Part 21 (2/2)

Grandfather promised amendment, if ever he should have an opportunity to repeat his narrative. The good old chair, which still seemed to retain a due regard for outward appearance, then reminded him how long a time had pa.s.sed, since it had been provided with a new cus.h.i.+on. It likewise expressed the opinion, that the oaken figures on its back would show to much better advantage, by the aid of a little varnish.

”And I have had a complaint in this joint,” continued the chair, endeavoring to lift one of its legs, ”ever since Charley trundled his wheelbarrow against me.”

”It shall be attended to,” said Grandfather. ”And now, venerable chair, I have a favor to solicit. During an existence of more than two centuries, you have had a familiar intercourse with men who were esteemed the wisest of their day. Doubtless, with your capacious understanding, you have treasured up many an invaluable lesson of wisdom. You certainly have had time enough to guess the riddle of life. Tell us poor mortals, then, how we may be happy!”

The lion's head fixed its eyes thoughtfully upon the fire, and the whole chair a.s.sumed an aspect of deep meditation. Finally, it beckoned to Grandfather with its elbow, and made a step sideways towards him, as if it had a very important secret to communicate.

”As long as I have stood in the midst of human affairs,” said the chair, with a very oracular enunciation, ”I have constantly observed that JUSTICE, TRUTH, and LOVE, are the chief ingredients of every happy life.”

”Justice, Truth, and Love!” exclaimed Grandfather. ”We need not exist two centuries to find out that these qualities are essential to our happiness.

This is no secret. Every human being is born with the instinctive knowledge of it.”

”Ah!” cried the chair, drawing back in surprise. ”From what I have observed of the dealings of man with man, and nation with nation, I never should have suspected that they knew this all-important secret. And, with this eternal lesson written in your soul, do you ask me to sift new wisdom for you, out of my petty existence of two or three centuries?”

”But, my dear chair-” said Grandfather.

”Not a word more,” interrupted the chair; ”here I close my lips for the next hundred years. At the end of that period, if I shall have discovered any new precepts of happiness, better than what Heaven has already taught you, they shall a.s.suredly be given to the world.”

In the energy of its utterance, the oaken chair seemed to stamp its foot, and trod, (we hope unintentionally) upon Grandfather's toe. The old gentleman started, and found that he had been asleep in the great chair, and that his heavy walking stick had fallen down across his foot.

”Grandfather,” cried little Alice, clapping her hands, ”you must dream a new dream, every night, about our chair!”

Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, said the same. But the good old gentleman shook his head, and declared that here ended the history, real or fabulous, of GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR.

BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES

BENJAMIN WEST, SIR ISAAC NEWTON, SAMUEL JOHNSON OLIVER CROMWELL, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, QUEEN CHRISTINA.

This small volume, and others of a similar character, from the same hand, have not been composed without a deep sense of responsibility. The author regards children as sacred, and would not, for the world, cast any thing into the fountain of a young heart, that might embitter and pollute its waters. And, even in point of the reputation to be aimed at, juvenile literature is as well worth cultivating as any other. The writer, if he succeed in pleasing his little readers, may hope to be remembered by them till their own old age-a far longer period of literary existence than is generally attained, by those who seek immortality from the judgments of full grown men.

Chapter I

When Edward Temple was about eight or nine years old, he was afflicted with a disorder of the eyes. It was so severe, and his sight was naturally so delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehensions lest the boy should become totally blind. He therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a darkened chamber, with a bandage over his eyes. Not a ray of the blessed light of Heaven could be suffered to visit the poor lad.

This was a sad thing for Edward! It was just the same as if there were to be no more suns.h.i.+ne, nor moonlight, nor glow of the cheerful fire, nor light of lamps. A night had begun which was to continue perhaps for months,-a longer and drearier night than that which voyagers are compelled to endure, when their s.h.i.+p is ice-bound, throughout the winter, in the Arctic Ocean. His dear father and mother, his brother George, and the sweet face of little Emily Robinson, must all vanish, and leave him in utter darkness and solitude. Their voices and footsteps, it is true, would be heard around him; he would feel his mother's embrace, and the kind pressure of all their hands; but still it would seem as if they were a thousand miles away.

And then his studies! They were to be entirely given up. This was another grievous trial; for Edward's memory hardly went back to the period when he had not known how to read. Many and many a holiday had he spent at his book, poring over its pages until the deepening twilight confused the print, and made all the letters run into long words. Then would he press his hands across his eyes, and wonder why they pained him so, and, when the candles were lighted, what was the reason that they burned so dimly, like the moon in a foggy night. Poor little fellow! So far as his eyes were concerned, he was already an old man, and needed a pair of spectacles almost as much as his own grandfather did.

And now, alas! the time was come, when even grandfather's spectacles could not have a.s.sisted Edward to read. After a few bitter tears, which only pained his eyes the more, the poor boy submitted to the surgeon's orders.

His eyes were bandaged, and, with his mother on one side, and his little friend Emily on the other, he was led into a darkened chamber.

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