Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened

by John Aikin; Mrs. Barbauld

Mr. C. True. He is represented as drawing all his maxims of conduct from observation of brute animals. And they, indeed, have universally that character of wisdom, of pursuing the ends best suited to them by the properest means. But this is owing to the impulse of unerring instinct. Man has reason for his guide, and his wisdom can only be the consequence of the right use of his reason. This will lead him to virtue. Thus the fable we have been mentioning rightly concludes with—

“’Thy fame is just,’ the sage replies;

‘Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.’”

EVENING XXIX.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

George Cornish, a native of London, was brought up to the sea. After making several voyages to the East Indies in the capacity of mate, he obtained the command of a ship in the country-trade there, and passed many years of his life in sailing from one port to another of the Company’s different settlements, and residing at intervals on shore with the superintendence of their commercial concerns. Having by these means raised a moderate fortune, and being now beyond the meridian of life, he felt a strong desire of returning to his native country, and seeing his family and friends, concerning whom he had received no tidings for a long time. He realized his property, settled his affairs, and taking his passage for England, arrived in the Downs after an absence of sixteen years.

He immediately repaired to London, and went to the house of an only brother whom he had left possessed of a genteel place in a public office. He found that his brother was dead, and the family broken up; and he was directed to the house of one of his nieces, who was married and settled at a small distance from town. On making himself known, he was received with great respect and affection by the married niece, and a single sister who resided with her; to which good reception the idea of his bringing back with him a large fortune did not a little contribute. They pressed him in the most urgent manner to take up his abode there, and omitted nothing that could testify their dutiful regard to so near a relation. On his part, he was sincerely glad to see them, and presented them with some valuable Indian commodities which he had brought with him. They soon fell into conversation concerning the family events that had taken place during his long absence. Mutual condolences passed on the death of the father; the mother had been dead long before. The captain, in the warmth of his heart, declared his intention of befriending the survivors of the family, and his wishes of seeing the second sister as comfortably settled in the world as the first seemed to be.

“But,” said he, “are you two the only ones left? What is become of my little smiling playfellow Amelia? I remember her as if it were yesterday, coming behind my chair, and giving me a sly pull, and then running away that I might follow her for a kiss. I should be sorry if anything had happened to her.”—“Alas! sir,” said the eldest niece, “she has been the cause of an infinite deal of trouble to her friends! She was always a giddy girl, and her misconduct has proved her ruin. It would be happy if we could all forget her!”—“What, then,” said the uncle, “has she dishonoured herself? Poor creature!”—“I cannot say,” replied the niece, “that she has done so in the worst sense of the word; but she has disgraced herself and her family by a hasty foolish match with one beneath her, and it is ended, as might have been expected, in poverty and wretchedness.”—“I am glad,” returned the captain, “that it is no worse; for though I much disapprove of improper matches, yet young girls may fall into still greater evils, and where there is no crime, there can be no irreparable disgrace. But who was the man, and what did my brother say to it?”—“Why, sir, I cannot say but it was partly my father’s own fault; for he took a sort of liking to the young man, who was a drawing-master employed in the family, and would not forbid him the house, after we had informed him of the danger of an attachment between Amelia and him. So when it was too late, he fell into a violent passion about it, which had no other effect than to drive the girl directly into her lover’s arms. They married, and soon fell into difficulties. My father of course would do nothing for them; and when he died, he not only disinherited her, but made us promise no longer to look upon her as a sister.”—“And you did make that promise?” said the captain, in a tone of surprise and displeasure. “We could not disobey our parent,” replied the other sister; “but we have several times sent her relief in her necessities, though it was improper for us to see her.”—“And pray, what has become of her at last—where is she now?”—“Really, she and her husband have shifted their lodgings so often, that it is sometime since we heard anything about them.”—“Sometime! how long?”—“Perhaps half a year or more.”—“Poor outcast!” cried the captain, in a sort of muttered half-voice; “I have made no promise, however, to renounce thee. Be pleased, madam,” he continued, addressing himself gravely to the married niece, “to favour me with the last direction you had to this unfortunate sister.” She blushed and looked confused; and at length, after a good deal of searching, presented it to her uncle. “But, my dear sir,” said she, “you will not think of leaving us to-day? My servant shall make all the inquiries you choose, and save you the trouble; and to-morrow you can ride to town, and do as you think proper.”—“My good niece,” said the captain, “I am but an indifferent sleeper, and I am afraid things would run in my head and keep me awake. Besides, I am naturally impatient, and love to do my business myself. You will excuse me.”—So saying, he took up his hat, and without much ceremony, went out of the house, and took the road to town on foot, leaving his two nieces somewhat disconcerted.

When he arrived, he went without delay to the place mentioned, which was a by-street near Soho. The people who kept the lodgings informed him, that the persons he inquired after had left them several months, and they did not know what was become of them. This threw the captain into great perplexity; but while he was considering what he should do next, the woman of the house recollected that Mr. Bland (that was the drawing-master’s name) had been employed at a certain school, where information about him might possibly be obtained. Captain Cornish hastened away to the place, and was informed by the master of the school that such a man had, indeed, been engaged there, but had ceased to attend for some time past. “He was a very well-behaved, industrious young man,” added the master, “but in distressed circumstances, which prevented him from making that genteel appearance which we expect in all who attend our school; so I was obliged to dismiss him. It was a great force upon my feelings, I assure you, sir, to do so; but you know the thing could not be helped.” The captain eyed him with indignant contempt, and said, “I suppose, then, sir, your feelings never suffered you to inquire where this poor creature lodged, or what became of him afterward?”—“As to that,” replied the master, “every man knows his own business best, and my time is fully taken up with my own concerns; but I believe I have a note of the lodgings he then occupied—here it is.” The captain took it, and turning on his heel, withdrew in silence.