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 Navius, 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."

"Can you tell me, papa, what was the first origin of fables?" enquired Ferdinand.

"It is not very clear, my dear," replied Mr. Bernard, "but it is probable they are nearly as ancient as the history of mankind; or, at least, that there never was a time, of which we have any knowledge, when they were no familiar. We first read of them as being used in Palestine and Egypt, from whence they were even borrowed by the Greeks and Romans. The earliest specimen of fables with which I am acquainted, occurs in the book of Judges, where Jotham signifies to the people, the temper and fate of a usurper, under the similitude of the trees going forth to choose them a king." [Footnote: See Jones, on the Origin and Use of Fables.]

Ferdinand. It is in the ninth chapter of Judges. I read it this morning, but did not quite understand the intention of it.

Mr. B. I will endeavour to explain it to you then, my love. You will recollect, that the fruitful trees, when applied to, all declined taking upon them the sovereign authority; but the bramble offers his services, and gets into power. The moral of which, as applicable to the person of Abimelech, was this:—that the desire of reigning does not prevail in wise and good men, who should feed the people, and protect them under the shadow of their authority; but chiefly in men of rough minds and bloody intentions, who harass the people, and are, at last, consumed with them, in the unjust exercise of their power.

"The parables made use of by our Saviour, are, I think, very much in the form of fables," said Emily.

Mrs. B. They are, my love. They were delivered in this manner, for the sake of some moral, which would either be obscure without an illustration, or offensive to the bearers, if it were delivered in plain terms.

Louisa. Nathan's reproof to king David, when he took away the wife of Uriah the Hittite, is very beautiful. I read it a little time ago, in the twelfth chapter of the second book of Samuel. He made use of a fable to gain his attention.

Mrs. B. He did, my love. By putting a case in which David seemed to have no immediate concern, he interested his affections; and when his indignation was raised against a fictitious person, the prophet turned it upon himself, with that striking application: "Thou art the man." Then there was no retracting: he had already condemned himself, in the judgement he had passed upon the cruel offender in the parable.

Mrs. Bernard now took out her watch, and expressed her surprise upon finding it near ten o'clock.

Their father immediately requested them to prepare to retire, adding: "To-morrow will be Sunday: I hope you will be in my study by seven o'clock, that we may begin early the important duties of that sacred day."

Ferdinand. I have been often surprised to find, that many people lie longer in bed on Sundays, then on the other mornings of the week. This must be wrong. They can rise six days a week to work, and not one to worship. [Footnote: This was an observation, verbatim, of the same little boy before mentioned.]

Mr. B. Your remark is a just one, my dear boy; let us, in our own family, endeavour to set a different example. Good night, my children.

CONVERSATION VII.

The little party assembled this evening, as usual; but, being Sunday, the conversation was less general, though not less cheerful than at other times. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard possessed the happy art of presenting religious instruction to their children, under the most pleasing form; consequently, they did not dread the approach of the sabbath, as a day when all pleasure must be excluded. On the contrary, it was hailed with gladness: the business of the week was entirely laid aside, and their minds were naturally turned, in thankfulness, towards the Divine Being to whom they owed so much. The gracious God was always presented to their view, surrounded by his benign attributes. They were instructed to regard him, not only as the author of their existence, but as the source whence every comfort flowed. They were taught to consider him, not a severe judge, delighting in punishment, but a merciful father, who withheld not even his only Son, but freely gave him up to die for sinners, that they might be pardoned through his blood. They were instructed, fully to appreciate that mercy, which delighteth not in the death of a sinner, but would rather that he should be converted and live. The beautiful prayers in the Liturgy, were explained to them in a manner suitable to their different capacities; consequently, they were not repeated by rote, as is too frequently the case, where the same attention is not paid. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard took unremitted pains with their children, and felt themselves amply rewarded by their conduct; for though, like other human beings, they were fallible, and, consequently, often did wrong, yet religious principle being the ground-work of their characters, conviction instantly followed the commission of a fault, and sorrow and repentance succeeded.

I hope, my dear young readers, you feel some degree of interest in my little family, and some of you, perhaps, may wish to be as good and as happy as they were: let me then most earnestly and affectionately entreat you, to "remember your Creator in the days of your youth: while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when you shall say, I have no pleasure in them."

After Ferdinand had repeated the text, and Emily, Edward, and Louisa, had given an abstract of the sermon they had heard in the morning, Louisa added: "I should have liked the sermon much better, mamma, if the preacher had not been such a disagreeable-looking man."

"I should not have expected to have heard my little Louisa make so foolish and improper a remark," replied Mrs. Bernard: "it reminds me of an anecdote which I read a short time ago. I will relate it to you, as I think I cannot give you a more suitable reproof. A person once excusing his non-attendance at public worship, by pleading the disagreeable appearance and manner of the minister, 'Let us look,' said the good Bishop of Alet, to whom this man was addressing himself, 'more at our Saviour, and less at the instrument. Elijah was as well nourished, when the bread from heaven was brought to him by a raven, as Ishmael, when the spring of water was revealed to him by an angel.'"

"Thank you, my dear mamma," said Louisa: "it is a beautiful anecdote, and I shall endeavour not to merit another reproof upon that subject."

Mrs. Bernard then produced a letter, which she had received from a friend the day before, and desired Emily to read it aloud, as it contained an account which she thought would both interest and instruct the children. "Read it slowly, my dear girl," continued she, "endeavour to avoid hesitation, and lay your emphasis properly. This is a very material point. Lindley Murray, in his excellent Introduction to the English Reader, says: 'It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste, and must arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feelings of other.'"

Emily promised to attend to her mother's instructions, and taking the letter, read the following extract.

"In the autumn of the year 1808, eight passengers, consisting of seven gentlemen and one lady, embarked on board an American vessel, bound from the port of Cronstadt to America, purposing to touch at England, in company with a brig and another vessel. They had scarcely proceeded fifty leagues, when a violent storm arose. The night was unusually dark, and the ship ungovernable. In this extremity, the brig suddenly dashed against them with such force, that every plank seemed rent asunder, and an instant after, they found themselves transfixed upon a rock. It was now near five o'clock in the morning. They repeatedly fired guns of distress, hung out signals, and at daybreak beheld, with grateful delight, a large boat, rowed by two stout females, approaching their ship. The captain insisted that his eight passengers should go on board the boat, whilst he and the seamen hastened to attempt the preservation of their luggage and stores. He entreated the women to land their charge in safety, and then return, as expeditiously as possible, for himself and his six sailors; as the ship leaked very fast, and though the storm was abated, they were surrounded by such a cluster of rocks, as to deprive them of all hope of getting off in safety. The two heroines steered their charge to the island of Stameo, a barren rock, which they reached in about an hour. They conducted them to the best hut on the island. It was built of mud, and was the habitation of two sisters, and several other females, who resided under the same roof. They produced milk, dried fish, and rye bread, for the refreshment of their wearied and exhausted guests. They prepared a room, with beds, for the gentlemen; and one of the boat-women gave up her own to the lady, sleeping herself upon the oven. Hospitality, affectionate civility, and tender solicitude for their comfort, accompanied every action, and occupied every thought.

"In vain they sought to gain the ship a second time: the swell was so great, and the surf so strong, that no boat could venture—no vessel dared approach. Meanwhile, the generous crew were agitated by a thousand fears. In vain they waited for the wished-for boat: no answer was returned to their signals of distress—no pity shown for their perilous state.

"Distracted by this delay, the captain ordered them to man the jolly- boat, and arming himself and sailors with swords and pistols: 'My lads,' said he, 'we will instantly seek our friends, and if the merciless barbarians have robbed and murdered them, their lives shall pay the just forfeit of their treachery.'

"The sailors instantly prepared to obey their commander. They struggled successfully against the roaring billows, and, benumbed with horror and despair, at length reached the shore. Here they wandered from one wretched hovel to another, but no human voice broke upon their ear. At length they espied a solitary cow, and, mute with apprehension, sword in hand, they hastened to the cot near which she was trying to graze. With a trembling hand and beating heart, the captain lifted up the latch, and, on opening the door, imagine his joy on beholding his happy shipmates safe. His tongue denied him utterance—tears gushed spontaneously to his eyes: with eager grasp he pressed his lost companions to his heart, and in the rapture of that moment, all his former sufferings were forgotten. The hospitable board was filled again, and every guest received a cordial welcome.

"Eleven days elapsed before the ship was again fit to put to sea. When the hour of departure arrived, a mutual interest animated their breasts, and gratitude broke forth in thanks, from every tongue. They begged their kind hostesses to name the sum that would pay, as far as money could, their offices of Christian charity. Fourteen persons, for eleven days, to board, wash, and lodge, had nearly exhausted all their winter store. After a short consultation, the elder sister returned, with a large Bible, translated into the Fins language, and given to the islanders by Gustavus Adolphus, and said: 'We are not aware that we have acted beyond what every Christian is in duty bound to do.' Then, opening the Bible, 'in this,' continued she, 'we learn that duty which all our Christian brethren practise. Distress, which claims, must always find relief while it can be obtained; if, however, it will make you more happy, that we should take some reward, provided two rubles (four shillings and eight-pence) be not thought too much, that sum will amply repay us.' Then, taking the lady's hand, 'we regret,' continued she, 'that we can never be assured of what would rejoice our hearts, and reconcile us most to your departure, which is, that you all reach your native land in safety, and find your parents and relations well. Then wishing them prosperous gales, they bid farewell, and parted, probably for ever.

"Stameo is situated in the Gulph of Finland. It is one of the small islands nearly opposite Fredericstadt, and distant about twenty verstes [Footnote: A Verste is about 31 English miles.]. It is a barren rock of granite, with scarcely any herbage, and only a few fir-trees here and there. It is about three miles in extent, and has ten or twelve mud huts, containing, men, women, and children, fifty souls. They were formerly under the dominion of Sweden; but at the defeat of Charles the Twelfth, by Peter the Great, became subject to the Russian government. They are of the Lutheran church, though there is no place of public worship on the island. Both men and women are expert at fishing, on which they chiefly depend for subsistence; and keep up a sort of traffic with Fredericstadt, exchanging fish, both dried, fresh, and pickled, for rye, flax, wood, and vegetables. Their labour exceeds belief: they rise at four o'clock, and instantly begin the labour of the day. The hut is first cleaned and put in order: they then commence spinning, in which they particularly excel, and continue working till eight at night. Their breakfast is dispensed by the hostess of the hut, to all the family, who eat it standing. It consists of black bread, fish dried or pickled, and goat milk, when it is to be had: when that cannot be procured, they are satisfied with pure water. Sixteen persons out of the fifty lived in this hut, and were in possession of more comforts than might have been expected.

"They are very net in their houses, persons, and dress. The bedding is excellent: the blankets and linen are fine, warm, and white; the pillow- cases and sheets have fine, open-worked, deep borders. Their dress is becoming and modest, uniting warmth with convenience. The married women hide their hair under a close, embroidered, silk cap, with a plain lace border over their cheeks. The single women exhibit their beautiful flaxen tresses, which they plat round their heads, or let it hang at full length, with a knot of ribbon at the end, to confine the braid.

"Their government is truly patriarchal. The mistress of the house is called mamma, and when advice is wanted, they assemble five or seven of the elders, who confer on the subject, and decide, in a few minutes, on the best means of acting. Such was the case when they determined on the sum to be paid by the strangers.

"As soon as their youth attain the age of fourteen years, they go every Sunday in boats to Fredericstadt, to learn their creed and catechism, and to hear the word of God: they are also taught to read and write. In winter, the clergyman crosses twice to them, to administer the sacrament to the sick and aged.

"One Christian charity unites their minds. They are faithful to their promises, honest, temperate, sober, and benevolent. They fear God, and honour their king. In a word, they are virtuous, innocent, and happy; and when told of vices, they seem to consider it as we do fairy tales:— stories to listen to, but not believe.

"Two cows supply them all with milk; a few pigs with animal food: when these fail, fish and water are the substitutes."

Edward. It is a very interesting account, my dear mother; but I did not think that any people in the world were so innocent—so free from vice. The Scriptures tell us, that the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; but this happy little community seems quite an exception to the general rule.

"No doubt, their hearts, like those of the rest of mankind, are prone to evil," replied Mrs. Bernard, "but being, from their insulated situation, in a great measure removed from the commerce of men, and, consequently, from many temptations by which the inhabitants of large societies are beset, and making the sacred Scriptures the guide of their conduct, they appear happily preserved from the commission of those crimes, to which many individuals, more exposed to the temptations of the world, so fatally fall victims. Nothing is so destructive to the morals of the young, as indiscriminate intercourse with the world. In the bosom of your own family, you are most likely to be secured from a temptation to false pleasures; and there do I earnestly hope, my dear children, you will ever find your chief enjoyment; since no felicity is so pure and innocent, as that which results from an affectionate attachment to your domestic circle."

Emily. We should be ungrateful, indeed, were we not happy at home; as I am sure it is the constant endeavour of both you and our dear father, to make us so.

"We are amply repaid for all our efforts," said her tender mother, "when the smile of good-humour enlivens your countenances, and beams delight around our little circle.

"Now, Edward, read us the extract you have made from Sir Matthew Hale's Contemplation upon Contentment," said Mr. Bernard.

"Indeed, my dear father," replied he, "I am sorry to say I have not finished it. I put it off on Monday and Tuesday, when I had, certainly, plenty of time, thinking I should readily accomplish it before the end of the week; but in consequence of this delay, and several unexpected circumstances intervening, to employ my time, it is wtill unfinished. I hope you will excuse this neglect, and by next Sunday I will endeavour to be prepared."

Mr. B. I am sorry to see in you a sad habit of procrastination, and want of punctuality. I assure you, my dear boy, that, to a man of business, such a habit is more ruinous; and if not subdued in youth, will surely grow the more confirmed by age, and blight his fairest prospects.

Edward felt the justice of his father's reproof, and, bending his eyes upon the ground, remained silent, forming a resolution to amend, and hoping that he might never again incur his father's displeasure for a similar fault.

Mr. Bernard perceived, by his countenance, what was passing in his mind, and affectionately taking his hand, confirmed his good resolve by a smile of approbation. Then, taking up Cecil's Remains, that lay upon the table, he opened it, and read aloud the following passage:

"Method, as Mrs. More says, is the very hinge of business, and there is no method without punctuality. Punctuality is important, because it subserves the peace and good-temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on necessary duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. Punctuality is important, as it gains time: it is like packing things in a box; a good packer will get in as much again as a bad one. The calmness of mind which it produces, is another advantage of punctuality. A disorderly man is always in a hurry: he has no time to speak with you, because he is going elsewhere; and, when he gets there, he is too late for his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it. It was a wise maxim of the Duke of Newcastle:—'I do one thing at a time.' Punctuality gives weight to character. Such a man has made an appointment;—then I know he will keep it. And this generates punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and children must be punctual, where their leader is so. Appointments, indeed, become debts.—I owe you punctuality, if I have made an appointment with you; and have no right to throw away your time, if I do my own."

When Mr. Bernard had finished reading, Edward thanked his father, and promised to endeavour to correct his bad habit. His parents united in encouraging him to make a steady effort, assuring him that they felt convinced that it would be attended with success, and recommending him to commit to memory the preceding admirable paragraph. His father then changed the subject, by enquiring whether Louisa had any thing new to repeat to them before they separated. She answered in the affirmative, and immediately recited the following lines from Miss Carter's Poems.

"Grant me, great God, a heart to thee inclin'd, Increase my faith, and rectify my mind; Teach me by times to tread thy sacred ways, And to thy service consecrate my days. Still, as through life's perplexing maze I stray, Be thou the guiding star to mark my way; Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth, And point their motions to the paths of truth. Protect me by thy providential care, And warm my soul to shun the tempter's snare. Through all the shifting scenes of varied life, In calms of ease, or ruffling storms of grief; Through each event of this inconstant state, Preserve my temper equal and sedate. Give me a mind that nobly can despise The low designs, and little arts of vice, Be my religion such, as taught by thee, Alike from pride and superstition free. Inform my judgment, regulate my will, My reason strengthen, and my passions still. To gain thy favour, be my first great end, And to that scope may every action tend. Amidst the pleasures of a prosperous state, Whose fluttering chains the untutor'd heart elate, May I reflect to whom those gifts I owe, And bless the bounteous hand from whence they flow. Or, if as adverse fortune be my share, Let not its terrors tempt me to despair; But, fix'd on thee, a steady faith maintain, And own all good, which thy decrees ordain; On thy unfailing providence depend, The best protector, and the surest friend. Thus on life's stage may I my part sustain, And at my exit, thy applauses gain. When the pale herald summons me away, Support me in that dread catastrophe; In that last conflict guard me from alarms, And take my soul, aspiring, to thy arms."

Mrs. B. The lines are excellent, Louisa, and you have repeated them as if you understood their meaning. What is the "pale herald," alluded to in the last verse?

Louisa. Is it not Death, mamma?

Mrs. B. It is, my dear. The concluding lines contain a supplication for fortitude and serenity at that awful hour, which every individual must one day meet.

Emily. There is something very solemn in the contemplation of death, my dear mother. It is an idea that often casts a gloom over my gayest hours.

Mrs. B. A firm reliance on the power and mercy of God, with an humble confidence in the redeeming love of Christ, will banish that fearful dread which might otherwise obscure the closing scene. Even in that extremity, the true Christian has nothing to fear; he may say, with the Psalmist, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

At this moment the clock struck eight, at which hour the servants always joined the family, that they might have the advantage of hearing their excellent master read such portions of the sacred Scriptures as were best adapted to their capacities and circumstances; after which, the solemn duties of the day were closed with prayer and thanksgiving, and the children retired to their pillows, serene and happy.

CONVERSATION VIII

A very fine autumnal morning induced Mrs. Bernard to excuse the children some of their lessons, that they might avail themselves of the opportunity it afforded of enjoying a country walk, at this delightful season of the year. She considered every object in nature, as a book from which, with a careful guide, much useful instruction might be derived; and she never neglected any opportunity of enlarging their minds, and elevating their thoughts, by directing their attention from the various beauties of creation, to the kind and omnipotent Father, who has graciously prepared for his dependent children, so many unmerited blessings.

"Pray, mamma, what has become of all the swallows we saw flying about a few weeks ago?" enquired Ferdinand: "I cannot see one now. I was very much amused, when we last walked this way, in watching their rapid motions: other birds are here as usual, but I do not observe a single swallow."

Mrs. Bernard took him by the hand, saying, "You have, my dear boy, put a question to me, which I shall not be able to answer to your satisfaction. It is a subject that has puzzled naturalists more than many others, and opinions upon it are still very various. Some suppose that they migrate into milder climates, whilst others conclude, they conceal themselves in some warm spot, and lie dormant, as is the case with many animals during the severity of the winter months. In confirmation of this latter opinion, some few have been discovered in sandbanks, apparently dead, but, upon being laid before the fire, have recovered their former vigour. If, however, the vast multitudes that visit us, universally adopted this mode of concealment, they would be, no doubt, frequently discovered in their winter retreats, which is not the case. Mr. White, of Selborne, a man of great observation, particularly directed his attention to this point, but was not able to decide it to his own satisfaction. I think he seems of opinion, that the majority of them migrate, and that some few of late broods, which have not attained sufficient strength to join the travellers, conceal themselves as before mentioned, reviving upon the return of spring."

Ferdinand. They seem to be curious birds: will you be so kind, mamma, as to tell us some particulars respecting them? Pray, are not martins very similar in their habits to swallows?

Mrs. B. They belong to the same order, called hirundines. There are four kinds of British hirundines:—the house-martin, the swallow, the swift, and the bank-martin, which have each habits peculiar to themselves. The swallow is the first that makes its appearance in spring; generally about the middle of April. It frequently builds in chimneys, five or six feet from the top, and prefers those stacks where there is a constant fire; no doubt, for the sake of the warmth. It does not select the immediate shaft where there is a fire, but prefers one adjoining the kitchen, and disregards the smoke by which it is almost continually enveloped. The nest of the swallow, like that of the house- martin, consists of a shell, composed of dirt or mud, mixed with short pieces of straw to strengthen it. The shape is, however, somewhat different: it is lined with fine grass and feathers, which are collected by the little architects as they float in the air. Having constructed their dwelling, the hen lays from four to six white eggs, dotted with red specks, and brings out her first brood about the last week in June. I have been frequently amused in watching the progressive method by which the young ones are introduced into life: they first emerge from their place of concealment with difficulty, and frequently I have found a young one in the parlour, which had fallen down the chimney in its first attempt to leave the next. For a day or two, the old ones feed them on the chimney-top, after which, they conduct them to the dead bough of some tree near at hand, where they continue attending them with the greatest assiduity. In a few days after this, the young brood is enabled to fly, but it is some time longer before the little creatures can take their own food; until which time, they are fed by the parent birds, with the most affectionate solicitude. As soon as they are disengaged from their necessary attendance on their first brood, they betake themselves to the business of rearing a second, which they bring out towards the end of August. This little bird is an instructive pattern of unwearied industry and affection; for, from morning till night, whilst their young ones require support, they spend the whole day in their service. Their food consists of flies, gnats, and a small species of beetle, and they drink as they fly along, sipping the surface of the water. They settle, occasionally, on the ground, to pick up gravel, which is necessary to grind and digest the food of all birds. [Footnote: for the preceding and following account, see White's Natural History of Selberne.]

Ferdinand. Pray mamma, how can we distinguish a swallow from the other species of hirundines? I think that is the name by which you call them.

"By the length and forkedness of their tails," returned Mrs. Bernard: "they are much more nimble, too, than the other species."

Louisa. Do they always build in chimneys, pray, mamma?

Mrs. B. Although the shaft of a chimney is the place of which they usually make choice for this purpose, they sometimes vary their plan. In Sir Ashton Lever's Museum, was the nest of a swallow built on the wings and body of an owl, which happened, by accident, to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn; and another in a large shell, which was, the following year, suspended in the same place. You have, no doubt, my dear children, all observed vast flocks of swallows assemble together on the roofs of houses; they chirp, and chatter, and seem very busy, preparing for their ensuing migration, and consulting, as it were, upon the plan most proper to be adopted on this occasion. I have often wished, at such times, that I could understand their language. There is seldom one of these birds to be seen after the middle of October; but to what regions they fly, we do not exactly know; though I read, in Dr. Russel's account of Aleppo, that numbers of these birds visit that country towards the end of February, when they build as in Europe, and, having hatched their young, disappear about the end of July. They are also said to be by no means uncommon North America. Sir Charles Wager and Captain Wright, saw vast flocks of them at sea, when on their passage from one country another. White, in a pretty little poem, which he calls "The Naturalist's Summer Evening Walk," addresses them as follows:

"Amusive birds! say where your hid retreat, When the frost rages, and the tempests beat; Whence your return, by such nice instinct led, When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head? Such baffled searches mock man's prying pride, The God of nature is your secret guide."

Professor Kahn, in his travels into America, relates an interesting anecdote, of a pair of swallows which built their nest in a stable belonging to a lady of his acquaintance. The female laid her eggs, and was about to brood them: some days elapsed, and the people saw the female still sitting on the eggs, but the male, flying about the nest, and sometimes settling on a nail, was herd to utter a very plaintive note, which betrayed his uneasiness. On a nearer examination the female was found dead on the nest, and, on her being removed, the male took his seat upon the eggs; but after remaining upon them about two hours, he went out, and returned in the afternoon, bringing with him another female, which sat upon the nest, and afterwards fed the young ones till they were able to provide for themselves, with as much assiduity and kindness as their natural parent could have done.

The children were all much interested in the account which their mother had given them, and united in requesting some information respecting the other species of hirundines. This, Mrs. Bernard most willingly gave them, as follows:

"The house-martin, my dears, usually appears a few days later than the swallow. For some time after their arrival, they play and sport about, without any preparation for constructing their nests, which they do not attempt to build till about the middle of May. At this season, if the weather be fine, they begin seriously to think of providing a mansion for their little family. This bird usually builds against a perpendicular wall, without any projection to support the fabric; it is, therefore, very necessary that the first foundation should be firmly fixed. For this purpose, the prudent little architect is careful not to advance in her work too rapidly. By building only in the morning, and dedicating the remainder of the day to food and amusement, she gives it sufficient time to dry and harden, seldom building more than half an inch in a day."

Ferdinand. Mamma, I have seen workmen, when they build mud walls, raise but a little at a time, and then leave off: very likely it was their observation of the martin's plan, which first taught them this prudent caution.

Mrs. B. Very probably, my dear. We might learn many a useful lesson from the sagacity and careful economy of animals, were we not above attending to such humble instructors.

Ferdinand. Yes, mamma; the shepherd, in one of Gay's Fables, which I learned the other day, gained almost all his wisdom from his observation of animals. You know, he says to the philosopher:——

"The cheerful labours of the bee, Awake my soul to industry, Who can observe the careful ant, And not provide for future want? My dog, (the trustiest of his kind,) With gratitude inflames my mind; I mark his true, his faithful way, And in my service, copy Tray—In constancy and nuptial love, I learn my duty from the dove. The hen, who from the chilly air, With pious wing protects her care, And every fowl that flies at large, instruct me in a parent's charge.

Thus every object in creation; Can furnish hints to contemplation; And from the most minute and mean, A virtuous mind can morals glean."

Mrs. B. Very true, my dear: and I am pleased to find you have materials at hand to support your opinion.

Ferdinand. But I have interrupted you, mamma, in your account. Pray go on, for I am very much interested in it, and want to know in how many days the careful little laborers complete their house.

Mrs. B. In about ten or twelve days the mansion is finished; strong, compact, warm, and perfectly fitted for all the purposes for which it was intended; but very often, after this industrious little bird has finished the shell of its nest, the house-sparrow seizes it as its own, turning out the rightful master, and lining it after its own manner.

Ferdinand. Poor little bird! how I should pity him, to be deprived of his house after having constructed it with so much labour. I should think, such strong nests would last more than one season, mamma?

Mrs. B. And so they do, my dear. Martins will continue to breed for several years together in the same nest, when it happens to be well sheltered, and secure from the injuries of the weather. The hen lays from four to six white eggs; and, like the swallow, as soon as the young are able to shift for themselves, the old ones turn their thoughts to the business of rearing a second brood. About the beginning of October, they retire in vast flocks together.

Louisa. How are house-martins distinguished from the others, pray, mamma??

Mrs. B. By having their legs covered with feathers quite down to their toes. They are no songsters, but twitter in their nests, in a pretty, inward, soft manner.

Louisa. Now, pray mamma, give us some account of the swift.

Mrs. B. Most willingly, my dear Louisa. This is the largest of the British hirundines, and makes its appearance much later in the season than the others I have mentioned; being seldom seen before the last week in April, or the first week in May. It is by no means so skilful an architect as the two species I have already noticed. Making no crust or shell to its nest, it forms it of dry grass and features, very rudely put together, and constructing it in some dark corner of a castle, tower, or steeple; this species cannot, therefore, be so narrowly watched as the others, which build more openly. They are almost constantly on the wing, never settling, either on the ground, on the roofs of houses, or in trees, as is the case with the other species. The female lays only two eggs, which are milk-white, long, and peaked at the small end. It is a very lively bird, rising early and retiring to rest late, and is observed, in the height of summer, to be on the wing sixteen hours a day. Like the martin, they are no songsters, having only one harsh, screaming note, which, however, I cannot consider disagreeable. It is never heard but in the most lovely summer weather, and, consequently, the sound occasions in my mind a pleasing association of ideas, which I like to indulge. If by any accident they settle upon the ground, they find great difficulty in rising, on account of the shortness of their legs and the length of their wings: neither can they walk conveniently, they only crawl along.

Louisa. They seem, in many respects different in their habits from the other species you have mentioned, mamma: how may we distinguish them by their outward appearance?

Mrs. B. The peculiar formation of the foot plainly discriminates them, for it is so disposed, as to carry all its four toes forward; which clearly accounts for the difficulty it finds in walking. As they arrive later, so they retire sooner than the others, being seldom seen after the middle of August. Are you not tired, my children, with my long account of these birds?

"Oh no, dear mamma: pray tell us something about sand-martins too," exclaimed each of the children; "we shall then be able to distinguish each of the four species of British hirundines."

Mrs. Bernard assured them, she would willingly comply with their request, as far as she was able to do it: "but," added she, "it is difficult to gain full and exact information respecting the lives and habits of these little birds, which are extremely wild by nature, disclaiming all domestic attachments, and haunting heaths and commons, far from the resorts of man. They are very fond of water, and are never known to abound but near vast pools or rivers. They form their nests in a manner totally different from the varieties I have mentioned; boring a round hole in the sand, in a serpenting direction, and about two feet deep. At the further end of this burrow, they form their rude nest; consisting of fine grass and feathers, laid together with very little art. It is wonderful to observe what arduous undertakings perseverance will accomplish. One would suppose it almost impossible that this feeble bird, with its soft bill and tender claws, should be able to bore a stubborn sand-bank, without injury. Sand-martins are much smaller than any other species of hirundines, and also differ from them in colour, being what is termed mouse-colour, instead of black. They fly also in a peculiar manner, by jerks, somewhat resembling a butterfly. They are by no means so common as the other species; for there are few towns or large villages that do not abound with house-martins; few churches, towers, or steeples, but what are haunted by swifts; scarcely a cottage chimney that has not its swallow; whilst the bank-martins, scattered here and there, live a sequestered life, in sand-hills and in the banks of rivers."

Ferdinand. Do they sing, mamma?

Mrs. B. No, my dear; they are particularly mute, only making a little harsh noise when any person approaches their nest. They lay from four to six white eggs, and breed twice in the season.

Louisa. Have you any thing more to tell us on this amusing subject, my dear mother?

Mrs. B. No, my dear: I believe I have now told you most of the important particulars respecting these curious little birds. But I have an account in my pocket-book, which I extracted from a book I was reading last week—"Bingley's Animal Biography:" I will read that to you, if you please. It is respecting a foreign species of hirundines, called the esculent martin.

The children all united in begging to hear this account; upon which Mrs. Bernard took it from her pocket, and read the following extract:

"The esculent martin is said to less in size than the wren. The bill is thick; the upper parts of the body brown, and the under parts white. The tail is forked, and each feather is tipped with white. The legs are brown.

"The nest of this bird is excessively curious, and composed of such materials, that it is not only eatable, but is considered one of the greatest dainties that the Asiatic epicures possess. It generally weighs about half an ounce, and is, in shape, like half a lemon; or, as some say, like a saucer with one side flatted, which adheres to the rock. The texture is somewhat like isinglass, or rather more like fine gum-dragon; and the several layers of the matter it is composed of, are very apparent; being fabricated from repeated parcels of a soft slimy substance, in the same manner as the common martins form theirs of mud. Authors differ much as to the materials of which it is composed: some suppose it to consist of sea-worms, of the mollusca kind; others, of a kind of cuttle-fish, or a glutinous sea-plast called agal-agal. It has also been supposed, that the swallows rob other birds of their eggs, and, after breaking the shells, apply the white of them to that purpose.

"The best sorts of nests, which are perfectly free from dirt, are dissolved in broths, in order to thicken them, and are said to give them an exquisite flavour. They are soaked in water to soften, then pulled to pices, and, after being mixed with ginseng, are put into the body of a fowl. The whole is then stewed in a pot, with a sufficient quantity of water, and left on the coals all night. The following morning it is ready to be eaten."

"Pray, mamma, what is ginseng? I never heard of it before," said Louisa.

Mrs. B. It is the root of a small plant, growing in China, Tartary, and likewise in some parts of North America, particularly Canada and Pennsylvania, from whence considerable quantities have lately been brought over here. Amongst the Chinese, it is esteemed a medicine of extraordinary value.

"A medicine! mamma," exclaimed Louisa; "I thought you said they put it into the stuffing of their fowl!"

"And so they do, my dear," returned Mrs. Bernard, "it is by no means of an unpleasant taste, as it has a mucilaginous sweetness, approaching to that of liquorice, accompanied with an agreeable bitterness, and a slight aromatic warmth, with little or no smell."

Louisa. Thank you mamma. Now will you go on with your account?

Mrs. B. "The nests of which I was speaking, are found in vast numbers in many islands of the Eastern Archipelago. The best kind sell in China, from one thousand to fifteen hundred dollars the picle, a weight of about twenty-five pounds. The black and dirty ones only sell for twenty dollars.

"Sir George Staunton, in his Embassy to China, says: 'These nests are a considerable object of traffic among the Javanese, and many are employed in it from their infancy. The birds having spent near two months in preparing their nests, usually lay two eggs, which are hatched in about fifteen days. When the young birds become fledged, it is thought time to seize upon their nests, which is done regularly three times a year, and is effected by means of ladders of bamboo and reeds, by which the people descend into the caverns; but when these are very deep, rope-ladders are preferred. This operation is attended with much danger, and several lose their lives in the attempt. The inhabitants of the mountains generally employed in it, begin always by sacrificing a buffalo; a custom which is constantly observed by the Javanese, on the eve of every extraordinary undertaking. They also pronounce some prayers, anoint themselves with sweet-scented oils, and smoke the entrance of the cavern with gum- benjamin. Near some of these caverns, a tutular goddess is worshipped, whose priest burns incense, and lays his protecting hand on every person intending to descend. A flambeau is carefully prepared at the same time, with a gum which exudes from a tree growing in the vicinity, and is not easily extinguished by fixed air, or subterraneous vapours.'"

The children were delighted with this account, and thanked their mother for the amusement and instructions she had kindly afforded them. They each determined, before the following spring, to provide themselves with a book, for the purpose of keeping a diary, and noticing the different objects that might engage their attention. They had been so much interested by their mother's conversation, that the beauties of the surrounding scenery had almost passed unnoticed. She now directed their attention to the fine open country that lay behind them. A beautiful little copse they were just entering, quite charmed Emily, who was a great admirer of rural scenery. "The autumnal tints add to the riches of the foliage, and improve our present prospect, my dear mother," said she, "but make us fear that a very few weeks will deprive us of our pleasure."

"That is very true, Emily," added Louisa, "but we shall have new pleasures in the place of those we love. Think of the delightful winter evenings which we always so much enjoy. I really scarcely know what season to prefer. Spring is very charming; in summer too we have many pleasures; and, at this moment, I feel as if a morning walk in autumn were the best of all."

Mrs. Bernard smiled at the cheerful vivacity of Louisa, and recommended to each of the children the cultivation of a contented disposition, which knows how to derive comfort from circumstances in themselves unpromising.

At this moment they turned into a little glen, and were delighted with the rural appearance of a cottage, shaded by lofty trees. They approached its humble door, which stood open, and beheld a young cottager, who was singing at her spinning-wheel, and too much engaged by her occupation to notice their approach. Mrs. Bernard drew back a few paces, and whispered to Emily the following lines, which this sweet scene recalled to her mind:

"E'en from the straw-roof'd cot, the note of joy Flows full and frequent, as the village fair, Whose little wants the busy hour employ, Chaunting some rural ditty, soothes her care.

"Verse softens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings, Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitude of things."

Then, again approaching the cottage, she accosted the young girl, who, with a modest blush, arose from her wheel, and hastily pushing it on one side, invited her unexpected visitors to take a seat, and rest themselves after their walk.