CONVERSATION III.
On the following morning the children rose according to their promise, and, by strict attention to their lessons, merited the treat their father had in store for them. It was a lovely morning! but our best- laid schemes are subject to disappointment; and the little group felt their pleasure greatly lessened, upon hearing that a violent headache, to which their mother was subject, would prevent her joining the party. I shall not enter into any detail respecting their visit, as my young readers will hear it all from their own lips, in the conversation they held with their mother, when they returned in the evening. They had the pleasure of finding her much better, and able to enjoy their company, and the account they gave of their excursion.
Emily first entered the parlour, and, gently opening the door, affectionately enquired after her mother's health.
"My head is much better, I thank you, my dear," replied Mrs. Bernard: "but why are you alone?—where are your brothers and sisters? All safe and well, I hope?"
Emily. Yes, quite well, and in high spirits, I assure you. They requested to get out at the lodge-gate, that they might have a race through the garden. Feeling rather tired, I preferred riding.
At this moment Louisa came running in, quite out of breath. The others soon followed her, laughing merrily.
Louisa. Oh! mamma, how I wish you had been with us. We have had such a happy day, and have seen so many curious things.
Ferdinand. What a nice woman Mrs. Horton is, mamma. She has been so kind to us.
Edward. Dear me, Louisa and Ferdinand, how loud you talk. You forget mamma's head.
"Gently, my dears, gently," said Mrs. Bernard: "moderate your delight a little. I am glad to hear that you have enjoyed year day, and shall like to have a full account of all you have seen, when you can enter upon it quietly. In the mean time, go and put by your hats and tippets, my dear girls, and come to tea as quickly as you can."
Louisa declared she did not want any tea, and requested that she might go into the nursery to little Sophy, and take her some shells, which Mrs. Horton had given her.
Mrs. Bernard willingly granted her request and added:—"I am glad, my dear Louisa, you do not, when in the midst of enjoyment yourself, forget your little sister, who is too young to join your pleasures. You may go and stay with her a quarter of an hour; but do not keep her up beyond her usual time."
Ferdinand. Pray take my shells too, Louisa, and tell her that little fishes once lived in them at the bottom of the sea.
Louisa, with a light step, and a heart still lighter, left the room, saying, she had a great deal of information to give little Sophy.
Mrs. B. Now, my dear Emily, ring the bell, and make haste down to tea: I see your father coming up the garden.
The children quickly returned. They were not, however, allowed to enter into any detail of their past pleasures, till the tea-things were removed, and Louisa had joined their part, which she did, very punctually, at the expiration of the promised quarter of an hour.
Louisa. Little Sophy is so delighted with her shells, mamma! She sends her love to you, Ferdinand, and says she will give you a kiss tomorrow. I do not think I shall do much work to-night, mamma, we have so many things to tell you.
The room was soon cleared, and liberty given to begin the account of their excursion, provided only one spoke at a time.
Ferdinand. Oh, Louisa, tell mamma about the dog!
Edward. No: tell about the cat, that is the most curious.
Louisa. Now, I do not think so, Edward. The story about the dog was so very droll.
Mrs. B. Stop—stop, my dear children, or I shall hear nothing after all. Begin at the beginning, and all will go on regularly. Now, set out from our own door.
Louisa. Come, Emily, you will tell that part best, because I do think you enjoyed the ride more than any of us.
Emily. I did, indeed, enjoy it. The country looks so rich, from the variety of foliage; the autumnal tints are in their highest beauty, and you know, my dear mother, how delightful the scenery is, particularly through the park which leads to Mrs. Horton's house. She received us with the greatest politeness, and was very sorry you were prevented accompanying us, especially when she heard that indisposition was the cause of your absence. After we had taken some refreshment, she proposed a walk in the park. As we passed through a small room, opening into the garden, I was much struck with the appearance of an elegant bird in a glass case. It was stuffed, but so remarkably well done, that you would have thought it still alive. From the two long feathers in its tail, I knew it to be the bird of Paradise, and begged Mrs. Horton would give me leave to examine it more closely. She told me it was a native of the Molucca Islands, and that there were eight different species of them. The plumage is very beautiful. The head, throat, and neck, are of a pale gold colour; the base of the bill, as well as the head, is covered with fine black feathers, soft and glossy as velvet, and varying in colour with the different shades of light that fall upon them. The back part of the head is of a shining green, mixed with bright yellow; the body and wings are covered with brown, purple, and gold-coloured feathers; the upper part of the tail is a pale yellow, and the undermost feathers are white, and longer than those above. But what chiefly excites curiosity, are two long, naked feathers, which spring from the upper part of the rump, above the tail, and are, in general, two feet in length. These birds are supposed to migrate into other countries at the time of the monsoons, but it is not certain that they do so.
Ferdinand. Pray, what are the monsoons, Emily?
Emily. They are periodical winds, to which those countries are subject lying within a certain distance of the equator. They blow in one direction for a time, and, at stated seasons, change, and blow for an equal space of time from the opposite point of the compass.
Louisa. Do not forget the little hummingbirds, Emily, which were in the case next to the bird of Paradise. What beautiful little creatures they were! And Mrs. Horton says that nature has provided them with forked tongues, completely formed for entering flowers, and drawing out the honey, which is their natural food.
Mrs. B. Did Mrs. Horton tell you how curiously they construct their nests?
Louisa. Oh, yes; she showed us one: it was suspended on the very point of a twig. She says, they adopt this plan to secure them from the attacks of the monkey and the snake. They form them in the shape of a hen's egg, cut in half. The eggs are not bigger than a pea, of a clear white, with a few yellow specks here and there. I wish I had some of these pretty little creatures; but Mrs. Horton says they will not live in England, it is so much colder than the tropical climates.
Ferdinand. What little feet the Chinese women have, mamma! We saw one of their shoes, and I am sure it was not a bit bigger than little Sophy's.
Emily. But you know, Ferdinand, that is not the natural size of the Chinese ladies' feet: they are confined, while they are babies, with very tight bandages, which prevent them from growing.
Louisa. I am glad I am not a Chinese little girl. Such small feet cannot be very useful to them when they grow up to be women, I think.
Mrs. B. Indeed, they are not: The poor things are perfect cripples, and are obliged to be carried wherever they go.
Ferdinand. Oh, how I pity them! They can never run about and enjoy themselves while they are little, as we do, Louisa.
Mrs. B. Indeed, my dear Ferdinand, an English child has great cause for thankfulness, on many accounts. I know of no country where the real happiness and welfare of children is so carefully studied.
Emily. In China, however, the boys are educated with considerable care. In their early studies, geography is particularly attended to. At six years of age, they are made acquainted with the names of the principal parts of the world; at eight, they are instructed in the rules of politeness; and at ten are sent to a public school, where they learn reading, writing, and arithmetic. From thirteen to fifteen they are taught music; they do not, however, sing merry songs, as we do, but serious sentences, or moral precepts. They also practise the use of the bow, and are taught to ride. In every city, town, and almost in every village, I have been told that there are public school for teaching the more abstruse sciences.
Mrs. B. The mind of the poor girls, on the contrary, are most sadly neglected. Needlework is almost the only accomplishment thought necessary for them. There is no country in the world in which the woman are in a greater state of humiliation, than in China. Those whose husbands are of high rank, live under constant confinement; those of the second class are little better than upper servants, deprived of all liberty; whilst the poort share with their husbands the most laborious occupations.
Louisa. How exceedingly I should dislike it; and yet, I think, I would rather be the wife of a poor Chinese, than of a rich one.
Emily I think so too; for the hardest labour would not be to me so irksome as total inactivity.
Mrs. B. I am quite of your opinion, Emily. The situation of these wretched beings must be rendered doubly irksome by the uncultivated state of their minds. This deprives them of those delightful resources, from which the well-educated female of our happy country may constantly derive the purest enjoyment.
Emily. Had not your and my dear father early installed into us a love of reading, how very much our present enjoyments would be lessened.
Mrs. B. We have always, my dear considered it as an important point in your education; since no amusement so delightfully occupies the vacant hours of life, even where entertainment is the principal object. It is one of those tastes that grows by indulgence: there is scarcely any enjoyment so independent of the will of others: it engages and employs the thoughts of the wretched, directs the enthusiasm of the young, and relieves the weariness of old age. Well might the amiable Fenelon say: "If the crowns of all the kingdoms of Europe were laid at my feet, in exchange for my love of reading, I would spurn them all."
Louisa. Now, Ferdinand, I know you long to tell mamma your droll story about the dog.
Ferdinand. Well, mamma, when we got into the garden, I was very much amused with a nice little terrier, and Mrs. Horton said, she thought we should be entertained with an anecdote or two she could tell us respecting him. The dog belongs to her brother, who is an elderly gentleman, and wears a wig. He used to keep one hung up on a peg in his dressing-room, and, as it was grown very shabby, he one day gave it away to a poor old man. The dog happened soon after to see him in the street. He knew the wig again in a minute; and, looking full in the man's face, made a sudden spring, leaped upon his shoulders, seized the wig, and ran off with it as fast as he could; and, when he reached home, endeavoured, by jumping, to hang it in its usual place.
Mrs. B. I think your story very amusing, Ferdinand: it is a curious instance of sagacity.
Emily. The other circumstance which Mrs. Horton mentioned, of the same animal, proves him equally sagacious. He was one day passing through a field, where a washerwoman had hung out her linen to dry; he stopped, and surveyed one particular shirt with attention, then seizing it, he dragged it through the dirt to his master, whose shirt it proved to be. [Footnote: See Bingley's Animal Biography.]
Edward. Well, now, mamma, please to listen to my story about the cat.
Mrs. B. By all means, my dear.
Edward. As we were walking near the house, I was surprised to see a fine cat, with a pretty little leveret gambolling and frolicking by her side. Mrs. Horton told us, that, about a fortnight ago, the farmer's boy brought this poor little creature into the house, having found it, almost starved to death, in a hole, in consequence, I suppose, of some accident having happened to its mother. Mrs. Horton gave directions that it should be fed and kept warm. The servants grew very fond of it, and were quite grieved, one day, suddenly to miss it. They concluded that some cat or dog had killed it, and never expected to see their little favourite again. However, yesterday, in the dusk of the evening, they observed the cat in the garden, with something gambolling after her, which, to their great delight, they discovered to be the leveret. They then recollected that poor puss had been deprived of a litter of kittens, on the very day that their favourite had so mysteriously disappeared. The cat had adopted him in the place of her own little ones, nourished him with her milk, and continues still to support him with the greatest affection [Footnote: See Bingley's Animal Biography].
Mrs. B. It is a curious circumstance, but not so extraordinary, I think, as the account Ferdinand read to me, some time ago, in "A Visit for a Week," of a cat supporting a chicken in a similar manner.
Ferdinand. Well, mamma, besides the accounts we have given you, Mrs. Horton told us several other curious things respecting the instinct of animals. She took us to an aviary in the garden, which is a large place made on purpose to keep birds in. There were some beautiful gold and penciled pheasants; but no bird, in my opinion, is so handsome as the peacock. I asked Mrs. Horton if it were originally a native of this country. She told me it was brought to us from the East, and that numerous flocks of them are still to be seen wild in Java and Ceylon.
Mrs. B. Where are those two islands situated, Louisa?
Louisa. They are both in the Indian Ocean. Java is a little to the east of Sumatra; and Ceylon, off the coast of Coromandel. All the animals with which the woods abound, are not so agreeable as the peacock, mamma; for I recollect reading, a little time ago, that there are varieties of wild beasts live there: particularly in Java, there are many large and fierce tigers.
Mrs. B. Did Mrs. Horton tell you any thing more respecting the peacock?
Emily. Yes; she made us observe its train, which does not appear to be the tail. The long feahers grow all up their backs. A range of short, brown, stiff feathers, about six inches long, is the real tail, and serves as a prop to the train when elevated. This certainly must be the case, as, when the train is spread, nothing appears of the bird but its head and neck; which could not be, were those long feathers fixed only in the rump. She also told us, that, in the time of Francis the first, king of France, it was the custom to serve up a peacock at the tables of the great, not for food, but ornament. The skin was first carefully stripped off, and the body being prepared with the hottest spices, was again covered with it; in this state it was not at all subject to decay, but preserved its beauty for several years.
Mrs. B. In China, a peacock's feather hanging from the cap, is considered as a mark of high distinction; and Sir George Staunton, in his account of the Embassy to China, mentions a circumstance of a legate of the emperor, who was degraded from his office, for disobeying the orders of his imperial majesty, being reduced to wear an opaque white, instead of a transparent blue button, and a crow's instead of a peacock's tail-feather pendant from his cap. The splendour of this bird's plumage certainly demands our highest admiration, but, independent of its beauty, it has few excellencies to boast. Its voice is extremely harsh and disagreeable, and its gluttony is a great counterbalance to its personal charms.
Emily. Mrs. Horton made a remark similar to yours, mamma. She said, beauty was certainly very pleasing when adorned by the smiles of good- humoured cheerfulness; but that the fairest face, without this charm, would soon cease to please. She also repeated to us those sweet lines from Cowper, in which he so prettily contrasts he retiring modesty of the pheasant, with the proud display made by the peacock, of his gaudy plumes.
"Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold His radiant glories—azure, green, and gold. He treads as if, some solemn music near, His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear; And seems to say—'Ye meaner fowl give place, I am all splendour, dignity, and grace! Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, Though he too has a glory in his plumes; He, Christian-like, retreats, with modest mien, To the close copse, or far- sequester'd green, And shines, without desiring to be seen."
Ferdinand. We then walked some time in the park and gardens, mamma; after which Mrs. Horton took us into the house, that we might rest ourselves a little before dinner. When dinner was over we went into the picture-gallery, and, amongst a number of very beautiful prints and paintings, there was one representing the combat between the Horatii and Curiatii, of which we had read in the morning. How much more pleasure one has in looking at prints, when one knows a little about the subject of them.
Mr. B. A cultivated mind, my deal children, is a constant source of pleasure. Youth is the seed-time of life, and you must be careful so to plant now, as to ensure to yourselves hereafter, not only a plentiful, but a valuable harvest. It is growing late—we must think of our history, or we shall spend all the evening in chit-chat. Edward, suppose you begin the account.
Edward. I mentioned, yesterday, that Tullus Hostilius was of a disposition very different from the peaceful Numa. He was entirely devoted to war, and more fond of enterprise, than even the founder of the empire himself had been. The Albans were the first people that gave him an opportunity of indulging his favourite inclination. Upon the death of Romulus, seeing their ancient kings extinct, they resumed their independence, with a determination to shake off the Roman yoke, and to appoint their own governors. Cluilius was at the head of this affair. He is, by some historians, styled dictator; by others, king. Being very jealous of the growing greatness of Rome, he, by a stratagem, contrived to engage them in a war. Cluilius was, however, previous to the commencement of the hostilities, found dead in his tent, surrounded by his guards, without any external marks of violence. After his death, both parties seemed to wish for an accommodation upon a amicable terms, but neither liked to submit to be inferior to their rival. It was at length proposed, that the superiority should be determined of each other, and, when the people expected to see them begin fighting furiously, they, instead of that, laid aside their arms, and flew to embrace each other.
Mr. B. What effect had this upon the spectators, Emily?
Emily. They were much moved, and began to murmur at their king, who had engaged such leader friends in a cruel rivalship for glory. But a new scene quickly put an end to their pity, fixed their attention, and employed all their hopes and fears:—the combat began, and the victory long hung doubtful. At length the eldest of the Horatii received a mortal wound, and fell: a second soon met the same fate, and expired upon the body of his brother. The Alban army now gave a loud shout, whilst consternation and despair spread themselves through the Roman camp.
Ferdinand. Oh, papa, how interested I felt, this morning, when we got to this part.
Mr. B. I do not wonder that you were, my dear: it is a circumstance calculated strongly to interest the feelings. Edward, take up the account where Emily quitted it.
Edward. Do not suppose the Roman cause quite desperate. It is true, they had but one champion remaining, but he was both unhurt and undaunted, while all the Curiatii were wounded. He, however, did not conceive himself able to attack the three brothers at once, and therefore made use of a stratagem to separate them. He pretended fear, and fled before them. The Curiatii pursued him at unequal distances. Horatius turned short upon the foremost, and slew him. He then flew to the next, who soon shared his brother's fate. The only remaining Curiatii was so severely wounded, that he could scarcely support his shield, and offered no resistance to the attack of the conquering Horatius. Thus ended the famous combat, which gave Rome the superiority over Alba.
Ferdinand. The picture at Mrs. Horton's, represented Horatius at the moment he turned upon the first Curiatii. And there was another, representing him in the act of stabbing his sister, because she grieved for the death of one of the Curiatii, to whom she was going to be married.
Edward. Ah! that tarnished all the glory of Horatius, in my opinion. It was so natural she should weep for such a loss.
Mrs. B. Flushed with conquest, Horatius lost his self-possession. Often do we find heroes, who can subdue their enemies in the field, the weakest of the weak, when the combat is against their own evil passions. Self-knowledge, and self-possession, are most important acquirements. They are excellencies I must earnestly desire for each of you, my dear children. But we have not time for further conversation to-night: you have all exerted yourselves extremely to-day, and must feel fatigued.
Louisa. Oh no, papa, I am not all all tired.
Mrs. B. Indeed, my Louisa, your heavy eyes tell a different tale. Ferdinand, too, looks very sleepy. Good night, my dear children.
They immediately arose, and, thanking their father for the great indulgence he had afforded them, retired.