THE JUVENILE FORGET-ME-NOT.
This little work is a sort of protegé of The Forget-Me-Not, and is by the same editor. It contains fifty pieces in verse and prose, and eight pleasing plates and a vignette—all which will please the little folks more than our description of them would their elders. Nearly all of them contain several figures, but one—The Riding School—about twenty boys playing at Soldiers, horse and foot, very pleasantly illustrates an observation in a recent number of the Edinburgh Review, on the dramatic character of the amusements of children. The scene is a large, ancient, dilapidated building, and the little people personate the Duke of Wellington, the Marquess of Anglesea, &c., with all the precision of military tactics—but no one has a taste for being a private. So it is through life.
Our extract is almost a literary curiosity:
"THE INVALID'S PIPE.[2]
"It was not far from the Castle of Fürstenstein, near the spot where the gallant Blucher, with the brave army of Silesia, won such glory, that the Baron of Fürstenstein met a maimed soldier, who was endeavouring to reach Berlin to claim his pension, and whose age denoted that his wounds had long been his honourable though painful companions. The Baron, observing a very richly mounted pipe in the old man's possession, accosted him with, 'God bless you, old soldier! does your pipe comfort you this morning?' The pipe which the old soldier was smoking was made of a curious sort of porcelain, and mounted with gold. The Baron wondered to see so costly a pipe in the old soldier's possession, and wishing to purchase it from him, said, 'My friend! what shall I give you for your pipe?'
"'Oh, sir!' replied the soldier, shaking his head, 'this pipe I can never part with; it was the gift of the bravest of men, who took it from a Turkish Bashaw at the battle of Belgrade. There, sir, thanks to Prince Eugene, we obtained noble spoils—there, where our troops so bravely destroyed the Turkish squadrons.'
"'Talk another time of your exploits, my friend,' said the nobleman; 'here take this double ducat, and give me your pipe; I feel an insurmountable wish to possess it.'
"'I am a poor man, sir, and have nothing to live upon but my pension; yet I would not part with this pipe for all the gold that you possess. Listen, sir, and I will relate to you the story of this pipe, which is remarkable, or my poverty would long ere now have induced me to sell it:—As we Hussars were charging over the enemy, a shot from the ranks of the Janissaries pierced our noble captain through the breast; I caught him in my arms, placed him on my horse, and carried him out of the confusion of the battle. It was an irresistible sensation of gratitude that prompted me to do so, for he had once rescued me when I was wounded and taken prisoner. I watched over him to the latest moment; and a few moments before his death, he gave me his purse and this pipe, then pressed my hand and breathed his last sigh. Heroic spirit! never shall I forget him!'
"As he thus spoke, the tears fell fast from the old man's eyes; but he soon recovered himself, and proceeded—'The money I gave to the worthy landlord under whose roof he died, and who had been thrice plundered by the enemy; the pipe I kept as a sacred remembrance of the brave. In every situation, and through all the vicissitudes of my life, I have taken care to preserve it as a sacred relic, whether pursuing or retreating from the enemy; and when it was not in use, I placed it for safety withing my boot. At the battle of Prague, a cannon-ball unfortunately carried my right leg and pipe away together. My first thought was to secure the safety of my pipe, for at the moment I felt but little pain, and then———'
"'Stop, soldier; your story is too affecting! O tell me, I entreat you, who was the brave man, that I may also honour and respect his memory?'
"'His name was Walter von Fürstenstein; and I have heard that his family was of Silesia, and that his estates lay in that province.'
"'Gracious God!' ejaculated the nobleman, 'he was my father! and the estates you mention, good old man, are now mine. Come, friend, forget all your sorrows, and live with me under that same Walter's roof whom you so faithfully served; and come and eat of Walter's bread, and partake of that comfort which your age demands, and which my gratitude for your services to the best of fathers is ready to bestow. I am too deeply affected to say more at present; enter this mansion, where you shall repose in peace for the remainder of your life!'
"'Thanks, noble sir, I accept your generous charity; the son of Walter von Fürstenstein is worthy of such a father. Here, sir, take this relic (presenting the pipe)—it is a memorial of that Providence which has so miraculously conducted me from the father to the son.'
"The pipe still remains hung up among the family trophies in the Castle of Fürstenstein."