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Page 73
So brother George, and this loving little girl, were to be Edward's
companions and playmates, while he should be kept prisoner in the dark
chamber. When the first bitterness of his grief was over, he began to
feel that there might be some comforts and enjoyments in life, even for
a boy whose eyes were covered with a bandage.
"I thank you, dear mother," said he, with only a few sobs, "and you,
Emily; and you too, George. You will all be very kind to me, I know. And
my father--will not he come and see me, every day?"
"Yes, my dear boy," said Mr. Temple; for, though invisible to Edward, he
was standing close beside him. "I will spend some hours of every day
with you. And as I have often amused you by relating stories and
adventures, while you had the use of your eyes, I can do the same, now
that you are unable to read. Will this please you, Edward?"
"Oh, very much!" replied Edward.
"Well then," said his father, "this evening we will begin the series of
Biographical Stories, which I promised you some time ago."
CHAPTER II.
When evening came, Mr. Temple found Edward considerably revived in
spirits, and disposed to be resigned to his misfortune. Indeed, the
figure of the boy, as it was dimly seen by the fire-light, reclining in
a well stuffed easy-chair, looked so very comfortable that many people
might have envied him. When a man's eyes have grown old with gazing at
the ways of the world, it does not seem such a terrible misfortune to
have them bandaged.
Little Emily Robinson sat by Edward's side, with the air of an
accomplished nurse. As well as the duskiness of the chamber would
permit, she watched all his motions, and each varying expression of his
face, and tried to anticipate her patient's wishes, before his tongue
could utter them. Yet it was noticeable, that the child manifested an
indescribable awe and disquietude, whenever she fixed her eyes on the
bandage; for to her simple and affectionate heart, it seemed as if her
dear friend Edward was separated from her, because she could not see his
eyes. A friend's eyes tell us many things, which could never be spoken
by the tongue.
George, likewise, looked awkward and confused, as stout and healthy boys
are accustomed to do, in the society of the sick or afflicted. Never
having felt pain or sorrow, they are abashed, from not knowing how to
sympathize with the sufferings of others.
"Well, my dear Edward," inquired Mrs. Temple, "is your chair quite
comfortable? and has your little nurse provided for all your wants? If
so, your father is ready to begin his stories."
"Oh, I am very well now," answered Edward, with a faint smile. "And my
ears have not forsaken me, though my eyes are good for nothing. So,
pray, dear father, begin!"
It was Mr. Temple's design to tell the children a series of true
stories, the incidents of which should be taken from the childhood and
early life of eminent people. Thus he hoped to bring George, and Edward,
and Emily, into closer acquaintance with the famous persons who have
lived in other times, by showing that they also had been children once.
Although Mr. Temple was scrupulous to relate nothing but what was
founded on fact, yet he felt himself at liberty to clothe the incidents
of his narrative in a new coloring, so that his auditors might
understand them the better.
"My first story," said he, "shall be about a painter of pictures."
"Dear me!" cried Edward, with a sigh. "I am afraid I shall never look at
pictures any more."
"We will hope for the best," answered his father. "In the mean time, you
must try to see things within your own mind."
Mr. Temple then began the following story:
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