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AN ENCOUNTER WITH WOLVKS.



— ——————



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BPCLARING VENGEANCE TO HIS

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CONTENTS. :

PART I.
———

| PAGE
THE BEST WAY TO SPEND A PENNY. . , . I

THE TWO DOGS; OR, GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF
CHARACTER . . : . 7 . a 17
A VISIT TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS . . 3 883
DO AS YOU ARE BID. . : . ee 49
PEACE AND WAR; OR, A BLESSING AND A CURSE . 65

THE SHIP ON FIRE; OR, THE WORTH OF PRESENCE
OF MIND . . . . . . . 81
THE RUSSIAN EXILES . . . . . ; 97 .

THE RACES; OR, HARRY AND WILLIAM’S HOLIDAY 1138



tin
Ci rE

PART II.
———

PAGE
THE CASTLE AND ITS TRUE OWNER F » 129
THE GRATEFUL DOG . . . . . 145
THE GATHERING FOR PEACE . . . . . 161

THE YOUNG PRINCES WHO WERE KILLED IN THE
TOWER . . . . . . . 177
THE BLUE-COAT BOYS . . ; . . . 193
KING RICHARD’S DEATH . . . . 209
THE LITTLE PATRIOTS . . Lk . . 225

PENN’S TREATY WITH THE INDIANS . . . 241



TRUE STORIES

Poang Children, |

BY THs AUTHOR OF

“ OHICKSEED WITHUUT CHICKWEED,” “ BIBLE STORIES,” ‘‘ THE FAVOURITE STORY BOOK.”
“ MA™“IMA’S STORIES OF ANIMALS,” &c. &. &e, 7

Second Edition.

LONDON:
DARTON AND CO., HOLBORN HILL.

*K



THE FARMER’S RETURN,





THE BEST WAY TO SPEND
A PENNY.

One bright sunny afternoon, as
John and Betsey and Jane were
building a little shed at the end of
their garden with sticks and stones,
‘and putting bits of a broken plate
in it to make it look like a china
shop, they heard a trotting om the
distant road. Down went all the
china shop in a moméfit, and away
went Betsey John and J ane to the
gate, which they threw wide open,
and through came a very kind-
looking -old gentleman, on a brown

horse, which seemed ery tired.
B 1



2 THE BEST WAY

Thank you, my dears, said the
stranger; and pray can you tell me
whether this is the right road to
Farmer Gilpin’s?

Yes, sir, said John, touching his
hat; straight through this lane will
lead you to the valley, and then you

can’t miss his house. You'll see ~

the barns and haystaeks.all about it. °

And pray what are your names?
said the kind old man.

The children told him.

Well, let me see what I have got
in my pocket. And after a little
diving into the pockets of his great
brown coat, during which the chil-
dren looked half-ashamed and half-
pleased, he pulled out three bright

2 | |



TO SPEND A PENNY. 3

pennies, one of which he gave to
each of them. And mind you spend
them well, he added, as with a
cheerful smile he rode away.

What a kind gentleman! said
Betsey.

A whole penny! said John.

And DPve got one too, cried little
Jane.

And the dhikiven sat down on the
bank to admire their wealth. For
though they always got plenty to eat -
and drink, and with great care had
tidy clothes, yet pocket-money was a |
thing they never had, for that. their
father and mother could not atlord
to give them. So this penny was a

great gift, and seemed at first meal
B 2 3



a
4 THE BEST WAY

to buy for each of them everything
their fancy could desire. But by
degrees they sobered down, and. be-
gan to talk of what they really should
do with their treasures. .

I shall put mine into my box, I
think, said Betsey, and take care of
it. Perhaps I shall get another
some day, and then more, till at last
I shall have a great deal of money.

But, even if you do, said John, it
won’t do you any good, unless you
spend it. No, Betsey, that’s like a
miser, to hoard it up only to look
at. Don’t you know old Ben Bones
did that; and he saved and saved,
and wouldn’t let himself have half

~ enough to eat, and went about m
4



TO SPEND A PENNY. 5

rags, because he could not bear to
spend a farthing of his dear money,
even in clothes; and then at last he
died, without a friend to be near
him at the end. And father said
there were boxes and boxes full of
money found in his dirty old room
when he was dead, that he must
have kept only to look at. Quite
enough to have made him as well
off as Farmer Gilpin. No; don’t
save it, Betsey. |

Betsey laughed, and said she
did not mean to be like Ben
Bones. 3

Ah! but if you begin in little
things, perhaps you may: don’t,
there’s a dear girl.

5



6 THE BEST WAY

Well, but how do you mean to
make away with yours, Johnny?

John said he did not know;
that he should try and think what

would be the best way of spend-

ing it, as the kind old gentleman
had said they were to spend it well.

And what will you do with yours,
Jenny ?

I shall buy a doll, aa some cakes,
and some sugar-plums, said little
Jane. Will that be. eee it
well, John?

Before John had time to answer
they heard their mother’s voice call-
ing them to tea; and, running in,
they told her of their good fortune.

She was glad to see her dear chil-

6



TO SPEND A PENNY. 7

dren so happy, and told them to try
and do with their money as they
had been told to do; namely, to
spend it well. Itis the first you have
had to lay out just as you like; and
though it is but a penny a-piece, she
added, yet it is just as easy to spend
-a penny well as ill; and, very likely,
as you begin to use money so you |
will go on.

After tea, Betsey washed the tea-
things and put. the room in order,
and John went to bring in wood and
water for the morning; while little
Jane sat by her mother’s side, and
helped her shell some peas that were
to be stewed. down for father’s sup-
per; and all the time their minds

7



8 THE BEST WAY 4

were full of their money. But whilst
Betsey thought of what she should
like best to get withit; and Jane, of
how many cakes and sugar-plums
Widow Green’ would let her have
to-morrow, on her way to school, for
a penny; John tried to think how he
could spend his money well. Their
father came home at last, and after
his supper he too was told the good
news.

Ah, said he, I think I know who
that kind old gentleman was, if he
wanted Farmer Gilpin’s.

Who, father? asked Betsey.

Well, child, I can’t tell for certain
of course, but I think it’s very likely
he’s a doctor come over from the





|

TO SPEND A PENNY. 9

next town; for there was a sad acci-
dent at the farmer’s to-day. Some
of the men were stacking hay there,
this morning, and poor Bill, down in
the valley, slipped from the ladder,
and has broken both his legs so
badly that the farmer sent off at
once for that famous doctor who
lives ten miles off. It wasn’t
thought likely Bill could live, for he

was hurt inside besides his legs

being broken; and there was his
poor wife and all her seven children
crying over him so, in the farmer’s
great barn, where they laid him,
because he couldn’t bear to be car-
ried further, that it would have

melted a heart of stone. For if he
9



10 THE BEST WAY

dies they must all go to the work-
house, for she has not a penny in
the world but what he earns, and
can’t leave all those babies either to
go out and try to work herself,
The children and their mother
were filled with grief at this sad news,
and would have gone at once to see
after the poor woman; but father
told them there were plenty of peo-
ple ‘who would stay this night near
her, and that they had better not
go, lest they should only add to
her trouble. So they all joined in
prayer to God, and went quietly to
rest. .
The next morning their mother

sent the children early to school,
10



TO SPEND A PENNY. ll

whilst she went to see after the poor
sufferer. But he was already out of
pain, and lay a still cold form upon
the. bed in his cottage. His widow
was almost stupified with grief. She
could not think or do anything, and
sat, as pale and silent almost as her
poor husband, by his side. Whilst
the children, some of whom were old
enough to feel their loss, cried bit-
terly in corners of the desolate room.
A few kind neighbours helped as
much as they could, and the farmer
did his best, by trying to raise a
little money for the funeral, but he
was not rich, and had himself a large |
family. However, the clergyman

promised to speak about it in his
11



12 THE BEST WAY

sermon on Sunday, and have plates
held at the door for the poor widow.

And now we must go back to
Betsey, John, and . Jane. Little
Jane had but one idea of spending
her penny well, and that was to get
as much for it as she possibly could.
Jane was greedy. As*soon as the
children reached Widow Green’s ©
shop, on their way to school, she ran
in at the door.

I have got a whole penny. And
I am to spend it well. How many
cakes and sweets will you let me

have for it, Mrs. Green ?
_ The number set before her was
enough to make a feast for any

little girl, but to Jane’s eyes there
12



TO SPEND A PENNY. 13

seemed very few for a whole penny.
But she was obliged to take them,
and they were all eaten before she
got to the school-door. So there
was an end of Jane’s penny, and I
think it was a very unworthy one.
Indeed she cried herself, as she came
home at night, to think all the plea-
sure that could be got out of it was
over.

Betsey thought and thought. But
she could not think of anything she
should like well enough that could
be bought for a penny. In fact,
there was nothing she liked better
than keeping it to look at. Then
she thought she should always have

it, and it could be spent when she
13



14 THE BEST WAY

liked. But that time never came.
And there was an end of Betsey’s
penny, for it lies in her box to this
very day; or, indeed, worse than
an end, for it has never been of any
use to a single person, but has given
Betsey many an anxious fear lest
it should be lost, and has caused her
to cherish that evil spirit of covetons-
ness, which is, we are told in | the
Bible, “ idolatry.”

And what became of John’s penny?
No human being but John ever
knew. His sisters often asked him ;
but finding he always tried to avoid
telling them, they were too kind
to press him with questions, and
thought between themselves that

14



TO SPEND A PENNY. 15

most likely he had lost it out of his
pocket, and was ashamed to say so.
But God, the great God who dwells
in the highest heaven, knew where
John had laid up his wealth. For
He humbleth, Himself to behold the
things that are in the earth, and He
saw John slip the penny, his whole
worldly treasure, into the plate at
church for the widow and the
orphans, when but One eye was upon
him. And John’s penny did not
come to an end, and it will never do
so; for by giving in charity, out of
love to God and desire to do His
holy will, John has stored it up
where rust doth not corrupt nor
thieves break through and _ steal.
15



16 THE BEST WAY TO SPEND A PENNY.

He that giveth to the poor lendeth
to the Lord, and John has already
felt the blessing of these wonderful
words. As he began so he went on,
and tried in all things to do well in
the eyes of his Heavenly Father.
And God has blessed his steps, and
never has he wanted the means of
doing good. Betsey. has hoarded
and saved, and has never enjoyed
even that money to which she gives
her heart. Jane has grown up self- |
ish and wasteful, and is always in |
want. But John has always tried
to do good to others, giving freely
according to his power, and often
even beyond it. And God has re-

warded him tenfold into his bosom.
16



Pages
17-18
Missing from

Original



—_—

GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF. CHARACTER. 3

last girl in her class. And how
much pleasure there was in show-
ing this kind friend all that they
had done during the last half year.
How pleased they were to see his
smile over the neat copy-book and
the well-written essay ; it paid them
for all their trouble. Then there
were charming games too at grand-
papa’s: an old rocking-horse, on ~
which papas and mammas had rid-
den before them. A great empty
garret at the top of the house,
where they might jump and shout
as much as they liked, without the
fear of disturbing any one; and, |
best of all, an old coach-house,

where three fat rabbits had a roomy
c 2 19



—

4 THE TWO DOGS; oR,

hutch, and a dear old dog called
Juno reigned the queen. Here the
boys spent much of their time, for
they could help James cut wood,
and carry on their various attempts
at house building, top. whipping,
&c., &c., far better here than in-
doors.

One Christmas, when only Lucy,
Emily, John, Harry, and Herbert
were at grandpapa’s, the other chil-
dren being at home..with measles,
Juno was found to be the mother of
two fat little puppies, black and
white like herself, and looking as if

‘they meant to be just as good and

gentle as their faithful mother.
When this glad news was brought
20



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 5

to grandpapa, which it was the very
moment after the fact was found out
by the boys on their first visit to the
coach-house, grandpapa said he
should like to see the puppies. So
James was told to bring them into
the parlour, and in a very few mi-
nutes the little creatures made their
appearance from a basket of straw
carefully carried by James.

O, are there only two ? cried little
Emily, running towards him: Do
see if there is not one more in the
basket.

No, Miss, only these two, said
James ; and their mother did not at
all like letting them come away from

her. She is as choice over them,
21



SS °°

6 THE TWO DOGS; OR,

ah, as choice as your mamma is over
you, Miss Emily.

The puppies were duly admired,
and then grandpapa said to John,
the eldest boy, John, would you like
to have a dog of your own?

Oh yes, grandpapa. And John’s
colour came till his face was quite
in a glow with the thought.

Well then, I will give you this
one. And your cousin Lucy shall
have the other. But you will not,
be able to take them to school, I
suppose ?

I think I shall, grandpapa, said
John, for one of the boys has a
terrier there, and it lives out in the

master’s stable, and I am sure he
22



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 7

will not mind this sweet little thing
going there too.

Lucy was quite as much delighted
as John, but feared she must leave
hers at home; but as she was only a
weekly boarder, this would not mat-
ter so much. i

Emily, Harry, and Herbert were
told they might call the three rabbits
in the hutch their own. And now,
said grandpapa, let me see who will
take the best care of his or her pet.

The puppies were taken back to
their mother, and as the children,
on account of illness at home, were
to spend the whole of their holidays
at grandpapa’s, they had plenty of
time for enjoying their new treasures.

23



—

8 THE. TWO DOGS; OR,

As for the rabbits, they went on
much as usual, but the puppies were
soon’ made aware whose property —
they were, and poor Juno found she
must no longer look upon them as
quite her own. She was too good
tempered to growl when John pulled
her eldest son out of her bosom, but
her gentle eyes used to follow him
very sadly, while she saw him being
taught by his little master to walk
with a string, as he called it, though
really it was only being dragged by
his tender little neck along the
rough floor of the coach-house ; or to
sit on his hind legs while his poor
little bones had not strength or

firmness to keep. himup. But John
24



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 9

said, when Lucy tried to persuade
him not to tease the poor little thing,
that he could not begin too early ;
that he meant him to be a clever dog,
and able to do all sorts of tricks : far
-cleverer than Tom’s terrier at school.
And then he had always plenty of
kisses and hugs for the little victim,
who would far rather have lain
quietly by his mother’s side in the -
warm basket than have been the
first dancing dog in the kingdom,
even though he were to wear a scar-
let coat with brass buttons, and a
feathered cap. John did not mean
to be cruel. He was not what is
called a cruel boy. He would save

the best bits of his cake, and half his
| 25



10 THE TWO DOGS; OR,

share of milk, for his little Harlequin,
as he called his dog. But he was
selfish ; he loved himself, and in the
thought of pleasing himself, he too
often forgot that it was wrong to do
so at the expense of even a dumb
animal’s comfort. John would have
felt shocked if any one had told him
that unless he had a selfish heart he
could not be pleased with what cost.
a pang to any creature; but John
did not know himself. The cakes
and milk were of no use to the little
toothless puppy, and were therefore
poor payment for the loss oferest,
and warmth, and food, its mother
would have given it. How different

was the fate of Felix, Lucy’s pet!
26



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 11

She loved to see him and his mother
happy, and nothing would have
tempted her to disturb them in their
mutual joy. She loved to watch
them nestling together, and it was
only when Juno left the basket for
her meals that Lucy crept closer and
ventured to take heplittle Felix in
her arms, and count the pretty black
spots upon his back, and try to make
him turn his head as she gently
called him by his name. —

No wonder, then, that Juno’s
eyes sparkled when she saw Lucy
by her side; and that James often
was heard to say, Ah, Miss Lucy’s
dog will love her better than yours

does you, Master John. You'll kill
27





12. THE TWO DOGS; OR,

yours, if you go on so. It was the
finest dog of the two, and now see
how it is pining away. Then John
would hug and kiss Harlequin, and
put him for five minutes by his
mother’s .side, only to.drag him
away again for some new caress or
fresh lesson.

A few days before the end of the
holidays, it suddenly came into
John’s mind that his dog ought to

learn to swim. There was a pond
near the school, and he would not
like his dog to be afraid of the
water when 'Tom’s terrier was so fine
aswimmer. So John forgot that the
thermometer was below freezing, and
» that a puppy of a month old is ill
28 :



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 13

fitted for cold water. But he had a
sort of misgiving about what he was
going to do, which made him keep
it all to himself; and directly after
breakfast he went to the coach-house
for Harlequin. . The little creature
was sleeping peacefully by its mo-
ther’s side, but he dragged it out,
while its little sleepy eyes’ looked
back wistfully at its poor mother.
Away he took it to the pond, on
which the sun was shining so hotly
that John made sure the water must
be quite warm. And with haste, as
if to get it over at once, in he threw
the poor little Harlequin. The
shock was too much for its tender
little body, and after a short struggle
| 29



14 THE TWO DOGS; OR,

with the icy water, John bind the
misery of seeing it sink to rise no
more. James came running up as
he saw John stand by the pond, for
he had a strong fear that something
was wrong. But he was too kind-
hearted to say much when he saw
the pale cheek of the really suffering
child.

How could you be so thoughtless,
Master John?

- John burst into tears, and hurry-
ing in, told his grandpapa the truth.
Many were the tears the little party
shed over the fate of Harlequin, but
none were so bitter as those of John.
Poor Juno had followed John at a dis-

tance, and her cries round the pond
30



GRANDPAPA’S TEST OF CHARACTER. 15

were most pitiful. Lucy would not
hear of taking Felix away when she
went back toschool, butsaid he should
stay, even if it was till next half year,
to comfort his mother. Yet Lucy
had reckoned q@ite as much as John
on the pleasure of taking her puppy
home with her. But Lucy was not
selfish. She had a really kind heart,
and she could not take pleasure in
that which pained another.

Don’t forget, my dear boy, said
grandpapa, as he bade John good-
bye, this sad lesson you have had.
It may do you good all your life.
The true source of earthly joy for a
kind and loving heart is in the hap-

piness of others. Those who seek it
31



16 THE TWO DOGS. .

in their own will never find it, while
they will bring sorrow and trouble
on more than themselves. Even in
the fact of Lucy’s now losing the
pleasure she might have had in tak-
ing her dog with her, you may see
this. It is a little thing, but as itis
with children in little things, so will
it be with them when they are men
and women in greater. So do your
best, my boy, to have a higher aim —
for your heart than its own delight.

32



A VISIT TO THE ZOOLOGICAL
GARDENS.

Tue sun had notJong peeped through
the window-curtains of a little room
at the top of a house in the west end
of London, when Charles, who called
this room his own, jumped quickly
out of bed, and began to dress him-
self as fast as he could. For he re-
membered he was to pay his first
visit this morning to the Zoological
Gardens in the Regent’s Park.
Charles’s papa had not long lived
in London, and most of the wonders

of the great city were new to the
D 33



2 A VISIT TO THE

little boy. He was familiar enough
with country scenes and animals.
He knew every beast of our English
fields, and every bird of the hedges,
by sight and names. But a lion,
an elephant, a hippopotamus; these
were creatures only of the imagi-
nation to him, and he thought of
them, until he came to town, almost
as the fabled monsters of some un-
known world. But since he had
been promised a visit to the Zoo-
logical Gardens, he had grown accus-
tomed to think of them as beings
that really lived and moved about,
and he longed quite painfully to see
them with his eyes.

Glad that the day was so fine, he
84



ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 3

lost not a moment, and thought
papa very long indeed over his
breakfast, and still longer in laying
down the morning paper.

Dear papa, shall we have time?
he said at last.

Time, my boy! what for ?

To see all the creatures, dear
papa.

Papa laughed, and throwing down
the paper like a dear good papa as
he was, he rose and began to pre-
pare for the expedition. He told
Charles to get some stale bread from
the cook, and to fill his pockets with
nuts from the sideboard closet, and
then there was not anything more to

delay them.
D2 35



4 A VISIT TO THE

The Bear Pit being the nearest
object of attraction, they were soon
beside it, and Charles was so much
charmed with the shaggy fellows’
skill in climbing up the pole for the
piece of bread which he offered them,
that he could scarcely be prevailed
upon to leave the spot. -

Do not give them, all the bread,
said his papa; you will find plenty
of other customers for it.

Away they went to the Lions’ and
Tigers’ Dens, and here was indeed a
spell to stay Charles’s feet and eyes.
He thought he never should be able
to gaze long enough at the “king
of the forest.” And when, opening

his enormous mouth, the lion roared
36







ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 5

savagely, Charles thought it was the
most awful sound, except thunder,
that he hadever heard. The striped
Tiger too, the grinning Hyena, and
the graceful Panther, were all found
strangely intering ; but the Sloth
Bear seemed the most unpleasant
-looking creature he had ever seen.
His papa told him, that in its na-
tive country, and amidst its proper
sphere, it would not look so awk-
ward and ungainly. He made
Charles observe its long curved
claws, which are given it by nature
to enable it to climb about amongst
the branches of trees. Some. in-
ternal instinct teaches the poor

creature, when shut up in a den, to
37



6 A VISIT TO THE

cling to the bars with its claws, as

' the nearest approach to its native
habits; and foolish enough it does

lock, sitting in this manner all day.
But in reality it is the most saga-
cious of all bears, and in Bengal, its
own land, it is often tamed to great
docility and cleverness by jugglers.
It is in misery on*a smooth floor,
for which its feet are not fitted.

Why is it called Sloth, papa ? said
Charles. Is it so very lazy?

No, my dear; the name is not at
allan appropriate one. Sloth means
wilful laziness, but this bear cannot
move quickly if he would. It is
out of his power, and it has been

reckoned that it would take him |

38





ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 7

nearly a month to travel a single
mile.

The Beaver’s Pond was next vi-
sited ; but Charles was disappointed,
for nothing could induce one of the
inhabitants to show himself. :

Hereisthe M®hkey House, Charles;
now for your nuts. But the chatter-
ing monkeys, whose long arms were -
thrust on all sides through the bars,
rather scared Charles; and though
he liked to watch their antics from
a little distance, he was well satisfied
to leave them for the Reptile
House. , This pleased him very
much. ‘To see a Rattle-snake with-
out danger was what he had never

thought of; and the Boa-constrictor
39



8 . A VISIT TO THE

and Lizards made a great impression
upon him. He heard a gentleman,
who seemed to know the place well,
telling his little boy that not long
since a rabbit had been put into the
box for the boa’s dinner. But as
this creature will often lie weeks
without eating, the keeper went
shortly afterwards to see if it had
been devoured, or if he should take
it out and wait for another day.
To his surprise he then found that
the poor trembling little rabbit was
safe; but that the boa had eaten up
the blanket, in which, to shelter him
from the cold of this strange climate,

he is accustomed to sleep. .

Before we go to the archway
40



ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 9

which leads to the Elephant and
Hippopotamus, said papa, shall we
take a peep at the White Bear ?
Oh yes, papa. |

- He was lying stretched very
comfortably on his breast, with
his fore-paws spread out in an
attitude which surprised Charles,
till his papa told him it was owing
to the peculiar formation of the
bones of the neck that he could
do so. He _ looked, as Charles
said, much more like a marine
than a land animal, and this was
still more observable when he was in-
duced, by a large piece of bread, to
jump into his bath. Papa warned
Charles not to attempt feeding him,
: 41



10 A VISIT TO THE

or any other beast in the gardens,
from his hand, for he had heard,
not long since, that this very white
bear had bitten off the finger of a
gentleman who was so imprudent
as to hand him a piece of bun
through the bars. Charles shud--
dered to hear this, and no longer
felt any pleasure in looking at the
bear. i
Now, then, let us go to the Gi-
raffes, &c., &c. said papa. And
they turned down the long walk
which leads in this direction. |
The Rhinocerosinterested Charles
greatly. His papa told him- that
this animal is next in size to the
elephant, and that he somewhat
49





AN ELEPHANT AND GALF -OF CEYEON,



EE S————

ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 11

resembles him also in his way of
feeding, for the upper lip, which is
very long, he can at pleasure stretch
out still further, so as to serve like
a trunk, to grasp the branches of
trees, from which, with this lip and

his long tongue, he strips the leaves.

He uses his horn to rip open the
trunk of the tree, which he thus de-
vours, as far as he can, in the same
manner, we are told, and with as

much ease, as ‘an OX would a root of

celery.

The Elephant and her calf were —
now in sight, and Charles and his
papa joined the delighted crowd who
were pressing round the bars inclos-

ing the paddock of these interesting
; 43



12 A VISIT TO THE

creatures. The calf was very tame,
and came readily to receive food
from the visitors. Charles was glad
that he had saved a little bread, as
he enjoyed feeding this pretty little
elephant. Its mother seemed very
fond of it, and followed it with her
eyes whenever it left. her side.
Charles thought that the little ele-.
phant must be one of the happiest
animals in the garden, as, being so
young, it could scarcely recollect its
native land, and in the society of its

affectionate mother would find all — :

its present wants supplied. She too
looked perfectly happy. Love can .
do se much to supply all other de-

privations.
44



ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 13

The long-necked Giraffes came
next; and though Charles thought
their spotted skins very beautiful, and
their crested heads graceful, yet the
much greater length of the fore than
the hind legs gave them an awkward
and almost malformed appearance.
His father told him that this great
height of the shoulders enables the
giraffe to reach its long neck even
to the tops of trees, the young and
juicy branches of which it gathers
with its tongue. There has been a
great deal of trouble in bringing
these animals to England, as besides
being very difficult to capture in
their native plains, (for they are
brought from Nubia in Africa,) they

45



14 A VISIT TO THE

are delicate creatures, and being till
lately almost unknown here, there
was at first some difficulty in finding

out their habits of life and the food -

that suited them best. They are
now, however, quite at home here,
and allow themselves to be freely
caressed even by strangers.

The Hippopotamus was surround-
ed by such a throng of people, that
it was almost impossible for Charles
to catch sight of him; and when he ~
did so, he could not help’ saying,
What an ugly fellow!

He is not graceful or gay, replied
his father; but he is gentle and
good, and that is better, and he is at

least an object of very great curiosity,
46



~ ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 15

my dear Charles. If you only knew
all the trouble and pains that have
been taken to keep this beast in
health, you would think he must be
of, some value in the eyes of the
public generally. He has been fed
daily on new milk, and not al-
lowed to see company for more than
a few hours at a time, lest he should
be over excited.

There seems little chance of that,
_ said Charles, laughing ; for he looks
stupid too.

He is very young, my dear, said
papa; perhaps his faculties are not
yet awakened. I dare say he will
look brighter when he grows up, if

he lives to do so.
u 47



16 A VISIT TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.

A peep at Mr. Gould’s Humming-
birds closed the day’s visit for
Charles, and his papa told him that
this gentleman had been most un-
wearied in devoting his time for
many many years, to watching the
habits of birds, both native and fo-
reign; that he has an immense col-
lection of their skins, nests, and
eges; and that the books ‘he has
published, with coloured drawings of
birds, hundreds of which were never
heard of till he introduced them to
the public, are amongst the most
beautiful and curious specimens of
English industry and talent. .

48



DO AS YOU ARE BID.

Bessie was a little girl of six years of
age. She was an only child, and very
dear to her father and mother. So
dear, that they did not spoil her, but
did all they could to train her in the
right way. Bessie loved her father
and mother very much indeed, but
she loved herself rather more. For
instead of being always ready to obey
their wishes, she often tried very hard
_ to get her own way, just because it
was her own way.

_ Now this was a great fault, and
one which had a great deal to do

® R 49

&



2 DO AS YOU ARE BID.

with her not being cured of her
other failings; for Bessie, like little
girls and boys in general, had many
bad habits and foolish ways. But
if she would have given up her own
will, and tried with all her heart to
follow the words of her father and
mother, I think she would soon
have become a very good little girl ;
for she had good points in her
character as well as bad ones, and
an anxious and real aesine to eee
her parents.

Her mother kept no servant, and
earned her living by washing and
ironing ladies’ caps and collars, being _
what is called a-clear-starcher, and

she was obliged to send her little
50 .



DO AS YOU ARE BID. 3

girl about the streets more than she
would otherwise have liked to do.

Now Bessie had her faults, and
one of them was loitering on an er-
rand. More than once was her poor
father obliged to make his dinner
off bread and cheese, because his
thoughtless little girl, who had been
sent out in plenty of time to buy some
meat for dinner, had not returned
till it was too late to dress it for him
before he was forced to go back to
his work.

Bessie always. felt extremely un-
happy after anything of this sort
had happened, but still she did not
obey her mother’s orders the next

time she went out, by resolving to
E2 51



4 DO AS YOU ARE BID.

let nothing draw her from her duty.
No, if a Punch and Judy, or an or-
gan boy, came in her way, off she
was after them, as long as the
amusement lasted, thinking to her-
self that she could hurry afterwards
and make up for lost time.

One day she was sent with some
caps and frills to the house of a.
lady at ‘the other end of the town,
who had charged her mother to be
sure to let her have them by a certain
time, as she was going by the coach
to London that morning. Long
before the appointed time, the clean —
things were laid carefully in the
little basket kept for such purposes,
and being plentifully sprinkled with —

52 |



pO AS YOU ARE BID. 5

the pretty blossoms of the lavender,
which made alow hedge along one
side of the cottage garden, were co-
vered by a white. napkin and given
into Bessie’s charge.

Now. Bessie, said her mother,
these things must’ be at Mrs. Park-
er’s by twelve o’clock, for she goes
by the coach at half-past, and she
was so kind as to say she would keep
her box open. till twelve, on purpose
to give me more time to finish them ;
so I would not disappoint her on
any account, If it wasn’t for your
father’s dinner I'd run with them
myself, for I'm so afraid of your
stopping by the way. But it’s now
only eleven, so you. may be there

53



6 DO AS YOU ARE BID.

long before the time, if only you go
straight and do not lose time on the
way. |
Dll be as quick as possible, mother,
said Bessie.
_ I don’t want you to hurry, child,
answered her mother ; for if you do,
perhaps you'll shake the things out
of the basket, and I know Mrs.
Parker wants them to look as well
as possible, because she’s going out
on a visit; so I’ve been taking extra
_ pains. You have plenty of time to
walk steadily there, and mind you do._
Yes, mother, said Bessie, and off
she set. She got to the end of the
row of cottages, of which her father’s »

_ was the one farthest from the town,
54 | :



pO AS YOU ARE BID. 4 7

before she stopped at all. Steadily
and carefully, as she had been told
to go, on she went. But at the end
of the cottages was a pond, and in
this pond some ducks used to swim
daily. Bessie knew them all, and
often fed them with bits of her morn-
ing meal. ‘Till to-day they had been.
all old ducks; but now, O what a
pretty sight! there were eight little
ducklings, little tiny things, only just
out of the egg-shell, and brought for
the first time by their fond mother to
make acquaintance with the water.
It was the highest pleasure she knew,
that old white duck, and she could
not be happy till she had brought all

_ her darlings to enjoy. it too.
55



8 DO AS YOU ARE BID.

Bessie forgot every thing in this
charming vision of little ducks. She
had never seen any before, and began
to count them. But as they came
in and out amongst the older ducks,
she found this rather difficult.. Some-
times she thought there were eight,
then she could see only seven, and
for a while only six; but then, two
more popped out from behind the
curly-tailed drake,and she began one,
two, three again, to be quite sure. |

' [ don’t know how long she would
have staid by the green pond, if her
mother, who was busy trundling a
mop at the door, had not chanced to
turn her head towards the road. her
little daughter had taken, and there,
56 | :



DO AS YOU ARE BID. 9

to’ her real vexation, she saw Bessie,
standing as motionless as if she had
gone to sleep, quite forgetting all
that had been said to her, and that
_one whole quarter had passed away
from the hour that was before her.
Bessie, cried her mother, at the
top of her voice; for though the dis-
tance was. so short there was no oc-
casion to speak very loud, yet she
felt quiteangry. What in the world
are you standing there for? _ Go on
directly, you naughty child: you will
be too late with those things. 1
The sound of her mother’s voice, in
such a key, quite made Bessie jump ;
and, as she was standing very near

the edge of the water, she had a nar-
a



10 , DO AS YOU ARE BID.

row escape from sharing the little
ducklings’ bath. But happily she
did escape, for it would not have been
quite so agreeable to her as it evi-
dently was to them. This aroused
her, and frightened and feeling guilty,
she walked on again for a good while
without stopping at all. .

She then went through a long lane
and across a field, without staying to
gather one blossom, though all the
summer flowers were blooming |
around her. But at the end of the
field was a gate, on which the chil-
dren loved to swing, and thinking,
as she had gone on so far without
putting down her basket, that she
might take a little rest here, down she

58



DO AS YOU ARE BID. ll

placed it in the dry ditch under
the hedge, and seating herself on
the top of the gate, ee to give
herself a ride.

Bessie deceived herwele She
wanted no rest, for the weight of the
muslins in the basket was so light
that her arm would not have ached if
she had carried it as far as she was
able to walk. But she liked to amuse
herself. And as people generally
want some excuse, to satisfy them-
selves that they may do what they
know all the while they ought not to
do, this little girl persuaded herself
that, in the course of so long a walk
_ with a basket, she ought to have a
little rest.

59



12 DO AS YOU ARE BID.

The sound of the church ‘chimes,
striking half past eleven, startled her
down from her post almost as hastily
as the voice of her mother had fright-
ened her from the pond. And up
she took her basket and on she went
again. And reaching the town at
last, she kept on. through the High
Street till she saw an Italian boy with
an. organ.| She was now so near the
lady’s house that she felt sure she
should get there in plenty of time,
and crossed over. to the other side of
the road to be nearer to the music.
And, whilst. doing so, the thought
passedthrough her mind whether, as
she was now so near Mrs. Parker's,

it would not be better to go on
60



a .
eect ters O sss earn ietuseeent i









DO AS YOU ARE BID. iS

straight to the house, and leave the
caps and frills before she allowed
herself to stop in the street.

Duty first and pleasure afterwards
—a maxim her good father often and
often tried to make his little daugh-
ter remember in practice—came dis-
tinctly in her memory. But at that
instant she saw that the organ was
not a common one, but that it opened
at the top and displayed a puppet
ball-room of dolls, dancing merrily to
the waltz the boy was grinding. And
not only this, but that he was accom-
panied by two dancing dogs dressed
up in jackets and caps, who turned
gracefully about on their hind legs,
‘with their fore feet hanging down

. 61



14 DO AS YOU ARE BID,

in a manner that Bessie had never
imagined any dog capable of before ;
and she stood rooted to the spot, lost
in a trance of wonder and ecstacy.
She might almost have been excused
for forgetting everything then.

Such sights have turned older
brains. Her fault was in going out
of her way to amuse herself, when
she had been distinctly charged, and
had distinctly promised, not to stop
at all. If she had kept resolutely
forward, she would not have had a
_ temptation too strong for her to re-

‘sist brought before her at all. As
it was, thus she stood till the boy
moved on, and as he moved on so

she followed, absorbed in the waltz-
62



DO AS YOU ARE BID. | 15

ing dolls and the red-capped bow-
wows, till a noise in the road made
her look round; and what was her
terror to behold the London coach,
with its prancing horses galloping
away in a cloud of dust, that was
not, however, too thick to hide from
Bessie’s eyes the face of Mrs. Parker,
seated inside, on her way to town.
Vainly then did Bessie repent, and
turning away from the organ and
dogs, that in a moment had lost all
their charms, she began slowly to
retrace her steps. For she was
afraid now to go to the house, lest
the hasty maid should scold her. ©
Very serious however was the dis-

pleasure of her mother, and father
63



16 DO AS YOU ARE BID. -

too; and when Bessie learned that,
in consequence of her naughty con-
duct, Mrs. Parker had taken away
her custom from her poor mother,
she felt, more than ever before, that
she was not a sufficient guide for
herself, and that in obedience to her
parents’ authority was her only
safety. So she tried earnestly to
give up her own way, and had an
abundant reward in finding how con-
stantly now she was able to give
satisfaction, not only to her dear
parents, but to her own heart.

64



PEACE AND WAR;
OR,

A BLESSING AND A CURSE.

How much I should like to see a
battle, said Harry to his mamma
one day, when he had been reading
an account of the conquest of Eng-
land by the Normans—a real good
battle, with clubs and swords and
spears, and plenty of guns and can-
non-balls. What a roaring and
rattling there must be. I should like
to be a soldier. |

O Harry! cried little Jenny, who
gat sewing by her mother’s side, and

F 65



2 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

had been listening, with surprise in
her gentle blue eyes, to her brother’s
outburst. How can you say so?
Think of the poor men who are
killed, and think of all their wives
and little children. How would you
like papa to be a soldier, and get
killed in battle ? |

Harry spoke without | thinking,
said mamma; or I am sure he
would not have said what he did.
I should not like to think my dear
boy could take pleasure in anything
that has its rise so clearly amongst
the evil passions of the human heart
as war.

But, mamma, said Harry, there
are plenty of battles in the Bible.

66 et 3



A BLESSING AND A CURSE. 3

Those battles, which were under-
taken by the Jews in obedience to
the will of God, are not to be looked
upon in the same light as those of
the present day, Harry. There is a
mystery about them which we can-
not fully understand. They were
mostly against idolaters, people who
had, perhaps, been tried by God in
vain, and who would not be con-
verted; and whom, therefore, He
was resolved to punish by the hand
of His own servants, as a warning
and example to others. And very.
often, too, these battles were means _.

of punishment to the Jews them- . |

selves. So that though I think we
shall almost always be able to see
| F 2 67



4 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

in the Bible that war was nothing
but a curse; yet, as I said just now,
if sometimes we are not able to do
so, we must be satisfied that in all
these Old Testament times there
was a Power ruling and ordering,
whose ways are mysterious above
our understanding. 7

But, mamma, people say 80 much, :
and think so much, of gaining vic-
tories. There must be something
erand in being a great soldier. »
_ I know some people do, Harry;
but I cannot say I am one of them.
There is to me nothing grand in
shedding blood from hearts full like
our own of social feelings, in making,
as Jenny says, wives widows, and

68





A BLESSING AND A CURSE. | 5

’ children orphans. You would not
like to see this done, Harry, still
less to take any part in it yourself?

No, mamma; I do not think I
should. Iwas thinking of the noise,
and the flags, and the music, and all
the grandeur of it.

Mamma laughed, and told Harry,
if that was all, he had better go and
see an eruption of Mount Vesuvius,
at the Zoological Gardens, where he
would hear plenty of rumbling and |
rattling and music, without iil
to any one.

Did not you see a soldier once,
just as he came wounded from bat-
tle, mamma? asked Jenny. |

Not exactly that, my dear; but I
se



6 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

saw him directly after his return to
his mother’s cottage. She was my
old nurse, and had two sons, whom
we used to call Peace and War. It
was just at the time of the war be-
tween France and England that
these names were given to them.
For never were two boys so differ-
ent. The eldest, Peace as we called
him, though his real name was
James, was then about. twenty, and
the younger, John, or War, was
nineteen. Nothing would do for
him but going to be a soldier. His
poor mother was full of horror at the
thought; but John would have his
way. The red coat, and the drums,

and the trumpets, and the guns, and
70





SCRAMBLE FOR APPLES.



A BLESSING AND A CURSE. (7

the glory as he called it, that was in
store for every English abhdion; were
more to him than his mother’s tears
and prayers. She told me that from
a child he had said’ he should like
to be a soldier, and tha
ways fond of fighting. If any boy
in the village offended him, he
seemed quite pleased with the op-
portunity of a fight. Blow for blow,
insult for insult; this was his prac-
tice from a very infant, though she
did her best to teach him better.
And, when he became a. young man,
he was for ever in some scrape or
- quarrel. :

But it was altogether different

with James, the elder. Peace was
71







8 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

the law of his life. Gentle and lov-
ing by nature, he added to these
blessed gifts the fruits of a heart de-
voted to do the will of God. No-
thing could induce him to lift his
hand against another, however much
he might be provoked. In vain
John would try to rouse what he
called a spirit in his brother. It is
of no use, James would say ; I want
no evil spirit raised im my breast,
Jobn. And let John provoke him
as he would, James was always pa-
tient and forbearing, and with soft
words would allay the passions surg-
ing in the other’s heart.

Now the war was then raging, and

men were much wanted, and there
72



A BLESSING AND A CURSE. 9

were plenty of people whose business
it was to look out for recruits, as
they are called. Very little persua-
sion was wanted to convince John ©
that: he was far too fine a fellow to
stay at home and take care of his
poor old mother, when the king’s
army wanted soldiers abroad. And,
in spite of all she could say, off he
set. |

James gave himself up to the duty
of comforting and providing for her.
He worked early and late in the
farmer’s fields, and on his return at
night he would dig and plant the
little garden round about their cot-
tage, so long as there was astreak of

light left in the sky. How she loved
: a 73



10 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

her good son, and what a blessing
she felt him to be to her. As for
John, he was really like a curse to
her life. Badly as he had always
behaved, she yet loved him as only
a mother can love, and the agony of
mind she felt on his account, lest he

should be killed in battle, kept her
always anxious and miserable, in
spite of James’s best endeavours.
She used to walk every morning to
the town, though it was four miles
off, to ask the good old post-master
what news was in the papers. And
as every one felt for her, she was
sure to meet with a patient listener
to all her anxious questions. But

as John never wrote to her, it was
74



A BLESSING AND A CURSE. 11

not possible to get any tidings of
him. Noone knew where he was;
and though he was thought to be
with the main army, yet, who-was
likely to hear anything about one
poor private soldier?

So months went on, and news
came of the great battle of Water-
loo, and the glorious victory the
English had gained; and the peo-
ple began boasting and triumphing
over their enemies, as they called
the French; and guns were fired,
and the bells were rung, and ‘every
house was to be lighted up—illumi-
nated, as they called it. But in the
dwellings of those who had sons or

husbands or brothers in the army,
75



12 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

there was little rejoicing. [very
cheek was pale, and every heart
trembling with anxious fear for the
fate.of the absent. For this victory,
perfect though it was, had been
gained, as every one knew, at the
cost of many lives. And who could
tell but their beloved ones were
amongst the number? So, instead of
putting up candles, poor widow Ross,
as nurse was called, shut up her.
cottage that she might weep unseen.
And in dreadful fear she waited till
James, who ran far and near for
the first list of dead and wounded
that could be obtained, came back
with the paper in his hand.

He is not dead, mother, cried he,
76



A BLESSING awota CURSE. 13
as soon as he was within sight of the
cottage. And her ears caught the
welcome sound, and she fell upon her
knees thanking God. But gradually,
as carefully as he could, James had
to tell his poor old mother that
John, though living at the time the
list was made out, was yet most dan-
gerously wounded. However, she
bore this pretty well at first, because
she was so thankful his life had been
spared; and well she knew. he was
unfit to be hurried out of the world,
without time for repentance and
amendment. In time, John was
brought home, and a miserable spec-
tacle he was. I can just remember
being taken, as a very little child, to

77



14 PEACE AND WAR; OR,

see the poor soldier, for he was an
object of interest to every one, if not
on his own, yet on his poor mother’s
account. He had lost a leg and an
arm; and his face was sadly disfi-
gured. Besides this he had some
internal injury which could not be
cured, and he only came home to
die.

And did he repent before he died,
mamma ?

Well, my dear Jenny, that God
only can tell. There was not much
outward sign of a change of heart,
which his mother longed to see. He
seemed quite angry that he was so
mutilated, and it was only when

‘some of the neighbours came in, and
78



b+]
‘a

A BLESSING AND A CURSE. 15

he could boast of all he had done in
the battle, and hear their foolish
praises of his, bravery, that he was
at all happy. The thought of the
glory his wounds brought him was
the only comfort he seemed to have.
THis mother and brother did all they
could to make his last days peaceful,
and spent almost all their savings
to give him a decent burial when he
died, but I am afraid he made little
effort to set their minds at rest about
his own state.

His mother did not long survive
him, for she loved him with all his
faults, and the trial and shock were
too much for her. James was de-
voted to her to the last. She died

79



16 PEACE AND WAR.

with her hand in his, and her last
words were to tell him that he had
been the one blessing of her life, and
to pray God to reward him as he
deserved. And I think a blessing |
has rested ever since upon him. He
has prospered even in outward
things, and has now a little farm of
his own. And any one who sees his
calm, and even holy, countenance
may feel sure that in his heart God
has put that peace which the world
can neither give nor take away.

80



THE SHIP ON FIRE;
OR,

THLE WORTH OF PRESENCE OF MIND.

A snipe on fire! That must be a
dreadful thing, father, said Tom, as
he laid down the newspaper, in which
he had been reading aloud the ac-
count of a fearful loss of life by the
“burning of a large ship at sea.

Ah! dreadful indeed, my boy, said
his father, who was an old sailor, and
therefore one likely to take an in-
terest in anything concerning a ship,
even if there were nothing to awaken

attention in the facts of the case.
G 8l



2 THE SHIP ON FIRE; OR,

But this was one of very great in-
terest indeed to everybody, for num-
bers of persons had perished, and
there had been a great deal said on
the subject in the daily papers ever
since it happened. So Tom and his
father sat and talked about it a long
while, and thought of all that could
and could not have been done to
make the calamity less heavy.

I suppose you were never in a,
ship on fire, father? said Tom, at
last.

Yes I was, cae answered _ his
father.

O, do tell me all about it, cried
‘Tom, who delighted in hearing his

father talk of ne past adventures,
82



THE WORTH OF PRESENCE OF MIND. 3

Because, as he often said, he was
sure they were all true; and as for
those things in books and newspa-
pers, though they sounded more won-
derful sometimes than his father’s
stories, yet there was no knowing
how much of them was made up.
And I don’t care for made-up sto-
ries, Tom used to add. Though I
think Tom did not quite mean what
. he said, for never was there a boy
" fonder of fairy tales and lives of
giants than he. Things which can’t
by any chance be true, Tom, as his
good old mother used to tell him.
Well, dear mother, Tom would re-
ply, I do like those tales I must

confess; but then I mean I don’t like
a2 83



4 THE SHIP ON FIRE; OR,

to have a made-up tale put upon me
for a true one. I like to feel quite
sure either that I am reading a fairy
tale, or else that what I am told in
the book really did happen. Ah,
Tom, and so do I, said’ his mother ;
only I don’t care for fairy tales.
You may have them, and let me
have the true stories, But to return
to the ship on fire. tage

Well, Tom, said his father, I was .
in a ship on fire, and yet it was
saved, and there was only one life
lost; and that would not have been
but for the poor fellow’s own fault,
He had no presence of mind, and a
man or a boy is badly off without

that. How the fire began I cannot
84



THE WORTH OF PRESENCE OF MIND. 5

tell you, for I was in my berth at the —
time, and I don’t think it was ever
clearly made out. But I was waken-

ed in the dead of the night by a cry
for all hands to go on deck, and
_ there was part of the vessel blazing
away enough to frighten anybody.

What did you do, father? O, how
I should have screamed, cried Tom,
whose ideas of the horror of a ship
on fire were rather excited by the
terrible account he had just been
reading.

Then you would have done very
wrong, Tom, said his father, almost
angrily. And if you say such foolish
things again, I don’t think I shall
tell you my story.

85



6 THE SHIP ON FIRE; OR,

Well, I won’t father; but it must
be so dreadful.

So it is; but all the more need for
doing one’s best, not to make mat-
ters worse. What I did was to do
my duty, to obey orders, and not to
add to the trouble by selfishness and
folly. Our captain was a good man.
He was loved by all the crew, and in
times gone by had won all our hearts
so thoroughly by his kindness, that
there was not one man in the mo-
ment of danger who would not have
risked his life to follow his lightest
word. He had’ plenty of presence
of mind too, and seeing that, if every
man did his duty, there was good

hope of saving the ship, he calmly
86



THE WORTH OF PRESENCE OF MIND. 7

set to work to fulfil his own. He
first locked the door of the ladies’
cabin; for if any of them had chanced
to awake and find out what was the
matter, there would have been such
screaming and terror, that the men
would have got confused, and the
poor things themselves would very
likely have run into the greatest
danger. Then he went to the gen-
tlemen’s cabin and did the same; for
he knew men are sometimes as fool-
ish as women, or even if they had
not screamed, they would have got
in the way. And then he gave di-
rections to the crew, and by all work-
ing together and doing exactly as

we were told, the flames were soon
87



8 THE SHIP ON FIRE; OR,

got under, and what had looked in
the dark night like a vast burning
mass, even as if the very ship itself
would soon be consumed, was found
to leave such slight traces of mischief
when the flames were once put out,
that the passengers never had any
idea from how frightful a sight the
wisdom of their captain had saved
them. I’ve no doubt many of them
would have jumped overboard with
terror, if they had. seen the tower-
ing- flames when they were at their
height... | ;

But about the man who did get
lost, father ?

Ah, yes, poor fellow. But it was

all his own fault. He was one of
88 es


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