The Looking-Glass for the Mind Part 10

Mr. Drake embraced his son, and told him, that the benevolent wish he had just uttered came from a heart as generous as it was humane. "But would not your thoughts change with your fortune? Are you certain, that in an exalted station you should preserve the sentiments which now animate you in that middling state, in which it has pleased Heaven to place you?"

Albert was a little surprised that his father should ask such a question, for he had no idea that riches could bring with them cruelty and wickedness.

Mr. Drake told him, that indeed was not always the case. "The world has produced fortunate persons," said he, "who have remembered their past distresses, and have always retained the most charitable ideas for the unfortunate; but we too often see, what is a disgrace to the human heart, that a change of fortune alters the most tender and sympathetic affections. While we ourselves labour under misfortunes, we look upon it as a duty inc.u.mbent on every man to a.s.sist us. Should the hand of G.o.d relieve us, we then think that all his intentions in the preservation of the world are answered, and too often cease to remember those unfortunate wretches, who remain in the gulf from which we have been rescued. You may see an instance of this in the man who frequently comes to beg charity of me, whom I relieve with reluctance, and cannot but censure myself for so doing."

Albert told his father that he had frequently observed how coolly he put money into his hands, without speaking to him in that tender language, which he generally used to other poor people. He therefore begged his father would tell him what could be his reason for it.

"I will tell you, my dear," said Mr. Drake, "what has been his conduct, and then leave you to judge how far I do right. Mr. Mason was a linen-draper in Cheapside; and though the profits of his business were but moderate, yet a poor person never asked his charity in vain. This he viewed as his most pleasing extravagance, and he considered himself happy in the enjoyment of it, though he could not pursue this indulgence to the extent of his wishes. Business one day called him on 'Change, he heard a number of capital merchants talking together of vast cargoes, and the immense profits to be expected from them. 'Ah!' said he to himself, 'how happy these people are! Were I as rich, Heaven knows, I should not make money my idol, for the poor should plentifully partake of my abundance.'

"This man went home with a bosom full of ambitious thoughts; but his circ.u.mstances were too narrow to embrace his vast projects, as it required no small share of prudence, in the management of his affairs, to make every thing meet the end of the year. 'Ah!' cried he, 'I shall never get forward, nor rise above the middling condition, in which I at present linger.'

"In the midst of these gloomy thoughts, a paper inviting adventurers to purchase shares in the lottery was put into his hand. He seemed as if inspired by Fortune, and caught the idea immediately. Without considering the inconvenience to which his covetousness might reduce him, he hastened to the lottery-office, and there laid out four guineas.

From this moment he waited with impatience for the drawing, nor could he find repose even at night on his pillow. He sometimes repented of having so foolishly hazarded what he could not well bear the loss of, and at other times he fancied he saw riches pouring in upon him from all quarters. At last the drawing began, and, in the midst of his hopes and fears, Fortune favoured him with a prize of five thousand pounds.

"Having received the money, he thought of nothing else for several days; but when his imagination had cooled a little, he began to think what use he should make of it. He therefore increased his stock, extended his business, and, by care and a.s.siduity in trade, soon doubled his capital.

In less than ten years he became one of the most considerable men in the city, and hitherto he had punctually kept his promise, in being the friend and patron of the poor; for the sight of an unfortunate person always put him in mind of his former condition, and pleaded powerfully in behalf of the distressed.

"As he now frequented gay company, he by degrees began to contract a habit of luxury and dissipation: he purchased a splendid country-house, with elegant gardens, and his life became a scene of uninterrupted pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts. All this extravagance, however, soon convinced him, that he was considerably reducing his fortune; and his trade, which he had given up, to be the more at leisure for the enjoyment of his pleasures, no longer enabled him to repair it. Besides, having been so long accustomed to put no restraint on his vanity and pride, he could not submit to the meanness of lessening his expenses. 'I shall always have enough for myself,' thought he, 'and let others take care of themselves.'

"As his fortune decreased, so did his feelings for the distressed; and his heart grew callous to the cries of misery, as with indifference we hear the roaring tempest when sheltered from its fury. Friends, whom he had till then supported, came as usual to implore his bounty, but he received them roughly, and forbid them his house. 'Am I,' said he, 'to squander my fortune upon you? Do as I have done, and get one for yourselves.'

"His poor unhappy mother from whom he had taken half the pension he used to allow her, came to beg a corner in any part of his house, where she might finish her few remaining days; but he was so cruel as to refuse her request, and with the utmost indifference saw her perish for want.

The measure of his crimes, however, was now nearly filled. His wealth was soon exhausted in debaucheries and other excesses, and he had neither the inclination nor ability to return to trade. Misery soon overtook him, and brought him to that state in which you now see him. He begs his bread from door to door, an object of contempt and detestation to all honest people, and a just example of the indignation of the Almighty."

Albert told his father, that if fortune made men so wicked and miserable, he wished to remain as he was, above pity, and secure from contempt.

"Think often, my dear child," said his father to him, "of this story, and learn from this example, that no true happiness can be enjoyed, unless we feel for the misfortunes of others. It is the rich man's duty to relieve the distresses of the poor; and in this more solid pleasure is found, than can be expected from the enervating excesses of luxury and pomp."

The sun was now sinking beneath the horizon, and his parting beams reflected a lovely glow upon the clouds, which seemed to form a purple curtain round his bed. The air, freshened by the approach of evening, breathed an agreeable calm; and the feathered inhabitants of the grove sung their farewell song. The wind rustling among the trees, added a gentle murmur to the concert, and every thing seemed to inspire joy and happiness, while Albert and his father returned to their house with thoughtful and pensive steps.

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WILLIAM AND AMELIA.

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In a pleasant village, at some distance from the metropolis, lived Lord and Lady Russel, who had brought up an orphan, named William, from his infancy; and had a stranger to the family seen in what a tender manner he was treated, he would have supposed him to be their son. This amiable couple had only one child living, a daughter, named Amelia, who was nearly of the same age with William, and the lady was pleased to see that the two children had something beyond a common attachment for each other.

William and Amelia were one fine summer morning sauntering in the orchard with their little friend Charlotte, whose parents lived in the neighbourhood. Of the little misses, Amelia was the youngest, and not quite eight years of age. They were walking arm and arm, and humming over a pretty song, then fas.h.i.+onable in the village collection of Ballads. At the same time William was walking before them, at some little distance, amusing himself with a shepherd's pipe.

While Amelia and Charlotte were thus rambling about, they cast their eyes on some beautiful apples that hung on a fine tree, from which all the fruit had been supposed to be gathered; but the branches had hidden some from view, and in course had escaped the notice of the gatherers.

The beautiful vermilion with which these apples were tinged, and which the leaves could not entirely hide, seemingly invited the hand to come and take them. William instantly climbed the tree they were admiring, and threw down as many apples as he could reach, while the ladies below held their ap.r.o.ns to catch them as they fell.

Chance directed it, that two or three, which were considered as the finest, fell into the ap.r.o.n of Charlotte, who was much pleased with this accidental distribution, as she might with reason have been, had a premeditated preference been the cause of it; for William was in reality the politest and prettiest little fellow in the village.

Charlotte, with joy and triumph in her eyes, thus addressed herself to Amelia: "Only see how fine and large my apples are, while yours are nothing to compare to them!" Amelia was very much displeased with these words; she hung down her head, and putting on a serious countenance, remained silent during the remainder of the walk. William, by a hundred a.s.siduities, endeavoured to recover Amelia's cheerfulness, again to spread a smile on her clouded countenance, and make her renew her usual pleasing prattle.

As soon as they arrived near home, Charlotte took her leave. Little William then addressed his sister, for by that tender name he always called her, and asked her why she seemed so angry with him. "Certainly,"

said he, "you cannot be angry at Charlotte having her share of the apples. You very well know that I always loved you best, and therefore endeavoured to throw into your ap.r.o.n those apples, which, by chance, fell into Charlotte's. You must be sensible, that I could not afterwards take them from her. Besides, I thought you of too generous a disposition to take notice of such trifles. Be a.s.sured, the first opportunity that shall offer, I will give you a convincing proof that I had no design to vex you, whatever you may at present think of my intentions."

"Very pretty, indeed, Mr. William!" replied Amelia, with a look of uneasiness and disdain. "Pray who told you that I was vexed? Suppose Miss Charlotte's apples had been ten times finer than mine, would that be any consideration to me? You very well know, Sir, that I am no glutton; neither should I have taken any notice of the preference you showed her, had it not been for that saucy little creature's looks. I never wish to see her more: and, as for you, fall down on your knees this instant, or I never will forgive you while I live."

Little William could not think of submitting to such an indignity, as that would be confessing a fault, of which he was not guilty, and therefore now stood more upright than before. "I am no story-teller, Miss Amelia," said he, "and therefore it is very wrong in you not to believe what I so positively affirm; for I certainly had no design to vex you."

"Very wrong in me, Sir!" replied Amelia. "This is pretty indeed! But you need not thus affront me, because Miss Charlotte is your favourite!" So saying, and bestowing a contemptuous curtsy on him, she left him with an affected air of scorn and contempt.

Dinner being now ready, they sat down at table, but pouted at each other all the time it lasted. Amelia would not once drink, in order to avoid saying, "Your good health, William;" and William, on his part, was so vexed at her treatment of him, that he was determined not to give up the point. Amelia, however, could not help sometimes stealing a glance at William, and, from a corner of her eye, watch all his motions. As it happened, one of these sly glances met the eye of William, who was equally attentive to watch all the emotions of Amelia, without wis.h.i.+ng to be observed. Their eyes thus meeting, she instantly turned hers away to another object; and as William attributed this to contempt, which in reality it was not, he affected much indifference, and continued eating with the most apparent composure.

As soon as the cloth was removed, and the wine and fruit put on the table, poor Amelia, being sadly out of temper at the indifference she experienced from William, made a disrespectful answer to a question put to her by her mamma, and, for a second offence of the same nature, was ordered to retire from table. She obeyed, and bursting into a flood of tears, instantly withdrew, without caring whither she went. However, it so happened that the garden door was open; she therefore flew down the walk, and went into the arbour, in order there, in secret, to vent her grief. Here she cried most lamentably; and soon repented of her quarrelling with William, who constantly, whenever she happened to get into disgrace with her mamma, would not only weep with her, but endeavour to bring about a reconciliation, which he never failed to accomplish.

Though William continued at table, he could not help feeling for the disgrace of Amelia. He had fixed his eye on two peaches, and endeavoured to contrive means of getting them into his pocket, in order to convey them to Amelia, whom he knew he should find somewhere in the garden, and he could easily make an excuse to go thither; yet he was fearful of having his intentions discovered. He pushed back his chair, then brought it forwards several times, and was continually looking down, as if for something on the carpet. "Pretty little Caesar! sweet Pompey!" cried he, speaking to two dogs then in the room. At this time he held a peach in his hand, which he meant to slip into his pocket as soon as he could discover the eyes of my lord and lady attracted by any other object. "Only see, papa and mamma," continued he, "how prettily they are playing!"

His lords.h.i.+p replied, that they would not eat one another, he would answer for it; and having just looked at them, put himself into his former position. Thus poor William, who thought he was sure of then pocketing the peach, was sadly disappointed, and obliged to replace it on the table.

These motions, however, were observed by Lady Russel, who conjectured what were his intentions. She therefore for some time enjoyed the poor fellow's embarra.s.sments, and made his lords.h.i.+p acquainted with it by looks and dumb motions.

William, who had no idea that his scheme was suspected, being fearful of trying the same stratagem twice, instantly thought of another expedient.

He took a peach, and placed it in the hollow of his hands both put together, after which he conducted it to his mouth, and made believe as though he was really eating it. Then, while with his left hand he found means to clap his peach into a cavity he had previously hollowed in the napkin on his knees, he put his right hand out to reach the other, which he disposed of in the same manner.

In a few minutes my lord and lady forgot to watch the motions of William, and entered into conversation on various subjects. He therefore thought this a proper opportunity to get away, rose up from table with both peaches in the napkin, and began to imitate the mewing of a cat, which a young shepherd's boy had lately taught him. His view in this was to engage the attention of Caesar and Pompey, in which he succeeded, as they both got up, and jumped about the room.

Lady Russel was a little angry with him for making such a noise, and told him, if he wanted to make such a mewing as that, the garden was the most proper place. William pretended to be very much confused at this reproof, though the consequence of it was the very thing he wanted. He then instantly ran up to Caesar, "See, mamma," said William, "he wants to bite Pompey!" and as he turned, he dexterously slipped the napkin into his pocket, and pretended to run after Caesar, to punish him. The dog ran towards the door Amelia had left open when she went into the garden, and away went William in pursuit of her.

Lady Russel called William back, and asked him where he was going. "My dear mamma," said he, "if you please, I will take a turn in the garden, and I hope you will not refuse me that favour." As lady Russel did not immediately answer him, he lowered his voice and spoke in a more suppliant manner. At last, having obtained her permission, away he ran with so much haste, that his foot slipped, and down he fell; but, luckily, neither he nor the peaches were hurt.

After searching round the garden for his sister, he at last found her in the arbour, sitting in an att.i.tude of sorrow. She was exceedingly unhappy to think she had grieved the three best friends she had, her worthy parents and her dear William. "My sweetest Amelia," said the little fellow, falling on his knees at the same time, "let us be friends. I would freely ask forgiveness for my fault, had I really intended to displease you. If you will ask my pardon, I will ask yours also. My pretty Amelia, let us be friends. Here are two nice peaches, which I could not think of eating while you were not present to partake of them."

"Ah, my dearest Billy," said Amelia, squeezing his hand while she spoke, and weeping on his shoulder, "what a sweet good-tempered little fellow you are! Certainly," continued she, sobbing while she spoke, "those that are friends to us in our misfortunes are truly valuable. It was very wrong in me to be so vexed, as I was this morning, about the loss of a few apples. It was the insulting look that Miss Charlotte gave me that was the cause of it; but I will think of her no more. Will you forgive me?" added she, wiping off the tears she had let fall on William's hand. "I confess that I sometimes love to plague you; but keep your peaches, for I cannot think of eating them."

"As to plaguing me, sister," answered William, "you may do that as often as you like; but, I a.s.sure you, n.o.body shall do so but yourself: as to the peaches, I most certainly will not eat them. I have already told you so, and my word is like the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not."

"For the very same reason," said Amelia, "I shall not eat them," and immediately threw them both over the garden wall; for, besides her having said she would not eat them, she could not bear the thought of receiving a bribe to reconcile a quarrel. Amelia's next consideration was, how to make it up with her mamma; and she said she should be happy indeed, if she would but permit her to appear before her, and ask her pardon.

The generous little William no sooner heard these words, than he promised to settle that business, and away he instantly ran; but before he had taken many steps, he stopped short, and, turning round, said, "I will tell mamma, that it was I who made you anger her, by having vexed you in the morning."

Little William succeeded beyond his expectations, and all parties were soon reconciled to each other. A friends.h.i.+p so affectionate and generous is highly worthy of the imitation of all my juvenile readers.

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THE RIVAL DOGS.