Chapter III.—Crusoe’s Education Begins.
IT is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother’s cottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of Maryland and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement. Dick’s mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stamped with a species of beauty which never fades—the beauty of a loving look.
Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyze this look which characterized Mrs. Varley. A rare diamond is worth stopping to glance at, even when one is in a hurry. By a loving look we do not mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. That is common enough; and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world that’s overfull of hatred. Much less do we mean that perpetual smile of good-will which argues more of personal comfort and self-love than anything else. No; the loving look we speak of is as often grave as gay. Its character depends very much on the face through which it beams. And it cannot be counterfeited. Its ring defies imitation. Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears of sorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles; like the northern lights of winter, it can gleam in depths of woe;—but it is always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent to others, according to the natural amiability of him or her who bestows it. No one can put it on; still less can any one put it off. Its range is universal; it embraces all mankind, though, of course, it is intensified on a few favoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a renewed heart, and its foundation lies in love to God.
Young Varley’s mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallest possible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as, indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley. The door was in the centre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it into two rooms. One of these was subdivided by a thin par-
