Here the Highlander finished his story, and all the company were affected by the recital of his distresses. They all endeavoured to comfort him with the kindest expressions and promises of assistance; but Miss Simmons, after she had with some difficulty composed herself enough to speak, asked the man if his name was not Andrew Campbell? The Highlander answered, with some surprise, it was. "Then," said she, "you will find that you have a friend, whom, as yet, you are not acquainted with, who has both the ability and the will to serve you. That friend," added she, seeing all the company astonished, "is no other than my uncle. That Colonel Simmons, whom you have described with so much feeling and affection, was brother to my father, and consequently uncle to myself. It is no wonder that the memory of such a man should be venerated by his relations. I have often heard my uncle speak of his untimely death as the greatest misfortune which ever happened to our family; and I have often seen him read, with tears in his eyes, many of his brother's letters, in which he speaks with the greatest affection of his faithful Highlander, Andrew Campbell."

At these words the poor Highlander, unable to repress the strong emotions of his mind, sprang forward in a sudden transport of joy, and, without consideration of circumstances, caught Miss Simmons in his arms, exclaiming at the same time, "Praised be to God for this happy and unexpected meeting! Blessed be my shipwreck itself, that has given me an opportunity of seeing, before I die, some of the blood of my dear and worthy colonel!" and, perceiving Miss Simmons confused at this abrupt and unexpected salutation, he added, in the most respectful manner, "Pardon me, my honoured young lady, for the improper liberty I have taken; but I was not master of myself to find, at a time when I thought myself the most forlorn and miserable of the human race, that I was in company with the nearest relation of the man, whom, after my own father, I have always loved and reverenced most." Miss Simmons answered with the greatest affability that she freely excused the warmth of his affection, and that she would that very day acquaint her uncle with this extraordinary event, who, she did not doubt, would come over with the greatest expedition to see a person whom he knew so well by name, and who could inform him of so many particulars of her uncle.

And now, the company being separated, Tommy, who had listened with silent attention to the story of the Highlander, took an opportunity of following Mr Barlow, who was walking out; and when he perceived they were alone, he looked at him as if he had some weighty matter to disclose, but was unable to give it utterance. Mr Barlow, therefore, turned towards him with the greatest kindness, and taking him tenderly by the hand, inquired what he wished. "Indeed," answered Tommy, almost crying, "I am scarcely able to tell you. But I have been a very bad and ungrateful boy, and I am afraid you no longer have the same affection for me."

Mr Barlow.—If you are sensible of your faults, my little friend, that is a very great step towards amending them. Let me therefore know what it is, the recollection of which distresses you so much; and if it is in my power to assist in making you easy, there is nothing, I am sure, which I shall be inclined to refuse you.

Tommy.—Oh sir! your speaking to me with so much goodness hurts me a great deal more than if you were to be very angry; for when people are angry and passionate, one does not so much mind what they say; but when you speak with so much kindness, it seems to pierce me to the very heart, because I know I have not deserved it.

Mr Barlow.—But if you are sensible of having committed any faults, you may resolve to behave so well for the future that you may deserve everybody's friendship and esteem; few people are so perfect as not to err sometimes, and if you are convinced of your errors, you will be more cautious how you give way to them a second time.

Tommy.—Indeed, sir, I am very happy to hear you say so. I will, then, tell you everything which lies so heavy upon my mind. You must know then, sir, that although I have lived so long with you, and during all that time you have taken so much pains to improve me in everything, and teach me to act well to everybody, I had no sooner quitted your sight than I became, I think, a worse boy than ever I was before.

Mr Barlow.—But why do you judge so severely of yourself as to think you were become worse than ever. Perhaps you have been a little thoughtless and giddy; and these are faults which I cannot with truth say you were ever free from.

Tommy.—No, sir; what I have been guilty of is infinitely worse than ever. I have always been very giddy and very thoughtless, but I never imagined I could have been the most insolent and ungrateful boy in the world.

Mr Barlow.—You frighten me, my little friend. Is it possible you can have committed actions that deserve so harsh a name?

Tommy.—You shall judge yourself, sir, for, now I have begun, I am determined to tell you all. You know, sir, that when I first came to you, I had a high opinion of myself for being born a gentleman, and a very great contempt for everybody in an inferior station.

Mr Barlow.—I must confess you have always had some tendency to both these follies.

Tommy.—Yes, sir; but you have so often laughed at me upon the subject, and shown me the folly of people's imagining themselves better than others, without any merit of their own, that I was grown a little wiser. Besides, I have so often observed, that those I despised could do a variety of things which I was ignorant of, while those who are vain of being gentlemen can do nothing useful or ingenious; so that I had begun to be ashamed of my folly. But since I came home I have kept company with a great many fine young gentlemen and ladies, who thought themselves superior to all the rest of the world, and used to despise every one else; and they have made me forget everything I learned before.

Mr Barlow.—Perhaps, then, I was mistaken when I taught you that the greatest merit any person could have is to be good and useful. These fine young gentlemen and ladies may be wiser, and have given you better lessons; if that is the case, you will have great reason to rejoice that you have changed so much for the better.

Tommy.—No, sir, no; I never thought them either good or wise, for they know nothing but how to dress their hair and buckle their shoes; but they persuaded me that it was necessary to be polite, and talked to me so often upon the subject, that I could not help believing them.

Mr Barlow.—I am glad to hear that; it is necessary for everybody to be polite; they therefore, I suppose, instructed you to be more obliging and civil in your manners than ever you were before. Instead of doing you any hurt, this will be the greatest improvement you can receive.

Tommy.—No, sir, quite the contrary. Instead of teaching me to be civil and obliging, they have made me ruder and worse behaved than ever I was before.

Mr Barlow.—If that is the case, I fear these fine young gentlemen and ladies undertook to teach you more than they understood themselves.

Tommy.—Indeed, sir, I am of the same opinion myself. But I did not think so then, and therefore I did whatever I observed them do, and talked in the same manner as I heard them talk. They used to be always laughing at Harry Sandford, and I grew so foolish that I did not choose to keep company with him any longer.

Mr Barlow.—That was a pity, because I am convinced he really loves you. However, it is of no great consequence, for he has employment enough at home; and however ingenious you may be, I do not think that he will learn how to manage his land, or raise food, from your conversation. It will therefore be better for him to converse with farmers, and leave you to the society of gentlemen. Indeed, this I know has always been his taste; and had not your father pressed him very much to accompany you home, he would have liked much better to have avoided the visit. However, I will inform him that you have gained other friends, and advise him for the future to avoid your company.

Tommy.—Oh, sir! I did not think you could be so cruel. I love Harry Sandford better than any other boy in the world; and I shall never be happy till he forgives me all my bad behaviour, and converses with me again as he used to do.

Mr Barlow.—But then, perhaps, you may lose the acquaintance of all those polite young gentlemen and ladies.

Tommy.—I care very little about that, sir. But I fear I have behaved so ill that he never will be able to forgive me, and love me as he did formerly.

Tommy then went on, and repeated with great exactness the story of his insolence and ingratitude, which had so great an effect upon him, that he burst into tears, and cried a considerable time. He then concluded with asking Mr Barlow if he thought Harry would be ever able to forgive him?

Mr Barlow.—I cannot conceal from you, my little friend, that you have acted very ill indeed in this affair. However, if you are really ashamed of all your past conduct, and determined to act better, I do not doubt that so generous and good-natured a boy as Harry is, will forgive you all.

Tommy.—Oh, sir! I should be the happiest creature in the world. Will you be so kind as to bring him here to day? and you shall see how I will behave.

Mr Barlow.—Softly, Tommy, softly. What is Harry to come here for? Have you not insulted and abused him without reason; and at last proceeded so far as to strike him, only because he was giving you the best advice, and endeavouring to preserve you from danger? Can you imagine that any human being will come to you in return for such treatment, at least till you have convinced him that you are ashamed of your passion and injustice, and that he may expect better usage for the future?

Tommy.—What, then, must I do, sir?

Mr Barlow.—If you want any future connection with Harry Sandford, it is your business to go to him and tell him so.

Tommy.—What, sir! go to a farmer's, to expose myself before all his family?

Mr Barlow.—Just now you told me you were ready to do everything, and yet you cannot take the trouble of visiting your friend at his own house. You then imagine that a person does not expose himself by acting wrong, but by acknowledging and amending his faults?

Tommy.—But what would everybody say if a young gentleman like me was to go and beg pardon of a farmer's son?

Mr Barlow.—They would probably say that you have more sense and gratitude than they expected. However, you are to act as you please. With the sentiments you still seem to entertain, Harry will certainly be a very unfit companion, and you will do much better to cultivate the new acquaintance you have made.

Mr Barlow was then going away, but Tommy burst again into tears, and begged him not to go; upon which Mr Barlow said, "I do not want to leave you, Tommy, but our conversation is now at an end. You have asked my advice, which I have given you freely. I have told you how you ought to act, if you would preserve the esteem of any good or sensible friend, or prevail upon Harry to excuse your past behaviour. But as you do not approve of what I suggested, you must follow your own opinion."

"Pray sir, pray sir," said Tommy, sobbing, "do not go. I have used Harry Sandford in the most barbarous manner; my father is angry with me, and, if you desert me, I shall have no friend left in the world."

Mr Barlow.—That will be your own fault, and therefore you will not deserve to be pitied. Is it not in your own power to preserve all your friends by an honest confession of your faults? Your father will be pleased, Harry Sandford will heartily forgive you, and I shall retain the same good opinion of your character which I have long had.

Tommy.—And is it really possible, sir, that you should have a good opinion of me after all I have told you about myself?

Mr Barlow.—I have always thought you a little vain and careless, I confess, but at the same time I imagined you had both good sense and generosity in your character; I depended upon first to make you see your faults, and upon the second to correct them.

Tommy.—Dear sir, I am very much obliged to you; but you have always been extremely kind and friendly to me.

Mr Barlow.—And therefore I told your father yesterday, who is very much hurt at your quarrel with Harry, that though a sudden passion might have transported you too far, yet, when you came to consider the matter coolly, you would perceive your faults and acknowledge them; were you not to behave in this manner, I owned I could say nothing in your favour. And I was very much confirmed in this opinion, when I saw the courage you exerted in the rescue of Harry's lamb, and the compassion you felt for the poor Highlander. "A boy," said I, "who has so many excellent dispositions, can never persist in bad behaviour. He may do wrong by accident, but he will be ashamed of his errors, and endeavour to repair them by a frank and generous acknowledgment. This has always been the conduct of really great and elevated minds, while mean and grovelling ones alone imagine that it is necessary to persist in faults they have once committed."

Tommy.—Oh, sir! I will go directly and entreat Harry to forgive me; I am convinced that all you say is right. But will you not go with me? Do pray, sir, be so good.

Mr Barlow.—Gently, gently, my young friend, you are always for doing everything in an instant. I am very glad you have taken a resolution which will do you so much credit, and give so much satisfaction to your own mind; but, before you execute it, I think it will be necessary to speak to your father and mother upon the subject; and, in the mean time, I will go and pay a visit to farmer Sandford, and bring you an account of Harry.

Tommy.—Do, sir, be so good; and tell Harry, if you please, that there is nothing I desire so much as to see him, and that nothing shall ever make me behave ill again. I have heard too, sir, that there was a poor Black came begging to us, who saved Harry from the bull; if I could but find him out, I would be good to him as long as I live.

Mr Barlow commended Tommy very much for dispositions so full of gratitude and goodness; and, taking leave of him, went to communicate the conversation he had just had to Mr Merton. That gentleman felt the sincerest pleasure at the account, and entreated Mr Barlow to go directly to prepare Harry to receive his son. "That little boy," observed he, "has the noblest mind that ever adorned a human being; nor shall I ever be happy till I see my son acknowledging all his faults, and entreating forgiveness; for, with the virtues that I have discovered in his soul, he appears to me a more eligible friend and companion than noblemen or princes."

Mr Barlow therefore set out on foot, though Mr Merton would have sent his carriage and servants to attend him, and soon arrived at Mr Sandford's farm. It was a pleasant spot, situated upon the gentle declivity of a hill, at the foot of which winded along a swift and clear little stream. The house itself was small, but warm and convenient, furnished with the greatest simplicity, but managed with perfect neatness. As Mr Barlow approached, he saw the owner himself guiding a plough through one of his own fields, and Harry, who had now resumed the farmer, directed the horses. But when he saw Mr Barlow coming across the field, he stopped his team, and, letting fall his whip, sprang forward to meet him with all the unaffected eagerness of joy. As soon as Harry had saluted Mr Barlow, and inquired after his health, he asked with the greatest kindness after Tommy; "for I fancy, sir," said he, "by the way which I see you come, you have been at Mr Merton's house." "Indeed I have," replied Mr Barlow, "but I am very sorry to find that Tommy and you are not upon as good terms as you formerly were."

Harry.—Indeed, sir, I am very sorry for it myself. But I do not know that I have given Master Merton any reason to change his sentiments about me; and though I do not think he has treated me as well as he ought to do, I have the greatest desire to hear that he is well.

Mr Barlow.—That you might have known yourself had you not left Mr Merton's house so suddenly, without taking leave of any one, even your friend Mr Merton, who has always treated you with so much kindness.

Harry.—Indeed, sir, I should be very unhappy if you think I have done wrong; but be so good as to tell me how I could have acted otherwise. I am very sorry to appear to accuse Master Merton, neither do I bear any resentment against him for what he has done; but since you speak to me upon the subject, I shall be obliged to tell the truth.

Mr Barlow.—Well, Harry, let me hear it; you know I shall be the last person to condemn you, if you do not deserve it.

Harry.—I know your constant kindness to me, sir, and I always confide in it; however, I am not sensible that I am in fault. You know, sir, that it was with unwillingness I went to Mr Merton's, for I thought there would be fine gentlemen and ladies there, who would ridicule my dress and manners; and, though Master Merton has been always very friendly in his behaviour towards me, I could not help thinking that he might grow ashamed of my company at his own house.

Mr Barlow.—Do you wonder at that, Harry, considering the difference there is in your rank and fortune?

Harry.—No, sir, I cannot say I do, for I generally observe that those who are rich will scarcely treat the poor with common civility. But, in this particular case, I did not see any reason for it; I never desired Master Merton to admit me to his company, or invite me to his house, because I knew that I was born, and in a very inferior station. You were so good as to take me to your house, and if I was then much in his company, it was because he seemed to desire it himself, and I always endeavoured to treat him with the greatest respect.

Mr Barlow.—That is indeed true, Harry; in all your little plays and studies I have never observed anything but the greatest mildness and good nature on your part.

Harry.—I hope, sir, it has never been otherwise. But though I had the greatest affection for Master Merton, I never desired to go home with him. What sort of a figure could a poor boy like me make at a gentleman's table, among little masters and misses that powder their hair, and wear buckles as big as our horses carry upon their harness? If I attempted to speak, I was always laughed at; or if I did anything, I was sure to hear something about clowns and rustics! And yet, I think, though they were all gentlemen and ladies, you would not much have approved of their conversation, for it was about nothing but plays, and dress, and trifles of that nature. I never heard one of them mention a single word about saying their prayers, or being dutiful to their parents, or doing any good to the poor.

Mr Barlow.—Well, Harry, but if you did not like their conversation, you surely might have borne it with patience for a little while: and then I heard something about your being quarrelsome.

Harry.—Oh, sir! I hope not. I was, to be sure, once a little passionate, but that I could not help, and I hope you will forgive me. There was a modest, sensible young lady, who was the only person that treated me with any kindness, and a bold, forward, ill-natured boy affronted her in the grossest manner, only because she took notice of me. Could I help taking her part? Have you not told me, too, sir, that every person, though he should avoid quarrels, has a right to defend himself when he is attacked?

Mr Barlow.—Well, Harry, I do not much blame you, from the circumstances I have heard of that affair; but why did you leave Mr Merton's family so abruptly, without speaking to anybody, or thanking Mr Merton himself for the civilities he had shown you? Was that right?

Harry.—Oh dear, sir, I have cried about it several times, for I think it must appear very rude and ungrateful to Mr Merton. But as to Master Tommy, I did not leave him while I thought I could be of any use. He treated me, I must say, in a very unworthy manner; he joined with all the other fine little gentlemen in abusing me, only because I endeavoured to persuade them not to go to a bull-baiting; and then at last he struck me. I did not strike him again, because I loved him so much in spite of all his unkindness; nor did I leave him till I saw he was quite safe in the hands of his own servants; and then, how could I go back to his house after what he had done to me? I did not choose to complain of him to Mr Merton; and how could I behave to him as I had done before, without being guilty of meanness and falsehood? And therefore I thought it better to go home and desire you to speak, to Mr Merton, and entreat him to forgive my rudeness.

Mr Barlow.—Well, Harry, I can inform you that Mr Merton is perfectly satisfied on that account. But there is one circumstance you have not mentioned, my little friend, and that is your saving Tommy's life from the fury of the enraged bull.

Harry.—As to that, sir, I hope I should have done the same for any human creature. But I believe that neither of us would have escaped, if it had not been for the poor courageous Black that came to our assistance.

Mr Barlow.—I see, Harry, that you are a boy of a noble and generous spirit, and I highly approve of everything you have done; but are you determined to forsake Tommy Merton for ever, because he has once behaved ill?

Harry.—I, sir! no, I am sure. But though I am poor, I do not desire the acquaintance of anybody that despises me. Let him keep company with his gentlemen and ladies, I am satisfied with companions in my own station. But surely, sir, it is not I that forsake him, but he that has cast me off.

Mr Barlow.—But if he is sorry for what he has done, and only desires to acknowledge his faults and obtain your pardon?

Harry.—Oh dear, sir, I should forget everything in an instant. I knew Master Tommy was always a little passionate and headstrong, but he is at the same time generous and good-natured; nor would he, I am sure, have treated me so ill if he had not been encouraged to it by the other young gentlemen.

Mr Barlow.—Well, Harry, I believe your friend is thoroughly sensible of his faults, and that you will have little to fear for the future. He is impatient till he sees you, and asks your forgiveness.

Harry.—Oh, sir, I should forgive him if he had beaten me a hundred times. But though I cannot leave the horses now, if you will be so kind to wait a little, I daresay my father will let me go when he leaves off ploughing.

Mr Barlow.—No, Harry, there is no occasion for that. Tommy has indeed used you ill, and ought to acknowledge it, otherwise he will not deserve to be trusted again. He will call upon you, and tell you all he feels on the occasion. In the mean time I was desired, both by him and Mr Merton, to inquire after the poor negro that served you so materially, and saved you from the bull.

Harry.—He is at our house, sir, for I invited him home with me; and when my father heard how well he had behaved, he made him up a little bed over the stable, and gives him victuals every day, and the poor man seems very thankful and industrious, and says he would gladly do any kind of work to earn his subsistence.

Mr Barlow then took his leave of Harry, and after having spoken to his father, returned to Mr Merton's.

During Mr Barlow's absence Mr Simmons had arrived there to fetch away his niece; but when he had heard the story of the Highlander, he perfectly recollected his name and character, and was touched with the sincerest compassion for his sufferings. On conversing with the poor man he found that he was extremely well acquainted with agriculture, as well as truly industrious, and therefore instantly proposed to settle him in a small farm of his own which happened to be vacant. The poor man received this unexpected change in his fortune with tears of joy, and every mark of unaffected gratitude; and Mr Merton, who never wanted generosity, insisted upon having a share in his establishment. He was proposing to supply him with the necessary implements of agriculture, and a couple of horses, to begin the culture of his land, just at the moment when Mr Barlow entered, who, when he had heard with the sincerest pleasure the improvement of the poor man's circumstances, begged permission to share in so benevolent an action. "I have an excellent milch-cow," said he, "which I can very well spare, whose milk will speedily recruit the strength of these poor children; and I have half-a-dozen ewes and a ram, which I hope, under Mr Campbell's management, will soon increase to a numerous flock." The poor Highlander seemed almost frantic with such a profusion of unexpected blessings, and said "that he wished nothing more than to pass the remainder of his days in such a generous nation, and to be enabled to show, at least, the sentiments which such undeserved generosity had excited."

At night Mr Merton, who was desirous by every method to support the good impressions which had now taken possession of Tommy's mind, proposed that Miss Simmons should favour them with the conclusion of the story which she had begun the night before. The young lady instantly complied, and then read them

The Conclusion of the Story of Sophron and Tigranes.

"The venerable Chares continued his narration thus: 'I passed several months among the Arabians, delighted with the simplicity of their life and the innocence of their manners; and would to heaven,' added he, with a sigh, 'that I had accepted their friendly invitations, and never quitted the silence of their hospitable deserts! How many scenes should I have avoided which fill these aged eyes with tears, and pierce my soul with horror as often as I recollect them! I should not have been witness to such a waste of human blood, nor traced the gradual ruin of my country. I should not have seen our towns involved in flames, nor our helpless children the captives of fell barbarians. But it is in vain for human beings to repine at the just decrees of Providence, which have consigned every people to misery and servitude that abandon virtue, and attach themselves to the pursuit of pleasure.

"'I left Arabia, with a heart penetrated with gratitude and admiration for its virtuous and benevolent inhabitants. They dismissed me with every mark of kindness and hospitality, guided me over their dreary deserts, and at parting presented me with one of those beautiful horses which are the admiration of all the surrounding nations. I will not trouble you with an account of the different countries which I wandered over in search of wisdom and experience. At length I returned to my native city, determined to pass the rest of my life in obscurity and retirement; for the result of all my observations was, that he is happiest who passes his time in innocent employments and the observation of nature. I had seen the princes and nobles of the earth repining in the midst of their splendid enjoyments, disgusted with the empty pageantry of their situation, and wishing in vain for the humble tranquillity of private life. I had visited many of the principal cities in several countries where I had travelled, but I had uniformly observed, that the miseries and crimes of mankind increased with their numbers. I therefore determined to avoid the general contagion by fixing my abode in some sequestered spot, at a distance from the passions and pursuits of my fellow-creatures.

"'Having therefore collected the remainder of my effects, and with them purchased a little farm and vineyard in a beautiful and solitary spot near the sea, I soon afterwards married a virtuous young woman, and in her society enjoyed, for several years, as great a degree of tranquillity as generally falls to the lot of man. I did not disdain to exercise with my own hands the different employments of agriculture; for I thought man was dishonoured by that indolence which renders him a burthen to his fellow-creatures, not by that industry which is necessary to the support of his species. I therefore sometimes guided the plough with my own hands, sometimes laboured in a little garden, which supplied us with excellent fruits and herbs; I likewise tended the cattle, whose patient labour enabled us to subdue the soil, and considered myself as only repaying part of the obligations I had received. My wife, too, exercised herself in domestic cares; she milked the sheep and goats, and chiefly prepared the food of the family.

"'Amidst my other employments I did not entirely forget the study of philosophy, which had charmed me so much in my early youth. I frequently observed, with admiration, the wisdom and contrivance which were displayed in all the productions of nature, and the perfection of all her works. I used to walk amid the coolness and stillness of the evening, feeding my mind with pleasing meditations upon the power and wisdom which have originally produced and still support this frame of things. I turned my eyes upon the earth, and saw it covered with innumerable animals, that sported upon its surface, and found, each according to his nature, subsistence adapted to his wants. I saw the air and water themselves teeming with life and peopled with innumerable swarms of insects. I saw that, throughout the whole extent of creation, as far as I was capable of observing it, nothing was waste or desolate—everything was replete with life and adapted to support it. These reflections continually excited in my mind new gratitude and veneration for that mysterious Being, whose goodness presides over such an infinite variety of beings. I endeavoured to elevate my thoughts to contemplate His nature and qualities; I however found my faculties too bounded to comprehend the infinite perfections of His nature; I therefore contented myself with imperfectly tracing Him in His works, and adoring Him as the common friend and parent of all His creatures.

"'Nor did I confine myself to these speculations, however sublime and consolatory to the human heart. Destined as we are to inhabit this globe of earth, it is our interest to be acquainted with its nature, and the properties of its productions. For this reason, I particularly examined all the vegetables which are capable of becoming the food of man, or of the various animals which contribute to his support. I studied their qualities, the soil in which they delighted, and the improvements which might be made in every species. I sometimes wandered among the neighbouring mountains, and wherever the fall of rocks, or the repeated violence of torrents had borne away the soil, I considered with silent admiration the various substances which we call by the common name of earth. These I used to collect and mingle with the mould of my own garden, by which means I frequently made useful discoveries in fertilising the soil and increasing the quantity of food.

"'I also considered the qualities of the air, which surrounds and sustains all living animals; I particularly remarked the noxious or salutary effects it is able to produce upon their constitutions; and, by these means, was frequently enabled to give useful counsels to all the neighbourhood. A large tract of ground had been formerly deluged by the sea; and the waters, finding no convenient vent, spread themselves all around, and converted a large extent of soil into a filthy marsh. Every year, when the heat of summer prevailed, the atmosphere was filled with putrid exhalations, which produced fevers and pestilential disorders among the inhabitants. Touched with compassion for the evils which they endured, I persuaded them to undertake the task of draining the soil and letting off the superfluous waters. This I instructed them to do with such success that, in a short time, an unwholesome desert became covered with the most luxuriant harvests, and was deprived of all its noxious influence. By thus rendering my services useful to my fellow-creatures, I received the purest reward which can attend the increase of knowledge—the consciousness of performing my duty, and humbly imitating that Being, whose goodness is as general and unbounded as his power.

"'Amidst these tranquil and innocent employments my life flowed gently away like a clear and even stream. I was a stranger to avarice or ambition, and to all the cares which agitate the bulk of mortals. Alternate labour and study preserved the vigour both of body and mind; our wants were few and easily gratified; we chiefly subsisted upon the liberal returns of the earth, and seldom polluted our table with the bodies of slaughtered animals. One only child, the unfortunate girl who owes her preservation to the courage of this young man, was granted to our prayers; but in her we found enough to exercise all the affections of our minds; we hung with ecstasy upon her innocent smiles, and remarked her opening graces with all the partiality of parental fondness. As she grew up, her mother instructed her in all the arts and employments of her sex; while I, who already saw the tempest gathering, which has since burst with such fatal fury upon my country, thought it necessary to arm her mind with all the firmness which education can bestow. For this reason I endeavoured to give both her mind and body a degree of vigour which is seldom found in the female sex.

"'As soon as Selene (for that was her name) was sufficiently advanced in strength to be capable of the lighter labours of husbandry and gardening, I employed her as my constant companion, and she soon acquired a dexterity in all the rustic employments, which I considered with equal pleasure and admiration. If women are in general feeble both in body and mind, it arises less from nature than from education; we encourage a vicious indolence and inactivity which we falsely call delicacy; instead of hardening their minds by the severer principles of reason and philosophy, we breed them to useless arts, which terminate in vanity and sensuality. In most of the countries which I had visited, they are taught nothing of a higher nature than a few modulations of the voice, or useless postures of the body; their time is consumed in sloth or trifles, and trifles become the only pursuit capable of interesting them. We seem to forget that it is upon the qualities of the female sex that our own domestic comforts and the education of our children must depend. And what are the comforts or the education which a race of beings, corrupted from their infancy, and unacquainted with all the duties of life, are fitted to bestow? To touch a musical instrument with useless skill, to exhibit their natural or affected graces to the eyes of indolent and debauched young men, to dissipate their husbands' patrimony in riotous and unnecessary expenses—these are the only arts cultivated by women in most of the polished nations I had seen; and the consequences are uniformly such as may be expected to proceed from such polluted sources—private misery and public servitude.

"'But Selene's education was regulated by different views, and conducted upon severer principles—if that can be called severity which opens the mind to a sense of moral and religious duties, and most effectually arms it against the inevitable evils of life. With the rising sun she left her bed, and accompanied me to the garden or the vineyard. Her little hands were employed in shortening the luxurious shoots of fruitful trees that supplied our table with wholesome and delicious fruits, or in supporting the branches of such as sunk beneath their load. Sometimes she collected water from a clear and constant rill that rolled along the valley, and recruited the force of plants that were exhausted by the sun. With what delight did I view her innocent cheerfulness and assiduity! With what pleasure did she receive the praises which I gave to her skill and industry; or hear the lessons of wisdom and the examples of virtuous women, which I used to read to her at evening, out of the writings of celebrated philosophers which I had collected in my travels.

"'But such a life was too unchecquered with misfortune to last. The first stroke which attacked and almost destroyed my hopes of good was the untimely loss of my dear and virtuous wife. The pestilential heats of autumn overpowered her tender frame, and raised a consuming fever in her veins; for some time she struggled against the disease, but at length her pure and innocent spirit forsook this earth for ever, and left me comfortless and forlorn to mourn her loss!

"'I will not, my worthy hosts, attempt to describe the inexpressible distress which seized my soul at seeing myself thus deserted. There are some philosophers who aspire to triumph over human feelings, and consider all tender affections as disgraceful weaknesses; for my part, I have never pretended to that degree in insensibility. I have, indeed, opposed as criminal that habitual acquiescence in sorrow which renders us unfit for the discharge of our duties; but while I have endeavoured to act, I have never blushed at feeling, like a man. Even now, that time has mitigated the keenness of the smart, I feel the habitual anguish of an incurable wound. But let me rather hasten to relate the few remaining events of a uniform unvaried life than detain you with a useless repetition of my sorrows.

"'Scarcely had time afforded me a feeble comfort, when the recollection of past misfortunes was almost extinguished by the new ones which overwhelmed my country. The fertile plains of Syria abounded in all the necessaries and conveniences of life; the vine seemed to grow spontaneously in every valley, and offer its luxuriant produce to every hand; the industrious insect which spins the wonderful substance called silk out of its bowels, though lately introduced into that part of Asia, seemed to receive new vigour from the mildness of the climate; corn and oil, the noblest fruits and the most salubrious herbs, were found in the garden of every peasant; and the herds of cattle and horses, which wandered over our luxuriant pastures, equalled or surpassed all I had observed in other countries. But this profusion of blessings, instead of being attended with any beneficial effects, produced nothing but a foolish taste for frivolous employment and sensuality; feasts, and dances, and music, and tricks of players, and exhibitions of buffoons, were more attended to than all the serious and important cares of life. Every young man was a critic in the science of adjusting the folds of his robe, or of giving a studied negligence to his hair; every young woman was instructed in every art that serves to consume time or endanger modesty. Repeat to them an idle tale, the tricks of a gamester, or the adventures of a singing-girl, and every audience listened with mute attention to the wonderful narration; but tell them of the situation of their country, the wretched state of their civil and military discipline, or of the numerous and warlike tribes of barbarians which surround them, and every auditor would steal away in silence, and leave the uninteresting theme.

"'In such a state of things, it was not long to be expected that my countrymen would be permitted to hold the riches they abused, and wanted firmness to defend. A warlike tribe of barbarians burst forth from the northern mountains of Asia, and spread themselves over our fertile plains, which they laid waste like a consuming tempest. After a few ineffectual skirmishes, which only served to expose their weakness to the contempt of their enemies, they yielded without opposition to the invader; in this, indeed, more wise than to irritate him by a fruitless resistance; and thus, in a few weeks, the leader of an obscure tribe of barbarians saw himself become a powerful monarch, and possessor of one of the richest provinces of Asia.

"'I was sitting one evening at the door of my cottage, gazing upon the fading glory of the setting sun, when a man, of a majestic appearance, but with something ferocious in his look, attended by several others, passed by. As he approached my little garden, he seemed to view it with satisfaction, and to unbend the habitual sternness of his look; I asked him if he would enter in and taste the fruits with his companions. He accepted my offer, and, entering into a shady arbour, I brought him the most palatable fruits I could find, with milk and other rustic fare, such as my farm afforded. He seemed pleased with his entertainment, and, when he was departing, thanked me with great affability, and bade me ask a favour in return, 'which,' added he, with a certain degree of conscious pride, 'you can scarcely make too great either for my gratitude or power.' 'If,' answered I (for I began to suspect that it was Arsaces, the leader of these barbarians), 'your power is indeed equal to every boon, give peace and liberty to my country!' 'The first,' said he, 'I have already given; and, as to the second, it is impossible; their vices and effeminacy render them incapable of enjoying it. Men that have neither virtue, temperance, nor valour, can never want a master, even though Arsaces were to withdraw his conquering troops.' 'But ask again,' added he, 'something for thyself, and let the favour be worthy me to bestow.' 'Heaven,' answered I with a smile, 'has already given everything I can want, when it gave the earth fertility, and me the power to labour. All, therefore, that I request, O mighty conqueror, is, that you will please to order your men to step aside from the newly cultivated ground, and not destroy my vegetables.' 'By heaven!' said Arsaces, turning to his companions, 'there is something elevated in the tranquillity and composure of this man's mind; and, was I not Arsaces, I should be with pleasure Chares.' He then departed, but ordered me to attend him the next day at the camp, and gave strict orders that none of the soldiers should molest or injure my humble residence.

"'I attended the great Arsaces at the time he had appointed, and traversed the encampment of his troop with admiration and regret. This people was a tribe of that mighty empire which is called Scythia, whose inhabitants have so often issued from their deserts for the conquest and destruction of their neighbours.

"'This country extends to an unknown length behind the most fertile districts of Europe and Asia. The climate is cold in winter, and the earth for several months covered with snow; but in summer it feels the enlivening influence of the sun, and for that reason is possessed of an amazing degree of fertility. But as the inhabitants live remote from the sea, and possess few navigable rivers, they are little acquainted with agriculture, or the arts of life. Instead of trusting to the increase of their fields for food, they raise prodigious herds of cattle and horses in the luxuriant pastures which everywhere abound. The Scythians, like the Arabians, wander over these immense spaces without a fixed or permanent residence. By the side of lakes and rivers, where the verdure is most constant, and the vegetation stronger, they generally encamp, until the heats of the summer compel them to ascend the mountains, and seek a cooler residence. Their houses are composed of slender poles covered with skins, or a coarse cloth, and therefore easily erected, or taken down and stowed in waggons, for the convenience of transporting them in their marches. Their diet is answerable to the poverty of their habitations. They milk their herds, and, above all, their mares, and preserve the produce in large bottles for months together. This sour and homely mess is to them the greatest dainty, and composes the chief of their nourishment; to this they add the flesh of their cattle and horses, which they kill when afflicted with disease, but rarely in health.

"'This is the simple and uniform life of all the Scythians; but this simplicity renders them formidable to all their neighbours, and irresistible in war. Unsoftened by ease or luxury, unacquainted with the artificial wants of life, these nations pass their lives in manly exercises and rustic employments; but horsemanship is the greatest pride and passion of their souls; nor is there an individual who does not at least possess several of these noble animals, which, though small in size, are admirably adapted for the fatigues of war and the chase, and endowed with incomparable swiftness. As to the Scythians themselves, they excel all other nations, unless it be the Arabs, in their courage and address in riding; without a saddle, or even a bridle, their young men will vault upon an unbacked courser, and keep their seats, in spite of all his violent efforts, till they have rendered him tame and obedient to their will. In their military expeditions they neither regard the obstacles of nature nor the inclemency of the season; and their horses are accustomed to traverse rocks and mountains with a facility that is incredible. If they reach a river, instead of waiting for the tedious assistance of boats and bridges, the warrior divests himself of his clothes and arms, which he places in a bundle upon the horse's back, and then, plunging into the stream, conducts him over by the bridle. Even in the midst of winter, when the hatred of other nations gives way to the inclemencies of the season, the Scythian follows his military labours, and rejoices to see the earth thick covered with frost and snow, because it affords him a solid path in his excursions; neither the severest cold nor the most violent storms can check his ardour. Wrapped up in the thick furs of animals, the patient horseman pursues his march, while all his food for weeks together is comprised in a little bag of seeds or corn. Javelins, and bows and arrows, are the arms which these people are taught from their infancy to use with surprising dexterity; and, no less dangerous when they fly than when they charge the enemy in front, they are accustomed to shoot with an unerring aim at their pursuers, and turn the fortune of the battle. Such men are scarcely to be conquered by the efforts of the most powerful nations or sovereigns; and therefore the proudest conquerors of the world have failed in their attempts to subdue them.

"'Darius, one of the greatest kings which the vast empire of Persia ever obeyed, once attempted the exploit, and had nearly perished in the attempt. He advanced with a powerful army, but ill prepared for such an expedition, into the Scythian wastes. The inhabitants, well acquainted with the most effectual methods of defence, transported their families and herds into the interior parts of the country, and mounting their fleetest horses, seemed to fly before the monarch, who, infatuated with pride and confidence, pursued the chase for several days, until he found himself in the midst of solitary deserts, totally destitute of all that human wants require, where his army could neither advance nor retire without equal danger of perishing by thirst and famine. When the Scythian horsemen saw him thus involved, they began to check their speed; instead of flying, as usual, they hemmed him in on every side, and harassed the army with continual attacks. It was then they sent a present to the Persian king, the mysterious meaning of which increased the terrors of his situation. A Scythian, mounted upon a fiery steed, entered the camp at full speed, and, regardless of danger or opposition, penetrated even to the royal tent, where Darius was holding a council with his nobles. While they were all amazed at this extraordinary boldness, the man leaped lightly from his horse, and placing a little bundle upon the ground, vaulted up again with inconceivable agility, and retired with the same happy expedition. The curiosity of the monarch made him instantly order the packet to be examined, which contained only a mouse, a bird, a fish, and a bundle of arrows. Silence and astonishment for some time seized the assembly, till at length the king observed, that he thought the present which the Scythians had sent could signify nothing but their submission to his arms. 'The mouse,' said he, 'must represent the earth, because he resides in holes which he digs in the soil; the fish inhabits the water, and the bird resides in the air. By sending me, therefore, all these various animals, they mean to signify that they resign their air, their waters, and their earth to my dominion. Nor is the bundle of arrows more difficult to be explained; these constitute their principal defence, and, by sending them to an enemy, they can intimate nothing but terror and submission.' All who were present applauded this discourse of the monarch, excepting Gobrias, a man of singular wisdom and experience, who, when he was pressed to declare his sentiments, spoke to him thus:—'It is with the greatest reluctance, O king, that I find myself compelled to explain these presents of our enemies in a very different manner. That the Scythians, who have hitherto shown no marks either of fear or submission, should, on a sudden, feel so great a terror of the Persian arms, I cannot easily believe, more especially when I consider that our army is very much reduced by the distress it has suffered, and environed on every side by the enemy, whose boldness visibly increases with our necessities. What, therefore, I should infer from this extraordinary present is this: they intimate that unless, like the mouse, you can dig your passage through the earth, or skim the air like the bird, or glide through waters with the fish, you shall certainly perish by the Scythian arrows.' Such was the sentiment of Gobrias, and all the assembly was struck with the evident truth of his interpretation, and the king himself began to perceive and repent his rashness; instead, therefore, of advancing farther into deserts which afforded no subsistence, he resolved to attempt a retreat. This, however, he was not able to effect without the loss of the greatest part of his troops, who perished by thirst and famine, and the continued attacks of the enemy.

"'Nor was the expedition of Lysimachus, another powerful king, against this people, less memorable or less unfortunate. His army was defeated, and he himself taken prisoner; but, instead of meeting with that cruelty which we are accustomed to expect from barbarians, he experienced the greatest moderation and humanity from his conquerors. The general of the Scythians invited his captive to a solemn festival, in which he took care to assemble every circumstance of luxury and magnificence which prevailed in polished nations. The most exquisite meats were served up to table, and the most generous wines sparkled in golden bowls of the exactest workmanship. Lysimachus was equally delighted with the elegance of the repast and the politeness of the entertainer; but he was extremely surprised that, instead of sharing in the feast or even sitting down at table, the Scythian leader reposed in the corner of a tent, upon the bare ground, and satisfied his hunger with the most coarse and ordinary fare, prepared with all the simplicity of his country's manners. When the entertainment was finished, he asked Lysimachus which method of life appeared to him the most agreeable. Lysimachus could not conceal his preference of the more refined and luxurious dainties, or his dislike of the Scythian diet. 'If therefore,' replied his generous host, 'you feel so great a contempt for what this country produces, and so strong a preference for the productions of your own, what but madness, O king, can have tempted you to come so far in order to subdue men that live in a manner you despise? Is it not much greater wisdom to be contented with those advantages which you prize so highly, than to expose them to a certain hazard, for the chance of acquiring what would afford no pleasure or satisfaction? But let this lesson be sufficient to teach you moderation. A country which produces nothing but iron, is not easily conquered; nor are men, who have been from their infancy inured to every hardship, to be vanquished by curled and perfumed soldiers, who cannot live without baths, and music, and daily feasts. Be contented, therefore, for the future, to number the Scythians among your friends; and rather pray that the gods may keep them in ignorance of the superiority of your method of living, lest a desire of tasting it should tempt them to desert their own country and invade yours.' With this discourse he generously restored Lysimachus to liberty, and suffered him to lead back the shattered remains of his numerous army.

"'Such was the nation which had invaded Syria, and easily triumphed over the efforts of an effeminate and unwarlike people. As I passed through the camp, I was astonished at the order and regularity which prevailed among these barbarians. Some were exercising their horses in the mimic representation of a battle; part fled with incredible speed, while the rest pursued, and darted blunted javelins at their antagonists. Yet even those who fled would frequently turn upon their pursuers and make them repent their rashness. Some, while their horses were running in full speed, would vault from off their backs to others that accompanied them; some would gallop by a mark erected for their arrows, and, when they had passed it a considerable way, turn themselves round upon their horses and transfix it with an unerring aim. I saw many who vaulted upon their horses, and placed themselves between two naked swords, which would have given them certain death, had they swerved ever so little from the just direction. In another part of the camp I observed the children, who imitated all the actions of their fathers, bended little bows adapted to their strength, or guided horses of an inferior stature along the plain. Their women were indeed inferior to the Syrians in beauty and elegance, but seemed to be of a more robust constitution, and more adapted to produce and educate warriors. I saw no gold, no jewels, no vain and costly apparel; but all seemed busy in domestic cares, preparing the food of their families, or tending upon their infants.

"'At length I reached the royal tent, which scarcely differed from the rest in its structure or simplicity; and was immediately introduced to the great Arsaces. He received me with a courtesy which had nothing of the barbarian in it; seated me familiarly by his side, and entered into a long conversation with me upon the laws, and manners, and customs of the different nations I had seen. I was surprised at the vigour and penetration which I discovered in this untutored warrior's mind. Unbiassed by the mass of prejudices which we acquire in cities, even from our earliest childhood, unencumbered by forms and ceremonies which contract the understanding while they pretend to improve the manners, he seemed to possess a certain energy of soul which never missed the mark; nature in him had produced the same effects that study and philosophy do in others. But, what amazed me more than all, was to find this Scythian chief as well acquainted with the state and consequence of our manners, as if he had passed his life in Greece or Syria, instead of the plains and forests of his own domain. He entertained a rooted contempt for all the arts which softened the body and mind, under the pretence of adding to the elegancies of life; these, he said, were more efficacious agents to reduce men to slavery, than the swords and arrows of their enemies.

"'One day I remember that some of our principal men, judging of the mind of their conqueror by their own, brought to him a celebrated dancer; who, at that time, engaged the whole attention of our city, and seemed to interest it much more than the loss of liberty. This man, who did not doubt that he should enchant the soul of a Scythian barbarian, by the same arts which had enraptured his refined audiences at home, exerted himself with an agility that extorted the loudest applause from all the spectators but Arsaces. At length one of our countrymen took the liberty of asking the monarch what he thought of this extraordinary performance? 'I think,' replied he, coldly, 'that it would gain him great credit among a nation of monkeys.' Another time he was present at the exhibitions of a celebrated musician, who was reputed to possess unrivalled skill in playing soft and melting tunes upon the lyre. All the audience seemed to feel the influence of his art, by their inarticulate murmurs of admiration, and the languishing postures of their bodies. When the exhibition was finished, the musician advanced, amid the united plaudits of the audience, as if to receive the just tribute of approbation from Arsaces; but he, with a stern look, said to him, 'Friend, I permit thee to play every night before the Syrians; but if thy lyre is ever heard to sound in the presence of my Scythians, I denounce certain death for the offence.' Another time an officious glutton of our city introduced to him, with great solemnity, two men, whose talents he assured him were unequalled in their different professions. The one, he said, adjusted hair with such dexterity, that he could give an artificial beauty to every countenance; and the other possessed such unrivalled skill in cooking a repast, that even the soberest guest was tempted to commit intemperance. 'My soldiers,' replied Arsaces, 'are accustomed to adjust their locks with the point of their arrows, nor does our nation consider a bloated paunch and an unwieldy shape as any accomplishment in warriors; all therefore, that I can do for these gentlemen is, to depute one of them to comb my horse's tail, and the other to feed the hogs of the army.'

"'After I had conversed some time with this barbarian chief, who heard me with the greatest attention, the hour of refreshment for the army approached, and I was preparing to retire; but the general stopped me with a smile, and told me, I had already entertained him with the greatest hospitality, and that therefore it was just that I should stay and taste the Scythian food. A bit of dried flesh, which I afterwards found was that of a horse, some sour coagulated milk, with an infusion of certain herbs, thickened with a coarse kind of flour, were then brought in and placed upon the ground. I had learned, during my travels in different countries, to discard the false antipathies which so many nations entertain against the diet as well as manners of each other. Whatever is adapted to support life is proper for the food of man; habit will reconcile us to any kind of food; and he that can accustom himself to be the most easily contented, is happiest and best prepared for performing the duties of life. I therefore placed myself by the side of Arsaces, and fed without any visible repugnance upon the diet, which would have excited abhorrence in the minds of all my countrymen. With them it was a work of the greatest importance to settle the formalities of a meal; to contrive a new and poignant sauce, to combine contrary flavours in a pickle, to stimulate the jaded appetite to new exertions, till reason and everything human sank under the undigested mass of food, were reckoned the highest efforts of genius; even the magistrate did not blush to display a greater knowledge of cookery than of the laws; the debates of the senate itself were often suspended by the fear of losing a repast; and many of our generals prided themselves more on the arrangement of their tables, than the martial evolutions of their troops.

"'After we had eaten some time, Arsaces asked me what I thought of the Scythian method of living? 'To speak my sentiments,' said I, 'it is more formidable to your enemies than agreeable to your friends.' He smiled at my sincerity, and I departed; but from this hour he distinguished me with marks of peculiar favour, and admitted me to all his councils.

"'This envied mark of distinction gave me no other pleasure than as it sometimes enabled me to be useful to my unhappy countrymen, and mitigate the rigour of their conquerors. Indeed, while the great Arsaces lived, his love of justice and order was so great, that even the conquered were safe from all oppression; the peasant pursued his useful labours unterrified by the march of armies, or, unsolicited, brought the produce of his fields to a voluntary market; merchants from all the neighbouring nations crowded to our ports, attracted by the order and justice which were enforced in every part of Arsaces' dominions; and even the vanquished themselves, defended from oppression and protected in their possessions, considered the success of the Scythians rather as a salutary revolution than as a barbarian conquest.

"'Such was the pleasing prospect of affairs, when an unexpected disease, the consequence of unremitted exertions, put an end to the glorious life of our conqueror; and with him perished all hopes of safety or happiness of the Syrians. His authority alone was capable of restraining so many needy chieftains, so many victorious barbarians; the spirit of rapine and plunder so long represt, began now to spread through all the army; every officer was an independent tyrant, that ruled with despotic authority, and punished as rebellion the least opposition to his will. The fields were now ravaged, the cities plundered, the industrious peasants driven away like herds of cattle, to labour for the caprice of unfeeling masters, or sold in distant regions as slaves. Now it was that the miserable and harassed Syrians began to find that the riches which they so much esteemed, were but the causes of their ruin, instead of being instrumental to their safety. The poor, accustomed to hardship, have little to fear amid the vicissitudes of life; the brave can always find a refuge in their own valour; but all the bitterness of existence is reserved for those who have neither courage to defend what they most value, nor fortitude to bear the loss.

"'To increase the weight of our misfortunes, new tribes of barbarians, attracted by the success of their countrymen, issued from their deserts, and hastened to share the spoil. But rapine admits not faith or partnership; and it was not long before the vanquished beheld their conquerors animated by implacable rage against each other, and suffering in turn the violence and cruelties they had inflicted.

"'At length one of the principal officers of Arsaces, who is said originally to have descended from the mountain which you inhabit, was raised to empire by the successful efforts of his soldiers. He has already attacked and destroyed all his competitors, and assembled under his banners the remainder of their forces. Tigranes (for thus he is named) possesses all the courage and activity of Arsaces, but he is destitute of his generosity and clemency. His ambition is vast and boundless; he grasps at universal empire, and rejoices to scatter ruin and destruction in his way; he has already subjected all the maritime cities that derive their origin from Greece, together with the fertile plains of Syria. These mountains, inhabited by a bold and hardy race of men, now present a barrier to his enterprising spirit; and I am assured he already meditates the conquest. His soldiers are drawn together from every part, and nothing can escape their fury. In vain did I think myself safe in the humble obscurity of my cottage, and the reputed favour of the great Arsaces. Yesterday, a lawless band, not contented with destroying my harvest and plundering my little property, seized my daughter and me, and dragged us away in chains. What farther injuries, what farther insults we might have suffered, it is impossible to determine, since Heaven was pleased to effect our deliverance when we had least reason to expect it.'

"Such was the history of Chares, which Sophron and his family listened to with fixed attention. When he had finished, the father of Sophron again embraced the venerable stranger, and assured him of all the safety which their mountains could bestow. 'But,' added he, 'if so imminent a danger is near, it behoves us to consult for the general safety; let us assemble all our friends and neighbours, that they may consider whether life is of more consequence than liberty; and if they determine to retain that freedom which they have received from their ancestors, by what means it maybe best defended.' Sophron then immediately went out, and ascending a neighbouring rock, thus shouted out, in a voice that echoed over the neighbouring valleys: 'Arm, O ye inhabitants of Lebanon, and instantly meet in council; for a powerful invader is near, and threatens you with death or slavery!' This sound was instantly repeated by all who heard it; so that in a short time the intelligence was dispersed to the very confines of the country.

"It was not long before a numerous assembly was convened. The aged appeared with all the majestic dignity of wisdom and experience; their countenances, indeed, indicated the ravages of time, but temperance and exercise had preserved them from the loathsome diseases which grow on luxury and indolence. They were attended by their sons in all the pride of youth and vigour, who rushed along in arms, and seemed to breathe deliberate rage and unconquerable opposition. When they were all assembled on a spacious plain, Sophron rose, and with a becoming modesty, recited the adventures of the preceding night, and the alarming intelligence he had just received. He had scarcely finished before a general cry of indignation burst unanimously from the whole assembly. When it had a little subsided, a venerable old man, whose beard, white as the snow upon the summits of the mountains, reaching down to his middle, slowly arose, and leaning upon his staff, spoke thus:—'Ninety years have I tended my flocks amid these mountains, and during all that time I have never seen a human being who was bold enough to propose to the inhabitants of Lebanon that they should fear death more than infamy, or submit to the vassals of a tyrant.' At this a second cry, which seemed to rend the very heavens, was raised, and farther deliberation judged unnecessary, except upon the most effectual means of defence. For this purpose the aged and most experienced retired to a little distance to consult. They were not long in their deliberations; it was unanimously agreed that all who were able to bear arms should be embodied, and wait for the approach of the enemy, within the boundaries of their own mountains. The nature of the country, always rough, and in many parts inaccessible, would afford them, they thought, sufficient advantages even against the more numerous and better disciplined troops of the invader; and, by the common consent of all, Sophron was named the general of his country, and invested with supreme authority for its defence.

"When these measures had been resolved upon, the assembly dispersed, and Sophron was left alone with Chares. It was then the stranger thus accosted him with a deep sigh:—'Did success, O virtuous Sophron, depend entirely upon the justice of the cause, or upon the courage and zeal of its defenders, I should have little doubt concerning the event of the present contest, for I can truly say, that in all the various countries I have visited, my eyes have never seen a more martial race than I have this day beheld assembled; nor can I doubt that their sentiments correspond to their appearance; all, therefore, that can be effected by patience, activity, and dauntless courage, will be achieved by your countrymen in defence of their liberty; but war, unfortunately, is a trade where long experience frequently confers advantages which no intrepidity can balance. The troops which are now approaching have been for years inured to the practice of slaughter; they join to a courage which defies every danger, a knowledge of every fraud and subtility which can confound or baffle an adversary. In bodily strength, in numbers, your countrymen are superior; even in courage, and the contempt of danger, they are probably not inferior to their enemies; but such are the fatal effects of military skill and discipline, that I dread the event of a combat with such an army and such a leader.'

"'Alas!' answered Sophron, 'how well do the mature reflections of your wisdom accord with my presaging fears! I know that my countrymen will perform everything that can be effected by men in their situation, and that thousands will generously sacrifice their lives rather than abandon the cause they have undertaken to defend; yet, when I consider the superior advantage of our enemies, my fears are no less active than your own. This consolation, however, remains, that I shall either see my country victorious, or avoid the miseries which will attend her ruin.'

"'Hear me, then,' replied Chares. 'The virtues of your friends, my own obligations to yourself, and the desire I feel to oppose the career of mad ambition, conspire to wrest from me a dreadful secret, which I have hitherto buried in my own bosom, and had determined to conceal from the knowledge of mankind. I have already told you that much of my life has been dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge, and the investigation of the laws of nature. Not contented with viewing the appearance of things as they strike our senses, I have endeavoured to penetrate into the deeper recesses of nature, and to discover those secrets which are concealed from the greater part of mankind. For this purpose I have tried innumerable experiments concerning the manner in which bodies act upon each other; I have submitted the plants, the stones, the minerals, which surround us, to the violence of all-consuming fires; I have examined their structure, and the different principles which compose them, with the patient labour and perseverance of a long life. In the course of these inquiries I have made many curious and important discoveries, but one above the rest, which I will now impart under the promise of eternal and inviolable secrecy. Know, then, that I have found out an easy and expeditious combination of common materials, the effect of which is equal or superior to the most potent and destructive agents in nature. Neither the proudest city can maintain its walls, nor the strongest castle its bulwarks, against the irresistible attacks of this extraordinary composition. Increase but the quantity, and the very rocks and mountains will be torn asunder with a violence that equals that of earthquakes. Whole armies, proud of their triumphs, may be in an instant scattered and destroyed like the summer's dust before the whirlwind; and, what increases the prodigy, a single man may securely give death to thousands. This composition I have hitherto concealed, in pity to the miseries of mankind; but since there appears no other method of preserving the virtuous inhabitants of these mountains from slavery and ruin, I am determined to employ it in their defence. Give orders, therefore, that a certain number of your countrymen provide me with the ingredients that I shall indicate, and expect the amplest success from your own valour, assisted by such powerful auxiliaries.'

"Sophron said everything to Chares which such an unexpected mark of confidence deserved, and instantly received his orders, and prepared to execute them with the greatest alacrity. Chares, meanwhile, was indefatigable in the execution of his project; and it was not long before he had prepared a sufficient quantity to provide for the common defence.

"Tigranes now approached with the rage and confidence of a lion that invades a flock of domestic animals. He had long forgotten all the ties which attach men to the place of their birth; and neither time nor distance had been able to extinguish the hatred he had conceived to Sophron. Scarcely did he deign to send an ambassador before his army; he, however, despatched one with an imperious message, requiring all the inhabitants of Lebanon to submit to his victorious arms, or threatening them with the worst extremities of war.

"When the ambassador returned, and reported the fixed determination of Sophron and his countrymen, he was inflamed with rage, and ordered his army to advance to the attack. They marched without opposition till they entered the mountainous districts, where all the bravest inhabitants were ranged in arms to meet the invader. Then arose the noise of arms; then man encountered man, and wounds and death were seen on every side. The troops of Tigranes advanced in close array with long protended spears; the inhabitants of Lebanon were more lightly armed, and, with invincible courage, endeavoured to break the formidable battalion of their enemies. They rushed with fury upon the dreadful range of weapons, and, even wounded and dying, endeavoured to beat down their points, and open a way to their companions.

"Sophron was seen conspicuous in every part of the field, encouraging his companions with his voice, and more by his actions. Wherever he turned his steps he was followed by the bravest youth of his party, and there the efforts and the slaughter were always greatest. Five times, covered with blood and dust, he made a desperate charge upon the troops of Tigranes, and five times did he force his bravest soldiers to give ground. At length the superiority of discipline and experience began to prevail over the generous but more unequal efforts of the defenders. The veterans of Tigranes perceived their advantage, and pressed the enemy with redoubled vigour.

"This was the decisive moment which Chares had foreseen and provided for; in an instant the bands of Lebanon retreated, by the orders of Sophron, with a precipitation bordering upon flight. Tigranes, supposing himself certain of victory, orders his troops to advance, and decide the fortune of the battle; but while they are rashly preparing to obey, a sudden noise is heard that equals the loudest thunders; the earth itself trembles with a convulsive motion under their feet, then bursts asunder with a violence that nothing can resist! Hundreds are in an instant swallowed up, or dashed against rocks, and miserably destroyed! Meanwhile all nature seems to be convulsed around; the rocks themselves are torn from their solid base, and, with their enormous fragments, crush whole bands of miserable wretches beneath! Clouds of smoke obscure the field of battle, and veil the combatants in a dreadful shade, which is from time to time dispelled by flashes of destructive fire! Such a succession of horrors daunted even the most brave; scarcely could the troops of Lebanon, who had been prepared to expect some extraordinary interposition, maintain their post, or behold the spectacle of their enemy's ruin; but the bands of Tigranes were struck with the wildest consternation, and fled with trembling steps over the field. And now these prodigies were succeeded by an awful interval of quiet; the peals of bursting thunder were no longer heard, the lightnings ceased to flash, the mists that darkened the scene were rolled away, and discovered the various fortunes of the fight, when the voice of Sophron was heard, exhorting his companions to pursue the fugitives and complete their victory. They rushed forward like angry lions to the chase, but all resistance was at an end; and Sophron, who now perceived that the enemy was irretrievably broken, checked the ardour of his men, and entreated them to spare the vanquished. They obeyed his voice; and, after having chased them beyond the utmost boundaries of Lebanon, returned in triumph amid the praises and acclamations of their joyful families, whom they had preserved from slavery by their valour. They then examined the field of battle, and collecting all who had any remains of life, they treated them with the greatest humanity, binding up their wounds, and administering to all their necessities.

"Among the thickest dead was found the breathless body of Tigranes, miserably shattered and disfigured, but still exhibiting evident marks of passion and ferocity. Sophron could not behold, without compassion, the friend of his early years, and the companion of his youthful sports. 'Unhappy man,' said he, 'thou hast at length paid the price of thy ungovernable ambition! How much better would it have been to have tended thy flocks upon the mountains, than to have blazed an angry meteor, and set for ever amid the curses of thy country.' He then covered the body with a military vest, and ordered it to be honourably burned upon a mighty funeral-pile which was prepared for all the dead.

"The next day an immense quantity of spoil was collected, that had been abandoned by the troops of Tigranes in their flight. The simple inhabitants of Lebanon, the greater part of whom had never been beyond the limits of their mountains, were astonished at such a display of luxury and magnificence. Already the secret poison of sensuality and avarice began to inflame their hearts, as they gazed on costly hangings, enriched with gold and silver, on Persian carpets, and drinking-vessels of the most exquisite workmanship; already had they begun to differ about the division of these splendid trifles, when Sophron, who marked the growing mischief, and remembered the fatal effects which Chares had described in his travels, rose, and proposed to his countrymen that the arms of their conquered enemies should be carefully preserved for the public defence, but that all the rest of the spoil should be consumed upon the funeral-pile prepared for the dead, lest the simplicity of the inhabitants of Lebanon should be corrupted, and the happy equality and union, which had hitherto prevailed among them, be interrupted. This proposal was instantly applauded by all the older and wiser part of the assembly, who rejoiced in seeing the evils averted which they had so much reason to apprehend; nor did those of a different character dare to express their sentiments, or attempt any open opposition.

"From this time Sophron was universally honoured by all as the most virtuous and valiant of his nation. He passed the rest of his life in peace and tranquillity, contented with the exercise of the same rural employments which had engaged his childhood. Chares, whose virtues and knowledge were equally admirable, was presented, at the public expense, with a small but fertile tract of land, sufficient to supply him with all the comforts of life. This the grateful inhabitants of the mountains continually cultivated for him as a memorial of the signal assistance he had afforded them; and here, contented with the enjoyment of security and freedom, he passed the remaining part of his life in the contemplation of nature and the delightful intercourse of virtuous friendship."

When Miss Simmons had finished, Tommy expressed his astonishment at the latter part of the story. "Is it possible," said he, "there can be anything of so extraordinary a nature as to burst the very rocks asunder, and destroy an army at once?" "Have you, then, never heard the explosion of a gun, or are you ignorant of the destructive effects of the powder with which they charge it?" said Mr Barlow.

Tommy.—Yes, sir; but that is nothing to what Chares did in the story.

Mr Barlow.—That is only because it is used in very inconsiderable portions; but were you to increase the quantity, it would be capable of effecting everything which you heard Miss Simmons describe. When nations are at war with each other, it is now universally the agent of destruction. They have large tubes of iron, called cannons, into which they ram a considerable quantity of powder, together with a large iron ball, as big as you are able to lift. They then set fire to the powder, which explodes with so much violence, that the ball flies out and destroys not only every living thing it meets with, but even demolishes the strongest walls that can be raised. Sometimes it is buried in considerable quantities in the earth, and then they contrive to inflame it, and to escape in time. When the fire communicates with the mass, it is all inflamed in an instant, and produces the horrible effects you have heard described. As such are the irresistible effects of gunpowder, it is no wonder that even a victorious army should be stopped in their progress by such a dreadful and unexpected event.

Tommy.—That is true, indeed; and I declare Chares was a very good and sensible man. Had it not been for him, these brave inhabitants of Lebanon must have been enslaved. I now plainly perceive that a man may be of much more consequence by improving his mind in various kinds of knowledge, even though he is poor, than by all the finery and magnificence he can acquire. I wish, with all my heart, that Mr Barlow had been so good as to read this story to the young gentlemen and ladies that were lately here; I think it would have made a great impression upon their minds, and would have prevented their feeling so much contempt for poor Harry, who is better and wiser than them all, though he does not powder his hair or dress so genteelly.

"Tommy," said Mr Merton, with a kind of contemptuous smile, "why should you believe that the hearing of a single story would change the characters of all your late friends, when neither the good instructions you have been so long receiving from Mr Barlow, nor the intimacy you have had with Harry, were sufficient to restrain your impetuous temper, or prevent you from treating him in the shameful manner you have done?"

Tommy appeared very much abashed with his father's rebuke. He hung down his head in silence a considerable time; at length he faintly said, "Oh, sir, I have indeed acted very ill; I have rendered myself unworthy the affection of all my best friends; but do not, pray do not give me up entirely. You shall see how I will behave for the future; and if ever I am guilty of the same faults again, I consent that you shall abandon me for ever." Saying this, he silently stole out of the room, as if intent upon some extraordinary resolution. His father observed his motions, and smiling, said to Mr Barlow, "What can this portend? This boy is changeable as a weathercock; every blast whirls him round and round upon his centre, nor will he ever fix, I fear, in any direction." "At least," replied Mr Barlow, "you have the greatest reason to rejoice in his present impressions, which are good and estimable; and I fear it is the lot of most human beings to exhaust almost every species of error before they fix in truth and virtue."

Tommy now entered the room, but with a remarkable change in his dress and manner. He had combed the powder out of his hair, and demolished the elegance of his curls; he had divested his dress of every appearance of finery; and even his massy and ponderous buckles, so long the delight of his heart and the wonder of his female friends, were taken from his shoes, and replaced by a pair of the plainest form and appearance. In this habiliment he appeared so totally changed from what he was, that even his mother, who had lately become a little sparing of her observations, could not help exclaiming, "What, in the name of wonder, has the boy been doing now? Why, Tommy, I protest you have made yourself a perfect fright, and you look more like a ploughboy than a young gentleman."

"Mamma," answered Tommy, gravely, "I am now only what I ought always to have been. Had I been contented with this dress before, I never should have imitated such a parcel of coxcombs as you have lately had at your house, nor pretended to admire Miss Matilda's music, which, I own, tired me as much as Harry, and had almost set me asleep; nor should I have exposed myself at the play and the ball; and, what is worst of all, I should have avoided all my shameful behaviour to Harry at the bull-baiting. But from this time I shall apply myself to the study of nothing but reason and philosophy, and therefore I have bid adieu to dress and finery for ever."

It was with great difficulty that the gentlemen could refrain from laughing at Tommy's harangue, delivered with infinite seriousness and solemnity; they, however, concealed their emotions, and encouraged him to persevere in such a laudable resolution; but as the night was now pretty far advanced, the whole family retired to bed.

The next morning early, Tommy arose, and dressed himself with his newly-adopted simplicity, and, as soon as breakfast was over, prevailed with Mr Barlow to accompany him to Harry Sandford's; but he did not forget to take with him the lamb, which he had caressed and fed with constant assiduity ever since he had so valiantly rescued him from his devouring enemy. As they approached the house, the first object which Tommy distinguished was his little friend at some distance, who was driving his father's sheep along the common. At this sight his impetuosity could no longer be restrained, and, springing forward with all his speed, he arrived in an instant panting and out of breath, and incapable of speaking. Harry, who knew his friend, and plainly perceived the disposition with which he approached, met him with open arms, so that the reconciliation was begun and completed in a moment; and Mr Barlow, who now arrived with the lamb, had the pleasure of seeing his little pupils mutually giving and receiving every unaffected mark of the warmest affection.

"Harry," said Mr Barlow, "I bring you a little friend who is sincerely penitent for his offences, and comes to own the faults he has committed." "That I am indeed," said Tommy, a little recovered, and able to speak; "but I have behaved so ill, and been such an ungrateful fellow, that I am afraid Harry will never be able to forgive me." "Indeed, indeed," said Harry, "there you do me the greatest injustice, for I have already forgotten everything but your former kindness and affection." "And I," answered Tommy, "will never forget how ill, how ungratefully I have used you, nor the goodness with which you now receive me." Tommy then recollected his lamb, and presented it to his friend, while Mr Barlow told him the story of its rescue, and the heroism exerted in its defence. Harry seemed to receive equal pleasure from the restoration of his favourite, and the affection Tommy had shown in its preservation; and, taking him by the hand, he led him into a small but neat and convenient house, where he was most cordially welcomed by Harry's family.

In a corner of the chimney sat the honest Black, who had performed so signal a service at the bull-baiting. "Alas!" said Tommy, "there is another instance of my negligence and ingratitude; I now see that one fault brings on another without end." Then advancing to the Black, he took him kindly by the hand, and thanked him for the preservation of his life. "Little master," replied he, "you are extremely welcome to all I have done; I would at any time risk my own safety to preserve one of my fellow-creatures; and if I have been of any use, I have been amply repaid by the kindness of this little boy, your friend, and all his worthy family." "That is not enough," said Tommy, "and you shall soon find what it is to oblige a person like——(here a stroke of presumption was just coming out of Tommy's mouth, but, recollecting himself, he added) a person like my father." And now he addressed himself to Harry's mother, a venerable, decent woman of middle age, and his two sisters, plain, modest, healthy-looking girls, a little older than their brother. All these he treated with so much cordiality and attention that all the company were delighted with him; so easy is it for those who possess rank and fortune to gain the goodwill of their fellow-creatures, and so inexcusable is that surly pride which renders many of them deservedly odious.

When dinner was ready he sat down with the rest; and as it was the custom here for everybody to wait upon himself, Tommy insisted upon their suffering him to conform to the established method. The food, indeed, was not very delicate, but it was wholesome, clean, and served up hot to table,—an advantage which is not always found in elegant apartments. Tommy ate with a considerable appetite, and seemed to enjoy his new situation as much as if he had never experienced any other. After the dinner was removed, he thought he might with propriety gratify the curiosity he felt to converse with the Black upon fighting bulls, for nothing had more astonished him than the account he had heard of his courage, and the ease with which he had subdued so terrible an animal. "My friend," said he, "I suppose in your own country you have been very much used to bull-baitings, otherwise you would never have dared to encounter such a fierce creature. I must confess, though I can tame most animals, I never was more frightened in my life than when I saw him break loose; and without your assistance, I do not know what would have become of me."

"Master," replied the Black, "it is not in my own country that I have learned to manage these animals. There I have been accustomed to several kinds of hunting much more dangerous than this; and considering how much you white people despise us blacks, I own I was very much surprised to see so many hundreds of you running away from such an insignificant enemy as a poor tame bull."

Tommy blushed a little at the remembrance of the prejudices he had formerly entertained concerning blacks and his own superiority; but not choosing now to enter upon the subject, he asked the man where then he had acquired so much dexterity in taming them?

"I will tell you, master," replied the Black. "When I lived a slave among the Spaniards at Buenos Ayres, it used to be a common employment of the people to go into the woods to hunt cattle down for their subsistence. The hunter mounts his fleetest horse, and takes with him a strong cord of a considerable length; when he sees one of the wild kind which he destines for his prey, he pursues it at full speed, and never fails to overtake it by the superior swiftness of his horse. While he is thus employed, he holds the cord ready, at the end of which a sliding noose is formed, and when he is at a convenient distance, throws it from him with such a certain hand, that the beast is entangled by one of his legs, after which it is impossible for him to escape.

"That you may form a more clear idea of what a man is capable of executing with courage and address, I will relate a most extraordinary incident to which I was witness during my residence in that part of the world. A certain man, a native of the country, had committed some offence, for which he was condemned to labour several years in the galleys. He found means to speak to the governor of the town, and besought him to change the nature of his punishment. 'I have been brought up,' said he, 'a warrior, and fear dishonour, but not death. Instead of consuming my strength and spirits in such an ignominious employment, let me have an opportunity of achieving something worthy to be beheld, or of perishing like a brave man in the attempt. In a few days a solemn feast is to be celebrated, at which you will not fail to be present, attended by all your people. I will there, in the presence of the whole city, encounter the fiercest bull you can procure. I desire no assistance but my horse, no weapons but this cord; yet, thus prepared, I will meet his fury, and take him by the head, the horns, the feet, as you shall direct. I will then throw him down, bridle him, saddle him, and vault upon his back; in this situation you shall turn out two more of the fiercest bulls you can find, and I will attack them both, and put them all to death with my dagger the instant you shall command.' The governor consented to this brave man's request, more from curiosity to see so extraordinary a spectacle, than from the opinion it would be attended with success.

"When the appointed day arrived the inhabitants of the city assembled, and took their seats in a vast building which surrounded a considerable open space destined for this amazing combat. The brave American then appeared alone on horseback, armed with nothing but his cord; and after riding round the place and saluting the company, he waited intrepidly for his enemy. Presently an enormous bull was let loose, who, as soon as he beheld the man, attacked him with all his fury. The American avoided his shock with infinite dexterity, and galloped round the bull, who, in his turn, betook himself to flight. The valiant horseman pursued his flying enemy; and while he was thus engaged, he desired the governor to direct where he would have him seized. He replied it was a matter of indifference to him; and the American, instantly throwing his noose, which he held ready all the time, caught the bull in his flight by one of his hinder legs; then, galloping two or three times round the animal, he so enveloped him in the snare, that, after a few violent efforts to disengage himself, he fell to the earth. He then leaped lightly from his horse; and the animal who had been perfectly trained up to this kind of combat, stood still, and kept the cord extended; while his master advanced to the bull, and put him to death in an instant, by stabbing him with his dagger behind the horns.

"All the assembly uttered a shout of admiration; but the conqueror told them, that what they had seen was nothing; and, disentangling his cord from the slaughtered beast, he composedly mounted his horse, and waited for a new and more formidable enemy. Presently the gate of the torillo was opened, and a bull, much more furious than the last, rushed out, whom he was ordered to bridle and saddle, according to his engagement."

"I protest," said Tommy, "this is the most wonderful story I ever heard. I do not believe all the fine gentleman I have ever seen, put together, would dare to attack such a bull."

"Master," replied the Black, "the talents of mankind are various; and nature has, in every country, furnished the human species with all the qualities necessary for their preservation. In this country, and many others which I have seen, there are thousands who live, like birds in cages, upon the food provided by others, without doing anything for themselves. But they should be contented with the happiness they enjoy (if such a life can be called happiness), and not despise their fellow-creatures, without whose continual assistance they could not exist an instant."