Domestic Pleasures, or, the Happy Fire-side Part 5

_Louisa_. Indeed, Emily is very fortunate, mamma. She never has occasion to lose her time in looking for things, and, I do believe, that is one reason why she gets on so much faster with her work than I do.

_Mrs. B._ It is a very probably conjecture, my dear; but you must not attribute the cause merely to good-fortune: Emily is attentive to the excellent maxim: "A place for every thing, and every thing in its place," and if you would endeavour, in this respect, to follow her example, you would find the same comfortable effects resulting from it.

_Louisa_. Well, mamma, and so I have a place for my things. My work- bag is exactly like Emily's.

"But you do not make exactly the same use of it," said Mrs. Bernard.

Here Ferdinand interposed, with a proposition, that they should all go and have a good hunt for the thimble, as it would hurt Louisa's finger sadly, to work all the evening without one.

Louisa expressed her thanks to Ferdinand for his kindness, adding, "I am quite sorry my carelessness has given every body so much trouble. If I find my thimble this once, I will endeavour, in future, to copy Emily's example, and be more careful."

Mrs. Bernard highly approved this determination, and added, "I hope you will be able to keep your resolution, my dear. You will find the comfort resulting from the adoption of method, an ample recompence for any little trouble it may at first occasion you. Now, make haste; I wish you success in your search." _They go out._

After some time, Louisa returned with a disappointed countenance, which convinced Mrs. Bernard that her search had been in vain. The gloom was, however, soon banished by the entrance of Ferdinand, who, smiling with exultation, held out the stray thimble, and exclaimed, "I have found it, Louisa! Here it is! When you went to wash your hands, you left it in the closet."

"Oh, thank you, Ferdinand! thank you!" cried Louisa. "How glad I am to see it again! Pray, Emily, excuse my having been so cross to you just now."

"That I do, most willingly," said Emily. "Indeed, I had already forgotten your little momentary fit of anger."

"Come, let us now sit down to work, without further loss of time," said their mother. "It gives me most sincere pleasure, my dear children, to see in you a disposition to a.s.sist each other in any little case of difficulty. Nothing tends so much to cement brotherly love, as politeness and attention. In many families this is a thing much neglected; and I have seen more disagreements arise, from a rude, contradictory disposition, than from any other cause whatever. I know you like to have our instructions ill.u.s.trated by a story, particularly if it be founded on fact. Your father will, therefore, I am sure, give you an account of a friend of his, who experienced the most beneficial effects, from adopting kind, conciliatory manners, in opposition to rudeness and incivility."

"I shall relate the circ.u.mstance with much pleasure," replied Mr.

Bernard, "because I am convinced, a most excellent lesson may be learnt from it; and, as I know the parties, I can a.s.sure you it is perfectly true. An elderly gentleman, with a very large fortune, but no family, adopted a nephew and niece, the orphan children of two of his sisters.

His object was, when they were of a proper age, to unite them to each other by marriage, intending that the whole of his immense possesions should centre in them; but he was much disappointed to find, instead of the affection which he expected to witness, an extreme dislike subsisting between the young people, which strengthened as they advanced in years. Their uncle's presence imposed upon them some restraint, but, when alone, they gave full scope to their dislike, teasing and tormenting each other by every means in their power. When the young man attained his twenty-second, and the young lady her nineteenth year, they lost their uncle, who had been to them as a parent. The only sentiment in which they united, was a tender regard to this common friend; and deeply did they lament his death. The idea that they should now be freed from the irksome inc.u.mbrance of each other's company, however, afforded them some consolation. Under these impressions, you may judge of the dismay they both experienced, upon opening their uncle's will, to find that his fortune was left equally between them, provided they accomplished his wish, by uniting their destinies; but, whichever refused fulfilling these conditions, was to forfeit all claim to the money and estates. Thunder-struck at this appalling sentence, the young man retired to his chamber, and spent some hours in solitude, considering what line of conduct it would be best for him to pursue.

Always accustomed to affluence, the horrors of poverty presented themselves before him in dreadful array; yes, a union with his cousin, seemed an alternative still more formidable:--he knew not how to determine. She, in the mean time, suffered no less anxiety. The same fears agitated her mind. She was well aware of her cousin's dislike to her, and hoped it would prevent his making those proposals which she dreaded to hear. At length, he joined her in the garden, and addressed her as follows:--'You have heard the contents of our uncle's will, Emma.

It places us both in a most painful situation. It were vain to profess for you an affection, I neither can, or do I believe I ever shall feel; but, yielding to the necessity of my circ.u.mstances, I offer you my hand.' 'The same sentiment induces me to accept your offer,' said the dejected Emma, with a heavy sigh; but surely, by such a union, we both bid adieu to happiness for ever.'--'Our prospect certainly does not promise us much felicity,' rejoined the young man, 'yet I cannot help thinking, a moderate share of happiness may still be within our power.

Hitherto, our chief andeavour has been to thwart and irritate each other; let us, henceforth, employ the same pains to conciliate and oblige. Great affection, on either side, we will not expect: but let us resolve to maintain, on all occasions, a spirit of politeness and of good-will towards each other.' To this the young lady readily a.s.sented, and, under those circ.u.mstances, they were married. They persevered in their wise resolution. I have known them many years, and never did I see a couple more affectonately attached to each other."

_Edward_. It is a very interesting account, indeed, papa.

_Mr. B._ It is a story from which much solid instruction may be derived, my dear. People in general, are by no means aware what a powerful influence those attentions, which they deem trifling, leave upon the happiness of life. They think, on _important_ occasions, they should be willing to make great sacrifices for those they love; but do not reflect how rarely such occasions present themselves; whereas, opportunities are daily, nay, hourly occurring, for the discharge of mutual kind offices, which powerfully tend to cement the affectionate ties of friendship. Edward, did you not commit to memory the pa.s.sage upon politeness, we read in Xenophon's Cyropaedia the other day?

_Edward._ I did, papa.

Mr. B. Repeat it to us, my dear.

_Edward._ Politeness is an evenness of soul, which excludes, at the same time, both insensibility and too much earnestness. It supposes a quick discernment, to perceive, immediately, the different characters of men; and, by a sweet condescension, adapts itself to each man's taste, not to flatter, but to calm his pa.s.sions. In a word, it is a forgetting of ourselves, in order to seek what may be agreeable to others, but, in so delicate a manner, as to let them scarce perceive that we are so employed. It knows how to contradict with respect, and to please without adulation; and is equally remote from an insipid complaisance, and a low familiarity.

_Louisa._ Pray, papa, who was the gentleman you were speaking of, a little time ago?

_Mr. B._ That cannot concern you at all, Louisa. His name is of no consequence to the moral of my tale.

_Edward._ Louisa is always so curious; we often laugh at her for it.

_Mrs. B._ It is a foolish and dangerous propensity, when it is carried into the minor concerns of life. A laudable curiosity, whose object is the improvement of the mind, should at all times be encouraged; and you will never, on such occasions, find either your father or myself, backward in satisfying it to the best of our abilities.

_Louisa._ I have been often told that it is wrong, mamma, and will really try to amend.

_Mr. B._ I most earnestly wish you success in your endeavour, Louisa.

Curiosity was the fault of our first parents, you know. How much misery did this fatal propensity in Eve, entail upon the human race!

_Ferdinand._ Oh, mamma, may I tell Louisa that droll story, which I read to you the other day, about the poor wood-cutter's wife?

_Mrs. B._ I have no objection, provided Louisa would like to hear it.

_Louisa._ Yes, I should, mamma; for I do not mind being told of my faults, because I wish to amend them.

"That is perfectly right, my love," said Mrs. Bernard: "I admire your candour, and have no doubt that, with such a desire, your efforts will prove successful. She then requested Ferdinand to begin his story, which he did, as follows:

"A gentleman riding one morning through a wood, saw a poor man very busily employed in cutting down trees, whilst his wife was collecting the branches into bundles. She sighed heavily, from heat and fatigue, and complained sadly of their hard fate, laying all the blame upon Adam and Eve, whose fatal curiosity was the cause of man's being obliged to earn his bread by such hard labour. The gentleman got off his horse, and going up to these poor people, he began to talk to the woman, and enquired, whether, if she had been in Eve's place, she would not have been very likely to have done the same thing. 'No,' said the woman: 'if I had every thing necessary for me, without working, I should certainly be quite contented." 'Well,' said the gentleman, 'in order to silence your complaints, I will take you and your husband to my own house, where you shall have apartments to yourselves, servants to wait upon you, a carriage to attend you, and my park and gardens to amuse yourselves in.

The continuance of these enjoyments shall depend entirely upon yourselves. You shall have a table spread with dishes; but the middle dish shall always remain covered, and if ever you uncover it, to examine its contents, you shall immediately return to your present situation.'

The poor man and woman were delighted with the gentleman's proposal. The very next day, they removed to their new abode. The novelty of every object with which they were surrounded, filled them with delight. For some time they enjoyed themselves extremely, and never once thought of the covered dish; but, by degrees, all these delights lost the charm of novelty. Their walks were always the same, and, although they had plenty of nice things to eat, their appet.i.tes were not so good as when they worked hard for their living. One day the woman said: 'I wonder what there is under that cover?' After this, their wonder increased every day, till at last they determined, by taking a little peep, to satisfy their curiosity. They accordingly lifted up the cover, when, instantly, out jumped a little mouse, and away it ran. They now saw their folly, and were sadly vexed with themselves: but it was too late to complain.

They returned to their daily labour, and from their own experience learned a useful lesson, and never blamed Adam and Eve any more."

"I think, mamma, we may all learn a useful lesson from this story," said Edward, as Ferdinand concluded his account: "for I am sure I often feel curious to discover things, that are not of the least consequence to me."

_Louisa_. Is it a true story, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ I do not know, my dear; but the picture it draws of human nature is true, and, on that account, the instruction it conveys is valuable.

_Mr. B._ Let us now turn our attention to history again. We concluded, last night, with the rash murder of his sister, committed by Horatius.

Did he undergo any punishment for this crime?

_Edward_. Yes, father: it was thought of dangerous consequence to slacken the rigour of the laws, in favour of any person, merely on account of his bravery and success in battle. The king was puzzled how to act. He was divided between a regard for the laws, and a desire to save the young warrior, who had rendered him such important service.

_Mr. B._ How did Tullus extricate himself from this difficulty, Emily?

_Emily_. He turned it into a state crime, and appointed two commissioners to try him as a traitor. As the fact was so publicly known, and Horatius did not deny it, he was found guilty, and condemned to be executed; but, by the king's advice, he appealed to an a.s.sembly of the people, whose authority was superior to that of the monarch himself; and they, from admiration of his courage, rather than the justice of his cause, revoked the sentence that had been pa.s.sed against him. However, that he might not go wholly unpunished, they condemned him to pa.s.s under the yoke, a disgrace to which prisoners of war were subject.

_Mr. B_. What was the yoke, Ferdinand?

_Ferdinand_. It was a kind of gallows, papa, in the shape of a door- case.

_Mr. B._ Did Horatius, then, receive no honour for his victory, Louisa?

_Louisa_. Yes, papa: a square column was erected in the middle of the Forum, and the spoils of the Curiatii were hung upon it.

_Mr. B._ Did the Romans continue at peace, after the victory of Horatius?

_Edward_. No, father: they went to war, successively, with the Fidenates, Latins, and Sabines; in all of which the Romans were successful.

_Mr. B._ How was the life of Tullus Hostilius terminated, Emily?

_Emily_. Historians differ in their accounts. Some suppose he was struck by lightning, whilst others imagine he fell by the hand of Ancus Martius, his successor.

_Mr. B._ Ferdinand, can you give us a short sketch of the character of Tullus Hostilius, from what you have heard of him.

_Ferdinand_. He was very much inclined to fighting, papa. Generosity and personal courage were his chief merit. He rekindled in the Romans the love of war, which Numa had endeavoured to suppress. He acquired to the Roman state a great name, but did not add to the real happiness of his people.