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THE HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 BY T. DAY. 
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENEY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1860. 
 
 
-.0 
 
 THE HISTOllY 
 
 OF 
 
 SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 In tli8 "West of England lived Mr. Merton, a gentleman of 
 considerable fortune, who ovvmed a large estate in Jamaica, 
 cultivated sugar, and was master of many servants. Having 
 resided abroad during the greater part of his life, he came over 
 to England for the purpose of educating his only son, of whom 
 he was excessively fond. Tommy Merton, who, at the time he 
 came from Jamaica, was only six years old, was naturally a 
 t Yery good-natured boy, but had been spoiled by over-indul- 
 gence.^ While in Jamaica, he had several black servants to 
 Vv^ait upon him, who v^ere forbidden ever to contradict him. 
 When he walked, there always went two negroes with him, 
 one of v/hom carried a large umbrella to keep the sun from him, ^ : 
 and the other to carry him in his arms when he was tired. 
 Besides this, he had a line gilded carriage, in which he made 
 visits to his playfellows. His mother was so fond of him, that 
 she gave him everything he cried for, and would not let him 
 learn to read, because he complained that it made his head 
 ache. 
 
 The consequence of this was, that, though Master Merton had 
 all he wanted, he became unhappy. Sometimes he ate sweet- 
 meats till he made himself sick, and then he suffered a great 
 deal of pain, because he would not take physic to make him 
 well. Sometimes he cried for things that it was impossible to 
 give him, and then, as he had never been contradicted, it was 
 many hours before he could be pacified. When any company came 
 to dine, he was ahvays to be helped first, and to have the most 
 
 AA ii. — 
 
2 
 
 HISTORY OR SAHRFORD AHD MERTON. 
 
 delicate parts of the meat, otherwise he would disturb 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 to him, he would scramble upon the table, 
 seize the cake and bread-and-butter, and upset the tea-cups. 
 By these pranks he made himself disagreeable to everybody, 
 and often met with very dangerous accidents. Frequently he 
 cut himself with knives, at other times threw heavy things upon 
 his head, and once narrowly escaped being scalded to death 
 by a kettle of boiling water. He was also so delicately brought 
 up, that the least wind or rain gave him cold, and the least 
 sun threw 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 clothesj, and to stay in the house for 
 fear of spoiling his complexion. . By this kind of education, 
 when Master Merton came to England, he could neither write, 
 read, nor cipher ; he could use none of his limbs with ease, nor 
 bear any degree of fatigue ; but was proud, fretful, and im- 
 patient. 
 
 Hear Mr. Merton’s seat lived a plain, honest farmer, named 
 Sandford. This man had, like Mr. Merton, an only son, whose 
 name was Harry. Harry was about the same age as Master Mer- 
 ton, and, as he had always been 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, hardy, and 
 fresh-coloured. He was neither so fair nor so delicately shaped 
 as Master Merton, but he had an honest, good-natured counte- 
 nance, which made everybody love him, was never out of tem- 
 per, and took the greatest pleasure in obliging everybody. If 
 little Harry saw a poor man who wanted victuals, he was sure 
 to give him half of his dinner, and sometimes the whole — nay, 
 so very good-natured was he to everything, that he would never 
 take the eggs of poor birds, or their young ones, nor practise 
 any kind of sport which gave pain to poor animals, who are as 
 capable of feeling as ourselves, though they have no words to 
 express their sufierings. Once, indeed, Harry was caught 
 twirling a cockchafer round, which he had fastened by a crooked 
 pin to a long piece of thread : but this was through want of 
 thought ; for, as soon as his father told him that the poor helpless 
 insect felt as much or more than he would if a knife were thrust 
 through his hand, he burst into tears, and took the poor animal 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MERTON. 
 
 3 
 
 home, and fed him for a fortnight upon fresh leaves ; and -when 
 he was perfectly recovered, turned him out to enjoy liberty ana 
 the fresh air. Ever since that time, Harry was so 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 when 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, when the ground was cover- 
 ed with snow, and the poor little birds could get no food, he 
 would often go supperless to bed, that he might feed the robin- 
 red-breasts. Even toads, and frogs, and spiders, 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 to kill creatures only because we did 
 not like them. 
 
 These sentiments made Harry a great favourite with every- 
 body ; particularly with the clergyman of the parish, who be- 
 came 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 everything that he was taught with the great- 
 est readiness, little Harry was the most obliging creature in the 
 world. He was never discontented. You might believe Harry in 
 everything he said ; for, if he could have gained a plum-cake 
 by telling an untruth, and was sure that speaking the truth 
 would expose him to a 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 sweetmeats, fruit, 
 and every other delicacy were placed in his way. 
 
 ^ With this boy Master Merton became acquainted in the fol- 
 lowing manner As he and the maid- servant were walking in 
 the fields one fine summer’s morning, gathering wild fiowers^ 
 and running after butterflies, a large snake, on a sudden, 
 started from some long grass, and coiled itself round little 
 Tommy’s leg. You may imagine the fright they were both in : 
 the maid ran away shrieking for help, while the child, in an 
 agony of terror, did not dare to stir from the place where he 
 was standing. Harry, who happened to be walking near, came 
 
4 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOEE AI^D MEETON'. 
 
 running up, and asked what was the matter. Tommy, who 
 was sobbing piteously, could not find words to tell him, but 
 pointed to his leg, and made Harry sensible of what had hap- 
 X^ened. Harry, v/ho was a boy of a most courageous spirit, 
 told him not to be frightened, and seizing the snake by the 
 neck, with as much dexterity as resolution, tore it from Tom- 
 my's leg, and threw it to a great distance. 
 
 Just at this moment,, Mrs. Merton and the family came 
 running breathless to the place, as Tommy was recovering 
 his spirits, and thanking his brave little deliverer. Her first 
 impulse was to catch her darling in her arms, and after giving 
 him a thousand kisses, to ask him whether he was hurt. “ Ho," 
 said he, “ indeed I am not, mamma ; but I believe the ugly 
 beast would have bitten me, if that little boy had not come 
 and pulled it ofi." “And who are you, my dear," said she, 
 “ to whom we are all so much obliged? " “ Harry Sandford, 
 
 madam.'’ “Well, my child, you are a dear, brave little fellow, 
 and you shall go home and dine with us." “Ho, thank you, 
 madam : my father will want me." “ And who is your father, 
 my sweet boy ?'’ “ Farmer Sandford, madam, who lives at the 
 bottom of the hill." ‘‘ Well, my dear, you shall be my child 
 henceforth: vdll 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, led him to her own 
 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 conducted 
 through costly apartments, where he saw large looking-glasses 
 in gilded frames, carv^ed tables and chairs, curtains made of the 
 finest silk, and plates and knives and forks of silver. At dinner 
 he sat close to Mrs. Merton, who took care to supply him with 
 the nicest bits, and engaged him to eat with the most endear- 
 ing kindness ; but, to the astonishment of everybody, he neither 
 appeared pleased nor surprised at anytliing he saw. Mrs. 
 Merton could not conceal her disappointment ; for as she had 
 always been used to finery herself, she had expected it should 
 make the same impression upon everybody else. At last, see- 
 ing him eye a small silver cup with great attention, out of 
 which he had been drinl^ing, she asked him whether he would 
 not like to have such a fine thing to drink out of ; and added, 
 
HTSTOKY OF SANDFOED A^-D lilEETOI^". 
 
 5 
 
 tliat tliougli it was Tommy's cup, slie was sure lie would give 
 it with great pleasure to his little friend. “ Yes, tliat I v/ill," 
 said he ; “ for you know, mamma, I have a much finer one than 
 that, made of gold, besides two large ones of silver.'^ “ Thank 
 you, v/ith all my heart,’’ said 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, such as the cows v/ear 
 upon their heads." “The child is a simpleton, I think,’’ said 
 Mrs. Merton; “ and why are those better than silver ones?" 
 “ Because,” said Harry, “they never make us uncomfortable." 
 “ Make you uncomfortable, 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. How, ours at home are tlirown about by all the 
 family, and nobody minds it." “ Eeally,’’ 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 valu- 
 able, had made Mrs. Merton not only look very uncomfortable, 
 but give the man a severe scolding for his awkwardness. 
 
 After dinner, Mrs. Merton filled a large glass with wine, and 
 giving it to Harry, bade him drink it ; but he thanked her, 
 and said he was not thirsty. “ But, my dear," said she, “ this 
 is very sweet and pleasant, and, as you are a good boy, you 
 may drink it." “ Ah ! but, madam, Mr. Barlow says, that we 
 must only eat when we are hungry, and drink when we are 
 thirsty ; and that v/e must only eat and drink such things as 
 are easily met with; otherwise we shall grow peevish and 
 vexed wdien we cannot get them." 
 
 “Upon my word,” said Mr. Merton, “this little man is a 
 philosopher, and we should be much obliged to Mr. Barlov/ if 
 he would cake our Tommy under his care ; for he grows a great 
 boy, and it is time that he should learn 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 everybodj^- is afraid of him.” 
 
6 
 
 HISTOBY OF SAISTBFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 “Well said, my dear,'’ said Mrs. Merton, and rose and kissed 
 him: “and a king yon deserve to be with such a spirit; and 
 here's a glass of wine for yon, for making such a pretty answer. 
 And should not yon like to be a king too, little Harry?" 
 “Ho, indeed, madam; but I hope I shall soon be old enough 
 to go to plough, and get my own living ; and then I shall want 
 nobody to wait upon me.'’ “ What a difference there is 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 to Harry. “ Ho, indeed, 
 sir.'’ “ Ho, simpleton ! ’' said Mrs. Merton ; “ and why not ? " 
 “Because the only rich man I ever saw is Squire Chase, 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 hates the poor ; and they say he does all this because 
 he's rich; but everybody dislikes him, though they dare not 
 tell him so to his face." “ But should not you like to have a 
 coach to carry you about, and servants to wait upon you ? " 
 “As to that, madam, I don't want to ride, because I can 
 walk where 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 a sort of contemptuous astonish- 
 ment, but did not ask him any more questions. 
 
 In the evening little Harry was sent home, and his father 
 asked him what he had seen at the great house, and how he 
 liked being there. “ Why," said 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 my 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 were lame or blind, and could not 
 help 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 stirring, while the lady was talking to 
 me, wanting me to love fine clothes, and to be a king, and to 
 be rich, that I may be hated like Squire Chase.’’ 
 
 At Mr. Merton's, much of the conversation, in the meantime, 
 was about little Harry. Mrs. Merton acknowledged his bravery 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED A-ND MEETOI?-. 
 
 7 
 
 and openness of temper : she was also struck with the general 
 good nature of his character ; but she contended there was a 
 certain grossness and indelicacy in his ideas, which distinguish 
 the children of the lower classes of people from those of persons 
 of fashion. Mr. Merton, on the contrary, declared that he had 
 never before seen a child whose sentiments would do so muc'* 
 honour even to the most elevated situations. “ The seat of all 
 superiority,” added he, “ must be placed in the mind ; dignified 
 sentiments, superior courage, and universal courtesy constitute 
 the real gentleman ; and where these are wanting it is absurd 
 to think they can be supplied by afiected tones of voice, or 
 extravagant modes of dress. I cannot help, therefore, assert- 
 ing,” said he, very seriously, “that this little peasant has 
 within his mind the seeds of true gentility, and, though I 
 shall also wish that our son may possess all the accomplish- 
 ments common to his rank, nothing would give me more plea- 
 sure than to know 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 
 sentiments, he 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 dear 
 child. I am sensible that our mutual fondness has hitherto 
 treated him with too much indulgence. While we have been 
 solicitous to remove from him every painful and disagreeable 
 impression, we have made him too delicate and fretful : our 
 desire of consulting his inclinations has made us gratify 
 even his caprices and humours ; and, while we have been 
 studious to preserve him from restraint and opposition, we have 
 in reality prevented him from acquiring even the common infor- 
 mation that might be expected from 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 
 hurting your feelings ; but at length my anxiety for his real 
 interests has prevailed over every other motive, and has com- 
 pelled me to form a resolution which I hope will not be dis- 
 agreeable to you — that of sending him directly to Mr. Barlow, 
 provided he will take charge of him ; and I think this acquaint- 
 ance with young Sandford may prove a very happy circum- 
 stance, as he is so nearly the age of our boy. I shall therefore 
 
8 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOEE AEE MEETOX. 
 
 propose to pay for the board and education of this fanner’s son 
 for some years, that he may he the companion of our Tommy 
 during* his residence with Mr. Barlow.” 
 
 As Mr. Merton said this with firmness, and the proposal was 
 in itself reasonable, Mrs. Merton made no objection, but con- 
 sented, 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 making the proposal to 
 him ; assuring him, at the same time, that though there v/as 
 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, 
 
 “Pardon me,” replied Mr. Barlow, “ if I interrupt you. I 
 am contented to take your son for some months under my care, 
 and to endeavour to improve him. But there is .one circum- 
 stance which is indispensable ; that you permit me to have the 
 pleasure of serving you as a friend. If jou approve of my 
 ideas and conduct, I will keep him as long as you desire. In 
 the meantime, as there are, I fear, some little circumstances, 
 which have grown up by too much indulgence, to be altered in 
 his character, I think that I shall possess more of the necessary 
 authority, if I for the present appear to him and your whole 
 family rather in the light of a friend than that of a school- 
 master.” 
 
 However adverse 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, vfhich was about 
 two miles from his father’s house. 
 
 The day after Tommy and Harry came to Mr. Barlow’s, that 
 gentleman took them into the garden directly after breakfast, 
 and, when there, gave Harry a hoe, took a spade in his own 
 hand, and set to work eagerly. “ Every body that eats,’’ said 
 Mr. Barlow, “ ought to assist in procuring food ; and there- 
 fore Harry and I begin our daily work. This is my bed, and 
 that is his. We work upon it every day ; and he that raises 
 the most, will fare the best. JSTow, 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.” “ I^’o, 
 indeed,” said Tommy, very sulkily, “ I am a gentleman, and 
 don’t choose to work like a ploughboy.’’ “ Just as you T)lease^ 
 
niSTOIiY OP SAXPPOED MEETO>7. 9 
 
 Mr. Gentleman/' said Mr. Barlow, “ but Harry and I, wbo are 
 not above being useful, will mind our v\^ork." 
 
 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, v»^here they sat down, and Mr. Barlow bringing 
 out a dish of fine ripe cherries, divided them between Harry 
 and himself. Tommy, who had followed, and expected his 
 share, could no longer restrain his passion, but burst into a 
 violent lit of sobbing. “ What is the matter said Mr. Barlow 
 very coolly to him. Tommy looked upon him sulkily, but 
 returned no answer. “ Oh ! sir, if you don't choose to ansv/er, 
 you may be silent ; nobody is obliged to speak here.’' Tommy 
 became still more enraged 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 cared whether 
 he was pleased or not. Yf hen 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 agreeable to 
 you, I will now redd 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 PLIES AED THE AHTS. 
 
 In a corner of a farmer's garden, there was once a nest of 
 ants, who, during all the summer, were employed in drawing 
 little seeds and grains of corn into their hole. Hear them was 
 a bed of fiowers, upon which a great multitude of fiies used to 
 be always sporting, humming, and diverting themselves. The 
 farmer's son used frequently to observe these insects ; and, 
 as he was very young and ignorant, he one day thus expressed 
 himself : “ Can any creature be so foolish as these ants ! Ail 
 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 became chill and 
 
10 
 
 HISTOKY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 frosty. The same little boy, walking in the garden with his 
 father, could not see a single ant, but all the hies lay on the 
 ground, either dead or dying. As he was very good-natured, he 
 could not help pitying the unfortunate insects, and asked at 
 the same time what had happened to the ants that he used to 
 see in the same place. His father said, “The hies are all 
 dead, because they were careless insects, 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 against the winter, are all alive and well ; and you 
 will see them again, as soon as the warm weather returns.’' 
 
 “ Yery well, Harry,” said Mr. Barlow ; “ we will now take 
 a walk." They accordingly rambled into the helds, where 
 Mr. Barlow made Harry take notice of several kinds of plants 
 and told him the names and qualities of them. At last Harry, 
 who had observed some pretty purple berries upon a plant that 
 bore a purple hower, and grew in the hedges, brought them to 
 Mr. Barlow, and asked whether they were good to eat. “ It 
 is very well, Harry,’' said Mr. Barlow, “,that you asked that 
 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, for they grow 
 upon a poisonous plant called the deadly nightshade, and have 
 caused the death of a great many persons." “ Sir,” said 
 Harry, “ I never eat any thing without knowing what it is ; 
 and I hope, if you will be so good as to teach me, I shall very 
 soon know the names and qualities of every herb that grows." 
 
 As they were returning home, Harry saw a very large bird, 
 called a kite, upon the ground, that seemed to have something 
 in his 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, leaving a chicken behind 
 him, terribly hurt, but still alive. “ Look, sir,'’ said Harry, 
 “ that cruel creature has almost killed this poor chicken ! See 
 how he bleeds and hangs his head ! I will carry him home, and 
 he shall have part of my dinner every day, till he is well, and 
 able to provide for himself." 
 
 As soon as they came home, Harry's flrst care was to put his 
 wounded chicken into a basket, with some fresh straw, some 
 
HISIOEY OF SANDFOED AKD MEETOI^-. 11 
 
 water, and some bread. After- that, Mr. Barlow and be went 
 to dinner. In tbe meantime, Tommy, wbo bad been sulking 
 about all day, came in, and being very hungry, was going to 
 sit down to table with tbe rest ; but Mr. Barlow stopped bim, 
 and said, “ No, sir, as you are too fine a gentleman to work, 
 we, wbo are not so, do not cboose to work for tbe idle.” Upon 
 tbis. Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if bis heart would 
 break, but more from grief than passion, as be began to per- 
 ceive that nobody minded bis ill-temper. Then little Harry, 
 wbo could not bear to see bis friend unhappy, looked up, half 
 crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, “ Pray, sir, may I do 
 as I please with my dinner?’’ “Yes, to be sure, child.'’ 
 “ Why then,” said be, “I will give it to poor Tommy, wbo 
 wants it more than I do.” Saying tbis, be gave it to bim as be 
 sat in tbe corner. Tommy took it and thanked bim, without ever 
 lifting bis eyes from tbe ground. “ I see,” said Mr. Barlow, 
 “ that though gentlemen are above being useful themselves, 
 they are not above taking tbe bread that other people have 
 been working bard for.” At tbis Tommy cried more bitterly 
 than ever. 
 
 Tbe next day ]\Ir. Barlow and Harry went to work as before ; 
 but they bad scarcely begun, before Tommy came and begged 
 that be might have a boe too, which Mr. Barlow gave bim ; 
 but, as be bad never before tried to handle one, be was very 
 awkward in tbe use of it, and bit himself several times upon 
 tbe legs. Mr. Barlow then showed bim bow to use it ; by 
 which means, in a short time, be became very expert, and 
 worked with tbe greatest pleasure. When their work was 
 over, they all retired to tbe summer-house. Tbe fruit was 
 brought out as before, and Tommy, wbo was invited tbis time 
 to take bis share, thought it tbe most delicious that be bad 
 ever tasted — but tbis was because tbe air and exercise bad 
 given bim a healthy appetite. 
 
 As soon as they bad done eating, Mr. Barlow took up a book, 
 and asked Tommy whether be would read them a story ; but 
 be, looking a little ashamed, said be bad never learned to read. 
 “ I am sorry for it,’' said Mr. Barlow, “ because you lose a 
 great pleasure : but Harry shall read to you.” Harry accord- 
 ingly took up tbe book, and read tbe following tale. 
 
12 
 
 HISTOEY OP SAIn^DFOEE AITD MEETOJ^^. 
 
 THE GEHTLEMAH AXD THE BASKET-HAKEE. 
 
 There once lived in a distant part of the world, a rich man, 
 who spent his whole time in eating, drinking, sleeping, and 
 amusing himself. As he had many servants to wait upon him, 
 and as he had never been taught the truth, or accustomed 
 to hear it, he grew very proud, insolent, and capricious : 
 imagining that he had a right to rule all the world, and that 
 the poor were only born to obey him. Near this rich man’s 
 house there lived an honest and industrious man, who gained 
 his livelihood by making little baskets out of the rushes which 
 grew close to his cottage. But though he was obliged to labour 
 from morning till night, and though he seldom ate anything 
 nicer than dry bread, or rice, and had no other bed than the 
 remains of the rushes of which he made baskets, yet was 
 he always 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 on the ground. Besides this, he was a good 
 and virtuous man, honest in his dealings, accustomed to speak 
 the truth, and beloved and respected by his neighbours. 
 
 The rich man, on the contrary, though he lay upon the 
 softest bed, could not sleep, because he had passed the day in 
 idleness ; and though the nicest dishes were placed before him, 
 he could not eat with any pleasure, because he did not 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. Even his servants 
 spoke ill of him behind his back, and all his neighbours despised 
 him. For these reasons, he was sullen, melancholy, and un* 
 happy, and became displeased with all who appeared more 
 cheerful than himself. When he was carried out in his palan- 
 quin (a sort of couch carried on men’s shoulders), 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 envy. “ What ! ” 
 said he, “ shall a wretch, a peasant, a low-born fellow that 
 weaves bulrushes, be always happy, while I, a gentleman 
 possessed of riches and power, am always melancholy and dis- 
 contented?^’ This rejection arose so often in his mind, that 
 
^ mSTOET OF SAKDFOED AND HEBTON. 
 
 13 
 
 towards the poor 
 
 ow4a;sio;s!\tev?rSst 
 
 Ssdf!° basket-makertbr being" £ppS/tSn 
 
 (who dW S IS dt Zy himrtoSrrto t? h 
 
 surrounded the poor man’s house ^ 
 
 soon spread over the whole marsh summer, the fire 
 
 iSSmMm 
 
 at ; just man, sohe Lmed? 
 
 of M. „n i„pom„e. „d i... ZS^^:£rZu,7:Z‘, 
 
 sssasaaiisll 
 
 you should consent to the plan I have formed nnd t • * 
 
 i. th. P1.C. „h.„ I i„,. J „ „„d7«« S ■' '"" 
 
 liie basket-maker replied, “ I never had m,mP n e t 
 n„ e.ti„lp „i.,d . I Lvp'no kfi‘^ tZ tuVS. 
 
 cure myself a morsel of bread the next timp T n-m u ^ 
 
 SS£5H”r£5H9“’ 
 
 v»t Mm t,.„ fajurip. a, “■> •» P»- 
 
 fi.hmg. “.7rn .,*ite7were7.i7,h<ra“t'!T® 
 
 . >^ms buasdt in th. aidrt «f a barbat.u^pl., w£2 
 
14 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETOIST. 
 
 language lie did not understand, began to weep and wring 
 bis bands in the most abject manner ; but tlie poor man, who 
 bad been always accustomed to hardships from his infancy, 
 made signs to the savages that he was their friend, and was 
 willing to work for them, and be their servant. Upon this, the 
 natives made signs that they would do them no hurt, but 
 would employ them in fishing and carrying wood. 
 
 Accordingly, they led them both to a forest at some distance, 
 and showing them several logs, ordered them to transport them 
 to their cabins. They both immediately set to work, and the 
 poor man, who was strong and active, very soon had finished 
 bis share ; while the rich man, whose limbs were tender and 
 delicate, 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 presented him 
 with a large portion of fish, and several of their choicest vege- 
 tables ; while to the rich man they gave scarcely enough to 
 support him, because they found he would be 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 
 be had ever felt 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 
 well-treated by the natives ; while they showed every mark of 
 contempt towards the other, whose delicate and luxurious 
 habits had rendered him unfit for labour. 
 
 The rich man now began to perceive, with how little reason 
 be had before valued himself, and how wrong he was to despise 
 bis fellow-creatures ; and an accident which happened shortly 
 after, completed 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 vanity, pulled 
 up some reeds, and in a short time finished a very elegant 
 wreath, which he placed upon the head of the first inhabitant 
 be met. This man was so delighted with his new acquisition, 
 that he danced and capered for j oy , 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 bis compnnion ; and so much were these chaplets adm. 
 
HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 15 
 
 by the whole nation, that, from this time, the basket-maker 
 was released from his former drudgery, and continually em- 
 ployed in weaving them. In return for his services, the 
 grateful savages brought him every kind of food which theii 
 country afforded, built him a hut, and gave him many proofs 
 of 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 reeds to supply the continual 
 demand for chaplets. 
 
 After having passed some months in this manner they were 
 transported back 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 
 contemptible and feeble a creature you are, as well as how in- 
 ferior to the man you insulted, I shall now 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 ; 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, after thanking the magistrate 
 for his goodness, said : “ Having been brought up in poverty, 
 and accustomed to labour, I have no wish for riches, which I 
 should not know how to use ; all, therefore, that I require of 
 this man is, that he restore me to my former situation, anld 
 that he learn more humanity.” 
 
 The rich man could not help being astonished at this gene- 
 rosity ; 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 
 had he been the basket-maker, he would have taken the 
 naughty rich man’s fortune and kept it. “I would never 
 have done that,” said Harry, “ for fear of growing as proud 
 and wicked as the other.” 
 
 From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used 
 to work in their garden every morning, and when they were 
 tired they withdrew to the summer-house, where little Harry, 
 who improved every day in reading, used to entertain them 
 
18 HISTOEY OE SANDEOED MEETO^T. 
 
 with some pretty story, which Tommy always listened to with 
 great pleasime. But by-and-hy Harry went home for a v/eek’s 
 holiday, and 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 same thing happened for three 
 days in succession, and at length Tominy lost all patience, and 
 said to himself: “ How, if I could but read like Harry Sand- 
 ford, I should not have occasion to ask anybody to do it for 
 me, and then I could amuse myself; and why^” thought he, 
 ‘*may not I do what another has done? To be sure, little 
 Harry is very cleyer, but he could not have read if he had not 
 been taught ; and if I am taught I can learn to read as well as 
 he. Well, as soon as he comes home, I am determined to ask 
 him about it.’' 
 
 The next day Harry returned, and as soon as Tommy was 
 alone with him, “Pray, Harry,” said he, “ how did you learn 
 to read ?” “ Mr. Barlow first taught me my letters, and then 
 
 spelling ; and afterwards, by putting syllables together, I 
 learned 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 greatly delighted with this first experi- 
 ment, and could scarcely forbear running to Mr. Barlow to 
 let him know the improvement he had made ; but he thought ho 
 should surprise him more if he said nothing about it till he was 
 able to read a whole story. He therefore applied himself with 
 such diligence, and Harry was so good a master, that in about 
 two months he determined to surprise Mr. Barlow with a dis- 
 play of ills 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, j 
 he would try to read. “Oh! very willingly,” said Mr. Bar- ' 
 low; “but I should as soon expect you to be able to fly as * 
 to read.” Tommy smiled with a consciousness of his own 
 achievements, and, taking up the book, read wdth fiuency : — 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 17 
 
 THE HISTOEY OF THE TWO DOGS. 
 
 • In a part of the world where there are many wild beasts, a 
 poor man brought up two puppies of that kind which is most 
 valued for size and courage. As they seemed 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, called 
 J owler, while he brought up the other, named Keeper, to guard 
 his flocks. From this time the two dogs were very differently 
 fed. Jowler was sent into a plentiful kitchen, where he be- 
 came the favourite of all the servants, who diverted themselves 
 with his little tricks and wanton gambols, and rewarded him 
 with great quantities of broken victuals ; by which means, as 
 he was eating from morning till night, he increased consider- 
 ably in size, and grew sleek and comely. He became, 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 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, and, besides this, 
 would fetch and carry, he was forgiven and petted by all the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Keeper, in the meantime, who lived at a cottage in the 
 country, neither fared so well, looked so plump, nor learned all 
 these pretty 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, exposed to every 
 change of weather, and labouring hard for a livelihood. Keeper 
 grew hardy, active, and diligent : he wms also exposed to con- 
 tinual danger from the wolves, from which he had received 
 many a bite while guarding the flocks. These continual com- 
 bats gave him that degree of intrepidity that no enemy could 
 make him turn his back. His care and assiduity so well de- 
 fended his master’s sheep that no one had ever been missing 
 since they were placed under his care. His honesty too v/as 
 so great, that 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 had become so hardy 
 
 c 
 
 / 
 
18 
 
 HISTOBY OF SANBFOBI) AND MEBTON. 
 
 that no tempest could drive him to shelter, when he ought to 
 be watching the docks ; and he would plunge into the most 
 rapid river, in the coldest weather, at the slightest sign from 
 his master. 
 
 About this time, the landlord of the poor man went to ex- 
 amine his estate in the country, and brought Jowler with him 
 to the place of his birth. At his arrival there, he could not 
 help looking with great contempt on the rough, ragged appear- 
 ance of Keeper, and his awkward look, which showed nothing 
 of the address for which he admired Jowler. This opinion, 
 however, was altered by.^the following accident. As he was 
 one day walking in a thick wood, with no other company than 
 the two dogs, a savage wolf, with eyes that sparkled like fire, 
 bristling hair, and a horrid snarl that ihade the gentleman 
 tremble, rushed out of a neighbouring thicket, and seemed 
 ready to devour him. The unfortunate man gave himself up 
 for lost, more especially when he saw that 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, fiew 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 him- 
 self, and presenting a very pitiful 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 valiant 
 deliverer; and learned, by his own experience, that appear- 
 ances are not always to be trusted, and that great virtues may 
 sometimes be found in cottages, 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 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 slain, or the poor, 
 rough, ragged, meagre, neglected cur, that risked his own 
 life in his defence?" “Indeed, sir," said Tommy, “I would 
 rather have had Keeper ; but then I would have fed- him, and 
 washed him, and combed him, till he looked as well as Jowler." 
 
niSTOEY OF SANDFOED AHJD MEETON’. 
 
 19 
 
 “ But then, perhaps, he would have grown 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 continued : — 
 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, with which he reluctantly complied. 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 worth- 
 less, unprofitable cur. 
 
 As soon as the gentleman had departed, the poor man was 
 going to execute his commission; but considering the noble 
 size and handsome appearance 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 
 try whether a difierent treatment might not produce difierent 
 manners. From this day, Jowler was treated as his brother 
 Keeper had been before. He was fed scantily, and soon grew 
 / more active and fond of exercise. The first shower he was in, 
 r he ran away as he had been accustomed to do, and sneaked to 
 the fireside ; but the farmer’s wife drove him out of doors, and 
 |) compelled him to put up with the inclemency of the weather. 
 1 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 for the better, he still retained, however, 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, which sprung out of a thicket and seized him 
 by the neck. Jowler would fain have run, but his enemy was 
 too swift and violent to sufier him to escape. Necessity makes 
 even cowards brave. Jowler, being thus stopped in his retreat, 
 
 ' turned upon his enemy, and, seizing him by the throat, stran- 
 gled 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. Encouraged 
 by this victory, and by the approbation of his master, Jowler, 
 from that time, became as brave as he had before been cow- 
 , ardly, and there was very soon no dog in the country which 
 was so great a terror to beasts of prey. 
 
 1 C 2 
 
20 
 
 HISTOBY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 In the meantime, Keeper, instead of hunting wild beasts, 
 or locking after sheep, did nothing hut eat and sleep, which 
 he was permitted to do from a remembrance of his past ser- 
 vices. As all qualities, both of mind and body, are lost, if not 
 exercised, he soon ceased to he that hardy, courageous, enter- 
 prising animal he was before, and acquired all the faults 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 old enemies the wolves. Accordingly, the country people 
 having quickly found one, in a neighbouring wood, the gentle- 
 man 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, seized the wolf with the greatest intrepidity, 
 and, 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, 
 which, to his very great surprise, he found to be the same 
 Jowler that he had discarded the year before. 
 
 “I now see,’' said the farmer, “that it is in vain to expect 
 courage in those who live a life of indolence ; 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 acquisi^ 
 tion; he will now he able to divert himself whenever he 
 pleases. All that has ever been written in our language, will 
 Ibe from this time in his power ; whether he chooses to read 
 little entertaining stories like what we have heard to-day, or 
 the actions of great and good men in history, or to make him- 
 self acquainted with the nature of wild beasts and birds, which 
 are found in other countries, and have been described in books : 
 in short. I know of scarcely any thing 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, elated by all this praise, “ I am deter- 
 mined now to make myself as clever as anybody ; and I do not 
 
HISTOSY OF SANOFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 21 
 
 doubt, tbougb I am sucb a little fellow, tbat I know more 
 already than many grown-up people. 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 
 “ I^obody, I believe,” said Tommy. “ Where is tlie great 
 wonder, then, if they are ignorant ? ” replied Mr. Barlow : 
 “you would never have known anything had you not been 
 assisted ; and even now you know very little.” 
 
 In this manner did Mr. Barlow begin the education of Tommy 
 Merton, who notwithstanding his bad habits had an excellent 
 heart and good abilities. He was, however, very passionate, 
 and thought he had a right to command everybody who was 
 not dressed as fine as himself. This opinion often led him into 
 trouble, and once was the occasion of his being very severely 
 mortified. This accident happened in the following manner:' — 
 One day, as Tommy was striking a baU. with his bat, it flew 
 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, “I am not deaf.” “ Oh ! are you 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 only answered 
 by a loud laugh, which provoked Tommy so much, that he 
 clambered over the hedge, and jumped down, intending to 
 have leaped into the field ; but imfortunately his foot slipped, 
 and down he rolled into a wet ditch, full of mud and water ^ 
 There poor Tommy tumbled about for sometime, endeavouring 
 to get out, but to no purpose ; for his feet stuck in the mud, or 
 slipped ofi* from the bank : his fine waistcoat was dirtied ail 
 over, his white stockings covered with mire, and his trousers 
 filled with puddle water. To add to his distress, he first lost 
 one shoe, and then the other; his hat tumbled off from his 
 
22 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAI^EFOED AI^D MEETOlSr. 
 
 head, an was completely spoiled. In this distress he mnst 
 probably have remained a long 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 dirty plight, that Mr. Barlow, who happened 
 to meet him, was afraid he had been considerably hurt. When 
 he heard of the accident which had happened, he could not 
 help smiling, and advised Tommy to be more careful for the 
 future how he attempted to thrash little ragged boys. 
 
 The next day, Mr. Barlow desired Harry to read the follow- 
 ing story of 
 
 AI^DEOCLES AND THE LTOK. 
 
 Once upon a time there lived a slave named Androcles, who 
 was so ill-treated by his master, that his life became insupport- 
 able. Finding no remedy for what he suffered, he said to him- 
 self, “It is better to die, than to live in such hardships as I 
 am obliged to suffer. I am determined, therefore, to run away 
 from my master. If I am taken again, I know 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 ffy to deserts and 
 woods, inhabited only by wild beasts ; but they cannot use me 
 more cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures ; 
 therefore, I will rather trust myself to them than continue to 
 be a slave.’* 
 
 Having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of 
 leaving his master’s house, and hid himself in a thick forest, 
 some miles distant from the city. But here the unhappy man 
 found that he had only escaped from one kind of misery to 
 another. He wandered about all day, through a vast wood, 
 where his ffesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles ; 
 he was hungry, but could find no food : at length he was ready 
 to die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern. 
 
 “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, why should one person 
 be the slave of another, and bear so much ill-treatment?” “ As 
 to that,’’ said Tommy, “some are born gentlemen, and they must 
 command others ; and some are born servants, and must obey. 
 I remember, before I came here, there were a great many black 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 23 
 
 men and women, that my mother said were only horn to wait 
 upon me, and I used to beat them, and lack them, and throw 
 things at them, and they never dared strike me again, because 
 they were slaves/' “And pray, master Tommy," said Mr. 
 Barlow, “how came these people to be slaves? 
 
 Tommy. Because my father bought them. Hr. Barloio, 
 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. To be sure they have. Mr. B. Then, if I were to take you, 
 and sell you to Farmer Sandford, he would have a right to do 
 what he pleased with you? “No sir," said Tommy rather 
 warmly ; “ because 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 had any one to sell negroes to your father ? or what right 
 had 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, and so they become 
 slaves." “ Then," said Mr. Barlow, “ if I take you to another 
 country I shall have a right to sell you?" T. No, you won't, 
 sir, because I am born a gentleman. Mr. B. What do you 
 mean by that. Tommy? “ Why," said Tommy, a little con- 
 fused, “ a gentleman has 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 ar great deal of money, somebody that had all these 
 things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and beat you, 
 and do whatever he liked with you ? T. No, sir, that would 
 not be right, neither. Mr. B. Then one person should not 
 use another ill? T. No, sir. Mr. B To make a slave of any- 
 body, 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 of a person 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 will never use our black William ill ; nor pinch 
 him, nor kick him , as I used to do. “ Then you will be a very 
 good boy,’' said Mr. Barlow. “ But let us continue our story.” 
 
24 : 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED MEETOJ^". 
 
 This unfortunate man had not been long in the cavern, before 
 lie heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some 
 wild beast, and terrified him very much. He started up to 
 escape, and had already reached the mouth of the cave, when 
 he saw coming towards him a lion of prodigious size. The un- 
 fortunate man now believed he must die ; but to his great 
 astonishment the beast advanced towards him without any 
 mark of rage, and uttered a kind of mournful cry, as if he de- 
 manded the assistance of the man. Androcles, who was natu- 
 rally of a resolute disposition, acquired courage from this cir- 
 cumstance to examine his monstrous guest. He saw, as the 
 lion approached him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his 
 legs, and that the foot was exceedingly swelled, as if it had been 
 wounded. Acquiring still more courage from the gentle de- 
 meanour of the beast, he advanced towards him, and took hold 
 of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine his patient. 
 He then perceived that a great thorn 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 his familiarity, received it with the greatest 
 gentleness, and seemed to invite him to proceed. He, there- 
 fore, 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 
 relieved, he began to testify his joy and gratitude by every ex- 
 pression within his power. He jumped about like a gigantic 
 spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the feet and 
 hands of his physician. h[or was he contented with these de- 
 monstrations of kindness ; from this moment Androcles became 
 his guest ; nor did the lion ever sally forth in quest of prey 
 without bringing home some game and sharing it with his 
 friend. In this savage state of hospitality, the man continued 
 to live during several months. At length, wandering unguard- 
 ed through the woods, he met with a company of soldiers sent 
 out to apprehend him, and was taken prisoner, and conducted 
 back to his master. The laws of that country being very severe 
 against slaves, he was tried and found guilty, and sentenced to 
 be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept many days without 
 food to inspire him with greater savageness. 
 
 When the moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed 
 unarmed, in the midst of a spacious area, enclosed on every 
 
HISTOEY or SANDFOED AI^D MEETOI^. 
 
 25 
 
 Bide, 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, with erected mane, and flaming eyes, 
 and j aws that gaped like an open sepulchre. A mournful silence 
 instantly prevailed and all eyes were turned upon the miserable 
 victim. But what was the amazement of the multitude when 
 they beheld the lion, instead of destroying his defenceless prey, 
 couch 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 ofifspring. The governor of the 
 town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice, and 
 ordered Androcles to explain how a beast of the flercest and 
 most unpitying nature, should thus in a moment he converted 
 into a harmless and inoflensive animal. Androcles then related 
 to the assembly every circumstance of his adventures, and con- 
 cluded by saying, that the very lion which now stood before them, 
 had been his friend and entertainer in the woods. All present 
 were so astonished and delighted with the story, that they unani- 
 mously joined to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man. 
 This was immediately granted by the governor of the city, and 
 Androcles was presented with the lion who had twice saved his 
 life. 
 
 “ Indeed,*' 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, were 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 ; hut this is to devour it ; for they live upon 
 flesh like dogs and cats, and other kinds of animals. When 
 they are not hungry, they seldom do unnecessary mischief ; 
 therefore, they are much less cruel than many persons that I 
 have seen, who plague and torment animals without any 
 reason s whatever. * * 
 
 “ Indeed, sir,” said Harry, “ I think so— and I remember, 
 as I was walking along the road, some days past, I saw a 
 naughty hoy, that used a poor donkey very ill, indeed. The 
 poor animal was so lame that he could hardly stir, and yet the 
 boy heat him with a great stick to make him go faster.” 
 
26 HISTOET OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 ‘‘And what did you say to him said Mr. Barlow. Harry, 
 
 I told him, sir, how naughty and cruel it was— and I asked him 
 how he would like to he beaten in that manner by some- 
 body that was stronger than himself. Jir. B. And what 
 answer did he make you ? H, He said that it was his father's 
 ass, and 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 ? H, I told him, if it was his father's ass, he should 
 not use it ill ; 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 twice as tall as I was. Air. B. And did he strike 
 you ? H, Yes, sir ; he tried to strike me upon the head with 
 his stick, but I avoided the stroke, and it fell upon my shoulder. 
 
 He was going to strike me again, but I darted at him and knock- 
 ed 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 
 how did you act ? II, Sir, I told him, I did not want to hurt 
 him ; but that I would not let him rise till he had promised 
 me 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 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 if you had asked him civilly ; 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 offered him money to fetch your ball ? T. Indeed, sir, I 
 did not : I neither gave him anything nor offered him any- 
 thing. Mr. B. Probably you had nothing to give him ? T, 
 Yes I had, though ; I had several shillings. Mr. B. Perhaps , 
 
HISTOEY OE SAIfEEOED AND MEETOiT. 
 
 27 
 
 the hoy was as rich as you ? T. 'No he was not, sir, I am sure ; 
 for he had no coat, and no stockings, and his shoes were full of 
 holes. Mr. B. So, now I see what it is to be a gentleman. A 
 gentleman has abundance of everything, keeps it all to himself; 
 beats poor people if they do not wait upon 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 afi'ected with this rebulie, that he could 
 hardly restrain his tears, and, as he was really a boy of gener- 
 ous temper, he determined to give the little boy something, the 
 very first time he saw 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, accosted him thus: ‘‘Little boy, I want to know 
 why you are so ragged: have you no other clothes?’' “jN’o, 
 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 plenty of victuals. ” T. And why have 
 you not plenty of victuals ? Little Boy. Because father’s ill 
 of a fever, and can’t work this harvest ? so that mother 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 ham a gentleman, and have many more.” 
 
 Nothing could equal the joy which appeared in the boy’s 
 countenance at receiving this present, excepting what Tommy 
 himself felt at the idea of' doing a generous action. He 
 strutted away without waiting for the little boy’s acknowledg- 
 ments, and happening to meet Mr. Barlow, told him, with an 
 air of exultation, what he had done. Mr. Barlow coldly an- 
 swered : “ You have done well in giving the little boy clothes, 
 
 I because they are your own : but what right have you to give 
 f away my loaf of bread without asking my consent ? ” T, 
 f 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 rea- 
 son why you should give them what belongs to yourself ; but 
 not why you should give away what is another’s. What would 
 
23 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKEFOED ANE MEETOIT. 
 
 you say if Harry were to give away your clothes without 
 asking leave ? 1\ 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 STOEY OF CYETJS. 
 
 Cyrus was a little boy of a very humane temper. He had 
 many 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. How it happened that the little boy 
 had a coat that was too big for him ; but the great boy had one 
 that scarcely reached below his waist 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 ; upon which the great boy took his 
 coat away by force, and gave his own to the little boy in ex- 
 change. 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 coat, for which judgment my 
 master punished me. “Why so," said Cyrus’s 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." 
 
 J ust 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, 
 
HISTOET OF SAKFFOED AIsD MEETON. 
 
 29 
 
 and liis waistcoat did but just hang upon his hack, 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 wear such fine things 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. How, as to the matter of that, I would have brought 
 his ball with all my heart, if he had asked me civilly. But 
 though I am poor I am not bound to be his slave, and so I 
 would not obey him ; upon which little master here was jump- 
 ing over the ditch, to lick me ; but instead of that he tumbled 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 simpleton as I was, for they are too fine 
 for a poor boy like me ; and all the boys in the village, when, 
 they saw me, began making game of me, and throwing dirt at 
 me. This put me in a great passion, and so we began fighting, 
 and I beat them till they gave up ; but I don’t choose to be 
 pointed at wherever I go, and so I have brought master his 
 clothes again.” 
 
 Mr. Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived ; and 
 he replied, that he lived about two miles ofi*, across the com- 
 mon, at the end of Bunny Lane ; upon which Mr. Barlow told 
 Harry that he would send the poor man some broth and victuals, 
 if he would carry them when they were ready. “ That I will,” 
 said Harry, “if it were five times as far.’’ Mr. Barlow then 
 went into the house to give orders about it, and Tommy, -who 
 had been looking at the little boy for some time in silence, said : 
 “ So, my poor boy, you have been beaten and hurt 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 am not such a chicken as to 
 mind a beating ; so I wish you good-bye with all my heart.” 
 As soon as the little boy was gone. Tommy said : “I wish I had 
 some clothes that the poor boy could wear, for he seems very 
 good-natured.” “ That you may very easily have,’’ said 
 
30 
 
 HISTOEr OP SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 Harry; “for tliere is a shop in the village, where they sell 
 clothes for poor people ; and, as you have money, you may 
 soon 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 at some distance. 
 Tommy 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 an inoffen- 
 sive 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 they do in other countries?” 
 “ Oh ! dear,” said Tommy, ‘how is that ? It must be very 
 dangerous.” “ Why, you must 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 or seven 
 together, armed with spears; and they run through all the 
 woods, and examine every place till they have found him. 
 Then they make a noise and provoke him to attack them ; upon 
 which he begins roaring and foaming, and springs at the man 
 that is nearest to him.” “ Oh ! dear,” said Tommy, “he must 
 certainly be , torn to pieces.” “I^o such thing,” answered 
 Harry : “he jumps, as nimbly as a greyhound, out of the way, 
 while the next man throws his spear 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. 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.” “ And 1 should not like to see it at all,” answered 
 Harry, “ for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal 
 killed. But they are obliged to do it in their own defence, 
 while these poor hares do nobody any harm, excepting the far- 
 mers, by eating a little of their corn sometimes.” As they 
 were talking in this manner, Harry, casting his eyes on one 
 side, said, “Ah ! there is the poor hare skulking along. I hope 
 
HISTOKY OF SANDFOBD AND MEBTON. 
 
 31 
 
 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 lost all scent of their game, and a gentleman 
 mounted on 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 gentle- 
 man. Sir, I don’t choose to tell you,” answered Harry, after 
 some hesitation. “ Hot choose ! ” said the gentleman, leaping 
 ofi* his horse ; “ but I’ll make you choose it in an instant 
 and coming up to Harry, who never moved from the place 
 where he had been standing, began to lash him with his whip, 
 continually repeating, “ How ! you little rascal, do you choose 
 to tell me now ?” To which Harry only replied, “ 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 upon this barbarian, who continued to beat 
 him till another gentleman rode up at full speed, and said : 
 
 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 afi’air ; I 
 know the other to be the son of a gentleman of great fortune 
 in the neighbourhood:” and then, turning to Harry, said, 
 “ Why would you not tell 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 well 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, 
 ■j attended by all his companions. 
 
 ^ When they were gone. Tommy came xip to Harry in the most 
 J affectionate manner, and asked him how he felt. “A little 
 j sore,” said Harry, “ but that does not signify.” “ Oh ! ” said 
 : Tommy, “ I wish I had had a pistol or sword ! ” AT. Why, 
 I what would you have done with it ? T. 1 would have killed 
 1 that good-for-nothing man who treated you so cruelly. AT. 
 
32 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAISTFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 That would have been wrong*, Tommy ; for I am sure he did 
 not want to kill me. T. But how could you bear to be so 
 severely whipped, without crying out ? H, Why, crying out 
 would have done me no good, would it ? And this is nothing 
 to what many little boys have suffered, without ever complaining. 
 T, Well, I should have thought it a great deal. H, Oh ! it’s 
 nothing to what the young Spartans used to suffer. T. Who 
 were they ? H. They were a very brave set of people, who 
 lived a great v/hile ago ; and as they were but few in number, 
 and were surrounded by a great many enemies, they used to en- 
 deavour 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 them- 
 selves; and they had very coarse food, and hard beds to lie 
 upon, and were never pampered and indulged : and all this 
 made them more strong, hardy, and brave, than any other 
 nation. T, What! and had they no sweetmeats, nor wine, 
 nor anybody to wait upon them ? Oh dear 1 no : their fathers 
 thought that would spoil them : they all fared alike, and ate 
 together in great rooms ; and there they were taught to behave 
 properly, and when dinner was over they all went to play 
 together. And if they committed any faults they were very se- 
 verely whipped ; but they never minded it, and scorned to cry 
 out, or make a wry face. 
 
 As they were conversing in this manner, they came to 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 asked Harry to carry them 
 for him. “That I will,” said Harry; “but why don’t you 
 carry them yourself ? ” T, Because it is not fit for a gentleman 
 to carry things himself. AT. 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. AT. The; . 
 he should not have hands, or feet, or eyes, or ears, or moutt j 
 because the common people have all those. T, Ho, no, h , 
 must have those, because they are useful. AT. 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. II, 
 Then I should think it must be a bad thing to be a gentleman, 
 T, Why so ? AT. Because, if all were gentlemen, nobody would 
 
HISTORY OF SANRFORD AND HERTON. S3 
 
 do anything, and then we should all be starved. T, Starved ! 
 H, Yes ; 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 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, and you would not like to eat that ? T. No, certainly ; 
 but how comes bread, then ? H, They send the corn to the 
 mill. T. What is a mill? AT. 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. 
 
 Just at this moment they heard a great outcry, and saw 
 a horse that was galloping violently, and dragging his rider 
 along with him, who had fallen off, and was unable to disen- 
 gage his foot from the stirrup. Providentially it was 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 ready to do an act of humanity, even at the 
 risk of his life, and, besides, was a boy of extraordinary 
 courage, ran up towards a gap which he saw the horse ap- 
 proaching, and just as he made a little pause, before he 
 vaulted over, caught him by the bridle, and stopped him from 
 proceeding. 
 
 In an instant another gentleman came up with two or three 
 servants, who disengaged the fallen person, and set him upon 
 his legs. He stared wildly about him for some time ; but 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 jade. 
 “ Who !” said his friend, “ why the very little boy that 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 looked 
 lat Harry with a countenance in which shame and humiliation 
 rseemed 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 his features had ever worn 
 
 D 
 
84 
 
 HISTOEY OP SAIs^DPOED AND MEETON. 
 
 before, rejected the present, and walked away with bis com- 
 panion. 
 
 As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call at the 
 poor man’s cottage, whom they found much better, Mr. Barlow 
 having given him such medicines as he judged proper for his 
 disease. Tommy then asked for the little boy, and when he 
 came in told him that he had now brought him some clothes 
 which he might wear without the fear of being hallooed after, 
 as well as some more for his little brothers. The pleasure with 
 which they were received was so great, and the acknowledg- 
 ments and blessings of the good woman and the poor man, who 
 had just begun to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy 
 could not help shedding tears of compassion. As they were 
 returning. Tommy said that he had never spent any money 
 with so much pleasure, 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 few days after this, as Mr. Barlow and the twm boys 
 were walking out together, they happened to pass near a 
 windmill ; and Tommy begged leave to go up and look at it. 
 To this Mr. Barlow consented, and they all went in, and ex- 
 amined every part of it with great curiosity ; and there Tommy 
 saw with astonishment, that the sails of the mill, being con- 
 tinually turned round by the wind, moved a great hat stone, 
 which bruised all the corn 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 sub- 
 stance.” 
 
 As they were going home, Harry said to Tommy, “ So you 
 see now, that 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.” “Why not?” said Tommy ; “ does not corn 
 grow in the ground of itself?” H, Corn grows in the ground, 
 but then first it is necessary to plough the ground. T. What 
 is ploughing? AT. Did you never see three or four horses 
 drawing something along the fields in a straight line, while one 
 
HISTOEY or SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 35 
 
 man drove, and another walked behind, holding the thing by 
 two handles r' 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 as it goes along. T. AYell, and 
 what then ? II, When the ground is thus prepared, they sow 
 the seed all over it, and afterwards rake it in by means of a large 
 square frame filled with iron teeth, called a harrow ; this is 
 drawn by horses, and the seed thus covered with earth soon 
 begins to grow, and shoots up very high ; and at last the corn 
 ripens, and they reap it and carry it home. “ This,*' said 
 Tommy, “ must be very curious : I should like to sow some 
 seed myself, and see it grow. Do you think I could r” “ Yes, 
 certainly,*' said Harry; “ and if you will dig the ground to- 
 morrow, I will go home to my father, to get 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 
 lie could not help asking Mr. Barlow whether he was not a very 
 good hoy for working so hard to raise corn ? “ That,** said Mr. 
 Barlow, “ depends upon the use 3^ou intend to make of it, when 
 you have raised it. What do you intend doing with it?’* 
 
 Sir," said Tommy, “ I intend to send it to the mill, and have 
 it ground into fiour, 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 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 merit if you sow corn for your own eating ? 
 That is no more than all the people 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 are not obliged to work themselves.** 
 “How does that happen?** said Mr. Barlow. T, Why, sir, 
 they pay other people to work for them ; or buy bread, when 
 it is made, as much as they want. 3Ir, JB, Then they pay for 
 it with money ? T. Yes, sir. J/r. Then they m.ust have 
 money before they can buy corn ? T, Certainly, sir. Mi\ JB, 
 But have all gentlemen money ? Tommy hesitated some time 
 f D 2 
 
36 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AI^-D MEETOK". 
 
 at this question ; at last he said, “ I believe not always, sir.’* 
 3Ir. B. Then, if they have not money, they will find it diffi- 
 cult 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 would like to hear it.** Tommy said he should be 
 very glad to hear it, and Mr. Barlow related the following 
 story. 
 
 THE TWO BEOTHEES. 
 
 At that time, when such great numbers of people flocked to 
 South America in the hope of flnding gold and silver, a 
 Spaniard, whose name was Pizarro, had an inclination to try his 
 fortune like the rest. But having an elder brother, for whom 
 he had a great afiection, he went to him, told him his 
 design, and solicited him to go with him, promising 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 good understanding ; he did not, therefore, much 
 approve of the project, and endeavoured to dissuade Pizarro 
 from it, by explaining to him the danger and uncertainty at- 
 tending the enterprise. Finding all was in 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 And, and would ask no other 
 favour than fo 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 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 seeds of difierent vegetables. Pizarro thought 
 this a very odd preparation for the voyage ; but did not think 
 proper to expostulate with his brother. 
 
 After sailing some time with prosperous winds, they put into 
 the last port at which they were to stop, before they reached 
 South America. Here Pizarro bought more pickaxes, shovels, 
 and various other tools for digging, melting, and reflning the 
 gold he expected to And, besides hiring an additional number 
 of labourers to assist him in the work. Alonzo, on the con-^^ 
 
HISTOEY OP SAISTEPOED AND MEETON. 37 
 
 trary, bouglit only a few sheep and four stout oxen, with their 
 harness, and food enough to subsist them during their continu- 
 ance on shipboard. They had a favourable voyage, and all 
 landed in perfect health. 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 accumulated as much as 
 he desired, should be ready to embark for Spain with him. 
 Pizarro accordingly set out, not without feeling so great a con- 
 tempt for his brother, that he could not help expressing it to 
 his companions. I always thought,’’ said he, “ that my bro- 
 ther had been a man of sense ; 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 were living quietly upon his farm 
 at home, and had nothing to do but 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 de- 
 clared themselves ready to follow him wherever he went. One 
 old Spaniard, however, shook his head, and told him he doubted 
 whether he would find his brother so devoid of prudence as he 
 thought him. They then travelled into the country, being 
 sometimes obliged to cross rivers, at others to pass mountains 
 and forests where they could find no paths : sometimes scorched 
 by the intense heat of the sun, and then wetted to the skin by 
 violent showers of rain. These difficulties, however, did not 
 discourage them from trying in several places for gold, which 
 they were at length fortunate enough to find in a con- 
 siderable quantity. This success animated them very much, 
 and they continued working upon that spot till all their pro- 
 visions were consumed ; they gathered daily large quantities 
 of ore, but they suftered very much from hunger. Still 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 toiling to a very 
 
23 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAlfDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 different purpose. His skill in husbandry had enabled him to 
 find a spot of considerable extent and very fertile soil, which 
 he ploughed with the assistance of his servants. He then 
 sowed his seeds, and planted the potatoes, which prospered 
 beyond his expectations, and yielded him an abundant harvest. 
 His sheep he turned into a fine meadow near the sea, and every 
 one of them brought him a couple of lambs. Besides which, he 
 and his servants employed themselves in fishing ; and the fish 
 they caught were all dried and salted, so that by the time of 
 Pizarro’s return they had laid up a very considerable quantity 
 of provision. His brother received him with the greatest cor- 
 diality, 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 his brother would immediately give him something 
 to eat, as he assured him he had tasted no food the last two 
 days, excepting the roots and bark of trees. Alonzo 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 wished for any share of the 
 gold which Pizarro might acquire, and therefore he wondered 
 that Pizarro should expect to be supplied wdth the provisions 
 that he had procured with so much labour. But (added he) if 
 you choose to exchange some of your gold for my provisions, I 
 shall perhaps be able to accommodate you. 
 
 Pizarro thought this beha\iour very unkind in his brother ; 
 but as he and his companions w^ere almost starved, they were 
 obliged to comply with his demands, which were so exorbitant, 
 that they had soon parted with all the gold they had brought 
 with them. Alonzo then proposed to his brother to embark for 
 Spain in the vessel which had brought them thither, as the 
 winds and weather seemed 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. Alonzo, instead of resenting these 
 reproaches, embraced his brother with the greatest tenderness, 
 and said, “ Could you then believe, my dearest Pizarro, that I 
 really meant to deprive you of what you have acquired with so 
 
 1 
 
HISTOEY OE SAI^DEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 39 
 
 mncli toil and danger ? Eatlier may all the gold in the uni- 
 verse i^erish, than I should be capable of such behaviour to my 
 brother ! But I saw the rash desire you had for riches, and 
 wished to correct this fault in you, and serve you at the same 
 time. You despised my prudence, and believed that he who 
 had acquired wealth could want for nothing more. But you 
 have now learned, that, without foresight and industry, all 
 the gold you have brought v/ith you would not have prevented 
 you from perishing. You are novf wiser ; therefore take back 
 your riches, of which I hope you have learned to make a 
 proper use.'' Pizarro was filled with gratitude and astonish- 
 ment at his brother's generosity; and acknowledged 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 who 
 could raise food enough to maintain himself, 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 country. This could never have happened in 
 England ; there they could always have had as much bread as 
 they chose for their money.’' “But," said Mr. Barlow, “ is a 
 man sure to be always in England, or some country where he 
 can purchase bread?" T, I believe so, sir. Jfr. B, Are 
 there not countries in the world where there are no inhabit- 
 ants, and Vvhere no corn is raised? T, Certainly, sir; this 
 country, to which the two brothers went, was such a place. 
 Mr. B. And there are many other such countries in the world. 
 T. But then a man may stay at home. Mr. B. Then he must 
 not pass the seas in a ship. T, Why so, sir ? Mr. B. Be- 
 cause the ship may happen to be wrecked upon some country 
 where there are no inhabitants, and then 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 on a 
 desert island. T. That was extraordinary, indeed ; and how 
 did he get victuals ? Mr. B. He sometimes procured roots 
 
40 
 
 HISTOET OE SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 sometimes fruits : he also became so active, that he was able 
 to catch wild goats, with which the island abounded. T, And 
 did not such a hard life kill him at last? Mr. B. By no 
 means. He never enjoyed better health in his life. But a 
 still more extraordinary story is that of some Russians, who 
 were left upon the coast of Spitzbergen for several years. 
 T. Where is Spitzbergen, sir ? Mr. B. It is a northern coun- 
 try which is constantly covered with snow and ice. Scarcely 
 any vegetables will grow upon the soil, and very few animals 
 are found in the country. Besides this, it is dark there for 
 many months in the year, and is inaccessible to ships : so that 
 it is impossible to conceive a more dreary country, or one 
 where it must be more difi&cult to support human life. Yet 
 four men were capable of struggling with all these dif&culties 
 during several years, and three of them returned at last safe 
 to their native country. T. This must be a very curious story 
 indeed; I would give anything to be able to see it. ‘‘That 
 you may very easily,’’ said Mr. Barlow: “when I read it I 
 copied such parts of it as I thought most interesting, which I 
 will show you. But I must first inform you, that those 
 northern seas are so full of ice as to render it extremely dan- 
 gerous 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 information, 
 you will easily understand the terrible situation of a Russian 
 ship, which, as it was sailing in 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 sur- 
 rounded with ice) a council was held, when the mate, Alexis 
 Himkof, 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 actu- 
 ally erected one at some distance from the shore. This infor- 
 mation induced the whole company to resolve on wintering 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 41 
 
 there, if the hut still existed ; for they perceived that they 
 must inevitably perish if they continued in the ship. They 
 therefore despatched four of their crew in search of the hut, 
 or any other succour they could meet with. These were Alexis 
 Himkof the mate, Iwan Himkof his godson, Stephen Scha- 
 rassof, 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 loose 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 be- 
 tween the pieces of ice, and perish. Having thus considered 
 the nature of their undertaking, they provided themselves 
 with a musket, and a powder-horn containing twelve charges 
 of powder, with as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag 
 with about twenty pounds of flour, a knife, a tinder-box and 
 tinder, a bladder filled with tobacco, and every man his 
 wooden pipe. Thus accoutred, these four sailors arrived on] 
 the island, little suspecting the misfortunes that would befalJ 
 them. They began by exploring the country, and soon diS 
 covered the hut of which they were in search. It was situated 
 about a mile and a half from the shore, and measured thirty- 
 six feet in length, eighteen feet in height, and as many in 
 breadth. It contained a small ante-chamber, 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 larger room 
 warm when heated. In the large room was an earthern stove, 
 constructed in the Russian manner ; which is, a kind of oven 
 without a chimney, which serves occasionally either for baking, 
 for heating the room, or, as is customary amongst the Russian 
 peasants, in very cold weather, for a place to sleep upon. 
 They rejoiced greatly at having discovered the hut, which 
 had, however, sufiered much from the weather, it having now 
 been built a considerable time. Our adventurers, notwith- 
 standing, contrived to pass the night in it. Early next morn- 
 ing they hastened to the shore, impatient to inform their 
 comrades of their success, and also to procure from their vessel 
 such provisions, ammunition, and other necessaries, as might 
 
42 
 
 HISTOBY OP SANDPOBD AND MEBTON. 
 
 better enable them to winter on the island. I leave my 
 readers to conceive 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 a day before had covered the ocean. A violent 
 storm, which had arisen during the night, had 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 shat- 
 tered her to pieces ; or whether she had been carried by the 
 current into the open sea. 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 perished. 
 
 “ This melancholy event having deprived the unhappy men 
 of all hope of ever being able to quit the island, they returned 
 to the hut, 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 
 pnybody to help them or give them victuals : I should think 
 ;hey 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 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, and to 
 have other people wait upon them in everything ?*’ “On the 
 contrary,’’ answered Tommy, “it was much better for them 
 that they had been used to do something to assist themselves ' 
 for, without that, they must certainly have perished.** 
 
 “ Their first attention was employed in devising means of 
 providing subsistence, and repairing their hut. The twelve 
 charges of powder, which they had brought with them, soon 
 procured them as many reindeer ; and the island, fortunately 
 for them, abounded in these animals. I have before observed 
 that the hut had sustained some damage, and it was this : there 
 were cracks in many places which admitted the air. This in- 
 convenience was, however, easily remedied, as they had an axe, 
 and the beams were still sound, for wood, in these cold climates, 
 continues through a length of years unimpaired by worms or 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 43 
 
 decay ; besides wbicb they stopped up tbe crevices with moss, 
 of which the island produced a great abundance. Eepairs of 
 this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they were Eus- 
 sians ; for all Eussian peasants are 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, bio species of tree or 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 that 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 
 more hospitable climate, which the overflowings of rivers, or 
 other accidents, had sent into the ocean. 
 
 “ Hothing proved of more esseiitial service to these unfortu- 
 nate 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 
 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. About this time also they found on the shore the root 
 of a fir-tree, nearly in the figure of a bow. As necessity has 
 ever been the mother of invention, they soon fashioned this 
 root to a good bow, by the help of a knife ; but still they wanted 
 a string and arrows. Hot knowing how to procure these at pre- 
 sent, 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 arrows without the help of a hammer, they contrived to 
 adapt the large iron hook to that purpose, by heating it and 
 widening a hole it happened to have about the middle, with the 
 help of one of their largest nails : this received the handle, and 
 a round button at one end of the hook served for the face of the 
 
44 HISTOBY OP SANDFOED AKD MEBTOIT. 
 
 hammer. A large stone supplied the place of an anvil, and a 
 couple of reindeer* s horns made the tongs. With these tools they 
 formed two spear-heads ; and after polishing and sharpening 
 them on stones, they tied them fast, with thongs made of rein- 
 deer skins, to sticks about the thickness of a man’s arm, 
 which they obtained from some branches of trees that had been 
 cast on shore. Thus equipped, 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 provi- 
 sions. The flesh resembled beef in flavour, and was relished 
 exceedingly by these hungry exiles. The tendons, they saw, 
 with much pleasure, could with little or no trouble be divided 
 into filaments. 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 islanders in making the spears encou- 
 raged them to proceed, and to forge some pieces of iron into 
 arrow-heads of the same shape, though somewhat smaller than 
 the spears. Having ground and sharpened these, they tied them 
 to pieces of fir, to which they fastened feathers of sea-fowl ; 
 and thus became possessed of a complete bow and arrows. 
 Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned with unexpected 
 success ; 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 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, only ten white bears in all, and that not 
 without the utmost danger ; for these animals defended them- 
 selves 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 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 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 fellows into great terror 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOJ?". 
 
 45 
 
 and anxiety, as they were in perpetual danger of being de- 
 voured/' 
 
 “ Sucli a life as that must have been dreadful indeed !" ex- 
 claimed Tommy. “ Why so said Mr. Barlow. T, Because, 
 being always in danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those 
 men must have been very unhappy. Mr. B. And yet they 
 never were devoured. T. No, sir, because they knew how to 
 defend themselves. 3fr. 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. Air. 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. Air. B. But Harry 
 was not unhappy, although he was in more danger of being 
 bitten than yourself, because he took hold of it. T. Indeed he 
 did. Air. 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. Air. 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. 
 Afr. B. It is possible, then, that these men, finding they were 
 so well able to defend themselves against the bears, might no 
 longer be afraid of them ; and, not being afraid, they would 
 not be unhappy. T, Indeed, I believe so. A/r. B. Let us now 
 continue. 
 
 ‘‘ The reindeer, the blue and white foxes, and the white 
 bears, were the only food these wretched sailors tasted during 
 their continuance in this dreary abode. They were for some 
 time reduced to the necessity of eating their meat almost raw, 
 and without either bread or salt; for they were destitute of 
 both. The intenseness of the cold, together with the want of 
 proper conveniences, prevented them from cooking theil 
 victuals in a proper manner. There was but one stove in the 
 hut, and that (according to the Eussian plan) was more like 
 an oven, and consequently not well adapted for boiling any- 
 thing. "Wood also was too precious to be wasted in keeping up 
 
46 
 
 HISTOEY OP SAIS’OFOED ATTD xMEETON . 
 
 two fires, and tlie one they might have made out of doors 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 hears. 
 To obviate, therefore, in some degree, the hardship of eating 
 their meat half raw, they adopted the plan of drying some of 
 their provisions in the open air, and afterwards of hanging 
 them in the upper part of the hut, which was continually filled 
 with smoke as low as the windows : it was thus dried tho- 
 roughly by means of that smoke. The meat so prepared they 
 used for bread, and it made them relish their other fiesh the 
 better, as they could only half dress it. 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 ves- 
 sel they could make use of for this and other purposes. I have 
 already mentioned that our sailors brought a small bag of flour 
 with them to the island. Of this they consumed about one- 
 half with their meat ; the remainder they employed in a dif- 
 ferent manner, equally useful. They soon saw the necessity 
 of keeping up a continual fire in so cold a climate. In their 
 excursions through the island they had met with a slimy kind 
 of clay. 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 light in a climate where, during winter, 
 darkness reigns for several months together, would have added 
 much to their other hardships.'* 
 
 “ Pray, sir, stop," said Tommy : “ are there countries in the 
 world where it is night for several months together?" “ In 
 deed there are,’* answered Mr. Barlow. T, How can that be ? 
 ilir. B. How happens it that there is night at all ? T, 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 difierence here 
 between the night and day? T, Yes, sir ; it is light in the day 
 and dark in the night. Mr, B, And why is it dark in the 
 night? 2\ I do not know, sir. 3Ir, B. Hoes the sun shine 
 every day ? 2\ Yes, sir. Every day, I believe ; only some- 
 times the clouds prevent you from seeing it. Air. B, And 
 
HISTOEY OF SAiq-DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 47 
 
 what becomes of it in the night ? T. It goes away, so that we 
 cannot see it. Mr, B, And when the sun comes again, what 
 happens r 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, 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 soaked into the clay on all 
 sides. Their next object was to find some means of preventing 
 this inconvenience, not arising from cracks, but from the sub- 
 stance of which the lamp was made being too porous. They 
 therefore made a new one; dried it thoroughly in the air, 
 heated it red hot, and afterwards quenched it in their kettle, 
 Vherein they had boiled a quantity of flour to the consistence 
 of thin starch. The lamp being thus dried, and filled with 
 melted fat, they now found, to their great joy, it did not leak. 
 But for greater security they dipped linen rags in their paste, 
 and with them covered the outside. Succeeding in this at- 
 tempt, they immediately made another lamp for fear of any acci- 
 dent, and reserved the remainder of their flour for similar pur- 
 poses. As they had carefully collected whatever happened to 
 be cast on shore, 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 
 drawers, which are worn by almost all Eussian 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 until that of their embarkation for their na- 
 tive country. Having been forced to tear up their shirts and 
 drawers, they found themselves more than ever exposed to the 
 rigour of the climate. They were also 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 hour 
 of distress. 
 
 “ The skins of reindeer and foxes, which had hitherto served 
 
46 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 them for bedding, they now thought of employing to a more 
 useful purpose ; and so adopted the following method : they 
 soaked the skins for several days in fresh water, till they could 
 pull off the hair pretty 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 sufficiently soft and supple for their 
 purpose. Those skins which they designed for furs they only 
 soaked for one day, and then proceeded in the manner before 
 mentioned, except that they did not remove the hair. Thus 
 they soon provided themselves with 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 supplied 
 by means of the bits 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. Making the 
 eyes to their needles gave them some trouble, but this they 
 performed with 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, they supplied their- place with the knife; and 
 though there was neither shoemaker nor tailor amongst them, 
 they contrived to cut out their leather and furs well enough 
 for their purpose. The sinews of the bears and the reindeer 
 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 suffi- 
 cient to show both the accidents to which men are exposed, and 
 the wonderful expedients which may be devised, even in the 
 most dismal circumstances.” “It is very true, indeed,” an- 
 swered Tommy ; ‘ ‘ but pray what became of these poor sailors 
 at last?” “ After they had lived more than six years upon 
 this dreary coast,’’ answered Mr. Barlow, “a ship providentially 
 arriving there, took three of them on board, and carried them 
 in safety to their own country.’’ “ And what became of the 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 49 
 
 fourth?*^ asked Tommy. ‘‘He/' said Mr. Barlow, “was 
 seized with a dangerous disease called the scurvy ; and being 
 of an indolent temper, and not using the exercise which was 
 necessary to preserve his life, died, and was buried in the snow 
 by his companions." 
 
 Here little Harry came in from his father's house, and brought 
 with him the chicken which he had saved from the claws of the 
 kite. The little animal was now perfectly recovered, 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 pleased with 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 ; hut that, as the poor 
 little creature had been sadly hurt, he had fed it every day till 
 it was well ; and that it had conceived a great degree of affec- 
 tion towards him. “ Indeed,’' said Tommy, “ that is very sur- 
 prising — for I thought all birds flew 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. 
 Jfr. B. And what is a fowl's 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 he fond of 
 Harry. T. That is because he has been so good to it. Mr. B, 
 Yery likely — then it is not natural for an animal to run away 
 from a person that is good to him ? T. Ho, sir, I believe not. 
 3fr. B. But when a person 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 that he is wild— -do you not ? Y. 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 should, sir. Mr, B, 
 And yet you do not call yourself a wild animal. Tommy 
 laughed heartily at this, and said, “Ho." “ Therefore,'’ said 
 
 Mr. Barlow, “ if you want to tame animals you must 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 his milk for 
 
50 
 
 HISTOrtY OE SAI^DEOED AKD MEETOl^-. 
 
 breakfast lie 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 ? K, '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 
 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 met was a sucking pig, 
 that had rambled from its mother, and was basking in the sun. 
 Tommy, therefore, called “ Pig, pig, gig, come hither, little 
 pig ! ” But the pig, which did not exactly comprehend his in- 
 tentions, 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.” Saying this, he sprang at the pig and caught him 
 by the hind leg, intending to give him the bread which he had 
 in his hand ; but the pig began struggling and squeaking so 
 violently that the sow, which was within hearing, came run- 
 ning to the place, with all the rest of the litter at her heels. As 
 Tommy could not tell whether she would be pleased with his 
 civilities to her young one, he thought it most prudent to let it 
 go ; and the pig, endeavouring to escape as speedily as possible, 
 ran between his legs and threw him down. The place where 
 this accident happened was extremely wet ; therefore. Tommy, 
 in falKng, dirtied himself from head to foot, and the sow which 
 came up at that instant passed over him as he attempted to rise, 
 and rolled him back again into the mire. Tommy was ex- 
 tremely provoked at this ungrateful return, and losing all 
 patience, seized the sov/ by the hind leg, and began pommel- 
 ling her with all his might. The sow, as may be imagined, 
 did not relish such treatment, but struggled with such violence 
 as to drag him several yards, squeaking in the most lamentable 
 manner all the time, in which she wms joined by her 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 preci- 
 pitation, 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, 
 
HISTOHY OF SAI^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 51 
 
 fiew at Tommy’s liinder parts, and gave him several severe 
 blows with his bill, whereupon Tommy 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 x)upii in a most woeful plight, daubed from 
 head to foot, with his face and- hands as black as a chimney- 
 sweeper's. He inquired what was the matter, and Tommy, as 
 soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak, answered : 
 
 Sir, all this is owing to what you told me about taming 
 animals. 1 wanted to make them love me, and you see the 
 result !’* “Indeed,” said Mr. Barlow, “I see you have been 
 very ill-treated, but I Irope you are not hurt; and if it is 
 owing to anything I have said, I shall feel very sorry.” 
 “Ho,” 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.” 
 
 When Tommy returned, Mr. Barlow asked him, how the 
 accident happened, and having heard the story, he said, “ I 
 am very sorry for your misfortune, but T do not remember that 
 I ever advised you to catch pigs by the hinder legs.” T, Ho, 
 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 v^^rong 
 manner. The animal did not know your intentions, and there- 
 fore, when you seized him 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 its habits and disposition, otherwise you may 
 fare like the little boy, who, in attempting to catch hies, v/as 
 stung by a wasp ; or, like another, who, seeing an adder sleep- 
 ing upon a bank, took it for an eel, and was bitten by it, which 
 nearly cost him his life. T, But, sir, I think I have heard 
 Harry speak of a little boy that used to feed a snake without 
 receiving any hurt from it. Afr. B, That might be ; 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, on the contrary, are very venomous; therefore, the 
 best V,' ay is not to meddle with anything till you are perfectly 
 acquainted with its nature. Had you observed this rule, you 
 
52 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANFFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 never would have attempted to catcli the pig by the binder 
 leg, and it is very fortunate that you did not make the experi- 
 ment upon a larger animal, otherwise you might have been as 
 badly treated as the tailor was by the elephant. T, Pray, sir, 
 what is an elephant? “An elephant," said Mr. Barlow, “is 
 the largest land animal with which we are acquainted. It is 
 many times larger than an ox, and grows to the height of 
 eleven or twelve feet. Its strength is enormous, but it is, at 
 the same time, so very gentle, that it rarely does hurt to any- 
 thing, even in the woods where it resides. It lives upon the 
 fruits and branches of trees. Instead of a nose, it has a long, 
 hollow piece of desh, which grows over its mouth to the length 
 of three or four feet. This is called the proboscis or trunk, and 
 the animal is capable of bending it in every direction. When 
 he wants to break off the branch of a tree, he twists this trunk 
 round it, and snaps it off directly. When he wishes 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 into 
 his mouth." 
 
 “ But if he is so large," said Tommy, “ how is it possible ever 
 to tame him ? " 
 
 “It might, perhaps, be difficult," 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, and 
 a gate which is left purposely open. They then let one or two 
 of their tame elephants loose, which 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 entrapped, 
 grows furious, and attempts to escape, but immediately two of 
 the tame elephants, of the largest size and greatest strength, 
 come up to him, and beat him with their trunks, till he becomes 
 quiet. A man then goes behind him, ties very large cords to 
 his legs, and fastens him by means of them 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 prepared for him, where he lives the rest of his 
 life like a horse, or any other domestic animal. T. And pray, 
 sir, what did the elephant do to the tailor? Mr, B, There 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON-. 
 
 53 
 
 once lived at Surat, a city where many of these tame elephants 
 are kept, a tailor that used to sit and work in his shed, near 
 the place where the 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 feed him with fruits and 
 vegetables, whenever the elephant passed by his door. He 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 an ill-humour, and 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 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 
 several gallons, and when he passed by the tailor’s shop on his 
 way back, 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 great moderation and generosity, 
 not to have punished the man more severely ; and I think it a 
 very great shame for men ever to be cruel to animals, when 
 they are so affectionate and humane to them.” “You are very 
 right,” said Mr. Barlow: “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 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, 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. 
 How, as these animals are of great value, the keeper is fre- 
 quently severely punished, if any accident happens to the 
 animal by his carelessness. One day, one of the largest ele- 
 phants being seized with a sudden fit of passion, had broken 
 
54 
 
 HISTOEY OP SAKDPOED ATH) MEETOI^-. 
 
 loose, and, as tlie keeper was not in tke way, nobody dared to 
 come near him. '^V'hile be was running about in this manner, 
 be saw tbe Vvdfe of bis keeper (wbo bad often fed bim as well 
 as ber husband), with her young child in her arms, endeayour- 
 ing to escape from bis fury. Tbe woman ran as fast as she was 
 able; but finding that it was impossible for ber to escape, 
 (because these beasts run very fast,) she resolutely turned 
 about, and throwing ber child down before tbe elephant, thus 
 accosted bim: ‘You ungrateful beast, is this tbe 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 tbe services that 
 my husband has done you ! ' While she was making these 
 passionate exclamations, tbe elephant approached tbe place 
 where tbe little infant lay, but, instead of trampling upon bim, 
 be stopped short, and looked at bim with earnestness, as if be 
 bad been sensible of shame and compassion. His fury then 
 subsided, and be suffered himself to be led to bis stable. 
 
 Tommy thanked Mr. Barlow for these two stories, and pro- 
 mised, for tbe future, to use more discretion in bis kindness 
 to animals. 
 
 Tbe next day Tommy and Harry went into tbe gar- 
 den, to sow tbe wheat which Harry bad brought from bis 
 father^ s. 
 
 While they were at work. Tommy said : “ Pray, Harry, did 
 you ever bear tbe story of tbe men that were obliged to live 
 six years upon that terrible cold country where there is nothing 
 but snow and ice, and great bears that are ready to eat men 
 up ? IL Yes, I have. T, And did not tbe very thought of it 
 frighten you dreadfully ? HT, Ho, I cannot say it did. I am 
 very happy that I was born in such a country as this, where tbe 
 weather is scarcely ever too hot or too cold. But a man must 
 bear patiently whatever is bis lot in this world. T. That is 
 true. But should you not cry, if you were left upon such a 
 country ? IL I should certainly be very sorry, if I were left 
 there alone, more especially as I am not strong enough to 
 defend myself against such savage animals. But crying would do 
 me no good : it would be better to do something, and endeavour 
 to help myself. T, 1 think it would ; but what could you do ? 
 £[. Why, I would endeavour to build myself a house, if I 
 
HISTOEY OP SANEPOED AKD MEETON. 
 
 55 
 
 could find any materials. T, And wliat materials is a house 
 made of? I thought it had been impossible to make a house 
 without having a great many carpenters and bricklayers. II. 
 You know there are houses of different sizes. The houses that 
 the poor people live in are very different from your father's. 
 T. Yes, they are little, dirty, disagreeable hovels : I should not 
 like to live in them at all. II. And yet the poor are as strong 
 and healthy as the rich. But if you could have no other, you 
 v/ould rather live in one of them than be exposed to the wea- 
 ther. 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 next ? H. I 
 would next get some smaller branches, and these I would in- 
 terweave between them, just as vre make hurdles to confine the 
 sheep : and then as that might not be warm enough to resist 
 the wind and cold, I would coat them 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 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 I have been 
 told, that in many parts of the world they have not any other. 
 “ Eeally," said Tommy, ‘‘ I should like to try to make a house; 
 do you think, Harry, that you and I could make one?" 
 “Yes," said Harry, “ 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 called 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. “ I will do my 
 best,'’ said Tommy; “for I begin to like reading extremely: 
 and I think I am happier too since I learned it ; for now I can 
 always amuse myself.” “ Indeed," answered Mr. Barlow, 
 “ most people find it so. When any one can read, he will not 
 find the knowledge any burden to him ; and it is his own 
 fault if he is not constantly amused." Tommy then read 
 with a clear and distinct voice, the following story of 
 
56 
 
 HISTOKY OP SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 THE GOOD-NATHEED 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 a basket containing 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. Seeing how lean and famished 
 the poor animal looked, this good-natured boy said to himself, 
 “ This animal is certainly very hungry : 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 share 
 with me/’ Saying this he gave the dog part of what he had 
 in his basket, and it ate as if it had not tasted victuals for a 
 fortnight. The little boy went on, his dog still following him 
 with the greatest gratitude and affection, when he saw a poor 
 old horse lying upon the ground, and grofming as if he were 
 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 wdll be dark before I can return, and I have heard there 
 are several thieves in the neighbourhood : however, I will 
 try ; it is doing a good action, and God Almighty will take 
 care of me.” He then went and gathered some grass, and the 
 horse ate it ravenously, as if his chief disease were hunger. 
 He then fetched some water in his hat, which the animal 
 drank, and he seemed to be so much refreshed, that, after a 
 few trials, he got up and began grazing. He then went on a 
 little further, and saw a man wading about in a pond of water, 
 without being able to get out. “ What is the matter, good 
 man,” said the little boy to him ; ‘‘can’t you find your way 
 out of this pond ? ” “ Ho, my kind 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, for I am 
 quite blind, and I am afraid 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, and the little boy caught it, and went into the 
 water, feeling very carefully before him, lest he should go 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 57 
 
 beyond his depth ; at length he reached the blind man, took 
 him by the hand, and led him out. The blind man gave him a 
 thousand blessings, and told him he could grope his way home ; 
 and the little boy ran on as fast as he could, that he might get 
 home before night. But he had not gone far before he saw a 
 poor sailor, who had lost both his legs in battle, hopping along 
 upon crutches. “ My little sir,” said the sailor, “I have fought 
 many a battle with the French to defend Old England, but now 
 I am crippled, and have neither victuals nor money, although 
 I am almost famished.” 
 
 The little boy could not resist his inclination to relieve him, 
 so he gave him all his remaining victuals, and said, “ My good 
 man ! this is all I have, or you should have more.” He then 
 ran along, and having arrived at the town he was going to, did 
 his business, and returned towards his own home as fast as he 
 could. He had not gone much more than half way, before the 
 night closed in, without either moonlight or starlight to guide 
 him. The poor little boy then missed his way 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 at last, and hungry, he felt that he could go 
 no further, but sat down upon the ground, crying bitterly. In 
 this situation he remained for some time, till at last the little 
 dog, which had never forsaken him, came up, wagging his tail, 
 and holding something in his mouth. The little boy took it 
 from him, and found it was a handkerchief nicely pinned 
 together, which somebody had dropped, and the dog had picked 
 up ; and in it he found several slices of bread and meat, which 
 he ate with great satisfaction. “ So,” said the little boy, “ I 
 see that if I have given you a breakfast, you have given me a 
 supper, and a kindness is always returned, even by 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 in despair, when he saw a 
 horse feeding before him, and found, 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 
 
58 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOE’. 
 
 then went up to the horse, speaking to him and stroking him, 
 and the horse let him mount his back without opposition, and 
 proceeded slowly through the wood, grazing as he v/ent, 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 stay 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 passing along a solitary lane, two men rushed out,, 
 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, which ran howling and barking 
 away. At this instant, a voice was heard that cried out, 
 “There the rascals are, let us knock them down!” vrhich 
 frightened the remaining man so much, that he hed, and his 
 companion followed him. The little boy then looked up, and 
 saw that 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, “ we have come in time to do you a service, in return 
 for what you did for us in the morning*. As I lay under a 
 hedge, I heard these villains talk of robbing you ; but I was so 
 lame that I should not have been able to come time enough to 
 help you, if I had not met this honest blind man, who took me 
 upon his back, while I showed him the way.” 
 
 The little boy thanked them very gratefully for thus defend- 
 ing him; and they went all together to his father’s house, 
 which was not far off, where they were 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. 
 
 “ Indeed,” said Tommy, when he had finished, “ I like that 
 story very much, and I think that it may very likely be true, 
 for I have observed myself that everything seems to love 
 little Harry, merely because he is good-natured. I was quite 
 surprised to see the great dog the other day, which I have 
 never dared to touch, for fear of being bitten, licking him all 
 
HISTOEY OE SAITDEOSE MEET02T. 
 
 59 
 
 over : it put me in mind of Androcles and tlie Lion/' “ Tliat 
 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 the story of 
 
 THE ILL-HATHEED BOY. 
 
 There was once a little boy who was so unfortunate as to 
 have a very bad man for his father, who gave his children 
 no good example ; in consequence of which this little boy, who 
 might otherwise have been happier and better, became ill- 
 natured, quarrelsome, and disagreeable. He very often was 
 beaten by boys that were bigger than himself for his imperti- 
 nence, and sometimes by those that were less: for, though 
 he was very quarrelsome, he generally trusted more to his heels 
 than his courage, when he had engaged himself in a quarrel. 
 This little boy had a dog that was the exact image of himself : 
 he was the most troublesome, surly animal in the world, always 
 barking at the heels of every horse, and worrying every sheep 
 he could meet with ; for which reason both the dog and the boy 
 were disliked by all the neighbours. 
 
 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 that he might go and amuse himself 
 as he pleased the whole day. The little boy was delighted with 
 this liberty ; and, as it was a fine morning, he called his dog 
 Tiger to follow him, and began his walk. He had not gone 
 far before he met a little boy, who was driving a fiock 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 should frighten my sheep." “ Oh yes, to be sure," 
 answered the ill-natured boy ; “I suppose I am to wait here all 
 the morning, till you and your sheep have passed ! Here, 
 Tiger, seize them, boy I Tiger, at this, sprang into the middle 
 of the fiock, barking and biting on every side ; and the poor 
 sheep fied away in confusion. Tiger seemed to enjoy this sport 
 as much as his master ; but, in the midst of his triumph, he 
 happened to attack an old ram that had more courage than the 
 rest of the fiock : who, instead of running away, faced about, 
 and aimed a blow at his enemy, with so much force and 
 
60 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 dexterity, that he knocked Tiger over and over, and obliged 
 him to limp howling away. The ill-natured little boy, who 
 was not capable of loving anything, had been very much 
 diverted with the trepidation of the sheep, and now laughed 
 heartily at the misfortune of his dog; and he would have 
 laughed much longer had not the other little boy, provoked 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 
 whom 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 occa- 
 sioned, before he felt as mischievous as ever. 
 
 '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 ; and if I don’t return home pre- 
 sently, 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 this evening, I assure 
 you : so pray, help me up, as speedily as possible.” “ That I 
 will,” said the boy ; and taking up the jug, he pretended to fix 
 it upon her head ; but just 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, but the mischievous boy ran away 
 laughing heartily, saying, “Good-bye, little Miss; give my 
 kind love to Uncle Will, and grandfather, and the dear little 
 cousins.” 
 
 This prank encouraged him very much ; for he thought that 
 now he had 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 playr He desired leave 
 to play with them, which they allowed him to do. But he 
 could not be contented long without mischief ; so, taking an 
 opportunity, when it was his turn to fiing the ball, he threw it 
 into a deep muddy ditch : the little boys ran in a great hurry 
 
HISTOET OF SAI^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 61 
 
 to see what was become of it, and as they were standing all 
 together upon the brink, he gave the outermost boy a violent 
 push against his neighbour ; he tumbled against the next, that 
 next against another, by which means they all fell into the 
 ditch together. They soon scrambled out, although in a dirty 
 plight, and were going to punish him, hut he patted Tiger 
 upon the hack, and he began snarling and growling in such a 
 manner as made them desist. Thus the ill-natured 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, went and cut a large bunch of thorns, which he 
 fixed to the poor beast’s tail, and then set the dog to -worry him, 
 which amused him greatly. But it did not fare so well with 
 Tiger, who, while he was biting the animal’s heels, received so 
 severe a kick upon his head, that he fell dead upon the spot. 
 The boy, who had no afiection for his dog, left him with the 
 greatest unconcern, and, finding himself hungry, sat down by 
 the way-side to eat his dinner. He had not been long there 
 before a poor blind man came groping his way with a couple of 
 sticks. “ Good morning to you,” said the boy, “ pray, did you 
 see a little girl come this way, dressed in a green gown, and with 
 a straw hat upon her head ?” “ Alas ! master,” said the beg- 
 
 gar, “ I have been blind these twenty years, and they call me 
 poor, old, blind Eichard.” Though this poor man was such an 
 object of 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 Eichard ! I am heartily sorry 
 for you : I am just eating my dinner, and if you will sit dowm 
 by me, I will give you part, and feed you myself.” “ Thank 
 you, with all my heart,” said the poor man : “if you will give 
 me your hand, I will sit by you with great pleasure, my dear ! ” 
 The little boy then gave him his hand, and 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, 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. At last the blind man, after he had put 
 him to severe pain, consented to let him go, saying as he went, 
 
62 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAFTDFOED AXD MEETON. 
 
 ‘‘ Are you not ashamed, you little scoundrel, to attempt to hurt 
 one who has never injured you ? Although you escape now, he 
 assured, that, if you do not repent, you will meet with a severe 
 punishment/^ One would imagine that he had enough of the 
 consequences of his ill-nature by this time ; but, alas ! nothing 
 is so difficult to overcome as bad habits that have been long in- 
 dulged. He had not gone far, before he saw a lame beggar, 
 who was just able 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 
 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 upon his face. He then snatched up the six- 
 pence and ran away, laughing heartily. 
 
 This was the last trick this little wicked boy had it in his 
 power to play ; for seeing two men come up to the beggar, he 
 was afraid of being pursued, and therefore ran away as fast as 
 he was able. At last became into a lane which led to 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 an agony of terror, which brought the farmer out, who 
 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 now you shall re- 
 ceive the punishment you deserve !” 
 
 The farmer then began to chastise him very severely with a 
 whip he had in his hand. The boy in vain protested he was 
 innocent, and begged for mercy. At last the farmer asked 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. The little boy slunk away, weeping 
 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 home, and behave better for the future. 
 
 But his sufierings were not yet at an end ; for as he jumped 
 down from a stile, he felt himself seized again, and, looking up, 
 
HTSTOEY OE SAlfDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 63 
 
 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 then went on again, cry- 
 ing and roaring with pain, but at least expected to escape with- 
 out further damage. But here he was mistaken ; for just as 
 he turned the corner of a lane, he found himself in the middle 
 of the very troop of boys that he had used so ill in the morn- 
 ing. They all set up a shout as soon as they saw him in 
 their power v/ithout his dog, and began persecuting him in a 
 thousand 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. At length, while 
 he was in this disagreeable situation, he happened to see the 
 same jackass he had teased in the morning, and, making a sud- 
 den spring, jumped upon his back, hoping to escape. The boys 
 immediately renewed their shouts, and the ass began galloping 
 with all his might, and presently bore him awmy from his ene- 
 mies. But he found it impossible to stop the animal, and was 
 every instant afraid of being dashed upon the ground. After 
 he had been thus hurried along a considerable time, the ass 
 stopped short at a cottage-door, and began kicking and prancing 
 with so much fury, that the little boy was thrown to the 
 ground, and had his leg broken in the fall. His cries imme- 
 diately brought the family out, among whom was the same 
 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 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 anxious to commit every species of 
 mischief. 
 
 When the story was ended. Tommy said it was very sur- 
 prising to see how differently the two little boys fared. The 
 one was good-natured, and everyone became his friend ; the 
 other, who was ill-natured, made everyone his enemy, ex- 
 
64 
 
 HISTORY OF SAKDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 cepting tlie poor little girl tliat assisted him at last, which was 
 very kind indeed of her, considering how ill she had been 
 used. 
 
 “ That is very trne,’^ 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 assist- 
 ance of the meanest and lowest. I could show you a story to 
 that purpose, but you have read enough, and therefore you 
 must now take some exercise."' “ Oh ! pray, sir,’" said Tommy, 
 “ do let me hear the story."" “No,"" said Mr. Barlow, “ every- 
 thing 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 fo do everything in 
 this world."" Mr, JB, Yery right: the more knowledge he ac- 
 quires, 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, Of cards, I suppose, 
 then. Tommy? “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, and then, you know, if ever 
 we should be thrown upon a desert coast, we shall be able to 
 supply ourselves with necessaries, till some ship come to take 
 us away."" Mr, B, If you wish to prepare yourself against 
 that event, I think you are right, for nobody knows what may 
 happen to him. What do 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 tool ; and you 
 may wound yourself severely. But if you will let me know what 
 you want, I will take the hatchet, and cut the wood for you. 
 
 “Thank you, sir,’" said Tommy ; “you are very good indeed.” 
 And away Harry and he ran to the copse at the bottom of the 
 garden. Mr. Barlow went to work, and presently, by Harry’s 
 direction, cut down several poles about as thick as a man’s 
 
HISTOEY OF SAI^DFOED Al^D MEETON. 65 
 
 wrist, and about eight feet long : these he sharpened at the 
 end, in order to run into the ground ; and so active were the 
 two little boys, that in a very short time they had transported 
 them all to the bottom of the garden, and Tommy entirely for- 
 got he was a gentleman, and worked with the greatest eager- 
 ness. “ Now,’* said Mr. Barlow, “ where will you fix your 
 house?** “Here,** answered Tommy, “I think, just at the 
 bottom of this hill, because it will be warm and sheltered.*’ 
 So Harry took the stakes, and thrust them into the ground at 
 about the distance of a foot from each other, and in this 
 manner he enclosed a piece of ground which was about ten feet 
 long and eight wide, leaving an opening in the middle for a 
 door. After this was done, they gathered up the brushwood 
 that was cut off, and wove it between the poles in such a 
 manner as to form a compact fence. This labour took chem 
 several days : however, they worked at it very hard, and 
 Tommy 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 to relate. It ran thus : — 
 
 THE STOEY OF THE GEATEFHL THEE. 
 
 It is too much to be lamented, that nations will frequently go 
 to war 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. It once happened that a Venetian ship had taken 
 many Turks prisoners, and, according to this barbarous 
 custom, these unhappy men had been sold to different persons 
 in the city. By accident one of the slaves named Hamet lived 
 opposite to the house of a rich Venetian, who had an only son, 
 of about the age of twelve years. 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 much 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 thought would be of use to his friend. But though, 
 Hamet seemed to take the greatest delight in the caresses of 
 his little friend, yet the child could not help remarking that 
 Hamet was extremely sorrowful, and he often surprised him 
 
66 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKEFOED AND MEETON-. 
 
 when tears were trickling down his face, although he did his 
 utmost to conceal them. The little hoy 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, determined to see the Turk himself and talk to him. 
 
 Accordingly he went to him the next day, and was struck 
 with the mildness and honesty of his countenance. 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 speak?’' “Yes,” said the Turk, “I am that un- 
 fortunate Hamet, who has now been for three years a captive : 
 during that space of time, your son is the only human being 
 that seems to have felt any compassion for my sufferings ; 
 therefore, he is the only object to which I am attached in this 
 barbarous country ; and night and morning I pray that he may 
 be preserved from all the miseries I suffer.’' “ Indeed, Hamet,’' 
 said the merchant, “he is much obliged to you, although he 
 does not appear much exposed to danger. But tell me, in what 
 can I assist you, for my son informs me that you are the prey of 
 continual sorrow?" “Is it wonderful,” answered the Turk, 
 with a glow of generous indignation, “is it wonderful that I 
 should mourn my fate, when I am bereft of my liberty?’' 
 “And yet,'’ answered the Venetian, “how many thousands 
 of our nation do you retain in fetters !" “I am not answer- 
 able," said the Turk, “ for the cruelty of my countrymen, 
 any more than you are for the barbarity of yours. But I have 
 never enslaved my fellow-creatures; I have never spoiled 
 Venetian merchants of their property to increase my riches ; 
 
 and therefore it is the more severe ’' Here he recollected 
 
 himself, and folding his arms upon his bosom, added, “ God is 
 good, and man must submit to His decrees.’' 
 
 The Venetian was affected with this 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; “gladly would I 
 confront every pain and danger that can appal the heart of 
 man." “Nay," answered the merchant, “ you will not be ex- 
 posed to such a trial. The means of your deliverance are 
 certain, provided your courage does not belie your appearance. 
 
w* 
 
 ■). 
 
 i;.-. 
 
 
Scorn and shame flashed from the kindling eye of Hamet. 
 
HISTOEY OF SAI^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 67 
 
 I have in this city an inveterate foe, that has heaped upon me 
 every injury, and who is as brave as he is haughty. Now, 
 Hamet, your words convince me that you are daring. Take this 
 dagger, and as soon as it is night I will conduct you to the place, 
 where you may revenge your friend, and regain your freedom.’’ 
 At this proposal, scorn and shame flashed from the eye of 
 Hamet, and passion deprived him of the power of utterance ; 
 at length he lifted up his arm as high as his chains would per- 
 mit, and cried with an indignant tone, “Go, base Christian, 
 and know that Hamet would not stoop to the vile trade of an 
 assassin for all the wealth of Yenice ! no ! not to purchase the 
 freedom of all his race !” Hereupon 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 away, 
 “ you will reflect upon my proposal, and perhaps by to-morrow 
 you may change your mind.” Hamet disdained to answer, and 
 the merchant left him. 
 
 The n^xt day, however, he returned in company with his. 
 son, and accosted Hamet thus : “ The abruptness of the propo- 
 sal 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 reason ” ‘ ‘ Chris- 
 tian,” interrupted Hamet, with a severe countenance, “ cease 
 to insult the miserable with proposals more shocking than 
 chains, and 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, 
 from the moment that I saw thee yesterday, I determined to 
 set thee free ; therefore, pardon me this trial of thy virtue, 
 which has only raised thee higher in my esteem. From this 
 moment, generous man, thou art free : thy ransom is already 
 paid, and perhaps, hereafter, when thou seest an unhappy 
 Christian groaning in Turkish fetters, thy generosity may 
 make thee think of Yenice.” 
 
 It is impossible to describe the gratitude of Hamet at this 
 unexpected deliverance. I will only add, that he was that day 
 set free ; and embarked on board -a ship which was going to 
 one of the Grecian islands. Nor was it without the greatest 
 regret that Hamet parted from his young friend, whose disin- 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 HISTOET OE SANDEOED AKI) MEETON. 
 
 terested kindness had thns procnred his freedom ; he embraced 
 him, wept over him, and prayed for every blessing upon his 
 head. 
 
 It was about six months after this transaction, that a sudden 
 fire hurst forth in the house of this generous merchant. It 
 was early in the morning, when sleep is most profound, and 
 none of the family perceived it till the whole building was 
 involved in flames. The afirighted servants had just time to 
 waken the merchant, and hurry him down-stairs ; and the 
 instant he was down, the staircase itself gCvVe way, and sank 
 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 deepest despair, when he 
 found that his son 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 into the fire, hut was restrained 
 by his servants; he then raved in an agony of grief, and 
 ofiered half his fortune to the man that would save his child. 
 As Francisco was known to he immensely rich, several ladders 
 were 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 destined to 
 destruction. The unhappy father now sank down in a state of 
 insensibility ; when a man rushed through the crowd, mounted 
 the tallest of the ladders, 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 de- 
 scend the ladder without any material injury. A universal 
 shout of applause now resounded to the skies ; but what words 
 can depict the father’s feelings, when, upon recovering his 
 senses, he found his darling safe within his arms ! 
 
 After the first delight was over, he asked for his deliverer, 
 and was shown a man of a noble stature, but dressed in 
 mean attire, and his features so begrimed with smoke that 
 it was impossible to distinguish them. Francisco, however, 
 accosted him with courtesy, and presenting him a purse of 
 gold, begged he would accept of that for the present, and 
 
HISTOUT OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 69 
 
 assured him that next day he should receive his promised 
 reward. “No,” answered the stranger, “generous mer- 
 chant, I do not sell my blood.” “ Gracious heavens ! ’’ cried 
 
 the merchant, “ surely I should know that voice ! It is 
 
 “Yes,” exclaimed the son, throwing himself into the arms 
 of his deliverer ; “ it is Hamet ! ” It was indeed Hamet 
 who stood before them, in the same mean attire which 
 he had worn six months before, when the 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 inquired by what extraordinary 
 chance he had 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 preserving the life of that dear youth, 
 which I value a thousand times beyond my own. Know that 
 when the unfortunate Hamet was taken by your galleys, his 
 aged father shared his captivity : and when your unexampled 
 bounty had set me free, I hew to find the Christian that had pur- 
 chased him. I represented to him that I was young and vigor- 
 ous, while he was aged and infirm : I added 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 in- 
 tended for me, and since that time I have remained a willing 
 slave.” 
 
 At this part of the story Harry and Tommy were so much 
 aflected that Mr. Barlow desired them to leave off for the pre- 
 sent, and go to some other employment. They therefore went 
 into the garden to resume the building of their house, but 
 found, to their unspeakable regret, that an accident had en- 
 tirely destroyed all their labours. A violent storm of wind 
 and rain had levelled their house with the ground. Tommy 
 could scarcely refrain from crying when he saw the ruins 
 lying around ; but Harry, who bore the loss with more calm- 
 ness, told him not to mind it, for it could be easily repaired, 
 and they would build it stronger the next time. Harry then 
 examined the spot, and told Tommy that he believed he had 
 found out the cause of their misfortune. “ What is it ?” said 
 Tommy. “Why,” said Harry, “ it is only because we did not 
 
70 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANOFOED AKE MEETOI?’. 
 
 drive these stakes far enough into the ground ! and, therefore, 
 when the wind blew against the flat side of it, it could not 
 resist. And now I remember to have seen the workmen, when 
 they begin a building, dig deeply into the ground, to lay the 
 foundation firm ; and I should think that, if we drove these 
 stakes a great way into the ground, it would produce the 
 same eflect, and we should have nothing to fear from future 
 storms/' 
 
 Mr. Barlow then came into the garden, and the two boys 
 asked him whether he did not think that driving the stakes 
 further into the ground would prevent such an accident for 
 the future. Mr. Barlow told them he thought it would ; and 
 that he would assist them. He then brought a wooden mallet, 
 with which he struck the top of the stakes, and drove them so 
 firmly into the ground, that there was no longer any danger of 
 their being shaken by the wind. Harry and Tommy then 
 applied themselves to their work, and in a very short time had 
 repaired all the damage. The next thing to be done, was to 
 put on a roof; for hitherto they had constructed only the 
 walls. For this purpose, they took several other long poles, 
 which they laid across their building, and upon these they 
 placed straw in considerable quantities, so that now they 
 imagined they had constructed a house that would completely 
 screen them from the weather. But in this 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 became soaked through, and the rain began to pene- 
 trate in considerable quantities. For some time Harry and 
 Tommy bore the inconvenience ; but it increased so much that 
 they were obliged to seek shelter in the house. When thus 
 secured, they began again to consider the afiair of the house, 
 and Tommy said that it must be because they had not put 
 straw enough upon it. “Ho," said Harry, “ I rather imagine 
 that it must be owing to our roof lying so flat; for I have 
 observed, that all houses have their roofs in a shelving posi- 
 tion, by which means the wet continually runs off them, and 
 falls to the ground ; whereas ours is quite fiat, and the rain, 
 instead of running off, soaks deeper and deeper into the straw, 
 till at last it comes through." They therefore agreed to re- 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 71 
 
 medy 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 their 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. And, lastly, they 
 covered the whole with straw or thatch; and, for fear the 
 thatch should be blown away, they secured it with pegs in 
 different places, and put small pieces of stick crosswise, to 
 keep the straw in its place. When this w^as 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 procured some clay; and, 
 mixing it with water, to render it sufficiently soft, he daubed 
 it all over the walls, both within and without, by which means 
 the wind was es:cluded, and the house rendered much warmer 
 than before. 
 
 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 in- 
 creased every day. Tommy Avent to look at it every morning 
 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. They were 
 afterwards carefully planted out in beds, till they were large 
 enough to be moved into the orchard. 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 which he might plant near it, and 
 which would shelter it from the sun, and produce fruit : he 
 therefore requested 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 two of the, 
 strongest-looking trees he could find, which, with Harry's 
 assistance, he transplanted into the garden in the following 
 manner. They took their spades, and carefully dug up the 
 trees without injuring their roots. Then they dug two large 
 
72 
 
 HISTOBT OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 holes in the place where the trees were to stand, and broke the 
 earth to pieces, that it might lie light upon the roots ; then 
 placing the tree in the middle of the hole, Tommy held it up- 
 right, 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, for fear that the wind might injure it, or perhaps blow it 
 out of the ground. Hor was this all. There was a little spring 
 of water which burst forth from the upper ground in the gar- 
 den, 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 that nothing 
 would grow unless the soil was watered in that manner. There 
 is a country, in particular, called Egypt, which has always 
 been famous for its fertility and for the quantity of corn which 
 grows in it, which is naturally watered in the following man- 
 ner. There is a great river, called the Mle, which flows 
 through the whole extent of the country. This river, at a 
 particular time of the year, overflows its banks; and, as the 
 whole country is flat, it is very soon covered by the waters. 
 This inundation lasts for many weeks, and leaves the soil so 
 I’ich that it produces everything in the greatest abundance. 
 
 “ Is it not in that country, sir,” said Harry, “ where the cro- 
 codile is found “Yes,*' answered Mr. Barlow. “What is 
 that, sir?” said Tommy. “ It is an animal,’' replied Mr. Bar- 
 low, “ that lives upon the land and in the water. It comes 
 originally from an egg which the old one lays and buries in the 
 sand. The heat of the sun 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 to walk with upon the land, and to swim with in 
 the waters. It has a long tail; or, rather, the body is ex~ 
 tremely long, and gradually grows thinner till it ends in 
 a point. Its shape is exactly like that of a lizard; and, 
 as it grows older, it gradually becomes bigger, till at last 
 it reaches the length of twenty or thirty feet.” “ That is. 
 very large,” said Tommy: and does it do any harm?” “ Yes,’ 
 
HlSTOilT OF SAl^FFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 73 
 
 said Mr. Barlow, “ it devours everything it can seize. It fre- 
 quently conies out of the water and lives upon the shore, where 
 it resembles a large log of wood ; and if any animal comes near, 
 it snaps at it on a sudden and devours it.’' T. And does it 
 never devour men ? Mr, B. Sometimes, if it surprises them. 
 But those that are accustomed to meet with them 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 very 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 in 
 habitants of those countries carry long spears in their hands in. 
 order to defend themselves from those animals. The crocodile 
 opens his jaws in order to devour the man, who takes this oppor- 
 tunity to thrust 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 go into the water in order to fight the cro- 
 codile 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 tough cord. The man then takes this pieoe 
 of wood in his right hand, and goes into the river, where he 
 waits till one of these creatures perceives him. As soon as that 
 happens, the animal comes up 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 this 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, “can this dreadful animal 
 be tamed?’’ “Yes,” answered Mr. Barlow ; “I believe there 
 is no animal that may not be rendered mild and inoffensive by 
 good usage. There are several parts of Egypt where tame cro- 
 codiles are kept: these animals, though of the largest size, 
 never do hurt to anything, but sufier 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 
 
74 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 said he should like to see every animal in the world. That,*' 
 answered Mr. Barlow, “ will he extremely difficult, as almost 
 every country produces some kind which is not found in other 
 parts of the world ; hut if you will be contented to read de- 
 scriptions of them, you may easily gratify your curiosity.” 
 
 About this time, 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 found 
 themselves tired, and sat down under a hedge to rest. While 
 there, a very clean and decently-dressed woman passed by, 
 who, seeing two little boys sitting by themselves, stopped to 
 look at them, and said ; “ You seem, my dear boys, to be either 
 tired, or to have lost your way.” “Ho, madam,” said Harry, 
 “ we have not lost our way ; but we have walked further than 
 usual this morning, and we ‘wait here a little while to rest our- 
 selves.” “ Well,” said the woman, “ if you will come into my 
 cottage, 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 hungry as well as tired, 
 told Harry that he should like to accept the woman's invita- 
 tion ; so they both followed her to a small farm-house at a little 
 distance. Here they 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 un- 
 able 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, with their roots all matted together. 
 These we dry in small pieces, by leaving them exposed to the 
 •summer's sun ; and we bring them home and put them under a 
 shed, and use them for our fires.'’ “But,” said Tommy, “I 
 should think that you would hardly have fire enough by these 
 means to dress your dinner ; for I have 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?” 
 “Ho,'’ said the poor woman, “we seldom see roast meat in 
 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 are 
 
HISTOET OF SINDFOEO AND MEETON. 
 
 75 
 
 thankful that we fare so well, for there are many poor souls, 
 who are as good as we are, that can scarcely get a morsel of dry 
 bread/ ^ 
 
 As they were conyersing 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 pleasant 
 liquor called 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 
 the pulp and put it into large hair bags, which we press in a 
 great 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 them 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.” Tommy, when he 
 had tasted that, said it really was cider. “But pray,” said 
 he, “ what do you do to the apple-juice to make it into cider ?” 
 The Woman. I^othing at all. T. How then should it become 
 cider ? for I am sure what you gave me at first was not cider. 
 The Woman. We put the juice into a large cask, and let it 
 stand in some warm place, where it soon begins to ferment. 
 T. Ferment ! pray what is that ? The Woman. You shall see. 
 She then showed him another cask, and bid him observe the 
 liquor that was in it. This he did, and saw it was covered all 
 over with a thick scum and froth. T. And is this what you 
 call fermenting ? The Woman. Yes, master. T. And what is 
 the reason of it ? The Woman. That I do not know; 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 becomes cider; and 
 then we draw it ofi* into casks and sell it, or keep it for our 
 own use. And I am told, this is the manner in which they 
 
76 
 
 HISTOET OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 make wine in otker countries. T, What, is wine made of 
 apples then ? The Woman, hTo, my dear ; wine is made of 
 grapes, but they squeeze the juice out, and treat it in the same 
 manner as we do the apples. 1\ This is very curious, indeed. 
 Then cider is nothing but wine made of apples. 
 
 While they were conversing in this manner, a clean little 
 girl came and brought Tommy an earthen porringer full of new 
 milk, with a large slice of brown bread. Tommy took it, and 
 ate it 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 go 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. “Ho, 
 my little dear,” said the woman, “ I will not take a farthing of 
 you for the world. Though my husband and I are poor, we 
 are able to get our 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. Eichard 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 
 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. Eichard 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.” “ Ho, no, mistress,” said 
 the man, shaking his head ; “we know our business too w'ell to 
 make this kind of mistakes ; but when your husband comes in, 
 weTl 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 
 
HISTOBY OF SAOTFOBD AND MEBTON. 
 
 11 
 
 William,’' said tlie woman, “here is a sad breakfast for you; 
 but I think what the fellows told me must he false about 
 Richard Gruff.” At this name the man instantly started, and 
 his countenance, which was before ruddy, became as 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 a 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, but you know it is now 
 three years since he went, and in all that time we have heard 
 nothing of 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 we have.” At this, the man’s 
 face became scarlet ; and seizing an old sword which hung over 
 the chimney, he cried out, “I^o, 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 besought him to be more composed. “ Oh ! 
 my dear, dear husband, consider what you are doing,” cried 
 she. “You can do none of us 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, 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, he resigned 
 the fatal instrument, and sat 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 
 
78 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETOlf. 
 
 road wliicli led to Mr. Barlow’s. While he was upon the way, 
 he seemed to he so full of the scene which he had just wit- 
 nessed, that he did not open his lips : hut when he came home, 
 he instantly went to Mr. Barlow, and desired that he would 
 directly send him to his father’s. Mr. Barlow was surprised 
 at the request, hut ordered a careful servant to saddle a horse 
 directly, and take Tommy home before him. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Merton were extremely surprised at the sight of their son ; hut 
 Tommy, whose mind was full of the project which he had 
 formed, as soon as he had answered their first questions, ac- 
 costed his father thus : “ Pray, sir, will you he angry with me, 
 if I ask you a great favour ? ” ‘‘ 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 were 
 good, I should he rich too, will you give me some money?” 
 “Money!” said Mr. Merton, “yes to he sure : how much do 
 you want ?” “ Why, sir,” said Tommy, “ I want a very large 
 
 sum.” “Perhaps a guinea,” answered Mr. Merton. Tommy » 
 ISTo, 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 hoy 1 ’’ answered Mrs. Merton, “ surely Mr. Barlow 
 must have taught him to he 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 so large a sum of money ?” “Sir,” 
 answered Tommy, “ that is a secret; hut I am sure, when you 
 hear it, you will approve of the use I intend to make of it. 3Ir. 
 3Ierton. That I very much doubt. “ But,” replied Tommy, 
 “ sir, if you please to let me have this money, I will pay you 
 again by degrees.” Mr. Merton. How will you ever be able 
 to pay me such a sum ? T. Why, sir, you know you fre- 
 quently give me new clothes and pocket-money ; now, if you 
 will only let me have this money, I will neither w^ant new 
 clothes nor anything else, till I have made it up. Mr.3Ierton, 
 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 his demand ; and as he was both very 
 rich and very liberal, he determined to hazard the experiment, 
 and comply with his request. He accordingly put the money he 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 79 
 
 asked into his hands, telling him at the same time, that he 
 expected to he acquainted with the nse he made of it, and if 
 not satisfied with the account, that he would never trust him 
 again. Tommy appeared in ecstasies at the confidence 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 beg Harry to accompany him again to the farmer’s house. 
 Thither the two little boys went with the greatest expedition ; 
 and, upon entering the house, they found the unhappy family 
 in the same situation as before. But Tommy 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, there- 
 fore, I am determined to be kind to you in return.” “ Bless 
 you, my little master,” said the woman, “ you were very wel- 
 come 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 1’ 
 answered the woman, “ I believe you would do all you could ; 
 but all our goods will be seized and sold, unless we can imme- 
 diately 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 be turned out of doors, and God alone can 
 keep them from starving.” Tommy was too kind-hearted to 
 leave the poor woman any longer in suspense, so he emptied 
 the money into her lap, saying, “ Here, my good woman, take 
 this and pay your debts.” It is impossible to express her sur- 
 prise at the sight ; she stared wildly round her, then turned 
 her eyes upon her little benefactor, and clasping her hands 
 together in an agony of gratitude and feeling, she fell back in 
 her chair with a convulsive motion. Her husband, who was 
 in the next room, seeing her in this condition, ran to her, and 
 asked her, with the greatest tenderness, what was the matter ; 
 but she threw herself upon her knees before the little boy, sob- 
 bing and blessing him, 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 chil- 
 dren ran up to their mother, pulling her by the gown, and 
 hiding their faces in her bosom. The woman, at sight of them 
 seemed to recollect herself, and cried out, “ Oh ! my children, 
 
80 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOED ANE MEETON. 
 
 who must all have been starved without the assistance of this 
 little angel, why do you not fall down, and join with me in 
 thanking him?’’ At this the husband said, “Surely, Mary, 
 you must have lost your senses ! ” “ Oh !” said the woman, 
 “ William, I am not mad, though I may appear so ; but see 
 what Providence has sent us by the hands of this little angel, 
 and then wonder that I should be wild.” Saying this, she held 
 up the money, and at the sight her husband looked as much 
 astonished as she did. 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 chil- 
 dren.” 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. Tommy, who 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 was become of him, was out of sight. 
 
 When he came back to Mr. Barlow's, that gentleman re- 
 ceived 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 be very 
 glad to hear the remainder, which Mr. Barlow gave him to 
 read, and it was as follows : 
 
 THE CONTINUATION OF THE HISTOEY OF THE GEATEFUL TUEE. 
 
 When Hamet had finished his story, the Venetian was aston- 
 ished at the virtue and elevation of his mind ; and after saying 
 everything that his gratitude 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 dis- 
 charged a debt of gratitude and friendship. “You were,” 
 said he, “my generous benefactor; you had a claim upon my 
 life, and that life would have been well bestowed, had it been 
 lost in your service ; but since Providence has otherwise de- 
 creed, it is a sufficient recompense to me to have been instru- 
 mental in the preservation of your happiness.” 
 
HISTORY OF SAUDFORD ATID MERTOH. 
 
 81 
 
 But thougli Hamet undervalued his own services, the mer- 
 chant could not remain contented without showing his grati- 
 tude by every means within his power. He therefore once 
 more purchased the freedom of Hamet, and freighted a ship on 
 purpose to send him hack to his own country : he and his son 
 then embraced him with all the affection that gratitude could 
 inspire, and hade him adieu. 
 
 Many years then elapsed since the departure of Hamet with- 
 out their seeing him, or receiving any intelligence from him. 
 In the meantime, the young Francisco, the son of the mer- 
 chant, grew up to manhood : and 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 embarked in a Venetian vessel, 
 which was bound for that place. They set sail with favour- 
 able winds, but they had not proceeded more than half way, 
 before a Turkish corsair, a ship purposely fitted out for war, 
 was seen bearing down upon them ; and they soon found that 
 it was impossible to escape. The greater part of the crew 
 belonging to the Venetian vessel was struck with consterna- 
 tion ; but young Francisco drawing his sword, reproached his 
 comrades with their cowardice, and so encouraged them, that 
 they determined to defend their liberty by a desperate re- 
 sistance. The Turkish vessel now approached in awful silence; 
 but in an instant the dreadful noise of the artillery was heard, 
 and the heavens were obscured with smoke intermixed with 
 flashes of fire. Three times did the Turks leap 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 escape, when two more ships appeared in 
 sight, bearing down upon them with incredible swiftness be- 
 fore the wind. Every heart was now chilled with new terrors, 
 when, upon their nearer approach, they discovered the fatal 
 ensigns of their enemies, and knew that there was no longer 
 any possibility of resistance. They therefore lowered their 
 
82 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOED AKE MEETOK. 
 
 flag*, and siuTendered themselves to 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 he sold for slaves. 
 They had there the mortification to see their companions picked 
 out, one by one, according to their strength and vigour, and 
 sold to different masters. At length a Turk approached, who 
 appeared to he of superior rank; and after glancing at the rest, 
 with an expression of compassion he stopped before young 
 Francisco, and asked 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 “That,’' 
 said the Turk, “ is very extraordinary, since I have seen you 
 sell all those that much exceed him in vigour for less than a 
 fifth of that sum.” “Yes,” answered the captain, “hut 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 ? ” “He 
 it was,” replied the captain, “ that animated the Christians to 
 that desperate resistance which cost me the lives of so many of 
 my bravest sailors. 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 galley.” 
 
 At this, the Turk examined young Francisco with new at- 
 tention; and he, who had hitherto fiixed 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 trans- 
 ports of a parent who recovers a long-lost child. It is un- 
 necessary 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 in his mantle, and seemed 
 overwhelmed with sorrow and astonishment; then he raised 
 his arms to heaven and blessed that fate which enabled him to 
 rescue his former benefactors. 
 
HTSTOHY OE SANDPOED AI^D MEETOIST. 83 
 
 He then flew to that part of the market where Francisco 
 stood awaiting his fate in mute despair. He called him by 
 every endearing name which 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, Hamet told the Yenetians, that when 
 he was set at liberty by their generosity, he had accepted a 
 command in the Turkish armies ; and, having had the good 
 fortune to distinguish himself upon several occasions, he had 
 gradually been promoted 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 of alleviating the 
 misfortunes of those unhappy Christians who are taken pri- 
 soners by our corsairs. Whenever a ship arrives which brings 
 with it any of these sufferers, I visit the markets, and liberate 
 a certain number of captives, and gracious Allah has shown 
 that he approves of these faint endeavours, 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 did his utmost to please and in- 
 terest them ; but finding they were desirous of returning home, 
 he told them that he would no longer detain them, 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 was considerably in- 
 creased on finding that, by the generosity of Hamet, not only 
 the ship which had been taken, but the whole crew, were re- 
 deemed and restored to freedom. Francisco and his son 
 embarked, and, after a favourable voyage, arrived without acci- 
 dent in their own country, where they lived many years re- 
 spected and esteemed, continually mindful of the uncertainty 
 of human affairs, and attentive to discharge their duties to 
 their fellovz-creatures. 
 
 When this story was concluded, Mr. Barlow and his two 
 pupils went out to walk upon the high road. They had not 
 proceeded far before they discovered three men leading three 
 large and shaggy beasts followed by a crowd of boys and 
 
 a 2 
 
84 
 
 HISTOBT OP SANDPOED AM MEETOE". 
 
 women. When they approached nearer, Mr. Barlow dis- 
 covered that the beasts were three tame hears, led by as many 
 Savoyards, who gained their living by exhibiting them. Upon 
 the head of each of these animals was seated a monkey, which 
 grinned and chattered, and provoked peals of laughter by his 
 grimaces. Tommy, who had never before seen one of these 
 creatures, was very much entertained ; hut still more so when 
 he saw the bear rise upon his hind legs at the word of com- 
 mand, and dance about in a strange uncouth manner to the 
 sound of music. 
 
 After having satisfied themselves with this spectacle, they 
 proceeded upon their way, and Tommy asked Mr. Barlow, 
 whether a bear was an animal easily tamed, and whether he 
 did mischief when he was wild. “The bear,*' replied Mr. 
 Barlow, “is not so destructive as the lion or tiger; he 
 is, however, dangerous, and will devour women and chil- 
 dren, and even men, when he has an opportunity. These 
 creatures are generally found in cold countries ; and it is ob- 
 served, that the colder the climate is, the greater size and 
 fierceness do they attain. In those northern countries, which 
 are perpetually covered with snow and ice, a species of bear is 
 found that is white in colour, and of amazing strength as well 
 as fierceness. These animals are often seen clambering over 
 the huge pieces of ice which 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 upon the shore. This creature 
 had two young ones with her, and the sailors, as you may 
 fancy, 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 greater interest in their welfare than 
 in her own. But the sailors in the ship, enraged at the 
 loss of their dinners, shot them both dead. They also 
 wounded the dam, but not mortally, so that she was still able 
 to move. It would have afiected any one with pity, to see the 
 behaviour of this poor beast towards her young ones. Though 
 she was sorely hurt, and could but just 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 
 
HISTOEY OP SAKOPOED AND MEETON. 
 
 85 
 
 before them ; and when she found that they did not eat, she 
 laid her paws first upon one and then upon another, and 
 endeavoured to raise them up, all this while making the most 
 pitiful moans. When she found that they did not stir, she 
 went 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 ofi* 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. Finding them at last cold 
 and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship and began to 
 growl as if denouncing vengeance against the murderers of her 
 young ; but the sailors levelled their muskets again, and 
 wounded her in so many places, that she dropt down between 
 her young ones ; 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,’^ an- 
 swered Mr. Barlow, “that men are frequently guilty of un- 
 necessary acts of barbarity. But in this case it is probable, 
 that fear made these sailors more unpitying than they would 
 otherwise have been.” “ But would it not be enough,” an- 
 swered Harry, “ if they carried arms to defend themselves, 
 without unnecessarily destroying creatures which did not 
 meddle with them V “To be sure it would,” replied Mr 
 Barlow, “ and a generous mind would at any time rather spare 
 un enemy than destroy him.’' 
 
 While they were conversing in this manner, they beheld a 
 orowd of women and children running away in the greatest 
 terror, and saw that one of the bears had broken his chain, and 
 was running after them, growling in a very disagreeable man- 
 ner. 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, which 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, spoke to him in a loud and severe tone of 
 voice, and seized the end of his chain with equal boldness and 
 dexterity, whereupon the animal quietly suffered himself to be 
 taken prisoner. Presently, the keeper of the bear came up, 
 into whose hands Mr. Barlow consigned him, charging him for 
 th future to be more careful in guarding so dangerous a 
 
86 
 
 HISTOEY OP SANPPOED AND MEETON. 
 
 creature. While this was doing, the boys had remained quiet 
 spectators at a distance ; but, by accident, the monkey which 
 used to be perched upon the head of the bear, and was shaken 
 off when the beast broke loose, came running that way, play- 
 ing a thousand antic grimaces. Tommy, who was determined 
 not to be outdone by Mr. Barlow, ran 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. 
 But Tommy, who was now greatly improved in courage and 
 the use of his limbs, instead of letting his enemy escape, began 
 thrashing him with a stick which he had in his hand ; till the 
 monkey, seeing he had so resolute an antagonist to deal with, 
 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 much less so than people would imagine. “ Most animals,'^ 
 said he, ‘‘are awed by courage and emboldened by the appear- 
 ance of terror.’' “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 
 the moment either of them runs away, the other will pursue 
 him with the greatest fury." “ This is not confined to dogs," 
 replied Mr. Barlow; “almost all wild beasts are subject to 
 terror; and therefore men that have been obliged to travel 
 without arms, through forests that abound with dangerous 
 animals, have frequently escaped unhurt, by shouting aloud 
 whenever they have met any upon their way. But what I 
 chiefly depended upon, was the training which the bear had 
 received since he left his own country. ‘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 to the authority I assumed over him. You 
 see I was not deceived, and by these means I probably pre- 
 vented the mischief which he might otherwise have don > to 
 some of those women and children." o 
 
HISTOET OF SAISTEFOEB AND MEETOl?-. 87 
 
 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 the 
 accident, but 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, resembling a 
 man in bis shape and appearance, as perhaps you may have 
 observed. He inhabits hot countries, the forests of which, in 
 many parts of the world, are filled with 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. 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 subsist- 
 ence. Hor is he contented always with the food which he finds 
 in his native forest. Large bands of these creatures will fre- 
 quently sally out to plunder the gardens in the neighbourhood ; 
 and many wonderful stories are told of their ingenuity and 
 contrivance. 
 
 “ It is said that they proceed with all the caution and regu- 
 larity which could be found in men themselves. Some of these 
 animals are placed as spies, to give notice to the rest, and 
 should any human being approach the garden, 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 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 give notice by their cawing, and all the 
 rest take wing directly, and fly away.” “ But,” answered Mr 
 Barlow, “ 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 from the forest they 
 inhabit to the particular garden they wish to plunder. When 
 this is done, several of them mount the finest fruit-trees, and 
 
88 
 
 • HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND HERTON. 
 
 picking the fruit, throw it down to their companions who stand 
 below ; these again chuck it to others at a little distance ; and 
 thus it dies from hand to hand, till it is safely deposited in the 
 woods whence they came. When they are taken very young, 
 they are easily tamed, hut they are always fond of mischief, and 
 are great imitators of whatever is done in their presence. 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 shav- 
 ing. The imitative animal one day took it into his head to 
 turn barber, and seizing a cat that lived in the same house, in 
 one hand, 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, and, running out, were 
 amused to see the monkey gravely seated upon the landing- 
 place, and holding the cat fast in one of his paws, while with 
 the other he 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 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 the ramparts, where 
 Jie had observed the gunner discharge the great guns that 
 defended the town. One day he got possession of the lighted 
 match with which this 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 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 take him home. When 
 he arrived there, he was received with the greatest tenderness 
 by his parents ; but though he gave them an account of every- 
 thing else that had happened, he did not say a word about the 
 money he had given to the farmer. The next day being Sun- 
 day, 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 turned upon the little boy. • Mr. and Mrs. Merton 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 89 
 
 were veiy mnch astonislied at this, but they forebore to inquire 
 till the end of the service : then, as they were going out of 
 church, Mr. Merton ashed his son 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-look- 
 ing 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 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 joy, 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 tbeir coach with such sensations as it is more easy to 
 conceive than to describe. 
 
 The summer had now completely passed away, while Tommy 
 was receiving these improvements at the house of Mr. Barlow. 
 In the course of this time, both his body and mind had acquired 
 additional vigour ; for he was neither so fretful and passionate, 
 nor so easily affected by the vicissitudes of the seasons. 
 
 And now the winter had set in with unusual severity. The 
 water was frozen into a solid mass of ice ; the trees were bare, 
 and the little birds, that used to chirp with gladness, seemed 
 to lament in silence the inclemency of the weather. Tommy 
 was one day surprised, when he entered his chamber, to hnd a 
 very pretty little bird ffying about it. He went down- stairs 
 and informed Mr. Barlow, who told him it was called a robin- 
 red-breast, and that it was naturally more tame than any other 
 species. “But, at present,” added he, “the little fellow is in 
 want of food, and hunger inspires him with this unusual bold- 
 ness.” “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 fiew out of the 
 window, and settled upon a neighbouring tree, singing all the 
 
90 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAITEFOED AND MEETO^T. 
 
 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, while the bird 
 hopped fearlessly in, and regaled himself under the protection 
 of his benefactor. By degrees, the intimacy increased so much, 
 that little Eobin would alight on Tommy’s shoulder, or eat out 
 of his hand, which gave Tommy so much satisfaction, that he 
 would frequently call Mr. Barlow and Harry to be witnesses of 
 his favourite’s caresses; nor did he ever eat his own meals 
 without reserving a part for his little friend. 
 
 One day, however. Tommy went up-stairs after dinner, in- 
 tending 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 companion lay dead upon 
 the floor ; and a large cat sprang out of the window. Tommy 
 instantly ran down with tears in his eyes, to relate the death 
 of his favourite, and to demand vengeance against the wicked cat 
 that had occasioned it. Mr. Barlow heard him with great com- 
 passion, but asked what punishment he wished to inflict upon 
 the cat. 
 
 Tommy, Oh ! sir, 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 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 is her nature 
 to prey upon mice and other little animals ? 
 
 Tommy, Yes, sir, very often. 
 
 Mr, Barloio, And have you ever attempted to teach her 
 other habits ? 
 
 Tommy, I cannot say I have. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Are you not then more to be blamed than the 
 cat ? W ould it not be 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 ? 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOEI) AND MEETON. 
 
 91 
 
 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 destroyed every creature that 
 preys upon others, you would leave few alive. 
 
 Tommy. Surely, sir, the poor bird 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 went to the window, and desired Tommy to ob- 
 serve a robin which was then hopping upon the grass with 
 something in its mouth, and asked him what he thought it was. 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, sir, it is a large worm. And now he has 
 swallowed it ! I should never have thought that such a pretty 
 bird could be so cruel. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Do you imagine that the bird is conscious of 
 all that is suffered by the worm? 
 
 Tommy. IbTo, sir. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. In him then it is not cruelty. 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 the 
 ass when he browses upon 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 is conscious of his 
 cruelty to the insect. The natural food of cats consists in rats, 
 mice, birds, and such small animals. 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 should I have another tame bird, she will 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 pre- 
 venting cats from meddling with them. 
 
 Tommy. Oh ! dear sir, I should like to try it. WiU you 
 show me how to prevent the cat from killing any more birds ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Most willingly. It is certainly better to 
 
92 
 
 HISTOEY OP SANDPOBD AND MEETON. 
 
 correct tlie 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, € have 
 often seen you caress her with great affection ; and puss would 
 always purr as if she were sensible of your attention. 
 
 In a few days after this conversation, another robin ffew 
 into the house, and commenced acquaintance with Tommy. 
 But he would not encourage it to any familiarity till he had 
 claimed Mr. Barlow’s promise to assist him in preserving 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 iron gridiron, such as is used to broil meat upon, 
 and having heated it almost red-hot, placed it before the 
 cage in which the bird was confined. He then contrived 
 to entice the cat into the room, and withdrew the two 
 little boys, in order to leave her unrestrained in her opera- 
 tions. They observed her 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 received her attack. 
 Hor was this disappointment the only punishment she was 
 destined to undergo : the bars of the machine had been so 
 thoroughly heated, that in rushing against them she felt her- 
 self 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 she 
 was never known again to attempt to destroy birds. 
 
 The coldness of the weather still continuing, all animals 
 began to perceive the effects, and even hares, the most timor- 
 ous 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 began to gnaw 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON, 
 
 95 
 
 the very hark of the trees. 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 pro- 
 mised himself so plentiful a produce of fruit, had not escaped 
 the general depredation, hut had been gnawed round at the 
 root and killed. The little hoy was so enraged to see the 
 destruction of his labours, 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, hut 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 that subsist upon vege- 
 tables.” Tommy looked a little foolish, hut he said, that he 
 did not want to hurt them for living upon vegetables, hut for 
 destroying his tree. “ But,” said Mr. Barlow, “ how can you 
 expect the animals to distinguish your trees from any other ? 
 You should have fenced them round in such a manner as might 
 have prevented the hares from reaching them.” Mr. Barlow 
 then led him into a field at some distance, 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 fel- 
 lows 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 upon any account. Look 
 round the whole country, and you will see nothing but a 
 barren waste, which presents no food either to bird or beast. 
 These little creatures therefore assemble 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 songs.” 
 
 Tommy. How dreary and uncomfortable is this season ! I 
 wish it were always summer. 
 
 3Ir. Barlow. In some countries it is so ; but there the in- 
 habitants complain more of the intolerable heat, than you do 
 of the cold. 
 
 Tommy. Then I should like to live in a country that was 
 never either disagreeably hot or cold. 
 
94 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Such, a country is scarcely to be found ; or, if 
 there is, it comprises so small a portion of the earth, as to leave 
 room for very few inhabitants. 
 
 Tommy, Then I should think every body would wish to 
 live there. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, There you are mistaken, for the inhabitants 
 of the finest climates are often less attached to their 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 named Lapland, 
 which is covered with perpetual snows during most of 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 methods by which men 
 find subsistence in the different parts of the earth. 
 
 Tommy, I should like very much to hear if Harry will tell 
 me. 
 
 Marry, You must know then. Master Tommy, that in the 
 greatest part of 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, 
 scarcely any of the herbs which grow in our gardens in 
 England ; nor do they possess either sheep, goats, hogs, cows, 
 or horses. 
 
 Tommy, What then have they to live upon ? 
 
 Marry, They have a species of deer, which is bigger than 
 the largest stags which you may have seen in gentlemen's parks 
 in England, and very strong. These animals are called rein- 
 deer, and so gentle that they are easily tamed, and taught to 
 live in herds, and obey their masters. During the short Lapland 
 summer, the Laplanders lead them out to pasture in the val- 
 leys, where the grass grows very high and luxuriant. In the 
 winter, when the ground is covered with snow, the deer have 
 learned to scratch it away, and find a sort of moss which grows 
 underneath it, and upon this they subsist. These creatures 
 afford not only food, but clothing, 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 use it they are obliged 
 
HISTOHY OE SANDFORD AND MERTON. 95 
 
 to cut it iu 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 them, and live upon the 
 flesh. Of the skins he makes warm garments for himself and 
 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, leaving only a little hole to let out 
 the smoke. These poles are either covered with skins, 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 the hut, and they make a comfortable fire to warm them 
 in the middle. People thus easily contented are totally igno- 
 rant of most of the things that we think necessary for comfort. 
 The Laplanders have neither gold nor silver, nor carpets in 
 their houses. Every man makes for himself all that the real 
 wants of life require, and with his own hands performs every- 
 thing which is necessary to be done. Their food consists 
 either of frozen milk, the flesh of the reindeer, or that of the bear, 
 which they frequently hunt and kill. Instead of bread, they 
 strip ofl* the bark of firs, almost the only trees which grow upon 
 those dismal mountains, and eat it with their meat. The 
 greatest happiness of these poor people is to live free and unre- 
 strained ; therefore they do not long remain fixed to any spot, 
 but, taking down their houses, they pack them up with the 
 little furniture they possess, and load them upon sledges, to 
 carry and set them up in some other place. 
 
 Tommif. 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 run with 
 surprising swiftness, 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 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. There are no towns 
 or villages ; no fields ; no roads ; no inns for travellers to sleep 
 at, nor shops where they may purchase the necessaries of life. 
 The face of the whole country is barren and dismal : wherever 
 
96 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 you turn your eyes, nothing is to be seen but mountains, white 
 with snow, and covered with ice and fogs. These moun- 
 tains shelter thousands of bears and wolves, which are con- 
 tinually prowling about to prey upon the deer ; so that the 
 Laplanders are continually obliged to fight them in their own 
 defence. To do this, they fix large pieces of fiat board to the 
 bottom of their feet; and thus secured, they run along 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 the winter, and then they attack 
 them with spears, and overcome them. When a Laplander has 
 killed a bear, he boils the flesh in an iron pot, which is all the 
 cooking they are acquainted with, and invites all his neigh- 
 bours 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 barba- 
 rous 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. 
 
 Tommy, Poor people! howl pity them ! I should think 
 the fatigues and hardships they undergo must kill them in a 
 very short time. 
 
 3ir. Barlow, Have you then observed that those who eat 
 and drink the most, and undergo the least fatigue, are the 
 most free from diseases ? 
 
 Tommy, Hot 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. 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 the poor lost 
 the use of their limbs by the same disease ? 
 
 Tommy, I cannot say I have. 
 
HISTOEY OF SAIn^EFOED AKD MEETON’. 
 
 97 
 
 3fr. Barlow, Then, perhaps, scanty diet, hardship, and ex- 
 ercise, may not he so destructive as you imagine. This way of 
 life is much healthier than luxury and intemperance. I re- 
 member lately reading a story upon this subject, which, if you 
 please, you shall hear. Mr. Barlow then read the following 
 
 HISTOEY OF A SHEPEISIHO CTJEE OF THE GOUT. 
 
 In one of the provinces of Italy, there lived v. wealthy gentle- 
 man, 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 delica- 
 cies. Italy produces excellent wines, hut these were not 
 enough for our epicure. He settled agents in different parts of 
 Prance and Spain, to buy up all the most costly wines of those 
 countries. He had correspondence with all the maritime cities, 
 that he might he constantly supplied with every kind of fish. 
 Every poulterer and fishmonger in the town engaged 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, he used to retire to his 
 library, and seating himself in an easy chair, and tucking a 
 napkin under his chin, ordered his head cook to he sent in to 
 him. The head cook instantly appeared, attended by a couple 
 of footmen, who carried each a silver salver of a prodigious size, 
 on which were cups which contained 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 govern- 
 ment of a kingdom. When this important affair wa^ concluded, 
 he generally threw 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, from mere inabi- 
 lity to contain more. 
 
 This kind of life he pursued, till at last he became so corpu- 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAOTFOED AKD MEBTOI!?-. 
 
 lent, that he could hardly move. 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 racking pains in his limbs, which at length 
 terminated in a violent fit of the gout. The pains at length 
 abated, and this unfortunate epicure returned to all his former 
 habits of intemperance. The interval of ease, however, was 
 short, and he was at length deprived of the use of almost all 
 his limbs. In this unhappy state he consulted a physician that 
 had the reputation of performing many surprising cures. 
 “Doctor,’’ said the gentleman to the physician, “ 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 own 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,’’ answered 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 the heartburn, that I am scarcely able to close my eyes 
 all night ; or if I do, I wake 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,” con- 
 tinued 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 intoler- 
 able twitches in my limbs, that you would imagine I was abso- 
 lutely 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 every morning, my stomach is oppressed 
 
HISTOEY OP SANDPORT) AND MERTON. 
 
 99 
 
 witli nausea, my head aches, 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 con- 
 fident I never could get through the morning, hio, 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 conse- 
 quences of an ill- spent life are to be washed away by a few 
 bottles of medicine. But as I cannot cure you upon those terms, 
 I will not deceive you. 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 aiiything 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 recom- 
 mendation ; 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 phy- 
 sician, 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 determined to set out upon the journey. For this purpose 
 he had a litter so contrived, that he could 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 consti- 
 tutes good eating ; and two of his cooks went with him, that 
 nothing might be wanting to his accommodation upon the 
 road. After a wearisome journey, he at length arrived within 
 sight of Padua, and was carried to the house of the physician, 
 who was called Dr. Eamozini. Then, having been helped out 
 of his carriage by his servants, he was shown into a neat but 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFOED AND HEETON. 
 
 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 complai- 
 sance, 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 has just arrived from England, and is 
 a specihc 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.” “ Goodman,” 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 physi- 
 cian ! 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 load- 
 ing him with thanks and blessings. He then approached the 
 gentleman, and 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 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 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 : “ you can employ me or not, as 
 you please ; 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 beha- 
 
HISTOBT OF SAKBFOED AND MEBTON. 101 
 
 viour SO mucli interests me in your favour, that I will immedi- 
 ately 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 sup- 
 ported the journey. “Why, really,'* answered he, “much 
 better than I could have expected. But I feel myself unusu- 
 ally 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 per- 
 mit me to visit my patients.” 
 
 W^hile 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 Eamozini 
 treats the poor in such an hospitable manner, he will spare no- 
 thing 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 sometime amused; at length 
 his appetite growing keener and keener, 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 sufier one of them to eat unless in his presence. 
 However, sir, have patience ; in two hours more the supper will 
 be ready.” 
 
 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 slow- 
 ness 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 gen- 
 tleman flattered himself he should now be rewarded for his 
 long abstinence. As they were sitting down to table, the 
 learned Eamozini thus accosted his guest : ‘ ‘ Before you give 
 
102 
 
 HISTOEY OE SAin)rOED AND MEETON. 
 
 a loose to yonr 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 sub- 
 stances as your case requires. They will not be indeed disco- 
 Yerable by any of your senses ; but as their effects are equally 
 strong and certain, I must recommend to you to eat with modera- 
 tion.*’ 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 spec- 
 tacle, “ 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 appetite, a fever or 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 rank.** 
 The gentleman began to comfort himself with this refiection, 
 and 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 believed possible, from such 
 a homely meal. When he had nearly supped, he wanted some- 
 thing to drink ; and observing nothing but water upon the table, 
 desired one of the servants to bring a little wine. ‘‘ jN’ot as you 
 value the life of this illustrious gentleman,** cried out the phy- 
 sician. “ Sir,** added he, turning to his guest, “ it is with in- 
 expressible 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 re- 
 freshing mineral water.*’ The gentleman was again compelled 
 to submit, and drank the water with many grimaces. After 
 the cloth was removed, Signor Ramozini entertained the gentle- 
 man with some agreeable 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. 
 
HISTOEY OF SAFTEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 103 
 
 The doctor then retired, and the gentleman 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 door. 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 ser- 
 vant, with profound humility, “ I am sorry the chamber does 
 not please you ; but I am certain I have not mistaken my mas- 
 ter’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 pre- 
 sently 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 civility inquired after his health. He had indeed 
 fallen asleep in a very ill humour, but his night’s rest had 
 much composed his mind, and the efiect 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 ? 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. But now, if you please, it is time to rise.” Eamozini 
 then rang for his servants, and the gentleman sufi’ered 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 basin of water- gruel, 
 all which he defended, very little to his guest’s satisfaction, 
 upon the principles of medical science. 
 
 After breakfast had been some time finished. Doctor 
 Bamozini told his patient it was time to begin the great work 
 
104 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 out, and locked the 
 door after him. He had not been long in this situation, before 
 he felt the floor of the chamber, which was covered over with 
 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 in 
 vain : 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 have believed possible: presently the 
 other leg began to burn, and then he hopped again upon the 
 first. 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 room an easy 
 chair for him to rest upon, and sufiered 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 a thousand 
 anologies: these excuses he received with a kind of sullen 
 civility ; however, his anger was a little mitigated by the 
 smell of a roasted fowl, 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, and, full of rage 
 and indignation, drove directly to the house of the first 
 
HISTOBY OF SANDFOBD AND MEKTON. 
 
 105 
 
 physician, in order to reproach, him. The physician happened 
 to be at home, hut 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 gentlemen; “ 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 effected all these miracles for you in so short a time, 
 and who 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 owmdupe, and cheated into health and happiness. A^ou 
 went t^poctor Ramozini, and saw a parcel of miserable wretches 
 comfoiWhly at dinner. That great and worthy man is the 
 father f all about him : he knows that most of the diseases of 
 the iMov originate in their want of food and necessaries, and 
 ther Are assists them with better diet and clothing. The 
 rich,^n the contrary, are generally the victims of their own 
 intemperance; and therefore he finds it necessary to use a 
 contrary method of cure — exercise, abstinence, and mortifica- 
 tion. You, sir, have been indeed 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 change that has 
 been produced has been by giving you better habits, and 
 rousing .the powers of your own constitution. As to deception, 
 you have none to complain of, and this, I am witness, he has 
 don^o effectually, that were you to reward him with half your 
 foBifce, it would hardly be too much for his deserts.” 
 
106 
 
 HISTOEY OE SANDEOEE AND MEETON. 
 
 The gentleman, who did not want either sense or generosity, 
 could not help feeling the force of what was said. He there- 
 fore made a handsome apology for his behaviour, and instantly 
 despatched a servant to Doctor Eamozini, 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 mo- 
 deration, lived to a very comfortable old age. 
 
 “ Indeed,’' said Tommy, “this is a very 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, in such a little boy as you. Ho one should 
 take upon him to instruct others, while he wants so much 
 instruction himself. Thus," continued Mr. Barlow, “you see 
 by this story that intemperance and excess are full as dangerous 
 as want and hardship. As to the Laplanders, for whom you 
 were so much concerned, they are some of the healthiest people 
 the world produces. They generally live to an extreme old age, 
 free from most of the diseases prevalent amongst us, and 
 subject to no other inconvenience 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." 
 
 Some few days after this conversation, when the sno^v was 
 a good deal worn away, though the frost and cold continued, 
 the two little boys went out to take a walk. Insensibly they 
 wandered so far that, in passing through a wood, they erdirely 
 missed the track, and lost themselves. To add to their d A’ess, 
 the wind began to blow bitterly from the north, and a ^^lent 
 shower of snow coming on, obliged them to seek the thickest 
 shelter they could find. They happened fortunately to b(3 near 
 a hollow oak, which afibrded an ample opening to shelter them 
 from the storm. Into this the two little boys crept safely, and 
 endeavoured to keep each other warm, while a violent shower 
 of snow and sleet fell all around, and gradually coveied the 
 earth. Tommy, who had been little used to hardship, bore it 
 for some time with fortitude, and without uttering a coAjlaint. 
 At length hunger and fear took entire possession of hi^|oul, 
 and turning to Harry, with watery eyes and a mournful 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 107 
 
 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 endeayour 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 conve- 
 niently sheltered. 
 
 Tommy. But, oh ! what a dreadful thing it is to he 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 Hint I could 
 easily strike fire with the back of it. 
 
 Harry then searched about, and with some little difficulty 
 found a couple of fiints, as the ground was nearly hidden with 
 snow. He then took the fiints, and striking one upon the 
 other with all his force, he shivered them into several pieces ; 
 out of these he chose the thinnest and sharpest, and told Tommy, 
 with a smile, that he believed that would do. He then took 
 the fiint, and striking it against the back of his knife, pro- 
 duced several sparks of fire. He then collected all the driest 
 leaves he could find, with little decayed pieces of wood, and 
 piling th em into a heap, endeavoured to kindle a blaze by the 
 sparks which he continually struck from his knife and the fiint, 
 but 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 could do. Harry answered, that 
 the best thing they could do, was to endeavour to find their way 
 home, especially as the snow had now ceased, and the sky was 
 clearer. To this Tommy consented, and with infinite diffi- 
 culty they began their march ; for the snow had completely co- 
 vered every track, and the daylight began to fail. At every step 
 which Tommy took, he sank almost to his knees in snow ; the 
 wind was bleak and cold, and it was with difficulty that Harry 
 could prevail upon him to continue his journey. At length, 
 however, they came to some lighted embers, which either some 
 
108 
 
 HISTOEY OE SANDFOED AND MEETON, 
 
 labourers or some wandering passengers had lately quitted, and 
 which were yet unextinguished. “ See,’’ said Harry, with joy, 
 ‘‘ see how fortunate this is ! Here is a fire ready lighted for us, 
 which needs only the assistance of a little wood to make it burn.” 
 Harry then again collected all the dry pieces he could find, and 
 piled them upon the embers, which in a few moments began to 
 blaze, and diffused a cheerful warmth. Tommy then began to 
 warm his almost frozen limbs over the fire with great delight ; at 
 length he could not help observing to Harry, that he never could 
 have believed a few dried sticks could have been of so much con- 
 sequence to him. “ Ah !” answered Harry, “Master Tommy, 
 you never knew what it was to want anything. But that is 
 not the case with thousands of people. I have seen hundreds 
 of poor children that have neither bread to eat, fire to warm, 
 nor clothes to cover them. Yet they are so accustomed to hard- 
 ship, 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 ob- 
 servation 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 tliat his fellow- 
 creatures do ? 
 
 Tommy. That is very true. But he will have all the con- 
 veniences of life provided for him ; victuals to eat, a good bed, 
 and 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, making snowballs. 
 
 Tommy. That is indeed true : for I have seen my mother’s 
 visitors sitting over the warmest fire that could be made, and 
 complaining of cold, while the labourers out of doors never 
 minded it in the least. 
 
 Harry. Then I should think that exercise is a much better 
 thing than all these conveniences you speak of. 
 
 Tommy. But then it is not proper for gentlemen to do the 
 same kind of work with the common people. 
 

Lost in the wood. 
 
HISTOllY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 109 
 
 Harry, But is it not proper for a gentleman to liave his body 
 gtout and hardy ? 
 
 Tommy, To he sure it is. 
 
 Harry. Why then he must sometimes labour and use his 
 limbs, or else he will never possess that advantage. 
 
 Tommy, What ! cannot a person be strong without work- 
 ing ? 
 
 Harry. You can judge for yourself. You very often have 
 fine young gentlemen at your father’s house, who 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. I believe that is true, for I think I am become 
 stronger myself, since I have learned to amuse 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 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.” 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 in such a 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 ofier 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. When they entered, they saw a middle-aged 
 woman spinning ; the eldest girl was cooking some broth over 
 the fire : the father was sitting in the chimney-corner, reading 
 a book, while three or four ragged children were tumbling upon 
 the fioor, and creeping between their father’s legs.” “ Daddy,” 
 says the little boy, as he came in, “here is Master Merton, 
 that was so good to us all in the summer. He lost his way in 
 the wood, and 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 
 
110 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAFDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 created a clieerful blaze in an instant. There, my dear little 
 master,’* said she, “you may at least refresh yourself a little 
 by our fire, and I wish I had anything to offer you that you 
 could eat. But I am afraid you will never be able to bear such 
 coarse brown bread as we poor folks are obliged to eat.” “ In- 
 deed,” said Tommy, “ my good woman, 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.” 
 
 The good woman then cooked the bacon, spread a coarse but 
 clean cloth upon her table, and invited them to sit down ; an in- 
 vitation 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 returned 
 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 to meet Mr. Barlow, and thanked him for the 
 pains he had taken to look after them, expressing their concern 
 for the uneasiness which 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 he renewed his cau- 
 tion, and told them the dangers they had incurred. “ Man> 
 people,” said he, “ in your situation, have been surprised bjr 
 an unexpected storm, and, losing their way, have perished with 
 cold. Sometimes both men and beasts, not being able to dis- 
 cern 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 
 
HISTOET OF SANEFOED AND MEEION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 in that condition, and yet been taken out ali^e : to-morrow 
 you shall read a remarkable story to that purpose.’’ 
 
 As they were walking on, Tommy looked up to the sky, 
 where all the stars glittered with unusual brightness, and said, 
 “ What an innumerable quantity of stars is here ! I think I 
 never observed so many before !” 
 
 “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,” answered Tommy, “ for there is neither 
 beginning nor end ? I should think it as impossible to number 
 them as the flakes of snow that fell while we were in the wood.” 
 At this time Mr. Barlow smiled, and said, that he believed 
 Harry could give him a difierent 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, 
 “ that 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 know them again, 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 Charles’s 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, but they are better known among astrono- 
 mers by the name of the Great Bear. How, 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 cannot. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Do you not think, then, that you can find 
 them again ? 
 
 Tommy, I will try, sir. How, I will look another way. 
 Ho, I cannot find them again. Oh I I believe there they are — 
 pray, sir (pointing with his finger), is not that Charles’s Wain? 
 
112 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAlfDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 surprising. I will show my 
 mother Charles’s Wain the first time I go home : I dare say she 
 has never observed it. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But look at the two stars which compose the 
 hinder wheels of the waggon, and raise your eye up toward 
 the top of the sky : do you not see a small star, v/hich 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 west ? 
 
 Tommy. Is 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. 
 
 Mr. Barlow, Do not you know, Harry ? 
 
 Marry. 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, 1 can always find north, east, west, and south. 
 But you say that the pole-star never moves : do the other stars, 
 then, move out of their places ? 
 
 3ir. Barlow. That is a question you may learn to answer 
 yourself by examining whether the stars change their places 
 at any future time. 
 
 Tommy, But, sir, I have thought that it would be a good 
 contrivance to draw them upon a piece of paper. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But how would you do that ? 
 
 Tommy. I would make a mark upon the paper for every star 
 in Charles’s Wain, and I would place other marks just as I see 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED ^ND MEETOX. 113 
 
 stars placed in the sky, and I would be^ yon to write the 
 names for me, and this I would do till I were acquainted with 
 all the stars in the heavens. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. That would he an excellent way ; but a paper 
 is flat : is that the form of the sky ? 
 
 Tommy. JSTol, the sky seems to rise like the dome of a great 
 church. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Then if you were to have some round body 
 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. We sometimes run to see a pro- 
 cession of coaches, or a few people in flne clothes strutting 
 about ; we admire a large room that is painted 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. Lord Wimple’s great room 
 that I have heard people admire so much, is no more to be com- 
 pared to it than the shabbiest thing in the world. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. That is indeed true ; but there are also some 
 very important uses to be derived from a knowledge of the 
 stars. Harry, 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 oflp, across the great moor. 
 How, my father often sends me with messages to my uncle. 
 One evening I went so late, that it was scarcely possible to get 
 home again before it was quite dark ; it was at that time the 
 month of October. My uncle wished me very much to stay at 
 his house all night ; but that I could not do because my father 
 had ordered me to come back. So I set out as soon as I possi- 
 bly could ; but, just as I had reached the heath, the evening 
 grew extremely dark. 
 
 1 
 
114 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETCjS”. 
 
 Tommy, And were not yon frigMened to find yonrself all 
 alone upon such, a dismal place ? 
 
 Harry. ]S"o ; I knew the worst that could happen would he 
 that I should stay there all night, and, as soon as the morning 
 shone, I should find my way home. But, however, by the time 
 I had reached the middle of the heath, there came on a violent 
 tempest, so that I found it impossible to continue my way. 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 shelter. Here I lay 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 very dismal indeed. 
 
 Harry, I wandered about a great while, but 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. 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 drown- 
 ed 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 lantern, that some- 
 body 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 any body’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 towards it : when immediately the 
 light 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AliD MEETOI?’. 
 
 115 
 
 witK 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 in 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 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 be- 
 fore me ten times faster than before ; so that, instead of over- 
 taking it, I found myself further and further behind. Still, 
 however, I ran on, till I sunk in a large bog, out of which I 
 at last scrambled with 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 sheep bell, or the barking of a dog ; but 
 nothing met my ear but the shrill whistling of the wind. In 
 this situation I stopped awhile to consider wffiat I should do^, 
 and raising my eyes by accident to the sky, the first object 1 
 beheld was that very constellation of Charles’s 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 wallving 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 straightforward 
 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 ; 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 afibrded me light 
 enough to avoid the iDits and bogs ; and when I had travelled, 
 as I imagined, about three miles, I heard the barking of a dog 
 
 I 2 
 
116 HISTORY OF SAHFFOED AND MERTOI? . 
 
 wliicli gave me double vigour, and going a little further, I came 
 to some enclosures at the skirts of the common, which I knew, 
 so that I then found my way home, after having almost de- 
 spaired of doing it. 
 
 To7nmy, 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 at 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 call Jack-of-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 many people, who, 
 like me, have taken them for a lighted candle, have followed 
 them, as I did, into bogs and ditches. 
 
 Just as Harry had finished his history, 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 un- 
 dressed, and bawling out, “ Sir, sir, I have found it out — they 
 move! they move!” “What moves?” said Mr. Barlow. 
 “ Charles’s 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 into 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 out the book. “ But first,’' 
 said he, “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 on their tops.” “Never!” said Tommy, “not even in 
 the summer?’’ “Not even in the summer. The valleys be- 
 tween these mountains are inhabited by a brave and indus- 
 trious people. 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 
 
HISTOEY OE SANDFOED AND MEETON 
 
 117 
 
 comfortable. Almost all the roads are then impassable, and 
 snow and ice alford the only prospect. But when the year 
 begins to grow warmer, the snow is frequently thawed upon 
 the sides of the mountains, and pours down with resistless 
 force. Hence it frequently happens, that such prodigious 
 masses of snoy/ fall down, as are sufficient to bury beasts and 
 houses, and even villages beneath them. It was in the neigh- 
 bourhood 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 
 Eochia 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 de- 
 scended, and fied with his son he knew not whither ; but 
 scarce 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 sisters, 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, went 
 with his son and two of his wife’s brothers, to try if he could 
 find the exact place where his house stood ; but, afb^r 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 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 feet 
 thick, with iron bars, and thrust down a long pole and touched 
 the ground ; but evening coming on, he desisted. 
 
 “The next day, the brother of his wife came to the house 
 where Joseph was ; and 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 
 
118 HISTOEY OF SAIfEFOED AKD MEETOFT. 
 
 sought for the stable, which was about two hundred and forty 
 feet distant, and having found it, they heard a cry of ‘ Help, 
 my dear brother ! ’ Being greatly surprised as well as encou- 
 raged by these words, they dug till they had made a large 
 opening, through which the brother went down, where the 
 sister, with an agonizing 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, Vfho 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-fiour 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-fiour gruel ; there was 
 also an ass and five or six fowls. They were sheltering them- 
 selves in a warm corner of the stable till the church-bell 
 should ring, intending to attend the service. The wife related, 
 that 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 breaking over their heads, and also 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOIST. 
 
 119 
 
 care was to know wliat they had to eat. The sister said she 
 had fifteen chestnuts in her pocket ; the children said they had 
 breakfasted and should want no more that day. They remem- 
 bered 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 pre- 
 served 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 chest- 
 nuts, and drank what milk the goat yielded, being very near 
 two pounds 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 tiie 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 tak- 
 ing 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 it gave them every day two pounds 
 
120 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 of milk, on which, account they still feel for this poor creature 
 great affection. This was the account which these poor people 
 gave to the magistrate, of their preservation.*' 
 
 “Dear me!*’ 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 
 by every means in our power, that we may be able to struggle 
 against them.*’ 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, sir, I begin to think so ; for when I was 
 a little boy, I remember I was always fretful and hurting my- 
 self, though I had two or three people constantly to take care 
 of me. At present I seem as if I were quite another person ; I 
 do not mind cold or weariness, or 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 other the matter with me, and was forced to 
 take physic. I used to be tired if I did but walk a mile ; and 
 I was always eating sweetmeats till I made myself sick. 'Now 
 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, but it is the only wish of almost all 
 to return, before their death, to the mountains where they 
 passed their youth. 
 
 Tommy. I do not understand that. I have seen a great 
 many ladies and little girls at our house, and have always 
 heard them say they hated the country, though they were born 
 and bred there. I have heard one say, that the country is odious, 
 and abominable ; and another, that it is impossible to live there. 
 
 Mr. Barlow, And yet there are thousands who 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 
 my father and mother, who have been so kind to me ; and you 
 too, sir, who have taken such pain to make me good. Besides, 
 
HISTOBY OP SANDFOBD AND MEBTON. 121 
 
 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, hut I did not much like it : 
 the houses seemed to me to stand so thick and close ; 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 they most of them appeared so dirty and unhealthy, 
 that it made my heart ache to look at them. And never was I 
 better pleased in my life, than when the day came for my 
 return home. When I came to the top of the great hill, from 
 which you have a prospect of our house, I thought I should 
 have cried with joy. The fields looked all so pleasant, and the 
 cattle so happy ; and then every step I took, I met wdth some- 
 body 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, Harry ? ” cried a second ; and then a third shook hands 
 with me ; and the very cattle seemed all glad that I was come 
 home again. 
 
 3Ir. 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 im- 
 prove their minds. They prefer London, because there they 
 meet with numbers as idle as themselves ; and these people 
 mutually assist each other to talk about trifies, and to waste 
 their time. 
 
 Tommy. That is true, sir, really; for when w^e have a great 
 deal of company, I have often observed that they never talk 
 about anything but dressing. 
 
 Harry. Why, what can dress signify ? For my part, when- 
 ever I see people dressed very fine, I cannot help thinking of 
 the story I once read of Agesilaus, king of Sparta. 
 
 Tommy. What is that story ? Do pray 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 yourself. 
 
 The little boys then went out, and returned to a diversion 
 they had been amusing themselves with for several days. 
 
122 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AKD MEKTON. 
 
 namely, tlie manufacture of a prodigious snowball. They bad 
 begun by making a small globe of snow with their hands, 
 which they turned over and over, till it grew so large that they 
 were unable to roll it any further. Here Tommy observed that 
 their labours must end, for it was impossible to turn it any 
 longer. “JSTo,'’ 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 him to put the end of his stick under the mass, 
 while he did the same on his side, and then 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, which before we could not even stir.’' 
 “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.” Just as he had said this, 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, 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 ask them to cut 
 us two longer sticks, that we may try their effects.” 
 
 They then went up to the men who were at work ; but here 
 a new wonder 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 observing, that certainly Mr. Barlow did not 
 
i 
 
Knowledge is Power. 
 
HISTORY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 123 
 
 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 in- 
 strument 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 !” an- 
 swered Harry, smiling; “then I believe I must try another 
 method : ” so he stooped down, and picked up a small piece of 
 tough iron, about six inches long, which Tommy had not ob- 
 served before, 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 took this up, and with 
 a few blows drove it a little way into 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 doAvn, till he had completely efiected what he had 
 undertaken, and 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 
 
124 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOKD AND MEETON. 
 
 put it upon Ms shoulder; wMle Harry took the other end. 
 But when Tommy attempted to move, he found that he could 
 hardly hear 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 along in this manner, Mr. 
 Barlow met them, and seeing poor Tommy labouring under 
 his burden, 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 him- 
 self.’' 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 efiects 
 of a lever, that he wished to teach him some other facts about 
 t: 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 any easier. “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.” “Hot 
 quite in the same manner,” answered Mr. Barlow; “for, if you 
 observe, the log is a great deal further 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 do not 
 know.” “Well,” said Mr. Barlow, “ if you have acquired so 
 much useful knowledge already, what may you expect to do in 
 a few years more ? ” He then led Tommy into the house, and 
 showed him a stick of about four feet long, with a scale hung 
 at each end. “How,” 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 everything which is 
 bought ; only 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 con- 
 sequence.” 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 
 
HISTOET OF SANDFOED AXD MEETON’. 
 
 125 
 
 That side which was longest, instantly came to the gronnd 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 this sort of trials, you may 
 conceive the prodigious advantage which they are of to men.’^ 
 “All this,” said Tommy, “is wonderful indeed; and I need 
 not ask the use of them, because I see it plainly in the experi- 
 ments 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. “ Yow,” 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,” re- 
 plied 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 hoisted up into the granary, and landed 
 upon the floor. “ You see,” said Mr. Barlow, “ here is another 
 ingenious contrivance, by which the weakest person may per- 
 form 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. How, 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 without it.” 
 
 “ Well,’ said Tommy, “ I see it is a fine thing indeed to ac- 
 quire knowledge. But are there no more, sir, of these ingeni- 
 
126 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AISTE MEETOIT. 
 
 ous contrivances ? for I should like to understand them all.’* 
 *‘Yes/’ answered Mr. Barlow, “there are more; and all of 
 them you shall he perfectly acquainted with in time ; hut for 
 this purpose you should he 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 lie 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, Yery 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 ? 
 
 Tommy was unable to answer, and Mr. Barlow proposed the 
 same question to Harry, who answered, that together they 
 made thirty- nine. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, How 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 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 ! 
 
 Mr, Barlow, A bushel of corn weighs about fifty pounds ; 
 this sack contains four bushels, so that there are just two hun- 
 dred pounds weight in all. How, every pound contains sixteen 
 ounces ; and sixteen times two hundred make thirty-two hun- 
 
HISTOKY OF SANDFOED AISTD MEETOl^’. 
 
 127 
 
 dred ounces. So that you have nothing to do hut 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 should like to learn arithmetic. Will you teach 
 me, sir? 
 
 Mr, Barlow, You know I am 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 dealer came to him, and showed him one so hand- 
 some, 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 as gentle and tractable as 
 possible. 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 un- 
 derstood calculation, “ if you do not like to give me two hun- 
 dred 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 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-dealer added, “ I do not mean to tie you 
 down to this last proposal, which, upon consideration, you may 
 like less than the first ; all that I require is, that if you are dissa- 
 tisfied 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 he called his steward to calcu- 
 late 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 
 
128 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFOBD AND MERTON. 
 
 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 to just 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 dealer 
 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 Tommy found a new employment and diversion for the 
 winter nights in 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 employ- 
 ment of observing the heavens ; for, every night, when the stars 
 were bright, and the sky unclouded, Harry and he observed 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’s Wain, or the 
 Great Bear. One night, as Tommy was looking up to the sky, in 
 the southern part of the heavens, he observed so beautiful a con- 
 stellation, that he could not help particularly remarking it : four 
 large and shiniug stars composed the ends of the figure, 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKEFOED AITD MEETOI?'. 
 
 129 
 
 with the beauty of this glorious constellation, that he could not 
 help observing it, at 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 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. 
 
 HISTOEY OF AGESILAHS. 
 
 The Spartans, as I have before told you. Master Tommy, were 
 a brave and hardy people, who despised everything delicate and 
 luxurious. All their time was spent in such exercises as ren- 
 dered them able to bear fatigue, and to despise wounds and 
 danger ; for they were situated in the midst of several other 
 nations, and therefore it was necessary that they should learn 
 to defend themselves. 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 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 
 hom e ; and that, you know, they could not do without being brave 
 and hardy themselves. How it happened that the Spartans had 
 some dear friends and allies that lived across the sea, who were 
 attacked by a great andnumerous nation called the Persians. So, 
 when the Spartans knew of the danger their friends were in, they 
 sent to their assistance Agesilaus, one of their kings, together 
 with a few thousand of his countrymen. When the general 
 of the Persians saw the small number of his enemies, he ima- 
 gined it would be an easy matter to take them prisoners, or 
 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 believe that anybody could resist 
 them. He therefore raised a large army, several times greater 
 than that of the Spartans, and attacked Agesilaus, who was not 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 they quickly put them to 
 flight. 
 
 Here Tommy interrupted the story to inquire what a shield 
 was. “ Before men were acquainted with the efi'ects of gun- 
 powder,’' answered Mr. Barlow, 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, with their shields extended before 
 them, to secure them from the arrows of their enemies. Upon 
 their heads they wore a cap of iron or steel, ornamented with 
 the 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.’' 
 “ T think,’' said Tommy, “ such a sight must be very grand ; 
 and I have sometimes thought I would be a soldier myself, 
 when I grew big enough." “And have you considered,” 
 answered Mr. Barlow, “ what is the business and the fate of a 
 soldier?" “Ho," said Tommy; “I know that he must fight 
 sometimes; but what I thought so pleasant, was to march up 
 and down in a fine red coat, while all the ladies are looking 
 on, and smiling and bowing.’' “Well,” said Mr. Barlow, “I 
 will presently endeavour to give you juster ideas of what com- 
 poses the life of a soldier : 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 upon terms of 
 peace. To this the Spartan consented, and appointed the time 
 and place where he would meet 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 for the soldiers 
 to make their repast, they pulled out their provisions, which 
 consisted of some coarse bread and onions, and began eating 
 
HISTOET OF SANFFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 131 
 
 very heartily. In the middle of them sat King Agesilans him- 
 self, in no respect distinguished from the rest, either by his cloth- 
 ing or his fare ; nor was there in his whole army an individual 
 that more exposed himself to every species of hardship than the 
 king himself, on which account he was beloved and reverenced 
 by all the soldiers. While the Spartans were enjoying their 
 frugal and homely meal, the first servants of Pharnabazus 
 arrived ; who brought with them rich and costly carpets, and 
 spread them 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, which 
 carried 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, 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 much diverted with the wit of their general, 
 except a single person who had served in the Grecian armies, 
 and therefore was better acquainted with the 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 senti- 
 ments, as the rest had done. 
 
 “ Since then,’' replied he, “ you command me to speak my 
 opinion, 0 Pharnabazus, I must confess, that the very circum- 
 stance 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 meu, I find nothing but barbers, cooks, confec- 
 tioners, fiddlers, dancers, and everything that is most unfit for 
 war. OntheGrecianside,Idiscernnone of these costly trifies; but 
 I see weapons and arms. I see men that have been brought up 
 to despise every hardship and to face every danger ; that are 
 a,ccustomed to observe their ranks, to obey their leader, to take 
 every advantage of their enemy, and to fall dead in their 
 
 K 2 
 
132 HISTOEY OF SANDFOBD AKD MEETOl^. 
 
 places rather than turn their hacks. 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 the prize is to be won by hardiness and valour, I 
 cannot help dreading men that are inured to wounds, and 
 labours, and suffering ; nor can I ever think that the Persian 
 gold will 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 invin- 
 cible troops ; but bent all his cares towards making peace with 
 Jhe 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 which you imagine, since 
 they do not give their wearers either more strength or courage 
 than they had before, or 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. 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. When he stops at night, the most that he can 
 expect is a miserable canvas tent, and a little straw to keep his 
 body from the damp earth. Frequently he is obliged to lie 
 uncovered upon the ground; by which means he contracts 
 many diseases, more fatal than the cannon of the enemy. 
 Every hour he is exposed to the hazard 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 probably loses his life upon the spot, or is 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 !” 
 
 “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 
 
HISTOHY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 133 
 
 of the unhappy people who have served them at so much loss 
 to themselves.^’ 
 
 Marry. But I cannot conceive why people must hire others 
 to fight for them. If it is necessary to fight, why do they not 
 fight for themselves ? I should he ashamed to go to another boy 
 and say to him, Pray go and risk your life for me, that I may 
 stay at home and do nothing. 
 
 Tommy. Suppose the French were to come over here, would 
 you go out to fight them yourself? 
 
 Marry. 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 to fight, I would go with him. I would not 
 willingly hurt anybody ; but we should do right to defend our- 
 selves. Should we not, sir ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. This is certainly a case where men have a 
 right to defend themselves. Among those Grecians whom you 
 were talking of, every man was ready to defend his country 
 whenever it was attacked. 
 
 Marry. 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 HISTOEY OF LEONIDAS, KINU OF SPAETA. 
 
 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. The Gre- 
 cians, his neighbours, were free, and refused to acknowledge 
 his power ; he therefore determined to make an expedition into 
 Greece, and conquer the country. For this reason he raised 
 such a prodigious army, that it is almost impossible to describe 
 it. The numbers 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 an hundredth part. 
 Nevertheless, the Grecians held public councils to consult upon 
 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 meantime Xerxes 
 
134 HISTOEY OF SAISTEFOED AND MEETON 
 
 was marching forward, and at length entered the territory of 
 Greece. The Grecians, not haying been able to assemble their 
 troops, or to make their preparations, were struck with con- 
 sternation at the approach of such an army. 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 could be prevented. It was necessary for the Persian 
 army to march through a very rough and mountainous district, 
 called Thermopylae. There was only one narrow road through 
 these mountains, which it was possible for a very small num- 
 ber of men to defend for some time against a very 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 des- 
 perate an enterprise, where there was scarcely any possibility 
 of escaping alive ? For this reason, Leonidas determined to 
 command 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 
 Thermopylae. They were equally convinced of its importance, 
 hut knew not where to find a man who would 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, but set before him the certain 
 destruction which must attend him. “ All this,” said Leonidas, 
 ‘‘ I have already considered ; but I am determined to die for 
 the liberty of Greece.” 
 
 Saying this, he 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, and told her that a short life was well sacrificed to the 
 interests of his country, and that Spartan women should be 
 more anxious for the glory than the safety of their husbands. 
 He then kissed his infant children, and 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 
 
HISTOEY OE SAKEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 135 
 
 women sang songs of triumpli, and. scattered dowers before 
 them ; the youths were jealous of their glory ; while all their 
 friends and relations seemed rather to exult in the honour they 
 were about to acquire, than to be dejected with the apprehen- 
 sion of their loss. As they marched through Greece, they were 
 joined by their allies ; so that their number amounted to about 
 six thousand when they took possession of the straits of Ther- 
 mopylae. 
 
 In a short time Xerxes approached, with his innumerable 
 army, composed of various nations, and armed in a thousand 
 different manners. 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 assured that this was 
 their design, he sent a small detachment of 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 they were soon routed, 
 the greater part slain, and the rest obliged to fiy. Xerxes was 
 enraged at this misfortune, and ordered the combat to be re- 
 newed with greater forces. The attack was renewed, but 
 always with the same success, although he sent his bravest 
 troops. 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, in the night, the Persians set 
 out, passed over the mountains in safety, and encamped on the 
 other side. As soon as day dawned, 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 pre- 
 tences, but they refused to go. When he saw their resolution, 
 he consented that they should stay with him, and share his fate* 
 
136 HISTORY OF SAHDFORD AND MERTOH. 
 
 All day lie 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 knew that the 
 Persians would never imagine it possible that such an insigni- 
 ficant 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 ter- 
 ror and confusion, to surprise Xerxes himself. About midnight, 
 this determined body of Grrecians marched out with Leonidas 
 at their head. They soon broke into the Persian camp, and 
 put all to fiight that dared to oppose them. It is impossible 
 to describe the terror and confusion which ensued among so 
 many thousands, thus unexpectedly surprised. The Grrecians 
 marched on in close, impenetrable order, overturning the tents, 
 destroying all that dared to resist, and driving that mighty 
 army, like 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 his 
 expedition. The Grecians in an instant put all the guards to 
 fiight, and rushing upon the imperial pavilion, 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 missive weapons. The Grecians 
 were wearied even with the toils of conquest, and their body 
 was already considerably diminished, nevertheless, Leoni- 
 das, who was yet alive, led on the intrepid few that re- 
 mained, 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 again such inequality of 
 numbers ; at every charge the Grecian ranks grew thinner, 
 till at length they were all destroyed without a single man hav- 
 ing quitted his post, or turned his back upon the enemy. 
 
 ‘‘Eeally,^^ said Tommy, when the history was finished, 
 “ Leonidas was a brave man indeed. But what became of 
 
HISTOEY OF SAJ^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 137 
 
 Xerxes and his army, after the death of this valiant Spartan? 
 “You are now able to read,’' replied Mr. Barlow, “ for your- 
 self, and by examining the histories of those countries, you 
 may be informed of all you wish to know upon this subject.” 
 
 The frost having continued for several weeks. 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 in a cluster, called the Pleiades. All these, 
 he observed, journeyed every night from east to west, and ap- 
 peared the followed evening in their former places. “How 
 strange it is,” said 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 : “ If so, I should see the earth 
 move and the stars stand still.” 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Did you never ride in a coach, Tommy ? 
 
 Tommy, Yes, sir, very often. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, And did you then see the coach move, as you 
 sat still and went along a level road ? 
 
 Tommy, Ho, sir, I have often thought that the houses and 
 trees glided by the windows of the coach, 
 
 Mr, Barlow, And did you never sail in a boat ? 
 
 Tommy, Yes, sir ; and I remember, the shore always 
 seemed to be 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. 
 
 Tommy, But is it not more likely, that such small things 
 as the stars and 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 ? 
 
138 HISTOBY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 Tommy, I see that they are, sir. The stars are so small, that 
 they are hardly to he seen at all : and the sun itself which 
 is much larger, does not seem bigger than a small round table. 
 
 The day after this conyersation 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 amusing themselves with this immense 
 prospect of water, Mr. Barlow perceived something floating at a 
 distance, so small as to be scarcely discernible by the eye. He 
 pointed it out to Tommy, and asked him what he thought it 
 was. 
 
 Tommy answered, that he thought it was some little flshing- 
 hoat, hut was not sure on account of the distance. “ All 
 that I can see,"' said he, “is a little dusky speck which seems 
 to grow bigger and bigger.’* In a few minutes he exclaimed : 
 “How I And that it is a ship with a mast, for I begin to dis- 
 tinguish the sails.” 
 
 Mr. Barlow walked on a little while and presently Tommy 
 called out again : “ Beally, sir, I was mistaken again : for it is 
 not a vessel with one mast, hut a flue large ship with three 
 great masts, and all her sails before the wind.’’ 
 
 Mr, Barlow, Will you then take notice of what you have 
 been saying ? What was first only a little dusky speck, became 
 a vessel with one mast, and now 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 dif- 
 ferent 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 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, he were to be removed to a 
 much greater distance, what would happen? Would he ap- 
 pear the same to your eyes ? 
 
 Tommy considered for some time, and then said : “ If the 
 
HISTOET OP SANDFOED AND MEETON, 
 
 139 
 
 sMp grows less and less by going further and further, I should 
 think the sun would do the same.’’ 
 
 Mr. Barlow. There you are perfectly right; therefore, if 
 the sun were to depart further and further from us, at last he 
 would appear no bigger than one of the stars. 
 
 Tommy. That I perfectly comprehend. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But if, on the contrary, one of those stars 
 were to approach nearer and nearer to you, what do you think 
 would happen ? Would it still appear of the same size ? 
 
 Tommy, I^o, sir. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Might it not at last appear as big as the sun 
 does now ? 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, I think it might. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. What, then, would happen could the sun ap- 
 proach a great deal nearer to us ? 
 
 Tommy. I plainly see that he would appear larger the 
 nearer he came. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. If that be the case, it is not so 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. I think it would appear to him less and less, like 
 the ship when it is sailing away. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. 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 near the one and at a great distance 
 from the other. At least, you wiU now be convinced that both 
 the sun and stars must be a vast deal larger than you would 
 guess them to be. 
 
 As they were returning home, they passed through a small 
 town and saw a crowd of people going into a house. On in- 
 quiring the reason, they were told that there was a wonderful 
 person there who performed a variety of strange experiments. 
 Upon Tommy’s expressing a great desire to see these curious 
 exhibitions, Mr. Barlow took them both in, and they seated 
 themselves among the audience. Presently the performer be- 
 gan his exhibitions, which very much diverted Tommy and 
 
140 
 
 HISTORY OF SAHDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 surprised tlie spectators. At length, after a variety of curious 
 tricks upon 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 wonder- 
 ful of all that I have to show. 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, and, after having examined it, set it down again upon 
 the water. “ Yow,'’ continued he, “ this swan, which to you 
 appears totally without sense or motion, 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 and he 
 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 held out little pieces of bread, 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, the 
 company rose and dispersed, and Mr. Barlow and the little 
 boys pursued their way home. 
 
 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 the subject, Harry told 
 him with a smile, that he believed he had found out the method 
 of doing it ; and that, if he did not mistake, he would the next 
 day show him a swan that would come to he 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 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 141 
 
 swan. Harry therefore showed him, within the body of the 
 bird, a large needle, which lay along 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, took up the bar of iron, and put 
 down several needles upon the table, and Tommy was very 
 much surprised to see the needles all jump up, one after an- 
 other, at the approach of the bar, and shoot towards it as if 
 they had been possessed of sense. They hung about the bar so 
 firmly that, though it was lifted into the air, they continued 
 suspended. 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 sur- 
 prising to Tommy that he begged an explanation of it. Mr. 
 Barlow told him, ‘‘ there was a stone often found in iron mines 
 that was called the loadstone. This stone is 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, and attracts other iron. For this purpose, they 
 take small bars of iron and rub them carefully upon the load- 
 stone and when they have acquired this power, they call them 
 magnets. When Harry had seen the exhibition of the swan, 
 he began to suspect that it was performed entirely by the 
 power of magnetism. 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 puzzled you a few days 
 past.’’ 
 
 Mr. Barlow had scarcely done speaking when Tommy ob- 
 served another curious property in 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 replied: “The persons who first discovered the 
 wonderful powers of the loadstone diverted themselves, as we 
 do now, by touching needles and small pieces of iron, which 
 they made to float c*pon water, and attracted them with other 
 pieces of iron. But it was not long before they found out, as 
 
142 
 
 HISTOET OP SANEPOED AND MEETON. 
 
 you have done, another surprising property in this wonderful 
 stone. They observed, that when a needle had once been 
 touched by the loadstone, if it were left to float upon the water 
 without restraint, it would invariably point towards the north. 
 In a short time they improved the discovery further, and con- 
 trived to suspend the middle of the needle upon a point so 
 loosely that it could move in every direction. When fixed in 
 a case, and covered with glass, this instrument is called a 
 mariner's compass." 
 
 Tommy. Was the discovery of any great use ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Before this time the sailors had no other 
 method of finding their way across the sea but by observing 
 the stars. They knew in what parts of the sky certain stars 
 appeared at every season of the year ; and this enabled them 
 to discover east, west, north, and south. But frequently the 
 weather was thick, and the stars no longer appeared ; and then 
 they were left to wander about the ocean, without the smallest 
 track to guide them in their course. For this reason, they 
 seldom dared to venture out of sight of shore, on which account 
 all their voyages were long and tedious. But soon after the 
 discovery of this loadstone, they found that the needle which 
 had been thus prepared was capable of showing them the 
 diflerent 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 con- 
 sider that one country frequently produces what another does 
 not ; and therefore, by exchanging their different commodities, 
 both may live more conveniently than they did before. At 
 the same time it is true, that 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 in- 
 habitants procure themselves necessaries, and live contented. 
 
 Tommy. What ! is there a part of the world still colder 
 than Lapland ? 
 
HISTOET OF SANDFOED AJSTD MEETON. 
 
 143 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Greenland is still further north, and therefore 
 colder and more barren. The ground is there covered with 
 eternal snows, which never melt, even in summer. There are 
 scarcely any animals to be found, excepting bears, which live 
 by preying upon fish. There are no trees 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 Green- 
 lander lives with his family. Each of these families has a small 
 lamp continually burning, by means of which they cook their food 
 and keep up an agreeable warmth throughout their apartment. 
 They have a few deer, which sometimes visit them in the sum- 
 mer, and which the Greenlanders kill whenever they can catch 
 them ; but they are almost entirely destitute of all the vege- 
 tables which serve as nourishment to man ; so that they are 
 obliged to be continually upon the sea, in order to catch fish 
 for their support. 
 
 Tommy. What a dreadful life must that be, in a country 
 which is so cold ! 
 
 Mr. Barlow. In consequence of the extreme cold, those 
 northern seas are full of such immense quantities of ice, that 
 they are sometimes almost covered with it. Huge pieces come 
 floating down, which 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. 
 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 icy 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 deficient in industry. In such a country as Greenland, 
 it requires continual exertion to procure the simplest support 
 
144 
 
 HISTOEY or SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 of human life ; and therefore no one can live who will not em- 
 ploy 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 animal called 
 a seal. He is nine or ten feet long, and has two small feet be- 
 fore, 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 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. He eats 
 the flesh ; the fat serves him to feed his lamp, and 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 him. For this purpose, he places 
 himself in a small narrow boat, the top of which is covered 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 broad 
 at both ends, which he dips first on one side, then on the other, 
 and rows, with incredible swiftness, over the roughest seas. He 
 carries with him a harpoon, which is a kind of lance tied to a 
 long thong, at the end of which is fixed a bladder, or some other 
 light substance that will not sink. When the fisherman is thus 
 prepared, he skims lightly over the waters till he perceives one 
 of these animals floating upon the surface. The Greenlander 
 then approaches him as quietly 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, which 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 pur- 
 suing him all the time, attacks him again, and dispatches him 
 with a shorter lance, which he has brought Avith him for that pur- 
 pose. He then ties his prey to his boat, and tows it after him 
 to his family, who receive it with joy, and dress part of it for 
 supper. Although these poor people live a life of such continual 
 fatigue, and are obliged to earn their food with so many hard- 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 145 
 
 sMps, they are generous and hospitable ; for every person 
 present is invited to partake of the feast : and a Greenlander 
 would think himself dishonoured for life, that should he 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 who imagine that they have nothing to do 
 with their fortune but to throw it away upon pleasure, while 
 there are so many thousands in want of the necessaries of life. 
 
 Tommy. But pray, sir, have you no more to tell me about 
 these Greenlanders ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. There is another very curious particular to 
 be mentioned of these countries. In the neighbouring seas is 
 found the largest animal in the world, an immense fish, which 
 is called the whale. 
 
 Tommy. Oh ! I have heard of those extraordinary animals. 
 And pray, sir, do the Greenlanders ever catch them ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. The whale is of such prodigious size, that he 
 sometimes measures seventy or eighty, or a hundred feet in 
 length. He is from ten to twenty feet in height, and large in 
 proportion. When he swims along the seas, he appears rather 
 like a great 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. 
 
 Tommy. I should think that such a fish would overset 
 whole ships, and devour the sailors ! 
 
 3Ir. Barlow. Far from it : he is one of the most innocent 
 that the ocean produces ; nor does he ever do the least injury, 
 unless by accidentally overturning vessels. The food he lives 
 upon is chiefly small fish, 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 thou- 
 sands of them in their course. 
 
 Harry. What numbers indeed must such a prodigious fish 
 devour of those small animals ! 
 
 Mr. Barlow, The whale in his turn falls a prey to the 
 
 L 
 
146 HISTOEY OF SAITDFOBl) Al^D MEETON. 
 
 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 dainty to eat his ffesh, 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 
 his elastic bones, called whalebone. When those that go upon 
 this 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 harpoon. This is fastened to a 
 long cord, which lies ready coiled up in the boat, so that it 
 may run 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, to the bottom of the sea. In order to prevent 
 accidents, a man stands constantly ready to divide the rope 
 with a hatchet, in case it should happen to entangle ; and 
 another is continually wetting it with a mop, otherwise the 
 swiftness of the motion would cause it to take fire. The poor 
 whale, thus wounded, darts away with inconceivable rapidity, 
 and generally plunges to the bottom of the sea. They 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 animal overpowered and killed, in 
 spite of his immense bulk and irresistible strength ; for, gra- 
 dually 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 h im 
 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 numerous wounds, and 
 he writhes about in unutterable pain. Then 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 caslvs, and the remains of his vast body are 
 
JIISTOEY OS’ SAI^DFOED AI^D MEKTOI?-. 
 
 147 
 
 left a prey to other fish, and to the Greenlanders, who care- 
 fully collect every fragment which they can find, and apply it 
 to their own use. Sometimes they pursue the whale them- 
 selves ; hut when they do, it is in large numbers, and they 
 attack him nearly in the manner I have described ; only, as 
 they are not so well supplied with cord, they fix the skins of 
 seals, which they have infiated with air, to the end of the 
 thongs tied to their harpoons ; and this serves both to weary 
 out the fish, and to discover him the instant he approaches the 
 surface. 
 
 Tommy. But pray, sir, how do the little boys amuse them- 
 selves in such a dismal country ? Do their fathers take them 
 out fishing with them ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. When the men come home, covered with wet 
 and icicles, and sit down comfortably to feast upon their prey, 
 their common conversation is about the dangers and accidents 
 they have met with in their expedition. A Greenlander re- 
 lates, how he bounded over the waves to surprise a monstrous 
 seal — how he pierced the animal with his harpoon, which was 
 near dragging the boat with him under the water — how he 
 attacked him again in closer combat — ^how the beast, enraged 
 with his w^ounds, rushed upon him in order to destroy him 
 with his teeth — and how, in the end, he triumphed over his 
 adversary, and brought him safe to land. All this he relates 
 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 circumstance of his 
 adventures. The little children gather round, and feel them- 
 selves interested in every circumstance ; and wish to share in 
 the toils and glory of their fathers. When they are a little 
 bigger, they exercise themselves in small skifis, in which they 
 learn to travel over the waves, i^othing can be more danger- 
 ous, or require greater dexterity, than the management of a 
 Greenlander’s boat. The least thing upsets it, and then the 
 man is inevitably drowned if he cannot regain his balance. 
 His only salvation depends upon the proper management of 
 his oar ; and, therefore, the exercise of this implement forms 
 the early study of the young Greenlanders. In their sportive 
 parties they row about in a thousand difierent 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 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOEE AND MEETON. 
 
 the greatest dangers with intrepidity; till, in the end, they 
 acquire sufficient address to fish themselves, and to be admitted 
 among the men. 
 
 Harry, Pray, sir, is this the country where men travel in 
 sledges that are drawn by dogs? 
 
 Tommy, Upon sledges drawn by dogs ! I had no idea that 
 dogs could draw carriages. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, The country you are speaking of is called 
 Kamtschatka : it is a cold and dreary country, but very distant 
 from Grreenland. 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 dogs are turned loose to provide for themselves, 
 and prey upon the remains of fish, which they find upon the 
 shore, for fish is the common food of all the inhabitants. In 
 the winter the Kamtschatkans assemble their dogs, and use 
 them for the purpose I have mentioned. They have no reins, 
 to govern 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 gi’eat 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 may 
 be hurt by branches and stumps of trees, they always quicken 
 their pace. The same is the case if their master should fall 
 ofp, which they instantly discover by the sudden lightness of 
 the carriage ; they then set off with such speed, that it is diffi- 
 cult to overtake them. The only remedy which the Kamtschat- 
 kan finds, is to throw himself upon the ground, and hold the 
 empty sledge, suffering himself to be dragged along the earth, 
 till the dogs, through weariness, abate their speed. Fre- 
 quently in their journeys, these travellers are surprised by 
 storms of wind and snow, which render it impracticable to 
 proceed further. How ill would a 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 
 food or fire ! But the hardy native of these cold climates 
 seeks the shelter of the first forest he can find ; then wrapping 
 himself round in his warm fur garment, he sits with his legs 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 149 
 
 under him, and, thus bundled up, suffers himself to be covered 
 round with the snow, except a small hole, which he leaves for 
 the convenience of breathing. In this manner he lies with his 
 dogs around him, which assist in keeping him warm, till the 
 storm is over, and he is again able to pursue his journey. 
 
 Tommy, I could not conceive it possible for men to struggle 
 with so many hardships. But do not the poor people that in- 
 habit these cold climates quit them, whenever they can find an 
 opportunity, and settle in those that are warmer ? 
 
 Mr, Barlow, By no means. 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. 
 
 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 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 ! *' “ Yfhat is the 
 matter ? said Mr. Barlow. ‘‘ I see,’’ replied Tommy, “ what 
 I should suppose to be 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 the power of making it appear a great deal 
 nearer to your eye. 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. 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 unreason- 
 able ; the moon is a very large body, and may be, for aught 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 
 
150 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 tube with a bit of glass fixed into it. “ All tbis,’* replied Mr. 
 Barlow, “ I will, if you desire it, sonie day explain to you; 
 but it is rather too long and difficult to understand at the pre- 
 sent moment. 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 led Tommy 
 into a room, where he observed nothing but a lantern upon the 
 fioor, 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 the lantern, and extinguished all 
 the candles ; and Tommy was instantly struck with astonish- 
 ment, to see a gigantic figure of a man leading 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 that seemed to be fighting as they passed. 
 Tommy could hardly find words to express his surprise and 
 admiration ; and he entreated Mr. Barlow to explain to him 
 the reason of ail 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, 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, thsLt simply looking through a bit 
 of glass could have made such a difierence 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.” He then took a 
 small earthen basin, and putting a half-crown at the bottom. 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. ISl 
 
 desired Tommy gradually to go back, still looking at tke 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. “ Now,’’ said Mr. Barlow, “ I will 
 enable you to see it, merely by putting water into it.” He 
 then gradually poured water into the basin, till, to the astonish- 
 ment of Tommy, he found that he could plainly see the haK- 
 crown which was before invisible. 
 
 Tommy was very much delighted with all these experiments, 
 and declared, that, from this time forward, he would never rest 
 till he had made himself acquainted with everything curious 
 in every branch of knowledge. 
 
 “ I remember reading a story,” added Mr. Barlow, “ where 
 a telescope, for that is the name of the glass which brings dis- 
 tant objects so much nearer to the eye, was used to a very ex- 
 cellent purpose.” “ 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 
 in his power to defend himself ; but was defeated in several 
 battles. At length he was reduced to a very small number of 
 brave men, and had taken possession of a steep and difficult 
 hill, determined to defend himself to the last extremity, the 
 enemy being in possession of all the country around. 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 un- 
 fortunate prince made his complaints, telling him, that he was 
 exposed every instant to be attacked by his stronger foe ; and 
 he fully expected to be cut off, with all his army. The Euro- 
 pean happened to have with him one of these curious glasses, 
 which had not been long invented in Europe, 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 measures with 
 the greater confidence. So he produced his glass, and turned it 
 towards the enemy’s camp, which he considered some time with 
 great attention, and then told his friend, that he might at least 
 be easy for the present ; for the 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 discover so accurately what is done in yonder 
 
152 
 
 HISTOKT OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 camp ? My eyes are at least as good as yours, and yet 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 he imagined the enemy was close to him, and 
 that nothing remained hut 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 his telescope had ex- 
 cited, inspired him with a sudden thought, which he determined 
 to improve to the advantage of the besieged prince. Acquaint- 
 ing 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 desired to be introduced to the 
 general. He found him sitting in his tent, carousing in the 
 midst of his officers. When he approached, he thus accosted 
 him : — ‘ I am come, great warrior, as a friend, to acquaint you 
 with a circumstance that is necessary to the safety of yourself 
 and army.’ ‘ What is that ? ’ said the general, with some sur- 
 prise. ‘ 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 ad- 
 vancing 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 of the truth.’ 
 
 “ Saying this, he directed his eye to the telescope, which the 
 general had no sooner looked into, than he was struck with con- 
 sternation 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 had 
 no sooner peeped into the wonderful glass, than they were all 
 affected in the same manner, and therefore 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 
 
HISTQEY OF SANOFOED AND MEETON. 153 
 
 the army, who had seen the consternation of their leaders, and 
 heard that the eoemy were advancing to destroy them, were 
 struck with a panic, and instantly followed : so that the whole 
 plain was covered with men and horses, making all possible 
 haste towards their own country, without thinking of resist- 
 ance. Thus was an immense army dispersed in an instant, and 
 the besieged prince delivered from his danger by the superior 
 knowledge of a single man. 
 
 “ 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.” “Ho,” answered 
 Mr. Barlow, “it is now time to retire ; and you may at any 
 time read all the particulars of this extraordinary siege in 
 Plutarch’s life of Marcellus.” 
 
 And now the time approached when Mr. Barlow was accus- 
 tomed to invite the greater part of the poor of his parish to an 
 annual dinner. Hp 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. 
 
 Tommy was much delighted with 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 respecting their families ; nor was he a little 
 gratified with the extreme respect with which he found himself 
 treated, both on 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 arrived, 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 long been forming an acquaintance, 
 and he used to divert himself with throwing sticks into the 
 water, which Caesar would bring out in his mouth, however 
 great the distance. Tommy had been fired with the description 
 
154 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 of the Kamtschatkan dogs, and their method of drawing sledges, 
 and meditated an enterprise of this nature upon Caesar. This 
 very day finding himself at leisure, he chose to make the at- 
 tempt. He, therefore, furnished himself with some rope and 
 a kitchen chair, which he destined for his vehicle instead of a 
 sledge. He then inveigled Caesar into a large yard behind the 
 house, and extending the chair flat upon the ground, fastened 
 him to it with great care and ingenuity. Caesar, who did not 
 understand the new purpose to which he was going to be ap- 
 plied, suffered himself to be harnessed without opposition ; and 
 Tommy mounted with a whip in his hand and began opera- 
 tions. A crowd of little boys, the sons of the labourers within, 
 now gathered round the young gentleman, and by their admi- 
 ration 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. Caesar, 
 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 grow a little more warm ; and, proceeding 
 from one experiment to another, at length applied a pretty 
 severe lash to the hinder part of his steed. This Caesar resented 
 so much, that he instantly set off at three quarters speed, and 
 dragged the chair away 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 
 the affrighted Caesar ran, while Tommy, who now began to 
 repent of his success, endeavoured to pacify and restrain him. 
 But all his expostulations were vain ; for Caesar rushed into 
 the pond, with his charioteer behind him. The 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. To add to his misfortune, the pond was at 
 that time neither ice nor water ; for a sudden thaw had com- 
 menced the day before, accompanied with a copious fall of 
 snow. Tommy, therefore, floundered on through mud and 
 
The sledge experiment. 
 

 
 Mm- :X- , 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AI^D MEETON. 
 
 155 
 
 ■water, and pieces of floating ice, like some amphibious animal. 
 Sometimes his feet slipped, and down he tumbled ; then he 
 struggled up again, shaking the water from his hair and clothes. 
 iNow his feet stuck fast in the mud, and now, by a desperate 
 efibrt, he disengaged them with the loss of both his shoes ; 
 thus labouring on with much pain and difficulty, he reached 
 the land. 
 
 The spectators were now incapable of stifling their laughter^ 
 which broke forth in such redoubled peals, that the unfortunate 
 hero was so irritated that as soon as he had struggled to the 
 shore he fell upon them in a fury, and dealt his blows so liber- 
 ally 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 his little associates a hundred 
 difierent 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 un- 
 fortunate boy came within his reach, was sure to be unmerci- 
 fully cubPed and pummelled. While Tommy was thus revenging 
 the afironts he had received, the unusual noise 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, but he immediately led him into the house, and ad- 
 vised him to undress and go to bed. He then brought him 
 some warm diluted 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 insinua- 
 tion, 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 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, 
 
156 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDEORR AND MERTOJST. 
 
 it is SO provoking to be laughed at ! ’' “ There are two ways 
 of remedying that,” replied Mr. Barlow ; “ either by 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. Even those poor Greenlanders 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 observe it.” “What is that, sir?” inquired Tommy, 
 “They are brought up to so much moderation and self-com- 
 mand,” said Mr. Barlow, “ that they nev^er give way to those 
 sudden impulses of passion that are common among Europeans ; 
 and when they observe their violent gestures, and angry words, 
 they feel for them the greatest contempt, and say, they must 
 have been very badly educated. If any person thinks himself 
 ill-used by another, he defies his foe to meet him at a particular 
 time, before their mutual acquaintance.'’ 
 
 Tommy, But then I suppose they fight, and that is being as 
 passionate as I was. 
 
 Mr, Barlow, E’o, Tommy— the Greenlanders are a great 
 deal wiser than that. The person who thinks himself injured, 
 does indeed challenge his antagonist ; but it is to a very dif- 
 ferent sort of combat from what you imagine. Both parties 
 appear at the appointed time, and each is surrounded with a 
 eompany of his particular friends. The place where they as- 
 semble is generally 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 
 composed. 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 merri- 
 ment among the audience. When he has sung 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 laughers 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 
 
HISTOUY OF SAKDFOPtD AND MEBTOIT. 
 
 157 
 
 tlie victory to his rival. After this public specimen of their 
 iugenuity, the two champions generally forge^t their animosities, 
 and are cordially reconciled. 
 
 “This,” added Mr. Barlow, “appears to me to be a much 
 better method of answering ridicule, than by beating those who 
 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 so ill 
 as you did yesterday.” 
 
 And now the time arrived when Tommy was to pay a visit 
 to his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of this visit, 
 as he knew he would meet a great deal of company there, who 
 v/ould give him impressions of a very different nature from 
 those he had been so anxiously endeavouring to iix in his mind. 
 However, the visit was unavoidable, and Mr. Merton sent so 
 pressing an invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, that 
 Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of both his pupils. 
 Harry had no great inclination for the visit ; however, he was 
 too obliging to raise any objection, and the real affection he 
 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 com- 
 pany ; among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies 
 of different ages, who had been invited to spend their holi- 
 days with Master Merton. As soon as Tommy entered, every 
 tongue was let loose in his praise : he was grown, he was im- 
 proved, he was such a charming boy ; 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, that 
 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 plough-boy whom Mr. Barlow was attempting to breed 
 up like a gentleman. Mrs. Merton answered it was. “ I really 
 should have thought so,” said the lady, “by his plebeian look 
 and vulgar air. But I wonder, my dear madam, that you will 
 suffer your son, who is one of the most charming children I ever 
 saw in my life, to keep such company. Are you not afraid 
 
158 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOl?-. 
 
 that Master Merton should insensibly contract bad habits, and 
 a low way of thinlting ? 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 ad- 
 vantage/' “ Indeed," replied Mrs. Merton, “ one may see the 
 excellence of her education in everything that Miss Matilda 
 does. She plays divinely upon the harpsichord, talks French 
 even better than she does English, and draws in the style of a 
 master.'’ 
 
 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, accord- 
 ing to the old style of English gentry ; but having died while 
 she was young, the care of their orphan daughter had devolved 
 upon an uncle, who was a man of sense and benevolence^ but a 
 very great humourist.|This gentleman had such peculiar ideas 
 of female character, that he waged war with most of the modern 
 accomplishments. As one of the first blessings of life, accord- 
 ing 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 a 
 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 Susan acquired an 
 excellent character, accompanied, however, by some tastes 
 which disqualified her almost as much as Harry for fashionable 
 life. She was acquainted with all the best authors in our own 
 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, had besides instructed her in the established 
 laws of nature, and a little geometry. She was, besides, brought 
 up to every species of household employment ; and taught to 
 believe, that domestic economy is a point of the utmost conse- 
 quence to every woman that 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, 
 
HISTORY OF SAHDFOED AND MERTOH. 
 
 159 
 
 she was entirely ignorant of it as a science. Nor wonld he 
 permit her to learn French, although he understood it himself, j 
 “ My niece is to marry an Englishman and to live in England,’^ ' 
 said he. “As to the French nation, I know and esteem it on 
 many accounts ; hut I am very doubtful whether the English 
 will ever gain much by adopting their manners ; 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 who 
 thought Harry deserving the least attention. This young lady 
 came up to him, and addressed him so kindly as to set him 
 perfectly at his ease. Harry was destitute of the artificial 
 graces of society ; but he possessed much natural politeness 
 and good-nature, and Mr. Barlow had taken great pleasure 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 ; 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 satis- 
 faction 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 busi- 
 ness of dinner. Harry could not help sighing, when he reflected 
 upon 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 gentle- 
 men and fine ladies ; so many powdered servants to stand 
 behind their chairs ; such an apparatus of dishes ; 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 meantime, his friend Tommy 
 was attended to as a prodigy of wit and ingenuity. Harry could 
 not help being surprised at this : for he had never discovered 
 in him any surprising talents, and when he could catch any- 
 
160 
 
 HISTOHY or SANDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 thing that Tommy said, it appeared to him rather inferior to 
 his usual 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. He was so often assured that he was a little prodigy 
 that at last he began to believe it himself. 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 fre- 
 quently contradicted, and obliged to give a reason for what he 
 said ; but here, in order to be admired, he had nothing to do 
 but talk. 
 
 JSTor was Mrs. Merton herself deficient in bestowing marks of 
 admiration upon her son. To see him shine with such tran- 
 scendent brightness before such excellent judges and in so 
 polite a company, inspired her with raptures she had never 
 before felt. Indeed, in consequence of this success, the young 
 gentleman's volubility improved so much, that, before the 
 dinner was over, he seemed disposed to engross the whole con- 
 versation to himself ; and Mr. Merton, who did not relish the 
 sallies of his son so much as his wife, was once or twice obliged 
 to check him in his career. This Mrs. Merton thought very 
 hard, and all the ladies, after they had retired into the draw- 
 ing-room, agreed, that his father would certainly spoil his 
 temper. As to little Harry, he had not the good fortune to 
 please the greater number of the ladies : they observed that he 
 v/as avvdvward, and had a heavy rustic 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. 
 
 “ Why," answered Mrs. Merton, “to tell the truth, I was not 
 over-fond of the scheme : Mr. Barlow, to be sure, though very 
 good, is a very odd kind of man ; however, as he is so disinter- 
 ested, and would never receive the least present from us, I 
 doubt whether we could with propriety insist upon his turn- 
 ing little Sandford out of the house." “ If that is the case, 
 madam," answered Mrs. Compton, for that was the name of the 
 
HISTOKY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 161 
 
 lady, “ I think it would be infinitely better to remove Master 
 Merton, and place him in some polite seminary, where be might 
 acquire a knowledge of the world, and make genteel connections. 
 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 acquaintance. As to Augustus, he is so intimate with 
 young Lord Squander, who, you know, is possessed of the 
 greatest parliamentary interest, that I think his fortune is 
 as good as made.” 
 
 Miss Simmons, who was present at this wise conversation, 
 could not help looking with so much significance at this men- 
 tion 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, “ wliat I know is very little ; hut if you desire me to 
 inform you, it is my duty to speak the truth.” “ Oh! to he 
 sure, miss,’' replied Mrs. Compton, a little angrily : “ we all 
 know that your judgment and knowledge of the world is supe- 
 rior to that of everybody else, therefore I shall he infinitely 
 obliged to you for any information you may he 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 of whom you are speaking ; hut I have a cousin, a 
 very good boy, who is at the same school with his lordship, 
 who 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 so large, he is in debt with every- 
 body who 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 tyrannical and over- 
 bearing, that nobody can long preserve his friendship without 
 the meanest 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 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAITBrOED AND MEETON. 
 
 help interposing with warmth : she said, that his lordship had 
 nothing in his character or manners that did not perfectly be- 
 come a nobleman of the most elevated sonl. 
 
 Miss Simmons had no desire to pursue the conversation fur- 
 ther, and the rest of the company coming in to tea, the disqui- 
 sition about Lord Sjquander finished. After tea, several of the 
 young ladies were requested 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 treated it with 
 ineffable contempt. After this, Miss Matilda, who was allowed 
 to be a perfect mistress of music, played and sung several cele- 
 brated Italian airs. But, as they were in a language totally 
 unintelligible to him, Harry 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 great skill to execute. The 
 audience seemed all delighted, and either felt, or pretended to 
 feel, inexpressible pleasure ; even Tommy himself, though he 
 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 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; for the more Miss Matilda 
 exercised her skill in playing pieces of the most difficult exe- 
 cution, the more did Harry’s drowsiness increase. At length, 
 he could resist no longer, but 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. 
 
 Thus was the first day passed at Mr. Merton’s, very little to 
 the satisfaction of Harry ; the two following days were only a 
 repetition of the same scene. The little company had now 
 imbibed a perfect contempt for Harry, and scarcely treated 
 him with common civility. In this behaviour they were 
 confirmed by Master Compton and Master Mash. Master 
 Compton was reckoned a very genteel boy : he had almost 
 
HISTOEY OE SANDEOED AND MEETOJS-. 163 
 
 finished his education at a public school, where he had learned 
 every vice and folly 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. He had 
 been almost brought up in the stable, and had imbibed the 
 greatest interest about horses ; not from any real affection for 
 that noble animal, but merely as objects of mercenary specu- 
 lation. These two young gentlemen had conceived the most 
 violent dislike to Harry, and lost no occasion of saying or doing 
 everything in their power to mortify him. To Tommy they 
 omitted no opportunity of rendering themselves agreeable. 
 They talked to him 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. By degrees he 
 lost all regard for Mr. Barlow, and all affection for Harry, who 
 lamented this change in his friend ; and sometimes took the 
 liberty of remonstrating with him upon the subject, but was 
 only answered with a sneer. 
 
 While the company were at Mr. Merton's house, a troop of 
 strolling players were performing at a neighbouring town, and 
 Mr. Merton one evening proposed a party to the play. They 
 went accordingly, and Harry with the rest. Tommy, who now 
 no longer condescended to take notice of his friend, was seated 
 between his two companions. These young gentlemen first 
 began to give specimens of their rudeness, by throwing nuts 
 and orange-peel upon the stage : and Tommy, following their 
 bad example, threw nuts and orange-peel with infinite satis- 
 faction. As soon as the curtain drew up, and the actors ap- 
 peared, all the rest of the audience observed a decent silence ; 
 but Mash and Compton began to talk so loud, and made 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 which these young gentlemen found bearable. 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 or 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 HISTOEY OF SA^'EFOEI^ AND MEETON. 
 
 opinion that they should kick up a riot, and demolish all the 
 scenery. But Harry, who had been silent all the time, could 
 not help remonstrating at what appeared to him the greatest 
 cruelty and injustice. “These poor people,’’ said he, “are 
 doing all they can to entertain us. If they could act better, 
 would they not willingly do it? 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, be- 
 cause they did not like the dinner?” 
 
 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 m.an 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 
 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 for himself, so far lost his tem- 
 per as to call the man a blackguard, and strike him upon the 
 face. But the farmer, who possessed great strength and reso- 
 lution, very deliberately laid hold of the young gentleman, and, 
 without the smallest exertion, laid him sprawling upon the 
 ground, under the benches, and setting his feet upon his body, 
 told him, that since he did not know how to sit quietly at a 
 play, he would have the honour of teaching him how to lie ; 
 and that, if he offered to stir, he would trample him to pieces, 
 — a threat which it was very evident he could find no difficulty 
 in executing. This unexpected incident struck a damp upon 
 the spirits of the young gentlemen ; and even Master Mash 
 himself so far forgot his dignity, as to supplicate in a very sub- 
 missive manner for a release; in this he was joined by all his 
 companions, and Harry among the rest. “Well,” said the 
 farmer, “I never should 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 not a 
 plough-boy at my house, but 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SAI^DFOED AND MEETON. 1G5 
 
 SO mucli propriety, that I am sure he is a better gentleman than 
 any of you, though he is not dressed so like a monkey.” With 
 these words he suifered the crest-fallen Mash to rise. Nor 
 was the lesson lost upon the rest, for they behaved with the 
 greatest propriety during all the remainder of the exhibition. 
 However, Master Mash’s courage began to rise as he went home 
 and found himself further from his formidable farmer ^ for he 
 assured his companions, that if it had not been so vulgar a fel- 
 low, he would certainly call him out and pistol him. 
 
 The next day at dinner, Mr. Merton and the ladies 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, and extremely im- 
 proving. , This play was called the Marriage of Figaro, and 
 Master Compton informed them, that it was much admired by 
 all people of fashion in London. But Mr. Merton, who had ob- 
 served that Harry was silent, at length insisted upon knowing 
 his opinion of the subject. “ Why, sir,” answered Harry, “ I 
 am very little judge of these matters, but as to the play it 
 seemed to me to be full of nothing but dissimulation, and the 
 people who come in and out do nothing but impose upon each 
 other, and lie, and trick, and deceive. Were you to have such 
 a parcel of servants, you would think them fit for nothing in 
 the world ; and therefore I could not help wondering that 
 people would throw away so much of their time upon sights 
 that can do them no good, and send their children to learn 
 fraud and insincerity.’' 
 
 Mr. Merton smiled at the honest bluntness of Harry; but 
 several of the ladies seemed to be not a little mortified : how- 
 ever, as they could not contradict the charges which Harry had 
 brought against it, they thought it more 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 called Commerce. But Harry, who was totally 
 ignorant of this accomplishment, begged to be excused ; how- 
 ever, 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 con- 
 tinued to refuse, and at length 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. 
 
166 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED A]^I^ MEETOlf. 
 
 ■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; hut Mr. Barlow has always 
 forbidden me either to receive or borrow money of anybody, 
 and therefore, though there is nobody here whom I esteem more 
 than yourself, I ara 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 faces of 
 all the players at every change of fortune ; and some of them 
 behaved with a degree of asperity which quite astonished him. 
 After several changes of fortune, it happened that Miss Sim- 
 mons and Harry were the only remaining players ; the rest by 
 the laws of the game had forfeited all pretensions to the stake, 
 and one more deal was wanting to decide it. But Harry, with 
 great politeness, rose from table, and told Miss Simmons that, 
 as he had only played upon her account, he was now no longer 
 wanted, and that the whole undoubtedly belonged to her. 
 Miss Simmons declined, and when she found that Harry was 
 not to be induced to play any more, she at last proposed to 
 divide what was left. This he also refused, alleging that he 
 had not the least title to any part. But Miss Simmons, who 
 began to be uneasy at the observation which this contest pro- 
 duced, told Harry that he would very much oblige her by 
 taking his share of the money, and laying it out in any man- 
 ner for her, that he judged best. “ Upon this condition,” 
 answered Harry, “ I will take it ; and I think I know a method 
 of laying it out, which you will not disapprove.” 
 
 The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Harry disap- 
 peared ; nor had he returned when the company assembled to 
 dinner. At length he came in, with a glow of health and exer- 
 cise upon his face, and that disorder of dress 'which is produced 
 by a long expedition. 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 con- 
 fusion. In the evening, after a long conversation about public 
 
HISTOKY OF SAl^DFOKD AND MEETON. 
 
 167 
 
 diversions, and plays, and actors, they happened to mention 
 the name of a celebrated performer, who at this time engaged 
 the whole attention of the town. Master Compton added, that 
 nothing was so fashionable as to make great presents to this 
 person, and proposed, that as so many young gentlemen and 
 ladies were here assembled, they should make a little collec- 
 tion 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 pair of gold seals, he would contribute a 
 g\unea to so excellent a purpose, and that Masters Mash and 
 Merton would do the same. This proposal was universally ap- 
 proved of by the company ; and all, except Harry, promised to 
 contribute in proportion to their finances. Master Mash then 
 said, “Well, farmer, and what will you subscribe?” Harry 
 answered, that upon 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 Com- 
 merce, and now the little stingy wretch will not contribute half- 
 a-crown ! ’’ 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 that he could prove 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 refiections, 
 answered that he saw no generosity in thus bestowing money. 
 “ According to your own account,” added he, “ the person yon 
 have been talking of, gains more than fifty poor families might 
 live upon ; and therefore, if I had any money to give away, I 
 should certainly give to those that v/ant it most.” Harry then 
 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 speaking so freely. “ Indeed, 
 madam,” said Harry, “it was totally out of my power.” 
 “ How can that be, Harry: did you not win nearly thirty 
 shillings ? “ That, madam, all belonged to you ; and I hava 
 
168 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 already disposed of it in your name, in a manner whicli I hope 
 you will not disapprove.’* ‘‘ How is that ? ** asked the youngs 
 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 own 
 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. How, 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 in order to maintain them, and I know that 
 sometimes they can hardly get food and clothes. TJierefore, 
 as 3mu were so kind as to say that I should dispose of this 
 money for you, I ran over this morning to these poor people, 
 and gave it to them in your name ; and I hope you will not be 
 displeased at the use I have made of it.’* “ Indeed,*’ answered 
 the young lady, ‘‘ I am much obliged to you for the good opinion 
 you have of me ; I am only sorry you did not give it in your own 
 name.’* “ That,** replied Harry, “ I had not any right to do.** 
 
 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. While all the rest were intent 
 upon displaying their talents and importance, she alone was 
 simple and unaffected. 
 
 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 wfflole house was now full of milliners and danc- 
 ing-masters. All the young ladies were employed in giving 
 directions about their clothes, and in practising the steps of 
 different dances. Miss Simmons alone appeared to consider the 
 approaching festivity 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, upon the very day 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 5^oung woman’s duty and affection 
 
niSTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 169 
 
 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 themd* Saying this, she 
 put into his hand 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 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. 
 
 But all the rest of the young gentry were employed in cares 
 of a different nature— the dressing their hair and adorning 
 their persons. Tommy himself had now completely resumed 
 his old character, and thrown aside all that he had learned during^ 
 his residence with Mr. Barlow. He had contracted a great fond- 
 ness for all those scenes of dissipation which his new friends 
 described to him, and began to be convinced that one of the 
 most important things in life is a fashionable dress. 
 
 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 
 reffection ; and therefore, as he could not easily resolve the 
 question, he wisely determined to forget it. 
 
 And now the important evening 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 un- 
 usual style of elegance. Several minuets were 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 confidence, by the applauses which resounded on every 
 side. 
 
 As soon as Tommy had finished his dance, he led his partner 
 to her seat, with a grace that surprised all the company ; and 
 then 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 meantime, had shrouded himself in the 
 
170 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AKD MEETOjS". 
 
 most obscure part of tbe room, and was silently gazing upon 
 the scene before him. 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 expos- 
 ing Harry to the general ridicule. He, therefore, proposed it 
 to Mash, who had partly ofEciated as master of the ceremonies, 
 and who, with all the readiness of 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 hesi- 
 tation. In the meantime, Master Compton went up to Harry 
 with the same hypocritical civility, and in Miss Simmons’s 
 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 he must stand up ; that Miss Simmons 
 would never forgive him if he refused, and that it would be 
 sufiicient if he could just walk through the figure, without 
 embarrassing himself about the steps. In the meantime, 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 never doubted that the message had 
 come from his friend ; and determined to excuse himself to her ; 
 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 that was provided for her, and suspected that it was 
 a scheme to mortify her. However, in this she was deter- 
 mined they should be disappointed, as she had the sincerest re- 
 gard for Harry. As soon, therefore, as the music struck up, 
 the young lady began her curtsy; which Harry, who found he 
 was now completely caught, 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 managed 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. 
 
HISTOKY OE SANI)EOE,D MEETOJS". 
 
 171 
 
 Harry had imfortunately not remarked the nature of this ma- 
 noeuvre 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 unfor- 
 tunate couple then retreated to the lower end of the room, amid 
 the jests and sneers of their companions ; particularly of Mash 
 and Compton, who assumed unusual importance, upon the cre- 
 dit of such a brilliant invention. 
 
 When they were seated. Miss Simmons could not help asking 
 Harry why he had thus exposed himself and her, by attempt- 
 ing what he was totally ignorant of. “ Indeed, madam,” an- 
 swered Harry, “ I never should have thought of it, 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 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 we be the last by 
 hundreds, that 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.” “Why, madam,” 
 answered Harry, “ I must confess that I have been very much 
 surprised at many things I have seen at Mr. Merton’s. Mr. 
 Barlow has always told me that politeness consisted in a dispo- 
 sition to oblige everybody around us. Yet I continually see 
 these young gentlemen striving to do and say things, for no 
 other reason than to give pain. To go no further than the pre- 
 sent instance, what motive can Masters Compton and Mash have 
 had, but to mortify you by giving you such a partner ? ” 
 
 “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 it, both 
 goodness of heart and a just way of thinking are required ; and 
 therefore many people content themselves with aping what 
 
172 
 
 HISTORY OF SA^^DFORD AND HERTOH. 
 
 they can pick np in the dress, or gestures, or cant expressions 
 of the higher classes ; just like the poor ass, that, dressed in 
 the skin of a lion, was taken for the lion himself, till his un- 
 fortunate 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 aflfright of the neigh- 
 bourhood. Those who saw him first, imagined that a monstrous 
 lion had invaded the country, and fled with precipitation. 
 Even the very cattle had 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 out into such a discordant brajdng, as 
 surprised those that were nearest, and expected to hear a very 
 difierent noise from under the terrible skin. At length a re- 
 solute 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,” said Miss Simmons, “is continually coming 
 into my mind, when I see anybody imagine himself of great 
 importance, because he has adopted the grimaces of those that 
 call themselves fashionable people. Hor 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 heartilj^ 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 that he had, 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 placed themselves at the bottom of the whole com- 
 pany, 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 difiused a 
 
HISTOEY or SANEPOED AND MEETOX. 
 
 173 
 
 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 well versed in every play 
 tliat 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 
 nature of the dance, all who were at first at the upper end had 
 descended to the bottom ; where they ought to have waited 
 quietly, till their companions, becoming in their turn upper- 
 most, had. danced down to their. former places. But, when 
 Miss Simmons and Harry expected to have their just share of 
 the exercise,- they found that almost all their companions had 
 retired. Harry could not help wondering at this behaviour ; 
 but Miss Simmons told .him, with a smile, that it was quite 
 consistent with their former conduct. “ This is frequently the 
 way,’" added she, “that those who think themselves superior 
 to the rest of the world, choose to show their importance.’* 
 “It is a very bad way indeed,’’ replied Harry: “ people may 
 choose whether they will dance or play at any particular game, 
 but then they ought to submit to the laws of it, and I have 
 always observed among the little boys that I am acquainted 
 wdth, that wherever this disposition prevails, it is the greatest 
 proof of a bad temper.” “ I am afraid,” replied Miss Simmons, 
 “that your observations will hold universally true ; and that 
 those wffio expect so much for themselves, without being willing 
 to consider their fellow-creatures in turn, are ahvays the most 
 ignorant and despicable of the species.” 
 
 “ I remember,” said Harry, “reading a story of a great man. 
 Sir Philip Sydney. This gentleman was reckoned not only the 
 bravest, but the politest person in England. It happened that 
 he was sent 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 
 received a shot, which broke his thigh. 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 reached the 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 intoler- 
 
174 
 
 HISTOET OF SAI^FFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 able thirst, so that he prayed his attendants to fetch him a 
 little water. With great 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 therefor^, though respect prevented him from ask- 
 ing 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 fa- 
 vourite 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 manner of thinking which constitutes 
 the true gentleman. 
 
 As Harry was conversing in this manner, the company had 
 left off dancing, and were refreshing themselves with cakes and 
 wine. Tommy Merton and the other young gentlemen were 
 now distinguishing themselves by their attendance upon the 
 ladies, 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 so good a grace, with a sincerer de- 
 sire 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 insolent than 
 the first. 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, being no longer able to con- 
 tain his indignation, seized a glass that was only half-emptied, 
 and discharged the contents full into the face of the aggressor. 
 Mash instantly seized a drinking glass, and fiung it full at the 
 head of Harry. Happy was it that it only grazed his head, 
 without taking full effect. It however laid bare a considerable 
 
HISTOEY OF SANFFOBD AKD MEETOIS'. 175 
 
 gash, and Harry was in an instant covered with his own blood. 
 This sight only provoked him the more, and made him forget 
 both the place and company where he was ; so that, flying upon 
 Mash Avith all the fury of just revenge, a dreadful combat 
 ensued, which put the whole room into consternation. Mr. 
 Merton soon appeared, and 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 flrmness, in which he 
 was corroborated by the testimony of Miss Simmons, that Mr. 
 Merton readily perceived the truth : 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 noAV disflgured him from head to foot. 
 
 Mrs. Merton, in the meantime, 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. “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.” "Whilst she was in the midst of this eloquent 
 harangue, Mr. Merton came up, and acquitted Harry of all 
 blame, and said, that it was impossible even for the mildest 
 temper in the world to act otherwise upon such 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 dis- 
 covered in her cause, began to act very forcibly upon 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 that 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 
 
176 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 opportunity of retiring to bed ; where he soon fell asleep, and 
 forgot both the mortification and bruises he had received. In 
 the meantime, the company below continued their amusement 
 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 
 ovening’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 disdained to give any explanation of his behaviour, 
 since his friend was not sufficiently interested to demand one. 
 But while they were walking across the heath, they discovered 
 at a distance a prodigious crowd of people, who were all mov- 
 ing forward in the same direction. This attracted the curiosity 
 of the little troop ; and upon inquiry, they found there was 
 going to be a bull-baiting. Instantly an eager desire seized 
 them 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 
 Lyddal ; who observed 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, “I hope we 
 are not such simpletons as to accuse ourselves, or such tell- 
 tales as to inform against one another.” “ IN'o ! no ! no ! " was 
 the universal exclamation from all but Harry, v/ho remained 
 profoundly silent. “ Master Harry has not said a word,” said 
 one of the little folks ; “surely he will not tell of us.” “ In- 
 deed,” 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 Lyddal, “ cannot you say that we have been 
 walking along the road, or across the common, without men- 
 tioning anything further ?” “ Ho,” said Harry, “ that would 
 
 not be speaking truth : besides, bull-baiting is very cruel and 
 dangerous, and therefore none of us should go to see it ; par- 
 ticularly 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 everyone else!” “What!” said 
 
HISTOEY OE SAXEPOED AND MEETOX. 177 
 
 Master Compton, “does this beggar’s brat think 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 the strongest boy in the whole company, 
 came up to Harry, and grinning in his face, said, “ So, all the 
 return you make to Master Merton for his goodness to you, is 
 to be a spy and an informer, is it, you little dirty black- 
 guard?” 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. 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 of a spy and informer as any of them ; and as to begging, 
 he was thankful to say, he wanted as little from them as they 
 did from 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 efiect upon Master Tommy, that, in an 
 instant, forgetting his former obligations and afi’ection to 
 Harry, he strutted up to him, and clenching his fist, asked 
 him whether he meant to insult him ? “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 pro- 
 digious 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 im- 
 mediately struck Harry upon the face with his fist. His forti- 
 tude 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 that 
 you could have treated me in this 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, began to 
 gather round, and repeat their persecutions. Coward, and 
 
178 
 
 HTSTOEY OE SAl^DFOED AND MERTON. 
 
 blackguard, and tell-tale, echoed through the circle ; and 
 some, more forward than the rest, seized hold of him by the 
 hair, in order that he might liold up his head, and show his 
 pretty face. But Harry wiped his tears, 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 fell hack at this question, and 
 seemed disposed to leave him unmolested ; but Master Mash, 
 who was the most quarrelsome and impertinent boy present, 
 advanced, and said, “ This is the way we always treat such 
 little blackguards as you ; and if you have not had enough to 
 satisfy you, we will 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 
 blow which almost overset his antagonist, in spite of his supe- 
 riority 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. Sum- 
 moning, therefore, all his resolution, he flew at Harry like a 
 fury ; and struck him with so much force, that he felled him 
 to the ground. Harry, foiled, 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 hurl him to the ground. The little troop of spec- 
 tators, who had mistaken Harry’s 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 fight- 
 ing ; 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 hard- 
 
HISTOEY or SAITEEOED AI^D MEETOIT. 179 
 
 ened to support pain ; a greater degree of activity ; a cool 
 unyielding courage, wMcli notMng could daunt. Four times 
 liad he been 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 un- 
 conquered. 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 to 
 strike at random ; his breath grew short, and his knees seemed 
 scarcely able to sustain his weight. At length, in a fury of 
 shame and revenge, he rushed with all his might upon Harry, 
 as if determined to crush him with one last effort. Harry pru- 
 dently 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 ; and the very same boys v/ho just be- 
 fore were loading Harry with taunts and outrages, were now 
 ready to congratulate him upon his victory. 
 
 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 vari- 
 ous 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. 
 A crowd of men, women, and children, then surrounded the 
 place, waiting with eager curiosity for the inhuman sport. 
 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 calc- 
 ic 2 
 
180 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AIS^D MEETOIS’. 
 
 less of liis 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 wan- 
 tonly 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 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 ; which, as soon as he beheld the bull, uttered a 
 savage yell, and rushed upon him with all the rage of invete- 
 rate animosity. The bull suffered him to approach with the 
 coolness of deliberate courage ; but just as the dog was spring- 
 ing to seize him, he rushed forward to meet his foe, and 
 putting his head to the ground, tossed 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, which had a leg broken in the fall, 
 crawled howling and limping away. The bull, in the mean- 
 while, behaved with all the calmness and intrepidity of an expe- 
 rienced warrior ; without violence, without passion, 'he waited 
 every attack of his enemies, and then severely punished them 
 for their rashness. 
 
 While this was going on, 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. 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 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 un- 
 fortunately found nothing to give ; the foolish profusion which 
 he had lately learned, had made him waste in trifles all his 
 stock of money ; and now he found himself unable to relieve 
 that distress which he pitied. 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 181 
 
 Thus repulsed and unassisted, the unfortunate black ap- 
 proached 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, saying, “ Here, poor man, this 
 is all I have.’' He had no time to add more ; for at that instant, 
 three fierce dogs rushed upon the bull at once, and drove him 
 almost mad. The 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 one furious 
 efibrt, 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 seized the crowd of spectators. Those who 
 before had been hallooing with joy, and encouraging the fury 
 of the dogs, were now scattered over the plain, and lied from the 
 fury of the animal which they had been so basely tormenting. 
 The enraged bull, meanwhile, rushed like lightning over the 
 plain, trampling some, goring others, and taking ample ven- 
 geance 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 afiright, 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 advico 
 of Harry, would now have given the world to be safe in the 
 houses of their parents. Harry alone preserved his presence 
 of mind ; he ijeither cried out nor ran ; but when the dreadful 
 animal approached, leaped nimbly aside, and the bull passed 
 on, without embarrassing himself about his escape. Hot so 
 fortunate was Master Merton ; for as he ran, 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 
 
182 BISrOEY OF SANOFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 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. But, in that 
 instant, the grateful black rushed on like lightning to assist 
 him, and assailing the bull with a weighty stick which 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 re- 
 venge, but the black jumped nimbly aside, and eluded his fury. 
 Hot 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 fa- 
 tigue of his ov/n violent agitations. And now some of the 
 boldest of the spectators, taking courage, approached to his 
 assistance, and by dint of superior numbers, completely mas- 
 tered 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 v/ound, 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 igno- 
 rant 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 infiuence her still more 
 against him. Mrs. Compton foo, and Miss Matilda, who had 
 conceived a violent dislike to Harry, were busy to infiame her by 
 their malicious representations. While she was in this mind, 
 Mr. Merton entered, and was at once attacked by all the ladies 
 upon the subj ect of this improper connection. He endeavoured, 
 
niSTOEY OF SAI^EFOED AI^D MEETOI?’. 
 
 183 
 
 for a long time, to remove their prejudices by reason ; but when 
 he found that impossible, he contented himself with saying, 
 till Harry had done something to render himself unworthy of 
 their notice, he never would consent to treating him with cold 
 ness or neglect. 
 
 At this moment a female servant burst into the room, and 
 cried out, “ Oh ! madam, madam ! such an accident — pool, 
 dear Master Tommy “ What of him ?'* cried Mrs. Mer- 
 
 ton in alarm. “Hay, 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 hysterics. 
 
 While the ladies were all employed in assisting her, Mr. 
 Merton, who, though much alarmed, was more composed, ran 
 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 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. 
 
 At length, however, she became more composed, and observ- 
 ing 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 de- 
 served.” “What little wretch, mamma?” said Tommy. 
 “Whom can I mean,” said 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 this 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. “Who, then,” said Mr. 
 Merton, “could be so imprudent?’’ “Indeed, papa,” an- 
 swered Tommy, “we were ail to blame, all but Harry, who 
 
184 
 
 HISTOEY or SANDFOED AI^D MEETOJ?’. 
 
 advised and begged ns not to go ; and particularly mOi be- 
 cause 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 
 clanger, 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, “that you were for 
 driving from the society of your children ! But let us hear 
 more of the 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 un- 
 expected succour of the poor black ; and filled the whole room 
 with admiration that such an action, so noble, so intrepid, 
 should have been achieved by such a child. 
 
 Mrs. Merton was now silent with shame ; and, such is the 
 effect of genuine virtue, that 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 relation of 
 Harry’s intrepidity, now cast his eyes around 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? Surely he can have met with no accident, 
 that he has not returned with the rest !” “ No,” said one of 
 
 the servants ; “ 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 re- 
 ceived some unworthy treatment, that could make him thus 
 abruptly desert us all. And now I recollect that I heard one 
 of the young gentlemen mention a blow that Harry had re- 
 ceived : surely. Tommy, you could not have been so ungrateful 
 as to strike the best and noblest of your friends?" Tommy, 
 
HISTOEY OE SANDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 185 
 
 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, 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 dis- 
 grace a human being ; and who, if what I suspect is 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 caught her darling 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 took the first opportunity of drawing the 
 little boy aside who had mentioned Master Merton’s striking 
 Harry, and questioned him upon the subject. He, who had 
 no particular interest in disguising the truth, related the cir- 
 cumstances nearly as they had happened ; and, though he a 
 little softened matters in Tommy’s favour, yet he held up such 
 a picture of his violence and injustice, as wounded his father 
 to the soul. 
 
 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 events which had so recently happened. Mr. Merton re- 
 ceived this worthy man with the sineerest cordiality ; but 
 there was such a gloom diflfused over all his manners, that Mr. 
 Barlow began to suspect 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 afi'ectionately 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 a manner that shows him to be insen- 
 sible 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. “ In- 
 deed,” answered Mr. Barlow, “ I am very sorry to hear this 
 account of my little friend, yet I do not see it quite in so 
 
186 HISTOEY OF SAITDFOED ANE MEETOl^. 
 
 serious a light as yourseK. Do you imagine that half the yices 
 of men arise from real depravity of heart ? On the contrary, 
 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/* 
 
 “ You comfort me very much,*’ said Mr. Merton ; “ but such 
 ungovernable passions ! such violence and impetuosity ! ’* — 
 ‘‘Are indeed very formidable,** replied Mr. Barlov/ : “yet, 
 when they are properly directed, produce the noblest effects ; 
 and history, as well as private observation, may inform us, 
 that, if they sometimes lead their possessor astray, they are 
 equally capable of bringing him back to the right path, pro- 
 vided they are properly acted upon. 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 by repeating the story you allude to.** 
 
 THE STOEY OE POLEMO. 
 
 “Polemo,** said Mr. Barlow, “ was a young man of Athens. 
 He led a life of continual intemperance and dissipation. His 
 days were devoted to feasting and amusements, his nights to 
 riot and intoxication. He 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 pos- 
 sessed in wine, they were accustomed to sally forth, 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 gneat concourse of people, who were 
 listening to the discourses of a celebrated philosopher, named 
 Xenocrates. The greater part of the young men, who still re- 
 tained some sense of shame, were so struck with this spectacle, 
 that they turned out of the way ; but Polemo, more daring and 
 abandoned than the rest, pressed forward into the midst of the 
 audience. His figure was too remarkable not to attract uni- 
 
niSTOEY OF SANDFOliD AND MEKTON. 
 
 187 
 
 versal notice ; for his head was crowned with dowers, his robe 
 hung* negligently about him, and his whole body was reeking 
 with perfumes ; besides, his look and manners were such as very 
 little qualilied him for the 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 advantage of temperance. As he pro- 
 ceeded, 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. He cast his eyes in 
 mournful silence upon the ground, as if in deep repentance for 
 his own contemptible conduct. Still the philosopher increased 
 in vehemence ; he seemed to exercise an irresistible power over 
 thb minds of his hearers. He drew the portrait of an ingenuous 
 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 orna- 
 ment and bulwark of his country. The thickest squadrons are 
 penetrated by his resistless valour, and he points the paths of 
 victory to his admiring followers. Should he fall in battle, 
 how glorious is his lot ! to be cut ofl“ in the honourable dis- 
 charge of his duty, to be wept by all the brave and virtuous, 
 and to survive in the eternal records of fame ! While Xeno- 
 crates was thus discoursing, Polemo seemed to be transported 
 with a sacred enthusiasm ; his eyes flashed fire, and the whole 
 expression of his person was changed. Presently, the philo- 
 sopher, who had remarked the eflects of his discourse, painted, 
 in no less glowing colours, the life and manners of an eflemi- 
 nate young man. ‘Unhappy youth," said he, ‘what words 
 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. That strength which would have ren- 
 dered 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, and the step of modest 
 
188 
 
 HISTOEY OP SANDPOED AND MEETOl^’. 
 
 firmness, a squalid paleness sits upon thy face, a bloated cor- 
 pulency 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 have surrounded the city, 
 and are prepared to scatter flames and ruin through the whole ! 
 The virtuous youth, who 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 a close impenetrable phalanx ! 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 flow- 
 ers, the only trophies of his warfare: he hurries with trembling 
 steps across the city : his voice, and 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 flxed attention : presently his lips trembled and his cheeks 
 grew pale ; he softly raised his hands to his head, and tore 
 away the chaplets of flowers, and wrapped his robe about him, 
 -that before hung loosely, waving with an air of studied effemi- 
 nacy. But when Xenocrates had flnished his discourse, Po- 
 lemo 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, encouraged 
 him in such a laudable design, and admitted him among his 
 disciples. Xor 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 as celebrated for virtue and wisdom, as he had 
 before been for every contrary quality.’* 
 
 Thus,** added Mr. Barlow, “ you see how little reason there 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 189 
 
 is to despair of youth, even under the most disadvantageous 
 circumstances. For the same activity of mind, the same im- 
 petuosity of temper, which, by being improperly applied, 
 would only form a wild ungovernable character, may produce 
 the steadiest virtue, and prove a blessing both to the individual 
 and his country.** 
 
 “ I am obliged to you for this story,’* said Mr. Merton ; “ and 
 as my son will certainly lind a Xenocrates in you, 1 wish that 
 you may have reason to think him, in some degree, a Polemo. 
 Eut tell me what you think the best method of treating him in 
 his jpresent critical situation.** 
 
 “ That,” said Mr. Barlow, “ must depend, I think, upon the 
 workings of his own mind. Do not at present say much to him 
 upon the subject. Let us both he attentive to the silent work- 
 ings 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 re- 
 ceived 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 the admiration of this bril- 
 liant 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 in- 
 quiries ; hut his eyes were involuntarily turned to the ground, 
 and silent melancholy and dejection were visible in his face. 
 
 After the dinner was over, most of the young gentlemen 
 went to their respective homes. Tommy seemed to have lost 
 much of the enthusiasm which he had lately felt for his polite 
 and accomplished friends, and answered with visible coldness 
 all their professions of regard and repeated invitations. 
 
 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. 
 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 of 
 even the youngest. Miss Simmons instantly complied, and 
 taking down a book, read the following story of 
 
190 
 
 B.ISTOEY OF SANFFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 SOPHEON AND TIGEANES, 
 
 Sophron and Tigranes were the children of two neighhonring 
 shepherds, who fed their flocks in that part of Asia which 
 borders upon Mount Lebanon. They were accustomed to each 
 other from their earliest infancy ; and the continual habit of 
 conversing, at length produced a tender and intimate friend- 
 ship. Sophron was the larger and more robust of the two ; his 
 look was Arm 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 wrestling, boxing, 
 and whirling heavy weights ; but his triumphs were mixed with 
 so much humanity and courtesy, that even those who found 
 themselves vanquished could feel no envy tov/ards their con- 
 queror. On the contrary, Tigranes was of a character totally 
 diflerent. His body was less strong than that of Sophron, but 
 excellently proportioned and adapted to every species of fa- 
 tigue. 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 fierceness. Ti- 
 granes seemed to be possessed by a restless spirit of command- 
 ing all his equals, while Sophron, contented with the enjoy- 
 ment of tranquillity, desired nothing more than to avoid op- 
 pression. 
 
 Still, as they assisted their parents in leading every morn- 
 ing their flocks to pasture, they entertained each other with 
 rural sports, or, lying under the shade of arching rocks during 
 the heat of the day, conversed with all the ease of childish 
 friendship. “ See,” said Tigranes, one day, as he cast his eyes 
 upwards to the cliffs of a neighbouring rock, that eagle which 
 rises 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 the rapi- 
 dity of a whirlwind, and dart like lightning upon my prey.” 
 
 “ That eagle,” answered Sophron, “ is the emblem of vio- 
 lence 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 inoflensively along the river. He is strong enough to de- 
 fend himself from injury, without oppressing others; and 
 therefore he is neither feared nor insulted by other animals.'’ 
 
3opJb.ron’s address from ttie rock. 
 
HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 191 
 
 While he was yet speaking, the eagle, which had been 
 hovering in the air, darted down at some little distance, and 
 seizing a lamb, was bearing it away in his cruel talons, when 
 the shepherd, who had been watching from a neighbouring 
 hill, let hy an arrow from his bow 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 be- 
 yond their fellows, they are stopped by some unforeseen misfor- 
 tune.” 
 
 “ For my part,” said Tigranes, ‘‘ I would rather perish in 
 the middle of 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, the difference of their tempers became more 
 visible, and gradually alienated them from each other. Ti- 
 granes began to despise the uniform labours of a shepherd and 
 the humble occupations of the country. His sheep were neg- 
 lected, and frequently wandered over the plains, without a 
 leader to guard them in the day or bring them back at night. 
 The young man was in the meantime employed in climbing 
 rocks, or traversing the forest, to seek for eagles’ nests, or 
 pierce with his arrows the different wild animals which inhabit 
 the woods. If he heard the horn of the hunter, or the cry of 
 hounds, it was impossible to restrain his eagerness. He re- 
 garded 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. 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 coui’age invincible. He 
 
192 
 
 HISTORY OF SAI>^I)FORD AND MERTON, 
 
 felt himself humbled whenevrer he was in his company, as be- 
 fore a superior being*, and therefore gradually estranged him- 
 self from his society. 
 
 Sophron, on the contrary, entertained the sincerest regard 
 for his friend ; hut he knew his defects, and trembled for the 
 consequences which the violence 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 v/ith 
 Tigranes he accosted him in the gentlest manner, and en- 
 deavoured to win him back to his former habits and manners. 
 He represented to him the injury he did his parents, and the 
 uneasiness he occasioned them by thus abandoning the duties 
 of his profession. He sometimes hinted at the coldness with 
 which Tigranes treated him, and reminded his friend of the 
 pleasing intercourse of their childhood. But all his remon- 
 strances were vain ; Tigranes heard him at flrst 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, which had already bitten him in 
 several places and destroyed his dam. Wherever Sophron 
 went, the faithful lamb accompanied him like his dog, laid 
 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 : and when he slept 
 at night, 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 to search for 
 prey. By a caprice which 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 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 neigh- 
 bouring shepherds tremble for the safety of their flocks. But 
 as the courage and fierceness of Tigranes had now rendered 
 
♦ 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AKD MEETON-. 193 
 
 him formidable to all his associates, and the violence of his 
 temper made him impatient of all opposition, they did not 
 speak to him upon the subject. 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 uponhim to part with a beast 
 so justly odious, and which might in the end prove fatal, when- 
 ever his natural rage should break out into open acts of slaugh- 
 ter. Tigranes hbard him with a sneer of derision, and only 
 answered, that if a parcel of miserable rustics diverted them- 
 selves with keeping sheep, he, who had a more elevated soul, 
 might surely entertain a nobler animal for his diversion. 
 “ But should that animal prove a public mischief ? coolly re- 
 plied 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, either impelled by the acci- 
 dental taste of blood, or by the natural fierceness of his tem- 
 per, 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 happening to be within 
 view, ran with amazing swiftness to the place, and found the 
 savage bathed in blood, tearing the carcase of a lamb which 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 bis 
 adversary, compelled him to struggle for his own safety. It 
 was then that he uttered cries more dreadful than before, and 
 
 0 
 
194 
 
 3IIST0EY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 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. 
 
 At this very moment Tigranes passed that way, and was 
 witness to the triumphs of Sophron and the miserable end of 
 his favourite. Infiamed with pride and indignation, he uttered 
 dreadful imprecations against his friend, 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 neces- 
 sity of defending his own life against the attacks of a perfi- 
 dious friend ; and with a nimble spring, at once eluded the wea- 
 pon and closed with his antagonist. The combat was then 
 more equal, for each was reduced to depend upon his own 
 strength and activity. At length the force and coolness of 
 Sophron prevailed over the blind 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 ; however, I will 
 rather remember thy early merits than thy recent injuries.*’ 
 
 “ iSTo,’* 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 abetter 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 
 fiocks, and halted to refresh themselves under the shade of 
 som.e 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 proposed to him 
 that he should enrol himself in his company, and promised him 
 every encouragement which he thought most likely to engage 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 195 
 
 the passions of a yonn^ man. Sophron thanked him with hu- 
 mility for his offers, but told him, that he had an aged father who 
 was now become incapable of maintaining himself, and therefore 
 that he could accept of no offers which would interfere with 
 the discharge of this duty. The officer 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 
 upon the stupidity and cowardice of Sophron. 
 
 The party had not proceeded far, before they came to the 
 place where his favourite lamb was feeding, which, as he had 
 not yet learned to dread the cruelty of the human species, 
 advanced towards them with all the confidence of unsuspicious 
 innocence. “ This is a lucky accident,” cried one of the sol- 
 diers with a brutal satisfaction; “Fortune was not willing 
 that we should go without a supper, and has therefore sent us a 
 present.” “A happy exchange,” answered a second; “a fat 
 sheep instead of a lubberly shepherd ; and the coward will no 
 doubt think himseM 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 as to escape the sight of the indignity which 
 vras offered him. He followed the troop with so much swift- 
 ness, that it was not long before he overtook the soldier who 
 was bearing away his friend, and, from his load, marched ra- 
 ther behind the rest. Yfhen Sophron approached him, he ac- 
 costed him in the gentlest manner, and besought him, in words 
 that might have touched any one but a savage, to restore his 
 favourite. ^ But the barbarous soldier, inured to scenes of 
 misery, 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 waffing 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 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 
 
 O 2 
 
196 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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 van- 
 quished soldier came in an instant to his assistance, and with- 
 out inquiring into the merits of the cause, drew their swords 
 and began to assail the undaunted young man. But he, bran- 
 dishing 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 en- 
 gaged, the officer approached, and inquired into the occa- 
 sion of the contest. Sophron then recounted, with so much 
 modesty, the indignities and insults he had received, and the 
 unprovoked attack of the soldier, that the officer, vfho had a 
 real respect for courage, was charmed with the behaviour of 
 the young man. He therefore reproved his men for their dis- 
 orderly manners, praised the intrepidity of Sophron, and or- 
 dered his lamb to be restored to him, with which he joyfully 
 departed. 
 
 Sophron was scarcely out of sight, when Tigranes met the 
 same party upon their march. Their military attire and glit- 
 tering arms instantly struck him with admiration. He stopped 
 to gaze upon them as they passed ; and the officer 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. JSTor was it long 
 before he had an opportunity of signalising his intrepidity. 
 Asia was at that time overrun by numerous bands of savage 
 warriors, under different and independent chiefs. 
 
 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 re- 
 gard, 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 baffied ; 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. At length, in a decisive battle, in which the chief- 
 
HISTOEY OE SAISTEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 197 
 
 tain 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. 'Nov did his fortune 
 stop even here ; for after a number of battles he was, upon the 
 unexpected death of the chief, unanimously chosen by the 
 whole nation to succeed him. 
 
 In the meantime Sophron, free from envy, avarice, or ambi- 
 tion, pursued the natural impulse of his character, and con- 
 tented himself with a life of virtuous obscurity. He passed his 
 time in rural labours, in watching his docks, and in attending, 
 with all the duty of an affectionate child, upon his aged parents. 
 All his rural labours succeeded in the amplest manner ; his 
 ffock§ were the fairest, the most healthy and numerous of the 
 district ; he was loved and esteemed by the youth of the neigh- 
 bourhood, and equally respected by the aged, who pointed him 
 out as an 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. 
 
 Hor was his humanity confined to his own species : the inno- 
 cent inhabitants of the forest were safe from the pursuit of 
 Sophron, and all that lived under his protection were sure to 
 meet with tenderness. ‘‘It is enough,” said Sophron, “that 
 the innocent sheep supplies me with his fleece, to form my win- 
 ter 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. 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 dar- 
 ling F’ said his mother. “ Alas ! ” said Tommy, “ mamma, it 
 
198 
 
 HISTOEY OE SANDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 reminds me of poor Harry Sandford ; jnst sncli another good 
 yonng man will lie be, when he is as old as Sophron ; and I, and 
 I,” added he, sobbing, “amjust such another worthless, ungrate- 
 ful 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 Sophron, 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 gentle- 
 men that went home to-day who reads as well as Harry Sand- 
 ford, or has half his understanding.’' Mr. Merton could hardly 
 help smiling at Tommy's conjecture about Sophron' s reading; 
 but 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 of 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. 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. 
 
 It happened one day that Sophron had been following the 
 chase of a wolf which had made some depredations upon the 
 fiocks, and in the ardour of his pursuit vfas separated from his 
 companions. He was too well acquainted with the roughest 
 parts of the neighbouriug mountains, and too indifferent to 
 danger, to be disturbed at this circumstance ; he therefore 
 followed his fiying foe with so much impetuosity . that he 
 completely lost sight of every landmark with which he was 
 acquainted. As it is difficult, in a wild and uncultivated 
 district, to find the path again when once lost, Sophron only 
 wandered further from his home, the more he endeavoured to 
 return. He found himself 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 
 
HISTOEY OE SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 199 
 
 precipices of immense lieiglit. 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. 
 
 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 inhabit- 
 ants. 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 wan- 
 derers of the dark. He determined to approach the light, but 
 knowing the unsettled state of all the neighbouring districts, 
 thought it prudent to advance with caution. He therefore made 
 a circuit, and by clambering along the higher grounds 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, as well as by the insolence with which 
 they were treated, that they were prisoners. The virtuous in- 
 dignation of his temper was instantly excited, and he deter- 
 mined 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 were too many 
 for him to flatter himself with any rational hope of success by 
 open force ; and should he make a fruitless eflbrt, he might 
 rashly throw his life away, and only aggravate the distresses 
 he sought to cure. With this consideration, he at length de- 
 termined to attempt by stratagem what he thought could 
 scarcely be performed by force. He therefore silently with 
 drew, and skirted the side of the wood which had concealed 
 him, carefully remarking every circumstance of the way, till 
 he had ascended a mountain whmh immediately fronted the 
 
200 niSTOET OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 camp of tlie soldiers, at no considerable distance. He bad by 
 bis side a kind of battle-axe wbicb tbey use in tbe cbase of 
 bears ; with this be applied bimself to lopping tbe branches of 
 trees, collecting at tbe same time all tbe fallen ones be could 
 find, till in a short time be bad reared several piles of wood upon 
 tbe most conspicuous part of tbe mountain, and full in the view 
 of the soldiers. He then easily kindled a blaze by rubbing two 
 decayed branches together, and in an instant all tbe piles were 
 blazing with so many streams of light, that tbe neighbouring 
 bills and forests were illuminated with tbe gleam. Sopbron 
 knew tbe nature of man, always prone to sudden impressions 
 of fear, more particularly amid tbe obscurity of tbe night, and 
 promised bimself tbe amplest success from bis stratagem. In 
 tbe meantime be hastened back with tbe utmost speed to tbe 
 wood where be bad lurked before ; be then raised bis voice, 
 wbicb was naturally loud and clear, and shouted several times 
 successively. A hundred echoes from tbe neighbouring clifi's 
 and caverns returned the sound, with a reverberation that 
 made it appear like tbe noise of a mighty squadron. 
 
 The soldiers, who bad been alarmed by tbe sudden blaze of 
 so many fires, wbicb tbey attributed to a numerous band of 
 troops, were now impressed with such a panic that tbey were 
 dispersed in an instant, and left tbe prisoners to themselves. 
 Sopbron did not wait for them to be undeceived, but running 
 to the spot tbey bad abandoned, explained to the trembling and 
 amazed captives tbe nature of bis stratagem, and exhorted them 
 to escape as swiftly as possible. But few entreaties were neces- 
 sary to prevail upon them ; tbey therefore arose and followed 
 Sopbron, who led them up into the mountains, and when be 
 thought them out of the immediate danger of pursuit, tbey 
 sheltered themselves in a rocky cavern, and determined there 
 to await the light of the morning. 
 
 When tbey were thus in a place of safety, tbe venerable old 
 man seized the band of Sopbron, and bedewing it with bis tears, 
 gave way to tbe strong emotions of gratitude wbicb overwhelmed 
 bis mind. Grenerous youth ! said be, “I know not by what 
 extraordinary fortune you have thus been able to efiect our 
 deliverance when we imagined ourselves out of tbe reach of 
 human succour ; but you may command our lives and employ 
 them in your service.’’ 
 
 “Father,” answered Sopbron, “you infinitely overrate tbe 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKEFOED ANE MEETON'. 201 
 
 merits of tlie service whicli I have happily been enabled to per- 
 form/' Sophron then explained the nature of the stratagem, 
 by which, alone and unsupported, he had been enabled to dis- 
 perse their enemies. He added, “that if he appeared to have 
 any little merit in their eyes, he should be amply recompensed 
 by being admitted tp 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. 
 
 Yfith 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 the river as a guide, they at 
 length came to a cultivated spot. Sophron recollected that he 
 had formerly visited this village with his father when a child, 
 and before the country had sufiered the rage of barbarous in- 
 vasions. It was a long day’s march from home, but by exerting 
 all their force 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 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 con- 
 tains 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 afiectionately 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. The first place which I visited was Egypt, a country 
 renowned in every age for its invention of all the arts which 
 
202 
 
 HISTOEY OP SANDPOED MEETOlf. 
 
 contribute to support or adorn human life. This country is one 
 immense plain, divided by the Mle, 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 hoating upon the inundation. The instant the waters have 
 retired, the farmer returns to his fields, and begins the opera- 
 tions of agriculture. These labours are not very difiicult 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. 
 
 “ IN^or is the climate less favourable than the soil, for here an 
 eternal spring and summer seem to have fixed their abode. JN'o 
 frost or 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. 'No one is here 
 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 very children catch the contagion fi*om their 
 parents ; they are instructed in every effeminate art : to dance 
 in soft, unmanly attitudes, to modulate their voice 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 instructed to wield the arms of men, to 
 tame the noble steeds with which the country abounds, to ob- 
 serve his rank in war, or to bear the hardships of a military 
 life. Hence this celebrated country, which has been in every 
 age the admiration of mankind, is destined to the most degra- 
 ding servitude. A few thousand disciplined troops are suffi- 
 cient to hold the many millions it contains in bondage, under 
 which they groan, without ever conceiving the design of vindi- 
 cating their natural rights by arms.’* 
 
 “Unhappy people!” exclaimed Sophron, “how useless to 
 them are all the blessings of their climate ! How much rather 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 203 
 
 would I inliabit 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 So- 
 phron, 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. 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 reach of the fer- 
 tilising 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 mj 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 each upon a camel, which are found 
 much more useful than horses in such a burning climate.” 
 
 “ I am sorry to interrupt the story,*’ said Tommy, “ but I 
 shall be much obliged to you, sir, if you will inform me what 
 kind of 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, and his 
 neck of an amazing length. In his temper he is gentle and 
 tractable, and his patience in bearing thirst and hunger is su- 
 perior to that of any animal we are acquainted with. He is 
 driven across the burning deserts, loaded with the merchandise 
 of those countries, and frequently does not find water to quench 
 his thirst for several days. As to his food, it is nothing but the 
 few herbs which are found in the least barren parts of the de- 
 serts, and prickly bushes, upon which he browses as a delicacy: 
 sometimes he does not find even these for many days, yet pur- 
 sues his journey with a degree of patience which is hardly 
 credible.” 
 
 “We mounted our camels,” continued Chares, “and soon 
 had reached the confines of Egypt. The way, as we proceeded. 
 
204 " HISTOEY OF SANDFOEE AND MEETON. 
 
 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. I 
 felt a burning fever take possession of my body ; my tongue 
 was scorched with intolerable heat, and it was in vain I endea- 
 voured 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 dis- 
 tinguished the glitter of arms that reflected the rising sun. 
 This was a band of Arabians who had discovered us, and came 
 to know our intentions. As they advanced, they spurred their 
 horses, which are the mostfleet 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 pre- 
 pared 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 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 the curiosity which led me to observe in person the 
 manners of a people who are celebrated over the v/hole world, 
 for having preserved their native simplicity unaltered, and 
 their liberty unviolated, amid the revolutions which agitate all 
 the neighbouring nations. I then offered to him the loading of 
 my camel, which I had brought, not as being worthy his ac- 
 ceptance, but as a slight testimony of my regard ; and con- 
 cluded with remarking, that the fidelity of the Arabians in ob- 
 serving 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 rites of 
 hospitality. 
 
HISTOEY OF SATOFOED MEETOK", 
 
 205 
 
 “ While I was thus speaking, he looked at me with a pene- 
 tration that seemed to read into my very soul, and when I had 
 finished, he welcomed me to their tribe, telling me, at the same 
 time, that they admitted me as their guest, and that I might 
 consider myself as safer in their tent 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 en- 
 campment 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. 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 sustenance, 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 burniug 
 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 place of 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 vegeta- 
 tion ; and here the Arabians encamp till they have exhausted 
 the spontaneous products of the soil. Other nations are in- 
 volved 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, 
 despises their possession. All his wants, his passions, his de- 
 sires, terminate in one object, and that object is the preserva- 
 tion of his liberty. For this purpose, he contents himself with 
 the coarsest and simplest food ; and the small quantity of cloth- 
 ing which he requires in such a climate, is fabricated by the 
 women of the tribe, who milk the cattle and prepare the food 
 for their husbands. 
 
206 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOBD AND MEKTON. 
 
 “ They have a breed of horses superior to any for gentleness, 
 patience, and nnrivalled swiftness. This is the particular pas- 
 sion and pride of the Arabian tribes. They are necessary to 
 them in their warlike expeditions, and in their courses along the 
 deserts. If they are attacked they mount their steeds, which 
 bear them with the rapidity of a tempest, to avenge their in- 
 juries ; or should they be overmatched in fight, they soon trans- 
 port them beyond the possibility of pursuit. For this reason, 
 the proudest monarchs and greatest conquerors have in vain 
 endeavoured to subdue them, and those that survived the ob- 
 stacles of nature, were easily overcome by the repeated attacks 
 of the valiant Arabians. 
 
 “While I was in this country, I was myself witness to an 
 embassy that was sent from a neighbouring prince, who ima- 
 gined the fame of his exploits had struck the Arabians with terror, 
 and disposed them to submission. The ambassador was intro- 
 duced to the chief of the tribe, a venerable old man, undistin- 
 guished 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 
 profusion of his riches, his warlike engines, and his 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 to clash their weapons in token of 
 defiance ; but the chief himself, with a calm and manly compo- 
 sure, made this reply : ‘ I expected, from the maturity of your 
 age, and the gravity of your countenance, to have heard a ra- 
 tional discourse, befitting you to propose and us to hear. When 
 you dwelt so long upon the power of your master, I also ima- 
 gined that he had sent to us to promise 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 
 vrant not the assistance 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 be disagreeable to the ears of 
 
HISTOET OF SANDFOED ANE MEETOK. 
 
 207 
 
 free-born men, wbo 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, 
 we hold it from our ancestors, who received it in turn from 
 theirs, by the common laws of nature. 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 
 their ancestors have been buried, even from the first creation 
 of the world. But you have described to us in pompous lan- 
 guage the extraordinary power and riches of your king, who, 
 if your words be true, must be equally unjust and foolish, 
 since, enjoying so many good things vath ease and security to 
 himself, he will rather put them all to 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 may afibrd 
 you a sufiicient answer. We have nothing which we can send 
 as a tribute but the sands of 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 nor van- 
 quished 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 us, however, he will do we]^ to con- 
 sider whether he can vanquish the obstacles which Nature her- 
 self has opposed to his ambition. In attempting to pass our 
 deserts, he will have to struggle with famine and 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 1 With such prin- 
 ciples, they need not fear the attack of kings or conquerors V* 
 
 “ 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 pusiUani- 
 
/_ 
 
 208 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 mityliad 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 expe- 
 rienced you are capable of attempting, I trust that these soli- 
 tary scenes are uninfected with the vices that have deluged the 
 rest of Asia, and bent its inhabitants to the yoke/’ 
 
 Here Tommy’s impatience could no longer he restrained, and 
 he addressed Mr. Barlow thus : 
 
 Tommy. 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 possess 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. 
 
 Tomrny. But then, why should it not he 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 those things useful or not useful ? 
 
 Tcmmy. Many of them are extremely useful ; for they cul- 
 tivate tne ground, and build houses, and hammer iron ; besides 
 feeding cattle, and dressing our victuals, and washing our 
 clothes ; and, in short, doing everything which is necessary to 
 be done. 
 
 Air. Barloio. What ! do the poor do all these things ? 
 
 Tommy. Yes, indeed, or they would never be done. For it 
 would be a very ungenteel thing to labour at a forge like a 
 blacksmith, or hold the plough like a 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. 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AM MEETOT?’. 209 
 
 Mr, Barlow. So, you still think it the first qualification of 
 a gentleman never to do anything useful ? 
 
 Tommy looked a little ashamed at this, but he said it was not 
 so much his own opinion as that of the other young gentlemen 
 and ladies with whom he had conversed. 
 
 “ But,’’ replied Mr. Barlow, “ you asked just now which were 
 the best, the rich or the poor ; if the poor provide food, and 
 clothing, and houses, and everything else, while the rich do 
 nothing at all, it must appear that the poor are better than the 
 rich.” 
 
 Tommij. Yes, sir ; but then the poor do not act in that man- 
 ner 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 you would 
 prefer, those that are always doing useful things because they 
 are obliged to do them, or those who never do anything useful 
 at all ? 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, sir, I hardly know what to say ; 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 these 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 good- 
 ness 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 if a poor man has money in his 
 pocket, he can always exchange it for clothes, or food, or any 
 other necessary. 
 
 Mr. Barloiv. But whom must he buy them from ? For, ac- 
 cording to your account, the rich never produce any of these 
 things : therefore, the poor, if they want to purchase them, can 
 only do it of each other. 
 
 Tommy. But, sir, I cannot think that is always the case ; 
 for I have been with my mamma to shops where there were fine 
 
 p 
 
210 
 
 HISTORY OF SAIIDFORD AND MERTOH. 
 
 gentlemen and ladies, wlio sold things to other people, and 
 seemed almost as genteel as ourselves. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But, my good little friend, do you imagine 
 that these fine gentlemen and ladies made the things which 
 they sold ? 
 
 Tommy. Why, no, sir, I should not suppose they do. 
 
 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 further 
 than this ; the rich do nothing and produce nothing, and the 
 poor everything that is really useful. Were there a whole na- 
 tion of rich people, they would all be starved, unless they had 
 neighbours who were poorer to supply them. But a nation 
 which was poor might be industrious, and supply themselves 
 with all they wanted ; and then it would be of little conse- 
 quence whether they had pieces of metal with heads upon them 
 or not. But this conversation has lasted long enough at pre- 
 sent ; and as you are now going to bed, I dare say 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, with 
 his head full of the description he had heard of the Arabian 
 horsemen, and desired that his little horse might be saddled, 
 and that William, his father’s man, would attend him. Un- 
 fortunately for Tommy, his vivacity was greater than his 
 reason, and his taste for imitation was continually leading him 
 into some misfortune. The idea, therefore, which presented 
 itself to his mind, as soon as he had 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 
 rather 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 accus- 
 tomed to humour all his caprices to make any difficulty in 
 obeying him ; and, as he had often ridden out with his young 
 master before, he did not foresee the least inconvenience. But 
 Mrs. Merton had never allowed her son to wear spurs, and 
 Tommy had long murmured in secret at this prohibition, 
 
HTSTOEY OF SAIfDFOED AISTD MEETOIf. 211 
 
 wMcIl sensibly wounded his pride. But since he had taken it 
 into his head to emulate the Arabs themselves, 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 solicit their assistance. While 
 he was in this embarrassment, a nevr and sudden expedient 
 presented itself to his fertile genius. Tommy went to his 
 mamma’s maid, and without difficulty obtained from her a 
 couple of very large 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 gave 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 parti- 
 culars he had heard the preceding night : but Tommy, un- 
 luckily for himself, became too eloquent; 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, which was not deficient in spirit, resented the attack 
 and set ofl* with him at a prodigious rate. William, v/hen he 
 saw his master thus burst forth, was at a loss whether to con- 
 sider it as 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 efibrts, he thought 
 it necessary to endeavour to overtake him, and therefore pur- 
 sued him with all possible speed. 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 toned short, and 
 
 P 2 
 
212 
 
 HISTOBY OF SANDFOBD AND MEBTON, 
 
 ruslied precipitately into a large bog, or quagmire, which was 
 full before him : here he made 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 refiection 
 upon his horsemanship ; but he wisely repressed his passion, and 
 desired William to catch his horse, while he returned home- 
 wards on foot to warm himself. The servant, therefore, endea- 
 voured to approach the pony, which, 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 full speed, and seemed disposed to lead him a 
 second chase, not inferior to the first. 
 
 In the meantime. Tommy walked pensively along the com- 
 mon, refiecting upon 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 before seen, with two poor 
 children, who 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 a long and formidable 
 sword. Tommy surveyed him so earnestly 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, 
 as he appeared in a plight quite unsuited to his station. 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, my friend, there 
 is not much the matter. I have a little obstinate horse that ran 
 away Avith me, and after trying in vain to throw me down, he 
 plunged into the middle of that great bog ; so I jumped off, for 
 
■■ ’'V 
 
 
Tommy rescues the lamh. 
 
HISTOPvY OE SAl^DEOED MEET02?'. 
 
 213 
 
 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 not to be well.” 
 “ 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 since yesterday noon.” Tommy 
 was naturally generous, and now his heart 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.” “ 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 difierent 
 path ; and Tommy went forward, feeling great pleasure at this 
 little act of humanity. He had walked but a very little way 
 with these refiections, before he met with a fiock of sheep run- 
 ning from 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, 
 despising the diminutive size of his adversary, growled and 
 showed his teeth, and when he found that this was not suf- 
 ficient to deter him from intermeddling, entirely quitted the 
 sheep, and making a sudden spring, seized upon the skirt of 
 To mm y’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 
 the impending danger, expressed his gratitude to the stranger, 
 and desired him to accompany him to his father’s house, where 
 
214 
 
 HISTOET OF SAl^-DFOED A1^3 MEETOK". 
 
 lie and his children should receive whatever refreshment they 
 wished. He then turned his eyes to the lamb which lay pant- 
 ing upon the ground, bleeding and wounded, and remarked 
 with astonishment, upon his fleece, the well-known characters 
 of H. S. accompanied with a cross. “ Really,’' said Tommy, 
 ‘‘ I believe this is the very lamb which Harry used to be so 
 fond of, and which used sometimes to follow him to Mr Bar- 
 low’s. I am the luckiest fellow in the world, to have come in 
 time to deliver him ; and now, perhaps, Harry may forgive 
 me ail 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 olflciousness, oflered his services, and prevailed 
 on Tommy to let him carry it, while he delivered his child to 
 the biggest of its brothers. 
 
 'When Tommy was 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 a condition ; for the dirt, which 
 had bespattered him from head to foot, began to dry in various 
 places, and gave him the appearance of a clay-built wall in the 
 act of hardening. But Tommy, without giving them time to 
 make inquiries, ran affectionately 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 
 and his poor children, one of whom has a terrible ague. For I 
 knew, papa, though I have 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 
 
HISTOKY OF SAI^'DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 215 
 
 reason that I see you thus disfigured with dirt? Surely 
 your horse has thrown you? and so it is, for here is Wil- 
 liam 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, ride 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 bf it.” 
 
 “E'o,’^ 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 
 in the mire.” 
 
 “ But how is this ? ” said Mr. Merton; “the pony used to be 
 the quietest of horses. Surely, William, you were not so im- 
 prudent as to trust your young master with spurs ?” 
 
 “Ho, sir,” answ’ered William, “not I; and I can take my 
 oath he had no spurs on when we set out.” Mr. Merton was 
 convinced there was some mystery in the transaction, and at 
 length discovered the ingenious contrivance of Tommy to sup- 
 ply 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 conse- 
 quences ; and desired him, for the future, to be more cautious. 
 They then returned to the house, and Mr. Merton ordered the 
 servants to supply his guests with plenty of the most nourishing 
 food. After breakfast they then sent for the unhappy stranger 
 into the parlour, whose countenance now bespoke his satisfac- 
 tion and gratitude ; and Mr. Merton desired to know by what 
 accident he had thus wandered so far from home, with these 
 poor helpless children. 
 
 “Alas! your Honour,” answered the man, “I fear there 
 can be nothing in the story of my distress the least deserving 
 of 3^our attention.” 
 
 “Surely,’^ said Mr. Merton, with the most benevolent 
 
216 
 
 HTSTOEY OF SAIS-DFOED AIS^E MEETOK. 
 
 courtesy, ‘‘there must be something in the distress of every 
 honest man which ought to interest his fellow-creatures ; and 
 it may perhaps be within our power, as it certainly is in our 
 inclination, to do you further services/* 
 
 The man then bowed to the company with an air of dignity 
 which surprised them all, and thus began : “ I was horn in the 
 ISTorth of Scotland. More than half the year our mountains are 
 covered with continual snows, which prohibit the use of 
 agriculture, or blast the expectations of an harvest. Yet the 
 race of men which inhabit these dreary wilds are perhaps as 
 deserving of the smiles of fortune as many of their happier 
 neighbours. Accustomed to a life of toil and hardship, their 
 bodies are braced by the incessant difficulties they have to en- 
 counter, and their minds remain untainted by the example of 
 their more luxurious neighbours. Every man there is^more or 
 less acquainted with the history of his clan and the martial ex- 
 ploits which they have performed. In the winter season we sit 
 around our fires, and commemorate the glorious actions of our 
 ancestors ; the children catch the sound, and consider them- 
 selves as interested in supporting the honour of a nation which 
 is yet unsullied in the annals of the world, and resolve to trans- 
 mit it equally pure to their posterity. With these impressions, 
 which were the earliest I can remember, you cannot wonder, 
 gentlemen, that I should have 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 inclinations. He indeed set before me the 
 little chance I should have of promotion, and the difficulties of 
 my intended profession. But what were difficulties to a youth 
 brought up to subsist upon a handful of meal, to drink the waters 
 of the stream, and to sleep shrouded in his plaid, beneath the 
 arch of an impending rock ! When 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. Erom these I imbibed 
 an early love of truth and honour, which I hope has not 
 abandoned me since ; and which has, perhaps, prevented me 
 from entirely sinking under my misfortunes. 
 
 “ One night, in the autumn of the year, as we were seated 
 
HISTOKY OE SAKDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 217 
 
 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 re- 
 quested permission to pass the night in our cottage. He told us he 
 was an English ofB.cer, who had long been stationed in the High- 
 lands, 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 ac- 
 quainted. 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 he en- 
 tertained us with various accounts of the dangers he had already 
 escaped and the service he had seen. He described the customs 
 of the savage tribes he was going to encounter in America, and 
 the nature of their warfare. All this so infiamed my military 
 ardour, that I was no longer capable of repressing it. The 
 stranger perceived it, and looking at me vdth an air of tender- 
 ness and compassion, asked if that young man was intended 
 for the service. My colour rose, and my heart swelled at the 
 question : the look and manner of our guest had strangely in- 
 terested 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 of other times. Could I but march under the ban- 
 ners of such a leader, I thought, nothing would be too arduous 
 to be achieved. I saw a long perspective before me, of com- 
 bats, difficulties, and dangers; something, however, whispered 
 to my mind that I should be successful in the end, and support 
 
218 
 
 HISTOET OP SANDPOED Al^-D MEETOPT. 
 
 the reputation of our name and clan. Full of these ideas, I 
 sprang forward at the question, and told the officer that the 
 darling passion of my life would he to hear arms under a chief 
 like him ; and that if he would suffer me to enlist under his 
 command, I should he ready to justify his kindness hy 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 he proud of such a recruit ; 
 hut I should ill repay the hospitality I have received from your 
 parents, if I suffered you to he deceived in your opinion of the 
 military profession.’ He then set before me, in the strongest 
 language, all the hardships which would he my lot ; the dan- 
 gers of the field, the pestilence of camps, the slow consuming 
 languor of hospitals, the insolence of command, the mortifica- 
 tion of subordination, and the uncertainty that the exertions 
 of even a long life would ever lead to the least promotion. ‘All 
 this,’ replied I, ‘ I knew before ; hut I feel an irresistible impulse 
 within me which compels me to the field. 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 mountains, without even a chance of distinguishing my 
 name.’ 
 
 “ The officer then desisted from his opposition, and turning 
 to my parents, asked them if it v/as with their consent that I 
 was going to enlist. My mother hurst into tears, and my sis- 
 ters 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. If, therefore, sir, you do not despise his 
 youth and mien, take him with you, and let him have the ad- 
 vantage of your example. I have been a soldier myself, and I 
 can assure you, w^ith 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, 
 hut 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 him such directions as may enable him 
 to join the regiment, which is now preparing to march.’ He 
 
niSTOEY OF SAE’DFOED AND MEKTON. 
 
 219 
 
 tlien 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 ill 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 wrap- 
 ping himself in his riding-coat, he threw himself dovm upon it 
 and slept till morning. With the first dawn of day he arose 
 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 afiecting scene I had to 
 undergo in taking leave of my family and friends. I will not 
 trespass upon your time to describe the various emotions which 
 I felt at the crowd of new sensations which entered my mind 
 on our march. I arrived without any accident at London, the 
 splendid capital of this kingdom, and thence soon embarked, 
 and arrived v/ithout any other accident than a horrible sick- 
 ness, 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. “ This gentleman 
 was, with justice, the most beloved, and the most deserving to 
 be so, of any officer I have ever known. Indexible in every- 
 thing that concerned the honour of the service, he never par- 
 doned wilful misbehaviour, because he knew that it was in- 
 compatible with military discipline ; yet, when obliged to 
 punish, he did it with such reluctance that he seemed to 
 sufier almost as much as the criminal. But if his reason im- 
 posed this necessary severity, his heart had taught him an- 
 other lesson in respect to the 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 
 
220 HISTOEY OE SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 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, perhaps, be not 
 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 sur- 
 prising 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 still an immense forest, except im- 
 mediately upon the coast. These forests abound in every 
 species of tree which you see in England, to which may be 
 added many more which are unknown among us. Under their 
 shade is generally found a rich luxuriant 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 no- 
 thing !” “ And yet,” said Mr. Merton, “ it would be of little 
 
 use to 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 pro- 
 ceeded : “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 withv 
 the wild animals, they are almost as robust in their constitu- 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOJiT. 
 
 221 
 
 tions. These tribes inhabit little Tillages, and seek the greater 
 part of their subsistence from the chase. In their persons they 
 are rather tall and slender, and their skin is the colour of cop- 
 per. Accustomed to roam about the woods and brave the at- 
 tacks 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 a morsel of food, to lie whole 
 nights upon the bare damp ground, and to swim the widest 
 rivers in the depth of winter. When they are at peace, they 
 exercise the virtue of hospitality to a degree that might shame 
 more polished nations : if a stranger arrives at any of their 
 towns, he enters into the first habitation he pleases, and is 
 sure to be entertained with all the family possess. In this 
 manner he might journey from one end of the continent to the 
 other, and alv^ays find a friendly reception. 
 
 “ But if their manners are gentle in peace, they are more 
 dreadful when provoked than all the wild animals of the forest. 
 Bred up from infancy to sufier no restraint, and to give an un- 
 bounded loose to all their passions, they know not what it is 
 to forgive an injury. Wounds, and pain, and death they de- 
 spise as often as the interest of their country is concerned ; but 
 the same attachment renders them implacable and unforgiving 
 to all their enemies : in short, they seem to have all the. vir- 
 tues 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 as ancient as the world itself. 
 Sometimes we were shrouded in such obscurity 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 
 bufiTaloes. At length we came to a wide and rapid river, and 
 upon its banks we found a party of friendly Indians, with some 
 of whom we embarked, upon boats 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 the banks of which were encamped a considerable 
 part of the nation we sought. As we approached the shore, 
 they saluted us with a volley of balls from their muskets. 
 
222 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAISTEFOED Al^D MEBTOIiT. 
 
 which whistled just above our heads, without producing mis- 
 chief. I and several of the soldiers instantly seized our arms, 
 imagining it to be a hostile attack; hut 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 conducted to the assembly 
 of the chiefs, who were sitting upon the ground, 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. 
 
 “ 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 re- 
 spect that his person is always safe. The calumet is nothing 
 but a long and slender pipe, ornamented with the most beau- 
 tiful 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 meantime, the whole 
 assembly sat with mute attention, waiting to hear his pro- 
 posals ; for though we call them savages, yet in some respects 
 they well deserve to be imitated by more refined nations, and 
 whoever rises to speak is sure of being patiently heard to the 
 end, vdthout 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 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 fiung upon the ground a curious string of 
 
HISTOET OE SANDrOED AND MEETON. 
 
 223 
 
 shells, which is called the belt of wainpum. This is a neces- 
 sary circumstance in all the treaties made with these tribes. 
 Whoever comes as an ambassador, brings one with him to pre- 
 sent 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 gigantic chief jumped 
 into the middle of the assembly, and taking up the belt, cried 
 out : ‘ 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 
 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 countr5^ 
 
 “All these savage tribes are accustomed to very little cloth- 
 ing. Inured to the inclemencies of the weather, and being in 
 the constant exercise of all their limbs, they ccmnot 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. Every man was 
 armed Avith 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 
 which would have daunted the boldest spectator. Their ges- 
 tures seemed to be inspired by frantic rage and animosity. 
 They seemed to be engaged in close or distant battle, and bran- 
 dished their weapons with so much fury that you wmuld have 
 imagined they were going every instant to hew each other to 
 pieces ; nor would it have been possible, even for the per- 
 formers themselves of this terrific dance, to have avoided mu- 
 tual 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 exhi- 
 bition by uttering yells that would have pierced a European 
 
224 
 
 HISTOEY OE SAIiTEEOED Al^'D MEETOX. 
 
 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 contemp- 
 tible 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, 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 em- 
 bassy, because 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. Hor can I con- 
 sider, 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 who call 
 themselves refined, have more to blush for in that respect than 
 they are aware of.’’ 
 
 “ I will not fatigue you,” continued the Highlander, “ with 
 a recital of the progress of the war. The description of blood 
 and carnage is always painful to a humane mind ; and though 
 the perversity of mankind may sometimes render war a neces- 
 sary 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 un- 
 timely 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 began our march through the same trackless 
 wilds I have described. We proceeded for several days, with- 
 
HISTOBY OE SANDFOED AITD MEETOE-. 225 
 
 out any other difficulties than the nature of the country itself 
 produced, and without seeing the face of an enemy. It was in 
 Tain 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, amid the forests of America, is a continual scene of 
 stratagems and surprise. Unincumbered with tents, or bag- 
 gage, or artillery, the hostile warriors set out in small and 
 chosen parties, with nothing but their arms, and are con- 
 tinually upon the v/atch to deceive their enemies. 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. 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 usual. 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 mus- 
 ketry was heard in front, which stretched about Wenty of our 
 men upon the fleld. The soldiers instinctively fired towards 
 the part whence they were attacked, and fell back into dis- 
 order. 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. 
 After a few unavailing discharges, which gave no annoyance 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOEB AND MEETON. 
 
 to 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 ofS.cers 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 their covert, and hew down those 
 who fled with unrelenting cruelty. As to myself, the descrip- 
 tion 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 otherwise should have been. I remarked 
 that those who stood and those who fled were exposed to equal 
 danger ; those who endeavoured to repel the enemy were suc- 
 cessively shot down, 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, I grew indifferent 
 to life, and abandoned myself to despair ; but it was a despair 
 which 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 ; con- 
 vinced that this precaution alone could secure me from the 
 incessant volleys on every side. A small number of High- 
 landers followed my example ; and thus secured, we began to 
 Are with more success on the enemy, who now exposed them- 
 selves with less reserve. 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, ard our un- 
 fortunate general himself had expiated with his life his fatal 
 rashness. 
 
 ‘ ‘ I cast my eyes around, and saw nothing but 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. At length I discovered him at a dis- 
 tance, 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 ball in his bosom. 
 
HISTOEY OF SAI5rDFOED AND MEETON. 227 
 
 and supported his fainting limbs against a tree. Just in that 
 moment, three of our savage enemies darted upon him with 
 the speed and fierceness of wolves. Fury then took possession 
 of my soul ; and 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 by the fate of his com- 
 panions, 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, led 
 him to my colonel, and conjured him to preserve his glorious 
 life. He thanked me in the most affectionate manner for my 
 friendship, bidding me preserve my own. ‘ 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 
 escape impossible.^ ‘ If that is your resolution,’ said T, ‘we 
 will die together, for never will I 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 I guided along the wood with considerable speed. 
 Fortunately for me, we were not observed by any of our savage 
 enemies ; so that, fiying 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 coun- 
 try.’ He answered me with a feeble voice : ‘ Campbell, I have- 
 consented to fiy, more for the sake of preserving your life than 
 from any hopes of my own. I faint from loss of blood.’ He 
 sank down, and would have fallen, but I received him in my 
 arms, 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 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 in my remem- 
 brance, and never will be blotted from my soul.” 
 
 a 2 
 
228 
 
 HISTOEY OP SANEPOED AJTE MEETOX. 
 
 The Highlander then turned away to hide a tear, and the 
 company seemed all to share his grief, but Miss Simmons above 
 the rest ; however, as the natural gentleness of her temper was 
 sufficiently known, no one suspected that she had any particu- 
 lar interest in the relation, 
 
 “ I sat till night,” continued the stranger, “ supporting the 
 body of my colonel, and vainly hoping he might return to life. 
 
 At length my own wounds grew stiff and painful, and ex- 
 hausted nature required a supply of food. I therefore arose, 
 and finding a spring that trickled down a hill at no great dis- 
 tance, I refreshed myself by a copious draught, and washed 
 the blood from my wounds. I then crushed some leaves, and 
 bound them on with bandages I tore from my linen. I also 
 found a few wild fruits, with which I allayed the pains of 
 hunger. I then returned to the thicket, and creeping into 
 the thickest part, sank into a sleep as deep and profound as 
 that of death itself. 
 
 ‘‘ I awoke next morning with the first rays of the sun; and 
 being more composed, I better understood the difficulties b3r 
 which I was surrounded, and the uncertainty of my escape. I 
 v/as in the midst of an immense forest, totally destitute of 
 human assistance or support. I recollected, however, that the 
 providence of Heaven was as capable of protecting me in the 
 forests of America, as upon my native mountains, and I there- 
 fore determined to struggle with the difficulties which sur- 
 rounded me till the last, and to meet my fortune like a man. 
 Yet, as I still at intervals heard the dismal cries of the enemy, 
 and sav/ their fires at a distance, I lay till night in the obscurity 
 of my thicket. When all was dark and still, I ventured 
 abroad, and laid in my scanty provision of fruits and herbs, and 
 drank again at the spring. The pain of my Avounds began now 
 to abate, 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 I led this solitary life, in 
 continual dread of the parties which scoured the Avoods in 
 pursuit of stragglers. 
 
 “ At length, upon the fourth evening, I ventured out and 
 I)ursued my march. I scarcely need describe the various diffi- 
 culties and dangers to which I was exposed in such a journey ; 
 however, I still had Avith me my musket, and as my ammuni- 
 tion was not quite exhausted, I depended upon the woods 
 
HISTORY OF SAMFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 229 
 
 themselves to supply me with food. I travelled the greater 
 part of the night, involving myself still deeper in these inex- 
 tricable 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 during the night, and with the 
 morning had reason to think that I had advanced a consider- 
 able distance. My wounds now began to pain me afresh from 
 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 wake till the sun had gained the meridian, and, 
 creeping from my retreat, beheld, with some degree of terror, 
 an enormous rattle-snake that was coiled up full in my way, 
 and seemed determined to oppose my passage. However, 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 hisfiesh.’’ 
 
 “ 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. 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 destroys the 
 sufferer. But if you cut off the head, the rest of the body is not 
 only wholesome, but palatable, and I have knov/n it eaten as a 
 delicacy by many inhabitants of the colonies. — Thus refreshed, 
 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, and upon its shoulders was fixed a fierce and 
 destructive animal that resembles a tiger. This creature, 
 which is about the size of a dog, ascends the trees, and hides 
 himself among the branches, till a deer, or any other animal 
 that he thinks he can master, passes within his reach. He 
 then darts himself upon the neck of the unfortunate animal. 
 
230 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAIfDFOED AND MEKTOl^. 
 
 wliich lie continues tearing with so mucli violence that he soon 
 dispatches 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. 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 retire growling into the woods. I then kindled a 
 fire with leaves and sticks, and cutting ofi* a large slice of 
 venison, refreshed myself for my journey. I then packed up 
 as much of the most fleshy parts of the body as I could con- 
 veniently carry, and abandoned the rest to wild beasts. 
 
 “ In this manner did I march for several days without want- 
 ing food, but seeing no probable end to 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 climbed 
 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 accident at the top, which was entirely bare of 
 trees, and, looking round me, beheld a wild and desert country. 
 Far as my eye could reach, I discovered 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, the end and beginning of which 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 appre- 
 hension. 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 those 
 friendly natives who 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. I 
 marched along an open country for several hours, covered over 
 with a rank species of grass, and beheld numerous herds of 
 
HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND METON- 
 
 231 
 
 buffaloes grazing all around. It was here that an accident 
 befell me, which. I will relate for its singularity, both in respect 
 to the dangers I incurred and my method of escape. 
 
 “As I was 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 me 
 was in flames. In order to explain this event, I must observe, 
 that all the plains in America produce a rank, luxuriant vege- 
 tation, the juices of which are exhausted by the heat of the 
 summer’s sun : it is then as inflammable as straw, and when a 
 casual spark of Are communicates with it, the flame frequently 
 drives before the wind for miles together, and consumes every- 
 thing it meets. This was actually the case at present : far as 
 my eye could reach, the country was in flames : a powerful 
 wind added fresh fury to the Are, and drove it on with a degree 
 of swiftness which precluded all possibility of flight. I was 
 horror struck at the sudden approach of a death so new, so 
 dreadful, so unexpected. I saw it was in vain to fly : the flam- 
 . ing 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, 
 I considered that nothing could stop the conflagration but an 
 actual want of matter to continue it ; and therefore, by setting 
 Are to the vegetables before me, I might follow my own path 
 in safety. Experience the pleasure which the flrst glance of 
 this expedient afforded to my mind. I instantly pulled out the 
 flint and steel upon which my preservation was to depend. I 
 struck a light, and 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 ; but every step I made convinced me of the 
 certainty of my escape, and in a little time I stopped to con- 
 
232 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAKOFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 sider 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.” 
 
 “This,’’ said Tommy, “is the most extraordiip-ary thing I 
 ever heard ; and yet I can easily conceive it, for I once 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 ex- 
 tent, and lodged at night, as usual, under some boughs which 
 I stuck up for a defence. In the morning I set out again, and 
 soon arrived at a spacious lake, upon* the banks of which I could 
 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 Grreat 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 
 so marched boldly forward, and soon arrived at the encamp- 
 ment. 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 unusual object. I formed a favourable con- 
 jecture from this apparent ignorance of Europeans, and Vvalk- 
 in'g on with a composed step and steady countenance, I at 
 length entered one of the largest cabins I could find. Yv^hen 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 
 calmly took the pipe from his mouth and presented it to me. 
 I received it with infinite satisfaction ; for, as I have before' 
 
HISTORY OF SAHFFORD AND MERTOH. 
 
 233 
 
 romarked, this is always with tke American tribes the firmest 
 pledge of peace and a friendly reception. Wben we bad thus 
 been seated for some time, in mutual contemplation of each 
 other, he spoke to me in a dialect which I understood tolerably 
 well, and invited me to eat. I did not think it prudent to re- 
 fuse any ofiered civility, and therefore accepted the ofi’er ; 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 ac- 
 quainted 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 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 explained to my entertainer, who listened 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 provi- 
 sions 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 receive^ 
 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 hunt-' 
 ing and fishing parties, and soon acquired a considerable de- 
 gree 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 excusable, it is in these savage 
 
' 234 HISTOKY OP SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 nations, wlio liave recourse to it for tlieir subsistence. Tbeir 
 bunting 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 place, which is always in the middle of 
 their parties. When they have thus roused their prey, the 
 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 surpris- 
 ing them in the woods, and gratifying their resentment. This 
 was actually the case with my friends the Saukies, and pro- 
 duced 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 JN’orth Americans, in the interest of the 
 French. The Iroquese had received intelligence of the situa- 
 tion 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 the 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 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 consult upon the 
 choice of proper measures for their defence. As they were en- 
 cumbered by their families, it Avas 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 was the means of their 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND lyTEETON. 235 
 
 safety. I observed that the passage to the Saukie camp, for 
 the Iroquese, lay along a narrow slip of land, which extended 
 for near a mile between two lakes. I therefore advised the 
 Sankies 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 European fortifications. 
 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 fortifica- 
 tion, 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, how- 
 ever, 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, occupied themselves with 
 fishing. On the fourth morning they judged the ice -suffi- 
 ciently dissolved to attempt 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 particulars of the 
 battle 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 
 
236 
 
 HISTOET OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 Englisli settlements, and took tkeir leave of me with, every 
 expression of esteem, and a present of valuable furs. 
 
 “These, gentlemen, are the most important and interesting 
 of my adventures ; and, as I have already trespassed too long 
 upon your patience, I shall hasten to conclude my story. 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 mj^self no richer 
 than when I began, except by the present of my friendly 
 Americans, which I had turned into money and remitted to 
 England. I therefore now began to feel my military enthu- 
 siasm abated, and having permission to leave the service, I 
 embraced that opportunity of returning to my country, deter- 
 mined to spend the remainder of my life amid my family and 
 friends. I found my father and mother still living, who re- 
 ceived 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 succeeded 
 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 the scanty 
 crops, that were to supply us with food. I cannot accuse my- 
 self of 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 en- 
 dured ? I will only mention, that after having suffered, I 
 think, every distress which human nature is equal to support ; 
 after having seen my tender parents, and unfortunate wife^ 
 perish by the hardships of our situation, I took the resolution 
 of for ever abandoning 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 237 
 
 wretclied 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 whatever was due to my landlord, I found I had 
 just enough to transport myself and family into eternal banish- 
 ment. I reached a sea-port 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 wrecked us at length upon 
 the coast. All the crew, indeed, escaped, and with infinite 
 difficulty I saved these dear but miserable infants, who now 
 accompany me ; but when I reflect upon my situation in a dis- 
 tant country, without resources, friends, or hopes, I am almost 
 inclined to think that we might have been happier in the 
 bosom of the ocean.” 
 
 Here the Highlander finished his story, and all the company 
 were affected with the recital of his distresses. They all en- 
 deavoured to comfort him with the kindest expressions and pro- 
 mises 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 ail the company were astonished, ‘ ‘ is 
 no other than my uncle. That Colonel Simmons, whom you 
 have described Vvuth so much 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 all his re- 
 lations. 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 sprang forward in a sud- 
 den transport of joy, and, without consideration, caught Miss 
 Simmons in his arms, exclaiming at the same time, ‘‘Praised be 
 God for this happy and unexpected meeting ! Blessed be my 
 shipwreck itself that has given me an opportunity of seeing be- 
 fore I die, some of the blood of my dear and worthy colonel ! ” 
 
238 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEFOED AND MEETOIT. 
 
 And perceiving Miss Simmons confused at this abrupt and un- 
 expected salutation, he added, in the most respectful manner, 
 “ Pardon me, my honoured young lady, for the improper liberty 
 I have taken ; hut 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 rela- 
 tion of the man who, after my own father, I have always loved 
 and reverenced the most/' Miss Simmons answered with the 
 greatest afi'ahility, that she freely excused the warmth of his 
 afiection ; and that she would that very day acquaint her uncle 
 with this extraordinary event, who, she had no 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 respecting her uncle. 
 
 And now the company separating. 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, hut 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, sir," answered Tommy, 
 almost crying, “ I am scarcely able to tell you. But I have 
 been a very naughty and ungrateful hoy, and I am afraid you 
 no longer have the same afiection 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 dis- 
 tresses 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 good- 
 ness hurts me a great deal more than if you were to he very 
 angry, because I know I have not deserved it. 
 
 Mr. Barlow, But if you are sensible of your faults, you 
 may resolve to behave so well for the future, as to deserve every- 
 body's friendship and esteem. Pew people are so perfect as not 
 to err sometimes ; and if you are convinced of your errors, you 
 will he more cautious how you give way to them a second 
 time. 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, sir, I am very happy to hear you say so* 
 
HISTOET OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 239 
 
 You must know tken, sir, tkat although. I have lived so long 
 with you, and 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 that. 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 pos- 
 sible you can have committed actions that deserve so harsh a 
 name ? 
 
 Tommy. You must 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 every- 
 body in an inferior station. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. I must confess you have always had some ten- 
 dency to both those follies. 
 
 Tommy. Yes, sir ; but you have so often laughed at me 
 upon the subject, 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, that I had begun to be 
 ashamed of my folly . But since I came home, I have kept com- 
 pany 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 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 very little indeed of those things which 
 you have taught me to consider most useful. But they per- 
 suaded me that it was necessary to be polite, and talked to me 
 
240 
 
 HISTOET OE SAI^^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 80 often upon tlie subject, that I could not help believing 
 them. 
 
 Jfr. Barlow. I am very glad to bear that ; as it is necessary 
 for everybody to be polite. They therefore, I suppose, in- 
 structed 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, b^o, 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 
 knew themselves. 
 
 Tommy. Indeed, sir, I am of the same opinion. But I did 
 not think so then, and therefore I did as they did, and talked 
 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 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. In- 
 deed 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 avoid the visit. How- 
 ever, 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 be- 
 haviour. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. But then perhaps you may lose the acquaint- 
 ance 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 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 for a cen- 
 
niSTOllY OF SAKDFOED AND ATEETON. 241 
 
 sideraLle time. He then concluded with asking Mr. Barlow if 
 he thought Harry would be ever able to forgive liim. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. I cannot conceal from you, Tommy, that yon 
 have acted very ill indeed in this affair. However, if you are 
 really ashamed of your past conduct, I do not doubt but 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 not you insulted and abused him with- 
 out reason, and at last proceeded so far as to strike him, only 
 because he was giving you the best advice and trying to pre- 
 serve you from danger ? Can you imagine that any human 
 being will come to you in return for such treatment, or 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 wish for a reconciliation with Harry 
 Sandford, it is your duty to go to him and tell him so. 
 
 Tommy. What, sir go to a farmer’s to expose myself be- 
 fore 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 per- 
 son does not expose himself by acting wrong, but by acknow- 
 ledging and amending his faults ? 
 
 Tommy. But what would everybody say, if a young gentle- 
 man like me were to go and beg pardon of a farmer’s son. 
 
 Mr. Barlow. They will probably say, that you have more 
 sense and gratitude than they expected. However, with the 
 sentiments you still seem to entertain, Harry v/ill certainly be 
 a very unfit companion, and you will do much better to cul- 
 tivate 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 conversa- 
 tion 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, 
 
 E 
 
242 HTSTOEY OF SANDFOllD AND MEETON. 
 
 if you would preserve the esteem of any good or sensible friend. 
 Eut as you do not approve of what I have suggested, you must 
 follow your own opinions.’' 
 
 “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. 
 
 3Ir, 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 vain and careless; 
 but at the same time I imagined you had both good sense and 
 generosity in your character: I depended upon the 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, T 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 per- 
 ceive your faults and acknowledge them ; were you not to be- 
 have 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 good intentions can never persist in 
 bad behaviour. He may do wrong, but he will be ashamed of 
 his errors, and endeavour to repair them by a frank and gene- 
 rous 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. 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 243 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Gently, gently, master Tommy, yon are al- 
 ways 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 he necessary to speak to your father 
 and mother upon the subject, and in the meantime I will go 
 and pay a visit to Farmer Sandford, and bring you an account 
 of Harry. 
 
 Tommy. Do, sir, he so good ; and tell Harry, if you please, 
 there is nothing I desire so much as to see him, and that no- 
 thing shall ever make me behave ill again. I have heard too, 
 sir, that there was a poor black who 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 for his grateful inclinations, 
 and taking leave of him went to communicate the conversation 
 he had just had to Mr. Merton, That gentleman felt the sin- 
 cerest pleasure at the account, and entreated Mr. Barlow to go 
 directly to prepare Harry to receive his son. “That little 
 boy,” added he, “has the noblest mind that ever adorned a 
 human being. Hor shall I be happy till I see my son acknow- 
 ledging his faults, and entreating his 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 
 wound along a swift and clear little stream. The house itself 
 was small, but warm and convenient, furnished with the 
 greatest simplicity and managed with perfect neatness. As 
 Mr. BarloAv approached, he saw the owner himself guiding a 
 plough through one of his own fields, and Harry, who had now 
 resumed the farmer, directing 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 him with 
 the greatest kindness after Tommy; “for I fancy, sir,” said 
 he, “ by the direction in which you have come, that you have 
 been at Mr. Merton’s house.” “ Indeed I have,” replied Mr. 
 
 E 2 
 
244 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETOJ^. 
 
 Barlow ; but I am very sorry to jS.ii(l that Tommy and you 
 are not upon such 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 offence, 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 even your friend Mr. Merton, who has always treated 
 you with so much kindness. 
 
 Harry, Indeed, sir, I shall 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 sub- 
 ject, I shall be obliged to tell the truth. 
 
 Mr, Barloiv, 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 
 alwa^^s rely upon it ; however, I am not sensible now that I 
 am in fault. You know, sir, that it was with great unwilling- 
 ness 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 think- 
 ing that he might grovf ashamed of my company at his own 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Barlow, Do you wonder at that, Harry, considering the 
 difierence there is in your rank and fortune ? 
 
 Harry. Ho, sir, I cannot say I do ; for I generally observe 
 that those who are rich Avill scarcely treat the poor v/ith com- 
 mon civility. But, in this particular case, I did not see any 
 reason for it. I never expected Master Merton to admit me to his 
 company or invite me to his house, because I knew that I was 
 born and bred in a very inferior station. You were so good as 
 to take me to your house, and if I was then much in his com- 
 pany, it was because he seemed to desire it himself, and I always 
 endeavoured to treat him with respect. 
 
 Mr. Barlow, That, indeed, is true, Harry : in all your little 
 plays and studies I have never observed anything but the 
 greatest mildness and good-nature on your part. 
 
HIBTOHY OE SANDEOP.D AND MESTON. 
 
 245 
 
 Harry. I hope, sir, it has never been otherwise. But though 
 I have the greatest affection for Master Merton, I never desire 
 to go home v/ith him. What sort of a figure could a poor hoy 
 like me make among the little masters and misses that visit at 
 Mr. Merton’s ? If I attempted to speak, I was always laughed 
 ut ; 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 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 
 Q.uarrelsome. 
 
 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 for- 
 give me. There was a modest, sensible young lady, who was 
 the only person that treated me with any kindness ; and a 
 bold 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 ho 
 is attacked ? 
 
 Mr. Barlow. Well, Harry, I do not much blame you, from 
 the circumstances I have heard of that afiair. But why did 
 you leave without speaking to anybody, or thanking Mr. Mer- 
 ton himself for the kindness he had shown you ? Was that 
 right ? 
 
 Harry. Oh, dear sir, I have cried about it several times, 
 for I think I 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 
 
246 
 
 HISTOET OF SANErOED AND MEETON. 
 
 to me ? I did not choose to complain of Mm 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. Mer- 
 ton is perfectly satisfied upon that account. But there is one 
 circumstance you have not yet mentioned, my little friend, 
 and that is how you saved Tommy’s life from the fury of the 
 enraged bull. 
 
 Marry. 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, who 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 ? 
 
 Marry. I, sir ! no, I am sure. But, though I am poor, I do 
 not desire the acquaintance of anybody who 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. 
 
 3Ir. Barlow. But if he is sorry for what he has done, and 
 only desires to obtain your forgiveness ? 
 
 Marry. Oh, dear, sir ! I should forget everything in an in- 
 stant. 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 
 pardon. 
 
 Marry. 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 as to wait a little, I dare say my father 
 will let me go when he leaves off ploughing. 
 
 Mr. Barloio. E'o, 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 
 
HTSTOET OP SANDFOED AND MEETOl?'. 
 
 247 
 
 upon you and tell you all he feels. In the meantime I was 
 desired both by him and Mr. Merton, to inquire after the poor 
 negro who served you so materially, and saved you from the 
 hull. 
 
 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 indus- 
 trious, and says he would gladly do any kind of work to earn 
 his subsistence. 
 
 Mr. Barlow then took leave of Harry, and after having 
 spoken to his father, returned to Mr. Merton. During his 
 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. Upon convers- 
 ing 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 proposed to supply him with the necessary 
 instruments of agriculture, and a couple of horses, to begin the 
 culture of his land. Just at that moment, Mr. Barlow entered, 
 and he also begged permission to share in so benevolent an ac- 
 tion. “ I have an excellent milch cow,'' said he, “which I 
 can very well spare, the milk of which 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 profu- 
 sion 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 gratitude which 
 such undeserved generosity had excited. 
 
 At night, Mr. Merton, who was desirous, by every method, 
 to support the good impressions which had now been made 
 upon Tommy's mind, proposed that Miss Simmons should favour 
 them with the conclusion of the story which she had begun the 
 
248 HISTOEY OF SAE-DFOED AED MEETOE. 
 
 niglit before. That young lady instantly complied, and read 
 them 
 
 THE COECLTJSIOE OF THE STOEY OF SOPHEOE AED 
 TIGEAEES. 
 
 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 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 fiames, nor our helpless 
 children the captives of barbarians. But it is vain for human 
 beings to repine at the just decrees of Providence, which have 
 consigned every people to misery and servitude who 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 over which I wandered 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 v/ho 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 en- 
 joyments. I had visited many of the principal cities of the 
 world ; 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. I collected the remainder of 
 my effects, and with them purchased a little farm and vine- 
 yard in a beautiful and solitary spot near the sea. Soon after- 
 wards I married a virtuous young woman, and in her society 
 
HISTOEY OF SAI^EFOEI) AITD MEETOJT. 
 
 249 
 
 enjoyed for several years as great a degree of tranquillity as 
 generally falls to the lot of man. I did not disdain to labour 
 in my fields with my own hands ; for I thought man was dis- 
 honoured by that indolence which renders him a burden to his 
 fellow-creatures, not by that industry which is necessary to 
 the support of his species. I therefore sometimes guided the 
 plough, and sometimes laboured in a little garden which sup- 
 plied us with excellent fruits and herbs. I tended the cattle, 
 whose patient labour enabled us to subdue the soil, and con- 
 sidered 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 prepared the food of the 
 family. Amid my other employments, I did not entirely for- 
 get the study of philosophy, which had charmed me so much 
 in my early youth. I used to walk amid the coolness and 
 stillness of the evening, feeding my mind with pleasing medi- 
 tations upon the beauty and perfection of nature. I turned 
 my eyes upon the earth, and saw it covered with innumerable 
 animals, that sported upon its surface, and each found subsist- 
 ence adapted to its 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 w^ith life and adapted to sup- 
 port it. 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 flourished, and the improvements which 
 might be made in every species. I sometimes wandered among 
 the neighbouring mountains, and considered with silent admi- 
 ration 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 fertilizing 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 
 eflects it produces upon their constitutions, and by these means 
 was frequently enabled to give useful counsel to all the neigh- 
 bourhood. A large tract of ground had been formerly deluged 
 by the sea, and the waters, finding no convenient vent, spread 
 
250 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAITDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 tlieinselves 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 fever and other disorders among the inhabit- 
 ants. Touched with compassion for the evils which they en- 
 dured, 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 unwhole- 
 some desert became covered with the most luxuriant harvests, 
 and was deprived of all its noxious influence. 
 
 ‘‘ Amid these tranquil and innocent employments, my life 
 flowed gently away like a clear and even stream : I was a 
 stranger to avarice, to ambition, and to all the cares which 
 agitate the hulk of mortals. Alternate labour and study pre- 
 served the vigour both of body and mind ; our wants were few 
 and easily gratified ; we chiefly subsisted upon the fruits 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. We hung with rapture 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 educa- 
 tion can bestow. For this reason I endeavoured to give both 
 to her mind and body a degree of vigour which is seldom found 
 in the female sex. As soon as she was sufficiently advanced 
 in strength to be capable of the lighter labours of husbandry 
 and gardening, I employed her as my constant companion. 
 
 “ Selene, for that is her name, 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 educa- 
 tion. We encourage a vicious 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 triviality. 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 
 
HISTOEY OF SAITDFOED Al^D MEETOX. 
 
 251 
 
 postures of tlie body : tbeir time is consumed in trifles, and 
 trifles become the only pursuits 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 unacquainted with all the 
 duties of life are fitted to bestow ? To touch a musical instru- 
 ment 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 unneces- 
 sary expenses — these are the only arts cultivated by women in 
 most of the polished nations I had seen. And the conse- 
 quences are such as may be anticipated 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 reli- 
 gious duties, and 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 pruning the luxuriant 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 fetched water from a clear and constant rill that rolled 
 along the valley, and refreshed our plants that were exhausted 
 by the sun. With what delight did I view her innocent 
 cheerfulness and assiduity ! With what pleasure did she re- 
 ceive 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 her at evening out of the writings 
 of celebrated philosophers, which I had collected in my 
 travels 1 
 
 ‘ ‘ But such a life was too unchequered with misfortune to 
 last. The first stroke 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 attempt to describe the distress which seized my 
 soul at seeing myself thus deserted. Even now that time has 
 
252 
 
 HISTORY OF SAHDFORI) AHD MERTOH. 
 
 mitigated the keenness of the smart, I feel the habitual an- 
 guish of an incurable wound. Eut 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 conve- 
 niences of life. The vine seemed to grow spontaneously in 
 every valley. The industrious insect which spins 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 fri- 
 volous employment and sensuality. Feasts, and dances, and 
 music, the tricks of players and exhibitions of buffoons, were 
 more attended to than the 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 con- 
 sume time or endanger modesty. 
 
 In such a state of things it was not long to be expected 
 that my countrymen would be suffered to hold the riches they 
 abused. 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. This, indeed, was 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, and 
 gazing upon the fading glory of the setting sun, when a man 
 of majestic appearance, but with something ferocious in his 
 look, attended by several others, passed by. As he approached 
 
HISTOEY OF SANFFOED AND MEETOE’. 
 
 253 
 
 my little garden, lie seemed to view it with, satisfaction and to 
 unbend the habitual sternness of his look. I asked him if he 
 would enter and taste the fruits with his companions. He ac- 
 cepted my offer, and leading him to 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 v/ith 
 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 be long without 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 of my bestowal.' ‘ Heaven,' answered L 
 with a smile, ‘ has already given everything that I can want 
 when it gave the earth fertility and me the power to labour. 
 All, therefore, that I request, 0 mighty conqueror, is, that you 
 will please to order your men to step aside from the newly- 
 cultivated ground, and not destroy my vegetables.’ Arsaces, 
 turning to his companions, exclaimed, ‘ There is something ele- 
 vated in the tranquillity and composure of this man's mind, and 
 were I not Arsaces, I should be with pleasure Chares.' He 
 then departed, but commanded me to attend him the next day 
 at the camp, and gave strict orders that none of the soldiers 
 should molest me or injure my humble residence. 
 
 “ I attended the great Arsaces at the time he had appointed, 
 and beheld the encampment of his troops 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 neigh- 
 bours. This country extends to an unknown length beyond 
 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 iswarmed by the sun, and for that reason 
 is possessed of an amazing degree of fertility. But as the inhabi- 
 
254 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANEEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 tants live remote from the sea, and have few navigable rivers, 
 they are little acquainted with agriculture or the arts of lifea 
 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 perma- 
 nent residence. By the side of lakes and rivers, where the 
 verdure is more 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 are easily erected or taken down 
 and stowed in waggons for the convenience of transporting 
 them in their marches. Their diet is conformable to the po- 
 verty 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 fiesh 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 their neigh- 
 bours 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 any man who does not possess several of 
 these noble animals. These, though small in size, are admi- 
 rably adapted for the fatigues of war and the chase, and are 
 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 unbroken 
 courser, and keep their seats, in spite of all his violent efibrts, 
 till they have rendered him tame and obedient to their will. 
 
 “ In their military expeditions they neither regard the ob- 
 stacles of nature nor the inclemencies 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 
 
HISTOEY OE SANDEOED AND MEETON. 
 
 255 
 
 places in a bundle upon bis horse’s back, and then swims over, 
 conducting the steed by the bridle. Even in the midst of 
 winter the Scythian follows his military labours, and rejoices 
 to see the earth thickly covered with frost and snow, because 
 it affords him a solid path in his excursions. !N^either the se- 
 verest cold nor the most violent storms can check his ardour. 
 Wrapt 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 sovereigns ; and therefore the proudest con- 
 querors of the world have failed in their attempts to subdue 
 them. 
 
 “ 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 pur- 
 sued and darted blunted j avelins 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 which accompanied them. Some would gallop by a mark 
 erected for their arrows, and when they had passed it a consi- 
 derable way, turn themselves round upon their horses, and 
 transfix it with an imerring 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, and 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 give birth to warriors. 
 
256 
 
 mSTOKY OF SAITDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 “ I saw no gold, no jewels, no vain and costly apparel ; but all 
 seemed busy in domestic cares, preparing the food of their fa- 
 milies, or nursing their infants. At length I reached the royal 
 tent, v/hich scarcely differed from the rest in its structure or 
 simplicity, and was there 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, manners, and customs of the 
 different nations I had seen. I vf as surprised at the vigour and 
 penetration which I discovered in this untutored v^arrior’s 
 mind. Hature in him had produced the same effects which 
 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 consequences of our manners as if he had passed 
 his life in Grreece or Syria, instead of the plains and forests 
 of his own domain. He entertained a rooted contempt for all 
 the pci’ts which soften the body and mind, under the pretence of 
 adding to the elegances 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, judg- 
 ing 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 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 in a nation of monkeys.’ 
 
 “ Another time, he was present at the exhibitions of a cele- 
 brated 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 ad- 
 vanced, amid the united plaudits of the audience, as if to re- 
 ceive the j ust 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 
 
HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 257 
 
 in the presence of my Scythians, I condemn thee to death for 
 the offence/ 
 
 “ After I had conversed some time with this barbarian chief, 
 who heard me with the greatest attention, the hour of refresh- 
 ment 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 desh, which I afterwards found 
 was that of a horse, some sour coagulated milk, with an infu- 
 sion 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 discaidthe 
 false antipathies which so many entertain against the diet of 
 foreign nations ; I therefore placed myself by the side of Ar- 
 saces, and fed, without any visible repugnance, upon a diet 
 which would have excited abhorrence in the minds of all my 
 countrymen. 
 
 “ After we had eaten some time, Arsaces asked me what I 
 thought of the Scythian method of living. ‘ To speak the 
 truth,* said I, ‘ it is more formidable to your enemies than 
 agreeable to your friends.* He smiled at my sincerity, and I 
 departed ; but from that hour he distinguished me with marks 
 of peculiar favour, and admitted me to all his councils. This 
 mark of distinction gave me no other pleasure than as it some- 
 times 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 oppression. The peasant 
 pursued his labours, unterrified by the march of armies, and 
 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 condition of affairs, when an unexpected dis- 
 ease put an end to the glorious life of our conqueror, and with 
 him perished all hopes of safety or happiness to the Syrians. 
 His authority alone was capable of restraining so many victo- 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AlfE MEETOK 
 
 rious barbarians : the spirit of rapine and plunder, so long: ^6- 
 pressed, began now to spread through all the army. Every 
 officer was an independent tyrant, who 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, or sold 
 into distant regions as slaves. JN^ow 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. 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 for- 
 titude 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 
 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 th" principal officers of Arsaces, who is 
 said originally to h ave descended from the mountains which you 
 inhabit, was raised to empire by the successful efforts of his 
 soldiers. He has already attacked and destroyed all his com- 
 petitors, 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 gene- 
 rosity and clemency. His ambition is boundless ; he grasps at 
 universal empire, and scatters ruin and destruction in his way. 
 He has already subjected all the maritime cities that derive 
 their origin from Grreece, 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 wolf-like 
 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 de- 
 stroying my harvest, and plundering my little property, seized 
 my daughter and me, and dragged us away in chains. What fur- 
 ther injuries, what further insults, we might have suffered, it is 
 
HISTOHY OP SANDFOED AITE MEETOIST. 259 
 
 impossible to determine, since Heaven was pleased to eJffectour 
 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 at 
 hand, it behoves us to consult for the general safety ; let us 
 assemble all our friends and neighbours, that they may consi- 
 der 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 may be best defended. 
 
 Sophron then immediately went out, and ascending a neigh- 
 bouring rock, thus shouted out, in a voice which echoed over 
 the neighbouring valleys, “ Arm, 0 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 elders of the nation appeared, 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 upon a spacious 
 plain, Sophon rose, and, with a becoming modesty, recited 
 the adventures of the preceding night, and the alarming in- 
 telligence he had just received. He had scarcely finished, 
 before a cry of indignation burst unanimously from the whole 
 assembly. When it had a little subsided, a venerable man, 
 whose beard, white as the snow upon the summits of the moun- 
 tains, reached down to his waist, slowly arose, and leaning 
 upon his staff, spoke thus : “Mnety years have I tended my 
 fiocks 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 be the vassals of a tyrant.’* At 
 this a second cry, which seemed to rend the very heavens, was 
 raised, and further deliberation j udged unnecessary, except upon 
 the most efiectual means of defence. For this purpose the aged 
 and more experienced retired to a little distance to consult. 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 niSTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 They were not lon^ in their deliberations. It was nnani- 
 mously decreed that all who were able to bear arms should 
 wait 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, suffi.cient advantages, even against the more numerous 
 and better disciplined troops of the invader ; and by universal 
 consent, 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, 0 virtuous Sophron, depend upon the justice of the 
 cause, or upon the courage and zeal of its defenders, I should 
 have little doubt concerning the result of the present contest. 
 Por I can truly say, that in all the countries I have visited, 
 my eyes have never seen a more martial race than have this 
 day assembled. But war, unfortunately, is a trade, where 
 long experience frequently confers advantages which no intre- 
 pidity can balance. The troops which are now approaching 
 have been for years trained to the practice of slaughter ; they 
 join to a courage which defies every danger, a knowledge of 
 every fraud and subtlety which can confound an adversary. 
 In bodily strength, in numbers, your countrymen are superior; 
 even in courage and the contempt of danger they are 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, “ I know that my countrymen 
 will perform everything that canbe effectedby men intheir situa- 
 tion ; and that thousands will generously sacrifice their lives 
 rather than abandon the cause they have undertaken to defend : 
 yet, when I consider the superior advantages 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 
 
HISTOUY OF SAKFFOFD AKD MEETOl?-. 
 
 261 
 
 mankind. I have already told you that much of my life has 
 been dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge and the inves- 
 tigation of the laws of nature. JSTot contented with viewing 
 things as they strike our senses, I have endeavoured to pene- 
 trate 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 submitted the plants, the stones, the 
 minerals which surround us, to the violence of all-consuming 
 hre ; I have examined their structure and the different prin- 
 ciples which compose them, with the patient 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 irre- 
 sistible attacks of this extraordinary powder. 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 that 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, I am determined to 
 employ it in their defence. Give orders, therefore, that a cer- 
 tain number of your countrymen provide me with such ingre- 
 dients as I shall hereafter name, 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 suificient 
 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 tim'e 
 
262 HISTOEY OF SAlsDFOED MEETOIT. 
 
 nor distance had been able to extinguish the hatred he boro 
 towards Sophron. Scarcely did he deign to send an ambas- 
 sador 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 country- 
 men, he was infiamed 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 them. Then arose 
 the noise of war, and the clang 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 spears ; 
 the inhabitants of Lebanon were lighter armed, and with in- 
 vincible courage endeavoured to break the formidable battalion 
 of their enemies. Sophron was seen conspicuous in every part 
 of the field, encouraging his companions with his voice, and 
 more by his actions. Yv^herever he turned, 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 began to pre- 
 vail over the generous but more unequal efforts of the de- 
 fenders. The veterans of Tigranes perceived their advantage, 
 and pressed the enemy with redoubled vigour. This was the 
 decisive moment which Chares had provided for : in an instant 
 the bands of Lebanon retreat by the orders of Sophron, with a 
 precipitation bordering upon flight. Tigranes, supposing him- 
 self 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 rivals the loudest thunder ; 
 the earth itself trembles beneath 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 mise- 
 rable wretches beneath. Clouds of smoke obscure the field of 
 battle, and veil the combatants in a dreadful shade ; which is 
 
niSTOET OF SAIS'DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 263 
 
 from time to time dispelled by flashes of destructive fire. Such 
 a succession of horrors daunted even the bravest; scarcely 
 could the troops of Lebanon, who had been prepared to expect 
 some extraordinary interposition, maintain their post, or be- 
 hold 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 lightning ceased to 
 flash, the mists rolled away, and discovered the various for- 
 tunes of the fight. Then the voice of Sophron was heard, ex- 
 horting 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 per- 
 ceived 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. They 
 then examined the field of battle, and collecting all who had 
 any remains of life, they treated them with the greatest hu- 
 manity, binding up their wounds, and ministering to all their 
 necessities. Among the thickest dead was found the breathless 
 body of Tigranes, miserably shattered and disfigured, but still 
 exhibiting 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 died thus 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. Al- 
 ready the secret poison of avarice began to inflame their hearts 
 as they gazed on costly hangings, enriched with gold and sil- 
 ver, on Persian carpets, and drinking- vessels of the most ex- 
 
264 HISTOEY OF SAKDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 quisite workmahsliip. Already had they hegun-to differ about 
 the division of these splendid trifles, v^hen Sophron, who marked 
 the growing mischief, rose and proposed to his countrymen that 
 the arms of their conquered enemies should he carefully pre- 
 served for the public defence, hut that all the rest of the spoil 
 should he consumed upon the funeral pile prepared for the dead, 
 lest the simplicity of the inhabitants of Lebanon should he cor- 
 rupted, and the happy equality which had hitherto prevailed 
 among them interrupted. This proposal was instantly ap- 
 plauded by all the older and wiser part of the assembly, nor 
 did those of a different character dare to express their sen- 
 timents or attempt any open opposition. 
 
 From this time Sophron was universally honoured 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, 
 and Chares, whose virtues were equally admirable, was pre- 
 sented 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 cul- 
 tivated for him as a memorial of the signal assistance he had 
 afforded them ; and here, contented with the enjoyment of se- 
 curity 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 small 
 portions ; but were you to increase the quantity, it would be 
 capable of effecting everything which you heard Miss Simmons 
 describe. 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 
 
HISTOEY OE SA]S"DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 265 
 
 ball as bi^ as your bead. They then set lire to the powder, 
 which explodes with so much violence that the ball hies out 
 and destroys not only every living thing it meets with, but 
 even demolishes the strongest walls that can be raised. Some- 
 times they bury gunpowder in the earth, and then they con- 
 trive to inhame it and to escape in time. When the hre com- 
 municates with the mass, it explodes in an instant, and pro- 
 duces the horrible effects you have heard described. As such 
 are its irresistible effects, it is no wonder that even a victorious 
 army should be stopped in its progress by such a dreadful and 
 unexpected event. 
 
 Tommy. That is true, indeed ; and I now plainly perceive 
 that a man may be of much more consequence by improving 
 his mind in various kinds of knowledge, even thougli 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 prevented their feeling so much 
 contempt for poor Harry, who is better and wiser than any of 
 them, though he does not 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 so long received 
 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 by his father’s rebuke, 
 and hung 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 of the affection of all my best friends. 
 But 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 should abandon me for ever.” 
 Saying this he silently stole out of the room, as if intent upon 
 some extraordinary resolution. His father observed his mo- 
 tions, and, smiling, said to Mr. Barlow, “ What can this por- 
 tend ? This boy is as changeable as a weathercock. Every 
 blast whirls him round and round, nor will he ever fix, I fear, 
 in any direction.” “At least,” said Mr. Barlow, “you have 
 the greatest reason to rejoice in his present impressions, which 
 
266 
 
 HISTORY OR SAHRRORI) AND MERTOH. 
 
 are good and estimable. And I fear it is the lot of most human 
 beings to exhaust almost every species of error before they hx 
 in truth and virtue.’’ 
 
 Tommy soon returned, but with a remarkable change in his 
 dress and manner. He had combed the elegant curls out of his 
 hair, and had divested his dress of every appearance of finery. 
 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 plough-boy than a young gentleman ! ” 
 
 “ Mamma,” answered Tommy, gravely, “ I am only now what 
 I ought always to have been. Had I been contented with this 
 dress before, I never should have imitated such a parcel of cox- 
 combs 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 sent me to sleep. Hor 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 there- 
 fore I have bid adieu to finery for ever.” 
 
 It was with great difi5.culty that the gentlemen could refrain 
 from laughing at Tommy’s harangue, delivered with infinite 
 seriousness and solemnity: they, however, concealed their mer- 
 riment, 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. 
 
 Early the next morning Tommy arose and dressed himself 
 with his newly-adopted simplicity ; and as soon as breakfast 
 was over entreated 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 his own hands ever since 
 he had so valiantly rescued him from his devouring enemy. 
 As they approached the house, the first person that Tommy 
 saw was his little friend at some distance, 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 read 
 
HISTOEY OF SAKDEOED AIS^D MEETOUq-, 
 
 267 
 
 his feelings in his face, met him with open arms, so that re- 
 conciliation 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 un- 
 affected 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 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 hut your 
 former kindness and affection.*’ “ And I,*’ answered Tommy, 
 “ will never forget how ungratefully I have used you, nor the 
 goodness with which you now receive me.’* Tommy then re- 
 collected 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 hut neat and convenient house, where he was most 
 cordially welcomed by Harry’s family. In a corner of the chim- 
 ney sat the honest black who had performed so signal a service 
 at the bull-baiting. “Alas!** said Tommy, “there is an- 
 other instance of my 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 am amply repaid by the kind- 
 ness 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 piece of pre- 
 
 sumption was just coming out of Tommy* s mouth ; but recol- 
 lecting himself, he added) a person like my father.** 
 
 And now he addressed himself to Harry* s mother, a vener- 
 able, 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 
 
268 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFORD AKD MERTON. 
 
 who possess rank and fortune to gain the good-will 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 victuals were not indeed very deli- 
 cate, but the food was wholesome, clean, and served up hot to 
 table ; an advantage which is not always found in more elegant 
 houses. Tommy ate with 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 w'ith 
 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 country, you have been very 
 much used to bull-baitings ; otherwise you never would have 
 dared to oppose 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 assist- 
 ance, 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 
 heen accustomed to several kinds of hunting much more dan- 
 gerous 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 insignifi- 
 cant enemy as a poor tame bull.” 
 
 Tommy blushed a little at the remembrance of the prejudices 
 he had formerly entertained concerning blacks ; but not choos- 
 ing now to enter upon the subject, he asked the man whei’e 
 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 
 and hunt cattle 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 these wild oxen he pursues it at 
 full speed, and never fails to overtake it by the superior swift- 
 ness of his horse. While he is thus employed, he holds the 
 
HISTORY OF SAIIRFOED AND MERTON. 
 
 2G9 
 
 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 clearer idea of what a man is capable 
 of executing with courage and address, I will relate a most ex- 
 traordinary adventure to which I was witness during my resi- 
 dence 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 igno- 
 minious 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 cele- 
 brated, 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 assist- 
 ance but my horse, no weapons but this cord ; yet, thus pre- 
 pared, 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 tw^o 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 belief that it would be attended with success. When the 
 appointed day arrived, the inhabitants of all the city assembled 
 and took their seats in a vast building destined for this amaz- 
 ing 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 intre- 
 pidly for his enemy. Presently, an enormous bull was let 
 loose, which, as soon as he beheld the man, attacked him with 
 all his fury. The American avoided his assault with great 
 dexterity, and galloped round the bull, which, in his turn, 
 betook himself to fiight. The valiant horseman pursued his 
 fiying enemy, and while he was thus engaged, desired the 
 
270 
 
 HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 governor to direct Hni where lie would have him seized. He 
 replied, it was a matter of indifference to him ; and the Ameri- 
 can 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 en- 
 veloped him in the snare, that after a few violent efforts to dis- 
 engage himself, he fell to the earth. He then leaped lightly 
 from his horse, and the animal, which 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 dag- 
 ger behind the horns. All the assembly uttered a shout of 
 admiration ; but the conqueror told them that what they had 
 seen was nothing, and 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, which he was ordered to bridle and 
 saddle, according to his engagement.'' 
 
 “ This,'’ said Tommy, “ is the most astonishing story I ever 
 heard. I do not believe all the fine gentlemen I have ever 
 seen would dare to attack such a bull." 
 
 “Master," replied the black, “the talents of mankind are 
 various, and nature has in every country furnished mankind 
 with all the qualities necessary for their preservation. In this 
 country and many others which I have seen, there are thou- 
 sands 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-crea- 
 tures, without whose assistance they could not exist an 
 instant." 
 
 “ Very true, indeed,” answered Tommy. “ You seem to me 
 a very honest, sensible man, though a negro ; and I entertain 
 the same opinions. But let us hear how this brave man suc- 
 ceeded in his next attempt." 
 
 “ When the champion perceived this second enemy approach, 
 he waited for him with the same intrepidity as 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 inclosed 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOED AND MEETON. 271 
 
 space, where a strong post had been firmly fixed into the 
 ground. As soon as he approached the spot, he threw the un- 
 erring 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, which remained immove- 
 able 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 pike,, he 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 efiect upon 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 agitations. 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 fied precipitately away. 
 The other bull followed his companions, and bore his rider 
 several times round the amphitheatre in thi^^ 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. 
 Instantly drawing his knife, he plunged it behind the horns of 
 the bull on which he rode, which immediately dropped down 
 dead, while the conqueror, disengaging himself as he fell, stood 
 upright by the slaughtered animal. He then mounted his 
 horse again, which had been placed in safety at some little 
 distance, and pursuing the chase as before, with his fatal noose, 
 dispatched 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, and de- 
 
272 
 
 HISTOiiY OF SANDFOKD AI^D MEETOJS^. 
 
 dared his resolution of staying some time with his friend 
 Harry. “The more I consider my own behaviour/’ said he, 
 “the more I feel 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 repentance I 
 now feel will endure for ever.” Harry embraced his friend, 
 and assured him once more of his being perfectly reconciled ; 
 and all the family stood mute with admiration at the condescen- 
 sion of the young gentleman, who was not ashamed of ac- 
 knowledging his faults even to his inferiors. 
 
 Mr. Barlow approved of Tommy’s design, 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 vms set before him, accompanied as it was 
 with unaffected civility and a hearty welcome. He went to 
 bed early and slept very sound 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 of the Sandfords, if 
 he appeared incapable of acting up to his own declarations : he 
 therefore made a noble effort, leaped out of bed, dressed him- 
 self, and followed Harry. Hot contented with this, he accom- 
 panied 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 dex- 
 terity which 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. On 
 the second, he found his change of life much more tolerable ; 
 and in a very short time he was almost reconciled to his new 
 situation. The aditional exercise so improved his health 
 and strength, and added so considerably to his appetite, that he 
 began to think the table of Farmer Sandford exceeded all he 
 had ever tried before. 
 
 By thus practising the common useful occupations of life he 
 
HISTOEY OF SAl^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 273 
 
 began to feel more interest in tbe common concerns of bis fel- 
 low-creatures. He now found, fropi his own experience, that 
 Mr. Barlow had not deceived him in the various representa- 
 tions he had made of the utility of the lower classes, and con- 
 sequently of the humanity which is due to them when they 
 discharge their duty. Hor 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 by his praises encouraged him to persevere. 
 “ 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 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 industry. When the Eoman 
 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 bamquets, nor in palaces, nor amid the gay, the ele- 
 gant, or the dissipated : they turned their steps towards a poor 
 and solitary cottage, such as the meanest of your late com- 
 panions would consider with contempt ; there they found Cin- 
 cinnatus, whose virtues and abilities excelled those of all the 
 rest of his fellow 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 afi’airs, even 
 from his infancy. He had repeatedly led the Homan 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 ofiicers 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 the 
 highest dignity in the army ? Yet this was actually the state 
 of things at Home ; and it was characters like these that ele- 
 vated that people above all the other nations of the world. And 
 tell me, my little friend, would you rather, in a high station, 
 appear to all mankind unworthy of the advantages you enjoy, 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 HISTOET OE SANDFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 or, in a low one, seem equal to the most exalted employments 
 hy your virtues and abilities ? ” 
 
 Sucli were the conversations wbiob Mr. Barlow frequently 
 held with Tommy, and which never failed to inspire him with 
 new resolution to persevere. Nor could he help being fre- 
 quently 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 avoid loving him a thousand 
 times better than before. 
 
 During the evening he frequently conversed with the honest 
 negro concerning the most remarkable circumstances of the 
 country where he was born. One night, when he seemed pe- 
 culiarly inquisitive, the black gave him the following account 
 of himself : 
 
 “ I was born,’’ said he, “ in the neighbourhood of the river 
 Grambia 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 fool- 
 ish vanity to consider their fellow-creatures inferior to them- 
 selves. There, indeed, they entertain these conceits from ig- 
 norance; but in this country, where the natives pretend to 
 superior reason, I have often wondered they could be in- 
 ffuenced by such a prejudice. Is a black horse inferior to a 
 white one in speed, or 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 ? 
 
HISTOKY OF SAjS^DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 275 
 
 “ But in the country where I was horn it is not only man 
 that differs from what we see here, hut every other circum- 
 stance. Here, for a considerable part of the year, you are 
 chilled by frosts and snows, and scarcely behold the sun 
 during that gloomy season that 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 in the length of nights and days : all are of equal 
 length throughout the year. 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 exhausting heats, which parch the ground, 
 dry up the rivers, and afdict both men and animals with in- 
 tolerable thirst. In that season you may behold lions, tigers, ele- 
 phants, and a variety of other ferocious animals, drivenfrom their 
 forest homes down to the lower grounds and the sides of rivers. 
 Every night we hear their savage yells, and think ourselves 
 scarcely safe in our cottages. In England you have reduced 
 all other animals to subjection, and have nothing to fear ex- 
 cept from each other. You even shelter yourselves from the 
 injuries of the weather, in mansions of brick or stone, that 
 would have scarcely anything to fear from the whole animal 
 creation ; but with us, a few reeds twisted together, and daubed 
 over with slime or m.ud, compose the whole of our dwellings. 
 Yet there the innocent negro would sleep as happy and con- 
 tented as you do in your palaces, provided you did 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 remember any- 
 thing of myself. A few stakes driven into the ground and in- 
 terwoven with dry reeds, covered overhead by the spreading 
 leaves of the palm, composed our dwelling. Our furniture con- 
 sisted 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 javelins, 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 super- 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 HISTOEY OE SANDFOED AIS'D MEETON. 
 
 fluous clothes, which restrain all the motions of yonr bodies : 
 when yon 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 man- 
 ners and different opinions. The first thing that I can remem- 
 ber was running naked about such a cottage as I have de- 
 scribed with four of my little brothers and sisters. I have ob- 
 served 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. 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. 
 If a traveller happened to come from a distant country, he 
 was welcome to enter into every house, and share the provi- 
 sions of the family. ISTo door was barred against his entrance, 
 no surly servant insulted him for his poverty: he entered 
 wherever he pleased, sat down with the family, and then pur- 
 sued his journey or reposed 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 
 
HISTOEY or SAlTDrOED AND MEETON. 
 
 :77 
 
 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 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 
 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 at- 
 tacks 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 of them in your country ?” 
 
 “Yes, master,’’ said the black, “w'e have the lion, which I 
 dare say 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. 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 destruc- 
 tive animals. When they have found his retreat, they 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 : nei- 
 ther their number, nor their shouts, nor the glitter of their 
 arms, can daunt him for an instant. At length he begins to 
 lash his sides with his long tail ; his eyes sparkle ; 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 despera- 
 tion : neither wounds, nor streaming blood, nor a triple row of 
 barbed spears, can prevent him from springing upon the dar- 
 ing black who has wounded him. Should he reach him in the 
 
278 
 
 HISTOllX OF SAISTDFOED AT^D MEETON-. 
 
 attack, it is certain death ; but generally the hunter, who is 
 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 dread- 
 ful fangs, and perhaps repeat tales of their own exploits ; the 
 women 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. Feasts are then made 
 in every house, to v/hich the victors are invited as the prin- 
 cipal 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.’’ 
 
 “ Y/'hat 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?” “ IS^ot always,’’ answered the 
 black: “I will tell you what I was once witness to myself. 
 My father was reckoned not only the most skilful hunter, but 
 one of the bravest of our tribe ; innumerable wild beasts fell 
 beneath his single 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 re- 
 ceived him upon the point of his weapon, with so steady and 
 m composed an aim that he buried it several inches in his 
 
HISTOEY OE SANEEOED AIS^D MEETOI?-. 
 
 279 
 
 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 despatched the lion 
 with their javelins. 
 
 “ This exploit spread my father’s fame throughout the whole 
 country, and gained him the name of The Undaunted Hunter y 
 as an honourable distinction, from the neighbourhood. Under 
 such a parent it was not long before I was taught every variety 
 of the chase. At first my father only sufiered me to pursue 
 stags and other feeble animals, or took me in his canoe to fish. 
 Soon, however, I was entrusted 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. Eice, 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 other- 
 wise 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 size of the largest ox which I 
 have seen in this country. He has four legs, which are short 
 and thick, a head of monstrous magnitude, and jaws that are 
 armed with teeth of a prodigious size and strength ; besides 
 two prominent tusks, which threaten destruction to all as- 
 sailants. 
 
 “ 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 night he issues from the river and invades the fields 
 of standing corn, which he would soon lay desolate were he 
 
280 
 
 HISTOEY OF SAIS’DFOED AND MEETON. 
 
 not driven back by tbe shouts and cries of those who are sta- 
 tioned to defend them. At this work I had assisted several 
 successive nights, till we were almost wearied with w^atching. 
 At length, one of the most enterprising of our young men pro- 
 posed that we should no longer content ourselves with driving 
 back the enemy, but boldly attack and punish him for his 
 temerity. With this purpose we concealed ourselves in a con- 
 venient spot, till we had seen one of the river-horses issue 
 from the water and advance into our plantations; then we 
 rushed from our hiding-place with furious shouts and cries, 
 and endeavoured to intercept his return ; but the beast, con- 
 fiding in the superior strength, advanced slowly, snarling hor- 
 ribly 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 im- 
 penetrable 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 dis- 
 tance ; but the furious beast, rushing upon him with an unex- 
 pected degree of swiftness, ripped up his body with a single 
 stroke of his enormous tusk, and then seizing him in his fu- 
 rious jaws, lifted up his mangled body as if in triumph, and 
 crushed him into a shapeless 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, determined 
 either to revenge his death, or perish in the attempt. Seeing, 
 therefore, that it was in vain to attack him in the usual man- 
 ner, I chose the sharpest arrow, and fitted it to the bow-string; 
 then with a cool, unterrified aim, observing that the animal 
 moved nimbly on to the river, I discharged it full at his broad 
 and glaring eyeball, with such success that the barbed point 
 penetrated even to his brain, and the monster fell expiring to- 
 the ground. 
 
 “ This action, magnified beyond its deserts, gained me uni- 
 versal 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 wdiich I had slain 
 was cut to pieces and borne in triumph to the village. All the 
 
HISTORY OF SANDFOED AHE MEETOH. 
 
 281 
 
 young women received me vath songs of joy and congratula- 
 tion; the 3mung 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 inglorious ; I have transfixed the 
 tiger with my shafts ; I have attacked the lion' in his rage ; 
 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 burden 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 of his 
 birth and edupation. His curiosity was gratified with the re- 
 cital, and his heart expanded in the same proportion that his 
 knowledge improved*.^^e reflected with shame upon the ridi- 
 culous prejudices he had once entertained; he learned to con- 
 sider all men as 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 be- 
 came the delight of all the family ; and Harry, although he 
 had always loved him, now knew no limits to his aflfectiom 
 
 One day he 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 fprgotten, and I glory in ovming you for a 
 
282 
 
 HISTOUX OP SAIS'OPOED A'^D MEETOJ^f. 
 
 son/* Tommy returned liis 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 r eal 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 de- 
 taining 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 upon tha-t sub- 
 ject : 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 to return with you in the evening.** 
 
 At this instant Farmer Sandford approached, and very re- 
 spectfully 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 i s to 
 your excellent family,^ tj^ether with the virtuous Mr. BarTow, 
 that I owe the preser vation of my son. Let me therefore 
 entreat you to accept of^aTHos pocket-book contains, as a 
 slight proof of my regard, 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 con- 
 tained 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 very much obliged to him for the 
 generosity which prompted such a princely act ; but as to the 
 present itself, he must not be offended if he declined it. Mr. 
 Merton then 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 a nature that 
 might adorn a throne, brought up to labour; and his oyn 
 
HISTORY OE SAITDEOED AND MEllTON. 
 
 283 
 
 advancing age, v/hicli began to stand in need of greater ease 
 and comfort. 
 
 ‘‘And wbat/* replied the honest farmer, “is it but these 
 conveniences of life, that are the ruin of all the nation ? ""'WTien 
 I was a young man, Master Merton, and tKaFi's’^Hear 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 plough- 
 man 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, 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 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 plea- 
 sure to hear my poor mother lecture the servants. And the 
 men were men indeed.’^ 
 
 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 good will ; 
 but as to the money, I must beg your pardon if I persist in 
 declining it. Eormerly, sir, as I was saying, we were all happy 
 and healthy, and our afi’airs 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 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 
 
284 HISTOEY OF SAI^^DFOED AND 3VIEETON. 
 
 their hats and feathers, and riding habits ; 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 Australia or New Zealand 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, 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 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 upon the subject. Not but that she approves 
 their milking, spinning, and making themselves useful ; but 
 she would fain have them genteel, for all women now are mad 
 after gentility ; and when once~gentility begi ns^ there is an end 
 pi industry. Now, were they to hear of such a sum as you 
 have generously offered, there would be no peace in the house. 
 My girls, 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 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 admitting 
 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 man, a gen- 
 tleman, 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 P What could I have more, if I were a lord? 
 I have plenty of victuals and work, good firing, clothes, a warm 
 house, a little for the poor, and, between you and me, some- 
 thing perhaps in a corner, to set my children off with, if they 
 behave well. Ah ! neighbour, neighbour, if you did but know 
 
HISTOEY OF SANDFOEB AlTD MEETOIT. 
 
 285 
 
 tlie pleasure of holding a 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 thou- 
 sand, 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, just consent to leave us as we are.” 
 
 Mr. Merton 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 re- 
 spects 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 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 effect upon him, that he started up, upset the beer 
 all over the table, and making a hasty apology to Mr. Merton, 
 ran out to see these wonderful horses. 
 
 Presently he returned as much delighted as his son. “ Mr. 
 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 politest 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 
 
286 HISTORY OF SANFFOEI) AHD MEETOH. 
 
 he, “ this preset 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 gene- 
 rosity of Jdr. Merton, and the goodness of Master Tommy so 
 well, that thay will receive more pleasure from giving than 
 you from taking the horses : though I must confess, they are 
 such as vrould do credit to anybody, and they beat Farmer 
 Thompson's all to nothing, which have long been reckoned the 
 best team in all the country." 
 
 This last rejection, joined with all that had preceded, over- 
 came the delicacy of Mr. Sandford, and he at length consented 
 to order the horses to be led into his stables. 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, sum- 
 moned his son to accompany him home. Tommy then rose, and 
 with the sincerest gratitude bade adieu to Harry and 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 .mnc.h. better it is to be useful thanj:ieh — 
 hov/ much more jinnable tpjbe ^o^ than jt^^^ Should 
 
 I be ever 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 many a 
 backward glance and regretful sigh, accompanied his father 
 home. 
 
 THE END.