Domestic Pleasures, or, the Happy Fire-side Part 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Method, as Mrs. More says, is the very hinge of business, and there is no method without punctuality. Punctuality is important, because it subserves the peace and good-temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on necessary duty, but sometimes excludes this duty.

Punctuality is important, as it gains time: it is like packing things in a box; a good packer will get in as much again as a bad one. The calmness of mind which it produces, is another advantage of punctuality.

A disorderly man is always in a hurry: he has no time to speak with you, because he is going elsewhere; and, when he gets there, he is too late for his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it. It was a wise maxim of the Duke of Newcastle:--'I do one thing at a time.' Punctuality gives weight to character. Such a man has made an appointment;--then I know he will keep it. And this generates punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself.

Servants and children must be punctual, where their leader is so.

Appointments, indeed, become debts.--I owe you punctuality, if I have made an appointment with you; and have no right to throw away your time, if I do my own."

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

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

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

_Louisa_. Is it not Death, mamma?

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

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

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

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

CONVERSATION VIII

A very fine autumnal morning induced Mrs. Bernard to excuse the children some of their lessons, that they might avail themselves of the opportunity it afforded of enjoying a country walk, at this delightful season of the year. She considered every object in nature, as a book from which, with a careful guide, much useful instruction might be derived; and she never neglected any opportunity of enlarging their minds, and elevating their thoughts, by directing their attention from the various beauties of creation, to the kind and omnipotent Father, who has graciously prepared for his dependent children, so many unmerited blessings.

"Pray, mamma, what has become of all the swallows we saw flying about a few weeks ago?" enquired Ferdinand: "I cannot see one now. I was very much amused, when we last walked this way, in watching their rapid motions: other birds are here as usual, but I do not observe a single swallow."

Mrs. Bernard took him by the hand, saying, "You have, my dear boy, put a question to me, which I shall not be able to answer to your satisfaction. It is a subject that has puzzled naturalists more than many others, and opinions upon it are still very various. Some suppose that they migrate into milder climates, whilst others conclude, they conceal themselves in some warm spot, and lie dormant, as is the case with many animals during the severity of the winter months. In confirmation of this latter opinion, some few have been discovered in sandbanks, apparently dead, but, upon being laid before the fire, have recovered their former vigour. If, however, the vast mult.i.tudes that visit us, universally adopted this mode of concealment, they would be, no doubt, frequently discovered in their winter retreats, which is not the case. Mr. White, of Selborne, a man of great observation, particularly directed his attention to this point, but was not able to decide it to his own satisfaction. I think he seems of opinion, that the majority of them migrate, and that some few of late broods, which have not attained sufficient strength to join the travellers, conceal themselves as before mentioned, reviving upon the return of spring."

_Ferdinand_. They seem to be curious birds: will you be so kind, mamma, as to tell us some particulars respecting them? Pray, are not martins very similar in their habits to swallows?

_Mrs. B._ They belong to the same order, called _hirundines_. There are four kinds of British _hirundines_:--the house-martin, the swallow, the swift, and the bank-martin, which have each habits peculiar to themselves. The swallow is the first that makes its appearance in spring; generally about the middle of April. It frequently builds in chimneys, five or six feet from the top, and prefers those stacks where there is a constant fire; no doubt, for the sake of the warmth. It does not select the immediate shaft where there is a fire, but prefers one adjoining the kitchen, and disregards the smoke by which it is almost continually enveloped. The nest of the swallow, like that of the house- martin, consists of a sh.e.l.l, composed of dirt or mud, mixed with short pieces of straw to strengthen it. The shape is, however, somewhat different: it is lined with fine gra.s.s and feathers, which are collected by the little architects as they float in the air. Having constructed their dwelling, the hen lays from four to six white eggs, dotted with red specks, and brings out her first brood about the last week in June.

I have been frequently amused in watching the progressive method by which the young ones are introduced into life: they first emerge from their place of concealment with difficulty, and frequently I have found a young one in the parlour, which had fallen down the chimney in its first attempt to leave the next. For a day or two, the old ones feed them on the chimney-top, after which, they conduct them to the dead bough of some tree near at hand, where they continue attending them with the greatest a.s.siduity. In a few days after this, the young brood is enabled to fly, but it is some time longer before the little creatures can take their own food; until which time, they are fed by the parent birds, with the most affectionate solicitude. As soon as they are disengaged from their necessary attendance on their first brood, they betake themselves to the business of rearing a second, which they bring out towards the end of August. This little bird is an instructive pattern of unwearied industry and affection; for, from morning till night, whilst their young ones require support, they spend the whole day in their service. Their food consists of flies, gnats, and a small species of beetle, and they drink as they fly along, sipping the surface of the water. They settle, occasionally, on the ground, to pick up gravel, which is necessary to grind and digest the food of all birds.

[Footnote: for the preceding and following account, see White's Natural History of Selberne.]

_Ferdinand_. Pray mamma, how can we distinguish a swallow from the other species of _hirundines_? I think that is the name by which you call them.

"By the length and forkedness of their tails," returned Mrs. Bernard: "they are much more nimble, too, than the other species."

_Louisa_. Do they always build in chimneys, pray, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ Although the shaft of a chimney is the place of which they usually make choice for this purpose, they sometimes vary their plan.

In Sir Ashton Lever's Museum, was the nest of a swallow built on the wings and body of an owl, which happened, by accident, to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn; and another in a large sh.e.l.l, which was, the following year, suspended in the same place. You have, no doubt, my dear children, all observed vast flocks of swallows a.s.semble together on the roofs of houses; they chirp, and chatter, and seem very busy, preparing for their ensuing migration, and consulting, as it were, upon the plan most proper to be adopted on this occasion. I have often wished, at such times, that I could understand their language. There is seldom one of these birds to be seen after the middle of October; but to what regions they fly, we do not exactly know; though I read, in Dr.

Russel's account of Aleppo, that numbers of these birds visit that country towards the end of February, when they build as in Europe, and, having hatched their young, disappear about the end of July. They are also said to be by no means uncommon North America. Sir Charles Wager and Captain Wright, saw vast flocks of them at sea, when on their pa.s.sage from one country another. White, in a pretty little poem, which he calls "The Naturalist's Summer Evening Walk," addresses them as follows:

"Amusive birds! say where your hid retreat, When the frost rages, and the tempests beat; Whence your return, by such nice instinct led, When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head? Such baffled searches mock man's prying pride, The G.o.d of nature is your secret guide."

Professor Kahn, in his travels into America, relates an interesting anecdote, of a pair of swallows which built their nest in a stable belonging to a lady of his acquaintance. The female laid her eggs, and was about to brood them: some days elapsed, and the people saw the female still sitting on the eggs, but the male, flying about the nest, and sometimes settling on a nail, was herd to utter a very plaintive note, which betrayed his uneasiness. On a nearer examination the female was found dead on the nest, and, on her being removed, the male took his seat upon the eggs; but after remaining upon them about two hours, he went out, and returned in the afternoon, bringing with him another female, which sat upon the nest, and afterwards fed the young ones till they were able to provide for themselves, with as much a.s.siduity and kindness as their natural parent could have done.

The children were all much interested in the account which their mother had given them, and united in requesting some information respecting the other species of _hirundines_. This, Mrs. Bernard most willingly gave them, as follows:

"The house-martin, my dears, usually appears a few days later than the swallow. For some time after their arrival, they play and sport about, without any preparation for constructing their nests, which they do not attempt to build till about the middle of May. At this season, if the weather be fine, they begin seriously to think of providing a mansion for their little family. This bird usually builds against a perpendicular wall, without any projection to support the fabric; it is, therefore, very necessary that the first foundation should be firmly fixed. For this purpose, the prudent little architect is careful not to advance in her work too rapidly. By building only in the morning, and dedicating the remainder of the day to food and amus.e.m.e.nt, she gives it sufficient time to dry and harden, seldom building more than half an inch in a day."

_Ferdinand_. Mamma, I have seen workmen, when they build mud walls, raise but a little at a time, and then leave off: very likely it was their observation of the martin's plan, which first taught them this prudent caution.

_Mrs. B._ Very probably, my dear. We might learn many a useful lesson from the sagacity and careful economy of animals, were we not above attending to such humble instructors.

_Ferdinand_. Yes, mamma; the shepherd, in one of Gay's Fables, which I learned the other day, gained almost all his wisdom from his observation of animals. You know, he says to the philosopher:----

"The cheerful labours of the bee, Awake my soul to industry, Who can observe the careful ant, And not provide for future want? My dog, (the trustiest of his kind,) With grat.i.tude inflames my mind; I mark his true, his faithful way, And in my service, copy Tray--In constancy and nuptial love, I learn my duty from the dove. The hen, who from the chilly air, With pious wing protects her care, And every fowl that flies at large, instruct me in a parent's charge.

Thus every object in creation; Can furnish hints to contemplation; And from the most minute and mean, A virtuous mind can morals glean."

_Mrs. B._ Very true, my dear: and I am pleased to find you have materials at hand to support your opinion.

_Ferdinand_. But I have interrupted you, mamma, in your account. Pray go on, for I am very much interested in it, and want to know in how many days the careful little laborers complete their house.

_Mrs. B._ In about ten or twelve days the mansion is finished; strong, compact, warm, and perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it was intended; but very often, after this industrious little bird has finished the sh.e.l.l of its nest, the house-sparrow seizes it as its own, turning out the rightful master, and lining it after its own manner.

_Ferdinand_. Poor little bird! how I should pity him, to be deprived of his house after having constructed it with so much labour. I should think, such strong nests would last more than one season, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ And so they do, my dear. Martins will continue to breed for several years together in the same nest, when it happens to be well sheltered, and secure from the injuries of the weather. The hen lays from four to six white eggs; and, like the swallow, as soon as the young are able to s.h.i.+ft for themselves, the old ones turn their thoughts to the business of rearing a second brood. About the beginning of October, they retire in vast flocks together.

_Louisa_. How are house-martins distinguished from the others, pray, mamma??