A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT
A gentleman, just returned from a journey to London, was surrounded by his children eager, after the first salutations were over, to hear the news; and still more eager to see the contents of a small portmanteau, which were one by one carefully unfolded and displayed to view. After distributing among them a few small presents, the father took his seat again, saying that he must confess he had brought from town, for his own use, something far more curious and valuable than any of the little gifts they had received. It was, he said, too good to present to any of them; but he would, if they pleased, first give them a brief description of it, and then perhaps they might be allowed to inspect it.
The children were accordingly all attention, while the father thus proceeded: "This small instrument is made in the most perfect and wonderful way, and everything about it is very delicate and beautiful. Because of its extreme delicacy it is so liable to injury that a sort of light curtain, adorned with a beautiful fringe, is always provided, and so placed as to fall in a moment on the approach of the slightest danger. Its external appearance is always more or less beautiful, although in this respect there is a great diversity in the different sorts. If you should examine the inside you would find them all alike, but it is so curious, and its powers so truly astonishing, that no one who considers it can suppress his surprise and admiration. By a slight and momentary movement, which is easily made by the person it belongs to, you can ascertain with considerable accuracy the size, color, shape, weight, and value of any article whatever. A person having one is thus saved from the necessity of asking a thousand questions, and trying a variety of troublesome experiments, which would otherwise be necessary; and such a slow and laborious process would, after all, not succeed half so well as a single trial of this very useful article."
George. "If they are such very useful things I wonder that everybody, who can at all afford it, does not have one."
Father. "They are not so uncommon as you may suppose; I myself happen to know several individuals who possess one or two of them."
Charles. "How large is it, Father? Could I hold it in my hand?"
Father. "You might; but I should not like to trust mine with you!"
George. "You will be obliged to take very great care of it, then?"
Father. "Indeed I must: I intend every night to enclose it within the small screen I mentioned; and it must besides be washed occasionally in a certain colorless fluid kept for the purpose. But, notwithstanding the tenderness of this instrument, you will be surprised to hear that its power may be darted to a great distance, without the least injury, and without any danger of losing it."
Charles. "Indeed! and how high can you dart it?"
Father. "I should be afraid of telling you to what a distance it will reach, lest you should think I am jesting with you."
George. "Higher than this house, I suppose?"
Father. "Much higher."
Charles. "Then how do you get it again?"
Father. "It is easily cast down by a gentle movement, that does it no injury."
George. "But who can do this?"
Father. "The person whose business it is to take care of it."
Charles. "Well, I cannot understand you at all; but do tell us. Father, what it is chiefly used for."
Father. "Its uses are so various that I know not which to specify. It has been found very serviceable in deciphering old manuscripts, and, indeed, has its use in modern prints. It will assist us greatly in acquiring all kinds of knowledge; and without it some of the most wonderful things in the world would never have been known. It must be confessed, however, that very much depends on a proper application of it, since it is possessed by many persons who appear not to know what it is worth, but who employ it only for the most low and common purposes without even thinking, apparently, of the noble uses for which it is designed, or of the great joy it is capable of affording. It is, indeed, in order to have you fully appreciate its value that I am giving you this description."
George. "Well, then, tell us something more about it."
Father. "It is very penetrating, and can often discover secrets which could be detected by no other means. It must be said, however, that it is equally prone to reveal them."
Charles. "What! can it speak, then?"
Father. "It is sometimes said to do so, especially when it happens to meet with one of its own kind."
George. "What color are these strange things?"
Father. "They vary considerably in this respect."
George. "What color is yours?"
Father. "I believe of a darkish color, but, to confess the truth, I never saw it in my life."
Both. "Never saw it in your life!"
Father. "No, nor do I wish to; but I have seen a reflection of it, which is so exact that my curiosity is quite satisfied."
George. "But why don't you look at the thing itself?"
Father. "I should be in great danger of losing it if I did."
Charles. "Then you could buy another."
Father. "Nay, I believe I could not prevail upon my body to part with it."
George. "Then how did you get this one?"
Father. "I am so fortunate as to have more than one; but how I got them I really cannot recollect."
Charles. "Not recollect! why, you said you brought them from London to-night."
Father. "So I did; I should be sorry if I had left them behind me."
Charles. "Tell, Father, do tell us the name of this curious instrument."
Father. "It is called—an EYE."
[NOTE]
The first of these stories is reprinted from the well-known "Evenings at Home, or the Family Budget Newly Opened," by Dr. John Aiken and his sister Mrs. Barbauld, which is a survival from a very dreary period in the history of books for children. Except lesson books, books of manners, morals, and religion, the printing press had done little for youth until about the middle of the eighteenth century, and for long years after that no book was thought to be suitable for children's reading unless it contained many pills of information and so-called "useful knowledge," gilded over with more or less of fancy and imagination. These books were generally of the driest and most uninteresting character, but Dr. Aiken and his sister Mrs. Barbauld were among the two or three writers who succeeded in making their stories more vivid and real, and their men, women, and children seem more like actual living people, than did most of their contemporaries. There is a human interest in some of their stories which has charmed each successive generation of men and women that has come upon the scene since they were written, and unless the child-mind changes very much, will continue to do so for many generations to come.[E]
[E] Dr. Aiken was born in London in 1757, and Mrs. Barbauld in 1743. The former died in 1822, and the latter in 1825.
There are many walks in our vast country quite as full of interest in sights and sounds as that over Broom Heath, "among the green meads by the side of the river," and there are many boys who go through them in just the same way as William and Robert took their walk. Let our Roberts take a lesson from our Williams, and our Williams go on cultivating the habit of observing and remembering what they see.
Professor Archibald Geikie, in his work on the "Teaching of Geography," page 54, makes the following interesting remarks as to the pedagogical value of the story of "Eyes and No Eyes":—
"It is worth a thousand educational treatises. Never shall I forget the impression it made on me when, as a young boy, I first came upon it. Every step of William's walk was to me a subject of engrossing interest; I tried myself to make similar observations, and was delighted in particular to recognize the movements of a lapwing in a succeeding country ramble. To this day, such is the permanence of early associations, the swoop and scream of that bird overhead brings back to me these first impressions of boyhood, and reminds me of my lifelong debt to the 'Evenings at Home.' The story ought not only to be known to the teacher; he should make it thoroughly familiar to his pupils as soon as they are of an age to understand and enjoy it.
"The contrast between the two boys in this story is one which may be found in every schoolroom. Unless a teacher actually tries the experiment, he can scarcely imagine the extraordinary differences in power of observation, not so much between clever and dull pupils, for that might be looked for, as among those who are bright and forward in the general work of the school. Of two clever boys, the one who has the quicker perception of things around him is more likely to succeed in life. But the chances of the other may be vastly improved by early training. And it is this training, so little provided for by the ordinary school work, that the teacher should do all in his power to secure."
Charles Kingsley says: "When we were good, a long time ago, we used to have a jolly old book called 'Evenings at Home' in which was a great story called 'Eyes and No Eyes,' and that story was of more use to me than any dozen other stories I ever read;" and what Oliver Wendell Holmes thought of the story is printed at the beginning of the book.
To turn to the other stories in the book, "The Three Giants" is from "Tales of Political Economy," by Mrs. Marcet (1769-1858), and has long been a favorite with children. Slight changes have been made in order to simplify it, and to confine the attention solely to the leading idea. "Travellers' Wonders" is also from "Evenings at Home," and in reading it one might almost imagine Captain Compass was thinking of a visit to the United States when he unfolded his budget of wonders to his listening family. "A Curious Instrument" is by Jane Taylor (1783-1824), who wrote many books for children in conjunction with her sister Ann. The sisters are best known, perhaps, by their "Original Poems" and "Hymns for Infant Minds."
Transcriber Note
Minor typos were corrected. Text was moved to prevent images splitting paragraphs. The page numbers for The Coming of Vaporifer and Vaporifer at Work in the [Illustrations] listing have been corrected. The footnotes were standardized by placing lettered anchors in the associated text.