CONVERSATION III.

On the following morning the children rose according to their promise, and, by strict attention to their lessons, merited the treat their father had in store for them. It was a lovely morning! but our best- laid schemes are subject to disappointment; and the little group felt their pleasure greatly lessened, upon hearing that a violent headache, to which their mother was subject, would prevent her joining the party. I shall not enter into any detail respecting their visit, as my young readers will hear it all from their own lips, in the conversation they held with their mother, when they returned in the evening. They had the pleasure of finding her much better, and able to enjoy their company, and the account they gave of their excursion.

Emily first entered the parlour, and, gently opening the door, affectionately enquired after her mother's health.

"My head is much better, I thank you, my dear," replied Mrs. Bernard: "but why are you alone?—where are your brothers and sisters? All safe and well, I hope?"

Emily. Yes, quite well, and in high spirits, I assure you. They requested to get out at the lodge-gate, that they might have a race through the garden. Feeling rather tired, I preferred riding.

At this moment Louisa came running in, quite out of breath. The others soon followed her, laughing merrily.

Louisa. Oh! mamma, how I wish you had been with us. We have had such a happy day, and have seen so many curious things.

Ferdinand. What a nice woman Mrs. Horton is, mamma. She has been so kind to us.

Edward. Dear me, Louisa and Ferdinand, how loud you talk. You forget mamma's head.

"Gently, my dears, gently," said Mrs. Bernard: "moderate your delight a little. I am glad to hear that you have enjoyed year day, and shall like to have a full account of all you have seen, when you can enter upon it quietly. In the mean time, go and put by your hats and tippets, my dear girls, and come to tea as quickly as you can."

Louisa declared she did not want any tea, and requested that she might go into the nursery to little Sophy, and take her some shells, which Mrs. Horton had given her.

Mrs. Bernard willingly granted her request and added:—"I am glad, my dear Louisa, you do not, when in the midst of enjoyment yourself, forget your little sister, who is too young to join your pleasures. You may go and stay with her a quarter of an hour; but do not keep her up beyond her usual time."

Ferdinand. Pray take my shells too, Louisa, and tell her that little fishes once lived in them at the bottom of the sea.

Louisa, with a light step, and a heart still lighter, left the room, saying, she had a great deal of information to give little Sophy.

Mrs. B. Now, my dear Emily, ring the bell, and make haste down to tea: I see your father coming up the garden.

The children quickly returned. They were not, however, allowed to enter into any detail of their past pleasures, till the tea-things were removed, and Louisa had joined their part, which she did, very punctually, at the expiration of the promised quarter of an hour.

Louisa. Little Sophy is so delighted with her shells, mamma! She sends her love to you, Ferdinand, and says she will give you a kiss tomorrow. I do not think I shall do much work to-night, mamma, we have so many things to tell you.

The room was soon cleared, and liberty given to begin the account of their excursion, provided only one spoke at a time.

Ferdinand. Oh, Louisa, tell mamma about the dog!

Edward. No: tell about the cat, that is the most curious.

Louisa. Now, I do not think so, Edward. The story about the dog was so very droll.

Mrs. B. Stop—stop, my dear children, or I shall hear nothing after all. Begin at the beginning, and all will go on regularly. Now, set out from our own door.

Louisa. Come, Emily, you will tell that part best, because I do think you enjoyed the ride more than any of us.

Emily. I did, indeed, enjoy it. The country looks so rich, from the variety of foliage; the autumnal tints are in their highest beauty, and you know, my dear mother, how delightful the scenery is, particularly through the park which leads to Mrs. Horton's house. She received us with the greatest politeness, and was very sorry you were prevented accompanying us, especially when she heard that indisposition was the cause of your absence. After we had taken some refreshment, she proposed a walk in the park. As we passed through a small room, opening into the garden, I was much struck with the appearance of an elegant bird in a glass case. It was stuffed, but so remarkably well done, that you would have thought it still alive. From the two long feathers in its tail, I knew it to be the bird of Paradise, and begged Mrs. Horton would give me leave to examine it more closely. She told me it was a native of the Molucca Islands, and that there were eight different species of them. The plumage is very beautiful. The head, throat, and neck, are of a pale gold colour; the base of the bill, as well as the head, is covered with fine black feathers, soft and glossy as velvet, and varying in colour with the different shades of light that fall upon them. The back part of the head is of a shining green, mixed with bright yellow; the body and wings are covered with brown, purple, and gold-coloured feathers; the upper part of the tail is a pale yellow, and the undermost feathers are white, and longer than those above. But what chiefly excites curiosity, are two long, naked feathers, which spring from the upper part of the rump, above the tail, and are, in general, two feet in length. These birds are supposed to migrate into other countries at the time of the monsoons, but it is not certain that they do so.

Ferdinand. Pray, what are the monsoons, Emily?

Emily. They are periodical winds, to which those countries are subject lying within a certain distance of the equator. They blow in one direction for a time, and, at stated seasons, change, and blow for an equal space of time from the opposite point of the compass.

Louisa. Do not forget the little hummingbirds, Emily, which were in the case next to the bird of Paradise. What beautiful little creatures they were! And Mrs. Horton says that nature has provided them with forked tongues, completely formed for entering flowers, and drawing out the honey, which is their natural food.

Mrs. B. Did Mrs. Horton tell you how curiously they construct their nests?

Louisa. Oh, yes; she showed us one: it was suspended on the very point of a twig. She says, they adopt this plan to secure them from the attacks of the monkey and the snake. They form them in the shape of a hen's egg, cut in half. The eggs are not bigger than a pea, of a clear white, with a few yellow specks here and there. I wish I had some of these pretty little creatures; but Mrs. Horton says they will not live in England, it is so much colder than the tropical climates.

Ferdinand. What little feet the Chinese women have, mamma! We saw one of their shoes, and I am sure it was not a bit bigger than little Sophy's.

Emily. But you know, Ferdinand, that is not the natural size of the Chinese ladies' feet: they are confined, while they are babies, with very tight bandages, which prevent them from growing.

Louisa. I am glad I am not a Chinese little girl. Such small feet cannot be very useful to them when they grow up to be women, I think.

Mrs. B. Indeed, they are not: The poor things are perfect cripples, and are obliged to be carried wherever they go.

Ferdinand. Oh, how I pity them! They can never run about and enjoy themselves while they are little, as we do, Louisa.

Mrs. B. Indeed, my dear Ferdinand, an English child has great cause for thankfulness, on many accounts. I know of no country where the real happiness and welfare of children is so carefully studied.

Emily. In China, however, the boys are educated with considerable care. In their early studies, geography is particularly attended to. At six years of age, they are made acquainted with the names of the principal parts of the world; at eight, they are instructed in the rules of politeness; and at ten are sent to a public school, where they learn reading, writing, and arithmetic. From thirteen to fifteen they are taught music; they do not, however, sing merry songs, as we do, but serious sentences, or moral precepts. They also practise the use of the bow, and are taught to ride. In every city, town, and almost in every village, I have been told that there are public school for teaching the more abstruse sciences.

Mrs. B. The mind of the poor girls, on the contrary, are most sadly neglected. Needlework is almost the only accomplishment thought necessary for them. There is no country in the world in which the woman are in a greater state of humiliation, than in China. Those whose husbands are of high rank, live under constant confinement; those of the second class are little better than upper servants, deprived of all liberty; whilst the poort share with their husbands the most laborious occupations.

Louisa. How exceedingly I should dislike it; and yet, I think, I would rather be the wife of a poor Chinese, than of a rich one.

Emily I think so too; for the hardest labour would not be to me so irksome as total inactivity.

Mrs. B. I am quite of your opinion, Emily. The situation of these wretched beings must be rendered doubly irksome by the uncultivated state of their minds. This deprives them of those delightful resources, from which the well-educated female of our happy country may constantly derive the purest enjoyment.

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 amusement so delightfully occupies the vacant hours of life, even where entertainment is the principal 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 circumstance which Mrs. Horton mentioned, of the same animal, proves him equally sagacious. He was one day passing through a field, where a washerwoman had hung out her linen to dry; he stopped, and surveyed one particular shirt with attention, then seizing it, he dragged it through the dirt to his master, whose shirt 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 circumstance, 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 peacock. 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 peacock, 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 peacock?

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 peacock 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 peacock's feather hanging from the cap, is considered as a mark of high distinction; and Sir George Staunton, in his account of the Embassy to China, mentions a circumstance 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 button, and a crow's instead of a peacock'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 peacock, 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 shines, 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 rivalship 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 circumstance 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 shield, 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 passions. 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.

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 assist 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 illustrated 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 circumstance 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 assure 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 incumbrance 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 circumstances, 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 assented, and, under those circumstances, 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 passage 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 passions. 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 appetites 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 assembly 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 passed against him. However, that he might not go wholly unpunished, they condemned him to pass 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.

Mr. B. As he was so much engaged in war, I suppose he did not exert himself much to improve the legislation of his country.

Louisa. We only read of one law that he established, and that was, that, whenever three little boys should be born at one birth, they should, in memory of the Horatii, be brought up at the public expence.

Mr. B. Emily, what have you to tell us of Ancus Martius, successor to Tullus?

Emily. He was grandson to Numa Pompilius, and, after a short interregnum, was unanimously chosen, both by the senate and people, to the succession. He wished to imitate his grandfather, by reviving husbandry and religious worship; but soon found that this pacific disposition drew upon him the contempt of the neighbouring nations. The Latins were the first who endeavoured to throw off their allegiance to Rome. This provoked Ancus to declare war against them. He vanquished them in many battles, and took several of their towns. He strengthened Rome by new fortifications; built the port and city of Astin, at the mouth of the Tiber; and was successful over the Fidenates, Sabines, Veientes, and Volsci. Historians give different accounts of his death. Some say he was destroyed by violence, whilst others speak of his decease as altogether natural.

Mr. B. How long did he reign, Louisa?

Louisa. Twenty-three years, papa. We have not read any more yet. I hope we shall not forget this part, as we advance further. Pray papa, what do you think is the best means of remembering what we read?

Mr. B. The plan we adopt, in making it the subject of conversation, is a very likely method to effect this desirable object; and, if you keep a book, and take notes of the history as you proceed, you will still more deeply impress it upon your memory. But we will talk upon this subject some other day: it is now quite time for you to go to bed.

CONVERSATION V.

MR. AND MRS BERNARD, EMILY, EDWARD, LOUISA, AND FERDINAND.

(A servent coming in with a parcel.)

Louisa.

Ah! there is a parcel: I dare say it is from Charles. Do, pray give it me, Mary:—I am sure I shall have a letter. He promised to write to me the next opportunity. May I open it, mamma?

Mrs. B. You may, Louisa.

Louisa. Emily, be so good as to lend me your scissors; the string has got into a hard knot:—I shall not have untied it this hour. I will just give it a little snip and it will be off in a minute.

Mr. B. How, Louisa! Have you so soon forgotten the applicaiton of the story with which you were so much pleased a week ago?

Louisa. Oh! I recollect: "Waste not—want not." But then, papa, it is so tantalizing to know there is a letter for one, and not to be able to get at it for such a long time; particularly when it comes from Charles, for he does not write to me very often. Do pray let me cut it this once. On any other occasion, I should have patience to untie the knot, I am sure.

Mr. B. We are all apt, Louisa, to think it more difficult to act with propriety under the very circumstances in which we happen to be placed, than we should do under others; but, if we would learn wisdom, and acquire the esteem of the good, we must always endeavour to do the very best that circumstances will allow. By making this principle the rule of our conduct on trifling occasions, we shall acquire, as it were, the habit of correctness and propriety of conduct, which will be very valuable to us in the more important actions of our lives.

Louisa. Well, papa, I have been trying, all the time you have been talking, to untie this string, and it really was not in so hard a knot as I expected, for it is undone: and now I will endeavour to remember you kind advice, and be more patient in the future. Oh! here is my letter. What a long one it seems to be! And here is a short one for you, mamma, with a little parcel for Sophy.

Mrs. B. Well, my dear Louisa, I am almost as anxious as you are, to hear the contents of the letter: but do not be in a hurry. Read it slowly, and very distinctly.

Louia promised to do her best, and began as follows:

"MY DEAR LOUISA,

"It is a long time since I wrote to you last, but I must not have you, on that account, suppose I have forgotten you; for I really think more of you now I am away, than I used to do when we were all at home together. I am very happy in my new situation. Instead of finding a severe master, as I sometimes feared might be the case, I seem to have gained a second father in Mr. Lewis; and Mrs. Lewis is almost as affectionate to me as my own dear mother. It shall be my constant endeavour, by strict attention to my business, to prove myself grateful for their kindness. I have my evenings completely to myself, which I endeavour to employ profitably, according to my dear father's advice. I am studying natural history, and, if it would afford you any amusement, I should like to make my progress in that study, the subject of my future letters. I shall not, however, begin that plan till I hear from you, to know if it will be agreeable to you.

"A few evenings ago, I paid a very pleasant visit to an old friend of Mr. Lewis's, which will afford me ample materials for this letter. He is what Mr. Lewis calls a virtuoso, which signifies, a person fond of antique and natural curiosities. You will, therefore, suppose I was not at a loss for amusement. In one cabinet was a number of stuffed birds and beasts; amongst others, a little animal somewhat resembling a rat, but rather smaller. It legs are short and slender; the fore-legs longer than the hind ones. Its head is of a pointed form; the colour of its body tawny, and variegated with large black spots, irregularly arranged; and the belly is white, tinged with yellow. There appeared to me so little that was uncommon in this animal, that I could not help asking Dr. Sinclair, on what account he had given it a place among so many curiosities. 'I value that little animal,' said he, 'as much as any in my collection. It is the Leming, or Lapland Marmot, and is distinguished from other quadrupeds, by habits peculiar to itself. It is only found in the northern part of our continent, where immense numbers of these little animals sometimes overspread large tracts of country, especially in Lapland, Sweden, and Norway. Their appearance happens at uncertain periods; but fortunately for the inhabitants of these countries, not oftener than once or twice in twenty years. As the source whence they originate in such astonishing numbers, is as yet unexplored by the naturalist, it is no wonder that the ignorant Laplander should seriously believe that they are rained from the clouds. Myriads of these animals pour down from the mountains, and form an overwhelming troop, which nothing can resist. The disposition of their march is generally in lines, about three feet asunder, and exactly parallel. In this order they advance with as much regularity as a well-disciplined army; and, it is remarked, that their course is from the north-west or south-east. They frequently cover the extent of a square mile, travelling in the night. They always halt in the day, and in the evening resume their march. No opposition can stop them; and, whatever way their course is directed, neither fire not water can turn them out of their road. If a lake or river intercept their progress, they will swim across, or perish in the attempt; if a fire interrupt their course, they instantly plunge into the flames; if a well, they dart down into it; if a hay-rick, they eat through it; and, if a house stand in their way, they either attempt to climb over it, or eat through it; but, if both be impracticable, they will rather die with famine before it, than turn out of the way. If thousands perish, thousands still supply their place, until the whole column be destroyed. Wherever they pass, they annihilate every trace of vegetation, and, when subsistence fails, are said to divide into two different armies, which engage with the most deadly hostility, and continue fighting and devouring each other, till they are all entirely destroyed. Numbers of them are devoured by foxes, weasels, &c. which follow them in their march, so that none are ever known to return from their migrations."

"I thanked Dr. Sinclair for his curious and entertraining account, with which, I hope, my dear Louisa, you also have been amused. A very beautiful, large, white cat, took possession of Dr. Sinclair's kneee, the moment he seated himself in his elbow chair by the fire-side. It licked his hand in a caressing manner, and seemed, by every means in its power, to testify the greatest affection towards him. From the old gentleman's kindness, in giving me so amusing an account of the Leming, I was encouraged to enter into conversation with him upon the merits of his cat. 'Some naturalists,' said I, 'have represented that animal as insensible of kindness, and incapable of attachment; but I cannot help thinking this is a great mistake. We have a cat, at houme, that is very fond of me; and yours, Sir, seems much attached to you.' 'The cat is, on many accounts, unjustly aspersed,' said he: 'excepting the dog, I know of no animal that appears capable of stronger attachment. It is also reproached with treachery and cruelty; but are not the artifices it uses, the particular instincts which the all-wise Creator has given it, conformable to the purposes for which it is designed? Being destined to prey upon the mouse, a lively, active animal, possessing many means of escape, artifice is absolutely necessary for the accomplishment of its end. I can, however, say nothing in extenuation of its cruelty, in sporting with the unfortunate victim that falls into its power, in prolonging its tortures, and putting it to a lingering death. This, it must be confessed, is not a very favourable trait in its character. Notwithstanding all this, it certainly renders very essential services to man, and merits, in return, his kindness and protection.' I admired the beauty of Tom, for so Dr. Sinclair calls his favourite. 'His beauty is not his most remarkable property,' said the Doctor: 'this cat was once the cause of detecting a murderer.' I was astonished, as I doubt not, you, Louisa, will be also, and requested he would relate to me the particulars of so extraordinary a fact. This he kindly did, as follows:

"Some time ago, when I was pursuing the duties of my profession, as a physician, I was requested to enquire into the particulars of a murder, that had been committed upon a woman in the city where I lived. In consequence of this request, I went to the habitation of the deceased, where I found her extended lifeless on the floor, and weltering in her blood. This cat was mounted on the cornice of a cupboard, at the further end of the apartment, where he seemed to have taken refuge. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed on the corpse, and his attitude and looks expressing horror and affright. The following morning, he was found precisely in the same position; and, when the room was filled with officers of justice, neither the clattering of the soldier's arms, nor the loud conversations of the company, could, in the least degree, divert his attention. As soon, however, as the suspected persons were brought in, his eyes glared with increased fury, his hair bristled, he darted into the middle of the apartment, where he stopped for a moment to gaze at them, and then retreated precipitately under the bed. The countenances of the assassins were disconcerted, and they were, for the first time during the whole course of the horrid business, abandoned by their usual audacity. I felt much interested for poor puss, and, as no other person laid claim to him, I secured him for myself; and Tom and I have been the best friends imaginable, ever since.'

"I felt my respect for Tom greatly increased by this story, the detail of which has so completely filled my letter, that I have not space to tell you of half the curiosities contained in Dr. Sinclair's cabinet. One thing, however, I must find room to describe; this is, a piece of cloth, which, judging merely from its outward appearance, I considered still more unworthy than the little Leming, of a place among so many rarities, and again ventured to express my surprise. 'Never allow yourself to form such hasty conclusions, my dear boy,' said Dr. Sinclair, taking my hand in the kindest manner: 'a rough exterior often conceals real merit. This you will find to be the case in your future commerce with the world, as well as in examining the cabinet of a virtuoso. That piece of cloth, and this bit of paper,' said he, opening one of the drawers and showing it to me, 'are made from a stone called asbestos.' 'A stone!' said I, with astonishment: 'is that possible, Sir?' 'It is very true, my dear,' replied he: 'this kind of linen cloth was greatly esteemed by the ancients. It was considered as precious as the richest pearls. The most remarkable property belonging to it, is, its being incombustible; that is, it cannot be consumed by fire. Among the Romans, napkins were made of it, which when soiled, were thrown into the fire, and by this means much more completely cleaned, than they could have been by washing. Its principal use was for making shrouds, to wrap up the dead bodies of their kings, so that their ashes might be preserved distinct from those of the wood composing the funeral pile.'

"I enquired where this very curious stone was found. He told me that there were ten species of it, and that it was discovered in many of the European mountains, particularly in those of Lapland, Sweden, and Germany; as well as in Candia, an island of the Mediterranean; and in China.

"I enquired, whether it was used for any other purpose than the manufacture of cloth and paper. To which Dr. Sinclair replied, that he understood, the Chinese employed it as an ingredient in the formation of their finest porcelain.

"You may easily imagine, my dear Louisa, how much I enjoyed the conversation of this kind and sensible man. I hope Mr. Lewis will allow me to accompany him, the next time he pays him a visit. And now I must beg of you to give my love to little Sophy, and tell her I have sent her a work-bag and pin-cushion, and hope I shall hear she grows very notable and industrious. Give my duty to my dear father and mother; and love to Emily, Edward, and Ferdinand; and believe me, my dear Louisa, your affectionate brother,

"CHARLES BERNARD."

Mrs. B. Very well, Louisa, you have done your brother's letter justice, by the manner in which you have read it; and great amusement it has afforded me, I assure you.

Emily. I have been both amused and instructed by it. I never heard of the Leming before; it is a most curious little animal. I am glad Clarles is studying natural history, as, no doubt, he will meet with many pretty anecdotes to relate to us. Is it not a pleasing science, mamma?

Mrs. B.. It is, indeed, my dear. No study tends so greatly to enlarge the mind. You already know something of botany, and have admired the wisdom manifested in the formation of the minutest flower; for

"Not a tree, A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume. We may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new; Something to please, and something to instruct, E'en in the nuisanceweed."

A deeper research into the beauties of nature, will excite in you still greater attentions and astonishment, and will, I am sure, fill you with reverence towards the Divine Author of so many wonders. I hope Charles will not merely relate to us the amusing anecdotes he meets with, but enter scientifically upon the subject; as it is impossible to gain clear ideas, without great method and regularity.

Louisa. I hope, mamma, we shall not, in natural history, have long lists of classes and orders to learn by heart, as we had when we began botany; for I cannot say I think all those hard names at all entertaining.

Mrs. B. Perhaps not, my dear; but nothing that is valuable, can be attained without difficulty. I would wish to smooth the path for you as much as I can, but learning is "labour, call it what you will;" and without strict attention, and industrious perseverance, you will never attain perfection in any thing. The classes and orders in that division of natural history, called the animal kingdom, are, however, by no means difficult. There are, in botany, as you no doubt recollect, twenty-four classes; in natural history, there are but six.

"Will you be so kind as to repeat them to us, mamma?" said Louisa.

Mrs. B. Willingly, my dear. The first is called Mammalia, and consists of Quadrupeds and Whales; the second, Birds; third, Amphibia; fourth, Fishes; fifth, Insects; and sixth, Worms.

Louisa. That seems very easy. I think I could soon learn those six classes. Are there many orders, mamma?

Mrs. B. In the class Mammalia there are seven. But we must not talk of them just at present, or our Roman history will be forgotten.

Edward. Before we change the subject, will you be so good as to tell me, mamma, what you meant by saying, that division of natural history called the animal kingdom. Are there, then, many divisions?

Mrs. B. There are three, my dear. The first consisting of Minerals; the second, of Vegetables; and the third, of Animals.

Mr. B. Well, my dears, now do not forget what you have been already told, and another day we will talk further on this subject: for the present, let us attend to our history. We concluded with the death of Ancus Martius. Who succeeded to the crown, Emily?

Emily. Lucius Tarquinius Priscus. He was the son of a merchant of Corinth, which is a large city of Greece. This man had acquired a considerable fortune by trade, which was inherited by his son Lucumo, who took the name of Tarquinius, from Tarquinia, a city of Hetruria, where his wife Tanaquil lived, previous to her marriage. His birth being considered contemptible by the nobles of this place, he, by his wife's persuasions, settled in Rome, where merit alone gave distinction.

Mr. B. What remarkable circumstance is said to have occurred to him on his way thither, Ferdinand?

Ferdinand. As he approached the city gate, historians say, that an eagle, stooping from above, took off his hat, and, after flying round his chariot for some time, with a great noise, put it on again. From this circumstance, his wife, Tanaquil, foretold that he would one day wear the crown.

Mr. B. By what means, Edward, did he obtain this object of his ambition?

Edward. The two sons of Ancus were left under his guardianship. He was a skillful politician, and found out the secret of making himself a great favourite with the people. He used every artifice to set aside these children, and to get himself elected in their stead. For this purpose, he contrived to have them sent out of the city, and made a long speech, mentioning his friendship for the people, the fortune he had spent among them, together with his knowledge of their government, and concluded by offering himself for their king. The people, with one consent, elected him as their sovereign.

Mr. B. Pray, Louisa, can you tell me how he has governed the city he had so unjustly obtained?

Louisa. Much more properly, papa, than might have been expected. The first thing he did, was to add a hundred members to the senate: so that it now consisted of three hundred. He was disposed to live in peace, but the Latins and Sabines rose up against him: however, after a severe conflict, he subdued them both. Peace being restored, he employed his subjects in many useful works for the improvement of the city, that they might not grow corrupted through indolence.

Mr. B. This conduct in Tarquinius, shows great wisdom; for it is very true, that "idleness is the root of all evil." In states it foments discord, and in private life occasions misery and ruin. Well, Ferdinand, what have you to tell us?

Ferdinand. There is a curious account of Attius Nævius, a famous augur, (this signifies a kind of prophet, who could foretel future events.) The Romans used to place great confidence in these people, and Tarquinius, wishing to try this man's skill, sent for him; and, when he was come into the midst of the Forum, said to him: "diviner, canst thou discover, by thy art, whether what I am thinking of can be done or not? Go and consult thy birds." The augur did as he was ordered, and returning quickly, answered: "Yes, Tarquin, my art tells me, that what thou art thinking of may be done." Upon which Tarquin pulled a razor from under his robe, took a flint in his hand, and replied, contemptuously, "I was thinking, whether it were possible to cut this flint with this razor. I have taken thee in thy own craft. The introducing of the gods into thy decisions, is all cheat and imposture. If thou canst do what is impossible, do." At these words the people burst out a laughing, but the augur did not appear at all moved. He, on the contrary, addressed himself to the king, with a bold air, and said, "Put the razor to the flint and try. I readily submit to any punishment, if what you thought of be not done." Upon trial, the razor passed through with the greatest ease. The people then gave a loud shout, and the king's contempt for the augur was turned into admiration. This is a very extraordinary account: but do you think it is true, papa.

Mr. B. I do not, my dear. I think it is a mere fabulous invention; and this was the opinion of the great orator, Tully, who was himself an augur. Writing to his brother, he says, "Look with contempt on the razor and flint of the famous Attius. When we reason as philosophers, we ought to lay no stress upon fables." How did Tarquin close his long life, Emily?

Emily. In the eightieth year of his age, and thirty-seventh of his reign, he was murdered by the artifices of the sons of Ancus Martius. They hired two young men, who dressed themselves like peasants, with hatchets on their shoulders, as if they had been wood-cutters. They approached the kings palace, pretending to have a quarrel about some goats, and made so much disturbance, that they were carried before the king. At first they began to rail at each other, until a lictor interfered, and ordered them to speak by turns. Then one of them began to tell his story, and, whilst the king was listening to it very attentively, the other, lifting up his hatchet, gave him a deep wound on his head, and instantly ran out of doors with his companion. Whilst some of the company hastened to assist the king, others pursued the ruffians and seized them. On being put to the torture, they confessed by whom they had been employed.

Ferdinand. Pray, papa, what is the meaning of being put to the torture?

Mr. B. It is a most barbarous punishment, my dear. The unhappy victim is extended upon a wheel, which stretches his limbs till they are all dislocated; and it has frequently happened, that many poor wretches, unable to endure such severe torments, have made confessions of crimes they never committed, in order to free themselves from the severity of their sufferings. How did queen Tansquil set upon the death of her husband?

Edward. She did not lose her presence of mind, but cleared the palace of the crowd, shutting herself up in the apartment of the expiring king, with only Servius Tullius, who was her son-in-law, his wife, and Octivia his mother. She pressed him to ascend the throne, that Tarquin's two grandsons might be safe under his protection: then, opening the window which looked into the street, she bade the people be under no concern, since the wound was not deep, and the king, having only been stunned by the sudden blow, was come to himself. She concluded by expressing her hopes, that they would see him again very shortly; declaring that it was their sovereign's orders, that, till that time, they should obey Servius Tullius. This stratagem succeeded. The report that the king would soon be well again, so terrified the sons of Ancus, that they went, of their own accord, into banishment.

Mr. B. How did Servius proceed, Louisa?

Louisa. The second day after the murder of Tarquin, he took his seat on the throne, in the royal robes, and heard causes; some of which he decided himself, and, in difficult cases, pretended he would consult the king. He continued this management some time, and by his prudent conduct gained the love of the people. At last, when he thought his authority well established, the death of Tarquin was announced, as a thing which had just happened, and Servius continued in power, without being positively chosen as king. That is all we have read at present, papa. I hope we shall hear something more about Servius, as I do not think I clearly understand who he was, except that he was son-in-law to Tarquinius. Mr. B. Oh, no doubt, all those matters will be cleared up to your satisfaction to-morrow, Louisa. For the present we must separate, my dears, as our conversation has been already prolonged beyond your usual hour. Good night, my dear children.

CONVERSATION VI.

MR. AND MRS. BERNARD, EMILY, EDWARD LOUISA, FERDINAND, AND SOPHY, standing by her mother.

Sophy. Mamma, may I stay with you a little time to-night. I am not sleepy at all.

Mrs. B. You may stay till seven o'clock, my dear, but not later, as we must not break through good rules. When you are as old as Ferdinand, you shall sit with us as long as he does; but, whilst you are such a little girl, after tea, bed is quite the best place for you.

"Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to grow healthy, wealthy, and wise."

Sophy. Well, mamma, I want very much to grow a clever girl, like Emily; but how can going to bed early make me wise? If I might sit up with you and papa, you would teach me a great many things, as you do Fedinand; but when I am in bed, I go to sleep and learn nothing.

Mrs. B. But your sleep does you a vast deal of good, my little dear. It makes you rosy and healthy, and will strengthen your memory too; so that when you are older, you will learn your lessons much better, and quicker, than those little unfortunate children who have been spoiled by the silly indulgence of their nurses.

These arguments, together with an assurance that cheerful obedience would make her dear father and mother very happy, soon convinced little Sophy that going to bed early was very proper, though she could not think it very agreeable; and promising to comply, the moment Mary made her appearance, she added: "has papa ever heard grandpapa's verses, which you taught me to-day? If he has not, I will repeat them to him; for it is not seven o'clock yet. Is it, mamma?"

Mrs. B. No my dear; there will be quite time enough for you to repeat them to your papa. But first tell him on what occasion they were written.

Sophy. A good while ago, grand-papa had two nice little pigs, and they one day found some paint in a pot, and thinking it something nice, they ate it. There is something in paint that is poison, papa: pray, what is it?

Mr. Bernard told Sophy that it was white-lead.

Sophy. Oh, well then, the white-lead that was in the paint, poisoned these poor little pigs; and grand-papa had them buried in the orchard, and wrote the verses, which mamma taught me, over their grave. Now do you understand, papa? May I begin?

Mr. Bernard assured Sophy he understood her explanation perfectly well, and was all attention, waiting for her recital.

Upon which she immediately repeated as follows:

"Ye passing pigs, I pray draw nigh, And hear a dreadful tragedy, Of two fine pigs, as e'er were seen Grazing or grunting on the green: Till on a time, and near this spot, We chanc'd to spy a painter's pot, White-lead and oil it did contain, By which we pretty pigs were slain; Therefore a warning let us be To future pigs, who this may see, With life prolong'd, and free from pains, To be content with wash and grains."

Mr. B. Very well, Sophy. Here is a lesson for little boys and girls, as well as pigs. Tell me what you have learnt from those lines.

Sophy. I do not know, papa: I learnt the verses, and that is all.

Mr. B. But that should not be all. There is a very useful lesson hidden in that story. Try and find it out.

Ferdinand. I think I know it.

Louisa. And so do I.

Mr. B. And so will Sophy, when she has considered a little.

Sophy. Aye: yes. I think I have found it out, papa. You mean, that the tale should teach little boys and girls never to taste things they do not understand, for fear they should be killed, like the poor little pigs.

Mr. B. That is exactly what I meant, Sophy; and, I assure you, I have heard of children who have been actually poisoned, by incautiously eating berries, and other things, which they had met with in their country walks. You, my dear, have a sad habit of putting leaves and flowers into your mouth. I hope you will endeavour to break yourself of it, as, I assure you, it is very dangerous.

Sophy. I am going to try to leave it off, papa; for I made my tongue very sore yesterday, by biting the stalk of a flower, that Ferdinand and Louisa called lords and ladies.

Mr. B. That is an arum, the juice of which is, I believe, extremely poisonous; so pray never put it in your mouth again.

Sophy. No, papa, I do not intend it, for it hurt me very much, I assure you. Oh! here comes Mary. Good night, dear papa and mamma. Good night all.

Little Sophy, after receiving many affectionate caresses, retired in high good-humour, and soon forgot her sorrow for the little pigs, in a gentle slumber.

Louisa. Mamma, I remember the names of the six classes in natural history, which you were so kind as to teach me yesterday. Mammalia, Birds, Amphibia, Fishes, Insects, and Worms; and now pray tell me the seven orders, for I do like to know a little of every thing.

Mr. B. But that, Louisa, is exactly what I do not wish you to do. I would greatly prefer that your information should be rather circumscribed, provided it were correct, than that you should have a slight smattering of many things, and a thorough knowledge of none. You may impose upon the illiterate by this superficial information; but the really wise will soon discover your ignorance, and despise you for affecting a degree of knowledge you do not possess. Besides which, a mere smattering of learning is very apt to fill the mind with self- conceit and vanity, faults from which the really well-informed are always free. My favourite poet, Pope, says:—

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, But drinking largely sobers us again."

Therefore, my dear, unless you intend to enter decidedly upon the study, I shall certainly beg your mother not to say any thing further on the subject.

Louisa. Oh, then, I assure you, papa, I will enter decidedly upon it; as it seems to me as if it would be extremely entertaining.

Mr. B. I think, my dear, you have formed your opinion somewhat prematurely, as you certainly, at present, know very little of the matter. This, however, with the young and ignorant, is no uncommon error. I hope your good opinion of the study, will continue when you are better acquainted with it. There are seven orders belonging to the first class, as your mother has already informed you; the names of which are, Primates, Bruta, Ferae, Glires, Picora, Beluae, and Cete.

Louisa. Those words are harder than the classics. I doubt I shall find them more difficult to remember: however, I must write them down, and try my best. Please not to tell me any more at present, papa. I believe I shall succeed best, if I do not puzzle myself by attempting too much at a time.

"I am quite of your opinion there," replied her father.

Louisa. Natural history shall be one of my pleasures. I will not call it a lesson; but will study it when I am most in the fit for it. And will you be so kind as to help me, papa?

"Willingly, my dear, provided your fit comes on when I am at liberty," replied Mr. Bernard.

Louisa thanked her father, adding, "and now I must tell you, that I am quite satisfied with the account I have read of Servius Tullius. I perfectly understand now, who he is."

Ferdinand. Louisa, before we begin our history, I wish to ask papa a question about those verses which he repeated a few minutes ago. There is one line, which I do not think I understand. Please to say them over once more, papa.

Mr. B.

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. Here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, But drinking largely sobers us again."

Ferdinand. The first line is plain enough; but I do not at all know the meaning of Pierian, which is in the second.

Mr. B. It is an epithet applied to the Muses and poetical compositions, and takes its name from Pieria, a small tract of country in Thessaly, in Macedonia, where stands a mountain called Pierius, on which the nine Muses are said to have been born.

Ferdinand. Are not all those places in Greece?

Mr. B. Yes, my dear.

Louisa. Who were the Muses, pray, papa?

Mr. B. They were supposed to be goddesses, presiding over poetry, music, dancing, and all the liberal arts, and were said to be daughters of Jupiter.

Emily. Those stores of the heathen gods and goddesses are all fabulous, I suppose, papa!

Mr. B. Yes, my dear, completely so. Do you understand the second line now, Ferdinand?

Ferdinand. Yes. Pierian spring is another term for learning or knowledge. That makes the sense of all the lines perfectly clear, I think.

Mr. B Louisa may then give us an account of Servius Tullius, who, you will recollect, was the sixth king of Rome.

Louisa. He was the son of Ocrisia, a very beautiful and virtuous lady, who was taken prisoner by the Romans when they sacked Corniculum.

Mr. B. Can you tell us, Edward, where Corniculum is situated?

Edward. Yes, papa, it is a town of Latium, a country of Italy, near the river Tiber. This territory has now changed its name, and is called Campagna di Roma.

Ferdinand. May we look in the map for it, papa?

Mr. B. By all means, my dear. I believe no plan of learning geography is so effectual as that of finding, on the map, the different towns that you meet with in the course of your reading. The names of many places have been so completely changed latterly, that you will find it useful to compare together the ancient and modern maps. By this means, both names will become familiar to you. But now for the place in question.

Ferdinand. I have found it, papa. It is bounded on the north by the patrimony of St. Peter, on the east by Abruzzo, on the south by Terra di Lavora, and on the west by the Mediterranean.

Mr. B I see you are looking on the ancient map, Emily. How is it bounded there?

Emily. On the north by Etruria, on the east by Salbina, on the south by Samnium, and on the west by the Mediterranean Sea.

Mr. B. Very well, Now, Louisa, you may go on with your account of Servius.

Louisa. I told you that his mother's name was Ocrisia, papa; but who his father was, seems uncertain. Tarquin made a present of his fair captive, to queen Tanaquil, who grew extremely attached to her, and restored her to freedom. But as her son was born whilst she was in a state of servitude, he took the name of Servius.

Mr. B. Is anything extraordinary related respecting the infancy of this child, Ferdinand?

Ferdinand. Yes, papa; it is declared that a sudden flame, in the form of a crown, surrounded his head one day whilst he was asleep, which was supposed to foretel his future greatness.

Mr. B. Who had the charge of his education, Emily?

Emily. The king and queen, who loved him as tenderly as if he had been their son. It was, however, chiefly to his own wise, noble, and amiable conduct, that he owed his elevation to the throne. He distinguished himself by his military achievements, even before he attained the age of manhood; and his reputation increasing as he advanced in years, and being joined to pleasing manners, manly eloquence, and uncommon abilities in council, gained him the esteem and affection of the people. He was twice married: first to a lady of illustrious birth, and, after her death, to Tarquinia, daughter of the king and queen. Upon this alliance, the king placed in him the most unbounded confidence, entrusting him with the management, both of his public and private affairs; of all which he acquitted himself so well, that the people were perfectly indifferent whether they were governed by him or Tarquin. This accounts for his having so easily gained possession of the throne, on the death of his father-in-law.

Mr. B. In what manner did Servius conduct himself, after his accession to the throne, Edward?

Edward. He determined, as much as possible, to make the peaceful Numa his pattern, and directed his attention to the improvement of the civil government of Rome. Although his accession to the throne had been unattended by tumult, the beginning of his reign was disturbed by the dissatisfaction of the nobles. They were not pleased at his ascending the throne without being duly elected to it, and determined, if possible, to oblige him to lay aside his royalty. In this emergency, Servius endeavoured to gain over the people to his cause, that he might employ their power against the patricians. For this purpose, he assembled them together, and, with a grandson of Tarquin in each hand, addressed them in a very moving speech, declared himself the protector of the poor children, and the guardian of their helpless infancy, and implored the assistance of the people in this arduous undertaking; at the same time, promising them freedom from slavery.

Mr. B Provided Servius performed this promise, this plan was calculated to interest the people greatly in his behalf. "Well, papa," said Louisa, "he did keep his promise: for, a few days afterwards, he commanded all those people who were too poor to pay their debts, to send him an account of them; and then, causing counting-houses to be opened in the Roman Forum, he there paid all with his own money. Besides which, he made a much more equal distribution of the lands, and, by every means in his power, endeavoured to gain the affection of the lower orders of the people. Now, Edward, will you please to give papa some account of the war in which Servius was obliged to engage against the Veientes; for I like to speak about peaceable times best."

Edward. So do I, indeed, Louisa. I do not like war at all, I assure you, nor did Servius Tullius. His inclination led him much more to works of peace and civil government, than to military exploits; yet he found himself obliged to embark in a war. It proved a very long one too, but brought much glory, both to the Roman people and to their king. The Veientes, whom Tarquin had often subdued, refused now to recognize the sovereignty of Rome, and treated with scorn some ambassadors sent from thence, to claim their submission. "We entered," said they, "into no treaty with the son of a slave, nor will we ever submit to Servius's dominion. Tarquin is dead, and our obligations to be subject to the Romans, are dead with him."

Mr. B. Pray where did these haughty people reside, Edward?

Edward. At Veii, papa, a powerful city of Etruria, about twelve miles distant from Rome.

Mr. B. Perfectly right. I imagine, the confidence of the Veientes proceeded partly from the hopes they entertained of profiting by the dissensions between the king and senate of Rome. Nothing weakens a state so much as internal discord. The moral of the old man's bundle of sticks, might be as properly applied to the larger communities of men, as to his own little family. You all know the story to which I allude: do you not?

Ferdinand. I do. You know, I read it to you the other day, papa.

Emily. But we do not; so, perhaps, papa, you will be so kind as to tell is us.

Mr. B. We will not interrupt our Roman history now; when you have finished your account, Ferdinand shall relate the story to you. Now, Edward, proceed.

Edward. The Veientes prepared for war, and drew two other neighbouring states, those of Caere and Tarquinia, into their party. But Servius, by his courage and conduct, subdued the confederates, deprived them of their lands, and transferred them to the new citizens of Rome, who had no lands of their own. The success of Servius attached the people still more to his interest, and he resolved to take advantage of their favour, in order to render his title to the throne still more secure. He, therefore, a second time assembled the citizens, and in a moving speech, which drew tears from their eyes, complained of a design formed by the patricians to take away his life, and bring back the sons of Ancus. In the conclusion of his speech, he left the kingdom absolutely at their disposal, and begged them to determine between him and his pupils on one side, and their competitors on the other. Having finished his harangue, he stepped down from the tribunal, and prepared to leave the assembly; but they called to him to stay, and entreated him to be their king. Accordingly, a day was appointed, and he was duly elected to the sovereign power. The senate were not, however, reconciled to him, and formed so dangerous a faction, that Servius was almost inclined to renounce the dignity conferred upon him by the people; but imparting his perplexities to Tanaquil, she disapproved of his intention, and prevailed upon him to bind himself by an oath, never to resign the kingdom.

Mr. B. Tanaquil was, in many respects, a great woman. She rendered herself illustrious by her virtues, as well as by her political abilities. Private life is the sphere most calculated for the display of female perfection, and here her excellence conspicuously shone. The king, to immortalize her memory, hung up her distaff in the Temple of Hercules. I hope my dear girls will endeavour to imitate the domestic virtues of this excellent woman, rather than her ambitious temper. I do not wish to see them heroines.

Emily. I do not feel ambitious of any thing but my dear parents' approbation.

_Mr. B._This, affection and obedience, my Emily, will never fail to obtain. But let us now hear what further befell Servius. If Edward is to be the recorder of his warlike achievements, I believe we must again call upon him.

Edward. The Etrurians furnished him with an opportunity to increase his glory. His victories over them obtained for him the honours of a second triumph, and restored peace to his kingdom. Now, Emily, I again resign the office of narrator to you.

Emily. Servius employed this interval of rest, in enlarging and adorning the city. He divided the Roman territory into tribes, the citizens into six different classes, and these classes into centuries. A tax was levied on each century, according to the class to which it belonged; by which means, each individual contributed towards the exigencies of the state, in exact proportion to the amount of his property. He also increased the number of the citizens, by giving liberty to the unfortunate captives taken in war; permitting them either to return to their own countries, or continue at Rome, with the enjoyment of all the privileges of free citizens. The senate were at first offended at this regard shown to a people they considered so mean; but the king addressed to them a very persuasive speech, which entirely appeased their anger, and they passed his institution into a law, that subsisted ever after.

Mr. B. Another important regulation was, taking an estimate of the population of the kingdom. It was performed every fifth year, accompanied with sacrifices, and other religious rites, which were called lustrations. This led to the computation of time amongst the Romans, by lustra, or periods of five years.

Louisa. The most unfortunate thing Servius did, was marrying his daughters so unsuitably. His two wards, Lutius Tarquinius and Aruns, were now old enough to be capable of disturbing his government. To secure their fidelity, therefore, he determined to marry them to his two daughters; and, without consulting their dispositions, gave his eldest daughter, who was mild and gentle, to the eldest of his wards, who was fierce and haughty; and married his youngest girl, who was of a most ungovernable disposition, to Aruns, who was extremely amiable and virtuous. It was not likely that either of these marriages would prove happy ones. Tarquin's wife endeavoured, by every winning way of sweetness and insinuation, to soften the haughty fierceness of her husband's temper; whilst her sister was always urging the quiet, good- natured Aruns, to the most wicked attempts, in order to reach the throne. She loudly lamented her fate, in being tied to such an indolent, stupid husband; and being very much like Tarquin she soon began to love him a great deal better than her own husband, and, at last, proposed to him that he should murder her father and sister, together with the gentle Aruns, that they might ascend the throne together. What a dreadfully wicked woman she must have been, papa.

Mr. B. Dreadfully wicked, indeed, my dear. History presents us with many very painful instances of the depravity of human nature. It is a useful, but humiliating lesson. Proceed with your account, Louisa.

Louisa. A very little time afterwards, this wicked woman contrived to poison her amiable husband, whilst Tarquin got rid of his virtuous and gentle wife by the same means; and they were then so insolent as to ask the consent of the king and queen to their marriage. Servius and Tarquinia, though they did not give it, were silent. This disgraceful marriage was celebrated shortly after, and was followed by intrigues against the king. Tarquin and Tullia had not patience to wait till the death of the good old monarch, which would have put them into quiet possession of the crown, but endeavoured, by threats, to make him give up his authority. When Tarquin found this plan was not likely to succeed, he acted a new part. By the most affectionate behaviour, he entirely regained the king's favour, and tranquillity seemed re- established in the royal family. But it was not long before the cruel Tullia put an end to it. She reproached her husband with cowardice, insensibility, and stupidity. He was moved by these reproaches; gained a number of young patricians over to his party; and contrived a stratagem, which succeeded from the bold manner in which it was executed. I think Ferdinand can explain it to you, papa.

Mr. B. Well, my boy, let us hear what it was.

Ferdinand. He clothed himself in the royal robes, sent some of servants before, and, followed by a great number of his party, who had swords under their robes, he crossed the Forum, and came to the gate of the temple, where the senators used to assemble. He then sent messengers to them all, commanding them, in king Tarquin's name, to attend immediately, and seated himself on the throne. All the senators assembled in haste; many concluded Servius was dead, and were afraid to disobey the orders of the new king. When they were all collected together, Tarquin began to rail against his father-in-law. In the midst of his speech, Servius appeared; and, being enraged by the insolence of Tarquin, rashly endeavoured to pull him from the throne. This raised a loud shout, and occasioned great confusion, but nobody attempted to part them. Tarquin, who was the strongest, seized the poor old man by the waist, and harrying him through the temple, threw him down from the top of the steps into the Forum. The old king, grievously hurt, and covered with blood, raised himself up with much difficulty: but all his friends had deserted him: scarcely a creature was found to lead him to his palace, which he was not allowed to reach. Tullia advised her husband to complete the bloody work he had begun; upon which he dispatched some of his servants to overtake the venerable monarch, and deprive him of his small remains of life. On her return home, the body of her murdered father, still panting, lay in the street she had to pass. This inhuman woman was not at all shocked at the horrid sight, but commanded the charioteer to drive over it. The man, who had more feeling than the cruel daughter, obeyed with reluctance; and, it is said, that not only the chariot wheels, but even the clothes of the wicked Tullia, were stained with her parent's blood.

Edward. Such horror was excited by these atrocities, and especially by the barbarity of Tullia, that the street in which the transaction took place, the day on which it was perpetrated, and the very name of the parricide, were branded with perpetual infamy.

Louisa. I am glad that shocking account is finished: it really makes one feel very uncomfortable. Servius was so good a man, too, I quite pity him.

Mr. B. His wicked daughter is an object of still greater pity. The sufferings of the good old king, we may hope, ended with this life; whilst, we have every reason to believe, that the punishment of the unnatural Tullia, would extend to the countless ages of eternity. Servius was, indeed, an excellent prince: he subdued the enemies of Rome, and was always desirous to avoid making new ones. He did not conquer merely for the sake of glory, but for the public good. He made Rome more formidable by twenty years' peace, than his predecessors had done by many victories. He introduced order into the militia and public revenues, extended the power of the senate, and yet kept its authority within proper bounds. He was beloved by the people, and even his ancient enemies, the patricians, esteemed his virtues; so that, if he could have preserved the affection of his own family, he might have been said not to have had a single enemy. He was, at the time of his death, seventy- four years of age; of which he had reigned forty-four years. Tarquin refused him the honours of a funeral, lest it might occasion a commotion among the people. Tarquinia conveyed the body of her husband, privately, by night, to his tomb, and she herself died on the following evening; but whether from grief, or the wickedness of Tullia, is uncertain.

Mrs. B. This is, indeed, my dear children, a mournful account; but it contains a very important lesson to all who are subject to the same criminal enormities. At the commencement of her dreadful career, Tullia would, perhaps, have recoiled with horror, from the hideous picture of her own crimes. She might have remonstrated, as did Hazael to the prophet: "What! is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" The example of Tullia, forcibly teaches the progressive nature and dreadful consequences of sin. It points out to us the danger of entering upon a course of criminal indulgence, by showing the sad extremes into which those are likely to be hurried, who resign themselves slaves to ambition and to vice. Listen not, my children, to the syren song of worldly pleasure; pursue not the gilded pageants of time. Instead of amusing yourselces with these phantoms of a moment, build up your happiness on the durable foundations of innocence and virtue. Let us now turn from the dismal picture we have been contemplating, though without forgetting the important lesson it inculcates. Ferdinand, my dear, tell us your promised story of the old mand and his bundle of sticks.

Ferdinand. An old man had several sons, who used very often to quarrel with each other. Their father exerted his authority, and tried every means in his power, in order to reconcile them, but all to no purpose. At length he assembled his family together, and ordered a short bundle of sticks be brought, which he commanded them, one by one, to endeavour to break. They each tried, with all their might, but in vain. The sticks were firmly bound together, and no force they could employ, could break them. After this, the old man untied the bundle, and gave a single stick to each of his sons, bidding them try to break that, which they did with the greatest ease. The father then said: "Behold, my dear children, the power of unity. If you would keep yourselves strictly joined together by the bond of friendship, it would not be in the power of any one to hurt you; but when once the ties of brotherly love are dissolved, you are liable to be injured by the attack of every enemy."

Mr. B. It is an excellent fable, and I hope, my beloved children, you will all attend to the lesson it conveys. To see you united by the tender hands of affection, is one of the first wishes of our hearts for you.

"What a very pleasing manner of conveying instruction, is a fable," said Edward.

"It is, my love," replied his father: "the ancients were aware of this, and made great use of fables in their instruction of the young: 'Whatever is conceived by the mind, must enter by the senses; and moral truth is never so easily understood, as when it is exemplified by reference to some parallel case in nature.' The various instincts of brute creatures, are particularly useful for this purpose. Moral good and evil are, through their means, represented in a way which even children can understand."