Again, she warns them thus:—
“Remember that idleness must always be intolerable, as it is the most irksome consciousness of existence.”
This latter definition is a little above the comprehension of children of twelve and fourteen. But then Mary is careful to explain in the Preface that she writes to assist teachers. She wishes to give them hints which they must apply to the children under their care as they think best. The religious tone of the “Stories” is even more pronounced than that of the “Education of Daughters.” The following is but one of many proofs of Mary’s honest endeavors to make children understand the importance of religious devotion. In one of her conversational sermons Mrs. Mason says:
“Recollect that from religion your chief comfort must spring, and never neglect the duty of prayer. Learn from experience the comfort that arises from making known your wants and sorrows to the wisest and best of Beings, in whose hands are the issues, not only of this life, but of that which is to come.”
To strengthen the effect of Mrs. Mason’s words, an example or story is in every chapter added to her remarks. They are all appropriate, and many of the tales are beautiful. As the book is so little known, one of these may with advantage be given here. The story selected is that of Crazy Robin. Mrs. Mason tells it to Mary and Caroline, the two little girls, to explain to them how much wretchedness can be produced by unkindness to men and beasts. It is interesting because it shows the quality of the mental food which Mary thought best fitted for the capacity of children. She was evidently an advocate for strong nourishment. Besides, the story, despite some unpleasant defects of style, is very powerful. It is full of dramatic force, and is related with great simplicity and pathos:—
“In yonder cave lived a poor man, who generally went by the name of Crazy Robin. In his youth he was very industrious, and married my father’s dairy-maid, a girl deserving of such a good husband. For some time they continued to live very comfortably; their daily labor procured their daily bread; but Robin, finding it was likely he should have a large family, borrowed a trifle to add to the small pittance they had saved in service, and took a little farm in a neighboring county. I was then a child.
“Ten or twelve years after, I heard that a crazy man, who appeared very harmless, had by the side of the brook piled a great number of stones; he would wade into the river for them, followed by a cur dog, whom he would frequently call his Jacky, and even his Nancy; and then mumble to himself, ‘Thou wilt not leave me. We will dwell with the owl in the ivy.’ A number of owls had taken shelter in it. The stones he waded for he carried to the mouth of the hole, and only left just room enough to go in. Some of the neighbors at last recollected him; and I sent to inquire what misfortune had reduced him to such a deplorable state.
“The information I received from different persons I will communicate to you in as few words as I can.
“Several of his children died in their infancy; and, two years before he came to his native place, he had been overwhelmed by a torrent of misery. Through unavoidable misfortunes he was long in arrears to his landlord; who, seeing that he was an honest man, and endeavored to bring up his family, did not distress him; but when his wife was lying-in of her last child, the landlord died, and his heir sent and seized the stock for the rent; and the person he had borrowed some money of, exasperated to see all gone, arrested him, and he was hurried to jail. The poor woman, endeavoring to assist her family before she had gained sufficient strength, found herself very ill; and the illness, through neglect and the want of proper nourishment, turned to a putrid fever, which two of the children caught from her, and died with her. The two who were left, Jacky and Nancy, went to their father, and took with them a cur dog that had long shared their frugal meals.
“The children begged in the day, and at night slept with their wretched father. Poverty and dirt soon robbed their cheeks of the roses which the country air made bloom with a peculiar freshness. Their blood had been tainted by the putrid complaint that destroyed their mother; in short, they caught the small-pox, and died. The poor father, who was now bereft of all his children, hung over their bed in speechless anguish; not a groan or a tear escaped from him while he stood, two or three hours, in the same attitude, looking at the dead bodies of his little darlings. The dog licked his hands, and strove to attract his attention; but for a while he seemed not to observe his caresses; when he did, he said mournfully, ‘Thou wilt not leave me;’ and then he began to laugh. The bodies were removed; and he remained in an unsettled state, often frantic; at length the frenzy subsided, and he grew melancholy and harmless. He was not then so closely watched; and one day he contrived to make his escape, the dog followed him, and came directly to his native village.