Chapter 9

"It was a jovial day for Papa and Mamma's Watchmaker when, two years afterwards, Mr. Franz returned home, a partner in the old partner's prosperous business, and with the smiling Jacintha for his bride.

"And then, in telling his mother of that first evening of his good fortune, he did not forget to mention that he had hung down his head all the time, as she had advised; and, just as he expected, she jumped up in the most extravagant delight.

"'I knew how it would be all along!' cried she; 'I told you so! I knew if you could only hide that terrible snub all would be well; and I'm sure our pretty Jacintha wouldn't have looked your way if you hadn't! See, now! you have to thank your mother for it all!'

"Franz was quite happy himself, so he smiled, and let his mother be happy her way too; but he opened his heart of hearts to poor old- fashioned papa, and told him--well, in fact, all his follies and mistakes, and their cure. And if mamma was happy in her bit of comfort, papa was not less so in his, for there is not a more delightful thing in the world than for father and son to understand each other as friends; and old Franz would sometimes walk up and down in his room, listening to the cheerful young voices up-stairs, and say to himself, that if Mother Franz--good soul as she was--did not always quite enter into his feelings, it was his comfort to be blessed with a son who did!"

* * *

What a long story it had been! Aunt Judy was actually tired out when she got to the end, and could not talk about it, but the little ones did till they arrived at the station, and had to get out.

And in the evening, when they were all sitting together before they went to bed, there was no small discussion about the story of Mr. Franz, and how people were to know what was really good manners--when to come forward, and when to hold back--and the children were a little startled at first, when their mother told them that the best rules for good manners were to be found in the Bible.

But when she reminded them of that text, "When thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room," &c. they saw in those words a very serious reason for not pushing forward into the best place in company. And when they recollected that every man was to do to others as he wished others to do to him, it became clear to them that it was the duty of all people to study their neighbours' comfort and pleasure as well as their own; and it was no hard matter to show how this rule applied to all the little ins and outs of every-day life, whether at home, or in society. And there were plenty of other texts, ordering deference to elders, and the modesty which arises out of that humility of spirit which "vaunteth not itself," and "is not puffed up." There was, moreover, the comfortable promise, that "the meek" should "inherit the earth."

Of course, it was difficult to the little ones, just at first, to see how such very serious words could apply to anybody's manners, and especially to their own.

But it was a difficulty which mamma, with a little explanation, got over very easily; and before the little ones went to bed, they quite understood that in restraining themselves from teazing and being troublesome, they were not only not being "tiresome," but were actually obeying several Gospel rules.

"NOTHING TO DO."

"Had I a little son, I would christen him NOTHING-TO-DO." CHARLES LAMB.

There is a complaint which is not to be found in the doctor's books, but which is, nevertheless, such a common and troublesome one, that one heartily wishes some physic could be discovered which would cure it.

It may be called the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint.

Even quite little children are subject to it, but they never have it badly. Parents and nurses have only to give them something to do, or tell them of something to do, and the thing is put right. A puzzle or a picture-book relieves the attack at once.

But after the children have out-grown puzzles, and picture-books, and nurses, and when even a parent's advice is received with a little impatience, then the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint, if it seizes them at all, is a serious disease, and often very difficult to cure; and, if not cured, alas! then follows the melancholy spectacle of grown-up men and women, who are a plague to their friends, and a weariness to themselves; because, living under the notion that there is NOTHING for them TO DO, they want everybody else to do something to amuse them.

Anyone can laugh at the old story of the gentleman who got into such a fanciful state of mind--hypochondriacal, it is called--that he thought he was his own umbrella; and so, on coming in from a walk, would go and lay IT in the easy-chair by the fire, while he himself went and leant up against the wall in a corner of the hall.

But this gentleman was not a bit more fanciful and absurd than the people, whether young or old, who look out of windows on rainy days and groan because there is NOTHING TO DO; when, in reality, there is so much for everybody to do, that most people leave half their share undone.

The oddest part of the complaint is, that it generally comes on worst in those who from being comfortably off in the world, and from having had a great deal of education, have such a variety of things to do, that one would fancy they could never be at a loss for a choice.

But these are the very people who are most afflicted. It is always the young people who have books, and leisure, and music, and drawing, and gardens, and pleasure-grounds, and villagers to be kind to, who lounge to the rain-bespattered windows on a dull morning, and groan because there is NOTHING TO DO.

In justice to girls in general, it should be here mentioned, that they are on the whole less liable to the complaint than the young lords of the creation, who are supposed to be their superiors in sense. Philosophers may excuse this as they please, but the fact remains, that there are few large families in England, whose sisterhoods have not at times been teazed half out of their wits, by the growlings of its young gentlemen, during paroxysms of the NOTHING-TO-DO complaint; growling being one of its most characteristic symptoms.

Perhaps among all the suffering sisterhoods it would have been difficult to find a young lady less liable to catch such a disorder herself, than Aunt Judy; and perhaps that was the reason why she used to do such tremendous battle with No. 3, whenever, after his return from school for the holidays, he happened to have an attack.

"What are you groaning at through the window, No. 3?" she inquired on one such occasion; "is it raining?"

A very gruff-sounding "No," was the answer--No. 3 not condescending to turn round as he spoke. He proceeded, however, to state that it had rained when he got up, and he supposed it would rain again as a matter-of-course, (for his especial annoyance being implied,) and he concluded:-

"It's so horribly 'slow' here, with nothing to do."

No. 6, who was sitting opposite Aunt Judy, doing a French exercise, here looked up at her sister, and perceiving a smile steal over her face, took upon herself to think her brother's remark very ridiculous, so, said she, with a saucy giggle:-

"I can find you plenty to do, No. 3, in a minute. Come and write my French exercise for me.

No. 3 turned sharply round at this, with a frown on his face which by no means added to its beauty, and called out:-

"Now, Miss Pert, I recommend you to hold your tongue. I don't want any advice from a conceited little minx like you."

Miss Pert was extinguished at once, and set to work at the French exercise again most industriously, and a general silence ensued.

But people in the nothing-to-do complaint are never quiet for long. Teazing is quite as constant a symptom of it, as growling, so No. 3 soon came lounging from the window to the table, and began:-

"I say, Judy, I wish you would put those tiresome books, and drawings, and rubbish away, and I think of something to do."

"But it's the books, and the drawings, and the rubbish that give me something to do," cried Aunt Judy. "You surely don't expect me to give them up, and go arm and arm with you round the house, bemoaning the slowness of our fate which gives us nothing to do. Or shall we? Come, I don't care; I will if you like. But which shall we complain to first, mamma, or the maids?"

While she was saying this, Aunt Judy shut up her drawing book, jumped up from her chair, drew No. 3's arm under her own, and repeated:-

"Come! which? mamma, or the maids?" while Miss Pert opposite was labouring with all her might to smother the laugh she dared not indulge in.

But No. 3 pushed Aunt Judy testily away.

"'Nonsense, Judy! what has that to do with it? It's all very well for you girls--now, Miss Pert, mind your own affairs, and don't stare at me!--to amuse yourself with all manner of--"

"Follies, of course," cried Aunt Judy, laughing, "don't be afraid of speaking out, No. 3. It's all very well for us girls to amuse ourselves with all manner of follies, and nonsense, and rubbish;" here Aunt Judy chucked the drawing-book to the end of the table, tossed a dictionary after it, and threw another book or two into the air, catching them as they came down.

"--while you, superior, sensible young man that you are, born to be the comfort of your family--"

"Be quiet!" interrupted No. 3, trying to stop her; but she ran round the table and proceeded:-

"--and the enlightener of mankind; can't--no, no, No. 3, I won't be stopt!--can't amuse yourself with anything, because everything is so 'horribly slow, there's nothing to do,' so you want to tie yourself to your foolish sister's apron string."

"It's too bad!" shouted No. 3; and a race round the table began between them, but Aunt Judy dodged far too cleverly to be caught, so it ended in their resting at opposite ends; No. 6 and her French exercises lying between them.

"No. 6, my dear," cried Aunt Judy, in the lull of exertion, "I proclaim a holiday from folly and rubbish. Put your books away, and put your impertinence away too. Hold your tongue, and don't be Miss Pest; and vanish as soon as you can."

Miss Pert performed two or three putting-away evolutions with the velocity of a sunbeam, and darted off through the door.

"Now, then, we'll be reasonable," observed Aunt Judy; and carrying a chair to the front of the fire she sat down, and motioned to No. 3 to do the same, taking out from her pocket a little bit of embroidery work, which she kept ready for chatting hours.

No. 3 was always willing to listen to Aunt Judy.

He desired nothing better than to get her undivided attention, and pour out his groans in her ear; so he sat down with a very good grace, and proceeded to insist that there never was anything so "slow" as "it was."

Aunt Judy wanted to know what IT was; the place or the people, (including herself,) or what?

No. 3 could explain it no other way than by declaring that EVERYTHING was slow; there was nothing to do.

Aunt Judy maintained that there was plenty to do.

Whereupon No. 3 said:-

"But nothing WORTH doing."

Whereupon Aunt Judy told No. 3 that he was just like Dr. Faustus. On which, of course, No. 3 wanted to know what Dr. Faustus was like, and Aunt Judy answered, that he was just like HIM, only a great deal older and very learned.

"Only quite different, then," suggested No. 3.

"No," said Aunt Judy, "not QUITE different, for he came one day to the same conclusion that you have done, namely, that there was nothing to do, worth doing in the world."

"_I_ don't say the world, I only say here," observed No. 3; "there's plenty to do elsewhere, I dare say."

"So you think, because you have not tried else where," answered Aunt Judy. "But Dr. Faustus, who had tried elsewhere, thought everywhere alike, and declared there was nothing worth doing anywhere, although he had studied law, physic, divinity, and philosophy all through, and knew pretty nearly everything."

"Then you see he did not get much good out of learning," remarked No. 3.

"I do see," was the reply.

"And what became of him?"

"Ah, that's the point," replied Aunt Judy, "and a very remarkable point too. As soon as he got into the state of fancying there was nothing to do, worth doing, in God's world, the evil spirit came to him, and found him something to do in what I may, I am sure, call the devil's world--I mean, wickedness."

"Oh, that's a story written upon Watts's old hymn," exclaimed No. 3, contemptuously:-

"'For Satan finds some mischief still, For idle hands to do.'

Judy! I call that a regular 'SELL.'"

" Not a bit of it," cried Aunt Judy, warmly; "I don't suppose the man who wrote the story ever saw Watts's hymns, or intended to teach anything half as good. It's mamma's moral. She told me she had screwed it out of the story, though she doubted whether it was meant to be there."

"And what's the rest of the story then?" inquired No. 3, whose curiosity was aroused.

"Well! when the old Doctor found the world as it was, so 'SLOW,' as you very unmeaningly call it, he took to conjuring and talking with evil spirits by way of amusement; and then they easily persuaded him to be wicked, merely because it gave him something fresh and exciting to do."

"Watts's hymn again! I told you so!" exclaimed No. 3. "But the story's all nonsense from beginning to end. Nobody can conjure, or talk to evil spirits in reality, so the whole thing is impossible; and where you find the moral, I don't know."

No. 3 leant back and yawned as he concluded.

He was rather disappointed that nothing more entertaining had come out of the story of Dr. Faustus.

But Aunt Judy had by no means done.

"Impossible about conjuring and actually TALKING to evil spirits, certainly," said she; "but spiritual influences, both bad and good, come to us all, No. 3, without bodily communion; so for those who are inclined to feel like Dr. Faustus, there is both a moral and a warning in his fate."

"I don't know what about," cried No. 3. "I think he was uncommonly stupid, after all he had learnt, to get into such a mess. Why, you yourself are always trying to make out that the more people labour and learn, the more sure they are to keep out of mischief. Now then, how do you account for the story of your friend Dr. Faustus?"

"Because, like King Solomon, he did not labour and learn in a right spirit, or to a right end," replied Aunt Judy. "Lord Bacon remarks that when, after the Creation, God 'looked upon everything He had made, behold it was VERY GOOD;' whereas when man 'turned him about,' and took a view of the world and his own labours in it, he found that 'all' was 'vanity and vexation of spirit.' Why did he come to such a different conclusion, do you think?"

"I suppose because the world had got bad, before King Solomon's time," suggested No. 3.

"Its inhabitants had," replied Aunt Judy. "They had become subject to sin and misery; but the world was still God's creation, and proofs of the 'very good' which He had pronounced over it were to be found in every direction, and even in fallen man, if Solomon had had the sense, or rather I should say, good feeling to look for them. Ah! No. 3, there was plenty to be learnt and done that would NOT have ended in 'vanity and vexation of spirit' if Solomon had LEARNT in order to trace out the glory of God, instead of establishing his own; and if he had WORKED to create, as far as was in his power, a world of happiness for other people, instead of seeking nothing but his own amusement. If he had worked in the spirit of God, in short."

"But who can?--Nobody," exclaimed No. 3.

"Yes, everybody, who tries, can, to a certain extent," said Aunt Judy. "It only wants the right feeling; some of the good God-like feeling which originated the creation of a beautiful world, and caused the contemplation of it to produce the sublime complacency which is described, 'And God looked upon everything that He had made, and behold it was very good.'"

"It's a sermon, Judy," cried No. 3, half bored, yet half amused at the notion of her preaching; "I'll set up a pulpit for you at once, shall I?"

"No, no, be quiet, No. 3," exclaimed Aunt Judy, "I wish you would try and understand what I say!"

"Well, then," said No. 3, "it appears to me that do what one might now the world has grown bad, it would be impossible to pronounce that 'VERY GOOD,' as the result of one's work. There would always be something miserable and unsatisfactory at the end of everything; I mean even if one really was to look into things closely, and work for other people's good, as you say."

"There might be SOMETHING miserable and unsatisfactory, in the result, certainly," answered Aunt Judy; "but that it would ALL be 'vanity and vexation of spirit' I deny. Our blessed Saviour came into the world after it had grown bad, remember; and He worked solely for the restoration of the 'very good,' which sin had defaced. It was undoubtedly MISERABLE and UNSATISFACTORY that He should be rejected by the very creatures He came to help; but when He uttered the words 'It is finished,' the work which He had accomplished, He might well have looked upon and called very good: very very good; even beyond the creation, were that possible."

"There can be no comparison between our Saviour and us," murmured No. 3.

"No," replied his sister; "but only let people work in the same direction, and they will have more 'profit' of their 'labour,' than King Solomon ever owned to, who had, one fears, only learnt, in order to be learned, and worked, to please himself. No man who employs himself in tracing out God's footsteps IN the world, or in working in God's spirit FOR the world, will ever find such labours end in 'vanity and vexation of spirit!' Solomon, Dr. Faustus, and the grumblers, have only themselves to thank for their disappointment."

"It's very curious," observed No. 3, getting up, and stretching himself over the fire, "I mean about Solomon and Dr. Faustus. But what can one do? What can you or I do? It's absurd to be fancying one can do good to one's fellow-creatures."

"Nevertheless, there is one I want you to do good to, at the present moment," said Aunt Judy--"if it is not actually raining. Don't you remember what despair No. 1 was in this morning, when father sent her off on the pony in such a hurry."

"Ah, that pony! That was just what I wanted myself," interrupted No. 3.

"Exactly, of course," replied Aunt Judy. "But you were not the messenger father wanted, so do not let us go all over that ground again, pray. The fact was, No. 1 had just heard that her pet 'Tawny Rachel' was very ill, and she wanted to go and see her, and give her some good advice, and I am to go instead. Now No. 3, suppose you go instead of me, and save me a wet walk?"

No. 3, of course, began by protesting that it was not possible that he could do any good to an old woman. Old women were not at all in his way. He could only say, how do you do? and come away.

Aunt Judy disputed this: she thought he could offer her some creature comforts, and ask whether she had seen the Doctor, and what he said, as No. 1 particularly wished to know.

What an idea! No, no; he must decline inquiring what the Doctor said; it would be absurd; but he could offer her something to eat.

- And just ask if she had had the Doctor.--Well, just that, and come away. It would not occupy many minutes. But he wished, while Aunt Judy was about it, she had found him something rather LONGER to do!

Aunt Judy promised to see what could be devised on his return, and No. 3 departed. And a very happily chosen errand it was; for it happened in this case, as it so constantly does happen, that what was begun for other people's sake, ended in personal gratification. No. 3 went to see "Tawny Rachel," out of good-natured compliance with Aunt Judy's request, but found an interest and amusement in the visit itself, which he had not in the least expected.

Ten, twenty, thirty, minutes elapsed, and he had not returned; and when he did so at last, he burst into the house far more like an avalanche than a young gentleman who could find "nothing to do."

Coming in the back way, he ran into the kitchen, and told the servants to get some hot water ready directly, for he was sure something would be wanted. Then, passing forward, he shouted to know where his mother was, and, having found her, entreated she would order some comfortable, gruelly stuff or other, to be made for the sick old woman, particularly insisting that it should have ale or wine, as well as spice and sugar in it.

He was positive that that was just what she ought to have! She had said how cold she was, and how glad she should be of something to warm her inside; and there was nobody to do anything for her at home. What a shame it was for a poor old creature like that to be left with only two dirty boys to look after her, and they always at play in the street! Her daughter and husband were working out, and she sat moaning over the fire, from pain, without anybody to care!

* * *

Tender-hearted and impulsive, if thoughtless, the spirit of No. 3 had been moved within him at the spectacle of the gaunt old woman in this hour of her lonely suffering.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" The children had called her so, from the heroine of Mrs. Hannah More's tale, because of those dark gipsy eyes of hers, which had formerly given such a fine expression to her handsome but melancholy face. Melancholy, because care-worn from the long life's struggle for daily bread, for a large indulged family, who scarcely knew, at the day of her death, that she had worn herself out for their sakes.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" She was one day asked by a well-meaning shopkeeper, of whom she had purchased a few goods, WHERE SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO?"

"Tawny Rachel" turned her sad eyes upon her interrogator, and made answer:-

"Going to? why where do you think I'm going to, but to Heaven?-- 'Deed! where do you think I'm going to, but to Heaven?" she repeated to herself slowly, as if to recover breath; and then added, "I should like to know who Heaven is for, if not for such as me, that have slaved all their lives through, for other folk;" and so saying, Tawny Rachel turned round again, and went away.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" The theology was imperfect enough; but so had been her education and advantages. Yet as surely as her scrupulous, never-failing honesty, and unmurmuring self-denial, must have been inspired by something beyond human teaching; so surely did it prove no difficult task to her spiritual guide, to lead her onwards to those simple verities of the Christian Faith, which, in her case, seemed to solve the riddle of a weary, unsatisfactory life, and, confiding in which, the approach of death really became to her, the advent of the Prince of Peace.

* * *

"But she had quite cheered up," remarked No. 3, "at the notion of something comforting and good," and so--he had "come off at once."

"At once!"--the exclamation came from Aunt Judy, who had entered the room, and was listening to the account. "Why, No. 3, you must have been there an hour at least. And nevertheless I dare say you have forgotten about the Doctor."

"The Doctor!" cried No. 3, laughing,--"It's the Doctor who has kept me all this time. You never heard such fun in your life,--only he's an awful old rascal, I must say!"

Mamma and Aunt Judy gazed at No. 3 in bewilderment. The respectable old village practitioner, who had superintended all the deceases in the place for nearly half a century--to be called "an awful old rascal" at last! What could No. 3 be thinking of?

Certainly not of the respectable village practitioner, as he soon explained, by describing the arrival at Tawny Rachel's cottage of a travelling quack with a long white beard.

"My dear No. 3!" exclaimed mamma.