Chapter VIII (4)

"While they were in this uncertainty, I considered the nature of their situation, and had the good fortune to find out a resource, which, being communicated to my friend and chief, and adopted by the nation, was the means of their safety. I observed that the passage to the Saukie camp, for the Iroquese, lay along a narrow slip of land which extended for nearly a mile between two lakes. I therefore advised the Saukies to cast up a strong barrier at the end of the passage, which I showed them how to strengthen with ditches, palisades, and some of the improvements of the European fortification. Their number of warriors amounted to about four hundred; these I divided into equal parts, and, leaving one to defend the lines, I placed the other in ambuscade along the neighbouring woods. Scarcely were these dispositions finished before the Iroquese appeared, and, imagining they were rushing upon an unguarded foe, entered the defile without hesitation. As soon as the whole body was thus imprudently engaged, the other party of the Saukies started from their hiding-places, and, running to the entrance of the strait, threw up in an instant another fortification, and had the satisfaction to see the whole force of their enemies thus circumvented and caught in a trap. The Iroquese soon perceived the difficulty and danger of escape; they, however, behaved with that extraordinary composure which is the peculiar characteristic of this people on every occasion. The lakes were at that time frozen over, yet not so hard as to permit them to effect a passage over the ice; and though a thaw succeeded in a short time, it was equally impracticable to pass by swimming or on rafts. Three days, therefore, the Iroquese remained quiet in this disagreeable situation, and, as if they had nothing to apprehend, diverted themselves all this time with fishing. On the fourth morning they judged the ice sufficiently dissolved to effect their escape; and therefore, cutting down some trees which grew upon the strait, they formed them into rafts, and embarked their whole force. But this could not be done without the knowledge of the Saukies, who despatched a considerable body of warriors to oppose their landing. It is unnecessary to relate all the horrid particulars of the engagement which ensued; I will only mention, that the Iroquese at length effected their landing with the loss of half their number, and retreated precipitately to their own country, leaving behind them all the furs and skins which they had taken in their hunting. The share I had had in this success gained me the friendship of all the nation, and, at my desire, they sent some of their young men to guide me through the woods to the English settlements, and they took their leave of me with every expression of esteem, and a considerable present of valuable furs.

"These, gentlemen (with the exception of one adventure, when I was attacked by three desperate-looking fellows, two of whom I killed, and the other fled), are the most important and interesting events of my life; and as I have already trespassed too long upon your patience, I shall now hasten to draw my story to a conclusion. After this I was employed in various parts of America and the West Indies during the rest of the war. I suffered hardships and difficulties innumerable, and acquired, as my father had foretold, a little wisdom at the price of a considerable quantity of blood. When the war was ended, I found myself nearly in the same situation as I began, except the present of my friendly Americans, which I turned into money and remitted to England. I therefore now began to feel my military enthusiasm abated, and, having permission to leave the service, I embraced that opportunity of returning to my country, fully determined to spend the remainder of my life amid my family and friends. I found my father and mother still living, who received me in the fondest manner. I then employed the little fund I had acquired to stock a farm, which I hired in the neighbourhood, and where I imagined my care and industry would be sufficient to insure us all a comfortable subsistence. Some little time after, I married a virtuous and industrious young woman, the mother of the unfortunate children who are so much indebted to your bounty. For some time I made a shift to succeed tolerably well, but at length, the distresses of my country increasing, I found myself involved in the deepest poverty. Several years of uncommon severity destroyed my cattle (which is the chief support of the Highlanders), and rotted away the scanty crops, which were to supply us with food, upon the ground. I cannot accuse myself of either voluntary unthriftiness or neglect of my business, but there are some situations in which it seems impossible for human exertion to stem the torrent of misfortune. But wherefore should I give pain to such kind and worthy benefactors, by a detail of all the miseries which I and many of my poor countrymen have endured? I will therefore only mention that, after having suffered, I think, every distress which human nature is equal to support--after having seen my tender parents, and last, my dear unfortunate wife, perish by the hardships of our situation--I took the resolution of abandoning for ever a country which seemed incapable of supporting its inhabitants. I thought that the milder climate and more fertile soil of America might, perhaps, enable a wretched wanderer, who asked no more than food for his starving children, to drag on, a little longer, a miserable life. With this idea I sold the remainder of my stock, and, after having paid my landlord, I found I had just enough to transport myself and family into eternal banishment. I reached a seaport town, and embarked with my children on board a ship that was setting sail for Philadelphia. But the same ill-fortune seemed still to accompany my steps; for a dreadful storm arose, which, after having tossed our vessel during several days, wrecked us at length upon the coast. All the crew indeed escaped, and with an infinite difficulty I saved these dear but miserable infants who now accompany me; but when I reflect on my situation, in a distant country, without resources, friends, or hopes, I am almost inclined to think that we might all have been happier in the bosom of the ocean."

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.