The Looking-Glass for the Mind; or, Intellectual Mirror

In a few minutes my lord and lady forgot to watch the motions of William, and entered into conversation on various subjects. He therefore thought this a proper opportunity to get away, rose up from table with both peaches in the napkin, and began to imitate the mewing of a cat, which a young shepherd's boy had lately taught him. His view in this was to engage the attention of Cæsar and Pompey, in which he succeeded, as they both got up, and jumped about the room.

Lady Russel was a little angry with him for making such a noise, and told him, if he wanted to make such a mewing as that, the garden was the most proper place. William pretended to be very much confused at this reproof, though the consequence of it was the very thing he wanted. He then instantly ran up to Cæsar, "See, mamma," said William, "he wants to bite Pompey!" and as he turned, he dexterously slipped the napkin into his pocket, and pretended to run after Cæsar, to punish him. The dog ran towards the door Amelia had left open when she went into the garden, and away went William in pursuit of her.

Lady Russel called William back, and asked him where he was going. "My dear mamma," said he, "if you please, I will take a turn in the garden, and I hope you will not refuse me that favour." As lady Russel did not immediately answer him, he lowered his voice and spoke in a more suppliant manner. At last, having obtained her permission, away he ran with so much haste, that his foot slipped, and down he fell; but, luckily, neither he nor the peaches were hurt.

After searching round the garden for his sister, he at last found her in the arbour, sitting in an attitude of sorrow. She was exceedingly unhappy to think she had grieved the three best friends she had, her worthy parents and her dear William. "My sweetest Amelia," said the little fellow, falling on his knees at the same time, "let us be friends. I would freely ask forgiveness for my fault, had I really intended to displease you. If you will ask my pardon, I will ask yours also. My pretty Amelia, let us be friends. Here are two nice peaches, which I could not think of eating while you were not present to partake of them."

"Ah, my dearest Billy," said Amelia, squeezing his hand while she spoke, and weeping on his shoulder, "what a sweet good-tempered little fellow you are! Certainly," continued she, sobbing while she spoke, "those that are friends to us in our misfortunes are truly valuable. It was very wrong in me to be so vexed, as I was this morning, about the loss of a few apples. It was the insulting look that Miss Charlotte gave me that was the cause of it; but I will think of her no more. Will you forgive me?" added she, wiping off the tears she had let fall on William's hand. "I confess that I sometimes love to plague you; but keep your peaches, for I cannot think of eating them."

"As to plaguing me, sister," answered William, "you may do that as often as you like; but, I assure you, nobody shall do so but yourself: as to the peaches, I most certainly will not eat them. I have already told you so, and my word is like the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not."

"For the very same reason," said Amelia, "I shall not eat them," and immediately threw them both over the garden wall; for, besides her having said she would not eat them, she could not bear the thought of receiving a bribe to reconcile a quarrel. Amelia's next consideration was, how to make it up with her mamma; and she said she should be happy indeed, if she would but permit her to appear before her, and ask her pardon.

The generous little William no sooner heard these words, than he promised to settle that business, and away he instantly ran; but before he had taken many steps, he stopped short, and, turning round, said, "I will tell mamma, that it was I who made you anger her, by having vexed you in the morning."

Little William succeeded beyond his expectations, and all parties were soon reconciled to each other. A friendship so affectionate and generous is highly worthy of the imitation of all my juvenile readers.

THE RIVAL DOGS

A gentleman, whose name was Howard, had brought up two pretty dogs from puppies. The one he called Castor and the other Pollux, hoping they would live in such friendship together as did the two illustrious heroes, after whom they were named. Though they both came from the same mother, and, at the same time, had been fed together, and equally treated, yet it was soon seen that there was a great difference in their tempers and dispositions.

Castor was of a meek and tractable nature; but Pollux was fierce and quarrelsome. When any person took notice of the generous Castor, he would wag his tail, and jump about for joy, nor was he ever jealous on seeing more notice taken of his brother than of himself. The surly Pollux, on the contrary, whenever Mr. Howard had him on his lap, would growl and grumble at Castor if he attempted to come near him, or if any one took notice of him.

When any of Mr. Howard's friends happened to come on a visit to his house, and bring their dogs along with them, the good-natured Castor would immediately mix among them, and, in his way, endeavoured to amuse them. As he was by nature extremely pliant and engaging, they were all peace and harmony whenever it fell to his lot to entertain them. They would jump and play about the house, as boys do in school when they are left to themselves.

The surly Pollux acted a very different part. He would sneak into a corner, and bark all day at the strangers. If any one of them happened to pass too near him, he would then be sure to snarl and grin, and would often start up, and bite their ears or tails. If his master happened to take any notice of either of the strange dogs on account of their good-nature or handsomeness, Pollux would howl as loud as if thieves were actually breaking into the house.

This odious disposition of Pollux did not escape the notice of Mr. Howard, who gradually began to neglect him; while Castor, on the contrary, was every day increasing in his master's favour.

As Mr. Howard was one day sitting at table, it suddenly entered his mind to make a more particular trial of the temper of these two dogs than he had hitherto done. Both happened to be attending at table, but Pollux was nearest his master; for the good-natured Castor, in order to avoid strife and contention, always let him choose his place.

Mr. Howard threw a nice piece of meat to Pollux, which he devoured with much greediness. Castor showed no signs of uneasiness at this, but patiently waited till his master should think it was his turn. Soon afterwards, Mr. Howard threw Castor a bone, with hardly any meat on it: but he took it without showing the least mark of discontent. The surly Pollux, however, no sooner saw his brother engaged on a meatless bone, though he had feasted on his own delicious morsel, than he fell upon him, and took it from him. The good-natured Castor made no opposition, but gave up the bone without a murmur.

My readers must not from hence imagine that Castor was a coward, or was in the least afraid of the strength of his brother; for he had lately given sufficient proof of his courage and resolution, in a battle he had been drawn into by Pollux, whose intolerable moroseness had brought on him the vengeance of a neighbouring dog. Pollux, after engaging his antagonist only a few minutes, though he had provoked the dog to try his strength, ran away like a coward; but Castor, in order to cover the retreat of his brother, and without any one to take his part, fought him like a hero, and at last forced him to run away likewise.

Mr. Howard was well acquainted with this circumstance; and, as he had before established his credit in point of courage, so was his master now fully convinced of his good temper, and the surly and cowardly disposition of his brother. "My good fellow," said Mr. Howard to Castor, "it is but just that you should, at least, fare as well as your brother, who does not deserve as much as you." So saying, he cut off a large piece of nice meat and gave it to Castor.

Pollux, seeing so nice a morsel given to his brother, accompanied with such cutting words from his master, began to growl and snarl. "Since you have shown so much complaisance and generosity to your brother," continued Mr. Howard, still speaking to Castor, "who in return treats you with ill manners, jealousy, and envy, you shall in future be my own dog, and be at liberty to range about the house at your pleasure: but your brother shall be confined in the yard. Here," cried he, "bring a chain for Pollux, and order the carpenter to make him a little house!" The order was instantly obeyed, and Pollux was led to his kennel, while his brother rambled about at liberty.

Had Pollux received so singular a mark of favour, he would undoubtedly have supported it with insolence; but Castor was of a different disposition, and appeared very unhappy at his brother's disgrace. Whenever any nice bit was given to Castor, he would run away with it to Pollux, wag his tail for joy, and invite him to partake of it. In short, the visited him every night in his house, and did every thing he could to amuse him under his sufferings.

Notwithstanding all these marks of tenderness, Pollux always received his brother in the most surly manner, howling as though he were come to devour him, and treating him with every mark of disrespect. At length, rage and disappointment inflamed his blood, he pined away by degrees, and at last died a miserable spectacle.

The moral of this history is so obvious, that there hardly appears a necessity to tell my young readers, that such a disposition as Pollux's must render its possessor an object of contempt and abhorrence, while that of Castor will ever be beloved and respected.

CLEOPATRA; OR THE REFORMED LITTLE TYRANT

A pert little hussey, whose name was Cleopatra, was continually teasing and commanding her poor brother. "So, you will not do what I bid you, Mr. Obstinacy?" she would often say to him: "Come, come, Sir, obey, or it shall be worse for you."

If Cleopatra's word might be taken for it, her brother did every thing wrong; but, on the contrary, whatever she thought of doing was the masterpiece of reason and sound sense. If he proposed any kind of diversion, she was sure to consider it as dull and insipid; but it often happened, that she would herself the next day recommend the same thing, and, having forgotten what she had said of it before, consider it as the most lively and entertaining.

Her brother was obliged to submit to her unaccountable whims and fancies, or else endure the most disagreeable lectures a little female tongue could utter. If ever he presumed to be so hardy as to reason with her on her strange conduct, instant destruction to his playthings were the inevitable consequence of it.

Her parents saw with regret this strange and tyrannical disposition of their daughter, and in vain did every thing they could think of to break her of it. Her mother, in particular, continually enforced on her mind, that such children never procured the esteem of others; and that a girl, who set up her own opinion against that of every one else, would soon become intolerable and insupportable to all her acquaintance. This prudent advice, however, made no impression on her stubborn heart; and her brother, wearied out by her caprice and tyranny, began to have very little affection for her. It one day happened that a gentleman of a free and open temper, dined at their house. He could not help observing with what a haughty air she treated her poor brother, and, indeed, every other person in the room. At first, the rules of politeness kept him from saying any thing; but at last, tired out with her impertinence, he began addressing his discourse to her mamma in the following manner:

"I was lately in France, and, as I was fond of being present at the soldiers' exercises, I used to go as often as I could, to see their manœuvres on the parade, nearly in the same manner as they do here at St. James's. Among the soldiers there were many I observed with whiskers, which gave them a very fierce and soldier-like look. Now, had I a child like your Cleopatra, I would instantly give her a soldier's uniform, and put her on a pair of whiskers, when she might, with rather more propriety than at present, act the part of a commander."

Cleopatra heard this, and stood covered with confusion; she could not help blushing, and was unable to conceal her tears. However, this reproach perfectly reformed her, and she became sensible how unbecoming was a tyrannizing temper. It has been observed, that to be sensible of our errors is half the work of reformation. So it happened with Cleopatra, who with the assistance of her mother's prudent counsels, became an amiable girl.

Her reformation was a credit to her; and it is much to be wished that all young ladies, who take no pains to conquer their passions, would at last imitate Cleopatra, and wish to avoid being told, that a soldier's dress and a pair of whiskers would better become them than nice cambric frocks and silk slips. Had Cleopatra attended to the advice of her parents, and not have imagined that greatness consists in impertinence, she would have been happy much sooner than she was.

THE PASSIONATE BOY

Young Frederick had naturally a noble soul, elevated thoughts, and generous notions. His turn of mind was lively, his imagination strong and quick, and his temper cheerful and pleasing. Indeed, the elegance of his person, and his behaviour and accomplishments, gained him the respect of every one; but, notwithstanding all these amiable qualities, he had one unhappy defect, which was that of giving way too readily to the most violent emotions of passion.

It would frequently happen that, while he was amusing himself in the circle of his playmates, the most trifling contradiction would ruffle his temper, and fill him with the highest degree of rage and fury, little short of a state of madness.

As he happened to be one day walking about his chamber, and meditating on the necessary preparations for a treat his father had permitted him to give his sister, his dear friend and favourite, Marcus, came to him, to advise with him on that business. Frederick, being lost in thought, saw not his friend, who therefore having spoken to him in vain, drew nearer to him, and began to pull him by the sleeve. Frederick, angry, and out of patience with these interruptions, suddenly turned round, and gave Marcus such a push, that he sent him reeling across the room, and he at last fell against the wainscot.

Marcus lay motionless on the floor, without the least appearance of life; for, in his fall, he had struck his head against something which had given him a deep and terrible wound, from which issued a great quantity of blood. How shall we describe the situation of poor Frederick, who loved his friend tenderly, and for whom he would, on occasion, have sacrificed his life?

Frederick fell down beside him, crying out most lamentably, "He is dead! he is dead! I have killed my dear friend Marcus!" So great were his fright and consternation, that he had no idea of calling for assistance, but lay by his side, uttering the most dismal groans. Happily, however, his father heard him, and, instantly running in, took up Marcus in his arms. He called for some sugar to stop the bleeding of the wound, and having applied some salts to his nose, and some water to his temples, they brought him a little to himself.

Frederick was transported with joy when he perceived symptoms of life in his friend; but the fear of relapse kept him in the greatest anxiety. They immediately sent for a surgeon, who, as soon as he arrived, searched the wound. He found it was not in the temple, but so very close to it, that the tenth part of an inch nearer would probably have made the wound dangerous indeed, if not mortal.

Marcus, being carried home, soon became delirious, and Frederick could not be persuaded to leave him. He sat down by the side of his poor friend, wholly absorbed in silence. Marcus, while he remained in that delirious state, frequently pronounced the name of Frederick. "My dear Frederick," he would sometimes say, "what could I have done to deserve being treated in this manner? Yet, I am sure, you cannot be less unhappy than myself, when you reflect you wounded me without a cause. However, I would not wish your generous nature should be grieved. Let us forgive each other; I for vexing you, and you for wounding me."

In this manner did Marcus talk, without being sensible that Frederick was near him, though he held him by the hand at the same time. Every word, thus pronounced, in which there could be neither flattery nor deceit, went to the heart of the afflicted Frederick, and rendered his grief almost insupportable.

In ten days time, however, it pleased God to abate the fever, and he was enabled to get up, to the great joy of his parents; but how can we express the feelings of Frederick on this happy occasion! That task must be left for those who may have unfortunately been in a similar situation; his joy now was undoubtedly as great as his sorrow had been.

Marcus at last got perfectly well, and Frederick, in consequence, recovered his former cheerfulness and good humour. He now stood in need of no other lesson, than the sorrowful event that had lately taken place, to break himself of that violence of temper, to which he had been so long a slave. In a little time, no appearance of the wound remained, excepting a small scar near his temple, which Frederick could never look at without some emotion, even after they were both grown up to manhood. Indeed, it ever afterwards was considered as a seal of that friendship, which they never lost sight of.

CAROLINE; OR, A LESSON TO CURE VANITY

A plain white frock had hitherto been the only dress of Caroline; silver buckles in her red morocco shoes; and her ebon hair, which had never felt the torturing iron, flowed upon her shoulders in graceful ringlets, now and then disturbed by the gentle winds.

Being one day in company with some little girls, who, though no older than herself, were dressed in all the empty parade of fashion, the glare and glitter of those fine clothes raised in her heart a desire she had never before felt.

As soon as she got home, "My dear mamma," said she, "I have this afternoon seen Miss Flippant and her two sisters, whom you very well know. The eldest is not older than myself, and yet they were all dressed in the most elegant manner. Their parents must certainly have great pleasure in seeing them so finely dressed; and, as they are not richer than you, do, my dear mamma, let me have a fine silk slip, embroidered shoes like theirs, and let my hair be dressed by Mr. Frizzle, who is said to be a very capital man in his profession!"

Her mother replied, that she would have no objection to gratify her wishes, provided it would add to her happiness; but she was rather fearful it might have a contrary effect. As Miss Caroline could not give in to this mode of thinking, she requested her mamma to explain her reasons for what she had said.

"Because," said her mother, "you will be in continual fear of spotting your silk slip, and even rumpling it whenever you wear it. A dress like that of Miss Flippant will require the utmost care and attention to preserve it from accidents; for a single spot will spoil its beauty, and you very well know there is no washing of silks. However extensive my fortune may be, I assure you, it is not sufficient to purchase you silk gowns as often as you would wish to have them."

Miss Charlotte considered these arguments as very trifling, and promised to give her mamma no uneasiness as to her carelessness in wearing her fine clothes. Though her mamma consented to let her be dressed in the manner she requested, yet she desired her to remember the hints she had given her of the vexations to which her vanity would expose her.

Miss Caroline, on whom this good advice had no effect, lost not a moment in destroying all the pleasure and enjoyment of her infancy. Her hair, which before hung down in careless ringlets, was now twisted up in paper, and squeezed between a burning pair of tongs; that fine jet, which had hitherto so happily set off the whiteness of her forehead, was lost under a clod of powder and pomatum.

In a few days the mantua-maker arrived with a fine slip of pea-green taffety, with fine pink trimmings, and a pair of shoes, elegantly worked to answer the slip. The sight of them gave infinite pleasure to Caroline; but it was easily to be perceived, when she had them on, that her limbs were under great restraint, and her motions had lost their accustomed ease and freedom. That innocence and candour, which used to adorn her lovely countenance, began to be lost amidst the profusion of flowers, silks, gauzes, and ribands.

The novelty, however, of her appearance quite enchanted her. Her eyes, with uncommon eagerness, wandered over every part of her dress, and were seldom removed, unless to take a general survey of the whole in a pier glass. She prevailed on her mamma to let her send cards of invitation to all her acquaintances, in order to enjoy the inexpressible pleasure of being gazed at. As soon as they were met, she would walk backwards and forwards before them, like a peacock, and seemed to consider herself as the empress of the world, and they as her vassals.

All this triumph and consequence, however, met with many mortifying circumstances. The children who lived near her were one day permitted to ramble about the fields, when Caroline accompanied them, and led the way. What first attracted their attention was a beautiful meadow, enamelled with a variety of charming flowers; and butterflies, whose wings were of various colours, hovered over its surface. The little ladies amused themselves with hunting these butterflies, which they dexterously caught without hurting them; and, as soon as they had examined their beauties, let them fly again. Of the flowers that sprung beneath their feet they made nosegays, formed in the prettiest taste.

Though pride would not at first permit Miss Caroline to partake of these mean amusements, yet she at last wanted to share in the diversion; but they told her that the ground might be damp, which would infallibly stain her shoes, and hurt her silk slip. They had discovered her intention in thus bringing them together, which was only to show her fine clothes, and they were therefore resolved to mortify her vanity.

Miss Caroline was of course under the necessity of being solitary and inactive, while her companions sported on the grass, without fear of incommoding themselves. The pleasure she had lately taken in viewing her fine slip and shoes was, at this moment, but a poor compensation for the mirth and merriment she thereby lost.

On one side of the meadow grew a fine grove of trees, which resounded with the various notes of innumerable birds, and which seemed to invite every one that passed that way to retire thither, and partake of the indulgences of the shade. The little maidens entered this grove, jumping and sporting, without fearing any injury to their clothes. Miss Caroline would have followed them, but they advised her not, telling her, that the bushes would certainly tear her fine trimmings. She plainly saw that her friends, who were joyously sporting among the trees, were making themselves merry at her expense, and therefore grew peevish and ill-humoured.

The youngest of her visitors, however, had some sort of compassion on her. She had just discovered a corner, where a quantity of fine wild strawberries grew, when she called to Miss Caroline, and invited her to eat part of them. This she readily attempted; but no sooner had she entered the grove, than she was obliged to call out for help. Hereupon the children all gathered to the spot, and found poor Caroline fastened by the gauze of her hat to a branch of white-thorn, from which she could not disengage herself. They immediately took out the pins that fastened her hat; but, to add to her misfortunes, as her hair, which had been frizzed with so much labour, was also entangled with the branch of white-thorn, it cost her almost a whole lock before she could be set at liberty. Thus, in an instant, was all the boasted superstructure of her head-dress put into a state of confusion.

After what had passed, it cannot be difficult to suppose in what manner her playmates viewed this accident. Instead of consolation, of which Caroline stood in much need, they could not refrain laughing at the odd figure she made, and did actually torment her with a hundred witty jokes. After having put her a little into order, they quitted her in search of new amusements, and were soon seen at the top of a neighbouring hill.