The Journal; or Birthday Gifts
It was the custom of Mr. Clayton to present gifts to his children on their birthdays, and his gifts were of less or greater value, according to their industry, improvement, and good conduct during the year. It was also the wish of Mr. Clayton that his eldest son and daughter should each keep a journal of all their actions. He did not desire to see this journal himself, but he advised them to read over at the end of each week what they had written, that the record of what
was good might incite them to other acts of virtue, and the history of their mistakes and errors serve as a warning for the future.
This kind, indulgent father seldom had cause to punish his children; they were indeed very good and docile children, always respecting the commands of their parents, and loving each other with the true fondness of brothers and sisters.
One only of these children went to school, and that was the eldest boy, Laurence Clayton. The others were instructed by a governess at home. Laurence was a fine boy, the hope and pride of his family. For nine birthdays he had received gifts from the hand of his father as the reward of his good conduct, and now his tenth birthday was approaching, and Mr. Clayton had
heard so pleasing an account of Laurence from his schoolmaster, that he said, beside the present he meant to give him, he would on the birthday grant any favour Laurence should ask of him.
A week only was wanting to complete Laurence's tenth year. Company was invited, and the young folks were all thinking and talking of the expected pleasures of that day—all but Laurence, who became pensive and silent, shunned his brothers and sisters, and even the presence of his father, to shut himself up in his own room; but, as he replied, when asked about his health, that he was very well, it was supposed that he was busy at his studies, and they still prepared for the birthday.
On the 24th of August Laurence was ten years old, and a finer
morning than it proved was never seen. The two families that were invited came to breakfast. All were assembled in the parlour, and admiring a very handsome pair of globes, which, mounted on mahogany stands, were to be presented to Laurence; when he entered the room, not dressed in the suit of clothes that had been laid in his chamber, but in his oldest jacket, his cheeks quite pale, and his eyes red and swelled with weeping. He turned his head away as he passed the globes, and, dropping on his knees before his father, he said, 'O, sir, you promised to grant me a favour this day, pray let it be your forgiveness! I know I do not deserve your pardon, but if you will forgive me this once, I am sure I never, never can deceive you again.'
Mr. Clayton, shocked and surprised, desired to know what fault he had committed, when Laurence took his journal-book from his pocket and gave it into his father's hand, saying, 'I am ashamed to repeat what I have done, but it is written there, sir.' Mr. Clayton took the book, and told Laurence to withdraw till he had read it. On opening the journal Mr. Clayton found that all was regular down to the entry for the 2nd of August, which ran thus:—
Monday, August 2nd.—Being a school holiday, I went out with my father in a boat. He taught me to steer the rudder, while he managed the oars. It was a happy day. We dined at Mr. Black's, whose son showed me some fine drawings from busts of heathen gods, goddesses, and heroes; and
my aunt Eleanor, who was there, gave me five shillings to buy Baldwin's Pantheon, that I might read the history of Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Minerva, Venus, Bacchus, Apollo, Hercules, and all the rest of the Pagan deities. Coming home, my father praised me for behaving well. Indeed it was a happy day.'
From the happy day Laurence had thus described, there was an entire blank in the journal; but between the leaves was placed a written paper, from which Mr. Clayton read as follows:—
'August 23rd.—To-morrow is my birthday, and my father is preparing gifts for me, which he thinks I deserve. My brothers and sisters are rejoicing, but I am wretched; when my father smiles on me, I feel my cheeks burn, and my heart
swells as if it would burst; and when he calls me his dear good Laurence, something rises in my throat, and seems about to choke me. If these are the feelings that belong to guilt, I wonder any one can bear the pain of being wicked: for no headache or toothache ever gave me a quarter of the torment I have suffered since I became a wicked boy. Oh, my dear, kind father, take pity on me, and this once forgive me. I will tell you truly all I have done.
'On Tuesday, August 3rd, sir, I set out to go to school. It was the day after I had been so happy with you in the boat and at Mr. Black's, and as I met William Thompson, I could not help telling him what a pleasant day I had spent. "Oh, then," said he, "you are fond of the water; I and two or
three more are just going to take a little row, and you shall go with us." At first I refused, but William told me I was too early for school, and as he was also going to school, and promised to be back in time, I at last consented.
'Three dirty boys were waiting at the side of the river, and though I did not like their company, I was then ashamed to go back, so we all jumped into a boat and rowed away. For some time we went on very well; both wind and tide were in our favour, and it was quite easy to manage the boat.
'The fine day and the pleasant river soon made me forget school, till I heard some distant clock strike twelve; then, distressed at what I had done, I insisted we should go back. But it was very hard to row against wind and tide,
and they began to quarrel and were going to fight. I sprang up to snatch the oar from a boy who was going to strike another, and in suddenly raising my arm I knocked his hat off into the river. It swam away, and as we were turning to row after it, we dropped one of the oars, and trying to row with the other, we ran the boat aground upon a bank of mud. There we were obliged to stay, for we could not force the boat off, nor could we wade to the shore through that mud. I bore the blame of these misfortunes; they all abused me sadly, and the boy whose hat was lost, cried and sobbed most bitterly: for, he said, he belonged to a cruel master, and should be beaten almost to death; so at last, to make him quiet, I promised to give him mine.
'Well, sir, there we stayed, and I heard the same clock strike one, two, three, and four. At last, two men called to us from the opposite side of the river. They were the owners of the boat we had taken away, and were in search of it. They got another boat, and came to us in a great passion, swearing that if we did not pay them five shillings each for the day's work we had hindered them of, and pay for the oar we had lost, they would take us before a justice of the peace and have us sent to prison. William Thompson had no money in his pocket, but I had the five shillings my Aunt Eleanor had given me the day before at Mr. Black's to buy the Pantheon; that they took, but not being enough to satisfy their demand, they also took away my
satchel with all my school books, telling me where they lived, and that they would restore it safe as soon as I brought them the rest of the money. The other boys were so poor and so ragged, the men did not ask anything of them.
'It was near six o'clock when we got on shore, about the time I knew I should be expected home from school. William Thompson went down on his knees to beg I would not tell what had happened, promising at the same time to bring the money to release my books the next morning. Indeed I was so much ashamed of having played truant thus, that I was glad enough to conceal it. The boy whose hat I had knocked off into the river would not leave me till he had got mine, so I was forced to slip in at the garden-gate and steal up the
back stairs to my own room, that I might not be seen to come home without my hat. I was now very hungry, yet afraid to show myself; when I was called to tea, my legs trembled under me as I went downstairs. I met my sister Molly in the hall, who gave me an apple, and then asked me what I had had for dinner at school. I turned from her, for I knew not what to answer; but as soon as I got into the parlour, you, sir, told me to bring you my Latin grammar. Then I was forced to answer, and a lie seemed easier than the truth: so I said I had left my satchel and my books at school. I could not play nor amuse myself any way all that evening, and when I took up my journal, what had I to set down—that I had played truant, lost my hat and my money, and told my father a lie? No,
no, I could not bear to write all that.
'Next morning, sir, I had new troubles. I was forced to steal slyly out of the house, that no one might see me put on my best hat, and when I got to William Thompson's, he had got no money to give me. I dared not go to school without my books, so I went to seek the man that had them. He was gone to his daily work, and we could not find him, and I waited and loitered till he came home to his dinner. I begged and prayed for my books, and at last he gave them up to me, making me promise I would bring him the money next day, or something that he could sell for money, which if I did not do, he said he would come and declare the whole story to you, sir. I got to school that day time enough for afternoon's
lessons, and was forced to tell another lie to my master, to excuse my not coming sooner.
'I had no dinner either that day; but the pain of hunger was nothing to the fear of being found out. Well, sir, to tell all the worst at once, I have from time to time carried away, to pay the man whose oar we had lost, my silver pen and pencil, my compasses, my pocket inkstand, and that handsome bound set of Natural History you gave me on my last birthday. Then in going to seek him, I have stayed away three more mornings from school. And my head has been so filled with other thoughts that I have not minded my lessons as I used to do. I have lost my place in my class twice, have been punished once, and my master threatens to make complaints to
you, sir, of the change in my conduct. To excuse wearing my best hat, I did also invent a wicked lie of having lost my other at school.
'Alas! alas! how many sad things have I been guilty of since I first played truant! If I had but confessed my fault that day, how many more I should have avoided! I have never known a happy moment since, and if I could describe to my brothers and sisters the pain and grief I have felt, I am sure they would never be as naughty as I have been.
'O, sir, I cannot bear to deceive you any longer, and if you will grant me your pardon, indeed, indeed, I will try never to offend you more.'
It is not possible to express how great Mr. Clayton's surprise and sorrow was on perusing this paper;
yet, convinced by Laurence's candid confession of his faults that his penitence was sincere, he consented to forgive him the past and restore him to his favour. Laurence knelt at his father's feet, and while he kissed his parent's hand and bathed it in tears of gratitude, he felt the first moment of pleasure he had known for three long weeks.
Though all were glad to see Laurence forgiven, no one could be merry; and it was the first grave birthday that had ever been known in the family. The globes were covered up and sent into Mr. Clayton's library: for though he could forgive, it would not have been right to have rewarded Laurence, as if he had not done wrong. But that day twelvemonth came, and then Laurence deserved the globes and the love and praise of every
one for his diligence and goodness throughout the year. Whenever he was tempted to do wrong, he remembered that one error often becomes the source of many others, and carefully avoided committing the first fault. His journal was kept faithfully, and all the days in it were happy days; and on his eleventh birthday Laurence could play and dance with a light heart and a clear conscience.
The Basket of Plumbs[1]
A poor girl, whose face was pale and sickly, and who led a little ragged child by the hand, came up one day to the door of a large house, and, seeing a boy standing there, said to him, 'Do, pray, sir, ask your mamma to buy these plumbs. There are four dozen in my basket.' George Loft took the basket to his mother, who counted the plumbs, and finding them right in number and that they were sound, good fruit, sent out to know the price.
The girl asking more than Mrs. Loft thought they were worth, she put the plumbs again into the basket, and told George to carry them back, and say it did not suit her to buy them.
Now these plumbs were fresh picked from the tree; they had a fine bloom on them, and were very tempting to the eye. George loved plumbs above all other fruit, and he walked very slowly from the parlour with his eyes fixed on the basket. The longer he looked, the more he wished to taste them. One plumb, he thought, would not be missed; and as he put his hand in to take that one, two others lay close under his fingers. It was as easy to take three as one, and the three plumbs were taken and put into his pocket. When he reached the hall door and gave the basket back to the girl,
his face was as red as a flame of fire, but she did not notice it, nor thought of counting her plumbs; for how could she suppose any one in that house would be so mean as to take from her little store!
It chanced that as the girl turned from the door, Mrs. Loft came to the parlour window, and, seeing the girl look so ill, she felt sorry she had not bought the plumbs. Therefore, throwing up the sash, she asked the cause of her sickly looks. The girl then told a sad story of distress: she had been ill of a fever; her parents had caught the disease of her, and were now very bad and not able to work for the support of their children. In the little garden of their cottage a plumb-tree grew, and she had picked the ripe plumbs and had come out to sell them that she might buy
physic for her parents and food for herself and her hungry little sister. Mrs. Loft paid the girl the full price for her plumbs, gave her wine to carry to her sick parents and food for herself and the child, and bade her return the next day for more.
Soon after the grateful girl had left the house, Mrs. Loft, placing the fruit in her dessert-baskets, found that, instead of forty-eight, there were only forty-five plumbs; and, far from thinking her son had been guilty of the theft, she laid the blame on the girl, who she now thought had tried to impose on her. It was not the loss of three plumbs that Mrs. Loft cared for, but the want of an honest mind that gave her offence. She had meant to be a friend to the poor girl, but now she began to doubt the truth of her
story; for Mrs. Loft thought if she could impose in one thing she might also in others. Deeming the girl therefore no longer worthy of her kindness, she gave orders for her to be sent away when she came on the morrow.
George had heard the whole: first, the tale of distress, and then his mother's censure of the blameless girl. He had not only taken from a poor, wretched creature a part of her little all, but had been the means of bringing a foul reproach upon her, while her parents, who might have been saved from greater distress by his mother's bounty, would now be left helpless, in sickness and in sorrow. All this cruel mischief he had done for the sake of eating three plumbs—he, too, who had never wanted food, clothes, nor anything a child need
desire to possess. He felt the bitter pangs of guilt, and the fruit, whose shape and bloom had looked so tempting, was now as hateful as poison to the sight of George.
There was still a way left to make some amends: namely, to confess his fault to his mother. It did require some courage to do this; and when a boy throws away his sense of honour, no wonder his courage should forsake him. George could not resolve to disclose a crime to his mother, which he thought she never would find out. The first day in each week he had sixpence given him for pocket-money, and he laid a plan to save that money, and to bestow it for a month to come on the girl. This, he thought, was doing even more than justice: for as her three plumbs were only worth one penny, he should by this
means give her two shillings for them, and save his own credit with his mamma. He wished with all his heart he had never touched the plumbs; but as he had done it, it seemed to him less painful to leave the poor girl to suffer the blame, than to accuse himself.
With this plan of further deceit in his mind, George went to dinner; but before the cloth was taken from the table he had reason enough to repent of his double error. Mrs. Loft, in paying for the plumbs, had given a number of half-pence, among which, unseen by her, a shilling had slipped. When the poor girl reached the cottage she found the shilling, and lost not a moment in coming back to restore it to its right owner. Mrs. Loft well knew that she who could be thus just in one instance must have
an honest mind. Her doubts of the poor girl were at an end, but no sooner did she cast her eyes on George, than she read, in the deep blush that spread over his face, in his downcast look, and the trembling of his limbs, who was the guilty person.
Guilt not only fixes the stings of remorse within the bosom, but imprints its hateful mark upon the outward form.
[1] The spelling is Mrs. Fenwick's.