Project Gutenberg's The History of Sandford and Merton, by Thomas Day

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Title: The History of Sandford and Merton

Author: Thomas Day

Release Date: October 17, 2009 [EBook #30274]

Language: English

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[Illustration: "In that instant the grateful Black rushed on like
lightning to assist him, and assailing the bull with a weighty stick
that he held in his hand, compelled him to turn his rage upon a new
object." _P. 349._]




  THE HISTORY

  OF

  SANDFORD AND MERTON.


  BY THOMAS DAY.


  =Six Coloured Engravings on Steel.=


  =Philadelphia:=
  J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
  MDCCCLXVIII.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.
                                                                    PAGE
  Description of Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton--Adventure
  with the Snake--Harry in Mr Merton's house--Mr Barlow
  undertakes the education of Tommy--The first day at Mr
  Barlow's--Story of the Flies and the Ants--Harry rescues
  a Chicken from a Kite--Story of the Gentleman and the
  Basket-maker--Tommy learns to read--Story of the two dogs,           1


CHAPTER II.

  Tommy and the Ragged Boy--Story of Androcles and the
  Lion--Conversation on Slavery--Conversation about an
  Ass--Tommy's Present and its consequences--The Story of
  Cyrus--Squire Chase beats Harry--Harry saves the Squire's
  life--Making Bread--Story of the Two Brothers--Story of
  the Sailors on the Island of Spitzbergen,                           47


CHAPTER III.

  Harry's Chicken--Tommy tries kindness on the Pig--Account
  of the Elephant--Story of the Elephant and the Tailor--Story
  of the Elephant and the Child--Stories of the Good Natured Boy
  and the Ill Natured Boy--The Boys determine to Build a
  House--Story of the Grateful Turk--The Boys' House blown
  down--They rebuild it stronger--The Roof lets in the Rain--At
  last is made Water-tight,                                           95


CHAPTER IV.

  The Boys' Garden--The Crocodile--The Farmer's Wife--How to
  make Cider--The Bailiffs take possession of the Farmer's
  Furniture--Tommy pays the Farmer's Debt--Conclusion of the
  Story of the Grateful Turk--The three Bears--Tommy and the
  Monkey--Habits of the Monkey--Tommy's Robin Redbreast--Is
  killed by a Cat--The Cat punished--The Laplanders--Story of
  a Cure of the Gout,                                                185


CHAPTER V.

  Lost in the Snow--Jack Smithers' Home--Talk about the
  Stars--Harry's pursuit of The Will-o'-the-Wisp--Story of
  the Avalanche--Town and Country compared--The Power of the
  Lever--The Balance--The Wheel and Axle--Arithmetic--Buying
  a Horse--History of Agesilaus--History of Leonidas,                197


CHAPTER VI.

  The Constellations--Distance from the Earth--The Magnet
  and its Powers--The Compass--The Greenlanders and their
  Customs--The Telescope--The Magic Lantern--Story of the
  African Prince and the Telescope--Mr Barlow's Poor
  Parishioners--His Annual Dinner--Tommy attempts Sledge
  Driving--His mishap in the Pond--His Anger,                        255


CHAPTER VII.

  Tommy and Harry visit Home--The Fashionable Guests--Miss
  Simmons takes notice of Harry--Harry's Troubles--Master
  Compton and Mash--Estrangement of Tommy--Visit to the
  Theatre--Misbehaviour there--Card Playing--The Ball--Harry
  Dancing a Minuet--Story of Sir Philip Sidney--Master Mash
  insults Harry--The Fight in the Drawing-room--The
  Bull-baiting--Tommy strikes Harry--Master Mash's Combat
  with Harry--Tommy's Narrow Escape from the Bull--The
  Grateful Black,                                                    298


CHAPTER VIII.

  Arrival of Mr Barlow--Story of Polemo--Tommy's
  repentance--Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy
  as an Arabian Horseman--His Mishap--Tommy's
  intrepidity--The Poor Highlander's story--Tommy's
  Sorrow for his conduct to Harry--Conclusion of the
  Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy's resolution
  to study nothing but "reason and philosophy"--Visits
  Harry and begs his forgiveness--The Grateful Black's
  Story--Tommy takes up his abode at Farmer
  Sandford's--The Grateful Black's account of
  himself--Mr Merton's visit to the Farm--The
  unexpected present--Conclusion,                                    355




  THE HISTORY

  OF

  SANDFORD AND MERTON.




CHAPTER I.

     Description of Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton--Adventure with the
     Snake--Harry in Mr Merton's house--Mr Barlow undertakes the
     education of Tommy--The first day at Mr Barlow's--Story of the
     Flies and the Ants--Harry rescues a Chicken from a Kite--Story of
     the Gentleman and the Basket-maker--Tommy learns to read--Story of
     the two dogs.


In the western part of England lived a gentleman of great fortune, whose
name was Merton. He had a large estate in the Island of Jamaica, where
he had passed the greater part of his life, and was master of many
servants, who cultivated sugar and other valuable things for his
advantage. He had only one son, of whom he was excessively fond; and to
educate this child properly was the reason of his determining to stay
some years in England. Tommy Merton, who, at the time he came from
Jamaica, was only six years old, was naturally a very good-tempered boy,
but unfortunately had been spoiled by too much indulgence. While he
lived in Jamaica, he had several black servants to wait upon him, who
were forbidden upon any account to contradict him. If he walked, there
always went two negroes with him; one of whom carried a large umbrella
to keep the sun from him, and the other was to carry him in his arms
whenever he was tired. Besides this, he was always dressed in silk or
laced clothes, and had a fine gilded carriage, which was borne upon
men's shoulders, in which he made visits to his play-fellows. His mother
was so excessively fond of him that she gave him everything he cried
for, and would never let him learn to read because he complained that it
made his head ache.

The consequence of this was, that, though Master Merton had everything
he wanted, he became very fretful and unhappy. Sometimes he ate
sweetmeats till he made himself sick, and then he suffered a great deal
of pain, because he would not take bitter physic to make him well.
Sometimes he cried for things that it was impossible to give him, and
then, as he had never been used to be contradicted, it was many hours
before he could be pacified. When any company came to dine at the house,
he was always to be helped first, and to have the most delicate parts of
the meat, otherwise he would make such a noise as disturbed the whole
company. When his father and mother were sitting at the tea-table with
their friends, instead of waiting till they were at leisure to attend
him, he would scramble upon the table, seize the cake and bread and
butter, and frequently overset the tea-cups. By these pranks he not only
made himself disagreeable to everybody else, but often met with very
dangerous accidents. Frequently did he cut himself with knives, at other
times throw heavy things upon his head, and once he narrowly escaped
being scalded to death by a kettle of boiling water. He was also so
delicately brought up, that he was perpetually ill; the least wind or
rain gave him a cold, and the least sun was sure to throw him into a
fever. Instead of playing about, and jumping, and running like other
children, he was taught to sit still for fear of spoiling his clothes,
and to stay in the house for fear of injuring his complexion. By this
kind of education, when Master Merton came over to England he could
neither write nor read, nor cipher; he could use none of his limbs with
ease, nor bear any degree of fatigue; but he was very proud, fretful,
and impatient.

Very near to Mr Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer, whose name
was Sandford. This man had, like Mr Merton, an only son, not much older
than Master Merton, whose name was Harry. Harry, as he had been always
accustomed to run about in the fields, to follow the labourers while
they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to their pasture, was
active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. He was neither so fair, nor
so delicately shaped as Master Merton; but he had an honest good-natured
countenance, which made everybody love him; was never out of humour, and
took the greatest pleasure in obliging everybody. If little Harry saw a
poor wretch who wanted victuals, while he was eating his dinner, he was
sure to give him half, and sometimes the whole: nay, so very
good-natured was he to everything, that he would never go into the
fields to take the eggs of poor birds, or their young ones, nor practise
any other kind of sport which gave pain to poor animals, who are as
capable of feeling as we ourselves, though they have no words to express
their sufferings. Once, indeed, Harry was caught twirling a cock-chafer
round, which he had fastened by a crooked pin to a long piece of thread:
but then this was through ignorance and want of thought; for, as soon as
his father told him that the poor helpless insect felt as much, or more
than he would do, were a knife thrust through his hand, he burst into
tears, and took the poor animal home, where he fed him during a
fortnight upon fresh leaves; and when he was perfectly recovered, turned
him out to enjoy liberty and fresh air. Ever since that time, Harry was
so careful and considerate, that he would step out of the way for fear
of hurting a worm, and employed himself in doing kind offices to all the
animals in the neighbourhood. He used to stroke the horses as they were
at work, and fill his pockets with acorns for the pigs; if he walked in
the fields, he was sure to gather green boughs for the sheep, who were
so fond of him that they followed him wherever he went. In the winter
time, when the ground was covered with frost and snow, and the poor
little birds could get at no food, he would often go supperless to bed,
that he might feed the robin-redbreasts; even toads, and frogs, and
spiders, and such kinds of disagreeable animals, which most people
destroy wherever they find them, were perfectly safe with Harry; he used
to say, they had a right to live as well as we, and that it was cruel
and unjust to kill creatures, only because we did not like them.

These sentiments made little Harry a great favourite with everybody,
particularly with the clergyman of the parish, who became so fond of him
that he taught him to read and write, and had him almost always with
him. Indeed, it was not surprising that Mr Barlow showed so particular
an affection for him; for besides learning, with the greatest readiness,
everything that was taught him, little Harry was the most honest,
obliging creature in the world. He was never discontented, nor did he
ever grumble, whatever he was desired to do. And then you might believe
Harry in everything he said; for though he could have gained a plum-cake
by telling an untruth, and was sure that speaking the truth would expose
him to a severe whipping, he never hesitated in declaring it. Nor was he
like many other children, who place their whole happiness in eating: for
give him but a morsel of dry bread for his dinner, and he would be
satisfied, though you placed sweetmeats and fruit, and every other
nicety, in his way.

With this little boy did Master Merton become acquainted in the
following manner:--As he and the maid were once walking in the fields on
a fine summer's morning, diverting themselves with gathering different
kinds of wild flowers, and running after butterflies, a large snake, on
a sudden, started up from among some long grass, and coiled itself round
little Tommy's leg. You may imagine the fright they were both in at this
accident; the maid ran away shrieking for help, while the child, who was
in an agony of terror, did not dare to stir from the place where he was
standing. Harry, who happened to be walking near the place, came running
up, and asked what was the matter. Tommy, who was sobbing most
piteously, could not find words to tell him, but pointed to his leg, and
made Harry sensible of what had happened. Harry, who, though young, was
a boy of a most courageous spirit, told him not to be frightened; and
instantly seizing the snake by the neck, with as much dexterity as
resolution, tore him from Tommy's leg, and threw him to a great distance
off.

[Illustration: "Harry, instantly seizing the snake by the neck, with as
much dexterity as resolution, tore him from Tommy's leg and threw him to
a great distance off." _P. 6._]

Just as this happened, Mrs Merton and all the family, alarmed by the
servant's cries, came running breathless to the place, as Tommy was
recovering his spirits, and thanking his brave little deliverer. Her
first emotions were to catch her darling up in her arms, and, after
giving him a thousand kisses, to ask him whether he had received any
hurt. "No," said Tommy, "indeed I have not, mamma; but I believe that
nasty ugly beast would have bitten me, if that little boy had not come
and pulled him off." "And who are you, my dear," said she, "to whom we
are all so obliged?" "Harry Sandford, madam." "Well, my child, you are a
dear, brave little creature, and you shall go home and dine with us."
"No, thank you, madam; my father will want me." "And who is your father,
my sweet boy?" "Farmer Sandford, madam, that lives at the bottom of the
hill." "Well, my dear, you shall be my child henceforth; will you?" "If
you please, madam, if I may have my own father and mother, too."

Mrs Merton instantly despatched a servant to the farmer's; and, taking
little Harry by the hand, she led him to the mansion-house, where she
found Mr Merton whom she entertained with a long account of Tommy's
danger and Harry's bravery.

Harry was now in a new scene of life. He was carried through costly
apartments, where everything that could please the eye, or contribute
to convenience, was assembled. He saw large looking-glasses in gilded
frames, carved tables and chairs, curtains made of the finest silk, and
the very plates and knives and forks were of silver. At dinner he was
placed close to Mrs Merton, who took care to supply him with the
choicest bits, and engaged him to eat, with the most endearing kindness;
but, to the astonishment of everybody, he neither appeared pleased nor
surprised at anything he saw. Mrs Merton could not conceal her
disappointment; for, as she had always been used to a great degree of
finery herself, she had expected it should make the same impression upon
everybody else. At last, seeing him eye a small silver cup with great
attention, out of which he had been drinking, she asked him whether he
should not like to have such a fine thing to drink out of; and added,
that, though it was Tommy's cup, she was sure he would with great
pleasure, give it to his little friend. "Yes, that I will," says Tommy;
"for you know, mamma, I have a much finer one than that, made of gold,
besides two large ones made of silver." "Thank you with all my heart,"
said little Harry; "but I will not rob you of it, for I have a much
better one at home." "How!" said Mrs Merton, "does your father eat and
drink out of silver?" "I don't know, madam, what you call this; but we
drink at home out of long things made of horn, just such as the cows
wear upon their heads." "The child is a simpleton, I think," said Mrs
Merton: "and why is that better than silver ones?" "Because," said
Harry, "they never make us uneasy." "Make you uneasy, my child!" said
Mrs Merton, "what do you mean?" "Why, madam, when the man threw that
great thing down, which looks just like this, I saw that you were very
sorry about it, and looked as if you had been just ready to drop. Now,
ours at home are thrown about by all the family, and nobody minds it."
"I protest," said Mrs Merton to her husband, "I do not know what to say
to this boy, he makes such strange observations."

The fact was, that during dinner, one of the servants had thrown down a
large piece of plate, which, as it was very valuable, had made Mrs
Merton not only look very uneasy, but give the man a very severe
scolding for his carelessness.

After dinner, Mrs Merton filled a large glass of wine, and giving it to
Harry, bade him drink it up, but he thanked her, and said he was not
dry. "But, my dear," said she, "this is very sweet and pleasant, and as
you are a good boy, you may drink it up." "Ay, but, madam, Mr Barlow
says that we must only eat when we are hungry, and drink when we are
dry: and that we must only eat and drink such things are as easily met
with; otherwise we shall grow peevish and vexed when we can't get them.
And this was the way that the Apostles did, who were all very good men."

Mr Merton laughed at this. "And pray," said he, "little man, do you know
who the Apostles were?" "Oh! yes, to be sure I do." "And who were they?"
"Why, sir, there was a time when people were grown so very wicked, that
they did not care what they did; and the great folks were all proud, and
minded nothing but eating and drinking and sleeping, and amusing
themselves; and took no care of the poor, and would not give a morsel of
bread to hinder a beggar from starving; and the poor were all lazy, and
loved to be idle better than to work; and little boys were disobedient
to their parents, and their parents took no care to teach them anything
that was good; and all the world was very bad, very bad indeed. And then
there came from Heaven the Son of God, whose name was Christ; and He
went about doing good to everybody, and curing people of all sorts of
diseases, and taught them what they ought to do; and He chose out twelve
other very good men, and called them Apostles; and these Apostles went
about the world doing as He did, and teaching people as He taught them.
And they never minded what they did eat or drink, but lived upon dry
bread and water; and when anybody offered them money, they would not
take it, but told them to be good, and give it to the poor and sick: and
so they made the world a great deal better. And therefore it is not fit
to mind what we live upon, but we should take what we can get, and be
contented; just as the beasts and birds do, who lodge in the open air,
and live upon herbs, and drink nothing but water; and yet they are
strong, and active, and healthy."

"Upon my word," said Mr Merton, "this little man is a great philosopher;
and we should be much obliged to Mr Barlow if he would take our Tommy
under his care; for he grows a great boy, and it is time that he should
know something. What say you, Tommy, should you like to be a
philosopher?" "Indeed, papa, I don't know what a philosopher is; but I
should like to be a king, because he's finer and richer than anybody
else, and has nothing to do, and everybody waits upon him, and is afraid
of him." "Well said, my dear," replied Mrs Merton; and rose and kissed
him; "and a king you deserve to be with such a spirit; and here's a
glass of wine for you for making such a pretty answer. And should you
not like to be a king too, little Harry?" "Indeed, madam, I don't know
what that is; but I hope I shall soon be big enough to go to plough, and
get my own living; and then I shall want nobody to wait upon me."

"What a difference between the children of farmers and gentlemen!"
whispered Mrs Merton to her husband, looking rather contemptuously upon
Harry. "I am not sure," said Mr Merton, "that for this time the
advantage is on the side of our son:--But should you not like to be
rich, my dear?" said he, turning to Harry. "No, indeed, sir." "No,
simpleton!" said Mrs Merton: "and why not?" "Because the only rich man I
ever saw, is Squire Chase, who lives hard by; and he rides among
people's corn, and breaks down their hedges, and shoots their poultry,
and kills their dogs, and lames their cattle, and abuses the poor; and
they say he does all this because he's rich; but everybody hates him,
though they dare not tell him so to his face--and I would not be hated
for anything in the world." "But should you not like to have a fine
laced coat, and a coach to carry you about, and servants to wait upon
you?" "As to that, madam, one coat is as good as another, if it will but
keep me warm; and I don't want to ride, because I can walk wherever I
choose; and, as to servants, I should have nothing for them to do, if I
had a hundred of them." Mrs Merton continued to look at him with
astonishment, but did not ask him any more questions.

In the evening, little Harry was sent home to his father, who asked him
what he had seen at the great house, and how he liked being there.
"Why," replied Harry, "they were all very kind to me, for which I'm much
obliged to them: but I had rather have been at home, for I never was so
troubled in all my life to get a dinner. There was one man to take away
my plate, and another to give me drink, and another to stand behind my
chair, just as if I had been lame or blind, and could not have waited
upon myself; and then there was so much to do with putting this thing
on, and taking another off, I thought it would never have been over;
and, after dinner, I was obliged to sit two whole hours without ever
stirring, while the lady was talking to me, not as Mr Barlow does, but
wanting me to love fine clothes, and to be a king, and to be rich, that
I may be hated like Squire Chase."

But at the mansion-house, much of the conversation, in the meantime, was
employed in examining the merits of little Harry. Mrs Merton
acknowledged his bravery and openness of temper; she was also struck
with the very good-nature and benevolence of his character, but she
contended that he had a certain grossness and indelicacy in his ideas,
which distinguish the children of the lower and middling classes of
people from those of persons of fashion. Mr Merton, on the contrary,
maintained, that he had never before seen a child whose sentiments and
disposition would do so much honour even to the most elevated
situations. Nothing, he affirmed, was more easily acquired than those
external manners, and that superficial address, upon which too many of
the higher classes pride themselves as their greatest, or even as their
only accomplishment; "nay, so easily are they picked up," said he, "that
we frequently see them descend with the cast clothes to maids and
valets; between whom and their masters and mistresses there is little
other difference than what results from the former wearing soiled
clothes and healthier countenances. Indeed, the real seat of all
superiority, even of manners, must be placed in the mind: dignified
sentiments, superior courage, accompanied with genuine and universal
courtesy, are always necessary to constitute the real gentleman; and
where these are wanting, it is the greatest absurdity to think they can
be supplied by affected tones of voice, particular grimaces, or
extravagant and unnatural modes of dress; which, far from becoming the
real test of gentility, have in general no other origin than the caprice
of barbers, tailors, actors, opera-dancers, milliners, fiddlers, and
French servants of both sexes. I cannot help, therefore, asserting,"
said he, very seriously, "that this little peasant has within his mind
the seeds of true gentility and dignity of character; and though I shall
also wish that our son may possess all the common accomplishments of his
rank, nothing would give me more pleasure than a certainty that he would
never in any respect fall below the son of farmer Sandford."

Whether Mrs Merton fully acceded to these observations of her husband, I
cannot decide; but, without waiting to hear her particular sentiments,
he thus went on:--"Should I appear more warm than usual upon this
subject, you must pardon me, my dear, and attribute it to the interest I
feel in the welfare of our little Tommy. I am too sensible that our
mutual fondness has hitherto treated him with rather too much
indulgence. While we have been over-solicitous to remove from him every
painful and disagreeable impression, we have made him too delicate and
fretful; our desire of constantly consulting his inclinations has made
us gratify even his caprices and humours; and, while we have been too
studious to preserve him from restraint and opposition, we have in
reality been ourselves the cause that he has not acquired even the
common attainments of his age and situation. All this I have long
observed in silence, but have hitherto concealed, both from my fondness
for our child, and my fear of offending you; but at length a
consideration of his real interests has prevailed over every other
motive, and has compelled me to embrace a resolution, which I hope will
not be disagreeable to you--that of sending him directly to Mr Barlow,
provided he would take the care of him; and I think this accidental
acquaintance with young Sandford may prove the luckiest thing in the
world, as he is so nearly the age and size of our Tommy. I shall
therefore propose to the farmer, that I will for some years pay for the
board and education of his little boy, that he may be a constant
companion to our son."

As Mr Merton said this with a certain degree of firmness, and the
proposal was in itself so reasonable and necessary, Mrs Merton did not
make any objection to it, but consented, although very reluctantly, to
part with her son. Mr Barlow was accordingly invited to dinner the next
Sunday, and Mr Merton took an opportunity of introducing the subject,
and making the proposal to him; assuring him at the same time, that,
though there was no return within the bounds of his fortune which he
would not willingly make, yet the education and improvement of his son
were objects of so much importance to him, that he should always
consider himself the obliged party.

To this, Mr Barlow, after thanking Mr Merton for the confidence and
liberality with which he treated him, answered him in the following
manner:--"I should be little worthy of the distinguished regard with
which you treat me, did I not with the greatest sincerity assure you,
that I feel myself totally unqualified for the task. I am, sir, a
minister of the Gospel, and I would not exchange that character, and the
severe duties it enjoins, for any other situation in life. But you must
be sensible that the retired manner of life which I have led for these
twenty years, in consequence of my profession, at a distance from the
gaities of the capital, and the refinements of polite life, is little
adapted to form such a tutor as the manners and opinions of the world
require for your son. Gentlemen in your situation of life are accustomed
to divide the world into two general classes; those who are persons of
fashion, and those who are not. The first class contains everything that
is valuable in life; and therefore their manners, their prejudices,
their very vices, must be inculcated upon the minds of children, from
the earliest period of infancy; the second comprehends the great body of
mankind, who, under the general name of the vulgar, are represented as
being only objects of contempt and disgust, and scarcely worthy to be
put on a footing with the very beasts that contribute to the pleasure
and convenience of their superiors."

Mr Merton could not help interrupting Mr Barlow here, to assure him
that, though there was too much truth in the observation, yet he must
not think that either he or Mrs Merton carried things to that
extravagant length; and that, although they wished their son to have the
manners of a man of fashion, they thought his morals and religion of
infinitely more consequence.

"If you think so, sir," said Mr Barlow, "it is more than a noble lord
did, whose written opinions are now considered as the oracles of polite
life, and more than, I believe, most of his admirers do at this time.
But if you allow what I have just mentioned to be the common
distinctions of genteel people, you must at one glance perceive how
little I must be qualified to educate a young gentleman intended to move
in that sphere; I, whose temper, reason, and religion, equally combine
to make me reject the principles upon which those distinctions are
founded. The Christian religion, though not exclusively, is,
emphatically speaking, the religion of the poor. Its first ministers
were taken from the lower orders of mankind, and to the lower orders of
mankind was it first proposed; and in this, instead of feeling myself
mortified or ashamed, I am the more inclined to adore the wisdom and
benevolence of that Power by whose command it was first promulgated.
Those who engross the riches and advantages of this world are too much
employed with their pleasures and ambition to be much interested about
any system, either of religion or of morals; they too frequently feel a
species of habitual intoxication, which excludes every serious thought,
and makes them view with indifference everything but the present moment.
Those, on the contrary, to whom all the hardships and miseries of this
world are allotted as their natural portion--those who eat the bread of
bitterness, and drink the waters of affliction, have more interest in
futurity, and are therefore more prepared to receive the promises of the
Gospel. Yes, sir; mark the disingenuousness of many of our modern
philosophers; they quarrel with the Christian religion, because it has
not yet penetrated the deserts of Africa, or arrested the wandering
hordes of Tartary; yet they ridicule it for the meanness of its origin,
and because it is the Gospel of the poor: that is to say, because it is
expressly calculated to inform the judgments, and alleviate the miseries
of that vast promiscuous body which constitutes the majestic species of
man. But for whom would these philosophers have Heaven itself
interested, if not for the mighty whole which it has created? Poverty,
that is to say, a state of labour and frequent self-denial, is the
natural state of man; it is the state of all in the happiest and most
equal governments, the state of nearly all in every country; it is a
state in which all the faculties, both of body and mind, are always
found to develope themselves with the most advantage, and in which the
moral feelings have generally the greatest influence. The accumulation
of riches, on the contrary, can never increase, but by the increasing
poverty and degradation of those whom Heaven has created equal; a
thousand cottages are thrown down to afford space for a single palace.
How benevolently, therefore, has Heaven acted, in thus extending its
blessings to all who do not disqualify themselves for the reception by
voluntary hardness of heart! how wisely in thus opposing a continual
boundary to human pride and sensuality; two passions the most fatal in
their effects, and the most apt to desolate the world. And shall a
minister of that Gospel, conscious of these great truths, and professing
to govern himself by their influence, dare to preach a different
doctrine, and flatter those excesses, which he must know are equally
contrary both to reason and religion? Shall he become the abject
sycophant of human greatness, and assist it in trampling all relations
of humanity beneath his feet, instead of setting before it the severe
duties of its station, and the account which will one day be expected of
all the opportunities of doing good, so idly, so irretrievably lost and
squandered? But I beg pardon, sir, for that warmth which has transported
me so far, and made me engross so much of the conversation. But it will
at least have this good effect, that it will demonstrate the truth of
what I have been saying; and show that, though I might undertake the
education of a farmer or a mechanic, I shall never succeed in that of a
modern gentleman."

"Sir," replied Mr Merton, "there is nothing which I now hear from you,
which does not increase my esteem of your character, and my desire to
engage your assistance. Permit me only to ask whether, in the present
state of things, a difference of conditions and an inequality of fortune
are not necessary, and, if necessary, I should infer, not contrary to
the spirit of Christianity?"

"So it is declared, sir, that offences must come; but that does not
prevent a severe denunciation against the offenders. But, if you wish to
know, whether I am one of those enthusiasts, who are continually
preaching up an ideal state of perfection, totally inconsistent with
human affairs, I will endeavour to give you every satisfaction upon the
subject. If you mean by difference of conditions and inequality of
fortunes, that the present state of human affairs in every society we
are acquainted with, does not admit that perfect equality which the
purer interpretations of the Gospel inculcate, I certainly shall not
disagree with you in opinion. He that formed the human heart certainly
must be acquainted with all the passions to which it would be subject;
and if, under the immediate dispensation of Christ himself, it was found
impossible for a rich man to give his possessions to the poor, that
degree of purity will hardly be expected now, which was not found in the
origin. But here, sir, permit me to remark, how widely the principles of
genuine Christianity differ from that imaginary scheme of ideal
perfection, equally inconsistent with human affairs and human
characters, which many of its pretended friends would persuade us to
believe in; and, as comparisons sometimes throw a new and sudden light
upon a subject, give me leave to use one here, which I think bears the
closest analogy to what we are now considering. Were some physician to
arise, who, to a perfect knowledge of all preceding medical facts, had
added by a more than human skill a knowledge of the most secret
principles of the human frame, could he calculate, with an accuracy that
never was deceived, the effect of every cause that could act upon our
constitutions; and, were he inclined, as the result of all his science
and observation, to leave a rule of life that might remain unimpeached
to the latest posterity, I ask, what kind of one would he form?"

"I suppose one," said Mr Merton, "that was the most adapted to the
general circumstances of the human species, and, which observed, would
confer the greatest degree of health and vigour."

"Right," said Mr Barlow; "I ask again, whether, observing the common
luxury and intemperance of the rich, he would take his directions from
the usages of a polite table, and recommend that heterogeneous
assemblage of contrary mixtures, high seasonings, poignant sauces,
fermented and distilled poisons, which is continually breeding diseases
in their veins, as the best means of preserving or regaining health?"

"Certainly not. That were to debase his heart, and sanction abuses,
instead of reforming them."

"Would he not, then, recommend simplicity of diet, light repasts, early
slumbers, and moderate exercise in the open air, if he judged them
salutary to human nature, even though fashionable prejudice had stamped
all these particulars with the mark of extreme vulgarity?"

"Were he to act otherwise, he must forfeit all pretensions either to
honesty or skill."

"Let us then apply all this to the mind, instead of the body, and
suppose for an instant, that some legislator, either human or divine,
who comprehended all the secret springs that govern the mind, was
preparing a universal code for all mankind; must he not imitate the
physician, and deliver general truths, however unpalatable, however
repugnant to particular prejudices, since upon the observance of these
truths alone the happiness of the species must depend?"

"I think so, indeed."

"Should such a person observe, that an immoderate desire and
accumulation of riches, a love of ostentatious trifles, unnecessary
splendour in all that relates to human life, and an habitual indulgence
of sensuality, tended not only to produce evil in all around, but even
in the individual himself, who suffered the tyranny of these vices; how
would you have the legislator act? Should he be silent?"

"No, certainly; he should arraign these pernicious habitudes by every
means within his power--by precept, by example."

"Should he also observe, that riches employed in another manner, in
removing the real miseries of humanity, in cherishing, comforting, and
supporting all around, produced a contrary effect, and tended equally to
make the obliged and the obliger happy; should he conceal this great
eternal truth, or should he divulge it with all the authority he
possessed, conscious, that in whatever degree it became the rule of
human life, in the same degree would it tend to the advantage of all the
world?"

"There cannot be a doubt upon the subject."

"But, should he know, either by the spirit of prophecy, or by intuitive
penetration, that the majority of mankind would never observe these
rules to any great degree, but would be blindly precipitated by their
passions into every excess against which he so benevolently cautioned
them; should this be a reason for his withdrawing his precepts and
admonitions, or for seeming to approve what was in its own nature most
pernicious?

"As prudent would it be to pull off the bridle when we mounted an
impetuous horse, because we doubted of our power to hold him in; or to
increase his madness by the spur, when it was clearly too great before.
Thus, sir, you will perceive, that the precepts of the Christian
religion are founded upon the most perfect knowledge of the human heart,
as they furnish a continual barrier against the most destructive
passions, and the most subversive of human happiness. Your own
concessions sufficiently prove, that it would have been equally
derogatory to truth, and the common interests of the species, to have
made the slightest concessions in favour either of human pride or
sensuality. Your extensive acquaintance with mankind will sufficiently
convince you, how prone the generality are to give an unbounded loose to
these two passions; neither the continual experience of their own
weakness, nor of the fatal effects which are produced by vicious
indulgences, has yet been capable of teaching them either humility or
moderation. What then could the wisest legislator do, more useful, more
benevolent, more necessary, than to establish general rules of conduct,
which have a continual tendency to restore moral and natural order, and
to diminish the wide inequality produced by pride and avarice? Nor is
there any greater danger that these precepts should be too rigidly
observed, than that the bulk of mankind should injure themselves by too
abstemious a temperance. All that can be expected from human weakness,
even after working from the most perfect model, is barely to arrive at
mediocrity; and, were the model less perfect, or the duties less severe,
there is the greatest reason to think, that even that mediocrity would
never be attained. Examine the conduct of those who are placed at a
distance from all labour and fatigue, and you will find the most
trifling exertions act upon their imaginations with the same force as
the most insuperable difficulties.

"If I have now succeeded in laying down the genuine principles of
Christian morality, I apprehend it will not be difficult to deduce the
duty of one who takes upon him the office of its minister and
interpreter. He can no more have a right to alter the slightest of its
principles than the magistrate can be justified in giving false
interpretations to the laws. The more the corruptions of the world
increase, the greater the obligation that he should oppose himself to
their course; and he can no more relax in his opposition than the pilot
can abandon the helm, because the winds and the waves begin to augment
their fury. Should he be despised, or neglected by all the rest of the
human species, let him still persist in bearing testimony to the truth,
both in his precepts and example; the cause of virtue is not desperate
while it retains a single friend; should it even sink for ever, it is
enough for him to have discharged his duty. But, although he is thus
restricted as to what he shall teach, I do not assert that it is
improper for him to use his understanding and experience as to the
manner of his instruction. He is strictly bound never to teach anything
contrary to the purest morality; but he is not bound always to teach
that morality in its greatest extent. In that respect, he may use the
wisdom of the serpent, though guided by the innocence of the dove. If,
therefore, he sees the reign of prejudice and corruption, so firmly
established, that men would be offended with the genuine simplicity of
the Gospel, and the purity of its primeval doctrines, he may so far
moderate their rigour as to prevent them from entirely disgusting weak
and luxurious minds. If we cannot effect the greatest possible
perfection, it is still a material point to preserve from the grossest
vices. A physician that practises amongst the great may certainly be
excused, though he should not be continually advising the exercise, the
regimen of the poor; not that the doctrine is not true, but that there
would not be the smallest probability of its ever being adopted. But,
although he never assents to that luxurious method of life, which he is
continually obliged to see, he may content himself with only inculcating
those restrictions which even the luxurious may submit to, if they
possess the smallest portion of understanding. Should he succeed thus
far, there is no reason for his stopping in his career, or not
enforcing a superior degree of temperance; but should it be difficult to
persuade even so slight a restriction, he could hope for no success,
were he to preach up a Spartan or a Roman diet. Thus the Christian
minister may certainly use his own discretion in the mode of conveying
his instructions; and it is permitted him to employ all his knowledge of
the human heart in reclaiming men from their vices, and winning them
over to the cause of virtue. By the severity of his own manners, he may
sufficiently evince the motives of his conduct; nor can he, by any
means, hope for more success than if he shows that he practises more
than he preaches, and uses a greater degree of indulgence to the
failings of others than he requires for his own."

"Nothing," said Mr Merton, "can be more rational or moderate than these
sentiments; why then do you persist in pleading your incapacity for an
employment which you can so well discharge?"

"Because," said Mr Barlow, "he that undertakes the education of a child,
undertakes the most important duty in society, and is severally
answerable for every voluntary omission. The same mode of reasoning,
which I have just been using, is not applicable here. It is out of the
power of any individual, however strenuous may be his endeavours, to
prevent the mass of mankind from acquiring prejudices and corruptions;
and, when he finds them in that state, he certainly may use all the
wisdom he possesses for their reformation. But this rule will never
justify him for an instant in giving false impressions where he is at
liberty to instil truth, and in losing the only opportunity which he
perhaps may ever possess, of teaching pure morality and religion. How
will such a man, if he has the least feeling, bear to see his pupil
become a slave, perhaps to the grossest vices; and to reflect with a
great degree of probability that this catastrophe has been owing to his
own inactivity and improper indulgence? May not all human characters
frequently be traced back to impressions made at so early a period, that
none but discerning eyes would ever suspect their existence? Yet nothing
is more certain; what we are at twenty depends upon what we were at
fifteen; what we are at fifteen upon what we were at ten; where shall we
then place the beginning of the series? Besides, sir, the very
prejudices and manners of society, which seem to be an excuse for the
present negligence in the early education of children, act upon my mind
with a contrary effect. Need we fear that, after every possible
precaution has been taken, our pupil should not give a sufficient loose
to his passions, or should be in danger of being too severely virtuous?
How glorious would be such a distinction, how much to be wished for, and
yet how little to be expected by any one who is moderately acquainted
with the world! The instant he makes his entrance there, he will find a
universal relaxation and indifference to everything that is serious;
everything will conspire to represent pleasure and sensuality as the
only business of human beings, and to throw a ridicule upon every
pretence to principle or restraint. This will be the doctrine that he
will learn at theatres, from his companions, from the polite circles
into which he is introduced. The ladies, too, will have their share in
the improvement of his character; they will criticise the colour of his
clothes, his method of making a bow, and of entering a room. They will
teach him that the great object of human life is to please the fair; and
that the only method of doing it is to acquire the graces. Need we fear
that, thus beset an every side, he should not attach a sufficient
importance to trifles, or grow fashionably languid in the discharge of
all his duties? Alas! sir, it seems to me that this will unavoidably
happen in spite of all our endeavours. Let us, then, not lose the
important moment of human life, when it is possible to flatter ourselves
with some hopes of success in giving good impressions; they may succeed;
they may either preserve a young man from gross immorality, or have a
tendency to reform him when the first ardour of youth is past. If we
neglect this awful moment, which can never return, with the view which,
I must confess, I have of modern manners, it appears to me like
launching a vessel in the midst of a storm, without a compass and
without a pilot."

"Sir," said Mr Merton, "I will make no other answer to what you have now
been saying, than to tell you, it adds, if possible, to my esteem of
your character; and that I will deliver my son into your hands, upon
your own conditions. And as to the terms--"

"Pardon me," replied Mr Barlow, "if I interrupt you here, and give you
another specimen of the singularity of my opinions. I am contented to
take your son for some months under my care, and to endeavour by every
means within my power to improve him. But there is one circumstance
which is indispensable, that you permit me to have the pleasure of
serving you as a friend. If you approve of my ideas and conduct, I will
keep him as long as you desire. In the mean time, as there are, I fear,
some little circumstances which have grown up, by too much tenderness
and indulgence, to be altered in his character, I think that I shall
possess more of the necessary influence and authority, if I, for the
present, appear to him and your whole family rather in the light of a
friend than that of a schoolmaster."

However disagreeable this proposal was to the generosity of Mr Merton,
he was obliged to consent to it; and little Tommy was accordingly sent
the next day to the vicarage, which was at the distance of about two
miles from his father's house.

The day after Tommy came to Mr Barlow's, as soon as breakfast was over,
he took him and Harry into the garden; when he was there, he took a
spade into his own hand, and giving Harry a hoe, they both began to work
with great eagerness. "Everybody that eats," says Mr Barlow, "ought to
assist in procuring food; and therefore little Harry and I begin our
daily work. This is my bed, and that other is his; we work upon it every
day, and he that raises the most out of it will deserve to fare the
best. Now, Tommy, if you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece
of ground, which you shall have to yourself, and all the produce shall
be your own." "No, indeed," said Tommy, very sulkily, "I am a gentleman
and don't choose to slave like a ploughboy." "Just as you please, Mr
Gentleman," said Mr Barlow; "but Harry and I, who are not above being
useful, will mind our work."

In about two hours, Mr Barlow said it was time to leave off; and, taking
Harry by the hand, he led him into a very pleasant summer-house, where
they sat down; and Mr Barlow, taking out a plate of very fine ripe
cherries, divided them between Harry and himself.

Tommy, who had followed, and expected his share, when he saw them both
eating without taking any notice of him, could no longer restrain his
passion, but burst into a violent fit of sobbing and crying. "What is
the matter?" said Mr Barlow very coolly to him. Tommy looked upon him
very sulkily, but returned no answer. "Oh! sir, if you don't choose to
give me an answer, you may be silent; nobody is obliged to speak here."
Tommy became still more disconcerted at this, and, being unable to
conceal his anger, ran out of the summer-house, and wandered very
disconsolately about the garden, equally surprised and vexed to find
that he was now in a place where nobody felt any concern whether he was
pleased or the contrary.

When all the cherries were eaten, little Harry said, "You promised to be
so good as to hear me read when we had done working in the garden; and,
if it is agreeable to you, I will now read the story of the 'Flies and
the Ants.'" "With all my heart," said Mr Barlow; "remember to read it
slowly and distinctly, without hesitating or pronouncing the words
wrong; and be sure to read it in such a manner as to show that you
understand it."

Harry then took up the book, and read as follows:--


"THE FLIES AND THE ANTS."

"In the corner of a farmer's garden, there once happened to be a nest of
ants, who, during the fine weather of the summer, were employed all day
long in drawing little seeds and grains of corn into their hole. Near
them there happened to be a bed of flowers, upon which a great quantity
of flies used to be always sporting, and humming, and diverting
themselves by flying from one flower to another. A little boy, who was
the farmer's son, used frequently to observe the different employments
of these animals; and, as he was very young and ignorant, he one day
thus expressed himself:--'Can any creature be so simple as these ants?
All day long they are working and toiling, instead of enjoying the fine
weather, and diverting themselves like these flies, who are the happiest
creatures in the world.' Some time after he had made this observation,
the weather grew extremely cold, the sun was scarcely seen to shine, and
the nights were chill and frosty. The same little boy, walking then in
the garden, did not see a single ant, but all the flies lay scattered up
and down, either dead or dying. As he was very good-natured, he could
not help pitying the unfortunate animals, and asking at the same time,
what had happened to the ants that he used to see in the same place? The
father said, 'The flies are all dead, because they were careless
animals, who gave themselves no trouble about laying up provisions, and
were too idle to work; but the ants, who had been busy all the summer,
in providing for their maintenance during the winter, are all alive and
well; and you will see them as soon as the warm weather returns.'"

"Very well, Harry," said Mr Barlow, "we will now take a walk." They
accordingly rambled out into the fields, where Mr Barlow made Harry take
notice of several kinds of plants, and told him the names and nature of
them. At last Harry, who had observed some very pretty purple berries
upon a plant that bore a purple flower, and grew in the hedges, brought
them to Mr Barlow, and asked whether they were good to eat. "It is very
lucky," said Mr Barlow, "young man, that you asked the question before
you put them into your mouth; for, had you tasted them, they would have
given you violent pains in your head and stomach, and perhaps have
killed you, as they grow upon a plant called night-shade, which is a
rank poison." "Sir," said Harry, "I take care never to eat anything
without knowing what it is, and I hope, if you will be so good as to
continue to teach me, I shall very soon know the names and qualities of
all the herbs which grow."

As they were returning home, Harry saw a very large bird called a kite,
upon the ground, who seemed to have something in its claws, which he was
tearing to pieces. Harry, who knew him to be one of those ravenous
creatures which prey upon others, ran up to him, shouting as loud as he
could; and the bird, being frightened, flew away, and left a chicken
behind him, very much hurt indeed, but still alive. "Look, sir," said
Harry, "if that cruel creature has not almost killed this poor chicken;
see how he bleeds, and hangs his wings! I will put him into my bosom to
recover him, and carry him home; and he shall have part of my dinner
every day till he is well, and able to shift for himself."

As soon as they came home, the first care of little Harry was to put his
wounded chicken into a basket with some fresh straw, some water and some
bread. After that Mr Barlow and he went to dinner.

In the meantime, Tommy, who had been skulking about all day, very much
mortified and uneasy, came in, and, being very hungry, was going to sit
down to the table with the rest; but Mr Barlow stopped him, and said,
"No, sir, as you are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not
so, do not choose to work for the idle." Upon this Tommy retired into a
corner, crying as if his heart would break, but more from grief than
passion, as he began to perceive that nobody minded his ill-temper.

But little Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy,
looked up half crying into Mr Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir, may I
do as I please with my share of the dinner?" "Yes, to be sure, child."
"Why, then," said he, getting up, "I will give it all to poor Tommy who
wants it more than I do." Saying this, he gave it to him as he sat in
the corner; and Tommy took it, and thanked him without ever turning his
eyes from off the ground. "I see," said Mr Barlow, "that though
gentlemen are above being of any use themselves, they are not above
taking the bread that other people have been working hard for." At this
Tommy cried still more bitterly than before.

The next day Mr Barlow and Harry went to work as before; but they had
scarcely begun before Tommy came to them, and desired that he might have
a hoe too, which Mr Barlow gave him; but, as he had never before learned
to handle one, he was very awkward in the use of it, and hit himself
several strokes upon his legs. Mr Barlow then laid down his own spade,
and showed him how to hold and use it, by which means, in a short time,
he became very expert, and worked with the greatest pleasure. When their
work was over they retired all three to the summer-house; and Tommy felt
the greatest joy imaginable when the fruit was produced, and he was
invited to take his share, which seemed to him the most delicious he had
ever tasted, because working in the air had given him an appetite.

As soon as they had done eating, Mr Barlow took up a book, and asked
Tommy whether he would read them a story out of it? but he, looking a
little ashamed, said he had never learned to read. "I am very sorry for
it," said Mr Barlow, "because you lose a very great pleasure; then Harry
shall read to you." Harry accordingly took up the book and read the
following story:--


"THE GENTLEMAN AND THE BASKET-MAKER."

"There was, in a distant part of the world, a rich man, who lived in a
fine house, and spent his whole time in eating, drinking, sleeping, and
amusing himself. As he had a great many servants to wait upon him, who
treated him with the greatest respect, and did whatever they were
ordered, and, as he had never been taught the truth, nor accustomed to
hear it, he grew very proud, insolent, and capricious, imagining that he
had a right to command all the world, and that the poor were only born
to serve and obey him.

"Near this rich man's house there lived an honest and industrious poor
man, who gained his livelihood by making little baskets out of dried
reeds, which grew upon a piece of marshy ground close to his cottage.
But though he was obliged to labour from morning to night, to earn food
enough to support him, and though he seldom fared better than upon dry
bread, or rice, or pulse, and had no other bed than the remains of the
rushes of which he made baskets, yet was he always happy, cheerful, and
contented; for his labour gave him so good an appetite, that the
coarsest fare appeared to him delicious; and he went to bed so tired
that he would have slept soundly even upon the ground. Besides this, he
was a good and virtuous man, humane to everybody, honest in his
dealings, always accustomed to speak the truth, and therefore beloved
and respected by all his neighbours.

"The rich man, on the contrary, though he lay upon the softest bed, yet
could not sleep, because he had passed the day in idleness; and though
the nicest dishes were presented to him, yet could he not eat with any
pleasure, because he did not wait till nature gave him an appetite, nor
use exercise, nor go into the open air. Besides this, as he was a great
sluggard and glutton, he was almost always ill; and, as he did good to
nobody, he had no friends; and even his servants spoke ill of him behind
his back, and all his neighbours, whom he oppressed, hated him. For
these reasons he was sullen, melancholy, and unhappy, and became
displeased with all who appeared more cheerful than himself. When he was
carried out in his palanquin (a kind of bed, borne upon the shoulders of
men) he frequently passed by the cottage of the poor basket-maker, who
was always sitting at the door, and singing as he wove the baskets. The
rich man could not behold this without anger. 'What!' said he, 'shall a
wretch, a peasant, a low-born fellow, that weaves bulrushes for a scanty
subsistence, be always happy and pleased, while I, that am a gentleman,
possessed of riches and power, and of more consequence than a million of
reptiles like him, am always melancholy and discontented!' This
reflection arose so often in his mind, that at last he began to feel the
greatest degree of hatred towards the poor man; and, as he had never
been accustomed to conquer his own passions, however improper or unjust
they might be, he at last determined to punish the basket-maker for
being happier than himself.

"With this wicked design, he one night gave orders to his servants (who
did not dare to disobey him) to set fire to the rushes which surrounded
the poor man's house. As it was summer, and the weather in that country
extremely hot, the fire soon spread over the whole marsh, and not only
consumed all the rushes, but soon extended to the cottage itself, and
the poor basket-maker was obliged to run out almost naked to save his
life.

"You may judge of the surprise and grief of the poor man, when he found
himself entirely deprived of his subsistence by the wickedness of his
rich neighbour, whom he had never offended; but, as he was unable to
punish him for this injustice, he set out and walked on foot to the
chief magistrate of that country, to whom, with many tears, he told his
pitiful case. The magistrate, who was a good and just man, immediately
ordered the rich man to be brought before him; and when he found that he
could not deny the wickedness, of which he was accused, he thus spoke to
the poor man:--'As this proud and wicked man has been puffed up with the
opinion of his own importance, and attempted to commit the most
scandalous injustice from his contempt of the poor, I am willing to
teach him of how little value he is to anybody, and how vile and
contemptible a creature he really is; but, for this purpose, it is
necessary that you should consent to the plan I have formed, and go
along with him to the place whither I intend to send you both.'

"The poor man replied, 'I never had much; but the little I once had is
now lost by the mischievous disposition of this proud and oppressive
man. I am entirely ruined; I have no means left in the world of
procuring myself a morsel of bread the next time I am hungry; therefore
I am ready to go wherever you please to send me; and, though I would not
treat this man as he has treated me, yet should I rejoice to teach him
more justice and humanity, and to prevent his injuring the poor a second
time.'

"The magistrate then ordered them both to be put on board a ship, and
carried to a distant country, which was inhabited by a rude and savage
kind of men, who lived in huts, were strangers to riches, and got their
living by fishing.

"As soon as they were set on shore, the sailors left them as they had
been ordered, and the inhabitants of the country came round them in
great numbers. The rich man, seeing himself thus exposed, without
assistance or defence, in the midst of a barbarous people, whose
language he did not understand, and in whose power he was, began to cry
and wring his hands in the most abject manner; but the poor
basket-maker, who had always been accustomed to hardships and dangers
from his infancy, made signs to the people that he was their friend, and
was willing to work for them, and be their servant. Upon this the
natives made signs to them that they would do them no hurt, but would
make use of their assistance in fishing and carrying wood.

"Accordingly, they led them both to a wood at some distance, and showing
them several logs, ordered them to transport them to their cabins. They
both immediately set about their tasks, and the poor man, who was strong
and active, very soon had finished his share; while the rich man, whose
limbs were tender and delicate, and never accustomed to any kind of
labour, had scarcely done a quarter as much. The savages, who were
witnesses to this, began to think that the basket-maker would prove very
useful to them, and therefore presented him with a large portion of
fish, and several of their choicest roots; while to the rich man they
gave scarcely enough to support him, because they thought him capable
of being of very little service to them; however, as he had now fasted
several hours, he ate what they gave him with a better appetite than he
had ever felt before at his own table.

"The next day they were set to work again; and as the basket-maker had
the same advantage over his companion, he was highly caressed and well
treated by the natives, while they showed every mark of contempt towards
the other, whose delicate and luxurious habits had rendered him very
unfit for labour.

"The rich man now began to perceive with how little reason he had before
valued himself, and despised his fellow-creatures; and an accident that
fell out shortly after, tended to complete his mortification. It
happened that one of the savages had found something like a fillet, with
which he adorned his forehead, and seemed to think himself extremely
fine; the basket-maker, who had perceived this appearance of vanity,
pulled up some reeds, and, sitting down to work, in a short time
finished a very elegant wreath, which he placed upon the head of the
first inhabitant he chanced to meet. This man was so pleased with his
new acquisition, that he danced and capered with joy, and ran away to
seek the rest, who were all struck with astonishment at this new and
elegant piece of finery. It was not long before another came to the
basket-maker, making signs that he wanted to be ornamented like his
companion; and with such pleasure were these chaplets considered by the
whole nation, that the basket-maker was released from his former
drudgery, and continually employed in weaving them. In return for the
pleasure which he conferred upon them, the grateful savages brought him
every kind of food their country afforded, built him a hut, and showed
him every demonstration of gratitude and kindness. But the rich man, who
possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was
condemned to be the basket-maker's servant, and to cut him reeds to
supply the continual demand for chaplets.

"After having passed some months in this manner, they were again
transported to their own country, by the orders of the magistrate, and
brought before him. He then looked sternly upon the rich man, and
said:--'Having now taught you how helpless, contemptible, and feeble a
creature you are, as well as how inferior to the man you insulted, I
shall proceed to make reparation to him for the injury you have
inflicted upon him. Did I treat you as you deserve, I should take from
you all the riches that you possess, as you wantonly deprived this poor
man of his whole subsistence, but, hoping that you will become more
humane for the future, I sentence you to give half your fortune to this
man, whom you endeavoured to ruin.'

"Upon this the basket-maker said, after thanking the magistrate for his
goodness:--'I, having been bred up in poverty, and accustomed to labour,
have no desire to acquire riches, which I should not know how to use;
all, therefore, that I require of this man is, to put me into the same
situation I was in before, and to learn more humanity.'

"The rich man could not help being astonished at this generosity, and,
having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated the
basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed his
riches in relieving the poor, and benefiting his fellow-creatures."

The story being ended, Tommy said it was very pretty; but that, had he
been the good basket-maker, he would have taken the naughty rich man's
fortune and kept it. "So would not I," said Harry, "for fear of growing
as proud, and wicked, and idle as the other."

From this time forward, Mr Barlow and his two pupils used constantly to
work in their garden every morning; and, when they were fatigued, they
retired to the summer-house, where little Harry, who improved every day
in reading, used to entertain them with some pleasant story or other,
which Tommy always listened to with the greatest pleasure. But little
Harry going home for a week, Tommy and Mr Barlow were left alone.

The next day, after they had done work, and retired to the summer-house
as usual, Tommy expected Mr Barlow would read to him; but, to his great
disappointment, found that he was busy, and could not. The next day the
same accident was renewed, and the day after that. At this Tommy lost
all patience, and said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like little
Harry Sandford, I should not need to ask anybody to do it for me, and
then I could divert myself; and why (thinks he) may not I do what
another has done? To be sure, little Harry is clever; but he could not
have read if he had not been taught; and if I am taught, I dare say I
shall learn to read as well as he. Well, as soon as ever he comes home,
I am determined to ask him about it."

The next day little Harry returned, and as soon as Tommy had an
opportunity of being alone with him, "Pray, Harry," said Tommy, "how
came you to be able to read?"

_Harry._--Why, Mr Barlow taught me my letters, and then spelling; and
then, by putting syllables together, I learnt to read. _Tommy._--And
could not you show me my letters? _Harry._--Yes, very willingly.

Harry then took up a book, and Tommy was so eager and attentive, that at
the very first lesson, he learned the whole alphabet. He was infinitely
pleased with this first experiment, and could scarcely forbear running
to Mr Barlow, to let him know the improvement he had made; but he
thought he should surprise him more, if he said nothing about the matter
till he was able to read a whole story. He therefore applied himself
with such diligence, and little Harry, who spared no pains to assist his
friend, was so good a master, that in about two months he determined to
surprise Mr Barlow with a display of his talents. Accordingly, one day,
when they were all assembled in the summer-house, and the book was given
to Harry, Tommy stood up and said, that, if Mr Barlow pleased, he would
try to read. "Oh, very willingly," said Mr Barlow; "but I should as soon
expect you to fly as to read." Tommy smiled with a consciousness of his
own proficiency, and, taking up the book, read with great fluency,--


"THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DOGS."

"In a part of the world, where there are many strong and fierce wild
beasts, a poor man happened to bring up two puppies of that kind which
is most valued for size and courage. As they appeared to possess more
than common strength and agility, he thought that he should make an
acceptable present to his landlord, who was a rich man, living in a
great city, by giving him one of them, which was called Jowler; while he
brought up the other, named Keeper, to guard his own flocks.

"From this time the manner of living was entirely altered between the
brother whelps. Jowler was sent into a plentiful kitchen, where he
quickly became the favourite of the servants, who diverted themselves
with his little tricks and wanton gambols, and rewarded him with great
quantities of pot-liquor and broken victuals; by which means, as he was
stuffing from morning to night, he increased considerably in size, and
grew sleek and comely; he was, indeed, rather unwieldy, and so cowardly
that he would run away from a dog only half as big as himself; he was
much addicted to gluttony, and was often beaten for the thefts he
committed in the pantry; but, as he had learned to fawn upon the
footmen, and would stand upon his hind legs to beg, when he was ordered,
and, besides this, would fetch and carry, he was mightily caressed by
all the neighbourhood.

"Keeper, in the meantime, who lived at a cottage in the country, neither
fared so well, looked so plump, nor had learned all these little tricks
to recommend him; but, as his master was too poor to maintain anything
but what was useful, and was obliged to be continually in the air,
subject to all kinds of weather, and labouring hard for a livelihood,
Keeper grew hardy, active, and diligent; he was also exposed to
continual danger from the wolves, from whom he had received many a
severe bite while guarding the flocks. These continual combats gave him
that degree of intrepidity, that no enemy could make him turn his back.
His care and assiduity so well defended the sheep of his master, that
not one had ever been missing since they were placed under his
protection. His honesty too was so great, that no temptation could
overpower it; and, though he was left alone in the kitchen while the
meat was roasting, he never attempted to taste it, but received with
thankfulness whatever his master chose to give him. From a continual
life in the air he was become so hardy that no tempest could drive him
to shelter when he ought to be watching the flocks; and he would plunge
into the most rapid river, in the coldest weather of the winter, at the
slightest sign from his master.

"About this time it happened that the landlord of the poor man went to
examine his estate in the country, and brought Jowler with him to the
place of his birth. At his arrival there he could not help viewing with
great contempt the rough ragged appearance of Keeper, and his awkward
look, which discovered nothing of the address for which he so much
admired Jowler. This opinion, however, was altered by means of an
accident which happened to him. As he was one day walking in a thick
wood, with no other company than the two dogs, a hungry wolf, with eyes
that sparkled like fire, bristling hair, and a horrid snarl that made
the gentleman tremble, rushed out of a neighbouring thicket, and seemed
ready to devour him. The unfortunate man gave himself over for lost,
more especially when he saw that his faithful Jowler, instead of coming
to his assistance, ran sneaking away, with his tail between his legs,
howling with fear. But in this moment of despair, the undaunted Keeper,
who had followed him, humbly and unobserved, at a distance, flew to his
assistance, and attacked the wolf with so much courage and skill, that
he was compelled to exert all his strength in his own defence. The
battle was long and bloody, but in the end Keeper laid the wolf dead at
his feet, though not without receiving several severe wounds himself,
and presenting a bloody and mangled spectacle to the eyes of his master,
who came up at that instant. The gentleman was filled with joy for his
escape and gratitude to his brave deliverer; and learned by his own
experience that appearances are not always to be trusted, and that great
virtues and good dispositions may sometimes be found in cottagers, while
they are totally wanting among the great."

"Very well indeed," said Mr Barlow. "I find that when young gentlemen
choose to take pains, they can do things almost as well as other people.
But what do you say to the story you have been reading, Tommy? Would you
rather have owned the genteel dog that left his master to be devoured,
or the poor, rough, ragged, meagre, neglected cur that exposed his own
life in his defence?" "Indeed, sir," said Tommy, "I would have rather
had Keeper; but then I would have fed him, and washed him, and combed
him, till he had looked as well as Jowler." "But then, perhaps, he would
have grown idle, and fat, and cowardly, like him," said Mr Barlow; "but
here is some more of it, let us read to the end of the story." Tommy
then went on thus:--

"The gentleman was so pleased with the noble behaviour of Keeper, that
he desired the poor man to make him a present of the dog; which, though
with some reluctance, he complied with. Keeper was therefore taken to
the city, where he was caressed and fed by everybody; and the disgraced
Jowler was left at the cottage, with strict injunctions to the man to
hang him up, as a worthless unprofitable cur.

"As soon as the gentleman had departed, the poor man was going to
execute his commission; but, considering the noble size and comely look
of the dog, and above all, being moved with pity for the poor animal,
who wagged his tail, and licked his new master's feet, just as he was
putting the cord about his neck, he determined to spare his life, and
see whether a different treatment might not produce different manners.
From this day Jowler was in every respect treated as his brother Keeper
had been before. He was fed but scantily; and, from this spare diet,
soon grew more active and fond of exercise. The first shower he was in
he ran away as he had been accustomed to do, and sneaked to the
fire-side; but the farmer's wife soon drove him out of doors, and
compelled him to bear the rigour of the weather. In consequence of this
he daily became more vigorous and hardy, and, in a few months, regarded
cold and rain no more than if he had been brought up in the country.

"Changed as he already was in many respects for the better, he still
retained an insurmountable dread of wild beasts; till one day, as he was
wandering through a wood alone, he was attacked by a large and fierce
wolf, who, jumping out of a thicket, seized him by the neck with fury.
Jowler would fain have run, but his enemy was too swift and violent to
suffer him to escape. Necessity makes even cowards brave. Jowler being
thus stopped in his retreat, turned upon his enemy, and, very luckily
seizing him by the throat, strangled him in an instant. His master then
coming up, and being witness of his exploit, praised him, and stroked
him with a degree of fondness he had never done before. Animated by this
victory, and by the approbation of his master, Jowler, from that time,
became as brave as he had before been pusillanimous; and there was very
soon no dog in the country who was so great a terror to beasts of prey.

"In the mean time Keeper, instead of hunting wild beasts, or looking
after sheep, did nothing but eat and sleep, which he was permitted to
do, from a remembrance of his past services. As all qualities both of
mind and body are lost if not continually exercised, he soon ceased to
be that hardy, courageous animal he was before, and acquired all the
faults which are the consequences of idleness and gluttony.

"About this time the gentleman went again into the country, and, taking
his dog with him, was willing that he should exercise his prowess once
more against his ancient enemies the wolves. Accordingly, the country
people having quickly found one in a neighbouring wood, the gentleman
went thither with Keeper, expecting to see him behave as he had done the
year before. But how great was his surprise when, at the first onset, he
saw his beloved dog run away with every mark of timidity! At this moment
another dog sprang forward, and seizing the wolf with the greatest
intrepidity, after a bloody contest, left him dead upon the ground. The
gentleman could not help lamenting the cowardice of his favourite, and
admiring the noble spirit of the other dog, whom, to his infinite
surprise, he found to be the same Jowler that he had discarded the year
before. 'I now see,' said he to the farmer, 'that it is in vain to
expect courage in those who live a life of indolence and repose, and
that constant exercise and proper discipline are frequently able to
change contemptible characters into good ones.'"

"Indeed," said Mr Barlow, when the story was ended, "I am sincerely glad
to find that Tommy has made this acquisition. He will now depend upon
nobody, but be able to divert himself whenever he pleases. All that has
ever been written in our own language will be from this time in his
power, whether he chooses to read little entertaining stories like what
we have heard to-day, or to read the actions of great and good men in
history, or to make himself acquainted with the nature of wild beasts
and birds, which are found in other countries, and have been described
in books; in short, I scarcely know of anything which from this moment
will not be in his power; and I do not despair of one day seeing him a
very sensible man, capable of teaching and instructing others."

"Yes," said Tommy, something elated by all this praise, "I am determined
to make myself as clever as anybody; and I don't doubt, though I am such
a little fellow, that I know more already than many grown-up people; and
I am sure, though there are no less than six blacks in our house, that
there is not one of them who can read a story like me." Mr Barlow looked
a little grave at this sudden display of vanity, and said rather coolly,
"Pray, who has attempted to teach them anything?" "Nobody, I believe,"
said Tommy. "Where is the great wonder, then, if they are ignorant?"
replied Mr Barlow; "you would probably have never known anything had you
not been assisted; and even now you know very little."




CHAPTER II.

     Tommy and the Ragged Boy--Story of Androcles and the
     Lion--Conversation on Slavery--Conversation about an Ass--Tommy's
     Present and its consequences--The story of Cyrus--Squire Chase
     beats Harry--Harry saves the Squire's life--Making Bread--Story of
     the Two Brothers--Story of the Sailors on the Island of
     Spitzbergen.


In this manner did Mr Barlow begin the education of Tommy Merton, who
had naturally very good dispositions, although he had been suffered to
acquire many bad habits, that sometimes prevented them from appearing.
He was, in particular, very passionate, and thought he had a right to
command everybody that was not dressed as fine as himself. This opinion
often led him into inconveniences, and once was the occasion of his
being severely mortified.

This accident happened in the following manner:--One day as Tommy was
striking a ball with his bat, he struck it over a hedge into an
adjoining field, and seeing a little ragged boy walking along on that
side, he ordered him, in a very peremptory tone, to bring it to him. The
little boy, without taking any notice of what was said, walked on, and
left the ball; upon which Tommy called out more loudly than before, and
asked if he did not hear what was said. "Yes," said the boy, "for the
matter of that I am not deaf." "Oh! you are not?" replied Tommy, "then
bring me my ball directly." "I don't choose it," said the boy. "Sirrah,"
said Tommy, "if I come to you I shall make you choose it." "Perhaps not,
my pretty little master," said the boy. "You little rascal," said Tommy,
who now began to be very angry, "if I come over the hedge I will thrash
you within an inch of your life." To this the other made no answer but
by a loud laugh, which provoked Tommy so much that he clambered over the
hedge and jumped precipitately down intending to have leaped into the
field; but unfortunately his foot slipped, and down he rolled into a wet
ditch, which was full of mud and water; there poor Tommy tumbled about
for some time, endeavouring to get out; but it was to no purpose, for
his feet stuck in the mud, or slipped off from the bank; his fine
waistcoat was dirtied all over, his white stockings covered with mire,
his breeches filled with puddle water; and, to add to his distress, he
first lost one shoe and then the other--his laced hat tumbled off from
his head and was completely spoiled. In this distress he must probably
have remained a considerable time, had not the little ragged boy taken
pity on him and helped him out. Tommy was so vexed and ashamed that he
could not say a word, but ran home in such a plight that Mr Barlow, who
happened to meet him, was afraid he had been considerably hurt; but,
when he heard the accident which had happened, he could not help
smiling, and he advised Tommy to be more careful for the future how he
attempted to thrash little ragged boys.

The next day Mr Barlow desired Harry, when they were all together in the
arbour, to read the following story of


"ANDROCLES AND THE LION."

"There was a certain slave named Androcles, who was so ill treated by
his master that his life became insupportable. Finding no remedy for
what he suffered, he at length said to himself: 'It is better to die
than to continue to live in such hardships and misery as I am obliged to
suffer. I am determined, therefore, to run away from my master. If I am
taken again, I know that I shall be punished with a cruel death; but it
is better to die at once, than to live in misery. If I escape, I must
betake myself to deserts and woods, inhabited only by beasts; but they
cannot use me more cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures;
therefore, I will rather trust myself with them, than continue to be a
miserable slave.'

"Having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of leaving his
master's house, and hid himself in a thick forest, which was at some
miles' distance from the city. But here the unhappy man found that he
had only escaped from one kind of misery to experience another. He
wandered about all day through a vast and trackless wood, where his
flesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles; he grew hungry, but
could find no food in this dreary solitude! At length he was ready to
die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern which he
found by accident."

"Poor man!" said Harry, whose little heart could scarcely contain itself
at this mournful recital, "I wish I could have met with him; I would
have given him all my dinner, and he should have had my bed. But pray,
sir, tell me why does one man behave so cruelly to another, and why
should one person be the servant of another, and bear so much ill
treatment?"

"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
must command others; and some are born servants, and then they must do
as they are bid. I remember, before I came hither, that there were a
great many black men and women, that my mother said were only born to
wait upon me; and I used to beat them, and kick them, and throw things
at them whenever I was angry; and they never dared strike me again,
because they were slaves."

"And pray, young man," said Mr Barlow, "how came these people to be
slaves?"

_Tommy._--Because my father bought them with his money. _Mr Barlow._--So
then people that are bought with money are slaves, are they? _T._--Yes.
_Mr B._--And those that buy them have a right to kick them, and beat
them, and do as they please with them? _T._--Yes. _Mr B._--Then, if I
was to take and sell you to Farmer Sandford, he would have a right to do
what he pleased with you? No, sir, said Tommy, somewhat warmly; but you
would have no right to sell me, nor he to buy me. _Mr B._--Then it is
not a person's being bought or sold that gives another a right to use
him ill, but one person's having a right to sell another, and the man
who buys having a right to purchase? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--And what
right have the people who sold the poor negroes to your father to sell
them, or what right has your father to buy them? Here Tommy seemed to be
a good deal puzzled, but at length he said, "They are brought from a
country that is a great way off, in ships, and so they become slaves."
Then, said Mr Barlow, "if I take you to another country, in a ship, I
shall have a right to sell you?" _T._--No, but you won't, sir, because I
was born a gentleman. _Mr B._--What do you mean by that, Tommy? Why
(said Tommy, a little confounded), to have a fine house, and fine
clothes, and a coach, and a great deal of money, as my papa has. _Mr
B._--Then if you were no longer to have a fine house, nor fine clothes,
nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these things might make
you a slave, and use you ill, and beat you, and insult you, and do
whatever he liked with you? _T._--No, sir, that would not be right
neither, that anybody should use me ill. _Mr B._--Then one person should
not use another ill? _T._--No, sir. _Mr B._--To make a slave of anybody
is to use him ill, is it not? _T._--I think so. _Mr B._--Then no one
ought to make a slave of you? _T._--No, indeed, sir. _Mr B._--But if no
one should use another ill, and making a slave is using him ill, neither
ought you to make a slave of any one else. _T._--Indeed, sir, I think
not; and for the future I never will use our black William ill; nor
pinch him, nor kick him, as I used to do. _Mr B._--Then you will be a
very good boy. But let us now continue our story.

"This unfortunate man had not lain long quiet in the cavern before he
heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some wild beast,
and terrified him very much. He started up with a design to escape, and
had already reached the mouth of the cave, when he saw coming towards
him a lion of prodigious size, who prevented any possibility of retreat.
The unfortunate man now believed his destruction to be inevitable; but,
to his great astonishment, the beast advanced towards him with a gentle
pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and uttered a kind of mournful
voice, as if he demanded the assistance of the man.

"Androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposition, acquired
courage, from this circumstance, to examine his monstrous guest, who
gave him sufficient leisure for that purpose. He saw, as the lion
approached him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs, and that
the foot was extremely swelled, as if it had been wounded. Acquiring
still more fortitude from the gentle demeanour of the beast, he advanced
up to him, and took hold of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine
a patient. He then perceived that a thorn of uncommon size had
penetrated the ball of the foot, and was the occasion of the swelling
and lameness which he had observed. Androcles found that the beast, far
from resenting this familiarity, received it with the greatest
gentleness, and seemed to invite him by his blandishments to proceed. He
therefore extracted the thorn, and, pressing the swelling, discharged a
considerable quantity of matter, which had been the cause of so much
pain and uneasiness.

"As soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he began to testify
his joy and gratitude by every expression within his power. He jumped
about like a wanton spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the
feet and hands of his physician. Nor was he contented with these
demonstrations of kindness: from this moment Androcles became his guest;
nor did the lion ever sally forth in quest of prey without bringing home
the produce of his chase, and sharing it with his friend. In this savage
state of hospitality did the man continue to live during the space of
several months; at length, wandering unguardedly through the woods, he
met with a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and was by
them taken prisoner and conducted back to his master. The laws of that
country being very severe against slaves, he was tried and found guilty
of having fled from his master, and, as a punishment for his pretended
crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept
many days without food, to inspire him with additional rage.

"When the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed, unarmed,
in the midst of a spacious area, enclosed on every side, round which
many thousand people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle.

"Presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the spectators with
horror; and a monstrous lion rushed out of a den, which was purposely
set open, and darted forward with erected mane and flaming eyes, and
jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre. A mournful silence instantly
prevailed! All eyes were directly turned upon the destined victim, whose
destruction now appeared inevitable. But the pity of the multitude was
soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the lion, instead of
destroying his defenceless prey, crouch submissively at his feet, fawn
upon him as a faithful dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over
him as a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. The governor
of the town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice, and
ordered Androcles to explain to them this unintelligible mystery, and
how a savage of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus in a
moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and be converted into a
harmless and inoffensive animal.

"Androcles then related to the assembly every circumstance of his
adventures in the woods, and concluded by saying, that the very lion
which now stood before them had been his friend and entertainer in the
woods. All the persons present were astonished and delighted with the
story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable of being
softened by gratitude, and moved by humanity; and they unanimously
joined to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man from the governor of
the place. This was immediately granted to him; and he was also
presented with the lion, who had in this manner twice saved the life of
Androcles."

"Upon my word," said Tommy, "this is a very pretty story; but I never
should have thought that a lion could have grown so tame: I thought that
they, and tigers, and wolves, had been so fierce and cruel that they
would have torn everything they met to pieces."

"When they are hungry," said Mr Barlow, "they kill every animal they
meet; but this is to devour it, for they can only live upon flesh, like,
dogs and cats, and many other kinds of animals. When they are not hungry
they seldom meddle with anything, or do unnecessary mischief; therefore
they are much less cruel than many persons that I have seen, and even
than many children, who plague and torment animals, without any reason
whatsoever."

"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "I think so. And I remember, as I was walking
along the road some days past, I saw a little naughty boy that used a
poor jackass very ill indeed. The poor animal was so lame that he could
hardly stir; and yet the boy beat him with a great stick as violently as
he was able, to make him go on faster." "And what did you say to him?"
said Mr Barlow. _Harry._--Why, sir, I told him how naughty and cruel it
was; and I asked him how he would like to be beaten in that manner by
somebody that was stronger than himself? _Mr B._--And what answer did he
make you? _H._--He said, that it was his daddy's ass, and so that he had
a right to beat it; and that if I said a word more he would beat me. _Mr
B._--And what answer did you make; any? _H._--I told him, if it was his
father's ass, he should not use it ill; for that we were all God's
creatures, and that we should love each other, as He loved us all; and
that as to beating me, if he struck me I had a right to strike him
again, and would do it, though he was almost as big again as I was. _Mr
B._--And did he strike you? _H._--Yes, sir. He endeavoured to strike me
upon the head with his stick, but I dodged, and so it fell upon my
shoulder; and he was going to strike me again, but I darted at him, and
knocked him down, and then he began blubbering, and begged me not to
hurt him. _Mr B._--It is not uncommon for those who are most cruel to be
at the same time most cowardly; but what did you? _H._--Sir, I told him
I did not want to hurt him; but that as he had meddled with me, I would
not let him rise till he had promised not to hurt the poor beast any
more, which he did, and then I let him go about his business.

"You did very right," said Mr Barlow; "and I suppose the boy looked as
foolish, when he was rising, as Tommy did the other day when the little
ragged boy that he was going to beat helped him out of the ditch."
"Sir," answered Tommy, a little confused, "I should not have attempted
to beat him, only he would not bring me my ball." _Mr B._--And what
right had you to oblige him to bring your ball? _T._--Sir, he was a
little ragged boy, and I am a gentleman. _Mr B._--So then, every
gentleman has a right to command little ragged boys? _T._--To be sure,
sir. _Mr B._--Then if your clothes should wear out and become ragged,
every gentleman will have a right to command you? Tommy looked a little
foolish, and said, "But he might have done it, as he was on that side of
the hedge." _Mr B._--And so he probably would have done if you had asked
him civilly to do it; but when persons speak in a haughty tone, they
will find few inclined to serve them. But, as the boy was poor and
ragged, I suppose you hired him with money to fetch your ball?
_T._--Indeed, sir, I did not; I neither gave him anything nor offered
him anything. _Mr B._--Probably you had nothing to give him? _T._--Yes I
had, though; I had all this money (pulling out several shillings). _Mr
B._--Perhaps the boy was as rich as you. _T._--No, he was not, sir, I am
sure; for he had no coat, and his waistcoat and breeches were all
tattered and ragged; besides, he had no stockings, and his shoes were
full of holes. _Mr B._--So, now I see what constitutes a gentleman. A
gentleman is one that, when he has abundance of everything, keeps it all
to himself; beats poor people, if they don't serve him for nothing; and
when they have done him the greatest favour, in spite of his insolence,
never feels any gratitude, or does them any good in return. I find that
Androcles' lion was no gentleman.

Tommy was so affected with this rebuke that he could hardly contain his
tears; and, as he was really a boy of a generous temper, he determined
to give the little ragged boy something the very first time he should
see him again. He did not long wait for an opportunity; for, as he was
walking out that very afternoon, he saw him at some distance gathering
blackberries, and, going up to him, he accosted him thus: "Little boy, I
want to know why you are so ragged; have you no other clothes?" "No,
indeed," said the boy. "I have seven brothers and sisters, and they are
all as ragged as myself; but I should not much mind that if I could have
my belly full of victuals." _Tommy._--And why cannot you have your belly
full of victuals? _Little boy._--Because daddy's ill of a fever, and
can't work this harvest! so that mammy says we must all starve if God
Almighty does not take care of us.

Tommy made no answer, but ran full speed to the house whence he
presently returned, loaded with a loaf of bread, and a complete suit of
his own clothes. "Here, little boy," said he, "you were very
good-natured to me; and so I will give you all this, because I am a
gentleman, and have many more."

Tommy did not wait for the little boy's acknowledgment, but hastened
away and told Mr Barlow, with an air of exultation, what he had done.

Mr Barlow coolly answered, "You have done well in giving the little boy
clothes, because they are your own; but what right have you to give away
my loaf of bread without asking my consent?" _Tommy._--Why, sir, I did
it because the little boy said he was very hungry, and had seven
brothers and sisters, and that his father was ill, and could not work.
_Mr B._--This is a very good reason why you should give them what
belongs to yourself, but not why you should give them what is another's.
What would you say if Harry were to give away all your clothes, without
asking your leave?" _T._--I should not like it at all; and I will not
give away your things any more without asking your leave. "You will do
well," said Mr Barlow; "and here is a little story you may read upon
this very subject:--


"THE STORY OF CYRUS."

"Cyrus was a little boy of good dispositions and humane temper. He was
very fond of drawing, and often went into the fields for the purpose of
taking sketches of trees, houses, &c., which he would show to his
parents. On one occasion he had retired into a shed at the back of his
father's house, and was so much absorbed in planning something with his
compasses, as not to be for a long time aware of his father's presence.
He had several masters, who endeavoured to teach him everything that was
good; and he was educated with several little boys about his own age.
One evening his father asked him what he had done or learned that day.
'Sir,' said Cyrus, 'I was punished to-day for deciding unjustly.' 'How
so?' said his father. _Cyrus._--There were two boys, one of whom was a
great and the other a little boy. Now, it happened that the little boy
had a coat that was much too big for him, but the great boy had one that
scarcely reached below his middle, and was too tight for him in every
part; upon which the great boy proposed to the little boy to change
coats with him, 'because then,' said he, 'we shall be both exactly
fitted; for your coat is as much too big for you as mine is too little
for me.' The little boy would not consent to the proposal, on which the
great boy took his coat away by force, and gave his own to the little
boy in exchange. While they were disputing upon this subject I chanced
to pass by, and they agreed to make me judge of the affair. But I
decided that the little boy should keep the little coat, and the great
boy the great one--for which judgment my master punished me.

"'Why so?' said Cyrus' father; 'was not the little coat most proper for
the little boy, and the large coat for the great boy?' 'Yes, sir,'
answered Cyrus; 'but my master told me I was not made judge to examine
which coat best fitted either of the boys, but to decide whether it was
just that the great boy should take away the coat of the little one
against his consent; and therefore I decided unjustly, and deserved to
be punished.'"

Just as the story was finished, they were surprised to see a little
ragged boy come running up to them, with a bundle of clothes under his
arm. His eyes were black, as if he had been severely beaten, his nose
was swelled, his shirt was bloody, and his waistcoat did but just hang
upon his back, so much was it torn. He came running up to Tommy, and
threw down the bundle before him, saying, "Here master, take your
clothes again; and I wish they had been at the bottom of the ditch I
pulled you out of, instead of upon my back; but I never will put such
frippery on again as long as I have breath in my body."

"What is the matter?" said Mr Barlow, who perceived that some
unfortunate accident had happened in consequence of Tommy's present.

"Sir," answered the little boy, "my little master here was going to beat
me, because I would not fetch his ball. Now, as to the matter of that, I
would have brought his ball with all my heart, if he had but asked me
civilly. But though I am poor, I am not bound to be his slave, as they
say black William is; and so I would not; upon which little master here
was jumping over the hedge to lick me; but, instead of that, he soused
into the ditch, and there he lay rolling about till I helped him out;
and so he gave me these clothes here, all out of good-will; and I put
them on, like a fool as I was, for they are all made of silk, and look
so fine, that all the little boys followed me, and hallooed as I went;
and Jack Dowset threw a handful of dirt at me, and dirtied me all over.
'Oh!' says I, 'Jacky, are you at that work?'--and with that I hit him a
good thump, and sent him roaring away. But Billy Gibson and Ned Kelly
came up, and said I looked like a Frenchman; and so we began fighting,
and I beat them till they both gave out; but I don't choose to be
hallooed after wherever I go, and to look like a Frenchman; and so I
have brought master his clothes again."

Mr Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived; and he told him
that his father lived about two miles off, across the common, and at the
end of Runny Lane; on which Mr Barlow told Harry that he would send the
poor man some broth and victuals if he would carry it when it was ready.
"That I will," said Harry, "if it were five times as far." So Mr Barlow
went into the house to give orders about it.

In the mean time Tommy, who had eyed the little boy for some time in
silence, said, "So, my poor boy, you have been beaten and hurt till you
are all over blood, only because I gave you my clothes. I am really very
sorry for it." "Thank you, little master," said the boy, "but it can't
be helped; you did not intend me any hurt, I know; and I am not such a
chicken as to mind a beating; so I wish you a good afternoon with all my
heart."

As soon as the little boy was gone, Tommy said, "I wish I had but some
clothes that the poor boy could wear, for he seems very good-natured; I
would give them to him." "That you may very easily have," said Harry,
"for there is a shop in the village hard by where they sell all manner
of clothes for the poor people; and, as you have money, you may easily
buy some."

Harry and Tommy then agreed to go early the next morning to buy some
clothes for the poor children. They accordingly set out before
breakfast, and had proceeded nearly half-way, when they heard the noise
of a pack of hounds that seemed to be running full cry at some distance.
Tommy then asked Harry if he knew what they were about. "Yes," said
Harry "I know well enough what they are about; it is Squire Chase and
his dogs worrying a poor hare. But I wonder they are not ashamed to
meddle with such a poor inoffensive creature, that cannot defend itself.
If they have a mind to hunt, why don't they hunt lions and tigers, and
such fierce mischievous creatures, as I have read they do in other
countries?" "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "how is that? it must surely be very
dangerous." "Why, you know," said Harry, "the men are accustomed in some
places to go almost naked; and that makes them so prodigiously nimble,
that they can run like a deer; and, when a lion or tiger comes into
their neighbourhood, and devours their sheep or oxen, they go out, six
and seven together, armed with javelins; and they run over all the
woods, and examine every place, till they have found him; and they make
a noise to provoke him to attack them; then he begins roaring and
foaming, beating his sides with his tail, till, in a violent fury, he
springs at the man that is nearest to him." "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "he
must certainly be torn to pieces." "No such thing," answered Harry; "he
jumps like a greyhound out of the way, while the next man throws his
javelin at the lion, and perhaps wounds him in the side; this enrages
him still more; he springs again like lightning upon the man that
wounded him, but this man avoids him like the other, and at last the
poor beast drops down dead with the number of wounds he has received."
"Oh," said Tommy, "it must be a very strange sight; I should like to see
it out of a window, where I was safe." "So should not I," answered
Harry; "for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal tortured
and killed; but they are obliged to do it in their own defence. But
these poor hares do nobody any harm, excepting the farmers, by eating a
little of their corn sometimes."

As they were talking in this manner, Harry, casting his eyes on one
side, said, "As I am alive, there is the poor hare skulking along! I
hope they will not be able to find her; and, if they ask me, I will
never tell them which way she is gone."

Presently up came the dogs, who had now lost all scent of their game,
and a gentleman, mounted upon a fine horse, who asked Harry if he had
seen the hare. Harry made no answer; but, upon the gentleman's repeating
the question in a louder tone of voice, he answered that he had. "And
which way is she gone?" said the gentleman. "Sir, I don't choose to tell
you," answered Harry, after some hesitation. "Not choose!" said the
gentleman, leaping off his horse, "but I'll make you choose in an
instant;" and, coming up to Harry who never moved from the place where
he had been standing, began to lash him in a most unmerciful manner with
his whip, continually repeating, "Now, you little rascal, do you choose
to tell me now?" To which Harry made no other answer than this: "If I
would not tell you before, I won't now, though you should kill me."

But this fortitude of Harry, and the tears of Tommy, who cried in the
bitterest manner to see the distress of his friend, made no impression
on this barbarian, who continued his brutality till another gentleman
rode up full speed, and said, "For any sake, Squire, what are you about?
You will kill the child, if you do not take care." "And the little dog
deserves it," said the other; "he has seen the hare, and will not tell
me which way she is gone." "Take care," replied the gentleman, in a low
voice, "you don't involve yourself in a disagreeable affair; I know the
other to be the son of a gentleman of great fortune in the
neighbourhood;" and then turning to Harry, he said, "Why, my dear, would
you not tell the gentleman which way the hare had gone, if you saw her?"
"Because," answered Harry, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to
speak, "I don't choose to betray the unfortunate." "This boy," said the
gentleman, "is a prodigy; and it is a happy thing for you, Squire, that
his age is not equal to his spirit. But you are always passionate----"
At this moment the hounds recovered the scent, and bursting into a full
cry, the Squire mounted his horse and galloped away, attended by all his
companions.

When they were gone, Tommy came up to Harry in the most affectionate
manner, and asked him how he did. "A little sore," said Harry; "but that
does not signify." _Tommy._--I wish I had had a pistol or a sword!
_Harry._--Why, what would you have done with it? _T._--I would have
killed that good-for-nothing man who treated you so cruelly. _H._--That
would have been wrong, Tommy; for I am sure he did not want to kill me.
Indeed, if I had been a man, he should not have used me so; but it is
all over now, and we ought to forgive our enemies, as Mr Barlow tells us
Christ did; and then perhaps they may come to love us, and be sorry for
what they have done. _T._--But how could you bear to be so severely
whipped, without crying out? _H._--Why, crying out would have done me no
good at all, would it? and this is nothing to what many little boys have
suffered without ever flinching, or bemoaning themselves. _T._--Well, I
should have thought a great deal. _H._--Oh! it's nothing to what the
young Spartans used to suffer. _T._--Who were they? _H._--Why, you must
know they were a very brave set of people, that lived a great while ago;
and, as they were but few in number, and were surrounded by a great many
enemies, they used to endeavour to make their little boys very brave and
hardy; and these little boys used to be always running about,
half-naked, in the open air, and wrestling and jumping and exercising
themselves; and then had very coarse food, and hard beds to lie upon,
and were never pampered and indulged; and all this made them so strong
and hardy, and brave, that the like was never seen. _T._--What, and had
they no coaches to ride in, nor sweetmeats, nor wine, nor anybody to
wait upon them? _H._--Oh! dear, no; their fathers thought that would
spoil them, and so they all fared alike, and ate together in great
rooms; and there they were taught to behave orderly and decently; and
when dinner was over, they all went to play together; and, if they
committed any faults, they were severely whipped; but they never minded
it, and scorned to cry out, or make a wry face.

As they were conversing in this manner, they approached the village,
where Tommy laid out all his money, amounting to fifteen shillings and
sixpence, in buying some clothes for the little ragged boy and his
brothers, which were made up in a bundle and given to him; but he
desired Harry to carry them for him. "That I will," said Harry; "but why
don't you choose to carry them yourself?" _Tommy._--Why, it is not fit
for a gentleman to carry things himself. _Harry._--Why, what hurt does
it do him, if he is but strong enough? _T._--I do not know; but I
believe it is that he may not look like the common people. _H._--Then he
should not have hands, or feet, or ears, or mouth, because the common
people have the same. _T._--No, no; he must have all these, because they
are useful. _H._--And is it not useful to be able to do things for
ourselves? _T._--Yes; but gentlemen have others to do what they want for
them. _H._--Then I should think it must be a bad thing to be a
gentleman. _T._--Why so? _H._--Because, if all were gentlemen, nobody
would do anything, and then we should be all starved. _T._--Starved!
_H._--Yes; why, you could not live, could you, without bread? _T._--No;
I know that very well. _H._--And bread is made of a plant that grows in
the earth, and it is called wheat. _T._--Why, then, I would gather it
and eat it. _H._--Then you must do something for yourself; but that
would not do, for wheat is a small hard grain, like the oats which you
have sometimes given to Mr Barlow's horse; and you would not like to eat
them. _T._--No, certainly; but how comes bread then? _H._--Why, they
send the corn to the mill. _T._--What is a mill? _H._--What! did you
never see a mill? _T._--No, never; but I should like to see one, that I
may know how they make bread. _H._--There is one at a little distance;
and if you ask Mr Barlow, he will go with you, for he knows the miller
very well. _T._--That I will, for I should like to see them make bread.

As they were conversing in this manner, they heard a great outcry, and
turning their heads, saw a horse that was galloping violently along, and
dragging his rider along with him, who had fallen off, and, in falling,
hitched his foot in the stirrup. Luckily for the person, it happened to
be wet ground, and the side of a hill, which prevented the horse from
going very fast, and the rider from being much hurt. But Harry, who was
always prepared to do an act of humanity, even with the danger of his
life, and, besides that, was a boy of extraordinary courage and agility,
ran up towards a gap which he saw the horse approaching, and just as he
made a little pause before vaulting over, caught him by the bridle, and
effectually stopped him from proceeding. In an instant another gentleman
came up, with two or three servants, who alighted from their horses,
disengaged the fallen person, and set him upon his legs. He stared
wildly around him for some time; as he was not materially hurt, he soon
recovered his senses, and the first use he made of them was to swear at
his horse, and to ask who had stopped the confounded jade. "Who?" said
his friend, "why, the very little boy you used so scandalously this
morning; had it not been for his dexterity and courage, that numskull of
yours would have had more flaws in it than it ever had before."

The Squire considered Harry with a countenance in which shame and
humiliation seemed yet to struggle with his natural insolence; but at
length, putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a guinea, which
he offered to Harry, telling him at the same time he was very sorry for
what had happened; but Harry, with a look of more contempt than he had
ever been seen to assume before, rejected the present, and taking up the
bundle which he had dropped at the time he had seized the Squire's
horse, walked away, accompanied by his companion.

As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call at the poor
man's cottage, whom they found much better, as Mr Barlow had been there
the preceding night, and given him such medicines as he judged proper
for his disease. Tommy then asked for the little boy, and, on his coming
in, told him that he had now brought him some clothes which he might
wear without fear of being called a Frenchman, as well as some more for
his little brothers. The pleasure with which they were received was so
great, and the acknowledgments and blessings of the good woman and the
poor man, who had just began to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy
could not help shedding tears of compassion, in which he was joined by
Harry. As they were returning, Tommy said that he had never spent any
money with so much pleasure as that with which he had purchased clothes
for this poor family; and that for the future he would take care of all
the money that was given him for that purpose, instead of laying it out
in eatables and playthings.

Some days after this, as Mr Barlow and the two boys were walking out
together, they happened to pass near a windmill; and, on Harry's
telling Tommy what it was, Tommy desired leave to go into it and look
at it. Mr Barlow consented to this, and, being acquainted with the
miller, they all went in and examined every part of it with great
curiosity; and there little Tommy saw with astonishment that the sails
of the mill, being constantly turned round by the wind, moved a great
flat stone, which, by rubbing upon another stone, bruised all the corn
that was put between them till it became a fine powder. "Oh dear!" said
Tommy, "is this the way they make bread?" Mr Barlow told him this was
the method by which the corn was prepared for making bread; but that
many other things were necessary before it arrived at that state. "You
see that what runs from these millstones is only a fine powder, very
different from bread, which is a solid and tolerably hard substance."

As they were going home Harry said to Tommy, "So you see now, if nobody
chose to work, or do anything for himself, we should have no bread to
eat; but you could not even have the corn to make it of without a great
deal of pains and labour." _Tommy._--Why not? does not corn grow in the
ground of itself? _Harry._--Corn grows in the ground, but then first it
is necessary to plough the ground, to break it to pieces. _T._--What is
ploughing? _H._--Did you never see three or four horses drawing
something along the fields in a straight line, while one man drove, and
another walked behind holding the thing by two handles? _T._--Yes, I
have; and is that ploughing? _H._--It is; and there is a sharp iron
underneath, which runs into the ground and turns it up all the way it
goes. _T._--Well, and what then? _H._--When the ground is thus
prepared, they sow the seed all over it, and then they rake it over to
cover the seed, and then the seed begins to grow, and shoots up very
high; and at last the corn ripens, and they reap it, and carry it home.
_T._--I protest it must be very curious, and I should like to sow some
seed myself, and see it grow; do you think I could? _H._--Yes,
certainly, and if you will dig the ground to-morrow I will go home to my
father, in order to procure some seed for you.

The next morning Tommy was up almost as soon as it was light, and went
to work in a corner of the garden, where he dug with great perseverance
till breakfast; when he came in, he could not help telling Mr Barlow
what he had done, and asking him, whether he was not a very good boy for
working so hard to raise corn? "That," said Mr Barlow, "depends upon the
use you intend to make of it when you have raised it; what is it you
intend doing with it?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I intend to send it to
the mill that we saw, and have it ground into flour; and then I will get
you to show me how to make bread of it, and then I will eat it, that I
may tell my father that I have eaten bread out of corn of my own
sowing." "That will be very well done," said Mr Barlow; "but where will
be the great goodness that you sow corn for your own eating? That is no
more than all the people round continually do; and if they did not do it
they would be obliged to fast." "But then," said Tommy, "they are not
gentlemen, as I am."

"What then," answered Mr Barlow; "must not gentlemen eat as well as
others, and therefore is it not for their interest to know how to
procure food as well as other people?" "Yes, sir," answered Tommy, "but
they can have other people to raise it for them, so that they are not
obliged to work for themselves." "How does that happen?" said Mr Barlow.
_Tommy._--Why, sir, they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread
when it is made, as much as they want. _Mr B._--Then they pay for it
with money? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--Then they must have money before
they can buy corn? _T._--Certainly, sir. _Mr B._--But have all gentlemen
money? Tommy hesitated some time at this question; at last he said, "I
believe not always, sir." _Mr B._--Why, then, if they have not money
they will find it difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for
themselves. "Indeed," said Tommy, "I believe they will; for perhaps they
may not find anybody good-natured enough to give it them." "But," said
Mr Barlow, "as we are talking upon this subject, I will tell you a story
that I read a little time past, if you choose to hear it." Tommy said he
should be very glad if Mr Barlow would take the trouble of telling it to
him, and Mr Barlow told him the following history of


"THE TWO BROTHERS."

"About the time that many people went over to South America, with the
hopes of finding gold and silver, there was a Spaniard, whose name was
Pizarro, who had a great inclination to try his fortune like the rest;
but as he had an elder brother, for whom he had a very great affection,
he went to him, told him his design, and solicited him very much to go
along with him, promising him that he should have an equal share of all
the riches they found. The brother, whose name was Alonzo, was a man of
a contented temper, and a good understanding; he did not therefore much
approve of the project, and endeavoured to dissuade Pizarro from it, by
setting before him the danger to which he exposed himself, and the
uncertainty of his succeeding; but finding all that he said was vain, he
agreed to go with him, but told him at the same time that he wanted no
part of the riches which he might find, and would ask no other favour
than to have his baggage and a few servants taken on board the vessel
with him. Pizarro then sold all that he had, bought a vessel, and
embarked with several other adventurers, who had all great expectations,
like himself, of soon becoming rich. As to Alonzo, he took nothing with
him but a few ploughs, harrows, and other tools, and some corn, together
with a large quantity of potatoes, and some seeds of different
vegetables. Pizarro thought these very odd preparations for a voyage;
but as he did not think proper to expostulate with his brother he said
nothing.

"After sailing some time with prosperous winds, they put into the last
port where they were to stop, before they came to the country where they
were to search for gold. Here Pizarro bought a great number more of
pickaxes, shovels, and various other tools for digging, melting, and
refining the gold he expected to find, besides hiring an additional
number of labourers to assist him in the work. Alonzo, on the contrary,
bought only a few sheep, and four stout oxen, with their harness, and
food enough to subsist them till they should arrive at land.

"As it happened, they met with a favourable voyage, and all landed in
perfect health in America. Alonzo then told his brother that, as he had
only come to accompany and serve him, he would stay near the shore with
his servants and cattle, while he went to search for gold, and when he
had acquired as much as he desired, should be always ready to embark for
Spain with him.

"Pizarro accordingly set out not without feeling so great a contempt for
his brother, that he could not help expressing it to his companions. 'I
always thought,' said he, 'that my brother had been a man of sense; he
bore that character in Spain, but I find people were strangely mistaken
in him. Here he is going to divert himself with his sheep and his oxen,
as if he was living quietly upon his farm at home, and had nothing else
to do than to raise cucumbers and melons. But we know better what to do
with our time; so come along, my lads, and if we have but good luck, we
shall soon be enriched for the rest of our lives.' All that were present
applauded Pizarro's speech, and declared themselves ready to follow
wherever he went; only one old Spaniard shook his head as he went, and
told him he doubted whether he would find his brother so great a fool as
he thought.

"They then travelled on several days' march into the country, sometimes
obliged to cross rivers, at others to pass mountains and forests, where
they could find no paths; sometimes scorched by the violent heat of the
sun, and then wetted to the skin by violent showers of rain. These
difficulties, however, did not discourage them so much as to hinder them
from trying in several places for gold, which they were at length lucky
enough to find in a considerable quantity. This success animated them
very much, and they continued working upon that spot till all their
provisions were consumed; they gathered daily large quantities of ore,
but then they suffered very much from hunger. Still, however, they
persevered in their labours, and sustained themselves with such roots
and berries as they could find. At last even this resource failed them;
and, after several of their company had died from want and hardship, the
rest were just able to crawl back to the place where they had left
Alonzo, carrying with them the gold, to acquire which they had suffered
so many miseries.

"But while they had been employed in this manner, Alonzo, who foresaw
what would happen, had been industriously toiling to a very different
purpose. His skill in husbandry had easily enabled him to find a spot of
considerable extent and very fertile soil, which he ploughed up with the
oxen he had brought with him, and the assistance of his servants. He
then sowed the different seeds he had brought, and planted the potatoes,
which prospered beyond what he could have expected, and yielded him a
most abundant harvest. His sheep he had turned out in a very fine meadow
near the sea, and every one of them had brought him a couple of lambs.
Besides that, he and his servants, at leisure times, employed themselves
in fishing; and the fish they had caught were all dried and salted with
salt they had found upon the sea-shore; so that, by the time of
Pizarro's return, they had laid up a very considerable quantity of
provisions.

"When Pizarro returned, his brother received him with the greatest
cordiality, and asked him what success he had had? Pizarro told him that
they had found an immense quantity of gold, but that several of his
companions had perished, and that the rest were almost starved from the
want of provisions. He then requested that his brother would immediately
give him something to eat, as he assured him he had tasted no food for
the last two days, excepting the roots and bark of trees. Alonzo then
very coolly answered, that he should remember that, when they set out,
they had made an agreement, that neither should interfere with the
other; that he had never desired to have any share of the gold which
Pizarro might acquire, and therefore he wondered that Pizarro should
expect to be supplied with the provisions that he had procured with so
much care and labour; 'but,' added he, 'if you choose to exchange some
of the gold you have found for provisions, I shall perhaps be able to
accommodate you.'

"Pizarro thought this behaviour very unkind in his brother; but, as he
and his companions were almost starved, they were obliged to comply with
his demands, which were so exorbitant, that, in a very short time, they
parted with all the gold they had brought with them, merely to purchase
food. Alonzo then proposed to his brother to embark for Spain in the
vessel which had brought them thither, as the winds and weather seemed
most to be favourable; but Pizarro, with an angry look, told him that,
since he had deprived him of everything he had gained, and treated him
in so unfriendly a manner, he should go without him; for, as to himself,
he would rather perish upon that desert shore than embark with so
inhuman a brother.

"But Alonzo, instead of resenting these reproaches, embraced his brother
with the greatest tenderness, and spoke to him in the following
manner:--'Could you then believe, my dearest Pizarro, that I really
meant to deprive you of the fruits of all your labours, which you have
acquired with so much toil and danger? Rather may all the gold in the
universe perish than I should be capable of such behaviour to my dearest
brother! But I saw the rash, impetuous desire you had of riches, and
wished to correct this fault in you, and serve you at the same time. You
despised my prudence and industry, and imagined that nothing could be
wanting to him that had once acquired wealth; but you have now learned
that, without that foresight and industry, all the gold you have brought
with you would not have prevented you from perishing miserably. You are
now, I hope, wiser; and therefore take back your riches, which I hope
you have now learned to make a proper use of.' Pizarro was equally
filled with gratitude and astonishment at this generosity of his
brother, and he acknowledged, from experience, that industry was better
than gold. They then embarked for Spain, where they all safely arrived.
During the voyage Pizarro often solicited his brother to accept of half
his riches, which Alonzo constantly refused, telling him that he could
raise food enough to maintain himself, and was in no want of gold."

"Indeed," said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished the story, "I think
Alonzo was a very sensible man; and, if it had not been for him, his
brother and all his companions must have been starved; but then this was
only because they were in a desert uninhabited country. This could never
have happened in England; there they could always have had as much corn
or bread as they chose for their money." "But," said Mr Barlow, "is a
man sure to be always in England, or some place where he can purchase
bread?" _Tommy._--I believe so, sir. _Mr B._--Why, are there not
countries in the world where there are no inhabitants, and where no corn
is raised? _T._--Certainly, sir; this country, which the two brothers
went to, was such a place. _Mr B._--And there are many other such
countries in the world. _T._--But then a man need not go to them; he may
stay at home. _Mr B._--Then he must not pass the seas in a ship.
_T._--Why so, sir? _Mr B._--Because the ship may happen to be wrecked on
some such country, where there are no inhabitants; and then, although he
should escape the danger of the sea, what will he do for food? _T._--And
have such accidents sometimes happened? _Mr B._--Yes, several; there
was, in particular, one Selkirk, who was shipwrecked, and obliged to
live several years upon a desert island. _T._--That was very
extraordinary indeed; and how did he get victuals? _Mr B._--He sometimes
procured roots, sometimes fruits; he also at last became so active, that
he was able to pursue and catch wild goats, with which the island
abounded. _T._--And did not such a hard disagreeable way of life kill
him at last? _Mr B._--By no means; he never enjoyed better health in his
life; and you have heard that he became so active as to be able to
overtake the very wild beasts. But a still more extraordinary story is
that of some Russians, who were left on the coast of Spitzbergen, where
they were obliged to stay several years. _T._--Where is Spitzbergen,
sir? _Mr B._--It is a country very far to the north, which is constantly
covered with snow and ice, because the weather is unremittingly severe.
Scarcely any vegetables will grow upon the soil, and scarcely any
animals are found in the country. To add to this, a great part of the
year it is covered with perpetual darkness and is inaccessible to ships;
so that it is impossible to conceive a more dreary country, or where it
must be more difficult to support human life. Yet four men were capable
of struggling with all these difficulties during several years, and
three of them returned at last safe to their own country. _T._--This
must be a very curious story indeed; I would give anything to be able to
see it. _Mr B._--That you may very easily. When I read it, I copied off
several parts of it, I thought it so curious and interesting, which I
can easily find, and will show you. Here it is; but it is necessary
first to inform you, that those northern seas, from the intense cold of
the climate, are so full of ice as frequently to render it extremely
dangerous to ships, lest they should be crushed between two pieces of
immense size, or so completely surrounded as not to be able to extricate
themselves. Having given you this previous information, you will easily
understand the distressful situation of a Russian ship, which, as it was
sailing on those seas, was on a sudden so surrounded by ice as not to be
able to move. My extracts begin here, and you may read them.


     _Extracts from a Narrative of the Extraordinary Adventures of Four
     Russian Sailors, who were cast away on the Desert Island of East
     Spitzbergen._

"In this alarming state (that is, when the ship was surrounded with ice)
a council was held, when the mate, Alexis Hinkof, informed them, that he
recollected to have heard that some of the people of Mesen, some time
before, having formed a resolution of wintering upon this island, had
carried from that city timber proper for building a hut, and had
actually erected one at some distance from the shore. This information
induced the whole company to resolve on wintering there, if the hut, as
they hoped, still existed; for they clearly perceived the imminent
danger they were in, and that they must inevitably perish if they
continued in the ship. They despatched, therefore, four of their crew in
search of the hut, or any other succour they could meet with. These were
Alexis Hinkof, the mate, Iwan Hinkof, his godson, Stephen Scharassof,
and Feodor Weregin.

"As the shore on which they were to land was uninhabited, it was
necessary that they should make some provision for their expedition.
They had almost two miles to travel over those ridges of ice, which
being raised by the waves, and driven against each other by the wind,
rendered the way equally difficult and dangerous; prudence, therefore,
forbade their loading themselves too much, lest, by being overburdened,
they might sink in between the pieces of ice, and perish. Having thus
maturely considered the nature of their undertaking, they provided
themselves with a musket and powder-horn, containing twelve charges of
powder, with as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about
twenty pounds of flower, a knife, a tinder-box and tinder, a bladder
filled with tobacco, and every man his wooden pipe.

"Thus accoutred, these four sailors quickly arrived on the island,
little expecting the misfortunes that would befall them. They began with
exploring the country, and soon discovered the hut they were in search
of, about an English mile and a half from the shore. It was thirty-six
feet in length, eighteen feet in height, and as many in breadth; it
contained a small antechamber, about twelve feet broad, which had two
doors, the one to shut it up from the outer air, the other to form a
communication with the inner room; this contributed greatly to keep the
large room warm when once heated. In the large room was an earthen
stove, constructed in the Russian manner; that is, a kind of oven
without a chimney, which served occasionally either for baking, for
heating the room, or, as is customary among the Russian peasants in very
cold weather, for a place to sleep upon. Our adventurers rejoiced
greatly at having discovered the hut, which had, however, suffered much
from the weather, it having now been built a considerable time; they,
however, contrived to pass the night in it.

"Early next morning they hastened to the shore, impatient to inform
their comrades of their success, and also to procure from their vessel
such provision, ammunition, and other necessaries, as might better
enable them to winter on the island. I leave my readers to figure to
themselves the astonishment and agony of mind these poor people must
have felt, when on reaching the place of their landing, they saw nothing
but an open sea, free from the ice, which but the day before had covered
the ocean. A violent storm, which had risen during the night, had
certainly been the cause of this disastrous event; but they could not
tell whether the ice, which had before hemmed in the vessel, agitated by
the violence of the waves, had been driven against her, and shattered
her to pieces; or, whether she had been carried by the current into the
main--a circumstance which frequently happens in those seas. Whatever
accident had befallen the ship, they saw her no more; and as no tidings
were ever afterwards received of her, it is most probable that she sunk,
and that all on board of her perished.

"This melancholy event depriving the unhappy wretches of all hope of
ever being able to quit the island, they returned to the hut, whence
they had come, full of horror and despair."

"Oh dear!" cried Tommy, at this passage, "what a dreadful situation
these poor people must have been in. To be in such a cold country,
covered with snow and frozen with ice, without anybody to help them, or
give them victuals; I should think they must all have died." "That you
will soon see," said Mr Barlow, "when you have read the rest of the
story; but tell me one thing, Tommy, before you proceed. These four men
were poor sailors, who had always been accustomed to danger and
hardships, and to work for their living; do you think it would have been
better for them to have been bred up gentlemen, that is, to do nothing,
but to have other people wait upon them in everything?" "Why, to be
sure," answered Tommy, "it was much better for them that they had been
used to work, for that might enable them to contrive and do something to
assist themselves, for, without doing a great deal, they must certainly
all have perished."

"Their first attention was employed, as may easily be imagined, in
devising means of providing subsistence, and for repairing their hut.
The twelve charges of powder which they had brought with them soon
procured them as many reindeer--the island, fortunately for them,
abounding in these animals. I have before observed, that the hut, which
the sailors were so fortunate as to find, had sustained some damage, and
it was this--there were cracks in many places between the boards of the
building, which freely admitted the air. This inconveniency was,
however, easily remedied, as they had an axe, and the beams were still
sound (for wood in those cold climates continues through a length of
years unimpaired by worms or decay), so it was easy for them to make the
boards join again very tolerably; besides, moss growing in great
abundance all over the island, there was more than sufficient to stop up
the crevices, which wooden houses must always be liable to. Repairs of
this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they were Russians; for
all Russian peasants are known to be good carpenters--they build their
own houses, and are very expert in handling the axe. The intense cold,
which makes these climates habitable to so few species of animals,
renders them equally unfit for the production of vegetables. No species
of tree or even shrub is found in any of the islands of Spitzbergen--a
circumstance of the most alarming nature to our sailors.

"Without fire it was impossible to resist the rigour of the climate,
and, without wood, how was the fire to be produced or supported?
However, in wandering along the beach, they collected plenty of wood,
which had been driven ashore by the waves, and which at first consisted
of the wrecks of ships, and afterwards of whole trees with their
roots--the produce of some hospitable (but to them unknown) climate,
which the overflowings of rivers or other accidents had sent into the
ocean. Nothing proved of more essential service to these unfortunate
men, during the first year of their exile, than some boards they found
upon the beach, having a long iron hook, some nails of about five or six
inches long, and proportionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed
in them--the melancholy relics of some vessels cast away in those remote
parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves, at the time when the want
of powder gave our men reason to apprehend that they must fall a prey to
hunger, as they had nearly consumed those reindeer they had killed.
This lucky circumstance was attended with another equally fortunate;
they found on the shore the root of a fir-tree, which nearly approached
to the figure of a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of
invention, so they soon fashioned this root to a good bow by the help of
a knife; but still they wanted a string and arrows. Not knowing how to
procure them at present, they resolved upon making a couple of lances,
to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the most ferocious
of their kind, whose attacks they had great reason to dread. Finding
they could neither make the heads of their lances nor of their arrows
without the help of a hammer, they contrived to form the above-mentioned
large iron hook into one, by beating it, and widening a hole it happened
to have about its middle with the help of one of their largest
nails--this received the handle; a round button at one end of the hook
served for the face of the hammer. A large pebble supplied the place of
an anvil, and a couple of reindeer's horns made the tongs. By the means
of such tools they made two heads of spears, and, after polishing and
sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast as possible, with
thongs made of reindeer's skins, to sticks about the thickness of a
man's arm, which they got from some branches of trees that had been cast
on shore. Thus equipped with spears, they resolved to attack a white
bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, they killed the formidable
creature, and thereby made a new supply of provisions. The flesh of this
animal they relished exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled
beef in taste and flavour. The tendons, they saw with much pleasure,
could, with little or no trouble, be divided into filaments of what
fineness they thought fit. This, perhaps, was the most fortunate
discovery these men could have made, for, besides other advantages,
which will be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished with
strings for their bow.

"The success of our unfortunate islanders in making the spears, and the
use these proved of, encouraged them to proceed, and forge some pieces
of iron into heads of arrows of the same shape, though somewhat smaller
in size than the spears above-mentioned. Having ground and sharpened
these like the former, they tied them with the sinews of the white bears
to pieces of fir, to which, by the help of fine threads of the same,
they fastened feathers of sea-fowl, and thus became possessed of a
complete bow and arrows. Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned
with success far beyond their expectation; for, during the time of their
continuance upon the island, with these arrows they killed no less than
two hundred and fifty reindeer, besides a great number of blue and white
foxes. The flesh of these animals served them also for food, and their
skins for clothing and other necessary preservatives against the intense
coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed, however, not more
than ten white bears in all, and that not without the utmost danger; for
these animals, being prodigiously strong, defended themselves with
astonishing vigour and fury. The first our men attacked designedly; the
other nine they slew in defending themselves from their assaults, for
some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer room of the
hut, in order to devour them. It is true that all the bears did not show
(if I may be allowed the expression) equal intrepidity, either owing to
some being less pressed by hunger, or to their being by nature less
carnivorous than the others; for some of them which entered the hut
immediately betook themselves to flight on the first attempt of the
sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of these ferocious
attacks threw the poor men into great terror and anxiety, as they were
in almost a perpetual danger of being devoured."

[Illustration: "Some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer
room of the hut, in order to devour them."

_P. 86._]

"Sure," exclaimed Tommy, "such a life as that must have been miserable
and dreadful indeed." "Why so?" said Mr Barlow. _Tommy._--Because, being
always in danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those men must have
been always unhappy. _Mr B._--And yet they never were devoured.
_T._--No, sir; because they made weapons to defend themselves. _Mr
B._--Perhaps, then, a person is not unhappy merely because he is exposed
to danger, for he may escape from it, but because he does not know how
to defend himself. _T._--I do not exactly understand you, sir. _Mr
B._--I will give you an instance. Were you not very unhappy when the
snake coiled itself round your leg, because you imagined it would bite
you? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--But Harry was not unhappy. _T._--That is
very true, sir. _Mr B._--And yet he was in more danger of being bitten
than yourself, because he took hold of it. _T._--Indeed he did. _Mr
B._--But he knew that by boldly seizing it, and flinging it away, he
was in very little danger; had you, therefore, known the same, you
probably would neither have feared so much nor have been so unhappy as
you were. _T._--Indeed, sir, that is true; and, were such an accident to
happen again, I think I should have courage enough to do the same. _Mr
B._--Should you then be as unhappy now as you were the first time?
_T._--By no means, because I have a great deal more courage. _Mr
B._--Why, then, persons that have courage are not so unhappy as those
that are cowardly when they are exposed to danger. _T._--Certainly not,
sir. _Mr B._--And that must be equally true in every kind of danger.
_T._--Indeed, it must; for I have sometimes heard my mother shriek out
when she was passing in a coach through a small stream of water, while
my father only laughed at her. _Mr B._--Why, then, if she had possessed
as much courage, perhaps she would have laughed too. _T._--Indeed, I
believe she might; for I have sometimes seen her laugh at herself, when
it was over, for being so cowardly. _Mr B._--Why, then, it is possible
that when these men found they were so well able to defend themselves
against the bears, they might no longer be afraid of them; and, not
being afraid, they would not be unhappy. _T._--Indeed, I believe so. _Mr
B._--Let us now continue.

"The three different kinds of animals above mentioned--viz., the
reindeer, the blue and white foxes, and the white bears--were the only
food these wretched mariners tasted during their continuance in this
dreary abode. We do not at once see every resource; it is generally
necessity which quickens our invention, opening by degrees our eyes,
and pointing out expedients which otherwise might never have occurred to
our thoughts. The truth of this observation our four sailors experienced
in various instances. They were for some time reduced to the necessity
of eating their meat almost raw, and without either bread or salt, for
they were quite destitute of both. The intenseness of the cold, together
with the want of proper conveniences, prevented them from cooking their
victuals in a proper manner. There was but one stove in the hut, and
that being set up agreeable to the Russian taste, was more like an oven,
and consequently not well adapted for boiling anything. Wood also was
too precious a commodity to be wasted in keeping up two fires; and the
one they might have made out of their habitation to dress their victuals
would in no way have served to warm them. Another reason against their
cooking in the open air was the continual danger of an attack from the
white bears. And here I must observe that, suppose they had made the
attempt it would still have been practicable for only some part of the
year; for the cold, which in such a climate for some months scarcely
ever abates, from the long absence of the sun, then enlightening the
opposite hemisphere,--the inconceivable quantity of snow, which is
continually falling through the greatest part of the winter, together
with the almost incessant rains at certain seasons,--all these were
almost insurmountable to that expedient. To remedy, therefore, in some
degree the hardship of eating their meat raw, they bethought themselves
of drying some of their provisions during the summer in the open air,
and afterwards of hanging it up in the upper part of the hut, which, as
I mentioned before, was continually filled with smoke down to the
windows; it was thus dried thoroughly by the help of that smoke. This
meat so prepared, they used for bread, and it made them relish their
other flesh the better, as they could only half-dress it. Finding this
experiment answer in every respect to their wishes, they continued to
practise it during the whole time of their confinement upon the island,
and always kept up, by that means, a sufficient stock of provisions.
Water they had in summer from small rivulets that fell from the rocks,
and in winter from the snow and ice thawed. This was of course their
only beverage; and their small kettle was the only vessel they could
make use of for this and other purposes. I have mentioned above that our
sailors brought a small bag of flour with them to the island. Of this
they had consumed about one-half with their meat; the remainder they
employed in a different manner equally useful. They soon saw the
necessity of keeping up a continual fire in so cold a climate, and found
that, if it should unfortunately go out, they had no means of lighting
it again; for though they had a steel and flints, yet they wanted both
match and tinder. In their excursions through the island they had met
with a slimy loam, or a kind of clay nearly in the middle of it. Out of
this they found means to form a utensil which might serve for a lamp,
and they proposed to keep it constantly burning with the fat of the
animals they should kill. This was certainly the most rational scheme
they could have thought of; for to be without a light in a climate
where, during winter, darkness reigns for several months together, would
have added much to their other calamities----"

_Tommy._--Pray, sir, stop. What! are there countries in the world where
it is night continually for several months together? _Mr
Barlow._--Indeed there are. _T._--How can that be? _Mr B._--How happens
it that there is night at all? _T._--How happens it! It must be so, must
it not? _Mr B._--That is only saying that you do not know the reason.
But do you observe no difference here between night and day? _T._--Yes,
sir, it is light in the day and dark in the night. _Mr B._--But why is
it dark in the night? _T._--Really I do not know. _Mr B._--What! does
the sun shine every night? _T._--No, sir, certainly not. _Mr B._--Then
it only shines on some nights, and not on others. _T._--It never shines
at all in the night. _Mr B._--And does it in the day? _T._--Yes, sir.
_Mr B._--Every day? _T._--Every day, I believe, only sometimes the
clouds prevent you from seeing it. _Mr B._--And what becomes of it in
the night? _T._--It goes away, so that we cannot see it. _Mr B._--So,
then, when you can see the sun, it is never night. _T._--No, sir. _Mr
B._--But when the sun goes away the night comes on. _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr
B._--And when the sun comes again what happens? _T._--Then it is day
again; for I have seen the day break, and the sun always rises presently
after. _Mr B._--Then if the sun were not to rise for several months
together, what would happen? _T._--Sure, it would always remain night,
and be dark. _Mr B._--That is exactly the case with the countries we
are reading about.

"Having therefore fashioned a kind of lamp, they filled it with
reindeer's fat, and stuck into it some twisted linen shaped into a wick;
but they had the mortification to find that, as soon as the fat melted,
it not only soaked into the clay but fairly ran out of it on all sides.
The thing, therefore, was to devise some means of preventing this
inconvenience, not arising from cracks, but from the substance of which
the lamp was made being too porous. They made, therefore, a new one,
dried it thoroughly in the air, then heated it red-hot, and afterwards
quenched it in their kettle, wherein they had boiled a quantity of flour
down to the consistence of thin starch. The lamp being thus dried and
filled with melted fat, they now found, to their great joy, that it did
not leak; but for greater security they dipped linen rags in their
paste, and with them covered all its outside. Succeeding in this
attempt, they immediately made another lamp for fear of an accident,
that at all events they might not be destitute of light; and, when they
had done so much, they thought proper to save the remainder of their
flour for similar purposes. As they had carefully collected whatever
happened to be cast on shore, to supply them with fuel, they had found
amongst the wrecks of vessels some cordage and a small quantity of oakum
(a kind of hemp used for caulking ships), which served them to make
wicks for their lamps. When these stores began to fail, their shirts and
their drawers (which are worn by almost all the Russian peasants) were
employed to make good the deficiency. By these means they kept their
lamp burning without intermission, from the day they first made it (a
work they set about soon after their arrival on the island) until that
of their embarkation for their native country.

"The necessity of converting the most essential part of their clothing,
such as their shirts and drawers, to the use above specified, exposed
them the more to the rigour of the climate. They also found themselves
in want of shoes, boots, and other articles of dress; and as winter was
approaching, they were again obliged to have recourse to that ingenuity
which necessity suggests, and which seldom fails in the trying hour of
distress. They had skins of reindeer and foxes in plenty, that had
hitherto served them for bedding, and which they now thought of
employing in some more essential service; but the question was how to
tan them. After deliberating on this subject, they took to the following
method: they soaked the skins for several days in fresh water till they
could pull off the hair very easily; they then rubbed the wet leather
with their hands till it was nearly dry, when they spread some melted
reindeer fat over it, and again rubbed it well. By this process the
leather became soft, pliant, and supple--proper for answering every
purpose they wanted it for. Those skins which they designed for furs
they only soaked one day, to prepare them for being wrought, and then
proceeded in the manner before-mentioned, except only that they did not
remove the hair. Thus they soon provided themselves with the necessary
materials for all the parts of dress they wanted. But here another
difficulty occurred; they had neither awls for making shoes or boots,
nor needles for sewing their garments. This want, however, they soon
supplied by means of the pieces of iron they had occasionally collected.
Out of these they made both, and by their industry even brought them to
a certain degree of perfection. The making eyes to their needles gave
them indeed no little trouble, but this they also performed with the
assistance of their knife; for, having ground it to a very sharp point,
and heated red-hot a kind of wire forged for that purpose, they pierced
a hole through one end; and by whetting and smoothing it on stones,
brought the other to a point, and thus gave the whole needle a very
tolerable form. Scissors to cut out the skin were what they next had
occasion for; but having none, their place they supplied with the knife;
and, though there was neither shoemaker nor tailor amongst them, yet
they had contrived to cut out the leather and furs well enough for their
purpose. The sinews of the bears and the reindeer--which, as I mentioned
before, they had found means to split--served them for thread; and thus,
provided with the necessary implements, they proceeded to make their new
clothes."

"These," said Mr Barlow, "are the extracts which I have made from this
very extraordinary story; and they are sufficient to show both the many
accidents to which men are exposed, and the wonderful expedients which
may be found out, even in the most dismal circumstances." "It is very
true, indeed," answered Tommy; "but pray what became of these poor men
at last?" "After they had lived more than six years upon this dreary and
inhospitable coast," answered Mr Barlow, "a ship arrived there by
accident, which took three of them on board, and carried them in safety
to their own country." "And what became of the fourth?" said Tommy.
"He," said Mr Barlow, "was seized with a dangerous disease, called the
scurvy; and, being of an indolent temper, and therefore not using the
exercise which was necessary to preserve his life, after having lingered
some time, died, and was buried in the snow by his companions."




CHAPTER III.

     Harry's Chicken--Tommy tries kindness on the Pig--Account of the
     Elephant--Story of the Elephant and the Tailor--Story of the
     Elephant and the Child--Stories of the Good Natured Boy and the Ill
     Natured Boy--The Boys determine to Build a House--Story of the
     Grateful Turk--The Boys' House blown down--They rebuild it
     stronger--The Roof lets in the Rain--At last is made Water-tight.


Here little Harry came in from his father's house, and brought with him
the chicken, which, it had been mentioned, he had saved from the claws
of the kite. The little animal was now perfectly recovered of the hurt
it had received, and showed so great a degree of affection to its
protector, that it would run after him like a dog, hop upon his
shoulder, nestle in his bosom, and eat crumbs out of his hand. Tommy was
extremely surprised and pleased to remark its tameness and docility, and
asked by what means it had been made so gentle. Harry told him he had
taken no particular pains about it; but that, as the poor little
creature had been sadly hurt, he had fed it every day till it was well;
and that, in consequence of that kindness, it had conceived a great
degree of affection towards him.

"Indeed," said Tommy, "that is very surprising; for I thought all birds
had flown away whenever a man came near them, and that even the fowls
which are kept at home would never let you touch them." _Mr B._--And
what do you imagine is the reason of that? _T._--Because they are wild.
_Mr B._--And what is a fowl's being wild? _T._--When he will not let you
come near him. _Mr B._--Then a fowl is wild because he will not let you
come near him. This is saying nothing more than that when a fowl is wild
he will not let you approach him. But I want to know what is the reason
of his being wild. _T._--Indeed, sir, I cannot tell, unless it is
because they are naturally so. _Mr B._--But if they were naturally so,
this fowl could not be fond of Harry. _T._--That is because he is so
good to it. _Mr B._--Very likely. Then it is not natural for an animal
to run away from a person that is good to him? _T._--No, sir; I believe
not. _Mr B._--But when a person is not good to him, or endeavours to
hurt him, it is natural for an animal to run away from him, is it not?
_T._--Yes. _Mr B._--And then you say he is wild, do you not? _T._--Yes,
sir. _Mr B._--Why, then, it is probable that animals are only wild
because they are afraid of being hurt, and that they only run away from
the fear of danger. I believe you would do the same from a lion or a
tiger. _T._--Indeed I would, sir. _Mr B._--And yet you do not call
yourself a wild animal? Tommy laughed heartily at this, and said No.
"Therefore," said Mr Barlow, "if you want to tame animals, you must be
good to them, and treat them kindly, and then they will no longer fear
you, but come to you and love you." "Indeed," said Harry, "that is very
true; for I knew a little boy that took a great fancy to a snake that
lived in his father's garden; and, when he had the milk for breakfast,
he used to sit under a nut tree and whistle, and the snake would come to
him and eat out of his bowl." _T._--And did it not bite him? _H._--No;
he sometimes used to give it a pat with his spoon, if it ate too fast;
but it never hurt him.

Tommy was much pleased with this conversation; and, being both
good-natured and desirous of making experiments, he determined to try
his skill in taming animals. Accordingly, he took a large slice of bread
in his hand, and went out to seek some animal that he might give it to.
The first thing that he happened to meet was a sucking pig that had
rambled from its mother, and was basking in the sun. Tommy would not
neglect the opportunity of showing his talents; he therefore called Pig,
pig, pig! come hither, little pig! But the pig, who did not exactly
comprehend his intentions, only grunted, and ran away. "You little
ungrateful thing," said Tommy, "do you treat me in this manner, when I
want to feed you? If you do not know your friends I must teach you." So
saying this, he sprang at the pig, and caught him by the hind-leg,
intending to have given him the bread which he had in his hand; but the
pig, who was not used to be treated in that manner, began struggling and
squeaking to that degree, that the sow, who was within hearing, came
running to the place, with all the rest of the litter at her heels. As
Tommy did not know whether she would be pleased with his civilities to
her young one or not, he thought it most prudent to let it go; and the
pig, endeavouring to escape as speedily as possible, unfortunately ran
between his legs and threw him down. The place where this accident
happened was extremely wet; therefore Tommy, in falling, dirtied himself
from head to foot; and the sow, who came up at that instant, passed over
him, as he attempted to rise, and rolled him back again into the mire.

Tommy, who was not the coolest in his temper, was extremely provoked at
this ungrateful return for his intended kindness; and, losing all
patience, he seized the sow by the hind-leg and began pommelling her
with all his might, as she attempted to escape. The sow, as may be
imagined, did not relish such treatment, but endeavoured with all her
force to escape; but Tommy still keeping his hold, and continuing his
discipline, she struggled with such violence as to drag him several
yards, squeaking at the same time in the most lamentable manner, in
which she was joined by the whole litter of pigs.

During the heat of this contest a large flock of geese happened to be
crossing the road, into the midst of which the affrighted sow ran
headlong, dragging the enraged Tommy at her heels. The goslings
retreated with the greatest precipitation, joining their mournful
cackling to the general noise; but a gander of more than common size
and courage, resenting the unprovoked attack which had been made upon
his family, flew at Tommy's hinder parts, and gave him several severe
strokes with his bill.

Tommy, whose courage had hitherto been unconquerable, being thus
unexpectedly attacked by a new enemy, was obliged to yield to fortune,
and not knowing the precise extent of his danger, he not only suffered
the sow to escape, but joined his vociferations to the general scream.
This alarmed Mr Barlow, who, coming up to the place, found his pupil in
the most woeful plight, daubed from head to foot, with his face and
hands as black as those of any chimney-sweeper. He inquired what was the
matter; and Tommy, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak,
answered in this manner: "Sir, all this is owing to what you told me
about taming animals; I wanted to make them tame and gentle, and to love
me, and you see the consequences." "Indeed," said Mr Barlow, "I see you
have been ill-treated, but I hope you are not hurt; and if it is owing
to anything I have said, I shall feel the more concern." "No," said
Tommy, "I cannot say that I am much hurt." "Why, then," said Mr Barlow,
"you had better go and wash yourself; and, when you are clean, we will
talk over the affair together."

When Tommy had returned, Mr Barlow asked him how the accident had
happened? and when he had heard the story, he said, "I am very sorry for
your misfortune; but I do not perceive that I was the cause of it, for I
do not remember that I ever advised you to catch pigs by the hinder
leg." _Tommy._--No, sir; but you told me that feeding animals was the
way to make them love me; and so I wanted to feed the pig. _Mr B._--But
it was not my fault that you attempted it in a wrong manner. The animal
did not know your intentions, and therefore, when you seized him in so
violent a manner, he naturally attempted to escape, and his mother
hearing his cries, very naturally came to his assistance. All that
happened was owing to your inexperience. Before you meddle with any
animal, you should make yourself acquainted with his nature and
disposition, otherwise you may fare like the little boy that, in
attempting to catch flies, was stung by a wasp; or like another that,
seeing an adder sleeping upon a bank, took it for an eel, and was bitten
by it, which had nearly cost him his life. _T._--But, sir, I thought
Harry had mentioned a little boy that used to feed a snake without
receiving any hurt from it. _Mr B._--That might very well happen; there
is scarcely any creature that will do hurt, unless it is attacked or
wants food; and some of these reptiles are entirely harmless, others
not; therefore the best way is not to meddle with any till you are
perfectly acquainted with its nature. Had you observed this rule, you
never would have attempted to catch the pig by the hinder leg, in order
to tame it; and it is very lucky that you did not make the experiment
upon a larger animal, otherwise you might have been as badly treated as
the tailor was by the elephant. _T._--Pray, sir, what is this curious
story? But first tell me, if you please, what an elephant is?

"An elephant," said Mr Barlow, "is the largest land animal that we are
acquainted with. It is many times thicker than an ox, and grows to the
height of eleven or twelve feet. Its strength, as may be easily
imagined, is prodigious; but it is at the same time so very gentle, that
it rarely does hurt to anything, even in woods where it resides. It does
not eat flesh, but lives upon the fruits and branches of trees. But what
is most singular about its make is, that, instead of a nose, it has a
long hollow piece of flesh, which grows over its mouth to the length of
three or four feet; this is called the trunk of the elephant; and he is
capable of bending it in every direction. When he wants to break off the
branch of a tree, he twists his trunk round it, and snaps it off
directly; when he wants to drink, he lets it down into the water, sucks
up several gallons at a time, and then, doubling the end of it back,
discharges it all into his mouth."

"But if he is so large and strong," said Tommy, "I should suppose it
must be impossible ever to tame him." "So perhaps it would," replied Mr
Barlow, "did they not instruct those that have been already tamed to
assist in catching others." _T._--How is that, sir? _Mr B._--When they
have discovered a forest where these animals resort, they make a large
enclosure with strong pales and a deep ditch, leaving only one entrance
to it, which has a strong gate left purposely open. They then let one or
two of their tame elephants loose, who join the wild ones, and gradually
entice them into the enclosure. As soon as one of these has entered, a
man, who stands ready, shuts the gate, and takes him prisoner. The
animal, finding himself thus entrapped, begins to grow furious, and
attempts to escape; but immediately two tame ones, of the largest size
and greatest strength, who have been placed there on purpose, come up to
him, one on each side, and beat him with their trunks till he becomes
more quiet. A man then comes behind, ties a very large cord to each of
his hind-legs, and fastens the other end of it to two great trees. He is
then left without food for some hours, and in that time generally
becomes so docile as to suffer himself to be conducted to the stable
that is prepared for him, where he lives the rest of his life like a
horse, or any other sort of domestic animal. _T._--And pray, sir, what
did the elephant do to the tailor? "There was," said Mr Barlow, "at
Surat, a city where many of these tame elephants are kept, a tailor, who
used to sit and work in his shed, close to the place to which these
elephants were led every day to drink. This man contracted a kind of
acquaintance with one of the largest of these beasts, and used to
present him with fruits and other vegetables whenever the elephant
passed by his door. The elephant was accustomed to put his long trunk in
at the window, and to receive in that manner whatever his friend chose
to give. But one day the tailor happened to be in a more than ordinary
ill-humour, and not considering how dangerous it might prove to provoke
an animal of that size and strength, when the elephant put his trunk in
at the window as usual, instead of giving him anything to eat, he
pricked him with his needle. The elephant instantly withdrew his trunk,
and, without showing any marks of resentment, went on with the rest to
drink; but, after he had quenched his thirst, he collected a large
quantity of the dirtiest water he could find in his trunk--which I have
already told you is capable of holding many gallons--and, when he passed
by the tailor's shop, in his return, he discharged it full in his face,
with so true an aim, that he wetted him all over, and almost drowned
him; thus justly punishing the man for his ill-nature and breach of
friendship."

"Indeed," said Harry, "considering the strength of the animal, he must
have had a great moderation and generosity not to have punished the man
more severely; and therefore, I think it is a very great shame to men
ever to be cruel to animals, when they are so affectionate and humane to
them."

"You are very right," said Mr Barlow; "and I remember another story of
an elephant, which, if true, is still more extraordinary. These animals,
although in general they are as docile and obedient to the person that
takes care of them as a dog, are sometimes seized with a species of
impatience which makes them absolutely ungovernable. It is then
dangerous to come near them, and very difficult to restrain them. I
should have mentioned, that in the Eastern parts of the world, where
elephants are found, the kings and princes keep them to ride upon as we
do horses; a kind of tent or pavilion is fixed upon the back of the
animal, in which one or more persons are placed; and the keeper that is
used to manage him sits upon the neck of the elephant, and guides him by
means of a pole with an iron hook at the end. Now, as these animals are
of great value, the keeper is frequently severely punished if any
accident happens to the animal by his carelessness. But one day, one of
the largest elephants, being seized with a sudden fit of passion, had
broken loose; and, as the keeper was not in the way, nobody was able to
appease him, or dared to come near him. While, therefore, he was running
about in this manner, he chanced to see the wife of his keeper (who had
often fed him as well as her husband), with her young child in her arms,
with which she was endeavouring to escape from his fury. The woman ran
as fast as she was able; but, finding that it was impossible for her to
escape, because these beasts, although so very large, are able to run
very fast, she resolutely turned about, and throwing her child down
before the elephant, thus accosted him, as if he had been capable of
understanding her: "You ungrateful beast, is this the return you make
for all the benefits we have bestowed! Have we fed you, and taken care
of you, by day and night, during so many years, only that you may at
last destroy us all? Crush, then, this poor innocent child and me, in
return for the services that my husband has done you!" While she was
making these passionate exclamations, the elephant approached the place
where the little infant lay, but, instead of trampling upon him, he
stopped short, and looked at him with earnestness, as if he had been
sensible of shame and confusion; and, his fury from that instant
abating, he suffered himself to be led without opposition to his
stable."

Tommy thanked Mr Barlow for these two stories, and promised for the
future to use more discretion in his kindness to animals.

The next day Tommy and Harry went into the garden to sow the wheat which
Harry had brought with him, upon a bed which Tommy had dug for that
purpose.

While they were at work, Tommy said, "Pray, Harry, did you ever hear the
story of the men that were obliged to live six years upon that terrible
cold country (I forget the name of it), where there is nothing but snow
and ice, and scarcely any other animals, but great bears, that are ready
to eat men up?" _Harry._--Yes, I have. _T._--And did not the very
thoughts of it frighten you dreadfully? _H._--No; I cannot say they did.
_T._--Why, should you like to live in such a country? _H._--No,
certainly; I am very happy that I was born in such a country as this,
where the weather is scarcely ever too hot or too cold; but a man must
bear patiently whatever is his lot in this world. _T._--That is true.
But should you not cry, and be very much afflicted, if you were left
upon such a country? _H._--I should certainly be very sorry if I was
left there alone, more especially as I am not big enough, or strong
enough, to defend myself against such fierce animals; but the crying
would do me no good; it would be better to do something, and endeavour
to help myself. _T._--Indeed I think it would; but what could you do?
_H._--Why, I should endeavour to build myself a house, if I could find
myself materials. _T._--And what materials is a house made of? I thought
it had been impossible to make a house without having a great many
people of different trades, such as carpenters and bricklayers.
_H._--You know there are houses of different sizes. The houses that the
poor people live in are very different from your father's house.
_T._--Yes, they are little, nasty, dirty, disagreeable places; I should
not like to live in them at all. _H._--And yet the poor are in general
as strong and healthy as the rich. But if you could have no other, you
would rather live in one of them than be exposed to the weather?
_T._--Yes, certainly. And how would you make one of them? _H._--If I
could get any wood, and had a hatchet, I would cut down some branches of
trees, and stick them upright in the ground, near to each other.
_T._--And what then? _H._--I would then get some other branches, but
more full of small wood; and these I would interweave between them, just
as we make hurdles to confine the sheep; and then, as that might not be
warm enough to resist the wind and cold, I would cover them over, both
within and without, with clay. _T._--Clay! what is that? _H._--It is a
particular kind of earth, that sticks to your feet when you tread upon
it, or to your hands when you touch it. _T._--I declare I did not think
it had been so easy to make a house. And do you think that people could
really live in such houses? _H._--Certainly they might, because many
persons live in such houses here; and I have been told that in many
parts of the world they have not any other. _T._--Really, I should like
to try to make a house; do you think, Harry, that you and I could make
one? _H._--Yes, if I had wood and clay enough, I think I could, and a
small hatchet to sharpen the stakes and make them enter the ground.

Mr Barlow then came to call them in to read, and told Tommy that, as he
had been talking so much about good-nature to animals, he had looked him
out a very pretty story upon the subject, and begged that he would read
it well. "That I will," said Tommy; "for I begin to like reading
extremely; and I think that I am happier too since I learned it, for now
I can always divert myself." "Indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "most people
find it so. When any one can read he will not find the knowledge any
burthen to him, and it is his own fault if he is not constantly amused.
This is an advantage, Tommy, which a gentleman, since you are so fond of
the word, may more particularly enjoy, because he has so much time at
his own disposal; and it is much better that he should distinguish
himself by having more knowledge and improvement than others, than by
fine clothes, or any such trifles, which any one may have that can
purchase them as well as himself."

Tommy then read, with a clear and distinct voice, the following story of


"THE GOOD-NATURED LITTLE BOY."

"A little boy went out one morning to walk to a village about five miles
from the place where he lived, and carried with him in a basket the
provision that was to serve him the whole day. As he was walking along,
a poor little half-starved dog came up to him, wagging his tail, and
seeming to entreat him to take compassion on him. The little boy at
first took no notice of him, but at length, remarking how lean and
famished the creature seemed to be, he said, 'This animal is certainly
in very great necessity; if I give him part of my provision, I shall be
obliged to go home hungry myself; however, as he seems to want it more
than I do, he shall partake with me.' Saying this, he gave the dog part
of what he had in the basket, who ate as if he had not tasted victuals
for a fortnight.

"The little boy then went on a little farther, his dog still following
him, and fawning upon him with the greatest gratitude and affection,
when he saw a poor old horse lying upon the ground, and groaning as if
he was very ill; he went up to him, and saw that he was almost starved,
and so weak that he was unable to rise. 'I am very much afraid,' said
the little boy, 'if I stay to assist this horse, that it will be dark
before I can return; and I have heard that there are several thieves in
the neighbourhood; however, I will try--it is doing a good action to
attempt to relieve him; and God Almighty will take care of me.' He then
went and gathered some grass, which he brought to the horse's mouth, who
immediately began to eat with as much relish as if his chief disease was
hunger. He then fetched some water in his hat, which the animal drank
up, and seemed immediately to be so much refreshed that, after a few
trials, he got up and began grazing.

"The little boy then went on a little farther, and saw a man wading
about in a pond of water, without being able to get out of it, in spite
of all his endeavours. 'What is the matter, good man,' said the little
boy to him; 'can't you find your way out of this pond?' 'No, God bless
you, my worthy master, or miss,' said the man, 'for such I take you to
be by your voice; I have fallen into this pond, and know not how to get
out again, as I am quite blind, and I am almost afraid to move for fear
of being drowned.' 'Well,' said the little boy, 'though I shall be
wetted to the skin, if you will throw me your stick I will try to help
you out of it.' The blind man then threw the stick to that side on which
he heard the voice; the little boy caught it, and went into the water,
feeling very carefully before him, lest he should unguardedly go beyond
his depth; at length he reached the blind man, took him very carefully
by the hand, and led him out. The blind man then gave him a thousand
blessings, and told him he could grope out his way home; and the little
boy ran on as hard as he could, to prevent being benighted.

"But he had not proceeded far before he saw a poor sailor, who had lost
both his legs in an engagement by sea, hopping along upon crutches. 'God
bless you, my little master!' said the sailor; 'I have fought many a
battle with the French, to defend poor old England; but now I am
crippled, as you see, and have neither victuals nor money, although I am
almost famished.' The little boy could not resist the inclination to
relieve him; so he gave him all his remaining victuals, and said, 'God
help you, poor man! this is all I have, otherwise you should have more.'
He then ran along and presently arrived at the town he was going to, did
his business, and returned towards his own home with all the expedition
he was able.

"But he had not gone much more than half-way before the night shut in
extremely dark, without either moon or stars to light him. The poor
little boy used his utmost endeavours to find his way, but unfortunately
missed it in turning down a lane which brought him into a wood, where he
wandered about a great while without being able to find any path to lead
him out. Tired out at last, and hungry, he felt himself so feeble that
he could go no farther, but set himself down upon the ground, crying
most bitterly. In this situation he remained for some time, till at last
the little dog, who had never forsaken him, came up to him wagging his
tail, and holding something in his mouth. The little boy took it from
him, and saw it was a handkerchief nicely pinned together, which
somebody had dropped, and the dog, had picked up, and on opening it he
found several slices of bread and meat, which the little boy ate with
great satisfaction, and felt himself extremely refreshed with his meal.
'So,' said the little boy, 'I see that if I have given you a breakfast,
you have given me a supper; and a good turn is never lost, done even to
a dog.'

"He then once more attempted to escape from the wood, but it was to no
purpose; he only scratched his legs with briers and slipped down in the
dirt, without being able to find his way out. He was just going to give
up all further attempts in despair, when he happened to see a horse
feeding before him, and, going up to him, saw, by the light of the moon,
which just then began to shine a little, that it was the very same he
had fed in the morning. 'Perhaps,' said the little boy, 'this creature,
as I have been so good to him, will let me get upon his back, and he may
bring me out of the wood; as he is accustomed to feed in this
neighbourhood.' The little boy then went up to the horse, speaking to
him and stroking him, and the horse let him mount his back without
opposition, and then proceeded slowly through the wood, grazing as he
went, till he brought him to an opening which led to the high road. The
little boy was much rejoiced at this, and said, 'If I had not saved this
creature's life in the morning, I should have been obliged to have
stayed here all night; I see by this, that a good turn is never lost.'

"But the poor little boy had yet a greater danger to undergo; for, as he
was going down a solitary lane, two men rushed out upon him, laid hold
of him, and were going to strip him of his clothes; but just as they
were beginning to do it, the little dog bit the leg of one of the men
with so much violence, that he left the little boy and pursued the dog,
that ran howling and barking away. In this instant a voice was hard that
cried out, 'There the rascals are; let us knock them down!' which
frightened the remaining man so much that he ran away, and his companion
followed him. The little boy then looked up, and saw it was the sailor
whom he had relieved in the morning, carried upon the shoulders of the
blind man whom he had helped out of the pond. 'There, my little dear,'
said the sailor, 'God be thanked! we have come in time to do you a
service, in return for what you did us in the morning. As I lay under a
hedge I heard these villains talk of robbing a little boy, who, from the
description, I concluded must be you; but I was so lame that I should
not have been able to come time enough to help you, if I had not meet
this honest blind man, who took me upon his back while I showed him the
way.'

"The little boy thanked him very sincerely for thus defending him; and
they went all together to his father's house, which was not far off,
where they were all kindly entertained with a supper and a bed. The
little boy took care of his faithful dog as long as he lived, and never
forgot the importance and necessity of doing good to others, if we wish
them to do the same to us."

"Upon my word," said Tommy, when he had finished, "I am vastly pleased
with this story, and I think that it may very likely be true, for I have
myself observed that everything seems to love little Harry here, merely
because he is good-natured to it. I was much surprised to see the great
dog the other day, which I have never dared to touch for fear of being
bitten, fawning upon him and licking him all over; it put me in mind of
the story of Androcles and the lion." "That dog," said Mr Barlow, "will
be equally fond of you, if you are kind to him; for nothing equals the
sagacity and gratitude of a dog. But since you have read a story about a
good-natured boy, Harry shall read you another concerning a boy of a
contrary disposition."

Harry read the following story of


"THE ILL-NATURED BOY."

"There was once a little boy who was so unfortunate as to have a very
bad man for his father, who was always surly and ill-tempered, and
never gave his children either good instructions or good example; in
consequence of which this little boy, who might otherwise have been
happier and better, became ill-natured, quarrelsome, and disagreeable to
everybody. He very often was severely beaten for his impertinence by
boys that were bigger than himself, and sometimes by boys that were
less; for, though he was very abusive and quarrelsome, he did not much
like fighting, and generally trusted more to his heels than his courage,
when he had engaged himself in a quarrel. This little boy had a cur-dog
that was the exact image of himself; he was the most troublesome, surly
creature imaginable,--always barking at the heels of every horse he came
near, and worrying every sheep he could meet with--for which reason both
the dog and the boy were disliked by all the neighbourhood.

"One morning his father got up early to go to the alehouse, where he
intended to stay till night, as it was a holiday; but before he went out
he gave his son some bread and cold meat and sixpence, and told him he
might go and divert himself as he would the whole day. The little boy
was much pleased with this liberty; and, as it was a very fine morning,
he called his dog Tiger to follow him, and began his walk.

"He had not proceeded far before he met a little boy that was driving a
flock of sheep towards a gate that he wanted them to enter. 'Pray,
master,' said the little boy, 'stand still and keep your dog close to
you, for fear you frighten my sheep.' 'Oh yes, to be sure!' answered the
ill-natured boy, 'I am to wait here all the morning till you and your
sheep have passed, I suppose! Here, Tiger, seize them, boy!' Tiger at
this sprang forth into the middle of the flock, barking and biting on
every side, and the sheep, in a general consternation, hurried each a
separate way. Tiger seemed to enjoy this sport equally with his master;
but in the midst of his triumph he happened unguardedly to attack an old
ram that had more courage than the rest of the flock; he, instead of
running away, faced about, and aimed a blow with his forehead at his
enemy, with so much force and dexterity, that he knocked Tiger over and
over, and, butting him several times while he was down, obliged him to
limp howling away.

"The ill-natured little boy, who was not capable of loving anything, had
been much diverted with the trepidation of the sheep; but now he laughed
heartily at the misfortune of his dog; and he would have laughed much
longer, had not the other little boy, provoked beyond his patience at
this treatment thrown a stone at him, which hit him full upon the
temples, and almost knocked him down. He immediately began to cry, in
concert with his dog, and perceiving a man coming towards them, who he
fancied might be the owner of the sheep, he thought it most prudent to
escape as speedily as possible.

"But he had scarcely recovered from the smart which the blow had
occasioned, before his former mischievous disposition returned, which he
determined to gratify to the utmost. He had not gone far before he saw a
little girl standing by a stile with a large pot of milk at her feet.
'Pray,' said the little girl, 'help me up with this pot of milk; my
mother sent me out to fetch it this morning, and I have brought it
above a mile upon my head; but I am so tired that I have been obliged to
stop at this stile to rest me; and if I don't return home presently we
shall have no pudding to-day, and besides my mother will be very angry
with me.' 'What,' said the boy, 'you are to have a pudding to-day, are
you, miss?' 'Yes,' said the girl, 'and a fine piece of roast-beef; for
there's uncle Will, and uncle John, and grandfather, and all my cousins,
to dine with us, and we shall be very merry in the evening, I can assure
you; so pray help me up as speedily as possible.' 'That I will, miss,'
said the boy; and, taking up the jug, he pretended to fix it upon her
head; but as she had hold of it, he gave it a little push, as if he had
stumbled, and overturned it upon her. The little girl began to cry
violently, but the mischievous boy ran away laughing heartily, and
saying, 'Good-by, little miss; give my humble service to uncle Will, and
grandfather, and the dear little cousins.'

"This prank encouraged him very much; for he thought he had now
certainly escaped without any bad consequences; so he went on applauding
his own ingenuity, and came to a green where several little boys were at
play. He desired leave to play with them, which they allowed him to do.
But he could not be contented long without exerting his evil
disposition; so taking an opportunity when it was his turn to fling the
ball, instead of flinging it the way he ought to have done, he threw it
into a deep muddy ditch. The little boys ran in a great hurry to see
what was become of it; and as they were standing together upon the
brink, he gave the outermost boy a violent push against his neighbour;
he, not being able to resist the violence, tumbled against another, by
which means they were all soused into the ditch together. They soon
scrambled out, although in a dirty plight, and were going to have
punished him for his ill behaviour; but he patted Tiger upon the back,
who began snarling and growling in such a manner as made them desist.
Thus this mischievous little boy escaped a second time with impunity.

"The next thing that he met with was a poor jackass, feeding very
quietly in a ditch. The little boy, seeing that nobody was within sight,
thought this was an opportunity of plaguing an animal that was not to be
lost; so he went and cut a large bunch of thorns, which he contrived to
fix upon the poor beast's tail, and then, setting Tiger at him, he was
extremely diverted to see the fright and agony the creature was in. But
it did not fare so well with Tiger, who, while he was baying and biting
the animal's heels, received so severe a kick upon his forehead, as laid
him dead upon the spot. The boy, who had no affection for his dog, left
him with the greatest unconcern when he saw what had happened, and,
finding himself hungry, sat down by the wayside to eat his dinner.

"He had not been long there before a poor blind man came groping his way
out with a couple of sticks. 'Good morning to you, gaffer,' said the
boy; 'pray, did you see a little girl come this road, with a basket of
eggs upon her head, dressed in a green gown, with a straw hat upon her
head?' 'God bless you, master,' said the beggar, 'I am so blind that I
can see nothing; I have been blind these twenty years, and they call me
poor old blind Richard.'

"Though this poor man was such an object of charity and compassion, yet
the little boy determined, as usual, to play him some trick; and, as he
was a great liar and deceiver, he spoke to him thus: 'Poor old Richard,
I am heartily sorry for you with all my heart; I am just eating my
breakfast, and if you will sit down by me I will give you part and feed
you myself.' 'Thank you with all my heart,' said the poor man; 'and if
you will give me your hand, I will sit by you with great pleasure, my
dear, good little master!' The little boy then gave him his hand, and,
pretending to direct him, guided him to sit down in a large heap of wet
dung that lay by the road-side. 'There,' said he, 'now you are nicely
seated, and I will feed you.' So, taking a little in his fingers, he was
going to put it into the blind man's mouth; but the man, who now
perceived the trick that had been played him, made a sudden snap at his
fingers, and, getting them between his teeth, bit them so severely that
the wicked boy roared out for mercy, and promised never more to be
guilty of such wickedness. At last the blind man, after he had put him
to very severe pain, consented to let him go, saying as he went, 'Are
you not ashamed, you little scoundrel, to attempt to do hurt to those
who have never injured you, and to want to add to the sufferings of
those who are already sufficiently miserable? Although you escape now,
be assured that, if you do not repent and mend your manners, you will
meet with a severe punishment for your bad behaviour.'

"One would think that this punishment should have cured him entirely of
his mischievous disposition; but, unfortunately, nothing is so difficult
to overcome as bad habits that have been long indulged. He had not gone
far before he saw a lame beggar, that just made a shift to support
himself by means of a couple of sticks. The beggar asked him to give him
something, and the little mischievous boy, pulling out his sixpence,
threw it down just before him, as if he intended to make him a present
of it; but, while the poor man was stooping with difficulty to pick it
up, this wicked little boy knocked the stick away, by which means the
beggar fell down upon his face; and then, snatching up the sixpence, the
boy ran away, laughing very heartily at the accident.

"This was the last trick this ungracious boy had it in his power to
play; for, seeing two men come up to the beggar, and enter into
discourse with him, he was afraid of being pursued, and therefore ran as
fast as he was able over several fields. At last he came into a lane
which led into a farmer's orchard, and as he was preparing to clamber
over the fence, a large dog seized him by the leg and held him fast. He
cried out in agony of terror, which brought the farmer out, who called
the dog off, but seized him very roughly, saying, 'So, sir, you are
caught at last, are you? You thought you might come day after day and
steal my apples without detection; but it seems you are mistaken, and
now you shall receive the punishment you have so long deserved.' The
farmer then began to chastise him very severely with a whip he had in
his hand, and the boy in vain protested he was innocent, and begged for
mercy. At last the farmer asked him who he was, and where he lived; but
when he heard his name he cried out, 'What! are you the little rascal
that frightened my sheep this morning, by which means several of them
are lost; and do you think to escape?' Saying this, he lashed him more
severely than before, in spite of all his cries and protestations. At
length, thinking he had punished him enough, he turned him out of the
orchard, bade him go home, and frighten sheep again if he liked the
consequences.

"The little boy slunk away, crying very bitterly (for he had been very
severely beaten), and now began to find that no one can long hurt others
with impunity; so he determined to go quietly home, and behave better
for the future.

"But his sufferings were not yet at an end; for as he jumped down from a
stile, he felt himself very roughly seized, and, looking up, found that
he was in the power of the lame beggar whom he had thrown upon his face.
It was in vain that he now cried, entreated, and begged pardon; the man,
who had been much hurt by his fall, thrashed him very severely with his
stick, before he would part with him. He now again went on, crying and
roaring with pain, but at least expected to escape without further
damage. But here he was mistaken; for as he was walking slowly through a
lane, just as he turned a corner, he found himself in the middle of the
very troop of boys that he had used so ill in the morning. They all set
up a shout as soon as they saw their enemy in their power without his
dog, and began persecuting him a thousand various ways. Some pulled him
by the hair, others pinched him; some whipped his legs with their
handkerchiefs, while others covered him with handfuls of dirt. In vain
did he attempt to escape; they were still at his heels, and, surrounding
him on every side, continued their persecutions. At length, while he was
in this disagreeable situation, he happened to come up to the same
jackass he had seen in the morning, and, making a sudden spring, jumped
upon his back, hoping by these means to escape. The boys immediately
renewed their shouts, and the ass, who was frightened at the noise,
began galloping with all his might, and presently bore him from the
reach of his enemies. But he had but little reason to rejoice at this
escape, for he found it impossible to stop the animal, and was every
instant afraid of being thrown of and dashed upon the ground. After he
had been thus hurried along a considerable time, the ass on a sudden
stopped short at the door of a cottage, and began kicking and prancing
with so much fury that the little boy was presently thrown to the
ground, and broke his leg in the fall. His cries immediately brought the
family out, among whom was the very little girl he had used so ill in
the morning. But she with the greatest good-nature, seeing him in such a
pitiable situation, assisted in bringing him in, and laying him upon the
bed. There this unfortunate boy had leisure to recollect himself, and
reflect upon his own bad behaviour, which in one day's time had exposed
him to such a variety of misfortunes; and he determined with great
sincerity, that, if ever he recovered from his present accident, he
would be as careful to take every opportunity of doing good, as he had
before been to commit every species of mischief."

When the story was ended, Tommy said it was very surprising to see how
differently the two little boys fared. The one little boy was
good-natured, and therefore everything he met became his friend and
assisted him in return; the other, who was ill-natured, made everything
his enemy, and therefore he met with nothing but misfortunes and
vexations, and nobody seemed to feel any compassion for him, excepting
the poor little girl that assisted him at last, which was very kind
indeed of her, considering how ill she had been used.

"That is very true, indeed," said Mr Barlow; "nobody is loved in this
world unless he loves others and does good to them; and nobody can tell
but one time or other he may want the assistance of the meanest and
lowest; therefore, every sensible man will behave well to everything
around him; he will behave well, because it is his duty to do it,
because every benevolent person feels the greatest pleasure in doing
good, and even because it is his own interest to make as many friends as
possible. No one can tell, however secure his present situation may
appear, how soon it may alter, and he may have occasion for the
compassion of those who are now infinitely below him. I could show you a
story to that purpose, but you have read enough, and therefore you must
now go out and use some exercise."

"Oh pray, sir," said Tommy, "do let me hear the story; I think I could
now read for ever without being tired." "No," said Mr Barlow;
"everything has its turn; to-morrow you shall read, but now we must work
in the garden." "Then pray, sir," said Tommy, "may I ask a favour of
you?" "Surely," answered Mr Barlow; "if it is proper for you to have,
there is nothing can give me a greater pleasure than to grant it." "Why,
then," said Tommy, "I have been thinking that a man should know how to
do everything in the world." _Mr B._--Very right; the more knowledge he
acquires the better. _T._--And therefore Harry and I are going to build
a house. _Mr B._--To build a house! Well, and have you laid in a
sufficient quantity of brick and mortar? "No, no," said Tommy, smiling;
"Harry and I can build houses without brick and mortar." _Mr B._--What
are they to be made of, then--cards? "Dear sir," answered Tommy, "do you
think we are such little children as to want card-houses? No; we are
going to build real houses, fit for people to live in. And then, you
know, if ever we should be thrown upon a desert coast, as the poor men
were, we shall be able to supply ourselves with necessaries till some
ship comes to take us away." _Mr B._--And if no ship should come, what
then? _T._--Why, then, we must stay there all our lives, I am afraid.
_Mr B._--If you wish to prepare yourselves against the event, you are
much in the right, for nobody knows what may happen to him in this
world. What is it then you want, to make your house? _T._--The first
thing we want, sir, is wood and a hatchet. _Mr B._--Wood you shall have
in plenty; but did you ever use a hatchet? _T._--No, sir. _Mr B._--Then
I am afraid to let you have one, because it is a very dangerous kind of
tool; and if you are not expert in the use of it you may wound yourself
severely. But if you will let me know what you want, I, who am more
strong and expert, will take the hatchet and cut down the wood for you.
"Thank you, sir," said Tommy; "you are very good to me, indeed." And
away Harry and he ran to the copse at the bottom of the garden.

Mr Barlow then went to work, and presently, by Harry's direction, cut
down several poles about as thick as a man's wrist, and about eight feet
long; these he sharpened at the end, in order to run into the ground;
and so eager were the two little boys at the business, that, in a very
short time, they had transported them all to the bottom of the garden;
and Tommy entirely forgot he was a gentleman, and worked with the
greatest eagerness.

"Now," said Mr Barlow, "where will you fix your house?" "Here, I think,"
answered Tommy, "just at the bottom of this hill, because it will be
warm and sheltered."

So Harry took the stakes and began to thrust them into the ground at
about the distance of a foot, and in this manner he enclosed a piece of
ground, which was about ten feet long and eight feet wide--leaving an
opening in the middle, of three feet wide, for a door. After this was
done they gathered up the brushwood that was cut off, and by Harry's
direction they interwove it between the poles in such a manner as to
form a compact kind of fence. This labour, as may be imagined, took them
up several days; however, they worked at it very hard every day, and
every day the work advanced, which filled Tommy's heart with so much
pleasure that he thought himself the happiest little boy in the
universe.

But this employment did not make Tommy unmindful of the story which Mr
Barlow had promised him; it was to this purport:--


"THE STORY OF THE GRATEFUL TURK."

"It is too much to be lamented that different nations frequently make
bloody wars with each other; and when they take any of their enemies
prisoners, instead of using them well, and restoring them to liberty,
they confine them in prisons, or sell them as slaves. The enmity that
there is often between many of the Italian states (particularly the
Venetians) and the Turks is sufficiently known.

"It once happened that a Venetian ship had taken many of the Turks
prisoners, and according to the barbarous customs I have mentioned,
these unhappy men had been sold to different persons in the city. By
accident, one of the slaves lived opposite to the house of a rich
Venetian, who had an only son of about the age of twelve years. It
happened that this little boy used frequently to stop as he passed near
Hamet (for that was the name of the slave), and gaze at him very
attentively. Hamet, who remarked in the face of the child the appearance
of good-nature and compassion, used always to salute him with the
greatest courtesy, and testified the greatest pleasure in his company.
At length the little boy took such a fancy to the slave that he used to
visit him several times in the day, and brought him such little presents
as he had it in his power to make, and which he thought would be of use
to his friend.

"But though Hamet seemed always to take the greatest delight in the
innocent caresses of his little friend, yet the child could not help
remarking that Hamet was frequently extremely sorrowful, and he often
surprised him on a sudden when tears were trickling down his face,
although he did his utmost to conceal them. The little boy was at length
so much affected with the repetition of this sight that he spoke of it
to his father, and begged him, if he had it in his power, to make poor
Hamet happy. The father, who was extremely fond of his son, and besides
had observed that he seldom requested anything which was not generous
and humane, determined to see the Turk himself and talk to him.

"Accordingly he went to him the next day, and, observing him for some
time in silence, was struck with the extraordinary appearance of
mildness and honesty which his countenance discovered. At length he said
to him, 'Are you that Hamet of whom my son is so fond, and of whose
gentleness and courtesy I have so often heard him talk?' 'Yes,' said the
Turk, 'I am that unfortunate Hamet, who have now been for three years a
captive; during that space of time your son (if you are his father) is
the only human being that seems to have felt any compassion for my
sufferings; therefore, I must confess, he is the only object to which I
am attached in this barbarous country; and night and morning I pray
that Power, who is equally the God of Turks and Christians, to grant him
every blessing he deserves, and to preserve him from all the miseries I
suffer.'

"'Indeed, Hamet,' said the merchant, 'he is much obliged to you,
although, from his present circumstances, he does not appear much
exposed to danger. But tell me, for I wish to do you good, in what can I
assist you? for my son informs me that you are the prey of continual
regret and sorrow.'

"'Is it wonderful,' answered the Turk, with a glow of generous
indignation that suddenly animated his countenance, 'is it wonderful
that I should pine in silence, and mourn my fate, who am bereft of the
first and noblest present of nature--my liberty?' 'And yet,' answered
the Venetian, 'how many thousands of our nation do you retain in
fetters?'

"'I am not answerable,' said the Turk, 'for the cruelty of my
countrymen, more than you are for the barbarity of yours. But as to
myself, I have never practised the inhuman custom of enslaving my fellow
creatures; I have never spoiled the Venetian merchants of their property
to increase my riches; I have always respected the rights of nature, and
therefore it is the more severe.'----Here a tear started from his eye,
and wetted his manly cheek; instantly however, he recollected himself,
and folding his arm upon his bosom, and gently bowing his head, he
added, 'God is good, and man must submit to his decrees.'

"The Venetian was affected with this appearance of manly fortitude, and
said, 'Hamet, I pity your sufferings, and may perhaps be able to relieve
them. What would you do to regain your liberty?' 'What would I do!'
answered Hamet; 'by the eternal Majesty of Heaven, I would confront
every pain and danger that can appal the heart of man!' 'Nay,' answered
the merchant, 'you will not be exposed to a trial. The means of your
deliverance are certain, provided your courage does not belie your
appearance.' 'Name them! name them!' cried the impatient Hamet; 'place
death before me in every horrid shape, and if I shrink----'

"'Patience,' answered the merchant, 'we shall be observed; but hear me
attentively. I have in this city an inveterate foe, who has heaped upon
me every injury which can most bitterly sting the heart of man. This man
is brave as he is haughty; and I must confess that the dread of his
strength and valour has hitherto deterred me from resenting his insults
as they deserve. Now, Hamet, your look, your form, your words, convince
me that you were born for manly daring. Take this dagger; as soon as the
shades of night involve the city I will myself conduct you to the place
where you may at once revenge your friend and regain your freedom.'

"At this proposal, scorn and shame flashed from the kindling eye of
Hamet, and passion for a considerable time deprived him of the power of
utterance; at length he lifted his arm as high as his chains would
permit, and cried, with an indignant tone, 'Mighty prophet! and are
these the wretches to whom you permit your faithful votaries to be
enslaved! Go, base Christian, and know that Hamet would not stoop to
the vile trade of an assassin for all the wealth of Venice! no! not to
purchase the freedom of all his race!'

"At these words the merchant, without seeming much abashed, told him he
was sorry he had offended him; but that he thought freedom had been
dearer to him than he found it was. 'However,' added he, as he turned
his back, 'you will reflect upon my proposal, and perhaps by to-morrow
you may change your mind.' Hamet disdained to answer; and the merchant
went his way.

"The next day, however, he returned in company with his son, and mildly
accosted Hamet thus: 'The abruptness of the proposal I yesterday made
you might perhaps astonish you, but I am now come to discourse the
matter more calmly with you, and I doubt not, when you have heard my
reasons----'

"'Christian!' interrupted Hamet, with a severe but composed countenance,
'cease at length to insult the miserable with proposals more shocking
than even these chains. If thy religion permit such acts as those, know
that they are execrable and abominable to the soul of every Mohammedan;
therefore, from this moment, let us break off all further intercourse
and be strangers to each other.'

"'No,' answered the merchant, flinging himself into the arms of Hamet,
'let us from this moment be more closely linked than ever! Generous man,
whose virtues may at once disarm and enlighten thy enemies! Fondness for
my son first made me interested in thy fate; but from the moment that I
saw thee yesterday I determined to set thee free; therefore, pardon me
this unnecessary trial of thy virtue, which has only raised thee higher
in my esteem. Francisco has a soul which is as averse to deeds of
treachery and blood as even Hamet himself. From this moment, generous
man, thou art free; thy ransom is already paid, with no other obligation
than that of remembering the affection of this thy young and faithful
friend; and perhaps hereafter, when thou seest an unhappy Christian
groaning in Turkish fetters, thy generosity may make thee think of
Venice.'

"It is impossible to describe the ecstasies or the gratitude of Hamet at
this unexpected deliverance; I will not, therefore, attempt to repeat
what he said to his benefactors; I will only add that he was that day
set free, and Francisco embarked him on board a ship which was going to
one of the Grecian islands, took leave of him with the greatest
tenderness, and forced him to accept a purse of gold to pay his
expenses. Nor was it without the greatest regret that Hamet parted from
his young friend, whose disinterested kindness had thus procured his
freedom; he embraced him with an agony of tenderness, wept over him at
parting, and prayed for every blessing upon his head.

"About six months after this transaction a sudden fire burst forth in
the house of this generous merchant. It was early in the morning, when
sleep is the most profound, and none of the family perceived it till
almost the whole building was involved in flames. The frightened
servants had just time to waken the merchant and hurry him down stairs,
and the instant he was down, the staircase itself gave way and sunk with
a horrid crash into the midst of the fire.

"But if Francisco congratulated himself for an instant upon his escape,
it was only to resign himself immediately after to the most deep
despair, when he found, upon inquiry, that his son, who slept in an
upper apartment, had been neglected in the general tumult, and was yet
amidst the flames. No words can describe the father's agony; he would
have rushed headlong into the fire, but was restrained by his servants;
he then raved in an agony of grief, and offered half his fortune to the
intrepid man who would risk his life to save his child. As Francisco was
known to be immensely rich, several ladders were in an instant raised,
and several daring spirits, incited by the vast reward, attempted the
adventure. The violence of the flames, however, which burst forth at
every window, together with the ruins that fell on every side, drove
them all back; and the unfortunate youth, who now appeared upon the
battlements, stretching out his arms and imploring aid, seemed to be
destined to certain destruction.

"The unhappy father now lost all perception, and sunk down in a state of
insensibility, when, in this dreadful moment of general suspense and
agony, a man rushed through the opening crowd, mounted the tallest of
the ladders with an intrepidity that showed he was resolved to succeed
or perish, and instantly disappeared. A sudden gust of smoke and flame
burst forth immediately after, which made the people imagine he was
lost; when, on a sudden, they beheld him emerge again with the child in
his arms, and descend the ladder without any material damage. A
universal shout of applause now resounded to the skies; but what words
can give an adequate idea of the father's feelings, when, on recovering
his senses, he found his darling miraculously preserved, and safe within
his arms?

"After the first effusions of his tenderness were over, he asked for his
deliverer, and was shown a man of a noble stature, but dressed in mean
attire, and his features were so begrimed with smoke and filth that it
was impossible to distinguish them. Francisco, however, accosted him
with courtesy, and, presenting him with a purse of gold, begged he would
accept of that for the present, and that the next day he should receive
to the utmost of his promised reward. 'No, generous merchant,' answered
the stranger, 'I do not sell my blood.'

"'Gracious heavens!' cried the merchant, 'sure I should know that
voice?--It is----' 'Yes,' exclaimed the son, throwing himself into the
arms of his deliverer, 'it is my Hamet!'

"It was indeed Hamet, who stood before them in the same mean attire
which he had worn six months before, when the first generosity of the
merchant had redeemed him from slavery. Nothing could equal the
astonishment and gratitude of Francisco; but as they were then
surrounded by a large concourse of people, he desired Hamet to go with
him to the house of one of his friends, and when they were alone he
embraced him tenderly, and asked by what extraordinary chance he had
thus been enslaved a second time, adding a kind of reproach for his not
informing him of his captivity.

"'I bless God for that captivity,' answered Hamet, 'since it has given
me an opportunity of showing that I was not altogether undeserving of
your kindness, and of preserving the life of that dear youth, that I
value a thousand times beyond my own. But it is now fit that my generous
patron should be informed of the whole truth. Know, then, that when the
unfortunate Hamet was taken by your galleys, his aged father shared his
captivity--it was his fate which so often made me shed those tears which
first attracted the notice of your son; and when your unexampled bounty
had set me free, I flew to find the Christian who had purchased him. I
represented to him that I was young and vigorous, while he was aged and
infirm; I added, too, the gold which I had received from your bounty; in
a word, I prevailed upon the Christian to send back my father in that
ship which was intended for me, without acquainting him with the means
of his freedom; since that time I have staid here to discharge the debt
of nature and gratitude, a willing slave----'"

At this part of the story, Harry, who had with difficulty restrained
himself before, burst into such a fit of crying, and Tommy himself was
so much affected, that Mr Barlow told them they had better leave off for
the present and go to some other employment. They therefore went into
the garden to resume the labour of their house, but found, to their
unspeakable regret, that during their absence an accident had happened
which had entirely destroyed all their labours; a violent storm of wind
and rain had risen that morning, which, blowing full against the walls
of the newly-constructed house, had levelled it with the ground. Tommy
could scarcely refrain from crying when he saw the ruins lying around;
but Harry, who bore the loss with more composure, told him not to mind
it, for it could easily be repaired, and they would build it stronger
the next time.

Harry then went up to the spot, and after examining it some time, told
Tommy that he believed he had found out the reason of their misfortune.
"What is it?" said Tommy. "Why," said Harry, "it is only because we did
not drive these stakes, which are to bear the whole weight of our house,
far enough into the ground; and, therefore, when the wind blew against
the flat side of it with so much violence, it could not resist. And now
I remember to have seen the workman, when they begin a building, dig a
considerable way into the ground to lay the foundation fast; and I
should think that, if we drove these stakes a great way into the ground,
it would produce the same effect, and we should have nothing to fear
from any future storms."

Mr Barlow then came into the garden, and the two boys showed him their
misfortune, and asked him whether he did not think that driving the
stakes further in would prevent such an accident for the future. Mr
Barlow told them he thought it would; and that, as they were too short
to reach to the top of the stakes, he would assist them. He then went
and brought a wooden mallet, with which he struck the tops of the
stakes, and drove them so fast into the ground that there was no longer
any danger of their being shaken by the weather. Harry and Tommy then
applied themselves with so much assiduity to their work that they in a
very short time had repaired all the damage, and advanced it as far as
it had been before.

The next thing that was necessary to be done, was putting on a roof, for
hitherto they had constructed nothing but the walls. For this purpose
they took several long poles, which they had laid across their building
where it was most narrow, and upon these they placed straw in
considerable quantities, so that they now imagined they had constructed
a house that would completely screen them from the weather. But in this,
unfortunately, they were again mistaken; for a very violent shower of
rain coming just as they had finished their building, they took shelter
under it, and remarked for some time, with infinite pleasure, how dry
and comfortable it kept them; but at last the straw that covered it
being completely soaked through, and the water having no vent to run
off, by reason of the flatness of the roof, the rain began to penetrate
in considerable quantities.

For some time Harry and Tommy bore the inconvenience, but it increased
so much that they were soon obliged to leave it and seek for shelter in
the house. When they were thus secured, they began again to consider the
affair of the house, and Tommy said that it surely must be because they
had not put straw enough upon it. "No," said Harry, "I think that cannot
be the reason; I rather imagine that it must be owing to our roof lying
so flat; for I have observed that all houses that I have ever seen have
their roofs in a shelving posture, by which means the wet continually
runs off from them and falls to the ground; whereas ours, being quite
flat, detained almost all the rain that fell upon it, which must
necessarily soak deeper and deeper into the straw, till it penetrated
quite through."

They therefore agreed to remedy this defect; and for this purpose they
took several poles of an equal length, the one end of which they
fastened to the side of the house, and let the other two ends meet in
the middle, by which means they formed a roof exactly like that which we
commonly see upon buildings; they also took several poles, which they
tied across the others, to keep them firm in their places, and give the
roof additional strength; and lastly, they covered the whole with straw
or thatch; and for fear the thatch should be blown away, they stuck
several pegs in different places, and put small pieces of stick
crosswise from peg to peg, to keep the straw in its place. When this was
done they found they had a very tolerable house; only the sides, being
formed of brushwood alone, did not sufficiently exclude the wind. To
remedy this inconvenience, Harry, who was chief architect, procured some
clay, and mixing it up with water, to render it sufficiently soft, he
daubed it all over the walls, both within and without, by which means
the wind was excluded and the house rendered much warmer than before.




CHAPTER IV.

     The Boys' Garden--The Crocodile--The Farmer's Wife--How to make
     Cider--The Bailiffs take possession of the Farmer's
     Furniture--Tommy pays the Farmer's Debt--Conclusion of the Story of
     the Grateful Turk--The three Bears--Tommy and the Monkey--Habits of
     the Monkey--Tommy's Robin Redbreast--Is killed by a Cat--The Cat
     punished--The Laplanders--Story of a Cure of the Gout.


Some time had now elapsed since the seeds of the wheat were sown, and
they began to shoot so vigorously that the blade of the corn appeared
green above the ground, and increased every day in strength. Tommy went
to look at it every morning, and remarked its gradual increase with the
greatest satisfaction. "Now," said he to Harry, "I think we should soon
be able to live if we were upon a desert island. Here is a house to
shelter us from the weather, and we shall soon have some corn for food."
"Yes," answered Harry; "but there are a great many things still wanting
to enable us to make bread."

Mr Barlow had a very large garden, and an orchard full of the finest
fruit-trees; and he had another piece of ground where he used to sow
seeds in order to raise trees, and then they were carefully planted out
in beds till they were big enough to be moved into the orchard and
produce fruit. Tommy had often eaten of the fruit of the orchard, and
thought it delicious, and this led him to think that it would be a great
improvement to their house if he had a few trees that he might set near
it, and which would shelter it from the sun and hereafter produce fruit;
so he asked Mr Barlow to give him a couple of trees, and Mr Barlow told
him to go into the nursery and take his choice. Accordingly Tommy went,
and chose out two of the strongest-looking trees he could find, which,
with Harry's assistance, he transplanted into the garden in the
following manner:--They both took their spades and very carefully dug
the trees up without injuring their roots; then they dug two large holes
in the place where they chose the trees should stand, and very carefully
broke the earth to pieces, that it might lie light upon the roots; then
the tree was placed in the middle of the hole, and Tommy held it
upright while Harry gently threw the earth over the roots, which he trod
down with his feet in order to cover them well. Lastly, he stuck a large
stake in the ground and tied the tree to it, from the fear that the
wintry wind might injure it, or perhaps entirely blow it out of the
ground.

Nor did they bound their attention here. There was a little spring of
water which burst forth from the upper ground in the garden, and ran
down the side of the hill in a small stream. Harry and Tommy laboured
very hard for several days to form a new channel, to lead the water near
the roots of their trees, for it happened to be hot and dry weather, and
they feared their trees might perish from the want of moisture.

Mr Barlow saw them employed in this manner with the greatest
satisfaction. He told them that in many parts of the world the excessive
heat burned up the ground so much that nothing would grow unless the
soil was watered in that manner. "There is," said he, "a country in
particular, called Egypt, which has always been famous for its
fertility, and for the quantity of corn that grows in it, which is
naturally watered in the following extraordinary manner:--There is a
great river called the Nile, which flows through the whole extent of the
country; the river, at a particular time of the year, begins to overflow
its banks, and, as the whole country is flat, it very soon covers it all
with its waters. These waters remain in this situation several weeks,
before they have entirely drained off; and when that happens, they leave
the soil so rich that everything that is planted in it flourishes and
produces with the greatest abundance."

"Is not that the country, sir," said Harry, "where that cruel animal the
crocodile is found?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow. "What is that, sir?"
said Tommy. "It is an animal," answered Mr Barlow, "that lives sometimes
upon the land, sometimes in the water. It comes originally from an egg,
which the old one lays and buries in the sand. The heat of the sun then
warms it during several days, and at last a young crocodile is hatched.
This animal is at first very small; it has a long body and four short
legs, which serve it both to walk with upon the land and to swim with in
the waters. It has, besides, a long tail, or rather the body is
extremely long, and gradually grows thinner till it ends in a point. Its
shape is exactly like that of a lizard; or, if you have never seen a
lizard, did you never observe a small animal, of some inches long, which
lives at the bottom of ditches and ponds?" "Yes, sir, I have," answered
Tommy, "and I once caught one with my hand, taking it for a fish; but
when I had it near me, I saw it had four little legs, so I threw it into
the water again for fear the animal should be hurt." "This animal,"
answered Mr Barlow, "may give you an exact idea of a young crocodile;
but as it grows older it gradually becomes bigger, till at last, as I
have been informed, it reaches the length of twenty or thirty feet."
"That is very large," said Tommy; "and does it do any harm?" "Yes," said
Mr Barlow, "it is a very voracious animal, and devours everything it can
seize. It frequently comes out of the water and lives upon the shore,
where it resembles a large log of wood; and if any animal unguardedly
comes near, it snaps at it on a sudden, and if it can catch the poor
creature, devours it." _T._--And does it never devour men? _Mr
B._--Sometimes, if it surprises them; but those who are accustomed to
meet with them frequently easily escape. They run round in a circle, or
turn short on a sudden, by which means the animal is left far behind;
because, although he can run tolerably fast in a straight line, the
great length of his body prevents him from turning with ease. _T._--This
must be a dreadful animal to meet with; is it possible for a man to
defend himself against it? _Mr B._--Everything is possible to those that
have courage and coolness; therefore many of the inhabitants of those
countries carry long spears in their hands, in order to defend
themselves from those animals. The crocodile opens his wide voracious
jaws in order to devour the man; but the man takes this opportunity and
thrusts the point of his spear into the creature's mouth, by which means
he is generally killed upon the spot. Nay, I have even heard that some
will carry their hardiness so far as to go into the water in order to
fight the crocodile there. They take a large splinter of wood about a
foot in length, strong in the middle, and sharpened at both ends; to
this they tie a long and tough cord. The man who intends to fight the
crocodile takes this piece of wood in his right hand, and goes into the
river, where he wades till one of these creatures perceives him. As soon
as that happens the animal comes up to him to seize him, extending his
wide and horrid jaws, which are armed with several rows of pointed
teeth; but the man, with the greatest intrepidity, waits for his enemy,
and the instant he approaches thrusts his hand, armed with the splinter
of wood, into his terrible mouth, which the creature closes directly,
and by these means forces the sharp points into each of his jaws, where
they stick fast. He is then incapable of doing hurt, and they pull him
to the shore by the cord. "Pray, sir," said Tommy, "is this dreadful
animal capable of being tamed?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow; "I believe,
as I have before told you, there is no animal that may not be rendered
mild and inoffensive by good usage. There are several parts of Egypt
where tame crocodiles are kept; these animals, though of the largest
size, never do hurt to anything, but suffer every one to approach them,
and even little children to play about them and ride securely upon their
enormous backs."

This account diverted Tommy very much. He thanked Mr Barlow for giving
him this description of the crocodile, and said he should like to see
every animal in the world. "That," answered Mr Barlow, "would be
extremely difficult, as almost every country produces some kind which is
not found in other parts of the world; but if you will be contented to
read the descriptions of them which have been written, you may easily
gratify your curiosity."

It happened about this time that Tommy and Harry rose early one morning
and went to take a long walk before breakfast, as they used frequently
to do; they rambled so far that at last they both found themselves
tired, and sat down under a hedge to rest. While they were here a very
clean and decently-dressed woman passed by, who, seeing two little boys
sitting by themselves, stopped to look at them; and, after considering
them attentively, she said, "You seem, my little dears, to be either
tired or to have lost your way." "No, madam," said Harry, "we have not
lost our way, but we have walked farther than usual this morning, and we
wait here a little while to rest ourselves." "Well," said the woman, "if
you will come into my little house--that you see a few yards farther
on--you may sit more comfortably; and as my daughter has by this time
milked the cows, she shall give you a mess of bread and milk."

Tommy, who was by this time extremely hungry as well as tired, told
Harry that he should like to accept the good woman's invitation; so they
followed her to a small but clean looking farm-house which stood at a
little distance. Here they entered a clean kitchen, furnished with very
plain but convenient furniture, and were desired to sit down by a warm
and comfortable fire, which was made of turf. Tommy, who had never seen
such a fire, could not help inquiring about it, and the good woman told
him that poor people like her were unable to purchase coals;
"therefore," said she, "we go and pare the surface of the commons, which
is full of grass and heath and other vegetables, together with their
roots all matted together; these we dry in small pieces, by leaving them
exposed to the summer's sun, and then we bring them home and put them
under the cover of a shed, and use them for our fires." "But," said
Tommy, "I should think you would hardly have fire enough by these means
to dress your dinner; for I have by accident been in my father's
kitchen when they were dressing the dinner, and I saw a fire that blazed
up to the very top of the chimney." The poor woman smiled at this, and
said, "Your father, I suppose, master, is some rich man, who has a great
deal of victuals to dress, but we poor people must be more easily
contented." "Why," said Tommy, "you must at least want to roast meat
every day?" "No," said the poor woman, "we seldom see roast-beef at our
house; but we are very well contented if we can have a bit of fat pork
every day, boiled in a pot with turnips; and we bless God that we fare
so well, for there are many poor souls, who are as good as we, that can
scarcely get a morsel of dry bread."

As they were conversing in this manner, Tommy happened to cast his eyes
on one side, and saw a room that was almost filled with apples. "Pray,"
said he, "what can you do with all these apples? I should think you
would never be able to eat them, though you were to eat nothing else."
"That is very true," said the woman, "but we make cider of them."
"What!" cried Tommy, "are you able to make that sweet pleasant liquor
they call cider? and is it made of apples?" _The Woman._--Yes, indeed it
is. _Tommy._--And pray how is it made? _The Woman._--We take the apples
when they are ripe and squeeze them in a machine we have for that
purpose. Then we take this pulp, and put it into large hair-bags, which
we press in a large press till all the juice runs out. _Tommy._--And is
this juice cider? _The Woman._--You shall taste, little master, as you
seem so curious.

She then led him into another room, where there was a great tub full of
the juice of apples, and, taking some up in a cup, she desired him to
taste whether it was cider. Tommy tasted, and said it was very sweet and
pleasant, but not cider. "Well," said the woman, "let us try another
cask." She then took out some liquor of another barrel, which she gave
him, and Tommy, when he had tasted it, said that it really was cider.
"But pray," said he, "what do you do to the apple-juice to make it
cider?" _The Woman._--Nothing at all. _Tommy._--How, then, should it
become cider? for I am sure what you gave me at first is not cider. _The
Woman._--Why, we put the juice into a large cask, and let it stand in
some warm place, where it soon begins to ferment. _Tommy._--Ferment!
pray, what is that? _The Woman._--You shall see.

She then showed him another cask, and bade him observe the liquor that
was in it. This he did, and saw it was covered all over with a thick
scum and froth. _Tommy._--And is this what you call fermentation? _The
Woman._--Yes, master. _Tommy._--And what is the reason of it? _The
Woman._--That I do not know, indeed; but when we have pressed the juice
out, as I told you, we put it into a cask and let it stand in some warm
place, and in a short time it begins to work or ferment of itself, as
you see; and after this fermentation has continued some time, it
acquires the taste and properties of cider, and then we draw it off into
casks and sell it, or else keep it for our own use. And I am told this
is the manner in which they make wine in other countries.
_Tommy._--What! is wine made of apples, then? _The Woman._--No, master;
wine is made of grapes, but they squeeze the juice out, and treat it in
the same manner as we do the juice of the apples. _Tommy._--I declare
this is very curious indeed. Then cider is nothing but wine made of
apples?

While they were conversing in this manner a little clean girl came and
brought Tommy an earthen porringer full of new milk, with a large slice
of brown bread. Tommy took it, and ate with so good a relish that he
thought he had never made a better breakfast in his life.

When Harry and he had eaten their breakfast, Tommy told him it was time
they should return home, so he thanked the good woman for her kindness,
and putting his hand into his pocket, pulled out a shilling, which he
desired her to accept. "No, God bless you, my little dear!" said the
woman, "I will not take a farthing off you for the world. What though my
husband and I are poor, yet we are able to get a living by our labour,
and give a mess of milk to a traveller without hurting ourselves."

Tommy thanked her again, and was just going away when a couple of
surly-looking men came in and asked the woman if her name was _Tosset_.
"Yes, it is," said the woman: "I have never been ashamed of it." "Why
then," said one of the men, pulling a paper out of his pocket, "here is
an execution against you, on the part of Mr Richard Gruff; and if your
husband does not instantly discharge the debt, with interest and all
costs, amounting altogether to the sum of thirty-nine pounds ten
shillings, we shall take an inventory of all you have, and proceed to
sell it by auction for the discharge of the debt."

"Indeed," said the poor woman, looking a little confused, "this must
certainly be a mistake, for I never heard of Mr Richard Gruff in all my
life, nor do I believe that my husband owes a farthing in the world,
unless to his landlord; and I know that he has almost made up
half-a-year's rent for him: so that I do not think he would go to
trouble a poor man." "No, no, mistress," said the man, shaking his head,
"we know our business too well to make these kind of mistakes; but when
your husband comes in we'll talk with him; in the meantime we must go on
with our inventory."

The two men then went into the next room, and immediately after, a
stout, comely-looking man, of about the age of forty, came in, with a
good-humoured countenance, and asked if his breakfast was ready. "Oh, my
poor dear William," said the woman, "here is a sad breakfast for you!
but I think it cannot be true that you owe anything; so what the fellows
told me must be false about Richard Gruff." At this name the man
instantly started, and his countenance, which was before ruddy, became
pale as a sheet. "Surely," said the woman, "it cannot be true, that you
owe forty pounds to Richard Gruff?" "Alas!" answered the man, "I do not
know the exact sum; but when your brother Peter failed, and his
creditors seized all that he had, this Richard Gruff was going to send
him to jail, had not I agreed to be bound for him, which enabled him to
go to sea. He indeed promised to remit his wages to me, to prevent my
getting into any trouble upon that account; but you know it is now
three years since he went, and in all that time we have heard nothing
about him." "Then," said the woman, bursting into tears, "you, and all
your poor dear children are ruined for my ungrateful brother; for here
are two bailiffs in the house, who are come to take possession of all
you have, and to sell it."

At this the man's face became red as scarlet, and seizing an old sword
which hung over the chimney, he cried out, "No, it shall not be; I will
die first; I will make these villains know what it is to make honest men
desperate." He then drew the sword, and was going out in a fit of
madness, which might have proved fatal either to himself or to the
bailiffs, but his wife flung herself upon her knees before him, and,
catching hold of his legs, besought him to be more composed. "Oh, for
heaven's sake, my dear, dear husband," said she, "consider what you are
doing! You can do neither me nor your children any service by this
violence; instead of that, should you be so unfortunate as to kill
either of these men, would it not be murder? and would not our lot be a
thousand times harder than it is at present?"

This remonstrance seemed to have some effect upon the farmer; his
children too, although too young to understand the cause of all this
confusion, gathered round him, and hung about him, sobbing in concert
with their mother. Little Harry too, although a stranger to the poor man
before, yet with the tenderest sympathy took him by the hand and bathed
it with his tears. At length, softened and overcome by the sorrows of
those he loved so well, and by his own cooler reflections, he resigned
the fatal instrument, and sat himself down upon a chair, covering his
face with his hands, and only saying, "The will of God be done!"

Tommy had beheld this affecting scene with the greatest attention,
although he had not said a word; and now beckoning Harry away, he went
silently out of the house, and took the road which led to Mr Barlow's.
While he was on the way, he seemed to be so full of the scene which he
had just witnessed that he did not open his lips; but when he came home
he instantly went to Mr Barlow and desired that he would directly send
him to his father's. Mr Barlow stared at the request, and asked him what
was the occasion of his being so suddenly tired with his residence at
the vicarage. "Sir," answered Tommy, "I am not the least tired, I assure
you; you have been extremely kind to me, and I shall always remember it
with the greatest gratitude; but I want to see my father immediately,
and I am sure, when you come to know the occasion, you will not
disapprove of it." Mr Barlow did not press him any further, but ordered
a careful servant to saddle a horse directly and take Tommy home before
him.

Mr and Mrs Merton were extremely surprised and over-joyed at the sight
of their son, who thus unexpectedly arrived at home; but Tommy, whose
mind was full of the project he had formed, as soon as he had answered
their first questions, accosted his father thus--"Pray, sir, will you be
angry with me if I ask you for a great favour?" "No, surely," said Mr
Merton, "that I will not." "Why, then," said Tommy, "as I have often
heard you say that you were very rich, and that if I was good I should
be rich too. Will you give me some money?" "Money!" said Mr Merton;
"yes, to be sure; how much do you want?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I want
a very large sum indeed." "Perhaps a guinea," answered Mr Merton.
_Tommy._--No, sir, a great deal more--a great many guineas. _Mr
Merton._--Let us however see. _T._--Why, sir, I want at least forty
pounds. "Bless the boy!" answered Mrs Merton; "surely Mr Barlow must
have taught him to be ten times more extravagant than he was before."
_T._--Indeed, madam, Mr Barlow knows nothing about the matter. "But,"
said Mr Merton, "what can such an urchin as you want with such a large
sum of money?" "Sir," answered Tommy, "that is a secret; but I am sure
when you come to hear it, you will approve of the use I intend to make
of it." _Mr M._--That I very much doubt. _T._--But, sir, if you please,
you may let me have this money, and I will pay you again by degrees. _Mr
M._--How will you ever be able to pay me such a sum? _T._--Why, sir, you
know you are so kind as frequently to give me new clothes and
pocket-money; now, if you will only let me have this money, I will
neither want new clothes nor anything else till I have made it up. _Mr
M._--But what can such a child as you want with all this money?
_T._--Pray, sir, wait a few days and you shall know; and if I make a bad
use of it, never believe me again as long as I live.

Mr Merton was extremely struck with the earnestness with which his son
persevered in the demand; and, as he was both very rich and liberal, he
determined to hazard the experiment, and comply with his request. He
accordingly went and fetched him the money which he asked for, and put
it into his hands, telling him at the same time that he expected to be
acquainted with the use he put it to; and that, if he was not satisfied
with the account, he would never trust him again. Tommy appeared in
ecstasies at the confidence that was reposed in him, and, after thanking
his father for his extraordinary goodness, he desired leave to go back
again with Mr Barlow's servant.

When he arrived at Mr Barlow's, his first care was to ask Harry to
accompany him again to the farmer's house. Thither the two little boys
went with the greatest expedition; and, on their entering the house,
found the unhappy family in the same situation as before. But Tommy, who
had hitherto suppressed his feelings, finding himself now enabled to
execute the project he had formed, went up to the good woman of the
house, who sat sobbing in a corner of the room, and, taking her gently
by the hand, said, "My good woman, you were very kind to me in the
morning, and therefore I am determined to be kind to you in return."
"God bless you, my little master," said the woman, "you are very welcome
to what you had; but you are not able to do anything to relieve our
distress." "How do you know that?" said Tommy; "perhaps I can do more
for you than you imagine." "Alas!" answered the woman, "I believe you
would do all you could; but all our goods will be seized and sold,
unless we can immediately raise the sum of forty pounds; and that is
impossible, for we have no earthly friend to assist us; therefore my
poor babes and I must soon be turned out of doors, and God alone can
keep them from starving."

Tommy's little heart was too much affected to keep the woman longer in
suspense; therefore, pulling out his bag of money, he poured it into her
lap, saying, "Here, my good woman, take this and pay your debts, and God
bless you and your children!" It is impossible to express the surprise
of the poor woman at the sight; she stared wildly round her, and upon
her little benefactor, and, clasping her hands together in an agony of
gratitude and feeling, she fell back in her chair with a kind of
convulsive motion. Her husband, who was in the next room, seeing her in
this condition, ran up to her, and catching her in his arms, asked her
with the greatest tenderness what was the matter; but she, springing on
a sudden from his embraces, threw herself upon her knees before the
little boy, sobbing and blessing with a broken inarticulate voice,
embracing his knees and kissing his feet. The husband, who did not know
what had happened, imagined that his wife had lost her senses; and the
little children, who had before been skulking about the room, ran up to
their mother, pulling her by the gown, and hiding their faces in her
bosom. But the woman, at the sight of them, seemed to recollect herself,
and cried out, "Little wretches, who must all have been starved without
the assistance of this little angel; why do you not join with me in
thanking him?" At this the husband said, "Surely, Mary, you must have
lost your senses. What can this young gentleman do for us or to prevent
our wretched babes from perishing?" "Oh, William," said the woman, "I am
not mad, though I may appear so; but look here, William, look what
Providence has sent us by the hands of this little angel, and then
wonder not that I should be wild." Saying this, she held up the money,
and at the sight her husband looked as wild and astonished as she. But
Tommy went up to the man, and, taking him by the hand, said, "My good
friend, you are very welcome to this; I freely give it you; and I hope
it will enable you to pay what you owe, and to preserve these poor
little children." But the man, who had before appeared to bear his
misfortunes with silent dignity, now burst into tears and sobbed like
his wife and children; but Tommy, who now began to be pained with this
excess of gratitude, went silently out of the house, followed by Harry;
and, before the poor family perceived what had become of him, was out of
sight.

When he came back to Mr Barlow's that gentleman received him with the
greatest affection, and when he had inquired after the health of Mr and
Mrs Merton, asked Tommy whether he had forgotten the story of the
grateful Turk. Tommy told him he had not, and should now be very glad to
hear the remainder; which Mr Barlow gave him to read, and was as
follows:--


"CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF THE GRATEFUL TURK."

"When Hamet had thus finished his story, the Venetian was astonished at
the virtue and elevation of his mind; and after saying everything that
his gratitude and admiration suggested, he concluded with pressing him
to accept the half of his fortune, and to settle in Venice for the
remainder of his life. This offer Hamet refused with the greatest
respect, but with a generous disdain; and told his friend that, in what
he had done, he had only discharged a debt of gratitude and friendship.
'You were,' said he, 'my generous benefactor; you had a claim upon my
life by the benefit you had already conferred; that life would have been
well bestowed had it been lost in your service; but since Providence
hath otherwise decreed, it is a sufficient recompense to me to have
proved that Hamet is not ungrateful, and to have been instrumental to
the preservation of your happiness.'

"But though the disinterestedness of Hamet made him underrate his own
exertions, the merchant could not remain contented without showing his
gratitude by all the means within his power. He therefore once more
purchased the freedom of Hamet, and freighted a ship on purpose to send
him back to his own country; he and his son then embraced him with all
the affection that gratitude could inspire, and bade him, as they
thought, an eternal adieu.

"Many years had now elapsed since the departure of Hamet into his own
country, without their seeing him, or receiving any intelligence from
him. In the mean time the young Francisco, the son of the merchant, grew
up to manhood; and as he had acquired every accomplishment which tends
to improve the mind or form the manners, added to an excellent
disposition, he was generally beloved and esteemed.

"It happened that some business about this time made it necessary for
him and his father to go to a neighbouring maritime city; and as they
thought a passage by sea would be more expeditious, they both embarked
in a Venetian vessel, which was on the point of sailing to that place.
They set sail, therefore, with favourable winds, and every appearance of
a happy passage; but they had not proceeded more than half their
intended voyage, before a Turkish corsair (a ship purposely fitted out
for war) was seen bearing down upon them, and as the enemy exceeded them
much in swiftness they soon found that it was impossible to escape. The
greater part of the crew belonging to the Venetian vessel were struck
with consternation, and seemed already overcome with fear; but the young
Francisco, drawing his sword, reproached his comrades with their
cowardice, and so effectually encouraged them that they determined to
defend their liberty by a desperate resistance. The Turkish vessel now
approached them in awful silence, but in an instant the dreadful noise
of the artillery was heard, and the heavens were obscured with smoke
intermixed with transitory flashes of fire. Three times did the Turks
leap with horrid shouts upon the deck of the Venetian vessel, and three
times were they driven back by the desperate resistance of the crew,
headed by young Francisco. At length the slaughter of their men was so
great that they seemed disposed to discontinue the fight, and were
actually taking another course. The Venetians beheld their flight with
the greatest joy, and were congratulating each other upon their
successful valour and merited escape, when two more ships on a sudden
appeared in sight, bearing down upon them with incredible swiftness
before the wind. Every heart was now chilled with new terrors, when, on
their nearer approach, they discovered the fatal ensigns of their
enemies, and knew that there was no longer any possibility either of
resistance or escape. They therefore lowered their flag (the sign of
surrendering their ship), and in an instant saw themselves in the power
of their enemies, who came pouring in on every side with the rage and
violence of beasts of prey.

"All that remained alive of the brave Venetian crew were loaded with
fetters, and closely guarded in the hold of the ship till it arrived at
Tunis.

"They were then brought out in chains, and exposed in the public market
to be sold for slaves. They had there the mortification to see their
companions picked out one by one, according to their apparent strength
and vigour, and sold to different masters. At length a Turk approached,
who, from his look and habit, appeared to be of superior rank, and after
glancing his eye over the rest with an expression of compassion, he
fixed them at last upon young Francisco, and demanded of the captain of
the ship what was the price of that young man. The captain answered that
he would not take less than five hundred pieces of gold for that
captive. 'That,' said the Turk, 'is very extraordinary, since I have
seen you sell those that much exceed him in vigour, for less than a
fifth part of that sum.' 'Yes,' answered the captain, 'but he shall
either pay me some part of the damage he has occasioned, or labour for
life at the oar.' 'What damage,' answered the other, 'can he have done
you more than all the rest whom you have prized so cheaply?' 'He it
was,' replied the captain, 'who animated the Christians to that
desperate resistance which cost me the lives of so many of my brave
sailors. Three times did we leap upon their deck, with a fury that
seemed irresistible, and three times did that youth attack us with such
cool determined opposition that we were obliged to retreat ingloriously,
leaving at every charge twenty of our number behind. Therefore, I repeat
it, I will either have that price for him, great as it may appear, or
else I will gratify my revenge by seeing him drudge for life in my
victorious galley.'

"At this the Turk examined young Francisco with new attention; and he
who had hitherto fixed his eyes upon the ground in sullen silence now
lifted them up; but scarcely had he beheld the person that was talking
to the captain when he uttered a loud cry and repeated the name of
_Hamet_. The Turk, with equal emotion, surveyed him for a moment, and
then, catching him in his arms, embraced him with the transports of a
parent who unexpectedly recovers a long-lost child. It is unnecessary to
repeat all that gratitude and affection inspired Hamet to say, but when
he heard that his ancient benefactor was amongst the number of those
unhappy Venetians who stood before him, he hid his face for a moment
under his vest and seemed overwhelmed with sorrow and astonishment,
when, recollecting himself, he raised his arms to heaven and blessed
that Providence which had made him the instrument of safety to his
ancient benefactor. He then instantly flew to that part of the market
where Francisco stood waiting for his fate with a manly, mute despair.
He called him his friend, his benefactor, and every endearing name which
friendship and gratitude could inspire; and, ordering his chains to be
instantly taken off, he conducted him and his son to a magnificent
house, which belonged to him in the city. As soon as they were alone,
and had time for an explanation of their mutual fortunes, Hamet told the
Venetians that, when he was set at liberty by their generosity, and
restored to his country, he had accepted a command in the Turkish
armies; and that, having had the good fortune to distinguish himself on
several occasions, he had gradually been promoted, through various
offices, to the dignity of Bashaw of Tunis. 'Since I have enjoyed this
post,' added he, 'there is nothing which I find in it so agreeable as
the power it gives me of alleviating the misfortunes of those unhappy
Christians who are taken prisoners by our corsairs. Whenever a ship
arrives, which brings with it any of these sufferers, I constantly visit
the markets and redeem a certain number of the captives, whom I restore
to liberty. And gracious Allah has shown that he approves of these faint
endeavours to discharge the sacred duties of gratitude for my own
redemption, by putting it in my power to serve the best and dearest of
men.'

"Ten days were Francisco and his son entertained in the house of Hamet,
during which time he put in practice everything within his power to
please and interest them, but when he found they were desirous of
returning home, he told them he would no longer detain them from their
country, but that they should embark the next day in a ship that was
setting sail for Venice. Accordingly, on the morrow he dismissed them,
with many embraces and much reluctance, and ordered a chosen party of
his own guards to conduct them on board their vessel. When they arrived
there, their joy and admiration were considerably increased on finding
that, by the generosity of Hamet, not only the ship which had been
taken, but the whole crew were redeemed and restored to freedom.
Francisco and his son embarked, and, after a favourable voyage, arrived
without accident in their own country, where they lived many years
respected and esteemed, continually mindful of the vicissitudes of human
affairs, and attentive to discharge their duties to their
fellow-creatures."

When this story was concluded, Mr Barlow and his pupils went out to walk
upon the high road, but they had not gone far before they discovered
three men, who seemed each to lead a large and shaggy beast by a string,
followed by a crowd of boys and women, whom the novelty of the sight had
drawn together. When they approached more near, Mr Barlow discovered
that the beasts were three tame bears, led by as many Savoyards, who get
their living by exhibiting them. Upon the head of each of these
formidable animals was seated a monkey, who grinned and chattered, and
by his strange grimaces excited the mirth of the whole assembly. Tommy,
who had never before seen one of these creatures, was very much
surprised and entertained, but still more so when he saw the animal rise
upon his hind legs at the word of command, and dance about in a strange,
uncouth manner, to the sound of music.

After having satisfied themselves with this spectacle they proceeded on
their way, and Tommy asked Mr Barlow whether a bear was an animal easily
tamed, and that did mischief in those places where he was wild.

"The bear," replied Mr Barlow, "is not an animal quite so formidable or
destructive as a lion or a tiger; he is, however, sufficiently
dangerous, and will frequently devour women and children, and even men,
when he has an opportunity. These creatures are generally found in cold
countries, and it is observed that the colder the climate is, the
greater size and fierceness do they attain to. There is a remarkable
account of one of these animals suddenly attacking a soldier when on
duty, but it was fortunate for the poor fellow that the first blow he
struck the bear felled him to the ground, and the soldier immediately
plunged his sword into his heart, which of course killed it. In those
northern countries, which are perpetually covered with snow and ice, a
species of bear is found, which is white in colour, and of amazing
strength as well as fierceness. These animals are often seen clambering
over the huge pieces of ice that almost cover those seas, and preying
upon fish and other sea animals. I remember reading an account of one
that came unexpectedly upon some sailors who were boiling their dinners
on the shore. This creature had two young ones with her, and the
sailors, as you may easily imagine, did not like such dangerous guests,
but made their escape immediately to the ship. The old bear then seized
upon the flesh which the sailors had left, and set it before her cubs,
reserving a very small portion for herself; showing by this, that she
took a much greater interest in their welfare than her own. But the
sailors, enraged at the loss of their dinners, levelled their muskets at
the cubs, and, from the ship, shot them both dead. They also wounded the
dam, who was fetching away another piece of flesh, but not mortally, so
that she was still able to move. But it would have affected any one with
pity, but a brutal mind (says the relation), to see the behaviour of
this poor beast, all wounded as she was and bleeding, to her young ones.
Though she was sorely hurt, and could but crawl to the place where they
lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had in her mouth, as she had done
the preceding ones, and laid it down before them, and, when she observed
that they did not eat, she laid her paws first upon one, and then upon
the other, and endeavoured to raise them up, all this while making the
most pitiful moans. When she found that they did not stir, she went away
to a little distance and then looked, back and moaned, as if to entice
them to her; but finding them still immovable, she returned, and
smelling round them, began to lick their wounds. She then went off a
second time as before, and, after crawling a few yards, turned back and
moaned, as if to entreat them not to desert their mother. But her cubs
not yet rising to follow her, she returned to them again, and, with
signs of inexpressible fondness, went round first one and then the
other, pawing them and moaning all the time. Finding them at last cold
and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship and began to growl in
an indignant manner, as if she were denouncing vengeance against the
murderers of her young; but the sailors levelled their muskets again,
and wounded her in so many places that she dropped down between her
young ones; yet, even while she was expiring, she seemed only sensible
to their fate, and died licking their wounds."

"And is it possible," said Harry, "that men can be so cruel towards poor
unfortunate animals?" "It is too true," answered Mr Barlow, "that men
are frequently guilty of every wanton and unnecessary acts of barbarity,
but in this case it is probable that the fear of these animals
contributed to render the sailors more unpitying than they would
otherwise have been; they had often seen themselves in danger of being
devoured, and that inspired them with a great degree of hatred against
them, which they took the opportunity of gratifying." "But would it not
be enough," answered Harry, "if they carried arms to defend themselves
when they were attacked, without unnecessarily destroying other
creatures, who did not meddle with them?" "To be sure it would," replied
Mr Barlow, "and a generous mind would at any time rather spare an enemy
than destroy him."

While they were conversing in this manner, they beheld a crowd of women
and children running away in the greatest trepidation, and, looking
behind them, saw that one of the bears had broken his chain, and was
running after them, growling all the time in a very disagreeable manner.
Mr Barlow, who had a good stick in his hand, and was a man of an
intrepid character, perceiving this, bade his pupils remain quiet, and
instantly ran up to the bear, who stopped in the middle of his career,
and seemed inclined to attack Mr Barlow for his interference; but this
gentleman struck him two or three blows, rating him at the same time in
a loud and severe tone of voice, and seizing the end of the chain with
equal boldness and dexterity, the animal quietly submitted, and suffered
himself to be taken prisoner. Presently the keeper of the bear came up,
into whose hands Mr Barlow consigned him, charging him for the future to
be more careful in guarding so dangerous a creature.

While this was doing, the boys had remained quiet spectators at a
distance, but by accident the monkey, who used to be perched upon the
head of the bear, and was shaken off when the beast broke loose, came
running that way, playing a thousand antic grimaces as he passed. Tommy,
who was determined not to be outdone by Mr Barlow, ran very resolutely
up, and seized a string which was tied round the loins of the animal;
but he, not choosing to be taken prisoner, instantly snapped at Tommy's
arm, and almost made his teeth meet in the fleshy part of it. Yet Tommy,
who was now greatly improved in courage and the use of his limbs,
instead of letting his enemy escape, began thrashing him very severely
with the stick which he had in his hand, till the monkey, seeing he had
so resolute an antagonist to deal with, desisted from opposition, and
suffered himself to be led captive like his friend the bear.

As they were returning home, Tommy asked Mr Barlow whether he did not
think it very dangerous to meddle with such an animal when he was loose.
Mr Barlow told him it was not without danger, but that it was much less
so than most people would imagine. "Most animals," said he, "are easily
awed by the appearance of intrepidity, while they are invited to pursue
by marks of fear and apprehension." "That, I believe, is very true,"
answered Harry; "for I have very often observed the behaviour of dogs to
each other. When two strange dogs meet they generally approach with
caution, as if they were mutually afraid; but as sure as either of them
runs away, the other will pursue him with the greatest insolence and
fury." "This is not confined to dogs," replied Mr Barlow; "almost all
wild beasts are subject to receive the sudden impression of terror; and
therefore men, who have been obliged to travel without arms, through
forests that abound with dangerous animals, have frequently escaped
unhurt, by shouting aloud whenever they met with any of them on their
way; but what I chiefly depended on was, the education which the bear
had received since he left his own country." (Tommy laughed heartily at
this idea, and Mr Barlow went on.) "Whenever an animal is taught
anything that is not natural to him, this is properly receiving an
education. Did you ever observe colts running about wild upon the
common?" _Tommy._--yes, sir, very often. _Mr Barlow._--And do you think
it would be an easy matter for any one to mount upon their backs or ride
them? _T._--By no means; I think that they would kick and prance to
that degree that they would throw any person down. _Mr B._--And yet your
little horse very frequently takes you upon his back, and carries you
very safely between this and your father's house. _T._--That is because
he is used to it. _Mr B._--But he was not always used to it; he was once
a colt, and then he ran about as wild and unrestrained as any of those
upon the common. _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--How came he then to be so
altered as to submit to bear you upon his back? _T._--I do not know,
unless it was by feeding him. _Mr B._--That is one method; but that is
not all; they first accustom the colt, who naturally follows his mother,
to come into the stable with her; then they stroke him and feed him till
he gradually becomes gentle, and will suffer himself to be handled; then
they take an opportunity of putting a halter upon his head, and accustom
him to stand quietly in the stable, and to be tied to the manger. Thus
they gradually proceed from one thing to another, till they teach him to
bear the bridle and the saddle, and to be commanded by his rider. This
may very properly be called the _education_ of an animal, since by these
means he is obliged to acquire habits which he would never have learned
had he been left to himself. Now, I knew that the poor bear had been
frequently beaten and very ill-used, in order to make him submit to be
led about with a string, and exhibited as a sight. I knew that he had
been accustomed to submit to man, and to tremble at the sound of the
human voice, and I depended upon the force of these impressions for
making him submit without resistance to the authority I assumed over
him. You saw I was not deceived in my opinion, and by these means I
probably prevented the mischief that he might otherwise have done to
some of those women or children.

As Mr Barlow was talking in this manner, he perceived that Tommy's arm
was bloody; and inquiring into the reason, he heard the history of his
adventure with the monkey. Mr Barlow then looked at the wound, which he
found of no great consequence, and told Tommy that he was sorry for his
accident, and imagined that he was now too courageous to be daunted by a
trifling hurt. Tommy assured him he was, and proceeded to ask some
questions concerning the nature of the monkey, which Mr Barlow answered
in the following manner:--"The monkey is a very extraordinary animal,
which closely resembles a man in his shape and appearance, as perhaps
you may have observed. He is always found to inhabit hot countries, the
forests of which, in many parts of the world, are filled with
innumerable bands of these animals. He is extremely active, and his
fore-legs exactly resemble the arms of a man; so that he not only uses
them to walk upon, but frequently to climb trees, to hang by the
branches, and to take hold of his food with. He supports himself upon
almost every species of wild fruit which is found in those countries, so
that it is necessary he should be continually scrambling up and down the
highest trees, in order to procure himself a subsistence. Nor is he
contented always with the diet which he finds in the forest where he
makes his residence. Large bands of these creatures will frequently
sally out to plunder the gardens in the neighbourhood, and many
wonderful stories are told of their ingenuity and contrivance." "What
are these?" said Tommy. "It is said," answered Mr Barlow, "that they
proceed with all the caution and regularity which could be found in men
themselves. Some of these animals are placed as spies to give notice to
the rest, in case any human being should approach the garden; and,
should that happen, one of the sentinels informs them by a peculiar
chattering, and they all escape in an instant." "I can easily believe
that," answered Harry, "for I have observed, that when a flock of rooks
alight upon a farmer's field of corn, two or three of them always take
their station upon the highest tree they can find; and if any one
approaches they instantly give notice by their cawing, and all the rest
take wing directly and fly away." "But," answered Mr Barlow, "the
monkeys are said to be yet more ingenious in their thefts; for they
station some of their body at a small distance from each other, in a
line that reaches quite from the forest they inhabit to the particular
garden they wish to plunder. When this is done, several of them mount
the fairest fruit-trees, and, picking the fruit, throw it down to their
companions who stand below; these again cast it to others at a little
distance, and thus it flies from hand to hand till it is safely
deposited in the woods or mountains whence they came. When they are
taken very young they are easily tamed, but always retain a great
disposition to mischief, as well as to imitate everything they see done
by men. Many ridiculous stories are told of them in this respect. I have
heard of a monkey that resided in a gentleman's family, and that
frequently observed his master undergo the operation of shaving. The
imitative animal one day took it into his head to turn barber, and,
seizing in one hand a cat that lived in the same house, and a bottle of
ink in the other, he carried her up to the top of a very fine marble
staircase. The servants were all attracted by the screams of the cat,
who did not relish the operation which was going forward; and, running
out, were equally surprised and diverted to see the monkey gravely
seated upon the landing-place of the stairs, and holding the cat fast in
one of his paws, while with the other he continually applied ink to
puss's face, rubbing it all over, just as he had observed the barber do
to his master. Whenever the cat struggled to escape, the monkey gave her
a pat with his paw, chattering all the time, and making the most
ridiculous grimaces; and when she was quiet, he applied himself to his
bottle, and continued the operation. But I have heard a more tragic
story of the imitative genius of these animals. One of them lived in a
fortified town, and used frequently to run up and down upon the
ramparts, where he had observed the gunner discharge the great guns that
defended the town. One day he got possession of the lighted match with
which the man used to perform his business, and, applying it to the
touch-hole of a gun, he ran to the mouth of it to see the explosion; but
the cannon, which happened to be loaded, instantly went off, and blew
the poor monkey into a thousand pieces."

When they came back to Mr Barlow's they found Master Merton's servant
and horses waiting to bring him home. When he arrived there he was
received with the greatest joy and tenderness by his parents; but
though he gave them an account of everything else that had happened, he
did not say a word about the money he had given to the farmer. But the
next day, being Sunday, Mr and Mrs Merton and Tommy went together to the
parish church, which they had scarcely entered when a general whisper
ran through the whole congregation, and all eyes were in an instant
turned upon the little boy. Mr and Mrs Merton were very much astonished
at this, but they forbore to inquire until the end of the service; then
as they were going out of the church together, Mr Merton asked his son
what could be the reason of the general attention which he excited at
his entrance into church? Tommy had no time to answer, for at that
instant a very decent-looking woman ran up and threw herself at his
feet, calling him her guardian angel and preserver, and praying that
heaven would shower down upon his head all the blessings which he
deserved. It was some time before Mr and Mrs Merton could understand the
nature of this extraordinary scene; but, when they at length understood
the secret of their son's generosity, they seemed to be scarcely less
affected than the woman herself, and, shedding tears of transport and
affection, they embraced their son, without attending to the crowd that
surrounded them; but immediately recollecting themselves, they took
their leave of the poor woman and hurried to their coach with such
sensations as it is more easy to conceive than to describe.

The summer had now completely passed away, and the winter had set in
with unusual severity; the water was all frozen into a solid mass of
ice; the earth was bare of food, and the little birds, that used to
chirp with gladness, seemed to lament in silence the inclemency of the
weather. As Tommy was one day reading the Life of Napoleon Bonaparte,
particularly the famous anecdote of the fortress of snow, in which
Napoleon is described as undertaking the siege, and giving directions to
his school-fellows how to make the attack, he was surprised to find a
pretty bird flying about the chamber in which he was reading. He
immediately went down stairs and informed Mr Barlow of the circumstance,
who, after he had seen the bird, told him that it was called a robin
redbreast, and that it was naturally more tame and disposed to cultivate
the society of men than any other species; "but at present," added he,
"the little fellow is in want of food, because the earth is too hard to
furnish him any assistance, and hunger inspires him with this unusual
boldness." "Why then, sir," said Tommy, "if you will give me leave, I
will fetch a piece of bread and feed him." "Do so," answered Mr Barlow;
"but first set the window open, that he may see you do not intend to
take him prisoner." Tommy accordingly opened his window, and scattering
a few crumbs of bread about the room, had the satisfaction of seeing his
guest hop down and make a very hearty meal; he then flew out of the
room, and settled upon a neighbouring tree, singing all the time, as if
to return thanks for the hospitality he had met with.

Tommy was greatly delighted with his new acquaintance, and from this
time never failed to set his window open every morning and scatter some
crumbs about the room, which the bird perceiving, hopped fearlessly in,
and regaled himself under the protection of his benefactor. By degrees
the intimacy increased so much that little robin would alight on Tommy's
shoulder and whistle his notes in that situation, or eat out of his
hand--all which gave Tommy so much satisfaction that he would frequently
call Mr Barlow and Harry to be witness of his favourite's caresses; nor
did he ever eat his own meals without reserving a part for his little
friend.

It however happened that one day Tommy went upstairs after dinner,
intending to feed his bird as usual, but as soon as he opened the door
of his chamber he discovered a sight that pierced him to the very heart.
His little friend and innocent companion lay dead upon the floor, and
torn in pieces; and a large cat, taking that opportunity to escape, soon
directed his suspicions towards the murderer. Tommy instantly ran down
with tears in his eyes to relate the unfortunate death of his favourite
to Mr Barlow, and to demand vengeance against the wicked cat that had
occasioned it. Mr Barlow heard him with great compassion, but asked what
punishment he wished to inflict upon the cat?

_Tommy._--Oh sir! nothing can be too bad for that cruel animal. I would
have her killed as she killed the poor bird.

_Mr Barlow._--But do you imagine that she did it out of any particular
malice to your bird, or merely because she was hungry, and accustomed to
catch her prey in that manner?

Tommy considered some time, but at last he owned that he did not suspect
the cat of having any particular spite against his bird, and therefore
he supposed she had been impelled by hunger.

_Mr Barlow._--Have you never observed that it was the property of that
species to prey upon mice and other little animals?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir, very often.

_Mr Barlow._--And have you ever corrected her for so doing, or attempted
to teach her other habits?

_Tommy._--I cannot say I have. Indeed I have seen little Harry, when she
had caught a mouse and was tormenting it, take it from her and give it
liberty; but I have never meddled with her myself.

_Mr Barlow._--Are you not then more to be blamed than the cat herself?
You have observed that it was common to the whole species to destroy
mice and little birds, whenever they could surprise them; yet you have
taken no pains to secure your favourite from the danger; on the
contrary, by rendering him tame, and accustoming him to be fed, you have
exposed him to a violent death, which he would probably have avoided had
he remained wild. Would it not then be just, and more reasonable, to
endeavour to teach the cat that she must no longer prey upon little
birds, than to put her to death for what you have never taught her was
an offence?

_Tommy._--But is that possible?

_Mr Barlow._--Very possible, I should imagine; but we may at least try
the experiment.

_Tommy._--But why should such a mischievous creature live at all?

_Mr Barlow._--Because, if you destroy every creature that preys upon
others, you would perhaps leave few alive.

_Tommy._--Surely, sir, the poor bird which that naughty cat has killed,
was never guilty of such a cruelty.

_Mr Barlow._--I will not answer for that. Let us observe what they live
upon in the fields; we shall then be able to give a better account.

Mr Barlow then went to the window and desired Tommy to come to him, and
observe a robin which was then hopping upon the grass with something in
its mouth, and asked him what he thought it was.

_Tommy._--I protest, sir, it is a large worm. And now he has swallowed
it! I should never have thought that such a pretty bird could have been
so cruel.

_Mr Barlow._--Do you imagine that the bird is conscious of all that is
suffered by the insect?

_Tommy._--No, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--In him, then, it is not the same cruelty which it would be
in you, who are endowed with reason and reflection. Nature has given him
a propensity for animal food, which he obeys in the same manner as the
sheep and ox when they feed upon grass, or as the ass when he browses
upon the furze or thistles.

_Tommy._--Why, then, perhaps the cat did not know the cruelty she was
guilty of in tearing that poor bird to pieces?

_Mr Barlow._--No more than the bird we have just seen is conscious of
his cruelty to the insect. The natural food of cats consists in rats,
mice, birds, and such small animals as they can seize by violence or
catch by craft. It was impossible she should know the value you set upon
your bird, and therefore she had no more intention of offending you than
had she caught a mouse.

_Tommy._--But if that is the case, should I have another tame bird, she
would kill it as she has done this poor fellow.

_Mr Barlow._--That, perhaps, may be prevented. I have heard people that
deal in birds affirm there is a way of preventing cats from meddling
with them.

_Tommy._--Oh dear, sir, I should like to try it. Will you not show me
how to prevent the cat from killing any more birds?

_Mr Barlow._--Most willingly; it is certainly better to correct the
faults of an animal than to destroy it. Besides, I have a particular
affection for this cat, because I found her when she was a kitten, and
have bred her up so tame and gentle that she will follow me about like a
dog. She comes every morning to my chamber-door and mews till she is let
in; and she sits upon the table at breakfast and dinner as grave and
polite as a visitor, without offering to touch the meat. Indeed, before
she was guilty of this offence, I have often seen you stroke and caress
her with great affection; and puss, who is by no means of an ungrateful
temper, would always pur and arch her tail, as if she was sensible of
your attention.

In a few days after this conversation another robin, suffering like the
former from the inclemency of the season, flew into the house, and
commenced acquaintance with Tommy. But he, who recollected the mournful
fate of his former bird, would not encourage it to any familiarity,
till he had claimed the promise of Mr Barlow, in order to preserve it
from danger. Mr Barlow, therefore, enticed the new guest into a small
wire-cage, and, as soon as he had entered it, shut the door, in order to
prevent his escaping. He then took a small gridiron, such as is used to
broil meat upon, and, having almost heated it red hot, placed it erect
upon the ground, before the cage in which the bird was confined. He then
contrived to entice the cat into the room, and observing that she fixed
her eye upon the bird, which she destined to become her prey, he
withdrew the two little boys, in order to leave her unrestrained in her
operations. They did not retire far, but observed her from the door fix
her eyes upon the cage, and begin to approach it in silence, bending her
body to the ground, and almost touching it as she crawled along. When
she judged herself within a proper distance, she exerted all her agility
in a violent spring, which would probably have been fatal to the bird,
had not the gridiron, placed before the cage, received the impression of
her attack. Nor was the disappointment the only punishment she was
destined to undergo; the bars of the gridiron had been so thoroughly
heated that, in rushing against them, she felt herself burned in several
parts of her body, and retired from the field of battle mewing
dreadfully and full of pain; and such was the impression which this
adventure produced, that, from this time, she was never again known to
attempt to destroy birds.

The coldness of the weather still continuing, all the wild animals began
to perceive the effects, and, compelled by hunger, approached nearer to
the habitations of man and the places they had been accustomed to
avoid. A multitude of hares--the most timorous of all animals--were
frequently seen scudding about the garden in search of the scanty
vegetables which the severity of the season had spared. In a short time
they had devoured all the green herbs which could be found, and, hunger
still oppressing them, they began to gnaw the very bark of the trees for
food. One day, as Tommy was walking in the garden, he found that even
the beloved tree which he had planted with his own hands, and from which
he had promised himself so plentiful a produce of fruit, had not escaped
the general depredation, but had been gnawed round at the root and
killed.

Tommy, who could ill brook disappointment, was so enraged to see his
labours prove abortive, that he ran with tears in his eyes to Mr Barlow,
to demand vengeance against the devouring hares. "Indeed," said Mr
Barlow, "I am sorry for what they have done, but it is now too late to
prevent it." "Yes," answered Tommy, "but you may have all those
mischievous creatures shot, that they may do no further damage." "A
little while ago," replied Mr Barlow, "you wanted to destroy the cat,
because she was cruel and preyed upon living animals, and now you would
murder all the hares, merely because they are innocent, inoffensive
animals that subsist upon vegetables." Tommy looked a little foolish,
but said, "he did not want to hurt them for living upon vegetables, but
for destroying his tree." "But," said Mr Barlow, "how can you expect the
animal to distinguish your trees from any other? You should therefore
have fenced them round in such a manner as might have prevented the
hares from reaching them; besides, in such extreme distress as animals
now suffer from the want of food, I think they may be forgiven if they
trespass a little more than usual."

Mr Barlow then took Tommy by the hand and led him into a field at some
distance, which belonged to him, and which was sown with turnips.
Scarcely had they entered the field before a flock of larks rose up in
such innumerable quantities as almost darkened the air. "See," said Mr
Barlow, "these little fellows are trespassing upon my turnips in such
numbers, that in a short time they will destroy every bit of green about
the field; yet I would not hurt them on any account. Look round the
whole extent of the country, you will see nothing but a barren waste,
which presents no food either to bird or beast. These little creatures,
therefore, assemble in multitudes here, where they find a scanty
subsistence, and though they do me some mischief, they are welcome to
what they can find. In the spring they will enliven our walks by their
agreeable songs."

_Tommy._--How dreary and uncomfortable is this season of winter; I wish
it were always summer.

_Mr Barlow._--In some countries it is so; but there the inhabitants
complain more of the intolerable heat than you do of the cold. They
would with pleasure be relieved by the agreeable variety of cooler
weather, when they are panting under the violence of a scorching sun.

_Tommy._--Then I should like to live in a country that was never either
disagreeably hot or cold.

_Mr Barlow._--Such a country is scarcely to be found; or if it is,
contains so small a portion of the earth as to leave room for very few
inhabitants.

_Tommy._--Then I should think it would be so crowded that one would
hardly be able to stir, for everybody would naturally wish to live
there.

_Mr Barlow._--There you are mistaken, for the inhabitants of the finest
climates are often less attached to their own country than those of the
worst. Custom reconciles people to every kind of life, and makes them
equally satisfied with the place in which they are born. There is a
country called Lapland, which extends a great deal further north than
any part of England, which is covered with perpetual snows during all
the year, yet the inhabitants would not exchange it for any other
portion of the globe.

_Tommy._--How do they live in so disagreeable a country?

_Mr Barlow._--If you ask Harry, he will tell you. Being a farmer, it is
his business to study the different methods by which men find
subsistence in all the different parts of the earth.

_Tommy._--I should like very much to hear, if Harry will be so good as
to tell me.

_Harry._--You must know then, Master Tommy, that in the greatest part of
this country which is called Lapland, the inhabitants neither sow nor
reap; they are totally unacquainted with the use of corn, and know not
how to make bread; they have no trees which bear fruit, and scarcely any
of the herbs which grow in our gardens in England; nor do they possess
either sheep, goats, hogs, cows, or beasts.

_Tommy._--That must be a disagreeable country indeed! What then have
they to live upon?

_Harry._--They have a species of deer, which is bigger than the largest
stags which you may have seen in the gentlemen's parks in England, and
very strong. These animals are called _reindeer_, and are of so gentle a
nature that they are easily tamed, and taught to live together in herds,
and to obey their masters. In the short summer which they enjoy, the
Laplanders lead them out to pasture in the valleys, where the grass
grows very high and luxuriant. In the winter, when the ground is all
covered over with snow, the deer have learned to scratch away the snow,
and find a sort of moss which grows underneath it, and upon this they
subsist. These creatures afford not only food, but raiment, and even
houses to their masters. In the summer, the Laplander milks his herds
and lives upon the produce; sometimes he lays by the milk in wooden
vessels, to serve him for food in winter. This is soon frozen so hard
that, when they would use it, they are obliged to cut it in pieces with
a hatchet. Sometimes the winters are so severe that the poor deer can
scarcely find even moss, and then the master is obliged to kill part of
them and live upon the flesh. Of the skins he makes warm garments for
himself and his family, and strews them thick upon the ground, to sleep
upon. Their houses are only poles stuck slanting into the ground, and
almost joined at top, except a little hole which they leave to let out
the smoke. These poles are either covered with the skins of animals, or
coarse cloth, or sometimes with turf and the bark of trees. There is a
little hole left in one side, through which the family creep into their
tent, and they make a comfortable fire to warm them, in the middle.
People that are so easily contented are totally ignorant of most of the
things that are thought so necessary here. The Laplanders have neither
gold, nor silver, nor carpets, nor carved work in their houses; every
man makes for himself all that the real wants of life require, and with
his own hands performs everything which is necessary to be done. Their
food consists either in frozen milk, or the flesh of the reindeer, or
that of the bear, which they frequently hunt and kill. Instead of bread
they strip off the bark of firs, which are almost the only trees that
grow upon those dismal mountains, and, boiling the inward and more
tender skin, they eat it with their flesh. The greatest happiness of
these poor people is to live free and unrestrained; therefore they do
not long remain fixed to any spot, but, taking down their houses, they
pack them up along with the little furniture they possess, and load them
upon sledges, to carry and set them up in some other place.

_Tommy._--Have you not said that they have neither horses nor oxen? Do
they then draw these sledges themselves?

_Harry._--I thought I should surprise you, Master Tommy. The reindeer
which I have described are so tractable, that they are harnessed like
horses, and draw the sledges with their masters upon them nearly thirty
miles a-day. They set out with surprising swiftness, and run along the
snow, which is frozen so hard in winter that it supports them like a
solid road. In this manner do the Laplanders perform their journeys,
and change their places of abode as often as is agreeable. In the spring
they lead their herds of deer to pasture upon the mountains; in the
winter they come down into the plains, where they are better protected
against the fury of the winds; for the whole country is waste and
desolate, destitute of all the objects which you see here. There are no
towns, nor villages; no fields enclosed or cultivated; no beaten roads;
no inns for travellers to sleep at; no shops to purchase the necessaries
or conveniences of life at; the face of the whole country is barren and
dismal; wherever you turn your eyes, nothing is to be seen but lofty
mountains, white with snow, and covered with ice and fogs; scarcely any
trees are to be seen, except a few stunted firs and birches. These
mountains afford a retreat to thousands of bears and wolves, which are
continually pouring down and prowling about to prey upon the herds of
deer, so that the Laplanders are continually obliged to fight them in
their own defence. To do this, they fix large pieces of flat board,
about four or five feet long, to the bottom of their feet, and, thus
secured, they run along, without sinking into the snow, so nimbly, that
they can overtake the wild animals in the chase. The bears they kill
with bows and arrows, which they make themselves. Sometimes they find
out the dens where they have laid themselves up in winter, and then they
attack them with spears, and generally overcome them. When a Laplander
has killed a bear, he carries it home in triumph, boils the flesh in an
iron pot (which is all the cooking they are acquainted with), and
invites all his neighbours to the feast. This they account the greatest
delicacy in the world, and particularly the fat, which they melt over
the fire and drink; then, sitting round the flame, they entertain each
other with stories of their own exploits in hunting or fishing, till the
feast is over. Though they live so barbarous a life, they are a
good-natured, sincere, and hospitable people. If a stranger comes among
them, they lodge and entertain him in the best manner they are able, and
generally refuse all payment for their services, unless it be a little
bit of tobacco, which they are immoderately fond of smoking.

_Tommy._--Poor people! how I pity them, to live such an unhappy life! I
should think the fatigues and hardships they undergo must kill them in a
very short space of time.

_Mr Barlow._--Have you then observed that those who eat and drink the
most, and undergo the least fatigue, are the most free from disease?

_Tommy._--Not always; for I remember that there are two or three
gentlemen who come to dine at my father's, who eat an amazing quantity
of meat, besides drinking a great deal of wine, and these poor gentlemen
have lost the use of almost all their limbs. Their legs are so swelled,
that they are almost as big as their bodies; their feet are so tender
that they cannot set them to the ground; and their knees so stiff, that
they cannot bend them. When they arrive, they are obliged to be helped
out of their coaches by two or three people, and they come hobbling in
upon crutches. But I never heard them talk about anything but eating and
drinking in all my life. _Mr Barlow._--And did you ever observe that
any of the poor had lost the use of their limbs by the same disease?

_Tommy._--I cannot say I have.

_Mr Barlow._--Then, perhaps, the being confined to a scanty diet, to
hardship, and to exercise, may not be so desperate as you imagine. This
way of life is even much less so than the intemperance in which too many
of the rich continually indulge themselves. I remember lately reading a
story on this subject, which, if you please, you shall hear. Mr Barlow
then read the following


"HISTORY OF A SURPRISING CURE OF THE GOUT."

"In one of the provinces of Italy there lived a wealthy gentleman, who,
having no taste either for improving his mind or exercising his body,
acquired a habit of eating almost all day long. The whole extent of his
thoughts was, what he should eat for dinner, and how he should procure
the greatest delicacies. Italy produces excellent wine, but these were
not enough for our epicure; he settled agents in different parts of
France and Spain, to buy up all the most generous and costly wines of
those countries. He had correspondence with all the maritime cities,
that he might be constantly supplied with every species of fish; every
poulterer and fishmonger in the town was under articles to let him have
his choice of rarities. He also employed a man on purpose to give
directions for his pastry and desserts. As soon as he had breakfasted in
the morning, it was his constant practice to retire to his library (for
he, too, had a library, although he never opened a book). When he was
there, he gravely seated himself in an easy chair, and, tucking a napkin
under his chin, ordered his head cook to be sent in to him. The head
cook instantly appeared attended by a couple of footmen, who carried
each a silver salver of prodigious size, on which were cups containing
sauces of every different flavour which could be devised. The gentleman,
with the greatest solemnity, used to dip a bit of bread in each, and
taste it, giving his orders upon the subject with as much earnestness
and precision as if he had been signing papers for the government of a
kingdom. When this important affair was thus concluded, he would throw
himself upon a couch, to repair the fatigues of such an exertion, and
refresh himself against dinner. When that delightful hour arrived, it is
impossible to describe either the variety of fish, flesh, and fowl which
was set before him, or the surprising greediness with which he ate of
all; stimulating his appetite with the highest sauces and richest wines,
till at length he was obliged to desist, not from being satisfied, but
from mere inability to contain more.

"This kind of life he had long pursued, but at last became so corpulent
that he could hardly move; his belly appeared prominent like a mountain,
his face was bloated, and his legs, though swelled to the size of
columns, seemed unable to support the prodigious weight of his body.
Added to this, he was troubled with continual indigestions and racking
pains in several of his limbs, which at length terminated in a violent
fit of the gout. The pains, indeed, at length abated, and this
unfortunate epicure returned to all his former habits of intemperance.
The interval of ease, however, was short, and the attacks of his disease
becoming more and more frequent, he was at length deprived of the use of
almost all his limbs.

"In this unhappy state he determined to consult a physician that lived
in the same town, and had the reputation of performing many surprising
cures. 'Doctor,' said the gentleman to the physician, when he arrived,
'you see the miserable state to which I am reduced.' 'I do, indeed,'
answered the physician, 'and I suppose you have contributed to it by
your intemperance.' 'As to intemperance,' replied the gentleman, 'I
believe few have less to answer for than myself; I indeed love a
moderate dinner and supper, but I never was intoxicated with liquor in
my life.' 'Probably, then, you sleep too much?' said the physician. 'As
to sleep,' said the gentleman, 'I am in bed nearly twelve hours every
night, because I find the sharpness of the morning air extremely
injurious to my constitution; but I am so troubled with a plaguy
flatulency and heartburn, that I am scarcely able to close my eyes all
night; or if I do, I find myself almost strangled with wind, and awake
in agonies.' 'That is a very alarming symptom, indeed,' replied the
doctor; 'I wonder so many restless nights do not entirely wear you out.'
'They would, indeed,' answered the gentleman, 'if I did not make shift
to procure a little sleep two or three times a-day, which enables me to
hold out a little longer.' 'As to exercise,' continued the doctor, 'I
fear you are not able to use a great deal.' 'Alas!' answered the sick
man, 'while I was able, I never failed to go out in my carriage once or
twice a-week, but in my present situation I can no longer bear the
gentlest motion; besides disordering my whole frame, it gives me such
intolerable twitches in my limbs, that you would imagine I was
absolutely falling to pieces.' 'Your case,' answered the physician, 'is
indeed bad, but not quite desperate, and if you could abridge the
quantity of your food and sleep, you would in a short time find yourself
much better.' 'Alas!' answered the sick man, 'I find you little know the
delicacy of my constitution, or you would not put me upon a method which
will infallibly destroy me. When I rise in the morning, I feel as if all
the powers of life were extinguished within me; my stomach is oppressed
with nausea, my head with aches and swimming, and above all, I feel such
an intolerable sinking in my spirits, that, without the assistance of
two or three cordials, and some restorative soup, I am confident I never
could get through the morning. Now, doctor, I have such confidence in
your skill, that there is no pill or potion you can order me which I
will not take with pleasure, but as to a change in my diet, that is
impossible.' 'That is,' answered the physician, 'you wish for health
without being at the trouble of acquiring it, and imagine that all the
consequences of an ill-spent life are to be washed away by a julep, or a
decoction of senna. But as I cannot cure you upon those terms, I will
not deceive you for an instant. Your case is out of the power of
medicine, and you can only be relieved by your own exertions.' 'How hard
is this,' answered the gentleman, 'to be thus abandoned to despair even
in the prime of life! Cruel and unfeeling doctor, will you not attempt
anything to procure me ease?' 'Sir,' answered the physician, 'I have
already told you everything I know upon the subject. I must, however,
acquaint you, that I have a brother physician who lives at Padua, a man
of the greatest learning and integrity, who is particularly famous for
curing the gout. If you think it worth your while to consult him, I will
give you a letter of recommendation, for he never stirs from home, even
to attend a prince.'

"Here the conversation ended; for the gentleman, who did not like the
trouble of the journey, took his leave of the physician, and returned
home very much dispirited. In a little while he either was, or fancied
himself, worse; and as the idea of the Paduan physician had never left
his head, he at last resolutely determined to set out upon the journey.
For this purpose he had a litter so contrived that he could lie
recumbent, or recline at his ease, and eat his meals. The distance was
not above one day's tolerable journey, but the gentleman wisely resolved
to make four of it, for fear of over-fatiguing himself. He had, besides,
a loaded waggon attending, filled with everything that constitutes good
eating; and two of his cooks went with him, that nothing might be
wanting to his accommodation on the road.

"After a wearisome journey he at length arrived within sight of Padua,
and eagerly inquiring after the house of Doctor Ramozini, was soon
directed to the spot; then, having been helped out of his carriage by
half-a-dozen of his servants, he was shown into a neat but plain
parlour, from which he had the prospect of twenty or thirty people at
dinner in a spacious hall. In the middle of them was the learned doctor
himself, who with much complaisance invited the company to eat heartily.
'My good friend,' said the doctor to a pale-looking man on his right
hand, 'you must eat three slices more of this roast-beef, or you will
never lose your ague.' 'My friend,' said he to another, 'drink off this
glass of porter; it is just arrived from England, and is a specific for
nervous fevers.' 'Do not stuff your child so with macaroni,' added he,
turning to a woman, 'if you wish to cure him of the scrofula.' 'Good
man,' said he to a fourth, 'how goes on the ulcer in your leg?' 'Much
better, indeed,' replied the man, 'since I have lived at your honour's
table.' 'Well,' replied the physician, 'in a fortnight you will be
perfectly cured, if you do but drink wine enough.'

"'Thank heaven!' said the gentleman, who had heard all this with
infinite pleasure, 'I have at last met with a reasonable physician; he
will not confine me to bread and water, nor starve me under pretence of
curing me, like that confounded quack from whose clutches I have so
luckily escaped.'

"At length the doctor dismissed his company, who retired loading him
with thanks and blessings. He then approached the gentleman, and
welcomed him with the greatest politeness, who presented him with his
letters of recommendation, which, after the physician had perused, he
thus accosted him:--'Sir, the letter of my learned friend has fully
instructed me in the particulars of your case; it is indeed a difficult
one, but I think you have no reason to despair of a perfect recovery.
If,' added he, 'you choose to put yourself under my care, I will employ
all the secrets of my art for your assistance. But one condition is
absolutely indispensable; you must send away all your servants, and
solemnly engage to follow my prescriptions for at least a month; without
this compliance I would not undertake the cure even of a monarch.'
'Doctor,' answered the gentleman, 'what I have seen of your profession
does not, I confess, much prejudice me in their favour; and I should
hesitate to agree to such a proposal from any other individual.' 'Do as
you like, sir,' answered the physician; 'the employing me or not is
entirely voluntary on your part; but as I am above the common mercenary
views of gain, I never stake the reputation of so noble an art without a
rational prospect of success; and what success can I hope for in so
obstinate a disorder, unless the patient will consent to a fair
experiment of what I can effect?' 'Indeed,' replied the gentleman, 'what
you say is so candid, and your whole behaviour so much interests me in
your favour, that I will immediately give you proofs of the most
unbounded confidence.'

"He then sent for his servants and ordered them to return home, and not
to come near him till a whole month was elapsed. When they were gone,
the physician asked him how he supported the journey? 'Why, really,'
answered he, 'much better than I could have expected. But I feel myself
unusually hungry; and therefore, with your permission, shall beg to have
the hour of supper a little hastened.' 'Most willingly,' answered the
doctor; 'at eight o'clock everything shall be ready for your
entertainment. In the meantime you will permit me to visit my patients.'

"While the physician was absent, the gentleman was pleasing his
imagination with the thoughts of the excellent supper he should make.
'Doubtless,' said he to himself, 'if Signor Ramozini treats the poor in
such an hospitable manner, he will spare nothing for the entertainment
of a man of my importance. I have heard there are delicious trouts and
ortolans in this part of Italy; I make no doubt but the doctor keeps an
excellent cook, and I shall have no reason to repent the dismission of
my servants.'

"With these ideas he kept himself some time amused; at length his
appetite growing keener and keener every instant, from fasting longer
than ordinary, he lost all patience, and, calling one of the servants of
the house, inquired for some little nice thing to stay his stomach till
the hour of supper. 'Sir,' said the servant, 'I would gladly oblige you;
but it is as much as my place is worth; my master is the best and most
generous of men, but so great is his attention to his house patients,
that he will not suffer one of them to eat, unless in his presence.
However, sir, have patience; in two hours more the supper will be ready,
and then you may indemnify yourself for all.'

"Thus was the gentleman compelled to pass two hours more without food--a
degree of abstinence he had not practised for almost twenty years. He
complained bitterly of the slowness of time, and was continually
inquiring what was the hour.

"At length the doctor returned punctual to his time, and ordered the
supper to be brought in. Accordingly six dishes were set upon the table
with great solemnity, all under cover; and the gentleman flattered
himself he should now be rewarded for his long abstinence. As they were
sitting down to table, the learned Ramozini thus accosted his
guest:--'Before you give a loose to your appetite, sir, I must acquaint
you that, as the most effectual method of subduing this obstinate
disease, all your food and drink will be mixed up with such medicinal
substances as your case requires. They will not be indeed discoverable
by any of your senses; but as their effects are equally strong and
certain, I must recommend to you to eat with moderation.'

"Having said this, he ordered the dishes to be uncovered, which, to the
extreme astonishment of the gentleman, contained nothing but olives,
dried figs, dates, some roasted apples, a few boiled eggs, and a piece
of hard cheese!

"'Heaven and earth!' cried the gentleman, losing all patience at this
mortifying spectacle, 'is this the entertainment you have prepared for
me, with so many speeches and prefaces? Do you imagine that a person of
my fortune can sup on such contemptible fare as would hardly satisfy the
wretched peasants whom I saw at dinner in your hall?' 'Have patience, my
dear sir,' replied the physician; 'it is the extreme anxiety I have for
your welfare that compels me to treat you with this apparent incivility.
Your blood is all in a ferment with the violent exercise you have
undergone; and were I rashly to indulge your craving appetite, a fever
or a pleurisy might be the consequence. But to-morrow I hope you will
be cooler, and then you may live in a style more adapted to your
quality.'

"The gentleman began to comfort himself with this reflection, and, as
there was no help, he at last determined to wait with patience another
night. He accordingly tasted a few of the dates and olives, ate a piece
of cheese with a slice of excellent bread, and found himself more
refreshed than he could have imagined was possible from such a homely
meal. When he had nearly supped, he wanted something to drink, and
observing nothing but water upon the table, desired one of the servants
to bring him a little wine. 'Not as you value the life of this
illustrious gentleman,' cried out the physician. 'Sir,' added he,
turning to his guest, 'it is with inexpressible reluctance that I
contradict you, but wine would be at present a mortal poison; therefore,
please to content yourself, for one night only, with a glass of this
most excellent and refreshing mineral water.'

"The gentleman was again compelled to submit, and drank the water with a
variety of strange grimaces. After the cloth was removed, Signor
Ramozini entertained the gentleman with some agreeable and improving
conversation for about an hour, and then proposed to his patient that he
should retire to rest. This proposal the gentleman gladly accepted, as
he found himself fatigued with his journey, and unusually disposed to
sleep. The doctor then retired, and ordered one of his servants to show
the gentleman to his chamber.

"He was accordingly conducted into a neighbouring room, where there was
little to be seen but a homely bed, without furniture, with nothing to
sleep upon but a mattress almost as hard as the floor. At this the
gentleman burst into a violent passion again: 'Villain,' said he to the
servant, 'it is impossible your master should dare to confine me to such
a wretched dog-hole! Show me into another room immediately!' 'Sir,'
answered the servant, with profound humility, 'I am heartily sorry the
chamber does not please you, but I am morally certain I have not
mistaken my master's order; and I have too great a respect for you to
think of disobeying him in a point which concerns your precious life.'
Saying this he went out of the room, and shutting the door on the
outside, left the gentleman to his meditations. They were not very
agreeable at first; however, as he saw no remedy, he undressed himself
and entered the wretched bed, where he presently fell asleep while he
was meditating revenge upon the doctor and his whole family.

"The gentleman slept so soundly that he did not awake till morning; and
then the physician came into his room, and with the greatest tenderness
and civility inquired after his health. He had indeed fallen asleep in
very ill-humour; but his night's rest had much composed his mind, and
the effect of this was increased by the extreme politeness of the
doctor, so that he answered with tolerable temper, only making bitter
complaints of the homeliness of his accommodation.

"'My dearest sir,' answered the physician, 'did I not make a previous
agreement with you that you should submit to my management? Can you
imagine that I have any other end in view than the improvement of your
health? It is not possible that you should in everything perceive the
reasons of my conduct, which is founded upon the most accurate theory
and experience. However, in this case, I must inform you that I have
found out the art of making my very beds medicinal; and this you must
confess, from the excellent night you have passed. I cannot impart the
same salutary virtues to down or silk, and therefore, though very much
against my inclinations, I have been compelled to lodge you in this
homely manner. But now, if you please, it is time to rise.'

"Ramozini then rang for the servants, and the gentleman suffered himself
to be dressed. At breakfast the gentleman expected to fare a little
better, but his relentless guardian would suffer him to taste nothing
but a slice of bread and a porringer of water-gruel--all which he
defended, very little to his guest's satisfaction, upon the most
unerring principles of medical science.

"After breakfast had been some time finished, Dr Ramozini told his
patient it was time to begin the great work of restoring him to the use
of his limbs. He accordingly had him carried into a little room, where
he desired the gentleman to attempt to stand. 'That is impossible,'
answered the patient, 'for I have not been able to use a leg these three
years.' 'Prop yourself, then, upon your crutches, and lean against the
wall to support yourself,' answered the physician. The gentleman did so,
and the doctor went abruptly out, and locked the door after him. He had
not been long in this situation before he felt the floor of the
chamber, which he had not before perceived to be composed of plates of
iron, grow immoderately hot under his feet. He called the doctor and his
servants, but to no purpose; he then began to utter loud vociferations
and menaces, but all was equally ineffectual; he raved, he swore, he
promised, he entreated, but nobody came to his assistance, and the heat
grew more intense every instant. At length necessity compelled him to
hop upon one leg in order to rest the other, and this he did with
greater agility than he could conceive was possible; presently the other
leg began to burn, and then he hopped again upon the other. Thus he went
on, hopping about with this involuntary exercise, till he had stretched
every sinew and muscle more than he had done for several years before,
and thrown himself into a profuse perspiration.

"When the doctor was satisfied with the exertions of his patient, he
sent into the floor an easy chair for him to rest upon, and suffered the
floor to cool as gradually as it had been heated. Then it was that the
sick man for the first time began to be sensible of the real use and
pleasure of repose; he had earned it by fatigue, without which it can
never prove either salutary or agreeable.

"At dinner the doctor appeared again to his patient, and made him a
thousand apologies for the liberties he had taken with his person. These
excuses he received with a kind of sullen civility. However, his anger
was a little mitigated by the smell of a roasted pullet, which was
brought to table and set before him. He now, from exercise and
abstinence, began to find a relish in his victuals which he had never
done before, and the doctor permitted him to mingle a little wine with
his water. These compliances, however, were so extremely irksome to his
temper, that the month seemed to pass away as slowly as a year. When it
was expired, and his servants came to ask his orders, he instantly threw
himself into his carriage without taking leave either of the doctor or
his family. When he came to reflect upon the treatment he had received,
his forced exercises, his involuntary abstinence, and all the other
mortifications he had undergone, he could not conceive but it must be a
plot of the physician he had left behind, and full of rage and
indignation, drove directly to his house in order to reproach him with
it.

"The physician happened to be at home, but scarcely knew his patient
again, though after so short an absence. He had shrunk to half his
former bulk, his look and colour were mended, and he had entirely thrown
away his crutches. When he had given vent to all that his anger could
suggest, the physician coolly answered in the following manner:--'I know
not, sir, what right you have to make me these reproaches, since it was
not by my persuasion that you put yourself under the care of Doctor
Ramozini.' 'Yes, sir, but you gave me a high character of his skill and
integrity.' 'Has he then deceived you in either, or do you find yourself
worse than when you put yourself under his care?' 'I cannot say that,'
answered the gentleman; 'I am, to be sure, surprisingly improved in my
digestion; I sleep better than ever I did before; I eat with an
appetite; and I can walk almost as well as ever I could in my life.'
'And do you seriously come,' said the physician, 'to complain of a man
that has affected all these miracles for you in so short a time, and,
unless you are now wanting to yourself, has given you a degree of life
and health which you had not the smallest reason to expect.'

"The gentleman who had not sufficiently considered all these advantages,
began to look a little confused, and the physician thus went on:--'All
that you have to complain of is, that you have been involuntarily your
own dupe, and cheated into health and happiness. You went to Dr
Ramozini, and saw a parcel of miserable wretches comfortably at dinner.
That great and worthy man is the father of all about him; he knows that
most of the diseases of the poor, originate in their want of food and
necessaries, and therefore benevolently assists them with better diet
and clothing. The rich, on the contrary, are generally the victims of
their own sloth and intemperance, and, therefore, he finds it necessary
to use a contrary method of cure--exercise, abstinence, and
mortification. You, sir, have indeed been treated like a child, but it
has been for your own advantage. Neither your bed, nor meat, nor drink,
has ever been medicated; all the wonderful change that has been produced
has been by giving you better habits, and rousing the slumbering powers
of your own constitution. As to deception, you have none to complain of,
except what proceeded from your own foolish imagination, which persuaded
you that a physician was to regulate his conduct by the folly and
intemperance of his patient. As to all the rest, he only promised to
exert all the secrets of his art for your cure; and this, I am witness
he has done so effectually, that, were you to reward him with half your
fortune, it would hardly be too much for his deserts.'

"The gentleman, who did not want either sense or generosity, could not
help feeling the force of what was said. He therefore made a handsome
apology for his behaviour, and instantly despatched a servant to Dr
Ramozini, with a handsome present, and a letter expressing the highest
gratitude; and so much satisfaction did he find in the amendment of his
health and spirits, that he never again relapsed into his former habits
of intemperance, but, by constant exercise and uniform moderation,
continued free from any considerable disease to a very comfortable old
age."

"Indeed," said Tommy, "this is a very diverting, comical story; and I
should like very much to tell it to the gouty gentlemen that come to our
house." "That," answered Mr Barlow, "would be highly improper, unless
you were particularly desired. Those gentlemen cannot be ignorant that
such unbounded indulgence of their appetites can only tend to increase
the disease; and therefore you could teach them nothing new on the
subject. But it would appear highly improper for such a little boy as
you to take upon him to instruct others, while he all the time wants so
much instruction himself." "Thus," continued Mr Barlow, "you see by this
story (which is applicable to half the rich in most countries), that
intemperance and excess are fully as dangerous as want and hardships. As
to the Laplanders, whom you were in so much pain about, they are some
of the healthiest people whom the world produces. They generally live to
an extremely old age, free from all the common diseases which we are
acquainted with, and subject to no other inconveniency than blindness,
which is supposed to arise from the continual prospect of snow, and the
constant smoke with which they are surrounded in their huts."




CHAPTER V.

     Lost in the Snow--Jack Smithers' Home--Talk about the
     Stars--Harry's pursuit of The Will-o'-the-Wisp--Story of the
     Avalanche--Town and Country compared--The Power of the Lever--The
     Balance--The Wheel and Axle--Arithmetic--Buying a Horse--History of
     Agesilaus--History of Leonidas.


Some few days after this conversation, when the snow had nearly
disappeared, though the frost and cold continued, the two little boys
went out to take a walk. Insensibly they wandered so far that they
scarcely knew their way, and therefore resolved to return as speedily as
possible; but unfortunately, in passing through a wood, they entirely
missed the track, and lost themselves. To add to their distress, the
wind began to blow most bitterly from the north, and a violent shower of
snow coming on, obliged them to seek the thickest shelter they could
find. They happened fortunately to be near an aged oak, the inside of
which gradually decaying, was worn away by time, and afforded an ample
opening to shelter them from the storm. Into this the two little boys
crept safe, and endeavoured to keep each other warm, while a violent
shower of snow and sleet fell all around, and gradually covered the
earth. Tommy, who had been little used to hardships, bore it for some
time with fortitude, and without uttering a complaint. At length hunger
and fear took entire possession of his soul, and turning to Harry, with
watery eyes and a mournful voice, he asked him what they should do?
"Do?" said Harry, "we must wait here, I think, till the weather clears
up a little, and then we will endeavour to find the way home."

_Tommy._--But what if the weather should not clear up at all?

_Harry._--In that case we must either endeavour to find our way through
the snow, or stay here, where we are so conveniently sheltered.

_Tommy._--But oh! what a dreadful thing it is to be here all alone in
this dreary wood! And then I am so hungry and so cold; oh that we had
but a little fire to warm us!

_Harry._--I have heard that shipwrecked persons, when they have been
cast away upon a desert coast, have made a fire to warm themselves by
rubbing two pieces of wood together till they caught fire; or here is a
better thing; I have a large knife in my pocket, and if I could but find
a piece of flint, I could easily strike fire with the back of it.

Harry then searched about, and after some time found a couple of flints,
though not without much difficulty, as the ground was nearly hidden with
snow. He then took the flints, and striking one upon the other with all
his force, he shivered them into several pieces; out of those he chose
the thinnest and sharpest, and telling Tommy, with a smile, that he
believed that would do, he struck it several times against the back of
his knife, and thus produced several sparks of fire. "This," said Harry,
"will be sufficient to light a fire, if we can but find something of a
sufficiently combustible nature to kindle from these sparks." He then
collected the driest leaves he could find, with little decayed pieces of
wood, and piling them into a heap, endeavoured to kindle a blaze by the
sparks which he continually struck from his knife and the flint. But it
was in vain; the leaves were not of a sufficiently combustible nature,
and while he wearied himself in vain, they were not at all the more
advanced. Tommy, who beheld the ill success of his friend, began to be
more and more terrified, and in despair asked Harry again what they
should do. Harry answered, that as they had failed in their attempt to
warm themselves, the best thing they could do was to endeavour to find
their way home, more especially as the snow had now ceased, and the sky
was become much clearer. This Tommy consented to, and with infinite
difficulty they began their march; for, as the snow had completely
covered every tract, and the daylight began to fail, they wandered at
random through a vast and pathless wood. At every step which Tommy took
he sank almost to his knees in snow. The wind was bleak and cold, and it
was with much difficulty that Harry could prevail upon him to continue
his journey. At length, however, as they thus pursued their way with
infinite toil, they came to some lighted embers, which either some
labourers or some wandering passenger had lately quitted, and which were
yet unextinguished. "See," said Harry with joy, "see what a lucky
chance is this! here is a fire ready lighted for us, which needs only
the assistance of a little wood to make it burn." Harry again collected
all the dry pieces he could find, and piled them upon the embers, which
in a few minutes began to blaze, and diffused a cheerful warmth. Tommy
then began to warm and chafe his almost frozen limbs over the fire with
infinite delight. At length he could not help observing to Harry, that
he never could have believed that a few dried sticks could have been of
so much consequence to him. "Ah!" answered Harry, "Master Tommy, you
have been brought up in such a manner, that you never knew what it was
to want anything; but that is not the case with thousands and millions
of people. I have seen hundreds of poor children that have neither bread
to eat, fire to warm, nor clothes to cover them. Only think, then, what
a disagreeable situation they must be in; yet they are so accustomed to
hardship that they do not cry in a twelvemonth as much as you have done
within this quarter of an hour."

"Why," answered Tommy, a little disconcerted at the observation of his
crying, "it cannot be expected that gentlemen should be able to bear all
these inconveniences as well as the poor." "Why not," answered Harry,
"is not a gentleman as much a man as the poor can be? and if he is a
man, should he not accustom himself to support everything that his
fellow-creatures do?"

_Tommy._--That is very true; but he will have all the conveniences of
life provided for him; victuals to eat, a good warm bed, and a fire to
warm him.

_Harry._--But he is not sure of having all these things as long as he
lives. Besides, I have often observed the gentlemen and ladies in our
neighbourhood riding about in coaches, and covered from head to foot,
yet shaking with the least breath of air, as if they all had agues,
while the children of the poor run about barefooted upon the ice, and
divert themselves with making snow-balls.

_Tommy._--That is indeed true; for I have seen my mother's visitors
sitting over the largest fire that could be made, and complaining of
cold, while the labourers out of doors were stripped to their shirts to
work, and never minded it in the least.

_Harry._--Then I should think that exercise, by which a person can warm
himself when he pleases, is an infinitely better thing than all these
conveniences you speak of; because, after all, they will not hinder a
person from being cold, but exercise will warm him in an instant.

_Tommy._--But then it is not proper for gentlemen to do the same kind of
work with the common people.

_Harry._--But is it not proper for a gentleman to have his body stout
and hardy?

_Tommy._--To be sure it is.

_Harry._--Why, then, he must sometimes labour and use his limbs, or else
he will never be able to do it.

_Tommy._--What! cannot a person be strong without working?

_Harry._--You can judge for yourself. You very often have fine young
gentlemen at your father's house, and are any of them as strong as the
sons of the farmers in the neighbourhood, who are always used to handle
a hoe, a spade, a fork, and other tools?

_Tommy._--Indeed, I believe that is true, for I think I am become
stronger myself since I have learned to divert myself in Mr Barlow's
garden.

As they were conversing in this manner, a little boy came singing along,
with a bundle of sticks at his back; and as soon as Harry saw him, he
recollected him, and cried out, "As I am alive, here as I am is Jack
Smithers, the little ragged boy that you gave the clothes to in the
summer! He lives, I dare say, in the neighbourhood, and either he or his
father will now show us the way home."

[Illustration: "As I am alive, here is Jack Smithers, the little ragged
boy that you gave the clothes to in the summer!"

_P. 202._]

Harry then spoke to the boy, and asked him if he could show them the way
out of the wood. "Yes, surely I can," answered the boy; "but I never
should have thought of seeing Master Merton out so late in such a
tempestuous night as this; but, if you will come with me to my father's
cottage, you may warm yourself at our fire, and father will run to Mr
Barlow to let him know you are safe."

Tommy accepted the offer with joy, and the little boy led them out of
the wood, and in a few minutes they came to a small cottage which stood
by the side of the road, which, when they entered, they saw a
middle-aged woman busy in spinning; the eldest girl was cooking some
broth over the fire; the father was sitting in the chimney-corner, and
reading a book, while three or four ragged children were tumbling upon
the floor, and creeping between their father's legs.

"Daddy," said the little boy, as he came in, "here is Master Merton, who
was so good to us all in the summer; he has lost his way in the wood,
and is almost perished in the snow."

The man upon this arose, and with much civility desired the two little
boys to seat themselves by the fire, while the good woman ran to fetch
her largest faggot, which she threw upon the fire, and created a
cheerful blaze in an instant. "There, my dear little master," said she,
"you may at least refresh yourself by our fire, and I wish I had
anything to offer you that you could eat; but I am afraid you would
never be able to bear such coarse brown bread as we poor folks are
obliged to eat." "Indeed," said Tommy, "my good mother, I have fasted so
long, and I am so hungry, that I think I could eat anything." "Well,
then," answered the woman, "here is a little bit of gammon of bacon
which I will broil for you upon the embers, and if you can make a supper
you are heartily welcome."

While the good woman was thus preparing supper the man had closed his
book, and placed it with great respect upon a shelf, which gave Tommy
the curiosity to ask him what he was reading about. "Master," answered
the man, "I was reading the Book which teaches me my duty towards man,
and my obligations to God; I was reading the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and
teaching it to my children."

_Tommy._--Indeed, I have heard of that good Book; Mr Barlow has often
read part of it to me, and promised I should read it myself. That is the
Book they read at church; I have often heard Mr Barlow read it to the
people; and he always reads it so well and so affectingly that everybody
listens, and you may hear even a pin drop upon the pavement.

_The Man._--Yes, master, Mr Barlow is a worthy servant and follower of
Jesus Christ himself; he is the friend of all the poor in the
neighbourhood; he gives us food and medicines when we are ill, and he
employs us when we can find no work; but what we are even more obliged
to him for than the giving us food and raiment, and life itself, he
instructs us in our duty, makes us ashamed of our faults, and teaches us
how we may be happy, not only here, but in another world. I was once an
idle, abandoned man myself, given up to swearing and drinking,
neglecting my family, and taking no thought for my poor wife and
children; but since Mr Barlow has taught me better things, and made me
acquainted with this blessed book, my life and manners, I hope, are much
amended, and I do my duty better to my poor family.

"That indeed you do, Robin," answered the woman; "there is not now a
better and kinder husband in the world; you have not wasted an idle
penny or a moment's time these two years; and, without that unfortunate
fever, which prevented you from working last harvest, we should have the
greatest reason to be contented."

"Have we not the greatest reason now," answered the man, "to be not only
contented, but thankful for all the blessings we enjoy? It is true that
I, and several of the children, were ill this year for many weeks; but
did we not all escape, through the blessing of God, and the care of good
Mr Barlow and this worthy Master Sandford, who brought us victuals so
many days, with his own hands, when we otherwise should perhaps have
starved? Have I not had very good employment ever since; and do I not
now earn six shillings a-week, which is a very comfortable thing, when
many poor wretches as good as I are starving, because they cannot find
employment?"

"Six shillings a-week! six shillings a-week!" answered Tommy in
amazement; "and is that all you and your wife and children have to live
on for a whole week!"

_The Man._--Not all, master; my wife sometimes earns a shilling or
eighteenpence a-week by spinning, and our eldest daughter begins to do
something that way, but not much.

_Tommy._--That makes seven shillings and sixpence a-week. Why, I have
known my mother give more than that to go to a place where outlandish
people sing. I have seen her and other ladies give a man a guinea for
dressing their hair; and I know a little miss, whose father gives
half-a-guinea a time to a little Frenchman, who teaches her to jump and
caper about the room.

"Master," replied the man, smiling, "these are great gentlefolks that
you are talking about; they are very rich, and have a right to do what
they please with their own; it is the duty of us poor folks to labour
hard, take what we can get, and thank the great and wise God that our
condition is no worse."

_Tommy._--What! and is it possible that you can thank God for living in
such a house as this, and earning seven shillings and sixpence a-week?

_The Man._--To be sure I can, master. Is it not an act of His goodness
that we have clothes and a warm house to shelter us, and wholesome food
to eat? It was but yesterday that two poor men came by, who had been
cast away in a storm, and lost their ship and all they had. One of the
poor men had scarcely any clothes to cover him, and was shaking all over
with a violent ague; and the other had his toes almost mortified by
walking bare-footed in the snow. Am I not a great deal better off than
these poor men, and perhaps than a thousand others, who are at this time
tossed about upon the waves, or cast away, or wandering about the world,
without a shed to cover them from the weather; or imprisoned for debt?
Might I not have gone on in committing bad actions, like many other
unhappy men, till I had been guilty of some notorious crime, which might
have brought me to a shameful end? And ought not I to be grateful for
all these blessings which I possess without deserving them?

Tommy, who had hitherto enjoyed all the good things of this life,
without reflecting from whom he had received them, was very much struck
with the piety of this honest and contented man; but as he was going to
answer, the good woman, who had laid a clean, though coarse, cloth upon
the table, and taken up her savoury supper in an earthen plate, invited
them to sit down; an invitation which both the boys obeyed with the
greatest pleasure, as they had eaten nothing since the morning. In the
meantime the honest man of the house had taken his hat and walked to Mr
Barlow's, to inform him that his two pupils were safe in the
neighbourhood.

Mr Barlow had long suffered the greatest uneasiness at their absence,
and not contented with sending after them on every side, was at that
very time busy in the pursuit, so that the man met him about half-way
from his own house. As soon as Mr Barlow heard the good news, he
determined to return with the man, and reached his house just as Tommy
Merton had finished one of the heartiest meals he had ever made.

The little boys rose up to meet Mr Barlow, and thanked him for his
kindness, and the pains he had taken to look after them, expressing
their concern for the accident which had happened, and the uneasiness
which, without designing it, they had occasioned; but he, with the
greatest good-nature, advised them to be more cautious for the future,
and not to extend their walks so far; then, thanking the worthy people
of the house, he offered to conduct them, and they all three set out
together in a very cold, but fine and star-light evening.

As they went home Mr Barlow renewed his caution, and told them the
dangers they had incurred. "Many people," said he, "in your situation,
have been surprised by an unexpected storm, and, losing their way, have
perished with cold. Sometimes, both men and beasts, not being able to
discern their accustomed track, have fallen into deep pits filled up and
covered with the snow, where they have been found buried several feet
deep, and frozen to death." "And is it impossible," said Tommy, "in such
a case to escape?" "In general it is," said Mr Barlow; "but there have
been some extraordinary instances of persons who have lived several days
in that condition, and yet have been taken out alive; to-morrow you
shall read a remarkable story to that purpose."

As they were walking on, Tommy looked up at the sky, where all the stars
glimmered with unusual brightness, and said, "What an innumerable number
of stars is here! I think I never observed so many before in all my
life!" "Innumerable as they appear to you," said Mr Barlow, "there are
persons that have not only counted all you now see, but thousands more,
which are at present invisible to your eye." "How can that be?" inquired
Tommy, "for there is neither beginning nor end; they are scattered so
confusedly about the sky, that I should think it as impossible to number
them, as the flakes of snow that fell to-day while we were in the wood."

At this Mr Barlow smiled, and said, that he believed Harry could give
him a different account, although perhaps he could not number them all.
"Harry," said he, "cannot you show your companion some of the
constellations?" "Yes," answered Harry, "I believe I remember some that
you have been so good as to teach me." "But pray, sir," said Tommy,
"what is a constellation?"

"Those," answered Mr Barlow, "who first began to observe the heavens as
you do now, have observed certain stars, remarkable either for their
brightness or position. To these they have given a particular name that
they might the more easily know them again, and discourse of them to
others; and these particular clusters of stars, thus joined together and
named, they call _constellations_. But come, Harry, you are a little
farmer, and can certainly point out to us Charles' Wain."

Harry then looked up to the sky, and pointed out seven very bright
stars towards the north. "You are right," said Mr Barlow; "four of these
stars have put the common people in mind of the four wheels of a waggon,
and the three others of the horses, therefore they have called them by
this name. Now, Tommy, look well at these, and see if you can find any
seven stars in the whole sky that resemble them in their position."

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I do not think I can.

_Mr Barlow._--Do you not think, then, that you can find them again?

_Tommy._--I will try, sir. Now, I will take my eye off, and look another
way. I protest I cannot find them again. Oh! I believe, there they are.
Pray, sir (pointing with his finger), is not that Charles' Wain?

_Mr Barlow._--You are right; and, by remembering these stars, you may
very easily observe those which are next to them, and learn their names
too, till you are acquainted with the whole face of the heavens.

_Tommy._--That is indeed very clever and very surprising. I will show my
mother Charles' Wain the first time I go home; I daresay she has never
observed it.

_Mr Barlow._--But look on the two stars which compose the hinder wheel
of the waggon, and raise your eye up towards the top of the sky; do you
not see a very bright star, that seems to be almost, but not quite, in a
line with the two others?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; I see it plainly.

_Mr Barlow._--That is called the Pole-star; it never moves from its
place, and by looking full at it, you may always find the north.

_Tommy._--Then if I turn my face towards that star, I always look to the
north.

_Mr Barlow._--You are right.

_Tommy._--Then I shall turn my back to the south.

_Mr Barlow._--You are right again; and now cannot you find the east and
the west?

_Tommy._--Is it not the east where the sun rises?

_Mr Barlow._--Yes; but there is no sun to direct you now.

_Tommy._--Then, sir, I cannot find it out.

_Mr Barlow._--Do not you know, Harry?

_Harry._--I believe, sir, that if you turn your face to the north, the
east will be on the right hand, and the west on the left.

_Mr Barlow._--Perfectly right.

_Tommy._--That is very clever indeed; so then, by knowing the Pole-star,
I can always find north, east, west, and south. But you said that the
Pole-star never moves; do the other stars, then, move out of their
places?

_Mr Barlow._--That is a question you may learn to answer yourself, by
observing the present appearance of the heavens, and then examining
whether the stars change their places at any future time.

_Tommy._--But, sir, I have thought that it would be a good contrivance,
in order to remember their situation, if I were to draw them upon a bit
of paper.

_Mr Barlow._--But how would you do that?

_Tommy._--I would make a mark upon the paper for every star in Charles'
Wain; and I would place the marks just as I see the stars placed in the
sky; and I would entreat you to write the names for me; and this I
would do till I was acquainted with all the stars in the heavens.

_Mr Barlow._--That would be an excellent way, but you see a paper is
flat; is that the form of the sky?

_Tommy._--No; the sky seems to rise from the earth on every side, like
the dome of a great church.

_Mr Barlow._--Then if you were to have some round body, I should think
it would correspond to the different parts of the sky, and you might
place your stars with more exactness.

_Tommy._--That is true, indeed, sir; I wish I had just such a globe.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, just such a globe I will endeavour to procure you.

_Tommy._--Sir, I am much obliged to you, indeed. But of what use is it
to know the stars?

_Mr Barlow._--Were there no other use, I should think there would be a
very great pleasure in observing such a number of glorious glittering
bodies as are now above us. We sometimes run to see a procession of
coaches, or a few people in fine clothes strutting about. We admire a
large room that is painted, and ornamented, and gilded; but what is
there in all these things to be compared with the sight of these
luminous bodies that adorn every part of the sky?

_Tommy._--That's true, indeed. My Lord Wimple's great room that I have
heard all the people admire so much, is no more to be compared to it
than the shabbiest thing in the world.

_Mr Barlow._--That is indeed true; but there are some, and those very
important, uses to be derived from an acquaintance with the stars.
Harry, do you tell Master Merton the story of your being lost upon the
great moor.

_Harry._--You must know, Master Tommy, that I have an uncle who lives
about three miles off, across the great moor that we have sometimes
walked upon. Now, my father, as I am in general pretty well acquainted
with the roads, very often sends me with messages to my uncle. One
evening I went there so late, that it was scarcely possible to get home
again before it was quite dark. It was at that time in the month of
October. My uncle wished me very much to stay at his house all night,
but that was not proper for me to do, because my father had ordered me
to come back; so I set out as soon as I possibly could, but just as I
had reached the heath, the evening grew extremely dark.

_Tommy._--And were not you frightened to find yourself all alone upon
such a dismal place?

_Harry._--No; I knew the worst that could happen would be that I should
stay there all night, and as soon as ever the morning shone, I should
have found my way home. But, however, by the time that I had reached the
middle of the heath, there came on such a violent tempest of wind,
blowing full in my face, accompanied with such a shower, that I found it
impossible to continue my way. So I quitted the track, which is never
very easy to find, and ran aside to a holly-bush that was growing at
some distance, in order to seek a little shelter. Here, I lay, very
conveniently, till the storm was almost over; then I rose and attempted
to continue my way, but unfortunately I missed the track, and lost
myself.

_Tommy._--That was a very dismal thing indeed.

_Harry._--I wandered about a great while, but still to no purpose. I had
not a single mark to direct me, because the common is so extensive, and
so bare either of trees or houses, that one may walk for miles and see
nothing but heath and furze. Sometimes I tore my legs in scrambling
through great thickets of furze; now and then I plumped into a hole full
of water, and should have been drowned if I had not learned to swim; so
that at last I was going to give it up in despair, when, looking on one
side, I saw a light at a little distance, which seemed to be a candle
and lantern that somebody was carrying across the moor.

_Tommy._--Did not that give you very great comfort?

"You shall hear," answered Harry, smiling. "At first I was doubtful
whether I should go up to it; but I considered that it was not worth
anybody's pains to hurt a poor boy like me, and that no person who was
out on any ill design, would probably choose to carry a light. So I
determined boldly to go up to it, and inquire the way."

_Tommy._--And did the person with the candle and lantern direct you?

_Harry._--I began walking up towards it, when immediately the light,
which I had first observed on my right hand, moving slowly along by my
side, changed its direction, and went directly before me, with about the
same degree of swiftness. I thought this very odd; but I still continued
the chase, and just as I thought I had approached very near, I tumbled
into another pit full of water.

_Tommy._--That was unlucky indeed.

_Harry._--Well, I scrambled out, and very luckily on the same side with
the light, which I began to follow again, but with as little success as
ever. I had now wandered many miles about the common; I knew no more
where I was than if I had been set down upon an unknown country; I had
no hopes of finding my way home, unless I could reach this wandering
light; and, though I could not conceive that the person who carried it
could know of my being so near, he seemed to act as if he was determined
to avoid me. However, I was resolved to make one attempt, and therefore
I began to run as fast as I was able, hallooing out, at the same time,
to the person that I thought before me, to entreat him to stop.

_Tommy._--And did he?

_Harry._--Instead of that, the light, which had before been moving along
at a slow and easy pace, now began to dance as it were before me, ten
times faster than before, so that instead of overtaking it, I found
myself farther and farther behind. Still, however, I ran on, till I
unwarily sunk up to the middle in a large bog, out of which I at last
scrambled with a very great difficulty. Surprised at this, and not
conceiving that any human being could pass over such a bog as this, I
determined to pursue it no longer. But now I was wet and weary; the
clouds had indeed rolled away, and the moon and stars began to shine. I
looked around me, and could discern nothing but a wide, barren country,
without so much as a tree to shelter me, or any animal in sight. I
listened, in hopes of hearing a sheepbell, or the barking of a dog; but
nothing met my ear, except the shrill whistling of the wind, which blew
so cold that it chilled me to the very heart. In this situation I
stopped a while to consider what I should do; and raising my eyes by
accident to the sky, the first object I beheld was that very
constellation of Charles' Wain, and above it I discerned the Pole-star,
glimmering, as it were, from the very top of heaven. Instantly a thought
came into my mind; I considered, that when I had been walking along the
road which led towards my uncle's house I had often observed the
Pole-star full before me; therefore it occurred to me, that if I turned
my back exactly upon it, and went straight forward in a contrary
direction, it must lead me towards my father's house. As soon as I had
formed this resolution, I began to execute it. I was persuaded I should
now escape, and therefore, forgetting my fatigue, I ran along as briskly
as if I had but then set out. Nor was I disappointed; for though I could
see no tracks, yet, taking the greatest care always to go on in that
direction, the moon afforded me light enough to avoid the pits and bogs
which are found in various parts of that wild moor; and when I had
travelled, as I imagined, about three miles, I heard the barking of a
dog, which gave me double vigour; and going a little farther, I came to
some enclosures at the skirts of the common, which I knew, so that I
then with ease found my way home, after having almost despaired of doing
it.

_Tommy._--Indeed, then, the knowledge of the Pole-star was of very great
use to you. I am determined I will make myself acquainted with all the
stars in the heavens. But did you ever find out what that light was,
which danced before you in so extraordinary a manner?

_Harry._--When I came home, my father told me it was what the common
people called a _Jack-o'-the-lantern_; and Mr Barlow has since informed
me that these things are only vapours, which rise out of the earth in
moist and fenny places, although they have that bright appearance; and
therefore told me that many people, like me, who have taken them for a
lighted candle, have followed them, as I did, into bogs and ditches.

Just as Harry had finished his story, they arrived at Mr Barlow's; and
after sitting some time, and talking over the accidents of the day, the
little boys retired to bed. Mr Barlow was sitting alone and reading in
his parlour, when, to his great surprise, Tommy came running into the
room, half undressed, and bawling out, "Sir, sir, I have found it out!
they move! they move!" "What moves?" said Mr Barlow. "Why, Charles' Wain
moves," answered Tommy; "I had a mind to take one peep at the sky before
I went to bed, and I see that all the seven stars have moved from their
places a great way higher up the sky." "Well," said Mr Barlow, "you are
indeed right. You have done a vast deal to-day, and to-morrow we will
talk over these things again."

When the morrow came, Tommy put Mr Barlow in mind of the story he had
promised him about the people buried in the snow. Mr Barlow looked him
out the book, but first said, "It is necessary to give you some
explanation. The country where this accident happened is a country full
of rocks and mountains, so excessively high that the snow never melts
upon their tops." "Never?" said Tommy; "not even in the summer?" "Not
even in the summer. The valleys between these mountains are inhabited by
a brave and industrious people; the sides of them, too, are cultivated,
but the tops of the highest mountains are so extremely cold that the ice
and snow never melt, but go on continually increasing. During a great
part of the winter the weather is extremely cold, and the inhabitants
confine themselves within their houses, which they have the art to
render very comfortable. Almost all the roads are then impassable, and
snow and ice afford the only prospect. But when the year begins to grow
warmer, the snow is frequently thawed upon the sides of the mountains,
and undermined by the torrents of water, which pour down with
irresistible fury. Hence it frequently happens that such prodigious
masses of snow fall down as are sufficient to bury beasts and houses,
and even villages themselves, beneath them.

"It was in the neighbourhood of these prodigious mountains, which are
called the _Alps_, that, on the 19th of March 1755, a small cluster of
houses was entirely overwhelmed by two vast bodies of snow that tumbled
down upon them from a greater height. All the inhabitants were then
within doors, except one Joseph Rochia, and his son, a lad of fifteen,
who were on the roof of their house clearing away the snow, which had
fallen for three days incessantly. A priest going by to church advised
them to come down, having just before observed a body of snow tumbling
from the mountain towards them. The man descended with great
precipitation, and fled with his son he knew not whither; but scarcely
had he gone thirty or forty steps before his son, who followed him, fell
down; on which, looking back, he saw his own and his neighbours' houses,
in which were twenty-two persons in all, covered with a high mountain of
snow. He lifted up his son, and reflecting that his wife, his sister,
two children, and all his effects, were thus buried, he fainted away;
but, soon reviving, got safe to a friend's house at some distance.

"Five days after, Joseph, being perfectly recovered, got upon the snow,
with his son and two of his wife's brothers, to try if he could find the
exact place where his house stood; but, after many openings made in the
snow, they could not discover it. The month of April proving hot, and
the snow beginning to soften, he again used his utmost endeavours to
recover his effects, and to bury, as he thought, the remains of his
family. He made new openings, and threw in earth to melt the snow, which
on the 24th of April was greatly diminished. He broke through ice six
English feet thick, with iron bars, thrust down a long pole and touched
the ground; but evening coming on, he desisted.

"The next day the brother of his wife, who had heard of the misfortunes
of the family, came to the house where Joseph was, and after resting
himself a little, went with him to work upon the snow, where they made
another opening, which led them to the house they searched for; but,
finding no dead bodies in its ruins, they sought for the stable, which
was about two hundred and forty English feet distant, which, having
found, they heard the cry of 'Help, my dear brother!' Being greatly
surprised, as well as encouraged by these words, they laboured with all
diligence till they had made a large opening, through which the brother
immediately went down, where the sister, with an agonising and feeble
voice, told him 'I have always trusted in God and you, that you would
not forsake me.' The other brother and the husband then went down, and
found, still alive, the wife, about forty-five, the sister, about
thirty-five, and the daughter, about thirteen years old. These they
raised on their shoulders to men above, who pulled them up as if from
the grave, and carried them to a neighbouring house; they were unable to
walk, and so wasted that they appeared like mere skeletons. They were
immediately put to bed, and gruel of rye-flour and a little butter was
given to recover them.

"Some days after, the magistrate of the place came to visit them, and
found the wife still unable to rise from bed, or use her feet from the
intense cold she had endured, and the uneasy posture she had been in.
The sister, whose legs had been bathed with hot wine, could walk with
some difficulty, and the daughter needed no further remedies.

"On the magistrate's interrogating the women, they told him that, on the
morning of the 19th of March, they were in the stable with a boy of six
years old, and a girl of about thirteen. In the same stable were six
goats, one of which having brought forth two dead kids the night before,
they went to carry her a small vessel of rye-flour gruel; there were
also an ass, and five or six fowls. They were sheltering themselves in a
warm corner of the stable till the church-bell should ring, intending to
attend the service. The wife related that, wanting to go out of the
stable to kindle a fire in the house of her husband, who was clearing
away the snow from the top of it, she perceived a mass of snow breaking
down towards the east, upon which she went back into the stable, shut
the door, and told her sister of it. In less than three minutes they
heard the roof break over their heads, and also a part of the ceiling.
The sister advised to get into the rack and manger, which they did. The
ass was tied to the manger, but got loose by kicking and struggling, and
threw down the little vessel, which they found, and afterwards used to
hold the melted snow, which served them for drink.

"Very fortunately the manger was under the main prop of the stable, and
so resisted the weight of the snow. Their first care was to know what
they had to eat. The sister said she had fifteen chestnuts in her
pockets; the children said they had breakfasted, and should want no more
that day. They remembered there were thirty-six or forty cakes in a
place near the stable, and endeavoured to get at them, but were not able
for the snow. They called often for help, but were heard by none. The
sister gave the chestnuts to the wife, and ate two herself, and they
drank some snow-water. The ass was restless, and the goats kept bleating
for some days, after which they heard no more of them. Two of the goats,
however, being left alive and near the manger, they felt them, and found
that one of them was big, and would kid, as they recollected, about the
middle of April; the other gave milk, wherewith they preserved their
lives. During all this time they saw not one ray of light, yet for about
twenty days they had some notice of night and day from the crowing of
the fowls, till they died.

"The second day, being very hungry, they ate all the chestnuts, and
drank what milk the goat yielded, being very near two quarts a-day at
first, but it soon decreased. The third day they attempted again, but in
vain, to get at the cakes; so resolved to take all possible care to feed
the goats; for just above the manger was a hay-loft, where, through a
hole, the sister pulled down hay into the rack, and gave it to the goats
as long as she could reach it, and then, when it was beyond her reach,
the goats climbed upon her shoulders and reached it themselves.

"On the sixth day the boy sickened, and six days after desired his
mother, who all this time had held him in her lap, to lay him at his
length in the manger. She did so, and taking him by the hand felt it was
very cold; she then put her hand to his mouth, and finding that cold
likewise, she gave him a little milk; the boy then cried, 'Oh, my father
is in the snow! Oh father! father!' and then expired.

"In the meanwhile the goat's milk diminished daily, and, the fowls soon
after dying, they could no longer distinguish night from day; but
according to their reckoning, the time was near when the other goat
would kid; this she accordingly did soon, and the young one dying, they
had all the milk for their own subsistence; so they found that the
middle of April was come. Whenever they called this goat, it would come
and lick their faces and hands, and gave them every day two quarts of
milk, on which account they still bear the poor creature a great
affection.

"This was the account which these poor people gave to the magistrate of
their preservation."

"Dear heart!" said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished this account,
"what a number of accidents people are subject to in this world." "It is
very true," answered Mr Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
struggle against them."

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was less
than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself,
though I had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At
present I seem as if I was quite another thing; I do not mind falling
down and hurting myself, or cold, or weariness, or scarcely anything
which happens.

_Mr Barlow._--And which do you prefer; to be as you are now, or as you
were before?

_Tommy._--As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had
something or another the matter with me. Sometimes I had a little cold,
and then I was obliged to stay in for several days; sometimes a little
headache, and then I was forced to take physic; sometimes the weather
was too hot, then I must stay within, and the same if it was too cold; I
used to be tired to death, if I did but walk a mile, and I was always
eating cake and sweetmeats till I made myself sick. At present I think I
am ten times stronger and healthier than ever I was in my life. But what
a terrible country that must be, where people are subject to be buried
in that manner in the snow! I wonder anybody will live there.

_Mr Barlow._--The people who inhabit that country are of a different
opinion, and prefer it to all the countries in the world. They are great
travellers, and many of them follow different professions in all the
different countries of Europe; but it is the only wish of almost all to
return, before their death, to the mountains where they were born and
have passed their youth.

_Tommy._--I do not easily understand that. I have seen a great many
ladies and little misses at our house, and whenever they were talking of
the places where they should like to live, I have always heard them say
that they hated the country of all things, though they were born and
bred there. I have heard one say the country is odious, filthy,
shocking, and abominable; another, that it is impossible to live
anywhere but in London; and I remember once seeing a strange lady, who
wrote down her observations in a book, and she said the country was all
full of barbarians, and that no person of elegance (yes, that was her
word) could bear it for a week.

_Mr Barlow._--And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all
their lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to
leave the country, and go to live in some town?

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
love in the world. I must leave my father and mother, who have been so
kind to me; and you, too, sir, who have taken such pains to improve me,
and make me good. I am convinced that I never shall find such friends
again as long as I live; and what should anybody wish to live for who
has no friends? Besides, there is not a field upon my father's farm that
I do not prefer to every town I ever saw in my life.

_Tommy._--And have you ever been in any large town?

_Harry._--Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it; the houses
seemed to me to stand so thick and close, that I think our hog-sties
would be almost as agreeable places to live in; and then there are
little narrow alleys where the poor live; and the houses are so high,
that neither light nor air can ever get to them, and the most of them
appeared so dirty and unhealthy, that it made my heart ache to look at
them. And then I walked along the streets, and peeped into the
shops--and what do you think I saw?

_Tommy._--What?

_Harry._--Why, I saw great hulking fellows, as big as our ploughmen and
carters, with their heads all frizzled and curled like one of our
sheep's tails, that did nothing but finger ribbons and caps for the
women! This diverted me so, that I could not help laughing ready to
split my sides. And then the gentlewoman, at whose house I was, took me
to a place where there was a large room full of candles, and a greater
number of fine gentlemen and ladies, all dressed out and showy, who were
dancing about as if they were mad. But at the door of this house there
were twenty or thirty ragged, half-starved women and children, who stood
shivering in the rain, and begged for a bit of bread; but nobody gave it
to them, or took any notice of them. So then I could not help thinking
that it would be a great deal better if all the fine people would give
some of their money to the poor, that they might have some clothes and
victuals in their turn.

_Tommy._--That is indeed true. Had I been there I should have relieved
the poor people; for you know I am very good-natured and generous; but
it is necessary for gentlemen to be fine and to dress well.

_Harry._--It may be so; but I never saw any great good come of it, for
my part. As I was walking along the streets one day, and staring about,
I met two very fine and dressy young gentlemen, who looked something as
you did, Master Tommy, when you first came here; so I turned off from
the foot-way to let them pass, for my father always taught me to show
civility to people in a higher station; but that was not enough, it
seems, for just as they passed by me they gave me such a violent push,
that down I came into the kennel, and dirtied myself all over from head
to foot.

_Tommy._--And did they not beg your pardon for the accident?

_Harry._--Accident! it was no accident at all; for they burst out into a
fit of laughter, and called me a little clodpole. Upon which I told
them, if I was a clodpole they had no business to insult me; and then
they came back, and one of them gave me a kick, and the other a slap on
the face; but I told them that was too much for me to bear, so I struck
them again, and we all three began fighting.

_Tommy._--What! both at once? That was a cowardly trick.

_Harry._--I did not much mind that; but there came up a fine smart
fellow, in white stockings and powdered hair, who it seems, was their
servant, and he was going to fall upon me too; but a man took my part,
and said, I should have fair play, so I fought them both till they did
not choose to have any more; for, though they were so quarrelsome, they
could not fight worth a farthing; so I let them go, and advised them not
to meddle any more with poor boys who did nothing to offend them.

_Tommy._--And did you hear no more of these young gentlemen?

_Harry._--No; for I went home the next day, and never was I better
pleased in my life. When I came to the top of the great hill, from which
you have a prospect of our house, I really thought I should have cried
with joy. The fields looked all so pleasant, and the cattle that were
feeding in them so happy; then every step I took I met with somebody or
other I knew, or some little boy that I used to play with. "Here is
little Harry come back," said one. "How do you do; how do you do?" cried
a second. Then a third shook hands with me; and the very cattle, when I
went to see them, seemed all glad that I was come home again.

_Mr Barlow._--You see by this that it is very possible for people to
like the country, and be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies
you talk of, the truth is, that they neither love, nor would be long
contented in any place; their whole happiness consists in idleness and
finery; they have neither learned to employ themselves in anything
useful, nor to improve their minds. As to every kind of natural
exercise, they are brought up with too much delicacy to be able to bear
it, and from the improper indulgences they meet with, they learn to
tremble at every trifling change of the seasons. With such dispositions,
it is no wonder they dislike the _country_, where they find neither
employment nor amusement. They wish to go to _London_, because there
they meet with infinite numbers as idle and frivolous as themselves; and
these people mutually assist each other to talk about trifles, and waste
their time.

_Tommy._--That is true, sir, really; for, when we have a great deal of
company, I have often observed that they never talked about anything but
eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
playhouse, or a great room called _Ranelagh_, where everybody goes to
meet his friends.

_Mr Barlow._--I believe Harry will never go there to meet his friends.

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I do not know what Ranelagh is; but all the
friends I have are at home; and when I sit by the fireside on a winter's
night, and read to my father and mother, and sister, as I sometimes do,
or when I talk with you and Master Tommy upon improving subjects, I
never desire any other friends or conversation. But, pray sir, what is
Ranelagh?

_Mr Barlow._--Ranelagh is a very large round room, to which, at
particular times of the year, great numbers of persons go in their
carriages to walk about for several hours.

_Harry._--And does nobody go there that has not several friends? Because
Master Tommy said that people went to Ranelagh to meet their friends.

Mr Barlow smiled at this question, and answered, "The room is generally
so crowded, that people have little opportunity for any kind of
conversation. They walk round the room in a circle, one after the other,
just like horses in a mill. When persons meet that know each other, they
perhaps smile and bow, but are shoved forward, without having any
opportunity to stop. As to _friends_, few people go to look for them
there; and if they were to meet them, few would take the trouble of
speaking to them, unless they were dressed in a fashionable manner, and
seemed to be of _consequence_."

_Harry._--That is very extraordinary, indeed. Why, sir, what can a man's
dress have to do with friendship? Should I love you a bit better if you
were to wear the finest clothes in the world; or should I like my father
the better if he were to put on a laced coat like Squire Chase? On the
contrary, whenever I see people dressed very fine, I cannot help
thinking of the story you once read me of Agesilaus, king of Sparta.

_Tommy._--What is that story? Do let me hear it.

_Mr Barlow._--To-morrow you shall hear it; at present we have read and
conversed enough; it is better that you should go out and amuse
yourselves.

The little boys then went out, and returned to a diversion they had been
amusing themselves with for several days, the making a prodigious
snowball. They had begun by making a small globe of snow with their
hands, which they turned over and over, till, by continually collecting
fresh matter, it grew so large that they were unable to roll it any
farther. Here Tommy observed that their labours must end, "for it was
impossible to turn it any longer." "No," said Harry, "I know a remedy
for that." So he ran and fetched a couple of thick sticks about five
feet long, and giving one of them to Tommy, he took the other himself.
He then desired Tommy to put the end of his stick under the mass, while
he did the same on his side, and then, lifting at the other end, they
rolled the heap forward with the greatest ease.

Tommy was extremely surprised at this, and said, "How can this be? We
are not a bit stronger than we were before; and yet now we are able to
roll this snowball along with ease, which we could not even stir
before." "That is very true," answered Harry, "but it is owing to these
sticks. This is the way that the labourers move the largest trees,
which, without this contrivance, they would not be able to stir." "I am
very much surprised at this," said Tommy; "I never should have imagined
that the sticks would have given us more strength than we had before."

Just as he had said this, through a violent effort, both their sticks
broke short in the middle. "This is no great loss," observed Tommy, "for
the ends will do just as well as the whole sticks."

They then tried to shove the ball again with the truncheons which
remained in their hands; but, to the new surprise of Tommy, they found
they were unable to stir it. "That is very curious indeed," said Tommy;
"I find that only long sticks are of any use." "That," said Harry, "I
could have told you before, but I had a mind you should find it out
yourself. The longer the stick is, provided it is sufficiently strong,
and you can manage it, the more easily will you succeed." "This is
really very curious," replied Tommy; "but I see some of Mr Barlow's
labourers at work a little way off, let us go to them, and desire them
to cut us two longer sticks, that we may try their effect."

They then went up to the men who were at work, but here a new subject of
admiration presented itself to Tommy's mind. There was a root of a
prodigious oak tree, so large and heavy, that half-a-dozen horses would
scarcely have been able to draw it along; besides, it was so tough and
knotty, that the sharpest axe could hardly make any impression upon it.
This a couple of old men were attempting to cleave in pieces, in order
to make billets for Mr Barlow's fire.

Tommy, who thought their strength totally disproportionate to such an
undertaking, could not help pitying them; and observing, that certainly
Mr Barlow "did not know what they were about, or he would have prevented
such poor weak old men from fatiguing themselves about what they never
could perform." "Do you think so?" replied Harry; "what would you then
say, if you were to see me, little as I am, perform this wonderful task,
with the assistance of one of these good people?" So he took up a wooden
mallet--an instrument which, although much larger, resembles a
hammer--and began beating the root, which he did for some time, without
making the least impression. Tommy, who imagined that, for this time,
his friend Harry was caught, began to smile, and told him, "that he
would break a hundred mallets to pieces before he made the least
impression upon the wood."

"Say you so?" answered Harry, smiling; "then I believe I must try
another method;" so he stooped down, and picked up a small piece of
rough iron, about six inches long, which Tommy had not before observed,
as it lay upon the ground. This iron was broad at the top, but gradually
sloped all the way down, till it came to a perfect edge at bottom. Harry
then took it up, and with a few blows drove it a little way into the
body of the root. The old man and he then struck alternately with their
mallets upon the head of the iron, till the root began to gape and crack
on every side, and the iron was totally buried in the wood.

"There," said Harry, "this first wedge has done its business very well;
two or three more will finish it." He then took up another larger wedge,
and, inserting the bottom of it between the wood and the top of the
former one, which was now completely buried in the root, began to beat
upon it as he had done before. The root now cracked and split on every
side of the wedges, till a prodigious cleft appeared quite down to the
bottom. Thus did Harry proceed, still continuing his blows, and
inserting new and larger wedges as fast as he had driven the former
down, till he had completely effected what he had undertaken, and
entirely separated the monstrous mass of wood into two unequal parts.

Harry then said, "here is a very large log, but I think you and I can
carry it in to mend the fire; and I will show you something else that
will surprise you." So he took a pole of about ten feet long, and hung
the log upon it by a piece of cord which he found there; then he asked
Tommy which end of the pole he chose to carry. Tommy, who thought it
would be most convenient to have the weight near him, chose that end of
the pole near which the weight was suspended, and put it upon his
shoulder, while Harry took the other end. But when Tommy attempted to
move, he found that he could hardly bear the pressure; however, as he
saw Harry walk briskly away under his share of the load, he determined
not to complain.

As they were walking in this manner, Mr Barlow met them, and seeing poor
Tommy labouring under his burthen, asked him who had loaded him in that
manner. Tommy said it was Harry. Upon this, Mr Barlow smiled, and said,
"Well, Tommy, this is the first time I ever saw your friend Harry
attempt to impose upon you; but he is making you carry about three times
the weight which he supports himself." Harry replied, "that Tommy had
chosen that himself; and that he should directly have informed him of
his mistake, but that he had been so surprised at seeing the common
effects of a lever, that he wished to teach him some other facts about
it;" then shifting the ends of the pole, so as to support that part
which Tommy had done before, he asked him, "if he found his shoulder
anything easier than before." "Indeed, I do," replied Tommy, "but I
cannot conceive how; for we carry the same weight between us which we
did before, and just in the same manner." "Not quite in the same
manner," answered Mr Barlow; "for, if you observe, the log is a great
deal farther from your shoulder than from Harry's, by which means he
now supports just as much as you did before, and you, on the contrary,
as little as he did when I met you." "This is very extraordinary
indeed," said Tommy; "I find there are a great many things which I did
not know, nor even my mamma, nor any of the fine ladies that come to our
house." "Well," replied Mr Barlow, "if you have acquired so much useful
knowledge already, what may you expect to do in a few years more?"

Mr Barlow then led Tommy into the house, and showed him a stick of about
four feet long, with a scale hung at each end. "Now," said he, "if you
place this stick over the back of a chair, so that it may rest exactly
upon the middle, you see the two scales will just balance each other.
So, if I put into each of them an equal weight, they will still remain
suspended. In this method we weigh every thing which is bought, only,
for the greater convenience, the beam of the scale, which is the same
thing as this stick, is generally hung up to something else by its
middle. But let us now move the stick, and see what will be the
consequence." Mr Barlow then pushed the stick along in such a manner,
that when it rested upon the back of the chair, there were three feet of
it on one side, and only one on the other. That side which was longest
instantly came to the ground as heaviest. "You see," said Mr Barlow, "if
we would now balance them, we must put a greater weight on the shortest
side; so he kept adding weights, till Tommy found that one pound on the
longest side would exactly balance three on the shortest; for, as much
as the longer side exceeded the shorter in length, so much did the
weight which was hung at that end require to exceed that on the longest
side."

"This," said Mr Barlow, "is what they call a _lever_, and all the sticks
that you have been using to-day are only levers of a different
construction. By these short trials, you may conceive the prodigious
advantage which they are of to men; for thus can one man move a weight
which half-a-dozen could not be able to do with their hands alone; thus
may a little boy, like you, do more than the strongest man could effect
who did not know these secrets. As to that instrument by which you were
so surprised that Harry could cleave such a vast body of wood, it is
called a wedge, and is almost equally useful with the lever. The whole
force of it consists in its being gradually narrower and narrower, till
at last it ends in a thin edge, capable of penetrating the smallest
chink. By this we are enabled to overthrow the largest oaks, to cleave
their roots, almost as hard as iron itself, and even to split the solid
rocks." "All this," said Tommy, "is wonderful indeed; and I need not ask
the use of them, because I see it plainly in the experiments I have made
to-day."

"One thing more," added Mr Barlow, "as we are upon this subject, I will
show you." So he led them into the yard, to the bottom of his granary,
where stood a heavy sack of corn. "Now," said Mr Barlow, "if you are so
stout a fellow as you imagine, take up this sack of corn, and carry it
up the ladder into the granary." "That," replied Tommy, laughing, "is
impossible; and I doubt, sir, whether you could do it yourself."
"Well," said Mr Barlow, "we will, at least try what is to be done." He
then led them up into the granary, and, showing them a middle-sized
wheel, with a handle fixed upon it, desired the little boys to turn it
round. They began to turn it with some little difficulty, and Tommy
could hardly believe his eyes, when, presently after, he saw the sack of
corn, which he had despaired of moving, mounted up into the granary, and
safely landed upon the floor. "You see," said Mr Barlow, "here is
another ingenious contrivance, by which the weakest person may perform
the work of the strongest. This is called the _wheel_ and _axle_. You
see this wheel, which is not very large, turns round an axle which goes
into it, and is much smaller; and at every turn, the rope to which the
weight is fixed that you want to move, is twisted round the axle. Now,
just as much as the breadth of the whole wheel is greater than that of
the axle which it turns round, so much greater is the weight that the
person who turns it can move, than he could do without it." "Well," said
Tommy, "I see it is a fine thing indeed to acquire knowledge, for by
these means one not only increases one's understanding, but one's bodily
strength. But are there no more, sir, of these ingenious contrivances,
for I should like to understand them all?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow,
"there are more, and all of them you shall be perfectly acquainted with
in time; but for this purpose you should be able to write, and
comprehend something of arithmetic."

_Tommy._--What is arithmetic, sir?

_Mr Barlow._--That is not so easy to make you understand at once; I
will, however, try to explain it. Do you see the grains of wheat which
he scattered in the window?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--Can you count how many there are?

_Tommy._--There are just five-and-twenty of them.

_Mr Barlow._--Very well. Here is another parcel; how many grains are
there?

_Tommy._--Just fourteen.

_Mr Barlow._--If there are fourteen grains in one heap, and twenty-five
in the other, how many grains are there in all? or, how many do fourteen
and twenty-five make?

Tommy was unable to answer, and Mr Barlow proposed the same question to
Harry, who answered, that, together, they made thirty-nine. "Again,"
said Mr Barlow, "I will put the two heaps together, and then how many
will there be?"

_Tommy._--Thirty-nine.

_Mr Barlow._--Now, look, I have just taken away nineteen from the
number; how many, do you think, remain?

_Tommy._--I will count them.

_Mr Barlow._--And cannot you tell without counting? How many are there,
Harry?

_Harry._--Twenty, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--All this is properly the art of arithmetic, which is the
same as that of counting, only it is done in a much shorter and easier
way, without the trouble of having the things always before you. Thus,
for instance, if you wanted to know how many barley-corns were in this
sack, you would perhaps be a week in counting the whole number.

_Tommy._--Indeed, I believe I should.

_Mr Barlow._--If you understood arithmetic you might do it in five
minutes.

_Tommy._--That is extraordinary, indeed; I can hardly conceive it
possible.

_Mr Barlow._--A bushel of corn weighs about fifty pounds; this sack
contains four bushels; so that there are just two hundred pounds weight
in all. Now, every pound contains sixteen ounces, and sixteen times two
hundred makes thirty-two hundred ounces. So that you have nothing to do
but to count the number of grains in a single ounce, and there will be
thirty-two hundred times that number in the sack.

_Tommy._--I declare this is curious indeed, and I should like to learn
arithmetic. Will Harry and you teach me, sir?

_Mr Barlow._--You know we are always ready to improve you. But before we
leave this subject, I must tell you a little story. "There was a
gentleman who was extremely fond of beautiful horses, and did not grudge
to give the highest prices for them. One day a horse-courser came to
him, and showed him one so handsome, that he thought it superior to all
he had ever seen before. He mounted him, and found his paces equally
excellent; for, though he was full of spirit, he was gentle and
tractable as could be wished. So many perfections delighted the
gentleman, and he eagerly demanded the price. The horse-courser
answered, that he would bate nothing of two hundred guineas; the
gentleman, although he admired the horse, would not consent to give it,
and they were just on the point of parting. As the man was turning his
back, the gentleman called out to him, and said, 'Is there no possible
way of our agreeing, for I would give you anything in reason for such a
beautiful creature?' 'Why,' replied the dealer, who was a shrewd fellow,
and perfectly understood calculation, 'If you do not like to give me two
hundred guineas, will you give me a farthing for the first nail the
horse has in his shoe, two farthings for the second, four for the third,
and so go doubling throughout the whole twenty-four, for there are no
more than twenty-four nails in all his shoes?' The gentleman gladly
accepted the condition, and ordered the horse to be led away to his
stables."

_Tommy._--This fellow must have been a very great blockhead, to ask two
hundred guineas, and then to take a few farthings for his horse.

_Mr Barlow._--The gentleman was of the same opinion; "however, the
horse-courser added:--'I do not mean, sir, to tie you down to this last
proposal, which, upon consideration, you may like as little as the
first; all that I require is, that if you are dissatisfied with your
bargain, you will promise to pay me down the two hundred guineas which I
first asked.' This the gentleman willingly agreed to, and then called
the steward to calculate the sum, for he was too much of a gentleman to
be able to do it himself. The steward sat down with his pen and ink,
and, after some time, gravely wished his master joy, and asked him, 'in
what part of England the estate was situated that he was going to
purchase.' 'Are you mad?' replied the gentleman; 'it is not an estate,
but a horse, that I have just bargained for; and here is the owner of
him, to whom I am going to pay the money.' 'If there is any madness,
sir,' replied the steward, 'it certainly is not on my side; the sum you
have ordered me to calculate comes just to seventeen thousand four
hundred and seventy-six pounds, besides some shillings and pence; and
surely no man in his senses would give this price for a horse.' The
gentleman was more surprised than he had ever been before, to hear the
assertion of his steward; but when, upon examination, he found it no
more than the truth, he was very glad to compound for his foolish
agreement, by giving the horse-courser the two hundred guineas, and
dismissing him."

_Tommy._--This is quite incredible, that a farthing just doubled a few
times, should amount to such a prodigious sum; however, I am determined
to learn arithmetic, that I may not be imposed upon in this manner, for
I think a gentleman must look very silly in such a situation.

Thus had Tommy a new employment and diversion for the winter nights--the
learning arithmetic. Almost every night did Mr Barlow, and Harry, and
he, amuse themselves with little questions that related to numbers; by
which means Tommy became, in a short time, so expert, that he could add,
subtract, multiply, or divide almost any given sum, with little trouble
and great exactness. But he did not for this forget the employment of
observing the heavens, for every night when the stars appeared bright,
and the sky was unclouded, Harry and he observed the various figures and
positions of the constellations. Mr Barlow gave him a little paper
globe, as he had promised, and Tommy immediately marked out upon the
top his first and favourite constellation of Charles' Wain. A little
while after that, he observed on the other side of the Pole-star another
beautiful assemblage of stars, which was always opposite to Charles'
Wain; this, Mr Barlow told him, was called _Cassiopeia's_ Chair, and
this, in a short time, was added to the collection.

One night as Tommy was looking up to the sky in the southern part of the
heavens, he observed so remarkable a constellation that he could not
help particularly remarking it; four large and shining stars composed
the ends of the figure, which was almost square, and full in the middle
appeared three more placed in a slanting line and very near each other.
This Tommy pointed out to Mr Barlow, and begged to know the name. Mr
Barlow answered that the constellation was named _Orion_, and that the
three bright stars in the middle were called his belt. Tommy was so
delighted with the grandeur and beauty of this glorious constellation,
that he could not help observing it, by intervals, all the evening; and
he was surprised to see that it seemed to pass on in a right line drawn
from east to west, and that all the stars he had become acquainted with
moved every night in the same direction.

But he did not forget to remind Harry one morning of the history he had
promised to tell him of Agesilaus. Harry told it in the following
manner:--


"HISTORY OF AGESILAUS."

"The Spartans (as I have before told you, Master Tommy) were a brave and
hardy people, who despised everything that tended to make them delicate
and luxurious. All their time was spent in such exercises as made them
strong and active, able to bear fatigue, and to despise wounds and
danger, for they were situated in the midst of several other nations
that frequently had quarrels with each other, and with them; and
therefore it was necessary that they should learn to defend themselves.
Therefore all the children were brought up alike, and the sons of their
kings themselves were as little indulged as anybody else."

_Tommy._--Stop, stop!--I don't exactly understand that. I thought a king
was a person that dressed finer and had less to do than anybody else in
the world. I have often heard my mamma and the ladies say that I looked
like a prince when I had fine clothes on; and therefore I thought that
kings and princes never did anything but walk about with crowns upon
their heads, and eat sweetmeats all day long.

_Harry._--I do not know how that may be, but in Sparta the great
business of the kings (for they had two) was to command them when they
went out to war, or when they were attacked at home--and that, you know,
they could not do without being brave and hardy themselves. "Now it
happened that the Spartans had some dear friends and allies that lived
at a distance from them across the sea, who were attacked by a great and
numerous nation called the Persians. So when the Spartans knew the
danger of their friends, they sent over to their assistance Agesilaus,
one of their kings, together with a few thousands of his countrymen; and
these they judged would be a match for all the forces that could be
brought against them by the Persians, though ever so numerous. When the
general of the Persians saw the small number of his enemies, he imagined
it would be an easy matter to take them prisoners or to destroy them.
Besides, as he was immensely rich, and possessed a number of palaces,
furnished with everything that was fine and costly, and had a great
quantity of gold and silver, and jewels, and slaves, he could not
conceive it possible that anybody could resist him. He therefore raised
a large army, several times greater than that of the Spartans, and
attacked Agesilaus, who was not in the least afraid of him; for the
Spartans, joining their shields together, and marching slowly along in
even ranks, fell with so much fury upon the Persians, that in an instant
they put them to flight."

Here Tommy interrupted the story, to inquire what a shield was.
"Formerly," answered Mr Barlow, "before men were acquainted with the
pernicious effects of gunpowder, they were accustomed to combat close
together with swords or long spears, and for this reason they covered
themselves in a variety of ways, to defend their bodies from the weapons
of their enemies. The shield was worn upon their left arm, and composed
of boards fixed together, and strengthened with the hides of animals,
and plates of iron, sufficiently long and broad to cover almost the
whole body of a man. When they went out to battle, they placed
themselves in even rows or ranks, with their shields extended before
them, to secure them from the arrows and weapons of their enemies. Upon
their heads they wore a helmet, which was a cap of iron or steel,
ornamented with the waving feathers of birds or the tails of horses. In
this manner, with an even pace, marching all at once, and extending
their spears before them, they went forward to meet their enemies." "I
declare," said Tommy, "that an army in full march, in such array, must
have been prodigiously fine; and when I have accidentally met with
soldiers myself, I thought they made such a figure, walking erect with
their arms all glittering in the sun, that I have sometimes thought I
would be a soldier myself whenever I grew big enough." "This
soldier-spirit of Tommy's brings to my recollection," said Mr Barlow, "a
circumstance that once occurred in the French army, which I cannot help
relating. After an execution had taken place in Paris, of a nobleman who
had been convicted of treason (which was no uncommon thing at that
time), the commanding officer of the regiment, who had been in
attendance during the tragic scene, ordered his men to their usual place
of exercise. While engaged in reviewing the troops, his attention was
drawn to a young man, who had been for some time concealed behind a
tree; who, coming forward and falling upon his knees, entreated the
general, in an imploring manner, to permit him to enter into his
regiment, declaring that he had, from a child, felt the most ardent
desire to be a soldier. The general gazed intently upon him, and
instantly recognised in the young man the child of his own beloved
brother, who had been lost for many years, and was supposed to be dead.
But I interrupt--let Harry now go on with his story."

"When Pharnabazus (for that was the name of the Persian general)
observed that his troops were never able to stand against the Spartans,
he sent to Agesilaus, and requested that they might have a meeting, in
order to treat about terms of peace. This the Spartan consented to, and
appointed the time and place where he would wait for Pharnabazus. When
the day came, Agesilaus arrived first at the place of meeting with the
Spartans; but not seeing Pharnabazus, he sat down upon the grass with
his soldiers, and, as it was the hour of the army's making their repast,
they pulled out their provisions, which consisted of some coarse bread
and onions, and began eating very heartily. In the middle of them sat
King Agesilaus himself, in nowise distinguished from the rest, neither
by his clothing nor his fare; nor was there in the whole army an
individual who more exposed himself to every species of hardship, or
discovered less nicety than the king himself, by which means he was
beloved and reverenced by all the soldiers, who were ashamed of
appearing less brave or patient than their general.

"It was not long that the Spartans had thus reposed before the first
servants of Pharnabazus arrived, who brought with them rich and costly
carpets, which they spread upon the ground for their master to recline
upon. Presently arrived another troop, who began to erect a spacious
tent, with silken hangings, to screen him and his train from the heat of
the sun. After this came a company of cooks and confectioners with a
great number of loaded horses, who carried upon their backs all the
materials of an elegant entertainment. Last of all appeared Pharnabazus
himself, glittering with gold and jewels, and adorned with a long purple
robe, after the fashion of the East; he wore bracelets upon his arms,
and was mounted upon a beautiful horse, that was as gaudily attired as
himself.

"As he approached nearer, and beheld the simple manners of the Spartan
king and his soldiers, he could not help scoffing at their poverty, and
making comparisons between their mean appearance and his own
magnificence. All that were with him seemed to be infinitely diverted
with the wit and acute remarks of their general, except a single person,
who had served in the Grecian armies, and therefore was better
acquainted with the manners and discipline of these people. This man was
highly valued by Pharnabazus for his understanding and honesty, and,
therefore, when he observed that he said nothing, he insisted upon his
declaring his sentiments, as the rest had done. 'Since, then,' replied
he, 'you command me to speak my opinion, O Pharnabazus, I must confess
that the very circumstance which is the cause of so much mirth to the
gentlemen that accompany you is the reason of my fears. On our side,
indeed, I see gold, and jewels, and purple, in abundance, but when I
look for men, I can find nothing but barbers, cooks, confectioners,
fiddlers, dancers, and everything that is most unmanly and unfit for
war; on the Grecian side, I discern none of the costly trifles, but I
see iron that forms their weapons, and composes impenetrable arms. I see
men who have been brought up to despise every hardship, and face every
danger; who are accustomed to observe their ranks, to obey their leader,
to take every advantage of their enemy, and to fall dead in their
places, rather than to turn their backs. Were the contest about who
should dress a dinner, or curl hair with the greatest nicety, I should
not doubt that the Persians would gain the advantage; but when it is
necessary to contend in battle, where the prize is won by hardiness and
valour, I cannot help dreading men, who are inured to wounds, and
labours, and suffering; nor can I ever think that the Persian gold will
be able to resist the Grecian iron.'

"Pharnabazus was so struck with the truth and justness of these remarks,
that, from that very hour he determined to contend no more with such
invincible troops, but bent all his care towards making peace with the
Spartans, by which means he preserved himself and country from
destruction."

"You see by this story," said Mr Barlow, "that fine clothes are not
always of the consequence you imagine, since they are not able to give
their wearers either more strength or courage than they had before, nor
to preserve them from the attacks of those whose appearance is more
homely. But since you are so little acquainted with the business of a
soldier, I must show you a little more clearly in what it consists.
Instead, therefore, of all this pageantry, which seems so strongly to
have acted upon your mind, I must inform you that there is no human
being exposed to suffer a greater degree of hardship; he is often
obliged to march whole days in the most violent heat, or cold, or rain,
and frequently without victuals to eat, or clothes to cover him; and
when he stops at night, the most that he can expect is a miserable
canvas tent to shelter him, which is penetrated in every part by the
wet, and a little straw to keep his body from the damp unwholesome
earth. Frequently he cannot meet with even this, and is obliged to lie
uncovered upon the ground, by which means he contracts a thousand
diseases, which are more fatal than the cannon and weapons of the enemy.
Every hour he is exposed to engage in combats at the hazard of losing
his limbs, of being crippled or mortally wounded. If he gain the
victory, he generally has only to begin again and fight anew, till the
war is over; if he be beaten, he may probably lose his life upon the
spot, or be taken prisoner by the enemy, in which case he may languish
several months in a dreary prison, in want of all the necessaries of
life."

"Alas!" said Harry, "what a dreadful picture do you draw of the fate of
those brave men who suffer so much to defend their country. Surely those
who employ them should take care of them when they are sick, or wounded,
or incapable of providing for themselves."

"So indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "they ought to do; but rash and foolish
men engage in wars without either justice or reason, and when they are
over they think no more of the unhappy people who have served them at so
much loss to themselves."

_Harry._--Why, sir, I have often thought, that, as all wars consists in
shedding blood and doing mischief to our fellow-creatures they seldom
can be just.

_Mr Barlow._--You are indeed right there. Of all the blood that has
been shed since the beginning of the world to the present day, but very
little indeed has been owing to any cause that had either justice or
common sense.

_Harry._--I then have thought (though I pity poor soldiers extremely,
and always give them something if I have any money in my pocket) that
they draw these mischiefs upon themselves, because they endeavour to
kill and destroy other people, and, therefore, if they suffer the same
evils in return, they can hardly complain.

_Mr Barlow._--They cannot complain of the evils to which they
voluntarily expose themselves, but they may justly complain of the
ingratitude of the people, for whom they fight, and who take no care of
them afterwards.

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I think so. But I cannot conceive why people must
hire others to fight for them. If it is necessary to fight, why not
fight for themselves? I should be ashamed to go to another boy and say
to him, "Pray go and venture your life or limbs for me that I may stay
at home and do nothing."

_Tommy._--What if the French were to come here, as they said they were
about to do; would you go out to fight them yourself?

_Harry._--I have heard my father say that it was every man's duty to
fight for his country, if it were attacked; and if my father went out to
fight, I would go out with him. I would not willingly hurt anybody, but
if they attempt to hurt me or my countrymen, we should do right to
defend ourselves; should we not, sir?

_Mr Barlow._--This is certainly a case where men have a right to defend
themselves; no man is bound to yield his life or property to another
that has no right to take it. Among those Grecians, whom you were
talking of, every man was a soldier, and always ready to defend his
country whenever it was attacked.

_Harry._--Pray, dear sir, read to Master Tommy the story of Leonidas,
which gave me so much pleasure; I am sure he will like to hear it.

Mr Barlow accordingly read


"THE HISTORY OF LEONIDAS, KING OF SPARTA."

"The king of Persia commanded a great extent of territory, which was
inhabited by many millions of people, and not only abounded in all the
necessaries of life, but produced immense quantities of gold and silver,
and every other costly thing. Yet all this did not satisfy the haughty
mind of Xerxes, who, at that time, possessed the empire of this country.
He considered that the Grecians, his neighbours, were free, and refused
to obey his imperious orders, which he foolishly imagined all mankind
should respect; he therefore determined to make an expedition with a
mighty army into Greece, and to conquer the country. For this reason he
raised such a prodigious army, that it was almost impossible to describe
it; the number of men that composed it seemed sufficient to conquer the
whole world, and all the forces the Grecians were able to raise would
scarcely amount to a hundredth part. Nevertheless, the Grecians held
public councils to consult about their common safety, and they nobly
determined that, as they had hitherto lived free, so they would either
maintain their liberty, or bravely die in its defence.

"In the mean time Xerxes was continually marching forward, and at length
entered the territory of Greece. The Grecians had not yet been able to
assemble their troops or make their preparations, and therefore they
were struck with consternation at the approach of such an army as
attended Xerxes. Leonidas was at that time king of Sparta, and when he
considered the state of affairs, he saw one method alone by which the
ruin of his country, and all Greece, could be prevented. In order to
enter the more cultivated parts of this country, it was necessary for
the Persian army to march through a very rough and mountainous district,
called Thermopylæ. There was only one narrow road through all these
mountains, which it was possible for only a very small number of men to
defend for some time against the most numerous army. Leonidas perceived
that, if a small number of resolute men would undertake to defend this
passage, it would retard the march of the whole Persian army, and give
the Grecians time to collect their troops; but who would undertake so
desperate an enterprise, where there was scarcely any possibility of
escaping alive? For this reason, Leonidas determined to undertake the
expedition himself, with such of the Spartans as would voluntarily
attend him, and to sacrifice his own life for the preservation of his
country.

"With this design he assembled the chief persons of Sparta, and laid
before them the necessity of defending the pass of Thermopylæ. They were
equally convinced of its importance, but knew not where to find a man
of such determined valour as to undertake it. 'Then,' said Leonidas,
'since there is no more worthy man ready to perform this service, I
myself will undertake it, with those who will voluntarily accompany me.'
They were struck with admiration at his proposal, and praised the
greatness of his mind, but set before him the certain destruction which
must attend him. 'All this,' said Leonidas, 'I have already considered;
but I am determined to go, with the appearance indeed of defending the
pass of Thermopylæ, but in reality to die for the liberty of Greece.'
Saying this, he instantly went out of the assembly, and prepared for the
expedition, taking with him about three hundred Spartans. Before he
went, he embraced his wife, who hung about him in tears, as being well
acquainted with the dangerous purposes of his march; but he endeavoured
to comfort her, and told her that a short life was well sacrificed to
the interests of his country, and that Spartan women should be more
careful about the glory than the safety of their husbands. He then
kissed his infant children, and charging his wife to educate them in the
same principles he had lived in, went out of his house, to put himself
at the head of those brave men who were to accompany him.

"As they marched through the city, all the inhabitants attended them
with praises and acclamations; the young women sang songs of triumph,
and scattered flowers before them; the youths were jealous of their
glory, and lamented that such a noble doom had not rather fallen upon
themselves; while all their friends and relations seemed rather to
exult in the immortal honour they were going to acquire, than to be
dejected with the apprehensions of their loss; and as they continued
their march through Greece, they were joined by various bodies of their
allies, so that their number amounted to about six thousand when they
took possession of the straits of Thermopylæ.

"In a short time Xerxes approached with his innumerable army, which was
composed of various nations, and armed in a thousand different manners,
and, when he had seen the small number of his enemies, he could not
believe that they really meant to oppose his passage; but when he was
told that this was surely their design, he sent out a small detachment
of his troops, and ordered them to take those Grecians alive and bring
them bound before him. The Persian troops set out and attacked the
Grecians with considerable fury; but in an instant they were routed, the
greater part slain, and the rest obliged to fly. Xerxes was enraged at
this misfortune, and ordered the combat to be renewed with greater
forces. The attack was renewed, but always with the same success,
although he sent the bravest troops in his whole army. Thus was this
immense army stopped in its career, and the pride of their monarch
humbled by so inconsiderable a body of Grecians, that they were not at
first thought worthy of a serious attack. At length, what Xerxes, with
all his troops was incapable of effecting, was performed by the
treachery of some of the Grecians who inhabited that country. For a
great reward they undertook to lead a chosen body of the Persians
across the mountains by a secret path, with which they alone were
acquainted. Accordingly, the Persians set out in the night, and having
passed over the mountains in safety, encamped on the other side.

"As soon as day arose, Leonidas perceived that he had been betrayed, and
that he was surrounded by the enemy; nevertheless, with the same
undaunted courage, he took all necessary measures and prepared for the
fate which he had long resolved to meet. After praising and thanking the
allies for the bravery with which they had behaved, he sent them all
away to their respective countries; many of the Spartans, too, he would
have dismissed under various pretences; but they, who were all
determined rather to perish with their king than to return, refused to
go. When he saw their resolution, he consented that they should stay
with him and share in his fate. All day, therefore, he remained quiet in
his camp; but when evening approached, he ordered his troops to take
some refreshment, and, smiling, told them 'to dine like men who were to
sup in another world.' They then completely armed themselves, and waited
for the middle of the night, which Leonidas judged most proper for the
design he meditated. He saw that the Persians would never imagine it
possible that such an insignificant body of men should think of
attacking their numerous forces; he was therefore determined, in the
silence of the night, to break into their camp, and endeavour, amid the
terror and confusion which would ensue, to surprise Xerxes himself.

"About midnight, therefore, this determined body of Grecians marched
out with Leonidas at their head. They soon broke into the Persian camp,
and put all to flight that dared to oppose them. It is impossible to
describe the terror and confusion which ensued among so many thousands
thus unexpectedly surprised. Still the Grecians marched on in close
impenetrable order, overturning the tents, destroying all that dared to
resist, and driving that vast and mighty army like frightened sheep
before them. At length they came even to the imperial tent of Xerxes;
and had he not quitted it at the first alarm, he would there have ended
at once his life and expedition. The Grecians in an instant put all the
guards to flight, and rushing upon the imperial pavilion, violently
overturned it, and trampled under their feet all the costly furniture
and vessels of gold which were used by the monarchs of Persia.

"But now the morning began to appear, and the Persians, who had
discovered the small number of their assailants, surrounded them on
every side, and without daring to come to a close engagement, poured in
their darts and other missive weapons. The Grecians were wearied even
with the toils of conquest, and their body was already considerably
diminished; nevertheless, Leonidas, who was yet alive, led on the
intrepid few that yet remained to a fresh attack; again he rushed upon
the Persians, and pierced their thickest battalions as often as he could
reach them. But valour itself was vain against such inequality of
numbers; at every charge the Grecian ranks grew thinner and thinner,
till at length they were all destroyed, without a single man having
quitted his post or turned his back upon the enemy."

"Really," said Tommy, when the history was finished, "Leonidas was a
brave man indeed. But what became of Xerxes and his army after the death
of this valiant Spartan? was he able to overcome the Grecians, or did
they repulse him?" "You are now able to read for yourself," replied Mr
Barlow, "and therefore, by examining the histories of those countries,
you may be informed of everything you desire."




CHAPTER VI.

     The Constellations--Distance from the Earth--The Magnet and its
     Powers--The Compass--The Greenlanders and their Customs--The
     Telescope--The Magic Lantern--Story of the African Prince and the
     Telescope--Mr Barlow's Poor Parishioners--His Annual Dinner--Tommy
     attempts Sledge Driving--His mishap in the Pond--His Anger.


And now the frost had continued for several weeks, and Tommy had taken
advantage of the evenings, which generally proved clear and star-light,
to improve his knowledge of the heavens. He had already ornamented his
paper globe with several of the most remarkable constellations. Around
the Pole-star he had discovered Perseus and Andromeda, and Cepheus and
Cassiopeia's Chair. Between these and the bright Orion, which rose every
night and glittered in the south, he discovered seven small stars that
were set in a cluster, and called the Pleiades. Then, underneath Orion,
he discovered another glittering star, called Sirius, or the Dog-star.
All these, he continually observed, journeyed every night from east to
west, and then appeared the evening after in their former places. "How
strange it is," observed Tommy, one day to Mr Barlow, "that all these
stars should be continually turning about the earth!"

"How do you know," replied Mr Barlow, "that they turn at all?"

_Tommy._--Because I see them move every night.

_Mr Barlow._--But how are you sure that it is the stars which move every
night, and not the earth itself?

Tommy considered, and said, "But then I should see the earth move, and
the stars stand still."

_Mr Barlow._--What, did you never ride in a coach?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir, very often.

_Mr Barlow._--And did you then see that the coach moved, as you sat
still, and went along a level road?

_Tommy._--No, sir; I protest I have often thought that the houses and
trees, and all the country, glided swiftly along by the windows of the
coach.

_Mr Barlow._--And did you never sail in a boat?

_Tommy._--Yes, I have; and I protest I have observed the same thing; for
I remember I have often thought the shore was running away from the
boat, instead of the boat from the shore.

_Mr Barlow._--If that is the case, it is possible, even though the earth
should move, instead of the stars, that you might only see what you do
at present, and imagine that the earth you are upon was at rest.

_Tommy._--But is it not more likely that such little things as the stars
and the sun should move, than such a large thing as the earth?

_Mr Barlow._--And how do you know that the stars and sun are so small?

_Tommy._--I see them to be so, sir. The stars are so small, that they
are hardly to be seen at all; and the sun itself, which is much bigger,
does not seem bigger than a small round table.

The day after this conversation, as the weather was bright and clear, Mr
Barlow went out to walk with Harry and Tommy. As by this time Tommy was
inured to fatigue, and able to walk many miles, they continued their
excursion over the hills, till at last they came in sight of the sea. As
they were diverting themselves with the immense prospect of water that
was before them, Mr Barlow perceived something floating at a distance,
so small as to be scarcely discernible by the eye. He pointed it out to
Tommy, who with some difficulty was able to distinguish it, and asked
him what he thought it was.

Tommy answered that he imagined it to be some little fishing-boat, but
could not well tell, on account of the distance.

_Mr Barlow._--If you do not then see a ship, what is it you do see? or
what does that object appear to your eyes?

_Tommy._--All that I can see is no more than a little dusky speck, which
seems to grow bigger and bigger.

_Mr Barlow._--And what is the reason it grows bigger and bigger?

_Tommy._--Because it comes nearer and nearer to me.

_Mr Barlow._--What, then, does the same thing sometimes appear small and
sometimes great?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; it seems small when it is at a great distance; for I
have observed even houses and churches when you are at some miles'
distance, seem to the eye very small indeed; and now I observe that the
vessel is sailing towards us, and it is not, as I imagined, a little
fishing-boat, but a ship with a mast, for I begin to distinguish the
sails.

Mr Barlow walked on a little while by the side of the sea, and presently
Tommy called out again: "I protest I was mistaken again; for it is not a
vessel with one mast, as I thought a little while ago, but a fine large
ship with three great masts, and all her sails before the wind. I
believe she must either be a large merchantman or else a frigate."

_Mr Barlow._--Will you then take notice of what you have now been
saying? What was first only a little dusky speck became a vessel with
one mast, and now this vessel with one mast plainly appears a ship of a
very large size, with all her masts and sails, and rigging complete. Yet
all these three appearances are only the same object at different
distances from your eye.

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; that is all very true indeed.

_Mr Barlow._--Why, then, if the ship, which is now, full in sight, were
to tack about again, and sail away from us as fast as she approached
just now what do you think would happen?

_Tommy._--It would grow less and less every minute, till it appeared a
speck again.

_Mr Barlow._--You said, I think, that the sun was a very small body, not
bigger than a round table?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--Supposing, then, the sun were to be removed to a much
greater distance than it is now, what would happen? Would it appear the
same to your eyes?

Tommy considered some time, and then said, "If the ship grows less and
less, till at last it appears a mere speck, by going farther and
farther, I should think the sun would do the same."

_Mr Barlow._--There you are perfectly right; therefore, if the sun were
to depart farther and farther from us, at last it would appear no bigger
than one of those twinkling stars that you see at so great a distance
above your head.

_Tommy._--That I perfectly comprehend.

_Mr Barlow._--But if, on the contrary, one of those twinkling stars were
to approach nearer and nearer to where you stand, what do think would
happen? Would it still appear of the same size?

_Tommy._--No, sir. The ship, as it came nearer to us, appeared every
moment larger, and therefore I think the star must do the same.

_Mr Barlow._--Might it not then appear as big as the sun now does, just
as the sun would dwindle away to the size of a star, were it to be
removed to a still greater distance?

_Tommy._--Indeed I think it might.

_Mr Barlow._--What, then, do you imagine must happen, could the sun
approach a great deal nearer to us? Would its size remain the same?

_Tommy._--No; I plainly see that it must appear bigger and bigger the
nearer it comes.

_Mr Barlow._--If that is the case, it is not so very certain that the
earth we inhabit is bigger than the sun and stars. They are at a very
great distance from us; therefore, if anybody could go from the earth
towards the sun, how do you think the earth would appear to him as he
journeyed on?

_Tommy._--Really I can hardly tell.

_Mr Barlow._--No! Why, is it not the same thing, whether an object goes
from you, or you from the object? Is there any difference between the
ship sailing away from us, and our walking away from the ship?

_Tommy._--No, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--Did you not say that if the sun could be removed farther
from our eyes, it would appear less?

_Tommy._--To be sure it would.

_Mr Barlow._--Why, then, if the earth were to sink down from under our
feet, lower and lower, what would happen? Would it have the same
appearance?

_Tommy._--No, sir; I think it must appear less and less, like the ship
that is sailing away.

_Mr Barlow._--Very right, indeed; but now attend to what I asked you
just now. If a person could rise slowly into the air, and mount still
higher and higher towards the sun, what would happen?

_Tommy._--Why the same as if the earth were to sink from under us; it
would appear less and less.

_Mr Barlow._--Might not the earth then at least appear as small as the
sun or moon does?

_Tommy._--I can hardly conceive that, and yet I see it would appear less
and less the farther we went.

_Mr Barlow._--Do you remember what happened to you when you left the
island of Jamaica?

_Tommy._--Yes, I do. One of the blacks held me upon the deck, and then I
looked towards the island, and I thought that it began to move away from
the ship, though in reality it was the ship moving away from the land;
and then, as the ship continued sailing along the water, the island
appeared less and less. First, I lost sight of the trees and houses that
stood on the shore; and then I could only see the highest mountains; and
then I could scarcely see the mountains themselves; and at last the
whole island appeared only like a dark mist above the water; and then
the mist itself disappeared, and I could see nothing but a vast extent
of water all round, and the sky above.

_Mr Barlow._--And must not this be exactly the case if you could rise up
into the air, higher and higher, and look down upon the earth?

_Tommy._--Indeed it must.

_Mr Barlow._--Now, then, you will be able to answer the question I asked
you a little while ago: Could a person travel straight forward from the
earth to the sun, how would they both appear to him as he went forward?

_Tommy._--The earth would appear less and less as he went from it, and
the sun bigger and bigger.

_Mr Barlow._--Why, then, perhaps it would happen at last that the sun
appeared bigger than the earth.

_Tommy._--Indeed it might.

_Mr Barlow._--Then you see that you must no longer talk of the earth's
being large and the sun small, since that may only happen because you
are nearer the one and at a great distance from the other; at least, you
may now be convinced that both the sun and stars must be immensely
bigger than you would at first sight guess them to be.

As they were returning home they happened to pass through a small town
on their way, and saw a crowd of people going into a house, which gave
Mr Barlow the curiosity to inquire the reason. They were told that there
was a wonderful person there who performed a variety of strange and
diverting experiments. On Tommy's expressing a great desire to see these
curious exhibitions, Mr Barlow took them both in, and they all seated
themselves among the audience.

Presently the performer began his exhibitions, which very much diverted
Tommy, and surprised the spectators. At length after a variety of
curious tricks upon the cards, the conjuror desired them to observe a
large basin of water, with the figure of a little swan floating upon the
surface. "Gentlemen," said the man, "I have reserved this curious
experiment for the last, because it is the most wonderful of all that I
have to show, or that, perhaps, was ever exhibited to the present hour.
You see that swan, it is no more than a little image, without either
sense or life. If you have any doubt upon the subject, take it up in
your hands and examine it." Accordingly, several of the spectators took
it up in their hands, and, after having examined it, set it down upon
the water. "Now," continued he, "this swan, which to you appears totally
without sense or motion, is of so extraordinary a nature that he knows
me, his master, and will follow in any direction that I command." Saying
this, he took out a little piece of bread, and whistling to his bird,
ordered him to come to the side of the basin to be fed. Immediately, to
the great surprise of all the company, the swan turned about and swam to
the side of the basin. The man whistled again, and presently the swan
turned himself round and pursued the hand of his master to the other
side of the basin.

The spectators could hardly believe their eyes, and some of them got
little pieces of bread, and held them out, imagining that he would do
the same to them. But it was in vain they whistled and presented their
bread; the bird remained unmoved upon the water, and obeyed no orders
but those of his master.

When this exhibition had been repeated over and over again, to the
extreme delight and astonishment of all present, the company rose and
dispersed, and Mr Barlow and the little boys pursued their way home.

But Tommy's mind was so engaged with what he had seen, that for several
days he could think and talk of nothing else. He would give all that he
had in the world to find out this curious trick, and to be possessed of
such a swan. At length, as he was one day talking to Harry upon this
subject, Harry told him with a smile, that he believed he had found out
a method of doing it, and that, if he did not mistake, he would the next
day show him a swan that would come to be fed as well as the conjuror's.
Accordingly, Harry moulded a bit of wax into the shape of a swan, and
placed it upon a basin of water. He then presented to it a piece of
bread, and, to the inexpressible delight of Tommy, the swan pursued the
bread, just as he had seen before.

After he had several times diverted himself with this experiment, he
wanted to be informed of the composition of this wonderful swan. Harry
therefore showed him, within the body of the bird, a large needle,
which lay across it from one end to the other. In the bread with which
the swan was fed, he also showed him concealed a small bar of iron.
Tommy could not comprehend all this, although he saw it before his eyes;
but Mr Barlow, who was present, taking up the bar of iron, and putting
down several needles upon the table, Tommy was infinitely surprised to
see the needles all jump up, one after another, at the approach of the
bar, and shoot towards it, as if they had been possessed of life and
sense. They then hung all about the bar so firmly, that, though it was
lifted into the air, they all remained suspended, nor ever quitted their
hold. Mr Barlow then placed a key upon the table, and putting the iron
near it, the key attached itself as firmly to the bar as the needles had
done before. All this appeared so surprising to Tommy, that he begged an
explanation of it from Mr Barlow. That gentleman told him, "that there
was a stone often found in iron mines, that was called the _loadstone_.
This stone is naturally possessed of the surprising power of drawing to
itself all pieces of iron that are not too large, nor placed at too
great a distance. But what is equally extraordinary is, that iron
itself, after having been rubbed upon the loadstone, acquires the same
virtue as the stone itself, of attracting other iron. For this purpose
they take small bars of iron, and rub them carefully upon the loadstone,
and when they have acquired this very extraordinary power, they call
them _magnets_. When Harry had seen the exhibition of the swan, upon
revolving it over in his mind, he began to suspect that it was
performed entirely by the power of magnetism. Upon his talking to me
about the affair, I confirmed him in his opinion, and furnished him with
a small magnet to put into the bread, and a large needle to conceal in
the body of the bird. So this is the explanation of the feat which so
much puzzled you a few days past."

Mr Barlow had scarcely done speaking, when Tommy observed another
curious property of the swan, which he had not found out before. This
bird, when left to itself, constantly rested in one particular
direction, and that direction was full north and south.

Tommy inquired the reason of this, and Mr Barlow gave him this
additional explanation: "The persons who first discovered the wonderful
powers of the loadstone, in communicating its virtues to iron, diverted
themselves, as we do now, in touching needles and small pieces of iron,
which they made to float upon water, and attracted them about with other
pieces of iron. But it was not long before they found out, as you do
now, another surprising property of this wonderful stone; they observed,
that when a needle had once been touched by the loadstone, if it was
left to float upon the water without restraint, it would invariably turn
itself towards the north. In a short time they improved the discovery
farther, and contrived to suspend the middle of the needle upon a point,
so loosely that it could move about in every direction; this they
covered with a glass case, and by this means they always had it in their
power to find out all the quarters of the heavens and earth."

_Tommy._--Was this discovery of any great use?

_Mr Barlow._--Before this time they had no other method of finding their
way along the sea, but by observing the stars. They knew, by experience,
in what part of the sky certain stars appeared at every season of the
year, and this enabled them to discover east, west, north, and south.
But when they set out from their own country by sea, they knew in which
direction the place was situated which they were going to. If it lay to
the east, they had only to keep the head of the ship turned full to that
quarter of the heavens, and they would arrive at the place they were
going to; and this they were enabled to do by observing the stars. But
frequently the weather was thick, and the stars no longer appeared, and
then they were left to wander about the pathless ocean without the
smallest track to guide them in their course.

_Tommy._--Poor people! they must be in a dreadful situation indeed,
tossed about on such an immense place as the sea, in the middle of a
dark night, and not able even to guess at their situation.

_Mr Barlow._--For this reason they seldom dared to venture out of sight
of the shore, for fear of losing their way, by which means all their
voyages were long and tedious; for they were obliged to make them
several times as long as they would have done, could they have taken the
straight and nearest way. But soon after the discovery of this admirable
property of the loadstone, they found that the needle, which had been
thus prepared, was capable of showing them the different points of the
heavens, even in the darkest night. This enabled them to sail with
greater security, and to venture boldly upon the immense ocean, which
they had always feared before.

_Tommy._--How extraordinary that a little stone should enable people to
cross the sea, and to find their way from one country to another! But I
wonder why they take all these pains.

_Mr Barlow._--That you need not wonder at, when you consider that one
country frequently produces what another does not; and therefore, by
exchanging their different commodities, the people of both may live more
conveniently than they did before.

_Harry._--But does not almost every country produce all that is
necessary to support the inhabitants of it? and therefore they might
live, I should think, even though they received nothing from any other
country.

_Mr Barlow._--So might your father live, perhaps, upon the productions
of his own farm, but he sometimes sells his cattle to purchase clothes;
sometimes his corn to purchase cattle. Then he frequently exchanges with
his neighbours one kind of grain for another, and thus their mutual
conveniency is better promoted than if each were to confine himself to
the produce of his own land. At the same time, it is true, that every
country which is inhabited by men, contains within itself all that is
necessary for their subsistence, and what they bring from other
countries is frequently more hurtful than salutary to them.

_Harry._--I have heard you say that even in Greenland, the coldest and
most uncomfortable country in the world, the inhabitants procure
themselves necessaries, and live contented.

_Tommy._--What! is there a part of the world still colder than Lapland?

_Mr Barlow._--Greenland is still farther north, and therefore colder and
more barren. The ground is there covered with eternal snows, which never
melt, even in the summer. There are scarcely any animals to be found,
excepting bears, that live by preying upon fish. There are no trees
growing upon any part of the country, so that the inhabitants have
nothing to build their houses with, excepting the planks and trees which
the sea washes away from other countries and leaves upon their coast.
With these they erect large cabins, where several families live
together. The sides of these huts are composed of earth and stones, and
the top secured with turf; in a short time the whole is so cemented with
frost, that it is impenetrable to the weather during the whole winter.
Along the sides of the building are made several partitions, in each of
which a Greenlander lives with his family. Each of these families have a
small lamp continually burning before them, by means of which they cook
their food, and light themselves, and, what is equally necessary in so
cold a country, keep up agreeable warmth throughout their apartment.
They have a few deer, which sometimes visit them in the summer, and
which the Greenlanders kill whenever they can catch them; but they are
almost entirely destitute of all the vegetables which serve as
nourishment to man, so that they are obliged to be continually upon the
sea, in order to catch fish for their maintenance.

_Tommy._--What a dreadful life that must be in a country which is so
cold!

_Mr Barlow._--In consequence of that extreme cold, those northern seas
are full of such immense quantities of ice, that they are sometimes
almost covered with them. Huge pieces come floating down, which are not
only as big as the largest houses, but even resemble small mountains.
These are sometimes dashed against each other by the winds, with such
immense force, that they would crush the strongest ship to pieces, and
with a noise that exceeds the report of a cannon. Upon these pieces of
ice are frequently seen white bears of an enormous size, which have
either fallen asleep upon them, and so been carried away, or have
straggled over those ice hills in search of fish.

_Tommy._--And is it possible that the inhabitants of such a country can
find enough in it for all their necessities?

_Mr Barlow._--The necessities of life are very few, and are therefore to
be found even in the most rugged climates, if men are not wanting to
themselves, or deficient in industry. In plentiful countries like this,
and in most of the more temperate climates, great numbers are maintained
in idleness, and imagine that they were only born to live upon the
labour of others; but, in such a country as Greenland is described to
be, it requires continual exertion to procure the simplest support of
human life; and therefore no one can live at all who will not employ
himself in the same manner as his neighbours.

_Tommy._--You said that these people had neither flesh nor corn; do they
then clothe themselves with the skins of fish, as well as live upon
them?

_Mr Barlow._--There is in those seas a peculiar species of animal called
a _seal_. He is nine or ten feet long, and has two small feet before, on
which he is able to walk a little upon the shore, for he frequently
comes out of the sea, and sleeps, or amuses himself upon the land or
ice. His body is very large, and full of oil, and behind he has two legs
which resemble fins, with which he swims in the water. This animal is
the constant prey of the Greenlander, and furnishes him with all he
wants. The flesh he eats, the fat serves him to feed his lamp, which is
almost as necessary as food itself in that cold climate. With the skin
he makes clothes that are impenetrable to the water, or lines the inside
of his hut to keep out the weather. As this animal is so necessary to
the existence of a Greenlander, it is his greatest glory to chase and
take him. For this purpose he places himself in a small narrow boat, the
top of which is covered over with the skins of seals, and closes round
the middle of the fisher so tight as entirely to exclude the water. He
has a long oar, or paddle, broad at both ends, which he dips first on
one side, then on the other, and rows along with incredible swiftness
over the roughest seas. He carries with him a harpoon, which is a kind
of lance or javelin, tied to a long thong, at the end of which is fixed
a bladder, or some other light thing that sinks with difficulty. When
the fisherman is thus prepared, he skims lightly along the waters, till
he perceives at a distance one of these animals floating upon the
surface. The Greenlander then approaches him as softly as he is able,
and, if possible, contrives that the animal shall have the wind and sun
in his eyes. When he is sufficiently near he throws his harpoon, and
generally wounds the creature, in which case he instantly hurries away,
and carries with him the thong and bladder. But it is not long before he
is compelled to rise again to the surface of the water to breathe; and
then the Greenlander, who has been pursuing him all the time, attacks
him anew, and dispatches him with a shorter lance, which he has brought
with him for that purpose. He then ties his prey to his boat, and tows
it after him to his family, who receive it with joy, and dress it for
their supper. Although these poor people live a life of such continual
fatigue, and are obliged to earn their food with so much hardship, they
are generous and hospitable in the management of it, for there is not a
person present but is invited to partake of the feast; and a Greenlander
would think himself dishonoured for life, if he should be thought
capable of wishing to keep it all to himself.

_Tommy._--I think it seems as if the less people had the more generous
they are with it.

_Mr Barlow._--That is not unfrequently the case, and should be a lesson
to many of our rich at home, who imagine that they have nothing to do
with their fortune but to throw it away upon their pleasures, while
there are so many thousands in want of the common necessaries of life.

_Tommy._--But, pray, sir, have you no more particulars to tell me about
these Greenlanders? for I think it is the most curious account I ever
heard in my life.

_Mr Barlow._--There is another very curious particular indeed to be
mentioned of these countries; in these seas is found the largest animal
in the world, an immense fish, which is called the whale.

_Tommy._--Oh dear! I have heard of that extraordinary animal. And pray,
sir, do the Greenlanders ever catch them?

_Mr Barlow._--The whale is of such a prodigious size, that he sometimes
reaches seventy or eighty, or even more than a hundred feet in length.
He is from ten to above twenty feet in height, and every way large in
proportion. When he swims along the seas, he appears rather like a large
vessel floating upon the waters than a fish. He has two holes in his
head, through which he blows out water to a great height in the air,
immense fins, and a tail with which he almost raises a tempest when he
lashes the sea with it. Would you not believe that such an animal was
the most dreadful of the whole brute creation?

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I should! I should think that such a fish would
overset whole ships, and devour the sailors.

_Mr Barlow._--Far from it; it is one of the most innocent in respect to
man that the ocean produces, nor does he ever do him the least hurt,
unless by accidentally overturning vessels with his enormous bulk. The
food he lives upon is chiefly small fish, and particularly herrings.
These fish are bred in such prodigious shoals amid the ice of those
northern climates, that the sea is absolutely covered with them for
miles together. Then it is that the hungry whale pursues them, and thins
their numbers, by swallowing thousands of them in their course.

_Harry._--What numbers indeed must such a prodigious fish devour of
these small animals!

_Mr Barlow._--The whale, in his turn, falls a prey to the cruelty and
avarice of man. Some indeed are caught by the Greenlanders, who have a
sufficient excuse for persecuting him with continual attacks, in their
total want of vegetables, and every species of food which the earth
affords. But the Europeans, who are too nice and squeamish to eat his
flesh, send out great numbers of ships, every year, to destroy the poor
whale, merely for the sake of the oil which his body contains, and the
elastic bones which are known by the name of whalebone, and applied to
several purposes. When those who go upon this dangerous expedition
discern a whale floating at a distance, they instantly send out a large
boat to pursue him. Some of the men row along as gently as possible,
while the person that is appointed to attack the fish stands upon the
forepart of the boat, holding in his hand a sharp harpoon, with which he
is prepared to wound his prey. This is fastened to a long cord which
lies ready coiled up in the boat, so that they may let it out in an
instant, when the fish is struck; for such is his prodigious force,
that, should the least impediment occur to stop the rope in its passage,
he would instantly draw the boat after him down to the bottom of the
sea. In order to prevent these dangerous accidents, a man stands
constantly ready to divide the rope with a hatchet, in case it should
happen to tangle; and another is continually pouring water over it for
fear the swiftness of the motion should make it take fire. The poor
whale, being thus wounded, darts away with inconceivable rapidity, and
generally plunges to the bottom of the sea. The men have a prodigious
quantity of cord ready to let out, and when their store is exhausted
there are generally other boats ready to supply more. Thus is the poor
animal overpowered and killed, in spite of his immense bulk and
irresistible strength; for, gradually wearied with his own efforts and
the loss of blood, he soon relaxes in his speed, and rises again to the
top of the water. Then it is that the fishers, who have pursued him all
the time with the hopes of such an opportunity, approach him anew, and
attack him with fresh harpoons, till in the end his strength is entirely
exhausted, the waves themselves are tinged with a bloody colour from his
innumerable wounds, and he writhes himself about in strong convulsions
and unutterable pain. Then the conflict is soon at an end; in a short
time he breathes his last, and turning upon his back, floats like some
large vessel upon the surface of the sea. The fishers then approach, and
cut off the fins and other valuable parts, which they stow on board
their ships; the fat, or blubber, as it is often called, is received
into large hogsheads, and when boiled, to purify it, composes the common
oil, which is applied to so many useful purposes. The remains of this
vast body are left a prey to other fish and to the Greenlanders, who
carefully collect every fragment which they can find, and apply it to
their own use. Sometimes they go to pursue the whale themselves, but
when they do, it is in large numbers, and they attack him nearly in the
same manner as the Europeans do, only, as they are not so well supplied
with cord, they fix the skins of seals, which they have inflated with
air, to the end of the thongs which are tied to their harpoons, and this
serves both to weary out the fish, who drags them with him under the
water, and to discover him the instant he approaches to the surface.

_Harry._--I cannot help pitying the poor whale that is thus persecuted
for the sake of his spoils. Why cannot man let this poor beast live
unmolested in the midst of the snows and ice in which he was born?

_Mr Barlow._--You ought to know enough of the world to be sensible that
the desire of gain will tempt men upon every expedition. However, in
this case you must consider that the whale himself is continually
supported by murdering thousands of herrings and other small fish; so
that, were they possessed of reason, they would welcome the Europeans,
who came to destroy their enemies, as friends and benefactors.

_Tommy._--But pray, sir, how do the little boys amuse themselves in such
a dismal country? Do their fathers take them out a-fishing with them?

_Mr Barlow._--When the men come home all covered with wet and icicles,
and sit down comfortably in their huts to feast upon the prey, their
common conversation is about the dangers and accidents they have met
with in their expedition. A Greenlander relates how he bounded over the
waves to surprise the monstrous seal; how he pierced the animal with his
harpoon, who had nearly dragged the boat with him under the water; how
he attacked him again in closer combat; how the beast, enraged with his
wounds, rushed upon him in order to destroy him with his teeth; and how,
in the end, by courage and perseverance, he triumphed over his
adversary, and brought it safe to land. All this will he relate with the
vehemence and interest which people naturally feel for things which
concern them nearly; he stands in the midst of his countrymen, and
describes every minute circumstance of his adventures; the little
children gather round, and greedily catch the relation; they feel
themselves interested in every circumstance; they hear, and wish to
share in the toils and glory of their fathers. When they are a little
bigger they exercise themselves in small skiffs, with which they learn
to overcome the waves. Nothing can be more dangerous, or require greater
dexterity than the management of a Greenlander's boat. The least thing
will overset it, and then, the man who cannot disengage himself from the
boat, which is fastened to his middle, sinks down below the waves, and
is inevitably drowned, if he cannot regain his balance. The only hope of
doing this, is placed in the proper application of his oar, and,
therefore, the dexterous management of this implement forms the early
study of the young Greenlanders. In their sportive parties they row
about in a thousand different manners. They dive under their boats, and
then set them to rights with their paddle; they learn to glide over the
roughest billows, and face the greatest dangers with intrepidity, till
in the end they acquire sufficient strength and address to fish for
themselves, and to be admitted into the class of men.

_Harry._--Pray, sir, is this the country where men travel about upon
sledges that are drawn by dogs?

_Tommy._--Upon sledges drawn by dogs! that must be droll indeed. I had
no idea that dogs could ever draw carriages.

_Mr Barlow._--The country you are speaking of is called Kamtschatka; it
is indeed a cold and dreary country, but very distant from Greenland.
The inhabitants there train up large dogs, which they harness to a
sledge, upon which the master sits, and so performs his journey along
the snow and ice. All the summer the Kamtschatkans turn their dogs loose
to shift for themselves, and prey upon the remains of fish which they
find upon the shore or the banks of the rivers (for fish is the common
food of all the inhabitants); in the winter they assemble their dogs and
use them for the purposes I have mentioned. They have no reins to govern
the dogs, or stop them in their course, but the driver sits upon his
sledge, and keeps himself as steady as he is able, holding in his hand a
short stick, which he throws at the dogs if they displease him, and
catches again with great dexterity as he passes. This way of travelling
is not without danger, for the temper of the dogs is such, that when
they descend hills and slippery places, and pass through woods where the
driver is exposed to wound himself with the branches and stumps, they
always quicken their pace. The same is observed in case their master
should fall off, which they instantly discover by the sudden lightness
of the carriage, for then they set off at such a rate that it is
difficult to overtake them. The only way which the Kamtschatcan finds,
is to throw himself at his length upon the ground, and lay hold on the
empty sledge, suffering himself to be thus dragged along the earth, till
the dogs, through weariness, abate their speed. Frequently in their
journeys these travellers are surprised by unexpected storms of wind and
snow, which render it impracticable to proceed farther. How ill would an
European fare, to be thus abandoned, at the distance perhaps of a
hundred miles or more, from any habitable place, exposed, without
shelter, in the midst of extensive plains, and unable to procure either
wood or fire. But the hardy native of these cold climates, inured from
his infancy to support difficulties, and almost superior to the
elements, seeks the shelter of the first forest he can find; then,
wrapping himself round in his warm fur garment, he sits with his legs
under him, and, thus bundled up, suffers himself to be covered round
with snow, except a small hole which he leaves for the convenience of
breathing. In this manner he lies, with his dogs around him, who assist
in keeping him warm, sometimes for several days, till the storm is past,
and the roads again become passable, so that he may be able to pursue
his journey again.

[Illustration: "Frequently in their journeys these travellers are
surprised by unexpected storms of wind and snow, which render it
impracticable to proceed farther." _P. 278._]

_Tommy._--I could not have conceived it possible that men should be able
to struggle with so many hardships. But do not the poor people who
inhabit these cold climates quit them, whenever they can find an
opportunity, and come to settle in those that are warmer?

_Mr Barlow._--Not in the least. When they hear that there are no seals
to be caught in other countries, they say that they must be wretched
indeed, and much inferior to their own. Besides, they have in general
so great a contempt for all Europeans, that they have no inclination to
visit the countries which they inhabit.

_Tommy._--How can that be? How can a parcel of wretched ignorant savages
despise men that are so much superior to themselves?

_Mr Barlow._--This is not what they are quite so well convinced of. The
Greenlanders, for instance, see that the Europeans who visit them are
much inferior to themselves in the art of managing a boat or catching
seals; in short, in everything which they find most useful to support
life. For this reason, they consider them all with very great contempt,
and look upon them as little better than barbarians.

_Tommy._--That is very impertinent indeed; and I should like to convince
them of their folly.

_Mr Barlow._--Why, do not you look upon yourself as much superior to
your black servants; and have I not often heard you express great
contempt for them?

_Tommy._--I do not despise them now, so much as I used to do. Besides,
sir, I only think myself something better, because I have been brought
up like a gentleman.

_Mr Barlow._--A gentleman! I have never exactly understood what a
gentleman is, according to your notions.

_Tommy._--Why, sir, when a person is not brought up to work, and has
several people to wait upon him, like my father and mother, then he is a
gentleman.

_Mr Barlow._--And then he has a right to despise others, has he?

_Tommy._--I do not say that, sir, neither. But he is, however, superior
to them.

_Mr Barlow._--Superior, in what? In the art of cultivating the ground to
raise food, and making clothes or houses?

_Tommy._--No, sir, not that; for gentlemen never plough the ground or
build houses.

_Mr Barlow._--Is he then superior in knowledge? Were you, who have been
brought up a gentleman, superior to all the rest of the world when you
came here?

_Tommy._--To be sure, sir; when I came here I did not know so much as I
do now.

_Mr Barlow._--If then you, when you knew nothing, and could do nothing,
thought yourself superior to all the rest of the world, why should you
wonder, that men who really excel others in those things which they see
absolutely necessary, should have the same good opinion of themselves?
Were you to be in Greenland, for instance, how would you prove your own
superiority and importance?

_Tommy._--I would tell them that I had always been well brought up at
home.

_Mr Barlow._--That they would not believe. They would say that they saw
you were totally unable to do anything useful--to guide a boat; to swim
the seas; to procure yourself the least sustenance--so that you would
perish with hunger, if they did not charitably afford you now and then a
bit of whale or seal; and, as to your being a gentleman, they would not
understand the word, nor would they comprehend why one man, who is
naturally as good as his fellow-creature, should submit to the caprice
of another, and obey him.

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I begin to think that I am not so much better
than others, as I used to do.

_Mr Barlow._--The more you encourage that thought the more likely you
are to acquire real superiority and excellence, for great and generous
minds are less exposed to that ridiculous vanity than weak and childish
ones.

A few evenings after this conversation, when the night was remarkably
clear, Mr Barlow called his two pupils into the garden, where there was
a long hollow tube suspended upon a frame. Mr Barlow then placed Tommy
upon a chair, and bade him look through it, which he had scarcely done
when he cried out, "What an extraordinary sight is this!" "What is the
matter?" said Mr Barlow. "I see," replied Tommy, "what I should take for
the moon were it not a great many times bigger, and so near to me that I
can almost touch it." "What you see," answered Mr Barlow, smiling, "is
the moon itself. This glass has indeed the power of making it appear to
your eye as it would do could you approach a great deal nearer; but
still it is nothing but the moon; and from this single experiment you
may judge of the different size which the sun and all the other heavenly
bodies would appear to have, if you could advance a great deal nearer to
them."

Tommy was delighted with this new spectacle. The moon, he said, viewed
in this manner, was the most glorious sight he had ever seen in his
life. "And I protest," added he, "it seems to be shaded in such a
manner, that it almost resembles land and water." "What you say,"
answered Mr Barlow, "is by no means unreasonable. The moon is a very
large body, and may be, for ought we know, inhabited like the earth."

Tommy was more and more astonished at the introduction of all these new
ideas; but what he was particularly inquisitive about was, to know the
reason of this extraordinary change in the appearance of objects, only
by looking through a hollow tube with a bit of glass fixed into it. "All
this," replied Mr Barlow, "I will, if you desire it, one day explain to
you; but it is rather too long and difficult to undertake it at the
present moment. When you are a little farther advanced in some of the
things which you are now studying, you will comprehend me better.
However, before we retire to-night, I will show you something more,
which will perhaps equally surprise you."

They then returned to the house, and Mr Barlow, who had prepared
everything for his intended exhibition, led Tommy into a room, where he
observed nothing but a lantern upon the floor, and a white sheet hung up
against the wall. Tommy laughed, and said he did not see anything very
curious in all that. "Well," said Mr Barlow, "perhaps I may surprise you
yet, before I have done; let us at least light up the lantern, that you
may see a little clearer."

Mr Barlow then lighted a lamp which was within the lantern, and
extinguished all the other candles; and Tommy was instantly struck with
astonishment to see a gigantic figure of a man, leading along a large
bear, appear upon the wall, and glide slowly along the sheet. As he was
admiring this wonderful sight, a large monkey, dressed up in the habit
of a man, appeared and followed the bear; after him came an old woman
trundling a barrow of fruit, and then two boys (who, however, were as
big as men) that seemed to be fighting as they passed.

Tommy could hardly find words to express his pleasure and admiration,
and he entreated Mr Barlow in the most earnest manner to explain to him
the reason of all these wonderful sights. "At present," said Mr Barlow,
"you are not sufficiently advanced to comprehend the explanation.
However, thus much I will inform you, that both the wonderful tube which
showed you the moon so much larger than you ever saw it before, and this
curious exhibition of to-night, and a variety of others, which I will
hereafter show you, if you desire it, depend entirely upon such a little
bit of glass as this." Mr Barlow then put into his hand a small round
piece of glass, which resembled the figure of a globe on both sides. "It
is by looking through such pieces of glass as this," said he, "and by
arranging them in a particular manner, that we are enabled to perform
all these wonders." "Well," said Tommy, "I never could have believed,
that simply looking through a bit of glass could have made such a
difference in the appearance of things." "And yet," said Mr Barlow,
"looking at a thing through water alone, is capable of producing the
greatest change, as I will immediately prove to you." Mr Barlow then
took a small earthen basin, and, putting a half-crown at the bottom,
desired Tommy gradually to go back, still looking at the basin, till he
could distinguish the piece of money no longer. Tommy accordingly
retired, and presently cried out, that, "he had totally lost sight of
the money." "Then," said Mr Barlow, "I will enable you to see it, merely
by putting water into it." So he gradually poured water into the basin,
till, to the new astonishment of Tommy, he found that he could plainly
see the half-crown, which was before invisible.

Tommy was wonderfully delighted with all these experiments, and declared
that from this day forward, he would never rest till he had made himself
acquainted with everything curious in every branch of knowledge.

"I remember reading a story," said Mr Barlow, "where a telescope (for
that is the name of the glass which brings distant objects so much
nearer to the eye) was used to a very excellent purpose indeed." "Pray,
how was that?" said Tommy.

"In some part of Africa," said Mr Barlow, "there was a prince who was
attacked by one of his most powerful neighbours, and almost driven out
of his dominions. He had done everything he could do to defend himself
with the greatest bravery, but was overpowered by the numbers of his
enemy, and defeated in several battles. At length he was reduced to a
very small number of brave men, who still accompanied him, and had taken
possession of a steep and difficult hill, which he determined to defend
to the last extremity, while the enemy was in possession of all the
country round. While he lay with his little army in this disagreeable
situation, he was visited by a European, whom he had formerly received
and treated with the greatest kindness. To this man the unfortunate
prince made his complaints, telling him that he was exposed every
instant to be attacked by his stronger foe; and though he had taken his
resolution he expected nothing but to be cut off with all his army.

"The European happened to have with him one of these curious glasses,
which had not long been invented in Europe, and was totally unknown in
that part of the globe; and he told the prince, his friend, that he
would soon inform him of what his enemy was doing, and then he might
take his own measures with the greater confidence. So he produced his
glass, and after having adjusted it, turned it towards the enemy's camp,
which he observed some time with great attention, and then told his
friend that he might at least be easy for the present, for the enemy's
general was at that instant thinking only of a great feast, which he was
giving to the officers of his army. 'How is it possible,' replied the
prince, 'that you can pretend to discover so accurately what is done in
yonder camp? My eyes, I think, are at least as good as yours; and yet
the distance is so great, that I can discover nothing distinctly.' The
European then desired his friend to look through the telescope, which he
had no sooner done, than he rose in great trepidation, and was going to
mount his horse; for the spectacle was so new to him, that he imagined
the enemy was close to him, and that nothing remained but to stand upon
his defence. The European could not help smiling at this mistake; and
after he had with some difficulty removed his panic, by explaining the
wonderful powers of the glass, he prevailed upon him to be quiet.

"But the unexpected terror which this telescope had excited inspired him
with a sudden thought, which he determined to improve to the advantage
of the besieged prince. Acquainting him therefore with his intention, he
desired him to draw out all his men in their military array, and to let
them descend the mountain slowly, clashing their arms and waving their
swords as they marched. He then mounted a horse, and rode to the enemy's
camp, where he no sooner arrived than he desired to be instantly
introduced to the general. He found him sitting in his tent carousing in
the midst of his officers, and not at all thinking of an engagement.
When he approached he thus accosted him; 'I am come, great warrior, as a
friend, to acquaint you with a circumstance that is absolutely necessary
to the safety of yourself and army.' 'What is that?' said the general,
with some surprise. 'At this instant,' replied the European, 'while you
are indulging yourself in festivity, the enemy, who has lately been
reinforced with a large body of his most valiant troops, is advancing to
attack you, and even now has almost penetrated to your camp.' 'I have
here,' added he, 'a wonderful glass, the composition of which is only
known in Europe, and if you will condescend to look through it for a
moment, it will convince you that all I say is truth.' Saying this, he
directed his eye to the telescope, which the general had no sooner
looked into than he was struck with consternation and affright. He saw
the prince, whom he had long considered as lying at his mercy, advancing
with his army in excellent order, and, as he imagined, close to his
camp. He could even discern the menacing air of the soldiers, and the
brandishing of their swords as they moved. His officers, who thronged
round him to know the cause of his sudden fright, had no sooner peeped
into the wonderful glass than they were all affected in the same manner.
Their heads had been already disturbed by their intemperance, and
therefore, without waiting to consult, they rushed in a panic out of
their tents, mounted their swiftest horses, and fled away, without
staying to see the consequences. The rest of the army, who had seen the
consternation of their leaders, and had heard that the enemy was
advancing to destroy them, were struck with an equal panic, and
instantly followed the example, so that the whole plain was covered with
men and horses, that made all possible haste towards their own country,
without thinking of resistance. Thus was an immense army dispersed in an
instant, and the besieged prince delivered from his danger by the
address and superior knowledge of a single man."

"Thus you see," added Mr Barlow, "of how much use a superiority of
knowledge is frequently capable of making individuals. But a still more
famous instance is that of Archimedes, one of the most celebrated
mathematicians of his time. He, when the city of Syracuse was besieged
by the Romans, defended it for a long time by the surprising machines he
invented, in such a manner that they began to despair of taking it." "Do
pray," said Tommy, "tell me that story." "No," answered Mr Barlow, "it
is now time to retire, and you may at any time read the particulars of
this extraordinary siege in 'Plutarch's life of Marcellus.'"

And now the time approached when Mr Barlow was accustomed to invite
greater part of the poor of his parish to an annual dinner. He had a
large hall, which was almost filled with men, women, and children, a
cheerful fire blazed in the chimney, and a prodigious table was placed
in the middle for the company to dine upon. Mr Barlow himself received
his guests, and conversed with them about the state of their families
and their affairs. Those that were industrious, and brought their
children up to labour, instructing them in the knowledge of their duty,
and preserving them from bad impressions, were sure to meet with his
encouragement and commendations. Those that had been ill he assisted
with such little necessaries as tended to alleviate their pains, and
diffuse a gleam of cheerfulness over their sufferings. "How hard," he
would say, "is the lot of the poor when they are afflicted with
sickness! How intolerable do _we_ find the least bodily disorder, even
though we possess every convenience that can mitigate its violence! Not
all the dainties which can be collected from all the elements, the
warmth of downy beds and silken couches, the attendance of obsequious
dependants, are capable of making us bear with common patience the most
common disease; how pitiable, then, must be the state of a
fellow-creature, who is at once tortured by bodily suffering, and
destitute of every circumstance which can alleviate it; who sees around
him a family that are not only incapable of assisting their parents,
but destined to want the common necessaries of life, the moment he
intermits his daily labours! How indispensable, then, is the obligation
which should continually impel the rich to exert themselves in assisting
their fellow-creatures, and rendering that condition of life which we
all avoid less dreadful to those who must support it always!"

Acting from such principles as these, Mr Barlow was the common friend of
all the species. Whatever his fortune would allow him to perform he
never refused to all who stood in need of his assistance. But there is
yet a duty which he thought of more importance than the mere
distribution of property to the needy--the encouragement of industry and
virtue among the poor, and giving them juster notions of morals and
religion. "If we have a dog," he would say, "we refuse neither pains nor
expense to train him up to hunting; if we have a horse, we send him to
an experienced rider to be bitted; but our own species seems to be the
only animal which is entirely exempted from our care." When he rode
about the country he used to consider with admiration the splendid
stables which the great construct for the reception of their horses,
their ice-houses, temples, hermitages, grottoes, and all the apparatus
of modern vanity. "All this," he would say, "is an unequivocal proof the
gentleman loves himself, and grudges no expense that can gratify his
vanity; but I would now wish to see what he has done for his
fellow-creatures; what are the proofs that he has given of public spirit
or humanity, the wrongs which he has redressed, the miseries he has
alleviated, the abuses which he has endeavoured to remove!"

When he was told of the stubbornness and ingratitude of the poor, he
used to say, "that he believed it without difficulty, for they were men
in common with their superiors, and therefore must share in some of
their vices; but if the interests of humanity were half so dear to us as
the smallest article that pleases our palate or flatters our vanity, we
should not so easily abandon them in disgust."

Mr Barlow happened once to be in company with a lady with whom he was
upon a footing of intimacy, who was talking in this manner. "Nobody,"
she said, "had greater feeling than herself, or was more desirous of
assisting her fellow-creatures. When she first came into the country she
had endeavoured to relieve all the misery she heard of; she had given
victuals to one, physic to a second, and clothes to a third; but she had
met with such ill-behaviour and ingratitude in return, that she had long
been obliged to resign all her charitable intentions, and abandon the
poor to their fate." All the company assented to a doctrine that was so
very conformable to their own practice and inclinations, and agreed that
nothing could be more injudicious than any attempts to be charitable.

Some little time after this conversation cards were produced, and the
lady, who had been so eloquent against the poor, sat down to whist, at
which she played for several hours with equal ignorance and ill-fortune.
When the party was over she was complaining to Mr Barlow of her losses,
and added that she scarcely ever in her life had sat down to cards with
better success. "I wonder, madam," replied Mr Barlow, "you do not then
give up entirely." "Alas!" answered the lady, "I have often made this
resolution, but I never had the courage to keep it." "Indeed, madam,"
said Mr Barlow, "it is impossible you can be deficient in courage, and
therefore you wrong your own character." "You do me too much honour,"
said the lady, "by your good opinion; but whoever has given you this
information is deceived." "I had it only from yourself, madam." "From
me, sir? When did I ever give you such a character of myself?" "Just
now, madam, when you declared that, upon the bad success of half-a-dozen
experiments, you had resolved never more to be charitable, and had kept
the resolution ever since. I can hardly conceive that your love of cards
is so much greater than that of your duty and religion, and therefore,
my dear madam, I must repeat it, that you certainly undervalue your own
fortitude."

Such were the opinions of Mr Barlow in respect to the poor; and
therefore, instead of widening the distance which fortune has placed
between one part of mankind and another, he was continually intent upon
bringing the two classes nearer together. Poverty has in itself so many
hardships and disagreeable circumstances, that we need not increase
their number by unnecessary pride and insolence. The distinctions of
rank may indeed be necessary to the government of a populous country,
but it is for the good of the whole, not of individuals, that they can
have any just claim to be admitted, and therefore a good man will insist
upon them no more than is absolutely necessary for that purpose. On the
contrary, whatever may he his rank or importance, he will plainly prove,
by the courtesy and benevolence of his manners, that he laments the
necessity of his own elevation, and, instead of wishing to mount still
higher, would willingly descend nearer to an equality with his
fellow-creatures.

Tommy was very much diverted with the ceremonies of this festal day. He
had lost a great part of his West Indian pride during his residence with
Mr Barlow, and had contracted many acquaintances among the families of
the poor. After the example of Mr Barlow, he condescended to go about
from one to the other, and make inquiries about their families; nor was
he a little gratified with the extreme respect with which he found
himself treated, both on the account of Mr Barlow and the reputation of
his own liberality.

Thus did the morning pass away in the most agreeable and auspicious
manner; but after dinner an unexpected incident occurred, which clouded
all the merriment of the unfortunate Tommy Merton.

Mr Barlow happened to have a large Newfoundland dog, equally famous for
his good-nature and his love of the water. With this dog Tommy had been
long forming an acquaintance, and he used to divert himself with
throwing sticks into the water, which Cæsar would instantly bring out in
his mouth, however great might be the distance. Tommy had been fired
with the description of the Kamtschatkan dogs, and their method of
drawing sledges, and meditated an enterprise of this nature on Cæsar.
This very day, finding himself unusually at leisure, he chose for the
execution of his project. He therefore furnished himself with some rope
and a kitchen chair, which he destined for his vehicle instead of a
sledge. He then inveigled Cæsar into a large yard behind the house, and,
extending the chair flat upon the ground, fastened him to it with great
care and ingenuity. Cæsar, who did not understand the new purpose to
which he was going to be applied, suffered himself to be harnessed
without opposition, and Tommy mounted triumphantly his seat, with a whip
in his hand, and began his operations. A crowd of little boys, the sons
of the labourers within, now gathered round the young gentleman, and by
their admiration very much increased his ardour to distinguish himself.
Tommy began to use the common expressions which he had heard coachmen
practise to their horses, and smacked his whip with all the confidence
of an experienced charioteer. Cæsar, meanwhile, who did not comprehend
this language, began to be a little impatient, and expressed his
uneasiness by making several bounds and rearing up like a restive horse.
This added very much to the diversion of the spectators, and Tommy, who
considered his honour as materially concerned in achieving the
adventure, began to be a little more warm; and proceeding from one
experiment to another, at length applied a pretty severe lash to the
hinderpart of his steed. This Cæsar resented so much that he instantly
set off at three-quarters speed, and dragged the chair with the driver
upon it at a prodigious rate. Tommy now looked round with an infinite
air of triumph, and kept his seat with surprising address and firmness.

Unfortunately there happened to be, at no great distance, a large
horse-pond, which went shelving down to the depth of three or four feet.
Hither, by a kind of natural instinct, the affrighted Cæsar ran, when he
found he could not disengage himself from his tormentor; while Tommy,
who now began to repent of his success, endeavoured to pacify and
restrain him. But all his expostulations were vain, for Cæsar
precipitately rushed into the pond, and in an instant plunged into the
middle with his charioteer behind him. The crowd of spectators had now a
fresh subject of diversion, and all their respect for Master Tommy could
not hinder them from bursting into shouts of derision. The unfortunate
hero was equally discomposed at the unmannerly exultation of his
attendants, and at his own ticklish situation. But he did not long wait
for the catastrophe of his adventure; for, after a little floundering in
the pond, Cæsar, by a vigorous exertion, overturned the chair, and Tommy
came roughly into the water. To add to his misfortune, the pond was at
that time neither ice nor water; for a sudden thaw had commenced the day
before, accompanied by a copious fall of snow. Tommy, therefore, as soon
as he had recovered his footing, floundered on through mud and water and
pieces of floating ice, like some amphibious animal to the shore;
sometimes his feet slipped, and down he tumbled, and then he struggled
up again, shaking the water from his hair and clothes. Now his feet
stuck fast in the mud, and now, by a desperate effort, he disengaged
himself with the loss of both his shoes; thus labouring on, with
infinite pain and difficulty he reached the land. The whole troop of
spectators were now incapable of stifling their laughter, which broke
forth in such redoubled peals, that the unfortunate hero was irritated
to an extreme degree of rage, so that, forgetting his own sufferings and
necessities, as soon as he had struggled to the shore, he fell upon them
in a fury, and dealt his blows so liberally on every side, that he put
the whole company to flight. Tommy was now in the situation of a warrior
that pursues a routed army. Dismay and terror scattered all his little
associates a hundred different ways, while passion and revenge animated
him to the pursuit, and made him forgetful of the wetness of his
clothes, and the uncomfortableness of his situation. Whatever
unfortunate boy came within his reach was sure to be unmercifully cuffed
and pommelled; for, in the fury with which he felt himself inspired, he
did not wait to consider the exact rules of justice.

While Tommy was thus revenging the affronts he imagined he had received,
and chasing the vanquished about the court, the unusual noise and uproar
which ensued reached the ears of Mr Barlow, and brought him to the door.
He could hardly help laughing at the rueful figure of his friend, with
the water dropping from every part of his body in copious streams, and
at the rage which seemed to animate him in spite of his disaster. It was
with some difficulty that Tommy could compose himself enough to give Mr
Barlow an account of his misfortunes, which, when he had heard, he
immediately led him into the house, and advised him to undress and go to
bed. He then brought him some warm diluting liquors, by which means he
avoided all the bad effects which might otherwise have arisen from so
complete a drenching.

The next day Mr Barlow laughed at Tommy in his usual good-natured
manner, and asked him if he intended to ride out in the Kamtschatkan
manner; adding, however, that he should be afraid to attend him, as he
had the habit of beating his companions. Tommy was a little confounded
at this insinuation, but replied, "that he should not have been so
provoked if they had not laughed at his misfortunes, and he thought it
very hard to be wetted and ridiculed both." "But," replied Mr Barlow,
"did their noise or laughter do you any great damage, that you
endeavoured to return it so roughly?" Tommy answered, "that he must own
it did not do him any hurt, or give him any pain." "Why, then," said Mr
Barlow, "I do not see the justice of your returning it in that manner."
"But," said Tommy, "it is so provoking to be laughed at!" "There are two
ways of remedying that," replied Mr Barlow, "either not doing such
things as will expose you to ridicule, or by learning to bear it with a
little more patience." "But," said Tommy, "I do not think that anybody
can bear it with patience." "All the world," said Mr Barlow, "are not
quite so passionate as you are. It is not long ago that you were
speaking of the poor Greenlanders with great contempt, and fancying them
much inferior to yourself; yet those poor _barbarians_, as you called
them, that live upon fish, and are not brought up like gentlemen's sons,
are capable of giving you a lesson that would be of the greatest service
if you would but observe it." "What is that, sir?" inquired Tommy.
"They are brought up to so much moderation and self-command," said Mr
Barlow, "that they never give way to those sudden impulses of passion
that are common among the Europeans; and when they observe their violent
gestures, their angry words, their countenances inflamed with wrath,
they feel for them the greatest contempt, and say they must have been
very badly educated. As to themselves, if any person think himself
ill-used by another, without putting himself into any passion upon the
occasion, he defies his foe to meet him at a particular time, before all
their mutual acquaintance."

_Tommy._--But then I suppose they fight; and that is being as passionate
as I was.

_Mr Barlow._--I am sorry that you, who pretend to have been so well
brought up, should have recourse to the example of the Greenlanders, in
order to justify your own conduct; but in this case you are mistaken,
for the barbarians are a great deal wiser than young gentlemen. The
person who thinks himself injured does indeed challenge his antagonist,
but it is to a very different sort of combat from what you imagine. Both
parties appear at the appointed time, and each surrounded with a company
of his particular friends. The place where they assemble is generally
the middle of one of their large huts, that all the persons of their
society may be impartial spectators of their contest. When they are thus
convened, the champion, who by agreement is to begin, steps forward into
the middle of the circle, and entertains them with a song or speech,
which he has before meditated. In this performance he generally
contrives to throw all the ridicule he is able upon his antagonist, and
his satire is applauded by his own party, and excites universal
merriment among the audience. When he has sung or declaimed himself out
of breath, it is the turn of his rival to begin, who goes on in the same
manner, answering all the satire that has been thrown upon him, and
endeavouring to win the laughter over to his own side. In this manner do
the combatants go on, alternately reciting their compositions against
each other, till the memory or invention of one of them fails, and he is
obliged to yield the victory to his rival. After this public spectacle
of their ingenuity, the two champions generally forget all their
animosities, and are cordially reconciled. "This," added Mr Barlow,
"appears to me to be a much better method of answering ridicule, than by
giving way to passion and resentment, and beating those that displease
us; and one of these honest Greenlanders would be as much ashamed of
such a sudden transport of anger as a Kamtschatkan traveller would be of
managing his dogs as ill as you did yesterday."




CHAPTER VII.

     Tommy and Harry visit Home--The Fashionable Guests--Miss Simmons
     takes notice of Harry--Harry's Troubles--Master Compton and
     Mash--Estrangement of Tommy--Visit to the Theatre--Misbehaviour
     there--Card Playing--The Ball--Harry Dancing a Minuet--Story of Sir
     Philip Sidney--Master Mash insults Harry--The Fight in the
     Drawing-room--The Bull-baiting--Tommy strikes Harry--Master Mash's
     Combat with Harry--Tommy's Narrow Escape from the Bull--The
     Grateful Black.


And now the time arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
spend some time with his parents. Mr Barlow had been long afraid of
this visit, as he knew he would meet a great deal of company there, who
would give him impressions of a very different nature from what he had
with much assiduity been labouring to excite. However, the visit was
unavoidable, and Mr Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to
accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father,
that Mr Barlow, with much regret, took leave of both his pupils. Harry,
from the experience he had formerly acquired of polite life, had no
great inclination for the expedition; however, his temper was too easy
and obliging to raise any objections, and the real affection he now
entertained for Master Merton rendered him less averse than he would
otherwise have been.

When they arrived at Mr Merton's, they were introduced into a crowded
drawing-room, full of the most elegant company which that part of the
country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of
different ages, who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays
with Master Merton. As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was
let loose in his praise; "he was grown, he was improved, he was such a
charming boy;" his eyes, his hair, his teeth, his every feature was the
admiration of all the ladies. Thrice did he make the circle, in order to
receive the congratulations of the company, and to be introduced to the
young ladies.

As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by nobody
except Mr Merton, who received him with great cordiality. A lady,
however, who sat by Mrs Merton, asked her in a whisper, which was loud
enough to be heard all over the room, whether that was the little
_ploughboy_ whom she had heard Mr Barlow was attempting to breed up like
a gentleman. Mrs Merton answered it was. "I protest," said the lady, "I
should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I
wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without
flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw in my
life, with quite the air of fashion, to keep such company. Are you not
afraid that Master Merton should insensibly contract bad habits, and a
grovelling way of thinking? For my own part, as I think a good education
is a thing of the utmost consequence in life, I have spared no pains to
give my dear Matilda every possible advantage." "Indeed," replied Mrs
Merton, "one may see the excellence of her education in everything Miss
Matilda does. She plays most divinely upon the harpsichord, talks French
even better than she does English, and draws in the style of a master.
Indeed, I think that last figure of the _naked Gladiator_ the finest
thing I ever saw in my life!"

While this conversation was going on in one part of the room, a young
lady, observing that nobody seemed to take the least notice of Harry,
advanced towards him with the greatest affability, and began to enter
into conversation with him. This young lady's name was Simmons. Her
father and mother had been two of the most respectable people in the
country, according to the old style of English gentry, but, he having
died while she was young, the care of her had devolved upon an uncle,
who was a man of sense and benevolence, but a very great humorist. This
gentleman had such peculiar ideas of female character, that he waged war
with most of the polite and modern accomplishments. As one of the first
blessings of life, according to his notions, was health, he endeavoured
to prevent that sickly delicacy, which is considered as so great an
ornament in fashionable life by a more robust and hardy education. His
niece was accustomed, from her earliest years, to plunge into the cold
bath at every season of the year, to rise by candle-light in winter, to
ride a dozen miles upon a trotting horse, or to walk as many, even with
the hazard of being splashed, or soiling her clothes. By this mode of
education Miss Sukey (for so she had the misfortune to be named)
acquired an excellent character, accompanied, however, with some
dispositions which disqualified her almost as much as Harry for
fashionable life. She was acquainted with all the best authors in our
language; nor was she ignorant of those in French, although she could
not speak a word of the language. Her uncle, who was a man of sense and
knowledge, had besides instructed her in several parts of knowledge
which rarely fall to the lot of ladies, such as the established laws of
nature, and a small degree of geometry. She was, besides, brought up to
every species of household employment, which is now exploded by ladies
of every rank and station as mean and vulgar, and taught to believe that
domestic economy is a point of the utmost consequence to every woman who
intends to be a wife or mother. As to music, though Miss Simmons had a
very agreeable voice, and could sing several simple songs in a very
pleasing manner, she was entirely ignorant of it. Her uncle used to say,
that human life is not long enough to throw away so much time upon the
science of _making a noise_. Nor would he permit her to learn French,
although he understood it himself; women, he thought, are not birds of
passage, that are to be eternally changing their place of abode. "I have
never seen any good," would he say, "from the importation of foreign
manners; every virtue may be learned and practised at home, and it is
only because we do not choose to have either virtue or religion among us
that so many adventurers are yearly sent out to smuggle foreign graces.
As to various languages, I do not see the necessity of them for a woman.
My niece is to marry an Englishman, and to live in England. To what
purpose, then, should I labour to take off the difficulty of conversing
with foreigners, and to promote her intercourse with barbers, valets,
dancing-masters, and adventurers of every description, that are
continually doing us the honour to come among us? As to the French
nation, I know and esteem it on many accounts, but I am very doubtful
whether the English will ever gain much by adopting either their manners
or their government, and when respectable foreigners choose to visit us,
I see no reason why they should not take the trouble of learning the
language of the country."

Such had been the education of Miss Simmons, who was the only one of all
the genteel company at Mr Merton's that thought Harry deserving the
least attention. This young lady, who possessed an uncommon degree of
natural benevolence of character, came up to him in such a manner as
set him perfectly at his ease. Harry was destitute of the artificial
graces of society, but he possessed that natural politeness and good
nature, without which all artificial graces are the most disgusting
things in the world. Harry had an understanding naturally strong; and Mr
Barlow, while he had with the greatest care preserved him from all false
impressions had taken great pains in cultivating the faculties of his
mind. Harry, indeed, never said any of those brilliant things which
render a boy the darling of the ladies; he had not that vivacity, or
rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial
people; but he paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and
made the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For
this reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and more improved,
received great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought little
Harry infinitely more agreeable and judicious than any of the smart
young gentlemen she had hitherto seen at Mr Merton's.

But now the company was summoned to the important business of dinner.
Harry could not help sighing when he reflected on what he had to
undergo; however, he determined to bear it with all imaginable
fortitude, for the sake of his friend Tommy. The dinner indeed was, if
possible, more dreadful than anything he had before undergone--so many
fine gentlemen and fine ladies; so many powdered servants to stand
behind their chairs; such an apparatus of dishes which Harry had never
tasted before, and which almost made him sick when he did taste; so
many removes; such pomp and solemnity about what seemed the easiest
thing in the world--that Harry could not help envying the condition of
his father's labourers, who, when they are hungry, can sit at their ease
under a hedge, and make a dinner without plates, table-cloths, or
compliments!

In the mean time his friend Tommy was received amid the circle of the
ladies, and attended to as a prodigy of wit and ingenuity. Harry could
not help being surprised at this. His affection for his friend was
totally unmixed with the meanness of jealousy, and he received the
sincerest pleasure from every improvement which Tommy had made; however,
he had never discovered in him any of those surprising talents; and,
when he could catch anything that Tommy said, it appeared to him rather
inferior to his usual method of conversation. However, as so many fine
ladies were of a different opinion, he took it for granted that he must
be mistaken.

But if Harry's opinion of his friend's abilities was not much improved
by this exhibition, it was not so with Tommy. The repeated assurances
which he received that he was indeed a little _prodigy_, began to
convince him that he really was so. When he considered the company he
came from, he found that infinite injustice had been done to his merit;
for at Mr Barlow's he was frequently contradicted, and obliged to give a
reason for what he said; but here, in order to be admired, he had
nothing to do but to talk; whether he had any meaning or not, his
auditors always found either wit or sense, or a most entertaining
sprightliness in all he said. Nor was Mrs Merton herself deficient in
bestowing marks of admiration upon her son. To see him before, improved
in health, in understanding, in virtue, had given her a pleasurable
sensation, for she was by no means destitute of good dispositions; but
to see him shine with such transcendant brightness, before such
excellent judges, and in so polite a company, inspired her with raptures
she had never felt before. Indeed, in consequence of this success, the
young gentleman's volubility improved so much that, before dinner was
over, he seemed disposed to engross the whole conversation to himself;
and Mr Merton, who did not quite relish the sallies of his son so much
as his wife, was once or twice obliged to interpose and check him in his
career. This Mrs Merton thought very hard; and all the ladies, after
they had retired into the drawing-room, agreed, that his father would
certainly spoil his temper by such improper contradiction.

As to little Harry, he had not the good fortune to please the greater
number of the ladies. They observed that he was awkward and ungenteel,
and had a heavy, clownish look; he was also silent and reserved, and had
not said a single agreeable thing; if Mr Barlow chose to keep a school
for carters and threshers, nobody would hinder him, but it was not
proper to introduce such vulgar people to the sons of persons of
fashion. It was therefore agreed that Mr Barlow ought either to send
little Harry home to his friends, or to be no more honoured with the
company of Master Merton. Indeed, one of the ladies hinted, that Mr
Barlow himself was but "an odd kind of man, who never went to
assemblies, and played upon no kind of instrument."

"Why," answered Mrs Merton, "to tell the truth, I was not over fond of
the scheme. Mr Barlow, to be sure, though a very good, is a very odd
kind of man. However, as he is so disinterested, and would never receive
the least present from us, I doubt whether we could with propriety
insist upon his turning little Sandford out of the house." "If that is
the case, madam," answered Mrs Compton (for that was the name of the
lady), "I think it would be infinitely better to remove Master Merton,
and place him in some polite seminary, where he might acquire a
knowledge of the world, and make genteel connections. This will always
be the greatest advantage to a young gentleman, and will prove of the
most essential service to him in life; for, though a person has all the
merit in the world, without such acquaintance it will never push him
forward, or enable him to make a figure. This is the plan which I have
always pursued with Augustus and Matilda; I think I may say not entirely
without success, for they have both the good fortune to have formed the
most brilliant acquaintances. As to Augustus, he is so intimate with
young Lord Squander, who you know is possessed of the greatest
parliamentary interest, that I think that his fortune is as good as
made."

Miss Simmons, who was present at this refined and wise conversation,
could not help looking with so much significance at this mention of Lord
Squander, that Mrs Compton coloured a little, and asked with some
warmth, whether she knew anything of that young nobleman.

"Why, madam," answered the young lady, "what I know is very little; but
if you desire me to inform you, it is my duty to speak the truth." "Oh,
to be sure, miss," replied Mrs Compton, a little angrily, "we all know
that your _judgment_ and _knowledge_ of the world are superior to what
anybody else can boast; and therefore I shall be infinitely obliged to
you for any _information_ you may be pleased to give." "Indeed, madam,"
answered the young lady, "I have very little of either to boast, nor am
I personally acquainted with the nobleman you are talking of; but I have
a cousin, a very good boy, who is at the same public school with his
lordship, and he has given me such a character of him as does not much
prepossess me in his favour." "And what may this wise cousin of yours
have said of his lordship?" "_Only_, madam, that he is one of the worst
boys in the whole school; that he has neither genius nor application for
anything that becomes his rank and situation; that he has no taste for
anything but gaming, horse-racing, and the most contemptible amusements;
that, though his allowance is large, he is continually running in debt
with everybody that will trust him; and that he has broken his word so
often that nobody has the least confidence in what he says. Added to
this, I have heard that he is so haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing,
that nobody can long preserve his friendship without the meanest
flattery and subservience to all his vicious inclinations; and, to
finish all, that he is of so ungrateful a temper, that he was never
known to do an act of kindness to any one, or to care about anything but
himself."

Here Miss Matilda could not help interposing with warmth. She said,
"that his lordship had nothing in his character or manners that did not
perfectly become a nobleman of the most elevated soul. Little grovelling
minds, indeed, which are always envious of their superiors, might give a
disagreeable turn to the generous openness of this young nobleman's
temper. That, as to gaming and running in debt, they were so essential
to a man of fashion, that nobody who was not born in the city, and
oppressed by city prejudices, would think of making the least objection
to them." She then made a panegyric upon his lordship's person, his
elegant taste and dress, his new phaeton, his entertaining conversation,
his extraordinary performance upon the violin; and concluded that, with
such abilities and accomplishments, she did not doubt of one day seeing
him at the head of the nation.

Miss Simmons had no desire of pushing the conversation any farther; and
the rest of the company coming in to tea, the disquisition about Lord
Squander finished.

After tea, several of the young ladies were desired to amuse the company
with music and singing; among the rest Miss Simmons sang a little Scotch
song, called Lochaber, in so artless, but sweet and pathetic a manner,
that little Harry listened almost with tears in his eyes, though several
of the young ladies, by their significant looks and gestures, treated it
with ineffable contempt.

After this, Miss Matilda, who was allowed to be a perfect mistress of
music, played and sang several celebrated Italian airs; but as these
were in a language totally unintelligible to Harry, he received very
little pleasure, though all the rest of the company were in raptures.
She then proceeded to play several pieces of music, which were allowed
by all connoisseurs to require infinite skill to execute. The audience
seemed all delighted, and either felt or pretended to feel inexpressible
pleasure; even Tommy himself, who did not know one note from another,
had caught so much of the general enthusiasm, that he applauded as loud
as the rest of the company. But Harry, whose temper was not quite so
pliable, could not conceal the intolerable weariness that overpowered
his senses during this long exhibition. He gaped, he yawned, he
stretched, he even pinched himself, in order to keep his attention
alive, but all in vain; the more Miss Matilda exercised her skill in
playing pieces of the most difficult execution, the more did Harry's
propensity to drowsiness increase. At length the lateness of the hour,
which much exceeded Harry's time of going to bed, conspiring with the
opiate charms of music, he could resist no longer, but insensibly fell
back upon his chair fast asleep. This unfortunate accident was soon
remarked by the rest of the company, and confirmed them very much in the
opinion they had conceived of Harry's vulgarity; while he, in the
meantime, enjoyed the most placid slumber, which was not dissipated till
Miss Matilda had desisted from playing.

Thus was the first day passed at Mr Merton's, very little to the
satisfaction of Harry; the next, and the next after, were only
repetitions of the same scene. The little gentry, whose tastes and
manners were totally different from his, had now imbibed a perfect
contempt for Harry, and it was with great difficulty that they
condescended to treat him even with common civility. In this _laudable_
behaviour they were very much confirmed by Master Compton and Master
Mash. Master Compton was reckoned a very genteel boy, though all his
gentility consisted in a pair of buckles so big that they almost
crippled him; in a slender emaciated figure, and a look of consummate
impudence. He had almost finished his education at a public school,
where he had learned every vice and folly which is commonly taught at
such places, without the least improvement either of his character or
his understanding. Master Mash was the son of a neighbouring gentleman,
who had considerably impaired his fortune by an inordinate love of
horse-racing. Having been from his infancy accustomed to no other
conversation than about winning and losing money, he had acquired the
idea that, to bet successfully, was the summit of all human ambition. He
had been almost brought up in the stable, and therefore had imbibed the
greatest interest about horses; not from any real affection for that
noble animal, but merely because he considered them as engines for the
winning of money. He too was now improving his talents by a public
education, and longed impatiently for the time when he should be set
free from all restraint, and allowed to display the superiority of his
genius at Ascot and Newmarket.

These two young gentlemen had conceived the most violent dislike to
Harry, and lost no occasion of saying or doing everything they had in
their power to mortify him. To Tommy, they were in the contrary
extreme, and omitted no opportunity of rendering themselves agreeable to
him. Nor was it long before their forward vivacious manners, accompanied
with a knowledge of many of those gay scenes, which acted forcibly upon
Tommy's imagination, began to render their conversation highly
agreeable. They talked to him about public diversions, about celebrated
actresses, about parties of pleasure, and parties of mischief. Tommy
began to feel himself introduced to a new train of ideas, and a wider
range of conduct; he began to long for the time when he should share in
the glories of robbing orchards, or insulting passengers with impunity;
but when he heard that little boys, scarcely bigger than himself, had
often joined in the glorious project of forming open rebellions against
their masters, or of disturbing a whole audience at a playhouse, he
panted for the time when he might have a chance of sharing in the fame
of such achievements. By degrees he lost all regard for Mr Barlow, and
all affection for his friend Harry. At first, indeed, he was shocked at
hearing Mr Barlow mentioned with disrespect, but becoming by degrees
more callous to every good impression he at last took infinite pleasure
in seeing Master Mash (who, though destitute of either wit or genius,
had a great taste for mimicry) take off the _parson_ in the middle of
his _sermon_.

Harry perceived and lamented this change in the manners of his friend;
he sometimes took the liberty of remonstrating with him upon the
subject, but was only answered with a contemptuous sneer; and Master
Mash, who happened once to be present, told him that he was a _monstrous
bore_.

It happened that, while Harry was at Mr Merton's, there was a troop of
strolling players at a neighbouring town. In order to divert the young
gentry, Mr Merton contrived that they should make a party to see a play.
They went accordingly, and Harry with the rest. Tommy, who now no longer
condescended to take any notice of his friend Harry, was seated between
his two new acquaintances, who had become his inseparable companions.
These young gentlemen first began to give specimens of their
_politeness_ by throwing nuts and orange-peel upon the stage; and Tommy,
who was resolved to profit by such an _excellent_ example, threw nuts
and orange-peel with infinite satisfaction.

As soon as the curtain drew up, and the actors appeared, all the rest of
the audience observed a decent silence; but Mash and Compton, who were
now determined to prove the _superiority_ of their manners, began to
talk so loud, and make so much noise, that it was impossible for any one
near them to hear a word of the play. This also seemed amazingly _fine_
to Tommy; and he too talked and laughed as loud as the rest.

The subject of their conversation was, the audience and the performers;
neither of whom these polite young gentlemen found bearable. The
_company_ was chiefly composed of the tradesmen of the town, and the
inhabitants of the neighbouring country; this was a sufficient reason
for these refined young gentlemen to speak of them with the most
insufferable contempt. Every circumstance of their dress and appearance
was criticised with such a minuteness of attention, that Harry, who sat
near, and very much against his inclination was witness to all that
passed, began to imagine that his companions, instead of being brought
up like the sons of gentlemen, had only studied under barbers and
tailors; such amazing knowledge did they display in the history of
buckles, buttons, and dressing of hair. As to the poor _performers_,
they found them totally undeserving of mercy; they were so shockingly
awkward, so ill-dressed, so low-lived, and such detestable creatures,
that it was impossible to bear them with any patience.

Master Mash, who prided himself upon being a young gentleman of great
spirit, was of opinion that they should _kick up a riot_, and demolish
all the scenery. Tommy, indeed, did not very well understand what the
expression meant; but he was so intimately persuaded of the merit and
genius of his companions, that he agreed that it would be the most
proper thing in the world; and the proposal was accordingly made to the
rest of the young gentlemen.

But Harry, who had been silent all the time, could not help
remonstrating at what appeared to him the greatest injustice and
cruelty. "These poor people," said he, "are doing all they can to
entertain us; is it not very unkind to treat them in return with scorn
and contempt? If they could act better, even as well as those fine
people you talk of in London, would they not willingly do it? and
therefore, why should we be angry with them for what they cannot help?
And, as to cutting the scenes to pieces, or doing the house any damage,
have we any more right to attempt it, than they would have to come into
your father's dining-room, and break the dishes to pieces, because they
did not like the dinner? While we are here, let us behave with good
manners, and, if we do not like their acting, it is our own faults if
ever we come to see them again."

This method of reasoning was not much relished by those to whom it was
addressed; and it is uncertain how far they might have proceeded, had
not a decent, plain-looking man, who had been long disturbed with the
noise of these young gentry, at length taken the liberty of
expostulating with them upon the subject. This freedom, or
_impertinence_, as it was termed by Master Mash, was answered by him
with so much rudeness, that the man, who was a neighbouring farmer, was
obliged to reply in a higher strain. Thus did the altercation increase
every minute, till Master Mash, who thought it an unpardonable affront
that any one in an inferior station should presume to think or feel for
himself, so far lost all command of his temper as to call the man a
_blackguard_, and strike him upon the face. But the farmer, who
possessed great strength, and equal resolution, very deliberately laid
hold of the young gentleman who had offered him the insult, and, without
the smallest exertion, laid him sprawling upon the ground, at his full
length under the benches, and setting his feet upon his body, told him
that, "since he did not know how to _sit_ quiet at a play, he would have
the honour of teaching him to _lie_; and that if he offered to stir, he
would trample him to pieces;" a threat which was very evident he could
find no difficulty in executing.

This unexpected incident struck a universal damp over the spirits of the
little gentry; and even Master Mash himself so far forgot his dignity,
as to supplicate in a very submissive manner for a release; in this he
was joined by all his companions, and Harry among the rest.

"Well," said the farmer, "I should never have thought that a parcel of
young gentlemen, as you call yourselves, would come into public to
behave with so much rudeness; I am sure that there is ne'er a ploughboy
at my house but what would have shown more sense and manners; but, since
you are sorry for what has happened, I am very willing to make an end of
the affair; more especially for the sake of this little master here, who
has behaved with so much propriety, that I am sure he is a better
gentleman than any of you, though he is not dressed so much like a
monkey or a barber." With these words he suffered the crestfallen Mash
to rise; who crept from his place of confinement, with looks infinitely
more expressive of mildness than he had brought with him; nor was the
lesson lost upon the others, for they behaved with the greatest decency
during the rest of the exhibition.

However, Master Mash's courage began to rise as he went home, and found
himself farther from his formidable farmer; for he assured his
companions, "that, if he had not been so vulgar a fellow, he would
certainly call him out and pistol him."

The next day at dinner Mr Merton and the ladies, who had not accompanied
the young gentlemen to the play, nor had yet heard of the misfortune
which had ensued, were very inquisitive about the preceding night's
entertainment. The young people agreed that the performers were
detestable, but that the play was a charming piece, full of wit and
sentiment, and extremely improving. This play was called _The Marriage
of Figaro_, and Master Compton had informed them that it was amazingly
admired by all the people of fashion in London.

But Mr Merton, who had observed that Harry was totally silent, at length
insisted upon knowing his opinion upon the subject, "Why, sir," answered
Harry, "I am very little judge of these matters, for I never saw a play
before in my life, and therefore I cannot tell whether it was acted well
or ill; but as to the play itself, it seemed to me to be full of nothing
but cheating and dissimulation; and the people that come in and out do
nothing but impose upon each other, and lie, and trick, and deceive.
Were you or any gentlemen to have such a parcel of servants, you would
think them fit for nothing in the world; and therefore I could not help
wondering, while the play was acting, that people would throw away so
much of their time upon sights that can do them no good, and send their
children and their relations to learn fraud and insincerity." Mr Merton
smiled at the honest bluntness of Harry; but several of the ladies, who
had just been expressing an extravagant admiration of this piece, seemed
to be not a little mortified; however, as they could not contradict the
charges which Harry had brought against it, they thought it most prudent
to be silent.

In the evening it was proposed that all the little gentry should divert
themselves with cards, and they accordingly sat down to a game which is
called Commerce. But Harry, who was totally ignorant of this
accomplishment, desired to be excused; however, his friend Miss Simmons
offered to teach him the game, which, she assured him, was so easy, that
in three minutes he would be able to play as well as the rest. Harry,
however, still continued to refuse; and at last confessed to Miss
Simmons, that he had expended all his money the day before, and
therefore was unable to furnish the stake which the rest deposited.
"Don't let that disturb you," said she; "I will put down for you with a
great deal of pleasure." "Madam," answered Harry, "I am very much
obliged to you, I am sure; but Mr Barlow has always forbidden me either
to receive or borrow money of anybody, for fear, in the one case, I
should become mercenary, or in the other, dishonest; and therefore,
though there is nobody here whom I esteem more than yourself, I am
obliged to refuse your offer." "Well," replied Miss Simmons, "that need
not disturb you; for you shall play upon my account, and that you may do
without any violation of your principles."

Thus was Harry, though with some reluctance, induced to sit down to
cards with the rest. The game, indeed, he found no difficulty in
learning; but he could not help remarking, with wonder, the extreme
solicitude which appeared in the face of all the players at every change
of fortune. Even the young ladies, all but Miss Simmons, seemed to be
equally sensible of the passion of gaining money with the rest; and some
of them behaved with a degree of asperity which quite astonished him.
After several changes of fortune, it happened that Miss Simmons and
Harry were the only remaining players; all the rest, by the laws of the
game, had forfeited all pretensions to the stake, the property of which
was clearly vested in these two, and one more deal was wanting to decide
it. But Harry, with great politeness, rose from the table, and told Miss
Simmons, that, as he only played upon her account, he was no longer
wanted, and that the whole undoubtedly belonged to her. Miss Simmons
refused to take it; and when she found that Harry was not to be induced
to play any more, she at last proposed to him to divide what was left.
This also Harry declined, alleging that he had not the least title to
any part. But Miss Simmons, who began to be uneasy at the remarks which
this extraordinary contest occasioned, told Harry that he would oblige
her by taking his share of the money, and laying it out in any manner
for her that he judged best. "On this condition," answered Harry, "I
will take it; and I think I know a method of laying it out, which you
will not entirely disapprove."

The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Harry disappeared; nor was
he come back when the company were assembled at dinner. At length he
came in, with a glow of health and exercise upon his face, and that
disorder of dress which is produced by a long journey. The young ladies
eyed him with great contempt, which seemed a little to disconcert him;
but Mr Merton speaking to him with great good-humour, and making room
for him to sit down, Harry soon recovered from his confusion.

In the evening, after a long conversation among the young people, about
public diversions and plays, and actors, and dancers, they happened to
mention the name of a celebrated performer, who at this time engaged the
whole attention of the town. Master Compton, after expatiating with
great enthusiasm upon the subject, added, "that nothing was so
fashionable as to make great presents to this person, in order to show
the taste and elegance of the giver." He then proposed that, as so many
young gentlemen and ladies were here assembled, they should set an
example, which would do them infinite honour, and probably be followed
throughout the kingdom, of making a little collection among themselves
to buy a piece of plate, or a gold snuff-box, or some other trifle, to
be presented in their name. He added, "that though he could ill-spare
the money (having just laid out six guineas upon a new pair of buckles),
he would contribute a guinea to so excellent a purpose, and that Masters
Mash and Merton would do the same."

This proposal was universally approved of by all the company, and all
but Harry promised to contribute in proportion to their finances. This
Master Mash observing, said, "Well, farmer, and what will you
subscribe?" Harry answered, "that on this occasion he must beg to be
excused, for he had nothing to give." "Here is a pretty fellow!"
answered Mash; "last night we saw him pocket thirty shillings of our
money, which he cheated us out of at Commerce, and now the little stingy
wretch will not contribute half-a-crown, while we are giving away whole
guineas." Upon this Miss Matilda said, in an ironical manner, "that
Master Harry had always an excellent reason to give for his conduct;
and she did not doubt but he could prove to the satisfaction of them
all, that it was more liberal to keep his money in his pocket than to
give it away."

Harry, who was a little nettled at these reflections, answered, "that
though he was not bound to give any reason, he thought he had a very
good one to give; and that was, that he saw no generosity in thus
bestowing money. According to your own account," added he, "the person
you have been talking of gains more than fifty poor families in the
country have to maintain themselves; and therefore, if I had any money
to give away, I should certainly give it to those that want it most."

With these words Harry went out of the room, and the rest of the gentry,
after abusing him very liberally, sat down to cards. But Miss Simmons,
who imagined that there was more in Harry's conduct than he had
explained, excused herself from cards, and took an opportunity of
talking to him upon the subject. After speaking to him with great
good-nature, she asked him, whether it might not have been better to
have contributed something along with the rest, than to have offended
them by so free an exposition of his sentiments, even though he did not
approve of the scheme. "Indeed, madam," said Harry, "this is what I
would gladly have done, but it was totally out of my power." "How can
that be, Harry? did you not the other night win nearly thirty
shillings?" "That, madam, all belonged to you; and I have already
disposed of it in your name, in a manner that I hope you will not
disapprove." "How is that?" inquired the young lady with some surprise.
"Madam," said Harry, "there was a young woman who lived with my father
as a servant, and always behaved with the greatest honesty and
carefulness. This young woman had an aged father and mother, who for a
great while were able to maintain themselves by their labour; but at
last the poor old man became too weak to do a day's work, and his wife
was afflicted with a disease they call the palsy. Now, when this good
young woman saw that her parents were in such great distress, she left
her place and went to live with them, on purpose to take care of them;
and she works very hard, whenever she can get work, and fares very hard
in order to maintain her parents; and though we assist them all we can,
I know that sometimes they can hardly get food and clothes; therefore,
madam, as you were so kind to say I should dispose of this money for
you, I ran over this morning to these poor people, and gave them all the
money in your name, and I hope you will not be displeased at the use I
have put it to." "Indeed," answered the young lady, "I am much obliged
to you for the good opinion you have of me, and the application of it
does me a great deal of honour; I am only sorry you did not give it in
your own name." "That," replied Harry, "I had not any right to do; it
would have been attributing to myself what did not belong to me, and
equally inconsistent with truth and honesty."

In this manner did the time pass away at Mr Merton's; while Harry
received very little satisfaction from his visit, except in conversing
with Miss Simmons. The affability and good sense of this young lady had
entirely gained his confidence; while all the other young ladies were
continually intent upon displaying their talents and importance, she
alone was simple and unaffected. But what disgusted Harry more than ever
was, that his refined companions seemed to consider themselves, and a
few of their acquaintance, as the only beings of any consequence in the
world. The most trifling inconvenience, the being a little too hot, a
little too cold, the walking a few hundred yards, the waiting a few
minutes for their dinner, the having a trifling cold, or a little
headache, were misfortunes so feelingly lamented, that he would have
imagined they were the most tender of the human species, had he not
observed that they considered the sufferings of all below them with a
profound indifference. If the misfortunes of the poor were mentioned, he
heard of nothing but the insolence and ingratitude of that class of
people, which seemed to be a sufficient excuse for the want of common
humanity. "Surely," said Harry to himself, "there cannot be so much
difference between one human being and another; or if there is, I should
think that part of them the most valuable who cultivate the ground, and
provide necessaries for all the rest; not those who understand nothing
but dress, walking with their toes out, staring modest people out of
countenance, and jabbering a few words of a foreign language."

But now the attention of all the younger part of the company was fixed
upon making preparations for a ball, which Mrs Merton had determined to
give in honour of Master Tommy's return. The whole house was now full
of milliners, mantua-makers, and dancing-masters; and all the young
ladies were employed in giving directions about their clothes, or in
practising the steps of different dances. Harry now, for the first time,
began to comprehend the infinite importance of dress--even the elderly
ladies seemed to be as much interested about the affair as their
daughters; and, instead of the lessons of conduct and wisdom which he
expected to hear, nothing seemed to employ their attention a moment but
French trimmings, gauzes, and Italian flowers. Miss Simmons alone
appeared to consider the approaching solemnity with perfect
indifference. Harry had never heard a single word drop from her that
expressed either interest or impatience; but he had for some days
observed her employed in her room with more than common assiduity. At
length, on the very day that was destined for this important exhibition,
she came to him with a benevolent smile, and spoke to him thus: "I was
so much pleased with the account you gave me the other day of that poor
young woman's duty and affection towards her parents, that I have for
some time employed myself in preparing for them a little present, which
I shall be obliged to you, Master Harry, to convey to them. I have,
unfortunately, never learned either to embroider or to paint artificial
flowers, but my good uncle has taught me that the best employment I can
make of my hands is to assist those who cannot assist themselves."
Saying this, she put into his hands a parcel that contained some linen
and other necessaries for the poor old people, and bade him tell them
not to forget to call upon her uncle when she was returned home, as he
was always happy to assist the deserving and industrious poor. Harry
received her present with gratitude, and almost with tears of joy; and,
looking up in her face, imagined that he saw the features of one of
those angels which he had read of in the Scriptures; so much does real
disinterested benevolence improve the expression of the human
countenance.

But all the rest of the young gentry were employed in cares of a very
different nature--the dressing their hair and adorning their persons.
Tommy himself had now completely resumed his natural character, and
thrown aside all that he had learned during his residence with Mr
Barlow; he had contracted an infinite fondness for all those scenes of
dissipation which his new friends daily described to him, and began to
be convinced that one of the most important things in life is a
fashionable dress. In this _most rational_ sentiment he had been
confirmed by almost all the ladies with whom he had conversed since his
return home. The distinctions of character, relative to virtue and
understanding, which had been with so much pains inculcated upon his
mind, seemed here to be entirely unheeded. No one took the trouble of
examining the real principles or motives from which any human being
acted, while the most minute attention was continually given to what
regarded merely the outside. He observed that the omission of every duty
towards our fellow-creatures was not only excused, but even to a certain
degree admired, provided it was joined with a certain fashionable
appearance; while the most perfect probity or integrity was mentioned
with coldness or disgust, and frequently with open ridicule if
unconnected with a brilliant appearance. As to all the common virtues of
life--such as industry, economy, a punctuality in discharging our
obligations or keeping our word--these were qualities which were treated
as fit for none but the vulgar. Mr Barlow, he found, had been utterly
mistaken in all the principles which he had ever inculcated. "The human
species," Mr Barlow used to say, "can only be supplied with food and
necessaries by a constant assiduity in cultivating the earth and
providing for their mutual wants. It is by labour that everything is
produced; without labour, these fertile fields, which are now adorned
with all the luxuriance of plenty, would be converted into barren
heaths, or impenetrable thickets; these meadows, now the support of a
thousand herds of cattle, would be covered with stagnated waters, that
would not only render them uninhabitable by beasts, but corrupt the air
with pestilential vapours; and even these innumerable flocks of sheep
that feed along the hills, would disappear immediately on the cessation
of that cultivation, which can alone support them, and secure their
existence."

But, however true might be these principles, they were so totally
inconsistent with the conduct and opinion of Tommy's new friends, that
it was not possible for him long to remember their force. He had been
nearly a month with a few young ladies and gentlemen of his own rank,
and instead of their being brought up to produce anything useful, he
found that the great object of all their knowledge and education was
only to waste, to consume, to destroy, to dissipate what was produced
by others; he even found that this inability to assist either themselves
or others seemed to be a merit upon which every one valued himself
extremely; so that an individual, who could not exist without having two
attendants to wait upon him, was superior to him that had only one, but
was obliged in turn to yield to another who required four. And, indeed,
this new system seemed much more easy than the old one; for, instead of
giving himself any trouble about his manners or understanding, he might
with safety indulge all his caprices, give way to all his passions, be
humoursome, haughty, unjust, and selfish to the extreme. He might be
ungrateful to his friends, disobedient to his parents, a glutton, an
ignorant blockhead, in short, everything which to plain sense appears
most frivolous or contemptible, without incurring the least imputation,
provided his hair hung fashionably about his ears, his buckles were
sufficiently large, and his politeness to the ladies unimpeached.

Once, indeed, Harry had thrown him into a disagreeable train of
thinking, by asking him, with great simplicity, what sort of a figure
these young gentlemen would have made in the army of Leonidas, or these
young ladies upon a desert island, where they would be obliged to shift
for themselves. But Tommy had lately learned that nothing spoils the
face more than intense reflection; and therefore, as he could not easily
resolve the question, he wisely determined to forget it.

And now the important evening of the ball approached; the largest room
in the house was lighted up for the dancers, and all the little company
assembled. Tommy was that day dressed in an unusual style of elegance,
and had submitted, without murmuring, to be under the hands of a
hair-dresser for two hours! But what gave him the greatest satisfaction
of all, was an immense pair of new buckles which Mrs Merton had sent for
on purpose to grace the person of her son.

Several minuets were first danced, to the great admiration of the
company; and, among the rest, Tommy, who had been practising ever since
he had been at home, had the honour of exhibiting with Miss Matilda. He
indeed began with a certain degree of diffidence, but was soon inspired
with a proper degree of confidence by the applauses which resounded on
every side. "What an elegant little creature!" cried one lady. "What a
shape is there!" said a second; "I protest he puts me in mind of Vestris
himself." "Indeed," said a third, "Mrs Merton is a most happy mother to
be possessed of such a son, who wants nothing but an introduction to the
world, to be one of the most elegant creatures in England, and the most
accomplished."

As soon as Tommy had finished his dance, he led his partner to a seat
with a grace that surprised all the company anew, and then, with the
sweetest condescension imaginable, he went from one lady to another, to
receive the praises which they liberally poured out, as if it was the
greatest action in the world to draw one foot behind another, and to
walk on tiptoe.

Harry, in the mean time, had shrouded himself in the most obscure part
of the room, and was silently gazing upon the scene that passed. He knew
that his company would give no pleasure among the elegant figures that
engrossed the foremost seats, and felt not the least inclination for
such an honour. In this situation he was observed by Master Compton,
who, at the same instant, formed a scheme of mortifying Miss Simmons,
whom he did not like, and of exposing Harry to the general ridicule. He
therefore proposed it to Mash, who had partly officiated as master of
the ceremonies, and who, with all the readiness of officious malice,
agreed to assist him; Master Mash therefore, went up to Miss Simmons,
and, with all the solemnity of respect, invited her out to dance, which
she, although indifferent about the matter, accepted without hesitation.
In the meantime, Master Compton went up to Harry with the same
hypocritical civility, and in Miss Simmons' name invited him to dance a
minuet. It was in vain that Harry assured him he knew nothing about the
matter; his perfidious friend told him that it was an indispensable duty
for him to stand up; that Miss Simmons would never forgive him if he
should refuse; that it would be sufficient if he could just describe the
figure, without embarrassing himself about the steps. In the mean time,
he pointed out Miss Simmons, who was advancing towards the upper end of
the room, and, taking advantage of his confusion and embarrassment, led
him forward, and placed him by the young lady's side. Harry was not yet
acquainted with the sublime science of imposing upon unwary simplicity,
and therefore never doubted that the message had come from his friend;
and as nothing could be more repugnant to his character than the want of
compliance, he thought it necessary at least to go and expostulate with
her upon the subject. This was his intention when he suffered himself to
be led up the room; but his tormentors did not give him time, for they
placed him by the side of the young lady, and instantly called to the
music to begin. Miss Simmons, in her turn, was equally surprised at the
partner which was provided for her; she had never imagined minuet
dancing to be one of Harry's accomplishments, and therefore instantly
suspected that it was a concerted scheme to mortify her. However, in
this she was determined they should be disappointed, as she was
destitute of all pride, and had the sincerest regard for Harry. As soon,
therefore, as the music struck up, the young lady began her reverence,
which Harry, who found he was now completely caught, and had no time for
explanation, imitated as well as he was able, but in such a manner as
set the whole room in a titter. Harry, however, arming himself with all
the fortitude he possessed, performed his part as well as could be
expected from a person that had never learned a single step of dancing.
By keeping his eye fixed upon his partner, he made a shift at least to
preserve something of the figure, although he was terribly deficient in
the steps and graces of the dance. But his partner, who was scarcely
less embarrassed than himself, and wished to shorten the exhibition,
after crossing once, presented him with her hand. Harry had
unfortunately not remarked the nature of this manoeuvre with perfect
accuracy, and therefore, imagining that one hand was just as good as the
other, he offered the young lady his left instead of his right hand. At
this incident a universal peal of merriment, which they no longer
laboured to conceal, burst from almost all the company, and Miss
Simmons, wishing at any rate to close the scene, presented her partner
with both her hands, and abruptly finished the dance. The unfortunate
couple then retreated to the lower end of the room, amidst the jests and
sneers of their companions, particularly Mash and Compton, who assumed
unusual importance upon the credit of such a brilliant invention.

When they were seated, Miss Simmons could not help asking Harry, with
some displeasure, why he had thus exposed himself and her, by attempting
what he was totally ignorant of, and added, "that, though there was no
disgrace in not being able to dance, it was very great folly to attempt
it without having learned a single step." "Indeed, madam," answered
Harry, "I never should have thought of trying to do what I knew I was
totally ignorant of; but Master Compton came to me, and told me that you
particularly desired me to dance with you, and led me to the other end
of the room; and I only came to speak to you, and to inform you that I
knew nothing about the matter, for fear you should think me uncivil; and
then the music began to play, and you to dance, so that I had no
opportunity of speaking; and I thought it better to do the best I could
than to stand still, or leave you there." Miss Simmons instantly
recovered her former good-humour, and said, "Well, Harry, we are not
the first, nor shall be the last by hundreds, who have made a ridiculous
figure in a ball-room, without so good an excuse. But I am sorry to see
so malicious a disposition in these young gentlemen, and that all their
knowledge of polite life has not taught them a little better manners."

"Why madam," answered Harry, "since you are so good as to talk to me
upon the subject, I must confess that I have been very much surprised at
many things I have seen at Mr Merton's. All these young gentlemen and
ladies are continually talking about genteel life and manners, and yet
they are frequently doing things which surprise me. Mr Barlow has always
told me that politeness consisted in a disposition to oblige everybody
around us, and to say or do nothing which can give them disagreeable
impressions. Yet I continually see these young gentlemen striving to do
and say things, for no other reason than to give pain; for, not to go
any farther than the present instance, what motive can Masters Compton
and Mash have had but to mortify you by giving you such a partner? you,
madam, too, who are so kind and good to everybody, that I should think
it impossible not to love you."

"Harry," answered the young lady, "what you say about politeness is
perfectly just. I have heard my uncle and many sensible people say the
same; but, in order to acquire this species of it, both goodness of
heart and a just way of thinking are required; and therefore many people
content themselves with aping what they can pick up in the dress, or
gestures, or cant expressions of the higher classes; just like the poor
ass, which, dressed in the skin of a lion, was taken for the lion
himself, till his unfortunate braying exposed the cheat." "Pray, madam,
what is that story?" said Harry.

"It is a trifling one that I have read," answered Miss Simmons, "of
somebody who, having procured a lion's skin, fastened it round the body
of an ass, and then turned him loose, to the great affright of the
neighbourhood. Those who saw him first, imagined that a monstrous lion
had invaded the country, and fled with precipitation. Even the very
cattle caught the panic and were scattered by hundreds over the plains.
In the meantime the victorious ass pranced and capered along the fields,
and diverted himself with running after the fugitives. But at length, in
the gaiety of his heart, he broke into such a discordant braying, as
surprised those that were nearest, and expected to hear a very different
noise from under the terrible skin. At length a resolute fellow ventured
by degrees nearer to this object of their terror, and discovering the
cheat that had been practised upon them, divested the poor ass of all
his borrowed spoils, and drove him away with his cudgel."

"This story," continued Miss Simmons, "is continually coming into my
mind, when I see anybody imagine himself of great importance, because he
has adopted some particular mode of dress, or the grimaces of those that
call themselves fashionable people. Nor do I ever see Master Mash or
Compton without thinking of the lion's skin, and expecting every moment
to hear them bray."

Harry laughed very heartily at this story; but now their attention was
called towards the company, who had ranged themselves by pairs for
country-dancing. Miss Simmons, who was very fond of this exercise, then
asked Harry if he had never practised any of these dances. Harry said,
"it had happened to him three or four times at home, and that he
believed he should not be puzzled about any of the figures." "Well,
then," said the young lady, "to show how little I regard their intended
mortification, I will stand up and you shall be my partner." So they
rose and placed themselves at the bottom of the whole company according
to the laws of dancing, which appoint that place for those who come
last.

And now the music began to strike up in a more joyous strain; the little
dancers exerted themselves with all their activity, and the exercise
diffused a glow of health and cheerfulness over the faces of the most
pale and languid. Harry exerted himself here with much better success
than he had lately done in the minuet. He had great command over all his
limbs, and was very well versed in every play that gives address to the
body, so that he found no difficulty in practising all the varied
figures of the dances, particularly with the assistance of Miss Simmons,
who explained to him everything that appeared embarrassing.

But now, by the continuance of the dance, all who were at first at the
upper end had descended to the bottom, where, by the laws of the
diversion, they ought to have waited quietly till their companions,
becoming in their turn uppermost, had danced down to their former
places. But when Miss Simmons and Harry expected to have had their just
share of the exercise, they found that almost all their companions had
deserted them and retired to their places. Harry could not help
wondering at this behaviour; but Miss Simmons told him with a smile,
that it was only of a piece with the rest, and she had often remarked it
at country assemblies, where all the gentry of a county were gathered
together. "This is frequently the way," added she, "that those who think
themselves superior to the rest of the world choose to show their
importance." "This is a very bad way indeed," replied Harry; "people may
choose whether they will dance or practise any particular diversion,
but, if they do, they ought to submit to the laws of it without
repining; and I have always observed among the little boys whom I am
acquainted with, that wherever this disposition prevails, it is the
greatest proof of a bad and contemptible temper." "I am afraid," replied
Miss Simmons, "that your observations will hold universally true, and
that those who expect so much for themselves, without being willing to
consider their fellow-creatures in turn, in whatever station they are
found, are always the most mean, ignorant, and despicable of the
species."

"I remember," said Harry, "reading a story of a great man called Sir
Philip Sydney. This gentleman was reckoned not only the bravest but the
politest person in all England. It happened that he was sent over the
sea to assist some of our allies against their enemies. After having
distinguished himself in such a manner as gained him the love and esteem
of all the army, this excellent man one day received a shot which broke
his thigh, as he was bravely fighting at the head of his men. Sir
Philip Sydney felt that he was mortally wounded, and was obliged to turn
his horse's head, and retire to his tent, in order to have his wound
examined. By the time that he had reached his tent, he not only felt
great agonies from his wound, but the heat of the weather, and the fever
which the pain produced, had excited an intolerable thirst, so that he
prayed his attendants to fetch him a little water. With infinite
difficulty some water was procured and brought to him, but, just as he
was raising the cup to his lips, he chanced to see a poor English
soldier, who had been mortally wounded in the same engagement, and lay
upon the ground faint and bleeding, and ready to expire. The poor man
was suffering, like his general, from the pain of a consuming thirst,
and therefore, though respect prevented him from asking for any, he
turned his dying eyes upon the water with an eagerness which
sufficiently explained his sufferings. Upon this the excellent and noble
gentleman took the cup, which he had not yet tasted, from his lips, and
gave it to his attendants, ordering them to carry it to the wounded
soldier, and only saying, 'this poor man wants it still more than I
do.'"

"This story," added Harry, "was always a particular favourite with Mr
Barlow, and he has often pointed it out to me as an example not only of
the greatest virtue and humanity, but also of that elevated method of
thinking which constitutes the true gentleman. 'For what is it,' I have
heard him say, 'that gives a superiority of manners, but the inclination
to sacrifice our own pleasures and interests to the well-being of
others?' An ordinary person might have pitied the poor soldier, or even
have assisted him, when he had first taken care of himself; but who, in
such a dreadful extremity as the brave Sydney was reduced to, would be
capable of even forgetting his own sufferings to relieve another, who
had not acquired the generous habit of always slighting his own
gratifications for the sake of his fellow-creatures?"

As Harry was conversing in this manner, the little company had left off
dancing, and were refreshing themselves with a variety of cakes and
agreeable liquors, which had been provided for the occasion. Tommy
Merton and the other young gentleman were now distinguishing themselves
by their attendance upon the ladies, whom they were supplying with
everything they chose to have, but no one thought it worth his while to
wait upon Miss Simmons. When Harry observed this, he ran to the table,
and upon a large waiter brought her cakes and lemonade, which he
presented, if not with a better grace, with a more sincere desire to
oblige than any of the rest. But, as he was stooping down to offer her
the choice, Master Mash unluckily passed that way, and, elated by the
success of his late piece of ill-nature, determined to attempt a second
still more brutal than the first. For this reason, just as Miss Simmons
was helping herself to some wine and water, Mash, pretending to stumble,
pushed Harry in such a manner that the greater part of the contents of
the glasses was discharged full into her bosom. The young lady coloured
at the insult, and Harry, who instantly perceived that it had been done
on purpose, being no longer able to contain his indignation, seized a
glass that was only half-emptied, and discharged the contents full into
the face of the aggressor. Mash, who was a boy of violent passion,
exasperated at this retaliation, which he so well deserved, instantly
caught up a drinking glass, and flung it full at the head of Harry.
Happy was it for him that it only grazed his head without taking the
full effect; it, however, laid bare a considerable gash, and Harry was
in an instant covered with his own blood, the sight of which provoked
him the more, and made him forget both the place and the company where
he was, so that, flying upon Mash with all the fury of just revenge, a
dreadful combat ensued, which put the whole room in a consternation.

But Mr Merton soon appeared, and with some difficulty separated the
enraged champions. He then inquired into the subject of the contest,
which Master Mash endeavoured to explain away as an accident. But Harry
persisted in his account with so much firmness, in which he was
corroborated by Miss Simmons, that Mr Merton readily perceived the
truth. Mash, however, apologised for himself in the best manner that he
was able, by saying, that he only meant to play Master Harry an innocent
trick, but that he had undesignedly injured Miss Simmons.

Whatever Mr Merton felt, he did not say a great deal; he, however,
endeavoured to pacify the enraged combatants, and ordered assistance to
Harry to bind up the wound, and clean him from the blood which had now
disfigured him from head to foot.

Mrs Merton, in the mean time, who was sitting at the upper end of the
room amidst the other ladies, had seen the fray, and been informed that
it was owing to Harry's throwing a glass of lemonade in Master Mash's
face. This gave Mrs Compton an opportunity of indulging herself again in
long invectives against Harry, his breeding, family, and manners. "She
never," she said, "had liked the boy, and now he had justified all her
forebodings upon the subject. Such a little vulgar wretch could never
have been witness to anything but scenes of riot and ill-manners; and
now he was brawling and fighting in a gentleman's house, just as he
would do at one of the public houses to which he was used to go with his
father."

While she was in the midst of this eloquent harangue Mr Merton came up,
and gave a more unprejudiced narrative of the affair. He acquitted Harry
of all blame, and said that it was impossible, even for the mildest
temper in the world, to act otherwise upon such unmerited provocation.
This account seemed wonderfully to turn the scale in Harry's favour;
though Miss Simmons was no great favourite with the young ladies, yet
the spirit and gallantry which he had discovered in her cause began to
act very forcibly on their minds. One of the young ladies observed,
"that if Master Harry was better dressed he would certainly be a very
pretty boy;" another said, "she had always thought he had a look above
his station;" and a third remarked "that, considering he had never
learned to dance, he had by no means a vulgar look."

This untoward accident having thus been amicably settled, the
diversions of the evening went forward. But Harry, who had now lost all
taste for genteel company, took the first opportunity of retiring to
bed, where he soon fell asleep, and forgot both the mortification and
bruises he had received. In the mean time the little company below found
means to entertain themselves till past midnight, and then retired to
their chambers.

The next morning they rose later than usual; and, as several of the
young gentlemen, who had been invited to the preceding evening's
diversion, were not to return till after dinner, they agreed to take a
walk into the country. Harry went with them as usual, though Master
Mash, by his misrepresentations, had prejudiced Tommy and all the rest
against him. But Harry, who was conscious of his own innocence, and
began to feel the pride of injured friendship, disdained to give an
explanation of his behaviour, since his friend was not sufficiently
interested about the matter to demand one.

While they were walking slowly along the common they discovered at a
distance a prodigious crowd of people, all moving forward in the same
direction. This attracted the curiosity of the little troop, and on
inquiry they found there was going to be a bull-baiting. Instantly an
eager desire seized upon all the little gentry to see the diversion. One
obstacle alone presented itself, which was, that their parents, and
particularly Mrs Merton, had made them promise that they would avoid
every species of danger. This objection was, however, removed by Master
Billy Lyddall, who remarked, "that there could be no danger in the
sight, as the bull was to be tied fast, and could therefore do them no
harm; besides," added he, smiling, "what occasion have they to know that
we have been at all? I hope we are not such simpletons as to accuse
ourselves, or such telltales as to inform against one another?" "No! no!
no!" was the universal exclamation from all but Harry, who had remained
profoundly silent on the occasion. "Master Harry has not said a word,"
said one of the little folks; "sure he will not tell of us." "Indeed,"
said Harry, "I don't wish to tell of you; but if I am asked where we
have been, how can I help telling?" "What!" answered Master Lyddall,
"can't you say that we have been walking along the road, or across the
common, without mentioning anything further?" "No," said Harry, "that
would not be speaking truth; besides, bull-baiting is a very cruel and
dangerous diversion, and therefore none of us should go to see it,
particularly Master Merton, whose mother loves him so much, and is so
careful about him."

This speech was not received with much approbation by those to whom it
was addressed. "A pretty fellow," said one, "to give himself these airs,
and pretend to be wiser than every one else!"

"What!" said Master Compton, "does this beggar's brat think that he is
to govern gentlemen's sons, because Master Merton is so good as to keep
company with him?" "If I were Master Merton," said a third, "I'd soon
send the little impertinent jackanapes home to his own blackguard
family." And Master Mash, who was the biggest and strongest boy in the
whole company, came up to Harry, and grinning in his face, said, "So all
the return that you make to Master Merton for his goodness to you is to
be a spy and an informer, is it, you little dirty blackguard?"

Harry, who had long perceived and lamented the coolness of Master Merton
towards him, was now much more grieved to see that his friend was not
only silent, but seemed to take an ill-natured pleasure in these
insults, than at the insults themselves which were offered to him.
However, as soon as the crowd of tormentors which surrounded him would
give him leave to speak, he coolly answered, "that he was as little a
spy and informer as any of them; and, as to begging, he thanked God he
wanted as little of them as they did of him;" "besides," added he, "were
I even reduced so low as that, I should know better how to employ my
time than to ask charity of any one here."

This sarcastic answer, and the reflections that were made upon it, had
such an effect upon the too irritable temper of Master Merton, that, in
an instant, forgetting his former obligations and affection to Harry, he
strutted up to him, and clenching his fist, asked him, "whether he meant
to insult him?"

"Well done, Master Merton!" echoed through the whole society; "thrash
him heartily for his impudence." "No, Master Tommy," answered Harry; "it
is you and your friends here that insult me."

"What!" answered Tommy, "are you a person of such consequence that you
must not be spoken to? You are a prodigious fine gentleman, indeed." "I
always thought you one till now," answered Harry.

"How, you rascal!" said Tommy; "do you say that I am not a gentleman?
Take that!" and immediately struck Harry upon the face with his fist.
His fortitude was not proof against this treatment; he turned his face
away, and only said, in a low tone of voice, "Master Tommy, Master
Tommy, I never should have thought it possible you could have treated me
in this unworthy manner;" then, covering his face with both his hands,
he burst into an agony of crying.

But the little troop of gentlemen, who were vastly delighted with the
mortification which Harry had received, and had formed a very different
opinion of his prowess, from the patience which he had hitherto exerted,
began to gather round and repeat their persecutions. _Coward_, and
_blackguard_, and _tell-tale_ echoed in a chorus through the circle; and
some, more forward than the rest, seized him by the hair, in order that
he might hold up his head and show his _pretty face_.

But Harry, who now began to recollect himself, wiped his tears with his
hand, and, looking up, asked them with a firm tone of voice and a steady
countenance, why they meddled with him; then, swinging round, he
disengaged himself at once from all who had taken hold of him. The
greatest part of the company gave back at this question, and seemed
disposed to leave him unmolested; but Master Mash, who was the most
quarrelsome and impertinent boy present, advanced, and looking at Harry
with a contemptuous sneer, said, "this is the way we always treat such
little blackguards as you, and if you have not had enough to satisfy
you, we'll willingly give you some more." "As to all your nicknames and
nonsense," answered Harry, "I don't think it worth my while to resent
them; but though I have suffered Master Merton to strike me, there's not
another in the company shall do it, or, if he chooses to try, he shall
soon find whether or not I am a coward."

Master Mash made no answer to this, but by a slap of the face, which
Harry returned by a punch of his fist, which had almost overset his
antagonist, in spite of his superiority of size and strength. This
unexpected check from a boy, so much less than himself, might probably
have cooled the courage of Mash, had he not been ashamed of yielding to
one whom he had treated with so much unmerited contempt. Summoning,
therefore, all his resolution, he flew at Harry like a fury, and as he
had often been engaged in quarrels like this, he struck him with so much
force, that, with the first blow he aimed, he felled him to the ground.
Harry, foiled in this manner, but not dismayed, rose in an instant, and
attacked his adversary with redoubled vigour, at the very moment when he
thought himself sure of the victory. A second time did Mash, after a
short but severe contest, close with his undaunted enemy, and, by dint
of superior strength, roughly hurled him to the ground.

The little troop of spectators, who had mistaken Harry's patient
fortitude for cowardice, began now to entertain the sincerest respect
for his courage, and gathered round the combatants in silence. A second
time did Harry rise and attack his stronger adversary with the cool
intrepidity of a veteran combatant. The battle now began to grow more
dreadful and more violent. Mash had superior strength and dexterity, and
greater habitude of fighting; his blows were aimed with equal skill and
force, and each appeared sufficient to crush an enemy so much inferior
in size, in strength, in years; but Harry possessed a body hardened to
support pain and hardship; a greater degree of activity; a cool,
unyielding courage, which nothing could disturb or daunt. Four times had
he been now thrown down by the irresistible strength of his foe; four
times had he risen stronger from his fall, covered with dirt and blood,
and panting with fatigue, but still unconquered. At length, from the
duration of the combat, and his own violent exertions, the strength of
Mash began to fail; enraged and disappointed at the obstinate resistance
he had met with, he began to lose all command of his temper, and strike
at random; his breath grew short, his efforts were more laborious, and
his knees seemed scarcely able to sustain his weight; but actuated by
rage and shame, he rushed with all his might upon Harry, as if
determined to crush him with one last effort. Harry prudently stepped
back, and contented himself with parrying the blows that were aimed at
him, till, seeing that his antagonist was almost exhausted by his own
impetuosity, he darted at him with all his force, and by one successful
blow levelled him with the ground.

An involuntary shout of triumph now burst from the little assembly of
spectators; for such is the temper of human beings, that they are more
inclined to consider superiority of force than justice; and the very
same boys, who just before were loading Harry with taunts and outrages,
were now ready to congratulate him upon his victory. He, however, when
he found his antagonist no longer capable of resistance, kindly assisted
him to rise, and told him "he was very sorry for what had happened;"
but Mash, oppressed at once with the pain of his bruises, and the
disgrace of his defeat, observed an obstinate silence.

Just at this moment their attention was engaged by a new and sudden
spectacle. A bull of the largest size and greatest beauty was led across
the plain, adorned with ribbons of various colours. The majestic animal
suffered himself to be led along, an unresisting prey, till he arrived
at the spot which was destined for the theatre of his persecutions. Here
he was fastened to an iron ring, which had been strongly let into the
ground, and whose force they imagined would be sufficient to restrain
him, even in the midst of his most violent exertions. An innumerable
crowd of men, of women, of children, then surrounded the place, waiting
with eager curiosity for the inhuman sport which they expected. The
little party which had accompanied Master Merton were now no longer to
be restrained; their friends, their parents, admonition, duty, promises,
were all forgotten in an instant, and, solely intent upon gratifying
their curiosity, they mingled with the surrounding multitude.

Harry, although reluctantly, followed them at a distance; neither the
ill-usage he had received, nor the pain of his wounds, could make him
unmindful of Master Merton or careless of his safety. He knew too well
the dreadful accidents which frequently attend these barbarous sports,
to be able to quit his friend till he had once more seen him in a place
of safety.

And now the noble animal, that was to be thus wantonly tormented, was
fastened to the ring by a strongly-twisted cord, which, though it
confined and cramped his exertions, did not entirely restrain them.
Although possessed of almost irresistible strength, he seemed unwilling
to exert it, and looked round upon the infinite multitude of his enemies
with a gentleness that ought to have disarmed their animosity.

Presently a dog of the largest size and most ferocious courage was let
loose, who, as soon as he beheld the bull, uttered a savage yell, and
rushed upon him with all the rage of inveterate animosity. The bull
suffered him to approach with the coolness of deliberate courage, but
just as the dog was springing up to seize him, he rushed forward to meet
his foe, and putting his head to the ground, canted him into the air
several yards; and had not the spectators run and caught him upon their
backs and hands, he would have been crushed to pieces in the fall. The
same fate attended another, and another dog, which were let loose
successively; the one was killed upon the spot, while the other, who had
a leg broken in the fall, crawled howling and limping away. The bull, in
the meanwhile, behaved with all the calmness and intrepidity of an
experienced warrior; without violence, without passion, he waited every
attack of his enemies, and then severely punished them for their
rashness.

While this was transacting, to the diversion not only of the rude and
illiterate populace, but to that of the little gentry with Master
Merton, a poor, half-naked Black came up, and humbly implored their
charity. He had served, he told them, on board an English vessel, and
even showed them the scars of several wounds he had received; but now
he was discharged, and without friends, and without assistance, he could
scarcely find food to support his wretched life, or clothes to cover him
from the wintry wind.

Some of the young gentry, who, from a bad education, had been little
taught to feel or pity the distress of others, were base enough to
attempt to jest upon his dusky colour and foreign accent; but Master
Merton, who, though lately much corrupted and changed from what he had
been with Mr Barlow, preserved a great degree of generosity, put his
hand into his pocket in order to relieve him, but unfortunately found
nothing to give. The foolish profusion which he had lately learned from
the young gentlemen at his father's house, had made him waste in cards,
in playthings, in trifles, all his stock of money, and now he found
himself unable to relieve that distress which he pitied.

Thus repulsed on every side, and unassisted, the unfortunate Black
approached the place where Harry stood, holding out the tattered remains
of his hat, and imploring charity. Harry had not much to give, but he
took sixpence out of his pocket, which was all his riches, and gave it
with the kindest look of compassion, saying, "Here, poor man, this is
all I have; if I had more, it should be at your service." He had no time
to add more, for at that instant three fierce dogs rushed upon the bull
at once, and by their joint attacks rendered him almost mad. The calm
deliberate courage which he had hitherto shown was now changed into rage
and desperation: he roared with pain and fury; flashes of fire seemed to
come from his angry eyes, and his mouth was covered with foam and
blood. He hurried round the stake with incessant toil and rage, first
aiming at one, then at another of the persecuting dogs that harassed him
on every side, growling and baying incessantly, and biting him in every
part. At length, with a furious effort that he made, he trampled one of
his foes beneath his feet, and gored a second to that degree that his
bowels came through the wound, and at the same moment the cord, which
had hitherto confined him, snapped asunder, and let him loose upon the
affrighted multitude.

It is impossible to conceive the terror and dismay which instantly
seized the crowd of spectators. Those who before had been hallooing with
joy, and encouraging the fury of the dogs with shouts and acclamations,
were now scattered over the plain, and fled from the fury of the animal
whom they had been so basely tormenting. The enraged bull meanwhile
rushed like lightning over the plain, trampling some, goring others, and
taking ample vengeance for the injuries he had received. Presently he
rushed with headlong fury towards the spot where Master Merton and his
associates stood; all fled with wild affright, but with a speed that was
not equal to that of the pursuer. Shrieks, and outcries, and
lamentations were heard on every side; and those who, a few minutes
before, had despised the good advice of Harry, would now have given the
world to be safe in the houses of their parents. Harry alone seemed to
preserve his presence of mind; he neither cried out nor ran, but, when
the dreadful animal approached, leaped nimbly aside, and the bull passed
on, without embarrassing himself about his escape.

Not so fortunate was Master Merton; he happened to be the last of the
little troop of fliers, and full in the way which the bull had taken.
And now his destruction appeared certain; for as he ran, whether through
fear or the inequality of the ground, his foot slipped, and down he
tumbled in the very path of the enraged pursuing animal. All who saw
imagined his fate inevitable; and it would certainly have proved so, had
not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above his years, suddenly
seized a prong which one of the fugitives had dropped, and at the very
moment when the bull was stooping to gore his defenceless friend,
advanced and wounded him in the flank. The bull in an instant turned
short, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant; and it is
probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid
the price of his assistance to his friend with his own life, had not an
unexpected succour arrived; for in that instant the grateful Black
rushed on like lightning to assist him, and assailing the bull with a
weighty stick that he held in his hand, compelled him to turn his rage
upon a new object. The bull, indeed, attacked him with all the
impetuosity of revenge; but the Black jumped nimbly aside and eluded his
fury. Not contented with this, he wheeled round his fierce antagonist,
and seizing him by the tail, began to batter his sides with an
unexpected storm of blows. In vain did the enraged animal bellow and
writhe himself about in all the convulsions of madness; his intrepid
foe, without ever quitting his hold, suffered himself to be dragged
about the field, still continuing his discipline, till the creature was
almost spent with the fatigue of his own violent agitations. And now
some of the boldest of the spectators, taking courage, approached to his
assistance, and throwing a well-twisted rope over his head, they at
length, by the dint of superior numbers, completely mastered the furious
animal, and bound him to a tree.

In the meanwhile, several of Mr Merton's servants, who had been sent out
after the young gentlemen, approached and took up their young master,
who, though without a wound, was almost dead with fear and agitation.
But Harry, after seeing that his friend was perfectly safe, and in the
hands of his own family, invited the Black to accompany him, and instead
of returning to Mr Merton's, took the way which led to his father's
house.

While these scenes were passing, Mrs Merton, though ignorant of the
danger of her son, was not undisturbed at home. Some accounts had been
brought of Harry's combat, which served to make her uneasy, and to
influence her still more against him. Mrs Compton too, and Miss Matilda,
who had conceived a violent dislike to Harry, were busy to inflame her
by their malicious representations.

While she was in these dispositions, Mr Merton happened to enter, and
was at once attacked by all the ladies upon the subject of this improper
connection. He endeavoured for a long time to remove their prejudices by
reason; but when he found that to be impossible, he contented himself
with telling his wife, that a little time would perhaps decide which
were the most proper companions for their son; and that till Harry had
done something to render himself unworthy of their notice, he never
could consent to their treating him with coldness or neglect.

At this moment, a female servant burst into the room, with all the
wildness of affright, and cried out with a voice that was scarcely
articulate, "Oh, madam, madam; such an accident! poor dear Master
Tommy."

"What of him, for pity's sake?" cried out Mrs Merton, with an impatience
and concern that sufficiently marked her feelings. "Nay, madam,"
answered the servant, "he is not much hurt, they say; but little
Sandford has taken him to a bull-baiting, and the bull has gored him,
and William and John are bringing him home in their arms."

These words were scarcely delivered when Mrs Merton uttered a violent
shriek, and was instantly seized with an hysteric fit; and while the
ladies were all employed in assisting her, and restoring her senses, Mr
Merton, who, though much alarmed, was more composed, walked
precipitately out to learn the truth of this imperfect narration.

He had not proceeded far before he met the crowd of children and
servants, one of whom carried Tommy Merton in his arms. As soon as he
was convinced that his son had received no other damage than a violent
fright, he began to inquire into the circumstances of the affair; but
before he had time to receive any information, Mrs Merton, who had
recovered from her fainting, came running wildly from the house. When
she saw that her son was safe, she caught him in her arms, and began to
utter all the incoherent expressions of a mother's fondness. It was with
difficulty that her husband could prevail upon her to moderate her
transports till they were within. Then she gave a loose to her feelings
in all their violence, and for a considerable time was incapable of
attending to anything but the joy of his miraculous preservation.

At length, however, she became more composed, and observing that all the
company were present, except Harry Sandford, she exclaimed, with sudden
indignation, "So I see that little abominable wretch has not had the
impudence to follow you in; and I almost wish that the bull had gored
him, as he deserved." "What little wretch do you mean, mamma?" said
Tommy. "Whom can I mean," cried Mrs Merton, "but that vile Harry
Sandford, whom your father is so fond of, and who had nearly cost you
your life, by leading you into danger?" "He! mamma," said Tommy; "he
lead me into danger! He did all he could to persuade me not to go, and I
was a very naughty boy, indeed, not to take his advice."

Mrs Merton stood amazed at this information, for her prejudices had
operated so powerfully upon her mind, that she had implicitly believed
the guilt of Harry upon the imperfect evidence of the maid. "Who was it,
then," said Mr Merton, "could be so imprudent?" "Indeed, papa," answered
Tommy, "we were all to blame, all but Harry, who advised and begged us
not to go, and particularly me, because he said it would give you so
much uneasiness when you knew it, and that it was so dangerous a
diversion."

Mrs Merton looked confused at her mistake, but Mrs Compton observed,
that she supposed "Harry was afraid of the danger, and therefore, had
wisely kept out of the way." "Oh, no, indeed, madam," answered one of
the little boys, "Harry is no coward, though we thought him so at first,
when he let Master Tommy strike him, but he fought Master Mash in the
bravest manner I ever saw; and though Master Mash fought very well, yet
Harry had the advantage; and I saw him follow us at a little distance,
and keep his eye upon Master Merton all the time, till the bull broke
loose, and then I was so frightened that I do not know what became of
him." "So this is the little boy," said Mr Merton, "whom you were for
driving from the society of your children. But let us hear more of this
story, for as yet I know neither the particulars of his danger nor his
escape." Upon this one of the servants, who, from some little distance,
had seen the whole affair, was called in and examined. He gave them an
exact account of all of Tommy's misfortune; of Harry's bravery; of the
unexpected succour of the poor Black; and filled the whole room with
admiration, that such an action, so noble, so intrepid, so fortunate,
should have been achieved by such a child.

Mrs Merton was now silent with shame at reflecting upon her own unjust
prejudices, and the ease with which she had become the enemy of a boy
who had saved the life of her darling son, and who appeared as much
superior in character to all the young gentlemen at her house as they
exceeded him in rank and fortune. The young ladies now forgot their
former objections to his person and manners, and--such is the effect of
genuine virtue--all the company conspired to extol the conduct of Harry
to the skies.

But Mr Merton, who had appeared more delighted than all the rest with
the relations of Harry's intrepidity, now cast his eyes round the room
and seemed to be looking for his little friend; but when he could not
find him, he said, with some concern, "Where can be our little
deliverer? Sure he can have met with no accident, that he has not
returned with the rest!" "No," said one of the servants; "as to that,
Harry Sandford is safe enough, for I saw him go towards his own home in
company with the Black." "Alas!" answered Mr Merton, "surely he must
have received some unworthy treatment, that could make him thus abruptly
desert us all. And now I recollect I heard one of the young gentlemen
mention a blow that Harry had received. Surely, Tommy, you could not
have been so basely ungrateful as to strike the best and noblest of your
friends!" Tommy, at this, hung down his head, his face was covered with
a burning blush, and the tears began silently to trickle down his
cheeks.

Mrs Merton remarked the anguish and confusion of her child, and catching
him in her arms, was going to clasp him to her bosom, with the most
endearing expressions, but Mr Merton, hastily interrupting her, said,
"It is not now a time to give way to fondness for a child, who, I fear,
has acted the basest and vilest part that can disgrace a human being,
and who, if what I suspect be true, can be only a dishonour to his
parents." At this, Tommy could no longer contain himself, but burst into
such a violent transport of crying, that Mrs Merton, who seemed to feel
the severity of Mr Merton's conduct with still more poignancy than her
son, caught her darling up in her arms and carried him abruptly out of
the room, accompanied by most of the ladies, who pitied Tommy's
abasement, and agreed that there was no crime he could have been guilty
of which was not amply atoned for by such charming sensibility.

But Mr Merton, who now felt all the painful interest of a tender father,
and considered this as the critical moment which was to give his son the
impression of worth or baseness for life, was determined to examine this
affair to the utmost. He, therefore, took the first opportunity of
drawing the little boy aside who had mentioned Master Merton's striking
Harry, and questioned him upon the subject. But he, who had no
particular interest in disguising the truth, related the circumstances
nearly as they had happened; and though he a little softened the matter
in Tommy's favour, yet, without intending it, he held up such a picture
of his violence and injustice, as wounded his father to the soul.




CHAPTER VIII.

     Arrival of Mr Barlow--Story of Polemo--Tommy's repentance--Story of
     Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy as an Arabian Horseman--His
     Mishap--Tommy's intrepidity--The Poor Highlander's story--Tommy's
     Sorrow for his conduct to Harry--Conclusion of the Story of Sophron
     and Tigranes--Tommy's resolution to study nothing but "reason and
     philosophy"--Visits Harry and begs his forgiveness--The Grateful
     Black's Story--Tommy takes up his abode at Farmer Sandford's--The
     Grateful Black's account of himself--Mr Merton's visit to the
     Farm--The unexpected present--Conclusion.


While Mr Merton was occupied by these uneasy feelings, he was agreeably
surprised by a visit from Mr Barlow, who came accidentally to see him,
with a perfect ignorance of all the great events which had so recently
happened.

Mr Merton received this worthy man with the sincerest cordiality; but
there was such a gloom diffused over all his manners that Mr Barlow
began to suspect that all was not right with Tommy, and therefore
purposely inquired after him, to give his father an opportunity of
speaking. This Mr Merton did not fail to do; and taking Mr Barlow
affectionately by the hand, he said, "Oh, my dear Sir, I begin to fear
that all my hopes are at an end in that boy, and all your kind
endeavours thrown away. He has just behaved in such a manner as shows
him to be radically corrupted, and insensible of every principle but
pride." He then related to Mr Barlow every incident of Tommy's
behaviour; making the severest reflections upon his insolence and
ingratitude, and blaming his own supineness, that had not earlier
checked these boisterous passions, that now burst forth with such a
degree of fury that threatened ruin to his hopes.

"Indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "I am very sorry to hear this account of
my little friend; yet I do not see it in quite so serious a light as
yourself; and though I cannot deny the dangers that may arise from a
character so susceptible of false impressions, and so violent, at the
same time, yet I do not think the corruption either so great or so
general as you seem to suspect. Do we not see, even in the most trifling
habits of body or speech, that a long and continual attention is
required, if we would wish to change them, and yet our perseverance is,
in the end, generally successful; why, then, should we imagine that
those of the mind are less obstinate, or subject to different laws? Or
why should we rashly abandon ourselves to despair, from the first
experiments that do not succeed according to our wishes?"

"Indeed," answered Mr Merton, "what you say is perfectly consistent with
the general benevolence of your character, and most consolatory to the
tenderness of a father. Yet I know too well the general weakness of
parents in respect to the faults of their children not to be upon my
guard against the delusions of my own mind. And when I consider the
abrupt transition of my son into everything that is most inconsistent
with goodness,--how lightly, how instantaneously he seems to have
forgotten everything he had learned with you,--I cannot help forming the
most painful and melancholy presages of the future."

"Alas, sir," answered Mr Barlow, "what is the general malady of human
nature but this very instability which now appears in your son? Do you
imagine that half the vices of men arise from real depravity of heart?
On the contrary, I am convinced that human nature is infinitely more
weak than wicked, and that the greater part of all bad conduct springs
rather from want of firmness than from any settled propensity to evil."

"Indeed," replied Mr Merton, "what you say is highly reasonable; nor
did I ever expect that a boy so long indulged and spoiled should be
exempt from failings. But what particularly hurts me is to see him
proceed to such disagreeable extremities without any adequate
temptation--extremities that, I fear, imply a defect of goodness and
generosity--virtues which I always thought he had possessed in a very
great degree."

"Neither," answered Mr Barlow, "am I at all convinced that your son is
deficient in either. But you are to consider the prevalence of example,
and the circle to which you have lately introduced him. If it is so
difficult even for persons of a more mature age and experience to resist
the impressions of those with whom they constantly associate, how can
you expect it from your son? To be armed against the prejudices of the
world, and to distinguish real merit from the splendid vices which pass
current in what is called society, is one of the most difficult of human
sciences. Nor do I know a single character, however excellent, that
would not candidly confess he has often made a wrong election, and paid
that homage to a brilliant outside which is only due to real merit."

"You comfort me very much," said Mr Merton, "but such ungovernable
passion, such violence and impetuosity----"

"Are indeed very formidable," replied Mr Barlow, "yet, when they are
properly directed, frequently produce the noblest effects. You have, I
doubt not, read the story of Polemo, who, from a debauched young man,
became a celebrated philosopher, and a model of virtue, only by
attending a single moral lecture."

"Indeed," said Mr Merton, "I am ashamed to confess that the various
employments and amusements in which I have passed the greater part of my
life have not afforded me as much leisure for reading as I could wish.
You will therefore oblige me very much by repeating the story you allude
to."


"THE STORY OF POLEMO."

"Polemo (said Mr Barlow) was a young man of Athens, and although he was
brought up with the most tender solicitude and care by his mother, and
at one time promised fair to be of a studious and virtuous turn of mind,
as he appeared very fond of reading, and much attached to literary
pursuits, and would frequently retire into the fields, and for hours sit
upon the stump of a tree, with his book before him,--still, after a few
years, he became so distinguished by his excesses, that he was the
aversion of all the discreeter part of the city. He led a life of
intemperance and dissipation, and was constantly surrounded by a set of
loose young men who imitated and encouraged his vices; and when they had
totally drowned the little reason they possessed in copious draughts of
wine, they were accustomed to sally out, and practise every species of
absurd and licentious frolic.

"One morning they were thus wandering about, after having spent the
night as usual, when they beheld a great concourse of people that were
listening to the discourse of a celebrated philosopher named Xenocrates.
The greater part of the young men, who still retained some sense of
shame, were so struck with this spectacle, that they turned out of the
way; but Polemo, who was more daring and abandoned than the rest,
pressed forward into the midst of the audience. His figure was too
remarkable not to attract universal notice; for his head was crowned
with flowers, his robe hung negligently about him, and his whole body
was reeking with perfumes; besides, his look and manner were such as
very little qualified him for such a company. Many of the audience were
so displeased at this interruption, that they were ready to treat the
young man with great severity; but the venerable philosopher prevailed
upon them not to molest the intruder, and calmly continued his
discourse, which happened to be upon the dignity and advantages of
temperance.

"As the sage proceeded in his oration, he descanted upon this subject,
with so much force and eloquence that the young man became more composed
and attentive, as it were in spite of himself. Presently the philosopher
grew still more animated in his representation of the shameful slavery
which attends the giving way to our passions, and the sublime happiness
of reducing them all to order; and then the countenance of Polemo began
to change, and the expression of it to be softened; he cast his eyes in
mournful silence upon the ground, as if in deep repentance for his own
contemptible conduct. Still the aged speaker increased in vehemence; he
seemed to be animated with the sacred genius of the art which he
professed, and to exercise an irresistible power over the minds of his
hearers. He drew the portrait of an ingenious and modest young man who
had been bred up to virtuous toils and manly hardiness; he painted him
triumphant over all his passions, and trampling upon human fears and
weakness: 'Should his country be invaded, you see him fly to its
defence, and ready to pour forth all his blood; calm and composed he
appears, with a terrible beauty, in the front of danger; the ornament
and bulwark of his country; the thickest squadrons are penetrated by his
resistless valour, and he points the path of victory to his admiring
followers. Should he fall in battle, how glorious is his lot; to be cut
off in the honourable discharge of his duty; to be wept by all the brave
and virtuous, and to survive in the eternal records of fame?'

"While Xenocrates was thus discoursing, Polemo seemed to be transported
with a sacred enthusiasm; his eyes flashed fire, his countenance glowed
with martial indignation, and the whole expression of his person was
changed. Presently the philosopher, who had remarked the effect of his
discourse, painted in no less glowing colours the life and manners of an
effeminate young man; 'Unhappy youth,' said he, 'what word shall I find
equal to thy abasement? Thou art the reproach of thy parents, the
disgrace of thy country, the scorn or pity of every generous mind. How
is nature dishonoured in thy person, and all her choicest gifts
abortive! That strength which would have rendered thee the glory of thy
city and the terror of her foes, is basely thrown away on luxury and
intemperance; thy youth and beauty are wasted in riot, and prematurely
blasted by disease. Instead of the eye of fire, the port of intrepidity,
the step of modest firmness, a squalid paleness sits upon thy face, a
bloated corpulency enfeebles thy limbs, and presents a picture of human
nature in its most abject state. But hark! the trumpet sounds; a savage
band of unrelenting enemies has surrounded the city, and are preparing
to scatter flames and ruin through the whole! The virtuous youth, that
have been educated to nobler cares, arm with generous emulation, and fly
to its defence. How lovely do they appear, dressed in resplendent arms,
and moving slowly on in close impenetrable phalanx! They are animated by
every motive which can give energy to a human breast, and lift it up to
the sublimest achievements. Their hoary sires, their venerable
magistrates, the beauteous forms of trembling virgins, attend them to
the war, with prayers and acclamations. Go forth, ye generous bands,
secure to meet the rewards of victory or the repose of honourable death!
Go forth, ye generous bands, but unaccompanied by the wretch I have
described! His feeble arm refuses to bear the ponderous shield; the
pointed spear sinks feebly from his grasp; he trembles at the noise and
tumult of the war, and flies like the hunted hart to lurk in shades and
darkness. Behold him roused from his midnight orgies, reeking with wine
and odours, and crowned with flowers, the only trophies of his warfare;
he hurries with trembling steps across the city; his voice, his gait,
his whole deportment, proclaim the abject slave of intemperance, and
stamp indelible infamy upon his name.'

"While Xenocrates was thus discoursing, Polemo listened with fixed
attention. The former animation of his countenance gave way to a visible
dejection; presently his lips trembled and his cheeks grew pale; he was
lost in melancholy recollection, and a silent tear was observed to
trickle down. But when the philosopher described a character so like his
own, shame seemed to take entire possession of his soul; and, rousing as
from a long and painful lethargy, he softly raised his hand to his head,
and tore away the chaplets of flowers, the monuments of his effeminacy
and disgrace; he seemed intent to compose his dress into a more decent
form, and wrapped his robe about him, which before hung loosely waving
with an air of studied effeminacy. But when Xenocrates had finished his
discourse, Polemo approached him with all the humility of conscious
guilt, and begged to become his disciple, telling him that he had that
day gained the most glorious conquest that had ever been achieved by
reason and philosophy, by inspiring with the love of virtue a mind that
had been hitherto plunged in folly and sensuality. Xenocrates embraced
the young man, and admitted him among his disciples. Nor had he ever
reason to repent of his facility; for Polemo, from that hour, abandoned
all his former companions and vices, and by his uncommon ardour for
improvement, very soon became celebrated for virtue and wisdom, as he
had before been for every contrary quality."

"Thus," added Mr Barlow, "you see how little reason there is to despair
of youth, even in the most disadvantageous circumstances. It has been
justly observed, that few know all they are capable of: the seeds of
different qualities frequently lie concealed in the character, and only
wait for an opportunity of exerting themselves; and it is the great
business of education to apply such motives to the imagination as may
stimulate it to laudable exertions. For thus the same activity of mind,
the same impetuosity of temper, which, by being improperly applied,
would only form a wild, ungovernable character, may produce the
steadiest virtues, and prove a blessing both to the individual and his
country."

"I am infinitely obliged to you for this story," said Mr Merton; "and as
my son will certainly find a _Xenocrates_ in you, I wish that you may
have reason to think him in some degree a _Polemo_. But since you are so
kind as to present me these agreeable hopes, do not leave the work
unfinished, but tell me what you think the best method of treating him
in his present critical situation." "That," said Mr Barlow, "must
depend, I think, upon the workings of his own mind. He has always
appeared to me generous and humane, and to have a fund of natural
goodness amid all the faults which spring up too luxuriantly in his
character. It is impossible that he should not be at present possessed
with the keenest shame for his own behaviour. It will be your first part
to take advantage of these sentiments, and instead of a fleeting and
transitory sensation, to change them into fixed and active principles.
Do not at present say much to him upon the subject. Let us both be
attentive to the silent workings of his mind, and regulate our behaviour
accordingly."

This conversation being finished, Mr Merton introduced Mr Barlow to the
company in the other room. Mrs Merton, who now began to be a little
staggered in some of the opinions she had been most fond of, received
him with uncommon civility, and all the rest of the company treated him
with the greatest respect. But Tommy, who had lately been the oracle and
admiration of all this brilliant circle, appeared to have lost all his
vivacity; he, indeed, advanced to meet Mr Barlow with a look of
tenderness and gratitude, and made the most respectful answers to all
his inquiries; but his eyes were involuntarily turned to the ground, and
silent melancholy and dejection were visible in his face.

Mr Barlow remarked, with the greatest pleasure, these signs of humility
and contrition, and pointed them out to Mr Merton the first time he had
an opportunity of speaking to him without being overheard; adding,
"that, unless he was much deceived, Tommy would soon give ample proofs
of the natural goodness of his character, and reconcile himself to all
his friends." Mr Merton heard this observation with the greatest
pleasure, and now began to entertain some hopes of seeing it
accomplished.

After the dinner was over most of the young gentlemen went away to their
respective homes. Tommy seemed to have lost much of the enthusiasm which
he had lately felt for his polite and accomplished friends; he even
appeared to feel a secret joy at their departure, and answered with a
visible coldness at professions of regard and repeated invitations. Even
Mrs Compton herself, and Miss Matilda, who were also departing, found
him as insensible as the rest; though they did not spare the most
extravagant praises and the warmest professions of regard.

And now, the ceremonies of taking leave being over, and most of the
visitors departed, a sudden solitude seemed to have taken possession of
the house, which was lately the seat of noise, and bustle, and
festivity. Mr and Mrs Merton and Mr Barlow were left alone with Miss
Simmons and Tommy, and one or two others of the smaller gentry who had
not yet returned to their friends.

As Mr Barlow was not fond of cards, Mr Merton proposed, after the
tea-table was removed, that Miss Simmons, who was famous for reading
well, should entertain the company with some little tale or history
adapted to the comprehension even of the youngest. Miss Simmons excused
herself with the greatest modesty; but on Mrs Merton's joining in the
request, she instantly complied, and fetching down a book, read the
following story of


"SOPHRON AND TIGRANES."

"Sophron and Tigranes were the children of two neighbouring shepherds
that fed their flocks in that part of Asia which borders upon Mount
Lebanon. They were accustomed to each other from earliest infancy; and
the continual habit of conversing at length produced a tender and
intimate friendship.

"Sophron was larger and more robust of the two; his look was firm but
modest, his countenance placid, and his eyes were such as inspired
confidence and attachment. He excelled most of the youth of the
neighbourhood in every species of violent exercise--such as wrestling,
boxing, and whirling heavyweights; but his triumphs were constantly
mixed with so much humanity and courtesy, that even those who found
themselves vanquished could feel no envy towards their conqueror.

"On the contrary, Tigranes was of a character totally different. His
body was less strong than that of Sophron, but excellently proportioned
and adapted to every species of fatigue; his countenance was full of
fire, but displeased by an excess of confidence; and his eyes sparkled
with sense and meaning, but bore too great an expression of uncontrolled
fierceness.

"Nor were these two youths less different in the application of their
faculties than in the nature of them; for Tigranes seemed to be
possessed by a restless spirit of commanding all his equals, while
Sophron, contented with the enjoyment of tranquillity, desired nothing
more than to avoid oppression.

"Still, as they assisted their parents in leading every morning their
flocks to pasture, they entertained each other with rural sports; or,
while reposing under the shade of arching rocks during the heat of the
day, conversed with all the ease of childish friendship. Their
observations were not many; they were chiefly drawn from the objects of
nature which surrounded them, or from the simple mode of life to which
they had been witness; but even here the diversity of their characters
was sufficiently expressed.

"'See,' said Tigranes, one day, as he cast his eyes upwards to the
cliffs of a neighbouring rock, 'that eagle which riseth into the immense
regions of air, till he absolutely soars beyond the reach of sight; were
I a bird, I should choose to resemble him, that I might traverse the
clouds with a rapidity of a whirlwind, and dart like lightning upon my
prey.' 'That eagle,' answered Sophron, 'is the emblem of violence and
injustice; he is the enemy of every bird, and even of every beast, that
is weaker than himself; were I to choose, I should prefer the life of
yonder swan, that moves so smoothly and inoffensively along the river;
he is strong enough to defend himself from injury, without opposing
others, and therefore he is neither feared nor insulted by other
animals.'

"While Sophron was yet speaking, the eagle, who had been hovering in the
air, darted suddenly down at some distance, and seizing a lamb, was
bearing it away in his cruel talons; when, almost in the same instant, a
shepherd, who had been watching all his motions from a neighbouring
hill, let fly an arrow with so unerring an aim, that it pierced the body
of the bird, and brought him headlong to the ground, writhing in the
agonies of death.

"'This,' said Sophron, 'I have often heard, is the fate of ambitious
people; while they are endeavouring to mount beyond their fellows they
are stopped by some unforeseen misfortune.' 'For my part,' said
Tigranes, 'I had rather perish in the sky than enjoy an age of life,
basely chained down and grovelling upon the surface of the earth.' 'What
we either may enjoy,' answered Sophron, 'is in the hand of Heaven; but
may I rather creep during life than mount to commit injustice, and
oppress the innocent.'

"In this manner passed the early years of the two friends. As they grew
up to manhood the difference of their tempers became more visible, and
gradually alienated them from each other. Tigranes began to despise the
uniform labours of the shepherd and the humble occupations of the
country; his sheep were neglected, and frequently wandered over the
plains without a leader to guard them in the day, or bring them back at
night; and the greater part of his time was employed in climbing rocks,
or in traversing the forest, to seek for eagles' nests, or in piercing
with his arrows the different wild animals which inhabit the woods. If
he heard the horn of the hunter, or the cry of the hound, it was
impossible to restrain his eagerness; he regarded neither the summer's
sun nor the winter's frost while he was pursuing his game; the thickest
woods, the steepest mountains, the deepest rivers, were unable to stop
him in his career, and he triumphed over every danger and difficulty,
with such invincible courage as made him at once an object of terror and
admiration to all the youth in the neighbourhood. His friend Sophron
alone beheld his exploits neither with terror nor admiration. Of all
his comrades, Sophron was the only one whom Tigranes still continued to
respect; for he knew that, with a gentleness of temper which scarcely
anything could exasperate, he possessed the firmest courage and a degree
of bodily strength which rendered that courage invincible. He affected,
indeed, to despise the virtuous moderation of his friend, and ridiculed
it with some of his looser comrades as an abject pusillanimity; but he
felt himself humbled whenever he was in his company as before a superior
being, and therefore gradually estranged himself from his society.

"Sophron, on the contrary, entertained the sincerest regard for his
friend; but he knew his defects, and trembled for the consequences which
the violence and ambition of his character might one day produce.
Whenever Tigranes abandoned his flocks, or left his rustic tasks undone,
Sophron had the goodness to supply whatever he had omitted. Such was the
vigour of his constitution, that he was indefatigable in every labour,
nor did he ever exert his force more willingly than in performing these
voluntary duties to his absent friend. Whenever he met with Tigranes he
accosted him in the gentlest manner, and endeavoured to win him back to
his former habits and manners. He represented to him the injury he did
his parents, and the disquietude he occasioned in their minds by thus
abandoning the duties of his profession. He sometimes, but with the
greatest mildness, hinted at the coldness with which Tigranes treated
him, and reminded his friend of the pleasing intercourse of their
childhood. But all his remonstrances were vain; Tigranes heard him at
first with coolness, then with impatience or contempt, and at last
avoided him altogether.

"Sophron had a lamb which he had formerly saved from the devouring jaws
of a wolf, who had already bitten him in several places, and destroyed
his dam. The tenderness with which this benevolent young man had nursed
and fed him during his infancy, had so attached him to his master, that
he seemed to prefer his society to that of his own species. Wherever
Sophron went, the faithful lamb accompanied him like his dogs, lay down
beside him when he reposed, and followed close behind when he drove the
rest of the flock to pasture. Sophron was equally attached to his dumb
companion: he often diverted himself with his innocent gambols, fed him
with the choicest herbs out of his hands, and when he slept at nights
the lamb was sure to repose beside him.

"It happened about this time that Tigranes, as he was one day exploring
the woods, discovered the den of a she-wolf, in which she had left her
young ones while she went out to search for prey. By a caprice that was
natural to his temper, he chose out the largest of the whelps, carried
it home to his house, and brought it up as if it had been a useful and
harmless animal. While it was yet but young it was incapable of doing
mischief; but as it increased in age and strength, it began to show
signs of a bloody and untameable disposition, and made all the
neighbouring shepherds tremble for the safety of their flocks. But as
the courage and fierceness of Tigranes had now rendered him formidable
to all his associates, and the violence of his temper made him impatient
of all opposition, they did not speak to him on the subject; and as to
his own parents, he had long learned to treat them with indifference and
contempt. Sophron alone, who was not to be awed by fear, observing the
just apprehensions of the neighbourhood, undertook the task of
expostulating with his friend, and endeavoured to prevail upon him to
part with a beast so justly odious, and which might in the end prove
fatal whenever his natural rage should break out into open acts of
slaughter. Tigranes heard him with a sneer of derision, and only
answered, that 'if a parcel of miserable rustics diverted themselves
with keeping sheep, he, who had a more elevated soul, might surely
entertain a nobler animal for his diversion.' 'But should that nobler
animal prove a public mischief,' coolly replied Sophron, 'you must
expect that he will be treated as a public enemy.' 'Woe be to the man,'
answered Tigranes, brandishing his javelin, and sternly frowning, 'that
shall dare to meddle with anything that belongs to me.' Saying this, he
turned his back upon Sophron, and left him with disdain.

"It was not long before the very event took place which had been so long
foreseen. The wolf of Tigranes, either impelled by the accidental taste
of blood, or by the natural fierceness of his own temper, fell one day
upon the sheep, with such an unexpected degree of fury that he
slaughtered thirty of them before it was possible to prevent him.
Sophron happened at that time to be within view; he ran with amazing
swiftness to the place, and found the savage bathed in blood, tearing
the carcass of a lamb he had just slain. At the approach of the daring
youth the wolf began to utter a dismal cry, and, quitting his prey,
seemed to prepare himself for slaughter of another kind. Sophron was
entirely unarmed, and the size and fury of the beast, which rushed
forward to attack him, might well have excused him had he declined the
combat. But he, consulting only his native courage, wrapped his
shepherd's cloak around his left arm, to resist the first onset of his
enemy, and, with a determined look and nimble pace, advanced towards his
threatening adversary. In an instant the wolf sprang upon him, with a
horrid yell; but Sophron nimbly eluded his attack, and suddenly throwing
his vigorous arms about the body of his adversary, compelled him to
struggle for his own safety. It was then that he uttered cries more
dreadful than before; and as he writhed about in all the agitations of
pain and madness, he gnashed his terrible teeth with impotent attempts
to bite, while the blood and foam which issued from his jaws rendered
his figure still more horrible than before. But Sophron, with undaunted
courage, still maintained his hold, and grasping him with irresistible
strength, prevented him from using either his teeth or claws in his own
defence. It was not long before the struggles and violence of the wolf
grew perceptibly weaker from fatigue, and he seemed to wish to decline a
further combat with so formidable a foe, could he have found means to
escape. Sophron then collected all his strength, and, seizing his
fainting adversary by the neck and throat, grasped him still tighter in
his terrible hands, till the beast, incapable either of disengaging
himself or breathing, yielded up the contest and his life together.

"It was almost in this moment that Tigranes passed that way, and
unexpectedly was witness to the triumphs of Sophron, and the miserable
end of his favourite. Inflamed with pride and indignation, Tigranes
uttered dreadful imprecations against his friend, who in vain attempted
to explain the transaction, and rushing upon him with all the madness of
inveterate hate, aimed a javelin at his bosom. Sophron was calm as he
was brave; he saw the necessity of defending his own life against the
attacks of a perfidious friend, and, with a nimble spring, at once
eluded the weapon and closed with his antagonist. The combat was then
more equal, for each was reduced to depend upon his own strength and
activity. They struggled for some time with all the efforts which
disappointed rage could inspire on the one side, and a virtuous
indignation on the other. At length the fortune, or rather the force and
coolness of Sophron, prevailed over the blind impetuous fury of
Tigranes; he at once exerted his whole remaining strength, with such
success that he hurled his adversary to the ground, where he lay,
bleeding, vanquished, and unable to rise. 'Thou scarcely,' said Sophron,
'deservest thy life from my hands, who couldst so wantonly and unjustly
attempt to deprive me of mine; however, I will rather remember thy early
merits than my recent injuries.' 'No,' replied the raging Tigranes,
'load me not with thy odious benefits; but rather rid me of a life which
I abhor, since thou hast robbed me of my honour.' 'I will never hurt
thee,' replied Sophron, 'but in my own just defence; live to make a
better use of life, and to have juster ideas of honour.' Saying this, he
assisted Tigranes to rise, but finding his temper full of implacable
resentment, he turned another way, and left him to go home alone.

"It was not long after this event that a company of soldiers marched
across the plains where Sophron was feeding his flocks, and halted to
refresh themselves under the shade of some spreading trees. The officer
who commanded them was struck with the comely figure and expressive
countenance of Sophron. He called the young man to him, and endeavoured
to inflame him with a military ardour, by setting before him the glory
which might be acquired by arms, and ridiculing the obscurity of a
country life. When he thought he had sufficiently excited his
admiration, he proposed to him that he should enrol himself in his
company; and promised him every encouragement which he thought most
likely to engage the passions of a young man. Sophron thanked him, with
humility, for his offers, but told him he had an aged father, who was
now become incapable of maintaining himself, and therefore that he could
accept of no offers, however advantageous they might appear, which would
interfere with the discharge of this duty. The officer replied, and
ridiculed the scruples of the young man; but, finding him inflexible in
his resolution, he at last turned from him with an air of contempt, and
called his men to follow him, muttering, as he went, reflections on the
stupidity and cowardice of Sophron.

"The party had not proceeded far, before, by ill fortune, they came to
the place where Sophron's favourite lamb was feeding; and as the animal
had not yet learned to dread the cruelty of the human species, it
advanced towards them with all the confidence of unsuspicious innocence.
'This is a lucky accident,' cried one of the soldiers, with a brutal
satisfaction; 'fortune was not willing we should go without a supper,
and has therefore sent us a present.' 'A happy exchange,' answered a
second; 'a fat sheep for a lubberly shepherd; and the coward will no
doubt think himself happy to sleep in a whole skin at so small an
expense.' Saying this, he took the lamb, and bore it away in triumph,
uttering a thousand threats and execrations against the master if he
should dare to reclaim it.

"Sophron was not so far removed to escape the sight of the indignity
that was offered him. He followed the troop, with so much swiftness that
it was not long before he overtook the soldier who was bearing away his
friend, and from his load marched rather behind the rest. When Sophron
approached him, he accosted him in the gentlest manner, and besought
him, in words that might have touched any one but a savage, to restore
his favourite; he even offered, when he found that nothing else would
avail, to purchase back his own property with something of greater
value; but the barbarous soldier, inured to scenes of misery, and little
accustomed to yield to human entreaties, only laughed at his complaints,
and loaded him with additional insults. At length he began to be tired
with his importunities, and drawing his sword, and waving it before the
eyes of Sophron, threatened, that if he did not depart immediately he
would use him as he intended to do the lamb. 'And do you think,'
answered Sophron, 'that while I have an arm to lift, or a drop of blood
in my veins, I will suffer you, or any man, to rob me of what I value
more than life?' The soldier, exasperated at such an insolent reply, as
he termed it, aimed a blow at Sophron with his sword, which he turned
aside with a stick he held in his hand, so that it glanced inoffensively
down; and before he could recover the use of his weapon, Sophron, who
was infinitely stronger, closed in with him, wrested it out of his
hands, and hurled him roughly to the ground. Some of the comrades of the
vanquished soldier came in an instant to his assistance, and without
inquiring into the merits of the cause, drew their swords, and began to
assail the undaunted young man; but he, brandishing the weapon which he
had just seized, appeared ready to defend himself, with so much strength
and courage that they did not choose to come too near.

"While they were thus engaged, the officer, who had turned back at the
first noise of the fray, approached, and ordering his men to desist,
inquired into the occasion of the contest. Sophron then recounted, with
so much modesty and respect, the indignities and insults he had
received, and the unprovoked attack of the soldier, which had obliged
him to defend his own life, that the officer, who had a real respect for
courage, was charmed with the behaviour of the young man. He therefore
reproved his men for their disorderly manners, praised the intrepidity
of Sophron, and ordered his lamb to be restored to him, with which he
joyfully departed.

"Sophron was scarcely out of sight, when Tigranes, who was then by
accident returning from the chase, met the same party upon their march.
Their military attire and glittering arms instantly struck his mind with
admiration. He stopped to gaze upon them as they passed; and the
officer, who remarked the martial air and well-proportioned limbs of
Tigranes, entered into conversation with him, and made him the same
proposals which he had before done to Sophron. Such incentives were
irresistible to a vain and ambitious mind; the young man in an instant
forgot his friends, his country, and his parents, and marched away with
all the pleasure that strong presumption and aspiring hopes could raise.
Nor was it long before he had an opportunity of signalizing his
intrepidity.

"Asia was at that time overrun by numerous bands of savage warriors,
under different and independent chiefs. That country, which has in every
age been celebrated for the mildness of the climate and the fertility of
the soil, seems to be destined to groan under all the horrors of eternal
servitude. Whether these effects are merely produced by fortune, or
whether the natural advantages it enjoys have a necessary tendency to
soften the minds of the inhabitants to sloth and effeminacy, it is
certain that the people of Asia have, in general, been the unresisting
prey of every invader. At this time several fierce and barbarous nations
had broken in upon its territory, and, after covering its fertile plains
with carnage and desolation, were contending with each other for the
superiority.

"Under the most enterprising of these rival chiefs was Tigranes now
enrolled; and in the very first engagement at which he was present, he
gave such uncommon proofs of valour, that he was distinguished by the
general with marks of particular regard, and became the admiration of
all his comrades. Under the banners of this adventurous warrior did
Tigranes toil with various fortunes during the space of many years;
sometimes victorious in the fight, sometimes baffled; at one time
crowned with conquest and glory, at another beset with dangers, covered
with wounds, and hunted like a wild beast through rocks and forests; yet
still the native courage of his temper sustained his spirits, and kept
him firm in the profession which he had chosen. At length, in a decisive
battle, in which the chieftain, under whom Tigranes had enlisted,
contended with the most powerful of his rivals, he had the honour of
retrieving the victory when his own party seemed totally routed; and,
after having penetrated the thickest squadrons of the enemy, to kill
their general with his own hand. From this moment he seemed to be in
possession of all that his ambition could desire. He was appointed
general of all the troops under the chief himself, whose repeated
victories had rendered him equal in power to the most celebrated
monarchs. Nor did his fortune stop even here; for, after a number of
successive battles, in which his party were generally victorious by his
experience and intrepidity, he was, on the unexpected death of the
chief, unanimously chosen by the whole nation to succeed him.

"In the mean time Sophron, free from envy, avarice, or ambition, pursued
the natural impulse of his character, and contented himself with a life
of virtuous obscurity; he passed his time in rural labours, in watching
his flocks, and in attending with all the duty of an affectionate child
upon his aged parents. Every morning he rose with the sun, and spreading
his innocent arms to heaven, thanked that Being who created all nature
for the continuance of life and health, and all the blessings he
enjoyed. His piety and virtue were rewarded with everything which a
temperate and rational mind can ask. All his rural labours succeeded in
the most ample manner; his flock was the fairest, the most healthy and
numerous of the district; he was loved and esteemed by the youth of the
neighbourhood, and equally respected by the aged, who pointed him out as
the example of every virtue to their families; but, what was more dear
than all the rest to such a mind as Sophron's, was to see himself the
joy, the comfort, and support of his parents, who frequently embraced
him with tears, and supplicated the Deity to reward such duty and
affection with all His choicest blessings.

"Nor was his humanity confined to his own species; the innocent
inhabitants of the forest were safe from the pursuit of Sophron; and all
that lived under his protection were sure to meet with distinguished
tenderness. 'It is enough,' said Sophron, 'that the innocent sheep
supplies me with his fleece to form my winter garments, and defend me
from the cold; I will not bereave him of his little life, nor stop his
harmless gambols on the green, to gratify a guilty sensuality. It is
surely enough that the stately heifer affords me copious streams of pure
and wholesome food; I will not arm my hand against her innocent
existence; I will not pollute myself with her blood, nor tear her warm
and panting flesh with a cruelty that we abhor even in savage beasts.
More wholesome, more adapted to human life, are the spontaneous fruits
which liberal nature produces for the sustenance of man, or which the
earth affords to recompense his labours.'"

Here the interest and concern which had been long visible in Tommy's
face, could no longer be repressed, and tears began to trickle down his
cheeks. "What is the matter, my darling?" said his mother: "what is
there in the account of this young man so deeply interests and affects
you?" "Alas! mamma," said Tommy, "it reminds of poor Harry Sandford;
just such another good young man will he be when he is as old as
Sophron; and I--and I," added he, sobbing, "am just such another
worthless, ungrateful wretch as Tigranes." "But Tigranes," said Mrs
Merton, "you see, became a great and powerful man; while Sophron
remained only a poor and ignorant shepherd." "What does that signify,
mamma?" said Tommy: "for my part, I begin to find that it is not always
the greatest people that are the best or happiest; and as to ignorance,
I cannot think that Sophron, who understood his duty so well to his
parents and to God, and to all the world, could be called ignorant; and
very likely he could read and write better than Tigranes, in spite of
all his pomp and grandeur; for I am sure there is not one of the young
gentlemen that went home to-day can read as well as Harry Sandford, or
has half his understanding." Mr Merton could hardly help smiling at
Tommy's conjecture about Sophron's reading; but he felt the greatest
pleasure at seeing such a change in his sentiments; and, looking at him
with more cordiality than he had done before, he told him that he was
very happy to find him so sensible of his faults, and hoped he would be
equally ready to amend them.

Miss Simmons then continued her narrative.

"If Sophron ever permitted himself to shed the blood of living
creatures, it was those ferocious animals that wage continual war with
every other species. Amid the mountains which he inhabited, there were
rugged cliffs and inaccessible caverns, which afforded retreat to
wolves, and bears, and tigers. Sometimes, amid the storms and snows of
winter, they felt themselves pinched by hunger, and fell with
irresistible fury upon the nearest flocks and herds. Not only sheep and
oxen were slaughtered in these dreadful and unexpected attacks, but even
the shepherds themselves were frequently the victims of their rage. If
there was time to assemble for their defence, the boldest of the youth
would frequently seize their arms and give battle to the invaders. In
this warfare, which was equally just and honourable, Sophron was always
foremost; his unequalled strength and courage made all the youth adopt
him as their leader, and march with confidence under his command; and so
successful were his expeditions, that he always returned loaded with the
skins of vanquished enemies; and by his vigilance and intrepidity he at
length either killed or drove away most of the beasts from which any
danger was to be feared.

"It happened one day that Sophron had been chasing a wolf which had made
some depredations upon the flocks, and, in the ardour of his pursuits,
was separated from all his companions. He was too well acquainted with
the roughest parts of the neighbouring mountains, and too indifferent to
danger, to be disturbed at this circumstance; he therefore followed his
flying foe with so much impetuosity that he completely lost every track
and mark with which he was acquainted. As it is difficult, in a wild
and uncultivated district, to find the path again when once it is lost,
Sophron only wandered the farther from his home the more he endeavoured
to return. He found himself bewildered and entangled in a dreary
wilderness, where he was every instant stopped by torrents that tumbled
from the neighbouring cliffs, or in danger of slipping down the
precipices of an immense height. He was alone in the midst of a gloomy
forest, where human industry had never penetrated, nor the woodman's axe
been heard since the moment of its creation; to add to his distress, the
setting sun disappeared in the west, and the shades of night gathered
gradually round, accompanied with the roar of savage beasts. Sophron
found himself beset with terrors, but his soul was incapable of fear; he
poised his javelin in his hand, and forced his way through every
opposition, till at length, with infinite difficulty, he disengaged
himself from the forest just as the last glimmer of light was yet
visible in the skies. But it was in vain that he had thus escaped; he
cast his eyes around, but could discern nothing but an immense tract of
country, rough with rocks, and overhung with forests, but destitute of
every mark of cultivation or inhabitants; he, however, pursued his way
along the side of the mountain till he descended into a pleasant valley,
free from trees, and watered by a winding stream. Here he was going to
repose for the remainder of the night, under the crag of an impending
rock, when a rising gleam of light darted suddenly into the skies from a
considerable distance, and attracted his curiosity. Sophron looked
towards the quarter whence it came, and plainly discerned that it was a
fire kindled either by some benighted traveller like himself, or by some
less innocent wanderers of the dark. He determined to approach the
light, but knowing the unsettled state of all the neighbouring
districts, he thought it prudent to advance with caution; he therefore
made a considerable circuit, and by clambering along the higher grounds
discovered a hanging wood, under whose thick covert he approached
without being discovered, within a little distance of the fire. He then
perceived that a party of soldiers were reposing round a flaming pile of
wood, and carousing at their ease; all about was strewn the plunder
which they had accumulated in their march, and in the midst was seated a
venerable old man, accompanied by a beautiful young woman.

"Sophron easily comprehended, by the dejection of their countenances,
and the tears which trickled down the maiden's cheeks, as well as by the
insolence with which they were treated, that they were prisoners. The
virtuous indignation of his temper was instantly excited, and he
determined to attempt their deliverance; but this, in spite of all his
intrepidity, he perceived was no easy matter to accomplish; he was
alone, and weakly armed; his enemies, though not numerous, too many for
him to flatter himself with any rational hope of success by open force;
and, should he make a fruitless effort, he might rashly throw his life
away, and only aggravate the distresses he sought to cure. With this
consideration he restrained his natural impetuosity, and at length
determined to attempt by stratagem what he thought could scarcely be
performed by force. He therefore silently withdrew, and skirted the
side of the wood which had concealed him, carefully remarking every
circumstance of the way, till he had ascended a mountain which
immediately fronted the camp of the soldiers, at no considerable
distance. He happened to have by his side a kind of battle-axe which
they use in the chase of bears; with this he applied himself to lopping
the branches of trees, collecting at the same time all the fallen ones
he could find, till, in a short time, he had reared several piles of
wood upon the most conspicuous part of the mountain, and full in view of
the soldiers. He then easily kindled a blaze by rubbing two decayed
branches together, and in an instant all the piles were blazing with so
many streams of light, that the neighbouring hills and forests were
illuminated with the gleam. Sophron knew the nature of man, always prone
to sudden impressions of fear and terror, more particularly amid the
obscurity of the night, and promised himself the amplest success from
his stratagem.

"In the meantime he hastened back with all the speed he could use, till
he reached the very wood where he had lurked before; he then raised his
voice, which was naturally loud and clear, and shouted several times
successively with all his exertion. A hundred echoes from the
neighbouring cliffs and caverns returned the sound, with a reverberation
that made it appear like the noise of a mighty squadron. The soldiers,
who had been alarmed by the sudden blaze of so many fires, which they
attributed to a numerous band of troops, were now impressed with such a
panic that they fled in confusion; they imagined themselves surrounded
by their enemies, who were bursting in on every side, and fled with so
much precipitation that they were dispersed in an instant, and left the
prisoners to themselves.

"Sophron, who saw from a little distance all their motions, did not wait
for them to be undeceived, but running to the spot they had abandoned,
explained in a few words to the trembling and amazed captives the nature
of his stratagem, and exhorted them to fly with all the swiftness they
were able to exert. Few entreaties were necessary to prevail upon them
to comply; they therefore arose and followed Sophron, who led them a
considerable way up into the mountains, and when he thought them out of
the immediate danger of pursuit, they sheltered themselves in a rocky
cavern, and determined there to wait for the light of the morning.

"When they were thus in a place of safety, the venerable old man seized
the hand of Sophron, and bedewing it with tears, gave way to the strong
emotions of gratitude which overwhelmed his mind. 'Generous youth,' said
he, 'I know not by what extraordinary fortune you have thus been able to
effect our deliverance, when we imagined ourselves out of the reach of
human succour; but if the uniform gratitude and affection of two human
beings, who perhaps are not entirely unworthy your regard, can be any
recompense for such a distinguished act of virtue, you may command our
lives, and employ them in your service.'

"'Father,' answered Sophron, 'you infinitely over-rate the merits of the
service which chance has enabled me to perform. I am but little
acquainted with my fellow-creatures, as having always inhabited these
mountains; but I cannot conceive that any other man, who had been
witness to your distress, would have refused to attempt your rescue; and
as to all the rest, the obscurity of the night, and peculiarity of the
situation, rendered it a work of little difficulty or danger.' Sophron
then recounted to his new friends the accident which had brought him to
that unfrequented spot, and made him an unperceived witness of their
captivity; he also explained the nature of the stratagem by which, alone
and unsupported, he had been enabled to disperse their enemies. He added
that, 'if he appeared to have any little merit in their eyes, he should
be amply recompensed by being admitted to their friendship and
confidence.'

"With these mutual professions of esteem they thought it prudent to
terminate a conversation, which, however agreeable, was not entirely
free from danger, as some of their late oppressors might happen to
distinguish their voices, and thus directed to their lurking place,
exact a severe revenge for the terrors they had undergone.

"With the first ray of morning the three companions arose, and Sophron,
leading them along the skirts of the mountains where bushes and
brushwood concealed them from observation, and still following the
windings of a river as a guide, they at length came to a cultivated
spot, though deserted by its inhabitants from the fear of the party they
had lately escaped. Here they made a slight and hasty repast upon some
coarse provisions which they found, and instantly struck again into the
woods, which they judged safer than the plain. But Sophron fortunately
recollected that he had formerly visited this village with his father,
while yet a child, and before the country had suffered the rage of
barbarous invasions. It was a long day's march from home, but, by
exerting all their strength, they at length arrived, through rough and
secret paths, at the hospitable cottage where Sophron and his parents
dwelt. Here they were joyfully received, as the long absence of the
young man had much alarmed his parents, and made all the hamlet anxious
concerning his safety. That night they comfortably reposed in a place of
safety, and the next morning, after a plentiful but coarse repast, the
father of Sophron again congratulated his guests upon their fortunate
escape, and entreated them to let him hear the history of their
misfortunes.

"'I can refuse nothing,' said the venerable stranger, 'to persons to
whom I am under such extraordinary obligations, although the history of
my life is short and simple, and contains little worthy to be recited.
My name is _Chares_; and I was born in one of the maritime cities of
Asia, of opulent parents, who died while I was yet a youth. The loss of
my parents, to whom I was most affectionately attached, made so strong
an impression upon my mind that I determined to seek relief in travel,
and for that purpose sold my paternal estate, the price of which I
converted into money and jewels, as being most portable. My father had
been a man distinguished for his knowledge and abilities, and from him I
imbibed an early desire of improvement, which has always been my
greatest comfort and support.

"'The first place, therefore, which I visited was Egypt, a country
renowned in every age for its invention of all the arts which
contribute to support or adorn human life. There I resided several
years, giving up my time to the study of philosophy, and to the
conversation of the many eminent men who resorted thither from all the
regions of the world. This country is one immense plain, divided by the
Nile, which is one of the noblest rivers in the world, and pours its
tide along the middle of its territory. Every year, at a particular
season, the stream begins gradually to swell with such an increase of
waters, that at length it rises over its banks, and the whole extent of
Egypt becomes an immense lake, where buildings, temples, and cities
appear as floating upon the inundation. Nor is this event a subject of
dread to the inhabitants; on the contrary, the overflowing of their
river is a day of public rejoicing to all the natives, which they
celebrate with songs and dances, and every symptom of extravagant joy.
Nor is this to be wondered at, when you are informed that this
inundation renders the soil which it covers the most abundant in the
world. Whatever land is covered by the waters, receives such an increase
of fertility, as never to disappoint the hopes of the industrious
husbandman. The instant the waters have retired the farmer returns to
his fields and begins the operation of agriculture. These labours are
not very difficult in a soft and yielding slime, such as the river
leaves behind it. The seeds are sown, and vegetate with inconceivable
rapidity, and, in a few weeks, an abundant harvest of every kind of
grain covers the land. For this reason all the necessaries of life are
easily procured by the innumerable multitudes which inhabit the country.
Nor is the climate less favourable than the soil; for here an eternal
spring and summer seem to have fixed their abode. No frost nor snow is
ever known to chill the atmosphere, which is always perfumed with the
smell of aromatic plants that grow on every side, and bring on a
pleasing forgetfulness of human care. But, alas! these blessings, great
as they may appear, produce the effect of curses upon the inhabitants.
The ease and plenty which they enjoy, enervate their manners, and
destroy all vigour both of body and mind. No one here is inflamed with
the sacred love of his country, or of public liberty; no one is inured
to arms, or taught to prefer his honour to his life;--the great business
of existence is an inglorious indolence, a lethargy of mind, and a
continual suspense from all exertion. The very children catch the
contagion from their parents; they are instructed in every effeminate
art--to dance in soft unmanly attitudes; to modulate their voices by
musical instruments, and to adjust the floating drapery of their dress.
These are the arts in which both sexes are instructed from their
infancy; but no one is taught to wield the arms of men, to tame the
noble steeds in which the country abounds, to observe his rank in war,
or to bear the indispensable hardships of a military life. Hence this
celebrated country, which has been in every age the admiration of
mankind, is destined to the most degrading servitude. A few thousand
disciplined troops are sufficient to hold the many millions it contains
in bondage, under which they groan, without ever conceiving the design
of vindicating their natural rights by arms.'----

"'Unhappy people,' exclaimed Sophron, 'how useless to them are all the
blessings of their climate! How much rather would I inhabit the stormy
top of Lebanon, amid eternal snows and barrenness, than wallow in the
vile sensuality of such a country, or breathe an air infected by its
vices!'

"Chares was charmed with the generous indignation of Sophron, and thus
continued: 'I was of the same opinion with yourself, and therefore
determined to leave a country which all its natural advantages could not
render agreeable, when I became acquainted with the manners of its
inhabitants. But before I quitted that part of the globe, my curiosity
led me to visit the neighbouring tribes of Arabia--a nation bordering
upon the Egyptians, but as different in spirits and manners as the hardy
shepherds of these mountains from the effeminate natives of the plains.
Egypt is bounded on one side by the sea; on every other it is surrounded
by immense plains or gentle eminences, which, being beyond the
fertilizing inundations of the Nile, have been, beyond all memory,
converted into waste and barren sands by the excessive heat of the sun.
I therefore made preparations for my journey, and hired a guide, who was
to furnish me with beasts of burden, and accompany me across those
dreary deserts. We accordingly began our march, mounted upon camels,
which are found much more useful than horses in such a burning
climate.'"----

"Indeed," said Tommy here to Mr Barlow, "I am sorry to interrupt the
story; but I shall be much obliged to you, sir, if you will inform me
what kind of an animal a camel is?"

"The camel," answered Mr Barlow, "is chiefly found in those burning
climates which you have heard described. His height is very great,
rising to fourteen or fifteen feet, reckoning to the top of his head;
his legs are long and slender, his body not large, and his neck of an
amazing length. This animal is found in no part of the world that we are
acquainted with, wild or free; but the whole race is enslaved by man,
and brought up to drudgery from the first moment of their existence. As
soon as he is born, they seize him, and force him to recline upon the
ground, with his legs doubled up under his belly. To keep him in this
attitude, they extend a piece of canvass over his body, and fix it to
the ground by laying heavy weights upon the edge. In this manner he is
tutored to obedience, and taught to kneel down at the orders of his
master, and receive the burthens which he is destined to transport. In
his temper he is gentle and tractable, and his patience in bearing
thirst and hunger is superior to that of any animal we are acquainted
with. He is driven across the burning desert, loaded with the
merchandise of those countries, and frequently does not even find water
to quench his thirst for several days. As to his food, it is nothing but
a few herbs, which are found in the least barren parts of the deserts,
and prickly bushes, upon which he browses as a delicacy; sometimes he
does not find even these for many days, yet pursues his journey with a
degree of patience which is hardly credible."

"'--We mounted our camels,' continued Chares, 'and soon had reached the
confines of the fertile plains of Egypt. The way, as we proceeded, grew
sensibly more dreary and disagreeable, yet was sometimes varied with
little tufts of trees and scanty patches of herbage; but these at
length entirely disappeared, and nothing was seen on every side but an
immense extent of barren sands, destitute of vegetation, and parched by
the continual heat of the sun. No sound was heard to interrupt the
dreary silence that reigned around; no traces of inhabitants
perceivable, and the gloomy uniformity of the prospect inspired the soul
with melancholy. In the meantime the sun seemed to shoot down
perpendicular rays upon our heads, without a cloud to mitigate his
violence. I felt a burning fever take possession of my body. My tongue
was scorched with intolerable heat, and it was in vain I endeavoured to
moisten my mouth with repeated draughts of water. At night we came to a
little rising ground, at the foot of which we perceived some aquatic
herbs and a small quantity of muddy water, of which our camels took
prodigious draughts; here we spread our tents and encamped for the
night. With the morning we pursued our journey; but had not proceeded
far before we saw a cloud of dust that seemed to rise along the desert;
and as we approached nearer, we easily distinguished the glitter of arms
that reflected the rising sun. This was a band of the Arabians that had
discovered us, and came to know our intentions. As they advanced they
spurred their horses, which are the most fleet and excellent in the
world, and bounded along the desert with the lightness of an antelope;
at the same time they brandished their lances, and seemed prepared alike
for war or peace; but when they saw that we had neither the intention
nor the power to commit hostilities, they stopped their coursers at the
distance of a few paces from us, and he that appeared the chief
advanced, and, with a firm but mild tone of voice, inquired into the
reason of our coming. It was then that I took the liberty of addressing
him in his own language, to which I had for some time applied myself
before my journey. I explained to him my curiosity, which led me to
observe in person the manners of a people who are celebrated over the
whole world for having preserved their native simplicity unaltered, and
their liberty unviolated, amidst the revolutions which agitate all the
neighbouring nations. I then offered him the loading of my camel, which
I had brought, not as being worthy his acceptance, but as a slight
testimony of my regard, and concluded with remarking, that the fidelity
of the Arabians in observing their engagements was unimpeached in a
single instance; and therefore, relying upon the integrity of my own
intentions, I had come a painful journey, unarmed, and almost alone, to
put myself into their power, and demand the sacred rights of
hospitality.

"'While I was thus speaking, he looked at me with penetration that
seemed to read into my very soul; and, when I had finished, he extended
his arm with a smile of benevolence, and welcomed me to their tribe,
telling me, at the same time, that they admitted me as their guest, and
received me with the arms of friendship; that their method of life, like
their manners, was coarse and simple, but that I might consider myself
as safer in their tents, and more removed from violence or treachery,
than in the crowded cities which I had left. The rest of the squadron
then approached, and all saluted me as a friend and brother. We then
struck off across the desert, and, after a few hours' march, approached
the encampment where they had left their wives and children.

"'This people is the most singular, and, in many respects, the most
admirable of all that inhabit this globe of earth. All other nations are
subject to revolutions and the various turns of fortune; sometimes they
wage successful wars; sometimes they improve in the arts of peace; now
they are great and reverenced by their neighbours; and now, insulted and
despised, they suffer all the miseries of servitude. The Arabians alone
have never been known to vary in the smallest circumstance, either of
their internal policy or external situation. They inhabit a climate
which would be intolerable to the rest of the human species for its
burning heat, and a soil which refuses to furnish any of the necessaries
of life. Hence they neither plough the earth, nor sow, nor depend upon
corn for their subsistence, nor are acquainted with any of the mechanic
arts; they live chiefly upon the milk of their herds and flocks, and
sometimes eat their flesh. These burning deserts are stretched out to an
immense extent on every side, and these they consider as their common
country, without having any fixed or permanent abode. Arid and barren as
are these wilds in general, there are various spots which are more
productive than the rest; here are found supplies of water, and some
appearances of vegetation; and here the Arabians encamp till they have
exhausted the spontaneous products of the soil. Besides, they vary their
place of residence with the different seasons of the year. When they are
in perfect friendship with their neighbours, they advance to the very
edges of the desert, and find more ample supplies of moisture and
herbage. If they are attacked or molested, the whole tribe is in motion
in an instant, and seeks a refuge in their impenetrable recesses. Other
nations are involved in various pursuits of war, or government, or
commerce; they have made a thousand inventions of luxury necessary to
their welfare, and the enjoyment of these they call _happiness_. The
Arab is ignorant of all these things, or, if he knows them, he despises
their possession. All his wants, his passions, his desires, terminate in
one object, and that object is the preservation of his liberty. For this
purpose he contents himself with a bare sufficiency of the coarsest and
simplest food; and the small quantity of clothing which he requires in
such a climate, is fabricated by the women of the tribe, who milk the
cattle and prepare the food of their husbands, and require no other
pleasures than the pleasing interest of domestic cares. They have a
breed of horses superior to any in the rest of the globe for gentleness,
patience, and unrivalled swiftness; this is a particular passion and
pride of the Arabian tribes. These horses are necessary to them in their
warlike expeditions, and in their courses along the deserts. If they are
attacked, they mount their steeds, who bear them with the rapidity of a
tempest to avenge their injuries; or, should they be overmatched in
fight, they soon transport them beyond the possibility of pursuit. For
this reason the proudest monarchs and greatest conquerors have in vain
attempted to subdue them. Troops accustomed to the plenty of a
cultivated country, are little able to pursue these winged warriors over
the whole extent of their sandy wastes. Oppressed with heat, fainting
for want of water, and spent with the various difficulties of the way,
the most numerous armies have been destroyed in such attempts; and those
that survived the obstacles of nature were easily overcome by the
repeated attacks of the valiant natives.

"'While I was in this country I was myself witness to an embassy that
was sent from the neighbouring prince, who imagined that the fame of his
exploits had struck the Arabians with terror, and disposed them to
submission. The ambassador was introduced to the chief of the tribe, a
venerable old man, undistinguished by any mark of ostentation from the
rest, who received him sitting cross-legged at the door of his tent. He
then began to speak, and, in a long and studied harangue, described the
power of his master, the invincible courage of his armies, the vast
profusion of arms, of warlike engines, and military stores, and
concluded with a demand that the Arabians should submit to acknowledge
him as their lord, and pay a yearly tribute.

"'At this proud speech the younger part of the tribe began to frown with
indignation, and clash their weapons in token of defiance; but the chief
himself, with a calm and manly composure, made this reply: 'I expected,
from the maturity of your age, and the gravity of your countenance, to
have heard a rational discourse, befitting you to propose and us to
hear. When you dwelt so long upon the power of your master, I also
imagined that he had sent to us to propose a league of friendship and
alliance, such as might become equals, and bind man more closely to his
fellows. In this case the Arabians, although they neither want the
assistance, nor fear the attacks of any king or nation, would gladly
have consented, because it has been always their favourite maxim,
neither to leave injuries unpunished, nor to be outdone in kindness and
hospitality. But since you have come thus far to deliver a message which
must needs be disagreeable to the ears of free-born men, who acknowledge
no superior upon earth, you may thus report the sentiments of the
Arabians to him that sent you. You may tell him that, as to the land
which we inhabit, it is neither the gift of him nor any of his
forefathers; we hold it from our ancestors, who received it in turn from
theirs, by the common laws of nature, which has adapted particular
countries and soils, not only to man, but to all the various animals
which she has produced. If, therefore, your king imagines that he has a
right to retain the country which he and his people now inhabit, by the
same tenure do the Arabians hold the sovereignty of these barren sands,
where the bones of our ancestors have been buried, even from the first
foundation of the world. But you have described to us, in pompous
language, the extraordinary power and riches of your king; according to
you, he not only commands numerous and well-appointed troops of warlike
men, furnished with every species of military stores, but he also
possesses immense heaps of gold, silver, and other precious commodities,
and his country affords him an inexhaustible supply of corn, and oil,
and wine, and all the other conveniences of life. If, therefore, these
representations be false, you must appear a vain and despicable babbler,
who, being induced by no sufficient reason, have come hither of your own
accord to amuse us--a plain and simple race of men--with specious tales
and fables; but, if your words be true, your king must be equally unjust
and foolish, who, already possessing all these advantages, doth still
insatiably grasp after more; and, enjoying so many good things with ease
and security to himself, will rather put them to all the hazard than
repress the vain desires of his own intolerable avarice. As to the
tribute which you have demanded, what you have already seen of the
Arabians and their country affords you a sufficient answer. You see that
we have neither cities, nor fields, nor rivers, nor wine, nor oil; gold
and silver are equally unknown among us; and the Arabians, abandoning
all these things to other men, have, at the same time, delivered
themselves from the necessity of being slaves, which is the general law
by which all mortals retain their possession. We have, therefore,
nothing which we can send as a tribute but the sand of these our
deserts, and the arrows and lances with which we have hitherto defended
them from all invaders. If these are treasures worthy of his acceptance,
he may lead his conquering troops to take possession of our country. But
he will find men who are not softened by luxury, or vanquished by their
own vices; men who prize their liberty at a dearer rate than all other
mortals do their riches or their lives, and to whom dishonour is more
formidable than wounds and death. If he can vanquish such men, it will,
however, become his prudence to reflect whether he can vanquish the
obstacles which nature herself has opposed to his ambition. If he should
attempt to pass our deserts, he will have to struggle with famine and
consuming thirst, from which no enemy has hitherto escaped, even when he
has failed to perish by the arrows of the Arabians.''----

"'Happy and generous people,' exclaimed Sophron, 'how well do they
deserve the liberty they enjoy! With such sentiments they need not fear
the attack of kings or conquerors. It is the vices of men, and not the
weakness of their nature, that basely enslave them to their equals; and
he that prizes liberty beyond a few contemptible pleasures of his senses
may be certain that no human force can ever bereave him of so great a
good.'

"'Such sentiments,' replied Chares, 'convince me that I have not made a
false estimate of the inhabitants of these mountainous districts. It is
for this reason that I have been so particular in the description of
Egypt and Arabia. I wished to know whether the general spirit of
indolence and pusillanimity had infected the hardy inhabitants of
Lebanon; but from the generous enthusiasm which animates your
countenance at the recital of noble actions, as well as from what I have
experienced you are capable of attempting, I trust that these solitary
scenes are uninfected with the vices that have deluged the rest of Asia,
and bent its inhabitants to the yoke'"----

Here the impatience of Tommy, which had been increasing a considerable
time, could no longer be restrained, and he could not help interrupting
the story, by addressing Mr Barlow thus: "Sir, will you give me leave to
ask you a question?"

_Mr Barlow._--As many as you choose.

_Tommy._--In all these stories which I have heard, it seems as if those
nations that have little or nothing are more good-natured, and better
and braver than those that have a great deal.

_Mr Barlow._--This is indeed sometimes the case.

_Tommy._--But, then, why should it not be the case here, as well as in
other places? Are all the poor in this country better than the rich?

"It should seem," answered Mr Barlow, smiling, "as if you were of that
opinion."

_Tommy._--Why so, sir?

_Mr Barlow._--Because, whatever you want to have done, I observe that
you always address yourself to the poor, and not to the rich.

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but that is a different case. The poor are used to
do many things which the rich never do.

_Mr Barlow._--Are these things useful or not useful?

_Tommy._--Why, to be sure, many of them are extremely useful; for, since
I have acquired so much knowledge, I find they cultivate the ground, to
raise corn; and build houses; and hammer iron, which is so necessary to
make everything we use; besides feeding cattle, and dressing our
victuals, and washing our clothes, and, in short, doing everything which
is necessary to be done.

_Mr Barlow._--What! do the poor do all these things?

_Tommy._--Yes, indeed, or else they never would be done. For it would be
a very ungenteel thing to labour at a forge like a blacksmith, or hold
the plough like the farmer, or build a house like a bricklayer.

_Mr Barlow._--And did not you build a house in my garden some little
time ago?

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but that was only for my amusement; it was not
intended for anybody to live in.

_Mr Barlow._--So you still think it is the first qualification of a
gentleman never to do anything useful; and he that does anything with
that design, ceases to be a gentleman?

Tommy looked a little ashamed at this; but he said it was not so much
his own opinion as that of the other young ladies and gentlemen with
whom he had conversed.

"But," replied Mr Barlow, "you asked just now which were the best--the
rich or the poor? But if the poor provide food and clothing, and houses,
and everything else, not only for themselves but for all the rich, while
the rich do nothing at all, it must appear that the poor are better than
the rich."

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but then the poor do not act in that manner out of
kindness, but because they are obliged to it.

_Mr Barlow._--That, indeed, is a better argument than you sometimes use.
But tell me which set of people would you prefer; those that are always
doing useful things because they are obliged to it, or those who never
do anything useful at all?

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I hardly know what to say; but, when I asked the
question, I did not so much mean the doing useful things. But now I
think of it, the rich do a great deal of good by buying the things of
the poor, and giving them money in return.

_Mr Barlow._--What is money?

_Tommy._--Money, sir; money is----I believe, little pieces of silver and
gold, with a head upon them.

_Mr Barlow._--And what is the use of those little pieces of silver and
gold?

_Tommy._--Indeed, I do not know that they are of any use; but everybody
has agreed to take them; and therefore you may buy with them whatever
you want.

_Mr Barlow._--Then, according to your last account, the goodness of the
rich consists in taking from the poor houses, clothes, and food, and
giving them in return little bits of silver and gold, which are really
good for nothing.

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but then the poor can take these pieces of money and
purchase everything which they want.

_Mr Barlow._--You mean, that if a poor man has money in his pocket, he
can always exchange it for clothes, or food, or any other necessary?

_Tommy._--Indeed, I do, sir.

_Mr Barlow._--But whom must he buy them of? for according to your
account, the rich never produce any of these things; therefore the poor,
if they want to purchase them, can only do so of each other.

_Tommy._--But, sir, I cannot think that is always the case; for I have
been along with my mamma to shops, where there were fine powdered
gentlemen and ladies that sold things to other people, and
livery-servants, and young ladies that played on the harpsichord, like
Miss Matilda.

_Mr Barlow._--But, my good little friend, do you imagine that these fine
powdered gentlemen and ladies made the things which they sold?

_Tommy._--That, sir, I cannot tell, but I should rather imagine not; for
all the fine people I have ever seen are too much afraid of spoiling
their clothes to work.

_Mr Barlow._--All that they do, then, is to employ poorer persons to
work for them, while they only sell what is produced by their labour. So
that still you see we reach no farther than this; the rich do nothing
and produce nothing, and the poor everything that is really useful. Were
there a whole nation of rich people, they would all be starved, like the
Spaniard in the story, because no one would condescend to produce
anything; and this would happen in spite of all their money, unless they
had neighbours who were poorer to supply them. But a nation that was
poor might be industrious, and gradually supply themselves with all they
wanted; and then it would be of little consequence whether they had
pieces of metal with heads upon them or not. But this conversation has
lasted long enough at present; and, as you are now going to bed, I
daresay Miss Simmons will be so good as to defer the remainder of her
story until to-morrow.

The next day Tommy rose before his father and mother; and, as his
imagination had been forcibly acted on by the description he had heard
of the Arabian horsemen, he desired his little horse might be saddled,
and that William, his father's man, would attend him upon a ride.
Unfortunately for Tommy, his vivacity was greater than his reason, and
his taste for imitation was continually leading him into some mischief
or misfortune. He had no sooner been introduced into the acquaintance of
genteel life, than he threw aside all his former habits, and longed to
distinguish himself as a most accomplished young gentleman. He was now,
in turn, sickened and disgusted with fashionable affectation; and his
mind, at leisure for fresh impressions, was ready to catch at the first
new object which occurred. The idea, therefore, which presented itself
to his mind, as soon as he opened his eyes, was that of being an Arabian
horseman. Nothing, he imagined, could equal the pleasure of guiding a
fiery steed over those immense and desolate wastes which he had heard
described. In the meantime, as the country where he wished to exhibit
was at too great a distance, he thought he might excite some applause
even upon the common before his father's house.

Full of this idea he rose, put on his boots, and summoned William to
attend him. William had been too much accustomed to humour all his
caprices to make any difficulty of obeying him; and as he had often
ridden out with his young master before, he did not foresee the least
possible inconvenience. But the maternal care of Mrs Merton had made it
an indispensable condition with her son, that he should never presume to
ride with spurs; and she had strictly enjoined all the servants never to
supply him with those dangerous accoutrements. Tommy had long murmured
in secret at this prohibition, which seemed to imply a distrust of his
abilities in horsemanship, which sensibly wounded his pride. But since
he had taken it into his head to emulate the Arabs themselves, and
perhaps excel them in their own art, he considered it as no longer
possible to endure the disgrace. But, as he was no stranger to the
strict injunction which had been given to all the servants, he did not
dare to make the experiment of soliciting their assistance.

While he was in this embarrassment a new and sudden expedient presented
itself to his fertile genius, which he instantly resolved to adopt.
Tommy went to his mamma's maid, and without difficulty, obtained from
her a couple of the largest-sized pins, which he thrust through the
leather of his boots, and, thus accoutred, he mounted his horse without
suspicion or observation.

Tommy had not ridden far before he began to give vent to his reigning
passion, and asked William if he had ever seen an Arabian on horseback.
The answer of William sufficiently proved his ignorance, which Tommy
kindly undertook to remove by giving him a detail of all the particulars
he had heard the preceding night; but, unfortunately, the eloquence of
Tommy precipitated him into a dangerous experiment; for, just as he was
describing their rapid flight across the deserts, the interest of his
subject so transported him that he closed his legs upon his little
horse, and pricked him in so sensible a manner, that the pony, who was
not deficient in spirit, resented the attack, and set off with him at a
prodigious rate.

William, when he saw his master thus burst forth, was at a loss whether
to consider it an accident or only an oratorical grace; but seeing the
horse hurrying along the roughest part of the common, while Tommy tugged
in vain to restrain his efforts, he thought it necessary to endeavour to
overtake him, and therefore pursued him with all the speed he could use.
But the pony, whose blood seemed to be only the more inflamed by the
violence of his own exertions, ran the faster when he heard the
trampling of another horse behind him.

In this manner did Tommy scamper over the common, while William pursued
in vain; for, just as the servant thought he had reached his master, his
horse would push forward with such rapidity as left his pursuer far
behind. Tommy kept his seat with infinite address; but he now began
seriously to repent of his own ungovernable ambition, and would, with
the greatest pleasure, have exchanged his own spirited steed for the
dullest ass in England.

The race had now endured a considerable time, and seemed to be no nearer
to a conclusion, when, on a sudden, the pony turned short, upon an
attempt of his master to stop him, and rushed precipitately into a large
bog or quagmire, which was full before him; here he made him a momentary
halt, and Tommy wisely embraced the opportunity of letting himself slide
off upon a soft and yielding bed of mire. The servant now came up to
Tommy and rescued him from his disagreeable situation, where, however,
he had received no other damage than that of daubing himself all over.

William had been at first very much frightened at the danger of his
master; but when he saw that he had so luckily escaped all hurt, he
could not help asking him, with a smile, whether this too was a stroke
of Arabian horsemanship? Tommy was a little provoked at this reflection
upon his horsemanship; but, as he had now lost something of his
irritability by repeated mortification, he wisely repressed his passion,
and desired William to catch his horse, while he returned homewards on
foot to warm himself. The servant, therefore, endeavoured to approach
the pony, who, as if contented with the triumph he had obtained over his
rider, was quietly feeding at a little distance; but the instant William
approached, he set off again at a violent rate, and seemed disposed to
lead him a second chase not inferior to the first.

In the meantime Tommy walked pensively along the common, reflecting on
the various accidents which had befallen him, and the repeated
disappointments he had found in all his attempts to distinguish himself.
While he was thus engaged, he overtook a poor and ragged figure, the
singularity of whose appearance engaged his attention. It was a man of
middle age, in a dress he had never seen before, with two poor children
that seemed with difficulty to keep up with him, while he carried a
third in his arms, whose pale emaciated looks sufficiently declared
disease and pain. The man had upon his head a coarse blue bonnet instead
of a hat; he was wrapped round by a tattered kind of garment, striped
with various colours, and at his side hung down a long and formidable
sword.

Tommy surveyed him with such an earnest observation, that at length the
man took notice of it, and, bowing to him with the greatest civility,
ventured to ask him if he had met with any accident, that he appeared in
a disorder which suited so little with his quality. Tommy was not a
little pleased with the discernment of the man, who could distinguish
his importance in spite of the dirtiness of his clothes, and therefore
mildly answered, "No, friend, there is not much the matter. I have a
little obstinate horse that ran away with me, and after trying in vain
to throw me down, he plunged into the middle of that great bog there,
and so I jumped off for fear of being swallowed up, otherwise I should
soon have made him submit, for I am used to such things, and don't mind
them in the least."

Here the child that the man was carrying began to cry bitterly, and the
father endeavoured to pacify him, but in vain. "Poor thing," said Tommy,
"he seems to be unwell; I am heartily sorry for him!" "Alas! master,"
answered the man, "he is not well, indeed; he has now a violent ague fit
upon him, and I have not had a morsel of bread to give him or any of the
rest since yesterday noon."

Tommy was naturally generous, and now his mind was unusually softened by
the remembrance of his own recent distresses; he therefore pulled a
shilling out of his pocket and gave it to the man, saying, "Here, my
honest friend, here is something to buy your child some food, and I
sincerely wish he may soon recover." "God bless your sweet face!" said
the man; "you are the best friend I have seen this many a day; but for
this kind assistance we might have been all lost." He then, with many
bows and thanks, struck across the common into a different path, and
Tommy went forward, feeling a greater pleasure at this little act of
humanity than he had long been acquainted with among all the fine
acquaintance he had lately contracted.

But he had walked a very little way with these reflections before he met
with a new adventure. A flock of sheep was running, with all the
precipitation which fear could inspire, from the pursuit of a large
dog; and just as Tommy approached, the dog had overtaken a lamb, and
seemed disposed to devour it. Tommy was naturally an enemy to all
cruelty, and therefore, running towards the dog with more alacrity than
prudence, he endeavoured to drive him from his prey; but the animal, who
probably despised the diminutive size of his adversary, after growling a
little while and showing his teeth, when he found that this was not
sufficient to deter him from intermeddling, entirely quitted the sheep,
and making a sudden spring, seized upon the skirt of Tommy's coat, which
he shook with every expression of rage. Tommy behaved with more
intrepidity than could have been expected, for he neither cried out nor
attempted to run, but made his utmost efforts to disengage himself from
his enemy. But, as the contest was so unequal, it is probable he would
have been severely bitten, had not the honest stranger, whom he had
relieved, come running up to his assistance, and seeing the danger of
his benefactor, laid the dog dead at his feet by a furious stroke of his
broadsword.

Tommy, thus delivered from impending danger, expressed his gratitude to
the stranger in the most affectionate manner, and desired him to
accompany him to his father's house, where he and his wearied children
should receive whatever refreshment they wished. He then turned his eyes
to the lamb, which had been the cause of the contest, and lay panting
upon the ground bleeding and wounded, but not to death, and remarked,
with astonishment, upon his fleece the well-known characters of H.S.,
accompanied with a cross. "As I live," said Tommy, "I believe this is
the very lamb which Harry used to be so fond of, and which would
sometimes follow him to Mr Barlow's. I am the luckiest fellow in the
world, to have come in time to deliver him, and now, perhaps, Harry may
forgive me all the ill-usage he has met with." Saying this, he took the
lamb up and kissed it with the greatest tenderness; nay, he would have
even borne it home in his arms had it not been rather too heavy for his
strength; but the honest stranger, with a grateful officiousness,
offered his services, and prevailed on Tommy to let him carry it, while
he delivered his child to the biggest of his brothers.

When Tommy had now arrived within a little distance of his home he met
his father and Mr Barlow, who had left the house to enjoy the morning
air, before breakfast. They were surprised to see him in such an
equipage, for the dirt, which had bespattered him from head to foot,
began to dry in various places, and gave him the appearance of a
farmer's clay-built wall in the act of hardening. But Tommy without
giving them time to make inquiries, ran affectionately up to Mr Barlow,
and taking him by the hand, said, "Oh, sir! here is the luckiest
accident in the world! poor Harry Sandford's favourite lamb would have
been killed by a great mischievous dog, if I had not happened to come by
and save his life!" "And who is this honest man," said Mr Merton, "whom
you have picked up on the common? He seems to be in distress, and his
famished children are scarcely able to drag themselves along."

"Poor man!" answered Tommy, "I am very much obliged to him; for, when I
went to save Harry's lamb, the dog attacked me, and would have hurt me
very much if he had not come to my assistance and killed him with his
great sword. So I have brought him with me that he might refresh himself
with his poor children, one of which has a terrible ague; for I knew,
papa, that though I had not behaved well of late, you would not be
against my doing an act of charity." "I am, on the contrary, very glad,"
said Mr Merton, "to see you have so much gratitude in your temper. But
what is the reason that I see you thus disfigured with dirt? Surely you
must have been riding, and your horse has thrown you? And so it is, for
here is William following with both the horses in a foam."

William at that moment appeared, and, trotting up to his master, began
to make excuses for his own share in the business. "Indeed, sir," said
he, "I did not think there was the least harm in going out with Master
Tommy, and we were riding along as quietly as possible, and master was
giving me a long account of the Arabs, who, he said, lived in the finest
country in the world, which does not produce anything to eat or drink,
or wear, and yet they never want to come upon the parish, but ride upon
the most mettled horses in the world, fit to start for any plate in
England. And just as he was giving me this account, Punch took it into
his head to run away, and while I was endeavouring to catch him, he
jumped into a quagmire, and shot Master Tommy off in the middle of it."
"No," said Tommy, "there you mistake; I believe I could manage a much
more spirited horse than Punch, but I thought it prudent to throw myself
off for fear of his plunging deeper into the mire." "But how is this?"
said Mr Merton, "the pony used to be the quietest of horses; what can
have given him this sudden impulse to run away? Surely, William, you
were not so imprudent as to trust your master with spurs?" "No, sir,"
answered William, "not I; and I can take my oath he had no spurs on when
he first set out."

Mr Merton was convinced there was some mystery in this transaction, and,
looking at his son to find it out, he at length discovered the ingenious
contrivance of Tommy to supply the place of spurs, and could hardly
preserve his gravity at the sight. He, however, mildly set before him
his imprudence, which might have been attended with the most fatal
consequences--the fracture of his limbs, or even the loss of his
life--and desired him for the future to be more cautious. They then
returned to the house, and Mr Merton ordered his servants to supply his
guests with plenty of the most nourishing food.

After breakfast they sent for the unhappy stranger into the parlour,
whose countenance now bespoke satisfaction and gratitude; and Mr Merton,
who, by his dress and accent, discovered him to be an inhabitant of
Scotland, desired to know by what accident he had thus wandered so far
from home with these poor helpless children, and had been reduced to so
much misery.

"Alas! your honour," answered the man, "I should ill deserve the favours
you have shown me if I attempted to conceal anything from such worthy
benefactors. My tale, however, is simple and uninteresting, and I fear
there can be nothing in the story of my distress the least deserving of
your attention."

"Surely," said Mr Merton, with the most benevolent courtesy, "there
must be something in the distress of every honest man which ought to
interest his fellow-creatures; and if you will acquaint us with all the
circumstances of your situation, it may perhaps be within our power, as
it certainly is in our inclinations, to do you further service."

The man then bowed to the company with an air of dignity which surprised
them all, and thus began: "I was born in that part of our island which
is called the North of Scotland. The country there, partly from the
barrenness of the soil, and the inclemency of the season, and partly
from other causes which I will not now enumerate, is unfavourable to the
existence of its inhabitants. More than half of the year our mountains
are covered with continual snows, which prohibit the use of agriculture,
or blast the expectations of a harvest; yet the race of men which
inhabit these dreary wilds are perhaps not more undeserving the smiles
of fortune than many of their happier neighbours. Accustomed to a life
of toil and hardship, their bodies are braced by the incessant
difficulties they have to encounter, and their minds remain untainted by
the example of their more luxurious neighbours; they are bred up from
infancy with a deference and respect for their parents, and with a
mutual spirit of endearment towards their equals, which I have not
remarked in happier climates. These circumstances expand and elevate the
mind, and attach the Highlanders to their native mountains with a warmth
of affection which is scarcely known in the midst of polished cities and
cultivated countries. Every man there is more or less acquainted with
the history of his clan, and the martial exploits which they have
performed. In the winter season we sit around the blazing light of our
fires, and commemorate the glorious actions of our ancestors; the
children catch the sound, and consider themselves as interested in
supporting the honour of a nation which is yet unsullied in the annals
of the world, and resolve to transmit it equally pure to their
posterity.

"With these impressions, which were the earliest I can remember, you
cannot wonder, gentlemen, that I should have early imbibed a spirit of
enterprise and a love of arms. My father was indeed poor, but he had
been himself a soldier, and therefore did not so strenuously oppose my
growing inclination; he, indeed, set before me the little chance I
should have of promotion, and the innumerable difficulties of my
intended profession. But what were difficulties to a youth brought up to
subsist upon a handful of oatmeal, to drink the waters of the stream,
and to sleep shrouded in my plaid, beneath the arch of an impending
rock! I see, gentlemen," continued the Highlander, "that you appear
surprised to hear a man, who has so little to recommend him, express
himself in rather loftier language than you are accustomed to among your
peasantry here. But you should remember that a certain degree of
education is more general in Scotland than where you live, and that,
wanting almost all the gifts of fortune, we cannot afford to suffer
those of nature to remain uncultivated. When, therefore, my father saw
that the determined bent of my temper was towards a military life, he
thought it vain to oppose my inclinations. He even, perhaps,
involuntarily cherished them, by explaining to me, during the long
leisure of our dreary winter, some books which treated of military
sciences and ancient history. From these I imbibed an early love of
truth and honour, which I hope has not abandoned me since, and by
teaching me what brave and virtuous men have suffered in every age and
country, they have, perhaps, prevented me from entirely sinking under my
misfortunes.

"One night, in the autumn of the year, as we were seated round the
embers of our fire, we heard a knocking at the door. My father rose, and
a man of a majestic presence came in, and requested permission to pass
the night in our cottage. He told us he was an English officer, who had
long been stationed in the Highlands, but now, upon the breaking out of
war, he had been sent for in haste to London, whence he was to embark
for America as soon as he could be joined by his regiment. 'This,' said
he, 'has been the reason of my travelling later than prudence permits,
in a mountainous country, with which I am imperfectly acquainted. I have
unfortunately lost my way, and but for your kindness,' added he,
smiling, 'I must here begin my campaign, and pass the night upon a bed
of heath amid the mountains.' My father rose, and received the officer
with all the courtesy he was able (for in Scotland every man thinks
himself honoured by being permitted to exercise his hospitality); he
told him his accommodations were mean and poor, but what he had was
heartily at his service. He then sent me to look after his visitor's
horse, and set before him some milk and oaten bread, which were all the
dainties we possessed; our guest, however, seemed to feed upon it with
an appetite as keen as if he had been educated in the Highlands; and
what I could not help remarking with astonishment, although his air and
manners proved that he could be no stranger to a more delicate way of
living, not a single word fell from him that intimated he had ever been
used to better fare.

"During the evening our guest entertained us with various accounts of
the dangers he had already escaped, and the service he had seen. He
particularly described the manners of the savage tribes he was going to
encounter in America, and the nature of their warfare. All this,
accompanied with the tone and look of a man who was familiar with great
events, and had borne a considerable share in all he related, so
inflamed my military ardour, that I was no longer capable of repressing
it. The stranger perceived it, and looking at me with an air of
tenderness and compassion, asked if that young man was intended for the
service. My colour rose, and my heart immediately swelled at the
question; the look and manner of our guest had strangely interested me
in his favour, and the natural grace and simplicity with which he
related his own exploits, put me in mind of the great men in other
times. Could I but march under the banner of such a leader I thought
nothing would be too arduous to be achieved. I saw before me a long
perspective of combats, difficulties, and dangers; something, however,
whispered to my mind that I should be successful in the end, and support
the reputation of our name and clan. Full of these ideas I sprang
forwards at the question, and told the officer that the darling passion
of my life would be to bear arms under a chief like him; and that, if
he would suffer me to enlist under his command, I should be ready to
justify his kindness by patiently supporting every hardship, and facing
every danger. 'Young man,' replied he, with a look of kind concern,
'there is not an officer in the army that would not be proud of such a
recruit; but I should ill betray the hospitality I have received from
your parents, if I suffered you to be deceived in your opinion of the
military profession.' He then set before me, in the strongest language,
all the hardships which would be my lot; the dangers of the field, the
pestilence of camps, the slow consuming languor of hospitals, the
insolence of command, the mortification and subordination, and the
uncertainty that the exertions of even a long life would ever lead to
the least promotion. 'All this,' replied I, trembling with fear that my
father should take advantage of these too just representations to refuse
his consent, 'I knew before; but I feel an irresistible impulse within
me which compels me to the field. The die is cast for life or death, and
I will abide by the chance that now occurs. If you, sir, refuse me, I
will, however, enlist with the first officer that will accept me; for I
will no longer wear out life amid the solitude of these surrounding
mountains, without either a chance of meriting applause or
distinguishing my name.'

"The officer then desisted from his opposition, and, turning to my
parents, asked them if it were with their consent that I was going to
enlist. My mother burst into tears, and my sisters hung about me
weeping; my father replied with a deep sigh, 'I have long experienced
that it is in vain to oppose the decrees of Providence. Could my
persuasions have availed, he would have remained contented in these
mountains; but that is now impossible, at least till he has purchased
wisdom at the price of his blood. If, therefore, sir, you do not despise
his youth and mien, take him with you, and let him have the advantage of
your example. I have been a soldier myself; and I can assure you, with
truth, that I have never seen an officer under whom I would more gladly
march than yourself.' Our guest made a polite reply to my father, and
instantly agreed to receive me. He then pulled out a purse, and offering
it to my father, said, 'The common price of a recruit is now five
guineas; but so well am I satisfied with the appearance of your son, and
the confidence you repose in me, that I must insist upon your accepting
what is contained in this purse; you will dispose of it as you please
for your mutual advantage. Before I depart to-morrow I will give such
directions as may enable him to join the regiment, which is now
preparing to march.' He then requested that he might retire to rest, and
my father would have resigned the only bed he had in the house to his
guest, but he absolutely refused, and said, 'Would you shame me in the
eyes of my new recruit? What is a soldier good for that cannot sleep
without a bed? The time will soon arrive when I shall think a
comfortable roof and a little straw an enviable luxury.' I therefore
raised him as convenient a couch as I was able to make with heath and
straw, and wrapping himself up in his riding-coat, he threw himself down
upon it and slept till morning. With the first dawn of day he rose and
departed, having first given me the directions which were necessary to
enable me to join the regiment. But before he went, my father, who was
equally charmed with his generosity and manners, pressed him to take
back part of the money he had given us; this, however, he absolutely
refused, and left us, full of esteem and admiration.

"I will not, gentlemen, repeat the affecting scene I had to undergo in
taking leave of my family and friends. It pierced me to the very heart;
and then, for the first time, I almost repented of being so near the
accomplishment of my wishes. I was, however, engaged, and determined to
fulfil my engagement; I therefore tore myself from my family, having
with difficulty prevailed upon my father to accept of part of the money
I had received for my enrolment. I will not trespass upon your time to
describe the various emotions which I felt from the crowd of new
sensations that entered my mind during our march. I arrived without any
accident in London, the splendid capital of this kingdom; but I could
not there restrain my astonishment to see an immense people talking of
wounds, of death, of battles, sieges, and conquests, in the midst of
feasts, and balls, and puppet-shows, and calmly devoting thousands of
their fellow-creatures to perish by famine or the sword, while they
considered the loss of a dinner, or the endurance of a shower, as an
exertion too great for human fortitude.

"I soon embarked, and arrived, without any other accident than a
horrible sickness, at the place of our destination in America. Here I
joined my gallant officer, Colonel Simmons, who had performed the voyage
in another ship."--(Miss Simmons, who was present at this narration,
seemed to be much interested at this mention of her own name; she,
however, did not express her feelings, and the stranger proceeded with
his story.)--"The gentleman was, with justice, the most beloved, and the
most deserving to be so, of any officer I have ever known. Inflexible in
everything that concerned the honour of the service, he never pardoned
wilful misbehaviour, because he knew that it was incompatible with
military discipline; yet, when obliged to punish, he did it with such
reluctance that he seemed to suffer almost as much as the criminal
himself. But, if his reason imposed this just and necessary severity,
his heart had taught him another lesson in respect to private distresses
of his men; he visited them in their sickness, relieved their miseries,
and was a niggard of nothing but human blood. But I ought to correct
myself in that expression, for he was rashly lavish of his own, and to
that we owe his untimely loss.

"I had not been long in America before the colonel, who was perfectly
acquainted with the language and manners of the savage tribes that
border upon the British colonies, was sent on an embassy to one of their
nations, for the purpose of soliciting their alliance with Britain. It
may not, perhaps, be uninteresting to you, gentlemen, and to this my
honourable little master, to hear some account of a people whose manners
and customs are so much the reverse of what you see at home. As my
worthy officer, therefore, contented with my assiduity and improvement
in military knowledge, permitted me to have the honour of attending him,
I will describe some of the most curious facts which I was witness to.

"You have, doubtless, heard many accounts of the surprising increase of
the English colonies in America; and when we reflect that it is scarcely
a hundred years since some of them were established, it must be
confessed that they have made rapid improvements in clearing the ground
of woods and bringing it to cultivation. Yet, much as they have already
done, the country is yet an immense forest, except immediately on the
coasts. The forests extend on every side to a distance that no human
sagacity or observation has been able to determine; they abound in every
species of tree which you see in England, to which may be added a great
variety more which are unknown with us. Under their shade is generally
found a rich luxurious herbage, which serves for pasture to a thousand
herds of animals. Here are seen elks (a kind of deer of the largest
size), and buffaloes (a species of wild ox), by thousands, and even
horses, which, having been originally brought over by the Spaniards,
have escaped from their settlements and multiplied in the woods."

"Dear!" said Tommy, "that must be a fine country, indeed, where horses
run wild; why, a man might have one for nothing." "And yet," said Mr
Merton, "it would be but of little use for a person to have a wild
horse, who is not able to manage a tame one."

Tommy made no answer to his father; and the man proceeded. "But the
greatest curiosity of all this country is, in my opinion, the various
tribes or nations which inhabit it. Bred up from their infancy to a life
of equal hardiness with the wild animals, they are almost as robust in
their constitutions. These various tribes inhabit little villages,
which generally are seated upon the banks of rivers; and, though they
cultivate small portions of land around their towns, they seek the
greater part of their subsistence from the chase. In their persons they
are rather tall and slender, but admirably well-proportioned and active,
and their colour is a pale red, exactly resembling copper. Thus
accustomed to roam about the woods, and brave the inclemencies of the
weather, as well as continually exposed to the attacks of their enemies
they acquire a degree of courage and fortitude which can scarcely be
conceived. It is nothing to them to pass whole days without food; to be
whole nights upon the bare damp ground, and to swim the widest rivers in
the depth of winter. Money, indeed, and the greatest part of what we
call the conveniences of life, they are unacquainted with; nor can they
conceive that one man should serve another merely because he has a few
pieces of shining metal; they imagine that the only distinctions arise
from superior courage and bodily perfections, and therefore these alone
are able to engage their esteem. A celebrated traveller relates that, on
one occasion, while he was engaged in finishing a drawing, he was
suddenly interrupted by three of these curious-looking persons entering
the room in which he was. At first he feared that they intended to
attack him; but he soon found that he was mistaken, for, upon their
seeing the representation of themselves upon a sheet which he had taken
the day before, and which one of them took up, they immediately burst
into a loud fit of laughter, while one of them offered to purchase it by
giving some fruit in exchange.

"But if their manners are gentle in peace, they are more dreadful, when
provoked, than all the wildest animals of the forest. Bred up from
infancy to suffer no restraint, and to give an unbounded loose to the
indulgence of their passions, they know not what it is to forgive those
who have injured them. They love their tribe with a degree of affection
that is totally unknown in every other country; for they are ready to
suffer every hardship and danger in its defence. They scruple not in the
least to experience wounds, and pain, and even death itself, as often as
the interest of the country to which they are so much attached is
concerned; but the same attachment renders them implacable and
unforgiving to all their enemies. In short, they seem to have all the
virtues and the vices of the ancient Spartans.

"To one of these tribes, called the Ottigamies, was Colonel Simmons sent
ambassador, accompanied by a few more officers, and some private men,
among whom I had the honour to be included. We pursued our march for
several days, through forests which seemed to be of equal duration with
the world itself. Sometimes we were shrouded in such obscurity, from the
thickness of the covert, that we could scarcely see the light of heaven;
sometimes we emerged into spacious meadows, bare of trees, and covered
with the most luxuriant herbage, on which were feeding immense herds of
buffaloes. These, as soon as they snuffed the approach of men, which
they are capable of doing even at a considerable distance, ran with
precipitation into the surrounding woods; many, however, fell beneath
our attack, and served us for food during our journey. At length we came
to a wide and rapid river, upon whose banks we found a party of
friendly savages, with some of whom we embarked upon canoes made of the
bark of trees, to proceed to the country of the Ottigamies.

"After three days' incessant rowing we entered a spacious lake, upon
whose banks were encamped a considerable portion of the nation we
sought. As we approached the shore they saluted us with a volley of
balls from their muskets, which whistled just above our heads, without
producing mischief. I and several of the soldiers instantly seized our
arms, imagining it to be a hostile attack; but our leader quieted our
apprehensions by informing us that this was only a friendly salute with
which a nation of warriors received and welcomed their allies. We
landed, and were instantly conducted to the assembly of the chiefs, who
were sitting upon the ground, without external pomp or ceremony, with
their arms beside them; but there was in their countenances and eyes an
expression of ferocious grandeur which would have daunted the boldest
European. Yes, gentlemen, I have seen the greatest and most powerful men
in my own country; I have seen them adorned with every external
circumstance of dress, of pomp, and equipage, to inspire respect, but
never did I see anything which so completely awed the soul as the angry
scowl and fiery glance of a savage American.

"As soon as our leader entered the circle, he produced the calumet, or
pipe of peace. This is the universal mark of friendship and alliance
among all the barbarous nations of America, and he that bears it is
considered with so much respect that his person is always safe. This
calumet is nothing but a long and slender pipe, ornamented with the
most lively and beautiful feathers, which are ingeniously fixed along
the tube; the bowl is composed of a peculiar kind of reddish marble, and
filled with scented herbs and tobacco.

"Colonel Simmons lighted his pipe with great solemnity, and turning the
bowl first towards the heavens, then to the earth, then in a circle
round him, he began to smoke. In the mean time the whole assembly sat
with mute attention, waiting to hear his proposals; for, though we call
them savages, yet in some respects they well deserve to be imitated by
more refined nations; in all their meetings and assemblies the greatest
order and regularity prevail; whoever rises to speak is sure of being
patiently heard to the end without the least interruption.

"Our leader then began to harangue them in their own language, with
which he was well acquainted. I did not understand what passed, but it
was afterwards explained to me that he set before their eyes the
injuries they had mutually received from the French and the tribes in
their alliance. He told them that their great father (for so these
people call the King of Britain) had taken up the hatchet of war, and
was sending an innumerable band of warriors to punish the insults of his
enemies. He told them that he had ordered him to visit the Ottigamies,
his dutiful children, and smoke with them the pipe of peace. He invited
their young men to join the warriors that came from beyond the ocean,
and who were marching to bury the bones of their brethren, who had been
killed by their mutual foes. When he had concluded, he flung upon the
ground a curious string of shells, which is called the belt of
_Wampum_. This is a necessary circumstance in all the treaties made with
these tribes. Whoever comes as an ambassador brings one with him to
present to the people whose friendship is solicited, and, if the belt is
accepted the proposed alliance is considered as entered into.

"As soon as our leader had finished, a chief of a stature superior to
the common race of men, and of a most determined look, jumped into the
middle of the assembly, and, taking up the belt, cried out in their
language, 'Let us march, my brethren, with the young men of our great
father! Let us dig up the hatchet of war and revenge the bones of our
countrymen; they lie unburied, and cry to us for vengeance! We will not
be deaf to their cries; we will shake off all delays; we will approve
ourselves worthy of our ancestors; we will drink the blood of our
enemies, and spread a feast of carnage for the fowls of the air and the
wild beasts of the forest!' This resolution was universally approved by
the whole nation, who consented to the war with a ferocious joy. The
assembly was then dissolved, and the chiefs prepared for their intended
march according to the manners of their country.

"All the savage tribes that inhabit America are accustomed to very
little clothing. Inured to the inclemencies of the weather, and being in
the constant exercise of all their limbs, they cannot bear the restraint
and confinement of a European dress. The greater part of their bodies,
therefore, is naked; and this they paint in various fashions, to give
additional terror to their looks.

"When the chiefs were thus prepared they came from their tents; and the
last solemnity I was witness to, was dancing the dance of war and
singing the song of death. But what words can convey an adequate idea of
the furious movements and expressions which animated them through the
whole of this performance! Every man was armed with a kind of hatchet,
which is their usual weapon in battle, and called a _tomahawk_. This he
held in his hand, and brandished through the whole of the dreadful
spectacle. As they went on, their faces kindled into an expression of
anger that would daunt the boldest spectator; their gestures seemed to
be inspired by frantic rage and animosity; they moved their bodies with
the most violent agitations, and it was easy to see they represented all
the circumstances of a real combat. They seemed to be engaged in close
or distant battle, and brandished their weapons with so much fury, that
you would have imagined they were going every instant to hew each other
to pieces. Nor would it have been possible, even for the performers
themselves of this terrific dance, to have avoided mutual wounds and
slaughter, had they not been endued with that extraordinary activity
which is peculiar to savage nations. By intervals they increased the
horrid solemnity of the exhibition by uttering yells that would have
pierced a European ear with horror. I have seen rage and fury under
various forms and in different parts of the globe, but I must confess
that everything I have seen elsewhere is feeble and contemptible, when
compared with this day's spectacle. When the whole was finished, they
entertained us at a public festival in their cabins, and, when we
departed, dismissed us with these expressive wishes; they prayed that
the Great Spirit would favour us with a prosperous voyage; that he would
give us an unclouded sky and smooth waters by day, and that we might lie
down at night on a beaver blanket, enjoying uninterrupted sleep and
pleasant dreams; and that we might find continual protection under the
great pipe of peace. I have been thus particular (said the Highlander)
in describing the circumstances of this embassy, because you have not
disdained to hear the story of my adventures; and I thought that this
description of a people so totally unlike all you have been accustomed
to in Europe might not prove entirely uninteresting."

"We are much obliged to you," said Mr Barlow, "for all these curious
particulars, which are perfectly conformable to all I have heard and
read upon the subject. Nor can I consider, without a certain degree of
admiration, the savage grandeur of man in his most simple state. The
passion for revenge, which marks the character of all uncivilised
nations, is certainly to be condemned. But it is one of the constant
prejudices of their education; and many of those that call themselves
refined, have more to blush at in that respect than they are aware of.
Few, I am afraid, even in the most refined state of society, have
arrived at that sublime generosity which is able to forgive the injuries
of his fellow-creatures, when it has the power to repay them, and I see
many around me that are disgraced by the vices of uncivilised Americans,
without a claim to their virtues."

"I will not fatigue your ears," continued the Highlander, "with the
recital of all the events I was engaged in during the progress of the
war. The description of blood and carnage is always disagreeable to a
humane mind; and, though the perversity of mankind may sometimes render
war a necessary evil, the remembrance of its mischiefs is always
painful. I will only mention one event, continually lamented in the
annals of this country, because it is connected with the untimely fate
of my noble friend and gallant leader.

"It was determined by those who governed that we should march through
the woods upon a distant expedition against the French. The conduct of
this enterprise was given to a brave but rash commander, totally
unacquainted with the people he had to oppose, and unskilled in the
nature of a savage war. We therefore began our march through the same
trackless wilds I have described, and proceeded for several days without
any other difficulties than the nature of the country itself produced,
and without seeing the face of an enemy. It was in vain that officers of
the greatest experience, and particularly my worthy colonel, suggested
to our commander the necessity of using every precaution against a
dangerous and insidious foe.

"War is not managed, amid the forests of America, in the same manner as
it is conducted upon the plains of Europe. The temper of the people
there conspires with the nature of the country to render it a continual
scene of stratagems and surprise. Unencumbered with tents or baggage, or
numerous trains of artillery, the hostile warriors set out in small and
chosen parties, with nothing but their arms, and are continually upon
the watch to deceive their enemies. Long experience has taught them a
degree of sagacity in traversing the woods which to us is
inconceivable. Neither the widest rivers nor the most extensive forests
can retard them for an instant. A march of a thousand miles is scarcely
to them a greater difficulty than the passage of a European army between
two neighbouring towns. The woods themselves afford them a continual
supply of provisions in the various animals which they kill by the
chase. When they are near their enemies they frequently lurk all day in
thickets, for fear of a discovery, and pursue their march by night.
Hundreds of them sometimes pursue their course in the same line,
treading only in each other's steps, and the last of the party carefully
covers over the impressions which his fellows have made. When they are
thus upon the point of accomplishing their purpose the very necessities
of nature are unheeded; they cease to fire upon the beasts of the
forest, lest it should alarm the foe; they feed upon the roots or the
bark of trees, or pass successive days in a perfect abstinence from
food. All this our colonel represented to the general, and conjured him,
with the strongest entreaties, not to hazard the safety of our army by
an incautious progress. He advised him to send out numerous detachments
to beat the bushes and examine the woods; and offered himself to secure
the march of the army. But presumption is always blind; our general was
unacquainted with any other than European warfare, and could not
conceive that naked savages would dare to attack an army of two thousand
disciplined troops.

"One morning, the way before us appeared more intricate and obscure than
common; the forests did not, as usual, consist of lofty trees, which
afford a tolerably clear prospect between their trunks, but were
composed of creeping bushes and impervious thickets. The army marched as
usual, with the vain ostentation of military discipline, but totally
unprepared for the dreadful scene which followed. At length we entered a
gloomy valley, surrounded on every side by the thickest shade, and
rendered swampy by the overflowings of a little rivulet. In this
situation it was impossible to continue our march without disordering
our ranks; and part of the army extended itself beyond the rest, while
another part of the line involuntarily fell behind.

"In the moment while the officers were employed in rectifying the
disorder of their men, a sudden noise of musketry was heard in front,
which stretched about twenty of our men upon the field. The soldiers
instinctively fired towards the part whence they were attacked, and
instantly fell back in disorder. But it was equally vain to retreat or
go forward, for it now appeared that we were completely hemmed in. On
every side resounded the fatal peals of scattering fire, that thinned
our ranks and extended our bravest comrades on the earth. Figure to
yourself a shoal of fishes, enclosed within the net, that circle in vain
the fatal labyrinth in which they are involved; or rather, conceive what
I have myself been witness to--a herd of deer, surrounded on every side
by a band of active and unpitying hunters, who press and gall them on
every side, and exterminate them at leisure in their flight; just such
was the situation of our unfortunate countrymen. After a few unavailing
discharges, which never annoyed a secret enemy that scattered death
unseen, the ranks were broken and all subordination lost. The ground
was covered with gasping wretches, and stained with blood; the woods
resounded with cries and groans, and fruitless attempts of our gallant
officers to rally their men, and check the progress of the enemy. By
intervals was heard, more shrill, more dreadful than all the rest, the
dismal yell of the victorious savages, who now, emboldened by their
success, began to leave the covert and hew down those who fled, with
unrelenting cruelty. As to myself, the description which our colonel had
given me of their method of attack, and the precautions to be used
against it, rendered me perhaps less disturbed than I should otherwise
have been. I remarked that those who stood and those who fled were
exposed to equal danger; those who kept their ranks and endeavoured to
repel the enemy, exposed their persons to their fire, and were
successively shot down, as happened to most of our unfortunate officers,
while those who fled frequently rushed headlong upon the very death they
sought to avoid.

"Pierced to the heart at the sight of such a carnage of my gallant
comrades, I grew indifferent to life, and abandoned myself to despair;
but it was a despair that neither impaired my exertions nor robbed me of
the faculties of my mind. 'Imitate me,' I cried, 'my gallant countrymen,
and we shall yet be safe.' I then directly ran to the nearest tree, and
sheltered myself behind its stem--convinced that this precaution alone
could secure me from the incessant volleys which darted on every side. A
small number of Highlanders followed my example; and, thus secured, we
began to fire with more success at the enemy, who now exposed themselves
with less reserve. This check seemed to astonish and confound them; and
had not the panic been so general, it is possible that this successful
effort might have changed the fortune of the fight; for, in another
quarter, the provincial troops that accompanied us behaved with the
greatest bravery, and, though deserted by the European forces, effected
their own retreat.

"But it was now too late to hope for victory or even safety; the ranks
were broken on every side, the greater part of our officers slain or
wounded, and our unfortunate general himself had expiated with his life
his fatal rashness. I cast my eyes around, and saw nothing but images of
death, and horror, and frantic rage. Yet even then the safety of my
noble colonel was dearer to me than my own. I sought him for some time
in vain, amid the various scenes of carnage which surrounded me. At
length I discovered him at a distance, almost deserted by his men, yet
still attempting to renew the fight, and heedless of the wounds which
covered him. Transported with grief and passion, I immediately darted
forward to offer him my feeble support; but, in the very instant of my
arrival, he received a straggling ball in his bosom, and, tottering to a
tree, supported his fainting limbs against the trunk. Just in that
moment three of our savage enemies observed his situation, and marked
him for their prey; they raised their hideous yell, and darted upon him
with the speed and fierceness of wolves. Fury then took possession of my
soul; had I possessed a thousand lives, I should have held them cheap in
the balance. I fired with so unerring an aim that I stretched the
foremost on the earth; the second received the point of my bayonet in
his breast, and fell in the pangs of death; the third, daunted with the
fate of his companions, turned his steps another way.

"Just then a horse, that had lost his rider, was galloping along the
wood; I bounded across the path, and, seizing him by the bridle,
instantly led him to my leader, and conjured him to preserve his
glorious life. He thanked me in the most affectionate manner for my
friendship, but bade me preserve my own life. 'As to myself,' said he,
'I do not wish to survive my country's dishonour; and even had I such a
wish, the wounds I have received would render all escape impossible.'
'If that is your resolution,' said I, 'we will die together; for I swear
by the eternal majesty of my Creator that I will not leave you.' When he
saw me thus resolved, he consented to use my assistance, and with
infinite difficulty I seated him upon the horse, which, holding by the
reins, as I was then light and active, I guided along the wood with no
inconsiderable speed.

"Fortunately for me, we were not observed by any of our savage enemies,
so that, flying through the thickest part of the forest, we left the
danger behind, and were soon removed beyond the sight or hearing of the
battle. 'Courage,' said I, 'my noble leader! you are now almost in
safety; and I trust you will yet preserve a life so necessary to your
friends and country.' He answered me with the kindest expressions, but
with a feeble voice, 'Campbell, I have consented to fly, more for the
sake of preserving your life than from any hopes of my own; but since we
are at a distance from yonder dreadful scene, permit me to alight; I
have consumed my small remaining forces in the way, and now I am faint
from loss of blood.' He sunk down at this, and would have fallen, but I
received him in my arms; I bore him to the next thicket, and, strewing
grass and leaves upon the ground, endeavoured to prepare him a bed. He
thanked me again with gratitude and tenderness, and grasped my hand as
he lay in the very agonies of death, for such it was, although I
believed he had only fainted, and long tried every ineffectual method to
restore departed life. Thus was I deprived of the noblest officer and
kindest friend that ever deserved the attachment of a soldier. Twenty
years have now rolled over me since that inauspicious day, yet it lives
for ever in my remembrance, and never shall be blotted from my soul.
(The Highlander then turned away to hide a tear, which did not misbecome
his manly countenance; the company seemed all to share his griefs, but
Miss Simmons above the rest. However, as the natural gentleness of her
temper was sufficiently known, no one suspected that she had any
particular interest in the relation.)

"I sat till night (continued the stranger) supporting the breathless
body of my colonel, and vainly hoping he might return to life. At length
I perceived that his noble soul was fled for ever. My own wounds grew
stiff and painful, and exhausted nature required a supply of food; I
therefore arose, and finding a spring that trickled down a hill at no
great distance, I refreshed myself by a copious draught, and washed the
clotted blood away from the hurts I had received. I then crushed some
leaves, which the inhabitants of that country imagine salutary, and
bound them on with bandages which I tore from my linen; I also found a
few wild fruits, which past experience had taught me were innocent, and
with them I allayed the pains of hunger. I then returned to the thicket,
and, creeping into the thickest part, endeavoured to compose myself to
rest.

"Strange, gentlemen, as it may appear, neither the forlorn nature of my
situation, nor the dangers with which I was beset, were sufficient to
keep me awake; my wearied and exhausted body seemed to triumph over all
the agitations of my mind, and I sunk into a sleep as deep and profound
as that of death itself. I awoke next morning with the first rays of the
sun, but, more composed, I better understood the difficulties in which I
was involved, and the uncertainty of my escape. I was in the midst of an
immense desert, totally destitute of human assistance or support. Should
I meet with any of my fellow-creatures, I could expect nothing but
implacable cruelty; and even if I escaped their vigilance, what method
of finding subsistence, or of measuring back, without a guide, the long
and tedious march I had trodden? Hope, however, and the vigour of my
constitution, still supported me. I reflected that it is the common lot
of man to struggle with misfortunes; that it is cowardice to yield to
evils, when present, the representation of which had not deterred me
from voluntarily embracing the profession of a soldier; and that the
providence of Heaven was as capable of protecting me in the forests of
America as upon my native mountains. I therefore determined to struggle
till the last with the difficulties which surrounded me, and to meet my
fortune like a man. Yet, as I still by intervals heard the dismal cries
of the enemy, and saw their fires at a distance, I lay close till night
in the obscurity of my thicket. When all was dark and still, I ventured
abroad, and laid in my scanty provisions of fruits and herbs, and drank
again at the spring. The pain of my wounds now began to abate a little,
though I suffered extremely from the cold, as I did not dare to kindle a
fire, from the fear of discovering myself by its light.

"Three nights and days did I lead this solitary life, in continual dread
of the savage parties which scoured all the woods in pursuit of
stragglers, and often passed so near my place of retreat that I gave
myself over for lost. At length, on the fourth evening, fancying myself
a little restored, and that the activity of the enemy might be abated, I
ventured out and pursued my march. I scarcely need describe the various
difficulties and dangers to which I was exposed in such a journey;
however, I still had with me my musket, and as my ammunition was not
quite exhausted, I depended upon the woods themselves to supply me with
food. I travelled the greater part of the night, involving myself still
deeper in these inextricable forests, for I was afraid to pursue the
direction of our former march, as I imagined the savages were dispersed
along the country in pursuit of the fugitives. I therefore took a
direction as nearly as I could judge parallel to the English
settlements, and inclining to the south. In this manner I forced my way
along the woods all night, and with the morning had reason to think that
I had advanced a considerable distance.

"My wounds began now to pain me afresh with this exertion, and compelled
me to allow myself some repose. I chose out the thickest covert I could
find, and, shrouding myself as well as I was able, was soon overpowered
by sleep. I did not awake till the sun had gained the meridian, and,
creeping from my retreat, beheld, with some degree of terror, an
enormous rattlesnake that was coiled up full in my way, and seemed
determined to oppose my passage. This animal is frequent in the southern
colonies, and is the most poisonous of all the reptiles that haunt the
woods. He is in length from two to six feet, beautifully variegated with
different colours, but the most remarkable circumstance attending him is
a natural noise that he produces with every motion of his tail, and
which, too, occasions his name. I soon destroyed my hissing foe, and,
taking courage for the first time to kindle a fire, I roasted him upon
the embers, and made the most delicious meal I ever remember upon his
flesh."

"What!" exclaimed Tommy, "is it possible to eat snakes? I thought they
had been all over poison." "Master," replied the Highlander, "the want
of food will reconcile us to many meats which we should scarcely think
eatable. Nothing has surprised me more than to see the poor, in various
countries, complaining of the scarcity of food, yet throwing away every
year thousands of the carcases of horses, which are full as wholesome
and nourishing as beef, and are in many countries preferred to it; but,
in general, every animal may be eaten, and affords a salutary food. As
to snakes, the poison of them is contained in the hollow of their teeth.
When they bite, they instil their venom into the wound, which mixes with
the blood, and, without a timely remedy, destroys the sufferer; but if
you cut off the head, the rest of the body is not only wholesome but
palatable, and I have known it eaten as a delicacy by many inhabitants
of the colonies.

"Thus refreshed, therefore, I pursued my march through the same thick,
gloomy country, without meeting the least appearance of a human
creature, and at night I cut, with a hatchet that I had about me, some
boughs, with which I erected a temporary shelter. The next day, as I was
pursuing my march, I saw a deer bound by me, upon whose shoulders was
fixed a fierce and destructive animal resembling a tiger. This creature,
which is about the size of a moderate dog, ascends the trees and hides
himself among the branches till a deer, or any other animal that he can
master, passes within his reach. He then darts himself with a sudden
spring full upon the neck or shoulder of the unfortunate animal, which
he continues tearing with so much violence that he soon despatches him.
This was actually the case with the poor deer that passed me; for he had
not run a hundred yards before he fell down in the agonies of death, and
his destroyer began to regale himself upon the prey. I instantly saw
that this was a lucky opportunity of supplying myself with food for
several days. I therefore ran towards the animal, and by a violent shout
made him abandon his victim and retire growling into the woods. I then
kindled a fire with leaves and sticks, and, cutting off a large slice of
venison, I plentifully refreshed myself for my journey. I then packed up
as much of the most fleshy parts of the body as I could conveniently
carry, and abandoned the rest to wild beasts.

"In this manner did I march for several days without wanting food, or
seeing any probable end of my fatigues. At length I found a lofty
mountain before me, which I determined to ascend, imagining that such an
elevation might enable me to make some useful discoveries in respect to
the nature of the country I had to traverse, and perhaps present me with
some appearances of cultivation or inhabitants. I therefore ascended
with infinite fatigue a rough and stony ascent of several miles, in
which I was frequently obliged to clamber up pointed rocks, and work my
way along the edge of dangerous precipices. I, however, arrived without
any accident at the top, which was entirely bare of trees, and, looking
round me, I beheld a wild and desert country, extending to a prodigious
distance. Far as my eye could reach I discovered nothing but forests on
every side but one; there the country seemed to be more open, though
equally uncultivated, and I saw meadows and savannahs opening one beyond
another, bounded at length by a spacious river, whose end and beginning
were equally concealed from my eye. I was now so weary of this solitary
kind of life, that I began to consider the inhabitants themselves with
less apprehension; besides, I thought myself out of danger of meeting
with the hostile tribes; and all these people, unless irritated by
injuries or stimulated by revenge, are perhaps less strangers to the
rights of hospitality than any civilised nation. I therefore reflected,
that by directing my course to the river, and following the direction of
its waters, I should have the greatest probability of meeting with some
of my fellow-creatures, as the natives build their villages near lakes
and streams, and choose their banks as a residence when they are
employed in hunting. I therefore descended the mountain, and entered the
level district which I saw before me; and then marched along an open
champaign country for several hours, covered over with a species of rank
grass, and beheld numerous herds of buffaloes grazing all around.

"It was here that an accident befel me, which I will relate for its
singularity, both in respect to the dangers I incurred and my method of
escape. As I was thus journeying on, I discovered a prodigious light
that seemed to efface the sun itself, and streak the skies with an angry
kind of illumination. I looked round me to discover the cause of this
strange appearance, and beheld, with equal horror and astonishment, that
the whole country behind was in flames. In order to explain this event,
I must observe, that all the plains in America produce a rank, luxuriant
vegetation, the juices of which are exhausted by the heat of the
summer's sun; it is then as inflammable as straw or fodder, and when a
casual spark of fire communicates with it, the flame frequently drives
before the wind for miles together, and consumes everything it meets.
This was actually the case at present; far as my eye could reach, the
country was all in flames, a powerful wind added fresh fury to the fire,
and drove it on with a degree of swiftness which precluded all
possibility of flight. I must confess that I was struck with horror at
the sudden approach of a death so new, so dreadful, so unexpected! I saw
it was in vain to fly, the flaming line extended for several miles on
every side, and advanced with such velocity that I considered my fate as
inevitable. I looked round me with a kind of mute despair, and began to
envy the fate of my comrades who had fallen by honourable wounds in
battle. Already did the conflagration scorch me in its approach,
accompanied by clouds of smoke that almost suffocated me with their
baneful vapour. In this extremity Providence presented to my mind an
instantaneous thought, which perhaps was the only possible method of
escape. I considered that nothing could stop the conflagration but an
actual want of matter to continue it, and therefore by setting fire to
the vegetables before me, I might follow my own path in safety. (I hope,
gentlemen, that during the course of a long life, you will never have
occasion to experience the pleasure which the first glance of this
expedient afforded to my mind.) I saw myself snatched, beyond
expectation, from a strange and painful death, and instantly pulled out,
with a trembling hand, the flint and steel upon which my preservation
was to depend. I struck a light, and presently kindled the driest grass
before me; the conflagration spread along the country, the wind drove it
on with inconceivable fury, and I saw the path of my deliverance open
before my eyes. In a few seconds a considerable vacancy was burnt before
me, which I traversed with the speed of a man that flies from instant
death. My feet were scorched with the glowing soil, and several times
had I been nearly suffocated with the drift of the pursuing smoke, but
every step I made convinced me of the certainty of my escape, and in a
little time I stopped to consider at leisure the conflagration I had
avoided, which, after proceeding to the point whence I set out, was
extinguished as I had foreseen, and delivered me from all
apprehension."

"I declare," said Tommy, "this is the most extraordinary thing I ever
heard, and yet I can easily conceive it, for once I saw some men set
fire to the heath and furzes upon the common, and they burnt so
furiously that I was quite afraid to come near the flame."

"I pursued my way," continued the Highlander, "over the smoking soil,
which I had rendered bare to a considerable extent, and lodged at night,
as usual, under some boughs which I stuck up to defend me. In the
morning I set out again, and soon arrived at a spacious lake, upon whose
banks I could plainly discern the signs of an American encampment. I
hesitated some time whether I should again conceal myself in the woods
or deliver myself up to their mercy. But I considered that it was
impossible long to continue this wandering life, and that in the end I
must have recourse to some of these savage tribes for assistance. What,
therefore, must be done at last, it was fruitless to delay. I had every
reason to imagine that the people before me must either be favourable to
Great Britain, or at least indifferent to the war; and in either case,
from the experience I possessed of the manners of the natives, I did not
think I had much to fear. I therefore determined to hazard everything
upon the probability of a favourable reception, and, collecting all my
resolution, I marched boldly forward, and soon arrived at the
encampment.

"As soon as I entered the village the women and children gathered round
me, with the curiosity natural to mankind at the sight of an
unaccustomed object. I formed a favourable conjecture from this apparent
ignorance of Europeans, and walking on with a composed step and steady
countenance, I at length entered into one of the largest cabins I could
find. When I was within, I saw a venerable old man whom I took to be a
chief from his appearance, sitting at his ease upon the ground, and
smoking. I saluted him with all the courtesy I was able, and placed
myself upon the ground, at some little distance, waiting with inward
anxiety, but external composure, for him to begin the conversation.
After he had eyed me for some time with fixed attention, but without
either sternness or anger, he took the pipe from his mouth and presented
it to me. I received it with infinite satisfaction; for, as I have
before remarked, this is always with the American tribes the firmest
pledge of peace and a friendly reception.

"When we had thus been seated for some time in mutual contemplation of
each other, he asked me in a dialect which I understood tolerably well,
to eat. I did not think it prudent to refuse any offered civility, and
therefore accepted the offer; and in a little time, a young woman who
was in the back part of the hut, set before me some broiled fish and
parched maize. After I had eaten, my friendly host inquired into my
country and the reasons of my visit. I was just enough acquainted with
the language he spoke to be able to understand him, and to give an
intelligible though imperfect answer. I therefore explained to him, as
well as I was able, that I had crossed the great water with the warriors
of the king of Britain; that we had been compelled to take up the
hatchet against the French and their allies, and that we had actually
set out upon an expedition against their colonies, but that we had been
surprised by a lurking party in the woods; that, in the confusion of the
fight, I had been separated from the rest, and had wandered several
days through the woods in search of my comrades; and that now, seeing
the tents of my brethren, the red men, I had come to visit them, and
smoke the pipe of peace in their company. All this I with some
difficulty explained to my entertainer, who listened to me with great
attention, and then bade me welcome in the name of his nation, which he
told me was called the _Saukies_; he added, 'that their young men were
dispersed through the woods, hunting the deer and buffalo, but they
would soon return loaded with provisions, and in the meantime I might
share his cabin and such provisions as he could command.' I thanked him
for his offer, and remained several days in his hut, always entertained
with the same hospitality, until the return of the young men from
hunting. They came at last in several boats, along the lake, bringing
with them a considerable quantity of wild beasts, which they had killed.
I was received by all the tribe with the same hospitality I had
experienced from the old chief; and as it was necessary to gain their
friendship as much as possible, I joined them in all their hunting and
fishing parties, and soon acquired a considerable degree of skill in
both.

"Hunting itself has something cruel in the practice; it is a species of
war which we wage with brute animals for their spoils; but if ever it
can be considered as excusable, it is in these savage nations, who have
recourse to it for their subsistence. They are active, bold, and
dexterous in all these exercises, to such a degree, that none of the
wild animals they attack have the smallest chance of escape. Their
parties generally consist of almost all the youth of their nation, who
go in a body to particular districts where they know game is plentiful.
Their common method is, when they are arrived at a spot which abounds in
deer or buffaloes, to disperse themselves through the woods; and then,
alarming the beasts in the neighbourhood, they drive them with shouts
and dogs towards some common place, which was always in the middle of
all their parties. When they have thus roused their prey, the various
squadrons gradually advance towards the centre, till they unite in a
circle, and enclose a prodigious number of frightened animals; they then
attack them either with fire-arms or arrows, and shoot them down
successively. By these means they are sure, in a single day, to destroy
a prodigious number of different beasts. But it sometimes happens that,
while they are engaged in the chase of other animals, they become a prey
themselves to their enemies, who take this method of surprising them in
the woods, and gratifying their resentment. This was actually the case
with my friends the Saukies, and produced a surprising event, the
consequence of which was my return to the English colonies in safety.

"The Saukies had been long at war with the Iroquese, a powerful tribe of
North Americans, in the interest of the French. The Iroquese had
received intelligence of the situation of the Saukies' encampment, and
determined to surprise them. For this purpose a thousand warriors set
out by a secret march through the woods, and travelled with silence and
celerity, which are peculiar to all these nations. When they had nearly
approached the hunting-grounds of their enemies, they happened to be
discovered upon their march by four warriors of another nation, who
instantly suspected their design, and, running with greater diligence
than it was possible so large a body could make, arrived at the
encampment of the Saukies, and informed them of the near approach of
their enemies. A great council was instantly assembled to deliberate
upon the choice of proper measures for their defence. As they were
encumbered with their families, it was impracticable to retreat with
safety, and it seemed equally difficult to resist so large a force with
inferior numbers.

"While they were in this uncertainty, I considered the nature of their
situation, and had the good fortune to find out a resource, which, being
communicated to my friend and chief, and adopted by the nation, was the
means of their safety. I observed that the passage to the Saukie camp,
for the Iroquese, lay along a narrow slip of land which extended for
nearly a mile between two lakes. I therefore advised the Saukies to cast
up a strong barrier at the end of the passage, which I showed them how
to strengthen with ditches, palisades, and some of the improvements of
the European fortification. Their number of warriors amounted to about
four hundred; these I divided into equal parts, and, leaving one to
defend the lines, I placed the other in ambuscade along the neighbouring
woods. Scarcely were these dispositions finished before the Iroquese
appeared, and, imagining they were rushing upon an unguarded foe,
entered the defile without hesitation. As soon as the whole body was
thus imprudently engaged, the other party of the Saukies started from
their hiding-places, and, running to the entrance of the strait, threw
up in an instant another fortification, and had the satisfaction to see
the whole force of their enemies thus circumvented and caught in a trap.
The Iroquese soon perceived the difficulty and danger of escape; they,
however, behaved with that extraordinary composure which is the peculiar
characteristic of this people on every occasion. The lakes were at that
time frozen over, yet not so hard as to permit them to effect a passage
over the ice; and though a thaw succeeded in a short time, it was
equally impracticable to pass by swimming or on rafts. Three days,
therefore, the Iroquese remained quiet in this disagreeable situation,
and, as if they had nothing to apprehend, diverted themselves all this
time with fishing. On the fourth morning they judged the ice
sufficiently dissolved to effect their escape; and therefore, cutting
down some trees which grew upon the strait, they formed them into rafts,
and embarked their whole force. But this could not be done without the
knowledge of the Saukies, who despatched a considerable body of warriors
to oppose their landing. It is unnecessary to relate all the horrid
particulars of the engagement which ensued; I will only mention, that
the Iroquese at length effected their landing with the loss of half
their number, and retreated precipitately to their own country, leaving
behind them all the furs and skins which they had taken in their
hunting. The share I had had in this success gained me the friendship of
all the nation, and, at my desire, they sent some of their young men to
guide me through the woods to the English settlements, and they took
their leave of me with every expression of esteem, and a considerable
present of valuable furs.

"These, gentlemen (with the exception of one adventure, when I was
attacked by three desperate-looking fellows, two of whom I killed, and
the other fled), are the most important and interesting events of my
life; and as I have already trespassed too long upon your patience, I
shall now hasten to draw my story to a conclusion. After this I was
employed in various parts of America and the West Indies during the rest
of the war. I suffered hardships and difficulties innumerable, and
acquired, as my father had foretold, a little wisdom at the price of a
considerable quantity of blood. When the war was ended, I found myself
nearly in the same situation as I began, except the present of my
friendly Americans, which I turned into money and remitted to England. I
therefore now began to feel my military enthusiasm abated, and, having
permission to leave the service, I embraced that opportunity of
returning to my country, fully determined to spend the remainder of my
life amid my family and friends. I found my father and mother still
living, who received me in the fondest manner. I then employed the
little fund I had acquired to stock a farm, which I hired in the
neighbourhood, and where I imagined my care and industry would be
sufficient to insure us all a comfortable subsistence. Some little time
after, I married a virtuous and industrious young woman, the mother of
the unfortunate children who are so much indebted to your bounty. For
some time I made a shift to succeed tolerably well, but at length, the
distresses of my country increasing, I found myself involved in the
deepest poverty. Several years of uncommon severity destroyed my cattle
(which is the chief support of the Highlanders), and rotted away the
scanty crops, which were to supply us with food, upon the ground. I
cannot accuse myself of either voluntary unthriftiness or neglect of my
business, but there are some situations in which it seems impossible for
human exertion to stem the torrent of misfortune. But wherefore should I
give pain to such kind and worthy benefactors, by a detail of all the
miseries which I and many of my poor countrymen have endured? I will
therefore only mention that, after having suffered, I think, every
distress which human nature is equal to support--after having seen my
tender parents, and last, my dear unfortunate wife, perish by the
hardships of our situation--I took the resolution of abandoning for ever
a country which seemed incapable of supporting its inhabitants. I
thought that the milder climate and more fertile soil of America might,
perhaps, enable a wretched wanderer, who asked no more than food for his
starving children, to drag on, a little longer, a miserable life. With
this idea I sold the remainder of my stock, and, after having paid my
landlord, I found I had just enough to transport myself and family into
eternal banishment. I reached a seaport town, and embarked with my
children on board a ship that was setting sail for Philadelphia. But the
same ill-fortune seemed still to accompany my steps; for a dreadful
storm arose, which, after having tossed our vessel during several days,
wrecked us at length upon the coast. All the crew indeed escaped, and
with an infinite difficulty I saved these dear but miserable infants who
now accompany me; but when I reflect on my situation, in a distant
country, without resources, friends, or hopes, I am almost inclined to
think that we might all have been happier in the bosom of the ocean."

Here the Highlander finished his story, and all the company were
affected by the recital of his distresses. They all endeavoured to
comfort him with the kindest expressions and promises of assistance; but
Miss Simmons, after she had with some difficulty composed herself enough
to speak, asked the man if his name was not _Andrew Campbell_? The
Highlander answered, with some surprise, it was. "Then," said she, "you
will find that you have a friend, whom, as yet, you are not acquainted
with, who has both the ability and the will to serve you. That friend,"
added she, seeing all the company astonished, "is no other than my
uncle. That Colonel Simmons, whom you have described with so much
feeling and affection, was brother to my father, and consequently uncle
to myself. It is no wonder that the memory of such a man should be
venerated by his relations. I have often heard my uncle speak of his
untimely death as the greatest misfortune which ever happened to our
family; and I have often seen him read, with tears in his eyes, many of
his brother's letters, in which he speaks with the greatest affection of
his faithful Highlander, Andrew Campbell."

At these words the poor Highlander, unable to repress the strong
emotions of his mind, sprang forward in a sudden transport of joy, and,
without consideration of circumstances, caught Miss Simmons in his arms,
exclaiming at the same time, "Praised be to God for this happy and
unexpected meeting! Blessed be my shipwreck itself, that has given me an
opportunity of seeing, before I die, some of the blood of my dear and
worthy colonel!" and, perceiving Miss Simmons confused at this abrupt
and unexpected salutation, he added, in the most respectful manner,
"Pardon me, my honoured young lady, for the improper liberty I have
taken; but I was not master of myself to find, at a time when I thought
myself the most forlorn and miserable of the human race, that I was in
company with the nearest relation of the man, whom, after my own father,
I have always loved and reverenced most." Miss Simmons answered with the
greatest affability that she freely excused the warmth of his affection,
and that she would that very day acquaint her uncle with this
extraordinary event, who, she did not doubt, would come over with the
greatest expedition to see a person whom he knew so well by name, and
who could inform him of so many particulars of her uncle.

And now, the company being separated, Tommy, who had listened with
silent attention to the story of the Highlander, took an opportunity of
following Mr Barlow, who was walking out; and when he perceived they
were alone, he looked at him as if he had some weighty matter to
disclose, but was unable to give it utterance. Mr Barlow, therefore,
turned towards him with the greatest kindness, and taking him tenderly
by the hand, inquired what he wished. "Indeed," answered Tommy, almost
crying, "I am scarcely able to tell you. But I have been a very bad and
ungrateful boy, and I am afraid you no longer have the same affection
for me."

_Mr Barlow._--If you are sensible of your faults, my little friend, that
is a very great step towards amending them. Let me therefore know what
it is, the recollection of which distresses you so much; and if it is
in my power to assist in making you easy, there is nothing, I am sure,
which I shall be inclined to refuse you.

_Tommy._--Oh sir! your speaking to me with so much goodness hurts me a
great deal more than if you were to be very angry; for when people are
angry and passionate, one does not so much mind what they say; but when
you speak with so much kindness, it seems to pierce me to the very
heart, because I know I have not deserved it.

_Mr Barlow._--But if you are sensible of having committed any faults,
you may resolve to behave so well for the future that you may deserve
everybody's friendship and esteem; few people are so perfect as not to
err sometimes, and if you are convinced of your errors, you will be more
cautious how you give way to them a second time.

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I am very happy to hear you say so. I will, then,
tell you everything which lies so heavy upon my mind. You must know
then, sir, that although I have lived so long with you, and during all
that time you have taken so much pains to improve me in everything, and
teach me to act well to everybody, I had no sooner quitted your sight
than I became, I think, a worse boy than ever I was before.

_Mr Barlow._--But why do you judge so severely of yourself as to think
you were become worse than ever. Perhaps you have been a little
thoughtless and giddy; and these are faults which I cannot with truth
say you were ever free from.

_Tommy._--No, sir; what I have been guilty of is infinitely worse than
ever. I have always been very giddy and very thoughtless, but I never
imagined I could have been the most insolent and ungrateful boy in the
world.

_Mr Barlow._--You frighten me, my little friend. Is it possible you can
have committed actions that deserve so harsh a name?

_Tommy._--You shall judge yourself, sir, for, now I have begun, I am
determined to tell you all. You know, sir, that when I first came to
you, I had a high opinion of myself for being born a gentleman, and a
very great contempt for everybody in an inferior station.

_Mr Barlow._--I must confess you have always had some tendency to both
these follies.

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but you have so often laughed at me upon the
subject, and shown me the folly of people's imagining themselves better
than others, without any merit of their own, that I was grown a little
wiser. Besides, I have so often observed, that those I despised could do
a variety of things which I was ignorant of, while those who are vain of
being gentlemen can do nothing useful or ingenious; so that I had begun
to be ashamed of my folly. But since I came home I have kept company
with a great many fine young gentlemen and ladies, who thought
themselves superior to all the rest of the world, and used to despise
every one else; and they have made me forget everything I learned
before.

_Mr Barlow._--Perhaps, then, I was mistaken when I taught you that the
greatest merit any person could have is to be good and useful. These
fine young gentlemen and ladies may be wiser, and have given you better
lessons; if that is the case, you will have great reason to rejoice that
you have changed so much for the better.

_Tommy._--No, sir, no; I never thought them either good or wise, for
they know nothing but how to dress their hair and buckle their shoes;
but they persuaded me that it was necessary to be polite, and talked to
me so often upon the subject, that I could not help believing them.

_Mr Barlow._--I am glad to hear that; it is necessary for everybody to
be polite; they therefore, I suppose, instructed you to be more obliging
and civil in your manners than ever you were before. Instead of doing
you any hurt, this will be the greatest improvement you can receive.

_Tommy._--No, sir, quite the contrary. Instead of teaching me to be
civil and obliging, they have made me ruder and worse behaved than ever
I was before.

_Mr Barlow._--If that is the case, I fear these fine young gentlemen and
ladies undertook to teach you more than they understood themselves.

_Tommy._--Indeed, sir, I am of the same opinion myself. But I did not
think so then, and therefore I did whatever I observed them do, and
talked in the same manner as I heard them talk. They used to be always
laughing at Harry Sandford, and I grew so foolish that I did not choose
to keep company with him any longer.

_Mr Barlow._--That was a pity, because I am convinced he really loves
you. However, it is of no great consequence, for he has employment
enough at home; and however ingenious you may be, I do not think that he
will learn how to manage his land, or raise food, from your
conversation. It will therefore be better for him to converse with
farmers, and leave you to the society of gentlemen. Indeed, this I know
has always been his taste; and had not your father pressed him very much
to accompany you home, he would have liked much better to have avoided
the visit. However, I will inform him that you have gained other
friends, and advise him for the future to avoid your company.

_Tommy._--Oh, sir! I did not think you could be so cruel. I love Harry
Sandford better than any other boy in the world; and I shall never be
happy till he forgives me all my bad behaviour, and converses with me
again as he used to do.

_Mr Barlow._--But then, perhaps, you may lose the acquaintance of all
those polite young gentlemen and ladies.

_Tommy._--I care very little about that, sir. But I fear I have behaved
so ill that he never will be able to forgive me, and love me as he did
formerly.

Tommy then went on, and repeated with great exactness the story of his
insolence and ingratitude, which had so great an effect upon him, that
he burst into tears, and cried a considerable time. He then concluded
with asking Mr Barlow if he thought Harry would be ever able to forgive
him?

_Mr Barlow._--I cannot conceal from you, my little friend, that you have
acted very ill indeed in this affair. However, if you are really ashamed
of all your past conduct, and determined to act better, I do not doubt
that so generous and good-natured a boy as Harry is, will forgive you
all.

_Tommy._--Oh, sir! I should be the happiest creature in the world. Will
you be so kind as to bring him here to day? and you shall see how I will
behave.

_Mr Barlow._--Softly, Tommy, softly. What is Harry to come here for?
Have you not insulted and abused him without reason; and at last
proceeded so far as to strike him, only because he was giving you the
best advice, and endeavouring to preserve you from danger? Can you
imagine that any human being will come to you in return for such
treatment, at least till you have convinced him that you are ashamed of
your passion and injustice, and that he may expect better usage for the
future?

_Tommy._--What, then, must I do, sir?

_Mr Barlow._--If you want any future connection with Harry Sandford, it
is your business to go to him and tell him so.

_Tommy._--What, sir! go to a farmer's, to expose myself before all his
family?

_Mr Barlow._--Just now you told me you were ready to do everything, and
yet you cannot take the trouble of visiting your friend at his own
house. You then imagine that a person does not expose himself by acting
wrong, but by acknowledging and amending his faults?

_Tommy._--But what would everybody say if a young gentleman like me was
to go and beg pardon of a farmer's son?

_Mr Barlow._--They would probably say that you have more sense and
gratitude than they expected. However, you are to act as you please.
With the sentiments you still seem to entertain, Harry will certainly be
a very unfit companion, and you will do much better to cultivate the new
acquaintance you have made.

Mr Barlow was then going away, but Tommy burst again into tears, and
begged him not to go; upon which Mr Barlow said, "I do not want to leave
you, Tommy, but our conversation is now at an end. You have asked my
advice, which I have given you freely. I have told you how you ought to
act, if you would preserve the esteem of any good or sensible friend, or
prevail upon Harry to excuse your past behaviour. But as you do not
approve of what I suggested, you must follow your own opinion."

"Pray sir, pray sir," said Tommy, sobbing, "do not go. I have used Harry
Sandford in the most barbarous manner; my father is angry with me, and,
if you desert me, I shall have no friend left in the world."

_Mr Barlow._--That will be your own fault, and therefore you will not
deserve to be pitied. Is it not in your own power to preserve all your
friends by an honest confession of your faults? Your father will be
pleased, Harry Sandford will heartily forgive you, and I shall retain
the same good opinion of your character which I have long had.

_Tommy._--And is it really possible, sir, that you should have a good
opinion of me after all I have told you about myself?

_Mr Barlow._--I have always thought you a little vain and careless, I
confess, but at the same time I imagined you had both good sense and
generosity in your character; I depended upon _first_ to make you see
your faults, and upon the _second_ to correct them.

_Tommy._--Dear sir, I am very much obliged to you; but you have always
been extremely kind and friendly to me.

_Mr Barlow._--And therefore I told your father yesterday, who is very
much hurt at your quarrel with Harry, that though a sudden passion might
have transported you too far, yet, when you came to consider the matter
coolly, you would perceive your faults and acknowledge them; were you
not to behave in this manner, I owned I could say nothing in your
favour. And I was very much confirmed in this opinion, when I saw the
courage you exerted in the rescue of Harry's lamb, and the compassion
you felt for the poor Highlander. "A boy," said I, "who has so many
excellent dispositions, can never persist in bad behaviour. He may do
wrong by accident, but he will be ashamed of his errors, and endeavour
to repair them by a frank and generous acknowledgment. This has always
been the conduct of really great and elevated minds, while mean and
grovelling ones alone imagine that it is necessary to persist in faults
they have once committed."

_Tommy._--Oh, sir! I will go directly and entreat Harry to forgive me; I
am convinced that all you say is right. But will you not go with me? Do
pray, sir, be so good.

_Mr Barlow._--Gently, gently, my young friend, you are always for doing
everything in an instant. I am very glad you have taken a resolution
which will do you so much credit, and give so much satisfaction to your
own mind; but, before you execute it, I think it will be necessary to
speak to your father and mother upon the subject; and, in the mean time,
I will go and pay a visit to farmer Sandford, and bring you an account
of Harry.

_Tommy._--Do, sir, be so good; and tell Harry, if you please, that there
is nothing I desire so much as to see him, and that nothing shall ever
make me behave ill again. I have heard too, sir, that there was a poor
Black came begging to us, who saved Harry from the bull; if I could but
find him out, I would be good to him as long as I live.

Mr Barlow commended Tommy very much for dispositions so full of
gratitude and goodness; and, taking leave of him, went to communicate
the conversation he had just had to Mr Merton. That gentleman felt the
sincerest pleasure at the account, and entreated Mr Barlow to go
directly to prepare Harry to receive his son. "That little boy,"
observed he, "has the noblest mind that ever adorned a human being; nor
shall I ever be happy till I see my son acknowledging all his faults,
and entreating forgiveness; for, with the virtues that I have discovered
in his soul, he appears to me a more eligible friend and companion than
noblemen or princes."

Mr Barlow therefore set out on foot, though Mr Merton would have sent
his carriage and servants to attend him, and soon arrived at Mr
Sandford's farm. It was a pleasant spot, situated upon the gentle
declivity of a hill, at the foot of which winded along a swift and clear
little stream. The house itself was small, but warm and convenient,
furnished with the greatest simplicity, but managed with perfect
neatness. As Mr Barlow approached, he saw the owner himself guiding a
plough through one of his own fields, and Harry, who had now resumed the
farmer, directed the horses. But when he saw Mr Barlow coming across the
field, he stopped his team, and, letting fall his whip, sprang forward
to meet him with all the unaffected eagerness of joy. As soon as Harry
had saluted Mr Barlow, and inquired after his health, he asked with the
greatest kindness after Tommy; "for I fancy, sir," said he, "by the way
which I see you come, you have been at Mr Merton's house." "Indeed I
have," replied Mr Barlow, "but I am very sorry to find that Tommy and
you are not upon as good terms as you formerly were."

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I am very sorry for it myself. But I do not know
that I have given Master Merton any reason to change his sentiments
about me; and though I do not think he has treated me as well as he
ought to do, I have the greatest desire to hear that he is well.

_Mr Barlow._--That you might have known yourself had you not left Mr
Merton's house so suddenly, without taking leave of any one, even your
friend Mr Merton, who has always treated you with so much kindness.

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I should be very unhappy if you think I have done
wrong; but be so good as to tell me how I could have acted otherwise. I
am very sorry to appear to accuse Master Merton, neither do I bear any
resentment against him for what he has done; but since you speak to me
upon the subject, I shall be obliged to tell the truth.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, let me hear it; you know I shall be the last
person to condemn you, if you do not deserve it.

_Harry._--I know your constant kindness to me, sir, and I always confide
in it; however, I am not sensible that I am in fault. You know, sir,
that it was with unwillingness I went to Mr Merton's, for I thought
there would be fine gentlemen and ladies there, who would ridicule my
dress and manners; and, though Master Merton has been always very
friendly in his behaviour towards me, I could not help thinking that he
might grow ashamed of my company at his own house.

_Mr Barlow._--Do you wonder at that, Harry, considering the difference
there is in your rank and fortune?

_Harry._--No, sir, I cannot say I do, for I generally observe that those
who are rich will scarcely treat the poor with common civility. But, in
this particular case, I did not see any reason for it; I never desired
Master Merton to admit me to his company, or invite me to his house,
because I knew that I was born, and in a very inferior station. You were
so good as to take me to your house, and if I was then much in his
company, it was because he seemed to desire it himself, and I always
endeavoured to treat him with the greatest respect.

_Mr Barlow._--That is indeed true, Harry; in all your little plays and
studies I have never observed anything but the greatest mildness and
good nature on your part.

_Harry._--I hope, sir, it has never been otherwise. But though I had the
greatest affection for Master Merton, I never desired to go home with
him. What sort of a figure could a poor boy like me make at a
gentleman's table, among little masters and misses that powder their
hair, and wear buckles as big as our horses carry upon their harness? If
I attempted to speak, I was always laughed at; or if I did anything, I
was sure to hear something about clowns and rustics! And yet, I think,
though they were all gentlemen and ladies, you would not much have
approved of their conversation, for it was about nothing but plays, and
dress, and trifles of that nature. I never heard one of them mention a
single word about saying their prayers, or being dutiful to their
parents, or doing any good to the poor.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, but if you did not like their conversation,
you surely might have borne it with patience for a little while: and
then I heard something about your being quarrelsome.

_Harry._--Oh, sir! I hope not. I was, to be sure, once a little
passionate, but that I could not help, and I hope you will forgive me.
There was a modest, sensible young lady, who was the only person that
treated me with any kindness, and a bold, forward, ill-natured boy
affronted her in the grossest manner, only because she took notice of
me. Could I help taking her part? Have you not told me, too, sir, that
every person, though he should avoid quarrels, has a right to defend
himself when he is attacked?

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I do not much blame you, from the
circumstances I have heard of that affair; but why did you leave Mr
Merton's family so abruptly, without speaking to anybody, or thanking Mr
Merton himself for the civilities he had shown you? Was that right?

_Harry._--Oh dear, sir, I have cried about it several times, for I think
it must appear very rude and ungrateful to Mr Merton. But as to Master
Tommy, I did not leave him while I thought I could be of any use. He
treated me, I must say, in a very unworthy manner; he joined with all
the other fine little gentlemen in abusing me, only because I
endeavoured to persuade them not to go to a bull-baiting; and then at
last he struck me. I did not strike him again, because I loved him so
much in spite of all his unkindness; nor did I leave him till I saw he
was quite safe in the hands of his own servants; and then, how could I
go back to his house after what he had done to me? I did not choose to
complain of him to Mr Merton; and how could I behave to him as I had
done before, without being guilty of meanness and falsehood? And
therefore I thought it better to go home and desire you to speak, to Mr
Merton, and entreat him to forgive my rudeness.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I can inform you that Mr Merton is perfectly
satisfied on that account. But there is one circumstance you have not
mentioned, my little friend, and that is your saving Tommy's life from
the fury of the enraged bull.

_Harry._--As to that, sir, I hope I should have done the same for any
human creature. But I believe that neither of us would have escaped, if
it had not been for the poor courageous Black that came to our
assistance.

_Mr Barlow._--I see, Harry, that you are a boy of a noble and generous
spirit, and I highly approve of everything you have done; but are you
determined to forsake Tommy Merton for ever, because he has once behaved
ill?

_Harry._--I, sir! no, I am sure. But though I am poor, I do not desire
the acquaintance of anybody that despises me. Let him keep company with
his gentlemen and ladies, I am satisfied with companions in my own
station. But surely, sir, it is not _I_ that forsake him, but _he_ that
has cast me off.

_Mr Barlow._--But if he is sorry for what he has done, and only desires
to acknowledge his faults and obtain your pardon?

_Harry._--Oh dear, sir, I should forget everything in an instant. I knew
Master Tommy was always a little passionate and headstrong, but he is at
the same time generous and good-natured; nor would he, I am sure, have
treated me so ill if he had not been encouraged to it by the other young
gentlemen.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I believe your friend is thoroughly sensible
of his faults, and that you will have little to fear for the future. He
is impatient till he sees you, and asks your forgiveness.

_Harry._--Oh, sir, I should forgive him if he had beaten me a hundred
times. But though I cannot leave the horses now, if you will be so kind
to wait a little, I daresay my father will let me go when he leaves off
ploughing.

_Mr Barlow._--No, Harry, there is no occasion for that. Tommy has indeed
used you ill, and ought to acknowledge it, otherwise he will not deserve
to be trusted again. He will call upon you, and tell you all he feels on
the occasion. In the mean time I was desired, both by him and Mr Merton,
to inquire after the poor negro that served you so materially, and saved
you from the bull.

_Harry._--He is at our house, sir, for I invited him home with me; and
when my father heard how well he had behaved, he made him up a little
bed over the stable, and gives him victuals every day, and the poor man
seems very thankful and industrious, and says he would gladly do any
kind of work to earn his subsistence.

Mr Barlow then took his leave of Harry, and after having spoken to his
father, returned to Mr Merton's.

During Mr Barlow's absence Mr Simmons had arrived there to fetch away
his niece; but when he had heard the story of the Highlander, he
perfectly recollected his name and character, and was touched with the
sincerest compassion for his sufferings. On conversing with the poor man
he found that he was extremely well acquainted with agriculture, as well
as truly industrious, and therefore instantly proposed to settle him in
a small farm of his own which happened to be vacant. The poor man
received this unexpected change in his fortune with tears of joy, and
every mark of unaffected gratitude; and Mr Merton, who never wanted
generosity, insisted upon having a share in his establishment. He was
proposing to supply him with the necessary implements of agriculture,
and a couple of horses, to begin the culture of his land, just at the
moment when Mr Barlow entered, who, when he had heard with the sincerest
pleasure the improvement of the poor man's circumstances, begged
permission to share in so benevolent an action. "I have an excellent
milch-cow," said he, "which I can very well spare, whose milk will
speedily recruit the strength of these poor children; and I have
half-a-dozen ewes and a ram, which I hope, under Mr Campbell's
management, will soon increase to a numerous flock." The poor Highlander
seemed almost frantic with such a profusion of unexpected blessings, and
said "that he wished nothing more than to pass the remainder of his days
in such a generous nation, and to be enabled to show, at least, the
sentiments which such undeserved generosity had excited."

At night Mr Merton, who was desirous by every method to support the good
impressions which had now taken possession of Tommy's mind, proposed
that Miss Simmons should favour them with the conclusion of the story
which she had begun the night before. The young lady instantly complied,
and then read them


_The Conclusion of the Story of Sophron and Tigranes._

"The venerable Chares continued his narration thus: 'I passed several
months among the Arabians, delighted with the simplicity of their life
and the innocence of their manners; and would to heaven,' added he, with
a sigh, 'that I had accepted their friendly invitations, and never
quitted the silence of their hospitable deserts! How many scenes should
I have avoided which fill these aged eyes with tears, and pierce my soul
with horror as often as I recollect them! I should not have been witness
to such a waste of human blood, nor traced the gradual ruin of my
country. I should not have seen our towns involved in flames, nor our
helpless children the captives of fell barbarians. But it is in vain for
human beings to repine at the just decrees of Providence, which have
consigned every people to misery and servitude that abandon virtue, and
attach themselves to the pursuit of pleasure.

"'I left Arabia, with a heart penetrated with gratitude and admiration
for its virtuous and benevolent inhabitants. They dismissed me with
every mark of kindness and hospitality, guided me over their dreary
deserts, and at parting presented me with one of those beautiful horses
which are the admiration of all the surrounding nations. I will not
trouble you with an account of the different countries which I wandered
over in search of wisdom and experience. At length I returned to my
native city, determined to pass the rest of my life in obscurity and
retirement; for the result of all my observations was, that he is
happiest who passes his time in innocent employments and the observation
of nature. I had seen the princes and nobles of the earth repining in
the midst of their splendid enjoyments, disgusted with the empty
pageantry of their situation, and wishing in vain for the humble
tranquillity of private life. I had visited many of the principal cities
in several countries where I had travelled, but I had uniformly
observed, that the miseries and crimes of mankind increased with their
numbers. I therefore determined to avoid the general contagion by fixing
my abode in some sequestered spot, at a distance from the passions and
pursuits of my fellow-creatures.

"'Having therefore collected the remainder of my effects, and with them
purchased a little farm and vineyard in a beautiful and solitary spot
near the sea, I soon afterwards married a virtuous young woman, and in
her society enjoyed, for several years, as great a degree of
tranquillity as generally falls to the lot of man. I did not disdain to
exercise with my own hands the different employments of agriculture; for
I thought man was dishonoured by that indolence which renders him a
burthen to his fellow-creatures, not by that industry which is necessary
to the support of his species. I therefore sometimes guided the plough
with my own hands, sometimes laboured in a little garden, which
supplied us with excellent fruits and herbs; I likewise tended the
cattle, whose patient labour enabled us to subdue the soil, and
considered myself as only repaying part of the obligations I had
received. My wife, too, exercised herself in domestic cares; she milked
the sheep and goats, and chiefly prepared the food of the family.

"'Amidst my other employments I did not entirely forget the study of
philosophy, which had charmed me so much in my early youth. I frequently
observed, with admiration, the wisdom and contrivance which were
displayed in all the productions of nature, and the perfection of all
her works. I used to walk amid the coolness and stillness of the
evening, feeding my mind with pleasing meditations upon the power and
wisdom which have originally produced and still support this frame of
things. I turned my eyes upon the earth, and saw it covered with
innumerable animals, that sported upon its surface, and found, each
according to his nature, subsistence adapted to his wants. I saw the air
and water themselves teeming with life and peopled with innumerable
swarms of insects. I saw that, throughout the whole extent of creation,
as far as I was capable of observing it, nothing was waste or
desolate--everything was replete with life and adapted to support it.
These reflections continually excited in my mind new gratitude and
veneration for that mysterious Being, whose goodness presides over such
an infinite variety of beings. I endeavoured to elevate my thoughts to
contemplate His nature and qualities; I however found my faculties too
bounded to comprehend the infinite perfections of His nature; I
therefore contented myself with imperfectly tracing Him in His works,
and adoring Him as the common friend and parent of all His creatures.

"'Nor did I confine myself to these speculations, however sublime and
consolatory to the human heart. Destined as we are to inhabit this globe
of earth, it is our interest to be acquainted with its nature, and the
properties of its productions. For this reason, I particularly examined
all the vegetables which are capable of becoming the food of man, or of
the various animals which contribute to his support. I studied their
qualities, the soil in which they delighted, and the improvements which
might be made in every species. I sometimes wandered among the
neighbouring mountains, and wherever the fall of rocks, or the repeated
violence of torrents had borne away the soil, I considered with silent
admiration the various substances which we call by the common name of
_earth_. These I used to collect and mingle with the mould of my own
garden, by which means I frequently made useful discoveries in
fertilising the soil and increasing the quantity of food.

"'I also considered the qualities of the air, which surrounds and
sustains all living animals; I particularly remarked the noxious or
salutary effects it is able to produce upon their constitutions; and, by
these means, was frequently enabled to give useful counsels to all the
neighbourhood. A large tract of ground had been formerly deluged by the
sea; and the waters, finding no convenient vent, spread themselves all
around, and converted a large extent of soil into a filthy marsh. Every
year, when the heat of summer prevailed, the atmosphere was filled with
putrid exhalations, which produced fevers and pestilential disorders
among the inhabitants. Touched with compassion for the evils which they
endured, I persuaded them to undertake the task of draining the soil and
letting off the superfluous waters. This I instructed them to do with
such success that, in a short time, an unwholesome desert became covered
with the most luxuriant harvests, and was deprived of all its noxious
influence. By thus rendering my services useful to my fellow-creatures,
I received the purest reward which can attend the increase of
knowledge--the consciousness of performing my duty, and humbly imitating
that Being, whose goodness is as general and unbounded as his power.

"'Amidst these tranquil and innocent employments my life flowed gently
away like a clear and even stream. I was a stranger to avarice or
ambition, and to all the cares which agitate the bulk of mortals.
Alternate labour and study preserved the vigour both of body and mind;
our wants were few and easily gratified; we chiefly subsisted upon the
liberal returns of the earth, and seldom polluted our table with the
bodies of slaughtered animals. One only child, the unfortunate girl who
owes her preservation to the courage of this young man, was granted to
our prayers; but in her we found enough to exercise all the affections
of our minds; we hung with ecstasy upon her innocent smiles, and
remarked her opening graces with all the partiality of parental
fondness. As she grew up, her mother instructed her in all the arts and
employments of her sex; while I, who already saw the tempest gathering,
which has since burst with such fatal fury upon my country, thought it
necessary to arm her mind with all the firmness which education can
bestow. For this reason I endeavoured to give both her mind and body a
degree of vigour which is seldom found in the female sex.

"'As soon as Selene (for that was her name) was sufficiently advanced in
strength to be capable of the lighter labours of husbandry and
gardening, I employed her as my constant companion, and she soon
acquired a dexterity in all the rustic employments, which I considered
with equal pleasure and admiration. If women are in general feeble both
in body and mind, it arises less from nature than from education; _we_
encourage a vicious indolence and inactivity which we falsely call
delicacy; instead of hardening their minds by the severer principles of
reason and philosophy, we breed them to useless arts, which terminate in
vanity and sensuality. In most of the countries which I had visited,
they are taught nothing of a higher nature than a few modulations of the
voice, or useless postures of the body; their time is consumed in sloth
or trifles, and trifles become the only pursuit capable of interesting
them. _We_ seem to forget that it is upon the qualities of the female
sex that our own domestic comforts and the education of our children
must depend. And what are the comforts or the education which a race of
beings, corrupted from their infancy, and unacquainted with all the
duties of life, are fitted to bestow? To touch a musical instrument with
useless skill, to exhibit their natural or affected graces to the eyes
of indolent and debauched young men, to dissipate their husbands'
patrimony in riotous and unnecessary expenses--these are the only arts
cultivated by women in most of the polished nations I had seen; and the
consequences are uniformly such as may be expected to proceed from such
polluted sources--private misery and public servitude.

"'But Selene's education was regulated by different views, and conducted
upon severer principles--if that can be called _severity_ which opens
the mind to a sense of moral and religious duties, and most effectually
arms it against the inevitable evils of life. With the rising sun she
left her bed, and accompanied me to the garden or the vineyard. Her
little hands were employed in shortening the luxurious shoots of
fruitful trees that supplied our table with wholesome and delicious
fruits, or in supporting the branches of such as sunk beneath their
load. Sometimes she collected water from a clear and constant rill that
rolled along the valley, and recruited the force of plants that were
exhausted by the sun. With what delight did I view her innocent
cheerfulness and assiduity! With what pleasure did she receive the
praises which I gave to her skill and industry; or hear the lessons of
wisdom and the examples of virtuous women, which I used to read to her
at evening, out of the writings of celebrated philosophers which I had
collected in my travels.

"'But such a life was too unchecquered with misfortune to last. The
first stroke which attacked and almost destroyed my hopes of good was
the untimely loss of my dear and virtuous wife. The pestilential heats
of autumn overpowered her tender frame, and raised a consuming fever in
her veins; for some time she struggled against the disease, but at
length her pure and innocent spirit forsook this earth for ever, and
left me comfortless and forlorn to mourn her loss!

"'I will not, my worthy hosts, attempt to describe the inexpressible
distress which seized my soul at seeing myself thus deserted. There are
some philosophers who aspire to triumph over human feelings, and
consider all tender affections as disgraceful weaknesses; for my part, I
have never pretended to that degree in insensibility. I have, indeed,
opposed as criminal that habitual acquiescence in sorrow which renders
us unfit for the discharge of our duties; but while I have endeavoured
to _act_, I have never blushed at _feeling_, like a man. Even now, that
time has mitigated the keenness of the smart, I feel the habitual
anguish of an incurable wound. But let me rather hasten to relate the
few remaining events of a uniform unvaried life than detain you with a
useless repetition of my sorrows.

"'Scarcely had time afforded me a feeble comfort, when the recollection
of past misfortunes was almost extinguished by the new ones which
overwhelmed my country. The fertile plains of Syria abounded in all the
necessaries and conveniences of life; the vine seemed to grow
spontaneously in every valley, and offer its luxuriant produce to every
hand; the industrious insect which spins the wonderful substance called
_silk_ out of its bowels, though lately introduced into that part of
Asia, seemed to receive new vigour from the mildness of the climate;
corn and oil, the noblest fruits and the most salubrious herbs, were
found in the garden of every peasant; and the herds of cattle and
horses, which wandered over our luxuriant pastures, equalled or
surpassed all I had observed in other countries. But this profusion of
blessings, instead of being attended with any beneficial effects,
produced nothing but a foolish taste for frivolous employment and
sensuality; feasts, and dances, and music, and tricks of players, and
exhibitions of buffoons, were more attended to than all the serious and
important cares of life. Every young man was a critic in the science of
adjusting the folds of his robe, or of giving a studied negligence to
his hair; every young woman was instructed in every art that serves to
consume time or endanger modesty. Repeat to them an idle tale, the
tricks of a gamester, or the adventures of a singing-girl, and every
audience listened with mute attention to the wonderful narration; but
tell them of the situation of their country, the wretched state of their
civil and military discipline, or of the numerous and warlike tribes of
barbarians which surround them, and every auditor would steal away in
silence, and leave the uninteresting theme.

"'In such a state of things, it was not long to be expected that my
countrymen would be permitted to hold the riches they abused, and wanted
firmness to defend. A warlike tribe of barbarians burst forth from the
northern mountains of Asia, and spread themselves over our fertile
plains, which they laid waste like a consuming tempest. After a few
ineffectual skirmishes, which only served to expose their weakness to
the contempt of their enemies, they yielded without opposition to the
invader; in this, indeed, more wise than to irritate him by a fruitless
resistance; and thus, in a few weeks, the leader of an obscure tribe of
barbarians saw himself become a powerful monarch, and possessor of one
of the richest provinces of Asia.

"'I was sitting one evening at the door of my cottage, gazing upon the
fading glory of the setting sun, when a man, of a majestic appearance,
but with something ferocious in his look, attended by several others,
passed by. As he approached my little garden, he seemed to view it with
satisfaction, and to unbend the habitual sternness of his look; I asked
him if he would enter in and taste the fruits with his companions. He
accepted my offer, and, entering into a shady arbour, I brought him the
most palatable fruits I could find, with milk and other rustic fare,
such as my farm afforded. He seemed pleased with his entertainment, and,
when he was departing, thanked me with great affability, and bade me ask
a favour in return, 'which,' added he, with a certain degree of
conscious pride, 'you can scarcely make too great either for my
gratitude or power.' 'If,' answered I (for I began to suspect that it
was Arsaces, the leader of these barbarians), 'your power is indeed
equal to every boon, give peace and liberty to my country!' 'The first,'
said he, 'I have already given; and, as to the second, it is impossible;
their vices and effeminacy render them incapable of enjoying it. Men
that have neither virtue, temperance, nor valour, can never want a
master, even though Arsaces were to withdraw his conquering troops.'
'But ask again,' added he, 'something for thyself, and let the favour be
worthy me to bestow.' 'Heaven,' answered I with a smile, 'has already
given everything I can want, when it gave the earth fertility, and me
the power to labour. All, therefore, that I request, O mighty conqueror,
is, that you will please to order your men to step aside from the newly
cultivated ground, and not destroy my vegetables.' 'By heaven!' said
Arsaces, turning to his companions, 'there is something elevated in the
tranquillity and composure of this man's mind; and, was I not _Arsaces_,
I should be with pleasure _Chares_.' He then departed, but ordered me to
attend him the next day at the camp, and gave strict orders that none of
the soldiers should molest or injure my humble residence.

"'I attended the great Arsaces at the time he had appointed, and
traversed the encampment of his troop with admiration and regret. This
people was a tribe of that mighty empire which is called _Scythia_,
whose inhabitants have so often issued from their deserts for the
conquest and destruction of their neighbours.

"'This country extends to an unknown length behind the most fertile
districts of Europe and Asia. The climate is cold in winter, and the
earth for several months covered with snow; but in summer it feels the
enlivening influence of the sun, and for that reason is possessed of an
amazing degree of fertility. But as the inhabitants live remote from the
sea, and possess few navigable rivers, they are little acquainted with
agriculture, or the arts of life. Instead of trusting to the increase of
their fields for food, they raise prodigious herds of cattle and horses
in the luxuriant pastures which everywhere abound. The Scythians, like
the Arabians, wander over these immense spaces without a fixed or
permanent residence. By the side of lakes and rivers, where the verdure
is most constant, and the vegetation stronger, they generally encamp,
until the heats of the summer compel them to ascend the mountains, and
seek a cooler residence. Their houses are composed of slender poles
covered with skins, or a coarse cloth, and therefore easily erected, or
taken down and stowed in waggons, for the convenience of transporting
them in their marches. Their diet is answerable to the poverty of their
habitations. They milk their herds, and, above all, their mares, and
preserve the produce in large bottles for months together. This sour and
homely mess is to them the greatest dainty, and composes the chief of
their nourishment; to this they add the flesh of their cattle and
horses, which they kill when afflicted with disease, but rarely in
health.

"'This is the simple and uniform life of all the Scythians; but this
simplicity renders them formidable to all their neighbours, and
irresistible in war. Unsoftened by ease or luxury, unacquainted with the
artificial wants of life, these nations pass their lives in manly
exercises and rustic employments; but horsemanship is the greatest pride
and passion of their souls; nor is there an individual who does not at
least possess several of these noble animals, which, though small in
size, are admirably adapted for the fatigues of war and the chase, and
endowed with incomparable swiftness. As to the Scythians themselves,
they excel all other nations, unless it be the Arabs, in their courage
and address in riding; without a saddle, or even a bridle, their young
men will vault upon an unbacked courser, and keep their seats, in spite
of all his violent efforts, till they have rendered him tame and
obedient to their will. In their military expeditions they neither
regard the obstacles of nature nor the inclemency of the season; and
their horses are accustomed to traverse rocks and mountains with a
facility that is incredible. If they reach a river, instead of waiting
for the tedious assistance of boats and bridges, the warrior divests
himself of his clothes and arms, which he places in a bundle upon the
horse's back, and then, plunging into the stream, conducts him over by
the bridle. Even in the midst of winter, when the hatred of other
nations gives way to the inclemencies of the season, the Scythian
follows his military labours, and rejoices to see the earth thick
covered with frost and snow, because it affords him a solid path in his
excursions; neither the severest cold nor the most violent storms can
check his ardour. Wrapped up in the thick furs of animals, the patient
horseman pursues his march, while all his food for weeks together is
comprised in a little bag of seeds or corn. Javelins, and bows and
arrows, are the arms which these people are taught from their infancy to
use with surprising dexterity; and, no less dangerous when they fly than
when they charge the enemy in front, they are accustomed to shoot with
an unerring aim at their pursuers, and turn the fortune of the battle.
Such men are scarcely to be conquered by the efforts of the most
powerful nations or sovereigns; and therefore the proudest conquerors of
the world have failed in their attempts to subdue them.

"'Darius, one of the greatest kings which the vast empire of Persia ever
obeyed, once attempted the exploit, and had nearly perished in the
attempt. He advanced with a powerful army, but ill prepared for such an
expedition, into the Scythian wastes. The inhabitants, well acquainted
with the most effectual methods of defence, transported their families
and herds into the interior parts of the country, and mounting their
fleetest horses, seemed to fly before the monarch, who, infatuated with
pride and confidence, pursued the chase for several days, until he found
himself in the midst of solitary deserts, totally destitute of all that
human wants require, where his army could neither advance nor retire
without equal danger of perishing by thirst and famine. When the
Scythian horsemen saw him thus involved, they began to check their
speed; instead of flying, as usual, they hemmed him in on every side,
and harassed the army with continual attacks. It was then they sent a
present to the Persian king, the mysterious meaning of which increased
the terrors of his situation. A Scythian, mounted upon a fiery steed,
entered the camp at full speed, and, regardless of danger or opposition,
penetrated even to the royal tent, where Darius was holding a council
with his nobles. While they were all amazed at this extraordinary
boldness, the man leaped lightly from his horse, and placing a little
bundle upon the ground, vaulted up again with inconceivable agility, and
retired with the same happy expedition. The curiosity of the monarch
made him instantly order the packet to be examined, which contained only
a mouse, a bird, a fish, and a bundle of arrows. Silence and
astonishment for some time seized the assembly, till at length the king
observed, that he thought the present which the Scythians had sent could
signify nothing but their submission to his arms. 'The mouse,' said he,
'must represent the earth, because he resides in holes which he digs in
the soil; the fish inhabits the water, and the bird resides in the air.
By sending me, therefore, all these various animals, they mean to
signify that they resign their air, their waters, and their earth to my
dominion. Nor is the bundle of arrows more difficult to be explained;
these constitute their principal defence, and, by sending them to an
enemy, they can intimate nothing but terror and submission.' All who
were present applauded this discourse of the monarch, excepting Gobrias,
a man of singular wisdom and experience, who, when he was pressed to
declare his sentiments, spoke to him thus:--'It is with the greatest
reluctance, O king, that I find myself compelled to explain these
presents of our enemies in a very different manner. That the Scythians,
who have hitherto shown no marks either of fear or submission, should,
on a sudden, feel so great a terror of the Persian arms, I cannot easily
believe, more especially when I consider that our army is very much
reduced by the distress it has suffered, and environed on every side by
the enemy, whose boldness visibly increases with our necessities. What,
therefore, I should infer from this extraordinary present is this: they
intimate that unless, like the mouse, you can dig your passage through
the earth, or skim the air like the bird, or glide through waters with
the fish, you shall certainly perish by the Scythian arrows.' Such was
the sentiment of Gobrias, and all the assembly was struck with the
evident truth of his interpretation, and the king himself began to
perceive and repent his rashness; instead, therefore, of advancing
farther into deserts which afforded no subsistence, he resolved to
attempt a retreat. This, however, he was not able to effect without the
loss of the greatest part of his troops, who perished by thirst and
famine, and the continued attacks of the enemy.

"'Nor was the expedition of Lysimachus, another powerful king, against
this people, less memorable or less unfortunate. His army was defeated,
and he himself taken prisoner; but, instead of meeting with that cruelty
which we are accustomed to expect from barbarians, he experienced the
greatest moderation and humanity from his conquerors. The general of the
Scythians invited his captive to a solemn festival, in which he took
care to assemble every circumstance of luxury and magnificence which
prevailed in polished nations. The most exquisite meats were served up
to table, and the most generous wines sparkled in golden bowls of the
exactest workmanship. Lysimachus was equally delighted with the elegance
of the repast and the politeness of the entertainer; but he was
extremely surprised that, instead of sharing in the feast or even
sitting down at table, the Scythian leader reposed in the corner of a
tent, upon the bare ground, and satisfied his hunger with the most
coarse and ordinary fare, prepared with all the simplicity of his
country's manners. When the entertainment was finished, he asked
Lysimachus which method of life appeared to him the most agreeable.
Lysimachus could not conceal his preference of the more refined and
luxurious dainties, or his dislike of the Scythian diet. 'If therefore,'
replied his generous host, 'you feel so great a contempt for what this
country produces, and so strong a preference for the productions of your
own, what but madness, O king, can have tempted you to come so far in
order to subdue men that live in a manner you despise? Is it not much
greater wisdom to be contented with those advantages which you prize so
highly, than to expose them to a certain hazard, for the chance of
acquiring what would afford no pleasure or satisfaction? But let this
lesson be sufficient to teach you moderation. A country which produces
nothing but iron, is not easily conquered; nor are men, who have been
from their infancy inured to every hardship, to be vanquished by curled
and perfumed soldiers, who cannot live without baths, and music, and
daily feasts. Be contented, therefore, for the future, to number the
Scythians among your friends; and rather pray that the gods may keep
them in ignorance of the superiority of your method of living, lest a
desire of tasting it should tempt them to desert their own country and
invade yours.' With this discourse he generously restored Lysimachus to
liberty, and suffered him to lead back the shattered remains of his
numerous army.

"'Such was the nation which had invaded Syria, and easily triumphed over
the efforts of an effeminate and unwarlike people. As I passed through
the camp, I was astonished at the order and regularity which prevailed
among these barbarians. Some were exercising their horses in the mimic
representation of a battle; part fled with incredible speed, while the
rest pursued, and darted blunted javelins at their antagonists. Yet even
those who fled would frequently turn upon their pursuers and make them
repent their rashness. Some, while their horses were running in full
speed, would vault from off their backs to others that accompanied them;
some would gallop by a mark erected for their arrows, and, when they had
passed it a considerable way, turn themselves round upon their horses
and transfix it with an unerring aim. I saw many who vaulted upon their
horses, and placed themselves between two naked swords, which would have
given them certain death, had they swerved ever so little from the just
direction. In another part of the camp I observed the children, who
imitated all the actions of their fathers, bended little bows adapted to
their strength, or guided horses of an inferior stature along the plain.
Their women were indeed inferior to the Syrians in beauty and elegance,
but seemed to be of a more robust constitution, and more adapted to
produce and educate warriors. I saw no gold, no jewels, no vain and
costly apparel; but all seemed busy in domestic cares, preparing the
food of their families, or tending upon their infants.

"'At length I reached the royal tent, which scarcely differed from the
rest in its structure or simplicity; and was immediately introduced to
the great Arsaces. He received me with a courtesy which had nothing of
the barbarian in it; seated me familiarly by his side, and entered into
a long conversation with me upon the laws, and manners, and customs of
the different nations I had seen. I was surprised at the vigour and
penetration which I discovered in this untutored warrior's mind.
Unbiassed by the mass of prejudices which we acquire in cities, even
from our earliest childhood, unencumbered by forms and ceremonies which
contract the understanding while they pretend to improve the manners, he
seemed to possess a certain energy of soul which never missed the mark;
nature in him had produced the same effects that study and philosophy do
in others. But, what amazed me more than all, was to find this Scythian
chief as well acquainted with the state and consequence of _our_
manners, as if he had passed his life in Greece or Syria, instead of the
plains and forests of his own domain. He entertained a rooted contempt
for all the arts which softened the body and mind, under the pretence of
adding to the elegancies of life; these, he said, were more efficacious
agents to reduce men to slavery, than the swords and arrows of their
enemies.

"'One day I remember that some of our principal men, judging of the mind
of their conqueror by their own, brought to him a celebrated dancer;
who, at that time, engaged the whole attention of our city, and seemed
to interest it much more than the loss of liberty. This man, who did not
doubt that he should enchant the soul of a Scythian barbarian, by the
same arts which had enraptured his refined audiences at home, exerted
himself with an agility that extorted the loudest applause from all the
spectators but Arsaces. At length one of our countrymen took the liberty
of asking the monarch what he thought of this extraordinary performance?
'I think,' replied he, coldly, 'that it would gain him great credit
among a nation of monkeys.' Another time he was present at the
exhibitions of a celebrated musician, who was reputed to possess
unrivalled skill in playing soft and melting tunes upon the lyre. All
the audience seemed to feel the influence of his art, by their
inarticulate murmurs of admiration, and the languishing postures of
their bodies. When the exhibition was finished, the musician advanced,
amid the united plaudits of the audience, as if to receive the just
tribute of approbation from Arsaces; but he, with a stern look, said to
him, 'Friend, I permit thee to play every night before the Syrians; but
if thy lyre is ever heard to sound in the presence of my Scythians, I
denounce certain death for the offence.' Another time an officious
glutton of our city introduced to him, with great solemnity, two men,
whose talents he assured him were unequalled in their different
professions. The one, he said, adjusted hair with such dexterity, that
he could give an artificial beauty to every countenance; and the other
possessed such unrivalled skill in cooking a repast, that even the
soberest guest was tempted to commit intemperance. 'My soldiers,'
replied Arsaces, 'are accustomed to adjust their locks with the point of
their arrows, nor does our nation consider a bloated paunch and an
unwieldy shape as any accomplishment in warriors; all therefore, that I
can do for these gentlemen is, to depute one of them to comb my horse's
tail, and the other to feed the hogs of the army.'

"'After I had conversed some time with this barbarian chief, who heard
me with the greatest attention, the hour of refreshment for the army
approached, and I was preparing to retire; but the general stopped me
with a smile, and told me, I had already entertained him with the
greatest hospitality, and that therefore it was just that I should stay
and taste the Scythian food. A bit of dried flesh, which I afterwards
found was that of a horse, some sour coagulated milk, with an infusion
of certain herbs, thickened with a coarse kind of flour, were then
brought in and placed upon the ground. I had learned, during my travels
in different countries, to discard the false antipathies which so many
nations entertain against the diet as well as manners of each other.
Whatever is adapted to support life is proper for the food of man; habit
will reconcile us to any kind of food; and he that can accustom himself
to be the most easily contented, is happiest and best prepared for
performing the duties of life. I therefore placed myself by the side of
Arsaces, and fed without any visible repugnance upon the diet, which
would have excited abhorrence in the minds of all my countrymen. With
them it was a work of the greatest importance to settle the formalities
of a meal; to contrive a new and poignant sauce, to combine contrary
flavours in a pickle, to stimulate the jaded appetite to new exertions,
till reason and everything human sank under the undigested mass of food,
were reckoned the highest efforts of genius; even the magistrate did not
blush to display a greater knowledge of cookery than of the laws; the
debates of the senate itself were often suspended by the fear of losing
a repast; and many of our generals prided themselves more on the
arrangement of their tables, than the martial evolutions of their
troops.

"'After we had eaten some time, Arsaces asked me what I thought of the
Scythian method of living? 'To speak my sentiments,' said I, 'it is more
formidable to your enemies than agreeable to your friends.' He smiled at
my sincerity, and I departed; but from this hour he distinguished me
with marks of peculiar favour, and admitted me to all his councils.

"'This envied mark of distinction gave me no other pleasure than as it
sometimes enabled me to be useful to my unhappy countrymen, and mitigate
the rigour of their conquerors. Indeed, while the great Arsaces lived,
his love of justice and order was so great, that even the conquered were
safe from all oppression; the peasant pursued his useful labours
unterrified by the march of armies, or, unsolicited, brought the produce
of his fields to a voluntary market; merchants from all the neighbouring
nations crowded to our ports, attracted by the order and justice which
were enforced in every part of Arsaces' dominions; and even the
vanquished themselves, defended from oppression and protected in their
possessions, considered the success of the Scythians rather as a
salutary revolution than as a barbarian conquest.

"'Such was the pleasing prospect of affairs, when an unexpected disease,
the consequence of unremitted exertions, put an end to the glorious life
of our conqueror; and with him perished all hopes of safety or happiness
of the Syrians. His authority alone was capable of restraining so many
needy chieftains, so many victorious barbarians; the spirit of rapine
and plunder so long represt, began now to spread through all the army;
every officer was an independent tyrant, that ruled with despotic
authority, and punished as rebellion the least opposition to his will.
The fields were now ravaged, the cities plundered, the industrious
peasants driven away like herds of cattle, to labour for the caprice of
unfeeling masters, or sold in distant regions as slaves. Now it was that
the miserable and harassed Syrians began to find that the riches which
they so much esteemed, were but the causes of their ruin, instead of
being instrumental to their safety. The poor, accustomed to hardship,
have little to fear amid the vicissitudes of life; the brave can always
find a refuge in their own valour; but all the bitterness of existence
is reserved for those who have neither courage to defend what they most
value, nor fortitude to bear the loss.

"'To increase the weight of our misfortunes, new tribes of barbarians,
attracted by the success of their countrymen, issued from their deserts,
and hastened to share the spoil. But rapine admits not faith or
partnership; and it was not long before the vanquished beheld their
conquerors animated by implacable rage against each other, and suffering
in turn the violence and cruelties they had inflicted.

"'At length one of the principal officers of Arsaces, who is said
originally to have descended from the mountain which you inhabit, was
raised to empire by the successful efforts of his soldiers. He has
already attacked and destroyed all his competitors, and assembled under
his banners the remainder of their forces. _Tigranes_ (for thus he is
named) possesses all the courage and activity of Arsaces, but he is
destitute of his generosity and clemency. His ambition is vast and
boundless; he grasps at universal empire, and rejoices to scatter ruin
and destruction in his way; he has already subjected all the maritime
cities that derive their origin from Greece, together with the fertile
plains of Syria. These mountains, inhabited by a bold and hardy race of
men, now present a barrier to his enterprising spirit; and I am assured
he already meditates the conquest. His soldiers are drawn together from
every part, and nothing can escape their fury. In vain did I think
myself safe in the humble obscurity of my cottage, and the reputed
favour of the great Arsaces. Yesterday, a lawless band, not contented
with destroying my harvest and plundering my little property, seized my
daughter and me, and dragged us away in chains. What farther injuries,
what farther insults we might have suffered, it is impossible to
determine, since Heaven was pleased to effect our deliverance when we
had least reason to expect it.'

"Such was the history of Chares, which Sophron and his family listened
to with fixed attention. When he had finished, the father of Sophron
again embraced the venerable stranger, and assured him of all the safety
which their mountains could bestow. 'But,' added he, 'if so imminent a
danger is near, it behoves us to consult for the general safety; let us
assemble all our friends and neighbours, that they may consider whether
life is of more consequence than liberty; and if they determine to
retain that freedom which they have received from their ancestors, by
what means it maybe best defended.' Sophron then immediately went out,
and ascending a neighbouring rock, thus shouted out, in a voice that
echoed over the neighbouring valleys: 'Arm, O ye inhabitants of Lebanon,
and instantly meet in council; for a powerful invader is near, and
threatens you with death or slavery!' This sound was instantly repeated
by all who heard it; so that in a short time the intelligence was
dispersed to the very confines of the country.

"It was not long before a numerous assembly was convened. The aged
appeared with all the majestic dignity of wisdom and experience; their
countenances, indeed, indicated the ravages of time, but temperance and
exercise had preserved them from the loathsome diseases which grow on
luxury and indolence. They were attended by their sons in all the pride
of youth and vigour, who rushed along in arms, and seemed to breathe
deliberate rage and unconquerable opposition. When they were all
assembled on a spacious plain, Sophron rose, and with a becoming
modesty, recited the adventures of the preceding night, and the alarming
intelligence he had just received. He had scarcely finished before a
general cry of indignation burst unanimously from the whole assembly.
When it had a little subsided, a venerable old man, whose beard, white
as the snow upon the summits of the mountains, reaching down to his
middle, slowly arose, and leaning upon his staff, spoke thus:--'Ninety
years have I tended my flocks amid these mountains, and during all that
time I have never seen a human being who was bold enough to propose to
the inhabitants of Lebanon that they should fear death more than infamy,
or submit to the vassals of a tyrant.' At this a second cry, which
seemed to rend the very heavens, was raised, and farther deliberation
judged unnecessary, except upon the most effectual means of defence. For
this purpose the aged and most experienced retired to a little distance
to consult. They were not long in their deliberations; it was
unanimously agreed that all who were able to bear arms should be
embodied, and wait for the approach of the enemy, within the boundaries
of their own mountains. The nature of the country, always rough, and in
many parts inaccessible, would afford them, they thought, sufficient
advantages even against the more numerous and better disciplined troops
of the invader; and, by the common consent of all, Sophron was named
the general of his country, and invested with supreme authority for its
defence.

"When these measures had been resolved upon, the assembly dispersed, and
Sophron was left alone with Chares. It was then the stranger thus
accosted him with a deep sigh:--'Did success, O virtuous Sophron, depend
entirely upon the justice of the cause, or upon the courage and zeal of
its defenders, I should have little doubt concerning the event of the
present contest, for I can truly say, that in all the various countries
I have visited, my eyes have never seen a more martial race than I have
this day beheld assembled; nor can I doubt that their sentiments
correspond to their appearance; all, therefore, that can be effected by
patience, activity, and dauntless courage, will be achieved by your
countrymen in defence of their liberty; but war, unfortunately, is a
trade where long experience frequently confers advantages which no
intrepidity can balance. The troops which are now approaching have been
for years inured to the practice of slaughter; they join to a courage
which defies every danger, a knowledge of every fraud and subtility
which can confound or baffle an adversary. In bodily strength, in
numbers, your countrymen are superior; even in courage, and the contempt
of danger, they are probably not inferior to their enemies; but such are
the fatal effects of military skill and discipline, that I dread the
event of a combat with such an army and such a leader.'

"'Alas!' answered Sophron, 'how well do the mature reflections of your
wisdom accord with my presaging fears! I know that my countrymen will
perform everything that can be effected by men in their situation, and
that thousands will generously sacrifice their lives rather than abandon
the cause they have undertaken to defend; yet, when I consider the
superior advantage of our enemies, my fears are no less active than your
own. This consolation, however, remains, that I shall either see my
country victorious, or avoid the miseries which will attend her ruin.'

"'Hear me, then,' replied Chares. 'The virtues of your friends, my own
obligations to yourself, and the desire I feel to oppose the career of
mad ambition, conspire to wrest from me a dreadful secret, which I have
hitherto buried in my own bosom, and had determined to conceal from the
knowledge of mankind. I have already told you that much of my life has
been dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge, and the investigation of
the laws of nature. Not contented with viewing the appearance of things
as they strike our senses, I have endeavoured to penetrate into the
deeper recesses of nature, and to discover those secrets which are
concealed from the greater part of mankind. For this purpose I have
tried innumerable experiments concerning the manner in which bodies act
upon each other; I have submitted the plants, the stones, the minerals,
which surround us, to the violence of all-consuming fires; I have
examined their structure, and the different principles which compose
them, with the patient labour and perseverance of a long life. In the
course of these inquiries I have made many curious and important
discoveries, but one above the rest, which I will now impart under the
promise of eternal and inviolable secrecy. Know, then, that I have found
out an easy and expeditious combination of common materials, the effect
of which is equal or superior to the most potent and destructive agents
in nature. Neither the proudest city can maintain its walls, nor the
strongest castle its bulwarks, against the irresistible attacks of this
extraordinary composition. Increase but the quantity, and the very rocks
and mountains will be torn asunder with a violence that equals that of
earthquakes. Whole armies, proud of their triumphs, may be in an instant
scattered and destroyed like the summer's dust before the whirlwind;
and, what increases the prodigy, a single man may securely give death to
thousands. This composition I have hitherto concealed, in pity to the
miseries of mankind; but since there appears no other method of
preserving the virtuous inhabitants of these mountains from slavery and
ruin, I am determined to employ it in their defence. Give orders,
therefore, that a certain number of your countrymen provide me with the
ingredients that I shall indicate, and expect the amplest success from
your own valour, assisted by such powerful auxiliaries.'

"Sophron said everything to Chares which such an unexpected mark of
confidence deserved, and instantly received his orders, and prepared to
execute them with the greatest alacrity. Chares, meanwhile, was
indefatigable in the execution of his project; and it was not long
before he had prepared a sufficient quantity to provide for the common
defence.

"Tigranes now approached with the rage and confidence of a lion that
invades a flock of domestic animals. He had long forgotten all the ties
which attach men to the place of their birth; and neither time nor
distance had been able to extinguish the hatred he had conceived to
Sophron. Scarcely did he deign to send an ambassador before his army;
he, however, despatched one with an imperious message, requiring all the
inhabitants of Lebanon to submit to his victorious arms, or threatening
them with the worst extremities of war.

"When the ambassador returned, and reported the fixed determination of
Sophron and his countrymen, he was inflamed with rage, and ordered his
army to advance to the attack. They marched without opposition till they
entered the mountainous districts, where all the bravest inhabitants
were ranged in arms to meet the invader. Then arose the noise of arms;
then man encountered man, and wounds and death were seen on every side.
The troops of Tigranes advanced in close array with long protended
spears; the inhabitants of Lebanon were more lightly armed, and, with
invincible courage, endeavoured to break the formidable battalion of
their enemies. They rushed with fury upon the dreadful range of weapons,
and, even wounded and dying, endeavoured to beat down their points, and
open a way to their companions.

"Sophron was seen conspicuous in every part of the field, encouraging
his companions with his voice, and more by his actions. Wherever he
turned his steps he was followed by the bravest youth of his party, and
there the efforts and the slaughter were always greatest. Five times,
covered with blood and dust, he made a desperate charge upon the troops
of Tigranes, and five times did he force his bravest soldiers to give
ground. At length the superiority of discipline and experience began to
prevail over the generous but more unequal efforts of the defenders.
The veterans of Tigranes perceived their advantage, and pressed the
enemy with redoubled vigour.

"This was the decisive moment which Chares had foreseen and provided
for; in an instant the bands of Lebanon retreated, by the orders of
Sophron, with a precipitation bordering upon flight. Tigranes, supposing
himself certain of victory, orders his troops to advance, and decide the
fortune of the battle; but while they are rashly preparing to obey, a
sudden noise is heard that equals the loudest thunders; the earth itself
trembles with a convulsive motion under their feet, then bursts asunder
with a violence that nothing can resist! Hundreds are in an instant
swallowed up, or dashed against rocks, and miserably destroyed!
Meanwhile all nature seems to be convulsed around; the rocks themselves
are torn from their solid base, and, with their enormous fragments,
crush whole bands of miserable wretches beneath! Clouds of smoke obscure
the field of battle, and veil the combatants in a dreadful shade, which
is from time to time dispelled by flashes of destructive fire! Such a
succession of horrors daunted even the most brave; scarcely could the
troops of Lebanon, who had been prepared to expect some extraordinary
interposition, maintain their post, or behold the spectacle of their
enemy's ruin; but the bands of Tigranes were struck with the wildest
consternation, and fled with trembling steps over the field. And now
these prodigies were succeeded by an awful interval of quiet; the peals
of bursting thunder were no longer heard, the lightnings ceased to
flash, the mists that darkened the scene were rolled away, and
discovered the various fortunes of the fight, when the voice of Sophron
was heard, exhorting his companions to pursue the fugitives and complete
their victory. They rushed forward like angry lions to the chase, but
all resistance was at an end; and Sophron, who now perceived that the
enemy was irretrievably broken, checked the ardour of his men, and
entreated them to spare the vanquished. They obeyed his voice; and,
after having chased them beyond the utmost boundaries of Lebanon,
returned in triumph amid the praises and acclamations of their joyful
families, whom they had preserved from slavery by their valour. They
then examined the field of battle, and collecting all who had any
remains of life, they treated them with the greatest humanity, binding
up their wounds, and administering to all their necessities.

"Among the thickest dead was found the breathless body of Tigranes,
miserably shattered and disfigured, but still exhibiting evident marks
of passion and ferocity. Sophron could not behold, without compassion,
the friend of his early years, and the companion of his youthful sports.
'Unhappy man,' said he, 'thou hast at length paid the price of thy
ungovernable ambition! How much better would it have been to have tended
thy flocks upon the mountains, than to have blazed an angry meteor, and
set for ever amid the curses of thy country.' He then covered the body
with a military vest, and ordered it to be honourably burned upon a
mighty funeral-pile which was prepared for all the dead.

"The next day an immense quantity of spoil was collected, that had been
abandoned by the troops of Tigranes in their flight. The simple
inhabitants of Lebanon, the greater part of whom had never been beyond
the limits of their mountains, were astonished at such a display of
luxury and magnificence. Already the secret poison of sensuality and
avarice began to inflame their hearts, as they gazed on costly hangings,
enriched with gold and silver, on Persian carpets, and drinking-vessels
of the most exquisite workmanship; already had they begun to differ
about the division of these splendid trifles, when Sophron, who marked
the growing mischief, and remembered the fatal effects which Chares had
described in his travels, rose, and proposed to his countrymen that the
arms of their conquered enemies should be carefully preserved for the
public defence, but that all the rest of the spoil should be consumed
upon the funeral-pile prepared for the dead, lest the simplicity of the
inhabitants of Lebanon should be corrupted, and the happy equality and
union, which had hitherto prevailed among them, be interrupted. This
proposal was instantly applauded by all the older and wiser part of the
assembly, who rejoiced in seeing the evils averted which they had so
much reason to apprehend; nor did those of a different character dare to
express their sentiments, or attempt any open opposition.

"From this time Sophron was universally honoured by all as the most
virtuous and valiant of his nation. He passed the rest of his life in
peace and tranquillity, contented with the exercise of the same rural
employments which had engaged his childhood. Chares, whose virtues and
knowledge were equally admirable, was presented, at the public expense,
with a small but fertile tract of land, sufficient to supply him with
all the comforts of life. This the grateful inhabitants of the mountains
continually cultivated for him as a memorial of the signal assistance he
had afforded them; and here, contented with the enjoyment of security
and freedom, he passed the remaining part of his life in the
contemplation of nature and the delightful intercourse of virtuous
friendship."

When Miss Simmons had finished, Tommy expressed his astonishment at the
latter part of the story. "Is it possible," said he, "there can be
anything of so extraordinary a nature as to burst the very rocks
asunder, and destroy an army at once?" "Have you, then, never heard the
explosion of a gun, or are you ignorant of the destructive effects of
the powder with which they charge it?" said Mr Barlow.

_Tommy._--Yes, sir; but that is nothing to what Chares did in the story.

_Mr Barlow._--That is only because it is used in very inconsiderable
portions; but were you to increase the quantity, it would be capable of
effecting everything which you heard Miss Simmons describe. When nations
are at war with each other, it is now universally the agent of
destruction. They have large tubes of iron, called _cannons_, into which
they ram a considerable quantity of powder, together with a large iron
ball, as big as you are able to lift. They then set fire to the powder,
which explodes with so much violence, that the ball flies out and
destroys not only every living thing it meets with, but even demolishes
the strongest walls that can be raised. Sometimes it is buried in
considerable quantities in the earth, and then they contrive to inflame
it, and to escape in time. When the fire communicates with the mass, it
is all inflamed in an instant, and produces the horrible effects you
have heard described. As such are the irresistible effects of gunpowder,
it is no wonder that even a victorious army should be stopped in their
progress by such a dreadful and unexpected event.

_Tommy._--That is true, indeed; and I declare Chares was a very good and
sensible man. Had it not been for him, these brave inhabitants of
Lebanon must have been enslaved. I now plainly perceive that a man may
be of much more consequence by improving his mind in various kinds of
knowledge, even though he is poor, than by all the finery and
magnificence he can acquire. I wish, with all my heart, that Mr Barlow
had been so good as to read this story to the young gentlemen and ladies
that were lately here; I think it would have made a great impression
upon their minds, and would have prevented their feeling so much
contempt for poor Harry, who is better and wiser than them all, though
he does not powder his hair or dress so genteelly.

"Tommy," said Mr Merton, with a kind of contemptuous smile, "why should
you believe that the hearing of a single story would change the
characters of all your late friends, when neither the good instructions
you have been so long receiving from Mr Barlow, nor the intimacy you
have had with Harry, were sufficient to restrain your impetuous temper,
or prevent you from treating him in the shameful manner you have done?"

Tommy appeared very much abashed with his father's rebuke. He hung down
his head in silence a considerable time; at length he faintly said,
"Oh, sir, I have indeed acted very ill; I have rendered myself unworthy
the affection of all my best friends; but do not, pray do not give me up
entirely. You shall see how I will behave for the future; and if ever I
am guilty of the same faults again, I consent that you shall abandon me
for ever." Saying this, he silently stole out of the room, as if intent
upon some extraordinary resolution. His father observed his motions, and
smiling, said to Mr Barlow, "What can this portend? This boy is
changeable as a weathercock; every blast whirls him round and round upon
his centre, nor will he ever fix, I fear, in any direction." "At least,"
replied Mr Barlow, "you have the greatest reason to rejoice in his
present impressions, which are good and estimable; and I fear it is the
lot of most human beings to exhaust almost every species of error before
they fix in truth and virtue."

Tommy now entered the room, but with a remarkable change in his dress
and manner. He had combed the powder out of his hair, and demolished the
elegance of his curls; he had divested his dress of every appearance of
finery; and even his massy and ponderous buckles, so long the delight of
his heart and the wonder of his female friends, were taken from his
shoes, and replaced by a pair of the plainest form and appearance. In
this habiliment he appeared so totally changed from what he was, that
even his mother, who had lately become a little sparing of her
observations, could not help exclaiming, "What, in the name of wonder,
has the boy been doing now? Why, Tommy, I protest you have made yourself
a perfect fright, and you look more like a ploughboy than a young
gentleman."

"Mamma," answered Tommy, gravely, "I am now only what I ought always to
have been. Had I been contented with this dress before, I never should
have imitated such a parcel of coxcombs as you have lately had at your
house, nor pretended to admire Miss Matilda's music, which, I own, tired
me as much as Harry, and had almost set me asleep; nor should I have
exposed myself at the play and the ball; and, what is worst of all, I
should have avoided all my shameful behaviour to Harry at the
bull-baiting. But from this time I shall apply myself to the study of
nothing but reason and philosophy, and therefore I have bid adieu to
dress and finery for ever."

It was with great difficulty that the gentlemen could refrain from
laughing at Tommy's harangue, delivered with infinite seriousness and
solemnity; they, however, concealed their emotions, and encouraged him
to persevere in such a laudable resolution; but as the night was now
pretty far advanced, the whole family retired to bed.

The next morning early, Tommy arose, and dressed himself with his
newly-adopted simplicity, and, as soon as breakfast was over, prevailed
with Mr Barlow to accompany him to Harry Sandford's; but he did not
forget to take with him the lamb, which he had caressed and fed with
constant assiduity ever since he had so valiantly rescued him from his
devouring enemy. As they approached the house, the first object which
Tommy distinguished was his little friend at some distance, who was
driving his father's sheep along the common. At this sight his
impetuosity could no longer be restrained, and, springing forward with
all his speed, he arrived in an instant panting and out of breath, and
incapable of speaking. Harry, who knew his friend, and plainly perceived
the disposition with which he approached, met him with open arms, so
that the reconciliation was begun and completed in a moment; and Mr
Barlow, who now arrived with the lamb, had the pleasure of seeing his
little pupils mutually giving and receiving every unaffected mark of the
warmest affection.

"Harry," said Mr Barlow, "I bring you a little friend who is sincerely
penitent for his offences, and comes to own the faults he has
committed." "That I am indeed," said Tommy, a little recovered, and able
to speak; "but I have behaved so ill, and been such an ungrateful
fellow, that I am afraid Harry will never be able to forgive me."
"Indeed, indeed," said Harry, "there you do me the greatest injustice,
for I have already forgotten everything but your former kindness and
affection." "And I," answered Tommy, "will never forget how ill, how
ungratefully I have used you, nor the goodness with which you now
receive me." Tommy then recollected his lamb, and presented it to his
friend, while Mr Barlow told him the story of its rescue, and the
heroism exerted in its defence. Harry seemed to receive equal pleasure
from the restoration of his favourite, and the affection Tommy had shown
in its preservation; and, taking him by the hand, he led him into a
small but neat and convenient house, where he was most cordially
welcomed by Harry's family.

In a corner of the chimney sat the honest Black, who had performed so
signal a service at the bull-baiting. "Alas!" said Tommy, "there is
another instance of my negligence and ingratitude; I now see that one
fault brings on another without end." Then advancing to the Black, he
took him kindly by the hand, and thanked him for the preservation of his
life. "Little master," replied he, "you are extremely welcome to all I
have done; I would at any time risk my own safety to preserve one of my
fellow-creatures; and if I have been of any use, I have been amply
repaid by the kindness of this little boy, your friend, and all his
worthy family." "That is not enough," said Tommy, "and you shall soon
find what it is to oblige a person like----(here a stroke of presumption
was just coming out of Tommy's mouth, but, recollecting himself, he
added) a person like my father." And now he addressed himself to Harry's
mother, a venerable, decent woman of middle age, and his two sisters,
plain, modest, healthy-looking girls, a little older than their brother.
All these he treated with so much cordiality and attention that all the
company were delighted with him; so easy is it for those who possess
rank and fortune to gain the goodwill of their fellow-creatures, and so
inexcusable is that surly pride which renders many of them deservedly
odious.

When dinner was ready he sat down with the rest; and as it was the
custom here for everybody to wait upon himself, Tommy insisted upon
their suffering him to conform to the established method. The food,
indeed, was not very delicate, but it was wholesome, clean, and served
up hot to table,--an advantage which is not always found in elegant
apartments. Tommy ate with a considerable appetite, and seemed to enjoy
his new situation as much as if he had never experienced any other.
After the dinner was removed, he thought he might with propriety
gratify the curiosity he felt to converse with the Black upon fighting
bulls, for nothing had more astonished him than the account he had heard
of his courage, and the ease with which he had subdued so terrible an
animal. "My friend," said he, "I suppose in your own country you have
been very much used to bull-baitings, otherwise you would never have
dared to encounter such a fierce creature. I must confess, though I can
tame most animals, I never was more frightened in my life than when I
saw him break loose; and without your assistance, I do not know what
would have become of me."

"Master," replied the Black, "it is not in my own country that I have
learned to manage these animals. There I have been accustomed to several
kinds of hunting much more dangerous than this; and considering how much
you white people despise us blacks, I own I was very much surprised to
see so many hundreds of you running away from such an insignificant
enemy as a poor tame bull."

Tommy blushed a little at the remembrance of the prejudices he had
formerly entertained concerning blacks and his own superiority; but not
choosing now to enter upon the subject, he asked the man where then he
had acquired so much dexterity in taming them?

"I will tell you, master," replied the Black. "When I lived a slave
among the Spaniards at Buenos Ayres, it used to be a common employment
of the people to go into the woods to hunt cattle down for their
subsistence. The hunter mounts his fleetest horse, and takes with him a
strong cord of a considerable length; when he sees one of the wild kind
which he destines for his prey, he pursues it at full speed, and never
fails to overtake it by the superior swiftness of his horse. While he is
thus employed, he holds the cord ready, at the end of which a sliding
noose is formed, and when he is at a convenient distance, throws it from
him with such a certain hand, that the beast is entangled by one of his
legs, after which it is impossible for him to escape.

"That you may form a more clear idea of what a man is capable of
executing with courage and address, I will relate a most extraordinary
incident to which I was witness during my residence in that part of the
world. A certain man, a native of the country, had committed some
offence, for which he was condemned to labour several years in the
galleys. He found means to speak to the governor of the town, and
besought him to change the nature of his punishment. 'I have been
brought up,' said he, 'a warrior, and fear dishonour, but not death.
Instead of consuming my strength and spirits in such an ignominious
employment, let me have an opportunity of achieving something worthy to
be beheld, or of perishing like a brave man in the attempt. In a few
days a solemn feast is to be celebrated, at which you will not fail to
be present, attended by all your people. I will there, in the presence
of the whole city, encounter the fiercest bull you can procure. I desire
no assistance but my horse, no weapons but this cord; yet, thus
prepared, I will meet his fury, and take him by the head, the horns, the
feet, as you shall direct. I will then throw him down, bridle him,
saddle him, and vault upon his back; in this situation you shall turn
out two more of the fiercest bulls you can find, and I will attack them
both, and put them all to death with my dagger the instant you shall
command.' The governor consented to this brave man's request, more from
curiosity to see so extraordinary a spectacle, than from the opinion it
would be attended with success.

"When the appointed day arrived the inhabitants of the city assembled,
and took their seats in a vast building which surrounded a considerable
open space destined for this amazing combat. The brave American then
appeared alone on horseback, armed with nothing but his cord; and after
riding round the place and saluting the company, he waited intrepidly
for his enemy. Presently an enormous bull was let loose, who, as soon as
he beheld the man, attacked him with all his fury. The American avoided
his shock with infinite dexterity, and galloped round the bull, who, in
his turn, betook himself to flight. The valiant horseman pursued his
flying enemy; and while he was thus engaged, he desired the governor to
direct where he would have him seized. He replied it was a matter of
indifference to him; and the American, instantly throwing his noose,
which he held ready all the time, caught the bull in his flight by one
of his hinder legs; then, galloping two or three times round the animal,
he so enveloped him in the snare, that, after a few violent efforts to
disengage himself, he fell to the earth. He then leaped lightly from his
horse; and the animal who had been perfectly trained up to this kind of
combat, stood still, and kept the cord extended; while his master
advanced to the bull, and put him to death in an instant, by stabbing
him with his dagger behind the horns.

"All the assembly uttered a shout of admiration; but the conqueror told
them, that what they had seen was nothing; and, disentangling his cord
from the slaughtered beast, he composedly mounted his horse, and waited
for a new and more formidable enemy. Presently the gate of the torillo
was opened, and a bull, much more furious than the last, rushed out,
whom he was ordered to bridle and saddle, according to his engagement."

"I protest," said Tommy, "this is the most wonderful story I ever heard.
I do not believe all the fine gentleman I have ever seen, put together,
would dare to attack such a bull."

"Master," replied the Black, "the talents of mankind are various; and
nature has, in every country, furnished the human species with all the
qualities necessary for their preservation. In this country, and many
others which I have seen, there are thousands who live, like birds in
cages, upon the food provided by others, without doing anything for
themselves. But they should be contented with the happiness they enjoy
(if such a life can be called happiness), and not despise their
fellow-creatures, without whose continual assistance they could not
exist an instant."

"Very true, indeed," answered Tommy; "you seem to be a very honest
sensible man, though a negro; and since I have given myself up to the
improvement of my mind, I entertain the same opinions. But let us hear
how this brave man succeeded in his next attempt."

"When the champion perceived this second enemy approach, he waited for
him with the same intrepidity he had discovered before, and avoided his
formidable shock by making his horse wheel nimbly round the bull. When
he had thus baffled his fury, and put his enemy to flight, he chased
him some time, as he had done the former, till he drove him near to the
middle of the enclosed space, where a strong post had been firmly fixed
into the ground. As soon as he approached the spot he threw the unerring
noose, and, catching the bull by the horns, entangled him as he had done
before, and dragged him with some difficulty to the stake. To this he
bound him down so closely, that it became impossible for the creature
either to resist or stir. Leaping then from his horse, who remained
immovable as before, he took a saddle, which had been left there on
purpose, and girded it firmly on the back of the bull; through his
nostrils he thrust an iron ring, to which was fixed a cord, which he
brought over his neck as a bridle; and then arming his hand with a short
spike, he nimbly vaulted upon the back of this new and terrible courser.

"The creature all this time did not cease to bellow with every
expression of rage, which had not the least effect upon the mind of this
valiant man; on the contrary, coolly taking a knife, he cut the cord
which bound him to the stake, and restored him to perfect liberty. The
creature, thus disengaged, exerted every effort of strength and fury to
throw his rider, who kept his seat undaunted in spite of all his violent
agitation. The gates of the torillo were then thrown open, and two other
furious bulls rushed out, and seemed ready to attack the man; but at the
instant they perceived the manner in which he was mounted, their rage
gave way to terror, and they fled precipitately away. The other bull
followed his companions, and bore his rider several times round the
amphitheatre in this extraordinary chase. This spectacle had already
lasted some time, to the admiration of all present, when the governor
ordered the man to complete the business by putting all the bulls to
death. He, instantly drawing his knife, plunged it behind the horns of
the bull on which he rode, who immediately dropped down dead; while the
conqueror, disengaging himself as he fell, stood upright by the
slaughtered animal. He then mounted his horse again, who had been placed
in safety at some little distance; and, pursuing the chase as before,
with his fatal noose, despatched both the surviving animals without the
least difficulty."

Tommy expressed the greatest admiration at this recital; and now, as the
evening began to advance, Mr Barlow invited him to return. But Tommy,
instead of complying, took him by the hand, thanked him for all his
kindness and attention, but declared his resolution of staying some time
with his friend Harry. "The more I consider my own behaviour," said he
"the more I feel myself ashamed of my folly and ingratitude; but you
have taught me, my dear sir, that all I have in my power is to
acknowledge them, which I most willingly do before all this good family,
and entreat Harry to think that the impressions I now feel are such as I
shall never forget." Harry embraced his friend, and assured him once
more of his being perfectly reconciled; and all the family stood mute
with admiration at the condescension of the young gentleman, who was not
ashamed of acknowledging his faults even to his inferiors.

Mr Barlow approved of Tommy's design, and took upon him to answer for
the consent of Mr Merton to his staying some time with Harry; then,
taking his leave of all the company, he departed.

But Tommy began now to enter upon a course of life which was very little
consistent with his former habits. He supped with great cheerfulness,
and even found himself happy with the rustic fare which was set before
him, accompanied, as it was, with unaffected civility and a hearty
welcome. He went to bed early, and slept very soundly all night;
however, when Harry came to call him the next morning at five, as he had
made him promise to do, he found a considerable difficulty in rousing
himself at the summons. Conscious pride, however, and the newly-acquired
dignity of his character, supported him; he recollected that he should
disgrace himself in the eyes of his father, of Mr Barlow, and of all the
family with which he now was, if he appeared incapable of acting up to
his own declarations; he therefore made a noble effort, leaped out of
bed, dressed himself, and followed Harry. Not contented with this, he
accompanied him in all his rustic employments; and as no kind of country
exercise was entirely new to him since his residence with Mr Barlow, he
acquitted himself with a degree of dexterity that gained him new
commendations.

Thus did he pass the first day of his visit, with some little difficulty
indeed, but without deviating from his resolution; the second, he found
his change of life infinitely more tolerable, and in a very little space
of time he was almost reconciled to his new situation. The additional
exercise he used improved his health and strength, and added so
considerably to his appetite that he began to think the table of farmer
Sandford exceeded all that he had ever tried before.

By thus practising the common useful occupations of life, he began to
feel a more tender interest in the common concerns of his
fellow-creatures. He now found, from his own experience, that Mr Barlow
had not deceived him in the various representations he had made of the
utility of the lower classes, and consequently of the humanity which is
due to them when they discharge their duty. Nor did that gentleman
abandon his little friend in this important trial; he visited him
frequently, pointed out everything that was curious or interesting about
the farm, and encouraged him to persevere by his praises.

"You are now," said Mr Barlow, one day, "beginning to practise those
virtues which have rendered the great men of other times so justly
famous. It is not by sloth, nor finery, nor the mean indulgence of our
appetites, that greatness of character, or even reputation, is to be
acquired. He that would excel others in virtue or knowledge, must first
excel them in temperance and application. You cannot imagine that men,
fit to command an army, or to give laws to a state, were ever formed by
an idle and effeminate education. When the Roman people, oppressed by
their enemies, were looking out for a leader able to defend them, and
change the fortune of the war, where did they seek for this
extraordinary man? It was neither at banquets, nor in splendid palaces,
nor amid the gay, the elegant, or the dissipated; they turned their
steps towards a poor and solitary cottage, such as the meanest of your
late companions would consider with contempt; there they found
_Cincinnatus_ (whose virtues and abilities were allowed to excel all the
rest of his citizens) turning up the soil with a pair of oxen, and
holding the plough himself. This great man had been inured to arms and
the management of public affairs even from his infancy; he had
repeatedly led the Roman legions to victory, yet, in the hour of peace,
or when his country did not require his services, he deemed no
employment more honourable than to labour for his own subsistence.

"What would all your late friends have said, to see the greatest men in
England, and the bravest officers of the army, crowding round the house
of one of those obscure farmers you have been accustomed to despise, and
entreating him in the most respectful language to leave his fields and
accept of the highest dignity in the government or army? Yet this was
actually the state of things at Rome; and it was characters like these,
with all the train of severe and rugged virtues, which elevated that
people above all the other nations of the world. And tell me, my little
friend, since chance, not merit, too frequently allots the situation in
which men are to act, had you rather, in a high station, appear to all
mankind unworthy of the advantages you enjoy, or, in a low one, seem
equal to the most exalted employments by your virtues and abilities?"

Such were the conversations which Mr Barlow frequently held with Tommy,
and which never failed to inspire him with new resolution to persevere.
Nor could he help being frequently affected by the comparison of Harry's
behaviour with his own. No cloud seemed ever to shade the features of
his friend, or alter the uniform sweetness of his temper; even the
repeated provocations he had received were either totally obliterated or
had made no disagreeable impressions. After discharging the necessary
duties of the day, he gave up the rest of his time to the amusement of
Tommy with so much zeal and affection that he could not help loving him
a thousand times better than before.

During the evening, too, Tommy frequently conversed with the honest
negro concerning the most remarkable circumstances of the country where
he was born. One night that he seemed peculiarly inquisitive, the Black
gave him the following account of himself:--

"I was born," said he, "in the neighbourhood of the river Gambia in
Africa. In _this_ country people are astonished at my colour, and start
at the sight of a black man, as if he did not belong to their species;
but _there_ everybody resembles me, and when the first white men landed
upon our coast, we were as much surprised with their appearance as you
can be with ours. In some parts of the world I have seen men of a yellow
hue, in others of a copper colour; and all have the foolish vanity to
despise their fellow-creatures as infinitely inferior to themselves.
There, indeed, they entertain these conceits from ignorance, but in this
country, where the natives pretend to superior reason, I have often
wondered they could be influenced by such a prejudice. Is a black horse
thought to be inferior to a white one in speed, in strength, or courage?
Is a white cow thought to give more milk, or a white dog to have a more
acute scent in pursuing the game? On the contrary, I have generally
found, in almost every country, that a pale colour in animals is
considered as a mark of weakness and inferiority. Why then should a
certain race of men imagine themselves superior to the rest, for the
very circumstance they despise in other animals?

"But, in the country where I was born, it is not only _man_ that
differs from what we see here, but every other circumstance. _Here_, for
a considerable part of the year you are chilled by frosts and snows, and
scarcely behold the presence of the sun, during that gloomy season which
is called the winter. With us, the sun is always present, pouring out
light and heat, and scorching us with his fiercest beams. In my country
we know no difference between the length of nights and days; all are of
equal length throughout the year, and present not that continual variety
which you see here; we have neither ice, nor frost, nor snow; the trees
never lose their leaves, and we have fruits in every season of the year.
During several months, indeed, we are scorched by unremitting heats,
which parch the ground, dry up the rivers, and afflict both men and
animals with intolerable thirst. In that season you may behold lions,
tigers, elephants, and a variety of other ferocious animals, driven from
their dark abodes in the midst of impenetrable forests, down to the
lower grounds and the sides of rivers; every night we hear their savage
yells, their cries of rage, and think ourselves scarcely safe in our
cottages. In this country you have reduced all other animals to
subjection, and have nothing to fear, except from each other. You even
shelter yourselves from the injuries of the weather, in mansions that
seem calculated to last for ever, in impenetrable houses of brick and
stone, that would have scarcely anything to fear from the whole animal
creation; but, with us, a few reeds twisted together, and perhaps daubed
over with slime or mud, compose the whole of our dwelling. Yet the
innocent negro would sleep as happy and contented as you do in your
palaces, provided you do not drag him by fraud and violence away, and
force him to endure all the excesses of your cruelty.

"It was in one of these cottages that I first remembered anything of
myself. A few stakes set in the ground, and interwoven with dry leaves,
covered at top with the spreading leaves of the palm, composed our
dwelling. Our furniture consisted of three or four earthen pipkins, in
which our food was dressed; a few mats woven with a silky kind of grass
to serve as beds; the instruments with which my mother turned the
ground, and the javelin, arrows, and lines which my father used in
fishing or the chase. In this country, and many others where I have
been, I observe that nobody thinks himself happy till he has got
together a thousand things which he does not want, and can never use;
you live in houses so big that they are fit to contain an army; you
cover yourselves with superfluous clothes that restrain all the motions
of your bodies; when you want to eat, you must have meat enough served
up to nourish a whole village; yet I have seen poor famished wretches
starving at your gate, while the master had before him at least a
hundred times as much as he could consume. We negroes, whom you treat as
savages, have different manners and different opinions. The first thing
that I can remember of myself, was the running naked about such a
cottage as I have described, with four of my little brothers and
sisters. I have observed your children here with astonishment; as soon
as they are born, it seems to be the business of all about them to
render them weak, helpless, and unable to use any of their limbs; the
little negro, on the contrary is scarcely born before he learns to crawl
about upon the ground. Unrestrained by bandages or ligatures, he comes
as soon and as easily to the perfect use of all his organs as any of the
beasts which surround him; before your children here are taught to
venture themselves upon their feet, he has the perfect use of his, and
can follow his mother in her daily labours.

"This, I remember, was my own case. Sometimes I used to go with my
mother to the field, where all the women of the village were assembled
to plant rice for their subsistence. The joyful songs which they used to
sing, amid their toils, delighted my infant ear, and when their daily
task was done, they danced together under the shade of spreading palms.
In this manner did they raise the simple food which was sufficient for
themselves and their children; yams, a root resembling your potato,
Indian corn, and, above all, rice: to this were added the fruits which
nature spontaneously produced in our woods, and the produce of the chase
and fishing. Yet with this we are as much contented as you are with all
your splendid tables, and enjoy a greater share of health and strength.
As soon as the fiery heat of the sun declined, you might behold the
master of every cottage reposing before his own door, and feasting upon
his mess of roots or fruits, with all his family around him. If a
traveller or stranger happened to come from a distant country, he was
welcome to enter into every house, and share the provisions of the
family; no door was barred against his entrance, no surly servant
insulted him for his poverty; he entered wherever he pleased, set
himself down with the family, and then pursued his journey, or reposed
himself in quiet till the next morning. In each of our towns there is
generally a large building, where the elder part of the society are
accustomed to meet in the shade of the evening, and converse upon a
variety of subjects. The young and vigorous divert themselves with
dances and other pastimes, and the children of different ages amuse
themselves with a thousand sports and gambols adapted to their age; some
aim their little arrows at marks, or dart their light and blunted
javelins at each other, to form themselves for the exercises of war and
the chase; others wrestle naked upon the sand, or run in sportive races
with a degree of activity which I have never seen among the Europeans,
who pretend to be our masters.

"I have described to you the building of our houses; simple as they are,
they answer every purpose of human life, and every man is his own
architect. A hundred or two of these edifices compose our towns, which
are generally surrounded by lofty hedges of thorns, to secure us from
the midnight attacks of wild beasts, with only a single entrance, which
is carefully closed at night"----

"You talk," said Tommy, "of wild beasts; pray, have you many in your
country?"

"Yes, master," said the Black, "we have them of many sorts, equally
dreadful and ferocious. First, we have the _lion_, which I daresay you
have heard of, and perhaps seen. He is bigger than the largest mastiff,
and infinitely stronger and more fierce; his paws alone are such that,
with a single blow, he is able to knock down a man, and almost every
other animal; but these paws are armed with claws so sharp and dreadful
that nothing can resist their violence. When he roars, every beast of
the forest betakes himself to flight, and even the boldest hunter can
scarcely hear it without dismay. Sometimes the most valiant of our youth
assemble in bands, arm themselves with arrows and javelins, and go to
the chase of these destructive animals. When they have found his
retreat, they generally make a circle round, uttering shouts and cries,
and clashing their arms, to rouse him to resistance. The lion,
meanwhile, looks round upon his assailants with indifference or
contempt; neither their number, nor their horrid shouts, nor the glitter
of their radiant arms, can daunt him for an instant. At length he begins
to lash his sides with his long and nervous tail--a certain sign of
rising rage--his eyes sparkle with destructive fires; and if the number
of the hunters is very great, he perhaps moves slowly on. But this he is
not permitted to do; a javelin thrown at him from behind wounds him in
the flank, and compels him to turn. Then you behold him roused to fury
and desperation: neither wounds, nor streaming blood, nor a triple row
of barbed spears, can prevent him from springing upon the daring Black
who has wounded him. Should he reach him in the attack, it is certain
death; but generally the hunter, who is at once contending for glory and
his own life, and is inured to danger, avoids him by a nimble leap; and
all his companions hasten to his assistance. Thus is the lion pressed
and wounded on every side; his rage is ineffectual, and only exhausts
his strength the faster; a hundred wounds are pouring out his blood at
once; and at length he bites the ground in the agonies of death, and
yields the victory, though unconquered. When he is dead, he is carried
back in triumph by the hunters, as a trophy of their courage. All the
village rushes out at once; the young, the old, women and children,
uttering joyful shouts, and praising the valour of their champions. The
elders admire his prodigious size, his mighty limbs, his dreadful fangs,
and perhaps repeat tales of their own exploits; the women seem to
tremble at their fierce enemy, even in his death, while the men compel
their children to approach the monster and tinge their little weapons in
his blood. All utter joyful exclamations, and feasts are made in every
house, to which the victors are invited as the principal guests. These
are intended at once to reward those who have performed so gallant an
achievement, and to encourage a spirit of enterprise in the rest of the
nation."

"What a dreadful kind of hunting must this be!" said Tommy; "but I
suppose if any one meets a lion alone, it is impossible to resist him."

"Not always," answered the Black: "I will tell you what I once was
witness to myself. My father was reckoned not only the most skilful
hunter, but one of the bravest of our tribe; innumerable are the wild
beasts which have fallen beneath his arm. One evening, when the
inhabitants of the whole village were assembled at their sports and
dances, a monstrous lion, allured, I suppose, by the smell of human
flesh, burst unexpectedly upon them, without warning them of his
approach by roaring, as he commonly does. As they were unarmed, and
unprepared for defence, all but my father instantly fled, trembling, to
their huts; but he, who had never yet turned his back upon any beast of
the forest, drew from his side a kind of knife or dagger, which he
constantly wore, and, placing one knee and one hand upon the ground,
waited the approach of his terrible foe. The lion instantly rushed upon
him with a fury not to be described; but my father received him upon the
point of his weapon with so steady and so composed an aim, that he
buried it several inches in his belly. The beast attacked him a second
time, and a second time received a dreadful wound, not, however without
laying bare one of my father's sides with a sudden stroke of his claws.
The rest of the village then rushed in, and had soon despatched the lion
with innumerable wounds.

"This exploit appeared so extraordinary that it spread my father's fame
throughout the whole country, and gave him the name of the _undaunted
hunter_, as an honourable distinction from the neighbourhood. Under such
a parent it was not long before I was taught every species of the chase.
At first my father only suffered me to pursue stags and other feeble
animals, or took me in his canoe to fish. Soon, however, I was intrusted
with a bow and arrows, and placed with many other children and young men
to defend our rice-fields from the depredations of the _river-horse_.
Rice (it is necessary to observe) is a plant that requires great
moisture in the soil; all our plantations, therefore, are made by the
side of rivers, in the soft fertile soil which is overflowed in the
rainy season. But when the grain is almost ripe, we are forced to defend
it from a variety of hurtful animals, that would otherwise deprive us of
the fruits of our labours; among these one of the principal is the
animal I have mentioned. His size and bulk are immense, being twice the
bigness of the largest ox which I have seen in this country: he has four
legs, which are short and thick; a head of a monstrous magnitude, and
jaws that are armed with teeth of a prodigious size and strength;
besides two prominent tusks, which threaten destruction to all
assailants.

"But this animal, though so large and strong, is chiefly an inhabitant
of the river, where he lives upon fish and water-roots. It is sometimes
a curious but a dreadful sight, when a boat is gliding over a smooth
part of the stream of unusual depth and clearness, to look down and
behold this monstrous creature travelling along the bottom several yards
below the surface. Whenever this happens, the boatman instantly paddles
another way; for such is the strength of the creature, that he is able
to overset a bark of moderate size by rising under it, or to tear out a
plank with his fangs, and expose those who are in it to the dangers of
an unexpected shipwreck. All the day he chiefly hides himself in the
water, and preys upon fish; but during the gloom of night he issues from
the river, and invades the fields of standing corn, which he would soon
lay desolate, were he not driven back by the shouts and cries of those
who are stationed to defend them.

"At this work I had assisted several successive nights, till we were
almost wearied with watching. At length one of the most enterprising of
our young men proposed that we should no longer content ourselves with
driving back the enemy, but boldly attack him, and punish him for his
temerity. With this purpose we concealed ourselves in a convenient
spot, till we had seen one of the river-horses issue from the water, and
advance a considerable way into our plantations; then we rushed from our
hiding-place with furious shouts and cries, and endeavoured to intercept
his return; but the beast, confiding in his superior strength, advanced
slowly on, snarling horribly, and gnashing his dreadful tusks; and in
this manner he opened his way through the thickest of our battalions. In
vain we poured upon him on every side our darts and arrows, and every
missive weapon; so well defended was he in an impenetrable hide, that
every weapon either rebounded as from a wall, or glanced aside without
in the least annoying. At length one of the boldest of our youth
advanced unguardedly upon him, and endeavoured to wound him from a
shorter distance; but the furious beast rushed upon him with an
unexpected degree of swiftness, ripped up his body with a single stroke
of his enormous tusk, and then, seizing him in his furious jaws, lifted
up his mangled body as if in triumph, and crushed him into a bleeding
and promiscuous mass.

"Fear instantly seized upon our company; all involuntarily retreated,
and seemed inclined to quit the unequal combat; all but myself, who,
inflamed with grief and rage for the loss of my companion, determined
either to revenge his death or perish in the attempt. Seeing, therefore,
that it was in vain to attack the animal in the usual manner, I chose
the sharpest arrow, and fitted it to the bowstring; then, with a cool
unterrified aim, observing him moving nimbly into the river, I
discharged it full at his broad and glaring eye-ball with such success,
that the barbed point penetrated even to his brain, and the monster
fell expiring to the ground.

[Illustration: "I discharged it full at his broad and glaring eye-ball
with such success, that the barbed point penetrated even to his brain."
_P. 523._]

"This action, magnified beyond its deserts, gained me universal applause
throughout the hamlet; I was from that time looked upon as one of the
most valiant and fortunate of our youth. The immense body of the monster
which I had slain was cut to pieces, and borne in triumph to the
village. All the young women received me with songs of joy and
congratulations; the young men adopted me as their leader in every
hazardous expedition; and the elders applauded me with such expressions
of esteem as filled my ignorant heart with vanity and exultation.

"But what was more agreeable to me than all the rest, my father received
me with transport, and, pressing me to his bosom with tears of joy, told
me that now he could die with pleasure, since I had exceeded his most
sanguine expectations. 'I,' said he, 'have not lived inactive or
inglorious; I have transfixed the tiger with my shafts; I have, though
alone, attacked the lion in his rage, the terror of the woods, the
fiercest of animals; even the elephant has been compelled to turn his
back and fly before my javelin; but never, in the pride of my youth and
strength, did I achieve such an exploit as this.' He then went into his
cabin and brought forth the bow and fatal arrows which he was accustomed
to use in the chase. 'Take them, take them,' said he, 'my son, and
rescue my weaker arm from a burthen which it is no longer destined to
sustain. Age is now creeping on; my blood begins to cool, my sinews
slacken, and I am no longer equal to the task of supporting the glories
of our race. That care shall now be thine; and with a firmer hand shalt
thou henceforth use these weapons against the beasts of the forest and
the enemies of our country.'"

Such was the account which the negro gave to Tommy, in different
conversations, of his birth and education. His curiosity was gratified
with the recital, and his heart expanded in the same proportion that his
knowledge improved. He reflected, with shame and contempt, upon the
ridiculous prejudices he had once entertained; he learned to consider
all men as his brethren and equals; and the foolish distinctions which
pride had formerly suggested were gradually obliterated from his mind.
Such a change in his sentiments rendered him more mild, more obliging,
more engaging than ever; he became the delight of all the family; and
Harry, although he had always loved him, now knew no limits to his
affection.

One day Tommy was surprised by an unexpected visit from his father, who
met him with open arms, and told him that he was now come to take him
back to his own house. "I have heard," said he, "such an account of your
present behaviour, that the past is entirely forgotten; and I begin to
glory in owning you for a son." He then embraced him with the transports
of an affectionate father, who indulges the strongest sentiments of his
heart, but sentiments he had long been forced to restrain.

Tommy returned his father's caresses with genuine warmth, but with a
degree of respect and humility he had once been little accustomed to
use. "I will accompany you home, sir," said he, "with the greatest
readiness; for I wish to see my mother, and hope to give her some
satisfaction by my future behaviour. You have both had too much to
complain of in the past, and I am unworthy of such affectionate
parents." He then turned his face aside and shed a tear of real virtue
and gratitude, which he instantly wiped away, as unworthy the composure
and fortitude of his new character.

"But, sir," added he, "I hope you will not object to my detaining you a
little longer, while I return my acknowledgments to all the family, and
take my leave of Harry." "Surely," said Mr Merton, "you can entertain no
doubt on that subject; and to give you every opportunity of discharging
all your duties to a family to which you owe so much, I intend to take a
dinner with Mr Sandford, whom I now see coming home, and then to return
with you in the evening."

At this instant, farmer Sandford approached, and very respectfully
saluting Mr Merton, invited him to walk in. But Mr Merton, after
returning his civility, drew him aside, as if he had some private
business to communicate. When they were alone, he made him every
acknowledgment that gratitude could suggest, "but words," added Mr
Merton, "are very insufficient to return the favours I have received,
for it is to your excellent family, together with the virtuous Mr
Barlow, that I owe the preservation of my son. Let me therefore entreat
you to accept of what this pocket-book contains, as a slight proof of my
sentiments, and lay it out in whatever manner you please for the
advantage of your family."

Mr Sandford, who was a man both of sense and humour, took the book, and
examining the inside, found that it contained bank-notes to the amount
of some hundred pounds. He then carefully shut it up again, and,
returning it to Mr Merton, told him that he was infinitely obliged to
him for the generosity which prompted him to such a princely act; but,
as to the present itself, he must not be offended if he declined it. Mr
Merton, still more astonished at such disinterestedness, pressed him
with every argument he could think of; he desired him to consider the
state of his family; his daughters unprovided for, his son himself, with
dispositions that might adorn a throne, brought up to labour, and his
own advancing age, which demanded ease and respite, and an increase of
the conveniences of life.

"And what," replied the honest farmer, "is it but these conveniences of
life that are the ruin of all the nation? When I was a young man, Master
Merton (and that is near forty years ago), people in my condition
thought of nothing but doing their duty to God and man, and labouring
hard; this brought down a blessing upon their heads, and made them
thrive in all their worldly concerns. When I was a boy, farmers did not
lie droning in bed, as they do now, till six or seven; my father, I
believe, was as good a judge of business as any in the neighbourhood,
and turned as straight a furrow as any ploughman in the county of Devon;
that silver cup which I intend to have the honour of drinking your
health out of to-day at dinner--that very cup was won by him at the
great ploughing-match near Axminster. Well, my father used to say that a
farmer was not worth a farthing that was not in the field by four; and
my poor dear mother, too, the best-tempered woman in the world, she
always began milking exactly at five; and if a single soul was to be
found in bed after four in the summer, you might have heard her from one
end of the farm to the other. I would not disparage anybody, or
anything, my good sir; but those were times indeed; the women then knew
something about the management of a house; it really was quite a
pleasure to hear my poor mother lecture the servants; and the men were
men indeed. Pray, did you ever hear the story of father's being at
Truro, and throwing the famous Cornish wrestler, _squinting Dick_ the
miner?"

Mr Merton began to be convinced that, whatever other qualities good Mr
Sandford might have, he did not excel in brevity, and therefore
endeavoured in still stronger terms to overcome the delicacy of the
farmer, and prevail upon him to accept his present.

But the good farmer pursued his point thus: "Thank you, thank you, my
dear sir, a thousand times for your goodwill; but, as to the money, I
must beg your pardon if I persist in refusing it. Formerly, sir, as I
was saying, we were all happy and healthy, and our affairs prospered,
because we never thought about the conveniences of life; now, I hear of
nothing else. One neighbour (for I will not mention names) brings his
son up to go a-shooting with gentlemen; another sends his to market upon
a blood-horse with a plated bridle; and then the girls--the girls; there
is fine work indeed!--they must have their hats and feathers and riding
habits; their heads as big as bushels, and even their hind-quarters
stuck out with cork or pasteboard; but scarcely one of them can milk a
cow, or churn, or bake, or do any one thing that is necessary in a
family; so that, unless the government will send them all to this new
settlement, which I have heard so much of, and bring us a cargo of
plain, honest housewives, who have never been at boarding-schools, I
cannot conceive how we farmers are to get wives."

Mr Merton laughed very heartily at this sally, and told him that he
would venture to assert it was not so at _his_ house. "Not quite so bad
indeed," said the farmer; "my wife was bred up under a notable mother,
and though she must have her tea every afternoon, is, in the main, a
very good sort of woman. She has brought her daughters up a little
better than usual, but I can assure you she and I have had many a good
argument on the subject. Not but she approves their milking, spinning,
and making themselves useful, but she would fain have them genteel,
Master Merton; all women now are mad after gentility; and, when once
_gentility_ begins, there is an end of _industry_. Now, were they to
hear of such a sum as you have generously offered, there would be no
peace in the house. My wenches instead of _Deb_ and _Kate_, would be
_Miss Deborah_ and _Miss Catherine_; in a little time they must be sent
to boarding-school to learn French and music, and wriggling about the
room; and when they come back, who must boil the pot, or make the
pudding, or sweep the house, or serve the pigs? Did you ever hear of
Miss Juliana, or Miss Harriet, or Miss Carolina, doing such vulgar
things?"

Mr Merton was very much struck with the honest farmer's method of
expressing himself, and could not help internally allowing the truth of
his representations; yet he still pressed him to accept his present, and
reminded him of the improvement of his farm.

"Thank you, again and again," replied the farmer; "but the whole
generation of the Sandfords have been brought up to labour with their
own hands for these hundred years; and during all that time there has
not been a dishonest person, a gentleman, or a madman amongst us. And
shall I be the first to break the customs of the family, and perhaps
bring down a curse on all our heads? What could I have more if I were a
lord or a macaroni, as I think you call them? I have plenty of victuals
and work, good firing, clothes, warm house, a little for the poor, and,
between you and I, something perhaps in a corner to set my children off
with if they behave well. Ah! neighbour, neighbour, if you did but know
the pleasure of holding plough after a good team of horses, and then
going tired to bed, perhaps you'd wish to have been brought up a farmer
too. But, in one word, as well as a thousand, I shall never forget the
extraordinary kindness of your offer; but if you would not ruin a whole
family of innocent people that love you, e'en consent to leave us as we
are."

Mr Merton then seeing the fixed determination of the farmer, and feeling
the justice of his coarse but strong morality, was obliged, however
reluctantly, to desist; and Mrs Sandford coming to invite them to
dinner, he entered the house, and paid his respects to the family.

After the cloth was removed, and Mr Sandford had twice or thrice
replenished his silver mug, the only piece of finery in his house,
little Harry came running in, with so much alacrity and heedlessness
that he tore Miss Deborah's best apron, and he had nearly precipitated
Miss Catherine's new cap into the fire, for which the young ladies and
his mother rebuked him with some acrimony. But Harry, after begging
pardon with his usual good-humour, cried, "Father, father, here is the
prettiest team of horses, all matched, and of a colour, with new
harness, the most complete I ever saw in my life; and they have stopped
at our back-door, and the man says they are brought for you!" Farmer
Sandford was just then in the middle of his history of the
ploughing-match at Axminster; but the relation of his son had such an
involuntary effect upon him, that he started up, overset the liquor and
the table, and making a hasty apology to Mr Merton, ran out to see these
wonderful horses.

Presently he returned, in equal admiration, with his son. "Master
Merton," said he, "I did not think you had been so good a judge of a
horse. I suppose they are a new purchase, which you want to have my
opinion upon; and I can assure you they are the true Suffolk
sorrels--the first breed of working-horses in the kingdom; and these are
some of the best of their kind." "Such as they are," answered Mr Merton,
"they are yours; and I cannot think, after the obligations I am under to
your family, that you will do me so great a displeasure as to refuse."

Mr Sandford stood for some time in mute astonishment; but at length he
was beginning the civilest speech he could think of, to refuse so great
a present, when Tommy, coming up, took him by the hand, and begged him
not to deny to his father and himself the first favour they had ever
asked. "Besides," said he, "this present is less to yourself than to
little Harry; and surely, after having lived so long in your family, you
will not turn me out with disgrace, as if I had misbehaved." Here Harry
himself interposed, and, considering less the value of the present than
the feelings and intentions of the giver, he took his father by the
hand, and besought him to oblige Master Merton and his father. "Were it
any one else, I would not say a word," added he; "but I know the
generosity of Mr Merton and the goodness of Master Tommy so well, that
they will receive more pleasure from giving, than you from taking the
horses, though I must confess they are such as would do credit to
anybody; and they beat farmer Knowles all to nothing, which have long
been reckoned the best team in all the country."

This last reflection, joined with all that had preceded, overcame the
delicacy of Mr Sandford; and he at length consented to order the horses
to be led into his stable.

And now Mr Merton, having made the most affectionate acknowledgments to
all this worthy and happy family, among whom he did not forget the
honest Black, whom he promised to provide for, summoned his son to
accompany him home. Tommy arose, and with the sincerest gratitude bade
adieu to Harry and all the rest. "I shall not be long without you," said
he to Harry; "to your example I owe most of the little good that I can
boast: you have taught me how much better it is to be useful than rich
or fine; how much more amiable to be good than to be great. Should I
ever be tempted to relapse, even for an instant, into any of my former
habits, I will return hither for instruction, and I hope you will again
receive me." Saying this, he shook his friend Harry affectionately by
the hand, and, with watery eyes, accompanied his father home.


THE END.




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Illustrations were interleaved between pages in the original text. In
this version, they have been moved close to the relevant section of the
text.

Inconsistent hyphenation for bare-footed" / "barefooted", "fire-side" /
"fireside", and "good-will" / "goodwill" has been retained. Page numbers
are documented in the source of the associated HTML version.


Here is a list of the minor typographical corrections made:

  - "off" changed to "of" on Page 7
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  - "happend" changed to "happened" on Page 92
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  - Single quote added after "appearance." on Page 127
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  - Quote added after "distress." on Page 149
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    280
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    on Page 355
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    399
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  - Quote added after "miner?" on Page 528
  - Comma changed to a period after "industry" on Page 529
  - Quote added after "things?" on Page 529





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