“Justice, Truth, and Love!” exclaimed Grandfather.  “We need not exist two centuries to find out that these qualities are essential to our happiness.  This is no secret.  Every human being is born with the instinctive knowledge of it.”

“Ah!” cried the chair, drawing back in surprise.  “From what I have observed of the dealings of man with man, and nation with nation, I never should have suspected that they knew this all-important secret.  And, with this eternal lesson written in your soul, do you ask me to sift new wisdom for you, out of my petty existence of two or three centuries?”

“But, my dear chair—­” said Grandfather.

“Not a word more,” interrupted the chair; “here I close my lips for the next hundred years.  At the end of that period, if I shall have discovered any new precepts of happiness, better than what Heaven has already taught you, they shall assuredly be given to the world.”

In the energy of its utterance, the oaken chair seemed to stamp its foot, and trod, (we hope unintentionally) upon Grandfather’s toe.  The old gentleman started, and found that he had been asleep in the great chair, and that his heavy walking stick had fallen down across his foot.

“Grandfather,” cried little Alice, clapping her hands, “you must dream a new dream, every night, about our chair!”

Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, said the same.  But the good old gentleman shook his head, and declared that here ended the history, real or fabulous, of grandfather’s chair.

Biographical Stories

Benjamin West,
sir Isaac Newton,
Samuel Johnson
Oliver Cromwell,
Benjamin Franklin,
queen Christina.

This small volume, and others of a similar character, from the same hand, have not been composed without a deep sense of responsibility.  The author regards children as sacred, and would not, for the world, cast any thing into the fountain of a young heart, that might embitter and pollute its waters.  And, even in point of the reputation to be aimed at, juvenile literature is as well worth cultivating as any other.  The writer, if he succeed in pleasing his little readers, may hope to be remembered by them till their own old age—­a far longer period of literary existence than is generally attained, by those who seek immortality from the judgments of full grown men.

Chapter I

When Edward Temple was about eight or nine years old, he was afflicted with a disorder of the eyes.  It was so severe, and his sight was naturally so delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehensions lest the boy should become totally blind.  He therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a darkened chamber, with a bandage over his eyes.  Not a ray of the blessed light of Heaven could be suffered to visit the poor lad.