Read Ebook: A Week of Instruction and Amusement or Mrs. Harley's birthday present to her daughter : interspersed with short stories outlines of sacred and prophane history geography &c. by Unknown

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WEEK

INSTRUCTION

AND

AMUSEMENT;

OR,

INTERSPERSED WITH SHORT STORIES --OUTLINES OF SACRED AND PROPHANE HISTORY-- GEOGRAPHY, &c.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS, CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.

H. Bryer, Printer, Bridge-Street, Blackfriars, London.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following pages were written with the design of communicating, in a manner agreeable to children, some knowledge of those subjects which they so often find tedious and uninteresting.--Should the stories related inspire a love of virtue, and the lessons awaken a desire for the further acquisition of useful knowledge, the attempt, notwithstanding its defect, cannot, it is hoped, be deemed wholly useless.

THURSDAY.

At a pleasant village a few miles from London, resided a widow-lady of the name of Harley; she had but one child, and to forming her manners and instructing her mind she devoted her whole time. Anne was an amiable child; she rewarded her mother's care and affection, by paying great attention to her instructions; like all other children, she was fond of play, but seldom murmured when called to attend the hours set apart for working, reading, or learning her lessons: all these she performed extremely well for her age, and had already gone through many of the first books that are put into the hands of children.

Little Anne after thanking her mamma for her kind present, followed her to the bench, when they were seated, she opened the book, and the first story that presented itself was

Edward and James were the sons of a respectable farmer, who spared no pains in giving them an education suited to their situation in life. Having been pleased with their good conduct in some circumstances that had lately occurred, he promised them a holiday the first time the weather should be fine enough for them to visit their aunt, who lived a few miles distant from the village where they resided. The wished for morning at length arrived, the farmer gave each of his sons a shilling, and a basket filled with provisions. Thus equipped, they began their journey, and amused themselves on the road, by talking of the pleasure they should have in seeing their good aunt. The best way of spending their shillings was a subject of great importance, "I will have a handsome kite," said Edward, "and the string shall be long enough to allow it to fly as high as the clouds." "Yes," answered James, "but however long your string may be, I believe it must depend upon the wind for flying. Now, I will have a bag of marbles, with these I can always play on the stones in the church-yard after school." "Excepting when it rains brother James; however, as the money is our own, we have each you know a right to please ourselves."

Just as Edward finished speaking, a poor little ragged boy came up to the brothers, and asked for a halfpenny to buy a bit of bread, saying he was so very hungry he knew not what to do. "What, have you had no breakfast! my little man?" asked James. "No, sir, nor supper last night, do pray give me a halfpenny, I am so very faint for want of food."

Edward immediately took a piece of cake from his basket and gave it to the boy, enquiring at the same time, where his father and mother was.

"Alas, my good young gentleman, they are both dead. I lost father about a month ago, and I fear I shall soon follow him, for indeed I am very ill, and not able to work, therefore I must be starved." "O no," said James, "not if I can prevent it, you do indeed look very ill, but take courage, I hope you will soon recover, and surely the parish must provide for you--where do you live?"

"Since father died I have had no regular home, and this is not my parish. Sometimes I sleep in a barn. I do what I can to assist an old man, who was my mother's uncle, but he is ill now, and not able to keep me, so I shall be quite deserted."--"Well," said Edward, "I will provide you with a dinner to day, and give you money to procure a lodging at night; here is a shilling, my father gave it me to buy toys with, but I can do better without them, than you can without food." The little boy took the shilling, and with tears in his eyes thanked his kind friend. James would not suffer him to depart without accepting his shilling also, and desiring him to call the next morning at their father's, where they would try to be of further use to him, they bade him adieu, and pursued their journey.

"I am sure," said Edward, "I feel more pleasure in making that child happy, than in flying the finest kite in the world." "And I," added James, "was a hundred times happier in giving him a shilling, than I was when I received it this morning. Only think how rejoiced the poor boy must be, to have so much money; I dare say he never before, possessed so large a sum, but Edward, we shall have no new kite nor marbles now!--Never mind, brother, we have done a good action, and that, you know, our father says is the surest way to secure happiness"--

Thus conversing, these good lads arrived at their aunt's, where they spent a very pleasant day, and in the evening returned home, to delight their father's heart, with an account of their morning's adventure.--The poor boy came the next morning to the farmer's, who having made the necessary enquiries into his former conduct, took him into his service. The brothers had soon the satisfaction of seeing him restored to health, and in time he became a useful, faithful, and grateful servant to his benevolent master.

"Well, my dear Anne," said Mrs. Harley, "how do you like my first story?"

FIRST LESSON.

FRIDAY.

There was once a little girl who had been so much indulged in her infancy, that by the time she arrived at her sixth year, every one disliked her. She was proud and ill-tempered, she wanted whatever she saw, and when any thing was refused her, she immediately began crying and teazing her mamma for it, who being at last quite tired of her importunity, generally gave up the point, and Fanny obtained what she wished for. Now, though the mamma certainly intended to be very kind to her child, yet I think she did wrong in this respect, because children should never have what they cry for.

Fanny's ill-temper increased with her years, she quarrelled with all the children who used to play with her, till at length she was quite shunned, and none of her little friends took any notice of her.

A lady had given her sister Julia a pretty wax-doll, and she had taken great pleasure in dressing it: almost all her leisure was occupied in making its cloaths, and when they were completed she was quite delighted. It so happened that Fanny was from home when her sister received this present, but no sooner was she returned, and the doll produced, than she began, as usual, to cry for it, and so loud, too, that she disturbed the whole house. For this time, however, her tears were in vain, Julia would not give up her favourite, though she endeavoured to sooth her sister, by promising to lend it her as soon as she should be a little more careful. Fanny was at length pacified, but she watched the first opportunity to get possession of the doll. She soon succeeded, and for some time played with it very carefully, but having acquired a negligent habit of using her toys, she soon forgot its brittle texture, and when tired of nursing it, threw it down on the ground. The face was immediately broken to pieces, and while she was picking up the scattered remains of the once beautiful features, Julia entered the room. On seeing her favourite thus destroyed, she could not help shedding tears, and she reproached Fanny for having taken the doll without permission, especially as she had been so repeatedly desired never to touch it. Fanny felt quite ashamed for her fault, and was really sorry for the mischief she had occasioned: she begged her sister's pardon and promised never again to be so naughty. The good tempered Julia readily forgave her, and for a few days after this misfortune Fanny behaved much better than usual. However, as ill habits are very difficult to be overcome, she soon relapsed into her former fretful and passionate ways; indeed, she made the family so uncomfortable that her mother determined to send her from home, and for that purpose wrote to a relation, entreating her to take the care of Fanny for some time, and try if a different mode of treatment might have some good effect in correcting her faults.

Mrs. Benson was eminently distinguished for good sense and pleasing manners. She had frequently regretted the improper indulgences that were granted to this little girl, and accepted with alacrity the charge consigned to her care. She made but a short visit to her sister, and when she returned to her own residence, took back her little niece. It had been a very difficult task to persuade Fanny to accompany Mrs. Benson, but at length the engaging manners of this lady quite overcame her reluctance, and after parting very affectionately with her mother and sister, she got into the carriage that was to convey her above a hundred miles from the place where she had hitherto resided.

It was night when Mrs. Benson with her young charge arrived at the end of her journey. The motion of the carriage had lulled Fanny to sleep, and she was undressed and put to bed without being conscious of what was passing around her. The next morning on opening her eyes, she was quite surprised to find herself in an apartment with which she was wholly unacquainted, but the sight of her aunt soon brought to her recollection the change that had taken place. Mrs. Benson desired her to rise, but when told to put on her stockings she began to cry, and said that her maid always did it at home. "But here, my dear," replied Mrs. Benson, "you must do it yourself, for I make it an invariable rule never to assist a little girl in any thing she can so easily accomplish by herself. And I must now tell you Fanny, that you never can have what you cry for in my house, so be a good girl and do as you are desired."

Fanny then continued to cry very violently, and would not obey; her naughty behaviour had no effect upon her aunt, who continued dressing herself, and when she had finished, went out of the room without noticing it. Fanny being left alone, and finding that no one attended to her tears, at length began to dress, and after she had remained quiet for some time, a servant was sent up to assist her. She then went down stairs, and when she entered the parlour, her aunt said to her, "I am sorry you have been so long dressing, because I have breakfasted; the things are removed, and I cannot suffer them to be brought up again this morning. I am going out, and if you like to accompany me, I will shew you the village, and we will visit some of the cottagers who are employed in making lace, their work, I assure you, is very beautiful."

Fanny was greatly disappointed at being deprived of her breakfast, but she fetched her bonnet and followed her aunt. She was quite delighted with her walk, and on her return to the house was very glad to see a plate of bread and fruit on the table. After she had eaten as much as she chose, Mrs. Benson shewed her some pictures, and she remained a tolerably good girl during the rest of the day.

The following morning, when Mrs. Benson desired Fanny to read, she was very naughty, and would not say a letter. "Well," said her aunt, "if you will not read you shall neither play nor walk, so when I go out I shall leave you at home." Fanny persisted in her ill-humour, and was therefore obliged to spend the morning alone, instead of enjoying a pleasant ramble in the fields. When Mrs. Benson returned, she asked her niece if she would then try to read, "because," added she "till you have done so, you may be assured I will grant you no amusement." Fanny perceiving that her aunt was quite determined to keep her word, at length took up the book and read as well as she could. Mrs. Benson, pleased with her compliance, made no allusion to her former obstinacy, but gave her a pretty sattin pincushion, telling her that if she would try to be a good child she should love her dearly.

From this time Fanny began to amend; at first she found it very difficult to restrain her temper, but the more she tried, the easier she found the task: and though during the first few months of her residence at Mrs. Benson's she frequently forgot the good resolutions she had formed, yet she was always sincerely sorry for her faults, and endeavoured to make amends by doing whatever she thought would restore her to her aunt's favour.

Thus Mrs. Benson had the satisfaction of seeing a child whom she had formerly known so undutiful and ill-tempered, become by degrees quite amiable and obliging: the alteration in her was so great, that when at the end of a year Mrs. Benson carried her to pay a visit to her family, they could hardly trace any resemblance between Fanny such as she now was, and the naughty little girl who had given them so much trouble. She staid in London three weeks, during which time the cloud of ill-humour scarcely once ruffled her brow. At the end of that time Mrs. Benson wished to return home, and Fanny begged to accompany her, fearing that if deprived of her aunt's counsel before her good habits were entirely fixed, she might relapse into her former errors.

Several years are now past since these events happened. Fanny has been constantly improving, she is now the delight of her family, and the favourite of all who know her.

"What an interesting story," said Anne, as she shut the book: "now I find what a silly thing it is to be naughty, I will always try to be good."

SECOND LESSON.

In the above list you perceive the numeral letters are I, V, X, L, C, D, and M; the letter that stands for a smaller sum put before one that denotes a greater takes so many from it, and that after it adds so many to it.

This explanation of arithmetic must serve you for the present, you shall learn the multiplication table, and do some sums every day, and when you are thoroughly acquainted with these rules, we will proceed to the others.

SATURDAY.

One fine autumnal morning in the year 1789, John and Cicely Wortham, with their little son Robert, began a long journey into the North of England. They had hitherto resided at a small village near Abergavenny in South Wales, and there they would most probably have ended their days, had not John been informed of the death of a distant relation at Durham, to whose property he knew himself to be the rightful heir, though to secure it, he found it necessary to repair thither. Having, therefore, disposed of his Welsh hut, and converted all his furniture into money, he removed to London, and after spending a few days there, secured places on the outside of a stage-coach, which was to convey him with his family about half way on their journey.

Their conversation chiefly turned on the friends they had left, and the hopes of finding as kind ones in the country whither they were going. Robert was too young to be interested in either the hopes or fears of his parents; at the age of six months he slept as comfortably on his mother's red cloak as if he had been placed on a bed of down.

Towards the close of their second day's journey the sky began to darken, and a violent storm of hail and rain completely penetrated the cloaths of our poor travellers. However, as they had been always accustomed to the inclemency of the weather they did not much mind it, and Cicely, who was an excellent mother, took care to prevent her boy from feeling any inconvenience. In this manner they proceeded for several miles, till at length a large stone in the winding of the road overturned the carriage and dashed all the outside passengers with violence to the ground. Poor Cicely was killed on the spot; John had his leg and three of his ribs broken, but little Robert escaped unhurt. This unfortunate family were carried to a neighbouring farm-house, a surgeon was sent for who set John's leg, but all attempts to recover Cicely were fruitless, a stronger and more powerful hand than that of the surgeon had for ever closed her eyes! The melancholy intelligence was for some hours concealed from her husband, but at length he enquired for his wife, and soon discovered in the mournful countenances of those around him that she was no more. This fatal news, together with the pain of his leg and side, so agitated his mind, that his fever increased to a very alarming degree; and the third day from that on which the accident happened, poor John Wortham lay a lifeless corpse by the side of his beloved Cicely.

The humane farmer into whose house they had been carried when the coach overset, ordered them to be decently buried. Little Robert attended at their funeral, but was quite unconscious of his loss, though he sadly cried for that nourishment he would never more receive from the breast of a mother.

When the undertaker's bill and other expences were paid, farmer Hodson found that no more than six guineas remained for the young orphan. The trunks and pockets of his parents were carefully searched, but no paper appeared that gave the least information either of the name or residence of the unfortunate pair. Hodson made every enquiry that seemed most likely to lead to a discovery of little Robert's remaining relations: he advertised the circumstance in several papers, but in vain, and he at length gave up the fruitless search. Though by no means in flourishing circumstances himself, yet he had not the heart to send the poor orphan to the parish, and as he had no children of his own, it was agreed, with his wife's consent, to bring him up as their adopted son. Dame Hodson took the greatest care of her little nursling, and she had the satisfaction of seeing his daily improvement in health and good humour.

As Robert grew in years, he discovered to his kind friends a heart framed for the reception of every noble and virtuous sentiment: by the time he attained his twelfth year he was their chief delight, and the affectionate supporter of their declining years. Time passed on, Hodson could not labour as he had done, and two bad years, joined to his infirmities, reduced the family to much distress. Now was the time for the farmer to reap the reward of his generous compassion to a forlorn infant. Robert, ever industrious, earned enough with his own hands to maintain his benefactors. Were they sick, Robert was their nurse--were they sad, Robert was their comforter--he read to them, cheered their drooping spirits, and smoothed the pillow of declining years.

It happened about this time, that a gentleman of the name of Goldworthy, bought a large estate in the county where farmer Hodson resided; he heard the story of young Robert, and felt greatly interested for the whole family. He visited them, and found the accounts that had been given him were strictly true, and from that time he resolved to be their friend. Mr. Goldworthy, though master of a large fortune, and consequently placed above the reach of many misfortunes to which the more indigent are exposed, yet possessed a heart always alive to the distresses of others.--He determined with Hodson's consent, to take charge of young Robert, and fit him for some respectable employment, where he might have a larger scope for the exercise of his virtues and more abundant means for gratifying his generous disposition. Hodson with gratitude accepted Mr. Goldworthy's proposal; but no temptation, however alluring to his youthful mind, could induce our hero to quit his old and earliest friends, till Mr. Goldworthy promised to remove them to a cottage adjoining his own house, where they should be furnished with every thing necessary to their support. Here they spent many happy years, and had the heartfelt satisfaction of seeing their beloved boy grow up a respectable and worthy member of society, a useful assistant to his benefactor, and a friend to the poor.

"Dear mamma," said Anne, "I am quite delighted with farmer Hodson and his wife: they deserved Mr. Goldworthy's kindness to them, and what a sweet little boy Robert must have been!"

Lift up your heart with gratitude to the great God who made you, and, when you reflect on the many blessings you enjoy, never, if you do meet with little disappointments, give way to discontent and murmurings. Remember, it is easy to be good humoured when every thing happens agreeably to our wishes: it is only by cheerfully submitting to the opposition of them that a really good temper is proved. We must now hasten to our other business, or we shall not have time to finish it before dinner.

THIRD LESSON.

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