Plain tales, chiefly intended for the use of charity schools

NO. 31, POULTRY.

1799.

PLAIN TALES.

TALE I.

Sukey Dawkins and Polly Wood had been some time in the charity-school. They had behaved very well, and could do a good deal of work: they were regular in going at the exact time, and so soon as school hours were over, they went strait home to see what they could do to assist their mothers. As they were diligent, they sometimes got a spare half hour to take a walk in the fields. This was of great service to their health, and helped to make them strong, active, and cheerful. One evening, after they had been working very hard, their mothers gave them leave to go. Out they set, as brisk as larks; they tripped over the stile very nimbly, and had soon gathered a handful of primroses and violets. Presently they heard a loud noise at a little distance, and away they ran to find out what it was. In a wood, not far off, they observed a man felling a large tree, and around lay a great number of chips. I wonder, said Sukey Dawkins, if any body makes use of these: how glad my mother would be to have some to light her fires with; let us ask the carpenter. Pray, said she, do you think the person who owns these, would give me leave to take a few home to my mother?――Yes, said the man, I think he would: they belong to Mr. Ownoak, who is walking in the next field, and you may ask him, if you will. O, said Polly Wood, do not let us go, I cannot abide to ask: her companion replied, what is there to be ashamed of, I am not a going to do any thing wrong; and, unless I was, I do not see what reason I have to be ashamed. These chips are of no use to this gentleman, and, perhaps, he does not think how useful they might be to others. Come, let us make haste: so she went up to Mr. Ownoak, and said――Pray, Sir, will you give me leave to take a few of those chips home to light my mammy’s fire? Who is your mammy, my little girl, said he? Widow Dawkins, sir. Where does she live? In the Well-yard. How many children has she? Four, sir. I am the oldest: I strive to do a little, but we are very poor, and my mother has hard work to get cloaths, food, and firing; so that a few chips would be very useful to us. You may take as many as you can carry, my child, said he; and you may come again to-morrow, and the next day, and, if your companion wants any, let her have some too. Away they ran, and told the carpenter that Mr. Ownoak had given them leave to take some. Sukey Dawkins had on a good strong woollen apron, which she had made of one of her mother’s, so she began filling it with chips; but Polly Wood’s apron was an old ragged checked one. Sukey had often begged her companion to endeavour to mend her cloths; but this she had too much neglected, and was now very sorry she had. However, Sukey helped her to pin it together as well as she could; and, after filling them as fully as they would hold, and wishing the carpenter a good night, away they set off towards home. As they were getting over the last stile, Polly’s tattered apron gave way, and down fell all the chips. This was a sad disaster, and she began to cry; but her companion asked her if crying could possibly remedy the misfortune, and begged her not to do what a little baby would. Let us think what is best to be done, that is all we ought to do when any accident happens. Let us see: well, your gown is whole, that is a good thing; suppose you take it up, and put the chips in that, and, if you like, I will help you to mend your apron to-morrow. So they picked up the chips again as fast as they could, and made haste to get home. Mother, said Sukey, I am afraid you thought me long; but these will make amends for staying. She then threw down the chips under the coal-shed, and told her mother how she came by them. Her mother thanked her very kindly for her attention to the comfort of the family, and told her she believed, that, if she had not been so good a girl, and often contrived, in some way to help her, they must all have gone to the workhouse. Sukey was much more satisfied with herself that evening, than if she had been romping with the girls in the street, and went to bed thankful that she had been useful.

Children, in many a different way, Can give their friends delight; Nor will she pass a useless day, Who brings home chips at night.

TALE II.

Mother, said Nancy Bennet, I wish you would let us have tea to breakfast: there are neighbour Spendalls and their children drinking tea every morning when I go by to school, and we never have it but on Sunday afternoons. My dear, said her mother, every thing which is good for you, that I can buy, I wish you to have; but there are many reasons which would make it improper for us to drink much tea: One is, that it is very dear, and affords but little nourishment: Another, that it is neither pleasant nor wholesome without cream and sugar. Two pounds of the coarsest sugar I could buy, would cost eighteen pence. With that eighteen pence I could buy you a new shift; the sugar, you know, would be soon gone and forgotten; the shift will help to keep you warm and comfortable for years. Which would you rather have? O the shift, said she to be sure. Well, my dear, said her mother, it is by denying ourselves tea that we are able to get a comfortable change of shirts and shifts; and another advantage is, that I believe we have better health than many people who live a good deal on tea. Your father finds himself more able to work after bread and cheese and a pint of beer, than he would after tea: And a bason of milk-porridge is a much more satisfying meal for us; and, it is a very happy thing, that the most wholesome food is generally the cheapest. Ploughmen and milkmaids, who look so ruddy, and are the most healthy people in the kingdom, seldom taste tea. Part of their health and strength, it is true, is owing to their rising early, going to bed early, and living a good deal out of doors: but we, who are obliged to do our work more in the house, ought to get the most wholesome food we can; and, spending our money in tea and sugar, would deprive us of many more useful things. I have heard my mother say, that tea was very little drank when she was young; and, I believe, people were quite as healthy and as happy then. For one quarter of a year, I laid by, every week, just as much as I should have laid out had we drank tea. This, at the least I could reckon it, was one shilling and sixpence a week. As there are twelve weeks in a quarter of a year, this, you know, came to eighteen shillings; and, with that money, I bought myself and you, these good stuff gowns, which have kept us so warm all the winter, and a pair of sheets for your bed: Would you rather have been starved in rags, and drank tea; or, comfortably clad, and had milk-porridge? O, I have heard enough about tea, said Nancy, give me milk-porridge, a stuff gown, and new sheets.

If comfort round a cottage fire, The poor desire to see, Let them to useful things aspire, And learn to banish tea.

TALE III.

Jenny Bunney sometimes did an errand for her school-mistress: sometimes she took her mother’s work to the warehouse, and was often employed to go on other errands, because she was very quick, never loitering on the road. She was also careful to remember what was told her, and carry a proper message. She had a sufficient pleasure in being useful, and finding herself trusted, and did not wish for any other reward; however, the people where she went, were very kind, and would sometimes give her a halfpenny. There was a woman lived very near where she did, who sold apples and gingerbread, &c. these she thought looked very nice, and sometimes she would buy a halfpenny-worth, but there was very little for money; she had soon eaten it, and found herself not at all satisfied. What a foolish thing, said she to herself, will it be to spend all my money in this way, and have nothing useful for it. I will lay by the halfpence I get till I can buy something useful, and then I shall find which affords me the most satisfaction. She observed, that her mother had long worked very hard to get food and cloaths for her children, and that she hardly ever bought anything for herself. Her caps were almost worn out, and Jenny knew that she did not know how to get any new ones: so she asked her mistress, at the school, to be so good as to tell her how much would buy her mother two caps. Her mistress told her she thought she could buy her two for ten pence: so she saved all the halfpence she got, and very anxious she was till the number was compleated: then, the next time she went to school, she gave it to her mistress to lay it out. The following morning the caps were bought, and ready for her to make. She worked hard, and, at night, had hemmed the border, set it on neatly, and finished one cap! The second day her task was compleated, and the caps carried home. If she had had a dozen given to herself, I do not think her joy would have been half so great as that she had, in the thought of giving these to her mother. As soon as she got into the house, she ran up to her and said, mother, I have got a little present for you, if you please to accept it. A present, said she! what is it? Jenny then pulled out the caps, and put one on her mother’s head, and the other in her lap. How came you by these, said she? Who sent them? Mother, said Jenny, I have bought and made them myself: You do a great deal for me, and I am sorry that I can help you no more; however, I feel more glad that I could buy you these, than if any body else had given you them. My dear, said her mother, where could you get the money? O, said she, you know that I had many odd half-pence given me, these I kept till I got enough to buy you two caps, as I thought it would give me more pleasure than laying it out in any thing else. Her mother almost cried for joy, to find she had so good a child, and told her she should value the caps more than if any fine lady had given her them. Young, as you are, you now find how much you can do to render your parents comfortable; and I rejoice, that poor as we are, you will never want pleasure, since you have learned that you need only try to be useful.

When gingerbread and apples lure, I’ll think on Jenny Bunney: Rememb’ring pleasures that endure, Are better worth my money.

TALE IV.

Near to Jenny Bunney lived Nancy Thoughtless. She too, sometimes, had halfpence given her; but they soon went at the apple-woman’s in cakes, gingerbread, nuts, &c. Sometimes she would save several in her little box; but she did not think of laying them out in any thing useful, and they soon followed the rest. One very sharp winter, in which they found it hard work to get victuals, her father had a very long illness: this was a great trial; however, the poor woman, his wife, kept up her spirits pretty well. All worked who were able, and they just managed to live, every day hoping the father would get better. One day, said her mother to Nancy, my dear, I wish I had a little wine to give your father, he is very weak, and I think it might do him good; but it is dear, and I have no money to buy any with. You know that I never go, nor send you a begging, for it is generally the idle and wasteful who beg; and, as I am not one of them, I do not choose to follow their example. I think I have seen you take the halfpence which were given you to your little box. Perhaps you have as much as six-pence, this would buy a little wine for your poor father; and, I dare say, you will be glad to put it to such a use. Money, my dear child, is of no more value than stones or dirt, any further than as it is useful; and, it is every body’s duty to make the best use he can of all he has. I dare say you feel that you can do nothing better with yours, than buy your father a little wine. I need say no more, you will run up stairs and fetch it. Nancy hung down her head, and did not stir. Her mother waited: at last she burst out a crying, O, mother, said she, I have no six-pence, I have not even a half-penny. How have you laid it out, said her mother? O I have wasted it all in gingerbread and nuts, and now I have none to buy my poor father a drop of wine with. What shall I do! What shall I do! Her mother told her, as crying could not bring back her money, she had better give over. I am very sorry, said she, you have lost all the pleasure you would now have had in doing good to your father, and helping the family; but, perhaps, you like the remembrance of your nuts and your gingerbread better. O, mother, do not say so; I would rather have never tasted them if I could but now buy the wine. My dear, said she, I hope you will be wiser then for the future, and always remember, that those things which please the longest, are the best.