MacMillans Reading Books - Book V | Page 7

unusual weight of metal pressing her little hand.
Now, mark the dilemma.
She was by nature a good child. From her parents and those about her she had imbibed no contrary influence. But then they had taught her nothing. Poor men's smoky cabins are not always porticoes of moral philosophy. This little maid had no instinct to evil, but then she might be said to have no fixed principle. She had heard honesty commended, but never dreamed of its application to herself. She thought of it as something which concerned grown-up people, men and women. She had never known temptation, or thought of preparing resistance against it.
Her first impulse was to go back to the old treasurer, and explain to him his blunder. He was already so confused with age, besides a natural want of punctuality, that she would have had some difficulty in making him understand it. She saw that in an instant. And then it was such a bit of money: and then the image of a larger allowance of butcher's meat on their table next day came across her, till her little eyes glistened, and her mouth moistened. But then Mr. Ravenscroft had always been so good-natured, had stood her friend behind the scenes, and even recommended her promotion to some of her little parts. But again the old man was reputed to be worth a world of money. He was supposed to have fifty pounds a year clear of the theatre. And then came staring upon her the figures of her little stockingless and shoeless sisters. And when she looked at her own neat white cotton stockings, which her situation at the theatre had made it indispensable for her mother to provide for her, with hard straining and pinching from the family stock, and thought how glad she should be to cover their poor feet with the same, and how then they could accompany her to rehearsals, which they had hitherto been precluded from doing, by reason of their unfashionable attire,--in these thoughts she reached the second landing-place--the second, I mean, from the top--for there was still another left to traverse.
Now, virtue, support Barbara!
And that never-failing friend did step in; for at that moment a strength not her own, I have heard her say, was revealed to her--a reason above reasoning--and without her own agency, as it seemed (for she never felt her feet to move), she found herself transported back to the individual desk she had just quitted, and her hand in the old hand of Ravenscroft, who in silence took back the refunded treasure, and who had been sitting (good man) insensible to the lapse of minutes, which to her were anxious ages; and from that moment a deep peace fell upon her heart, and she knew the quality of honesty.
A year or two's unrepining application to her profession brightened up the feet and the prospects of her little sisters, set the whole family upon their legs again, and released her from the difficulty of discussing moral dogmas upon a landing-place.
Essays of Elia, by CHARLES LAMB.

* * * * *

A BALLAD.
"Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.
"For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow, Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go."
"Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
"Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose.
"No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.
"Then, pilgrim turn; thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends His gentle accents fell: The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire To take their evening rest, The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest;
And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressed, and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled.
Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries, The cricket chirrups on the hearth, The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could