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SAYINGS AND DOINGS;
IPmEovil A1DI L PE A PSEz.
BY JANE STRICKLAND.
EMBELLISHED WITH ELEGANT ENGRAVINGS BY J. A. ADAMS.
PUBLISHED BY J. C. RIKER,
No. 129 FULTON STREET.
The Idler Corrected .
Blind Arthur and his Sister Jane
The Model; or, the Fruits of Early Industry
Active Benevolence .
The Consequences of Extravagance .
The Foolish Resolution .
Christian Humility .
TIE book of Proverbs deserves the parti-
cular attention of those whose pleasing
employment it is to form the minds of
children, because it contains a series of
moral and religious maxims, particularly
applicable to the young. Here are to be
found rules fo their future conduct in
life, as well as that which will make them
wise unto salvation. Our Lord charges
his disciples to be wise as serpents and
harmless as doves;" and this wisdom and
this heavenly meekness are inculcated
throughout this admirable book. Every
chapter, every verse, contains the most
important and beneficial truths.
The following simple stories are designed
to render some of these inspired sayings
more easy and familiar to children. They
are mostly founded on facts which are the
result of the author's own personal expe-
rience, or that of her friends.
She has made choice of those proverbs
she considered best adapted to the capacity
of a class of juvenile readers, a little more
advanced than those for whose benefit she
wrote her "( Easy Lessons and Tales for
the Nursery," a work whose success has
induced her to offer the present Moral
Lessons and Stories on the Proverbs," to
a liberal public. She thinks the young
reader might commit to memory the verses
that form the groundwork of the tales;
since to impress these scripture truths on
the mind of the reader, is the principal
design of the work, which she hopes will
prove a useful addition to the juvenile
library, and afford her young friends
amusement, as well as instruction.
GO TO THE ANT, THOU SLUGGARD ; CONSIDER HER
WAYS, AND BE WISE."
Proverbs, vi. 6.
TlE ID L ER.
JI lfrejtc~lions upon the~ Ant-hiil
SIMON EASY was a child of indolent habits, who
never took any pains to acquire knowledge. His
book exhibited the usual signs by which a dunce's
book is known, all the world over: that is, it con
trained as many dog's-ears as leaves. His copy-
book was blotted from end to end; his slate was
cracked; his sums were never right; his exer-
cises, always wrong. In short, every thing he
did, betrayed his fault. He had good clothes,
but they were spoiled as soon as they were put
on; even his hands and face showed his indo-
His garden resembled the celebrated one of the
sluggard, and was full of nettles and weeds, which
overtopped the flowers that a sudden fit of indus-
try had induced him to plant. This neglected
plot of ground might have afforded its careless
master a useful lesson, if he would have profited
by it. For nature, unlike man, is never idle.
continual activity is one of the wonderful proper
ties with which Providence has endowed her.
She is perpetually employed in providing for the
wants of those little creatures who "have neither
storehouse nor barn," but "whom their heavenly
father feedeth." Yes, the very nettles, thistles,
chickweed, and groundsel of his garden, were
producing a harvest for the birds. The mind of
the sluggard, alone, was barren and sterile, like
the parched and sandy desert that yields nothing
Simon's indolence had gained him the appella-
tion of "Sluggish Simon" from all his schoolfel-
lows and companions, and this disagreeable name
was likely to stick to him through life. In the
town where he lived, if he were seen at ever such
a distance, people said, "Here comes sluggish
Simon," for he loitered, rather than walked, and
always carried his useless hands in his pockets.
In the morning, he used to go gaping to school,
'with his eyes half open, secretly desiring, like
the sluggard, "a little more sleep, a little more
slumber, a little more folding of the hands to
sleep;" but at evening, indolence was not his
only characteristic; for his sad, dejected counte-
nance showed he had been suffering "the pains
and penalties of idleness," in the shape of the rod
Punishment of this kind, did not improve either
his temper or habits; and his mother (for he had
no father) was grieved at his dejection, and la-
mented his disgrace. At length, she thought of
an expedient; and calling Simon to her, she led
him into the garden, where she had recently dis-
covered an ant-hill, and desired him to stir it up
with a stick.
Simon stared, but did as he was desired. What
a confusion the inhabitants of the little city were
immediately thrown into. How carefully they
began to collect their eggs, or larvae, as naturalists
call the embryo ants, in order to convey them to
a place of security, during the siege of their cita-
del, by Sluggish Simon. Perhaps, if they had e/
been aware of his character, they would not have
dreaded his attacks so much. "Now, turn up the
little hillocks, lightly," continued Mrs. Easy, "but
oe careful not to hurt the industrious creatures."
Simon could not think what his mother meant, by
these proceedings; but she refused to satisfy his
curiosity at the time. "To-morrow," said she,
"if the day is fine, I will explain 4y meaning."
Simon wondered what all this could mean, and
he thought so much about it, that he got up the
next morning, at seven o'clock, uncalled, and ran
down to see what was become of the ants, whose
habitation he had destroyed the preceding day.
To his great surprise, he found the hillock raised
again, and every thing, apparently, in the same
state as when he first beheld it. While he stood
regarding it with astonishment, he saw his mother
coming towards him; and running hastily to meet
her, communicated the intelligence to her in a tone
"You are astonished at the restoration of this
ant-hill, Simon," replied his mother, "but, remem-
ber, it is the fruits of united industry. Each of
these insects is a labourer, each directs all its en-
ergies to one end-the good of the community to
which it belongs. Among these swarming my-
riads, there is not a single idler; no, not one slug-
gish Simon in the whole society. All are at
work: some are collecting grain, some are feed,
ing the larvae, some are employed in beautifying
the edifice you destroyed yesterday. None are
inactive: whatever they find to do, they are doing
with all their might. Simon, like these insects,
you belong to a community; but are you fulfilling
the duties you owe to it, as they are ? God, who
has endued them with such wisdom, has been
equally bountiful to you: he has given you hands
to work, and a head to direct these excellent tools,
but you make no use of either. The conse-
quences of this indolence will be dreadful; for,
says Solomon, 'the idle soul shall suffer hunger.'
I can leave you no fortune, and you will not learn
any thing that would enable you to get your own
livelihood. I fear you will come to poverty. 'Go
to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and
Simon was struck with these words; he began
to consider his ways, and resolved to amend them.
For the first time in his -life, he said his lesson
without being turned back, and wrote a whole
copy without blotting it in several places. In the
evening, he walked home with a brisk step, and
entered the parlour with a smile upon his face.
Every day he went to look at the ants, and every
day he became more industrious.
One of the first fruits of his diligence was, the
loss of his old appellation of "Sluggish Simon."
People now cited him an example to their chil-
dren; and more than all, his fond mother was
pleased; and her sweet smile of approbation re
warded the reformed sluggard for all his pains.
His books had no dog-ears, his copy-books no blots,
his garden no weeds, his hand bore no impression
of the ferula, and his mind no longer resembled a
sandy desert, but bore the fair fruits of learning
HIS SISTER JANE.
" MY SON, DESPISE NOT TIE CHASTENING OF THE LORD: NEL.
TIER BE WEARY OF HIS CORRECTION: FOR WHOM THE LORD
LOVETH HIE CORRECTETII; EVEN AS A FATHER TUE SON IN
WHOM HE DELIGHTETII."
Proverbs, iii. 11, 12.
BLIND A RTHI IJIt
Blind Arthur's pious resig6la'"L under his heavu bere are'mn
1~1' ~~ r%
HIS SISTER JANE.
"MAMMA, when shall I see the light of day
again?" asked Arthur Brandon, turning, as he
spoke, his sightless orbs upon his mother's face,
although her dear features were no longer percep-
tible to their darkened vision. Tears filled Mrs.
Brandon's eyes, who had long expected, long
dreaded, to meet this natural question. Arthur's
aunt quitted the room, to conceal her emotion;
his little sister Jane laid her curly head upon his
knee, and sobbed as if her young heart would
break. "Mamma, you do not answer me," con-
tinued the youth, but I can hear you weep; poor
little Jane is crying, too. I perceive you wish,
yet dread to speak the truth. Mamma, I will
spare you that pain, I will tell it myself:-I shall
never see again!"
These sad words were spoken in a tone of calm
resignation, which proved that the youthful suf-
ferer had already armed his mind with fortitude to
sustain the calamity that had overshadowed the
morning of his days.
"Arthur, dear Arthur," replied Mrs. Brandon,
seating herself beside the invalid and tenderly tak-
ing his hand, "it would be useless and cruel to
deceive you; for your's is, alas! a hopeless case.
I have had every advice upon it that money or
friendship could procure, but every application has
been made in vain. I have, hitherto, been silent
upon the subject, because I still flattered myself
that an operation called couching might possibly
restore your precious eye-sight. Yesterday, that
hope faded for ever, when Mr. Guthriep the most
skilful oculist in London, communicated to me the
sad fact, that the fever has totally destroyed the
visual organs. But, 'oh, my son, despise not the
chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of his
correction; for whom the Lord loveth he chas-
teneth, even as a father the son in whom he de-
"These are the verses you often repeated to
me to reprove my querulous impatience, during
the fever," rejoined Arthur. "Ah! dear mamma,
I have often thought upon them since; indeed,
they have been to my mind, what medicine has
been to my body: and now I can say, with truth,
'Thy will, 0 Lord! not mine, be done.' "
These, pious words fell like balm upon ,the
wounded heart of the afflicted mother, and at
once relieved her mind from the anxiety that had
been pressing upon it, during many weeks of care.
She uttered a fervent thanksgiving; and then, wip-
ing the holy tears of maternity from her face,
turned to her sightless boy, and said, Arthur, my
dear, dear Arthur, you do not know how happy
your patient resignation to the Divine Will has
made your poor mother. I would not, at this mo-
ment, exchange my blind son for any son in Chris-
I shall never see your kind face again," re-
plied the blind boy, in a mournful tone, a sudden
shade of sadness passing over his expressive fea-
tures, nor little Jane's sweet sunny smile; I who
loved to look upon you both so dearly! How I
used to laugh when the breeze played among my
sister's fair tresses, like the wind when it waves
the ripening corn! Ah, Jane, I shall never fling
off your bonnet and ruffle your golden curls for
my sport, again!"
"But, Arthur, you will love me still,-won't
you, dear Arthur?" rejoined the little girl; "for
I love you a great deal better than when you used
to pull my curls and play rude tricks; but you
may pull my ringlets quite hard, if you like, and
I will not complain, nor tell mamma."
Sweet innocent," replied the blind brother, "I
have shaken off childish things. Calamity is a
stern teacher: is it not, mamma? Dear Jane, I
can hear the joyous notes of the birds, but I shall
never again see the deep blue sky that makes them
gladsome, nor the sun and moon shining in their
brightness, nor the glorious planets, that, I have
often told you, are worlds, like our own. No, no,
dear child, a thick darkness is over my eyes, that
veils all outward objects; but the eyes of my
mind are not blind: in thought they can yet see
all that is beautiful and dear, for with them I can
still look upon mamma and little Jane. So dry
your eyes, darling, and do not weep for Arthur,
since he is not unhappy while those he loves best
are with him. One thing, however, pains me,
"What is that, dear Arthur ?" anxiously asked
the artless child; "Do your poor eyes pain you ?"
"No, love; but I was not grateful for sight,
when I possessed that blessing," replied the afflict-
ed brother; "and this remembrance makes me,
at times, very sad, rendering blindness a more ter-
rible evil than, perhaps, it would be, but for this
thought. Yes, Jane, I was not thankful for the
blessed light, when I enjoyed it, though now a
single ray would give me unutterable joy. Take
warning, dear little sister, by my example, and fear
this dreadful God, lest his judgments fall upon
you. I love him, now, with my whole heart; yes,
with that heart once so rebellious and forgetful of
him. He has chastened me, sorely, but he has
not given me over to death. His light has dawn-
ed upon me in the midst of darkness, comfort-
ing and reviving me. The blind Arthur is far hap-
pier than the gay, thoughtless boy who slighted
his mother's commands and teazed his orphan
"Yes, surely, my dear child; for those who
truly love God, however afflicted, can never be
wholly miserable, because he consoles them, and
wipes their tears away," said his mother, drying
her own, as she spoke.
"I should never have known how much my
kind mamma and dear little sister loved me, but
for this heavy affliction," continued Arthur; Jane
used not to be'so very quiet, once; but it is her
love that has stilled her pretty artless prattle, and
taught her to sit at my feet, in silence, all day
long, except when she asks me to take my medi-
cine, or some nice thing she thinks will do me
"Dear brother, I will lead you about the green
meadows, and gather you flowers," cried the affec-
tionate child; "I will tell you stories, and sing to
you, and do all I can to. amuse you."
"Jane, dear Jane, you shall do more," answered
her brother, in a tone of solemnity, "you shall
read the word of God to me; you know you can
read nicely, and you must be instead of eyes to
poor blind Arthur, now." ,
That I will," cried the affectionate little girl,
climbing his knee, and flinging her fair arms round
his neck, and kissing him. Yes, dear brother, I
will be your eyes;" And blind Arthur's sister
kept her word.
It is a pretty sight to see her leading him about
the grounds of Rose Cottage, singing her hymns,
or listening with deep attention, while he speaks
to her of holy things, of that blessed Saviour who
" came to be a man, and die," that man might be
redeemed and live for ever; of that happy place,
where light shall dawn upon his eyes, more bright
ly and gloriously than before their earthly beams
were quenched in darkness. Yes, it is sweet to
hear him, while giving his young sister a practical
lesson on every flower, turning, with fraternal, yet
pious fondness, her thoughts towards heaven, as
towards her proper home. When, however, the
blue sky is overclouded, and the twain return to
the house, Jane, in her turn, becomes the teacher,
and gives her dear brother her latest lesson on the
piano-forte, which his newly-acquired ear for
music, and rapidly expanding powers of memory
lead him to retain.
Little Jane, indeed, reaps the fruits of all her
labours of love. She is storing her mind with
useful and entertaining knowledge, and improving
all the talents she is exerting to please Arthur,
and he, the blind and solitary one, thus thrown
upon her care and kindness, does he not love his
young, but faithful guide ? Oh, yes! for when his
giddier companions forsake his society for rudei
sports, Jane is still waiting at his side, to cheel
and amuse him. Sometimes she teaches him to
knit, or makes him guess the flowers of which the
nosegay is composed she has gathered for him.
It is curious to hear how exactly he names them,
guided by his exquisite touch.
But there are holier moments spent with little
Jane, moments when the world fades from his
mental eye, and his thoughts soar upwards, to-
wards another higher state of being: moments
that atone for all his deprivations, when all his suf-
ferings are lost in joy. The other day, his sister
was reading to him the tenth chapter of St. Mark's
gospel, which contains the account of our Lord's
giving blind Bartemeus sight, and with artless sim-
plicity, remarked, "Oh that he were here, dear
Arthur, to restore your sight !"
"He is here, dear Jane," replied the bereaved,
yet happy Arthur, wiping the tears from off her
young fair face. "He is with me, for darkness
is no darkness with him ;" and he has turned mine
into "noon day." For though my mortal eyes
are quenched in night, they shall yet behold him
in his beauty, at the resurrection of the just.
Then weep not for me, dear sister, 'for whom
the Lord loveth he chasteneth betimes.'"
FHE FRUITS OF EARLY INDUSTRY.
"IN ALL LABOUR THERE IS PROFIT."
Proverbs, xiv. 13.
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bll\ji!ilI iii I1I1~Y~f;iiiili iilI' I' lillill!liI I
*L) '' il!FI :li
T'he model ship inspec:cd
ROBERT INGLIS never wasted an hour in idleness;
indeed, I believe I might almost venture to say,
that he seldom spent an idle minute. Those hours
of relaxation from study, which are frequently de-
voted entirely to pleasure and play by the young
and thoughtless, were passed by him in mental im-
( provement; which affords at once amusement and
He cultivated his little plot of garden with equal
skill and industry, could call every flower by its
botanical name, and transfer its beauties to his
drawing-book, or preserve the specimen in his Hor-
tus Siccus, or herbal, as it is commonly called
Sometimes, he wandered along the sea-coast,
collecting marine plants, corallines, and shells; or
if the weather would not permit such excursions,
he employed his time in making trifles for his sis-
ters, such as workboxes, or winders for their cot-
Robert had a mechanical genius : and, if I must
speak the truth, preferred these little handycrafts
to all his other pursuits. He was very fond of con
structing boats, which he rigged very neatly, and
painted exceedingly well. Indeed, in the im-
provement of this last accomplishment, he re-
ceived some valuable assistance from a clever me-
chanic named Chilvers, who, besides being so kind
as to point out the defects of the young ship-buil-
der's performance, told him that vessels of every
kind were constructed from draughts, that every
part was exactly proportioned to its corresponding
one, and regularly laid down by a scale. "In
fact, my dear young gentlemen," said he, "you
will never excel in mechanics, unless you make
yourself perfectly acquainted with the use of the
Robert was not offended with this advice, but
immediately commenced the study of trigonome-
try; and acquired, under the tuition of his bumble
preceptor, the knowledge of the six mechanical
powers; and, some months after, constructed a
beautiful little frigate, laid down on those scien-
tific and unerring principles, of which he had re-
cently made himself master.
The sight of this vessel excited a general burst
of admiration from the young artizan's amiable
and accomplished sisters; and Lydia smiled with
unfeigned delight, when Robert told her he had
named it after her, and hoped she would keep it
for his sake.
With the true modesty inseparable from real
merit, the shipwright alone discovered defects in
his work; but, notwithstanding his criticisms, se-
veral naval officers pronounced it a very perfect
and well-executed model, and declared it was
worth a great deal of money.
Robert continued improving his talents and cul-
tivating his mind, till the time drew near, when he
was to adopt some profession, by which he might
obtain a genteel livelihood, suited to his birth and
breeding. Many difficulties attended this choice,
he was the cadet of a large family, and the es-
tates were entailed on his eldest brother.
A distant relative, settled in Van Dieman's Land,
offered to take him, at this juncture; and though
the natural inclinations of the youth leaned towards
the church, he dutifully resolved to follow the
path in life his father chalked out for him; and
sailed for the distant but beautiful country, in
which he hoped to find a new home and new
In the house of his relative he fortunately
found both; and some months after his departure
from England, his sisters received a packet of let-
ters from him, full of animated descriptions of
Australian scenery and manners, accompanied
with drawings of the scenery and aboriginal in-
habitants, specimens of the scentless, though beau-
tiful flowers, and bright-plumed, songless birds, of
the far-off land in which he had become a pilgrim
Nor did these dear, unforgotten ones forget their
absent brother. Only a few months intervened,
before they returned his remembrances, by like
tokens of affection and regard: music-books, ex-
tracts, newspapers, flower-seeds, and neatly made-
up linen, showed he was still the dear object of
solicitude and regard.
We may be sure that Robert did not fail
to exert his useful talents and habits of industry
in his new situation; and though my limits will
not allow me to trace his course, I can say with
truth, that it was honourable to his abilities and
After some years of toil, we must now see him
in the new characters of husband, father, and mas-
ter, fulfilling the numerous duties of these several
relations in an amiable and exemplary manner.
United to a charming young woman, and pros-
perous in all his undertakings, Robert Inglis reaped
the fruits of industry and good conduct. But, alas!
worldly prosperity is seldom constant, and a train
of unforeseen misfortunes reduced our industrious
young settler to the brink of ruin, leaving him only
the farm to support his family; and that was pil-
laged by a party of bush-rangers,* who carried off
the cattle, and despoiled the house and offices of
every thing of value they contained; so that Rob-
ert Inglis had the world to begin afresh. Still, he
was grateful that his wife'and infant family were safe
Escaped convicts, who fly to the woods, where they main.
tain themselves by robbing the folds and houses of the settlers,
which they frequently enter in large gangs in noon day. and
pillage with impunity.
and uninjured, since the ferocious and lawless men
who had robbed him of his property had not harm-
A few days after this occurrence, while his
house still resembled a sacked citadel, a box from
Europe made its welcome appearance, containing
a whole piece of broad cloth, a complete set of new
shirts, besides many articles of clothing wrought by
the kind hands of affectionate aunts for young nie-
ces and nephews; but, above all these useful pres-
ents, the chest held the Lydia," the fruits of Mr.
Inglis's boyish toils and perserverance; for her
namesake imagining that she might prove useful
to her brother Robert, had generously returned her
to the donor; and most useful she did prove, as
will presently be seen.
How many sweet home recollections did the
sight of this pretty model recall to Mr. Inglis's
mind,-how well did he remember the morning
when he made this offering of affection to a belov-
ed sister, and drank in her praises with fraternal
With a little pride of heart he now displayed
the frigate to his wife and children, who were alrea-
dy well acquainted with her history. The eldest
of the infant train, a lively girl of seven years, ex-
pressed her joy "that the wicked bush-rangers
had not been able to steal papa's beautiful ship, as
they certainly would have done, if it had arrived
only two days earlier."
This artless remark brought back the memory
of his misfortunes to her father's mind. He re-
membered that he was a ruined man; and while
pursuing the sad thought, was unexpectedly roused
from the contemplation of his late misfortunes, by
the arrival of several gentleman, who claimed his
hospitality for the night.
Mr. Inglis was now all attention to his stranger
guests; for in these lonely districts, the way-faring
man's claims are never disregarded, his wants are
bountifully supplied, and no payment is expected
in return. The necessities of the traveller are alone
considered; and the new settlers in Australia or
Canada follow the bright examples of the Patri-
archs, whose hospitalities we find recorded in holy
Mr. and Mrs. Inglis related their recent misfor-
tunes as the best excuse they could offer for the
scantiness of their cheer, at the same time making
the guests as welcome as their means would permit.
The gentleman who headed the party, (which
was one of discovery) took the little prating Lydia
on his knee, and began to listen with real interest
to the history of papa's little ship, and its narrow
escape from the rapacious hands of the bush-ran-
gers. He begged to see the model, in whose
praise his new friend was so eloquent; and was ex
ceedingly struck with its beauty.
"It is worth a hundred pounds," cried he;"I
was formerly engaged in ship-building, and know
Oh sir, you quite over-rate its worth," replied
Mr. Inglis, it would not fetch a quarter of that
"I will give one hundred pounds for it to-
night, and take the risk of that," rejoined the
The sum named would retrieve Mr. Inglis's dis-
ordered affairs; it seemed, indeed, like an inter
vention of providence in his favour; and yet, it
must be confessed, that even while acceding to
this liberal offer, the Lydia held a still higher value
in his eyes than the large price proposed for
her; for was she not the fruits of early talent and
industry, of those golden hours of childhood of
which he had made such a wise use ?
While writing the cheque, the gentleman declared
himself to be perfectly satisfied with his bargain,
and when he presented it to Mr. Inglis, the latter
felt some of his scruples vanish, when the name
attached to the paper discovered his guest to be a
wealthy colonist, the particular friend and near rel-
ative of His Excellency the Governor.
He began to pack up the frigate very carefully
in a box, for the purchaser to take to Hobart
Town, when his little Lydia suddenly burst into a
passionate fit of crying, and loudly lamented the
transfer of her namesake, to another. It was
some time before the child could be pacified; at
length, she became calm, and owned herself in
fault, tears still hung on her long eye-lashes.
Come, little one, wipe your eyes; I will send
you a ship from Hobart Town, quite as pretty as
this," said the gentleman, who was a father him-
self, and therefore took a fatherly interest in the
griefs of childhood.
"Indeed, sir, I have behaved very foolishly, and
do not deserve anything; but, papa made this
with his pen-knife, when he was only twelve years
old; and that is the reason I did not like him to sell
it. I shall never think any other half so pretty," and
a tear again stole into Lydia's eye.
Wait till you see mine, my dear," replied the
gentleman, with a good-humoured smile.
Early the following morning, the guests de
parted; and Mr. Inglis and his household resum
ed their accustomed labours, with renewed hope
and redoubled diligence. Even Lydia was busily
employed with her needle, while watching the
slumbers of her infant brother, and during the
month that succceeded the stranger's visit, her
time was so well occupied, that she almost forgot
his promise. "Papa," said she, one morning, I
have just finished making your new handker
chiefs, and mamma says I have done them neatly
and well; and I know you will give me twenty
kisses for making ten so nicely."
So I will, my dearest," replied the fond father
tenderly caressing her; "is there not something
pretty in Scripture about industry," continued he.
"Do you remember what I told you, the day after
the gentleman left us who purchased my frigate;
which money enabled me to buy more cows and
"Yes, papa: In all labour their is profit."'
The words were scarcely uttered by the child, be-
fore a box was brought in by a traveller, and de-
livered to her. Mr. Inglis opened it, and was
scarcely less surprised than Lydia on beholding
the identical ship, the fruits of his own youthful
toil. The little girl was not more delighted than
her parents who hardly knew which to admire the
most, the generosity or delicacy of their new
My young readers, this story is no fiction: I
had it from the sister of the ingenious and in-
dustrious gentlemen who spent his childhood so
well. Imitate his example; waste not the pre-
cious hours of youth in idleness, but remember
that "In all labour thertis profit."
H ENEVOL R I EN C I'
fIjll rn eynghut hr ccp hit reet o /l pto iute
" WHAT are you doing, Emily ?" asked her cousin
Caroline, as she entered the little parlour where
S that young lady was sitting at work; I come to
ask you to take a walk with me, this fine after-
I am making some clothes for a poor woman
who has but a single suit for a beautiful pair of
twins," replied Emily, "so I cannot spare time to
take a walk."
"But these things are cut out of some of your
own half-worn clothes: I am sure they will be of
no use to them," observed Caroline, putting down
the little frock she had taken up, with a gesture
indicative of contempt.
This unkind remark covered Emily with blushes.
"I have no spending-money, like you, Caroline,"
she meekly replied; "but still I am willing to do
all I can for the poor little ones; and these will
serve them for present use."
"Oh! dear me," said Caroline, "the woman
will hardly give you a 'thank-ye' for them You
must see those I have bought for them; not old
things, but all new and good."
"I thought you had spent all your ready money,
last week, in purchasing an Album," returned
Emily, in a tone of evident surprise.
Why, so I had; but I teazed my aunt into ad-
vancing me the cash out of my next quarter's
allowance. Only my governess says, I must make
them up all by myself, and out of-my own time;
which I think very hard conditions. To be sure,
every body will think me generous, so I suppose
I must comply. Indeed I have nearly made a
"I shall have completed a set, when I have
finished the cap I am now making," said Emily,
" and, if I am diligent, I shall have two full suits
ready to take to Frestenden by the latter end of
I could have done the same, if I had not had
my studies to attend to; but I suppose you work-
ed all day long," remarked Caroline.
"No! indeed I did not," answered Emily; "but
then I have risen at six o'clock, for the last three
days, I have not allowed myself any time for play
or walks. Indeed, when mamma gave me leave
to cut up some of my things, she told me to make
no delay; for she said it was wrong to defer any
little plan that might be beneficial to ourselves or
others, to a future day. 'Withhold not good from
them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of
thine hand to do it,' were her words: and those
words are from the Bible."
"Still, though it is very kind of us to make
baby-linen for this poor woman," said Caroline,
"I cannot see it is due her."
"Yes, cousin, it is; for we are better off than
she is, and as such, it is our duty to assist her as
far as it lies in our power."
One would think it was your mamma who was
speaking," rejoined Caroline; "you are such a
strange girl. Once you were as lively and thought-
less as myself; but you are grown so grave."
"The death of dear papa has made a great
change in me," said Emily, her mild eyes filling
with tears, as she spoke; "I promised to en-
deavour to correct my giddy temper, and to do all
I could to make mamma happy. We are straiten-
ed in our circumstances, you know, and she finds
it a difficult matter to keep my brother Tom at
school. I believe mamma laments her want of
means, as much for the sake of the poor, as for
ours, but, however, God's will be done."
"So you will not walk on the beach with me,
this afternoon. You had better. Why should
you make a slave of yourself ?"
"For the reason I have told you, cousin. It is
now in the power of my hand to help this poor
woman, and to-morrow it may not be."
"Well, good bye. A few days will not make
much difference, and I shall certainly get mine
done next week," said Caroline, as she rose and
Perhaps Emily thought otherwise, but she was
too kind to say so; although hurt by her cousin's
previous remarks. She resumed her work with
increasing diligence, and by the appointed time,
the suits were duly completed: and one lovely
afternoon, the young sempstress, attended by the
maid, walked to carry them home to the poor wo-
Their way lay among green shady lanes and
flowery meadows; and the blithe singing of the
birds, or the springing up of a pheasant, afforded
Emily a simple pleasure, natural to her age.
Sometimes she stepped from the path to gather
the wild field-campion, whose vivid pink blossoms
invite the traveller's hand in those sweet seques-
tered alleys, whose high banks, gay as a summer
garden, are arched with woodbine and briony,
whose flowers fill the air with perfume.
Accustomed, from infancy, to look from nature
up to nature's God: every plant, every bird and
insect afforded a lesson to the young Emily. A
sweet feeling of love filled her heart, as she re-
flected on these footsteps, as it were, of his good-
ness and power; and she was ready to say with
the inspired Psalmist, "0 Lord! how manifold
are thy works: in wisdom hast thou made them
If such were the thoughts of all children, like
Emily, they would gather with every bouquet,
flowers that would never fade.
Emily found the poor woman sitting up, making
a patch-work bed-gown for the elder of the twins ;
and when she peeped into the cradle where the
babies were sleeping, she observed that one of the
little strangers was arrayed in a garment of the
same many-coloured hues,* the mother's industry
having thus provided for its wants. Emily then
took her basket from the maid, and put the neatly-
made linen into Mary Dent's hand; and if they
had been new, the mother of the twins could not
have appeared more pleased. And when Emily
heard her thanks, and saw the tears of joy stand
in her eyes, she felt overpaid for her labour of love.
* The infants now awoke; and how delighted
was Emily with nursing them. They were sweet
babies, and as quiet as lambs, only the little nurse
thought them far prettier, and more interesting than
eventhosemeek creatures. Mary was the eldest, and
Susan was so like her, that, but for her gay frock,
Emily would not have known her from her sister.
I hope, dear young lady, they will live to thank
you for your kindness," said the delighted mother,
as she began, at Emily's request, to dress them in
their new clothes; and very nicely they looked in
them; and the garments were quite creditable to
the young sempstress.
Emily then kissed them, and bidding the wo-
man good day, returned home in cheerful spirits to
relate all the particulars to her kind mamma.
Caroline was soon tired of her work; the mate-
rials lay unmade in her work-box; the little shirt
.still wanted a sleeve; and very much she repent-
ed having taken the matter in hand. Her benevo-
lence was not founded on good principles ; it was
merely an ebullition of kind feeling, warmed into
temporary vigour by the breath of praise, resem-
bling the good seed that fell by the way side,
whose blade only endured for a while, having no
root in itself."
Caroline," said her aunt, when do you mean
to make up that linen ? I fear the children will
have out-grown it before it is completed."
"I will finish it next week," replied Caroline.
The week came, but the linen was still unmade.
" Aunt, it is quarter-day," said she, Christmas is
"True, but you will have nothing to receive,
Caroline, when you have paid me for the money
you expended in the summer, in buying materials
of which you have never made any use. You
laughed at your cousin Emily for making up her
old things for the twins, while, but for her industry
and kindness the poor babes would have had no
clothes at all."
Caroline was very much ashamed, and resolved
to finish the garments forthwith; and she kept her
resolution: but as her aunt had foretold, the fine
thriving infants had entirely outgrown the clothes,
which were now quite useless to them. The donor
was mortified at the little pleasure her present gave,
forgetting that "a friend in need is a friend in-
deed." It was quite evident to her, that Mary
Dent prized her cousin's gift far beyond her own,
as indeed it was natural and proper she should.
One New-year's day, a rich lady in the neigh-
bourhood, who had heard the whole story from a
friend, presented Emily with a variety of remnants
to convert into baby-linen for the poor, and a nice
warm muff and tippet for herself, as a testimony
of her esteem and approbation; while Caroline's
conduct is a standing jest, to this day. And no
doubt, she now wishes that, like Emily, she had
done good while it was in the power of her hand
to do it," and chosen that "better part, that shall
not be taken away."
'I' ES CON SEQUE N (71' ECS OF E, XTRAVA GA NU *i .
y (Iyh d ,ie icn uZ ig dze se Lenbtladtd w iff
CONSEQUENCES OF EXTRAVAGANCE.
HARRY BAYNARD was a thoughtless, extravagant
boy, who never knew how to keep a penny in his
pocket. Sweetmeats, toys, or books of amusement
were temptations he never resisted; and when his
purse was empty, he generally borrowed money of
his brother Richard, who was as prudent as he
was the reverse.
Sometimes, indeed, this kind friend remonstrat-
ed with him on his extravagance, and refused to
lend: and then Harry would apply to any of his
schoolfellows who were good-natured enough to
supply his wants, or foolish enough to trust his
promises of speedy payment.
One day, he came to Richard with a very beg-
ging face-a face that proclaimed his poverty, be-
fore he opened his lips to make his petition.
Pray, Richard, can you lend me half-a-crown, to
buy a new knife ?" said he, in a breathless tone,
accompanying his words with a moving look.
"You have an excellent one of your own, Har-
ry," replied his brother, gravely ; "I am sure you
do not want another."
"Ah but this is a beauty with seven blades,
dirt cheap, and the man is waiting for the money,
Indeed, I will pay you when I take my allowance."
"Dear Harry, knives with seven blades are use-
less toys, in general. Besides, I ought not to en-
courage you in the bad habit of wanting to buy
every thing you see. Indeed, I will not lend you
any more money till you have paid your old
"Then, Richard, you are very cross: once you
never refused to lend me money, when you had
it; I cannot think what has come to you, of late."
"I did not know the harm I was doing your
character, till lately. One day, I sat down to read
a chapter in the Bible, and by chance opened on
these words, 'The borrower is servant to the
lender.' Now, Harry, you owe me half-a-crown,
and if I were wicked enough to ask you to do a
wrong thing, and you refused, I might insist on
immediate payment; and then, perhaps you would
comply with my wishes, because you were unable
to pay the debt; and so would become my ser-
But I am quite sure you would never serve
"I hope I should not; but there is always a
risk; for I am not just, at all times, any more
than others. Besides, if I did not behave ungen-
erously, some of your creditors might, who do not
love you as I love you."
"What a long sermon, Richard! however, as I
have heard it so patiently, I suppose you will lend
me the money to pay for my knife."
No Harry; I should not be your friend if I
"Well, good bye, Mr. Solomon; I wish you a
great deal of happiness, and more generosity."
And away ran Harry, to borrow money to pay for
a thing he did not want-a knife with seven
blades,-none of which were worth a farthing,-
all of which were made to sell, though not to cut.
None of his companions were willing to accomo-
date him, because they knew he was not m the
habit of paying what he borrowed; and some
hinted that, as he had a generous elder brother, he
had better apply to him.
"So I have," replied the mortified beggar;
"but he is in a niggardly humour, and wont ad-
vance me a farthing."
What a mean, close fellow he is," said John
Horton, who greatly disliked Richard Baynard,
because he always refused to join any ill-natured
schemes or mischievous parties, proposed by him-
self or others. Here my fine fellow, take this
dollar, and pay me when you please; I shall
never ask you for it, like stingy Richard."
Harry thanked his new friend, and ran to the
verge of the bounds of the play-ground, to pur-
chase the knife; and no sooner was it put in his
possession, than he flung his good pen-knife into
the cathedral close, as a thing of no value. The
Jew dealer picked it up, and thought of the old
adage, Fools and their money are soon parted."
Two days after, Harry asked his brother "to
lend him his knife to mend a pen."
"I thought you had bought one with seven
blades," archly rejoined Richard.
"They are good for nothing; I cannot cut a
quill with any one of them."
"Well, but you have an excellent knife of your
Yes; but I threw it away in the glee of my
heart, as soon as I got the other. Now, pray -on't
laugh at me, and say, "Fools and their money are
"Laugh! no, no; it was not your own money
you expended so foolishly," replied Richard, grave
ly. However, you will learn wisdom, one day.
Here, take my knife, but be careful of it, for it is
an old companion and favourite, so don't let it go
out of your own possession."
Harry promised, and departed to copy some
pretty lines into his album. While he was thus
occupied, John Horton came to him and asked for
the loan of the pen-knife. Harry offered the one
with seven blades.
"That is good for nothing; it is the pen-knife 1
"But I cannot lend it you, Horton, for it is
Richard's; and he made me promise not to let it
go out of my hands."
"Nonsense! I must have it. Come, give it me
directly. Oh! you wont;-well, then, you must
pay me the dollar you owe me directly."
"I have no money, Horton, so you must wait a
few days till I have."
"That I won't, unless you give up the knife.
You shall have it again, in the course of a few
Harry very reluctantly delivered up the pen-
knife, and being anxious respecting its fate, follow
ed Horton into his room. Horton was carving the
head of a cane, andiad just broken his own knife
in this work. Harry trembled fpr the fine edge of
the blade, and expressed his fears on that head to
his creditor. Horton assured him the few finish
ing strokes he had now to add would not injure it.
Notwithstanding these assurances, it broke short
in his hand; and Harry had the mortification of
returning it to Richard in a useless state. Richard
was justly displeased with him, and refused him the
loan of the new one he was obliged to buy in its place.
From the unlucky hour in which Harry became
Horton's debtor, he ceased to be his, own master
His creditor commanded him as if he had been his
servant. It was Harry, bring my ball; Harry,
hold my hat; Harry, I have quarrelled with such
a boy, you shall not play witt him. Remember,
you owe me money, and must do as I would have
Poor Hairy did no l this usage at all, and
often sighed and recalled Richard's quotation from
Proverbs to mind: "The borrower is servant to
the lender." Richard, indeed, since the affair of
the pen-knife, was not so friendly as he had been;
and Harry was hurt and vexed at his distant beha-
viour. Horton promoted the coolness between
the brothers, and formed a scheme to tease Rich-
ard, in which he determined to make Harry chief
The free-school of N- is near the Cathedral,
and the play-ground commands a fine view of that
stately gothic pile. Richard, who had a taste for
drawing, took the advantage fia mild, breezeless
day, to attempt finishing a sketch of the noble
minster, the draught of wYich he had lately taken.
Some of his idle companions gathered round him,
and, headed by John Horton, commenced a series
of petty annoyances to disturb his operations. At
first, the young party confined themselves to mak-
ing rude remarks and ugly faces; but the juvenile
artist continued his work, without noticing their
criticisms. Horton, who was of an envious dispo
sition, resolved to get the sketch into his own pos
session; and drawing Harry on one side, he de
sired him to devise some means for putting it into
his power. This, Harry refused to do; but Hor-
ton had recourse to his usual mode of extorting his
compliance, by making the demand of the debt
Harry asked his brother's permission to examine
the sketch, and Richard put it into his hand, with
out the slightest suspicion of his cruel design; but
what was his surprise and indignation, when he
saw Harry pass it to Horton, who immediately
tore it into twenty pieces.
During the sharp altercation that followed this
unjust action, Harry stood aloof, ashamed of the
mean, ungrateful part he had taken, and unable to
look his injured brother in the face. Tears filled
his eyes, and he retired into his own chamber, to
hide his grief, and avoid the sight of Richard.
A sterner monitor than a brother followed him
there. His conscience reproached him for his late
conduct. Was it indeed true, he had joined to in-
sult and wrong his brother, his tried and best friend,
and that too at the command of a person he neither
loved nor respected, but whose tool and slave he
had become through his own unprincipled extrava-
gance ? He covered his face with his hands, and
wept more bitterly than before. At this moment,
he heard Richard's well known step in the cham-
ber, and longed to ask his pardon, yet dared not
go to him for that purpose.
Richard, though angry, was touched with his
distress; he remembered that they were orphans,
and that he had promised his dying mother to be a
father to his younger brother, and he came and
threw his arms round the weeping boy's neck, and
assured him that he was forgiven.
'Ah! dear Richard," sighed the spendthrift, "if
I had followed your advice, I should not have acted
so weakly and wickedly; but Horton has made
me his servant,-his slave, I should say. It is a
hard thing, however, that the consequences of my
folly should fall upon you."
Never mind that, Harry, only resolve to amend
your fault by resolutely abstaining from making
any purchases till your debts are paid; nor even
then, unless the articles are useful and necessary.
Here is the dollar you owe to Horton, go and pay
him directly: possibly you have other creditors."
Harry hung his head, and owned he was in
debt to several of his school-fellows for trifling
"Well, you must pay them by instalments;
and by that time, I hope you will have acquired
habits of economy and self-denial.
Harry kissed his brother, dried his eyes, and
departed, to return Horton his dollar. It required
many weeks of strict parismony on Harry's part
to retrieve his credit; but by the time the vaca-
tion commenced, he was out of debt, even to
Richard. The visit of a rich uncle contributed
something considerable to our friend Harry's
sinking fund: and oh! how happy was he, when
he became free again.
"Dear, dear, Richard !" cried he, as he put
his hoard in his brother's hand, "your money I
can repay, but your kindness never. Indeed, I
think I shall not become a debtor, again, in a
"Well! see what I have written in your al-
Dum," said Richard, smiling.
Harry looked over his brother's shoulder, and
read, in Richard's fine legible hand, The borrow-
er is servant to the lender." "Thank you, dear
Richard; I think I shall never forget these words,
for I have proved their truth."
Harry is now a youth of great promise and
strict integrity, who never suffers his expenses to
overstep the bounds of prudence.
It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to be ex-
travagant and honest at the same time. The
school-boy who borrows money to squander in
toys and sweetmeats, is laying the foundation of
future years of dissipation and ruin; and, unless
he check the growing evil in the bud, will become
a plague to society, despised and shunned by all
who know him. Fortunately, Harry has escaped
these dangers, though he has proved the truth of
the old adage, "Those who go a borrowing, go a
T1- E FOOLISH R FOS)LJTION
PICe y1,10g Li: l trrp,, iiy i ig o become as good Loy
"LORD DERWENT, why are not you studying
your book ?" demanded the little Viscount's gov
erness, in a tone of reproof; "your sister, lady
Lucy, has said all her lessons like a diligent child
as she is."
"My sister, Lady Lucy, may do so, if she
likes," replied the wayward boy; "but if she is