The History of Sandford and Merton
by Thomas Day · English · Gutenberg #30274 · 888,257 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The History of Sandford and Merton
Author: Thomas Day
Release date: October 17, 2009 [eBook #30274]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON ***
[Illustration: "In that instant the grateful Black rushed on like
lightning to assist him, and assailing the bull with a weighty stick
that he held in his hand, compelled him to turn his rage upon a new
object." _P. 349._]
THE HISTORY
OF
SANDFORD AND MERTON.
BY THOMAS DAY.
=Six Coloured Engravings on Steel.=
=Philadelphia:=
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
MDCCCLXVIII.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Description of Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton--Adventure
with the Snake--Harry in Mr Merton's house--Mr Barlow
undertakes the education of Tommy--The first day at Mr
Barlow's--Story of the Flies and the Ants--Harry rescues
a Chicken from a Kite--Story of the Gentleman and the
Basket-maker--Tommy learns to read--Story of the two dogs, 1
CHAPTER II.
Tommy and the Ragged Boy--Story of Androcles and the
Lion--Conversation on Slavery--Conversation about an
Ass--Tommy's Present and its consequences--The Story of
Cyrus--Squire Chase beats Harry--Harry saves the Squire's
life--Making Bread--Story of the Two Brothers--Story of
the Sailors on the Island of Spitzbergen, 47
CHAPTER III.
Harry's Chicken--Tommy tries kindness on the Pig--Account
of the Elephant--Story of the Elephant and the Tailor--Story
of the Elephant and the Child--Stories of the Good Natured Boy
and the Ill Natured Boy--The Boys determine to Build a
House--Story of the Grateful Turk--The Boys' House blown
down--They rebuild it stronger--The Roof lets in the Rain--At
last is made Water-tight, 95
CHAPTER IV.
The Boys' Garden--The Crocodile--The Farmer's Wife--How to
make Cider--The Bailiffs take possession of the Farmer's
Furniture--Tommy pays the Farmer's Debt--Conclusion of the
Story of the Grateful Turk--The three Bears--Tommy and the
Monkey--Habits of the Monkey--Tommy's Robin Redbreast--Is
killed by a Cat--The Cat punished--The Laplanders--Story of
a Cure of the Gout, 185
CHAPTER V.
Lost in the Snow--Jack Smithers' Home--Talk about the
Stars--Harry's pursuit of The Will-o'-the-Wisp--Story of
the Avalanche--Town and Country compared--The Power of the
Lever--The Balance--The Wheel and Axle--Arithmetic--Buying
a Horse--History of Agesilaus--History of Leonidas, 197
CHAPTER VI.
The Constellations--Distance from the Earth--The Magnet
and its Powers--The Compass--The Greenlanders and their
Customs--The Telescope--The Magic Lantern--Story of the
African Prince and the Telescope--Mr Barlow's Poor
Parishioners--His Annual Dinner--Tommy attempts Sledge
Driving--His mishap in the Pond--His Anger, 255
CHAPTER VII.
Tommy and Harry visit Home--The Fashionable Guests--Miss
Simmons takes notice of Harry--Harry's Troubles--Master
Compton and Mash--Estrangement of Tommy--Visit to the
Theatre--Misbehaviour there--Card Playing--The Ball--Harry
Dancing a Minuet--Story of Sir Philip Sidney--Master Mash
insults Harry--The Fight in the Drawing-room--The
Bull-baiting--Tommy strikes Harry--Master Mash's Combat
with Harry--Tommy's Narrow Escape from the Bull--The
Grateful Black, 298
CHAPTER VIII.
Arrival of Mr Barlow--Story of Polemo--Tommy's
repentance--Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy
as an Arabian Horseman--His Mishap--Tommy's
intrepidity--The Poor Highlander's story--Tommy's
Sorrow for his conduct to Harry--Conclusion of the
Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy's resolution
to study nothing but "reason and philosophy"--Visits
Harry and begs his forgiveness--The Grateful Black's
Story--Tommy takes up his abode at Farmer
Sandford's--The Grateful Black's account of
himself--Mr Merton's visit to the Farm--The
unexpected present--Conclusion, 355
THE HISTORY
OF
SANDFORD AND MERTON.
CHAPTER I.
Description of Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton--Adventure with the
Snake--Harry in Mr Merton's house--Mr Barlow undertakes the
education of Tommy--The first day at Mr Barlow's--Story of the
Flies and the Ants--Harry rescues a Chicken from a Kite--Story of
the Gentleman and the Basket-maker--Tommy learns to read--Story of
the two dogs.
In the western part of England lived a gentleman of great fortune, whose
name was Merton. He had a large estate in the Island of Jamaica, where
he had passed the greater part of his life, and was master of many
servants, who cultivated sugar and other valuable things for his
advantage. He had only one son, of whom he was excessively fond; and to
educate this child properly was the reason of his determining to stay
some years in England. Tommy Merton, who, at the time he came from
Jamaica, was only six years old, was naturally a very good-tempered boy,
but unfortunately had been spoiled by too much indulgence. While he
lived in Jamaica, he had several black servants to wait upon him, who
were forbidden upon any account to contradict him. If he walked, there
always went two negroes with him; one of whom carried a large umbrella
to keep the sun from him, and the other was to carry him in his arms
whenever he was tired. Besides this, he was always dressed in silk or
laced clothes, and had a fine gilded carriage, which was borne upon
men's shoulders, in which he made visits to his play-fellows. His mother
was so excessively fond of him that she gave him everything he cried
for, and would never let him learn to read because he complained that it
made his head ache.
The consequence of this was, that, though Master Merton had everything
he wanted, he became very fretful and unhappy. Sometimes he ate
sweetmeats till he made himself sick, and then he suffered a great deal
of pain, because he would not take bitter physic to make him well.
Sometimes he cried for things that it was impossible to give him, and
then, as he had never been used to be contradicted, it was many hours
before he could be pacified. When any company came to dine at the house,
he was always to be helped first, and to have the most delicate parts of
the meat, otherwise he would make such a noise as disturbed the whole
company. When his father and mother were sitting at the tea-table with
their friends, instead of waiting till they were at leisure to attend
him, he would scramble upon the table, seize the cake and bread and
butter, and frequently overset the tea-cups. By these pranks he not only
made himself disagreeable to everybody else, but often met with very
dangerous accidents. Frequently did he cut himself with knives, at other
times throw heavy things upon his head, and once he narrowly escaped
being scalded to death by a kettle of boiling water. He was also so
delicately brought up, that he was perpetually ill; the least wind or
rain gave him a cold, and the least sun was sure to throw him into a
fever. Instead of playing about, and jumping, and running like other
children, he was taught to sit still for fear of spoiling his clothes,
and to stay in the house for fear of injuring his complexion. By this
kind of education, when Master Merton came over to England he could
neither write nor read, nor cipher; he could use none of his limbs with
ease, nor bear any degree of fatigue; but he was very proud, fretful,
and impatient.
Very near to Mr Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer, whose name
was Sandford. This man had, like Mr Merton, an only son, not much older
than Master Merton, whose name was Harry. Harry, as he had been always
accustomed to run about in the fields, to follow the labourers while
they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to their pasture, was
active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. He was neither so fair, nor
so delicately shaped as Master Merton; but he had an honest good-natured
countenance, which made everybody love him; was never out of humour, and
took the greatest pleasure in obliging everybody. If little Harry saw a
poor wretch who wanted victuals, while he was eating his dinner, he was
sure to give him half, and sometimes the whole: nay, so very
good-natured was he to everything, that he would never go into the
fields to take the eggs of poor birds, or their young ones, nor practise
any other kind of sport which gave pain to poor animals, who are as
capable of feeling as we ourselves, though they have no words to express
their sufferings. Once, indeed, Harry was caught twirling a cock-chafer
round, which he had fastened by a crooked pin to a long piece of thread:
but then this was through ignorance and want of thought; for, as soon as
his father told him that the poor helpless insect felt as much, or more
than he would do, were a knife thrust through his hand, he burst into
tears, and took the poor animal home, where he fed him during a
fortnight upon fresh leaves; and when he was perfectly recovered, turned
him out to enjoy liberty and fresh air. Ever since that time, Harry was
so careful and considerate, that he would step out of the way for fear
of hurting a worm, and employed himself in doing kind offices to all the
animals in the neighbourhood. He used to stroke the horses as they were
at work, and fill his pockets with acorns for the pigs; if he walked in
the fields, he was sure to gather green boughs for the sheep, who were
so fond of him that they followed him wherever he went. In the winter
time, when the ground was covered with frost and snow, and the poor
little birds could get at no food, he would often go supperless to bed,
that he might feed the robin-redbreasts; even toads, and frogs, and
spiders, and such kinds of disagreeable animals, which most people
destroy wherever they find them, were perfectly safe with Harry; he used
to say, they had a right to live as well as we, and that it was cruel
and unjust to kill creatures, only because we did not like them.
These sentiments made little Harry a great favourite with everybody,
particularly with the clergyman of the parish, who became so fond of him
that he taught him to read and write, and had him almost always with
him. Indeed, it was not surprising that Mr Barlow showed so particular
an affection for him; for besides learning, with the greatest readiness,
everything that was taught him, little Harry was the most honest,
obliging creature in the world. He was never discontented, nor did he
ever grumble, whatever he was desired to do. And then you might believe
Harry in everything he said; for though he could have gained a plum-cake
by telling an untruth, and was sure that speaking the truth would expose
him to a severe whipping, he never hesitated in declaring it. Nor was he
like many other children, who place their whole happiness in eating: for
give him but a morsel of dry bread for his dinner, and he would be
satisfied, though you placed sweetmeats and fruit, and every other
nicety, in his way.
With this little boy did Master Merton become acquainted in the
following manner:--As he and the maid were once walking in the fields on
a fine summer's morning, diverting themselves with gathering different
kinds of wild flowers, and running after butterflies, a large snake, on
a sudden, started up from among some long grass, and coiled itself round
little Tommy's leg. You may imagine the fright they were both in at this
accident; the maid ran away shrieking for help, while the child, who was
in an agony of terror, did not dare to stir from the place where he was
standing. Harry, who happened to be walking near the place, came running
up, and asked what was the matter. Tommy, who was sobbing most
piteously, could not find words to tell him, but pointed to his leg, and
made Harry sensible of what had happened. Harry, who, though young, was
a boy of a most courageous spirit, told him not to be frightened; and
instantly seizing the snake by the neck, with as much dexterity as
resolution, tore him from Tommy's leg, and threw him to a great distance
off.
[Illustration: "Harry, instantly seizing the snake by the neck, with as
much dexterity as resolution, tore him from Tommy's leg and threw him to
a great distance off." _P. 6._]
Just as this happened, Mrs Merton and all the family, alarmed by the
servant's cries, came running breathless to the place, as Tommy was
recovering his spirits, and thanking his brave little deliverer. Her
first emotions were to catch her darling up in her arms, and, after
giving him a thousand kisses, to ask him whether he had received any
hurt. "No," said Tommy, "indeed I have not, mamma; but I believe that
nasty ugly beast would have bitten me, if that little boy had not come
and pulled him off." "And who are you, my dear," said she, "to whom we
are all so obliged?" "Harry Sandford, madam." "Well, my child, you are a
dear, brave little creature, and you shall go home and dine with us."
"No, thank you, madam; my father will want me." "And who is your father,
my sweet boy?" "Farmer Sandford, madam, that lives at the bottom of the
hill." "Well, my dear, you shall be my child henceforth; will you?" "If
you please, madam, if I may have my own father and mother, too."
Mrs Merton instantly despatched a servant to the farmer's; and, taking
little Harry by the hand, she led him to the mansion-house, where she
found Mr Merton whom she entertained with a long account of Tommy's
danger and Harry's bravery.
Harry was now in a new scene of life. He was carried through costly
apartments, where everything that could please the eye, or contribute
to convenience, was assembled. He saw large looking-glasses in gilded
frames, carved tables and chairs, curtains made of the finest silk, and
the very plates and knives and forks were of silver. At dinner he was
placed close to Mrs Merton, who took care to supply him with the
choicest bits, and engaged him to eat, with the most endearing kindness;
but, to the astonishment of everybody, he neither appeared pleased nor
surprised at anything he saw. Mrs Merton could not conceal her
disappointment; for, as she had always been used to a great degree of
finery herself, she had expected it should make the same impression upon
everybody else. At last, seeing him eye a small silver cup with great
attention, out of which he had been drinking, she asked him whether he
should not like to have such a fine thing to drink out of; and added,
that, though it was Tommy's cup, she was sure he would with great
pleasure, give it to his little friend. "Yes, that I will," says Tommy;
"for you know, mamma, I have a much finer one than that, made of gold,
besides two large ones made of silver." "Thank you with all my heart,"
said little Harry; "but I will not rob you of it, for I have a much
better one at home." "How!" said Mrs Merton, "does your father eat and
drink out of silver?" "I don't know, madam, what you call this; but we
drink at home out of long things made of horn, just such as the cows
wear upon their heads." "The child is a simpleton, I think," said Mrs
Merton: "and why is that better than silver ones?" "Because," said
Harry, "they never make us uneasy." "Make you uneasy, my child!" said
Mrs Merton, "what do you mean?" "Why, madam, when the man threw that
great thing down, which looks just like this, I saw that you were very
sorry about it, and looked as if you had been just ready to drop. Now,
ours at home are thrown about by all the family, and nobody minds it."
"I protest," said Mrs Merton to her husband, "I do not know what to say
to this boy, he makes such strange observations."
The fact was, that during dinner, one of the servants had thrown down a
large piece of plate, which, as it was very valuable, had made Mrs
Merton not only look very uneasy, but give the man a very severe
scolding for his carelessness.
After dinner, Mrs Merton filled a large glass of wine, and giving it to
Harry, bade him drink it up, but he thanked her, and said he was not
dry. "But, my dear," said she, "this is very sweet and pleasant, and as
you are a good boy, you may drink it up." "Ay, but, madam, Mr Barlow
says that we must only eat when we are hungry, and drink when we are
dry: and that we must only eat and drink such things are as easily met
with; otherwise we shall grow peevish and vexed when we can't get them.
And this was the way that the Apostles did, who were all very good men."
Mr Merton laughed at this. "And pray," said he, "little man, do you know
who the Apostles were?" "Oh! yes, to be sure I do." "And who were they?"
"Why, sir, there was a time when people were grown so very wicked, that
they did not care what they did; and the great folks were all proud, and
minded nothing but eating and drinking and sleeping, and amusing
themselves; and took no care of the poor, and would not give a morsel of
bread to hinder a beggar from starving; and the poor were all lazy, and
loved to be idle better than to work; and little boys were disobedient
to their parents, and their parents took no care to teach them anything
that was good; and all the world was very bad, very bad indeed. And then
there came from Heaven the Son of God, whose name was Christ; and He
went about doing good to everybody, and curing people of all sorts of
diseases, and taught them what they ought to do; and He chose out twelve
other very good men, and called them Apostles; and these Apostles went
about the world doing as He did, and teaching people as He taught them.
And they never minded what they did eat or drink, but lived upon dry
bread and water; and when anybody offered them money, they would not
take it, but told them to be good, and give it to the poor and sick: and
so they made the world a great deal better. And therefore it is not fit
to mind what we live upon, but we should take what we can get, and be
contented; just as the beasts and birds do, who lodge in the open air,
and live upon herbs, and drink nothing but water; and yet they are
strong, and active, and healthy."
"Upon my word," said Mr Merton, "this little man is a great philosopher;
and we should be much obliged to Mr Barlow if he would take our Tommy
under his care; for he grows a great boy, and it is time that he should
know something. What say you, Tommy, should you like to be a
philosopher?" "Indeed, papa, I don't know what a philosopher is; but I
should like to be a king, because he's finer and richer than anybody
else, and has nothing to do, and everybody waits upon him, and is afraid
of him." "Well said, my dear," replied Mrs Merton; and rose and kissed
him; "and a king you deserve to be with such a spirit; and here's a
glass of wine for you for making such a pretty answer. And should you
not like to be a king too, little Harry?" "Indeed, madam, I don't know
what that is; but I hope I shall soon be big enough to go to plough, and
get my own living; and then I shall want nobody to wait upon me."
"What a difference between the children of farmers and gentlemen!"
whispered Mrs Merton to her husband, looking rather contemptuously upon
Harry. "I am not sure," said Mr Merton, "that for this time the
advantage is on the side of our son:--But should you not like to be
rich, my dear?" said he, turning to Harry. "No, indeed, sir." "No,
simpleton!" said Mrs Merton: "and why not?" "Because the only rich man I
ever saw, is Squire Chase, who lives hard by; and he rides among
people's corn, and breaks down their hedges, and shoots their poultry,
and kills their dogs, and lames their cattle, and abuses the poor; and
they say he does all this because he's rich; but everybody hates him,
though they dare not tell him so to his face--and I would not be hated
for anything in the world." "But should you not like to have a fine
laced coat, and a coach to carry you about, and servants to wait upon
you?" "As to that, madam, one coat is as good as another, if it will but
keep me warm; and I don't want to ride, because I can walk wherever I
choose; and, as to servants, I should have nothing for them to do, if I
had a hundred of them." Mrs Merton continued to look at him with
astonishment, but did not ask him any more questions.
In the evening, little Harry was sent home to his father, who asked him
what he had seen at the great house, and how he liked being there.
"Why," replied Harry, "they were all very kind to me, for which I'm much
obliged to them: but I had rather have been at home, for I never was so
troubled in all my life to get a dinner. There was one man to take away
my plate, and another to give me drink, and another to stand behind my
chair, just as if I had been lame or blind, and could not have waited
upon myself; and then there was so much to do with putting this thing
on, and taking another off, I thought it would never have been over;
and, after dinner, I was obliged to sit two whole hours without ever
stirring, while the lady was talking to me, not as Mr Barlow does, but
wanting me to love fine clothes, and to be a king, and to be rich, that
I may be hated like Squire Chase."
But at the mansion-house, much of the conversation, in the meantime, was
employed in examining the merits of little Harry. Mrs Merton
acknowledged his bravery and openness of temper; she was also struck
with the very good-nature and benevolence of his character, but she
contended that he had a certain grossness and indelicacy in his ideas,
which distinguish the children of the lower and middling classes of
people from those of persons of fashion. Mr Merton, on the contrary,
maintained, that he had never before seen a child whose sentiments and
disposition would do so much honour even to the most elevated
situations. Nothing, he affirmed, was more easily acquired than those
external manners, and that superficial address, upon which too many of
the higher classes pride themselves as their greatest, or even as their
only accomplishment; "nay, so easily are they picked up," said he, "that
we frequently see them descend with the cast clothes to maids and
valets; between whom and their masters and mistresses there is little
other difference than what results from the former wearing soiled
clothes and healthier countenances. Indeed, the real seat of all
superiority, even of manners, must be placed in the mind: dignified
sentiments, superior courage, accompanied with genuine and universal
courtesy, are always necessary to constitute the real gentleman; and
where these are wanting, it is the greatest absurdity to think they can
be supplied by affected tones of voice, particular grimaces, or
extravagant and unnatural modes of dress; which, far from becoming the
real test of gentility, have in general no other origin than the caprice
of barbers, tailors, actors, opera-dancers, milliners, fiddlers, and
French servants of both sexes. I cannot help, therefore, asserting,"
said he, very seriously, "that this little peasant has within his mind
the seeds of true gentility and dignity of character; and though I shall
also wish that our son may possess all the common accomplishments of his
rank, nothing would give me more pleasure than a certainty that he would
never in any respect fall below the son of farmer Sandford."
Whether Mrs Merton fully acceded to these observations of her husband, I
cannot decide; but, without waiting to hear her particular sentiments,
he thus went on:--"Should I appear more warm than usual upon this
subject, you must pardon me, my dear, and attribute it to the interest I
feel in the welfare of our little Tommy. I am too sensible that our
mutual fondness has hitherto treated him with rather too much
indulgence. While we have been over-solicitous to remove from him every
painful and disagreeable impression, we have made him too delicate and
fretful; our desire of constantly consulting his inclinations has made
us gratify even his caprices and humours; and, while we have been too
studious to preserve him from restraint and opposition, we have in
reality been ourselves the cause that he has not acquired even the
common attainments of his age and situation. All this I have long
observed in silence, but have hitherto concealed, both from my fondness
for our child, and my fear of offending you; but at length a
consideration of his real interests has prevailed over every other
motive, and has compelled me to embrace a resolution, which I hope will
not be disagreeable to you--that of sending him directly to Mr Barlow,
provided he would take the care of him; and I think this accidental
acquaintance with young Sandford may prove the luckiest thing in the
world, as he is so nearly the age and size of our Tommy. I shall
therefore propose to the farmer, that I will for some years pay for the
board and education of his little boy, that he may be a constant
companion to our son."
As Mr Merton said this with a certain degree of firmness, and the
proposal was in itself so reasonable and necessary, Mrs Merton did not
make any objection to it, but consented, although very reluctantly, to
part with her son. Mr Barlow was accordingly invited to dinner the next
Sunday, and Mr Merton took an opportunity of introducing the subject,
and making the proposal to him; assuring him at the same time, that,
though there was no return within the bounds of his fortune which he
would not willingly make, yet the education and improvement of his son
were objects of so much importance to him, that he should always
consider himself the obliged party.
To this, Mr Barlow, after thanking Mr Merton for the confidence and
liberality with which he treated him, answered him in the following
manner:--"I should be little worthy of the distinguished regard with
which you treat me, did I not with the greatest sincerity assure you,
that I feel myself totally unqualified for the task. I am, sir, a
minister of the Gospel, and I would not exchange that character, and the
severe duties it enjoins, for any other situation in life. But you must
be sensible that the retired manner of life which I have led for these
twenty years, in consequence of my profession, at a distance from the
gaities of the capital, and the refinements of polite life, is little
adapted to form such a tutor as the manners and opinions of the world
require for your son. Gentlemen in your situation of life are accustomed
to divide the world into two general classes; those who are persons of
fashion, and those who are not. The first class contains everything that
is valuable in life; and therefore their manners, their prejudices,
their very vices, must be inculcated upon the minds of children, from
the earliest period of infancy; the second comprehends the great body of
mankind, who, under the general name of the vulgar, are represented as
being only objects of contempt and disgust, and scarcely worthy to be
put on a footing with the very beasts that contribute to the pleasure
and convenience of their superiors."
Mr Merton could not help interrupting Mr Barlow here, to assure him
that, though there was too much truth in the observation, yet he must
not think that either he or Mrs Merton carried things to that
extravagant length; and that, although they wished their son to have the
manners of a man of fashion, they thought his morals and religion of
infinitely more consequence.
"If you think so, sir," said Mr Barlow, "it is more than a noble lord
did, whose written opinions are now considered as the oracles of polite
life, and more than, I believe, most of his admirers do at this time.
But if you allow what I have just mentioned to be the common
distinctions of genteel people, you must at one glance perceive how
little I must be qualified to educate a young gentleman intended to move
in that sphere; I, whose temper, reason, and religion, equally combine
to make me reject the principles upon which those distinctions are
founded. The Christian religion, though not exclusively, is,
emphatically speaking, the religion of the poor. Its first ministers
were taken from the lower orders of mankind, and to the lower orders of
mankind was it first proposed; and in this, instead of feeling myself
mortified or ashamed, I am the more inclined to adore the wisdom and
benevolence of that Power by whose command it was first promulgated.
Those who engross the riches and advantages of this world are too much
employed with their pleasures and ambition to be much interested about
any system, either of religion or of morals; they too frequently feel a
species of habitual intoxication, which excludes every serious thought,
and makes them view with indifference everything but the present moment.
Those, on the contrary, to whom all the hardships and miseries of this
world are allotted as their natural portion--those who eat the bread of
bitterness, and drink the waters of affliction, have more interest in
futurity, and are therefore more prepared to receive the promises of the
Gospel. Yes, sir; mark the disingenuousness of many of our modern
philosophers; they quarrel with the Christian religion, because it has
not yet penetrated the deserts of Africa, or arrested the wandering
hordes of Tartary; yet they ridicule it for the meanness of its origin,
and because it is the Gospel of the poor: that is to say, because it is
expressly calculated to inform the judgments, and alleviate the miseries
of that vast promiscuous body which constitutes the majestic species of
man. But for whom would these philosophers have Heaven itself
interested, if not for the mighty whole which it has created? Poverty,
that is to say, a state of labour and frequent self-denial, is the
natural state of man; it is the state of all in the happiest and most
equal governments, the state of nearly all in every country; it is a
state in which all the faculties, both of body and mind, are always
found to develope themselves with the most advantage, and in which the
moral feelings have generally the greatest influence. The accumulation
of riches, on the contrary, can never increase, but by the increasing
poverty and degradation of those whom Heaven has created equal; a
thousand cottages are thrown down to afford space for a single palace.
How benevolently, therefore, has Heaven acted, in thus extending its
blessings to all who do not disqualify themselves for the reception by
voluntary hardness of heart! how wisely in thus opposing a continual
boundary to human pride and sensuality; two passions the most fatal in
their effects, and the most apt to desolate the world. And shall a
minister of that Gospel, conscious of these great truths, and professing
to govern himself by their influence, dare to preach a different
doctrine, and flatter those excesses, which he must know are equally
contrary both to reason and religion? Shall he become the abject
sycophant of human greatness, and assist it in trampling all relations
of humanity beneath his feet, instead of setting before it the severe
duties of its station, and the account which will one day be expected of
all the opportunities of doing good, so idly, so irretrievably lost and
squandered? But I beg pardon, sir, for that warmth which has transported
me so far, and made me engross so much of the conversation. But it will
at least have this good effect, that it will demonstrate the truth of
what I have been saying; and show that, though I might undertake the
education of a farmer or a mechanic, I shall never succeed in that of a
modern gentleman."
"Sir," replied Mr Merton, "there is nothing which I now hear from you,
which does not increase my esteem of your character, and my desire to
engage your assistance. Permit me only to ask whether, in the present
state of things, a difference of conditions and an inequality of fortune
are not necessary, and, if necessary, I should infer, not contrary to
the spirit of Christianity?"
"So it is declared, sir, that offences must come; but that does not
prevent a severe denunciation against the offenders. But, if you wish to
know, whether I am one of those enthusiasts, who are continually
preaching up an ideal state of perfection, totally inconsistent with
human affairs, I will endeavour to give you every satisfaction upon the
subject. If you mean by difference of conditions and inequality of
fortunes, that the present state of human affairs in every society we
are acquainted with, does not admit that perfect equality which the
purer interpretations of the Gospel inculcate, I certainly shall not
disagree with you in opinion. He that formed the human heart certainly
must be acquainted with all the passions to which it would be subject;
and if, under the immediate dispensation of Christ himself, it was found
impossible for a rich man to give his possessions to the poor, that
degree of purity will hardly be expected now, which was not found in the
origin. But here, sir, permit me to remark, how widely the principles of
genuine Christianity differ from that imaginary scheme of ideal
perfection, equally inconsistent with human affairs and human
characters, which many of its pretended friends would persuade us to
believe in; and, as comparisons sometimes throw a new and sudden light
upon a subject, give me leave to use one here, which I think bears the
closest analogy to what we are now considering. Were some physician to
arise, who, to a perfect knowledge of all preceding medical facts, had
added by a more than human skill a knowledge of the most secret
principles of the human frame, could he calculate, with an accuracy that
never was deceived, the effect of every cause that could act upon our
constitutions; and, were he inclined, as the result of all his science
and observation, to leave a rule of life that might remain unimpeached
to the latest posterity, I ask, what kind of one would he form?"
"I suppose one," said Mr Merton, "that was the most adapted to the
general circumstances of the human species, and, which observed, would
confer the greatest degree of health and vigour."
"Right," said Mr Barlow; "I ask again, whether, observing the common
luxury and intemperance of the rich, he would take his directions from
the usages of a polite table, and recommend that heterogeneous
assemblage of contrary mixtures, high seasonings, poignant sauces,
fermented and distilled poisons, which is continually breeding diseases
in their veins, as the best means of preserving or regaining health?"
"Certainly not. That were to debase his heart, and sanction abuses,
instead of reforming them."
"Would he not, then, recommend simplicity of diet, light repasts, early
slumbers, and moderate exercise in the open air, if he judged them
salutary to human nature, even though fashionable prejudice had stamped
all these particulars with the mark of extreme vulgarity?"
"Were he to act otherwise, he must forfeit all pretensions either to
honesty or skill."
"Let us then apply all this to the mind, instead of the body, and
suppose for an instant, that some legislator, either human or divine,
who comprehended all the secret springs that govern the mind, was
preparing a universal code for all mankind; must he not imitate the
physician, and deliver general truths, however unpalatable, however
repugnant to particular prejudices, since upon the observance of these
truths alone the happiness of the species must depend?"
"I think so, indeed."
"Should such a person observe, that an immoderate desire and
accumulation of riches, a love of ostentatious trifles, unnecessary
splendour in all that relates to human life, and an habitual indulgence
of sensuality, tended not only to produce evil in all around, but even
in the individual himself, who suffered the tyranny of these vices; how
would you have the legislator act? Should he be silent?"
"No, certainly; he should arraign these pernicious habitudes by every
means within his power--by precept, by example."
"Should he also observe, that riches employed in another manner, in
removing the real miseries of humanity, in cherishing, comforting, and
supporting all around, produced a contrary effect, and tended equally to
make the obliged and the obliger happy; should he conceal this great
eternal truth, or should he divulge it with all the authority he
possessed, conscious, that in whatever degree it became the rule of
human life, in the same degree would it tend to the advantage of all the
world?"
"There cannot be a doubt upon the subject."
"But, should he know, either by the spirit of prophecy, or by intuitive
penetration, that the majority of mankind would never observe these
rules to any great degree, but would be blindly precipitated by their
passions into every excess against which he so benevolently cautioned
them; should this be a reason for his withdrawing his precepts and
admonitions, or for seeming to approve what was in its own nature most
pernicious?
"As prudent would it be to pull off the bridle when we mounted an
impetuous horse, because we doubted of our power to hold him in; or to
increase his madness by the spur, when it was clearly too great before.
Thus, sir, you will perceive, that the precepts of the Christian
religion are founded upon the most perfect knowledge of the human heart,
as they furnish a continual barrier against the most destructive
passions, and the most subversive of human happiness. Your own
concessions sufficiently prove, that it would have been equally
derogatory to truth, and the common interests of the species, to have
made the slightest concessions in favour either of human pride or
sensuality. Your extensive acquaintance with mankind will sufficiently
convince you, how prone the generality are to give an unbounded loose to
these two passions; neither the continual experience of their own
weakness, nor of the fatal effects which are produced by vicious
indulgences, has yet been capable of teaching them either humility or
moderation. What then could the wisest legislator do, more useful, more
benevolent, more necessary, than to establish general rules of conduct,
which have a continual tendency to restore moral and natural order, and
to diminish the wide inequality produced by pride and avarice? Nor is
there any greater danger that these precepts should be too rigidly
observed, than that the bulk of mankind should injure themselves by too
abstemious a temperance. All that can be expected from human weakness,
even after working from the most perfect model, is barely to arrive at
mediocrity; and, were the model less perfect, or the duties less severe,
there is the greatest reason to think, that even that mediocrity would
never be attained. Examine the conduct of those who are placed at a
distance from all labour and fatigue, and you will find the most
trifling exertions act upon their imaginations with the same force as
the most insuperable difficulties.
"If I have now succeeded in laying down the genuine principles of
Christian morality, I apprehend it will not be difficult to deduce the
duty of one who takes upon him the office of its minister and
interpreter. He can no more have a right to alter the slightest of its
principles than the magistrate can be justified in giving false
interpretations to the laws. The more the corruptions of the world
increase, the greater the obligation that he should oppose himself to
their course; and he can no more relax in his opposition than the pilot
can abandon the helm, because the winds and the waves begin to augment
their fury. Should he be despised, or neglected by all the rest of the
human species, let him still persist in bearing testimony to the truth,
both in his precepts and example; the cause of virtue is not desperate
while it retains a single friend; should it even sink for ever, it is
enough for him to have discharged his duty. But, although he is thus
restricted as to what he shall teach, I do not assert that it is
improper for him to use his understanding and experience as to the
manner of his instruction. He is strictly bound never to teach anything
contrary to the purest morality; but he is not bound always to teach
that morality in its greatest extent. In that respect, he may use the
wisdom of the serpent, though guided by the innocence of the dove. If,
therefore, he sees the reign of prejudice and corruption, so firmly
established, that men would be offended with the genuine simplicity of
the Gospel, and the purity of its primeval doctrines, he may so far
moderate their rigour as to prevent them from entirely disgusting weak
and luxurious minds. If we cannot effect the greatest possible
perfection, it is still a material point to preserve from the grossest
vices. A physician that practises amongst the great may certainly be
excused, though he should not be continually advising the exercise, the
regimen of the poor; not that the doctrine is not true, but that there
would not be the smallest probability of its ever being adopted. But,
although he never assents to that luxurious method of life, which he is
continually obliged to see, he may content himself with only inculcating
those restrictions which even the luxurious may submit to, if they
possess the smallest portion of understanding. Should he succeed thus
far, there is no reason for his stopping in his career, or not
enforcing a superior degree of temperance; but should it be difficult to
persuade even so slight a restriction, he could hope for no success,
were he to preach up a Spartan or a Roman diet. Thus the Christian
minister may certainly use his own discretion in the mode of conveying
his instructions; and it is permitted him to employ all his knowledge of
the human heart in reclaiming men from their vices, and winning them
over to the cause of virtue. By the severity of his own manners, he may
sufficiently evince the motives of his conduct; nor can he, by any
means, hope for more success than if he shows that he practises more
than he preaches, and uses a greater degree of indulgence to the
failings of others than he requires for his own."
"Nothing," said Mr Merton, "can be more rational or moderate than these
sentiments; why then do you persist in pleading your incapacity for an
employment which you can so well discharge?"
"Because," said Mr Barlow, "he that undertakes the education of a child,
undertakes the most important duty in society, and is severally
answerable for every voluntary omission. The same mode of reasoning,
which I have just been using, is not applicable here. It is out of the
power of any individual, however strenuous may be his endeavours, to
prevent the mass of mankind from acquiring prejudices and corruptions;
and, when he finds them in that state, he certainly may use all the
wisdom he possesses for their reformation. But this rule will never
justify him for an instant in giving false impressions where he is at
liberty to instil truth, and in losing the only opportunity which he
perhaps may ever possess, of teaching pure morality and religion. How
will such a man, if he has the least feeling, bear to see his pupil
become a slave, perhaps to the grossest vices; and to reflect with a
great degree of probability that this catastrophe has been owing to his
own inactivity and improper indulgence? May not all human characters
frequently be traced back to impressions made at so early a period, that
none but discerning eyes would ever suspect their existence? Yet nothing
is more certain; what we are at twenty depends upon what we were at
fifteen; what we are at fifteen upon what we were at ten; where shall we
then place the beginning of the series? Besides, sir, the very
prejudices and manners of society, which seem to be an excuse for the
present negligence in the early education of children, act upon my mind
with a contrary effect. Need we fear that, after every possible
precaution has been taken, our pupil should not give a sufficient loose
to his passions, or should be in danger of being too severely virtuous?
How glorious would be such a distinction, how much to be wished for, and
yet how little to be expected by any one who is moderately acquainted
with the world! The instant he makes his entrance there, he will find a
universal relaxation and indifference to everything that is serious;
everything will conspire to represent pleasure and sensuality as the
only business of human beings, and to throw a ridicule upon every
pretence to principle or restraint. This will be the doctrine that he
will learn at theatres, from his companions, from the polite circles
into which he is introduced. The ladies, too, will have their share in
the improvement of his character; they will criticise the colour of his
clothes, his method of making a bow, and of entering a room. They will
teach him that the great object of human life is to please the fair; and
that the only method of doing it is to acquire the graces. Need we fear
that, thus beset an every side, he should not attach a sufficient
importance to trifles, or grow fashionably languid in the discharge of
all his duties? Alas! sir, it seems to me that this will unavoidably
happen in spite of all our endeavours. Let us, then, not lose the
important moment of human life, when it is possible to flatter ourselves
with some hopes of success in giving good impressions; they may succeed;
they may either preserve a young man from gross immorality, or have a
tendency to reform him when the first ardour of youth is past. If we
neglect this awful moment, which can never return, with the view which,
I must confess, I have of modern manners, it appears to me like
launching a vessel in the midst of a storm, without a compass and
without a pilot."
"Sir," said Mr Merton, "I will make no other answer to what you have now
been saying, than to tell you, it adds, if possible, to my esteem of
your character; and that I will deliver my son into your hands, upon
your own conditions. And as to the terms--"
"Pardon me," replied Mr Barlow, "if I interrupt you here, and give you
another specimen of the singularity of my opinions. I am contented to
take your son for some months under my care, and to endeavour by every
means within my power to improve him. But there is one circumstance
which is indispensable, that you permit me to have the pleasure of
serving you as a friend. If you approve of my ideas and conduct, I will
keep him as long as you desire. In the mean time, as there are, I fear,
some little circumstances which have grown up, by too much tenderness
and indulgence, to be altered in his character, I think that I shall
possess more of the necessary influence and authority, if I, for the
present, appear to him and your whole family rather in the light of a
friend than that of a schoolmaster."
However disagreeable this proposal was to the generosity of Mr Merton,
he was obliged to consent to it; and little Tommy was accordingly sent
the next day to the vicarage, which was at the distance of about two
miles from his father's house.
The day after Tommy came to Mr Barlow's, as soon as breakfast was over,
he took him and Harry into the garden; when he was there, he took a
spade into his own hand, and giving Harry a hoe, they both began to work
with great eagerness. "Everybody that eats," says Mr Barlow, "ought to
assist in procuring food; and therefore little Harry and I begin our
daily work. This is my bed, and that other is his; we work upon it every
day, and he that raises the most out of it will deserve to fare the
best. Now, Tommy, if you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece
of ground, which you shall have to yourself, and all the produce shall
be your own." "No, indeed," said Tommy, very sulkily, "I am a gentleman
and don't choose to slave like a ploughboy." "Just as you please, Mr
Gentleman," said Mr Barlow; "but Harry and I, who are not above being
useful, will mind our work."
In about two hours, Mr Barlow said it was time to leave off; and, taking
Harry by the hand, he led him into a very pleasant summer-house, where
they sat down; and Mr Barlow, taking out a plate of very fine ripe
cherries, divided them between Harry and himself.
Tommy, who had followed, and expected his share, when he saw them both
eating without taking any notice of him, could no longer restrain his
passion, but burst into a violent fit of sobbing and crying. "What is
the matter?" said Mr Barlow very coolly to him. Tommy looked upon him
very sulkily, but returned no answer. "Oh! sir, if you don't choose to
give me an answer, you may be silent; nobody is obliged to speak here."
Tommy became still more disconcerted at this, and, being unable to
conceal his anger, ran out of the summer-house, and wandered very
disconsolately about the garden, equally surprised and vexed to find
that he was now in a place where nobody felt any concern whether he was
pleased or the contrary.
When all the cherries were eaten, little Harry said, "You promised to be
so good as to hear me read when we had done working in the garden; and,
if it is agreeable to you, I will now read the story of the 'Flies and
the Ants.'" "With all my heart," said Mr Barlow; "remember to read it
slowly and distinctly, without hesitating or pronouncing the words
wrong; and be sure to read it in such a manner as to show that you
understand it."
Harry then took up the book, and read as follows:--
"THE FLIES AND THE ANTS."
"In the corner of a farmer's garden, there once happened to be a nest of
ants, who, during the fine weather of the summer, were employed all day
long in drawing little seeds and grains of corn into their hole. Near
them there happened to be a bed of flowers, upon which a great quantity
of flies used to be always sporting, and humming, and diverting
themselves by flying from one flower to another. A little boy, who was
the farmer's son, used frequently to observe the different employments
of these animals; and, as he was very young and ignorant, he one day
thus expressed himself:--'Can any creature be so simple as these ants?
All day long they are working and toiling, instead of enjoying the fine
weather, and diverting themselves like these flies, who are the happiest
creatures in the world.' Some time after he had made this observation,
the weather grew extremely cold, the sun was scarcely seen to shine, and
the nights were chill and frosty. The same little boy, walking then in
the garden, did not see a single ant, but all the flies lay scattered up
and down, either dead or dying. As he was very good-natured, he could
not help pitying the unfortunate animals, and asking at the same time,
what had happened to the ants that he used to see in the same place? The
father said, 'The flies are all dead, because they were careless
animals, who gave themselves no trouble about laying up provisions, and
were too idle to work; but the ants, who had been busy all the summer,
in providing for their maintenance during the winter, are all alive and
well; and you will see them as soon as the warm weather returns.'"
"Very well, Harry," said Mr Barlow, "we will now take a walk." They
accordingly rambled out into the fields, where Mr Barlow made Harry take
notice of several kinds of plants, and told him the names and nature of
them. At last Harry, who had observed some very pretty purple berries
upon a plant that bore a purple flower, and grew in the hedges, brought
them to Mr Barlow, and asked whether they were good to eat. "It is very
lucky," said Mr Barlow, "young man, that you asked the question before
you put them into your mouth; for, had you tasted them, they would have
given you violent pains in your head and stomach, and perhaps have
killed you, as they grow upon a plant called night-shade, which is a
rank poison." "Sir," said Harry, "I take care never to eat anything
without knowing what it is, and I hope, if you will be so good as to
continue to teach me, I shall very soon know the names and qualities of
all the herbs which grow."
As they were returning home, Harry saw a very large bird called a kite,
upon the ground, who seemed to have something in its claws, which he was
tearing to pieces. Harry, who knew him to be one of those ravenous
creatures which prey upon others, ran up to him, shouting as loud as he
could; and the bird, being frightened, flew away, and left a chicken
behind him, very much hurt indeed, but still alive. "Look, sir," said
Harry, "if that cruel creature has not almost killed this poor chicken;
see how he bleeds, and hangs his wings! I will put him into my bosom to
recover him, and carry him home; and he shall have part of my dinner
every day till he is well, and able to shift for himself."
As soon as they came home, the first care of little Harry was to put his
wounded chicken into a basket with some fresh straw, some water and some
bread. After that Mr Barlow and he went to dinner.
In the meantime, Tommy, who had been skulking about all day, very much
mortified and uneasy, came in, and, being very hungry, was going to sit
down to the table with the rest; but Mr Barlow stopped him, and said,
"No, sir, as you are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not
so, do not choose to work for the idle." Upon this Tommy retired into a
corner, crying as if his heart would break, but more from grief than
passion, as he began to perceive that nobody minded his ill-temper.
But little Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy,
looked up half crying into Mr Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir, may I
do as I please with my share of the dinner?" "Yes, to be sure, child."
"Why, then," said he, getting up, "I will give it all to poor Tommy who
wants it more than I do." Saying this, he gave it to him as he sat in
the corner; and Tommy took it, and thanked him without ever turning his
eyes from off the ground. "I see," said Mr Barlow, "that though
gentlemen are above being of any use themselves, they are not above
taking the bread that other people have been working hard for." At this
Tommy cried still more bitterly than before.
The next day Mr Barlow and Harry went to work as before; but they had
scarcely begun before Tommy came to them, and desired that he might have
a hoe too, which Mr Barlow gave him; but, as he had never before learned
to handle one, he was very awkward in the use of it, and hit himself
several strokes upon his legs. Mr Barlow then laid down his own spade,
and showed him how to hold and use it, by which means, in a short time,
he became very expert, and worked with the greatest pleasure. When their
work was over they retired all three to the summer-house; and Tommy felt
the greatest joy imaginable when the fruit was produced, and he was
invited to take his share, which seemed to him the most delicious he had
ever tasted, because working in the air had given him an appetite.
As soon as they had done eating, Mr Barlow took up a book, and asked
Tommy whether he would read them a story out of it? but he, looking a
little ashamed, said he had never learned to read. "I am very sorry for
it," said Mr Barlow, "because you lose a very great pleasure; then Harry
shall read to you." Harry accordingly took up the book and read the
following story:--
"THE GENTLEMAN AND THE BASKET-MAKER."
"There was, in a distant part of the world, a rich man, who lived in a
fine house, and spent his whole time in eating, drinking, sleeping, and
amusing himself. As he had a great many servants to wait upon him, who
treated him with the greatest respect, and did whatever they were
ordered, and, as he had never been taught the truth, nor accustomed to
hear it, he grew very proud, insolent, and capricious, imagining that he
had a right to command all the world, and that the poor were only born
to serve and obey him.
"Near this rich man's house there lived an honest and industrious poor
man, who gained his livelihood by making little baskets out of dried
reeds, which grew upon a piece of marshy ground close to his cottage.
But though he was obliged to labour from morning to night, to earn food
enough to support him, and though he seldom fared better than upon dry
bread, or rice, or pulse, and had no other bed than the remains of the
rushes of which he made baskets, yet was he always happy, cheerful, and
contented; for his labour gave him so good an appetite, that the
coarsest fare appeared to him delicious; and he went to bed so tired
that he would have slept soundly even upon the ground. Besides this, he
was a good and virtuous man, humane to everybody, honest in his
dealings, always accustomed to speak the truth, and therefore beloved
and respected by all his neighbours.
"The rich man, on the contrary, though he lay upon the softest bed, yet
could not sleep, because he had passed the day in idleness; and though
the nicest dishes were presented to him, yet could he not eat with any
pleasure, because he did not wait till nature gave him an appetite, nor
use exercise, nor go into the open air. Besides this, as he was a great
sluggard and glutton, he was almost always ill; and, as he did good to
nobody, he had no friends; and even his servants spoke ill of him behind
his back, and all his neighbours, whom he oppressed, hated him. For
these reasons he was sullen, melancholy, and unhappy, and became
displeased with all who appeared more cheerful than himself. When he was
carried out in his palanquin (a kind of bed, borne upon the shoulders of
men) he frequently passed by the cottage of the poor basket-maker, who
was always sitting at the door, and singing as he wove the baskets. The
rich man could not behold this without anger. 'What!' said he, 'shall a
wretch, a peasant, a low-born fellow, that weaves bulrushes for a scanty
subsistence, be always happy and pleased, while I, that am a gentleman,
possessed of riches and power, and of more consequence than a million of
reptiles like him, am always melancholy and discontented!' This
reflection arose so often in his mind, that at last he began to feel the
greatest degree of hatred towards the poor man; and, as he had never
been accustomed to conquer his own passions, however improper or unjust
they might be, he at last determined to punish the basket-maker for
being happier than himself.
"With this wicked design, he one night gave orders to his servants (who
did not dare to disobey him) to set fire to the rushes which surrounded
the poor man's house. As it was summer, and the weather in that country
extremely hot, the fire soon spread over the whole marsh, and not only
consumed all the rushes, but soon extended to the cottage itself, and
the poor basket-maker was obliged to run out almost naked to save his
life.
"You may judge of the surprise and grief of the poor man, when he found
himself entirely deprived of his subsistence by the wickedness of his
rich neighbour, whom he had never offended; but, as he was unable to
punish him for this injustice, he set out and walked on foot to the
chief magistrate of that country, to whom, with many tears, he told his
pitiful case. The magistrate, who was a good and just man, immediately
ordered the rich man to be brought before him; and when he found that he
could not deny the wickedness, of which he was accused, he thus spoke to
the poor man:--'As this proud and wicked man has been puffed up with the
opinion of his own importance, and attempted to commit the most
scandalous injustice from his contempt of the poor, I am willing to
teach him of how little value he is to anybody, and how vile and
contemptible a creature he really is; but, for this purpose, it is
necessary that you should consent to the plan I have formed, and go
along with him to the place whither I intend to send you both.'
"The poor man replied, 'I never had much; but the little I once had is
now lost by the mischievous disposition of this proud and oppressive
man. I am entirely ruined; I have no means left in the world of
procuring myself a morsel of bread the next time I am hungry; therefore
I am ready to go wherever you please to send me; and, though I would not
treat this man as he has treated me, yet should I rejoice to teach him
more justice and humanity, and to prevent his injuring the poor a second
time.'
"The magistrate then ordered them both to be put on board a ship, and
carried to a distant country, which was inhabited by a rude and savage
kind of men, who lived in huts, were strangers to riches, and got their
living by fishing.
"As soon as they were set on shore, the sailors left them as they had
been ordered, and the inhabitants of the country came round them in
great numbers. The rich man, seeing himself thus exposed, without
assistance or defence, in the midst of a barbarous people, whose
language he did not understand, and in whose power he was, began to cry
and wring his hands in the most abject manner; but the poor
basket-maker, who had always been accustomed to hardships and dangers
from his infancy, made signs to the people that he was their friend, and
was willing to work for them, and be their servant. Upon this the
natives made signs to them that they would do them no hurt, but would
make use of their assistance in fishing and carrying wood.
"Accordingly, they led them both to a wood at some distance, and showing
them several logs, ordered them to transport them to their cabins. They
both immediately set about their tasks, and the poor man, who was strong
and active, very soon had finished his share; while the rich man, whose
limbs were tender and delicate, and never accustomed to any kind of
labour, had scarcely done a quarter as much. The savages, who were
witnesses to this, began to think that the basket-maker would prove very
useful to them, and therefore presented him with a large portion of
fish, and several of their choicest roots; while to the rich man they
gave scarcely enough to support him, because they thought him capable
of being of very little service to them; however, as he had now fasted
several hours, he ate what they gave him with a better appetite than he
had ever felt before at his own table.
"The next day they were set to work again; and as the basket-maker had
the same advantage over his companion, he was highly caressed and well
treated by the natives, while they showed every mark of contempt towards
the other, whose delicate and luxurious habits had rendered him very
unfit for labour.
"The rich man now began to perceive with how little reason he had before
valued himself, and despised his fellow-creatures; and an accident that
fell out shortly after, tended to complete his mortification. It
happened that one of the savages had found something like a fillet, with
which he adorned his forehead, and seemed to think himself extremely
fine; the basket-maker, who had perceived this appearance of vanity,
pulled up some reeds, and, sitting down to work, in a short time
finished a very elegant wreath, which he placed upon the head of the
first inhabitant he chanced to meet. This man was so pleased with his
new acquisition, that he danced and capered with joy, and ran away to
seek the rest, who were all struck with astonishment at this new and
elegant piece of finery. It was not long before another came to the
basket-maker, making signs that he wanted to be ornamented like his
companion; and with such pleasure were these chaplets considered by the
whole nation, that the basket-maker was released from his former
drudgery, and continually employed in weaving them. In return for the
pleasure which he conferred upon them, the grateful savages brought him
every kind of food their country afforded, built him a hut, and showed
him every demonstration of gratitude and kindness. But the rich man, who
possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was
condemned to be the basket-maker's servant, and to cut him reeds to
supply the continual demand for chaplets.
"After having passed some months in this manner, they were again
transported to their own country, by the orders of the magistrate, and
brought before him. He then looked sternly upon the rich man, and
said:--'Having now taught you how helpless, contemptible, and feeble a
creature you are, as well as how inferior to the man you insulted, I
shall proceed to make reparation to him for the injury you have
inflicted upon him. Did I treat you as you deserve, I should take from
you all the riches that you possess, as you wantonly deprived this poor
man of his whole subsistence, but, hoping that you will become more
humane for the future, I sentence you to give half your fortune to this
man, whom you endeavoured to ruin.'
"Upon this the basket-maker said, after thanking the magistrate for his
goodness:--'I, having been bred up in poverty, and accustomed to labour,
have no desire to acquire riches, which I should not know how to use;
all, therefore, that I require of this man is, to put me into the same
situation I was in before, and to learn more humanity.'
"The rich man could not help being astonished at this generosity, and,
having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated the
basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed his
riches in relieving the poor, and benefiting his fellow-creatures."
The story being ended, Tommy said it was very pretty; but that, had he
been the good basket-maker, he would have taken the naughty rich man's
fortune and kept it. "So would not I," said Harry, "for fear of growing
as proud, and wicked, and idle as the other."
From this time forward, Mr Barlow and his two pupils used constantly to
work in their garden every morning; and, when they were fatigued, they
retired to the summer-house, where little Harry, who improved every day
in reading, used to entertain them with some pleasant story or other,
which Tommy always listened to with the greatest pleasure. But little
Harry going home for a week, Tommy and Mr Barlow were left alone.
The next day, after they had done work, and retired to the summer-house
as usual, Tommy expected Mr Barlow would read to him; but, to his great
disappointment, found that he was busy, and could not. The next day the
same accident was renewed, and the day after that. At this Tommy lost
all patience, and said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like little
Harry Sandford, I should not need to ask anybody to do it for me, and
then I could divert myself; and why (thinks he) may not I do what
another has done? To be sure, little Harry is clever; but he could not
have read if he had not been taught; and if I am taught, I dare say I
shall learn to read as well as he. Well, as soon as ever he comes home,
I am determined to ask him about it."
The next day little Harry returned, and as soon as Tommy had an
opportunity of being alone with him, "Pray, Harry," said Tommy, "how
came you to be able to read?"
_Harry._--Why, Mr Barlow taught me my letters, and then spelling; and
then, by putting syllables together, I learnt to read. _Tommy._--And
could not you show me my letters? _Harry._--Yes, very willingly.
Harry then took up a book, and Tommy was so eager and attentive, that at
the very first lesson, he learned the whole alphabet. He was infinitely
pleased with this first experiment, and could scarcely forbear running
to Mr Barlow, to let him know the improvement he had made; but he
thought he should surprise him more, if he said nothing about the matter
till he was able to read a whole story. He therefore applied himself
with such diligence, and little Harry, who spared no pains to assist his
friend, was so good a master, that in about two months he determined to
surprise Mr Barlow with a display of his talents. Accordingly, one day,
when they were all assembled in the summer-house, and the book was given
to Harry, Tommy stood up and said, that, if Mr Barlow pleased, he would
try to read. "Oh, very willingly," said Mr Barlow; "but I should as soon
expect you to fly as to read." Tommy smiled with a consciousness of his
own proficiency, and, taking up the book, read with great fluency,--
"THE HISTORY OF THE TWO DOGS."
"In a part of the world, where there are many strong and fierce wild
beasts, a poor man happened to bring up two puppies of that kind which
is most valued for size and courage. As they appeared to possess more
than common strength and agility, he thought that he should make an
acceptable present to his landlord, who was a rich man, living in a
great city, by giving him one of them, which was called Jowler; while he
brought up the other, named Keeper, to guard his own flocks.
"From this time the manner of living was entirely altered between the
brother whelps. Jowler was sent into a plentiful kitchen, where he
quickly became the favourite of the servants, who diverted themselves
with his little tricks and wanton gambols, and rewarded him with great
quantities of pot-liquor and broken victuals; by which means, as he was
stuffing from morning to night, he increased considerably in size, and
grew sleek and comely; he was, indeed, rather unwieldy, and so cowardly
that he would run away from a dog only half as big as himself; he was
much addicted to gluttony, and was often beaten for the thefts he
committed in the pantry; but, as he had learned to fawn upon the
footmen, and would stand upon his hind legs to beg, when he was ordered,
and, besides this, would fetch and carry, he was mightily caressed by
all the neighbourhood.
"Keeper, in the meantime, who lived at a cottage in the country, neither
fared so well, looked so plump, nor had learned all these little tricks
to recommend him; but, as his master was too poor to maintain anything
but what was useful, and was obliged to be continually in the air,
subject to all kinds of weather, and labouring hard for a livelihood,
Keeper grew hardy, active, and diligent; he was also exposed to
continual danger from the wolves, from whom he had received many a
severe bite while guarding the flocks. These continual combats gave him
that degree of intrepidity, that no enemy could make him turn his back.
His care and assiduity so well defended the sheep of his master, that
not one had ever been missing since they were placed under his
protection. His honesty too was so great, that no temptation could
overpower it; and, though he was left alone in the kitchen while the
meat was roasting, he never attempted to taste it, but received with
thankfulness whatever his master chose to give him. From a continual
life in the air he was become so hardy that no tempest could drive him
to shelter when he ought to be watching the flocks; and he would plunge
into the most rapid river, in the coldest weather of the winter, at the
slightest sign from his master.
"About this time it happened that the landlord of the poor man went to
examine his estate in the country, and brought Jowler with him to the
place of his birth. At his arrival there he could not help viewing with
great contempt the rough ragged appearance of Keeper, and his awkward
look, which discovered nothing of the address for which he so much
admired Jowler. This opinion, however, was altered by means of an
accident which happened to him. As he was one day walking in a thick
wood, with no other company than the two dogs, a hungry wolf, with eyes
that sparkled like fire, bristling hair, and a horrid snarl that made
the gentleman tremble, rushed out of a neighbouring thicket, and seemed
ready to devour him. The unfortunate man gave himself over for lost,
more especially when he saw that his faithful Jowler, instead of coming
to his assistance, ran sneaking away, with his tail between his legs,
howling with fear. But in this moment of despair, the undaunted Keeper,
who had followed him, humbly and unobserved, at a distance, flew to his
assistance, and attacked the wolf with so much courage and skill, that
he was compelled to exert all his strength in his own defence. The
battle was long and bloody, but in the end Keeper laid the wolf dead at
his feet, though not without receiving several severe wounds himself,
and presenting a bloody and mangled spectacle to the eyes of his master,
who came up at that instant. The gentleman was filled with joy for his
escape and gratitude to his brave deliverer; and learned by his own
experience that appearances are not always to be trusted, and that great
virtues and good dispositions may sometimes be found in cottagers, while
they are totally wanting among the great."
"Very well indeed," said Mr Barlow. "I find that when young gentlemen
choose to take pains, they can do things almost as well as other people.
But what do you say to the story you have been reading, Tommy? Would you
rather have owned the genteel dog that left his master to be devoured,
or the poor, rough, ragged, meagre, neglected cur that exposed his own
life in his defence?" "Indeed, sir," said Tommy, "I would have rather
had Keeper; but then I would have fed him, and washed him, and combed
him, till he had looked as well as Jowler." "But then, perhaps, he would
have grown idle, and fat, and cowardly, like him," said Mr Barlow; "but
here is some more of it, let us read to the end of the story." Tommy
then went on thus:--
"The gentleman was so pleased with the noble behaviour of Keeper, that
he desired the poor man to make him a present of the dog; which, though
with some reluctance, he complied with. Keeper was therefore taken to
the city, where he was caressed and fed by everybody; and the disgraced
Jowler was left at the cottage, with strict injunctions to the man to
hang him up, as a worthless unprofitable cur.
"As soon as the gentleman had departed, the poor man was going to
execute his commission; but, considering the noble size and comely look
of the dog, and above all, being moved with pity for the poor animal,
who wagged his tail, and licked his new master's feet, just as he was
putting the cord about his neck, he determined to spare his life, and
see whether a different treatment might not produce different manners.
From this day Jowler was in every respect treated as his brother Keeper
had been before. He was fed but scantily; and, from this spare diet,
soon grew more active and fond of exercise. The first shower he was in
he ran away as he had been accustomed to do, and sneaked to the
fire-side; but the farmer's wife soon drove him out of doors, and
compelled him to bear the rigour of the weather. In consequence of this
he daily became more vigorous and hardy, and, in a few months, regarded
cold and rain no more than if he had been brought up in the country.
"Changed as he already was in many respects for the better, he still
retained an insurmountable dread of wild beasts; till one day, as he was
wandering through a wood alone, he was attacked by a large and fierce
wolf, who, jumping out of a thicket, seized him by the neck with fury.
Jowler would fain have run, but his enemy was too swift and violent to
suffer him to escape. Necessity makes even cowards brave. Jowler being
thus stopped in his retreat, turned upon his enemy, and, very luckily
seizing him by the throat, strangled him in an instant. His master then
coming up, and being witness of his exploit, praised him, and stroked
him with a degree of fondness he had never done before. Animated by this
victory, and by the approbation of his master, Jowler, from that time,
became as brave as he had before been pusillanimous; and there was very
soon no dog in the country who was so great a terror to beasts of prey.
"In the mean time Keeper, instead of hunting wild beasts, or looking
after sheep, did nothing but eat and sleep, which he was permitted to
do, from a remembrance of his past services. As all qualities both of
mind and body are lost if not continually exercised, he soon ceased to
be that hardy, courageous animal he was before, and acquired all the
faults which are the consequences of idleness and gluttony.
"About this time the gentleman went again into the country, and, taking
his dog with him, was willing that he should exercise his prowess once
more against his ancient enemies the wolves. Accordingly, the country
people having quickly found one in a neighbouring wood, the gentleman
went thither with Keeper, expecting to see him behave as he had done the
year before. But how great was his surprise when, at the first onset, he
saw his beloved dog run away with every mark of timidity! At this moment
another dog sprang forward, and seizing the wolf with the greatest
intrepidity, after a bloody contest, left him dead upon the ground. The
gentleman could not help lamenting the cowardice of his favourite, and
admiring the noble spirit of the other dog, whom, to his infinite
surprise, he found to be the same Jowler that he had discarded the year
before. 'I now see,' said he to the farmer, 'that it is in vain to
expect courage in those who live a life of indolence and repose, and
that constant exercise and proper discipline are frequently able to
change contemptible characters into good ones.'"
"Indeed," said Mr Barlow, when the story was ended, "I am sincerely glad
to find that Tommy has made this acquisition. He will now depend upon
nobody, but be able to divert himself whenever he pleases. All that has
ever been written in our own language will be from this time in his
power, whether he chooses to read little entertaining stories like what
we have heard to-day, or to read the actions of great and good men in
history, or to make himself acquainted with the nature of wild beasts
and birds, which are found in other countries, and have been described
in books; in short, I scarcely know of anything which from this moment
will not be in his power; and I do not despair of one day seeing him a
very sensible man, capable of teaching and instructing others."
"Yes," said Tommy, something elated by all this praise, "I am determined
to make myself as clever as anybody; and I don't doubt, though I am such
a little fellow, that I know more already than many grown-up people; and
I am sure, though there are no less than six blacks in our house, that
there is not one of them who can read a story like me." Mr Barlow looked
a little grave at this sudden display of vanity, and said rather coolly,
"Pray, who has attempted to teach them anything?" "Nobody, I believe,"
said Tommy. "Where is the great wonder, then, if they are ignorant?"
replied Mr Barlow; "you would probably have never known anything had you
not been assisted; and even now you know very little."
CHAPTER II.
Tommy and the Ragged Boy--Story of Androcles and the
Lion--Conversation on Slavery--Conversation about an Ass--Tommy's
Present and its consequences--The story of Cyrus--Squire Chase
beats Harry--Harry saves the Squire's life--Making Bread--Story of
the Two Brothers--Story of the Sailors on the Island of
Spitzbergen.
In this manner did Mr Barlow begin the education of Tommy Merton, who
had naturally very good dispositions, although he had been suffered to
acquire many bad habits, that sometimes prevented them from appearing.
He was, in particular, very passionate, and thought he had a right to
command everybody that was not dressed as fine as himself. This opinion
often led him into inconveniences, and once was the occasion of his
being severely mortified.
This accident happened in the following manner:--One day as Tommy was
striking a ball with his bat, he struck it over a hedge into an
adjoining field, and seeing a little ragged boy walking along on that
side, he ordered him, in a very peremptory tone, to bring it to him. The
little boy, without taking any notice of what was said, walked on, and
left the ball; upon which Tommy called out more loudly than before, and
asked if he did not hear what was said. "Yes," said the boy, "for the
matter of that I am not deaf." "Oh! you are not?" replied Tommy, "then
bring me my ball directly." "I don't choose it," said the boy. "Sirrah,"
said Tommy, "if I come to you I shall make you choose it." "Perhaps not,
my pretty little master," said the boy. "You little rascal," said Tommy,
who now began to be very angry, "if I come over the hedge I will thrash
you within an inch of your life." To this the other made no answer but
by a loud laugh, which provoked Tommy so much that he clambered over the
hedge and jumped precipitately down intending to have leaped into the
field; but unfortunately his foot slipped, and down he rolled into a wet
ditch, which was full of mud and water; there poor Tommy tumbled about
for some time, endeavouring to get out; but it was to no purpose, for
his feet stuck in the mud, or slipped off from the bank; his fine
waistcoat was dirtied all over, his white stockings covered with mire,
his breeches filled with puddle water; and, to add to his distress, he
first lost one shoe and then the other--his laced hat tumbled off from
his head and was completely spoiled. In this distress he must probably
have remained a considerable time, had not the little ragged boy taken
pity on him and helped him out. Tommy was so vexed and ashamed that he
could not say a word, but ran home in such a plight that Mr Barlow, who
happened to meet him, was afraid he had been considerably hurt; but,
when he heard the accident which had happened, he could not help
smiling, and he advised Tommy to be more careful for the future how he
attempted to thrash little ragged boys.
The next day Mr Barlow desired Harry, when they were all together in the
arbour, to read the following story of
"ANDROCLES AND THE LION."
"There was a certain slave named Androcles, who was so ill treated by
his master that his life became insupportable. Finding no remedy for
what he suffered, he at length said to himself: 'It is better to die
than to continue to live in such hardships and misery as I am obliged to
suffer. I am determined, therefore, to run away from my master. If I am
taken again, I know that I shall be punished with a cruel death; but it
is better to die at once, than to live in misery. If I escape, I must
betake myself to deserts and woods, inhabited only by beasts; but they
cannot use me more cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures;
therefore, I will rather trust myself with them, than continue to be a
miserable slave.'
"Having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of leaving his
master's house, and hid himself in a thick forest, which was at some
miles' distance from the city. But here the unhappy man found that he
had only escaped from one kind of misery to experience another. He
wandered about all day through a vast and trackless wood, where his
flesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles; he grew hungry, but
could find no food in this dreary solitude! At length he was ready to
die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern which he
found by accident."
"Poor man!" said Harry, whose little heart could scarcely contain itself
at this mournful recital, "I wish I could have met with him; I would
have given him all my dinner, and he should have had my bed. But pray,
sir, tell me why does one man behave so cruelly to another, and why
should one person be the servant of another, and bear so much ill
treatment?"
"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
must command others; and some are born servants, and then they must do
as they are bid. I remember, before I came hither, that there were a
great many black men and women, that my mother said were only born to
wait upon me; and I used to beat them, and kick them, and throw things
at them whenever I was angry; and they never dared strike me again,
because they were slaves."
"And pray, young man," said Mr Barlow, "how came these people to be
slaves?"
_Tommy._--Because my father bought them with his money. _Mr Barlow._--So
then people that are bought with money are slaves, are they? _T._--Yes.
_Mr B._--And those that buy them have a right to kick them, and beat
them, and do as they please with them? _T._--Yes. _Mr B._--Then, if I
was to take and sell you to Farmer Sandford, he would have a right to do
what he pleased with you? No, sir, said Tommy, somewhat warmly; but you
would have no right to sell me, nor he to buy me. _Mr B._--Then it is
not a person's being bought or sold that gives another a right to use
him ill, but one person's having a right to sell another, and the man
who buys having a right to purchase? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--And what
right have the people who sold the poor negroes to your father to sell
them, or what right has your father to buy them? Here Tommy seemed to be
a good deal puzzled, but at length he said, "They are brought from a
country that is a great way off, in ships, and so they become slaves."
Then, said Mr Barlow, "if I take you to another country, in a ship, I
shall have a right to sell you?" _T._--No, but you won't, sir, because I
was born a gentleman. _Mr B._--What do you mean by that, Tommy? Why
(said Tommy, a little confounded), to have a fine house, and fine
clothes, and a coach, and a great deal of money, as my papa has. _Mr
B._--Then if you were no longer to have a fine house, nor fine clothes,
nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these things might make
you a slave, and use you ill, and beat you, and insult you, and do
whatever he liked with you? _T._--No, sir, that would not be right
neither, that anybody should use me ill. _Mr B._--Then one person should
not use another ill? _T._--No, sir. _Mr B._--To make a slave of anybody
is to use him ill, is it not? _T._--I think so. _Mr B._--Then no one
ought to make a slave of you? _T._--No, indeed, sir. _Mr B._--But if no
one should use another ill, and making a slave is using him ill, neither
ought you to make a slave of any one else. _T._--Indeed, sir, I think
not; and for the future I never will use our black William ill; nor
pinch him, nor kick him, as I used to do. _Mr B._--Then you will be a
very good boy. But let us now continue our story.
"This unfortunate man had not lain long quiet in the cavern before he
heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some wild beast,
and terrified him very much. He started up with a design to escape, and
had already reached the mouth of the cave, when he saw coming towards
him a lion of prodigious size, who prevented any possibility of retreat.
The unfortunate man now believed his destruction to be inevitable; but,
to his great astonishment, the beast advanced towards him with a gentle
pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and uttered a kind of mournful
voice, as if he demanded the assistance of the man.
"Androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposition, acquired
courage, from this circumstance, to examine his monstrous guest, who
gave him sufficient leisure for that purpose. He saw, as the lion
approached him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs, and that
the foot was extremely swelled, as if it had been wounded. Acquiring
still more fortitude from the gentle demeanour of the beast, he advanced
up to him, and took hold of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine
a patient. He then perceived that a thorn of uncommon size had
penetrated the ball of the foot, and was the occasion of the swelling
and lameness which he had observed. Androcles found that the beast, far
from resenting this familiarity, received it with the greatest
gentleness, and seemed to invite him by his blandishments to proceed. He
therefore extracted the thorn, and, pressing the swelling, discharged a
considerable quantity of matter, which had been the cause of so much
pain and uneasiness.
"As soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he began to testify
his joy and gratitude by every expression within his power. He jumped
about like a wanton spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the
feet and hands of his physician. Nor was he contented with these
demonstrations of kindness: from this moment Androcles became his guest;
nor did the lion ever sally forth in quest of prey without bringing home
the produce of his chase, and sharing it with his friend. In this savage
state of hospitality did the man continue to live during the space of
several months; at length, wandering unguardedly through the woods, he
met with a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and was by
them taken prisoner and conducted back to his master. The laws of that
country being very severe against slaves, he was tried and found guilty
of having fled from his master, and, as a punishment for his pretended
crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept
many days without food, to inspire him with additional rage.
"When the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed, unarmed,
in the midst of a spacious area, enclosed on every side, round which
many thousand people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle.
"Presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the spectators with
horror; and a monstrous lion rushed out of a den, which was purposely
set open, and darted forward with erected mane and flaming eyes, and
jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre. A mournful silence instantly
prevailed! All eyes were directly turned upon the destined victim, whose
destruction now appeared inevitable. But the pity of the multitude was
soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the lion, instead of
destroying his defenceless prey, crouch submissively at his feet, fawn
upon him as a faithful dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over
him as a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. The governor
of the town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice, and
ordered Androcles to explain to them this unintelligible mystery, and
how a savage of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus in a
moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and be converted into a
harmless and inoffensive animal.
"Androcles then related to the assembly every circumstance of his
adventures in the woods, and concluded by saying, that the very lion
which now stood before them had been his friend and entertainer in the
woods. All the persons present were astonished and delighted with the
story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable of being
softened by gratitude, and moved by humanity; and they unanimously
joined to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man from the governor of
the place. This was immediately granted to him; and he was also
presented with the lion, who had in this manner twice saved the life of
Androcles."
"Upon my word," said Tommy, "this is a very pretty story; but I never
should have thought that a lion could have grown so tame: I thought that
they, and tigers, and wolves, had been so fierce and cruel that they
would have torn everything they met to pieces."
"When they are hungry," said Mr Barlow, "they kill every animal they
meet; but this is to devour it, for they can only live upon flesh, like,
dogs and cats, and many other kinds of animals. When they are not hungry
they seldom meddle with anything, or do unnecessary mischief; therefore
they are much less cruel than many persons that I have seen, and even
than many children, who plague and torment animals, without any reason
whatsoever."
"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "I think so. And I remember, as I was walking
along the road some days past, I saw a little naughty boy that used a
poor jackass very ill indeed. The poor animal was so lame that he could
hardly stir; and yet the boy beat him with a great stick as violently as
he was able, to make him go on faster." "And what did you say to him?"
said Mr Barlow. _Harry._--Why, sir, I told him how naughty and cruel it
was; and I asked him how he would like to be beaten in that manner by
somebody that was stronger than himself? _Mr B._--And what answer did he
make you? _H._--He said, that it was his daddy's ass, and so that he had
a right to beat it; and that if I said a word more he would beat me. _Mr
B._--And what answer did you make; any? _H._--I told him, if it was his
father's ass, he should not use it ill; for that we were all God's
creatures, and that we should love each other, as He loved us all; and
that as to beating me, if he struck me I had a right to strike him
again, and would do it, though he was almost as big again as I was. _Mr
B._--And did he strike you? _H._--Yes, sir. He endeavoured to strike me
upon the head with his stick, but I dodged, and so it fell upon my
shoulder; and he was going to strike me again, but I darted at him, and
knocked him down, and then he began blubbering, and begged me not to
hurt him. _Mr B._--It is not uncommon for those who are most cruel to be
at the same time most cowardly; but what did you? _H._--Sir, I told him
I did not want to hurt him; but that as he had meddled with me, I would
not let him rise till he had promised not to hurt the poor beast any
more, which he did, and then I let him go about his business.
"You did very right," said Mr Barlow; "and I suppose the boy looked as
foolish, when he was rising, as Tommy did the other day when the little
ragged boy that he was going to beat helped him out of the ditch."
"Sir," answered Tommy, a little confused, "I should not have attempted
to beat him, only he would not bring me my ball." _Mr B._--And what
right had you to oblige him to bring your ball? _T._--Sir, he was a
little ragged boy, and I am a gentleman. _Mr B._--So then, every
gentleman has a right to command little ragged boys? _T._--To be sure,
sir. _Mr B._--Then if your clothes should wear out and become ragged,
every gentleman will have a right to command you? Tommy looked a little
foolish, and said, "But he might have done it, as he was on that side of
the hedge." _Mr B._--And so he probably would have done if you had asked
him civilly to do it; but when persons speak in a haughty tone, they
will find few inclined to serve them. But, as the boy was poor and
ragged, I suppose you hired him with money to fetch your ball?
_T._--Indeed, sir, I did not; I neither gave him anything nor offered
him anything. _Mr B._--Probably you had nothing to give him? _T._--Yes I
had, though; I had all this money (pulling out several shillings). _Mr
B._--Perhaps the boy was as rich as you. _T._--No, he was not, sir, I am
sure; for he had no coat, and his waistcoat and breeches were all
tattered and ragged; besides, he had no stockings, and his shoes were
full of holes. _Mr B._--So, now I see what constitutes a gentleman. A
gentleman is one that, when he has abundance of everything, keeps it all
to himself; beats poor people, if they don't serve him for nothing; and
when they have done him the greatest favour, in spite of his insolence,
never feels any gratitude, or does them any good in return. I find that
Androcles' lion was no gentleman.
Tommy was so affected with this rebuke that he could hardly contain his
tears; and, as he was really a boy of a generous temper, he determined
to give the little ragged boy something the very first time he should
see him again. He did not long wait for an opportunity; for, as he was
walking out that very afternoon, he saw him at some distance gathering
blackberries, and, going up to him, he accosted him thus: "Little boy, I
want to know why you are so ragged; have you no other clothes?" "No,
indeed," said the boy. "I have seven brothers and sisters, and they are
all as ragged as myself; but I should not much mind that if I could have
my belly full of victuals." _Tommy._--And why cannot you have your belly
full of victuals? _Little boy._--Because daddy's ill of a fever, and
can't work this harvest! so that mammy says we must all starve if God
Almighty does not take care of us.
Tommy made no answer, but ran full speed to the house whence he
presently returned, loaded with a loaf of bread, and a complete suit of
his own clothes. "Here, little boy," said he, "you were very
good-natured to me; and so I will give you all this, because I am a
gentleman, and have many more."
Tommy did not wait for the little boy's acknowledgment, but hastened
away and told Mr Barlow, with an air of exultation, what he had done.
Mr Barlow coolly answered, "You have done well in giving the little boy
clothes, because they are your own; but what right have you to give away
my loaf of bread without asking my consent?" _Tommy._--Why, sir, I did
it because the little boy said he was very hungry, and had seven
brothers and sisters, and that his father was ill, and could not work.
_Mr B._--This is a very good reason why you should give them what
belongs to yourself, but not why you should give them what is another's.
What would you say if Harry were to give away all your clothes, without
asking your leave?" _T._--I should not like it at all; and I will not
give away your things any more without asking your leave. "You will do
well," said Mr Barlow; "and here is a little story you may read upon
this very subject:--
"THE STORY OF CYRUS."
"Cyrus was a little boy of good dispositions and humane temper. He was
very fond of drawing, and often went into the fields for the purpose of
taking sketches of trees, houses, &c., which he would show to his
parents. On one occasion he had retired into a shed at the back of his
father's house, and was so much absorbed in planning something with his
compasses, as not to be for a long time aware of his father's presence.
He had several masters, who endeavoured to teach him everything that was
good; and he was educated with several little boys about his own age.
One evening his father asked him what he had done or learned that day.
'Sir,' said Cyrus, 'I was punished to-day for deciding unjustly.' 'How
so?' said his father. _Cyrus._--There were two boys, one of whom was a
great and the other a little boy. Now, it happened that the little boy
had a coat that was much too big for him, but the great boy had one that
scarcely reached below his middle, and was too tight for him in every
part; upon which the great boy proposed to the little boy to change
coats with him, 'because then,' said he, 'we shall be both exactly
fitted; for your coat is as much too big for you as mine is too little
for me.' The little boy would not consent to the proposal, on which the
great boy took his coat away by force, and gave his own to the little
boy in exchange. While they were disputing upon this subject I chanced
to pass by, and they agreed to make me judge of the affair. But I
decided that the little boy should keep the little coat, and the great
boy the great one--for which judgment my master punished me.
"'Why so?' said Cyrus' father; 'was not the little coat most proper for
the little boy, and the large coat for the great boy?' 'Yes, sir,'
answered Cyrus; 'but my master told me I was not made judge to examine
which coat best fitted either of the boys, but to decide whether it was
just that the great boy should take away the coat of the little one
against his consent; and therefore I decided unjustly, and deserved to
be punished.'"
Just as the story was finished, they were surprised to see a little
ragged boy come running up to them, with a bundle of clothes under his
arm. His eyes were black, as if he had been severely beaten, his nose
was swelled, his shirt was bloody, and his waistcoat did but just hang
upon his back, so much was it torn. He came running up to Tommy, and
threw down the bundle before him, saying, "Here master, take your
clothes again; and I wish they had been at the bottom of the ditch I
pulled you out of, instead of upon my back; but I never will put such
frippery on again as long as I have breath in my body."
"What is the matter?" said Mr Barlow, who perceived that some
unfortunate accident had happened in consequence of Tommy's present.
"Sir," answered the little boy, "my little master here was going to beat
me, because I would not fetch his ball. Now, as to the matter of that, I
would have brought his ball with all my heart, if he had but asked me
civilly. But though I am poor, I am not bound to be his slave, as they
say black William is; and so I would not; upon which little master here
was jumping over the hedge to lick me; but, instead of that, he soused
into the ditch, and there he lay rolling about till I helped him out;
and so he gave me these clothes here, all out of good-will; and I put
them on, like a fool as I was, for they are all made of silk, and look
so fine, that all the little boys followed me, and hallooed as I went;
and Jack Dowset threw a handful of dirt at me, and dirtied me all over.
'Oh!' says I, 'Jacky, are you at that work?'--and with that I hit him a
good thump, and sent him roaring away. But Billy Gibson and Ned Kelly
came up, and said I looked like a Frenchman; and so we began fighting,
and I beat them till they both gave out; but I don't choose to be
hallooed after wherever I go, and to look like a Frenchman; and so I
have brought master his clothes again."
Mr Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived; and he told him
that his father lived about two miles off, across the common, and at the
end of Runny Lane; on which Mr Barlow told Harry that he would send the
poor man some broth and victuals if he would carry it when it was ready.
"That I will," said Harry, "if it were five times as far." So Mr Barlow
went into the house to give orders about it.
In the mean time Tommy, who had eyed the little boy for some time in
silence, said, "So, my poor boy, you have been beaten and hurt till you
are all over blood, only because I gave you my clothes. I am really very
sorry for it." "Thank you, little master," said the boy, "but it can't
be helped; you did not intend me any hurt, I know; and I am not such a
chicken as to mind a beating; so I wish you a good afternoon with all my
heart."
As soon as the little boy was gone, Tommy said, "I wish I had but some
clothes that the poor boy could wear, for he seems very good-natured; I
would give them to him." "That you may very easily have," said Harry,
"for there is a shop in the village hard by where they sell all manner
of clothes for the poor people; and, as you have money, you may easily
buy some."
Harry and Tommy then agreed to go early the next morning to buy some
clothes for the poor children. They accordingly set out before
breakfast, and had proceeded nearly half-way, when they heard the noise
of a pack of hounds that seemed to be running full cry at some distance.
Tommy then asked Harry if he knew what they were about. "Yes," said
Harry "I know well enough what they are about; it is Squire Chase and
his dogs worrying a poor hare. But I wonder they are not ashamed to
meddle with such a poor inoffensive creature, that cannot defend itself.
If they have a mind to hunt, why don't they hunt lions and tigers, and
such fierce mischievous creatures, as I have read they do in other
countries?" "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "how is that? it must surely be very
dangerous." "Why, you know," said Harry, "the men are accustomed in some
places to go almost naked; and that makes them so prodigiously nimble,
that they can run like a deer; and, when a lion or tiger comes into
their neighbourhood, and devours their sheep or oxen, they go out, six
and seven together, armed with javelins; and they run over all the
woods, and examine every place, till they have found him; and they make
a noise to provoke him to attack them; then he begins roaring and
foaming, beating his sides with his tail, till, in a violent fury, he
springs at the man that is nearest to him." "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "he
must certainly be torn to pieces." "No such thing," answered Harry; "he
jumps like a greyhound out of the way, while the next man throws his
javelin at the lion, and perhaps wounds him in the side; this enrages
him still more; he springs again like lightning upon the man that
wounded him, but this man avoids him like the other, and at last the
poor beast drops down dead with the number of wounds he has received."
"Oh," said Tommy, "it must be a very strange sight; I should like to see
it out of a window, where I was safe." "So should not I," answered
Harry; "for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal tortured
and killed; but they are obliged to do it in their own defence. But
these poor hares do nobody any harm, excepting the farmers, by eating a
little of their corn sometimes."
As they were talking in this manner, Harry, casting his eyes on one
side, said, "As I am alive, there is the poor hare skulking along! I
hope they will not be able to find her; and, if they ask me, I will
never tell them which way she is gone."
Presently up came the dogs, who had now lost all scent of their game,
and a gentleman, mounted upon a fine horse, who asked Harry if he had
seen the hare. Harry made no answer; but, upon the gentleman's repeating
the question in a louder tone of voice, he answered that he had. "And
which way is she gone?" said the gentleman. "Sir, I don't choose to tell
you," answered Harry, after some hesitation. "Not choose!" said the
gentleman, leaping off his horse, "but I'll make you choose in an
instant;" and, coming up to Harry who never moved from the place where
he had been standing, began to lash him in a most unmerciful manner with
his whip, continually repeating, "Now, you little rascal, do you choose
to tell me now?" To which Harry made no other answer than this: "If I
would not tell you before, I won't now, though you should kill me."
But this fortitude of Harry, and the tears of Tommy, who cried in the
bitterest manner to see the distress of his friend, made no impression
on this barbarian, who continued his brutality till another gentleman
rode up full speed, and said, "For any sake, Squire, what are you about?
You will kill the child, if you do not take care." "And the little dog
deserves it," said the other; "he has seen the hare, and will not tell
me which way she is gone." "Take care," replied the gentleman, in a low
voice, "you don't involve yourself in a disagreeable affair; I know the
other to be the son of a gentleman of great fortune in the
neighbourhood;" and then turning to Harry, he said, "Why, my dear, would
you not tell the gentleman which way the hare had gone, if you saw her?"
"Because," answered Harry, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to
speak, "I don't choose to betray the unfortunate." "This boy," said the
gentleman, "is a prodigy; and it is a happy thing for you, Squire, that
his age is not equal to his spirit. But you are always passionate----"
At this moment the hounds recovered the scent, and bursting into a full
cry, the Squire mounted his horse and galloped away, attended by all his
companions.
When they were gone, Tommy came up to Harry in the most affectionate
manner, and asked him how he did. "A little sore," said Harry; "but that
does not signify." _Tommy._--I wish I had had a pistol or a sword!
_Harry._--Why, what would you have done with it? _T._--I would have
killed that good-for-nothing man who treated you so cruelly. _H._--That
would have been wrong, Tommy; for I am sure he did not want to kill me.
Indeed, if I had been a man, he should not have used me so; but it is
all over now, and we ought to forgive our enemies, as Mr Barlow tells us
Christ did; and then perhaps they may come to love us, and be sorry for
what they have done. _T._--But how could you bear to be so severely
whipped, without crying out? _H._--Why, crying out would have done me no
good at all, would it? and this is nothing to what many little boys have
suffered without ever flinching, or bemoaning themselves. _T._--Well, I
should have thought a great deal. _H._--Oh! it's nothing to what the
young Spartans used to suffer. _T._--Who were they? _H._--Why, you must
know they were a very brave set of people, that lived a great while ago;
and, as they were but few in number, and were surrounded by a great many
enemies, they used to endeavour to make their little boys very brave and
hardy; and these little boys used to be always running about,
half-naked, in the open air, and wrestling and jumping and exercising
themselves; and then had very coarse food, and hard beds to lie upon,
and were never pampered and indulged; and all this made them so strong
and hardy, and brave, that the like was never seen. _T._--What, and had
they no coaches to ride in, nor sweetmeats, nor wine, nor anybody to
wait upon them? _H._--Oh! dear, no; their fathers thought that would
spoil them, and so they all fared alike, and ate together in great
rooms; and there they were taught to behave orderly and decently; and
when dinner was over, they all went to play together; and, if they
committed any faults, they were severely whipped; but they never minded
it, and scorned to cry out, or make a wry face.
As they were conversing in this manner, they approached the village,
where Tommy laid out all his money, amounting to fifteen shillings and
sixpence, in buying some clothes for the little ragged boy and his
brothers, which were made up in a bundle and given to him; but he
desired Harry to carry them for him. "That I will," said Harry; "but why
don't you choose to carry them yourself?" _Tommy._--Why, it is not fit
for a gentleman to carry things himself. _Harry._--Why, what hurt does
it do him, if he is but strong enough? _T._--I do not know; but I
believe it is that he may not look like the common people. _H._--Then he
should not have hands, or feet, or ears, or mouth, because the common
people have the same. _T._--No, no; he must have all these, because they
are useful. _H._--And is it not useful to be able to do things for
ourselves? _T._--Yes; but gentlemen have others to do what they want for
them. _H._--Then I should think it must be a bad thing to be a
gentleman. _T._--Why so? _H._--Because, if all were gentlemen, nobody
would do anything, and then we should be all starved. _T._--Starved!
_H._--Yes; why, you could not live, could you, without bread? _T._--No;
I know that very well. _H._--And bread is made of a plant that grows in
the earth, and it is called wheat. _T._--Why, then, I would gather it
and eat it. _H._--Then you must do something for yourself; but that
would not do, for wheat is a small hard grain, like the oats which you
have sometimes given to Mr Barlow's horse; and you would not like to eat
them. _T._--No, certainly; but how comes bread then? _H._--Why, they
send the corn to the mill. _T._--What is a mill? _H._--What! did you
never see a mill? _T._--No, never; but I should like to see one, that I
may know how they make bread. _H._--There is one at a little distance;
and if you ask Mr Barlow, he will go with you, for he knows the miller
very well. _T._--That I will, for I should like to see them make bread.
As they were conversing in this manner, they heard a great outcry, and
turning their heads, saw a horse that was galloping violently along, and
dragging his rider along with him, who had fallen off, and, in falling,
hitched his foot in the stirrup. Luckily for the person, it happened to
be wet ground, and the side of a hill, which prevented the horse from
going very fast, and the rider from being much hurt. But Harry, who was
always prepared to do an act of humanity, even with the danger of his
life, and, besides that, was a boy of extraordinary courage and agility,
ran up towards a gap which he saw the horse approaching, and just as he
made a little pause before vaulting over, caught him by the bridle, and
effectually stopped him from proceeding. In an instant another gentleman
came up, with two or three servants, who alighted from their horses,
disengaged the fallen person, and set him upon his legs. He stared
wildly around him for some time; as he was not materially hurt, he soon
recovered his senses, and the first use he made of them was to swear at
his horse, and to ask who had stopped the confounded jade. "Who?" said
his friend, "why, the very little boy you used so scandalously this
morning; had it not been for his dexterity and courage, that numskull of
yours would have had more flaws in it than it ever had before."
The Squire considered Harry with a countenance in which shame and
humiliation seemed yet to struggle with his natural insolence; but at
length, putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a guinea, which
he offered to Harry, telling him at the same time he was very sorry for
what had happened; but Harry, with a look of more contempt than he had
ever been seen to assume before, rejected the present, and taking up the
bundle which he had dropped at the time he had seized the Squire's
horse, walked away, accompanied by his companion.
As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call at the poor
man's cottage, whom they found much better, as Mr Barlow had been there
the preceding night, and given him such medicines as he judged proper
for his disease. Tommy then asked for the little boy, and, on his coming
in, told him that he had now brought him some clothes which he might
wear without fear of being called a Frenchman, as well as some more for
his little brothers. The pleasure with which they were received was so
great, and the acknowledgments and blessings of the good woman and the
poor man, who had just began to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy
could not help shedding tears of compassion, in which he was joined by
Harry. As they were returning, Tommy said that he had never spent any
money with so much pleasure as that with which he had purchased clothes
for this poor family; and that for the future he would take care of all
the money that was given him for that purpose, instead of laying it out
in eatables and playthings.
Some days after this, as Mr Barlow and the two boys were walking out
together, they happened to pass near a windmill; and, on Harry's
telling Tommy what it was, Tommy desired leave to go into it and look
at it. Mr Barlow consented to this, and, being acquainted with the
miller, they all went in and examined every part of it with great
curiosity; and there little Tommy saw with astonishment that the sails
of the mill, being constantly turned round by the wind, moved a great
flat stone, which, by rubbing upon another stone, bruised all the corn
that was put between them till it became a fine powder. "Oh dear!" said
Tommy, "is this the way they make bread?" Mr Barlow told him this was
the method by which the corn was prepared for making bread; but that
many other things were necessary before it arrived at that state. "You
see that what runs from these millstones is only a fine powder, very
different from bread, which is a solid and tolerably hard substance."
As they were going home Harry said to Tommy, "So you see now, if nobody
chose to work, or do anything for himself, we should have no bread to
eat; but you could not even have the corn to make it of without a great
deal of pains and labour." _Tommy._--Why not? does not corn grow in the
ground of itself? _Harry._--Corn grows in the ground, but then first it
is necessary to plough the ground, to break it to pieces. _T._--What is
ploughing? _H._--Did you never see three or four horses drawing
something along the fields in a straight line, while one man drove, and
another walked behind holding the thing by two handles? _T._--Yes, I
have; and is that ploughing? _H._--It is; and there is a sharp iron
underneath, which runs into the ground and turns it up all the way it
goes. _T._--Well, and what then? _H._--When the ground is thus
prepared, they sow the seed all over it, and then they rake it over to
cover the seed, and then the seed begins to grow, and shoots up very
high; and at last the corn ripens, and they reap it, and carry it home.
_T._--I protest it must be very curious, and I should like to sow some
seed myself, and see it grow; do you think I could? _H._--Yes,
certainly, and if you will dig the ground to-morrow I will go home to my
father, in order to procure some seed for you.
The next morning Tommy was up almost as soon as it was light, and went
to work in a corner of the garden, where he dug with great perseverance
till breakfast; when he came in, he could not help telling Mr Barlow
what he had done, and asking him, whether he was not a very good boy for
working so hard to raise corn? "That," said Mr Barlow, "depends upon the
use you intend to make of it when you have raised it; what is it you
intend doing with it?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I intend to send it to
the mill that we saw, and have it ground into flour; and then I will get
you to show me how to make bread of it, and then I will eat it, that I
may tell my father that I have eaten bread out of corn of my own
sowing." "That will be very well done," said Mr Barlow; "but where will
be the great goodness that you sow corn for your own eating? That is no
more than all the people round continually do; and if they did not do it
they would be obliged to fast." "But then," said Tommy, "they are not
gentlemen, as I am."
"What then," answered Mr Barlow; "must not gentlemen eat as well as
others, and therefore is it not for their interest to know how to
procure food as well as other people?" "Yes, sir," answered Tommy, "but
they can have other people to raise it for them, so that they are not
obliged to work for themselves." "How does that happen?" said Mr Barlow.
_Tommy._--Why, sir, they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread
when it is made, as much as they want. _Mr B._--Then they pay for it
with money? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--Then they must have money before
they can buy corn? _T._--Certainly, sir. _Mr B._--But have all gentlemen
money? Tommy hesitated some time at this question; at last he said, "I
believe not always, sir." _Mr B._--Why, then, if they have not money
they will find it difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for
themselves. "Indeed," said Tommy, "I believe they will; for perhaps they
may not find anybody good-natured enough to give it them." "But," said
Mr Barlow, "as we are talking upon this subject, I will tell you a story
that I read a little time past, if you choose to hear it." Tommy said he
should be very glad if Mr Barlow would take the trouble of telling it to
him, and Mr Barlow told him the following history of
"THE TWO BROTHERS."
"About the time that many people went over to South America, with the
hopes of finding gold and silver, there was a Spaniard, whose name was
Pizarro, who had a great inclination to try his fortune like the rest;
but as he had an elder brother, for whom he had a very great affection,
he went to him, told him his design, and solicited him very much to go
along with him, promising him that he should have an equal share of all
the riches they found. The brother, whose name was Alonzo, was a man of
a contented temper, and a good understanding; he did not therefore much
approve of the project, and endeavoured to dissuade Pizarro from it, by
setting before him the danger to which he exposed himself, and the
uncertainty of his succeeding; but finding all that he said was vain, he
agreed to go with him, but told him at the same time that he wanted no
part of the riches which he might find, and would ask no other favour
than to have his baggage and a few servants taken on board the vessel
with him. Pizarro then sold all that he had, bought a vessel, and
embarked with several other adventurers, who had all great expectations,
like himself, of soon becoming rich. As to Alonzo, he took nothing with
him but a few ploughs, harrows, and other tools, and some corn, together
with a large quantity of potatoes, and some seeds of different
vegetables. Pizarro thought these very odd preparations for a voyage;
but as he did not think proper to expostulate with his brother he said
nothing.
"After sailing some time with prosperous winds, they put into the last
port where they were to stop, before they came to the country where they
were to search for gold. Here Pizarro bought a great number more of
pickaxes, shovels, and various other tools for digging, melting, and
refining the gold he expected to find, besides hiring an additional
number of labourers to assist him in the work. Alonzo, on the contrary,
bought only a few sheep, and four stout oxen, with their harness, and
food enough to subsist them till they should arrive at land.
"As it happened, they met with a favourable voyage, and all landed in
perfect health in America. Alonzo then told his brother that, as he had
only come to accompany and serve him, he would stay near the shore with
his servants and cattle, while he went to search for gold, and when he
had acquired as much as he desired, should be always ready to embark for
Spain with him.
"Pizarro accordingly set out not without feeling so great a contempt for
his brother, that he could not help expressing it to his companions. 'I
always thought,' said he, 'that my brother had been a man of sense; he
bore that character in Spain, but I find people were strangely mistaken
in him. Here he is going to divert himself with his sheep and his oxen,
as if he was living quietly upon his farm at home, and had nothing else
to do than to raise cucumbers and melons. But we know better what to do
with our time; so come along, my lads, and if we have but good luck, we
shall soon be enriched for the rest of our lives.' All that were present
applauded Pizarro's speech, and declared themselves ready to follow
wherever he went; only one old Spaniard shook his head as he went, and
told him he doubted whether he would find his brother so great a fool as
he thought.
"They then travelled on several days' march into the country, sometimes
obliged to cross rivers, at others to pass mountains and forests, where
they could find no paths; sometimes scorched by the violent heat of the
sun, and then wetted to the skin by violent showers of rain. These
difficulties, however, did not discourage them so much as to hinder them
from trying in several places for gold, which they were at length lucky
enough to find in a considerable quantity. This success animated them
very much, and they continued working upon that spot till all their
provisions were consumed; they gathered daily large quantities of ore,
but then they suffered very much from hunger. Still, however, they
persevered in their labours, and sustained themselves with such roots
and berries as they could find. At last even this resource failed them;
and, after several of their company had died from want and hardship, the
rest were just able to crawl back to the place where they had left
Alonzo, carrying with them the gold, to acquire which they had suffered
so many miseries.
"But while they had been employed in this manner, Alonzo, who foresaw
what would happen, had been industriously toiling to a very different
purpose. His skill in husbandry had easily enabled him to find a spot of
considerable extent and very fertile soil, which he ploughed up with the
oxen he had brought with him, and the assistance of his servants. He
then sowed the different seeds he had brought, and planted the potatoes,
which prospered beyond what he could have expected, and yielded him a
most abundant harvest. His sheep he had turned out in a very fine meadow
near the sea, and every one of them had brought him a couple of lambs.
Besides that, he and his servants, at leisure times, employed themselves
in fishing; and the fish they had caught were all dried and salted with
salt they had found upon the sea-shore; so that, by the time of
Pizarro's return, they had laid up a very considerable quantity of
provisions.
"When Pizarro returned, his brother received him with the greatest
cordiality, and asked him what success he had had? Pizarro told him that
they had found an immense quantity of gold, but that several of his
companions had perished, and that the rest were almost starved from the
want of provisions. He then requested that his brother would immediately
give him something to eat, as he assured him he had tasted no food for
the last two days, excepting the roots and bark of trees. Alonzo then
very coolly answered, that he should remember that, when they set out,
they had made an agreement, that neither should interfere with the
other; that he had never desired to have any share of the gold which
Pizarro might acquire, and therefore he wondered that Pizarro should
expect to be supplied with the provisions that he had procured with so
much care and labour; 'but,' added he, 'if you choose to exchange some
of the gold you have found for provisions, I shall perhaps be able to
accommodate you.'
"Pizarro thought this behaviour very unkind in his brother; but, as he
and his companions were almost starved, they were obliged to comply with
his demands, which were so exorbitant, that, in a very short time, they
parted with all the gold they had brought with them, merely to purchase
food. Alonzo then proposed to his brother to embark for Spain in the
vessel which had brought them thither, as the winds and weather seemed
most to be favourable; but Pizarro, with an angry look, told him that,
since he had deprived him of everything he had gained, and treated him
in so unfriendly a manner, he should go without him; for, as to himself,
he would rather perish upon that desert shore than embark with so
inhuman a brother.
"But Alonzo, instead of resenting these reproaches, embraced his brother
with the greatest tenderness, and spoke to him in the following
manner:--'Could you then believe, my dearest Pizarro, that I really
meant to deprive you of the fruits of all your labours, which you have
acquired with so much toil and danger? Rather may all the gold in the
universe perish than I should be capable of such behaviour to my dearest
brother! But I saw the rash, impetuous desire you had of riches, and
wished to correct this fault in you, and serve you at the same time. You
despised my prudence and industry, and imagined that nothing could be
wanting to him that had once acquired wealth; but you have now learned
that, without that foresight and industry, all the gold you have brought
with you would not have prevented you from perishing miserably. You are
now, I hope, wiser; and therefore take back your riches, which I hope
you have now learned to make a proper use of.' Pizarro was equally
filled with gratitude and astonishment at this generosity of his
brother, and he acknowledged, from experience, that industry was better
than gold. They then embarked for Spain, where they all safely arrived.
During the voyage Pizarro often solicited his brother to accept of half
his riches, which Alonzo constantly refused, telling him that he could
raise food enough to maintain himself, and was in no want of gold."
"Indeed," said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished the story, "I think
Alonzo was a very sensible man; and, if it had not been for him, his
brother and all his companions must have been starved; but then this was
only because they were in a desert uninhabited country. This could never
have happened in England; there they could always have had as much corn
or bread as they chose for their money." "But," said Mr Barlow, "is a
man sure to be always in England, or some place where he can purchase
bread?" _Tommy._--I believe so, sir. _Mr B._--Why, are there not
countries in the world where there are no inhabitants, and where no corn
is raised? _T._--Certainly, sir; this country, which the two brothers
went to, was such a place. _Mr B._--And there are many other such
countries in the world. _T._--But then a man need not go to them; he may
stay at home. _Mr B._--Then he must not pass the seas in a ship.
_T._--Why so, sir? _Mr B._--Because the ship may happen to be wrecked on
some such country, where there are no inhabitants; and then, although he
should escape the danger of the sea, what will he do for food? _T._--And
have such accidents sometimes happened? _Mr B._--Yes, several; there
was, in particular, one Selkirk, who was shipwrecked, and obliged to
live several years upon a desert island. _T._--That was very
extraordinary indeed; and how did he get victuals? _Mr B._--He sometimes
procured roots, sometimes fruits; he also at last became so active, that
he was able to pursue and catch wild goats, with which the island
abounded. _T._--And did not such a hard disagreeable way of life kill
him at last? _Mr B._--By no means; he never enjoyed better health in his
life; and you have heard that he became so active as to be able to
overtake the very wild beasts. But a still more extraordinary story is
that of some Russians, who were left on the coast of Spitzbergen, where
they were obliged to stay several years. _T._--Where is Spitzbergen,
sir? _Mr B._--It is a country very far to the north, which is constantly
covered with snow and ice, because the weather is unremittingly severe.
Scarcely any vegetables will grow upon the soil, and scarcely any
animals are found in the country. To add to this, a great part of the
year it is covered with perpetual darkness and is inaccessible to ships;
so that it is impossible to conceive a more dreary country, or where it
must be more difficult to support human life. Yet four men were capable
of struggling with all these difficulties during several years, and
three of them returned at last safe to their own country. _T._--This
must be a very curious story indeed; I would give anything to be able to
see it. _Mr B._--That you may very easily. When I read it, I copied off
several parts of it, I thought it so curious and interesting, which I
can easily find, and will show you. Here it is; but it is necessary
first to inform you, that those northern seas, from the intense cold of
the climate, are so full of ice as frequently to render it extremely
dangerous to ships, lest they should be crushed between two pieces of
immense size, or so completely surrounded as not to be able to extricate
themselves. Having given you this previous information, you will easily
understand the distressful situation of a Russian ship, which, as it was
sailing on those seas, was on a sudden so surrounded by ice as not to be
able to move. My extracts begin here, and you may read them.
_Extracts from a Narrative of the Extraordinary Adventures of Four
Russian Sailors, who were cast away on the Desert Island of East
Spitzbergen._
"In this alarming state (that is, when the ship was surrounded with ice)
a council was held, when the mate, Alexis Hinkof, informed them, that he
recollected to have heard that some of the people of Mesen, some time
before, having formed a resolution of wintering upon this island, had
carried from that city timber proper for building a hut, and had
actually erected one at some distance from the shore. This information
induced the whole company to resolve on wintering there, if the hut, as
they hoped, still existed; for they clearly perceived the imminent
danger they were in, and that they must inevitably perish if they
continued in the ship. They despatched, therefore, four of their crew in
search of the hut, or any other succour they could meet with. These were
Alexis Hinkof, the mate, Iwan Hinkof, his godson, Stephen Scharassof,
and Feodor Weregin.
"As the shore on which they were to land was uninhabited, it was
necessary that they should make some provision for their expedition.
They had almost two miles to travel over those ridges of ice, which
being raised by the waves, and driven against each other by the wind,
rendered the way equally difficult and dangerous; prudence, therefore,
forbade their loading themselves too much, lest, by being overburdened,
they might sink in between the pieces of ice, and perish. Having thus
maturely considered the nature of their undertaking, they provided
themselves with a musket and powder-horn, containing twelve charges of
powder, with as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about
twenty pounds of flower, a knife, a tinder-box and tinder, a bladder
filled with tobacco, and every man his wooden pipe.
"Thus accoutred, these four sailors quickly arrived on the island,
little expecting the misfortunes that would befall them. They began with
exploring the country, and soon discovered the hut they were in search
of, about an English mile and a half from the shore. It was thirty-six
feet in length, eighteen feet in height, and as many in breadth; it
contained a small antechamber, about twelve feet broad, which had two
doors, the one to shut it up from the outer air, the other to form a
communication with the inner room; this contributed greatly to keep the
large room warm when once heated. In the large room was an earthen
stove, constructed in the Russian manner; that is, a kind of oven
without a chimney, which served occasionally either for baking, for
heating the room, or, as is customary among the Russian peasants in very
cold weather, for a place to sleep upon. Our adventurers rejoiced
greatly at having discovered the hut, which had, however, suffered much
from the weather, it having now been built a considerable time; they,
however, contrived to pass the night in it.
"Early next morning they hastened to the shore, impatient to inform
their comrades of their success, and also to procure from their vessel
such provision, ammunition, and other necessaries, as might better
enable them to winter on the island. I leave my readers to figure to
themselves the astonishment and agony of mind these poor people must
have felt, when on reaching the place of their landing, they saw nothing
but an open sea, free from the ice, which but the day before had covered
the ocean. A violent storm, which had risen during the night, had
certainly been the cause of this disastrous event; but they could not
tell whether the ice, which had before hemmed in the vessel, agitated by
the violence of the waves, had been driven against her, and shattered
her to pieces; or, whether she had been carried by the current into the
main--a circumstance which frequently happens in those seas. Whatever
accident had befallen the ship, they saw her no more; and as no tidings
were ever afterwards received of her, it is most probable that she sunk,
and that all on board of her perished.
"This melancholy event depriving the unhappy wretches of all hope of
ever being able to quit the island, they returned to the hut, whence
they had come, full of horror and despair."
"Oh dear!" cried Tommy, at this passage, "what a dreadful situation
these poor people must have been in. To be in such a cold country,
covered with snow and frozen with ice, without anybody to help them, or
give them victuals; I should think they must all have died." "That you
will soon see," said Mr Barlow, "when you have read the rest of the
story; but tell me one thing, Tommy, before you proceed. These four men
were poor sailors, who had always been accustomed to danger and
hardships, and to work for their living; do you think it would have been
better for them to have been bred up gentlemen, that is, to do nothing,
but to have other people wait upon them in everything?" "Why, to be
sure," answered Tommy, "it was much better for them that they had been
used to work, for that might enable them to contrive and do something to
assist themselves, for, without doing a great deal, they must certainly
all have perished."
"Their first attention was employed, as may easily be imagined, in
devising means of providing subsistence, and for repairing their hut.
The twelve charges of powder which they had brought with them soon
procured them as many reindeer--the island, fortunately for them,
abounding in these animals. I have before observed, that the hut, which
the sailors were so fortunate as to find, had sustained some damage, and
it was this--there were cracks in many places between the boards of the
building, which freely admitted the air. This inconveniency was,
however, easily remedied, as they had an axe, and the beams were still
sound (for wood in those cold climates continues through a length of
years unimpaired by worms or decay), so it was easy for them to make the
boards join again very tolerably; besides, moss growing in great
abundance all over the island, there was more than sufficient to stop up
the crevices, which wooden houses must always be liable to. Repairs of
this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they were Russians; for
all Russian peasants are known to be good carpenters--they build their
own houses, and are very expert in handling the axe. The intense cold,
which makes these climates habitable to so few species of animals,
renders them equally unfit for the production of vegetables. No species
of tree or even shrub is found in any of the islands of Spitzbergen--a
circumstance of the most alarming nature to our sailors.
"Without fire it was impossible to resist the rigour of the climate,
and, without wood, how was the fire to be produced or supported?
However, in wandering along the beach, they collected plenty of wood,
which had been driven ashore by the waves, and which at first consisted
of the wrecks of ships, and afterwards of whole trees with their
roots--the produce of some hospitable (but to them unknown) climate,
which the overflowings of rivers or other accidents had sent into the
ocean. Nothing proved of more essential service to these unfortunate
men, during the first year of their exile, than some boards they found
upon the beach, having a long iron hook, some nails of about five or six
inches long, and proportionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed
in them--the melancholy relics of some vessels cast away in those remote
parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves, at the time when the want
of powder gave our men reason to apprehend that they must fall a prey to
hunger, as they had nearly consumed those reindeer they had killed.
This lucky circumstance was attended with another equally fortunate;
they found on the shore the root of a fir-tree, which nearly approached
to the figure of a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of
invention, so they soon fashioned this root to a good bow by the help of
a knife; but still they wanted a string and arrows. Not knowing how to
procure them at present, they resolved upon making a couple of lances,
to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the most ferocious
of their kind, whose attacks they had great reason to dread. Finding
they could neither make the heads of their lances nor of their arrows
without the help of a hammer, they contrived to form the above-mentioned
large iron hook into one, by beating it, and widening a hole it happened
to have about its middle with the help of one of their largest
nails--this received the handle; a round button at one end of the hook
served for the face of the hammer. A large pebble supplied the place of
an anvil, and a couple of reindeer's horns made the tongs. By the means
of such tools they made two heads of spears, and, after polishing and
sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast as possible, with
thongs made of reindeer's skins, to sticks about the thickness of a
man's arm, which they got from some branches of trees that had been cast
on shore. Thus equipped with spears, they resolved to attack a white
bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, they killed the formidable
creature, and thereby made a new supply of provisions. The flesh of this
animal they relished exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled
beef in taste and flavour. The tendons, they saw with much pleasure,
could, with little or no trouble, be divided into filaments of what
fineness they thought fit. This, perhaps, was the most fortunate
discovery these men could have made, for, besides other advantages,
which will be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished with
strings for their bow.
"The success of our unfortunate islanders in making the spears, and the
use these proved of, encouraged them to proceed, and forge some pieces
of iron into heads of arrows of the same shape, though somewhat smaller
in size than the spears above-mentioned. Having ground and sharpened
these like the former, they tied them with the sinews of the white bears
to pieces of fir, to which, by the help of fine threads of the same,
they fastened feathers of sea-fowl, and thus became possessed of a
complete bow and arrows. Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned
with success far beyond their expectation; for, during the time of their
continuance upon the island, with these arrows they killed no less than
two hundred and fifty reindeer, besides a great number of blue and white
foxes. The flesh of these animals served them also for food, and their
skins for clothing and other necessary preservatives against the intense
coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed, however, not more
than ten white bears in all, and that not without the utmost danger; for
these animals, being prodigiously strong, defended themselves with
astonishing vigour and fury. The first our men attacked designedly; the
other nine they slew in defending themselves from their assaults, for
some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer room of the
hut, in order to devour them. It is true that all the bears did not show
(if I may be allowed the expression) equal intrepidity, either owing to
some being less pressed by hunger, or to their being by nature less
carnivorous than the others; for some of them which entered the hut
immediately betook themselves to flight on the first attempt of the
sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of these ferocious
attacks threw the poor men into great terror and anxiety, as they were
in almost a perpetual danger of being devoured."
[Illustration: "Some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer
room of the hut, in order to devour them."
_P. 86._]
"Sure," exclaimed Tommy, "such a life as that must have been miserable
and dreadful indeed." "Why so?" said Mr Barlow. _Tommy._--Because, being
always in danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those men must have
been always unhappy. _Mr B._--And yet they never were devoured.
_T._--No, sir; because they made weapons to defend themselves. _Mr
B._--Perhaps, then, a person is not unhappy merely because he is exposed
to danger, for he may escape from it, but because he does not know how
to defend himself. _T._--I do not exactly understand you, sir. _Mr
B._--I will give you an instance. Were you not very unhappy when the
snake coiled itself round your leg, because you imagined it would bite
you? _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr B._--But Harry was not unhappy. _T._--That is
very true, sir. _Mr B._--And yet he was in more danger of being bitten
than yourself, because he took hold of it. _T._--Indeed he did. _Mr
B._--But he knew that by boldly seizing it, and flinging it away, he
was in very little danger; had you, therefore, known the same, you
probably would neither have feared so much nor have been so unhappy as
you were. _T._--Indeed, sir, that is true; and, were such an accident to
happen again, I think I should have courage enough to do the same. _Mr
B._--Should you then be as unhappy now as you were the first time?
_T._--By no means, because I have a great deal more courage. _Mr
B._--Why, then, persons that have courage are not so unhappy as those
that are cowardly when they are exposed to danger. _T._--Certainly not,
sir. _Mr B._--And that must be equally true in every kind of danger.
_T._--Indeed, it must; for I have sometimes heard my mother shriek out
when she was passing in a coach through a small stream of water, while
my father only laughed at her. _Mr B._--Why, then, if she had possessed
as much courage, perhaps she would have laughed too. _T._--Indeed, I
believe she might; for I have sometimes seen her laugh at herself, when
it was over, for being so cowardly. _Mr B._--Why, then, it is possible
that when these men found they were so well able to defend themselves
against the bears, they might no longer be afraid of them; and, not
being afraid, they would not be unhappy. _T._--Indeed, I believe so. _Mr
B._--Let us now continue.
"The three different kinds of animals above mentioned--viz., the
reindeer, the blue and white foxes, and the white bears--were the only
food these wretched mariners tasted during their continuance in this
dreary abode. We do not at once see every resource; it is generally
necessity which quickens our invention, opening by degrees our eyes,
and pointing out expedients which otherwise might never have occurred to
our thoughts. The truth of this observation our four sailors experienced
in various instances. They were for some time reduced to the necessity
of eating their meat almost raw, and without either bread or salt, for
they were quite destitute of both. The intenseness of the cold, together
with the want of proper conveniences, prevented them from cooking their
victuals in a proper manner. There was but one stove in the hut, and
that being set up agreeable to the Russian taste, was more like an oven,
and consequently not well adapted for boiling anything. Wood also was
too precious a commodity to be wasted in keeping up two fires; and the
one they might have made out of their habitation to dress their victuals
would in no way have served to warm them. Another reason against their
cooking in the open air was the continual danger of an attack from the
white bears. And here I must observe that, suppose they had made the
attempt it would still have been practicable for only some part of the
year; for the cold, which in such a climate for some months scarcely
ever abates, from the long absence of the sun, then enlightening the
opposite hemisphere,--the inconceivable quantity of snow, which is
continually falling through the greatest part of the winter, together
with the almost incessant rains at certain seasons,--all these were
almost insurmountable to that expedient. To remedy, therefore, in some
degree the hardship of eating their meat raw, they bethought themselves
of drying some of their provisions during the summer in the open air,
and afterwards of hanging it up in the upper part of the hut, which, as
I mentioned before, was continually filled with smoke down to the
windows; it was thus dried thoroughly by the help of that smoke. This
meat so prepared, they used for bread, and it made them relish their
other flesh the better, as they could only half-dress it. Finding this
experiment answer in every respect to their wishes, they continued to
practise it during the whole time of their confinement upon the island,
and always kept up, by that means, a sufficient stock of provisions.
Water they had in summer from small rivulets that fell from the rocks,
and in winter from the snow and ice thawed. This was of course their
only beverage; and their small kettle was the only vessel they could
make use of for this and other purposes. I have mentioned above that our
sailors brought a small bag of flour with them to the island. Of this
they had consumed about one-half with their meat; the remainder they
employed in a different manner equally useful. They soon saw the
necessity of keeping up a continual fire in so cold a climate, and found
that, if it should unfortunately go out, they had no means of lighting
it again; for though they had a steel and flints, yet they wanted both
match and tinder. In their excursions through the island they had met
with a slimy loam, or a kind of clay nearly in the middle of it. Out of
this they found means to form a utensil which might serve for a lamp,
and they proposed to keep it constantly burning with the fat of the
animals they should kill. This was certainly the most rational scheme
they could have thought of; for to be without a light in a climate
where, during winter, darkness reigns for several months together, would
have added much to their other calamities----"
_Tommy._--Pray, sir, stop. What! are there countries in the world where
it is night continually for several months together? _Mr
Barlow._--Indeed there are. _T._--How can that be? _Mr B._--How happens
it that there is night at all? _T._--How happens it! It must be so, must
it not? _Mr B._--That is only saying that you do not know the reason.
But do you observe no difference here between night and day? _T._--Yes,
sir, it is light in the day and dark in the night. _Mr B._--But why is
it dark in the night? _T._--Really I do not know. _Mr B._--What! does
the sun shine every night? _T._--No, sir, certainly not. _Mr B._--Then
it only shines on some nights, and not on others. _T._--It never shines
at all in the night. _Mr B._--And does it in the day? _T._--Yes, sir.
_Mr B._--Every day? _T._--Every day, I believe, only sometimes the
clouds prevent you from seeing it. _Mr B._--And what becomes of it in
the night? _T._--It goes away, so that we cannot see it. _Mr B._--So,
then, when you can see the sun, it is never night. _T._--No, sir. _Mr
B._--But when the sun goes away the night comes on. _T._--Yes, sir. _Mr
B._--And when the sun comes again what happens? _T._--Then it is day
again; for I have seen the day break, and the sun always rises presently
after. _Mr B._--Then if the sun were not to rise for several months
together, what would happen? _T._--Sure, it would always remain night,
and be dark. _Mr B._--That is exactly the case with the countries we
are reading about.
"Having therefore fashioned a kind of lamp, they filled it with
reindeer's fat, and stuck into it some twisted linen shaped into a wick;
but they had the mortification to find that, as soon as the fat melted,
it not only soaked into the clay but fairly ran out of it on all sides.
The thing, therefore, was to devise some means of preventing this
inconvenience, not arising from cracks, but from the substance of which
the lamp was made being too porous. They made, therefore, a new one,
dried it thoroughly in the air, then heated it red-hot, and afterwards
quenched it in their kettle, wherein they had boiled a quantity of flour
down to the consistence of thin starch. The lamp being thus dried and
filled with melted fat, they now found, to their great joy, that it did
not leak; but for greater security they dipped linen rags in their
paste, and with them covered all its outside. Succeeding in this
attempt, they immediately made another lamp for fear of an accident,
that at all events they might not be destitute of light; and, when they
had done so much, they thought proper to save the remainder of their
flour for similar purposes. As they had carefully collected whatever
happened to be cast on shore, to supply them with fuel, they had found
amongst the wrecks of vessels some cordage and a small quantity of oakum
(a kind of hemp used for caulking ships), which served them to make
wicks for their lamps. When these stores began to fail, their shirts and
their drawers (which are worn by almost all the Russian peasants) were
employed to make good the deficiency. By these means they kept their
lamp burning without intermission, from the day they first made it (a
work they set about soon after their arrival on the island) until that
of their embarkation for their native country.
"The necessity of converting the most essential part of their clothing,
such as their shirts and drawers, to the use above specified, exposed
them the more to the rigour of the climate. They also found themselves
in want of shoes, boots, and other articles of dress; and as winter was
approaching, they were again obliged to have recourse to that ingenuity
which necessity suggests, and which seldom fails in the trying hour of
distress. They had skins of reindeer and foxes in plenty, that had
hitherto served them for bedding, and which they now thought of
employing in some more essential service; but the question was how to
tan them. After deliberating on this subject, they took to the following
method: they soaked the skins for several days in fresh water till they
could pull off the hair very easily; they then rubbed the wet leather
with their hands till it was nearly dry, when they spread some melted
reindeer fat over it, and again rubbed it well. By this process the
leather became soft, pliant, and supple--proper for answering every
purpose they wanted it for. Those skins which they designed for furs
they only soaked one day, to prepare them for being wrought, and then
proceeded in the manner before-mentioned, except only that they did not
remove the hair. Thus they soon provided themselves with the necessary
materials for all the parts of dress they wanted. But here another
difficulty occurred; they had neither awls for making shoes or boots,
nor needles for sewing their garments. This want, however, they soon
supplied by means of the pieces of iron they had occasionally collected.
Out of these they made both, and by their industry even brought them to
a certain degree of perfection. The making eyes to their needles gave
them indeed no little trouble, but this they also performed with the
assistance of their knife; for, having ground it to a very sharp point,
and heated red-hot a kind of wire forged for that purpose, they pierced
a hole through one end; and by whetting and smoothing it on stones,
brought the other to a point, and thus gave the whole needle a very
tolerable form. Scissors to cut out the skin were what they next had
occasion for; but having none, their place they supplied with the knife;
and, though there was neither shoemaker nor tailor amongst them, yet
they had contrived to cut out the leather and furs well enough for their
purpose. The sinews of the bears and the reindeer--which, as I mentioned
before, they had found means to split--served them for thread; and thus,
provided with the necessary implements, they proceeded to make their new
clothes."
"These," said Mr Barlow, "are the extracts which I have made from this
very extraordinary story; and they are sufficient to show both the many
accidents to which men are exposed, and the wonderful expedients which
may be found out, even in the most dismal circumstances." "It is very
true, indeed," answered Tommy; "but pray what became of these poor men
at last?" "After they had lived more than six years upon this dreary and
inhospitable coast," answered Mr Barlow, "a ship arrived there by
accident, which took three of them on board, and carried them in safety
to their own country." "And what became of the fourth?" said Tommy.
"He," said Mr Barlow, "was seized with a dangerous disease, called the
scurvy; and, being of an indolent temper, and therefore not using the
exercise which was necessary to preserve his life, after having lingered
some time, died, and was buried in the snow by his companions."
CHAPTER III.
Harry's Chicken--Tommy tries kindness on the Pig--Account of the
Elephant--Story of the Elephant and the Tailor--Story of the
Elephant and the Child--Stories of the Good Natured Boy and the Ill
Natured Boy--The Boys determine to Build a House--Story of the
Grateful Turk--The Boys' House blown down--They rebuild it
stronger--The Roof lets in the Rain--At last is made Water-tight.
Here little Harry came in from his father's house, and brought with him
the chicken, which, it had been mentioned, he had saved from the claws
of the kite. The little animal was now perfectly recovered of the hurt
it had received, and showed so great a degree of affection to its
protector, that it would run after him like a dog, hop upon his
shoulder, nestle in his bosom, and eat crumbs out of his hand. Tommy was
extremely surprised and pleased to remark its tameness and docility, and
asked by what means it had been made so gentle. Harry told him he had
taken no particular pains about it; but that, as the poor little
creature had been sadly hurt, he had fed it every day till it was well;
and that, in consequence of that kindness, it had conceived a great
degree of affection towards him.
"Indeed," said Tommy, "that is very surprising; for I thought all birds
had flown away whenever a man came near them, and that even the fowls
which are kept at home would never let you touch them." _Mr B._--And
what do you imagine is the reason of that? _T._--Because they are wild.
_Mr B._--And what is a fowl's being wild? _T._--When he will not let you
come near him. _Mr B._--Then a fowl is wild because he will not let you
come near him. This is saying nothing more than that when a fowl is wild
he will not let you approach him. But I want to know what is the reason
of his being wild. _T._--Indeed, sir, I cannot tell, unless it is
because they are naturally so. _Mr B._--But if they were naturally so,
this fowl could not be fond of Harry. _T._--That is because he is so
good to it. _Mr B._--Very likely. Then it is not natural for an animal
to run away from a person that is good to him? _T._--No, sir; I believe
not. _Mr B._--But when a person is not good to him, or endeavours to
hurt him, it is natural for an animal to run away from him, is it not?
_T._--Yes. _Mr B._--And then you say he is wild, do you not? _T._--Yes,
sir. _Mr B._--Why, then, it is probable that animals are only wild
because they are afraid of being hurt, and that they only run away from
the fear of danger. I believe you would do the same from a lion or a
tiger. _T._--Indeed I would, sir. _Mr B._--And yet you do not call
yourself a wild animal? Tommy laughed heartily at this, and said No.
"Therefore," said Mr Barlow, "if you want to tame animals, you must be
good to them, and treat them kindly, and then they will no longer fear
you, but come to you and love you." "Indeed," said Harry, "that is very
true; for I knew a little boy that took a great fancy to a snake that
lived in his father's garden; and, when he had the milk for breakfast,
he used to sit under a nut tree and whistle, and the snake would come to
him and eat out of his bowl." _T._--And did it not bite him? _H._--No;
he sometimes used to give it a pat with his spoon, if it ate too fast;
but it never hurt him.
Tommy was much pleased with this conversation; and, being both
good-natured and desirous of making experiments, he determined to try
his skill in taming animals. Accordingly, he took a large slice of bread
in his hand, and went out to seek some animal that he might give it to.
The first thing that he happened to meet was a sucking pig that had
rambled from its mother, and was basking in the sun. Tommy would not
neglect the opportunity of showing his talents; he therefore called Pig,
pig, pig! come hither, little pig! But the pig, who did not exactly
comprehend his intentions, only grunted, and ran away. "You little
ungrateful thing," said Tommy, "do you treat me in this manner, when I
want to feed you? If you do not know your friends I must teach you." So
saying this, he sprang at the pig, and caught him by the hind-leg,
intending to have given him the bread which he had in his hand; but the
pig, who was not used to be treated in that manner, began struggling and
squeaking to that degree, that the sow, who was within hearing, came
running to the place, with all the rest of the litter at her heels. As
Tommy did not know whether she would be pleased with his civilities to
her young one or not, he thought it most prudent to let it go; and the
pig, endeavouring to escape as speedily as possible, unfortunately ran
between his legs and threw him down. The place where this accident
happened was extremely wet; therefore Tommy, in falling, dirtied himself
from head to foot; and the sow, who came up at that instant, passed over
him, as he attempted to rise, and rolled him back again into the mire.
Tommy, who was not the coolest in his temper, was extremely provoked at
this ungrateful return for his intended kindness; and, losing all
patience, he seized the sow by the hind-leg and began pommelling her
with all his might, as she attempted to escape. The sow, as may be
imagined, did not relish such treatment, but endeavoured with all her
force to escape; but Tommy still keeping his hold, and continuing his
discipline, she struggled with such violence as to drag him several
yards, squeaking at the same time in the most lamentable manner, in
which she was joined by the whole litter of pigs.
During the heat of this contest a large flock of geese happened to be
crossing the road, into the midst of which the affrighted sow ran
headlong, dragging the enraged Tommy at her heels. The goslings
retreated with the greatest precipitation, joining their mournful
cackling to the general noise; but a gander of more than common size
and courage, resenting the unprovoked attack which had been made upon
his family, flew at Tommy's hinder parts, and gave him several severe
strokes with his bill.
Tommy, whose courage had hitherto been unconquerable, being thus
unexpectedly attacked by a new enemy, was obliged to yield to fortune,
and not knowing the precise extent of his danger, he not only suffered
the sow to escape, but joined his vociferations to the general scream.
This alarmed Mr Barlow, who, coming up to the place, found his pupil in
the most woeful plight, daubed from head to foot, with his face and
hands as black as those of any chimney-sweeper. He inquired what was the
matter; and Tommy, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak,
answered in this manner: "Sir, all this is owing to what you told me
about taming animals; I wanted to make them tame and gentle, and to love
me, and you see the consequences." "Indeed," said Mr Barlow, "I see you
have been ill-treated, but I hope you are not hurt; and if it is owing
to anything I have said, I shall feel the more concern." "No," said
Tommy, "I cannot say that I am much hurt." "Why, then," said Mr Barlow,
"you had better go and wash yourself; and, when you are clean, we will
talk over the affair together."
When Tommy had returned, Mr Barlow asked him how the accident had
happened? and when he had heard the story, he said, "I am very sorry for
your misfortune; but I do not perceive that I was the cause of it, for I
do not remember that I ever advised you to catch pigs by the hinder
leg." _Tommy._--No, sir; but you told me that feeding animals was the
way to make them love me; and so I wanted to feed the pig. _Mr B._--But
it was not my fault that you attempted it in a wrong manner. The animal
did not know your intentions, and therefore, when you seized him in so
violent a manner, he naturally attempted to escape, and his mother
hearing his cries, very naturally came to his assistance. All that
happened was owing to your inexperience. Before you meddle with any
animal, you should make yourself acquainted with his nature and
disposition, otherwise you may fare like the little boy that, in
attempting to catch flies, was stung by a wasp; or like another that,
seeing an adder sleeping upon a bank, took it for an eel, and was bitten
by it, which had nearly cost him his life. _T._--But, sir, I thought
Harry had mentioned a little boy that used to feed a snake without
receiving any hurt from it. _Mr B._--That might very well happen; there
is scarcely any creature that will do hurt, unless it is attacked or
wants food; and some of these reptiles are entirely harmless, others
not; therefore the best way is not to meddle with any till you are
perfectly acquainted with its nature. Had you observed this rule, you
never would have attempted to catch the pig by the hinder leg, in order
to tame it; and it is very lucky that you did not make the experiment
upon a larger animal, otherwise you might have been as badly treated as
the tailor was by the elephant. _T._--Pray, sir, what is this curious
story? But first tell me, if you please, what an elephant is?
"An elephant," said Mr Barlow, "is the largest land animal that we are
acquainted with. It is many times thicker than an ox, and grows to the
height of eleven or twelve feet. Its strength, as may be easily
imagined, is prodigious; but it is at the same time so very gentle, that
it rarely does hurt to anything, even in woods where it resides. It does
not eat flesh, but lives upon the fruits and branches of trees. But what
is most singular about its make is, that, instead of a nose, it has a
long hollow piece of flesh, which grows over its mouth to the length of
three or four feet; this is called the trunk of the elephant; and he is
capable of bending it in every direction. When he wants to break off the
branch of a tree, he twists his trunk round it, and snaps it off
directly; when he wants to drink, he lets it down into the water, sucks
up several gallons at a time, and then, doubling the end of it back,
discharges it all into his mouth."
"But if he is so large and strong," said Tommy, "I should suppose it
must be impossible ever to tame him." "So perhaps it would," replied Mr
Barlow, "did they not instruct those that have been already tamed to
assist in catching others." _T._--How is that, sir? _Mr B._--When they
have discovered a forest where these animals resort, they make a large
enclosure with strong pales and a deep ditch, leaving only one entrance
to it, which has a strong gate left purposely open. They then let one or
two of their tame elephants loose, who join the wild ones, and gradually
entice them into the enclosure. As soon as one of these has entered, a
man, who stands ready, shuts the gate, and takes him prisoner. The
animal, finding himself thus entrapped, begins to grow furious, and
attempts to escape; but immediately two tame ones, of the largest size
and greatest strength, who have been placed there on purpose, come up to
him, one on each side, and beat him with their trunks till he becomes
more quiet. A man then comes behind, ties a very large cord to each of
his hind-legs, and fastens the other end of it to two great trees. He is
then left without food for some hours, and in that time generally
becomes so docile as to suffer himself to be conducted to the stable
that is prepared for him, where he lives the rest of his life like a
horse, or any other sort of domestic animal. _T._--And pray, sir, what
did the elephant do to the tailor? "There was," said Mr Barlow, "at
Surat, a city where many of these tame elephants are kept, a tailor, who
used to sit and work in his shed, close to the place to which these
elephants were led every day to drink. This man contracted a kind of
acquaintance with one of the largest of these beasts, and used to
present him with fruits and other vegetables whenever the elephant
passed by his door. The elephant was accustomed to put his long trunk in
at the window, and to receive in that manner whatever his friend chose
to give. But one day the tailor happened to be in a more than ordinary
ill-humour, and not considering how dangerous it might prove to provoke
an animal of that size and strength, when the elephant put his trunk in
at the window as usual, instead of giving him anything to eat, he
pricked him with his needle. The elephant instantly withdrew his trunk,
and, without showing any marks of resentment, went on with the rest to
drink; but, after he had quenched his thirst, he collected a large
quantity of the dirtiest water he could find in his trunk--which I have
already told you is capable of holding many gallons--and, when he passed
by the tailor's shop, in his return, he discharged it full in his face,
with so true an aim, that he wetted him all over, and almost drowned
him; thus justly punishing the man for his ill-nature and breach of
friendship."
"Indeed," said Harry, "considering the strength of the animal, he must
have had a great moderation and generosity not to have punished the man
more severely; and therefore, I think it is a very great shame to men
ever to be cruel to animals, when they are so affectionate and humane to
them."
"You are very right," said Mr Barlow; "and I remember another story of
an elephant, which, if true, is still more extraordinary. These animals,
although in general they are as docile and obedient to the person that
takes care of them as a dog, are sometimes seized with a species of
impatience which makes them absolutely ungovernable. It is then
dangerous to come near them, and very difficult to restrain them. I
should have mentioned, that in the Eastern parts of the world, where
elephants are found, the kings and princes keep them to ride upon as we
do horses; a kind of tent or pavilion is fixed upon the back of the
animal, in which one or more persons are placed; and the keeper that is
used to manage him sits upon the neck of the elephant, and guides him by
means of a pole with an iron hook at the end. Now, as these animals are
of great value, the keeper is frequently severely punished if any
accident happens to the animal by his carelessness. But one day, one of
the largest elephants, being seized with a sudden fit of passion, had
broken loose; and, as the keeper was not in the way, nobody was able to
appease him, or dared to come near him. While, therefore, he was running
about in this manner, he chanced to see the wife of his keeper (who had
often fed him as well as her husband), with her young child in her arms,
with which she was endeavouring to escape from his fury. The woman ran
as fast as she was able; but, finding that it was impossible for her to
escape, because these beasts, although so very large, are able to run
very fast, she resolutely turned about, and throwing her child down
before the elephant, thus accosted him, as if he had been capable of
understanding her: "You ungrateful beast, is this the return you make
for all the benefits we have bestowed! Have we fed you, and taken care
of you, by day and night, during so many years, only that you may at
last destroy us all? Crush, then, this poor innocent child and me, in
return for the services that my husband has done you!" While she was
making these passionate exclamations, the elephant approached the place
where the little infant lay, but, instead of trampling upon him, he
stopped short, and looked at him with earnestness, as if he had been
sensible of shame and confusion; and, his fury from that instant
abating, he suffered himself to be led without opposition to his
stable."
Tommy thanked Mr Barlow for these two stories, and promised for the
future to use more discretion in his kindness to animals.
The next day Tommy and Harry went into the garden to sow the wheat which
Harry had brought with him, upon a bed which Tommy had dug for that
purpose.
While they were at work, Tommy said, "Pray, Harry, did you ever hear the
story of the men that were obliged to live six years upon that terrible
cold country (I forget the name of it), where there is nothing but snow
and ice, and scarcely any other animals, but great bears, that are ready
to eat men up?" _Harry._--Yes, I have. _T._--And did not the very
thoughts of it frighten you dreadfully? _H._--No; I cannot say they did.
_T._--Why, should you like to live in such a country? _H._--No,
certainly; I am very happy that I was born in such a country as this,
where the weather is scarcely ever too hot or too cold; but a man must
bear patiently whatever is his lot in this world. _T._--That is true.
But should you not cry, and be very much afflicted, if you were left
upon such a country? _H._--I should certainly be very sorry if I was
left there alone, more especially as I am not big enough, or strong
enough, to defend myself against such fierce animals; but the crying
would do me no good; it would be better to do something, and endeavour
to help myself. _T._--Indeed I think it would; but what could you do?
_H._--Why, I should endeavour to build myself a house, if I could find
myself materials. _T._--And what materials is a house made of? I thought
it had been impossible to make a house without having a great many
people of different trades, such as carpenters and bricklayers.
_H._--You know there are houses of different sizes. The houses that the
poor people live in are very different from your father's house.
_T._--Yes, they are little, nasty, dirty, disagreeable places; I should
not like to live in them at all. _H._--And yet the poor are in general
as strong and healthy as the rich. But if you could have no other, you
would rather live in one of them than be exposed to the weather?
_T._--Yes, certainly. And how would you make one of them? _H._--If I
could get any wood, and had a hatchet, I would cut down some branches of
trees, and stick them upright in the ground, near to each other.
_T._--And what then? _H._--I would then get some other branches, but
more full of small wood; and these I would interweave between them, just
as we make hurdles to confine the sheep; and then, as that might not be
warm enough to resist the wind and cold, I would cover them over, both
within and without, with clay. _T._--Clay! what is that? _H._--It is a
particular kind of earth, that sticks to your feet when you tread upon
it, or to your hands when you touch it. _T._--I declare I did not think
it had been so easy to make a house. And do you think that people could
really live in such houses? _H._--Certainly they might, because many
persons live in such houses here; and I have been told that in many
parts of the world they have not any other. _T._--Really, I should like
to try to make a house; do you think, Harry, that you and I could make
one? _H._--Yes, if I had wood and clay enough, I think I could, and a
small hatchet to sharpen the stakes and make them enter the ground.
Mr Barlow then came to call them in to read, and told Tommy that, as he
had been talking so much about good-nature to animals, he had looked him
out a very pretty story upon the subject, and begged that he would read
it well. "That I will," said Tommy; "for I begin to like reading
extremely; and I think that I am happier too since I learned it, for now
I can always divert myself." "Indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "most people
find it so. When any one can read he will not find the knowledge any
burthen to him, and it is his own fault if he is not constantly amused.
This is an advantage, Tommy, which a gentleman, since you are so fond of
the word, may more particularly enjoy, because he has so much time at
his own disposal; and it is much better that he should distinguish
himself by having more knowledge and improvement than others, than by
fine clothes, or any such trifles, which any one may have that can
purchase them as well as himself."
Tommy then read, with a clear and distinct voice, the following story of
"THE GOOD-NATURED LITTLE BOY."
"A little boy went out one morning to walk to a village about five miles
from the place where he lived, and carried with him in a basket the
provision that was to serve him the whole day. As he was walking along,
a poor little half-starved dog came up to him, wagging his tail, and
seeming to entreat him to take compassion on him. The little boy at
first took no notice of him, but at length, remarking how lean and
famished the creature seemed to be, he said, 'This animal is certainly
in very great necessity; if I give him part of my provision, I shall be
obliged to go home hungry myself; however, as he seems to want it more
than I do, he shall partake with me.' Saying this, he gave the dog part
of what he had in the basket, who ate as if he had not tasted victuals
for a fortnight.
"The little boy then went on a little farther, his dog still following
him, and fawning upon him with the greatest gratitude and affection,
when he saw a poor old horse lying upon the ground, and groaning as if
he was very ill; he went up to him, and saw that he was almost starved,
and so weak that he was unable to rise. 'I am very much afraid,' said
the little boy, 'if I stay to assist this horse, that it will be dark
before I can return; and I have heard that there are several thieves in
the neighbourhood; however, I will try--it is doing a good action to
attempt to relieve him; and God Almighty will take care of me.' He then
went and gathered some grass, which he brought to the horse's mouth, who
immediately began to eat with as much relish as if his chief disease was
hunger. He then fetched some water in his hat, which the animal drank
up, and seemed immediately to be so much refreshed that, after a few
trials, he got up and began grazing.
"The little boy then went on a little farther, and saw a man wading
about in a pond of water, without being able to get out of it, in spite
of all his endeavours. 'What is the matter, good man,' said the little
boy to him; 'can't you find your way out of this pond?' 'No, God bless
you, my worthy master, or miss,' said the man, 'for such I take you to
be by your voice; I have fallen into this pond, and know not how to get
out again, as I am quite blind, and I am almost afraid to move for fear
of being drowned.' 'Well,' said the little boy, 'though I shall be
wetted to the skin, if you will throw me your stick I will try to help
you out of it.' The blind man then threw the stick to that side on which
he heard the voice; the little boy caught it, and went into the water,
feeling very carefully before him, lest he should unguardedly go beyond
his depth; at length he reached the blind man, took him very carefully
by the hand, and led him out. The blind man then gave him a thousand
blessings, and told him he could grope out his way home; and the little
boy ran on as hard as he could, to prevent being benighted.
"But he had not proceeded far before he saw a poor sailor, who had lost
both his legs in an engagement by sea, hopping along upon crutches. 'God
bless you, my little master!' said the sailor; 'I have fought many a
battle with the French, to defend poor old England; but now I am
crippled, as you see, and have neither victuals nor money, although I am
almost famished.' The little boy could not resist the inclination to
relieve him; so he gave him all his remaining victuals, and said, 'God
help you, poor man! this is all I have, otherwise you should have more.'
He then ran along and presently arrived at the town he was going to, did
his business, and returned towards his own home with all the expedition
he was able.
"But he had not gone much more than half-way before the night shut in
extremely dark, without either moon or stars to light him. The poor
little boy used his utmost endeavours to find his way, but unfortunately
missed it in turning down a lane which brought him into a wood, where he
wandered about a great while without being able to find any path to lead
him out. Tired out at last, and hungry, he felt himself so feeble that
he could go no farther, but set himself down upon the ground, crying
most bitterly. In this situation he remained for some time, till at last
the little dog, who had never forsaken him, came up to him wagging his
tail, and holding something in his mouth. The little boy took it from
him, and saw it was a handkerchief nicely pinned together, which
somebody had dropped, and the dog, had picked up, and on opening it he
found several slices of bread and meat, which the little boy ate with
great satisfaction, and felt himself extremely refreshed with his meal.
'So,' said the little boy, 'I see that if I have given you a breakfast,
you have given me a supper; and a good turn is never lost, done even to
a dog.'
"He then once more attempted to escape from the wood, but it was to no
purpose; he only scratched his legs with briers and slipped down in the
dirt, without being able to find his way out. He was just going to give
up all further attempts in despair, when he happened to see a horse
feeding before him, and, going up to him, saw, by the light of the moon,
which just then began to shine a little, that it was the very same he
had fed in the morning. 'Perhaps,' said the little boy, 'this creature,
as I have been so good to him, will let me get upon his back, and he may
bring me out of the wood; as he is accustomed to feed in this
neighbourhood.' The little boy then went up to the horse, speaking to
him and stroking him, and the horse let him mount his back without
opposition, and then proceeded slowly through the wood, grazing as he
went, till he brought him to an opening which led to the high road. The
little boy was much rejoiced at this, and said, 'If I had not saved this
creature's life in the morning, I should have been obliged to have
stayed here all night; I see by this, that a good turn is never lost.'
"But the poor little boy had yet a greater danger to undergo; for, as he
was going down a solitary lane, two men rushed out upon him, laid hold
of him, and were going to strip him of his clothes; but just as they
were beginning to do it, the little dog bit the leg of one of the men
with so much violence, that he left the little boy and pursued the dog,
that ran howling and barking away. In this instant a voice was hard that
cried out, 'There the rascals are; let us knock them down!' which
frightened the remaining man so much that he ran away, and his companion
followed him. The little boy then looked up, and saw it was the sailor
whom he had relieved in the morning, carried upon the shoulders of the
blind man whom he had helped out of the pond. 'There, my little dear,'
said the sailor, 'God be thanked! we have come in time to do you a
service, in return for what you did us in the morning. As I lay under a
hedge I heard these villains talk of robbing a little boy, who, from the
description, I concluded must be you; but I was so lame that I should
not have been able to come time enough to help you, if I had not meet
this honest blind man, who took me upon his back while I showed him the
way.'
"The little boy thanked him very sincerely for thus defending him; and
they went all together to his father's house, which was not far off,
where they were all kindly entertained with a supper and a bed. The
little boy took care of his faithful dog as long as he lived, and never
forgot the importance and necessity of doing good to others, if we wish
them to do the same to us."
"Upon my word," said Tommy, when he had finished, "I am vastly pleased
with this story, and I think that it may very likely be true, for I have
myself observed that everything seems to love little Harry here, merely
because he is good-natured to it. I was much surprised to see the great
dog the other day, which I have never dared to touch for fear of being
bitten, fawning upon him and licking him all over; it put me in mind of
the story of Androcles and the lion." "That dog," said Mr Barlow, "will
be equally fond of you, if you are kind to him; for nothing equals the
sagacity and gratitude of a dog. But since you have read a story about a
good-natured boy, Harry shall read you another concerning a boy of a
contrary disposition."
Harry read the following story of
"THE ILL-NATURED BOY."
"There was once a little boy who was so unfortunate as to have a very
bad man for his father, who was always surly and ill-tempered, and
never gave his children either good instructions or good example; in
consequence of which this little boy, who might otherwise have been
happier and better, became ill-natured, quarrelsome, and disagreeable to
everybody. He very often was severely beaten for his impertinence by
boys that were bigger than himself, and sometimes by boys that were
less; for, though he was very abusive and quarrelsome, he did not much
like fighting, and generally trusted more to his heels than his courage,
when he had engaged himself in a quarrel. This little boy had a cur-dog
that was the exact image of himself; he was the most troublesome, surly
creature imaginable,--always barking at the heels of every horse he came
near, and worrying every sheep he could meet with--for which reason both
the dog and the boy were disliked by all the neighbourhood.
"One morning his father got up early to go to the alehouse, where he
intended to stay till night, as it was a holiday; but before he went out
he gave his son some bread and cold meat and sixpence, and told him he
might go and divert himself as he would the whole day. The little boy
was much pleased with this liberty; and, as it was a very fine morning,
he called his dog Tiger to follow him, and began his walk.
"He had not proceeded far before he met a little boy that was driving a
flock of sheep towards a gate that he wanted them to enter. 'Pray,
master,' said the little boy, 'stand still and keep your dog close to
you, for fear you frighten my sheep.' 'Oh yes, to be sure!' answered the
ill-natured boy, 'I am to wait here all the morning till you and your
sheep have passed, I suppose! Here, Tiger, seize them, boy!' Tiger at
this sprang forth into the middle of the flock, barking and biting on
every side, and the sheep, in a general consternation, hurried each a
separate way. Tiger seemed to enjoy this sport equally with his master;
but in the midst of his triumph he happened unguardedly to attack an old
ram that had more courage than the rest of the flock; he, instead of
running away, faced about, and aimed a blow with his forehead at his
enemy, with so much force and dexterity, that he knocked Tiger over and
over, and, butting him several times while he was down, obliged him to
limp howling away.
"The ill-natured little boy, who was not capable of loving anything, had
been much diverted with the trepidation of the sheep; but now he laughed
heartily at the misfortune of his dog; and he would have laughed much
longer, had not the other little boy, provoked beyond his patience at
this treatment thrown a stone at him, which hit him full upon the
temples, and almost knocked him down. He immediately began to cry, in
concert with his dog, and perceiving a man coming towards them, who he
fancied might be the owner of the sheep, he thought it most prudent to
escape as speedily as possible.
"But he had scarcely recovered from the smart which the blow had
occasioned, before his former mischievous disposition returned, which he
determined to gratify to the utmost. He had not gone far before he saw a
little girl standing by a stile with a large pot of milk at her feet.
'Pray,' said the little girl, 'help me up with this pot of milk; my
mother sent me out to fetch it this morning, and I have brought it
above a mile upon my head; but I am so tired that I have been obliged to
stop at this stile to rest me; and if I don't return home presently we
shall have no pudding to-day, and besides my mother will be very angry
with me.' 'What,' said the boy, 'you are to have a pudding to-day, are
you, miss?' 'Yes,' said the girl, 'and a fine piece of roast-beef; for
there's uncle Will, and uncle John, and grandfather, and all my cousins,
to dine with us, and we shall be very merry in the evening, I can assure
you; so pray help me up as speedily as possible.' 'That I will, miss,'
said the boy; and, taking up the jug, he pretended to fix it upon her
head; but as she had hold of it, he gave it a little push, as if he had
stumbled, and overturned it upon her. The little girl began to cry
violently, but the mischievous boy ran away laughing heartily, and
saying, 'Good-by, little miss; give my humble service to uncle Will, and
grandfather, and the dear little cousins.'
"This prank encouraged him very much; for he thought he had now
certainly escaped without any bad consequences; so he went on applauding
his own ingenuity, and came to a green where several little boys were at
play. He desired leave to play with them, which they allowed him to do.
But he could not be contented long without exerting his evil
disposition; so taking an opportunity when it was his turn to fling the
ball, instead of flinging it the way he ought to have done, he threw it
into a deep muddy ditch. The little boys ran in a great hurry to see
what was become of it; and as they were standing together upon the
brink, he gave the outermost boy a violent push against his neighbour;
he, not being able to resist the violence, tumbled against another, by
which means they were all soused into the ditch together. They soon
scrambled out, although in a dirty plight, and were going to have
punished him for his ill behaviour; but he patted Tiger upon the back,
who began snarling and growling in such a manner as made them desist.
Thus this mischievous little boy escaped a second time with impunity.
"The next thing that he met with was a poor jackass, feeding very
quietly in a ditch. The little boy, seeing that nobody was within sight,
thought this was an opportunity of plaguing an animal that was not to be
lost; so he went and cut a large bunch of thorns, which he contrived to
fix upon the poor beast's tail, and then, setting Tiger at him, he was
extremely diverted to see the fright and agony the creature was in. But
it did not fare so well with Tiger, who, while he was baying and biting
the animal's heels, received so severe a kick upon his forehead, as laid
him dead upon the spot. The boy, who had no affection for his dog, left
him with the greatest unconcern when he saw what had happened, and,
finding himself hungry, sat down by the wayside to eat his dinner.
"He had not been long there before a poor blind man came groping his way
out with a couple of sticks. 'Good morning to you, gaffer,' said the
boy; 'pray, did you see a little girl come this road, with a basket of
eggs upon her head, dressed in a green gown, with a straw hat upon her
head?' 'God bless you, master,' said the beggar, 'I am so blind that I
can see nothing; I have been blind these twenty years, and they call me
poor old blind Richard.'
"Though this poor man was such an object of charity and compassion, yet
the little boy determined, as usual, to play him some trick; and, as he
was a great liar and deceiver, he spoke to him thus: 'Poor old Richard,
I am heartily sorry for you with all my heart; I am just eating my
breakfast, and if you will sit down by me I will give you part and feed
you myself.' 'Thank you with all my heart,' said the poor man; 'and if
you will give me your hand, I will sit by you with great pleasure, my
dear, good little master!' The little boy then gave him his hand, and,
pretending to direct him, guided him to sit down in a large heap of wet
dung that lay by the road-side. 'There,' said he, 'now you are nicely
seated, and I will feed you.' So, taking a little in his fingers, he was
going to put it into the blind man's mouth; but the man, who now
perceived the trick that had been played him, made a sudden snap at his
fingers, and, getting them between his teeth, bit them so severely that
the wicked boy roared out for mercy, and promised never more to be
guilty of such wickedness. At last the blind man, after he had put him
to very severe pain, consented to let him go, saying as he went, 'Are
you not ashamed, you little scoundrel, to attempt to do hurt to those
who have never injured you, and to want to add to the sufferings of
those who are already sufficiently miserable? Although you escape now,
be assured that, if you do not repent and mend your manners, you will
meet with a severe punishment for your bad behaviour.'
"One would think that this punishment should have cured him entirely of
his mischievous disposition; but, unfortunately, nothing is so difficult
to overcome as bad habits that have been long indulged. He had not gone
far before he saw a lame beggar, that just made a shift to support
himself by means of a couple of sticks. The beggar asked him to give him
something, and the little mischievous boy, pulling out his sixpence,
threw it down just before him, as if he intended to make him a present
of it; but, while the poor man was stooping with difficulty to pick it
up, this wicked little boy knocked the stick away, by which means the
beggar fell down upon his face; and then, snatching up the sixpence, the
boy ran away, laughing very heartily at the accident.
"This was the last trick this ungracious boy had it in his power to
play; for, seeing two men come up to the beggar, and enter into
discourse with him, he was afraid of being pursued, and therefore ran as
fast as he was able over several fields. At last he came into a lane
which led into a farmer's orchard, and as he was preparing to clamber
over the fence, a large dog seized him by the leg and held him fast. He
cried out in agony of terror, which brought the farmer out, who called
the dog off, but seized him very roughly, saying, 'So, sir, you are
caught at last, are you? You thought you might come day after day and
steal my apples without detection; but it seems you are mistaken, and
now you shall receive the punishment you have so long deserved.' The
farmer then began to chastise him very severely with a whip he had in
his hand, and the boy in vain protested he was innocent, and begged for
mercy. At last the farmer asked him who he was, and where he lived; but
when he heard his name he cried out, 'What! are you the little rascal
that frightened my sheep this morning, by which means several of them
are lost; and do you think to escape?' Saying this, he lashed him more
severely than before, in spite of all his cries and protestations. At
length, thinking he had punished him enough, he turned him out of the
orchard, bade him go home, and frighten sheep again if he liked the
consequences.
"The little boy slunk away, crying very bitterly (for he had been very
severely beaten), and now began to find that no one can long hurt others
with impunity; so he determined to go quietly home, and behave better
for the future.
"But his sufferings were not yet at an end; for as he jumped down from a
stile, he felt himself very roughly seized, and, looking up, found that
he was in the power of the lame beggar whom he had thrown upon his face.
It was in vain that he now cried, entreated, and begged pardon; the man,
who had been much hurt by his fall, thrashed him very severely with his
stick, before he would part with him. He now again went on, crying and
roaring with pain, but at least expected to escape without further
damage. But here he was mistaken; for as he was walking slowly through a
lane, just as he turned a corner, he found himself in the middle of the
very troop of boys that he had used so ill in the morning. They all set
up a shout as soon as they saw their enemy in their power without his
dog, and began persecuting him a thousand various ways. Some pulled him
by the hair, others pinched him; some whipped his legs with their
handkerchiefs, while others covered him with handfuls of dirt. In vain
did he attempt to escape; they were still at his heels, and, surrounding
him on every side, continued their persecutions. At length, while he was
in this disagreeable situation, he happened to come up to the same
jackass he had seen in the morning, and, making a sudden spring, jumped
upon his back, hoping by these means to escape. The boys immediately
renewed their shouts, and the ass, who was frightened at the noise,
began galloping with all his might, and presently bore him from the
reach of his enemies. But he had but little reason to rejoice at this
escape, for he found it impossible to stop the animal, and was every
instant afraid of being thrown of and dashed upon the ground. After he
had been thus hurried along a considerable time, the ass on a sudden
stopped short at the door of a cottage, and began kicking and prancing
with so much fury that the little boy was presently thrown to the
ground, and broke his leg in the fall. His cries immediately brought the
family out, among whom was the very little girl he had used so ill in
the morning. But she with the greatest good-nature, seeing him in such a
pitiable situation, assisted in bringing him in, and laying him upon the
bed. There this unfortunate boy had leisure to recollect himself, and
reflect upon his own bad behaviour, which in one day's time had exposed
him to such a variety of misfortunes; and he determined with great
sincerity, that, if ever he recovered from his present accident, he
would be as careful to take every opportunity of doing good, as he had
before been to commit every species of mischief."
When the story was ended, Tommy said it was very surprising to see how
differently the two little boys fared. The one little boy was
good-natured, and therefore everything he met became his friend and
assisted him in return; the other, who was ill-natured, made everything
his enemy, and therefore he met with nothing but misfortunes and
vexations, and nobody seemed to feel any compassion for him, excepting
the poor little girl that assisted him at last, which was very kind
indeed of her, considering how ill she had been used.
"That is very true, indeed," said Mr Barlow; "nobody is loved in this
world unless he loves others and does good to them; and nobody can tell
but one time or other he may want the assistance of the meanest and
lowest; therefore, every sensible man will behave well to everything
around him; he will behave well, because it is his duty to do it,
because every benevolent person feels the greatest pleasure in doing
good, and even because it is his own interest to make as many friends as
possible. No one can tell, however secure his present situation may
appear, how soon it may alter, and he may have occasion for the
compassion of those who are now infinitely below him. I could show you a
story to that purpose, but you have read enough, and therefore you must
now go out and use some exercise."
"Oh pray, sir," said Tommy, "do let me hear the story; I think I could
now read for ever without being tired." "No," said Mr Barlow;
"everything has its turn; to-morrow you shall read, but now we must work
in the garden." "Then pray, sir," said Tommy, "may I ask a favour of
you?" "Surely," answered Mr Barlow; "if it is proper for you to have,
there is nothing can give me a greater pleasure than to grant it." "Why,
then," said Tommy, "I have been thinking that a man should know how to
do everything in the world." _Mr B._--Very right; the more knowledge he
acquires the better. _T._--And therefore Harry and I are going to build
a house. _Mr B._--To build a house! Well, and have you laid in a
sufficient quantity of brick and mortar? "No, no," said Tommy, smiling;
"Harry and I can build houses without brick and mortar." _Mr B._--What
are they to be made of, then--cards? "Dear sir," answered Tommy, "do you
think we are such little children as to want card-houses? No; we are
going to build real houses, fit for people to live in. And then, you
know, if ever we should be thrown upon a desert coast, as the poor men
were, we shall be able to supply ourselves with necessaries till some
ship comes to take us away." _Mr B._--And if no ship should come, what
then? _T._--Why, then, we must stay there all our lives, I am afraid.
_Mr B._--If you wish to prepare yourselves against the event, you are
much in the right, for nobody knows what may happen to him in this
world. What is it then you want, to make your house? _T._--The first
thing we want, sir, is wood and a hatchet. _Mr B._--Wood you shall have
in plenty; but did you ever use a hatchet? _T._--No, sir. _Mr B._--Then
I am afraid to let you have one, because it is a very dangerous kind of
tool; and if you are not expert in the use of it you may wound yourself
severely. But if you will let me know what you want, I, who am more
strong and expert, will take the hatchet and cut down the wood for you.
"Thank you, sir," said Tommy; "you are very
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