A week at Glenville

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CHILDREN'S BOOK
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Glenville in Autumn.

WEEK

GLENYILLE.

BY SARAH LLOYD.

Jlhtstratian0.

PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BY J. W. MOORE,

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by
J. W. MOORE,

In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States, in
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

CONTENTS.

JANE BIRMAN AND EMMA ELWIN, . 5

THE MAGIC FLUTE, 25

QUINTIN THE BLACKSMITH,. ... 52

THE ITALIAN PAINTER, 93

LEONARDO DA VINCI, . . ^ * , . • 100

BENJAMIN WEST, . .^ .f^ , . . . 118

THE SILVER TANKARD, 144

THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA,. . . .160

Stereotyped by George Charles,
No. 9 George Street, Philadelphia.

(iii)

THE STORY OF

JANE BIRMAN AND EMMA ELWIN.

. -. ' »Hpf)^t'<5 JilfW {'I'^-J ,

tf>gis»oo [ciLtffjc^ "" "" -:r.*jrft folifyn^l-p
CHAPTER I

JANE and Emma were very intimate at
school. They loved each other so much,
that they were scarcely ever apart.

They were sitting in the arbour one day,
with their arms round each other, and Emma
was inviting Jane to spend the next Christ-
mas holidays with her, when Miss Valentine,

6 A WEEK AT GLENYILLE.

the teacher, brought in a letter sealed with
black.

It was from Emma's mother, giving an
account of the death of a favourite little sis-
ter, with a request for her to come home to
Glenville, the name of their beautiful cottage,
which Emma had often talked about to her
schoolmates.

Emma cried very much when she heard

of her sister's death, and Jane cried too, from

»

sympathy, though she had never seen little
Dolly, the baby. They sat still, and sobbed
a good while, till the teacher told Emma she
must remember there would be several things
to get ready before she could start, so she

A WEEK AT CLENVILLE. 7

must try and compose herself. Although she
was very sorry to part from her schoolfellows,
yet she waiited to see her dear mamma, and
her sweet home very much. She knew that
she ought to try and do all she could to
comfort her parents in distress. She went
to hed soon, and thought of home, and how
sad they must all feel there, and wondered
what the old nurse would do without little
Dolly, until at last she went to sleep, and
dreamed about them all.

The carriage was to be at the door at eight
o'clock. So she got up early, and washed and
dressed herself, and read her Bible, and said
her prayers, and was all ready to start.

8 A MEEK AT GLENVIL.L.E.

After breakfast she kissed Jane two or
three times, and her teacher, and said, " Good
bye," to the scholars, and after making Jane
promise to write to her, she seated herself
in the carriage. After a ride of fourteen
miles, through a beautiful part of the country,
she was admiring the trees in their bright
autumn colours, and just remembered what
the teacher had said, made the woods look
so bright. The gum and maple trees turn
red, the buttonwood or sycamore a deep
yellow, the oak brown and yellow. She was
thinking all this over to herself, when
Sammy, the servant, who was driving,
called out, "Look, Miss Emma, there

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 9

is Glenville, and you will soon be at
home !"

She first saw the chimneys, and then the
cottage, exactly as it used to look. In a short
time she arrived there, and was greeted
with a warm embrace by her kind parents.
" Now you have come, my dear Emma," said
her mamma, " we shall not feel so desolate.
Your father and myself wished to have you
with us, but we did not like to take you
from school, and from your young compa-
nions. We hope, however, you have ac-
quired a taste for reading, and will improve
yourself in that way, during the few months
we shall have you with us."

10 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

" Indeed, mamma," said Emma, " I shall
do all in my power to comfort you for the
loss of little Dolly, and will try also not to
waste my time."

CHAPTER II.

THE next morning Emma's mother took
her to the churchyard, about half a mile
distant, to visit her sister's grave. Emma
read the verse on the tombstone which had
been placed there, but was not pleased to see
how bare and brown little Dolly's grave
looked, while those around were covered
with green grass and adorned with flowers.

Her mother reminded her how short a
time had passed since the earth was placed
there, and that nothing had yet time to
grow — but gave her leave to have it covered

12 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

with sods, and told her to get some flower
seeds of the gardener and rose bushes. She
thanked her mother, and assured her she
would gladly attend to these things, as no-
thing could more delight her than to gather
flowers there sometimes.

On their way home they met a poor
woman with two ragged little children, who
had travelled nearly twenty miles. The bare
feet of the taller boy was torn and sore, and
the younger child was crying bitterly. " What
ails you?" said Emma. "I am tired and
hungry," answered the boy. "We are hunt-
ing papa and cannot find him." "Where is
he ?" asked Emma. The woman then told

=g5B*— -*-*•»— *=^---- .- v~~====^==-.*==.^=^— =-.=
On their way home they met a poor woman, with two r
PAGE 12.

ragged child,

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 13

her tale. " My husband lost his place during
sickness, and was afterwards unable to obtain
employ. He went to Manchester, hoping
there to get work, so as to support his family,
but was taken ill, and I greatly fear is not
living. I have no means to enable me to get
there only as I can walk and drag along my
weary little children. I have already gone
half the journey, and feel that my strength
fails/'

Emma's heart was deeply touched with
the condition of these friendless creatures.
Through her persuasion they were sheltered
for the night at Glenville cottage. Food and
clothing were obtained, and money given them

14 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

by Mr. Elwin to pay their passages in a stage
which would take them the whole journey.

Emma pitied this poor woman and her
children so much, that she could not think
of any thing else. Next day she asked her
mother why it so happened that some people
were rich, and had every thing they wanted,
while those poor creatures we met yesterday
were almost starving for food." "This, my
dear daughter," replied Mrs. Elwin, "is a
question which has puzzled wiser heads than
yours, one which is difficult to answer. Most
of the misery which we see in the world is
brought on by wickedness of different kinds.
One evil springs from another. Were you

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 15

older, I might talk to you of many things
which you cannot now understand. Let
what you have seen raise grateful feelings in
your heart to your heavenly Father, the
Author of all good, for your many blessings.
The commandment of your Redeemer, " To
feed the hungry and clothe the naked," will,
I hope, never he forgotten. Do You remem-
ber those lines from the hymn you used to
repeat?"

Not more than others I deserve,

Yet God has given me more ;
For I have food while others starve,

And beg from door to door.

* 1 ) ;:

CHAPTER III.

EMMA had not received a letter from Jane,
though she expected one every day. She
began to wish very much to see her, as there
were no little girls of her own age in that
neighbourhood, and she had no brothers and
sisters. She looked forward to Christmas
with pleasure, because some cousins were
coming to visit her then. Her mother had
given her leave to WTite an invitation to Jane
to come spend the holidays at Glenville.

Nearly all the leaves wrere blown off the
trees, and it was beginning to look wintry
(16)

A WEEK AT GLENVIL.LE. 17

and cold ; but the nice books that Emma's
father brought her to read made the evenings
pass pleasantly.

Late one afternoon, when she and the dog
Bruce were returning from a short ramble,
her father walked towards her, with some-
thing in his hand, which she at first thought
was a new book ; but as he came nearer she
saw it was a letter, wrhich had just come
from the post-office. It was from Jane. " Oh,
my dear friend," wrote she, "you cannot tell
how much I miss you ! I have had permission
from my parents to accept your kind invita-
tion, and can hardly wait till the time arrives.
How many weeks will it be ? Two and a

18 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

half ! what a long time ! eighteen days ! Now
let me see how many hours — two hundred
and sixteen ! Oh, to be all that while expect-
ing the visit! Shall we not have merry
times ? Shall we hang up our stockings, and
let Kriss Kingle come down the chimney as
of old ?"

When Emma read this to her mother, she
asked what Kriss Kingle meant, and said that
when she was little, and used to hang up
her stocking, the old nurse would tell her she
must be quiet, and then Kriss Kingle would
come down the chimney and put some good
things in it, and she believed, to be sure,
there was such a person, a real man.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 19

Her mother was pleased that she asked
an explanation, and hoped she would always
inquire about what she did not understand.

" Although the Christmas festival is for the
celebration of the nativity of our Saviour, yet
it is of heathen origin. The ancient Scandi-
navians, or Northmen, had a December feast,
over which one of their gods presided. This
god brought good things to the children
when they were good, and a rod when they
were naughty — like St. Nicholas in Catholic
countries. The word Kriss Kingle is, I think,
from the German, whence comes many stories
and fanciful legends."

" I wish, mother, you would tell me some

20 A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E.

German legends." Mrs. Elwin promised her
she would sometime, and said, '-I do not ob-
ject, my child, to let you he indulged in this
way, especially as there is so decided a taste,
in the present age, for German literature. I
hope you will not he ignorant, when you
enter society, of all customary topics, lest
you he tempted to join with the petty gos-
sip and scandal, which I regret to say are
very much in vogue in certain circles."

"And yet you assure me, dear mamma,
that those tales are not true."

" That they did not actually take place,"
replied Mrs. E., "is certain ; hut are, notwith-
standing, much less calculated to do harm

A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E. 21

than many things which really happen, and
are continually related as matters of fact.
The legends we have spoken of are some-
times founded upon interesting incidents of
real life. I have an allegorical tale to read
you, but at present am too much engaged."

Emma thanked her mother, and said she
would remind her of it soon.

^Hml J>ru; >'jil>fe> flliw «
I

-CHAPTER IV.

THE days passed rapidly on, and Christmas
came, and the cousins arrived, and Jane, dear
Jane, too ! Oh ! how glad every body seemed !
It was a charming day. And such prepara-
tions as were made !

I must not forget to tell about Christmas
eve. There was the most beautiful evergreen
tree in the parlour, brilliant with lights ; little
wax tapers on the ends of the branches, and
it was laden with candies, and fruits, and
nuts, all so tastefully arranged. And next
morning, when they came down, they found

A WEEK AT CLENVJLLE. 23

the centre table set out in the middle of the
room, covered with elegant gilded books — a
present for each of them. All that day and
the next. Cousin Fanny, Cousin George,
Cousin Emily, Jane and Emma were so oc-
cupied reading their annuals, that nobody
was disposed to talk.

George begged them to listen to a Christ-
mas rhyme he had found in his book.

" God bless the master of this house,

Mother and children dear ;
Joyful may their Christmas be,
And happy their New Year!"

After they had read their books, they went
to games for amusement, and played at bat-

24 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

tledoor and every thing they could think of ;
and George proposed they should all get on
the sled that Sammy had made, and he
would pull them. Oh ! what fine fun they
had ! In the evening they were too tired
to romp, and Emma hegged her mother to
read the tale she had promised. Her mother
smiled as she took up the hook, and com-
menced

.

George riding the Ladies on his sledge.

THE STORY OF

THE MAGIC FLUTE.

CHAPTER I.

IN a pretty village in Germany, lived an
old farmer named Nicholas — he was not,
however, an honest man ; for at night he
would^go into his neighhours' fields, and dig
up the finest plants he could see, and trans-
plant them into his own garden ; and the
next day would declare he did not know how

(25)

26 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

they came there. Now this was very wicked
indeed, for him first to steal, and then tell
falsehoods, to conceal it. But there was one
person who had seen him, and this was a
little orphan boy called Love-Truth, who
lived with him. — This little boy felt as if it
was wrong to conceal his knowledge of it
any longer, and so he told the village magis-
trate, and several other persons ; but as they
had only his word for it, without any proof,
they did not believe the story, especially as
old Nicholas told them he would pay them
well if they would refuse to commit him to
prison for it. This they did, and instead,
sent poor little Love-Truth to the house of

A WEEK AT GLENV1LLE. £7

correction, saying he was a wicked and ma-
licious boy, who had tried to ruin the repu-
tation and good name of Farmer Nicholas.

" This is a sad business for me," thought
Love-Truth, as he sat in his prison, and
looked at the water jug, which stood beside
a piece of coarse bread. " All this comes from
my telling the truth ; while sly old Nicholas,
who has told lies, sits over his beef and white
bread, in his comfortable parlour. But no
matter, Mother Martha, my old nurse, told
me that truth was a good thing, and I shall
always tell it, even were I to suffer far more
for it than I am now doing."

At last his term of imprisonment expired,

28 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

but Farmer Nicholas told him he might go
where he pleased, as he should not live with
him again. The fact is, the old man was
afraid he would discover more of his thefts,
and therefore determined not to have any
thing more to do with so honest a little boy.
Poor Love-Truth did not know where to go,
but he marched straight out of the village,
following the high road, and not knowing

where it would lead him. Towards even-

*

ing, however, being very tired and hungry,
he stopped at a cottage door, and begged for
a crust of bread, and a night's lodging. " We
will take you to the innkeeper," said the
people of the house, " and if he should ask

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 29

you any questions, tell him you fell in with
robbers, and were plundered by them. This
will excite his compassion, and he will be
kind to you."

" No, no," said Love-Truth, " I shall not
say that, for it would be a falsehood. The
truth is always the best, and you should be
ashamed to try to make me tell a lie !"

The people hearing this called him a saucy
fellow, and turned him away from their door.
He was thus forced to sleep in the open air,
and would have died of hunger, had he not
found some berries upon the bushes, under
which he slept, which stayed his hunger a
little. In this way he travelled on for a con-

30 A WEEK AT GLENVIL.LE.

siderable time ; but his strength was begin-
ning to waste away, and his clothes became
so tattered, that he was almost ashamed to
let himself be seen.

After a time, however, he reached a beau-
tiful house, the master of wrhich was standing
at the door, and asked him what he wanted.
Love-Truth told him his whole history, from
beginning to end ; and when he had finished,
the stranger took a flute out of his pocket,
upon which he played a beautiful air. The
boy listened for a few moments, and then
exclaimed, "Do not take it ill, kind, good
sir, but I cannot help repeating to you, that
I have told you nothing but the truth ; and

A WEEK AT GL.ENVIL.L.E. 31

that I am not capable of uttering a false-
hood."

" Very good, my dear boy," said the gentle-
man, putting the flute into his pocket. " I
am not a bit angry with you, for interrupt-
ing me. You shall, for the present, come in-
to my house, and be taken care of." Then
he ordered the servant to prepare for Love-
Truth a delicious repast of fruit and milk.
After which he gave him a new suit of
clothes, and chattering kindly with him
awhile, at last dismissed him to bed, which
was prepared in a quiet and retired apartment.

"This is pleasant," said Love-Truth to
himself. "For the first time in my life I

32 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

have been kindly treated, because I told the
truth. I am so glad those bad people did not
get me to tell a lie !" There is no doubt
our little friend would have thought a great
deal more, had he not been overpowered
with weariness and fallen asleep in the midst
of his reflections.

However, in his dreams he saw old Mo-
ther Martha, who looked tenderly on him,
and said, " You must not grow tired of doing
what is right, my child ; in the end, be as-
sured, it will make you happy and prosper-
ous"— with these words she disappeared, and
Love-Truth slept soundly till morning.

After a delicious breakfast, Love-Truth felt

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 33

very sad at the prospect of leaving his kind
friend. " Heaven help me," said he, " where
shall I ever find so good a gentleman ! Oh !
keep me with you ! I will gladly labour all
I can for you, and I will be most grateful for
the love you have shown me."

" It cannot be, my son," was the reply.
" There is no post in my household which
you could fill, and besides, you would not
then have an opportunity of advancing in
the world, which I am sure you will do one
day or other. I would advise you, therefore,
to resume your journey without delay ; here
is a purse full of gold pieces, and I wish you
success."

34 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

" Farewell, then, my kind host," sobbed
the boy, " I shall follow your advice."

" One word more," continued the gentle-
man— " Do you see this little flute, which I
played yesterday when you were speak-
ing to me? I will give it to you. Keep
it carefully and prize it as one of your
richest treasures. Do not be suspicious,
but should you ever meet any one, who
appears to be given to telling falsehoods,
play on this flute, and you shall see some-
thing wonderful.

Love-Truth received this gift with the
greatest gratitude. "I must now go," said
he, "but first give me your blessing, for I

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 35

love and honour you as much as if you were
my own father."

"That I will," replied the gentleman.
"Go forth into the world, withstand evil,
do good, and you shall be happy all your life
long. But be on your guard lest you fall
into the snares of falsehood ; for if you do, it
will be beyond the power of man to rescue
you — so farewell, and remember my words."

;^ rrA 23 aw A

. ,^', ;r ;y -wuflmf bii-- W®1
CHAPTER II

IT was a fresh and lovely morning when
Love-Truth again resumed his wanderings.
He could not help feeling very happy, for all
he was so lonely in the world ; for he had
done right, and he thought God would take
care of him. While he was walking along,
he drew out his flute without thinking of it,
and began to play, in order to pass away the
time. But the little birds sang on, uncon-
cernedly; they were not afraid to listen,
for they can tell no lies ; and so they con-
tinued warbling their merry lays, and hopping
(36)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 37

lightly from bush to bush. He soon entered
a wood, and after he had walked about a mile,
he began to feel tired. He turned aside,
therefore, from the main path, and soon found
a quiet spot, entirely surrounded by bushes,
where he could rest himself, without inter-
ruption. He laid himself down here, on the
mossy turf, and fell into a sound sleep. You
may be sure he dreamed about the good gen-
tleman who had given him the flute, and he
felt, when he awoke, very much as if he
should like to try its powrers. An opportu-
nity was not long wanting, for presently a
multitude of huntsman came by, one of
whom was dressed in green, richly embroi-

38 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

dered with gold, and wore at his side, a silver
hunting horn. They stopped awhile to rest
themselves, when this stately person said to
a man near him, " Call my cup-bearer."
Presently there appeared an officer, also richly
dressed ; he approached, and made a low bow
to the king, for it was no other than him.

" Bring me a cup of my favourite wine,"
said he, to the officer, "I am thirsty.'7
"May it please your majesty," replied the
cup-bearer, " the chest in which your wine
was packed has been broken by the careless-
ness, of the servants, and it will be some time
before I can get any more."

" That will do me no good now," said the

A \VEEK AT GLENVILLE. 39

king, angrily. "It is too bad that I, who
am obliged to pay so much for it, cannot get
enough to satisfy my thirst ; bring me some
water, at least."

Meanwhile Love-Truth had been looking
sharply at the cup-bearer. " Ah ! my good
friend," thought he, " we shall soon see
whether you are speaking the truth." In an
instant he seized his flute, and put it to his
lips. The instrument began to give forth
the most delightful music, and in a moment
the cup-bearer commenced speaking a second
time.

" Yes, your majesty," said he, " the wine
which I bought for you is no longer to be

40 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

had ; but it was not spilled — no, no, I drank
it all myself, with the help of a few friends,
thinking the other wine was quite good
enough for your majesty." The unfortunate
cup-hearer, as he spoke this, sorely against
his will, was trembling from head to foot.
" Ha !" said the king, " what is this ?"
The cup-bearer, out of his wits with terror,
flung himself upon his knees before the
king. "Oh ! your majesty," said he, "it was
not I who uttered these ill natured words, it
was some mischievous goblin, in order to get
me into difficulty. I am as good a man as
any in your empire, and incapable of any
thing dishonest."

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 41

"Stay a moment," thought Love-Truth,
" I must put an end to this" — he stepped
from his concealment, among the bushes, and
howing to the king, said, "Do not believe
him, your majesty — what he says about drink-
ing the wine is true, but this is false."

The cup-bearer cast a savage look upon
Love-Truth, as if he would have choaked
him on the spot, if he dared.

" What silly fellow is this," said the king,

•jp

fixing his eyes upon Love-Truth.

" My name is Love-Truth, my lord, king,"
he replied. " I am an enemy of all lies, and
I delight in bringing them to light. Question
this man again, and ask him whether he has

42 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

not often been at these tricks before, and you
shall hear what will astonish you."

The king followed the boys advice, but the
cup-bearer declared he was an honest man,
and that the king had not a more faithful
servant in his dominions. Meanwhile, Love-
Truth began to play upon his flute, when, on
a sudden, the cup-bearer commened speaking
again. — " Ah, your majesty," said he, " do
not place any confidence in what I have just
said ! I cannot conceal any longer that I am
one of the greatest cheats in the kingdom —
you pay for good wine, it is true, but I always
buy miserable stuff, and keep the balance of
the money for myself."

A WEEK AT GLENYILLE. 43

The unhappy man seemed compelled to
speak these words, while the flute was play-
ing— he could not help himself; but some
of the rest of them, who had not clear con-
sciences, began to run away — they were
afraid they would have to confess their evil
practices also ; and they said Love-Truth was
a conjurer, and he ought to be sent away.
However the king did not think so ; he had
taken a great fancy to the boy, and the pieces
he played on his flute; and therefore he
ordered them all to be silent, while he called
Love-Truth to his side, and asked him about
his history.

Love-Truth told it to him without re-

44 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

serve, and all about Mother Martha, who had
taught him to tell the truth, and the gentle-
man at the beautiful house, who had given
him the flute.

The king was very much pleased, and
begged Love-Truth to enter his service, and
take the place of the dishonest cup-bearer.

Love-Truth did not answer at once, but
put the flute to his lips. Instantly the king
said, " You may trust me, my son ; I mean
well by you, nor am I angry at you for put-
ting my words to the test, and discovering by
your wonderful flute, whether I was speaking
the truth. I now, therefore, again ask you,
whether you are willing to enter my service J"

A WEEK AT GLENVIL.LE. 45

" You are a noble king," Love-Truth an-
swered. " I will do as you wish, and I shall
be happy if I can attain to your friendship ;
but first I should wish to make a visit to my
native village. I should like to make Farmer
Nicholas and the magistrate confess that they
have accused me wrongfully."

The king not only granted his request, but
also gave him a number of attendants to ac-
company him.

You may be sure it caused no little won-
der, when Love-Truth made his entry into
his native village. Old arid young ran to see
who had arrived with such a splendid retinue ;
but when they saw it was little Love-Truth,

46 A WEEK AT GLENYILLE.

their astonishment was great. They clapped
their hands together in amazement, and ran
after him with loud shouts ; while he, with-
out noticing them, marched straight to the
village courthouse. Now it so happened that
just as he arrived, the magistrate and old
Nicholas were standing together, at the door,
talking. They knew him at once, and look-
ed at each other, as if to say, " What is the
meaning of all this ?" But the magistrate
said, " Let him alone, I shall soon get rid of
him." Little Love-Truth approached, and
demanded that they should puhlicly declare
his innocence before the inhabitants of the
village.

Love Truth, with his flute, before Old Nicholas, and the Magistrate.—
PAGE 47.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 47

66 Do you hear," cried the magistrate, in a
rage, " what the little rascal says ? He left
here without a penny — now he returns splen-
didly attired, and with his pockets full of
gold. He must be a robber, and the fellows
he has with him are no better." But in the
mean while, Love-Truth pulled out his flute,
and began to play upon it. " My good neigh-
bours," interrupted the magistrate, " do not
believe a word I said to you about this boy,
it is all a falsehood !"

The villagers were all struck dumb with
wonder, and the amazement became still
greater, when Farmer Nicholas cried out,
" Yes, the boy is innocent ; we invented

48 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

lies against him, because he brought our
knavery to light! we now confess that we
are great cheats ! there is not a man in the
entire parish, whom we have not robbed
of some portion of his property, to enrich
ourselves."

This was enough — Love-Truth put up his
flute once more, and said to the people, " I
am satisfied that my character is vindicated ;
whether you will tolerate their knavery any
longer is no concern of mine. Fare you well,
then ; here are some gold pieces, with which
you may drink my health."

You will be anxious to hear what became
of Love-Truth after this. He returned to the

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 49

king's service, in which his flute proved
of immense value, both to himself and
others.

Every one respected him — for even though
at first they were afraid of him, they found
him worthy of confidence, because they could
always depend upon his word. When he
grew up, he married the king's daughter,
and he often felt grateful to Mother Martha
for teaching him the wickedness of lying.
Had she then lived, no doubt he would have
taken care of her in her old age. He often
went to see the good gentleman who had
given him the "magic flute," and thanked
him for it over and over again, saying " he
4

50 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

would not part with it for all the riches in
the world."

Farmer Nicholas still continued his evil
ways, but they brought him no happiness,
and Love-Truth always felt thankful when
he thought that though he had often been
tempted, yet he never actually told a lie.

t ft i i: *f v? -)*f*n

* <~ Klf J^ , »" fHu W3*g

As soon as this was finished, they all ex-
claimed, " What a beautiful story !" and wish-
ed her to read another ; but she told them it
was too late, and that she did not intend to
have read all that in one evening. They
pretty soon retired to rest, after wishing each
other a happy Christmas again.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 51

Next morning they rose as merry as larks,
and took a romp before breakfast, and then,
when they came in, and had finished their
meal, they all seated themselves round the
fire, ready to hear Mrs. E. read the tale she
had selected.

THE STORY OF

QUINTIN, THE BLACKSMITH.

CHAPTER I.

THERE stood a long time ago, near the city
of Antwerp, a blacksmith's cottage. It was
not much better than a hut, however, it was
so small and low, and contained only two
rooms. In these the blacksmith and his good
wife Bertha lived, and with them little
Quintin, their only child. He was of a slight
(52)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 53

frame, and rather delicate looking, but his
countenance was one of uncommon intelli-
gence ; and his dark eyes had a mild and
beautiful expression. He was dressed in the
dutch fashion, which made him appear older
than he really was.

His mother was now sitting at her spin-
ning, waiting for her husband to return* from
the forge. He came in a few minutes, for
it was nearly sunset ; and before eating the
nice supper, which the kind Bertha had pro-
vided with her own hands, asked, " Where is
little Quintin ?"

"I am here, father; do you want me?"
said the child, lifting up the long lashes which

54 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

fringed his eyes, and fixing them on his fa-
ther's face.

" I want to know what you have heen
doing all day," said the blacksmith, drawing
his son on his knee, and kissing him affection-
ately. The hoy returned his father's loving
embrace, and then jumped off his knee, say-
ing, "Wait a little, r father, and I will show
you." He ran to a far corner of the room.
His mother looked after him, saying, " Quin-
tin often alarms me ; he is always getting
near the fire, and working and hammering.
When I speak to him, he only says, he is
doing like his father."

The blacksmith laughed cheerfully, and

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 55

Quintin at that moment appeared, bringing
with him two armlets, as he called them, in-
geniously worked in iron.

The father took one of them from his
son's tiny wrist, and put it on his own great
thumb, laughing more than ever. " How did
you make this clever little article ?" asked he.

"Pray do not be angry, father," timidly
answered the child, "but I found an old
horseshoe in the forge, and brought it home,
and then I made it red hot, and hammered it
into this shape with the poker."

"And how did you contrive to make this
pretty little hand, that fastens the bracelets ?"

"I made it in clay, and then took the

56 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

shape in sand, and poured the molten iron
into it."

" Clever boy, clever hoy !" cried the black-
smith ; then recollecting himself, he said in
a loud whisper to his wife, " Quintin will be
a genius some day, but we must not tell him
so, lest we make him vain."

The mother shook her head, smiling all
the while, and little Quintin, who doubtless
heard every word, grew red and pale by
turns, as he stood by his father's knee, proud
and happy at the admiration his work
excited.

" I'll tell you what, my boy," said his fa-
ther, "you shall come with me to the forge,

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 57

to-morrow. I had no idea you could work
so well. Let me see — how old are you ? I
forget exactly."

" Quintin will be ten years old at Christ-
mas," said Bertha, adding, with tears in her
eyes, " he was born just two years after Luli ;
poor little Luli ! and she would have been
twelve now, had she lived. "

The father looked grave for a few moments,
but soon recovered his cheerfulness. He
stroked Quintin's curls, and said, thoughtfully,
" Well ten years old is not too young to be-
gin. I was a year younger myself, when my
father made me work — to be sure, I was
stronger than Quintin but he shall do no

58 A WEEK AT GLENYILL.E.

hard work, and it will teach him diligence
and activity, always, good things for a labour-
ing lad. So to-morrow, if you like, Quin-
tin, you shall begin to learn how to be as
good a blacksmith as your father."

" And may I make plenty of bracelets,
like these ?" inquired the boy.

His father laughed merrily. " You wrould
take a long time to get rich, if you never did
any thing but these little fanciful things.
You must learn how to forge tools, and horse-
shoes, and nails ; but," continued he, noticing
that the boy's countenance fell at this infor-
mation, " do not be unhappy ; you shall make
bracelets now and then if you like, and rings

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. £9

too, if you are clever enough. And now go
and ask your mother what she says to this
plan."

" I am quite willing, husband," said Bertha ;
" you know best ; but I shall often be very
lonely without the child. However, you
must send him over to see me sometime in
the day."

" Very well, wife ; and now, all being
settled, put out the fire, and let us retire, for
it is long after sunset, and little Quintin will
soon be half asleep here on my lap."

Bertha kissed her little son, heard him re-
peat his prayers, then undressed him, and
laid him in his straw bed. In another hour.

60 A WEEK AT GLENVILLEU

the quiet of night was over the cottage, and
the little household it contained, had all sunk
into that deep slumber, which is the sweet
reward of labour,

fisJlo liftffe 1 JiKf ^.texf wofof
dj J#odjiw
370 mill

; Ikrf f>J

CHAPTER II.

CHRISTMAS drew near merrily. In the
blacksmith's little family, there was nothing
but hopeful anticipations. The weather was
clear and frosty, yet all was gaiety indoors.
Bertha had bought her winter furs and gay
ribbons ; and Christmas gifts she had also pur-
chased, to bestow, as tokens of love, on her
friends and neighbours. Having made all her
preparations for the Christmas dinner, she
looked round the cottage, to see that all was
right, and, wrapping her warm mantle over
her head, went outside the door to watch for

(61)

62 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

her husband and child. It was a fine day for
winter. There was no sunshine, but the
white snow made every thing light and cheer-
ful. The frosty weather caused the bells of
the cathedral to sound louder and nearer ;
their merry peal rang out, as if to drive away
all care and melancholy thoughts, and, while
Bertha listened to them, she felt soothed by
their influence. Her reflections turned on
her husband and little Quintin. She thought
of the industry and perseverance of the for-
mer ; how he had gone through all the strug-
gles of their early days, and how the fruits of
his labour were beginning to flow in upon
them. Their cottage was as small as ever, to
(Id)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 63

be ,sure, but still it boasted many comforts,
which it had not when they first began life ;
and it was all through the exertion of her
dear, good husband. She never thought how
much her own careful economy had con-
tributed to their well-doing in life, and how
she had helped, in every way she could, to
increase his earnings. Then she looked for-
ward to the future, wondered how long it
would be before he could leave off work, and
Quintin succeed him at the forge. And then
she pictured Quintin grown to manhood, and
smiled, as she thought of his taking a wife,
and living to be an old man like his father.
She was in the midst of these reflections.

64 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

when the sound of her husband's forge
ceased. It was earlier than usual, but she
was not surprised, as it was holiday time ; and
she thought he had got through his work
sooner than usual, that he might be at home
to enjoy Christmas eve. So she went into
the cottage to wait his return, and warm her
cold hands at the fire, which she took care
to keep blazing, in readiness for the cold and
weary labourers, (for Quintin now always
worked with his father at his trade.) She
waited longer than common, but neither of
them came ; the short twilight had passed
away, and it was nearly dark — still she feared
nothing, but sat quietly by the fire.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 65

At last the door opened and little Quin-
tin came in. He hid his pale face on his
mother's bosom, crying bitterly.

" What is the matter ? who has vexed my
little boy," said the mother, soothing him.

" No one, mother, no one !" cried the child
anew ; " but they told me not to tell you."

" Where is your father ? is he coming home ?"

u Yes, he is coming home — they are bring-
ing him ; but he will not speak, and he looks
pale and still, like sister Luli did, and that is
what frightened me."

At this moment some neighbours entered ;
they were carrying the blacksmith. His
wife ran up, and flung her arms round him,
5

66 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

with wild exclamations 5 but he made no
answer, and she could not see him clearly for
the darkness. They drew her away, and
laid him on the hed. At this moment a
bright blaze sprang up from the fire, and
then poor Bertha saw that her husband was
dead. They told her that he had been shoeing
a horse at the forge, when suddenly it gave
him a violent kick on the head, and he fell
on the ground insensible. He only lived a
few moments after this, but never spoke
again.

It wras a mournful Christmas day in the
home of the solitary wridow, — instead of re-
joicing and gladness, they were now weep-

A WEEK AT GL.ENYILI/E. 67

irig with sorrow, over the cold corpse of the
husband and father they had loved so dearly.
In two days he was buried, and when they
returned again to the cottage, it seemed
doubly desolate. Bertha burst into tears, and
sat down on a chair, little Quintin standing
by her. " My child, my child !" she said,
embracing him, " we have no hope, we are
indeed desolate."

" You did not say that, mother, when Luli
died ; you told me to be good, and then God
wrould never forsake me."

" I did, I did indeed, Quintin ; we must
trust in God — but go away now, and leave
me alone, all alone."

68 A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E.

" Remember, mother," said Quintin, raising
himself up, " you are not quite alone in the
world — you have me, your little son. I will
take care of you."

" But," said she, " how are we to live ?
Your poor father worked too hard to save
money, except for the last year ; and how
are we even to find food, now that he is no
longer here to work for us ?" You are too
young, my poor child, to keep up the forge ;
it must go into other hands — there is no hope
for us, we must starve."

" We shall not starve," cried the hoy. " Mo-
ther, we shall not starve. I shall he a man
soon, hut until then, we must he content with

A WEEK AT GLENVIL.LE. 69

little. I can work well, even now ; and who-
ever takes the forge, will have me to help.
I know you can spin, mother, until I get
stronger, so as to be ahle to get money enough.
You told me once, when I was trying to do
something difficult, ' when there is a will there
is a way.' Now mother, I have a will to do
something, and never fear hut I shall make a
way.'9

New comfort dawned on the widow's
heart. She was no longer hopeless as before.
The boy who, a few days before, had clung
to her knee, in childlike helplessness, now
seemed almost like a man, as he told her he
would try to fill the place of his dead father.

70 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

A kind-hearted neighbour took the forge,
and was so pleased with Quintin, that he gave
him good wages for a boy. These he always
brought home, and poured into his mother's
lap. It was little, it is true ; but it was all
he could earn, and his mother often thanked
God, for having given her so good and duti-
ful a child. He never wasted a moment, but
as soon as he returned from the forge, he al-
ways assisted his mother in her household
duties, suffering her to do nothing that he
thought too much for her strength, which had
been weakened by so much grief. Quintin
even learned to spin, for he thought nothing
beneath him that could lighten his mother's

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 71

duties. And during the long summer even-
ings, they sat together at their work, till long
after the inhabitants in the few cottages
around them had gone to rest. But they
began to fear the long, bitter winter, and
worked early and late, to put by enough to
keep them from poverty, during the severe
frost of their climate.

But, alas ! they failed to save sufficient for
their wants; the unusual severity of the
winter soon drained their little store, and they
now knew, for the first time, what poverty
and hunger were.

CHAPTER III.

IT was on a cold, dreary, February day,
that a little boy, poorly and thinly clad, was
seen returning from the forge. His face was
pale, and his hands were blue with cold ; he
looked weak, too, and walked very slowly.
It was little Quintin, who was coming from
his daily labour, to his sorrowful home. He
thought he would go round by his father's
grave, and say his prayers there, hoping that
God would hear them, and send him some
comfort. His shoes were nearly worn out,
and every now and then, sharp pieces of ice
(72)

A. WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 73

pierced his feet. He came, at last, to the
grave where his father was buried. It was
not green now, but covered with frozen snow,
and looked cheerless and wintry. He knelt
down and prayed, and wept bitterly. Just
as he was about leaving the churchyard, a
little girl, who had been standing near another
grave, came timidly up to meet him.

"Will you tell me who you are?" said
she, putting out from her mantle a warm
little hand towards him.

" My name is Quintin," said the surprised
boy.

" You are very cold, poor Quintin, if that
is your name ; let me warm your hands under

74 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

my furs." Quintin put his hands into her
muff, and she said, " Where is your father ?*

"Here," said he, pointing sadly to the
grave. "My father has been dead a year."

" They tell me my mother is dead too,"
said the little girl, " because I never see her
now. I sometimes come here to think of
her. No one misses little Luli."

" Luli ! — Is your name Luli ?" said Quintin,
eagerly. "I had a sister Luli once, but she
was much older than you."

"I will be your sister Luli," said the little
girl. " I like you — you look good ;" and she
put her arms around his neek, and kissed
him. Quintin returned her embrace, and

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 75

then asked her more about her father. He
was a painter, and had been living near the
village ever since his wife's death.

" And now I must go home," exclaimed
Quintin. " My mother is ill, and I have
staid too long already ; but I will not leave
you all alone here. Sister Luli."

" Why did you not tell me your mother
was ill ? I live close by, and we will go away
together ;" and she took hold of his hand, and
they set out.

The two young friends had not gone many
steps, when Quintin turned pale, and sank
on the ground.

76 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

"What ails you, Brother Quintin?" asked
the frightened child.

" I do not know," said Quintin, faintly.

The little girl tried to encourage him.
Then she drew from her pocket a sweetmeat
and put it into his mouth. He ate it very
fast, and then, looking wistfully at her, said,
"Have you another? I have tasted nothing
since yesterday !"

" Not eaten since yesterday !" exclaimed
his little friend. Poor Quintin ! no wonder
you are tired ; and your mother ! has she
nothing to eat ?"

" I fear not, indeed, unless some charita-
ble neighbour has given her some dinner."

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 77

Lull felt again in her pocket, and produced
a biscuit, which she made Quintin eat ; and
then, as soon as he was ahle to go forward,
she drew him on. " I will go home with
you, Quintin," said she. " Here is a gold
piece that my father gave me ; we will go
and buy some supper, and take it together to
your mother. I am very hungry, too, and I
will sup with you," she added, with great
regard for Quintin's feelings.

He yielded to her gentle persuasions, and
he and Luli, laden with good things, entered
his mother's cottage. She was sitting, almost
exhausted, beside the cheerless hearth. A
small, rush candle in one corner, just showed

78 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

the desolation of the cottage, for they had heen
obliged to part with almost every thing, to
buy food. The two children entered, hand
in hand. Bertha looked surprised, but did
not speak.

" Mother, dear mother." cried Quintin, " I
have brought you a good angel, who has
come to save us from dying by hunger." The
child stepped forward, and took her hand.
" There is plenty for supper, let me stay and
share it. I am Luli — little Luli."

" My Luli ! are you come back to me
again ? No, no, it is not my Luli," she said,
sorrowfully.

fci I am not your own Luli, but I will try

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 79

to be," answered Quintin's friend, while the
boy came forward and explained the whole.
His mother was full of gratitude and joy.
Without more words, Quintin lighted the
fire, while little Luli, active and skilful as a
grown woman, got the supper ready. All
three of them then sat down to a cheerful
meal. — " You will not faint again, Quintin,"
said Luli. His mother looked alarmed.

" What has been the matter with you, Quin-
tin ? have you indeed fainted from hunger ?
My poor boy ! I thought you told me
they were to give you some dinner at the
forge !"

"Yes, mother," said, Quintin, "but they

80 A WEEK AT GLENYILLE.

forgot all about it ; so I thought I would not
come home until after dinner time."

" That your mother might have it all !
My own boy — my dear Quintin ! God bless
you. You are every thing to me," cried the
widow, embracing him closely.

Luli looked on with tears in her eyes. " I
wish my mother wTas here to kiss me, as yours
does, Quintin," she said.

" Have you lost your mother, poor child ?"
said Bertha, turning towards her ; " then
come to me, you shall be my own little
Luli."

" I am Quintin's sister already ; so we
shall all be happy together," said the pleased

A WEEK AT GLENVILL 81

child, who would willingly have staid all
night, had not the thoughtful Bertha told
Quintin to take her in safety to her own
home. The children parted affectionately,
and Quintin went home that night a happy
boy ; and was glad to hear his mother praise
Luli. Both mother and son felt as if there
were better times coming for them in the
future.

CHAPTER IV.

FROM the time of Quintin's first meeting
with little Luli, the fortunes of the poor
widow and her son began to brighten. Lull's
father assisted Quintin to obtain work, but
he was poor, and could not assist them much.
Quintin worked hard, however, and his mo-
ther spun, so that they managed to get along
quite comfortably, but with great economy.
Luli came to see them very often. Her lit-
tle heart seemed overflowing with kind words
and good deeds. She was never gloomy or
unhappy, because her whole delight consisted
(82)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. S3

in bestowing pleasure on others ; and there-
fore she never knew what it was to be sad.
A good man once said to his daughter, " Why
is it that every one loves you ?" " I do not
know," answered the child, "except it is
because I love every body." And this was
Lull's power of winning affection ; she seemed
to love the whole world !

When Quintin was fourteen years of age,
a change took place in his fortunes. He
had one day worked a number of iron rails,
with such beautiful ornaments, that the pur-
chaser, a rich man, living in Antwerp, sent
to inquire who had done them. Quintin's
master told him who it was, and he imrne-

84 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

diately sent for him, and found him employ-
ment in the city.

A grand event was this, in the hoy's life.
He had never heen to Antwerp, but he and
Luli often sat together on summer evenings,
watching the beautiful spires of the churches,
while the little girl told him all the wonders
it contained.

His mother and Luli felt very sad to part
with him, and Luli asked him how long he
would be away. " Only two or three
months — perhaps not that," he replied.

" Three months seem a long time, when
you have never left your mother before, in
your whole life," said Bertha, sadly. Quintiii

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 85

felt very sad, too ; but he tried, like a good,
thoughtful boy as he was, to cheer his mo-
ther, by telling her how much more he would
make to support them, and that she need not
spin any more in her old age.

Nevertheless, when they all sat down to
their last meal together, Bertha's courage
failed. She looked at her son, thought how
soon his place would be vacant, and burst
into tears.

Quintin tried to comfort her, yet he felt
almost ready to cry himself; but he sup-
pressed his tears. Luli did not speak, but
wept silently.

" Come, mother dear," said Quintin, at last,

86 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

" we must not be so very melancholy. This
will be the best winter we have had yet, for
I mean to get rich as soon as possible ; and
three months will soon pass away. Luli
will be near you, and I am sure, mother, you
can trust me to be good, to remember all you
have taught me, and to love me as much as
ever, though a few miles away from you."
With such words did Quintin cheer the little
party, until the time came for Luli to go
home. Her father, absorbed in his studies,
though he loved her dearly, noticed her but
little, and was always well pleased when she
was at the cottage, with Bertha. It was now
dusk, and, hand in hand, the children went

A WEEK AT GLENVII/LE. 87

home together. It was a sad parting. — " Do
not forget Lull," were the last words Quintin
heard, as she shut her father's door. He had
never felt so sorrowful since his father died,
as he did on this evening.

The next morning proved dull and dreary,
yet Quintin took his bundle of clothes, and
his stick, bade farewell to his good mother,
and set out on foot. He reached the city of
Antwerp before night, and went right to the
house of the iron worker, who had sent for
him. The man appeared much pleased with
him, and immediately gave him work. He
received his wages regularly, and always sent
them to his mother, and the master workman

88 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

was very kind to him ; but still he had his
troubles. Many of the apprentices were en-
vious of him, because his skill was greater
than theirs ; and one day, some of them said,
he pretended to be younger than he was, so
as to gain the favour and applause of the mas-
ter, for his readiness and skill.

This roused him to anger — " I tell a lie !"
cried the indignant boy ; " I would not do it
for the king himself. How dare you say so
to my face ?"

His companions saw they had gone too far
and said no more that day. Quintin went
home, feeling very lonely ; and when he had
shut the door of his little room, his anger

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 89

melted into sorrow. He threw himself on
his bed, covered his face with his hands, and
wept freely. But he thought of his mother,
and determined not to give way to feelings
of anger or grief.

Next morning he rose, and went cou-
rageously to work. He was making the iron
cover to a well, in a manner in which he
alone could do it ; therefore his master had
intrusted it to him, which made the rest
jealous. When Quintin came to look for
his tools, his hammer and file were missing.
He inquired for them, but his companions
would not give him a satisfactory answer.

"How will you make your fine well

90 A WEEK AT GLENYILLE.

cover, without hammer or file ?" said one of
the boys.

" Here is a pretty plight for the first work-
man in Antwerp. to be in," said another.

"The young genius will never finish his
work," exclaimed a third, bursting into a loud
laugh.

" I will finish it though," said Quintin, with
a determined air, though his face was very
pale. " I will finish it in spite of you all."

He turned away, took up the rest of his
tools, locked himself and his work in another
part of the establishment, took no notice of
their taunts, until the given time expired.
The master then came, and asked for the well

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 91

cover. It was done ! Quintin had finished
it without hammer or file, and in a beautiful
manner. His master, greatly pleased when
he heard all about it, raised him still higher,
and in a few years, by industry and perse-
verance, he became one of the best workers
in Antwerp.

The good Bertha lived to see her son hand-
somely settled in life, and married to Luli,
who had now grown into a beautiful woman.
She was surrounded with comforts, and often
used to speak of the time when Luli first
came to her desolate little cottage.

Thanks were expressed for this entertain-

92 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

ing story, and they wished another read ; but
it was luncheon time, and Emma's mother
said they and she both needed refreshment,
and that in the evening, if not prevented, she
would read to them again ; so after enjoying
themselves all day, and spending part of the
time in the fresh air, they were just in the
mood to enjoy reading after tea, and wrere
all glad they had not had the stories in the
morning. Mr. E., Emma's papa, had just
brought home a volume of " Chambers's Mis-
cellany," and asked leave to choose for them.
He handed the book to his lady, who read

THE TRUE STORY OF

AN ITALIAN PAINTER.

IN the year 1276, about forty miles from
Florence, there lived a poor working man,
named Bondone. This man had a son, a little
peasant hoy, whom he could not afford to
send to school. But this child was always
very wonderful ; and though he had no learn-
ing, he was so quick in his perception, and
so smart and clever, that he was the delight
of his father, and of the people among whom
he lived. At the age of ten, his father in-

(93)

94 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

trusted him with the care of a flock. Now
the happy little shepherd boy strolled at his
will over meadow and plain, and amused
himself with lying on the grass, and trying
to draw, as well as he could, with a hard
stick, or sharp piece of stone.

One day, as he lay, in the midst of his
flock, earnestly sketching something on stone,
there came hy a traveller. Struck with
the boy's deep attention to his work, the
stranger stopped, and went to look at what
he was doing. It was a sketch of a sheep,
drawn so well, that the traveller beheld it with
astonishment. " Whose son are you ?" cried
he, with eagearness.

Giotto the Shepherd Boy. —PAGE 94.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 95

The startled boy looked up in the face of
his questioner. " My father is Bondone, the
labourer, and I am his little Giotto, so please
the signor," said he.

" Well, then, little Giotto, should you like
to come and live with me, and learn how to
draw and paint sheep like this, and horses,
and even men?"

The child's eyes flashed with delight. " I
will go with you any where to learn that ;
but," he added, " I must first go and ask my fa-
ther. I cannot do any thing without his leave."

" That is quite right, my boy, and so we
will go to him together," said the stranger.
It was the painter Cimabue.

96 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

Great was the wonder of old Bondone, at
such a sudden proposal ; but he consented to
it, and went with his son to Florence, and
there left him under the painter's care.

Giotto soon learned to paint, because he
had a natural talent for that art. He after a
time surpassed his master.

One morning Cimabue came into the
studio, and, looking at a half finished head,
saw a fly resting on the nose. He tried to
brush it off, and discovered that it was only
painted.

" Who has done this ?" cried he, half
angry, half delighted.

Giotto crept trembling from a corner, and

A WEEK AT GLENVIL.L.E. 97

confessed his fault ; but he met with praise
instead of reproof, from his master, who could
not help admiring this proof of his pupil's
genius.

Giotto lived to be a great man. His fame
spread far and wide. He was a good man
too, as well as great. A good Christian, and
an eminent painter. He died at Milan, in
the year 1336, regretted by all his friends.

George was the first to speak. " Oh !" said
he, " how I love to hear about painters. I hope
one day to be a painter myself ; they are so
good and generous. "

" Indeed," said his sister Emily, " you are
7

98 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

somewhat mistaken, for I read about a painter
the other day, who was one of the meanest
men in the world, and one of the greatest
misers." t; He could not have been a very
great painter," George thought, " or he could
never have had such a mean spirit."

His sister then told who it was — an Italian
named Rembrant; and that heaps of gold
were found in the cellar after his death. He
was collecting all this, while almost starving
himself and wife.

Mrs. E. observed that it was not always a
man's pursuit that caused him to be gene-
rous, but that painters and other great men
as well as those not distinguished, should

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 99

endeavour to cultivate a disposition of love,
not only towards their own families, but to-
wards the whole human race.

The boys and girls wished they could hear
more of painters. It was only ten o'clock,
and Mrs. E. consented to entertain them writh
the history of a very celebrated artist, who
had executed one of the most famous pic-
tures in the world, called the " Lord's Supper."
This was —

LEONARDO DA VINCI.

HE was born in Italy, and was one of the
most accomplished men of his time. He was
greatly admired and beloved, and regarded
as a universal genius.

What is uncommon in a painter,'he culti-
vated all the sciences of the age — chemistry,
anatomy, and mathematics. He was, besides,
versed in poetry and music.

When Andrea, Leonardo's master and

teacher, died, he called him to his couch,

and bade him cultivate a patient and humble

temper, and to subdue his irritable nature.

(100)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 101

" Thou hast within thee, my son," said he,
" the seeds of great good and great evil. To
mature the one, and repress the other, must
be the perpetual object of thy life. Tread
with generous steps the path of fame. Be
willing for others to attain eminence, as well
as thyself, and never stoop to meanness and
envy. I have looked at thy pictures, and
feel that thy gift is beyond mine. I rejoice
that it is so. Farewell ! and remember my
dying words."

In a few minutes after these his last words,
Leonardo's tears fell fast and bitter, on the
lifeless form of his good old master, as he
gently closed his eyes.

102 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

" Yes," he exclaimed, kneeling by his side,
" thy prayers shall be fulfilled. I will subdue
the evil passions of my nature, and not for
myself, but for the world will I labour, in
the art which I learned from thee, and of
which thy last lesson has now taught me the
true spirit."

He tried always to remember the sayings
of his old master, to reflect on his lessons,
and model himself by his precepts. He ex-
amined his own works carefully, and found
more to condemn than approve, and destroyed
a great number of his own performances.

The duke of Milan, who possessed an
ardent love of the fine arts, loaded him with

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 103

honours, having great regard for his high
talents. But there was a person, constantly
with the duke, who regarded the Florentine
with an evil eye. This was the monk, be-
longing to the Dominican convent. He was
envious of Leonardo's fame, and did every
thing in his power to excite his passions,
which were hasty and violent. ISTo one could
help feeling distrust towards this monk.
Having him so near, caused the painter to he
gloomy, and tempted him to destroy his
works when they were nearly complete.

In a passion he destroyed a portrait of the
duke, which he had been requested to paint 5
and when questioned why he did it, boldly

104 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

avowed it was madness ! The monk or prior
wished to induce the duke to punish him ;
but the duke loved him so well, that he only
said, " I forgive you, if you accept my con-
ditions."

" Name them, my prince, and you shall be
obeyed. I will devote my best art, day and
night, to redeem my crime, and to render
myself worthy of your goodness."

" Be it so, then," said the duke. " I wish
you to decorate the convent. You shall have
one year in wrhich to do it."

Now this was the very convent where the
wicked monk dwelt ; and he no sooner heard
the prince's words, than he cast a malicious

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 105

|

glance at the artist. It was hard to be shut
up with such a man a whole year, and to be
subject to the petty vexations he might inflict.
But he determined to bear, with fortitude,
the evils he had drawn upon himself, and to
labour to redeem the confidence of his patron.
But what subject should he select? This
was a new perplexity, and months passed
away before he had conceived any work of
art.

One day, when the Passion wreek had just
begun, Leonardo was walking in the beauti-
ful gardens of Milan. His mind was ponder-
ing on the subject of his painting. The spring
had already awakened the young blossoms

106 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

from their winter's sleep, and the trees and
hedges were crowned with the fresh foliage
of the season. " I will paint the scene sacred
to our Lord !" he exclaimed,—" his last sup-
per writh his disciples."

That evening, ahout sunset, when his heart
was filled with gentle and religious emotions,
he called upon the Saviour of the world,
upon him who died for the sins of human
nature, and exclaimed, " How shall my feeble
hand portray thy glory !" As he dwelt upon
the subject, he gradually beheld the scene
which he meant to exhibit in his picture — he
beheld the long table, and the Saviour in the
midst of his disciples.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 10?

He soon after this commenced his design,
and worked unceasingly, though it was an
arduous task, and soon one figure after another
in the group sprang to light.

Spring had come round, and two of the
heads yet remained unfinished — the Saviour's
and that of Judas. His spirit shrank in hor-
ror from the task of portraying the visage of
one so deceitful.

Before the easel, with his pencil in hand,
he prayed for divine inspiration, to paint the
Saviour of the world. Then, on a sudden, he
beheld the countenance, the divine counte-
nance, which he had heen before, in vain en-
deavouring to impress with the heavenly be-

108 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

nevolence, and pitying forgiveness, which now
irradiated that face. Once again he seized his
brush, and the form and face were finished.

The last week arrived, and the head of
Judas was still incomplete.

"Dost thou know the conditions?" ex-
claimed the exulting monk — "success or
death; so said the duke, and his word is
never recalled."

" I know them well," replied Leonardo, in
a despairing tone.

" Then hasten on thy work," said the Do-
minican. " Is life so worthless that thou
canst not afford a dauh of thy brush to save
it ? Come, lend me thy brush : to-morrow is

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 109

the day. I will furnish thee with a head,
and perhaps it will save thy own," fastening
upon him a searching glance, with an expres-
sion of conscious power and triumph.

" Ha !" exclaimed Leonardo, " I thank thee,
good Sir Prior, for this last offer — thou hast
indeed inspired me."

He hastened to the refectory, closed the
door, and through the rest of that day, and
the whole solitude of that last night, sat, al-
most without intermission, at the glorious
work which has immortalized him. The
head of Judas was completed, and the picture
ready at the last hour.

On the morning the picture was to be pre-

110 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

sented, Leonardo did not make his appear-
ance, nor return any reply to the applications
of the prior at the door.

When the hour arrived, the duke, accom-
panied by the principal nobility of Milan,
proceeded in state to the Dominican monas-
tery, and gave orders that the refectory should
be thrown open. The picture, which was
upon the wall at one end, was concealed by a
curtain ; and the artist stood, with his eyes
cast down, and an expression of deep dejec-
tion. There was a confused murmur of
voices. Curiosity and eager expectation wrere
expressed in every countenance but that of
the prior's ; on his sat triumphant revenge.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. Ill

The picture, he -was confident, was unfinished
in the most important figures.

" Let the curtain be withdrawn," said the
duke.

Leonardo moved not; the deep emotion
of the artist rendered him powerless.

The Dominican, unable to comprehend
such feelings, was confirmed in the belief that
the withdrawing of the curtain would be the
death warrant of Leonardo. He hastily seized
the string, and by a certain pull the curtain
opened, and the Last Supper of Leonardo da
Vinci stood revealed to the world.

Not a sound for a few moments broke the
stillness that prevailed. At length murmurs

112 A WEEK AT GLENVII/LE.

of applause were heard increasing to rap
tures, as the influence of the glorious work
was more felt upon the minds of the Italians
The duke arose, and stood before Leonardo.

" Well, noble Florentine, hast thou atoned
for thy fault. I am proud to forgive thee all.
On, on to glory and to immortality. High
rewards shall be thine. But why, holy fa-
ther," said he to the prior, who still stood pale
and motionless before the picture, " why stand
you speechless there ? See you not how nobly
he has redeemed his pledge ?"

All eyes were turned upon the Dominican ;
then to the figure of Judas. Suddenly they
exclaimed, with one voice, " It is he, it is he !"

A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E. 113

The brothers and monks of the cloister,
who detested the prior, repeated3 " Yes, it is
he ! the Judas Iscariot who betrayed his
Master !"

After the first surprise was over, suppressed
laughter was heard. Pale with rage, the Do-
minican retreated behind the crowd, and
made his escape to his cell.

And where now was Leonardo da Vinci ?
he who stood conspicuous among the nobles
of the land ! he whose might of genius had
cast high birth and worldly honours into ob-
scurity ! Now surely was the hour of his
triumph !

Alas, no ! he stood humbled and depressed.
8

114 A WEEK AT GLENYILLE.

Bitter tears bedewed his cheeks, and when
the cry was repeated again and again, " It is
the prior !" he hastily quitted the presence of
the duke, and in the solitude of his own apart-
ment, on his knees, in an agony of repent-
ance, he exclaimed, " Oh, Andrea, my master,
how have I sinned against thy memory, our
art, and my own soul ! I have sinned, I have
sinned ! Revenge can have no part in a great
mind, was thy last precept. Alas ! for my
weak and sinful nature !"

Such were the emotions of the artist, while
all Milan and Italy rang with the fame of the
work which he himself so bitterly repented.
He shunned applause, and in an humble spi-

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 115

rit devoted himself to the pursuit of a nobler
triumph than he had ever achieved — the tri-
umph over himself.

This is the history of that celebrated pic-
ture, the " Last Supper." It is still in the re-
fectory of the convent at Milan : it was much
injured when the convent was occupied by
French troops, at the close of the last century.

They had listened, as usual, with profound
attention, and regretted when this history
came to an end.

" But," said Jane, " both of these are stories
of Italians. Are there no great painters in
this country ?"

116 A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E.

"Very few in America," answered Mrs.
E., " have attained eminence in the fine arts.
More, however, have pursued this calling
within the last ten or twenty years. There
was one of our countrymen, who lately died
in England, that was very successful in
painting. Several of his pieces are to be
seen at the Academy of Fine Arts, in Phi-
ladelphia. "Christ healing the Sick," like
the "Last Supper," is a Scripture scene.
Several similar ones have been produced by
the genius of West, but you must wait till
evening, and then, if you are not tired, I will
read or relate to you some passages from the
life of this native artist."

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 117

As soon as the lights were brought, after
twilight, the life of Benjamin West was called
for ; and Mrs. E., punctual to her promise,
commenced thus—

ax mod sew TeaTf KiMAiKaS
in^vlr'ii;^*! lo oJbtfe elf) 'id ffi..

LioLl* off) lo c!t;ifi

ai fibhawiA oj L^tginrs ^i

(80)

BENJAMIN WEST.

CHAPTER I.

BENJAMIN WEST was born in Chester
county, in the state of Pennsylvania, on the
10th of October, 1738. This branch of the
West family are descendants of the Lord
Delaware. They emigrated to America in
1699.

Thomas Pearson, the maternal grandfather
of the artist, was the confidential friend of
William Penn. Mr. Pearson, having been
(118)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 119

requested by William Penn to name the part
of the country where they first landed, called
it Chester, in remembrance of his native city.

Not very far from thence, he formed a
plantation, and built a house in a neighbour-
hood which he called Springfield, in conse-
quence of discovering a large spring of water
in the first field cleared for cultivation ; and
it was near this place that Benjamin West
was born.

The parents of the artist were excellent
and enlightened persons, members of the so-
ciety of friends. They were amongst the
first of that sect, who were convinced that it
was contrary to the laws of God and nature,

120 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

that any man should retain his fellow crea-
tures in slavery.

Near the time of the birth of Benjamin
West, a minister of the name of Pecover,
who had preached a remarkable sermon in a
meeting-house, in that neighbourhood, paid
a farewell visit to the parents, and prophesied
that the child lately sent into the world,
would prove a remarkable man ; and he
charged the father to watch over the boy's
character, with the utmost degree of paternal
solicitude.

The first six years of Benjamin's life passed
away in calm uniformity ; leaving only the
placid remembrance of enjoyment. In the

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

month of June, 1745, one of his sisters, who
had been married some time before, and who
had a daughter, came with her infant to spend
a few days at her father's. When the child
wras asleep in the cradle, Mrs. West invited
her daughter to gather flowrers in the garden,
and committed the infant to the care of Ben-
jamin, during their absence.

After some time, the child happened to
smile in its sleep, and its beauty attracted his
attention. He looked at it with a pleasure
which he had never before experienced ; and
observing some paper on a table, together with
pens and red and black ink, he seized them
with agitation, and endeavoured to delineate a

A WEEK AT GLENV1LLE.

portrait ; although at this period he had never
seen an engraving or a picture, and was only
in the seventh year of his age.

Hearing the approach of his mother and
sister, he endeavoured to conceal what he had
been doing ; but the old lady, observing his
confusion, inquired what he was about, and
requested him to show her the paper. He
obeyed, entreating her not to be angry. Mrs.
West, after looking some time at the drawing,
with evident pleasure, said to her daughter,
" I declare, he has made a likeness of little
Sally ;" and kissed him with much fondness
and satisfaction.

This encouraged him to say, that if it

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

would give her any pleasure, he would make
pictures of the flowers which she held in her
hand, for the instinct of his genius was now
awakened, and he felt that he could imitate
the forms of those things which pleased his
sight.

This curious incident deserves considera-
tion in two points of view ; the sketch must
have had some merit, since the likeness was
so obvious, indicating how early the hand of
the young artist possessed the power of repre-
senting the observations of his eye. But it
is still more remarkable, as the birth of the
fine arts in the new world, and as one of the
few instances in the history of art, in which

124 A WEEK AT GLENVILUE.

the first inspiration of genius can be traced
to a particular circumstance. The drawing
was shown by Mrs. West to her husband,
who, remembering the prediction of Pecover,
was delighted with this early indication of
talent in his son.

M ?irfT

.

CHAPTER II.
Jnofrio-m rof>G sift ledle fiooS

AT that period, there were many of the
natives of the forest still in Pennsylvania.
Such was the state of society, that the In-
dians in their simplicity, mingled safe and
harmless among the friends, looking upon
them as brethren ; and in the annual visits
•which they were in the practice of making
to the plantations, they raised their huts in
the fields and orchards without asking leave,
nor were they ever molested. The treaty
made by William Penn was still remembered,
and love and kindness subsisted, in full

(125)

126 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

force, towards those wild men wrho had been
conquered by Christian benevolence.

Soon after the occurrence of the incident
mentioned in the last chapter, the young artist
was sent to a school in the neighbourhood.
During his hours of leisure, he was permitted
to draw with pen and ink. For it did not
occur to any of the family to provide him
with better materials.

In the course of the summer a party of
Indians came to pay their annual visit to
Springfield, and being amused with the
sketches of birds and flowers wrhich Benja-
min showed them, they taught him to prepare
the red and yellow colours with which they

The Little Art;.- 1 and th<> Ii.dlau.— PAGE 127.

A WEEK AT GLENVIL.LE. 127

painted their ornaments. To these his mother
added blue, by giving him a piece of indigo,
so that he was thus put in possession of the
three primary colours.

The Indians also taught him to be an ex-
pert archer, and he was somtimes in the prac-
tice of shooting birds for models, when he
thought that their plumage would look well
in a picture.

His drawings at length attracted the atten-
tion of the neighbours; and some of them
happening to regret that the artist had no
pencils, he inquired what kind of things these
were ; and they were described to him as
small brushes, made of camel's hair, fastened

128 A WEEK AT GL,ENVIL,L,E.

in a quill. As there were, however, no camels
in America, he could not think of any substi-
tute, till he happened to cast his eyes on a
black cat, the favourite of his father ; when,
in the tapering fur of her tail, he discovered
the means of supplying what he wanted. He
immediately armed himself with his mother's
scissors, and, laying hold of Grimalkin with
all due caution, and a proper attention to her
feelings, cut off the fur at the end of the tail,
and with this made his first pencil. But the
tail only furnished him with one, which did
not last long, and he stood in need of a further
supply. He then had recourse to the animal's
back — his depredations upon which were so

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

frequently repeated, that his father observed
the altered appearance of his favourite, and
lamented it as the effect of disease. The
artist, with suitable marks of contrition, in-
formed him of the true cause, and the old
gentleman was so much amused with his in-
genuity, that if he rebuked him, it was cer-
tainly not in anger.

In the following year, Mr. Pennington, a
merchant of Philadelphia, who had been on
a visit to the West family, and was much
pleased with the drawings of birds and flow-
ers, by his young cousin, promised to send
him a box of paints and pencils from- the city.
On his return home he fulfilled his engage-
9

130 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

ment, and at the bottom of the box placed
several pieces of canvass, prepared for the
easel, and six engravings.

The arrival of the box was an era in the
history of the painter and his art. It was
received with feelings of delight, which only
a similar mind can justly appreciate. He
opened it, and in the colours, the oils, and the
pencils, found all his wants supplied, even be-
yond his utmost conceptions. But who can
describe the surprise with which he beheld
the engravings ; he who had never seen any
pictures but his own drawings, nor knew that
such an art as the engravers existed ! He sat
over the box with enamoured eyes ; his mind

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 131

was in a flutter of joy, and he could not re-
frain from constantly touching the different
articles, to ascertain that they were real. At
night he placed the box on a chair near his
bed, and as often as he was overpowered by
sleep, he started suddenly, and stretched out
his hand to satisfy himself that the possession
of such a treasure was not merely a pleasing
dream. He rose at the dawn of day, and
carried the box to a room in the garret, where
he spread a canvass, prepared a pallet, and
immediately began to imitate the figures
in the engravings. Enchanted by his art,
he forgot the school hours, and joined the
family at dinner, without mentioning the

132 A WEEK AT GLENYIL.LE.

employment in which he had been engaged.
He thus devoted himself to painting for seve-
ral days successively. The schoolmaster, ob-
serving his absence, sent to ask the cause of
it. Mrs. West recollected that she had seen
Benjamin go up stairs every morning, and
suspecting that the box occasioned his neglect
of school, went to the garret, and found him
employed on the picture. Her anger was
appeased by the sight of his performance, and
changed to a very different feeling. She saw
not a mere copy, but a composition from two
of the engravings. He had formed a picture
as complete in the arrangement of the tints,
as the most skilful artist could have painted.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 133

She kissed him with transports of affection,
and assured him that she would not only in-
tercede with his father to pardon him for hav-
ing absented himself from school, but would
go herself to the master, and beg that he
might not be punished. The delightful en-
couragement which this well-judged kindness
afforded to the young painter, may be easily
imagined ; but who will not regret that the
mother's over anxious admiration would not
suffer him to finish the picture lest he should
spoil what was already, in her opinion, per-
fect, even with half the canvass bare ? Sixty-
seven years after, Mr. Gait, the writer of
" West's Memoirs," had the gratification to

134 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

see this piece in the same room with the
sublime painting of "Christ Rejected;" on
which occasion the painter declared that there
were inventive touches of art in his first and
juvenile essay, which, with all his subsequent
knowledge and experience, he had not been
able to surpass.

CHAPTER III.

SOON after these events, our artist, at the
request of Mr. Peniiington, visited Philadel-
phia, where he was introduced to a painter
of the name of Williams, who invited him to
see his pictures and drawings. He lent him
the works of Fresnoy and Richardson, which
West first read himself, and then took home
to his father and mother, who also perused
them with great pleasure.

It may be looked upon as a singular good
fortune, in the life of our artist, that he was
blest with the sympathy of friends and rela-

(135)

136 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

lives — a happiness which seldom falls to the
lot of great men. From the account received
of him, Benjamin West must have been a fa-
vourite, not only with his indulgent parents,
but with neighbours and associates. It appears
that about this time, the school-boys in Spring-
field were seized with so great a love of draw-
ing, that their accustomed sports were ne-
glected, and their play hours devoted to
drawing with chalk and ochre.

It is related, that when West had entered
his sixteenth year, his father being anxious
that he should learn a trade, and yet reluctant
to thwart so decided a genius, consulted seve-
ral neighbours on the subject, and a meeting

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 137

of the society of Friends, in the vicinity, was
called to consider publicly what ought to be
the destiny of his son. It was there con-
cluded that the artist should be allowed to in-
dulge the predilections of his genius ; and a
private meeting of the friends was appointed
to be held at his father's house, at which the
youth himself was requested to be present, in
order to receive in form the assent and bless-
ing of the society.

A large company of both sexes were as-
sembled on the day of meeting, and after sit-
ting for some time in silence, a Friend, of the
name of John Williamson, arose, and, in a
long speech on the gifts of God, and of the

138 A WEEK AT GLENVILL.E.

proper use of them, hoped that it might he
demonstrated by the life and works of the
artist, that his gifts and talents had not been
bestowed in vain.

At the conclusion of this address, the wo-
men rose and kissed the young artist, and the
men, one by one, laid their hands on his head,
and prayed that the Lord might verify, in his
life, the value of the gift which had induced
them, in despite of their religious tenets, to al-
low him to cultivate the faculties of his genius.

Thus you perceive that every circumstance
in the life of the boy, tended to the develope-
ment and use of the talents, which his Maker
had bestowed upon him.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 139

When it was determined among the friends
that Benjamin West should cultivate the art
of painting, he went to Lancaster for this
purpose, but was soon recalled by the illness
and death of his mother. About the end of
August, in 1756, however, he took his final
departure, and went to Philadelphia.

Governor Hamilton obtained some pictures
for West to copy, and besides these he had
constant employment in painting portraits.
His original paintings were the "Death of
Socrates," and the " Trial of Susanna." He
was still surrounded by kind friends in his
native land, but being aware that facilities for
improvement in the fine arts were not af-

140 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

forded in the new world, his desire for
visiting Italy and other countries was ap-
proved by his patrons here, and pecuniary
means offered for the indulgence of his
wish.

He left the American shores in 1659, and
never returned. He went first to Italy, visited
Rome, Naples, Bologna, Florence, and other
cities, where he revelled in the beauties, both
of nature and art, improved himself greatly,
and finally settled in England, where he was
patronized by the royal family. Several of
his pictures were sent to his native country
for exhibition. " Death on the Pale Horse"
belongs to the Academy of Fine Arts,

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 141

" Christ Healing the Sick" to the Pennsylva-
nia Hospital.

He was a member of several academies in
the different towns in Europe, being well
known throughout that continent. His death
took place in England, a few years since, at
an advanced age. By many, particularly by
English people, he was thought to be an
Englishman. Many persons there having
never heard of his being an American by
birth.

Mrs. E. informed her audience that she had
already made her story longer than she had
intended, and yet had not related half the

142 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

interesting events in the life of that gifted
man. She promised to obtain for them
" Gait's Memoirs of the Life of Benjamin
West," which contains an account of the
pictures which he painted, and the induce-
ments for the subjects which he chose at
different times ; also of the astonishment ex-
hibited by the Italians when they found that
an American was not a savage !

A week soon passed. The cousins had
only one more evening to spend at Glenville,
and that was the Sabbath. Mrs. Elwin pro-
mised that if they went to church twice a
day, and attended to the sermon, and profited
by the service, and by reading their Bibles

A WEEK AT GLENYILLE. 143

morning and noon, she had a very good, true
story, from American life, which she was sure
would please them. It shows what a good
effect a pure and unsuspicious little girl had
even upon a hardened sinner.

The evening came. The still, small voice
of conscience whispered peace to every heart
present, and they were prepared for the en-
tertainment, when Mrs. E. began to relate
the story of —

THE SILVER TANKARD.

ALMOST a hundred years ago, near one of
the small towns, then settled in the state of
Maine, which you know is one of the New
England states, lived a farmer by the name
of Daniel Gordon. He was looked upon as
the richest man in the district, as his farm
was one of the most valuable in the neigh-
bourhood, and his house the largest. It was
full of the comforts of life, being completely
furnished with neat and useful articles of fur-
niture. He possessed, besides, considerable sil-
ver plate, among which a large tankard stood
(144)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 145

pre-eminent. This silver had been the pro-
perty of his father, and he had brought it
over from England with him.

One pleasant Sunday morning, in the beau-
tiful month of June, Daniel Gordon's two
sons, and their hired man had gone to meet-
ing, at a place called the "Landing," some
ten miles distant, on foot, leaving the horse
and chaise for the use of the older members
of the family. As Daniel was standing at
his door, waiting for his good wife, who had
been somewhat detained, one of his neigh-
bours rode up, on horseback and beckoned to
him to come out to the gate.

" Good morning, neighbour Gordon,5' said
10

146 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

he ; "I have come out of my way, in going
to church, to tell you that Tom Smith, that
daring thief, with two others, has been prowl-
ing about in these parts ; and you had better
leave your house well protected, lest they mo-
lest you. I have nothing in my house to
bring them there, but they may be after your
silver tankard and spoons. Tom is a bold
fellow, but I suppose the fewer he meets when
he goes to steal, the better. I don't think it
safe for you to go out to church to-day. But
I am in a hurry, neighbour, so good bye."

This communication placed our friend
Daniel in an unpleasant dilemma. It had
been settled that no one was to be left at

A WEEK AT GLENVLLL-E. 147

home but his daughter, Hetty, a beautiful
girl about nine years old. Now he felt unde-
cided whether to stay or go. He thought it
right to worship God in his temple; but
then he was a father, and his little Hetty
was the joy of his heart. He thought a great
deal about it, but he had faith that God would
bless him, if he did what appeared to be his
duty, and so he soon settled the point. " I
will not even take Hetty with me," said he,
" for it will make her cowardly. The thieves
may not come — Neighbour Perkins may be
mistaken ; and if they do come to my house,
they will not hurt that child. At any rate,
she is in God's hands, and we will go to wor-

148 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

ship Him who never forsakes those who put
their trust in Him." As he said this the lit-
tle girl and her mother came out. The mo-
ther stepped into the chaise, and the father
after her, first kissing Hetty, and saying to
her, "If any strangers come, Hetty, treat
them well ; we can spare of our abundance,
to feed the poor." With these words he
drove off. But though he was so good a man,
he felt not a little troubled at leaving his
daughter alone, in such a solitary place, for
the nearest house was six miles off.

Little Hetty was strictly brought up to
observe the Lord's day. She knew that she
ought to return to the house, but she thought

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 149

it would do no harm if she went first to see
the brood of chickens ; and after she had
given them water, she lingered to hear the
robin sing, and watch the bobolink as it flitted
from bough to bough. She passed almost an
hour out of the house, because she did not
want to be alone ; and when she was out
among the birds and flowers, she did not feel
lonely. But at last, she wrent in, took her
Bible, and seated herself at the window, some-
times reading, and sometimes looking out.

After a while, she saw three men coming
towards the house, and she was right glad to
see them ; for she was beginning to feel tired
of being alone, and there was a long, dreary

150 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

day before her. "Father," thought she,
" meant something, when he told me to be
kind to strangers 5 1 suppose he expected them.
I wonder why they do not go to church. Never
mind, they shall see that I can do something
for them, if I am but little Hetty." So put-
ting down the Bible, she ran to meet them ;
happy, confiding, and even glad they had
come. Without waiting for them to speak,
she called them in, and said, " I am all alone ;
if mother was here, she would do more for you ;
but I will do all I can." She remembered
the last words of her father, were, to spare of
their abundance, and she was glad to do good
to others.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 151

Tom Smith, for it was him, and his two
companions entered, and almost as soon as
they were in the house, Hetty asked if she
should get them something to eat. Smith
replied, " Yes, I will thank you, my child, for
we are all hungry." This was, indeed, a civil
speech from the thief, who had been lurking
in the woods, to watch his chance of stealing
the silver tankard, as soon as the men folks
had gone to church.

" Shall I give you cold victuals, or will you
wait till I can cook some meat?" asked
Hetty.

" We cannot wait," was the reply. " dive
us what you have ready, as soon as you can."

152 A WEEK AT GL.ENVILLE.

" I am glad you do not want me to cook for
you, because father would rather not have
much cooking on Sundays." Then away she
tripped, making preparations for their repast.
Smith himself helped her out with the table.
She spread upon it a clean, white cloth, and
placed upon it the silver tankard, full of good
home-made beer, with a large loaf of wheat
bread, and a dish of cold meat. I do not
know why the silver spoons were put on —
perhaps little Hetty thought they made the
table look prettier. After all was done, she
turned to Smith, and told him dinner was
ready.

The child had been so busy arranging her

A WEEK AT GL.ENVILLE. 153

table, that she took little notice of the ap-
pearance of the men. She did the work as
pleasantly as if surrounded by her father, mo-
ther, and brothers. One of the thieves sat
down, leaning his head on his hands, and
looking very sullen. Another, a younger,
and better looking man, stood confused, and
irresolute, as if he had not been wrell broken
to his trade ; and often would go to the win-
dow, arid look out, keeping his back towards
the child. Smith, on the other hand, appeared
to have forgotten all about his intention of
robbing. He never took his attention off the
child, following her with his eye, as she bus-
tled about, arranging the dinner-table. His

154 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

chair was at the head, one of his companions
at each side, and little Hetty at the foot, stand-
ing there to help her guests, and be ready to
go for further supplies, if they were needed.

The men ate as if they were hungry, and
occasionally took a drink from the silver
tankard. When they had done, Smith started
up suddenly, and said, " Come, let's go."

"What!" exclaimed the old robber, "go
with empty hands, when this silver is here ?"
He seized the tankard. " Put that down !"
shouted Smith. " I'll shoot the first man who
takes a single thing from this house !"

Poor Hetty was much alarmed ; but she
ran to Smith, and took hold of his hand, look-

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 155

ing as if she thought he would take care of
her.

The old thief looked at his young com-
panion, and finding he was ready to give up
the job, and also seeing Smith was resolute,
put down the tankard, and went grumbling
out of the house, followed by the other.
Smith put his hand on the head of the child,
and said, " Do not be afraid — stay quietly in
the house, nobody shall hurt you."

Thus ended the visit of the thieves;
thus God preserved the property of those
who had put their trust in him. What a
story had the child to tell when the family
came home ! How hearty was the thanksgiv-

156 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

ing that went up that evening from the family
altar !

A year or two after this Tom Smith was
arrested for the commission of some crime,
and after his trial, was condemned to be exe-
cuted. Daniel Gordon heard of this, and that
he was confined in jail, awaiting the dread-
ful day. He thought he should like to go
and see him ; but when he entered the dun-
geon, Smith did not take any notice of him.
He stood in silence before the unfortunate
robber, who at last said, " What do you want
of me ? can you not let me alone, even here ?"

"lam come," said Gordon "to see you,
because my daughter told me all you did.

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 157

when she was left alone, with nobody but
God to take care of her."

As if he was touched to the heart. Smith
instantly said, " Are you the father of that
little girl ? Oh ! what a dear, good child she
is ! Is she well and happy ? How I love to
think of her — that is one pleasant thing I have
to think of. For once I was treated like other
men. Could I see her once I think I should
feel happier."

He said much more, in this hurried man-
ner, while Gordon remained with him, and
tried to prepare his erring brother for a better
world.

158 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

" Now my dear children, I have finished the
true story of the Silver Tankard ; and may it
be a lesson to you, that kindness will soften
the hearts of even wicked men ; and that, by
overcoming evil with good, we are best ful-
filling the commands of our heavenly Father."

The company of listeners begged to hear
one more tale, so the lady offered to relate the
true History of Elizabeth, or the Exiles of
Siberia. This, though published by Madam
Cottin, as a work of fiction, is well known to
have been founded on fact.

" The real incidents are quite as interesting,
if not more so, than the celebrated romance
of which I have just spoken, and which has,

A WEEK AT GL.ENYILLE. 159

-. •

for more than half a century, been read with
eager delight, especially by young persons,
such as my present audience. This, then, is
the true history of—

ioi

oatfitq &

(ota)

THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA.

THE real name of our heroine was Pras-
covie Loupouloff. Her father, who belonged
to a noble family, was born in Hungary, where
the chances of life had induced his parents to
settle. While he was yet under age, he en-
tered the Austrian service, but afterwards
married a Russian lady, and removed with
her to her own country, where he served in
the Russian army for many years, obtaining
the praise and commendation of his superiors.
Some time after his return from these cam-
paigns, Loupouloff was arrested by the authori-
(160)

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 161

ties, tried, and condemned to be exiled to
Siberia for life. His trial was conducted with
such secrecy, that the crime of which he was
accused never became known to the public ;
but it was supposed to have been a matter of
personal pique, which induced his accusation
by some influential person. He begged to
have his sentence made more lenient, but his
appeals were disregarded, and he, with his
wife and infant daughter, were transported
with other prisoners, to the district selected
for his residence.

Siberia, as you may see by looking on the
map, comprehends, not only a vast propor-
tion of the immense Russian empire, but
11

162 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

nearly one third of Asia. It extends three
thousand, five hundred miles, from east to
west, and one thousand two hundred miles
from north to south. It is the coldest region
in the world, and part of it has been selected,
owing to its being so unpleasant, as a residence
for criminals. Some of the prisoners are also
condemned to work in the mines, with which
it abounds. Their families are allowed to
remain in the place with them, only when
their crimes have not been heinous. What-
ever Loupouloff Js offence may have been, it
is clear it was of no great magnitude, since
this indulgence was extended to him. It was
fortunate that his family consisted only of his

A WEEK AT GLENVIKLE. 163

wife, and the little infant Prascovie 5 for the
poor prisoner felt that they were enduring
great hardships for his sake. Prascovie, how-
ever, was too young to feel the full force of
the punishment inflicted on her parents, and
as she grew up, seemed happy and contented
with her lot, because she had known no other.
Before she was twelve years old, she was ahle,
by the labour of her own little hands, to add
a few comforts to her parents' bare subsist-
ence. Sometimes she assisted the laundresses
of the village ; at others she helped the tillers
of the soil, by doing such work as her strength
permitted, working at harvest time with
the reapers. In payment for such assistance

164 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

she sometimes received money, but more fre-
quently eggs and vegetables. Her mother
occupied herself entirely with the affairs of
their poor and meagre household, and seemed
to bear her deplorable fate with patience.
Loupouloff, on the contrary, accustomed from
his earliest years to affluence and active life,
was less resigned to his fate, and often sank
into the depths of despondency.

Some years of his exile had passed over,
when he petitioned the emperor for a pardon,
and sent it by an officer who happened to pass
through Siberia on business of state, who pro-
mised to urge its acceptance with all the in-
fluence he possessed. Years, however, passed,

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 165

without any reply arriving, and poor Lou-
pouloff was a prey to the most distressing
torments of suspense.

During one of these wretched moments,
Prascovie, returning from the fields, found
her mother bathed in tears, and her father,
with a countenance so pale, and so full of
desperation, that she trembled with dread.
She threw herself into her father's arms, en-
treating him to tell her the cause of his ex-
treme misery ; and he, touched by her affec-
tion, and her tears, told her that a court mes-
senger had arrived, and that his petition still
remained unheeded. For the hundredth time
he bewailed the hard fate, by which, for his

166 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

fault, she and her mother were condemned
to continue with him, for the rest of their
lives, the miserable existence they now
dragged on. Prascovie was deeply affected
by this information. Till now, her father
had never openly avowed his real situation,
so that, up to this moment, Prascovie was not
fully aware he was an exile.

And now she first entertained the idea of
travelling on foot to St. Petersburg, to demand
from the emperor in person, her father's par-
don. She was about fifteen years old, and
from the day she conceived this project, a
degree of animation was infused into her
character, for which her parents could not

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 167

account. She kept her resolution a profound
secret, and revealed it to no one. Near the
cottage was a wood, to which she retired
when her leisure permitted, and there she
prayed to God to give her strength of mind,
first to acquaint her father with her inten-
tions, and next to carry them into effect. Af-
ter much hesitation, she at last found courage
to tell her father. Having first gone to the
wood and prayed, she returned towards the
cottage, intending to tell her mother first ;
but as she approached, she perceived her fa-
ther sitting at the door, smoking his pipe,
and determined not to lose that opportunity.
Courageously standing before him, she began

168 A WEEK AT GJLENVILLE.

to explain her plan, and asked, with the
mqst ardent importunity, permission to de-
part for St. Petersburg. Loupouloff listened,
and did not interrupt her with a single
word.

When she had finished, he rose, took her by
the hand, and led her into the cottage, where
his wife was preparing dinner. " Wife !"
cried he, " I bring you good news. Prascovie
has made up her mind to leave us, go to St.
Petersburg, and ask the emperor to grant me
a free pardon, without more ado !" He then,
in a merry tone, repeated all his daughter had
said.

" She would do better to mind her work,"

A WEEK AT GLEN\ILLE. 169

said the wife, " than to be filling her head
with such nonsense."

Poor Prascovie ! the ridicule of her parents
seemed to annihilate her hopes ; she cried
bitterly, and her father, the moment his gaity
had passed away, resumed the usual sternness
of his character, but her mother soothed her
distress by embracing her.

" Come, daughter," she said, handing her
the table-cloth, "be a good girl, and you shall
depart for St. Petersburg when you have more
leisure."

This sense was better calculated to dampen
the ardour of Prascovie than the severest re-
proaches. The humiliation, however, which

170 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

she felt at being thus treated like a child, soon
passed away. At least one point had been
gained — the ice was broken, and now that
her parents knew her desire, she returned to
the charge whenever she could find oppor-
tunity. Her entreaties were so often repeated,
that at length her father lost patience, and
forbade her to speak on the subject again.
Her mother, with more kindness, tried to
persuade her that she was too young to think
of such an enterprise.

In this manner, three years passed away,
during which Madam Loupouloff was dan-
gerously ill, and Prascovie was obliged to be
silent on her favourite subject. But she never

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 171

failed to think of it, and pray for its eventual
success.

Loupouloff and his wife still considered it
altogether a childish idea, and one that could
never be carried out ; yet the energy with
which she urged her entreaties, had their
effect, the more so, as her health and spirits
were suffering by their repeated refusals to
grant her request. They even tried to dis-
suade her from it, with tears and caresses.
" We are old," they wrould say, " with neither
fortune nor a friend, in the whole of Russia.
How can you have the courage to abandon
your parents, in this desert, when you are
their only consolation ?"

172 A WEEK AT GLENV1L.LE.

Prascovie could only reply with tears, but
her resolution remained unshaken. During
her meditations, a difficulty presented itself
she had not before thought of — she could not
travel without a passport, and it was by no
means likely that the governor would grant
her one. With her usual perseverance, how-
ever, she determined to apply for one, and
after repeated failures, succeeded, at last, in
getting it. Now, more than ever, she urged
and entreated her parents to consent to her
enterprise ; but Loupouloff was so averse to
her departure, that he kept the passport locked
up, for fear she might be tempted to go with-
out their consent. This, however, she had

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 173

no thought of doing, but continued to make
the most touching and eloquent solicitations.

At length they found her health was giving
way, and they concluded it was perhaps bet-
ter to let her go, than to lose her altogether,
which the state of her health made probable.
" What is to be done with this child ?" said
Loupouloff. " I suppose we must let her un-
dertake this extraordinary journey after all."

Prascovie, transported with joy, threw her-
self at her father's feet. " Be sure," she ex-
claimed, " that you will never repent having
listened to me. I will go to St. Petersburg,
ask the emperor pardon for you, my dear pa-
rents, and doubt not that Providence, who

174 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

inspired me with the undertaking, will dis-
pose the emperor to listen favourably to me."
" Alas !" replied Loupouloff, " do you sup-
pose, poor child, that you will he able to
speak to the emperor as easily as you talk to
me ? No, no ; sentinels guard every avenue
of his palace, and they will not allow you to
pass the threshold. Poor, and in rags, with-
out influence, or any sort of protection, who
will dare to present you to his notice ? Pras-
covie felt the force of these observations,
without being discouraged. The strong hopes
of success she felt, overcame the most start-
ling objections. She pressed more earnestly
than ever the folly of further delay, and be-

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 175

gan to prepare for her departure. At last the
day was fixed, the reluctant consent of her
parents obtained, and the news flew to all the
cottages round, that Prascovie Loupouloff was
really about to start on her perilous mission.
All their acquaintances, however, dissuaded
her from it, with the exception of two. These
were among the poorest and most obscure of
the prisoners, but still they were intimate
friends of the family. They had long looked
with interest on Prascovie's plan, and disa-
greed with all their neighbours about the re-
sult of it. — " Go on, dear child," said they to
her, " and may God bless your pious under-
taking."

176 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

At daybreak, on the morning appointed,
which was the feast of the Holy Virgin, the
neighbours called to take leave of her. The
two friends endeavoured to induce her to ac-
cept a slight addition to her slender means ;
all they had to offer was a few pieces of sil-
ver, but she refused their generosity, though
deeply affected by it. " Rest assured, if Pro-
vidence bless my undertaking, you shall not
be forgotten," said she.

Prascovie, having embraced her parents,
and received their blessing, tore herself from
the cottage. Her two poor friends went with
her the first mile, and then tenderly bade
her adieu. Her father and mother stood on

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 177

the threshold, with tear-dimmed eyes, and
watched her till she was out of sight. The first
night of her journey she passed at a little
cottage, and the next day continued alone ;
before she had gone far, a violent storm over-
took her, and though she redoubled her speed,
it was all to no purpose. A gust of wind
threw a tree directly across her path, so as to
prevent farther progress, and she was obliged
to seek shelter in a wood. Here, though suf-
fering intensely from cold and fatigue, she
remained till daylight. Happily, a peasant
happening to pass that way, in a cart, took
pity on her, and drove her to the next village.
From here she continued her journey, on the
12

178 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

next evening, meeting sometimes with good
treatment, sometimes with bad ; of the latter,
we shall relate but one instance. On arriving
late at a little town one evening, she sought
a lodging in vain. At last an old man fol-
lowed her, and invited her into his hut ; there
she found an aged woman. Both these peo-
ple had a bad expression of countenance,
which alarmed her not a little. The cabin
was lighted by burning splinters of pine wood,
thrust into a hole in the wall ; and by their
light she noticed the eyes of the old people
were fixed upon her. After a while they
asked her where she was going; she told
them, and then the man said she must have

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 179

plenty of money, to undertake so long a jour-
ney. She declared she had only a few copper
coins, and then they accused her of lying.
However, they pressed her to go to rest,
which she did, taking care to leave her pock-
ets where she knew they would find them,
and thus see she spoke the truth. No sooner
did they think she was asleep, than they com-
menced their search. Finding no money in
her pockets worth taking, the old woman
awoke her, and searched her dress, and even
her boots, then went away, and left her terri-
bly frightened. Sleep soon overpowered her
again, for she was almost worn out, and she
did not waken till late in the morning. When

180 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

she descended from her room, she was sur-
prised to find quite a change in the manners
of the old woman, she seemed so kind and
pleasant. She begged her to forget what had
happened, and told her that her unprotected
condition had softened their hearts. " When
you next count your money, you will find,
perhaps, even we have some feeling left ;" and
sure enough, after Prascovie had walked
some distance, she had the curiosity to look
in her purse, and found, to her astonishment,
they had added quite a neat little amount to
her stock, instead of depriving her of any.
Thus her artless manner won the hearts
even of professed robbers, for such they had

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 181

the character of being, as she afterwards
learned.

Winter had now set in, and Prascovie was
detained more than a week at a time, on ac-
count of the depth of the snow. At length
she reached a large village, where lived a
certain Madam Milin, of whose charities she
had often heard. This lady, hearing of her
filial piety, sent for her to her house, and after
keeping her some months, and treating her
very kindly, placed her under the care of a
merchant, who was going to St. Petersburg.
She reached it just eighteen months after
her departure from Siberia.

But how to gain an interview with the

182 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

emperor was now the question ; day after day
she placed herself on the steps of the palace ;
day after day she tried to get the servants
to admit her, but it was all of no avail ; and
she began, for the first time, to feel sorely
discouraged. But hope dawned upon her at
last, and by the influence of one of the offi-
cers of government, who had seen her fre-
quently as he passed along, she was promised
an interview with the emperor.

About a week after this she was conducted
to the imperial palace. When approaching
it, she thought of her father. " If he could
see me now," she said, " how surprised and
delighted he would be !"

A WEEK AT GL.ENVILLE. 183

His majesty, the emperor, received her
with great kindness, and asked her many
questions concerning her history, and her
noble enterprise. She replied without timidi-
ty, and without boldness. " She did not," she
said, " ask for mercy for her father, for he was
innocent of the crime imputed to him — all
she demanded was his liberty." The emperor
praised her courage and piety, and finished
the interview by ordering money to be paid
her for her present necessities.

Prascovie could scarcely believe the events
of tbe few days past were real. All difficul-
ties were now banished, and the emperor
soon after informed her that he had sent her

184 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

father's pardon to Siberia, together with
money enough to defray the expenses of his
journey to St. Petersburg. He then asked
her whether there was any boon she wished
granted to herself ; whereupon she requested
a pardon for the two friends who had encou-
raged her, before she started. This also was
granted, and the happiness of Prascovie was
complete.

Let us now, for a moment, remove the
scene to Siberia. Loupouloff and his wTife
mourned the absence of their daughter as one
lost to them for ever. So far from expecting
her to succeed, they feared she would not
survive her perilous mission. During her

A WEEK AT GLENVILLE. 185

long absence, the only consolation they re-
ceived was from the two prisoners so often
mentioned. They never failed to instil hope
into the bereaved parents, while the rest of
the villagers only added to their fears, by
their prognostications of evil.

At length the pardon arrived ; neither
Loupouloff nor his wife could for some time
believe in the reality of their good fortune ;
as soon, however, as his joy would enable
him to understand that he was indeed free,
he hastened to impart the glad tidings to
them. At first, they received it with the
most cordial delight, but when, a moment
after, they reflected on the contrast of their

186 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

own hopeless condition, they gave way to a
feeling of despair. Loupouloff tried to com-
fort them, but he felt it was in vain.

On the night before their departure, they
had taken an affectionate farewell of their twro
friends, and bidden adieu to the rest of the
neighbours, when they were roused from
their slumber by the arrival of a state courier.
On opening the packet delivered by the offi-
cer, it was found to contain the pardon of
the two prisoners, whose release was the only
thing wanting to complete their happiness.
He instantly repaired to their cabin, and com-
municated the joyful news. They fell on
their knees, thanked the Almighty fervently,

A WEEK AT GLESVILLE. 187

and showered blessings on the head of their
gentle benefactress, Prascovie.

Not many months elapsed before they were
enabled to embrace their heroic daughter ,
and the joyfulness of the meeting none can
imagine.

The emperor always continued interested in
the family of the exiles, and Prascovie was a
great favourite with all who knew her. She
did not live to be very old, and died on the
eighth of December, 1809, in a convent in
St. Petersburg, having taken the veil some
years previous to her death.

The cousins went home early next morn-

188 A WEEK AT GLENVILLE.

ing, and Jane and Emma went to school the
next week — Emma's papa and mamma took
them. These young ladies were only to stay
at school one year longer. We were there
when their parents bade them farewell, and
we took our leave at the same time, and have
not since heard from them, except that one
of the scholars told us that Emma went
home with Jane to spend the next Christmas.

THE END.