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HENRY TR1PP; 
 
 OTHER STORIES 
 
 YOOflg, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 HAYES & ZELL, PUBLISHERS, 
 193 MARKET STREET. 
 
1 1 
 
 "'l]llj 
 
HENHY TIUPP; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER STORIES, 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 BY MRS. LOVECHILD. / 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 HAYES & ZELL, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 193 MARKET STREET. 
 
 
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the .year 1849, by 
 WILLIAM LOCKEN. 
 
 In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States, 
 in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Stereotyped by George Charles, 
 No. 9 Sansom Street, Fhila. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Henry Tripp, or Shaking the Crab-tree, - - - 5 
 The Generous Knife-grinder, ----- * 31 
 
 The Baron du Moley, ...... 35 
 
 Heroism of Joseph Ignace, - - - - - - 39 
 
 The Boatman, .--45 
 
 John Howard, -------- 64 
 
 The Truant, 78 
 
 Preservation of two Brothers, - - - - - - 81 
 
 The Caliph Reclaimed, ------ 89 
 
 The Boston Boys, ---93 
 
 (3) 
 
 975908 
 
HENRY TRIPP: 
 
 OR, SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 " Up in the morning early, 
 
 The birds are on the wing ; 
 The air is full of music ,s,w*ek 
 How merrily they sing." 
 
 HERE was once a very pretty 
 farm in Berkshire, called the 
 Vale. It was really a delight- 
 ful spot, and any one who 
 w r as not desperately wicked might have 
 been quite happy there. Nature seemed 
 as if she had specially selected it for some 
 
 5 
 
f} SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 kindly-disposed person, and there was one 
 of the kindest farmers in the world lived 
 there. He was a comfortable-looking, rosy- 
 faced man, with a most pleasing counte- 
 nance ; and no one could talk to him or be 
 m his company without feeling happy. 
 He seemed to live and thrive upon the hap- 
 piness of others, for when he saw them 
 happy he was the more so himself, and life 
 seemed very sweet to all who worked for 
 him and with him. 
 
 He was industrious, and therefore he was 
 prosperous ; he was prosperous, and there- 
 fore he was happy ; for his industry pro- 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 7 
 
 duced both health and comfort, and the 
 means of doing good to others. But though 
 God blessed his labours with plenty every 
 year, and his barns were always well stored, 
 and his stock abundant beyond that of 
 most others farmers, yet he was frugal. He 
 never wasted any thing, nor would he allow 
 others to do so. He knew that though he 
 had plenty, yet there were many thousands 
 of persons to whom that which might be 
 w r asted would be a blessing ; and if there 
 was any spare milk, or any thing else not 
 likely to be used in the farm-house, he al- 
 ways had it distributed to the deserving 
 
8 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 poor who lived near him. And he was so 
 wise in the distribution of his kindness ! 
 He did not give always to one poor person 
 and never to another equally deserving, but 
 he had it all shared amongst them in turns. 
 He knew well where each poor person lived, 
 for he often called to see those who were 
 deserving, and he w r ould tell the dairymaid 
 to send down to any one (whose w r ants oc- 
 curred to him) to say that there was some- 
 thing for them at the farm. By this means 
 he prevented poor neighbours from becom- 
 ing jealous of each other, and no one de- 
 pended upon charity from the farm, instead 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 9 
 
 of working industriously, as they ought, for 
 their living. 
 
 Now, it may perhaps appear to my little 
 readers that it was all very easy for Farmer 
 Tripp to he kind and good-natured hecause 
 he had plenty ; but they must not conclude 
 that having plenty always includes a good- 
 will towards our fellow creatures,, and a de- 
 sire to benefit them. 
 
 Oh, no ! There are very many persons 
 who have more thousands of dollars than 
 they know what to do with, and yet they 
 never think of the poor ; they are so com- 
 fortable themselves that they think no one 
 
10 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 else wants. But I think I hear some of 
 my little readers say, " What a pity it is 
 Farmer Tripp had no little boys and girls ; 
 for they must have been very happy chil- 
 dren, and their mother must have been 
 a happy mother to know that they had so 
 kind a father !" But I will at once ease 
 their fears in this respect, by telling them 
 that there was a Mrs. Tripp, and there 
 were also two sons and one daughter, and, 
 as might be expected, they were very 
 happy. Now I have told you that Farmer 
 Tripp was prosperous and happy, and I 
 will also tell you, that when once a man 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 1 1 
 
 has become settled in the world, he seldom 
 fails, unless from some fault of his own. 
 or from some unforeseen and serious misfor- 
 tune, and that was not the case with Far- 
 mer Tripp. So we will see how the two 
 sons got on, that you, my little friends, 
 may take a lesson from their life. 
 
 Harry and John were the names of these 
 two sons. Harry was the eldest, and he 
 was of a good-natured disposition, and did 
 no harm to any one ; but then he did very 
 little, if any, good, and he scarcely ever 
 thought of being kind or attentive to his 
 parents, or to any one else, unless John put 
 
12 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 him in mind of it by setting him an exam- 
 ple. Harry had nothing vicious or unkind 
 about him ; but he seemed too comfortable 
 himself, like the rich persons I have men- 
 tioned before, to think much of the happi- 
 ness of others. But it was a very united 
 family, though there was this defect in 
 Harry's character ; and Farmer Tripp took 
 great pains with his sons. He set them a 
 good example, which is a very important 
 thing, and he also told them that they 
 must be industrious while they were young ; 
 for he should not always be with them to 
 watch over their welfare. He gave certain 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 13 
 
 parts of the farm in charge by turns to 
 each; sometimes one had the barns and 
 work of the homestead, as it is called, and 
 the other, the out-of-door work, and so they 
 changed about. They had been to school, 
 and were possessed of a good plain educa- 
 tion, which was suited to the state of life 
 in which they were placed, and they were 
 in every way prepared to make progress in 
 the world. 
 
 Well, years went on in this way, and at 
 last Farmer Tripp died, much to the regret 
 of every one who knew him. He died 
 rich, and divided his property amongst his 
 
14 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 family in such a way that all were satisfied. 
 He left all the property at the farm to 
 Harry, and to John he left a sum of money 
 sufficient for him to begin farming ; and 
 they were bound by their father's will to 
 allow their mother and sister enough to 
 maintain them in the same comfort they 
 had enjoyed when their father was alive. 
 
 They had a fair and even start in the 
 world with equal means, and any one would 
 have thought that each would become as 
 wealthy and as much beloved as their 
 father had been ; but we shall see that it is 
 possible for well directed people to go wrong. 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 15 
 
 John, with the money his father had left 
 him, took a good farm in the same county, 
 which he cultivated with great care and 
 skill ; and he met with the same success, 
 and the same affectionate regard from all 
 who knew him that his father had done. 
 He was now a man, and had little children 
 of his own ; but his friends, and all those 
 who knew him, alw r ays called him Master 
 John, because they had been so long used 
 to call him so. 
 
 All was peace and prosperity; and all 
 things w r ent on with him as well as 
 he, and his best friends could wish: so 
 
16 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 he had reason to be satisfied, and he was 
 so. 
 
 We will now take a peep at Harry and 
 his affairs, and see how he got on. 
 
 Every thing at the Vale went on for 
 some time much in the same way it had 
 done during old Farmer Tripp's time. All 
 were accustomed to the ways of their 
 former master, and they felt that those 
 ways were right ; for they had made every 
 one happy. We have said, however, that 
 Harry (I suppose we must now call him 
 Mr. Harry) was of an easy disposition, and 
 easy dispositions do not always obtain sue- 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 17 
 
 cess. It is a difficult thing for any one to 
 know how to conduct himself under the 
 sudden possession of wealth, and so Mr. 
 Harry Tripp found it. 
 
 When he became his own master, as it 
 is sometimes called, he of course felt that 
 he had no longer the restraint of a father 
 over him, and he thought he might indulge 
 himself a little by joining in the pursuits 
 of his rich neighbours. He now and then 
 went out with them fox-hunting, or stag- 
 hunting, and after fox-hunting came hunt- 
 ing dinners, and hunting dinners brought 
 late hours, and late hours did not bring 
 
18 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 early rising, so Mr. Harry Tripp was often 
 in bed when every one else was at work. 
 
 Now he might have done these things 
 once now and then, and no ill perhaps 
 would have come of it ; but it is very diffi- 
 cult to fix a boundary to such pleasures, 
 and he indulged in them very freely. 
 
 Then, after a while, it became known 
 pretty well in the farm that Mr. Harry 
 Tripp did not rise very early, and his ex- 
 ample was not lost upon his servants. They 
 thought he was what is called a jolly fel- 
 low, and they indulged themselves late at 
 the ale-house, in drinking and talking about 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 19 
 
 the hunting abilities of their master how 
 well he could leap over a hedge or a ditch, 
 how certain he was always to come in at 
 the death of the fox or the stag, and such 
 like conversation, till it was very late ; and 
 late hours did not make them rise early 
 any more than their master ; but they felt 
 no fear, for their master was sure to be in 
 bed till eight o'clock, and there was plenty 
 of time between four o'clock (the time when 
 they should have been up) and eight, and 
 it was very often much nearer eight than 
 four when the business of the farm com- 
 menced. 
 
20 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 Well, Mr. Harry Tripp did not see any 
 of these goings on ; but he severely felt 
 them in the end, as we shall see. 
 
 About ten years after the death of old 
 Farmer Tripp, it was talked about the 
 neighbourhood that Mr. Harry Tripp'a 
 affairs were all going wrong. The family 
 w r ere not so respectably dressed as they 
 used to be, and every thing about the farm 
 looked poor. At last it was reported that 
 Mr. Harry Tripp wanted to borrow money, 
 which astonished some, but made others 
 shake their heads, as if to say, Cfc I expected 
 it would be so." He had tried all his hunt- 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 21 
 
 ing friends, but they were much more 
 ready to give him an excuse than to lend 
 him money ; so he was at last driven to ask 
 his brother. 
 
 John Tripp had become, as we have 
 read in the early part of this story, a rich 
 man for a farmer, and a few hundreds, or 
 even thousands of pounds were always at 
 his command for a good purpose. But he 
 had watched his brother's ways for some 
 time with sorrow, and he met him on such 
 an occasion as that of borrowing money 
 with much grief. 
 
 Three hundred pounds was the sum Mr. 
 
22 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 Harry Tripp wanted to borrow, and when 
 he had told all the supposed causes of his 
 misfortunes, he expressed his hope that his 
 brother would save him from that ruin 
 which must follow if he refused. 
 
 Mr. John listened attentively, and with 
 many kind feelings, and at last addressed 
 his brother thus: "Harry," said he, 
 " trouble will come upon some of us when 
 we do not expect it, and if there can be 
 any consolation in such a case, it is the con- 
 viction that we could not have prevented 
 it. I do not know whether you have felt 
 that conviction ; I hope you have. But I 
 
SHAKIJNG THE CRAB-TREE. 23 
 
 will tell you what I will do for you. I will 
 not lend you what you ask, but I will GIVE 
 you three hundred pounds at the end of a 
 month from this time if you will go and 
 shake the old crab-tree, which grows at the 
 farthest end of your farm, every morn- 
 ing, at four o'clock, during the ensuing 
 month." 
 
 Harry's heart, which was very sad when 
 he first met his brother, now bounded with 
 joy, and such joy as he had not felt for a 
 long time. He was filled with astonish- 
 ment that John should be so unexpectedly 
 kind, and he promised most earnestly to 
 
24 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 shake the crab tree to pieces if that would 
 please him. 
 
 The brothers then parted, and Mr. 
 Harry Tripp wondered, as he travelled 
 along the road home, what could be his 
 brother's object in making so strange a re- 
 quest, and he at last decided it w r as a whim. 
 He, however, went home well pleased, and 
 that night went to bed early. 
 
 Now Mr. Harry Tripp was a sensible 
 man, and knew very well how farming 
 business should be conducted, and it was 
 not ignorance, but negligence that occa- 
 sioned his troubles. He awoke next morn- 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 25 
 
 ing and dressed himself, but on going down 
 stairs he found that it was past six o'clock. 
 He felt very much vexed that he had over- 
 slept himself, but thought that as every one 
 was so still in the house that the clock was 
 wrong; so he called for Sally, the house 
 servant, to ask her whether the clock was 
 right; but Sally was soundly asleep. He 
 then called Betty, the dairy-maid ; but 
 Betty was asleep too. He next called Tom, 
 who looked after the horses, but Tom was 
 asleep also. He then felt sure that the 
 clock was wrong; so he went into the 
 high road, and ventured to ask a stranger 
 
26 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 passing by, who told him it was nearly 
 seven o'clock. 
 
 Mr. Harry returned pretty quickly to 
 the house, and gave them all proof that he 
 at least w r as up. All excused themselves 
 on account of over sleeping, and wondered 
 what accident had made their master get 
 up so very early, and all passed off amidst 
 his scoldings and angry looks. That even- 
 ing Farmer Tripp again went to bed bent 
 on fulfilling his promise about the crab- 
 tree. When he awoke, however, and went 
 down stairs, he found that it was past five 
 o'clock, and again he was angry with him- 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 27 
 
 self. He, however, walked out into the 
 farm-yard, and in walking round the build- 
 ings observed that none of his servants were 
 at their work ; but he saw a strange man 
 coming out of his barn with a sack of 
 wheat on his back; and on Mr. Harry 
 asking where he was going to with it, he 
 said, " no where ;" and, throwing it down 
 violently against Mr. Tripp, laid him 
 prostrate on the ground, and made his 
 escape. 
 
 Long did the farmer wait for his servants 
 to appear. One by one they dropped in, 
 each one as much astonished at the sight of 
 
28 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 his master as if he had been an apparition, 
 but all prepared with a plausible excuse. 
 
 It was many days before Farmer Tripp 
 could get up so early as four o'clock, but 
 he always found some rew 7 ard for his early 
 rising, by detecting the evil doings of his 
 servants. One morning he found a valu- 
 able cow in the barn, eating new wheat, 
 which might have killed her, and there 
 was no one at hand to prevent her. An- 
 other morning he found a man quietly 
 driving away several sheep into an adjoin- 
 ing wood, which he meant to steal. Many, 
 very many, were the rewards of this sort 
 
SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. g 
 
 which he met with, each morning that he 
 went forth. 
 
 The report now went about that Farmer 
 Tripp had become a reformed man, and 
 that good must come of it. His neigh- 
 bours welcomed him, and those who had 
 before refused to trust him, now showed 
 no reluctance. He saw clearly what his 
 brother's scheme was in telling him to 
 shake the old crab -tree at four o'clock in 
 the morning. He persevered in his task, 
 though conviction had soon come upon 
 him forcibly, and at the end of the month 
 how delighted was he to see his brother 
 
30 SHAKING THE CRAB-TREE. 
 
 John ride up to the door to fulfil his pro- 
 mise as faithfully as Harry had performed 
 his strange commission. 
 
 It was a gentle, hut effective reproof, and 
 one that did credit both to John's head and 
 heart ; and it caused a warm attachment 
 between the brothers, which lasted as long 
 as they lived. 
 
 
gjm 
 
 THE GENEROUS KNIFE-GRINDER. 
 
 NTHONY BONAFOX, 
 
 aged forty years, a na- 
 tive of the department 
 of Cantal in France, ex- 
 ercised in Paris the trade 
 of a knife-grinder, and 
 lodged in the same house with a poor widow, 
 Mrs. Drouillant, who was sixty years of age. 
 Numerous testimonials witnessed the 
 merit and misfortunes of this woman. She had 
 had twelve children, and had brought them 
 
 (31) 
 
32 THE GENEROUS KNIFE-GRINDER. 
 
 all up respectably. There remained to her 
 but one, a boy of twelve years old when 
 her husband died. 
 
 This unfortunate event reduced her to 
 absolute want and deprived her of the 
 means of giving an education and a trade 
 to her son. The knife-grinder, who had 
 no means of support but the product of his 
 daily labours, was touched with the mis- 
 fortunes of the mother and the destitute 
 condition of the son. He began by giving 
 them some assistance, which the widow 
 gratefully acknowledged. 
 
 Soon after the widow had an attack of 
 

 THE GENEROUS KNIFE-GRINDER. 33 
 
 paralysis ; Bonafox opposed the proposition 
 to convey her to the hospital, and made 
 sacrifices to enable her to remain and re- 
 ceive medical treatment at home. 
 
 Her son was bound apprentice to a stove- 
 maker. The worthy knife-grinder fur- 
 nished what was necessary for his support 
 and bought his clothes. The second attack 
 of paralysis fell still more heavily upon the 
 widow; she w r as deprived of the use of 
 one of her arms, and could not walk with- 
 out a crutch. This new misfortune only 
 stimulated still more the zeal and benevo- 
 lence of Bonafox. He made still greater 
 
 3 
 
34 T HE GENEROUS KNIFE-GRINDER. 
 
 sacrifices to assist her and her son, who 
 was thus enabled to complete the term of 
 his apprenticeship. This long-continued 
 and touching benevolence of a man in the 
 humblest walk of life is worthy to be pro- 
 posed as an example to those who enjoy 
 more extensive means of rendering assist- 
 ance to the unfortunate. 
 
 

 THE BARON DU MOLEY. 
 
 AEON DU MOLEY 
 
 auditor to the French 
 council of state, w r as 
 appointed in 1810 to 
 the office of prefect of 
 Cote d'Or, In the 
 prime of life he was enjoying a prosperous 
 fortune in the society of a charming family, 
 and surrounded hy a circle of attached 
 friends. 
 
 In 1812 a party of Spanish prisoners 
 
 (35) 
 
36 THE BARON DU MOLEY. 
 
 were sent to Dijon, where the typhus fever 
 was raging. It was the duty of the prefect 
 of Cote d'Or to provide against the danger 
 of contagion. In this he was not found 
 wanting. Bedding, medical attendance, 
 and personal services, were cheerfully 
 afforded. Scarcely, however, were the sick 
 installed in their asylum when the fever 
 redoubled its ravages ; and soon after a new 
 misfortune came upon them. A fire break- 
 ing out in the neighbourhood soon spread 
 to the quarters of the sick. It became ne- 
 cessary to remove them without the least 
 delay. In vain did the prefect demand as- 
 
THE BARON DU MOLEY. 37 
 
 sistance for this purpose. The exertion of 
 authority and the offer of a splendid reward, 
 were equally unavailing. Not one of the 
 crowd of people present would brave the 
 united danger of fire and contagion. Even 
 the hospital attendants shrunk aghast from 
 so perilous an office. Then it was that the 
 heroic prefect himself threw off his coat, 
 sprang into the building, and bore forth the 
 sick in his own arms. His secretary was 
 the only person who durst follow his noble 
 example. 
 
 This was about the 24th of March, 1812. 
 The same evening the prefect was seized 
 
38 
 
 THE BARON DU MOLEY. 
 
 with the typhus fever ; and on the first of 
 April he fell a victim to his own disinter- 
 estedness, expiring in the midst of his grief- 
 stricken family. This worthy magistrate 
 died like a Christian hero, faithful to the 
 lessons of virtue early inculcated on his 
 mind by a pious and affectionate mother. 
 
HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 
 
 STANDING on the banks 
 of the Settle, in Lorraine, 
 (France,) there is a little 
 village called Vic, which 
 is almost unknown to the 
 rest of the world, being several leagues from 
 Nancy. The river runs through the street, 
 and is generally so shallow as to be fordable 
 in some places, but after a heavy rain, it 
 will rise rapidly and do a great deal of 
 mischief. 
 
 (39) 
 
40 HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 
 
 In this village lived a man who seemed 
 to have been placed there expressly by 
 Providence, for the succour of the inhabit- 
 ants in times of distress. Joseph Ignace, 
 called Naxi 5 was a simple boatman, and at 
 times a hat maker ; he had before been a 
 soldier. 
 
 So much was he in the habit of lending his 
 assistance io those who were in danger from 
 the sudden rise of the waters, that he came 
 to be considered as their guardian. If any 
 accident happened, the first idea which 
 arose, W 7 as to send for Joseph Ignace. Peo- 
 ple had but to say " If Joseph were only 
 
HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 4^ 
 
 here," and Joseph was on the spot. He 
 would leave his work, his shop, his dinner 
 table, or his bed, at any moment, summer 
 or winter, when his assistance was needed. 
 
 He began this course of disinterested 
 goodness at an early age -at eleven years 
 old he rescued a man from imminent 
 danger. 
 
 Many of his generous deeds are recounted 
 and well attested by the inhabitants of Vic. 
 
 He saved a man named Louis Paulhin, 
 who fell into the Seille while fishing ; a 
 saddler, Nicholas Chaussier, who also fell 
 in ; a soldier on horseback, some labourers 
 
42 HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 
 
 in a boat, two bathers, a crazy man, an old 
 woman, and a child of three years old. 
 
 This child fell in the river from a bridge. 
 Two of the inhabitants jumped in after it, 
 but not knowing how to swim, were of 
 no avail. The child floated on till it ap- 
 proached a rapid and dangerous part of the 
 stream. They ran to Joseph Ignace ; he 
 was sick, but in spite of the entreaties of 
 his wife, w r ho, with tears in her eyes, im- 
 plored him not to risk his health, " I must 
 save the child/ cried he, and he did save 
 it, and restored it to its parents. 
 
 The river Seille, swollen by heavy rains, 
 
HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 43 
 
 overflowed both its banks, covering the 
 streets, and rising several feet in the houses. 
 This day was one of triumph to Joseph 
 Ignace, whose assistance was implored on 
 all sides. Entire families owed their de- 
 liverance to him alone. He remained in 
 the water from six in the morning until 
 night, a period of eleven hours, during 
 which he saved nineteen persons. 
 
 If we lived in the time when a crown of 
 oak was given for every life saved, Joseph 
 Ignace would, to our certain knowledge, 
 have thirty-two to hang up in his house. 
 
 A natural impulse leads us to endeavour 
 
44 HEROISM OF JOSEPH IGNACE. 
 
 to rescue the drowning, but when this be- 
 comes a habit, it ceases to be an impulse 
 of courage or humanity, and is indeed a 
 virtue. 
 
 The academy betowed a prize for vir- 
 tuous actions upon Joseph Ignace. 
 
THE BOATMAN. 
 
 T Marseilles, a young 
 man named Robert 
 was waiting one day 
 in the port for some 
 one to engage his ser- 
 vices as a boatman. 
 An unknown person at length placed him- 
 self in the boat : but a moment after he 
 prepared to leave it, notwithstanding the 
 presence of Robert, whom he did not sus- 
 pect to be the proprietor of it. He said, 
 
 (45) 
 
46 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 that since the conductor of the boat did not 
 appear, he was about to enter another. 
 
 " Sir," said the young man to him, " this 
 is mine do you wish to leave the harbour?" 
 
 " No ; because daylight will be over in 
 an hour. I only wished to take a few 
 turns on the water, to profit by the beauty 
 and freshness of the evening. But you do 
 not look like a sailor, and you have not the 
 manners of a man in that condition." 
 
 " I am not one in reality ; it is only in 
 order to make money that I adopt this trade 
 on Sundays and holidays " 
 
 " What ! avaricious at your age ? That 
 
THE BOATMAN. 47 
 
 trait disgraces your youth, and diminishes 
 the interest which your happy physiognomy 
 inspires." 
 
 "Ah, sir, if you knew why I am so 
 anxious to amass money, you would not add 
 to my grief, by attributing to me so vile a 
 character." 
 
 " I may have wronged you ;. but you 
 have not explained yourself at all. Let us 
 take a few turns, and you can relate your 
 history to me." 
 
 The unknown sits down. " Well," said 
 he, " tell me your griefs ; you have disposed 
 me to take part in them." 
 
4g THE BOATMAN. 
 
 " I have but one," said the young man, 
 " that of having a father in chains, without 
 being able to release him. He was a 
 weaver in this city ; he procured for him- 
 self, by his trade, and my mother's industry 
 at making dresses, an interest in a vessel, 
 which he loaded for Smyrna. He wished 
 to be present himself at the unloading and 
 exchange of his merchandise, and make his 
 own choice of the return cargo. The ves- 
 sel was taken by a Barbary corsair, and 
 conducted to Tetuan, where my unhappy 
 father is in slavery, with the rest of the 
 ship's company. Two thousand crowns 
 
THE BOATMAN. 49 
 
 are necessary for his ransom ; but as he 
 had exhausted all his money, in order to 
 make his enterprise more important and 
 profitable, we are very far from having that 
 sum. However, my mother and sisters 
 work night and day ; I do the same at my 
 master's as a jeweller, which trade I have 
 adopted ; and I also try to make some profit 
 as you see, on Sundays and holidays. We 
 are economical even in the most necessary 
 things ; one small room is our w r hole dwell- 
 ing-place. I thought at first of going to 
 take my father's place, and of delivering him 
 by loading myself with his irons. I was 
 
50 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 on the point of putting this design into 
 practice, when my mother, who was in- 
 formed of it, (I know not how,) assured 
 me that the idea was as impracticable as 
 visionary, and forbade all the Eastern cap- 
 tains to take me on board." 
 
 " Do you ever receive any information 
 about your father ? Do you know who is 
 his master at Tetuan, and what treatment 
 he receives ?" 
 
 " His master is the overseer of the king's 
 gardens. He is humanely treated, and his 
 work is not above his strength ; but we 
 are not with him to console him, and to 
 
THE BOATMAN. 51 
 
 lighten his captivity. He is far from us, 
 from a cherished wife, and from three 
 children, whom he always loved with 
 tenderness. 5 ' 
 
 " What is he called at Tetuan ? 
 
 "He has not changed his name. He is 
 called Robert, as at Marseilles." 
 
 " Robert at the overseer's of the king's 
 garden ?" 
 
 " Yes sir." 
 
 " Your misfortunes touch me ; your filial 
 affection merits, and I dare to prophecy, a 
 better fate, which I sincerely wish you. 
 While enjoying this gentle breeze, my 
 
52 
 
 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 friend, do not think it hard that I am sc 
 tranquil about it." 
 
 When night came, Robert was ordered 
 to land ; and as the unknown left the boat, 
 he placed a purse in his hands, and, with- 
 out giving him time to thank him, went 
 hastily away. In this purse were eight 
 double louis d'ors, and ten half crowns in 
 silver. Such generosity gave the young 
 man the highest opinion of him who was 
 capable of it. In vain he endeavoured to 
 find and thank him. 
 
 Six weeks after this event, this honest 
 family, who continued to work without 
 
THE BOATMAN. 53 
 
 relaxation, in order to complete the sum 
 they needed, were eating a frugal dinner, 
 composed of bread and dried almonds, 
 when they saw Robert, the father, enter. 
 What was the astonishment of his wife and 
 children, what their transports of joy, can 
 easily be imagined. The good Robert 
 throws himself into their arms, and ex- 
 hausts himself in thanks for the fifty louis 
 that were counted out to him when he 
 embarked in the vessel at Tetuan, in which 
 his passage was paid for in advance, and for 
 the clothes with which he was furnished. 
 
54 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 He does not know how to be grateful 
 enough for such zeal and love. 
 
 A new surprise astonished this family : 
 they looked at each other. The mother 
 was the first to break the silence. She 
 imagines that it is her son who had done 
 all this. She relates to his father how, ever 
 since the beginning of his slavery, he had 
 wished to take his place, and how she had 
 prevented it. Six thousand francs were 
 necessary for his ransom. "We have," 
 continued she, " a little more than half of 
 it ; of which the best part is the fruit of 
 his work. He must have found friends 
 
THE BOATMAN. g g 
 
 who have aided him." Suddenly silent 
 and thoughtful, the father becomes alarmed. 
 Then addressing his son, "Unfortunate 
 creature, what have you done ? How can 
 I owe my deliverance to you without re- 
 gretting it ? How can it be a secret from 
 your mother, if obtained virtuously ? At 
 your age, son of an unfortunate man, of a 
 slave ! the resources which you have used 
 were not honestly procured. I shudder to 
 think that filial love may have made you 
 culpable. Tell me the whole truth ; and 
 let us die, if you have ceased to be honest." 
 " Be tranquil, father," answered the 
 
56 
 
 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 young man, embracing him ; " your son is 
 not unworthy of that title ; nor happy 
 enough to have proved to you how dear 
 you are to him. I know our benefactor. 
 Do you remember, mother, the unknown, 
 who gave me the purse ? He asked me a 
 great many questions. I will pass my life 
 in seeking him out. I will find him and 
 he shall come to enjoy the sight of the 
 effect of his beneficence." He then related 
 to his father the anecdote of the unknown, 
 and reassured him on the ground of his 
 fears. 
 
 Returned to his family, Robert found 
 
THE BOATMAN. 5-7 
 
 friends and assistance. His most sanguine 
 expectations were realized. At the end of 
 two years he had acquired a comfortable 
 living. His children, whom he had es- 
 tablished, shared their happiness with him 
 and his wife; and his enjoyment would 
 have been without alloy if the continual 
 researches of his son had been able to dis- 
 cover where their benefactor, who eluded 
 the gratitude, and their washes, was. He 
 at last meets him one Sunday morning 
 walking alone near the beach. " Ah ! my 
 guardian angel \" It was all he could utter 
 
58 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 while throwing himself at his feet, where 
 he fell senseless. 
 
 The unknown hastened to aid him, and 
 ask the cause of his condition. " What sir, 
 can you be ignorant of it ? Have you for- 
 gotten Robert and his unfortunate family, 
 whom you awakened to life by restoring 
 the father ?" 
 
 " You mistake me, my friend ; I do not 
 know you ; you cannot know me, a stran- 
 ger at Marseilles ; I have only been here a 
 few days." 
 
 " All that may be true ; but do you not 
 remember being here twenty-six months 
 
THE BOATMAN. 59 
 
 ago ? Do you not remember the promenade 
 on the beach, the interest you took in my 
 misfortunes, the numerous questions you 
 asked me to enlighten you, and give you 
 the information necessary for your becom- 
 ing our benefactor? My father's liberator, 
 can you forget that you are the saviour of 
 his entire family, who desire nothing more 
 than your presence. Do not refuse their 
 wishes, but come and see the happy per- 
 sons you have made. Come !" 
 
 " My friend, I assure you, you are mis 
 taken." 
 
 "No sir, I do not mistake you at 
 
60 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 all. Your features are too deeply engraved 
 for me ever to be deceived. Come, for 
 pity's sake !" At the same time, he took 
 him by the arm and dragged him along 
 with a kind of violence. A multitude of 
 people assembled round them. Then the 
 unknown, in a grave and firm tone said, 
 "Sir, this scene begins to be fatiguing. 
 What resemblance has occasioned your 
 error ? Recall your senses, and return to 
 your family to enjoy the tranquillity which 
 you appear to have received." 
 
 " What cruelty," cried the young Robert ; 
 " the benefactor of this family, why change, 
 
THE BOATMAN. gj 
 
 by your resistance, the happiness it owes 
 only to you ? Do I remain in vain at your 
 feet ? Will you be so inflexible as to refuse 
 the tribute which we have reserved so long 
 for your kindnesss ? And you who are 
 present, you whom the trouble and disorder 
 in which you see me, ought to touch, unite 
 with me in supplicating the author of my 
 happiness to come and contemplate w r ith 
 me his own work." 
 
 At these w r ords, the unknown appears to 
 struggle w r ith his feelings ; but then calling 
 together all his strength and all his cou- 
 rage, to resist the seduction of the sweet 
 
g2 THE BOATMAN. 
 
 enjoyment offered him, he escapes like an 
 arrow in the midst of the crowd, and dis- 
 appears in an instant. 
 
 This unknown would have remained so 
 to this day, if his business acquaintances, 
 having found among his papers after the 
 death of their owner, a bill of six hundred 
 thousand livres, sent to Mr. Main, at Cadiz, 
 had not asked an account of this from cu- 
 riosity, since the paper was torn and crum- 
 pled like those intended to be burnt. The 
 famous banker answered, that he had used 
 it to deliver a native of Marseilles, called 
 Robert, a slave at Tetuan, according to the 
 
THE BOATMAN. 
 
 63 
 
 orders of Charles of Secondat, Baron of 
 Montesquieu. It is known that Mon- 
 tesquieu loved to travel, and that he often 
 visited his sister, Madame d'Henricourt, 
 married at Versailles. 
 .,. 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 to a liberal fortune, 
 and with every inducement 
 around him to a life of plea- 
 sure or of study, according 
 to his fancy, this extraordinary man, while 
 still young, abandoned these pursuits, and 
 spent his life in succouring those who were 
 imprisoned. 
 
 He himself had known the horrors of 
 captivity. On his way to Lisbon, the 
 Hanover was attacked by a French corsair, 
 
 (64) 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 65 
 
 and the crew obliged to undergo fearful 
 sufferings. Still later, in his capacity of high 
 sheriff of Bedford, his duties required con- 
 tinual attendance in the prisons committed 
 to his charge. He beheld a number of 
 people heaped together in a narrow, dark, 
 and unhealthy room, dying under the in- 
 fluence of a contagious disease, called the 
 jail fever. 
 
 He saw some of them in a state of in- 
 toxication and vice, deprived of all moral 
 or religious aid. At this spectacle his soul 
 was touched, and his vocation manifested 
 itself. He went over the other English 
 
 5 
 
66 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 prisons, making an assiduous and judicious 
 investigation of the treatment of the pri- 
 soners. Every where he witnessed the 
 same evils. He wrote an account, which 
 he presented to the government, wherein 
 he said 
 
 " In condemning the criminal to irons, 
 you have intended to reform him, in punish- 
 ing him ; not to render him worse. What 
 is the punishment inflicted by you on those 
 whom you pretend to think still innocent, 
 on debtors, on young men, and on mere 
 children, whom you bring up in crime ?" 
 His statement was heard, and thanks voted 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 67 
 
 to this generous man, and better still, two 
 bills were passed for the commencement 
 of the improvement suggested by him. 
 
 Howard did not stop here. From a 
 patriotic movement, he proceeded to one 
 of humanity. He left his country, his 
 family, his estate, renounced his habits, and 
 explored the world, a voluntary and gene- 
 rous missionary of public benevolence, bear- 
 ing with him consolation and assistance for 
 the suffering, advice to those in authority, 
 and the treasure of experience to those who 
 wished to imitate his example. Let us hear 
 his own words, when, after again visiting 
 
68 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 the London prisons, he proposed a bill, the 
 principal part of which was granted him. 
 
 " At the time of my first visits to pri- 
 sons, where the jail fever prevailed, I was 
 always told that it was brought from those 
 of London. In what London prison does 
 there exist a proper separation between the 
 prisoners, between the young and those 
 hardened in vice, between the accused and 
 the condemned ? Where do we behold 
 solitary cells in which the guilty may be 
 left to reflection ? Where are the ill and 
 the dying tended as they should be ? Where 
 are there regulations for the conduct of 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 59 
 
 jailers, and the treatment of those awaiting 
 their trial ? In what prison do we not hear 
 oaths, not only from the prisoners but from 
 the turnkeys ? Where is Sunday regarded ? 
 and although jailers have been forbidden to 
 provide the prisoners with drink, yet are 
 there not venders of liquor habitually 
 brought inside the prison walls, and al- 
 lowed to sell to them ? In the last fourteen 
 years, how many prisoners and jailers have 
 perished from the effects of drunkenness ? 
 How many, who, before being admitted in 
 either capacity into a prison, were men of 
 temperate habits ?" 
 
70 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 "If I nave been able/' says he, "to de- 
 nounce some of these evils, to point out 
 their causes, and their remedies, I owe it 
 to a scrupulous and continual attention, 
 which has supplied the want of talent in 
 me. I hand over to my country the result 
 of my past labours. My intention is to 
 leave here now for Russia, Turkey, and 
 some other countries, going as far as the 
 Levant. I know that I shall incur dan- 
 gers, but I trust to Providence, who has 
 hitherto preserved me, and I abandon my- 
 self joyfully to the decrees of his infallible 
 wisdom. If it i? his pleasure to cut the thread 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 7! 
 
 of my life, during my absence, I beg those 
 whom I am now leaving, not to impute my 
 conduct to a rash enthusiasm, but to its true 
 motives, to a firm conviction of duty, and 
 a sincere desire to be more useful to my 
 fellow-creatures, than I could ever have 
 been in the retirement of private life." 
 
 Independently of his repeated excursions 
 to various parts of Great Britain, he crossed 
 the ocean at least five times, to visit by 
 turns, France, Germany, Holland, Denmark, 
 Sweden, Poland, Russia, Italy, Spain, Por- 
 tugal, and Turkey ; and this time after 
 time, in order to see the fruit of his 
 
7 2 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 former instructions and to communicate 
 new ones. 
 
 So deeply interested in the sufferings of 
 the condemned criminal, he felt a still 
 greater commiseration for those of old age 
 and childhood in poverty, to be met with 
 in various charitable asylums. Howard ne- 
 glected none of these ; he approached the 
 bed of sickness, entering into conversation 
 with the overseers and those under them 
 in such establishments. 
 
 The most fearful evils were those to 
 which his most attentive investigation was 
 directed. At Constantinople, in the Levant, 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 73 
 
 he was seen in the midst of the plague- 
 stricken populace. Studying the construc- 
 tion and arrangements of the lazarettos, 
 where the creatures were shut up to guard 
 against infection, nothing escaped him 
 situation, interior, distribution of rooms, &c., 
 circulation of air, access of light, clothing, 
 nourishment, cleanliness, discipline, &c. &c. 9 
 and religious exercises, all interested him. 
 His medical knowledge assisted him in di- 
 recting the treatment of the sick, and pro- 
 posing ameliorations. 
 
 In 1789 Howard visited Russia again, 
 and was seen in Moscow, where more than 
 
74 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 seventy thousand had been taken to the 
 hospital the year before. 
 
 " I hope," said he, in one of his letters, 
 " to carry the torch of philanthropy into 
 these distant countries." He learned that 
 Crimea was desolated by cruel epidemics, 
 that succour was needed, that men were 
 perishing in vast numbers ; he hurried to 
 Witosoka, to Cherson, and to Saint Nicho- 
 las. A fearful spectacle offered itself to his 
 eyes ; he watched by the bedside of the 
 infected, and himself fell a victim to it, on 
 the 20th of January, 1790. 
 
 The last words written by him. in his 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 75 
 
 journal, were the following : " I am a 
 stranger here, and a pilgrim, but I hope, by 
 the grace of God, lo be one day in a coun- 
 try inhabited by my parents and the friends 
 of my youth ; I hope to rejoin these souls, 
 and to be for ever with my God." 
 
 So generous to others, his private habits 
 were austere ; he made use of neither 
 meat, nor W 7 ine, living upon bread, fruit, 
 potatoes, butter, and tea. He avoided places 
 of public amusement and company; "I 
 find," said he, " more pleasure in doing my 
 duty, than in any worldly amusements." 
 A holy indignation against the difficulties 
 
76 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 he met with, often expressed itself in his 
 conversation. The Emperor Joseph II. re- 
 ceived from his lips some severe truths, on 
 the suhject of the hospitals and prisons in 
 Vienna. The cause of misfortune was 
 never pleaded with more persuasive elo- 
 quence. 
 
 A subscription was made in England, for 
 the purpose of erecting a statue. When 
 this came to his knowledge, he wrote to 
 those who had set it on foot, to have the 
 proposal withdrawn, for it was one that 
 displeased him. The monument in Saint 
 Paul's church was raised to him after his 
 
JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 77 
 
 death. Another was raised to him in Crimea. 
 The illustrious orator Burke, delivered a 
 beautiful improvisation to his honour; but 
 his noblest monument remains in his great 
 work. 
 
.. . .... t ';: - 
 
 THE TRUANT. 
 
 THE boy that you see in 
 the picture has been play- 
 ing truant. His mother 
 has a great deal of trouble 
 with him. She is poor, and 
 has to work for her living, and her husband 
 is dead ; so that she has not much time to 
 watch her bad son. Instead of pitying his 
 poor mother, this boy does all he can to 
 vex her ; and when he is in the street, he 
 says many bad words, and talks about be- 
 (78) 
 
THE TRUANT. 
 
 coming a great robber when he becomes a 
 man. One day she dressed him nicely, 
 gave him his breakfast, and sent him to 
 school, telling him not to stop or he would 
 be late. Then she sat down to sew, while 
 her little girl played near her with a doll. 
 By and by some one came and told her 
 that her boy was playing in the street. She 
 had to leave her work, and go out and 
 hunt a long while before she could find 
 him. When she saw him it brought tears 
 to her eyes. He W 7 as playing with some 
 ragged boys ; his clothes, which she had 
 fixed so nice, were dirtied and torn, and he 
 
80 THE TRUANT. 
 
 had lost his hat. He tried to run away, 
 but she brought him home and would not 
 send him to school any more that week. 
 It will be a long while before she can buy 
 him another nice hat, or fix his clothes as 
 nice as they w r ere before. How wicked 
 he was to use his poor mother so ill ; I am 
 afraid he will come to some bad end. 
 
 
PRESERVATION OF TWO BRO- 
 THERS. 
 
 JBOUT the 14th of 
 August, 1652, a dog 
 came to the house of 
 Toxen, in the parish 
 of Gulbrandsal in Nor- 
 way, howling and moan- 
 ing, and in the most famished condition. It 
 was immediately recognized to be the faith- 
 ful attendant of two brothers, named Olave 
 and Andrew Engelbrechtsen, who had four 
 teen days before set out from Toxen, the 
 
 6 (81) 
 
2 PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS, 
 
 place of their nativity, on a hunting excur- 
 sion among the high mountains which sepa- 
 rate Gulbrandsal from the province of 
 Valders. From the grief which the poor 
 animal displayed, the friends of the Engel- 
 brechtsens naturally concluded that some 
 misfortune had befallen them. A man 
 was therefore immediately despatched to 
 the mountains in quest of the wanderers. 
 Two days he roamed about without dis- 
 covering any trace of them ; but on the 
 third, arriving at the Lake of Ref, he found 
 an empty skiff on its banks, in which he 
 rowed to a very small islet in the midsi of 
 
PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS. S3 
 
 it, and there he saw some garments lying, 
 which he knew to belong to the brothers. 
 On looking around, however, he saw no 
 trace of any human being ; and the island 
 being so small, (only sixteen paces long, 
 and eight broad) that the whole surface 
 could be comprehended within one glance, 
 he concluded that the young men had not 
 been there for a considerable time, and re- 
 turned to Toxen with intelligence that they 
 were probably drowned. 
 
 The very day after, however, some 
 hunters on horseback, happening to arrive 
 on the banks of Lake Ref, were surprised 
 
84 
 
 PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 by the cries, faint yet distinct, of some 
 person on the little islet. They leaped 
 into the skiff which lay on the beach, and 
 on reaching the islet, found the two bro- 
 thers there, reduced to the last stage of 
 human wretchedness. They were imme- 
 diately conveyed ashore, and home. 
 
 When able to give an account of their 
 adventures, the brothers related, that, as 
 they were on their return home from their 
 hunting excursion, they first rowed to the 
 islet in Lake Ref, in order to take up a net 
 which they had set there. Whilst linger- 
 ing there, a sudden storm arose at east, 
 
PRESERVATION OF T\\ O BROTHERS. 5 
 
 the violence of which caused the skiff 
 to break loose, and drive to the opposite 
 shore. 
 
 As neither of the brothers could swim, 
 they saw themselves thus exposed to the 
 danger of perishing by hunger, for the islet 
 was altogether barren ; and they had be- 
 sides to endure all the hardships of the 
 weather, w 7 hich even in the month of Au- 
 gust, was, in the climate of Norway, in- 
 clement, more especially during the night. 
 The account they gave of the manner in 
 which they subsisted on some herbs provi- 
 dentially raised up to them, is so piously 
 
85 PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 marvellous, that the only conclusion we can 
 draw from it is, that they were preserved 
 by Providence in a way which they had 
 not sense enough left to describe. It ap- 
 pears that they had built a little hut of 
 stones, sufficient to lie down in, yet not of 
 elevation enough to attract the notice of 
 a superficial observer ; and under this they 
 had escaped the vigilance of the messenger 
 who was sent in search of them. On the 
 twelfth day of their seclusion, both the 
 brothers having given themselves up to de- 
 spair, Andrew, the younger, with what re- 
 mains of strength he possessed, cut out on 
 
PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS. g? 
 
 some pieces of timber, most exposed to 
 view, a concise relation of their unhappy 
 fate ; and the text on which he desired 
 their funeral sermon might be preached, 
 from Psalm Ixxiii v. 23, 27. 
 
 " 23. Nevertheless, I am always by thee : 
 for thou hast holden me by my right hand." 
 
 " 27. For lo, they that forsake thee shall 
 perish." 
 
 After this, the brothers mutually encou- 
 raged each other in the hope of eternal fe- 
 licity, to patience and perseverance in faith ; 
 and totally despairing of all temporal relief, 
 
88 PRESERVATION OF TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 as their sole support had failed, recom- 
 mended themselves to God. 
 
 When unexpectedly restored to hopes of 
 life, the elder brother could eat very little 
 of the food offered to him ; and the little 
 he did take threw him into such a state of 
 sickness, that he was confined for eight 
 days to bed. He survived his perilous 
 situation, however, thirty-seven years. The 
 younger brother suffered less inconvenience, 
 and in the year 1691, drew up an account 
 of the case of both. 
 
THE CALIPH RECLAIMED. 
 
 AKKAM, the son and suc- 
 cessor of Abdoubrahman 
 III., wanting to enlarge 
 his palace, proposed to 
 purchase from a poor 
 woman a piece of ground that lay contigu- 
 ous to it ; and when she could not be pre- 
 vailed on to part with the inheritance of 
 her ancestors, Hakkam's officers took by 
 force what they could not otherwise ob- 
 tain. The poor woman applied to Ibn- 
 
 (89) 
 
90 THE CALIPH RECLAIMED. 
 
 Bechir, the chief magistrate of Corduba, 
 for justice. The case was delicate and 
 dangerous, and Bechir concluded that the 
 ordinary methods of proceeding would be 
 ineffectual, if not fatal. He mounted his 
 ass, and taking a large sack with him, rode 
 to the palace of the caliph. The prince 
 happened to be sitting in a pavilion that 
 had been erected in the poor woman's 
 garden. Bechir, with his sack in his hand, 
 advanced towards him, and after prostrating 
 himself, desired the caliph would permit 
 him to fill his sack with earth in that gar- 
 den. Hakkam showed some surprise at his 
 
THE CALIPH RECLAIMED. 9J 
 
 appearance and request, but allowed him to 
 fill his sack. When this was done the 
 magistrate entreated the prince to assist 
 him in laying the burden on his ass. This 
 extraordinary request surprised Hakkam 
 still more ; but he only told the judge it 
 was too heavy, he could not bear it. " Yet 
 this sack/ 5 replied Bechir, with a noble as- 
 surance, " this sack, which you think too 
 heavy to bear, contains but a small portion 
 of that ground which you took by violence 
 from the right owner. How then will you 
 be able at the day of judgment to support 
 the weight of the whole ?" The remon- 
 
92 THE CALIPH RECLAIMED. 
 
 strance was effectual ; and Hakkam with- 
 out delay restored the ground, with the 
 buildings upon it, to the former proprietor. 
 
THE BOSTON BOYS. 
 
 r[HE British troops which 
 were sent to Boston, 
 to keep that rebellious 
 tow r n in order, were 
 every where received 
 with the most une- 
 quivocal marks of anger and detestation. 
 
 The insolence and indiscretion of some 
 subaltern officers increased the ill will of 
 the citizens ; and vexations and quarrels 
 multiplied daily. At this period of public 
 
 (93) 
 
THE BOSTON BOYS. 
 
 exasperation, the boys were much in the 
 habit of building hills of snow, and sliding 
 from them to the pond in the common. 
 The English troops, from the mere love of 
 tantalizing, destroyed all their labours. 
 They complained of the injury, and indus- 
 triously set about repairs. However, when 
 they returned from school, they found the 
 snow hills again levelled. Several of them 
 now waited upon the British captain to in- 
 form him of the misconduct of his soldiers. 
 No notice was taken of their complaint, 
 and the soldiers every day grew more pro- 
 vokingly insolent. At last, they resolved 
 
THE BOSTON BOYS. 95 
 
 to call a meeting of all the largest boys in 
 town, and wait upon General Gage, com- 
 mander-in-chief the British forces. When 
 shown into his presence, he asked, with 
 some surprise, why so many children had 
 called to see him. "We come, sir," said 
 the foremost, " to claim a redress of griev- 
 ances." " What ! have your fathers been 
 teaching you rebellion, and sent you here 
 to utter it ?" " Nobody sent us, sir," re- 
 plied the speaker, "we have never injured 
 or insulted your troops ; but they have 
 trodden down our snow hills, and broken 
 the ice on our skating ground. We 
 
THE BOSTON BOYS. 
 
 9o 
 
 complained, and they called us young 
 rebels, and told us to help ourselves if we 
 could. We told the captain of this, and 
 he laughed at us. Yesterday our- works 
 were a third time destroyed, and now we 
 will bear it no longer." General Gage 
 looked at them with undisguised admiration, 
 and turning to an officer who stood near 
 him, he exclaimed, " Good heavens ! the 
 very children draw in a love of liberty with 
 the air they breathe ;" and added, " You 
 may go, my brave boys ; and be assured that 
 if any of my troops hereafter molest you, 
 they shall be severely punished." 
 
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