Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened. John Aikin
to rescue my defenceless flock from the ravenous jaws of these devourers! Gracious Heaven! if I am not worthy to save this land from the Danish sword, raise up some other hero to fight with more success than I have done, and let me spend my life in this obscure cottage, in these servile offices: I shall be content if England is happy. O! here come my blunt host and hostess.
Enter Gubba and Gandelin.
Gandelin. Help me down with the pail, husband. This new milk, with the cakes, will make an excellent supper: but, mercy on us, how they are burnt! black as my shoe; they have not once been turned: you oaf, you lubber, you lazy loon—
Alfred. Indeed, dame, I am sorry for it: but my mind was full of sad thoughts.
Gubba. Come, wife, you must forgive him; perhaps he is in love. I remember when I was in love with thee——
Gandelin. You remember!
Gubba. Yes, dame, I do remember it, though it is many a long year since; my mother was making a kettle of furmety—
Gandelin. Pr’y thee, hold thy tongue, and let us eat our suppers.
Alfred. How refreshing is this sweet new milk, and this wholesome bread!
Gubba. Eat heartily, friend. Where shall we lodge him, Gandelin?
Gandelin. We have but one bed you know; but there is fresh straw in the barn.
Alfred (aside). If I shall not lodge like a king, at least I shall lodge like a soldier. Alas! how many of my poor soldiers are stretched on the bare ground!
Gandelin. What noise do I hear! It is the tramping of horses. Good husband, go and see what is the matter!
Alfred. Heaven forbid my misfortunes should bring destruction on this simple family! I had rather have perished in the wood.
Gubba returns, followed by Ella, with his sword drawn.
Gandelin. Mercy defend us, a sword!
Gubba. The Danes! the Danes! O, do not kill us!
Ella (kneeling). My liege, my lord, my sovereign! have I found you?
Alfred (embracing him). My brave Ella!
Ella. I bring you good news, my sovereign! Your troops that were shut up in Kinwith Castle made a desperate sally—the Danes were slaughtered. The fierce Hubba lies gasping on the plain.
Alfred. Is it possible! Am I yet a king!
Ella. Their famous standard, the Danish raven, is taken; their troops are panic-struck; the English soldiers call aloud for Alfred. Here is a letter which will inform you of more particulars. (Gives a letter.)
Gubba (aside). What will become of us? Ah! dame, that tongue of thine has undone us!
Gandelin. O, my poor dear husband! we shall all be hanged, that’s certain. But who could have thought it was the king?
Gubba. Why, Gandelin, do you see we might have guessed he was born to be a king, or some such great man, because, you know, he was fit for nothing else.
Alfred (coming forward). God be praised for these tidings! Hope is sprung up out of the depth of despair. O, my friend! shall I again shine in arms—again fight at the head of my brave Englishmen—lead them on to victory! Our friends shall now lift their heads again.
Ella. Yes, you have many friends, who have long been obliged, like their master, to skulk in deserts and caves, and wander from cottage to cottage. When they hear you are alive and in arms again, they will leave their fastnesses, and flock to your standard.
Alfred. I am impatient to meet them: my people shall be revenged.
Gubba and Gandelin (throwing themselves at the feet of Alfred). O, my lord——
Gandelin. We hope your majesty will put us to a merciful death. Indeed, we did not know your majesty’s grace.
Gubba. If your majesty could but pardon my wife’s tongue; she means no harm, poor woman!
Alfred. Pardon you, good people! I not only pardon you, but thank you. You have afforded me protection in my distress; and if ever I am seated again on the throne of England, my first care shall be to reward your hospitality. I am now going to protect you. Come, my faithful Ella, to arms! to arms! My bosom burns to face once more the haughty Dane; and here I vow to Heaven, that I will never sheath the sword against these robbers, till either I lose my life in this just cause, or
“Till dove-like peace return to England’s shore,
And war and slaughter vex the land no more.”
EVENING VII.
ON THE PINE AND FIR TRIBE.—A Dialogue.
Tutor—George—Harry.
Tutor. Let us sit down awhile on this bench, and look about us. What a charming prospect!
Harry. I admire those pleasure-grounds. What beautiful clumps of trees there are in that lawn!
George. But what a dark gloomy wood that is at the back of the house!
Tut. It is a fir plantation; and those trees always look dismal in the summer, when there are so many finer greens to compare them with. But the winter is their time for show, when other trees are stripped of their verdure.
Geo. Then they are evergreens.
Tut. Yes; most of the fir tribe are evergreens; and as they are generally natives of cold mountainous countries, they contribute greatly to cheer the wintry landscape.
Geo. You were so good when we walked out last, to tell us a great deal about oaks. I thought it one of the prettiest lessons I ever heard. I should be glad if you would give us such another about firs.
Har. So should I, too, I’m sure.
Tut. With all my heart, and I am pleased that you ask me. Nothing is so great an encouragement to a tutor as to find his pupils of their own accord seeking after useful knowledge.
Geo. And I think it is very useful to know such things as these.
Tut. Certainly it is. Well, then—you may know the pine or fir tribe in general at first sight, as most of them are of a bluish-green colour, and all have leaves consisting of a strong narrow pointed blade, which gives them somewhat of a stiff appearance. Then all of them bear a hard scaly fruit, of a longish or conical form.
Har. Are they what we call fir-apples?
Tut. Yes; that is one of the names boys give them.
Har. We often pick them up under trees, and throw them at each other.
Geo. I have sometimes brought home my pocket full to burn. They make a fine clear flame.
Tut. Well—do you know where the seeds lie in them.
Geo. No—have they any?
Tut. Yes—at the bottom of every scale lie two winged seeds; but when the scales open, the seeds fall out: so that you can seldom find any in those you pick up.
Har. Are the seeds good for anything?
Tut. There is a kind of pine in the south of Europe called the stone-pine, the kernels of which are eaten, and said to be as sweet as an almond. And birds pick out the seeds