Moral tales for young people


Material Information

Moral tales for young people
Physical Description:
vii, 408 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 19 cm.
Edgeworth, Maria, 1767-1849 ( Author, Primary )
Fraser, Francis Arthur
George Routledge and Sons ( Publisher )
George Routledge and Sons
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:
New ed.


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Moral tales -- 1895   ( local )
Baldwin -- 1895
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Moral tales   ( local )
fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
by Maria Edgeworth ; with thirty illustrations and four coloured plates by F.A. Fraser.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002861038
oclc - 21233074
notis - ANZ2185
System ID:

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The Baldwin Library

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In crown 8vo, cloth,
With Illustrations by F. A. FRASER.



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Howal Tales.









TIHE taste of the age, especially as regards juvenile literature,
Shas of late years undergone a material change; and that
change, in many respects, is infinitely for the better. OsOc
UPON A TIME were usually the ominous words for ushering into
the world those tales of horror and enchantment, of fairies and
of giants, of hobgoblins and of haunted castles, which were
calculated to excite the imagination, while they perverted the
judgment, and gave a false colouring to nature. Such stories as
"Jack the Giant-killer," "Tom Thumb," "Sinbad the Sailor,"
or the "Old Man of the Mountain," were among the great
allurements presented to the rising generation. To impress the
juvenile mind with the wonders of a supernatural creation was
then the leading object of our educational writers; because to
clothe the embodiments of fiction in the truthful guise of nature
would have been to denude them of their wonted stimulus.
It was thus for ages that a mawkish sensibility pervaded the
juvenile literature of the age, and perverted the public taste.
With the close of the last century, however, and the commence-
ment of the present one, a new era began to dawn. A change
came over the human mind, and the readers of light literature
began to think that
"Fictions, to please, should wear the face of Truth;"
and that agreeable stories, embodying the ethics of moral truth,
could be rendered both instructive and interesting;-in fact,
that the love of virtue and the hatred of vice could be effectually
taught by precept and example, without violating the laws of
probability or outraging the bounds of common sense.
Amongst the most prominent of our ethical writers, who have
appeared on the important arena of juvenile literature, and


whose works have had the greatest influence in promoting the
cause of education and social morality, was the talented Authoress
of these MoRAL TALES," which are now ushered into the world
in a form so popular as to render them universally acceptable to
the reading public. In them are embodied the purest principles
of moral rectitude, conveyed in the pleasing guise of interesting
fiction, and clothed in the attractive garb of virtue and truth.
In the language of our own sweet poet of "The Seasons," her
"delightful task has been-
"To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,-
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast."
These Tales (says Mr. Edgewoith,* in his Preface to the
present Series) were written to illustrate the opinions delivered
in PAcTICAL EDUCnATION; and as their truth appeared to be
confirmed by increasing experience, he sat down to write the
preface to this work for his daughter. "In a former work,"
says he, "the author has endeavoured to add something to the
increasing stock of innocent amusement and early instruction,
which the laudable exertions of some excellent modern writers
provide for the rising generation; and in the present, an attnpt
is made to provide for young people, of a more advanced age, a
few Tales that shall neither dissipate the attention nor inflame
the imagination."
Mr. Edgeworth then proceeds to analyze the different tales
comprised in the present series.
In the story of FORESTER" is presented the picture of an
eccentric character,-a young man who scorns the common forms
and dependencies of civilized society; and who, full of visionary
schemes of benevolence and happiness, might, by improper.
management or unlucky circumstances, have become a fanatic
and a criminal.
ANGELINA is a female Forester. The nonsense of senti-
mentality is here aimed at with the shafts of ridicule, instead of.

The Father of Miss Edgeworth, of whom some notices have been given
in the Preface to the POPULAR TALES."


being combated by serious argument. With the romantic eccen-
tricities of Angelina are contrasted faults of a more common and
despicable sort. Miss Burrage is the picture of a young lady
who meanly flatters persons of rank, and who, after she has
smuggled herself into good company, is ashamed to acknowledge
her former friends, to whom she was bound by the strongest
ties of gratitude.
The scene of "THE KNAPSACK is laid in Sweden, to produce
variety, and to show that the rich and poor, the young and old,
in all countries, are mutually serviceable to each other, and to
portray some of those virtues which are peculiarly amiable in
the character of a soldier.
"THE PRUSSIAN VASE" is a lesson against imprudence, an
exercise of judgment, and an eulogium upon our inestimable
Trial by Jury. This Tale is designed principally for young
gentlemen who are intended for the Bar.
In "THE GOOD AuNT," the advantages which a judicious early
education confers upon those who are intended for public sem-
inaries are pointed out. It is a common error to suppose that,
let a boy be what he may, when sent to ,Eton, Westminster,
Harrow, or any great school, he will be moulded into proper
forni by the fortuitous pressure of numbers; that emulation will
necessarily excite, example lead, and opposition polish him.
But these are vain hopes. The solid advantages which may be
attained in these large nurseries of youth, must be, in a great
measure, secured by previous domestic instruction.
TE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNES is a lesson to teach the art
of giving lessons.
"THE BAD GOVERNESS (Mademoiselle Panache) is a sketch
of the necessary consequences of imprudently trusting the hap-
piness of a daughter to the care of those who can teach nothing
but accomplishments


FORESTER ... ... ... ... ... ... 1

ANGELINA; OR, L'AIlE INCONNU ..... ... ... ... 96

THE KNAPSAK ... ...... ... ... ... 150

THE PRUSSIAN VASE ... ... ... ... ... 172

THE GOOD AUNT ... .. ...... ... .. ... 201

THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS ... ... ... ... 271

MADEMOISELLE PANACH .,. ,., ,.. .,. ,,. 343


SORESTER was the son of an English gentleman who had
S paid some attention to his education, but who had some
singularities of opinion, which probably influenced him in all
his conduct towards his children.
Young Forester was frank, brave, and generous, but he had
been taught to dislike politeness so much, that the common
forms of society appeared to him either odious or ridiculous.
His sincerity was seldom restrained by any attention to the
feelings of others. His love of independence was carried to such
an extreme, that he was inclined to prefer the life of Robinson
Crusoe in his desert island to that of any individual in cultivated
society. His attention had been early fixed upon the follies and
vices of the higher classes of people, and his contempt for selfish
indolence was so strongly associated with the name of gentleman,
that he was disposed to choose his friends and companions from
amongst his inferiors: the inequality between the rich and the
poor shocked him; his temper was enthusiastic as well as
benevolent, and he ardently wished to be man, and to be at
Liberty to act for himself, that he might reform society, or at
least his own neighbourjiood.
When he was about nineteen years old, his father died, and
young Forester was sent to Edinburgh, to Dr. Campbell, the
gentleman whom his father had appointed his guardian. In
the choice of his mode of travelling, his disposition appeared.
The stage coach and a carrier set out nearly at the same time
from Penrith. Forester, proud of bringing his principles
immediately into action, put himself under the protection of
the carrier, and congratulated himself upon his freedom from
prejudice. He arrived at Edinburgh in all the glory of inde-
pendence, and he desired the carrier to set him down at Dr.
Campbell's door.
"The doctor's not at home," said the footman who opened
the door.
"He is at home," exclaimed Forester, with indignation; "I
see him at the window."

_ -.- -----h---.------


"My master is just going to dinner, and can't see anybody
now," said the footman; "but if you will call again at six
o'clock, maybe he may see you, my good lad."
"My name is Forester; let me in," said Forester, pushing
"Forester !-Mr. Forester !" said the footman; the young
gentleman that was expected in the coach to-day ?"
Without deigning to give the footman any explanation,
Forester took his own portmanteau from the carrier, and
Dr. Campbell came downstairs just when the footman was
officiously struggling with the young gentleman for his burden.
Dr. Campbell received his pupil very kindly; but Forester
S would not be prevailed upon to rub his shoes sufficiently upon
the mat at the bottom of the stairs, or to change his disordered
dress before he made his appearance in the drawing-room. He
entered with dirty shoes, a thread-bare coat, and hair that
looked as if it never had been -combed; and he was much sur-
prised by the effect which his singular appearance produced
upon the risible muscles of some of the company.
"I have done nothing to be ashamed of," said he to himself;
but, notwithstanding all his efforts to be and. to appear at ease,
he was constrained and abashed.
A young laird, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, seemed to enjoy
his confusion with malignant, half-suppressed merriment, in
which Dr. Campbell's son was too good-natured and too well-
bred to participate.
Henry Campbell was three or four years older than Forester,
and though he looked like a gentleman, Forester could not help
being pleased with the manner in which he drew him into
conversation. The secret magic of politeness relieved him
insensibly from the torment of false shame.
"It is a pity this lad was bred up a gentleman," said
Forester to himself, "for he seems to have some sense and
Dinner was announced, and Forester was provoked at being
interrupted in an argument concerning carts and coaches, which
he had begun with Henry Campbell. Not that Forester was
averse to eating, for he was at this instant ravenously hungry;
but eating in company he always found equally repugnant to
his habits and his principles. A table covered with a clean
table-cloth, dishes in nice order, plates, knives, and forks laid at
regular distances, appeared to our young Diogenes absurd super-
fluitice 9nd he was ready to exclaim, "How many things I o'

not want!" Sitting down to dinner, eating, drinking, and
behaving like other people, appeared to him difficult and disa-
greeable ceremonies. He did not perceive that custom had
rendered all these things perfectly easy to every one else in com-
pany; and as soon as he had devoured his food his own way,
he moralized in silence upon the good sense of Sancho Panza,
who. preferred eating an egg behind the door to feasting in
public; and he recollected his favourite traveller Le Vaillant's*
enthusiastic account of his charming Hottentot dinners, and of
the disgust that he afterwards felt on the comparison of Euro-
pean etiquette and African simplicity.
"Thank God the ceremony of dinner is over," said Forester
to Henry Campbell, as soon as they rose from table.
All those things which seem mere matters of course in society
appeared to Forester strange ceremonies. In the evening there
were cards for those who liked cards, and there was conversation
for those who liked conversation. Forester liked neither; he
preferred playing with a cat, and he sat all night apart from the
company in a corner of a sofa. He took it for granted that the
conversation could not be worth his attention, because he heard
Lady Catherine Mackenzie's voice amongst others. He had
conceived a dislike, or rather a contempt, for this lady, because
she showed much of the pride of birth and rankin her manners.
Henry Campbell did not think it necessary to punish himself
for her ladyship's faults by withdrawing from entertaining con-
versation; he knew that his father had the art of managing the
frivolous subjects started in general company, so as to make
them lead to amusement and instruction; and this Forester
would probably have discovered this evening, had he not fol-
lowed his own thoughts instead of listening to the observations
of others. Lady Catherine, it is true, began with a silly history
of her hereditary antipathy to pickled cucumbers, and she was
rather tiresome in tracing the genealogy of this antipathy through
several generations of her ancestry; but Dr. Campbell said
"that he had heard from an ingenious gentleman of her lady-
ship's family, that her ladyship's grandfather, and several of his
friends, nearly lost their lives by pickled cucumbers;" and
thence the doctor took occasion to relate several curious circum-
stances concerning the effects of different poisons.
Dr. Campbell, who plainly saw both the defects and the
excellent qualities of his young ward, hoped that by playful

Le Vaillant's Travels into Africa, vol. L, p. 114.


raillery and by well-timed reasoning, he might mix a sufficient
portion of good sense with Forester's enthusiasm, might induce
him gradually to sympathize in the pleasures of cultivated
society, and might convince him that virtue is not confined\ to
any particular class of men; that education, in the enlarged
sense of the word, creates the difference between individuals
more than riches or poverty. Dr. Campbell foresaw that
Forester would form a friendship with his son, and that this
attachment would cure him of his prejudices against gentlemen,
and would prevent him from indulging his taste for vulgar com-
pany. Henry Campbell had more useful energy, though less
apparent enthusiasm, than his new companion. He was always
employed; he was really independent, because he had learned
how to support himself either by the labours of his head or of
his hands; but his independence did not render him unsociable;
he was always ready to sympathize with the pleasures of his
friends, and therefore he was beloved. Following his father's
example, he did all the good in his power to those who were in
distress, but he did not imagine that he could reform every
abuse in society, or that he could instantly new-model the
universe. Forester became, in a few days, fond of conversing,
or rather of holding long arguments, with Henry; but his dis-
like to the young laird, Archibald Mackenzie, hourly increased.
Archibald and his mother, Lady Catherine Mackenzie, were
relations of Mrs. Campbell's, and they were now upon a visit at
her house. Lady Catherine, a shrewd woman, fond of prece-
dence and fully sensible of the importance that wealth can
bestow, had sedulously inculcated into the mind of her son all
the maxims of worldly wisdom which she had collected in her
intercourse with society; she had inspired him with family
pride, but at the same time had taught him to pay obsequious
court to his superiors in rank or fortune. The art of rising in
the world she knew did not entirely depend upon virtue or
abilities; she was, consequently, more solicitous about her son's
manners than his morals, and was more anxious that he should
form high connections than that he should apply to the severe
studies of a profession. Archibald was nearly what might be
expected from- his education, alternately supple to his superiors
and insolent to his inferiors. To insinuate himself into the
favour of young men of rank and fortune, he affected to admire
extravagance; but his secret maxims of parsimony operated
even in the midst of dissipation. Meanness and pride usually
go together.. It is not to be supposed that young Forester had


such quick penetration that he could discover the whole of. the
artful Archibald's character in the course of a few days' acquain-
tance; but he disliked him for good reasons-because he was a
laird, because he had laughed at his first entree, and because he
was learning to dance.

About a week after our hero's arrival at Dr. Campbell's, the
doctor was exhibiting some chemical experiments, with which
Henry hoped that his young friend would be entertained; but
Forester had scarcely been five minutes in the laboratory, before
Mackenzie, who was lounging about the room, sneeringly took
notice of a large hole in his shoe. "It is easily mended," said
the independent youth; and he immediately left the laboratory,
and went to a cobbler's, who lived in a narrow lane at the back
of Dr. Campbell's house. Forester had, from his bed-chamber
window, seen this cobbler at work early every morning; he
admired his industry, and longed to be acquainted with him.
The good-humoured familiarity of Forester's manner pleased the
cobbler, who was likewise diverted by the eagerness of the young
gentleman to mend his own shoe. After spending some hours
at the cobbler's stall, the shoe was actually mended; and Forester
thought that his morning's work was worthy of admiration. In
a court (or, as such places are called in Edinburgh, a close), near
the cobbler's, he saw some boys playing at ball: he joined them;
and, whilst they were playing, a dancing-master, with his hair
powdered, and who seemed afraid of spattering his clean stock-
ings, passed through the court, and interrupted the ball-players
for a few seconds. The boys, as soon as the man was out of
hearing, declared that he passed through their court regularly
twice a day, and that he always kicked their marbles out of the
ring. Without staying to weigh this evidence scrupulously,
Forester received it with avidity, and believed all that had been
asserted was true, because the accused was a dancing-master:
from his education, he had conceived an antipathy to dancing-
masters, especially to such as wore silk stockings and had their
heads well powdered. Easily fired at the idea of any injustice,
and eager to redress the grievances of the poor, Forester im-
mediately concerted with these boys a scheme to deliver them
from what he called the insolence of the dancing-master, and
promised that he would compel him to go round by another

In his zeal for the liberty of his new companions, our hero
did not consider that he was infringing upon the liberties of a
man who had never done him any injury, and over whom he
had no right to exercise any control.
Upon his return to Dr. Campbell's, Forester heard the sound
of a violin; and he found that his enemy, M. Pasgrave, the
dancing-master, was attending Archibald Mackenzie. He learnt
that he was engaged to give another lesson the next evening;
and the plans of the confederates in the ball-alley were arranged
accordingly. In Dr. Campbell's room Forester remembered to
have seen a skeleton in a glass case; he seized upon it, carried
it down to his companions, and placed it in a niche in the wall
on the landing-place of a flight of stone stairs, down which the
dancing-master was obliged to go. A butcher's son (one of
Forester's new companions) he instructed to stand, at a certain
hour, behind the skeleton with two rushlights, which he was to
hold up to the eye-holes in the skull.
The dancing-master's steps were heard approaching at the
expected hour, and the boys stood in ambush to enjoy the
diversion of the sight. It was a dark night; the fiery eyes of
the skeleton glared suddenly upon the dancing-master, who was
so terrified at the spectacle, and in such haste to escape that his
foot slipped, and he fell down the stone steps. His ankle was
strained by the fall, and he was brought back to Dr. Campbell's.
Forester was shocked at this tragical end to his intended comedy.
The poor man was laid upon a bed, and he writhed with pain.
Forester, with vehement expressions of concern, explained to
Dr. Campbell the cause of this accident; and he was much
touched by the dancing-master's good nature, who, between
every twinge of pain, assured him that he should soon be well,
and endeavoured to avert Dr. Campbell's displeasure. Forester
sat beside the bed, reproaching himself bitterly, and he was yet
more sensible of his folly when he heard that the boys, whose
part he had hastily taken, had frequently amused themselves
with playing mischievous tricks upon this inoffensive man, who
declared that he had never purposely kicked their marbles out
of the ring, but had always implored them to let him pass with
all the civility in his power.
Forester resolved, that before he ever again attempted to do
justice, h3 would, at least, hear both sides of the question.


Forester would willingly have sat up all night with M.
Pasgrave, the dancing-master, to foment his ankle from time to
time, and, if possible, to assuage the pain; but the man would
not suffer him to sit up, and about twelve o'clock he retired to
rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep when his door opened, and.
Archibald Mackenzie roused him, by demanding, in a peremptory
tone, how he could sleep when the whole family were frightened
out of their wits by his pranks ?
"Is the dancing-master worse -what's the matter?" exclaimed
Forester, in great terror.
Archibald replied that he was not talking or thinking about
the dancing-master, and desired Forester to make haste and
dress himself, and that he would then soon hear what was the
Forester dressed himself as fast as he could, and followed
Archibald through a long passage, which led to a back staircase.
"Do you hear the noise ?" said Archibald.
"Not I," said Forester.
"Well, you'll hear it plain enough presently," said Archibald;
"follow me downstairs."
He followed, and was surprised, when he got into the hall,
to find all thd family assembled. Lady Catherine had been
awakened by a noise, which she at first imagined to be the
screaming of an infant. Her bed-chamber was on the ground-
floor, and adjoining to Dr. Campbell's laboratory, from which
the noise seemed to proceed. She wakened Mrs. Campbell and
her son Archibald; and when she recovered her senses a little,
she listened to Dr. Campbell, who assured her that what her
ladyship thought was the screaming of an infant, was the noise
of a cat. The screams of this cat made, indeed, a terrible noise;
and, when the light approached the door of the laboratory, the
animal flew at the door with so much fury, that nobody could
venture to open it. Everybody looked at Forester, as if they
suspected that he had confined the cat, or that he was, in some
way or other, the cause of the disturbance. The cat, who, from
his having constantly fed and played with him, had grown
extremely fond of him, used to follow him often from room to
room; and he now recollected that it followed him the pre-
ceding evening into the laboratory, when he went to replace the
skeleton. He had not observed whether it came out of the room


again, nor could he now conceive the cause of its yelling in this
horrible manner. The animal seemed to be mad with pain.
Dr. Campbell asked his son whether all the presses were locked.
Henry said he was sure that they were all locked. It was his
business to lock them every evening; and he was so exact,
that nobody doubted his accuracy.
Archibald Mackenzie, who all this time knew, or at least
suspected the truth, held himself in cunning silence. The
preceding evening he, for want of something to do, had strolled
into the laboratory, and, with the pure curiosity of idleness,
peeped into the presses, and. took the stoppers out of several of
the bottles. Dr. Campbell happened to come in, and carelessly
asked him if he had been looking in the presses; to which
question, Archibald, though with scarcely any motive for telling
a falsehood, immediately replied in the negative. As the doctor
turned his head, Archibald put aside a bottle, which he had just
before taken out of. the press; and fearing that the noise of
replacing the glass stopper would betray him, he slipped it into
his waistcoat pocket. How much useless cunning! All this
transaction was now fully present to Archibald's memory; and
he was well convinced that Henry had not seen the bottle when
he afterwards went to lock the presses; that the cat had thrown
it down; and that this was the cause of all the yelling that
disturbed the house. Archibald, however, kept his lips fast
closed; he had told one falsehood; he dreaded to have it dis-
covered, and he hoped that the blame of the whole affair would
rest upon Forester. At length the animal flew with diminished
fury at the door; its screams became feebler and feebler, till, at
last, they totally ceased. There was silence; Dr. Campbell
opened the door-the cat was seen stretched upon the ground,
apparently lifeless. As Forester looked nearer at the poor
animal, he saw a twitching motion in one of its hind legs;
Dr. Campbell said that it was the convulsion of death. Forester
was just going to lift up his cat, when his friend Henry stopped
his hand, telling him that he would burn himself if he'touched
it. The hair and flesh of the cat on one side were burnt away,
quite to the bone. Henry pointed to the broken bottle, which
he said had contained vitriolic acid.
Henry in vain attempted to discover by whom the bottle of
vitriolic acid had been taken out of its place. The suspicions
naturally fell upon Forester, who, by his own account, was the
last person in the room before the presses had been locked for
the night. Forester, in warm terms, asserted that he knew


Nothing of the matter. Dr. Campbell coolly observed that
Forester ought not to be surprised at being suspected upon this
occasion, because everybody had the greatest reason to suspect
the person whom they had detected in one practical joke, of
planning another.
"Joke!" said Forester, looking down upon his lifeless favourite.
"Do you think me capable of such cruelty 1 Do you doubt my
truth?" exclaimed Forester, haughtily. "You are unjust. Turn
me out of your house this instant. I do not desire your protec-
tion, if I have forfeited your esteem."
"Go to bed for to-night in my house," said Dr. Campbell;
"moderate your enthusiasm, and reflect upon what has passed
Dr. Campbell, as Forester indignantly withdrew, said, with a
benevolent smile, as he looked after him, "He wants nothing
but a little common sense. Henry, you must give him a little
of yours."
In the morning, Forester first went to inquire how the dancing-
master had slept, and then knocked impatiently at Dr. Campbell's
"My father is not awake," said Henry; but Forester marched
directly up to the side of the bed, and, drawing back the curtain
with no gentle hand, cried, with a loud voice, "Dr. Campbell, I
am come to beg your pardon; I was angry when I said you were
"And I was asleep when you begged my pardon," said Dr.
Campbell, rubbing his eyes.
"The dancing-master's ankle is a great deal better; and I
have buried the poor cat," pursued Forester; "and I hope, now,
doctor, you'll at least tell me, that you do not really suspect me
of having any hand in her death."
"Pray, let me go to sleep," said Dr. Campbell; "and time
your explanations a little better."

The dancing-master gradually recovered from his sprain; and
F'r,.:-r spent all his pocket-money in buying a new violin for
him, as his had been broken in his fall; his watch had likewise
been broken against the stone steps. Though Forester looked
upon a watch as a useless bauble, yet he determined to get this
mended; and his friend Henry went with him for this purpose
to a watchmaker's.


Whilst Henry Campbell and Forester were consulting with
the watchmaker upon the internal state of the bruised watch,
Archibald Mackenzie, who followed them for a lounge, was
looking over some new watches, and ardently wishing for the
finest that he saw. As he was playing with this fine watch, the
watchmaker begged that he would take care not to break it;
Archibald, in the usual insolent tone in which he was used to
speak to a tradesman, replied, that if he did break it, he hoped
he was able to pay for it. The watchmaker civilly answered,
"He had no doubt of that, but that the watch was not his pro-
perty; it was Sir Philip Gosling's, who would call for it, he
expected, in a quarter of an hour."
At the name of Sir Philip Gosling, Archibald quickly changed
his tone: he had a great ambition to be of Sir Philip's acquaint-
ance; for Sir Philip was a young man who was to have a large
fortune when he should come of age, and who, in the meantime,
spent as much of it as possible, with great spirit, and little
judgment. He had been sent to Edinburgh for his education;
and he spent his time in training horses, laying bets, parading
in the public walks, and ridiculing, or, in his own phrase,
quizzing, every sensible young man who applied to literature or
science. Sir Philip, whenever he frequented any of the pro-
fessors' classes, took care to make it evident to everybody present
that he did not come there to learn, and that he looked down
with contempt upon all who were obliged to study; he was the
first always to make any disturbance in the classes, or, in his
elegant language, to make a row.
This was the youth of whose acquaintance Archibald Mackenzie
was ambitious. He stayed in the shop in hopes that Sir Philip
would arrive. He was not disappointed. Sir Philip came, and
with address which Lady Catherine would perhaps have admired,
he entered into conversation with the young baronet; if con-
versation that might be called, which consisted of a species of
fashionable dialect, devoid of sense, and destitute of any pretence
to wit. To Forester this dialect was absolutely unintelligible.
After he had listened to it with sober contempt for a few
minutes, he pulled Henry away, saying, "Come, don't let us
waste our time here; let us go to the brewery that you promised
to show me."
Henry did not immediately yield to the rough pull of his
indignant friend, for at this instant the door of a little back
parlour behind the watchmaker's shop opened slowly, and a girl
of about seven years old appeared, carrying, with difficulty,


a flower-pot, in which there was a fine large geranium, in full
flower. Henry, who saw that the child was scarcely able to
carry it, took it out of her hands, and asked her, "Where she
would like to have it put'?"
"Here, for to-day," said the little girl, sorrowfully; "but to-
morrow it goes away for ever !"
The little girl was sorry to part with this geranium, because
"she had watched it all the winter," and said, "that she was
very fond of it; but that she was willing to part with it,
though it was just come into flower, because the apothecary had
told her, that it was the cause of her grandmother's having been
taken ill. Her grandmother lodged," she said, "in that little
room, and the room was very close, and she was taken ill in the
night-so ill that she could hardly speak or stir; and when the
apothecary came, he said," continued the little girl, "it was no
wonder anybody was ill who slept in such a little close room,
with such a great geranium in it, to poison the air. So my
geranium must go concluded she with a sigh: "but as it is
for grandmother, I shall never think of it again."
* Henry Campbell and Forester were both struck with the
modest simplicity of this child's countenance and manner, and
they were pleased with the unaffected generosity with which
she gave up her favourite geranium.
Forester noted this down in his mind, as a fresh instance in
favour of his exclusive good opinion of the poor. This little girl
looked poor, though she was decently dressed; she was so thin
that her little cheek-bones could plainly be seen; her face had
not the round, rosy beauty of cheerful health; she was pale and
sallow, and she looked in patient misery. Moved with com-
passion, Forester regretted that he had no money to give, where
it might have been so well bestowed. He was always extravagant
in his generosity; he would often give five guineas where five
shillings should have been given; and by these means he reduced
himself to the necessity sometimes of refusing assistance to
deserving objects. On his journey from his father's house to
Edinburgh, he lavished, in undistinguishing charity, a consider-
able sum of money, and all that he had remaining of the money
his father gave, he spent in purchasing the new violin for
M. Pasgrave. Dr. Campbell absolutely refused to advance his
ward any money, till the next quarterly allowance should become
due. Henry, who always perceived quickly what passed in the
minds of others, guessed at Forester's thoughts by his counte-
nance, and forebore to produce his own money, though he had it

just ready in his hand-he knew that he could call again at the
watchmaker's, and give what he pleased without ostentation.
Upon questioning the little girl farther concerning her grand-
mother's illness, Henry discovered that the old woman had sat
up late at night knitting, and that feeling herself extremely
cold, she got a pan of charcoal into her room; that soon after-
wards she felt uncommonly drowsy, and when her little grand-
daughter spoke to her, and asked her why she did not come to
bed? she made no answer; a few minutes after this she dropped
from her chair. The child was extremely frightened, and though
she felt it very difficult to rouse herself, she said she got up as
fast as she could, opened the door, and called to the watchmaker's
wife, who, luckily, had been at work late, and was now raking
the kitchen fire. With her assistance the old woman was brought
into the air, and presently returned to her senses: the pan of
charcoal had been taken away before the apothecary came in
the morning; as he was in a great hurry when he called, he
made but few inquiries, and consequently condemned the gera-
nium without sufficient evidence. As he left the house, he
carelessly said, "My wife would like that geranium, I think."
And the poor old woman, who had but a very small fee to offer,
was eager to give anything that seemed to please the doctor.
Forester, when he heard this story, burst into a contemptuous
exclamation against, the meanness of this, and of all other
apothecaries. Henry informed the little girl that the charcoal
had been the cause of her grandmother's illness, and advised
them never, upon any account, to keep a pan of charcoal again
in her bed-chamber: he told her that many people had been
killed by this practice. "Then," cried the little girl joyfully,
"if it was the charcoal and not the geranium that made grand-
mother ill, I may keep my beautiful geranium ?" And she ran
immediately to gather some of the flowers, which she offered to
Henry and to Forester. Forester, who was still absorbed in the
contemplation of the apothecary's meanness, took the flowers,
without perceiving that he took them, and pulled them to pieces
as he went on thinking. Henry, when the little girl held the
geraniums up to him, observed that the back of her hand was
bruised and black; he asked her how she had hurt herself, and
she replied innocently, "that she had not hurt herself, but that
her schoolmistress had hurt her; that her schoolmistress was a
very strict woman." Forester, roused from his reverie, desired
to hear what the little girl meant by a strict woman, and she
explained herself more fully; she said, that, as a great favour,


ter grandmother had obtained leave from some great lady to
send her to; that she went there every day to
learn to read and work, but that the mistress of the charity-school
used her scholars very severely, and often kept them for hours,
after they had done their own tasks, to spin for her, and that she
beat them if they did not spin as much as she expected; the little
girl's grandmother then said that she knew all this, but that she
did not dare to complain, because the schoolmistress was under
the patronage of some of the grandest ladies in Edinburgh," and
that as she could not afford to pay for her little lass's schooling,
she was forced to have her taught as well as she could for nothing.
Forester, fired with indignation at this history of injustice,
resolved, at all events, to stand forth immediately in the child's
defence; but without staying to consider how the wrong could
be redressed, he thought only of the quickest, or, as he said,
the most manly means of doing the business: he declared, that
if the little girl would show him the way to the school, he
would go that instant and speak to the woman, in the midst of
all her scholars. Henry in vain represented that this would not
be'a prudent mode of proceeding.
Forester disdained prudence; and, trusting securely to the
power of his own eloquence, he set out with the child, who
seemed rather afraid to come to open war with her tyrant.
Henry was obliged to return home to his father, who had
usually business for him to do about this time. The little girl
had stayed at home on account of her grandmother's illness;
but all the other scholars were hard at work, spinning in a close
room, when Forester arrived.
He marched directly into the schoolroom. The wheels
stopped at once on his appearance, and the schoolmistress, a
raw-boned, intrepid-looking woman, eyed him with amazement:
he broke silence in the following words :-
"Vile woman! your injustice is come to light. How can
you dare to tyrannize over these poor children ? Is it because
they are poor 7 Take my advice, children, resist this tyrant;
put by your wheels, and spin for her no more."
The children did not move; and the schoolmistress poured
out a torrent of abuse in broad Scotch, which, to the English
ear of Forester, was unintelligible. At length she made him
comprehend her principal questions-who he was? and by
whose authority he interfered between her and her scholars?
" By nobody's authority," was Forester's answer; "I want no
authority to speak in the cause of injured innocence." No


sooner had the woman heard these words, than she called to her
husband, who was writing in an adjoining room: without
further ceremony, they both seized upon our hero, and turned
him out of the house.
The woman revenged herself without mercy upon the little
girl whom Forester had attempted to defend, and dismissed
her, with the advice never more to complain of being obliged to
spin for her mistress.
Mortified by the ill success of his enterprise, Forester returned
home, attributing the failure of his eloquence chiefly to his
ignorance of the Scotch dialect.

At his return, Forester heard that all Dr. Campbell's family
were going that evening to visit a gentleman who had an
excellent cabinet of-minerals. He had some desire to see the
fossils; but when he came to the gentleman's house, he soon
found himself disturbed at the praises bestowed by some ladies
in company upon a little canary-bird, which belonged to the
mistress of the house. He began to kick his feet together, to
hang first one arf, and then the other, over the back of his chair,
with the obvious expression of impatience and contempt in his
countenance. Henry the meantime.said, without
any embarrassment, just what he thought about the bird.
Archibald Mackenzie, with artificial admiration, said a vast deal
more than he thought, in hopes of effectually recommending
himself to the lady of the house. The lady told him the history
of three birds, which had successively inhabited the cage before
the present occupier. "They all died," continued she, "in a
most extraordinary manner, one after another, in a short space
of time, in convulsions."
"Don't listen," whispered Forester, pulling Henry away
from the crowd who surrounded the birdcage; "how can you
listen, like that polite hypocrite, to this foolish woman's history
of her extraordinary favourites ? Come downstairs with me;
I want to tell you my adventure with the schoolmistress; we
can take a turn in the hall and come back, before the cabinet of
minerals is opened, and before these women have finished the
ceremony of tea-come."
I'll come presently," said Henry; "I really want to hear this."
Henry Campbell was not listening to the history of the
lady's favourite birds like a polite hypocrite, but like a good-


natured, sensible person; the circumstances recalled to his
,memory the conversation that we formerly mentioned, which
began about pickled cucumbers, and ended with Dr. Camp-
bell's giving an account of the effects of some poisons. In
consequence of this conversation, Henry's attention had 'been
turned to the subject, and he had read several essays which
had informed him of many curious facts. He recollected, in
particular, to have met* with the account of a bird who had
been poisoned, and whose case bore a strong resemblance to the
present. He begged leave to examine the cage, in order to
discover whether there were any lead about it, with which the
birds could have poisoned themselves. No lead was to be
found. He next examined whether there were any white or
green paint about it; he inquired whence the water came which
the birds had drunk; and he examined the trough which held
their seeds. The lady, whilst he was pursuing these inquiries,
said she was sure that the birds could not have died either for
want of air or exercise, for that she often left the cage open on
purpose, that they might fly about the room. Henry immedi-
ately looked round the room, and at length he observed, in an
inkstand which stood upon a writing-table, a number of wafers,
which were many of them chipped round the edges. .Upon
sweeping out the birdcage, he found a few very small bits of
wafer mixed with the seeds and dust: he was now persuaded
that the birds had eaten the wafers, and that they had been
poisoned by the red lead which they contained; he was con-
firmed in this opinion by being told that the wafers had lately
been missed very frequently, and it had been imagined that
they had been used by the servants. Henry begged the lady
would try an experiment, which might probably save the life of
her new favourite. The lady, though she had never before
tried an experiment, was easily prevailed upon. She promised
Henry that she would lock up the wafers; and he prophesied
that her bird would not, like his predecessors, come to an un-
timely end. Archibald Mackenzie was vexed to observe that
knowledge had, in this instance, succeeded better, even with a
lady, than flattery. As for Forester, he would certainly have
admired his friend Henry's ingenuity, if he had been attending
to what passed; but he had taken a book, and had seated him-
self in an arm-chair, which had, been placed on purpose for an
old gentleman in company, and was deep in the history of a

* Falconer on the poison of lead and copper.


man who had been cast away, some hundred years ago, upon a
desert island.
He condescended, however, to put down his 0ook when the
fossils were produced, and, as if he had just awakened from a
dream, rubbed his eyes, stretched himself, and joined the rest
of the company. The malicious Archibald, who observed that
Forester had seated himself, through absence of mind, in a
place which prevented some of the ladies from seeing the fossils,
instantly made a parade of his own politeness, to contrast him-
self advantageously with the rude negligence of his companion;
but Archibald's politeness was always particularly directed to
the persons in company whom he thought of the most import-
ance. "You can't see there," said Forester, suddenly rousing
himself, and observing that Dr. Campbell's daughter, Miss Flora
Campbell, was standing behind him; "had not you better sit
down in this chair ? I don't want it, because I can see over
your head; sit down." Archibald smiled at Forester's simpli-
city in paying his awkward compliment to the young lady, who
had, according to his mode of estimation, the least pretensions
to notice of any one present. Flora Campbell was neither rich
nor beautiful; but she had a happy mixture in her manners of
Scottish sprightliness and English reserve. She had an eager
desire to improve herself, whilst a nice sense of propriety taught
her never to obtrude upon general notice, or to recede from
conversation with the airs of counterfeit humility. Forester
admired her abilities, because he imagined that he was the only
person who had ever discovered them; as to her manners, he
never observed these; but even whilst he ridiculed politeness,
he was anxious to find out what she thought polite. After he
had told her all that he knew concerning the fossils, as they
were produced from the cabinet,-and he was far from ignorant
-he at length perceived that she knew full as much of natural
history as he did; and he was surprised that a young lady
should know so much, and should not be conceited. Flora,
however, soon sunk many degrees in his opinion; for, after the
cabinet of mineralogy was shut, some of the company talked of
a ball which was to be given in a few days; and Flora, with
innocent gaiety, said to Forester, "Have you learned to dance a
Scotch reel since you came to Scotland?" "I/" cried Forester,
with contempt; "do you think it the height of human perfection
to dance a Scotch reel?--then that fine young laird, Mr. Archibald
Mackenzie, will suit you much better than I shall."
And Forester returned to his arm-chair and his desert island.


It was unfortunate that Forester retired from company in
such abrupt displeasure at Flora Campbell's question, for had
he borne the idea of a Scotch reel more like a philosopher, he
would have heard of something interesting relative to the
intended ball, if anything relative to a ball could be interesting
to him. It was a charity ball, for the benefit of the mistress of
the very charity school* to which the little girl with the bruised
hand belonged. "Do you know," said Henry to Forester, when
they met, "that I have great hopes we shall be able to get
justice done to the poor children. I hope the tyrannical school-
mistress may yet be punished. The lady with whom we drank
tea yesterday is one of the patronesses of the charity school."
"Lady patronesses!" cried Forester, "we need not expect
justice from a lady-patroness, depend upon it, especially at a
ball; her head will be full of feathers, or some such things. I
prophesy you will not succeed better than I have succeeded.
The desponding prophecies of Forester did not deter Henry
from pursuing a scheme which he had formed. The lady, who
was the mistress of the canary-bird, came in a few days to visit
his mother, and she told him that his experiment had succeeded,
that she had regularly locked up the wafers, and that her
favourite bird was in perfect health. And what fee, doctor,"
said she, smiling, "shall I give you for saving his life "
"I will tell you in a few minutes," replied Henry; and in a
few minutes the little girl and her geranium were sent for, and
appeared. Henry told the lady all the circumstances of her
story with so much feeling, and at the same time, with so much
propriety, that she became warmly interested in the cause: she
declared that she would do everything in her power to prevail
upon the other ladies to examine into the conduct of the school-
mistress, and to have her dismissed immediately, if it should
appear that she had behaved improperly.
Forester, who was present at this declaration, was much
astonished that a lady, whom he had seen caressing a canary-
bird, could speak with so much decision and good sense.
Henry obtained his fee; he asked and received permission to
place the geranium in the middle of the supper-table at the ball.

There is no charity school of this description in Edinburgh; this
cannot therefore be mistaken for private satire,


Henry begged that the lady would also take an opportunity, at
supper, to mention the circumstances which he had related to
her; but this she declined, and politely said that she was sure
Henry would tell the story much better than she could.
"Come out, and walk with me," said Forester to Henry, as
soon as the lady was gone. Henry frequently left his occupa-
tions with great good-nature to accompany our hero in his
rambles, and he usually followed the subjects of conversation
which Forester started. He saw, by the gravity of his coun-
tenance, that he had something of importance revolving in his
mind. After he had proceeded in silence for some time along
the walk, under the high rock called Arthur's Seat, he suddenly
stopped, and turning to Henry, exclaimed: "I esteem you; do
not make me despise you "
"I hope I never shall," said Henry, a little surprised by his
friend's manner, what is the matter "
"Leave balls, and lady patronesses, and petty artifices, and
supple address, to such people as Archibald Mackenzie," pur-
sued Forester with enthusiasm.
"Who noble ends by noble means pursues,
Will scorn canary-birds, and cobble shoes,"
replied Henry, laughing: "I see no meanness in my conduct;
I do not know what it is that you disapprove ?"
"I do not approve," said Forester, "of your having recourse
to mean address, to obtain justice."
Henry requested to know what his severe friend meant by
address, but this was not easily explained. Forester, in his
definition of mean address, included all that attention to the
feelings of others, all those honest arts of pleasing, which make
society agreeable. Henry endeavoured to convince him, that it
was possible for a person to wish to please, nay, even to succeed
in that wish, without being insincere. Their argument and
their walk continued, till Henry, who, though very active, was
not quite so robust as his friend, was completely tired, especially
as he perceived that Forester's opinions remained unshaken.
"How effeminate you gentlemen are !" cried Forester: "see
what it is to be brought up in the lap of luxury. Why, I am
not at all tired; I could walk a dozen miles farther, without
being in the least fatigued I "
Henry thought it a very good thing to be able to walk a
number of miles without being fatigued, but he did not con-
sider it as the highest perfection of human nature. In his


friend's present mood, nothing less could content him, and
Forester went on to demonstrate to the weary Henry, that all
fortitude, all courage, and all the manly virtues were insepar-
ably connected with pedestrian indefatigability. Henry, with
good-natured presence of mind, which perhaps his friend would
have called mean address, diverted our hero's rising indignation,
by proposing that they should both go and look at a large
brewery, which was in their way home, and with which
Forester would, he thought, be entertained.
The brewery fortunately turned the course of Forester's
thoughts, and, instead of quarrelling with his friend for being
tired, he condescended to postpone all further debate. Forester
had, from his childhood, a habit of twirling a key, whenever he
was thinking intently; the key had been produced, and had
been twirling upon its accustomed thumb during the argument
upon address; and it was still in Forester's hand, when they
went into the brewery. As he looked, and listened, the key
was essential to his power of attending; at length, as he stooped
to view a large brewing-vat, the key unluckily slipped from his
thumb, and fell to the bottom of the vat; it was so deep, that
the tinkling sound of the key, as it touched the bottom, was
scarcely heard. A young man who belonged to the brewery
immediately descended by a ladder into the vat to get the key,
but scarcely had he reached the bottom, when he fell .down
senseless. Henry Campbell was speaking to one of the clerks of
the brewery, when this accident happened; a man came running
to them with the news, "The vat has not been cleaned, it's full
of bad air." "Draw him up, let down a hook and cords for him
instantly, or he's a dead man," cried Henry, and he instantly
ran to the place. What was his terror, when he beheld Forester
descending the'ladder? He called to him to stop, he assured
him that the man could be saved without his hazarding his life;.
but Forester persisted; he had one end of a cord in his hand,
which he said he could fasten in an instant round the man's
body. There was a skylight nearly over the vat, so that the
light fell directly upon the bottom.
Henry saw his friend reach the last rundle of the ladder. As
Forester stooped to put the rope round the shoulders of the man,
who lay insensible at the bottom of the vat, a sudden air of
idiocy came over his animated countenance; his limbs seemed no
longer to obey his will, his arms dropped, and he fell insensible.
The spectators, who were looking down from above, were s3
much terrified, that they could not decide to do anything.


Some cried, "It's all over with him!--Why would he go
down "-others ran to procure a hook-others called to him to
take up the rope again, if he possibly could-but Forester could
not hear or understand them. Henry Campbell was the only
person who, in this scene of danger and confusion, had sufficient
presence of mind to be of service.
Near the large vat, into which Forester had descended, there
was a cistern of cold water. Henry seized a bucket, which was
floating in the cistern, filled it with water, and emptied the
water into the vat, dashing it against the sides of the vat, to
disperse the water, and to displace the mephitic air.* He called
to the people who surrounded him for assistance, the water
expelled the air, and when it was safe to descend, Henry
instantly went down the ladder himself, fastened the cord round
Forester, who was now quite helpless.
Draw him up !" -said Henry. They drew him up. Henry
fastened another cord round the body of the other man, who lay
at the bottom of the vessel, and he was taken up in the same
manner. Forester soon returned to his senses, when he was
carried into the air; it was with more difficulty that the other man,
whose animation had been longer suspended, was recovered; at
length, however, by proper applications, his lungs played freely,
he stretched himself, looked round upon the people who were
about him with an air of astonishment, and was some time before
he could recollect what had happened to him. Forester, as soon as
he recovered the use of his understanding, was in extreme
anxiety to know whether the poor man, who went down for his
key, had been saved. His gratitude to Henry, when he heard all
that had passed, was expressed in the most enthusiastic manner.
"I acted like a madman, and you like a man of sense," said
Forester. "You always know how to do good; I do mischief,
whenever I attempt to do good. But now, don't expect, Henry,
that I should give up any of my opinions to you, because you
have saved my life. I shall always argue with you just as I did
before. Remember, I despise address. I don't yield a single
point to you. Gratitude shall never make me a sycophant."

Eager to prove that he was not a sycophant, Forester, when
he returned home with his friend Henry, took every possible

Carbonic acid gas.


occasion to contradict him, with even more than his customary
rigidity; nay, he went farther still, to vindicate his sincerity.
SFlora Campbell had never entirely recovered our hero's esteem,
since she had unwittingly expressed her love for Scotch reels;
but she was happily unconscious of the crime she had committed,
and was wholly intent upon pleasing her father and mother, her
brother Henry-and herself. She had a constant flow of good
spirits, and the charming domestic talent of making every trifle
a source of amusement to herself and others; she was sprightly,
without being frivolous, and the uniform sweetness of her
temper showed that she was not in the least in the want of
flattery and dissipation to support her gaiety. tut Forester, as
the friend of her brother, thought it incumbent upon him to
discover faults in her which no one else could discover, and to
assist in her education, though she was only one year younger
than himself. She had amused herself the morning that Forester
and her brother were in the brewing vat, with painting a paste-
board covering for the flower-pot which held the poor little girl's
geranium. Flora had heard from her brother of his intention to
place it in the middle of the supper-table at the ball, and she
flattered herself that he would like to see it ornamented by her
hands at his return. She produced it after dinner. Henry
thanked her, and her father and mother were pleased to see her
eagerness to oblige her brother. The cynical Forester alone
refused his sympathy. He looked at the flower-pot with marked
disdain. Archibald, who delighted to contrast himself with the
unpolished Forester, and who remarked that Flora and her
brother were both somewhat surprised at his unsociable silence,
slyly said, "There's something in this flower-pot, Miss Camp-
bell, which does not suit Mr. Forester's correct taste; I wish he
would allow us to profit by his criticisms."
Forester vouchsafed not a reply.
"Don't you like it, Forester?" said Henry.
"No, he does not like it," said Flora, smiling. "Don't force
him to say that he does."
Force me to say I like what I don't like!" repeated Forester;
"no, I defy anybody to do that."
"But why," said Dr. Campbell, laughing,-" why such a
waste of energy and magnanimity about a trifle 7 If you were
upon your trial for life or death, Mr. Forester, you could not
look more resolutely guarded, more as if you had 'worked up
each corporal agent to the terrible feat.'"
"Sir," said Forester, who bore the laugh that was raised

against him with the air of a martyr, "I can bear even your
ridicule in the cause of truth." The laugh continued, at the
solemnity with which he pronounced these words. "I think,"
pursued Forester, "that those who do not respect truth in trifles
will never respect it in matters of consequence."
Archibald Mackenzie laughed more loudly, and with affecta-
tion, at this speech; and Henry and Dr. Campbell's laughter
instantly ceased.
"Do not mistake us," said Dr. Campbell; "we did not laugh
at your principles, we only laughed at your manner."
"And are not principles of rather more consequence than
manners ?" said Forester.
"Of infinitely more consequence," said Dr. Campbell; "but
why, to excellent principles, may we not add agreeable manners!
Why should not truth be amiable, as well as respectable? You,
that have such enlarged views for the good of the whole human
race, are, I make no doubt, desirous that your fellow-creatures
should love truth, as well as you love it yourself "
Certainly, I wish they did," said Forester.
"And have your observations upon the feelings of others, and
upon your own, led you to conclude that we are most apt to like
those things which always give us pain ? And do you upon this
principle wish to make truth as painful as possible, in order to
increase our love for it ?"
"I don't wish to make truth painful," said Forester; "but at
the same time it is not my fault people can't bear pain. I
think people who can't bear pain both of body and mind cannot
be good for anything; for, in the first place, they will always,"
said Forester, glancing his eye at Flora and her flower-pot,-
" they will always prefer flattery to truth, as all weak people do."
At this sarcastic reflection, which seemed to be aimed at the
sex, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Campbell, and all the ladies present,
except Flora, began to speak at once in their own vindication.
As soon as there was any prospect of peace, Dr. Campbell
resumed his argument in the calmest voice imaginable.
"But, Mr. Fprester, without troubling ourselves for the pre-
sent with the affairs of the ladies, or of weak people, may I ask
what degree of unnecessary pain you think it the duty of a strong
person, a moral Samson, to bear ?"
"Unnecessary pain I do not think it is anybody's duty to
bear unnecessary pain."
"Nor to make others bear it "
"Nor to make others bear it."


"Then we need argue no further. I congratulate you, Mr.
Forester, upon your becoming so soon a proselyte to politeness."
"To politeness !" said Forester, starting back.
"Yes, my good sir; real politeness only teaches us to save
others from unnecessary pain, and this you have just allowed to
be your wish. And now for the grand affair of Flora's flower--
pot. You are not bound by politeness to tell any falsehoods.;
weak as she is, and a woman, I hope she can bear to hear the
painful truth upon such an important occasion."
"Why," said Forester, who at last suffered his features to
relax into a smile, "the truth then is, that I don't know
whether the flower-pot be pretty or ugly, but I was determined
not to say it was pretty."
"But why," said Henry, "did you look so heroically severe
about the matter 9"
"The reason I looked grave," said Forester, "was because I
was afraid your sister Flora would be spoiled by all the foolish
compliments that were paid to her and her flower-pot."
"'You are very considerate; and Flora, I am sure, is much
obliged to you," said Dr. Campbell, smiling, "for being so
clear-sighted to the dangers of female vanity. You would not
then, with a safe conscience, trust the completion of her
education to her mother, or to myself ?"
"I am sure, sir," said Forester, who now, for the first time,
seemed sensible that he had not spoken with perfect propriety,
"I would not interfere impertinently for the world. You are
the best judges, only I thought parents were apt to be partial.
Henry has saved my life, and I am interested in everything that
belongs to him. So I hope, if I said anything rude, you
will attribute it to a good motive. I wish the flower-pot had
never made its appearance, for it has made me appear very
Flora laughed with so much good humour at his odd method
of expressing his contrition, that even Forester acknowledged
the influence of engaging manners and sweetness of temper.
He lifted up the flower-pot, so as completely to screen his face, and
whilst he appeared to be examining it, he said, in a low voice,
to Henry, She is above the foibles of her sex."
Oh, Mr. Forester, take care !" cried Flora.
"Of what 1" said Forester, starting.
"It is too late now," said Flora.
And it was too late. Forester, in his awkward manner of
lifting the flower-pot and its painted case, had put his thumbs


into the mould, with which the flower-pot had been newly
filled. It was quite soft and wet. Flora, when she called to
him, saw the two black thumbs just ready to stamp them-
selves upon her work; 'and her warning only accelerated its
fate; for the instant she spoke, the thumbs closed upon the
painted covering, and Forester was the last to perceive the
mischief that be had done.
There was no possibility of effacing the stains, nor was there
time to repair the damage, for the ball was to commence in a
few hours, and Flora was obliged to send her disfigured work,
without having had the satisfaction of hearing the ejaculation
which Forester pronounced in her praise behind theflower-pot.

Henry seized the moment when Forester was softened by the
mixed effect of Dr. Campbell's raillery and Flora's good humour,
to persuade him that it would be perfectly consistent with sound
philosophy to dress himself for a ball; nay, even to dance a
country-dance. The word reel, to which Forester had taken a
dislike, Henry prudently forebore to mention; and Flora,
observing and artfully imitating her brother's prudence, sub-
stituted the word heys instead of reels in her conversation.
When all the party were ready to go to the ball, and the
carriages at the door, Forester was in Dr. Campbell's study,
reading the natural history of the elephant.
"Come," said Henry, who had been searching for him all
over the house, "we are waiting for you; I'm glad to see you
dressed-come !"
"I wish you would leave me behind," said Forester, who
seemed to have relapsed into his former unsociable humour,
from having been left half an hour in his beloved solitude:
nor would Henry probably have prevailed, if he had not pointed
to the print of the elephant.*
"That mighty animal, you see, is so docile, that he lets him-
self be guided by a young boy," said Henry; "and so must
As he spoke, he pulled Forester gently, who thought he
could not show less docility than his favourite animal. When
they entered the ball-room, Archibald Mackenzie asked Flora to
dance, whilst Forester was considering where he should put his

* Cabinet of quadrupeds.


hat. "Are you going to dance without me? I thought I had
asked you to dance with me. I intended it all the time we
were coming in the coach."
Flora thanked him for his kind intentions; whilst Archibald,
with a look of triumph, hurried his partner away, and the
dance began. Forester saw this transaction in the most serious
light, and it afforded him subject for meditation till at least
half a dozen country-dances had been finished. In vain the
Berwick Jockey," the Highland Laddie," and the Flowers of
Edinburgh" were played; "they suited not the gloomy habit"
of his soul. He fixed himself behind a pillar, proof against
music, mirth, and sympathy; he looked upon the dancers with
a cynical eye. At length he found an amusement that grati-
fied his present splenetic humour; he applied both his hands
to his ears, effectually to stop out the sound of the music, that
he might enjoy the ridiculous spectacle of a number of people
capering about without any apparent motive. Forester's atti-
tude caught the attention of some of the company; indeed, it
was strikingly awkward. His elbows stuck out from his ears,
and his head was sunk beneath his shoulders. Archibald
Mackenzie was delighted beyond measure at his figure, and
pointed him out to his acquaintance with all possible expedition.
The laugh and the whisper circulated with rapidity. Henry,
who was dancing, did not perceive what was going on, till his
partner said to him, "Pray, who is that strange mortal "
"My friend," cried Henry. "Will you excuse me for one
instant ?" and he ran up to Forester, and roused him from his
singular attitude. "He is," continued Henry, as he returned
to his partner, "an excellent young man; and he has superior
abilities: we must not quarrel with him for trifles."
With what different eyes different people behold the same
objects! Whilst Forester had been stopping his ears, Dr.
Campbell, who had more of the nature of the laughing than of
the weeping philosopher, had found much benevolent pleasure
in contemplating the festive scene. Not that any folly or
ridicule escaped his keen penetration; but he saw everything
with an indulgent eye; and if he laughed, laughed in such a
manner, that even those who were the objects of his pleasantry
could scarcelyhave foreborne to sympathise with his mirth. Folly,
he thought, could be felt as properly, and quite as effectually
corrected, by the tickling of a feather, as by the lash of the
satirist. When Lady Margaret M'Greggor and Lady Mary
M'Intosh, for instance, had almost forced their unhappy partners

into a quarrel, to support their respective claims to precedency,
Dr. Campbell, who was appealed to as the relation of both the
furious fair ones, decided the difference expeditiously, and much
to the amusement of the company, by observing, that as the
pretensions of each of the ladies were incontrovertible, and pre-
cisely balanced, there was but one possible method of adjusting
their precedency-by their age. He was convinced, he said,
that the youngest lady would, with pleasure, yield precedency
to the elder. The contest was now which should stand the
lowest, instead of which should stand the highest, in the dance;
and when the proofs of seniority could not be settled,, the fair
ones drew lots for their places, and submitted that to chance
which could not be determined by prudence.
Forester stood beside Dr. Campbell whilst all this passed, and
wasted a considerable portion of virtuous indignation upon the
occasion. "And -look at that absurd creature 1" exclaimed
Forester, pointing out to Dr. Campbell a girl who was footing
and pounding for fame at a prodigious rate. Dr. Campbell
turned from the pounding lady to observe his own daughter,
Flora, and a smile of delight came over his countenance; for
"parents are apt to be partial," especially those who have such
daughters as Flora. Her light figure and graceful agility at-
tracted the attention even of many impartial spectators; but
she was not intent upon admiration; she seemed to be dancing
in the gaiety of her heart; and that was a species of gaiety in
which every one sympathised, because it was natural, and of
which every one approved, because it was innocent. There was
a certain delicacy mixed with her sportive humour, which
seemed to govern without restraining the tide of her spirits.
Her father's eye was following her, as she danced to a lively
Scotch tune, when Forester pulled Dr. Campbell's cane, on
which he was leaning, and exclaimed, "Doctor, I've just thought
of an excellent plan for a tragedy."
"A tragedy !" repeated Dr. Campbell, with unfeigned sur-
prise; "are you sure you don't mean a comedy "
Forester persisted that he meant a tragedy, and was pro-
ceeding to open the plot. "Don't force me to your tragedy
now," said Dr. Campbell, "or it will infallibly be condemned.
I cannot say that I have my buskin on; and I advise you to
take yours off. Look is that the tragic muse ?"
Forester was astonished to find that so great a man as Dr,
SCampbell had so little the power of abstraction; and he retired
to muse upon the opening of his tragedy in a recess under the


music-gallery. But here he was not suffered long to remain
undisturbed; for near this spot Sir Philip Gosling presently
stationed himself; and Archibald- Mackenzie, who left off danc-
ing as soon as Sir Philip entered the room, came to the half-
intoxicated baronet; and they, with some other young men
worthy of their acquaintance, began so loud a contest concern-
ing the number of bottles of claret which a man might, could,
or should drink at a sitting, that even Forester's powers of
abstraction failed, and his tragic muse took her flight.
"Supper supper! Thank God !" exclaimed Sir Philip, as
supper was now announced. I'd never set my foot in a ball-
room," added he, with several suitable oaths, "if it was not for
the supper."
"Is that a rational being cried Forester to Dr. Campbell,
after Sir Philip had passed them.
"Speak a little lower," said Dr. Campbell, "or he will infal-
libly prove his title to rationality by shooting you, or by making
you shoot him, through the head."
"But, sir," said Forester, holding Dr. Campbell fast, whilst
all of the company were going down to supper, "how
can you bear such a number of foolish, disagreeable people-with
patience? "
What would you have me do ?" said Dr. Campbell. "Would
you have me get up and preach in the middle of a ball-room?
Is it not as well, since we are here, to amuse ourselves with
whatever can afford us any amusement, and to keep in good
humour with all the world, especially with ourselves ? and had
we not better follow the crowd to supper ?"
Forester went down to supper; but as he crossed an ante-
chamber, which led into the supper-room, he exclaimed, "If I
were a legislator, I would prohibit balls."
"And if you were legislatorr" said Dr. Campbell, pointing
to a tea-kettle which was on the fire in the ante-chamber, and-
from the spout of which a grey cloud of vapour issued-" if you
were a legislator, would not you have stoppers wedged tight into
the spout of all tea-kettles in your dominions."
"No, sir," said Forester; "they would burst."
"And do you think that folly would not burst, and do more mis-
chief than a tea-kettle in the explosion, if you confined it so tight?"
Forester. would willingly have stayed in the ante-chamber, to
begin a critical dissection of this allusion; but Dr. Campbell
carried him forwards into the supper-room. Flora had kept a
seat for her father, and Henry met them at the door.


"I was just coming to see for you, sir," said he to his father.
"Flora began to think you were lost."
No," said Dr. Campbell; I was only detained by a would-
be Cato, who wanted me to quarrel with the whole world instead
of eating my supper. What would you advise me to eat, Flora ?"
said he, seating himself beside her.
"Some of this trifle, papa." And as she lightly removed the
flowers with which it was ornamented, her father said, Yes,
give me some trifle, Flora. Some characters are like that trifle
-flowers and light froth at the top, and solid good sweetmeat
Forester immediately stretched out his plate for some trifle
"But I don't see any use in the flowers, sir," said he.
Nor any beauty," said Dr. Campbell.
Forester picked the troublesome flowers out of his trifle, and
ate a quantity of it sufficient for a Stoic. Towards the end of
the supper, he took some notice of Henry, who had made several
ineffectual efforts to amuse him by such slight strokes of wit as
seemed to suit the time and place. Time and place were never
taken into Forester's consideration. He was secretly displeased
with his friend Henry for having danced all the evening instead
of sitting still; and he looked at Henry's partner with a scruti-
nizing eye. "So," said he at last, I observe I have not been
thought worthy of your conversation to-night: this is what
gentlemen, polite gentlemen, who dance reels, call friendship "
"If I had thought that you would have taken it ill that I
should dance reels," said Henry, laughing, "I would have made
the sacrifice of a reel at the altar of friendship; but we don't
come to a ball to make sacrifices to friendship, but to divert
"If we can," said Forester, sarcastically. And here he was
prevented from reproaching his friend any longer, for a party of
-gentlemen began to sing catches at the desire of the rest of the
Forester was now intent upon criticising the nonsensical words
that were sung, and he was composing an essay upon the power
of the ancient bards and the effect of national music, when
Flora's voice interrupted him. "Brother," said she, "I have
won my wager." The wager was, that Forester would not,
during supper, observe the geranium that was placed in the
middle of the table.
As soon as the company were satisfied, both with their supper
and their songs, Henry, whose mind was always present, and who


in the midst of luxury and festivity was awake to the feelings
of benevolence, seized the moment when there was silence to
turn the attention of the company towards the object, upon
which his own thoughts were intent. The lady patroness, the
mistress of the canary-bird, had performed her promise: she had
spoken to several of her acquaintance concerning the tyrannical
schoolmistress; and now fixing the attention of the company
upon the geranium, she appealed to Henry Campbell and begged
him to explain its history. A number of eager eyes turned upon
him instantly; and Forester felt that if he had been called upon
in such a manner, he could not have uttered a syllable. He now
felt the great advantage of being able to speak, without hesita-
tion or embarrassment, before numbers. When Henry related
the poor little girl's story, his language and manner were so
unaffected and agreeable, that he interested every one who heard
him in his cause. A subscription was immediately raised; every-
body was eager to contribute something to the child who had
been so ready for her old grandmother's sake to part with her
favourite geranium. The lady who superintended the charity-
schdol, agreed to breakfast the next morning at Dr. Campbell's,
and to go from his house to the school precisely at the hour
when the schoolmistress usually set her unfortunate scholars
to their extra task of spinning.
Forester was astonished at all this; he did not consider that
negligence and inhumanity are widely different. The lady
patronesses had, perhaps, been rather negligent in contenting
themselves with seeing the charity-children show well in proces-
sion to church, and they had not sufficiently inquired into the
conduct of the schoolmistress; but as soon as the facts were
properly stated, the ladies were eager to exert themselves, and
candidly acknowledged that they had been to blame in trusting
so much to the reports of the superficial visitors, who had always
declared that the school was going on perfectly well.
"More people who are in the wrong," said Dr. Campbell to
Forester, "would be corrected, if some people who are in the right
had a little candour and patience joined to their other virtues."
As the company rose from the supper-table, several young
ladies gathered round the geranium, to admire Flora's pretty
flower-pot; the black stains, however, struck every eye. Forester
was standing by, rather embarrassed. Flora, with her usual
good nature, refrained from all explanation, though the exclama-
tions of How was that done "-" Who could have done that 1"
were frequently repeated.


"It was an accident," said Flora; and to change the conver-
sation, she praised the beauty of the geranium; she plucked one
of the fragrant leaves, but as she was going to put it amongst the
flowers in her bosom, she observed she had dropped her moss-
rose. It was a rarity at this time of the year; it was a rose
which Henry Campbell had raised in a conservatory of his own
"Oh, my brother's beautiful rose !" exclaimed Flora.
Forester, who had been much pleased by her good nature
about the stains on the flower-pot, now, contrary to his habits,
sympathized with her concern for the loss of her brother's moss-
rose; he even exerted himself .so far as to search under the
benches, and under the supper-table. He was fortunate enough
to find it, and eager to restore the prize, he, with more than his
usual gallantry but not with less than his customary awkward-
ness, crept from under the table, and stretching half his body
over a bench, pushed his arm between two young ladies into
the midst of the group which surrounded Flora. As his arm
extended, his wrist appeared; and at the sight of that wrist all
the young ladies shrank back with unequivocal tokens of disgust.
They whispered, they tittered, and many expressive looks were
lost upon our hero, who still resolutely held out the hand upon
which every eye was fixed. Here's your rose! Is not this the
rose said he, still approaching the dreaded hand to Flora,
whose hesitation and blushes surprised him. Mackenzie burst
into a loud laugh, and, in a whisper which all the ladies could
hear, told Forester that "Miss Campbell was afraid to take the
rose out of his hands, lest she should catch from him what he
caught from the carter who brought him to Edinburgh, or from
some of his companions at the cobbler's."
Forester flung the rose he knew not where, sprang over the
bench, rushed between Flora and another lady, made towards
the door in a straight line, pushing everything before him, till a
p1' -:'i'was made for him by the astonished crowd, who stood
out of his way as if he had been a mad dog.
Forester !" cried Henry and Dr. Campbell, who were stand-
ing upon the steps before the door, speaking about the ladies'
carriages, "what's the matter? Where are you going ? The
carriage is coming to the door."
"I had rather walk. Don't speak to me," said Forester.
"I've been insulted-I am in a passion; but I can command
myself. I did not knock him down. Pray, lot me pass!"
Our hero broke from Dr. Campbell and Henry with the


strength of an enraged animal from his keepers, and he must
have found his way home by instinct, for he ran on without
considering how he went. He snatched the light from. the
servant who opened the door at Dr. Campbell's, hurried to his
own apartment, locked, doubled-locked, and bolted the door,
flung himself into a chair, and taking breath exclaimed-
"Thank God, I've done no mischief Thank God, I didn't
knock him down! Thank God, he is out of my sight and I am
cool now-quite cool. Let me recollect it all."
Upon the coolest recollection, Forester could not reconcile his
pride to his present circumstances. "Archibald spoke the
truth. Why am I angry 7 why was I angry, I mean He
reasoned much with himself upon the nature of true and false
shame; he represented to himself that the disorder which dis-
figured his hands was thought shameful, only because it was
vulgar; that what was vulgar was not, therefore, immoral;
that the young tittering ladies, who shrank back from him,
were not supreme judges of right and wrong; that he ought to
despise their opinions; and he despised them with all his
might, for two or three hours, as he walked up and down his
room with unremitting energy. At length our peripatetic phi-
losopher threw himself upon his bed, determined that his repose
should not be disturbed by such trifles: he had by this time
worked himself up to such a pitch of magnanimity, that he
thought he could, with composure, meet the disapproving eyes
of millions of his fellow creatures;- but he was alone when he
formed this erroneous estimate of the strength of the human
mind. Wearied with passion and reason, he fell asleep,
dreamed that he was continually presenting flowers, which no-
-body would accept; wakened at the imaginary repetition of
Archibald's laugh, composed himself again to sleep, and dreamed
that he was in a glover's shop, trying on gloves, and that,
amongst a hundred pairs which he pulled on, he could not find
one that would fit him. Just as he tore the last pair in his
hurry, he awakened, shook off his foolish dream, saw the sun
rising between two chimneys, many feet below his window;
recollected that in a short time he should be summoned to
breakfast; that all the lady patronesses were to be at this
breakfast; that he could not breakfast in gloves; that Archi-
bald would perhaps again laugh, and Flora perhaps again shrink
back. He reproached himself for his weakness in foreseeing and
dreading this scene. His aversion to lady patronesses and to
balls was never at a more formidable height: he sighed for

liberty and independence, which he persuaded himself were not
to be had in his present situation. In one of his long walks,
he remembered to have seen, at some miles' distance from the
town of Edinburgh, on the road to Leith, a gardener and his
boy, who were singing at their work. These men appeared to
Forester to be yet happier than the cobbler, who formerly was
the object of his admiration; and he was persuaded that lie
should be much happier at the gardener's cottage than he could
ever be at Dr. Campbell's house.
"I am not fit," said he to himself, "to live amongst idle
gentlemen and ladies. I should be happy, if I were a useful
member of society: a gardener is a useful member of society;
and I will be a gardener, and live with gardeners."
Forester threw off the clothes which he had worn on the pre-
ceding night at the fatal ball, dressed himself in his old coat,
tied up a small bundle of linen, and took the road to Leith.

When Henry found that Forester was not in his room in the
morning, he concluded that he had rambled out towards Salis-
bury Craigs, whither he talked the preceding day of going to
"I am surprised," said Dr. Campbell, "that the young
gentleman is out so early, for I have a notion he has not had
much sleep since we parted, unless he walks in his sleep, for he
has been walking over my poor head half the night."
Breakfast went on-no Forester appeared. Lady Catherine
began to fear that he had broken his neck upon Salisbury
Craigs, and related all the falls she had ever had, or had ever
been near having, in carriages, on horseback or otherwise. She
then entered into the geography of Salisbury Craigs, and began
to dispute upon the probability of his having fallen to the east
or to the west.
"My dear Lady Catherine," said Dr. Campbell, "we are not
sure that he has been upon Salisbury Craigs whether he have
fallen to the east or to the west, we cannot, therefore, conveni-
ently settle."
But Lady Catherine, whose prudential imagination travelled
*fast, went on to inquire of Dr. Campbell to whom the great
Forester Estate would go, in case of any accident having hap-
pened, or happening, to the young gentleman, before he should
come of age.


Dr. Campbell was preparing to give her ladyship satisfaction
upon this point, when a servant put a letter into his hands. '
Henry looked in great anxiety. Dr. Campbell glanced his eye
over the letter, put it into his pocket, and desired the servant
to show the person who brought the letter into his study.
"It's only a little boy," said Archibald; "I saw him as'I
passed through the halL"
"Cannot a little boy go into my study said Dr. Camp-
bell, coolly.
Archibald's curiosity was strongly excited, and he slipped out
of the room a few minutes afterward, resolved to speak to
the boy, and to discover the purpose of his embassy. But
Dr. Campbell was behind him, before he was aware of his
approach; and just as Archibald began to cross-examine the
boy in these words: "So you came from a young man who is
about my size?" Dr. Campbell put both his hands upon his
shoulders, saying, "He came from a young man who does
not in the least resemble you, believe me, Mr. Archibald
Archibald started, turned round, and was so abashed by the
civilly contemptuous look with which Dr. Campbell pronounced
these words, that he retired .from the study without even at-
tempting any of his usual equivocating apologies for his intrusion.
Dr. Campbell now read the letter, which he had in his pocket.
It was as follows:-

"DEAR SIB,-Though I have quitted your house thus abruptly, I am
not insensible of your kindness. For the step I have taken, I can offer
no apology merely to my guardian; but you have treated me, Dr. Camp-
bell, as your friend, and I shall lay my whole soul open to you.
"Notwithstanding your kindness-notwithstanding the friendship of
your son Henry, whose excellent qualities I know how to value-I must
ingenuously own to you that I have been far from happy in your house.
Ifeel that I cannot be at ease in the vortex of dissipation- and the more
I see of the higher ranks of society, the more I regret that I was born a
gentleman. Neither my birth nor my fortune:shall, however, restrain me
from pursuing that line of life which I am persuaded leads to virtue and
tranquility. Let those who have no virtuous indignation obey the voice
of Fashion I and, at her commands, let her slaves eat the bread of idle-
ness, till it palls upon the sense I I reproach myself with having yielded,
as I have done of late, my opinions to the persuasions of friendship; my
mind has become enervated, and I must fly from the fatal contagion.
Thank heaven, I have yet the power to fly-I have yet sufficient force to
break my chains-I am not yet reduced to the mental degeneracy of the
base monarch who hugged his fetters because they were of gold.
"I am conscious of powers that fit me for something better than to
waste my existence in a ball-room; and I will not sacrifice my liberty to
the absurd ceremonies of daily dissipation. I, that have been the laugh-
'ng-stock of the mean and frivolous, have yet sufficient manly pride un-


extinguished in my breast to assert my claim to your esteem; to assert
that never have committed, or shall designedly commit, any action un-
worthy of the friend of your son.
I do not write to Henry, lest I should any way involve him in my
misfortunes. He is formed to shine in the polite world, and his connec-
tion with me might tarnish the lustre of his character in the eyes of the
'licejudgingfair.' I hope, however, that he will utterly discard me from
his heart, though I cannot dance a reel. I beg that he will break open
the look of the trunk that is in my room, and take out of it my 'Gold-
.smith's Animated Nature,' which he seemed to like.
"In my table-drawer there are my 'Martin's Letters on Botany,' in
which you will find a number of plants that I had dried for Flora-Miss
Flora Campbell, 1 should say. After what passed last night, I can
scarcely hope they will be accepted: I would rather have them burned
than refused; therefore, please to burn them, and say nothing more upon
the subject. Dear sir, do not judge harshly of me: I have had a severe
conflict with myself before I could resolve to leave you. But I would
rather that you should judge of me with severity, than, that you should
extend to me the same species of indulgence with which you last night
viewed the half-intoxicated baronet.
"I can bear anything but contempt,
Yours, &c., FOBRESTER.
"P.S.-I trust that you will n6t question the bearer; he knows where I
am: I therefore put you on your guard. I mean to earn my own bread
as a gardener; I have always preferred the agricultural to the commercial

To this letter, in which the mixture of sense and extrava-
gance did not much surprise Dr. Campbell, he returned the
following answer:-

"My dear cobbler, gardener, orator, or by whatever other name you
choose to be addressed, I am too old to be surprised at anything, other-
wise I might have been rather surprised at some things in your eloquent
letter. You tell me that you have the power to fly, and that you do not
hug your chains, though they are gold. Are you an alderman, or
Daedalus ? or are these only figures of speech ? You inform me that you
cannot live in the vortex of dissipation, or eat the bread of idleness, and
that you are determined to be a gardener. These things seem to have no
necessary connection with each other. Why you should reproach your-
self so bitterly for having spent one evening of your life in a ball-room,-
which I suppose is what you allude to when you speak of a vortex of
dissipation,-I am at a loss to discover. And why you cannot with so
much honest pride yet unextinguished in your breast, find any occupation
more worthy of your talents and as useful to society as that of a
gardener, I'.own, puzzles me a little. Consider these things coolly.
Return to dinner, and we will compare, at our leisure, the advantages of
the mercantile and the agricultural system. I forbear to question your
messenger, as you desire; and I shall not show your letter to Henry till
after we have dined. I hope by that time you will insist upon my
burning it, which, at your request, 1 shall do with pleasure, although it
contains several good sentences. As I am not yet sure you have departed
this life, I shall not enter upon my office of executor. I shall not break
open the lock of your trunk (of which I hope you will some time, when
your mind is less exalted, find the key), nor shall I stir in the difficult
case of Flora's legacy. When next you write your will, let me, for the
sake of your executor, advise you to be more precise in your directions,


for what can be done if you order him to give and burn the same thing in
the same sentence? As you have, amongst your other misfortunes, the
misfortune to be born heir to five or six thousand a year, you should
learn a little how to manage your own affairs, lest you should, amongst
your poor or rick companions, meet with some who are not quite so
honest as yourself.
"If, instead of returning to dine with us, you should persist in your
gardening scheme, I shall have less esteem for your good sense; but I
shall forbear to reproach you. I shall leave you to learn by your own
experience, if it be not in my power to give you the advantages of mine
gratis. But, at the same time, I shall discover where you are, and shall
inform myself exactly of all your proceedings. This, as your guardian, is
my duty. I should further warn you, that I shall not, while you choose
to live in a rank below your own, supply you with your customary yearly
allowance. Two hundred guineas a year would be an extravagant allow-
ance in your present circumstances. I do not mention money with any
idea of influencing yodr generous mind by mercenary motives; but it is
necessary that you should not deceive yourself by inadequate experi-
ments. You cannot be rich and poor at the same time. I gave you, the
day before yesterday, five ten-guinea notes for your last quarterly allow-
ance. I suppose you have taken these with you, therefore you cannot be
in any immediate distress for money. I am sorry, I own, that you are
so well provided; because a man who has fifty guineas in his pocket-
book cannot distinctly feel what it is to'be compelled to earn his own
Do not, my dear ward, think me harsh; my friendship for you gives
me courage to inflict present pain, with a view to your future advantage.
You must not expect to see anything of your friend Henry until you
return to us. I shall, as his father and your guardian, request that he will
trust implicitly to my prudence upon this occasion; that he will make no
inquiries concerning you; and that he will abstain from all connection
with you whilst you absent yourself from your friends. You cannot live
amongst the vulgar (by the vulgar, I mean the ill-educated, the ignorant,
those who have neither noble sentiments nor agreeable manners,), and at
the same time enjoy the pleasures of cultivated society. I shall wait, not
without anxiety, till your choice be decided.-Believe me to be your
sincere friend and guardian,
"H. CAMPBELL, sen."

As soon as Dr. Campbell had despatched this letter, he
returned to the company. The ladies, after breakfast, proceeded
to the charity-school; but Henry was so anxious to learn what
was become of his friend Forester, that he could scarcely enjoy
the effects of his own benevolent exertions. It was with
difficulty, such as he had never before experienced, that Dr.
Campbell obtained from him the promise to suspend all
intercourse with Forester. Henry's first impulse, when he read
the letters, which his father now found it prudent to show him,
was to search fow his friend instantly. "I am sure," said he,
"I shall be able to find him out; and if I can but see him and
speak to him, I knowI could prevail uponl him to return to

"Yes," said Dr. Campbell, p;it hp, you might persuade him

to return; but that is not the object; unless his understanding
be convinced, what should we gain "
"It should be convinced. I could convince him," cried
"I have, my dear son," said Dr. Campbell, smiling, "the
highest opinion of your logic and eloquence; but are your
reasoning powers stronger to-day than they were yesterday'
Have you any new arguments to produce ? I thought you had
exhausted your whole store without 'effect."
Henry paused.
"Believe me," continued his father, lowering his voice, "I
am not insensible to your friend's good, and I will say great,
qualities. I do not leave him to suffer evils without feeling as
much perhaps as you can do; but I am convinced that the
solidity of his character and the happiness of his whole life
will depend upon the impression that is now made upon his
mind by realities. He will see society as it is. He has abilities
and generosity of mind which will make him a first-rate character,
if his friends do not spoil him out of false kindness, Henry."
Henry at these words held out his hand to his father, and
gave him the promise which he desired.
"But," added he, "I still have hopes from your letter. I
should not be surprised to see Forester at dinner to-day."
"I should," said Dr. Campbell.
Dr. Campbell, alas was right. Henry looked eagerly to-
wards the door every time it opened, when they were at dinner;
but he was continually disappointed. Flora, whose gaiety usually
enlivened the evenings, and agreeably relieved her father and
brother after their morning studies, was now silent.
Whilst Lady Catherine's volubility overpowered even the
philosophy of Dr. Campbell, she wondered-she never ceased
wondering-that Mr. Forester did not appear, and that the Dr.
and Mrs. Campbell, and Henry and Flora, were not more
alarmed. She proposed sending twenty different messengers
after him. She was now convinced that he had not fallen
from Salisbury Craigs, because Dr. Campbell assured her lady-
ship that he had a letter from him in his pocket, and that he
was safe; but she thought that there was imminent danger of
his enlisting in a frolic, or, perhaps, marrying some cobbler's
daughter in a pet. She turned to Archibald Mackenzie, and
exclaimed-" He was at a cobbler's; it could not be merely to
mend his shoes. What sort of a lassie is the cobbler's daughter
or has the cobbler a daughter I"


"She is hump-backed, luckily," said Dr. Campbell, coolly.
"That does not signify," said Lady Catherine; "I'm con-
vinced she is at the bottom of the whole mystery-for I once
heard Mr. Forester say-and I'm sure you must recollect it,
Flora, my dear, for he looked at you at the time,-I once heard
him say, that personal beauty was no merit, and that ugly
people ought to be liked-or some such thing-out of
humanity. Now, out of humanity, with his odd notions, it's
ten to one, Dr. Campbell, he marries this hump-backed cobbler's
daughter: I'm sure, if I was his guardian, I could not rest an
instant with such a thought in my head."
"Nor I," said Dr. Campbell, quietly; and in spite of her
ladyship's astonishment, remonstrances, and conjectures, he
maintained his resolute composure.

The gardener that lived on the road to Leith, who had struck
Forester's fancy, was a square, thick, obstinate-eyed, hard work-
ing. ignorant, elderly man, whose soul was intent upon his petty
daily gains, and whose honesty was of that "coarse-spun vulgar
sort,"* which alone can be expected from men of unculti-
vated minds. Mr. M'Evoy, for that was the gardener's name,
was both good-natured and selfish; his views and ideas all
centred in his own family, and his affection was accumulated
and reserved for two individuals,-his son and his daughter.
The son was not so industrious as the father; he was ambitious
of seeing something of the world, and he consorted with all the
young apprentices in Edinburgh who would condescend to forget
that he was a country boy, and to remember that he expected,
when his father should die, to be rich. Mr. M'Evoy's daughter
was an ugly, cross-looking girl, who spent all the money that
she could either earn or save upon ribands and fine gowns, with
which she fancied she could supply all the defects of her person.
This powerful motive for her economy operated incessantly
upon her mind, and she squeezed all that could possibly be
squeezed for her private use from the frugal household. The
boy whose place Forester thought himself so fortunate to supply,,
had left the gardener, because he could not bear to work and be
scolded without eating or drinking.
The gardener willingly complied with our hero's first re

Mrs. Barbauld's Essay on the Inconsistency of Human Wishes.


quest; he gave him a spade, and he set him to work.
Forester dug with all the energy of an enthusiast and dined
like a philosopher upon colcannon; but colcannon did not
charm him so much the second day as it had done the first;
and the third day it was yet less to his taste; besides, he began
to notice the difference between oaten and wheaten bread.
He however recollected that Cyrus lived, when he was a lad,
upon watercresses-the black broth of the Spartans he likewise
remembered, and he would not complain; he thought that he
should soon accustom himself to his scanty homely fare. A
number of the disagreeable circumstances of poverty he had not
estimated when he entered upon his new way of life; and
though at Dr. Campbell's table he had often said to himself, "I
could do very well without all these things," yet till he had
actually tried the experiment, he had not dear ideas upon the
subject. He missed a number of little pleasures and conveniences
which he had scarcely noticed whilst they had every day
presented themselves as matters of course. The occupation of
digging was laborious, but it afforded no exercise to his mind,
and he felt most severely the want of Henry's agreeable
conversation-he had not one to whom he could now
talk of the watercresses of Cyrus, or the black broth of
the Spartans; he had no one with whom he could dispute
concerning the Stoic or the Epicurean doctrines, the mercantile
or the agricultural system. Many objections to the agricultural
system which had escaped him, occurred now to his mind; and
his compassion for the worms, whom he was obliged to cut in
pieces continually with his spade, acted every hour more forcibly
upon his benevolent heart. He once attempted to explain his
feelings for the worms to the gardener, who stared at him with
all the insolence of ignorance, and bid him mind his work, with
a tone of authority which ill suited Forester's feelings and love
of independence.
"Is ignorance thus to command knowledge Is reason thus
to be silenced by boorish stupidity 1" said Forester to himself,
as he recollected the patience and candour with which Dr.
Campbell and Henry used to converse with him. He began to
think that in cultivated literary society he had enjoyed more
liberty of mind, more freedom of opinion, than he could taste in
the company of an illiterate gardener. The gardener's son,
though his name was Colin, had no Arcadian simplicity, nothing
which could please the classic taste of Forester, or which could
recall to his mind the Eclogues of Virgil, or the golden age,

"the Gentle Shepherd,"* or the Ayreshire ploughman.+ Colin't
favourite holiday's diversion was playing at goff. this game,
which is played with a bat loaded with lead, and with a
ball which is harder than a cricket-ball, requires much strength
and dexterity. Forester used, sometimes, to accompany the
gardener's son to the Links,:. where numbers of people of
different descriptions are frequently seen practising this diver-
sion. Our hero was ambitious of excelling at the game of goff;
and as he was not particularly adroit, he exposed himself,
in his first attempts, to the diversion of the spectators, and he
likewise received several severe blows. Colin laughed at him
without mercy; and Forester could not help comparing the rude
expressions of his new companion's untutored vanity, with the
unassuming manners and unaffected modesty of Henry Campbell.
Forester soon took an aversion to the game of goff, and recollected
Scotch reels with less contempt.
One evening, after having finished his task of digging-for
digging was now become a task-he was going to take a walk
to a lake near Edinburgh; when Colin, who was at the same
instant setting out for the Links, roughly insisted upon
Forester's accompanying him. Our hero, who was never much
disposed to yield to the tastes of others, positively refused the
gardener's son, with some imprudent expressions of contempt.
From this moment Colin became his enemy, and by a thousand
malicious devices contrived to show his vulgar hatred.
Forester now to his great surprise discovered that hatred
could exist in a cottage. Female vanity, he likewise presently
perceived, was not confined to the precincts of a ball-room; he
found that Miss M'Evoy spent every leisure moment in the
contemplation of her own coarse image in a fractured looking-
glass. He once ventured to express his dislike of a many-
coloured plaid in which Miss M'Evoy had arrayed herself for
a dance; and the fury of her looks, and the loud-toned vulgarity
'of her conceit, were strongly contrasted with the recollection of
Flora Campbell's gentle manners and sweetness of temper. The
painted flower-pot was present to his imagination, and he
turned from the lady who stood before him, with an air of
disgust which he had neither the wish nor the power to
conceal. The consequences of offending this high-spirited
damsel our hero had not sufficiently considered; the brother

.... Ramsay.. t Burns.
SA lee or common near Edinburgh.

and sister, who seldom agreed in anything else, now agreed,
though from different motives, in an eager desire to torment
Forester. Whenever he entered the cottage, either to rest
himself, or partake of those savouryy messes, which the
neat-handed Phillis dresses," he was received with sullen
silence, or with taunting reproach. The old gardener, stupid
as he was, Forester thought an agreeable companion com-
pared with his insolent son and his vixen daughter. The
happiest hours of the day, to our hero, were those which he
spent at his work; his affections, repressed and disappointed,
became a source of misery to him.
"Is there nothing in this world to which I can attach my-
self said Forester, as he one day leaned upon his spade in a
melancholy mood-"Must I spend my life in the midst of
absurd altercations ?-Is it for this that I have a heart and an
understanding ?-No one here comprehends one word I say-I
am an object of contempt and hatred; whilst my soul is formed
for the most benevolent feelings, and capable of the most exten-
sive views.-And of what service am I to my fellow-creatures ?
Even this stupid gardener, even a common labourer, is as useful
to society as I am. Compared with Henry Campbell, what am
I --Oh, Henry !-Flora !-could you see me at this instant, you
would-pity me."
But the fear of being an object of pity wakened Forester's
pride; and though he felt that he was unhappy, he could not
bear to acknowledge that he had mistaken the road to happiness.
His imaginary picture of rural felicity was not, to be sure,
realized; but he resolved to bear his disappointment with forti-
tude, to fulfil his engagements with his master the gardener, and
then to seek some other more eligible situation. In the mean-
time, his benevolence tried to expand itself upon the only indi-
vidual in this family who treated him tolerably well: he grew
fond of the old gardener, because there was nothing else near
him to which he could attach himself-not even a dog or a cat.
The old man, whose temper was not quite so enthusiastical as
Forester's, looked upon him as an industrious, simple young
man, above the usual class of servants, and rather wished to
keep him in his service because he gave him less than the current
wages. Forester, after his late reflections upon digging, began
to think that by applying his understanding to the business of
gardening, he might perhaps make some discoveries which should
excite his master's everlasting gratitude, and immortalize his own
name. He pledged a shirt and a pair of stockings at a poor


bookseller's stall for some volumes upon gardening; and these,
in spite of the ridicule of Colin and Miss M'Evoy, he studied
usually at his meals. He at length met with an account of some
experiments upon fruit-trees, which he thought would infallibly
make the gardener's fortune.
Did not you tell me," said Forester to the gardener, "that
cherries were sometimes sold very high in Edinburgh "
"Five a penny," said the gardener; and he wished, from the
bottom of his heart, that he had a thousand cherry-trees, but he
possessed one only.
He was considerably alarmed when Forester proposed to him,
as the certain means of making his fortune, to strip the bark off
this cherry-tree, assuring him that a similar experiment had been
tried, and had succeeded; that his cherry-tree would bear twice
as many cherries if he would only strip the bark from it. "Let
me try one branch for an experiment-I will try one branch "
But the gardener peremptorily forbade all experiments; and,
shutting Forester's book, bade him leave such nonsense and
mind his business.
Provoked by this instance of tyrannical ignorance, Forester
forgot his character of a servant-boy, and at length called his
master an obstinate fool.
No sooner were these words uttered, than the gardener emptied
the remains of his watering-pot coolly in Forester's face, and,
first paying him his wages, dismissed him from his service.
Miss M'Evoy, who was at work, seated at the door, made
room most joyfully for Forester to pass, and observed that she
had long since prophesied he would not do for them.
Forester was now convinced that it was impossible to reform
a positive old gardener, to make him try new experiments upon
cherry-trees, or to interest him for the progress of science. He
deplored the perversity of human nature, and he began, when
he reflected upon the characters of Miss M'Evoy and her brother,
to believe that they were beings distinct from the rest of their
species; he was, at all events, glad to have parted with such
odious companions. On his road from Leith to Edinburgh he
had time for various reflections.
"Thirty shillings, then, with hard, bodily labour, I have
earned for one month's service!" said Forester to himself.
" Well, I will keep to my resolution. I will live upon the money
I earn, and upon that alone; I will not have recourse to my
bank-notes till the last extremity." He took out his pocket-
book, however, and looked at them, to see that they were safe.


"How wretched," thought he, "must be that being who is
obliged to purchase, in his utmost need, the assistance of his
fellow-creatures with such vile trash as this! I have been un-
fortunate in my first experiment; but all men are not like this
selfish gardener and his brutal son, incapable of disinterested
Here Forester was interrupted in his meditations by a young
man, who accosted him with-" Sir, if I don't mistake, I believe
I have a key of yours."
Forester looked up at the young man's face, and recollected
him to be the person who had nearly lost his life in descending
for his key into the brewing-vat.
"I knew you again, sir," continued the brewer's clerk, by
your twirling those scissors upon your finger, just as you were
doing that day at the brewery."
Forester was unconscious till this moment that he had a pair
of scissors in his hand: whilst the gardener was paying him his
wages, to relieve his mauvaise honte, our hero took up Miss
M'Evoy's scissors, which lay upon the table, and twirled them
upon his finger, as he used to do with a key. He was rather
ashamed to perceive that he had not yet cured himself of such a
silly habit. "I thought the lesson I got at the brewery," said
he, would have cured me for ever of this foolish trick; but the
diminutive chains of habit,* as somebody says, are scarcely
ever heavy enough to be felt till they are too strong to be
"Sir," said the astonished clerk.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said our hero, who now perceived,
by his countenance, that this observation on the peculiar nature
of the chains'of habit was utterly unintelligible to him; pray, sir,
can you tell me what o'clock it is?"
"Half after four-I am--sir," said the clerk, producing his
watch with the air of a man who thought a watch a matter of
some importance. "Hum! He can't be a gentleman; he has
no watch!" argued he with himself; and he looked at Forester's
rough apparel with astonishment. Forester had turned back
towards Leith, that he might return Miss M'Evoy her scissors.
The brewer's clerk was going to Leith, to collect some money
for his master. As they walked on, the young man talked to
our hero with good-nature, but with a species of familiarity,
which was strikingly different from the respectful manner in

Dr. Johnson's Vision of Theodore

which he formerly addressed Forester, when he had seen him
in a better coat, and in the company of a young gentleman.
You have left Dr. Campbell's, then ?" said he, looking with
curiosity. Forester replied that he had left Dr. Campbell's
because he preferred earning his own bread to living an idle
life amongst gentlemen and ladies.
The clerk, at this speech, looked earnestly in Forester's face,
and began to suspect that he was deranged in his mind.
As the gravity of our hero's looks and the sobriety of his
demeanour did not give any strong indications of insanity, the
clerk, after a few minutes' consideration, inclined to believe that
Forester concealed the truth from him; that probably he was
some dependent of Dr. Campbell's family; that he had dis-
pleased his friends, and had been discarded in disgrace. He
was confirmed in these suppositions by Forester's telling him
that he had just left the service of a gardener; that he did not
know where to find a lodging for the night; and that he was in
want of some employment by which he might support himself
The clerk, who remembered with gratitude the intrepidity
with which Forester had hazarded his life to save him the
morning that he was at the brewery, and who had also some com-
passion for a young gentleman reduced to poverty, told him
that if he could write a good hand, knew anything of accounts,
and could get a character for punctuality (meaning to include
honesty in this word) from any creditable people, he did not
doubt that his master, who had large concerns, might find em-
ployment for him as an under-clerk. Forester's pride was not
agreeably soothed by the manner of this proposal, but he was
glad to hear of a situation, to use the clerk's genteel expression;
and he moreover thought, that he should now have an oppor-
tunity of comparing the commercial and agricultural systems.
The clerk hinted that he supposed Forester would choose to
make himself smart, before he called to offer himself at the
brewery, and advised him to call about six, as, by that tipe in
the evening, his master was generally at leisure.
A dinner at a public house (for our hero did not know where
else to dine), and the further expense of a new pair of shoes,
and some other articles of dress, almost exhausted his month's
wages; he was very unwilling to make any of these purchases;
but the clerk assured him that they were indispensable; and,
indeed, at last, his appearance was scarcely upon a par with
that of his friendly adviser.



Before we follow Forester to the brewery, we must request
the attention of our readers to the history of a bet of Mr.
Archibald Mackenzie's.
We have already noticed the rise and progress of this young
gentleman's acquaintance with Sir Philip Gosling. Archibald,
"Whose every frolic had some end in view,
Ne'er played the fool, but played the rascal too." *
cultivated assiduously the friendship of this weak, dissipated,
vain.young baronet, in hopes that he might, in process of time,
make some advantage of his folly. Sir Philip had an unfor-
tunately high opinion of his own judgment; an opinion which
he sometimes found it difficult to inculcate upon the minds of
others, till he hit upon the compendious method of laying high
wagers in support of all his assertions. Few people chose to
venture a hundred guineas upon the turn of a straw. Sir
Philip, in all such contests, came off victorious; and he plumed
himself much upon the successes of his purse. Archibald
affected the greatest deference for Sir Philip's judgment; and,
as he observed that the baronet piqued himself upon his skill as
a jockey, he flattered him indefatigably upon this subject. He
accompanied Sir Philip continually in his long visits to the
livery-stables; and he made himself familiarly acquainted with
the keeper of the livery-stable, and even with the ostlers. So
low can interested pride descend! All this pains Archibald
took, and more, for a very small object. He had set his fancy
upon Sawney, one of his friend's horses; and he had no doubt
but that he should either induce Sir Philip to make him a
present of this horse, or'that he should jockey him out of it by
some well-timed bet.
In counting upon the baronet's generosity, Archibald was
mistaken. Sir Philip had that species of good-nature which
can lend, but not that which can give. He offered to lend the
horse to Archibald most willingly; but the idea of giving it was
far distant from his imagination. Archibald, who at length
despaired of his friend's generosity, had recourse to his other
scheme of the wager. After having judiciously lost a few
guineas to Sir Philip in wagers, to confirm him in his extrava-
gant opinion of his own judgment, Archibald, one evening,



when the fumes of wine and vanity, operating together, had
somewhat exalted the man of judgment's imagination, urged
him by artful, hesitating contradiction, to assert the most
incredible things of one of his horses to whom he had given
the name of Favourite. Archibald knew, from the best authority
-from the master of the livery-stables, who was an experienced
jockey, that Favourite was by no means a match for Sawney;
he therefore waited quietly till Sir Philip Gosling laid a very
considerable wager upon the head of his "Favourite." Archi-
bald immediately declared that he could not in conscience-that
he could not, for the honour of Scotland, give up his friend
"Sawney!" cried Sir Philip; "I'll bet fifty 'guineas that
Favourite beats him hollow, at a walk, trot, or gallop, whichever
you please."
Archibald artfully affected to be startled at this defiance;
and, seemingly desirous, to draw 'back, pleaded his inability to
measure purses with such a rich man as Sir Philip.
"Nay, my boy," replied Sir Philip; "that excuse sha'n't
stand you in stead. You have a pretty little pony there, that
Lady Catherine has just given you; if you won't lay me fifty
guineas, will you risk your pony against my judgment? "
Archibald had now brought his friend exactly to the point
at which he had been long aiming. Sir Philip staked his
handsome horse Sawney against Archibald's sorry pony, upon
this wager, that Favourite should, at the first trials, beat Sawney
at a walk, a trot, and a gallop.
Warmed with wine, and confident in his own judgment,
the weak baronet insisted upon having the bet immediately
decided. The gentlemen ordered out their horses, and the
wager was to be determined upon the sands of Leith.
Sir Philip Gosling, to his utter astonishment, found himself
for once mistaken in his judgment. The treacherous Archi-
bald coolly suffered him to exhale his passion in unavailing
oaths, and at length rejoiced to hear him consoling himself
with the boast, that this was the first wager upon horseflesh
that he had ever lost in his life. The master of the livery-
stables stared with well affected incredulity when Sir Philip,
upon his return from the sands of Leith, informed him that
Favourite had been beaten hollow by Sawney; and Archibald,
by his additional testimony, could scarcely convince him of the
fact, till he put two guineas into his hand, when he recom-
mended his new horse Sawney to his particular care. Sir

Philip, who was not gifted with quick observation, did not take
notice of this last convincing argument. Whilst this passed, he
was talking eagerly to the ostler, who confirmed him in his
opinion, which he still repeated as loud as ever, "that Favourite
ought to have won." This point Archibald prudently avoided
to contest, and he thus succeeded in duping and flattering his
friend at once.
Sawney for ever !" cried Archibald, as soon as Sir Philip
had left the stables.' "Sawney for ever !" repeated the ostler,
and reminded Mackenzie that he had promised him half a
guinea. Archibald had no money in his pocket, but he assured
the ostler that he would remember him the next day. The
next day, however, Archibald, who was expert in parsimonious
expedients, considered that he had better delay giving the
ostler his half-guinea till it had been, earned by his care of
It is the usual error of cunning people to take it for granted
that others are fools. This ostler happened to be a match for
our young laird in cunning; and as soon as he perceived that it
was Archibald's intention to cheat him of the interest of his
half-guinea, he determined to revenge himself in his care of
Sawney. We shall hereafter see the success of his devices.

Scarcely had Archibald Mackenzie been two days in posses-
sion of the long wished-for object of his mean soul, when he
became dissatisfied with his old saddle and.bridle, which cer-
tainly did not, as Sir Philip observed, suit his new horse. The
struggles in Archibald's mind betwixt his taste for expense and
his habits of saving, were often rather painful to him. He had
received from Lady Catherine a ten-guinea note when he first
came to Dr. Campbell's, and he had withstood many tempta-
tions to change it. One morning (the day that he had accom-
panied Henry and Forester to the watchmaker's) he was so
strongly charmed by the sight of a watch-chain and seals, that
he actually took his bank-note out of his scrutoire at his return
home, put it into his pocket when he dressed for dinner, and
resolved to call that evening at the watchmaker's to indulge his
fancy by purchasing the watch-chain, and to gratify his family
pride by getting his coat of arms splendidly engraved upon the
seal. He called at the watchmaker's in company with Sir
Philip Gosling, but he could not agree with him respecting the


price of the chain and seals, and Archibald consoled himself
with the reflection that his'bank-note would still remain. He
held the note in his hand whilst he higgled about the price of
the watch-chain.
"0, d-n the expense," cried Sir Philip.
O, I mind ten guineas as little as any man," said Archibald,
thrusting the bank-note, in imitation of the baronet, with af-
fected carelessness into his waistcoat pocket. He was engaged
that night to go to the play with Sir Philip, and he was much
hurried in dressing. His servant observed that his waistcoat
was stained, and looked out another for him.
Now this man sometimes took the liberty of wearing his
master's clothes; and when Archibald went to the play, the
servant dressed himself in the stained waistcoat to appear at a
ball, which was given that night in the neighbourhood by
some "gentleman's gentleman." The waistcoat was rather too
tight for the servant,-he tore it, and instead of sending it to
the washerwoman's to have the stain washed out, as his master had
desired, he was now obliged to send it to the tailor's to be mended.
Archibald's sudden wish for a new saddle and bridle for
Sawney could not be gratified without changing the bank-note;
and, forgetting that he had left it in the pocket of his waistcoat
the night that he went to the play, he searched for it in the
scrutoire, in which he was accustomed to keep his treasures. He
was greatly disturbed when the note was not to be found in the
scrutoire; he searched over and over again,-not a pigeon-hole,
not a drawer, remained to be examined. He tried to recollect
when he had last seen it, and a length remembered that he put
it into his waistcoat-pocket when he went to the watchmaker's,
-that he had taken it out to look at whilst he was in the shop;
but whether he had brought it home safely or no, he could not
precisely ascertain. His doubts upon this subject, however, he
cautiously concealed, resolved, if possible, to make somebody
or other answerable for his loss. He summoned his servant,
told him that he had left a ten-guinea bank-note in his waist-
coat-pocket the night that he went to the play, and that, as the
waistcoat was given into his charge, he must be answerable for
the note. The servant boldly protested that he neither could
nor would be at the loss of a note which he had never seen.
Archibald now softened his tone, for he saw that he had no
chance of bullying the servant. "I desired you to send it to
the washerwoman's,' said he.
"And so I did, sir," said the man.


This was true, but not the whole truth. He had previously
sent the waistcoat to the tailor's to have the rent repaired
which it received the night that he wore it at the ball. These
circumstances the servant thought proper to suppress, and he
was very ready to agree with his master in accusing the poor
washerwoman of having stolen the note. The washerwoman
was extremely industrious, and perfectly honest; she had a
large family that depended upon her labour and upon her
character for support. She was astonished and shocked at the
charge that was brought against her, and declared that, if she
were able, she would rather pay the whole money at once than
suffer any suspicion to go abroad against her. Archibald re-
joiced to find her in this disposition, and he assured her that
the only method to avoid disgrace, a lawsuit, and ruin, was
instantly to pay, or to promise to pay, the money. It was out of
her power to pay it, and she would not promise what she knew
she could not perform.
Archibald redoubled his threats; the servant stood by his
master. The poor woman burst into tears; but she steadily
declared that she was innocent, and no promise could be
extorted from her even in the midst of her terror. Though she
had horrible, perhaps not absolutely visionary, ideas of the
dangers of a lawsuit, yet she had some confidence in the
certainty that justice was on her side. Archibald said that
she might talk about justice as much as she pleased, but that
she must prepare to submit to the law. The woman trembled
at the sound of these words; but, though ignorant, she was no
fool, and she had a friend in Dr. Campbell's family, to whom
she resolved to apply in her distress. Henry Campbell had
visited her little boy when he was ill, and had made him some
small present; and though she did not mean to encroach upon
Henry's good-nature, she thought that he had so much learning
that he certainly could, without its costing her anything, put
her in the right way to avoid the law with which she had been
threatened by Archibald Mackenzie and his servant.
Henry heard the story with indignation, such as Forester
would have felt in similar circumstances; but prudence tem-
pered his enthusiastic feelings; and prudence renders us able to
assist others, whilst enthusiasm frequently defeats its own
purposes, and injuries those whom it wildly attempts to serve.
Henry, knowing the character of Archibald, governed him-
self accordingly; he made no appeal to his feelings, for he saw
that the person must be deficient in humanity who could have


'threatened a defenceless woman with such severity; he did not
speak of justice to the tyrannical laird, but he spoke of law.
He told Archibald, that being thoroughly convinced of the
woman's innocence, he had drawn up a state of her case, which
she, in compliance with his advice, was ready to lay before
Counsellor --, naming the first counsel in Edinburgh.
The young laird repeated, with a mixture of apprehension
and suspicion, Drawn up a case i-No you can't know how
to draw up cases; you are not a lawyer; you only say this to
bnlly me."
Henry replied that he was no lawyer; that he could, not-
withstanding, state plain facts in such a manner, he hoped, as
to make a case intelligible to any sensible lawyer; that he
meant to show what he had written to his father.
"You'll show it to me first, won't you said Archibald, who
wished to gain time for consideration.
Henry put the paper which he had drawn up into his hands,
and waited with a determined countenance beside him whilst
he perused the case. Archibald saw that Henry had abilities
and steadiness to go through with the business; the facts were
so plainly and forcibly stated that his hopes even from law
began to falter. He therefore talked about humanity, said he
pitied the poor woman; could not bear to think of distressing
her; but that, at the same time, he had urgent occasion for
money; that, if he could even recover five guineas of it, it
would be something. He added, that he had debts which he
could not in honour delay to discharge.
Now Henry had five guineas, which he had reserved for the
purchase of some additions to his cabinet of mineralogy, and he
offered to lend this money to Archibald, to pay the debts that
he could .not in honour delay to discharge, upon express con-
dition that he should say nothing more to the poor woman
concerning the bank-note.
To this condition Archibald most willingly acceded; and as
Henry, with generous alacrity, counted the five guineas into his
hand, this mean, incorrigible being said to himself, What fools
these bookish young men are, after all! Though he can draw
up cases so finely, I've taken him in at last; and I wish it was
ten guineas instead of five !"
Fatigued with the recital of the various petty artifices of this
avaricious and dissipated young laird, we shall now relieve
ourselves, by turning from the history of meanness to that of
enthusiasm. The faults of Forester we hope and wish to see

corrected; but who can be interested for the selfish Archibald
Mackenzie !
We left Forester when he, was just going to offer himself
as clerk to a brewer. The brewer was a prudent man; and
he sent one of his men with a letter to Dr. Campbell, to inform
him that a young lad, whom he had formerly seen in company
with Mr. Henry Campbell, and who, he understood, was the
doctor's ward, had applied to him, and that he should be very
happy to take him into his service if his friends approved of
it, and could properly recommend him. In consequence of
Dr. Campbell's answer to the brewer's letter, Forester, who
knew nothing of the application to his friends, obtained the
vacant clerkship. He did not, however, long continue in his
new situation. At first, he felt happy, when he found himself
relieved from the vulgar petulance of Miss M'Evoy and her
brother Colin; in comparison with their rude ill-humours, the
clerks, who were his present companions, appeared patterns of
civility. By hard experience, Forester was taught to know
that obliging manners in our companions add something to the
happiness of our lives. "My mind to me a kingdom is," was
once his constant answer to all that his friend Henry could urge
in favour of the pleasures of society; but he now began to sus-
pect that, separated from social intercourse, his mind, however
enlarged, would afford him but a dreary kingdom.
He flattered himself that he could make a friend of the clerk
who had found his key; this young man's name was Richard-
son; he was good-natured, but ignorant; and neither his
education nor his abilities distinguished him from any other
clerk in similar circumstances. Forester invited him to walk
to Arthur's Seat, after the monotonous business of the day was
over; but the clerk preferred walking on holidays in Prince's-
street; and after several ineffectual attempts to engage him in
moral and metaphysical arguments, our hero discovered the
depth of his companion's ignorance with astonishment. Once,
when he found that two of the clerks, to whom he had been
talking of Cicero and Pliny, did not know anything of these
celebrated personages, he said with a sigh,-
"But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll,
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of their soul,"



The word penury, in this stanza, the clerks at least under-
stood, and it excited their noble rage; they hinted that it ill
became a person who did not dress nearly as well as themselves
to give. himself such airs, and to taunt his betters with poverty;
they said that they supposed, because he was an Englishman, as
they perceived by his accent, he thought he might insult
Scotchmen as he pleased. It was vain for him to attempt any
explanation; their pride and their- prejudice combined against
him; and though their dislike 'to him was not so outrageous as
that of the gardener, gentle Colin, yet it was quite sufficient to
make him uneasy in hissituation. Richardson was as steady to
him as could reasonably be expected; but he showed so little
desire to have "the ample page, rich with the spoils of time,"
unrolled to him, that he excited our young scholar's contempt.
No friendships can be more unequal than those between ignor-
ance and knowledge. We pass over the journal of our hero's
hours, which were spent in casting up and verifying accounts;
this occupation, at length, he decided must be extremely in-
jurious to the human understanding. "All the higher faculties
of my soul," said himself, "are absolutely useless at this
work, and I am reduced to a mere machine." But there were
many other circumstances in the mercantile system which
Forester had not foreseen, and which shocked him extremely.
The continual attention to petty gain, the little artifices which'
a tradesman thinks himself justified in practising upon his
customers, could not be endured by his ingenuous mind: One
morning, the brewery was in an uncommon bustle; the clerks
were all in motion. Richardson told him that they expected a
visit in a few hours from the gauger and the supervisor, and
that they were preparing for their reception. When the nature
of these preparations were explained to Forester; when he was.
made, to understand that the business and duty of a brewer's
clerk was to assist his master in evading certain clauses in
certain Acts of Parliament; when. he found that to trick a
gauger was excellent joke, he.stood in silent moral
astonishment. He knew about as much of the revenue laws as
the clerks did of. Cicero and Brutus; but his sturdy principles
of integrity could not bend to any of the arguments, founded on
expediency,, which were brought by his companions in their own
and their master's justification. He declared that he must speak
to his master upon the subject immediately. His master was
as busy as he could possibly be; and when Forester insisted'
upon seeing him,.he desired.that he would speak as quickly as'

he could, for that he expected the supervisor every instant. Our
hero declared that he could not, consistently with his principles,
assist in evading the laws of his country. The brewer stared,
and then laughed; assured him that he had as great a respect
for the laws as other people; that he did nothing but what
every person in his situation was obliged to do in their own
defence. Forester resolutely persisted in his determination
against all clandestine practices. The brewer cut the matter short
by saying, he had not time to argue; but that he did not choose
to keep a clerk who was not in his interests; that he supposed
the next thing would be to betray him to his supervisor.
"I am no traitor," exclaimed Forester; "I will not stay
another instant with a master who suspects me."
The brewer suffered him to depart without reluctance; but
what exasperated Forester the most, was the composure of his
friend Richardson during this scene. Richardson did not offer
to shake hands with him, when he saw him going out of the
house; for Richardson had a good place, and did not choose to
quarrel with his master for a person whom he now verily be-
lieved to be, as he had originally suspected, insane.
"This js the world !-this is friendship! said Forester to
His generous and enthusiastic imagination supplied him
with eloquent invectives against human nature, even whilst he
ardently desired to serve his fellow-creatures. He wandered
through the streets of Edinburgh, indulging himself alternately
in misanthropic reflections and benevolent projects. One in-
stant he resolved to study the laws, that he might reform the
revenue laws.; the next moment he recollected his old passion
for a desert island, and he regretted that he could not be ship-
wrecked in Edinburgh.
The sound of a squeaking fiddle roused Forester from his
reverie; he looked up, and saw a thin pale man fiddling to a
set of dancing-dogs that he was exhibiting upon the flags for
the amusement of a crowd of men, women, and children. It
was a deplorable spectacle: the dogs appeared so wretched in
the midst of the merriment of the spectators, that Forester's
compassion was moved, and he exclaimed-
"Enough, enough!-They are quite tired; here are some
halfpence !"
The showmen took the halfpence; but several fresh spectators
were yet to see the sight; and though the exhausted animals
were but little inclined to perform their antic feats, their master


twitched the rope that was fastened round their necks so violently,
that they were compelled to renew their melancholy dance.
Forester darted forward, stopped the fiddler's hand, and began
an expostulation, not one word of which was understood by
the person to whom it was addressed. A stout lad, who was
very impatient at this interruption of his diversion, began to
abuse Forester, and presently from words he proceeded to blows.
Forester, though a better orator, was by no means so able a
boxer as his opponent. The battle was obstinately fought on
both sides; but, at length, our young Quixote received what
has no name in heroic language, but in the vulgar tongue
is called a black eye; and covered with blood and bruises, he
was carried by some humane passenger into a neighboring
house: it was a printer and bookseller's shop. The bookseller
treated him with humanity; and after advising him not to be
so hastily engaged to be the champion of dancing-dogs, inquired
who he was, and whether he had any friends in Edinburgh to
whom he could send.
This printer, from having been accustomed to converse with
variety of people, was a good judge of the language of gentle-
men; and though there was nothing else in Forester's manners
which could have betrayed him, he spoke in such good language,
that the bookseller was certain that he had received a liberal
Our hero declined telling his history; but the printer was so
well pleased with his conversation, that he readily agreed to give
him employment; and as soon as he recovered from his bruises,
Forester was eager to learn the art of printing.
"The art of printing," said he, "has emancipated mankind;
and printers ought to be considered as the most respectable bene-
factors of the human race."
Always warm in his admiration of every new phantom that
struck his imagination, he was now persuaded that printer's
devils were angels, and that he should be supremely blessed in
a printer's workshop.
"What employment so noble! said he, as he first took the
composing-stick in his hand; "what employment so noble as
that of disseminating knowledge over the universe !"

It was some time before our hero acquired dexterity in his
new trade: his companions formed, with amazing celerity, whole

sentences whilst he was searching for letters, which perpetually
dropped from his awkward hands; but he was ashamed of his
former versatility, and he resolved to be steady to his present
way of life. His situation at this printer's was far better suited
to him than that which he had quitted with so much disgust at
the brewer's. He rose early; and, by great industry, overcame
all the difficulties which at first so much alarmed him. He soon
became the most useful apprentice in the office. His diligence
and good behaviour recommended him to his master's employers.
Whenever any work was brought, Forester was sent for. This
occasioned him to be much in the shop, where he heard the
conversation of many ingenious men, who frequented it; and
he spent his evenings in reading. His understanding had been
of late uncultivated; but the fresh seeds that were now pro-
fusely scattered upon the vigorous soil, took root and flourished.
Forester was just at that time of life when opinions are
valued for being new. He heard varieties of the most contra-
dictory assertions, in morals, in medicine, in politics. It is a
great advantage to a young man to hear opposite arguments, to
hear all that can be said upon every subject.
Forester no longer obstinately adhered to the set of notions
which he had acquired from his education: he heard many
whom he could not think his inferiors in abilities, debating
questions which he formerly imagined scarcely admitted of
philosophic doubt. His mind became more humble; but his
confidence in his own powers, after having compared himself
with numbers, if less arrogant, was more secure and rational:
he no longer considered a man as a fool the moment he differed
with him in opinion; but he was still a little inclined to
estimate the abilities of authors by the party to which they
belonged. This failing was increased, rather than diminished,
by the company which he now kept.
Amongst the young students who frequented Mr.---'s the
bookseller, was Mr. Thomas ---, who, from, his habit of
blurting out strange opinions in conversation, acquired the name
of Tom Random. His head was confused between politics and
poetry; his arguments were paradoxical, his diction florid,
and his gesture something between the spouting action, of a
player and the threatening action of a pugilist.
Forester was immediately caught by the oratory of this
genius, from the first day he heard him speak.
Tom Random asserted that "this great globe, and all that it
inhabits" must inevitably be doomed to destruction, unless


certain ideas of his own, in the government of the world, were
immediately adopted by universal acclamation.
It was not approbation, it was not esteem, which Forester
felt for his new friend; it was, for the first week, blind,
enthusiastic admiration; everything that he had seen or heard
before, appeared to him trite and obsolete; every person who
spoke temperate common sense, he heard with indifference or
contempt; and all who were not zealots in literature or in
politics, he considered as persons whose understandings were so
narrow or whose hearts were so depraved as to render them
"unfit to hear themselves convinced."
Those who read and converse have a double chance of cor-
recting their errors.
Forester, most fortunately, about this time happened to meet
with a book which in some degree counteracted the inflammatory
effects of Random's conversation, and which had a happy ten-
dency to sober his enthusiasm, without lessening his propensity
to useful exertions. This book was the "Life of Dr. Franklin."
The idea that this great man began by being a printer
interested our hero in his history; and whilst he followed him,
step by step, through his instructing narrative, Forester
sympathized in his feelings, and observed how necessary the
smaller virtues of order, economy, industry, and patience, were
to Franklin's great character and splendid success. He began
to hope that it would be possible to do good to his fellow-
creatures without overturning all existing institutions.
About this time another fortunate coincidence happened in
Forester's education. One evening his friend Tom Random,
who was printing a pamphlet, came, with a party of his
companions, into Mr. -, the bookseller's shop, enraged at the
decision of a prize in a literary society to which they belonged.
All the young partizans who surrounded Mr. Random loudly
declared that they had been treated with the most flagrant
injustice; and the author himself was too angry to affect any
modesty upon the occasion.
"Would you believe it," said he to Forester, "my essay has
not been thought worthy of the prize The medal has been given
to the most wretched, tame, commonplace performance you ever
saw. Everything in this world is done by corruption, by party,
by secret influence!"
At every pause the irritated author wiped his forehead;
and Forester sympathized in his feelings.
In the midst of the author's exclamations, a messenger came


with the manuscript of the prize essay, and with the orders of
the society to have a certain number of copies printed off with
all possible expedition.
Random snatched up the manuscript, and, with all the fury
of criticism, began to read some of the passages which he
disliked aloud.
Though it was marred in the reading, Forester could not
agree with his angry friend in condemning the performance: it
appeared to him excellent writing, and excellent sense.
"Print it-print it, then, as fast as you can; that is your
business-that's what you are paid for. Everyone for himself,"
cried Random, insolently throwing the manuscript to Forester;
and as he flung out of the shop with his companions, he added,
with a contemptuous laugh, "A printer's devil setting up for a
critic He may be a capital judge of pica and roman, perhaps;
but let not the compositor go beyond his stick."
"Is this the man," said Forester, "whom I have heard so
eloquent in the praise of candour and liberality? Is this the
man who talks of universal toleration and freedom of opinion,
and who yet cannot bear that anyone should differ from him in
criticizing a sentence? Is this the man who would have
equality amongst all his fellow-creatures, and who calls a
compositor a printer's devil Is this the man who cants about
the pre-eminence of mind and the perfections of intellect, who
takes advantage of his rank, of his supporters, of the cry of his
partizans, to bear down the voiqe of reason 'Let not the
compositor go beyond his composing-stick;' and why not
Why should not he be a judge of writing ?" At this reflection,
Forester eagerly took up the manuscript, which had been flung
at his feet. All his indignant feelings instantly changed into
delightful exultation; he saw the hand, he read the name, of
Henry Campbell. The title of the manuscript was, "An Essay
on the best Methods of Reforming Abuses." This was the
subject proposed by the society; and Henry had written upon
the question with so much moderation, and yet with such
unequivocal decision-had shown himself the friend of rational
liberty-that all the members of the society who were not
borne away by their prejudices, were unanimous in their
preference of this performance.
Random's declamation only inflamed the minds of his own
partizans. Good judges of writing exclaimed, as they read it,
"This is all very fine, but what would this man be at ? His
violence hurts the cause he wishes to support."


Forester read Henry Campbell's essay with all the avidity of
friendship: he read it again and again; his generous soul was
incapable of envy; and whilst he admired, he was convinced
by the force of reason.
His master desired that he would set about the essay early in
the morning; but his eagerness for his friend Henry's fame
was such that he sat up above half the night hard at work at it.
He was indefatigable the next day at the business; and, as all
hands were employed on the essay, it was finished that'evening.
Forester rubbed his hands with delight when he had set the
name of Henry Campbell in the title-page; but an instant after-
wards he sighed bitterly.
"I am only a printer," said he to himself. "These just
arguments, these noble ideas, will instruct and charm hundreds
of my fellow-creatures. No one will ever ask, Who set the
His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Tom
Random and two of his partizans: he was extremely displeased
to find that the printers had not been going on with his pam-
phlet; his personal disappointments seemed to increase the
acrimony of his zeal for the public good; he declaimed upon
politics-upon the necessity for the immediate publication of
his sentiments for the salvation of the state. His action was
suited to his words; violent, and. blind to consequences, with
one sudden kick, designed to express his contempt for the
opposite party, this political Alnaschar unfortunately overturned
the form which contained the types for the newspaper of-the
next day, which was just going to the press-a newspaper in
which he had written splendid paragraphs.
Forester, happily for his philosophy, recollected the account
which Franklin, in his history of his own life, gives of the
patience with which he once bore a similar accident. The
printers, with secret imprecations against oratory, or at least
against those orators who think that action is everything, set to
work again to repair the mischief.
Forester, much fatigued, at length congratulated himself
upon having finished his hard day's work; when a man from
the shop came to inquire whether three hundred cards, which
had been ordered the week before to be printed off, were
finished. The man to whom the order was given had forgotten
it, and he was going home. He decidedly answered, "No; the
cards can't be done till to-morrow; we have left work for this
night, thank God."


"The gentleman says he must have them," expostulated the
"He must not, he cannot have them. I would not print a
card for his majesty at this time of night," replied the sullen
workman, throwing his hat upon his head in token of departure.
'" What are these cards 1" said Forester.
"Only a dancing-master's cards for his ball," said the printer's
journeyman. "I'll not work beyond my time for any dancing-
master that wears a head."
The messenger then said he was desired to ask for the manu-
script card.
This card was hunted for all over the room; and at last
Forester found it under a heap of refuse papers: his eye was
caught with the name of his old friend Monsieur Pasgrave, the
dancing-master whom he had formerly frightened by the skeleton
with the fiery eyes.
"I will print the cards for him myself ;-I 'm not at all tired "
cried Forester, who' was determined to make some little'aiiends
for the injury which he had f,:rn.-rlyv .:ne. to-the poor dancing-
master-.- He rol:.i,:.e'. tc. print~ the cards for nothing, a nd'he
9tayed;up very late to finish -them. His companions all left hiih
for thb.y v-:-re in -great hurry'to see, what in Edinburgh is a ar.-
sightj'the town illuminated. '
T' hese -illuminations were uponl accoui t odf-some great naval
victory. **;' -- .
i For-ester, steady 'to -Monsieur Pasgrave's dards,,didc what fio
othr-bworkman would have done-he :finished for him on this
night of public joy his three-hundred cards. Eyery'now and
then, as he was quietlyat work, he heard th-- I:u'Il huzz..u -in tie
street: his waning candle sunk in. the socket as he' had just
packed up his work. '
By the direction at the bottom of the cards, he learned where
SM Pasgrave lodged; and as- he -was going out tho look 'atthe
illuminations, he resolved to le~ v t.heLnhimiu :-lt at th:- danir~g-
Smaster's house. o : :
The ,illuminations'were really beautiful.'- He weit'up to the
Castle,' whence he -saw 'a -great; part of' the b :,- t:, n, and 'atll
Princes-street, lighted up. in the m6st'-plii-ldl n.in_'.r. -:Ie
ro'ssed the: Earth-mound'into WPrinces-street.-o' Walking 'dowh
Piines-stieet, he- sawa crowd of people gatherLed 1:.-fote thbi
large illuminated window of a confectioner's -shop,. As fre


approached nearer, he distinctly heard the voice of Tom Random,
who was harranguing the mob. The device and motto which
the confectioner displayed in' his window displeased this gentle-
man, who, beside his public-spirited abhorrence of all men of a
party.opposite to his own, had likewise private cause of dislike
to this confectioner, who had refused him his daughter in
It was part of Random's new system of political justice, to
revenge his own quarrels.
The mob, who are continually, without knowing it, made the
instruments of private malice, when they think they are acting
in a public cause, readily joined in Tom Random's cry of "Down
with the motto!-down with the motto !"
Forester, who by his lesson from the dancing-dogs had learned
a little prudence, and who had just printed H. Campbell's "Essay
on the best means of Reforming Abuses," did not mix with the
rabble, but joined in the entreaties of some peaceable passengers,
who prayed that the poor man's windows might be spared. The
windows were, notwithstanding, demolished with a terrible crash,
and the crowd, then alarmed at the mischief they had done,
began to disperse. The constables, who had been sent for,
appeared. Tom Random was taken into custody. Forester
was pursuing his way to the dancing-master's, when one of the
officers of justice exclaimed, "Stop!--stop him!--he's one of
'em-he's a great friend of Mr. Random's--I've seen him often
parading arm-in-arm in High-street with him."
I This, alas! was too true. The constable seized Forester, and
put him, with Tom Random and the ringleaders of the riot, into
a place of confinement for the night.
Poor Forester, who was punished for the faults of his former
friend and present enemy, had, during this long night, leisure
for much wholesome reflection upon the danger of forming
imprudent intimacies. He resolved never to walk again in
High-street arm-in-arm with such a man as Tom Random.
The constables were rather hasty in the conclusions they drew
from this presumptive evidence.
Our hero, who felt the disgrace of his situation, was not a little
astonished at Tom Random's consoling himself with drinking
instead of philosophy. The sight of this enthusiast, when he
had completely intoxicated himself, was a disgusting but useful
spectacle to our indignant hero. Forester was shocked at the
union of gross vice and rigid pretensions to virtue: he could
scarcely believe that the reeling, stammering idiot whom he now

Deheld was the same being from whose lips he had heard decla-
mations upon the omnipotence of intellect-from whose pen he
had seen projects for the government of empires.
The dancing-master, who, in the midst of the illuminations,
had regretted that his cards could not be printed, went early in
the morning to enquire about them at the printer's.
The printer had learnt that one of his boys was taken up
amongst the rioters; he was sorry to find that Forester had
gotten himself into such a scrape; but he was a very cautious
snug man, and he did not choose to interfere; he left him
quietly to be dealt with according to law.
The dancing-master, however, was interested in finding him
out, because he was informed that Forester had sat up almost
all. night to print his cards, and that he had them now in his
M. Pasgrave at length gained admittance to him in his con-
finement; the officers of justice were taking him and Random
before Mr. W--, a magistrate, with whom examinations had
been lodged by the confectioner who had suffered in his
Pasgrave, when he beheld Forester, was surprised to such a
degree, that he could scarcely finish his bow, or express his
astonishment, either in French or English.-" Eh, Monsieur !-
mon Dieu !-bon Dieu !-I beg ten million pardons-I am come
to search for a printer who has my cards in his pocket."
"Here are your cards," said Forester, "let me speak a few
words to you." He took M. Pasgrave aside-" I perceive," said
he, "that you have discovered who I am. Though in the
service of a printer, I have still as much the feelings and
principles of a gentleman as I had when you saw me in
Dr. Campbell's house. I have particular reasons for being
anxious to remain undiscovered by Dr. Campbell, or any of his
family-you may depend upon it that my reasons are not dis-
honourable. I request that you will not, upon any account,
betray me to that family. I am going before a magistrate, and
am accused of being concerned in a riot, which I did everything
in my power to prevent."
"Ah! Monsieur," interrupted the dancing-master, "but you
see de grand inconvenience of concealing your rank and name.
You, who are comme il faut, are confounded with the mob:
permit me at least to. follow you to Mr. W--, the magistrate;
I have de honneur to teach les demoiselles his daughters to
dance-dey are to be at my ball; dey take one half-dozen


tickets; I must call dere wid my cards, and I shall, if you will
give me leave, accompany you now, and mention dat I know
you to be un homme comme il faut, above being guilty of an
unbecoming action. I flatter myself I have some interest wid
de ladies of de family, and dat dey will do me de favour to
speak to monsieur leur cher pire sur vote compete "
Forester thanked the good-natured dancing-master, but he
proudly said that he should trust to his own innocence for his
M. Pasgrave, who had seen something more of the world than
our hero, and who was interested for him because he had once
made him a present of an excellent violin, and because he had
sat up half the night to print the ball cards, resolved not to
leave him entirely to his innocence for a defence; he followed
Forester to Mr. W-- 's. The magistrate was a slow, pompous
man, by no means a good physiognomist, much less a good judge
of character. He was proud of his authority, and glad to dis-
play the small portion of legal knowledge which he possessed.
As soon as he was informed that some young men were brought
before him who had been engaged the preceding night in a riot,
he put on all his magisterial terrors, and assured the confec-
tioner, who had a private audience of him, that he should have
justice; and that the person or persons concerned in breaking
his window or windows, should be punished with the utmost
severity that the law would allow. Contrary to the humane
spirit of the British law, which supposes every man to be inno-
cent till he is proved to be guilty, this harsh magistrate pre-
sumed that every man who was brought before him was guilty
till he was proved to be innocent. Forester's appearance was
not in his favour; he had been up all night, his hair was dis-
hevelled, his linen was neither fine nor white, his shoes were
thick-soled and dirty, his coat was that in which he had been
at work at the printer's the preceding day-it was in several
places daubed with printer's ink, and his unwashed hands
bespoke his trade. Of all these circumstances the slow circumn-
spect eye of the magistrate took cognizance, one by one. Forester
observed the effect which this survey produced upon his judge;
and he felt that appearances were against him, and that appear-
ances are sometimes of consequence. After having estimated
his poverty by these external symptoms, the magistrate looked
for the first time in his face, and pronounced that he had
one of the worst countenances lie ever beheld. This judg-
ment, once pronounced, he proceeded to justify by wresting

62 F''. ... L L,

to the prisoner's disadvantage every circumstance that ap.
peared. Forester's having been frequently seen in Tom
Random's company was certainly against him; the confectioner
perpetually repeated that they were constant companions,
that they were intimate friends, that they were continually
walking together every Sunday, and that they often had
come arm-in-arm into his shop, talking politics; that he
believed Forester to be of the same way of thinking with
Mr. Random; and that he saw him close behind him, at the
moment the stones were thrown that broke the windows. It
appeared that Mr. Random was at that time active in encouraging
the mob. To oppose the angry confectioner's conjectural
evidence, the lad who threw the stone, and who was now produced,
declared that Forester held back his arm, and said, My good lad,
don't break this man's windows; go home quietly, here's a
shilling for you." The person who gave this honest testimony,
in whom there was a strange mixture of the love of mischief and
the spirit of generosity, was the very lad who fought with
Forester, and beat him, about the dancing-dogs. He whispered
to Forester, "Do you remember me? I hope you don't bear
malice." The magistrate, who heard this whisper, immediately
construed it to the prisoner's disadvantage.--" Then, sir," said
he, addressing himself to our hero, this gentleman, I understand,
claims acquaintance with you; his acquaintance really does you
honour, and speaks strongly in favour of your character. If I
mistake not, this is the lad whom I sent to the Tolbooth some
little time ago for a misdemeanor; and he is not, I apprehend,
a stranger to the stocks."
Forester commanded his temper as well as he was able, and
observed, that whatever might be the character of the young
man who had spoken in his favour, his evidence would perhaps
be thought to deserve some credit when the circumstances of his
acquaintance with the witness were known. He then related
the adventure of the dancing-dogs, and remarked, that the
testimony of an enemy came with double force in his favour.
The language and manner in which Forester spoke, surprised
all who were present; but the history of the battle of the
dancing-dogs appeared so ludicrous and so improbable, that the
magistrate decidedly pronounced it to be a fabrication, a story
invented to conceal the palpable collusion of the witnesses."
Yet, though he one moment declared that he did not believe
th6 story, he the next inferred from it that Forester was
disposed to riot and sedition, since he was ready to fight


with a vagabond in the streets for the sake of a parcel of
M. Pasgrave, in the meantime, had with great good-nature
been representing Forester in the best light he possibly could to
the young ladies, the magistrate's daughters. One of them sent
to beg to speak to their father. M. Pasgrave judiciously dwelt
upon his assurances of Forester's being a gentleman; he told
Mr. W- that he had met him in one of the best families in
Edinburgh; that he knew he had some private reasons for
concealing that he was a gentleman: Perhaps the young
gentleman was reduced to temporary distress," he said; but
whatever might be these reasons, M. Pasgrave vouched for his
having very respectable friends and connections. The magistrate
wished to know the family in which M. Pasgrave had met
Forester; but he was, according to his promise, impenetrable on
this subject. His representations had, however, the desired
effect upon Mr. W--; when he returned to the examination
of our hero, his opinion of his countenance somewhat varied.
He despatched his other business; bailed Tom Random on high
sureties; and when Forester was the only person that remained,
he turned to him with great solemnity, bade him sit down,
informed him that he knew him to be a gentleman; that he was
greatly concerned that a person like him, who had respectable
friends and connections, should involve himself in such a
disagreeable affair; that it was a matter of grief and surprise to
him to see a young gentleman in such apparel; that he earnestly
recommended it to him to accommodate matters with his friends,
and, above all things, to avoid the company of seditious persons.
Much good advice, but in a dictatorial tone, and in cold, pompous
language, he bestowed upon the prisoner, and at length dismissed
him. How different," said Forester to himself, "is this man's
method of giving advice from Dr. C', .i"i-ll' !"
This lesson strongly impressed, however, upon our hero's mind
the belief that external appearance, dress, manners, and the
company we keep, are the usual circumstances by which the
world judge of character and conduct. When he was dismissed
from Mr. W- 's august presence, the first thing he did was
to inquire for Pasgrave: he was giving the magistrate's daughters
a lesson, and could not be interrupted; but Forester left a note
for him, requesting to see him at ten o'clock the next day, at
Mr. the bookseller's. New mortifications awaited our
hero: on his return to his master, the bookseller's, he
was very coldly received. Mr. let him know, in un-


qualified terms, that he did not like to employ anyone in
his work who got into quarrels at night in the public streets.
Forester's former favour with his master, his industry and
talents, were not considered without envy by the rest of the
journeymen printers, and they took advantage of his absence to
misrepresent him to the bookseller: however, when Forester
came to relate his own story, his master was convinced that he
was not to blame, that he had worked extremely hard the pre-
ceding day, and that, far from having been concerned in a riot,
he had done everything in his power to prevent mischief. He
desired to see the Essay which was printed with so much expedi-
tion; it was in the hands of the corrector of the press. The
sheets were sent for, and the bookseller was in admiration at
the extraordinary correctness with which it was printed; the
corrector of the press scarcely had occasion to alter a word, a
letter, or a stop. There was a quotation in the manuscript from
Juvenal. Henry Campbell had, by mistake, omitted to name
the satire and line, and the author from which it was taken,
though he had left a blank in which they were to be inserted.
The corrector of the press, though a literary gentleman, was at a
stand. Forester immediately knew where to look for the passage
in the original author. Ho found it, and inserted the book and
line in their proper place. His master did not suffer this to pass
unobserved; he hinted to him that it was a pity a young man of
his abilities and knowledge should waste his. time in the mere
technical drudgery of printing. "I should be glad, now," con-
tinued the bookseller, "to employ you as a corrector of the press,
and to advance you according to your merits in the world; but,"
glancing his eye at Forester's dress, "you must give me leave to
say that some attention to outward appearance is necessary in
our business. Gentlemen call here, as you well know, continu-
ally, and I like to have the people about me make a creditable
appearance. You have earned money since you have been with
me,-surely you can afford yourself a decent suit of clothes and
a cleaner shirt. I beg your pardon for speaking so freely; but
I really have a regard for you, and wish to see you get forward
in life."
Forester had not, since he left Dr. Campbell's, been often
spoken to in a tone of friendship. The bookseller's well-meant,
frank remonstrance made its just impression, and he resolved to
make the necessary additions to his wardrobe, nay, he even


went to a hair-dresser to have his hair cut, and brought into
decent order. His companions, the printers, had not been sparing
in their remarks upon the meanness of his former apparel, and
Forester pleased himself with anticipating the respect they would
feel for him when he should appear in better clothes. "Can
such trifles," said he to himself, "make such a change in the
opinion of my fellow-creatures ? And why should I fight with
the world for trifles? My real merit is neither Increased nor
diminished by the dress I may happen to wear; but I see, that
unless I waste all my life in combating the prejudices of super-
ficial observers, I should avoid all those peculiarities in my
external appearance which prevent whatever good qualities I
have from obtaining their just respect." He was surprised at
the blindness of his companions, who could not discover his
merit through the roughness of his manners and the disadvan-
tages of his dress; but he determined to shine out upon them in
the superior dress and character of a corrector of the press. He
went to a tailor's, and bespoke a suit of clothes. He bought new
linen, and our readers will perhaps hear with surprise, that he
actually began to consider very seriously whether he should not
take a few lessons in dancing. He had learned to dance
formerly, and was not naturally either inactive or awkward; but
his contempt for the art prevented him, for some years, from
practising it; and he had nearly forgotten his wonted agility.
Henry Campbell once, when Forester was declaiming against
dancing, told him, that if he had learned to dance, and excelled
in the art, his contempt for the trifling accomplishment would
have more effect upon the minds of others, because it could not be
mistaken for envy. This remark made a deep impression upon
our hero, especially as he observed that his friend Henry was not
in the least vain of his personal graces, and had cultivated his
understanding, though he could dance a Scotch reel. Scotch
reels were associated in Forester's imagination with Flora Camp-
bell; and, in balancing the arguments for and against learning to
dance, the recollection of Archibald Mackenzie's triumphant look
when he led her away as his partner at the famous ball, had more
influence perhaps upon Forester's mind than his pride and philo-
sophy apprehended. He began to have some confused design of
returning, at some distant period, to his friends; and he had
hopes that he should appear in a more amiable light to Flora,
after he had perfected himself in an accomplishment which he
fancied she admired prodigiously. His esteem for the lady was
mathgr diminished by this belief; but still a sufficient quantity


remained to excite in him a strong ambition to please. The
agony he felt the night he left the ball-room was such, that he
could not even now recollect the circumstances without con-
fusion and anguish of mind. His hands were now such as
could appear without gloves; and he resolved to commence the
education of his feet.
M. Pasgrave called upon him in consequence of the message
which he left at the magistrate's; his original design in sending
for the dancing-master was, to offer some acknowledgment for
his obliging conduct. M. Pasgrave," said he, "you have be-
haved towards me like a man of honour; you have kept my
secret; I am convinced that you will continue to keep it in-
violate." As he spoke, he produced a ten-guinea bank-note, for
at length he had prevailed upon himself to have recourse to his
pocket-book, which till this day had remained unopened. Pas-
grave stared at the sight of the note, and withdrew his hand
at first, when it was offered; but he yielded at length, when
Forester assured him that he was not in any distress, and that
he could perfectly well afford to indulge his feelings of grati-
tude. "Nay," continued Forester, who, if he had not always
practised the maxims of politeness, notwithstanding possessed
that generosity of mind and good sense on which real politeness
must depend, "you shall not be under any obligation to me,
M. Pasgrave; I am just going to ask a favour from you: you
must teach me to dance." Wid de utmost pleasure!" ex-
claimed the delighted dancing-master; and the hours for his
attendance were soon settled. Whatever Forester attempted, he
pursued with energy. M. Pasgrave, after giving him a few
lessons, prophesied that he would do him infinite credit; and
Forester felt a secret pride in the idea that he should surprise
his friends, some time or other, with his new accomplishment.
He continued in the bookseller's service, correcting the press
for him, much to his satisfaction; and the change in his per-
sonal appearance pleased his master, as it showed attention to
his advice. Our hero from time to time exercised his talents in
writing; and as he inserted his compositions under a fictitious
signature in his master's newspaper, he had an opportunity of
hearing the most unprejudiced opinions of a variety of critics,
who often came to read the papers at Mr. the bookseller's.
He stated, in short essays, some of those arguments concerning
the advantages and disadvantages of politeness, luxury, the love
of society, misanthropy, &c., which had formerly passed between
him and Henry Campbell; and he listened to the remarks that


were made upon each side of the questions. How it happened, ,we
know not; but after he had taken lessons for about six weeks
from M. Pasgrave, he became extremely solicitous to have a
solution of all his stoical doubts, and to furnish himself with
the best possible arguments in favour of civilized society. I-o
could not bear the idea that he yielded his opinions to anything
less than strict demonstration; he drew up a list of queries,
which concluded with the following question:-" What should
be the distinguishing characteristics of the higher classes of
people in society ? "-This query was answered in one of the
public papers a few days after it appeared in Mr. 's paper,
and the answer was signed H. C., a Friend to Society. Even
without these initials, Forester would easily have discovered it
to be Henry Campbell's writing; and several strokes seemed to
be so particularly addressed to him, that he could not avoid
thinking Henry had discovered the querist. The impression
which arguments make upon the mind, varies with time and
change of situation. Those arguments in favour of subordi-
nation in society, in favour of agreeable manners, and attention
to the feelings of others in the small as well as in the great con-
cerns of life, which our hero had heard with indifference from
Dr. Campbell and Henry in conversation, struck him, when he
saw them in a printed essay, with all the force of conviction;
and he wondered how it had happened that he never before
perceived them to be conclusive.
He put the newspaper which contained this essay into his
pocket; and after he had finished his day's work, and had taken
his evening lesson from M. Pasgrave, he went out with an in-
tention of going to a favourite spot upon Arthur's Seat, to read
the essay again at his leisure.
But he was stopped at the turn from the North Bridge into
High-street by a scavenger's cart. The scavenger, with his
broom, which had just swept the High-street, was clearing away
a heap of mud. Two gentlemen on horseback, who were riding
like postilions, came up during this operation-Sir Philip Gos-
ling and Archibald Mackenzie. Forester had his back towards
them, and he never looked round, because he was too intent upon
his own melancholy thoughts. Archibald was mounted upon
Sawney, the horse which he had so fairly won from his friend
Sir Philip. The half-guinea which had been promised to the
ostler had not yet been paid; and the ostler, determined to revenge
himself upon Archibald, invented an ingenious method of gratify-
ing his resentment: he taught Sawney to rear and plunge when-


ever his legs were touched by the broom with which the stables
were swept. When Sawney was perfectly well trained to this
trick, the cunning ostler communicated his design, and related
his cause of complaint against Archibald to a scavenger who was
well known at the livery-stables. The scavenger entered into
his friend the ostler's feelings, and promised to use his broom in
his cause whenever a convenient and public opportunity should
offer. The hour of retribution was now arrived; the scavenger
saw his young gentleman in full glory, mounted upon Sawney;
he kept his eye upon him, whilst, in company with the baronet,
he came over the North Bridge: there was a stop from the meet-
ing of carts and carriages. The instant Archibald came within
reach of the broom, the scavenger slightly touched Sawney's
legs; Sawney plunged and reared, and reared and plunged: the
scavenger stood grinning at the sight. Forester attempted to
seize the horse's bridle; but Sawney, who seemed determined
upon the point, succeeded. When Forester snatched at his
bridle, he reared, then plunged; and Archibald Mackenzie was
fairly lodged in the scavenger's cart. Whilst the well-dressed
laird floundered in the mud, Forester gave the horse to the
servant who had now ridden up; and, satisfied that Mackenzie
had received no material injury, inquired no farther. He turned
to assist a poor washerwoman, who was lifting a large basket of
clean linen into her house, to get it out of the way of the cart.
As soon as he had helped her to lift the basket into her passage,
he was retiring, when he heard a voice at the back-door, which
was at the other end of the passage. It was the voice of a child;
and he listened, for he thought he had heard it before. "The
door is locked," said the washerwoman, "I know who it is that
is knocking: it is only a little girl who is coming for a cap which
I have there in the basket." The door was unlocked, and
Forester saw the little girl to whom the fine geranium belonged.
What a number of ideas she recalled to his mind She looked
at him and hesitated, curtsied, then turned away, as if she was
afraid she was mistaken, and asked the washerwoman if she
had plaited her grandmother's cap. The woman searched in
her basket, and produced the cap, nicely plaited. The little
girl, in the meantime, considered Forester with anxious atten-
tion. "I believe," said she, timidly, "you are, or you are very
like, the gentleman who was so good as to- "Yes," inter.
,upted Forester, "I know what you mean. I am the man who
went with you to try to obtain justice from your tyrannical
schoolmistress; I did not do you any good. Have you seen,


have you heard anything of- ?" Such a variety of recollec-
tions pressed upon Forester's heart, that he could not pronounce
the name of Henry Campbell; and he changed his question.
"Is your old grandmother recovered?" "She is quite well,
thank you, sir; and she is grown young again since you saw
her; perhaps you don't know how good Mr. Henry and the
young lady have been to us. We don't live now in that little
close, dark room at the watchmaker's. We are as happy, sir,
as the day is long." "But what of Henry ?-what of-- "
"Oh, sir, but if you were not very busy, or in a great hurry-it
is but a little way off-if you could come and look at our new
house-I don't mean our house, for it is not ours; but we
take care of it, and we have two little rooms to ourselves; and
Mr. Henry and Miss Flora very often come to see us. I wish
you could come to see how nice our rooms are! The house is
not far off-only at the back of the meadows." Go, show me
the way: I'll follow you," said Forester; after he had satisfied
himself that there was no danger of his meeting any of Dr.
Campbell's family.


Our hero accompanied the little girl with eager, benevolent
curiosity. "There," said she, when they came to the meadows,
"do you see that white house with the paling before it ?" "But
that cannot be your house !" "No, no, sir Dr. Campbell and
several gentlemen have the large room, and they come there
twice a week to teach something to a great many children.
Grandmother can explain all that better to you, sir, than I can;
but all I know is, that it is our business to keep the room aired
and swept, and to take care of the glass things, which you'll
see; and you shall see how clean it is-it was I swept it this
They had now reached the gate which was in the paling
before the house. The old woman came to the door, clean, neat
and cheerful; she recollected to have seen Forester in company
with Henry Campbell, at the watchmaker's; and this was
sufficient to make him a welcome guest. God bless the family
and all that belongs to them, for ever and ever said the
woman. "This way, sir." "Oh, don't look into our little
rooms yet; look at the great room first, if you please, sir," said
the child.
There was a large table in the middle of this long room, i nd


several glass retorts and other chemical vessels were ranged
upon shelves; wooden benches were placed on each side of the
table. The grandmother, to whom the little girl had referred
for a clear explanation, could not, however, tell Forester very
exactly the uses of the retorts; but she informed him that many
of the manufacturers in Edinburgh, sent their sons hither twice
a week; and Dr. Campbell and Mr. Henry Campbell, and some
other gentlemen, came by turns [to instruct them. Forester
recollected now, that he once heard Henry talking to his father
about a scheme for teaching the children of the manufacturers
of Edinburgh some knowledge of chemistry-such as they might
afterwards apply advantageously to the arts, and every-day
business of life.
I have formed projects, but what good have I ever actually
done to my fellow-creatures ?" said Forester to himself. With
melancholy steps ne waised to examine everything in the room.
"Dr. Campbell sits in this arm-chair, does not he ? and where
does Henry sit?" The old woman placed the chairs for him
as they usually were placed. Upon one of the shelves there
was a slate, which, as it had been written upon, the little girl
had put by very carefully; there were some calculations upon
the weight of different gases, and the figures Forester knew to
be Henry's; he looked at everything that was Henry's with
pleasure. "Because I used to be so rough in my manner to
him," said Forester to himself, I dare say that he thinks I have
no feeling, and I suppose he has forgotten me by this time. I
deserve, indeed, to be forgotten by everybody! How could I
leave such friends ?" On the other side of the slate poor
Forester saw his own name written several times over, in his
friend's handwriting, and he read two lines of his own poetry,
which he remembered to have repeated to Henry the day that
they walked to Arthur's Seat. Forester felt much pleasure from
this little proof of his friend Henry's remembrance. "Now
won't you look at our nice rooms ?" said the child, who had
waited with some patience till he had done pondering upon the
The little rooms were well arranged, and their neatness was
not now as much lost upon our hero as it would have been some
months before. The old woman and her granddaughter, with
all the pride of gratitude, exhibited to him several little presents
of furniture which they received from Dr. Campbell's family.
"Mr. Henry gave me this !-Miss Flora gave me that 1" was
frequently repeated. The little girl opened the door of her own


room. On a clean white deal bracket, which "Mr. Henry had
put up with his own hands," stood the well-known geranium, in
its painted flower-pot. Forester saw nothing else in the room,
and it was in vain that both the old woman and her grand-
daughter talked to him at once; he heard not a word that was
said to him. The flowers were all gone, and the brown calyxes
of the geranium-flowers reminded him of the length of time
whict had elapsed since he had first seen them. I am sorry
there are no flowers to offer you," said the little girl, observing
Forester's melancholy look; "but I thought you did not like
geraniums, for I remember when I gave you a fine flower in the
watchmaker's shop, you pulled it to pieces and threw it on the
ground." "I should not do so now," said Forester. The black
marks on the painted flower-pot had been entirely effaced.
Forester turned away, endeavoured to conceal his emotion, and
took leave of the place, as soon as the grateful inhabitants would
suffer him to depart. The reflection that he had wasted his
time, that he had never done any good to any human being-
that he had lost opportunities of making both himself and
others happy, pressed upon his mind; but his stoical pride still
resisted the thought of returning to Dr. Campbell's. "It will
be imagined that I yield my opinions from meanness of spirit,"
said he to himself: "Dr. Campbell certainly has no farther
regard or esteem for me; neither he nor Henry have troubled
themselves about my fate. They are doing good to more
deserving objects; they are intent upon literary pursuits, and
have not time to bestow a thought on me: and Flora, I suppose,
is as gay as she is good. I alone am unhappy,-a wanderer, an
outcast, a useless being!"
Forester, whilst he was looking at the geranium, or soon
afterwards, missed his handkerchief; the old woman and her
granddaughter searched for it all over the house, but in vain.
He then thought he must have left it at the washerwoman's,
where he met the little girl. He called to inquire for it, upon
his return to Edinburgh. When he returned to this woman's
house for his handkerchief, he found her sitting upon a low
stool in her laundry, weeping bitterly; her children stood round
her. Forester inquired into the cause of her distress; and she
told him, that a few minutes after he left her, the young gentle-
man who had been thrown from his horse into the scavenger's
cart was brought into her house while his servant went home
for another suit of clothes for him. "I did not at first guess
that I had ever seen the young gentleman before," continued


she; "but when the mud was cleared from his face, I knew him
to be Mr. Archibald Mackenzie. I am sure I wish I had never
seen his face then, or at any time. He was in a very bad
humour after his tumble; and he began again to threaten me
about a ten-guinea bank-note which he and his servant declare
they sent in his waistcoat-pocket to be washed. I'm sure I
never saw it. Mr. Henry Campbell quieted him about it for a
while; but just now he began again with me, and he sais he
has spoken to an attorney, and that he will make me pay the
whole note; and he swore at me as if I had been the worst
creature in the world; and God knows I work hard for my
children, and never wronged any one in my days "
Forester, who forgot all his own melancholy reflections as soon
as he could assist any one who was in distress, bade the poor
woman dry her tears, and assured her that she had nothing to
fear, for he would instantly go to Dr. Campbell, and get him to
speak to Mackenzie. If it is necessary," said he, I'll pay the
money myself." She clasped her hands joyfully as he spoke;
and all her children joined in an exclamation of delight. "I'll go
to Dr. Campbell's this instant," said our hero, whose pride now
yielded to the desire of doing justice to this injured woman: he
totally forgot himself and thought only of her. I'll go with you
to Dr. Campbell's, and Iwill speak to Mr. Mackenzie immediately."


Whilst Forester was walking through the streets, with the
energy which the hope of serving his fellow-creatures always ex-
cited in his generous mind, he even forgot a favourite scheme
which had for some weeks past occupied his imagination. He
had formed the design of returning to his friends, an altered
being in his external appearance : all his apparel was now fin-
ished, and ready for the grand day when he intended to present
himself to Dr. Campbell, or rather to Flora Campbell, in the
character of a well-bred gentleman. He had laid aside the dress
and manners of a gentleman, from the opinion that they were
degrading to the character of a man. As soon as this prejudice
had been conquered, he was ready to resume them. Many were
the pleasing anticipations in which he indulged himself: the
looks of each of his friends, the generous approving eye of
Henry, the benevolent countenance of Dr. Campbell, the arch
smile of Flora, were all painted by his fancy; and he invented


every circumstance that was likely to happen-every word that
would probably be said by each individual. We are sure that our
readers will give our enthusiastic hero credit for his forgetting
these pleasing reveries, for his forgetting himself, nay, even
Flora Campbell, when humanity and justice called upon him for
When he found himself in George's-square, within sight of
Dr. Campbell's house, his heart beat violently; and he suddenly
stopped to recollect himself. He had scarcely stood a few in-
stants, when a hard, stout-looking man came up to him, and
asked him if his name were Forester. He started, and answered,
"Yes, sir; what is your business with me?" The stranger
replied by producing a paper, and desiring him to read it. The
paper, which was half-printed, half-written, began with these
"You are hereby required to appear before me- "What
is all this? exclaimed our hero. "It is a summons," replied
the stranger. "I am a constable, and you will please to come
with me before Mr. W- This is not the first time you
have been before him, I am told." To this last insolent taunt
Forester made no reply; but, in a firm tone, said, "that he was
conscious of no crime, but that he was ready to follow the con-
stable, and to appear before Mr. W- or any other magistrate
who wished to inquire into his conduct." Though he summoned
all his fortitude, and spoke with composure, he was much aston-
ished by this proceeding: he could not help reflecting that an
individual in society who has friends, an established character,
and a home, is in a more desirable situation than an unconnected
being, who has no one to answer for his conduct, no one to re-
joice in his success or to sympathize in his misfortunes. "Ah,
Dr. Campbell! happy father in the midst of your own family,
you have forgotten your imprudent ward !" said Forester to him-
self. You do not know how near he is to you you do not
know that he was just returning to you! you do not see that he
is at this moment perhaps on the brink of disgrace!"


Forester was mistaken in his idea that Dr. Campbell had for-
gotton him; but we shall not yet explain farther upon this sub-
ject; we only throw out this hint that our readers may not
totally change their good opinion of the doctor. We must Osa

beg their attention to the continuation of the history of Arcti-
bald Mackenzie's bank-note.
Lady Catherine Mackenzie one day observed that the colours
were changed in one spot on the right-hand pocket of her son's
waistcoat. "My dear Archibald," said she, "what has happened
to your smart waistcoat ? what is that terrible spot ?" Really,
ma'am, I don't know," said Archibald, with his usual soft voice
and deceitful smile. Henry Campbell observed that it seemed
as if the colours had been discharged by some acid. "Did you
wear that waistcoat, Mr. Mackenzie," said he, "the night the
large bottle of vitriolic acid was broken-the night that poor
Forester's cat was killed; don't you remember?" "0! I did
not at first recollect. I cannot possibly remember-indeed, it
is so long ago-what waistcoat I wore on that particular night."
The extreme embarrassment in Archibald's manner surprised
Henry. "I really don't perceive your drift," continued
Mackenzie. What made you ask the question so earnestly 7"
He was relieved from his panic when Henry answered that he
only wished to know whether it was probable that it was stained
with vitriolic acid; "because," said he, "I think that is tie
pocket in which you said you left your ten-guinea note; then
perhaps the note may have been stained." "Perhaps so,"
replied Mackenzie, drily. And if it were, you could identify
the note. You have forgotten the number; but if the note has
been stained with vitriolic acid, we shall certainly be able
to know it again: the acid would have changed the colour of
the ink."
Mackenzie eagerly seized this idea, and immediately, in
pursuance of Henry's advice, went to several of the principal
bankers in Edinburgh, and requested that if a note stained in
such a manner should be presented to them, they would stop
payment of it till Mackenzie should examine it. Some time
elapsed, and nothing was heard of the note. Mackenzie gave up
all hopes of recovering it; and in proportion as these hopes
diminished, his old desire of making the poor washerwoman
answerable for his loss increased. We have just heard this
woman's account of his behaviour to her when he came into her
house to be refitted, after his tumble from Sawney into the
scavenger's cart. All his promises to Henry he thought proper
to disregard: promises appeared to him mere matters of con-
venience; and the idea of "taking in" such a young man
as Henry Campbell was to him an excellent joke. He resolved
to keep the five guineas quietly which Henry lent him, and at

the sme time to frighten this innocent, industrious woman into
paying him the value of his bank-note.
OJpon Mackenzie's return to Dr. Campbell's, after his fall from
Sewney, the first thing he heard was that his note was
found; that it had been stopped at the Bank of Scotland; and
'that one of the clerks of the bank, who brought it for his
examination, had been some time waiting for his return from
a riding. When the note was produced, Henry saw that two or
three of the words which had been written in ink-the name of
the person to whom it was payable, and the date of the month and
year-were so pale as to be scarcely visible, and that there was
a round hole through one corner of the paper. This round hole
puzzled Henry; but he had no doubt that the ink had been thus
nearly obliterated by vitriolic acid. He poured a few drops,
diluted with water, upon some printing; and the ink was
quickly' turned to nearly the same pale colour as that in
Mackenzie's note. The note was easily traced, as it had not
passed through many hands-our readers will be sorry to hear it
-fio M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master. Mackenzie and the
clerk went directly to his house, found him at home, and
without much preface informed him of their business. The
dancing-master trembled from head to foot, and, though inno-
cent, exhibited all the signs of guilt. He had not the slightest
knowledge' of business; and the manner and language of the
banker's clerk who accompanied Mackenzie terrified him beyond
measure, because he did not comprehend one word in ten that
he said about checks, entries, and day-books; and he was nearly
a quarter of an hour before he could recover sufficient presence
of mind to consider from whom he received the note. At length
after going over in an unintelligible manner all the puzzled
accounts of monies received and paid, which he kept in his
head, he declared that he clearly recollected to have received the
ten-guinea note at Mr. Macpherson, the tailor's; that he went, a
few weeks ago, to settle his year's account with him; and that,
in change for a twenty pound note, he received that which the
banker's clerk now produced. To Mackenzie it 'was perfectly
indifferent who was found guilty, so that he could recover his
money. "Settle it as you will amongst you," said he; the
morn-v must be refunded, or I must have you all before a
magistrate directly." Pasgrave, in great perturbation, set out
for Mr. Macpherson's, showed him the note, and reminded him
of the day when he paid his account. "If you received the
note from us, sir," said the master-tailor, very calmly, "it must

be entered in our books, for we keep regular accounts." The
tailor's foreman, who knew much more of the affair than r>:
master, appealed with assumed security to the entry in the
books. By this entry it appeared that M. Pasgrave settled his
account the 17th of October, that he paid the balance by
a twenty-pound note, and that he received in change a ten-
guinea note on Sir Arthur Forbes's bank.
"You see, sir," said the tailor, this cannot possibly be Mr.
Mackenzie's; for his note is on the Bank of Scotland. Our
entry is as full as possible; and I am ready to produce my
books, and to abide by them, in any court of justice in the
world." M. Pasgrave was totally at a loss; he could only re-
peat, that he remembered to have received Mackenzie's note
from one of the tailor's men, who brought it to him from an
inner room. The foreman boldly asserted, that he brought the
change exactly as his master gave it to him, and that he knew
nothing more of the matter. But, in fact, he knew a great deal
more. He had found the note in the pocket of Mackenzie's
waistcoat, which his servant had left to be mended, after he
had torn it furtively, as has been already related. When his
master called him into the inner room to give him the change
for Pasgrave, he observed that there was a ten-guinea note
wrapped up with some halfpence, and he thought that it would
be a prudent thing to substitute Mackenzie's note, which he
had by him, in the place of this. He accordingly gave Pasgrave
Mackenzie's note, and thrust the note which he had received
from his master, into a corner of his trunk, where he usually
kept little windfalls that came to him by the negligence of cus-
tomers-toothpick cases, loose silver, odd gloves, &c., all of
which he knew how to dispose of. But this bank-note was a
higher prize than usual, and he was afraid to pass it, till all
inquiry had blown over. He knew his master's regularity, and
he thought that if the note was stopped afterwards at any of
the banks, it could never be traced farther than to M. Pasgrave.
He was rejoiced to see that this poor man was in such trepida-
tion of mind, that he could not, in the least, use his understand-
ing; and he saw, with much satisfaction, that his master, who
was a positive man, and proud of the accuracy of his books, was
growing red in the face in their defence. Mackenzie, in the
mean time, who had switched his boots with great impatience
during their debate, interfered at last with-"Come, gentlemen
we can't stand here all day to hear you give one another the lie.
One of you, it's plain, must shell out your corianders; but as


yv tan't settle which, we must put you to your oath, I see."
"Mr. W--'s is not far off, and I am ready to go before him
-with my books this instant," said the fiery master-tailor. "My
books were never called in question, since I was in trade, till
this instant; and nobody but a French dancing-master, who
understands no more of debtor and creditor than my goose,
would stand out against such an entry as this."
To Mr. W--'s, the tailor, his foreman, the dancing-master,
the banker's clerk, and Mackenzie repaired. Pasgrave turned
paler than ever dancer turned before; and gave himself, his
character, and his wife and children, all up for lost, when he
heard that he was to be put upon his oath. He drew back
when Mr. W- held the book to him, and demanded whether
he would swear to the person from whom he received the note.
He said he could not swear; but to the best of his belief-en
conscience-en honneur--foi d'honnite homme-he was convinced
he received it from Mr. Macpherson's foreman. The foreman,
who from one step in villainy found himself hurried on to an-
other and another, now scrupled not to declare that he was ready
to take his oath that he delivered the note and change just as
his master gave it to him to M. Pasgrave. The magistrate
turned to the pale, conscientious, incapacitated dancing-master,
and in a severe tone said, "Appearances are strangely against
you, M. Pasgrave. Here's a young gentleman has lost a bank-
note-it is stopped at the Bank of Scotland-it is traced home
to you-you say you got it from Mr. Macpherson, or his fore-
man-his books are produced-the entry in them is clearly
against you; for it states that the note given to you in change
was one of Sir Arthur Forbes's bank; and this which I now
hold in my hand is of the Bank of Scotland. Please now to tell
how this note of the Bank of Scotland, which has been proved
to be the property of Mr. Mackenzie, came into your possession.
From whom did you receive it? or how did you come by it I
am not surprised that you decline taking an oath upon this occa-
sion." "Ah, monsieur, ayes pitid de moi !' cried the innocent
but terrified man, throwing himself upon oie knee, in an atti-
tude which, on the stage would have produced a sublime effect
-" Ah, monsieur, ayez pitie de moi! I halve no more dan de
child no sense in affairs." Mackenzie interrupted him with a
brutal laugh. The more humane banker'sg clerk was moved
by the simplicity of this avowed ignorance, of business. He
went up to the distracted dancer, and said, "It is not to be
expected that everybody should understand business as we do,

sir; if you are innocent only give yourself time to recollect;
and though it's unfortunate that you never keep any regular
accounts, maybe we shall be able to make out this affair of the
entry. If Mr. W--- will give me leave to take this pen and
ink, and if you will try recollect all the persons from whom you
have received money lately-- "Ah, mon Dieu / dat is im-
possible." Then he began to name the quarterly and half-
yearly payments that he had received from his various pupils.
"Did any of them lately give you a ten-guinea note Ah,
oui, je rapelle-un jeune monsieur-un certain monsieur, qui
ne veut pas que-qui est Id incognito-who I would not betray
for de world; for he has behave wid de most parfaite ginerositd
to me." But did he give you a ten-guinea bank-note ? That
is all we want to know," said the magistrate. "Mais-oui-
yes." "About what time?" said the clerk It was about the
beginning of October: and this was so near the time when he
settled accounts with Mr. Macpherson, the tailor, that he even
himself began to believe it possible that he had mistaken one
note for the other. "When the young gentleman gave you the
note," said the banker's clerk, surely you mdst have looked at
it-you must have observed these remarkable stains Pas-
grave replied that he did look at it, he supposed; that he saw
it was a ten-guinea note; it might be stained, it might not be
stained; he could u.ot pretend to be certain about it. He re-
peated his assurances that he was ignorant of business and of
everything in this world but dancing. Pour la danse, je m'y
connais-pour les affairs, je n'en sais rien moi." He, with his
usual simplicity added, that if Mr. would give him leave,
lie would go to the young gentleman, his friend, and learn from
him exactly the number of the note which he had given him;
that he was sure he could recollect his own note immediately.
Mackenzie, who thought that this was merely pretence in order
to escape, told him that he could not be suffered to go out upon
his parole. "But," said Mr. WV- "tell us the name of this
young gentleman who has. so much generosity and who lives
incognito: I don't like gentlemen who live incognito : I think
I had a young main here before me about two months ago,
charged with breaking a confectioner's windows in a riot, the
night of the great illuminations-Hey ? don't I remember some
such thing ? And you, M. Pasgrave, if I mistake not, inter-
ested yourself _iill li about this young man; and told me and
my daughters, sir, that he was a young gentleman incognito. I
begin to see thro;gh this affair. Perhaps this is the same



young gentleman from whom you received the note. And pray
what value did you give for it?" Pasgrave, whose fear of
betraying Forester now increased his confusion, stammered, and
first said the note was a present, but afterward added, "I have
been giving de young person lessons in dancing for dese six
"Well, then, we must summon this young person," said
Mr. --. Tell us his name, if you please," said Mackenzie.
"I have some suspicion that I know your gentleman in-
"You need not trouble him," said the magistrate; I know
the name already, and I know where the bird is to be found;
his name, if he has not changed it since he was last in this
room, is Forester."
"Forester!" exclaimed Mackenzie; I thought so! I
always thought how he would turn out. I wonder what his
friends the Campbells will have to say for him now "
Mr. W- 's pen stopped. "His friends the Campbells-
humph! So the Campbells are his friends, are they?"
repeated he.
"They were his friends," answered Mackenzie; "but Mr.
Forester thought proper, nobody knows why, to run away
from them, some months ago: the only reason I could ever
learn was, that he did not like to live amongst gentlemen; and
he has been living ever since incognito, amongst blackguards;
and we see the fruits of it." Mackenzie eagerly handed the
summons, as soon as it was signed, to a constable; and Mr.
W- directed the constable to Mr. the bookseller's,
adding, "Booksellers and printers are dangerous persons." The
constable, who had seen Forester the night that he was confined
with Tom Random, knew his face and person; and we have
told our readers that he met Forester in George's-square going
to Dr. Campbell's to vindicate the innocence of the poor
The tailor's foreman was not a little alarmed when the sum-
mons was sent for our hero; he dreaded that the voice of
truth should be heard, and he skulked behind the rest of
the company. What astonishment did Forester feel when he
entered the room and saw the group that surrounded the
justice's table !-Archibald Mackenzie, with an insulting sneer
on his lips; Pasgrave, with eyes fixed upon him in despair;
lMr. Macpherson, the tailor, pointing to an entry in his book;
his foreman shrinking from notice; the banker's clerk, with


benevolent scepticism in his countenance; and the justice, witI,
a portentous scowl upon his brow.
"Come forward, Mr. Forester," said the magistrate, as our
hero made a sudden pause of astonishment; "come forward,
sir !" Forester advanced with calm intrepidity. "You are
better dressed than when I had the honour of seeing you here
some time ago, sir. Are you a printer still, or a gentleman
Your dress certainly bespeaks a change in your condition." "I
am sure I should hardly know Mr. Forester again, he is grown
such a beau, comparatively speaking, I mean," said Mackenzie.
"But certainly, M. Pasgrave, you must have made some
mistake; I don't know how to believe my senses! Is this the
young gentleman to whom you alluded? Mr. Forester do you
know-- V" "Give me leave, Mr. Mackenzie," interrupted
the justice; "I shall examine this young incognito myself. I
think I know how to come at the truth. Will you do me the
favour, sir, to inform me whether you recollect anything of a
ten-guinea bank-note which you gave or paid, some time in last
October, to this gentleman?" pointing to M. Pasgrave. "I
do," replied Forester, in a distinct, unembarrassed voice, "per-
fectly well remember giving M. Pasgrave a ten-guinea bank-
note." "Ah, monsieur, je ne suis pas un ingrat-Ne pensez pas
que- "Oh, M. Pasgrave," interrupted Mackenzie, "this
is no time for compliments and fine speeches: for God's sake,
let us go to the bottom of this ii r' without further ceremony."
"Sir," said the banker's clerk, "all we want to know is the
number of your note, and the firm of the house. Was your
note one of Sir Arthur Forbes's, or of the Bank of Scotland ?"
Forester was silent. "I do not recollect," said he, after some
pause. "You don't recollect, sir," said the justice, "is some-
thing like an evasive answer. You must have a vast number
of bank-notes, then, we must presume, if you cannot recollect to
what bank your ten-guinea note belonged." Forester did not
understand this logic; but he simply repeated his assertion.
"Pray, sir," said the tailor, who could no longer restrain his im-
patience- "Pray, sir," said the magistrate, in a solemn
manner, "be silent. I shall find out the truth. So, Mr.
Forester, you cannot possibly recollect the house of your note?
You will tell us next, I dare say, that you cannot possibly
recollect how you came by it." "Sir," said Forester, "if it is
necessary, I can readily tell you how I came by it." "It is
very necessary, sir, for your own credit." "I received it from
Dr. Campbell." "Dr. Campbell!" repeated the magistrate,


changing his tone. "And I have some idea' that the doctor
gave me a list of the numbers of that and four other notes, with
which I fortunately have not parted." Some idea means
nothing in a court of justice, sir; if you have any such paper,
you can do us the favour to produce it." Now this list was
locked up in the trunk, of which the key was dropped into the
brewing-vat. Richardson, the clerk, had returned the key to
him; but, such is the force of habit, he had not cured himself
of the foolish trick of twirling it upon his thumb; and about
two months ago, he dropped it in one of his walks to Arthur's
Seat. He long searched for it amongst the rocky fragments, but
at last gave it up: he little imagined of how much consequence
it might be to him. Dr. Campbell had once refused to break
open the lock; and he felt very unwilling to apply to him in
his present circumstances. However, he wrote a few lines to
Henry Campbell; but as soon as he had written them, his pride
revolted from the thoughts of supplicating the assistance of his
friend in such a disgraceful situation. "If you don't choose to
write," said the officious malevolence of Archibald, "I can,
however, speak. I'll desire Dr. Campbell to open your trunk
and search for the paper." He left the room before Forester
could make any farther opposition.
"I have answered, I hope, both distinctly and respectfully all
the questions that you have asked me," said Forester, turning to
Mr. W- I hope you will no longer keep me in the dark.
Of what am I suspected ?" "I will tell you, sir," replied the de-
liberate, unfeeling magistrate; "you are suspected of having, I
will not say stolen,-but you are more than suspected of having
come unfairly by a certain ten-guinea bank-note, which the
young gentleman who has just left the room lost a few months
ago." Forester, as this speech was slowly pronounced, sat
down, folded his arms, and appeared totally insensible,-quite
unconscious that he was in the presence of a magistrate, or that
any human being was observing him. "Ahl, mon cher monsieur,
1)ardonnez !" cried Pasgrave, bursting into tears. "N'en
1arlons plus," added he, turning to the magistrate. Je
pJaerai tout ce qu'il faut. I will pay de ten guinea; I will
satisfy everybody. I cannot never forgive myself if I bring
him into any disgrace." "Disgrace !" exclaimed Forester, start-
ing up, and repeating the word in a tone which made every
person in the room, not excepting the phlegmatic magistrate,
start, and look up to him with a sudden feeling of inferiority.
His ardent eye spoke the language of his soul; no words could


express his emotion. The master-tailor dropped his day-book.
"Constable !-call a constable !" cried the justice. "Sir, you
forget in whose presence you are; you think, I suppose, that
your friends the Campbells will bear you out. Sir, I would
have you to know that all the Campbells in Scotland can't
bail you for a felony. Sir, philosophers should know these
things. If you cannot clear yourself to my entire satisfaction,
Mr. Forester, I shall commit you-in one word-to gaol; yes-
look as you please, sir-to gaol. And if the doctofiand his'son,
and all the family, come up to bail you, I shall, meo periculo,
refuse their bail. The law, sir, is no respecter of persons ; so
none of your rhodomontades, young gentleman, in my presence,
but step into this closet, if you please; and I advise you, bring
your mind into a becoming temperament, whilst I go to dinner.
Gentlemen," continued he to Macpherson and Pasgrave, "you'll
be so good to wait here in this apartment. Constable, look to
the prisoner," pointing to the door of the closet. John, let
me know when Dr. Campbell arrives; and tell them to send up
dinner directly," said the justice to his butler.
Whilst he dines, we must leave the tailor complaining that he
was wasting precious time; the foreman in the panic of guilt,
and the good-natured dancing-master half distracted betwixt his
fears and his ignorance. He looked from time to time through
the keyhole of the closet in which Forester was confined, and
exclaimed, Grand Dieu come il a l'air noble et cet instant /
Ah, lui coupable !-he go to gaol ?-it is impossible "
"We shall see how that will be presently," said the foreman,
who had hitherto preserved absolute silence. "I abide by my
books," said the master-tailor; "and I wish Dr. Campbell would
make haste. I have lost a day."
In spite of the tailor's imperial exclamation, he was obliged
to wait some time longer. When Mackenzie arrived at Dr.
Campbell's, Henry was not at home: he was gone to the house
at the back of the meadows, to prepare some chemical experi-
ments for the next day's lecture. Mackenzie, however, found
Dr. Campbell at home in his study, and, in a soft, hypocritical
voice, lamented that he was obliged to communicate some dis-
agreeable circumstances relating to young Mr. Forester. "You
do not, I presume, know where that unfortunate, misguided
youth is at present-at this moment, I mean ?"
"I do not know where he is at this moment," said Dr.
Campbell, calmly; "but I know where he has been for some
time-at Mr. the bookseller's. I havo had my eye upon


him ever since he left this house. I have traced him from
place to place. Though I have said little about him, Mr.
Mackenzie, I have a great regard for my unfortunate ward."
"I am sorry for it, sir," said Mackenzie; "this note will
wound your feelings the more deeply."
"What is the matter q Pray speak at once!" cried Dr.
Campbell, who now forgot all his usual calmness. "Where is
Forester q"
"He is, at this moment, before Mr. W- the magistrate,
sir, charged with-but I own I cannot believe him guilty-- "
"Charged with what? For God's sake, speak plainly, Mr.
Mackenzie !"
"Then, in one word, sir, my lost bank-note is traced home to
Mr. Forester. M. Pasgrave says he received it from him."
"Surely, sir," said Dr. Campbell, with indignation, "you
would not insinuate that Forester has stolen your bank-note? "
"I insinuate nothing, doctor," said Archibald; "but I fear
the thing is too plainly proved. My bank-note has certain
stains, by which it has been identified. All that I know is,
that Mr. W-- says he can take no bail, and that he must
commit Mr. Forester to gaol unless he can clear himself. He
says, that a few days before he left your house, you paid him
his quarterly allowance of fifty guineas, in five ten-guinea bank-
"He says true: I did so," said Dr. Campbell, eagerly.
"And he says that you gave them to him wrapped in a piece
of paper, on which the numbers of the notes were written."
"I remember it distinctly. I desired him to take care of that
"He is not famous for taking care, you know, sir, of any-
thing. He says he believes he threw it into his trunk; but he
has lost the key of the trunk, I understand."
No matter; we can break it open this instant, and search
for the paper," cried Dr. Campbell, who was now extremely
alarmed for his ward.
M\ackenzie stood by without offering any assistance, whilst
Dr. Campbell broke open the trunk and searched it with the
greatest anxiety. It was in terrible disorder. The coat and
waistcoat which Forester wore at the ball were crammed in at
the top, and underneath appeared unfolded linen, books, boots,
maps, shoes, cravats, fossils, and heaps of little rumpled bits of
paper in which the fossils had once been contained. Dr.
Campbell opened every one of these: the paper he wanted was


not amongst them. He took everything out of the box, shook
and searched all the pockets of his coat in which Forester used,
before his reformation, to keep hoards of strange papers. No
list of bank-notes appeared. At length Dr. Campbell espied the
white corner of a paper-mark in a volume of Goldsmith's
"Animated Nature." He pulled out this mark, and, to his
great joy, he found it to be the very paper he wanted.
"So it's found, is it ?" said Mackenzie, disappointed, whilst
Dr. Campbell seized his hat, left everything upon the floor, and
was very near locking the door of the room upon Mackenzie.
"Don't lock me in here, doctor, I am going back with you to Mr.
W- 's," said Archibald. Won't you stay Dinner's going
up; Mr. W- was going to his dinner when I came away."
Without listening to him, Dr. Campbell just let him out, locked
the door, and hurried away to his poor ward.
"I have let things go too far," said he to himself. "As long
as Forester's credit was not in danger, as long as he was unknown,
it was very well; but now his character is at stake, he may pay
too dear for his experience."
"Dr. Campbell," said the pompous magistrate, who hated
philosophers, rising from table as Dr. Campbell entered, "do
not speak to me of bailing this ward of yours; it is impossible,
sir: I know my duty."
"I am not come to offer bail for my ward," said Dr. Campbell.
"but to prove his innocence."
We must hope the best," said Mr. --, and having forced
the doctor to pledge him in a bumper of port, "Now I am ready
to proceed again to the examination of all the parties con-
Dr. Campbell was now shown into the room where Mr.
Macpherson, his foreman, and Pasgrave, were waiting. "Ah,
monsieur, Dieu merci vous voil' I" exclaimed Pasgrave.
"You may go," said Mr. W- to the constable; "but wait
below stairs."
He unlocked the closet door. Forester, at the sight of Dr.
Campbell, covered his face with his hands; but an instant
afterwards he advanced with intrepidity. "You cannot, I am
sure, believe me to be guilty of any meanness, Dr. Campbell,"
said he. "Imprudent I have been, and I suffer for my
Guilty! cried Dr. Campbell. "No; I could almost as
soon suspect my own son of such an action. But my belief is
nothing to the purpose. We must prove your innocence."


"Ah oui, monsieur; and mine too, for I am innocent, I can
assure you," cried M. Pasgrave.
"The whole business, sir," said the banker's clerk, who had
by this time returned to hear the termination of the affair-
" the whole thing can be settled in two minutes by a gentleman
like you, who understands business. Mr. Forester cannot
recollect the number or the firm of a ten-guinea bank-note
which he gave to M. Pasgrave. M. Pasgrave cannot recollect
either; and he is in doubt whether he received this stained note
which Mr. Mackenzie lost from Mr. Forester or from Mr.
Macpherson, the tailor."
"There can be no doubt about me," said Macpherson. "Dr.
Campbell, will you be so good as to look at the entry? I
acknowledge I gave M. Pasgrave a ten-guinea note; but here's
the number of it, 177, of Forbes's bank. Mr. Mackenzie's note,
you see, is of the Bank of Scotland; and the stains upon it are
so remarkable, that, if I had ever seen it before, I should
certainly remember it. I'll take my oath I never saw it
"Sir," said Forester eagerly to Dr. Campbell, "you gave me
five ten-guinea notes; here are four of them in this pocket-
book; the fifth I gave to M. Pasgrave. Can you tell me the
number of that note ?"
I can," said Dr. Campbell, producing the paper which he
found in Goldsmith's "Animated Nature." "I had the pre-
caution to write down the numbers of all your notes myself.
Here they are."
Forester opened his pocket-book. His four remaining notes
were compared, and perfectly agreed with the numbers in the
list. The fifth, the number of the note which he gave to
Pasgrave, was, 1,260, of the New Bank.
"One of your ten-guinea notes," said Dr. Campbell to
Pasgrave, "you paid into the Bank of Scotland; and this
gentleman," pointing to the banker's clerk, "stopped it this
morning. Now, you have had another ten-guinea note; what
became of that 1"
Pasgrave, who understood Dr. Campbell's plain method of
questioning him, answered immediately, "I did give the other
to my hairdresser, not long ago, who lives in- street."
Dr. Campbell instantly went himself to the hairdresser, found
that he had the note still in his possession, brought him to
Mr. W- 's, and when the note was examined, it was found to
be No. 1,260, of the New Bank, which exactly corresponded


with the entry in the list of notes which Dr. Campbell had
Then all is right," said Dr. Campbell. Ah oui ah non !"
exclaimed Pasgrave; "what will become of me ?" "Compose
yourself, my good sir," said Dr. Campbell. "You had but two
ten-guinea notes, you are sure of that ?" But two-but two
-I will swear but two." You are now certain which of these
two notes you had from my ward? The other, you say, you
received from--" "From dis gentleman, I will swear," cried
Pasgrave, pulling the tailor's foreman forwards. "I can swear
now I am in no embarras; I am sure I did get de oder note from
dis gentleman." The master-tailor was astonished to see all the
pallid marks of guilt in his foreman's countenance. "Did you
change the note I gave you in the inner room ?" said Mr.
Macpherson. The foreman, as soon as he could command his
voice, denied the charge, and persisted in it that he gave the note
and change which his master wrapped up, exactly as it was, to
the dancing-master. Dr. Campbell proposed that the tailor's
shop and the foreman's room should be searched. Mr. W--
sent proper people to Mr. Macpherson's; and whilst they are
searching his house, we may inquire what has become of Henry


Henry Campbell, the last time we heard of him, was at the
house at the back of the meadows. When he went into the
large room to his chemical experiments, the little girl, who was
proud of having arranged it neatly, ran on before him, and
showed him the places where all his things were put. The
writing and the figures are not rubbed off your slate ; there it is,
sir," said she, pointing to high shelf. "But who's handkerchief
is this ?" said Henry,'taking up a handkerchief which was
under the slate. "Gracious ? that must be the good gentleman's
handkerchief; he missed it just as he was going out of the
house. He thought he had left it at the washerwoman's where I
met him, and he's gone back to look for it there. I'll run with
it to the washerwoman's ;, maybe she knows where to find him."
" But you have not told me who he is; whom do you mean by
the good gentleman ?" "The good gentleman, sir, that I saw
with you at the watchmaker's, the day that you helped me
to carry the great geranium out of my grandmother's room."
"Do you mean that Forester has been here exclaimed


Harry. "I never heard his name, sir; but I mean that the
gentleman has been here whom I call the good gentleman,
because it was he who went with me to my cross school-
mistress to try to persuade her to use me well. She beat
me, to be sure, after he was gone, for what he had said;
but I'm not the less obliged to him, because he did everything,
as he thought, for the best. And so I'll run with this handker-
chief to the woman's, who will give it safe to him."
Henry recollected his promise to his father. It required all
his power over himself to forbear questioning the child, and
endeavouring to find out something more of his friend. He
determined to mention the circumstance to his father and to
Flora as soon as he returned home. He was always impatient to
tell anything to his sister that interested himself or his friends;
for Flora's gaiety was not of that unfeeling sort which seeks
merely for amusement, and which, unmixed with sympathy for
others, may divert in a companion, but disgusts in a friend.
Whilst Henry was reflecting upon the manner in which he
might most expeditiously arrange his chemical experiments, and
return home, the little girl came running back with a face of
great distress. As soon as she had breath to speak, she told
Henry that when she went to the washerwoman's with the hand-
kerchief, she was told "a sad piece of news, that Mr. Forester
had been taken up, and carried before Mr. W- the magis-
trate. We don't know what he has done. I'm sure I don't
think he can have done anything wrong." Henry no sooner
heard these words, than he left all his retorts, rushed out of the
house, hurried home to his father, and learned from Flora, with
great surprise, that his father had already been sent for, and
was gone to Mr. W- 's. She did not know the circumstances
that Mackenzie related to Dr. Campbell; but she told him that
her father seemed much alarmed, that she met him crossing the
hall, and that he could not stop to speak to her. Henry pro-
ceeded directly to Mr. W- 's; and he arrived there just as
the people returned from the search of the tailor's house. His
opinion of Forester's innocence was so strong, that when he
entered the room he instantly walked up to him and embraced
him, with a species of frank confidence in his manner which,
to Forester, was more expressive than anything that he could
have said. The whole affair was quickly explained to him;
and the people who had been sent to Mr. Macpherson's now
came upstairs to Mr. W- and produced a ten-guinea bank-
note, which was found in the foreman's box. Upon examina-


tion, this note was discovered to be the very note which Mr.
Macpherson sent with the change to Pasgrave. It was No. 177,
of Sir Arthur Forbes's bank, as mentioned in the circumstantial
entry in the day-book. The joy of the poor dancing-master, at
this complete proof of his innocence, was rapturous and voluble.
Secure of the sympathy of Forester, Henry, and Dr. Campbell,
he looked at them by turns, whilst he congratulated himself
upon this &laircissement; and assured the banker's clerk that
he would in future keep accounts. We are impatient to get rid
of the guilty foreman. He stood a horrible image of despair.
He was committed to jail, and was carried away by the con-
stables without being pitied by any person present. Every-
body, however, was shocked.
Mackenzie broke silence first by exclaiming, "Well, now,
I presume, Mr. W- I may take possession of my own
bank-note again." He took up all the notes which lay upon
the table to search amongst them for his own. "Mine you
know is stained," said Archibald. "But it is very singular,"
said Henry Campbell, who was looking over his shoulder,
"that here are two stained notes. That which was found in
the foreman's box is stained in one corner, exactly as yours was
stained, Mr. Mackenzie." Macpherson, the tailor, now stooped
to examine it. "Is this No. 177, the note that I sent in change
by my foreman to M. Pasgrave --I'11 take my oath it was not
stained in that manner when I took it out of my desk. It was
a new and quite clean note. It must have been stained since."
"And it must have been stained with vitriolic acid," continued
Henry. "Ay, there's cunning for you," cried Archibald. "The
foreman, I suppose, stained it that it might not be known again."
"Have you any vitriolic acid in your house ?" pursued Henry,
addressing himself to the master-tailor. "Not I, indeed, sir.
We have nothing to do with such things. They'd be very dan-
gerous to us." "Pray," said Henry, "will you give me leave,
Mr. W-- to ask the person who searched the foreman's box
a few questions 1" "Certainly, sir," said Mr. V--- : though
I protest I cannot see what you are driving at." Henry inquired
what was found in the box with the bank-note. The man who
searched it enumerated a variety of things. "None of these,"
said Henry, "could have stained the note. Are you sure that there
was nothing else ?" "Nothing in the world-nothing but an
old glass stopper I believe." "I wish I could see that stopper,"
said Henry. "This note was rolled round it," said the man;
"but I threw it into the box again. I'll go and fetch it, sir, if


you have any curiosity to see it." Curiosity to see an old
stopper? No 1" cried Archibald Mackenzie with a forced laugh;
"what good would that do us ? We have been kept here long
enough. I move that we go home to our dinners." But Dr.
Campbell, who saw that Henry had some particular reason for
wishing to see this glass stopper, seconded his son. The man
went for it; and when he brought it into the room, Henry
Campbell looked at it very carefully and then decidedly said,
fixing his eyes upon Archibald Mackenzie, who in vain strug-
gled to keep his countenance from changing, This glass stopper,
Mr. Mackenzie, is the stopper of my father's vitriolic acid bottle,
that was broken the night fhe cat was killed. This stopper has
stained both the bank notes. And it must have been in the
pocket of your waistcoat." "My pocket ?" interrupted Archi-
bald; "how should it come into my pocket ? It never was in
my pocket, sir." Henry pointed to the stain on his waistcoat.
He wore the very waistcoat in question. "Sir," said Archibald,
"I don't know what you mean by pointing at my waistcoat. It
is stained, it is true, and very likely by vitriolic acid; but as I
have been so often in the doctor's laboratory when your chemi-
cal experiments have been going on, is not it very natural to
suppose that a drop of one of the acids might have fallen on my
clothes ? I have seen your waistcoats stained I am sure. Really,
Mr. Campbell, you are unfriendly, uncharitable; your partiality
for Mr. Forester should not blind you, surely. I know you
want to exculpate him from having any hand in the death of
that cat. But that should not, my dear sir, make you forget
what is due to justice. You should not, permit me to say,
endeavour to criminate an innocent person." "This is all very
fie," said Henry; "and you may prove your innocence to me
at once, Mr. Mackenzie, if you think proper, by showing that
the waistcoat was really as you assert, stained by a drop of
vitriolic acid falling upon the outside of it. Will you show us
the inside of the pocket?" Mackenzie, who was now in too
much confusion to know distinctly what Harry meant to prove,
turned the pocket inside out, and repeated, "That stopper was
never in my pocket, I'll swear." "Don't swear to that, for
God's sake," said Henry. "Consider what you are saying. You
see, that there is a hole burnt in this pocket. Now, if a drop
of acid had fallen, as you said, upon the outside of the waist-
coat, it must have been more burnt on the outside than on the
inside." "I don't know-I can't pretend to be positive," said
Archibald; "but what signifies all this rout about the stopper!"