The Looking-Glass for the Mind Part 15

CLARISSA; OR, THE GRATEFUL

ORPHAN.

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The amiable Dorinda, soon after the misfortune of losing her husband, was so unhappy as to have a law-suit determined to her disadvantage, and thereby lost great part of her possessions, which were taken from her with the most unrelenting hand. This reduced her to the necessity of selling all her furniture, and the greater part of her jewels. The produce of these she placed in the hands of a banker, and retired to a village, where she could live much cheaper than in the metropolis, and with tolerable decency.

She had not pa.s.sed more than two months in this retreat, when information was brought her, that her banker had failed in trade, and consequently all her money was lost. Judge what must be the horrors of her situation! Sickness and grief had so debilitated her const.i.tution, that she was unable to do any kind of work, whereby to procure a subsistence; and, after having pa.s.sed her youth in ease and pleasure, she had no resources left in the evening of her life, but that of a workhouse, or common beggary.

Not one of her acquaintance would see her, nor condescend to take the least interest in her sufferings. Being brought by her husband from a foreign country, she had no friends to cry to for a.s.sistance, except a distant relation, whom she had brought with her to England, and who, by her husband's credit, gained great riches; but this man's avarice was greater than his wealth, and there was little charity to be expected from a man who denied himself the common necessaries of life.

Afflicted virtue, however, always finds resource in the bounteous hands of Providence, and she found the means of subsistence where she little expected it. In the former days of her prosperity, she had adopted a female orphan, whose name was Clarissa, who now became her guardian and protector. Clarissa had a grateful heart; she wept for the misfortunes of her friend, but she rejoiced at the thoughts of having an opportunity to show her grat.i.tude.

When Dorinda mentioned her design of seeking refuge in a parish workhouse, "No," said Clarissa, "you shall never leave me. From your tenderness I formerly received the indulgences of a beloved child; and, if in your prosperity I thought myself happy in the idea of being so nearly related to you by adoption, I still think it more so now I see you in adversity. Thank heaven and your adoption for my comfortable situation! your maternal conduct was amply displayed in teaching me all the necessary female arts; and I am happy in the reflection, that I can make use of my knowledge for your sake. With health and courage, I fear not being able to procure for us both at least a comfortable living."

This generous offer exceedingly affected the unhappy widow, who embraced Clarissa, and with joy accepted of her proposal. This amiable girl, in her turn, became the mother, by adoption, of her former benefactress.

Not contented with feeding her with the produce of an unremitted labour, she consoled her in affliction, attended her in sickness, and endeavoured, by the tenderest methods, to soften the iron hand of fortune.

For two years did the constancy and ardour of Clarissa continue with unwearied attention, and her only happiness seemed to consist in promoting that of her friend. At the end of that period, when death relieved the unhappy Dorinda from the cares and troubles of this life, she sincerely lamented her death, and bewailed it as a grievous misfortune.

A short time after died also the relation of Dorinda, of whom we have lately spoken, and who had shown himself so shamefully insensible to every claim of grat.i.tude and kindred. As he could not carry his riches with him, he supposed it would be making some atonement for his ungenerous conduct, by leaving the injured Dorinda every thing he possessed. Alas! it came too late, for she was no more.

The amiable Dorinda had not, before her death, the consolation of knowing that such a change happened in her fortune, as in that case she might have easily turned it to the advantage of the generous Clarissa.

This large fortune, therefore, for want of an heir, fell to the king; but Providence so directed it, that the generous conduct of the orphan to her benefactress reached the ears of the prince. "Ah! then," said he, "she merits this inheritance! I renounce my right in her favour, and shall be happy in being her father and friend."

This generous act of the king was applauded by the whole nation; and Clarissa, having thus received so glorious a reward for her grat.i.tude, employed it in the maintenance of orphans, such as she herself had been.

It was the summit of her delight to inspire them with sentiments similar to those she herself possessed.

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RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL THE

n.o.bLEST REVENGE.

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"I will be revenged of him, that I will, and make him heartily repent it," said little Philip to himself with a countenance quite red with anger. His mind was so engaged, that, as he walked along, he did not see his dear friend Stephen, who happened at that instant to meet him, and consequently heard what he had said.

"Who is that," said Stephen, "that you intend to be revenged on?"

Philip, as though awakened from a dream, stopped short, and, looking at his friend, soon resumed the smile that was natural to his countenance.

"Ah!" said he, "come with me, my friend, and you shall see whom I will be revenged on. I believe you remember my supple jack, a very pretty little cane, which my father gave me. You see it is now all in pieces.

It was farmer Robinson's son, who lives in yonder thatched cottage, that reduced it to this worthless state."

Stephen very coolly asked him what induced the farmer's son to break it.

"I was walking very peaceably along," replied Philip, "and was playing with my cane, by twisting it round my body. By some accident or other one of the two ends got out of my hand when I was opposite the gate just by the wooden bridge, and where the little miscreant had put down a pitcher full of water, which he was carrying home from the well. It so happened that my cane, in springing, overset the pitcher, but did not break it. He came up close to me, and began to call me names; when I a.s.sured him I did not intend any harm,--what I had done was by accident, and I was very sorry for it. Without paying any regard to what I said, he instantly seized my supple jack, and twisted it here as you see; but I will make him heartily repent it."

"To be sure," said Stephen, "he is a very wicked boy, and he is already very properly punished for it, since n.o.body likes him, nor will do any thing for him. He finds it very difficult to get any companion to play with him, and, if he attempts to intrude himself into their company, they will all instantly leave him. To consider this properly, I think, should be sufficient revenge for you."

"All this is true," replied Philip, "but he has broken my cane. It was a present from my papa, and a very pretty cane you know it was. My father will perhaps ask me what has become of it; and, as he will suppose I have carelessly lost his present, he will probably be angry with me; of which this little saucy fellow will be the cause. I offered to fill his pitcher again, having knocked it down by accident--I will be revenged."

"My dear friend," said Stephen, "I think you will act better in not minding him, as your contempt will be the best punishment you can inflict upon him. He is not upon a level with you, and you may be a.s.sured that he will always be able to do more mischief to you than you would choose to do him. And now I think of it, I will tell you what happened to him not long since.

"Very unluckily for him, he chanced to see a bee hovering about a flower, which he caught, and was going to pull off its wings, out of sport, when the animal found means to sting him, and then flew in safety to the hive. The pain put him into a most furious pa.s.sion, and, like you, he vowed to take a severe revenge. He accordingly procured a little hazel-stick, and thrust it through the hole into the bee-hive, twisting it about therein. By this means he killed several of the little animals; but, in an instant, all the swarm issued out, and, falling upon him, stung him in a thousand different places. You will naturally suppose that he uttered the most piercing cries, and rolled upon the ground in the excess of his agony. His father ran to him, but could not, without the greatest difficulty, put the bees to flight, after having stung him so severely that he was confined several days to his bed.

"Thus you see, he was not very successful in his pursuit of revenge. I would advise you, therefore, to pa.s.s over his insult, and leave others to punish him, without your taking any part of it. Besides, he is a wicked boy, and much stronger than you are; so that your ability to obtain revenge may be doubtful."

"I must own," replied Philip, "that your advice seems very good. So come along with me, and I will go and tell my father the whole matter, and I think he will not be angry with me. It is not the cane that I value on any other consideration than that it was my father's present, and I would wish to convince him that I take care of every thing he gives me."

He and his friend then went together, and Philip told his father what had happened, who thanked Stephen for the good advice he had given his son, and gave Philip another cane, exactly like the first.

A few days afterwards, Philip saw this ill-natured boy let fall, as he was carrying home, a very heavy log of wood, which he could not get up again. Philip ran to him, and replaced it on his shoulder.

Young Robinson was quite ashamed at the thought of having received this kind of a.s.sistance from a youth he had treated so badly, and heartily repented of his behaviour. Philip went home quite satisfied, to think he had a.s.sisted one he did not love, and from pure motives of tenderness and humanity. "This," said he, "is the n.o.blest vengeance I could take, in returning good for evil."

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GREY HAIRS MADE HAPPY.

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Opposite to the house where Charlotte's parents lived, was a little opening, ornamented with a gra.s.s-plot, and overshaded by a venerable tree, commanding an extensive view before it. On this delightful spot Charlotte used frequently to sit in her little chair, while employed in knitting stockings for her mamma.

As she was one day thus employed, she saw a poor old man advancing very slowly towards her. His hair was as white as silver, and his back bent with age; he supported himself by a stick, and seemed to walk with great difficulty. "Poor man," said Charlotte, looking at him most tenderly, "he seems to be very much in pain, and perhaps is very poor, which are two dreadful evils!"

She also saw a number of boys, who were following close behind this poor old man. They pa.s.sed jokes upon his thread-bare coat, which had very long skirts, and short sleeves, contrary to the fashion of those days.

His hat, which was quite rusty, did not escape their notice; his cheeks were hollow, and his body thin. These wicked boys no sooner saw him, than they all burst out a laughing. A stone lay in his way, which he did not perceive, and over it he stumbled, and had like to have fallen. This afforded them sport, and they laughed loudly; but it gave great pain to the poor old man, who uttered a deep sigh.

"I once was as young as you are," said he to the boys, "but I did not laugh at the infirmities of age as you do. The day will come in which you will be old yourselves, and every day is bringing you forward to that period. You will then be sensible of the impropriety of your present conduct." Having thus spoken, he endeavoured to hobble on again, and made a second stumble, when, in struggling to save himself from falling, he dropped his cane, and down he fell. On this, the wicked boys renewed their laugh, and highly enjoyed his misfortune.

Charlotte, who had seen every thing that had pa.s.sed, could not help pitying the old man's situation, and, therefore, putting down her stockings on the chair, ran towards him, picked up the cane, and gave it to him, and then taking hold of his other arm, as if she had been as strong as a woman, advised him to lean upon her, and not mind any thing the boys might say to him.

The poor old man, looking at her very earnestly, "Sweet child," said he, "how good you are! This kindness makes me in a moment forget all the ill-behaviour of those naughty boys. May you ever be happy!"--They then walked on together; but the boys being probably made ashamed of their conduct by the behaviour of Charlotte, followed the old man no farther.

While the boys were turning about, one of them fell down also, and all the rest began laughing, as they had before done at the old man. He was very angry with them on that account, and, as soon as he got up, ran after his companions, pelting them with stones. He instantly became convinced how unjust it was to laugh at the distress of another, and formed a resolution, for the future, never to laugh at any person's pain. He followed the old man he had been laughing at, though at some distance, wishing for an opportunity to do him some favour, by way of atonement for what he had done.

The good old man, in the mean time, by the kind a.s.sistance of Charlotte, proceeded with slow, but sure steps. She asked him to stop and rest himself a little, and told him that her house was that before him. "Pray stay," said she, "and sit a little under that large tree. My parents indeed are not at home, and therefore you will not be so well treated, yet it will be a little rest to you."

The old man accepted Charlotte's offer. She brought him out a chair, and then fetched some bread and cheese, and good small beer, which was all the pretty maid could get at. He thanked her very kindly, and then entered into conversation with her.

"I find, my dear," said he, "you have parents, I doubt not but you love them, and they love you. They must be very happy, and may they always continue to be so!"