Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Life of the author
 The history of Sandford and...
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: history of Sandford & Merton
Title: The history of Sandford & Merton
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00015597/00001
 Material Information
Title: The history of Sandford & Merton moral and instructive entertainment for young people
Alternate Title: Sandford and Merton
Physical Description: 538 p., 6 leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Day, Thomas, 1748-1789
Duval, Peter S., 1804 or 5-1886 ( Lithographer )
Wyeth, S. Douglas ( Samuel Douglas ) ( Stereotyper )
Simon, James K ( Publisher )
Donor: Egolf, Robert ( donor )
Publisher: James K. Simon
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: Stereotyped by S. Douglas Wyeth
Publication Date: 1851
Copyright Date: 1851
Edition: New and much improved ed.
Subject: Boys -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Natural history -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Country life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Courage -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Boys -- Education -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Prejudices -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Dialogues -- 1851   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1851   ( local )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding) -- 1851   ( local )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Dialogues   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding)   ( local )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: by Thomas Day ; illustrated with fine plates.
General Note: "The only complete edition published in the United States"--T.p.
General Note: Illustrations chromolithographed by P.S. Duval.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00015597
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA8109
notis - ALK0516
oclc - 05076672
alephbibnum - 002248791

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
        Page i
    Title Page
        Page ii
    Life of the author
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
    The history of Sandford and Merton
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Full Text


... 1 ~ P. S Duv11',.i. Lit Phil!.

Sandford Merton.




foral anl Knjstructitifr entertainment




- - - - -




Ma. THOMAS DAY, the author of Sandford and Merton,
was born in Wellclose Square, London, on June 22, 1748,
His father, who held a place in the Customs, died when
this his only son was but thirteen months old; and the care
of his education devolved upon his mother, a lady in all re-
spects eminently qualified for the task.
At the usual time he was sent to the Charter-House; and,
in his sixteenth'year he was entered as a gentleman-com-
moner of Corpus Christi College. IHe remained at Oxford
three years, but quitted it without taking a degree. The
property which his father left him, having accumulated du-
ring his long minority, was so considerable when he came
of age, as to allow him to pursue what course of life he
pleased; and to benevolent purposes he appears very early
to have devoted a considerable part of his property. He
travelled into France and the Netherlands, and, wherever he
went, was distinguished by his singular humanity and gen-
erosity. On some occasions he experienced the consequences
of indiscriminate liberality. He had resided a winter at Ly-
ons, and on his departure, a large body of the lower classes, to
whom he had been uncommonly kind during his stay in the
city, assembled together; and, while they very pathetically
lamented the loss of him and his bounty, recommended very
strongly that he would leave a sum of money behind, as a
prudent supply for their future wants!
In the month of February, 1765, he was admitted of the
Middle Temple, but was not called to the bar, until the
month of May, 1779. He never entertained any positive de-
sign of entering seriously on the business of this profession;
although he sometimes talked of it as a resource from want,
if ever he should spend his fortune.


In 1778, he married Miss Esther Milnes, of Wakefield, in
Yorkshire, a lady, whose cultivated understanding, and con-
genial disposition, rendered the connexion happy and endear-
ing in the highest degree. They resided first at Stapleford.
Abbots in Essex, and afterwards at Anningsly near Chertsea
in Surrey; where a farm, books, and a select society, with
occasional visits to London, formed Mr. Day's chief pleasures
and employment. Here also he composed those works which
have procured him a rank in the literary world.
But his life, thus useful and happy, was destined soon to
terminate. On Monday, September, 28, 1789, as he was
returning from Anningsly, he was killed by a fall from his
horse, in the forty-second year of his age. He was interred
at Wargraye, in Berks, in a vault which had been built for
the family. His character is represented as truly amiable.
His short life was exerted in the cause of humanity. It
was to be able to do good to others, as well as to gratify the
ardent curiosity and activity of his own mind, that he became
an ingenious mechanic, a well-informed chemist, a learned
theoretical physician, and an expert constitutional lawyer.
But though his comprehensive genius embraced almost the
whole range of literature, the subjects to which he was the
most attached, and which he regarded as the most eminently
useful, were those that are comprehended in historical and
ethical science. Every thing was important in his eyes, in
proportion to his ability in disclosing the powers, and im-
proving the general interests, of the human species.
His publications were numerous: the first was a poem, en-
titled 'The Dying Negro,' written in conjunction with a
young friend of his. This work passed through several ed-
itions and contributed its share in awakening the feelings of
the public to the sufferings of the Negroes in our islands. His
next publication, which appeared in 1776, was entitled The
Devoted Legions,' addressed to Lord George Germaine, and
the commanders of the forces employed against America.


He followed up this poem by another, in 1777, entitled,
' The Desolation of America,' a political dream that has never
been realized.
He now proceeded to expand his political sentiments in
animated prose pamphlets and speeches; and was in particular
a strenuous advocate for annual parliaments, equal represent-
ation, and other experiments. He also wrote against Mr.
Fox's India Bill, and on the absurdity of the new American
government countenancing the Slave Trade.
But the work before us will hand down his memory to
posterity, when the other labours of his pen are forgotten.
In the fashionable modes of education, he thought that too
little attention was paid to the formation of the heart, while
the head was amply supplied with elementary instruction.
To inculcate, therefore, what he deemed a better plan, and to
inspire youth with a hardy spirit, both of passive and active
virtue, he wrote The History of Sandford and Merton,' the
parts of which were published at intervals from 1783 to 1789.
The experience of many years has fixed its reputation as a
useful manual of instruction, and as one of the most enter-
taining books that can be added to the juvenile library. The
style is happily adapted to the youthful reader, and lessons of
every description are conveyed in a manner at once pleasing,
striking, and intelligible.


I HAD written a long preface to this book, but I considered
that it was possible nobody might read the work itself. I
therefore, determined to send it alone into the world, with this
short but necessary account of its origin. All who have been
conversant in the education of very young children, have com-
plained of the total want of proper books to be put into their
hands, while they are taught the elements of reading. I have
felt this want in common with others, and have been very
much embarrassed how to supply it. The only method I could
invent, was to select such passages of different books as were
most adapted to their experience and understanding. The
least exceptionable that I could find for this purpose, were
Plutarch's Lives, and Xenophon's History of the Institution
of Cyrus, in English translations; with some part of Robinson
Crusoe, and a few passages in the first volume of Mr. Brook's
Fool of Quality. Nor can I help expressing my regret, that
the very ingenious author of that novel has not designed to
apply his great knowledge of the human heart to this parti-
cular purpose. He would, by these means, have produced a
work more calculated to promote the good of his fellow-crea-
tures, though not his own fame, than a hundred volumes of
sentimental novels, or modern history.
Those that have been much used to children, and to such
alone I appeal, will sufficiently understand the defects of the
method I have described, and the total impossibility of avoid-
ing it. I, therefore, thought, that it would be a very valuable
present to parents, were I to make a selection of such stories
as may interest without corrupting the minds of children, and
print them in a separate volume; a work which has, since that
time, been very judiciously executed by the ingenious Dr. Per-


cival, of Manchester.* But more attention to the subject con.
vinced me that, though such a selection would be highly use-
ful, the method was still defective, as the objects would over-
whelm the tender mind of a child by their variety and number,
instead of being introduced according to that natural order of
association which we ought never to overlook in.early educa-
tion. I, therefore, resolved to proceed a step farther, and not
only to collect all such stories as I thought adapted to the facul-
ties of children, but to connect them by a continued narration;
so that every story might appear to rise naturally out of the
subject, and might, for that reason, make the greater impres-
sion. To render the relation the more interesting to those for
whom it was intended, I have introduced two children as the
actors, and have endeavoured to make them speak and behave
according to the order of nature. As to the histories them-
selves, I have used the most unbounded licence; altering,
curtailing, adding, and generally entirely changing the lan-
guage, according to the particular views which actuated me
in undertaking this work. Those who are acquainted with
literature, will easily discover where I have borrowed, where
I have imitated, and where I have invented; and to the rest
of the world it is of little consequence, whether they are ena-
bled to make the distinction, as to the originality of the author
is a point of the least consequence in the execution of such a
work as this. My ideas of morals and of human life will be
sufficiently evident to those who take the trouble of reading
the book; it is unnecessary either to apologize for them, or to
expatiate upon the subject; but such as they are, they are the
result of all my experience. Whether they are adapted to the
present age, will best appear by the fate ofthe work itself. As
to the language, I have endeavoured to throw it into a greater
degree of elegance and ornament than is usually met with in

Dr. Percival's book is not merely a selection, but contains many original
moral stories and essays.


such compositions; preserving at the same time a sufficient
degree of simplicity to make it intelligible to very young chil-
dren, and rather choosing to be diffuse then obscure. I have
only to add, that I hope nobody will consider this work as a
treatise on education: I have unavoidably expressed some
ideas upon this subject, and introduced a conversation, not
one word of which any child will understand; but all the rest
of the book is intended to form and interest the minds of
children: it is to them that I have written; it is from their
applause alone I shall estimate my success; and, if they are
uninterested in the work, the praises of a hundred reviewers
will not console me for my failure.
It may perhaps be necessary to observe, before I conclude
this preface, that what is now published is only a small part
of a much larger work. These sheets have lain by me for
several years, and I have been long undetermined whether to
suppress them entirely, or cornmmiL them to the press. Had I
considered my own reputation as an author, I certainly should
have chosen the first part of the alternative; since I am well
aware of the innumerable pleasantries and sneers to which
an attempt like this may be exposed; but considerations of a
higher nature, which I will hereafter explain, should this
work meet with any degree of popularity, have finally deter-
mined me to the latter. Such therefore as it is, I give it to
the public. I cannot stoop either to deprecate censure, or to
invite applause; but I would invite those alone to criticise,
who have had some experience in the education of a child.




IN the western part of England lived a gentleman
of great fortune, whose name was Merton. He had
a large estate in the Island of Jamaica, where he had
passed the greater part of his life, and was master of
many servants, who cultivated sugar and other valu-
able things for his advantage. He had only one son,
of whom he was excessively fond; and to educate this
child properly, was the reason of his determining to
stay some years in England. Tommy Merton, who
at the time he came from Jamaica, was only six years
old, was naturally a very good-natured boy, but unfor-
tunately had been spoiled by too much indulgence.
While he lived in Jamaica, he had several black
servants to wait upon him, who were forbidden upon
any account to contradict him. If he walked, there
always went two negroes with him; one of whom
carried a large umbrella to keep the sun from him, and
the other was to carry him in his arms whenever he
was tired. Besides this, he was always dressed in silk


or laced clothes, and had a fine gilded carriage, which
was borne upon men's shoulders, in which he made
visits to his play-fellows. His mother was so exces-
sively fond of him, that she gave him every thing he
cried for, and would never let him learn to read
because he complained that it made his head ache.
The consequence of this was, that, though master
Merton had every thing he wanted, he became very
fretful and unhappy. Sometimes he ate sweetmeats
till he made himself sick, and then he suffered a great
deal of pain, because he would not take bitter physic
to make him well. Sometimes he cried for things
that it was impossible to give him, and then, as he
had never been used to be contradicted, it was many
hours before he could be pacified. When any com-
pany came to dine at the house, he had always to be
helped first, and to have the most delicate part of the
meat, otherwise he would make such a noise as dis-
turbed the whole company. When his father and
mother were sitting at the tea-table with their friends,
instead of waiting till they were at leisure to attend
him, he would scramble upon the table, seize the cake
and bread and butter, and frequently overset the tea-
cups. By these pranks he not only made himself
disagreeable to every body else, but often met with
very dangerous accidents. Frequently did he cut
himself with knives, at other times throw heavy things
upon his head, and once he narrowly escaped being
scalded to death by a kettle of boiling water. He
was also so delicately brought up, that he was perpet-
ually ill; the least wind or rain gave him cold, and
the least sun was sure to throw him into a fever. In-


stead of playing about, and jumping, and running like
other children, he was taught to sit still for fear of
spoiling his clothes, and to stay in the house for fear
of injuring his complexion. By this kind of educa.
tion, when Master Merton came over to England, he
could neither write nor read, nor cipher; he could use
none of his limbs with ease, nor bear any degree of
fatigue; but he was very proud, fretful and impatient.
Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain honest
farmer, whose name was Sandford. This man had,
like Mr. Merton, an only son, not much older than
Master Merton, whose name was Harry. Harry, as
he had always been accustomed to run about in the
fields, to follow the labourers while they were plough-
ing, and to drive the sheep to their pasture, was active,
strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. He was neither
so fair, nor so delicately shaped as Master Merton;
but he had an honest, good-natured countenance,
which made every body~o1ve him; was never out of
humour, and took the greatest pleasure in obliging
every body. If little Harry saw a poor wretch who
wanted victuals, while he was eating his dinner, he
was sure to give him half, and sometimes the whole:
nay, so very good-natured was he to every thing, that
he would never go into the fields to take the eggs of
poor birds, or their young ones, nor practise any other
kind of sport which gave pain to poor animals, who
are as capable of feeling as we ourselves, though they
have no words to express their sufferings. Once
indeed, Harry was caught twirling a cockchafer round,
which he had fastened by a crooked pin to a long
piece of thread: but then this was through ignorance,


and want of thought; for as soon as his father told him
that the poor helpless insect felt as much, or more
than he would do, were a knife thrust through his
hand, he burst into tears, and took the poor animal
home, where he fed him during a fortnight upon fresh
leaves; and when he was perfectly recovered, turned
him out to enjoy liberty and the fresh air. Ever since
that time, Harry was so careful and considerate, that
he would step out of the way for fear of hurting a
worm, and employed himself in doing kind offices to
all the animals in the neighbourhood. He used to
stroke the horses as they were at work, and fill his
pockets with acorns for the pigs; if he walked in the
fields, he was sure to gather green boughs for the
sheep, who were so fond of him, that they followed
him wherever he went. In the winter time, when
the ground was covered with frost and snow, and the
poor little birds could get at no food, he would often
go supperless to bed, that he might feed the robin-
red-breasts: even toads and frogs, and spiders, and
such kind of disagreeable animals, which most people
destroy wherever they find them, were perfectly safe
with Harry; he used to say, they had a right to live
as well as we, and that it was cruel and unjust to kill
creatures only because we did not like them.
These sentiments made little Harry a great favorite
with every body; particularly with the Clergyman of
the parish, who became so fond of him, that he taught
him to read and write, and had him almost always
with him. Indeed, it was not surprising that Mr.
Barlow shewed so particular an affection for him; for
besides learning, with the greatest readiness, every


thing that was taught him, little Harry was the most
honest, obliging creature in the world. He was never
discontented, nor did he ever grumble, whatever he
was desired to do. And then you might believe
Harry in every thing he said; for though he could
have gained a plumb-cake by telling an untruth, and
was sure that speaking the truth would expose him to
a severe whipping, he never hesitated in declaring it.
Nor was he like many other children, who place their
whole h ppiness in eating : for give him but a morsel
of dry bread for his dinner, and he would be satisfied,
though you placed sweetmeats and fruit, and every
other nicety, in his way.
With this little boy did master Merton become
acquainted in the following manner.-As he and the
maid were once walking in the fields on a fine sum-
mer's morning, diverting themselves with gathering
different kinds of wild flowers, and running after but-
terflies, a large snake, on a sudden, started up from
among some long grass, and coiled itself round little
Tommy's leg. You may imagine the fright they were
both in at this accident; the maid ran away shrieking
for help, while the child, who was in an agony of
terror, did not dare to stir from the place where he
was standing. Harry, who happened to be walking
near the place, came running up, and asked what was
the matter. Tommy, who was sobbing most piteously,
could not find words to tell him, but pointed to his
leg, and made Harry sensible of what had happened.
Harry, who, though young, was a boy of a most
courageous spirit,-told him not to be frightened; and


instantly seizing the snake by the neck, with as, much
dexterity as resolution, tore him from Tommy's leg,
and threw him to a great distance off.
Just as this happened, Mrs. Merton and all the family,
alarmed by the servant's cries, came running breathless
to the place, as Tommy was recovering his spirits, and
thanking his brave little deliverer. Her first emotions
were to catch her darling up in her arms, and, after
giving him a thousand kisses, to ask him whether he had
received any hurt ?-' No,' said Tommy, indeed I have
not, mamma; but I believe that nasty ugly beast would
have bitten me, if that little boy had not come and
pulled him off.' And who are you, my dear,' said she,
' to whom we are all so obliged?' 'Harry Sandford,
madam.' Well, my child, you are a dear, brave little
creature, and you shall go home and dine with us.'
SNo, thank you, madam; my father will want me.'
'And who is your father, my sweet boy?' Farmer
Sandford, madam, that lives at the bottom of the hill.'
' Well, my dear, you shall be my child henceforth; will
you?' If you please, madam, if I may have my own
father and mother too.'
Mrs. Merton instantly dispatched a servant to the
Farmer's ; and, taking little Harry by the hand, she led
him to the mansion-house, where she found Mr. Merton,
whom she entertained with a long account of Tommy's
danger and Harry's bravery.
Harry was now in a new scene of hfe. He was
carried through costly apartments, where every thing
that couid please the eye, or contribute to convenience,
was assembled. He saw large looking glasses in gilded


frames, carved tables and chairs, curtains made of the
finest silk, and the very plates and knives and forks
were silver. At dinner he was placed close to Mrs.
Merton, who took care to supply him with the choisest
bits, and engaged him to eat, with the most endearing
kindness ;-but, to the astonishment of every body, he
neither appeared pleased nor surprised at any thing he
saw. Mrs. Merton could not conceal her disappoint.
ment; for, as she had always been used to a great de-
gree of finery herself, she had expected it should make
the same impression upon every body else. At last,
seeing him eye a small silver cup with great attention,
out of which he-had been drinking, she asked him
whether he should not like to have such a fine thing to
drink out of? and added, that, though it was Tommy's
cup, she was sure he would, with great pleasure, give it
to his little friend. 'Yes, that I will,' says Tommy;
' for you know, mamma, I have a much finer one than
that, made of gold, besides two large ones made of
silver.' Thank you with all my heart,' said little
Harry; 'but I will not rob you of it, for I have a much
better one at home.' How !' said Mrs. Merton, does
your father eat and drink put of silver ?' I don't know,'
madam, what you call this; but we drink at home out
of long things made of horn, just such as the cows wear
upon their heads.' 'The child is a simpleton, I think,'
said Mrs. Merton ; and why is that better than silver
ones ?' Because,' said Harry, they never make us un-
easy.' 'Make you uneasy, my child !' said Mrs. Merton,
' what do you mean ?' Why, madam, when the man
threw that great thing down, which just looks like this, I


saw that you were very sorry about it, and looked as
if you had been just ready to drop. Now, ours at
home, are thrown about by all the family, and no body
minds it.' I protest,' said Mrs. Merton, to her husband,
' I do not know what to say to this boy, he makes such
strange observations.'
The fact was, that, during dinner, one of the ser-
vants had thrown down a large piece of plate, which as
it was very valuable, had made Mrs. Merton not only
look very uneasy, but give the man a very severe talk
for his carelessness.
After dinner, Mrs. Merton filled a large glass of
wine, and, giving it to Harry, bade him drink it up;
but he thanked her, and said he was not dry. But my
dear,' said she, this is very sweet and pleasant, and,
as you are a good boy, you may drink it up.' 'Ay !
but, madam, Mr. Barlow says that we must only
eat when we are hungry, and drink when we are dry;
and that we must only eat and drink such things as
are easily met with; otherwise we shall grow peevish
and vexed when we can't get them. And this was
the way that the Apostles did, who were all very good
Mr. Merton laughed at this. And pray,' said he,
'little man, do you know who the Apostles were?'
'Oh! yes, to be sure I do.' 'And who were they?'
' Why, sir, there was a time when people were grown
so very wicked, that they did not care what they did
and the great folks were all proud, and minded nothing
but eating and drinking, and sleeping, and amusing
themselves; and took no care of the poor, and would


not give a morsel of bread to hinder a beggar from
starving; and the poor were all lazy, and loved to be
idle better than to work; and little boys were disobe-
dient to their parents, and their parents took no care to
teach them any thing that was good; and all the world
was very bad, very bad indeed. And then there
came a very good man indeed, whose name was Christ;
and he went about doing good to every body, and
curing people of all sorts of diseases, and taught them
what they ought to do; and he chose out twelve other
very good men, and called them Apostles: and these
Apostles went about the world doing as he did,
and teaching people as he taught them. And they
never minded what they did eat or drink, but lived
upon dry bread and water; and when any body
offered them money, they would not take it, but told
them to be good, and give it to the poor and sick; and
so they made the world a great deal better. And
therefore it is not fit to mind what we live upon, but we
should take what we can get, and be contented; just as
the beasts and birds do, who lodge in the open air, and
live upon herbs, and drink nothing but water; and yet
they are strong, and active, and healthy.'
Upon my word,' said Mr. Merton this little man is
a great philosopher; and we should be much obliged
to Mr. Barlow if he would take our Tommy under
his care; for he grows a great boy, and it is time
that he should know something. What say you Tom-
my, should you like to be a philosopher?' 'Indeed
papa, I don't know what a philosopher is; but 1 should
like to be a king, because he's finer and richer than


any body else, and has nothing to do, and every body
waits upon him, and is afraid of him.' Well said my
dear,' replied Mrs. Merton; and rose and kissed him;
'and a king you deserve to be with such a spirit; and
here's a glass of wine for you for making such a
pretty answer. And should you not like to be a king
too little Harry?' Indeed, madam, I do'nt know what
that is; but I hope I shall soon be big enough to go to
plough, and to get my own living: and then I shall want
nobody to wait on 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,
turning to Harry. No, indeed, sir.' 'No, simple-
ton !' said Mrs. Merton; and why not ?' 'Because the
only rich man I ever saw, is Squire Chase, who lives
hard by; and he rides among people's corn, and breaks
down their hedges, and shoots their poultry, and kills
their dogs, and lames their cattle, and abuses the
poor ; and they say he does all this because he's rich;
but every body hates him, though they dare not tell him
so to his face:-and I would not be hated for any
thing in the world.' But should you not like to have
a fine laced coat, and a coach to carry you about, and
servants to wait upon you ?' As to that, madam, one
coat is as good as another, if it will but keep me warm;
and I don't want to ride, because I can walk wherever
I choose; and as to servants, I should have nothing for


them to do, if I had a hundred of them.' Mrs. Mer-
ton continued to look at him with astonishment, but did
not ask him any more questions.
In the evening, little Harry was sent home to his
father, who asked him what he had seen at the great
house, and how he liked being there? 'Why,' replied
Harry, 'they were all very kind to me, for which I'm much
obliged to them : but I had rather have been at home,
for I never was so troubled in all my life to get a din-
ner. There was one man to take away my plate and
another to give me drink, and another to stand behind
my chair, just if I had been lame or blind, and could
not have waited upon myself and then there was so
much to do with putting this thing on, and taking ano-
ther off, I thought it would never have been over: and,
after dinner, I was obliged to sit two whole hours with-
out ever stirring, while the lady was talking to me, not
as Mr. Barlow does, but wanting me to love fine clothes,
and to be a king, and to be rich, that I may be hated
like squire Chase.'
But at the mansion house, much of the conversation,
in the mean time, was employed in examining the
merits of little Harry. Mrs. Merton acknowledged his
bravery and openness of temper; she was also struck
with the general good-nature and benevolence of his
character, but she contended that he had a certain
grossness and indelicacy in his ideas, which distinguish
the children of the lower and middling classes of peo-
ple from those of persons of fashion. Mr. Merton,
on the contrary, maintained, that he had never before
seen a child whose sentiments and disposition would


do so much honour even to the most elevated situa-
tions. Nothing he affirmed, was more easily acqui-
red than those external manners, and that superficial
address, upon which too many of the higher classes
pride themselves as their greatest, or even as their only
accomplishment: nay so easily are they picked up'
said he that we frequently see them descend with the
cast clothes to maids and valets; between whom and
their masters and mistresses there is little other differ-
ence than what results from the former wearing soiled
clothes and healthier countenances. Indeed, the real
seat of all superiority, even of manners, must be placed
in the mind: dignified sentiments, superior courage,
accompanied with genuine and universal courtesy, are
always necessary to constitute the real gentleman; and
where these are wanting, it is the greatest absurdity to
think they can be supplied by affected tones of voice,
particular grimaces, or extravagant and unnatural
modes of dress ; which far from becoming the real test
of gentility, have in general no other origin than the
caprice of barbers, tailors, actors, opera dancers, milli-
ners, fiddlers, and French servants of both sexes. I
cannot help, therefore, asserting,' said he, very serious-
ly, that this little peasant has within his mind the seeds
of true gentility and dignity of character; and though
I shall also wish that our son may possess all the com-
mon accomplishments of his rank, nothing would give
me more pleasure than a certainty that he would
never in any respect fall below the son of farmer
Whether Mrs. Merton fully acceded to these observa-


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


necessary, Mrs. Merton did not make any objection to-it,
but consented, although very reluctantly, to part with
her son. Mr. Barlow was accordingly invited to dinner
the next Sunday, and Mr. Merton took an opportunity
of introducing the subject, and making the proposal to
him; assuring him, at the same time, that, though there
was no return within the bounds of his fortune which
he would not willingly make, yet the educatidnoand im-
provement of his son were objects of so much import-
ance to him, that he should always consider himself as
the obliged party.
To this, Mr. Barlow, after thanking Mr. Merton for
the confidence and liberality with which he treated him,
answered in the following manner;-' I should be little
worthy of the distinguished regard with which you
treat me, did I not with the greatest sincerity assure
you, that I feel myself totally unqualified for such a
task. I am, Sir, a minister of the gospel, and I would
not exchange that character, and the severe duties it
enjoins, for any other situation in life. But you must
be sensible, that the retired manner of life which I have
led for these twenty years, in consequence of my pro-
fession, at a distance from the gaieties of the capital, and
the refinements of polite life, is little adapted to form
such a tutor as the manners and opinions of the world
require for your son. Gentlemen in your situation of
life are accustomed to divide the world into two general
classes; those that are persons of fashion, and those that
are not. The first class contains every thing that is
valuable in life ; and therefore their manners, their pre-
judices, their very vices, must be inculcated upon the


minds of children, from the earliest period of infancy:
the second comprehends the great body of mankind,
who, under the general name of the vulgar, are repre-
sented as being only objects of contempt and disgust, and
scarcely worthy to be put on a footing with the very
beasts that contribute to the pleasures and conveniences
of their superiors.'
Mr. Merton could not help interrupting Mr. Barlow
here, to assure him, that, though there was too much
truth in the observation, yet he must not think that
either he, or Mrs. Merton, carried things to that extrava-
gant length; and that, although they wished their son
to have the manners of a man of fashion, they thought
his morals and religion of infinitely more consequence.
If you think so, Sir,' said Mr. Barlow, it is more
than a noble lord did, whose written opinions are now
considered as the oracles of polite life, and more than,
I believe, most of his admirers do at this time. But if
you allow what I have just mentioned to be the com-
mon distinctions of genteel people, you must at one
glance perceive how little I must be qualified to educate
a young gentleman intended to move in that sphere; I,
whose temper, reason, and religion, equally combine to
make me reject the principles upon which those distinc-
tions are founded. The Christian religion, though not
exclusively, is, emphatically speaking, the religion of the
poor. Its first ministers were taken from the lower
orders of mankind, and to the lower orders of mankind
was it first proposed; and in this, instead of feeling my-
self mortified or ashamed, I am the more inclined to
adore the wisdom and benevolence of that Power by


whose command it was first promulgated. Those who
engross the riches and advantages of this world, are too
much employed with their pleasures and ambition, to be
much interested about any system, either of religion or
of morals; they too frequently feel a species of habitual
intoxication, which excludes every serious thought, and
makes them view with indifference every thing but the
present moment. Those, on the contrary, to whom all
the hardships and miseries of this world are allotted as
their natural portion-those who eat the bread of bitter-
ness, and drink the waters of affliction, have more inter-
est in futurity, and are therefore more prepared to
receive the promises of the Gospel. Yes, Sir; mark
the disingenuousness of many of our modern philoso-
phers ; they quarrel with the Christian religion, because
it has not yet penetrated the deserts of Africa, or ar-
rested the wandering hordes of Tartary; yet they ridi-
cule it for the meanness of its origin, and because it is
the gospel of the poor: that is to say, because it is
expressly calculated to inform the judgments, and allevi-
ate the miseries of that vast promiscuous body which
constitutes the majestic species of Man. But for whom
would these philosophers have Heaven itself interested,
if not for the mighty whole which it has created ? Poverty,
that is to say, a state of labour and frequent self-denial,
is the natural state of man ; it is the state of all in the
happiest and most equal governments, the state of nearly
all in every country ; it is a state in which all the facul-
ties both of body and mind are always found to develop
themselves with the most advantage, and in which the
moral feelings have generally the greatest influence.


The accumulation of riches, on the contrary, can never
increase, but by the increasing poverty and degradation
of those whom Heaven has created equal: a thousand
cottages are thrown down to afford space for a single
palace. How benevolently, therefore, has Heaven acted,
in thus extending its blessings to all who do not disqualify
themselves for the reception by voluntary hardness of
heart how wisely, in thus opposing a continual boundary
to human pride and sensuality; two passions the most
fatal in their effects, and the most apt to desolate the
world. And shall a minister of that Gospel, conscious
of these great truths, and professing to govern himself
by their influence, dare to preach a different doctrine,
and flatter those excesses, which he must know are
equally contrary both to reason and religion ? Shall he
become the abject sycophant of human greatness, and
assist it in trampling all relations of humanity beneath
its feet, instead of setting before it the severe duties of
its station, and the account which will one day be ex-
pected of all the opportunities of doing good, so idly,
so irretrievably lost and squandered ? But I beg pardon,
Sir, for that warmth which has transported me so far,
and made me engross so much of the conversation. But
it will at least have this good effect, that it will demon-
strate the truth of what I have been saying; and show
that, though I might undertake the education of a
farmer, or a mechanic, I shall never succeed in that of
a modern gentlemen.'
Sir,' replied Mr. Merton, there is nothing which I
now hear from you, which does not increase my esteem
of your character, and my desire to engage your assist.


ance. Permit me only to ask whether, in the present
state of things, a difference of conditions and an ine-
quality of fortune are not necessary, and, if necessary, I
should infer, not contrary to the spirit of Christianity '
So it is declared, sir, that offences must come: but
that does not prevent a severe denunciation against the
offenders. But, if you wish to know, whether I am one
of those enthusiasts, who are continually preaching up
an ideal state of perfection, totally inconsistent with
human affairs, I will endeavour to give you every satis-
faction upon the subject.-If you mean by difference of
conditions and inequality of fortunes, that the present
state of human affairs in every society we are acquainted
with, does not admit that perfect equality which the purer
interpretations of the Gospel inculcate, I certainly shall
not disagree with you in opinion. He that formed the
human heart certainly must be acquainted with all the
passions to which it would be subject; and if, under the
immediate dispensation of Christ himself, it was found
impossible for a rich man to give his possessions to the
poor, that degree of purity will hardly be expected now,
which was not found in the origin. But here, sir, per-
mit me to remark, how widely the principles of genuine
Christianity differ from that imaginary scheme of ideal
perfection, equally inconsistent with human affairs and
human characters, which many of its pretended friends
would persuade us to believe it: and, as comparisons
sometimes throw a new and sudden light upon a subject,
give me leave to use one here, which I think bears the
closest analogy to what we are now considering. Were
some physician to arise, who, to a perfect knowledge of


all preceding medical facts, had added, by a more than
human skill, a knowledge of the most secret principles
of the human frame, could he calculate, with an accu-
racy that never was deceived, the effect of every cause
that could act upon our constitutions; and, were he in-
clined, as the result of all his science and observation,
to leave a rule of life that might remain unimpeached to
the latest posterity, I ask, what kind of one would he
I suppose one,' said Mr. Merton, that was the most
adapted to the general circumstances of the human spe-
cies, and which observed, would confer the greatest de-
gree of health and vigour.'
Right,' said Mr. Barlow; 'I ask again, whether, ob-
serving the common luxury and intemperance of the
rich, he would take his directions from the usages of a
polite table, and recommend that heterogeneous assem-
blage of contrary mixtures, high seasonings, poignant
sauces, fermented and distilled poisons, which is continu-
ally breeding diseases in their veins, as the best means
of preserving or regaining health ?'
Certainly not. That were to debase his heart, and
sanction abuses, instead of reforming them.'
'Would he not, then, recommend simplicity of diet,
light repasts, early slumbers, and moderate exercise in
the open air, if he judged them salutary to human na.
ture, even though fashionable prejudice had stamped all
these particulars with the mark of extreme vulgarity ?'
Were he to act otherwise, he must forfeit all preten-
sions either to honesty or skill.'
Let us then apply all this to the mind, instead of the


body, and suppose for an instant, that some legislator,
either human or divine, who comprehended all the secret
springs that govern the mind, was preparing a universal
code for all mankind; must he not imitate the physician,
and deliver general truths, however unpalateable, how-
ever repugnant to particular prejudices, since upon the
observance of these truths alone the happiness of the
species must depend ?'
'I think so indeed.'
'Should such a person observe, that an immoderate
desire and accumulation of riches, a love of ostentatious
tribes, unnecessary splendour in all that relates to human
life, and an habitual indulgence of sensuality, tended not
only to produce evil in all around, but even in the indi-
vidual himself, who suffered the tyranny of these vices;
how would you have the legislator act? Should he be
silent ?'
No, certainly: he should arraign these pernicious
habitudes by every mean within his power; by precept,
by example.'
Should he also observe, that riches employed in an-
other manner, in removing the real miseries of human-
ity, in cherishing, comforting, and supporting all around,
produced a contrary effect, and tended equally to make
the obliged and obliger happy; should he conceal this
great eternal truth, or should he divulge it with all the
authority he possessed, conscious, that in whatever de-
gree it became the rule of human life, in the same de-
gree would it tend to the advantage of all the world ?'
There cannot be a doubt upon the subject.'
'But, should he know, either by the spirit of prophecy


or by intuitive penetration, that the majority of mankind
would never observe these rules to any great degree, but
would be blindly precipitated by their passions into every
excess against which he so benevolently cautioned them;
should this be a reason for his withdrawing his precepts
and admonitions, or for seeming to approve what was in
its own nature most pernicious ?'
As prudent would it be to pull off the bridle when
we mounted an impetuous horse, because we doubted of
our power to hold him in; or to increase his madness
by the spur, when it was clearly too great before. Thus,
sir, you will perceive, that the precepts of the Christian
religion are founded upon the most perfect knowledge
of the human heart, as they furnish a continual barrier
against the most destructive passions, and the most sub.
versive of human happiness. Your own concessions
sufficiently prove, that it would have been equally dero-
gatory to truth, and the common interests of the species,
to have made the slightest concessions in favour either
of human pride or sensuality. Your extensive acquaint-
ance with mankind will sufficiently convince you, how
prone the generality are to give an unbounded loose to
these two passions ; neither the continual experience of
their own weakness, nor of the fatal effects which are
produced by vicious indulgencies, has yet been capable
of teaching them either humility or moderation. What
then could the wisest legislator do, more useful, more
benevolent, more necessary, than to establish general
rules of conduct, which have a continual tendency to re-
store moral and natural order, and to diminish the wild
inequality produced by pride and avarice? Nor is there


any greater danger that these precepts should be too
rigidly observed, than that the bulk of mankind should
injure themselves by too abstemious a temperance. All
that can be expected from human weakness, even after
working from the most perfect model, is barely to arrive
at mediocrity; and, were the model less perfect, or the
duties less severe, there is the greatest reason to think,
that even that mediocrity would never be attained. Ex-
amine the conduct of those who are placed at a distance
from all labour and fatigue, and you will find the most
trifling exertions act upon their imaginations, with the
same force as the most insuperable difficulties.
'If I have now succeeded in laying down the genuine
principles of Christian morality, I apprehend it will not
be difficult to deduce the duty of one who takes upon
him the office of its minister and interpreter. He can
no more have a right to alter the slightest of its princi-
ples, than the magistrate can be justified in giving false
interpretations to the laws. The more the corruptions
of the world increase, the greater the obligation that he
should oppose himself to their course; and he can no
more relax in his opposition, than the pilot can abandon
the helm, because the winds and the waves begin to
augment their fury. Should he be despised, or neglected
by all the rest of the human species, let him still persist
in bearing testimony to the truth, both in his precepts
and example; the cause of virtue is not desperate while
it retains a single friend; should it even sink forever,
it is enough for him to have discharged his duty. But,
although he is thus restricted as to what he shall teach,
I do not assert, that it is improper for him to use his un-


derstanding and experience as to the manner of his in-
struction. He is strictly bound never to teach any thing
contrary to the purest morality; but he is not bound
always to teach that morality in its greatest extent. In
that respect, he may use the wisdom of the serpent,
though guided by the innocence of the dove. If, there-
fore, he sees the reign of prejudice and corruption so
firmly established, that men would be offended with the
genuine simplicity of the Gospel, and the purity of its
primeval doctrines, he may so far moderate their rigour,
as to prevent them from entirely disgusting weak and
luxurious minds. If we cannot effect the greatest possi-
ble perfection, it is still a material point to preserve from
the grossest vices. A physician that practises amongst
the great, may certainly be excused, though he should
not be continually advising the exercise, the regimen of
the poor; not, that the doctrine is not true, but that there
would not be the smallest probability of its ever being
adopted. But, although he never assents to that luxuri-
ous method of life, which he is continually obliged to
see, he may content himself with only inculcating those
restrictions which even the luxurious may submit to, if
they possess the smallest portion of understanding.-
Should he succeed thus far, there is no reason for his
stopping in his career, or not enforcing a superior degree
of temperance; but, should it be difficult to persuade even
so slight a restriction, he could hope for no success, were
he to preach up a Spartan or a Roman diet. Thus the
Christian minister may certainly use his own discretion in
the mode of conveying his instructions ; and it is permitted
him to employ all his knowledge of the human heart in


reclaiming men from their vices, and winning them over
to the cause of virtue. By the severity of his own man-
ners, he may sufficiently evince the motives of his con-
duct; nor can he, by any means, hope for more success
than if he shews that he practices more than he preaches,
and uses a greater degree of indulgence to the failings
of others, than he requires for his own.'
Nothing,' said Mr. Merton,' can be more rational or
moderate than these sentiments; why then do you persist
in pleading your incapacity for an employment which
you can so well discharge?'
Because,' said Mr. Barlow, he that undertakes the
education of a child, undertakes the most important duty
in society, and is severally answerable for every volun-
tary omission. The same mode of reasoning, which I
have just been using, is not applicable here. It is out
of the power of any individual, however strenuous may
be his endeavours, to prevent the mass of mankind from
acquiring prejudices and corruptions: and, when he finds
them in that state, he certainly may use all the wisdom
he possesses for their reformation. But this rule will
never justify him, for an instant, in giving false impres-
sions where he is at liberty to instil truth, and in losing
the only opportunity which he perhaps may ever possess,
of teaching pure morality and religion.-How will such
a man, if he has the least feeling, bear to see his pupil be-
come a slave, perhaps to the grossest vices ; and to reflect,
with a great degree of probability, that this catastrophe
has been owing to his own inactivity and improper in-
dulgence? May not all human characters frequently be
traced back to impressions made at so early a period,


that none but discerning eyes would ever suspect their
existence? Yet nothing is more certain; what we are
at twenty depends upon what we were at fifteen ; what
we are at fifteen upon what we were at ten : where shall
we then place the beginning of the series ?-Besides, sir,
the very prejudices and manners of society, which seem
to be an excuse for the present negligence in the early
education of children, act upon my mind with a contrary
effect. Need we fear that, after every possible pre-
caution has been taken, our pupil should not give a
sufficient loose to his passions, or should be in danger
of being too severely virtuous ? How glorious would be
such a distinction, how much to be wished for, and yet
how little to be expected by any one who is moderately
acquainted with the world The instant he makes his
entrance there, he will find a universal relaxation and
indifference to every thing that is serious; every thing
will conspire to represent pleasure and sensuality as the
only business of human beings, and to throw a ridicule
upon every pretence to principle or restraint. This will
be the doctrine that he will learn at theatres, from his
companions, from the polite circles into which he is in-
troduced. The ladies too will have their share in the
improvement of his character: they will criticize the
colour of his clothes, his method of making a bow, and
of entering a room. They will teach him that the great
object of human life is to please the fair; and that the
only method of doing it, is to acquire the graces. Need
we fear that, thus beset on every side, he should not
attach a sufficient importance to trifles, or grow fashion-
ably languid in the discharge of all his duties ?-Alas I


sir, it seems to me that this will unavoidably happen in
spite of all our endeavours. Let us then not lose the
important moment of human life, when it is possible to
flatter ourselves with some hopes of success in giving
good impressions: they may succeed: they may either
preserve a young man from gross immorality, or have
a tendency to reform him, when the first ardour of youth
is passed. If we neglect this awful moment, which can
never return, with the view, which, I must confess, I
have of modern manners, it appears to me, like launch-
ing a vessel in the midst of a storm, without a compass
and without a pilot.'
Sir,' said Mr. Merton, I will make no other answer
to what you have now been saying, than to tell you, it
adds, if possible, to my esteem of your character; and
that I will deliver my son into your hands, upon your
own conditions. And as to the terms-'
Pardon me,' replied Mr. Barlow, if I interrupt you
here, and give you another specimen of the singularity
of my opinions. I am contented to take your son for
some months under my care, and to endeavour by every
means within my power to improve him. But there is
one circumstance which is indispensable, that you per-
mit me to have the pleasure of serving you as a friend.
If you approve of my ideas and conduct, I will keep
him as long as you desire. In the mean time, as there
are, I fear, some little circumstances which have grown
up, by too much tenderness and indulgence, to be altered
in his character, I think that I shall possess more of the
necessary influence and authority, if I, for the present,


appear to him and your whole family rather in the light
of a friend, than that of a schoolmaster.'
However disagreeable this proposal was to the gene-
rosity of Mr. Merton, he was obliged to consent to it;
and little Tommy was accordingly sent the next day to
the vicarage, which was at the distance of about two
miles from his father's house.
The day after Tommy came to Mr. Barlow's, as soon
as breakfast was over, he took him and Harry into the
garden: when he was there, he took a spade into his
own hand, and giving Harry a hoe, they both began to
work with great eagerness. Every body that eats,'
says Mr. Barlow, ought to assist in procuring food;
and therefore little Harry and I begin our daily work.
This is my bed, and that other is his ; we work upon it
every day, and he that raises the most out of it will de-
serve to fare the best. Now, Tommy, if you choose to
join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground, which
you shall have to yourself, and all the produce shall be
your own.'-' No, indeed,' said Tommy, very sulkily,
' I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave like a
ploughboy.' 'Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman,' said
Mr. Barlow; 'but Harry and I, who are not above being
useful, will mind our work.'
In about two hours, Mr. Barlow said it was time to
leave off; and, taking Harry by the hand, he led him
into a very pleasant summer-house, where they sat
down; and Mr. Barlow, taking out a plate of very
fine ripe cherries, divided them between Harry and
Tommy, who had followed, and expected his share,


when he saw them both eating without taking any notice
of him, could no longer restrain his passion, but burst
into a violent fit of sobbing and crying.-' What is the
matter?' said Mr. Barlow very coolly to him. Tommy
looked upon him very sulkily, but returned no answer.
' Oh Sir, if you don't choose to give me an answer,
you may be silent; nobody is obliged to speak here.'
Tommy became still more disconcerted at this, and,
being unable to conceal his anger, ran out of the sum-
mer-house, and wandered very disconsolately about
the garden, equally surprised and vexed to find that he
was now in a place where nobody felt any concern
whether he was pleased or the contrary.
When all the cherries were eat, little Harry said-
' You promised to be so good as to hear me read when
we had done working in the garden ; and if it is agree-
able to you, I will now read the story of the Flies and
the Ants.' 'With all my heart,' said Mr. Barlow:
' remember to read it slowly and distinctly, without hesi-
tating or pronouncing the words wrong; and be sure to
read it in such a manner as to show that you understand
Harry then took up the book, and read as follows:-

The Flies and the Ants.

In a corner of a farmer's garden, there once hap-
pened to be a nest of Ants, who during the fine wea-
ther of the summer, were employed all day long in
drawing little seeds and grains of corn into their hole.
Near them there happened to be a bed of flowers, upon


which a great quantity of Flies used to be always sporting,
and humming, and diverting themselves by flying from
one flower to another. A little boy, who was the far-
mer's son, used frequently to observe the different em-
ployments of these animals; and, as he was very
young and ignorant, he one day thus expressed himself;
-Can any creature be so simple as these Ants? All
day long they are working and toiling, instead of en-
joying the fine weather, and diverting themselves like
these Flies, who are the happiest creatures in the
world.' Some time after he had made this observation
the weather grew extremely cold, the sun was scarcely
seen to shine, and the nights were chill and frosty.
The same little boy, walking then in the garden, did
not see a single Ant, but all the Flies lay scattered up
and down, either dead or dying. As he was very
good-natured, he could not help pitying the unfortunate
animals, and asking, at the same time, what had hap-
pened to the Ants that he used to see in the same
place? The father said, 'The Flies are all dead,
because they were careless animals, who gave them-
selves no trouble about laying up provisions, and were
too idle to work : but the Ants, who had been busy all
the summer, in providing for their maintenance during
the winter, are all alive and well; and you will see
them as soon as the warm weather returns.'
Very well, Harry,' said Mr. Barlow, we will now
take a walk.' They accordingly rambled out into the
fields, where Mr. Barlow made Harry take notice of
several kinds of plants, and told him the names and
nature of them. At last Harry, who had observed


some very pretty purple berries upon a plant that bore
a purple flower, and grew in the hedges, brought them
to Mr. Barlow, and asked whether they were good to
eat? 'It is very lucky,' said Mr. Barlow, 'young
man, that you asked the question before you put them
into your mouth; for, had you tasted them, they
would have given you violent pains in your head and
stomach, and perhaps have killed you, as they grow
upon a plant called Night-shade, which is a rank poi-
son.' Sir,' said Harry, I take care never to eat any
thing without knowing what it is, and I hope, if you
will be so good as to continue to teach me, I shall very
soon know the names and qualities of all the herbs
which grow.'
As they were returning home, Harry saw a very
large bird called a Kite, upon the ground, who seemed
to have something in 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, and left a chicken behind him,
very much hurt indeed, but still alive. Look, sir,'
said Harry, 'if that cruel creature has not almost
killed this poor chicken see how he bleeds, and hangs
his wings! I will put him into my bosom to recover
him, and carry him home; and he shall have part of
my dinner every day till he is well and able to shift for
As soon as they came home, the first care of
little Harry was to put his wounded chicken into
a basket, with some fresh straw, some water, and


some bread. After that, Mr. Barlow and he went to
In the meantime, Tommy who had been skulking
about all day, very much mortified and uneasy, came
in, and, being very hungry, was going to sit down to
the table with the rest; but Mr. Barlow stopped him,
and said, No, sir, as you are too much of a gentle-
man to work, we, who are not so, do not choose to
work for the idle.' Upon this Tommy retired into a
corner, crying as if his heart would break, but more
from grief than passion, as he began to perceive that
nobody minded his ill temper.
But little Harry, who could not bear to see his friend
so unhappy, looked up half crying into Mr. Barlow's
face, and said, Pray, sir, may I do as I please with
my share of the dinner?' 'Yes to be sure child.'
Why, then,' said he, getting up, I will give it all to
poor Tommy, who wants it more than I do.' Saying
this, he gave it to him as he sat in the corner; and
Tommy took it, and thanked him, without ever turning
his eyes from off the ground. I see,' said Mr. Barlow,
that though gentlemen are above being any use them-
selves, they are not above taking the bread that other
people have been working hard for.' At this, Tommy
cried still more bitterly than before.
The next day, Mr. Barlow and Harry went to work
as before; but they had scarcely begun before Tommy
came to them, and desired that he might have a hoe
too, which Mr. Barlow gave him; but as he had never
before learned to handle one, he was very awkward
in the use of it, and hit himself several strokes upon


the legs. Mr. Barlow then laid down his own spade,
and shewed him how to hold and use it, by which
means, in a very short time, he became very expert,
and worked with the greatest pleasure. When their
work was over, they retired all three to the summer-
house; and Tommy felt the greatest joy imaginable
when the fruit was produced, and he was invited to
take his share, which seemed to him the most delicious
he had ever tasted, because working in the air had
given him an appetite.
As soon as they had done eating, Mr. Barlow took
up a book, and asked Tommy whether he would read
them a story out of it ? but he, looking a little ashamed
said he had never learned to read. I am very sorry
for it,' said Mr. Barlow, 'because you lose a very
great pleasure: then Harry shall read to you.' Harry
accordingly took up the book, and read the following

The Gentleman and the Basket-maker.

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


and that the poor were only born to serve and obey
Near the rich man's house there lived an honest and
industrious poor man, who gained his livelihood by
making little baskets out of dried reeds, which grew upon
a piece of marshy ground close to his cottage. But
though he was obliged to labour from morning to night,
to earn food enough to support him, and though he
seldom fared better than upon dry bread, or rice, or
pulse, and had no other bed than the remains of the
rushes of which he made baskets, yet was he always
happy, cheerful, and contented; for his labour gave him
so good an appetite, that the coarsest fare appeared to
him delicious; and he went to bed so tired that he would
have slept soundly even upon the ground. Besides this,
he was a good and virtuous man, humane to every body,
honest in his dealings, always accustomed to speak the
truth, and therefore beloved and respected by all his
The rich man, on the contrary, though he lay upon
the softest bed, yet could not sleep, because he had
passed the day in idleness; and though the nicest
dishes were presented to him, yet could he not eat with
any pleasure, because he did not wait till nature gave
him an appetite, nor use exercise, nor go into the open
air. Besides this, as he was a great sluggard and glutton,
he was almost always ill; and, as he did good to nobody,
he had no friends; and even his servants spoke ill of
him behind his back, and all his neighbours, whom he
oppressed, hated him. For these reasons he was sullen,
melancholy, and unhappy, and became displeased with


all who appeared more cheerful than himself. When he
was carried out in his palanquin (a kind of bed, borne
upon the shoulders of men) he frequently passed by the
cottage of the poor Basket-maker, who was always
sitting at the door, and singing as he wove the baskets.
The rich man could not beheld this without anger.-
* What 1' said he, shall a wretch, a peasant, a low.
born fellow, that weaves bulrushes for a scanty sub-
sistence, be always happy and pleased, while I, that am
a gentleman, possessed of riches and power, and of
more consequence than a million of reptiles like him,
am always melancholy and discontented.' This reflec-
tion arose so often in his mind, that at last he began to
feel the greatest degree of hatred towards the poor man;
and, as he had never been accustomed to conquer his
own passions, however improper or unjust they might
be, he at last determined to punish the Basket-maker
for being happier than himself.
With this wicked design he one night gave orders to
his servants (who did not dare to disobey him) to set
fire to the rushes which surrounded the poor man's
house. As it was summer, and the weather in that
country extremely hot, the fire soon spread over the
whole marsh, and not only consumed all the rushes
but soon extended to the cottage itself, and the poor
Basket-maker was obliged to run out almost naked, to
save his life.
You may judge of the surprise and grief of the poor
man, when he found himself entirely deprived of his
subsistence by the wickedness of his rich neighbour,
whom he had never offended : but, as he was unable to


punish him for this injustice, he set out and walked on
foot to the chief magistrate of that country, to whom,
with many tears, he told his pitiful case. The magis-
trate, who was a good and just man, immediately
ordered the rich man to be brought before him ; and
when he found that he could not deny the wickedness
of which he was accused, he thus spoke to the poor
man: As this proud and wicked man has been puffed
up with the opinion of his own importance, and attempted
to commit the most scandalous injustice from his con-
tempt of the poor, I am willing to teach him of how
little value he is to any body, and how vile and con-
temptible a creature he really is: but, for this purpose,
it is necessary that you should consent to the plan I
have formed, and go along with him to the place whither
I intend to send you both.'
The poor man replied, I never had much; but the
little I once had is now lost by the mischievous disposi-
tion of this proud and oppressive man. I am entirely
ruined; I have no means left in the world of procuring
myself a morsel of bread the next time I am hungry;
therefore I am ready to go wherever you please to send
me: and, though 1 would not treat this man as he has
treated me, yet should I rejoice to teach him more justice
and humanity, and to prevent his injuring the poor a
second time.'
The magistrate then ordered them both to be put on
board a ship, and carried to a distant country, which was
inhabited by a rude and savage kind of men, who lived
in huts, were strangers to riches, and got their living by


As soon as they were set on shore, the sailors left
them, as they had been ordered, and the inhabitants of
the country came round them in great numbers. The
rich man, seeing himself thus exposed, without assist-
ance or defence, in the midst of a barbarous people,
whose language he did not understand, and in whose
power he was, began to cry and wring his hands in the
most abject manner; but the poor Basket-maker, who
had always been accustomed to hardships and dangers
from his infancy, made signs to the people that he was
their friend, and was willing to work for them, and be
their servant. Upon this, the natives made signs to
them that they would do them no hurt, but would make
use of their assistance in fishing and carrying wood.
Accordingly, they led them both to a wood at some
distance, and showing them several logs, ordered them
to transport them to their cabins. They both immedi-
ately set about their tasks, and the poor man, who was
strong and active, very soon had finished his share;
while the rich man, whose limbs were tender and deli-
cate, and never accustomed to any kind of labour, had
scarcely done a quarter as much. The savages, who
were witnesses to this, began to think that the Basket-
maker would prove very useful to them, and therefore
presented him a large portion of fish, and several of their
choicest roots; while to the rich man they gave scarcely
enough to support him, because they thought him capa-
ble of being of very little service to them; however, as
he had now fasted several tours, he ate what they gave
him with a better appetite than he had ever felt before at
his own table.


The next day they were set to work again, and as the
Basket-maker had the same advantage over his compa-
nion, he was highly caressed and well treated by the
natives, while they showed every mark of contempt to-
wards the other, whose delicate and luxurious habits had
rendered him very unfit for labour.
The rich man now began to perceive with how little
reason he had before valued himself, and despised his
fellow-creatures; and an accident that fell out shortly
after, tended to complete his mortification. It happened
that one of the savages had found something like a fillet,
with which he adorned his forehead, and seemed to think
himself extremely fine: the Basket-maker, who had per-
ceived this appearance of vanity, pulled up some reeds,
and, sitting down to work, in a short time finished a
very elegant wreath, which he placed upon the head of
the first inhabitant he chanced to meet. This man was
so pleased with his new acquisition, that he danced and
capered with joy, and ran away to seek the rest, who
were all struck with astonishment at this new and ele-
gant piece of finery. It was not long before another
came to the Basket-maker, making signs that he wanted
to be ornamented like his companion; and with such
pleasure were these chaplets considered by the whole
nation, that the Basket-maker was released from his for-
mer drudgery, and continually employed in weaving
them. In return for the pleasure which he conferred
upon them, the grateful savages brought him every kind
of food their country afforded, built him a hut, and
showed him every demonstration of gratitude and kind-
ness. But the rich man, who possessed neither talents


to please nor strength to labour, was condemned to be
the Basket-maker's servant, and to cut him reeds to sup-
ply the continual demand for chaplets.
After having passed some months in this manner, they
were again transported to their own country by the or-
ders of the magistrate, and brought before him. He then
looked sternly upon the rich man, and said ; Having
now taught you how helpless, contemptible, and feeble a
creature you are, as well as how inferior to the man you
insulted, I shall proceed to make reparation to him for
the injury you have inflicted upon him. Did I treat you
as you deserve, I should take from you all the riches
that you possess, as you wantonly deprived this poor
man of his whole subsistence, but hoping that you will
become more humane for the future, I sentence you to
give half your fortune to this man, whom you endea-
voured to iuin.'
Upon this the Basket-maker said, after thanking the
magistrate for his goodness :-' I, having been bred up
in poverty, and accustomed to labour, have no desire to
acquire riches, which I should not know how to use: all,
therefore, that I require of this man is, to put me into
the same situation I was in before, and to learn more
The rich man could not help being astonished at this
generosity; and, having acquired wisdom by his misfor-
tunes, 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 pret-
ty; but that, had he been the good Basket-maker, he


would have taken the naughty rich man's fortune and
kept it. So would not I,' said Harry, 'for fear of
growing as proud, and wicked, and idle as the other.'
From this time forward, Mr. Barlow and his two little
pupils used constantly to work in their garden every
morning; and, when they were fatigued, they retired to
the summer-house, where little Harry, who improved
every day in reading, used to entertain them with
some pleasant story or other, which Tommy always
listened to with the greatest pleasure. But, little Harry
going home for a week, Tommy and Mr. Barlow were
left alone.
The next day, after they had done work, and were
retired to the summer-house as usual, Tommy expected
Mr. Barlow would read to him; but, to his great disap-
pointment, found that he was busy and could not. The
next day the same accident was renewed, and the day after
that. At this Tommy lost all patience, and said to
himself, Now if I could but read like Harry Sandford,
I should not need to ask any body to do it for me, and
then I could divert myself: and why (thinks he) may
not I do what another has done? To be sure, little
Harry is very clever; but he could not have read if he
had not been taught; and if 1 am taught, I dare say I
shall learn to read as well as he. Well, as soon as
ever he comes home, I am determined to ask him
about it.'
The next day little Harry returned, and as soon as
Tommy had an opportunity of being alone with him,
, Pray, Harry,' said Tommy, how came you to be able
to read '


Harry. Why Mr. Barlow taught me my letters,
and then spelling; and then by putting syllables
together, I learned to read.-Tommy. And could
not you show me my letters ?-Harry. Yes, very
Harry then took up a book, and Tommy was so
eager and attentive, that at the very first lesson he
learned the whole alphabet. Hie was infinitely pleased
with this first experiment, and could scarcely forbear
running to Mr. Barlow, to let him know the improve.
ment he had made; but he thought he should surprise
him more, if he said nothing about the matter till he
was able to read a whole story. He therefore applied
himself with such diligence, and little Harry, who
spared no pains to assist his friend, was so good a
master, that in about two months he determined to sur-
prise Mr. Barlow with a display of his talents. Ac-
cordingly, one day, when they were all assembled in
the summer-house, and the book was given to Harry,
Tommy stood up and said, that if Mr. Barlow pleased,
he would try to read. Oh! very willingly,' said Mr.
Barlow, but I should as soon expect you to fly as
to read.' Tommy smiled with a consciousness of his
own proficiency, and taking up the book, read with great

The History of the Two Dogs.

IN a part of the world, where there are many strong
and fierce wild beasts, a poor man happened to bring up
two puppies of that kind which is most valued for size


and courage. As they appeared to possess more than
common strength and agility, he thought that he should
make an acceptable present to his landlord, who was a
rich man, living in a great city, by giving him one of
them, which was called Jowler; while he brought up
the other, named Keeper, to guard his own flocks.
From this time, the manner of living was entirely
altered between the brother whelps. Jowler was sent
into a plentiful kitchen, where he quickly became the
favourite of the servants, who diverted themselves with
his little tricks and wanton gambols, and rewarded him
with great quantities of pot-liquor and broken victuals;
by which means, as he was stuffing from morning to
night, he increased considerably in size, and grew sleek
and comely; he was, indeed, rather unwieldy, and so
cowardly, that he would run away from a dog only half
as big as himself; he was much addicted to gluttony,
and was often beaten for the thefts he committed in the
pantry; but, as he had learned to fawn upon the foot-
men, and would stand upon his hind legs to beg, when
he was ordered, and, besides this, would fetch and carry,
he was mightily caressed by all the neighbourhood.
Keeper, in the mean time, who lived at a cottage in
the country, neither fared so well, looked so plump,
nor had learned all these little tricks to recommend
him : but, as his master was too poor to maintain any
thing but what was useful, and was obliged to be con-
tinually in the air, subject to all kinds of weather, and
labouring hard for a livelihood, Keeper grew hardy,
active, and diligent: he was also exposed to continual
danger from the wolves, from whom he had received


many a severe bite, while guarding the flocks. These
continual combats gave him that degree of intrepidity,
that no enemy could make him turn his back. His
care and assiduity so well defended the sheep of his
master, that not one had ever been missing since they
were placed under his protection. His honesty too was
so great, that no temptation could overpower it; and,
though he was left alone in the kitchen while the meat
was roasting, he never attempted to taste it, but
received with thankfulnesss whatever his master chose
to give him. From a continual life in the air, he was
become so hardy, that no tempest could drive him to
shelter, when he ought to be watching the flocks; and
he would plunge into the most rapid river, in the coldest
weather of the winter, at the slightest sign from his
About this time it happened, that the landlord of the
poor man went to examine his estate in the -country,
and brought Jowler with him to the place of his birth.
At his arrival there, he could not help viewing with
great contempt, the rough, ragged appearance of Keep-
er, and his awkward look which discovered nothing of
the address for which he so much admired Jowler. This
opinion, however, was altered by means of an acci-
dent which happened to him. As he was one day
walking in a thick wood, with no other company than
the two dogs, a hungry wolf, with eyes that sparkled
like fire, bristling hair, and a horrid snarl that made
the gentleman tremble, rushed out of a neighboring
thicket, and seemed ready to devour him. The unfor-
tunate man gave himself over for lost, more especially


when he saw that his faithful Jowler, instead of coming
to his assistance, run sneaking away, with his tail be.
tween his legs, howling with fear. But in this moment of
despair, the undaunted Keeper, who had followed him
humbly and unobserved, at a distance, flew to his assis-
tance, and attacked the wolf with so much courage and
skill, that he was compelled to exert all his strength in
his own defence. The battle was long and bloody,
but, in the end, Keeper laid the wolf dead at his feet,
though not without receiving several severe wounds
himself, and presenting a bloody and mangled specta-
cle to the eyes of his master, who came up that instant.
The gentleman was filled with joy for his escape, and
gratitude to his brave deliverer; and learned by his
own experience, that appearances are not always to be
trusted, and that great virtues and good dispositions
may sometimes be found in 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 almost as well as other people. But what do you
say to the story you have been reading, Tommy?
Would you rather have owned the genteel dog that left
his master to be devoured, or the poor, rough, ragged,
meagre, neglected cur, that exposed his own life in his
defence?' Indeed, sir,' said Tommy, 'I would have
rather had Keeper; but then I would have fed him, and
washed him, and combed him, till he had looked as
well as Jowler.' 'But, then, perhaps, he would have
grown idle, and fat, and cowardly, like him,' said Mr.


Barlow; but here is some more of it, let us read to the
end of the story.' Tommy then went on thus:
The gentleman was so pleased with the noble behavi-
our of Keeper, that he desired the poor man to make
him a present of the dog; which, though with some re-
luctance, he complied with. Keeper was therefore taken
to the city, where he was caressed and fed by every
body; and the disgraced Jowler was left at the cottage,
with strict injunctions to the man to hang him up, as a
worthless, unprofitable cur.
As soon as the gentleman had departed, the poor man
was going to execute his commission; but, considering
the noble size and comely look of the dog, and, above
all, being moved with pity for the poor animal, who
wagged his tail, and licked his new master's feet, just
as he was putting the cord about his neck, he determined
to spare his life, and see whether a different treatment
might not produce different manners. From this day,
Jowler was in every respect treated as his brother Keeper
had been before. He was fed but scantily; and from
this spare diet, soon grew more active and fond of exer-
cise. The first shower he was in, he ran away as he
had been accustomed to do, and sneaked to the fire-
side: but the farmer's wife soon drove him out of doors,
and compelled him to bear the rigour of the weather. In
consequence of this, he daily become more vigorous and
hardy, and, in a few months, regarded cold and rain no
more than if he had been brought up in the country.
Changed as he already was, in many respects, for the
better, he still retained an insurmountable dread of wild
beasts; till one day, as he was wandering through a


wood alone, he was attacked by a large and fierce wolf,
who, jumping out of a thicket, seized him by the neck
with fury. Jowler would fain have run, but his enemy
was too swift and violent to suffer him to escape. Ne-
cessity makes even cowards brave. Jowler, being thus
stopped in his retreat, turned upon his enemy, and, very
luckily seizing him by the throat, strangled him in an
instant. His master then coming up, and being witness
of his exploit, praised him, and stroked him with a de-
gree of fondness he had never done before. Animated
by this victory, and by the approbation of his master,
Jowler, from that time, became as brave as he had be-
fore been pusillanimous; and there was very soon no
dog in the country who was so great a terror to beasts
of prey.
In the mean time, Keeper, instead of hunting wild
beasts, or looking after sheep, did nothing but eat and
sleep, which he was permitted to do from a remembrance
of his past services. As all qualities both of mind and
body are lost, if not continually exercised, he soon
ceased to be that hardy, courageous animal, he was be-
fore; and acquired all the faults which are the conse-
quences of idleness and gluttony.
About this time, the gentleman went again into the
country, and, taking his dog with him, was willing that
he should exercise his prowess once more against his
ancient enemies the wolves. Accordingly the country
people having quickly found one in a neighboring wood,
the gentleman went thither with Keeper, expecting to see
him behave as he had done the year before. But how
great was his surprise, when, at the first onset, he saw


his beloved dog run away with every mark of timidity!
At this moment, another dog sprang forward, and seiz-
ing the wolf with the greatest intrepidity, after a bloody
contest, left him dead upon the ground. The gentleman
could not help lamenting the cowardice of his favourite,
and admiring the noble spirit of the other dog, whom, to
his infinite surprise, he found to be the same Jowler that
he had discarded the year before. I now see,' said he to
the farmer, that it is in vain to expect courage in those
who live a life of indolence and repose; and that con-
stant exercise and proper discipline are frequently able
to change contemptible characters into good ones.'

Indeed,' said Mr. Barlow, when the story was ended,
SI am sincerely glad to find that Tommy has made this
acquisition. He will now depend upon nobody, but be
able to divert himself whenever he pleases. All that has
ever been written in our own language will be from this
time in his power; whether he chooses to read little en-
taining stories like what we have heard to-day, or to
read the actions of great and good men in history, or to
make himself acquainted with the nature of wild beasts
and birds, which are found in other countries, and have
been described in books : in short, I scarcely know of
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
'Yes.' said Tommy, something elated by all this
praise, 'I am determined now to make myself as clever
as any body; and I don't doubt, though I am such a


little fellow, that I know more already than many grown.
up people; and I am sure, though there are no less than
six blacks in our house, that there is not one of them
who can read a story like me.' Mr. Barlow looked a little
grave at this sudden display of vanity ; and said rather
coolly, 'Pray, who has attempted to teach them any
thing ?' 'Nobody, I believe,' said Tommy. Where
is the great wonder then, if they are ignorant?' replied
Mr. Barlow; you would probably have never known
any thing, 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 had naturally very good disposi-
tions, although he had been suffered to acquire many
bad habits, that sometimes prevented them from appear-
ing. He was, in particular, very passionate, and thought
he had a right to command every body that was not
dressed as fine as himself. This opinion often led him
into inconveniences, and once was the occasion of his
being severely mortified.
This accident happened in the following manner:-
One day as Tommy was striking a ball with his bat, he
struck it over a hedge into an adjoining field, and
seeing a little ragged boy walking along on that side,
he ordered him, in a very peremptory tone, to bring it
to him. The little boy, without taking any notice of
what was said, walked on, and left the ball; upon
which, Tommy calle out more loudly than before, and
asked if he did not hear what was said? 'Yes,' said
the boy, for the matter of that, I am not deaf.' Oh !
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 made no answer but by a loud laugh ; which
provoked Tommy so much, that he clambered over
the hedge, and jumped precipitately down, intending to
have leaped into the field; but unfortunately his foot
slipped, and down he rolled into a wet ditch, which
was full of mud and water; there poor Tommy tum-
bled about for some time, endeavouring to get out; but
it was to no purpose, for his feet stuck in the mud
or slipped off from the bank: his fine waistcoat was
dirtied all over, his white stockings, covered with mire,
his breeches filled with puddle water; and, to add to his
distress, he first lost one shoe, and then the other; his
laced hat tumbled off from his head, and was com-
pletely spoiled. In this distress he must probably have
remained a considerable time, had not the little ragged
boy taken pity on him, and helped him out. Tommy
was so vexed and ashamed, that he could not say a
word, but run home in such a dirty plight, that Mr.
Barlow, who happened to meet him, was afraid he had
been considerably hurt; but when he heard the acci-
dent which had happened, he could not help smiling, and
he advised Tommy to be more careful for the future
how he attempted to thrash little ragged boys.
The next day, Mr. Barlow desired Harry, when they


were all together in the arbour, to read the following
story of

Androcles and the Lion.

THERE was a certain slave named Androcles, who
was so ill treated by his master, that his life became
insupportable. Finding no remedy for what he suffered,
he at length said to himself: it is better to die, than
to continue to live in such hardships and misery as 1
am obliged to suffer. I am determined therefore to
run away from my master If I am. taken again, I
know that I shall be punished with a cruel death : but
it is better to die at once, than to live in misery. If I
escape, I must betake myself to deserts and woods, in.
habited only by beasts; but they cannot use me more
cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures:
therefore, I will rather trust myself with them, than
continue to be a miserable slave.'
Having formed this resolution, he took an opportu-
nity of leaving his master's house, and hid himself
in a thick forest, which was at some miles distance
from the city. But here the unhappy man found that
he had only escaped from one kind of misery to
experience another. He wandered about all day
through a vast and trackless wood, where his flesh
was continually torn by thorns and brambles; he grew
hungry ; but could find no food in this dreary solitude;
at length he was ready to die with fatigue, and lay
down in despair in a large cavern which he found by


'Poor man !' said Harry, whose little heart could
scarcely contain itself at this mournful recital, I wish
I could have met with him; I would have given him all
my dinner, and he should have had my bed. But pray,
Sir, tell me, why does one man behave so cruelly to
another, and why should one person be the servant of
another, and bear so much ill treatment.'
As to that,' said Tommy, 'some folks are born
gentlemen, and then they must command others; and
some are born servants, and then they must do as they
are bid. I remember, before I came hither, that there
were a great many black men and women, that my
mother said were cnly born to wait upon me; and I
used to beat them and kick them, and throw things at
them, whenever I was angry; and they never dared
strike me again, because they were slaves ?
And pray, young man,' said Mr. Barlow, how
came these people to be slaves ?'
Tommy. Because my father bought them with his
money.-Mr. Barlow. So then people that are bought
with money, are slaves, are they ?'- T. Yes.-Mr. B.
And those that buy them have a right to kick them,
and beat them, and do as they please with them ?-T.
Yes.-Mr. B. Then, if I was to take and sell you to
Farmer Sandford, he would have a right to do what he
pleased with you.-No, Sir, said Tommy, somewhat
warmly; hut you would have no right to sell me, nor
he to buy me.-Mr. B. Then it is not a person's being
bought or sold that gives another a right to use him ill;
but one person's having a right to sell another, and the
man who buys having a right to purchase?--T. Yes


Sir.-Mr. B. And what right have the people who sold
the poor negroes to your father, to sell them, or what
right has your father to buy them? Here Tommy
seemed to be a good deal puzzled, but at length he said:
They are brought from a country that is a great way
off, in ships, and so they become slaves. Then, said
Mr. Barlow, if I take you to another country, in a ship,
I shall have a right to sell you ?'-T. No, but you won't,
Sir, because I was born a gentleman.-Mr. B. What
do you mean by that, Tommy ?-Why (said Tommy,
a little confounded), to have a fine house, and fine
clothes, and a coach, and a great deal of money, as my
papa has. Mr. B. Then if you were no longer to have
a fine house, nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money,
somebody that had all these things might make you a
slave, and use you ill, and beat you and insult you,
and do whatever he liked with you ?-T. No, Sir, that
wonld not be right neither, that any body should use me
ill.-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 is using him ill, neither ought
you to make a slave of any one else.-T. Indeed, Sir,
I think not; and for the future I never will use our
black William ill; nor pinch him, nor kick him, as I
used to do.-Mr. B. Then you will be a very good boy.
But let us now continue our story.

This unfortunate man had not lain long quiet in the


cavern, before he heard a dreadful noise, which seemed
to be the roar of some wild beast, and terrified him very
much. He started up with a design to escape, and had
already reached the mouth of the cave, when he saw
coming towards him, a lion of prodigious size, who pre-
vented any possibility of retreat. The unfortunate man
now believed his destruction inevitable; but, to his great
astonishment, the beast advanced towards him with a
gentle pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and
uttered a kind of mournful voice, as if he demanded the
assistance of the man.
Androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposi-
tion, acquired courage, from this circumstance, to
examine his monstrous guest, who gave him sufficient
leisure for that purpose. He saw, as the lion approached
him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs, and
that the foot was extremely swelled, as if it had been
wounded. Acquiring still more fortitude from the gentle
demeanour of the beast, he advanced up to him, and took
hold of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine
a patient. He then perceived that a thorn of uncommon
size had penetrated the ball of the foot, and was the
occasion of the swelling and lameness which he had
observed. Androcles found that the beast, far from re-
senting this familiarity, received it with the greatest
gentleness, and seemed to invite him by his blandish-
ments to proceed. He therefore extracted the thorn,
and, pressing the swelling, discharged a considerable
quantity of matter, which had been the cause of so
much pain and uneasiness.
As soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he


began to testify his joy and gratitude, by every expres-
sion within his power. He jumped about like a wanton
spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the feet
and hands of his physician. Nor was he contented with
these demonstrations of kindness: from this moment
Androcles became his guest: nor did the lion ever sally
forth in quest of prey without bringing home the pro-
duce of his chase, and sharing it with his friend. In
this savage state of hospitality did the man continue to
live during the space of several months; at length,
wandering unguardedly through the woods, he met with
a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and
was by them taken prisoner, and conducted back to his
master. The laws of that country being very severe
against slaves, he was tried, and found guilty of having
fled from his master, and as a punishment for his pre-
tended crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by
a furious lion, kept many days without food, to inspire
him with additional rage.
When the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man
was exposed, unarmed, in the midst of a spacious area,
enclosed on every side, round which many thousand
people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle.
Presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the
spectators with horror; and a monstrous lion rushed
out of a den, which was purposely set open; and
darted forward with erected mane, and flaming eyes, and
jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre. A mournful
silence instantly prevailed! All eyes were directly
turned upon the destined victim, whose destruction now
appeared inevitable. But the pity of the multitude was


soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the
lion, instead of destroying his defenceless prey, crouch
submissively at his feet; fawn upon him as a faithful
dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over him as
a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. The
governor of the town, who was present, then called out
with a loud voice, and ordered Androcles to explain to
them this unintelligible mystery; and how a savage
of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus
in a moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and
be converted into a harmless and inoffensive animal.
Androcles then related to the assembly every circum-
stance of his adventures in the woods, and concluded by
saying, that the very lion which now stood before them,
had been his friend and entertainer in the woods. All
the persons present were astonished and delighted with
the story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable
of being softened by gratitude, and moved by humanity;
and they unanimously joined to entreat for the pardon
of the unhappy man from the governor of the place.-
This was immediately granted to him; and he was also
presented with the lion, who had in this manner twice
saved the life of Androcles.

Upon my word,' said Tommy, this is a very pretty
story : but I never should have thought that a lion could
have grown so tame; I thought that they and tigers, and
wolves, had been so fierce and cruel, that they would
have torn every thing they met to pieces.'
When they are hungry,' said Mr. Barlow, they kill
every animal they meet: but this is to devour it; for


they can only live upon flesh, like dogs and cats, and
many other kinds of animals. When they are not hun-
gry, they seldom meddle with any thing, or do unneces-
sary mischief; therefore they are much less cruel than
many persons that I have seen, and even than many
children, who plague and torment animals, without any
reason whatsoever.'
Indeed, sir,' said Harry, I think so. And I remem-
ber, as I was walking along the road, some days past, I
saw a little naughty boy that used a poor jackass very
ill indeed. The poor animal was so lame, that he could
hardly stir; and yet the boy beat him with a great stick
as violently as he was able, to make him go on faster.'
' And what did you say to him ?' said Mr. Barlow.-
Harry. Why, sir, I told him, how naughty and cruel it
was; and I asked him, how he would like to be beaten
in that manner by somebody that was stronger than
himself?-Mr. B. And what answer did he make you?
H. He said, that it was his daddy's ass, and so that he
had a right to beat it; and that if I said a word more,
he would beat me.-Mr. B. And what answer did you
make: any?-H. I told him, if it was his father's ass,
he should not use it ill; for that we were all God's crea-
tures, and that we should love each other, as He loved
us all; and that as to beating me, if he struck me, I had
a right to strike him again, and would do it, though he
was almost as big again as I was.--Mr. B. And did he
strike you ?-H. Yes, sir. He endeavoured to strike
me upon the head with his stick, but I dodged, and so
it fell upon my shoulder; and he was going to strike me
again, but I darted at him, and knocked him down, and


then he began blubbering, and begged me not to hurt
him.-Mr. B. It is not uncommon for those who are
most cruel, to be at the same time most cowardly : but
what did you?-H. Sir, I told him, I did not want to
hurt him; but that, as he had meddled with me, I would
not let him rise till he had promised 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 sup-
pose the boy looked as foolish, when he was rising, as
Tommy did the other day, when the little ragged boy
that he was going to beat, helped him out of the ditch.'
' Sir,' answered Tommy, a little confused, I should not
have attempted to beat him, only he would not bring me
my ball.'-Mr. B. And what right had you to oblige
him to bring your ball ?- T. Sir, he was a little ragged
boy, and I am a gentleman.-Mr. B. So then, every
gentleman has a right to command little ragged boys?
T. To be sure, sir.-Mr. B. Then if your clothes
should wear out and become ragged, every gentleman
will have a right to command you ?
Tommy looked a little foolish, and said, 'But he
might have done it, as he was on that side of the hedge.'
Mr. B. And so he probably would have done, if you had
asked him civilly to do it; but when persons speak in a
haughty tone, they will find few inclined to serve them.
But, as the boy was poor and ragged, I suppose you
hired him with money to fetch your ball. T. Indeed,
sir, I did not; I neither gave him any thing, nor offered
him any thing. Mr. B. Probably you had nothing to
give him? T. Yes, I had, though; I had all this mo-


ney (pulling out several shillings.)-Mr. B. Perhaps
the boy was as rich as you.-T. No, he was not, sir,
I am sure; for he had no coat, and his waistcoat and
breeches were all tattered and ragged ; besides, he had
no stockings, and his shoes were full of holes.-Mr. B.
So, now I see what constitutes a gentleman. A gentle-
man is one that, when he has abundance of every thing,
keeps it all to himself; beats poor people, if they don't
serve him for nothing; and when they have done him
the greatest favour, in spite of his insolence, never feels
any gratitude, or does them any good in return. I find
that Androcles' lion was no gentleman.'
Tommy was so affected with this rebuke, that he could
hardly contain his tears: and, as he was really a boy
of a generous temper, he determined to give the little
ragged boy something the very first time he should sea
him again. He did not long wait for an opportunity,
for, as he was walking out that very afternoon, he saw
him at some distance gathering blackberries, and, going
up to him, he accosted him thus: Little boy, I want to
know why you are so ragged: have you no other
clothes?' 'No, indeed,' said the boy; 'I have seven
brothers and sisters, and they are all as ragged as myself:
but I should not much mind that, if I could have my
belly full of victuals.'-Tommy. And why cannot you
have your belly full of victuals ?'-Little Boy. Because
daddy's ill of a fever, and can't work this harvest; so
that mammy says we must all starve, if God Almighty
does not take care of us.'
Tommy made no answer, but ran full speed to the
house, whence he presently returned, loaded with a loaf


of bread, and a complete suit of his own clothes. I Here,
little boy,' said he, you were very good-natured to me;
and so I will give you all this, because I am a gentle-
man, 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 the first time at the idea of
doing a generous and grateful action. He strutted away
without waiting for the little boy's acknowledgment,
and, happening to meet Mr. Barlow as he was returning
home, told him, with an air of exultation, what he had
done. Mr. Barlow coolly answered, 'You have done
very well in giving the little boy clothes, because they
are your own but what right have you to give away
my loaf of bread without asking my consent?- Tommy.
Why, sir, I did it because the little boy said he was very
hungry, and had seven brothers and sisters, and that his
father was ill, and could not work.-Mr. B. This is a
very good reason why you should give them what
belongs to yourself, but not why you should give away
what is another's. What would you say, if Harry
were to give away all your clothes, without asking your
leave?-T. I should not like it at all: and I will not
give away your things any more without asking your
leave ? You will do well,' said Mr. Barlow; and
here is a little story you may read upon this very

The Story of Cyrus.

CYRUS was a little boy of very good dispositions, and
a very humane temper. He had several masters, who


endeavoured to teach him every thing that was good;
and he was educated with several little boys about his
own age. One evening, his father asked him what he
had done or learned that day. 'Sir,' said Cyrus, I
was punished to-day for deciding unjustly.' How so,'
said his father. Cyrus. There were two boys, one of
whom was a great, and the other a little boy. Now it
happened that the little boy had a coat that was much
too big for him, but the great boy had' ond that scarcely
reached below his middle, and was too tight for him in
every part; upon which the great boy proposed to the
little boy to change coats with him, because then,' said
he, we shall be both exactly fitted; for your coat is as
much too big for you, as mine is too little for me.' The
little boy would not consent to the proposal, on which
the great hoy took his coat away by force, and gave his
own to the little boy in exchange. While they were
disputing upon this subject, I chanced to pass by, and
they agreed to make me judge of the affair. But I de-
cided that the little boy should keep the little coat, and
the great boy the great one; for which judgment my
master punished me.
I 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 de-
cided unjustly, and deserved to be punished.'
Just as the story was finished, they were surprised


to see a little ragged boy come running up to them,
with a bundle of clothes under his arm. His eyes were
black, as if he had been severely beaten, his nose was
swelled, his shirt was bloody, and his waistcoat did but
just hang upon his back, so much was it torn. He
came running up to Tommy, and threw down the
bundle before him, saying, 'Here, master, take your
clothes again; and I wish that they had been at the
bottom of the ditch I pulled you out of, instead of upon
my back : but I never will put such frippery on again,
as long as I have breath in my body.'
'What is the matter?' said Mr. Barlow; who per.
ceived that some unfortunate accident had happened in
consequence of Tommy's present.
Sir,' answered the little boy, my little master here
was going to beat me, because I would not fetch his ball.
Now, as to the matter of that, I would have brought his
ball with all my heart, if he had but asked me civilly.
But though I am poor, I am not bound to be his slave,
as they say black William is; and so I would not;
upon which little master here was jumping over the hedge
to lick me : but, instead of that, he soused into the ditch,
and there he lay rolling about till 1 helped him out; and
so he gave me these clothes here, all out of good will;
and I put them on, like a fool as I was; for they are
all made of silk, and look so fine, that all the little boys
followed me, and hallooed as I went; and Jack Dowset
threw a handful of dirt at me, and dirtied me all over.
,' Oh !" says I, "Jacky, are you at that work ?"-and
with that I hit him a good thump, and sent him roaring
away. But Billy Gibson and Ned Kelly came up, and


said I looked like a Frenchman; and so we began fight-
ing, and I beat them till they both gave out; but I
don't choose to be hallooed after wherever I go, and to
look like a Frenchman: and so I have brought master
his clothes again.'
Mr. Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived;
and he told him that his father lived about two miles off,
across the common, and at the end of Runny Lane; on
which Mr. Barlow told Harry that he ivould send the
poor man some broth and victuals, if he would carry
it when it was ready. That I will,' said Harry, 'if it
were five times as far.' So Mr. Barlow went into the
house to give orders about it.
Jn the mean time Tommy, who had eyed the little
boy for some time in silence, said, So, my poor boy,
you have been beaten and hurt till you are all over
bloody, only because I gave you my clothes. I am
really very sorry for it.' Thank you, little master,'
said the boy, but it can't be helped ; you did not intend
me any hurt, I know, and I am not such a chicken as
to mind a beating: so I wish you a good afternoon with
all my heart.'
As soon as the little boy was gone, Tommy said, I
wish I had but some clothes that the poor boy could
wear, for he seems very good natured; I would give
them to him,'-' That you may very easily have,' said
Harry; for there is a shop in the village hard by,
where they sell all manner of clothes for the poor people
and as you have money, you may easily buy some.'
Harry and Tommy then agreed to go early the next
morning to buy some clothes for the poor children.


They accordingly set out before breakfast, and had pro.
ceeded nearly half way, when they heard the noise of a
pack of hounds that seemed to be running full cry at
some distance. Tommy then asked Harry if he knew
what they were about. 'Yes,' said Harry, 'I know
well enough what they are about; it is squire Chase
and his dogs worrying a poor hare. But I wonder they
are not ashamed to meddle with such a poor inoffensive
creature, that cannot defend itself: if they have a mind
to hunt, why don't they hunt lions, and tigers, and such
fierce mischievous creatures, as I have read they do in
other countries ?' Oh dear,' said Tommy, how is
that? it must surely be very dangerous.'-' Why, you
know, said Harry, the men are accustomed in some
places to go almost naked; and that makes them so
prodigiously nimble, that they can run like a deer; and,
when a lion or tiger comes into their neighbourhood,
and devours their sheep or oxen, they go out six and
seven together, armed with javelins ; and they run over
all the woods, and examine every place till they have
found him; and they make a noise to provoke him to
attack them: then he begins roaring and foaming, and
beating his sides with his tail, till, in a violent fury, he
springs,at the man that is nearest to him.'-' Oh dear,'
said Tommy, he must certainly be torn to pieces.'-
'No such thing,' answered Harry ; he jumps like a
greyhound out of the way, while the next man throws
his javelin at the lion, and perhaps wounds him in the
side: this enrages him still more; he springs again,
like lightning, upon the man that wounded him, but this
man avoids him like the other, and at last the poor


beast drops down dead, with the number of wounds he
has received.'-' Oh,' said Tommy, it must he a very
strange sight; I should like to see it out of a window,
where I was safe.'-' So should not I,' answered Harry ;
' for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal
tortured and killed ; but they are obliged to do it in their
own defence. But these poor hares do no body any
harm, excepting the farmers, by eating a little of their
corn sometimes.'
As they were talking in this manner, Harry, casting
his eyes on one side, said, As I am alive, there is the
poor hare skulking along I hope they will not be able
to find her: and, if they ask me, I will never tell them
which way she is gone.'
Presently, up came the dogs, who had now lost all
scent of their game, and a gentleman mounted upon a
fine horse, who asked Harry, if he had seen the hare ?
Harry made no answer; but, upon the gentleman's re-
peating the question in a louder tone of voice, he an-
swered that he had. 'And which way is she gone?'
said the gentleman. 'Sir, I don't choose to tell you,'
answered Harry, after some hesitation. Not choose !'
said the gentleman, leaping off his horse,' but I'll make
you choose in an instant;' and coming up to Harry,
who never moved from the place where he had been
standing, began to lash him in a most unmerciful man-
ner with his whip, continually repeating. 'Now, you
little rascal, do you choose to tell me now?' To which
Harry made no other answer than this: 'If I would
not tell you before, I won't now, though you should
kill me.'


But this fortitude of Harry, and the tears of Tommy,
who cried in the bitterest manner to see the distress of
his friend, made no impression on this barbarian, who
continued his brutality till another gentleman rode up
full speed, and said, 'For God's sake, squire, what are
you about? You will kill the child, if you do not take
care.'-' And the little dog deserves it,' said the other;
'he has seen the hare, and will not tell me which way
she is gone.' Take care,' replied the gentleman, in a
low voice, you don't involve yourself in a disagreeable
affair; I know the other to be the son of a gentleman
of great fortune in the neighbourhood :' and then, turning
to Harry, he said, Why, my dear, would you not tell
the gentleman which way the hare had gene, if you saw
her?' 'Because,' answered Harry, as soon as he had
recovered breath enough to speak, 'I don't choose to
betray the unfortunate.' This boy,' said the gentleman,
' is a prodigy ; and it is a happy thing for you, Squire,
that his age is not equal to his spirit. But you are al-
ways passionate-.' At this moment the hounds reco-
vered the scent, and bursting into a full cry, the Squire
mounted his horse, and galloped away, attended by all
his companions.
When they were gone, Tommy came up to Harry in
the most affectionate manner, and asked him how he
did ?-' A little sore,' said Harry; 'but that does not
signify.'-Tommy. I wish I had had a pistol or a
sword !-Harry. Why, what would you have done with
it?-T. I would have killed that good-for-nothing man
who treated you so cruelly.-H. That would have been
wrong, Tommy; for I am sure he did not want to kill me.


Indeed, if I had been a man, he should not have used
me so; but it is all over now, and we ought to forgive
our enemies, as Mr. Barlow tells us Christ did; and then
perhaps they may come to love us, and be sorry for
what they have done.- T. But how could you bear to
be so severely whipped, without crying out ?-H. Why,
crying out would have done me no good at all, would
it? and this is nothing to what many little boys have
suffered without ever flinching, or bemoaning themselves.
T. Well, I should have thought a great deal.-H. Oh!
it's nothing to what the young Spartans used to suffer.-
T. Who are they --H. Why, you must know they were
a very brave set of people, that lived a great while ago:
and, as they were but few in number, and were sur-
rounded by a great many enemies, they used to endea-
vour to make their little boys very brave and hardy;
and these little boys used to be always running about,
half naked, in the open air, and wrestling and jumping,
and exercising themselves; and then had very coarse
food, and hard beds to lie upon, and were never pam-
pered and indulged: and all this made them so strong
and hardy, and brave, that the like was never seen.-
T. What, and had they no coaches to ride in, nor sweet-
meats, nor wine, nor any body to wait upon them?-
H. Oh! dear, no; their fathers thought that would spoil
them, and so they all fared alike, and ate together in
great rooms ; and there they were taught to behave or-
derly and decently; and, when dinner was over, they
all went to play together; and, if they committed any
faults, they were severely whipped; but they never
minded it, and scorned to cry out, or make a wry face.


As they were conversing in this manner, they ap-
proached the village, where Tommy laid out all his
money, amounting to fifteen shillings and sixpence, in
buying some clothes for the little ragged boy and his
brothers, which were made up in a bundle and given to
him; but he desired Harry to carry them for him. That
I will,' said Harry; but why don't you choose to carry
them yourself'- Tommy. Why, it is not fit for a gen-
tleman to carry things himself.-Harry. Why, what
hurt does it do him, if he is but strong enough ?- T. I
do not know; but I believe it is that he may not look
like the common people.-H. Then he should not have
hands, or feet, or eyes, or ears, or mouth, because the
common people have the same. T. No, no; he must
have all these, because they are useful.-H. And is it
not useful to be able to do things for ourselves ?- T.
yes; but gentlemen have others to do what they want
for them.-H. Then I should think it must be a bad
thing to be a gentleman.- T. Why so ?-H. Because,
if all were gentlemen, nobody would do any thing, and
then we should be all starved.-T. Starved !-H. Yes,
Why you could not live, could you, without bread?
T. No, I know that very well.-H. And bread is made
of a plant that grows in the earth, and is called wheat.
T. Why, then, I would gather it and eat it.-H. Then
you must do something for yourself: but that would not
do, for wheat is a small hard grain, like the oats which
you have sometimes given to Mr. Barlow's horse; and
you would not like to eat them.-T. No, certainly; but
how comes bread then ?-H. Why, they send the corn
to the mill.--T. What is a mill ?-H. What, did you


never see a mill?-T. No, never; but I should like to
see one, that I may know how they make bread.-H.
There is one at a little distance; and if you ask Mr.
Barlow, he will go with you, for he knows the miller
very well.- T. That I will, for I should like to see them
make bread.'
As they were conversing in this manner, they heard
a great outcry, and turning their heads, saw a horse
that was galloping violently along, and dragging his
rider along with him, who had fallen off, and, in falling,
hitched his foot in the stirrup. Luckily for the person,
it happened to be wet ground, and the side of a hill,
which prevented the horse from going very fast, and
the rider from being much hurt. But Harry, who was
always prepared to do an act of humanity, even with
the danger of his life, and besides that, was a boy of
extraordinary courage and agility, ran up towards a
gap which he saw the horse approaching, and just as he
made a little pause before vaulting over, caught him by
the bridle, and effectually stopped him from proceeding.
In an instant another gentleman came up with two or
three servants who alighted from their horses, disen-
gaged the fallen person, and set him upon his legs. He
stared wildly around him for some time: as he was not
materially hurt he soon recovered his senses, and the first
use he made of them was to swear at his horse, and to
ask who had stopped the confounded jade. Who ?" said
his friend, why the very little boy you used so scan-
dalously this morning: had it not been for his dexterity
and courage, that numbscull of yours would have had
more flaws in it than it ever had before."


The Squire considered Harry with a countenance in
which shame and humiliation seemed yet to struggle
with his natural insolence; but at length, putting his
hand into his pocket, he pulled out a guinea, which he
offered to Harry, telling him at the same time he was
very sorry for what had happened : but Harry, with a
look of more contempt than he had ever been seen to
assume before, rejected the present, and taking up the
bundle which he had dropped, at the time he had seized
the Squire's horse, walked away accompanied by his
As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call
at the poor man's cottage, whom they found much better,
as Mr. Barlow had been there the preceding night, and
given him such medicines as he judged proper for his
disease. Tommy then asked for the little.boy, and, on
his coming in, told him that he had now brought him
some clothes which he might wear without fear of being
called a Frenchman, as well as some more for his little
brothers. The pleasure with which they were received
was so great and the acknowledgments and blessings of
the good woman and the poor man who had just begun
to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy could not
help shedding tears of compassion, in which he was
joined by Harry. As they were returning, Tommy
said that he had never spent any money, with so much
pleasure, as that with which he had purchased clothes
for this poor family; and that for the future, he would
take care of all the money that was given him, for that
purpose, instead of laying it out in eatables and play-


Some days after this, as Mr. Barlow and the two boys
were walking out together, they happened to pass near
a windmill; and, on Harry's telling Tommy what it
was, Tommy desired leave to go into it, and look at it.
Mr. Barlow consented to this, and, being acquainted with
the miller, they all went in, and examined every part
of it with great curiosity: and there little Tommy saw
with astonishment, that the sails of the mill, being con-
stantly turned round by the wind, moved -a great flat
stone, which, by rubbing upon another stone, bruised all
the corn that was put between them, till it became a fine
powder. Oh dear !" said Tommy, is this the way
they make bread ?" Mr. Barlow told him this was the
method by which the corn was prepared for making
bread; but that many other things were necessary, be-
fore it arrived at that state :-" you see that what runs
from these millstones is only a fine powder, very differ-
ent from bread, which is a solid and tolerably hard sub-
As they were going home, Harry said to Tommy,
"So you see now, if nobody chose to work, or do any
thing for himself, we should have no bread to eat: but
you could not even have the corn to make it of without
a great deal of pains and labour." Tommy.-Why not 1
does not corn grow in the ground of itself ? Harry-Corn
grows in the ground: but then first it is necessary to
plough the ground, to break it to pieces. T.-What is
ploughing ? .--Did you never see three or four horses
drawing something along the fields in a straight line,
while one man drove, and another walked behind, hold-
ing the thing by two handles? T.-Yes, I have; and


is that ploughing? H.--It is: and there is a sharp iron
underneath, which runs into the ground, and turns it
up, all the way it goes. T.-Well, and what then?
H.-When the ground is thus prepared, they sow the
seed all over it, and then they rake it over to cover the
seed; and then the seed begins to grow, and shoots up
very high ; and at last the corn ripens, and they reap it
and carry it home. T.-I protest it must be very curi-
ous, and I should like to sow some seed myself, and see
it grow; do you think I could ? II.-Yes certainly,
and if you will dig the ground to-morrow, I will go
home to my father, in order to procure some seed
for you.
The next morning Tommy was up almost as soon as
it was light, and went to work in a corner of the garden,
where he dug with great perseverance till breakfast:
when he came in, he could not help telling Mr. Barlow
what he had done, and asking him, whether he was not
a very good boy, for working so hard to raise corn '
' That,' said Mr. Barlow, 'depends upon the use you
intend to make of it, when you have raised it: what is it
you intend doing with it?' Why, sir,' said Tommy,
' I intend to send it to the mill that we saw and have it
ground into flour; and then I will get you to show me
how to make bread of it; and then I will eat it, that I
may tell my father that I have eaten bread out of corn
of my own sowing.' 'That will be very well done,'
said Mr. Barlow, but where will be the great goodness
that you sow corn for your own eating? That is no
more than all the people round continually do; and if
they did not do it, they would be obliged to fast.' But


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

The Two Brothers.

ABOUT the time that many people went over to South
America, with the hopes of finding gold and silver,


there was a Spaniard, whose name was Pizarro, who
had a great inclination to try his fortune like the rest:
but as he had an elder brother for whom he had a very
great affection, he went to him, told him his design,
and solicited him very much to go along with him,
that he should have an equal share of all the riches they
found. The brother, whose name was Alonzo, was a
man of a contented temper, and a good understanding;
he did not therefore much approve of the project, and
endeavoured to dissuade Pizarro from it, by setting before
him the danger to which he exposed himself, and the
uncertainty of his succeeding; but finding, all that he
said was vain, he agreed to go with him, but told him
at the same time, that he wanted no part of the riches
which he might find, and would ask no other favour
than to have his baggage ana a few servants taken on
board the vessel with him. Pizarro then sold all that he
had, bought a vessel, and embarked with several other
adventurers, who had all great expectations like himself,
of soon becoming rich. As to Alonzo, he took nothing
with him but a few ploughs, harrows, and other tools, and
some corn, together with a large quantity of potatoes, and
some seeds of different vegetables. Pizarro thought this a
very odd preparation for a voyage ; but as he did not think
proper to expostulate with his brother, he said nothing.
After sailing some time with prosperous winds, they
put into the last port where they were to stop, before
they came to the country where they were to search
for gold. Here Pizarro bought a great number more
of pickaxes, shovels, and various other tools for dig-


going, melting, and refining the gold he expected to find,
besides hiring an additional number of labourers to as-
sist him in the work. Alonzo, on the contrary, bought
only a few sheep, and four stout oxen, with their har-
ness, and food enough to subsist them till they should
arrive at land.
As it happened, they met with a favourable voyage;
and all landed in perfect health in America. Alonzo
then told his brother, that as he had only come to ac-
company and, serve him, he would stay near the shore
with his servants fand cattle, while he went to search
for gold; and, when he had acquired as much as he de-
sired, should be always ready to embark for Spain
with him.
Pizarro accordingly set out, not without feeling so
great a contempt for his brother, that he could not help
expressing it to his companions. I always thought,'
said he, that my brother had been a man of sense;
he bore that character in Spain, but I find people were
strangely mistaken in him. Here he is going to divert
himself with his sheep and his oxen, as if he was living
quietly upon his farm at home, and had nothing else to
do than to raise cucumbers and melons. But we know
better vhat to do with our time: so come along, my
lads, and if we have but good luck, we shall soon
be enriched for the rest of our lives.' All that were
present applauded Pizarro's speech, and declared them-
selves ready to follow wherever he went; only one old
Spaniard shook his head as he went, and told him he
doubted whether ie would find his brother so great a
fool as he thought.


They then travelled on several days' march into the
country, sometimes obliged to cross rivers, at others to
pass mountains and forests, where they could find no
paths; sometimes scorched by the violent heat of the
sun and then wetted to the skin by violent showers of
rain. These difficulties, however, did not discourage
them so much as to hinder them from trying in several
places for gold, which they were at length lucky enough
to find in a considerable quantity. This success ani-
mated them very much, and they continued working
upon that spot till all their provisions were consumed;
they gathered daily large quantities of ore, but then
they suffered very much from hunger. Still, however,
they persevered in their labours, and sustained them-
selves with such roots and berries as they could
find. At last even this resource failed them; and,
afler 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 in-
dustriously toiling to a very different purpose. His
skill in husbandry had easily enabled him to find a spot
of considerable extent and very fertile soil, which he
ploughed up with the oxen he had brought with him, and
the assistance of his servants. He then sowed the
different seeds he had brought, and planted the potatoes,
which prospered beyond what he could have expected,
and yielded him a most abundant harvest. His sheep


he had turned out in a very fine meadow near the sea,
and every one of them had brought him a couple of
lambs. Besides that, he and his servants, at leisure
times, employed themselves in fishing; and the fish
they had caught were all dried and salted with salt
they had found upon the sea-shore; so that by the time
of Pizarro's return, they had laid up a very considera-
ble quantity of provisions.
When Pizarro returned, his brother received him with
the greatest cordiality, and asked him what success he
had had ? Pizarro told him that they had found an im-
mense quantity of gold; but that several of his com.
panions had perished, and that the rest were almost
starved from the want of provisions : he then requested
that his brother would immediately give him something
to eat, as he assured him he had tasted no food for the
last two days, excepting the roots and bark of trees.
Alonzo then very coolly answered that he should re-
member that when they set out they had made an agree-
ment that neither should interfere with the other; that
he had never desired to have any share of the gold which
Pizarro might acquire, and therefore he wondered that
Pizarro should expect to be supplied with the provisions
that he had procured w:th so much care and labour:-
' But,' added he, 'if you choose to exchange some of
the gold you have found for provisions, I shall perhaps
be able to accommodate you.'
Pizarro thought this behaviour very unkind in his
brother: but as he and his companions were almost
starved, they were obliged to comply with his demands,
which were so exorbitant that in a very short time they


parted with all the gold they had brought with them,
merely to purchase food. Alonzo then proposed to his
brother to embark for Spain in the vessel which had
brought them thither, as the winds and weather seemed
to be most favorable; but Pizarro with an angry look,
told him, that since he had deprived him of every thing
he had gained, and treated him in so unfriendly a man-
ner, he should go without him; for as to himself, he
would rather perish upon that desert shore than embark
with so inhuman a brother.
But Alonzo, instead of resenting these reproaches,
embraced his brother with the greatest tenderness, and
spoke to him in the following manner; Could you
then believe, my dearest Pizarro, that I really meant
to deprive you of the fruits of all your labors, which you
have acquired with so much toil and danger? Rather
may all the gold in the universe perish, than I should
be capable of such behaviour to my dearest brother!
But I saw the rash, impetuous desire you had of riches,
and wished to correct this fault in you, and serve you
at the same time. You despised my prudence and in-
dustry, and imagined that nothing could be wanting to
him that had once acquired wealth: but you have now
learned, that without that foresight and industry, all the
gold you have brought with you would not have pre-
vented you from perishing miserably. You are now, I
hope, wiser : and therefore take back your riches, which
I hope you have now learned to make a proper use of.'
Pizarro was equally filled with gratitude and astonish-
ment at this generosity of his brother, and he acknowl-
edged, from experience, that industry was better than

gold. They then embarked for Spain, where they all
safely arrived. During the voyage, Pizarro often soli-
cited his brother to accept of half his riches, which
Alonzo constantly refused, telling him that he that 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 uninhabited country.
This could never have happened in England; there
they could always have had as much corn or bread 'as
they chose for their money.' But, said Mr. Barlow,
is a man sure to be always in England, or some place
where he can purchase bread ?' Tommy. I believe so,
sir. Mr. B. Why, are there not countries in the world
where there are no inhabitants, and where no corn is
raised? T. Certainly, sir ; this country which the two
brothers went to was such a place. Mr. B. And there
are many other such countries in the world. T. But
then a man need not go to them; he may stay at home.
Mr. B. Then he must not pass the seas in a ship. T.
Why so, sir 7 Mr. B. Because the ship may happen
to be wrecked upon some such country where there are
no inhabitants; and then, although he should escape
the danger of the sea, what will he do for food? T.
And have such accidents sometimes happened ? Mr. B.
Yes, several: there was, in particular, one Selkirk, who
was shipwrecked, and obliged to live several years upon
a desert island. T. That was very extraordinary indeed;


and how did he get victuals? Mr. B. He sometimes
procured roots ; sometimes fruits; he also at last became
so active, that he was able to pursue and catch wild
goats, with which the island abounded. T. And did
not such a hard, disagreeable way of life kill him at last ?
Mr. B. By no means: he never enjoyed better health in
his life; and you have heard that he became so active
as to be able to overtake the very wild beasts. But a still
more extraordinary story is that of some Russians, who
were left on the coast of Spitzbergen, where they were
obliged to stay several years. T. Where is Spitzbergen,
sir? Mr. B. It is a country very far to the north,
which is constantly covered with snow and ice, because
the weather is unremittingly severe. Scarcely any
vegetables will grow upon the soil, and scarcely any
animals are found in the country. To add to this, a
great part of the year it is covered with perpetual dark-
ness, and is inaccessible to ships : so that it is impossi-
ble to conceive a more dreary country, or where it must
be more difficult to support human life. Yet four men
were capable of struggling with all these difficulties
during several years, and three of them returned at last
safe to their own country. T. This must be a very curious
story indeed; I would give any thing to be able to see
it. Mr. B. That you may very easily. When I read
it, I copied off several parts of it, I thought it so curious
and interesting, which I can easily find, and will show
you. Here it is; but it is necessary first to inform you,
that those northern seas, from the intense cold of the
climate, are so full of ice, as frequently to render it ex-
tremely dangerous to ships, lest they should be crushed

between two pieces of immense size, or so completely
surrounded, as not to be able to extricate themselves.
Having given you this previous information, you will
easily understand the distressful situation of a Russian
ship, which, as it was sailing on those seas, was on a
sudden so surrounded by ice, as not to be able to move.
My extracts begin here, and you may read them.

Extracts from a Narrative of the extraordinary Adven.
tures 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 Hinkof, informed them, that he recollected to
have heard, that some of the people of Mesen, some time
before, having formed a resolution of wintering upon
this island, had carried from that city timber proper for
building a hut, and had actually erected one at some dis-
tance from the shore. This information induced the
whole company to resolve on wintering there, if the hut,
as they hoped, still existed ; for they clearly perceived
the imminent danger they were in, and that they must
inevitably perish, if they continued in the ship. They
despatched, therefore, four of their crew in search of the
hut, or any other succour they could meet with. These
were Alexis Hinkof, the mate, Iwan Hinkof, his godson,
Stephen Scharassof, and Feodor Weregin.
As the shore on which they were to land was unin-
habited, it was necessary that they should make some
provision for their expedition. They had almost two


miles to travel over those ridges of ice, which being
raised by the waves, and driven against each other by
the wind, rendered the way equally difficult and danger-
ous; prudence, therefore, forbade their loading them-
selves too much, lest, by being overburthened, they
might sink in between the pieces-of ice, and perish.-
Having thus maturely considered the nature of their un-
dertaking, they provided themselves with a musket and
powder-horn, containing twelve charges of powder, with
as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about
twenty pounds of flour, a knife, a tinder-box and tinder,
a bladder filled with tobacco, and every man his wooden
'Thus accoutred, these four sailors quickly arrived
on the island, little expecting the misfortunes that would
befall them. They began with exploring the country,
and soon discovered the hut they were in search of,
about an English mile and a half from the shore. It was
thirty-six feet in length, eighteen feet in height, and as
many in breadth; it contained a small antichamber,
about twelve feet broad, which had two doors, the one
to shut it up from the outer air, the other to form a com-
munication with the inner room: this contributed greatly to
keep the large room warm when once heated. In the large
room was an earthen stove, constructed in the Russian
manner; that a kind of oven without a chimney,
which served occasionally either for baking, for heating
the room, or, as is customary among the Russian pea-
sants in very cold weather, for a place to sleep upon.-
Our adventurers rejoiced greatly at having discovered
the hut, which had, however, suffered much from the


weather, it having now been built a considerable time:
they, however contrived to pass the night in it.
'Early next morning they hastened to the shore, im-
patient to inform their comrades of their success, and
also to procure from their vessel such provision, ammu-
nition, and other necessaries, as might better enable
them to winter on the island. I leave my readers to
figure to themselves the astonishment and agony of mind
these poor people must have felt, when, on reaching the
place of their landing, they saw nothing but an open sea,
free from the ice, which but a day before had covered
the ocean. A violent storm, which had risen during the
night, had certainly been the cause of this disastrous
event; but they could not tell whether the ice, which had
before hemmed in the vessel, agitated by the violence of
the waves, had been driven against her, and shattered
her to pieces; or, whether she had been carried by the
current into the main, a circumstance which frequently
happens in those seas. Whatever accident had befallen
the ship, they saw her no more: and, as no tidings were
ever afterward received of her, it is most probable that
she sunk, and that all on board of her perished.
SThis melancholy event depriving the unhappy
wretches of all hope of ever being able to quit the
island, they returned to the hut, whence they had come,
full of horror and despair.'-

Oh ? dear,' cried Tommy, at this passage, what a
dreadful situation these poor people must have been in.
To be in such a cold country, covered with snow and
frozen with ice, without any body to help them, or give


them victuals: I should think they must all have died.'
'That you will soon see,' said Mr. Darlow, 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 dan-
ger and hardships, and to work for their living; do you
think it would have been better for them to have been
bred up gentlemen, that is, to do nothing, but to have
other people wait upon them in every thing?' Why,
to be sure,' answered Tommy, it was much better for
them that they had been used to work, for that might
enable them to contrive and do something to assist them-
selves, for, without doing a great deal, they must cer-
tainly all have perished.'-

Their first attention was employed, as may easily be
imagined, in devising means of providing subsistence,
and for repairing their hut. The twelve charges of
powder which they had brought with them, soon pro-
cured them as many rein-deer, the island, fortunately
for them, abounding in these animals. I have before ob-
served, that the hut, which the sailors were so fortunate
as to find, had sustained some damage, and it was this:
there were cracks in many places between the boards
of the building, which freely admitted the air. This
inconvenience was, however, easily remedied as they
had an axe, and the beams were still sound (for wood in
those cold climates continues through a length of years
unimpaired by worms or decay), so it was easy for them
to make the boards loin again very tolerably; besides,
moss growing in great abundance all over the island,


there was more than sufficient to stop up the crevices,
which wooden houses must always be liable to. Repairs
of this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they
were Russians: for all Russian peasants are known to
be good carpenters; they build their own houses, and
are very expert in handling the axe. The intense cold
which makes these climates habitable to so few species of
animals, renders them equally unfit for the production
of vegetables. No species of tree or even shrub is found
in any of the islands of Spitzbergen; a circumstance of
the most alarming nature to our sailors.
Without fire it was impossible to resist the rigor of
the climate, and without wood, how was the fire to be
produced or supported? However, in wandering along
the beach, they collected plenty of wood which had been
driven ashore by the waves, and which at first consisted
of the wrecks of ships, and afterward of whole trees with
their roots, the produce of some more hospitable (but to
them unknown) climate which the overflowing of rivers,
or other accidents, had sent into the ocean. Nothing
proved of more essential service to these unfortunate men,
during the first year of their exile, than some boards
they found upon the beach, having a long iron hook,
some nails of about five or six inches long, and propor-
tionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed in them,
the melancholy relics of some vessel, cast away in those
remote parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves,
at the time when the want of powder gave our men rea-
son to apprehend that they must fall a prey to hunger,
as they had nearly consumed those rein deer they had
killed. This lucky circumstance was attended with


another equally fortunate; they found on the shore the
root of a fir tree, which nearly approached to the figure
of a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of
invention, so they soon fashioned this root to a good
bow by the help of a knife; but still they wanted a string
and arrows. Not knowing how to procure these, at
present, they resolved upon making a couple of lances,
to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the
most ferocious of their kind, whose attacks they had
great reason to dread. Finding they could neither make
the heads of their lances, nor of their arrows without the
help of a hammer, they contrived to form the above-
mentioned large iron hook into one, by beating it, and
widening a hole it happened to have about its middle,
with the help of one of their largest nails; this received
the handle, and a round button at one end of the hook
served for the face of the hammer. A large pebble sup-
plied the place of an anvil, and a couple of rein-deer's
horns made the tongs. By the means of such tools they
made two heads of spears, and, after polishing and
sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast as
possible, with thongs made of reindeer's skins, to sticks
about the thickness of a man's arms, which they got
from some branches of trees that had been cast on shore.
Thus equipped with spears, they resolved to attack a
white bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, they
killed the formidable creature, and thereby made a new
supply of provisions. The flesh of this animal they
relished exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled
beef in taste and flavour. The tendons, they saw with
much pleasure, could, with little or no trouble, be divided


into filaments of what fineness they thought fit. This,
perhaps, was the most fortunate discovery these men
could have made, for, besides other advantages, which
will be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished
with strings for their bow.
The success of our unfortunate islanders in making
the spears, and the use these proved of, encouraged
them to proceed, and forge some pieces of iron into
heads of arrows of the same shape, though somewhat
smaller in size than the spears above-mentioned. Hav-
ing ground and sharpened these like the former, they tied
them with the sinews of the white bears to pieces of fir,
to which, by the help of fine threads of the same, they
fastened feathers of sea-fowl, and thus became possessed
of a complete bow and arrows. Their ingenuity in this
respect was crowned with success far beyond their ex-
pectation, for, during the time of their continuance upon
the island, with these arrows they killed no less than
two hundred and fifty reindeer, besides a great number
of blue and white foxes. The flesh of these animals
served them also for food, and their skins for clothing,
and other necessary preservatives against the intense
coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed,
however, not more than ten white bears in all, and that
not without the utmost danger, for these animals, being
prodigiously strong, defended themselves with astonishing
vigour and fury. The first our men attacked de-
signedly; the other nine they slew in defending them-
selves from their assaults, for some of these creatures
even ventured to enter the outer room of the hut, in
order to devour them. It is true that all the bears did not


show (if I may be allowed the expression) equal intre-
pidity, either owing to some being less pressed by hunger,
or to their being by nature less carnivorous than the
others; for some of them which entered the hut, immedi-
ately betook themselves to flight, on the first attempt of the
sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of
these ferocious attacks threw the poor men into great
terror and anxiety, as they were in almost a perpetual
danger of being devoured.'

SSure,' exclaimed Tommy,' such a life as that must
have been miserable and dreadful indeed.-' Why so ?
said Mr. Barlow.- Tommy. Because, being always in
danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those men
must have been always unhappy.-Mr. B. And yet
they never were devoured.-T. No, sir; because they
made weapons to defend themselves.--Mr. B. Perhaps,
then, a person is not unhappy merely because he is ex-
posed to danger, for he may escape from it, but because
he does not know how to defend himself.-T. I do not
exactly understand you, sir.-Mr-. B. I will give you an
instance. Were you not very unhappy when the snake
coiled itself round your leg, because you imagined it
would bite you. T. Yes, sir.-Mr. B. But Harry was
not unhappy.- T. That is very true, sir.-A r. B. And
yet he was more in danger of being bitten than yourself,
because he took hold of it.-T. Indeed he did.-Mr. B.
But he knew that by boldly seizing it, and flinging
away, he was in very little danger: had you, therefore,
known the same, you probably would neither have feared
so much, nor ha\e 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 sam .-Mr. B. Should you then be as unhappy
now as yoN were the first time?--T. By no means,
because I have a great deal more courage.-Mir. B.
Why, then, persons that have courage are not so un-
happy as those that are cowardly, when they are exposed
to danger. T. Certainly not, sir.-Mr. B. And that
must be equally true in every kind of danger ?- T. In-
deed it must; for I have sometimes heard my mother
shriek out when she was passing in a coach through a
small stream of water, while my father only laughed
at her.-Mr. B. Why, then, if she had possessed as
much courage, perhaps she would have laughed too.- T.
Indeed, I believe she might; for I have sometimes seen
her laugh at herself, when it was over, for being so
cowardly.-Mr. B. Why, then, it is possible that when
these men found they were so well able to defend them-
selves against the bears, they might no longer be afraid
of them; and not being afraid, they would not be un-
happy.-T. Indeed, I believe so.-Mr. B. Let us now
'The three different kinds of animals above men-
tioned, viz. the rein-deer, the blue and white foxes, and
the white bears, were the only food these wretched
mariners tasted during their continuance in this dreary
abode. We do not at once see every resource; it is
generally necessity which quickens our invention,
opening by degrees our eyes, and pointing out expe-
dients which otherwise might never have occurred to
our thoughts. The truth of this observation our four


sailors experienced in various instances. They were
for some time reduced to the necessity of eating their
meat almost raw, and without either bread or salt, for
they were quite destitute of both. The intenseness of
the cold, together with the want of proper conveniences,
prevented them from cooking their victuals in a proper
manner. There was but one stove in the hut,
and that being set up agreeably to the Russian taste,
was more like an oven, and consequently not well adap-
ted for boiling any thing. Wood, also, was too precious
a commodity to be wasted in keeping up two fires ; and
the one they might have made out of their habitation,
to dress their victuals, would in no way have served to
warm them. Another reason against their cooking in
the open air was, the continual danger of an attack
from the white bears. And here I must observe that,
suppose they had made the attempt, it would still have
been practicable for only some part of the year; for
the cold, which, in such a climate, for some months
scarcely ever abates, from the long absence of the sun
then enlightening the opposite hemisphere; the incon-
ceivable quantity of snow, which is continually falling
through the greatest part of the winter, together with
the almost incessant rains at certain seasons ; all these
were almost insurmountable to that expedient. To
remedy, therefore in some degree, the hardship of eat-
ing their meat half raw, they bethought themselves of
drying some of their provisions, during the summer in
the open air, and afterwards of hanging it up in the
upper part of the hut, which as I mentioned before, was
continually filled with smoke down to the windows: it


was thus died thoroughly by the help of that smoke.
This meat so prepared, they used for bread, and it
made them relish their other flesh the better, as they
could only half dres, Finding this experiment an-
swer in every respect to their wishes, they continued to
practice it during the whole time of their confinement
upon the island, and always kept up, by that means, a
sufficient stock of provisions. Water they had in
summer from small rivulets that fell from the rocks
and in winter from the snow and ice thawed. This
was, of course their only beverage; and their small
kettle was the only vessel they could make use of for
this and other purposes. I have mentioned above,
that our sailors brought a small bag of flour with them,
to the island. Of this they had consumed about one-
half with their meat; the remainder they employed
in a different manner, equally useful. They soon saw
the necessity of keeping up a continual fire in so cold
a climate, and found that, if it should unfortunately go
out, they had no means of lighting it again; for though
they had a steel and flints, yet they wanted both match
and tinder. In their excursions through the island they
had met with a slimy loam, or a kind of clay, nearly
in the middle of it. Out of this they found means to
form a utensil which might serve for a lamp, and
they proposed to keep it constantly burning with the
fat of the animals they should kill. This was certainly
the most rational scheme they could have thought of;
for to be without a light in a climate where, during
winter, darkness reigns for several months together,
would have added much to their other calamities:'-

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