Tommy.—I could not have conceived it possible that men should be able to struggle with so many hardships. But do not the poor people who inhabit these cold climates quit them, whenever they can find an opportunity, and come to settle in those that are warmer?

Mr Barlow.—Not in the least. When they hear that there are no seals to be caught in other countries, they say that they must be wretched indeed, and much inferior to their own. Besides, they have in general so great a contempt for all Europeans, that they have no inclination to visit the countries which they inhabit.

Tommy.—How can that be? How can a parcel of wretched ignorant savages despise men that are so much superior to themselves?

Mr Barlow.—This is not what they are quite so well convinced of. The Greenlanders, for instance, see that the Europeans who visit them are much inferior to themselves in the art of managing a boat or catching seals; in short, in everything which they find most useful to support life. For this reason, they consider them all with very great contempt, and look upon them as little better than barbarians.

Tommy.—That is very impertinent indeed; and I should like to convince them of their folly.

Mr Barlow.—Why, do not you look upon yourself as much superior to your black servants; and have I not often heard you express great contempt for them?

Tommy.—I do not despise them now, so much as I used to do. Besides, sir, I only think myself something better, because I have been brought up like a gentleman.

Mr Barlow.—A gentleman! I have never exactly understood what a gentleman is, according to your notions.

Tommy.—Why, sir, when a person is not brought up to work, and has several people to wait upon him, like my father and mother, then he is a gentleman.

Mr Barlow.—And then he has a right to despise others, has he?

Tommy.—I do not say that, sir, neither. But he is, however, superior to them.

Mr Barlow.—Superior, in what? In the art of cultivating the ground to raise food, and making clothes or houses?

Tommy.—No, sir, not that; for gentlemen never plough the ground or build houses.

Mr Barlow.—Is he then superior in knowledge? Were you, who have been brought up a gentleman, superior to all the rest of the world when you came here?

Tommy.—To be sure, sir; when I came here I did not know so much as I do now.

Mr Barlow.—If then you, when you knew nothing, and could do nothing, thought yourself superior to all the rest of the world, why should you wonder, that men who really excel others in those things which they see absolutely necessary, should have the same good opinion of themselves? Were you to be in Greenland, for instance, how would you prove your own superiority and importance?

Tommy.—I would tell them that I had always been well brought up at home.

Mr Barlow.—That they would not believe. They would say that they saw you were totally unable to do anything useful—to guide a boat; to swim the seas; to procure yourself the least sustenance—so that you would perish with hunger, if they did not charitably afford you now and then a bit of whale or seal; and, as to your being a gentleman, they would not understand the word, nor would they comprehend why one man, who is naturally as good as his fellow-creature, should submit to the caprice of another, and obey him.

Tommy.—Indeed, sir, I begin to think that I am not so much better than others, as I used to do.

Mr Barlow.—The more you encourage that thought the more likely you are to acquire real superiority and excellence, for great and generous minds are less exposed to that ridiculous vanity than weak and childish ones.

A few evenings after this conversation, when the night was remarkably clear, Mr Barlow called his two pupils into the garden, where there was a long hollow tube suspended upon a frame. Mr Barlow then placed Tommy upon a chair, and bade him look through it, which he had scarcely done when he cried out, "What an extraordinary sight is this!" "What is the matter?" said Mr Barlow. "I see," replied Tommy, "what I should take for the moon were it not a great many times bigger, and so near to me that I can almost touch it." "What you see," answered Mr Barlow, smiling, "is the moon itself. This glass has indeed the power of making it appear to your eye as it would do could you approach a great deal nearer; but still it is nothing but the moon; and from this single experiment you may judge of the different size which the sun and all the other heavenly bodies would appear to have, if you could advance a great deal nearer to them."

Tommy was delighted with this new spectacle. The moon, he said, viewed in this manner, was the most glorious sight he had ever seen in his life. "And I protest," added he, "it seems to be shaded in such a manner, that it almost resembles land and water." "What you say," answered Mr Barlow, "is by no means unreasonable. The moon is a very large body, and may be, for ought we know, inhabited like the earth."

Tommy was more and more astonished at the introduction of all these new ideas; but what he was particularly inquisitive about was, to know the reason of this extraordinary change in the appearance of objects, only by looking through a hollow tube with a bit of glass fixed into it. "All this," replied Mr Barlow, "I will, if you desire it, one day explain to you; but it is rather too long and difficult to undertake it at the present moment. When you are a little farther advanced in some of the things which you are now studying, you will comprehend me better. However, before we retire to-night, I will show you something more, which will perhaps equally surprise you."

They then returned to the house, and Mr Barlow, who had prepared everything for his intended exhibition, led Tommy into a room, where he observed nothing but a lantern upon the floor, and a white sheet hung up against the wall. Tommy laughed, and said he did not see anything very curious in all that. "Well," said Mr Barlow, "perhaps I may surprise you yet, before I have done; let us at least light up the lantern, that you may see a little clearer."

Mr Barlow then lighted a lamp which was within the lantern, and extinguished all the other candles; and Tommy was instantly struck with astonishment to see a gigantic figure of a man, leading along a large bear, appear upon the wall, and glide slowly along the sheet. As he was admiring this wonderful sight, a large monkey, dressed up in the habit of a man, appeared and followed the bear; after him came an old woman trundling a barrow of fruit, and then two boys (who, however, were as big as men) that seemed to be fighting as they passed.

Tommy could hardly find words to express his pleasure and admiration, and he entreated Mr Barlow in the most earnest manner to explain to him the reason of all these wonderful sights. "At present," said Mr Barlow, "you are not sufficiently advanced to comprehend the explanation. However, thus much I will inform you, that both the wonderful tube which showed you the moon so much larger than you ever saw it before, and this curious exhibition of to-night, and a variety of others, which I will hereafter show you, if you desire it, depend entirely upon such a little bit of glass as this." Mr Barlow then put into his hand a small round piece of glass, which resembled the figure of a globe on both sides. "It is by looking through such pieces of glass as this," said he, "and by arranging them in a particular manner, that we are enabled to perform all these wonders." "Well," said Tommy, "I never could have believed, that simply looking through a bit of glass could have made such a difference in the appearance of things." "And yet," said Mr Barlow, "looking at a thing through water alone, is capable of producing the greatest change, as I will immediately prove to you." Mr Barlow then took a small earthen basin, and, putting a half-crown at the bottom, desired Tommy gradually to go back, still looking at the basin, till he could distinguish the piece of money no longer. Tommy accordingly retired, and presently cried out, that, "he had totally lost sight of the money." "Then," said Mr Barlow, "I will enable you to see it, merely by putting water into it." So he gradually poured water into the basin, till, to the new astonishment of Tommy, he found that he could plainly see the half-crown, which was before invisible.

Tommy was wonderfully delighted with all these experiments, and declared that from this day forward, he would never rest till he had made himself acquainted with everything curious in every branch of knowledge.

"I remember reading a story," said Mr Barlow, "where a telescope (for that is the name of the glass which brings distant objects so much nearer to the eye) was used to a very excellent purpose indeed." "Pray, how was that?" said Tommy.

"In some part of Africa," said Mr Barlow, "there was a prince who was attacked by one of his most powerful neighbours, and almost driven out of his dominions. He had done everything he could do to defend himself with the greatest bravery, but was overpowered by the numbers of his enemy, and defeated in several battles. At length he was reduced to a very small number of brave men, who still accompanied him, and had taken possession of a steep and difficult hill, which he determined to defend to the last extremity, while the enemy was in possession of all the country round. While he lay with his little army in this disagreeable situation, he was visited by a European, whom he had formerly received and treated with the greatest kindness. To this man the unfortunate prince made his complaints, telling him that he was exposed every instant to be attacked by his stronger foe; and though he had taken his resolution he expected nothing but to be cut off with all his army.

"The European happened to have with him one of these curious glasses, which had not long been invented in Europe, and was totally unknown in that part of the globe; and he told the prince, his friend, that he would soon inform him of what his enemy was doing, and then he might take his own measures with the greater confidence. So he produced his glass, and after having adjusted it, turned it towards the enemy's camp, which he observed some time with great attention, and then told his friend that he might at least be easy for the present, for the enemy's general was at that instant thinking only of a great feast, which he was giving to the officers of his army. 'How is it possible,' replied the prince, 'that you can pretend to discover so accurately what is done in yonder camp? My eyes, I think, are at least as good as yours; and yet the distance is so great, that I can discover nothing distinctly.' The European then desired his friend to look through the telescope, which he had no sooner done, than he rose in great trepidation, and was going to mount his horse; for the spectacle was so new to him, that he imagined the enemy was close to him, and that nothing remained but to stand upon his defence. The European could not help smiling at this mistake; and after he had with some difficulty removed his panic, by explaining the wonderful powers of the glass, he prevailed upon him to be quiet.

"But the unexpected terror which this telescope had excited inspired him with a sudden thought, which he determined to improve to the advantage of the besieged prince. Acquainting him therefore with his intention, he desired him to draw out all his men in their military array, and to let them descend the mountain slowly, clashing their arms and waving their swords as they marched. He then mounted a horse, and rode to the enemy's camp, where he no sooner arrived than he desired to be instantly introduced to the general. He found him sitting in his tent carousing in the midst of his officers, and not at all thinking of an engagement. When he approached he thus accosted him; 'I am come, great warrior, as a friend, to acquaint you with a circumstance that is absolutely necessary to the safety of yourself and army.' 'What is that?' said the general, with some surprise. 'At this instant,' replied the European, 'while you are indulging yourself in festivity, the enemy, who has lately been reinforced with a large body of his most valiant troops, is advancing to attack you, and even now has almost penetrated to your camp.' 'I have here,' added he, 'a wonderful glass, the composition of which is only known in Europe, and if you will condescend to look through it for a moment, it will convince you that all I say is truth.' Saying this, he directed his eye to the telescope, which the general had no sooner looked into than he was struck with consternation and affright. He saw the prince, whom he had long considered as lying at his mercy, advancing with his army in excellent order, and, as he imagined, close to his camp. He could even discern the menacing air of the soldiers, and the brandishing of their swords as they moved. His officers, who thronged round him to know the cause of his sudden fright, had no sooner peeped into the wonderful glass than they were all affected in the same manner. Their heads had been already disturbed by their intemperance, and therefore, without waiting to consult, they rushed in a panic out of their tents, mounted their swiftest horses, and fled away, without staying to see the consequences. The rest of the army, who had seen the consternation of their leaders, and had heard that the enemy was advancing to destroy them, were struck with an equal panic, and instantly followed the example, so that the whole plain was covered with men and horses, that made all possible haste towards their own country, without thinking of resistance. Thus was an immense army dispersed in an instant, and the besieged prince delivered from his danger by the address and superior knowledge of a single man."

"Thus you see," added Mr Barlow, "of how much use a superiority of knowledge is frequently capable of making individuals. But a still more famous instance is that of Archimedes, one of the most celebrated mathematicians of his time. He, when the city of Syracuse was besieged by the Romans, defended it for a long time by the surprising machines he invented, in such a manner that they began to despair of taking it." "Do pray," said Tommy, "tell me that story." "No," answered Mr Barlow, "it is now time to retire, and you may at any time read the particulars of this extraordinary siege in 'Plutarch's life of Marcellus.'"

And now the time approached when Mr Barlow was accustomed to invite greater part of the poor of his parish to an annual dinner. He had a large hall, which was almost filled with men, women, and children, a cheerful fire blazed in the chimney, and a prodigious table was placed in the middle for the company to dine upon. Mr Barlow himself received his guests, and conversed with them about the state of their families and their affairs. Those that were industrious, and brought their children up to labour, instructing them in the knowledge of their duty, and preserving them from bad impressions, were sure to meet with his encouragement and commendations. Those that had been ill he assisted with such little necessaries as tended to alleviate their pains, and diffuse a gleam of cheerfulness over their sufferings. "How hard," he would say, "is the lot of the poor when they are afflicted with sickness! How intolerable do we find the least bodily disorder, even though we possess every convenience that can mitigate its violence! Not all the dainties which can be collected from all the elements, the warmth of downy beds and silken couches, the attendance of obsequious dependants, are capable of making us bear with common patience the most common disease; how pitiable, then, must be the state of a fellow-creature, who is at once tortured by bodily suffering, and destitute of every circumstance which can alleviate it; who sees around him a family that are not only incapable of assisting their parents, but destined to want the common necessaries of life, the moment he intermits his daily labours! How indispensable, then, is the obligation which should continually impel the rich to exert themselves in assisting their fellow-creatures, and rendering that condition of life which we all avoid less dreadful to those who must support it always!"

Acting from such principles as these, Mr Barlow was the common friend of all the species. Whatever his fortune would allow him to perform he never refused to all who stood in need of his assistance. But there is yet a duty which he thought of more importance than the mere distribution of property to the needy—the encouragement of industry and virtue among the poor, and giving them juster notions of morals and religion. "If we have a dog," he would say, "we refuse neither pains nor expense to train him up to hunting; if we have a horse, we send him to an experienced rider to be bitted; but our own species seems to be the only animal which is entirely exempted from our care." When he rode about the country he used to consider with admiration the splendid stables which the great construct for the reception of their horses, their ice-houses, temples, hermitages, grottoes, and all the apparatus of modern vanity. "All this," he would say, "is an unequivocal proof the gentleman loves himself, and grudges no expense that can gratify his vanity; but I would now wish to see what he has done for his fellow-creatures; what are the proofs that he has given of public spirit or humanity, the wrongs which he has redressed, the miseries he has alleviated, the abuses which he has endeavoured to remove!"

When he was told of the stubbornness and ingratitude of the poor, he used to say, "that he believed it without difficulty, for they were men in common with their superiors, and therefore must share in some of their vices; but if the interests of humanity were half so dear to us as the smallest article that pleases our palate or flatters our vanity, we should not so easily abandon them in disgust."

Mr Barlow happened once to be in company with a lady with whom he was upon a footing of intimacy, who was talking in this manner. "Nobody," she said, "had greater feeling than herself, or was more desirous of assisting her fellow-creatures. When she first came into the country she had endeavoured to relieve all the misery she heard of; she had given victuals to one, physic to a second, and clothes to a third; but she had met with such ill-behaviour and ingratitude in return, that she had long been obliged to resign all her charitable intentions, and abandon the poor to their fate." All the company assented to a doctrine that was so very conformable to their own practice and inclinations, and agreed that nothing could be more injudicious than any attempts to be charitable.

Some little time after this conversation cards were produced, and the lady, who had been so eloquent against the poor, sat down to whist, at which she played for several hours with equal ignorance and ill-fortune. When the party was over she was complaining to Mr Barlow of her losses, and added that she scarcely ever in her life had sat down to cards with better success. "I wonder, madam," replied Mr Barlow, "you do not then give up entirely." "Alas!" answered the lady, "I have often made this resolution, but I never had the courage to keep it." "Indeed, madam," said Mr Barlow, "it is impossible you can be deficient in courage, and therefore you wrong your own character." "You do me too much honour," said the lady, "by your good opinion; but whoever has given you this information is deceived." "I had it only from yourself, madam." "From me, sir? When did I ever give you such a character of myself?" "Just now, madam, when you declared that, upon the bad success of half-a-dozen experiments, you had resolved never more to be charitable, and had kept the resolution ever since. I can hardly conceive that your love of cards is so much greater than that of your duty and religion, and therefore, my dear madam, I must repeat it, that you certainly undervalue your own fortitude."

Such were the opinions of Mr Barlow in respect to the poor; and therefore, instead of widening the distance which fortune has placed between one part of mankind and another, he was continually intent upon bringing the two classes nearer together. Poverty has in itself so many hardships and disagreeable circumstances, that we need not increase their number by unnecessary pride and insolence. The distinctions of rank may indeed be necessary to the government of a populous country, but it is for the good of the whole, not of individuals, that they can have any just claim to be admitted, and therefore a good man will insist upon them no more than is absolutely necessary for that purpose. On the contrary, whatever may he his rank or importance, he will plainly prove, by the courtesy and benevolence of his manners, that he laments the necessity of his own elevation, and, instead of wishing to mount still higher, would willingly descend nearer to an equality with his fellow-creatures.

Tommy was very much diverted with the ceremonies of this festal day. He had lost a great part of his West Indian pride during his residence with Mr Barlow, and had contracted many acquaintances among the families of the poor. After the example of Mr Barlow, he condescended to go about from one to the other, and make inquiries about their families; nor was he a little gratified with the extreme respect with which he found himself treated, both on the account of Mr Barlow and the reputation of his own liberality.

Thus did the morning pass away in the most agreeable and auspicious manner; but after dinner an unexpected incident occurred, which clouded all the merriment of the unfortunate Tommy Merton.

Mr Barlow happened to have a large Newfoundland dog, equally famous for his good-nature and his love of the water. With this dog Tommy had been long forming an acquaintance, and he used to divert himself with throwing sticks into the water, which Caesar would instantly bring out in his mouth, however great might be the distance. Tommy had been fired with the description of the Kamtschatkan dogs, and their method of drawing sledges, and meditated an enterprise of this nature on Caesar. This very day, finding himself unusually at leisure, he chose for the execution of his project. He therefore furnished himself with some rope and a kitchen chair, which he destined for his vehicle instead of a sledge. He then inveigled Caesar into a large yard behind the house, and, extending the chair flat upon the ground, fastened him to it with great care and ingenuity. Caesar, who did not understand the new purpose to which he was going to be applied, suffered himself to be harnessed without opposition, and Tommy mounted triumphantly his seat, with a whip in his hand, and began his operations. A crowd of little boys, the sons of the labourers within, now gathered round the young gentleman, and by their admiration very much increased his ardour to distinguish himself. Tommy began to use the common expressions which he had heard coachmen practise to their horses, and smacked his whip with all the confidence of an experienced charioteer. Caesar, meanwhile, who did not comprehend this language, began to be a little impatient, and expressed his uneasiness by making several bounds and rearing up like a restive horse. This added very much to the diversion of the spectators, and Tommy, who considered his honour as materially concerned in achieving the adventure, began to be a little more warm; and proceeding from one experiment to another, at length applied a pretty severe lash to the hinderpart of his steed. This Caesar resented so much that he instantly set off at three-quarters speed, and dragged the chair with the driver upon it at a prodigious rate. Tommy now looked round with an infinite air of triumph, and kept his seat with surprising address and firmness.

Unfortunately there happened to be, at no great distance, a large horse-pond, which went shelving down to the depth of three or four feet. Hither, by a kind of natural instinct, the affrighted Caesar ran, when he found he could not disengage himself from his tormentor; while Tommy, who now began to repent of his success, endeavoured to pacify and restrain him. But all his expostulations were vain, for Caesar precipitately rushed into the pond, and in an instant plunged into the middle with his charioteer behind him. The crowd of spectators had now a fresh subject of diversion, and all their respect for Master Tommy could not hinder them from bursting into shouts of derision. The unfortunate hero was equally discomposed at the unmannerly exultation of his attendants, and at his own ticklish situation. But he did not long wait for the catastrophe of his adventure; for, after a little floundering in the pond, Caesar, by a vigorous exertion, overturned the chair, and Tommy came roughly into the water. To add to his misfortune, the pond was at that time neither ice nor water; for a sudden thaw had commenced the day before, accompanied by a copious fall of snow. Tommy, therefore, as soon as he had recovered his footing, floundered on through mud and water and pieces of floating ice, like some amphibious animal to the shore; sometimes his feet slipped, and down he tumbled, and then he struggled up again, shaking the water from his hair and clothes. Now his feet stuck fast in the mud, and now, by a desperate effort, he disengaged himself with the loss of both his shoes; thus labouring on, with infinite pain and difficulty he reached the land. The whole troop of spectators were now incapable of stifling their laughter, which broke forth in such redoubled peals, that the unfortunate hero was irritated to an extreme degree of rage, so that, forgetting his own sufferings and necessities, as soon as he had struggled to the shore, he fell upon them in a fury, and dealt his blows so liberally on every side, that he put the whole company to flight. Tommy was now in the situation of a warrior that pursues a routed army. Dismay and terror scattered all his little associates a hundred different ways, while passion and revenge animated him to the pursuit, and made him forgetful of the wetness of his clothes, and the uncomfortableness of his situation. Whatever unfortunate boy came within his reach was sure to be unmercifully cuffed and pommelled; for, in the fury with which he felt himself inspired, he did not wait to consider the exact rules of justice.

While Tommy was thus revenging the affronts he imagined he had received, and chasing the vanquished about the court, the unusual noise and uproar which ensued reached the ears of Mr Barlow, and brought him to the door. He could hardly help laughing at the rueful figure of his friend, with the water dropping from every part of his body in copious streams, and at the rage which seemed to animate him in spite of his disaster. It was with some difficulty that Tommy could compose himself enough to give Mr Barlow an account of his misfortunes, which, when he had heard, he immediately led him into the house, and advised him to undress and go to bed. He then brought him some warm diluting liquors, by which means he avoided all the bad effects which might otherwise have arisen from so complete a drenching.

The next day Mr Barlow laughed at Tommy in his usual good-natured manner, and asked him if he intended to ride out in the Kamtschatkan manner; adding, however, that he should be afraid to attend him, as he had the habit of beating his companions. Tommy was a little confounded at this insinuation, but replied, "that he should not have been so provoked if they had not laughed at his misfortunes, and he thought it very hard to be wetted and ridiculed both." "But," replied Mr Barlow, "did their noise or laughter do you any great damage, that you endeavoured to return it so roughly?" Tommy answered, "that he must own it did not do him any hurt, or give him any pain." "Why, then," said Mr Barlow, "I do not see the justice of your returning it in that manner." "But," said Tommy, "it is so provoking to be laughed at!" "There are two ways of remedying that," replied Mr Barlow, "either not doing such things as will expose you to ridicule, or by learning to bear it with a little more patience." "But," said Tommy, "I do not think that anybody can bear it with patience." "All the world," said Mr Barlow, "are not quite so passionate as you are. It is not long ago that you were speaking of the poor Greenlanders with great contempt, and fancying them much inferior to yourself; yet those poor barbarians, as you called them, that live upon fish, and are not brought up like gentlemen's sons, are capable of giving you a lesson that would be of the greatest service if you would but observe it." "What is that, sir?" inquired Tommy. "They are brought up to so much moderation and self-command," said Mr Barlow, "that they never give way to those sudden impulses of passion that are common among the Europeans; and when they observe their violent gestures, their angry words, their countenances inflamed with wrath, they feel for them the greatest contempt, and say they must have been very badly educated. As to themselves, if any person think himself ill-used by another, without putting himself into any passion upon the occasion, he defies his foe to meet him at a particular time, before all their mutual acquaintance."

Tommy.—But then I suppose they fight; and that is being as passionate as I was.

Mr Barlow.—I am sorry that you, who pretend to have been so well brought up, should have recourse to the example of the Greenlanders, in order to justify your own conduct; but in this case you are mistaken, for the barbarians are a great deal wiser than young gentlemen. The person who thinks himself injured does indeed challenge his antagonist, but it is to a very different sort of combat from what you imagine. Both parties appear at the appointed time, and each surrounded with a company of his particular friends. The place where they assemble is generally the middle of one of their large huts, that all the persons of their society may be impartial spectators of their contest. When they are thus convened, the champion, who by agreement is to begin, steps forward into the middle of the circle, and entertains them with a song or speech, which he has before meditated. In this performance he generally contrives to throw all the ridicule he is able upon his antagonist, and his satire is applauded by his own party, and excites universal merriment among the audience. When he has sung or declaimed himself out of breath, it is the turn of his rival to begin, who goes on in the same manner, answering all the satire that has been thrown upon him, and endeavouring to win the laughter over to his own side. In this manner do the combatants go on, alternately reciting their compositions against each other, till the memory or invention of one of them fails, and he is obliged to yield the victory to his rival. After this public spectacle of their ingenuity, the two champions generally forget all their animosities, and are cordially reconciled. "This," added Mr Barlow, "appears to me to be a much better method of answering ridicule, than by giving way to passion and resentment, and beating those that displease us; and one of these honest Greenlanders would be as much ashamed of such a sudden transport of anger as a Kamtschatkan traveller would be of managing his dogs as ill as you did yesterday."



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.

And now the time arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and spend some time with his parents. Mr Barlow had been long afraid of this visit, as he knew he would meet a great deal of company there, who would give him impressions of a very different nature from what he had with much assiduity been labouring to excite. However, the visit was unavoidable, and Mr Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father, that Mr Barlow, with much regret, took leave of both his pupils. Harry, from the experience he had formerly acquired of polite life, had no great inclination for the expedition; however, his temper was too easy and obliging to raise any objections, and the real affection he now entertained for Master Merton rendered him less averse than he would otherwise have been.

When they arrived at Mr Merton's, they were introduced into a crowded drawing-room, full of the most elegant company which that part of the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of different ages, who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays with Master Merton. As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his praise; "he was grown, he was improved, he was such a charming boy;" his eyes, his hair, his teeth, his every feature was the admiration of all the ladies. Thrice did he make the circle, in order to receive the congratulations of the company, and to be introduced to the young ladies.

As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by nobody except Mr Merton, who received him with great cordiality. A lady, however, who sat by Mrs Merton, asked her in a whisper, which was loud enough to be heard all over the room, whether that was the little ploughboy whom she had heard Mr Barlow was attempting to breed up like a gentleman. Mrs Merton answered it was. "I protest," said the lady, "I should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw in my life, with quite the air of fashion, to keep such company. Are you not afraid that Master Merton should insensibly contract bad habits, and a grovelling way of thinking? For my own part, as I think a good education is a thing of the utmost consequence in life, I have spared no pains to give my dear Matilda every possible advantage." "Indeed," replied Mrs Merton, "one may see the excellence of her education in everything Miss Matilda does. She plays most divinely upon the harpsichord, talks French even better than she does English, and draws in the style of a master. Indeed, I think that last figure of the naked Gladiator the finest thing I ever saw in my life!"

While this conversation was going on in one part of the room, a young lady, observing that nobody seemed to take the least notice of Harry, advanced towards him with the greatest affability, and began to enter into conversation with him. This young lady's name was Simmons. Her father and mother had been two of the most respectable people in the country, according to the old style of English gentry, but, he having died while she was young, the care of her had devolved upon an uncle, who was a man of sense and benevolence, but a very great humorist. This gentleman had such peculiar ideas of female character, that he waged war with most of the polite and modern accomplishments. As one of the first blessings of life, according to his notions, was health, he endeavoured to prevent that sickly delicacy, which is considered as so great an ornament in fashionable life by a more robust and hardy education. His niece was accustomed, from her earliest years, to plunge into the cold bath at every season of the year, to rise by candle-light in winter, to ride a dozen miles upon a trotting horse, or to walk as many, even with the hazard of being splashed, or soiling her clothes. By this mode of education Miss Sukey (for so she had the misfortune to be named) acquired an excellent character, accompanied, however, with some dispositions which disqualified her almost as much as Harry for fashionable life. She was acquainted with all the best authors in our language; nor was she ignorant of those in French, although she could not speak a word of the language. Her uncle, who was a man of sense and knowledge, had besides instructed her in several parts of knowledge which rarely fall to the lot of ladies, such as the established laws of nature, and a small degree of geometry. She was, besides, brought up to every species of household employment, which is now exploded by ladies of every rank and station as mean and vulgar, and taught to believe that domestic economy is a point of the utmost consequence to every woman who intends to be a wife or mother. As to music, though Miss Simmons had a very agreeable voice, and could sing several simple songs in a very pleasing manner, she was entirely ignorant of it. Her uncle used to say, that human life is not long enough to throw away so much time upon the science of making a noise. Nor would he permit her to learn French, although he understood it himself; women, he thought, are not birds of passage, that are to be eternally changing their place of abode. "I have never seen any good," would he say, "from the importation of foreign manners; every virtue may be learned and practised at home, and it is only because we do not choose to have either virtue or religion among us that so many adventurers are yearly sent out to smuggle foreign graces. As to various languages, I do not see the necessity of them for a woman. My niece is to marry an Englishman, and to live in England. To what purpose, then, should I labour to take off the difficulty of conversing with foreigners, and to promote her intercourse with barbers, valets, dancing-masters, and adventurers of every description, that are continually doing us the honour to come among us? As to the French nation, I know and esteem it on many accounts, but I am very doubtful whether the English will ever gain much by adopting either their manners or their government, and when respectable foreigners choose to visit us, I see no reason why they should not take the trouble of learning the language of the country."

Such had been the education of Miss Simmons, who was the only one of all the genteel company at Mr Merton's that thought Harry deserving the least attention. This young lady, who possessed an uncommon degree of natural benevolence of character, came up to him in such a manner as set him perfectly at his ease. Harry was destitute of the artificial graces of society, but he possessed that natural politeness and good nature, without which all artificial graces are the most disgusting things in the world. Harry had an understanding naturally strong; and Mr Barlow, while he had with the greatest care preserved him from all false impressions had taken great pains in cultivating the faculties of his mind. Harry, indeed, never said any of those brilliant things which render a boy the darling of the ladies; he had not that vivacity, or rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial people; but he paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For this reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and more improved, received great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought little Harry infinitely more agreeable and judicious than any of the smart young gentlemen she had hitherto seen at Mr Merton's.

But now the company was summoned to the important business of dinner. Harry could not help sighing when he reflected on what he had to undergo; however, he determined to bear it with all imaginable fortitude, for the sake of his friend Tommy. The dinner indeed was, if possible, more dreadful than anything he had before undergone—so many fine gentlemen and fine ladies; so many powdered servants to stand behind their chairs; such an apparatus of dishes which Harry had never tasted before, and which almost made him sick when he did taste; so many removes; such pomp and solemnity about what seemed the easiest thing in the world—that Harry could not help envying the condition of his father's labourers, who, when they are hungry, can sit at their ease under a hedge, and make a dinner without plates, table-cloths, or compliments!

In the mean time his friend Tommy was received amid the circle of the ladies, and attended to as a prodigy of wit and ingenuity. Harry could not help being surprised at this. His affection for his friend was totally unmixed with the meanness of jealousy, and he received the sincerest pleasure from every improvement which Tommy had made; however, he had never discovered in him any of those surprising talents; and, when he could catch anything that Tommy said, it appeared to him rather inferior to his usual method of conversation. However, as so many fine ladies were of a different opinion, he took it for granted that he must be mistaken.

But if Harry's opinion of his friend's abilities was not much improved by this exhibition, it was not so with Tommy. The repeated assurances which he received that he was indeed a little prodigy, began to convince him that he really was so. When he considered the company he came from, he found that infinite injustice had been done to his merit; for at Mr Barlow's he was frequently contradicted, and obliged to give a reason for what he said; but here, in order to be admired, he had nothing to do but to talk; whether he had any meaning or not, his auditors always found either wit or sense, or a most entertaining sprightliness in all he said. Nor was Mrs Merton herself deficient in bestowing marks of admiration upon her son. To see him before, improved in health, in understanding, in virtue, had given her a pleasurable sensation, for she was by no means destitute of good dispositions; but to see him shine with such transcendant brightness, before such excellent judges, and in so polite a company, inspired her with raptures she had never felt before. Indeed, in consequence of this success, the young gentleman's volubility improved so much that, before dinner was over, he seemed disposed to engross the whole conversation to himself; and Mr Merton, who did not quite relish the sallies of his son so much as his wife, was once or twice obliged to interpose and check him in his career. This Mrs Merton thought very hard; and all the ladies, after they had retired into the drawing-room, agreed, that his father would certainly spoil his temper by such improper contradiction.

As to little Harry, he had not the good fortune to please the greater number of the ladies. They observed that he was awkward and ungenteel, and had a heavy, clownish look; he was also silent and reserved, and had not said a single agreeable thing; if Mr Barlow chose to keep a school for carters and threshers, nobody would hinder him, but it was not proper to introduce such vulgar people to the sons of persons of fashion. It was therefore agreed that Mr Barlow ought either to send little Harry home to his friends, or to be no more honoured with the company of Master Merton. Indeed, one of the ladies hinted, that Mr Barlow himself was but "an odd kind of man, who never went to assemblies, and played upon no kind of instrument."

"Why," answered Mrs Merton, "to tell the truth, I was not over fond of the scheme. Mr Barlow, to be sure, though a very good, is a very odd kind of man. However, as he is so disinterested, and would never receive the least present from us, I doubt whether we could with propriety insist upon his turning little Sandford out of the house." "If that is the case, madam," answered Mrs Compton (for that was the name of the lady), "I think it would be infinitely better to remove Master Merton, and place him in some polite seminary, where he might acquire a knowledge of the world, and make genteel connections. This will always be the greatest advantage to a young gentleman, and will prove of the most essential service to him in life; for, though a person has all the merit in the world, without such acquaintance it will never push him forward, or enable him to make a figure. This is the plan which I have always pursued with Augustus and Matilda; I think I may say not entirely without success, for they have both the good fortune to have formed the most brilliant acquaintances. As to Augustus, he is so intimate with young Lord Squander, who you know is possessed of the greatest parliamentary interest, that I think that his fortune is as good as made."

Miss Simmons, who was present at this refined and wise conversation, could not help looking with so much significance at this mention of Lord Squander, that Mrs Compton coloured a little, and asked with some warmth, whether she knew anything of that young nobleman.

"Why, madam," answered the young lady, "what I know is very little; but if you desire me to inform you, it is my duty to speak the truth." "Oh, to be sure, miss," replied Mrs Compton, a little angrily, "we all know that your judgment and knowledge of the world are superior to what anybody else can boast; and therefore I shall be infinitely obliged to you for any information you may be pleased to give." "Indeed, madam," answered the young lady, "I have very little of either to boast, nor am I personally acquainted with the nobleman you are talking of; but I have a cousin, a very good boy, who is at the same public school with his lordship, and he has given me such a character of him as does not much prepossess me in his favour." "And what may this wise cousin of yours have said of his lordship?" "Only, madam, that he is one of the worst boys in the whole school; that he has neither genius nor application for anything that becomes his rank and situation; that he has no taste for anything but gaming, horse-racing, and the most contemptible amusements; that, though his allowance is large, he is continually running in debt with everybody that will trust him; and that he has broken his word so often that nobody has the least confidence in what he says. Added to this, I have heard that he is so haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing, that nobody can long preserve his friendship without the meanest flattery and subservience to all his vicious inclinations; and, to finish all, that he is of so ungrateful a temper, that he was never known to do an act of kindness to any one, or to care about anything but himself."

Here Miss Matilda could not help interposing with warmth. She said, "that his lordship had nothing in his character or manners that did not perfectly become a nobleman of the most elevated soul. Little grovelling minds, indeed, which are always envious of their superiors, might give a disagreeable turn to the generous openness of this young nobleman's temper. That, as to gaming and running in debt, they were so essential to a man of fashion, that nobody who was not born in the city, and oppressed by city prejudices, would think of making the least objection to them." She then made a panegyric upon his lordship's person, his elegant taste and dress, his new phaeton, his entertaining conversation, his extraordinary performance upon the violin; and concluded that, with such abilities and accomplishments, she did not doubt of one day seeing him at the head of the nation.

Miss Simmons had no desire of pushing the conversation any farther; and the rest of the company coming in to tea, the disquisition about Lord Squander finished.

After tea, several of the young ladies were desired to amuse the company with music and singing; among the rest Miss Simmons sang a little Scotch song, called Lochaber, in so artless, but sweet and pathetic a manner, that little Harry listened almost with tears in his eyes, though several of the young ladies, by their significant looks and gestures, treated it with ineffable contempt.

After this, Miss Matilda, who was allowed to be a perfect mistress of music, played and sang several celebrated Italian airs; but as these were in a language totally unintelligible to Harry, he received very little pleasure, though all the rest of the company were in raptures. She then proceeded to play several pieces of music, which were allowed by all connoisseurs to require infinite skill to execute. The audience seemed all delighted, and either felt or pretended to feel inexpressible pleasure; even Tommy himself, who did not know one note from another, had caught so much of the general enthusiasm, that he applauded as loud as the rest of the company. But Harry, whose temper was not quite so pliable, could not conceal the intolerable weariness that overpowered his senses during this long exhibition. He gaped, he yawned, he stretched, he even pinched himself, in order to keep his attention alive, but all in vain; the more Miss Matilda exercised her skill in playing pieces of the most difficult execution, the more did Harry's propensity to drowsiness increase. At length the lateness of the hour, which much exceeded Harry's time of going to bed, conspiring with the opiate charms of music, he could resist no longer, but insensibly fell back upon his chair fast asleep. This unfortunate accident was soon remarked by the rest of the company, and confirmed them very much in the opinion they had conceived of Harry's vulgarity; while he, in the meantime, enjoyed the most placid slumber, which was not dissipated till Miss Matilda had desisted from playing.

Thus was the first day passed at Mr Merton's, very little to the satisfaction of Harry; the next, and the next after, were only repetitions of the same scene. The little gentry, whose tastes and manners were totally different from his, had now imbibed a perfect contempt for Harry, and it was with great difficulty that they condescended to treat him even with common civility. In this laudable behaviour they were very much confirmed by Master Compton and Master Mash. Master Compton was reckoned a very genteel boy, though all his gentility consisted in a pair of buckles so big that they almost crippled him; in a slender emaciated figure, and a look of consummate impudence. He had almost finished his education at a public school, where he had learned every vice and folly which is commonly taught at such places, without the least improvement either of his character or his understanding. Master Mash was the son of a neighbouring gentleman, who had considerably impaired his fortune by an inordinate love of horse-racing. Having been from his infancy accustomed to no other conversation than about winning and losing money, he had acquired the idea that, to bet successfully, was the summit of all human ambition. He had been almost brought up in the stable, and therefore had imbibed the greatest interest about horses; not from any real affection for that noble animal, but merely because he considered them as engines for the winning of money. He too was now improving his talents by a public education, and longed impatiently for the time when he should be set free from all restraint, and allowed to display the superiority of his genius at Ascot and Newmarket.

These two young gentlemen had conceived the most violent dislike to Harry, and lost no occasion of saying or doing everything they had in their power to mortify him. To Tommy, they were in the contrary extreme, and omitted no opportunity of rendering themselves agreeable to him. Nor was it long before their forward vivacious manners, accompanied with a knowledge of many of those gay scenes, which acted forcibly upon Tommy's imagination, began to render their conversation highly agreeable. They talked to him about public diversions, about celebrated actresses, about parties of pleasure, and parties of mischief. Tommy began to feel himself introduced to a new train of ideas, and a wider range of conduct; he began to long for the time when he should share in the glories of robbing orchards, or insulting passengers with impunity; but when he heard that little boys, scarcely bigger than himself, had often joined in the glorious project of forming open rebellions against their masters, or of disturbing a whole audience at a playhouse, he panted for the time when he might have a chance of sharing in the fame of such achievements. By degrees he lost all regard for Mr Barlow, and all affection for his friend Harry. At first, indeed, he was shocked at hearing Mr Barlow mentioned with disrespect, but becoming by degrees more callous to every good impression he at last took infinite pleasure in seeing Master Mash (who, though destitute of either wit or genius, had a great taste for mimicry) take off the parson in the middle of his sermon.

Harry perceived and lamented this change in the manners of his friend; he sometimes took the liberty of remonstrating with him upon the subject, but was only answered with a contemptuous sneer; and Master Mash, who happened once to be present, told him that he was a monstrous bore.

It happened that, while Harry was at Mr Merton's, there was a troop of strolling players at a neighbouring town. In order to divert the young gentry, Mr Merton contrived that they should make a party to see a play. They went accordingly, and Harry with the rest. Tommy, who now no longer condescended to take any notice of his friend Harry, was seated between his two new acquaintances, who had become his inseparable companions. These young gentlemen first began to give specimens of their politeness by throwing nuts and orange-peel upon the stage; and Tommy, who was resolved to profit by such an excellent example, threw nuts and orange-peel with infinite satisfaction.

As soon as the curtain drew up, and the actors appeared, all the rest of the audience observed a decent silence; but Mash and Compton, who were now determined to prove the superiority of their manners, began to talk so loud, and make so much noise, that it was impossible for any one near them to hear a word of the play. This also seemed amazingly fine to Tommy; and he too talked and laughed as loud as the rest.

The subject of their conversation was, the audience and the performers; neither of whom these polite young gentlemen found bearable. The company was chiefly composed of the tradesmen of the town, and the inhabitants of the neighbouring country; this was a sufficient reason for these refined young gentlemen to speak of them with the most insufferable contempt. Every circumstance of their dress and appearance was criticised with such a minuteness of attention, that Harry, who sat near, and very much against his inclination was witness to all that passed, began to imagine that his companions, instead of being brought up like the sons of gentlemen, had only studied under barbers and tailors; such amazing knowledge did they display in the history of buckles, buttons, and dressing of hair. As to the poor performers, they found them totally undeserving of mercy; they were so shockingly awkward, so ill-dressed, so low-lived, and such detestable creatures, that it was impossible to bear them with any patience.

Master Mash, who prided himself upon being a young gentleman of great spirit, was of opinion that they should kick up a riot, and demolish all the scenery. Tommy, indeed, did not very well understand what the expression meant; but he was so intimately persuaded of the merit and genius of his companions, that he agreed that it would be the most proper thing in the world; and the proposal was accordingly made to the rest of the young gentlemen.

But Harry, who had been silent all the time, could not help remonstrating at what appeared to him the greatest injustice and cruelty. "These poor people," said he, "are doing all they can to entertain us; is it not very unkind to treat them in return with scorn and contempt? If they could act better, even as well as those fine people you talk of in London, would they not willingly do it? and therefore, why should we be angry with them for what they cannot help? And, as to cutting the scenes to pieces, or doing the house any damage, have we any more right to attempt it, than they would have to come into your father's dining-room, and break the dishes to pieces, because they did not like the dinner? While we are here, let us behave with good manners, and, if we do not like their acting, it is our own faults if ever we come to see them again."

This method of reasoning was not much relished by those to whom it was addressed; and it is uncertain how far they might have proceeded, had not a decent, plain-looking man, who had been long disturbed with the noise of these young gentry, at length taken the liberty of expostulating with them upon the subject. This freedom, or impertinence, as it was termed by Master Mash, was answered by him with so much rudeness, that the man, who was a neighbouring farmer, was obliged to reply in a higher strain. Thus did the altercation increase every minute, till Master Mash, who thought it an unpardonable affront that any one in an inferior station should presume to think or feel for himself, so far lost all command of his temper as to call the man a blackguard, and strike him upon the face. But the farmer, who possessed great strength, and equal resolution, very deliberately laid hold of the young gentleman who had offered him the insult, and, without the smallest exertion, laid him sprawling upon the ground, at his full length under the benches, and setting his feet upon his body, told him that, "since he did not know how to sit quiet at a play, he would have the honour of teaching him to lie; and that if he offered to stir, he would trample him to pieces;" a threat which was very evident he could find no difficulty in executing.

This unexpected incident struck a universal damp over the spirits of the little gentry; and even Master Mash himself so far forgot his dignity, as to supplicate in a very submissive manner for a release; in this he was joined by all his companions, and Harry among the rest.

"Well," said the farmer, "I should never have thought that a parcel of young gentlemen, as you call yourselves, would come into public to behave with so much rudeness; I am sure that there is ne'er a ploughboy at my house but what would have shown more sense and manners; but, since you are sorry for what has happened, I am very willing to make an end of the affair; more especially for the sake of this little master here, who has behaved with so much propriety, that I am sure he is a better gentleman than any of you, though he is not dressed so much like a monkey or a barber." With these words he suffered the crestfallen Mash to rise; who crept from his place of confinement, with looks infinitely more expressive of mildness than he had brought with him; nor was the lesson lost upon the others, for they behaved with the greatest decency during the rest of the exhibition.

However, Master Mash's courage began to rise as he went home, and found himself farther from his formidable farmer; for he assured his companions, "that, if he had not been so vulgar a fellow, he would certainly call him out and pistol him."

The next day at dinner Mr Merton and the ladies, who had not accompanied the young gentlemen to the play, nor had yet heard of the misfortune which had ensued, were very inquisitive about the preceding night's entertainment. The young people agreed that the performers were detestable, but that the play was a charming piece, full of wit and sentiment, and extremely improving. This play was called The Marriage of Figaro, and Master Compton had informed them that it was amazingly admired by all the people of fashion in London.

But Mr Merton, who had observed that Harry was totally silent, at length insisted upon knowing his opinion upon the subject, "Why, sir," answered Harry, "I am very little judge of these matters, for I never saw a play before in my life, and therefore I cannot tell whether it was acted well or ill; but as to the play itself, it seemed to me to be full of nothing but cheating and dissimulation; and the people that come in and out do nothing but impose upon each other, and lie, and trick, and deceive. Were you or any gentlemen to have such a parcel of servants, you would think them fit for nothing in the world; and therefore I could not help wondering, while the play was acting, that people would throw away so much of their time upon sights that can do them no good, and send their children and their relations to learn fraud and insincerity." Mr Merton smiled at the honest bluntness of Harry; but several of the ladies, who had just been expressing an extravagant admiration of this piece, seemed to be not a little mortified; however, as they could not contradict the charges which Harry had brought against it, they thought it most prudent to be silent.

In the evening it was proposed that all the little gentry should divert themselves with cards, and they accordingly sat down to a game which is called Commerce. But Harry, who was totally ignorant of this accomplishment, desired to be excused; however, his friend Miss Simmons offered to teach him the game, which, she assured him, was so easy, that in three minutes he would be able to play as well as the rest. Harry, however, still continued to refuse; and at last confessed to Miss Simmons, that he had expended all his money the day before, and therefore was unable to furnish the stake which the rest deposited. "Don't let that disturb you," said she; "I will put down for you with a great deal of pleasure." "Madam," answered Harry, "I am very much obliged to you, I am sure; but Mr Barlow has always forbidden me either to receive or borrow money of anybody, for fear, in the one case, I should become mercenary, or in the other, dishonest; and therefore, though there is nobody here whom I esteem more than yourself, I am obliged to refuse your offer." "Well," replied Miss Simmons, "that need not disturb you; for you shall play upon my account, and that you may do without any violation of your principles."

Thus was Harry, though with some reluctance, induced to sit down to cards with the rest. The game, indeed, he found no difficulty in learning; but he could not help remarking, with wonder, the extreme solicitude which appeared in the face of all the players at every change of fortune. Even the young ladies, all but Miss Simmons, seemed to be equally sensible of the passion of gaining money with the rest; and some of them behaved with a degree of asperity which quite astonished him. After several changes of fortune, it happened that Miss Simmons and Harry were the only remaining players; all the rest, by the laws of the game, had forfeited all pretensions to the stake, the property of which was clearly vested in these two, and one more deal was wanting to decide it. But Harry, with great politeness, rose from the table, and told Miss Simmons, that, as he only played upon her account, he was no longer wanted, and that the whole undoubtedly belonged to her. Miss Simmons refused to take it; and when she found that Harry was not to be induced to play any more, she at last proposed to him to divide what was left. This also Harry declined, alleging that he had not the least title to any part. But Miss Simmons, who began to be uneasy at the remarks which this extraordinary contest occasioned, told Harry that he would oblige her by taking his share of the money, and laying it out in any manner for her that he judged best. "On this condition," answered Harry, "I will take it; and I think I know a method of laying it out, which you will not entirely disapprove."

The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Harry disappeared; nor was he come back when the company were assembled at dinner. At length he came in, with a glow of health and exercise upon his face, and that disorder of dress which is produced by a long journey. The young ladies eyed him with great contempt, which seemed a little to disconcert him; but Mr Merton speaking to him with great good-humour, and making room for him to sit down, Harry soon recovered from his confusion.

In the evening, after a long conversation among the young people, about public diversions and plays, and actors, and dancers, they happened to mention the name of a celebrated performer, who at this time engaged the whole attention of the town. Master Compton, after expatiating with great enthusiasm upon the subject, added, "that nothing was so fashionable as to make great presents to this person, in order to show the taste and elegance of the giver." He then proposed that, as so many young gentlemen and ladies were here assembled, they should set an example, which would do them infinite honour, and probably be followed throughout the kingdom, of making a little collection among themselves to buy a piece of plate, or a gold snuff-box, or some other trifle, to be presented in their name. He added, "that though he could ill-spare the money (having just laid out six guineas upon a new pair of buckles), he would contribute a guinea to so excellent a purpose, and that Masters Mash and Merton would do the same."

This proposal was universally approved of by all the company, and all but Harry promised to contribute in proportion to their finances. This Master Mash observing, said, "Well, farmer, and what will you subscribe?" Harry answered, "that on this occasion he must beg to be excused, for he had nothing to give." "Here is a pretty fellow!" answered Mash; "last night we saw him pocket thirty shillings of our money, which he cheated us out of at Commerce, and now the little stingy wretch will not contribute half-a-crown, while we are giving away whole guineas." Upon this Miss Matilda said, in an ironical manner, "that Master Harry had always an excellent reason to give for his conduct; and she did not doubt but he could prove to the satisfaction of them all, that it was more liberal to keep his money in his pocket than to give it away."

Harry, who was a little nettled at these reflections, answered, "that though he was not bound to give any reason, he thought he had a very good one to give; and that was, that he saw no generosity in thus bestowing money. According to your own account," added he, "the person you have been talking of gains more than fifty poor families in the country have to maintain themselves; and therefore, if I had any money to give away, I should certainly give it to those that want it most."

With these words Harry went out of the room, and the rest of the gentry, after abusing him very liberally, sat down to cards. But Miss Simmons, who imagined that there was more in Harry's conduct than he had explained, excused herself from cards, and took an opportunity of talking to him upon the subject. After speaking to him with great good-nature, she asked him, whether it might not have been better to have contributed something along with the rest, than to have offended them by so free an exposition of his sentiments, even though he did not approve of the scheme. "Indeed, madam," said Harry, "this is what I would gladly have done, but it was totally out of my power." "How can that be, Harry? did you not the other night win nearly thirty shillings?" "That, madam, all belonged to you; and I have already disposed of it in your name, in a manner that I hope you will not disapprove." "How is that?" inquired the young lady with some surprise. "Madam," said Harry, "there was a young woman who lived with my father as a servant, and always behaved with the greatest honesty and carefulness. This young woman had an aged father and mother, who for a great while were able to maintain themselves by their labour; but at last the poor old man became too weak to do a day's work, and his wife was afflicted with a disease they call the palsy. Now, when this good young woman saw that her parents were in such great distress, she left her place and went to live with them, on purpose to take care of them; and she works very hard, whenever she can get work, and fares very hard in order to maintain her parents; and though we assist them all we can, I know that sometimes they can hardly get food and clothes; therefore, madam, as you were so kind to say I should dispose of this money for you, I ran over this morning to these poor people, and gave them all the money in your name, and I hope you will not be displeased at the use I have put it to." "Indeed," answered the young lady, "I am much obliged to you for the good opinion you have of me, and the application of it does me a great deal of honour; I am only sorry you did not give it in your own name." "That," replied Harry, "I had not any right to do; it would have been attributing to myself what did not belong to me, and equally inconsistent with truth and honesty."

In this manner did the time pass away at Mr Merton's; while Harry received very little satisfaction from his visit, except in conversing with Miss Simmons. The affability and good sense of this young lady had entirely gained his confidence; while all the other young ladies were continually intent upon displaying their talents and importance, she alone was simple and unaffected. But what disgusted Harry more than ever was, that his refined companions seemed to consider themselves, and a few of their acquaintance, as the only beings of any consequence in the world. The most trifling inconvenience, the being a little too hot, a little too cold, the walking a few hundred yards, the waiting a few minutes for their dinner, the having a trifling cold, or a little headache, were misfortunes so feelingly lamented, that he would have imagined they were the most tender of the human species, had he not observed that they considered the sufferings of all below them with a profound indifference. If the misfortunes of the poor were mentioned, he heard of nothing but the insolence and ingratitude of that class of people, which seemed to be a sufficient excuse for the want of common humanity. "Surely," said Harry to himself, "there cannot be so much difference between one human being and another; or if there is, I should think that part of them the most valuable who cultivate the ground, and provide necessaries for all the rest; not those who understand nothing but dress, walking with their toes out, staring modest people out of countenance, and jabbering a few words of a foreign language."

But now the attention of all the younger part of the company was fixed upon making preparations for a ball, which Mrs Merton had determined to give in honour of Master Tommy's return. The whole house was now full of milliners, mantua-makers, and dancing-masters; and all the young ladies were employed in giving directions about their clothes, or in practising the steps of different dances. Harry now, for the first time, began to comprehend the infinite importance of dress—even the elderly ladies seemed to be as much interested about the affair as their daughters; and, instead of the lessons of conduct and wisdom which he expected to hear, nothing seemed to employ their attention a moment but French trimmings, gauzes, and Italian flowers. Miss Simmons alone appeared to consider the approaching solemnity with perfect indifference. Harry had never heard a single word drop from her that expressed either interest or impatience; but he had for some days observed her employed in her room with more than common assiduity. At length, on the very day that was destined for this important exhibition, she came to him with a benevolent smile, and spoke to him thus: "I was so much pleased with the account you gave me the other day of that poor young woman's duty and affection towards her parents, that I have for some time employed myself in preparing for them a little present, which I shall be obliged to you, Master Harry, to convey to them. I have, unfortunately, never learned either to embroider or to paint artificial flowers, but my good uncle has taught me that the best employment I can make of my hands is to assist those who cannot assist themselves." Saying this, she put into his hands a parcel that contained some linen and other necessaries for the poor old people, and bade him tell them not to forget to call upon her uncle when she was returned home, as he was always happy to assist the deserving and industrious poor. Harry received her present with gratitude, and almost with tears of joy; and, looking up in her face, imagined that he saw the features of one of those angels which he had read of in the Scriptures; so much does real disinterested benevolence improve the expression of the human countenance.

But all the rest of the young gentry were employed in cares of a very different nature—the dressing their hair and adorning their persons. Tommy himself had now completely resumed his natural character, and thrown aside all that he had learned during his residence with Mr Barlow; he had contracted an infinite fondness for all those scenes of dissipation which his new friends daily described to him, and began to be convinced that one of the most important things in life is a fashionable dress. In this most rational sentiment he had been confirmed by almost all the ladies with whom he had conversed since his return home. The distinctions of character, relative to virtue and understanding, which had been with so much pains inculcated upon his mind, seemed here to be entirely unheeded. No one took the trouble of examining the real principles or motives from which any human being acted, while the most minute attention was continually given to what regarded merely the outside. He observed that the omission of every duty towards our fellow-creatures was not only excused, but even to a certain degree admired, provided it was joined with a certain fashionable appearance; while the most perfect probity or integrity was mentioned with coldness or disgust, and frequently with open ridicule if unconnected with a brilliant appearance. As to all the common virtues of life—such as industry, economy, a punctuality in discharging our obligations or keeping our word—these were qualities which were treated as fit for none but the vulgar. Mr Barlow, he found, had been utterly mistaken in all the principles which he had ever inculcated. "The human species," Mr Barlow used to say, "can only be supplied with food and necessaries by a constant assiduity in cultivating the earth and providing for their mutual wants. It is by labour that everything is produced; without labour, these fertile fields, which are now adorned with all the luxuriance of plenty, would be converted into barren heaths, or impenetrable thickets; these meadows, now the support of a thousand herds of cattle, would be covered with stagnated waters, that would not only render them uninhabitable by beasts, but corrupt the air with pestilential vapours; and even these innumerable flocks of sheep that feed along the hills, would disappear immediately on the cessation of that cultivation, which can alone support them, and secure their existence."

But, however true might be these principles, they were so totally inconsistent with the conduct and opinion of Tommy's new friends, that it was not possible for him long to remember their force. He had been nearly a month with a few young ladies and gentlemen of his own rank, and instead of their being brought up to produce anything useful, he found that the great object of all their knowledge and education was only to waste, to consume, to destroy, to dissipate what was produced by others; he even found that this inability to assist either themselves or others seemed to be a merit upon which every one valued himself extremely; so that an individual, who could not exist without having two attendants to wait upon him, was superior to him that had only one, but was obliged in turn to yield to another who required four. And, indeed, this new system seemed much more easy than the old one; for, instead of giving himself any trouble about his manners or understanding, he might with safety indulge all his caprices, give way to all his passions, be humoursome, haughty, unjust, and selfish to the extreme. He might be ungrateful to his friends, disobedient to his parents, a glutton, an ignorant blockhead, in short, everything which to plain sense appears most frivolous or contemptible, without incurring the least imputation, provided his hair hung fashionably about his ears, his buckles were sufficiently large, and his politeness to the ladies unimpeached.

Once, indeed, Harry had thrown him into a disagreeable train of thinking, by asking him, with great simplicity, what sort of a figure these young gentlemen would have made in the army of Leonidas, or these young ladies upon a desert island, where they would be obliged to shift for themselves. But Tommy had lately learned that nothing spoils the face more than intense reflection; and therefore, as he could not easily resolve the question, he wisely determined to forget it.

And now the important evening of the ball approached; the largest room in the house was lighted up for the dancers, and all the little company assembled. Tommy was that day dressed in an unusual style of elegance, and had submitted, without murmuring, to be under the hands of a hair-dresser for two hours! But what gave him the greatest satisfaction of all, was an immense pair of new buckles which Mrs Merton had sent for on purpose to grace the person of her son.

Several minuets were first danced, to the great admiration of the company; and, among the rest, Tommy, who had been practising ever since he had been at home, had the honour of exhibiting with Miss Matilda. He indeed began with a certain degree of diffidence, but was soon inspired with a proper degree of confidence by the applauses which resounded on every side. "What an elegant little creature!" cried one lady. "What a shape is there!" said a second; "I protest he puts me in mind of Vestris himself." "Indeed," said a third, "Mrs Merton is a most happy mother to be possessed of such a son, who wants nothing but an introduction to the world, to be one of the most elegant creatures in England, and the most accomplished."

As soon as Tommy had finished his dance, he led his partner to a seat with a grace that surprised all the company anew, and then, with the sweetest condescension imaginable, he went from one lady to another, to receive the praises which they liberally poured out, as if it was the greatest action in the world to draw one foot behind another, and to walk on tiptoe.

Harry, in the mean time, had shrouded himself in the most obscure part of the room, and was silently gazing upon the scene that passed. He knew that his company would give no pleasure among the elegant figures that engrossed the foremost seats, and felt not the least inclination for such an honour. In this situation he was observed by Master Compton, who, at the same instant, formed a scheme of mortifying Miss Simmons, whom he did not like, and of exposing Harry to the general ridicule. He therefore proposed it to Mash, who had partly officiated as master of the ceremonies, and who, with all the readiness of officious malice, agreed to assist him; Master Mash therefore, went up to Miss Simmons, and, with all the solemnity of respect, invited her out to dance, which she, although indifferent about the matter, accepted without hesitation. In the meantime, Master Compton went up to Harry with the same hypocritical civility, and in Miss Simmons' name invited him to dance a minuet. It was in vain that Harry assured him he knew nothing about the matter; his perfidious friend told him that it was an indispensable duty for him to stand up; that Miss Simmons would never forgive him if he should refuse; that it would be sufficient if he could just describe the figure, without embarrassing himself about the steps. In the mean time, he pointed out Miss Simmons, who was advancing towards the upper end of the room, and, taking advantage of his confusion and embarrassment, led him forward, and placed him by the young lady's side. Harry was not yet acquainted with the sublime science of imposing upon unwary simplicity, and therefore never doubted that the message had come from his friend; and as nothing could be more repugnant to his character than the want of compliance, he thought it necessary at least to go and expostulate with her upon the subject. This was his intention when he suffered himself to be led up the room; but his tormentors did not give him time, for they placed him by the side of the young lady, and instantly called to the music to begin. Miss Simmons, in her turn, was equally surprised at the partner which was provided for her; she had never imagined minuet dancing to be one of Harry's accomplishments, and therefore instantly suspected that it was a concerted scheme to mortify her. However, in this she was determined they should be disappointed, as she was destitute of all pride, and had the sincerest regard for Harry. As soon, therefore, as the music struck up, the young lady began her reverence, which Harry, who found he was now completely caught, and had no time for explanation, imitated as well as he was able, but in such a manner as set the whole room in a titter. Harry, however, arming himself with all the fortitude he possessed, performed his part as well as could be expected from a person that had never learned a single step of dancing. By keeping his eye fixed upon his partner, he made a shift at least to preserve something of the figure, although he was terribly deficient in the steps and graces of the dance. But his partner, who was scarcely less embarrassed than himself, and wished to shorten the exhibition, after crossing once, presented him with her hand. Harry had unfortunately not remarked the nature of this manoeuvre with perfect accuracy, and therefore, imagining that one hand was just as good as the other, he offered the young lady his left instead of his right hand. At this incident a universal peal of merriment, which they no longer laboured to conceal, burst from almost all the company, and Miss Simmons, wishing at any rate to close the scene, presented her partner with both her hands, and abruptly finished the dance. The unfortunate couple then retreated to the lower end of the room, amidst the jests and sneers of their companions, particularly Mash and Compton, who assumed unusual importance upon the credit of such a brilliant invention.

When they were seated, Miss Simmons could not help asking Harry, with some displeasure, why he had thus exposed himself and her, by attempting what he was totally ignorant of, and added, "that, though there was no disgrace in not being able to dance, it was very great folly to attempt it without having learned a single step." "Indeed, madam," answered Harry, "I never should have thought of trying to do what I knew I was totally ignorant of; but Master Compton came to me, and told me that you particularly desired me to dance with you, and led me to the other end of the room; and I only came to speak to you, and to inform you that I knew nothing about the matter, for fear you should think me uncivil; and then the music began to play, and you to dance, so that I had no opportunity of speaking; and I thought it better to do the best I could than to stand still, or leave you there." Miss Simmons instantly recovered her former good-humour, and said, "Well, Harry, we are not the first, nor shall be the last by hundreds, who have made a ridiculous figure in a ball-room, without so good an excuse. But I am sorry to see so malicious a disposition in these young gentlemen, and that all their knowledge of polite life has not taught them a little better manners."

"Why madam," answered Harry, "since you are so good as to talk to me upon the subject, I must confess that I have been very much surprised at many things I have seen at Mr Merton's. All these young gentlemen and ladies are continually talking about genteel life and manners, and yet they are frequently doing things which surprise me. Mr Barlow has always told me that politeness consisted in a disposition to oblige everybody around us, and to say or do nothing which can give them disagreeable impressions. Yet I continually see these young gentlemen striving to do and say things, for no other reason than to give pain; for, not to go any farther than the present instance, what motive can Masters Compton and Mash have had but to mortify you by giving you such a partner? you, madam, too, who are so kind and good to everybody, that I should think it impossible not to love you."

"Harry," answered the young lady, "what you say about politeness is perfectly just. I have heard my uncle and many sensible people say the same; but, in order to acquire this species of it, both goodness of heart and a just way of thinking are required; and therefore many people content themselves with aping what they can pick up in the dress, or gestures, or cant expressions of the higher classes; just like the poor ass, which, dressed in the skin of a lion, was taken for the lion himself, till his unfortunate braying exposed the cheat." "Pray, madam, what is that story?" said Harry.

"It is a trifling one that I have read," answered Miss Simmons, "of somebody who, having procured a lion's skin, fastened it round the body of an ass, and then turned him loose, to the great affright of the neighbourhood. Those who saw him first, imagined that a monstrous lion had invaded the country, and fled with precipitation. Even the very cattle caught the panic and were scattered by hundreds over the plains. In the meantime the victorious ass pranced and capered along the fields, and diverted himself with running after the fugitives. But at length, in the gaiety of his heart, he broke into such a discordant braying, as surprised those that were nearest, and expected to hear a very different noise from under the terrible skin. At length a resolute fellow ventured by degrees nearer to this object of their terror, and discovering the cheat that had been practised upon them, divested the poor ass of all his borrowed spoils, and drove him away with his cudgel."