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 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 History of little Downy
 History of a field mouse
 Harry Percy
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Title: Encourage kindly feelings being the adventures of little Downey, and Harry Percy
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 Material Information
Title: Encourage kindly feelings being the adventures of little Downey, and Harry Percy
Series Title: Encourage kindly feelings being the adventures of little Downey, and Harry Percy
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Strickland, Jane Margaret
Ward, James R. ( Painter )
Romney, J. ( Engraver )
Publisher: Dean & Son
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Bibliographic ID: UF00018974
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
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oclc - 45964487
alephbibnum - 002238134

Table of Contents
    Advertising
        Advertising 1
        Advertising 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    History of little Downy
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    History of a field mouse
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
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        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Harry Percy
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
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        Page 46
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        Page 48
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        Page 50
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        Page 53
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        Page 56
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        Page 58
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        Page 60
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        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Advertising
        Page 73
        Page 74
Full Text

Ole.




WIT TIMND IrONTISBPtlaO AND TITLES,
A"D IWEiD IN 'AICT Rnn COVR8S.



P ay Gramr; or, limrats of Grammar at-
L'mD IN I arT GAN. Br ml. Comer. Wltb numaou
-rrl mM. .Lttio.
Paps ml m-- s Zy Lommos in Geography.
f.N.-l~M A iMrode ofdnlng knowlkds
fhl mi namm's Easy TImas in Arithmetio.
Y T. MMei Wit ty aimtedo, me se i nd plan u
See Im two wetks.
Wahs alutory of augland.
is aCWr. With qustots to dawter. Prtculrly
d a iM st l r hor rnMiU
:'ItI d rof git ozs ad Summer BloomTs,
IOM T TOI T AND GOOD: with is pao tited p~at
Ob I wlam etds t tolOM, iw.
ap lt 2e of sprius Plowers td summer mBle-
:' IOMllI FOI TI TOUNG AID GOOD: with si pla of
duaM pk, Yaus ofd t indrb U.
Scril I atranl Hitery.

l*rl M sN t atul Alry.




m&. YugO k OF AShtUMiU AND WTnUUOlW.





Dom SeO'. N.. 0. Ow SNy Jumudh leek.

sm ori oftb te;
0. ri OK MAN AK lll NO M UrTAIi. DrYN.L
ture, wL iu Uea ..palvt.p, La.
Btari aboat the, fi Sem e;
MIWB1C IlCtl b DMOW It tto f obsbl.
ton, wa I* e sour* ituttlo.
tords ost the Ive Diduion at the Waorl.
=Ma.W.r. WnIh a.e.bd Itdkuo mae te Mi ie..

fkavorits rsary Tale, with their Pstar,
WeIN MAMMA WAS A ITTL GIUL. WM ebon eme
bume.d mfir **ftrmaC.
Stories ao Aimnatsdt atare
OR, A VIsIr TO TEK ZOOLOGICAL OGAISM, I TU
RI SOZa PAILU With m eneoM mpunt d Ir w
Aabm l, and Ikem the ( GaM.
Little Storim about Pretty Little Birds.
dy the AOh E "IOmep Trv&e." WIh elgut e im .
UIs...6 tMatm hel.sr, mdr. tIso
Our ister Lole.
a*b *,mlsd. By .M. am. w*
The Lis of a Fairy.
FWtMh CUimdz ot uEagd WI litwdp b*u-1 fibp
by ALMa- CBoQwgurz.

foN"d in da t, w. l edom eiu.&
SketieW f little Girls.
Byrya LEwMu. Wrch r ecolorwmu i.w
Short 'Ta ia Short Ward..
wn.. eawo..n iM .a s.....ntarHw i
The'mB Bubot:
t.worh hemr = -d . fMM. -i .
was- y swrn. .. -oT. Mwad W-Wm..
GI fto Toug Mdu is; A Gie to god:
IN w.m Ea a. qI.. y on wS is
kw"m 1g".















UafuR! sBankr Sdjool,
VICTORIA PARK,



fresemteb to





a. Hd Y. #Vc
iI Me Hadf-Ywa png.~
185 J..






































Mj(::& YUzj9L' VR -oIBp.









REiNC THE ADVENTURES Or


AND

HARRi RY PMC(
of ? & S% 't.J.? TP 3 Z AtZF.
OZAUSr 1 4P rtRAOPrltLa Sti~ IT.









HISTORY OF LITTLE DOWNY.



is~ H!what is Mhd wlg

flad, ase dontand 0


Alfed slowly adymd twws -bb
imothr, and wdped a hbirknuil
herapron. Alfred Was bitstCtlhm
a he sudmIMhav e 6"iid
"Well, .Mftd, M Wha i
rrs&f hi. hhed ult .

-bM 0dye*- rin 2-t I V4 itLk




HISTORY OF


the cupboard, as I did not want to eat
it then, and I came just now to take a
little nibble at it; when, as I opened
the closet-door to look for it, there was
an ugly brown mouse in the closet, and
hardly a scrap of my cake left; that
greedy thing had eaten it all but a few
crumbs." And here Alfred's tears
flowed afresh.
"I am very sorry, my dear child,
that the mouse has eaten your cake;
but still I do not think it was worth
shedding so many tears about: I dare
say the mouse has eaten a great deal
of my sugar and cakes, but yet I shall
not cry if he has."
"I am sure it is enough to make
any one cry," said Alfred. "I only
wish," added he, his eyes sparkling
with anger, "that I could have killed
the little beast for stealing my cake."




A mO4 JMIZE. a
Now, Alfred, I am uhamed a
yoe," Imd his mother gravely.
Alfred could, however, think of
nothing but the loss of is cake, and
begged his mother to let the mome-
trap be set to cateh the wisehie ns
intruder.
Mrs. Clifford was mwah gieved that
her little Alfred showedan inelistim
to be cruel and revengefuL--he was
aware of the ineonveniene of having
mice in her cupbewd; so as she ws
forced to kill the mumse, she hoped to
turn its death to a good use.
Therefore, when Alfred again ea
tered the room, she asked him if ho
was still resolved to have the mome
killed.
"Yes, mamma; it had no right to
eat my cake."
"Very well; I will have the mose-
B3




msETORT o


trap set; but observe, Alfred, whether
before the day is past, you do not tell
me you are sorry for its death."
Oh! no; that I am sure I shan't,"
replied Alfred; and Mrs. Clifford or-
dered the trap to be set.
Early the next morning, when Mrs.
Clifford oame down stairs and went to
the closet, she beheld her poor little
prisoner dead in his wire cage.
"See, Alfred," said she, "here is
the poor mouse dead!"
Alfred at first was glad; but when
he saw what a pretty one it was, 'be
was sorry; but contented himself by
saying to the dead mouse, "If you
had not done so much mischief, you
would not have been killed?"
When he had said his lessons, his
mother said to him, "Now, Alfred,
shall I tell you a story?"




A 113W X9962.


Alfred was very fond of heming a
story. So he fetched his little stool,
and having placed it at her side, fixed
his eyes on his mother's face, while
she related


HISTORY OF A FIELD MOUSE.

IN a wheat-stack, in Farmer Ball's
yard, lived an old mouse with her
family, consisting of five little ones;
the most worthy of which was a pretty
brown mouse, called Downy, because
her fur was longer and softer than
either of her brothers' and sisters'
and besides being the prettiest, she
was likewise the wittiest and best
among them.
"It was one fine clear morning, in
the middle of March, that, as Downy




3S muIm alo
was peeping her little nose out of the
stack, to breathe a little, she saw the
farmer with his men, enter the yard,
and heard him tell the people that he
would have the stack taken into the
barn and thrashed, and desire them to
bid Fen, the rat-catcher, come, and
bring all his dogs with him.
Poor Downy was in a terrible fright
at hearing this; she ran to acquaint
her mother with it, and asked her
wbat they had bestdo; but her mother,
whoas bat a foolish monse, bade her
not to be under the least alarm, for she
wa persuaded the farmer did not mean
to take it jwt then; and added, it was
time enough to think of it when the
men began. She told Downy to go to
bed, and not be afraid.
But poor Downy oould not sleep for
thinking of the sad fate that threat.




A BILD. MOUM.


ened them; she awakened her coan.
panions to consult with them; but
they only laughed at her fear, and
said, they would never leave a place
where they were so well off, and where
they could get plenty of good corn,
only for the trouble of eating.
"Poor foolish little things! they
were awakened the next morning by
the farmer's men unroofing the stack,
and they now wished they had heark-
ened to the prudent advice of little
Downy.
"Poor little Downy's heart almost
died within her, when she heard the
barking of the dogs, and the halooing
of the men; how much rather would
she have been in the field, than in the
warm stack! for she heard the men
drawing near to the plaee where they
lay; and they were all terribly ar&pi:




mIuswr W


and their mother, the old noae, would
go to see how far the danger was from
them. Imprudent creature I she ven-
turd too near; for a great black dog
on the top of the stack, the moment
the men raised the sheaf where she
was, snapped her up in an instant.
"Nothing was now to be heard but
shrieks and ories from every side of
the stack; and the men drew nearer
sad nearer: Downy heard the last
cries of her brethren; the sheaf where
she had taken refuge, was already on
the point of being raised, when she
sprag through an opening in the side,
and was just going to run down, when
she beheld a great dog directly under
her!
"Poor Doway gave herself up as
kl, and awaited in trembling anxiety
her Me:. for sPoe mosen she clung




A MW3 -x. 11
to the etside of the stask. satdig
to descend, yet fearing stiR re to
stay; when, hikily fir our por little
mouse, some moe called t dog, who
instantly rea off; ad Downy, dartig
from the stack, had jut time to gala
a place of security beneath a clod of
earth, where she lay shaking wth fear,
not daring to look up for ome minutes.
SSeveral time. poor Dvonybad lik
to have been discovered by the dog,
or crushed beneath the hirses' feet;
but she crouched very ces to the
ground, and lay so still, se. hady
breathed, so great wa her fear; at
length she watched an opportunity,
when no one was near, to qui her
retreat, and ran with aB the speed
she could, not once daring b pmsear
look behind, till she gained I b rm-
er's orchard; where she l am




lx .1 mHmOY o
the long grades, panting, and half de
with terror and fatigue; she hid he
self toward night under the roots
an old apple tree; for she was ve
much afraid of a great white owl whi
she had seen flying near.
"It was in vain for her to lamen
the sa4 fate of her mother and bre.
thren, she could not real them t4
life; and Downy was thankful thai
she had escaped so well: but the cold
weather was not yet gone, and pool
little Downy knew she had nothing tc
eat' and no warm house to live in, bul
miut make herself one; or she should
be starved to death with hunger, oa
-perish with cold.
These thoughts occupied her mind
till she fell asleep; nor did she awakE
next morning till quite late, and founi
herself very hungry.




A nPl MOUsZ.


She first peeped out of her hole,
and seeing nothing near to hurt her,
she ventured forth in search of some
food; she rummaged among the dead
leaves for some .time, till chance led
her to a row of nut-trees; here, after
a diligent search, she had the good
fortune to discover three nuts, one of
which she eat, being very hungry, and
the rest she carried home to her tree,
where she deposited them safely away,
and set off to look out more provisions.
She spent nearly the whole day among
the nut-trees, but returned home ith
only one nut; and a shower of enzi
falling, she was forced to return to
her dwelling; and did not go out any
more that day, but lay quite still, and
thought how she should make herself
a warm nest; for' she was very cold
here, having been used to the close




is Naour or
ift --OR *
warm stack, where scarcely any air
entered.
She ate very sparingly of her nuts,
saving as much as possible for the
morrow, fearing lest the snow should
hinder her looking for more; but there
had not fallen much; and in the morn-
ing, the sun coming out quite bright,
melted it all; and Downy left her tree
to look for more nuts, and something
to line her nest with.
"She was more fortunate than be-
fore, as she discovered several ears of
earn, which had been blown by the
wind off the stack; she could scarcely
credit her good fortune, when she
beheld her store, and saw it all safe.
Her net care was to line hr nest;
for this purpose, she collected all the
bits of dried moms aad grass she could
find, aad carm d them in er mouth




A II UN.


to her ew habitatio; she nibbled of
the fbres which hng to the sats of
the tree, and with dried weeds, soon
made her house quite eomrtabe.
The spring begp wilh ma bean-
tiful warm days, and every thing
looked warm and gay; the cmcums
were all in Sower, and the primres,
with some early violets.
One fine evening, as she was re.
turning to her house, she saw a res-
tare muob like a sweael, only am
what smaller; he ws prowling along
close by her tree, in hopes of catahig
her; he melt about for same tim,
ad at last went in.
"Poor little Downy ws in a sad
fright; she knew not what to do, fr
she aw his head peeping at of her
hole, and his roaming black eyespry
ing in every direoi n.




HISTORY OP


When Downy saw the weasel take
possession of her house, she knew she
must not venture near it again.
Poor Downy was in great distress,
as to where she should pass the night
securely; at last she found a hole in
the bank, and into this she crept,
though much alarmed for fear of her
enemy's discovering her. She dared
not go to sleep at all that night; nor
did she stir out next day till forced
by hunger to seek her food. She did
not see any thing of the weasel; but
she resolved to leave the orchard, and
seek a safer spot for a new habitation.
Accordingly, next day, she set off
to look for a proper situation. She
passed through the orchard-hedge
into a beautiful green meadow, all
covered with daisies, red clover, cow-
slips, and golden buttercups.




A IIRI&. 31r81


S"Here Dwmy reoed to dad a
place to ive in, and she whidbed about
under the tall heads of the cowslips
and buttercup; at last she fixed o
a little green mound, asch a one a
you, Alfred, call a fairy's taoe; sad
here she began to aratoh with her
feet, till he had made a little opening
in the turf; and she used sudc dili-
gence, that before night she had made
a hole large enough to sleep i; and
though it was not lined, or so war
as her house under the old apple trie,
yet she slept ao sound that she never
woke till the sun had rie quite hih
in the heavens.
"Downy jumped up in a hurry
when she aw how late it was: the
birds had been up hours bere her,
and were all busily employed building
their nests; every bush resounded with
c3




HISTORY or


the songs of these innocent little crea-
tures while at work, and Downy knew
she must not be idle, for she had much
to do. Being very hungry, she first
went to an oak which grew at some
little distance, and here she found
plenty of acorns among the leaves,-
of these she made a hearty meal, and
carried some to where she was at
work
"With a great deal of care and la-
bour she dug her house, and made it
quite round and smooth as she went
on, carrying it in a slanting direction
along the hollow side of the hill.
"It cost poor Downy many a long
day's hard work before her house was
completed, and many a weary nibble
before she had finished lining the in-
side of it.
"Her next care was to make a se-




A FIU"ID KOVIL


cure room for stowing away her winter
stores; for this purpose, she made an
opening on one side of her first room,
and carried a passage along some little
distance; and then formed her "store
chamber, which she was a long time
making, but it was at length com-
pleted perfectly to her own satisfac-
tion, having rendered it a most con-
venient granary.
"She had now nothing to do but
find food for herself, sad play; but
Downy never came home without
bringing something useful for Jier
house, either a bit of straw or hay, a
a little tuft of moss, or the dried stalk
of a flower; these she cut with her
teeth into small pieces, and laid in
her nest to make it soft and warm.
Downy was now quite happy; her
mound was all covered with flowers,




20 mr ToTr or
fie cowalips and buttermops, sad a
tuft of daisies grew close to the en-
trance of her house, and served to
hide it from the eyes of owls, weasels,
or any of the enemies to poor mice;
and Downy thought herself secure
from danger.
"On a beautiful moonlight night
she used to peep out from under the
daisies, and look at the dew drops all
shining like diamonds in the moon
beams; and once she whisked = the
top of her green mound, and began to
lay among the flowers; but abe was
alarmed by the sight of a small dog
running through the high grass, and
she quickly retreated into her house;
nor was she so imprudent again as to
venture out after it was dark.
A And now the grass grew long and
igh, the Sowers began to loose their




SA FIELD MOUIL. l
beauty, and turn brown; every thing
proclaimed the approach of summer.
", The month of June began, and the
mowers came to cut the grass; Downy
was fearful they would molest her,
and spoil her house, when they came
near the little mound, but she trusted
that they might not discover it, and
she laid quite close all day.
"But poor little Downy was very
sorry to see all the nice high grass
and pretty powers cut down to the
ground; those flowers which had
sheltered her from the sun and rain
so long.
"'And now,' thought she, 'I shall
certainly be caught by the great white
owl; for he will be able to see me now;
and I can't hide myself under the long
gras and dandelions, a I used to do,
for they are all cut down and spoiled.'"




mO11 air o


"Pray, mamms," mid Alfred, "do
owl really eat mice? I should hardly
think they would catc them; for they
re not like cats or weasels, you know."
S And yet, Alfred, though they are
not like cats r weasels in form, they
live onmice, and indeed are of quite a
much use in destroying this sort of
vermin, as eats are."
"Will you tell me, dear mamma,
all you know aboat the owls ?" asked
Alfred.
"With a deal of pleasure, my dear
boy," replied bis mother:-" There
exist a great many different species
of owls; but the white, the tawny,
aid the brown, ar the most cemmn
rts.
"Now Downys enemy was (a:
before mid) a great white ovwl tbew
omams of my. Thiey 1* arit




A MBI MIOW.


greatest prt of th year in bhewn
granaries, hay-loft, and other out-
houses; and are of great ee to the
farmers in clearing thsue place f
mice.
They never quit their retreats till
dusk, as they cannot bear the light, but
sit in the darkest holes they can nd,
till evening, hen they saly forth i
quet of pey.
They ly round the felds till they
discover it, and then drop instantly
down, and bear it away in their talom
They alo build their nested in the
eaves of churches, in old rimoa build-
ings, and in hollow trees.
"Whilst the young are in the Bet,
the father and mother go out atee.
notely in quest of foed for thbe
ba ei o the ieds like sparniue
"6ehy continue the care of their




24 HISTORY or
young till after they can fly and shift
for themselves; and it is quite sur-
prising the immense number of mice
they catch to supply them with food.
They lay, in general, four or five eggs.
The barn owls do not hoot, but hiss
and make a disagreeeable noise like
snoring, and will scream most dismally
while flying along; they have a beau-
tiful circle of soft white feathers round
their eyes and beak, which is strong
and hooked; the legs are clothed with
feathers down to the feet, and the toes
are covered with short hair; the claws
are very sharp.
"This sort of owls are not entirely
white, as the shafts of the lower fea-
thers of the wings are grey, and some-1
times of a pale buff; the tail is like-
wise barred with a sort of dusky grey
colour.




A WILD MOVS3.


The tawny, or screech owl, differs
in colour; it is handsomer, and con-
siderably larger than the common
white owl, its neck is of a fine buff,
powdered over with blackish spots;
it is much hardier than the.other sorts:
the young owlets will eat any kind of
dead meat which may be brought to
them; the little barn owlets, on the
contrary, must have a constant supply
of fresh food.
"And are the little owls pretty,
mamma ?" asked Alfred; "I should
like to see one."
"I am sure, Alfred, you would, for
they look just like balls of swans'-
down, when they are fledged, and they
have such fine black eyes, which look
so cunning, peeping from under the
soft white ruff of feathers round their
heads.




mouy or


"When I wn a little girl, ald was
staying on a visit in Ket, at my uacn
reed's, one of his mea brought in a
large tawny owl, which they had dis-
turbed in the barn; andnot being able
to bear the glare of the day-light, it
was eauiy eaght; and my cousin
Mark kept it in a large hamper in the
root houe in the garden; where he
sed to feed it on raw flesh, rats, and
mice, and if he could get nothing else,
on bats and other birds: but the owl
never would eat before us, and if we
opened the lid of the hamper in the
day-time, or held a candle to him of a
eight, he instantly threw himself on
his back shrieking ad hissing at us
tib his house was again shut up in
darkness: he was vey savage and
ere at irt. Mark soon tamed him,
and at the end of two months' time,




A VNI 11111111


Lhe woua y at of aigt aand get bi

He was so used to his shed, that
he never filed to return to his old
habitation, hitting perched up on a
beam in the darkest corer, all day
ad going out as oon as it was dusk
and, indeed, he made a ad noise of a
night, ad used to screech most di4
mally.
"One day, we were a little sur-
prised, on going to pay our owl a
visit, to disover a companion sitti
by his side; and a few days saer, ie
mined our bvourite eatiely froaa hi
home; nor could we think what hid
become of him.
"But one day, about a firtight
after, Mark ame running in. to Ba
quite out of broeat, awl td-tl aO
bad found the owl and thatheiend




HISTORY OF


got a nest full of nice soft white owlets
in a great hollow tree at the bottom of
the garden.
"You may be sure, Alfred, we ran
as fast as we could to the tree, and
soon discovered the little ones by the
hissing noise we heard; and at last
saw some round white heads nestling
among the ivy; for Mark lifted us up
one by one to peep into the nest, which
was in a hole in the tree, not very far
from the ground. We went to see
them every day, but unfortunately I
left my uncle's house before the little
owlets were able to shift for them-
selves so I do not know what became
of them.
There is one thing more, my little
Alfred, that I have to tell you about
them:-It sometimes happens that an
owl is disturbed from its haunts during




A lWom* mL


the day-time, and forced to iy in the
light, whieh they cm hai l do, their
eyes being so farmed that they o
only see in the dark amd shade, and
ae completely dazed in the day.
light. When this is the case, all the
small birds of every sort flock round
him, uttering their ories of dilike, and
mimicking him, chattering as if i
aontempt; wilst the poor owl, half
blinded by the msam al glare of light,
Iies with the greatest diflculty, sur-
rounded by those little creatures, who
toward the close of the day tremble
at his presence, and dare not appromh
him.
"The owl will often stead still on
the bough of a tree, and siking his
head among the feathers of his breast,
appear weary and stupiied by their
noise while the birds, ooneoiou that
D 3




RHITOBT OP


their enemy can do them no harm,
gather round and continue to teams
and persecute him till he is forced to
seek some safe retreat in the dark,
where they dare not approach to
molest him."
Little Alfred was well entertained
by his mother's account of the owls;
and he promised to remember all she
told him: and Mrs. Clifford again
went on with the history of Downy.
"Poor little Downy was in a great
fright all the time that the hay-makers
were at wprk, and when she found
them coming near the house, with
their great hay-forks in their hands,
she remembered the fate of her mo-
ther, and all her brothers and sisters
in the stack, and she thought that she
would be safer in the bank of the
garden-hedge, which was not far off.




A FU3LD EGUIL


"(She watched an opportunity when
no one was looking, and hastened away
to the edge as far as she oould; and
creeping in, lay quite snug; she re-
mained in the bank the whole day, and
enjoyed herself more than could be
expected, for the weather was ex-
tremely pleasant, and there was a bed
of ripe wild strawberries close by,
which smelt quite refreshing.
"Though Downy dared not venture
back into the field, for fear of being
killed, (for mice are but timid little
things) yet she was very happy all that
day, and when she saw the men leave
the field with the hay-forks, which
had caused her so much terror, she
returned to her nest and slept that
night on some new hay which she had
nibbled, and brought into her house
to lay on.




n -TOrT or
SAs soon m it was day, sway ran
eefu Downy to the bank; she peeped
famoghthe hegeand saw every ting
in the garden looking vry pleassat.
f So Mim Douy thought she should
like to spend the day in the beautiful
shady garden; in she went, and soon
famd it as charming a it looked; for
the garden abounded in plenty of good
things; there were peas, ad beats,
andpotatoes, and young carota, and
beds of ripe red strawberries.
*Downy did nothing but eat aad
enjoy herself the whole day, and did
not think of returning home that day,
or for many days afterward for she
said to herself-' What occasion is
there for me to go back to the meadow,
here I have so mueh trouble to get
fOod, whie here is mre than I could
ever eat, and I have no trouble in




A FIaD MOUSE.


getting it at all,-and I am sure no
mischief will happen to me here?
So she gave no thoughtfof her nice
house in the field, but amused herself
by eating all day long; till she grew
quite fat, and Downy thought she was
happier than ever she had been in the
field: and she grew very indolent, for
she now began to think that there was
no occasion for her to work; but she
said to herself, she would play all day;
and here she showed herself to be a
very simple little mouse, as it proved
in what befel her.
She had been living in the garden
for nearly a month, when, one fine son-
shiny day, she had ventured nearer to
the house than usual, and was lying
reposing herself in the sun, by a clod
of dirt, near a rain-water-ltt, when
she was disturbed by a noise near her,






and to.her horror she beheld the black
cat with a Ae kittea by her side, pro
oeeding down the walk where she lay:
to eesape was almost impoeible, eve
the attempt was vai, and hapless
Doway gee herself up for lost
"A month back, and she might
here trusted to her own speed for ee-
aping-bat, alas! Doway had so long
been used to do nothing bt eat and
pajoy hkeael that she was B longer
able to rmn a swiftly as Ahe used to
do, she'dared not even move a step
but sat in an agony of hopeless des.
pair-
S"fDowny now lamneted her folly in
having left her safe retreat in the
mnadow: what, wuldd she now have
given to hba been in her ow little
hod e ja ter tke mole-iiiI aln she
bitterly regretted ear haing beea





A Vamp lOu.


tempted toquit it; for there ao oats
evr cam, and there she had ev
lived in innooene and happiaem;
whilat now she was doomed to Hk a
victim to the mereiles eOlrs of a
hungry cat, who would devour ho
alive! She lay breathlea; net a imb
did she move; for the cat approashed
within a yard of the spot where she
lay, and- "
Oh! poor Downy P' cried Atlfed
"how sorry I am,--but mamm, did
that wicked cat kill her? dear mamma,
do make haste and tell me!"
"Why, Alfred," said his mother;
"you would not wait for me to tell
you whether she was killed or not: I
am asre you could not feel sorry fr
the death of a mwyj khvw i n
You hate mice, they are snad little
thieves"




06 HISTORY OF
Little Alfred blushed at what his
mother said; for he remembered they
were his own words-and said to his
mother: "Dear mamma, I think I will
never wish for the death of any thing
again, and I am very sorry I had the
mouse killed: I will never kill another,
if it were to eat all the cakes you
mean to give me when I am good."
Mrs. Clifford could not help smiling
at her little boy, and she kissed his
forehead, and then went on.
"The cat, as I said before, was close
to the clod of earth on which luckless
Downy stood; and when she believed
her death certain, she had the inex-
pressible joy of finding that her mo-
tionless posture had been the means
of saving her from the eyes of the
cat, who passed on, quite unconcerned,
without taking any notice of her prey.




A FIRLD MOUSE.


"For an instant, Downy could
scarce credit her eyes, when she
saw her enemies pass on; but fearing
that, if puss should return, she should
not again escape so miraculously, she
darted away, as she hoped, unseen;
but, silly little thing! she had better
have stayed where she was, for the
kitten saw her as she ran, and sprang
upon her! Poor Downy felt her claws;
but exerting all her speed, she few to
the hedge, that friendly hedge, which
had so often been her refuge; and
darting among the tangled roots of
the hawthorn and ivy, left her pur-
suer far behind; and, exhausted with
terror and fatigue, remained tremb-
ling and panting, till she was half
dead. Still she heard the mews of
the disappointed kitten, and the an-
gry purrs of the old cat-who at






wutehing above the bank for mere
than am hour, waiting to seie her if
she ventured forth
Downy now began to consider
whether it would not be nmuh better
and wiser for her to return beck to her
ow house in the meadow, instead of
living in idleaes and luxury; thus
Downy found that indolease brings its
maw punishment sooner or later; for
had she been at home, she would not
have been so frightened by the oat,
or nearly killed by the kitten; or
even if a cat had come er her nie
nest, she would have run away madh
hlter than she did now, fr being
then sma*ler ad thinner, she wma
ao much nimbler.
"With a sad and penitent het,
ewnay oae mone ,et d 4ohr elid
aIbitatio: but ala! what us her


aNmro or




A 13 i


grief O bhding it a m3spets ruin!
her nise wam si es a destroyed,
the pretty green mnmd qupie spoaet I
Downy was sadly vexed, hr the
eruel hay-makers hi with their
pitechfbri torn open the tart, am
scattered her soft bed aL around on
the grawa She stoed gamig with -
gish on the desolate scene befrs
herr here was a her spring wor
entirely ruined, and mo she was i
ind had no where to i y her heM.
'Ah!' thought she, 'if I had ad
spent so much time in doing Anthing
but eat sad play, I sho( l ba e s.
"Ip the danger of being caught hy
the est, sd should not has, beo
hurt by the kitten; beside whieh I
shou by this time hbe madO up my
et, sad have been quite eomrrt~b
SOiL .




HISTORY Or


"She was now hardly able to work,
sad what was far worse, she felt very
great reluctance to begin her labori-
ous task; so much harm had her living
so long in indolence done her, as it
does to every one who indulges in it.
Remember, my little Alfred, that
idleness is the root of all evil, as you
may see in the case of Downy. Now
which do you think was the happiest
addbest: careful, industrious Downy,
making her.house, and busily procur-
ing food for the winter; or, careless,
idle Downy, doing nothing but play,
and enjoying herself in the garden,
eating the fruit and sleeping among
the flowers? Now tell me, which do
you like the best of the two I"
Alfred considered for a minute or
two, and then said, "Why, dear
mamma, though I should have.liked




A VNLP .iNi


there e a the nice thkip in te gar-
&eB, ma lived ameag the merw ; lyt
I see that it would have bee better
fsr BDwy if be bad remained i the
beld and worked hard; but I a
afraid, should have been as silly -
Downy, and not have liked to work."
That it what I was araid t;
therefore, my dear, I thought it bat
to ahow you how w~og she was i
indalging herself in that mamnar.
Aad be assured, my dr Alfred, that
whoever does, will be ra t. fall iM
misfortae.
Did you not find, Alfred" said hi
mother,. "tht when yeo left yea
garden foe more than a week withoa.
doing any thing in it, till it got al
overrun with weed., that every day
you fet lew inclined to wrek at it;
till it got o bad, that you had et the
heart to begin it at all ? a 3




HISTORY Or


"Yes, mamma," replied Alfred:
That is true, for when I had my new
humming-top, I did nothing but spin
it for a whole week, and I forgot my
garden, and I saw the weeds grow
longer every day, and I said to myself
'I can pull them to-morrow;' but
then I hated to work whilst I could
play, and so it got on worse and worse;
and I felt so idle, I could not begin it;
and so, you know, I drove it off from
day to day, till I went one day to ga-
ther some flowers, and found them all
choked with weeds and spoiled, and I
felt so vexed; but I did not think it
was of any use doing any thing to my
garden, as all my flowers were spoiled;
so I let it go, mamma, till you were
angry with me, said I should never
have another, and threatened to take
it away from me if I did not put it in




A FI1LD MOUSE.


order and keep it neat. Now, mamma,
was not I like Downy then ?"
Why, Alfred, it was something in
the same way, I must own; but re-
member, it is never too late to be
good again; and the sooner one be-
gins, the better.-Do you understand
me, Alfred, and know what I mean I"
"Yes, mamma, I think I do; you
mean, if I am as idle in making my-
self a good boy, as I was in pulling
the weeds out of my garden, I shall
never grow good,-don't you?"
Yes, Alfred, dear; and if you do
not begin in time, your faults will
grow into such a habit, that you will
have as much trouble in correcting
them, as Downy had in overcoming
her indolent disposition."
Mrs. Clifford would have talked
longer to Alfred, but he was so impa-




m0=o of


tiet to hear hw Downy got on in
making her new house, that, he begged
her to go on, and his mother once more
resumed her story.
"Necessity obliged Downy, at leat,
to overcome her extreme reluctance
to work; and she once more began to
look out bfr a proper place for her new
habitation; she visited all the green
mound in the meadow; but, ala!
they were occupied by the ants; and
peor Downy was quite out of patience;
and at last she was, though with great
reluctance, forced to take up her
lodgings in the side of the garden
bank, quite at the farther end, where
no eats ever came: here, finding it
really was her own interest to work
she resolved not to be idle any more,
but to labear as hard a eer she had
done, and she soon completed her




A WIELD MOUSE.


new dwelling, making a most commo-
dious habitation, in which she lived
happily all the summer.
"'When the harvest time arrived,
then was Downy very busy; she went
into a neighboring wheat-field, and
laid in a handsome store of grain,
for her winter supply.
Nothing of any consequence hap-
pened to Miss Downy till the latter
end of the Autumn; for some days
she had missed her provisions, but
could not account for it in any way;
and was at a loss to know who it could
be who devoured the fruits of her
daily labours; but one morning, when
she returned from gleaning in the
stubble fields, she was greatly sur-
prised, on entering her house, to be-
hold a young stranger busily employ-
ed breakfasting in her granary; she




Inm0o or


inPype at the entrance d r home
to examine her visitor, and wa stnah
by the beauty of his farm; he wa of
a reddish color, his hir vry long
and thick, his breast and fore feet of
a pale buff, and his belly white; he
had a nice round face and fine oval
ears, with quick lively brown eyes,
and long handoome black whiskers;
in short, he was the prettiest mose
Downy had ever sean, though he was
a sad little thief, and had eaten a
great deal of her wheat
SHe appeared at ftit, muh dis-
-mncerted at being disturbed and dis-
covered at his depredetions, ad looked
roand oa every side fir an opnig to
escape at; but none appearing, he
sood stiM, ad sratked his ear with
me ae his hid o*, am ing as. .
emacesrd aa air as ha e(ld peibly
put on.




A NUMS IS3.


'" DIy was int nasy she Wa Aim-
ammred who wba the tbdEf tint ahe
s0ow lapg5e Mim bigah she aawd
waot bp Aisking he vu a wry dis-
hem*& moe to come every da mId
rob her as he Wad doue; bdt he was
ae petty, &nd made so humb. a
apology for hai intruding intU bI
house, t"ia the could not hi it in
ber beat to be army wit" hm lam&
and they seo became very god
friend; ad at 1ar he pmrpaed hu
taing him as a partnrer. hich the
uampes Downyagmed to ithout be-
sititLto, amd shared hr hbOun and
puovisimw with the madiomm youg
svragrw, who behaed with k e#d0-
-wm for some time, and ma very
amefui to mind wht Aik A )o ony
mid to him; butatt hube b"ndo
throw a'is rA, '-a-4 and mia i"




HISTOBT OP


getting into mischief, in spite of the
sage advice of Downy, who took great
pains to warn him from such evil
practices. But Silket would frisk in
the garden, robbing the newly-planted
bean and pea crops, with the greatest
audacity; not minding what careful
Downy said, who represented to him
the danger he ran of being killed by
cats, or by the weasels, or caught in
traps;-but Silket, like a naughty
mouse that he was, only laughed and
made light of her fears; and when at
last she appeared vexed at his disobe-
dience, he promised never to go into
the garden again; but, like many
more, broke his promise directly he
was out of her sight; and besides
this, he was sadly idle, and was, I am
sorry to say, much fonder of play than
work; and Downy was obliged to re.




A TIBLD MOUSL


monstrate with him on such bad be-
haviour, and said-' Silbet, how can
you expect me to work for both you
and myself? you are a sad partner.'
Silket was very humble, and pro-
mised to be more industrious for the
future; and that very afternoon he
ransacked a new crop of peas, which
the gardener had sown that day, and
came home laden with spoils; next
day, he brought home a hoard of nuts
from the garden, and Downy thought
if he would but continue so good, she
should be very happy, for her Silket
was a pretty creature, and she was
very fond of him.
"But pretty creatures are not al-
was the best, as she found to her cost,
for when the weather set in cold, Mb.
Silket refused to work, or stir out of
the house, but lay rolled round like a




mII Vo or


ball in the soft hay, and dept, ly
jut getting up to eat, ad Dorny
was much grieved, for she hweed their
stock of food would never lat out the
winter, if he did not help her to make
saoe addition to it; but Silket begged
her not to be under any cooera, for
there was plenty for them both; and
m her again exprenng her fer oan
the subje, he gave her two or three
bites on the ear, and peaked most
ehemently; showing his anger at
being f d fault with, and then laid
down again with a sulky air of die-
plamre; vhile poor Downy, almost
broken-hearted, slowly and full of
mrow, left her hose and wandered
along the ide of the bank, qte dia-
..m aeto, ad she resoled wcmr to
oo beok again to her ~ugstful hun
ba, whahadlo ested herso-inadly,




A 6U3 MOBIL 5f
but leave him in a quiet pomessm o
her dwelling.
Simple little Dorwy she miht
have known before-had how he woidd
have treated her, as she ws so wall
acquainted with his propensity ti
stealing; and she wa a very fooliis
mouse to take for a partner one who
showed, from the first, that he Eked
better to play about and teal, than
labour to get an honest living. Doway
ought to have considered all this; but
Downy, who did not think that bmeh a
soft pretty create could tell so ma
stories, believed all be aid; ad this
was the ecosequenee of bar folly.
"Poor little Dwny laid bsamilin
her sad misfortne en the cold dam
gras, determining never to ge hom
to her little tyrsat ap=, so angry
ms she at his cruel emduet.--Abt




HIITORT O0


fbolish mouse that I was,' (said she,)
Swhy did I not continue to live by
myself when I wee so happy I might
have known how he would have be-
haved to me; but I will never return
to him; he may enjoy by himself that
food which he loves so much more than
he does me, ungrateful that he is!'
In this manner, she was uttering
her complaints, when she heard a soft
padding step behind her, and a mourn-
fhl noise made her turn round; and
she beheld her penitent Silket, (for it
was him), who advancing with a sor-
rowful air, humbly besought her for-
giveness, and rubbed his velvet cheek
in an imploring manner against hers;
his lively brown eyes were now trou-
bled, and very sorrowful. Downy
could not resist his beseeching looks,
but forgave him for all past ofenoes,




A IZILD 3L.


and took him onee more intfavour,
on hi promising to be good in fatue
and never bite her ears r tail again.
Silet was really very aorry far
his te bad behaviour, and he re-
solved to be very good, and do.so so
more, for he did love Downy very
much, though he loved himself better.
"He accompanied her home with
great afeetion, and they vere happier
for some weeks than they had ever
been before; he was so khid, md
seemed to study only to please her;
he spent day after day in searching
amog the dry leaves in the garden hr
fiberts; and when he cold not pro*
cure ay thing ese, he brought her
croea-roots, and carota.
"One evening, he had been out later
than usual, he did not se Downy's
bright eyes looking out from aong
r&




4 HISmTOY or
the ivy leaves and moss for his return,
and he was fearful some ill had befall-
en her. As he approached his home,
he thought he heard several little
squeaking sounds, and on entering his
nest, found that Downy, in his absence,
had become the mother of four little
helpless blind mice, which she was
suckling. Silket was overjoyed; he
licked the little ones with much affec-
tion, and behaved with the greatest
tenderness to Downy; he presented
her with the filberts he had brought
home, and praised the beauty of his
family; though none but himself could
see that they possessed any, for little
mice are very ugly till they can open
their eyes, and have got fur on them;
for, like puppies, and kittens, and rab-
bits, they are all born blind, and do
not open their eyes for many days
after.




A PILD KOUSE.


No mouse could behave better
than Silket did; he was out almost all
day searching for nice food for Downy,
and getting soft moss to keep his lit-
tle ones warm.
"But, one day, he much grieved
Downy, and did a deal of mischief-
Wanting something to cover his little
ones with, what did he do, but go into
the garden to the hedge where Mrs.
Ball hung out her linen to dry, and
wickedly gnawed and bit one of the
old lady's aprons almost to pieces,
carrying home as many of the rags as
his mouth would hold, to his house.
"' Downy was sadly vexed when she
heard % he had been doing, and
she was U~io give him a long leo-
ture on being ao mischievous, while
Mr. Silket amused himself by laying
the rags out to the greatest advan-




HiNoSr o


tage, admiring the white quilt he bad
brought home for his little uoes' bed,
and secretly resolving to go and fetch
the remaining fragments; and though
he saw how grave Downy looked, he
did not think he had done much harm
in biting the old lady's apron; so be
cast a cunning eye at Downy, to see if
she was observing him, for he wanted
sadly to get the rest of the aprn. But
abe saw what he was after, and begged
him not to go; for she said that such
mischievous ways would come to no
good end; and that he would be caaght
in a trap, or killed by a cat, or fail
into some danger; 'and,' added she,
' what should I do, Sil with
these four helpless li fK pro-
vide for So bl polled any
more of good Mrs Bal's linen, though
he often came in the way of it.




A PILD MOUSIL


The old lady was much annoyed
by the misfortune which had befallen
her best muslin apron, and threatened
to have the rat-catcher and ferrets, to
hunt the garden, if any thing more
were destroyed; so it was well that
Silket took Downy's advice, or he
would certainly have lost his life.
At the end of three weeks, the lit-
tle mice began to be quite lively, and
to grow very pretty little creatures;
they much resembled their father in
their mischievous inclinations, and it
needed all Downy's prudent manage-
ment to keep them in order, for they
'would frisk out of their nest, and scud
about in the meadow; going so far
out of sight, that Downy was fright-
ened lest any mishap should befal
them; as to Silket, he seemed to take
great delight in their pranks.




monr orI


When it was fine weather, one,
bolder than the rest, would rn up a
little tree, and cinging to a branch,
ook down with triumph on his com-
panions; then, if the dead leaves but
shook, the timid little thing whisked
down, and away all four scudded, to
hide themselves till they thought the
danger past.
Downy now began to feel the cares
of a family, and she was often much
grieved at the disobedient behaviour
of her little mice. Velvet was the
only good-behaved one, and she was
bad enough in all reason.
They were sad little thieves; aad
though Downy and Silket were all day
busied a getting food for them, and
fed them with the best of every thing,
the wicked little thiap atole the Gorf
from the. granary, and wasted even




A JIM W.S1L


more thn they ate; and theybeeme
so misekieona, that all the field.
mie in the meadow declared tey
were spoiled, and that D)owy ougIt
to keep them under restraint, and to
punish them when they behaved ilL
"As they grew older, they grew
woe; Downy had warned them of ah
the danger into which they ran, by
roaming so far from home; and told
them of the eat that hated the gar-
den, and the great white owl; but
these bad miee paid no attention to
what their good mother aid to them.
"Among other things, she begged
them not to go nea the brick-trape
whieh the gardener had set among the
am i aadpe4, to eatin simple mice
to et the bit, and then they were
wue to be kiled by the trp adimg
on them: bt they did at regard




HISTORY OF


those prudent counsels in the least;
and a day or two after, they all sallied
out into the garden, with Whitefoot
their leader, in search of plunder.
"They rummaged the ground un-
der the nut-trees for some time, with-
out finding a single nut, when they
came to a row of late-sown peas; these
they made a terrible havock amongst,
regardless of their mother's advice.
They were going home, delighted
with their regale, when Whitefoot es-
pied some wheat, carefully laid out
under a sort of brick house. Whitefoot
run round it, and thought it stood too
firm to be knocked down; and as he
was rather greedy, he determined to
venture under, and eat up the wheat;
he was in such a hurry, for fear his
companions should want to share his
prize, that, in his haste, he pushed




A FILD MOUSE. 61
down a bit of stick, that held the brick
up-down it fel,-and Whitefoot was
crushed to death in an instant.
The shriek of the dying Whitefoot
alarmed the timid little mice; away
they ran as fast as they could, nor did
they once stop to look behind them.
Whitefoot was found next morning by
the gardener, under the brick trap,
and was given to the black cat. Now,
had he minded what his mother had
told him the day before, he would
have been alive, and frisking about
with the rest. See, Alfred, what comes
of disobedience and greediness."
"Yes, mamma," said Alfred, "Iwill
remember poor Whitefoot's fate, and
not disobey you."
"Downy was much shocked at the
death of her poor Whitefoot, and she
told the other little mice to take warn-




osTY w


ing by their brother's sad fate, ad
at go ea any mere rick-tn pe, but
be conteMte with the food wich she
and their *fdter provided for them.
"For a few days they were mere
orderly, but their bad labits returned
again, ad they forgot al their pro-
ise, and -were a naughty as ever
they had been; even Silket wa shocked
at them, and was forced to chastise the
two mst unruly, Wilful and Sprightly,
by biting their ears.
SWilful ran away, but he very oon
ame to a most timely death.-His
last thought were of deep regret fr
having left his home as he did.
There ere now ony two young
mice left, Sprightly aad Velt. Velvet
was o shocked atthe bad end tovhich
Jer two hoibh had ecme, that she
idslven ato Ibe sagty agin; but




A 13D EUWN.


when she tod Sprightly of her inten-
tions, she w Iaedy ridiculed her, and
said, for her prt, she should go ad
seek her fortune in the meadow and
garden, where no one could scold her,
and where she might do as she pleased:
with this resolution she set es, ad
they never saw her again; for having
no house to go to the white owl saw
her as he was lying out one evemig,
and s;eo made an end of Sprightly,
who had better have staid at home
with her father and mother.
Velvet was, now, the comfort and
pride of her parents; she helped them
in all their labor, d assisted them
in enlarging their house, and lying in
food against the winter.
As she increased in goodar, he
grew prettier; ad evey We amindd
her, she was a clean, ad her skin w




HISTORY OF


as soft as satin, and looked quite bright
and glossy. Velvet was generally up
and abroad before sunrise, and enjoyed
being out in the dew: she always re-
turned home loaded with grain; and
they were all quite happy and comfort-
able; for Silket was very good, and
Downy had nothing to make her un-
comfortable, being blessed with a good
husband, and a good daughter.
"But a sad accident happened,
which deprived poor Downy of all
means of providing for her wants, and
gave Silket and Velvet the greatest
pain and uneasiness on her account.
One day, Downy had been by her-
self in the garden, and in passing under
a gooseberry-bush, she did not see a
trap which had been set to catch little
birds, and it caught one of her poor
little feet, and she lay struggling and




A HmLO 1s06


shrieking im the greatest paia; at last,
by a violet efbrt, she get kae, bat
with the loe of one of her fore-feet,
and, saly wrouded, and crying pit
ously, she gained her home.
Silbet and Velvet fond her ex-
haasted with pam, and ahast dying;
they were greatly grieved at the mis-
fortune, and amaentd bitterly tkesad
fate of pear Downy, and they feared
greatly kst they should lose her;
but good auing and great eam at
last restored ler, in some meunre;
after wih, Velvet and Silket would
never permit her to gout to get fo
but always brought the best for her;
and she lived quite at her ease, only
she never was sa strong as before.
"The summa passed happily away,
lbt the sudden death of por Silket
owe mome lled them with grieL
S3




HISTORY OF


"The innocent little creature was
sleeping under the nut-trees in the
garden, one warm morning in Sep-
tember; he had been collecting nuts
to carry home, but being tired, he had
laid down to repose himself in the sun,
and unfortunately, fell asleep; nor did
he wake till he found himself in the
grasp of the merciless black cat, who
springing upon her defenceless prey,
killed him. There was no fond Downy
nor affectionate Velvet near, to give
him aid, or receive his last sighs,
"The evening came, but no Silket
returned to the disconsolate Downy;
another day passed, but they saw him
not; and they were at last certain
that he must have been killed.
"This heavy blow almost overcame
Downy, and it was with the greatest
difficulty that Velvet could persuade




A FIELD MOUSE


her to eat and be comforted; but every
thing around them served to real the
image, and remind them of the loss of
their beloved Silket, and this gave
them both great pain.
At last, Velvet, without saying any
thing to her mother, stole away while
she was asleep, and having found a
pretty spot some way from farmer
Ball's land, she made a new house,
much more convenient than the one
they then lived in.
It was a long time before it was
completed, but when it was quite fin-
ished, and well stocked with grain,
she brought Downy to see it. It was
situated in a pretty garden, on a beau-
tiful sloping green bank, under the
shade of a fir-tree, not many yards
from a nice white brick house, the
front of which was covered with vines




MDNeM O0


and wall-fruit; and there were pots of
balsams and geraniums, on the bed
opposite the windows and glass door."
Why, mamma," exclaimed Alfred,
suddenly looking up in his mothers
face, "that was just like our garden,
and our house;" and he ran to the
window, and looked out into the gar-
den, saying with great vivacity, Tes,
mamma, it is exactly the same And
he looked enquiringly at his mother.
Mrs. Clifford smiled, bat made no
reply, and went on as if she had not
heard him.
In this pretty spot they settled,
and Downy hoped to spend therest of
her days in quiet; she wanted for no-
thing, for Velet was her prvider.
Downy thought, if she showed ever
be deprived of her, it would break her
heart, and she mwst soon be starved to


68




A FILD MOUSE.


death; as she could not work now, as
she had done formerly.
"These thoughts made her often
very sorrowful, and Velvet thought
she seemed to droop, and lose her
spirits and appetite; so Velvet thought
she would try to get something nice,
to please her; she stole into the house,
one day, when no one saw her, and,
after some little time, she found her
way into the cupboard, where she
smelt something very nice, and be-
held a new plum-cake. 'Ah!' said
she, 'how my poor sick mother will
like a bit of this nice cake!' so having
made a hearty meal herself from it, she
carried away the rest for her mother,
not thinking that she had done any
very great harm."
Ah, mamma," cried Alfred with
tears in his eyes, how I wish I had




*mIwar or


not set the trap to catoh that good
Velvet; she might have had my cake,
and welcome, if I had but known what
she took it for; how sorry I am! Poor
Velvet! I wish she was alive again,
that I do with all my heart."
I told you, Alfred," said his mo-
ther, seriously, "you would be sorry
for killing the nasty brown mouse, be-
fore the day was over.-But let me
finish my story.-When Downy found
that Velvet did not return, she was so
heart-broken that she very sooB died
of grief"
"Ah, mamma!" eried Alfred, burst-
ing into tears, "what a cruel boy I
have been! I have killed both Downy
and the good little Velvet-I hope I
shall never be so cruel again."
Mrs. Cliord, pleased at kavin a-
wakened a proper feeling in the mind




A lUImD MOUs.


of her little boy, kissed him tenderly,
saying, Dry your tear, my dear
Alfred, amd meer again be s anxious
for the death of may animal."
We are taught to be meriful, bnt
it is not expected that we should per-
mit mice and other similar animals
to overrun our houses, and prey on
our food and olothes.--It is, therefore,
sometimes very necessary to destroy
them.-Still, when we are forced from
necessity to kill any thing, we should
do it with as little suffering to them
as we can i--it becomes cruelty when
we inflict unnecessary pain.
I should myself have been forced
to set the trap,-for I could not per-
mit the things in my cupboard to be
eaten by mice,-but I did not like to
see my little Alfred, merely from a
feeling of revenge, wishing so eagerly




72 HISTORY OF A FIELD MOUSE
for the death of a poor mouse, that
did not and could not know that it
was doing any harm in eating a cake
that it chanced to fall in the way of.
And now, my dear boy, you may go
and amuse yourself in the garden."

Alfred kissed his mother, and hav-
ing wiped his tears away, and thanked
her for her kindness in telling him
the pretty story, he went into the
garden to play till tea was ready.
But on this, as well on several other
occasions, he could not help casting a
glance at the bank under the fir-tree,
and thinking of

LITTLE DOWNY,


THE FIELD MOUSE.








HARRY PERCY;
OR,
ENCOURAGE KINDLY FEELINGS.


CHAP. I.

I-HE bells of Portsmouth
rang merrily, the colours
were flying in every di-
rection, and the town had
poured forth its thousands, to welcome
home the Invincible and her victorious
crew; and to behold the fine French
frigate she had lately captured.
It was one of the showy and merry-
making incidents of warfare, and grati-
fying to naval pride;-yet some among
these happy groups sighed, and thought
B3




HARRY


that victory had been bought too dear-
ly; for the intelligence had just ar-
rived, that Captain Percy, the gallant
commander of the Invincible, had fal-
len in the moment of victory.
The sad news had not reached Mrs.
Percy, who, unknowing that the bril-
liant event had made her a widow,
appeared on the beach. The people,
now silent, made way for her; and she,
leaning on the arm of a companion,
stood anxiously watching the progress
of a boat, which was rapidly approach-
ing the shore. It neared, and the late
wife and still mother cast a searching
look among the crew. With maternal
joy she recognized her gallant son,
and waved her handkerchief, to greet
his safe return.
In another moment the stripling
midshipman was at her side; but de-




PBECY.


ejected, and in tears. Summoning all
her fortitude, the benevolent lady
exclaimed, "Harry, tell me all--sus-
pense is torture 1"
Harry turned away, and wept; and
then sobbed out the heart-rending
words,-" my brave father fell in the
very moment of victory."
Mrs. Percy feebly uttered, "0 Lord,
thy will be done!" and sunk into a
state of insensibility.
When Mrs. Percy recovered her
senses, she found herself at home, and
her dutiful son watching by her side,
with the fondest solicitude; then she
perceived, for the first time, that his
right arm hung powerless by his side,
and that his uniform was stained in
many places with blood. Yet even in
that bitter moment her grateful heart
was lifted up, in pious thankfulness to




HARRY


heaven, that her son was still spared
to her; and becoming more composed,
could ask, and Harry Percy could tell,
the particulars of the fight; and the
fall of the heroic Captain Percy. The
afflicted lady heard that her husband
had nobly perished in the performance
of his duty; and knowing that he had
lived like a Christian, she confidently
looked forward to a blessed re-union
with him in a better world, where
nothing would ever again divide them
from each other.
Far different feelings agitated the
heart of her son: he did not seek for
consolation from above. While his
mother's tearful eye was raised to
heaven-while her fervent prayer was
ascending to the throne of mercy, in
pious resignation to the will of God-
he stood looking down on his sword,




PERCY.


secretly vowing eternal hatred to the
French nation. Reason might have
told him that it was the chance of war;
and that the conflict in which his father
died, had also made many a French-
woman a widowed mourner-many a
child fatherless. No: the prejudice
he bore to the very name of French-
man, stifled the voice of reason, and
forbade its pleadings to be heard.
Harry Percy, it must be told, was
enthusiastic in the cause of the Roy-
al Family of France, and from the
moment they became the victims of
popular fury, he detested the very
name of a Republican, and such he
erroneously considered every French-
man to be.
This prejudice might, possibly, have
yielded to time and his natural be-
nevolence, if the untimely fate of a




HARRY


young relative, for whom he cherished
a brother's love, and who died in conse-
quence of the hardships he endured in
a French prison, had not revived it in
all its former force. Young Percy
thirsted to dip his yet unstained sword
in French blood, and much wished the
Invincible might soon come into ac-
tion.
This wish was now amply granted;
he witnessed all the terrors of a sea
fight-felt all its dreadful excitement;
he saw the decks strewn with the dead
and dying, and beheld his father fall,
as he was heading the boarding party,
in the very moment of victory. Deeply
did he now lament the fulfilment of
his desires, since such had been their
sad consummation.
The wounds young Percy had re-
ceived, during the action, promised




PERCY.


to detain him on shore during the
greater part of the winter.
It was a clear morning in the be-
ginning of December, when a slight
frost made every thing glitter in the
cheering rays of the sun, that the in-
valid first took his walk abroad, but
with a step enfeebled by pain and con-
finement to his chamber. The sea-
breeze invitingly drew him to -the
beach, and then the sight of the Invin-
cible, which lay at anchor off the town,
insensibly recalled the memory of his
father's death; and, with the recollec-
tion of that sad event, all his bitter
animosity against the French revived.
"Oh!" thought he, "that I could re-
venge his fall, and that of my dear Ed-
ward, on these odious Republicans!"
At this moment his reverie was
interrupted by a youth, apparently of




HARRY


his own age, who accosted him in very
broken English, and implored him,
"Pour amour de Dieu, (for the love
of God,) to take pity on a poor prisoner
of war, and to bestow a trifle on him
for his sick brother."
Percy, in a rough voice, replied, in
French, "Begone, you French dog!
I hate your country too much to afford
you any relief."
The French prisoner raised his fine
dark eyes to heaven, with a look of ap-
peal that softened Percy's anger; who
took a half-a-crown from his purse;
and offering it to the supplicant, said,
in a milder tone, "Here is a trifle for
you; for though I detest your country,
yet you appear to be in great distress."
The poor youth looked earnestly at
the piece of silver, but the ungenerous
words that accompanied the proffer




PERCY.


crimsoned his pale cheek; and he
replied, with some indignation, "Yes,
I am distressed; but I cannot accept
relief from one who reviles my coun-
try. No: I could perish first!" And,
without speaking another word, left
young Percy, who remained for some
moments on the same spot, covered
with shame and confusion.
The pleasure of the walk was now
gone; for, at sixteen, the heart is sel-
dom hard; and Percy returned home,
discontented and out of humour with
himself, angry with the French prison-
er, and in a frame of mind ready to
be displeased with every body.
"You are ill, my Harry," said his
fond mother, anxiously regarding the
invalid, as he threw himself into a
chair; "the walk has been too much
for you. I feared it would be so; but




HARRY


you were obstinately bent on having
your own way."
"No: I am well enough," he replied,
in a pettish tone; "but I wish I was
on board ship again."
"Do you wish then to leave me,
Harry asked his mother, regarding
him with an anxious look.
No, my dear mother, I do not wish
to leave you, but something has hap-
pened to vex me;" and then, with
some little hesitation, he related his
adventure with the French prisoner.
Mrs. Percy was grieved to find that
prejudice should have induced her son
to treat with unkindness a distressed
fellow-creature.-" Alas !" sighed she,
" you may be taken prisoner yourself,
my son, and be reduced to beg your
bread in a foreign land."
Never! while the Invincible has a




PBnrY. lb
mast standing, or a man left to work
her guns," replied Percy, "and I think
that you, dear mother, ought to enter
into my feelings;" and, as he spoke,
he looked on his wounded arm, and
then glanced at the black crape he
wore, as mourning for his father.
Mrs. Percy understood his meaning
perfectly well, and, as tears filled her
eyes, said, Your brave father died in
the performance of his duty; and those
who slew him, followed the dictates of
theirs likewise. I wish them no ill.
Are we not, my son, commanded to love
our enemies, and return good for evil ?"
Percy, made no reply to his mo-
ther's meek rebuke; but he turned
the conversation to another topic; and
the entrance of his new commander
obliterated the incident of the morn-
ing walk from his mind.




HARRY


CHAP. II.

PERCY'S health improved daily, so that
he was able to walk abroad without any
fear of a relapse; and in the course of
his morning promenades, he frequently
saw the French prisoner, who, he fan-
cied, regarding him with an air of de-
fiance; and on those occasions, the
young midshipman frequently mut-
tered some unkind reflection on the
French nation, in the hearing of the
poor lad: yet sometimes the natural
generosity of Percy's heart reproached
him, and he let the French prisoner
pass without molestation. But it is
very difficult to overcome a bad habit
when once acquired; and we are sorry
to say, that his forbearance was of rare
occurrence.




PERCY.


Philippe Armande, which was the
name of the French youth, generally
carried a basket of elegant toys; for he
was an adept in manufacturing those
delicate pieces of fancy work, in the
forming of which his countrymen sur-
pass the natives of all other nations.
For these he had a brisk sale, and sel-
dom returned to the prison with many
of his morning's freight. An unfor-
tunate event, however, nearly ruined
his little trade; for one day, happening
to be caught in a shower of rain, and
anxious to preserve his toys from the
ill effects of a wetting, he hurried to-
wards a pastrycook's shop, when in his
haste, he ran against Harry Percy, and
struck his wounded arm with the cor-
ner of his basket. Natural politeness
and benevolence prompted him to make
an apology for the accident; but the
c3




HARRY


young officer, not waiting to hear what
Philippe would say, darted forward,
and struck him so violently with his
left hand, that his basket and all its
contents were rolled into the kennel.
The pale cheek of Philippe Ar-
mande grew crimson; his soft, dark
eyes glittered with rage; his whole
frame trembled with indignation; and
he was about to raise his arm in the
act to strike Percy, but suddenly
checking himself, he caught up his
basket, and hastily collected his little
property.
So you dare to threaten and insult
me, you cowardly king-killing Repub-
lican," exclaimed Percy; "because
you think that the wounds I have
received in my country's service will
prevent my punishing your insolence
as it deserves."




PFBCY. IV
"Such motives might influence my
conduct, if I were ungenerous and un-
just, like you," replied Philippe Ar-
mande, in a tone of bitter reproach;
"but I scorn to take advantage of
your present disabled state." He
then crossed the street without cast-
ing another look at his reviler.
Percy was too much excited by
sudden pain, to consider at the mo-
ment how unjustly and ungenerously
he had acted; but felt, notwithstand-
ing, humbled and mortified by the for-
bearance of Philippe Armande. Yet, if
the young officer could have followed
Philippe Armande to his home,-that
home a prison,-if he could have seen
him weeping on his pale sick brother's
neck, lamenting over the destruction
of the toys whose sale would have
procured medicine and nourishing food




HARRY


for the suffering invalid,-his heart
would have felt keen remorse for the
pain he had occasioned to the 'Poor
French prisoner of War.'
From that day, Percy rarely met
Philippe Armande; but when he did,
was much struck by the melancholy of
his fine dark eyes. He was evidently
ill, and unhappy, and Percy felt a slight
pang of remorse, when he made this
observation. After a time he ceased
to see him at all, and began to wonder
what had become of him; as did those
also who had been accustomed to buy
poor Philippe's toys.
The month of February set in unu-
sually cold; and one afternoon, Harry
Percy, who had been enjoying a com-
fortable nap on the sofa, near the fire,
was awakened by hearing some one
conversing with his mother in French,




PERCY.


and in a tone of voice he thought- he
knew. Half unclosing his eyes, he
beheld, to his utter astonishment, the
French prisoner sitting directly oppo-
site to him, and talking earnestly to
his mother, who appeared to listen to
him with the greatest interest and at-
tention. Unable to comprehend the
meaning of this unexpected visit, he
hastily closed his eyes, and assumed
again the appearance of sleep.
"And is your brother so very ill?"
asked Mrs. Percy in a compassionate
tone of voice and manner.
Philippe Armande replied in a hesi-
tating and broken voice, "Alas! yec
madam; I fear, if his health does n3t
improve soon, he will not see another
winter. Indeed, he requires both warm
clothing and nourishing food; for the
prison allowance is unfit for an invalid,




HARRY


and for some time he has had nothing
better. However," continued he, in a
more cheerful tone, "I hope now to
earn a trifle for that purpose."
"But you look ill, yourself," said
Mrs. Percy, "and seem quite unequal
to any kind of exertion."
I am still weak from the effects of
an illness I had this winter; but I am
getting better. My poor brother Louis
has injured his health by nursing me,
for he was gaining a little strength
when I fell ill; and now he looks
worse, and is so thin, so very thin.
Oh! he will die, I am sure, he will
die! and my poor mother will break
her heart when she learns his sad fate.
But no-she will not know it, for we
shall both perish in this strange land,
and never see her, our sisters, or dear
France again." Poor Philippe now




PRC Y.


turned aside, and wept; but for very
shame, Percy would have shed tears
also. With anxious interest, he now
awaited his mother's reply; which
was, like her own character, mild and*
compassionate.
"Yours is a sad case, but God is all
merciful; put your trust in him, and
he will comfort you; for he never for-
sakes those who place their confidence
in him. So, now, I will buy the con-
tents of your basket."
"May God bless you, madam," re-
plied the grateful youth, "and repay
you a thousand fold; for, indeed, I
have not been able to sell a single
toy to-day."
"Are you always so unfortunate ?"
asked Mrs. Percy; "or have you only
now commenced this trade ?"
"No, madam, formerly I was very




HARRY


successful, and sold my toys; but, one
day, Ihad the misfortune to run against
a young officer, who, without deigning
to listen to my apology, struck me so
violently, that I dropt my basket and
all its contents into the mud. I re-
turned home, in a miserable state of
mind. I had been insulted, beaten,
and, to complete my misfortunes, not
only my own toys were spoiled, but
those I was employed to sell for my fel-
low-prisoners, who were consequently
angry with me. I had no money to
purchase materials to replenish my
basket, and though I still earned a
trifle, by selling on commission for my
comrades, I could not gain enough to
procure those comforts my poor bro-
ther needed. Soon afterwards, I fell
ill, and my brother lost all his little
remaining strength, working for me




PBRCY.


and nursing me during my illness.
Three days ago, a stranger visited the
prison, and bestowed a trifle on me.
I purchased some materials with this
money, and, aided by Louis, made some
toys; and was trying to sell them, when
you saw, and were touched with my
sickly appearance and sad looks; and,
unsolicited, relieved the poor prisoner
of war; for which goodness, I hope,
God will one day reward you."
"I think," said Mrs. Percy in a
thoughtful tone, "that if the youth
who struck you were to know all the
distress he has occasioned, he would
be very sorry."
"Alas! no, madam," replied Phi-
lippe Armande, utterly unconscious
that his former enemy was present,
" I fear the young officer is too cruel
and insolent by nature, to feel for the




HARRY


sufferings of two unfortunate French
prisoners. That was not the only time
he insulted me. Once I solicited his
charity, and he reviled my country.
Think, Madam, how bitterly I felt
those epithets of republican and king-
killer; for my father commanded one
of those gallant Swiss regiments, which
defended the Tuileries on the memo-
rable 10th of August, and perished on
the staircase of that palace, in the ser-
vice of his king. And yet," continued
Philippe with bitter emphasis, "his son
has been reviled in England, as a regi-
cide."
Till that moment, the penitent mid-
shipman had not changed his position,
but had conterfeited sleep. When,
however, he found that the innocent
object of his aversion, was an unfor-
tunate son of a brave officer, who had




PBOCY.


perished in the cause of suffering roy-
alty, he could contain his remorseful
feelings no longer, but springing from
the sofa, earnestly besought Philippe
Armande's forgiveness.
Surprised and delighted by this
candid acknowledgement of error, the
poor youth embraced his repentant en-
emy with the characteristic warmth
of his country; exclaiming, as he did
so, "I forgive you with all my heart;
and I am truly sorry that I said so
much: but, indeed, I did not know
that this lady was your mother."
"Indeed, if I had known that you
were a royalist, I should not have
called you such names," said Percy
wishing to extenuate his conduct; for
I hated your countrymen because they
killed their king."
All Frenchmen were not guilty of




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