Pleased with their reception, Mrs. Bernard accepted her invitation; and, upon entering into conversation with the young cottager, became more and more interested in her favour. There was that modest reserve in her manner, which is particularly pleasing in youth.

In answer to Mrs. Bernard's questions, she informed her, that she was, in very early life, left an orphan; having lost both her parents before she had attained her third year. Since which time, she had been indebted to an aged grandmother for protection and support.

"We have both worked hard for our livelihood," said Mary, (for that was the young cottager's name,) "and, thank Heaven, we have never wanted the necessaries of life; more we have never wished for. My grandmother weeds in the squire's garden hard by, and I earn a trifle at my wheel."

Just as Mary had said these words, they perceived an old woman approaching. She was leaning on the arm of a fine, healthy-looking youth. A deeper blush, which at this moment dyed the cheeks of the pretty young cottager, told a tale she would wittingly have concealed.

"Is that your grandmother, Mary?" enquired Mrs. Bernard.

Mary. Yes, Madam.

Mrs. B. And the young man is your brother, I suppose?

"No, Ma'am," said Mary, blushing still more deeply: "I have no brother. That is Henry, our neighbour Farmer Wilson's son; and he is always very kind to my grandmother."

By this time, the old woman had reached the cottage door, and was introduced by Mary to her new guests. The young man made a rustic bow and retired.

Mrs. Bernard soon entered into conversation with the old woman, and was not less pleased with her, than she had before been with her grand- daughter. There was an air of cheerful content in her countenance, which bespoke that all was peace within, and prepossessed you more completely in her favour than any words could have done.

After some conversation, the old woman, turning to her grand-daughter, said: "The ladies will perhaps eat an apple, Mary."

Mary instantly left the cottage to gather some; and her grandmother took that opportunity of passing upon the good girl, a well-merited eulogium. "She is my greatest comfort, Madam," said she; "and I may truly say. from the day she was born, she never willingly gave me a single moment's uneasiness. To be sure, I do feel very anxious about her at times; particularly since she and Henry have taken such a fancy to each other. Times are so hard, Ma'am, and money so scarce, that I dare not consent to their marrying. And yet it grieves me to the heart to keep them asunder; for he is as good as she herself, and almost as dear to me."

Mrs. Bernard enquired what means Henry had of supporting a wife, and found he was the younger son of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, who had a large family to establish in the world, and very little to accomplish it with.

Mary's return at this moment, with a basket of fresh-gathered apples, interrupted the conversation; and the children, after regaling themselves with her little offering, took their leave, and, accompanied by their mother, bent their steps towards home.

Ferdinand, who was a child of great observation, seldom proceeded far without discovering some object to interest his attention. He had remained a considerable distance behind his mother, exploring the hedges for some new flower or insect that he had not before examined, when his attention was attracted by a wasp, which, having seized a fly almost as large as himself, was endeavouring to carry the prize to his nest; but the wind blowing in a contrary direction, acted so forcibly upon the extended wings of the fly, that the poor wasp, with all his efforts, could make no progress. Ferdinand was anxious to see how he would act in this difficulty, and called his mother and sisters, to smile with them at the insect's perplexity. In a few minutes, the wasp alighted upon the ground, and, with the most persevering industry, sawed off, with his teeth, the two wings of the fly, and then flew away with the body, in triump, to his young ones.

"Well done, wasp," cried Ferdinand; "you do deserve that meal, however. But is it not a wonderful instance of sagacity, mamma? Who would expect it in an insect! Do you suppose it knew this by instinct?"

"We are led to believe, my love," repied Mrs. Bernard, "that man alone acts by the higher principle of reason; but I have met with many instances of sagacity in the brute creation, which almost puzzle me, when I ascribe their actions merely to instinct:

Remembrance and reflection — how allied! What thin partitions sense from thought divide!"

"It is astonishing how completely some animals will accommodate themselves to circumstances. I will relate to you an anecdote which a friend of mine told me a few weeks ago."

"Pray do, dear mamma," said Ferdinand; "I quite enjoy an anecdote. I suppose it is true?"

"Yes, my dear, it is quite true," returned Mrs. Bernard: "the gentleman of whom I spoke, has a little monkey, which frequently affords him much amusement, by his sagacious, imitative tricks. As he was one day sitting near the pen in which the monkey was confined, he observed him making many ineffectual efforts to regain a nut which had rolled beyond his reach. After several vain attempts, he took up a stick, and with this he endeavoured to draw it towards him, but still without success. Baffled, but not discouraged, he proceeded to select a second stick, from a bundle that lay beside him, measuring it against the one he had before found useless. With this longer twing he set himself again to his task. This proving aslo insufficient, he adopted the same plan in the selection of a third, and so on; always discarding the shortest, til he found one that was long enough to touch the nut. But this increased his difficulty, by rolling it to a still greater distance. Upon this he sat himself in a contemplative posture for a few minutes, as if considering what was best to be done in this emergency; when, hastily turning over the whole bundle of sticks he made choice of one of considerable length, and hooked at the end, by means of which he, with much apparent delight, accrued his prize."

"Well, that was a most capital contrivance," said Ferdinand; "and it puts me in mind of a clever plan which I saw our own dog, Brush, adopt yesterday. A bone that was thrown him, fell, like the monkey's nut, beyond the reach of his chain, and, finding he could not obtain it by means of his fore paws, he turned round, and throwing out his hinder legs, readily reached it, and drew it to his kennel."

Just as Ferdinand had concluded his story of Brush, his attention was caught by a beautiful dragon-fly, which flitted above his head. He hastily threw up his handkerchief, and took the insect prisoner.

"It is rather late in the season, is it not, mamma, to see these insects abroad?" said he, carefully unfolding his handkerchief, and discovering his prize. "Do look what a beautiful crature. Do they sting, pray?"

"No, my dear, but they bit sometimes, rather fiercely. Their bite, however, is perfectly harmless, therefore you need not look so much alarmed, Ferdinand. Examine its eyes. You perceive they are very large and prominent, covering almost the whole head. As it seeks its food flying in the air, this seems a very necessary provision. By means of these eyes, it can see in almost every direction at the same instant. Dragon-flies are extremely voracious, and are the greatest tyrants of the insect tribe. When we think them idly and innocently flitting about in the cheerful sunshine, they are, in fact, only hovering up and down to seize their prey."

"Which are the insects upon which they particularly feed, mamma?" enquired Ferdinand.

_Mrs. B There is none, how large soever, that they will not attack and devour. The blue fly, the bee, the wasp, and the hornet, are their constant prey; and even your favourite butterfly is often caught, and treated without mercy. Their appetite seems to know no bounds; and they have been seen to devour three times their own size, in the space of a single hour.

"Oh, the greedy creatures; I cannot forgive them for destroying the pretty butterflies," said Ferdinand: "to wasps and hornets they are perfectly welcome. Are they produced from eggs, like other insects, pray, mamma?"

"Yes, my dear: the female deposits her eggs in the water, where they remain some time, apparently without life or motion. The form they first assume, is that of a worm with six legs, much resembling the dragon-fly in its winged state, the wings being as yet concealed within a sheath peculiar to this animal."

"What do they feed upon in this state, pray, mamma?" enquired Louisa.

"Upon the soft mud and glutinous earthy substances that are found at the bottom," replied her mother.

"Pray, mamma, how long do they continue in their reptile state?" said Emily.

"For a whole year, my dear," returned her mother. "When they parepare to change to their flying state, they move out of the water to a dry place; such as into grass, to pieces of wood, stone, or any thing else they may meet with. There they firmly fix their sharp claws, and, for a short time, continue quite immovable. It has been observed, that the skin first opens on the head and back, and out of this aperture they exhibit their real head and eyes, and at length their six legs; whilst the hollow and empty skin remains firmly fixed in its place. After this the creature creeps forward by degrees; drawing, first its wings, and then its body, out of the skin; it then sits at rest for some time. The wings, which were moist and folded together, now begin to expand. The body is likewise insensibly extended, until all the limbs have attained their proper size. The insect cannot at first make use of its new wings, and is, therefore, obliged to remain stationary until its limbs are dried by the air. It soon, however, begins to enter upon a more noble life than it had before led at the bottom of the brook; and from creeping slowly, and living accidentally, it now wings the air, adorning the fields with beauty, and expanding the most lively colours to the sun."

"Well, my pretty fly," said Ferdinand, "you have afforded me much amusement, and now I will release you from your captivity." So saying, he opened his handkerchief, and gave his prisoner liberty.

In a few minutes they reached home, highly pleased with their morning's ramble.

CONVERSATON IX.

Mr. Bernard having dined from home, the children had not, till they met round the tea-table in the evening, an opportunity of telling him how pleasantly they had spent their morning, and how much information their mother had given them respecting the habits of the swallow tribes. "But even now," added Edward, "I do not feel quite satisfied with regard to their migration. Pray, papa, what is your opinion upon that subject?"

Mr. B. I am decidedly of opinion that they do migrate, my dear. The internal structure of such animals as continue during winter in a torpid state, is peculiar: both the formation of the stomach, and the organs of respiration, differ from such as are constantly in a state of activity and vigour. Mr. John Hunter, one of our most celebrated English anatomists, dissected several of these birds, but did not find them in any respect different from the other tribes; from which he concludes the accounts of their turpitude to be erroneous. Now, although I feel no doubt myself, that such instances have occurred, yet I by no means believe them to be frequent. Indeed, a particular friend of mine, a skilful navigator, tells me he has not infrequently seen, when many hundreds of miles distant from shore, large flights of these birds; and that his ship has often afforded the poor little travellers a most seasonable resting-place, in their toilsome journeys.

"Oh, well papa," said Edward, "if a friend of yours has really seen them, I can believe they do migrate; but I do not like to give up an enquiry, till my mind is satisfied upon a subject."

Mr. B. Within certain restrictions, your resolution is good, Edward; but if you can believe nothing but what I, or some friend of mine, can attest from our own observation, your incredulity will deprive you of much valuable information. The great advantage of reading is, that it enables us to gain instruction from the observation of others, on subjects beyond the reach of our own experience.

Edward. Very true, papa: but do you not think that many authors make mistakes, and put things in books that are not facts?

Mr. B. I do, my dear boy; and I always endeavor, when I meet with a difficulty, to consult a variety of authors upon the same subject, and, by this means, generally find I can discover the truth.

"In future I will endeavour to do so too, papa," said Edward, "and will not allow my doubts to prevent my improvement; for I am sure I am at present very ignorant. Every day, and almost every hour, I meet with something that I do not understand—something that surprises me. Papa, you have read, and thought, and seen so much, I should think you would never meet with any thing new."

Mr. B. Indeed, my dear boy, you are much mistaken; I seldom read any book without gaining from it some new idea, or some additional information upon a subject with which I was before but imperfectly acquainted. This very morning, for instance, in the book you saw me reading at breakfast-time, I gained information that was entirely new to me.

Louisa. Oh, pray papa, was it upon a subject we could understand, if you were to be so kind as to tell us?

Mr. B. Yes, my dear girl, I think you might understand it, if you were to pay attention to it; although it was a treatise upon comparative anatomy I was reading.

Louisa. Oh, then, papa, I am sure I could not understand any thing about it. I never heard of such a subject before.

Mr. B. Is that any proof that you will not understand it when you do hear of it, Louisa? Do not allow yourself to be frightened by a hard name, my dear; it is a proof of great weakness of mind. Edward, endeavour to explain to your sister the meaning of the word anatomy.

Edward. I believe, papa, it is the study of animal bodies; more particularly, their internal organization.

Mr. B. Yes and it also implies the dissecting, or cutting them to pieces, to ascertain the structure and uses of their several parts. Well, Louisa, what do you now think of anatomy? You have been much pleased with your mother's description of the external structure and habits of the swallow, this morning; now pay the same attention to my account of the internal organization of the ostrich and cassowary, to- night, and I think you will find it quite within the limits of your comprehension.

Louisa. I will, indeed, attend, papa; and I hope I shall understand you.

Mr. B. The more minutely, my dear children, you investigate the hidden wonders of nature, the more firmly will you be convinced of the unlimited power, as well as infinite mercy, of its Supreme Author. The superintending providence of God, is as plainly manifested in the provision made for the meanest reptile, as it is in the wonderful formation of man. Each bird, beast, fish, and insect, is endowed with powers best suited to its wants, and most calculated to promote its enjoyment. In the cassowary of Java, a region of great fertility, the colon is no more than one foot long; whilst in the ostrich, doomed to seek its food in the wide and sandy deserts of the African continent, it is forty-five feet in length.

"Pray, papa, what is the colon?? enquired Louisa.

"It is one intestine," replied Mr. Bernard, which converts the food into nourishment. You will now instantly perceive the wisdom of this arrangement. In the cassowary, the food passes very quickly through this short channel, by which means, but a very small portion of its nutritive particles is taken into the system, and the bird is thereby preserved from many diseases, to which it would be liable, if the whole of the food it devoured were converted into fat and nourishment. The ostrich, on the contrary, who can gain but a slender supply of food in the desolate regions which it inhabits, is provided with a colon so long, that every particle of nourishment is extracted, before it has passed this channel; hence, the latter derives as much actual support from her slender supply of food, as the former does from her abundance.

Louisa. Thank you, papa. I understand what you have told us, quite well, and think it a very curious and a very wise contrivance.

Mr. B. Now then, tell me, in your turn, Louisa, how history has gone on since we last met.

Louisa. But, papa, we have not yet concluded the account of our walk. Had we not better finish one subject first?

Mr. Bernard agreed to the propriety of Louisa's remark, and she entered with great animation upon the description of the beautiful little cottage, the pretty, innocent cottager, the nice, neat old woman, and the bashful-looking youth, and concluded by expressing her sorrow, that Mary and Henry could not be married; because she was such a pretty creature, she had no doubt they would make the happiest couple in the world.

Mr. Bernard endeavour to explain to Louisa, that beauty was by no means the only requisite in a companion, where happiness was the object.

"Oh, no! I know that, papa," returned Louisa; "I recollect that Mrs. Horton told us, that the peacock, beautiful as it is, has but few really amiable qualities; but I cannot help admiring pretty people, and if you saw Mary, I am sure you would admire her too; for she looks so good- humoured and so modest, so cheerful, so industrious, and so very pretty, papa, that you could not help loving her. Don't you think so, mamma?

Mrs. B. I think there certainly is something very interesting in her appearance, and, I assure you, Louisa, I am quite disposed to think favourably of her; but we shall have an opportunity of seeing more of her, probably, and then we can form a more decided opinion of her character. There is always danger in giving way to a sudden prepossession in favour of a stranger.

Edward. But, mamma, do you think it possible not to feel a prepossession in favour of such a sweet-looking girl as Mary?

Mrs. B. I do not think any one could avoid thinking favourably of Mary; nor do I wish to check a generous sentiment in favour of a stranger, at any time, my dear children. Caution is necessary, but suspicion is hateful; and I would rather you should be often deceived, than never feel a confidence. When I was young, I was once imposed upon by a person quite as pleasing in manners and appearance as the young cottager. I was warned that there was danger in trusting to appearances, but disdained the caution of those who were older and wiser than myself. I suffered for my folly, and would have you learn prudence from my experience.

Louisa. Do, mamma, tell us the story. I dare say it is an interesting one.

Mrs. B. Not at present, my dear; your father wishes to hear what history you have read since Saturday. Besides, an account of the depravity of a fellow-creature, can never be a very interesting topic of conversation.

Louisa.. No mamma, certainly it is not: but how did she impose upon you? You are so careful, you know—so prudent.

Mrs. B But at that time I was credulous and imprudent, as I have already told you, my dear, and was deceived by a pleasing address, and a mournful tale.

Louisa. Oh, do tell me, dear mamma. I do love a mournful tale.

Mrs. B. But this was, in all probability, a fabricated story, to impose on the incautious: at least, I have every reason to consider it so. I found out so many untruths, that I was inclined to think the whole a complete falsehood. But we will not dwell longer upon this subject at present: at some future time, if we have nothing upon which we can more profitably employ our attention, I may perhaps give you a full account of the affair; but I have mentioned it to your father before, and will not, therefore, trouble him to listen to a repetition, as nothing is more tedious than a twice-told tale.

Ferdinand. I want to ask you a question, papa, before we begin our history. It is quite different from any thing we have been hitherto talking of, to be sure; but I was reading a book to-day, in which, speaking of some crime, it mentioned that it was punished by death, without benefit of clergy. Now I do not know what benefit of clergy means, and I thought you would be so good as to explain it to me.

Mr. B. That I shall most willingly, my dear boy. In order to encourage the art of reading in England, which formerly made but slow progress, the capital punishment for murder was remitted if the criminal could read; and this, in law-language, is termed benefit of clergy.

Edward. I should think the art must have made very rapid progress, when so highly favoured.

Mr. B. It does not appear that this was the case; for so small an edition of the Bible as six hundred copies, translated into English, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, was not completely sold in three years.

Emily. How different, my dear father, are the happy days in which we live. No family, however indigent, need now be without a Bible.

Edward. And almost every poor child has an opportunity, in some of the numerous charity-schools that are every where established, of learning to read it too, which is better still.

Mr. B. We do, indeed, my beloved children, live in very glorious times. The scriptural prophecy seems to be fast accomplishing, which declares, that "the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea." May we prize our high privilege, and may our more virtuous conduct bespeak our gratitude for the superior blessings we enjoy.

Louisa. In the days of the cruel Tarquin, papa, of whom we have been reading in our Roman history, the religion of Jesus Christ was not known. The wicked Tullia could not, I think, have acted so basely, had she been a Christian.

Mr. B. Those who act up to the precepts taught by Christianity, my dear girl, must act virtuously; but the name of Christian will be found by no means sufficient for any of us.

Louisa. Papa, it is very uninteresting to read about wicked people. I do not feel the least inclination to give you any account of Tarquin and Tullia. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed talking of the good Numa Pompilius, and Servius Tullius.

Mr. B. Much is to be learned from history, my dear. It unmasks the human character. You there read man as he is, and trace the fatal effects of vice upon society, as well as the pleasing consequences of virtue. But let me now hear how Tarquin behaved, on mounting the throne so basely acquired. Emily. The whole series of his reign was suitable to the manner of his accession to the throne. Scarcely had he seated himself there, when, from his capricious humour and arrogant behaviour, he acquired the surname of the Proud. He refused to consult, either with the senate or people; but having secured a sufficient number of soldiers to guard his person and execute his will, arbitrary power actuated all his proceedings. Informers were dispersed throughout the city, the king was sole judge of the accused, and wealth and merit were considered unpardonable crimes.

Edward. The cruel murder of the venerable Marcus Janius, was a proof of what Emily has just mentioned. He was descended from a noble family, and possessed great riches, on which account, Tarquinius Priscus had allowed him to marry his youngest daughter. The wicked Tarquin, in order to get possession of his estate, caused both him and his son to be assassinated. His youngest son escaped the same fate, by pretending to be an idiot, from whom he supposed he had nothing to fear.

Ferdinand. He was mistaken, however; was he not, Emily?

Edward. Stop, stop, Ferdinand; you must not forestal our history. Let Louisa give some account of Tarquin's government first.

Louisa. Emily has already told you it was very tyrannical. To avoid the effects of his cruelty and avarice, the most worthy men in the senate went into voluntary banishment. The people at first rejoiced to see the great thus humbled; but they were soon treated quite as ill as the patricians, and all the laws which had been made in their favour, were unmade again.

Mr. B. You have not expressed yourself well, my dear Louisa. When a law is unmade again, as you call it, we say it is annulled.

Louisa. Thank you, papa. Well then, all the laws made in favour of the people, which had pleased them so much, were annulled. The poor were obliged to pay the same taxes as the rich. Nor would they allow any meetings, even for amusement, either in the town or country.

Mrs. B. It is astonishing that the people bore such oppressions without revolt.

Edward. Indeed, mamma, Tarquin was justly afraid they would not; on which account, he gave his daughter in marriage to a man of considerable interest among the Latins, in hopes he should strengthen himself by this foreign alliance. He also employed the people in finishing the common sewers, and the great Circus which his grandfather had begun; knowing that constant employment was the best means to prevent their brooding over their oppressions, and planning schemes of revenge.

Mr. B. His conduct was well judged, and likely to be attended with success, as far as the common people were concerned; but he could not employ the patricians in these labours. How were they kept in subjection? for their wrongs appear to have been quite as flagrant as those of the plebeians.

Edward. Indeed, papa, they were not kept in subjection at all. A great number of them fled from Rome, and took refuge in Gabii, a city of Latium, about a hundred furlongs distant.

Mr. B. Can Ferdinand tell us how many miles that is?

Ferdinand. If I consider a minute, I think I can, papa. There are eight furlongs in a mile, so I must divide a hundred by eight, which will go twelve times and four over; therefore, it was exactly twelve miles and a half from Rome.

Mr. B. You are quite right, my boy. You may now go on, Edward.

Edward. The inhabitants of Gabii were touched with compassion, to see so many considerable persons thus cruelly persecuted, and resolved to espouse their cause, by beginning a war with the king of Rome. This war lasted seven years; sometimes one having the advantage, sometimes the other. The inroads and devastations made on both sides, prevented the regular sowing and reaping of the corn, which at length produced a great scarcity in Rome. This increased the discontents of the people, who were suffering so cruelly on account of the hatred borne by their neighbours, not against them, but against their king; and they urgently demanded either peace or provisions.

Mr. B. Affairs seem now coming to the extremities with Tarquin, I think.

Ferdinand. They are, indeed, papa, and you cannot think what a treacherous plan he contrived to extricate himself from his difficulties.

Louisa. No indeed, Ferdinand, it was not Tarquin who contrived the plot; it was his shocking son, Sextus Tarquinius, who was, I really think, a more wicked man than his father.

Ferdinand. So it was, Louisa: pray let me tell about it. He pretended to quarrel with his father, papa, declaring he was a great tyrant, who had no compassion, even for his own children. Upon this, the king ordered him to be publicly beaten in the Forum. All this was repeated at Gabii, by persons who were in the secret, and whom they thought they could trust. The Gabini believed it all, and were very anxious to get Sextus amongst them. After many secret invitations, he agreed to their request, provided they first gave him their solemn promise, never, on any pretence, to deliver him up to his father. When he reached Gabii, he talked constantly of the tyranny of the king of Rome, and acted, in every respect, as the declared enemy of his country. He frequently made inroads on the Roman lands, and came back loaded with spoil; his father always contriving to send against him such weak parties, that he easily conquered them. By these means, Sextus gained very great credit among the Gabini. They at last chose him general of their army, and he was as much master there, as Tarquin was in Rome.

Louisa. Ah! now comes the treachery. Oh, papa, what a very base thing it is to betray those who place confidence in us. I cannot bear Sextus.

Ferdinand. Well, Louisa, now pray do not interrupt me just in this very interesting part. Finding his authority so firmly established, he sent a slave to his father, to enquire what he should do. The king dare not treat the slave with his answer, even in writing; so he took him into the garden, and there struck off the heads of all the tallest poppies. Having done this, he sent back the messenger. Sextus, who understood the meaning of this action, assembled the Gabini, and pretended to have discovered a plot to deliver him up to his father. The people, who were very fond of him, fell into a great rage, and begged him to declare the names of the conspirators. He mentioned Antistius Petro, who was, from his merit, the most considerable person in the country. He, knowing his innocence, despised the accusation; but Sextus had bribed his servants to convey amongst his papers some pretended letters from the king of Rome, which being produced and read, the populace, without further examination, immediately stoned him to death. The Gabini then committed to Sextus the care of discovering his accomplices, and appointing their punishment. He instantly ordered the city gates to be shut, and sent officers into every quarter, to cut off the heads of all the most eminent citizens, without any mercy; and in the midst of the confusion occasioned by this dreadful massacre, he opened the gates to his father, who had previously had notice of his design, and who entered the city with all the pride of a conquerer.

Just as Ferdinand had finished this account, and before he had time to make any comment upon it, Mr. Dormer was announced, a gentleman who lived at no great distance from Mr. Bernard's, and who frequently, in an evening, made one at his social fire-side. His kind, conciliatory manners, had endeared him to the children, and he was, in his turn, much pleased with their amiable frankness, and tender attachment to each other.

Being a man of general information, and possessing an enlarged and cultivated mind, his conversation was both amusing and instructive, and he was always a welcome guest at Broomfield.

"I hope I have not interrupted any agreeable topic of conversation," said he, drawing Ferdinand between his knees.

Mr. Bernard assured him he could never be considered an interruption, and proceeded to tell him how they had been engaged previously to his entrance.

Mr. Dormer highly approved the plan of impressing instruction upon the minds of young people by conversation, and regretted that it should be generally so much neglected. "I dare say the little folks look forward with great delight to the approach of evening," said he.

"Oh yes, Sir, that we do," replied Louisa: "we see so little of our dear father in the day-time, that it is really quite a treat to sit down altogether at night, and tell him what we have said, and thought, and done, in the day; for I like that papa and mamma should know all my thoughts, as well as my actions."

Ferdinand. And so do I too; but mine are often very silly thoughts, not worth any one's knowing. I wish I could keep them in better order. Those lines written by Cowper, which I learnt the other day, are very true, mamma:—

"We may keep the body bound, but know not what a range the spirit takes." [Footnote: This was an actual remark of the little boy that has been before mentioned.]

Mr. and Mrs. Bernard looked at each other, and smiled with delight, to find their dear boy entered so completely into the spirit of his lessons, and was able to apply, in so proper a manner, the knowledge he had acquired.

"Your fire-side circle seems so complete," said Mr. Dormer, "and you appear so thoroughly to enjoy each other's society, that I fear a proposition, which I have called this evening with the purpose of making, will not be received so favourably as I could wish. What do you say to my running away with one of your party?"

"Not papa or mamma," said all the children at once: "we cannot spare them, indeed, Sir."

Mr. Dormer assured them he had no intention of depriving them of either of their valuable parents, even for a single day. "But," added he, "unexpected business calls me to Plymouth. I shall be absent about a fortnight or three weeks, and shall be very dull without a companion. Ned, my boy, what say you to accompanying me?"

Edward was delighted with the proposal, and anxiously looked at his parents for their permission to accept Mr. Dormer's invitation. It was willingly granted, and Edward received the affectionate congratulations of his brother and sisters upon the occasion; who, far from envying him the pleasure that awaited him, sincerely rejoiced in his good fortune, and only requested to be made partakers of his pleasure, by letter.

"I shall set off the day after to-morrow," said Mr. Dormer, "so you have no time to lose, Edward."

Edward. Oh sir, I shall be ready; you need not fear my procrastination, on this occasion.

"Nor on any other occasion, I hope, my dear boy," said Mr. Dormer, "for it is a most ruinous habit for a youth to indulge in."

Edward looked a little conscious of his deficiency in this particular, but again promised strict punctuality.

The clock at this moment struck nine, a signal for the children to retire. They instantly arose, and, taking an affectionate leave of the party, withdrew.

CONVERSATION X.

This being the last evening before Edward's departure, the family could not be assembled so regularly as usual. Mrs. Bernard was engaged with Edward up stairs, arranging his clothes, and other matters that were necessary, preparatory to his journey. Mr. Bernard, in the mean time, devoted himself exclusively to the other children below. Little Sophy was allowed to make one of the party, and amused them with her cheerful vivacity, till Jane came with the unwelcome news that it was bed-time. After she had taken her leave, Louisa sat down to complete a baby's cap, which she had begun the preceding evening; and Ferdinand was going to attempt to copy a house, that Edward had, in the morning, sketched for him, when Mr. Bernard, who generally took an opportunity, when not alone, of speaking to the children upon any little impropriety of conduct, called Ferdinand to him, and, with the most endearing gentleness, told him, that he had remarked in him that day, as well as on several former occasions, an unwillingness to acquiesce in the commands of his mother, unless he were informed what were her reasons for urging them. "Every child, my dear boy," continued he, "who wishes to learn, must bring with him that teachable disposition, which is willing to receive rules implicitly, and rust to the future for a knowledge of the reasons on which they are grounded. A child who is resolved to take the judgment of no one but himself, concerning the impropriety of what is proposed to him, will absolutely prevent the possibility of improvement; at least, he will lose a great deal of time, and, what is still worse, will contract bad habits in the beginning, and, in all probability, find himself unfit to be taught, when he would gladly learn. One of the first duties of children, is obedience: indeed, instruction can, in no instance, be built on any other foundation. If examples in proof of this were wanting, I could give you many. The recruit learns his exercise on the authority of his officer, because he is himself ignorant of the art of war. The reasons for the different manoeuvres, he will discover when he comes into action. General Wolfe told his soldiers, that if the French should land in Kent, as they were at that time expected to do, actual service in that enclosed country, would show them the reason of several evolutions, which they had never hitherto been able to comprehend."

Ferdinand confessed the truth of all his father had said, but, at the same time, thought it far better to know the motive of actions and commands, when it was possible.

"But it is so often impossible, my dear boy," continued Mr. Bernard, "that it is far better to make implicit obedience the groundwork of your conduct, particularly when the commands are from your excellent mother; to whom you all owe so much, and whose wishes are ever dictated by reason, though it may not be always either necessary or proper to disclose those reasons to you. The Lacedeaeonians carried the doctrine of submission so far, that they obliged their Ephori to submit to the ridiculous ceremony of being shaved, when they entered upon their office; signifying, by this act, that they knew how to practise submission to the laws of their country. In short, my dear boy, it is a universal rule, that he who will gain any thing, must give up something; he that wishes to improve his understanding, his manners, or his health, must contradict his will. This may not be an easy task; but you will find it much harder to suffer that contempt, which is always the portion of those who neglect the acquirement of wisdom and of virtue. The wisest of men are often obliged to adopt the principle I have been recommending to you. I will tell you an anecdote, in confirmation of this assertion: 'A gentleman appointed to a government abroad, consulted an eminent person, who was at that time the oracle of the law, as to the rule of his future conduct in his office, and begged his instructions. 'I take you,' said he, 'for a man of integrity, and therefore the advice I must give you in general is—to act in all cases according to the best of your judgment. However, I have this rule to recommend: never give your reasons. You will gain no ground that way, and may, perhaps, bring yourself into great difficulties by attempting it. Let your motives be those of an honest man, and such as your conscience will support you in; but never expose them to your inferiors, who will be sure to have their reasons against yours; and while these matters are discussed, authority is lost, and the public interest suffers.' Thus, my dear Ferdinand, you see, that when children submit to the direction of their parents and teachers, who are bound, by affection and interest, to promote their happiness, and who will certainly take pleasure in explaining to them, at proper times, the motives by which they are actuated, they do but follow the example of all communities of men in the world: who are passive for their own good; who are governed by laws, which not one in five hundred of them understand; and who submit to actions, of which they cannot see either the propriety or justice. Now, if children are only required to submit to the same necessary restraints that are imposed upon men, no indignity is offered to them, nor can they have any just cause of complaint. Your own sense, my love, if you consult it, will convince you, that society could not subsist, nor could any instruction go forward, without obedience. Consider the wisdom and happiness which are found amongst a swarm of bees. They are a pattern to all human societies. There is perfect obedience, perfect subordination: no time is lost in disputing or questioning, but business goes forward with cheerfulness at every opportunity, and the great object is the common interest. All are armed for defence, and ready for work. Recollect, too, what is the fruit of their wise economy:—they have a store of honey to feed upon, when the summer is past. Follow their example, my dear boy; and such, I hope, will be the fruit of your studies."

Having said these words, Mr. Bernard kissed Ferdinand with the fondest affection. He owned himself convinced, most fully, by his father's arguments, of the impropriety of his past conduct, and promised, in future, to yield implicit obedience to the wishes of both his dear parents.

"And now, my dear girl," continued Mr. Bernard, turning to Louisa, "I have also something to say to you, respecting your noisy, boisterous manner of entering a room. It is extremely unbecoming in any well- educated person, but in a little girl, from whom we expect the greatest delicacy and gentleness, such rough, unpolished manners, are particularly disagreeable. A very intimate friend of mine, the other day, was speaking of your conduct in terms of general approbation, but she ended by regretting extremely, that awkwardness of manner which prevents your appearing in so agreeable a light as other children, who are not possessed of half so many real excellencies. I should be very sorry to have you neglect the jewel, in order to polish the casket; but having secured the one, can see no objection to your attending, in some degree, to the improvement of the other. A diamond is, when first dug from the mine, a valuable acquisition, but its beauties are not discovered till the hand of the polisher has brought to light its hidden lustre. A pleasing, gentle deportment, places female virtue in the fairest point of view; and I hope, my dear love, you will not neglect its assistance, in the formation of your character."

Louisa thanked her father for his advice, and promised, in future, to pay greater attention to her manners, in which respect she had certainly been hitherto very deficient. Having completed her cap, she enquired whether there would be time for her to have a lesson in natural history: adding, I have, by means of "Bingley's Animal Biography," taught myself a good deal, without your assistance, papa. I have learnt that the animals in the first class, Mammalia, have warm and red blood, that they breathe by means of lungs, that they are viviparous, which means bringing forth their young alive, and that they suckle them with their milk. The jaws are placed one over the other, and are covered with lips. The seven orders into which this class is divided, are, as mamma taught me last week, Primates, Bruta, Ferae, Glires, Pecora, Belluae, and Cete. All this, you see, papa, I have remembered pretty well. Will you now be so kind as to tell me what animals belong to the first order, Primates, and how they may be distinguished?

Mr. B. The principal animals of this order are, man, the ape, the various tribes of monkeys, and the bat. They have, in each jaw, four front, or cutting teeth; except in some species of bats, which have, occasionally, only two, and at others none. They have one canine tooth on each side, in both jaws. Mr. Bernard then desired Louisa and Ferdinand to open their mouths, and he would show them which were the canine teeth; and, pointing to the sharp, single tooth, situated next to the double ones, he told them that all animals preying upon flesh, were provided with those sharp instruments, for the purpose of tearing their food to pieces.

Louisa. The more I study nature, my dear papa, the more clearly do I see the goodness and mercy of God, who has so wisely provided for the various wants of his creatures.

Ferdinand. I am not surprised that men and monkeys should be ranged in the same class, because they are, in many respects, very similar in their appearance; but bats, papa, seem so extremely different. They are a great deal more like birds than man. They have wings, you know, and flit about exactly like birds.

Mr. B. If you regard their wings alone, they might be classed as you propose, Ferdinand; but if you attend to their formation, with the eye of a naturalist, you will find that they have all the characteristics which determine the class Mammalia. They are viviparous, and they suckle their young.

Ferdinand. And so do cows, horses, pigs, and many other animals: do they, then, belong to the same class?

Mr. B. Yes, my dear: cows belong to the class Mammalia, but to the fifth order, Pecora, which is known by their having several blunt, wedge-like front teeth in the lower jaw, and none in the upper. Their feet are defended by cloven hoofs. They live entirely upon vegetable food, and all ruminate, or chew the cud.

Ferdinand. Pray, what does that mean, papa?

Mr. B. All the genera in this order, my dear, are provided with four stomachs. They swallow their food without chewing, which is received into the first stomach; here it remains some time to macerate, and afterwards, when the animal is at rest, by a peculiar action of the muscles, it is returned to the mouth in small quantities, then chewed, and swallowed a second time for digestion.

Ferdinand. Do horses and pigs belong to the order Pecora, likewise?

Mr. B. No: they are both ranked in the order Bellua. They have obtuse front teeth. Their feet are armed with hoofs; in many whole, in others divided.

Louisa. I take notice, papa, you always mention the teeth: I suppose they are of consequence, in determining the order.

Mr. B. Yes, my dear, they are one of the most striking characteristics.

Ferdinand. You were surprised, Louisa, to find that bats were considered of the class Mammalia; but I think it is much more extraordinary that whales should be ranked under the same head with men. I always thought they were great, large fishes.

Mr. B. They differ from fishes as much as bats differ from birds. Like them, they bring forth their young alive, and suckle them with their milk. They breathe by means of lungs, like land animals, being totally destitute of gills. But here come your mother and Edward: let us move our table, and make room for them by the fire. They will find it very comfortable, after their employment in the cold.

Louisa jumped up, and, in her usual bustling manner, was preparing to obey her father, but suddenly recollecting the advice which he had just given her, she corrected herself, and, with the greatest gentleness, removed every obstacle; set two chairs for her mother and brother, in the place she thought most comfortable; and, to her great surprise, found the business effected as soon, or sooner, than it would have been with the greatest noise and bustle.

Her father perceived her caution, and gave her a smile of approbation, which filled her with delight.

Whilst Mrs. Bernard and Edward warmed themselves, the children continued their conversation.

"Pray, papa," said Ferdinand, "to what order do mice belong?"

Mr. B. To the fourth, Glires: but, unless you know the peculiar characteristics by which each order is distinguished, you will never be able to recollect the answers I have given to your desultory questions this evening. I have, in my pocket-book, a short account of each order, which I yesterday wrote out for Louisa, and which I should wish you to copy neatly, into a book devoted to the purpose of observation on natural history. Mr. Bernard then gave to Louisa a paper, containing the following account:

The Primates, which is the first order of the class MAMMALIA, have four parallel front, or cutting teeth, in each jaw; except in some species of bats, which have either two only, or none. They have one canine tooth on each side, in both jaws. The females have two pectoral mammae, or breasts. The two fore feet resemble hands, having fingers, generally furnished with flattened, oval nails. Their food is both animal and vegetable. The principal animals in this order are, man, the ape and lemur tribes, and the bats.

2nd. The Bruta have no front teeth in either jaw: their feet are armed with strong, blunt, and hoof-like nails. Their form is, to appearance, clumsy, and their pace usually slow. Their food is principally vegetable. None of the animals of this order are found in Europe: they consist of the sloths, the ant-eaters, the rhinoceros, elephant, and manati.

3rd. The Ferae have generally six front teeth, of a somewhat conical shape, both in the upper and under jaw: next to these, are strong and sharp canine teeth; and the grinders are formed into conical, or pointed processes. Their feet are divided into toes, which are armed with sharp, hooked claws. This tribe is predacious, living almost entirely upon animal food; and consists of the seal, dog, cat, weasel, otter, bear, opossum, kangaroo, mole, shrew, and hedgehog genera.

4th. Glires are furnished with two remarkably large and long front teeth, both above and below, and are destitute of canine teeth. Their feet have claws, and are formed both for bounding and running. They feed on vegetables. The genera are, the porcupine, cavy, beaver, bat, marmot, squirrel, dormouse, jerboa, and hare.

5th. The Pecora have several blunt, wedge-like front teeth, in the lower jaw, and none in the upper. Their feet are armed with cloven hoofs. They live on vegetable food, and all ruminate, or chew the cud. The genera are, the camel, musk, deer, giraffe, antelope, goat, sheep, and cow.

6th. Belluae have obtuse front teeth. The feet are armed with hoofs; in some whole or rounded, in others obscurely lobed or sub-divided. They live on vegetable food. The genera are, the horse, hippopotamus, tapir, and hog.

7th. The Cete, or Whales, although they resemble fishes in external appearance, are ranged very properly amongst the Mammalia, having warm blood, similar lungs, teats, &c. Instead of feet, they are provided with pectoral fins, and a horizontally flattened tail, fitted for swimming. They have no hair. The teeth are in some species cartilaginous, and in others bony. Instead of nostrils, they have a tubular opening on the top of the head, through which they occasionally spout water. They live entirely in the sea; feeding on the soft marine animals and vegetables.

The children carefully read over this paper, exclaiming: "It is almost exactly what you have told us before, papa, only here we have it all at one view."

Mr. B. Do you understand the signification of all the words, my dears?

The children looked over it again.

Louisa. Predacious papa; I do not know the meaning of that word.

Ferdinand. Oh, Louisa! I can tell you that. A predacious animal is one that preys upon others.

Louisa. Thank you, Ferdinand. Conical? Does not that mean, in the form of a sugar-loaf?

"It does, my dear," replied her father: "do you understand the meaning of pectoral fins?"

"No, I do not," answered Louisa.

Mr. B. They are fins growing by the breasts, and serve them to clasp their young, as well as for the purposes of feet.

"I am not certain that I understand the meaning of the word cartilaginous, but believe it signifies, that the teeth of the whale are sometimes formed of gristle, instead of bone," said Ferdinand.

Mr. B. You are quite right, my love; and now, if you fully comprehend the meaning of all the words, we will attend to our Roman history a little. Let me hear what more you have read respecting Tarquin and his infamous son.

Edward. We have finished the account of the regal government. Tarquin and his son behaved so basely, that the people could no longer bear their tyranny and oppression, but boldly threw off the yoke. We must, however, first tell you, papa, what became of the poor inhabitants of Gabii, who had fallen victims to their credulity, and to the confidence they placed in the perfidious Sextus. When they saw themselves thus totally at the mercy of the tyrant, they fell into the deepest despair, expecting to suffer the most cruel treatment. Their misfortunes were not, however, so great as their fears. Tarquin thought it most for his own interest, to act with some degree of humanity towards this betrayed people, and none of the citizens were put to death by his order. He granted them their lives and liberties, making Sextus their king. Tarquin, after this, continued for some time to enjoy profound peace at home. The Romans became accustomed to the yoke of their imperious master, and groaned in silence under his oppressions.

"Let me give the account of that curious woman, who came with her great books, if you please, Edward," said Ferdinand.

"With all my heart," returned Edward.

Ferdinand. Just at this time, when Tarquin was enjoying profound peace, an unknown woman came to court, loaded with nine large volumes, which she offered to sell for a great sum of money. On Tarquin's refusing to give it, she went away and burnt three of the books. Some time after this she returned to court, and offered the remaining six for the same sum. The people then thought her a mad woman, and drove her away with contempt. She again withdrew, and burnt four more, still returning with the remainder, and demanding the same price as she had done for the whole nine volumes. Tarquin now grew quite curious to know the cause of this strange proceeding, and put the books into the hands of his augurs, to have them examined. They found them to be the oracles of the Sybil of Cumae, and declared them an invaluable treasure. Tarquin, therefore, ordered the woman to be paid the sum she demanded. She exhorted the Romans to preserve her books with great care, and afterwards disappeared.

Mrs. B. What became of these mysterious books? Can you tell us, Louisa?

Louisa. They soon became very much respected at Rome, and were consulted on all cases of emergency, as they were supposed to foretel future events. Two persons of high rank were appointed by Tarquin, to be guardians of these invaluable treasures. They were locked up in a vault of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, and when, some time after, this temple was burnt, they also were destroyed with it.

Emily. The tranquillity of Tarquin's reign was disturbed by a dreadful plague, which suddenly broke out in Rome, and raged with great violence. It made such an impression upon his mind, that he resolved to send his sons, Titus and Arun, to consult the oracle of Delphi upon the cause of this contagion, and how they might effect its cure. The princes prepared magnificent presents for Apollo. Junius Brutus, the pretended idiot, was to accompany them for their amusement. He was the youngest son of the venerable Marcus Junius, whom I mentioned last night, as being assassinated by order of Tarquin; and Brutus would also have fallen a sacrifice to his cruel policy, had he not counterfeited idiotism. When the princes were preparing their presents, he resolved to carry his offering also. The whole court was diverted at the choice he made, of a suitable present for the occasion, which was an elder stick. He knew that the gods of those times, or their ministers, were much delighted with valuable offerings; he therefore contrived to conceal a rod of gold in this stick, without the knowledge of any one.

Mr. B. This was a true emblem of his own mind, which, under a contemptible outside, concealed the richest gifts of nature. Did they gain any intelligence from the oracle.

Louisa. I believe it told them, there would soon be a new reign at Rome. Upon this, the young princes enquired which of them should succeed Tarquin. The answer returned was: "He who shall first give a kiss to his mother." The two brothers then declared that they would both kiss her at the same moment, that they might reign jointly. Brutus, however, thought the oracle had another meaning, and, pretending to fall down, he kissed the earth, the common mother of all living.

Emily. The regal power lasted but a very little time longer in Rome. A brutal insult, offered by Sextus to Lucretia, the virtuous wife of Collatinus, roused the dormant spirit of the people. Brutus threw off the mark of idiotism, by which he had been hitherto concealed, and seizing the dagger, which Lucretia, unable to survive the insult she had received, had plunged into her breast, he held it up to the assembly, stained as it was with the blood of that unhappy woman, and, in a very animated speech, called upon his fellow-citizens to avenge her cause. They were all astonished at the sudden change in Brutus, who then told them his former folly had been affected, as the only means of securing him from the murderous designs of Tarquin. The nobility all submitted to the will of Brutus. He caused the still bleeding body of Lucretia to be carried to the place where the senators usually assembled, and, placing the corpse where it might be seen by every body, ordered the people to be called together, and addressed them in a very spirited speech, which was often interrupted by the acclamations of the people. Some wept at the remembrance of past sufferings, other rejoiced in the idea that their sorrows were about to end, and all called for arms. The senate passed a decree, depriving Tarquin of every right belonging to the regal authority, and condemning him and all his posterity to perpetual banishment.

"Can you tell me, Edward, how Tarquin acted upon this change of fortune," said Mr. Bernard.

Edward. He was not in Rome at the time it occurred, but, upon hearing that Brutus was endeavouring to excite a tumult against him, he hastened to the city, attended by his friends and his three sons; but finding the gates shut, and the people in arms upon the walls, he returned with all speed, to the camp. During his absence, however, short as it was, he found that the conspirators had gained over the army to their party. Thus, driven from his capitol and rejected by his troops, he was forced, at the age of seventy-six, to fly for refuge, with his wife and sons, to Gabii, in hopes the Latines would come forward and espouse his cause; but being disappointed in this expectation, he retired into Etruria, the country of his mother's family, where he hoped to find more friends, and still entertained expectations of recovering his throne. Having wandered from city to city, he at length fixed his residence in Tarquinia, and so far raised the compassion of the inhabitants, as to induce them to send an embassy to Rome, with a modest, submissive letter from himself, directed to the Roman people.

Mr. B. Pray Emily, what was passing in Rome all this time.

Emily. Brutus assembled the people in the field of Mars, and in long speeches exhorted them to concord; and the consuls, standing before the altars, took an oath, in the name of themselves, their children, and posterity, that they would never recall king Tarquin nor his family from banishment, nor create any other king of Rome; and they made the people take the same oath. Under these circumstances, you may suppose that the ambassadors from the banished king did not meet with a very favourable reception. From their earnest supplications to the senate, however, that they would hear their monarch before he was condemned, the consuls at first inclined to bring them before the people, and to leave the decision of the affair to them; but Valerius, a man of great weight in the council, strongly opposed this measure, and, by his influence in the senate, defeated this first attempt of the artful Tarquin. His next step seemed likely to be more successful. A second embassy was dispatched to Rome, under pretence of demanding the estates of the exiles, but with private instructions to stir up a faction, if possible, against the consuls. The ambassadors were admitted, and urged the most modest demands in behalf of the banished king. They requested only his paternal estate, and on that condition promised never to attempt the recovery of his kingdom by force of arms.

Mr. B. Well, Louisa, what reception did this proposition meet?

Louisa. The consul Collatinus would have complied with the request, but Brutus opposed it. It was then left to the decision of the people, who generously determined that the Tarquins should be put in possession of the estates of their family.

"It was a generosity which those wicked Tarquins did not deserve, I am sure," said Ferdinand; "for whilst the people were employed in loading carriages with their effects, and in selling what could not be carried off, the ambassadors were trying to draw some of the nearest relations of the consuls into a plot against them. Among the conspirators were Titus and Tiberius, the two sons of Brutus. Notwithstanding the secrecy with which they carried on their designs, their plot was discovered by one of their slaves, who disclosed the affair to Valerius. Upon this information, the conspirators were taken prisoners, and their papers, with several letters which they had written to the banished king, seized."

"The trial of these unhappy men was very affecting," said Emily: "early on the following morning, the people being summoned to the hall of justice, the prisoners were brought forth.

"Brutus began with the examination of his two sons. The slave who had discovered their designs, appeared against them, and the letters they had written to the Tarquins were read. The proofs being clear, the prisoners stood quite silent, and pleaded only by their tears. Three times their father called upon them to plead their cause, but tears were still their only answer. Many of the senators were touched with compassion, and implored for their banishment rather than their deaths. All the people stood trembling, in expectation of the sentence. Their stern father at length arose, and with a steady voice, uninterrupted by a single sigh, said: "Lictors, I deliver them over to you; the rest is your part." At these words, the whole assembly groaned aloud; distress showed itself in every face, and the mournful looks of the people pleaded for pity: but neither their intercessions, nor the bitter lamentations of the young men, who called upon their father by the most endearing names, could soften the inflexible judge. The heads of the young men were struck off by the lictors, Brutus all the while gazing on the cruel spectacle, with a steady look and composed countenance."

"Oh! my dear father," exclaimed Ferdinand, "surely Brutus must have been a cruel, hard-hearted man."

"In his feelings as a patriot," returned Mr. Bernard, "those of the father appear to have been absorbed. What became of the other prisoners, Edward?"

Edward. Excepting the ambassadors, they all shared the fate of the sons of Brutus. His severity towards his children, greatly increased his authority in Rome; and when he was, some time after, slain in battle by Aruns, the son of Tarquin, the citizens were inconsolable for his loss. They considered him as a hero, who had restored liberty to his country, who had cemented that liberty by the blood of his own children, and who had died in defending it against the tyrant. The first funeral honours were paid him in the camp; but, the next day, the corpse was brought into the Forum, in a magnificent litter. On this occasion, Valerius gave Rome the first example of those funeral orations, which were ever after made in praise of great men. The ladies distinguished themselves on this occasion: they mourned for him a whole year, as if they had lost a common father.

"The death of such a man was, indeed, a serious misfortune to the state," said Mr. Bernard: "can you tell me what became of the banished Tarquin?"

Emily. After an exile of fourteen years, during which time he made many ineffectual struggles to recover the throne, he died at the advanced age of ninety.

"This, papa, is all we have read at present," said Edward; "I hope my brother and sisters will not go on with the history till my return, for this is a very good place to leave off."

Louisa I am sure, Edward, we should have no pleasure in going on without you, and am certain mamma would not wish it.

It was unanimously agreed, that the Roman history should be laid aside till Edward's return.

"You have now seen," said Mr. Bernard, "the freedeom which the Romans recovered by the expulsion of Tarquin the Proud, secured to them by his death; a freedom that was undoubtedly the source of all their future grandeur. I must again repeat, my dear children, that I have been much pleased with the manner in which you have given this little sketch of the regal government of Rome. One very important point you have, however, overlooked."

"Pray, papa, what is that?" enquired the children, with one voice.

"The dates of the different events which you have mentioned," replied their father. "Geography and chronology, are desevedly called the two eyes of history. Without geography, which is a knowledge of the situation and extent of the different countries of the earth, no reader of history can have clear and distinct ideas of what he reads, as being transacted in them; and without chronology, which is a knowledge of the time when the various events took place, the historical facts he acquires by reading, will only be an incumbrance upon his memory. He will have a number of confused ideas, but no regular or useful information. Now, which of you can tell me in what year Rome was built?"

"Oh, we all know that," said Louisa; "it was seven hundred and fifty- three years before the birth of our Saviour."

"And the regal power was abolished four hundred and sixty-seven years before that event," continued Edward; "so that that administration lasted two hundred and eighty-six years."

"But I do think, papa," said Ferdinand, "that it is very difficult to remember dates. I wish you could tell us some easy way, by which we might impress them upon our memories."

"The system of Mnemonics, lately introduced by Fineagle and Coglan, you will find a great assistance. The substitution of letters for figures, is an excellent plan, as it enables you to form the date into words, which you may associate with the event itself, and, by this means, impress it much more indelibly upon your memory."

"I do not quite understand you, papa," said Louisa.

"I will purchase one of Mr. Coglans's books, the next time I go to town," said her father, "that will explain the plan to you very clearly, and I think you will find it extremely useful. Come, my dear Edward," added he, turning to his son, "as you have so long a journey in prospect to-morrow, it is quite time for you to retire."

The rest of the children soon followed his example, and taking an affectionate leave of their parents, withdrew for the night.

CONVERSATION XI

Mr. Dormer called early the following morning, and breakfasted with the Bernard family before his departure. The little folks endeavoured to welcome him with smiles; but it was very evident that their hearts were heavy, in spite of their efforts to appear cheerful. They had never before been separated from each other, and they felt that Edward's absence would make a sad blank in their little circle. Edward himself, though delighted with the prospect of his journey, could not repress a starting tear, as his mother folded him, with maternal tenderness, to her bosom. He renewed his promise of writing them a long letter in the course of a week, giving a full account of all he should hear and learn; then, kissing his brother and sister, he hastened into the chaise, followed by Mr. Dormer, and soon lost the sadness which had crept over his spirits, in admiration of the luxuriant country through which they passed.

But with the little group at home, it was quite otherwise: they had no variety of scene to banish their sorrow for his departure; on the contrary, every object they saw reminded them of their beloved Edward. They felt, without being aware of it, the force of Scott's beautiful lines:

"When musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone."

Their customary tasks passed off heavily, and every object, notwithstanding the cheerfulness of the day, assumed an appearance of unusual gloom.

Mrs. Bernard affectionately sympathised in their sorrow, and thinking a walk might in some measure divert their attention, proposed a visit to the old woman's cottage. Mr. Bernard had lost one of his under clerks, and intended taking Henry to supply his place, should he find him qualified for the situation. No proposition could have been more agreeable to the children, and with great alacrity they prepared to accompany their mother. It was, however, some time before they could recover their spirits, so as to enjoy their walk as usual.

"Ah, mamma," said Ferdinand, "how very different things appear when we are happy, and when we are unhappy; this walk was so delightful last Monday! How much we did enjoy ourselves! Do you not remember it? You gave us that interesting account of the British hirundines. Edward enjoyed it with us, and we thought it so pleasant; and now I really do not think it a particularly cheerful walk, and, to tell you the truth, mamma, it appears to me very dull to-day, and yet I see no alteration in the prospect."

Mrs. B. The alteration is in your own mind, my boy. Your present feelings must convince you, how important is the acquisition of that firmness of mind, which your father has so constantly endeavoured to inculcate, and which can alone enable you to bear, with fortitude, the real evils you will have to encounter in after life.

"Real evils, mamma!" reiterated Ferdinand; "you do not then think this a real evil?"

"Indeed, my dear, I do not," replied Mrs. Bernard; "on the contrary, I hope, to Edward it will prove a real good; and I am sure you are none of you so selfish as to wish to deprive him of any advantage, merely for the sake of your own gratification."

"Selfish! Oh, no, mamma, indeed we are not selfish," cried all the children at once: "we will convince you we are not, for we will, this minute, leave off grieving for Edward's departure, and teach ourselves to rejoice, and wish him very happy."

Mrs. B. You will do quite right, my dears; and now let us change the subject, for that is the best way to banish your regret.

Ferdinand. I was very much amused yesterday, mamma, with reading the new book you gave me for a prize a little time ago.

Mrs. B. Miss Edgworth's "Early Lessons," do you mean, my dear Ferdinand?

"Yes, mamma: I was reading that part of Harry and Lucy, in which their father so clearly explains to them the expansibility of air, and the power of steam; and I thought this might, perhaps, account for a thing that has always puzzled me extremely, and that is, earthquakes. [Footnote: Another remark of the child before mentioned.] I was reading a description of one a few days ago, and feel very anxious to know what can occasion such dreadful convulsions in the bowels of the earth. Will you be so kind, mamma, as to tell me what is supposed to be the cause?"

Mrs. B. On this, as well as on most other philosophical subjects, the opinions of the learned vary. Mr. *****, who was a great naturalist, imagines some to be produced by fire, in the manner of volcanoes; others, by the struggles of confined air, expanded by heat, and endeavouring to get free. But there does not appear any sufficient reason for this distinction. The union of fire and air seems necessary to effect the explosion; since the former is an agent of no power, without the aid of the latter.

Ferdinand. But pray, mamma, how does heat get into the inside of the earth?

Mrs. B. There are hidden in the bowels of the earth, immense quantities of inflammable matter: pyrites, bitumens, and other substances of a similar nature, which only require moisture to put their fires in motion. Water readily finds its way into the greatest depths of earth: or even from subterraneous springs, this dreadful mixture may occur, when immediately new appearances ensue; those substances which have lain dormant for ages, and which, had they not met with this new element, would have remained so for ages longer, appear suddenly to have changed their nature: they grow hot, produce new air, and require room for expansion. The struggles this air then makes to get free, throw all above into convulsions, and produce those dreadful catastrophes which we so properly denominate earthquakes. This appears the most rational means of accounting for this phenomenon; I have not, therefore, thought it needful to enter into the theoretical speculations of philosophers upon the subject.

Ferdinand. Well, mamma, directly I read, in Henry and Lucy, an account of those experiments, I felt almost sure, the expansion of the air in the earth, was the cause of earthquakes; though I did not exactly understand how it could be. I am much obliged to you for your explanation.

Mrs. B. You are very welcome, my dear. You lately read an account of one of these dreadful convulsions of nature. Where did it happen?

Ferdinand. In Jamaica, mamma, in the year 1692: it is a most dreadful account. In two minutes' time, the town of Port Royal was destroyed, and the houses sunk in a gulph forty fathoms deep. In every fathom, there are six feet, you know, mamma; so, if we multiply forty by six, we shall find that these poor creatures were instantly buried, with their houses, to the depth of two hundred and forty feet under ground. In other parts of the island, the sand rose like the waves of the sea, lifting up all who stood upon it, and then dashing them into pits. The water was thrown out of the wells with the greatest violence; the openings of the earth were in some places so broad, that the streets appeared twice as wide as they were before: in others, the ground yawned and closed again continually, swallowing, at each yawn, two or three hundred of the wretched inhabitants: sometimes the chasms suddenly closing, caught them by the middle, and crushed them instantly to death. From openings still more dreadful than these, spouted up cataracts of water, drowning such as the earthquake had spared. Every thing was destroyed: houses, people, and trees, shared one universal ruin. Great pools of water afterwards appeared, which, when dried by the sun, left only a plain of barren sand, without a single trace of its former inhabitants.

Mrs. B. I recollect to have read the account, as well as that of a very similar one that occurred some years ago at Lisbon, which is, you know, the capital of Portugal. I have, at home, a very interesting narrative of an earthquake that happened at Calabria, in the southern part of Italy. It is related by Father Kircher, who was considered as a prodigy of learning, and was also a very excellent man. When we return home, I will look for the paper, and let you read it.

Just as Mrs. Bernard had finished speaking, a little girl, about six years old, came running towards them, crying most bitterly, and exclaiming: "Oh! dear lady, do pray come to my poor mammy, for she is very bad indeed: I do think she is going to die, as my daddy did last week; and then poor baby, and Tommy, and I shall die too, for there will be nobody to take care of us when mammy is gone."

"Where does your mammy live, my poor little girl?" enquired Mrs. Bernard.

"By the hill-side, Ma'am, at yonder cottage," said the child, pointing to a low-roofed shed at no great distance.

Mrs. Bernard, accompanied by Emily, Louisa, and Ferdinand, proceeded towards the spot pointed out by the little girl, and on entering the cot, beheld a sight which wrung their gentle hearts with pity. On a bundle of straw in one corner of the hovel, (for it deserved no better name,) lay a young woman, apparently fast sinking into the arms of death; at the foot of this wretched bed, sat a poor little half naked boy, crying for that food his wretched mother could not supply; an infant at her breast, was vainly endeavouring to procure the nourishment which nature usually provides, but which want and misery had now nearly exhausted.

Mrs. Bernard approached the poor sufferer, and took her hand. It was cold and clammy: her lips moved, but no sound met the ears of the attentive listeners Mrs. Bernard then enquired of the child, what food her mother had lately taken.

"Oh! none, Ma'am, since the day before yesterday. When my poor daddy was carried away, we had but one loaf left, and that she giv'd all to Tommy and me."

This account, though it shocked Mrs. Bernard extremely, still gave her hopes that disease was not the sole cause of the poor woman's deplorable situation, and induced her to believe, that proper nourishment, with other attentions, might be the means of preserving a life so valuable to her infant family.

Emily proposed hastening home for medical assistance, and also for that nourishment which seemed not less necessary.

Mrs. Bernard requested she would take charge of her brother and sister, as it was her intention to remain at the cottage till the poor woman should revive a little. She also begged her to send Jane as quickly as possible, who was an excellent nurse, and would cheerfully afford the assistance of which the poor sufferer stood so much in need.

Emily immediately set off, accompanied by Louisa and Ferdinand. Before they had proceeded far, they met a rosy milk-maid, singing with her pail upon her head.

"Oh!" exclaimed Louisa, "I do think some milk would be good for the poor woman and the children, till we can get them something better. Do let me ask the young woman to take some to the hut."

Emily quite approved her sister's plan, and pointing out to the girl the path that led to the hovel, they received her promise to call with the milk, and proceeded on their way, their hearts already lightened of a load of anxiety.

Mrs. Bernard was delighted at the sight of the milk-girl, and much pleased with the consideration of the children in sending her. She purchased a sufficient quantity, to supply, for the half starved children, a plentiful meal.

"Have you no bread in the house, my dear," said she to Susan, for that was the little girl's name.

"Yes, Ma'am, a little," returned she; "because I did not eat my last bit, for fear we should not get any more; and then, if poor little Tommy was ever so hungry, he would have nothing to eat, for mammy is too ill to work for us now."

"But are you not hungry yourself?" enquired Mrs. Bernard.

"Oh yes, Ma'am," replied Susan, "that I am; but I don't mind it: I am the biggest and the strongest, so it won't hurt me to be hungry a bit."

Mrs. Bernard looked the surprise and admiration at this truly good child. "Well, my poor little Susan, you shall have a good meal now, as soon as we can boil the milk. But the fire is almost out."

"Oh, Ma'am, I'll make a cheerful blaze in a minute," said Susan, whose usual alacrity was increased by the hopes of a plentiful meal: and instantly running into the lane, she, in a few minutes, collected a large bundle of sticks, which she placed with much judgment upon the expiring embers, and exciting them with her breath, a blazing fire soon lighted the cold walls of the hut, and cast a ray of cheerfulness around the gloomy scene. The heat from the fire, together with reflection from its flame, gave to the child's before pallid countenance, a momentary flush of health; and Mrs. Bernard thought, as she gazed upon her, she had never seen a more interesting little creature. She supplied the fire with a fresh bundle of faggots, which maintained the genial warmth; and producing a saucepan, which for brightness might have vied with any in Mrs. Bernard's kitchen, she put on the milk to boil.

Whilst this operation was performing, Susan swept up the hearth, reached out of a cupboard two black porringers, and crumbled into them her little store of bread.

Tommy, in the mean time, had crept from the bed, and was warming his half-frozen limbs at the cheerful fire, eyeing with delight the meal that was preparing for him.

As soon as the milk boiled, Mrs. Bernard poured it upon the bread, and persuaded the poor woman to take a few spoonfuls. It appeared to revive her much; and a violent flood of tears, which at this moment came to her relief, proved still more salutary. Mrs. Bernard did not wish to stop their flow: she took the little infant in her arms, and gave it a good meal of bread and milk; after which it dropped into a sweet sleep, and was again laid on the humble bed of its mother.

Susan and her brother ate their portion with the eagerness of real hunger, and with hearts glowing with gratitude; though in a style of infantine simplicity, they tanked their generous benefactress for her kindness.

In about an hour Jane arrived, accompanied by Mr. Simmons, the medical friend of the family. He was a man possessed of a liberal fortune, but of a still more liberal mind. His skill in his profession was great, and he was always ready to exert it to the utmost, for the relief of the needy sufferer. He warmly entered into Mrs. Bernard's benevolent plan on this occasion, and confirming her suspicion, that the poor woman required nourshing diet and care, rather than medicine, it was determined that Jane should remain at the cottage as nurse, and that the children should be removed to a more comfortable abode, till their mother was sufficiently recovered to attened properly to them. No persuasions, however, could prevail upon poor little Susan to leave her mother; she was, therefore, permitted to remain as Jane's assistant, whilst her brother and the baby were conveyed to the hospitable mansion of Mr. Bernard.

Under the kind care of Jane, and with the necessary assistance from her benevolent mistress, the cottage soon assumed a new appearance. The wretched pallet of straw was removed, and gave place to a comfortable bed. A table and chairs were provided, and a degree of comparative comfort reigned around.

The poor woman endeavoured to express her gratitude for so many unexpected blessings, but was prevented by the positive commands of Mrs. Bernard, who insisted upon her keeping herself, for this day at least, perfectly tranquil.

The children at home had not been less busily, or less benevolently employed, than their mother at the cottage. The moment little Tommy and the baby entered the house, the charity-box, so recently stored by the hand of industry, was recollected with delight. Some warm undergarments, with a neat frock and petticoat, were soon found, that exactly fitted little Tommy, and the baby was still more easily provided for.

"See, see, the effects of industry!" cried Ferdinand, jumping with delight around his sisters, as Louisa tied the last string of Tommy's frock, and Emily put on the baby's cap, which she declared made it look quite beautiful: "Oh! how delightful to be able to be so useful. Now I wish mamma would come home: how pleased she would be. What a pity that poor little Susan is not here, to have some new clothes too; but we must take her some, Emily. Let us go to the box, and look for some that will fit her."

"We have none large enough, Ferdinand," said Emily.

"Oh yes, I do think this pink frock will be big enough," exclaimed Ferdinand, drawing one out from underneath the others: "here is a great tuck in it, let us pull it out; that will make it a great piece longer." Saying these words, he was going to immediately to proceed to business, when Louisa loudly exclaimed:

"Oh, stop, Ferdinand, stop; that is not a real tuck; there is a great join under it, because my stuff was not long enough to make it all in one piece."

"What a pity! How shall we manage then?" said Ferdinand, putting on a look of great consideration.

"We must have patience till we can make one of proper size, I believe," added Emily: "but here comes mamma."

Ferdinand and Louisa instantly seized each a hand of little Tommy, and led him forward, whilst Emily followed with the baby.

[lacuna]

protegeis, and thanked her children for the assistance they had rendered her.

The idea of having afforded their mother assistance, as well as having extended their benevolence towards a poor stranger in distress, gladdened their affectionate little hearts, and never was there a happier group.

"Ah, mamma, I am now convinced of the truth of what you said," continued Ferdinand, "that the departure of Edward is not a real evil. Do you not think it is very useful to see real sorrow sometimes?"

Mrs. B. Indeed, my dear boy, I do. It teaches us the true value of the blessings we enjoy, and, I should hope, would fill our minds with gratitude towards the Dispenser of so many favours.

In attention to their new charge, the children spent a most happy day, and in the evening, Emily and Louisa, according to the promise they had given Ferdinand, began to make the clothes for little Susan; whilst he read aloud to them the following account of the earthquake in Calabria, which had been the subject of their conversation during the morning walk.

"Having hired a boat, in company with four more, two friars of the order of St. Francis, and two seculars, we launched, on the twenty-fourth