Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened. John Aikin
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Название: Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened

Автор: John Aikin

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4064066168360

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СКАЧАТЬ said he, ringing the bell, “I think we have done a good deal. Tom! bring my bow and arrows.”

      The fine London-made bow, in its green case, and the quiver with all its appurtenances, were brought, and his lordship went down to the place where the shooting-butts were erected. He aimed a few shots at the target, but not coming near it, he shot all the remainder at random, and then ordered out his horse.

      He sauntered, with a servant at his heels, for a mile or two through the lanes, and came, just as the clock struck twelve, to a village-green, close by which a school was kept. A door flew open, and out burst a shoal of boys, who, spreading over the green, with immoderate vociferation, instantly began a variety of sports. Some fell to marbles, some to trap-ball, some to leap-frog. In short, not one of the whole crew but was eagerly employed. Everything was noise, motion, and pleasure. Lord Linger, riding slowly up, espied one of his tenants’ sons, who had been formerly admitted as a playfellow of his, and called him from the throng.

      “Jack,” said he, “how do you like school?”

      “O, pretty well, my lord.”

      “What—have you a good deal of play?”

      “O no! We have only from twelve to two for playing and eating our dinners; and then an hour before supper.”

      “That is very little, indeed!”

      “But we play heartily when we do play, and work when we work. Good-by, my lord! it is my turn to go in at trap!”

      So saying, Jack ran off.

      “I wish I was a school-boy!” cried the little lord to himself.

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      A large old house in the country was so extremely infested with rats that nothing could be secured from their depredations. They scaled the walls to attack flitches of bacon, though hung as high as the ceiling. Hanging shelves afforded no protection to the cheese and pastry. They penetrated by sap into the store-room, and plundered it of preserves and sweetmeats. They gnawed through cupboard-doors, undermined floors, and ran races behind the wainscots. The cats could not get at them; they were too cunning and too well fed to meddle with poison; and traps only now and then caught a heedless straggler. One of these, however, on being taken, was the occasion of practising a new device. This was, to fasten a collar with a small bell about the prisoner’s neck, and then turn him loose again.

      Overjoyed at the recovery of his liberty, the rat ran into the nearest hole, and went in search of his companions. They heard at a distance the bell tinkle-tinkle through the dark passages, and suspecting some enemy had got among them, away they scoured, some one way and some another. The bell-bearer pursued; and soon guessing the cause of their flight, he was greatly amused by it. Wherever he approached, it was all hurry-scurry, and not a tail of one of them was to be seen. He chased his old friends from hole to hole, and room to room, laughing all the while at their fears, and increasing them by all the means in his power. Presently, he had the whole house to himself. “That’s right,” quoth he, “the fewer the better cheer.” So he rioted alone among the good things, and stuffed till he could hardly walk.

      For two or three days this course of life went on very pleasantly. He ate, and ate, and played the bugbear to perfection. At length, he grew tired of this lonely condition, and longed to mix with his companions again upon the former footing. But the difficulty was, how to get rid of his bell. He pulled and tugged with his fore-feet, and almost wore the skin off his neck in the attempt, but all in vain. The bell was now his plague and torment. He wandered from room to room earnestly desiring to make himself known to one of his companions, but they all kept out of his reach. At last, as he was moping about disconsolate he fell in puss’s way, and was devoured in an instant.

      He who is raised so much above his fellow-creatures as to be the object of their terror, must suffer for it in losing all the comforts of society. He is a solitary being in the midst of crowds. He keeps them at a distance, and they equally shun him. Dread and affection cannot subsist together.

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      Think yourself sure of nothing till you’ve got it:

      This is the lesson of the day.

      In metaphoric language I might say,

      Count not your bird before you’ve shot it.

      Quoth Proverb, “’Twixt the cup and lip

      There’s many a slip.”

      Not every guest invited sits at table,

      So says my fable.

      A man once gave a dinner to his friend;

      His friend!—his patron I should rather think

      By all the loads of meat and drink,

      And fruits and gellies without end,

      Sent home the morning of the feast.

      Jowler, his dog, a social beast,

      Soon as he smelt the matter out, away

      Scampers to old acquaintance Tray,

      And, with expressions kind and hearty,

      Invites him to the party.

      Tray wanted little pressing to a dinner;

      He was, in truth, a gormandizing sinner.

      He lick’d his chops, and wagg’d his tail,

      “Dear friend!” he cried, “I will not fail

      But what’s your hour?”

      “We dine at four;

      But if you come an hour too soon,

      You’ll find there’s something to be done.”

      His friend withdrawn, Tray, full of glee,

      As blithe as blithe could be,

      Skipp’d, danced, and play’d full many an antic

      Like one half frantic,

      Then sober in the sun lay winking,

      But could not sleep for thinking.

      He thought o’er every dainty dish,

      Fried, boil’d and roast,

      Flesh, fowl, and fish,

      With tripes and toast,

      Fit for a dog to eat;

      And in his fancy made a treat,

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