Eliza Fenwick - The Bad Family & Other Stories

Mrs. Fenwick, like Mrs. Turner (some of whose Cautionary Stories have already been published in this series), lived and wrote at the beginning of this century. Mrs. Turner practised verse, Mrs. Fenwick prose. I can tell nothing of Mrs. Fenwick's life, except that among her books were Infantine Stories , the Life of Carlo , Mary and her Cat , Presents for Good Boys and Girls , Rays from the Rainbow (an easy system of teaching grammar), and Lessons for Children; or, Rudiments of Good Manners, Morals, and Humanity . It is from the last-named book that the first ten of the following stories have been taken. It was a favourite work in its day, and not only was it often reprinted in England, but was translated into French: for little French children, it seems, need lessons too.

As for these Rudiments , although it was Mrs. Fenwick's purpose that they should lead to good conduct, it would satisfy their present editor to know that they had amused. That is why they are printed here, and also to show the kind of reading prepared for the childhood of our great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers. In those days exaggeration was rather in favour with story-tellers; and we therefore need not believe that there was ever a family quite so bad as the Bad Family in this book, or a Good Family so good; or that Mrs. Loft (in 'The Basket of Plumbs') would have bought fruit from a household down with fever; or that a boy of ten could write so well as the hero of 'The Journal.' But after making allowances for exaggeration, we may take everything else as truth. As I said, these stories are included in this series chiefly to provide entertainment; but if they also have the use Mrs. Fenwick wished – if the misadventures of Frank Lawless keep us from robbing orchards, and 'The Broken Crutch' leads to the befriending of weary and wooden-legged sailors – why, so much the better.

The last two stories in this book, 'Limby Lumpy' and 'The Oyster Patties,' were not written by Mrs. Fenwick; but they seem to fit in here rather well.

There is a certain street in a certain town (no matter for its name) in which there are two handsome houses of equal size. The owners of these houses have each six children, and the neighbours have named one the Bad Family, and the other the Good Family.

In the Bad Family there are three boys and three girls; and the servants, who are always much teased and vexed when they live where there are naughty children, speak of them thus: – the eldest they call Fighting Harry, the second Greedy George, and the youngest Idle Richard; the eldest girl is nicknamed Careless Fanny, the next Lying Lucy, and the youngest Selfish Sarah.

Master Henry indeed well deserves his title, for he thinks it a mighty fine thing to be a great boxer, and takes great pride and pleasure in having a black eye or a bloody nose. This does not proceed from courage; no, no: courage never seeks quarrels, and is only active to repel insult, protect the injured, and conquer danger; but Harry would be one of the first to fly from real danger, or to leave the helpless to shift for themselves. He knows that he is very strong, and that few boys of his age can match him, so he picks quarrels on purpose to fight, because his great strength and his constant practice make him almost sure to conquer. All his schoolfellows hate him, for such a boy can neither have a good temper, a good heart, nor good manners. It is a pity he should be sent to school, for learning is thrown away upon him; he will be fit only to live with men that sweep the streets or drive carts and waggons, for with such coarse and vulgar habits, gentlemen will not endure him in their company.

George, the second boy, is always thinking of eating and drinking. He follows the cook from place to place to know what nice things she has got in her pantry. When there is any dainty on the dinner-table, his greedy eyes are fixed on it from the moment he sits down till he is helped, and then he grudges every morsel that any one else puts in his mouth. In his eagerness to get more than his proper share, he crams great pieces into his mouth until he is almost choked and the tears are forced from his eyes. He will get slily into the store-room and steal honey, sugar, or raisins; and in the pantry he picks the edges of the tarts and pies, and does a number of other mean tricks. When there is company at dinner, he watches the parlour-door till they leave it, and before the servants have time to clear the table, he sips up all the drops of wine that are left in the glasses, and will even eat the parings of apples and pears that lie on the dessert plates. If he has an orange or a cake, he runs into some dirty hole to eat it, for fear his brothers and sisters should ask for a piece. If he has any money given him, he spends it all at once, and crams and eats till he can scarcely move.

This greedy boy is always watched and suspected. No one will trust him in a garden, for he would eat till he made himself sick, or tear down the branches of the trees to get at the fruit. Nor can he be allowed to pay any visits, for the manners of a glutton give great offence to all well-bred people. He has a sallow, ugly look, and is always peeping and prying about, like a beast watching for its prey.

Idle Richard, the third son of the Bad Family, is a great dunce. Yet he is very capable of learning well, if he chose to take the trouble, but he is fond of idleness and of nothing else. In the morning when he is called, though he knows it is time to get up, he will lie still, and after he has been called again and again, he is never ready in time for breakfast. At his meals he lolls upon the table, or against the back of his chair, and is just as slow and drawling in his manner of eating as in his learning. When he is sent to school, instead of looking at his book, he is gazing all round the room, or cutting bits of stick with his knife; sometimes he lays his head down on the desk and falls asleep, and then pretends to have the headache to excuse his idleness. His master is obliged often to punish him, and then for an hour or two he will learn very well, but next day he gets back to all his idle tricks, and does nothing; so that he is far below many boys that are much younger than himself. When other children go to play, he sits still or lies down upon the ground; he can take no pleasure, for he hates the trouble of moving, and there he sits yawning and pining for want of something to do. When he walks, he drags his feet along as if they were too heavy to lift up. His clothes are always dirty, for he will not brush them; his eyes are dull and heavy; he looks like a clown and speaks like a blockhead. Idle Richard is a burthen to himself, and scorned by everybody.

Miss Fanny has got the title of Careless, because she minds no one thing that she ought. If she goes out to walk, she is sure to lose one of her gloves, or lets her bonnet blow off into the mud, or steps into the middle of some filthy puddle, because she is staring about and not minding which way she goes. At home, when she should go to work, her needle-book, or her thimble, or her scissors cannot be found; though she has a work-basket to put these things in, they are never in the right place.

At dinner she does not observe how her plate stands on the table, and perhaps her meat and all the gravy tumble into her lap. If she has a glass of wine, she spills it on her frock; if she hands a plate of bread and butter to any one, she is sure either to drop the plate, or to let the bread and butter fall upon the carpet. She wears very coarse clothes, for she cannot be trusted with good ones. At night when she undresses to go to bed, she throws her frock on a chair or the ground, instead of folding it neatly up, so that it is tumbled and not fit to put on the next morning. If she writes, she throws the ink about her clothes; if she tears a hole in her frock, she does not take a needle and thread to mend it directly, but pins it up; then perhaps the pin pricks her half a dozen times in an hour, and tears three or four more holes in the frock. If she has a book lent to her, she will let it fall in the dirt, or drop the grease of the candle upon the leaves. She is always a slattern and always dirty; she is a disgrace to herself and a burthen to her friends.