Aunt Judy's Tales Part 17

What a long story it had been! Aunt Judy was actually tired out when she got to the end, and could not talk about it, but the little ones did till they arrived at the station, and had to get out.

And in the evening, when they were all sitting together before they went to bed, there was no small discussion about the story of Mr.

Franz, and how people were to know what was really good manners--when to come forward, and when to hold back--and the children were a little startled at first, when their mother told them that the best rules for good manners were to be found in the Bible.

But when she reminded them of that text, "When thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room," &c. they saw in those words a very serious reason for not pus.h.i.+ng forward into the best place in company. And when they recollected that every man was to do to others as he wished others to do to him, it became clear to them that it was the duty of all people to study their neighbours' comfort and pleasure as well as their own; and it was no hard matter to show how this rule applied to all the little ins and outs of every-day life, whether at home, or in society. And there were plenty of other texts, ordering deference to elders, and the modesty which arises out of that humility of spirit which "vaunteth not itself," and "is not puffed up." There was, moreover, the comfortable promise, that "the meek" should "inherit the earth."

Of course, it was difficult to the little ones, just at first, to see how such very serious words could apply to anybody's manners, and especially to their own.

But it was a difficulty which mamma, with a little explanation, got over very easily; and before the little ones went to bed, they quite understood that in restraining themselves from teazing and being troublesome, they were not only not being "tiresome," but were actually obeying several Gospel rules.

"NOTHING TO DO."

"Had I a little son, I would christen him NOTHING-TO-DO."

CHARLES LAMB.

There is a complaint which is not to be found in the doctor's books, but which is, nevertheless, such a common and troublesome one, that one heartily wishes some physic could be discovered which would cure it.

It may be called the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint.

Even quite little children are subject to it, but they never have it badly. Parents and nurses have only to give them something to do, or tell them of something to do, and the thing is put right. A puzzle or a picture-book relieves the attack at once.

But after the children have out-grown puzzles, and picture-books, and nurses, and when even a parent's advice is received with a little impatience, then the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint, if it seizes them at all, is a serious disease, and often very difficult to cure; and, if not cured, alas! then follows the melancholy spectacle of grown-up men and women, who are a plague to their friends, and a weariness to themselves; because, living under the notion that there is NOTHING for them TO DO, they want everybody else to do something to amuse them.

Anyone can laugh at the old story of the gentleman who got into such a fanciful state of mind--hypochondriacal, it is called--that he thought he was his own umbrella; and so, on coming in from a walk, would go and lay IT in the easy-chair by the fire, while he himself went and leant up against the wall in a corner of the hall.

But this gentleman was not a bit more fanciful and absurd than the people, whether young or old, who look out of windows on rainy days and groan because there is NOTHING TO DO; when, in reality, there is so much for everybody to do, that most people leave half their share undone.

The oddest part of the complaint is, that it generally comes on worst in those who from being comfortably off in the world, and from having had a great deal of education, have such a variety of things to do, that one would fancy they could never be at a loss for a choice.

But these are the very people who are most afflicted. It is always the young people who have books, and leisure, and music, and drawing, and gardens, and pleasure-grounds, and villagers to be kind to, who lounge to the rain-bespattered windows on a dull morning, and groan because there is NOTHING TO DO.

In justice to girls in general, it should be here mentioned, that they are on the whole less liable to the complaint than the young lords of the creation, who are supposed to be their superiors in sense. Philosophers may excuse this as they please, but the fact remains, that there are few large families in England, whose sisterhoods have not at times been teazed half out of their wits, by the growlings of its young gentlemen, during paroxysms of the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint; growling being one of its most characteristic symptoms.

Perhaps among all the suffering sisterhoods it would have been difficult to find a young lady less liable to catch such a disorder herself, than Aunt Judy; and perhaps that was the reason why she used to do such tremendous battle with No. 3, whenever, after his return from school for the holidays, he happened to have an attack.

"What are you groaning at through the window, No. 3?" she inquired on one such occasion; "is it raining?"

A very gruff-sounding "No," was the answer--No. 3 not condescending to turn round as he spoke. He proceeded, however, to state that it had rained when he got up, and he supposed it would rain again as a matter-of-course, (for his especial annoyance being implied,) and he concluded:-

"It's so horribly 'slow' here, with nothing to do."

No. 6, who was sitting opposite Aunt Judy, doing a French exercise, here looked up at her sister, and perceiving a smile steal over her face, took upon herself to think her brother's remark very ridiculous, so, said she, with a saucy giggle:-

"I can find you plenty to do, No. 3, in a minute. Come and write my French exercise for me.

No. 3 turned sharply round at this, with a frown on his face which by no means added to its beauty, and called out:-

"Now, Miss Pert, I recommend you to hold your tongue. I don't want any advice from a conceited little minx like you."

Miss Pert was extinguished at once, and set to work at the French exercise again most industriously, and a general silence ensued.

But people in the nothing-to-do complaint are never quiet for long.

Teazing is quite as constant a symptom of it, as growling, so No. 3 soon came lounging from the window to the table, and began:-

"I say, Judy, I wish you would put those tiresome books, and drawings, and rubbish away, and I think of something to do."

"But it's the books, and the drawings, and the rubbish that give me something to do," cried Aunt Judy. "You surely don't expect me to give them up, and go arm and arm with you round the house, bemoaning the slowness of our fate which gives us nothing to do. Or shall we?

Come, I don't care; I will if you like. But which shall we complain to first, mamma, or the maids?"

While she was saying this, Aunt Judy shut up her drawing book, jumped up from her chair, drew No. 3's arm under her own, and repeated:-

"Come! which? mamma, or the maids?" while Miss Pert opposite was labouring with all her might to smother the laugh she dared not indulge in.

But No. 3 pushed Aunt Judy testily away.

"'Nonsense, Judy! what has that to do with it? It's all very well for you girls--now, Miss Pert, mind your own affairs, and don't stare at me!--to amuse yourself with all manner of--"

"Follies, of course," cried Aunt Judy, laughing, "don't be afraid of speaking out, No. 3. It's all very well for us girls to amuse ourselves with all manner of follies, and nonsense, and rubbish;"

here Aunt Judy chucked the drawing-book to the end of the table, tossed a dictionary after it, and threw another book or two into the air, catching them as they came down.

"--while you, superior, sensible young man that you are, born to be the comfort of your family--"

"Be quiet!" interrupted No. 3, trying to stop her; but she ran round the table and proceeded:-

"--and the enlightener of mankind; can't--no, no, No. 3, I won't be stopt!--can't amuse yourself with anything, because everything is so 'horribly slow, there's nothing to do,' so you want to tie yourself to your foolish sister's ap.r.o.n string."

"It's too bad!" shouted No. 3; and a race round the table began between them, but Aunt Judy dodged far too cleverly to be caught, so it ended in their resting at opposite ends; No. 6 and her French exercises lying between them.

"No. 6, my dear," cried Aunt Judy, in the lull of exertion, "I proclaim a holiday from folly and rubbish. Put your books away, and put your impertinence away too. Hold your tongue, and don't be Miss Pest; and vanish as soon as you can."

Miss Pert performed two or three putting-away evolutions with the velocity of a sunbeam, and darted off through the door.

"Now, then, we'll be reasonable," observed Aunt Judy; and carrying a chair to the front of the fire she sat down, and motioned to No. 3 to do the same, taking out from her pocket a little bit of embroidery work, which she kept ready for chatting hours.

No. 3 was always willing to listen to Aunt Judy.

He desired nothing better than to get her undivided attention, and pour out his groans in her ear; so he sat down with a very good grace, and proceeded to insist that there never was anything so "slow" as "it was."

Aunt Judy wanted to know what IT was; the place or the people, (including herself,) or what?

No. 3 could explain it no other way than by declaring that EVERYTHING was slow; there was nothing to do.

Aunt Judy maintained that there was plenty to do.

Whereupon No. 3 said:-