's, ma'am, for a sheet of paper,"
"And why did you go without one of the teachers?"
"As to that, madam," replied Charlotte, insolently,
"I certainly think I am competent to purchase a sheet
of paper, without assistance; and Miss Camplin must
be a more fit companion for me than persons who are
obliged to earn their bread."
Poor child!" exclaimed Mrs. Mellish, her angry look
softening into one of pity; "you are far poorer than
they, being destitute of proper feeling and principle;
but listen to me, my dear, as this is the last lesson that
I intend to bestow upon you. That sinful and ridiculous
pride, which is a part of your nature, appears to gain

( 13 )
strength with your years; but, my child, it may have a
fall, for its support is only the precarious possession of
wealth, that one hour might deprive you of. You, in
common with all human beings, are liable to a reverse of
fortune; then think what your feelings would be were
the change to happen to yourself, and you should be
treated with the same contempt with which you now
treat others ?-I shall write to your papa to-day, to
request him to remove you from my school as soon as
Miss Camplin was next commanded to make her
appearance; and, after a severe reprimand, was or-
dered into close confinement, and forbidden to hold
communication with any one of the young ladies, till
after Miss Leslie had left the school.
On the third day after the receipt of Mrs. Mellish's
letter, Mr. Leslie arrived at Bath. Though greatly hurt
at the idea of his daughter being expelled the school, he
owned that Mrs. Mellish had acted perfectly right;
and he left his niece Emma still under her care.
Charlotte was now sixteen; of an agreeable person,
and skilled in many attractive acquirements; added to
which, her face, when the blemish of pride did not dis-
guise it, was handsome; therefore it is not wonderful
that her company was sought and her abilities admired.

( 14 )
The wealth and commercial importance of her father
gained her admittance into the first circles; and she
seemed to think it impossible to exist, unless surrounded
by wealth and fashion. Thus passed some months, when
an event occurred that changed the face of affairs.
One morning, on entering her papa's study, Char-
lotte saw an old gentleman in earnest conversation
with him. They both rose at her entrance.
"This is Mr. Granville, my dear, whom you have fre-
quently heard me name: Mr. Granville, my daughter."
The old gentleman approached, with a benevolent
smile, to take her hand; but the young lady slightly
bent to him; and, merely saying to her father, she
was not aware he was engaged, left the room.
Mr. Granville, an old friend of Mr. Leslie, through
the failure of several speculations, with which he con-
nected himself, had been compelled to retire with his
family, to a small cottage, in Wales. This was the first
time he had revisited London, and his reception by Mr.
Leslie was cordial in the extreme.
"I hope that old figure will not stay to dinner,"
thought Charlotte, as she closed the study door; "I
shall be quite ashamed, if the Stanmores come."
But Charlotte was destined that day to meet with
vexation. The old figure did stay to dinner; and the

( 15 )
Stanmores, her distinguished friends, did not come.
She took her dinner in silence; and waE so mortified,
that she did not observe the unusual seriousness of her
parents; who, although attentive to their guest, evident-
ly laboured under a depieswn of spirits.
Time passed heavily, an early la the evening, under
pretence of a had-ache, Charlotte retired to rest. In
the morning, after breaktst, Mr. Leslie desired his
daughter to follow him to his stdy. She obeyed in
silence; dreading she knew not what. Her father
seated himself, at a los how to enter upon his subject.
He at length began: It is a painful task, Charlotte,
that I have to perform; but I hope you will listen with
fortitude to what I am going to tell you: and I trust
my child will not, by unavailing regrets, add to those
misfortunes that are already sufficiently heavy."
"What is the matter, papa?"-enquired the almost
breathless girl; "tell me at once-what has happened?"
"Charlotte, I am no longer a rich man: unthought-of
losses have occurred, so as to leave me with means
barely sufficient to support us in a very humble manner;
and it will require the strictest care and economy to
preserve my credit. Your mother is willing to make any
sacrifice, and I hope and expect nothing less from my

( 16 )

Charlotte stood,-her eyes fixed
on her father. She attempted not
to utter a word: all consciousness
seemed to have forsaken her. She
---- expected something terrible, but
this dreadful blow was far worse than she had anti-
cipated.-She looked the image of despair.
Mr. Ieslie suffered a little time to elapse for the first
shock to subside, before he ventured to inform her
that he found it necessary to give up his town resi-
dence immediately, and retire to a small cottage in
Wales, which was kindly offered by Mr. Granville for

I i

( 17 )
his accommodation, until he could arrange his affairs,
and adopt some plan for the future.
This intimation aroused the unhappy girl;-giving
way to an uncontrollable burst of sorrow, she sobbed
aloud. He tried to reason her into calmness, but she
appeared absolutely incapable of listening to reason."
"This violence is unbecoming," he said, gravely;
"the change is great-but it is a dispensation of
Providence, and we must submit. And I advise you
to reflect, my child, that misfortune, not imprudence,
occasioned it. The storms that destroyed my vessels,
were the work of the Almighty, at whose ordinances
we must not dare repine, but be grateful that although
we relinquish the luxuries of life, we may still enjoy
many comforts. Now, my child," he continued, "go,
and compose yourself, and endeavour to assist your
mother, who needs consolation under this trial."
He kissed her affectionately, and Charlotte went to
her mamma's room, where her grief was redoubled on
seeing the preparations making for their departure
from Harley-street. Several large trunks were already
packed and corded; and Mrs. Leslie was arranging and
giving orders with tranquillity and firmness; indeed,
her fortitude on this trying occasion showed strength
of mind and an excellent understanding.

( 18 )

SCharlotte passed the day in la-
S meeting her hard fate; thinking
that, with wealth all was gone that
*C* could make life desirable, her future
life she viewed as necessarily unhappy and miserable.
A prey to the most selfish sorrow, Charlotte Leslie, with
her mamma, and under the protection of Mr. Granville,
bade a melancholy adieu to fashion and Harley-street
and in a few hours, was on the road to Bath; as it
was the intention of Mrs. Leslie to withdraw her niece
from school, and take her into Wales.
The travellers arrived at Bath -and Charlotte,-
how different were her feelings now, from those with

( 19 )
which she had last entered in that city I she burst
into tears; every past circumstance rushed to her
imagination; and the prophetic words of her governess
seemed to ring in her ears;-" All human beings are
liable to reverses of fortune; and think what your
feelings would be, should you ever be treated with the
contempt with which you now treat others."
Mr. Granville undertook to settle every thing with
Mrs. Mellish relative to Emma's removal. Therefore,
leaving his fellow travellers at the inn, he proceeded to
Clifton-house; and, as he expected, found the kind old
lady greatly concerned at losing her favourite pupil.
Emma's preparations were soon made, and in a few
minutes she was with her dear aunt, who received
her with lively afection. But Charlotte was cold and
distant as ever; she looked upon her cousin's conduct
as an affectation of goodness and simplicity, and every
word of gentle consolation uttered by the amiable girl,
she construed into a reproach to herself.
It was on a delightful evening in the month of
August, that our travellers arrived at their new abode;
a small but picturesque cottage, situate in the most
romantic part of Glarmorganshire, surrounded by all
the natural beauties of that luxuriant country.
To Charlotte Leslie all appeared gloomily wretched;

( 20 )
throwing herself into a chair, tears of anguish filled her
eyes, as she gazed on the simple decorations of this
humble abode; the furniture was neat and useful,-
there was nothing superfluous or costly.
"Oh, Charlotte," said Emma, wishing to console her
cousin, and looking around with admiration, "we must

be happy in this delightful place.-Wbat a charming
prospect!-can any thing be more beautiful!"-but the
unhappy girl remained wholly inattentive to the appeal.
Mr. Granville welcomed Mrs. Leslie to the cottage
with the most benevolent kindness; and pointed out
whatever he thought would be pleasing to her and the
young ladies; and Mrs. Leslie, who always viewed every
thing through the brightest medium, promised herself

( 21 )
many pleasures in this rural retreat; while Mr. Gran-
ville, gratified by the satisfaction she expressed, took
his leave, promising to see them again in the morning.
Accordingly, the next day, he paid them a visit, ac-
companied by his wife. Mrs. Granville was one of those
amiable beings who kindly yet unobtrusively in-
terested herself in every thing that might add to the
comfort and convenience of the new comers.
"You will find few elegancies," she said, "but for
those we rarely look in this part of the world, nor are
they necessary to happiness; "yet we are not without
society, even here; our kind rector and his family favor
us with frequent visits, and we contrive to make time
pass very pleasantly."
Mrs. Granville forbore making any allusion to the
family's change of circumstances; a delicacy which
Mrs. Leslie fully appreciated, as such forbearance is far
more polite and feeling than the conduct often adopted
on such occasions; the slightest mention of loss of rank
or fortune, must be unpleasant to the objects of it.
As the Leslies retained but one domestic, many
of the lighter duties fell to the ladies to perform. It
was Emma's study, therefore, to save her aunt the least
fatigue. She arose at six o'clock, assisted in preparing
the breakfast, and made every thing appear cheerful;

( 22 )
so that when Mrs. Leslie came down, all looked so
fresh and inviting, that she scarcely felt the loss of the
luxuries to which she had been accustomed.
Thus Emma strove to lighten the cares, and cheer
the spirits of her aunt; Charlotte, on the contrary, rarely
rose till eleven; and then sauntered about, or sat at
a window, her eyes red with weeping; and, far from
listening to advice or consolation, she gave short and
peevish answers to every thing that was said to her.
Mrs. Leslie was much hurt at this behaviour. Not
all her husband's misfortunes had caused her half the
sorrow she now felt; she found it was useless to remon-
strate; but still hoped that her daughter would become
sensible of the cruel selfishness of her conduct.
It was not long before they paid a visit to the Gran-
villes; and Charlotte, predisposed to despise every
thing that belonged to them, felt surprised at the taste
and elegance displayed in their dwelling. The rooms
were hung with beautiful drawings; a harp and piano
stood in the principal apartment, and a number of or-
namental pieces, bearingeridence of female accomplish-
ments, met the eye whichever way it turned.
There was sufficient to admire, and much to amuse
those who were inclined to be amused; but Charlotte
was not so inclined; aor would she contribute to the

( 28 )
entertainment of others; for although she played, it
was with an indolence which plainly showed she did not
think it worth while to exert herself for the entertain-
ment of her present audience.
"The next time you favour us with a visit," said
Mrs. Granville, I hope to have the pleasure of intro-
ducing the Corbyns to you. I am sure you will be
pleased with them. They are musically gifted ;-
indeed, Miss Catherine and her brother excel in their
performance on the harp. The family are generally
clever;-some of these drawings are theirs."
"The reverend Mr. Corbyn," said Mr. Granville, "is
the younger brother of the present Lord Glenmorris, a
nobleman of large possessions, and without children
therefore, young ladies," he added, looking archly at
them, my young friend Julius is heir presumptive to a
title; and there is not a more deserving or kinder.
hearted youth in the kingdom."
This close affinity to so distinguished a nobleman as
Lord Glenmorris, made a wonderful alteration in the
sentiments of Charlotte with regard to their neigh-
bours, she was now as desirous of seeing them as she
had before been to avoid them; yet a painful sense of
humiliation mingled with the wish, when she thought
of the superiority of their rank and fortune."

( 24 )
"I wonder what sort of girls they are," she said to
herself, "I shall hate them if they give themselves
airs;-ah, then, how every body must have hated me!"
And this was the first time Charlotte had ever beheld
her own character in its true light. As a conviction of
error is the first and greatest step towards reforma-
tion, we may date the amendment of the self-willed
young lady from this moment.
The looked-for introduction took place earlier than
expected; for next morning, the reverend Mr. Corbyn,
with his son, and two daughters, called at the cottage.
The appearance of Mr. Corbyn at once announced
a man of education and a gentleman. His children
possessed all the ease and refinement of high birth un-
tainted by artificial airs. The young ladies were both
pretty; theirs was all graceful simplicity and natural
elegance, heightened by that innate modesty which gives
a double charm to youth; the eldest, quiet and gentle,
had a rather pensive countenance; while the lively
Catherine, whose mouth was dimpled with smiles,
seemed to diffuse happiness and gaiety around her.
"I am afraid, Mrs. Leslie," said Mr. Corbyn, "you
will think you have entered a country of barbarians,
and feel a little alarm at being so soon beset by the
natives; but I assure you, although I promised myself

( 26 )
the pleasure of an early introduction to you, I did not
intend to make it so very early, but the impatience of
my young folks would not be restrained."
Mrs. Leslie said all that politeness could dictate to
welcome her visitors; and the young people were soon
on good terms with each other.
During the visit, Mr. Corbyn offered seats in his own
family pew to the strangers; and the next Sunday they
attended the small but neat church of the village.
The sermon was admirably adapted to the occasion;
and Mrs. Leslie was inclined to believe that it was for
the benefit of her daughter the good pastor had chosen
his subject; it was evident, too, that Charlotte felt it
was so; she changed colour more than once, and tears
stood in her eyes.-The persuasive voice, the mild, be-
nevolent look, the dignified tone of the speaker, made a
deep impression upon Charlotte;-she had frequently
heard advice as good, but her mind had never before
been so well disposed to receive it.
Mrs. Leslie, watchful of every indication of improve-
ment in her daughter's mind, perceived with secret joy,
the good effect produced upon it by the excellent dis-
course of Mr. Corbyn; and began to hope much from
the friendship of that gentleman and his family.
Early in the ensuing week, Mr. Leslie arrived at the

( 2 )

cottage. "I could not," he said, "remain longer in
town without assuring myself that you were all hap-
py and well accommodated; this seems a delightful
retreat; and indeed," added he, looking around him
with pleasurable surprise, "I think you have rather
gained by the exchange.-But what say my girls to it?"
"Oh! my dear uncle', replied Emma, "we are en-
chanted: and I assure you this is not a solitude; for
we have the most charming society you can imagine."
Mr. Leslie looked somewhat doubtingly at Charlotte,
seeming to say, Emma has spoken for you as well as
for herself;- may it be understood that you have really
allowed any thing here to interest you.' The poor girl
caught the importance of that look, and felt that she

( 27 )
would give worlds could her papa be sensible of the
change of conduct she possessed, and hoped to effect.
Observing Charlotte's embarrassment, her mamma
diverted the position of affairs by saying jocosely,-' I
expect we shall soon forget London; or only remember
it on occasions when the birds make us, in thought,
contrast their melody with the clatter of coach wheels."
Just then the two young ladies left the room, and
Mrs. Leslie took the opportunity to mention her hope
in reference to Charlotte.
My dear Maria," said her husband, yon could not
have rejoiced me more,-no, not if you had said that
our recent loss was all made good. I know it wil be
your anxious care to encourage and aid the dear girl in
all her endeavours to become good and agreeable to
others; and she has an excellent example in her couin."
Emma," said Mrs. Leslie, is a most endearing girl;
she has been of much assistance to me; indeed, I should
have been at a great loss without her."
Charlotte was now active and cheerful, performed her
part in all the domestic duties; was polite and affable
to every one, particularly to Mr. Granville, from whose
mind she was anxious to obliterate all remembrance of
her former ungracious behaviour.
Many pleasant little parties were now formed by the
three families. Sometimes the young folks went on gip-

( 28 )

saying excursions, to explore the sur-
rounding country. The Corbyns had
very fine ponies, which they requested
the Leslies would use as often as they
pleased; therefore Charlotte and Emma, accompanied by
Julius, took many delightful rides. In the evening they
frequently met, either at the rectory or at Mr. Gran-
ville's: on these occasions music was their chief amuse-
ment, and unitedly they formed a tolerable concert.
It was remarked that Julius always contrived to

( 29 )
engross as much of Emma's company and conversation
as he could: if they were walking, he was sure to offer
his arm; if they rode, he kept constantly by her side;
in any little difficulties they might encounter in their
rambles, his assistance was given to Emma first; and
even in their evening entertainments this preference
was obvious:-in short, he had more than once said to
Catherine, one of his sisters, "If ever I marry, Emma
Leslie shall be my wife."
Winter was now fast coming on:-the lengthened
evenings, the bleak winds, and falling leaves were the
heralds of his unwelcome approach:-it was the end of
October; and our friends at the cottage were already
forming plans to lessen the gloom of the season.
What a dismal night?" said Charlotte, pushing the
curtain aside to look through the window; "I cannot
discern a single object,-and, listen to the rain!"
"Do," said Emma, "shut out the pelting noise;-
close the curtains, Carlotte,-I wish papa was here."
"Dear girl," said Mrs. Leslie, "then your wish will
soon be gratified. He has come down suddenly, and,
having occasion, as he says, to call on the Corbyns
first, will be here very soon." Mr. Leslie brought
with him the cheering intelligence,-that some of his
ships, reported as lost, had reached their destined ports,

( 30 )
little injured by the storms they encountered; and a
successful sale of their cargoes had nearly redeemed his
losses; so that, in truth, he was again wealthy.
This fortunate circumstance draws our narrative to-
wards a close. The meeting of Charlotte and her papa
was painfully interesting:-the happy father forgot, for
a time, the restoration of fortune, under his increased
affection for his daughter.
Unemployed joy is seldom or never known ;-that
which but just now seemed complete, was, as usual,
subject to qualification:-it involved a disturbance of
newly formed friendships. The Corbyns heard with
dismay that their friends, by whose society the coming
winter was to be made 'beautiful,' were to return to
London in a few days; but Mrs. Leslie in some measure
reconciled them to the parting by obtaining leave for the
eldest daughter to spend a month in town with them;
at the end of which period Catherine was to do the
same. Julius, too, received permission to fetch his
sisters home, and stay with them a few days each time.
Mr. Granville being in the north of England at this
juncture, the gratifying change in the Leslies' fortunes
was communicated to him in a letter from Charlotte.
Within a week, having made the necessary prepara-
tion, the Leslies once more took the road to London.

( 31 )
Charlotte looked back from the carriage windows on
the peaceful spot she was leaving: and as the pointed
steeple of the village church faded away in the distance,
a tear glistened in her eye,-a tribute of regret to
those among whom she had become wiser, better, and
happier; and she mentally resolved never to forget the
lessons she had received at the Welsh Cottage.
Neither was the event lost on Mr. Leslie;-he became
a more prudent man, and determined in future to save
half his income, so that the chances of commerce should
never again bring his family to the verge of ruin.
Mr. Corbyn and his family continued to visit the
Leslies, and, in due time, the affection of Julius was
rewarded with the hand of the amiable Emma Leslie.
One year after which happy union, the reformed Char-
lotte was also married to the reverend Mr. Lloyd, that
gentleman happening to accompany Mr. Corbyn on one
of his visits, and having learned from his friend a little
of her history, rightly conceived that a young lady
who had so overcome pride, and discovered that there
is no better wealth than the approving smiles of rela-
tives and friends, could not fail to make a valuable
companion for life.


old man, bent almost double with age, was
sitting one day by the road side, close to
the gate of a fine house, that appeared to
be the abode of some wealthy person.-
The hair of this old man was like silver,


and his long white beard reached down to his girdle.
His cloak was threadbare, and in his hand he held a
staff to support his feeble frame, as he pursued his
toilsome way.
He had not sat there long when two ladies, richly
dressed, followed by a page, came up to the gate, and
were about to enter. They were both young and beau-
tiful, and were talking to each other in a lively tone,
when the old man arose and thus addressed them:
Ladies, I have had a long journey, and am faint
and weary; give me, I pray you, a crust of bread and a
glass of water, that I may be able to pursue my way."
One of the haughty damsels noticed this appeal only
by a toss of the head; but the other deigned to look
for an instant towards the humble supplicant, and say,
"Good man, we have nothing to give away;" and
with these cold words she followed her sister into the
house, and the gate was closed immediately.
"Nothing to give away!" repeated the old man
with a smile; "wealth is but ill-bestowed on those
who will not spare even a crust of bread out of their
abundance to a tired and hungry wayfarer."
Just then, a country lad came whistling by. "Pray,
can you tell me," said the old man, "who lives at this
great house?"

"To be sure I can," replied the boy; it belongs to
a great merchant, named Fortunalda, who lives there
with his two daughters. They are very rich, but so
proud they never take any notice of us poor country
folks; and that is all I can tell you about them." So
saying, he went his way, and the old man, being now
rested, proceeded on his journey.


Two or three days afterwards, this same
aged traveller stood at the gate of a
beautiful garden, where a fair maiden was
gathering some choice flowers, which she
placed carefully in a little basket that was
hanging on her arm. "Young lady," said
S the old man; "I have come a long way,
T and am faint and weary. Give me, I pray
you, a morsel of bread and a glass of wa-
ter, to recruit my strength, which is almost
The damsel called a boy, who was at work in the
garden, and bade him to go and get a piece of bread
and a glass of water for the poor man at the gate;
and then she went on gathering her flowers without
taking any further notice of him. He took the bread
and water from the boy and departed, saying, "Thank
your mistress for her kindness, and tell her I am much
The next day, at the same hour, he stood again at


the garden-gate, and repeated his former request.
"Good man," said the maiden, "you are too bold; I
gave you what you desired, yesterday; let that content
you, and trouble me no more."
"It was your benevolence, yesterday, that has
brought me here again to-day," said the old man; I
hoped the same beautiful hand which relieved me
then, would not refuse to do so now, for the truly
good do not so soon tire of performing acts of kind-
ness. I have a long journey to make, and all I want
each day is a little bread and water, to refresh me by
the way; surely uo one should refuse me that."
"I tell you, good man, I sidll give you nothing
more," said the young lady; a#d with these words
she turned away and walked towards the other end of
the garden. The old MU watched her till she was
out of sight, then he went his way, saying to himself-
" She is very pretty,-what a pity she has not a kinder
heart; those who cannot feel for the wants of others
are not deserving of the gifts of fortune."


TB REE times had the sun set and
[ J. ~risen since the old man left that
garden gate, when he stood be-
fore the open window of an apartment, where a table
was spread for breakfast, and a young lady was busily
engaged in arranging the various dainties intended for
the repast, while a pretty little boy was at play close


to the window. The old man looked attentively at the
maiden, whose face was one of the loveliest he had ever
"My little master," said he to the boy; "I have
walked a long way this morning, and am weary with
the heat; will you ask that pretty lady if she will give
me a little water and a piece of bread, and let me rest
a little in the shade of your doorway, that I may be
the better enabled to pursue my journey."
Sister Victorine," said the child, "here is a poor
old man, who is tired and thirsty; may I give him a
little water to drink? and will you let him rest a little
while on the seat at the door?-He is tired, and wishes
to pursue his journey."
Come away, Colet," said the young lady; have I
not told you never to talk to strangers ? Yes; but
this is such an old man, and he is so tired; do let
him sit down and rest in the porch." Indeed, I shall
do no such thing," she replied; and I desire you will
not encourage beggars."
He is not a beggar, Victorine, he is only a poor
old traveller." "Whatever he is, he has no business
to stand there," said Victorine; "so shut the window,
and come away. I have something better to do than
to attend to strangers."


You need not shut the window," said the old man.
"Farewell, lady; I cannot commend your hospitality;
and the time may come when you will repent of
having refused the old man a glass of water and a
piece of bread." He smiled as he spoke, and leaning
on his staff, proceeded on his journey.



IN the afternoon of that same day, the old man was
standing at the gate of some beautiful pleasure
grounds that surrounded a noble mansion. Several
tables, covered with delicious fruits, and all kinds of
refreshments, were spread out upon the lawn, and
many groups of yoang people, gaily dressed, were


amusing themselves in various ways; some dancing,
others forming garlands of flowers, to adorn their
hair, while many were trying their skill in throwing
small hoops into the air, and catching them on sticks
as they descended. The sound of laughter was heard
on all sides, and, in short, it was as merry a scene as
well could be.
Pray who is the master of this house and what
is the occasion of these fine doings ?" enquired the
old man, of a poor woman who was passing by.
"Why, where have you come from, good man?"
replied the dame; not to know that this is the birth-
day of my lord's only daughter, and we are all going
to have a feast in the village. If you like to come,
you may partake of it, and welcome."
"I thank you, good dame; but what is the name of
the lord?"
ris Lord Paramount," answered the woman; and
the young madam is called Violetta; that is she with a
wreath of white roses round her head; they think
her very handsome."
"She is fair enough to look upon," said the old
man; "but is she as good as she is fair ?"
"In truth, master, that is more than I can tell," re-
plied the dame: "but take my advice and come to the


village; you will be none the worse for a little of our
good cheer."
"You are kind," said he, "but I have much to do
before nightfall, and I care little for dainty fare. Be-
sides, I have made a vow to taste nothing but bread
and water for a whole year, and I mean to abide by it;
yet I give you my thanks, good mother, and if it should
ever fall in my way to do you a good turn, you shall
find the old wayfarer knows how to be grateful."
"Well, e'en as you please, master; but I cannot
help thinking you have made a very foolish vow. So
good day, and when your year of fasting is over, if
ever you should pass this way, remember that Dame
Homespun will be always ready to give you something
better than bread and water."
The old man smiled, and the woman went her way,
much wondering that any one so poor should dream of
refusing a good dinner.
Still he lingered near the gate, hoping to attract the
attention of the fair Violetta, who at length came
near with one of her companions, and seeing the old
man's eyes fixed upon her, she stopped to ask what he
"Lady," said he, "I have travelled many weary
miles on foot, and have still a long journey to go.


Will you give me a crust of bread and a little water,
to help me on ?"
"If you go up to the village, you will be well
feasted there," said Violette; for my father has sent
ale and wine and provisions enough for all who
choose to partake of them."
I have heard of your father's bounty, lady, but I
cannot benefit by it, for I have far to travel 'ere night,
and all I want is a draught of water and a small piece
of bread; these will do me more good than the feast
you offer, and these, I trust, you will not refuse me."
"I have told you where you may obtain refresh-
ment," said the haughty damsel; "and shall trouble
myself no more about it." "Indeed, I think you have
condescended too much already," said Violetta's com-
panion;-" and I think this person is very insolent to
speak to you so freely." With these words the two fair
ones passed on, and the old man was left at the gate.
I would fain know the name of that proud beauty,"
said he; and at that moment a servant came to say
his mistress desired he would go away immediately.
"I am not going to stay, friend," replied the old
man; "but you can do me one favour before I go;
which is, to tell me the name of her who was with
your mistress, just now, when she passed this way."


The lady Rosalinda," said the man; so now pray
be gone; for my lady will be very angry if she sees you
here again, and I see her coming this way now."
The old man turned from the gate, saying, with a
smile of disdain, It would have been as easy to say-
' give him some bread and water,' as bid him depart;'
and how much more graceful from youthful lips are
gentle words than rough ones."


1 0,

O NE bright morning, while the dew was yet sparkling
on the grass, a young girl, fresh and fair as
the day itself, was sitting at a cottage door, busily em-
ployed in teaching a poor child to knit stockings.-
Her smiling face was all gentleness and patience; her
dress was neat, though homely; and every now and
then she stooped to caress a pet lamb that was lying
at her feet. Being so engaged, she did not notice the
approach of a way-worn traveller, with a long white
beard, and threadbare garments, until he stood before
her, leaning on his staff. "Maiden," said he, "I


have come far, and am faint and weary; give me, I
beseech you, a cup of water and a morsel of bread,
that I may be able to proceed on my journey."
"Willingly, father," said she, rising; "sit down
here and rest, while I get some fresh water from the
The old man sat down on the stool she had just
quitted. And who are you, my little lass ?" said he;
and what are you doing there?" "They call me
Daisy," said the child; "and I am learning to knit,
that I may work to keep my grandmother, for Rosetta
says I must try to do something for her now she is
so old."
"Have you no parents?" enquired the old man.
"No, they are dead," replied Daisy; "and grand-
mother has taken care of me since they died; but she
is sick now, and Rosetta makes broth for her every
day, and goes to read to her, and so I think she will
soon get well."
"Rosetta is very good, then, I suppose ?" "0, yes;
she is very good indeed, and I try to mind all she
At this moment Rosetta appeared with a slice of
bread on a clean wooden platter, and a jug of waters
fresh and sparkling, and she bid Daisy bring out a


little table to set these refreshments
S before the old man, and another
stool, that he might continue to sit
whilst he made his frugal meal. "I can give you a
bowl of milk presently," said she, "when my mother
comes back from milking, which will not be long."
"I thank you, my pretty maid; water is the only
drink I wish for, and bread is all I eat. When these
are willingly bestowed, I think them far better than
the richest wines and choicest viands that ever graced
the table of a king."


But why do you walk so far?" asked the maiden;
"you are too old to make journeys on foot a is it a
long way to your home ?"
My home is any where that I please to make it,"
replied the old man, smiling; "a mossy bank is fre-
quently my resting place, and a green tree will always
afford me shelter."
Then you have no home, poor old man? alas! how
sorry I am for you; but can you not stay here? We
are very poor, it is true; but if you live on bread and
water, as you say you do, we surely can afford to give
you that; and one of our neighbours has a barn,
where he would, perhaps, let you sleep at night."
"And who are you, my charitable fair one?" said
the old man; "you well deserve to be richer, since
you know how to be kind to the poor."
"My name is Rosetta," she replied; "and I live
with my mother, who is called Madelina, in this little
cottage. We get our living by sewing and knitting."
You have a kind heart, maiden; I have been seek-
ing such a one for many a day, and now that I have
found it at last, I shall give up my wanderings and
lead a settled life. Farewell, for the present; we shall
soon meet again." And so saying, he went away, leav-
ing Rosetta in much surprise at his parting words, as


well as his abrupt departure. She could not help
thinking about him all day, and when evening came,
she went alone to the little streamlet, and sat down in
a thoughtful mood, on its verdant bank. The gentle
murmuring of the water, and the stillness that pre-
vailed around, invited her to repose, and she soon fell
into a deep slumber.

Then, in a dream, she saw the venerable figure of
the old man, leaning on his staff, by the side of the


brook, and as she gazed on his aged form reflected in
the water, it gradually changed to that of a beautiful
female, clothed in robes of the brightest green, with a
green chaplet round her head, and a silver wand in
her hand; her dress sparkling all over with gems so
pure and bright, that they glittered like drops of dew
in the morning sun.
Fear not, Rosetta," said the stranger, "I am the
Fairy Dewdrop, and am sent to conduct you to your
new abode?" Then the dreamer thought she turned
her eyes towards her mother's cottage, but it had dis-
appeared, and in its place was a stately palace, at the
gate of which stood the old man, who beckoned her
to approach.
At this moment she awoke, but what was her
astonishment to find herself in a splendid apartment,
reposing on a velvet couch, under a silken canopy of
crimson, fringed with gold.
"Surely, I must still be dreaming," said she.-
"Where am I? and how came I here?" She sat up
and rubbed her eyes till she was sure they were wide
open, then looked around her again, but nothing was
altered, and she began to think that she had really
been visited by a Fairy, and transported to this mag-
nificent palace during her sleep. She looked with


curiosity and admiration at every thing in the room,
examined the rich hangings of silk and gold, and com-
pared them with her own coarse stuff petticoat, won-
dering still more and more how she came there, and
what the grand people who lived in this fine palace
would say when they saw her.
At length, a little page, dressed in white and silver,
appeared at the door, and made a sign to her to follow
him. He led the way through a long corridor, and on
drawing aside a curtain at the end, Rosetta found her-
self in a magnificent hall thronged with brilliant com-
pany. It was the king's palace, and at the upper end
of the hall was the throne, on which the king himself
was seated, with his son, the amiable and accomplished
prince Floribel, standing by his side.
The dazzled and bewildered Rosetta looked from
side to side with amazement, and was afraid to
advance a step, although the little page still signed to
her to follow where he led. At length she took
courage and went towards the throne, on each side
of which stood three beautiful young ladies, superbly
attired, and holding small gilded baskets of choice
flowers. They looked with contempt at the poor
village maiden in her simple gown of brown stuff,
laced with red ribbons, and would not make way


for her to stand by them; then how great was their
astonishment when the prince came down from the
throne, and taking her by the hand, led her up the
steps and seated her beside his father.

No sooner had he done this, than a brilliant stream
of light, tinted with all the colours of the rainbow,
issued from a painted window at the lower end of the
hall, which flew open and discovered the resplendent
form of the fairy Dewdrop. She looked just as
Rosetta had seen her in her dream, except that she
was now surrounded by a radiant light, that gave her
a more dazzling appearance.


"Prince," said she; "your task is done, and you
may now receive your just reward. Know, 0 people,
that your king is about to resign his crown, and that
henceforth it is the Prince Floribel who will reign
over you. I need not speak of his many virtues, for
they are known to you all, and are such as will make
both himself and his subjects happy; but he was wise
enough to know that the people ought to have a good
queen as well as a good king, and for a whole year he


has, in disguise, been seeking for one possessed of
beauty and grace, to adorn a throne, yet free from
pride, not wanting in charity, and with a disposition
to be kind and gentle to every one, be they rich or
poor. Such a one he has at last found; and now,
Prince Floribel, assume the form under which you
have tried the hearts of so many maidens."
She extended her wand, and the prince instantly
became like an aged man, with a long white beard and
wrinkled brow, meanly clad, and leaning on a staff.
Thus transformed, he looked first to one side of the
throne, then to the other, enjoying the surprise and
confusion of the damsels who had treated him with so
much scorn; then he said, in a tone of mockery,-
" Fair ladies, will either of you deign to bestow a cup
of water and a morsel of bread on a poor and weary
traveller?" They cast their eyes on the ground with
shame and sorrow, each wishing in her heart that she
had treated his humble petition in a different manner;
but it was too late now, so they could only deplore
their unamiable conduct.
They had all been invited to assist at the marriage
of Prince Floribel, and had been at great pains to
adorn themselves for so grand an occasion, for they
thought it a great honour, and doubted not that the
bride was some illustrious princess, who would bestow



gifts and favours upon them, little dreaming of the
mortification that awaited them.
Floribel almost instantly resumed his proper form,
and the voice of the fairy was again heard.
"Floribel," she said; "in choosing this lowly
maiden to be the partner of your throne, you have
shown yourself worthy of it, since you have proved
that you set a just value on the good qualities of the
heart and mind, which are far more to be prized than
either rank or fortune, and without which, beauty has
no charm. For you, Rosetta, continue to practice the
virtues that have raised you to this exalted station,
and you cannot fail to be happy, for charity and
benevolence will ever give peace to the heart wherein
they dwell." Then pointing with her wand to the
humbled beauties who were ashamed to raise their
eyes from the ground, the fairy continued to speak
"As for you, ladies, remember for the future, that
pride and selfishness will never gain love or admira-
tion; and that nothing is more becoming in youth,
than to be ready at all times to minister to the wants
of the aged poor."
The form of the fairy now grew indistinct, the
window closed, and the light disappeared.


The marriage was celebrated that very day, and the
six uncharitable fair ones, who could not conceal their
vexation, were sufficiently punished by having to
strew flowers before the young queen, with the morti-
fying reflection that either of them might have been
in her place if she had but given kindly the bread and
water she had so rudely denied.
Madeline, who had also been brought to the palace
by the fairy, in her sleep, was the happiest mother in
the world, and lived very comfortably with the royal
pair; but her greatest delight was to pay a visit now
and then, in her own coach, to her native village, and

carry presents to her former neighbours, with whom,
to say the truth, she always continued to love a
friendly gossip.
The prince did not forget the good dame Homespun,
who invited him to partake of Violetta's birthday
feast; but every year, on that same day, he sent her a
present of money and provisions; and when she grew
too old to work, he gave her a pretty cottage, with a
nice garden to it, and a pension for her support.
The royal pair lived long and happily, and it is
said that there had never been a king and queen more
beloved by their people than Floribel and Rosetta.



It ecst

:~:r:XX~XSS:sc~ ,k;~~:SX:~C':~S':X~:Xf:~~:t~::::i:::X


iO you see that large white house, which
D stands a good way out of the road, with a
lawn in the front of it, and a high wall that
runs a long way down the lane on one side.
That is Squire Gray's house, and that is the wall of his
orchard, which is full of fine fruit trees of all kinds,


apples, pears, plums, cherries, grapes, figs, peaches
and many others, that I cannot think of just now.
The squire is a kind old gentleman, and takes great
notice of all the good boys and girls who live near,
and often lets them walk in his garden, and gives
them nosegays, and little baskets of fruit, to take
home with them. Then, once a year, at the time the
fruit is ripe, he gives a great treat to all the young
folks he knows. They call it THE FRUIT FEAST, and
a very merry day it is, I can tell you. 0, what happy
faces are seen on that day! what bright eyes open
with the first peep of day light! and how many glad
voices are heard round the breakfast table, where each
is busy in guessing what games they shall play at, and
what presents Squire Gray will make them; for they
well know he will provide gifts for all, as he never fails
to do so.
Two o'clock is the time for the children to go; so
as soon as the clock strikes two, there are seen com-
ing down the road, and through the fields, such gay
groups of boys and girls; and there stands the good
Squire at the gate, ready to bid them welcome.
Well, my little friends," he says, I hope you
all have been good girls and boys since I saw you last;
but I think I need not ask, for you all look happy,
and no one can look happy who is not good."


Then he leads the way into a room where a long
table is set put with many plates of fruit and cakes;
and they all sit down round the table, and the squire
sits at the top and lets them take what they like best;
but he kindly takes care that the little ones of the
party do not eat more than is good for them. The
older ones, of course, know better.
As soon as the feast is done and the table cleared,

Squire Gray brings out a store of new books and toys,
each of which has a little ticket tied to it, and on the
ticket there is a number. Then the fun begins, for
the young folks have to draw lots for all these pretty
things; and there is such a noise, and such laughing
and clapping of hands, as each takes a slip of paper
from a box, and calls out the number upon it; and the
squire, who likes the fun as well as any of them, gives
the lots as they are drawn.
After this, they play at all kinds of merry games
till tea time, when it is quite a sight to see the heaps
of toast, and muffins, and tea-cakes, besides bread and
butter, that are set upon the table. In fact, the tea is
quite a feast, and a good feast too, as well as a merry
The tea is done, but the pleasures of the day are
not yet over; for now Squire Gray brings in the old
blind fiddler that lives in the village; the table is put
up to one side of the room, and the young folks dance
till it is time to go home.


LLAST TEAR, on the day of the fruit
feast, there was one face that had
no smile upon it, one tongue that
was still, one heart that was sad. How
was it that Jane could not laugh and
talk that morning? Why did her eyes
look so red, and her cheeks so pale?
while her loud sobs were heard in the next
room, where her papa and mamma and her
brother Tom were at breakfast. I will tell
you how it was: Tom 'was going to the
feast, and she was not, so it is no wonder
she was in grief.
Now I dare say you would like to know why Jane
was kept at home that day? well, I do not mind
telling you, because I am sure it will not happen
again. The truth is, Jane was apt to be greedy,
which was a great fault, and gave much pain to her
mamma, as well it might, for no one likes to have
a greedy child. One day, she was at play with Tom
in the parlour, when their mamma came in with two
nice pears in her hand and gave one to each. As soon
as she had left the room, Jane said "Your pear is
larger than mine; you ought to give me a piece of it.'
"For shame, Jane!" said Tom; "if yours had been

the largest, I should not have asked you for a bit; but
you are always so greedy." "I am not greedy, sir;
but it is not fair that you should have all that great
pear, when mine is so small. Look here, it is not
more than half as big."
"Very well," said Tom; "take the large one, then,
if you like, and give me the little one; I do not care
which I have." Jane did take it, and ate it allberself.
Just after this their mamma came in again with two
plums, one much larger than the other; and she held
out her hand with both the plums in it to Jane, and
told her to take one. Now you will, of course, think
that as she had had the largest pear, she would have
taken the smallest plum; but no such thing, she took
the large one, I am sorry to say, although she must
have felt some shame as she did so; for there was a
blush on her cheek, and she turned away her head as
if she did not like to look her brother in the face.
When any one feels shame at what they have done,
it is a plain proof that it is wrong, and they ought to
take care not to do the same thing again; yet, I fear,
Jane would not have tried to mend, if it had not been
for what I am going to tell. Her mamma had heard
what she said to Tom about the pears, for she was in
a store-room, close to the parlour, at the time; so she


took the two plums, a small one and a large one, from
a basket, and went in with them, just to see what Jane
would do if she had her choice. Jane, as I have told
you, chose the best, and then her mamma said: "Jane,
I am truly sorry M
to find you are
such a very self- a
ish little girl, as
you have shown
yourself to-day.
Twice you have
had fruit to di-
vide with your q
brother, and both times you have taken the largest
share, which was unjust as well as greedy, and if Tom
had done so, you would have said it was not fair.
Should you not have said so?"
Jane was silent. "Answer me, Jane; if Tom had
eaten the best pear, and the best plum too, should you
not have said it was unfair?" Yes, mamma." "Then
was it fair for you to do so?" Jane hung down her
head and said not a word.
"I wish you to answer me, my dear." No, mam-
ma; it was not fair." "Well then, I hope you see
your fault, and will try to mend; but as I cannot be


sure of this till you have given some proofs of it, I
shall not let you go to the fruit feast next week, for I
should be sorry indeed for your young friends to see
how greedy you are; and I am quite sure Squire Gray
would not ask you to his house if he knew it."
Jane felt that her mamma was right, yet she could
not help having some hope that when the time came
she would let her go; but her mamma was too wise
and good to do so; for she knew that would not be
the way to cure her little girl of her fault; so she kept
her word, and that was the reason why Jane was in
tears on the day of the fruit feast. But you will be
glad to hear there was no need to keep her at home
this year; and that when the best peach of all in the
dish was put on her plate, she gave half of it to a
little girl who sat next her.
I will now relate to you some of the tales which
were in the books Squire Gray gave to the little folks;
and I am sure you will agree with me that they were
very pretty tales, and just suited to such good little

A ^ -A. ^-i23S

"MAMMA, there is a
poor boy in the lane,
who has no shoes on his feet; may
I give him an old pair of mine?"
"I do not know, Charles; we must
first learn how it is that be has no
shoes. What did he say to you?"
he said he had no shoes; and
if I had an old pair that I did not want,
he should be glad of them."
"Well, my dear, I do not
think you shall give him your
shoes, for I am not sure that
it would be a good thing for
him; it might make him idle, and like to
beg rather than to work, which would
be a bad thing, you know; so you see, by
giving him shoes, you would perhaps be
Doing him harm instead of good; but I
will tell you what you shall do; our


man, John, wants a boy to help him in the garden, so
if this boy likes to work, John may try him, and he can
then soon earn enough to buy a pair of shoes."
"But how can he work in the garden without
shoes?" said Charles, he will hurt his feet." I do
not think it will hurt his feet a bit more to work in
the garden than to walk in the road, Charles; and if
we can teach this boy to work for what he wants,
instead of begging for it, we shall do him much more
good than if we were to give him ten pairs of shoes,
and a coat and hat into the bargain."
Then may I go and speak to John about it?" said
Charles. You are not sure the boy will like to work,
Charles." "O, he will be sure to like it, mamma,
when I tell him that he will get money to buy shoes
and all he wants besides."
So away ran Charles and spoke to the boy, who
said he was quite willing to work in the garden; and
then Charles went to John and told him all about it.
John was a kind man, and was very fond of Charles,
and was glad to do any thing to please him; so he
soon set the boy to work, and told him that if he was
a good lad he might come there to work for two or
three months, and that he would be paid half-a-crown
a week, and have his dinner besides.


Dan, that was -
the name of the .() P
boy, had no father a w b
or mother, for they
were both dead;
and he lived with
an old man who
was his father's un-
cle. But this old
man did not take
much care of him,
or try to teach him
what was right, or ** L-
how to earn his
bread; but let him run about with bare feet and
ragged clothes, so that, although he was not a bad
boy he got into idle habits, and would beg for bread
and meat, or for old clothes or money, and now and
then he would get a penny for holding a horse, or
running on some errand, but that was not often. He
had been so used to this idle way of life, that he soon
got tired of work, and thought it was more pleasant
to swing on a gate, or lie down under a hedge and go
to sleep; but he did not think, foolish boy, of how he
was to live when he grew up to be a man.


The first day and the next he did very well; but the
third day he began to get careless, and told John he
thought it very hard to have to come at six o'clock in
the morning and work till six at night; and he was
sure, he said, that no boy in the world would like it;
and he did not think he should come there many more
Now it was a happy thing for Dan that John was
such a good man as he was, for some men would have
sent him away, and have had no more to do with him;
but John said to himself, "This boy has been badly
brought up, he has had no one to put him in the right
way; and if he goes back to his old mode of life, he
will never do any good. I will save him if I can, for
it would be a pity that he should go to ruin for want
of a little good advice. Then he talked a great deal
to him, and told him what a sad thing it would be if
he grew up to be a beggar all his life, which would
surely be the case if he did not learn to like work.
"You do not know the comfort," said he, "of being
able to get an honest living; but when you do, I am
sure you will not wish to live an idle life. If you do
not learn to work now, while you are young, what is
to become of you by and by, do you think? How do
you expect to get food to eat, clothes to wear, or a


bed to lie upon? Come, my lad, take heart, and work
with a good will, and who knows, but in time, you
will become a rich man."
John spoke so kindly, that the boy thought he
would try a little longer; so he went on to the end of
that week, and was paid half-a-crown. He had never
had so much money in his life, nor had he ever felt so
proud and happy as when he went into a shop with
the half-crown he had earned with his own hands, to
buy a pair of shoes. "I see it is a good thing to
work," said he, "if I go on, I shall soon get enough
to buy a coat and hat to go to church in."


And so he did, and he waited at the church door till
Charles and his mamma came out, that he might bow
to them; and Charles was so glad to see him look so
nice, that he asked his mamma to let him stop and tell
him so.
Well, when the winter came, and there was no more
work to do in the garden, John spoke to a friend
of his, a blacksmith in the village, about Dan, and the
blacksmith said he might come to his shop and he
would see what he could do with him. So he went
there and made himself so useful, that the blacksmith
was glad to keep him in his employ, and he was there
a great many years, and learned the trade, and was
one of the best workmen for miles round.
At last, his master died, and then he took the shop
and set up for himself, and got on so well, that he
was able to take a good house to live in; and then he
married the daughter of his old friend John, who was
a little girl when he first went to work in the garden.
Charles also was grown up and married too, and often
used to go and have a chat with the blacksmith, and
send his horses there to be shod; and he would some-
times say to himself, It was much better to find him
work than to give him my old shoes."

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