Domestic Pleasures, or, the Happy Fire-side Part 4

_Emily._ Had not your and my dear father early installed into us a love of reading, how very much our present enjoyments would be lessened.

_Mrs. B._ We have always, my dear considered it as an important point in your education; since no amus.e.m.e.nt so delightfully occupies the vacant hours of life, even where entertainment is the princ.i.p.al object.

It is one of those tastes that grows by indulgence: there is scarcely any enjoyment so independent of the will of others: it engages and employs the thoughts of the wretched, directs the enthusiasm of the young, and relieves the weariness of old age. Well might the amiable Fenelon say: "If the crowns of all the kingdoms of Europe were laid at my feet, in exchange for my love of reading, I would spurn them all."

_Louisa_. Now, Ferdinand, I know you long to tell mamma your droll story about the dog.

_Ferdinand_. Well, mamma, when we got into the garden, I was very much amused with a nice little terrier, and Mrs. Horton said, she thought we should be entertained with an anecdote or two she could tell us respecting him. The dog belongs to her brother, who is an elderly gentleman, and wears a wig. He used to keep one hung up on a peg in his dressing-room, and, as it was grown very shabby, he one day gave it away to a poor old man. The dog happened soon after to see him in the street. He knew the wig again in a minute; and, looking full in the man's face, made a sudden spring, leaped upon his shoulders, seized the wig, and ran off with it as fast as he could; and, when he reached home, endeavoured, by jumping, to hang it in its usual place.

_Mrs. B._ I think your story very amusing, Ferdinand: it is a curious instance of sagacity.

_Emily_. The other circ.u.mstance which Mrs. Horton mentioned, of the same animal, proves him equally sagacious. He was one day pa.s.sing through a field, where a washerwoman had hung out her linen to dry; he stopped, and surveyed one particular s.h.i.+rt with attention, then seizing it, he dragged it through the dirt to his master, whose s.h.i.+rt it proved to be. [Footnote: See Bingley's Animal Biography.]

_Edward_. Well, now, mamma, please to listen to my story about the cat.

_Mrs. B._ By all means, my dear.

_Edward_. As we were walking near the house, I was surprised to see a fine cat, with a pretty little leveret gambolling and frolicking by her side. Mrs. Horton told us, that, about a fortnight ago, the farmer's boy brought this poor little creature into the house, having found it, almost starved to death, in a hole, in consequence, I suppose, of some accident having happened to its mother. Mrs. Horton gave directions that it should be fed and kept warm. The servants grew very fond of it, and were quite grieved, one day, suddenly to miss it. They concluded that some cat or dog had killed it, and never expected to see their little favourite again. However, yesterday, in the dusk of the evening, they observed the cat in the garden, with something gambolling after her, which, to their great delight, they discovered to be the leveret.

They then recollected that poor puss had been deprived of a litter of kittens, on the very day that their favourite had so mysteriously disappeared. The cat had adopted him in the place of her own little ones, nourished him with her milk, and continues still to support him with the greatest affection [Footnote: See Bingley's Animal Biography].

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

_Ferdinand_. Well, mamma, besides the accounts we have given you, Mrs.

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

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

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

_Mrs. B._ Did Mrs. Horton tell you any thing more respecting the peac.o.c.k?

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

_Mrs. B._ In China, a peac.o.c.k's feather hanging from the cap, is considered as a mark of high distinction; and Sir George Staunton, in his account of the Emba.s.sy to China, mentions a circ.u.mstance of a legate of the emperor, who was degraded from his office, for disobeying the orders of his imperial majesty, being reduced to wear an opaque white, instead of a transparent blue b.u.t.ton, and a crow's instead of a peac.o.c.k's tail-feather pendant from his cap. The splendour of this bird's plumage certainly demands our highest admiration, but, independent of its beauty, it has few excellencies to boast. Its voice is extremely harsh and disagreeable, and its gluttony is a great counterbalance to its personal charms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Edward_. Do not suppose the Roman cause quite desperate. It is true, they had but one champion remaining, but he was both unhurt and undaunted, while all the Curiatii were wounded. He, however, did not conceive himself able to attack the three brothers at once, and therefore made use of a stratagem to separate them. He pretended fear, and fled before them. The Curiatii pursued him at unequal distances.

Horatius turned short upon the foremost, and slew him. He then flew to the next, who soon shared his brother's fate. The only remaining Curiatii was so severely wounded, that he could scarcely support his s.h.i.+eld, and offered no resistance to the attack of the conquering Horatius. Thus ended the famous combat, which gave Rome the superiority over Alba.

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

_Edward_. Ah! that tarnished all the glory of Horatius, in my opinion.

It was so natural she should weep for such a loss.

_Mrs. B._ Flushed with conquest, Horatius lost his self-possession.

Often do we find heroes, who can subdue their enemies in the field, the weakest of the weak, when the combat is against their own evil pa.s.sions.

Self-knowledge, and self-possession, are most important acquirements.

They are excellencies I must earnestly desire for each of you, my dear children. But we have not time for further conversation to-night: you have all exerted yourselves extremely to-day, and must feel fatigued.

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

_Mrs. B._ Indeed, my Louisa, your heavy eyes tell a different tale.

Ferdinand, too, looks very sleepy. Good night, my dear children.

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

CONVERSATION IV.

"Now, my dears, have you your work prepared for the evening?" said Mrs.

Bernard, rising from the tea-table.

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

"And mine too, I believe," said Louisa, opening her work-bag. "Oh!

dear, no, I have used up all my thread. I quite forgot that. And where can my thimble be? I am sure I thought I had put it into my bag.

Emily, have you seen my thimble? I dare say you have got it, you are so apt to take my things."

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

"Well, that is the very thing that makes me think I have lost them,"

said Louisa, rather petulantly. "It is very tiresome of you, Emily. I do wish you never would touch any thing that belongs to me."

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

She has not, therefore, been the cause of your misfortune to-day."

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

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

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

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