The Baldwin Library
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Arthur and Fanny taking a survey of F.tirdown Court.
R 4 0 o4L "
DEAN L U ATEN HILL
IDEAN & SON. LUDOATE -ILL
FANNY AND ARTHUR:
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
A TALE OF INTEREST.
BY MISS WINNARD,
"Pippie's Warning," Arbell," &c.
WITH FOUR COLOURED ENGRAVINGS.
DEAN & SON, 11, LUDGATE HILL.
FANNY AND ARTHUR.
GOOD NEW S
ARTHUR S TROUBLE.
F ANNY AND ARTHUR were the two
eldest children of Mr. and Mrs.
Reynolds. Fanny was rather more than
eleven years old, and Arthur was just
ten. They had also several little brothers
and sisters, Walter and Tom, and Lucy,
and Carey, the baby; but it is of Fanny
and Arthur that I wish to speak particularly
in this little book. You must understand,
that although Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds
lived in London, yet their eldest child
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
Fanny, had been brought up for the chief
part of her short life at Fairdown-court,
a large old-fashioned farm-house, in a
beautiful part of Kent, belonging to her
grandpapa Chester. Here there were a
great many uncles and aunts, her
mamma's brothers and sisters, who were
very kind to Fanny, besides grandpapa
and grandmamma, who were so fond of
her, that they wished her to live there
always, and never called her anything but
"the little darling."
Fanny was a very pretty little girl;
strong and healthy,-a little of a romp, a
little spoiled and wilful, but very affection-
' ate, and gentle to all those whom she loved
and respected. She was very fond of read-
ing, and would sit, for hours together, as
quiet as a mouse, if you gave her a pretty
book. This is all I shall say just now
about Fanny. She had some faults,-really
great faults, which you will find out for
yourselves as you go on with this story.
Fanny had been at home in London
THE GOOD NEWS."
several months; and she and Arthur had
been doing their lessons regularly with Miss
Maitland, their governess, without having
had a holiday for a long time.
It was past one o'clock, one day, and
Miss Maitland had just gone, when Fanny
and Arthur were called out of the play-room
by their mother, who said she had something
to tell them.
"Oh! what is it, mamma?" they both
exclaimed, as they ran after her into the
"Bide a wee,-and you shall see;
Sit down near,-and you shall hear,"
Sang their mamma, in a merry tune; for
she was a very cheerful lady, and made
every one lively and good-tempered who
came into her company. Fanny used to '
think her mamma was like the larks at
Fairdown, when they sang in the sun-light.
But though Mrs. Reynolds laughed and
sang so merrily, yet her children all knew
that she expected them to do what she
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
desired, if it were ever so trifling a thing;
so,, on the present occasion, Fanny sat
down on an ottoman at her mother's feet,
and Arthur, with his top in his hand, ready
strung, stood still by her chair to listen.
"I have just had a letter from your uncle
Tom, and he is coming here to morrow."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Arthur, flou-
rishing his top over his head. "That's
capital news, mamma."
"But that is not all, my dear. What
do you think he is coming for."
"For business, I suppose, mamma; and
to see you and papa. If I were uncle Tom,
and lived in such a beautiful place as Fair-
down, with woods and fields,' and horses
and dogs, and so many other things, I would
not come into dirty noisy London, I know."
Think again, Arthur.-Is there nothing
else you would like to come to London for?
No new and curious machines ? No
Polytechnic Institution ? No Panoramas
and Dioramas of foreign places? No lec-
tures to hear on chemistry and mechanics?
WHY PEOPLE COME TO LONDON.
No learned and clever masters to teach
you ? No shops, where you can buy books
and mathematical instruments, and all
things wanted. for boys who mean to be
cultivated and useful men, as well as first-
rate engineers ? Is there nothing but dirt
and noise in London ? Eh! Arthur ?"
"Why you see, mamma," began Arthur,
crossing one little leg over the other, in an
argumentative manner, while both hands
(the top in one) disappeared in the pockets
of his trousers. You see, mamma, I was
thinking just then, how very nice it would
be to live in the country, and so I forgot all
about the useful things there are in London.
That is just my way. It is very stupid of
me, Fanny says. No, not stupid, she did
not say stupid, because that would have
been unkind; but very slow and dull, not
to be able to consider two things at once.
Fanny says it makes me unfair; and the
other day papa was talking about some one
who could not see two sides to a question,
and he said that his judgment was worth
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
nothing. Now, mamma that is like me.
I have been wanting to speak to you about
this. Fanny thinks that it is only because
I am a little boy; and that when I am
grown up, I shall be almost as sensible as
you and papa, and nobody will say my
judgment is worth nothing. Now, I think,
and it makes me so miserable, mamma,"
here his little face was contracted slightly,
and tears came into his honest blue eyes,-
" I am very much afraid that I was born
rather stupid, and shall never be clever, and
understand things rightly and quickly, as
Fanny does. I should like to know what
you think about it, mamma."
Fanny jumped up, and threw her arms
round her brother's neck, and kissed him,
at the end of this speech, which was a long
speech for Arthur, who was by no means a
talkative boy. Mrs. Reynolds knew by his
looks, and by what he had said, that his
thoughts must have been much occupied
with this subject; and although she felt very
much inclined to kiss him too, and tell him
A MOTHERS ADVICE.
he was quite clever enough for her to love
him and listen to him at all times, yet she
thought it would be best to try and satisfy
his mind on the matter. So she looked
quite grave, and said:
"I will tell you what I think, Arthur.
You are only ten years old; and at that age
the portion of your mind, called the reason-
ing power, is not developed, that is grownup.
Things that are very plain and simple, you
can understand; things that are not plain
and simple, you cannot understand. But if
you continue strong and healthy in body,
and strive to learn all the useful things that
are taught you, and persevere in your pre-
sent desire to be true and just, you will, by
degrees, become a sensible fellow; and, in
due time, a man, upon whose reasoning and
judgment most people will rely-I for one."
"You, mamma? You are so clever."
"Yes, Arthur. It would not be very
clever in me, you know, not to value the
judgment of a well-informed, sensible man,
because he was once my little sonny."
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
Here his mother drew him to her, and kissed
his relaxing forehead.
But am I not very slow in understand-
ing, mamma?-Fanny learns and under-
stands everything in a moment."
"Yes, Arthur, my dear, you are rather
slow at present; bat you will not always
be slow, I think. You must not think
yourself stupid, because you cannot learn as
fast as your sister. Remember, she is a
year older than you, and that she is a girl.
I do not know why God has made it so, but
little girls generally learn much faster and
better than little boys; but, when they are
older, about seventeen or eighteen, boys
learn more, and faster than girls, and
much more difficult things. So if you wait
patiently, you will do better than Fanny in
a great many things."
"If I can only do half as well, mamma,"
said Arthur beginning to take courage. "I
am so glad you think I am not really
stupid," and he kissed his mother affection-
ARTHUR'S COURAGE REVIVES.
"He need not make himself miserable
about that,-need he, mamma?" inquired
Fanny, with a sweet-loving smile. "He fears
he shall be a silly, useless man, just because
he cannot work a sum all right, at first, and
spell long words, like concatenation."
I think the only chance he has of being
a silly, useless man, is by making himself
miserable with the fear of it, now; because
that would show a forgetfulness of God's
goodness. Do you not remember, dears,
that we are told not to be 'weary in well
doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we
faint not ?' Therefore, it is certain, Arthur,
darling, that if you will only keep up your
courage, and prrse:-r re in your present
endeavours to gain knowledge, and good
habits of quickness and clearness of thought,
you will succeed in time."
Mamma dear," said Arthur earnestly,
with his arm round her neck, "I will be
courageous; I will persevere, from this day,
if you.will help me."
"Arthur, will it not be best to try wmith-
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
out relying on my help ? I may not always
be with you. For instance, when you go to
school, or, when you are on a visit. Now,
you must be able to persevere in the right
path, in industry, and habits of attention
to your studies, without having any one to
remind you of your duty and to help you to
perform it,-no one but God."
"I will, mamma. I will, indeed. I
almost wish I could begin and try without
That is a lucky wish," said his mother,
smiling, and taking a letter from her pocket,
"for that reminds me of the rest of my
news. Uncle Tom is not coming upon
business, this time; but he is coming to
take you and Fanny to Fairdown, in a
Oh! oh! Joy! joy! joy!" exclaimed
Fanny, dancing about with delight, while
Arthur stood with his great eyes fixed on
his mother, in eager curiosity and astonish-
Papa and I are going into Scotland, to
MORE "GOOD NEWS."
see your grandpapa Reynolds. We shall be
away two or three months. Nurse is to take
Tom and Lucy and Carey down to Worthing
during that time; and you two are to re-
main at Fairdown.-So now, Arthur, you
have a capital opportunity 'of persevering
in your new resolution, without my help."
Arthur looked as if he would rather have
the help, nevertheless; but he was much
pleased at the idea of spending two whole
months at Fairdown, with Fanny, too, who
knew all about the place and the people.
Arthur had never been there, since he was a
baby, so it would be all new to him. The
children asked a hundred questions about
their parents' plans; and were so much
interested in this conversation with mamma,
that they were quite sorry when the first
bell rang for the early dinner, and they
were obliged to go and make themselves neat.
Need I brush my hair, mamma ?" said
Arthur, raking it down with his fingers.
"Yes, my dear," said his mother, laugh-
ing. You must not only brush your hair,
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
but you must wash your face and hands,
and put on a clean collar, and brush your
Arthur looked very incredulous as to the
necessity of all this. His mother reminded
him that he ought to acquire habits of per-
sonal cleanliness and propriety, while he
was a child, because they were necessary to
health and character through life. She said
that the acquisition of such habits was a
duty, and therefore, although he found it
irksome, he ought to persevere in the endea-
vour to attain them. In these little things,
as in the greater ones of which we were
speaking just now, the same maxim holds
good-Persevere, and you will prosper."
"Very well, mamma! Good bye now.-
Come along, Fanny. I am going to be a
persevering prosperous dandy from this day.
Now for a run: who will be up stairs first ?"
AND THE PEOPLE AT FAIRDOWN.
I SUPPOSE you have all some favourite
uncle-an uncle who is always asso-
ciated in your minds with holidays, and
treats, and presents, and all sorts of fun
and amusement; an uncle whom you do
not see very often and yet love very much ?
Well, this is precisely the sort of uncle that
came to take Fanny and Arthur to Fair-
down-court. In fact, uncle Tom was the
king of this kind of relation. The moment
he came into the house, every body seemed
gayer and brighter, from Sam "the boy,"
who took his portmanteau from the cabman,
and subsequently told the cook he "should
give the knives a extra polish, as Mr.
Chester was come," to Mr. Reynolds himself,
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
who left his office half an hour earlier than
usual, to see his brother-in-law, and have a
chat with him before dinner. If laughter
be a good preparative for the business of
digestion, thereN was enough of it in Mrs.
Reynolds' drawing-room that half hour
before dinner, to enable all the family to
live like ostriches for a week to come, if
they were so disposed. I dare say you know
that ostriches are able to eat, and digest
easily, things which other animals cannot.
At last, dinner was announced, and the
children were left to amuse themselves.
The younger ones went up to the nursery,
to play at School," and Fanny and Arthur
squeezed themselves, in what they consi-
dered a comfortable manner, into a large
easy chair by the drawing-room window.
This chair was what they called their
council-seat, and they always sat in it
together, whenever they had anything parti-
cular to talk about. On the present occa-
sion, they both ran to the council-seat, as
soon as the little ones were fairly gone.
THE WELCOME VISITOR.
"Now, Fanny, I want you to tell me a
great many things about our aunts and
uncles at Fairdown," exclaimed Arthur,
flinging himself, head first, into the chair.
"Well, make room for me, then;-and
stop till I get settled. Oh! mind my new
sash, there's a good boy; and do not tumble
my frock more than you can help. You
must just kick about a little less than
usual, you know."
Oh! dear me. How fine we are to day!
What is the good of girls wearing such
clothes, that they must not move about in ?
Just as if uncle Tom would like you a bit
better in a pink sash and a new frock!
What does mamma make you do it for, I
"I'm sure I wish I had my morning
frock on, as much as you do; but I
think I know why Mamma wished us to
wear better dresses than usual. It is not
exactly because Uncle Tom would like us
better in them, but because it is a mark of
respect to him. Do you not think we ought
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
to give the best of everything we have to
the people we think most of?"
"Yes," said Arthur; "I know it is
quite right, that mamma should give uncle
the best bed-room to sleep in, and have
more and nicer things for dinner and break-
fast, and try and make him as comfortable
as ever she can;-that is being hospitable;
is it not ? But I do not see why she should
put on that fine new silk gown of hers,
and wish you to wear that pretty white
frock and such a grand sash, and make fne
put on my best jacket. I do not see what
that has to do with being hospitable,-you
don't give the things to uncle Tom. It's
stupid, I think."
"Don't be too sure of that, Ar-
thur," said Fanny thoughtfully. Mamma
never does a stupid thing, I'm sure.
Besides, does not everybody put on their
best clothes, when they go to see their
friends, or when their friends come to see
them ? Even Cook and Sam, you know are
quite smart when they go to see their
THE LITTLE QUESTIONER.
friends. And why does anybody ever have
Best clothes at all ? we might just as well
| have all our things alike; because, we might
be quite as neat and clean, you know, as if
we wore company dresses. I'm sure there
must be something in it,-some reason that
we have not thought of, for taking all the
trouble of dressing for visitors. Let us
ask mamma, for I don't think I can find it
out for you."
Very well! What were we going to talk
About ? I quite forget," said Arthur.
S "You were going to ask me some ques-
tions about Fairdown. But I am sure I
must have told you everything you want to
know, hundreds and hundreds of times. I
do not think you will be able to make out
what sort of people grandpapa and grand-
mamma and aunt Mimmy are, till you see
"Mimmy! That sounds such a queer
name! What makes people call her so?
mamma calls her Marianne," said Arthur.
"Oh When I was quite a little thing,
PERSEVERCE AND PROSPER.
and could not speak plain, I used to call her
" Auntie Mimmy," and a good many people
called her by that name too; and I like it, and
I call her so now; and you must call her
Mimmy too, Arthur, just to please me,
dear; will you?"
Oh! yes, if you like it. But tell me
Well, you know, dear Arthur," said
Fanny, looking very grave, "that poor
Auntie Mimmy is blind."
"Yes," replied Arthur, nestling his head
upon his sister's shoulder, and whispering, in
a sorrowful tone," It must be a dreadful
thing to be blind. Fanny, I do not think
I shall like to see Auntie Mimmy;-it will
make me so very miserable. What, can't
she see even your nice, kind face, when you
go quite close to her eyes, and kiss her ?"
"No, Arthur.' Nobody's face, and not
even the sun on the brightest day."
"Poor Auntie Mimmy! she must be
"Oh! dear, no. There you are quite
BLIND AUNT MIMMY.
wrong. Auntie Mimmy is never unhappy.
She is very cheerful; not quite so merry as
dear mamma, but still she is quite as happy,
"How can that be, Fanny? when she
has not half as many things to make her
"Do you know, Arthur dear ?" said Fanny
in low tone, "I think God loves Auntie
Mimmy very much, and that makes her so
happy., I know she loves God better than
anything in the world; better than she
loves me even; and she thinks about Him
always. Now we know that people who
think a great deal about God, can never be
dull and miserable; and so it is that Auntie
Mimmy is so cheerful, and seems to enjoy
everything and love everybody, though she
cannot see them."
Dear Auntie Mimmy! I am sure I shall
love her. What sort of a face has she?
and"--Here Arthur hesitated a little,-
"and cannot her eyes open at all? -that
must look very horrible!" Fanny laughed a
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
little at his mistake, and explained that,
though his aunt could not see, yet that she
had eyes just like other people. "Such
clear, large, blue eyes, Arthur. You would
not know that she was blind, at first;
because she looks at you when you speak
to her; I mean, turns her eyes to the place
where your voice comes from. It is only
after a time, that you are sure she cannot
see anything, because her eyes do not
change, and she does not shut them when
the sun shines full into her face, as people
do that can see. I do not know whether
you will like the rest of her face, but I
think it the most beautiful face in the
world, next to mamma's. She has such
pretty hair, just like the corn when it is
ripe, and it grows in curls all round her
head, and hangs on her soft pink cheeks.
Sometimes, I think she looks like that
beautiful angel in the picture, in mamma's
room. Indeed, Arthur, it is of no use talk-
ing about what Auntie Mimmy is like. I
can't tell properly; there is nothing like
her in the whole world, I'm sure; and so
Everybody says, you know."
"Yes, I know everybody says that; but
I never quite understood about it till now.
I never liked to ask much about her, you
know, because she is blind. I was afraid
it would be unkind, and so I waited till I
knew I was going to Fairdown, and could
see her. But I am glad I did ask you to
tell me a little. Now, what is grandpapa
Oh, he is such a dear, kind grandpapa !
He lets me'do anything I like; and only
laughs if I do wrong things, as I used to do
very often. And when aunt Sophy was
scolding me, he often used to make me
laugh too, with his funny faces; and then
aunt was very cross. Grandpapa is not so
tall as uncle Tom, and stoops his head
forward, just so. His hair is quite a shining
white. I suppose he is very old; but he is
quite strong, and walks about the fields all
day, with a thick stick in his hand; and he
has a funny sort of hat, with a broad brim,
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
like a lady's riding hat; and he wears a
long coat, and great shoes laced up in
front. He is very fond of talking, and
sometimes he talks to himself, as he walks
along the fields. But I like him best when
he is sitting in his great chair, after tea;
and makes us all come and sit down too,
and talk over everything that has happened
in the day; and makes me say some poetry;
and Aunt Sophy and Aunt Julia and Uncle
Tom sing together; and last of all, before I
go to bed, Auntie Mimmy plays a hymn,
and we all sing it, and then Uncle Walter
(you know him) reads prayers, and after
that I go to bed, and then they have supper."
"But you have not said anything about
grandmamma," said Arthur, who had been
listening very attentively to his sister.
"Grandmamma is such a little, tiddy old
lady. She is not much bigger than I am."
"Oh, Fanny!" exclaimed Arthur. Fanny
had a bad habit of exaggeration in her
account of things; and he thought this
could not be quite true. He could not easily
form the notion that so venerable a personage
as grandmamma Chester, his own mother's
mother, was only a little bigger than such
a girl as Fanny.
"Indeed, indeed, Arthur!" she began
with animation; but seeing him look as if
he were not going to believe her, she
changed her tone, and said in rather a cross
way, "Very well! if you do no choose to
believe me, I shall not tell you any more."
"Now, don't get into a passion, Fanny,
No, Arthur, I am not going to get into a
passion. But I do not like you to say I
"Well, but, Fanny, what am I to do
when I think you say what is not quite
true? I am not going to pretend that I
believe you when I don't."
"Well I think you might believe me,'
said Fanny, now quite angry.
"But I can't, because you know very
well, you often say things that turn out not
to be true," said Arthur, getting cross too.
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
You remember about the blue roses, and
the man three yards high ?"
"Oh! that was a long time ago," said
Fanny scornfully. And I was very nearly
right, you know; for the roses had blue
streaks, and the man was more than two
yards high; papa said so. And I don't
call not being quite right in every syllable
I say, telling falsehood."
"Well, I don't call it telling truth," said
Arthur, and it is so tiresome; because I
like your telling about things better than
anybody's, when I do not recollect your way
of making them out tobe more than they are."
"Then perhaps you think I have been
telling stories all along about Fairdown and
Auntie )Iimmy and grandpapa and aunts
and uncles," said Fanny looking half indig-
nant and half unhappy; for she felt that
there was some truth in Arthur's accusation,
and she was very sorry he had come to dis-
believe her statements.
"No, Fanny, dear; I don't think that.
I'm sure all that is true, from what I hear
other people say, and because it seems like
truth; but it does not seem like truth, to
say that grandmamma Chester is only a
little taller than a child like you."
"Well, I declare she is not much more
than a head taller."
"Much more than a head!" retorted
Arthur derisively, I call that a great deal
taller, not a little."
Well, all I know is" said Fanny recover-
ing her temper again; for, to do her justice,
she was never out of temper long, "grand-
mamma is always called a little old lady;
and she is a great deal shorter than mamma.
Do you believe me, now?"
Oh, yes," said Arthur thoroughly satis-
fied, "that's a very different thing."
"Well, grandmamma is always very busy
all the morning before twelve o'clock;
giving orders to the servants, and going
into the pantry and the dairy, and to the
poultry-yard, and other places. I always
used to go with her to take the eggs. Such
a quantity there used to be sometimes!
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
because we had hundreds and hundreds of
all sorts of poultry."
"Hundreds and hundreds!" exclaimed
Arthur again; "is that quite true?"
"Well! how particular you are to-day!
I'm sure there were fifty or sixty cocks and
hens, and twenty ducks, and a great many
turkeys and guinea fowl. It is so nice to
go and feed them; they look so pretty all
together in a crowd."
"I should like to feed them, too," said
Arthur. Do you think grandmamma will
let me, ever ?"
Yes, I am sure she will, dear; and give
you some for your own too. She gave me
such a pretty little bantam hen and a brood
"Is grandmamma kind in her way of
"Oh yes! very, in general; but there
are some things she is very particular about.
And then, you will not think she is very
kind, at first; because she has got a way of
frowning, and looking very hard at you;
almost as if she thought you are going to
be naughty, but she is not really cross. In
the evenings, she used often to tell me such
pretty stories while she was knitting. She
does such quantities of knitting; and if
you just happen to take up her work, and
drop a stitch,-oh! then she gets downright
angry. Now, you have seen Aunt Sophy
and Aunt Julia, so you do not want me to
tell you about them."
Yes, but I do, though. I only remember
that they came here a long time ago, and
that one of them bad a face like mamma's."
"That was Aunt Sophy. She takes care
of me and mends my clothes and teaches
me my lessons."
"What ? are we to do lessons at Fair-
down ?" asked Arthur, somewhat dismayed.
"Yes, I should think we ought to do
some, if Aunt Sophy will teach us. You
need not mind. She is not half so strict
as Miss Maitland."
"But I like Miss Maitland, and I do not
want anyone else to teach me."
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
"Well, perhaps you will like Aunt Sophy
as well. Then there is Aunt Julia; she is
the housekeeper, and is so kind, and gives
you nice things out of the store-room; and
when she makes pastry on the baking days,
I am always allowed to be with her, and
make little cakes, You can't think how
nice that is. Aunt Julia sings all over the
house, like mamma, only she is much graver,
and never says such funny things. She is
very fond of Auntie Mimmie, and leads her
about when they go out walking. She is
like Auntie in the face a little, and has just
the same sort of voice when she speaks.
Now do you think you will be able to know
them all a little before you see them ?"
Yes, but I begin very much to want to
go to Fairdown. When do we go? did
Uncle Tom say ?"
No, but it will be before a week; because
I heard mamma say she should see us off
before she sent the little ones to Worthing,
and nurse says they are going this day
UNCLE TOM'S PRANKS.
"How funny it does seem for us all to
be going away from home! I say, Fanny, I
don't think I shall like anyone at Fairdown
as well as Uncle Tom; he is so kind, and so
very clever, and never speaks cross to us;
and papa and mamma are so fond of him.
I can never like any body else so well.
He says he will get a pony for me to ride
at Fairdown. Won't that be capital,
"Now, master Arthur and Miss Fanny,
your tea is quite ready, and Nurse is waiting
for you," said the housemaid coming into
"Very well! Sarah, let us go up stairs
and get Nurse to tell us about what she
remembers of Fairdown. She lived there
when mamma was a little girl. She says
Uncle Tom used to play such odd pranks.
Perhaps we can get her to tell us some of
them, and then we can teaze him about
them," said Fanny.
As they went up stairs, Arthur stopped
suddenly and said, "You won't mind my
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
saying that, about your not telling quite the
exact truth,-will you, Fanny ?"
"No dear, I dare say what you say is
quite right; indeed I am sure it is; because
mamma says I do exaggerate very much;
and if I do not take great care I shall come
in time to tell lies.'"
"Oh! Fanny, that would be dreadful,
would it not ? so pray do try and take care.
I will help you to persevere as well as Itan,
if you will help me to persevere in trying to
understand and judge about things."
"Thank you, Arthur, darling. It was
kind of you to tell me, I know; and I will
try not to get cross another time; but it is
very provoking not to be believed. I must
be more careful in what I say, as Nurse tells
me I ought to think twice before I speak
once. Now, sometimes I never think at all
before speaking, and so it is no wonder I
am not quite right., But if we help each
other, and do not quarrel, I am sure we
shall get right at last."
f THE JOURNEY TO FAIRDOWN.
IT was a beautiful day at the end of
June, when Mrs. Thomas Chester took
iny and Arthur to Fairdown. The jour-
itself was a great treat to the children.
.and Mrs. Reynolds went part of the way
I will tell you how this journey was
aged. Fairdown was not near any
railway ; and the quickest, pleasantest, and
:jeapest way of travelling, was to go down
~te river in a steamboat, as far as Gravesend,
:where grandpapa's great family chaise was
in waiting to carry them to Fairdown-court.
'Directly after lunch, Mrs. Reynolds and her
"brother and Fanny and Arthur stepped into
j- coach, and Mr. Reynolds sat beside the
driver. They drove to the terminus of the
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
Blackwall Railway, where the coachman
was discharged, and they got their tickets
and went into a sort of waiting-room, till
the train was ready to start.
Fanny took notice of a great many things
during the few minutes they had to wait;
but Arthur held his papa's hand, and
listened to something he was saying to a
gentleman whom he knew; but he did not
understand what was said, as it was about
politics. It would have been better if he
had looked about him, as Fanny did; be-
cause he would have seen something he
could understand. But Arthur never
thought of that. When they were seated
in the Railway carriage, which they had all
to themselves, Fanny said to Arthur,
"I wonder whether the deaf old lady with
the trumpet, and the little girl, are going
all the way to Gravesend."
I did not see them," said Arthur, why
do you want to know ?"
"Oh! because I liked their faces, and
they had such a pretty little dog."
EYES, AND NO EYES.
"I wish I had seen it!" said Arthur,
"I never see half the things you do."
"That's only because you do not look.
Do you remember' Eyes and no eyes said
Fanny laughing. Now you should open
yours a little; they are quite big 'enough to
see with. You might have got a kind
word from that nice old lady, and have had
her ear-trumpet to look at, as I had; she let
,ne hold one end of the thing,-tube she
called it,-and speak to her through it, while
she put the other to her ear, and answered
me, and explained how it was made; it is of
Indian-rubber, and is light and so easy to
carry, she just hangs it over her arm."
"But how did you get to speak to her,
when you never saw her before? does
mamma or Uncle Tom know her ?" asked
Arthur, who was sorry to have lost the
sight of so ingenious a contrivance, for he
had a strong love for mechanical inventions
and scientific instruments.
"Oh! we do not know her; I saw that
she was deaf by the little girl's speaking to
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
her through the tube. The little girl, whose
name is Martha, was obliged to run out of
the place where we were waiting, after
Ponto, the little dog, and just then the
soldiers came in with a poor deserter."
"A deserter!" exclaimed Arthur, "was
there a deserter there ? how I wish you had
What! did you not see him ? I thought
you saw him, of course; though you did
not run to stare at him, as all those rude
unkind people did. It was their going to
the other end of the place so suddenly, that
made the deaf old lady think the train was
going, and get up in a great hurry and call
out 'Martha! Martha! where are you, child?
come, the train is ready!' She was in such
a bustle, and looked so flushed, that some
rude persons stood laughing at her. So I
went up to her and took hold of her tube,
as Martha had done, and said, The train is
not ready yet, the people have only gone to
look at something; I will go and find your
little girl.' Thank you, my dear,' said she,
WHAT FANNY SAW.
and looked very much obliged. I ran off
soon, for I was half afraid and felt so un-
comfortable after what I had done; but
mamma had been watching me, and said
Quite right Fanny, I will go with you to
find the little girl;' and we went out, and had
to pass quite close to the poor deserter, who
looked sad and miserable, with his head
hanging down, and his clothes all in rags.
W- e found Martha just coming in, quite out
'of breath,-Ponto had run away into the
street. She let me take him in my arms.
He is such a lovely little dog! and does not
snap and bite at you, like Mr. Smith's Spot.
'We brought it back to the deaf lady, and
she was so kind, and let me look at the
tube; and I was just coming to fetch you,
when we were all obliged to go up to the
"What is all that long story about,
Fanny ?" inquired her uncle, smiling.
I was telling him what was to be seen
in the waiting-room, uncle."
But, he was there to see it for himself."
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
"Oh! but he never sees half the things."
"Perhaps he was listening to your papa
and Mr. Maynard; for he stood by all the
time, staring at them both, with a very wise
look. What were they talking about,
Arthur ? did you understand anything of it ?"
"No, uncle, not understand exactly;
but I was trying to make out what Mr.
Maynard meant by saying,--Oh! I forget
now! I wish I had looked about me, and
seen the deaf lady's tube, and the dog, and
Ah! you would have understood those
things very well. Another time, my boy,
do not puzzle your brain by trying to
understand any conversation which you
find very much beyond your knowledge;
because it is likely that nearly all of it will
be without any meaning for you; and it is
almost certain that you will attach a wrong
meaning to what you think you do under-
stand. It is best to pay attention to things
which you can comprehenid. Now, I think
you can understand how this train is moved."
HOW A TRAIN MOVES.
"Oh yes, uncle, by a locomotive engine,"
cried both the children.
S"You are quite right," replied the uncle;
"but the reason I asked the question, was,
because the trains on this Railwhy were not
Always attached to a locomotive engine."
"Indeed, uncle," said Arthur, who could
not comprehend any other mode by which a
train could be moved along the lines of a
S "I will endeavour to explain this to you,"
said the uncle. "You will observe that
this" Railway is built upon arches all the
way, and is elevated to a height equal to
that of many of the houses in the midst of
which it passes. It was at first supposed
that it would be dangerous to use locomotive
engines, from the reason that if by any
r accident the train run off the line, it might
e precipitated into the street, among the
houses and passers by, and in that case. the
consequences would have been most fearful.
The plan that was therefore adopted was to
run a strong rope along the whole length of
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
each line of rail: this rope was made of
twisted wires, of sufficient length to reach
double the whole distance; each end of this
rope was attached to an immensely large
drum or wheel, round which it was wound
by the motion given to the drum by steam
power, so that when that motion was put
into action it of course unwound the rope
from the wheel at the other end, and in so
doing the train of carriages, which were
hooked to the rope, were drawn along the
line to their destination. Do you under-
stand me, Arthur ?"
I think I do, uncle," replied his nephew,
"but do you know the reason why the rope
was discontinued, and locomotive engines
used instead ?"
I can tell you that, also," said his uncle.
"The rope often broke, or got out of repair,
so that interruptions and delays frequently
took place. To prevent this, particularly
as the traffic along the line began to increase,
the Railway Company found themselves
compelled to alter the mode of traction, that
THE ROPE AND LOCOMOTIVE.
.Is, of giving motion to the trains. But
,.-before they did this, the walls on each side
were strengthened, and the use of locomotive
engines adopted, as you see now. The up and
.down trains on the first two or three miles of
Sthe North Western Railway, then called the
,Birmingham Railway, from Euston-square
to Primrose-hill, were, at first, drawn in the
same manner, by a rope; but from the same
reason, that mode was abandoned, and the
use of locomotive engines was substituted."
: Arthur paid great attention to his uncle's
.explanation, and comprehended what he
said, very easily; and asked many ques-
tions, which proved that he was by no
means so stupid a boy as he fancied he was,
while listening to his papa and Mr. Maynard;
Sand his spirits rose in consequence. It is
so pleasant to feel that we are understand-
ing some new thing. His uncle seemed
very much pleased with the exact and'pre-
cise way in which Arthur told what he
knew, and explained what it was that he
did not know. He said, that sort of expla-
PERSEVERE ANLD PROSPER.
nation showed that Arthur had given his
attention to the matter, and that he was
Arthur felt glad that his Uncle Tom
thought he was intelligent, and he looked
at his mother with a smile; for he felt sure
that she would be pleased to see that he
comprehended some things that had been
taught him, as well as, if not better, than
Fanny; and his uncle seeing that the boy
took pleasure in mechanics, talked to him of
a new machine which he was going to set
up at Fairdown, an improved threshing
machine. Arthur understood the principle
upon which it worked; but he was not able
to imagine the machine distinctly, that is,
to make a picture of it in his mind. Arthur
was not a boy of strong imagination, and
could seldom form an idea of anything that
he had not seen. He was what is called a
matter-of-fact boy. This had always been
a trouble to Fanny and the little ones in
their various games. When they played at
Arabs in the Desert, for instance, Arthur
A PARTING SCENE.
would never do the Camel's part properly,
though he was the strongest; because, as
he said, hd had "never seen a real camel,
and could not fancy how it wou4d move;"
and, if he "had seen one, it would be of no
use for him to try to pretend? he was a
camel, when he knew all the time he was a
boy." He "did not see any fun in such
When they arrived at Blackwall, and went
on board the Gravesend steam-boat, Mr. and
Mrs. Reynolds prepared to return home.
Both the children began to look grave at
the idea of going away from their parents.
Mrs. Reynolds took them with her into one
of the little empty cabins on the deck, and
said a few last words to each of them,
reminding them of their promises to her to
try not to get tired of doing right.
"Arthur is to persevere in endeavouring to
gain habits of attention and quickness of
thought," said she; and you, Fanny, must
go on in your new resolution never to ex-
aggerate or to speak without thinking.
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
If you both persevere steadily, with all
your hearts, Arthur will be intelligent in
most things, besides mechanics; and Fanny
will be a thoroughly-truthful little girl."
Their mother kissed them, and then Fanny
burst into tears.
"What is the matter, my dear ?"
"Oh mamma, you think me a story-
teller !" sobbed Fanny in a tone of mingled
shame and sorrow.. "I'm sure I never
mean to tell stories."
"No, Fanny, you do not mean to tell
stories; therefore you are not a liar. A liar
tells falsehoods intentionally, in order to
deceive; and it is the badness of the motive
that makes lying so great a sin. But
though you are not so bad now, you may
become a liar in time, unless you persevere
in forcing yourself to be exact and truthful.
It is by being careless about truth at first,
that people grow at last into a habit of tell-
ing lies. I do not wish to make this fault
appear less wicked and terrible than it is.
I know several persons who were never
made to feel the sacredness of truth when
they were young; who indulged themselves
in habits of exaggeration, and misrepresen-
tation in description, just for amusement;
and in a careless way of looking at, and
thinking about things; fancying that it was
quite unnecessary and tedious to be exact
in giving an account of any fact. In time
they got to be indifferent to truth altogether
in little things, and scarcely able to per-
ceive the difference between truth and false-
hood in great things. These persons are
now habitually false, and those who know
them cannot respect them, or believe what
they say. It is not only because it is a
mean and disgraceful thing to tell lies, but
because it is almost the wickedest thing
that human beings can do, (as you will
understand when you are older,) that I am
so sorry that my little Fanny is a little
careless about truth."
"But mamma! mamma!" said Fanny,
"Indeed I never say what is not true onpur-
pose. I am not a liar."
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
"No, but you must give yourself a great
deal more trouble than that, before you can
be really truthful. You must always intend
and try to tell what is exactly true, no
more and no less. You will not find it very
easy, at first. It is a mistake to say that
it is very easy to be quite true in all you
say and do. It is difcult to most people;
there are so many temptations to make us
wish to seem better or wiser than we are,
and to alter the true account of a thing;
but it is very difficult indeed for a girl like
you, Fanny, who are quick, and careless,
and fond of imagining and inventing, to keep
herself steadily to the exact truth. It
seems dry and tiresome; but, indeed, my
child, truth in all things is the most beauti-
ful quality of the mind; one without which
all the cleverness and good-nature in the
world are worth little in my eyes. I would
rather see you honest and truthful, than
possessed of all the fine accomplishments
that a woman can acquire. But I see no
reason why you should not be strictly truth-
ful, and very clever and accomplished
besides; both will make you useful to
others; but if you are clever and accom-
plished, and at the same time careless about
truth, it is probable that you will be more
mischievous than useful in the world."
"Dear mamma," said Fanny "Auntie
Mimmie has told me something like this
before, and I have forgotten it; but, indeed,
indeed, I shall not forget it now. I will
not grow up a liar, or even careless about
truth; I must and will be a good and use-
ful woman. Do not be unhappy any more
about this bad habit of mine. I will cure
myself; Arthur will help me, and I will ask
Auntie Mimmie to talk to me about it.
She makes me feel what a sad thing it is to
Mrs. Reynolds and the children were still
talking when their papa came in to wish
them Good bye," and to take their mamma
away, as the boat was about to start.
As they stood on each side of Uncle Tom
on the deck, and watched their papa and
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
mamma go on shore, they both of them shed
a few tears. Their uncle kindly consoled
them, and told some funny stories to make
them laugh; and in a quarter of an hour
they were running beside him as he walked
up and down the deck, and told him the
names of the different sorts of vessels which
they passed on the river. Fanny, indeed,
was not quite so happy as Arthur, for she
could not forget what her mamma had been
saying. She felt that it was all true; and,
more than all, it made her unhappy to think
that her kind, sweet mamma, could not trust
or believe her, and was sorrowful on that
account. So, after a little time, she went
and sat on a bench, and looked over the side
of the vessel into the bright river that
glittered in the sun. She did not notice
that it looked beautiful, because she felt
Presently she felt something beside her;
and, turning round, she saw a little dog who
had jumped on the seat, and was poking his
head under her bonnet and wagging his tail
SUPPRESSION OF TRUTH.
as much as to say, I do not like to see you
unhappy, little girl,-come and have a frisk
with me." It was Ponto. She began to
play with him, and to forget her trouble, and
then she saw the old lady standing beside
her. The old lady looked at her kindly and
patted her shoulder; then she stooped
down and whispered, so that only Fanny
and Ponto could hear, "What were you
so unhappy about just now, my dear ?" and
she held the mouth-piece of her tube for
Fanny to take. Fanny took it and was
about to say Oh! nothing, ma'am," when
she suddenly remembered that that was not
a true answer. She stopped a moment, and
coloured very much. Then she raised the
mouth-piece to her lips, and said distinctly,
"I would rather not tell you, ma'am."
The old lady looked pleased at this; and
sat down beside Fanny, and looking into her
blushing face, said, "I am very glad to find
that you are so truthful, my dear, I shall
know, now, that you may be trusted."
Fanny blushed very much more; for she
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
felt that she did not deserve the lady's
praise; and she was just going to take up
the tube and tell her so, when, Martha, who
was the old lady's grand-daughter, came up
to them and laughed when she saw Fanny
again, and said I am so glad you are here,
I did not see you before." "Martha," said
her grandmamma, "you may play and talk
with this little girl, if you like; she tells
the truth, and is kind to those who want
"Poor Fanny! how uncomfortable she
felt! it seemed so strange that this lady
should begin talking about the very thing
that was in her own mind. But it is not
right, it is not truthful, thought Fanny to
let her go on in her mistake. So gulping
down her tears, she determined to be brave
and tell her that she was not always truth-
ful. Still she hesitated; it was so disgrace-
ful to tell falsehoods, even only for want of
thinking enough; she wished the lady and
Martha to keep their good opinion of her.
I need not tell them, she thought again,
because I mean to be quite truthful from
this very hour; they need not know, unless
I tell them. She did not persevere in her
first good resolution to tell them they were
mistaken, but allowed them to Vink what
was not true. Now, this also, was being
untrue. You may see by this, that Fanny
was very anxious that people should think
well of her; but not so anxious to merit
their good opinion.
She did not feel quite satisfied with her-
self, however, and sat with a flushed face,
looking down on Ponto and stroking him.
Arthur now came to see what she was doing.
and his attention was divided between Ponto
and Martha and the lady and her tube.
The old lady, whose name was Mrs.
Clavering, saw that he was Fanny's brother,
and began to have a little talk with him
through the tube. Martha and Fanny could
not help laughing at the grimaces Arthur
made, and the trouble he took to shout as
loud as he could through the tube, thinking
that Mrs. Clavering would hear all the
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
better. Mr. Chester soon heard Arthur's
voice at the other side of the vessel. He
heard him bawl out, "Arthur Reynolds,
ma'am." "Ten, going on for eleven."
" Fanny; she's a year older than I am."
" Uncle Tom is taking us to Fairdownn."
These were 'answers to Mrs. Clavering's
questions. Mr. Chester began to fear that
Master Arthur would draw a crowd round
him, if he detailed all his personal affairs in
so loud a tone; and he therefore stepped
over and bowed politely to the old lady, and
then told Arthur not to shout like a town-
crier, but to speak softly and clearly, and
the lady would hear him better than if he
spoke as loud as Stentor. Arthur lowered
his tone, and found that the lady heard him
better, so. Then he asked permission to
examine the curious tube, and she explained
to him its great use to her; that without it
she could not hear at all. Arthur thought
her the nicest old lady he had ever seen.
Presently Ponto began to play some pretty
tricks, and Arthur ran off with Fanny, to
play with him, as well as to observe what
Martha was about.
Mr. Chester and the old ladle began to
converse a little; and Mrs. Clavering told
him that she was just settled in a house.
about seven miles from Fairdown, which
belonged to her son, Mr. Clavering, Martha's
father. Her son, she said, had lost his wife
two years ago; and had been travelling ever
since, while she had taken charge of Martha
at her own house near London; but that
now Mr. Clavering had determined to turn
his mind to farming, and had taken a large
farm, called Ellesdown-place, and she and
Martha had come to live with him. She
went on to say, that she knew Mr. Chester
by sight, and that her son was going to call
at Fairdown-court to deliver a letter or a
message from Captain John Chester, whom
he had known at Malta. Mr. Chester
expressed much pleasure in the anticipation
of a visit from Mr. Clavering; and said that
the greatest want he felt in a country neigh-
bourhood, was the want of pleasant and profi-
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
table society. Mrs. Clavering assented, and
added, that it was a want of a more serious
kind in the case of children and young per-
sons, than in that of persons of mature years.
"For instance, I cannot find fitting com-
panions for my little grand-daughter at
Ellesdown. A deaf old woman, and a
grave, somewhat sad man, of five or six-and-
thirty, are not very good playmates for a
lively little girl of' ten. I was wishing,
when I first saw yonr little companions
yonder, that I could find some way of invit-
ing them to visit my lonely little Martha.
I hope you will let them come to Ellesdown,
while they are staying with you; I have
taken a great fancy to them, and so has
Mr. Chester felt all the truth of what the
old lady said, and promised that his nephew
and niece should cultivate Martha's acquain-
tance, if it' was found agreeable to both
parties. Mr. Chester then took the trouble
of giving Mrs. Clavering all the information
she required about the places round Elles-
down and Fairdown, and the principal
families residing therein.
In the mean time, Fanny and Aithur were
making advances towards Martha. Martha
was not at all shy, and had a little old-
fashioned way of moving and speaking,
which made Arthur inclined to laugh. He
thought she was very much like her grand-
mamma. Fanny thought it was because
she was not dressed like other little girls;
but wore a thick stiff silk frock, made long,
like a woman, and a silk bonnet, with large
bows on it, instead of a straw hat, with pink
strings, like her own, and a plain pink ging-
ham frock, with white trousers, such as she
wore. Fanny thought it was a pity that
Martha was dressed so, because it did not
look pretty. Arthur did not notice her
dress, but he saw she was quite different
from any other little girl he had ever seen.
She walked along with her head very
upright, and carried a reticule in her hand,
just like an old lady. Once, when she
dropped this reticule, Arthur stooped down
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
good-naturedly, and picked it up for her;
upon which Martha made him a low curtsey,
and said with great gravity, "Thank you,
sir." Then Arthur could not help bursting
out into a laugh. He had never seen a
little girl behave so. Martha looked at him
in surprise, and then coloured all over.
"You should not do so, Arthur," said
Fanny, who felt quite ashamed at her bro-
ther's rude behaviour. "You must not
mind him, Martha; he is a rude boy;" and
she took Martha's hand, and turned her back
upon Arthur. Arthur felt uncomfortable,
and so he went to his uncle and Mrs.
Clavering; but he watched Fanny and Mar-
tha, and saw that they were laughing and
talking together and playing with Ponto,
who stood on his hind legs and begged very
cleverly. Arthur was sorry he had been
rude, but he thought it was very hard to
help laughing when people look funny.
Soon his uncle began to talk to him about
the various objects of interest along the
river, which was becoming wider and wider,
SCE2iERY OF THE RIVER'S BANKS.
as they went on. The sky was a clear blue,
and the river sparkled beautifully all over;
and the steamer went on very fast, making
a pretty white foam below her paddle-boxes,
and leaving a dark line of ruffled water
behind her. There are always some vessel in
sight; and the banks on both sides were
green; and, on the Kent side, were very
pretty. Arthur thought there could not be
many journeys pleasanter than going in a
steam-boat down the Thames on a fine sum-
mer day. We must remember that it was
quite new to him, and that he had never
been up the Rhine, or the Loire, or the
Danube, which travellers tell us are much
more beautiful than the Thames. As I dare
say you have all been down the Thames, I
need not tell you the names of the places
they passed; I will merely say that what
interested Arthur most was the remains of
the old Roman embankment along the water,
built to prevent the river from overflowing
the low lands. When he looked at it, and
saw how strong it yet was, and remembered
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
that it was about eighteen hundred years
since the Romans made it, he could not help
thinking how well they had done their work,
for it to last so long; and he wondered whe-
ther people could build any wall or embank-
ment so strong, now. He thought, not;
for Arthur had formed a very high idea of
the Romans from what Miss Maitland and
his papa had told him concerning them.
At Northfleet, his uncle told him, many
steamers were built; he also pointed out
the pretty village of Swanscoombe, on a hill,
with the old church, half hidden among
trees, and told him that the Danes had
landed there in one of their invasions during
the Saxon times, and that the place was
called Sweyn's-coombe, or Sweyn's-hill, from
the name of their leader. At last they came
to Gravesend, and just before they stopped
at the handsome Terrace-pier, their Uncle
Tom pointed out to all the three children,
Tilbury-fort, on the Essex bank of the river,
and told them that Queen Elizabeth made a
brave speech to her army there, at the time
SCENE AT LANDING.
when the great Spanish Armada was coming
to invade England. Arthur was so much
occupied with looking at Tilbury-fort, that
he was pushed about by the passengers, who
were eager to go on shore, and did not pay
much attention to a little boy who stood
still in the midst of the general bustle.
Arthur was soon separated from his uncle
and Fanny, who went, with Mrs. Clavering
and Martha, towards the place where the
tickets were taken, as the passengers land.
Now Martha was a sweet tempered, forgiving
child; she saw that Arthur would lose him-
self in the crowd, so she slipped back
quickly and went to the place where he was
still standing, staring across the river at
Tilbury-fort and the various ships anchored
You will be lost, if you stay here. I
have come to find you., Grandm amma and
your uncle and Fanny are in that crowd, and
will have to wait for us. Make haste," said
she, taking his hand.
"Who sent you?" inquired Arthur as
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
they went on, being pressed forward by the
"Nobody," replied the kind Martha.
"It is very kind of you to come for me,
after I was so rude," said Arthur; "I am
very sorry, but I could not help it, you
looked so funny, you know."
"I did not know that I looked funny; I
do not know why you laughed at me," said
Martha. But never mind about it, now. I
do not mind, now, though I did think it was
rather rude, then."
"I will never laugh at your odd ways,
any more," said Arthur, "I hope we shall
see you again soon."
"I think you will, because your uncle
and grandmamma seem to be quite friends
now, and grandmamma promised your sister
that she would ask papa to take me with
him when he pays the visit he had promised
Oh I am very glad that your papa knows
Uncle Tom. Have you ever been to Fair-
down-court ?" asked Arthur getting quite at
ease, now his good-natured companion had
"No. Is that your Uncle's house ?"
where you are going ?"
I know it is a pretty place, about seven
miles, by the road, from Ellesdown, (that's
where we are living), and four across the
fields. You must come and see us at Elles-
down-you and Fanny. "Oh! here they
are," and they joined their friends, who were
beginning to look anxiously for them.
When they arrived at the other end of
the pier, they found the two carriages wait-
ing, Mrs. Clavering's pretty photon, drawn
by two grey poneys, and Mr. Chester's large
double-chaise. The children were quite
sorry to part from their new acquaintances,
and they bade Martha "good bye" many
times, and entreated her to make her papa
go soon to Fairdown,-to morrow, if she
could." When they had seen their new
friends drive off, Mr. Chester put Fanny and
Arthur into the chaise, and then drove off
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
to transact some business in the town before
they started for Fairdown. While he was
engaged, the children found plenty of
amusement in watching the great number
of people who were going up and down the
High-street, which was so narrow that they
were obliged to walk in the road as well as
on the pavement. Fanny, who knew all
about Gravesend, as it was the nearest large
town to Fairdown, explained to Arthur that
all these people did not live at Gravesend,
but that most of them were people from
London, who came out with their families
for a day's pleasure in the fresh air on the
river, and to walk about Gravesend. Fanny
said that many working-men and quite poor
people were able to do this once or twice in
the summer, because the fare on the steam-
boats was so little. Arthur was very glad
to hear this, because he had often pitied the
poor pale, dirty children, whom he saw
playing in the London streets, and wished
they could go to the sea-side and into the
country, sometimes as he and his sisters and
THEIR CHARITY ELICITED.
brothers did. He now watched the children
in the crowd very earnestly, and felt very
glad to see how pleased and joyful they
"I wish I were a king," he exclaimed
at length, "I would give every poor family
money enough to come down here every
"Yes," said Fanny, "and if I were a
queen, they should all have nice dinners
every day, and plenty of clothes to wear,
and clean houses to live in."
"I suppose they all have nice dinners
to-day, Fanny. I mean, all these people.
That little boy looks hungry, though,-the
one looking into the cake shop, I think I
will give him sixpence out of my half-crown;
shall I, Fanny ?"
"Yes, dear, he does look hungry.
James," said she to the man on he box,
"will you let me hold the reins while you
get change for Arthur's half-crown ?" Now,
James had heard what the children had
been saying, and was very pleased that they
TERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
thought of other people who were not so
well off as themselves, and he knew that
Fanny could hold the reins properly, because
he had taught her before, and that the
horses were very steady and would stand; so
he said, "Yes, Missy, I can give Master
Arthur change; but that poor boy wants
meat and not cakes, and I will just run
across to that eating-house with him, and
get him a slice of hot meat and some pota-
toes and bread, for sixpence."
"Oh thank you, thank you, James,"
said Arthur. James gave Fanny the reins,
and she held them well while he ran across
with the poor boy and took him into the
eating-house. In another minute, James
was back on the box again, and told them
that the poor boy was very much obliged
Directly after this, Uncle Tom came
striding down the street very fast, and asked
if they were tired of waiting. He put on
his driving gloves and jumped up beside
James in a minute, touched the horses
SCENES ON THE ROAD.
gently with the whip, and in ten minutes
they were out of the town, and driving
along a pretty green lane between corn
fields. Now they were really on the road
to Fairdown; and Arthur thought it was
the prettiest drive he had seen anywhere,
except the drives about Hastings last year.
Uncle Tom was in high spirits, and talked
to them a great deal; and he and Fanny
pointed out everything worth looking at as
they went along. Arthur was highly
delighted, he.stood up and leaned forward
to talk to his uncle, and could not find words
to express his admiration of all the pretty
"Oh! oh! Fanny!" look at that orchard,
all full of cherries! and there's another!
and they are picking them! See there's a
man up a ladder in that tree! and see how
pretty that barley looks! Is that what you
call a hop-garden? Oh, uncle, how very,
very pretty it looks. How nice it must be
to walk down those long, shady walks,
between the poles!" *
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
Uncle Tom and Fanny laughed at this,
and said it looked nicer than it was, for
the ground of the hop-gardens was very
rough and not pleasant for walking, as he
would see when he got home to Fairdown.
Arthur was almost tired with delight when
they got there; he had seen so much, and
all he had seen was new to him.
" "TOW we are on grandpapa's farm!"
N-. exclaimed Fanny, as the horses
turned into a lane, prettier and more over-
shadowed by trees than any Arthur had
yet seen. Presently the road, on one side,
was open again, and they saw a gently
sloping valley stretched below them, full of
cornfields, and meadows, and orchards, and
hop-gardens, and in the midst of all lay a
village of thatched cottages, scattered here
and there in the most picturesque manner.
"How pretty it is, down there!" said
Arthur, feeling almost too tired to admire
"Yes, that is Fairdown village; and we
have only half-a-mile further to go, and
then we shall be at home."
N % 69
PERSEVERE AND PROSPEIR.
Arthur felt glad, and leaned back to rest
till he got there. Fanny was- not at all
tired, and was chatting with her uncle about
every well-remembered object, all the time,
till he drew up suddenly beside a church,
a little old church with a low tower, all
covered with ivy.
"Here we are, Arthur!" said his uncle,
throwing the reins to James, and jumping
down to help his nephew out. "Here we are!"
Arthur was quite bewildered. He could
see no house; nothing but a barn or two,
and the church.
At last he said, What! does grandpapa
Chester live in a church ? it is not a bit like
what you told me, Fanny," said he in a tone
of great disappointment.
"Bide a wee, and you will see,"
sang Fanny in imitation of her mamma.
"May I go in my way, uncle ?" said she.
"Yes, my dear. I will just go to the
stables; tell them I will come in directly !"
And their uncle drove off again, and dis-
ARRIVAL AT FAIRDOWN-COJRT.
appeared behind one of the large barns before
mentioned, leaving the two children standing
on the rough step of the churchyard gate.
Arthur did not speak, first, because he
was quite surprised and could not under-
stand it at all; and next, because he
was really fatigued. However curiosity soon
got the better of his fatigue. Fanny took
hold of his hand and said, "Now, Arthur,
let us not speak a word, and we shall be
able to see some of them without being seen.
Come along, dear." She pushed open the
gate, and they were inside the churchyard.
It was all overgrown with long. grass, and
there was no regular path but the one from
the gate to the porch. There were a great
many shapeless hillocks, which were very
old graves, and there were some few newer
graves with stones and inscriptions. The
whole church seemed to have punk down
into the earth. On one side, where there
had formerly been another door, the building
had sunk so much, or the ground had
risen so much, that there was spry little
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER,.
more than the top of the old gothic door to
be seen. The porch, which was now the
only entrance, was far below the level of the
earth, and you went down three deep steps
into it. It was all overgrown with ivy, and
shaded by a large yew tree, so that it looked
something like a natural cavern. Arthur
turned away from the solemn, gloomy porch,
to look at the bright shining ivy, which
covered the low tower, and he saw innumer-
able swallows, and sparrows, and other small
birds, fly in and out among the leaves,
making a cheerful twittering in the bright
sun-light. Except this noise of birds, not
a sound was to be heard.
Arthur looked all round the church, and
observed the cluster of wide-spreading yew-
trees, stretching their dark branches over
one corner of the churchyard, and he thought
he had never seen so silent and quiet a place.
It made him feel a little sad, so he turned
round to look for Fanny. He saw her
sitting on the top of the low stone wall on
the east side of the churchyard, half buried
in a huge laurel tree; and just beyond her-
it seemed only a few yards on the other side
of the wall-he saw part of a building, which
he recognized at once as Fairdown-court.
He wondered how he did not see so large a
house, when he got out of the chaise. It
was so close to him and so large. Ah! it must
have been those two huge ugly barns that
shut out the sight of the house. He was about
to call out to Fanny when he saw her put up
her finger in admonition, then beckon to him,
and then again point with a face of delight
at something on the other side of the wall.
Arthur ran lightly over the graves to
his sister; and when he reached her side
and saw what was on the other side of
the churchyard wall, he felt no inclina-
tion to speak-there was so much to be
seen. Immediately below them was part
of the flower-garden of their grandpapa's
house. There was a delicious smell of roses
and honeysuckle all round, which came from
just under the place where they sat, and from
a bower just by. A small, but bkautifully-
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
kept lawn, extended from this bed of flowers
to the large glass-doors of a room on the
ground-floor of the house. One or two
rustic baskets full of green-house plants in
blossom, and two' seats, were on the
lawn. A book and a shawl lay on one
of the seats, but no one was on the
lawn. The doors of the room which looked
on the lawn were wide open, the sun was
shining brightly in the west, and lighted
up great part of the inside, so that Arthur,
as he sat on the wall, hidden with Fanny in
the laurel tree, could see very well what I
am going to describe.
Right opposite to the place where the
children sat, and at the back of the room,
was the fire-place, now filled with bright
flowers, instead of a roaring fire, and over
the fire-place was a large looking-glass, in
which the lawn and the church were reflected,
and in which Arthur could see himself very
plainly when he put his head forward. A
good sized long table was in the middle of
the room; it was covered with a snow-white
GLrNDMAMIflA CHESTER AND HER CALT.
table cloth, and a tea tray, with cups, &c.
stood at one end, and bread-and-butter and
pies, and flowers, and fruit, seemed carefully
arranged all the way down it, and chairs
were placed round the table. This sight
attracted Arthur directly, because, to tell
the truth, he was hungry and wanted tea.
A large, easy chair was placed close to the
open window, or door, Arthur did not know
which to call it; and in this easy chair sat
grandmamma Chester, knitting, while she
waited for tea. Grandmamma Chester, was,
as Fanny said, a very little old lady; but
she looked very dignified, for all that; and
very kind too, Arthur thought as she
stopped working once to take up a large
Persian cat on her lap, who seemed to want
to rest there. When pussy was made quite
comfortable, grandmamma went on with her
knitting again. She looked quite like an
old lady in a picture, for her dress was as
neatly arranged every day as if she were
going to sit for her portrait. She wore a
small, close cap, all covered with folds of
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
lace, but without any ribbon, except the
white silk strings which tied it under her
chin; her soft grey hair was very smoothly
braided on her forehead. She wore a white
muslin handkerchief in ample folds round
her throat, the ends disappearing beneath
her grey satin gown, which was made in
the modern convenient fashion of tight
sleeves and flowing skirts. Over the front
of the gown was tied a white muslin apron
with a border of fine lace. Before pussy
was allowed to settle herself, a pocket-hand-
kerchief haA been spread over the nice
apron. Such looked grandmamma Chester.
On a cushioned ottoman just outside the
window, with her feet on the gravel path
and her head resting against the ivy-covered
wall of the house, sat a young lady in a pink
frock, she had some needle-work in her lap,
but it had fallen from her hand, and she
was fast asleep. Close beside her, on the
gravel path, was a rustic bench, on which
sat a tall old gentleman, with white hair,
wearing a velvet cap, a long coat, and (as
Arthur even observed), large silver buckles
in his shoes. This was, of course, grandpapa
Chester. He, too, seemed as still and quiet
as the two ladies, but he was neither asleep,
nor nursing the cat and knitting, which is,
perhaps, the next thing to being asleep. He
was smoking a huge pipe. A little round
table stood beside him, on which lay a
large book, his spectacles, and a tobacco-
box; and a great thick stick, with a silver
head, was on the seat, close at hand.
"That's just like them all," whispered
Fanny. "I might have known what they
were doing. Grandmamma always knits and
nurses Ali just before tea, grandpapa always
smokes, and Aunt Sophyalways falls asleep."
How very quiet every thing is," said Ar-
thur, I never saw anything so quiet. It is
as still as if it were the middle of night!"
Oh! you will come to like it, in time. I
am used to it and like it," replied Fanny.
"I do quite like it already, it makes me
feel quite happy. But where are you going
now, Fanny ?" he asked, almost aloud, as
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
le saw his sister move gently out of the
"Hush!" she whispered, I do not want
them to know we are here yet. I am going
to find Auntie Mimmie and Aunt Julia. I
think I can tell where they are. I do so
long to see dear Auntie again."
The two children stepped lightly through
the long tangled grass along the side of the
wall; Fanny carefully stepping between the
graves, and Arthur leaping from one to ano-
ther, till Fanny said in a grave but low tone,
"Don't jump on the graves, Arthur dear."
"'Why not?" asked the matter-of-fact boy.
Oh I can't tell you just now; but I
do not like to see it, nor more does mamma."
Arthur tried not to step on the irregular
hillocks any more; but in doing so he
almost fell down. At last they came to
the corner of the church-yard where the
group of yew trees stood. Under these
trees were several well-preserved graves
with stone monuments, and on most of
them the name of Chester was sculptured.
Arthur understood directly that these were
the tombs of his mother's ancestors and
relations. This thought, and the oppressive
gloom of the shadow of the trees, made him
feel melancholy, and yet he determined to
come again some other time, by himself,
and read all the inscriptions on the tombs;
for he thought he would like to know all
about the old Chesters that Nurse used to
talk about. However, he was not sorry tc
get away from the spot just then.
Quite at the corner of the churchyard,
behind the yew trees, a part of the wall had
been broken away, many years before, and
the shattered stones were overgrown with
moss and ivy. Those that were displaced
had been arranged so as to form two steps
down into Mr. Chester's garden. This place
was called (no one knew why) Thte Fairy
Breach. It had been called so, as long as
any one at Fairdown could remember.
Some low thorn-bushes half screened it;
and a stranger might have walked round the
churchyard, without noticing this entrance
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
to the garden of the old Court, or Manor
Fanny made a sign to Arthur to stand
still while she went on first to reconnoitre.
She sprung to the top of the wall with the
ease of a girl who was quite used to the
high step, and looked anxiously round on
the other side.
"Not here!" she exclaimed. "I thought
they would be sure to be sitting by the
brook. Come, and look at it, Arthur. This
is my favourite place! I do think it is the
very prettiest corner in all Fairdown. This
is the end of the garden. There's the
brook, and there's the sweet, sweet clover
field on the other side; and this is the
Arthur jumped up beside her, and looked,
and looked, and thought he should never be
tired of looking. Then they jumped down
the mossy steps of the Breach on to the
level greensward below.
This was another small lawn about the
size of the one by the side of the house,
THE FOUR LAWNS.
which they had just been overlooking.
Indeed, the old garden at Fairdown-court
boasted four of these soft lawns, which were
always green, even in the hottest weather,
and being all well kept and prettily situated,
were very much admired by visitors. The
front lawn was the largest. The back lawn
had the great mulberry-tree in the middle
of it. The Church Lawn (the one already
described) was the most sheltered, and the
most frequented by the family; indeed, in
fine weather, it served as an additional
parlour; and tables, chairs, books, and
needle-work, were generally to be found on
the Church Lawn in summer-days. But
the lawn I always liked best, and the one
which was little Fanny's favourite, because
her aunts Marianne and Julia preferred to
sit there, in the warmest weather, was the
Brook Lawn; the one on which Fanny and
Arthur now descended by the Fairy Breach
in the churchyard wall. The Brook Lawn
was of an irregular shape, and stretched
along the bank of a clear little stream, the
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
source of which was in a wood, about half-
a-mile higher up the hill, at the other side
of the house. The Brook Lawn was sheltered
on all sides, but that facing the stream, by
the largest evergreens I ever saw, and the
tall trees of a sort of wilderness-shrubbery,
in which the building of birds had long been
sacred from boyish hands. In this shrub-
bery, nightingales, thrushes, linnets, and
blackbirds, all sang merrily
"In full throated ease,"
as the Poet says; so that it was a delicious
treat to sit under the two weeping willows
on the lawn, near the edge of the stream,
on a bright May afternoon, and listen to
the sweet singing of the birds, and the
gentle gurgling of the water, while you
watched the shadows of the clouds gliding
over the fields and meadows, which spread
themselves across the broad upland on the
other side of the stream. This wide breezy
hpland, now converted into cornfields and
meadows, was once the Fair Down. On
A DELIGHTFUL PROSPECT.
the top of that part of the Down facing
the Brook Lawn, was an old, picturesque mill,
almost always in motion.
It takes some minutes to read the descrip-
tion of the place, but it did not take more
than one minute for Arthur to look round
him and notice the mill and the sunlit
fields in front, the beautiful brook,-tho
graceful willows,-the comfortable seat and
table beneath their shifting shade,-the soft
velvet lawn,-and the enclosing trees and
shrubs. He almost screamed with delight
at the sight of the water. He "should
make a boat directly-perhaps, a whole
fleet of walnut-shell boats." "Oh Fanny !
this is nice! I did not think the brook was
so large. I can't jump across it, without a
leaping pole. How I should like to get
across directly, and have a run in that field;.
How very green it is!"
"Not now, dear; we can go there to-
morrow; we must go to the house now, or
Uncle Tom will be back from the stable
before us," said Fanny turning away from
PERSEVERE AND PROSPERt.
the brook and going towards a large laurel
tree at the upper part of the lawn.
Why, however did we get in here ? and
how are we to go out ?" asked Arthur look-
ing carefully all along the edge of the
thicket. "It looks as if we could not
Fanny laughed, and said she would not
show him, but that he should try and find
the path into the garden and the Fairy
Breach, by which they came in. He found
the latter, after running round the lawn
once or twice, and peeping behind every
projecting bush. It was hidden by the low
branches of a huge rose-tree, now in full
bloom; but he would not have found it so
soon, if he had not seen the figure of a lady
who seemed to rise out of the rose-bush,
but who was really standing, as Fanny had
stood, on the top of the breach.
It was his Aunt Julia, who had climbed
up there to look for the children, having
heard their voices through the shrubs as she
walked in the garden with Auntie Mimmie.
RACjIxVION BY AUNT JULIA.
She ran down to them amidst Fanny's
exclamations of "Dear Aunt! I am so glad
to see you! This is Arthur! see what a
great boy he is now! We came here to look
for you and Auntie Mimmie! We have seen
grandpapa, grandmamma, and Aunt Sophy,
but they did not see us though. We peeped
at them from the laurel tree in the church-
yard. It was such fun; they did not guess
we were there-they were all asleep. Then
we came away softly to the Fairy Breach,
to look for you and Auntie Mimmie, be-
cause I was almost sure you would be sitting
here, under the willow trees."
Miss Julia Chester seemed very glad to
see her little niece and nephew, and kissed
them both. Arthur thought his Aunt Julia
a very pretty lady; as she stooped down to
take off his hat and stroke his hair, he
could not help touching her long curls, to
feel if they were so soft as they looked.
You don't mind my doing it ?" he asked
first. His aunt laughed, and said "No, not
if you do not pull them very hard; it is
PE1MEVERE AND PROSPER.
only tit for tat," and she smoothed his
rough hair wiih her hand again, and looked
at him as if she thought he was a nice
little boy. Arthur put his hand in hers,
and felt quite happy. He was sure he
should like Aunt Julia.
"Where have you left Auntie Mimmie ?"
asked Fanny eagerly.
"She is resting in the middle arbour.
Run on to her, and Arthur and I will follow,"
said ler aunt.
SFanny disappeared directly behind, a large
shrub. Arthur walked slowly with his
hand in his aunt's, and as soon as they
came to the same shrub, his aunt said,
"Now, Arthur, you must let go my hand for
a moment, because there is only room for
one at a time to go through this narrow
passage." Quite at the back of this large
shrub, there was a small overgrown path,
which was quite dark with branches. They
passed through this, and came out on a
gravelled walk, with flower-beds and shrubs
on each side.
ARTHUR IN TIM LAUGN GARDEN.
"What a pretty garden!" exclaimed Ar-
thur, "and how large it looks! There does
not seem to be any end to it'! What loads
of roses! may I pick one, just one, aunt?
Yes, my dear! you may pick as many as
you like." His aunt walked on slowly, and
Arthur went from one side to the other in
wondering admiration. They passed the
ends of one or two paths leading in various
directions, and Arthur began to think he
should never know his way about this beau-
tiful garden. Once he stopped so long to
look at a great bee struggling in the heart
of a flower, that his aunt was very nearly
out of sight; however, he just caught a
glimpse of her white dress as she turned
down another walk, with high trellis-work
on each side. This trellis-work was literally
covered with sweet-briar roses, clematis, and
honeysuckle, and the bees were humming
all over it. At the end of this walk was a
large weeping ash-tree, the branches of
which were trained downwards and swept
the gramsplot below, so as to form a very
** .IN--is~ ^t f, .^w*.
PERSEVERE AND PROSPER
pretty arbour. As this was the centre of
the garden where all the principal paths
met, this ash tree was called the middle
summer-house. It was furnished with two
seats large enough to hold three or four
persons each. On one of these seats at this
moment were Auntie Mimmie and Fanny.
Arthur ran to take his Aunt Julia's hand as
they approached. He did not know why,
but he felt almost afraid of seeing his blind
aunt. Aunt Julia seemed to understand
why he held her hand so fast. She stooped
down and whispered, You have never seen
Auntie Mimmie, have you ?"
"No," replied Arthur.
"Well, you will like her very much,
when you know her; and I am almost sure
she will like you. We will go to her now."
They went together to the arbour. Before
they reached it, Arthur heard a sweet voice
say, "Is that Arthur, with you, Julia ?"
"Yes," replied Julia, "he is coming to
kiss you." Arthur wondered how she knew
he was there. He did not know that blind
BLIND ATNT MIMMIE.
people distinguish sounds much more accu-
rately than those who can see, and that
Auntie Mimmie heard a child's step, as well
as her sister's, coming towards her. As
soon as they were under the long branches
which formed the arbour, Arthur stood still
to look at Auntie Mimmie. She was lying
down on one of the seats with her head
resting on a cushion and her face turned
towards Arthur. Fanny had thrown aside
her hat, and was kneeling on the ground,
with her little head buried in Auntie
Mimmie's curls, and her arms clasped
round her. She did not speak nor move;
as Auntie smiled and disengaged one of her
arms from Fanny's embrace, and stretched
it out towards Arthur, saying, "Where are
you, Arthur? Come here, my love." Arthur
looked at the clear blue eyes that were
turned towards him, but which did not look
quite at him, and he could hardly, believe
that they were blind. Arthur still did not
move, for 'he was thinking that Auntie
Mimmie was very much like the angel in
* -, -^a fe^n -i ii iii .. ,
PERSEVEI AND PROSPER
his mamma's picture, and he hardly dared
"Arthur, where are you? will you not
come to me? do you know who I am?'
and she moved her hand about gently, as if
she were feeling for him. Then Arthur
went quite close and kissed her, but he
could not speak, he felt very much as if he
were going to cry. It seemed such a dread-
ful thing that beautiful Auntie Mimmic
could not see. However he was afraid she
would guess what he was thinking of, so he
swallowed his tears, and kissed her again,
and said, "Oh, yes, I know who you are.
Fanny loves you very much!"
"Yes, love, and I love Fanny, and I shall
love you too, because I hear you are a kind,
honest boy-you speak like a good fellow."
"Is he one, Fanny ?" she added laughing
and stroking Fanny's head, as it lay on her
shoulder. But still Fanny did not speak.
She seemed to tremble, and Arthur was just
going to pull her up by force and ask her if
she were ill, when a bell was heard ringing.
SUMMONS, TO TEA.
"There is the tea-bell," said Aunt Julia;
"now we must all go in directly. Are
you hungry, Arthur? you look as though
you were. And you too, Fanny, are you
ready for tea ?"
"Fanny, my darling, you must let me
get up now. We must not keep grand-
mamma waiting," said Auntie Mimmie.
Fanny rose slowly, and though she tried
to hide her tears, Arthur saw that she had
When Auntie Mimmie stood upright, and
out of the arbour, with her hand resting on
Fanny's shoulder, Arthur saw that she was
as tall as Aunt Julia, and he thought she
was very much like her. They had both
pretty long curls, of the same golden brown
colour, and their eyes were just the same
shape and colour; and their dresses were
exactly alike. As they went towards the
house, Arthur whispered to Fanny, who was
'walking very much more slowly and steadily
than usual, because she was leading her
Auntie. He wanted to ask her, to be sure
PERSEVERE AILD PROSPER.
and sit next him at tea-time, and to tell
him whether he was to bow to his grand-
mamma and grandpapa, or to kiss them.
"Do just what you like, Arthur," said
Auntie Mimmie, with a kind smile, "and
remember that I can hear the lowest whisper
near me. I shall know all your secrets, if
you do not whisper a long way off."
They now went into the house at a side
door overgrown with honey-suckle. Here
Fanny and Arthur were going to take off
their hats, when a neat-looking maid came
forward, and said, "Miss Sophy had desired
her to take the children up stairs, and let
them wash their faces before they went in."
Fanny said that was "Just like 'Aunt
Sophy,-to think of washing and dressing
before anything else."
However, as Aunt Julia said they both
looked dirty, and that it would refresh them
to bathe their faces, Arthur seemed willing
to go, though he was very anxious to have
something to eat, and they followed Susan.
THE INSIDE OF THE HOUSE,
AND THE FIRST EVENING AT FAIRDOWN.
I SHOULD like you to understand what sort
of a house Fairdown-court was. Outside, it
was very old-looking, and built in all
manner of ways; with high gable ends and
tall fantastic chimneys; the roof was of
various heights, and the walls of the oldest
parts could not be seen for the thick ivy.
It covered a great deal of ground, and it
was very difficult to understand how it had
been built, from time to time.
Now the inside of the house corresponded
with the outside. Some of the rooms were
comparatively new, some had lattice, and
some had sash-windows, and some had
scarcely any windows at all, but were
ighted by long narrow slits in the thick
walls,--walls moe than half a yard thick.
I'?ERUVEMZ AND PROSPM
The floors of the principal rooms upstairs,
the doors, and the stairs, and their balus-
trades, were of polished black oak. The
rooms were rather inconveniently arranged,
one within another. There were large lobbies
as big as rooms, and rooms no bigger than
closets; and there were closets in all sorts
of unexpected places, and "passages that
led to nothing." Nearly all the doors
were gothic shaped, that is, made in a
pointed arch, and handsomely carved on
The thing that astonished Arthur the
most, after going up the broad oak staircase,
was to see that every room that they passed
went up two steps or down two steps. He
wondered very much that the floor was not
all on a level. As he followed Susan and
chatted with her and Fanny about the
journey, he did not observe half the novel-'
ties about him. At last Susan lead them
up three steps into a very pretty bed--
"This is Aunt Sophy's room," said Fanny,
"and this is my room, added she," opening
an inner door which lea into a smaller
room. Arthur m his eagerness to see Fanny's
room, forgot that the floor was polished;
he slipped, and as he tried to recover his
footing, he tumbled down two deep steps, and
alighted in the middle of Fanny's bed.
Fanny burst out laughing, and Susan
seemed to think it was a good joke. Arthur
on the contrary looked rather black, and
said, he had never seen such a stupid
house. The floors were made on purpose to
slide upon, and it was impossible to go from
one room to another without falling down a
flight of stairs; he had hurt his foot very
"Well, never mind, Master Arthur, your
foot will soon be well, after tea, I warrant,"
-said Susan, "so come along now off that bed,
and go into your own room.
'See! here it is, next to Missy's, and there
ain't any more steps here for you to fall
down. Your grandmamma has put you lots
of pretty pictures on the walls, and I'll
.- -... ...
LERSEVERE AND PROSPER.
show you a martin's nest just outside your
"Come shall I help you up, dear," said
the good-natured servant, who saw that
Arthur really had hurt himself.
By Susan's assistance, Arthur got into
his own room, which he was curious to see.
He had really hurt his foot, and Fanny
began to fear he had sprained it; and then
she left off laughing. Susan examined the
foot and pronounced that there was no sprain,
and that he would be well enough to-morrow,
but that he had better not run about that
"Now, Miss Fanny, make haste and wash
your face and hands, or they will think you
are never coming. I will help Master
When Fanny had shut her door, Arthur
sat still, while Susan brought him a basin
of water, for his foot pained him too much
for him to walk about. His room was small,
like Fanny's; it had green paper and white
hangings, and a lattice window, which
ARTH&S? LI'TTLZ ROON.
looked out upon the Church Lawn, and so
it fronted the tower of the church; and he
thought it would be very pleasant to lie in
bed when he woke in the morning, and
watch the birds go in and out among the ivy
leaves of the tower. With Susan's help he
was soon ready to go down; and, now that
she had bathed his foot, it felt better, but
still it hurt him to walk.
Is there no way for me to get out of my
room, except through Fanny's and Aunt
Oh, yes, look here," said Susan opening
what seemed to be a part of the wall, for it
was.covered with paper like the rest.
Here is a little back staircase; this goes
down into the kitchen. There is no bell in
your room; but whenever you want any-
thing, you just go to the top of these stairs
and call "Susan," and I will be sure to
hear, And if you like to get up early in
the morning and come down into the kitchen.
I will give you some milk and bread, or
something, just to stay your stomach till