Chapter III: Part 3

_Sophy_. Mamma, may I stay with you a little time to-night. I am not sleepy at all.

_Mrs. B._ You may stay till seven o'clock, my dear, but not later, as we must not break through good rules. When you are as old as Ferdinand, you shall sit with us as long as he does; but, whilst you are such a little girl, after tea, bed is quite the best place for you.

"Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to grow healthy, wealthy, and wise."

_Sophy_. Well, mamma, I want very much to grow a clever girl, like Emily; but how can going to bed early make me wise? If I might sit up with you and papa, you would teach me a great many things, as you do Fedinand; but when I am in bed, I go to sleep and learn nothing.

_Mrs. B._ But your sleep does you a vast deal of good, my little dear. It makes you rosy and healthy, and will strengthen your memory too; so that when you are older, you will learn your lessons much better, and quicker, than those little unfortunate children who have been spoiled by the silly indulgence of their nurses.

These arguments, together with an assurance that cheerful obedience would make her dear father and mother very happy, soon convinced little Sophy that going to bed early was very proper, though she could not think it very agreeable; and promising to comply, the moment Mary made her appearance, she added: "has papa ever heard grandpapa's verses, which you taught me to-day? If he has not, I will repeat them to him; for it is not seven o'clock yet. Is it, mamma?"

_Mrs. B._ No my dear; there will be quite time enough for you to repeat them to your papa. But first tell him on what occasion they were written.

_Sophy._ A good while ago, grand-papa had two nice little pigs, and they one day found some paint in a pot, and thinking it something nice, they ate it. There is something in paint that is poison, papa: pray, what is it?

Mr. Bernard told Sophy that it was white-lead.

_Sophy._ Oh, well then, the white-lead that was in the paint, poisoned these poor little pigs; and grand-papa had them buried in the orchard, and wrote the verses, which mamma taught me, over their grave. Now do you understand, papa? May I begin?

Mr. Bernard assured Sophy he understood her explanation perfectly well, and was all attention, waiting for her recital.

Upon which she immediately repeated as follows:

"Ye passing pigs, I pray draw nigh, And hear a dreadful tragedy, Of two fine pigs, as e'er were seen Grazing or grunting on the green: Till on a time, and near this spot, We chanc'd to spy a painter's pot, White-lead and oil it did contain, By which we pretty pigs were slain; Therefore a warning let us be To future pigs, who this may see, With life prolong'd, and free from pains, To be content with wash and grains."

_Mr. B._ Very well, Sophy. Here is a lesson for little boys and girls, as well as pigs. Tell me what you have learnt from those lines.

_Sophy._ I do not know, papa: I learnt the verses, and that is all.

_Mr. B._ But that should not be all. There is a very useful lesson hidden in that story. Try and find it out.

_Ferdinand._ I think I know it.

_Louisa._ And so do I.

_Mr. B._ And so will Sophy, when she has considered a little.

_Sophy._ Aye: yes. I think I have found it out, papa. You mean, that the tale should teach little boys and girls never to taste things they do not understand, for fear they should be killed, like the poor little pigs.

_Mr. B._ That is exactly what I meant, Sophy; and, I assure you, I have heard of children who have been actually poisoned, by incautiously eating berries, and other things, which they had met with in their country walks. You, my dear, have a sad habit of putting leaves and flowers into your mouth. I hope you will endeavour to break yourself of it, as, I assure you, it is very dangerous.

_Sophy._ I am going to try to leave it off, papa; for I made my tongue very sore yesterday, by biting the stalk of a flower, that Ferdinand and Louisa called lords and ladies.

_Mr. B._ That is an _arum_, the juice of which is, I believe, extremely poisonous; so pray never put it in your mouth again.

_Sophy._ No, papa, I do not intend it, for it hurt me very much, I assure you. Oh! here comes Mary. Good night, dear papa and mamma. Good night all.

Little Sophy, after receiving many affectionate caresses, retired in high good-humour, and soon forgot her sorrow for the little pigs, in a gentle slumber.

_Louisa._ Mamma, I remember the names of the six classes in natural history, which you were so kind as to teach me yesterday. Mammalia, Birds, Amphibia, Fishes, Insects, and Worms; and now pray tell me the seven orders, for I do like to know a little of every thing.

_Mr. B._ But that, Louisa, is exactly what I do not wish you to do. I would greatly prefer that your information should be rather circumscribed, provided it were correct, than that you should have a slight smattering of many things, and a thorough knowledge of none. You may impose upon the illiterate by this superficial information; but the really wise will soon discover your ignorance, and despise you for affecting a degree of knowledge you do not possess. Besides which, a mere smattering of learning is very apt to fill the mind with self- conceit and vanity, faults from which the really well-informed are always free. My favourite poet, Pope, says:--

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again."

Therefore, my dear, unless you intend to enter decidedly upon the study, I shall certainly beg your mother not to say any thing further on the subject.

_Louisa_. Oh, then, I assure you, papa, I will enter decidedly upon it; as it seems to me as if it would be extremely entertaining.

_Mr. B_. I think, my dear, you have formed your opinion somewhat prematurely, as you certainly, at present, know very little of the matter. This, however, with the young and ignorant, is no uncommon error. I hope your good opinion of the study, will continue when you are better acquainted with it. There are seven orders belonging to the first class, as your mother has already informed you; the names of which are, Primates, Bruta, Ferae, Glires, Picora, Beluae, and Cete.

_Louisa_. Those words are harder than the classics. I doubt I shall find them more difficult to remember: however, I must write them down, and try my best. Please not to tell me any more at present, papa. I believe I shall succeed best, if I do not puzzle myself by attempting too much at a time.

"I am quite of your opinion there," replied her father.

_Louisa_. Natural history shall be one of my pleasures. I will not call it a lesson; but will study it when I am most in the fit for it. And will you be so kind as to help me, papa?

"Willingly, my dear, provided your fit comes on when I am at liberty," replied Mr. Bernard.

Louisa thanked her father, adding, "and now I must tell you, that I am quite satisfied with the account I have read of Servius Tullius. I perfectly understand now, who he is."

_Ferdinand_. Louisa, before we begin our history, I wish to ask papa a question about those verses which he repeated a few minutes ago. There is one line, which I do not think I understand. Please to say them over once more, papa.

_Mr. B._

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again."

_Ferdinand_. The first line is plain enough; but I do not at all know the meaning of Pierian, which is in the second.

_Mr. B_. It is an epithet applied to the Muses and poetical compositions, and takes its name from Pieria, a small tract of country in Thessaly, in Macedonia, where stands a mountain called Pierius, on which the nine Muses are said to have been born.

_Ferdinand_. Are not all those places in Greece?

_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear.

_Louisa_. Who were the Muses, pray, papa?

_Mr. B._ They were supposed to be goddesses, presiding over poetry, music, dancing, and all the liberal arts, and were said to be daughters of Jupiter.

_Emily_. Those stores of the heathen gods and goddesses are all fabulous, I suppose, papa!

_Mr. B._ Yes, my dear, completely so. Do you understand the second line now, Ferdinand?

_Ferdinand_. Yes. Pierian spring is another term for learning or knowledge. That makes the sense of all the lines perfectly clear, I think.

_Mr. B_ Louisa may then give us an account of Servius Tullius, who, you will recollect, was the sixth king of Rome.

_Louisa_. He was the son of Ocrisia, a very beautiful and virtuous lady, who was taken prisoner by the Romans when they sacked Corniculum.

_Mr. B._ Can you tell us, Edward, where Corniculum is situated?

_Edward_. Yes, papa, it is a town of Latium, a country of Italy, near the river Tiber. This territory has now changed its name, and is called Campagna di Roma.

_Ferdinand_. May we look in the map for it, papa?

_Mr. B._ By all means, my dear. I believe no plan of learning geography is so effectual as that of finding, on the map, the different towns that you meet with in the course of your reading. The names of many places have been so completely changed latterly, that you will find it useful to compare together the ancient and modern maps. By this means, both names will become familiar to you. But now for the place in question.

_Ferdinand_. I have found it, papa. It is bounded on the north by the patrimony of St. Peter, on the east by Abruzzo, on the south by Terra di Lavora, and on the west by the Mediterranean.

_Mr. B_ I see you are looking on the ancient map, Emily. How is it bounded there?

_Emily_. On the north by Etruria, on the east by Salbina, on the south by Samnium, and on the west by the Mediterranean Sea.

_Mr. B._ Very well, Now, Louisa, you may go on with your account of Servius.

_Louisa_. I told you that his mother's name was Ocrisia, papa; but who his father was, seems uncertain. Tarquin made a present of his fair captive, to queen Tanaquil, who grew extremely attached to her, and restored her to freedom. But as her son was born whilst she was in a state of servitude, he took the name of Servius.

_Mr. B._ Is anything extraordinary related respecting the infancy of this child, Ferdinand?

_Ferdinand._ Yes, papa; it is declared that a sudden flame, in the form of a crown, surrounded his head one day whilst he was asleep, which was supposed to foretel his future greatness.

_Mr. B._ Who had the charge of his education, Emily?

_Emily._ The king and queen, who loved him as tenderly as if he had been their son. It was, however, chiefly to his own wise, noble, and amiable conduct, that he owed his elevation to the throne. He distinguished himself by his military achievements, even before he attained the age of manhood; and his reputation increasing as he advanced in years, and being joined to pleasing manners, manly eloquence, and uncommon abilities in council, gained him the esteem and affection of the people. He was twice married: first to a lady of illustrious birth, and, after her death, to Tarquinia, daughter of the king and queen. Upon this alliance, the king placed in him the most unbounded confidence, entrusting him with the management, both of his public and private affairs; of all which he acquitted himself so well, that the people were perfectly indifferent whether they were governed by him or Tarquin. This accounts for his having so easily gained possession of the throne, on the death of his father-in-law.

_Mr. B._ In what manner did Servius conduct himself, after his accession to the throne, Edward?

_Edward._ He determined, as much as possible, to make the peaceful Numa his pattern, and directed his attention to the improvement of the civil government of Rome. Although his accession to the throne had been unattended by tumult, the beginning of his reign was disturbed by the dissatisfaction of the nobles. They were not pleased at his ascending the throne without being duly elected to it, and determined, if possible, to oblige him to lay aside his royalty. In this emergency, Servius endeavoured to gain over the people to his cause, that he might employ their power against the patricians. For this purpose, he assembled them together, and, with a grandson of Tarquin in each hand, addressed them in a very moving speech, declared himself the protector of the poor children, and the guardian of their helpless infancy, and implored the assistance of the people in this arduous undertaking; at the same time, promising them freedom from slavery.

_Mr. B_ Provided Servius performed this promise, this plan was calculated to interest the people greatly in his behalf. "Well, papa," said Louisa, "he did keep his promise: for, a few days afterwards, he commanded all those people who were too poor to pay their debts, to send him an account of them; and then, causing counting-houses to be opened in the Roman Forum, he there paid all with his own money. Besides which, he made a much more equal distribution of the lands, and, by every means in his power, endeavoured to gain the affection of the lower orders of the people. Now, Edward, will you please to give papa some account of the war in which Servius was obliged to engage against the Veientes; for I like to speak about peaceable times best."

_Edward._ So do I, indeed, Louisa. I do not like war at all, I assure you, nor did Servius Tullius. His inclination led him much more to works of peace and civil government, than to military exploits; yet he found himself obliged to embark in a war. It proved a very long one too, but brought much glory, both to the Roman people and to their king. The Veientes, whom Tarquin had often subdued, refused now to recognize the sovereignty of Rome, and treated with scorn some ambassadors sent from thence, to claim their submission. "We entered," said they, "into no treaty with the _son of a slave_, nor will we ever submit to Servius's dominion. Tarquin is dead, and our obligations to be subject to the Romans, are dead with him."

_Mr. B._ Pray where did these haughty people reside, Edward?

_Edward._ At Veii, papa, a powerful city of Etruria, about twelve miles distant from Rome.

_Mr. B._ Perfectly right. I imagine, the confidence of the Veientes proceeded partly from the hopes they entertained of profiting by the dissensions between the king and senate of Rome. Nothing weakens a state so much as internal discord. The moral of the old man's bundle of sticks, might be as properly applied to the larger communities of men, as to his own little family. You all know the story to which I allude: do you not?

_Ferdinand._ I do. You know, I read it to you the other day, papa.

_Emily._ But we do not; so, perhaps, papa, you will be so kind as to tell is us.

_Mr. B._ We will not interrupt our Roman history now; when you have finished your account, Ferdinand shall relate the story to you. Now, Edward, proceed.

_Edward._ The Veientes prepared for war, and drew two other neighbouring states, those of Caere and Tarquinia, into their party. But Servius, by his courage and conduct, subdued the confederates, deprived them of their lands, and transferred them to the new citizens of Rome, who had no lands of their own. The success of Servius attached the people still more to his interest, and he resolved to take advantage of their favour, in order to render his title to the throne still more secure. He, therefore, a second time assembled the citizens, and in a moving speech, which drew tears from their eyes, complained of a design formed by the patricians to take away his life, and bring back the sons of Ancus. In the conclusion of his speech, he left the kingdom absolutely at their disposal, and begged them to determine between him and his pupils on one side, and their competitors on the other. Having finished his harangue, he stepped down from the tribunal, and prepared to leave the assembly; but they called to him to stay, and entreated him to be their king. Accordingly, a day was appointed, and he was duly elected to the sovereign power. The senate were not, however, reconciled to him, and formed so dangerous a faction, that Servius was almost inclined to renounce the dignity conferred upon him by the people; but imparting his perplexities to Tanaquil, she disapproved of his intention, and prevailed upon him to bind himself by an oath, never to resign the kingdom.

_Mr. B._ Tanaquil was, in many respects, a great woman. She rendered herself illustrious by her virtues, as well as by her political abilities. Private life is the sphere most calculated for the display of female perfection, and here her excellence conspicuously shone. The king, to immortalize her memory, hung up her distaff in the Temple of Hercules. I hope my dear girls will endeavour to imitate the domestic virtues of this excellent woman, rather than her ambitious temper. I do not wish to see them heroines.

_Emily._ I do not feel ambitious of any thing but my dear parents' approbation.

_Mr. B._This, affection and obedience, my Emily, will never fail to obtain. But let us now hear what further befell Servius. If Edward is to be the recorder of his warlike achievements, I believe we must again call upon him.

_Edward._ The Etrurians furnished him with an opportunity to increase his glory. His victories over them obtained for him the honours of a second triumph, and restored peace to his kingdom. Now, Emily, I again resign the office of narrator to you.

_Emily._ Servius employed this interval of rest, in enlarging and adorning the city. He divided the Roman territory into tribes, the citizens into six different classes, and these classes into centuries. A tax was levied on each century, according to the class to which it belonged; by which means, each individual contributed towards the exigencies of the state, in exact proportion to the amount of his property. He also increased the number of the citizens, by giving liberty to the unfortunate captives taken in war; permitting them either to return to their own countries, or continue at Rome, with the enjoyment of all the privileges of free citizens. The senate were at first offended at this regard shown to a people they considered so mean; but the king addressed to them a very persuasive speech, which entirely appeased their anger, and they passed his institution into a law, that subsisted ever after.

_Mr. B._ Another important regulation was, taking an estimate of the population of the kingdom. It was performed every fifth year, accompanied with sacrifices, and other religious rites, which were called lustrations. This led to the computation of time amongst the Romans, by _lustra_, or periods of five years.

_Louisa._ The most unfortunate thing Servius did, was marrying his daughters so unsuitably. His two wards, Lutius Tarquinius and Aruns, were now old enough to be capable of disturbing his government. To secure their fidelity, therefore, he determined to marry them to his two daughters; and, without consulting their dispositions, gave his eldest daughter, who was mild and gentle, to the eldest of his wards, who was fierce and haughty; and married his youngest girl, who was of a most ungovernable disposition, to Aruns, who was extremely amiable and virtuous. It was not likely that either of these marriages would prove happy ones. Tarquin's wife endeavoured, by every winning way of sweetness and insinuation, to soften the haughty fierceness of her husband's temper; whilst her sister was always urging the quiet, good- natured Aruns, to the most wicked attempts, in order to reach the throne. She loudly lamented her fate, in being tied to such an indolent, stupid husband; and being very much like Tarquin she soon began to love him a great deal better than her own husband, and, at last, proposed to him that he should murder her father and sister, together with the gentle Aruns, that they might ascend the throne together. What a dreadfully wicked woman she must have been, papa.

_Mr. B._ Dreadfully wicked, indeed, my dear. History presents us with many very painful instances of the depravity of human nature. It is a useful, but humiliating lesson. Proceed with your account, Louisa.

_Louisa._ A very little time afterwards, this wicked woman contrived to poison her amiable husband, whilst Tarquin got rid of his virtuous and gentle wife by the same means; and they were then so insolent as to ask the consent of the king and queen to their marriage. Servius and Tarquinia, though they did not give it, were silent. This disgraceful marriage was celebrated shortly after, and was followed by intrigues against the king. Tarquin and Tullia had not patience to wait till the death of the good old monarch, which would have put them into quiet possession of the crown, but endeavoured, by threats, to make him give up his authority. When Tarquin found this plan was not likely to succeed, he acted a new part. By the most affectionate behaviour, he entirely regained the king's favour, and tranquillity seemed re- established in the royal family. But it was not long before the cruel Tullia put an end to it. She reproached her husband with cowardice, insensibility, and stupidity. He was moved by these reproaches; gained a number of young patricians over to his party; and contrived a stratagem, which succeeded from the bold manner in which it was executed. I think Ferdinand can explain it to you, papa.

_Mr. B._ Well, my boy, let us hear what it was.

_Ferdinand._ He clothed himself in the royal robes, sent some of servants before, and, followed by a great number of his party, who had swords under their robes, he crossed the Forum, and came to the gate of the temple, where the senators used to assemble. He then sent messengers to them all, commanding them, in king Tarquin's name, to attend immediately, and seated himself on the throne. All the senators assembled in haste; many concluded Servius was dead, and were afraid to disobey the orders of the new king. When they were all collected together, Tarquin began to rail against his father-in-law. In the midst of his speech, Servius appeared; and, being enraged by the insolence of Tarquin, rashly endeavoured to pull him from the throne. This raised a loud shout, and occasioned great confusion, but nobody attempted to part them. Tarquin, who was the strongest, seized the poor old man by the waist, and harrying him through the temple, threw him down from the top of the steps into the Forum. The old king, grievously hurt, and covered with blood, raised himself up with much difficulty: but all his friends had deserted him: scarcely a creature was found to lead him to his palace, which he was not allowed to reach. Tullia advised her husband to complete the bloody work he had begun; upon which he dispatched some of his servants to overtake the venerable monarch, and deprive him of his small remains of life. On her return home, the body of her murdered father, still panting, lay in the street she had to pass. This inhuman woman was not at all shocked at the horrid sight, but commanded the charioteer to drive over it. The man, who had more feeling than the cruel daughter, obeyed with reluctance; and, it is said, that not only the chariot wheels, but even the clothes of the wicked Tullia, were stained with her parent's blood.

_Edward._ Such horror was excited by these atrocities, and especially by the barbarity of Tullia, that the street in which the transaction took place, the day on which it was perpetrated, and the very name of the parricide, were branded with perpetual infamy.

_Louisa._ I am glad that shocking account is finished: it really makes one feel very uncomfortable. Servius was so good a man, too, I quite pity him.

_Mr. B._ His wicked daughter is an object of still greater pity. The sufferings of the good old king, we may hope, ended with this life; whilst, we have every reason to believe, that the punishment of the unnatural Tullia, would extend to the countless ages of eternity. Servius was, indeed, an excellent prince: he subdued the enemies of Rome, and was always desirous to avoid making new ones. He did not conquer merely for the sake of glory, but for the public good. He made Rome more formidable by twenty years' peace, than his predecessors had done by many victories. He introduced order into the militia and public revenues, extended the power of the senate, and yet kept its authority within proper bounds. He was beloved by the people, and even his ancient enemies, the patricians, esteemed his virtues; so that, if he could have preserved the affection of his own family, he might have been said not to have had a single enemy. He was, at the time of his death, seventy- four years of age; of which he had reigned forty-four years. Tarquin refused him the honours of a funeral, lest it might occasion a commotion among the people. Tarquinia conveyed the body of her husband, privately, by night, to his tomb, and she herself died on the following evening; but whether from grief, or the wickedness of Tullia, is uncertain.

_Mrs. B._ This is, indeed, my dear children, a mournful account; but it contains a very important lesson to all who are subject to the same criminal enormities. At the commencement of her dreadful career, Tullia would, perhaps, have recoiled with horror, from the hideous picture of her own crimes. She might have remonstrated, as did Hazael to the prophet: "What! is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" The example of Tullia, forcibly teaches the progressive nature and dreadful consequences of sin. It points out to us the danger of entering upon a course of criminal indulgence, by showing the sad extremes into which those are likely to be hurried, who resign themselves slaves to ambition and to vice. Listen not, my children, to the syren song of worldly pleasure; pursue not the gilded pageants of time. Instead of amusing yourselces with these phantoms of a moment, build up your happiness on the durable foundations of innocence and virtue. Let us now turn from the dismal picture we have been contemplating, though without forgetting the important lesson it inculcates. Ferdinand, my dear, tell us your promised story of the old mand and his bundle of sticks.

_Ferdinand_. An old man had several sons, who used very often to quarrel with each other. Their father exerted his authority, and tried every means in his power, in order to reconcile them, but all to no purpose. At length he assembled his family together, and ordered a short bundle of sticks be brought, which he commanded them, one by one, to endeavour to break. They each tried, with all their might, but in vain. The sticks were firmly bound together, and no force they could employ, could break them. After this, the old man untied the bundle, and gave a single stick to each of his sons, bidding them try to break _that_, which they did with the greatest ease. The father then said: "Behold, my dear children, the power of unity. If you would keep yourselves strictly joined together by the bond of friendship, it would not be in the power of any one to hurt you; but when once the ties of brotherly love are dissolved, you are liable to be injured by the attack of every enemy."

_Mr. B_. It is an excellent fable, and I hope, my beloved children, you will all attend to the lesson it conveys. To see you united by the tender hands of affection, is one of the first wishes of our hearts for you.

"What a very pleasing manner of conveying instruction, is a fable," said Edward.

"It is, my love," replied his father: "the ancients were aware of this, and made great use of fables in their instruction of the young: 'Whatever is conceived by the mind, must enter by the senses; and moral truth is never so easily understood, as when it is exemplified by reference to some parallel case in nature.' The various instincts of brute creatures, are particularly useful for this purpose. Moral good and evil are, through their means, represented in a way which even children can understand."

"Can you tell me, papa, what was the first origin of fables?" enquired Ferdinand.

"It is not very clear, my dear," replied Mr. Bernard, "but it is probable they are nearly as ancient as the history of mankind; or, at least, that there never was a time, of which we have any knowledge, when they were no familiar. We first read of them as being used in Palestine and Egypt, from whence they were even borrowed by the Greeks and Romans. The earliest specimen of fables with which I am acquainted, occurs in the book of Judges, where Jotham signifies to the people, the temper and fate of a usurper, under the similitude of the trees going forth to choose them a king." [Footnote: See Jones, on the Origin and Use of Fables.]

_Ferdinand._ It is in the ninth chapter of Judges. I read it this morning, but did not quite understand the intention of it.

_ Mr. B._ I will endeavour to explain it to you then, my love. You will recollect, that the fruitful trees, when applied to, all declined taking upon them the sovereign authority; but the bramble offers his services, and gets into power. The moral of which, as applicable to the person of Abimelech, was this:--that the desire of reigning does not prevail in wise and good men, who should feed the people, and protect them under the shadow of their authority; but chiefly in men of rough minds and bloody intentions, who harass the people, and are, at last, consumed with them, in the unjust exercise of their power.

"The parables made use of by our Saviour, are, I think, very much in the form of fables," said Emily.

_Mrs. B._ They are, my love. They were delivered in this manner, for the sake of some moral, which would either be obscure without an illustration, or offensive to the bearers, if it were delivered in plain terms.

_Louisa._ Nathan's reproof to king David, when he took away the wife of Uriah the Hittite, is very beautiful. I read it a little time ago, in the twelfth chapter of the second book of Samuel. He made use of a fable to gain his attention.

_Mrs. B._ He did, my love. By putting a case in which David seemed to have no immediate concern, he interested his affections; and when his indignation was raised against a fictitious person, the prophet turned it upon himself, with that striking application: "Thou art the man." Then there was no retracting: he had already condemned himself, in the judgement he had passed upon the cruel offender in the parable.

Mrs. Bernard now took out her watch, and expressed her surprise upon finding it near ten o'clock.

Their father immediately requested them to prepare to retire, adding: "To-morrow will be Sunday: I hope you will be in my study by seven o'clock, that we may begin early the important duties of that sacred day."

_Ferdinand._ I have been often surprised to find, that many people lie longer in bed on Sundays, then on the other mornings of the week. This must be wrong. They can rise six days a week to work, and not one to worship. [Footnote: This was an observation, _verbatim_, of the same little boy before mentioned.]

_Mr. B._ Your remark is a just one, my dear boy; let us, in our own family, endeavour to set a different example. Good night, my children.

CONVERSATION VII.

The little party assembled this evening, as usual; but, being Sunday, the conversation was less general, though not less cheerful than at other times. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard possessed the happy art of presenting religious instruction to their children, under the most pleasing form; consequently, they did not dread the approach of the sabbath, as a day when all pleasure must be excluded. On the contrary, it was hailed with gladness: the business of the week was entirely laid aside, and their minds were naturally turned, in thankfulness, towards the Divine Being to whom they owed so much. The gracious God was always presented to their view, surrounded by his benign attributes. They were instructed to regard him, not only as the author of their existence, but as the source whence every comfort flowed. They were taught to consider him, not a severe judge, delighting in punishment, but a merciful father, who withheld not even his only Son, but freely gave him up to die for sinners, that they might be pardoned through his blood. They were instructed, fully to appreciate that mercy, which delighteth not in the death of a sinner, but would rather that he should be converted and live. The beautiful prayers in the Liturgy, were explained to them in a manner suitable to their different capacities; consequently, they were not repeated by rote, as is too frequently the case, where the same attention is not paid. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard took unremitted pains with their children, and felt themselves amply rewarded by their conduct; for though, like other human beings, they were fallible, and, consequently, often did wrong, yet religious principle being the ground-work of their characters, conviction instantly followed the commission of a fault, and sorrow and repentance succeeded.

I hope, my dear young readers, you feel some degree of interest in my little family, and some of you, perhaps, may wish to be as good and as happy as they were: let me then most earnestly and affectionately entreat you, to "remember your Creator in the days of your youth: while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when you shall say, I have no pleasure in them."

After Ferdinand had repeated the text, and Emily, Edward, and Louisa, had given an abstract of the sermon they had heard in the morning, Louisa added: "I should have liked the sermon much better, mamma, if the preacher had not been such a disagreeable-looking man."

"I should not have expected to have heard my little Louisa make so foolish and improper a remark," replied Mrs. Bernard: "it reminds me of an anecdote which I read a short time ago. I will relate it to you, as I think I cannot give you a more suitable reproof. A person once excusing his non-attendance at public worship, by pleading the disagreeable appearance and manner of the minister, 'Let us look,' said the good Bishop of Alet, to whom this man was addressing himself, 'more at our Saviour, and less at the instrument. Elijah was as well nourished, when the bread from heaven was brought to him by a raven, as Ishmael, when the spring of water was revealed to him by an angel.'"

"Thank you, my dear mamma," said Louisa: "it is a beautiful anecdote, and I shall endeavour not to merit another reproof upon that subject."

Mrs. Bernard then produced a letter, which she had received from a friend the day before, and desired Emily to read it aloud, as it contained an account which she thought would both interest and instruct the children. "Read it slowly, my dear girl," continued she, "endeavour to avoid hesitation, and lay your emphasis properly. This is a very material point. Lindley Murray, in his excellent Introduction to the English Reader, says: 'It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste, and must arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feelings of other.'"

Emily promised to attend to her mother's instructions, and taking the letter, read the following extract.

"In the autumn of the year 1808, eight passengers, consisting of seven gentlemen and one lady, embarked on board an American vessel, bound from the port of Cronstadt to America, purposing to touch at England, in company with a brig and another vessel. They had scarcely proceeded fifty leagues, when a violent storm arose. The night was unusually dark, and the ship ungovernable. In this extremity, the brig suddenly dashed against them with such force, that every plank seemed rent asunder, and an instant after, they found themselves transfixed upon a rock. It was now near five o'clock in the morning. They repeatedly fired guns of distress, hung out signals, and at daybreak beheld, with grateful delight, a large boat, rowed by two stout females, approaching their ship. The captain insisted that his eight passengers should go on board the boat, whilst he and the seamen hastened to attempt the preservation of their luggage and stores. He entreated the women to land their charge in safety, and then return, as expeditiously as possible, for himself and his six sailors; as the ship leaked very fast, and though the storm was abated, they were surrounded by such a cluster of rocks, as to deprive them of all hope of getting off in safety. The two heroines steered their charge to the island of Stameo, a barren rock, which they reached in about an hour. They conducted them to the best hut on the island. It was built of mud, and was the habitation of two sisters, and several other females, who resided under the same roof. They produced milk, dried fish, and rye bread, for the refreshment of their wearied and exhausted guests. They prepared a room, with beds, for the gentlemen; and one of the boat-women gave up her own to the lady, sleeping herself upon the oven. Hospitality, affectionate civility, and tender solicitude for their comfort, accompanied every action, and occupied every thought.

"In vain they sought to gain the ship a second time: the swell was so great, and the surf so strong, that no boat could venture--no vessel dared approach. Meanwhile, the generous crew were agitated by a thousand fears. In vain they waited for the wished-for boat: no answer was returned to their signals of distress--no pity shown for their perilous state.

"Distracted by this delay, the captain ordered them to man the jolly- boat, and arming himself and sailors with swords and pistols: 'My lads,' said he, 'we will instantly seek our friends, and if the merciless barbarians have robbed and murdered them, their lives shall pay the just forfeit of their treachery.'

"The sailors instantly prepared to obey their commander. They struggled successfully against the roaring billows, and, benumbed with horror and despair, at length reached the shore. Here they wandered from one wretched hovel to another, but no human voice broke upon their ear. At length they espied a solitary cow, and, mute with apprehension, sword in hand, they hastened to the cot near which she was trying to graze. With a trembling hand and beating heart, the captain lifted up the latch, and, on opening the door, imagine his joy on beholding his happy shipmates safe. His tongue denied him utterance--tears gushed spontaneously to his eyes: with eager grasp he pressed his lost companions to his heart, and in the rapture of that moment, all his former sufferings were forgotten. The hospitable board was filled again, and every guest received a cordial welcome.

"Eleven days elapsed before the ship was again fit to put to sea. When the hour of departure arrived, a mutual interest animated their breasts, and gratitude broke forth in thanks, from every tongue. They begged their kind hostesses to name the sum that would pay, as far as money could, their offices of Christian charity. Fourteen persons, for eleven days, to board, wash, and lodge, had nearly exhausted all their winter store. After a short consultation, the elder sister returned, with a large Bible, translated into the Fins language, and given to the islanders by Gustavus Adolphus, and said: 'We are not aware that we have acted beyond what every Christian is in duty bound to do.' Then, opening the Bible, 'in this,' continued she, 'we learn that duty which all our Christian brethren practise. Distress, which claims, must always find relief while it can be obtained; if, however, it will make you more happy, that we should take some reward, provided two rubles (four shillings and eight-pence) be not thought too much, that sum will amply repay us.' Then, taking the lady's hand, 'we regret,' continued she, 'that we can never be assured of what would rejoice our hearts, and reconcile us most to your departure, which is, that you all reach your native land in safety, and find your parents and relations well. Then wishing them prosperous gales, they bid farewell, and parted, probably for ever.

"Stameo is situated in the Gulph of Finland. It is one of the small islands nearly opposite Fredericstadt, and distant about twenty verstes [Footnote: A Verste is about 3½ English miles.]. It is a barren rock of granite, with scarcely any herbage, and only a few fir-trees here and there. It is about three miles in extent, and has ten or twelve mud huts, containing, men, women, and children, fifty souls. They were formerly under the dominion of Sweden; but at the defeat of Charles the Twelfth, by Peter the Great, became subject to the Russian government. They are of the Lutheran church, though there is no place of public worship on the island. Both men and women are expert at fishing, on which they chiefly depend for subsistence; and keep up a sort of traffic with Fredericstadt, exchanging fish, both dried, fresh, and pickled, for rye, flax, wood, and vegetables. Their labour exceeds belief: they rise at four o'clock, and instantly begin the labour of the day. The hut is first cleaned and put in order: they then commence spinning, in which they particularly excel, and continue working till eight at night. Their breakfast is dispensed by the hostess of the hut, to all the family, who eat it standing. It consists of black bread, fish dried or pickled, and goat milk, when it is to be had: when that cannot be procured, they are satisfied with pure water. Sixteen persons out of the fifty lived in this hut, and were in possession of more comforts than might have been expected.

"They are very net in their houses, persons, and dress. The bedding is excellent: the blankets and linen are fine, warm, and white; the pillow- cases and sheets have fine, open-worked, deep borders. Their dress is becoming and modest, uniting warmth with convenience. The married women hide their hair under a close, embroidered, silk cap, with a plain lace border over their cheeks. The single women exhibit their beautiful flaxen tresses, which they plat round their heads, or let it hang at full length, with a knot of ribbon at the end, to confine the braid.

"Their government is truly patriarchal. The mistress of the house is called mamma, and when advice is wanted, they assemble five or seven of the elders, who confer on the subject, and decide, in a few minutes, on the best means of acting. Such was the case when they determined on the sum to be paid by the strangers.

"As soon as their youth attain the age of fourteen years, they go every Sunday in boats to Fredericstadt, to learn their creed and catechism, and to hear the word of God: they are also taught to read and write. In winter, the clergyman crosses twice to them, to administer the sacrament to the sick and aged.

"One Christian charity unites their minds. They are faithful to their promises, honest, temperate, sober, and benevolent. They fear God, and honour their king. In a word, they are virtuous, innocent, and happy; and when told of vices, they seem to consider it as we do fairy tales:-- stories to listen to, but not believe.

"Two cows supply them all with milk; a few pigs with animal food: when these fail, fish and water are the substitutes."

_Edward_. It is a very interesting account, my dear mother; but I did not think that any people in the world were so innocent--so free from vice. The Scriptures tell us, that the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; but this happy little community seems quite an exception to the general rule.

"No doubt, their hearts, like those of the rest of mankind, are prone to evil," replied Mrs. Bernard, "but being, from their insulated situation, in a great measure removed from the commerce of men, and, consequently, from many temptations by which the inhabitants of large societies are beset, and making the sacred Scriptures the guide of their conduct, they appear happily preserved from the commission of those crimes, to which many individuals, more exposed to the temptations of the world, so fatally fall victims. Nothing is so destructive to the morals of the young, as indiscriminate intercourse with the world. In the bosom of your own family, you are most likely to be secured from a temptation to false pleasures; and there do I earnestly hope, my dear children, you will ever find your chief enjoyment; since no felicity is so pure and innocent, as that which results from an affectionate attachment to your domestic circle."

_Emily_. We should be ungrateful, indeed, were we not happy at home; as I am sure it is the constant endeavour of both you and our dear father, to make us so.

"We are amply repaid for all our efforts," said her tender mother, "when the smile of good-humour enlivens your countenances, and beams delight around our little circle.

"Now, Edward, read us the extract you have made from Sir Matthew Hale's Contemplation upon Contentment," said Mr. Bernard.

"Indeed, my dear father," replied he, "I am sorry to say I have not finished it. I put it off on Monday and Tuesday, when I had, certainly, plenty of time, thinking I should readily accomplish it before the end of the week; but in consequence of this delay, and several unexpected circumstances intervening, to employ my time, it is wtill unfinished. I hope you will excuse this neglect, and by next Sunday I will endeavour to be prepared."

_Mr. B_. I am sorry to see in you a sad habit of procrastination, and want of punctuality. I assure you, my dear boy, that, to a man of business, such a habit is more ruinous; and if not subdued in youth, will surely grow the more confirmed by age, and blight his fairest prospects.

Edward felt the justice of his father's reproof, and, bending his eyes upon the ground, remained silent, forming a resolution to amend, and hoping that he might never again incur his father's displeasure for a similar fault.

Mr. Bernard perceived, by his countenance, what was passing in his mind, and affectionately taking his hand, confirmed his good resolve by a smile of approbation. Then, taking up Cecil's Remains, that lay upon the table, he opened it, and read aloud the following passage:

"Method, as Mrs. More says, is the very hinge of business, and there is no method without punctuality. Punctuality is important, because it subserves the peace and good-temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on necessary duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. Punctuality is important, as it gains time: it is like packing things in a box; a good packer will get in as much again as a bad one. The calmness of mind which it produces, is another advantage of punctuality. A disorderly man is always in a hurry: he has no time to speak with you, because he is going elsewhere; and, when he gets there, he is too late for his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it. It was a wise maxim of the Duke of Newcastle:--'I do one thing at a time.' Punctuality gives weight to character. Such a man has made an appointment;--then I know he will keep it. And this generates punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and children must be punctual, where their leader is so. Appointments, indeed, become debts.--I owe you punctuality, if I have made an appointment with you; and have no right to throw away your time, if I do my own."

When Mr. Bernard had finished reading, Edward thanked his father, and promised to endeavour to correct his bad habit. His parents united in encouraging him to make a steady effort, assuring him that they felt convinced that it would be attended with success, and recommending him to commit to memory the preceding admirable paragraph. His father then changed the subject, by enquiring whether Louisa had any thing new to repeat to them before they separated. She answered in the affirmative, and immediately recited the following lines from Miss Carter's Poems.

"Grant me, great God, a heart to thee inclin'd, Increase my faith, and rectify my mind; Teach me by times to tread thy sacred ways, And to thy service consecrate my days. Still, as through life's perplexing maze I stray, Be thou the guiding star to mark my way; Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth, And point their motions to the paths of truth. Protect me by thy providential care, And warm my soul to shun the tempter's snare. Through all the shifting scenes of varied life, In calms of ease, or ruffling storms of grief; Through each event of this inconstant state, Preserve my temper equal and sedate. Give me a mind that nobly can despise The low designs, and little arts of vice, Be my religion such, as taught by thee, Alike from pride and superstition free. Inform my judgment, regulate my will, My reason strengthen, and my passions still. To gain thy favour, be my first great end, And to that scope may every action tend. Amidst the pleasures of a prosperous state, Whose fluttering chains the untutor'd heart elate, May I reflect to whom those gifts I owe, And bless the bounteous hand from whence they flow. Or, if as adverse fortune be my share, Let not its terrors tempt me to despair; But, fix'd on thee, a steady faith maintain, And own all good, which thy decrees ordain; On thy unfailing providence depend, The best protector, and the surest friend. Thus on life's stage may I my part sustain, And at my exit, thy applauses gain. When the pale herald summons me away, Support me in that dread catastrophe; In that last conflict guard me from alarms, And take my soul, aspiring, to thy arms."

_Mrs. B._ The lines are excellent, Louisa, and you have repeated them as if you understood their meaning. What is the "pale herald," alluded to in the last verse?

_Louisa_. Is it not Death, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ It is, my dear. The concluding lines contain a supplication for fortitude and serenity at that awful hour, which every individual must one day meet.

_Emily_. There is something very solemn in the contemplation of death, my dear mother. It is an idea that often casts a gloom over my gayest hours.

_Mrs. B._ A firm reliance on the power and mercy of God, with an humble confidence in the redeeming love of Christ, will banish that fearful dread which might otherwise obscure the closing scene. Even in that extremity, the true Christian has nothing to fear; he may say, with the Psalmist, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

At this moment the clock struck eight, at which hour the servants always joined the family, that they might have the advantage of hearing their excellent master read such portions of the sacred Scriptures as were best adapted to their capacities and circumstances; after which, the solemn duties of the day were closed with prayer and thanksgiving, and the children retired to their pillows, serene and happy.

CONVERSATION VIII