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 * %* * THE 
 JUVENILE FORGET ME NOT; 
 
 CABINET 
 
 OF 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 THE RIVAL CRUS0E9," " THE YOUNG EMIGRANT," ETC, 
 
 NEW- YORK. 
 
 REPRINTED FOR IV. B, G1LLET, 94 BRl-ADWAT. 
 
 1828. 
 

 
 t>Ol*yh_ 
 
 Gray & Bunce, Printers. 
 

 CONTENTS, 
 
 Tage 
 
 Forget me not 5 
 
 Felix and his Dove 6 
 
 Some Account of the Hermit Crab ...... 13 
 
 The Infant Brother , 16 
 
 The young Christian Convert 18 
 
 Lines written on a purple Flower growing on the 
 
 Ruins of Norwich Wall , 21 
 
 Instance of strict Veracity in a young Prince 23 
 
 The Sabbath Bell 26 
 
 How do you spend your Allowance 27 
 
 The Evening Primrose * 31 
 
 Memoirs of the young Duke of Burgundy 32 
 
 Lines on the Death of an Infant 39 
 
 St. John and the fallen Proselyte 40 
 
 Description cf the Grotto of Antiparos 50 
 
 Hymn to the Creator 58 
 
 Some Account of the Termes Fatale Bellicasus, or 
 
 White Ant, Native of Africa 60 
 
 The Orphan Brother and Sister 66 
 
 On Charity 82 
 
 Account of Paper. Its Origin and Uses 84 
 
 Onthe Wasteof Time 89 
 
 Paraphrase of Part of Psalm LXXVII 91 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 ... > 
 
 A Lesson on Contentment 92 
 
 The ButterBy Flower 102 
 
 The Return of the Swallow 104 
 
 Origin of the Christian Sabbath.... 105 
 
 The young Greek Slaves 108 
 
 Lines on an ancient Sundial 124 
 
 The Leaf-cutter Bee 126 
 
 A Retrospective Review 130 
 
 A Contented Man 134 
 
 The Better Land 143 
 
THE 
 
 JUVENILE FORGET ME JVOT. 
 
 FORGET ME NOT, 
 
 " Forget me not !" in accents mild, 
 My mother says, " beloved child ! 
 Forget me not, when far away 
 Amidst a thoughtless world you stray. 
 Forget me not, when fools would win 
 Your footsteps to the paths of sin. 
 Forget me not, when urged to wrong 
 By passions and temptations strong. 
 Forget me not. when pleasure's snare 
 Would lead you from the house of prayer 
 
 " Forget me not, in feeble age, 
 But let me then your thoughts engage : 
 And think, my child, how fondly I 
 Watch'd o'er your helpless infancy. 
 Forget me not, when death shall close 
 These eyelids in their last repose ; 
 B 
 
6 THE JUVENILE 
 
 And evening breezes softly wave 
 The grass upon thy mother's grave. 
 Oh ! then whate'er thy age and lot 
 May be, my child ! Forget me not 
 
 FELIX AND HIS DOVE. 
 
 In a city of Spain, called Toledo, lived a 
 widow and her young son. She had once been 
 rich, but was now so poor that she was forced 
 to get her living by embroidering tresses in na- 
 tural flowers. This was a very tedious employ- 
 ment, and she had great difficulty in earning 
 enough money to maintain herself and her little 
 boy : for Felix was not old enough to work for 
 himself. He was, however, very diligent in 
 learning to read and write, and was very good 
 and dutiful to his mother, and used to wind her 
 silks and thread her needles with the different 
 colours she used ; he was always ready to pick 
 up her scissars or thimble when they happened 
 to fall from her hand : in the evening he read 
 aloud to amuse her, trimmed the lamp, or sung 
 a vesper hymn. 
 
 Felix never teased his mother to buy him 
 fruit or sweet cakes, for he knew she could not 
 afford to expend her money in such things; for 
 Felix loved his mother very dearly, and wa* 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 7 
 
 always cheerful and happy when he was near 
 her, for Felix had a contented heart. 
 
 He had no toys to play with, but he had a 
 tame turtle-dove, which he loved very much, 
 and it was very fond of him, and would sit on 
 his shoulder and eat out of his hand ; and he 
 always spared a part of his meals for his dove, 
 though he had not more food than was sufficient 
 for himself. 
 
 Now the Governor of Toledo lived very near 
 the house in which Felix and his mother dwelt ; 
 and he had an only son named Pedro, who was 
 of the same age as Felix. Pedro had fine and 
 costly clothes to wear, nice things to eat, servants 
 to wait on him, and so many toys to play with 
 that they filled one room entirely ; but yet he 
 was not happy, for he was of a cross, fretful, 
 and discontented disposition. 
 
 One day he saw Felix standing at the door 
 of his mother's house caressing his turtle-dove, 
 which was perched on his finger. " Oh ! what 
 a beautiful dove; and how tame it is!" said 
 Pedro to one of his attendants. " Go," added 
 he, " and tell that boy I want to buy it of him." 
 
 The servant accordingly went to Felix, and 
 told him the governor's son wished to purchase 
 his dove. " I will not sell my pretty dove," said 
 Felix, coaxing her soft feathers, and kissing her 
 with great affection. 
 
 " You are a foolish little boy, I can tell you," 
 said the servant, " for my young lord will give 
 you a good price for her, perhaps as much as a 
 
THE JUVENILE 
 
 pistole [now a pistole is a Spanish coin worth 
 sixteen shillings and ninepence ;] and you might 
 get many fine things for that piece of money, 
 far better than a silly dove." " That may be," 
 said Felix, " but I love my dove better than any 
 thing in the world except my mother, and my 
 dove loves me, and I would not sell her for 
 twenty pistoles." When young Pedro heard 
 this, he was very angry, and would not eat ; and 
 the servants told the governor that their young 
 lord would fret himself sick if he did not have 
 the dove. 
 
 Now Don Rodriguez the governor was a 
 brave and sensible man. He had been absent 
 from home commanding the armies of his sove- 
 reign during the chief part of his little son's 
 life ; and when he returned to hold the highest 
 station in his native city, he was grieved to find 
 what deep root evil passions had taken in the 
 heart of his young heir ; and he anxiously re- 
 volved in his own mind the measures best fitted 
 to improve his character. He now sent for 
 Pedro, and reproved him for his covetousness, 
 and bade him remember that he had every thing 
 he could desire, excepting this dove, which was 
 the property of the widow's son ; and since the 
 boy did not wish to part with the bird, it was 
 wrong to desire to possess it. And he forbade 
 Pedro to mention it again. 
 
 About this time the mother of Felix fell ill, 
 and could not work at her employment ; and 
 soon after she took to her bed : the little stock 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 9 
 
 of money that she had laid by to pay her rent 
 was soon expended, and she had no means of 
 obtaining a fresh supply. 
 
 Felix, who had nursed his mother with great 
 tenderness, observed that she shed tears when 
 she gave him her last piece of money to pur- 
 chase a small loaf of bread, and* lie asked her 
 why she wept. 
 
 " Alas, my child !" said she, " when this is 
 gone, we must both perish for want. I have no 
 more money to buy bread." 
 
 " Do not cry, dearest mother," said Felix, 
 kissing the tears from his mother's cheeks. " I 
 will go and ask charity of our neighbours." 
 " That will be of no 'use, Felix," said his mo- 
 ther, " for they will say we cannot need assist- 
 ance when we keep a bird for which you have 
 refused a pistole." Felix was very sad when he 
 heard his mother say this ; but though the dove 
 was veiy dear to him, his mother was more so, 
 , and he resolved rather to part with the dove than 
 suffer her to want for any thing. 
 
 Felix took his little favourite out of her cage, 
 and carried her to the governor's palace ; and 
 told Pedro's servant that he was ready to sell his 
 dove if his young lord would give him a pistole 
 for her. 
 
 Pedro was very glad when he heard this, and 
 ordered the servant to give Felix a gold pistole, 
 and bring the dove to him. 
 
 Then Felix brought the money to his mother, 
 
 and told her what he had done ; and she kissed 
 
 her little son very tenderlv, and told him she w?*s 
 
 B 2 
 
10 the Juvenile 
 
 now convinced that he loved her, since he had 
 given such a proof of his affection and duty. 
 Felix turned away his head that his mother might 
 not see he had been crying ; for he thought she 
 would be grieved if she knew how much his self- 
 denial had cost him, and he did every thing in 
 his power to appear cheerful, and to make her 
 think he did not mind the loss of his little fa- 
 vourite. 
 
 When the governor saw the dove in Pedro's 
 possession, as he was aware of his son's faulty 
 character, he became fearful that Pedro had 
 obtained it by improper means ; so he sent for 
 Felix, and asked him if he had parted with his 
 dove willingly. 
 
 " Not willingly, my lord," said Felix, " but 
 because my duty required that I should sell it." 
 " How so, my little friend V asked the governor. 
 " Because my mother is ill and in distress, and I 
 could not see her starve when I had this dove, 
 which would procure necessaries for us both; 
 but it almost broke my heart to part with my 
 dove, for I have only my mother and that to 
 love ;" and Felix turned away, to hide the tears 
 which filled his eyes. The good governor was 
 so charmed by the conduct of the widow's son, 
 that he sent for his own physician, and gave him 
 orders to attend on Felix's mother, and see that 
 she wanted neither physic nor proper nourish- 
 ment; and she soon recovered from her illness, 
 and was able to resume her employment. 
 
 Some time after this the governor invited Fe- 
 lix to come to a feast, which was made in honour 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 11 
 
 few; 
 of his son Pedro's birthday. When the repast 
 was ended, a servant placed a basket on the table 
 before Felix, which the governor bade him open, 
 saying, " It is a present from my son !" 
 
 When Felix raised the lid, his beloved turtle- 
 dove flew out and nestled in his bosom. He 
 gave a ciy of joy, and kissed her a thousand 
 times ; but, after a few moments' reflection, he 
 said, " Perhaps, my lord Pedro, it will make you 
 unhappy to part with the dove ; I will not take 
 her away from you if it will give you pain." 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied Pedro, " I re- 
 sign her freely ; and it gives me pleasure to re- 
 turn her to you, since you love her so much. I 
 have been a proud and unfeeling boy ; but, since 
 my father has informed me of your good con- 
 duct, and has reasoned with me on my faults, I 
 have resolved to overcome my selfish habits ; 
 and as I enter on my tenth year to-day, I mean 
 to mark it by the performance of my first kind 
 action ; which I pray to God may be followed 
 by others more worthy of remembrance." 
 
 Then the governor embraced his son, and 
 told Felix that, if he liked, he should live in the 
 plaace, and be the companion of his son's stu- 
 dies and amusements; for Pedro had no bro- 
 ther. 
 
 " I should like to accept your generous ofFe- 
 very much," said Felix (who already loved Per 
 dro for having so kindly restored his little pet,) 
 but then I should be obliged to leave my dear 
 mother, and she would be so sad and lonely 
 
12 
 
 THE JUVENILE 
 
 without her little Felix. No, my lord, I cannot 
 forsake her even to live in a palace." 
 
 " Now, my fine fellow, I love you the better 
 for that thought," said the governor. u Yci . 
 shall not, however, be separated from your mo- 
 ther, for I will give her an employment in my 
 lady's apartment, where her labours will be light, 
 and she may see you daily. 
 
 Felix could scarcely find words to express his 
 gratitude to his kind friend. That very day he 
 made his mother acquainted with the governor's 
 design, and they shortly afterwards took up their 
 abode in the palace. 
 
 Pedro proved the sincerity of his resolution 
 by the affection which he bestowed on Felix ; 
 who on his part was always meek, grateful, and 
 attentive to his young lord. They became firm- 
 ly attached to each other, and continued great 
 friends as long as they lived. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 13 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT 
 
 THE HERMIT CRAB. 
 
 The Hermit (or Diogenes) Crab is so called 
 from its solitary disposition, and from its choos- 
 ing the deserted shell of some other fish for a 
 habitation, which it changes according to its 
 increase of growth. 
 
 Nature denies it the protection of a strong 
 covering on the back like the rest of its species ; 
 but has, with admirable wisdom, endowed it 
 with an instinct which directs it to seek refuge 
 in the cavity of some other shell on the sea- 
 shore. 
 
 It crawls veiy fast along the beach, with its 
 shell on its back, and at the approach of danger 
 withdraws itself into the shell ; and, thrusting 
 out the larger claw, will pinch severely whatever 
 attempts to molest it. It is furnished with a 
 strong hook, by the aid of which it secures itself 
 in its lodging. 
 
14 THE JUVENILE 
 
 It is very amusing to observe the motions of 
 this animal when desirous of changing its shell : 
 it is then seen parading along that line of sea- 
 weed, pebbles, and shells, which may be observ- 
 ed at high water mark, dragging its old incon- 
 venient habitation after it, unwilling to part with 
 one dwelling until it is sure of finding one more 
 agreeable. 
 
 It is seen stopping at one shell, turning it, and 
 passing on to another, contemplating the second 
 for a while, slipping its tail from the old to try 
 on the new one ; if this proves also inconvenient, 
 it quickly regains the old one, and proceeds in 
 its search for a better. 
 
 In this manner it goes on till it finds a shell 
 sufficiently light and commodious, though the 
 new one is sometimes so large as entirely to 
 conceal the Hermit from sight, besides the diffi- 
 culty of suiting itself with a proper habitation. 
 It has yet other trials ; a fierce battle often en- 
 sues between two Hermits for one favourite 
 shell, which of course can only be obtained by 
 the strongest, They strike with their claws, 
 they pinch, and otherwise annoy each other,- 
 till the weakest is obliged to give up the object 
 of dispute. The victor, having obtained pos- 
 session of the contested shell, parades it back- 
 ward and forward on the sand in triumph before 
 his discontented and envious antagonist. From 
 its warlike disposition this species is also called 
 the Soldier Crab. It is mostly found to inhabit 
 deserted whelk shells. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 15 
 
 The Hermit Crab generally frequents those 
 parts on the seashore which are scattered with 
 trees and shrubs, bearing wild fruits or berries ; 
 on which it subsists, although it will eat frag- 
 ments of fish and other animal substances which 
 are washed on shore by the waves. When at- 
 tacked by other crabs, or taken by fishermen, it 
 utters a cry, weak but sharp in sound. 
 
16 THE JUVENILE 
 
 INFANT BROTHER, 
 
 How sweetly on his mother's breast 
 
 My infant brother sleeps ; 
 I love to watch his placid rest, 
 
 But see ! he wakes and weeps ! 
 
 Hush, dearest baby ! hush those cries, 
 
 Thou hast no cause for wo ; 
 Oh ! why should tear-drops fill thine eyes, 
 
 Since grief thou canst not know? 
 
 Thy gentle heart is pure within, 
 And, though 'midst sinners born, 
 
 Thou art a stranger yet to sin, 
 Then why should baby mourn ? 
 
 Thou know'st not yet of care and strife, 
 Although thou both must prove ; 
 
 For all that thou hast known of life 
 Is tenderness and love. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 17 
 
 Oh ! would, dear baby, that I were 
 
 As guiltless as thou art ; 
 And might preserve unstain'd and fair 
 
 Such purity of heart. 
 
 Then why, dear infant, shouldst thou weep, 
 
 Whilst thou art free from guile 1 
 If thou that spotless state couldst keep, 
 
 Thou might'st for ever smile. 
 
 Then smile, my darling, sweetly yet, 
 
 Ere human care and wo, 
 And sin's dire snares thy soul beset, 
 
 And cause thy tears to flow. 
 
 Ah, once again, dear babe ! I see 
 
 Peace resting on thy brow : 
 Oh, would that thou couldst ever be 
 
 As innocent as now. 
 
18 THE JUVENILE 
 
 YOUNG CHRISTIAN CONVERT. 
 
 A great many hundred years ago, when 
 Jerusalem was besieged by the Romans, there 
 was a little girl named Mary, whose father was 
 a rich man among the Jews, but her mother 
 was a Christian, and had taught Mary to be- 
 lieve in the Son of God, and to live according 
 to his holy word and commandment. 
 
 At that time Christians were mocked and 
 cruelly treated, and often put to death on ac- 
 count of their religion ; but Mary and her mo- 
 ther put their trust in God, and did not fear the 
 wicked men, who could indeed kill the body, 
 but had no power to hurt the soul. 
 
 Now it happened that Mary's father was slain 
 during the siege, and the chief rulers among 
 the Jews seized all his wealth, and put Mary 
 and her mother into prison, because they would 
 not deny their belief in the Lord Jesus. 
 
 They suffered many things in prison hard to- 
 be borne at first, and Mary's mother fell ill with 
 a dangerous fever ; but Mary nursed her so ten- 
 derly, and prayed to God for his assistance so 
 earnestly, that it pleased him to touch the gaol- 
 er's heart with compassion ; so that, instead of 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 19 
 
 the coarse and scanty prison allowance, he gave 
 them nourishing food, and visited and comfort- 
 ed them in their affliction. 
 
 The gaoler was a good man, and often in 
 the dead of night, when the other prisoners 
 were asleep, and he heard Mary singing her 
 sweet hymns, and repeating her prayers by the 
 bed of her sick mother, he would listen to her ; 
 and when he heard her making supplication to 
 God to forgive their enemies, even those hard- 
 hearted men who had spoiled them of their 
 substance, and put them in prison, he thought 
 that religion must be right which made Mary 
 and her mother so good : and he came so often 
 to listen to their prayers, and inquired of them 
 so earnestly concerning him in whose name 
 they put their trust, that at last he became him- 
 self a Christian. 
 
 When Mary's mother died, the good gaoler 
 took Mary into his own family, and she soon 
 made his children as good and pious as she was 
 herself. 
 
 Now it happened about this time that God 
 sent a dreadful famine into Jerusalem, to pun- 
 ish the JeAvs for their cruelty to the Christians ; 
 and many persons died through extreme hun- 
 ger: and those wicked men who had robbed 
 Mary and her mother of their substance, soon 
 spent the riches they had taken from the widow 
 and the orphan, , and were starved to death ; 
 while Mary was actually preserved from perish- 
 ing by being in prison; for the gaoler had laid 
 
20 THE JUVENILE 
 
 by a store of provisions against the time of 
 scarcity : and though there was barely sufficient 
 for the support of his family, he had compas- 
 sion on his young prisoner, and gave her an 
 equal share with his own children. So Mary 
 did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own 
 cup, and was to him as a daughter. 
 
 Thus you see God did not forsake Mary, who 
 put her trust in -him, and when almost every 
 child in Jerusalem perished on account of the 
 famine, he raised up a friend for her who feared 
 him, and saved her alive. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 21 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A FURPLE FLOWER GROWING ON 
 THE RUINS OF NORWICH WALL. 
 
 Sweet flower, whose purple lustre bright, 
 As waving with the evening breeze, 
 
 Is soften'd by the pale moonlight, 
 
 Which sheds its radiance through the trees. 
 
 Sprung from a hard and flinty soil, 
 Which promised not a child so fair, 
 
 Raised without labour, care, or toil, 
 Thou spread'st thy fragrance to the air. 
 
 From ruin'd pride and fallen state 
 
 Thy matchless colours own their birth ; 
 
 An emblem of the changeful fate 
 That waits us in our lot on earth. 
 
 Those flowers that now so brightly wave 
 Their purple honours from on high, 
 
 No tint of brilliancy shall save 
 
 When autumn's chilly blast is nigh. 
 C 2 
 
22 THE JUVENILE 
 
 And quickly will the ruin'd wall, 
 
 Which gave the floweret birth, decay ; 
 
 Soon will its latest remnant fall, 
 And all remembrance pass away. 
 
 With such reverse is mark'd the fate 
 Of those who seek the fading wreath 
 
 Bestow'd by grandeur, fame, and state, 
 Nor heed the hastening shades of death. 
 
 Yes, they are like thee, lovely flower ! 
 
 Like thy bright colours pass away: 
 Their beauties vain, their boasted power, 
 
 The fleeting glories of a day. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 23 
 
 INSTANCE OF STRICT VERACITY 
 
 IN 
 
 A YOUNG PRINCE. 
 
 When King Charles the First was put to 
 death by his rebellious subjects in 1G49, three 
 *>£ his children, James Duke of York (after- 
 wards King James the Second,) Hemy Duke 
 of Gloucester, and the Princess Elizabeth, were 
 in the hands of his enemies, and by them con- 
 fined in the palace of Whitehall. 
 
 The queen their mother, then in France, 
 Was very uneasy at the situation of her chil- 
 dren, and caused a letter to be privately con- 
 veyed to Prince James, urging him to endea- 
 vour to make his escape from the enemies of 
 his father, in whose custody he was detained. 
 
 The young prince, in obedience to her com- 
 mands, made the attempt, but was discovered 
 and taken before the council, where he was 
 -strictly questioned in order to discover the 
 ^persons who were privy to his intended flight, 
 and who were his advisers in the affair. 
 
24 THE JUVENILE 
 
 To these questions the young duke refused 
 to answer, with a firmness extraordinary for 
 his age (not having yet attained his thirteenth 
 year.) The members of the council used very 
 severe menaces and threats to frighten him 
 into betraying his friends, but to no purpose. 
 
 Finding his resolution was not to be shaken, 
 they proceeded to search him; and having 
 found the queen's letter on his person, they 
 threatened to commit him to the Tower unless 
 he gave a solemn promise not to receive any 
 letters unknown to the council for the future. 
 
 At first the prince refused to comply with 
 this injunction ; but one of those present, tak- 
 ing him aside, reminded him that the Tower 
 was a fatal place for captive princes, and that 
 were he to be sent to that gloomy abode, he 
 would be separated from his brother and sister, 
 whom lie loved so tenderly. 
 
 The idea of solitary confinement is very 
 terrible to youthful minds; and the fate of 
 the young King Edward, and his brother 
 Richard Duke of York, who had been so bar- 
 barously murdered in the tower, recurred forc- 
 ibly to the mind of the royal captive, when 
 threatened with imprisonment by men who 
 had not scrupled to bring the king his father 
 to the block. He therefore, but with great 
 reluctance, gave the required promise. 
 
 However unwilling Prince James was to 
 pledge his word to this effect, once having 
 done so, no consideration could induce him 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 25 
 
 to break his promise, or even to evade it. A 
 proof of this occured shortly afterwards, when 
 an officer of the palace offered him a letter in 
 so secret a manner that he might have taken 
 it without the slightest fear of being detected, 
 but he refused to receive it, saying that it was 
 contrary to the assurance he had so solemnly 
 given the council. 
 
 The officer, supposing the young prince 
 suspected his faith, and that it was only a 
 stratagem intended to betray him, said softly 
 in his ear, " Do not fear to receive this letter, it 
 comes from the queen your mother, and con- 
 tains many things of great importance, and that 
 are of consequence to you. Depend on my 
 fidelity in this matter." "No!" said the 
 prince firmly, " I will not break my word, even 
 to purchase the pleasure of reading a letter 
 from my absent parent, who is dearer to me 
 than any one else in the world;" thus giving 
 an example of strict probity by a sacrifice as 
 painful to his feelings, of duty and filial 
 affection, as it was honourable to his char- 
 acter as an observer of a promise, though re- 
 luctantly extorted from him by his enemies. 
 
26 THE JUVENILE 
 
 THE 
 
 SABBATH BELL. 
 
 I hear the peaceful sabbath bell 
 Amidst the hills and valleys swell. 
 I hear its tuneful echoes blest 
 Proclaim the sacred day of rest. 
 Hark ! sweetly to the house of prayer 
 Its music bids our steps repair, 
 In God's own holy courts to raise 
 A general voice of grateful praise 
 For all his gracious mercies past 
 Since there we met together last. 
 O heavenly sound of love and peace 
 Which bids all earthly labours cease, 
 And rich and poor in union seek 
 A blessing on the coming week I 
 And shall I then neglect the call 
 Address'd alike to great and small, 
 To young and old, and high and low, 
 And all those promises forego, 
 Which God has given to all who pay 
 Due reverence to the sabbath day ; 
 Since first we in the holy writ 
 Have read, He bless'd and hallow'd it ? 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 27 
 
 HOW DO YOU SPEND YOUR 
 ALLOWANCE 1 
 
 "How do you spend your allowance]" 
 asked Harriet Mason of a young lady who sat 
 next her at a small working party of young 
 friends who had met to pass a sociable after- 
 noon together last Christmas holidays. 
 
 " I will not tell you," replied Catherine 
 Grey, " unless every young lady present con- 
 sents to answer the same question." 
 
 " Agreed," said they all. " It will furnish 
 us with conversation and amusement for the 
 whole evening. But who is to begin first]" 
 
 " Oh, you, Miss Bradshaw," said one of 
 the young ladies, " for you are the eldest, and 
 your papa is the richest man in the village, and 
 allows you such a very handsome sum for 
 pocket money." 
 
 " Indeed," said Miss Bradshaw, " I never 
 find my allowance sufficient for my wants ; and 
 as to giving an account bf the manner in 
 which I spend it, I believe that would be a 
 difficult matter, for I hardly know myself; 
 but I suppose it goes in ribbons, and gloves. 
 
28 THE JUVENILE 
 
 and beads, and a hundred other trifles not worth 
 enumerating." 
 
 " Now I spend my money very differently," 
 said Ellen Woods, " for I took a fancy some 
 time ago to buy a beautiful green parrot and 
 a gilt cage, and mamma told me that if I 
 persisted in purchasing so useless a creature, 
 I should buy all the food it consumed out of 
 my allowance; and, indeed, my Poll has so 
 voracious an appetite, that she never leaves 
 me any pocket money to expend in trifles for 
 myself." 
 
 " I should be sorry to employ my allowance 
 in so unprofitable a manner." said Helen Ross ; 
 " I lay by my money to purchase books, and 
 I have at this time a handsome case filled 
 with neatly bound volumes of my favourite 
 authors ; and I assure you I get many com- 
 mendations from my parents and friends on 
 this account." 
 
 "And I," said Miss Martin, "save my 
 money to purchase ornaments. This coral 
 necklace and bracelets I bought out of my last 
 year's savings. Pray, Miss Gibbs, how do you 
 employ yours ? doubtless, very sensibly." 
 
 " There," said Miss Gibbs, " I assure you you 
 are quite mistaken; for I can never pass by a 
 confectioner's shop without going in, so I leave 
 you to guess what becomes of my money. Now, 
 Harriet Mason, your turn comes next to confess 
 your spendings." 
 
 " My spendings," replied Harriet Mason, 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 29 
 
 16 are very few; I seldom lay out my money 
 in trifles, as I like always to have a little sum at 
 my own disposal. I suppose, young ladies, you 
 have heard that ' Farthings oft heaped amount 
 to pounds in time.' Therefore you will easily 
 credit my assertion when I declare that I have 
 five pounds now in my possession which I have 
 saved from my weekly allowance. Now, Ca- 
 therine, I claim your promise, for I never could 
 discover in what manner you dispose of your 
 money." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Grey, it is your turn to satisfy 
 our curiosity," said all the young ladies eagerly. 
 " Come with me then, and I will show you," 
 said Catherine, blushing as she spoke. 
 
 The little party, at these words, rose; and, 
 putting on their bonnets and shawls, followed 
 Catherine, who conducted them to a miserable 
 hut in the neighbourhood, where they beheld 
 a family of six young children surrounding a 
 pale sickly looking mother, who held twin 
 infants on her knees. The elder six were 
 making a scanty dinner on coarse bread and 
 potatoes, while their father, stretched on the 
 bed of disease, was a sad spectator of the hard- 
 ships endured by his wife and wretched chil- 
 dren. ^ 
 
 " There, my young friends," said Catherine, 
 pointing to the sad spectacle before them, " when 
 I daily behold such scenes of distress in this po- 
 pulous manufacturing district, how is it possible 
 for me to save my allowance, or expend it on 
 unnecessary trifles 1" 
 
 D 
 
30 THE JUVENILE 
 
 The young ladies were conscience-stricken, 
 and wondered that they too had never thought 
 of devoting any part of their pocket money to 
 the relief of their distressed fellow creatures. 
 The result of this feeling was, that a small sub- 
 scription was immediately raised among them, 
 and bestowed on this distressed family. 
 
 Miss Mason had it in her power to give the 
 largest sum, and indeed she displayed a munifi- 
 cent spirit on the occasion ; but, doubtless, the 
 weekly shilling which the meek and compas- 
 sionate Catherine privately applied to the relief 
 of the obscure and destitute objects of her charity, 
 was, like the widow's mite, more acceptable in 
 the sight of God than all the gifts which ostenta- 
 tion or shame drew from the purses of her more 
 opulent but selfish companions. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 31 
 
 THE 
 
 EVENING PRIMROSE. 
 
 Lovely blossom, meek and fair, 
 Child of placid evening air, 
 Sweeter in thy twilight bower 
 Than the brightest noonday flower. 
 
 When the dazzling sun is nigh, 
 Thou dost droop, and withering die, 
 For thou canst not bear to be 
 Gazed upon so ardently. 
 
 But the moon's chaste silvery beam 
 On thy modest flowers may stream, 
 And thy hues become more bright 
 Hourly in her peaceful light. 
 
 Floweret, thus should beauty be 
 Meek, retiring, like to thee, 
 In her graceful mild retreat 
 Growing every hour more sweet. 
 
 Thus to shrink from public gaze, 
 Thus to shun the voice of praise, 
 And from folly's train apart, 
 Charming every eye and heart. 
 
32 THE JUVENILE 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE YOUNG DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 
 Louis Duke of Burgundy (eldest brother of 
 Louis the Sixteenth of France) died when only 
 nine years of age ; but, short as his life was, it 
 afforded so beautiful an example of early virtue 
 and true piety, that I am tempted to transcribe 
 a few anecdotes of him, which will, I doubt not, 
 prove equally interesting and useful to my young 
 readers. 
 
 Louis had been told that the most danger- 
 ous enemies princes could have were flatterers, 
 and when some one bestowed on him praises 
 which he felt convinced were unmerited on his 
 part, he replied, " Sir, I perceive you flatter 
 me ; did you really love me, you would tell me 
 the truth." That night, when he retired to his 
 own apartment, he said to his governor, " I must 
 beware of that gentleman, for he is a flatterer." 
 
 The surest method of gaining his esteem 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 33 
 
 was to tell him of his faults. As a proof of 
 this, when asked which of his three pages he 
 loved the best, he replied, " Him who in my 
 earliest years always pointed out my errors, that 
 I might amend them." 
 
 A young nobleman once told him that he 
 had no faults, and therefore needed neither 
 advice nor punishment ; but the prince, instead 
 of listening to this gross flattery with pleasure, 
 was so much disgusted by it that he entirely 
 withdrew himself from the society of that youth, 
 and avoided all future conversation with him ; 
 who, perceiving himself to be slighted by the 
 young prince, soon after left the court, and pass- 
 ed some time in travelling and study. He re- 
 turned at length to the court an altered charac- 
 ter, and was as remarkable for his sincerity and 
 plain manner of speaking as he had before been 
 for his flattery. When Louis perceived this 
 change, he offered him his friendship, saying, 
 "I love you now, because you have* discarded 
 that pernicious habit of flattering, and have the 
 courage to tell the truth." 
 
 This young prince was so amiable in his dis- 
 position, that no expression of offensive raillery 
 or contempt ever escaped his lips at any time. 
 Bodily defects always excited in him feelings of 
 the tenderest sympathy and compassion: his 
 delicacy of behaviour deserves to be recorded on 
 this subject. The conversation one day chanced 
 to turn on deformity, when a person so afflicted 
 was present. The prince gave several hints to 
 D2 
 
34? THE JUVENILE 
 
 the speaker to change the discourse ; but, find- 
 ing the signs he made to him to drop the subject 
 were not noticed, he approached him, and said 
 very softly, " Are not you afraid of wounding 
 the feelings of that gentleman?" 
 
 His compassion for the sufferings of the poor 
 must not be forgotten. The first time he was 
 presented by the king with a purse containing 
 the sum of money allowed him for pleasure, he 
 immediately laid aside one half of it to be em- 
 ployed in charitable purposes ; but his generosity 
 was always regulated by a strict love of order 
 and economy. He was aware that, in the ex- 
 ercise of true benevolence, it is not alone suffi- 
 cient to give, but also to select proper objects for 
 charity ; neither did he ever permit any personal 
 gratification of his own to interfere with his duty. 
 He would never suffer himself, however tempted 
 he might be, to appropriate a single penny of 
 the little fund which he was accustomed to lay 
 by for the use of the poor and destitute. The 
 young prince once ardently desired to possess a 
 small train of artillery for his diversion. His 
 governor did not oppose his wishes, but casually 
 remarked, in his hearing, " How many distress- 
 ed objects arc there who require relief at this 
 time !" 
 
 Louis immediately bestowed in alms the mo- 
 ney he had designed for the purchase of the 
 artillery. 
 
 Monsieur Tourolle, his head valet de cham- 
 bre, told him one day that a village, a few miles 
 
FORGET ME NOT. £*> 
 
 from Paris, had been destroyed by fire. " I can- 
 not do all I would, my friend," exclaimed the 
 generous Louis, " but I must endeavour to do 
 all I can to aid these poor villagers." That 
 very evening the dauphin and dauphiness, his 
 royal parents, with the princesses, his aunts, 
 came to visit him ; and he embraced that oppor- 
 tunity of soliciting the assistance of his family 
 for the sufferers, and obtained from each mem- 
 ber a sum for their relief, to which he added, 
 without reserve, the whole of his own allowance: 
 by this means laying by for himself " treasures 
 in heaven, where neither moth doth corrupt, nor 
 thieves break through and steal." 
 
 At the age of seven years it was customary 
 for the princes of France to be placed under the 
 care of a governor. When the Duke cle Berri 
 had attained that age, Louis (who was his elder 
 brother,) anxious for the improvement of his 
 character, proposed the same plan which had 
 been practised with regard to his own education. 
 This plan was as follows ; — 
 
 Every eighth day an exact account was written 
 down of his conduct in the preceding week; 
 and at the end of the month the record was ex- 
 amined, and every fault which he had amended 
 was noted down, and a mark placed against 
 those that remained uncorrected. The young 
 prince had preserved these little memorials of 
 his past life with great care, and now said to his 
 brother the Duke de Berri, " I think, my bro- 
 ther, it will be of service to you to see how plain- 
 
36 
 
 THE JUVENILE 
 
 ly my friends have dealt with my faults." Then, 
 putting the papers into the hands of his under 
 governor, he said, " Monsieur de Sineti, read 
 aloud without reserve." 
 
 During the reading, it was observed that 
 whenever certain passages were read, the Duke 
 of Burgundy blushed, and evinced some symp- 
 toms of uneasiness ; his governor, pitying his 
 confusion, offered to leave off reading: " No," 
 said he firmly, " I wish you to read every thing ; 
 but I think I may venture to say that I have 
 amended that fault." 
 
 When Louis was told the marks of affection 
 which the people of France had testified for his 
 grandfather Louis the Fifteenth during a dan- 
 gerous fit of illness ; on which occasion that 
 monarch had received from his subjects the name 
 of Louis the "Well-Beloved, he exclaimed : 
 M How sensibly touched ought the king to be 
 with such proofs of his people's attachment ! I 
 would willingly purchase such a pleasure, even 
 at the expense of suffering from the same ma- 
 lady." 
 
 Shortly after this the health of the young 
 prince began to decline, and serious apprehen- 
 sions were entertained for his life, insomuch that 
 he was obliged to submit to a severe surgical 
 operation being performed, which he bore with 
 the most unshrinking fortitude. 
 
 A few days afterwards he wrote thus to the 
 dauphin his father: " I entreat you to permit me 
 to continue my studies ; I am fearful of forget- 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 37 
 
 img the knowledge I have acquired, and am veiy 
 desirous of further improvement." 
 
 Notwithstanding the skill of his physicians, 
 he grew worse from day to day ; but his patience 
 and resignation increased with his sufferings, in 
 the course of which he did not allow a murmur 
 to escape him ; and during his long and painful 
 illness he behaved with the utmost mildness and 
 sweetness to those around him, never addressing 
 a hasty or unkind word to any of his attendants, 
 but was always anxious lest the health of his 
 servants should be injured by their close attend- 
 ance on him. He was greatly concerned when 
 his restlessness prevented others from sleeping ; 
 and if he wanted any thing during the night, he 
 always asked for it veiy softly, that he might not 
 disturb all the persons who slept in his chamber. 
 " My poor Tourolle," said he one day to that 
 faithful servant, " you will kill yourself by such 
 unremitting attendance on me ; go and take the 
 air, I shall not need your services for some time." 
 
 Another of his attendants was afflicted with 
 acute rheumatism : on which the prince observ- 
 ed to his governor the Due de la Vauguyon, " I 
 beg you will not permit Benevant to sit up with 
 me; loss of rest will aggravate his complaint: 
 and let me entreat you and Tourolle to take a 
 little repose." 
 
 When informed that his last hour drew nigh, 
 he received the intelligence with perfect resigna- 
 tion; being persuaded that the pleasures and 
 grandeur which he might have enjoyed in this 
 
38 THE JUVENILE 
 
 life were not worthy to be compared with those 
 unspeakable joys which God has prepared, in a 
 future state, for those who love him ; who has 
 also assured us, by the words of his holy pro- 
 phet, that " Blessed are the dead which die in 
 the Lord, for they rest from their labours, and 
 their works do follow themu" 
 
FORGET ME NOT 39 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Sleep on, lovely infant, how calm is thy rest 
 
 In happy oblivion below; 
 Already enjoying the lot of the blest, 
 
 Secure from all trouble and wo. 
 
 Oh ! early the floweret was broken and crush'd, 
 And snapp'd from the sorrowing stem ; 
 
 Ere the opening leaves of the rosebud had 
 blush'd, 
 It was moisten'd by sympathy's gem. 
 
 But mourn not the fall of this perishing flower, 
 
 Oh, turn not in anguish away ; 
 For Heaven, in mercy and fulness of power, 
 
 Has granted it glory's pure ray, 
 
40 THE JUVENILE. 
 
 ST. JOHN 
 
 THE FALLEN PROSELYTE. 
 
 Let us beware of the first fault we commit. 
 We do not become wicked ail at once, but 
 are led on by slow degrees into the commis- 
 sion of great crimes. We first omit some 
 trifling duty; we then commit some trifling 
 fault: we flatter ourselves that it is but for 
 once we have transgressed, and there is yet time 
 for amendment, but we neglect that time, and put 
 off reformation till more duties have been for- 
 gotten, more faults committed ; it then becomes 
 a burden to our consciences to remember these 
 things, and we dismiss them as much as pos- 
 sible from our thoughts. From little faults we 
 go on to greater ones ; and in the end stray 
 so deeply into the thorny path of error, that 
 we fear to look back ; and, deeming all return 
 impossible, blindly follow the broad way which 
 in the end leadeth to destruction. But let us 
 not despair ; it is never too late to repent, and 
 forsake our sins. " Let the wicked forsake 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 41 
 
 his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, 
 and turn unto the Lord his God, and he will 
 have mercy, and unto his God, and he will 
 abundantly pardon." Listen to the story of 
 the holy apostle St. John and the Youth of 
 Ephesus. 
 
 After the death of the Roman Emperor 
 Domitian, St. John, the beloved disciple of 
 our Lord, was recalled from the island of Pat- 
 mos, to which place he had been banished by 
 command of that tyrant.* 
 
 The apostle then came to Ephesus, a city 
 in Asia, where he passed some time in regu- 
 lating the affairs of the churches there esta- 
 blished by St. Paul; in constituting bishops, 
 and electing into the clergy such men as were 
 willing to devote themselves to the service and 
 ministry of Christ's church. 
 
 Among the Christian converts who daily 
 attended to hear the word of God, there was 
 a widow who had a young son, a youth of 
 most prepossessing countenance and great pro- 
 mise ; and she, entering the church where the 
 apostle then was, besought him to give her child 
 
 * During the reign of the Emperor Domitian, the 
 Christian church underwent a fierce persecution ; many 
 good men being cruelly put lo death, or deprived of 
 their goods and lands, and banished to distant places 
 on account of their belief in the Lord Jesus. Accord- 
 ing to the accounts of the earliest Christian writers, 
 St. John the Divine was exiled, with many others, to 
 the island of Patnios ; but after the death of Domitian^ 
 he returned from banishment, and went to Ephesus. 
 
 E 
 
42 THE JUVENILE 
 
 baptism, saying, " He is mine only son, the 
 child of mine old age. Behold, now 1 am 
 infirm, and drawing near to my latter days. 
 Let my aged eyes, therefore, see my son re- 
 ceived into the flock of Christ, as a member 
 of his church ; so may I be able to say, in the 
 words of holy Simeon, ' Lord, now lettest thou 
 thy servant depart in peace.' " Then the 
 apostle called for water, and baptized the young 
 Demetrius, and would have given him back 
 to the care of his mother ; but she, with much 
 earnestness, entreated St. John to let the youth 
 continue with him, that he might be instructed 
 in all goodness. Then Demetrius continued 
 to abide with St. John, who loved the youth 
 greatly ; and, finding him of an ardent dis- 
 position, took great pains in teaching him the 
 way in which he shoidd walk ; and when the 
 time came in which it was necessary that he 
 should depart that city, St. John presented 
 Demetrius to the bishop whom he had lately 
 ordained, and said, " This youth do I com- 
 mit to thy especial care ; see thou that he swerve 
 not from the right way, but continue a faithful 
 and worthy member of the church of Christ." 
 The mshop promised obedience, and St. John 
 departed. 
 
 For some time Demetrius continued to per- 
 severe in the life of virtue and goodness 
 which had been recommended to him by his 
 beloved master ; but youth is by nature prone 
 to error ; and he, by degrees, relaxing some- 
 
FORGET ME, NOT. 43 
 
 what of his care over himself, suffered light 
 and vain thoughts to take possession of his 
 mind and influence his conduct. 
 
 It chanced, one beautiful evening, as De- 
 metrius was returning from his accustomed 
 meditation in the fields, just without the sub- 
 urbs, his attention was excited by a gay pro- 
 cession of youths and maidens crowned with 
 chaplets of flowers, and bearing baskets of 
 roses in their hands, going to assist in the cele- 
 bration of certain games, as was the yearly 
 custom of that city. 
 
 Pleased with the festival that had been one 
 of the delights of his early youth before the 
 powerful words of St. John had induced his 
 mother to abjure idolatry, Demetrius stayed 
 his steps to observe them ; and they, filled 
 with admiration at his fair countenance and 
 comely presence, besought him to bear them 
 company. Demetrius at first withstood their 
 entreaties, and would have passed on ; but one 
 among them, approaching the spot where he yet 
 stood, flung about him a robe of Tyrian purple, 
 and placed round his brows a chaplet of flowers, 
 crying out in praise of his beauty and graceful 
 mien. Pleased yet half ashamed, Demetrius 
 listened to the flattering applauses of the crowd ; 
 till, yielding in an evil hour to temptation, he 
 consented to make one in the procession. 
 
 From this time his love of admiration in- 
 creased, and vanity often induced him to join 
 in the scenes of gayety and pleasure to which 
 
44 THE JUVENILE 
 
 he was enticed by his new associates; nor 
 can it be a matter of surprise if, in the festive 
 revels or the sumptuous banquet, he forgot 
 those precepts of temperance and morality 
 which he had learned from his master the 
 holy apostle St. John. 
 
 Taught by his companions to despise the 
 simple garb he had been wont to wear, he 
 exchanged it for one of more costly materials, 
 as better befitted to his new mode of life, 
 Demetrius no longer felt that relish for reli- 
 gion, and that love for virtue, which had once 
 occupied all his thoughts; so true it is that 
 we cannot serve two masters, we cannot love 
 God and the world. In the pursuit of plea- 
 sure, Demetrius neglected his duties ; he ceased 
 to hallow the sabbaths, or to offer up his pray- 
 ers in private with that zeal and devotion which 
 had formerly inspired him in his days of inno- 
 cence and purity, and soon they were altogether 
 neglected and forgotten. 
 
 In the hours of mirth and revelry the mis- 
 guided youth, intoxicated with wine, and en- 
 couraged by the example of his companions, 
 joined them in pouring forth libations to the 
 honour of the heathen deities, and singing cho- 
 ruses composed in their praise ; adding to his 
 other sins that great and forbidden one of bow- 
 ing down to idols. Thus was the wretched 
 Demetrius led on step by step in the path of 
 error, till he became so deeply entangled in 
 guilt that, despairing of ever being able to re-* 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 45 
 
 .gain that fair character for virtue for which he 
 had once been so highly distinguished, he rush- 
 ed headlong on, stifling in his breast the still 
 small voice of conscience, which from time to 
 time warned him of the error of his ways. So 
 often had he disregarded the inward monitress, 
 that now she spoke no more; or, if she did, it 
 was but to drive him to a greater degree of de- 
 spair. She told of time mispent, of blighted 
 hopes, of past happiness never to return, of 
 present misery, and future agony. Such was 
 the tale she told ! 
 
 Pressed at length for the payment of a debt 
 which he had incurred, and unable to satisfy 
 his importunate creditor, the unfortunate youth 
 in a moment of desperation consented to join 
 his associates in an act of unlawful plunder, 
 in the commission of which he was taken pri- 
 soner. Disdaining to suffer the penalty due to 
 his crime, he contrived to elude the vigilance of 
 his gaoler, and escape from the prison ; then 
 joining his accomplices, he withdrew into the 
 woods and desert wilds, where he became the 
 leader of a band of fierce and lawless robbers, 
 who by their cruelty and depredations spread 
 terror and dismay through all the neighbouring 
 towns and villages. 
 
 Few of those who had formerly beheld him 
 could now have recognised in the fierce and 
 guilty countenance of the robber chief the once 
 beautiful and pure Demetrius. The light of 
 virtue and truth, which had been wont to irradi- 
 E 2 
 
46 THE JUVENILE 
 
 ate those noble features, had given place to an 
 expression of rage and despair terrible to look 
 upon. Such was the change which years of 
 crime had wrought in him whom we formerly 
 beheld as the beloved disciple of the holy apos- 
 tle St. John. 
 
 It happened, some years after these things 
 had taken place, that St. John returned again 
 to Ephesus, to reform some abuses which had 
 crept into the church during his absence. Hav- 
 ing arranged these matters to his satisfaction 
 he turned to the bishop, saying, "Restore to 
 me, O bishop, that treasure which was commit- 
 ted to thy charge some time since." 
 
 The bishop, unable to comprehend the true 
 meaning of these words, was greatly troubled in 
 his mind, thinking he had been falsely accused 
 by some one of wasting the revenues of the 
 church, or appropriating the goods thereof to 
 his own private advantage. 
 
 Then the venerable apostle, seeing that the 
 bishop Was sorely perplexed, said, " I demand 
 of thee that which I committed to thy care ; 
 even the soul of young Demetrius! How is 
 the young man our son!" 
 
 At these words the bishop, with a counte- 
 nance full of sorrow, replied, " Demetrius is 
 dead!" then perceiving the spirit of John to 
 be greatly troubled, he added, u He is indeed 
 dead in trespasses and sins, and is no more 
 worthy to be called thy son, he having be- 
 come the captain of a band of robbers." At 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 47 
 
 these words the apostle rent his clothes, and 
 smiting his breast in heaviness of spirit, said, 
 " I fear me I left but a careless shepherd over 
 the flock of my Lord and Master ; since thou 
 hast permitted the wolf to enter into the fold, 
 and take from thence the fairest of the flock. 
 But I will go to him, and will yet, with God's 
 help, bring back the wanderer." So saying, 
 he departed. 
 
 Alone and unarmed, save by the staff on 
 which he leaned to aid his declining steps, bent 
 with years surpassing those usually allotted to 
 the life of man, the holy Evangelist entered 
 upon the wild haunts of the young robber chief 
 and his lawless band. He hears, as he pro- 
 ceeds, the sound of approaching steps, and 
 beholds the forms of armed men advancing 
 towards him. Inspired by a divine courage, 
 and intent on his mission, the apostle pressed 
 forwards and presented himself before Deme- 
 trius and his band of armed men. 
 
 How shall we find words to tell the feelings of 
 shame, of anguish, and remorse that assailed the 
 heart of the robber chief as the saintly form of 
 his once loved and still revered master met his 
 view. The eye of the robber chief sunk abashed 
 beneath the glance of sad reproof with which the 
 apostle regarded him. Fain would he have con- 
 cealed himself from the presence of that venera- 
 ble being whose years seemed as though they 
 had been prolonged in order to call his guilt to 
 remembrance. Demetrius could not endure that 
 
48 THE JUVENILE 
 
 the master who had beheld him only in his days - 
 of happiness, when he was yet pure and un- 
 stained by crime, should look upon him in his 
 now degraded state; and, overwhelmed with 
 grief and shame, he turned to fly from him, 
 but the deep sweet tones of that voice which 
 he had been wont to obey, and which had never 
 spoken in vain, now recalled him : " Turn thee, 
 my son, wherefore dost thou fear me? behold*' 
 I am aged and defenceless ! He that died for 
 thee upon the cross now calls unto thee by me ; 
 therefore turn thee yet while there is time given 
 to thee, and repent, and call upon the Lord thy 
 God; for He is gracious and merciful, slow to 
 anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him 
 of the evil. Fear not, there is yet salvation for 
 thee; forsake the evil of thy way, and thou 
 shalt find rest unto thy soul, for great is his 
 mercy unto those that call upon him." 
 
 The appeal was not heard in vain. Hum- 
 bled in spirit, and filled with a deep sense of 
 his own unworthiness, the repentant sinner pros- 
 trated himself at the feet of the apostle ; and, 
 burying his face in the folds of his garments, 
 murmured out, " Father, receive your child 
 again! I have deeply sinned before God, and 
 in thy sight; intercede for me at the throne 
 of grace; and may God be merciful to me a 
 sinner !" 
 
 Kneeling on the ground beside the prostrate 
 penitent, the holy apostle, with fervent zeal, 
 prayed For pardon and remission of his sins. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 4S 
 
 " God, my son," said he at length, " accepts 
 thy tears, and listens to thy prayers. Thy Re- 
 deemer receives thee once more into his church, 
 baptized a second time in tears. Thy sins are 
 forgiven thee ; go, and sin no more." As he 
 pronounced these words, he raised his repentant 
 proselyte from the earth, pouring into his wound- 
 ed soul the balm of holy consolation, and 
 strengthening him with the promise of our 
 Blessed Lord, " That there is indeed joy in 
 heaven with the angels of God over the sinner 
 that repenteth."* 
 
 * The facts of this story are drawn from a relation eon- 
 tained in Book HI. chap. xii. of Eusebius Pampbylus's 
 Ecclesiastical History. 
 
50: THE JUVENILE 
 
 DESCRIPTION 
 
 THE GROTTO OF ANTIPAROS. 
 
 MY DEAR SISTER, 
 
 You may remember that, on my parting from 
 you, I promised to give you an account of every 
 object worthy of attention which I might meet 
 with during my travels with our dear father, for 
 whose kindness in permitting me to be the com- 
 panion of his voyage to Zante, and up the Le- 
 vant, I can never be sufficiently grateful. Last 
 week he gratified me by a sight of that most 
 surprising natural curiosity, the Grotto of Anti- 
 paros ; and as you, my dear Emma, have pro- 
 bably never read a description of this beautiful 
 place, I will endeavour to give you some little 
 account of its wonders, which will not, I trust, 
 prove wholly devoid of interest aiid amusement 
 to you. 
 
 Antiparos, the island in which this celebrated 
 grotto is situated, is in the Archipelago, separat- 
 ed from the island of Fnros by a strait nearly 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 51 
 
 seven miles over. It is about sixteen miles in 
 circumference, and produces wine, cotton, and 
 corn, besides several sorts of fruit, and is but 
 thinly inhabited. 
 
 On this island, in pursuance of our design, 
 we landed, after a delightful little voyage. Hav- 
 ing walked upwards of four miles through beau- 
 tiful flowery plains and sloping woodlands, we 
 came at length to a little hill, on one side of 
 which yawned a most dark and dismal cavern. 
 The first sight of this horrid place gave me 
 some uneasiness, especially when my father de- 
 clared his intention of entering it. For a few 
 minutes, I declined accompanying him; but 
 when I saw him preparing to enter the fearful 
 abyss, I could not endure that lie should alone 
 encounter its perils ; therefore I resolved to fol- 
 low him, and we entered the mouth of the cave. 
 Here I was startled by the appearance of a fi- 
 gure of gigantic height, and I would have re- 
 treated, but my father presently convinced me 
 that this figure was nothing more than a sparry 
 concretion caused by the dropping of water from 
 the roof of the cave, which had by degrees hard- 
 ened into the resemblance of a human form, 
 which the superstition of the peasantry had in 
 former ages imagined to be a giant guarding the 
 entrance of his dwelling. 
 
 As we proceeded further in our researches, 
 new wonders presented themselves on every 
 side. Whatever you have read in the " Arabian 
 Nights' Entertainments" of the subterranean 
 
52 THE JUVENILE 
 
 i 
 
 groves of precious stones through which Aladdin 
 passed in search of his wonderful lamp, is here 
 realized, without exaggerated description. Na- 
 ture has formed the appearance of groves of 
 trees and shrubs, by means of a variety of beau- 
 tiful petrifactions and crystallizations of a thou- 
 sand brilliant colours and fantastic shapes. The 
 effect of this petrified grove, rising in solemn 
 majesty in such profound solitude, is very grand; 
 and impresses one's mind with feelings of awe 
 and astonishment. How mean are the finest 
 productions of art, when compared with those 
 wonderful works of the Creator, whose ways 
 are unsearchable and past finding out: such 
 were my reflections as I surveyed the scene 
 before me; but as yet we had but beheld the 
 porticoj as it Were, of this amazing temple. 
 In a remote corner of this sort of antichamber 
 we were shown a passage not more than three 
 feet in width, which seemed to terminate in total 
 darkness. 
 
 Our guides having provided themselves with 
 torches, ladders, and ropes, in order to facilitate 
 our descent, we ventured into the gloomy recess 
 one by one, till we lost all sight of daylight. 
 The depth we had to descend was prodigious i 
 our way appeared fraught with so much peril, 
 that I will confess to you, my dear sister, for a 
 minute or two my resolution again began to wa- 
 ver, when I beheld the ragged rocks and dark 
 caverns on every side threatening to ingulf those 
 who might have the ill fortune to slip or make 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 53 
 
 a false step in the obscure and dangerous paths 
 through which we sometimes walked and some- 
 times crept ; but my curiosity had been already 
 so much excited by what I had seen, that I re- 
 solved to proceed, and, encouraged by my father, 
 I went on. 
 
 After descending two frightful precipices, we 
 passed through a slanting passage of rough and 
 coarse marble, full of strange and uncouth figures, 
 some resembling animals, others like snakes 
 coiled round, and looking as though they were 
 alive and in readiness to spring upon us, but in 
 reality as cold, hard and inanimate as the wall 
 on which they grew (if I may be permitted to 
 use the expression.) About two hundred yards 
 further, as we proceeded along this descent, we 
 saw two pillars of fine glittering marble, of a 
 yellow colour, which appeared as though they 
 had been designed to support the roof, but they 
 were of a brittle friable substance, that crumbled 
 with almost a touch. Passing between these 
 columns, we found ourselves on the brink of 
 another precipice more steep and dangerous 
 than those we had before descended. Our guides, 
 however, for fear of accident, fastened ropes 
 round our waists, as there were lakes of deep 
 water all the way on the left hand side. We 
 reached the last passage, or rather alley I should 
 call it, in safety ; but we had some difficulty in 
 making our way through it, owing to the rag- 
 ged rocks that hung over our heads, and the 
 broken and precipitous paths we followed ; 
 F 
 
54 THE JUVENILE 
 
 every now and then we perceived by the glaring 
 of the torches, dismal lakes and deep pits of 
 water on either side of us. 
 
 On a sudden four of our six guides disap- 
 peared ; and though the other two encouraged 
 us to proceed, I felt uneasy respecting them, 
 supposing, in all probability, they had by some 
 mischance fallen into the dark waters that 
 surrounded us. While I was still lost in con- 
 jecture, I was not a little alarmed by finding 
 myself in utter darkness, the guides having by 
 some means extinguished their torches, an 
 accident which I could not help considering 
 very careless on their parts. For some min- 
 utes we continued to grope our way forward 
 very slowy, unable to distinguish the least 
 glimmering of light, but in hopes of discover- 
 ing our lost companions. I kept fast hold 
 of the hand of my guide fearful of losing 
 my way. My dismay at our situation can 
 only be equalled by my admiration and asto- 
 nishment, when one of our guides, assisting 
 me over an immense fragment of marble rock 
 that obstructed our way, bade me look around 
 me. What a change was here ! Instead of 
 dark and frightful rocks, and gloomy caverns, 
 such as we had passed through, all was splen- 
 dour and magnificence: this beautiful place 
 was illuminated by fifty torches, whose lights 
 were reflected by a thousand rays from the 
 glittering crystals and many-coloured spars 
 which hunff in brilliant wreaths from the roof 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 55 
 
 and sides of this wondrous grotto. Our lost 
 guides, who had only slipped away to light 
 up the cavern against our approach, now 
 appeared, and bade us welcome to the Grotto 
 of Antiparos. The other two I found had 
 purposely extinguished their torches, in order 
 to render our surprise the greater on emerging 
 from utter darkness into this pavilion of light 
 and glory. 
 
 How did I at this moment wish for your 
 company, my dear Emma, that you might 
 have shared in my feelings of delight and 
 wonder on beholding this magnificent pro- 
 duction of nature ! My description of its beau- 
 ties can convey to your mind but a faint and 
 imperfect idea of the grandeur of the scene ; I 
 only wish you could have beheld with me the 
 great original* 
 
 The grotto in which we were is a cavern 
 one hundred and twenty yards wide, and one 
 hundred and thirteen in length, and seems 
 about sixty in height; the depth from the 
 surface of the ground where we first began to 
 descend is considered to be, as near as can be 
 judged, not less than four hundred and eighty 
 five yards. 
 
 The roof of this cave formed a most spa- 
 cious and superb arch, which was adorned 
 with crystals resembling icicles of every form 
 you can imagine ; solid as marble, yet trans- 
 parent as glass : some of them ten and twelve 
 feet long, thick as a man's waist at the base. 
 
66 THE JUVENILE 
 
 and slender towards the extremity. From these 
 hung festoons of leaves and flowers, of the 
 same exquisite brilliancy, but varying in colour 
 and size. 
 
 The sides of the arch were adorned with 
 clusters of trees cut, as it were, out of alabas- 
 ter, and rising beyond each other entwined 
 with fanciful wreaths of crystal and spar, that 
 depended from above, and seemed tied, as it 
 were, to each other in luxuriant garlands. 
 
 The floor we trod upon was strewed with 
 every different sort of crystal, red, blue, green, 
 and yellow, forming in some places the ap- 
 pearance of rivers and streams. All these 
 things are made by the dropping of the water 
 during a long course of years. Round the 
 lower sides of the grotto are masses of mar- 
 ble resembling oak trees and in the midst of 
 this amphitheatre rose a concretion about fif- 
 teen feet in height, which bore the form of an 
 altar, round which were columns of various 
 colours, which appeared like fantastic candle- 
 sticks ; and the torches which our guides had 
 placed in them made the deception more 
 pleasing. 
 
 Upon our egress from the Grotto of Anti- 
 paros, we were shown an inscription in Greek 
 characters, engraved on a rock at the entrance 
 of the cave, but so effaced by time that we 
 could only guess at the import, which seemed 
 to be that it was written by one Antipater in 
 the days of Alexander the Great, who had 
 
 t 
 
FORGET ME Not. ->7 
 
 entered the cavern, but whether lie had pene- 
 trated into its depths we could not ascertain. 
 
 Thus my dear Emma, have I endeavoured 
 to give you some little account of the Grotto 
 of Antiparos, of which I have yet many par- 
 ticulars to relate, but must defer them till we 
 meet again ; when I shall have great pleasure 
 in presenting you with some very fine speci- 
 mens of crystal and spar, which curiosities I 
 have preserved for you as an addition to your 
 present collection. Should I meet with any 
 thing worthy of attention, I shall make a me- 
 morandum of it for your amusement. 
 
 In the mean time I beg you to accept the 
 sincere regards of your absent, but very affec- 
 tionate. 
 
 Brother and Friend, 
 
 RICHARD HERBERT. 
 
 Zante, May 3, 1826 
 
 POf 
 
58 THE JUVENILE 
 
 HYMN TO THE CREATOR, 
 
 Oh God ! thy wondrous works I view 
 
 Whene'er I look around, 
 Not more in heaven's celestial blue 
 
 Than on the lowly ground ; 
 Where e'en the meanest herb and flower 
 Bear marks of an Almighty power. 
 
 That power is seen when tempests rise, 
 And wild winds vex the deep, 
 
 Nor less when in unclouded skies 
 The stars their vigil keep, 
 
 And in uncounted myriads roll 
 
 In their bright course from pole to pole. 
 
 The living things of earth and air 
 
 To Thee their being owe ; 
 And in their wondrous forms declare 
 
 Thy glorious works below. 
 Oh ! who could gaze on them, and see 
 No trace, Almighty God, of thee ? 
 
FOROET ME ftOT. 59 
 
 Stars, sun, and moon, and day and night, 
 
 Thy power alike proclaim ; 
 And midnight gloom and noonday bright 
 
 To Thee are both the same : 
 Thou art in all, and shall not we 
 In them adore thy majesty 1 
 
 But these shall in the wreck of time 
 
 Wax old as doth a robe ; 
 And thy Almighty power sublime 
 
 Shall change this earthly globe : 
 Yea, these shall fail, but Thou shalt be 
 The same to all eternity ! 
 
60 
 
 THE JTJVENILE 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT 
 
 TERMES FATALE BELLICASUS, 
 
 OR WHITE ANT, NATIVE OF AFRICA. 
 
 The White Ant is an insect of so curious 
 and interesting a description, and so little 
 known, that I am induced to offer a few par- 
 ticulars respecting its wonderful labours and 
 sagacious habits to the attention of my young 
 readers. 
 
 The works of the white ant as much exceed 
 those of the common ants, of bees, of wasps, 
 and beavers, as the buildings of the Europeans 
 excel those of the Africans and other Uncivi- 
 lized people. 
 
 The structures which the white ants erect 
 rise to ten and twelve feet in height above the 
 surface of the earth. These buildings are di- 
 vided into separate compartments ; the most 
 striking of which are the royal apartments, the 
 nurseries, magazines for provision, the arched 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 61 
 
 chambers and galleries, with their various com- 
 munications, the ranges of gothic- shaped arches, 
 some of which are two and three feet high, and 
 the numerous roads and avenues, sloping stair- 
 cases, and bridges ; which latter are constructed 
 in such a manner as to shorten the distance 
 between the several parts of the building. In 
 some parts of Senegal the number, magnitude, 
 and closeness of these buildings make them ap- 
 pear in the distance like the villages of the 
 natives ; and yet the labourers employed in this 
 service are not more than a quarter of an inch 
 in length. There are three distinct ranks or 
 orders among them, constituting a well regu- 
 lated economy. They are as follow : first, the 
 labourers, or working insects ; next, the soldiers, 
 or fighting order, who do no kind of labour 
 themselves, but superintend the work of the la- 
 bourers, and are larger than the former, being 
 equal in bulk to about fifty of them ; lastly, the 
 winged or perfect insect, which may be termed 
 the nobility of the state, for they neither fight, 
 give orders, nor work, being incapable of de- 
 fending themselves : they are capable, however, 
 of being elected kings and queens ; and nature 
 has so ordered it, that they emigrate shortly af- 
 ter they have been elevated to this state, and 
 either found new kingdoms, or perish in the 
 course of a few days by becoming the prey of 
 innumerable birds, fishes, and reptiles. The 
 first order, or labourers, are by far the most nu- 
 merous, being in the proportion of a hundred 
 to one of the soldiers. 
 
Kra THE JUVENILE 
 
 As soon as the labourers have elected a king 
 and queen, they protect them from their ene- 
 mies by enclosing them in a chamber of clay, 
 where the queen soon begins to lay her eggs, 
 sometimes to the surprising number of eighty 
 thousand in the course of four and twenty hours. 
 These eggs are instantly removed by her at- 
 tendants, of whom there is always a sufficient 
 number waiting in the royal chamber and ad- 
 jacent galleries, and carried to the nurseries, 
 which are sometimes five feet distant. Here, 
 after they are hatched, the young insects are 
 attended upon with the greatest care, and pro- 
 vided with all things necessary for their support 
 till such time as they are able to shift for them- 
 selves, and in their turns take part in the labour 
 of the community in general. 
 
 Many curious and striking particulars are 
 related by naturalists of the devastations com- 
 mitted by these singular insects, who occasion 
 great logs to the cultivators of the soil by rea- 
 son of the covered roads which they construct,, 
 diverging in all directions from the nest, and* 
 leading to every object of plunder within their 
 reach. Yet such is the economy of nature, 
 that the mischief they commit is sufficiently 
 counterbalanced by the good produced by them. 
 How many things there are that at first sight 
 appear to us as great evils, or useless in the 
 scale of creation, but which, on mature reflec- 
 tion, are found to be perfectly consistent with 
 the wisdom and goodness of that merciful Being 
 who planned the beautiful world we inhabit. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 63 
 
 These termites, indeed, arc frequently per- 
 nicious to mankind; but they are also very 
 serviceable, and even necessary, in destroying 
 dead trees and decayed substances, which, if 
 left on the surface of the ground in these hot 
 climates, would in a short time pollute the air. 
 
 Such is the alacrity of these insects in this 
 office that they will, in the space of a few 
 weeks, destroy and carry away the bodies of 
 large trees, without leaving a particle behind 
 them ; thus clearing the place for useful vege- 
 tation, which soon fills up every vacancy: 
 and in plaees where two or three years before, 
 a populous town has flourished (if the inhabi- 
 tants have abandoned it from any cause, as is 
 frequently the case,) there shall spring up a 
 thick wood, and all trace of habitation dis- 
 appear; the termes not leaving even the ves- 
 tige of a post or beam to encumber the face 
 of the earth. 
 
 Such is the strength of the buildings erected 
 by these puny insects, that when they are 
 raised to little more than half their height, 
 it is/ the praetice of the wild bulls to take 
 advantage of their elevation, and stand as 
 sentinels upon them, while the rest of the 
 herd are ruminating below. When at their 
 full height, which is from ten to twelve feet 
 above the surface, they are used by the na- 
 tives, and also by the Europeans, as places 
 to look out from over the tops of the long 
 
64 THE JUVENILE. 
 
 grass*, which here grows to the astonishing: 
 height of thirteen feet upon an average, so 
 as entirely to obstruct the view of distant 
 objects. 
 
 The conduct of these creatures, if an attack 
 is made on their buildings, is very remarkable. 
 At the first stroke given by a hoe or pickaxe, 
 a soldier immediately appears, and walks about 
 the breach, examining minutely the point from 
 which the attack was made. In a short time 
 he is followed by two or three more, who anxi- 
 ously examine the injury; these are quickly 
 joined by others ; and, in a short time, the whole 
 body rush out as fast as the breach will permit, 
 their numbers increasing as long as any one 
 continues to assault them ; during which time 
 they are in a state of the most violent bustle 
 and agitation ; some of them employed in 
 beating with their forceps upon the building, 
 making a noise that may be heard to the dis- 
 tance of two or three feet. 
 
 On ceasing to disturb them, the soldiers 
 retire, and are succeeded by the labourers ;#■ 
 who hasten in various directions toward the 
 breach, each bearing in his mouth a burden 
 
 * The Guinea grass, which is so well known and so 
 highly esteemed by the planters in the West Indies, 
 grows in Africa to the height uf thirteen feet ; which 
 height it attains in the course of five or six months ; 
 so rapidly does vegetation proceed in hot climates. The 
 growth of other plants beara the same proportion. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 65 
 
 of mortar properly tempered. Though there 
 are millions of them, so well regulated are 
 they that they never embarrass one another 
 in their labours; and in the course of a short 
 time a wall is raised by the diligence of these 
 wonderful insects, that completely tills up the 
 chasm that had been made. 
 
 One soldier attends every six hundred or 
 thousand labourers ; these appear to be di- 
 rectors and overseers of the work, for they 
 never touch the mortar themselves, either to 
 lift or carry it. One soldier in particular 
 places himself against the wall which is being 
 repaired, and frequently makes the noise al- 
 ready mentioned, which is answered by a 
 loud hiss from the labourers, who evidently 
 redouble their exertions. It is worthy of ob- 
 servation that these creatures are regulated 
 by such exact laws, that no emergency, how- 
 ever great, will ever induce the lighting order, 
 or soldiers, to work, or the labourers to take 
 the office of defenders or overseers. The 
 obstinacy of the soldiers is so great, that they 
 will fight to the last, disputing every inch of 
 ground so as often to drive away the negroes 
 who are without shoes, and make the white 
 people bleed plentifully through their stock- 
 ings. — Such are particulars which ingenious 
 travellers and naturalists have given us res- 
 pecting the habits and economy of the Termes 
 Bellicasus, or African White Ant. 
 
 G 
 
66 THE JUVENILE 
 
 THE 
 
 ORPHAN BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 Emily and Josiah Rivers were the orphan 
 children of a poor clergymen, who died when 
 Emily was fourteen, and Josiah eight years 
 of age. A few months before, these children 
 had lost their mother, and their father had 
 been forced to spend all his money, and even 
 sell his furniture to pay the expenses incurred 
 by her illness ; so that, at his death, his 
 young son and daughter were left in mean 
 lodgings in London, with neither money nor 
 friends, and entirely devoid of means for their 
 support. This was a sad situation for children 
 of their tender years ; but they were too much 
 absorbed in grief for the loss of their dear 
 papa, to think of their destitute circumstances 
 at first : and it was not till they returned from 
 his funeral, and entered their lonely apart- 
 ment, now so silent and desolate, that they 
 felt the full extent of their loss, and began to 
 wonder what would become of them. 
 
 "Oh, Emily! dear sister Emify !" said Jo- 
 siah, raising his streaming eyes to the pale face 
 of his sorrowing sister, " what shall we do 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 67 
 
 without dear papa ? who will feed and clothe 
 us, and take care of us, now he is gone t" 
 " Even He, my brother, who clothes the lilies 
 of the field, and feedeth the young ravens 
 when they call upon him," replied Emily, 
 struggling to overcome the grief which almost 
 choked her utterance, that she might console 
 her young brother. "Do not think, dear Jo- 
 siah, that God, who has been pleased to deprive 
 us of our earthly parent, will leave us desti- 
 tute. We are now his children; for has he 
 not said, ' Leave your fatherless children to 
 my care?' Let us then, my dear brother, put 
 our whole trust in him, and he will not for- 
 sake us in our time of need." Josiah tenderly 
 loved his sister, and was accustomed to look 
 up to her for counsel in all his little difficulties, 
 and for comfort in all his sorrows; and his 
 tears flowed with less violence as he listened 
 to her soothing Avords. After a silence of a 
 few minutes, Josiah raised his head from his 
 sister's shoulder; and taking her hand, and 
 looking T anxioiisly in her face, he said, " Emily, 
 I am very hungry, and so must you be, for 
 you have eaten nothing since last night. You 
 said that God would feed us, but how is that 
 to be j" 
 
 " By giving us ability and resolution to 
 seek our own living by the labour of our hands, 
 and by sending down his blessing upon our 
 endeavours for that purpose," replied Emily; 
 "and as that is not to be obtained by wasting 
 
bb THE JUVENILE 
 
 the precious time in fruitless tears and la- 
 mentations, let us see what can be done." 
 
 Emily then put on her bonnet, and taking 
 her little brother by the hand, went to the 
 shop of a stationer, of whom her father used to 
 purchase books and paper; and, having in- 
 formed him of their distressed circumstances, 
 asked him if he would employ her to make 
 pens and rule account books. 
 
 " Poor children, yours is a hard case, to be 
 left in such distress at your tender age ; I am 
 heartily sorry for your situation, and would 
 willingly render you any assistance that lies 
 in my power," said Mr. Brooks ; " but I fear," 
 said he to Emily, " if I were to give thee such 
 employment as thou desirest, thou wouldst 
 only spoil my books, and cut up my quills to no 
 purpose." 
 
 "You would not say so, sir, if you knew what 
 nice pens my sister Emily makes," said Josiah, 
 looking anxiously up in Mr. Brooks' face as he 
 spoke. " And what shouldst thou know of the 
 matter, my little man?" said Mr. Brooks good- 
 humouredly, patting Josiah's head. 
 
 44 Dear sir, who should know better than I, 
 when my sister Emily has mended all my pens, 
 and ruled my copies, ever since poor papa fell 
 ill? and papa himself said she made better pens 
 than he did ; and my papa never told stories." 
 
 " If you would allow me to cut a few quills 
 in your presence, sir, I think I could satisfy you 
 of my abilities in that way," said Emily mo- 
 destly. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 69 
 
 u Well, well, my dear child !" said Mr. 
 Brooks, putting some quills before her, " let 
 me see what thou canst do." 
 
 Emily made six pens, and begged Mr. Brooks 
 to try them ; he did so, and finding them very 
 good ones, and neatly cut, he gave her a hun- 
 dred quills, showing her at the same time the 
 method of binding them into bundles when 
 made ; and told her he would give her a shilling 
 for her work if well done, and he would endea- 
 vour to give her a constant employment either 
 in making pens or ruling copy books. 
 
 Emily rejoiced in having a prospect before 
 her of earning an honest livelihood, could hard- 
 ly* find words to express the gratitude she felt 
 for Mr. Brooks' kindness; and, with a glad 
 heart and light step, she returned to her lodg- 
 ings. When there, she told the mistress of the 
 house that she had obtained an employment by 
 which she thought she could earn sufficient 
 money to support herself and her brother, and 
 to pay for the rooms they then occupied ; and 
 asked her to let them remain in her house on 
 the same terms. Then the good woman agreed 
 to let them stay, and told Josiah she would give 
 him two shillings a week if he would go on er- 
 rands for her, and answer the door when any 
 one knocked, for she did not keep a servant. 
 Josiah gladly accepted her offer, and promised 
 to be careful and diligent in all she required of 
 him ; and he felt happy that he too had it in his 
 power to earn a trifle ; for as he was such a 
 G 2 
 
YO THE JUVENILE 
 
 little boy, he did not think he could hate done 
 any thing to contribute towards his maintenance. 
 
 Josiah was always so quick in going on er- 
 rands, and performing the little services that the 
 good mistress of the house required from him, 
 that he had plenty of time to strip the quills for 
 Emily, and read to her while she made the 
 pens. 
 
 When Emily had finished her job, she tied 
 the pens into four bundles according to Mr. 
 Brooks' directions, and carried them to the 
 shop ; and so well pleased was he with the 
 manner in which they were done, that he gave 
 her a thousand quills to cut into pens at the 
 same price, and requested her to bring home 
 five hundred as soon as they were finished, as 
 he supposed she might be in need of the money 
 before the rest were completed. 
 
 14 This is very considerate of you, sir," said 
 Emily ; " for as I have no more money than 
 the shilling you have just paid me, I should 
 have been in want of bread for myself and my 
 brother before I could have made a thousand 
 pens." " Poor child !" said Mr. Brooks, " thou 
 wilt have a thousand uses for that solitary shil- 
 ling before two days are gone. I am not a rich 
 man, for I have a numerous family of my own ; 
 but I can spare a trifle for the relief of the vir- 
 tuous and industrious when in distress like thine. 
 Take this, my child ; I wish it were double for 
 thy sake." Saying this, he put into Emily's 
 hand a crown piece. Emily could only thajik 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 71 
 
 him by her tears, for the heart of the orphan 
 girl was too full to find words by which to ex- 
 press the gratitude she felt ; but her kind friend 
 knew all she would have said, and bade her has- 
 ten home to her brother, who might be wanting 
 her, as it was getting late. 
 
 Emily did not forget to remind Josiah that 
 God had not suffered them to want bread, nor 
 forsaken them in their distress; and before they 
 went to bed, she made him read to her the 
 sixth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and then 
 join with her in returning thanks to their Hea-r 
 venly Father for his past mercies vouchsafed 
 towards them, and to implore a continuance of 
 his favour for the time to come. 
 
 The next day they rose as soon as it was 
 light, knelt down side by side, and, with uplifted 
 hands and earnest minds, begged a blessing on 
 their employments, and thanked that Power 
 which had watched over their slumbers, and 
 permitted them to behold the light of another 
 day. After this duty was performed, they each 
 read a chapter in the Bible ; and Emily repeat- 
 ed to her brother this beautiful verse from Pope's 
 Universal Prayer: — 
 
 This day be bread and peace my lot, 
 
 All else beneath the sun 
 Thouknow'st if best bestow'd or not, 
 
 So let thy will be done. 
 
 They then partook of their frugal breakfast, 
 and proceeded to perform the business of the 
 
>2 
 
 THE JUVENILE 
 
 day. While Emily made the bed, and set the 
 room in order, Josiah stripped a number of 
 quills against she was at leisure to begin making 
 the pens ; and then went down to the mistress 
 of the house to receive her orders. Sometimes 
 she set him to clean out her bird-cages, and sup- 
 ply the birds with seeds and water, for she sold 
 birds and little animals, such as dormice, and 
 squirrels, and guineapigs; and she had a great 
 many cages full of canaries, and goldfinches, 
 and linnets, and turtle cloves ; and it was a plea- 
 ing task for the young Josiah to feed these pretr 
 ty creatures, and attend on them : besides he 
 loved to watch their different movements, and 
 listen to their sweet notes. When he had at- 
 tended on his little family, as he called them, 
 he went on all tiie errands the good woman 
 wished, and never stopped to look into the shops, 
 or to play with the idle boys, who often tried to 
 entice him from his business; but Josiah knew 
 his employer would be displeased with such con- 
 duct : and he also knew it would give great pain 
 to his sister Emily if he got into bad habits, 
 and kept bad and improper company ; so he did 
 all his biddings with due diligence, and by this 
 means he was commended by his employer, and 
 had time to learn his tasks and to assist Emily 
 in preparing her quills. Some children would 
 have thought it a trouble and hardship to learn 
 lessons and write copies, after 'having worked 
 hard all day; but Josiah, though but a little 
 jboy, was well aware of the value and importance 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 73 
 
 of a good education : and he was very thankful 
 to his kind sister, who took so much pains to 
 teach him ; and he was always glad when even- 
 ing was come, because he had nothing more to 
 do, but could sit down quietly at Emily's little 
 table, and read aloud to her in some well chosen 
 book of history, or travels, or biography, or 
 moral poetry ; for they still were the possessors 
 of their father's little library : and Emily would 
 rather have lived on bread and water than have 
 parted with any of the books which she had 
 read with that beloved parent, and from which 
 he had given her such sweet lessons of religion 
 and virtue. And now that beloved instructor 
 was gone, these volumes seemed more than ever 
 precious in her sight : they were endeared to her 
 by a thousand tender recollections ; and when 
 perusing their pages, she seemed once more to 
 be holding converse with that dear parent, though 
 he was low in the dust. There were passages 
 too in some of the books remarkable for some 
 moral sentiment, which he had marked with his 
 pencil for her observation ; and when she met 
 with these, her eyes would fill with tears, and 
 she would sigh at the recollection of past hours 
 spent in the society of the friend and instructor 
 of her youth ; but she was too sincere a Chris- 
 tian to repine at the will of God, or to indulge 
 long in feelings of vain regret, which would 
 serve only to weaken her exertions, and render 
 her less active in the path of duty which it was 
 necessary for her to pursue. Though earnest 
 
/4 THE JUVENILE 
 
 in the performance of her daily labour, Emily 
 neither neglected her religious duties nor the 
 improvement of her brother's morals ; and she 
 strove, with the care of a mother, to impress on 
 his young mind a hatred of vice, and a love of 
 virtue and probity. 
 
 She was aware this child was at an age when 
 the mind is so apt to be biased by the influence 
 of bad companions to do that which is wrong, 
 and from>$ll such it was her constant care to 
 warn him. Emily remembered that this little 
 boy had lost his parents at an earlier period of 
 life than herself; and she endeavoured to supply 
 to him, as far as laid in her power, their place. 
 Hers was a labour of love, and the young Josiah 
 fully repaid her by his dutiful conduct and strict 
 attention to all 'her commands; nor would he 
 have done any thing contrary to her wishes, or 
 have given her willingly a moment's uneasiness 
 on any account whatever. 
 
 In the course of a little time Emily became 
 so expert in the use of her penknife, that with 
 the assistance of Josiah in stripping the quills, 
 she could complete a thousand pens in the 
 week. Every Saturday she carried home her 
 work, and received the payment for it of Mr. 
 Brooks ; who sometimes gave her account books 
 or copy books to rule, if he had no quills for 
 her to cut ; for which he paid her as liberally 
 as he could afford to do, and often sent a little 
 present of fruit or cakes, or any delicacy which 
 he thought might be agreeable to her and her 
 little brother* 
 
FORGET A1B NOT. 75 
 
 Oiie week with another Emily and Josiah 
 earned from ten. to twelve shillings : with part 
 of this Emily purchased provisions ; paid the 
 woman of the house for her lodgings ; a pro- 
 portion she laid by every week for the purchase 
 of clothes and shoes, and any little expenses 
 that might occur; and a trifle she laid aside 
 for the relief of any distressed object who might 
 be in greater need than themselves. " There 
 are many poor orphans in this grei.tu.city, my 
 dear brother," would Emily say (when making 
 the little weekly deposit in the box set apart for 
 that purpose,) " who are far worse off than we 
 are, or than we have ever been ; and who have 
 not, like us, received the advice and instruction 
 of a kind and good parent, nor the education 
 to enable them to procure for themselves an 
 honest living : shall not we consider their ne- 
 cessities, and lay aside a trifle from our little 
 store for their succour? God, who accepted the 
 widow's mite, will not despise our offering, small 
 though it be ; and, be assured, we shall never 
 miss it, but it will ensure a blessing on what 
 remains." 
 
 Every Sunday, after the performance of their 
 private devotions, Emily and Josiah proceeded 
 hand in hand towards the parish church; where, 
 meekly seated on one of the low benches allot- 
 ted for the accommodation of the poor, with 
 pure hearts and humble voices did they join in 
 the public worship oi" that gracious God who 
 had watched over their unprotected, rluldhocd, 
 
70 THE JUVENILE 
 
 and offer up their prayers of praises and thanks- 
 giving to Him who is the Author and Giver of 
 all good. 
 
 Their deep mourning, unaffected piety, and 
 most sweet countenances, at length attracted the 
 notice of the clergyman ; and he inquired of 
 several persons who these children were, but no 
 one knew the friendless orphans. Still he ob- 
 served them constant in their attendance both at 
 morning and evening service every Sunday; 
 and, finding none of the congregation took any 
 notice of them, he resolved to speak to them 
 himself, so much was he pleased by their mo- 
 dest and devout behaviour. 
 
 One morning he overtook them in the church- 
 yard, and said, "My young friends, I have been 
 much gratified by observing your pious conduct 
 at my church for some months past, but should 
 like to know the reason why neither of your 
 parents ever accompany you there'?" \ 
 
 "We have none, sir," replied Emily, burst- 
 ing into tears. " Indeed ! that is a sad mis- 
 fortune at your tender age ; but you have some 
 kind uncle, or aunt, or friend with whom you 
 live !" said Mr. Bernard, for that was the clergy- 
 man's name. 
 
 " Alas, sir ! we have neither friend nor re- 
 lation in the world," replied Emily with in- 
 creasing emotion. " And who then takes care 
 of you, my children'?" asked Mr. Bernard, 
 regarding the orphans with a look of deep sym- 
 pathy. 
 

 @££3F12&£3 WBBWmM SS SS33EB5& « 
 
FORGET ME NOT, 77 
 
 " God takes care of us, my good sir," said 
 Emily ; " and he has never yet forsaken us, 
 nor suffered us to want bread." 
 
 " He is indeed a Father of the fatherless," 
 observed Mr. Bernard, " and the friend of all 
 such as put their trust in him." 
 
 He then asked Emily where they lived, as 
 he intended to take an early opportunity of call- 
 ing on them, that he might have a little further 
 conversation. Emily took one of the good wo- 
 man's cards from her pocket book, and wrote 
 on it with her pencil, Emily and Josiah Rivers, 
 and presented it to him with a low courtesy. 
 " Josiah Rivers !" exclaimed Mr. Bernard with 
 surprise, " I once knew a clergyman of that 
 name ; we were fellow students in the same 
 college at Oxford." " My papa was a clergy- 
 man, his name was Josiah ; perhaps it was him 
 that you knew," said Josiah. " I should scarce- 
 ly think it could be the same ; for the Josiah 
 Rivers I knew went to live in Wales, where I 
 understand he has resided many years," ob- 
 served Mr. Bernard. 
 
 " And so our dear papa did once," replied 
 Emily, " but when poor mamma fell ill, and 
 the medical gentlemen in the country could do 
 her no good, he brought her to London for better 
 advice, but mamma grew worse and worse, and 
 papa soon spent all the money he had in paying 
 doctors' bills, and getting such things as were 
 recommended by the physician to do her good; 
 ^nd when our dear mamma died, he was forced 
 H 
 
78 THE JUVENILE 
 
 to write to a friend in the country to sell his fur- 
 niture, that he might be able to pay the expenses 
 of her funeral, and buy mourning for himself 
 and us. Poor papa never was well after he lost 
 mamma ; he Avas full of grief for her loss, and 
 often was much perplexed at the thoughts of 
 what would become of us : at last he grew so 
 ill that he could not leave his bed ; and though 
 we nursed him as well as we could, and never 
 left him, he continued to grow weaker and weak- 
 er every day. He never complained much, for 
 he was so good and patient ; but when he look- 
 ed at me and my little brother, the tears used to 
 course one another down his pale cheek, and he 
 would hold our hands in his, and pray that God 
 would take care of us when he was gone, till 
 Josiah and I could not help crying too ; and he 
 would tell me to be a mother to my little brother, 
 and bid Josiah mind all I said to him. Ah, 
 sir!" continued Emily, weeping at the remem- 
 brance of her past sorrows, " I thought, when 
 my father died, my heart must have broken; 
 but I recollected his dying words, ' not to sor- 
 row for him as those that, have no hope;' and 
 that he died but to rise again at the last day. 
 And I knew that it was my duty to submit to 
 the will of God, and that, by giving way to 
 grief, I should unfit myself for performing these 
 things that were necessary to be done. The 
 good woman of the house was very kind to us 
 in our affliction, and managed those matters 
 which I was too young and too much absorbed 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 79 
 
 in my own sad reflections to think of at the 
 time; and this was a great comfort to us. 
 
 " Well, sir, I found, after all the funeral costs 
 were paid, that we had no money left, and if we 
 had not had black clothes bought for us when 
 dear mamma died, we should not even have 
 been able to go in mourning for papa, so com- 
 pletely destitute were we at that time." 
 
 " Poor children, and what did you do then, 
 without friends and without money, so young 
 as you are?" said Mr. Bernard, with a look of 
 great compassion. 
 
 " We put our trust in Him who is the orphan's 
 friend and the father of the fatherless," replied 
 Emily meekly, " and he did not forsake us." 
 
 Mr. Bernard commended these good children, 
 and told them it would not be long before they 
 saw him again ; and went his way. 
 
 A few days after this conversation had taken 
 place, Mr. Bernard called upon the orphans ; and 
 the woman of the house, as she showed him up 
 stairs, told him what good and virtuous young 
 people her lodgers were, and that they always 
 spared a trifle from their hard-earned store to 
 relieve the wants of those who were in distress, 
 for which she said she was certain the blessing 
 of God would rest upon them. 
 
 When Mr. Bernard entered the little sitting 
 room (which was on the second floor,) he found 
 Emily busily employed making the pens, while 
 Josiah sat on a low stool near her, reading Rol- 
 lin's Ancient History. At his entrance they 
 
80 THE JUVENILE 
 
 both rose ; and Josiah, closing the book, placed 
 a chair for him near the fire (for it was winter 
 time and very cold weather.) 
 
 " My dear young friends," said Mr. Ber- 
 nard, kindly taking a hand of each as he spoke, 
 " I trust my errand is a pleasing one, and will 
 render me a welcome visitor here." 
 
 " That, sir, you will always be," said Emily, 
 *' for the interest you so kindly take in our wel- 
 fare." 
 
 u I have not indeed, my dears, been neglect- 
 ful of your interest," replied Mr. Bernard. " I 
 have obtained for Josiah admittance into the 
 school established for the education and main- 
 tenance of the orphan sons of the clergy; by 
 which means he will be genteelly clothed, and 
 given a liberal education, such as will one day 
 fit him for entering into holy orders. And as for 
 you, Emily, my mother, who is nearly blind, will 
 be happy to receive you as a companion to read 
 to her and attend her in her walks, and perform 
 for her any little services which she may require 
 of you. If you are willing to undertake this 
 office, you will be regarded as one of the fami- 
 ly, sit at my own table, and receive an annual 
 stipend for your entire use and benefit ; and I 
 myself will give you every advantage which 
 books and instruction can afford." 
 
 The eyes of the grateful orphans overflowed 
 with tears of joy at this happy and unexpected 
 change in their prospects. " Oh, sir," said 
 Emily, when she could find words to speak, 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 81 
 
 " how shall we ever repay you for all you have 
 done for us?" " By continuing to pursue the 
 same path of virtue you have hitherto observed," 
 replied Mr. Bernard. " Believe me, my good 
 children, that it is sufficient recompense for me 
 to see you made happy through my means ; and 
 be assured that while you continue to put your 
 trust in God, he will never forget you, and not 
 only reward you in this world, but also in the 
 world to come with life everlasting." 
 
 May this story afford another proof to my 
 young readers, that those who remember their 
 Creator in the days of their youth will not be 
 forgotten by him in the time of trouble. 
 
 H 2 
 
82 
 
 THE JUVENILK 
 
 ON CHARITY 
 
 Oh ! let me never vainly see 
 An object meet for charity, 
 When I have power to lend relief 
 To sickness, poverty, and grief: — 
 For read we not, each penny spent 
 In aiding want to God is lent ; 
 And all that to the poor is given 
 Is seen and register'd in heaven? 
 Then let me hasten, while I may, 
 To lay up treasures for the day 
 When time shall be no more, 
 And I must leave my earthly store ; 
 Of which the sum will matter not 
 If I, according to my lot, 
 Gave to the indigent and poor, 
 Nor sent the cripple from my door ; 
 And if to give my means are small, 
 Have I not power, and have not all, 
 By acts of kindness, to impart 
 Much comfort to the sufferer's heart % 
 May I not sooth the widow's wo 1 
 And when the tears of orphans flow, 
 If wealth I have not, may not I 
 Accord my tender sympathy? 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 Can I not on the poor attend, 
 And helpless infancy befriend ; 
 And kindness and compassion show 
 To strangers, kindred, friend, or foe, 
 To young and aged, high and low ? 
 These are the works of Christian love, 
 Which God has promised to approve; 
 The charity which he has shown 
 Shall for a many sins atone. 
 
84 THE JUVENILE 
 
 ACCOUNT OF PAPER. ITS ORIGIN 
 
 AND USES. 
 
 To those among my young readers who may 
 be unacquainted with the origin of this valuable 
 article, a little information respecting it may 
 prove acceptable ; and certainly the subject de- 
 serves our attention, when we consider it as 
 partly the means by which all the knowledge 
 and amusement we derive from reading is ob- 
 tained, to say nothing of the common uses to 
 which this manufacture is daily applied. 
 
 Before the invention of paper, the first 
 materials employed by mankind (after the art 
 of writing had been discovered) for conveying 
 ideas, and handing down records and laws to 
 posterity, were stones, bricks, thin planks of 
 wood, plates of lead, tablets of ivory, wax 
 spread thin over boxes of wood, and written 
 on with a pointed instrument ; the leaves and 
 inner bark of trees, pieces of silk, and rolls of 
 cloth ; and the skins of goats and sheep (from 
 which parchment was made.) Such were the 
 substitutes for paper made use of in former 
 times : of these, stone appears to have been 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 85 
 
 the most ancient. The ten commandments, 
 we are informed, were written on two tables 
 of stone. Josephus, the Jewish historian, 
 speaks of two pillars, the one of stone, the 
 other of brick, on which were engraved certain 
 astronomical discoveries, supposed to have been 
 made at a veiy early period. 
 
 The Greek poet Hesiod's works were written 
 on thin plates of lead ; the laws of Solon, on 
 planks of wood. But this mode of writing 
 was of course very laborious and inconvenient ; 
 and, as mankind became more enlightened, 
 they found means at length of rendering the 
 art of writing easier, and of more general 
 benefit, by the invention of paper; which, 
 though it has undergone many improvements, 
 has continued in general esteem ever since, 
 and has spread itself through every part of 
 the known world. 
 
 The word paper is derived from the Greek 
 word papyrus, the name of an Egyptian reed, 
 which grows in great abundance on the banks 
 of the river Nile, from which the first manu- 
 facture called paper was made. 
 
 The Egyptians are generally supposed to 
 have been the first people who made paper 
 from the papyrus, but at what period is un- 
 certain. The Greeks and Romans were early 
 acquainted with its use ; and it formed a great 
 article of commerce between the Egyptians 
 and those nations. There are many speci- 
 mens of Egyptian writing on paper made of 
 the papyrus to be seen in the British Museum. 
 
DO THE JUVENILE 
 
 The Chinese also claim the merit of this 
 invention, and they have carried the art to a 
 great degree of perfection. It is supposed to 
 have been discovered by them about one hun- 
 dred and sixty years previous to the Christian 
 era. Before they arrived at the knowledge 
 of this useful art, they wrote on tablets of 
 bamboo with bodkins of iron; also on satin 
 with a pencil. 
 
 The Chinese paper is much smoother, thin- 
 ner, and softer than that manufactured in 
 Europe, and is particularly well adapted for 
 drawing with the pencil and for receiving 
 the impression of copper-plates, as it gives a 
 peculiar softness to the engraving. There are 
 many different kinds of paper made in China, 
 each province differing from the other in the 
 materials of which their paper is composed. 
 By some it is made from the inner part of 
 the young bamboo; others manufacture it* 
 from the case of the silkworm, after the silk 
 has been reeled off; the northern provinces 
 use the bark of the paper mulberry tree ; and 
 in the province of Sechwen they make it from 
 linen rags, as in our own country. 
 
 The Japanese paper, which resembles the 
 Chinese, only it possesses more durable quali- 
 ties, is made from the paper tree, a native of 
 that country, and is varnished over with a 
 liquor boiled from rice, and an infusion of the 
 oreni root which renders it very strong and 
 pliable and not easily to be torn. 
 
 The Bramins wrote on leaves of the Malabar 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 87 
 
 palm; the natives of Ceylon on those of the 
 talipot tree, and with pens made of reed; the 
 Siamese on a sort of paper made from the 
 bark of a tree called in their language pliokkoi, 
 and instead of a pen used a bodkin of fullers' 
 earth, which we may suppose is something 
 similar to a crayon. 
 
 Those sorts of paper most worthy of notice, 
 and which have been held in the greatest 
 esteem, are the Egyptian paper, the Chinese, 
 that made from cotton, Japanese paper, and 
 lastly European paper, or paper made from 
 linen rags. 
 
 Who was the original inventor of this spe- 
 cies of paper is unknown. Several countries 
 in Europe claim the merit of the discoveiy ; 
 but to which it is due cannot correctly be ascer- 
 tained. It appears to have been first made 
 use of in Valentia in Spain, about the twelfth 
 century. In the year 1260 it made its appear- 
 ance in France, and in 1312 it was found in 
 Germany, and shortly afterwards in England ; 
 but did not come into general use for some 
 years, and was not brought to any degree of 
 perfection till the latter end of the sixteenth 
 century. The first paper mill we have any 
 account of was erected in the year 1588. 
 Formerly all the fine sorts of paper used in 
 printing and for writing was imported from 
 France, Holland, and Flanders; but of late 
 years our own manufacturers have brought the 
 article to a great state of perfection, little in- 
 
88 THE JUVENILE 
 
 ferior in colour and texture to that made by the 
 Flemish and Dutch. 
 
 There are many other kinds of paper manu- 
 factured in this country besides those used for 
 writing and printing; as fine drawing paper, 
 card, pasteboard, coloured and stamped fancy 
 papers for ornamenting boxes and other trifles 
 of the kind ; paper hangings for rooms ; blot- 
 ting paper, catridge paper, and the various 
 sorts of coarse papers used in packing ; which 
 last are made from the refuse of the paper 
 mill, of soiled, coarse, and coloured rags, 
 hemp, and such materials as are rejected as 
 unfit for the manufacture of the finer sorts of 
 paper. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE WASTE OF TIME. 
 
 It was the remark of a very wise man, that 
 if a person lost an hour in the morning, he 
 might run after it the whole day, Avithout 
 being able to recover it. 
 
 Time is so precious, and passes so rapidly 
 away, that it is wonderful that any one can 
 willingly waste so large a portion of it in sloth 
 and an immoderate indulgence in sleep. Prob- 
 ably few of my young readers have ever cal- 
 culated the actual number of years to which 
 the hours they consume in sleep will amount 
 if added together. Eight hours out of the 
 twenty-four are generally devoted to sleep, 
 which is a third part of our time. If then a 
 person lives to be sixty years old, he will have 
 slumbered away exactly twenty years of his life. 
 
 Twenty years ! — Consider what a large por- 
 tion of your existence is thus spent doing no- 
 thing, and how many there are who, not con- 
 tented with eight hours' sleep will pass even 
 nine and ten hours in bed, when six are quite 
 sufficient for the necessnrv repose of the body, 
 I 
 
90 THE JUVENILE 
 
 " Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her 
 ways and be wise," says Solomon, in reproof of 
 those who are for ever saying, " Yet a little 
 more sleep, a little more slumber, a little more 
 folding of the hands to sleep." 
 
 Let me remind such of you, my young friends, 
 as are in the habit of indulging many hours in 
 sleep, that one hour so passed is lost to you for 
 ever ; it can never be regained. The period of 
 your lives is shortened by that hour ; for every 
 setting sun brings you one day nearer to that 
 awful period when you will be called upon to 
 render up an account of the manner in which 
 you have employed the time which was allotted 
 to you in this life. How, let me ask you, will 
 you answer for all those hours and minutes thus 
 wasted? To what a fearful sum will they 
 amount when reckoned up together 1 
 
 Consider this, ye slothful and improvident 
 wasters of those precious hours which can re- 
 turn to you no more ; and so apply your hearts 
 unto wisdom, and to the practice of virtue, that 
 when the angel of God shall lift up his hand to 
 heaven, and swear by Him that liveth for ever 
 and ever, " that there shall be time no longer," 
 you may be able to render up such an account 
 of the time and talents committed to your charge, 
 that your Almighty Judge may address you in 
 these joyful words ; " Well done, thou good and 
 faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy 
 Lord." 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 91 
 
 PARAPHRASE 
 
 OP 
 
 PART OF THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH PSALM. 
 
 O God! the silent waters saw 
 
 Thy glory, and confess'd thy might ; 
 
 The ocean's depths, with trembling awe, 
 Were troubled at thy sight. 
 
 Unusual showers the clouds pour'd forth, 
 And murmuring sounds were in the sky ; 
 
 While fearfully from south to north 
 Did thy dread arrows fly. 
 
 The thunder's voice was heard through heaven, 
 And tempests gather'd at thy look ; 
 
 The lightnings flash'd, the clouds were riven, 
 And earth to its foundation shook: 
 
 Yea, all in that tremendous hour 
 
 Confess'd thy might and own'd thy power I 
 
92 THE JUVENILE 
 
 LESSON ON CONTENTMENT. 
 
 "I wish I were a prince," said Augustus 
 Crranby in a discontented tone, after returning 
 from a walk in Hyde Park with his sister Caro- 
 line. " And I am sure, Augustus, 1 have quite 
 as much reason to wish 1 were a princess," 
 replied Caroline. 
 
 " What has made my little boy and girl so 
 ambitious on a sudden'?" observed their father, 
 closing the book he held in his hand, and draw- 
 ing them to him as he spoke. "Oh, papa! we 
 iiave just seen the young Prince of Cumber- 
 land walking in the Park," said both the chil- 
 dren in a breath. " Well, my dears, and what 
 did you see in him more than in any other child 
 of his age V 
 
 " Why, papa, he did not look different from 
 other young gentlemen, but he was dressed 
 very handsomely, and had several grand lords 
 and gentlemen with him, who paid him so much 
 attention, and listened with such respect to 
 whatever he said ; while if Caroline or I had 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 93 
 
 talked only half as much, we should have been 
 reproved, even if we had said ever such wise 
 things." 
 
 " Whatever wise things you can say, Augus- 
 tus, be assured you are not saying them now," 
 observed Mr. Granby ; " for to be discontented 
 with that state of life in which it has pleased 
 God to place you, and to be envious of the rank 
 of another, is no proof of wisdom, but, on the 
 contrary, of great weakness and folly. And 
 now let me ask you what other privileges did 
 this young prince appear to enjoy besides being 
 well dressed, and listened to with respect when he 
 spoke % this alone was hardly sufficient to ex- 
 cite feelings of regret and discontent in your 
 breast, my child !" 
 
 " Dear papa!" said Augustus, "it was not 
 for that alone I wished to be a prince ; but 
 wherever he went, he was followed by such 
 Crowds of people, all so anxious to look at him, 
 that he could scarcely get to the carriage for the 
 throng that surrounded him." 
 
 " That, I think, must have been very disa- 
 greeable to the prince and his friends," said Mr. 
 Granby. " And so you really wished to be sub- 
 jected to the same inconvenience, Augustus V 
 
 "I confess to you, papa, it would give me 
 great pleasure to be the object of such general 
 interest, and to be distinguished with such atten- 
 tion whenever I walked abroad." 
 
 " If that will be any " gratification to "you, I 
 think Augustus, I can put you in the way of 
 I* 
 
D4 THE JUVENILE 
 
 exciting a great degree of public attention the 
 next time you walk abroad," observed Mr. 
 Granby. 
 
 " Well, papa, and how is that to be done V ? 
 asked Augustus. 
 
 " Merely by reversing the general order of 
 things, and walking on your hands, with your 
 feet where your head should be," replied his 
 father coolly. 
 
 Augustus coloured with vexation. " This, 
 sir, would be to make myself ridiculous ; be- 
 sides, the thing is impossible." " There you 
 are mistaken, my dear; I have seen it done 
 many times : besides, a little practice would 
 soon make you perfect in this accomplishment; 
 and who would not take some trouble to attain 
 any favourite object they had in view 1 Let me 
 assure you that such an exhibition would soon 
 draw as great a crowd of people round you as 
 ever followed the young Prince of Cumberland, 
 of whose attractions you appear so envious." 
 Augustus, greatly mortified, hung down his 
 head, and looked exceedingly foolish ; while his 
 father, in a graver tone, continued: "Had you 
 desired to possess the good qualities and amia- 
 ble disposition for which this prince is said to 
 be distinguished, and which render him deserv- 
 edly an object of popular interest, I should not 
 have been surprised; or had you desired his 
 rank because it confers upon him the power 
 and means of doing good to his fellow crea- 
 tures, I should have commended rather than 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 95 
 
 have reproved your ambition : but your motives 
 were of an unworthy nature, and only calcu- 
 lated to render you unhappy. And now, Caro- 
 line, I should like to know your reasons for 
 wishing to be a princess." 
 
 " Dear papa," said Caroline, blushing and 
 looking down, " I never wished to be a prin- 
 cess before, and I am half ashamed to tell you 
 why I wished to be one just now. I fear I have 
 acted like a very foolish girl." 
 
 "How so, my dear]" said her father. " If 
 I thought you would not be angry with me, I 
 would tell you," replied Caroline. Mr. Granby 
 promised he would not be very angry, and Ca- 
 roline continued : " Well then, papa, you must 
 know that as Augustus and I were returning 
 from our walk in the Park, we met aunt Lucy, 
 who took me with her into a fine shop in Regent 
 Street, as she intended to make me a present of 
 a red morocco workbox ; but in the shop I saw 
 such beautiful toys that one of the royal dukes 
 had just purchased for the Princess Victoria, 
 which were going to be packed up and sent 
 home for her, that I would not have the work- 
 box aunt Lucy was going to purchase for me, I 
 thought it looked so plain and ugly by the side 
 of that which was bought for the princess, 
 which was of ivory inlaid with gold, and with a 
 beautiful medallion of flowers painted on the 
 top of it; so I told aunt Lucy, as I could not 
 have a box like the princess's, I would not have 
 one at all." 
 
yb THE JUVENILE 
 
 -" And so, my child, you refused your aunt's 
 pretty present because you could not have what 
 was designed for a princess," said Mr. Granby ; 
 " perhaps you were not aware that you were 
 guilty of the crime of breaking one of God's 
 commandments, in coveting the property of 
 another person. Reflect for a few minutes on 
 the folly of your conduct. 
 
 " Indeed, papa," said Caroline, " I am per- 
 fectly convinced that I have acted both wick- 
 edly and unwisely ; for if I had not cast a 
 covetous eye on the princess's toys, I should 
 have now been in the possession of a pretty 
 workbox, which I have so often wished for; 
 nor can I expect my good aunt will ever offer 
 to make me another present after my ungrate- 
 ful rejection of the one she would have given 
 me." " You have been rightly punished for 
 your folly, in losing the good which you 
 might have had, without obtaining that which 
 you so unreasonably desired," observed Mr. 
 Granby. 
 
 " Dear papa," said Caroline, " I will ask 
 my aunt's pardon the next time I see her; 
 and I am very sorry for having been so covet- 
 ous : but still, papa, I cannot help thinking it 
 must be very pleasant to be a prince or princess, 
 and have so many beautiful toys and fine things 
 to play with." 
 
 "To be contented would be a much better 
 thing; but that is a lesson I will endeavour 
 to teach you. Come with me, my children." 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 97 
 
 Mr. Granby then put on his hat ; and, taking 
 a hand of each, proceeded into the street. 
 A great deal of rain had fallen since their 
 return from the Park, and the streets were 
 very dirty ; they had not walked very far when 
 Mr. Granby pointed out to his children's atten- 
 tion a pale sickly looking little girl who was 
 sweeping the crossing of the street. She had 
 neither bonnet nor shoes on, and her frock was 
 patched and very ragged. As they prepared to 
 cross the street where she had been sweeping 
 away the mud and dirt, she extended her mea- 
 gre hand towards them ; and, in a tone of en- 
 treaty, besought them to give her something to 
 buy bread with, as she had a sick mother, and 
 two brothers younger than herself at home, who 
 had not tasted food all day. 
 
 " Poor child!" said Mr. Granby, with a look 
 of great commiseration, " you seem indeed to 
 know intimately the miseries of want and fa- 
 mine; show me where you live." " I live in a 
 garret in Harley Street Mews, sir, not far from 
 here ; but it is a wretched place, not fit for you 
 and this young gentleman and lady to enter," 
 replied the child. 
 
 " It is my wish that my son and daughter 
 should behold the lot of the poor," answered 
 Mr. Granby ; " and if you have no objection, 
 we will go to your home." Then the little 
 girl conducted them to a miserable looking 
 house, and led the way up a flight of narrow 
 dark stairs into a wretched g-arret, where, extend- 
 
158 fate JUVENILE 
 
 ed on a bed of straw, and barely covered by 
 the thin worn out rug that was laid over her, 
 they beheld the mother of this poor child, shi- 
 vering with a violent fit of the ague. 
 
 Seated on a corner of their mother's straw 
 bed were two little boys, pale and thin as their 
 sister, and as deplorably clothed. They were 
 making matches, and seemed ill; but their 
 sunken cheeks and eager looks proclaimed that 
 they were suffering more from hunger and cold 
 than any other ailment. On inquiry, Mr. Gran- 
 by learned that the father of this distressed fa- 
 mily was dead ; that the mother had long been 
 too ill to work; and their whole subsistence 
 depended on the few halfpence the children were 
 able to obtain by selling matches, and sweeping 
 the streets in wet weather. 
 
 Desirous of impressing on the minds of his 
 children the folly of their late conduct, Mr. 
 Granby turned to Augustus and Caroline, who 
 stood gazing with tearful eyes on the Sad scene 
 before them, and said, " It is only, my children, 
 by becoming acquainted with the miseries and 
 woes of your fellow creatures, and by contrast- 
 ing their lot with your own, that you will learn 
 to be thankful to the Almighty for the great and 
 manifold blessings you enjoy. If you were un- 
 happy at beholding the attention that was paid 
 to the young prince, and envied the beautiful 
 and costly gifts intended for a child that is 
 perhaps destined to be your sovereign, what 
 must this girl feel, when she daily and hourly 
 
FORGET ME NOT. U ( J 
 
 .sees pass her so many thousands richly clothed,, 
 fed with dainties, and riding at their ease in 
 carriages, while she has barely rags sufficient to 
 cover her shivering limbs, is starving for want 
 of food, and forced to traverse the streets with 
 naked feet to earn a scanty morsel for the sup- 
 port of two helpless brothers and a dying parent." 
 Then turning to the little girl, he asked her if 
 she did not feel very unhappy and discontented 
 when she saw so many persons better off than 
 herself, especially those that rode in carriages, 
 and wore fine clothes, and had servants to wait 
 upon them. " No, sir," replied the little girl, 
 " I should be sorry to be so wicked as to envy 
 the prosperity of others ; neither would their 
 becoming poor like me do us any good. My 
 mother has taught me to bear with patience the 
 ills and crosses of this life ; and I am very thank- 
 ful if I but have the good fortune to bring home 
 sufficient money to procure us bread for the day, 
 and we desire no more. This is enough to make 
 us very grateful, since we have often known the 
 want of food from one day to another." 
 
 Mr. Granby commended this poor child for 
 her contented heart, and gave her some money 
 to purchase nourishment for her mother and 
 brothers; and left the house, promising soon 
 to call again. 
 
 "I promised you a lesson on content, my 
 children," said Mr. Granby; "I think you 
 have had more than one this day; may you 
 long hold them in remembrance." 
 
100 THE JUVENILE 
 
 Augustus and Caroline had been sensibly 
 touched by the scene of want and wretched- 
 ness they had just witnessed ; they needed 
 no further conviction of their error, but both 
 of them candidly acknowledged how wrong 
 they had been, and entreated their father to 
 forgive their fault. And Caroline told her 
 father she had a half-crown piece in her pos- 
 session, and begged his permission to expend 
 it in buying a frock for the little girl who was 
 in such a distressed state. " Half-a-crown, 
 I fear, will not be sufficient for that purpose," 
 replied her father. "But I have two shillings 
 which I will add to the half-crown, and that 
 will I dare say, be enough to buy the gown," 
 said Augustus, eagerly putting his little sav- 
 ings into his sister's hand. To this sum Mr. 
 Granby added enough money to purchase shoes 
 for the little girl, and a suit of warm clothes 
 for each of the little boys. Caroline made 
 choice of a strong stout plaided stuff, proper 
 to make garments for the poor, and this she 
 undertook to cut out and make up herself; 
 and when she had completed her work, her. 
 papa took her and Augustus to carry it to the 
 poor child. 
 
 They found the mother much improved in 
 health ; and Caroline experienced so much 
 happiness in beholding the rapture of the 
 children, and the gratitude of the mother, 
 when she produced the clothes, that when 
 she returned home, she threw her arms about 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 101 
 
 her father's neck, and said, "Dear papa! I 
 do not think the young princess could have 
 felt half such real pleasure when she received 
 those beautiful toys that I coveted so much, 
 as I did when I beheld that poor half naked 
 child clothed in the work of my own hands, 
 and witnessed the delight with which her 
 mother regarded her." 
 
 " Be assured, the princess did not feel half so 
 happy as you did," replied Mr. Granby, ten- 
 derly embracing his little girl. " The pleasure 
 that arises from the possession of trifles soon 
 ceases to chann us ; but that which springs 
 from the performance of a good and benevo- 
 lent action is the most delightful of all hu- 
 man enjoyments, and leaves a sweet satisfac- 
 tion on the mind, which is indeed a foretaste 
 of that " peace of God which passes all un- 
 derstanding." 
 
 K 
 
102 THE JUVENILE 
 
 the 
 
 BUTTETFLY FLOWER. 
 
 This rare plant is a native of Trinidad, where 
 it is known by the name of the vegetable butter- 
 fly. It grows on the bark of the calabash trees 
 on the highest ridge of mountains in the isl- 
 and, which form the valley of Maraval: this 
 is the only spot where it is known to grow, 
 and even here it is very scarce. The plant 
 is about two feet in height ; it \ makes two 
 bulbs annually, each surmounted by a hard 
 thick folded leaf spotted with purple. It may 
 be properly termed a succulent plant ; and, 
 like most plants with singular shaped petals, 
 belongs to the class gynandria. The order 
 is monandria. 
 
 The form of this extraordinary flower re- 
 sembles a butterfly with the wings expanded, 
 having the antennae (which are veiy long,) 
 the shield, and that part which is like the 
 body of the butterfly, perfectly formed. The 
 lower petals of the flower arc of a brilliant 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 103 
 
 golden colour, bordered very richly with scar- 
 let, at the extreme edge of which there is a 
 delicate fringe of a lighter yellow. The upper 
 wings (if we may use the term) are orange 
 barred with scarlet The whole flower pre- 
 sents a most striking and beautiful appearance 
 to the eye. When once it begins to blossom, 
 there is a constant succession of flowers from 
 the same stem, each flower lasting ten or twelve 
 days; fourteen days after one has faded, an- 
 other comes forth, and so continues until 
 twelve or more flowers have been produced, 
 according to the age and vigour of the plant. 
 Who can contemplate with indifference the 
 endless variety and beautiful order of the 
 vegetable world, and not feel their hearts filled 
 with admiration and gratitude towards that 
 Almighty Being who has created so much to 
 delight our eyes and supply our wants 1 When 
 we look around us, and behold the glorious 
 firmament spread out like a canopy above, the 
 earth beneath covered with verdure, and span- 
 gled with flowers of a thousand lovely hues, 
 with all the groves and woods, streams of 
 water, hills and valleys surrounding us, are 
 not we led to adore that Divine Providence 
 which has given all these things for the use 
 and benefit of man, and to exclaim, in the 
 words of the inspired writer, " How won- 
 drous are thy works, O Lord ! in wisdom hast 
 thou formed them all V 
 
104 THE JUVENILE 
 
 THE 
 
 RETURN OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Lo ! spring's gay herald fluttering with delight, 
 The joyous swallow, is already here, 
 Who still proclaims her welcome visit near. 
 When first we hail him in his circling flight, 
 He tells of smiling skies and seasons bright, 
 Of vernal buds, and all that shall appear 
 When summer crowns with flowery wreaths the 
 
 year ; 
 And, dress'd in rich luxuriance, charms the 
 
 sight. 
 He hastes to meet her when her first soft gale 
 Sighs with sweet breath amidst her leafless 
 
 bowers ; 
 When early violets open in the vale, 
 And April peeps through rainbow suns and 
 
 showers : 
 Ere song of nightingale with thrilling strains 
 Floats on the evening gale o'er moonlight 
 
 plains. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 105 
 
 ORIGIN 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. 
 
 The Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath day. 
 
 Luke, vi. 
 
 The Christian sabbath (or Sunday as it is 
 usually called) was instituted by the apostles 
 after the resurrection of our Saviour, in order 
 to commemorate that great event when the Son 
 of righteousness arose with healing in his wings, 
 to give light and life to those that sat in dark- 
 ness and under the shadow of death. This 
 day was considered by the followers of Him 
 who declared himself to be " Lord also of the 
 sabbath," as a day of peculiar holiness ; a day 
 to be held in reverence by all men, and was 
 called by them the " Lord's Day ;" and ap- 
 pears to have been established more particular- 
 K2 
 
106 THE JUVENILE 
 
 ly after the Day of Pentecost, or Whit Sun- 
 day, when the Holy Spirit descended on the 
 disciples in the likeness of fire. This was on 
 the first day of the week ; and we read, " The 
 disciples were all with one accord in one place," 
 celebrating the weekly return of that day on 
 which their Redeemer rose from the dead. 
 From that time we learn (from the earliest writ- 
 ers on Christianity*) that this day was fixed 
 upon for the performance of Christian worship, 
 and dedicated to the service of Christ's church. 
 
 Another reason why the Christians changed 
 their day of devotion from the last to the first 
 day of the week was, that the Jews who per- 
 secuted them would not allow them the free 
 exercise of their religion on the seventh or sab- 
 bath day. The first day of the week was, 
 therefore, chosen by the apostles as the most 
 appropriate to be established as a day of prayer, 
 of thanksgiving, and of rest. 
 
 We may consider this day as the birthday 
 of the world. It was the day on which light 
 was created, before which "the earth was with- 
 out form and void, and darkness was upon the 
 face of the deep ; and the Spirit of God moved 
 upon the face of the waters. And God said, 
 Let there be light, and there was light. And 
 the evening and the morning (we read) were 
 the first day" Gen. i. 
 
 * See Eusebius Pamphylus's Life of Conslantine, St. 
 Jerom, and Clemens Alexandrinus's writings on the scrip- 
 tures. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 107 
 
 It was on this day that, by the resurrection 
 of our Blessed Lord, we received the true light, 
 even the hope of everlasting life, on which, 
 through the tender mercy of our God, "the 
 day-spring from on high visited us," 
 
 Let us, therefore, behold with gratitude the 
 weekly return of this holy day ; and hold it in 
 reverence as a day set apart for the study of 
 the scriptures, and for the true worship and 
 knowledge of God. 
 
108 THE JUVENILE 
 
 1TOUNG GREEK SLAVES, 
 
 In the year 1668, when Cantlia* was taken 
 by the Turks, among the captives there Were 
 two Greek girls named Helen and Sophia, of 
 such surprising beauty and accomplishments 
 that they were highly prized by the grand vi- 
 zier, who brought them with him to Constan- 
 tinople!, a iid presented them to the daughter of 
 the Sultan Mahomet the Fourth, for slaves. 
 
 Now Sophia was the only child of wealthy 
 parents, who loved her so fondly that they al- 
 most died with grief when she was taken from 
 them ; but Helen was an orphan, who had 
 been brought up by an aged and distant rela- 
 tive. Sophia did nothing but weep and lament 
 the hardness of her lot, in being torn from her 
 
 * Candia is a Greek island in the Mediterranean Sea, 
 and was anciently called Crete. It sustained a siege of 
 four and twenty years from the Turks ; and it was at 
 length wrested from the Venetians, who ruled the country. 
 
 f Constantinople, the chief city of the Turkish do- 
 minions. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 109 
 
 parents and beloved friends. Helen also was 
 much afflicted at being carried away from her 
 native land into captivity, among strangers and 
 infidels ; but she strove, as much as possible, to 
 conceal her own grief, that she might the bet- 
 ter be enabled to administer consolation to her 
 friend Sophia, whose cause for sorrow was far 
 greater than hers. 
 
 " Would it were in my power, my beloved 
 Sophia, to bear your captivity, and restore you 
 to freedom, and to the embraces of those af- 
 fectionate parents and kind friends, whose loss 
 you so deeply deplore," the noble Helen would 
 say, while striving to dry the frequent tears 
 that stained the cheek of her sorrowing friend ; 
 and Sophia, grateful for the generous friend- 
 ship of Helen, would endeavour to be more 
 cheerful. 
 
 It was indeed a great solace to the young 
 Greeks in all their troubles that they were not 
 separated, for they had always been friends and 
 companions from their earliest years ; and it 
 was a sad yet sweet consolation to be always 
 near each other ; for they could then talk of 
 their distant friends and country, and of that' 
 home and those scenes which absence and slave- 
 ry had rendered doubly dear to them. 
 
 In the seraglio, , where they were shut up, no 
 one spoke their language, or practised their 
 religion, but were Mahometans, and scoffed at 
 the truths of the gospel ; and many of them 
 tried to persuade the young Greeks to forsake 
 
110 THE JUVENILE 
 
 the Christian faith, and offered them costly 
 gifts if they would become Mahometans ; hut 
 they declared they would not do this great 
 wickedness if they could gain by it the riches 
 of the whole world. And when they held sweet 
 converse together, and repeated the prayers 
 which had been taught them by their pious 
 relatives, Helen, who was older than Sophia, 
 bade her observe that these words, " Lead us 
 not into temptation," in the Lord's Prayer, 
 should be particularly observed by them both ; 
 for they were daily tempted to forsake their 
 Redeemer, and it behoved them to pray with 
 great earnestness to him to give them strength 
 to resist the nattering words and bribes of his 
 enemies. 
 
 Now the young princess, whose slaves they 
 were, was a very hard and unkind mistress. 
 Of an imperious and unjust disposition, she 
 treated all her slaves with great severity ; more 
 especially the two young Christians, whom she 
 hated on account of their religion and their 
 superior beauty and talents. Helen, meek and 
 patient under every trial, left the princess no 
 excuse for persecution, but bore all her unkind 
 taunts with silent forbearance ; while Sophia, 
 who was of a quick and passionate temper, 
 often exposed herself to severe punishments by 
 resenting the tyrannical conduct of her haughty 
 mistress, who took a cruel pleasure in exciting 
 angry feelings in the breast of the high-spirited 
 young Greek ; and Sophia's dark eyes flashed 
 
FORGET ME NOT. Ill 
 
 indignantly back an answer to every scornful 
 expression uttered by the princess against her 
 country and her religion. 
 
 It was in vain that the prudent Helen warned 
 her friend against the danger of such unguarded 
 conduct. " It will but draw upon us, my So- 
 phia," she would say, " the malice of our ene- 
 mies, and can be of no service to ourselves. 
 Remember, we are wholly in the power of the 
 princess, who will, ere long, take some effectual 
 means of punishing us." " Can she do more," 
 replied the indignant Sophia (who had been 
 struck by the princess that very morning,) than 
 she has done? Have we not borne blows and 
 insults from her, been tasked beyond our ability, 
 and deprived of our food?" 
 
 " Yes, far more than all these she can do ; 
 she can separate us from each other's society," 
 replied Helen mournfully, her mild eyes filling 
 with tears as she spoke. " That, Helen, is a 
 misfortune too bad to happen ; she will not, 
 cannot be so cruel," exclaimed Sophia passion- 
 ately. " Alas, my dear Sophia," answered 
 Helen, " I know she has it in contemplation, 
 and will carry her purpose into effect." 
 
 Helen's fears were but too truly realized. 
 The princess, who had found all her threats 
 and attempts to intimidate the mind of Sophia 
 were of no avail, thought the greatest punish- 
 ment she could inflict upon her would be to 
 deprive her of the society of her beloved Helen, 
 whom she regarded with such fond affection. 
 
112 THE JUVENILE. 
 
 Who shall describe the anguish of the cap- 
 tive friends when, on some slight cause of 
 offence on the part of Sophia, they were in- 
 formed of the resolution of the princess, that 
 from henceforth they should be kept apart from 
 each other. 
 
 Tears, prayers, the most passionate entrea- 
 ties, were of no effect in softening the obdurate 
 heart of the sultan's daughter, who beheld un- 
 moved the bitter grief which rent the hearts of 
 the young slaves, as Sophia was torn from the 
 embraces of the weeping and disconsolate He--' 
 len, and conveyed by force to a distant apart- 
 ment in the seraglio. 
 
 This cruel separation almost broke the heart 
 of the unhappy Sophia, parted from the com- 
 panion and friend of her youth, the sharer of 
 her captivity, the confidant of all her sorrows ; , 
 whose gentle admonition and tender consola- 
 tions had alone been able to mitigate the hor- 
 rors of slavery, and soothe the anguish she felt 
 at being torn from her parents, her country, 
 and all that made life clear to her: she gave 
 herself up a prey to the most melancholy feel- 
 ings, and passed her days in tears, her nights in 
 lonely watchings and unavailing regrets. 
 
 "Ah, why," would she exclaim, as she paced 
 with rapid steps the limits of her solitary apart- 
 ment, " did I not give heed to the warning 
 voice of my monitress who guarded me against 
 the evils I should bring upon myself and her 
 by my intemperance of tongue. Why did I 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 113 
 
 not, like Helen, set a watch upon my lips, and 
 bear in silence the idle scoffings of my cruel 
 mistress 1 In all my sorrows I should yet have 
 had my friend near to console me." 
 
 In such words as these would the lonely So- 
 phia vent the grief that oppressed her full heart, 
 till sleep kindly closed her tearful eyelids ; and, 
 in dreams of home and of her native land, the 
 poor captive found a short relief and sweet for- 
 getfulness from all her woes. 
 
 . Helen's grief was hardly less acute than that 
 of her friend ;. but she had been accustomed to 
 hold a command over her feelings from her 
 earliest years : she made no loud lamentations, 
 nor vented her anguish in violent reproaches ; 
 for she well knew they would avail her nothing ; 
 yet she pined in secret, and her pale cheek and 
 jsunken eye told too plainly that she felt the 
 pain of separation no less powerfully than her 
 friend : but Helen hoped that, by patience and 
 forbearance, she might be able to effect what 
 anger and violence failed to do ; and in soli- 
 tude she poured forth her prayers for assistance 
 to the Almighty, whose ear she well knew was 
 ever open to the petitions of such as faithfully 
 call upon him, and whose arm, she was assured, 
 was strong and mighty to save. 
 
 Helen often found means to convey a few 
 lines to Sophia by means of one of the female 
 slaves to whom she had rendered some little 
 service ; and these billets, dictated by the ten- 
 derest affection, and full of holy consolation, 
 L 
 
114 THE JUVENILE 
 
 served to cheer the sad heart of the poor cap- 
 tive, and fill her mind with resignation, and the 
 hope that she should yet be united to her friend 
 once more. 
 
 In a Turkish seraglio, the chief employment 
 and amusement of the women is fine needle- 
 work ; which accomplishment is held in great 
 esteem by them. Among those that most ex- 
 celled in the art of embroidery was a female 
 slave named Reza, for whom the princess en- 
 tertained a great regard, and held her work in 
 the highest estimation. Helen also was well 
 skilled in this species of work, and few among 
 the princess's women surpassed her in elegance 
 of design or delicacy of shading ; but the pre- 
 judice which the princess nourished against her 
 entirely blinded her to Helen's merit. 
 
 Now Reza, the princess's favourite, had be- 
 gun a most beautiful scarf, which she worked 
 at privately, intending it as a present for her 
 royal mistress on her birthday, which was fast 
 approaching ; and the close application she 
 made to her work caused a violent inflamma- 
 tion to fix upon her eyes, which, not being in- 
 stantly attended to, increased to such a degree 
 that it baffled, at length, the skill of all the 
 physicians, and threatened to terminate in total 
 blindness. Greatly troubled at the danger in 
 which she saw her favourite, the princess offered 
 great rewards to any one who could effect a 
 cure, and restore the eyes of Reza to their for- 
 mer strength. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 U5 
 
 " I will undertake to cure the disease, ma- 
 dam, in the course of a few days," said Helen. 
 " You !" returned the princess, regarding her 
 with a doubtful air, " and where should you 
 come by knowledge superior to that of the phy- 
 sicians of my father's court — you, a poor Chris- 
 tian slave?" 
 
 Helen, without noticing the insult intended 
 to be conveyed in the last words, replied : " I 
 was brought up and educated by an aged rela- 
 tive, who, for many years of his life, made 
 physic his study, Among other famous reme- 
 dies, he discovered one for the eyes, which has 
 wrought many wonderful cures, and has seldom 
 been known to fail of success, even in cases of 
 the greatest danger. He taught me to know 
 the herbs of which this valuable medicine is 
 composed, and likewise to prepare it. If you 
 will allow me a trial of my skill, I fear not I 
 shall be able to restore sight to your servant 
 Reza within the space of seven days." 
 
 Reza, being made acquainted with Helen's 
 proposal, eagerly accepted her proffered ser- 
 vices declaring herself willing to undergo any 
 operation, or endure any application, however 
 painful, that was considered as necessary to- 
 wards the restoration of her sight. 
 
 In order to effect a perfect cure, Helen de- 
 sired that her patient might be given up entire- 
 ly to her care, and consent to admit no one but 
 herself into her chamber until the seven days 
 had expired. She then culled the herbs, and 
 
116 THE JUVENILE 
 
 prepared the proper medicines ; which being 
 done, she let fall three drops of the liquor into 
 the eyes of the suffering Reza, carefully ex- 
 cluding the light by means of a bandage of 
 fine muslin, repeating her application every 
 four hours, and giving her a composing draught 
 from time to time ; taking her station as nurse 
 by the bedside, ever and anon cheering her 
 patient with some words of kindness and com- 
 fort. 
 
 Helen felt a sweet satisfaction in her mind 
 while watching by the sick bed of Reza, and 
 performing for her those little offices of atten- 
 tion which are so grateful to the sick. In so 
 doing Helen felt that she was fulfilling that 
 command of her Blessed Master which bids us 
 " to love our enemies, and to do good to those 
 that hate and despitefully use us." 
 
 During the course of her illness, Reza often 
 mentioned the scarf she had been working, and 
 expressed no little regret that her unhappy ma- 
 lady should have prevented her from finishing 
 it against the festival of the princess's birthday. 
 Helen, willing to complete the good deed she 
 had begun, and anxious to set both the mind 
 and body of Reza at ease, found means to pro- 
 cure the scarf unknown to her patient ; and, 
 during those days which were passed by Reza 
 in darkness, Helen worked indefatigably by her 
 side, without informing her of the nature of the 
 employment in which she was engaged. 
 
 " Who knows," thought Helen, while she 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 117 
 
 plied her needle with increasing ardour, " but 
 Reza may be the means of restoring to me my 
 beloved Sophia 1 She has great influence with 
 the princess ; if she should be grateful to me, I 
 may once more behold my friend !" Helen 
 worked so indefatigably that, at the expiration 
 of the seven days, the scarf was finished; and 
 Helen ventured to remove the bandage from the 
 eyes of Reza. The remedy had succeeded so 
 well that the patient declared that she was free 
 from pain, and could plainly discern the mi- 
 nutest objects. " 1 can see so well," said she, 
 " that I could arrange the most delicate shading 
 of my embroidery if I were at work. Ah ! I 
 wish I could complete my scarf; yet, alas '• 
 that is but a vain wish, since it wants but two 
 days to the birthday of my royal mistress. 
 
 She had scarcely spoken these words, when 
 the scarf was laid before her perfectly finished. 
 Reza, astonished at what she beheld, for some 
 minutes doubted its reality ; and imagined it was 
 some deception of her eyesight, till assured by 
 Helen of its certainty. " What shall I do for 
 you V cried the delighted Reza. " How shall 
 I reward you for your generosity towards me ? 
 You have not only restored to me the sight of 
 my eyes, but have also done me this great kind- 
 ness," continued she, examining the work with 
 infinite satisfaction. 
 
 " You are under no obligation," replied 
 Helen, smiling at Reza's vivacity ; " my re- 
 ligion, which is so much despised by vour 
 L 2 
 
118 THE JUVENILE 
 
 countrymen, teaches us to do good to all peo- 
 ple ; to those that hate as well as to those that 
 love us. In so doing we do but our duty to 
 God, and no more." 
 
 " Excellent young Christian !" replied Reza, 
 filled with admiration at her virtue ; " tell me 
 at least how I can reward you for what you 
 have done for me. My royal mistress will, for 
 my sake, bestow on you either a casket of the 
 richest jewels in her treasury, or the most mag- 
 nificent attire." 
 
 " These costly gifts," replied Helen, " would 
 be useless to a captive like myself. Prevail 
 upon your royal mistress to restore to me the 
 friend who is dearer to me than the whole 
 world beside ; from whose company I have 
 been separated for the space of a long month. 
 This is all I ask of you." 
 
 Reza, who had been brought up from child- 
 hood in the seraglio, and had never been taught 
 to appreciate the value of a friendship like that 
 which subsisted between the young Greeks, 
 could not help thinking Helen very simple in 
 preferring the company of Sophia to the splen- 
 did ornaments and dresses she might have de- 
 manded in payment of her services ; for Reza 
 considered fine clothes and riches were the 
 greatest blessings in life ; but, nevertheless, she 
 readily engaged to forward her views with the 
 princess. 
 
 Delighted at the restoration of her favourite 
 slave, and by the beautiful gift that Reza laid 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 119 
 
 at her feet, the princess aceeded to her request, 
 and gave orders that the rebellious Greek should 
 be restored to her usual place in the seraglio. 
 Reza felt very happy that she was the means 
 of rewarding her benefactress, and could hardly 
 refrain from mingling her tears with those which 
 were shed by the young captives as they folded 
 their arms round each other, and wept upon 
 each other's necks, with emotions of joy so 
 great that it almost resembled the bitterness 
 of grief. Few could behold the meeting be- 
 tween the friends without tears: the princess 
 alone beheld the scene unmoved, and coldly 
 turned away, dead to feelings which she could 
 not understand. 
 
 . From this time Helen and Sophia continued 
 near each other ; and the painful separation 
 they had endured seemed but to render them 
 yet dearer to one another. 
 
 Now it happened that the princess enter- 
 tained a great fondness for monkeys and apes ; 
 and the vizier, who was aware of her liking to 
 these animals, presented her with a most rare 
 and beautiful creature of the ape species, which 
 had been given to him by a foreign traveller ; 
 at the same time warning her that it was of a 
 very mischievous disposition, and recommend- 
 ed her to keep it constantly chained. The 
 princess was delighted with the ape, and amus- 
 ed herself with watching its tricks ; nor would 
 she suffer him to be confined, though he was 
 regarded with no little alarm by several of the 
 slaves. 
 
120 THE JUVENILE 
 
 It chanced, one day, that this creature, in 
 one of his frolics, threw a vase of sherbet over 
 a magnificent piece of tapestry, on which Helen 
 was employed in putting the finishing shades to 
 the most difficult part of the pattern. 
 
 This tapestry was the admiration of the whole 
 seraglio ; the princess herself having often em- 
 ployed her needle in forming the flowers : and 
 it was intended by her as a present for the 
 sultan her father, to place beneath his feet when 
 he went to the divan. A general exclamation 
 of regret, which was uttered by all who saw the 
 accident, brought the princess to the spot ; who, 
 on perceiving the injury the work had sustained, 
 gave way to a fit of ungovernable rage, loading 
 Helen with reproaches, and reviling her with 
 every insulting epithet suggested by her angry 
 passions. 
 
 Helen, pale and trembling, ventured to re- 
 mind her that, being intent on her work, she 
 had not perceived the mischievous design of the 
 ape ; and that patience and a little industry 
 would soon restore the work to its former beau- 
 ty ; adding, at the same time, that had the ape 
 been confined, the accident could not have hap- 
 pened. These words served but to incense the 
 princess more highly ; and, raising her arm, 
 she struck with great violence the terrified victim 
 of her unjust fury. At that minute the ape, 
 who, having been severely beaten for the mis- 
 chief he had done, was more full of malice 
 than usual, slily approached, and held a lighted 
 brand, that he had taken from the hearth, to 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 12t 
 
 the robe of the princess ; which, being of the 
 most transparent muslin, instantly took fire, 
 and she was quickly enveloped in the flames. 
 The princess filled the seraglio with her screams 
 for help. " Oh, save me, save me !" she cried 
 in an agony of distress, extending her arms in 
 wild despair towards her women. In that mo- 
 ment of terror and confusion, no one had power 
 to help her but Helen, the despised, reviled 
 Helen, so lately the victim of her anger ; for- 
 getting the indignity she had just received, she 
 flew towards her, and with admirable presence 
 of mind enveloped her whole person in the folds 
 of the wet tapestry which she hastily snatched 
 from the ground, where the princess had angrily 
 thrown it, and succeeded in extinguishing the 
 blaze, but not before the princess had been 
 severely burnt, and her own hands and arms 
 scorched by the fire in many places. 
 
 Feelings of remorse and shame overwhelmed 
 the princess, when informed by her attendants 
 that she had been saved from a fiery death by 
 the intrepid exertions of Helen the Christian 
 slave ; that she owed her life to her against 
 whom, but the instant before, her hand had 
 been lifted in angry violence. The princess 
 called to mind all the acts of tyrannical cruelty 
 with which she had from time to time so un- 
 generously oppressed the young Greeks ; and 
 she could not help contrasting her own con- 
 duct with that of Helen, who had so nobly re- 
 turned her good for evil : and when the prin- 
 
122 THE JUVENILE 
 
 cess thought upon these things, her proud heart 
 was humbled ; and, burying her face in the 
 folds of her garments, she turned away and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 Now when Sultan Mahomet heard how Helen 
 had saved his daughter's life he commanded 
 her to be brought before him ; and bade her 
 ask of him whatever she most wished, and he 
 would grant her request. " Then, mighty sul- 
 tan !" said Helen quickly, " give my beloved 
 friend Sophia her liberty, and restore her to her 
 sorrowing friends." 
 
 The sultan, surprised at this request, de- 
 manded of her why she did not rather ask that 
 favour for herself. " Because," replied Helen, 
 raising her eyes filled with tears to the face of 
 the sultan, " Sophia has parents and kindred, 
 who sorrow for her without ceasing; while I 
 am a friendless orphan, having neither father, 
 nor mother, nor kindred to lament my loss. 
 Therefore is captivity less painful to me than 
 it is to her : and shall not I have the happiness 
 of drying the tears of those who mourn by re- 
 storing my friend to the arms of those to whom 
 she is so dear 1 Will not this reflection be suf- 
 ficient to sweeten the sorrows of a whole life of 
 captivity V 
 
 "Noble girl!" exclaimed the sultan, filled 
 with admiration at her generosity, "you are 
 indeed worthy of liberty. Go," added he, " but 
 take with you the friend for whom you would 
 have made so great a sacrifice, without whose 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 123 
 
 society I can easily perceive that freedom would 
 still be slavery." 
 
 He then gave orders that the young Greeks 
 should be restored to their native country, with 
 every mark of respect ; and, moreover, directed 
 his treasurer to present to Helen a purse, con- 
 taining a thousand pieces of gold, as a token 
 of gratitude for the service she had rendered 
 the princess. 
 
$24 THE JUVENILE 
 
 LINES 
 
 AN ANCIENT SUNDIAL. 
 
 How many ages o'er thy face 
 Their dusky shades have cast, 
 
 Yet they have left on thee no trace 
 To mark that they have pass'd. 
 
 How swift yet gradual was the tide 
 
 In which they roll'd away ; 
 How many thousand moments glide 
 
 O'er thee to count one day* 
 
 But yet to days, and months, and years 
 These trifling moments mount, 
 
 And then a century appears 
 At length in the account- 
 
 And ages in their silent flight 
 Have hour by hour been told 
 
 On thy mute circle, yet our sight 
 Their sum cannot behold. 
 
FORGET ME NOTV 125- 
 
 The eyes that mark'd them as they fled 
 
 Long, long have ceased to be ; 
 And those who time's departure read 
 
 Behold eternity ! 
 
 And many an eye on thee shall dwell 
 
 The fleeting hour to learn, 
 When I within my narrow cell 
 
 To kindred dust return. 
 
 And even now the shade perchance 
 
 That o'er thy face is cast, 
 Which tells the hasting day's advance,. 
 
 To me may be the last. 
 
 Then never let me lightly shun 
 
 The lesson thou canst give, 
 Since I at every setting sun 
 
 A day have less to livc 
 
 M 
 
126 THE JUVENILE, 
 
 LEAF-CUTTER BEE. 
 
 Among the various tribes that form what is 
 called the insect world, there is none more val- 
 uable to mankind than the bee ; not only on 
 account of its delicious and useful productions, 
 but also for the amusement and instruction it 
 affords us, and the example it sets before us of 
 industry, patience, and ingenuity. Nor can we 
 sufficiently admire that good Providence which 
 has bestowed such wonderful sagacity and wis- 
 dom on one of the smallest of his works. 
 
 Beside the well known labourer bee, there 
 are no less than fifty-four species of this insect, 
 each distinguished by some habit, disposition, 
 or form peculiar to itself. Variety prevails in 
 the order of their architecture, and the mate- 
 rials of which they compose their nests. Some 
 dig deep under the surface of the earth, to build 
 their cells ; some in the holes of rocks, some in 
 hollow trees. Some enjoy the benefits of socie- 
 ty, and share the effects of their united toils ; 
 such are the domestic bee and drone, the Mexi- 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 127 
 
 can bee, the Americanftee, and several sorts of 
 ground bees. Others dwell and work in per- 
 fect solitude, building the cradles of their fam- 
 ilies with the rose leaf, as the rose-cutter bee ; 
 the upholsterer bee, with the gaudy tapestiy of 
 the corn rose; the mason bee, with plaster; 
 the woodpiercer, with sawdust or rotten wood. 
 The muscorum, or yellow hairy bee, forms its 
 nest with moss ; and, from its singular mode 
 of working, is termed by some the carding bee. 
 These insects, each admirable in its kind, em- 
 ploy their talents and industry in forming their 
 various dwellings, and in providing for their 
 own wants and those of their posterity. 
 
 I have selected for the subject of this article 
 a few particulars respecting the habits and la- 
 bours of the leaf-cutter and carding bees, as 
 less familiar, and consequently more interesting 
 to my youthful readers. 
 
 The centicularis, or leaf-cutter bee, is of a 
 shining black colour, having the under part of 
 the body covered with yellow down. It is one 
 of the solitary species, and builds under ground, 
 forming its cells of leaves curiously plaited or 
 woven together, like a mat or quilt ; the com- 
 partments of this nest are made in the form of 
 and about the size of thimbles, inserted within 
 each other at the end. There are several va- 
 rieties of the leaf-cutter, each of which is dis- 
 tinguished by the materials which it employs in 
 building; some making use of the leaves of 
 the rose tree, others of the foliage of the horse- 
 chestnut or beech. 
 
128 THE JUVENILE 
 
 A curious observer may discover the leaves 
 of the rose tree cut, as it were, with a pinking 
 iron ; and may «njoy the pleasure of seeing 
 with what skill and dexterity a bee, destitute of 
 any mathematical instrument, cuts out a circu- 
 lar piece, fit to be either the lid or bottom of one 
 of these nests, or prepares ovals and semi-ovals 
 to form its sides. In each of these curiously 
 .formed cells, or cases, the bee deposits one egg, 
 with food properly prepared and adapted to the 
 future wants and necessities of the embryo in- 
 sect ; then, by the means of its wax (which is 
 of a thinner and more glutinous quality than 
 that of the common bee,) and a circular piece 
 ■cut from the rose tree, as already described, 
 forms a covering or lid, which it seals down ; 
 by which precaution the young insect is pro- 
 tected from cold, or any other injury that might 
 happen to it during its infant state. 
 
 The muscorum, or carding bee, is of social 
 habits ; it is of a yellow colour, and builds in 
 mossy grounds. The skill displayed by these 
 insects in building is very amusing. In order 
 to enjoy the pleasure of observing their inge- 
 nious labours, let a nest be taken to pieces, 
 and the moss conveyed to some little distance. 
 After a few murmurs of disapprobation at the 
 injury they have sustained, the bees will be seen 
 to form themselves into a chain, extending from 
 the place where the moss has been laid to the 
 nest. The foremost bee then lays hold of a 
 piece of moss with her teeth, and clears it bit 
 by bit with her feet, driving it, as she does so, 
 
FORGET ME NOT- 129 
 
 under her to the next ; the second, in like man- 
 ner, pushes it on to a third ; she to a fourth, 
 and so on, till there is formed an uninterrupted 
 chain of moss ; which is wrought and inter- 
 woven with great dexterity by those that abide 
 by the nest ; and to the end that their habita- 
 tion, thus curiously composed, may not be the 
 sport of wind and rain, they form a shelter for 
 it by building an arch over the nest, which they 
 make with a thin kind of wax tempered with 
 other matter to render it more tenacious and 
 durable. This is neither the unwrought bees- 
 wax, nor yet the real wax ; but is a substance 
 peculiar to the different species of wild bees, 
 and seems to be better adapted for the purpose 
 of cementing together the various materials of 
 which their nests are composed, than to form 
 entire cells, like the wax which is produced by 
 the labours of the domestic or honey bee. 
 
 M 2 
 
130 THE JUVENILE 
 
 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 
 
 BY THOMAS HOOD, ESQ. 
 
 Ah that I were once more a careless child. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Oh when I was a tiny boy 
 
 My days and nights were full of joy, 
 
 My mates were blythe and kind ! 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the teardrop from my eye, 
 
 To cast a look behind ! 
 
 A hoop was an eternal round 
 
 Of pleasure. In those days I found 
 
 A top a joyous thing; — 
 But now those past delights I drop, 
 My head, alas ! is all my top, 
 
 And careful thoughts the string ! 
 
 My marbles — once my bag was stored,- 
 Now I must play with Elgin's lord, 
 
 With Thesus for a taw ! 
 My playful horse has slipt his string, 
 Forgotten all his capering, 
 
 And harnessed to the law ! 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 131 
 
 My kite, — how fast and far it flew ! 
 Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew 
 
 My pleasure from the sky ! 
 Twas papered o'er with studious themes, 
 The tasks I wrote, — my present dreams 
 
 Will never soar so high ! 
 
 My joys are wingless all and dead ; 
 My dumps are made of more than lead ; 
 
 My flights soon find a fall ; 
 My fears prevail, my fancies droop, 
 Joy never cometh with a whoop, 
 
 And seldom with a call ! 
 
 My football's laid upon the shelf; — 
 I am a shuttlecock myself 
 
 The world knocks to and fro, — 
 My archery is all unlearned, 
 And grief against myself has turned 
 
 My arrows and my bow ! 
 
 No more in noontide sun I bask ; 
 My authorship's an endless task, 
 
 My head's ne'er out of school. — 
 My heart is pained with scorn and slight, 
 I have too many foes to fight, 
 
 And friends grown strangely cool ! 
 
 The very chum that shared my cake 
 Holds out so cold a hand to shake 
 
 It makes me shrink and sigh, — 
 On this I will not dwell and hang, 
 The changeling would not feel a pang 
 
 Though these should meet his eye ! 
 
132 THE JUVENILE 
 
 No skies so blue, or so serene 
 
 As then ; — no leaves look half so green 
 
 As clothed the play ground tree ! 
 All things I loved are altered so, 
 Nor does it ease my heart to know 
 
 That change resides in me ! 
 
 Oh, for the garb that marked the boy, — 
 The trowsers made of corduroy, 
 
 Well inked with black and reel ; — 
 The crownless hat, — ne'er deemed an ill,—- 
 It only let the sunshine still 
 
 Repose upon my head ! 
 
 Oh for the ribbon round the neck 
 The careless dog's-ears apt to deck 
 
 My book and collar both, 
 How can this formal man be styled 
 Merely an Alexandrian child, 
 
 A boy of larger growth ? 
 
 Oh, for that small, small beer anew ! 
 And (heaven's own type) that mild sky blue 
 
 That washed my sweet meals down ; 
 The master even ! — and that small Turk 
 That fagged me ! — worse is now my work — - 
 
 A fag for all the town ! 
 
 Oh for the lessons learned by heart ! 
 Ay, though the very birch's smart 
 
 Should mark those hours again 1 
 I'd " kiss the rod," and be resigned 
 Beneath the stroke,— and even find 
 
 Some sugar in the cane ! 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 133 
 
 The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed ! 
 The Fairy Tales in school-time read, 
 
 By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun ! — 
 The angel form that always walked 
 In all my dreams, and looked and talked 
 
 Exactly like Miss Brown ! 
 
 The "omne bene" — Christmas come ! 
 The price of merit, won for home, — 
 
 Merit had prizes then ! 
 But now I write for days and days, — 
 For fame — a deal of empty praise 
 
 Without the silver pen ! 
 
 Then home, sweet home ! the crowded 
 
 Coach !— 
 The joyous shout — the loud approach 
 
 The winding horns like rams' ! 
 The meeting sweet that made me thrill, — 
 The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, 
 
 No " satis" to the "jams" ! — 
 
 When that I was a tiny boy 
 
 My days and nights were full of joy, 
 
 My mates were blythe and kind, — 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the teardrop from my eye, 
 
 To cast a look behind ! 
 
134 THE JUVENILE 
 
 A CONTENTED MAN. 
 
 BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENTLEMAN. 
 
 In the garden of the Tuilleries there is a 
 sunny corner under the wall of a terrace which 
 fronts the south. Along the wall is a range of 
 benches commanding a view of the walks and 
 avenues of the garden. This genial nook is a 
 place of great resort in the latter part of au- 
 tumn, and in fine days in winter, as it seems to 
 retain the flavour of departed summer. On a 
 calm, bright morning it is quite alive with nurs- 
 ery-maids and their playful little charges. 
 Hither also resort a number of ancient ladies 
 and gentlemen, who, with laudable thrift in 
 small pleasures and small expenses, for which 
 the French are to be noted, come here to enjoy 
 sunshine and save firewood. Here may ofter 
 be seen some cavalier of the old school, when 
 the sunbeams have warmed his blood into some- 
 thing like a glow, fluttering about like a frost- 
 bitten moth thawed before the fire, putting forth 
 a feeble show of gallantry among the antiquated 
 dames, and now and then eyeing the buxom 
 
fORGET ME NOT. 135 
 
 nursery-maids with what might almost be mis- 
 taken for an air of libertinism. 
 
 Among the habitual frequenters of this place, 
 I had often remarked an old gentleman, whose 
 dress was decidedly anti-revolutional. He wore 
 the three-cornered cocked-hat of the ancient 
 regime ; his hair was frizzed over each ear into 
 axles de pigeon, a style strongly savouring of 
 Bourbonism, and a queue stuck out behind, the 
 loyalty of which was not to be disputed. His 
 dress, though ancient, had an air of decayed 
 gentility, and I observed that he took his snuff 
 out of an elegant though old-fashioned gold 
 box. He appeared to be the most popular 
 man on the walk. He had a compliment for 
 every old lady, he kissed every child, and he 
 patted eveiy little dog on the head ; for chil- 
 dren and little dogs are very important mem- 
 bers of society in France. I must observe, 
 however, that he seldom kissed a child without, 
 at the same time, pinching the nursery-maid's 
 cheek; a Frenchman of the old school nftver 
 forgets his devoirs to the sex. 
 
 I had taken a liking to this old gentleman. 
 There was an habitual expression of benevo- 
 lence in his face, which I have very frequently 
 remarked in these reliques of the politer days 
 of France. The constant interchange of those 
 thousand little courtesies which imperceptibly 
 sweeten life, have a happy effect upon the 
 features, and spread a mellow evening charm 
 over the wrinkles of old age. 
 
136 THE JUVENILE 
 
 Where there is a favourable predisposition 
 one soon forms a kind of tacit intimacj by 
 often meeting on the same walks. Once or 
 twice I accomodated him with a bench, after 
 which we touched hats on passing- each other ; 
 at length we got so far as to take a pinch of 
 snuff" together out of his box, which is equiva- 
 lent to eating salt together in the east; from 
 that time our acquaintance was established; 
 
 I now became his frequent companion in his 
 morning promenades, and derived much amuse- 
 ment from his good humoured remarks on men 
 and manners. One morning, as we were 
 strolling through an alley of the Tuilleries, 
 with the autumnal breeze whirling the yellow 
 leaves about our path, my companion fell into 
 a peculiarly communicative vein, and gave me 
 several particulars of his history. He -had- 
 once been wealthy, and possessed of a 'fine 
 estate in the country, and a noble hotel in Paris ; 
 but the Revolution, which effected so many dis- 
 astrous changes, stripped him of every thing- 
 He was secretly denounced by his own steward.' 
 during a sanguinary period of the Revolution, 
 and a number of the bloodhounds of the Con- 
 vention were sent to arrest him. He received 
 private intelligence of their approach -in time 
 to effect his escape. He landed in England 
 without money or friends, but considered him- 
 self singularly fortunate in having his head upon 
 his shoulders ; several of his neighbours having 
 been guillotined as a punishment for being rich. 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 137 
 
 When he reached London he had but a louis 
 in his pocket, and no prospect of getting another. 
 He ate a solitary dinner on beefsteak, and was 
 almost poisoned by port wine, which from its 
 colour he had mistaken for claret. The dingy 
 look of the chop house, and of the little ma- 
 hogany-coloured box in which he ate his dinner, 
 contrasted sadly with the gay saloons of Paris. 
 Every thing looked gloomy and disheartening. 
 Poverty stared him in the face ; he turned over 
 the few shillings he had of change ; did not 
 know what was to become of him ; and — went 
 to the theatre ! 
 
 He took his seat in the pit, listened attentively 
 to a tragedy of which he did not understand a 
 word, and which seemed made up of fighting, 
 and stabbing, and scene- shifting, and began to 
 feel his spirits sinking within him ; when, cast- 
 ing his eyes into the orchestra, what was his 
 surprise to recognize an old friend and neigh- 
 bour in the very act of extorting music from a 
 huge violoncello. 
 
 As soon as the evening's performance was 
 over he tapped his friend on the shoulder ; they 
 kissed each other on each cheek, and the musi- 
 cian took him home, and shared his lodgings 
 with him. He had learned music as an accom- 
 plishment ; by his friend's advice he now turned 
 to it as a mean of support. He procured a 
 .violin, offered himself for the orchestra, was 
 received, and again considered himself one of 
 the most fortunate men upon earth. 
 
 Here therefore he lived for many year*, during 
 N 
 
138 THE JUVENILE 
 
 the ascendancy of the terrible Napoleon. He 
 found several emigrants living like himself, by 
 the exercise of their talents. They associated 
 together, talked of France and of old times, 
 and endeavoured to keep up a semblance of 
 Parisian life in the centre of London. 
 
 They dined at a miserable cheap French 
 restauratuer in the neighbourhood of Leicester- 
 square, where they were served with a caricature 
 of French cookery. They took their prom- 
 enade in St. James's Park, and endeavoured to 
 fancy it the Tuilieries; in short, they made 
 shift to accomodate themselves to every thing 
 but an English Sunday. Indeed the old gentle- 
 man seemed to have nothing to say against the 
 English whom he affirmed to be braves gens; 
 and he mingled so much among them, that at 
 the end of twenty years he could speak their 
 language almost well enough to be understood. 
 
 The downfall of Napoleon was another epoch 
 in his life. He had considered himself a for- 
 tunate man to make his escape pennyless out 
 of France, and he considered himself fortunate 
 to be able to return pennyless into it. It is true 
 that he found his Parisian hotel had passed 
 through several hands during the vicissitudes of 
 the times so as to be beyond the reach of re- 
 covery; but then he had been noticed benig- 
 nantly by government and had a pension of 
 several hundred francs, upon which, with care- 
 ful management, he lived independently, and, 
 as far as I could judge, happily. 
 
 As his once splendid hotel was now occupied 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 139 
 
 as a hotel garni, he hired a small chamber in 
 the attic; it was but as he said, changing his 
 bedroom up two pair of stairs — he was still in 
 his own house. His room was decorated with 
 pictures of several beauties of former times, 
 with whom he professed to have been on favour- 
 able terms : among them was a favourite opera- 
 dancer, who had been the admiration of Paris 
 at the breaking out of the Revolution. She 
 had been a protegee of my friend, and one of 
 the few of his youthful favourites who had 
 survived the lapse of time and its various vicissi- 
 tudes. They had renewed their acquaintance, 
 and she now and then visited him; but the 
 beautiful Psyche, once the fashion of the day 
 and the idol of the parterre, was now a shrivelled, 
 little old woman, warped in the back, and with 
 a hooked nose. 
 
 The old gentleman was a devout attendant 
 upon levees : he was most zealous in his loyalty, 
 and could not speak of the royal family with- 
 out a burst of enthusiasm, for he still felt to- 
 wards them as his companions in exile. As to 
 his poverty he made light of it, and indeed had 
 a good humoured way of consoling himself for 
 every cross and privation. If he had lost his 
 chateau in the country, he had half a dozen 
 royal palaces, as it were, at his command. He 
 had Versailles and St. Cloud for his country 
 resorts, and the shady alleys of the Tuilleries 
 and the Luxembourg for his town recreation 
 Thus all his promenades and relaxations were 
 
140 THE JUVENILE 
 
 magnificent, yet cost nothing. When I walk 
 through these fine gardens, said he, I have 
 only to fancy myself the owner of them, and 
 they are mine. All these gay crowds are my 
 visitors, and I defy the grand seignior himself 
 to display a greater variety of beauty. Nay, 
 what is better, I have not the trouble of enter- 
 taining them. My estate is a perfect Sans 
 Souci, where every one does as he pleases, and 
 no one troubles the owner. All Paris is my the- 
 atre, and presents me with a continual spectacle. 
 I have a table spread for me in every street, and 
 thousands of waiters ready to fly at my bidding. 
 When my servants have waited upon me I pay 
 them, discharge them, and there's an end : I 
 have no fears of their wronging or pilfering me 
 when my back is turned. Upon the whole, said 
 the old gentleman, with a smile of infinite good 
 humour, when I think upon the various risks I 
 have run, and the manner in which I have 
 escaped them ; when I recollect all that I have 
 suffered, and consider all that I at present enjoy, 
 I cannot but look upon myself as a man of sin- 
 gular good fortune. 
 
 Such was the brief history of this practical 
 philosopher, and it is a picture of many a 
 Frenchman ruined by the Revolution. The 
 French appear to have a greater facility than 
 most men in accomodating themselves to the re- 
 verses of life, and of extracting honey out of 
 the bitter things of this world. The first shock 
 of calamity is apt to overwhelm them, but when 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 141 
 
 it is once past, their natural buoyancy of feel- 
 ing soon brings them again to the surface. 
 This may be called the result of levity of cha- 
 racter, but it answers the end of reconciling us 
 to misfortune, and if it be not true philosophy, 
 it is something almost as efficacious. Ever 
 since I have heard the story of my little French- 
 man, I have treasured it up in my heart ; and I 
 thank my stars I have at length found, what I 
 had long considered as not to be found on earth 
 — a contented man. 
 
 P. S. There is no calculating on human 
 happiness. Since writing the foregoing, the 
 law of idemnity has been passed, and my friend 
 restored to a great part of his fortune. I was 
 absent from Paris at the time, but on my return 
 hastened to congratulate him. I found him 
 magnificently lodged on the first floor of his 
 hotel. I was ushered, by a servant in livery, 
 through splendid saloons, to a cabinet richly 
 furnished, where I found my little Frenchman 
 reclining on a couch. He received me with his 
 usual cordiality; but I saw the gayety and 
 benevolence of his countenance had fled ; he 
 had an eye full of care and anxiety. 
 
 I congratulated him on his good fortune. 
 " Good fortune 1" echoed he ; " bah ! I have 
 been plundered of a princely fortune, and they 
 give me a pittance as an indemnity." 
 
 Alas ! I found my late poor and contented 
 friend one of the richest and most miserable 
 
142 THE JUVENILE 
 
 men in Paris. Instead of rejoicing in the 
 ample competency restored to him, he is daily 
 repining at the superfluity withheld. He no 
 longer wanders in happy idleness about Paris, 
 but is a repining attendant in the anti-chambers 
 of ministers. His loyalty has evaporated with 
 his gayety; he screws his mouth when the 
 Bourbons are mentioned, and even shrugs his 
 shoulders when he hears the praises of the 
 king, In a word, he is one of the many 
 philosophers undone by the law of indemnity, 
 and his case is desperate, for I doubt whether 
 even another reverse of fortune, which should 
 restore him to poverty, could make him again 
 a happy man. 
 
 \ 
 
FORGET ME NOT. 143 
 
 THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 BY MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 I. 
 
 "I hear thee speak of the better land, 
 Thou call'st its children a happy band ; 
 Mother ! oh, where is that radiant shore 1 — 
 Shall we not seek it and weep no more? — 
 Is it where the flower of the orange blows, 
 And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle 
 
 boughs 1" 
 
 — "Not there, not there, my child!'* 
 
 II. 
 
 " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, 
 And the date grows ripe under sunny skies 1 
 Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, 
 Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, 
 And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings, 
 Bear the rich hues of all glorious things I" 
 — " Not there, not there, my child V 
 
144 THE JUVENILE, &C. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Is it far away, in some region old, 
 Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold 1— 
 Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, 
 And the diamond lights up the secret mine, 
 And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand- 
 Is it there, sweet mother, that better land V* 
 — " Not there, not there my child ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! 
 Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; 
 Dreams eannot picture a world so fair — - 
 Sorrow and death may not enter there ; 
 Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, 
 For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, 
 — It is there, it is there, my child !" 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
 
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