own House too hot to hold you. To prevent this, therefore, and to live
happily for the future, you must solemnly agree, that if one speaks an
angry Word, the other will not answer, 'till he or she has distinctly
called over all the Letters in the Alphabet, and the other not reply,
'till he has told twenty; by this Means your Passions will be stifled,
and Reason will have Time to take the Rule.

This is the best Recipe that was ever given for a married Couple to
live in Peace: Though _John_ and his Wife frequently attempted to
quarrel afterwards, they never could get their Passions to any
considerable Height, for there was something so droll in thus carrying
on the Dispute, that before they got to the End of the Argument, they
saw the Absurdity of it, laughed, kissed, and were Friends.

Just as Mrs. _Margery_ had settled this Difference between
_John_ and his Wife, the Children (who had been sent out to play,
while that Business was transacting) returned some in Tears, and
others very disconsolate, for the Loss of a little Dormouse they were
very fond of, and which was just dead. Mrs. _Margery_, who had
the Art of moralizing and drawing Instructions from every Accident,
took this Opportunity of reading them a Lecture on the Uncertainty of
Life, and the Necessity of being always prepared for Death. You should
get up in the Morning, says she, and to conduct yourselves, as if that
Day was to be your last, and lie down at Night, as if you never
expected to see this World any more. This may be done, says she,
without abating of your Chearfulness, for you are not to consider
Death as an Evil, but as a Convenience, as an useful Pilot, who is to
convey you to a Place of greater Happiness: Therefore, play my dear
Children, and be merry; but be innocent and good. The good Man sets
Death at Defiance, for his Darts are only dreadful to the Wicked.

After this, she permitted the Children to bury the little Dormouse,
and desired one of them to write his Epitaph, and here it is.

_Epitaph on a_ DORMOUSE, _really
written by a little_ BOY.

I.

In Paper Case,
Hard by this Place,
Dead a poor Dormouse lies;
And soon or late,
Summon'd by Fate,
Each Prince, each Monarch dies.

II.

Ye Sons of Verse,
While I rehearse,
Attend instructive Rhyme;
No Sins had _Dor_,
To answer for,
Repent of yours in Time.

CHAP. V.

_The whole History of the Considering C