"*** 
 
 STORIES 
 FROM 
 
 Children's 
 
 CUTS 
 
 THE PROUD 
 
 BOY (it ££ PAGE 313.) 
 
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 ® nibersttp of Jgortf) Carolina 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 10002128733 
 
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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 *V_ 
 
 pz5/ 
 rrm 
 
This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS 
 ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE 
 CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out on 
 the day indicated below: 
 
 jun!8'4© 
 
 .9Jul'456 
 6Dec'45LS 
 
 JUL 
 
 jin. 6 to 
 Novse - 6 
 
 MAR 23 19ft 
 AUG 5 " 1955 
 
 way iz m 
 
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 Mil g R ioq7 
 
 JUL 1 8 !P07 
 
 o 
 
"Forgotten Children's Books" 
 
 AND 
 
 "Old-Fashioned Children's Books" 
 ARE QUITE INDEPENDENT VOLUMES. 
 
When alas 1 in a mean and dirty dark alley 
 Some women took hold of our poor little Sally ; 
 Then instantly all her good clothes they were stripping, 
 And if she cried out, were preparing a whipping. 
 
 (p. 125.) 
 
STORIES 
 
 FROM 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED 
 (HIIDRENfe BGDKS 
 
 BROUGHT TOGETHER AND 
 
 INTRODUCED TO THE READER BY 
 
 Andrew W. Tuer, f.s.a. 
 
 ADORNED WITH 
 
 350 
 
 AMUSING 
 CUTS 
 
 1899-I9OO. 
 LONDON : 
 
 The Leadenhall Prefs, Ltd : 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. 
 
 Simpkin, ^Marshall, Hamilton, t^ent & Co., Ltd: 
 
 DUw York: Charles Scr iiner's Sons. 153-157, Fifth tAvenue. 
 THE LIBRARY 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/storiesfromoldfaOOtue 
 
H 
 
 I 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 N this collection of old-fashioned and 
 long-lorgotten children's-stories, the 
 reader is spared much that is prosy 
 and irrelevant. They are all — odds 
 and ends as well — amusingly charac- 
 teristic of times when our mothers' 
 and fathers' mothers and fathers wore 
 short frocks. 
 
 There can be few, it any, more in- 
 teresting pursuits than the retrieving 
 of old children's-books. At present 
 the number of collectors is small, and 
 those who know where to look may 
 still pick up quaintly illustrated little 
 treasures for a shilling or so. There is 
 the joy of coming across such covet- 
 able rarities as the original editions of 
 Charles Lamb's "Poetry for Chil- 
 dren" in two volumes (1809); n ^ s "Prince 
 Dorus" (181 1) ; his "Beauty and the Beast" 
 published without a title page in 181 1 # ; " The 
 Elegant Girl" a glorified child's book of verse, 
 
 * Ibe earliest edition with a title appeared in 1813. 
 
 vii 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 oblong iolio in size, with a dozen fascinating 
 whole-page plates in colours ; " The Looking 
 Glass, a True History of the Early Years of 
 an Artist [Mulready], 1805 ;" "Dame Wiggins 
 of Lee," boomed by Mr. Ruskin ; and " Signor 
 Topsy Turveys Wonderful Magic Lantern; 
 or, the World turned Upside Down. By the 
 author of ' My Mother ' and other Poems. 
 [Ann Taylor, helped by her sister Jane]. 
 Illustrated with 24 Engravings [designed by 
 their brother Isaac], 18 10." 
 
 It will be discovered that the publishers 01 
 old children's-books were fond of using the 
 text for advertising their wares. " Shall we 
 order the coachman," asks a little girl ("Mrs. 
 Leicester's School," p. 223), "to the corner of 
 St. Paul's Churchyard [Harris's the opposition 
 shop], or shall we go to the Juvenile Library 
 in Skinner Street ? " Of course mamma has 
 a ready excuse for going Skinner-Streetwards. 
 The motive of this acceptable puff from Mary 
 Lamb, whose example the reader will see is 
 conscientiously followed, must have been 
 simply friendship. 
 
 The lady who thought it necessary to teach 
 children that fishes have no legs, and who 
 believed that sea-water when boiled becomes 
 fresh {"Parlour Teacher," 1804, P- 5°)> pro- 
 bably did not follow literature for a livelihood. 
 
 It rather disturbs one to find that a paternal 
 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 government's practice of destroying or " black- 
 ing out" objectionable matter is not new 
 (vide p. 400). 
 
 We know that thrifty publishers made their 
 cuts do duty over and over again : witness the 
 unhappy king on p. 205. Children's books were 
 very generally sold with the plates both plain 
 and coloured, the coloured ones of course at a 
 higher price. People who are fond of using 
 the paint-box may like to see a wood-cut 
 " depicted in lively colours." In a very fully 
 illustrated and lately published volume — " For- 
 
 gotten Children s Books " * — I have described 
 the method by which the cuts were coloured, 
 
 * (The Leadenhall Press, Ltd.— Six Shillings. ) 
 
 IX 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 and therein also is shewn a genuine specimen 
 of the old Dutch paper with leaf-gold back- 
 ground used for the covers. In other Dutch 
 papers used for binding, the omission of the 
 gold background was sought to be balanced 
 by increased gaudiness in the patchy blobs of 
 colour — laid on, by the way, with a brush by 
 young children. 
 
 One hardly expects to find the discount 
 system, or something very like it, in operation 
 ninety years ago. In "A Visit to London" 
 (1810), a dull book describing the principal 
 public buildings, its publisher, Mr. Tabart, 
 sandwiches in a whole chapter, headed A Visit 
 to the Juvenile Library, in praise of his books 
 which are separately named and criticised, and 
 every one presented by the elders or bought by 
 the youngsters of the party. The thirst of the 
 little ones for Grecian, Roman and English 
 history, spelling books, catechisms and class 
 books of three hundred and sixty-five lessons, 
 is prodigious and incredible; At the end of 
 the chapter we learn that on receiving payment 
 for the many purchases, " Mr. Tabart hand- 
 somely presented a book," the title of which 
 was duly read aloud, to each of his patrons — 
 mamma, governess and children. This he called 
 " discount for ready money," which " mightily 
 amused the whole party." In a list of his 
 publications at the end of a charmingly 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 illustrated " Co election of Simple Stories' (see 
 p. 129), '■ Mr. Tabart respectfully acquaints the 
 nobility, gentry and their friends in general 
 that purchasers to the amount of one guinea 
 will be entitled to a half-crown book gratis and 
 so in proportion above that value." 
 
 Our grandmothers, to whom some of the 
 little books in this collection were specially 
 addressed, took delight in cutting out paper 
 an £art demanding keen scissors and keener 
 eyes, which was taught as a fashionable 
 
 xi 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 accomplishment. Ackermann published copies 
 on " Bath Post " of landscapes and fanciful 
 designs, many so elaborate as to look when 
 finished like fine lace. 
 
 The illustration shews a portion only of one 
 of these copies. The whole of the black work 
 was laboriously cut away with scissors and 
 knife, leaving a sort of white stencil, which, 
 with a piece of paper behind coloured to accord 
 with the subject, formed the picture. 
 
 On a higher plane were black paper profile 
 portraits (silhouettes, or shadow likenesses) and 
 groups of figures. The portraits were generally 
 scissored out direct without preliminary sketch. 
 Sometimes we find as a variant the portrait 
 formed of the outside or surrounding paper — 
 equivalent to the " counter" in engraved ivory 
 and • tortoiseshell work — laid over paper of 
 another colour. On the next page are two 
 mounted portraits cut together from paper 
 blacked on both sides : one turned over to face 
 the other gives the mildly jocular " Family 
 Likeness." 
 
 There is a story, which we are not obliged 
 to believe, of a professional silhouettist who 
 was compelled by a dissatisfied client to cut 
 many likenesses — one at each visit At last 
 the weary artist, in the presence of the sitter, 
 placed the accumulated portraits one on top 
 of the other, when, being all alike and exactly 
 
 xii 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 of the same size, they formed a solid block. 1 
 have explained elsewhere* how the shadow 
 portrait originated. The groups were 
 generally outlined on white paper ; a piece of 
 black paper was placed underneath and in 
 cutting the scissors followed the outline. The 
 black silhouette underneath was retained and 
 
 A FAMILY LIKENESS. 
 
 the white paper on top, on which the sketch 
 had been made, was thrown away. 
 
 Good examples of figure cutting will be 
 found at p. 392 in the hitherto unpublished 
 illustrations to one of Gay's Fables, " The Tame 
 
 * " The Art of Silhouetting " in the English Illustrated Magazine, No. 82, 
 vol. 7. 
 
 xiii 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Stag" About eighty of these minute groups 
 (some of them appear amongst the miscel- 
 laneous cuts at the end of this volume) lately 
 came into my possession. They have been 
 preserved between the leaves of a little blank 
 book, some bearing dates from 1796 to 1806. 
 Beyond the versified fable of Gay's, the subjects 
 of these charming trifles are unidentified. 
 The little citron-morocco-bound volume is 
 lettered on the front cover A.L.P. and on the 
 back M.G. A.L.P. turns out to be the first wife 
 of the fourth Earl Poulett of Poulett Lodge, 
 Twickenham, but who M.G. was is unknown : 
 it may be that the draughtmanship was due to 
 Lady Poulett and the cutting out to M.G. 
 
 Pricking pictures with pins was another 
 agreeable accomplishment. The pins were of 
 several thicknesses, the broad lines and heavy 
 shadows being pricked on paper with stout, 
 and the finer work with thin pins. A toothed 
 wheel with sharp points was used for outlines. 
 For filling up large spaces two or more wheels 
 were mounted on one axle. Without such 
 labour-saving appliances, the more ambitious 
 and microscopically minute pin-pricked pictures, 
 specimens of which survive, could not have 
 been achieved. Amongst ingenious variations 
 giving employment to busy fingers were 
 " pictures " constructed of innumerable little 
 spirals made of long narrow slips of paper 
 
 xiv 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 tightly roiled up and set on end side by side, 
 the tops being gilt or tinted. Little misses 
 also made wonderful scallop-edged hand- 
 screens, save-alls and letter-racks of bits of 
 cardboard held together with silk thread and 
 decorated with views and scroll-work border- 
 ings drawn and coloured with painstaking- 
 precision. Some of these pretty trifles they 
 would present to their parents : for others they 
 made their friends pay fancifully at bazaars. 
 
 None of the tales in this volume calls for 
 special remark, except perhaps "Joe Dobson" 
 This amusing bit of versification was a prime 
 favourite, whence it results that copies un- 
 thumbed and unscribbled upon are scarce. In 
 the collection of children's books belonging to 
 the Countess of Cavan is a carefully preserved 
 copy of "Joe Dobson" and an" exceedingly 
 pretty melody (p. 67) has been fortunately 
 handed down in her family, which for the 
 benefit of readers of these pages Lady Cavan 
 has been good enough to commit to paper 
 from memory. 
 
 The cuts which decorate the tales belong to 
 them, but room has been found for others at 
 the backs of title pages and in spaces which 
 would otherwise be blank. The dozen or 
 twenty scattered titled cuts, such as that on 
 p. 8, are reductions of Adam Buck's graceful 
 work now so much in vogue. 
 
 XV 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Perhaps it will be well not to try and swallow 
 these little stories at a gulp. Better mark 
 twain, read them and put the book away for 
 a time. 
 
 No American books are included herein. 
 My friend Mrs. Alice Morse Earle, of Brooklyn, 
 N.Y., whose works on early Colonial life in 
 America are familiar on both sides, is issuing 
 a volume dealing with children's books, entitled 
 " Child-Life in Colonial Days," which must 
 find appreciative readers wherever our lan- 
 guage is spoken. 
 
 For the contents of Stories from Old- 
 fashioned Children's Books I have drawn 
 chiefly on my own collection. For permission 
 to make use of some of their cherished trea- 
 sures, hearty acknowledgments are made to 
 Lady Cavan, Mrs. E. Carthew, Mr. Joseph 
 W. Darton, Mr. J. Mason Davenport, Mr. 
 William Day, Mr. J. Evans, Mr. A. G. 
 Farrow, Mr. F. Hockliffe, Miss H. De 
 Lessert, Mr. Elkin Mathews, Miss Edith C. 
 Pollock, Mr. George Potter, Miss Ravenscroft, 
 Mr. A. Sindall and Professor Foster Watson. 
 
 w 
 
TOMMY TRIP. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR 
 TOMMY TRIP, AND OF HIS DOG 
 JOULER. 
 
 [From A Pretty Book of Pictures for Little Masters and 
 Misses : or, Tommy Trip's History of Beasts and Birds. With 
 a familiar description of each in verse and pros'.. To which 
 is prefixed The History of Littie Tom himself of his dog 
 fouler, and of Woglog the great Giant. Ninth Edition. 
 London : Printed for J. Newbery, in St. Paul's Churchyard. 
 MDCCLXVII.] 
 
 Tommy Trip, 
 the author of 
 the following 
 sheets, is the 
 only son of 
 Mr. William 
 Trip, of Spit- 
 tle Fields, 
 London. He 
 is but short in 
 stature, and 
 not much big- 
 ger than Tom 
 Thumb but a 
 great deal 
 better, for he 
 is a great 
 scholar, and 
 whenever you 
 see him you 
 will always 
 find him with 
 a book in his 
 
TOMMY TRIP. 
 
 hand and his faithful dog Jouler by his side. Jouler 
 serves him for a horse as well as a dog, and Tommy when 
 he has a mind to ride, pulls a little bridle out of his pocket, 
 whips it upon honest Jouler, and away he gallops — 
 tantivy. As he rides through the town he frequently 
 stops at the doors to know how the little children do within, 
 and if they are good and learn their books he then leaves 
 an Apple, an Orange or a Plumb-cake at the door, and away 
 he gallops again — tantivy, tantivy, tantivy. 
 
 You have heard how he beat Woglog, the great Giant, I 
 suppose, have you not? But lest you should not, I will 
 tell you. As Tommy was walking through a meadow on a 
 moon-light night, he heard a little boy cry, upon which he 
 called Jouler, bridled him and galloped away to the place. 
 When he came there he found Woglog with a little boy 
 under his arm whom he was going to throw into the water. 
 Little boys should never loiter about in fields, nor even in 
 the streets, after it is dark. However, as he had been a 
 good boy in other respects little Trip was determined the 
 giant should not hurt him ; and therefore he called to him, 
 " Here you great Giant, you Woglog, set down that little 
 boy, or I'll make you dance like a pea on a tobacco pipe. 
 Are you not ashamed to set your wit to a child ? " Woglog 
 turned round, attempted to seize little Trip between his 
 finger and thumb and thought to have cracked him as one 
 does a walnut, but just as his hand came to him, Jouler 
 snapped at it and bit a piece of his thumb, which put the 
 giant in so much pain that he let fall the little boy, who 
 ran away. Little Trip then up'd with his whip and 
 lashed Woglog till he laid down and roared like a 
 town bull, and promised never to meddle with any 
 little boys or girls again. After he had thus beat the 
 great Giant, Trip put the little boy upon Jouler and 
 carried him home to his father and mother, but upon the 
 
TOMMY TRIP. 
 
 road he charged him to be a good boy and to say his 
 prayers and learn his book and do as his pappa and 
 mamma bid him, which this little boy has done ever since ; 
 and so must all other little boys and girls, or nobody will 
 love them. 
 
 Little Trip is not only a very agreeable companion and a 
 great scholar, but is also allowed to be one of the best Poets 
 of the age, and that even by the Poets themselves, which in 
 my opinion is an incontestible proof of his superior abili- 
 ties. For if he did not as much exceed those Gentry as 
 Apollo does the Muses, they who seldom make confessions 
 of this sort, would never give up the point in his favour. 
 He has now by him several dramatic pieces which are not 
 culled from other authors, as the custom is, but all originals 
 and well adapted to the English stage ; and the following 
 song composed by him when he was very young will suffi- 
 ciently prove his superiority in lyric poetry. 
 
 I. 
 
 Three children sliding on the ice 
 
 Upon a summer's day ; 
 As it fell out, they all fell in — 
 
 The rest, they ran away. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now had these children been at school, 
 
 Or sliding on dry ground ; 
 Ten thousand pounds to one penny 
 
 They had not all been drowned. 
 
 hi. 
 
 You parents who have children dear, 
 
 And eke you that have none, 
 If you would have them safe abroad 
 
 Pray keep them all at home. 
 
TOMMY TRIP. 
 
 Of the Lion and Jackal. 
 The Lion is commonly called the king of beasts. . . . 
 The report of his being afraid of the crowing of a cock is 
 found by experience to be entirely false. The Jackal is 
 frequently called the lion's provider. It is said that when 
 he seizes his prey, by his cries he gives notice to the lion, 
 at whose sight he retires and when he has gone returns to 
 eat what his master the lion has left. 
 
 Of the Leopard. 
 Few beasts can with the Leopard vie 
 
 His beauteous skin allures the eye, 
 His form, like Vice, serves to decoy 
 
 Those whom his nature would destroy. 
 
 Of the Rhinoceros. 
 Should some fine lady view this beast 
 
 His beauties ne'er could charm her, 
 Oh, how unlike Sir Foplin dressed 
 
 Appears this hog in armour. 
 
 Of the Fox. 
 So artful, so serious he looks and so sly 
 
 At the goose when he casteth his eye on't, 
 That he seems like a gamester intent on his die, 
 
 Or a lawyer surveying his client. 
 
 The Fox is remarkable for his craft and subtilty. When 
 he is troubled with fleas he is said to take a piece of wool 
 in his mouth and going by slow steps into a river, the fleas, 
 leaping by degrees to avoid the water, assemble in the wool ; 
 after staying for a moment with only his nose above stream, 
 he lets it go and is immediately quit of his troublesome 
 companions. 
 
 4 
 
TOMMY TRIP. 
 
 Of the Porcupine. 
 This creature shoots his pointed quills, 
 
 And beasts destroys and men ; 
 But more the rav'nous lawyer kills 
 
 With his half-quill the pen. 
 
 Of the Bison or Wild Ox. 
 The bison though neither 
 
 Engaging nor young, 
 Like a flatt'rer can lick 
 
 You to death with his tongue. 
 
 The bison's tongue is long, hard and as rough as a file ; 
 with this alone he is said to be able to draw a man to him, 
 and by only licking wound him to death. He smells like a 
 musk cat ; but though his flesh is in summer very fat it is 
 too strong to be eaten. 
 
 Of the Crocodile. 
 The crocodile with false perfidious tears, 
 
 Draws the unwary trav'ler nigh, 
 Who by compassion warm'd no danger fears 
 
 But ah ! th'unhappy wretch must die. 
 
 Of the Hawk and Kite. 
 The Hawk and Kite, both birds of prey 
 
 Will kill and bear your fowls away, 
 And since your foes you cannot shun, 
 
 Then cock your eye — and cock your gun. 
 
 Of the Game Cock and Pheasant. 
 The Game Cock rather than give way 
 
 Will bravely fight and die ; 
 But the poor Pheasant — tim'rous bird, 
 
 Spreads both its wings to fly. 
 
THE POLITE ACADEMY. 
 
 Of The Goose and The Duck. 
 
 This waddling, hissing, quacking pair 
 Have but few charms for eye or ear, 
 
 But let the cook but spit and baste 'em, 
 And every fool is glad to taste 'em. 
 
 The Goose lives on land and water. . . When provoked 
 it hisses like a serpent. The Duck also lives on land and 
 water, and will live on anything it can meet with. Its 
 throat is very untuneable, but it seldom opens except at 
 the approach of a shower. 
 
 [From The Polite Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen. 
 London : R. Baldwin. 1762.] 
 
 Of Behaviour. 
 
 Before you speak make a Bow or Curtesy, and when 
 you have received your Answer make another. 
 
 Be careful how you speak to those who have not spoke 
 to you. 
 
 Nothing shows the difference between a young Gentle- 
 man and a vulgar Boy so much as the Behaviour in eating. 
 
 Never touch your Meat with your Fingers. 
 
 Pick your Bones clean and leave them on your plate ; 
 they must not be thrown down. 
 
 Seldom blow your Nose and use your Handkerchief for 
 that Purpose, making as little noise as you can. 
 
 Never spit in a Room. 
 
 Never sing or whistle in Company : these are the idle 
 tricks of vulgar children. 
 
 Take care not to make Faces nor Wink. 
 
 Keep your Hands quiet, and use no antick Motions. 
 
THE POLITE ACADEMY. 
 
 Never laugh immoderately at a Story told by another 
 Person. Never laugh at all at what you tell yourself. 
 Never talk about any Thing but what you know. 
 
 Directions for Young Ladies to attain a Genteel 
 Carriage. 
 
 To Make a Curtesy. 
 
 Hold yourself properly and easily upright. 
 
 Raise your Head with a free Air, not with a stiff 
 Formality. 
 
 Let your Shoulders fall back with an easy Air. 
 
 Let your Arms fall easy to your Waist, and keep them 
 straight to your sides, not putting them backwards or 
 forwards. 
 
 Lay your Hands across and do not raise them too high, 
 nor let them fall too low. 
 
 Let the Hollow or inside of your Hands be turned 
 towards you. 
 
 Let your Fingers be a little open. 
 
 Bend your Wrists a little. 
 
 Turn with an easy Air towards the Person you are to 
 compliment. 
 
 Step a little Sideways with either Foot. 
 
 Join the other to it. 
 
 Turn your Eyes a little downward. 
 
 Being thus placed bend softly and gradually into a 
 curtesy. 
 
 Rise gently from it ; and lift up your Eyes as you draw 
 up your Head. 
 
Come, Father's hope ! Come, Mother's glory ! 
 Now listen to a pretty story. 
 
THE 
 
 LILLIPUTIAN MAGAZINE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Children's Repository. 
 
 Containing 
 
 WHAT IS WHIMSICAL, WITTY & MORAL 
 
 CALCULATED TO ENTERTAIN AND IMPROVE 
 
 THE MINDS OF YOUTH OF BOTH SEXES. 
 
 By TIMOTHY TEACHUM, & CO. 
 
 SIMON SIMPLE. 
 SALLY SPELLWELL. 
 POLLY PERT. 
 
 Xonfcon : 
 
 Printed for W. Tringham, at No. n on the Left Hand Side of 
 Fleet Ditch, leading to Blackfriars Bridge. 
 
The Mother's Hope. 
 
 The Father's Darling. 
 
SIMON SIMPLE. 
 
 SIMON SIMPLE. 
 
 The family of the Simples is as ancient a family as any in 
 England, and their honours and dignities as great. From 
 this family we have had at different periods, generals, 
 admirals, bishops, statesmen and even kings and conjurers. 
 The hero of the present tale comes of a younger branch of 
 the noble house, whose father had never been at court but 
 had always lived retired on his own estate without the 
 assistance of place or pension. 
 
 Little Simon was the only child and consequently not a 
 little made of by his indulgent Parents. When but quite 
 an infant in his mother's arms he discovered great signs of 
 an extraordinary capacity. Wonderful and surprising as 
 this may seem, it is proved in the records of the family by 
 sufficient witnesses. Some say he could walk before he 
 could talk, but whether true or not is not material, as long 
 as we are convinced that he could both talk and walk ; for 
 from the same valuable records we are informed that he 
 said one day when the wind blew upon him, it's cold, and 
 on another day in summer when the sun shone surprisingly 
 fine, he said it was hot. As to walking very young, we 
 have this account to prove it, that the nurse having let go 
 his leading strings he walked quite to the stair head, and 
 then tumbled all the way to the bottom. But whatever 
 proof this may be of his abilities in his early part of 
 life, there is not the least argument in favour of the nurse's 
 prudence, and I am sorry to say that there are too many 
 of her careless disposition existing at this very time, who 
 too often are the cause of those being cripples all their 
 life time whom nature had cast in the most perfect mould. 
 However, Simon received as it happened no further 
 
 II 
 
SIMON SIMPLE. 
 
 damage from this accident than scratching the skin off 
 his forehead, although he cried as if he had been killed, 
 as the saying is ; but the nurse who was a wiseacre running 
 downstairs catched him up in her arms and began to whip 
 him with a vengeance, bauling out — You little urchin, 
 you might as well have broke your neck, you might so. 
 Another day when he could walk rather better, he had 
 got close to the side of a pond where the ducks used to 
 swim, and throwing in some bits of bread to please himself, 
 straining rather too forward he fell in, when his good nurse 
 who had left him to listen to a gossip's tale of mother 
 Gadabout, happened to have a glimpse of him just as he 
 was going in and arrived time enough to take him out 
 alive, but it put her in a most violent passion. How could 
 you, says she, how could master Simon dare to tumble into 
 the pond ; as sure as three beans make five, if I had not 
 seen you till you had drowned, you would never have 
 come out alive. Which was most certainly true, but the 
 good woman had no doubt some other meaning in what 
 she said, if one could but find it out. She had always a 
 knack of being clever which the following account will no 
 doubt justify. She had formerly a husband who was a 
 woodcutter a very industrious, sober, honest man, when 
 one day he had the misfortune to fall out of a high tree 
 with his cutting-knife in his hand and break his neck. 
 When the news was brought to his loving spouse, she lifted 
 up her eyes to heaven, and said The Lord be praised it is 
 no worse ; he might have cut himself. 
 
 12 
 
MISS SALLY SPELLWELL. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF MISS SALLY 
 SPELLWELL. 
 
 Miss Sally Spellwell was one of the prettiest little 
 Ladies that ever con'd a Lesson. She was the Daughter 
 of Mr. Spellwell, a country Curate, who died before she was 
 born ; and her Mamma had very little to support herself 
 and Daughter with, but what she got by her Needle ; but 
 
 being a very fine Workwoman she was employed by most 
 of the Ladies of Distinction in the Place and for many 
 
 13 
 
MISS SALLY SPELLWELL. 
 
 miles round, which enabled her to live comfortably and 
 bring up her daughter very decently. 
 
 Mark this ye little Misses who read this Story, and be 
 sure to be diligent and make yourselves Mistresses of your 
 Needle, as it may sometime in your Life become necessary 
 for your support. If you apply to those who knew your 
 Family in better circumstances, they will say, Why does she 
 not work at the Needle ? What a cut that will be when 
 you are obliged to say you don't know how ! 
 
 Miss Sally Spellwell had no Mistress but her 
 Mamma, and indeed there could not be a better. As soon 
 as ever she was able to speak, she was taught her Letters, 
 and as she grew up was remarkable for her accuracy in 
 Spelling, a Circumstance not so much regarded by the 
 Ladies as it should be, but it is hoped that the example will 
 have some influence for the future, for it's a great Pity (but 
 'tis too often the case) to see a fine Hand-writing in a 
 Letter without a word of good English in it. 
 
 Miss Sally's Mamma, to help out, undertook to instruct 
 six young Ladies in Reading and Needlework. And if she 
 was sent for by any of the Ladies to teach them how to do 
 some curious work, which they sometimes did at their 
 own Houses, Miss Sally was such a proficient that she 
 could supply her absence both in Reading and Working in 
 an astonishing manner, which made her very much beloved 
 by the pretty Ladies who boarded with her Mamma. 
 
 Miss Sally before she was six years of age had finished 
 Two Samplers in a very curious Manner, containing the 
 Lord's Prayer, the Belief and the Ten Commandments, 
 with very pretty Ornaments. But what gained her the 
 most Reputation was one which she had worked from a 
 little Poem which was written by her father, and which her 
 Mother had made her get by Heart as soon as she was able 
 to read. This Sampler was ornamented with a variety of 
 
 14 
 
MISS SALLY SPELLWELL. 
 
 Flowers, all marked in their natural Colours, and shaded 
 with the greatest nicety. 
 
 This little Poem as I have said before, she had worked 
 on a Sampler in so curious and neat a Manner that every- 
 one who saw it admired it ; her Mamma had it framed and 
 glazed, and valued it more than any other Piece of Furni- 
 ture she had in the House, and pretty presents had little 
 Sally on its being seen by those Ladies who used to come 
 to her Mamma ; which made her still more fond of excell- 
 ing in everything she undertook : and this is certain that 
 Rewards will always follow those who strive to do well. 
 
 Miss Sally was now about twelve years of age, tall and 
 genteel, with a Face which seemed as though it was de- 
 signed for the residence of Beauty and Affability. At the 
 same time such Modesty was observable in all her Actions 
 that when the Parents of others had a mind to shame their 
 Daughters for any Boldness of Behaviour, they would ask 
 if they ever knew Sally Spellwell do so, which made some 
 of them not a little angry with her, as they thought her 
 good Behaviour was a Bar in the way of their Inclinations. 
 Nobody could live more happy than Sally and her Mamma ; 
 for some years Peace and Contentment were their constant 
 Companions, but alas ! poor Sally was ordained to feel a 
 severe Reverse of Fortune ; her dear Mamma was taken ill 
 of a Fever, and after a short Illness left this transitory 
 World for the Eternal One. 
 
 Here was a stroke for one so young, who had never been 
 a day from under the fostering wing of a tender and 
 indulgent Parent : without Friends, without Connection, 
 without that necessary knowledge to encounter a wide 
 and wicked World. What could this Orphan do ? How 
 could she proceed? No one to advise with, no tender 
 bosom to open the flowing of her woe-fraught Soul to. — Yet 
 she must not fall a Victim to Despair. . . . 
 
 15 
 
MISS SALLY SPELLWELL. 
 
 As Nature must be supported, she now turned her 
 thoughts to consider what she must do for a Subsistance. 
 She visited those Ladies who used to employ and 
 encourage her Mamma, and solicited to be continued their 
 Servant in the same Manner; but whether they did not 
 think so well of her Abilities, or that she being entirely an 
 Orphan they imagined she would become too troublesome 
 to them, or what was the reason I will not pretend to say ; 
 but after the first Visit, she could never get into the 
 presence of them again, nor ever had the least Em- 
 ployment. 
 
 Her Needle therefore became useless, and as to sewing 
 she was entirely unfit for that ; the only thing she next had 
 to do was in a little room which she had taken to set up a 
 School and teach young children to read. 
 
 In this Situation she lived for near Twelve months till her 
 School was much increased ; when an Accident happened 
 which relieved her from all her poverty, and raised her up 
 to that Dignity which so much Prudence, Virtue and Good- 
 ness deserved. 
 
 It happened that a Post Chaise with an old Lady and her 
 Son in it, broke down just opposite the Cottage where Sally 
 lived, and they were glad, as there was no Inn near, to take 
 Shelter with her till another Convenience could be provided 
 for them to travel in. The old Lady was surprised at the 
 goodness of so mean a looking Place, but more so at the 
 genteel and affable Behaviour of its young Mistress. Her 
 curiosity led her to enquire into the History of Spellwell, 
 which she with much Modesty informed her of, but when 
 she mentioned the name of her Father, — Good 
 Heavens ! exclaimed the old Lady — Mr. Spellwell ! 
 he was the intimate Friend and Fellow-Student with my 
 Husband at the University, whom many a time have I 
 heard him mention with the warmest zeal for his Welfare ; 
 
 16 
 
POLLY PERT. 
 
 but could never learn what was become of him. For his 
 sake, who alas ! is dead and gone I will adopt you for my 
 own. Tears of gratitude flowed from the eyes of the now- 
 fortunate Sally, while strange emotions arose in the Breast 
 of the young Gentleman. 
 
 In short, Miss Sally went with them to their Mansion, 
 where in a short time with the full consent of his Mother 
 she became her Daughter in law, by being married to her 
 Son, a young Gentleman of such purity of Morals and good 
 Understanding as is not everywhere to be found, and Miss 
 Sally Spellwell rides in her own Coach and Six. 
 
 If Virtue, Learning, Goodness are your Aim, 
 Each pretty Miss may hope to do the same. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF POLLY PERT. 
 
 'Tis a very sad thing when little Folks fancy to themselves 
 that a saucy pert Behaviour is Wit. 
 
 Poor Polly Pert was very unhappy in this particular ; 
 every cant word or trifling expression which she had heard 
 others laugh at she was sure to keep in her Memory, and 
 discharge them like a Blunderbuss, alike out of time and 
 place, and then she would laugh herself ready to split her 
 sides, when nobody else could guess what it was about. 
 Then she would be sure when anyone was talking to 
 interrupt them by saying something in the middle of their 
 Discourse, and if she did not know whom or what they 
 were talking about, she would be sure to ask questions, and 
 although she often got handsomely rebuked for her im- 
 pertinent Curiosity, in two Minutes she was at the same 
 Game again. Her Mamma and Pappa tried every Method 
 
 17 2 
 
POLLY PERT. 
 
 they could think of to break her, but all in vain. They 
 sent her to a Boarding School some miles off, thinking she 
 would never have boldness enough to behave so among 
 Strangers yet by the time she had been there a Week it 
 was all the same to Polly Pert. . . At length her 
 Governess began to be quite tired of her and had some 
 thoughts of writing to her Parents to send for her home ; 
 but a thought came into her head to put a Scheme in 
 execution which might possibly go a little way towards 
 curing her. Among other of her Impertinencies she had 
 been observed to listen, to get at the knowledge of what 
 she could not learn by asking. This is another thing 
 which is very bad in any one, and deserves Punishment 
 wherever it is found : 'twas by this mean Curiosity of Miss 
 Polly they intended to find the means of making her 
 ashamed, if possible, and break her of such scandalous 
 Ways for the Future. The Governess got two of the 
 eldest Boarders to be whispering together very loud near 
 where she was but seeming not to know that she was nigh ; 
 among the rest of the secrets that they were to pretend to 
 talk about was a very great Curiosity which was in the 
 Governess's little Closet where none was ever permitted to 
 go but herself yet at the same time they were to pretend 
 to have been there while she was out, and that it was the 
 finest Thing they had ever seen. All this Miss Pert stood 
 up on tiptoe to listen to, and as soon as they were gone she 
 was almost upon the Rack to know what this Rarity could 
 be and how she could get at the Sight of it. If they have 
 seen it, says she to herself, why may not I ? If they were 
 not seen, why should I be ? If the Closet door is open, 
 why may I not look in ? And just then looking out of the 
 window she observed the Governess walking with the same 
 two young Ladies in the Garden. This she thought was 
 a lucky time, and her evil genius prompted her to go 
 
 18 
 
POLLY PERT. 
 
 immediately. She looked about as watchful as a Cat after 
 a Mouse to see if anyone was in the way to observe her ; 
 but finding the coast clear she soon gained the Closet and 
 in she went, when bang went the door and fastened her 
 in. It was a spring bolt which was on the door, and they 
 had so contrived with a String inside that she could not 
 stir without touching it and the moment she did, down 
 fell the bolt outside, and it was impossible to open it 
 within. The bird was now caught, and she would have 
 given a bit of her Tongue, though she valued it better 
 than anything else she possessed, to have been ten miles 
 off. There was a Window in the Closet, but it was not 
 made to open ; and if it had it was too high for her to 
 have got out, besides there was a very deep Water ran at 
 the bottom, so that she was certain she must be exposed. 
 What to do in this case she did not know ; however she was 
 determined not to call out, and if she had it would have 
 been in vain as it was determined before not to hear her. 
 Night came on, but no Governess came to the closet, and 
 poor Polly began to blame her own prying Disposition and 
 wished she had never listened to what others were talking 
 of. Ten o'clock came but no Governess ; her Heart was 
 now almost ready to burst. Alone and in the dark, locked 
 in a Place where she could not pretend to have the least 
 business in the World she trembled for fear they should 
 think she wanted to take something which was not her 
 own ; and however bad her Behaviour was in other respects 
 she was truly honest. Stung to the very Heart with these 
 reflections she melted into sullen Sorrow, and actually 
 cried herself to sleep, when she had nothing but the most 
 terrifying Dreams. At length the Morning came. 
 
 Now it happened that the Governess had contrived it at 
 a time when she knew that Polly's Mamma and Pappa were 
 to come and see her ; accordingly they did about Nine 
 
 19 2* 
 
POLLY PERT. 
 
 o'clock that very Morning when Miss was still in the 
 closet. The Time began to draw near now when Polly 
 was to face all her acquaintance. The Governess entered 
 the Room where the Closet was, when going towards it, 
 she heard her sigh very loud, upon which she called out 
 " What's that ? " " It's me," said Polly. " Oh dear," says 
 the Governess, "there's Thieves in the house," and away 
 she run calling out, Help, Thieves, Thieves ! In came 
 the rest of the Boarders with Miss Polly's Pappa and 
 Mamma, with the Men Servants and Maid Servants, what 
 a Posse ! John the Footman stood close to the Door with 
 a Blunderbuss in his hands, and Governess pulled up the 
 Bolt, and there sat poor Polly Pert almost dead with grief 
 and shame. Lifting up her eyes and seeing the Blunder- 
 buss so close to her, she cried out " Oh, pray don't kill 
 me, I am no Thief, I am only Polly Pert." " How, Polly 
 Pert," said the Governess, " how came you in my Closet ? " 
 To this she could make no answer and seeing her Pappa 
 and Mamma she was ten times more confounded, when 
 her Pappa advancing lifted her up, saying " What Business 
 my dear had you in your Governess's Closet ; I suppose it 
 was your idle Curiosity which I am afraid will never leave 
 you ; it might be imagined you had other views, and 
 suppose you had been heard to stir in the Night you 
 might have been killed before anyone knew who you were." 
 Polly shuddered at the Thoughts of what might have been 
 the consequences, but could not speak one Word. The 
 Governess with the rest now thought proper to withdraw, 
 and leave her with her Pappa and Mamma, who now 
 took an opportunity to convince her of the Absurdness 
 of her Conduct — which she owned she was truly sensible 
 was wrong, and if they would be kind enough to forgive 
 her what was passed and endeavour to make it up with the 
 Governess, her future Behaviour she hoped should be un- 
 
 20 
 
FALSE ALARMS. 
 
 exceptionable and she would strive to make Amends for 
 all her past Follies. This condescension and her promise 
 of Amendment, melted their Hearts, and they embraced 
 her with the utmost Tenderness, and Peace and Harmony 
 soon took Place in the Family ; and 'tis with the greatest 
 pleasure I relate that Miss Polly fulfilled her Promise to 
 the utmost of their Expectations ; she took to Learning 
 with the utmost Assiduity, grew extremely good-mannered 
 and polite, so that she now was as much respected and 
 beloved as she was hated and despised before. 
 
 FALSE ALARMS. 
 
 [From False Alarms; or, The Mischievous Doctrine of Ghosts 
 and Apparitions, of Spectres and Hobgoblin 1 ;, exploded from 
 the Minds of every Miss and Master. London : J. Newbery, 
 St. Paul's Churchyard 1770.] 
 
 My friend had the misfortune to have it reported that his 
 staircase was haunted, and that the doors of his house were 
 no sooner opened than evil spirits entered and put his bell- 
 rope in the most violent agitation. The parson of the 
 parish who was a sensible man, and who came to examine 
 into this affair, imagined that some kitten, or other young 
 animal, might get to some part of the rope, and put it into 
 this agitation : but it was soon seen that such clearly was 
 not the case. 
 
 A Methodist preacher came next, in order to discover the 
 mystery and detect the deception, if any ; but after various 
 remarks and observations he concluded that an evil spirit of 
 the cloven-footed kind had taken possession of the staircase, 
 from which it would be exceedingly difficult to dislodge 
 
 21 
 
FALSE ALARMS. 
 
 him, if at all practicable, without pulling down the house 
 about his ears, 
 
 My friend's house was every day crowded with people to 
 see the operation of the spirit on the bell-rope ; but though 
 his company increased his trade diminished, as it may well 
 be supposed, that no people would chuse to purchase 
 goods out of a house which was in the possession of a 
 cloven-footed spirit. 
 
 The staircase was crowded with people on the day I 
 called on my friend, when the bell-rope was in full motion, 
 as it was a windy day the spirit was always found to be 
 more active then than on calm days. I own I was at first 
 a little surprised to see the bell-rope in such violent agita- 
 tion without any apparent cause; and as I seemed very 
 inquisitive into the business the company all crowded 
 round me, not doubting but I was come to lay the spirit. 
 
 As I well knew the undulating motion of the bell-rope 
 must arise from some natural cause, I had no doubt of soon 
 being able effectually to lay this evil spirit. I observed that 
 there were two doors opposite to each other in the passage 
 which when both opened occasioned a very great draught of 
 air. 
 
 The wonderful operations of this cloven-footed spirit 
 were now fully discovered ; for the wind in its way through 
 the passage, partly making up the wall of the staircase, put 
 the rope into a violent agitation which remained perfectly 
 quiet on one of the doors being shut. 
 
 It was indeed laughable enough on this discovery to see 
 how the company dropped off one after another, perfectly 
 ashamed of their weakness and credulity. 
 
 22 
 
RULES FOR BEHAVIOUR AT TABLE. 
 
 RULES FOR BEHAVIOUR AT 
 TABLE. 
 
 [From The Honours of the Table, or Rules for Behaviour during 
 Meals. For the Use of Young People. London: Printed for 
 the Author at the Literary Press, No. 14 Red Lion Street 
 Clerkenwell. 1788.] 
 
 Of all the graceful accomplishments, and of every branch 
 of polite education, it has been long admitted, that a 
 gentleman and lady never show themselves to more ad- 
 vantage than in acquitting themselves well in the honours of 
 their table ; that is to say, in serving their guests and treat- 
 ing their friends agreeable to their rank and situation in life. 
 
 When dinner is announced, the mistress of the house 
 requests the lady first in rank, in company, to shew the way 
 to the rest, and walk first into the room where the table is 
 served ; she then asks the second in precedence to follow, 
 and after all the ladies are passed, she brings up the rear 
 herself. The master of the house does the same with the 
 gentlemen. Among persons of real distinction, this mar- 
 shalling of the company is unnecessary, every woman and 
 every man present knows his rank and precedence, and 
 takes the lead, without any direction from the mistress or 
 the master. 
 
 When they enter the dining-room, each takes his place in 
 the same order ; the mistress of the table sits at the upper 
 end, those of superior rank next her, right and left, those 
 next in rank following, then the gentlemen, and the master 
 at the lower-end ; and nothing is considered as a greater 
 mark of ill-breeding, than for a person to interrupt this 
 order, or seat himself higher than he ought. Custom, how- 
 ever, has lately introduced a new mode of seating. A 
 gentleman and a lady sitting alternately round the table, and 
 
 23 
 
RULES FOR BEHAVIOUR AT TABLE. 
 
 this, for the better convenience of a lady's being attended 
 to, and served by the gentleman next her. But notwith- 
 standing this promiscuous seating, the ladies, whether above 
 or below, are to be served in order, according to their rank 
 or age, and after them the gentlemen in the same manner. 
 
 When there are several dishes at table, the mistress of the 
 house carves that which is before her, and desires her 
 husband, or the person at the bottom of the table, to carve 
 the joint or bird, before him. 
 
 Where there are not two courses, but one course and a 
 remove, that is, a dish to be brought up, when one is taken 
 away ; the mistress or person who presides, should acquaint 
 her company with what is to come ; or if the whole is put 
 on the table at once, should tell her friends, that " they see 
 their dinner " ; but they should be told what wine or other 
 liquors is on the side board. Sometimes a cold joint of 
 meat, or a salad, is placed on the sideboard. In this case, 
 it should be announced to the company. 
 
 As it is unseemly in ladies to call for wine, the gentlemen 
 present should ask them in turn, whether it is agreeable to 
 
 drink a glass of wine. (" Mrs. , will you do me the 
 
 honour to drink a glass of wine with me ? ") and what kind 
 of wine present they prefer, and call for two glasses of such 
 wine, accordingly. Each then waits till the other is served, 
 when they bow to each other and drink. 
 
 If you dislike what you have, leave it ; but on no account, 
 by smelling to, or examining it, charge your friend with 
 putting unwholesome provisions before you. 
 
 To be well received, you must always be circumspect at 
 table, where it is exceedingly rude to scratch any part of 
 your body, to spit, or blow your nose, (if you can't avoid it, 
 turn your head), to eat greedily, to lean your elbows on the 
 table, to sit too far from it, to pick your teeth before the 
 dishes are removed, or leave the table before grace is said. 
 
 24 
 
THE FAMILIAR LETTER WRITER. 
 
 THE FAMILIAR LETTER WRITER. 
 
 (FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.) 
 
 [From Newberfs Familiar Letter Writer, adapted to the 
 Capacities of Young People. London. Printed for E. New- 
 bery, the Corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. 1788.] 
 
 Letter from a young gentleman to his Companion, 
 
 recovered from a flt of slckness. 
 It gives me the most sincere pleasure to hear, that my 
 dear Tommy is recovering his health so rapidly. Had you 
 died, it would have been to me a most terrible loss ; but it 
 has pleased God to preserve my friend. I will take the 
 first opportunity that offers to call and tell you how valuable 
 your life is to 
 
 Your sincere friend and playfellow 
 
 Answer to the preceding Letter. 
 Your obliging letter, my dear Billy, is a fresh proof of 
 your friendship and esteem for me. I thank God I am 
 now perfectly recovered. I am in some doubt whether I 
 ought not to consider my late illness as a just punishment 
 for my crime of robbing Mr. Goodman's orchard, breaking 
 his boughs, and spoiling his hedges. However, I am fully 
 determined that no such complaints shall evermore come 
 against, 
 
 Your sincere friend and playfellow 
 
 Letter to a young Man, on his too strong attach- 
 ment to Singing and Music. 
 Dear Cousin, 
 
 In the first place, my dear cousin, these pleasures 
 of sound may take you off from the more desirable ones of 
 sense, and make your delight stop at the ear, which should 
 
 25 
 
THE- FAMILIAR LETTER WRITER. 
 
 go deeper, and be placed in the understanding ; for, when- 
 ever a good singer is in company, adieu to all conversation 
 of an improving or intellectual nature. In the second 
 place, it may expose you to company, and that perhaps not 
 the best or most eligible. Hence your business and your 
 other more useful studies may be greatly, if not wholly 
 neglected, and very possibly your health itself be impaired. 
 In the third place, it may tend, which it naturally does, to 
 enervate the mind, and make you haunt musical societies, 
 operas, and concerts ; and what glory is it to a gentleman, 
 if he were even a fine performer, that he can strike a string, 
 touch a key, or sing a song, with the grace and command of 
 an hired musician ? 
 
 Letter of Advice to a young Lady, on her 
 affecting manly airs. 
 Dear Polly, 
 
 It is with singular pleasure I view the alteration 
 and improvement in your person, so visible within the 
 space of a few months. The dawning of fine sense, and a 
 good judgment, which discovers itself in your conversation, 
 leads me to hope I shall see every perfection of my sister, 
 your late excellent mother, revived in you. Yet one thing 
 the duty of a tender uncle obliges me to blame in you, and 
 that is a certain affectation that has lately stolen in on your 
 behaviour, of imitating the manners of the other sex, and 
 appearing more masculine than the amiable softness of a 
 woman can justify. I have been particularly offended, per- 
 mit me to tell you, my dear, at your new riding-habit, which 
 is made so extravagantly in the mode, that one cannot 
 easily distinguish your sex by it ; for you look in it neither 
 like a modest girl, nor an agreeable boy. Some conformity 
 to fashion is allowable ; but a cocked hat, a laced jacket, 
 and a fop's peruke, strangely disfigure you. 
 
 26 
 
<o 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 in 
 3 
 
 ■*S 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 °q 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 b/j 
 
 #&$n f \il 
 
A VISIT TO LONDON. 
 
 A VISIT TO LONDON. 
 
 [From Mental Amusement; or, the Juvenile Moralist. Second 
 Edition Revised. London : printed for G. Sael, No. 192 
 Strand ; and sold by M. Poole & Son, Chester. 1798.] 
 
 Mr. Thomas Trusty had for many years lived steward 
 with a worthy gentleman in Bedfordshire, and from his 
 fidelity and good sense was highly regarded and esteemed. 
 His master having a daughter, an only child who had just 
 left school, it was agreed that she should make a visit to her 
 aunt Dillon, who resided in London, and that Trusty should 
 conduct her. The day of departure being fixed, Miss 
 Lucinda exclaimed to her maid — " Oh ! Jenny, how happy 
 I shall be to see London ! what wonders we shall have to 
 tell of on our return ! " 
 
 The journey and its fatigues were scarcely thought of 
 when the travellers reached Highgate where having alighted 
 and taken some refreshment, as the afternoon was fine and 
 clear, they sauntered on towards the summit of the hill to 
 take a distant glance at London and Westminster. On 
 approaching the point from which both cities break at once 
 upon the sight, Lucinda felt a mixture of surprise and 
 delight that for some minutes rivetted her feet to the spot 
 on which she stood. At length she softly uttered — " It does 
 indeed surpass my utmost expectations ! Do not let us 
 lose more time, Mr. Trusty ; I long to be in the midst of 
 such a scene." — " It looks like a new world," said Jenny. 
 The chaise now took them up and they descended the hill 
 near Caen Wood, the seat of Lord Mansfield. Hampstead 
 presented itself on the right, and the vale of Hornsey on the 
 left. After passing through the pleasant street called 
 Kentish Town, Lucinda soon reached the house of her 
 
 28 
 
A VISIT TO LONDON. 
 
 expecting aunt in Fitzroy Square, where the travellers 
 retired at an early hour to repose themselves after their 
 journey. 
 
 Mrs. Dillon was extremely pleased with her niece 
 Lucinda, and promised during her visit that she should 
 enjoy as large a share as possible of town amusements. 
 
 The next evening Mrs. Dillon proposed going to the 
 Opera ; and as her niece had the advantage of having been 
 taught Italian, it was expected that she would be highly 
 entertained : but in this her aunt was mistaken. Lucinda 
 thought she perceived, both in singers and dancers, some- 
 thing that appeared to " overstep the modesty of nature," 
 and the limits of real grace. With the music she was much 
 gratified, and with the house itself, which of course dis- 
 played much elegance, symmetry and taste. St. Paul's 
 Cathedral and Westminster Abbey were next visited. 
 Here, indeed, was a striking change of scenery, from the 
 lively and voluptuous to monuments of departed genius, or 
 grandeur mouldering in the dust. 
 
 On the following Sunday Mrs. Dillon took her young 
 visitor through Hyde Park to Kensington Gardens : there 
 she saw the young and the old, the citizen and the noble- 
 man, all met together, to see and be seen. The concourse 
 of carriages and horsemen that composed the moving scene 
 appeared to excite no other idea in Lucinda but that of a 
 race-ground. In this view, she said it exceeded anything 
 she had ever seen in the north ; but what most created 
 surprise was that this parade took place on a Sunday. " I 
 cannot think, my dear Aunt," said Lucinda, " but the 
 examples of the rich and powerful influence others in a high 
 degree. If they were to find a fitter place to spend their 
 Sundays in, do you think that Hyde Park would be so much 
 resorted to by their inferiors ?" Mrs. Dillon scarcely knew 
 what reply to make to reflections which at once displayed 
 
 29 
 
A VISIT TO LONDON. 
 
 the goodness of her niece's heart, and did honour to the 
 guardians of her education. 
 
 In short, London with all its gaieties, had little serious 
 attraction for the heart of Lucinda : so after thanking her 
 aunt with grateful warmth for all the kindness experienced 
 during her stay in Fitzroy Square, she returned at the end 
 of two months to her friends in the north, more gratified by 
 parental caresses and the honest friendship of Trusty than 
 with all the luxuries of a town life ; and she repeated with 
 strong emphasis the following lines, as she mixed in the 
 family circle round her own fireside : 
 
 " O, friendly to the best pursuits of mind, 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue and to peace, 
 Domestic Life in rural leisure passed ! 
 To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page ; 
 To lend new flavour to the fruitful year, 
 And heighten Nature's dainties ; 
 Well-order'd Home our best delight to make ; 
 And by submissive wisdom, modest skill, 
 With ev'ry gentle, care-eluding art, 
 To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, 
 And sweeten all the toils of human life : 
 This be the female dignity, and praise." 
 
 30 
 
THE GENEROUS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 THE GENEROUS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 [From The Children's Magazine for November 1800. London : 
 J. Marshall, 4 Aldermary Churchyard, Bow Lane.] 
 
 Two little girls, Nancy and Jenny, picked up a purse con- 
 taining two silver sixpences. Let us go to the fair and see 
 the puppet show, said Nancy. No, said Jenny, let us rather 
 buy meat and porter for our dear mother whose stomach 
 sickens at eating nothing but potatoes every day, for a 
 shilling will pay for both. 
 
 31 
 
SONGS FOR LITTLE MISSES. 
 
 [From Puerilla; or, Amusements for the Young. By John 
 Marchant, Gent. London : P. Stevens, 1751.] 
 
 Miss and Her Pin. 
 
 My Knot and my Hood 
 
 It sticks in the Mode, 
 My Kercher in Order it places ; 
 
 It fixes my Ruffles 
 
 And other Pantoffles 
 In their Plaits it keeps all my Laces. 
 
 MlSS WORKING AT HER SAMPLER. 
 
 What Turns and Windings here ! 
 
 All ways the Stitches run ; 
 Some here are strait, and there 
 
 Across and up and down. 
 Here I must work a Row 
 
 Of tall Great A, B, C's ; 
 A Rank of Small below 
 
 Again my Needle teaze. 
 
 32 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES, 
 
 OR 
 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE & AMUSING, 
 
 for tJie use of 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 DEDICATED (by permission) 
 to 
 
 HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 the 
 
 PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. 
 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 Printed for E. LLOYD, 
 
 Harley Street, Cavendish Square. 
 
 1801. 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 CONVERSATION I. 
 
 Anna. 
 Mamma ! Mamma ! pray look at what is going along the 
 road, across the common ; a little girl upon an ass, and 
 a woman with a stick in her hand ; see it stops, it will 
 not stir a step, and she is beating it to make it move on. 
 
 Mamma. 
 My love, I dare say they are going to the town which 
 you see a great way off, to sell their eggs and butter, and 
 their vegetables. 
 
 35 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 Anna. 
 Vegetables ! I do not know what they are ; will you 
 tell me ? 
 
 Mamma. 
 Yes, with a great deal of pleasure : pease, beans, potatoes, 
 carrots, turnips, and cabbages are vegetables. 
 
 Harry. 
 But why do they carry them to the town to sell them ? 
 I think it is very foolish ; do they not want them at home, 
 to eat for their dinner and supper ? 
 
 Mamma. 
 They want some of them at home, but they every year, 
 plant and sow a great deal more than they can make use of. 
 
 Harry. 
 Why do they take so much trouble ? I think digging 
 the ground is very hard work : I could not turn up the 
 least bit when I tried with Robin's spade, though I put 
 my foot upon it, and stamped as hard as ever I could. If 
 I was in the place of that woman I would only plant and 
 sow as much as I thought I should want for myself and my 
 little girl, and some cabbage leaves for my poor ass. 
 
 Mamma. 
 Then you would do very wrong, and you would be sorry, 
 when too late, that you had been so idle ; for you want a 
 great many things besides your dinner, and even for that 
 you would soon be tired of always eating vegetables without 
 a bit of meat, and never to have a pudding, how should you 
 like that, Master Harry ? you who are so fond of pudding 
 
 36 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 — and how wretched your garden would look, all lying 
 waste except the little nook you had planted for yourself : 
 besides you would be without clothes. 
 
 Harry. 
 Why mamma ! clothes would not grow in the garden. 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 I know that very well, but still the garden would provide 
 you with them and every other necessity if you would take 
 the trouble to work in it. That woman s husband is a 
 gardener, and I dare say that every little corner of his 
 garden has something growing in it ; in the spring of the 
 year he turns up the ground and plants and sows ; and 
 when the things begin to grow the little girl and her mother 
 help him to pull up all the weeds and do everything they 
 can to assist him : then they have their poultry and their 
 cows to take care of, so that they have a great many eggs 
 and a great deal of butter as well as peas and beans and 
 cabbages, more than they want themselves ; and every week 
 they fill their baskets and put them upon the ass and away 
 they go to the town to sell them ; the little girl is pleased to 
 have such a ride, and the mother sells her things, and with 
 the money she gets for them buys shoes and stockings and 
 warm petticoats for herself and her children, and comfort- 
 able flannel waistcoats for her husband against the winter. 
 
 Now, Harry, if you had no money but what you could 
 earn — (if you could suppose yourself in the place of that 
 woman's husband, and that you determined to plant no 
 more of your garden than you thought you should want for 
 yourself) what would you do to procure all those necessaries 
 I have been speaking of? You perceive that though they 
 do not grow in the garden in the shape of shoes and 
 stockings, the things that do grow there may be exchanged 
 
 37 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 for money, and money may be exchanged for shoes and 
 stockings, but laziness and indolence will produce nothing 
 but want and wretchedness. 
 
 Harry. 
 I did not think of all that, but I see now that it is a very 
 bad thing to be idle : pray Mamma what can I do that I 
 may not be idle ; I cannot dig, you know I am not strong 
 enough. 
 
 Mamma. 
 Nor is it needful you should : your papa has money 
 enough to pay people to work for him and a great many 
 poor labourers live by what they get from him. 
 
 Harry. 
 Then / may be as idle as I please. 
 
 Mamma. 
 Indeed you may not ; there are many other ways of 
 employing your time besides digging or planting. You are 
 too young at present to be of service to anybody ; all you 
 can now do is to attend to the instructions of your papa 
 and your masters and learn against you are older, how you 
 may be able to be most useful to your fellow creatures, and 
 how to conduct yourself in order to gain the love and 
 esteem of your friends and neighbours. 
 
 CONVERSATION XII. 
 
 Mamma. 
 I shall not take a very long walk to-day ; the weather is 
 growing chilly, and the wind is quite cold on this bleak 
 place. Do you observe that little boy with his faggot upon 
 
 38 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES.^ 
 
 his shoulder ! He is without a hat, and has neither shoes 
 nor stockings upon his poor feet. 
 
 Harry. 
 May I give him my old hat, Mamma ? I have two hats 
 and only one head. 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 That is very true, and he has a head but no hat ; I dare 
 say he will be very glad to have one of yours, for if it 
 should rain (as I think it will very soon) he will be wet and 
 cold. 
 
 39 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 Anna. 
 But he may go home with his faggot, and keep himself 
 warm, instead of running out in the rain ; would not that 
 be better ? 
 
 Mamma. 
 Perhaps he may not be able to avoid going out, and that 
 is very likely : I know who he is, and where he lives and I 
 can assure you that he and his sister are two of the best- 
 disposed children I ever met with in my life ; their mother 
 is a poor widow, who lives down by the mill, and she has 
 another little boy and girl much younger than those I speak 
 of ; she is a cripple and cannot go out of her house ; she 
 can only sit and spin and the two elder children do every* 
 thing for her and go out for everything she wants ; the boy 
 gathers wood sufficient to serve them, though he is obliged 
 to go many miles to get it ; the farmers are very kind to 
 him, because they know he is so dutiful to his mother, and 
 so good to his little brother and sister, and they sometimes 
 give him potatoes and turnips, and a little corn to make a 
 brown loaf; and then he runs home so joyful, and so happy 
 that he neither minds the rough road, nor the cold, nor 
 anything else. 
 
 Anna. 
 How came you to know so much of them, Mamma ? did 
 you go to see them without us ? I do not remember ever 
 having been there. 
 
 Mamma. 
 You were neither of you with me when I went to their 
 house, and you will wonder when I tell you that it was at 
 night, and that I went to see Sally safe home. 
 
 Anna. 
 Who is Sally ? Is she the good boy's sister ? 
 
 40 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 Mamma. 
 Yes, she is — but I will tell you how it happened. Your 
 papa and I had dined last winter at Mr. Wilson's, and the 
 evening was so very fine and pleasant, though very cold, 
 that we preferred walking home over the fields and through 
 the wood, to having the chaise, so we wrapped ourselves 
 up very comfortably and walked on till we came to the 
 middle of the wood, where you and I have often stopped to 
 observe how very thick the trees and bushes grow ; and 
 there your papa first thought he heard a child cry, and a 
 moment after we heard it lamenting very bitterly. " What 
 shall I do ? What shall I do ? " " Where are you ? " asked 
 your papa. " Here I am," said the poor thing. " Pray, 
 pray come to me, I cannot find my way out of the wood." 
 The voice was quite near us,- but the bushes were so thick 
 that we had a great deal of trouble to find the child ; at 
 length, however, we got to the place, and there stood a clean, 
 tidy little girl, with a pitcher of milk, and a small basket of 
 potatoes, but she was so frightened that she could hardly 
 tell us how she came there, or whom she belonged to. 
 When she had a little recovered herself, and we had 
 promised to see her safe home, she told us her name and 
 that she lived by the side of the mill ; that her mother was 
 a cripple and had nobody to do anything for her but her 
 brother and herself, and that there were two little ones to 
 take care of ; that her brother had that afternoon been taken 
 very ill, and they had nothing in the house to eat ; and her 
 little brother and sister were beginning to cry that they were 
 hungry, and her mother said, " What shall I do for these 
 poor children till to-morrow ? " so she told us she thought 
 she would take the pitcher, and the basket and go to farmer 
 Jackson's for some milk and some potatoes ; and that if she 
 went the nearest way (that is, through the wood) she would 
 be able to get back again before night ; she could not bear, 
 
 41 
 
SUMMER RAMBLES. 
 
 she said, to hear her little brother and sister cry ; so away 
 she went, and got what she wanted, but coming home she 
 lost the right path and had rambled about in the wood till 
 she had got quite into the thickest part of it, and it grew 
 dark, and she thought she would be obliged to stay there 
 all night ; and she was crying because she thought how 
 frightened her mother would be at not seeing her return, 
 and how hungry her poor little brother and sister would be, 
 who could get nothing to eat. 
 
 Anna. 
 What a good girl she must be !— but what would she have 
 done if you and papa had not heard her ? 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 Indeed, I do not know. We went home with her, and 
 rejoiced her poor mother, who was very uneasy, but had 
 nobody to send to seek her ; and the little ones were crying 
 for Sally and the milk, so that the poor woman did not 
 know what to do. 
 
 We gave them a little money, and left them very happy, 
 for I told Sally she might come every morning and have 
 her pitcher filled with milk at our house without having to 
 go through the wood to fetch it. 
 
 Anna. 
 Then she had not got it to pay for, and that was another 
 good thing. 
 
 Mamma. 
 Certainly she had not, and the money she had to spend 
 in milk has for months past served to buy other things, and 
 I am very thankful that God Almighty has blessed me with 
 plenty, and that I have it in my power to relieve my poor 
 neighbours and help to make them comfortable and happy. 
 
 4 2 
 
A NEW RIDDLE. 
 
 And now, my children, we must make haste to get home, 
 for I am very cold ; we must have a good fire, and our 
 books, and our pictures, and all our other winter amuse- 
 ments, for our summer rambles are at at end. 
 
 [From A New Riddle Book. By John the Giant-Killer, 
 Esquire. York : T. Wilson, 1804.] 
 
 Great virtues have I 
 
 There is none can deny, 
 And to these I shall mention an odd one ; 
 
 When apply'd to the tail 
 
 It is seldom I fail 
 To make a good boy of a bad one. 
 
 43 
 

THE 
 
 RENOWNED HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 PRIMROSE PRETTYEACE, 
 
 WHO 
 
 BY HER SWEETNESS OF TEMPER AND LOVE OF LEARNING 
 WAS RAISED FROM BEING THE 
 
 Daughter of a Poor Cottager 
 
 TO 
 
 Great Riches 
 
 AND 
 TO THE DIGNITY OF THE 
 
 Lady of the Manor. 
 
 SET FORTH 
 FOR THE BENEFIT AND IMITATION OF THOSE PRETTY LITTLE 
 
 Boys & Girls 
 
 Who by learning their Books and obliging Mankind, 
 Would to Beauty of Body add Beauty of Mind. 
 
 Adorned with Cuts by BEWICK 
 
 YORK : 
 
 Printed for T. WILSON e^ R. SPENCE 
 
 1804 
 
 (Price Sixpence) 
 

 
 
PRIMROSE PRETTYFACE. 
 
 THE RENOWNED HISTORY OF 
 PRIMROSE PRETTYFACE. 
 
 When Primrose Prettyface became old enough to go to 
 service, she was taken into the family of Squire Homestead 
 in the next village. It was her business there to sweep and 
 dust the rooms and do such other matters as came within 
 her sphere, which were often much increased by the care- 
 lessness or wantonness of their son Jemmy. This young 
 gentleman being the darling of his papa and mamma was so 
 humoured in everything that, according to the old proverb, 
 he was one of those who are better fed than taught. If 
 they had company at dinner he would be pawing the dishes 
 that stood next him and licking his fingers. Then call out 
 for such and such particular bits of a fowl ; and when it was 
 given him, truly it was not so nice and white as that papa 
 had on his plate. Well then, to be sure, the dear boy must 
 have papa's, and papa take his. Presently while the servant 
 was attending some of the company he would call for beer 
 and when it was brought begin scolding because the servant 
 forgot to give it him in the painted cup. So that with his 
 throwing down the wine, pulling the victuals about, greasing 
 people's clothes and other such disagreeable actions, many 
 people left off visiting at their house. He was very unlucky 
 and would tell fibs, and sometimes swear and call names 
 shockingly. In these things he was not a little forwarded by 
 keeping company with the son of one of his father's tenants. 
 This lad had taught him almost everything that was bad. 
 Evil communications corrupt good manners, says my copy- 
 book, and this indeed is often verified to the cost of many 
 who will not take advice in time. Jemmy was continually 
 
 47 
 
PRIMROSE PRETTYFACE. 
 
 in mischief, and when he had done any, to screen himself 
 would tell fibs and lay it on other people. 
 
 Squire Homestead had frequently observed to his lady 
 that the best apple-tree was often robbed, but by whom he 
 could never discover. Little Jem who stood by, said he 
 believed Primrose Prettyface did it, for he often saw her in 
 
 the garden near that tree. Upon this she was called into the 
 room, and interrogated concerning it. Prim, who had been 
 very little used to accusations of this kind, cried very much 
 when she was asked how she dared to do it. How- 
 ever, drying up her pretty eyes, she declared she had never 
 taken an apple off any tree in the garden without the know- 
 ledge of her fellow-servants ; but in particular she had never 
 
 48 
 
PRIMROSE PRETTYFACE. 
 
 touched that tree because she had heard her master say he 
 liked the apples and would have them saved for his friends 
 and himself. Jemmy still insisted on the truth of his ac- 
 cusations, and Squire Homestead bid her go out of the 
 room for an impudent baggage as she was. Primrose 
 Prettyface knowing herself innocent, cried sadly, while 
 Jemmy triumphed in his wicked contrivances. But this 
 triumph was of very short duration, he being found out, and 
 when he least thought of it too. 
 
 One day when Squire Homestead had a great deal of 
 company, Jemmy came running into the room without 
 taking the least notice of the Gentlemen and Ladies present. 
 His uncle who had just then been looking out of the 
 window, but turned round at hearing Jemmy make a great 
 stamping in coming upstairs, observed his rude manner of 
 entering the room, and asked somewhat sharply, Where was 
 his bow ? Jemmy looked much confused, but neither spoke 
 nor moved. I say, sir, said his uncle, where is your bow ? 
 After some hesitation, he replied, in the barn, and roared 
 like a town bull. The company not knowing what he 
 meant burst into a loud laugh. However, Jemmy continued 
 crying, and said, Jack Dobbins was as much in fault as he ; 
 and added, indeed he would never do so any more. His 
 uncle, however, suspecting something at the bottom, seized 
 hold of him (see how silly he looks !) and asked him how he 
 dared to do so ? Come, continued he, tell the truth, and 
 you shall be forgiven ; but if you say a word that is not so, 
 you shall be sent for a drummer as sure as you are alive. 
 After much sobbing and crying, out came the truth at last. 
 Jemmy with his. hopeful companion Jack Dobbins had been 
 in the garden, and not content with pulling the fruit had 
 broke a bough off the tree Squire Homestead so much 
 valued, and which but a few days before Primrose Prettyface 
 had been falsely accused by Jemmy of robbing. The bough 
 
 49 4 
 
EASY LESSONS. 
 
 they had hid in the barn j but the apples Jack Dobbins 
 carried home for his own use. 
 
 At this discovery Squire Homestead was very angry, and 
 would have thrashed him soundly had not the company in- 
 terposed and begged him off. His uncle too reprimanded 
 him severely, and the more so because of the fibs he had 
 told of Primrose ; nor would he be satisfied till she was 
 called into the room, and he had begged her pardon before 
 the whole company. When Primrose was gone, he told 
 Jemmy how wicked it was to keep such company as he did, 
 who had taught him to rob even his own father's garden, and 
 then added to the crime by telling a lie and laying the blame 
 on an innocent person : besides his stripping the tree in 
 that manner was proof of a greedy disposition. He finished 
 his advice with the homely but good counsel which he said 
 his old grandmother gave him when he was a boy, 
 
 Of a little, take a little, 
 
 You're kindly welcome too : 
 
 Of a little, leave a little, 
 'Tis manners so to do. 
 
 EASY LESSONS. 
 
 [From The Parlour Teacher. London : W. Darton and J. 
 Harvey, 55, Gracechurch Street. Price is. 1804.] 
 
 The doc-tor of the vil-lage sent for all the poor chil-dren, 
 and all the poor men and wo-men who had not had the 
 small-pox and in-oc-u-lated them with the cow-pox, for he 
 had found out that who-ev-er had once had that dis-ease 
 nev-er had the small-pox ; and by this kind act he sav-ed 
 much pain and trou-ble if not man-y val-u-a-ble lives. 
 
 50 
 
EASY LESSONS. 
 
 The sea con-tains man-y things to be ad-mir-ed ; rocks, 
 weeds, or plants, and fish-es in great var-i-et-y. Fish-es 
 have no legs, be-cause they can swim, and do not walk, 
 so that fins ans-wer all the pur-pose of legs. Man-y fish-es 
 have sharp teeth ; most of them have scales ; some have 
 sharp thorns at their sides, on their backs or on their 
 heads j and others have ve-ry hard shells. 
 
 All sea-wa-ter is salt or brack-ish, which be-comes fresh 
 when boil-ed. As the sea is al-ways in mo-tion, sea-wa-ter 
 soon cor-rupts if it stands in a ves-sel : in-deed stand-ing or 
 stag-nat-ed wa-ter soon spoils, but the wa-ter in riv-ers does 
 not spoil be-cause it is kept runn-ing or in mo-tion, by 
 means of springs, foun-tains or the rain. 
 
 Do not hurt live things, for they can feel ; do not catch 
 flies, nor pull off their legs. There was a rude boy, and 
 he took a poor bird as she was sit-ting on her eggs, from 
 
 51 
 
THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 off her nest, and tied a piece of string to one of her legs, 
 and led her about till she died. Now if he had not done 
 so there might have been four or five young birds hatch-ed 
 from the eggs, and they might have liv-ed to fly a-bout from 
 tree to tree, and would have sung ve-ry sweet-ly at morn 
 and ev-en-ing : in-deed if they had been night-in-gales they 
 would have sung by night. 
 
 THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 [From Juvenile Pieces designed for the Instruction and Amuse- 
 ment of the Youth of Both Sexes. By John Evans, A.M., 
 Master of a Seminary for a limited number of pupils at 
 Pullin's Row, Islington. London : B. Crosby and Co., 
 Stationer's Court, Paternoster Row. 1804.] 
 
 A few years ago I visited London, and resided during my 
 stay in a relative's house. A gentleman lived in the family, 
 of whom I had frequently heard, and for whose character, 
 though I had never seen him, I conceived an high esteem. 
 I was introduced to him on my arrival in town, and ex- 
 perienced great pleasure and satisfaction in his company. 
 He was a solitary widower, and spoke often of his wife and 
 children, in a strain characteristic of conjugal and paternal 
 tenderness. 
 
 One trait in this gentleman's character, even a stranger 
 on a slight interview, might discover. The love of 
 Painting was his darling passion; and its ascendancy 
 over him sensibly affected his conduct. It was not unlike 
 Aaron's rod, which swallowed up those of the magicians. I 
 have observed him using many little innocent arts to make 
 the nature and utility of Painting the leading topic of con- 
 versation. Whenever he succeeded, his countenance was 
 illumined with gleams of joy 
 
 52 
 
THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 During my residence in town, I told the Connoisseur, 
 that paintings gave me exquisite pleasure, and that with the 
 most agreeable emotions I had surveyed the annual ex- 
 hibition at Somerset House. He enquired instantly 
 whether I practised myself, and expressed a wish of 
 seeing my juvenile productions. "I feel," said I, "a 
 predilection for the art — devote much of my time to the 
 study of it, and with my parents' consent shall embrace that 
 line of profession." 
 
 53 
 
THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 The information pleased him, and he again repeated his 
 desire of seeing some of my sketches. I had but few 
 with me, and those I put into his hands. When he 
 returned them, he with candour observed — " They possess 
 considerable merit, and though not void of blemishes, yet 
 these blemishes the improvement of your present good taste 
 will effectually correct." 
 
 The day previous to my departure from the metropolis, 
 just after breakfast he took me aside into his apartment. 
 Having shut the door, he furnished me with a seat, and thus 
 addressed me : 
 
 " The choice of an employment my friend, involves your 
 future felicity. Many destitute of an intelligent adviser 
 engage in occupations for which they are by no means 
 fitted. I much approve of the choice you have already 
 made. You are blessed with a genius for Painting. 
 Cherish that genius with sedulous care. For want of the 
 soul's being moulded by the hand of Nature for this noble 
 art, how few of its amateurs attain to eminence ! In 
 rewarding merit the present age is not backward ; and the 
 reign of George the Third is distinguished for its attention 
 to the fine arts. You will require the tuition of an accom- 
 plished master. Should your parents refuse to advance a 
 competent premium I will afford every necessary aid. 
 Nothing on my part shall be omitted to ensure your 
 celebrity in your profession, and to render you a useful 
 member of society. Be ambitious of rising above the 
 common herd of mankind — of attracting the notice of a 
 generous public — and of having your name transmitted with 
 honour to an impartial posterity : 
 
 For who would sink in dull oblivion's stream ? 
 Who would not live in songs of distant days ? 
 
 — Wolcott. 
 
 54 
 
THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 The Connoisseur (scarcely giving me time to thank him 
 for the generous proposal) now took up his golden-headed 
 cane which lay across the table and pointing to the several 
 parts of the room, described the ornaments with which it 
 was decorated. On the mantel-piece stood the busts of 
 Raphael, Titian and Guido. Having mentioned the 
 persons they represented, he specified the place of their 
 birth — the times in which they flourished — and the chefs- 
 d'ceuvre which had immortalized their names. On this 
 last topic he eloquently expatiated. He not only extolled 
 those masters of the pencil but reprobating their critics who 
 had asserted their famous pieces to be defective — he almost 
 averred they were faultless. Demosthenes declaimed not 
 more vehemently against the ambition of the Macedonian 
 monarch than this good man did at (what he termed) the 
 insolence of criticism. The Encomiast then pointed to a 
 single bust which graced an elegant pedestal elevated a foot 
 above the rest. " This," says he, " is the bust of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds." He favoured me with a brief account 
 of that eminent artist ; and wound up the whole with an 
 apostrophe in his praise. 
 
 We next surveyed the different pictures with which the 
 apartment was embellished. They were so numerous as to 
 occupy almost the whole wainscot, and so arranged as to 
 have a peculiar effect on the beholder's imagination when 
 he first entered the room. To whatever part the eye 
 glanced, you perceived a group of portraits, landscapes or 
 historic pieces. On each of these the Panegyrist descanted. 
 " See," exclaimed he, with a glow on his visage, and a 
 sprightliness in his eye, " how boldly are they sketched ! — 
 how vivid the colours ! — how delicate the finishing ! " 
 
 I was, however, astonished that one picture passed un- 
 noticed, which struck me beyond any of the rest, and 
 seemed full as worthy of praise as those upon which he had 
 
 55 
 
THE PAINTER'S PANEGYRIST. 
 
 oestowed his encomiums. It represented a young woman, 
 about thirty years of age, seated in an elbow chair. Grace- 
 ful was her appearance, neat her attire, sprightly and 
 intelligent her countenance. Her features were engaging. 
 I think I never beheld a face so thoroughly expressive of 
 female loveliness. The moment I saw her she reminded 
 me of the beauteous rose in all its glory. In her arms she 
 held a sweet infant on whom she smiled with maternal 
 fondness ; and on her knee leaned a lovely boy, apparently 
 near four or five years old. The little boy was drawn in the 
 attitude of looking up into his mother's face with an in- 
 teresting earnestness, and his innocent features glowed with 
 the warmth of filial affection. I interrupted the Con- 
 noisseur by begging him to explain this delightful picture, 
 and assign his reason for passing it over in silence. I 
 immediately perceived the question agitated his mind, and 
 his eyes were suffused with tears. " Alas ! " said he, in a 
 faltering voice, " it is the dear wife of my youth, and two 
 sweet children — now — no more ! " The three last words 
 were scarcely articulated. He sat down and wept bitterly. 
 That they were to him no more wrung his tender heart. I 
 approached him, and taking him by the hand, said, " My 
 dear Sir, abandon not yourself to grief. These misfortunes 
 are incident to frail mortality. Our best tears are due to 
 departed worth, and may be shed frequently o'er the tomb 
 of the deceased. Sorrow not, as those who are without 
 hope. Though to you they return not, yet the Christian 
 religion assures you, that you shall again meet each other, 
 never more to be separated." These consolatory hints, 
 though imperfect, proved a cordial to revive his spirit. He 
 gradually recovered. Wishing not to open wounds which 
 seemed far from being closed by the lenient hand of time, 
 I enquired no further into particulars. — Poor man ! I was 
 not surprised at thy amiable sensibility. 
 
 56 
 
HENRY. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 [From A Cup of Sweets that can never Cloy ; or Delightful 
 Tales for Good Children. By a London Lady : J. Harris, 
 successor to E. Newbery, corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. 
 1804.] 
 
 Henry was the son of a merchant of Bristol ; he was a 
 very good-natured, obliging boy, and loved his papa and 
 mamma, and his brothers and sisters, most affectionately ; 
 but he had one very disagreeable fault, which was, that he 
 did not like to be directed or advised. 
 
 He was the most amiable boy in the world, if you would 
 let him have his own way : but the moment he was told not 
 to stand so near the fire, or not to jump down two or three 
 stairs at a time, not to climb upon the tables, or to take care 
 he did not fall out of the window, he grew directly angry, 
 and asked if they thought he did not know what he was 
 about — said he was no longer a baby, and that he was 
 certainly big enough to take care of himself. 
 
 A lady, who visited his mamma, and who was extremely 
 fond of him, met him in the hall on new year's day, and 
 gave him a seven-shilling piece to purchase something to 
 amuse himself. Henry was delighted at having so much 
 money, but instead of informing his parents of the present 
 he had received, and asking them to advise him how to 
 spend it, he determined to do as he liked with it, without 
 consulting anybody ; and having long had a great desire to 
 amuse himself with some gunpowder, he began to think 
 (now he was so rich) whether it might not be possible to 
 contrive to get some. He had been often told of the 
 dreadful accidents which have happened by playing with 
 
 57 
 
HENRY. 
 
 this dangerous thing, but he fancied he could take care, he 
 was old enough to amuse himself with it, without any risk 
 of hurting himself; and meeting with a boy who was 
 employed about the house by the servants, he offered to 
 give him a shilling for his trouble, if he would get him 
 what he desired ; and as the boy cared very little for the 
 danger to which he exposed Henry, of blowing himself up, 
 so as he got but the shilling, he was soon in possession of 
 what he wished for. 
 
 A dreadful noise was, some time afterwards, heard in the 
 nursery. The cries of children, and the screams of their 
 maid, brought the whole family upstairs : but, oh ! what a 
 shocking sight was presented to their view on opening the 
 door ! There lay Henry by the fireside, his face black, and 
 smeared with blood ; his hair burnt, and his eyes closed : 
 one of his little sisters lay by him, nearly in the same 
 deplorable condition ; the others, some hurt, but all frightened 
 almost to death, were got together in a corner, and the maid 
 was fallen on the floor in a fit. 
 
 It was very long before either Henry or his sister could 
 speak, and many months before they were quite restored to 
 health, and even then with the loss of one of poor Henry's 
 eyes. He had been many weeks confined to his bed in a 
 dark room, and it was during that time that he had reflected 
 upon his past conduct : he now saw that he had been a very 
 conceited, wrong-headed boy, and that children would avoid 
 a great many accidents which happen to themselves, and 
 the mischiefs they frequently lead others into, if they 
 would listen to the advice of their elders, and not fancy 
 they are capable of conducting themselves without being 
 directed ; and he was so sorry for what he had done, and 
 particularly for what he had made his dear little Emma 
 suffer, that he never afterwards did the least thing without 
 consulting his friends : and whenever he was told not to do 
 
 58 
 
FIDO. 
 
 a thing, though he had wished it ever so much, instead of 
 being angry, as he used to be, he immediately gave up all 
 desire of doing it, and never after that time got into any 
 mischief. 
 
 FIDO 
 
 Paulina going to spend the afternoon with her little cousins, 
 arrived at their door at the very instant that they were 
 dragging out a poor little dog, once so great a favourite, that 
 it was fed with every kind of nicety, and reposed, when it 
 was inclined to sleep, on a beautiful silk cushion. 
 
 " What are you going to do with poor Fido ? " inquired 
 Paulina. 
 
 " Oh, the nasty thing ! " replied her cousin Emily. " Pray 
 look how ugly it is grown — I would not keep it in the 
 house on any account — I am going to give it to those boys 
 you see at the gate : I do not care what they do with it ; 
 my brother Charles has given me a most beautiful little 
 creature — come in, and I will shew it to you." 
 
 " Stop, stop, for pity's sake ! " exclaimed Paulina. " Pray 
 do not give poor Fido to those boys, to be worried and 
 tormented to death ; let me have him : I will carry him 
 home to my hospital, and will take care of him as long as 
 he lives." 
 
 Fido had unfortunately strolled into the kitchen (where 
 certainly neither young ladies nor their dogs can have any 
 business), when the cook was very busy in getting ready for 
 dinner, and (I hope without intending such a piece of 
 cruelty) she had thrown a quantity of boiling water over the 
 poor little creature's head and back, and scalded him in so 
 terrible a manner, that no one thought he could have lived 
 through the day. 
 
 59 
 
FIDO. 
 
 Emily was so angry with the cook, and shed so many 
 tears when she beheld the agony of her favourite, that 
 one would have thought she had the best heart in the world, 
 and that she had a very great regard for it ; but as soon as 
 it was recovered, and she saw it had lost one eye, and 
 that all the side of its head, and its whole back, was without 
 hair, she could not bear the sight of it : it was turned out 
 of the parlour, and kicked about by everybody, glad to pick 
 up any bone it could meet with, and to sleep in a corner on 
 straw, instead of the silk cushion it had been accustomed 
 to ; and at length, had not Paulina arrived in time to save it, 
 would have been given to half a dozen unfeeling boys, who 
 would soon have destroyed it. 
 
 Paulina was very little pleased with her cousin Emily on 
 this occasion, for her own disposition was very different ; 
 she was so humane, so kind to everybody and every crea- 
 ture in distress, that she was beloved by all who knew 
 her ; she had quite a little hospital of sick and lame 
 animals and birds ; a dog, which had had its leg broken 
 by being caught in a gin ; a cat with one ear, the other 
 having been bitten off by a large mastiff; and a blind 
 squirrel : she had a little goldfinch in a cage, which had 
 had its wings torn off by a cat, and as it could no longer 
 fly down from its perch to drink, and return when it liked, 
 she had contrived a little ladder, on which it could hop 
 up and down without any difficulty; a blackbird, almost 
 frozen to death, which she had picked up in the snow, but 
 which never recovered the use of one of its legs, sung very 
 merrily, however, in its cage ; for it was well fed and taken 
 care of; and one or two blind cocks, which she had bought 
 from boys who had been fighting them, and were going to 
 throw at them, by way of finishing the fun (as they called 
 it) ; and several lame hens, become so by some accident or 
 other, lived comfortably in her little poultry-yard, for she 
 
 60 
 
FIDO. 
 
 took care to feed all her pensioners herself, and never 
 trusted the care of them to any other person. 
 
 Paulina had great pleasure in procuring every comfort she 
 could for her poor animals ; and her papa and mamma, 
 to encourage her kind and humane disposition, increased 
 her pocket-money, that she might be able to purchase barley 
 for her poultry, and seed for her birds : her brothers also, 
 who were at school, often sent her presents for that purpose. 
 As she grew up, her humanity was shewn to her fellow- 
 creature in distress, as much as it had been in her childhood 
 to the dumb creation ; and as God had given her the means 
 of doing good, she freely indulged herself in acts of kind- 
 ness, for which she received a thousand thanks and blessings 
 wherever she appeared; she was beloved by all her 
 neighbours, both poor and rich, everything prospered with 
 her, and she was happy and contented, and she deserved 
 to be. 
 
MORAL PLAYTHINGS. 
 
 [From Moral Playthings, or Tales for Children. By M. Monget. 
 London : Didier and Tebbett, 75, St. James's Street. 1806.] 
 
 " Envy not your neighbours' good lot, but banish jealousy, 
 wish for their prosperity, and strive to merit like good 
 fortune." 
 
 62 
 
MORAL PLAYTHINGS. 
 
 " Under her mother's eyes, she, a soldier's daughter, every 
 day had lessons from the music master, the drawing master, 
 then a little geography, then dancing." 
 
 "3 
 
Coblev ! stick to \>our last ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Adventures 
 
 OF 
 
 yoe Dobson 
 
 Exhibited 
 
 In Sixteen Elegant Copper- Plate 
 
 Engravings 
 
 By B. A. T. 
 
 % o n D o n : 
 
 Printed for J. Harris, successor to E. Newbery, 
 
 A t the Original Juvenile Library, corner 
 
 of St. PauVs Church Yard 
 
 Price One Shilling plain, &■ Eighteen-pence coloured 
 I807 
 
Mamma, don't make me beg in vain, 
 Pray read that pretty hook again. 
 
Joe Dobfon< 
 
 
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 68 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Joe Dobson was an Englishman 
 In days of Robin Hood, 
 
 A Country Farmer eke was he, 
 In Forest of Sherwood. 
 
 
 69 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Joe Dobson said unto his Dame, 
 
 I vow that I could do 
 More household work in any day 
 
 Than you can do in two. 
 
 7 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 She soon replied, I do declare 
 Your words you shall fulfil, 
 
 To-morrow you my place shall take 
 I'll to the plow and mill. 
 
JOE DOBSON, 
 
 Next morning came, they sallied forth 
 
 Each sure of doing well, 
 She with her stick, He with a pail, 
 
 The rest I soon will tell. 
 
 72 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Away went Joe to milk the cow, 
 
 His business to begin, 
 She tossed the pail and kicked his leg 
 
 The blood ran down his shin. 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 But see him now sit down to reel 
 The yard his rib had spun, 
 
 But puzzled and perplexed was he 
 He swore it was no fun. 
 
 74 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Next job to boil the pot he went — 
 
 The fire he had forgot ; 
 He ran with chips and burnt his head, 
 
 Oh ! grievous was his lot. 
 
 75 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Away went Joe to wash the cloaths 
 But sore against his will, 
 
 The water scalded both his hands 
 Bad luck pursued him still. 
 
 76 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 He went to hang the cloaths to dry- 
 It was a lovely day, 
 
 But oh, alas ! a Magpie came 
 And stole his wig away. 
 
 77 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Away went Dobson in despair 
 At losing thus his wig ; 
 
 The Magpie flew with rapid flight 
 And left it on a twig, 
 
 78 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Good lack ! quoth he, I must dispatch 
 And haste the bread to make, 
 
 But stooping down to knead it well 
 His back did sorely ache. 
 
 79 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Loud crowed the Cocks, the Turkeys screamed, 
 The Geese and Ducks now quacked, 
 
 Enraged for food, which Joe forgot, 
 He was by all attacked. 
 
 80 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 An effort then poor Dobson made 
 
 The little pigs to feed ; 
 The old Sow tripped him in the mud 
 
 In spite of all his heed. 
 
 5 »*r,,- ' 7 ^\y^^ x 
 
 
 81 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 The old Dame now with speed returned 
 Quite stout and blithe was she, 
 
 And found poor Joe all bruised and ill 
 Fatigued as he could be. 
 
 82 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Now Mrs. Dobson, tidy soul, 
 Soon set all neat and right, 
 
 Prepared the meat and drew the ale 
 They bravely fared that night. 
 
 83 
 
 6* 
 
JOE DOBSON. 
 
 Whilst they partook this dainty meal 
 
 Joe sullenly confessed 
 He was convinced that wives could do 
 
 The household business best. 
 
 84 
 
anginas ^p0rts : 
 
 A Tale 
 
 ADDRESSED TO CHILDREN 
 
 WARNING THEM AGAINST 
 
 WANTON, CARELESS OR MISCHIEVOUS 
 
 EXPOSURE TO SITUATIONS 
 
 FROM WHICH ALARMING INJURIES SO OFTEN PROCEED 
 
 SeconD EOitton 
 By JAMES PARKINSON 
 
 Who knows but one of my Stories may, one day, 
 save the life of some child ? "—Old Mii.lson 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed for H. D. Symonds, 
 
 Paternoster Row, 
 
 By Law &r Gilbert, St. John's Square, Clerkenwell 
 
 1.808 
 Price Two Shillings & Sixpence 
 

 
 iJ&h&C* 
 
 
DANGEROUS SPORTS. 
 
 DANGEROUS SPORTS. 
 
 It is not necessary to mount a horse to be exposed to 
 danger from him since several children have had their skulls 
 beat to pieces from the kick of a horse, in consequence of 
 their sillily plucking the hairs of its tail. Indeed of such 
 different tempers are these animals that he must be more 
 bold than prudent who ventures within reach of their heels. 
 So ferocious are they sometimes, that two dreadful instances 
 have occurred lately ; in one of which the hand of a gentle- 
 man was seized by a horse and terribly ground by his teeth. 
 In the other, an enraged horse seized the arm of a poor man 
 which he did not loosen until the bystanders had broken the 
 bone of his nose by beating him ; and the arm was so 
 injured as to be obliged to be cut off. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A young gentleman passing a dog slightly touched it with 
 a switch he carried in his hand, upon which the ferocious 
 animal turned and seized him ; and in spite of the exertions 
 of those around him continued his hold until the bowels of 
 the youth appeared at the wound : I need hardly say that 
 the poor youth died within a few hours. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Always be careful to avoid any dog which you see 
 running along, looking heavy and lowering, seemingly 
 inattentive to everything, his eyes looking red and watery, 
 and his tail hanging between his legs, lest it should be mad. 
 If at any time you should be bitten by a dog, though ever 
 so slightly, endeavour to ascertain whose dog it is and 
 immediately apprise your parents of the circumstance ; 
 since they will be the fittest to carry on the enquiry farther ; 
 and even if the dog should have been mad, can prevent its 
 
 37 
 
DANGEROUS SPORTS. 
 
 being of the least ill consequence to you, if you give then* 
 early information. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Never leave your penknife open, especially on a desk, 
 since being likely to glide down, it may fall with its point 
 into your thigh, or wound you just by the inner ankle, 
 where the artery runs very near the surface. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It is said that a little girl found her frock on fire, when 
 she tried to tear off the skirt, but this she could not do ; she 
 then after ringing the bell violently flew to the sideboard, 
 hoping to find water in the decanter, with which she would 
 have been enabled to have directly extinguished it, but fail- 
 ing here and finding the flames by rising were communicating 
 with the upper clothing, she sat herself on the hearth carpet 
 and directly folded the ends of the carpet over the burning 
 
 88 
 
DANGEROUS SPORTS. 
 
 pan by which the flames were smothered and extinguished ; 
 the carpet at the same time protecting her arms from the 
 flames. Should such an accident happen to you, that is the 
 exact conduct I would wish you to adopt. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Never stand opposite to anyone who is spinning his top, 
 nor sufficiently near to his side to receive it on your head 
 should it hang in the string. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A foolish practice is that of jumping unnecessarily from 
 high places ; this is frequently done without the idea of any 
 danger : but consider when you alight on your feet after 
 such a jump with how severe a shock you meet the ground. 
 Frequently by this shock is one of the bones of the legs 
 broken, and even when this is not the case, the shock affects 
 the ends of the bones at the knee or hip-joint so severely 
 that their surfaces polished like glass, sustain very consider- 
 able injury ; from which such diseases follow as may 
 occasion the loss of a limb or of life. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Think before you taste, and taste before you swallow. 
 For want of attending to this simple rule I knew two poor 
 children lose their lives. One from thoughtlessly tasting 
 something he found in a bottle, and which was aqua fortis 
 had his mouth and throat so burnt that he died in the 
 greatest agonies. The other was a little girl, who playing 
 alone in a parlour, perceived a bottle of liquor standing on 
 the sideboard. On tasting the liquor she found it pleasant, 
 and putting her mouth to the buttle drank so freely that 
 when her mother came into the room she found her sense- 
 less on the floor. The liquor she had drank was brandy, 
 and in a very few hours she died. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Very lately a most dreadful accident happened in the 
 8 9 
 
DANGEROUS SPORTS. 
 
 country. The guards of the mail coaches always travel with 
 loaded pistols and a blunderbuss. In a room at an inn, 
 some of the pistols had been left by one of the guards, and 
 had remained there several days when a little boy about 
 eleven years of age took up one of the pistols and carried it 
 into the garden as a plaything. On his return to the house 
 he met his sister, towards whom he presented the pistol and 
 snapped it several times. At last most unexpectedly and 
 unfortunately it went off and its whole contents were lodged 
 in her stomach : she survived only a few hours during which 
 she suffered the most excruciating torments. 
 
 90 
 
CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. 
 
 [From Christmas Holidays, or Anecdotes of Mrs. Truegood's 
 Scholars. By Humphrey Teach'em, esq. London : Robert 
 Bassam, 53 St. John Street, West Smithfield.] 
 
 Tommy stole the cakes and put one into his sister's box 
 to make his mother believe she had done it. The cake was 
 found and her mother ordered the servant to take the little 
 girl upstairs and undress her for punishment. Master Love- 
 truth tearfully confessed he had seen Tommy put the cake 
 into his sister's box, and Tommy also told him that he had 
 hidden the others in the rack of hay which stood in the 
 stackgarth at the back of the orchard. The cakes were 
 found and Tommy confessed. He was immediately stripped 
 and flogged, and then sent to bed without any supper. To 
 add to his punishment a pair of new breeches which his 
 father had brought him from town were taken from him. 
 
 91 
 
THE COCK-CIIAFKR. 
 
 THE COCK -CHAFER. 
 
 [From Original Poems Intended for the Use of Young Persons. 
 By Mrs. Richardson. On a plan recommended by the Rev. 
 Dr. Isaac Watts. London : Vernor, Hood and Sharpe, 31 
 Poultry. 1 808.] 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Only look at this chafer, transfix'd on a pin ; 
 It will do your heart good to see how he will spin : 
 He's been at it this hour, and I've had so much fun ! 
 I think 'twill be nigh-time before he has done. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 It will do your heart ill, George, such sports to pursue — 
 
 Suppose that a giant should do so by you ; 
 
 And, running a sword through you, take a delight 
 
 In beholding your torture, convulsions and fright ? 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Suppose ! What a curious idea is that ? 
 Why a chafer is harder to kill than a cat : 
 You can scarcely destroy him whatever you do ; 
 And I think, Philip, I'm as good natur'd as you. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 I think that you are, when to think you take time 
 But the want of reflexion brings many a crime. 
 
 92 
 
THE COCK-CHAFER. 
 GEORGE. 
 
 A crime, too ! Indeed — I that fancy admire : 
 So you think it crime a poor chafer to tire ? 
 The world will have plenty of crimes at that rate ; 
 But you only so style it to make a debate. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Indeed, George, I speak as I feel the impression : 
 In my mind, wanton cruelty's no light transgression ; 
 And whatever the creature — cat, dog, worm or fly, 
 I should think it a fault if I calmly stood by, 
 And saw but another afflict and torment them, 
 Without an endeavour, at least, to prevent them. 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Come I'll take the pin out then — there now, will that please 
 
 you ? 
 I perceive, Philip, what I have done seems to teaze you. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 It does, my dear George, for you must destroy him ; 
 The wound you have made would for ever annoy him. 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Poor thing ! — there he's dead ; and now pray if you've 
 
 leisure, 
 Inform me, good Philip, what you would call pleasure. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 You need ne'er for amusement, George, be at a loss ; 
 Bows and arrows are pleasant to shoot at a boss ; 
 Then there's cricket, or trap-ball, and kites for fair weather ; 
 And of evenings a book, when returning together : 
 
 93 
 
THE COCK-CHAFER. 
 
 With races in winter, and football and skating, 
 And many more pastimes than I've been relating ; 
 You'll find for your leisure there's ample employment. 
 In pursuits where you need not repent the enjoyment. 
 Then give me your hand, George, before that we part — 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 AVith thanks, my dear Philip, my hand and my heart, 
 
 You have taught me a lesson I ne'er shall forget, 
 
 And shall think while I live that I'm much in your debt ; 
 
 For all barbarous sports I now feel an aversion, 
 
 And in nought but what's harmless will seek for diversion. 
 
 Ride on Pickback my darling 1 
 
 94 
 
DR. GOLDSMITH'S 
 
 Celebrated Elegy 
 on that Glory of Her 
 
 SEX, 
 
 
 Mrs 
 
 Alary 
 
 Blaiz 
 
 
 
 
 Published 
 
 
 
 Nov 
 
 . i, 1808, 
 
 by J. Harris, 
 Churchyard 
 
 corner St 
 
 Paul's 
 
MRS. MARY BLAtZE. 
 
 MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 Good people all with one accord, 
 
 Lament for Madam Blaize, 
 
 Who never wanted a good word— 
 
 97 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE!. 
 
 From those who spoke her praise. 
 
 9 8 
 
Mrs. Mary blaize. 
 
 __ i .fr. ii m i f. i * j i 
 
 The needy seldom passed her door, 
 And always found her kind ; 
 She freely lent to all the poor — ■ 
 
 99 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 Who left a pledge behind. 
 
 IOO 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 She strove the neighbourhood to please, 
 With manners wondrous winning ; 
 And never followed wicked ways — 
 
 IOI 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 Unless when she was sinning. 
 
 I02 
 
MRS, MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 At church in silks and satins new, 
 With Hoop of monstrous size ; 
 She never slumbered in her Pew— 
 
 103 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 But when she shut her eyes. 
 
 104 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 Her love was sought I do aver, 
 
 By twenty Beaux and more ; 
 
 The King himself has follow'd her- 
 
 1°5 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 When she has walked before. 
 
 1 0§ 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 But now her wealth and finery fled, 
 Her hangers on cut short all ; 
 The Doctors found when she was dead,- 
 Her last disorder mortal ! 
 
 107 
 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 
 
 Let us lament in sorrow sore, 
 For Kent Street well may say, 
 That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more- 
 She had not dy'd to-day ! 
 
 1 08 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 [From London Cries for Children. London : Darton and 
 Harvey, Gracechurch Street ; and W. Darton, Junr., 40 
 Holborn Hill, 1806.] 
 
 In the Gazette great news to-day, 
 The enemy is beat they say — 
 But what, alas ! will that avail ? 
 Since war we still have to bewail. 
 Yet all are eager to be told 
 The news that new events unfold. 
 
 109 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 Little folks will lend an ear 
 When this pair approaches near \ 
 Their buns are found so very nice 
 They are always eager for a slice. 
 But if flour should rise anew, 
 To hot cross buns we bid adieu. 
 
 no 
 
crIes of London. 
 
 'Tis very proper to be known 
 Whatever may come from the throne. 
 This Gracious Speech, 'tis said, contains 
 Something that will assuage our pains ; 
 But must new taxes yet continue 
 Still to increase the revenue ? 
 
 Ill 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 Stern winter is no sooner gone, 
 And nature's milder garb put on, 
 Than young and tender cresses grow, 
 Where smooth streams and rivulets flow. 
 These at once to town we bring 
 And announce th'approach of spring. 
 
 112 
 
CRIES OF LONDON* 
 
 Sixpence a peck these peas are sold, 
 
 Fresh and green, and far from old ; 
 
 Which as times go cannot be dear, 
 
 And don't forget the time of year. 
 
 See for yourselves, they are clean and round, 
 
 As any peas that can be found, 
 
 Just come growing from the ground. 
 
 113 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 Delicious to the taste are found 
 
 These tempting cherries, sound and round. 
 
 Nowhere better will you meet, 
 
 For like sugar they are sweet ; 
 
 But if you should incline to buy, 
 
 Be so kind first one to try. 
 
 114 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 [From The Cries of London as they are daily exhibited in the 
 Streets. London : J. T. Ward and Co., 3 Bread Street Hill, 
 1808.] 
 
 Old Cloaths ! 
 Coats or preeches do you vant, 
 
 Or puckles for your shoes ; 
 Vatches too me can supply, — 
 
 Me monies vont refuse. 
 
 115 
 
CRIES OF LONDON. 
 
 Sweep O ! 
 Soon up the chimney then he goes, 
 
 And thro' the soot does creep — 
 When at the top, out pops his nose, 
 
 And he aloud cries sweep ! 
 
 Cucumbers ! 
 All fresh and nice as green turf 
 
 That sparkles after rain, 
 Which would induce imprudent men 
 
 To eat to give them pain. 
 
 Walnuts ! 
 When winter makes all things look sable, 
 
 Walnuts often grace the table, 
 And after dinner relish fine, 
 
 Immersed in a glass of wine. 
 
 Dust O ! 
 With noisy bell here comes old Dan, 
 
 Who makes all dust his pelf — 
 He'll gather all the dust he can 
 
 'Till he is dust himself. 
 
 Sweet Lavender ! 
 Ye ladies who are fond of health, 
 
 And prize your beauty rare, 
 Will find in Lavender a wealth, 
 
 When taking of the air. 
 
 Fine Windsor Beans. 
 If Beans and Bacon can allure ye, 
 This man will faithfully assure ye, 
 His beans will better hit your taste 
 Than the most sumptuous rich repast. 
 
 116 
 
THE LILY: 
 
 A 
 
 JBook for Cbiloren: 
 
 containing 
 
 Twenty-Two Trifles in Verse, 
 
 ADORNED WITH CUTS. 
 
 The lily loves the humble vale 
 And reads a silent moral tale. 
 
 Xon&on: 
 
 Printed for J. HARRIS, St. Paul's Church-yard 
 
 1S08 
 
Have I not learned my book, Mamma ? 
 
 I could not learn my book, Mamma a 
 
THE DISCONTENTED CHILD 
 
 THE ROD. 
 
 Little George would not be dress'd, 
 He pouted, scream'd and cried ; 
 
 Repulsed the maid, if she caress'd 
 And all her threats defied. 
 
 He gave her many a fruitless blow, 
 To keep off soap and water ; 
 
 But, at last was made to know 
 
 'Twas wrong that he had fought her. 
 
 For when the rod appear'd in sight, 
 His passion soon was cool'd, 
 
 His face was wash'd, and all was right ; 
 And George was quickly rul'd. 
 
 THE DISCONTENTED CHILD. 
 
 A most unhappy child I am, 
 
 I must not play with Will or Sam, 
 
 Nor in bad weather run about, 
 
 Nor at large go in and out. 
 
 If in the stable I am caught 
 
 I'm reprimanded for the fault ; 
 
 And if I take the porter pot, 
 
 Oh then I'm called a little sot. 
 
 If I with servants chuse to walk, 
 
 Or leave my book to hear them talk, 
 
 Il 9 
 
THE DISCONTENTED CHILD. 
 
 I'm quickly from the kitchen sent, 
 
 Though harm, I'm sure, is never meant. 
 
 If ever I a fault deny 
 
 I'm told — how sad it is to lie. 
 
 They say it is so mean a plan 
 
 I never shall become a man. 
 
 Though with the groom I've often ridden, 
 
 That pleasure also is forbidden. 
 
 If ever to defend my right 
 
 I slily with my sisters fight, 
 
 There's such a clamour, such a noise, 
 
 And so much preached to naughty boys 
 
 That oft to frighten them, I say, 
 
 " If I am beat I'll run away." 
 
 1 20 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 Thus foolishly this boy complained, 
 And all instruction he disdained, 
 He grew so daring and so idle, 
 That once he rode without a bridle ; 
 The pony threw him on his head, 
 And for three weeks he kept his bed. 
 
 Such will be the fate of those 
 Who every good advice oppose. 
 
 THE SCHOOL. 
 
 There was a little girl so proud, 
 
 She talked so fast and laughed so loud, 
 
 That those who came with her to play 
 
 Were always glad to go away, 
 
 In bracelets, necklace she did shine ; 
 
 Her clothes were always very fine. 
 
 Her frocks through carelessness were soiled ; 
 
 In truth she was already spoiled. 
 
 Her mother died ; she went to school, 
 
 And there obliged to live by rule. 
 
 Though oft before the time for bed, 
 
 A cap with bells disgraced her head. 
 
 Tickets — for idleness she had, 
 
 And these sometimes would make her sad. 
 
 So when she'd been at school a year, 
 
 And Christmas holidays were drawing near, 
 
 Her greatest faults were all amended 
 
 And to her learning she attended. 
 
 121 
 
THE CONTRAST. 
 
 When false indulgence warps the mind, 
 The discipline of school we find 
 Most efficacious to correct 
 The ills arising from neglect. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 On the cold stones a boy was laid ; 
 
 Whilst tears bedewed his pallid cheek, 
 " Oh pity me ! " was all he said, 
 
 From weakness he could hardly speak 
 
 122 
 
The contrast. 
 
 A bigger boy was passing by, 
 
 Whose garb bespoke abundant wealth ; 
 He saw the tear, he heard the sigh, 
 
 And the pale cheek devoid of health. 
 
 Unmov'd he heard — " Oh pity me ! " 
 Pity ne'er touched his callous heart ; 
 
 He bade the child that moment flee, 
 Or he would force him to depart. 
 
 " Away young rascal, instant go, 
 " Or I will make you feel my stick ■ 
 
 " Tis all a lie — your tale of woe : 
 " And I am sure you are not sick. 
 
 " You look so young, you ought to work, 
 
 " And not sit idling here all day ; 
 " But in this place you shall not lurk, 
 " Thus filling up the common way." 
 
 Then on his head he laid the cane, 
 The little boy soon felt the smart ; 
 
 And growing bolder from the pain, 
 Told him he would not then depart. 
 
 Just now, advancing came a youth 
 His satchell hung with careless grace ; 
 
 And innocence and heav'n-born truth 
 Both shone resplendent in his face. 
 
 The unequal contest soon he heard ; 
 
 He pulled th'opponent by the nose 
 Called him a coward, most absurd, 
 
 For ridiculing infant woes. 
 
 123 
 
THE CROWD. 
 
 
 W&X 
 
 
 
 
 mi 
 
 
 ^&l / II ll M//A 
 
 
 
 ™5lli 
 
 
 ^mmWiW 
 
 Bf$g 
 
 ^r**^ 
 
 
 ■»• ■ i ,u»^^— • • 
 
 
 ^gJL= 
 
 taMm***^^ V" 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 ^^ *" ^3jI^/ 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 The coward slunk in fear away ; 
 
 The champion hooted as he ran ; 
 Now tell me readers — tell me pray, 
 
 Which will make the braver man ? 
 
 THE CROWD. 
 
 " My dear little girl, now keep close by my side, 
 Or in this great crowd we shall surely divide. 
 I've here got you fast, so take hold of my gown, 
 And then the rude people will not push you down ; 
 For the Lord Mayor's fine coach it is passing along, 
 Which makes all the people now eagerly throng." 
 
 124 
 
THE REMEDY. 
 
 But Sally she foolishly stared so about, 
 
 And when the crowd lessen'd, she ran in and out, 
 
 Then carelessly stopping to look at some toys, 
 
 Was jostled and laughed at by many rude boys. 
 
 The mother soon missing her little girl's hand, 
 
 Became so alarmed she hardly could stand ; 
 
 And for two anxious hours was searching the street, 
 
 In hopes that her lost little girl she should meet ; 
 
 Who indeed had become quite an object of pity, 
 
 And had wandered along almost out of the city, 
 
 When alas ! in a mean and a dirty dark alley 
 
 Some women took hold of our poor little Sally ; 
 
 Then instantly all her good clothes they were stripping, 
 
 And if she cried out, were preparing a whipping. 
 
 But a gentleman hearing a bustle so odd, 
 
 And seeing some women had got a great rod, 
 
 He, luckily passing that moment close by, 
 
 Soon heard with astonishment Sally's loud cry. 
 
 He ordered the women to put down the child ; 
 
 Then spoke to the trembler in accents so mild, 
 
 That whilst he attended poor Sally's redressing, 
 
 She, terribly frightened, her faults was confessing ; 
 
 And having escaped from so cruel a beating, 
 
 Oh, think of the joy of the mother at meeting. 
 
 And the poor little girl ever after took warning 
 
 From what she had suffered on that fatal morning. 
 
 THE REMEDY. 
 
 Louisa was a pretty child, 
 Her temper flexible and mild. 
 She learnt her lessons all with ease, 
 And very seldom failed to please. 
 
 125 
 
THE REMEDY. 
 
 But still Louisa had a fault : 
 So fond of tasting sugar, salt, 
 Or anything, in short, to eat, 
 Puddings, pies, or wine or meat ; 
 And as she was so often sick, 
 Mamma soon guessed the foolish trick, 
 And, planning for her little daughter, 
 
 By stratagem she fairly caught her. 
 
 Unseen, Louisa would remain, 
 
 And all the dirty glasses drain ; 
 
 Or carefully some closet shut, 
 
 Until a slice of cake she cut. 
 
 The dinner done, one winter's day, 
 
 And guests removed, their cards to play, 
 
 126 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 Louisa stole where they'd deserted, 
 
 And by her usual pranks diverted, 
 
 Here see this foolish, greedy lass 
 
 Draining the bottom of each glass , 
 
 Eating the parings of the fruit, 
 
 And scraping a pine-apple root ; 
 
 When, lo, a tumbler caught her sight, 
 
 Which gave Louisa new delight, 
 
 For it appeared half full of wine, 
 
 So sparkling, and so clear and fine, 
 
 She drank it quick, and hardly tasted, 
 
 Nor one drop of the liquor wasted. 
 
 Had you at that moment seen her face, 
 
 So much distorted by grimace, 
 
 How she stamped and cried and spluttered 
 
 Complained, grew sick, and faintly muttered, 
 
 Then sought the nursery and her bed ; 
 
 And glad thereon to lay her head, 
 
 You soon, I think, had understood 
 
 The wine Louisa thought so good, 
 
 Was mixed with physic by her motheq 
 
 And slyly placed there by her brother. 
 
 And from the sickness she endured 
 Her love of tasting soon was cured. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 ' My dear little Lucy, now sit down and play, 
 Don't refuse your mamma, if she ask ; 
 
 'Tis very provoking, you always cry, nay ; 
 And music appears like a task. 
 
 127 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 " Consider the expenses your parents bestow 
 On this part of your good education ; 
 And your refusal perverseness doth show ; 
 Which is ever a source of vexation." 
 
 Thus reasoned a friend, both indulgent and kind, 
 
 To Lucy, who heeded her not ; 
 For when called on to play she was never inclined ; 
 
 And murmured out " I have forgot." 
 
 But much she regretted these childish neglects, 
 
 As she grew up to woman's estate ; 
 And when others excelled, her many defects 
 
 Were repented when it was too late. 
 
 128 
 
THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 [From A Collection of Simple Stories. London : F. G. 
 Tabart & Co., 12, Clifford Street, New Bond Street.] 
 
 Oh, why do I so frequent hear 
 My little darling heave the sigh ? 
 
 And why does now the starting tear 
 Bedew my little Fanny's eye ?] 
 
 * , ***§£ZJiJU**^l'^^ 
 
 129 
 
THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 My love, I guess the cause I own, 
 And must I then the truth declare, 
 
 It is because the rain pours down, 
 You cannot go and see the fair. 
 
 The mother took her daughter's hand, 
 And led her weeping to the door ; 
 
 Where, shivering, she observed to stand 
 A little beggar, cold and poor. 
 
 Mammy, she said, is cold and bad, 
 Beneath a hedge she now does stay ; 
 
 And nothing, scarcely, she has had 
 To eat and drink this many a day. 
 
 Oh, give me but one bit of bread 
 To take unto my crying brother, 
 
 I would not taste one crumb of it, 
 But give it all to him and mother. 
 
 Oh, take this shilling, it is mine, 
 
 Then pretty little Fanny said, 
 I do not want my playthings fine, 
 
 'Twill buy for you both meat and bread. 
 
 Why that you had from good papa 
 To buy a doll with flaxen hair. 
 
 Oh, never think of that, mamma, 
 I do not wish to see the fair. 
 
 130 
 
RIDING THE DONKEY. 
 
 RIDING THE DONKEY. 
 
 See Frederic pulling donkey's ears ; 
 How very patient he appears : 
 While stroked by all their little hands, 
 Meek animal, how still he stands. 
 Ride on, my boys and girls, ride on, 
 And when the joyful sport is done, 
 Remember what to you I tell, 
 Be sure to feed poor donkey well. 
 
 131 
 
THE SPINNING WHEEL. 
 
 THE SPINNING WHEEL. 
 
 Pray, dearest mother, come to play, 
 And put your spinning wheel away, 
 
 I'm sure your work is done : 
 Oh, take me now upon your knee, 
 I've nobody to play with me, 
 
 For brother George is gone. 
 
GOING TO SCHOOL. 
 
 Don't let your wheel go round and round, 
 I am quite tired of the sound, 
 
 And you are tired too : 
 You wish to put it by, I see, 
 So come along and play with me, 
 
 My dearest mother, do. 
 
 GOING TO SCHOOL. 
 
 The holidays o'er, and with them all their joys, 
 See, with sorrowful faces, appear little boys, 
 
 133 
 
RURAL SCENES. 
 
 Who from friends are preparing to part ; 
 Yet some, better than others, contented and good, 
 Would not stay from their school, if they might or they 
 could, 
 
 Though they feel quite as much at their heart. 
 
 Thus observe little Henry, see his rosy face, 
 No tears of ill-temper could ever disgrace 
 
 His looks so expressive and mild ; 
 He is loved by his mother, his sisters and friends ; 
 His play and his studies together he blends, 
 
 He's a good and a sensible child. 
 
 Now see, onward he goes, and, still hiding his tears, 
 He looks back to mamma, who so anxious appears 
 
 To keep her dear Henry in view ; 
 Delighted in her little darling to find 
 So gen'rous a heart and so steady a mind, 
 
 Well determin'd his duty to do. 
 
 RURAL SCENES. 
 
 The Coach. 
 
 [From Rural Scenes, or A Peep into the Country for Children. 
 London : printed for Darton, Harvey & Darton, Gracechurch 
 Street. Price Half-a-Crown.] 
 
 Ah ! what comes here, rumbling so fast over the gravel and 
 stones ? The Colchester stage, heavily laden for London, 
 just stopping at the sign of the Swan, for the horses and 
 Coachey to drink. Come, master coachman, make haste 
 and finish that pot of porter, for your little inside passengers 
 
 134 
 
RURAL SCENES. 
 
 (who are going home to see their friends for the Christmas 
 holidays) cannot imagine why you are stopping so long. 
 Master Dickey would have put his head out of the window 
 several times, to bid you cut up your horses a little more, if 
 Patty, his little sister, had not pulled him back again by the 
 sleeve : " For, Dicky," said she, " we should always be kind 
 to the poor animals that drag us so willingly, and as for a 
 
 few minutes sooner or later, it is not worth while to make 
 them suffer for it, poor things. Though I am sure I long to 
 kiss papa, and mamma, and brothers, and sisters as much 
 as you do, and to give papa the nice shirt that I have been 
 making for him, and the purse, and the watch chain, and 
 
 the " 
 
 " Huzza ! there we are off again," said little Dick. 
 
 135 
 
RURAL SCENES. 
 
 The Stage Waggon. 
 
 While the old waggoner is stopping to drink, poor Jack the 
 soldier is bidding his wife good bye. — She has come a long 
 way with her children to see him once more : and now is 
 going home again in the waggon. She does not know 
 whether she shall ever see him again. — Jack was obliged to 
 leave his country life, and his good master, and his plough 
 and his comfortable cottage, and his poor wife and little 
 ones to go and be a soldier, and learn to fight, because other 
 people would quarrel. 
 
 
PLEASING INSTRUCTOR. 
 
 Music and the Bird. 
 
 [From The Pleasing Instructor j or a Packet of Pictures for all 
 Good Children. London: printed by & for Hodgson & Co. , 
 Juvenile Press, No. 10 Newgate Street. Sixpence.] 
 
 A little tame bird came and perched on the top of a 
 pianoforte, on which a gentleman was playing a merry tune. 
 
 The vibration — that is, the shaking of the strings, made the 
 boards of the piano tremble, and thereby tickled its feet very 
 much. It was frightened, yet had not sense enough to hop 
 off, and enjoy the pleasure of the music without the pain of 
 being too near it. 
 
 How pleasing soever things look in the face, 
 Still nothing is right that's not in its right place. 
 
 l 37 
 
PLEASING INSTRUCTOR. 
 
 Visiting the Ball-Room. 
 
 Master Webb was one evening permitted to attend a 
 dancing party. As he entered the ball-room everyone was 
 surprised at the grace and elegance with which he bowed ; 
 and when the ball was over, his behaviour had pleased his 
 parents so much that they made him a present of a copy of 
 " Hodgson's Children's Guide to Good Breeding." 
 
 Never think you've learnt enough, 
 Whilst your conduct's coarse and rough. 
 
 '38 
 
PLEASING INSTRUCTOR 
 
 This man, from a very fine gentleman, was reduced to a 
 plain cottager, partly through his extravagance and folly. 
 He had been much addicted to the sports of hunting and 
 shooting, and he still retained a strong desire to be 
 constantly out after his pleasures instead of attending to 
 his little garden, and making his afflicted wife as comfort- 
 able as possible. She often begged of him to return early, 
 and he as often promised that he would, but did not keep 
 his word. 
 
 How hard it is with vice to part, 
 When once 'tis cherish'd in the heart ! 
 
 139 
 
THE DANGERS OF THE STREETS. 
 
 THE DANGERS OF THE STREETS. 
 
 [From Talcs uniting Instruction with Amusement : consisting 
 of The Dangers of the Streets; and Throwing Squibs. Or- 
 namented with Engravings. London : Printed for J. Harris, 
 successor to E. Newbery, at the Original Juvenile Library, 
 the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard.] 
 
 Edward and George Manly were brothers. Edward was 
 nine years old, very sensible and prudent for his age, and as 
 cautious in walking the streets of London as a man of forty. 
 
 Whenever he had to cross a street, he always looked to 
 see whether any carriages, horses or bullocks were coming 
 up ; and if he saw any such at a small distance he stopped 
 till they were gone by and then crossed quietly. He knew 
 that if he attempted to run across while they were near and 
 his foot happened to slip on the dirty pavement, he would 
 very probably be run over and either killed or much hurt ; 
 and he thought it much more comfortable to sleep in a 
 whole skin than to be carried home with an arm or a leg 
 broken. 
 
 In like manner, whenever he saw scaffolding up against a 
 house, he took care not to look up at it as he passed near 
 for fear of dirt or lime falling inJ:o his eyes and blinding 
 him. And if he saw men at work on the scaffold he would 
 not pass under it, lest a brick or a plank should fall on him 
 and do him some terrible mischief. In such case he either 
 walked outside in the middle of the street, if there were no 
 carriages to prevent him, or crossed to the opposite side of 
 the way ; for he thought it much better to dirty his shoes a 
 little than to have his bones broken. 
 
 Yet it was not through cowardice that Edward took such 
 care of his person : he was not a coward ; he was a boy of 
 
 140 
 
THE DANGERS OF THE STREETS. 
 
 real courage, and one day boldly attacked and beat a lad 
 taller and older than himself who had insulted his sister 
 Ellen and. snatched & tov from her hand. But he had 
 learnt from his father that it is folly and madness, not 
 courage, to run into danger without necessity, when there 
 is neither honor nor profit to be gained by it. 
 
 His brother George, who was about a year younger than 
 he, was of a very different disposition. He was thoughtless 
 
 and giddy, would run across streets when carriages were 
 driving up at full speed, and often very narrowly escaped 
 being run over. In turning corners, he never looked to see 
 if any person were coming against him but hurried on with- 
 out care or caution, and was frequently thrown down in the 
 dirt by persons passing hastily along. 
 
 One day as Edward and George were going on a visit to 
 their aunt Selby who lived in a distant part of the town, 
 they came to a narrow street where the flagway was barely 
 
 141 
 
THE DANGERS OF THE STREETS. 
 
 wide enough for one person to walk j and the streets were 
 very slippery after a shower of rain. 
 
 When they had gone about half way up the street, Edward 
 who always looked before him, saw a great waggon coming 
 down loaded with a huge pile of timber, which was fastened 
 and held up only by a slight chain. 
 
 " George," said he, to his brother, " let us stop till that 
 waggon has passed by. If the chain should break, and the 
 timber fall on us, it would crush us to pieces." Accord- 
 ingly Edward himself stopped, and for greater safety, placed 
 himself on the step of a door, with his back close against 
 the door : and there he determined to stay until the waggon 
 was passed. 
 
 But George did not act with the same prudence. Un- 
 luckily for him, a noise in the street had prevented him 
 from hearing the good advice that Edward gave him. And 
 as poor Georgy never thought or looked before him he 
 hurried on without minding the waggon. 
 
 While he thus ran heedlessly forward a man happened to 
 be coming against him on the narrow footway just at the 
 moment when the waggon approached. Here, instead of 
 stopping to let the man pass by, as he ought to have done, 
 George attempted to pass the man by giddily skipping along 
 the outside edge of the slippery fiagway. 
 
 But see the dreadful consequences of his giddiness and 
 folly ! His foot slipped ; he fell under the loaded waggon j 
 the wheel passed over one of his legs, and shattered it in a 
 most shocking manner. 
 
 Thus mangled and racked with pain, he shrieked most 
 piteously and repented of his folly when too late. He was 
 taken up by his brother and some charitable persons of the 
 neighbourhood who laid him on his back upon a window 
 shutter and carried him home in that manner crying and 
 lamenting all the way. 
 
 142 
 
THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 His father sent in haste for a surgeon : the surgeon im- 
 mediately came, examined his leg and found it so terribly 
 shattered that he declared he could not cure it but must cut 
 it entirely off at the knee. 
 
 George now roared worse than before at the thought of 
 losing his leg. However, as nothing else could be done to 
 save his life, he was forced to submit. The surgeon took 
 out his instruments, cut the flesh all round with a sharp 
 knife, cut through the bone with a saw, and thus poor 
 George's leg was taken completely off. 
 
 It was several months before the wound was healed. All 
 that time George was confined to his bed unable to go out 
 on parties of amusement with his schoolfellows, or even to 
 stir about the room. At length a wooden leg was made for 
 him : with that he now hobbles about as well as he can ; 
 and at every step he repents of his giddiness and says to 
 himself, " Ah, how cautious children ought to be in walking 
 the streets ! " 
 
 THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 Mr. Tindall had a little son named Tom who was very 
 naughty and never minded his book but delighted in 
 running about the streets and playing with blackguards. 
 He was very fond of lighting bonfires, and throwing squibs 
 and crackers, and took particular pleasure in throwing them 
 at people passing by, but more especially at women and 
 girls. 
 
 His father more than once told him of the danger of 
 playing with squibs, related to him many accidents caused 
 by unlucky boys throwing them, and desired him never to 
 touch one : he even whipped him once or twice for lighting 
 squibs and crackers contrary to his orders ; but all this was 
 
 1*43 
 
THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 not sufficient to prevent Master Tom from indulging his 
 mischievous inclination. 
 
 Once, on a rejoicing night, Tom having a shilling and 
 seven penny pieces lying by him, which he had long 
 hoarded up for the purpose, laid out the whole in squibs 
 and crackers, and went to divert himself with a crowd of 
 little blackguards in flinging them at every person who 
 happened to come in his way. 
 
 While he was amusing himself with this wicked sport, a 
 gentleman came in sight, who was riding on a very spirited 
 horse; and the animal appeared greatly alarmed by the 
 squibs, starting and snorting every instant at the blaze and 
 the report. Tom thought this was rare fun, and resolved 
 to have as much of it for his money afe he could, so he 
 quickly lighted one of the largest of his squibs, and flung it 
 directly into the horse's face. 
 
 The poor animal, that was already very much terrified, 
 
 T44 
 
THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 now took fright to such a degree as to be no longer manage- 
 able. He galloped off at full speed, threw down a nurse 
 with a baby in her arms, rode over an elderly gentlewoman 
 and two boys, hurt them all very much, and at last 
 stumbling on a bad spot in the pavement, dashed his rider 
 on the flagway. The gentleman was severely bruised by 
 the fall ; but as he had no bones actually broken and was 
 not killed outright, Tom disregarded the mischief and still 
 considered the whole as mere fun. 
 
 The wicked young villain was determined to continue 
 this cruel and dangerous diversion so long as his stock of 
 squibs lasted ; and he only regretted that the number was 
 not greater. 
 
 Just as he was lighting another, his own father happened 
 to pass by, on his way home friom an evening visit in the 
 neighbourhood. Tom was so bent on mischief that he did 
 not perceive that it was his father but flung the squib right 
 into his face ; and it burst directly in Mr. Tindall's eyes. 
 
 A crowd immediately gathered round the unfortunate 
 man ; and one gentleman who had seen Tom throw the 
 squib ran after him with his cane uplifted, to give him a 
 good beating. But Tom, who was well acquainted with all 
 the narrow alleys in the neighbourhood, escaped from the 
 gentleman's pursuit and went to continue his sport in 
 another street, as he had yet four or five squibs remaining. 
 
 Here, however, Master Tom was in some degree re- 
 warded for the mischief he had done. For, as he held the 
 remaining squibs all together in his hand, and was hastily 
 lighting one, to fling into a carriage full of ladies, it burst 
 before he had time to throw it, set fire to the others, and 
 they all at once blew up into his own face. His hand was 
 terribly burned, one whole side of his face was dreadfully 
 scorched, and his left eye was entirely blinded. 
 
 In this condition Master Tom was led home by some of 
 
 145 10 
 
THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 his blackguard companions. A surgeon had already been 
 called in to his father's assistance, and did everything in his 
 power to relieve both the father and the wicked son. Tom's 
 hand and face were cured in some time, but he never 
 recovered the use of his left eye and remains to this day 
 blind on that side. 
 
 This, however, was not the worst of the mischief. His 
 father was so much hurt in both eyes that all the surgeon's 
 skill could not restore the sight of either, and he continued 
 wholly blind from that unlucky night to the hour of his 
 death. Indeed it was not long before a sad end was put to 
 poor Mr. Tindall's misfortunes : for the loss of his sight and 
 the thought of his son's wickedness grieved him so sorely 
 that he broke his heart in a few months and died. 
 
 As Mr. Tindall was not a gentleman of independent 
 fortune, and had only supported himself by writing, he had 
 not a single guinea remaining in the house when he died. 
 His goods were sold, and after paying the expenses of his 
 burial, and some debts due to his baker, butcher and other 
 persons, there was not money enough left even to put Tom 
 apprentice to any decent trade, so that he was in danger of 
 being obliged either to go to the workhouse or to beg about 
 the streets. 
 
 Just at this time it happened that Gregory Grime, a 
 master chimney-sweeper in the neighbourhood, lost one of 
 his apprentices who fell from the top of a chimney and was 
 dashed to pieces on the pavement in the street below. 
 Gregory had heard of Tom's distressed condition, and 
 thinking it would be no great harm if so wicked a rogue 
 should fall in the same manner and break his neck, he 
 offered to take him apprentice without any money. 
 
 As Tom had very little to eat and saw little chance of 
 getting more, he was obliged to consent to Gregory Grime's 
 proposal. So Gregory took him home, pulled off his decent 
 
 146 
 
THROWING SQUIBS. 
 
 clothes, dressed him in a coarse shirt and breeches, with a 
 woollen night-cap and a pair of old shoes, and at once con- 
 verted him into a chimney-sweeper. 
 
 Instead of a good bed, such as he used to sleep in at his 
 father's house, Tom now lies upon straw without sheets, and 
 with only an old ragged blanket to cover him. He seldom 
 has anything but coarse bread for his meals and hardly 
 enough of that : he is obliged to rise early in the morning 
 before he has slept half the necessary time, to go about the 
 streets in rain and cold, without coat, waistcoat or stockings, 
 crying " Sweep ho ! Soot ho ! " and is glad when he can get 
 a dry crust of bread or a morsel of cold meat, in any of the 
 houses where he is employed to sweep the chimneys. 
 
 All these misfortunes have been brought on him by his 
 own folly and wickedness in throwing squibs. He often 
 bitterly laments his ill-conduct, and wishes he had followed 
 his poor father's good advice. If he had done so, he might 
 now have been at a genteel boarding school, with both his 
 eyes safe, instead of being a chimney-sweeper, and blind 
 of one eye. Let his punishment serve as a lesson to 
 other boys, and teach them how wicked and dangerous it is 
 to play with squibs. 
 
 10* 
 
THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 [From Lessons for Children : or Rudiments oj Good Manners, 
 Morals and Humanity. By Mrs. Fenwick, Author of " The 
 Life of Carlo," " Mary and Her Cat," " Visit to the Juvenile 
 Library," etc., etc. Part the First. London : printed for M 
 J. Goodwin, at the Juvenile Library, No. 41, Skinner Street. 
 1809.] 
 
 There is a certain street in a certain town (no matter for 
 its name) in which there are two handsome houses of equal 
 size. The owners of these houses have each six children, 
 
 and the neighbours have named one the bad family, and 
 the other the good family. 
 
 In the bad family there are three boys and three girls ; and 
 the servants who are always much teased and vexed when 
 they live where there are naughty children, speak of them 
 
 148 
 
THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 thus : — The eldest they call Fighting Harry, the second 
 Greedy George, and the youngest Idle Richard ; the 
 eldest girl is nicknamed Careless Fanny, the next, Lying 
 Lucy, and the youngest Selfish Sarah. 
 
 Master Henry, indeed, well deserves his title, for he thinks 
 it a mighty fine thing to be a great boxer, and takes great 
 pride and pleasure in having a black eye or a bloody nose. 
 This does not proceed from courage ; no, no : courage 
 never seeks quarrels, and is only active to repel insult, 
 protect the injured, and conquer danger ; but Harry would 
 be one of the first to fly from real danger, or to leave the 
 helpless to shift for themselves. He knows that he is very 
 strong, and that few boys of his age can match him, so he 
 picks quarrels on purpose to fight, because his great strength 
 and his constant practice make him almost sure to conquer. 
 All his school-fellows hate him, for such a boy can neither 
 have a good temper, a good heart, nor good manners. It 
 is a pity he should be sent to school, for learning is thrown 
 away upon him : he will be fit only to live with men that 
 sweep the streets, or drive carts or waggons, for with such 
 coarse and vulgar habits gentlemen will not endure him in 
 their company. 
 
 George, the second boy, is always thinking of eating and 
 drinking. He follows the cook from place to place, to 
 know what nice things she has got in her pantry. When 
 there is any dainty on the dinner-table, his greedy eyes are 
 fixed on it from the moment he sits down, till he is helped, 
 and then he grudges every morsel that any-one else puts into 
 his mouth. In his eagerness to get more than his own proper 
 share, he crams great pieces into his mouth till he is almost 
 choked, and the tears are forced from his eyes. He will get 
 slily into the store-room, and steal honey, sugar, or raisins ; 
 and in the pantry he picks the edges of the tarts and pies, 
 and does a number of other mean tricks. When there is com- 
 
 49 
 
THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 pany at dinner, he watches the parlour-door till they leave it, 
 and before the servants have time to clear the table, he sips up 
 all the drops of wine that are left in the glasses, and will even 
 eat the parings of apples and pears that lie on the dessert 
 plates. If he has an orange or a cake, he runs into some 
 dirty hole to eat it, for fear his brothers and sisters should 
 ask for a piece. If he has any money given him, he spends 
 it all at once, and crams and eats till he can scarcely move. 
 
 This greedy boy is always watched and suspected. No 
 one will trust him in a garden, for he would eat till he made 
 himself sick, or tear down the branches of the trees to get 
 at the fruit. Nor can he be allowed to pay any visits, for 
 the manners of a glutton give great offence to well-bred 
 people. He has a sallow, ugly look, and is always peeping 
 and prying about, like a beast watching for its prey. 
 
 Idle Richard, the third son of the bad family, is a great 
 dunce. Yet he is very capable of learning well, if he chose 
 to take the trouble, but he is fond of idleness and of 
 nothing else. In the morning when he is called, though he 
 knows it is time to get up, he will lie still, and after he has 
 been called again and again, he is never ready in time for 
 breakfast. At his meals he lolls upon the table, or against 
 the back of his chair, and is just as slow and drawling in his 
 manner of eating as in his learning. When he is sent to 
 school, instead of looking at his book, he is gazing all 
 round the room, or cutting bits of stick with his knife; 
 sometimes he lays his head down on the desk and falls 
 asleep, and then pretends to have the headache to excuse his 
 idleness. His master is obliged often to punish him, and 
 then for an hour or two he will learn very well, but next day 
 he gets back to all his idle tricks, and does nothing ; so that 
 he. is far below many boys that are much younger than 
 himself. When other children go to play, he sits still or lies 
 down upon the ground : he can take no pleasure, for he 
 
 J 5o 
 
THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 hates the trouble of moving, and there he sits yawning and 
 pining for want of something to do. When he walks, 
 he drags his feet along, as if they were too heavy to lift up. 
 His clothes are always dirty, for he will not brush them : his 
 eyes are dull and heavy : he looks like a clown, and speaks 
 like a blockhead. Idle Richard is a burthen to himself, and 
 scorned by everybody. 
 
 Miss Fanny has got the title of Careless, because she 
 minds no one thing that she ought. If she goes out to 
 walk, she is sure to lose one of her gloves, or lets her bonnet 
 blow off into the mud, or steps into the midst of some 
 filthy puddle, because she is staring about, and not minding 
 which way she goes. At home, when she should go to 
 work, her needle-book, or her thimble, or her scissors cannot 
 be found : though she has a work-basket to put all these 
 things in, they are never in the right place. 
 
 At dinner she does not observe how her plate stands on 
 the table, and perhaps her meat and all the gravy tumble 
 into her lap. If she has a glass of wine, she spills it on her 
 frock : if she hands a plate of bread and butter to anyone, 
 she is sure either to drop the plate, or to let the bread and 
 butter fall upon the carpet. She wears very coarse clothesj 
 for she cannot be trusted with good ones. At night when 
 she undresses to go to bed, she throws her frock on a chair 
 or the ground, instead of folding it neatly up, so that it is 
 tumbled and not fit to put on the next morning. If she 
 writes, she throws the ink about her clothes ; if she tears a 
 hole in her frock, she does not take a needle and thread to 
 mend it directly, but pins it up ; then perhaps the pin pricks 
 her half-a-dozen times in an hour, and tears three or four 
 more holes in the frock. If she has a book lent to her, she 
 will let it fall in the dirt, or drop the grease of the candle 
 upon the leaves. She is always a slattern, and always dirty ; 
 she is a disgrace to herself, and a burthen to her friends. 
 
 151 
 
THE BAD FAMILY. 
 
 What a shocking name the next is — Lying Lucy ! It is 
 dreadful to think that anyone should deserve to be so called, 
 but this wicked little girl deserves it, for she has no sense 
 of honour, and seldom speaks the truth. Even when she 
 does say what is true, on account of her having told false- 
 hoods so long, people know not how to believe her ; for who 
 can depend upon the word of a liar. If she would forbear 
 for a whole month to tell a lie, there would be hopes of her 
 amendment, and then her word might be taken. But till 
 she leaves off this shameful practice, she must expect to be 
 shunned, and pointed at with scorn wherever she goes. 
 
 Selfish Sarah loves no one but herself, and no one loves 
 her. She will not let her brothers, or sisters, or any other 
 child play with her toys, even if she is not using them. She 
 hoards up her playthings, and cannot amuse herself with 
 them, for fear another should touch them. If she has more 
 sweet cake or fruit than she can eat, she puts it by, and lets 
 it spoil and get mouldy, rather than give it away ; or if she 
 sees a poor child begging in the streets, without shoes, 
 stockings, or clothes to cover him, she will not part with a 
 halfpenny to buy him a bit of bread, though she is told that he 
 is starving with hunger. She never assists anyone, never 
 feels for distress or pain that befalls anyone, nor is ever 
 thankful or grateful for what is done for her. She covets 
 everything she sees, yet takes no real pleasure in anything. 
 
 The parents of these odious children never look happy, 
 nor enjoy comfort. The brothers and sisters never meet but 
 to quarrel, so that the house is always in an uproar. Each 
 abuses the other's vices, yet takes no pains to cure his or her 
 own faults. The servants hate them, the neighbours despise 
 them, and the house is shunned as though it had some 
 dreadful distemper within. They live without friends; for 
 no prudent persons will suffer their children to visit where 
 they can learn nothing but wickedness and ill-manners, 
 
 !52 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY. 
 
 THE GOOD FAMILY. 
 
 What a different picture the other house presents to our 
 view ! The parents of the Good Family are always cheerful 
 and happy, the children love each other and agree together ; 
 the servants are content and eager to oblige, and visitors 
 
 delight to come to the house, because they pass their time 
 there with both pleasure and profit. 
 
 Manly Edward, the eldest son, is a fine youth, who 
 makes himself the friend and protector of his younger 
 brothers and sisters. Edward has true courage, for he will 
 meet any danger to help the helpless, to rescue the 
 oppressed, or in defence of the injured ; yet he tries to 
 avoid all quarrels, and is very often the peace-maker among 
 
 *53 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY. 
 
 those who are engaged in a dispute. His manners are 
 gentle and graceful. He shuns the company of rude vulgar 
 boys, yet insults no-one by seeming to hold them in con- 
 tempt. It is not fine clothes or money that he pays respect 
 to, it is virtue and good manners, and if the poorest boy in 
 the school has the most of these good qualities, he gains the 
 most of Manly Edward's love and esteem. 
 
 Studious Arthur, the second son of the good family, 
 does not learn quickly, but what he wants of that power, he 
 makes up by diligence. As he finds he cannot get his task 
 by heart so fast as some other boys, he therefore fixes his 
 whole thoughts on his book ; and no calls to go to play, nor 
 any sort of thing, can draw him from his lesson, till he has 
 learned it perfectly. Arthur is seldom seen without a book 
 in his hand ; and if he goes out to walk, he puts one in his 
 pocket, to be ready, if he should chance to have a few 
 minutes to himself. He never wastes any time, and by 
 that means he gains a great deal of knowledge. He is so 
 attentive, that he never forgets what he reads and learns. 
 Arthur will, no doubt, become a very wise man, and already 
 he often finds the knowledge he has gained of great use to 
 him. His parents commend him, his friends admire him, 
 and his school-fellows respect him. 
 
 Well-bred Charles, the third son, is also a charming boy. 
 He is greatly remarked for his perfect good manners. He 
 never forgets to behave with politeness wherever he is. In 
 the company of his parents and their friends, he is attentive 
 to supply the wants of every-one. He listens to the dis- 
 course, and when he is spoken to, he answers at once in a 
 lively, ready, and pleasant manner, but is never forward and 
 talkative. When he has a party of playfellows, his mirth is 
 not noisy and boisterous. He does not think, as some rude 
 children do, that all play consists in screaming, shouting, 
 tearing clothes, and knocking things to pieces ; but finds 
 
 154 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY. 
 
 plenty of sport for his little visitors without doing any of 
 these things, and makes them as merry as possible. When 
 cakes or fruit are sent into the play-room, he helps his 
 guests all round before he touches any himself. He places 
 them in the seats nearest the fire, or in fine weather, where 
 they can see the most pleasant prospect. As good manners 
 always arise from a good temper and a kind heart, which 
 desires to make others happy, so they are sure to promote 
 good humour and happiness. The play-parties of Charles 
 therefore are never spoiled by disputes and quarrels. His 
 visitors come with delight, and leave him with regret. 
 
 Well-bred Charles is constantly attentive to the ease and 
 comfort of those about him. He pays great respect and 
 deference to people who are old. He never uses coarse 
 words, nor bad language, and always speaks civilly to 
 servants. He does not enter the parlour with dirty hands 
 and face, nor ever greases his clothes, for he knows that 
 dirty habits are offensive disgusting things, and therefore 
 he carefully avoids them. 
 
 Some children put on their good manners with their 
 best clothes, and think they need only behave well before 
 company, but the politeness of such children is stiff, 
 awkward, and troublesome, and they always forget them- 
 selves, and return to some of their vulgar habits, before 
 they leave the company. It is the constant practice of good 
 manners at all times and in all places, that renders them 
 easy, becoming, sweet, and natural, like those of Well-bred 
 Charles. 
 
 The daughters of this good and happy family are no 
 less worthy of praise than the sons. The eldest girl, whom 
 we may call Patient Emma, has the misfortune to suffer 
 from illness. Sometimes she has severe pain, yet she bears 
 it with patience and fortitude. She even tries to hide what 
 she feels, that she may not afflict her kind parents ; and the 
 
 155 
 
THE GOOD FAMILY. 
 
 instant she has a little ease, she becomes as cheerful as any- 
 one. She submits without a murmur to take what medicines 
 the doctors prescribe for the cure of her illness. She is not 
 so foolish as to expect to find a pleasant taste in physic, but 
 she expects that it will be of service to her ; and she would 
 rather have a bitter taste in her mouth for a few moments, 
 than endure days, weeks, and months of pain of sickness. 
 As peevish, fretful tempers often bring disease on the body, 
 so a patient, even temper not only lessens all suffering, but 
 helps to cure the diseases of the body ; Miss Emma there- 
 fore will perhaps in a short time regain her health, and 
 should such an event happen, what joy it will give to all 
 who know, pity, and admire this excellent little girl ! 
 
 Generous Susan thinks all day long how she can add to 
 the happiness of others. It is her greatest pleasure to 
 relieve distress, to do good, and to promote the comforts of 
 all around her. She watches the looks of her parents, that 
 she may fly to oblige them. If they are going out to ride in 
 the coach, and there is not room enough for all the 
 children, she will give up her place that one of her brothers 
 or sisters may go. She will at all times leave play, or 
 decline paying a visit, to attend on Emma, her sick sister. 
 She sits whole hours by her bedside to watch her while she 
 sleeps, and is careful neither to stir hand nor foot, lest she 
 should disturb her slumbers. When awake, she reads to 
 her, talks to her, or sings to her, if that seems most to 
 amuse her. She would gladly bear the pain herself, if it 
 were possible so to relieve poor Emma. When Susan has 
 any money given to her, she does not treat herself with 
 sweetmeats or toys, but buys something that will be useful 
 to her brothers or sisters. At other times she will buy a 
 pair of shoes for a poor child that goes barefooted, or 
 purchase a book for some little boy or girl to learn to read 
 in. Her mamma often gives her old frocks and gowns to 
 
THE GOOt) FAMILY. 
 
 bestow on some distressed family ; and then Susan works 
 with all her might for several days to mend and make 
 them up in the most useful manner : for she has been 
 told that a poor woman, who has two or three children to 
 take care of, and goes out to daily labour, has not time 
 to work with her needle, and perhaps does not know how 
 to do it properly. When Susan has mended or made three 
 or four little frocks, and sees the children neatly dressed in 
 them, she feels more delight and pleasure, than if she had 
 twenty dolls of her own clothed in silks and satins. 
 Generous Susan has the blessings of the poor, and the love 
 of all her family. 
 
 Merry Agnes, the youngest child of the whole, is a fine 
 healthy, lively, sprightly, laughing little girl, who feels no 
 pain, and has no cause for sorrow. She is a kind of play- 
 thing for her elder brothers and sisters, who all delight in 
 her good humour. They never tease, torment, and try to 
 put her out of temper, as some children do to those who are 
 younger than themselves, but they commend her goodness 
 and strive to improve her. When they tell her not to do 
 anything, she obeys them at once, for she sees that they are 
 all gay, smiling, happy children, because they do what is 
 right. If she wants to have what is not proper for her, she 
 can bear to be denied, and skips away just as merry as 
 before. This little girl will become very clever, for her 
 brothers and sisters take pleasure in teaching her what they 
 have been taught, and she attends to their lessons, and im- 
 proves by their advice. She knows that they are all good, 
 and she wishes to be like them. 
 
 It is a fine sight to see this good family all together ; for 
 among them there are no sour looks or rude words, no 
 murmurs, no complaints, or quarrels. No : All is kindness, 
 peace, and happiness. 
 
 157 
 
FOOLISH FEARS. 
 
 FOOLISH FEARS. 
 
 Clara Hammond had a silly habit of screaming when she 
 saw a spider, an earwig, a beetle, a moth, or any kind of 
 insect, and the sound of a mouse behind the wainscot of the 
 room, made her suppose she should die with fright. The 
 persons with whom she lived used to pity her for being 
 afraid, and that made her fond of the silly trick, so that she 
 became worse daily, and kept the house in a constant tumult 
 and uproar ; for she would make as much noise about the 
 approach of a poor insect not much larger than the head of a 
 pin, as if she had seen half-a-dozen hungry wolves coming 
 with open jaws to devour her. 
 
 Clara Hammond was once asked by Mrs. Wilson, a very 
 good lady, to go with her into the country ; and Clara was 
 much pleased at the thought of going to a house, where 
 there was a charming garden and plenty of nice fruit. But 
 the country is a sad place for people who encourage such 
 foolish fears, because one cannot walk in a garden or field 
 without seeing numbers of harmless insects. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson, with her coach full of guests, arrived at her 
 country house just before dinner, and as soon as that meal 
 was over, Clara begged leave to go out into the shrubbery. 
 It was a charming place ; and Clara was quite delighted 
 with the clusters of roses and all the sweet smelling shrubs 
 and flowers that seemed to perfume the air. But as she was 
 tripping along, behold on a sudden a frog hopped across the 
 path. It was out of sight in a moment, yet Clara could go 
 no further, she stood still and shrieked with terror. At the 
 same instant she saw a slug creeping upon her frock, and 
 she now screamed in such a frantic mannner that her cries 
 reached the house. The company rushed out of the dining 
 
 158 
 
FOOLISH FEARS. 
 
 parlour, and the servants out of the kitchen. Mrs. Wilson 
 was foremost, and in her haste to see what was the matter 
 she stumbled over a stone, and fell with such violence 
 against the tree, that it cut her head dreadfully ; she was 
 covered with a stream of blood, and was taken up for dead. 
 
 It was soon known that the sight of a slug and a frog was 
 all that ailed Miss Clara, and then how angry and scorn- 
 fully did everyone look at her, to think that her folly had 
 been the cause of such a terrible disaster. Clara Hammond 
 had not a bad heart, and when she heard Mrs. Wilson's 
 groans of pain whilst the doctors were dressing her wounds, 
 she wept bitterly, and sorely repented her silly unmeaning 
 fears. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was in great danger for many days, and 
 Clara crept about the house in the most forlorn manner, for 
 no one took any notice of her, and she dared not go out in 
 the garden, for fear still of meeting some mighty monster of 
 a snail, or something equally alarming. At length Mrs. 
 Wilson grew better, and then she sent for Clara to her room, 
 and talked to her very kindly and very wisely on the folly of 
 fearing things which had not the power to hurt her, and 
 which were still more afraid of her than she could be of 
 them ; and with reason, since she was stronger, and had far 
 more power to hurt and give pain, than a thousand frogs or 
 mice had. Clara promised that she would try to get the 
 better of her fault, and she soon proved that her promise 
 was sincere. 
 
 One day she was with Mrs. Wilson in her chamber, and 
 this good lady being fatigued and sleepy gave Clara a book 
 of pretty stories to divert her, and begged the little girl 
 would make no noise while she slept. Mrs. Wilson lay 
 down on the bed, and Clara sat on a stool at some little 
 distance. All was as still as possible : and after some time 
 as Clara chanced to lift her eyes from her book, she saw not 
 
 159 
 
FOOLISH FEAkS. 
 
 far from her a spider, who was spinning his web up and 
 down from the ceiling. She was just going to scream, when 
 she thought of the mischief she had already done to Mrs. 
 Wilson, and she forbore. At the same moment, as she 
 turned her head to the other side, a little grey mouse sat on 
 the table, nibbling some crumbs of sweet-cake that had been 
 left there. Clara now trembled from head to foot, but she 
 had so much power over herself that she neither moved nor 
 cried out. This effort, though it cost her some pain at first, 
 did her good ; for in a minute or two she left off trembling. 
 Her fear went away by degrees, and then she could observe 
 and wonder at the curious manner in which the spider spun 
 long lines of thread out of his own mouth, and made them 
 fast to each other and the wall just as he pleased, and could 
 also admire the sleek coat and bright eyes of the little grey 
 mouse on the table. Clara's book slipped from her lap, and 
 as she stooped to catch it, that it might not fall on the 
 floor, she was seen by the two visitors, who instantly fled 
 away to their retreats in the greatest fright possible. 
 Neither spider nor grey mouse appeared again that day : 
 and ever after Clara Hammond had courage and prudence, 
 and took care not to do mischief to others, nor deprive her- 
 self of pleasure, by the indulgence of foolish fears. 
 
GAMMER GURTON'S GARLAND. 
 
 GAMMER GURTON'S GARLAND. 
 
 [From Gammer Gurtotis Garland: or the Nursery Parnassus. 
 A Choice Collection of Pretty Songs and Verses, for the 
 amusement oj all little good children who can neither read 
 nor run. London : Printed for R. Triphook, yj, St. James's 
 Street, by Harding and Wright, St. John's Square. 1810.] 
 
 The Old Woman that was toss'd in a Blanket. 
 
 There was an old woman toss'd in a blanket 
 Seventeen times as high as the moon ; 
 
 But where she was going no mortal could tell, 
 For under her arm she carried a broom. 
 
 Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I, 
 Whither, ah whither, ah whither so high ? 
 
 To sweep the cobwebs from the sky, 
 And I'll be with you by and by. 
 
 THe Song of The Three Wise Men of Gotham, who 
 went to Sea in a Bowl. 
 
 Three wise men of Gotham 
 Went to sea in a bowl, 
 And if the bowl had been stronger 
 My song had been longer. 
 
 The Surprizing Old Woman. 
 
 There was an old woman, and what do you think 
 She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink ; 
 And tho' victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, 
 This plaguy old woman could never be quiet. 
 
 l6l H 
 
GAMMER GUKTON'S GARLAND. 
 
 She went to the baker to buy her some bread, 
 
 And when she came home, her old husband was dead ; 
 
 She went to the clerk to toll the bell, 
 
 And when she came back her old husband was well. 
 
 The Old Man and his Calf. 
 
 There was an old man, 
 And he had a calf ; 
 And that's half : 
 He took him out of the stall, 
 And put him on the wall ; 
 And that's all. 
 
 The man in the moon 
 Came tumbling down, 
 
 And asked his way to Norwich. 
 He went by the south, 
 And burnt his mouth, 
 
 With supping hot pease porridge. 
 
 To make your candles last for aye, 
 You wives and maids give ear, O ! 
 To put 'em out's the only way, 
 Says honest John Boldero. 
 
 The rose is red, the grass is green 
 Serve King George, our noble king : 
 Kitty the spinner will sit down to dinner, 
 
 And eat the leg of a frog ; 
 All good people look over the steeple, 
 
 And see the cat play with the dog. 
 
 162 
 
CRICKET IN I8l2. 
 
 If all the world was apple-pie, 
 
 And all the sea was ink ; 
 And all the trees were bread and cheese, 
 
 What could we do for drink ? 
 
 I'll sing you a song 
 Nine verses long, 
 
 For a pin ; 
 Three and three are six, 
 And three are nine ; 
 You are a fool, 
 
 And the pin is mine. 
 
 CRICKET IN 1812. 
 
 [From The Book of Games; or, a History of fuve?iile Sports, 
 practised at a considerable Academy near London, London : 
 Richard Phillips, No. 7, Bridge Street, Blackfriars. 1812.] 
 
 Three good strong sticks of about two feet in length are 
 driven into the ground at about four inches asunder. In 
 the top of each is cut a little notch, and a small piece of 
 wood is laid across from one to the other. The upright 
 sticks are distinguished by the name of stumps ; the cross 
 one by that of the bail. This wicket — for that is the name by 
 which it is called — is placed about the middle of the field. 
 The players divide themselves into two parties, and toss up, 
 as in many other games, for the first innings. One party, 
 who is out, bowls the ball from the distance of about thirty 
 yards, towards the wicket, which it is the business of the 
 bat's man to defend. If he is fortunate enough to give it a 
 good stroke he immediately sets off to run as far as the line 
 at thirty yards distance, where the opposite party stood 
 when they bowled ; and if he can touch it with his bat and 
 get home to the wicket before one of the adverse party has 
 
 163 II* 
 
CRICKET IN 1 8 12. 
 
 knocked off the bail with the ball, he reckons one. If the 
 ball has been struck to such a distance that he thinks he 
 shall have time for a second run, he may go on again, and 
 reckon as many notches as he takes runs to the appointed 
 
 place and 
 back again 
 during the 
 time that he 
 remained in, 
 but if his ad- 
 versary strike 
 off the bail 
 either in 
 bowling, o r 
 while he is 
 running, o r 
 catch the ball 
 when he had 
 struck it and 
 before it 
 touched the 
 ground he is 
 out, and is 
 obliged to 
 
 resign the bat to one of his own party, till they each have 
 their innings ; and then the opposite party come in. 
 
 The bat's man is the only player of the party that is in, 
 who is engaged, but all of the other party are employed— 
 one in bowling, the others in trying to stop or catch the 
 ball when struck, and endeavouring to knock off the bail 
 with the ball while the bat's man is running, and those who 
 are thus engaged are called the seekers-out. When all the 
 players have had two innings, the game is finished, and that 
 party is winner which has gained most notches. 
 
 164 
 
AMUSING ALPHABET. 
 
 L, 
 
 The Lion. 
 
 [From The Amusing Alphabet for Young Children beginning 
 to Read. London : Printed for R. Taylor & Co., Shoe Lane. 
 1812.] 
 
 Here is a great lion ! the king of beasts ! and look how 
 that little lamb skips around him. He could eat up the 
 lamb in a moment, but he is too noble and generous to 
 hurt the poor harmless lamb because it is in his power. 
 Oh ! what a noble animal ! So you, my dear child, when 
 
 165 
 
AMUSING ALPHABET. 
 
 you catch a bird, or butterfly, or any little creature, remem- 
 ber the lion, and do not hurt it because you have caught it ; 
 but let it go again and be happy, and then everybody will 
 call you a good child and love you. 
 
 T. 
 
 The Truant Eov. 
 
 Here is a schoolroom, and all the little children sitting 
 round and learning their lessons. They are all good chil- 
 dren. But look, there is one boy in the corner crying. He 
 is a naughty boy, and going to be whipped, because he 
 
 1 66 
 
AMUSING ALPHABET. 
 
 played the truant and did not come to school with the rest. 
 His mamma told him to go to school like a good boy ; but 
 he ran away to play, instead of going as he was bid : so he 
 is whipped for being idle. School is the place where 
 children all go together to learn their books ; and when 
 they have done their lesson they all play together, and are 
 very happy when they are good ; but when they are idle 
 they are punished. When you are old enough, my dear 
 child, you will go to school, and I am sure you will read 
 your book well, and then you will be happy, and have a 
 great many playfellows. 
 
 I67 
 
First Steps in Life(i). 
 
 First Steps in Life (2). 
 
THE 
 
 Parents Offering 
 
 or 
 
 Tales for Children. 
 
 By 
 
 Mrs. CAROLINE BARNARD, 
 
 .*&.■&-. 
 
 London: 
 
 Printed for M. J. Godwin, 
 
 Juvenile Library, no. 41 Skinner Street 
 
 1813 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 The Kind Tutor. 
 
 I was born at my father's country-seat in Somersetshire, 
 the heir of a large estate, the hopes of my family and the 
 idol of my mother. My father went abroad when I was an 
 infant and is but just returned to England, so that the care 
 of my youth was entirely left to my mother. Almost the 
 first thing I recollect was my sorrow at the departure of a 
 favourite nursery-maid who was sent away because she had 
 ventured to punish me for striking one of her fellow-ser- 
 vants. When she got to the lodge at the end of the park, 
 and turned into the road, I lost sight of her entirely, and 
 then I began to cry and scream, and to insist that mamma 
 should send for her back again. In vain my poor mamma 
 endeavoured to appease me, and told me it was impossible. 
 The more she said, the more I cried. At last mamma was 
 tired out with me and rung the bell for nurse. Here nurse, 
 said she, try what you can do with the child for I am tired 
 to death with him, and I cannot make him happy. For 
 Heaven's sake, stop his crying if you can. 
 
 Blessings be good unto us ! said the fat old lady, be- 
 ginning with her old-fashioned sayings, "What was the 
 matter with the sweet cherub ? Who was it has affronted 
 my pretty boy ? Come to its own nurse, and no one shall 
 dare to vex him ; and he shall have everything he wants — 
 a darling ! Come and feel in old nurse's pockets, and hear 
 a pretty story — come." 
 
 But I was too much accustomed to all this jargon of 
 nonsense to feel its effects. I struggled and shrieked the 
 louder. 
 
 I 7 I 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 Oh stop his cries, stop his crying, for pity's sake ! said 
 mamma ; and she threw herself back on the sofa and burst 
 into tears. I had never seen mamma cry before. I stopped 
 the horrid noise I was making and stared at her with sur- 
 prise. I saw old nurse trudge off, and return in a great 
 hurry with a glass of water, and at the same time hold some- 
 thing to mamma's nose, and I heard her say — Indeed, my 
 lady, you should not have the child so long ; you have quite 
 turmoiled yourself, my lady. I thought to myself — Then it 
 is / who have made poor mamma ill. I believe I was 
 frightened, for I did not make another sound, but went up 
 to mamma and took her hand and kissed it. I do not 
 know how long mamma was ill, or anything more about it ; 
 for I was then taken to bed directly. 
 
 My health became very delicate ; I was constantly ill. 1 
 took no pleasure in any of my playthings, though my 
 nursery contained toys enough to have made half the little 
 boys in the kingdom quite happy. Though I was a great 
 boy and had been in breeches two years, I was constantly 
 being petted up in my mamma's or in my old nurse's lap. 
 I never went out except in the carriage, for mamma was 
 afraid of my walking, for fear it should fatigue me. 
 
 On the birth-day that I was six years old, mamma made 
 me a present of a beautiful little pony, with a little bridle 
 and saddle : — and now I never either walked or went in the 
 carriage, but rode out every day with a servant on each side 
 of me ; one to hold me and the other to lead my pony. I 
 was very much pleased at first with this because it was 
 something new ; so I rode every day, and all day long, till 
 very soon I became as tired of my pony as the rest of my 
 pleasures. One day as I was slowly riding on being led a 
 foot-pace and yawning incessantly I passed a boy's play- 
 ground ; it was full of boys who seemed very busy and very 
 happy. They were all engaged at some play or other ; not 
 
 172 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 one was idle. In one corner some little fellows were stoop- 
 ing down in a ring playing at marbles ; at another part of 
 the ground a great tall boy was flying a kite, and some 
 little ones standing round him jumping and hallowing as it 
 mounted in the air. Not far off a party were eager in the 
 heat of a game at trap-ball and on the most even part of the 
 green a set of bigger ones with their coats and waistcoats 
 thrown off were in the middle of a cricket match. The boy 
 who was in was playing very well, and was sending the ball 
 to a great distance. I longed to try and play, for I fancied 
 I could do just the same, though I never handled a cricket 
 bat in my life. 
 
 Lift me off — lift me off, I said, impatient to dismount the 
 pony. I want to go and play at cricket. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, said James, your lordship mustn't go 
 into that there playground among them there rude boys : 
 your lordship will be hurt. Your mamma will never for- 
 give me. 
 
 Let me down, Thomas, for I will go ; let me get down, 
 I say. 
 
 In vain the poor servants tried to dissuade me ; down I 
 would get, and on the playground I ran. 
 
 Hullo ! what's that little fellow getting in my way for ? 
 called out the boy who was in. Get out of the way you 
 little rascal, or you'll be knocked down with the ball. 
 
 Give me the bat, I called out, I want to play and will 
 
 play. I am Lord Henry , and you must do what I tell 
 
 you ; give me the bat. 
 
 At this the boys began to laugh and point at me. Some 
 called me names. Give you the bat, said one of them, yes, 
 I'll give it you, and he lifted it up, and was preparing to 
 strike me with it, but James ran up and prevented him. I 
 began to set up a loud cry, when a good-natured boy came 
 up to me with a bat in his hand, and said, Come, you shall 
 
 173 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 have a try if you've a mind ; only leave off blubbering and I 
 will lend you my bat. 
 
 Oh, yes, come, said they all, let's see what sort of a hand 
 his little snivelling lordship is at cricket. 
 
 I snatched up the bat very proudly and was going to 
 shew off and play very finely, when I found it was so heavy 
 I could scarcely lift it, much less strike a ball with it. I 
 threw it down in a great passion, and set up one of my 
 tremendous roars. 
 
 Take me away, Thomas — take me away, James — take me 
 home to mamma. 
 
 The servants hastened up to me and carried me off in 
 their arms : the boys all following after me, hissing and 
 hooting all the way I went. 
 
 And now, are you not almost tired of hearing of my follies 
 and passions ? Well, have patience, I am soon coming to 
 a pleasant part of my history. 
 
 I did not see so much of mamma as usual ; for she was 
 very often so ill she could not leave her room, and I was 
 not allowed to go to her for fear of making her headache 
 worse. 
 
 One day as I was standing at my nursery window I saw a 
 carriage drive up to the door. It was my uncle come to pay 
 mamma a visit. He staid some time at our house ; and 
 he used to have very long conversations with mamma, and 
 used to make her cry very often. I do not know what they 
 talked about, for they spoke in a low voice ; but I could 
 perceive they were talking about me and I used to try and 
 listen to hear what they said. Once I heard my uncle say, 
 Indeed, my dear sister, consider he is more than six years 
 old ; he should really be at school by this time. He knows 
 nothing. His father will be disappointed in him. Besides, 
 consider your own health. 
 
 Then I heard mamma say, I cannot, I cannot indeed, 
 
 174 
 
THE l'ARENTS OFFERING. 
 
 my dear brother, I cannot send him from me. And this 
 was all I could hear. 
 
 The morning my uncle was going away he took me on his 
 knee, and said to me, My dear Henry, listen to me. You 
 have got a new friend coming to live with you ; he is a very 
 wise, good man \ he will be called your tutor : if you 
 are sensible enough to be obedient and kind to him, he will 
 soon grow very fond of you and he will make you much 
 happier than you are now. Nobody can be happy till they 
 have learned to be good, and this kind tutor will teach you 
 to be good and happy. God bless you and give you grace 
 to become so. 
 
 My uncle jumped into his carriage, kissed his hand to me 
 and was out of sight in a minute. 
 
 One day, after my uncle had been gone some weeks, my 
 maid Susan took hold of my hand and told me to come 
 with her. I had not seen mamma for nearly two days. 
 Susan led me quite to the other end of our great house and 
 took me into the furthest room, quite at the end of a long 
 gallery, a great way off my nursery which adjoined mamma's 
 room. 
 
 Here, said she, when she had shut the door, this is your 
 new nursery and here you are to remain ; here you are out of 
 your poor dear mamma's hearing, and you may scream and 
 roar ever so loud, and she will not be disturbed with your 
 passions. Your poor mamma is very ill indeed, and it's all 
 your doing, you naughty child. She is quite worn out, and 
 you'll be the death of her at last. 
 
 It was to no purpose I cried out that I wanted to go to 
 mamma : — Pray take me to mamma. The doors were only 
 shut the closer, and the less chance there was of my being 
 taken into her sick room. 
 
 Oh, said Susan, one day (I shall never forget her face 
 while she was speaking) I've heard a fine piece of news — 
 
 175 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 good news for your lordship and good news for us all. 
 There's a certain person coming who will soon teach your 
 lordship another story than to sit moping in a corner all day 
 long ; then I take it there'll be lessons to learn and copies 
 to write, and a good caning into the bargain now and then 
 when it's wanted. Oh, it will be a good thing, my little 
 master, when you are taken into tight hands ; aye, aye, Mr. 
 Hartley will set all to rights, I'll warrant me. 
 
 In this manner did Susan make the idea of my tutor 
 terrific and odious to me and I dreaded his arrival as if he 
 had been a sea monster coming to devour me. I saw by the 
 smiles and mysterious faces of the servants that some event 
 had happened, and at last I was told my uncle had called to 
 see me and had brought with him Mr. Hartley, my tutor. 
 
 I was now dressed very nicely, and told that I was to go 
 down into the drawing-room. In spite of the dread I felt for my 
 tutor, I was happy at being taken downstairs once more, and 
 going to see my uncle, of whom I was very fond ; and above 
 all at getting away from my nursery and from Susan. With- 
 out any resistance therefore I suffered myself to be dressed 
 and taken down. When I got into the drawing-room I ran 
 up to my uncle and threw my arms round his neck. I believe 
 he was very much pleased with my doing this, for he pressed 
 me to his bosom very closely. 
 
 He said to me, My dear Henry, do you remember the 
 kind friend I promised to bring to you ? Here he is. Go 
 and shake hands with him. 
 
 I made no answer but clung closer to my uncle, and hid 
 my face in his coat. I heard a voice say, Do not be afraid 
 to look at me, Lord Henry ; I am your friend. 
 
 Oh, fie, Henry, said my uncle, do not be so childish, or I 
 shall be quite ashamed of you — and Mr. Hartley will think 
 you are a baby. 
 
 Still I remained unchanged in my position. I heard my 
 
 176 
 
fHE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 tincie and tutor whispering together, and shortly after they 
 talked aloud about a great many things, but not a word 
 about me. As soon as I found they took no notice of me, 
 I began to move. I just ventured to look round and take a 
 sly peep at the stranger — -then quickly hid my face again. 
 This I did several times, but no notice at all was taken 
 of me. 
 
 One morning I was taken down to the library, as Susan 
 said, to begin my " schooling." I found my tutor there 
 alone. He was sitting at a table, with several large books 
 before him. I 
 supposed that 
 these were all 
 books out of 
 which I was sup- 
 posed to learn 
 to read ; and as 
 I hated the 
 thoughts of read- 
 ing or learning 
 I determined I 
 would not do 
 either ; — so I 
 kept for some 
 time in a corner 
 of the room and 
 did not go near 
 Mr. Hartley, or 
 his table, or his 
 books. 
 
 To my great 
 surprise, Mr. 
 Hartley took no 
 notice of me at 
 
 177 
 
 12 
 
The parent's offering. 
 
 all : he neither spoke nor looked at me, but continued 
 turning over the leaves of his book with great attention. I 
 expected every instant he would call me to him — but no 
 such thing — he rested his head on his hand, and did not 
 speak a word. As he turned over the leaves I thought I saw 
 pictures in his book, and I crept softly behind his chair and 
 peeped over his shoulders. 
 
 There I saw in his great book nothing but beautiful 
 pictures of birds, and beasts, and insects of all sorts and 
 kinds. I was very fond of things of this sort, and never did 
 I see anything that excited my curiosity so much ; but I 
 longed to see them more comfortably ; for I was standing 
 up on the bar of my tutor's chair, straining my little neck to 
 peep : and my tutor turned them over so quick, I could 
 hardly see them. 
 
 For the first time I ventured to speak to my tutor. I 
 said to him in a timid voice, May I look at those pictures ? 
 
 I will show them to you with great pleasure, said he. 
 Will you come and sit by me, and see them ? 
 
 Yes, I will, said I, joyfully ; and he seated me by him, 
 and told me the names of them all, one after another. 
 There were lions and tigers, and a rhinoceros, and a giraffe, 
 and hyaenas, and birds of all sorts and colours. I had never 
 seen anything half so beautiful before. 
 
 When we had got about half-way through the second 
 book, the bell rang, and Susan came to fetch me to dinner. 
 
 Go away, Susan, said I, pettishly; I don't want any 
 dinner ; I can't come. 
 
 Hearken to me, my little boy, said my tutor. I have 
 shewn you a great many pretty pictures, and I have a great 
 many more still to show you, and besides I have got a 
 pretty story to read to you about them all; but I read 
 and shew pictures only to good boys who are docile and 
 obedient. 
 
 I 7 8 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 I will be good, said I. Take me to dinner, Susan. And 
 I went away directly. 
 
 Thus ended my first day's schooling, that I had dreaded 
 so much. — Oh, how impatient I was for the time to come 
 that I might go again to my tutor and his pictures ! 
 
 The next morning came at last. Oh, make haste, Susan, 
 said I, make haste and take me down. 
 
 Hey, what ! — bless me — how unaccountable, how sur- 
 prising ! said Susan, as she combed my hair. In a hurry to 
 go down to lessons, forsooth. There must be something at 
 the bottom of all this. I can't make it out, not I. 
 
 I went, or rather ran down to the library, burst open the 
 door, placed the chair myself by my tutor's side, and then 
 exclaimed, Now for the pictures ! 
 
 Now for the pictures, echoed my tutor with equal 
 exultation ; and he went on to shew me all I had not seen 
 the day before. 
 
 Then according to his promise he took another great 
 book, and while I was examining the picture he read me an 
 account of the animal I was looking at. I listened to him 
 with great delight, and if he stopped for a minute, I 
 remember I exclaimed, Oh, go on, read some more, pray 
 read more. I believe my tutor was pleased at this ; for he 
 always smiled and read on again directly. 
 
 At last he stopped in the middle of a very interesting 
 anecdote about a wolf and a lamb. I was burning to know 
 the fate of the poor little lamb, when my tutor stopped short 
 and shut his book. 
 
 More of this another day, said he. 
 
 Oh, was the poor little lamb killed ? said I. Do tell me, 
 my dear tutor. 
 
 You shall hear that when you come to me to-morrow, 
 The sun shines. I must take my walk while it is fine. 
 
 Won't you take me with you, said I, I will be very good. 
 
 179 12* 
 
the parent's offering. 
 
 I should have great pleasure in your company, my dear 
 Lord Henry, but I shall walk faster than you ride. Besides 
 I would rather not walk with the servants who must attend 
 your pony. 
 
 Oh, I do not want my pony or my servants ; I would 
 rather walk with you alone, and then we can talk about the 
 wolf and the lamb as we go along. 
 
 Come along then, said he. 
 
 My tutor then took hold of my hand, and led me through 
 some pretty fields and lanes, talking to me all the way, and 
 shewing me a great many of the insects and birds that I had 
 just seen in the pictures. 
 
 So we went on, and I became every day more fond of my 
 tutor. He made quite a different boy of me, but I was not 
 yet quite happy, for I had not yet seen mamma. 
 
 One day I thought to myself I would ask my kind tutor 
 to allow me to go to mamma. He never refused me any- 
 thing that was proper for me ; or if it was improper he 
 explained to me why it was so. I therefore went up to him 
 with my old petition. 
 
 Pray, dear Mr. Hartley, said I, when do you think I may 
 be allowed to go and see my dear Mamma ? 
 
 My dear Lord Henry, said he, I will make interest for 
 you, and I think you will then be allowed to see her this 
 very evening. Your friends, my dear boy, have thought it 
 necessary hitherto to keep you from your poor mother 
 because they knew you to be once a perverse fretful child. 
 But I will tell them what I really think to be the case, and 
 what will give them all joy and comfort — that Lord Henry 
 is an altered child — that he will carry nothing but peace 
 and comfort to his fond mother. 
 
 I threw my arms round my tutor's neck, and burst into 
 tears. Oh, tell them this, my dear kind tutor ! tell them 
 this and let me see mamma. 
 
 1 80 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 Mr. Hartley told me to compose myself, and then left the 
 room. I suppose he went, as he had promised, to make 
 interest for me, for in a little time in came my good nurse. 
 
 Come my sweet one, said she — you are to come and see 
 dear mamma at last, but be sure now you fall into none of 
 your figaries ; and he shall have some cake when he comes 
 out of mamma's room if he behaves well. 
 
 I remember I felt very indignant at this speech of nurse's, 
 and thought she might as well leave off talking to me as if I 
 were a baby. 
 
 Hush, hush ! said nurse (holding her finger to her nose) 
 you must be very quiet my dear. 
 
 When the door opened I saw mamma lying on a sofa, 
 and my uncle sitting by. I crept in on tip toe with my 
 finger to my lips. I think my mamma and uncle were 
 pleased to see me come in so softly for they looked at one 
 another and smiled. 
 
 I shall never forget what I felt when I got close up to 
 mamma, and saw how she was altered since I had seen her. 
 Her cheeks and lips, which used to be so very rosy were 
 quite white, her eyes dim and sunk in her head ; and she 
 looked terribly thin. 
 
 When mamma put her arms round my neck and kissed 
 me, I felt her cry, for her tears wetted my cheeks and 
 hands. I felt quite inclined to cry too, but was afraid 
 nurse would call me to account ; so I swallowed and 
 choaked and prevented my tears from coming. Mamma 
 then made signs for me to sit upon the pillow by her ; and 
 there I sat, and mamma smiled and looked at me, but she 
 did not speak. I believe she was too weak to talk. 
 
 I then whispered in her ear, and asked her when she 
 would be well, and she said gently — Soon, love ! I could 
 ask no more questions, for I was then taken away with a 
 promise of coming again. 
 
 iSi 
 
THE PARENT'S OFFERING. 
 
 The next time I went to see mamma, she seemed much 
 better, and I talked to her a great deal, and told her how 
 much I loved my tutor, and what nice things he taught me, 
 and what pretty books he had got ; and I do believe that my 
 talking made her better, for I saw the colour come into her 
 cheek as I spoke — and she cried and laughed with joy. 
 
 After this mamma got better and better every day ; and I 
 grew daily more good, more happy and more fond of my 
 tutor. 
 
 Mamma grew quite well, and came down stairs and rode 
 in her carriage the same as ever. My tutor said to me one 
 day — 
 
 Look Henry, look at your fond and indulgent mother. 
 A little while ago she was on the brink of the grave. You, 
 her only child, had almost broken her heart ; but God in his 
 mercy has saved her to you. Oh, be grateful to him for this 
 blessing ! Cherish your mother ! and by your good conduct 
 and filial attention repay her for all her cares and prove in 
 future the comfort of her life. 
 
 These were the words of my kind tutor. They made an 
 impression on my heart. I have remembered them ever 
 since, and I hope and trust I shall never forget them. 
 
The Elegant Girl; 
 
 or 
 
 Virtuous Principles the true Source 
 
 of 
 Elegant Ma nners. 
 
 Illustrated by Twelve Drawings with Lines to each. 
 
 
 toalliliift^ 
 
 1.8 i 3- 
 *~ Entered at Stationers Hall, and 
 ' Published for the Proprietor by S. Inman, 
 *7 Lamb's Conduit Street, London, 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Devotion's lovely form we see 
 As lowly bending on her knee, 
 Her Bed just left, the little maid 
 Implores her Great Creator's aid 
 T'obey his own Almighty Will 
 And all her duties to fulfil. 
 
 **5 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Her prayers said, she soon is drest, 
 Not caring " what becomes her best," 
 Her aim is of a nobler kind — 
 By study to improve her mind, 
 To turn the leaf of history o'er 
 And arts and sciences explore. 
 
 1 86 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRE- 
 
 But what a picture here is given ! 
 O Charity, meek child of Heaven ! 
 May all the rich thy virtues feel 
 And learn this lesson at each meal ; 
 To clothe the naked, feed the poor — 
 Nor drive the beggar from their door. 
 
 187 
 
THE ELEGANT GIKL. 
 
 Her Master pointing to the book, 
 
 Attention marks her steady look, 
 
 His lesson is not thrown away, 
 
 By science taught with taste to play 
 
 She'll charm ere while the list'ning throng 
 
 And sing with modest grace her song. 
 
 188 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Though first the humble copyist stands 
 And lessons learns from other hands, 
 Improvement soon will nurture hope, 
 And time will give her talents scope 
 The glowing landscape to design 
 Or paint the human face divine. 
 
 189 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Look at the group beneath the tree, 
 What can so interesting be ? 
 The little schoolmistress we find 
 Instructing here the infant mind ; 
 Her conduct they can best approve 
 Who virtue and religion love. 
 
 190 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 The lady here holds out her hand 
 
 And says " Temptation you'll withstand, 
 
 This fruit with you my child, I'm sure, 
 
 Will on the table rest secure, 
 
 You'll touch it not without my leave, 
 
 Laura her mother won't deceive." 
 
 I 9 I 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 To visit a poor cottage dame, 
 One summer's evening Laura came, 
 Of viands brought a little treat 
 And placed her bottle at her feet ; 
 Whilst Dash her faithful dog appears 
 With anxious looks and listening ears. 
 
 I92 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Languid and pale her mother lies, 
 She speaks not, but her speaking eyes 
 In language plain, express the pleasure 
 She feels, in having such a treasure ; 
 A daughter, who in early days, 
 Maternal tenderness repays. 
 
 193 
 
 13 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 To innocence what charms belong. 
 The dance delightful as the song, 
 Whilst bounding light on agile feet 
 Her steps the measured cadence meet ; 
 With pleasure beams the Mother's eye 
 As o'er the strings her fingers fly. 
 
 194 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 In sickness when the poor you see 
 Will you their ministering angel be ? 
 Will you their thirst and pain assuage, 
 And read to them the sacred page ? 
 Dry up the Widow's scalding tears, 
 Exalt her hopes, and calm her fears. 
 
 195 
 
THE ELEGANT GIRL. 
 
 Here Laura, by her mother led, 
 With pleasure sees before her spread, 
 Proofs of a Parent's kind regard. 
 Gifts for the Poor, her own reward, 
 For Laura felt and understood 
 The luxury of doing good. 
 
 I96 
 
mamma's pictures. 
 
 [From Mamma's Pictures, or the History of Fanny and Mary. 
 London: Darton, Harvey & Darton, 55, Gracechurch Street. 
 1813.] 
 
 Papa was so kind as to put up a swing for them in the 
 garden : it was fastened to the branch of a large tree ; and 
 while Fanny ran about and made nosegays, her mamma 
 lifted Mary into the swing and pushed it for her till she 
 went up quite high in the air. 
 
 l 97 
 
VERSES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 VERSES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 [From Verses for Little Children : Written by a Young Lady for 
 the Amusement of her Junior Brothers and Sisters. London : 
 Darton, Harvey & Darton, 55 Gracechurch Street. 181 3.] 
 
 My Father. 
 Who taught me on a stick to stride, 
 Or on his fav'rite nag to ride, 
 And guide the bit on either side ? 
 
 My Father. 
 
 198 
 
VERSES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 Anna. 
 
 And while her wheel goes quickly round, 
 With heartfelt joy she sits and sings ; 
 
 No tiresome languor there is found, 
 Her moments fly with fairy wings. 
 
 I99 
 
BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 [From Beasts, Birds and Fishes. From Original Poems with 
 Pictures for Children. London : Printed for Darton, Harvey 
 & Darton, Gracechurch Street and Published as the Act directs. 
 Nov. i, 1813.] 
 
 The Dog will come when he is called ; 
 The Cat will walk away. 
 
 The Monkey's cheek is very bald 
 The Goat is fond of play. 
 
 200 
 
BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 The Parrot is a prate apace 
 Yet knows not what she says : 
 The noble Horse will win the race 
 Or draw you in a chaise. 
 
 The Pig is not a feeder nice, 
 The Squirrel loves a nut. 
 
 20I 
 
BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 The Wolf would eat you in a trice, 
 The Buzzard's eyes are shut. 
 
 The Lark sings high up in the air : 
 The Linnet on the tree. 
 
 The Swan he has a bosom fair, 
 And who so proud as he ; 
 O yes, the Peacock is more proud 
 Because his tail has eyes. 
 
 The Lion roars so very loud 
 He'd fill you with surprise ; 
 The Raven's coat is shining black, 
 Or rather raven grey. 
 
 The Camel's bunch is on his back, 
 The Owl abhors the day. 
 
 The Sparrow steals the cherry ripe, 
 The Elephant is wise. 
 
 The Blackbird charms you with his pipe 
 The false Hyena cries. 
 
 The Hen guards well her little chicks, 
 The useful Cow is meek. 
 
 The Beaver builds with mud and sticks, 
 The Lapwing loves to squeak. 
 
 The little Wren is very small : 
 The Humming Bird is less. 
 
 202 
 
BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 The Lady-bird is least of all, 
 And beautiful in dress. 
 The Pelican she loves her young, 
 The Stork his father loves. 
 
 The Woodcock's bill is very long, 
 And innocent are Doves. 
 
 The spotted Tiger's fond of blood, 
 The Pigeons feed on peas. 
 
 The Duck will gobble in the mud : 
 The Mice will eat your cheese. 
 
 A Lobster's black, when boil'd he's red : 
 The harmless Lamb must bleed. 
 
 The Codfish has a clumsy head : 
 The Goose on grass will feed. 
 
 The Lady in her gown of silk, 
 
 The little Worm may thank. 
 
 The sick man drinks the Ass's milk. 
 
 The Weasel's long and lank : 
 The Buck gives us a ven'son dish 
 When hunted for the spoil. 
 
 The Shark eats up the little fish : 
 
 The Whale produces oil. 
 
 The Glow-worm shines the darkest night 
 
 With lantern in its tail. 
 
 20" 
 
BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES. 
 
 The Turtle is the Cit's delight ; 
 It wears a coat of mail. 
 
 In Germany they hunt the Boar ; 
 The Bee brings honey home. 
 
 The Ant lays up a winter store, 
 The Bear loves honey-comb. 
 
 The Eagle has a crooked beak : 
 The Plaice has orange spots. 
 
 The Starling if he's taught will speak : 
 The Ostrich walks and trots. 
 
 The child that does not these things know, 
 He may be thought a dunce ; 
 Then up my Lads in knowledge grow, 
 As youth can come but once. 
 
 204 
 
AMUSING PICTURE BOOK. 
 
 [From Harrison's Amusing Picture and Poetry Book, con- 
 taining Seventy Engravings. J. Harrison, Devizes.] 
 
 Unhappy youth what hast thou done, 
 
 Why urge thy steed so fast ? 
 Alas ! I hear him scream and groan 
 
 Ah me ! he breathes his last. 
 
 205 
 
THE ROSE. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 [From The Rose, containing Original Poems J or Young People. 
 By their friend Mary Elliott. Accompanied with En- 
 gravings. London : William Darton, 58 Holborn Hill.] 
 
 Cricket. 
 But look on the Green 
 What an active scene 
 
 Presents itself to the eye ; 
 The cricketers stand 
 With bats in their hand 
 
 Their skill and power to try. 
 
 206 
 
THE ROSE. 
 
 One feeling alone 
 
 These happy boys own — 
 Good humour is never asleep ; 
 
 No squabbles we hear, 
 
 By which it is clear 
 That each his temper can keep. 
 
 Ellen's Fairing. 
 
 The day so often wished to come 
 Is here, and all the young look gay ; 
 
 In laughing groups they rush from home, 
 To view the neighbouring Fair's display. 
 
 207 
 
FAMILIAR REPRESENTATIONS. 
 
 What youthful bosom felt more light 
 Than Ellen's, as she viewed the purse, 
 
 In which were lodged three shillings bright, 
 To buy a doll to dress and nurse. 
 
 A stool with carpet covered o'er, 
 
 Which well her new-formed plan would suit ; 
 For it would keep from earthen floor 
 
 And rest her father's gouty foot. 
 
 From Familiar Representations with Suitable Descriptions 
 and Useful Observations in Prose and Verse. Beautified 
 with various Engravings. London : Printed for John 
 Chappell, Hayden Square, Minories.] 
 
 The Evil of Going Too Near the Fire. 
 
 Julia did as she had done 
 
 On many days before ; 
 And from her eldest brother's books 
 
 The printed pages tore. 
 
 208 
 
FAMILIAR REPRESENTATIONS. 
 
 But as she o'er the fender reach'd 
 The lighted coals below ; 
 
 The paper burnt her muslin frock 
 And burnt her person too ! 
 
 Such blisters on her arms appear'd 
 Such scars upon her face ! 
 
 As neither doctor can remove 
 Nor time itself erase. 
 
 And what excruciating pain 
 
 She suffered for her play ; 
 Which made her promise not to do 
 
 The same another day. 
 
 209 
 
 H 
 
THE HISTORY OF A GOLDFINCH. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A GOLDFINCH. 
 
 [From The History of a Goldfinch, with neat coloured plates. 
 London : W. and T. Darlon, 40 Holborn Hill.] 
 
 A foolish, silly boy — I hope no little girl would have 
 thought of such a thing, or if she did I should be ashamed 
 of her — took it into his head that a poor bird which had 
 fallen into his power would look very pretty after his 
 feathers were plucked off. To work he went, the poor bird 
 did not complain, and he plucked every feather except the 
 wings ; and to make the bird look the prettier as he called 
 it, he got some warm paste and with it stuck a piece of red 
 cloth upon the poor creature's head, and then let it go. 
 Whilst he was admiring the victim of his cruelty, his father, 
 who abhorred it, seeing him very attentive to the wicked 
 work that he had been about, called him and questioned 
 him in a kind manner, how he could be so cruel to an 
 innocent creature that never injured him ? The boy, " did 
 not," he said, " think any harm in it : he thought it looked 
 pretty," and added that " he had not hurt the bird." Upon 
 this, the father called him in the same mild way, for had he 
 scolded, it would not have been so effectual, and plucking 
 some of the hair from the young gentleman's head asked if 
 it hurt him ? The boy cried and said that it hurt him very 
 sadly indeed. The father then plucked some more, the 
 pain of which made the boy cry very loud. " Now then," 
 says the father, " learn in future to be more tender to your 
 fellow creatures ; for if such a small portion of hair which I 
 have plucked from your head has occasioned you such pain 
 as to make you cry so bitterly, what must you think of the 
 
 2IO 
 
THE HISTORY OF A GOLDFINCH. 
 
 pain which the poor little defenceless bird was put to, when 
 without any provocation you plucked the feathers from its 
 whole body ! Go from my presence, you cruel wicked boy, 
 
 and never let me see your face till you are sensible of your 
 monstrous crime ! " 
 
 This punishment had such effect upon the son that, as he 
 himself not long since told me, he never could abide to be 
 cruel to little innocent creatures ever afterwards. 
 
 21 I 
 
 W 
 
Ride on a Morse to Banbury Cross. 
 
THE STORY 
 
 Little Mary 
 
 AND HER CAT. 
 
 IN WORDS NOT EXCEEDING 
 
 Two Syllables. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 WILLIAM DARTON 6r> SON 
 Holborn Hill. 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 THE STORY OF LITTLE MARY 
 AND HER CAT. 
 
 There was once a pret-ty lit-tle girl cal-led Ma-ry. Some- 
 times Ma-ry would read to Nurse Brown, and some-times 
 Nurse would tell 
 stor-ies to her or 
 sing old songs, 
 such as she had 
 learn-ed from 
 the books that 
 are sold at Mr. 
 Dar-ton's shop 
 on Hol-born 
 Hill, where all 
 kinds of books 
 that can a-muse 
 or in-struct chil- 
 dren are to be 
 bought. 
 
 As Ma-ry was 
 once tak-ing a 
 walk, she found 
 a half - starv-ed 
 lit-tle kit-ten. A 
 cru-el boy had 
 thrown it in-to 
 a pond, to see 
 how it could 
 swim ; and the poor lit-tle creature had crawl-ed out 
 of the wa-ter just as Ma-ry came by. The boy ran a-way 
 
 2I 5 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 and Mary took the kit-ten home with her. Muff, the 
 cat, had nev-er seen a kit-ten be-fore, and at first could 
 not tell what to make of it ; the kit-ten took Muff for its 
 mother, and ran up to him in a great hur-ry ; but Muff 
 ran back-ward half a-fraid, and hid him-self un-der a ta-ble. 
 When the kit-ten had been fed, it lay down to sleep be-fore 
 the fire. Muff came and look-ed at it, and af-ter some time 
 he lay down by it, and at last be-gan to clean it, for it was 
 ver-y dirty. From that time Muff was quite fond of the 
 kit-ten ; he played with it -in the most gentle manner ; it 
 al-ways lay at night in his basket : they eat out of the 
 same plate, and Muff would oft-en sit still, and let the 
 kit-ten eat first as if he was a-fraid it would not have 
 e-nough. 
 
 Ma-ry had an un-cle who was go-ing a great way off in a 
 ship. He did not ex-pect to come back for three or four 
 years ; and when he said fare-well to Ma-ry he gave her a 
 fine lock-et, with some of his hair in it and set round with 
 gold and pearls. It was but a use-less pres-ent for such a 
 lit-tle girl. Ma-ry tied it round her neck with a black 
 rib-bon and tak-ingup her rope she be-gan to skip, but then 
 the lock-et jump-ed up and down on her neck, and once hit 
 her on the mouth. Ma-ry tied it tight-er, and then it made 
 her too warm. " What shall I do with it ? " said Ma-ry. 
 " Oh ! Muff shall wear the lock-et, and then I can al-ways 
 see it." So she call-ed Muff, and tied the lock-et round his 
 neck. Muff shook his head a-gain and a-gain ; he rub-bed 
 his paw o-ver his ear, he could not think what was the 
 mat-ter with his neck ; then as the lock-et hung down be-low 
 his breast, he pat-ted it from side to side, first with one paw 
 and then with the o-ther, which made Ma-ry laugh ve-ry 
 much. Ma-ry's mam-ma was that day go-ing out to din-ner 
 and while Ma-ry was laugh-ing to see Muff pat a bout the 
 lock-et, her mam-ma came in to kiss her be-fore she went 
 
 2l6 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 out. See-ing Muff with the lock-et she told Ma-ry to take 
 it from him as it would be spoil-ed by Muff, and it was too 
 good a lock-et to be made a play-thing. It would be best, 
 she said, to wrap it in pa-per till Ma-ry was old e-nough to 
 wear it her-self. Ma-ry took off the lock-et from Muff's neck 
 and mam-ma went a-way to pay her vis-it. 
 
 Aft-er din-ner Ma-ry wish-ed she could show the maids 
 how pret-ty Muff look-ed when dress-ed in the lock-et, so 
 she for-got to mind what her mam-ma had said, and a-gain 
 put the lock-et round the cat's neck. Muff was soon tired 
 of play-ing with it ; he then be-gan to bite it with his teeth, 
 so Ma-ry tied it tight un-der his chin where he could not 
 get at it to bite it, and she and the maids all laugh-ed to see 
 what odd tricks he play-ed as he tried to get rid of a thing 
 he was not used to, and which teas-ed him ve-ry much. At 
 last some per-son came in whom Ma-ry was glad to see, and 
 she for-got the cat and the lock-et. 
 
 That per-son gave her a new book, and she read the book 
 till it was time to go to bed, and still she nev-er thought of 
 the cat and her un-cle's pres-ent. 
 
 When Ma-ry got up the next morn-ing, Muff did not come 
 to purr a-bout her feet as he used to do. Ma-ry went down- 
 stairs, and there was no Muff in the par-lour. No one had 
 seen Muff that day. Ma-ry went up-stairs into the bed- 
 rooms and into the gar-rets and look-ed in-to the kit-chen 
 and the cel-lars, and the wash-house and the brew-house but 
 Muff was not to be found in any of these places. Ma-ry 
 went sob-bing in-to the gar-den and call-ed Muff ! Muff ! 
 Muff ! but Muff was not to be found in the sum-mer house, 
 or green-house, or coach-house or sta-ble. 
 
 When Mary went back to the par-lour, her mam-ma 
 ask-ed her if she had a-gain tied on the lock-et to Muffs 
 neck ? Ma-ry blush-ed, but she al-ways told the truth, and 
 she said, " Yes, mam-ma, I did." 
 
 ?I7 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 " You did very wrong," said her mam-ma ; " you see 
 what mis-chiefs hap-pen when lit-tle girls will not o-bey their 
 mam-mas or those who are wis-er than them-selves. Some 
 bad people have found Muff out of doors and have sto-len 
 him for the sake of the locket. The cat you lov-ed so well 
 may be ill-used or ev-en kill-ed, and the lock-et is lost which 
 your un-cle gave you to keep for his sake when he was go-ing 
 a-way for man-y years and might per-haps nev-er see you 
 a-gain." 
 
 Ma-ry was read-y to break her heart with grief. She had 
 made her mam-ma an-gry, she had lost her un-cle's pres-ent ; 
 she had caus-ed poor Muff who had been Nurse Brown's cat, 
 and who was so fond, so gen-tle and so good a cat, to be 
 stol-en, per-haps starv-ed, or beat or kick-ed if not kill-ed for 
 she could not sup-pose that an-y per-son who was so wick-ed 
 as to steal Muff and the lock-et would use him well. Ma-ry's 
 mam-ma sent to all the hous-es round a-bout to en-quire for 
 Muff, but no news could be heard of him. One day, two 
 days, three days pass-ed away and Muff was not found. " I 
 shall nev-er, nev-er see him a-gain," said Ma-ry; "oh ! that 
 I had mind-ed what my mam-ma said to me — then poor 
 Muff would have been sit-ting on his stool be-side me here, 
 and I should have been good and hap-py." 
 
 At the end of the week a poor ragg-ed boy of the vill-age 
 to whom Ma-ry had oft-en giv-en her cakes and her fruit, 
 be-cause she had been told he was ver-y kind to his sick 
 father and work-ed hard to get mon-ey for his mo-ther to 
 buy bread for his lit-tle bro-thers and sis-ters, came with 
 some-thing un-der his coat and asked to see Miss Ma-ry. 
 Ma-ry's mam-ma told the ser-vant to bring Ro-bert (for that 
 was the boy's name), in-to the par-lour. He came in and 
 pull-ing off his cap and mak-ing his best bow he said " Miss 
 I have found your cat ! " 
 
 Ma-ry jump-ed up, and so did her mam-ma but they 
 
 218 
 
LITTLE MARY. 
 
 1 ook-ed very sad when they saw poor Muff al-most starr-ed 
 to death and so weak that when Ro-bert put him on the 
 floor he could scarcely stand up-on his legs. 
 
 Ro-bert work-ed hard at a farm-house, and had been sent 
 that day by his master to sweep out an old stable which had 
 a hay-loft o-ver it. While Ro-bert was sweep-ing the sta-ble 
 he thought he heard a cat cry. He look-ed a-bout and 
 saw no cat, but still he thought he heard it cry. So, at last, 
 he climb-ed up and push-ed o-pen the door of the hay-loft, 
 and there he saw poor Muff ly-ing on the ground, and 
 faint-ly cry-ing mew, mew, just as if he were dy-ing. Ro-bert 
 call-ed him by his name for he knew it was the cat that 
 Nurse Brown had giv-en to Mary ; but Muff was so weak 
 he could not get up to come to him. Ro-bert had his 
 din-ner in his pocket ; it was only a small bit of brown 
 bread and a lit-tle bot-tle of milk and water, for his pa-rents 
 were ve-ry poor ; but he had a kind heart, and he broke his 
 bread in-to ve-ry small pieces and wet-ted it with the milk- 
 and-water and put them bit by bit in-to Muffs mouth. 
 When Muff had eat the bread he seem-ed bett-er and 
 Ro-bert was so glad that he took him in his arms, jump-ed 
 down from the hay-loft and ran as fast as he could to car-ry 
 him home to Ma-ry. The black string was still round 
 Muffs neck but the lock-et was gone, and the bad man who 
 stole the lock-et must have shut the cat up in that empty 
 hay-loft where but for Ro-bert he would have died of 
 hun-ger. 
 
 With good care and good food Muff grew well and fat 
 a-gain, and was as happy and as mer-ry as ever; and 
 Ma-ry's mam-ma was so pleas-ed with Ro-bert's giv-ing up 
 nis own din-ner to feed a starv-ed cat that she said she was 
 sure a kind boy would make a good man, and she sent him 
 to school that he might learn to read and write. She gave 
 him new and warm clothes, and was kind to his fa-ther and 
 
 219 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 mother, brothers and sis-ters, for his sake. Ma-ry lent 
 Robert all her books as soon as he had learnt to read, and 
 she used to di-vide her money with him that he might buy 
 o-ther books and other play-things for his lit-tle sis-ters. 
 She nev-er for-got that Robert had sav-ed her dear Muff 
 from death, and that it was the wis-est and best thing she 
 could do ev-er aft-er to o-bey her mam-ma and nev-er to do 
 an-y-thing which her mam-ma bid her not do. 
 
 EMILY BARTON. 
 
 [From Mrs. Leicester's School : or The History of Several 
 Young Ladies j related by themselves. Fourth Edition. 
 London : Printed for Mr. J. Godwin, at the Juvenile Library, 
 No. 41 Skinner Street. 18 14.] 
 
 When I was a very young child, I remember residing with 
 
 an uncle and aunt who live in shire. I think I 
 
 remained there near a twelvemonth. I soon found that it 
 was a very dull thing, to live in the country with little 
 cousins who have a papa and mamma in the house, while 
 my own dear papa and mamma were in London, many 
 miles away. 
 
 I have heard my papa observe, girls who are not well 
 managed are a most quarrelsome race of little people. My 
 cousins very often quarrelled with me, and then they 
 always said, "I will go and tell mamma, cousin Emily; " 
 and then I used to be very disconsolate, because I had no 
 mamma to complain to of my grievances. 
 
 Though I often thought of my papa and mamma, by de- 
 grees the remembrance of their persons faded out of my 
 mind. 
 
 220 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 One morning my uncle and aunt went abroad before 
 breakfast, and took my cousins with them. They very 
 often went out for whole days together, and left me at 
 home. Sometimes they said it was because they could not 
 take so many children ; and sometimes they said it was 
 because I was so shy, it was no amusement to me to go 
 abroad. 
 
 That morning I was very solitary indeed, for they had 
 even ta*ken the dog Sancho with them, and I was very fond 
 of him. I went all about the house and garden to look for 
 him. Nobody could tell me where Sancho was, and then I 
 went into the front-court and called " Sancho, Sancho." 
 An old man that worked in the garden was there, and he 
 said Sancho was gone with his master. O how sorry I was ! 
 I began to cry, for Sancho and I used to amuse ourselves 
 for hours together when every body was gone out. I cried 
 till I heard the mail coachman's horn, and then I ran to the 
 gate to see the mailcoach go past. It stopped before our 
 gate, and a gentleman got out ; and the moment he saw me 
 he took me in his arms and kissed me, and said I was 
 Emily Barton, and asked me why the tears were on my 
 little pale cheeks ; and I told him the cause of my distress. 
 The old man asked him to walk into the house, and was 
 going to call one of the servants ; but the gentleman would 
 not let him, and he said, " Go on with your work, I want to 
 talk to this little girl before I go into the house." Then he 
 sat down on a bench which was in the court, and asked me 
 many questions ; and I told him all my little troubles, for 
 he was such a goodnatured-looking gentleman that I prattled 
 very freely to him. Then he called to the old man, and 
 desired him to fetch a post-chaise. The old man looked in 
 a sad fright, and said, " O Sir, I hope you are not going to 
 take the child away." The gentleman threw out a small 
 card, and bid him give that to his master, and calling to 
 
 _-- - 221 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 the post-boy to drive on, we lost sight of the old man in a 
 minute. 
 
 The gentleman laughed very much, and said, " We have 
 frightened the old man, he thinks I am going to run away 
 with you ; " and I laughed, and thought it a very good joke ; 
 and he said, " So you tell me you are very shy ; " and I re- 
 plied, " Yes, sir, I am, before strangers : " he said, " So I 
 perceive you are," and then he laughed again, and I 
 laughed, though I did not know why. We had such a 
 merry ride, laughing all the way at one thing or another, 
 till we came to a town where the chaise stopped, and he 
 ordered some breakfast. When I got out I began to 
 shiver a little ; for it was the latter end of autumn, the 
 leaves were falling off the trees, and the air blew very cold. 
 Then he desired a waiter to go and order a straw-hat, and a 
 little warm coat for me ; and when the milliner came, he 
 told her he had stolen a little heiress, and we were going to 
 Gretna Green in such a hurry that the young lady had no 
 time to put on her bonnet before she came out. The 
 milliner said I was a pretty little heiress, and she wished us 
 a pleasant journey. When we had breakfasted, and I was 
 equipped in my new coat and bonnet, I jumped into the 
 chaise again, as warm and as lively as a little bird. 
 
 When it grew dark, we entered a large city; the chaise 
 began to roll over the stones, and I saw the lamps ranged 
 along London streets. 
 
 I was sorry when the chaise stopped, and I could no 
 longer look at the brilliant rows of lighted lamps. 
 
 Taken away by a stranger under pretence of a short ride, 
 and brought quite to London, do you not expect some 
 perilous end of this adventure ? Ah ! it was my papa him- 
 self, though I did not know who he was, till after he had put 
 me into my mamma's arms, and told her how he had run 
 away with his own little daughter. " It is your papa, my 
 
 222 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 dear, that has brought you to your own home." " This is 
 your mamma, my love," they both exclaimed at once. 
 Mamma cried for joy to see me, and she wept again when 
 she heard my papa tell what a neglected child I had been at 
 my uncle's. This he had found out, he said, by my own 
 innocent prattle. 
 
 My mamma ordered tea. Whenever I happen to like my 
 tea very much, I always think of the delicious cup of tea 
 mamma gave us after our journey. I think I see the urn 
 smoking before me now, and papa wheeling the sofa round, 
 that I might sit between them at the table. I thought to 
 myself, " O dear, my cousins' papa and mamma are not to 
 be compared to mine." 
 
 Papa said, " What makes you bridle and simper so, 
 Emily ? " Then I told him all that was in my mind. Papa 
 asked if I did not think him as pretty as I did mamma. I 
 could not say much for his beauty, but I told him he was a 
 much finer gentleman than my uncle, and that I liked him 
 the first moment I saw him, because he looked so good- 
 natured. He said, " Well then, he must be content with 
 that half praise ; but he had always thought himself very 
 handsome." " O dear ! " said I, and fell a-laughing, till I 
 spilt my tea, and mamma called me Little awkward girl. 
 
 The next morning my papa was going to the Bank to 
 receive some money, and he took mamma and me with him, 
 that I might have a ride through London streets. Every one 
 that has been in London must have seen the Bank, and 
 therefore you may imagine what an effect the fine large 
 rooms, and the bustle and confusion of people had on me, 
 who was grown such a little wondering rustic, that the 
 crowded streets and the fine shops alone, kept me in con- 
 tinual admiration. 
 
 As we were returning home down Cheapside, papa said, 
 " Emily shall take home some little books. Shall we order 
 
 22^ 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 the coachman to the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard, or 
 shall we go to the Juvenile Library in Skinner Street ? " 
 Mamma said she would go to Skinner Street, for she wanted 
 to look at the new buildings there. Papa bought me seven 
 new books, and the lady in the shop persuaded him to take 
 more, but mamma said that was quite enough at present. 
 
 We went home by Ludgate-hill, because mamma wanted 
 to buy something there j and while she went into a shop, 
 papa heard me read in one of my new books, and he said 
 he was glad to find I could read so well ; for I had forgot to 
 tell him my aunt used to hear me read every day. 
 
 My papa stopped the coach opposite to St. Dunstan's 
 Church, that I might see the great iron figures strike upon 
 the bell, to give notice that it was a quarter of an hour past 
 two. We waited some time that I might see this sight, but 
 just at the moment they were striking, I happened to be 
 looking at a toy-shop that was on the other side of the way, 
 and unluckily missed it. Papa said, " Never mind : we will 
 go into the toy-shop, and I dare say we shall find something 
 that will console you for your disappointment." 
 
 A large wax doll, a baby-house completely furnished, and 
 several other beautiful toys, were bought for me. My 
 mamma invited a little girl to spend a few days with me, to 
 see, as she has since told me, if I should not be liable to 
 fall into the same error from which I had suffered so much 
 at my uncle's. 
 
 As my mamma had feared, so the event proved ; for I 
 quickly adopted my cousins' selfish ideas, and gave the 
 young lady notice that they were my own playthings, and 
 she must not amuse herself with them any longer than I 
 permitted her. 
 
 A lady was sitting with mamma, and mamma said, " I 
 believe I must pardon you this once, but I hope never to 
 see such a thing again. This lady is Miss Frederica's 
 
 224 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 mamma, and I am quite ashamed that she should be witness 
 to your inhospitality to her daughter, particularly as she was 
 so kind to come on purpose to invite you to a share in her 
 own private box at the theatre this evening. Her carriage is 
 waiting at the door to take us, but how can we accept of the 
 invitation after what has happened ? " The lady begged it 
 might all be forgotten ; and mamma consented that I should 
 go. I had never seen a play ; but when I got there, after 
 the curtain drew up, I looked up towards the galleries, 
 and down into the pit, and into all the boxes, and then I 
 knew what a pretty sight it was to see a number of happy 
 faces. 
 
 Just as the coach stopped, Miss Frederica said, " Will 
 you be friends with me, Emily ? " and I replied, " Yes, if 
 you please, Frederica ; " and we went hand and hand together 
 into the house. 
 
 I shall never forget how delighted I was at the first sight 
 of the house. My little friend and I were placed together 
 in the front, while our mammas retired to the back part of 
 the box to chat by themselves, for they had been so kind as 
 to come very early, that I might look about me before the 
 performance began. 
 
 She gave me a charming description of the king and 
 queen at the play, and shewed me where they sate, and told 
 me how the princesses were dressed. It was a pretty sight 
 to see the remainder of the candles lighted ; and so it was 
 to see the musicians come up from under the stage. I 
 admired the music very much, and I asked if that was the 
 play. Frederica laughed at my ignorance, and then she told 
 me, when the play began, the green curtain would draw up 
 to the sound of soft music, and I should hear a lady 
 dressed in black say, 
 
 " Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast : " 
 225 15 
 
EMILY BARTON. 
 
 and those were the very first words the actress, whose name 
 was Almeria, spoke. When the curtain began to draw up 
 and I saw the bottom of her black petticoat, and heard the 
 soft music, what an agitation I was in ! But before that we 
 had long to wait. Frederica told me we should wait till all 
 the dress boxes were full, and then the lights would pop up 
 under the orchestra ; the second music would play, and then 
 the play would begin. 
 
 The play was the Mourning Bride. It was a very moving 
 tragedy j and after that when the curtain dropt, and I 
 thought it was all over, I saw the most diverting pantomime 
 that ever was seen. 
 
A 
 
 Journey to London; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENTS OF A WEEK. 
 
 XonDon: 
 
 Published by GEORGE WALKER, 106 Great 
 
 Portland Street ; 
 
 and sold by all other booksellers, 
 
 1815. 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 Mrs. Summers accompanied the two children to London 
 in the stage, a journey of only forty miles, which was easily 
 performed in one day. They set off in excellent spirits, and 
 were highly delighted with the various prospects and objects 
 along the road ; amusing the rest of the passengers with 
 
 their remarks, and their expectations of what they should do 
 and see in London. Though George wished the journey 
 would last a week, they had not, however, travelled more 
 than two hours before the closeness and motion of the 
 
 229 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 coach turned them both sick ; after which Ann laid down 
 and fell fast asleep, and George having lost his spirits sat 
 like a mope in a corner for the rest of the day. When they 
 quitted the stage they were as glad to be released as they 
 had been to enter it ; and a large currant pie their Aunt 
 Brown had provided for their supper soon made them forget 
 their sufferings in the journey. 
 
 As they passed along Swallow Street they were alarmed 
 by a prodigious uproar and shouting behind them of " Mad 
 bull, mad bull ! " They had not time to recover their 
 surprise when the mob began to rush pell-mell round the 
 corner, urging forward a poor over-driven ox, which could 
 scarce stand for fatigue and fright. Not less than five 
 hundred people were in full pursuit, headed by a band of 
 butchers, labourers and boys, who took more delight in the 
 mischief and fear they caused to the passengers than even 
 in the sufferings of the poor beast, whom the butchers had 
 goaded into a fever : women and children ran screaming up 
 to the sides of the houses and into the shops ; many had 
 their clothes torn by the rush of the mob. Mrs. Brown 
 seized George's hand, whilst Ann clung to her mother. 
 They ran to get into a shop, but a great butcher's dog, 
 covered with mud and animated by his master to the hunt, 
 rushed forward, regardless of what it ran against, knocked 
 down poor George and his Aunt, who were, however, im- 
 mediately raised by some very well-dressed men in the stile 
 of grooms who, notwithstanding they were turned round by 
 the pressure of the mob, conducted Mrs. Brown and George 
 to the door of a shop and then mingled with the throng now 
 nearly passed. 
 
 Both George and his Aunt had been trod upon, and Mrs. 
 Brown had suffered much in her dress, which was torn in a 
 way which seemed purposely done ; but when they recovered 
 from their first fright, George missed his parcel of books 
 
 230 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 and ran into the street to find them, but that was useless ; 
 he however saw his mother coming along with little Ann 
 crying for the loss of him, for they had been parted by the 
 mob and luckily got into a shop. They hastened to join 
 Mrs. Brown whom they found lamenting the loss of her 
 gold watch which there was no doubt had been taken by 
 those officious gentlemen who assisted them, and who are 
 always to be found in this sort of mobs, set on foot for the 
 sole purpose of mischief: nor is it uncommon for these 
 outrages of public peace and safety to be continued through 
 half the town for hours, to the distress of thousands of 
 women and children, and often producing the most serious 
 accidents. . , . 
 
 As it is a fine day we will go to St. Paul's Cathedral. 
 Being dressed and ready, Betty was called to fetch a coach 
 — but not coming immediately, George, impatient as usual 
 to be moving, proposed to call one himself, as the coach- 
 stand was at the end of the street, and Ann joined her 
 request to go too. After some time Mrs. Brown not hear- 
 ing a coach coming and thinking the children stayed too 
 long, looked out at the window, and seeing a little crowd at 
 a distance, made no doubt they had met with some mis- 
 fortune, and away she flew to see what could be the matter. 
 
 She found Ann standing crying, with her frock covered 
 with mud, and George fighting with a boy a head taller than 
 himself, while several idle fellows were urging them on, and 
 almost forcing them to fight, instead of interposing and 
 protecting the injured party. Mrs. Brown immediately 
 went between the two combatants, and a gentleman coming 
 out of the house interposed, or most probably she would 
 have been insulted for interrupting the diversion of the 
 mob. 
 
 " How did all this happen ?" said Mrs. Brown. 
 
 " This boy," said George, " and another that is run away, 
 
 231 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 came along — this boy with a whip in his hand all over mud, 
 and the other driving a hoop : we tried to get out of the 
 way by crossing from side to side of the pavement ; but he 
 would drive his hoop against Ann, on purpose to spoil her 
 clothes. I told him he was a very wicked boy for doing it, 
 and the other gave me a cut in the face with his dirty whip, 
 which made me very angry, and I gave him a punch ; two 
 men going by, cried out, ' that's right, young one, fight him ! 
 fight him ! ' and taking my arm they held me up to him, so 
 I was obliged to fight." 
 
 As the mob always highly enjoy the distress of people 
 who have been dirtied either by accident or design, not a 
 few observations of wit were passed on little master and miss 
 as their aunt hurried them, crying, home ; and the little mis- 
 creant who had so grossly insulted them, was the loudest in 
 shouting after them. 
 
 This misfortune completely interrupted the arrangements 
 of the day, and to entertain them, Mrs. Brown sat down to 
 the pianoforte which she played extremely well. 
 
 Little Ann said she should like to learn, and that she was 
 to begin very soon, for her mamma had taught her the keys. 
 
 "That is well thought of," said Mrs. Summers, " we must 
 have some music ; and as our journey into the city is spoiled 
 for to-day we will go and buy some." 
 
 " The best shop that I know," said Mrs. Brown, " is at 
 Walker's in Great Portland Street, where you have all sorts 
 of divertimentos for young performers." 
 
 Thursday morning being remarkably fine it was deter- 
 mined to visit the Tower. 
 
 " Now we are going to see living lions, tygers, and other 
 savage animals, and you must take care not to approach 
 their dens, nor put your hands beyond the rail set up to 
 keep incautious people at a distance. Many very shocking 
 
 232 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 accidents have happened by people teazing the animals out 
 of the keeper's sight." 
 
 . . . " I wonder what curiosity there is in that large 
 dog with the flattish head," said George : " give me a 
 biscuit, Aunt, for he looks hungry." 
 
 " That dog as you call him," said the keeper, " is a savage 
 and fierce wolf; he looks so quiet only to catch you within 
 reach of a snap : the wolf is a species of the dog, as the 
 tiger is of the cat — all their habits, actions, and cries are 
 similar. Take care of that white bear ; he is so fierce that 
 even looking at him puts him in a rage — his eyes flash — he 
 shews his teeth and flies at the rails of his cage to get at you. 
 This is an hyaena, from the interior of Africa ; he is an 
 animal never known to be tamed ; he inhabits hot and 
 desart climates, and destined by nature to prevent putre- 
 faction from dead animals in those countries where all flesh 
 turns to corruption in a few hours after death ; he delights 
 in putrid substances, and will tear open graves to devour the 
 bodies; his eye is remarkably sly, and the outline of his 
 figure is disgusting, though not so much so as that of the 
 vulture, a bird whose propensities are similar, and which 
 can go farther in search of the carrion, which it smells 
 in the wind." 
 
 From the Tower they went to a pastrycook's in Cornhill 
 for refreshments ; their journey having given them good 
 appetites. Whilst they sat in the shop they were alarmed by 
 loud screams, and running to the door they saw a poor boy 
 taken from behind a hackney coach with one of his arms 
 torn and mangled in a dreadful manner ; he was carried to 
 St. Bartholomew's Hospital. They learned that this 
 thoughtless boy, who had excellent legs to carry him, got 
 up behind a coach, as foolish boys often do. The coach- 
 man, not liking to carry any that did not pay him, and 
 finding the boy seated behind, without calling to him to get 
 
 233 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 down as a man of any humanity would, began to lash him 
 most savagely with his whip, cutting him over the face 
 without mercy ; this flurried the boy so much that in his 
 haste to descend his arm slipped between the spring and 
 the spokes of the wheel, and he would have been killed 
 on the spot if a gentleman had not seized the horses and 
 stopped them. 
 
 As they came up Holborn, George walked on a little way 
 leading his sister Ann, though with difficulty they made 
 their way through the crowds. Some fine pictures in a 
 window were an irresistible attraction ; and having first 
 looked to see that there were no rails to tumble over, they 
 ventured to admire the prints. A mischievous dirty 
 vagabond who was also looking at the pictures very intently, 
 slyly watching an opportunity for mischief, suddenly dashed 
 George's head against the glass (see frontispiece) which was 
 shivered to pieces ; he was across the street in a minute, 
 and the two ladies were too much engaged with the accident 
 to pursue him, so that he escaped without the punishment 
 he deserved. 
 
 Fortunately George's hat saved his head, or he might 
 have been dangerously wounded with the glass ; indeed had 
 his face been dashed against the window, he might have 
 been blinded or disfigured for life. Mrs. Summers paid for 
 the window. 
 
 " The mischief of boys in the streets," said Mrs. Brown, 
 " is truly insufferable, and really ought to be attended to by 
 a judicious police. Thousands of errand boys from the 
 nature of their employ, are the greater part of their time in 
 the street, and they spread corruption amongst each other. 
 All sorts of mischief and petty outrages they inflict upon 
 women and children, which would make a very extensive 
 catalogue of crimes : little children, clean and going to 
 school, are the particular objects of their power — dirtying 
 
 234 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 their clothes, striking them and teazing them in various 
 ways, so that it is quite unsafe to let children go out without 
 attendants. It is the duty of every man who sees any of 
 these petty outrages, to interfere and punish the offender. 
 
 " I would have the beadles disperse the knots of idle boys 
 which we see gambling, and wasting their master's time in 
 the streets ; it is in these assemblies they teach each other 
 every sort of vice — swearing, lying, cheating, disobedience 
 and insolence to parents and masters. These nests of 
 young gamblers are more pernicious in society than those 
 higher meetings of gamblers which are sought after by the 
 police. No boy who idles his time in the streets playing 
 with such characters, can be a good servant ; he is robbing 
 his master by wasting the time for which he receives victuals 
 and wages, and those idle habits but too commonly attend 
 him in every stage of life." 
 
 These reflections Mrs. Summers made upon the very 
 serious mischief they had met ; and little Ann was so much 
 frightened that when she saw a dirty boy coming near her, 
 she shrank to her aunt or mother for protection. 
 
 They had had enough of sights for that day, and felt not 
 a little comfortable when they reached Mrs. Brown's. 
 
 " Hark, I think the guns are firing — there must be good 
 news — Lord Wellington I suppose has again beaten the 
 French." 
 
 The guns were indeed firing ; they proclaimed the defeat 
 of the French by the great Wellington and his brave 
 companions. The visit to the Panorama was forgot in the 
 general joy of the victory, and the preparations for a grand 
 illumination at night. 
 
 " Ah," said George, " let me tell you of a very sad 
 accident which happened to myself. I was on a visit to 
 
 235 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 Farmer Hall's : in the yard where they kept their wood for 
 winter was a deep well with a folding-door over it ; I had 
 never seen a well of that sort and I wanted to know what 
 was under the trap-doors. I raised up the trap by the ring 
 with great difficulty, and the weight of it in going down 
 drew me over and I fell into the well. The water and mud 
 did not reach above half way to my mouth or I should have 
 been drowned, for it was a great while before I could make 
 anybody hear where I was and they then put down a ladder 
 and took me up." 
 
 "That providential escape," said Mrs. Summers, "always 
 makes me shudder. If any one circumstance had varied, 
 you would certainly have been lost : if there had been foul 
 air in the well ; if the water had only been a foot deeper ; if 
 you had struck the side in falling ; if you had fallen upon 
 your head ; if the trap-door had shut over you, you would 
 certainly have been lost ; and as long as you live never 
 forget that God who protected you when none else could 
 have changed one circumstance in the accident." 
 
 They had tea early, that they might prepare for their 
 excursion in the evening. 
 
 It was proposed to take a coach, but Mrs. Brown objected 
 to it, because they would be hours in creeping along the 
 streets, and open to all the mischiefs of the mob, who amuse 
 themselves with throwing squibs into carriages where they 
 see ladies and children, frequently setting their clothes on 
 fire and burning them in a most barbarous manner. 
 
 They proceeded to the bottom of Bond Street with much 
 difficulty, but there the carriages entirely cut off the passage 
 into St. James's Street, and rendered it dangerous to turn in 
 any direction. Poor Ann was so pressed and squeezed that 
 she begged to return ; but this was as difficult as to go on. 
 The people took little regard of children, and they were 
 repeatedly trod upon ; so that Ann began to cry and George 
 
 236 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 begged to go home. After many efforts, they at length 
 cleared the corner into Piccadilly, and by creeping under 
 the noses of the horses they got into St. James's Street. 
 Could they have enjoyed the sight free from danger they 
 would have been extremely delighted with the profusion of 
 lamps in all sorts of devices which the subscription houses 
 displayed. On the south side of Pall Mall they contrived 
 by taking time and caution, to approach within view of the 
 superb decorations of Carlton House, where thousands of 
 lamps formed a mass of light almost too brilliant for the 
 eyes to look at : here the Prince Regent, to please the 
 public, had spared no expense ; and a company of artillery- 
 men, with field-pieces on the top of the colonnade, highly 
 delighted the people. 
 
 They went into St. James's Square, where there was more 
 room ; and they were very much pleased with Lord Castle- 
 reagh's house, particularly as they could stand to admire 
 it; but they had not stood many minutes before a 
 gentleman's servant, delighted with an opportunity of dis- 
 playing his courage, slyly slipped behind little Ann and 
 her mother, and clapping a blunderbuss close behind them, 
 fired it off. 
 
 Mrs. Summers, fortunately, was not a nervous woman, or 
 the consequences might have been fatal. She, however, 
 turned sick with the fright, and little Ann screamed so that 
 she could not be pacified, and was so deafened with the 
 stunning noise that she did not hear for some hours after- 
 wards. The hero of this exploit enjoyed the terror he had 
 caused, and Mr. Wilmot in vain attempted to seize him, as 
 he escaped in the mob. The visible consternation of the 
 party, instead of exciting pity, only spirited the mischievous 
 to hunt them with squibs, from which they ran as fast as 
 possible, and were only rescued by the higher gratification 
 which these people found in the shrieks of a young woman 
 
 237 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 whose clothes they had set on fire with a squib, and who was 
 so seriously burnt as to be carried to an hospital. 
 
 " If we go to the play," said Mrs. Summers, on Saturday, 
 " I should like to know what is to be performed." 
 
 " I can run and let you know in a minute," said Ann. 
 " I know where I saw the play-bills stuck in a shop window ; 
 it does not rain now, and it is only down Rathbone 
 Place into Oxford Street." 
 
 Ann, in high spirits, set off upon her commission, but she 
 had not got half way down Rathbone Place when she 
 was overtaken by a plain- dressed woman, who cried out 
 when she came up to her — 
 
 " Dear me, what a beautiful child ! Sure my pretty miss 
 you are some nobleman's daughter ; you are as handsome as 
 an angel and dressed like a cherub : is not your father a 
 Lord ? " 
 
 "No," replied Ann, simply, "my papa is a country 
 gentleman, and my aunt is Mrs. Brown." 
 
 " And are you indeed Mrs. Brown's niece ? " said the 
 deceitful hypocrite. "Come, my darling, and let me kiss 
 you : I am going to drink tea with your Aunt this very 
 afternoon. I am only going first to the jeweller's to buy a 
 necklace for a little niece of mine— will you go along with 
 me ? I should like one the same pattern as that cornelian 
 one you have about your neck." 
 
 " I can't go with you," said Ann \ " I am going to see 
 what the play is to-night, and must not stop, or my mother 
 and aunt will be frightened." 
 
 "Aye, you are a good child now," replied the impostor; 
 " never stop on your errands, my dear ; I shall tell your 
 Aunt when I come this afternoon, what an obedient little 
 lady you are — yet I should like to have just such a necklace 
 for my niece. She is a pretty girl, though not so pretty as 
 
 238 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 you ; near about your size," continued she, putting her 
 hands round Ann's neck, and unclasping a fine cornelian 
 necklace with a gold snap ; " I wonder, my dear, you had 
 not lost it — the snap is broke ; well, but let me consider — 
 how lucky I am going to the jeweller's — I will take your 
 necklace and get it mended, match one like it for my niece, 
 and bring it back when I go to tea. Tell your Aunt Brown 
 that Mrs. Fertile has got it. Good-bye, my sweet little 
 poppet." 
 
 Poor Ann was in too much confusion to know how to 
 act ; she did not like the woman's taking her necklace and 
 yet she did not dare refuse her ; she made haste to learn the 
 name of the play — and when she arrived at home the first 
 question she asked was if her Aunt knew a Mrs. Fertile that 
 was to come there to tea that afternoon. 
 
 Her Aunt replied that she knew no such person, nor was 
 anyone coming to tea that day. Poor Ann burst into tears. 
 
 "Then Mrs. Fertile told a story," cried she, "and I shall 
 never get my necklace again." 
 
 " You foolish child," cried Mrs. Summers, " could any- 
 thing be more stupid than to suffer a strange woman that 
 you did not know, to take your necklace ? — Have I not told 
 you that such women watch for children, and by all manners 
 of lies decoy them into some dark court and strip them ? " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " said George, " what a goose you must 
 have been : do you think I should have been cheated in that 
 manner ? Nobody should cheat me ; poor Ann ! " 
 
 " You have no necklace to lose," said Ann. " I am sure 
 I could not help it." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Brown, " George shall go the baker's 
 just round the corner and ask him the name of the play 
 which Ann has forgotten — and at the same time bring me 
 change for a pound note, as I do not like changing with 
 
 239 
 
A JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 coachmen, who frequently give bad money, particularly to 
 ladies." 
 
 George could not refrain from whispering to Ann, as he 
 passed her, that if he saw Mrs. Fertile with her necklace he 
 would get it from her. 
 
 "Take care of yourself," said Ann. 
 
 George was so careful of the one-pound note that he kept 
 his hand in his pocket with it all the way : he learnt the 
 name of the play and received the change, but just as he 
 turned the corner of Percy Street from Tottenham Court 
 Road, a man came running up to him — 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! " said he — " you are the little boy my 
 master gave the silver to just now ; he does not like the note 
 — here it is — if you have not got another you must give me 
 the silver and get this changed." 
 
 The man held the note to him, which George believed to 
 be the same he had given to the baker, and without any 
 suspicion immediately returned the silver, though he had 
 reflection enough to ask, if he brought another note, if they 
 would not then give him the change ? 
 
 " To be sure," replied the man, " I think myself it is a 
 very good note, but master is very particular." 
 
 George ran home with the note in his hand, which he gave 
 to his Aunt, saying it was a bad one. 
 
 " A bad one indeed, child," said Mrs. Brown, " this a 
 decoy note for one penny ; how came you by it ? I gave 
 you a one-pound note." 
 
 George was ready to drop with vexation and shame ; but 
 he told the whole story just as it happened — and there was 
 no doubt he had been cheated by one of those sharpers 
 who are too idle to work and live by cheating others. 
 
 " But how could he know I had changed a one-pound 
 note ? " said George ; " I am sure I kept my hand in my 
 pocket all the way I went, and held the note tight." 
 
 240 
 
a journey to london\ 
 
 " Most likely," replied his Aunt, " he judged you had 
 something of value by that very action — and he followed 
 you to the baker's, where he had seen your business through 
 the window : those tricks are practised every day in every 
 possible form to suit the circumstances of the moment. 
 We will, however, send to the baker to see if he can describe 
 the man. Let it be a warning to you never to listen to arty 
 kind of story from strangers in the streets — and never to 
 laugh at the misfortunes of others, for the next moment you 
 may be in the same case, or worse." 
 
 As was to be expected the baker could give them no in- 
 formation. To relieve them both from their vexation, their 
 Aunt hastened their preparation for the play ; and the town 
 being all alive with the victory, and a new little piece being 
 brought forward for the occasion, it was necessary to go 
 early to the play ; but though they were there almost as 
 soon as the doors were open, the pit was so full it was with 
 difficulty they got any place to sit down in, and that quite 
 at the edge of the seats, where they were incommoded the 
 whole evening by those who were obliged to stand. 
 
 The performance and performers could not but entertain 
 those who had never seen a play ; it was Othello — and 
 George observed that it was a very stupid and savage action 
 of the ranting fool of a black to murder a lady for a pocket- 
 handkerchief not half so good as the shawl his Aunt lost 
 the night before in the mob. They were very much 
 annoyed by the pelting of orange-peel and nut-shells from 
 the gallery ; and a new bonnet which Aunt had on was quite 
 spoilt by the stains of orange, and looking up once to see 
 who had thrown it, she received a severe blow in the face 
 with a piece of apple. 
 
 "It is a very vexatious thing," said Mrs. Brown, "that 
 every dirty apprentice boy or servant can, by paying a 
 shilling, enjoy the liberty of pelting their superiors for a 
 
 241 16 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 whole evening. I am astonished such are tolerated ; for if 
 you are well dressed you sit in pain for your clothes — and if 
 you look up to see who are thus amusing themselves, you 
 may receive a very unwelcome blow in the face." 
 
 When they reached home and sat down to supper, Mrs. 
 Brown asked George how he liked the play. 
 
 " It's just like everything else, Aunt," said George ; " I 
 don't know a single thing we have seen, but one way or 
 other we have been disappointed. I am quite tired of 
 London." 
 
 THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 (From Tales of The Hermitage; written for the Instruction 
 and Amusement of the Rising Generation. A New Edition. 
 London : J. Harris, corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. 1815.] 
 
 In a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Medway, resided a 
 gentleman whose name was Darnley, who had during the 
 early part of life, filled a post of some importance about 
 the Court, and even in its decline preserved that elegance 
 of manners which so peculiarly marks a finished gentleman. 
 
 It was Mr. Darnley's wish that the young folks should 
 rise early, and take a long walk every morning before break- 
 fast, but they were strictly ordered never to go beyond their 
 own grounds, unless accompanied. This order they had 
 frequently endeavoured to persuade Nurse Chapman to 
 disregard; but faithful to the trust reposed in her, she 
 always resisted their urgent entreaties. 
 
 Mr. Darnley went away to Rochester, and next morning 
 the poor woman found herself incapable of rising at the 
 accustomed hour. The children, however, were dressed 
 
 242 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 for walking and the nursemaid charged not to go beyond 
 the shrubbery and they all sallied out in high humour. 
 
 " Now Susan," said Sophia (as soon as they entered the 
 garden) " this is the only opportunity you may ever have of 
 obliging us : do let us walk to the village, and then you 
 know you can call and see your father and mother." 
 
 "La, Miss!" replied the girl, "why you know 'tis as 
 
 much as my place is worth if Nurse Chapman should find 
 it out." 
 
 " Find it out, indeed" said Amanda ; " how do you 
 think she is to find it out. Come, do let us go, there's a 
 dear good creature." — " Yes, dear, dear Susan, do let us go," 
 said Eliza (skipping on before them) " and I'll shew you 
 the way, for I walked there last summer with papa." 
 
 243 
 
Tfcfe KiDNAtTfeD Ctiltt). 
 
 Whether it was the wish of obliging the young ladies, or 
 the desire of seeing her parents, I cannot pretend to say ; 
 but in a luckless hour Susan- yielded and the party soon 
 reached the village. 
 
 Susan's mother was delighted at seeing her, and highly 
 honoured by the young ladies' presence. 
 
 " Oh, sweet, dear creatures ! " said the old woman, " I 
 must get something for them to eat after their long walk, 
 and my oven's quite hot, and I can bake them a little cake in 
 a quarter of an hour, and I'll milk Jenny in ten minutes." 
 The temptation of her hot cake and new milk was not to 
 be withstood ; and Susan began taking down some smart 
 china cups which were arranged in form upon the mantel- 
 piece, and carefully dusted them for the young ladies' use. 
 
 Eliza followed the old woman into the cow-house and 
 began asking a thousand questions, when her attention was 
 suddenly attracted by the appearance of a tame lamb who 
 went bleating up to its mistress with a view of asking for its 
 accustomed breakfast. 
 
 "You must wait a little, Billy," said the woman, "and 
 let your betters be served before you — don't you see that 
 we have got gentlefolks to breakfast with us this morning ? " 
 
 Eliza was so delighted with the beauty of the little 
 animal that she wanted to kiss it, and attempted to restrain 
 it for that purpose, whilst Billy, ungrateful for her intended 
 kindness, gave a sudden spring and frisked away. Eliza 
 followed in hopes of being able to catch him, but he ran 
 baaing along into the high road. 
 
 A woman whose appearance was descriptive of poverty, 
 but whose smiling countenance indicated good nature, at 
 that moment happened to pass, and accosting Eliza in a 
 tone of familiarity said, " That's not half such a pretty 
 lamb, Miss, as I have got at home and not a quarter so 
 tame." 
 
 244 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 " Oh, the pretty creature ! " replied Eliza, " how I should 
 like to see it ! " 
 
 " Well, come along with me, Miss, for I only lives just 
 across the next field, but you must run as fast as you can, 
 because my husband is going to work, and he generally 
 takes Bob with him." 
 
 " Well, make haste then," said Eliza, " for I must not 
 stay half a minute." 
 
 " Give me your hand, Miss," replied the woman, " for we 
 can run faster together, but there goes my husband, I 
 declare ; and there's Bob as usual skipping on before." 
 
 "Where, where?" exclaimed Eliza, stretching her little 
 neck as far as she possibly could, to see if she could discern 
 the lamb. 
 
 " You are not tall enough," said the artful creature, " but 
 let me lift you up, Miss, and then I dare say you'll see 
 them," and instantly catching her up she cried : " Look 
 directly towards the steeple, Miss, but I'll run with you in 
 my arms, and I warrant we'll soon overtake them." 
 
 Eliza looked, but looked in vain ; and perceiving the 
 woman had soon carried her out of sight of the cottage begged 
 she would set her down as she dare not go any farther. 
 
 The vile creature was absolutely incapable of replying, for 
 her breath was nearly exhausted by the rapidity of the 
 motion, and Eliza continued entreating her to stop, and 
 struggled violently to elude her grasp. At length after a 
 quarter of an hour's exertion, the woman found herself 
 incapable of proceeding, stopped suddenly, sat down on a 
 bank, keeping tight hold of Eliza's arms, who cried dread- 
 fully, and besought her to let her go. 
 
 " Let you go ! " she replied, " what, after all the plague 
 I've had to knap you ? " 
 
 " Oh, my sisters ! my sisters ! let me go to my sisters," 
 cried the child. 
 
 2 45 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 " I'll find plenty of sisters for you, in a few days," said 
 the vile creature, " but they won't know you in them there 
 fine clothes, so let's pull them off in a minute, and then 
 we'll have another race after Bob." — So saying she stripped 
 off the white frock, hat and tippet ; the rest of the things 
 shared the same fate, and she was compelled to put on some 
 old rags which the inhuman creature took out of a bag 
 which she carried under her petticoat ; then taking a bottle 
 of liquid from the same place, she instantly began washing 
 poor Eliza's face with it, and notwithstanding all her 
 remonstrances, cut her beautiful hair close to her head. 
 Thus metamorphosed it would have been impossible even 
 for Mr. Darnley to have known his child, and they pro- 
 ceeded onward until her little legs would carry her no 
 farther. 
 
 At this period they were overtaken by the Canterbury 
 waggon, and for a mere trifle the driver consented to let 
 them ride to London. Eliza's tears continued to flow, but 
 she dared not utter a complaint, as her inhuman companion 
 protested she would break every bone in her skin if she 
 ventured to make the least noise. 
 
 When they arrived in town she was dragged (for to walk 
 she was unable) to a miserable hole down several steps, 
 where they gave her some bread and butter to eat, and then 
 desired her to go to bed. The bed, if such it might be 
 called, was little else but a bundle of rags thrown into a 
 corner of the room with a dirty blanket spread across it, and 
 there she was left by the inhuman woman to mourn her mis- 
 fortune, and to lament having disregarded her papa's in- 
 junctions. The next morning she was forced to rise the 
 moment it was light, and to walk as far as her little legs 
 would carry her before they stopped anywhere to take 
 refreshment. The second night was passed in a barn, and 
 about five o'clock the third afternoon they knocked at the 
 
 246 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 door of a neat looking cottage where nine or ten children 
 were sitting in a little room making lace. 
 
 "Why, Peggy," said the woman, as she opened the door, 
 " I thought you would never have corned again ! however, I 
 see you have got me a hand at last, and I'm enough in 
 wants of her : for two of my brats have thought proper to 
 fall sick, and I've more to do than ever I had in my life." 
 On the following day Eliza's filthy clothes were all taken 
 off, and she was dressed in a tidy brown stuff gown, a nice 
 clean round-eared cap, and a little coloured bib and apron ; 
 and she was ordered, if any person asked her name, to say 
 it was Biddy Bullen, and that she was niece to the woman 
 who employed her. The severity with which all this 
 wretch's commands were enforced wholly prevented any of 
 the helpless victims who were under her protection from 
 daring to disobey them ; and though most of them were 
 placed under her care by the same vile agent who had 
 decoyed Eliza, yet they were all tutored to relate similar 
 untruths. 
 
 While the family at Darnley Hall were a prey to un- 
 availing sorrow, the lovely little girl who had occasioned it 
 was beginning to get more reconciled to the cruelty of her 
 destiny. She had acquired such a degree of skill in the art 
 of lacemaking (which was the business her employer 
 followed) as generally to be able to perform the tasks which 
 were allotted her ; and if it so happened she was incapable 
 of doing it, Sally Butchell, a child about two years older 
 than herself, of whom she was very fond, was always kind 
 enough to complete it for her. 
 
 The cottage in which the vile Mrs. Bullen resided, was 
 situated about a quarter of a mile from High Wycombe ; 
 and whenever she was obliged to go to that place either to 
 purchase necessaries or to dispose of her goods, she always 
 went either before her family was up or after they had 
 
 247 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 retired to rest, locking the door constantly after her, and 
 putting the key in her pocket, so that the poor little souls 
 had no opportunity of telling their misfortune to any human 
 creature. 
 
 One intensely hot afternoon in the month of August, as 
 the children were sitting hard at work with the door open 
 for the sake of air, an elderly lady and gentleman walked up 
 to it, and begged to be accommodated with a seat, informing 
 Mrs. Bullen their carriage had broke down about a mile 
 distant, and they had been obliged to walk in the heat of 
 the sun. 
 
 The appearance of so many children, all industriously 
 employed, was a sight peculiarly pleasing to the liberally 
 minded Mrs. Montague, and she immediately began asking 
 questions about them ; but there was something of confusion 
 in her manner of replying that called forth Mrs. Montague's 
 surprise and astonishment. 
 
 " They really are lovely children, my dear," said she, 
 turning to Mr. Montague, who had stood at the door 
 watching, the approach of the carriage, which he perceived 
 coming forward : " and as to that little creature with the 
 mole under her left eye, I declare I think her a perfect 
 beauty." Mr. Montague turned his head, and regarded 
 Eliza with a look that at once proved that his sentiments 
 corresponded with those of his lady. — " What is your name, 
 my love ? " said he in a tone of kindness which poor Eliza 
 had long been a stranger to. The child coloured like 
 scarlet, and looked immediately at her inhuman employer, 
 who, catching the contagion, replied with evident marks of 
 confusion — " Her name is Biddy Bullen, Sir : she's my 
 niece ; but 'tis a poor timid little fool, and is always in a 
 fright when gentlefolks happen to speak to her : go Biddy," 
 she continued, "go up into my bedroom, and wind that 
 thread which you'll find upon the reel." 
 
 248 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 "You should try to conquer that timidity," said Mr. 
 Montague, "by making her answer every stranger who 
 speaks to her, but by taking that office upon yourself you 
 absolutely encourage the shyness you complain of. Come 
 hither, my little girl," continued he, observing she was re- 
 tiring upstairs, " and tell me boldly what your name is." 
 
 Encouraged by the kindness of Mr. Montague's address, 
 the agitated child obeyed the summons, although Mrs. 
 Bullen attempted to frown her into resistance. "Well," 
 continued the old gentleman, patting her on the cheek, 
 " and where did you get that pretty mole ? " 
 
 " My mamma gave it me, sir," replied the blushing child, 
 " but I did not see her do it, because Nurse Chapman told 
 me she went to Heaven as soon as I was born." 
 
 "Your mamma! and what was your mamma's name!" 
 said Mr. Montague. 
 
 " Darnley, sir," and suddenly recollecting the lesson that 
 had been taught her, " but my name is Biddy Bullen, and 
 that is my aunt." 
 
 "Darnley!" exclaimed Mrs. Montague. "The very 
 child that has been for these twelve months past advertised 
 in all the papers," then turning to convince herself of the 
 fact, " and the very mole confirms it ! " 
 
 Mr. Montague immediately attempted to secure the 
 woman, but her activity eluded his grasp, and darting out at 
 the back door she was out of sight in a few moments. 
 
 " Is she really gone ? Is she really gone ? " all the little 
 voices at once demanded ; and upon Mr. Montague assuring 
 them that she was really gone for ever, their joy broke out in 
 a thousand different ways — some cried — some laughed — 
 and others jumped. In short, there never was a scene 
 more completely calculated to interest the feelings of a 
 benevolent heart. 
 
 Mr. Montague's carriage at this period arrived, and the 
 
 249 
 
THE KIDNAPPED CHILD. 
 
 footman was desired to fetch a magistrate from Wycombe, 
 whilst the worthy clergyman resolved to remain there until 
 his arrival, and began questioning all the children. Two 
 had been there from so early a period that they could give 
 no account of their name or origin ; but all the rest were so 
 clear in their description that the benevolent Mr. Montague 
 had no doubt of being able to restore them to their afflicted 
 parents. 
 
 The magistrate soon arrived, attended by the worthy 
 rector of the place, who hearing from Mr. Montague's ser- 
 vant that a child had been stolen came with an intent of 
 offering his services. All but Eliza were immediately put 
 under his protection, but Mrs. Montague was so anxious 
 she should be their earliest care, that she begged her 
 husband to order a post-chaise immediately and set off for 
 town. This request was willingly complied with, and by 
 three o'clock the next afternoon the party arrived at Darnley 
 Hall. 
 
 The aunt was standing at the window when the carriage 
 stopped, and looking earnestly at her niece suddenly ex- 
 claimed, in a tone of rapture, " My child ! My child ! My 
 lost Eliza ! " 
 
 Mr. Darnley, who was reading, sprang from his seat, and 
 flew to the door in an extasy of joy ; in less than a minute 
 he returned, folding his Eliza to his throbbing heart. The 
 joyful intelligence ran through the house, and the other 
 children impatiently flew to this scene of transport. To 
 describe their feelings, or express their felicity, would 
 require the aid of the most descriptive pen, and even then 
 would be but faintly told ; and therefore had much better 
 be passed over. 
 
 From that moment the children unanimously agreed 
 strictly to attend to their father's orders, and never in the 
 slightest instance act in opposition to his will. 
 
 250 
 
TALES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 MOUNTAINS: 
 
 The Glutton. 
 The Hero of Romance. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Darton, Harvey & Co., 
 
 Gracechurch Street. 
 
TALES PROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 THE GLUTTON. 
 
 James Hanway was the only surviving child of his parents 
 and unfortunately had a mother so weakly indulgent towards 
 him that she would never allow him to be contradicted. 
 Like other spoiled children he was fond of eating improper 
 things. Mamma could not bear to have him cry, and it 
 was hard for him to sit at table and not partake of the same 
 things as others did. Restraint, therefore, was at an end ; 
 and he not only eat sweet things, but rich soups and high- 
 seasoned dishes, with which his father's table was daily sup- 
 plied, as he kept a great deal of company, living near a 
 county town. He not only drank wine but guzzled ale, and 
 at night had his glass of brandy and water. He would at 
 any time give an amusing book for a plum cake, or a hum- 
 ming-top for gingerbread. 
 
 James was too indolent even to play : yet he had his 
 amusements, but they had their source in his passion for 
 eating. He would wander through the garden — not to 
 admire the powers of vegetation, nor to regale his sight and 
 smell by the perfume of beautiful flowers : he would not 
 hesitate to trample those into the earth, to snatch off the 
 peach or nectarine. He would spend whole hours in 
 pinching them to discover which were soft ; and the golden 
 pippin and the nonpareil exhibited the marks of his teeth as 
 they still hung on the trees. He would search the farm- 
 yard for eggs merely that he might have some newly-laid 
 for his breakfast. He would even feed a brood of young 
 ducklings, that they might be fat and nice when they came 
 
 253 
 
TALES FROM TtfE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 to table. He would empty the gamekeeper's bag with 
 peculiar satisfaction ; not to examine and admire the form 
 and plumage of the birds, but to anticipate the delicious 
 meal he should have ; and from the same motive he would 
 attend his father to the river and hold the basket while he 
 angled for trout. 
 
 Constantly engaged in self-gratification he paid no 
 attention to others, and knew not the rules of common 
 civility. If spoken to by strangers, he would hang down his 
 head in stupid silence or mutter some unintelligible answer. 
 At table he would be sulky to see others helped before him, 
 and if requested by his mother to wait for his favourite dish 
 till the company were ready to partake of it, he would 
 express his discontent so audibly that some lady present 
 would beg that he might at once be indulged ; and mamma 
 would not refuse the request of her kind visitor. As soon 
 as his own greedy meal was finished, without waiting for 
 others, he would push away his chair and leave the room to 
 seek some new gratification. 
 
 Too ignorant to read, too stupid to benefit by improving 
 conversation, he never offered his prayers and his praises to 
 the Almighty, and he had imbibed all the weak and silly 
 notions of the common people, so that he was afraid to be 
 in the dark or go to bed by himself, for fear of a black dog 
 coming down the chimney, or some ghost undrawing his 
 curtains. He would therefore spend the whole evening 
 snoring on the sofa ; and if his father attempted to rouse 
 him he would still more annoy the company by roaring. 
 In vain did his mother whisper the promised reward and the 
 indulgence of a servant sitting by him if he would go to 
 bed ; for he was resolved not to retire before she did, as he 
 had a bed in her dressing room and he did not choose to go to 
 it till she was in hers. To this mother, so blindly indulgent, 
 it may be supposed he was very kind and attentive. On 
 
 254 
 
TALfiS FROM TrtE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 the contrary he delighted in tormenting her, although the 
 greater part of her time was devoted to his amusement. 
 He was dissatisfied with everything she did, disobedient to 
 her wishes and often so saucy and so violent that she would 
 faint away. He would laugh at as a trick, and this wicked 
 boy could see the tears of a parent without sorrow or 
 remorse. If company came he was sure to shew his 
 contempt of her authority by behaving worse than usual. 
 She was extremely neat in her person : he would go with 
 uncombed hair and unwashed hands, and clothes as filthy 
 as possible. But a glutton is always idle and a sloven, and 
 a sloven is always contemptible. 
 
 He had one friend ; it was Henry Barnett ; yet he was a 
 very opposite character, for he was active, lively and good 
 humoured, and could make as good a dinner of milk and 
 potatoes as with fish and turtle. . . . 
 
 People at last began to be tired of James's humours, and 
 fearing that their own children might suffer from his evil 
 example, no longer allowed them to visit him. Gluttony, 
 and its constant companion, indolence, produced the most 
 painful diseases and medicine became necessary ; but James 
 who had never been used to taste anything but was agree- 
 able refused to take the bitter and nauseous draughts which 
 were now offered him. His life being in danger they were 
 administered by force, and this threw him into such fits of 
 passion as threatened to kill him. In time he recovered, 
 and his father feeling the necessity of sending him from 
 home would no longer suffer the mistaken fondness of a 
 mother to prevail ; but sent him to a school where the boys 
 were well treated and where they had plenty of plain and 
 wholesome food. 
 
 James was wretched. He did not think there had been 
 such misery in the world. What could he do ? He could 
 not write, and none of the boys would do it for him. They 
 
 255 
 
tales from the mountains. 
 
 Were so well used and so happy that they disdained to be 
 the bearers of complaints; At length he found means to let 
 his father know : but he, having once made his resolution, 
 was inflexible, James was therefore obliged to make the 
 best of it. But how shocking it was to get up at seven 
 o'clock in the morning ; to wash his hands and face in 
 cold water before breakfast ; and then to have nothing 
 but bread and milk instead of coffee and hot cakes. 
 Dinner was still worse : he could never bear boiled mutton 
 and rice pudding ; yet no greater luxuries were to be pro- 
 cured. Had it not been for the pastrycooks, he could not 
 have existed. He visited them at every opportunity and 
 when he could not get out he hired the servant boy to go 
 for him. But his mother often sent him cakes, tongues, 
 and whatever she knew he liked best. He would never 
 share them with his companions, but shutting himself in his 
 own room he would devour them so greedily that he made 
 himself sick ; and yet he dared not complain or medicine 
 would have been ordered, and at school resistance was vain. 
 Henry Barnett was at the same school, and he also would 
 write to his mother for a cake. He did not want it rich, 
 but it must be of such an enormous size that his school- 
 fellows must each have a bit. No sooner was it unpacked, 
 than placing it on a table before him he flourished his knife 
 over it and with a loud shout called all the boys about him. 
 His own share was not larger than theirs ; nor would he 
 leave out James who never gave him any in return. He 
 would next sell the basket and the string by auction, and 
 say so many droll things in their praise that the school was 
 in a roar of laughter. He always found a purchaser, for 
 schoolboys if they have money are silly enough to buy things 
 which they do not want. The money thus raised was given 
 to the servant lad who waited on them. Thus Henry 
 Barnett, innocently merry and good humoured to all about 
 
 256 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 him, was a general favourite, and lost nothing by his 
 generosity, for he shared in every boy's presents. But 
 James was generally excluded, for as they justly observed, 
 he who would not give ought not to receive. 
 
 James now began to find his supplies run short ; for his 
 father by the advice of his master had contrived to restrict 
 his pocket allowance unknown to his mother. It was still 
 ample, but pastry was very dear, and a shilling would 
 scarcely procure him a meal. He was once when at the 
 pastrycook's so reduced as only to have one penny left to 
 buy him a tart. Some nice cheese-cakes were at that 
 moment brought into the shop. It was in vain to ask the 
 woman to trust him, for she had strict orders never to do so. 
 She was called away for an instant, and he contrived to slip 
 two of them into his pocket. It was the first crime of 
 that nature he had ever committed, and his countenance 
 and manner betrayed him. She was moved by his tears 
 and promised not to tell. She kept her word, but he 
 never ventured to that shop again. 
 
 The next pastrycook's which he frequented was kept 
 by an old woman who was almost blind. He pretended 
 to want something at the further end of the shop, and he 
 put some gingerbread nuts in his pocket. She did not 
 miss them. Success made him bold. Swift is the progress 
 of vice if not early checked. He now seldom went to her 
 shop without bringing away nearly double what he paid for. 
 The old woman wondered how the things went, but as the 
 boys of two schools frequented her shop it was not possible 
 to fix the thief. 
 
 The vacation was spent in excess and unrestrained in- 
 dulgence. It was a length of time before James could be 
 got to school again, and it was only effected by a stratagem 
 at last. He roared and raved so much that the master was 
 quite disgusted, and nothing but the respect he bore his 
 
 257 J 7 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 father could have induced him to let him remain. James 
 now began to be tired of sweet things, and to sigh for 
 greater luxuries. Unfortunately he became acquainted with 
 a boy who was at the other school, of the same turn as 
 himself. He told him of a woman who roasted chickens, 
 and procured punch and other things for those who had 
 money to pay for them. He also instructed him in the 
 means of getting out when the other boys slept. The 
 scheme succeeded, and James sat and drank until he had 
 spent all his money, and contracted a debt of some pounds. 
 The woman knew it was in vain to apply to his master ; but 
 she sent the bill to his father, who paid it, but severely 
 reprimanded his son, and unfortunately concealed it from 
 the master ; for James promised to amend, and every parent 
 hopes well of his child. 
 
 He had no longer any money when he heard of the 
 arrival of some lobsters. A feast of them was to be pre- 
 pared for his friends who invited him to partake, that was, 
 if he could pay. He knew not how to raise any money. 
 Friends he had not one in the school excepting Henry 
 Barnett, who was too thoughtless and too generous ever to 
 keep any. A little boy who was just come was possessed of 
 a crown, which, as he had shared the bed of James, he gave 
 him to keep for him. No sooner was the unsuspecting 
 child asleep than James joined his companions, and the 
 five shillings barely paid the expenses of the evening. The 
 little boy, anxious to display his riches, asked in the morn- 
 ing for his money. James said he had lost it ; but the little 
 fellow was not to be imposed upon. He sobbed and cried 
 and threatened by turns. He was then assured that he 
 should have it the next day with a shilling for the loan of it ; 
 but even this failed to pacify him, and he ran and made his 
 complaint to the master. An enquiry now took place and 
 the culprit was discovered and proclaimed. He was obliged 
 
 258 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 to submit to a most severe flogging, and not a creature 
 would associate with him or even sit at the same table, but 
 as they passed him they called him thief, robber, and 
 swindler. 
 
 Henry Barnett was moved for him and took him to his 
 own room. He was a stranger to crimes himself and he 
 detested them in another, but he remembered James when 
 surrounded by luxury and indulgence in his father's house, 
 and comparing his present with his past situation his heart 
 bled for him. He reasoned with him and read to him, but he 
 was sorry to see that he was more mortified than penitent. 
 
 It was not long after this that Henry had a one-pound 
 note given him. Never had he been so rich — never so 
 elevated. Not that he cared about money for himself, but 
 a great holiday was approaching and he would be able to 
 treat all his schoolfellows with strawberries and cream at a 
 house kept in the country for that purpose. That day he 
 thought he would try to prevail on them to forgive James 
 and restore him to society. Locks and keys he had none, but 
 what was his consternation a few days after on discovering 
 that the bank-note was gone ! The boys declared that 
 James was the thief; but he solemnly denied it, and Henry 
 was so convinced that such ingratitude and baseness could 
 not exist that he entreated and prevailed on them to suspend 
 their judgment for a short time. But to be disappointed in 
 treating his friends cost him some tears. 
 
 Soon after this some linen belonging to Henry was dis- 
 covered by the mistress to have been taken away. She 
 found also that the stock of James was much reduced. Dis- 
 honesty is never long concealed. If no human eye sees it, 
 God sees it, and will bring the culprit to light. This was 
 soon found to be James. When the bank-note was gone, 
 he had given those things to the woman who provided the 
 hot suppers. A dreadful flogging was his first punishment. 
 
 259 17* 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 His crimes were then declared in the presence of all his 
 schoolfellows, and a great number of their friends who had 
 assembled. He was then pronounced a disgrace to the 
 school, and publicly expelled from it. 
 
 On receiving this intelligence James's father was nearly 
 broken-hearted, and he refused to admit him into his own 
 house ; he was therefore conducted to one belonging to a 
 friend, where he was confined in a dark garret, chained by the 
 leg, with straw for his bed, and bread and water his only food. 
 A relative who was going to the West Indies was prevailed 
 on to take James with him. From his confinement he 
 was released by his father, who did not reproach him. He 
 spoke not of the past ; but his sunken eyes and his pale 
 face showed what he had suffered. James was informed of 
 his destination, and when the chaise drove off in a contrary 
 direction to that which led to his home, he cried, " Oh, 
 my mother, my mother, shall I not see you again ? " " Your 
 mother," faltered his father, " is nearly dying of a broken 
 heart, and you, on whom she so doated, she now refuses to 
 behold — she cannot bear it." James threw himself back in 
 the carriage and sobbed with agony. 
 
 They now crossed the country to Exeter, where Mr. 
 Hanway had heard that a lad about the age of his own son 
 was condemned to die for robbery. He was the only child 
 of his mother who was a widow, and this was to her a 
 death-blow. He was a youth of good sense and had been 
 instructed by a clergyman. He appeared to be a real 
 penitent and. resigned to his fate. James was not told to 
 what place he was going, and he shuddered as he entered 
 the gloomy gaol, and saw the immense fetters, and heard the 
 heavy closing doors of the dungeon. To one of those 
 dismal places he was conducted, and left alone with the 
 condemned robber. When he returned to the inn, he spent 
 the night in tears and in prayer. 
 
 260 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 After a few days they again proceeded on their journey. 
 He was placed by his father in an open carriage, and they 
 drove out of town. They soon after entered a vast crowd. 
 James now looked up and on a raised platform he saw the 
 young robber. The fatal cord was already round his neck, 
 and in a few minutes James was compelled to behold his 
 dying convulsions. In imagination he heard his last shriek, 
 and he sunk lifeless by his father. " My boy," his father 
 exclaimed on his recovery, " had the laws been impartially 
 administered, your fate had been like his ; for your crime 
 was greater. He robbed a stranger to serve his poor mother ; 
 you stole from the friend of your bosom : not to satisfy the 
 wants of others — not to satisfy your own, for you had none 
 — but to gratify a passion which levels you with the beast. 
 The future is before you ; atone for the past, and may your 
 Heavenly Father forgive you as I do." 
 
 THE HERO OF ROMANCE. 
 
 Several circumstances combined to give to the mind of 
 Horatio Alderney great delicacy of feeling. He had been 
 a very weakly child from his birth, and was unable to join 
 the noisy sports of his hardy brothers. He was always with 
 his mother or his old nurse, to whose silly stories of ghosts 
 and fairies, although so often repeated, he would listen with 
 mute attention. As he was not thought able to contend 
 with the boys of a large school, he was placed under the 
 care of a clergyman who was an elegant scholar, but lived 
 entirely excluded from the world. 
 
 Here Horatio recovered his health, made great progress 
 in the classics, and discovered a very ingenious turn for 
 drawing and mechanics. His person was handsome, and 
 his manners so gentle and obliging that he was greatly be- 
 loved. At the vacations he returned to his father's, and 
 
 261 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 from good nature, rather than inclination, he would join his 
 brothers and sisters in the noisy game of blind man's buff or 
 puss wants a cortier, but he would gladly leave them to steal 
 to his mother's closet to read poetry and romances. 
 
 Horatio had often visited alone a ruined abbey or castle ; 
 but now he began to tremble at the solitude of his own 
 chamber, and gladly accepted the offer of a servant sleeping 
 in his room, when he might indulge himself in the most 
 delightful horrors until the hour of repose. 
 
 They were visited by a Mr. Grenville, the godfather of 
 Horatio, and the most esteemed friend of his father. He 
 was greatly attached to Horatio, and was a very sensible 
 and humane man. He remarked, without seeming to do 
 so, the employment he had been following and his state of 
 mind in consequence. He engaged him to spend the 
 approaching Christmas with him, in Staffordshire, where he 
 was to meet some lads of his own age. Horatio promised 
 with reluctance, for there he should have no novels, and he 
 was more averse than ever to mix in any rude sports. He 
 was to ride a few miles to meet the coach which would 
 convey him to a town not far distant from Mr. Grenville's, 
 one of whose servants was to be in waiting. 
 
 He did not find the company in the coach such as could 
 dispel the discontent of mind which he felt. In silence he 
 pursued his journey, and when he arrived at the inn he 
 found it so crowded with company that he could get no one 
 to attend to him, and he found that there was no person 
 from Mr. Grenville's. As the evening was fine and the dis- 
 tance only three or four miles he determined to proceed on 
 foot. He had walked nearly two miles when striking into 
 a deep glen, sounds the most appalling met his ear. From 
 buildings of uncouth form arose large volumes of flame, 
 whilst the ponderous hammer was heard, and immense 
 wheels looking like the works of giants, performed their 
 
 262 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 wondrous evolutions. He knew that ironworks were very 
 common in this part of the country but their effect in the 
 stillness of a winter's evening was very striking. 
 
 As he entered the village, the dirty black children 
 tumbled and gambled before him. He struck with a switch 
 which he had with him, a little yelping cur at his heels, 
 which brought out the mistress who loaded him with the 
 most abusive language, and the children to whom he had 
 refused some half-pence began to pelt him with dirt and 
 stones. Eager to escape from this savage crew, he rushed 
 down a lane and soon found that he had lost his way. A 
 light issuing from a distant window he hastened towards it ; 
 but started with horror as he saw suspended from the walls, 
 handcuffs and various manacles for the human form. At 
 the farther end was the hideous figure of a man employed 
 in this dreadful work, and the glare of the fire gave a fuller 
 view of his dark features. Horatio hardly able to articulate, 
 requested information respecting the way to Mr. Grenville's 
 house. He suspended the thundering hammer for an 
 instant, and called a woman whose appearance was as for- 
 bidding as his own. He heard imperfectly her direction 
 and hastened forwards. 
 
 He soon lost sight of habitations and darkness reigned 
 around, for the evening was closed in. He now entered 
 on a vast heath, bleak and desolate. The wind howled 
 dismally over it, and in the pauses of the blast a great bell 
 tolled heavily. He knew not how to proceed, but the 
 moon appearing for an instant he thought he saw a gate at 
 a distance. He passed through it and descended into a 
 deep and hollow way. Soon after he appeared to be enter- 
 ing on the mazes of a vast forest. 
 
 He had not gone far when the sound of voices in rude 
 mirth met his ear. Suddenly a light gleamed on the trees : 
 he started on finding himself at the entrance of a large cave 
 
 263 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 with rude rocks piled about it He approached near enough 
 to distinguish a group of people singing and drinking round 
 a table at the further end ; and in the pauses of the song he 
 heard one of them in reply to some question, exclaim, " It 
 has been a bad day with me ; they all escaped me, except 
 one old fellow whose blood is on my clothes." " Mur- 
 derous wretch," thought Horatio, and with trembling steps 
 he retraced his way and again found himself on the heath, 
 and with a desperate resolution he moved forward. A faint 
 light glimmered from afar : he found it proceeded from a 
 window in a distant building of immense size ; but whether 
 an old castle or abbey he could not determine. The light 
 again disappeared, and he was left in total darkness. Which 
 way must he turn ? Could he find his way across the 
 heath ? or would it not be better to seek some shed until 
 the morning's dawn should enable him to escape ? But 
 this was a strange want of courage, and how unlike a Hero 
 of Romance not to finish the adventure. 
 
 His spirit returned, and he approached the door and 
 raised the massy knocker. The sound reverberated through 
 the vast pile, and again all was still as death. He once 
 more raised it, and soon after heard approaching steps and 
 the falling of chains. The door slowly opened, and a man 
 of a singular aspect appeared, bearing a light. To 
 Horatio's enquiry if the mansion belonged to Mr. Grenville 
 he replied not, but retired leaving the light. 
 
 Horatio surveyed the place : it was a large hall, and the 
 windows of painted glass still remained entire. Suits of 
 armour added to the solemnity, and some banners waved 
 over them. Presently another man appeared whose look 
 was not more prepossessing than the other ; but he said it 
 was the house of Mr. Grenville who was from home. 
 He then led the way to a large oak room, and brought 
 some wine and biscuits ; Horatio refusing anything else and 
 
 264 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 desiring to be shewn to the compartment he was to sleep in. 
 The female who came to conduct him to it wore a dress of 
 uncouth form, and her feet and legs were bare. She spoke 
 in language entirely unknown. Astonishing ! Was he not 
 in Staffordshire ? Whence then this foreign dress and 
 dialect ? Surely the days of witchcraft were returned, and 
 he was transported to the wilds of Calabria. 
 
 He boldly followed her through long passages to a remote 
 part of the building. She closed the door upon him and 
 went away ; when taking up the lamp, for lamp it certainly 
 was, he surveyed the room. It was large and gloomy : a 
 high canopied bed stood in a remote corner. The walls 
 were covered with tapestry, representing warriors of a 
 gigantic size, preparing for battle. But what most appalled 
 his senses was a large black curtain which was drawn before 
 what seemed to be a recess : a dead body, or a skeleton was 
 perhaps concealed there. He grasped the curtain ; yet 
 again shrunk, trembling, from the daring attempt. 
 
 He now seated himself at the foot of his bed pondering 
 the means of escape from what he had no longer any doubt 
 was the abode of the banditti. He remarked a kind of 
 chasm across the neck of one of the warriors ; and raising 
 the lamp to examine further, discovered a low door con 
 cealed beneath the tapestry. He opened it with some 
 difficulty, and beheld a flight of decayed steps. He was 
 determined to explore the dungeons to which they must 
 lead ; all was still as death ; no sound was heard but that of 
 his own steps, until by opening another door he entered on 
 a long passage. Soon he heard sounds, as of talking and 
 laughing. The banditti then were returned. 
 
 Concealing his light beneath his coat, Horatio crept 
 softly to a low window, which enabled him to observe those 
 within without being himself seen. Several women as well 
 as men were seated at supper, and he was more hurt than 
 
 265 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAIN: 
 
 surprised to see the forger of the fetters and U. nurderer 
 from the cavern among their number. The capL....i he con- 
 cluded was not returned, for a woman of unwieldy size 
 presided at the board. " Peter," she cried, " take care that 
 your knife be sharp, and do you Bet," turning to another 
 female, " see that no blood is spilled on the ground." — " Let 
 me alone," replied the wretch, " I have been ui J to such 
 jobs." 
 
 " It is my blood," inwardly groaned Horatio, " which is to 
 flow. It is for my throat that the murderer's steel is pre- 
 paring." He hastened onwards, but soon found his way 
 impeded by a flight of steps. He descended, and expected 
 every instant that the damps of the caverns would extinguish 
 his light. He came to one of greater extent, and found 
 the ground moist beneath his feet. He lowered his lamp 
 and beheld a stream of blood. In ghastly horror he looked 
 around for the poor victim, but it was already removed. 
 Perhaps it was that which the dark curtain migLt conceal. 
 He leaned against the wall, nearly fainting, when he was 
 revived by a stream of air which seemed to come from an 
 opening in the wall, but it was from a low, open door. He 
 had just power to crawl into the court to which it led. He 
 soon saw two men approach : one of them wore a kind of 
 loose coat ; the other carried a light. He had only time to 
 conceal himself behind a projection of the building. As 
 they passed, he heard one of them say : " The mother 
 suffered a good deal, and I think I did right by cutting her 
 throat and putting an end to her misery. As for this young 
 one, I warrant we shall take care of her." 
 
 At this instant a suppressed cry like that of an infant was 
 heard, and deeply affected the tender heart of Horatio. 
 Soon after a sound still more dismal met his ear : it hardly 
 seemed to proceed from one of human kind s but what 
 strange expression will not distress assume. I' ?*'»"teared as 
 
 266 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 if someone were trying to escape from confinement ; and he 
 determined on his release. Directed by the sound to the 
 spot, he loosened a chain with a large stone, and a door 
 burst open. Something instantly rushed out, with such 
 force that he was thrown into the mud and his lamp extin- 
 guished. 
 
 When he recovered he endeavoured to make his way out 
 of the court ; in doing so, he struck against a low door 
 which giving way he concluded himself precipitated into a 
 dungeon, for it was so deep that he was bruised by the fall 
 and could not again reach the door. He must, therefore, 
 once more explore the caverns beneath this horrible abode 
 with but faint hopes of escaping. 
 
 The dungeon was so filled with rubbish that it was with 
 extreme difficulty he made his way over it. At length he 
 appeared to enter on a larger space and a faint light glim- 
 mered at a distance. With trembling steps he approached 
 and beheld a scene from which he recoiled with horror. 
 A large fire was blazing, and over it was suspended a kind 
 of cauldron. Near it sat a wrinkled old woman. Over her 
 shoulders was fastened a piece of red blanket and something 
 of the same material was bound round her head. Her 
 shrivelled hands were spread and she muttered her incanta- 
 tions in an unknown tongue. He remembered having read 
 of such a scene, where an enchantress was thus employed ; 
 and what dreadful preparation could this be ? 
 
 He now endeavoured to make his way in another direc- 
 tion, and was soon lost in darkness. He groped, however, 
 till he came to the bottom of a flight of stairs, which he 
 determined to ascend ; and on pushing open a door at the 
 top he was convinced that he had once more entered his 
 chamber. 
 
 Terrified and exhausted he threw himself on the bed to 
 await his doom. Presently his ears were assailed by a deep 
 
 267 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and hollow groan ; it either came from behind the black 
 curtain or from some place adjoining his own room. The 
 hero was no more, and he had not courage to search out the 
 sufferer. 
 
 The midnight storm arose, and poured over the heath. 
 The screech-owl flapped his wings against the casement, and 
 the distant veilings of dogs were heard. In the pauses of 
 the blast he still listened to the hollow groans of a dis- 
 tressed human being. — A horn was sounded and he dis- 
 tinguished the trampling of horses' feet. The massy 
 knocker resounded, the doors opened and a large party 
 entered below. The gang, then, were returned ; and the 
 chief, for one voice only now was giving orders for his death. 
 
 The murderer, with heavy steps, ascended the stairs ; — 
 the door was thrown open. — Horatio shrieked : — But it was 
 Mr. Grenville he beheld. " Are you, also," exclaimed the 
 terrified youth, " fallen into the hands of the banditti ? and 
 is your murder to be added to that of the victim who is now 
 expiring ? " 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mr. Grenville, " what can you mean 
 by banditti and murders ? Surely you are suffering from 
 the delirium of a fever ? " Then seeing him nearly fainting 
 he went for a cordial which he desired Horatio to drink. 
 Revived by this, and encouraged by the presence of his 
 friend, he was able to repeat the whole of his adventures. 
 
 Mr. Grenville listened with astonishment, and left the 
 room. He was some time absent, and when he returned he 
 seated himself by the bedside, and burst into so long and so 
 violent a fit of laughter that Horatio was both hurt and sur- 
 prised at it. Mr. Grenville at length said, " My dear fellow, 
 I am sorry to offend you, but a perverted taste has made 
 you give to common family concerns such horrible features 
 that I would rather deprive you of your rest than let you re- 
 main a prey to such terrors. 
 
 268 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 " I regret that a mistake as to time prevented your being 
 met at the inn, but the walk is neither long nor perilous. 
 We who are familiar with public works, survey those vast 
 machines without surprise or emotion ; though to persons 
 unused to them they must have an extraordinary appearance. 
 I grant also that the people employed in those works are not 
 so pleasing in their appearance or manners as your father's 
 peasantry. The forger, as you term him, certainly has plain 
 features which were rendered more so by his sooty dress 
 and skin ; yet he is an honest and ingenious man and at all 
 times has access to my kitchen. He was making fetters ; 
 as my friend, to whom those works belong, lately had a large 
 order from the keeper of Newgate. 
 
 " You were right in both roads by which you attempted to 
 reach my house, which is large and ancient. The side to- 
 wards the heath, which has not yet been cultivated, remains 
 in its original state. The front is modern, and the road to 
 it lies through extensive plantations, and I own my pride 
 gratified that you should mistake trees of the growth of a 
 dozen years for an extensive forest. 
 
 " The tolling of the bell was the curfew from the next 
 village, for the custom of ringing it at eight o'clock is still 
 practised in many places. 
 
 " The cavern forms the entrance to my porter's lodge : 
 some rocks of a singular form being found there, I suffered 
 them to remain, and their effect, as you see, is very striking. 
 The master was celebrating the christening of his child, and 
 the company no doubt were jovial. One of them was my 
 keeper, who knowing my desire for some game at this time, 
 might regret that he had only been able to kill one hare. 
 
 "The massy knocker, the casement windows, and the 
 bannered hall, are common in such ancient mansions. 
 Ugliness, I have observed, is often in common life, treated 
 with ridicule and insult. Feeling pity for such, I have 
 
 269 
 
TALES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 never rejected servants who have applied to me, on 
 that account ; still, not supposing they would be taken for 
 murderers. The man who opened the door for you is deaf. 
 The girl who conducted you to your chamber is from my 
 house in Wales, where you know I reside some months in 
 the year. She retains her country dress, and in a great 
 degree its language also, for as most of my servants under- 
 stand hers, she does not try to learn theirs. 
 
 " You ought to have been better attended, but my house- 
 keeper is lame with the gout. Your sable curtain in this 
 tapestry room is one of dark green damask, and is drawn 
 across the recess to preserve some books from the dust. 
 This was the work of my housekeeper whose portly figure 
 you saw presiding at the supper table, and sorry as I am 
 to degrade the dignity of Romance, yet I am obliged to de- 
 clare that the murderous steel was to butcher a poor pig, 
 and the blood of which she was so careful was to form for 
 me those vulgar things called black puddings. 
 
 " The many underground places in this large mansion 
 were well suited to your nocturnal rambles, where scenes of 
 bloodshed were still to await you. When you deplored the 
 poor victim, had you but raised your eyes to the rafters you 
 would have seen that the blood issued from the headless 
 body of a goose. 
 
 " The infantine cry proceeded from a lamb whose mother, 
 suffering from accident, my shepherd who is a most humane 
 fellow, had killed. The prisoner you set at liberty was a 
 fatted calf, which rejoicing in its freedom rudely bounded 
 off to its native fields. 
 
 " The dungeon into which you were precipitated was the 
 coal-hole which leads to the last dreadful scene. The 
 sorceress in a red blanket is an honest old Welsh woman, 
 mother to the girl before named. It is the dress of her 
 country, where the women always brew, and their malt 
 
 270 
 
A.LES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 liquor is superior to ours. What you term a cauldron is a 
 brass pan which they use instead of our furnaces. I suppose 
 she was singing one of the mountain ditties, and such were 
 the incantations of the witch. 
 
 " The dismal groans which you heard came from my 
 butler who is suffering from the toothache. The horn was 
 sounded in frolic by a young gentleman whom I have 
 brought for your companion ; and the captain of the banditti 
 is the friend who is now addressing you. And now, my 
 dear boy," he added, "you see the evil effects of reading 
 romances which by weakening the mind render it alive to 
 every fear and unfit for any exertion. You had forgotten 
 the strong power of British laws which suffers no horde of 
 banditti to inhabit the mansions of our ancestors. It was 
 only in ruder times, and in countries where ignorance and 
 superstition reign, that such lawless wretches could exist." 
 
 Horatio was now left to his rest, if rest he now could 
 have taken ; but shame and vexation kept him waking, and 
 he dreaded the mortification which would await him at the 
 breakfast table. But Mr. Grenville had kindly taken care not 
 to have the adventure known, and did all he could to cheer 
 and encourage Horatio who found the companions who 
 had been selected for him very pleasant. 
 
 When the weather was fine they had their out-door 
 amusements, or various games in the Bannered Hall. 
 
 Mr. Grenville was soon after obliged to visit the North of 
 Europe for a few years. He took Horatio with him and 
 they were accompanied by a gentleman who perfected the 
 young traveller in the classics. His mind was expanded by 
 seeing other countries, and observing the inhabitants and 
 customs. Horatio never lost his modest demeanour or 
 amiable disposition : This made him a general favourite. 
 He was happy himself and desirous of rendering others so ; 
 but he v " Ar again aspired to be The Hero of Romance. 
 
 271 
 
THE JUVENILE TELL-TALE. 
 
 LUCY AND HODGE. 
 
 [From The Juvenile Tell- Tale — Embellished with Eighteen 
 Coloured Engravings. By J. Smith. London : Dean & 
 Munday, Threadneedle Street. Price Sixpence.] 
 
 Little Hodge knocked one morning at Lucy's cottage 
 door — -" Pray give me a light," said he, " for our tinder is so 
 bad, mother has been trying in vain for twenty minutes to 
 strike one." Lucy very kindly gave him a light, but he had 
 not got three yards from the cottage door before the wind 
 blew it out ; so he returned and knocked again. Lucy was 
 very good-natured and lighted his candle a second time, but 
 advised him another time not to forget to bring his hat to 
 hold over it, to prevent the wind from blowing it out. 
 
 272 
 
THE JUVENILE TELL-TALE. 
 
 TOM AND THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " Hollo, Tom," said the old man in the picture, " are you 
 turned gardener ? I thought you had been a carpenter." 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, " that I was once, but I had an 
 accident and hurt my leg, and so I was obliged to go away, 
 and here I am in the midst of turnips and carrots ; but 
 
 come in now with me and taste them, my wife and I are 
 just going to dinner." That the old man did very willingly ; 
 and if one can judge by the quantity that was eaten, they 
 proved excellent, for of all that great load that Tom had got 
 in his apron there barely remained enough to feed one 
 little pig. 
 
 273 
 
THE JUVENILE TELL-TALE. 
 
 THE DUTIFUL SON. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vincent were sitting in the drawing-room 
 (it was Mrs. Vincent's birthday) when their son George, a 
 boy about ten years old, entered with a book in his hand, 
 and making a graceful bow, thus addressed his mother : — 
 " My dear mamma, this is prize day with us at school, and 
 my master awarded one to me, giving me the choice of a 
 number that lay on the table ; now I had heard you wish 
 to read ' Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia,' and I looked 
 and hoped it might be found among them : luckily it was 
 one of them, and I have brought it for you to read ; at the 
 same time allow me to wish you many happy returns of this 
 day." I think this was ajvery clever address for so young a 
 boy. 
 
 274 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 (TITLE PAGE MISSING.) 
 
 The elderly Gentleman's here 
 
 With his Cane, his Wig and his Hat, 
 A good-humoured Man all declare 
 
 But then he's o'erladen with fat. 
 
 275 
 
 i8 ; 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 By the side of a murmuring stream 
 This elderly Gentleman sat ; 
 
 On the top of his head was his Wig 
 And on top of his Wig was his Hat, 
 
 276 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The Wind it blew high and blew strong 
 As this elderly Gentleman sat, 
 
 And bore from his head in a trice 
 And plunged in the river his Hat. 
 
 277 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The Gentleman then took his Cane 
 Which lay on his lap as he sat, 
 
 And dropped in the river his Wig 
 In attempting to get out his Hat. 
 
 278 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Cool reflection at length came across 
 While this elderly Gentleman sat, 
 
 So thought he would follow the stream 
 And look for his fine Wig and Hat. 
 
 279 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 His breast grew cold with despair 
 And full in his eye Madness sat 
 
 So he flung in the river his Cane 
 To swim with his Wig and his Hat. 
 
 280 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 His head being thicker than common 
 O'erbalanced the rest of his fat, 
 
 And in plumped this Son of a Woman 
 To follow his Wig, Cane and Hat. 
 
 281 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN 
 
 A Newfoundland Dog was at hand, 
 No circumstance could be more pat 
 
 The old man he brought safe to land 
 
 Then fetched out his Wig, Cane and Hat. 
 
 2S2 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 
 The Gentleman dripping and cold 
 Seemed much like a half-drowned rat 
 
 But praised his deliverer so bold 
 
 Then adjusted his Cane, Wig and Hat 
 
 28 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Now homeward the Gentleman hied 
 But neither could wear Wig nor Hat 
 
 The Dog followed close at his Side 
 Fawned, waggled his tail and all that. 
 
 284 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The Gentleman filled with delight 
 The Dog's master hastily sought ; 
 
 Two guineas set all things to right 
 
 For that sum his true friend he bought. 
 
 285 
 
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAX. 
 
 From him the Dog never would part 
 But lived much caressed for some years 
 
 Till levelled by Death's fatal dart, 
 
 When the Gentleman shed many tears — 
 
 Then buried poor Tray in the Green, 
 And placed o'er his grave a small stone, 
 
 Whereon a few lines may be seen 
 Expressive of what he had done. 
 
 286 
 
Marmaduke Multiply 's 
 Merry Method 
 
 of 
 
 Making Minor Mathematicians ; 
 
 or, the 
 
 MULTIPLICATION TABLE 
 
 Illustrated by 
 SIX 7 Y-NINE A PPROPRIA TE ENGRA VINGS 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed for J. Harris, 
 Corner of St. PauVs Church-yard 
 
 1816. 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S 
 MERRY METHOD. 
 
 Twice i are 2 
 I know that as well as you. 
 
 Twice 2 are 4 
 Pray hasten on before. 
 
 289 
 
 19 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLES MERRY METHOD 
 
 Twice 3 are 6 
 You're always playing tricks. 
 
 Twice 4 are 8 
 Your bonnet is not straight. 
 
 Twice 5 are io 
 Look at my gallant Men. 
 
 Twice 6 are 1 2 
 I cannot find St. Elve. 
 
 Twice 7 are 14 
 They're dancing on the Green. 
 
 Twice 8 are 16 
 Yonder are Lions to be seen. 
 
 Twice 9 are 18 
 My Cow is very lean. 
 
 Twice to are 20 
 My Purse is almost empty. 
 
 Twice n are 22 
 We'll drink to the Hero of Waterloo. 
 
 290 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 V,, "V~ 
 
 Twice 12 are 24 
 Pray haste and open me the door. 
 
 3 times 1 are 3 
 My darling come to me. 
 
 3 times 2 are 6 
 The Man has- brought some bricks. 
 
 291 
 
 <9T 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLV'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 3 times 3 are 9 
 This Man's a friend of mine. 
 
 3 times 4 are 12 
 I find no rhyme but delve. 
 
 3 times 5 are 15 
 We soon shall change the Scene. 
 
 3 times 6 are 18 
 We'll draw for King and Queen. 
 
 3 times 7 are 21 
 Dear Ma'am pray see my Dog and Gun. 
 
 3 times 8 are 24 
 Be sure I will do so no more. 
 
 292 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 3 times 9 are 27 
 My Babes and I are going to Devon. 
 
 3 times 10 are 30 
 My face is very dirty. 
 
 3 times 11 are 33 
 Jack and Bill are gone to Sea. 
 
 3 times 12 are 36 
 We'll hide our Cakes behind the ricks. 
 
 4 times 4 are 16 
 The Air is very keen. 
 
 293 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 4 times 5 are 20 
 Jack says his purse is empty. 
 
 4 times 6 are 24 
 I think I've seen your face before. 
 
 4 times 7 are 28 
 Come with me and see me Skate. 
 
 4 times 8 are 32 
 I once could dance as well as you. 
 
 294 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLES MERRY METHOD. 
 
 4 times 9 are 36 
 Your Medicine I soon will mix. 
 
 4 times 10 are 40 
 Monsieur ! I come from Malta. 
 
 4 times 1 1 are 44 
 
 Pray make this noise my dears no more. 
 
 4 times 12 are 48 
 I hope that I shall get some Bait. 
 
 5 times 5 are 25 
 
 I thank my stars that I'm alive. 
 
 295 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY's MERRY METHOD. 
 
 5 times 6 are 30 
 She's tall as any Fir tree. 
 
 296 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 5 times 7 are 35 
 The Chicks are safe beneath the Hive. 
 
 5 times 8 are 40 
 My little Beau escorts me. 
 
 5 times 9 are 45 
 We're going with Tom to take a drive. 
 
 5 times 10 are 50 
 Dear me ! they're very thrifty. 
 
 5 times 11 are 55 
 I see the Chaise, they'll soon arrive. 
 
 5 times 12 are 60 
 The House is like a Pig's sty! 
 
 297 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY's MERRY METHOD. 
 
 6 times 6 a/v 36 
 This pretty Bird is Cousin Dick's. 
 
 6 times 7 #r<? 42 
 This is the road which leads to Looe. 
 
 6 times 8 are 48 
 Dear Aunt ! your dress is out of date. 
 
 6 times 9 are 54 
 Dear Ma'am I'll ne'er deceive you more. 
 
 6 times 10 are 60 
 This pretty cap will fix me. 
 
 2Q8 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLES MERRY METHOD. 
 
 6 times n are 66 
 We're four by Honours, and three by tricks. 
 
 6 times 12 are 72 
 Methinks I hear the loud Curfew. 
 
 7 times 7 are 49 
 
 You'll say, I think, this is good Wine. 
 
 7 times 8 are 56 
 That fellow merits twenty kicks. 
 
 7 times 9 are 63 
 Come pray, Sir, give that Hat to me. 
 
 299 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 7 times 10 are 70 
 We're sailing very pleasantly. 
 
 7 times 11 are 11 
 I always make my bread with Leaven 
 
 7 times 12 are 84 
 Oh, happy little tawny Moor. 
 
 8 times 8 are 64 
 A baron bold in days of yore. 
 
 8 times 9 are 72 
 Come here, I'll shew you where they grew. 
 
 8 times 10 are 80 
 I think she's pretty weighty. 
 
 300 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 8 times n are 88 
 If you fall down you'll break your pate. 
 
 8 times 12 are 96 
 
 My wandering thoughts I cannot fix. 
 
 9 times 9 are 81 
 
 I'll bet five pounds on Wellington. 
 
 9 times 10 are 90 
 Now you shall taste my fine Tea. 
 
 9 times 1 1 are 99 
 See Sophy, how my ear-rings shine. 
 
 301 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLV'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 9 times 12 are 108 
 See what a noble, fine first-rate. 
 
 V 
 
 10 times 10 #r<? 100 
 How he got there, she wondered. 
 
 10 times 11 are no 
 A Lion's surely in that Den. 
 
 302 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 10 times 12 are 120 
 
 I laugh and sing and live in plenty. 
 
 11 times 11 are 121 
 
 Come here little Boy and buy a nice Bun. 
 
 303 
 
MARMADUKE MULTIPLY'S MERRY METHOD. 
 
 ii times 12 are 132 
 How do you, Miss Hannah ? Oh, Sir, how are you ? 
 
 /2 times 12 are 144 
 They're all going out to hunt the Boar. 
 
 304 
 
THE COMICAL GIRL. 
 
 THE COMICAL GIRL. 
 
 [ From Jingles, or Original Rhymes for Children. By M. 
 Pelham. London : Printed for Richard Phillips, 7 Bridge 
 Street, Blackfriars. 181 1.] 
 
 There was a child, as I have been told, 
 
 Who when she was young didn't look very old ; 
 
 Another thing, too, some people have said, 
 
 At the top of her body there grew out a head ; 
 
 And what perhaps might make some people stare 
 
 Her little bald pate was all covered with hair : 
 
 Another strange thing which made gossipers talk 
 
 Was that she often attempted to walk. 
 
 And then, do you know, she occasioned much fun 
 
 By moving so fast as sometimes to run ; 
 
 Nay, indeed, I have heard that some people say 
 
 She often would smile and often would play ; 
 
 And what is a fact, though it seems very odd, 
 
 She had a monstrous dislike to the feel of a rod. 
 
 This strange little child sometimes hungry would be 
 
 And then she delighted her victuals to see ; 
 
 Even drink she would swallow, and though strange it 
 
 appears, 
 Whenever she listened, it was with her ears. 
 With her eyes she could see, and strange to relate, 
 Her peepers were placed in the front of her pate. 
 There, too, was her mouth and also her nose, 
 And on her two feet were placed her ten toes : 
 Her teeth I've been told were fixed in her gums 
 And besides having fingers she also had thumbs. 
 A droll child she therefore most surely must be 
 For not being blind she was able to see. 
 
 305 20 
 
THE CROCUS. 
 
 One circumstance more had almost slipped my mind 
 Which is, when not cross she always was kind. 
 And strangest of any that yet I have said 
 She every night went to sleep on her bed, 
 And what may occasion you no small surprise 
 When napping she always shut close up her eyes. 
 
 THE PARLOUR GUESTS. 
 
 [Fro-n The Crocus; or Useful Hints for Children, bewg 
 Original Poems on Popular and Familiar Subjects. London : 
 R. Harrild, 20, Great Eastcheap. 1 816.] 
 
 Mamma gave James a glass of wine, 
 
 And Julia had one too, 
 For when they in the parlour dine, 
 
 'Twas usual so to do. 
 
 But Julia drank no health at all, 
 And James no thanks return'd, 
 
 To see them growing up so tall, 
 I felt myself concern'd. 
 
 Now when they both retired to rest, 
 
 This precept I enjoin'd, 
 When each became a parlour guest, 
 
 Good manners they would mind. 
 
 THE ADMONITION. 
 
 How very warm you are, my dear, 
 Do pray pull off your tippet, 
 
 Your hat untie, and bring it here, 
 And take your tea and sip it. 
 
 306 
 
THE CROCUS. 
 
 Where is it you have been, my love, 
 I wish you would be seated ; 
 
 You know how much I disapprove, 
 Your being over-heated. 
 
 You dearly love to run about, 
 
 And exercise is good ; 
 But when the sun is out so hot, 
 
 You should not be so rude. 
 
 Perhaps a fever may ensue, 
 And then you'll need a nurse, 
 
 And you must have the doctor too, 
 Or you'll grow worse and worse. 
 
 A rash indeed may all come out, 
 Upon your face and skin, 
 
 Ah silly child, to run about, 
 
 You'll wish you'd stayed within. 
 
 Then be advised, my dearest Ann, 
 
 E'er yet it be too late, 
 To keep in health do all you can, 
 
 And seek a cool retreat. 
 
 THE YOUTHS. 
 
 How many little boys are found 
 
 Who love to dive in water, 
 Three times they rise, and then are drown'd, 
 
 Calamitous disaster. 
 
 307 20^ 
 
THE CROCUS. 
 
 O have you never seen the men 
 Their lengthened cords throw in, 
 
 And strive with all their might and main, 
 To drag them up again. 
 
 What a variety of means, 
 
 Are used to bring them to, 
 And while a spark of life remains, 
 
 What methods they pursue ! 
 
 But ah, alas ! 'tis often vain, 
 And numbers yield their breath, 
 
 Nor can they purchase health again, 
 For mines of glitt'ring wealth. 
 
 Then be forewarn'd, ye giddy youths, 
 
 Who float upon the water, 
 Store well your minds with sacred truths, 
 
 Prepare for an hereafter. 
 
 THE ROOM. 
 
 See the cobwebs round the room, 
 Betty, come and bring your broom, 
 Sweep them all away, I pray, 
 Leave them not from day to day. 
 
 Parlours should look clean and neat, 
 Ev'ry slab and ev'ry seat, 
 Ev'rything around should tell 
 They've been swept and dusted well. 
 
 308 
 
THE CROCUS. 
 
 But, alas, we seldom see, 
 Servants what they ought to be, 
 Now they rove from place to place, 
 Is it not to their disgrace ? 
 
 Betty, do you wish to stay, 
 Meditate on what I say, 
 Serve with rev'rence and delight, 
 Act as in your Master's sight. 
 
 And my children recollect, 
 Servants claim all due respect, 
 You pursue the Saviour's plan, 
 Do them all the good you can. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Maria was a pretty girl, 
 But she could neither read nor spell, 
 And tho' she had so sweet a face, 
 She often got in sad disgrace. 
 
 She loved within the glass to look, 
 Rather than take her spelling-book. 
 To decorate and curl her hair, 
 Oft to the mirror she'd repair. 
 
 Soon she became exceeding tall, 
 And did not go to school at all, 
 Now she begins to feel her need, 
 Andjvishes she could spell and read. 
 
 309 
 
THE CROCUS. 
 
 Does she attempt to write a line, 
 How sadly do her letters join, 
 Her diction is so incorrect, 
 Alas ! she mourns her past neglect. 
 
 Nor will that season e'er return, 
 In early days ye children learn, 
 Strive to repeat your lessons well, 
 And ten to one but you excel. 
 
 COUGHING. 
 
 Amelia, what a cough you've got, 
 
 You are exceeding hoarse : 
 To-night you take a something hot, 
 
 Or else it may get worse. 
 
 Remember that you go to bed 
 
 Too, at an early hour, 
 And when your ev'ning prayer is said, 
 
 Do not commence a roar. 
 
 Some candied horehound you shall have, 
 
 Some gruel sweetened nice : 
 And if you really well behave, 
 
 We'll mix in wine and spice. 
 
 There's many little girls I know, 
 That do not mind what's said, 
 
 And when they're ill they will not go 
 Upstairs into their bed. 
 
 310 
 
NURSERY MORALS. 
 
 NURSERY MORALS. 
 
 The Pig. 
 
 [From Nursery Morals; chiefly in Monosyllables. London : 
 J. Harris, St. Paul's Churchyard. 1818.] 
 
 How we all turn with scorn from the Pig. 
 
 His skin is thick in dirt. 
 
 He lies on damp musty straw, and rolls in mud and 
 
 mire. 
 He lives to eat and drink, and will perhaps die because 
 
 he is too fat. 
 How sad to look on so dirty a brute. 
 But, oh ! how much more sad to be like him. 
 To eat all day long. 
 
 To eat much more than ought to be eaten, 
 And to be sick with greediness. 
 Then to lie down in the dirt, and sleep in the mud. 
 This is all most shocking. 
 Boys and girls are not quite so bad. 
 But, sometimes, they are almost as bad. 
 Have you seen children devour sweets and delicates 
 
 without end ? 
 Tarts, and cakes, and fruits ? 
 Then with greasy face and dirty hands fall asleep on the 
 
 ground. 
 Their clothes all spoiled 
 Their limbs all twisted. 
 Well, are not such children as bad as pigs ? 
 Aye, and worse, much worse, 
 For they know better. 
 They have the choice to be clean if they please. 
 
 I 
 
 1 1 
 
NURSERY MORALS. 
 
 We can all wash ourselves when we chuse. 
 
 We can keep our clothes neat and tight. 
 
 We should scorn to be seen with hair uncombed and our 
 
 dress in rags. 
 Girls can sew and mend the rents in their coats and frocks 
 And take care to be at all times neat. 
 Or else in truth they will be no better than the 
 Pigs we all look on with scorn. 
 
 THE SWEEP. 
 
 One day I fell down a long chimney and broke my leg, 
 
 But no one felt for me. 
 
 I have a wound in my side, but I have no salve to heal it. 
 
 You pity me, little girl ! 
 
 But hush ! I must not even hear the kind words of pity, 
 
 for my master is near, and he will say I complain, 
 And he will beat me the more. 
 Oh, I cannot look upon this boy. His pains wring my 
 
 heart. 
 Can nothing be done to save him, to ease him, 
 To snatch him from his hard, hard fate ? 
 Little girl, dry your tears. I have some good news for 
 
 you. 
 There will soon be a law, a blessed law that shall stop the 
 
 pangs of the poor sweep. 
 
 312 
 
NURSERY MORALS. 
 
 THE PROUD BOY. 
 
 There was once a boy who was proud, because his papa 
 
 kept a fine coach. 
 He would look with scorn on boys that had to walk. 
 Those boys would at the same time laugh at him for his 
 
 weak airs 
 And say, among themselves, 
 That proud boy loses much pleasure ; for while he rides 
 
 shut up in a coach, 
 We run in fields and woods, jump in the mead, 
 Pick lilies from the pond, and cull the furze from the 
 
 heath. 
 We grow strong and brisk, and laugh more in one day 
 
 than he does in one year. 
 Poor boy, he^scorns us, but we pity him ! 
 
 3*3 
 
Come — all alone 1 
 
A VISIT 
 
 THE BAZAAR 
 
 By the Author of 
 
 The Little Warbler of the Cottage ; 
 
 Juliet, or the Reward of Filial Affections ; 
 
 Port Folio, etc., etc. 
 
 Icn&on: 
 
 Printed for J. Harris, 
 
 Corner of St. Paul's Church Yard ; 
 
 And may also be had at Several Shops in 
 
 the bazaar, soho square. 
 
 181S. 
 
THE BAZAAR. 
 
 THE BAZAAR. 
 
 " My Dear," said Mrs. Durnford to her husband on his 
 return from a long walk, " I this morning received a letter 
 from poor Susan Boscawen, full of the most lively ex- 
 pressions of her gratitude, for the kind assistance which 
 you gave to her on the death of her father. She has estab- 
 lished herself at the Bazaar, in Soho-square, which I under- 
 stand is a most respectable institution, founded by a gentle- 
 man of considerable opulence residing in the place, and by 
 this means, she is enabled to support her aged mother and 
 her two helpless brothers. The one you know is a cripple, 
 and the other was born blind. If you have no objection, I 
 should like to take the children to town some morning, when 
 it would be convenient to you to accompany us, and shew 
 them the interior of our English Bazaar." 
 
 " Our Bazaar in Soho-square, was founded by Mr. Trotter, 
 on premises originally occupied by the store-keeper general, 
 consisting of several rooms which are conveniently fitted up 
 with handsome mahogany counters, extending not only 
 round the sides, but in the lower and upper apartments, 
 forming a parallelogram in the middle. These counters, 
 having at proper distances flaps or falling doors, are in 
 contiguity with each other, but are respectively distinguished 
 by a small groove at a distance of every four feet of counter, 
 the panels of which are numbered with conspicuous figures, 
 and these are let upon moderate terms to females who can 
 bring forward sufficient testimonies of their moral respecta- 
 bility. The person who from strong recommendation 
 obtains a counter in our bazaar, pays daily, three-pence for 
 every foot in length, and is not required to hold her 
 
 317 
 
THE BAZAAR. 
 
 situation more than from day to day. I have been told, that 
 at present, there are upwards of a hundred females, who are 
 employed in these rooms, and a more pleasing and novel 
 effect can hardly be imagined, than is here produced by the 
 sight of these elegant little shops, filled with every species 
 of light goods, works of art and female ingenuity in 
 general." 
 
 Early the next morning Mr. and Mrs. Durnford, with 
 Maria and Emily, who were twins, and just turned of twelve 
 years of age, and Caroline, a sweet little girl about seven, 
 accompanied by Theodore, proceeded with light hearts and 
 buoyant spirits to town, which was only two miles from the 
 residence of their father, a gentleman of large independent 
 fortune. They had frequently visited the metropolis, had 
 been once to a play, and had seen several other places 
 
 318 
 
THE BAZAAR. 
 
 worthy of their inspection, but they all felt their curiosity 
 strongly excited to view the Bazaar. 
 
 They stopped at the Pastrycook's, where a young lady was 
 eating a jelly, and laughing archly at a little boy who greedily 
 endeavoured to force a whole cake into his mouth at once. 
 
 " Why, you silly little fellow," said she, " what are you 
 stretching your mouth so wide Jtot ? Why don't you eat it 
 properly ? You might choke yourself if you did get it in 
 all at once. Bite a piece off, and don't do as you did the 
 other evening at tea, fill your mouth so full that you would 
 have been suffocated, had not Sally relieved you by turning 
 out the toast as fast as you had put it in." 
 
 " Dear mamma," said Caroline in a low voice, "what a 
 sad thing is greediness. I dare say that little boy would not 
 give his sister a morsel for all the world, and I should riot 
 enjoy the finest thing that ever was made, unless my brothers 
 and sisters shared it with me." 
 
 "That I will answer for, Caroline,' replied her mother. 
 " And now my dear children take whatever you please, as it 
 is necessary that you should have some refreshment after 
 your walk." 
 
 They now turned towards the Milliner, where little 
 Caroline again saw something to excite her laughter, and to 
 call forth the smile of her father. A lady, long past the prime 
 of life, but dressed in a style of girlish fashion, with short 
 sleeves which shewed her shrivelled arms, and still shorter 
 petticoats, was viewing herself with much complacency, as 
 she placed on her head, the grey hairs of which were con- 
 cealed by the flowing tresses of an auburn wig, a large straw 
 hat, loaded with flowers and feathers, and only fit for a young 
 woman under thirty. 
 
 " Surely, mamma,'' cried Emily, " that old lady can never 
 intend to buy that hat? It is too gay for one of her 
 years." 
 
 3 T 9 
 
THE BAZAAR. 
 
 " She certainly does," said Maria, " and I dare say 
 believes that it will make her look twenty years younger than 
 she really is." 
 
 " She thinks wrong then, sister," exclaimed Theodore. 
 " For unless she can hide the wrinkles in her face and neck, 
 and the loss of her teeth, and the leanness of her body, she 
 will only the more expose her age, by dressing so ridicu- 
 lously." 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma ! " cried Caroline, " there is the very 
 same old lady looking at that beautiful crape dress, at the 
 Dressmaker's, who was trying on the large straw hat with 
 such a profusion of feathers and flowers." 
 
 " Hush ! my lovely girl," said her mamma, " if you are 
 not more silent I must take you home." 
 
 " It is just the thing, Mrs. Tasteful," screamed out the 
 
 .320 
 
THE BAZAAR. 
 
 old lady. " It will suit my figure exactly. Square bosom, 
 and off the shoulders, why with a lace frill I shall look 
 delightful. A saucy fellow had the impudence to tell me, as 
 I was getting out of my carriage, that I had better wear my 
 petticoats a little longer to hide my legs, and put a shawl on 
 to conceal my neck. The fool had no more taste than a 
 Hottentot. Well, my dear woman, you will let me have 
 
 this dress immediately. I am going out to a ball this 
 evening, and I shall want to put it on. Primrose coloured 
 crape over white sarsenet. Charming, I declare ! " 
 
 " Come on, my dears," said Mr. Durnford, hastily, " I 
 have no inclination to listen any longer to such disgusting 
 vanity and folly. The age of that lady ought to have 
 enabled her to set good examples to the younger and inex- 
 
 321 
 
 21 
 
VISIT TO MELVYN LODGE. 
 
 perienced part of her sex, instead of which she is only a 
 disgrace to it. Come on, my dears, I will not stay a 
 moment longer, lest another burst of weakness should offend 
 my ear. You all know what is the province of a dressmaker, 
 therefore it requires no explanation." 
 
 " Now for the Bookseller," cried Theodore, with delight, 
 as his eyes rested upon a parcel of books neatly bound, 
 which were placed on the next counter. 
 
 " I have no objection to your selecting one book apiece," 
 said his father, "but you remember, Theodore, that I 
 always make a point of buying all your books at the corner 
 of St. Paul's Church-yard. You may, however, purchase a 
 few of this person, who appears to have got a very good 
 selection." 
 
 " I had them, Sir, of Mr. Harris, in St. Paul's Church- 
 yard," said the woman. " He was so good as to choose for 
 me what he thought would sell best." 
 
 VISIT TO MELVYN LODGE. 
 
 [From Inducements to Virtuous Habits; Exemplified in a 
 Series of Original Letters, Between A Father and Son during 
 the absence oj the latter at school. London : printed for J. 
 Bysh, 52 Paternoster Row. 181 8.] 
 
 When we arrived we accompanied Sir James Melvyn to a 
 walk over the grounds that surrounded the house : it is a 
 very pretty place with a fine view of the river ; we entered a 
 beautiful field slightly paled all round, leaving a space the 
 breadth of a narrow road round the paling, which took us to 
 a large barn ; but, think what was my surprise at seeing the 
 barn filled with company ; not the ladies and gentlemen of 
 the neighbourhood, but the poor farmers and labourers, old 
 
 322 
 
VISIT TO MELVYN LODGE. 
 
 and young sitting at a long table where they had dined, and 
 were now enjoying their pipes and fine October beer. Our 
 friend, old Dennis, sat at the head of the table, his two 
 grandsons attending to the company. 
 
 When we entered the barn they all stood up, and bowing 
 to Mr. Frederick Melvyn, begged leave to drink his honour's 
 health : this being agreed to, they filled their tumblers and 
 with looks of gratitude to their good master they wished his 
 son to enjoy long life and happiness. Mr. Frederick 
 thanked them, saying it would always be his greatest 
 pleasure to see them and their families in comfort. " And 
 now, Dennis, as you are master of the ceremonies here, will 
 you give a health for your companions to follow ? " Dennis 
 immediately stood up, and putting his hand to his breast 
 said, " I will be happy, sir, to shew my regard to a gentle- 
 man who in taking notice of my poor boys and teaching 
 them their duty, has given their old grandfather the greatest 
 of blessings, content and cheerfulness; I mean, sir, Mr. 
 Franklin." He then desired Patrick and Dick to drink the 
 health of their best friend; and thus was Mr. Franklin 
 honoured by this happy company. 
 
 We were now joined by many ladies and gentlemen whom 
 Lady Melvyn took to see the rustic party. 
 
 After staying a short time in the barn, Sir James asked 
 the company if they would proceed with him to the 
 paddock ; they all consented, and we went to the field I 
 mentioned before. 
 
 There we were met by four young men, dressed in blue 
 silk jackets and hunting caps ; each of them leading a 
 donkey nicely trimmed and ornamented with blue ribbon 
 roses, and bridles of the same ; who looked so conceited 
 and vain of this finery, that they appeared quite different 
 from any donkeys I had ever seen. The ladies went to a 
 marquee prettily fitted up for the purpose. Mr. Frederick 
 
 3 2 3 21* 
 
VISIT TO MELVYN LODGE. 
 
 then desired the young men to mount, telling them that 
 they were to run their donkeys three times round the 
 paling, and the first that reached the starting post would 
 obtain the donkey he rode on. A trumpet then sounding 
 
 they all set off together, and you would be surprised to see 
 how quick these little creatures cantered round. I thought 
 of my pretty poney and how far he would have left them all 
 behind. 
 
 In the first round, one had got a great deal before the 
 
 324 
 
VISIT TO MELVYN LODGE. 
 
 rest, and it was thought Jack would win the prize; the 
 second round he was still the first, but the others were almost 
 up to him. In the third Jack began to tire, and Dick got 
 before him ; but Jerry who had been hindmost now got 
 forward and won the race ; while poor Jack unable to keep 
 up any longer, though encouraged by his rider, made a full 
 stop and would not proceed a step further. 
 
 The victory was proclaimed by the loud shouts of the 
 people, all eager to shake hands with William Cowslip the 
 young farmer who won the donkey, and who was promised 
 a nice cart to fit him by Mr. Frederick Melvyn. 
 
 Cowslip looked delighted ; and making an awkward bow 
 thanked Mr. Melvyn for his kindness. Everyone seemed 
 happy but the young man who rode on Jack : him I per- 
 ceived at the further side of the field sitting under a tree 
 seemingly in trouble. I went to him, and asked him why 
 he sat there by himself, while everyone else is so merry ? 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the poor lad; "I have lost the donkey 
 which would have made my poor mother quite comfortable." 
 " How can the loss of the donkey make you so sad," said I, 
 " when you know it was all a chance whether you would win 
 him ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear young gentleman," said he, " that is very 
 true ; but I had other reasons than amusement to try my 
 chance. I am a wood-cutter ; and had an ass and cart to 
 carry my wood through the country, and was able to support 
 myself and sickly mother very well ; for we did not want 
 anything ; but my poor ass died about three months ago, 
 and I am not able to buy one. I can now only sell my 
 wood in the neighbourhood, and we begin to feel great 
 want. I could shift for myself very well, but cannot leave 
 poor mother." " Don't make yourself so unhappy, my good 
 fellow ; " said I, and gave him what money I had : " this 
 small sum may be of a little use to your mother ; perhaps I 
 
 325 
 
SCHOOL BOY'S DIVERSIONS. 
 
 may be able to get you an ass — think no more of it, but 
 come and be happy with your companions." The gratitude 
 of the poor lad quite distressed me : he raised his eyes 
 and hands to Heaven praying for blessings on me. After 
 a little while we both recovered and walked together to 
 the cheerful party. 
 
 " Where have you been, Sydney? " said Sir James ; " and 
 who is it you have with you ? Why this is honest Ben 
 Trayford who rode on Jack." "Yes, sir," I answered, and 
 I told him what trouble Ben was in. 
 
 " Well, my dear Charles," said Sir James ; and he pressed 
 my hand with the same warm affection that you often do, 
 " your friend Ben shall not have cause for so much grief : he 
 is as worthy a lad as any on my estate. Come to the 
 Lodge, Ben, to-mon-ow morning, and I will speak to you : 
 but now make yourself easy ; I must not see an unhappy 
 countenance among my friends to-day." 
 
 CURLING, OR HOCKEY. 
 
 [From School Boy's Diversions: with Proper Directions for 
 playing them. Second Edition. Engravings from de- 
 signs by R. Stennett. London : printed and sold by Dean & 
 Munday, Threadneedle Street. Price One Shilling.] 
 
 Hockey is a game much practised in the northern parts of 
 Great Britain, particularly during severe weather. A number 
 of persons, each with a stick curled at one end, pursue a 
 arge ball or round piece of cork, over the frozen ground or 
 
 326 
 
SCHOOL BOY'S DIVERSIONS. 
 
 ice. Nimbleness and agility are the chief requisites of this 
 game, the main diversion lying in your being able to keep 
 the ball at play for some time against the combined efforts 
 of all your playfellows. Of course this is much more diffi- 
 cult on the ice than on the ground : those therefore should 
 only join it on the ice who can stand well in their skates. 
 
 327 
 
SCHOOL BOY'S DIVERSIONS. 
 
 SKIPPING. 
 
 This is performed either by one or by several children ; if 
 the former, it is either with the rope crossed or extended ; if 
 the latter, two hold the rope while a third (or a couple at 
 once) leap over it. This a most charming exercise for cold 
 weather and proper for either sex. 
 
 328 
 
SCHOOL BOY'S DIVERSIONS. 
 
 PRESSGANG. 
 
 To play at this one of the boys represents an officer, and 
 four or six others the gang. They catch their companions 
 one at a time and on catching one, say to him — 
 
 " High ship, or low ship ; 
 King's ship, or no ship ? " 
 
 If he chooses one of the ships, they send him as a prisoner 
 in the custody of two of their gang, to any place they may 
 agree upon, where he must stop a prisoner ; but if he say, 
 " No ship," they must take him by force, by his hands, 
 legs and arms to their rendez-vous for pressed men. When 
 they are all pressed, the pressed men and volunteers, by 
 turn become pressgang and officer. 
 
 HUCKLEBONES. 
 
 Hucklebones can be played with more or fewer bones, but 
 five in general are used. Particular names are given to 
 almost all the different ways of playing. This is what is 
 called the first. Take five bones, throw one into the air 
 and lay the others on the table ; take up one again ; and 
 then another before the first falls and so on to the last. 
 Here is the second way : take up two at a time, and as they 
 are falling, take up three ; throw them up ; — then four. 
 
 There are many others : first, the Kisses — kiss the bone 
 while the other is in the air j or strike your breast with one 
 bone. 
 
 This game is played a hundred different ways, and so 
 long invented that it was played by the Greeks at the siege 
 of Troy. 
 
 The tricks are these : make a bow with your thumb and 
 forefinger, and every bone passes through while the others 
 
 3 2 9 
 
SCHOOL BOY'S DIVERSIONS. 
 
 are in the air ; or make a well with your hand and put them 
 all in one after the other. Make the Change by putting one 
 bone in the place of the other ; — the Raffle in taking up all 
 the bones together. You may play the Hollow or Reverse 
 by turning them all one after the other on the marked side. 
 The most difficult, because it must be light, is to gather 
 them up successively, one after the other ; that is what they 
 call the shoots. The Square is made by arranging the four 
 bones in a quadrangle ; before taking them you must first 
 have one ; then two, which you must throw up in taking 
 the third, and still retain two, and so on. 
 
 330 
 
JAMES MANNERS. 
 
 [From James Manners, Little John, and their dog Bluff. By 
 Elizabeth Helme, jun. Fifth Edition. London : Darton. 
 Harvey & Darton. 1818.] 
 
 John ran back regardless of the affront he had received, 
 grasped the dog by the throat and disengaged the terrified 
 James. 
 
 331 
 
XLhc /IlMnt; 
 
 Shillings Transformed into Pounds. 
 
 Peregrine Proteus, the Younger, 
 
 A NEAR RELATION OF THAT CELEBRATED CHARACTER 
 
 MARMADUKE MULTIPLY 
 
 J. Harris & Son 
 Corner of St, PauFs Church-yard. 
 
 1819 
 
THE MINT. 
 
 THE MINT. 
 
 That Twenty shillings are a Pound 
 Is known full well the World around. 
 
 And Thirty shillings, One Pound Ten 
 The Poet's fortune, now and then. 
 
 With Forty shillings, just Two Pounds, 
 I think I'll purchase yonder grounds. 
 
 With Fifty shillings, Two Pounds Ten 
 Grand Ma oft pays our Husbandmen. 
 
 335 
 
THE MINT. 
 
 Here's Sixty shillings or Three Pounds 
 Then who's afraid of Fortune's frowns. 
 
 The Wages given to our boy Ben 
 
 Is Seventy shillings — Three Pounds Ten. 
 
 Eighty shillings is Four Pounds 
 
 Which Master gave for these fine hounds. 
 
 Ninety shillings is Four Pounds Ten 
 The Bounty giv'n to Nelson's Men. 
 
 336 
 
THE MINT. 
 
 One-hundred shillings is Five Pounds 
 You'll want it in your market rounds. 
 
 Avoirdupois Weight. 
 
 In all things you sell and whatever you buy, 
 To justice and honour keep steady your eye. 
 
 337 
 
 2 2 
 
THE MINT. 
 
 Come trip along my Girls and Boys 
 We'll have fair weight Avoirdupois. 
 
 Of your best snuff for my Aunt Flounce 
 Give Sixteen drams which make One ounce. 
 
 Sixteen ounces just One pound 
 I've got of Coffee ready ground. 
 
 Twenty-eight pounds of Butter I gave to your Daughter 
 Though it is better known in our Trade by a Quarter. 
 
 This Bale is Four quarters or One hundredweight 
 Which I bring from yon ship by desire of the Mate. 
 
 O dear, what delight 'tis to have such a Son 
 Who of Sugar has sent Twenty hundreds, One ton, 
 
 338 
 
Ifoarris's 
 
 Cabinet 
 
 PENCE 
 
 TABLES 
 
 ONE SHILLING. 
 
 J. HARRIS &• SON 
 
 Corner of St. Paul's Churchyard 
 
 1819 
 
 22' 
 
HARRIS'S CABINET. 
 
 HARRIS'S CABINET. 
 
 Twelve Pence is just ish. 
 This I gave to buy a Whip. 
 
 Fourteen Pence is ish. and 2d. 
 Which I paid for my New Ship. 
 
 Sixteen Pence is ish. and 4d. 
 The price of this fine flying Toy. 
 
 Eighteen Pence is ish. and 6d. 
 This I gave the Negro Boy. 
 
 Twenty Pence is ish. and 8d. 
 This in paper out I laid. 
 
 341 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 " Judith, I am not well at all, 
 Within I'm sore distrest ; 
 
 I fear I'm ill with what they call 
 A load upon the chest." 
 
 " I know not when I've felt so bad ; 
 I think, say what you will, 
 
 That goose that yesterday I had 
 Is in my stomach still ! " 
 
 " Haste for the doctor ere he's out, 
 
 For he may be of use : 
 Tell him my feet have got the gout ; 
 
 My stomach's got the goose." 
 
 344 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 Said she, " I go ; but it may be 
 Some time I shall be gone ; 
 
 So 'twill be better first for me 
 To put the boiler on." 
 
 Water and fire with angry strife, 
 
 A hissing dire did make ; 
 Which Peter hearing, dreamed his wife 
 
 Was broiling him a steak. 
 
 Then in his dream his sleepy poll 
 With anger great did nod he ; 
 
 When lo ! the tumult of his soul 
 Awoke his peaceful body. 
 
 Then loudly to his wife be called 
 " Come hither dame, I pray ! " 
 
 But vainly to the dame he bawled 
 For she was far away. 
 
 At last he reached his walking stick, 
 
 To shove the boiling pot ; 
 When o'er his legs it tumbled quick ! 
 
 And water scalding hot ! 
 
 No longer now he felt the gout, 
 
 But roaring out amain, 
 Briskly he turned his legs about, 
 
 And stood upright again. 
 
 With scalded feet and broken head, 
 He danced upon the floor ; 
 
 He had not done the like 'tis said 
 For twenty years or more. 
 
 345 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 " Judith, I am not well at all, 
 Within I'm sore distrest ; 
 
 I fear I'm ill with what they call 
 A load upon the chest." 
 
 " I know not when I've felt so bad ; 
 I think, say what you will, 
 
 That goose that yesterday I had 
 Is in my stomach still ! " 
 
 " Haste for the doctor ere he's out, 
 
 For he may be of use : 
 Tell him my feet have got the gout ; 
 
 My stomach's got the goose." 
 
 344 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 Said she, " I go ; but it may be 
 Some time I shall be gone ; 
 
 So 'twill be better first for me 
 To put the boiler on." 
 
 Water and fire with angry strife, 
 
 A hissing dire did make ; 
 Which Peter hearing, dreamed his wife 
 
 Was broiling him a steak. 
 
 Then in his dream his sleepy poll 
 With anger great did nod he ; 
 
 When lo ! the tumult of his soul 
 Awoke his peaceful body. 
 
 Then loudly to his wife be called 
 " Come hither dame, I pray ! " 
 
 But vainly to the dame he bawled 
 For she was far away. 
 
 At last he reached his walking stick, 
 
 To shove the boiling pot ; 
 When o'er his legs it tumbled quick ! 
 
 And water scalding hot ! 
 
 No longer now he felt the gout, 
 
 But roaring out amain, 
 Briskly he turned his legs about, 
 
 And stood upright again. 
 
 With scalded feet and broken head, 
 He danced upon the floor ; 
 
 He had not done the like 'tis said 
 For twenty years or more. 
 
 345 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 At last the street door lock within 
 
 The key began to rattle ; 
 Thought Peter, " now will soon begin 
 
 A most tremendous battle." 
 
 Then, with the doctor close behind 
 
 Entered the wife of Peter ; 
 But how was she surprised to find 
 
 Her husband come to meet her. 
 
 Said she, " how's this, that thou alone 
 
 Canst walk along the path ? " 
 Said he, " I've been, since thou wast gone, 
 
 In a hot water bath." 
 
 Then Peter he related quite 
 
 What we have told before ; 
 Then did the doctor laugh outright, 
 
 With loud and lengthened roar. 
 
 " But, sir," said he, " now I suppose 
 That all this time you've fasted ; 
 
 Pray tell me if your stomach's woes 
 The same till now have lasted." 
 
 " Why, no," said Peter, " I must own 
 That since from food I've rested ; 
 
 The load is from my stomach gone, 
 And seems to be digested." 
 
 " Then," said the doctor, " I advise 
 When plagued with gouty pain ; 
 
 Since that's removed by exercise 
 To scald your legs again." 
 
 34 6 
 
FANNY AND MARY. 
 
 FANNY AND MARY. 
 
 [From Fanny and Mary, or Juvenile Views of Happiness. By 
 the Author of Mamma's Pictures, £r°c. London: Printed for 
 Harvey & Darton, no. 55 Gracechurch Street. 1821.] 
 
 " I ran down to the beach and filled my pockets with 
 pebbles. I used to run and skip on the sand and shingles, 
 
 and play atbeing a flying fish. I would always run on the 
 
 34? 
 
FANNY AND MARY. 
 
 wet sand and into the salt-water puddles, so at last mamma 
 said that it spoiled my clothes, and I was forbidden to walk 
 on the beach." 
 
 34* 
 
THE YOUNG REVIEWERS. 
 
 THE YOUNG REVIEWERS. 
 
 [ From The Young Reviewers, or, The Poems Dissected. London : 
 William Darton, 58 Holborn Hill. 1821.] 
 
 The boys came running in from school calling out " A 
 holiday this afternoon ! a half-holiday to-day ! Huzza ! Is 
 dinner almost ready ; that we may take a walk and fly our 
 kites this fine day ? " 
 
 349 
 
THE YOUNG REVIEWERS. 
 
 " Well, my dear children," said Mrs. Heathcote, as she 
 presented each of them with a small reward, " you have 
 been very quiet and diligent, and I hope these little Poems 
 may be the means of impressing on your minds sentiments 
 of far more value than this little reward of your exertion." 
 
 350 
 
PICTURESQUE PIETY. 
 
 THE DOG GLAD OF A CRUMB. 
 
 [From Picturesque Piety. By the Rev. Isaac Taylor. London : 
 printed for E. Butler, Bruton Street ; and Longman, Hurst 
 Rees, Orme & Brown, Paternoster Row. 1821.] 
 
 See how Jowler sits and begs, 
 
 All the while my mess I'm eating ; 
 
 How he holds his little legs ; 
 Whining, wagging, and entreating. 
 
 How he'd like to have my stool, 
 Or to get upon the table ; 
 
 Ah, you saucy little fool, 
 
 I should beat you, were you able. 
 
 351 
 
PICTURESQUE PIETY. 
 
 There's a tiny crumb of bread, 
 Good enough for you, sir, truly ; 
 
 Dogs should not like us be fed, 
 
 But with scraps and crumbles, duly. 
 
 The Moth. 
 Now who has spoiled my pretty muff, 
 
 And torn the fur, look here : 
 I'm sure I put it safe enough, 
 
 'Twont do another year. 
 
 I do declare it is the moth, 
 See, here are more and more ; 
 
 They've eaten holes quite through the cloth 
 And ruined all my store. 
 
 35 2 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT 
 MINDS. 
 
 The Little Fisherman. 
 
 [From Original Poems for Infant Minds. By Several Young 
 Persons. 2 vols. Twentieth Edition. London : Harvey & 
 Darton, No. 55 Gracechurch Street. 1821.] 
 
 There was a little fellow once, 
 
 And Harry was his name : 
 And many a naughty trick had he — 
 
 I tell it to his shame. 
 
 He minded not his friends' advice, 
 
 But follow'd his own wishes ; 
 And one most cruel trick of his, 
 
 Was that of catching fishes. 
 
 His father had a little pond, 
 
 Where often Harry went ; 
 And in this most inhuman sport, 
 
 He many an ev'ning spent. 
 
 One day he took his hook and bait, 
 
 And hurried to the pond, 
 And there began the cruel game, 
 
 Of which he was so fond. 
 
 And many a little fish he caught, 
 
 And pleas'd was he to look, 
 To see them writhe in agony, 
 
 And struggle on the hook. 
 
 353 23 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 At last, when having caught enough, 
 
 And tired too himself; 
 He hasten'd home, intending there 
 
 To put them on a shelf. 
 
 But as he jump'd to reach a dish, 
 
 To put his fishes in, 
 A large meat-hook, that hung close by, 
 
 Did catch him by the chin. 
 
 Poor Harry kick'd, and call'd aloud, 
 And scream'd and cried, and roar'd ; 
 
 While from his wound the crimson blood 
 In dreadful torrents pour'd. 
 
 The maids came running, frighten 'd much 
 
 To see him hanging there, 
 And soon they took him from the hook, 
 
 And set him in a chair. 
 
 The surgeon came and stopp'd the blood, 
 
 And up he bound his head ; 
 And then they carried him up stairs, 
 
 And laid him on his bed. 
 
 Conviction darted on his mind, 
 
 As groaning there he lay, 
 He with remorse and pity thought 
 
 About his cruel play. 
 
 "And oh," said he, "poor little fish, 
 What tortures they have borne ; 
 
 While I, well pleas'd, have stood to see 
 Their tender bodies torn ; 
 
 354 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 " O ! what a wicked boy I've been, 
 
 Such torments to bestow ; 
 Well I deserve the pain I feel, 
 
 Since I could serve them so : 
 
 " But now I know how great the smart, 
 
 How terrible the pain ! 
 As long as I can feel myself, 
 
 I'll never fish again." 
 
 J. T. 
 
 James and The Shoulder of Mutton. 
 
 Young Jem at noon returned from school, 
 
 As hungry as could be, 
 He cried to Sue, the servant maid, 
 
 My dinner give to me. 
 
 Said Sue, it is not yet come home, 
 
 Besides, it is not late : — 
 No matter that, cries little Jem, 
 
 I do not like to wait. 
 
 Quick to the baker's Jemmy went, 
 
 And ask'd " Is dinner done ? " 
 " It is," replied the baker's man. 
 "Then home I'll with it run." 
 
 " Nay, Sir," replied he, prudently, 
 
 " I tell you 'tis too hot, 
 And much too heavy 'tis for you." 
 
 " I tell you, it is not. 
 
 355 2 3 
 
 # 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINbS. 
 
 " Papa, mamma, are both gone out, 
 
 And I for dinner long ; 
 So give it me — it is all mine, 
 
 And, baker, hold your tongue. 
 
 " A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice ! 
 
 And batter-pudding too ; 
 I'm glad of that, it is so good ; 
 
 How clever is our Sue ! " 
 
 Now near the door young Jem was come, 
 
 He round the corner turn'd ! 
 But oh, sad fate ! unlucky chance ! 
 
 The dish his fingers burn'd. 
 
 Low in the kennel down fell dish, 
 
 And down fell all the meat ; 
 Swift went the pudding in the stream, 
 
 And sail'd along the street. 
 
 The people laugh' d, and rude boys grinn'd, 
 
 At mutton's hapless fall ; 
 But though asham'd young Jemmy cried — 
 
 " Better lose part than all." 
 
 The shoulder by the knuckle seiz'd, 
 
 His hands both grasp'd it fast, 
 And deaf to all their gibes and cries, 
 
 He gain'd his home at last. 
 
 " Impatience is a fault," cries Jem, 
 
 " The baker told me true ; 
 In future I will patient be, 
 
 And mind what says our Sue." 
 
 Adelaide. 
 
 356 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 Sophia's Fool's-Cap. 
 
 Sophia was a little child, 
 
 Obliging, good, and very mild, 
 
 Yet, lest of dress she should be vain, 
 
 Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain. — 
 
 Her parents, sensible and kind, 
 
 Wish'd only to adorn her mind ; 
 
 No other dress, when good, had she, 
 
 But useful, neat simplicity. 
 
 Tho' seldom, yet when she was rude, 
 
 Or ever in a naughty mood, 
 
 Her punishment was this disgrace, 
 
 A large fine cap adorned with lace, 
 
 With feathers and with ribbons too ; 
 
 The work was neat, the fashion new ; 
 
 Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name, 
 
 She dreaded much to wear the same. 
 
 A lady, fashionably gay, 
 Did to mamma a visit pay, 
 Sophia star'd, then whisp'ring said, 
 "Why, dear mamma, look at her head ! 
 To be so tall and wicked too, 
 The strangest thing I ever knew ; 
 What naughty tricks, pray, has she done, 
 That they have put that fool's-cap on." 
 
 Adelaide. 
 
 Washing and Dressing. 
 
 Ah ! why will my dear little girl be so cross, 
 And cry, and look sulky, and pout ? 
 
 To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss, 
 I can't even kiss her without. 
 
 357 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 You say you don't like to be wash'd and be drest, 
 
 But would you be dirty and foul ? 
 Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast, 
 
 And clear your sweet face from its scowl. 
 
 If the water is cold, and the comb hurts your head, 
 
 And the soap has got into your eye ; 
 Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said ? 
 
 And what good will it do you to cry ? 
 
 It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet, 
 
 But only for kindness and care, 
 That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat, 
 
 And comb out your tanglesome hair. 
 
 I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry, 
 
 But pay me for all with a kiss ; 
 That's right — take the towel and wipe your wet eye, 
 
 I thought you'd be good after this. 
 
 Ann. 
 
 The Notorious Glutton. 
 
 A duck who had got such a habit of stuffing 
 That all the day long she was panting and puffing, 
 And by every creature who did her great crop see, 
 Was thought to be galloping fast for a dropsy ; 
 
 One day after eating a plentiful dinner, 
 
 With full twice as much as there should have been in her 
 
 While up to her forehead still greedily roking 
 
 Was greatly alarmed by the symptoms of choking. 
 
 358 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 Now there was an old fellow, much famed for discerning 
 (A drake who had taken a liking for learning) 
 And high in repute with his feathery friends 
 Was called Dr. Drake : for this doctor she sends. 
 
 In a hole of the dunghill was Dr. Drake's shop, 
 Where he kept a few simples for clearing the crop ; 
 Small pebbles, and two or three different gravels, 
 With certain famed plants he had found in his travels. 
 
 So taking a handful of suitable things, 
 And brushing his topple and pluming his wings, 
 And putting his feathers in apple-pie order, 
 He went to prescribe for the lady's disorder. 
 
 " Dear Sir," said the duck, with a delicate quack, 
 Just turning a little way round on her back, 
 And leaning her head on a stone in the yard, 
 " My case, Dr. Drake, is exceedingly hard. 
 
 " I feel so distended with wind and opprest, 
 
 So squeamish and faint, such a load at my chest ; 
 
 And day after day, I assure you it is hard, 
 
 To suffer with patience these pains in my gizzard."' 
 
 " Give me leave," said the doctor with medical look, 
 
 As her cold flabby paw in his fingers he took ; 
 
 " By the feel of your pulse, your complaint I've been 
 
 thinking, 
 Must surely be owing to eating and drinking." 
 
 " Oh ! no, Sir, believe me," the lady replied, 
 (Alarmed for her stomach as well as her pride) 
 " I'm sure it arises from nothing I eat, 
 But I rather suspect I got wet in my feet. 
 
 359 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 " I've only been raking a bit in the gutter, 
 Where cook has been pouring some cold melted butter, 
 And a slice of green cabbage, and scraps of cold meat : 
 Just a trifle or two that I thought I could eat." 
 
 The doctor was just to his business proceeding, 
 By gentle emetics, a blister, and bleeding, 
 When all on a sudden she rolled on her side, 
 Gave a terrible quack, and a struggle and died ! 
 
 Her remains were interred in a neighbouring swamp 
 
 By her friends, with a great deal of funeral pomp ; 
 
 But I've heard, this inscription her tombstone was put on 
 
 " Here lies Mrs. Duck, the notorious glutton " ; 
 
 And all the young ducklings are brought by their friends 
 
 There to learn the disgrace in which gluttony ends. 
 
 The Spider and His Wife. 
 
 In a dark little crack, half a yard from the ground, 
 
 An honest old spider resided ; 
 So pleasant, and snug, and convenient 'twas found, 
 That his friends came to see it from many miles round 
 
 It seemed for his pleasure provided. 
 
 Of the cares, and fatigues, and distresses of life, 
 
 This spider was thoroughly tired ; 
 So leaving those scenes of distraction and strife 
 (His children all settled) he came with his wife, 
 
 To live in this cranny retired. 
 
 360 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. 
 
 He thought that the little his wife would consume 
 
 'Twould be easy for him to provide her ; 
 Forgetting he lived in a gentleman's room, 
 Where came every morning a maid and a broom, 
 Those pitiless foes to a spider ! 
 
 For when (as sometimes it would chance to befall) 
 
 The moment his web was completed, 
 Brush— came the great broom down the side of the wall, 
 And perhaps carried with it web, spider and all 
 He thought himself cruelly treated. 
 
 One day when their cupboard was empty and dry, 
 
 His wife (Mrs. Hairy-leg Spinner) 
 Said to him, " Dear, go to the cobweb and try 
 If you can't find the leg or the wing of a fly, 
 
 As a bit of a relish for dinner." 
 
 Directly he went, his long search to resume, 
 
 (For nothing he ever denied her) 
 Alas ! little guessing his terrible doom, 
 Just then came the gentleman into the room 
 
 And saw the unfortunate spider. 
 
 So while the poor insect in search of his pelf, 
 
 • In the cobweb continued to linger, 
 The gentleman reached a long cane from the shelf, 
 (For certain good reasons best known to himself 
 Preferring his stick to his finger :) 
 
 Then presently poking him down to the floor, 
 
 Nor stopping at all to consider 
 With one horrid crash the whole business was o'er, 
 The poor little spider was heard of no more, 
 
 To the lasting distress of his widow. 
 
 361 
 
The 
 
 DANDY'S BALL; 
 
 or, 
 
 HIGH ILIFE IN THE CITY 
 
 Embellished with Sixteen Coloured Engravi?igs. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed and sold by 
 
 John Marshall, 
 
 140 Fleet Street 
 
 From Aldermary Church Yard 
 
 1823 
 
 Price is. 6d. 
 
THE DANDY*S BALL. 
 
 THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 S? 7 
 
 Mr. Pillblister 
 
 And Betsy his sister, 
 Determin'd on giving a treat; 
 
 Gay Dandies they call 
 
 To a supper and ball 
 At their house in Great Camomile Street. 
 
 365 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 Mr. Padum delighted 
 
 For he was invited 
 Began to consider his dress ; 
 
 His shirt was not clean 
 
 Nor fit to be seen 
 So he wash'd it : he could not do less. 
 
 366 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 Here's the stays from the tailor 
 
 For Mr. Mac Nailor 
 Oh, Jeffrey ! lace it quite tight. 
 
 I'll hold by the post, 
 
 That no time may be lost ; 
 At the Ball I'll outshine all to-night. 
 
 3 6 7 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 At dinner so pleased 
 
 For his mind was quite eased, 
 As all his new clothes were just come, 
 
 Sat our dear Mr. Parrot, 
 
 Till carving a carrot, 
 He unhappily put out his thumb. 
 
 368 
 
THE DANDY. S BALL. 
 
 A hole in my stocking 
 
 Now how very shocking ! 
 Cries poor Mr. Mopstaff enraged ; 
 
 It is always my fate 
 
 To be so very late 
 When at Mr. Pillblister's engaged. 
 
 3 6 9 
 
 24 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 .oaff 
 
 I'll dance with my charmer, 
 Said Mr. Bob Palmer, 
 
 I'm determin'd to-night at the Ball. 
 I've dined on the fishes, 
 And washed up the dishes, 
 
 And wait for the Barber to call. 
 
 70 
 
THE DANDY S BALL. 
 
 While sipping his tea 
 
 Mr. Frill you may see, 
 And his friend, both so gaily dressed out 
 
 For Mr. Pillblister's 
 
 And his polite sister's 
 Most splendid and elegant rout. 
 
 371 
 
 24' 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 Alas ! only think 
 
 When poor Mr. Pink 
 Had decked himself out in his charms, 
 
 When dressing was done, 
 
 With fatigue overcome 
 He faints in his Grandmother's arms 
 
 37? 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 Mr. Cuff in a shower 
 
 Stood full half an hour, 
 In hopes some kind friend he should meet ; 
 
 For his handkerchief fell, 
 
 I am sorry to tell, 
 When turning up Camomile Street. 
 
 373 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 From the street called Threadneedle 
 
 Came gay Mrs. Tweedle, 
 And her Squire, in their Dennet so neat ; 
 
 But when most delighted 
 
 Our prospects are blighted, 
 By accidents sadly complete. 
 
 374 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 To be candid, I'll tell 
 To the Camomile smell, 
 
 Their horse took a prejudice small ; 
 He reared up and pranced 
 And on his legs danced, 
 
 Till he overset carriage and all. 
 
 375 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 When the company met, 
 
 They all bowed to Miss Bet, 
 Excepting poor Mr. Bob Palmer, 
 
 Who had the mishap 
 
 To knock off the cap 
 And tread on the toes of his charmer. 
 
 37b 
 
THE DANDYS BALL. 
 
 When the dancing began 
 To their places some ran, 
 
 For when they came to the saloon 
 So stiffened and tight 
 As for dancing that night 
 
 They might as well rise to the moon. 
 
 \n 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 For their supper some wished 
 When they heard it was dished 
 
 In raptures they sat down to eat ; 
 But so hard was their case, 
 For they could not unlace, 
 
 So few of them tasted the treat. 
 
 378 
 
THE DANDY'S BALL. 
 
 Many ordered their carriage 
 
 And thought till their marriage 
 They would never be in so much pain ; 
 
 Though I very much doubt 
 
 But at the next rout 
 We shall see all these Dandies again. 
 
 379 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 TALES. 
 
 Intended for the 
 AMUSEMENT 
 
 and 
 
 MORAL INSTRUCTION 
 OF YOUTH. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed for John Territt, 62, Judd Street, 
 
 Brunswick Square ; 
 
 And N. Hailes, 172, Piccadilly. 
 
 1824. 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 THE YOUNG PROTECTOR. 
 
 Felix Dunmore was sent one day by his father on an 
 errand of some importance. Although but fourteen years 
 of age, the steadiness of his character, and the judgment 
 and prudence he had shown on several occasions, had 
 acquired him the entire confidence of his parent. 
 
 In passing through an unfrequented street, he perceived a 
 young lady of about his own age, and very respectable in her 
 appearance, in the midst of several young men, who seemed 
 to amuse themselves with her evident embarrassment in 
 finding herself thus alone and unprotected. She had lately 
 arrived from the country, and had gone out on that morn- 
 ing with her mother, from whom she was separated in a 
 crowd, and after wandering through several streets, she was 
 now enquiring her way home. Without noticing the sneers 
 of the spectators, he enquired of the young lady her address, 
 and having learned it, he told her respectfully that as he 
 was himself going to that part of the town where she lived, 
 he would, with her leave, have the pleasure of seeing her 
 home. 
 
 After some hesitation the young lady accepted his offer, 
 and Felix having expressed, as they were walking together, 
 his indignation at the unmanly conduct of the people whom 
 they had just left, she felt reassured with regard to the 
 character of her new companion. 
 
 At a short distance from her house, they met the mother 
 of Olivia, (such was the young lady's name) who after fruit- 
 less researches and enquiries, was returning home in the 
 greatest anxiety for her daughter's safety. Seeing her with 
 a young man of respectable appearance, she enquired his 
 
 383 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 name, at the same time expressing her warmest thanks for 
 the care he had taken of her daughter. Felix wishing out 
 of delicacy, to lessen the importance of the service he had 
 rendered, said he was proceeding that way on business, and 
 mentioned the person to whom he was taking a letter from 
 his father. Olivia's mother perceived that in order to 
 oblige her daughter, he had gone considerably beyond the 
 place of his destination ; she therefore repeated her thanks 
 to him, and her excuses for his trouble and loss of time. 
 
 During this conversation they arrived at the lady's house, 
 which was in one of the fashionable streets near Grosvenor 
 Square. The lady was a person of rank, and kept her 
 carriage and livery servants, but on that morning had 
 walked out with her daughter, unattended by a footman, to 
 call upon an intimate acquaintance; when meeting unex- 
 pectedly with a crowd of people at the turning of a street, 
 her daughter had been suddenly separated from her, and 
 they had lost sight of each other. 
 
 Lady Chalmers insisted upon Felix walking into the 
 parlour to rest himself; at the same time she ordered her 
 carriage, while she engaged him in conversation, asking him 
 several questions about his family. Felix, with great 
 candour, told her, he was the son of a retired officer without 
 fortune, who had come to town to solicit a pension from 
 government, on account of his long services and injured 
 health, and that he was going that morning with a memorial 
 on the subject addressed to a person in office. 
 
 At last Felix rose to take his leave : — the lady told him 
 that her carriage was ready to convey him to the place of 
 his destination, in order to make up for the time he had 
 lost. 
 
 " Lost, Madam ! " exclaimed Felix, " I shall always look 
 upon that time as well employed, in which I shall have an 
 opportunity of rendering any service to a lady, and make 
 
 384 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 reparation for the brutality of some of my own sex." He 
 left Lady Chalmers highly delighted with him, and desirous 
 of shewing her gratitude in a more effectual manner. 
 
 A few days after Felix had delivered the memorial, his 
 father received a letter from the minister, informing him 
 that a liberal pension had been granted to him, with the 
 additional promise, that his son would shortly be provided 
 for. Captain Dunmore, full of satisfaction and gratitude, 
 went to return thanks to the minister. The secretary who 
 received him, did not conceal from him, that the granting 
 his request had been hastened by powerful recommenda- 
 tions. The veteran testified his surprise at such an unex- 
 pected interest in his favour, of which he was totally un- 
 aware. 
 
 "Your pension," said the secretary, "would certainly have 
 been granted to you, as you had proper claims to it, 
 although from the pressure of business you would perhaps 
 have been obliged to wait a little longer; but as to the 
 favour which it is in contemplation to bestow upon your 
 son, and which was unasked by you, it is entirely in conse- 
 quence of his own handsome conduct to a lady, a near rela- 
 tion of a person high in office." He then related to the 
 happy father the meeting of his son with Olivia, of which 
 Felix, out of modesty, had not mentioned a word. 
 
 On returning home, the veteran commended his son for 
 his manly conduct, and congratulated him on the happy 
 results of it. They went together to the residence of their 
 benefactress. On attempting to express their thanks, they 
 were stopped short by Lady Chalmers, who observed, that 
 the honourable spirit and the sense of delicacy of so young 
 a man as Felix, fully deserved the interest that had been 
 excited in his favour, and that it must be a satisfaction to 
 those who are possessed of any influence to use it in bring- 
 ing forward deserving persons. 
 
 385 25 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 Thus we see that even the world does not always let good 
 actions pass unrewarded, although it is the secret approba- 
 tion of conscience, that ought at all times to be considered 
 as a sufficient recompense for them. 
 
 SELF-INFLICTED CORRECTION. 
 
 Mr. Wharton, a retired merchant, was left in his old age 
 with only one daughter out of several children he had had. 
 Katharine was the object of her father's tenderness, his 
 companion, and the comfort of his declining years. Having 
 been deprived of her mother at an early age, and left to the 
 care of an old governess, she had contracted the pernicious 
 habit of doing everything according to the whim of the 
 moment, of following the dictates of her unruly imagination, 
 and though hardly in her teens, she took upon herself the 
 supreme command over all her father's household. 
 
 This overbearing propensity was increased by her father's 
 indulgence, and grew at last to an intolerable extent. If a 
 servant happened to forget some trifling commission, the 
 young lady had entrusted to him, she upbraided him in the 
 most humiliating terms. If another was a minute too slow 
 in answering the summons of her bell, it was an unpardon- 
 able crime for which he received a thousand reproaches, 
 and even was threatened with being turned away. If 
 Katharine's maid, when lacing her stays, missed a single 
 hole, her mistress, flushed with passion and stamping her 
 feet, would cry out — " You are the most awkward creature 
 — quite beyond bearing." 
 
 The frequent repetition of scenes of this sort at last tired 
 out all the domestics in the house ; most of them com- 
 plained to Mr. Wharton, and expressed a wish to quit his 
 
 3%6 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 service, however they regretted to leave so good a master. 
 The latter, who grieved in his heart for his daughter's im- 
 proper behaviour, wished to recall her to a more reasonable 
 line of conduct, by an easy method, of which he had been 
 thinking for some time. He told his domestics not to pay 
 any attention to the clamour, nor to the rebukes of his 
 daughter, but to answer her by an obsequious smile, and 
 never to obey her orders, when given in a supercilious tone 
 and manner. Mr. Wharton's directions were punctually 
 obeyed. 
 
 When Katharine called for any of the servants in her 
 usual overbearing manner, no one answered her ; if she put 
 a question to any of them, or gave orders with an 
 imperious air, she saw everyone smile, turn round, and 
 desert her. Overcome with vexation, unable to understand 
 this mysterious behaviour, she complained of it to her 
 father, expecting that he would discharge those who dared 
 to fail in their respect to her ; but Mr. Wharton replied to 
 her coolly and pointedly : " I have also observed, my 
 daughter, that all our servants are determined to obey you 
 no longer ; but is not this rather your fault than theirs ? " 
 
 Katharine, in a fit of peevishness declared that she would 
 not in future address a single word to the servants, and 
 would dispense altogether with their services ; "let those 
 who will employ them, submit to their caprice ; I will not 
 allow any one of them, not even the old governess, to enter 
 my apartment." 
 
 " This is the surest means of not being interrupted in 
 your occupations," coolly replied Mr. Wharton. 
 
 "I shall do everything myself, make my bed, arrange my 
 room, attend to my toilet, all by myself." 
 
 " In this manner you will have every thing done exactly 
 according to your fancy," replied her father. 
 
 " I intend also, that none of the servants shall wait upon 
 
 387 25* 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 me at table, and I will have a dumb waiter placed by me 
 upon which I may find what I want." 
 
 " I willingly subscribe to your plan, my dear, and will 
 give orders accordingly." 
 
 "How happy I shall be, to be able to shew to these 
 people that I can manage without them, and that all 
 masters might do the same, and save thereby the expense 
 of feeding a crowd of idle fellows, giving them wages, and 
 loading them with presents which are often repaid with in- 
 gratitude." 
 
 " I wish, Katharine, that you may succeed in giving them 
 a lesson," replied Mr. Wharton composedly. 
 
 That very day Katharine began to act upon her new 
 system. At dinner she changed her own plates, filled her 
 glass, cut her bread, looking askance at the servants who 
 stood near the table, and who seemed surprised at the 
 novelty of the scene. Katharine, however, broke a de- 
 canter, and a china plate, and spilt some red wine on the 
 table cloth. Her father merely observed with his accus- 
 tomed kindness, " We must all go through an apprentice- 
 ship before we can get used to any new situation." 
 
 Returning from the theatre, in the evening, Katharine 
 carefully folded her shawl, and put by her gloves and 
 bonnet. The maid entered her room to assist her to put 
 her hair in paper, and unlace her stays, as she used to do 
 every night. 
 
 " I have no occasion for you," said Katharine sharply to 
 her ; " I have put on stays which are laced in front ; I 
 shall arrange all that is necessary for my toilette, and put 
 on my curling papers myself; yes, I shall do it myself, how- 
 ever you may simper." 
 
 The good old governess appeared soon after, according 
 to custom, in order to assist Katharine in undressing for 
 the night. Katharine refused her assistance, 'and dismissed 
 
 388 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 her bluntly, notwithstanding all the kind remonstrances of 
 this affectionate attendant. 
 
 Next morning to the great surprise of the people of the 
 house, and of Mr. Wharton himself, young Katharine was 
 seen sweeping the floor of her apartments, dusting the fur- 
 niture, making her bed, &c. In doing this, however, she 
 broke a looking glass, tore some drapery, and upset a lamp 
 on the carpet ; but her father hearing of her mishap, told 
 her, with his usual good nature, " In every thing we 
 undertake practice is necessary to make us perfect." 
 
 Katharine tried afterwards to light her fire. She put up 
 the coals and wood well enough ; she struck a light by 
 means of her flint and steel, lighted the tinder ; and suc- 
 ceeded in making her fire burn. She did not do all this, 
 however, without hurting her hand with the steel, and burn- 
 ing her fingers. She was also near setting fire to the rug, 
 but her father coming into the room in time, condescended 
 to assist her, and calmly repeated, " We must get used to 
 a thing before we can succeed in it." 
 
 At dinner time, Katharine made her appearance in the 
 drawing-room, where she found several guests already 
 assembled who were struck with the disorder of her dress. 
 Her frock was all on one side, her stays were too high up, 
 her tippet was thrown upon one shoulder leaving the other 
 bare, her sash was tied clumsily behind. But that which 
 particularly struck those who were in the habit of seeing 
 Katharine and admiring the taste of her usual head-dress, 
 was now seeing her hair out of curl, hanging over her face, 
 and before her fine eyes, which gave such an extraordinary 
 appearance, that a general titter ran round the assembly. 
 Mr. Wharton with great coolness explained to his friends 
 the new plan of the young reformer, affecting an air of 
 serious importance, which his hearers assumed likewise. 
 
 Katharine however had been deeply mortified at the 
 
 389 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 effect produced by her appearance, and in looking at her- 
 self in the glass, her vexation was increased. She could 
 not conceal from herself that she looked frightful, and this 
 was too great a trial even for her fortitude. 
 
 On retiring to her apartment for the night, Katharine in 
 order to avoid a repetition of the same mortifying scene, 
 put her hair carefully in paper, and then pressed the curls 
 repeatedly with the irons. In doing this she burnt her fore- 
 head and one of her ears, but she comforted herself with 
 the idea of showing, next day, that she could dress her hair 
 better than any chamber-maid or hair-dresser. What then 
 was her dismay next morning on taking off her cap, to see 
 all her curling-papers fall on the floor, each with the curl of 
 hair contained in it. In great trepidation she put her hand 
 to her head, ran to the mirror and beheld ! her beautiful 
 locks singed by the too hot irons, and her once fine head 
 of hair entirely spoiled. She uttered a shriek of despair, 
 which brought to the room some of the servants and Mr. 
 Wharton himself. The latter could not help smiling when 
 he saw his daughter's head half shorn, with only a few tufts 
 of hair here and there partly singed, forming a strange con- 
 trast with Katharine's pretty face, of which a few days 
 before they were the principal ornament. 
 
 Katharine was obliged to have her head shaved, and wear 
 a wig for more than six months. She then discovered that 
 it is impossible to live in a state of society without the 
 assistance of those who compose it. She confessed all the 
 wrongs she had been guilty of, towards the persons belong- 
 ing to her father's household, begged of them to forget the 
 past, and became from that time as mild and indulgent, as 
 she had been till then, fastidious and overbearing. All the 
 servants resumed their accustomed services to her, and 
 everyone of them, finding in Katharine's kind beha- 
 viour the reward of his zeal and assiduity, redoubled his 
 
 390 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY TALES. 
 
 eagerness to execute her orders, and to meet her least 
 desires. 
 
 After a certain time, Katharine's hair grew again, and the 
 wig was put aside ; she soon became more handsome than 
 ever, especially as an air of mildness and satisfaction added 
 to her charms : the only trace of her former folly consisted 
 of a slight scar on her forehead, made by the curling-irons, 
 the mark of which remained during her life ; every time 
 Katharine saw herself in the glass and perceived this mark, 
 she remembered her father's words : "We cannot ourselves 
 do every thing we wish ; in whatever situation we may be, 
 we must depend upon our fellow creatures, for a thousand 
 wants, and therefore we ought to repay their services by 
 kindness and gratitude." 
 
THE TAME STAG. 
 
 THE TAME STAG.— A FABLE. 
 
 [illustrations designed and cut out in silhouette 
 by a. l. p. & m. g. : see introduction.] 
 
 [From The First Book of Poetry. For the Use of Schools. 
 By W. F. Mylius. Ninth Edition. London : M. J. Godwin 
 & Co. no. 195 (St. Clement's) Strand. 1825.] 
 
 As a young stag the thicket pass'd, 
 The branches held his antlers fast. 
 A clown who saw the captive hung, 
 Across the horns his halter flung. 
 
 ; Now safely hampered in the cord, 
 He bore the present to his lord. 
 His lord was pleas'd ; as was the clown, 
 When he was tipp'd with half-a-crown. 
 
 392 
 
THE TAME STAG. 
 
 The stag was brought before his wife ; 
 
 The tender lady begged his life. 
 
 How sleek's the skin ! how speck'd like ermine ! 
 
 Sure never creature was so charming ! 
 
 At first within the yard confin'd 
 He flies and hides from all mankind ; 
 Now bolder grown, with fix'd amaze 
 And distant awe, presumes to gaze ; 
 Munches the linen on the lines, 
 And on a hood or apron dines. 
 
 393 
 
THE TAME STAG. 
 
 He steals my little master's bread, 
 Follows the servants to be fed : 
 Nearer and nearer now he stands, 
 To feel the praise of patting hands. 
 
 Examines every fist for meat, 
 And, though repuls'd, disdains retreat ; 
 Attacks again with levell'd horns ; 
 And man, that was his terror, scorns. 
 
 Gay. 
 
 >94 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 EDWARD SEYMOUR; OR, A MODEL 
 FOR LITTLE BOYS TO IMITATE. 
 
 [From Juvenile Anecdotes, founded on facts, collected for the 
 Amusement of Children. By Priscilla Wakefield. Seventh 
 Edition. London: Harvey & Darton, 55 Gracechurch Street. 
 1825.] 
 
 Mrs. Courtley one day, at breakfast, happened to have 
 some hot bread upon the table : it was offered to Edward, 
 but he refused it, at the same time casting rather a wishful 
 eye upon it, which she observed, and desiring to know the 
 cause of it, asked him whether he liked hot bread ? " Yes," 
 replied he, " I am extremely fond of it." " Why then, my 
 dear child, did you refuse to take any ? " " Because, 
 madam," said the excellent boy, " I know my papa does not 
 approve of my eating it. Am I to disobey a father and 
 mother that I love so well, and to forget my duty to them, 
 because they are a great way off ? I would not touch the 
 cake, were I sure nobody could see me ; I myself should 
 know it, and that would be sufficient." " Nobly replied," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Courtley ; " act always thus, and you must 
 be happy ; for although the whole world should refuse you 
 the praise that is your due, you must enjoy the approbation 
 of your own conscience, which is beyond every thing else." 
 
 THE TUREEN OF SOUP. 
 
 Henry was a little boy of high spirit, and did not readily 
 submit to be contradicted ; this disposition frequently led 
 him into inconveniences that caused him severe repentance. 
 
 395 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 Being one day at table with the family, a tureen of soup was 
 served up among other things ; when his mother ladled it 
 out into the plates, she observed a quantity of gravel-stones 
 in it. " This is very extraordinary, indeed," said she, with 
 some warmth ; " let the cook be called in, that she may 
 inform us how this dirt came into the soup." Henry 
 coloured, but kept silent for some time ; at length the cook 
 entered, and his father being very angry with the poor girl, 
 who had nothing to allege in her defence but that she was 
 quite ignorant of the matter, he could keep the secret no 
 longer, but rising from his chair, exclaimed, " Be angry with 
 me, my dear father : I am alone to blame. When I was at 
 play this morning, I put the gravel into the soup, while Ann 
 was gone into the parlour to answer the bell." " You do 
 very right to acknowledge the truth," replied his father : " I 
 shall not punish you for this offence, since you confess it so 
 generously." 
 
 THE GRATEFUL SCHOOL-FELLOW. 
 
 Tale-bearing is an odious fault, and generally renders 
 those who are guilty of it, not only disliked, but despised. 
 But there is a proper distinction to be made between the 
 tattler, who repeats every inadvertent action, with a 
 malicious design to make mischief, and the boy of true 
 courage, who dares appeal in an open manner to his 
 master, at the risk of being scoffed at by his companions 
 for a tale-tale, when he sees the weak oppressed by the 
 strong, and is unable to redress the injury. The four 
 sons of Mr. Milton were sent to a large school, in which 
 were boys of all ages. It frequently happens at such schools 
 
 396 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 that the bigger boys impose upon the younger ones, employ- 
 ing them in their errands, and making them what they call 
 fags ; a treatment which they are obliged to submit to, 
 till they become old enough to assert their own indepen- 
 dence, and tyrannise in their turn. In these numerous 
 seminaries, friendships are likewise formed, which are 
 maintained with a warmth of affection, and are productive 
 of instances of generosity, worthy of a more advanced 
 age. Similarity of taste and disposition united the Miltons 
 in a close intimacy with a boy of the name of Danvers. 
 The partiality of their sons introduced him to the notice 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Milton, from whom he had received many 
 testimonies of regard. With design to gratify their children, 
 especially Roland, the youngest, who was particularly 
 attached to Danvers, they sometimes invited him to pass 
 part of the holidays at their house ; on other occasions, they 
 would send him a rich cake, or increase his stock of 
 pocket-money by a present. The heart of Danvers was 
 too grateful not to feel the value of these favours, and he 
 returned them, by the only means in his power, an increase 
 of attachment towards their sons. In every contest he 
 sided with the Miltons, and fought many a battle in their 
 defence ; but one day he met with an antagonist who was 
 above his match. As he was hastily passing across the 
 play-ground, he was stopped by the cries of his young 
 friend, Roland, suffering from the cruel behaviour of one 
 of the great boys, who was hated as the tyrant of the 
 school. Danvers, seeing that his oppressor used him 
 excessively ill, by beating, kicking, and shoving him about, 
 enquired what was the cause of such treatment. " What 
 is that to you ? " replied Fletcher : " mind your own busi- 
 ness, or I will presently teach you the consequences of 
 interfering in what does not concern you." Danvers 
 expostulated, and endeavoured to convince him of the 
 
 397 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 injustice and meanness of tyrannising over those who are 
 unable to avenge themselves. But it was in vain to argue 
 with one who was deaf to remonstrance, and he was 
 conscious that he was no match in strength with Fletcher, 
 who was as powerful as he was cruel and ill-natured ; there- 
 fore he went directly to Dr. Stephenson, his master, and 
 related the transaction. The doctor sent for Fletcher, and 
 reprimanded him severely for fighting, but more especially 
 for his dastardly conduct in beating a child of six years 
 of age. " Had you possessed true courage," continued 
 the doctor, " you would have scorned to have abused an 
 adversary so unable to oppose you : retire to the school- 
 room, and remain there during the whole of the playtime 
 this day, for infringing the rule made against fighting." 
 Fletcher withdrew with a sulky countenance, expressive of 
 the revenge he meditated ; for his haughty spirit could 
 not brook the mortification of being punished upon the 
 accusation of another ; and to undergo a penance from 
 the report of an inferior was insufferable. He was, there- 
 fore, no sooner released, than he collected all the boys of 
 his age and class, and related the affair to them in such a 
 light, as made Danvers appear like a mean tell-tale, whom it 
 was their common interest to chastise. In consequence of 
 this misrepresentation, they agreed to seize poor Danvers 
 the first opportunity, and satiate their revenge upon him. 
 Danvers sustained their blows with manly resolution, calling 
 out whilst under their hands, " I scorn to tell tales for my 
 own sake, however ill-used I may be ; but now I suffer in 
 defence of my friend, and for the gratitude I owe to my 
 benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Milton ; therefore, you may beat 
 me as much, and as long as you please." - • • 
 
 398 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 THE BLACK BOOK. 
 
 In different schools there are different modes of regulating 
 the behaviour of the pupils, according to the inclination of 
 those who govern them. A better plan can scarcely be 
 adopted than that of the school where the Miltons went. 
 Dr. Stephenson formed a code of laws, as they might 
 properly be called, enjoining certain penalties for certain 
 faults, which gave every boy an opportunity of knowing the 
 consequences of disobedience, before he committed the act. 
 But, as it was impossible, from the multiplicity of offences, 
 to remember the exact time when every boy was guilty of a 
 fault, many would doubtless have escaped all punishment, 
 who deserved as much as those who suffered, had there not 
 been a book kept, called the Imposition-Book, in which a 
 daily account was entered of the offences committed, and of 
 the tasks imposed, by which it was easy to ascertain the time 
 when each delinquent ought to be able to repeat his task. 
 As an emblem of its melancholy office, this book was bound 
 in black leather, and deposited, under lock and key, in Dr. 
 Stephenson's own desk ; which was a necessary precaution, 
 as he had promised, that if ever it should be lost or missing, 
 an act of grace should follow, and all punishments which 
 were due, should be forgiven. 
 
 Charles Stephenson was about eleven years old, and of 
 the most amiable disposition ; his good temper, and desire 
 of rendering others happy, made him the darling of the 
 school. This promising child fell sick of a fever; the 
 physicians pronounced him in great danger, and urged the 
 necessity of his taking the medicines which they had 
 ordered, regularly, as his recovery depended much upon it. 
 Poor Charles was in an uncomfortable situation, his stomach 
 
 399 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 loathed the nicest food, and the draught was very nauseous ; 
 his resolution failed, and he refused to swallow it. His 
 mother entreated him, and even wept at the bedside, but 
 without success. After every effort had been vainly tried, 
 his father was called. " My dear Charles," said he, " I am 
 sensible of the difficulty you feel to comply with my request, 
 but the medicine must be taken : name any reward or in- 
 dulgence which I can bestow, as the price of your compli- 
 ance, and it shall be granted." Such an unlimited offer 
 would have tempted many boys to have procured some 
 gratification for themselves ; but Charles Stephenson, after 
 a moment's reflection, said, " Give me the cup, and burn 
 the Imposition-Book, and I will drink up the draught with- 
 out hesitation." It had a happy effect : Charles recovered, 
 and the first day that he was well enough to play among the 
 boys, the destruction of the black book was commemorated 
 by a holiday, which all enjoyed, but none so completely as 
 he who had procured this festivity, by preferring the happi- 
 ness of others to his own. 
 
 THE CAUTIOUS MOTHER. 
 
 There are few books so pure in sentiment and expression 
 as to be completely unexceptionable : even many of the 
 publications that have been written expressly for youth, are 
 defaced by exclamations, inconsistent with that simplicity 
 which is the chief ornament of an unperverted mind. Mrs. 
 Dennis was so particular with respect to the books she 
 admitted amongst her children, that it was her constant 
 practice to examine the most childish story-book, before she 
 permitted them to read it ; and as she considered instruc- 
 
 40O 
 
JUVENILE ANECDOTES. 
 
 tion as the chief object in reading, she never scrupled to 
 sacrifice the beauty of a new purchase, by freely cutting out 
 as many leaves as contained passages likely to give them 
 false ideas, or to corrupt their innocence. So very exact 
 was she in her correctness, that not an objectionable 
 sentence escaped. Thus there were but few books in the 
 library of her school-room, that did not bear the marks of 
 her hand. The children, believing their mamma to be 
 wiser than any person whatever, and being assured also that 
 her love for them induced her to take this trouble, showed 
 no desire to see those parts which she had effaced. In 
 time they became so accustomed to her alterations, that 
 they omitted the words through which she had drawn a line, 
 as a thing in course. The sacred name of the Deity, they 
 never were suffered to pronounce, but in the most reveren- 
 tial and serious manner, making a solemn pause when it 
 occurred, even in the Holy Scriptures ; but, if it was ever 
 introduced in other books, by way of exclamation, they 
 passed it over, and mostly marked it as a word not to be 
 repeated. 
 
 At about seven years of age, she was obliged to relinquish 
 Theodosius, her eldest boy, to the care of a gentleman who 
 was engaged in the education of a few scholars. The day 
 of his arrival passed so pleasantly, that he began to think 
 that he should be quite as happy with Mr. Perrin, as he had 
 been at home. The next morning he entered regularly into 
 the order of the school, and in his turn was called up to 
 read. Mr. Perrin, not supposing him to be well qualified, 
 gave him a spelling-book by way of trial ; but he presently 
 found that he was capable of reading something of a superior 
 kind ; upon which he took another book from the shelf, and, 
 making an apology for having offered him a lesson so much 
 beneath his powers, desired him to read a speech in one of 
 Madame Genlis' Dramas. The little boy began in a manner 
 
 401 26 
 
EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 that convinced Mr. Perrin that the utmost diligence and 
 judgment had been exerted, to prepare him for his future 
 progress in more difficult studies. After advancing to the 
 middle of the page, he suddenly stopped, and looking up 
 with great innocency at Mr. Perrin, said, " Pray, Sir, where 
 is your pencil ? " " What occasion can you have for a 
 pencil, my dear, whilst you are engaged in your lesson ? " 
 " Do not you see, Sir," said the little boy, " that there is the 
 awful name which I dare not repeat ; and my mamma used 
 always to draw a line through those words which she did 
 not choose we should say." Mr. Perrin apprehended his 
 meaning in a moment, and complied with his request, 
 The custom pleased him so well, that he adopted it ever 
 after in those books which he appointed for the use of his 
 scholars. 
 
 EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 [From Employment, The True Source of Happiness j or The 
 Good Uncle and Aunt. By Mrs. Bayley. London: John 
 Harris, corner of St. Paul's Churchyard. 1825.] 
 
 John Green, the miller, was originally a small farmer and 
 possessed a few acres of land, bequeathed to him by his 
 father, and which he managed to the greatest possible 
 advantage. At an early age he married an industrious 
 young woman, and was doing as he thought, tolerably well. 
 His family increased rapidly ; in a few years he found him- 
 self father of seven children. By this time, his wife, who was 
 naturally of a delicate constitution became very sickly and 
 unable to attend to the domestic duties of her family ; and 
 as they could not afford to keep a proper person to look 
 
 402 
 
EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 after the children they were much neglected, and everything 
 in the house went wrong. This to poor Margaret (the 
 miller's wife) who was doatingly fond of her family was a 
 heart-sickening reflection ; and her grief had so great an 
 effect upon her health that she gradually declined till her 
 life was despaired of. At this time, to add to poor Green's 
 misfortunes, a fire happened in an out-building adjoining 
 his stable, which not only consumed his granary, containing 
 the produce of his year's labour, but even his barn and 
 stable were burnt to the ground ; and in the latter perished 
 his team of horses. This was a loss which his scanty means 
 could not hope to replace ; and to complete his distress he 
 had some demands coming upon him of which he had 
 anticipated the discharge by the sale of his corn. That 
 resource being lost he had no alternative ; and to enable 
 him to pay his debts he was obliged to dispose of his few 
 acres of land, together with the little tenement in which he 
 dwelt. This was immediately done, and as far as the 
 money would reach every one was honestly paid. Poor 
 Green, with his disconsolate wife and children, repaired to 
 a small hovel, a short distance from their former residence, 
 where by daily labour he endeavoured to gain for them a 
 subsistence. But, from depression of mind, his health had 
 suffered and very few were disposed to employ a man 
 who was not able to work hard. In this dreadful situa- 
 tion, they would probably all have perished, but for a very 
 humane kind-hearted apothecary residing in the village who 
 had formerly attended poor Margaret, and who called in 
 during this season of distress, to inquire after her. He 
 described the state he found them in as the most pitiable 
 he had ever witnessed. The poor wife stretched on a bed 
 of straw, apparently in the last stage of consumption, 
 nursing one sickly infant at the breast, and another not 
 eighteen months old was lying by her side crying for food. 
 
 403 26* 
 
EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 The other five children, all under seven years, seated round 
 a deal table were waiting for a scanty portion of potatoes 
 which their father was preparing in the best way he was 
 able for their dinner. The good-natured apothecary was 
 much affected at the sight and enquired how they could 
 have been reduced to so deplorable a state ? " Have you 
 no money ? " said he. Green earnestly looked at him, and 
 with a firm voice (though a big tear rolled down his manly 
 but pale countenance) replied " / have." " Have you 
 money," said the doctor, " and yet allow your wife and 
 family to remain thus miserable?" " I have" said Green, 
 " but though we perish it must not be touched." The 
 apothecary rose hastily and indignantly from the wooden 
 bench on which he had been seated ; " Unfeeling wretch ! " 
 said he : " what ! suffer your wife and children to perish, 
 though you have the means of relief in your power ? It 
 must not; it shall not be." The tears rolling down his 
 face, and his voice half-choked with grief and resentment, 
 he hastened from the hovel and bent his steps towards the 
 parsonage-house intending to consult with the clergyman, 
 as to what could be done for the immediate relief of this 
 poor family. They decided on returning instantly to the 
 cottage, and insist on Green's explaining what appeared to 
 them his inhuman conduct. As they opened the door, 
 they found this affectionate husband kneeling by the side of 
 his wife apparently in an agony of distress, but praying 
 with great devotion. For some moments the visitors were 
 unable to speak. They then emphatically enquired the 
 reason why he did not with the money he acknowledged 
 himself to be possessed of procure for his family the neces- 
 saries they so much required ? The poor man burst into 
 tears. "The money I have is not my own. Before my sad 
 loss I was indebted to the miller on the heath twenty 
 pounds, which sum I have not yet been able to pay. He has 
 
 404 
 
THE LITTLE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. 
 
 now consented to take it by instalments of two guineas per 
 month ; and the two guineas I have by me I must take to 
 him on Monday next." The gentlemen were astonished ; 
 they strongly commended his virtuous principles ; and 
 giving him a guinea each, desired he would immediately 
 procure necessaries and comforts for his wife and children. 
 They then left him, and went to the miller intending to 
 solicit his lenity towards this poor family. He was a 
 good old man, and was greatly moved at the melancholy 
 recital. After a few moments' reflexion, he said : " Gen- 
 tlemen, I am, as you perceive, considerably advanced in 
 life, and find my business more than I can well manage ; I 
 have been for some time thinking of a partner. An honest 
 man is all I want, and one who will do the laborious 
 part of the business. Green will answer the purpose ; and 
 I will immediately take him into my concern." He did so ; 
 and on his death, two years afterwards, left Green his mill, 
 house and furniture, with two or three hundred pounds in 
 money. 
 
 THE LITTLE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. 
 
 [From Tales of the Cottage. London: Vernor and Hood, 31, 
 Poultry.] 
 
 I saw a child sitting upon the grate, whilst its master, with 
 a whip in one hand and a candle in the other, was vowing 
 either to cut him in pieces or set him on fire unless he 
 climbed the chimney. Bursting into tears the boy ex- 
 claimed : " Oh, sir, take me to my mamma, and never let 
 me go with that nasty man again ! " " God bless your 
 honour," said the man in evident confusion, "he means his 
 nurse at the workhouse." I pulled the bell and ordered 
 
 405 
 
THE LITTLE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. 
 
 my servant to take care the fellow did not escape, when -he 
 flew to the window, jumped out, and was out of sight in a 
 moment. "Who is your mamma?" "My mamma's 
 name is Melville, and she lives at a great white house near 
 Windsor." I sent immediately to a tailor's, and the little 
 chimney sweeper was soon converted into a gentleman. I 
 sent my servant in advance, and ordered my carriage to 
 follow. At length we reached the avenue, and saw a lady 
 in deep mourning. " Oh, my dear, dear mamma ! " ex- 
 claimed the child, and in less than a minute the happy 
 parent pressed her lovely boy to her bosom. The happy, 
 weeping servants came crowding round the child, who 
 asked for Molly his nursemaid. " She is gone home, my 
 darling," said Mrs. Melville, "for I could not bear the 
 sight of so careless a person." " Indeed it was not Molly's 
 fault ; my cousin George went one way and I another, and 
 so she could not catch us both ; and just as I got outside 
 the park gate that nasty man catched me up in his arms, 
 and said ' A, ha ! hare I got you my young master ? ' and 
 never stopped until he came to an old tumbledown house 
 where he made me take off my nice blue jacket and put 
 on a nasty sooty coat. Look at my shoulder, mamma," 
 continued he, drawing out his little arm as far as he could. 
 Mrs. Melville shrieked when she beheld the results of 
 the barbarian's inhumanity, and besought me to find out 
 the wretch. But as little Edward could give no account 
 of the place where he had been secreted, all our attempts 
 were in vain. 
 
 406 
 
Tales for Ellen. 
 
 -*^9< 
 
 [By the Author of 
 "'Ellen, the Young Godmother ■," 
 " The Young Naturalist" <SrV. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 Containing'' 
 ^HARRY THE PEASANT ; 
 ELLENS GEORGE, OR THE GAME AT CRICKET; 
 THE LITTLE BLUE BAG. 
 
 XonDon : 
 
 Printed for H. R. THOMAS, Juvenile Library, 
 Hanover Street, Hanover Square. 
 
 1826. 
 
THE GAME AT CRICKET. 
 
 THE GAME AT CRICKET. 
 
 George was up on the donkey's back in a minute ; but 
 with all the famed prowess of the butcher's boy as a donkey 
 driver, and with all George's thumps and kicks the animal 
 
 would not move from the spot where he had fixed himself. 
 The butcher's boy was quite in a rage, and he was venting 
 his spleen on the stubbornness of all donkeys and this 
 donkey in particular, when the sudden sound of a horn 
 made both the donkey and the pony prick up their ears. 
 In a few moments a stage coach was in sight, and in a few 
 more the horn and the rattling wheels approached with great 
 velocity towards the two equestrians. George would have 
 
 409 
 
THE GAME AT CRICKET. 
 
 jumped off to save himself from being run over, but the 
 donkey saved him for the present the trouble. All his 
 energies were suddenly aroused, and he darted forwards at a 
 pelting gallop. The butcher's pony did the same. Away 
 they both flew before the leaders of the stage, scarcely 
 distancing them by a horse's length, and all the passengers 
 thought that mischief was inevitable. A gentleman on the 
 box begged the coachman to pull in, but the coachman 
 seemed to enjoy the fun, and only whipped on his horses ; 
 the pony and the donkey were still galloping furiously, both 
 their riders keeping their seats. Butchers' boys always seem 
 glued to their saddles, so that there appeared nothing 
 astounding in Jem Rattle's not getting a fall; but how 
 George, without a saddle, and not much accustomed to 
 riding, sat so long, was something more remarkable. 
 Whether he might have got to the end of his race without 
 accident if his father and mother had not appeared by the 
 side of the road, it is impossible to say, but certain it is that 
 the sight of them diverted the attention which had before 
 been entirely given to keeping his eye steadily before him ; 
 — at the same instant the donkey gave a little curve out of 
 the line in which he had been going, and most providential 
 was it that he did so, for by this inclination George was 
 thrown sufficiently aside to clear the wheels of the coach. 
 The pony had given in some few minutes before, and the 
 donkey having once checked himself stopped suddenly, and 
 stood quietly by the road side as if nothing had happened. 
 The gentleman on the box now insisted upon the coachman 
 drawing up, to see if the young gentleman had sustained 
 any injury ; and Mr. and Mrs. Danvers, in a state of 
 harassing alarm, also hastened to approach the spot. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Danvers were more alarmed than George 
 was hurt ; he certainly got a few bruises, but he received no 
 serious injury. He immediately jumped on his legs, and 
 relieved the anxiety of his parents, when, after Mr. Danvers 
 
 4IO 
 
THE GAME AT CRICKET. 
 
 had thanked the gentleman on the box for his kind 
 interference, and joined with him in condemning the coach- 
 man for not having before checked his horses, the coach 
 drove on, and George joined his father and mother. The 
 butcher boy was commissioned with the promise of a 
 shilling to bring back the donkey to Mr. Danvers' field ; 
 and George looked not a little foolish as he went home. 
 
 At length the day arrived on which Mr. Danvers had 
 promised to join the lads at cricket. The boys were all in 
 high spirits. George did not tire himself by rising early, 
 and what was even of more consequence, he sat quietly 
 down to his books as usual after breakfast, not perhaps with 
 the fixed attention he sometimes gave to his studies, but 
 with tolerable assiduity and diligence : neither had Ellen on 
 this day any useless longings to leave her book or her work 
 before the time prescribed. I do not say that she never 
 suffered her attention to be diverted from either, for it is a 
 long time before such active lively little girls as Ellen can 
 sit down to their employments without sometimes thinking 
 of other things. She thought a good deal of a pretty white 
 flannel jacket edged with blue that her mamma had made 
 for George ; indeed at one time her mind was so intent 
 upon this that when her mamma was questioning her upon 
 her geography lessons, she spoke of some town on the white 
 jacket instead of the White Sea. 
 
 " Even now, Ellen, I would not advise you to go out 
 directly," said Mrs. Danvers ; " wait till the gardeners have 
 finished putting up the tent, and then we will go together." 
 
 It was at length completed, and Stevens and Wilson and 
 the two Porters were all arrived, each in a white jacket 
 trimmed with blue ; and papa was ready ; and what was 
 better than all, papa had also a white jacket trimmed with 
 blue. Oh, how Ellen also longed for a white jacket trimmed 
 with blue; she almost wished to be a boy; but she 
 
 4U 
 
THE GAME AT CRICKET. 
 
 remembered that boys go to school and leave papa and 
 mamma for a great many months together. Next week 
 George was going to school — oh, she should not like to be 
 going to school ; she had rather remain at home without 
 the white jacket. She had just come to this conclusion, 
 when Mrs. Danvers entered the room with a little calico 
 spencer trimmed with blue, which she invited Ellen to put 
 on. The new garment was speedily adjusted, and then 
 Ellen, her eyes glistening with delight, took her mother's 
 hand and proceeded to the cricket field. 
 
 The game of cricket, and the day in general, went off as 
 happy as could be wished. All engaged in it with good 
 humour, and although George was beaten by Tom Fletcher 
 he bore the loss of the game without loss of temper ; and all 
 the boys told him he would when as big as Tom be quite as 
 good a player. The two boys afterwards played a game 
 together against Mr. Danvers, who, when young, had been a 
 first-rate player, and would have beat half-a-dozen such boys. 
 The boys, however, found the advantage of having youth 
 and agility on their side in getting up a good number of 
 notches, and George's delight was great at twice bowling out 
 his father. Mr. Danvers won the game, but it was a very 
 hard run thing, and till the last it seemed very doubtful 
 which party was to be successful. 
 
 Ellen was very active throughout all the games in handing 
 fruit and milk to the players, and was much amused in 
 watching the progress of all the games. She would have 
 been better satisfied if George had won the game he played 
 against Tom Fletcher : her little heart was in a flutter of 
 agitation every time George took the bat; and when he 
 gained a notch, she could not withhold a shout of delight. 
 She was satisfied to look forward to some day of brighter 
 success for him, and found as he did some compensation 
 for the loss of the other games in having belonged to the 
 party who won the last. 
 
 412 
 
MY FRIENDS FAMILY. 
 
 GENTILITY DEFINED. 
 
 [From A Sketch of My Friend's Family, intended to suggest some 
 practical hints on religion and domestic manners. By Mrs. 
 Marshall, Author of Henwick Tales. Fifth Edition. London: 
 J. Hatchard & Son, Piccadilly. 1827.] 
 
 "Mamm a, 
 what does the 
 word genteel 
 mean?" "You 
 must consult 
 your friend the 
 dictionary, 
 Jane, so soon 
 as we have 
 breakfasted," 
 replied her 
 mother. " I 
 have, mamma, 
 but I thought 
 that could not 
 give the right 
 meaning, for it 
 only says ' po- 
 lite, elegant ' ; 
 and I think 
 genteel must 
 mean some- 
 thing more than 
 
 that." " No, Jane, it does not mean anything more ; but 
 tell me what makes you think it does ? " Jane blushed, and 
 hesitated, and at last said, " Why, mamma, the ladies I 
 
 413 
 
MY FRIEND'S FAMILY. 
 
 went to see yesterday seemed so anxious about gentility, and 
 one of them said she should like to know you because she 
 heard that you were genteel and not because you were good 
 — so I thought it must mean something more." 
 
 EXCUSE FOR NOT VISITING 
 POOR SUSAN. 
 
 Mr. Clifford inquired of Mrs. Hammond, whether she 
 had yet had an opportunity of visiting the sick woman 
 whose case he recommended to her ? " No, really," she 
 replied, " I have not had one moment of leisure since you 
 named her to me. On Monday I was at a Bible Society's 
 meeting ; Tuesday, I went to hear Mr. preach ; Wed- 
 nesday, I dined at Mrs. Nelson's, where a select number of 
 
 serious friends were assembled to meet the Rev. Mr. H ; 
 
 all Thursday I was occupied in endeavouring to procure sub- 
 scribers to our Dorcas society ; and to-day I shall hardly 
 have time to swallow my dinner, on my return home, before 
 the arrival of a lady who has promised to go with me to 
 hear a sermon for the benefit of our Sunday School." As 
 Mrs. Hammond paused, I asked my friend, in a low voice, 
 " Is it possible to be religiously dissipated ? " 
 
 THE NEW PELISSE. 
 
 On our way we passed the rooms of a fashionable dress- 
 maker, when Emma, who had before remained unusually 
 silent, stopped and exclaimed with earnestness, " This is 
 where my aunt purchased Maria's new pelisse, papa. You 
 cannot think what a contrast there was in hers and mine to- 
 day. One looks so nicely and the other so old-fashioned 
 and so shabby that I did not like to walk with her." " I am 
 very sorry for that, Emma," said I, " yet I must confess, 
 
 414 
 
MY friend'§ family. 
 
 that had you not told me it was so, I should have discovered 
 nothing so very obsolete or mean in your pelisse. How- 
 ever," I added, " since it exposes you to so serious a 
 mortification in wearing it, I will make you a present of a 
 new pelisse like Maria's, if your mamma have no objection." 
 
 The object of my walk was to seek out the residence of a 
 little girl in our Sunday School, who had for some time 
 been absent on a plea of illness. With some difficulty we 
 discovered the house ; and entering found the child who a 
 few weeks before appeared healthy, strong and cheerful, 
 sitting by the side of a nearly extinguished fire, pale, 
 emaciated and dejected. 
 
 " And where is your mother, my good girl ? " I de- 
 manded. " Surely you are not in a condition to be left 
 alone ? " " Sir," replied my Sunday Scholar, bursting into 
 tears, " my father's wages are very small, and my poor 
 mother has already lost so many days in nursing me, that 
 she was obliged to go to work to-day, or we should have 
 had no fire and hardly anything to eat for the remainder of 
 the week." " And how is your appetite ? " I enquired of 
 the poor little sufferer. " Not very good, Sir," said she, 
 " and that makes my poor mother fret because she cannot 
 get the things I fancy I could eat." 
 
 Whilst she spoke I looked at Emma, whose eyes, suffused 
 with tears, were first fixed on the wan cheeks and sunken eyes 
 of the child, and then on me, with an imploring earnestness. 
 
 On leaving the house I perceived that Emma, chilled 
 with the unusual severity of the weather, shuddered as she 
 took my arm. " Oh, my dear papa," said she, with a soft 
 beseeching look, " will you not send these poor people in 
 some coals before we return home ? for I am sure I shall 
 have no pleasure by the side of our own comfortable fire if 
 that poor girl has none to warm her." " I cannot afford it, 
 Emma," I replied, " you remember I have promised you a 
 
 4*5 
 
THE LITTLE GRAMMARIAN. 
 
 pelisse, like Maria's ; it will therefore be necessary to refrain 
 from giving to this poor family, and perhaps to several 
 others, things which they greatly need." 
 
 The reproof was sufficient, and bursting into tears, she ex- 
 claimed " Forgive me, my dear papa ; and since vanity can 
 only be gratified by such cruel selfishness as this, I hope 
 I shall never again be ashamed if my clothes are not so ex- 
 pensive or so fashionable as Maria's." 
 
 I then immediately complied with her request and we 
 ordered in the coals, and purchased several little in- 
 dulgences which sickness converts into absolute necessaries. 
 And all these cost but a very inconsiderable part of the sum 
 which must have been expended on a new pelisse. 
 
 [From The Little Grammarian ; or an Easy Guide to the Parts 
 of Speech, in a series of Instructive and Amusing Tales. By 
 the Rev. IV. Fletcher, St./ohn's College, Cambridge. London : 
 John Harris, St. Paul's Churchyard. 1828.] 
 
 The following sentences are erroneous, therefore be 
 
 pleased to correct them at pleasure. 
 
 He run well. I has a boat. 
 
 We has a dog. We should not hurt no creature. 
 
 The flowers grows. He does not know nothing. 
 
 I has slept. John likes she. 
 
 Pigs squeaks. Neither him nor she were there. 
 
 She have a cat. John and Betsy has a ball. 
 
 He hit she. I will take these loaf. 
 
 John beat I. You behaved foolish. 
 
 Jane struck we. Good children never tell no lies. 
 
 I see he. Don't say nothing not to nobody. 
 
 This is he whom have done it. One may deceive themselves. 
 
 Him here boy was lazy. John were very eager to go. 
 
 That there dog is mine. He always behave well. 
 
 Them who hide can find. The dog who I bought is better 
 
 A dog who I found. than the one whom you sold. 
 
 416 
 
Mamma at Romps. 
 
 417 
 
 27 
 
The Darling Dancing 
 
 418 
 
The Darling Awake 1 
 
 419 
 
 *T 
 
The Darling Asleep ! 
 
 420 
 
Give me a Kiss ! 
 
 421 
 
Clarissa. 
 
 422 
 
Maternal Instruction. 
 
 423 
 
Filial Attention. 
 
 424 
 
-VS^/ZZ-- 
 
 ^v.^ 
 
 
 425 
 

 
 >.7~ ;;\.;^"2?.»y*S 
 
 426 
 
427 
 
429 
 
430- 
 
43* 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Admonition, The 
 
 
 306 
 
 Adventures of Joe Dobson .... 
 
 65 
 
 JEsop in Rhyme ...... 
 
 1 p 
 
 Alphabet (Amusing) for Young Children 
 
 • 165 
 
 Amusing Alphabet for Young Children . 
 
 • 165 
 
 Amusing Picture and Poetry Book, Harrison's 
 
 205 
 
 Anecdotes (Juvenile) Founded on Facts 
 
 395 
 
 Anecdotes of Mrs. Truegood's Scholars . 
 
 91 
 
 Bad Family, The .... 
 
 148 
 
 Ballroom, Visiting The 
 
 
 . 138 
 
 Ball, The Dandy's 
 
 
 363 
 
 Bazaar, Visit to the 
 
 
 315 
 
 Beasts, Birds and Fishes 
 
 
 200 
 
 Black Book, The . 
 
 
 399 
 
 Blaize, Mrs. Mary 
 
 
 95 
 
 Blind Child, The . 
 
 
 27 
 
 Book of Games 
 
 
 163 
 
 Cautious Mother, The . 
 
 
 400 
 
 Children, Original Rhymes for 
 
 
 305 
 
 Children's Magazine 
 
 
 31 
 
 Chimney Sweeper, The Little 
 
 
 405 
 
 Choice Collection of Pretty Songs 
 
 md Verses 
 
 161 
 
 Christmas Holidays 
 
 
 9 1 
 
 Coach, The 
 
 
 134 
 
 Cobler, Stick to your Last 
 
 
 65 
 
 Cockchafer, The .... 
 
 
 92 
 
 Collection of Simple Stories . 
 
 
 129 
 
 Comical Girl .... 
 
 . 
 
 3°5 
 
 433 
 
 28 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Contrast, The .... 
 
 Conversations Instructive and Amusing 
 
 Coughing 
 
 Cricket, Game at . 
 
 Cricket in 1812 . 
 
 Cries (London) for Children 
 
 Cries of London, as they are daily exhib 
 
 Streets 
 Crocus, The 
 Crowd, The 
 
 Cup of Sweets that can never Cloy 
 Curling 
 Curtesy, To make a 
 
 Dandy's Ball, The 
 
 Dangerous Sports . 
 
 Dangers of the Streets 
 
 Delightful Tales for Good Children 
 
 Directions for Young Ladies to attain 
 
 Carriage . 
 Disappointments of a Week 
 Disappointment, The . 
 Discontented Child, The 
 Dog glad of a Crumb . 
 Dr. Goldsmith's Mrs. Mary Blaize 
 Dutiful Son, The . 
 
 Easy Lessons 
 
 Easy Guide to the Parts of Speech 
 
 Elderly Gentleman, The 
 
 Elegant Girl, The 
 
 Ellen's Fairing 
 
 Emily Barton 
 
 Employment 
 
 ted 
 
 in the 
 
 a Genteel 
 
 434 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Evil of Going too near the Fire 
 
 PAGE 
 208 
 
 Excuse for not Visiting poor Susan 
 
 414 
 
 False Alarms 
 
 21 
 
 Familiar Letter-Writer 
 
 2 5 
 
 Familiar Representations .... 
 
 208 
 
 Fanny and Mary 
 
 347 
 
 Fanny and Mary, History of . 
 
 197 
 
 Fido . . 
 
 59 
 
 First Book of Poetry ..... 
 
 39 2 
 
 Foolish Fears 
 
 158 
 
 Game at Cricket ...... 
 
 409 
 
 Games, Book of ..... . 
 
 163 
 
 Gammer Garton's Garland .... 
 
 161 
 
 Generous Daughters, The .... 
 
 3 1 
 
 Gentility Defined ..... 
 
 4i3 
 
 Gentleman, The Elderly .... 
 
 275 
 
 Ghosts and Apparitions, Spectres and Hobgoblins 
 
 21 
 
 Glutton, The ...... 
 
 253 
 
 Going to School ...... 
 
 *33 
 
 Good Family, The ..... 
 
 J 53 
 
 Good Manners, Rudiments of 
 
 148 
 
 Good Uncle and x\unt, The .... 
 
 402 
 
 Goldfinch, History of a 
 
 210 
 
 Grammarian, The Little .... 
 
 416 
 
 Grateful School-fellow, The .... 
 
 39 6 
 
 Harrison's Amusing Picture and Poetry Book 
 
 205 
 
 Harris's Cabinet ...... 
 
 339 
 
 Henry 
 
 57 
 
 Hermitage, Tales of the 
 
 242 
 
 Hero of Romance, The .... 
 
 261 
 
 High Life in the City 
 
 3 6 3 
 
 Hockey . , 
 
 326 
 
 435 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Honours of the Table . 
 
 Hucklebones .... 
 
 Inducements to Virtuous Habits . 
 
 Infant Minds, Original Poems for . 
 
 James and the Shoulder of Mutton 
 
 James Manners, Little John and their Dog Bluff 
 
 Jingles 
 
 Joe Dobson, Adventures of 
 
 Journey to London 
 
 Juvenile Anecdotes founded on Facts 
 
 Juvenile Moralist . 
 
 Juvenile Pieces 
 
 Juvenile Sports, History of 
 
 Juvenile Tell-Tale 
 
 Juvenile Views of Happiness 
 
 Kidnapped Child . 
 
 Kind Tutor, The . 
 
 Lessons for Children 
 
 Lilliputian Magazine 
 
 Lily, The 
 
 Lion, The 
 
 Little Children, Verses for 
 
 Little Chimney Sweeper, The 
 
 Little Fisherman, The . 
 
 Little Grammarian, The 
 
 Little Mary and Her Cat, Story of 
 
 London Cries for Children 
 
 London, Journey to 
 
 London, Visit to . 
 
 Lucy and Hodge . 
 
 Mamma's Pictures 
 
 Manners (Jas.), Little John and their Dog Bluff 
 
 436 
 
INDEX. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Maria 
 
 3°9 
 
 Marmaduke Multiply's Multiplication Table . 
 
 287 
 
 Melvyn Lodge, Visit to 
 
 322 
 
 Mental Amusement, or the Juvenile Moralist . 
 
 28 
 
 Mint, The 
 
 333 
 
 Mischievous Doctrine of Ghosts and Apparitions 
 
 j 
 
 of Spectres and Hobgoblins 
 
 21 
 
 Moral Playthings 
 
 62 
 
 Moth, The 
 
 35 2 
 
 Mrs. Leicester's School ..... 
 
 220 
 
 Mrs. Mary Blaize ...... 
 
 95 
 
 Mrs. Truegood's Scholars, Anecdotes of. 
 
 91 
 
 Music ........ 
 
 127 
 
 Music and the Bird ... 
 
 J 37 
 
 New Pelisse, The ...... 
 
 414 
 
 New Riddle Book 
 
 43 
 
 Notorious Glutton. ..... 
 
 353 
 
 Nursery Morals ...... 
 
 3ii 
 
 Nursery Parnassus ..... 
 
 161 
 
 Old Man and his Calf 
 
 162 
 
 Original Poems for Infant Minds . 
 
 353 
 
 Original Poems intended fo the Use of Young 
 
 
 Persons ........ 
 
 92 
 
 Original Poems for Young People . 
 
 206 
 
 Original Poems on Popular and Familiar Subjects . 
 
 306 
 
 Original Rhymes for Children . . . . 
 
 3°5 
 
 Packet of Pictures for Good Children . 
 
 i37 
 
 Painter's Panegyrist, The . 
 
 52 
 
 Parent's Offering ....... 
 
 169 
 
 Parlour Guests ....... 
 
 306 
 
 Parlour Teacher ....... 
 
 5° 
 
 Peep into the Country for Children 
 
 J 34 
 
 437 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Pelisse, The New 
 
 Pence Tables (Harris's) 
 
 Peter the Great 
 
 Picturesque Piety ...... 
 
 Pig, The 
 
 Pleasing Instructor ..... 
 
 Poems Dissected ...... 
 
 Poems on Popular and Familiar Subjects 
 
 Poetry, First Book of 
 
 Polite Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen 
 
 Polly Pert, History of 
 
 Poor Susan, Excuse for not Visiting 
 
 Pretty Book of Pictures for Little Masters and Misses 
 
 Primrose Prettyface, History of 
 
 Proud Boy, The .... 
 
 Pressgang 
 
 Remedy, The .... 
 
 Renowned History of Primrose Prettyface 
 
 Riddle Book, New 
 
 Riding the Donkey 
 
 Rod, The . . . . . 
 
 Room, The ..... 
 
 Rose, The ..... 
 
 Rudiments of Good Manners. 
 
 Rules for Behaviour at Table 
 
 Rural Scenes .... 
 
 Sally Spellwell, History of 
 
 Schoolboy's Diversions 
 
 School, Mrs. Leicester's 
 
 School, The .... 
 
 Self-inflicted Correction. 
 
 Seymour (Edward), or a Model for Little Boys to Imitate 395 
 
 Shillings Transformed into Pounds . . . 233 
 
 438 
 
INDEX. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Simon Simple 
 
 ii 
 
 Sketch of my Friend's Family . 
 
 4i3 
 
 Skipping ......... 
 
 328 
 
 Songs for Little Misses 
 
 32 
 
 Sophia's Foolscap 
 
 357 
 
 Spider and his Wife, The 
 
 360 
 
 Spinning Wheel, The 
 
 132 
 
 Stage Waggon, The 
 
 136 
 
 Summer Rambles ...... 
 
 33 
 
 Sweep, The ....... 
 
 312 
 
 Tales for Children ..... 
 
 62, 169 
 
 Tales for Ellen 
 
 407 
 
 Tales of the Hermitage . 
 
 242 
 
 Tales from the Mountains .... 
 
 25 1 
 
 Tales Uniting Instruction with Amusement . 
 
 140 
 
 Tame Stag, The ...... 
 
 39 2 
 
 Throwing Squibs ...... 
 
 143 
 
 Tom and the Old Man .... 
 
 273 
 
 Tommy Trip's History of Beasts and Birds . 
 
 1 
 
 Town and Country Tales .... 
 
 381 
 
 Truant Boy, The ...... 
 
 166 
 
 True Source of Happiness .... 
 
 402 
 
 Tureen of Soup, The ..... 
 
 395 
 
 Useful Hints for Children .... 
 
 306 
 
 Verses for Little Children .... 
 
 198 
 
 Visiting the Ballroom ..... 
 
 . 138 
 
 Visit to London ...... 
 
 28 
 
 Visit to Melvyn Lodge ..... 
 
 322 
 
 Visit to the Bazaar ..... 
 
 3i5 
 
 Washing and Dressing ..... 
 
 357 
 
 Young Protector, The ..... 
 
 3*3 
 
 Young Reviewers, The .... 
 
 349 
 
 Youths, The ...... 
 
 3°7 
 
 439 
 
By Command Dedicated to\the Queen-Empress. 
 
 BARTOLOZZI AND HIS WORKS: Biographical, 
 
 Anecdotal, and Descriptive.- • By Andrew W. Tuer, F.S A. 
 Beautifully illustrated with engravings in .red and brown of the St. 
 James' and St. Giles' Beauties, from the original copperplates 
 engraved by Bartolozzi in 1783, etc. In two vellum-bound quarto 
 volumes. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd., 50 Leadenhall 
 Street, E.C. [Three Guineas. 
 
 "Contains a wealth of information." — Times. 
 
 By ^Command Dedicated to the Queen-Empress. 
 
 THE FOLLIES AND FASHIONS OF OUR GRAND- 
 FATHERS (1807). Embellished with thirty-seven whole-page Plates 
 of Ladies' and Gentlemen's Dress (hand-coloured and heightened with 
 gold and silver), Sporting and Coaching Scenes, etc., etc. By 
 Andrew W. Tuer, F.S.A. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, 
 Ltd., 50 Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Twenty-five Shillings. 
 
 By Command Dedicated to ihelQueen-Empress. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE HORN-BOOK. By Andrew W. 
 Tuer, F.S.A. With 300 illustrations. Three real Horn-Books are 
 recessed in the insides of the Cover. London : The Leadenhall Press, 
 Ltd., 50 Leadenhall Street, E.C. [Six Shillings. 
 
 76th THOUSAND. 
 
 OLD LONDON STREET CRIES AND THE CRIES 
 OF TO-DAY, with heaps of Quaint Cuts, including hand-coloured 
 frontispiece. By Andrew W. Tuer, F.S.A. LONDON : The 
 Leadenhall Press, Ltd., 50 Leadenhall Street, E.C. [One Shilling. 
 
 "Very amusing. Charmingly pretty. A wonderful shilling's-worth." — 
 
 Globe. 
 
 BYGONE BEAUTIES : a Select Series of Ten Portraits of 
 Ladies of Rank and ^Fashion, from paintings by John Hoppner, 
 R.A. , engraved by Charles Wilkin. Annotated by Andrew W. 
 Tuer, F.S.A. LONDON : The Leadenhall Press, Ltd., 50 Leaden- 
 hall Street, E.C. [One Guinea. 
 "A most attractive volume." — Times. 
 
 THE BOOK OF DELIGHTFUL AND STRANGE 
 
 DESIGNS, BEING ONE HUNDRED FACSIMILE ILLUSTRA- 
 TIONS OF the ART OF THE JAPANESE STENCIL-CUTTER, 
 to which the Gentle Reader is Introduced by Andrew W. Tuer, 
 F.S.A. LONDON: The Leadenhall Press, Ltd., 50 Leadenhall 
 Street, E.C. [Six Shillings. 
 
 " Quaint, beautiful and unique." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 PAGES AND PICTURES FROM FORGOTTEN CHILD- 
 REN'S BOOKS. Brought together and-introduced to'the Reader by 
 Andrew W. Tuer, F.S.A. Four hundred illustrations ; five hundred 
 pages, handsomely bound, top-edge gilt, silk book-marker. LONDON : 
 The Leadenhall Press, Ltd., 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. 
 
 [Six Shillings. 
 One hundred large paper copies at a Guinea, net. 
 
[ ADVERTISEMENT.] 
 400 Illustrations] "/" 
 
 [ 510 Pages 
 
 fORGOTTEN 
 (HIIPRENS BGDKS 
 
 *gg 
 
 BROUGHT TOGETHER AND 
 INTRODUCED TO THE READER BY 
 
 Andrew W. Tuer, f.s.a. 
 
 FOUR HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 4 
 
 & 
 
 Six Shillings, well bound, top edge gilt, silk book-marker. 
 One hundred and twelve copies on large paper at a Guinea. 
 
 1898-9 
 London : The Leadenhall Prefs, Ltd : 50, Leadenhall Street, E.C. 
 
 Simpkin, ^Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., Ltd: 
 Wew York : Charles Scribner's Sons, 153-157, Fifth ^Avenue. 
 
 Contains a Wealth of quaint illustration and amusing text quite unknown 
 to the present generation. 
 
PUBLISHERS' NOTE ON 
 
 "Forgotten Children's Books." 
 
 WHILE in earlier days children had to put up 
 with many books of the goody-goody and 
 deadly dull order, their literature was leavened 
 with others so amusing that editions continued to 
 appear long after the little ones had grown up and 
 perhaps had offspring of their own. 
 
 When the century was young, writers of books 
 for children were given to italicising and illustra- 
 tors followed suit. Hence, if we find a spider's 
 web pictured in a story it will almost certainly be 
 drawn big enough to capture a man on horseback, 
 and a lady described as "tall," may be limned 
 nearly as high as the forest trees in front of which 
 she stands. The modern child may possibly 
 receive such exaggerations with an amused or 
 satirical smile, but the parents or friends who 
 presented and the little ones who read these 
 forgotten books probably discovered nothing 
 inappropriate. 
 
 It is difficult to determine whether cuts or text 
 in old nursery literature are the more amusing. 
 
 " Her dress was always clean and neat, 
 Her face was never nasty ; 
 She always washed her hands before 
 She made an apple-pasty." 
 
 " Dogs are capable of drawing a great weight, and two of 
 them may travel several miles a day with a child or two in a 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 chaise.'' (The employment of dogs as beasts of burden was 
 long ago abolished by Act of Parliament.) 
 
 " It is a sin to cheat one's mother, 
 As great as cheating any other." 
 
 The bibliomaniac has taken under his wing, 
 amongst others, the children's books that Charles 
 Lamb either wrote or is supposed to have written. 
 A copy of " Lamb's Poetry for Children," " Prince 
 Dorus," or "Beautv and the Beast," which have 
 not escaped Mr. Tuer's industry, may now-a-days 
 bring in a book-sale thirty or forty pounds each. 
 There are, however, rarities in the way of quaintly 
 illustrated children's books of our great-grand- 
 parents' time which may yet be picked up for a 
 shilling, and sometimes a treasure may be dug 
 out of the second-hand bookseller's two-penny 
 dip-box. 
 
 Mr. Tuer has utilized his extensive collection 
 of early children's books* in the compilation of 
 " Pages and Pictures from Forgotten Children's 
 Books " (Leadenhall Press — Six Shillings), from 
 which the foregoing extracts are taken. He re 
 produces in facsimile some four hundred cuts ac 
 companied by "tastes" of the original descriptive 
 text, culled from upwards of a hundred quaintly 
 amusing little volumes dating from the later years 
 of the last century up to the thirties in this. 
 
 * A genuine old specimen of the highly-coloured and gilt-embossed Dutch 
 paper, now only to be found in the cabinets of the curious, appears in the 
 Introduction, and it is stated therein that should the supply give out an 
 engraved block will have to be substituted. Such paper, it will be remem- 
 bered, was used a hundred years ago for rendering the covers of children's 
 books attractive to young eyes. 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 From "The Entertaining Game of 
 The Pretty, Playful, Tortoise-Shell Cat." 
 
 [See page 125. 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 CRICKET. 
 
 Cricket is a game universally played in England 
 not by boys only, for men of all ranks pique them- 
 selves on playing it with skill. In Mary-le-bone parish 
 there is a celebrated cricket ground much frequented 
 by noblemen and gentlemen. 
 
 The wicket consists of two pieces of wood fixed 
 upright and kept together by another piece which is 
 laid across the top and is called a bail ; if either of 
 these pieces of wood be thrown down by the ball, the 
 person so hitting them becomes the winner. 
 
 The ball used in this game is stuffed exceedingly 
 hard. Many windows and valuable looking-glasses 
 have been broken by playing cricket in a room. 
 
 From "Sports of Childhood," 1813. 
 
 [See pages 261 and 484. 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 There was a little man, 
 And he wooed a little maid, 
 And he said "Little Maid, 
 
 Will you wed, wed, wed ? 
 I have little more to say, 
 Than will you, aye or nay, 
 For the least said 
 
 Is soonest amended, ded." 
 
 From " Memoirs of the Little Man and the Little Maid," 1808. 
 
 [See page 1S5. 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 From " The Adventures of Fifteen Young Ladies. 
 
 [See page 428. 
 
FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS 
 
 From "The Elegant Girl." 
 
 [See page 421. 
 

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( 4 ) 
 
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 OLD LONDON STREET 
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 OF TO-DAY. With heaps of 
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 ECHOES : A MUSICAL BIRTHDAY BOOK. By the Hon. 
 
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 THE SOCIALISM OF TO-DAY. By Emile de Laveleye, 
 
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( 8 ) 
 
 NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 ON THE STAGE— AND OFF. The brief career of a would- 
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 THE PERFECT WAY ; or, The Finding of Christ. By 
 
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( 9 ) 
 SUN AND SERPENT SERIES.— I. 
 
 •X-Y-Z- AND OTHER POEMS, by John LasCElles. 
 
 Light and darkness ; good and evil ; 
 
 Through life's mazes run ! 
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( io ) 
 ILLUSTRATED SHILLING SERIES 
 
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 FORGOTTEN CHILDREN'S BOOKS. 
 
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 of little masters and misses " must now be looked for in the cabinets of the 
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 i. THE DAISY; or, Cautionary Stories in Verse, 
 
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 3. NEW RIDDLE- BOOK. By John-the-Giant-Killer, 
 
 Esquire. 1778. 
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 other volumes are in preparation. 
 
 LONDON : 
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( II ) 
 
 FIFTY HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED PEN-AND-INK 
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( 12 ) 
 
 
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( 
 
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 FROGGY ; OR, MY LORD MAYOR : a Story of the Trials 
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( 14 ) 
 
 ECHOES : A MUSICAL BIRTHDAY BOOK. By the Hon. 
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 PRINCE DORUS. By Charles Lamb. A reproduction of 
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 MODERN MEN. By A Modern Maid. Contents: The Deeay 
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 TRICKS AND TRICKSTERS. Tales founded on fact from 
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 THROUGH ENGLAND ON A SIDE-SADDLE IN THE 
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 LONDON : The Leadenhall Press, Ltd : 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. 
 
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 a quaint old treasury of decorative drawings for leaded glass. 
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 A BOOKE OF SVNDRY DRAVGHTES, Principaly ferving 
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 fides fundry other profefiions : whereunto is annexed the manner how to 
 anniel in Glas: And alfo the true forme of the Fornace, and the fecretes 
 thereof. By Walter Gidde. London, 1615. [Quarto.] LONDON: 
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 Bound in strong limp parchment, with leather thongs at side 
 
 (facsimile of the original binding) [Six Shillings. 
 
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 An original copy of the book (published in 1615) is worth its 
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( i5 ) 
 
 British Museum is without one. The volume from which this 
 reproduction is faithfully facsimiled came from the celebrated 
 library of the Earl of Ashburnham, recently dispersed at Messrs. 
 Sotheby's sale-rooms. 
 
 The author describes his work as "not Impertinent" for 
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 The specimen cuts shewn below are portions of pages reduced. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 \j [/ 
 
 
 i^rkAN 
 
 V 
 
 
 [ ) k 1 z 1 ■» ' 
 
( 16 ) 
 
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 BABY'S RECORD: With Spaces for Mother's Notes 
 
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( 17 ) 
 
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( 18 ) 
 ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE: or a Jest in Sober 
 
 Earnest: Ninth Edition. LONDON : The Leadenhall Press, Ltd: 
 50, Leadenhall-street, E.C. [One Shilling. 
 
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( 19 ) 
 
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