'Your affectionate brother,

'CHARLES PLACID.'

You may be sure that the intelligence of Hector's death gave Jemima some uneasiness; more especially as, at the first time Mr. Steward had called, she was out with her aunt and actually purchased a collar for him, which, before the receipt of her letter, she had contemplated with great satisfaction, in the idea of having so well executed her brothers' commission, and the pleasure it would afford them.

When Miss Placid had been in town about four months, and her mother was returned from Bristol, Mr. Placid came up to fetch her home, and invited her cousins to accompany her to Smiledale, promising to take great care of them and to teach them to read and write, and that Mrs. Placid would instruct them in every other part of their learning. To which Mr. and Mrs. Piner consented. The pleasure which Jemima felt at seeing her father after so long an absence can be better imagined than described. She looked at him with such transport that the tears started to her eyes, and, wanting words to declare the feelings of her heart, could only express her joy by stroking and kissing his hand as she sat on a stool by his side, and pressing it with fervour between both hers, she exclaimed that she was glad to see him. Her uncle and aunt gave her the highest praise for her good behaviour, and assured her father that they had never during the whole time of her visit seen her once out of humour, or at all fretful upon any occasion. Mr. Placid said he was extremely happy to hear so good an account of his little girl, but that he had expected everything amiable from the sweetness of her disposition, adding, 'It would be very strange if she had behaved otherwise with you as, I assure you, she is at all times equally tractable and engaging.'

The evening before her departure her aunt was so obliging as to present her with a new doll, which she had taken great pains to dress, and had made for it two dimity petticoats, with a nice pair of stays, a pink satin coat, and a muslin frock. She had likewise purchased some cotton stockings and a pair of red shoes with white roses, white gloves tied with pink strings, and a gauze cap with pink satin ribbons. Jemima, with a graceful courtesy, paid her acknowledgments to Mrs. Piner for that favour, and all the kind attentions she had received since she had been in town, and saw it packed up with great care in a box by itself, pleasing herself with the joy it would afford her to show it to her mother. She then busied herself in putting up the Indian glue, and a great quantity of pictures which had been given her, poor Hector's collar, and several books which she had bought and had already perused with much delight, particularly 'A Course of Lectures for Sunday Evenings,' 'The Village School,' and 'Perambulation of a Mouse,' 2 vols. each, together with the 'First Principles of Religion,' and the 'Adventures of a Pincushion.' All these mighty volumes she took with her to Smiledale, and Mr. Placid was so much pleased with them as to send for an additional supply to present to his friends. As to the skates, he had desired her not to think about them, as he should by no means approve of her brothers using them; nor would they have occasion for a coach-whip, but as he knew Charles had broken his bat she might carry him one instead. Jemima entreated permission to convey to them a drum, as she thought it would be a plaything they would much enjoy. To this he immediately consented, and went himself to procure one.

The Misses Piner, who were in as great a hurry with their preparations as Jemima, behaved with less composure on the occasion. They tossed everything out of their drawers in search of such toys as they could possibly take with them, and wanted to pack up their whole stock of playthings (which, indeed, was a very large one), and then, as fast as Dinah put what they desired into their trunk, Ellen snatched it out if it belonged to her sister, and Sally did the same unless it happened to be her own. So that, quite tired with their teasing, naughty behaviour, she turned it topsy-turvy, and declared she would not put up any one thing except their clothes, and added she wished they were gone with all her heart.

I shall not take up your time with any account of their journey, nor endeavour to describe the places which they passed through on their way to Smiledale, whither they arrived about five o'clock in the afternoon. Jemima ran to her mother with a degree of rapture which evinced the sincerity of her joy in returning to her embraces as soon as her brothers would permit her to disengage herself from their caresses, for, as they knew the day which was fixed for their return, and could nearly guess at the time she would arrive, they had taken their stand at the very place where they had parted with her, and, as soon as the carriage came in sight, they ran with their utmost speed to meet it, and came back again, jumping by the side, and when the coach stopped, were so eager to welcome their sister that they would scarcely leave room for her to get out, and they were in such a hurry to show her every new acquisition they had made since her departure that they would not allow her time to speak to anybody but themselves.



Two Trials

I

Sally Delia

Silence being demanded, the secretary opened the trial.

Secretary. Lucy Sterling against Sally Delia, for raising contention among her schoolfellows, and disturbing the general peace.

Judge. If I was unhappy in being appointed to sit in judgment on Billy Prattle, how much more so must I now be when I am bound to inquire with impartiality into every particular which may tend to convict Sally Delia of the charge laid against her. I would, however, recommend you to go through this business with the utmost candour, to advance nothing through prejudice, to conceal nothing through a mistaken tenderness; and to you, ladies of the jury, to divest yourselves of everything but truth, to weigh nicely the force of the evidence, that, in giving your verdict, you may convince everyone present you have acted upon upright principles.

Secretary. Lucy Sterling, please to support the charge.

Judge. I would beg leave, Lucy Sterling, before you proceed to give your evidence, to ask you whether either of the ladies on the jury were anyways concerned in this quarrel.

Lucy Sterling. Sally Delia left the choice of her jury to me. It therefore became my business, though a principal evidence against her, to choose such young ladies as were absent at the time of the fray.

Judge. Happy, indeed, is that young lady in whom friends and enemies confide!

Lucy Sterling. A few evenings ago, when all the young ladies had finished their labours for that day, they were allowed to amuse themselves in what innocent manner they pleased in our garden. Our governess, solicitous for our felicity, thought to add to our pleasures by sending us a basket of sweetmeats, which she intended to be equally divided; but an unlucky accident turned this kind intention into a scene of sorrow, and raised in their hearts nothing but strife. There happened to be a piece of candied angelica, which seemed very beautiful. On this they all placed their attention, and all begged for that. Every one endeavoured to show her superior right. Sally Delia urged her superior strength. But as they were all speaking together it was almost impossible to distinguish what one said from the other.

Judge. Was Sally Delia the first who talked of committing violence?

Lucy Sterling. I heard nobody else mention any such thing. I endeavoured to quiet them, but they would not listen to me. Their minds were so bent upon this piece of sweetmeat that all the rest were disregarded. I offered to divide it amongst them to pacify them; but they all talked together, and had no time to listen to what I said. Then, as the only method to quiet the disturbance, I threw the bone of contention into a ditch, from whence it was impossible for either of them to get it. A profound silence ensued, and I took that opportunity to reason with them on the folly of quarrelling about such trifles. My admonitions were in vain, for the contention broke out more violently, and the dispute now was, not who should have it, but who ought to have had it. Sally Delia was the first who renewed the strife, and not being able to give vent to her passion in words alone, gave Nancy Graceful a slap on the face. The other returned the blow, and the scuffle became general. Many blows, indeed, did not pass between them, for they aimed only at tearing each others' clothes. One had her cap torn to pieces, and her hair pulled all about her shoulders; a second had her frock torn down the middle; and, in short, there was hardly one among them who had not some mark to show of having been concerned in this unfortunate affair.

Judge. What part did you act in this fray, and how did it end?

Lucy Sterling. I endeavoured to part them, and in endeavouring so to do, received several scratches on the hands and arms. I know not where all this would have ended had not our governess come to my assistance. After hearing her voice, everything was quiet, excepting with Sally Delia, who, in the presence of her governess, tore two handkerchiefs and an apron. The fear of punishment now began to take place of anger, and each, ashamed of the trophies of victory she held in her hands, let them fall to the ground. Our governess for some time stood astonished, little thinking that what she had given them to increase their felicity should be the cause of so much animosity. Madame inquired of me the cause of this disaster, which I explained as well as I was able. They were all examined separately, their tears pleaded their pardon; but Sally Delia remained obdurate and inflexible.

Secretary. Polly Artless, please to come and give evidence.

Judge. What do you know, Polly, of this quarrel?

Polly Artless. I was not present when it happened; but the next morning I attended Sally Delia's examination before Lucy Sterling. Her governess had ordered Lucy Sterling to examine her, and in case she could not bring her to repentance, then to confine her, and order her to be brought to trial.

Judge. Relate what passed at this examination.

Polly Artless. Lucy Sterling asked her in the most kind manner what she could think to get by her contention about a piece of sweetmeat. Sally Delia replied that she should not answer her question; that she did not like to have more than one governess, and if she obeyed her she thought she did enough.

Judge. What reply did Lucy Sterling make to this?

Polly Artless. Lucy Sterling reminded her of the authority with which she herself had contributed to invest her; that she did not set up to govern others, or to prove herself wiser than they; that she only wanted to persuade her to learn to be peaceable and happy. She therefore begged leave to repeat the question whether she got anything by this last quarrel?

Judge. Did Sally Delia make any answer?

Polly Artless. She replied that she could not say she did get anything by it but the displeasure of her governess and having her clothes torn; that she did not value the sweetmeat, but that she had too much spirit to be imposed on, and that she was sure she had as much right to it as any of them.

Judge. Did Lucy Sterling endeavour any further to convince her of her fault?

Polly Artless. Yes. Lucy Sterling told her that she would have shown a greater spirit in giving up the matter of contention than in fighting for it; that then she would have proved herself a young lady of moderation and sense, nor would she have incurred the high displeasure of her governess. Sally Delia was at a loss for an answer, but she was so obstinate that she did not care to own herself in the wrong. At last she replied: 'I think I am as capable of judging what is right as you are of teaching me.' Then, finding herself overpowered by reason, she burst into tears. Lucy Sterling did everything in her power to bring her to confess her fault, but all was to no purpose. She therefore left her in custody till her trial.

Judge. What is the character of Sally Delia among her schoolfellows?

Polly Artless. She is too apt to be quarrelsome, too full of her high birth, and dissatisfied with everything.

Secretary. Betsy Friendly, please to come and give evidence.

Judge. What do you know, Betsy Friendly, concerning this quarrel?

Betsy Friendly. I accompanied Polly Artless on the examination of the accused before Lucy Sterling, and, to the best of my remembrance, Polly Artless has told the truth.

Judge. Do you know anything further?

Betsy Friendly. I called this morning on Sally Delia, before she came on her trial. I found her divided between obstinacy and contrition, but I thought more inclinable to the latter.

Judge. Relate what passed at this visit?

Betsy Friendly. As soon as I entered the chamber, I saw her sitting on a sofa in a pensive posture, and tears in her eyes. I asked her what she thought of Lucy Sterling's advice, and whether it would not have been better to have followed it than suffer her conduct to be exposed in a public manner?

Judge. What reply did she make?

Betsy Friendly. Sally Delia said that she began to see a good deal of truth in Lucy Sterling's observations, and she seemed to fear that her reason would at last oblige her to own it. This last thought seemed to fill her with the most painful reflections.

Judge. Did you not endeavour to convince her of the folly of her obstinacy?

Betsy Friendly. I said all I could think of to persuade her to conquer her spirit. She would not, at last, give me a word of answer to anything I said. I then turned from her and left her.

Judge. What have you observed with respect to her general behaviour?

Betsy Friendly. She is too often obstinate and quarrelsome, but at other times free, easy, and good-natured.

Secretary. Susan Lenox, please to give evidence.

Judge. What do you know in respect to this fray?

Susan Lenox. I have too much reason to remember it, for my cambric apron, which had cost me three months' working, was torn to rags.

Judge. What is your opinion of the general behaviour of Sally Delia?

Susan Lenox. She is sometimes well enough—at least, so long as you will listen to her tales about her illustrious family.

Secretary. Anne Graceful, please to give evidence.

Judge. Please to inform the court, Anne Graceful, of what you know concerning this affair.

Anne Graceful. I have reason to complain of my loss; my muslin frock was entirely destroyed.

Judge. Please to inform the court who gave the first blow?

Anne Graceful. Though I did not see Delia give the first blow, I have no reason to doubt she was the person from whom I received it. When we were disputing who ought to have had the favourite sweetmeat, Sally Delia urged her high birth and fortune, and concluded that if reason could not strength should have obtained it. Hearing this, I turned my back on her as a mark of contempt, when I instantly received a violent slap on the head.

Judge. How did you act on that occasion.

Anne Graceful. I instantly turned about, and in my anger, mistaking Susan Lenox for Sally Delia, I treated her very rudely.

Judge. This ought to teach us that passion is not only ill-becoming a young lady, but that it may lead into such mistakes as may be attended with serious consequences. But when you found your mistake, how did you behave towards Susan Lenox?

Anne Graceful. As soon as peace was restored, I begged pardon, and offered to repair all injuries. The former was granted, but the latter she would not accept.

Judge. I have only one more question to ask, which you will please to answer me on your word. Was there not some old grudge subsisting between you and Sally Delia?

Anne Graceful. I must own that I never liked her; there was something in her so proud and overbearing as gave me a disgust.

Judge. But were Delia to alter her conduct, should you forget what is past?

Anne Graceful. When she begins to act like a reasonable girl, she will become dear to me and the rest of her schoolfellows.

Secretary. Henry Lenox, come forward and give evidence.

Judge. What do you know, Henry Lenox, of this fray?

Henry Lenox. I saw all the finest part of it. I happened to be looking after a bird's nest in a field next to the garden: I heard the young ladies in high chat: but, as the sound did not seem to be very harmonious, curiosity led me to see what they were at. I instantly climbed up into a tree, and scarce had I taken my seat, when the engagement began. I saw Sally Delia strike Anne Graceful in the face; that young lady turned about and pulled off my sister's cap, and part of her hair with it. The battle soon became general, and it was impossible for me to distinguish friends from foes. Such a havoc ensued among caps, gowns, and frocks, as I never before beheld. This is the truth of what I know of this terrible disaster.

Judge. Do you, on your word, declare that Sally Delia gave the first blow?

Henry Lenox. I am certain she did.

Judge. Sally Delia, what have you to say in your defence?

Sally Delia. I am now brought to a public trial, as though I were some mean-born wretch; but out of conformity to your customs I submit to it. I deny the whole of the charge, and will wait for the verdict.

Judge. Young ladies of the jury, Sally Delia now stands before you, accused of raising strife and contention among her schoolfellows, and disturbing the general peace. Lucy Sterling affirms that the governess having presented the young ladies with a basket of sweetmeats to regale them, a quarrel arose among them with respect to the preference of choice of one part of it. Disputes ran high, and at last Sally Delia was so imprudent as to lift up her hand against one of her schoolfellows, which created a general confusion. The part Lucy Sterling acted in endeavouring to pacify them is no small addition to that character for which she is so justly admired. This young lady says positively that she saw Sally Delia give the first blow; that the contention was no sooner over than all of them were sorry for what they had done, except Sally Delia, who persisted in her fault, and was to be prevailed on by no entreaties or arguments. Polly Artless says that she was not present at the fray, but attended Sally Delia on her examination before Lucy Sterling, and corroborates everything which that young lady had advanced, but more particularly points out the care Lucy Sterling took to bring her to reason. I may add, the character this evidence gives Sally Delia is not at all to her reputation. Betsy Friendly, who visited the accused before her trial, seems to speak something in her favour by saying she showed some marks of contrition, but at last left her in an obstinate condition. Susan Lenox stood next to the accused at the time she struck Anne Graceful, and became herself a sufferer thereby. Anne Graceful cannot take upon herself positively that Sally Delia was the person that struck her, though circumstances are strong against her; but Henry Lenox declares he saw Sally Delia give the blow. Sally Delia, in her defence, contents herself with denying the whole of the charge, and rests on her innocence. I will only observe that I cannot see how you can acquit her when there are so many convincing proofs of her guilt. The principal point to be considered is what punishment you will inflict: it ought not to be so slight a one that the remembrance of it may leave no impression behind, nor so heavy that it may anyways be deemed insupportable. After all, I only give my opinion freely, which, above all, is to do justice and love mercy.

(The jury went out, and returned again in about half an hour.)

Judge. Are you all agreed in your verdict?

Jury. Yes.

Judge. Is Sally Delia guilty or not guilty?

Jury. Guilty.

Judge. What punishment do you inflict?

Jury. To be confined one month to her chamber; to be allowed neither sweetmeats nor fruit, nor to receive any visits; but, that her health may not be impaired, that she be allowed to walk twice a day in the garden, at those times when none of the scholars are there; that, after that time is expired, she be brought into the large hall, and there be obliged to ask a general pardon of all her schoolfellows; and that, in case she refuses to comply with these injunctions, that her parents be then prayed to take her home.

Sally Delia, who had made no doubt that she should be acquitted, no sooner heard this hard judgment given against her than she burst into tears. The judge seeing it, thus spoke to her: 'I should be glad, Sally Delia, if you would inform me and the whole court from what source those tears flow: whether from a just sense of your crimes, or only from the apprehensions of your punishment? Why should you delay to humble that haughty spirit, to acknowledge your error, and beg for a mitigation of your punishments? I will myself then plead for you. But remember, if you continue obstinate till the court is broken up, your repentance afterwards will come too late.'

Sally Delia then fell upon her knees, acknowledged her fault, and begged a mitigation of her punishment. The judge recommended her to the jury, who left the matter entirely to him. He ordered her to be confined only three days, and even during that time to have the liberty of receiving visits from the rest of the scholars.

The trial being now ended, Sally Delia's schoolfellows, who just before had been evidences against her, ran to her and tenderly embraced her.

She promised to lay aside all her haughty actions, and, instead of being hated by her companions, to obtain the love of them all. She kept her word, and is now become one of the most amiable young ladies in the school.

The whole court was extremely well satisfied with the candid manner in which every part of the trial was supported.

II

Harry Lenox

Harry Lenox little thought, when he was giving evidence against Sally Delia, that he should himself be soon brought to public trial. He was in many respects of a good disposition; he loved his books, was affable and obliging to his schoolfellows, and subservient to his tutor; but then he was fond of getting into mischief, such as breaking church-windows, laying traps to throw people down, and was very ingenious at inventions of this kind. Whenever he was accused of anything of this sort, he would not only deny it, but stoutly stand to it; and this, at last, brought him to a trial.

The young gentlemen in general were very much vexed at Harry's disgrace, and would have bought off the complaint but that this would have been deemed bribery and corruption. The ladies were, most of them, well pleased that he was himself now brought into the same dilemma. In the meantime the judge took his seat, the jury assembled, and the prisoner was brought to the bar.

Secretary. Sammy Halifax against Harry Lenox, for a robbery and telling a fib.

Judge. Call up the evidence.

Secretary. Sammy Halifax, support the charge.

Judge. What have you to say, Sammy Halifax, against the prisoner?

Sammy Halifax. A few days ago, having given my tutor satisfaction in the performance of my exercises, he ordered me a plum-tart as a reward. It was baked in a tin pan, which I was ordered to bring back as soon as I had eat the tart. Henry Lenox was remarkably taken with the look of this tart, and offered to keep it for me till I wanted it, alleging that his room, which was a north light, would keep it much better than mine, on which the sun shone the hottest part of the day. I accepted the offer, and saw him put it into his cupboard. I went immediately to invite two or three of my intimates to partake of it in the evening in my own room, and thought I could do no less than ask Harry Lenox to make one of the party, in consideration of his kindness; but he excused himself. In the evening we all met, and Harry Lenox brought the tart and set it down, and begged leave to be excused, as he had promised to take a walk with his sister. It was a long time, so charming did it look, before we could persuade ourselves to spoil the sight of it. At last I stuck my knife into it; but how shall I express our disappointment when, instead of fine plums and rich juice, we found only pebbles and water! We all vowed revenge for this piece of treachery, and would have beat him soundly could we have then found him; but he had taken care to get out of the way. When our first warmth was over, we concluded it would be better to treat him in a judicial manner; and he is now before this court for that purpose.

Judge. You have said that you saw him put the tart into the cupboard; can you take upon you to say whether or not there was any lock to it?

Sammy Halifax. I am certain there was no lock on the cupboard; for he said to me when he put the tart into it that he had no lock, and he hoped nobody would get at it.

Judge. By what reason do you then conclude that he was the thief?

Sammy Halifax. Because he had the care of it, and refused to come and partake of it.

Secretary. George Bobadil, come and give evidence.

Judge. What do you know of this matter, George Bobadil?

George Bobadil. I was one invited by Sammy Halifax to eat part of this tart; but on cutting it up, instead of plums, we found only stones. It was instantly concluded that Henry Lenox was the traitor.

Judge. Had you any other reason to suppose that Henry Lenox was such?

George Bobadil. There was reason to think so; besides, I met him as I was going to the feast, stopped him, and told him where I was hastening; when he replied, as I thought, with a sneer, 'You will have a delicate repast!' I did not then know that he was entrusted with the care of it, and concluded that this manner of answering me arose from my supposition of his not being invited; but the tart was no sooner cut up than his reason for answering me thus was evidently apparent.

Judge. You cannot take upon you to say that you positively know him to be guilty of the charge?

George Bobadil. I cannot, but there is the strongest presumption of it.

Secretary. Samuel Evelyn, come and give evidence.

Judge. What have you to say, Samuel Evelyn, to this matter?

Samuel Evelyn. I was one invited by Sammy Halifax to partake of this tart, which, when cut up, produced nothing but stones. I had been walking after dinner in the garden before I went into the school; and when I got to the bottom of it I saw Henry Lenox and three or four more sitting on the grass under a rose-bush. As soon as I came within sight of them, I saw them all in a bustle; and when I came up to them, though I did not see them eating anything, yet their mouths were so clammy that it was with difficulty they could answer me. As I had then no reason to suspect anything, and finding myself an unwelcome guest, I left them and went into the school.

Judge. You do not, then, pretend to say what they had been eating.

Samuel Evelyn. I cannot take upon me positively to say what they had been eating, but I afterwards made no doubt of its being Sammy Halifax's tart.

Secretary. Come, Edward Harris, and give evidence.

Judge. What have you to say, Edward, with respect to this tart?

Edward Harris. I was invited to partake of it, and was, like the rest, disappointed; for there was nothing left but the top crust, the side and bottom crust, all the plums being taken away, and stones and water put in their place.

Judge. Who do you suppose did it?

Edward Harris. I make no doubt that it was Henry Lenox. It being left in his custody, and his refusing to come and partake of it, seem to corroborate the guilt of Henry Lenox.

Judge. Have you any other circumstance to allege against him?

Edward Harris. Yes; after he came out of the garden, and had been some time in the school, he was called out to construe. Before he left his form, he pulled out his handkerchief to blow his nose, when three or four plumstones fell on the ground. After he was gone I picked them up, for I love the bitter of the kernel.

Judge. Did you observe these plumstones, whether they were of a pale or a red colour?

Edward Harris. I had put them into my pocket, and forgotten them; but, on meeting with my disappointment in the tart, and finding there was so much room to suspect that Henry Lenox was the culprit, I pulled out the stones, and found by their colour they had been baked, for they were of a deep red. We concluded likewise that they must that day have been taken out of some tart, as they were still clammy.

Judge. Did you ask Henry Lenox how he came by those stones?

Edward Harris. I did not, for I well knew, if I had, he would not have answered me.

Judge. Did you take any method to discover who was the person that robbed Sammy Halifax?

Edward Harris. Yes; we agreed among ourselves, with our tutor's leave, to stick up a paper in the school, offering one shilling reward to any of the party who would turn evidence, and give information of the person who committed the fact. As we had great reason to suppose several were concerned in the eating of it, we were in hopes by this means to make a discovery; but we were disappointed, for not any spoke a word about it, and all in general pleaded ignorance.

Secretary. Hannah Careful, please give evidence.

Judge. Pray, what have you to say to this matter?

Hannah Careful. I am a half-boarder, and was ordered by my governess to attend here, in order to prove that the tart I delivered to Sammy Halifax was filled with plums, and not stones.

Judge. That is a material point; pray proceed.

Hannah Careful. My governess instructs me in the art of pastry and confectionery; I that day made all the tarts myself, and was ordered to give Sammy Halifax one of the best. Before I gave it him, I raised one side of the crust, to see if the syrup might not have boiled out, when I found it had not; and I am certain it was filled with plums when I delivered it to Sammy Halifax.

Secretary. Sally Delia, please to give evidence.

Judge. What do you know of this affair?

Sally Delia. Your lordship cannot have yet forgotten that I was myself so unfortunate as to fall under the censure of this court. I am sorry for the crime which then brought me before you, but I shall ever consider that day as the happiest period of my life—a day in which I was convinced of my folly, obstinacy, and self-conceit; a day to which I owe all the happiness of a calm and peaceful life, free from the passions of thoughtless girls who place enjoyments in the gratification of unreasonable desires.

Judge. Pray, Sally, proceed, and do not imagine you will be troublesome to the court; there is nothing we can listen to with so much pleasure as the language of reformation.

Sally Delia. I do not mention this out of vanity; only to induce the court to believe that I do not this day appear here against Henry Lenox out of any grudge whatever to his having been a witness against me. So far from it, I consider him as my benefactor; I consider him as one of those to whom I am indebted for my reformation. Happy shall I think myself if I shall in any way contribute to his.

Judge. Your evidence cannot be disputed, and I doubt not the jury will lay much stress on what you shall advance.

Sally Delia. It has lately been my custom in the evening to retire to a little arbour behind the summer-house in the bottom of the garden. I had this evening been so intent on what I was reading that I had stayed longer than usual. In the midst of my thoughts I was interrupted by the noise of somebody breaking through the bushes. I soon heard Henry Lenox's voice, and that of some others whom I well knew. I soon found the cause of their thus breaking out of their own bounds. They had some secret to talk of. I sat as still as possible, fearing I might be discovered, and heard Henry Lenox say, 'If you blow me, I never will forgive you; besides, you will come in for a flogging as well as me.' They all promised they never would puff; one said he never ate anything sweeter in his life; another said it was sweeter because it was stolen; and a fourth laughed heartily on thinking, when it was opened, how foolish they must all look; it was, says the fifth, one of the best——Here he stopped, for the foot of a person was heard coming down the garden, when they all flew away, and got off unperceived by anyone but myself. It was one of the maids, who was coming to look after me; and my governess chid me for staying beyond the time allowed me. My acknowledging my fault and asking pardon was thought a sufficient atonement.



Judge. Can you, from what you heard in the garden, take upon you to say that Henry Lenox is certainly guilty of what is laid to his charge?

Sally Delia. Had not the maid disturbed them by coming to call me, I doubt not but I should have been able to answer in the affirmative; at the present, I only say that I believe so, and that upon the strongest presumption.

Henry Lenox. I am happy in being tried by a judge and jury who have too much sense to convict me on mere conjecture, and there is far from any positive proof. To give a verdict against me in this case would be opening a way to the greatest errors. How many, through the hasty determination of a jury, on mere conjecture, have suffered unjustly! But should I meet with that fate, I will never find fault or repine, since I am sensible I shall not be the first, and I trust that my innocence will support me under the unmerited disgrace. Sammy Halifax came to me, brought a tart in his hand, and for safety, to oblige him, I put it into my cupboard. I brought it from thence, and gave it him. If anyone got to it, and treated it in the manner he describes, I am sorry for it; but it cannot be imputed to my fault. My reason for declining taking part of it is well known to my sister, whom I had promised to take a walk with in the evening. She is now in court, and I apprehend her word will not be doubted. As for the sneering words I made use of to George Bobadil (for that was the term he gave them), if they had any particular meaning at all, it could only serve to show what little consideration I made of mere matters for the tooth. As for the evidence which Samuel Evelyn has given against me, it can be of no weight, since it is well known that each has his confidant, and that each has some mighty secret to reveal to another. As to what Edward Harris advances with respect to the plumstones, they might as easily have fallen from the pocket of another as from mine, and there is even a possibility that these very plumstones may have come out of the tart after they themselves had eat it. Upon the whole, I leave it to your lordship and this honourable court whether there be any other view in this trial than that my accusers may obtain another tart at the expense of my credit.

Secretary. Susan Lenox, please give evidence.

Susan Lenox. My brother came to me in the evening in which the tart was eat, agreeable to my invitation; and I did not hear him mention the least syllable that could indicate his guilt in this matter. He mentioned the tart, indeed, by saying he was invited to eat part of it, but added that his appetite was the least of his concern.

Judge. Did he appear more cheerful or dejected than usual?

Susan Lenox. I perceived no change in him; he had nothing more or less of his natural gaiety and cheerfulness.

Stephen Brooks. I have known the prisoner a long time, and have always found him more ready to give than receive, and far from taking anything from anyone.

Richard Richards. The prisoner has been my intimate playmate for four years, and I never once quarrelled with him in my life.

Benjamin Blunt. The whole is a contrivance to bring Henry Lenox into disgrace, and to make you believe they have been ill used.

Judge. You have said, Sally Delia, that there were some voices you heard in the summer-house besides that of Henry Lenox. Do you imagine that either of these last young gentlemen were there?

Sally Delia. I am certain they were all three there.

Judge. Young gentlemen of the jury, I will not take up your time in recapitulating the evidence given; every part of it seems to agree so well that you cannot mistake it. The two principal points to be considered are these: If you are determined to find him guilty only on positive proofs, then you must acquit him, for there does not appear to be any throughout the whole trial; but if you will be contented with circumstances, supported by the strongest evidence that can be given, then you must find him guilty. It is, indeed, a just observation of the prisoner, in his defence, that many have suffered innocently, though on the strongest presumptions, and I must add that the character of a young gentleman is too tender a thing to be sported with. After all, I do not presume to direct you. I would only advise you to think of the matter impartially; a verdict given from such principles of action, though it may tend to lead to a mistake, can never be attended with reproach.

(The jury then went out of court, and returned in about an hour and a quarter.)

Judge. Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed in your verdict?

Jury. We cannot determine, and therefore beg to leave it special.

The judge immediately quitted the chair, which was soon after filled by the tutor, and the judge took the place of the secretary. Henry Lenox, who had not doubted, as there was no positive proof against him, but that he should be acquitted, as soon as he found the jury left it special, and that his tutor had taken the chair against him, his heart instantly failed him, and everyone took notice of the alteration of his countenance. Judge Meanwell then went all through the evidence, which, being finished, the tutor thus addressed Henry Lenox:

'Henry Lenox, I am unhappy for you in finding that to the crime of theft you have added the grievous guilt of a lie. By your artful defence, you have so far baffled the jury as to make them doubtful of the clearest thing in the world. Do not foolishly imagine that you have any compliment to pay yourself on this score; the most shining abilities, when used to deceive and mislead, to trick and cozen mankind, and to persuade them out of their lawful property, become the most dangerous possessions, and are as mischievous as plagues, pestilence, and famine. How can you dare to arrogate to yourself that part of philosophy which teaches you to look upon the luxuries of life with indifference, while your heart must tell you that you have not the least claim to it, and that you sacrifice your character and reputation to obtain luxurious trifles? They who are capable of deceiving in small concerns will not scruple to be guilty of injustice in matters of the highest moment. No one is wicked all at once; they harden their hearts by degrees against the truth, and at last are totally blind to it. Such conduct as yours promises nothing but the most fatal events; but it is my place to destroy it in its bud; and be assured that, though the jury could not see into your guilt, I can most clearly; and I do further tell you that unless you confess your fault, ask pardon, promise to do so no more, and make it your study to keep your word, I will treat you with the utmost severity. I will abridge you of every kind of amusement, and will confine you from the rest of your schoolfellows, that you may not corrupt them. On the other hand, if you confess your crime, I will lessen your punishment, and may, perhaps, restore you to my favour.'

Henry Lenox then fell on his knees, and, with tears in his eyes, confessed he was guilty, but mentioned nothing of those that ate part of it. His master then forgave him, on his most faithful promises of future amendment; and those who had been evidences against him shook hands with him, and they were all friends immediately.



Prince Life

Chapter I

Once upon a time there was a young Prince who met with a very curious kind of misfortune. Most people want something which they cannot get; and because they cannot get it, they generally desire it more than anything else, which is very foolish, for it would be much better to be contented with what they have.

He was a wise fox, my dear Charlie, who thought the grapes were sour when he could not reach them. Now the Prince's misfortune consisted in this, that he had everything on earth he could want or desire, and a little more. He had a fine palace and a fine country, obedient subjects and servants, and true friends. When he got up in the morning, there was someone ready to put on his clothes for him; when he went to bed at night, someone to take them off again. A fairy called Prosperity gave him everything he desired as soon as he desired it. If he wanted peaches at Christmas, or cool air at mid-summer, the first came instantly from his hothouses, and the second was produced by an enormous fan, which hung from the top of the room, and was moved by two servants.

But strange to say, the Prince got weary of all this; he was tired of wanting nothing. When he sat down to dinner he had but little appetite, because he had had such a good breakfast; he hardly knew which coat to put on, they were all so beautiful; and when he went to bed at night, though the bed was as soft as a white cloud, he could not sleep, for he was not tired.

There was only one ugly thing in the whole palace, which was a little, drowsy, grey dwarf, left there by the fairy Prosperity. He kept yawning all day, and very often set the Prince yawning, too, only to look at him. This dwarf they called Satiety, and he followed the Prince about wherever he went.

One day the Prince asked him what he was yawning for, and Satiety answered:

'Because I have nothing to do, and nothing to wish for, my Prince.'

'I suppose that is the reason why I yawn, too,' replied the Prince.

'Rather is it having me always with you,' answered Satiety.

'Then get away and leave me,' said the Prince.

'I cannot do that,' answered Satiety. 'You can go from me, but I cannot go from you; I can never leave you as long as you remain in the palace of Prosperity.'

'Then I will have you turned out,' said the Prince.

'No one can do that,' said Satiety, 'but Misfortune, and he is a very capricious person. Though he is a very disagreeable monster, some people seem to court him, but cannot get him to come near them; while to a great many he comes unawares, and catches them, though they fly from him eagerly. I tell you, Prince, you can go from me, but I cannot go from you as long as you remain in the palace of Prosperity.'

That night, when he went to his soft bed, the Prince thought very much as to the conversation he had held with Satiety, and he resolved to go out of the palace for a time, just to get rid of the ugly little grey, yawning dwarf.

The very resolution seemed to do him good, and he slept better that night after he had made it than he had done for many a night before.

Chapter II

The next morning when he rose he felt quite refreshed, and he said to a groom: 'Bring me my stout horse, Expedition; I am going out to take a ride all alone.'

The groom answered not a word, for in that palace everyone obeyed the Prince at once, and nobody troubled him but the ugly little dwarf, Satiety. As he went away, however, the groom said to himself with a sigh: 'It is a sad thing to be in the wide world all alone. My Prince does not know what it is. But let him try; it may be better for him.'

He accordingly brought the horse to the palace-door. But when the Prince came down he felt quite well, and, looking about amongst all his attendants, he could only catch a distant glimpse of Satiety standing yawning behind. For a minute he was half-inclined not to go, for he did not mind seeing Satiety at a distance if he did not come near. But the groom, whose name was Resolution, seeing him hesitate, said: 'You had better go, my Prince, as you determined; it may do you good.' And a chamberlain called Effort helped him on his horse.

At first, as the Prince rode along, everything was quite delightful to him. He seemed to breathe more freely now that he was no more troubled with Satiety. The flowers looked bright, and the sky beautiful, for a cloud or two here and there only gave variety. The very air seemed fresher than it had been in the sheltered gardens of the palace, and the Prince said to himself: 'What a delightful country this is, just on the verge of the land of Prosperity.'

Just then he saw a countryman gathering grapes in a vineyard, and every now and then putting some into his mouth, and the Prince asked him whose fine estate it was that he was passing through.

'It belongs to a gentleman and lady equally, sir,' replied the good man; 'they are called Activity and Ease. They are the happiest couple ever seen. When Activity is tired, Ease takes his head upon her lap; and soon as she is weary of her burden, Activity jumps up and relieves her from it.'

'But to whom does that more barren country just beyond belong?' asked the Prince. 'And what is that great thick wood I see farther on still?'

'That is the land of Labour and the Forest of Adversity,' said the man. 'I would advise you to get through them as soon as possible, for the first you will find very wearisome, and the second exceedingly unpleasant, although people do say that there is a great deal of very good fruit in the forest; only one gets well-nigh torn to pieces with the thorns before one can reach it.'

The Prince determined to follow his advice, and rode on. There was not anything very tempting to him as he passed through the land of Labour, and it seemed a long and weary way from the beginning to the end of it. But the forest, even at its entrance, was very dark and gloomy indeed. Thick trees crossed each other overhead, and shut out the bright, cheerful daylight. He could hardly see his way along the narrow, tortuous paths, and the thorns which the peasant had spoken of ran into him continually, for they grew high as well as thick, and crossed the path in every direction. He began heartily to repent that he had quitted the palace of Prosperity, and wished himself back again with all his heart, thinking that he should care little about yawning Satiety if he could but get out of the thorns of Adversity. Indeed, he tried to turn his horse back; but he found it more difficult than he imagined, for, as I have told you, the road was very narrow and those thorns hedged it on every side. There was nothing for it, in short, but to try and force his way on through the wood, in the hope of finding something better beyond.

The Prince did not know which way to take, indeed, and he tried a great number of paths, but in vain. Still there were the same thorns and the same gloomy darkness. He was hungry and thirsty, and he looked round for those fruits he had heard of; but he could see none of them at the time, and the more he sought his way out, the deeper he seemed to get into the forest. The air was very sultry and oppressive, too; he grew weary and faint, quite sick at heart, and even the limbs of his good horse seemed to be failing him, and hardly able to carry him on.

Dark as it all was, it at length begin to grow darker, and he perceived that night was coming, so that the poor Prince began to give up all hope, and to think that there would be nothing for him but to lie down and die in despair, when suddenly he caught a sort of twinkling light through the thick bushes, which seemed to lie in the way he was going, and on he went, slowly enough, poor man! But still the light was before him, till suddenly he came to a great rock, overgrown in many places with briars and brambles. In the midst of it, however, was the mouth of a large cave, with great masses of stone hanging over, as if ready to fall on a traveller's head. It was a very stern and gloomy-looking place indeed, with clefts and crevices and ragged crags all around. But a few steps in the cave someone seemed to have built themselves a house; for it was blocked up with large, unhewn boards of wood, and in this partition there was a door and a window, through which came the light he had seen. The Prince dismounted from his horse, and though he did not know who might be within, he thought it best to knock at the door, and ask for food and shelter.

The moment he knocked a loud, hoarse voice cried:

'Come in!' and tying his horse to a tree, he opened the door.

Chapter III

Now, whatever the poor Prince had expected to find, he was certainly disappointed; for that thicket of Adversity is full of disappointments, as everyone knows who has travelled through it. He had thought he should see some poor woodman or honest peasant, who would welcome him to his homely hut in the rock with kindness and benevolence; but instead of that he beheld, seated at the table, carving away at a piece of stick by the light of a very small twinkling candle, one of the most tremendous monsters ever man's eyes lighted upon. In shape he was like a man, but he was a great deal stronger than any man. His face looked as if it were cast in iron, so hard and rigid were all the features; and there was an everlasting frown planted on his brow. His hands were long and sinewy, with terrible sharp claws upon them; and his feet were so large and heavy that they seemed as if they would crush anything they would set upon to pieces.

The poor Prince, though he was a very brave young man, stopped and hesitated at the sight of this giant; but the monster, without ever turning his head, cried out again: 'Come in! Why do you pause? All men must obey me, and I am the only one that all men do obey.'

'You must be a mighty monarch, then,' said the young Prince, taking courage. 'Pray, what is your name?'

'My name is Necessity,' answered the other in his thundering voice; 'and some people give me bad names, and call me "Hard Necessity" and "Dire Necessity"; but, nevertheless, I often lead men to great things and teach them useful arts if they do but struggle with me valiantly.'

'Then I wish you would lead me to where I can get some rest,' said the Prince, 'and teach me how I can procure food for myself and my poor famishing horse.'

The monster rose up almost as tall as a steeple and suddenly laid his great clutches upon the Prince's shoulders, saying: 'I will do both, if you do but wrestle with me courageously. You must do it, for there is no other way of escaping from my hands.'

The Prince had never been handled so roughly before, and as he was brave, strong, and active, he made a great effort to free himself, and tried a thousand ways, but to no purpose. The giant did not hurt him, however, though he pressed him very hard, and at length he cried out: 'Ho, ho! you are a brave young man! Leave off struggling, and you shall have some food and drink, such as you would never have tasted had you not come to me.'

Thereupon he led him to his own coarse wooden table, and set before him half of a hard brown loaf and a pitcher of water; but so hungry and thirsty was the Prince that the bread seemed to him the best he had ever eaten, and the water sweeter than any in the world.

'Unfasten your horse's bridle,' said Necessity, when the Prince had done, 'and I will soon teach him where to find something to feed upon.'

The Prince did as the giant told him at once, and then his stern-looking companion pointed to a wooden bedstead in a dark corner of the cave, which looked as hard as his own face, saying: 'There, lie down and sleep.'

'I can never sleep on that thing,' said the Prince.

'Ho, ho!' cried the other; 'Necessity can make any bed soft,' and taking a bundle of straw, he threw it down on the bedstead.

Chapter IV

Sleep was sweeter to the Prince that night than it had ever been upon a bed of down, and when he rose the next morning the monster's features did not seem half so stern and forbidding as they had done at first. The inside of the cave, too, looked much more light and blithesome, though it was a dark and frowning place enough still, with hard rock all round, and nothing but one window to let in a little sunshine.

Necessity, however, did not intend to keep the Prince there, and as soon as he was up the giant said to him: 'Come, trudge; you must quit my cave, and go on.'

'You must open the door for me, then,' said the Prince; 'for the bolt is so high up I cannot reach it.'

'You cannot get out by the door through which you came in,' said the giant, 'for it is the door of Idleness. There is but one way for you to get out, and that I will show you.'

So, taking him by the hand, he led him on into a very dark part of the cave, which went a long way under ground, and then said to him: 'You must now go on until you come to a great house, where you will find an old woman, who will give you your meals at least.'

'But I want to return to my own palace of Prosperity,' replied the Prince.

'She will show you the way,' replied the monster, 'and without her you will never find it. Go on at once, and don't stand talking.'

'But I cannot see the path,' said the Prince.

'You must find it,' said Necessity, and gave him a great push, which sent him on at a very rapid rate.

For some time he continued to grope his way almost in darkness, but soon a light began to shine before him, which grew bigger and bigger as he advanced, and he perceived that he was coming to another mouth of the cave, leading to an open, but very rough country. The Prince was very glad indeed to issue forth and breathe the fresh air, and he looked at the clear sky with great satisfaction. Just before him, however, there was a large house, with a great number of doors and windows; and as he felt very hungry, he determined to knock, and see if he could get any breakfast.

Almost as soon as he had touched the knocker the door was opened by a little old woman, plainly dressed, but neat and tidy; and when the Prince told her who he was, and what he wanted, she answered him with a good-humoured smile, very different from the frown of stern Necessity: 'Everyone can have food in my house who chooses to work for it; nobody without. I can help you on your way, too; and as for your poor horse you talk about, he shall be provided for. My name is Industry, and Industry always takes care of her beasts. Come in, young man; come in.'

The Prince went in with a glad step, and found the house quite full of people, all as busy as bees in a field of clover, and all looking as bright and cheerful as if they had washed their faces in sunshine.

It would take me an hour to tell you all the different things they were employed in, everyone working by himself on his separate task, although two or three were often seen doing different pieces of the same work. But there were two very nice, pretty girls there whom I must speak of, who seemed to be handmaidens to the mistress of the house. One was a thoughtful-looking, careful girl, who was busy in every part of the room alternately, picking up all the little odds and ends which were left after any piece of work was completed—little bits of string, ends of tape or thread, stray nails, chips of wood, or pieces of paper. These, as soon as she had gathered them up, she put safely by, where she could find them again; and it is wonderful how often she was called upon by the workmen for some little scrap or another, just sufficient to complete what they were about. Her name was Economy.

The other was a brighter, quicker-looking person, with very clear eyes, like two stars, who went continually through the room, putting everything to rights. If a chair was out of its place, or a table turned awry, or a tool put down where it should not be she could not bear to see it for a minute, but put all things straight again, so that nobody was at a loss where to find anything. She was called Order.

The hungry Prince was somewhat mortified to find a good, large piece of work assigned him to do before he could get his breakfast, and at first he was exceedingly awkward, and did not know how to set about it; but Industry showed him the way, Order helped him a good deal, and Economy supplied him with the materials.

Chapter V

At the end of an hour he had completed his task, and the old lady patted him on the shoulder, saying, 'Well done; you are a very good young man. Now Industry will give you your breakfast, and help you on the way to a very nice place, where you will get all you desire.'

Thus saying, she led him into a great hall, where there was a vast number of people, all eating rich fruits, with a somewhat hard-favoured dame, whom they called Labour, scattering sugar on the different dishes.

When the Prince heard her name, he asked one of the people near if that was really Labour, saying, 'I passed through her land not long ago, and it seemed so poor and hard a country that I should have thought it produced nothing good.'

'That is a mistake,' said the other. 'That is the land where grows the sugar-cane, and Labour always sweetens the food of Industry.'

As soon as his breakfast was over, the Prince was taken to another door, and shown a road which was very narrow at first, but seemed to grow wider and wider as it went on.

'You have nothing to do but to walk straight forward,' said Industry, 'neither to turn to the right nor to the left. Keep yourself upright, so that you may have that distant mountain peak before your eyes, and don't suffer yourself to grow faint or get tired. If you should have any doubt or difficulty, you will find someone on the road who will show you the way. But only remember always to keep straight forward, and don't be tempted to turn aside.'

'What is the name of this road?' asked the Prince.

'It is called the "Right Path,"' was the reply; and on he set upon his way with a stout heart. Nevertheless, he began to get somewhat tired before an hour was over, although the road was pleasant enough to walk in. There were beautiful green meadows on every side, and richly-coloured flowers, and what seemed very delicious fruit; and here and there, at a little distance, were pleasant groves, with a number of gay birds, singing very sweetly.

At the end of an hour and a half the Prince became hungry and thirsty again, as well as tired, and he said to himself, 'There could be no great harm surely in going across that meadow and gathering some of that fruit, to eat under the shade of the trees, while the birds sing over my head. I do not know how far I have to go. I see no end to this long, straight road. I think I will try and rest for a little under those trees. I can easily find my way back again.'

But just at that moment, luckily for himself, the Prince spied a man trudging on before him, and he hurried after, saying to himself, 'I will ask him how far I have to go, and whether I have time to stop.'

Chapter VI

The man did not walk very fast, but he kept steadily on, with a great pike-staff in his hand; and though the Prince called after him as soon as he was within hearing, he did not halt for a moment, or even turn his head, but trudged onward, saying, 'Come along, come along; one never gets to the end of one's journey if one stops to chatter by the way.'

At length the Prince came up with him, and said in a civil tone, 'Pray can you tell me whither this road leads, and if it will be very long before I get to some house where I can find rest and food.'

'It leads to a very fine and beautiful castle,' replied the other somewhat doggedly, and still walking on. 'I think, if you come along with me, you will get there in time. I am generally well received there, and in some sort may call myself the master of the house, so that those who go with me are generally made welcome by my lady, who, though she is sometimes a little whimsical, is the most charming person in the world when she smiles upon me. But you must keep on steadily with me; for if you stop or turn aside, a thousand to one you will be lost.'

When the Prince found him so communicative, he asked him if they could not cross one of the meadows to refresh themselves a little, and told him how he had been tempted to do so just before he saw him.

'Lucky you did not,' answered the other; 'for those meadows are full of swamps and quagmires, the groves filled with snakes, and many of the fruits poisonous. You might have got yourself into such troubles that not even I could have helped you out of them.'

'If it is not improper, may I ask your name?' said the Prince.

'Come along,' answered the other. 'Names matter little; but if you want to know mine, it is Perseverance.'

Not long after the Prince began to think he saw several tall towers glittering before him in the distance, with some misty clouds round about them, which only seemed to make them look the more beautiful.

'What a fine castle!' he exclaimed.

'That is where I am leading you,' answered the other; and the first prospect is always very charming. But we have some way to go yet, I can tell you, and not a little to overcome. You would never get there without me; so come on, and do not be daunted at anything you see.'

The Prince soon found that his companion's warning was just. The way did seem very long; and sometimes, as they went over hill and dale, the sight of the beautiful castle, which cheered him so much, was quite shut out from his eyes, and at length, when they were coming very near it, with nothing but one valley between them and the building, he perceived that the road went over a narrow drawbridge, and saw two terrible monsters lying close beside the way. Their bodies were like those of lions, very large and very strong, but they had necks like that of a snake, and from each neck issued a hundred horrible heads, all differing in kind from one another.

The poor Prince was alarmed, and said to his companion: 'Do you see those horrible brutes? Is there no other way into the castle but between them?'

'There are a thousand ways into the castle,' replied his companion, 'but every way is guarded by monsters just like those. But do not be alarmed. Go on with me, and I will help you. Besides, someone will come out of the castle, most likely, to give us assistance.'

Chapter VII

Upon these words, the Prince went on more cheerfully, especially when he saw a man come running down from the gate of the castle as they approached the drawbridge.

'Ay,' said his companion, stepping on without stopping a moment, 'there comes my friend Courage to help us. He is a good, serviceable fellow.'

Just as he spoke, the two monsters sprang forward, and the one which was nearest to Perseverance growled terribly at him; but he struck him a blow with his pike-staff, which knocked him down and cowed him entirely; and there he lay, with all his hundred heads prostrated in a manner which the Prince could hardly have thought possible. The other brute sprang right at the Prince himself, as if to destroy him, so that he was inclined to draw back; but the man Courage, who had run down from the castle, put his foot upon the creature's snaky neck, and crushed it into the earth.

'Go on, go on, young man!' he cried. 'These are terrible monsters truly, but you see our friend Perseverance has vanquished Difficulty, and I have trampled upon Danger.'

As he spoke, the Prince passed on rapidly over the drawbridge; and when he stood under the gate of the castle, Perseverance took him by the hand with a smiling air, and led him in, saying: 'Now I will conduct you to my lady, Success.'



At the very sound the poor Prince seemed quite refreshed, forgot all the weary way he had travelled, the dark forest of Adversity, the grim frown of Necessity, the faintness and the weariness, and hundred-headed Difficulty and Danger. But he was more rejoiced still when, on entering the building, he found himself suddenly, all at once, in the great hall of his own palace of Prosperity, with a beautiful lady, all smiles, standing ready to receive him with a crown in her hand.

'Come hither, Prince,' she said, 'and receive this crown, which I never bestow on any but my greatest favourites. It is called the crown of Contentment. I reserve it for those who, led on by Perseverance, come to me by the Right Path, in spite of Difficulty and Danger. Those who arrive at my presence by any of the many other roads that are open to mankind I give over to the charge of some of my inferior attendants, such as Pride, Vanity, or Ambition, who amuse themselves by making them play all manner of strange tricks.'

Thus saying, she put the crown upon his head, and the Prince found the most delightful tranquil feeling spread through his whole body. Nevertheless, he could not help looking about almost instantly for the figure of the ugly little grey dwarf; and, as he could not see him anywhere, he said to the beautiful lady: 'Where is that hideous, yawning Satiety? I hope he has left the palace.'

'He may be hanging about in some dark corners of the palace,' answered the lady, 'or hiding amongst the roses in your garden of Pleasure; but he will never appear in your presence again, so long as you wear that crown upon your head; for there is a rich jewel called Moderation in the crown of Contentment which is too bright and pure to be looked upon by Satiety.'



The Farm-Yard Journal

Dear Tom,

'Since we parted at the breaking-up, I have been for most of the time at a pleasant farm in Hertfordshire, where I have employed myself in rambling about the country, and assisting, as well as I could, at the work going on at home and in the fields. On wet days, and in the evenings, I have amused myself with keeping a journal of all the great events that have happened among us; and hoping that when you are tired of the bustle of your busy town you may receive some entertainment from comparing our transactions with yours, I have copied out for your perusal one of the days in my memorandum-book.

'Pray let me know in return what you are doing, and believe me,

'Your very affectionate friend,

'RICHARD MARKWELL.'



'June 10.—Last night we had a dreadful alarm. A violent scream was heard from the hen-roost; the geese all set up a cackle, and the dogs barked. Ned, the boy who lies over the stable, jumped up and ran into the yard, when he observed a fox galloping away with a chicken in his mouth, and the dogs on full chase after him. They could not overtake him, and soon returned. Upon further examination, the large white cock was found lying on the ground all bloody, with his comb torn almost off, and his feathers all ruffled; and the speckled hen and three chickens lay dead beside him. The cock recovered, but appeared terribly frightened. It seems that the fox had jumped over the garden hedge, and then, crossing part of the yard behind the straw, had crept into the hen-roost through a broken pale. John, the carpenter, was sent for to make all fast, and prevent the like mischief again.

'Early this morning the brindled cow was delivered of a fine bull-calf. Both are likely to do well. The calf is to be fattened for the butcher.

'The duck-eggs that were sitten upon by the old black hen were hatched this day, and the ducklings all directly ran into the pond, to the great terror of the hen, who went round and round, clucking with all her might, in order to call them out, but they did not regard her. An old drake took the little ones under his care, and they swam about very merrily.

'As Dolly this morning was milking the new cow that was bought at the fair she kicked with her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail, at the same time knocking Dolly off her stool into the dirt. For this offence the cow was sentenced to have her head fastened to the rack, and her legs tied together.

'A kite was observed to hover a long while over the yard with an intention of carrying off some of the young chickens; but the hens called their broods together under their wings, and the cocks put themselves in order of battle, so that the kite was disappointed. At length one chicken, not minding its mother, but straggling heedlessly to a distance, was descried by the kite, who made a sudden swoop, and seized it in his talons. The chicken cried out, and the cocks and hens all screamed, when Ralph, the farmer's son, who saw the attack, snatched up a loaded gun, and just as the kite was flying off with his prey, fired and brought him dead to the ground, along with the poor chicken, who was killed in the fall. The dead body of the kite was nailed up against the wall, by way of warning to his wicked comrades.

'In the forenoon we were alarmed with strange noises approaching us, and looking out we saw a number of people with frying pans, warming pans, tongs and pokers, beating, ringing, and making all possible din. We soon discovered them to be our neighbours of the next farm in pursuit of a swarm of bees which was hovering in the air over their heads. The bees at length alighted on the tall pear tree in our orchard, and hung in a bunch from one of the boughs. A ladder was got, and a man ascending with gloves on his hands, and an apron tied over his head, swept them into a hive, which was rubbed on the inside with honey and sweet herbs. But as he was descending, some bees which had got under his gloves stung him in such a manner that he hastily threw down the hive, upon which the greater part of the bees fell out, and began in a rage to fly among the crowd, and sting all whom they lit upon. Away scampered the people, the women shrieking, the children roaring; and poor Adam, who had held the hive, was assailed so furiously that he was obliged to throw himself on the ground, and creep under the gooseberry bushes. At length the bees began to return to the hive, in which the queen bee had remained; and after a while, all being quietly settled, a cloth was thrown over it, and the swarm was carried home.

'About noon three pigs broke into the garden, where they were rioting upon the carrots and turnips, and doing a great deal of mischief by trampling the beds and rooting up the plants with their snouts, when they were spied by old Towzer, the mastiff, who ran among them, and laying hold of their long ears with his teeth, made them squeal most dismally, and get out of the garden as fast as they could.

'Roger, the ploughman, when he came for his dinner, brought word that he had discovered a partridge's nest with sixteen eggs in the home field, upon which the farmer went out and broke them all, saying that he did not choose to rear birds upon his corn which he was not allowed to scratch, but must leave to some qualified sportsman, who would besides break down his fences in the pursuit.

'A sheep washing was held this day at the mill-pool, when seven score were well washed, and then penned in the high meadow to dry. Many of them made great resistance at being thrown into the water, and the old ram, being dragged to the brink by a boy at each horn, and a third pushing behind, by a sudden spring threw two of them into the water, to the great diversion of the spectators.

'Towards the dusk of the evening the Squire's mongrel greyhound, which had been long suspected of worrying sheep, was caught in the fact. He had killed two lambs, and was making a hearty meal upon one of them, when he was disturbed by the approach of the shepherd's boy, and directly leaped the hedge and made off. The dead bodies were taken to the Squire's, with an indictment of wilful murder against the dog. But when they came to look for the culprit, he was not to be found in any part of the premises, and is supposed to have fled his country through consciousness of his heinous offence.

'Joseph, who sleeps in the garret at the old end of the house, after having been some time in bed, came downstairs in his shirt, as pale as ashes, and frightened the maids, who were going up. It was some time before he could tell what was the matter. At length he said he had heard some dreadful noises overhead, which he was sure must be made by some ghost or evil spirit. Nay, he thought he had seen something moving, though he owned he durst hardly lift up his eyes. He concluded with declaring that he would rather sit up all night in the kitchen than go to his room again. The maids were almost as much alarmed as he, and did not know what to do; but the master, overhearing their talk, came out and insisted upon their accompanying him to the spot, in order to search into the affair. They all went into the garret, and for a while heard nothing, when the master ordered the candle to be taken away, and everyone to keep quite still. Joseph and the maids stuck close to each other, and trembled in every limb. At length a kind of groaning or snoring began to be heard, which grew louder and louder, with intervals of a strange sort of hissing. "That's it!" whispered Joseph, drawing back towards the door. The maids were ready to sink, and even the farmer himself was a little disconcerted. The noise seemed to come from the rafters near the thatch. In a while, a glimpse of moonlight shining through a hole at the place plainly discovered the shadow of something stirring, and on looking intently somewhat like feathers were perceived. The farmer now began to suspect what the case was, and ordering up a short ladder, bid Joseph climb to the spot, and thrust his hand into the hole. This he did rather unwillingly, and soon drew it back, crying loudly that he was bit. However, gathering courage, he put it in again, and pulled out a large white owl, another at the same time being heard to fly away. The cause of the alarm was now made clear enough, and poor Joseph, after being heartily jeered by the maids, though they had been as much frightened as he, sneaked into bed again, and the house soon became quiet.'



The Fruits of Disobedience

or

The Kidnapped Child

In a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Medway resided a gentleman whose name was Darnley, who had, during the early part of life, filled a post of some importance about the Court, and even in its decline preserved that elegance of manners which so peculiarly marks a finished gentleman.

The loss of a beloved wife had given a pensive cast to his features, and a seriousness to his deportment, which many people imagined proceeded from haughtiness of disposition, yet nothing could be further from Mr. Darnley's character, for he was affable, gentle, benevolent, and humane.

His family consisted of an only sister, who, like himself, had lost the object of her tenderest affection, but who, in dividing her attention between her brother and his amiable children, endeavoured to forget her own misfortunes.

Mr. Darnley's fortune was sufficiently great to enable him to place his daughters in the first school in London, but he preferred having them under his immediate instruction, and as Mrs. Collier offered to assist him in their education he resolved for some years not to engage a governess, as Nurse Chapman was one of those worthy creatures to whose care he could securely trust them.

An old friend of Mr. Darnley's had recently bought a house at Rochester, and that gentleman and his sister were invited to pass a few days there, and as Emily grew rather too big for the nurse's management Mrs. Collier resolved to make her of the party, leaving Sophia, Amanda, and Eliza under that good woman's protection.

It was Mr. Darnley's wish that the young folks should rise early and take a long walk every morning before breakfast, but they were strictly ordered never to go beyond their own grounds unless their aunt or father accompanied them. This order they had frequently endeavoured to persuade Nurse Chapman to disregard, but, faithful to the trust reposed in her, she always resisted their urgent entreaties.

The morning after Mr. Darnley went to Rochester the poor woman found herself thoroughly indisposed, and wholly incapable of rising at the accustomed hour. The children, however, were dressed for walking, and the nursemaid charged not to go beyond the shrubbery, and they all sallied out in high good humour.

'Now, Susan,' said Sophia, as soon as they entered the garden, 'this is the only opportunity you may ever have of obliging us. Do let us walk to the village, and then you know you can see your father and mother.'

'La, missy!' replied the girl, 'why, you know 'tis as much as my place is worth if Nurse Chapman should find out.'

'Find it out indeed,' said Amanda; 'how do you think she is to find it out? Come, do let us go, there's a dear good creature.'

'Yes, dear, dear Susan, do let us go,' said Eliza, skipping on before them, 'and I'll show you the way, for I walked there last summer with father.'

Whether it was the wish of obliging the young ladies, or the desire of seeing her parents, I cannot pretend to say, but in a luckless hour Susan yielded, and the party soon reached the village.

Susan's mother was delighted at seeing her, and highly honoured by the young ladies' presence.

'Oh, sweet, dear creatures!' said the old woman, 'I must get something for them to eat after their long walk, and my oven's quite hot, and I can bake them a little cake in a quarter of an hour, and I'll milk Jenny in ten minutes.'

The temptation of her hot cake and new milk was not to be withstood, and Susan began taking down some smart china cups, which were arranged in form upon the mantelpiece, and carefully dusted them for the young ladies' use.

Eliza followed the old woman into the cowhouse, and began asking a thousand questions, when her attention was suddenly attracted by the appearance of a tame lamb, who went up bleating to its mistress with a view of asking its accustomed breakfast.

'You must wait a little, Billy,' said the woman, 'and let your betters be served before you. Don't you see that we have got gentlefolks to breakfast with us this morning?'

Eliza was so delighted with the beauty of the little animal that she wanted to kiss it, and attempted to restrain it for that purpose, whilst Billy, ungrateful for her intended kindness, gave a sudden spring and frisked away.

Eliza followed in hopes of being able to catch him, but he ran baaing along into the high road.

A woman whose appearance was descriptive of poverty but whose smiling countenance indicated good nature, at that moment happened to pass, and, accosting Eliza in a tone of familiarity, said: 'That's not half such a pretty lamb, miss, as I have got at home, and not a quarter so tame, for if you did but say, Bob, he'd follow you from one end of the town to the other, and then he'll fetch and carry like a dog, stand up on his hind legs, when my husband says "Up" for the thing, and play more tricks than a young kitten.'

'Oh, the pretty creature,' replied Eliza, 'how I should like to see it!'

'Well, come along with me, miss,' said the woman, 'for I only lives just across the next field, but you must run as hard as you can, because my husband is going to work, and he generally takes Bob with him.'

'Well, make haste, then,' said Eliza.

'Give me your hand, miss,' replied the woman; 'for we can run faster together. But there goes my husband, I declare; and there's Bob, as usual, skipping on before.'

'Where? where?' exclaimed Eliza, stretching her little neck as far as she possibly could, to see if she could discern the lamb.

'You are not tall enough,' said the artful creature; 'but let me lift you up, miss, and then I dare say you will see them;' and, instantly catching her up, she cried out: 'Look directly towards the steeple, miss; but I'll run with you in my arms, and I warrant we'll soon overtake them.'

Eliza looked, but looked in vain, and, perceiving the woman had soon carried her out of sight of the cottage, begged she would set her down, as she dare not go any farther.

The vile creature was absolutely incapable of replying, for her breath was nearly exhausted by the rapidity of the motion, and Eliza continued entreating her to stop, and struggled violently to elude her grasp.

At length, after a quarter of an hour's exertion, the woman found herself incapable of proceeding, and stopped suddenly, sat down on a bank, keeping tight hold of Eliza's arms, who cried dreadfully, and besought her to let her go.

'Let you go!' she replied; 'what, after all the plague I've had to knap you? No, no, you don't catch me at that, I promise you; but be a good girl, and don't cry, and then you may see Bob by-and-by, perhaps.'

'Oh, my sisters! my sisters! Let me go to my sisters!' cried the child.

'I'll find plenty of sisters for you in a few days,' said the vile creature; 'but they won't know you in them there fine clothes; so let's pull them off in a minute, and then we'll have another run after Bob.'

So saying, she stripped off the white frock, hat, and tippet. The rest of the things shared the same fate, and she was compelled to put on some old rags which the inhuman creature took out of a bag she carried under her petticoat; then, taking a bottle of liquid from the same place, she instantly began washing Eliza's face with it, and, notwithstanding all her remonstrances, cut her beautiful hair close to her head.

Thus metamorphosed, it would have been impossible even for Mr. Darnley to have known his child, and they proceeded onward until her little legs would carry her no farther. At this period they were overtaken by the Canterbury waggon, and for a mere trifle the driver consented to let them ride to London. Eliza's tears continued to flow, but she dared not utter a complaint, as her inhuman companion protested she would break every bone in her skin if she ventured to make the least noise.



When they arrived in town, she was dragged (for to walk she was unable) to a miserable hole down several steps, where they gave her some bread and butter to eat, and then desired her to go to bed.

The bed, if such it might be called, was little else than a bundle of rags thrown into a corner of the room, with a dirty blanket spread across it; and there she was left by her inhuman kidnapper to mourn her misfortunes and lament having disregarded her father's injunctions.

The next morning she was forced to rise the moment it was light, and to walk as far as her little legs would carry her before they stopped anywhere to take refreshment. The second night was passed in a barn, and about five o'clock the third afternoon they knocked at the door of a neat-looking cottage, where nine or ten children were sitting in a little room making lace.

'Why, Peggy,' said the woman, as she opened the door, 'I thought you never would have come again! However, I see you have got me a hand at last, and God knows I'm enough in want of her; for two of my brats have thought proper to fall sick, and I have more to do than ever I had in my life.'

On the following day Eliza's filthy rags were all taken off, and she was dressed in a tidy, brown stuff gown, a nice clean round-eared cap, and a little coloured bib and apron; and she was ordered, if any person asked her name, to say it was Biddy Bullen, and that she was niece to the woman who employed her.

The severity with which all this wretch's commands were enforced wholly prevented any of the helpless victims who were under her protection from daring to disobey them; and though most of them were placed under her care by the same vile agent who had decoyed Eliza, yet they were all tutored to relate similar untruths.

But I now think it is high time to carry my little readers back to the cottage scene, where Susan was arranging things in order for breakfast, and Sophia and her sister were anxiously watching the moment when the cake was pronounced completely ready.

The old woman soon returned with the milk-pail on her arm, and Susan eagerly demanded: 'Where's Miss Eliza?'

'Oh, the pretty creature!' replied her mother, 'she'll be here in a minute, I warrant her; but she has gone skipping after our Billy, and the two sweet innocents they are together.'

She then went to the oven, produced the cake, and began buttering it with all expedition, whilst Sophia joyously ran to the door of the cowhouse, and began loudly calling her sister Eliza.

No answer being returned, Susan began to feel alarmed, but the young ladies told her not to be frightened, as they knew it was only one of Eliza's pranks. But, alas! too soon were they convinced it was no joke, but some dreadful misfortune must have happened.

'Miss Eliza! Miss Eliza!' was vociferated through the village, not only by Susan and her mother, but by all the neighbours who had heard of the calamity, whilst her sisters ran about frantic with grief, crying, 'Eliza, my love! my darling! Oh, if you are hid, for pity's sake speak!'

Nurse Chapman got up about half-past nine, and, hearing the children were not returned from their walk, sent the housemaid directly after them.

The garden, the shrubbery, and the lawn were all searched without success; and just as Betty was returning to inform the nurse they were not to be found, she perceived Susan and the two children enter a little green gate at the bottom of the shrubbery.

'Where's Miss Eliza?' called Betty, in a voice as loud as she could articulate.

'God knows! God knows!' replied the careless girl, sobbing so loud she could scarcely speak.

'How! where! when!' said the others. 'Why, poor nurse will go stark, staring mad!'

By that time the poor woman had quitted her room, and walked into the garden to see what had become of her little charges; and, not directly missing Eliza from the group, which was then fast approaching towards the house, she called out:

'Come, my dear children—come along! I thought you would never have returned again.' And, observing Eliza was not with them, she continued: 'But, Susan, what's become of my sweet bird? Where's my little darling, Miss Eliza?'

'Oh, nurse! nurse!' said Sophia, 'my sister's lost! indeed she's lost!'

'Lost!' exclaimed the poor old woman—'lost! What do you tell me? What do I hear? Oh, my master! my dear master! never shall I bear to see his face again!'

Susan then repeated every circumstance just as has been related, and with sighs and tears bewailed her own folly in suffering herself to be over-persuaded. And the children declared they dare not encounter their father's displeasure.

The menservants were instantly summoned, and sent on horseback different ways. That she had been stolen admitted of no doubt, as there was no water near the cottage; and had any accident happened, they must have found her, as they had searched every part of the village before they ventured to return home.

One servant was sent to Rochester, another towards London, and a third and fourth across the country roads; but no intelligence could be obtained, or the slightest information gathered, by which the unfortunate child could be found, or her wicked decoyer's footsteps traced.

When Mr. Darnley was apprised of the calamitous event, the agitation of his mind may be easily conceived, but can never be described.

Handbills were instantly circulated all over the country, the child's person described, and a reward of five hundred guineas offered for her restoration.

Sophia and Amanda were inconsolable, and Susan was ordered to be discharged before Mr. Darnley returned home, which he did not for more than a month after the melancholy circumstance happened, as he was not satisfied with sending messengers in pursuit of his lost treasure, but went himself to all those wretched parts of London where poverty and vice are known to dwell, in the hope of meeting the object of his solicitude, and at length gave up the interesting pursuit, because he found his health rendered him incapable of continuing it.

Nine tedious months passed away without any intelligence of the lost Eliza; and time, which is a general remedy for all misfortunes, had not softened the severity of their affliction. Mrs. Collier had engaged a lady to be governess to her nieces, as her attention had been wholly devoted to her unfortunate brother, whose agitated state of mind had produced a bodily complaint which demanded her unremitting care and tenderness.

Although Emily loved Eliza with the fondest affection, yet her grief was much less poignant than either of her sisters', as she could not accuse herself with being accessory to her loss.

'Never, never shall I forgive myself,' Sophia would often say, 'for having deviated from my dear father's command! Oh, so good and indulgent as he is to us, how wicked it was to transgress his will! I was the eldest, and ought to have known better, and my poor Eliza is the sufferer for my crime!'

Thus would she bewail her folly and imprudence, until, agonized by the torture of her own reflections, she would sink down in a chair quite exhausted, and burst into a flood of tears.

While the family at Darnley Hall were thus a prey to unavailing sorrow, the lovely little girl who had occasioned it was beginning to grow more reconciled to the cruelty of her destiny, and to support her different mode of life with resignation and composure. She had acquired such a degree of skill in the art of lacemaking (which was the business her employer followed) as generally to be able to perform the tasks which were allotted her; and if it so happened she was incapable of doing it, Sally Butchell, a child almost two years older than herself, of whom she was very fond, was always kind enough to complete it for her.

The cottage in which the vile Mrs. Bullen resided was situated about a quarter of a mile from High Wycombe; and whenever she was obliged to go to that place, either to purchase or to dispose of her goods, she always went either before her family were up, or after they had retired to rest, locking the door constantly after her, and putting the key in her pocket, so that the poor little souls had no opportunity of telling their misfortunes to any human creature.

One intense hot afternoon, in the month of August, as the children were sitting hard at work with the door open for the sake of air, an elderly lady and gentleman walked up to it, and begged to be accommodated with a seat, informing Mrs. Bullen their carriage had broke down a mile distant, and they had been obliged to walk in the heat of the sun.

The appearance of so many children, all industriously employed, was a sight particularly pleasing to the liberal-minded Mrs. Montague, and she immediately began asking the woman several questions about them; but there was something of confusion in her manner of replying that called forth Mrs. Montague's surprise and astonishment.

'They really are lovely children, my dear,' said she, turning to Mr. Montague, who had stood at the door watching the approach of the carriage, which he perceived coming forward; 'and as to that little creature with the mole under her left eye, I declare I think it is a perfect beauty.'

Mr. Montague turned his head, and regarded Eliza with a look that at once proved that his sentiments corresponded with those of his lady.

'What is your name, my love?' said he, in a tone of kindness which poor Eliza had long been a stranger to.

The child coloured like scarlet, and looked immediately at her inhuman employer, who, catching the contagion, replied with evident marks of confusion:

'Her name is Biddy Bullen, sir; she's my niece; but 'tis a poor timid little fool, and is always in a fright when gentlefolks happen to speak to her. Go, Biddy,' she continued—'go up into my bedroom, and mind that thread which you'll find upon the reel.'

'You should try to conquer that timidity,' said Mr. Montague, 'by making her answer every stranger who speaks to her; but by taking that office upon yourself, you absolutely encourage the shyness you complain of. Come hither, my little girl,' continued he, observing she was retiring upstairs, 'and tell the lady what your name is.'