The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children

'Well,' replied Louisa, 'and that would have been enough, surely; but what a beautiful crown of roses! and then that basket of flowers! they almost look as if I could smell them. Dear Cecilia, I'm very much obliged to you; but I won't take it by way of payment for the mandarin you broke; for I'm sure you could not help that, and, besides, I should have broken it myself by this time. You shall give it to me entirely; and, as your keepsake, I'll keep it as long as I live.'

Louisa stopped short and coloured; the word keepsake recalled the box to her mind, and all the train of ideas which the Flora had banished. 'But,' said she, looking up wistfully in Cecilia's face, and holding the Flora doubtfully, 'did you – '

Leonora, who was just quitting the room, turned her head back, and gave Louisa a look, which silenced her.

Cecilia was so infatuated with her vanity, that she neither perceived Leonora's sign nor Louisa's confusion, but continued showing off her present, by placing it in various situations, till at length she put it into the case, and laying it down with an affected carelessness upon the bed, 'I must go now, Louisa. Good-bye,' said she, running up and kissing her; 'but I'll come again presently'; then, clapping the door after her, she went. But as soon as the fermentation of her spirits subsided, the sense of shame, which had been scarcely felt when mixed with so many other sensations, rose uppermost in her mind. 'What!' said she to herself, 'is it possible that I have sold what I promised to keep for ever? and what Leonora gave me? and I have concealed it too, and have been making a parade of my generosity. Oh! what would Leonora, what would Louisa – what would everybody think of me if the truth were known?'

Humiliated and grieved by these reflections, Cecilia began to search in her own mind for some consoling idea. She began to compare her conduct with that of others of her own age; and at length, fixing her comparison upon her brother George, as the companion of whom, from her infancy, she had been habitually the most emulous, she recollected that an almost similar circumstance had once happened to him, and that he had not only escaped disgrace, but had acquired glory, by an intrepid confession of his fault. Her father's word to her brother, on the occasion, she also perfectly recollected.

'Come to me, George,' he said, holding out his hand, 'you are a generous, brave boy: they who dare to confess their faults will make great and good men.'

These were his words; but Cecilia, in repeating them to herself, forgot to lay that emphasis on the word men which would have placed it in contradistinction to the word women. She willingly believed that the observation extended equally to both sexes, and flattered herself that she should exceed her brother in merit if she owned a fault which she thought that it would be so much more difficult to confess. 'Yes, but,' said she, stopping herself, 'how can I confess it? This very evening, in a few hours, the prize will be decided. Leonora or I shall win it. I have now as good a chance as Leonora, perhaps a better; and must I give up all my hopes – all that I have been labouring for this month past? Oh, I never can! If it were but to-morrow, or yesterday, or any day but this, I would not hesitate; but now I am almost certain of the prize, and if I win it – well, why then I will – I think I will tell all – yes I will; I am determined,' said Cecilia.

Here a bell summoned them to dinner. Leonora sat opposite to her, and she was not a little surprised to see Cecilia look so gay and unconstrained. 'Surely,' said she to herself, 'if Cecilia had done that which I suspect, she would not, she could not, look as she does.' But Leonora little knew the cause of her gaiety. Cecilia was never in higher spirits, or better pleased with herself, than when she had resolved upon a sacrifice or a confession.

'Must not this evening be given to the most amiable? Whose, then, will it be?' All eyes glanced first at Cecilia, and then at Leonora. Cecilia smiled; Leonora blushed. 'I see that it is not yet decided,' said Mrs. Villars; and immediately they ran upstairs, amidst confused whisperings.

Cecilia's voice could be distinguished far above the rest. 'How can she be so happy!' said Leonora to herself. 'O Cecilia, there was a time when you could not have neglected me so! when we were always together the best of friends and companions; our wishes, tastes, and pleasures the same! Surely she did once love me,' said Leonora; 'but now she is quite changed. She has even sold my keepsake; and she would rather win a bracelet of hair from girls whom she did not always think so much superior to Leonora than have my esteem, my confidence, and my friendship for her whole life – yes, for her whole life, for I am sure she will be an amiable woman. Oh that this bracelet had never been thought of, or that I were certain of her winning it; for I am sure that I do not wish to win it from her. I would rather – a thousand times rather – that we were as we used to be than have all the glory in the world. And how pleasing Cecilia can be when she wishes to please! – how candid she is! – how much she can improve herself! Let me be just, though she has offended me; she is wonderfully improved within this last month. For one fault, and that against myself, shall I forget all her merits?'

As Leonora said these last words, she could but just hear the voices of her companions. They had left her alone in the gallery. She knocked softly at Louisa's door. 'Come in,' said Louisa; 'I'm not asleep. Oh,' said she, starting up with the Flora in her hand, the instant that the door was opened, 'I'm so glad you are come, Leonora, for I did so long to hear what you all were making such a noise about. Have you forgot that the bracelet – ' 'Oh yes! is this the evening?' inquired Leonora. 'Well, here's my white shell for you,' said Louisa. 'I've kept it in my pocket this fortnight; and though Cecilia did give me this Flora, I still love you a great deal better.' 'I thank you, Louisa,' said Leonora, gratefully. 'I will take your shell, and I shall value it as long as I live; but here is a red one, and if you wish to show me that you love me, you will give this to Cecilia. I know that she is particularly anxious for your preference, and I am sure that she deserves it.' 'Yes, if I could I would choose both of you,' said Louisa, 'but you know I can only choose which I like the best.' 'If you mean, my dear Louisa,' said Leonora, 'that you like me the best, I am very much obliged to you, for, indeed, I wish you to love me; but it is enough for me to know it in private. I should not feel the least more pleasure at hearing it in public, or in having it made known to all my companions, especially at a time when it would give poor Cecilia a great deal of pain.' 'But why should it give her pain?' asked Louisa; 'I don't like her for being jealous of you.' 'Nay, Louisa, surely you don't think Cecilia jealous? She only tries to excel, and to please; she is more anxious to succeed than I am, it is true, because she has a great deal more activity, and perhaps more ambition. And it would really mortify her to lose this prize – you know that she proposed it herself. It has been her object for this month past, and I am sure she has taken great pains to obtain it.' 'But, dear Leonora, why should you lose it?' 'Indeed, my dear, it would be no loss to me; and, if it were, I would willingly suffer it for Cecilia; for, though we seem not to be such good friends as we used to be, I love her very much, and she will love me again – I'm sure she will; when she no longer fears me as a rival, she will again love me as a friend.'

Here Leonora heard a number of her companions running along the gallery. They all knocked hastily at the door, calling 'Leonora! Leonora! will you never come? Cecilia has been with us this half-hour.' Leonora smiled. 'Well, Louisa,' said she, smiling, 'will you promise me?' 'Oh, I am sure, by the way they speak to you, that they won't give you the prize!' said the little Louisa, and the tears started into her eyes. 'They love me, though, for all that,' said Leonora; 'and as for the prize, you know whom I wish to have it.'

'Leonora! Leonora!' called her impatient companions; 'don't you hear us? What are you about?' 'Oh, she never will take any trouble about anything,' said one of the party; 'let's go away.' 'Oh, go, go! make haste!' cried Louisa; 'don't stay; they are so angry.' 'Remember, then, that you have promised me,' said Leonora, and she left the room.

During all this time, Cecilia had been in the garden with her companions. The ambition which she had felt to win the first prize – the prize of superior talents and superior application – was not to be compared to the absolute anxiety which she now expressed to win this simple testimony of the love and approbation of her equals and rivals.

To employ her exuberant activity, Cecilia had been dragging branches of lilacs and laburnums, roses and sweet brier, to ornament the bower in which her fate was to be decided. It was excessively hot, but her mind was engaged, and she was indefatigable. She stood still at last to admire her works. Her companions all joined in loud applause. They were not a little prejudiced in her favour by the great eagerness which she expressed to win their prize, and by the great importance which she seemed to affix to the preference of each individual. At last, 'Where is Leonora?' cried one of them; and immediately, as we have seen, they ran to call her.

Cecilia was left alone. Overcome with heat and too violent exertion, she had hardly strength to support herself; each moment appeared to her intolerably long. She was in a state of the utmost suspense, and all her courage failed her. Even hope forsook her; and hope is a cordial which leaves the mind depressed and enfeebled.

'The time is now come,' said Cecilia; 'in a few moments all will be decided. In a few moments – goodness! How much do I hazard? If I should not win the prize, how shall I confess what I have done? How shall I beg Leonora to forgive me? I, who hoped to restore my friendship to her as an honour! They are gone to seek for her. The moment she appears I shall be forgotten. What – what shall I do?' said Cecilia, covering her face with her hands.

Such was Cecilia's situation when Leonora, accompanied by her companions, opened the hall door. They most of them ran forwards to Cecilia. As Leonora came into the bower, she held out her hand to Cecilia. 'We are not rivals, but friends, I hope,' said she. Cecilia clasped her hand; but she was in too great agitation to speak.

The table was now set in the arbour – the vase was now placed in the middle. 'Well,' said Cecilia, eagerly, 'who begins?' Caroline, one of her friends, came forward first, and then all the others successively. Cecilia's emotion was hardly conceivable. 'Now they are all in! Count them, Caroline!'

'One, two, three, four; the numbers are both equal.' There was a dead silence. 'No, they are not,' exclaimed Cecilia, pressing forward, and putting a shell into a vase. 'I have not given mine, and I give it to Leonora.' Then, snatching the bracelet, 'It is yours, Leonora,' said she; 'take it, and give me back your friendship.' The whole assembly gave one universal clap and a general shout of applause.

'I cannot be surprised at this from you, Cecilia,' said Leonora; 'and do you then still love me as you used to do?'

'O Leonora, stop! don't praise me; I don't deserve this,' said she, turning to her loudly-applauding companions. 'You will soon despise me. O Leonora, you will never forgive me! I have deceived you; I have sold – '

At this instant Mrs. Villars appeared. The crowd divided. She had heard all that passed, from her window. 'I applaud your generosity, Cecilia,' said she, 'but I am to tell you that in this instance it is unsuccessful. You have it not in your power to give the prize to Leonora. It is yours. I have another vote to give to you. You have forgotten Louisa.'

'Louisa!' exclaimed Cecilia; 'but surely, ma'am, Louisa loves Leonora better than she does me.' 'She commissioned me, however,' said Mrs. Villars, 'to give you a red shell; and you will find it in this box.'

Cecilia started, and turned as pale as death; it was the fatal box!

Mrs. Villars produced another box. She opened it; it contained the Flora. 'And Louisa also desired me,' said she, 'to return you this Flora.' She put it into Cecilia's hand. Cecilia trembled so that she could not hold it. Leonora caught it.

'Oh, madam! Oh, Leonora!' exclaimed Cecilia; 'now I have no hope left. I intended – I was just going to tell – ' 'Dear Cecilia,' said Leonora, 'you need not tell it me; I know it already; and I forgive you with all my heart.'

'Yes, I can prove to you,' said Mrs. Villars, 'that Leonora has forgiven you. It is she who has given you the prize; it was she who persuaded Louisa to give you her vote. I went to see her a little while ago; and perceiving, by her countenance, that something was the matter, I pressed her to tell me what it was.

'"Why, madam," said she, "Leonora has made me promise to give my shell to Cecilia. Now I don't love Cecilia half so well as I do Leonora. Besides, I would not have Cecilia think I vote for her because she gave me a Flora." Whilst Louisa was speaking,' continued Mrs. Villars, 'I saw this silver box lying on the bed. I took it up, and asked if it was not yours, and how she came by it. "Indeed, madam," said Louisa, "I could have been almost certain that it was Cecilia's; but Leonora gave it me, and she said that she bought it of the peddler this morning. If anybody else had told me so, I could not have believed them, because I remember the box so well; but I can't help believing Leonora." "But did not you ask Cecilia about it?" said I. "No, madam," replied Louisa; "for Leonora forbade me." I guessed her reason. "Well," said I, "give me the box, and I will carry your shell in it to Cecilia." "Then, madam," said she, "if I must give it her, pray do take the Flora, and return it to her first, that she may not think it is for that I do it."'

'Oh, generous Leonora!' exclaimed Cecilia; 'but, indeed, Louisa, I cannot take your shell.'

'Then, dear Cecilia, accept of mine instead of it! you cannot refuse it; I only follow your example. As for the bracelet,' added Leonora, taking Cecilia's hand, 'I assure you I don't wish for it, and you do, and you deserve it.' 'No,' said Cecilia, 'indeed I do not deserve it. Next to you, surely Louisa deserves it best.'

'Louisa! oh yes, Louisa,' exclaimed everybody with one voice.

'Yes,' said Mrs. Villars, 'and let Cecilia carry the bracelet to her; she deserves that reward. For one fault I cannot forget all your merits, Cecilia, nor, I am sure, will your companions.' 'Then, surely, not your best friend,' said Leonora, kissing her.

Everybody present was moved. They looked up to Leonora with respectful and affectionate admiration.

'Oh, Leonora, how I love you! and how I wish to be like you!' exclaimed Cecilia – 'to be as good, as generous!'

'Rather wish, Cecilia,' interrupted Mrs. Villars, 'to be as just; to be as strictly honourable, and as invariably consistent. Remember, that many of our sex are capable of great efforts – of making what they call great sacrifices to virtue or to friendship; but few treat their friends with habitual gentleness, or uniformly conduct themselves with prudence and good sense.'

THE LITTLE MERCHANTS

CHAPTER I

Chi di gallina nasce, convien che rozole.
As the old cock crows, so crows the young.

Those who have visited Italy give us an agreeable picture of the cheerful industry of the children of all ages in the celebrated city of Naples. Their manner of living and their numerous employments are exactly described in the following 'Extract from a Traveller's Journal.'[18 - Varieties of Literature, vol. i. p. 299.]

'The children are busied in various ways. A great number of them bring fish for sale to town from Santa Lucia; others are very often seen about the arsenals, or wherever carpenters are at work, employed in gathering up the chips and pieces of wood; or by the seaside, picking up sticks, and whatever else has drifted ashore, which, when their basket is full, they carry away.

'Children of two or three years old, who can scarcely crawl along upon the ground, in company with boys of five or six, are employed in this petty trade. Hence they proceed with their baskets into the heart of the city, where in several places they form a sort of little market, sitting round with their stock of wood before them. Labourers, and the lower order of citizens, buy it of them to burn in the tripods for warming themselves, or to use in their scanty kitchens.

'Other children carry about for sale the water of the sulphurous wells, which, particularly in the spring season, is drunk in great abundance. Others again endeavour to turn a few pence by buying a small matter of fruit, of pressed honey, cakes, and comfits, and then, like little peddlers, offer and sell them to other children, always for no more profit than that they may have their share of them free of expense.

'It is really curious to see how an urchin, whose whole stock and property consist in a board and a knife, will carry about a water-melon, or a half-roasted gourd, collect a troup of children round him, set down his board, and proceed to divide the fruit into small pieces among them.

'The buyers keep a sharp look-out to see that they have enough for their little piece of copper; and the Lilliputian tradesmen act with no less caution as the exigencies of the case may require, to prevent his being cheated out of a morsel.'

The advantages of truth and honesty, and the value of a character for integrity, are very early felt amongst these little merchants in their daily intercourse with each other. The fair dealer is always sooner or later seen to prosper. The most cunning cheat is at last detected and disgraced.

Numerous instances of the truth of this common observation were remarked by many Neapolitan children, especially by those who were acquainted with the characters and history of Piedro and Francisco, two boys originally equal in birth, fortune, and capacity, but different in their education, and consequently in their habits and conduct. Francisco was the son of an honest gardener, who, from the time he could speak, taught him to love to speak the truth, showed him that liars are never believed – that cheats and thieves cannot be trusted, and that the shortest way to obtain a good character is to deserve it.

Youth and white paper, as the proverb says, take all impressions. The boy profited much by his father's precepts, and more by his example; he always heard his father speak the truth, and saw that he dealt fairly with everybody. In all his childish traffic, Francisco, imitating his parents, was scrupulously honest, and therefore all his companions trusted him – 'As honest as Francisco,' became a sort of proverb amongst them.

'As honest as Francisco,' repeated Piedro's father, when he one day heard this saying. 'Let them say so; I say, "As sharp as Piedro"; and let us see which will go through the world best.' With the idea of making his son sharp he made him cunning. He taught him, that to make a good bargain was to deceive as to the value and price of whatever he wanted to dispose of; to get as much money as possible from customers by taking advantage of their ignorance or of their confidence. He often repeated his favourite proverb – 'The buyer has need of a hundred eyes; the seller has need but of one.'[19 - Chi compra ha bisogna di cent' occhi; chi vende n' ha assai di uno.] And he took frequent opportunities of explaining the meaning of this maxim to his son. He was a fisherman; and as his gains depended more upon fortune than upon prudence, he trusted habitually to his good luck. After being idle for a whole day, he would cast his line or his nets, and if he was lucky enough to catch a fine fish, he would go and show it in triumph to his neighbour the gardener.

'You are obliged to work all day long for your daily bread,' he would say. 'Look here; I work but five minutes, and I have not only daily bread, but daily fish.'