so much. This is owing to the diffe rence of their bodily constitution; and from the same cause, some men and some women are more courageous than others. But the other kind of courage may in some measure be acquired by every one. Reason teaches us to face smaller dangers in order to avoid greater, and even to undergo the greatest when our duty requires it. Habit makes us less affected by particular dangers which have often come in our way. A sailor does not feel the danger of a storm so much as a landman, but if he was mounted upon a spirited horse in a fox-chase, he would probably be the most timorous man in company. The courage of women is chiefly tried in domestic dangers. They are attendants on the sick and dying; and they must qualify themselves to go through many scenes of terror in these situations, which would alarm the stoutest-hearted man who was not accustomed to them. E. I have heard that women generally bear pain and illness better than men. Mrs. F. They do so, because they are more used to them, both in themselves and others. E. I think I should not be afraid again to see any body blooded. Mrs. F. I hope not. It was for that purpose I made you stand by me. And I would have you always force yourself to look on and give assistance in cases of this kind, however painful it may at first be to you, that you may as soon as possible gain that presence of mind which arises from habit. E. But would that make me like to be blooded myself? Mrs. F. Not to like it, all foolish fears about it, calmly to it when good for but to lose and submit you. But I hope you have sense enough to do that already. PHAETON JUNIOR; OR, THE GIG DEMOLISHED. YE heroes of the upper form, Young Jehu was a lad of fame, Now welcome Whitsuntide was come, As soon as Jehu saw his sire, My darling boy indeed thou art, The father wise replied; So name the boon; I promise thee It shall not be denied. Then give me, Sir, your long-lash'd whip, To drive alone to yonder town, The father shook his head; My son, The horses, full of rest and corn, Then think, dear boy, of something else, A bow and quiver, bats and balls, But nothing could young Jehu please To spend his breath in striving. At least attend, rash boy! he cried, Or in a ditch both gig and you Will tumble in a trice. Spare, spare the whip, hold hard the reins, Keep in the middle beaten track, And when within the town you come, Drive clear of sign-posts, booths, and stalls, The youth scarce heard his father out, He seiz'd the reins, and up he sprung, And way'd the whistling lash; Take care! take care! his father cried : But off he went slap-dash. Who's this light spark? the horses thought, We'll try your strength, young master; So o'er the rugged turnpike road Still faster ran and faster. |