WASTE NOT, WANT NOT;OR,TWO STRINGS TO YOUR BOW.
MR. GRESHAM, a Bristol merchant, who had, by honourable industry andeconomy, accumulated a considerable fortune, retired from business to anew house which he had built upon the Downs, near Clifton. Mr. Gresham,however, did not imagine that a new house alone could make him happy. Hedid not propose to live in idleness and extravagance; for such a lifewould have been equally incompatible with his habits and his principles.He was fond of children; and as he had no sons, he determined to adoptone of his relations. He had two nephews, and he invited both of them tohis house, that he might have an opportunity of judging of theirdispositions, and of the habits which they had acquired.
[Picture: Waste not, want not]
Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham’s nephews, were about ten years old. Theyhad been educated very differently. Hal was the son of the elder branchof the family. His father was a gentleman, who spent rather more than hecould afford; and Hal, from the example of the servants in his father’sfamily, with whom he had passed the first years of his childhood, learnedto waste more of everything than he used. He had been told that“gentlemen should be above being careful and saving”: and he hadunfortunately imbibed a notion that extravagance was the sign of agenerous disposition, and economy of an avaricious one.
Benjamin, on the contrary, had been taught habits of care and foresight.His father had but a very small fortune, and was anxious that his sonshould early learn that economy ensures independence, and sometimes putsit in the power of those who are not very rich to be very generous.
The morning after these two boys arrived at their uncle’s they were eagerto see all the rooms in the house. Mr. Gresham accompanied them, andattended to their remarks and exclamations.
“Oh! what an excellent motto!” exclaimed Ben, when he read the followingwords, which were written in large characters over the chimney-piece, inhis uncle’s spacious kitchen—
“WASTE NOT, WANT NOT.”
“‘Waste not, want not!’” repeated his cousin Hal, in rather acontemptuous tone; “I think it looks stingy to servants; and nogentleman’s servants, cooks especially, would like to have such a meanmotto always staring them in the face.” Ben, who was not so conversantas his cousin in the ways of cooks and gentlemen’s servants, made noreply to these observations.
Mr. Gresham was called away whilst his nephews were looking at the otherrooms in the house. Some time afterwards, he heard their voices in thehall.
“Boys,” said he, “what are you doing there?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Hal; “you were called away from us and we did notknow which way to go.”
“And have you nothing to do?” said Mr. Gresham.
“No, sir, nothing,” answered Hal, in a careless tone, like one who waswell content with the state of habitual idleness. “No, sir, nothing!”replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation.
“Come,” said Mr. Gresham, “if you have nothing to do, lads, will youunpack those two parcels for me?”
The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with goodwhip cord. Ben took his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off thesealing wax, began carefully to examine the knot, and then to untie it.Hal stood still, exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into hishands, and tried first at one corner, and then at another, to pull thestring off by force. “I wish these people wouldn’t tie up their parcelsso tight, as if they were never to be undone,” cried he, as he tugged atthe cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.
“Ben! why, how did you get yours undone, man? what’s in your parcel?—Iwonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off—I must cutit.”
“Oh, no,” said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, andwho drew out the length of string with exultation, “don’t cut it,Hal,—look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same: it’s a pity tocut it; ‘_Waste not_, _want not_!’ you know.”
“Pooh!” said Hal, “what signifies a bit of packthread?”
“It is whip cord,” said Ben.
“Well, whip cord! what signifies a bit of whip cord! you can get a bit ofwhip cord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence!Not I, for one! so here it goes,” cried Hal, drawing out his knife; andhe cut the cord, precipitately, in sundry places.
“Lads! have you undone the parcels for me?” said Mr. Gresham, opening theparlour door as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” cried Hal; and he dragged off his half cut, half entangledstring—“here’s the parcel.” “And here’s my parcel, uncle; and here’s thestring,” said Ben.
“You may keep the string for your pains,” said Mr. Gresham.
“Thank you, sir,” said Ben: “what an excellent whip cord it is!”
“And you, Hal,” continued Mr. Gresham, “you may keep your string too, ifit will be of any use to you.”
“It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir,” said Hal.
“No, I am afraid not, if this be it,” said his uncle, taking up thejagged knotted remains of Hal’s cord.
A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to each of his nephews a new top.
“But how’s this?” said Hal; “these tops have no strings; what shall we dofor strings?”
“I have a string that will do very well for mine,” said Ben; and hepulled out of his pocket the fine, long, smooth string, which had tied upthe parcel. With this he soon set up his top, which spun admirably well.
“Oh, how I wish I had but a string,” said Hal. “What shall I do for astring? I’ll tell you what, I can use the string that goes round myhat!”
“But then,” said Ben, “what will you do for a hat-band?”
“I’ll manage to do without one,” said Hal, and he took the string of hishat for his top. It soon was worn through, and he split his top bydriving the pea too tightly into it. His cousin Ben let him set up histhe next day; but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful when hemeddled with other people’s things than when he managed his own. He hadscarcely played half an hour before he split it, by driving the peg tooviolently.
Ben bore this misfortune with good humour. “Come,” said he, “it can’t behelped; but give me the string because _that_ may still be of use forsomething else.”
It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had been intimatelyacquainted with Hal’s mother at Bath—that is to say, who had frequentlymet her at the card-table during the winter—now arrived at Clifton. Shewas informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham’s, and her sons,who were _friends_ of his, came to see him, and invited him to spend thenext day with them.
Hal joyfully accepted the invitation. He was always glad to go out todine, because it gave him something to do, something to think of, or atleast something to say. Besides this, he had been educated to think itwas a fine thing to visit fine people; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes (forthat was the name of his mother’s acquaintance) was a very fine lady, andher two sons intended to be very great gentlemen. He was in a prodigioushurry when these young gentlemen knocked at his uncle’s door the nextday; but just as he got to the hall door, little Patty called to him fromthe top of the stairs, and told him that he had dropped hispocket-handkerchief.
“Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, can’t you, child,” criedHal, “for Lady Di’s sons are waiting for me?”
Little Patty did not know anything about Lady Di’s sons; but as she wasvery good-natured, and saw that her cousin Hal was, for some reason orother, in a desperate hurry, she ran downstairs as fast as she possiblycould towards the landing-place, where the handkerchief lay; but, alas!before she reached the handkerchief, she fell, rolling down a wholeflight of stairs, and when her fall was at last stopped by thelanding-place, she did not cry out, she writhed, as if she was in greatpain.
“Where are you hurt, my love?” said Mr. Gresham, who came instantly, onhearing the noise of someone falling downstairs. “Where are you hurt, myde
ar?”
“Here, papa,” said the little girl, touching her ankle, which she haddecently covered with her gown. “I believe I am hurt here, but notmuch,” added she, trying to rise; “only it hurts me when I move.”
“I’ll carry you; don’t move then,” said her father, and he took her up inhis arms.
“My shoe! I’ve lost one of my shoes,” said she.
Ben looked for it upon the stairs, and he found it sticking in a loop ofwhip cord, which was entangled round one of the bannisters. When thiscord was drawn forth, it appeared that it was the very same jagged,entangled piece which Hal had pulled off his parcel. He had divertedhimself with running up and downstairs, whipping the bannisters with it,as he thought he could convert it to no better use; and, with his usualcarelessness, he at last left it hanging just where he happened to throwit when the dinner bell rang. Poor little Patty’s ankle was terriblystrained, and Hal reproached himself for his folly, and would havereproached himself longer, perhaps, if Lady Di Sweepstakes’ sons had nothurried him away.
In the evening, Patty could not run about as she used to do; but she satupon the sofa, and she said, that she did not feel the pain of her ankle_so much_, whilst Ben was so good as to play at _jack straws_ with her.
“That’s right, Ben; never be ashamed of being good-natured to those whoare younger and weaker than yourself,” said his uncle, smiling at seeinghim produce his whip cord, to indulge his little cousin with a game ather favourite cat’s cradle. “I shall not think you one bit less manly,because I see you playing at cat’s cradle with a little child of sixyears old.”
Hal, however, was not precisely of his uncle’s opinion: for when hereturned in the evening, and saw Ben playing with his little cousin, hecould not help smiling contemptuously, and asked if he had been playingat cat’s cradle all night. In a heedless manner he made some inquiriesafter Patty’s sprained ankle, and then he ran on to tell all the news hehad heard at Lady Diana Sweepstakes’—news which he thought would make himappear a person of vast importance.
“Do you know, uncle—do you know, Ben,” said he—“there’s to be the most_famous_ doings that ever were heard of upon the Downs here, the firstday of next month, which will be in a fortnight, thank my stars! I wishthe fortnight was over; I shall think of nothing else, I know, till thathappy day comes!”
Mr. Gresham inquired why the first of September was to be so much happierthan any other day in the year.
“Why,” replied Hal, “Lady Diana Sweepstakes, you know, is a _famous_rider, and archer, and _all that_—”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Gresham, soberly; “but what then?”
“Dear uncle!” cried Hal, “but you shall hear. There’s to be a race uponthe Downs on the first of September, and after the race, there’s to be anarchery meeting for the ladies, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes is to be oneof _them_. And after the ladies have done shooting—now, Ben, comes thebest part of it! we boys are to have our turn, and Lady Di is to give aprize to the best marksman amongst us, of a very handsome bow and arrow!Do you know, I’ve been practising already, and I’ll show you, to-morrow,as soon as it comes home, the _famous_ bow and arrow that Lady Diana hasgiven me; but, perhaps,” added he, with a scornful laugh, “you like acat’s cradle better than a bow and arrow.”
Ben made no reply to this taunt at the moment; but the next day, whenHal’s new bow and arrow came home, he convinced him that he knew how touse it very well.
“Ben,” said his uncle, “you seem to be a good marksman, though you havenot boasted of yourself. I’ll give you a bow and arrow, and, perhaps, ifyou practise, you may make yourself an archer before the first ofSeptember; and, in the meantime, you will not wish the fortnight to beover, for you will have something to do.”
“Oh, sir,” interrupted Hal, “but if you mean that Ben should put in forthe prize, he must have a uniform.”
“Why _must_ he?” said Mr. Gresham.
“Why, sir, because everybody has—I mean everybody that’s anybody; andLady Diana was talking about the uniform all dinner time, and it’ssettled, all about it, except the buttons: the young Sweepstakes are toget theirs made first for patterns—they are to be white, faced withgreen, and they’ll look very handsome, I’m sure; and I shall write tomamma to-night, as Lady Diana bid me, about mine; and I shall tell her tobe sure to answer my letter, without fail, by return of post; and then,if mamma makes no objection, which I know she won’t, because she neverthinks much about expense, and _all that_—then I shall bespeak myuniform, and get it made by the same tailor that makes for Lady Diana andthe young Sweepstakes.”
“Mercy upon us!” said Mr. Gresham, who was almost stunned by the rapidvociferation with which this long speech about a uniform was pronounced.“I don’t pretend to understand these things,” added he, with an air ofsimplicity; “but we will inquire, Ben, into the necessity of the case;and if it is necessary—or, if you think it necessary, that you shall havea uniform—why, I’ll give you one.”
“_You_, uncle? Will you, _indeed_?” exclaimed Hal, with amazementpainted in his countenance. “Well, that’s the last thing in the world Ishould have expected! You are not at all the sort of person I shouldhave thought would care about a uniform; and now I should have supposedyou’d have thought it extravagant to have a coat on purpose only for oneday; and I’m sure Lady Diana Sweepstakes thought as I do; for when I toldher of that motto over your kitchen chimney, ‘WASTE NOT, WANT NOT,’ shelaughed, and said that I had better not talk to you about uniforms, andthat my mother was the proper person to write to about my uniform: butI’ll tell Lady Diana, uncle, how good you are, and how much she wasmistaken.”
“Take care how you do that,” said Mr. Gresham: “for perhaps the lady wasnot mistaken.”
“Nay, did not you say, just now, you would give poor Ben a uniform?”
“I said I would, if he thought it necessary to have one.”
“Oh, I’ll answer for it, he’ll think it necessary,” said Hal, laughing,“because it is necessary.”
“Allow him, at least, to judge for himself,” said Mr. Gresham.
“My dear uncle, but I assure you,” said Hal, earnestly, “there’s nojudging about the matter, because really, upon my word, Lady Diana saiddistinctly, that her sons were to have uniforms, white faced with green,and a green and white cockade in their hats.”
“May be so,” said Mr. Gresham, still with the same look of calmsimplicity; “put on your hats, boys, and come with me. I know agentleman whose sons are to be at this archery meeting, and we willinquire into all the particulars from him. Then, after we have seen him(it is not eleven o’clock yet) we shall have time enough to walk on toBristol, and choose the cloth for Ben’s uniform, if it is necessary.”
“I cannot tell what to make of all he says,” whispered Hal, as he reacheddown his hat; “do you think, Ben, he means to give you this uniform, ornot?”
“I think,” said Ben, “that he means to give me one, if it is necessary;or, as he said, if I think it is necessary.”
“And that to be sure you will; won’t you? or else you’ll be a great fool,I know, after all I’ve told you. How can anyone in the world know somuch about the matter as I, who have dined with Lady Diana Sweepstakesbut yesterday, and heard all about it from beginning to end? And as forthis gentleman that we are going to, I’m sure, if he knows anything aboutthe matter, he’ll say exactly the same as I do.”
“We shall hear,” said Ben, with a degree of composure which Hal could byno means comprehend when a uniform was in question.
The gentleman upon whom Mr. Gresham called had three sons, who were allto be at this archery meeting; and they unanimously assured him, in thepresence of Hal and Ben, that they had never thought of buying uniformsfor this grand occasion, and that, amongst the number of theiracquaintance, they knew of but three boys whose friends intended to be atsuch an _unnecessary_ expense. Hal stood amazed.
“Such are the varieties of opinion upon all the grand affairs of life,”said M
r. Gresham, looking at his nephews. “What amongst one set ofpeople you hear asserted to be absolutely necessary, you will hear fromanother set of people is quite unnecessary. All that can be done, mydear boys, in these difficult cases, is to judge for yourselves, whichopinions, and which people, are the most reasonable.”
Hal, who had been more accustomed to think of what was fashionable, thanof what was reasonable, without at all considering the good sense of whathis uncle said to him, replied, with childish petulance, “Indeed, sir, Idon’t know what other people think; but I only know what Lady DianaSweepstakes said.” The name of Lady Diana Sweepstakes, Hal thought, mustimpress all present with respect; he was highly astonished, when, as helooked round, he saw a smile of contempt upon everyone’s countenance: andhe was yet further bewildered, when he heard her spoken of as a verysilly, extravagant, ridiculous woman, whose opinion no prudent personwould ask upon any subject, and whose example was to be shunned, insteadof being imitated.
“Ay, my dear Hal,” said his uncle, smiling at his look of amazement,“these are some of the things that young people must learn fromexperience. All the world do not agree in opinion about characters: youwill hear the same person admired in one company, and blamed in another;so that we must still come round to the same point, ‘_Judge foryourself_.’”
Hal’s thoughts were, however, at present too full of the uniform to allowhis judgment to act with perfect impartiality. As soon as their visitwas over, and all the time they walked down the hill from Prince’sBuilding’s towards Bristol, he continued to repeat nearly the samearguments, which he had formerly used, respecting necessity, the uniform,and Lady Diana Sweepstakes. To all this Mr. Gresham made no reply, andlonger had the young gentleman expatiated upon the subject, which had sostrongly seized upon his imagination, had not his senses been forciblyassailed at this instant by the delicious odours and tempting sight ofcertain cakes and jellies in a pastrycook’s shop. “Oh, uncle,” said he,as his uncle was going to turn the corner to pursue the road to Bristol,“look at those jellies!” pointing to a confectioner’s shop. “I must buysome of those good things, for I have got some halfpence in my pocket.”
“Your having halfpence in your pocket is an excellent reason for eating,”said Mr. Gresham, smiling.
“But I really am hungry,” said Hal; “you know, uncle, it is a good whilesince breakfast.”
His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews act without restraint,that he might judge their characters, bid them do as they pleased.
“Come, then, Ben, if you’ve any halfpence in your pocket.”
“I’m not hungry,” said Ben.
“I suppose _that_ means that you’ve no halfpence,” said Hal, laughing,with the look of superiority which he had been taught to think the _rich_might assume towards those who were convicted either of poverty oreconomy.
“Waste not, want not,” said Ben to himself. Contrary to his cousin’ssurmise, he happened to have two pennyworth of halfpence actually in hispocket.
At the very moment Hal stepped into the pastrycook’s shop, a poor,industrious man, with a wooden leg, who usually sweeps the dirty cornerof the walk which turns at this spot to the Wells, held his hat to Ben,who, after glancing his eye at the petitioner’s well worn broom,instantly produced his twopence. “I wish I had more halfpence for you,my good man,” said he; “but I’ve only twopence.”
Hal came out of Mr. Millar’s, the confectioner’s shop, with a hatful ofcakes in his hand. Mr. Millar’s dog was sitting on the flags before thedoor, and he looked up with a wistful, begging eye at Hal, who was eatinga queen cake. Hal, who was wasteful even in his good-nature, threw awhole queen cake to the dog, who swallowed it for a single mouthful.
“There goes twopence in the form of a queen cake,” said Mr. Gresham.
Hal next offered some of his cakes to his uncle and cousin; but theythanked him, and refused to eat any, because, they said, they were nothungry; so he ate and ate as he walked along, till at last he stopped,and said, “This bun tastes so bad after the queen cakes, I can’t bearit!” and he was going to fling it from him into the river.
“Oh, it is a pity to waste that good bun; we may be glad of it yet,” saidBen; “give it me rather than throw it away.”
“Why, I thought you said you were not hungry,” said Hal.
“True, I am not hungry now; but that is no reason why I should never behungry again.”
“Well, there is the cake for you. Take it; for it has made me sick, andI don’t care what becomes of it.”
Ben folded the refuse bit of his cousin’s bun in a piece of paper, andput it into his pocket.
“I’m beginning to be exceeding tired or sick or something,” said Hal;“and as there is a stand of coaches somewhere hereabouts, had not webetter take a coach, instead of walking all the way to Bristol?”
“For a stout archer,” said Mr. Gresham, “you are more easily tired thanone might have expected. However, with all my heart, let us take acoach, for Ben asked me to show him the cathedral yesterday; and Ibelieve I should find it rather too much for me to walk so far, though Iam not sick with eating good things.”
“_The cathedral_!” said Hal, after he had been seated in the coach abouta quarter of an hour, and had somewhat recovered from his sickness—“thecathedral! Why, are we only going to Bristol to see the cathedral? Ithought we came out to see about a uniform.”
There was a dulness and melancholy kind of stupidity in Hal’s countenanceas he pronounced these words, like one wakening from a dream, which madeboth his uncle and his cousin burst out a-laughing.
“Why,” said Hal, who was now piqued, “I’m sure you did say, uncle, youwould go to Mr. Hall’s to choose the cloth for the uniform.”
“Very true, and so I will,” said Mr. Gresham; “but we need not make awhole morning’s work, need we, of looking at a piece of cloth? Cannot wesee a uniform and a cathedral both in one morning?”
They went first to the cathedral. Hal’s head was too full of the uniformto take any notice of the painted window, which immediately caught Ben’sembarrassed attention. He looked at the large stained figures on theGothic window, and he observed their coloured shadows on the floor andwalls.
Mr. Gresham, who perceived that he was eager on all subjects to gaininformation, took this opportunity of telling him several things aboutthe lost art of painting on glass, Gothic arches, etc., which Hal thoughtextremely tiresome.
“Come! come! we shall be late indeed,” said Hal; “surely you’ve lookedlong enough, Ben, at this blue and red window.”
“I’m only thinking about these coloured shadows,” said Ben.
“I can show you when we go home, Ben,” said his uncle, “an entertainingpaper upon such shadows.” {194}
“Hark!” cried Ben, “did you hear that noise?” They all listened; andthey heard a bird singing in the cathedral.
“It’s our old robin, sir,” said the lad who had opened the cathedral doorfor them.
“Yes,” said Mr. Gresham, “there he is, boys—look—perched upon the organ;he often sits there, and sings, whilst the organ is playing.”
“And,” continued the lad who showed the cathedral, “he has lived herethese many, many winters. They say he is fifteen years old; and he is sotame, poor fellow! that if I had a bit of bread he’d come down and feedin my hand.”
“I’ve a bit of bun here,” cried Ben, joyfully, producing the remains ofthe bun which Hal but an hour before would have thrown away. “Pray, letus see the poor robin eat out of your hand.”
The lad crumbled the bun, and called to the robin, who fluttered andchirped, and seemed rejoiced at the sight of the bread; but yet he didnot come down from his pinnacle on the organ.
“He is afraid of _us_,” said Ben; “he is not used to eat beforestrangers, I suppose.”
“Ah, no, sir,” said the young man, with a deep sigh, “that is not thething. He is used enough to eat afore company. Time was he’d have comedown for me before ever so man
y fine folks, and have eat his crumbs outof my hand, at my first call; but, poor fellow! it’s not his fault now.He does not know me now, sir, since my accident, because of this greatblack patch.” The young man put his hand to his right eye, which wascovered with a huge black patch. Ben asked what _accident_ he meant; andthe lad told him that, but a few weeks ago, he had lost the sight of hiseye by the stroke of a stone, which reached him as he was passing underthe rocks at Clifton unluckily when the workmen were blasting. “I don’tmind so much for myself, sir,” said the lad; “but I can’t work so wellnow, as I used to do before my accident, for my old mother, who has had a_stroke_ of the palsy; and I’ve a many little brothers and sisters notwell able yet to get their own livelihood, though they be as willing aswilling can be.”
“Where does your mother live?” said Mr. Gresham.
“Hard by, sir, just close to the church here: it was _her_ that alwayshad the showing of it to strangers, till she lost the use of her poorlimbs.”
“Shall we, may we, uncle, go that way? This is the house; is not it?”said Ben, when they went out of the cathedral.
They went into the house; it was rather a hovel than a house; but, pooras it was, it was as neat as misery could make it. The old woman wassitting up in her wretched bed, winding worsted; four meagre,ill-clothed, pale children were all busy, some of them sticking pins inpaper for the pin-maker, and others sorting rags for the paper-maker.
“What a horrid place it is!” said Hal, sighing; “I did not know therewere such shocking places in the world. I’ve often seenterrible-looking, tumble-down places, as we drove through the town inmamma’s carriage; but then I did not know who lived in them; and I neversaw the inside of any of them. It is very dreadful, indeed, to thinkthat people are forced to live in this way. I wish mamma would send mesome more pocket-money, that I might do something for them. I had half acrown; but,” continued he, feeling in his pockets, “I’m afraid I spentthe last shilling of it this morning upon those cakes that made me sick.I wish I had my shilling now, I’d give it to _these poor people_.”
Ben, though he was all this time silent, was as sorry as his talkativecousin for all these poor people. But there was some difference betweenthe sorrow of these two boys.
Hal, after he was again seated in the hackney-coach, and had rattledthrough the busy streets of Bristol, for a few minutes quite forgot thespectacle of misery which he had seen; and the gay shops in Wine Streetand the idea of his green and white uniform wholly occupied hisimagination.
“Now for our uniforms!” cried he, as he jumped eagerly out of the coach,when his uncle stopped at the woollen-draper’s door.
“Uncle,” said Ben, stopping Mr. Gresham before he got out of thecarriage, “I don’t think a uniform is at all necessary for me. I’m verymuch obliged to you; but I would rather not have one. I have a very goodcoat, and I think it would be waste.”
“Well, let me get out of the carriage, and we will see about it,” saidMr. Gresham; “perhaps the sight of the beautiful green and white cloth,and the epaulettes (have you ever considered the epaulettes?) may temptyou to change your mind.”
“Oh, no,” said Ben, laughing; “I shall not change my mind,”
The green cloth, and the white cloth, and the epaulettes were produced,to Hal’s infinite satisfaction. His uncle took up a pen, and calculatedfor a few minutes; then, showing the back of the letter, upon which hewas writing, to his nephews, “Cast up these sums, boys,” said he, “andtell me whether I am right.”
“Ben, do you do it,” said Hal, a little embarrassed; “I am not quick atfigures.” Ben _was_, and he went over his uncle’s calculation veryexpeditiously.
“It is right, is it?” said Mr. Gresham.
“Yes, sir, quite right.”
“Then, by this calculation, I find I could, for less than half the moneyyour uniforms would cost, purchase for each of you boys a warmgreat-coat, which you will want, I have a notion, this winter upon theDowns.”
“Oh, sir,” said Hal, with an alarmed look; “but it is not winter _yet_;it is not cold weather _yet_. We sha’n’t want greatcoats _yet_.”
“Don’t you remember how cold we were, Hal, the day before yesterday, inthat sharp wind, when we were flying our kite upon the Downs? and winterwill come, though it is not come yet—I am sure, I should like to have agood warm great-coat very much.”
Mr. Gresham took six guineas out of his purse and he placed three of thembefore Hal, and three before Ben. “Young gentlemen,” said he, “I believeyour uniforms would come to about three guineas a piece. Now I will layout this money for you just as you please. Hal, what say you?”
“Why, sir,” said Hal, “a great-coat is a good thing, to be sure; andthen, after the great-coat, as you said it would only cost half as muchas the uniform, there would be some money to spare, would not there?”
“Yes, my dear, about five-and-twenty shillings.”
“Five-and-twenty shillings?—I could buy and do a great many things, to besure, with five-and-twenty shillings; but then, _the thing is_, I must gowithout the uniform, if I have the great-coat.”
“Certainly,” said his uncle.
“Ah!” said Hal, sighing, as he looked at the epaulettes, “uncle, if youwould not be displeased, if I choose the uniform—”
“I shall not be displeased at your choosing whatever you like best,” saidMr. Gresham.
“Well, then, thank you, sir,” said Hal; “I think I had better have theuniform, because, if I have not the uniform, now, directly, it will be ofno use to me, as the archery meeting is the week after next, you know;and, as to the great-coat, perhaps between this time and the _very_ coldweather, which, perhaps, won’t be till Christmas, papa will buy agreat-coat for me; and I’ll ask mamma to give me some pocket money togive away, and she will, perhaps.” To all this conclusive, conditionalreasoning, which depended upon the word _perhaps_, three times repeated,Mr. Gresham made no reply; but he immediately bought the uniform for Hal,and desired that it should be sent to Lady Diana Sweepstakes’ son’stailor, to be made up. The measure of Hal’s happiness was now complete.
“And how am I to lay out the three guineas for you, Ben?” said Mr.Gresham; “speak, what do you wish for first?”
“A great-coat, uncle, if you please.” Gresham bought the coat; and,after it was paid for, five-and-twenty shillings of Ben’s three guineasremained.
“What next, my boy?” said his uncle.
“Arrows, uncle, if you please; three arrows.”
“My dear, I promised you a bow and arrows.”
“No, uncle, you only said a bow.”
“Well, I meant a bow and arrows. I’m glad you are so exact, however. Itis better to claim less than more than what is promised. The threearrows you shall have. But go on; how shall I dispose of thesefive-and-twenty shillings for you?”
“In clothes, if you will be so good, uncle, for that poor boy who has thegreat black patch on his eye.”
“I always believed,” said Mr. Gresham, shaking hands with Ben, “thateconomy and generosity were the best friends, instead of being enemies,as some silly, extravagant people would have us think them. Choose thepoor, blind boy’s coat, my dear nephew, and pay for it. There’s nooccasion for my praising you about the matter. Your best reward is inyour own mind, child; and you want no other, or I’m mistaken. Now, jumpinto the coach, boys, and let’s be off. We shall be late, I’m afraid,”continued he, as the coach drove on: “but I must let you stop, Ben, withyour goods, at the poor boy’s door.”
When they came to the house, Mr. Gresham opened the coach door, and Benjumped out with his parcel under his arm.
“Stay, stay! you must take me with you,” said his pleased uncle; “I liketo see people made happy, as well as you do.”
“And so do I, too,” said Hal; “let me come with you. I almost wish myuniform was not gone to the tailor’s, so I do.” And when he saw the lookof delight and gratitude with which the poor boy received the clotheswhich Be
n gave him; and when he heard the mother and children thank him,he sighed, and said, “Well, I hope mamma will give me some more pocketmoney soon.”
Upon his return home, however, the sight of the _famous_ bow and arrow,which Lady Diana Sweepstakes had sent him, recalled to his imaginationall the joys of his green and white uniform; and he no longer wished thatit had not been sent to the tailor’s.
“But I don’t understand, Cousin Hal,” said little Patty, “why you callthis bow a _famous_ bow. You say _famous_ very often; and I don’t knowexactly what it means; a _famous_ uniform—_famous_ doings. I rememberyou said there are to be _famous_ doings, the first of September, uponthe Downs. What does _famous_ mean?”
“Oh, why, famous means—now, don’t you know what famous means? Itmeans—it is a word that people say—it is the fashion to say it—itmeans—it means famous.” Patty laughed, and said, “_This_ does notexplain it to me.”
“No,” said Hal, “nor can it be explained: if you don’t understand it,that’s not my fault. Everybody but little children, I suppose,understands it; but there’s no explaining _those sort_ of words, if youdon’t _take them_ at once. There’s to be famous doings upon the Downs,the first of September; that is grand, fine. In short, what does itsignify talking any longer, Patty, about the matter? Give me my bow, forI must go out upon the Downs and practise.”
Ben accompanied him with the bow and the three arrows which his uncle hadnow given to him; and, every day, these two boys went out upon the Downsand practised shooting with indefatigable perseverance. Where equalpains are taken, success is usually found to be pretty nearly equal. Ourtwo archers, by constant practice, became expert marksmen; and before theday of trial, they were so exactly matched in point of dexterity, that itwas scarcely possible to decide which was superior.
The long expected lst of September at length arrived. “What sort of aday is it?” was the first question that was asked by Hal and Ben themoment that they wakened. The sun shone bright, but there was a sharpand high wind. “Ha!” said Ben, “I shall be glad of my good great-coatto-day; for I’ve a notion it will be rather cold upon the Downs,especially when we are standing still, as we must, whilst all the peopleare shooting.”
“Oh, never mind! I don’t think I shall feel it cold at all,” said Hal,as he dressed himself in his new green and white uniform; and he viewedhimself with much complacency.
“Good morning to you, uncle; how do you do?” said he, in a voice ofexultation, when he entered the breakfast-room. How do you do? seemedrather to mean, “How do you like me in my uniform?” And his uncle’scool, “Very well, I thank you, Hal,” disappointed him, as it seemed onlyto say, “Your uniform makes no difference in my opinion of you.”
Even little Patty went on eating her breakfast much as usual, and talkedof the pleasure of walking with her father to the Downs, and of all thelittle things which interested her; so that Hal’s epaulettes were not theprincipal object in anyone’s imagination but his own.
“Papa,” said Patty, “as we go up the hill where there is so much red mud,I must take care to pick my way nicely; and I must hold up my frock, asyou desired me, and, perhaps, you will be so good, if I am nottroublesome, to lift me over the very bad place where are nostepping-stones. My ankle is entirely well, and I’m glad of that, orelse I should not be able to walk so far as the Downs. How good you wereto me, Ben, when I was in pain the day I sprained my ankle! You playedat jack straws and at cat’s-cradle with me. Oh, that puts me inmind—here are your gloves which I asked you that night to let me mend.I’ve been a great while about them; but are not they not very neatlymended, papa? Look at the sewing.”
“I am not a very good judge of sewing, my dear little girl,” said Mr.Gresham, examining the work with a close and scrupulous eye; “but, in myopinion, here is one stitch that is rather too long. The white teeth arenot quite even.”
“Oh, papa, I’ll take out that long tooth in a minute,” said Patty,laughing; “I did not think that you would observe it so soon.”
“I would not have you trust to my blindness,” said her father, strokingher head, fondly; “I observe everything. I observe, for instance, thatyou are a grateful little girl, and that you are glad to be of use tothose who have been kind to you; and for this I forgive you the longstitch.”
“But it’s out, it’s out, papa,” said Patty; “and the next time yourgloves want mending, Ben, I’ll mend them better.”
“They are very nice, I think,” said Ben, drawing them on; “and I am muchobliged to you. I was just wishing I had a pair of gloves to keep myfingers warm to-day, for I never can shoot well when my hands arebenumbed. Look, Hal; you know how ragged these gloves were; you saidthey were good for nothing but to throw away; now look, there’s not ahole in them,” said he, spreading his fingers.
“Now, is it not very extraordinary,” said Hal to himself, “that theyshould go on so long talking about an old pair of gloves, without sayingscarcely a word about my new uniform? Well, the young Sweepstakes andLady Diana will talk enough about it; that’s one comfort. Is not it timeto think of setting out, sir?” said Hal to his uncle. “The company, youknow, are to meet at the Ostrich at twelve, and the race to begin at one,and Lady Diana’s horses, I know were ordered to be at the door at ten.”
Mr. Stephen, the butler, here interrupted the hurrying young gentleman inhis calculations. “There’s a poor lad, sir, below, with a great blackpatch on his right eye, who is come from Bristol, and wants to speak aword with the young gentlemen, if you please. I told him they were justgoing out with you; but he says he won’t detain them more than half aminute.”
“Show him up, show him up,” said Mr. Gresham.
“But, I suppose,” said Hal, with a sigh, “that Stephen mistook, when hesaid the young _gentlemen_; he only wants to see Ben, I daresay; I’m surehe has no reason to want to see me.”
“Here he comes—Oh, Ben, he is dressed in the new coat you gave him,”whispered Hal, who was really a good-natured boy, though extravagant.“How much better he looks than he did in the ragged coat! Ah! he lookedat you first, Ben—and well he may!”
The boy bowed, without any cringing servility, but with an open, decentfreedom in his manner, which expressed that he had been obliged, but thathe knew his young benefactor was not thinking of the obligation. He madeas little distinction as possible between his bows to the two cousins.
“As I was sent with a message, by the clerk of our parish, to Redlandchapel out on the Downs, to-day, sir,” said he to Mr. Gresham, “knowingyour house lay in my way, my mother, sir, bid me call, and make bold tooffer the young gentlemen two little worsted balls that she has workedfor them,” continued the lad, pulling out of his pocket two worsted ballsworked in green and orange-coloured stripes. “They are but poor things,sir, she bid me say, to look at; but, considering she has but one hand towork with, and _that_ her left hand, you’ll not despise ’em, we hopes.”He held the balls to Ben and Hal. “They are both alike, gentlemen,” saidhe. “If you’ll be pleased to take ’em they’re better than they look, forthey bound higher than your head. I cut the cork round for the insidemyself, which was all I could do.”
“They are nice balls, indeed: we are much obliged to you,” said the boysas they received them, and they proved them immediately. The ballsstruck the floor with a delightful sound, and rebounded higher than Mr.Gresham’s head. Little Patty clapped her hands joyfully. But now athundering double rap at the door was heard.
“The Master Sweepstakes, sir,” said Stephen, “are come for Master Hal.They say that all the young gentlemen who have archery uniforms are towalk together, in a body, I think they say, sir; and they are to paradealong the Well Walk, they desired me to say, sir, with a drum and fife,and so up the hill by Prince’s Place, and all to go upon the Downstogether, to the place of meeting. I am not sure I’m right, sir; forboth the young gentlemen spoke at once, and the wind is very high at thestreet door; so that I could not well make out all they said; b
ut Ibelieve this is the sense of it.”
“Yes, yes,” said Hal, eagerly, “it’s all right. I know that is just whatwas settled the day I dined at Lady Diana’s; and Lady Diana and a greatparty of gentlemen are to ride—”
“Well, that is nothing to the purpose,” interrupted Mr. Gresham. “Don’tkeep these Master Sweepstakes waiting. Decide—do you choose to go withthem or with us?”
“Sir—uncle—sir, you know, since all the _uniforms_ agreed to gotogether—”
“Off with you, then, Mr. Uniform, if you mean to go,” said Mr. Gresham.
Hal ran downstairs in such a hurry that he forgot his bow and arrows.Ben discovered this when he went to fetch his own; and the lad fromBristol, who had been ordered by Mr. Gresham to eat his breakfast beforehe proceeded to Redland Chapel, heard Ben talking about his cousin’s bowand arrows. “I know,” said Ben, “he will be sorry not to have his bowwith him, because here are the green knots tied to it, to match hiscockade: and he said that the boys were all to carry their bows, as partof the show.”
“If you’ll give me leave, sir,” said the poor Bristol lad, “I shall haveplenty of time; and I’ll run down to the Well Walk after the younggentleman, and take him his bow and arrows.”
“Will you? I shall be much obliged to you,” said Ben; and away went theboy with the bow that was ornamented with green ribands.
The public walk leading to the Wells was full of company. The windows ofall the houses in St. Vincent’s Parade were crowded with well dressedladies, who were looking out in expectation of the archery procession.Parties of gentlemen and ladies, and a motley crowd of spectators, wereseen moving backwards and forwards, under the rocks, on the opposite sideof the water. A barge, with coloured streamers flying, was waiting totake up a party who were going upon the water. The bargemen rested upontheir oars, and gazed with broad faces of curiosity upon the busy scenethat appeared upon the public walk.
The archers and archeresses were now drawn up on the flags under thesemicircular piazza just before Mrs. Yearsley’s library. A little bandof children, who had been mustered by Lady Diana Sweepstakes’ _spiritedexertions_, closed the procession. They were now all in readiness. Thedrummer only waited for her ladyship’s signal; and the archers’ corpsonly waited for her ladyship’s word of command to march.
“Where are your bow and arrows, my little man?” said her ladyship to Hal,as she reviewed her Lilliputian regiment. “You can’t march, man, withoutyour arms?”
Hal had despatched a messenger for his forgotten bow, but the messengerreturned not. He looked from side to side in great distress—“Oh, there’smy bow coming, I declare!” cried he; “look, I see the bow and theribands. Look now, between the trees, Charles Sweepstakes, on theHotwell Walk; it is coming!”
“But you’ve kept us all waiting a confounded time,” said his impatientfriend.
“It is that good-natured poor fellow from Bristol, I protest, that hasbrought it me; I’m sure I don’t deserve it from him,” said Hal, tohimself, when he saw the lad with the black patch on his eye running,quite out of breath, towards him, with his bow and arrows.
“Fall back, my good friend—fall back,” said the military lady, as soon ashe had delivered the bow to Hal; “I mean, stand out of the way, for yourgreat patch cuts no figure amongst us. Don’t follow so close, now, as ifyou belonged to us, pray.”
The poor boy had no ambition to partake the triumph; he _fell back_ assoon as he understood the meaning of the lady’s words. The drum beat,the fife played, the archers marched, the spectators admired. Halstepped proudly, and felt as if the eyes of the whole universe were uponhis epaulettes, or upon the facings of his uniform; whilst all the timehe was considered only as part of a show.
The walk appeared much shorter than usual, and he was extremely sorrythat Lady Diana, when they were half-way up the hill leading to Prince’sPlace, mounted her horse, because the road was dirty, and all thegentlemen and ladies who accompanied her followed her example.
“We can leave the children to walk, you know,” said she to the gentlemanwho helped her to mount her horse. “I must call to some of them, though,and leave orders where they are to _join_.”
She beckoned: and Hal, who was foremost, and proud to show his alacrity,ran on to receive her ladyship’s orders. Now, as we have beforeobserved, it was a sharp and windy day; and though Lady Diana Sweepstakeswas actually speaking to him, and looking at him, he could not preventhis nose from wanting to be blowed: he pulled out his handkerchief andout rolled the new ball which had been given to him just before he lefthome, and which, according to his usual careless habits, he had stuffedinto his pockets in his hurry. “Oh, my new ball!” cried he, as he ranafter it. As he stopped to pick it up, he let go his hat, which he hadhitherto held on with anxious care; for the hat, though it had a finegreen and white cockade, had no band or string round it. The string, aswe may recollect, our wasteful hero had used in spinning his top. Thehat was too large for his head without this band; a sudden gust of windblew it off. Lady Diana’s horse started and reared. She was a _famous_horse woman, and sat him to the admiration of all beholders; but therewas a puddle of red clay and water in this spot, and her ladyship’suniform habit was a sufferer by the accident. “Careless brat!” said she,“why can’t he keep his hat upon his head?” In the meantime, the windblew the hat down the hill, and Hal ran after it amidst the laughter ofhis kind friends, the young Sweepstakes, and the rest of the littleregiment. The hat was lodged, at length, upon a bank. Hal pursued it:he thought this bank was hard, but, alas! the moment he set his foot uponit the foot sank. He tried to draw it back; his other foot slipped, andhe fell prostrate, in his green and white uniform, into the treacherousbed of red mud. His companions, who had halted upon the top of the hill,stood laughing, spectators of his misfortune.
It happened that the poor boy with the black patch upon his eye, who hadbeen ordered by Lady Diana to “fall back” and to “keep at a distance,”was now coming up the hill; and the moment he saw our fallen hero, hehastened to his assistance. He dragged poor Hal, who was a deplorablespectacle, out of the red mud. The obliging mistress of a lodging house,as soon as she understood that the young gentleman was nephew to Mr.Gresham, to whom she had formerly let her house, received Hal, covered ashe was with dirt.
The poor Bristol lad hastened to Mr. Gresham’s for clean stockings andshoes for Hal. He was unwilling to give up his uniform: it was rubbedand rubbed, and a spot here and there was washed out; and he keptcontinually repeating,—“When it’s dry it will all brush off—when it’s dryit will all brush off, won’t it?” But soon the fear of being too late atthe archery meeting began to balance the dread of appearing in hisstained habiliments; and he now as anxiously repeated, whilst the womanheld the wet coat to the fire, “Oh, I shall be too late; indeed, I shallbe too late; make haste; it will never dry; hold it nearer—nearer to thefire. I shall lose my turn to shoot; oh, give me the coat; I don’t mindhow it is, if I can but get it on.”
Holding it nearer and nearer to the fire dried it quickly, to be sure;but it shrunk it also, so that it was no easy matter to get the coat onagain. However, Hal, who did not see the red splashes, which, in spiteof all these operations, were too visible upon his shoulders, and uponthe skirts of his white coat behind, was pretty well satisfied to observethat there was not one spot upon the facings. “Nobody,” said he, “willtake notice of my coat behind, I daresay. I think it looks as smartalmost as ever!”—and under this persuasion our young archer resumed hisbow—his bow with green ribands, now no more!—and he pursued his way tothe Downs.
All his companions were far out of sight. “I suppose,” said he to hisfriend with the black patch—“I suppose my uncle and Ben had left homebefore you went for the shoes and stockings for me?”
“Oh, yes, sir; the butler said they had been gone to the Downs a matterof a good half-hour or more.”
Hal trudged on as fast as he possibly could. When he got upon the Downs,he
saw numbers of carriages, and crowds of people, all going towards theplace of meeting at the Ostrich. He pressed forwards. He was at firstso much afraid of being late, that he did not take notice of the mirthhis motley appearance excited in all beholders. At length he reached theappointed spot. There was a great crowd of people. In the midst heheard Lady Diana’s loud voice betting upon someone who was just going toshoot at the mark.
“So then the shooting is begun, is it?” said Hal. “Oh, let me in! praylet me into the circle! I’m one of the archers—I am, indeed; don’t yousee my green and white uniform?”
“Your red and white uniform, you mean,” said the man to whom he addressedhimself; and the people, as they opened a passage for him, could notrefrain laughing at the mixture of dirt and finery which it exhibited.In vain, when he got into the midst of the formidable circle, he lookedto his friends, the young Sweepstakes, for their countenance and support.They were amongst the most unmerciful of the laughers. Lady Diana alsoseemed more to enjoy than to pity his confusion.
“Why could you not keep your hat upon your head, man?” said she, in hermasculine tone. “You have been almost the ruin of my poor uniform habit;but I’ve escaped rather better than you have. Don’t stand there, in themiddle of the circle, or you’ll have an arrow in your eyes just now, I’vea notion.”
Hal looked round in search of better friends. “Oh, where’s myuncle?—where’s Ben?” said he. He was in such confusion, that, amongstthe number of faces, he could scarcely distinguish one from another; buthe felt somebody at this moment pull his elbow, and, to his great relief,he heard the friendly voice, and saw the good natured face of his CousinBen.
“Come back; come behind these people,” said Ben, “and put on mygreat-coat; here it is for you.”
Right glad was Hal to cover his disgraced uniform with the roughgreat-coat which he had formerly despised. He pulled the stained,drooping cockade out of his unfortunate hat; and he was now sufficientlyrecovered from his vexation to give an intelligible account of hisaccident to his uncle and Patty, who anxiously inquired what had detainedhim so long, and what had been the matter. In the midst of the historyof his disaster, he was just proving to Patty that his taking the hatbandto spin his top had nothing to do with his misfortune, and he was at thesame time endeavouring to refute his uncle’s opinion that the waste ofthe whipcord that tied the parcel was the original cause of all hisevils, when he was summoned to try his skill with his _famous_ bow.
“My hands are benumbed; I can scarcely feel,” said he, rubbing them, andblowing upon the ends of his fingers.
“Come, come,” cried young Sweepstakes, “I’m within one inch of the mark;who’ll go nearer? I shall like to see. Shoot away, Hal; but firstunderstand our laws; we settled them before you came upon the green. Youare to have three shots, with your own bow and your own arrows; andnobody’s to borrow or lend under pretence of other’s bows being better orworse, or under any pretence. Do you hear, Hal?”
This young gentleman had good reasons for being so strict in these laws,as he had observed that none of his companions had such an excellent bowas he had provided for himself. Some of the boys had forgotten to bringmore than one arrow with them, and by his cunning regulation that eachperson should shoot with their own arrows, many had lost one or two oftheir shots.
“You are a lucky fellow; you have your three arrows,” said youngSweepstakes. “Come, we can’t wait whilst you rub your fingers, man—shootaway.”
Hal was rather surprised at the asperity with which his friend spoke. Helittle knew how easily acquaintance who call themselves friends canchange when their interest comes in the slightest degree in competitionwith their friendship. Hurried by his impatient rival, and with hishands so much benumbed that he could scarcely feel how to fix the arrowin the string, he drew the bow. The arrow was within a quarter of aninch of Master Sweepstakes’ mark, which was the nearest that had yet beenhit. Hal seized his second arrow. “If I have any luck—” said he. Butjust as he pronounced the word _luck_, and as he bent his bow, the stringbroke in two, and the bow fell from his hands.
“There, it’s all over with you!” cried Master Sweepstakes, with atriumphant laugh.
“Here’s my bow for him, and welcome,” said Ben.
“No, no, sir,” said Master Sweepstakes, “that is not fair; that’s againstthe regulation. You may shoot with your own bow, if you choose it, oryou may not, just as you think proper; but you must not lend it, sir.”
It was now Ben’s turn to make his trial. His first arrow was notsuccessful. His second was exactly as near as Hal’s first. “You havebut one more,” said Master Sweepstakes—“now for it!” Ben, before heventured his last arrow, prudently examined the string of his bow; and,as he pulled it to try its strength, it cracked. Master Sweepstakesclapped his hands with loud exultations and insulting laughter. But hislaughter ceased when our provident hero calmly drew from his pocket anexcellent piece of whip cord.
“The everlasting whip cord, I declare!” exclaimed Hal, when he saw thatit was the very same that had tied up the parcel. “Yes,” said Ben, as hefastened it to his bow, “I put it into my pocket, to-day, on purpose,because I thought I might happen to want it.” He drew his bow the thirdand last time.
“Oh, papa!” cried little Patty, as his arrow hit the mark, “it’s thenearest; is it not the nearest?”
Master Sweepstakes, with anxiety, examined the hit. There could be nodoubt. Ben was victorious! The bow, the prize bow, was now delivered tohim; and Hal, as he looked at the whip-cord exclaimed, “How _lucky_ thiswhip-cord has been to you, Ben!”
“It is _lucky_, perhaps you mean, that he took care of it,” said Mr.Gresham.
“Ay,” said Hal, “very true; he might well say, ‘Waste not, want not.’ Itis a good thing to have two strings to one’s bow.”
OLD POZ.
LUCY, _daughter to the Justice_.
MRS. BUSTLE, _landlady of the_ “_Saracen’s Head_.”
JUSTICE HEADSTRONG.
OLD MAN.
WILLIAM, _a Servant_.