Title: Plain tales, chiefly intended for the use of charity schools
Author: Anonymous
Release Date: September 4, 2023 [eBook #71559]
Language: English
Credits: Carol Brown, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Plain Tales,
Printed for Vernor & Hood, 31 Poultry, April 1799.
[Pg 1]
[Pg 2]
CHIEFLY INTENDED FOR
THE USE
OF
CHARITY SCHOOLS.
LONDON:
Printed for VERNOR and HOOD,
No. 31, Poultry.
1799.
[Pg 3]
Plain Tales.
ukey 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[Pg 4]
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[Pg 5]
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[Pg 6]
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[Pg 7]
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[Pg 8]
girls in the street, and went to bed
thankful that she had been useful.
[Pg 9]
other, 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[Pg 10]
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[Pg 11]
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[Pg 12]
me milk-porridge, a stuff gown, and
new sheets.
[Pg 13]
enny 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[Pg 14]
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[Pg 15]
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[Pg 16]
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.
[Pg 17]
ear 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.[Pg 18]
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[Pg 19]
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.
[Pg 20]
s Mary Atkins was one day
going to fetch some turnips for dinner,
she saw, at the corner of Poverty
Lane, a second-hand shop, at
the door of which hung a great deal
of ragged finery. There was a tawdry
flowered gown: to be sure, it had
some holes in it, but it was well
starched, and made a show: there
was, likewise, an old muslin cap,
with a pleated border, and a fine red
ribband round it. Mary went home,
and told her mother she wished her to
go with her to Poverty-lane, to buy
something at the second-hand shop,
for she had seen some very pretty
things there; and Sally Idle had
bought a white apron for six-pence,
and a muslin handkerchief for two-pence.
My dear, said her mother,
there is not a place in the town I have
so great a dislike to as a rag-shop, for
such it may properly be called; and,[Pg 21]
it is one great cause of the ruin of
poor people, that they lay out their
money at these shops. The apron
and handkerchief which Sally Idle
bought, would, probably, be in rags
the first time they were washed, and
she would then find that she had laid
out her money in a very wrong manner.
The pleated bordered cap you
saw, was, I dare say, already in
holes; and, perhaps, after once washing
it, could be pleated no more:
besides, such a thing would take a
great deal of time, which poor people
have not to spare. I would rather
see a plain cloth cap, with a
strong lawn border, set strait on,
which would wear well for years,
than such fine ones which would not
last a month. The cotton gown, perhaps,
I could buy for half what I
gave for my new stuff one; but it
would often want washing, and that
would take a great deal of time, which
would very much hinder my work at[Pg 22]
the wheel. Soap too, is very dear,
so that it would soon cost me more
than that I have: besides, I think it
very untidy to see a poor woman
with a dirty bit of a cotton gown all
in rags, when she might, by a little
contrivance, have a comfortable stuff
one. Poor people, in general, find
it difficult to raise money enough at a
time to go to the shops and buy a new
garment: but my way is to put by,
weekly, a little out of what every
one gets. You know you have each
a place to put your own in, and, by
many a little being often put together,
it soon becomes a good deal. When
I want a new garment for any of us,
I go and see how much is in the
drawer, and if there is not enough,
your father and I endeavour to make
it up out of our own earnings. I
should think it a shameful waste, indeed,
to spend my money and my
children’s at a rag shop. I never[Pg 23]
have done it, nor do I ever mean to
do it; but, if you think it a better
way, you are very welcome to try.
But, as I think it a disgrace for an
industrious woman to be seen there,
you will excuse my going with you.
O, said Mary, I will not go, I am
convinced that your way is best; and,
now I think of it, Sally Idle had a
great many rents in the linen gown,
which I know she bought there but a
little time since, and it looked very
dirty and untidy too. Some people,
said her mother, may laugh at my
putting by the six-pences and the
penny’s every week, but I am sure
we have a great deal of comfort from
it; and, it matters not who laughs,
so long as we are certain that we
are doing right. I do not think that
I should hoard up a great many shillings
and guineas as if I could get
them, for they are only desirable to
make use of; but I know it to be my[Pg 24]
duty to do the best I can with my
little, and, while I do that, you may
be sure I shall not go to the rag-shop.
[Pg 25]
olly Brown went one day
to carry her grandmam a little broth,
for the poor can do good to others as
well as the rich. Her mother desired
her to go carefully, not to stay by the
way, and to come strait back: she
said she would. As she was going,
she met Sukey Playful and Dolly Careless:
where are you going? said they.
To take my grandmam some broth.
Come, said they, set it down a little
while, and have a run with us. O
no, said she, I cannot now, my mammy
desired I would make haste; beside,
the broth will be cold. When
a little girl knows what is right, she
ought to listen to no persuasions to do
wrong. They told her, her mammy
would never know anything about it:
that they were going to buy a half-penny
worth of apples, and would
give her one if she would go with
them. Come, said they, you may[Pg 26]
set down the jug in this snug place,
and we shall soon be back again.
At last she consented; but she had
no comfort as she went, nor when
she had got her apple; for she thought,
if the jug should be thrown down,
what should she do. They made
haste, but when they came back to
the place, a dog had thrown down
the jug, and spilt all the broth. Polly
began to cry most terribly, and scolded
Sukey and Dolly for persuading her
to go, when she might have recollected
that it was her own fault for
not minding her duty. They were
a good deal frightened: however,
they said, never mind it, as the jug is
not broke, you can go home and tell
your mammy you took the broth, and,
perhaps, she will never know any
thing about it. Polly dried her eyes,
took up the jug, and went home;
but she was very uneasy, and felt that
she did not like her play-fellows half
so well as she had done before, for[Pg 27]
they had now taught her to do wrong.
When she got home, well, said her
mother, how does your grandmam
do, my dear, and how did she like
the broth; for I dare say she was
hungry enough, poor soul, and
would eat them directly? Polly
said, she was much as usual, and
liked them very well. All the day
she was very dull, and found she
could not work with half so much
pleasure as she used to do. At night,
when she went to bed, she was very
uncomfortable indeed; she had been
taught always to tell the truth, as the
only way to be happy herself, or of
any use to others. She now felt that
she had deceived her mother, and
therefore did not deserve to be trusted
by her. Thus she continued very uneasy
all the week: On Saturday night,
when her mother had done all her
work, and washed the young children
and put them to bed, Polly,
said she, I think I will just step and
see how your grandmother does:[Pg 28]
you, my dear, will take care of the
house; and mend a hole in your father’s
stocking for to-morrow. You
begin to be a great help to me now,
and I thank God that I have one
child to depend upon for a little comfort
and assistance: be sure to take
care against the fire and candle, I
shall soon be back again. She then
went out, but Polly’s heart was ready
to break: she had always, before, deserved
her mother’s praise, and it
was the next comfort she had to the
satisfaction of her own mind. But
now she had deceived her; she was
miserable; she was going to be found
out; and she could no more expect
to be trusted. The grandmother was
very glad to see her daughter, and
began to enquire after all the children,
and particularly Polly, who,
she said, was now a notable little
maid, and would soon, she hoped,
be a great comfort to them all. But
child, said she, I am afraid you have[Pg 29]
raised no broth lately, for you used
to be so good as to send me
some, and it is now many a long
day since I have had any. Mother,
said she, you forget, we made
broth on Monday, and Polly brought
you some then. Well, said she, I
believe my memory fails me, but I
thought it had been longer. Here is
my neighbour Green, who brings in
her wheel sometimes, she has sat
with me a good deal this week, it
may be that she can tell. Monday,
Monday, let me see, said Betty
Green; no, neighbour, I am sure
Polly brought none on Monday, for
that was the day we made some at
our house, and I brought you a little
of mine. Well, said Polly’s mother,
I do not know how it could be, but
I will enquire when I get home. I
must now wish you a good night, for
my husband will want his supper.
You have a shift here over the line that
wants mending I see: Polly is now
very ready with her needle, they have[Pg 30]
taught her so well in the charity-school.
I am sure she will be glad
to mend her grandmother’s shift; for
the more useful she is, the more happy
you know she will be: so I will take
it with me. Good night, God bless
you, I must make haste, for we poor
people have no time to lose. Away
she set off: when she got home, well,
Polly, said she, you have had no accident?
Polly was very dull, and said
no, mother. Your grandmother enquired
kindly after you, and was very
glad that you are such a comfort and
help to me; but how was it, my dear,
about the broth you last went with?
Your grandmother has never had
them. Polly trembled in every limb;
at first she thought of still saying that
she took them, but she found that she
had been miserable enough already,
and that it would only make her more
so. O, mother, said she, I have deceived
you: I have made myself very
unhappy, and I am very wicked indeed.[Pg 31]
She then told her mother what
had happened. Her mother was very
much shocked, and could hardly
speak. I know, said she, very well,
that other people are often wishing
and asking us to do wrong; it is possible
your naughty companions might
persuade you; but, to come home
and deceive me, this is dreadful indeed.
I know of no other right use
of words, but for us to tell one another
of things as they really are. You
have, perhaps, heard quarrels in the
street, and seen a good deal of sorrow
and trouble in houses; a great
part of this is owing to people’s deceiving
one another in their words,
and not telling the strict clear truth.
For my part, I would rather have had
a child who could not speak, than
one who deceives me. How can I
trust you? How can I depend upon
what you say? Nay, how do I know
that this account of the matter is
truth? When shall I be able to believe[Pg 32]
you again? O, my dear mother,
said she, do forgive me this once,
and I hope I shall always speak the
truth for the future. Yes, said she,
I can forgive you, but do you forgive
yourself? that is the matter. Can
you be as happy as you was before?
I will try: I will watch my words,
and tell you all. Well, said her mother,
you seem very sorry; I do not
wish to make you more so, only you
will find that I cannot, at present,
trust to what you say; neither can
your grandmother, nor neighbour
Green; but this you must endure as
the consequence of the fault you
have committed. It is a dreadful effect
of doing wrong, that it makes us
unhappy; but the more unhappy it
makes you, the more you must strive
against it in future. I hope you are
sincerely sorry; if so, we shall perceive
it by your speaking the truth,
for deceit is soon found out, and then[Pg 33]
we shall trust you as usual; and, I
hope, you will always remember,
that none can deceive another without
injuring himself.
[Pg 34]
! said Phebe Talkative, one
day to Nancy Diligent, I wish I had
finished my work—what a long seam
this is, I think I never shall have done.
Nancy told her she wished she would
not talk so, for she had as much work
to do as herself, and talking only hindered
them both. Phebe told her she
thought it very hard if they might
not talk; but, if she would not speak,
she would get somebody else. She
then turned to the little girl who sat
on the other side; in so doing, she
lost her needle: she was then obliged
to get up and look it, and off dropped
her thimble. Dear heart, said she,
my things are always so tiresome, I
wonder what business my needle had
to drop; I do not see that other people’s
needles and thimbles fall. Thus
she kept talking on, and it was some
time before she had again taken her[Pg 35]
seat, and got to work. Presently she
observed that Nancy Diligent was not
in her place; and, when she came
back to it, she said, this is you who
would not speak; but I see you can
leave your place and walk about as
well as other girls. Nancy told her
that she had only been to have her
work fixed, as she had done her
seam. Phebe was now a little ashamed.
Whether she minded better in
future, I do not know; but certain I
am, that if people would observe,
that the inconveniencies they meet
with are chiefly owing to their own
carelessness, they might do a great
deal better, and be a great deal
happier.
FINIS.
BOOKS
Printed for Vernor and Hood,
No. 31, Poultry.
1. BIOGRAPHY for GIRLS; or Moral and Instructive Examples for Young Ladies. By Mrs. Pilkington. With Five elegant Heads. 2s. vellum back.
2. TALES of the HERMITAGE, for improving the Mind and Morals of Youth. By Mrs. Pilkington. 2s. bound.
3. TALES of the COTTAGE; or Stories moral and amusing, for Young Persons. By Mrs. Pilkington. 2s. half bound, vellum back.
4. Henry; or, THE FOUNDLING; and the Prejudiced Parent, or Virtuous Daughter. By Mrs. Pilkington. Frontispiece. 1s. 6d. bound.
5. MIRROR for YOUNG LADIES, or Historical Beauties, applied to Character, Conduct, and Behaviour; by Mrs. Pilkington. With 24 wooden Cuts; 3s. 6d. bound.
6. MARMONTEL’s MORAL TALES, abridged for Youth, and the Use of Schools and Academies, by Mrs. Pilkington. With elegant Frontispiece; and Head and Tail Pieces cut in Wood. Price 3s. 6d. bound.
7. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, by Mrs. Pilkington, Dedicated to the Duchess of Marlborough. 2 volumes, printed on fine vellum paper, &c. 6s. boards.
8. OBEDIENCE REWARDED; or the History of Mortimer Lascelles. By Mrs. Pilkington. With elegant Frontispiece. 3s. bound.
9. SCRIPTURE HISTORIES; or Interesting Passages extracted from the Old Testament, for the Instruction and Amusement of Youth. By Mrs. Pilkington. 2s. 6d. bound.
This book was written in a period when many words had not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.
Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. The use of italics is inconsistent in the advertisement at the end.