THE
HAPPY VILLAGERS,
EMBELLISHED WITH AN
ENGRAVING.
DUBLIN:
PRINTED BY J. SHEA,
Childrens’ Book Ware-house,
42, COLLEGE-GREEN.
1807.
THE
HAPPY VILLAGER.
MR. JACKSON had beenan eminent tradesman in thecity of Dublin, where he bytrade acquired an independentfortune, and was now retiredinto the country, to spend theremainder of his days amidstrural retreats, to enjoy thepleasure of rambling throughwoods and groves, by the sideof purling and meanderingstreams, while the harmonyof the feathered songsterswould charm the ear, andlull the busy mind into themost tranquil repose.
The retreat Mr. Jacksonhad chosen was situated in thecounty of Wicklow, and nearto the place where he drewhis first breath. His housewas a well designed mean betweenthe vast piles raised formagnificence, and the smallerones in which conveniencealone is considered. The walkfrom the back of the house ledthrough a wood, by the sideof a delightful stream, whichmeandered over grass fromout of a deep hollow. Agush of water which fell intoit, gurgled through a rockycavity; and in front you lookeddown on a fine lawn, terminatedwith a noble bank ofhanging woods.
He would frequently rambleto a great distance fromhome, to survey the beautiesof the surrounding country.He had already visited everyneighbouring village, andtherefore one day strayed furtherthan usual in pursuit ofnew objects. On a suddenhe discovered a delightful valley,the appearance of whichseemed to correspond withevery thing descriptive of arural scene.
It was surrounded on allsides by hills, at the feet ofwhich were thickly scatteredcottages, groves and gardens,which seemed to be the abodeof rural happiness. The silenceof the scene was brokenonly by the dashings of a torrent,which, rushing from aneminence, precipitated bellowinginto a cavern beneath.Having there vented its ragein foam, it then divided intoa multitude of little rills, andforming serpentine sweeps,refreshed the meadows andsurrounding gardens withits friendly streams.
However pleased Mr. Jacksonwas with the natural beautiesof the place, he was noless struck with the neatnessand simplicity of the manycottages that presented themselvesto his view, every househaving a garden, an orchard,and some well cultivatedground about it. Their onlyfences were hedges of holly,which afforded a convincingproof of two things, the fertilityof the soil, and the confidenceeach one had in hisneighbour.
Mr. Jackson was so whollyemployed in contemplatingthis pleasing scene, that hepaid no attention to a stormthat was gathering aroundhim, till the lightning flashedin his face, the thunder rolledover his head, and the rainbegan to fall in torrents. Heinstantly ran to the nearestfarm door, and, having thereknocked, gained immediateadmittance.
It was an elderly womanwho came to the door, andwho, though old, was not decripid,and appeared to havesomething venerable in hercountenance. “Come in sir,(said she), and I will make afire to dry you. I am gladour cottage was so near toyou; but you would have