Chapter II: Part 2

_Edward_. As we were walking near the house, I was surprised to see a fine cat, with a pretty little leveret gambolling and frolicking by her side. Mrs. Horton told us, that, about a fortnight ago, the farmer's boy brought this poor little creature into the house, having found it, almost starved to death, in a hole, in consequence, I suppose, of some accident having happened to its mother. Mrs. Horton gave directions that it should be fed and kept warm. The servants grew very fond of it, and were quite grieved, one day, suddenly to miss it. They concluded that some cat or dog had killed it, and never expected to see their little favourite again. However, yesterday, in the dusk of the evening, they observed the cat in the garden, with something gambolling after her, which, to their great delight, they discovered to be the leveret. They then recollected that poor puss had been deprived of a litter of kittens, on the very day that their favourite had so mysteriously disappeared. The cat had adopted him in the place of her own little ones, nourished him with her milk, and continues still to support him with the greatest affection [Footnote: See Bingley's Animal Biography].

_Mrs. B._ It is a curious circumstance, but not so extraordinary, I think, as the account Ferdinand read to me, some time ago, in "A Visit for a Week," of a cat supporting a chicken in a similar manner.

_Ferdinand_. Well, mamma, besides the accounts we have given you, Mrs. Horton told us several other curious things respecting the instinct of animals. She took us to an aviary in the garden, which is a large place made on purpose to keep birds in. There were some beautiful gold and penciled pheasants; but no bird, in my opinion, is so handsome as the peacock. I asked Mrs. Horton if it were originally a native of this country. She told me it was brought to us from the East, and that numerous flocks of them are still to be seen wild in Java and Ceylon.

_Mrs. B._ Where are those two islands situated, Louisa?

_Louisa_. They are both in the Indian Ocean. Java is a little to the east of Sumatra; and Ceylon, off the coast of Coromandel. All the animals with which the woods abound, are not so agreeable as the peacock, mamma; for I recollect reading, a little time ago, that there are varieties of wild beasts live there: particularly in Java, there are many large and fierce tigers.

_Mrs. B._ Did Mrs. Horton tell you any thing more respecting the peacock?

_Emily_. Yes; she made us observe its train, which does not appear to be the tail. The long feahers grow all up their backs. A range of short, brown, stiff feathers, about six inches long, is the real tail, and serves as a prop to the train when elevated. This certainly must be the case, as, when the train is spread, nothing appears of the bird but its head and neck; which could not be, were those long feathers fixed only in the rump. She also told us, that, in the time of Francis the first, king of France, it was the custom to serve up a peacock at the tables of the great, not for food, but ornament. The skin was first carefully stripped off, and the body being prepared with the hottest spices, was again covered with it; in this state it was not at all subject to decay, but preserved its beauty for several years.

_Mrs. B._ In China, a peacock's feather hanging from the cap, is considered as a mark of high distinction; and Sir George Staunton, in his account of the Embassy to China, mentions a circumstance of a legate of the emperor, who was degraded from his office, for disobeying the orders of his imperial majesty, being reduced to wear an opaque white, instead of a transparent blue button, and a crow's instead of a peacock's tail-feather pendant from his cap. The splendour of this bird's plumage certainly demands our highest admiration, but, independent of its beauty, it has few excellencies to boast. Its voice is extremely harsh and disagreeable, and its gluttony is a great counterbalance to its personal charms.

_Emily_. Mrs. Horton made a remark similar to yours, mamma. She said, beauty was certainly very pleasing when adorned by the smiles of good- humoured cheerfulness; but that the fairest face, without this charm, would soon cease to please. She also repeated to us those sweet lines from Cowper, in which he so prettily contrasts he retiring modesty of the pheasant, with the proud display made by the peacock, of his gaudy plumes.

"Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold His radiant glories--azure, green, and gold. He treads as if, some solemn music near, His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear; And seems to say--'Ye meaner fowl give place, I am all splendour, dignity, and grace! Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, Though he too has a glory in his plumes; He, Christian-like, retreats, with modest mien, To the close copse, or far- sequester'd green, And shines, without desiring to be seen."

_Ferdinand_. We then walked some time in the park and gardens, mamma; after which Mrs. Horton took us into the house, that we might rest ourselves a little before dinner. When dinner was over we went into the picture-gallery, and, amongst a number of very beautiful prints and paintings, there was one representing the combat between the Horatii and Curiatii, of which we had read in the morning. How much more pleasure one has in looking at prints, when one knows a little about the subject of them.

_Mr. B._ A cultivated mind, my deal children, is a constant source of pleasure. Youth is the seed-time of life, and you must be careful so to plant now, as to ensure to yourselves hereafter, not only a plentiful, but a valuable harvest. It is growing late--we must think of our history, or we shall spend all the evening in chit-chat. Edward, suppose you begin the account.

_Edward_. I mentioned, yesterday, that Tullus Hostilius was of a disposition very different from the peaceful Numa. He was entirely devoted to war, and more fond of enterprise, than even the founder of the empire himself had been. The Albans were the first people that gave him an opportunity of indulging his favourite inclination. Upon the death of Romulus, seeing their ancient kings extinct, they resumed their independence, with a determination to shake off the Roman yoke, and to appoint their own governors. Cluilius was at the head of this affair. He is, by some historians, styled dictator; by others, king. Being very jealous of the growing greatness of Rome, he, by a stratagem, contrived to engage them in a war. Cluilius was, however, previous to the commencement of the hostilities, found dead in his tent, surrounded by his guards, without any external marks of violence. After his death, both parties seemed to wish for an accommodation upon a amicable terms, but neither liked to submit to be inferior to their rival. It was at length proposed, that the superiority should be determined of each other, and, when the people expected to see them begin fighting furiously, they, instead of that, laid aside their arms, and flew to embrace each other.

_Mr. B._ What effect had this upon the spectators, Emily?

_Emily_. They were much moved, and began to murmur at their king, who had engaged such leader friends in a cruel rivalship for glory. But a new scene quickly put an end to their pity, fixed their attention, and employed all their hopes and fears:--the combat began, and the victory long hung doubtful. At length the eldest of the Horatii received a mortal wound, and fell: a second soon met the same fate, and expired upon the body of his brother. The Alban army now gave a loud shout, whilst consternation and despair spread themselves through the Roman camp.

_Ferdinand_. Oh, papa, how interested I felt, this morning, when we got to this part.

_Mr. B._ I do not wonder that you were, my dear: it is a circumstance calculated strongly to interest the feelings. Edward, take up the account where Emily quitted it.

_Edward_. Do not suppose the Roman cause quite desperate. It is true, they had but one champion remaining, but he was both unhurt and undaunted, while all the Curiatii were wounded. He, however, did not conceive himself able to attack the three brothers at once, and therefore made use of a stratagem to separate them. He pretended fear, and fled before them. The Curiatii pursued him at unequal distances. Horatius turned short upon the foremost, and slew him. He then flew to the next, who soon shared his brother's fate. The only remaining Curiatii was so severely wounded, that he could scarcely support his shield, and offered no resistance to the attack of the conquering Horatius. Thus ended the famous combat, which gave Rome the superiority over Alba.

_Ferdinand_. The picture at Mrs. Horton's, represented Horatius at the moment he turned upon the first Curiatii. And there was another, representing him in the act of stabbing his sister, because she grieved for the death of one of the Curiatii, to whom she was going to be married.

_Edward_. Ah! that tarnished all the glory of Horatius, in my opinion. It was so natural she should weep for such a loss.

_Mrs. B._ Flushed with conquest, Horatius lost his self-possession. Often do we find heroes, who can subdue their enemies in the field, the weakest of the weak, when the combat is against their own evil passions. Self-knowledge, and self-possession, are most important acquirements. They are excellencies I must earnestly desire for each of you, my dear children. But we have not time for further conversation to-night: you have all exerted yourselves extremely to-day, and must feel fatigued.

_Louisa_. Oh no, papa, I am not all all tired.

_Mrs. B._ Indeed, my Louisa, your heavy eyes tell a different tale. Ferdinand, too, looks very sleepy. Good night, my dear children.

They immediately arose, and, thanking their father for the great indulgence he had afforded them, retired.

CONVERSATION IV.

"Now, my dears, have you your work prepared for the evening?" said Mrs. Bernard, rising from the tea-table.

"Mine is quite ready, mamma," replied Emily.

"And mine too, I believe," said Louisa, opening her work-bag. "Oh! dear, no, I have used up all my thread. I quite forgot that. And where can my thimble be? I am sure I thought I had put it into my bag. Emily, have you seen my thimble? I dare say you have got it, you are so apt to take my things."

_Emily._ Oh! no, indeed, Louisa, you are mistaken, Sometimes, when I find them left about, I put them by for you, that they may not be lost.

"Well, that is the very thing that makes me think I have lost them," said Louisa, rather petulantly. "It is very tiresome of you, Emily. I do wish you never would touch any thing that belongs to me."

"Gently, gently, my Louisa," interrupted Mrs. Bernard: "you ought to feel much obliged to your sister for her kindness. If it were not for her attention, your carelessness would make a sad hole in your pocket- money. In this instance, however, Emily appears to be quite innocent of your loss: she does not seem to know any thing about the stray thimble. She has not, therefore, been the cause of your misfortune to-day."

Louisa rose from her seat, and leaving the room, exclaimed: "I dare say I shall find it in a minute or two."

She was, however, absent more than a quarter of an hour, and at length returned, without having found her thimble.

"Well, mamma, it is a most extraordinary thing," said she: "I cannot think what is become of it. It is very tiresome that things should get lost so."

_Mrs. B._ It is rather singular that Emily seldom meets with these misfortunes, from which you so frequently suffer, Louisa.

_Louisa_. Indeed, Emily is very fortunate, mamma. She never has occasion to lose her time in looking for things, and, I do believe, that is one reason why she gets on so much faster with her work than I do.

_Mrs. B._ It is a very probably conjecture, my dear; but you must not attribute the cause merely to good-fortune: Emily is attentive to the excellent maxim: "A place for every thing, and every thing in its place," and if you would endeavour, in this respect, to follow her example, you would find the same comfortable effects resulting from it.

_Louisa_. Well, mamma, and so I have a place for my things. My work- bag is exactly like Emily's.

"But you do not make exactly the same use of it," said Mrs. Bernard.

Here Ferdinand interposed, with a proposition, that they should all go and have a good hunt for the thimble, as it would hurt Louisa's finger sadly, to work all the evening without one.

Louisa expressed her thanks to Ferdinand for his kindness, adding, "I am quite sorry my carelessness has given every body so much trouble. If I find my thimble this once, I will endeavour, in future, to copy Emily's example, and be more careful."

Mrs. Bernard highly approved this determination, and added, "I hope you will be able to keep your resolution, my dear. You will find the comfort resulting from the adoption of method, an ample recompence for any little trouble it may at first occasion you. Now, make haste; I wish you success in your search." _They go out._

After some time, Louisa returned with a disappointed countenance, which convinced Mrs. Bernard that her search had been in vain. The gloom was, however, soon banished by the entrance of Ferdinand, who, smiling with exultation, held out the stray thimble, and exclaimed, "I have found it, Louisa! Here it is! When you went to wash your hands, you left it in the closet."

"Oh, thank you, Ferdinand! thank you!" cried Louisa. "How glad I am to see it again! Pray, Emily, excuse my having been so cross to you just now."

"That I do, most willingly," said Emily. "Indeed, I had already forgotten your little momentary fit of anger."

"Come, let us now sit down to work, without further loss of time," said their mother. "It gives me most sincere pleasure, my dear children, to see in you a disposition to assist each other in any little case of difficulty. Nothing tends so much to cement brotherly love, as politeness and attention. In many families this is a thing much neglected; and I have seen more disagreements arise, from a rude, contradictory disposition, than from any other cause whatever. I know you like to have our instructions illustrated by a story, particularly if it be founded on fact. Your father will, therefore, I am sure, give you an account of a friend of his, who experienced the most beneficial effects, from adopting kind, conciliatory manners, in opposition to rudeness and incivility."

"I shall relate the circumstance with much pleasure," replied Mr. Bernard, "because I am convinced, a most excellent lesson may be learnt from it; and, as I know the parties, I can assure you it is perfectly true. An elderly gentleman, with a very large fortune, but no family, adopted a nephew and niece, the orphan children of two of his sisters. His object was, when they were of a proper age, to unite them to each other by marriage, intending that the whole of his immense possesions should centre in them; but he was much disappointed to find, instead of the affection which he expected to witness, an extreme dislike subsisting between the young people, which strengthened as they advanced in years. Their uncle's presence imposed upon them some restraint, but, when alone, they gave full scope to their dislike, teasing and tormenting each other by every means in their power. When the young man attained his twenty-second, and the young lady her nineteenth year, they lost their uncle, who had been to them as a parent. The only sentiment in which they united, was a tender regard to this common friend; and deeply did they lament his death. The idea that they should now be freed from the irksome incumbrance of each other's company, however, afforded them some consolation. Under these impressions, you may judge of the dismay they both experienced, upon opening their uncle's will, to find that his fortune was left equally between them, provided they accomplished his wish, by uniting their destinies; but, whichever refused fulfilling these conditions, was to forfeit all claim to the money and estates. Thunder-struck at this appalling sentence, the young man retired to his chamber, and spent some hours in solitude, considering what line of conduct it would be best for him to pursue. Always accustomed to affluence, the horrors of poverty presented themselves before him in dreadful array; yes, a union with his cousin, seemed an alternative still more formidable:--he knew not how to determine. She, in the mean time, suffered no less anxiety. The same fears agitated her mind. She was well aware of her cousin's dislike to her, and hoped it would prevent his making those proposals which she dreaded to hear. At length, he joined her in the garden, and addressed her as follows:--'You have heard the contents of our uncle's will, Emma. It places us both in a most painful situation. It were vain to profess for you an affection, I neither can, or do I believe I ever shall feel; but, yielding to the necessity of my circumstances, I offer you my hand.' 'The same sentiment induces me to accept your offer,' said the dejected Emma, with a heavy sigh; but surely, by such a union, we both bid adieu to happiness for ever.'--'Our prospect certainly does not promise us much felicity,' rejoined the young man, 'yet I cannot help thinking, a moderate share of happiness may still be within our power. Hitherto, our chief andeavour has been to thwart and irritate each other; let us, henceforth, employ the same pains to conciliate and oblige. Great affection, on either side, we will not expect: but let us resolve to maintain, on all occasions, a spirit of politeness and of good-will towards each other.' To this the young lady readily assented, and, under those circumstances, they were married. They persevered in their wise resolution. I have known them many years, and never did I see a couple more affectonately attached to each other."

_Edward_. It is a very interesting account, indeed, papa.

_Mr. B._ It is a story from which much solid instruction may be derived, my dear. People in general, are by no means aware what a powerful influence those attentions, which they deem trifling, leave upon the happiness of life. They think, on _important_ occasions, they should be willing to make great sacrifices for those they love; but do not reflect how rarely such occasions present themselves; whereas, opportunities are daily, nay, hourly occurring, for the discharge of mutual kind offices, which powerfully tend to cement the affectionate ties of friendship. Edward, did you not commit to memory the passage upon politeness, we read in Xenophon's Cyropaedia the other day?

_Edward._ I did, papa.

Mr. B. Repeat it to us, my dear.

_Edward._ Politeness is an evenness of soul, which excludes, at the same time, both insensibility and too much earnestness. It supposes a quick discernment, to perceive, immediately, the different characters of men; and, by a sweet condescension, adapts itself to each man's taste, not to flatter, but to calm his passions. In a word, it is a forgetting of ourselves, in order to seek what may be agreeable to others, but, in so delicate a manner, as to let them scarce perceive that we are so employed. It knows how to contradict with respect, and to please without adulation; and is equally remote from an insipid complaisance, and a low familiarity.

_Louisa._ Pray, papa, who was the gentleman you were speaking of, a little time ago?

_Mr. B._ That cannot concern you at all, Louisa. His name is of no consequence to the moral of my tale.

_Edward._ Louisa is always so curious; we often laugh at her for it.

_Mrs. B._ It is a foolish and dangerous propensity, when it is carried into the minor concerns of life. A laudable curiosity, whose object is the improvement of the mind, should at all times be encouraged; and you will never, on such occasions, find either your father or myself, backward in satisfying it to the best of our abilities.

_Louisa._ I have been often told that it is wrong, mamma, and will really try to amend.

_Mr. B._ I most earnestly wish you success in your endeavour, Louisa. Curiosity was the fault of our first parents, you know. How much misery did this fatal propensity in Eve, entail upon the human race!

_Ferdinand._ Oh, mamma, may I tell Louisa that droll story, which I read to you the other day, about the poor wood-cutter's wife?

_Mrs. B._ I have no objection, provided Louisa would like to hear it.

_Louisa._ Yes, I should, mamma; for I do not mind being told of my faults, because I wish to amend them.

"That is perfectly right, my love," said Mrs. Bernard: "I admire your candour, and have no doubt that, with such a desire, your efforts will prove successful. She then requested Ferdinand to begin his story, which he did, as follows:

"A gentleman riding one morning through a wood, saw a poor man very busily employed in cutting down trees, whilst his wife was collecting the branches into bundles. She sighed heavily, from heat and fatigue, and complained sadly of their hard fate, laying all the blame upon Adam and Eve, whose fatal curiosity was the cause of man's being obliged to earn his bread by such hard labour. The gentleman got off his horse, and going up to these poor people, he began to talk to the woman, and enquired, whether, if she had been in Eve's place, she would not have been very likely to have done the same thing. 'No,' said the woman: 'if I had every thing necessary for me, without working, I should certainly be quite contented." 'Well,' said the gentleman, 'in order to silence your complaints, I will take you and your husband to my own house, where you shall have apartments to yourselves, servants to wait upon you, a carriage to attend you, and my park and gardens to amuse yourselves in. The continuance of these enjoyments shall depend entirely upon yourselves. You shall have a table spread with dishes; but the middle dish shall always remain covered, and if ever you uncover it, to examine its contents, you shall immediately return to your present situation.' The poor man and woman were delighted with the gentleman's proposal. The very next day, they removed to their new abode. The novelty of every object with which they were surrounded, filled them with delight. For some time they enjoyed themselves extremely, and never once thought of the covered dish; but, by degrees, all these delights lost the charm of novelty. Their walks were always the same, and, although they had plenty of nice things to eat, their appetites were not so good as when they worked hard for their living. One day the woman said: 'I wonder what there is under that cover?' After this, their wonder increased every day, till at last they determined, by taking a little peep, to satisfy their curiosity. They accordingly lifted up the cover, when, instantly, out jumped a little mouse, and away it ran. They now saw their folly, and were sadly vexed with themselves: but it was too late to complain. They returned to their daily labour, and from their own experience learned a useful lesson, and never blamed Adam and Eve any more."

"I think, mamma, we may all learn a useful lesson from this story," said Edward, as Ferdinand concluded his account: "for I am sure I often feel curious to discover things, that are not of the least consequence to me."

_Louisa_. Is it a true story, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ I do not know, my dear; but the picture it draws of human nature is true, and, on that account, the instruction it conveys is valuable.

_Mr. B._ Let us now turn our attention to history again. We concluded, last night, with the rash murder of his sister, committed by Horatius. Did he undergo any punishment for this crime?

_Edward_. Yes, father: it was thought of dangerous consequence to slacken the rigour of the laws, in favour of any person, merely on account of his bravery and success in battle. The king was puzzled how to act. He was divided between a regard for the laws, and a desire to save the young warrior, who had rendered him such important service.

_Mr. B._ How did Tullus extricate himself from this difficulty, Emily?

_Emily_. He turned it into a state crime, and appointed two commissioners to try him as a traitor. As the fact was so publicly known, and Horatius did not deny it, he was found guilty, and condemned to be executed; but, by the king's advice, he appealed to an assembly of the people, whose authority was superior to that of the monarch himself; and they, from admiration of his courage, rather than the justice of his cause, revoked the sentence that had been passed against him. However, that he might not go wholly unpunished, they condemned him to pass under the yoke, a disgrace to which prisoners of war were subject.

_Mr. B_. What was the yoke, Ferdinand?

_Ferdinand_. It was a kind of gallows, papa, in the shape of a door- case.

_Mr. B._ Did Horatius, then, receive no honour for his victory, Louisa?

_Louisa_. Yes, papa: a square column was erected in the middle of the Forum, and the spoils of the Curiatii were hung upon it.

_Mr. B._ Did the Romans continue at peace, after the victory of Horatius?

_Edward_. No, father: they went to war, successively, with the Fidenates, Latins, and Sabines; in all of which the Romans were successful.

_Mr. B._ How was the life of Tullus Hostilius terminated, Emily?

_Emily_. Historians differ in their accounts. Some suppose he was struck by lightning, whilst others imagine he fell by the hand of Ancus Martius, his successor.

_Mr. B._ Ferdinand, can you give us a short sketch of the character of Tullus Hostilius, from what you have heard of him.

_Ferdinand_. He was very much inclined to fighting, papa. Generosity and personal courage were his chief merit. He rekindled in the Romans the love of war, which Numa had endeavoured to suppress. He acquired to the Roman state a great name, but did not add to the real happiness of his people.

_Mr. B._ As he was so much engaged in war, I suppose he did not exert himself much to improve the legislation of his country.

_Louisa._ We only read of one law that he established, and that was, that, whenever three little boys should be born at one birth, they should, in memory of the Horatii, be brought up at the public expence.

_Mr. B._ Emily, what have you to tell us of Ancus Martius, successor to Tullus?

_Emily_. He was grandson to Numa Pompilius, and, after a short interregnum, was unanimously chosen, both by the senate and people, to the succession. He wished to imitate his grandfather, by reviving husbandry and religious worship; but soon found that this pacific disposition drew upon him the contempt of the neighbouring nations. The Latins were the first who endeavoured to throw off their allegiance to Rome. This provoked Ancus to declare war against them. He vanquished them in many battles, and took several of their towns. He strengthened Rome by new fortifications; built the port and city of Astin, at the mouth of the Tiber; and was successful over the Fidenates, Sabines, Veientes, and Volsci. Historians give different accounts of his death. Some say he was destroyed by violence, whilst others speak of his decease as altogether natural.

_Mr. B._ How long did he reign, Louisa?

_Louisa_. Twenty-three years, papa. We have not read any more yet. I hope we shall not forget this part, as we advance further. Pray papa, what do you think is the best means of remembering what we read?

_Mr. B._ The plan we adopt, in making it the subject of conversation, is a very likely method to effect this desirable object; and, if you keep a book, and take notes of the history as you proceed, you will still more deeply impress it upon your memory. But we will talk upon this subject some other day: it is now quite time for you to go to bed.

CONVERSATION V.

MR. AND MRS BERNARD, EMILY, EDWARD, LOUISA, AND FERDINAND.

(_A servent coming in with a parcel_.)

_Louisa_.

Ah! there is a parcel: I dare say it is from Charles. Do, pray give it me, Mary:--I am sure I shall have a letter. He promised to write to me the next opportunity. May I open it, mamma?

_Mrs. B_. You may, Louisa.

_Louisa_. Emily, be so good as to lend me your scissors; the string has got into a hard knot:--I shall not have untied it this hour. I will just give it a little snip and it will be off in a minute.

_Mr. B_. How, Louisa! Have you so soon forgotten the applicaiton of the story with which you were so much pleased a week ago?

_Louisa_. Oh! I recollect: "Waste not--want not." But then, papa, it is so tantalizing to know there is a letter for one, and not to be able to get at it for such a long time; particularly when it comes from Charles, for he does not write to me very often. Do pray let me cut it this once. On any other occasion, I should have patience to untie the knot, I am sure.

_Mr. B_. We are all apt, Louisa, to think it more difficult to act with propriety under the very circumstances in which we happen to be placed, than we should do under others; but, if we would learn wisdom, and acquire the esteem of the good, we must _always_ endeavour to do the very best that circumstances will allow. By making this principle the rule of our conduct on trifling occasions, we shall acquire, as it were, the habit of correctness and propriety of conduct, which will be very valuable to us in the more important actions of our lives.

_Louisa_. Well, papa, I have been trying, all the time you have been talking, to untie this string, and it really was not in so hard a knot as I expected, for it is undone: and now I will endeavour to remember you kind advice, and be more patient in the future. Oh! here is my letter. What a long one it seems to be! And here is a short one for you, mamma, with a little parcel for Sophy.

_Mrs. B_. Well, my dear Louisa, I am almost as anxious as you are, to hear the contents of the letter: but do not be in a hurry. Read it slowly, and very distinctly.

Louia promised to do her best, and began as follows:

"MY DEAR LOUISA,

"It is a long time since I wrote to you last, but I must not have you, on that account, suppose I have forgotten you; for I really think more of you now I am away, than I used to do when we were all at home together. I am very happy in my new situation. Instead of finding a severe master, as I sometimes feared might be the case, I seem to have gained a second father in Mr. Lewis; and Mrs. Lewis is almost as affectionate to me as my own dear mother. It shall be my constant endeavour, by strict attention to my business, to prove myself grateful for their kindness. I have my evenings completely to myself, which I endeavour to employ profitably, according to my dear father's advice. I am studying natural history, and, if it would afford you any amusement, I should like to make my progress in that study, the subject of my future letters. I shall not, however, begin that plan till I hear from you, to know if it will be agreeable to you.

"A few evenings ago, I paid a very pleasant visit to an old friend of Mr. Lewis's, which will afford me ample materials for this letter. He is what Mr. Lewis calls a _virtuoso_, which signifies, a person fond of antique and natural curiosities. You will, therefore, suppose I was not at a loss for amusement. In one cabinet was a number of stuffed birds and beasts; amongst others, a little animal somewhat resembling a rat, but rather smaller. It legs are short and slender; the fore-legs longer than the hind ones. Its head is of a pointed form; the colour of its body tawny, and variegated with large black spots, irregularly arranged; and the belly is white, tinged with yellow. There appeared to me so little that was uncommon in this animal, that I could not help asking Dr. Sinclair, on what account he had given it a place among so many curiosities. 'I value that little animal,' said he, 'as much as any in my collection. It is the Leming, or Lapland Marmot, and is distinguished from other quadrupeds, by habits peculiar to itself. It is only found in the northern part of our continent, where immense numbers of these little animals sometimes overspread large tracts of country, especially in Lapland, Sweden, and Norway. Their appearance happens at uncertain periods; but fortunately for the inhabitants of these countries, not oftener than once or twice in twenty years. As the source whence they originate in such astonishing numbers, is as yet unexplored by the naturalist, it is no wonder that the ignorant Laplander should seriously believe that they are rained from the clouds. Myriads of these animals pour down from the mountains, and form an overwhelming troop, which nothing can resist. The disposition of their march is generally in lines, about three feet asunder, and exactly parallel. In this order they advance with as much regularity as a well-disciplined army; and, it is remarked, that their course is from the north-west or south-east. They frequently cover the extent of a square mile, travelling in the night. They always halt in the day, and in the evening resume their march. No opposition can stop them; and, whatever way their course is directed, neither fire not water can turn them out of their road. If a lake or river intercept their progress, they will swim across, or perish in the attempt; if a fire interrupt their course, they instantly plunge into the flames; if a well, they dart down into it; if a hay-rick, they eat through it; and, if a house stand in their way, they either attempt to climb over it, or eat through it; but, if both be impracticable, they will rather die with famine before it, than turn out of the way. If thousands perish, thousands still supply their place, until the whole column be destroyed. Wherever they pass, they annihilate every trace of vegetation, and, when subsistence fails, are said to divide into two different armies, which engage with the most deadly hostility, and continue fighting and devouring each other, till they are all entirely destroyed. Numbers of them are devoured by foxes, weasels, &c. which follow them in their march, so that none are ever known to return from their migrations."

"I thanked Dr. Sinclair for his curious and entertraining account, with which, I hope, my dear Louisa, you also have been amused. A very beautiful, large, white cat, took possession of Dr. Sinclair's kneee, the moment he seated himself in his elbow chair by the fire-side. It licked his hand in a caressing manner, and seemed, by every means in its power, to testify the greatest affection towards him. From the old gentleman's kindness, in giving me so amusing an account of the Leming, I was encouraged to enter into conversation with him upon the merits of his cat. 'Some naturalists,' said I, 'have represented that animal as insensible of kindness, and incapable of attachment; but I cannot help thinking this is a great mistake. We have a cat, at houme, that is very fond of me; and yours, Sir, seems much attached to you.' 'The cat is, on many accounts, unjustly aspersed,' said he: 'excepting the dog, I know of no animal that appears capable of stronger attachment. It is also reproached with treachery and cruelty; but are not the artifices it uses, the particular instincts which the all-wise Creator has given it, conformable to the purposes for which it is designed? Being destined to prey upon the mouse, a lively, active animal, possessing many means of escape, artifice is absolutely necessary for the accomplishment of its end. I can, however, say nothing in extenuation of its cruelty, in sporting with the unfortunate victim that falls into its power, in prolonging its tortures, and putting it to a lingering death. This, it must be confessed, is not a very favourable trait in its character. Notwithstanding all this, it certainly renders very essential services to man, and merits, in return, his kindness and protection.' I admired the beauty of Tom, for so Dr. Sinclair calls his favourite. 'His beauty is not his most remarkable property,' said the Doctor: 'this cat was once the cause of detecting a murderer.' I was astonished, as I doubt not, you, Louisa, will be also, and requested he would relate to me the particulars of so extraordinary a fact. This he kindly did, as follows:

"Some time ago, when I was pursuing the duties of my profession, as a physician, I was requested to enquire into the particulars of a murder, that had been committed upon a woman in the city where I lived. In consequence of this request, I went to the habitation of the deceased, where I found her extended lifeless on the floor, and weltering in her blood. This cat was mounted on the cornice of a cupboard, at the further end of the apartment, where he seemed to have taken refuge. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed on the corpse, and his attitude and looks expressing horror and affright. The following morning, he was found precisely in the same position; and, when the room was filled with officers of justice, neither the clattering of the soldier's arms, nor the loud conversations of the company, could, in the least degree, divert his attention. As soon, however, as the suspected persons were brought in, his eyes glared with increased fury, his hair bristled, he darted into the middle of the apartment, where he stopped for a moment to gaze at them, and then retreated precipitately under the bed. The countenances of the assassins were disconcerted, and they were, for the first time during the whole course of the horrid business, abandoned by their usual audacity. I felt much interested for poor puss, and, as no other person laid claim to him, I secured him for myself; and Tom and I have been the best friends imaginable, ever since.'

"I felt my respect for Tom greatly increased by this story, the detail of which has so completely filled my letter, that I have not space to tell you of half the curiosities contained in Dr. Sinclair's cabinet. One thing, however, I must find room to describe; this is, a piece of cloth, which, judging merely from its outward appearance, I considered still more unworthy than the little Leming, of a place among so many rarities, and again ventured to express my surprise. 'Never allow yourself to form such hasty conclusions, my dear boy,' said Dr. Sinclair, taking my hand in the kindest manner: 'a rough exterior often conceals real merit. This you will find to be the case in your future commerce with the world, as well as in examining the cabinet of a _virtuoso_. That piece of cloth, and this bit of paper,' said he, opening one of the drawers and showing it to me, 'are made from a stone called asbestos.' 'A stone!' said I, with astonishment: 'is that possible, Sir?' 'It is very true, my dear,' replied he: 'this kind of linen cloth was greatly esteemed by the ancients. It was considered as precious as the richest pearls. The most remarkable property belonging to it, is, its being incombustible; that is, it cannot be consumed by fire. Among the Romans, napkins were made of it, which when soiled, were thrown into the fire, and by this means much more completely cleaned, than they could have been by washing. Its principal use was for making shrouds, to wrap up the dead bodies of their kings, so that their ashes might be preserved distinct from those of the wood composing the funeral pile.'

"I enquired where this very curious stone was found. He told me that there were ten species of it, and that it was discovered in many of the European mountains, particularly in those of Lapland, Sweden, and Germany; as well as in Candia, an island of the Mediterranean; and in China.

"I enquired, whether it was used for any other purpose than the manufacture of cloth and paper. To which Dr. Sinclair replied, that he understood, the Chinese employed it as an ingredient in the formation of their finest porcelain.

"You may easily imagine, my dear Louisa, how much I enjoyed the conversation of this kind and sensible man. I hope Mr. Lewis will allow me to accompany him, the next time he pays him a visit. And now I must beg of you to give my love to little Sophy, and tell her I have sent her a work-bag and pin-cushion, and hope I shall hear she grows very notable and industrious. Give my duty to my dear father and mother; and love to Emily, Edward, and Ferdinand; and believe me, my dear Louisa, your affectionate brother,

"CHARLES BERNARD."

_Mrs. B._ Very well, Louisa, you have done your brother's letter justice, by the manner in which you have read it; and great amusement it has afforded me, I assure you.

_Emily_. I have been both amused and instructed by it. I never heard of the Leming before; it is a most curious little animal. I am glad Clarles is studying natural history, as, no doubt, he will meet with many pretty anecdotes to relate to us. Is it not a pleasing science, mamma?

_Mrs. B._. It is, indeed, my dear. No study tends so greatly to enlarge the mind. You already know something of botany, and have admired the wisdom manifested in the formation of the minutest flower; for

"Not a tree,
A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume.
We may read, and read,
And read again, and still find something new;
Something to please, and something to instruct,
E'en in the nuisanceweed."

A deeper research into the beauties of nature, will excite in you still greater attentions and astonishment, and will, I am sure, fill you with reverence towards the Divine Author of so many wonders. I hope Charles will not merely relate to us the amusing anecdotes he meets with, but enter scientifically upon the subject; as it is impossible to gain clear ideas, without great method and regularity.

_Louisa_. I hope, mamma, we shall not, in natural history, have long lists of classes and orders to learn by heart, as we had when we began botany; for I cannot say I think all those hard names at all entertaining.

_Mrs. B._ Perhaps not, my dear; but nothing that is valuable, can be attained without difficulty. I would wish to smooth the path for you as much as I can, but learning is "labour, call it what you will;" and without strict attention, and industrious perseverance, you will never attain perfection in any thing. The classes and orders in that division of natural history, called the animal kingdom, are, however, by no means difficult. There are, in botany, as you no doubt recollect, twenty-four classes; in natural history, there are but six.

"Will you be so kind as to repeat them to us, mamma?" said Louisa.

_Mrs. B._ Willingly, my dear. The first is called Mammalia, and consists of Quadrupeds and Whales; the second, Birds; third, Amphibia; fourth, Fishes; fifth, Insects; and sixth, Worms.

_Louisa_. That seems very easy. I think I could soon learn those six classes. Are there many orders, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ In the class Mammalia there are seven. But we must not talk of them just at present, or our Roman history will be forgotten.

_Edward_. Before we change the subject, will you be so good as to tell me, mamma, what you meant by saying, that division of natural history called the animal kingdom. Are there, then, many divisions?

_Mrs. B._ There are three, my dear. The first consisting of Minerals; the second, of Vegetables; and the third, of Animals.

_Mr. B._ Well, my dears, now do not forget what you have been already told, and another day we will talk further on this subject: for the present, let us attend to our history. We concluded with the death of Ancus Martius. Who succeeded to the crown, Emily?

_Emily._ Lucius Tarquinius Priscus. He was the son of a merchant of Corinth, which is a large city of Greece. This man had acquired a considerable fortune by trade, which was inherited by his son Lucumo, who took the name of Tarquinius, from Tarquinia, a city of Hetruria, where his wife Tanaquil lived, previous to her marriage. His birth being considered contemptible by the nobles of this place, he, by his wife's persuasions, settled in Rome, where merit alone gave distinction.

_Mr. B._ What remarkable circumstance is said to have occurred to him on his way thither, Ferdinand?

_Ferdinand._ As he approached the city gate, historians say, that an eagle, stooping from above, took off his hat, and, after flying round his chariot for some time, with a great noise, put it on again. From this circumstance, his wife, Tanaquil, foretold that he would one day wear the crown.

_Mr. B._ By what means, Edward, did he obtain this object of his ambition?

_Edward._ The two sons of Ancus were left under his guardianship. He was a skillful politician, and found out the secret of making himself a great favourite with the people. He used every artifice to set aside these children, and to get himself elected in their stead. For this purpose, he contrived to have them sent out of the city, and made a long speech, mentioning his friendship for the people, the fortune he had spent among them, together with his knowledge of their government, and concluded by offering himself for their king. The people, with one consent, elected him as their sovereign.

_Mr. B._ Pray, Louisa, can you tell me how he has governed the city he had so unjustly obtained?

_Louisa._ Much more properly, papa, than might have been expected. The first thing he did, was to add a hundred members to the senate: so that it now consisted of three hundred. He was disposed to live in peace, but the Latins and Sabines rose up against him: however, after a severe conflict, he subdued them both. Peace being restored, he employed his subjects in many useful works for the improvement of the city, that they might not grow corrupted through indolence.

_Mr. B._ This conduct in Tarquinius, shows great wisdom; for it is very true, that "idleness is the root of all evil." In states it foments discord, and in private life occasions misery and ruin. Well, Ferdinand, what have you to tell us?

_Ferdinand_. There is a curious account of Attius Nævius, a famous augur, (this signifies a kind of prophet, who could foretel future events.) The Romans used to place great confidence in these people, and Tarquinius, wishing to try this man's skill, sent for him; and, when he was come into the midst of the Forum, said to him: "diviner, canst thou discover, by thy art, whether what I am thinking of can be done or not? Go and consult thy birds." The augur did as he was ordered, and returning quickly, answered: "Yes, Tarquin, my art tells me, that what thou art thinking of may be done." Upon which Tarquin pulled a razor from under his robe, took a flint in his hand, and replied, contemptuously, "I was thinking, whether it were possible to cut this flint with this razor. I have taken thee in thy own craft. The introducing of the gods into thy decisions, is all cheat and imposture. If thou canst do what is impossible, do." At these words the people burst out a laughing, but the augur did not appear at all moved. He, on the contrary, addressed himself to the king, with a bold air, and said, "Put the razor to the flint and try. I readily submit to any punishment, if what you thought of be not done." Upon trial, the razor passed through with the greatest ease. The people then gave a loud shout, and the king's contempt for the augur was turned into admiration. This is a very extraordinary account: but do you think it is true, papa.

_Mr. B._ I do not, my dear. I think it is a mere fabulous invention; and this was the opinion of the great orator, Tully, who was himself an augur. Writing to his brother, he says, "Look with contempt on the razor and flint of the famous Attius. When we reason as philosophers, we ought to lay no stress upon fables." How did Tarquin close his long life, Emily?

_Emily_. In the eightieth year of his age, and thirty-seventh of his reign, he was murdered by the artifices of the sons of Ancus Martius. They hired two young men, who dressed themselves like peasants, with hatchets on their shoulders, as if they had been wood-cutters. They approached the kings palace, pretending to have a quarrel about some goats, and made so much disturbance, that they were carried before the king. At first they began to rail at each other, until a lictor interfered, and ordered them to speak by turns. Then one of them began to tell his story, and, whilst the king was listening to it very attentively, the other, lifting up his hatchet, gave him a deep wound on his head, and instantly ran out of doors with his companion. Whilst some of the company hastened to assist the king, others pursued the ruffians and seized them. On being put to the torture, they confessed by whom they had been employed.

_Ferdinand_. Pray, papa, what is the meaning of being put to the torture?

_Mr. B._ It is a most barbarous punishment, my dear. The unhappy victim is extended upon a wheel, which stretches his limbs till they are all dislocated; and it has frequently happened, that many poor wretches, unable to endure such severe torments, have made confessions of crimes they never committed, in order to free themselves from the severity of their sufferings. How did queen Tansquil set upon the death of her husband?

_Edward_. She did not lose her presence of mind, but cleared the palace of the crowd, shutting herself up in the apartment of the expiring king, with only Servius Tullius, who was her son-in-law, his wife, and Octivia his mother. She pressed him to ascend the throne, that Tarquin's two grandsons might be safe under his protection: then, opening the window which looked into the street, she bade the people be under no concern, since the wound was not deep, and the king, having only been stunned by the sudden blow, was come to himself. She concluded by expressing her hopes, that they would see him again very shortly; declaring that it was their sovereign's orders, that, till that time, they should obey Servius Tullius. This stratagem succeeded. The report that the king would soon be well again, so terrified the sons of Ancus, that they went, of their own accord, into banishment.

_Mr. B._ How did Servius proceed, Louisa?

_Louisa_. The second day after the murder of Tarquin, he took his seat on the throne, in the royal robes, and heard causes; some of which he decided himself, and, in difficult cases, pretended he would consult the king. He continued this management some time, and by his prudent conduct gained the love of the people. At last, when he thought his authority well established, the death of Tarquin was announced, as a thing which had just happened, and Servius continued in power, without being positively chosen as king. That is all we have read at present, papa. I hope we shall hear something more about Servius, as I do not think I clearly understand who he was, except that he was son-in-law to Tarquinius. _Mr. B._ Oh, no doubt, all those matters will be cleared up to your satisfaction to-morrow, Louisa. For the present we must separate, my dears, as our conversation has been already prolonged beyond your usual hour. Good night, my dear children.

CONVERSATION VI.

MR. AND MRS. BERNARD, EMILY, EDWARD LOUISA, FERDINAND, AND SOPHY, _standing by her mother._