God then will any thing that is bad? M. de Rome. No, my dear, he cannot. So that fince he has taken away the goods which he gave me, the lofs is the effect of his providence, and may be useful to us. Amadeus. You have permitted me, papa, to tell you my thoughts on all occafions. I don't believe that the burning of our houfe can be useful to us in any thing. If that were fo, you would not be fo much dejected as you are. M. de Rome. Don't you remember that I once broke your tambour? Did you think at that time that the accident was of any advantage to you? Amedeus Not at the first moment; but I found afterwards that it was for my good; becaufe the tambour made me troublesome to every body, and made me disobey you frequently. M. de Rome. Why did not you know it at first? Amedeus. It was on account of my being a child. M. de Rome. Well, my friend, men are only as children in the fight of God. I am concerned at having loft my effects, becaufe I don't as yet know in what way the misfortune can redound to my advantage. But I fhall certainly one day understand that it has happened for my good. Eugenia. Ah! if I could believe that, fhould be very foon confoled. M. de Rome. Ye may believe it, children. But let us fee and confult together. In my prefent fituation, not knowing how to fupport you, what should I do? Amdeuus. You should fpeak to our coufin, and beg of her that she will keep us in her house. M. de Rome. But can I afk of her to feed and fupport you. Eugenia. Why not? Is the not our coutin? and would you not hare done as much in her place? M. de Rome. That is very true, but he has three children of her own; and he is not near fo rich as I was yesterday evening. Amedeus. I don't know any other perfon that we can apply to. M. de Rome. Have you already forgot who it was that gave me my houfe? Amedeus. It was God. Eugenia. Ah, papa, I fee perfectly well that it is to him alone we ought to have recourse. M. de Rome. That is likewife what I defire to do. I fhall pray in my heart continually, and fay to him God of all bounty! Thou feedeft the young ravens; vouchfafe me likewife the means of nourishing the children which thou hast given me. Eugenia (embracing him). Oh, how good you are, papa! Amedeus. Have you not always prayed to God in that manner? M. de Rome. Always, my friend, just as you came in the mornings and beg of me to give you breakfast. But do you remember what happen. ed to you last week, when you went out early with my fervant, to see a regiment upon their march a mile hence? The croud parted you; the fnow overtook you; you loft your way; and after wandering a long time, got home to the house, quite ftarving with cold and hunger. I believe you then asked me for breakfast in a very unusual tone. Amedeus. It is true, I recollect it. I afked it of you with great importunity; I found an extraordinary craving. M. de Rome. And I too when I confider the neceffitous condition we are in, will pray to God with more zeal and fervour. Whether is his grace, or the effects we have loft, the most valuable to us? Eugenia. They are not to be compared, papa. M. de Rome. You fay right; for The Children's Friend. for all the riches in the world cannot render my life happy, nor confole and fupport me at the hour of death; whereas the grace of God can do all that. If by the lofs of my effects, God intended only to attach me to him more closely than ever, and to infpire me more with the fear and love which I owe him, would not the lofs turn out to my advantage? Amedeus. I own to you, papa, that I cannot yet comprehend it. M. de Rome. You will under. ftand it better in the fequel of the converfation. Have you forgot how I chided you, when you had let weeds grow up in the little garden which I gave you to cultivate? Amedeus. O papa, what do you Speak to me about? my poor garden! now it is all destroyed! it is quite covered with cinders and rub. bifli. M. de Rome. I hope we will yet be able to re-establish it. But tell me ingenuoufly what made you fo often neglect the cultivation of your garden? Amedeus. I thought there was no occafion for troubling myself with work, as you was rich. two M. de Rome. In that you thought very imprudently. Labour makes one firong, it gives an appetite and health, it preferves us from finking into langour of mind, and renders fleep found and agreeable. It is on account of these advantages, that I fhould always work for hours at least every day, either in my garden or my tower, although I were rich. Were you to give up exercife, you would become weak, you would lofe your appetite and fpirits and you would fleep very badly. With all the riches that you imagine I poffefs, fhould you then be happy? A fervant came at this moment to tell them that breakfast was ready. They walked into the parlour, and when the unfortunate family had refreshed themselves with the repast, M. de Rome begged of his coufin that he would allow him to walk a little in the garden with his children. After a few turns on the terras, Amadeus and Eugenia feemed to recover their chearfulnefs. It was about the beginning of autumn. The trees bendea der the weight of their fruit. In one place they faw peaches of a deep red colour; in another, apples, the tree of which vied with vermillion; a little farther on, fine ripe nuts, projecting out of their green coverings, a long wall, expofed to a fouthern afpect, difplayed fuch clusters, of fweet grapes as drew the attention of the children, and made their mouths water. M. de Rome obferving them in this favourable humour, faid to them: O my friend, what a fine garden! What delicious fruit hangs upon these trees, and along that wall! Do you know who has cultivated them? Eugenia. It was our coufin himfelf. I have often feen him employed in the garden at his leifure hours. I was with him one day when he was uting his pruningknife. Do you fee, he said to me, Amedeus. Alas! certainly not. my dear Eugenia? There will be What fignifies money, if one has fine grapes here. If you will come C 2 7 and and fee me in the autumn, I will give you as much of them as you please. name: but for what reafon was God pleafed to make him more rich than he had ever been? Amadeus. It was because he preferved his patience and piety. M. de Rome. Let us then likewife be patient and pious. Let us pray earnestly, let us work dili gently; and God will not only fupport us under our diftreffes, but reward us with abundance of joy. M. de Rome. Yes, children, it is your coufin that keeps this garden in the fine order in which you fee it. You may perceive by this what is the fruit of labour. If your coufin had been indolent, this wall would not have produced grapes; the trees would have been destroyed with mofs and caterpillars. In thofe gardens where you fee much fine lettuces, nothing would have grown up but weeds. As to me, you know that I worked conftantly all last year in my garden; and yet I had but lit-papa, what makes you think that tle fruit; and the grapes never God will do fo good things in our came to maturity. What was the favour? cause of it? Amedeus. You told us then, papa, that it was owing to the fharp frofts in the fpring, and the continual rains in the fummer. M. de Rome. And who is it that fends upon the earth rains and froft? Eugenia. It is God. M. de Rome. If the last spring had been as cold, and the fummer as wet, I could not have seen such plenty ? Amedeus. No, certainly. M de Rome. And to whom are we indebted for that plenty? Eugenia. To him who had fent us a fcarcity. M. de Rome. You fee then what God does by his power. He denied us fruit last year; he bestows it this year in abundance. He has like wife ftripped me of my riches: can he not restore them to me, as he has taken them away? Amedeus. Nothing can be more cafy to the mafter of the world. M. de Rome. I rely in that hope. Have you never read in the Bible of a man who had loft every thing he had, and who, by the bleffing of God, received afterwards more than all he hadloft ? Amadeus. I think it was Job. Amadeus. O if I believed that, how little fhould I regret all that we have loft? Eugenia. And me then? But, M. de Rome. Because I rely upon his promifes, and that he himself has faid in the fcripture: Throw all your care upon the Lord; for he cares for you. The religious confidence of M. de Rome was not difappointed. He faw God's promife foon accomplished upon his children. Eugenia and Amedeus received the most useful inftruction from the misfortune which they had experienced. They applied themselves to ftudy with incredible ardour; they fpent all their leisure hours in comforting their parents in the affairs of the house. Their prayers were likewife more fervent than ufual; for they faw that they had nothing to hope but from the favour of heaven. They had yet two years to pafs in adverfity; but during this long trial, their conftancy never forfook them. After fcraping together the wrecks of his fortune, M. de Rome retired into a small apartment in the skirts of a town. The mediocrity of his income would hardly have proved fufficient to another for the fupport of his family; but by his tempe. rance and frugality, he faved as much as enabled him to educate his children. Mankind forgot his fervices; there were none that interefted themselves about him; Providence The Matron. vidence alone took the care of his destiny. It had placed at the helm of affairs a virtuous minifter, who was well acquainted with the talents and probity of M. de Rome. The firit ufe that he made of the princes confidence, was to prefent to him this refpectable man, for a diftinguished office which was become vacant in the treafury. Inftructed in the school of misfortune, neither M. de Rome nor his children ever loft the fruit of its leffons amidst the diffipations of profperity; and their days rolled happily on, amidst for. getfulness of the indifference of mankind, and a lively and conftant remembrance of the favours of God, A GREEABLE to the request of my last Correfpondent I am going to fay fomething to my male readers but though what I fhall deliver may be with the very beft intentions in the world, no regard, perhaps, may be paid to it, for feveral reafons: the ftrongest objec tions, however, to my animadverfions will come, I believe, from thofe who have the weakest understand. ings, if we may judge of men by their actions. Fools feldom liften to the voice of reafon; if they do, they either totally neglect it, or endeavour to turn it into ridicule. On the other hand, men of good fenfe, though their pride may at first be a little touched on being corrected by a woman, will if they are not able to bring themselves to a confeffion of their errors, filently amend what is amifs; and more cannot be expected from those who have ever been entitled to look upon themselves 13 as our lords and masters: but your Mr. Tiffanys are fo perfectly contemptible, fuch a set of nothings, that they are fcarce worth our notice: they ferve indeed only to provoke a hearty laughter at their expence. We are diverted with odd characters on the ftage; they are fometimes fo extravagantly heightened, that we queftion whether they really exift: and are apt to confider them as the wild productions of a fruitful imagination. But when we actually fee a living character brought home to us, and placed before our eyes, what have we to do but to exhibit it in a ridiculous light, and to enjoy the amusement which it cannot fail to afford us? We can only punish these who make glaring deviations from propriety in their appearance by rendering them as conspicuous and as laughable as poffible by expofing them in the moft ftriking colours, and pushing the mirth which they create as far as we can carry it. Obferving, the other day, in a converfation with a very fenfible friend, that though I highly dif approved of laughing at, or fatirizing characters in general, I know no other mode of chaftifment for them. He replied, "You think affectation a crime then ?" I think it is a great folly; replied I: and if it is carried too far, may be productive of bad confequences: furely, there are a great number of filly actions which cannot be corrected in any other way but that of ridicule: as those who are the most likely to commit them are entirely devoid of understanding, fo that reafoning would be totally thrown away upon them: but he or fhe who can ftand unmoved by the laughs and fneers of all around them, must be infenfible indeed : and as our pretty gentlemen muft drefs themselves out purely for admiraration, whenever they find that their appearance produces very different emotions, the amufement of those who have Soon after I arrived in town, I received the following letter. To the MATRON. Madam, I am rendered very uncomfortable in my family, by one of the idleft things in the world. I am a plain man, but in a very good way of bufinefs, and can afford to let my emotions, they must be conscious that there is fomething wrong about them, and, it is to be hoped, will endea'vour to correct it. There have always been fome few amongst us who feem to have changed fexes; and of late, I think, women appear, in their great coats, neckcloths, and half-boots, with fo mafculine an air, that if their features are not very feminine indeed, they may be eafily mistaken for young fellows; efpecially when a watch is fufpended on each fide of a petticoat. While men, making the fame appearance, to the waift at leaft, with the additions of a large muff and fhawl, it may be certainly difficult at first, to know in what manner to addrefs fo equivocal a figure; and whether fir or madam would be the most pro-wife and children make a decent per appellation. For my part, I appearance when they go among confels, had I met with this lady- their neighbours: but of late it is like gentleman, I fhould have been become the fafhion; I call it the frongly tempted to have told thofe folly to put on black, whenever the who introduced him as a man, that death of any foreign prince or prin they had been guilty of a little mif- ceffes make it neceflary for our court, ake; in order to fatisfy which, out of compliment, to go into mournI would have placed him in the ing. Surely this ought to be conwarmest feat, and treated him, in fined within the walls of the palace ; every refpect, like the most delicate we private people have furely no female; and if any of the company occation to claim kindred with all had offered to contradict me, I would the courts in Europe. In fhort I have perfifted on his being a wo-fhould not have troubled myself at man, and of the most tender conftitu- all about this bufinefs had not my tion, as no man could poffibly ex-wife and daughter laid afide fome pofe himfelf in fuch a manner as to very hand fome fattins, which I had render himself aftanding jeft to the bought for them, and which they end of his days. This is, I think, had made up for the winter, and the best way of curing an effemi-hung on a parcel of black rags bepate man of his egregious folly in regard to drefs; for as I faid before, reafoning with people who are capable of committing fuch monftrous abfurditics, has very feldom any effect at all. Befides, I am willing to look upon this affair in another light: I would not advife. my correfpondent H. W. to let fuch an effeminate coxcomb, kindle the fmalleft fpark of anger in her bofom: let his effeminacy only ferve to contribute to her mirth, and to caufe truly, the court has been ia mourning feveral weeks paft, and is now going into it again for the late king of Spain: upon which my wife told me that she and the girls must have new black filks, as when the days grew longer they could not poffibly be feen in their old rusty gowns. And why would you be feen in them at all? faid I. What have we to do with the king of Spain, or any other foreign potentate? you, furely, hold yourfelf in a rank |