CHAPTER VII.

Tommy and Harry visit Home--The Fashionable Guests--Miss Simmons

takes notice of Harry--Harry's Troubles--Master Compton and

Mash--Estrangement of Tommy--Visit to the Theatre--Misbehaviour

there--Card Playing--The Ball--Harry Dancing a Minuet--Story of Sir

Philip Sidney--Master Mash insults Harry--The Fight in the

Drawing-room--The Bull-baiting--Tommy strikes Harry--Master Mash's

Combat with Harry--Tommy's Narrow Escape from the Bull--The

Grateful Black.

And now the time arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and

spend some time with his parents. Mr Barlow had been long afraid of

this visit, as he knew he would meet a great deal of company there, who

would give him impressions of a very different nature from what he had

with much assiduity been labouring to excite. However, the visit was

unavoidable, and Mr Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to

accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father,

that Mr Barlow, with much regret, took leave of both his pupils. Harry,

from the experience he had formerly acquired of polite life, had no

great inclination for the expedition; however, his temper was too easy

and obliging to raise any objections, and the real affection he now

entertained for Master Merton rendered him less averse than he would

otherwise have been.

When they arrived at Mr Merton's, they were introduced into a crowded

drawing-room, full of the most elegant company which that part of the

country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of

different ages, who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays

with Master Merton. As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was

let loose in his praise; "he was grown, he was improved, he was such a

charming boy;" his eyes, his hair, his teeth, his every feature was the

admiration of all the ladies. Thrice did he make the circle, in order to

receive the congratulations of the company, and to be introduced to the

young ladies.

As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by nobody

except Mr Merton, who received him with great cordiality. A lady,

however, who sat by Mrs Merton, asked her in a whisper, which was loud

enough to be heard all over the room, whether that was the little

_ploughboy_ whom she had heard Mr Barlow was attempting to breed up like

a gentleman. Mrs Merton answered it was. "I protest," said the lady, "I

should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I

wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without

flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw in my

life, with quite the air of fashion, to keep such company. Are you not

afraid that Master Merton should insensibly contract bad habits, and a

grovelling way of thinking? For my own part, as I think a good education

is a thing of the utmost consequence in life, I have spared no pains to

give my dear Matilda every possible advantage." "Indeed," replied Mrs

Merton, "one may see the excellence of her education in everything Miss

Matilda does. She plays most divinely upon the harpsichord, talks French

even better than she does English, and draws in the style of a master.

Indeed, I think that last figure of the _naked Gladiator_ the finest

thing I ever saw in my life!"

While this conversation was going on in one part of the room, a young

lady, observing that nobody seemed to take the least notice of Harry,

advanced towards him with the greatest affability, and began to enter

into conversation with him. This young lady's name was Simmons. Her

father and mother had been two of the most respectable people in the

country, according to the old style of English gentry, but, he having

died while she was young, the care of her had devolved upon an uncle,

who was a man of sense and benevolence, but a very great humorist. This

gentleman had such peculiar ideas of female character, that he waged war

with most of the polite and modern accomplishments. As one of the first

blessings of life, according to his notions, was health, he endeavoured

to prevent that sickly delicacy, which is considered as so great an

ornament in fashionable life by a more robust and hardy education. His

niece was accustomed, from her earliest years, to plunge into the cold

bath at every season of the year, to rise by candle-light in winter, to

ride a dozen miles upon a trotting horse, or to walk as many, even with

the hazard of being splashed, or soiling her clothes. By this mode of

education Miss Sukey (for so she had the misfortune to be named)

acquired an excellent character, accompanied, however, with some

dispositions which disqualified her almost as much as Harry for

fashionable life. She was acquainted with all the best authors in our

language; nor was she ignorant of those in French, although she could

not speak a word of the language. Her uncle, who was a man of sense and

knowledge, had besides instructed her in several parts of knowledge

which rarely fall to the lot of ladies, such as the established laws of

nature, and a small degree of geometry. She was, besides, brought up to

every species of household employment, which is now exploded by ladies

of every rank and station as mean and vulgar, and taught to believe that

domestic economy is a point of the utmost consequence to every woman who

intends to be a wife or mother. As to music, though Miss Simmons had a

very agreeable voice, and could sing several simple songs in a very

pleasing manner, she was entirely ignorant of it. Her uncle used to say,

that human life is not long enough to throw away so much time upon the

science of _making a noise_. Nor would he permit her to learn French,

although he understood it himself; women, he thought, are not birds of

passage, that are to be eternally changing their place of abode. "I have

never seen any good," would he say, "from the importation of foreign

manners; every virtue may be learned and practised at home, and it is

only because we do not choose to have either virtue or religion among us

that so many adventurers are yearly sent out to smuggle foreign graces.

As to various languages, I do not see the necessity of them for a woman.

My niece is to marry an Englishman, and to live in England. To what

purpose, then, should I labour to take off the difficulty of conversing

with foreigners, and to promote her intercourse with barbers, valets,

dancing-masters, and adventurers of every description, that are

continually doing us the honour to come among us? As to the French

nation, I know and esteem it on many accounts, but I am very doubtful

whether the English will ever gain much by adopting either their manners

or their government, and when respectable foreigners choose to visit us,

I see no reason why they should not take the trouble of learning the

language of the country."

Such had been the education of Miss Simmons, who was the only one of all

the genteel company at Mr Merton's that thought Harry deserving the

least attention. This young lady, who possessed an uncommon degree of

natural benevolence of character, came up to him in such a manner as

set him perfectly at his ease. Harry was destitute of the artificial

graces of society, but he possessed that natural politeness and good

nature, without which all artificial graces are the most disgusting

things in the world. Harry had an understanding naturally strong; and Mr

Barlow, while he had with the greatest care preserved him from all false

impressions had taken great pains in cultivating the faculties of his

mind. Harry, indeed, never said any of those brilliant things which

render a boy the darling of the ladies; he had not that vivacity, or

rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial

people; but he paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and

made the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For

this reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and more improved,

received great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought little

Harry infinitely more agreeable and judicious than any of the smart

young gentlemen she had hitherto seen at Mr Merton's.

But now the company was summoned to the important business of dinner.

Harry could not help sighing when he reflected on what he had to

undergo; however, he determined to bear it with all imaginable

fortitude, for the sake of his friend Tommy. The dinner indeed was, if

possible, more dreadful than anything he had before undergone--so many

fine gentlemen and fine ladies; so many powdered servants to stand

behind their chairs; such an apparatus of dishes which Harry had never

tasted before, and which almost made him sick when he did taste; so

many removes; such pomp and solemnity about what seemed the easiest

thing in the world--that Harry could not help envying the condition of

his father's labourers, who, when they are hungry, can sit at their ease

under a hedge, and make a dinner without plates, table-cloths, or

compliments!

In the mean time his friend Tommy was received amid the circle of the

ladies, and attended to as a prodigy of wit and ingenuity. Harry could

not help being surprised at this. His affection for his friend was

totally unmixed with the meanness of jealousy, and he received the

sincerest pleasure from every improvement which Tommy had made; however,

he had never discovered in him any of those surprising talents; and,

when he could catch anything that Tommy said, it appeared to him rather

inferior to his usual method of conversation. However, as so many fine

ladies were of a different opinion, he took it for granted that he must

be mistaken.

But if Harry's opinion of his friend's abilities was not much improved

by this exhibition, it was not so with Tommy. The repeated assurances

which he received that he was indeed a little _prodigy_, began to

convince him that he really was so. When he considered the company he

came from, he found that infinite injustice had been done to his merit;

for at Mr Barlow's he was frequently contradicted, and obliged to give a

reason for what he said; but here, in order to be admired, he had

nothing to do but to talk; whether he had any meaning or not, his

auditors always found either wit or sense, or a most entertaining

sprightliness in all he said. Nor was Mrs Merton herself deficient in

bestowing marks of admiration upon her son. To see him before, improved

in health, in understanding, in virtue, had given her a pleasurable

sensation, for she was by no means destitute of good dispositions; but

to see him shine with such transcendant brightness, before such

excellent judges, and in so polite a company, inspired her with raptures

she had never felt before. Indeed, in consequence of this success, the

young gentleman's volubility improved so much that, before dinner was

over, he seemed disposed to engross the whole conversation to himself;

and Mr Merton, who did not quite relish the sallies of his son so much

as his wife, was once or twice obliged to interpose and check him in his

career. This Mrs Merton thought very hard; and all the ladies, after

they had retired into the drawing-room, agreed, that his father would

certainly spoil his temper by such improper contradiction.

As to little Harry, he had not the good fortune to please the greater

number of the ladies. They observed that he was awkward and ungenteel,

and had a heavy, clownish look; he was also silent and reserved, and had

not said a single agreeable thing; if Mr Barlow chose to keep a school

for carters and threshers, nobody would hinder him, but it was not

proper to introduce such vulgar people to the sons of persons of

fashion. It was therefore agreed that Mr Barlow ought either to send

little Harry home to his friends, or to be no more honoured with the

company of Master Merton. Indeed, one of the ladies hinted, that Mr

Barlow himself was but "an odd kind of man, who never went to

assemblies, and played upon no kind of instrument."

"Why," answered Mrs Merton, "to tell the truth, I was not over fond of

the scheme. Mr Barlow, to be sure, though a very good, is a very odd

kind of man. However, as he is so disinterested, and would never receive

the least present from us, I doubt whether we could with propriety

insist upon his turning little Sandford out of the house." "If that is

the case, madam," answered Mrs Compton (for that was the name of the

lady), "I think it would be infinitely better to remove Master Merton,

and place him in some polite seminary, where he might acquire a

knowledge of the world, and make genteel connections. This will always

be the greatest advantage to a young gentleman, and will prove of the

most essential service to him in life; for, though a person has all the

merit in the world, without such acquaintance it will never push him

forward, or enable him to make a figure. This is the plan which I have

always pursued with Augustus and Matilda; I think I may say not entirely

without success, for they have both the good fortune to have formed the

most brilliant acquaintances. As to Augustus, he is so intimate with

young Lord Squander, who you know is possessed of the greatest

parliamentary interest, that I think that his fortune is as good as

made."

Miss Simmons, who was present at this refined and wise conversation,

could not help looking with so much significance at this mention of Lord

Squander, that Mrs Compton coloured a little, and asked with some

warmth, whether she knew anything of that young nobleman.

"Why, madam," answered the young lady, "what I know is very little; but

if you desire me to inform you, it is my duty to speak the truth." "Oh,

to be sure, miss," replied Mrs Compton, a little angrily, "we all know

that your _judgment_ and _knowledge_ of the world are superior to what

anybody else can boast; and therefore I shall be infinitely obliged to

you for any _information_ you may be pleased to give." "Indeed, madam,"

answered the young lady, "I have very little of either to boast, nor am

I personally acquainted with the nobleman you are talking of; but I have

a cousin, a very good boy, who is at the same public school with his

lordship, and he has given me such a character of him as does not much

prepossess me in his favour." "And what may this wise cousin of yours

have said of his lordship?" "_Only_, madam, that he is one of the worst

boys in the whole school; that he has neither genius nor application for

anything that becomes his rank and situation; that he has no taste for

anything but gaming, horse-racing, and the most contemptible amusements;

that, though his allowance is large, he is continually running in debt

with everybody that will trust him; and that he has broken his word so

often that nobody has the least confidence in what he says. Added to

this, I have heard that he is so haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing,

that nobody can long preserve his friendship without the meanest

flattery and subservience to all his vicious inclinations; and, to

finish all, that he is of so ungrateful a temper, that he was never

known to do an act of kindness to any one, or to care about anything but

himself."

Here Miss Matilda could not help interposing with warmth. She said,

"that his lordship had nothing in his character or manners that did not

perfectly become a nobleman of the most elevated soul. Little grovelling

minds, indeed, which are always envious of their superiors, might give a

disagreeable turn to the generous openness of this young nobleman's

temper. That, as to gaming and running in debt, they were so essential

to a man of fashion, that nobody who was not born in the city, and

oppressed by city prejudices, would think of making the least objection

to them." She then made a panegyric upon his lordship's person, his

elegant taste and dress, his new phaeton, his entertaining conversation,

his extraordinary performance upon the violin; and concluded that, with

such abilities and accomplishments, she did not doubt of one day seeing

him at the head of the nation.

Miss Simmons had no desire of pushing the conversation any farther; and

the rest of the company coming in to tea, the disquisition about Lord

Squander finished.

After tea, several of the young ladies were desired to amuse the company

with music and singing; among the rest Miss Simmons sang a little Scotch

song, called Lochaber, in so artless, but sweet and pathetic a manner,

that little Harry listened almost with tears in his eyes, though several

of the young ladies, by their significant looks and gestures, treated it

with ineffable contempt.

After this, Miss Matilda, who was allowed to be a perfect mistress of

music, played and sang several celebrated Italian airs; but as these

were in a language totally unintelligible to Harry, he received very

little pleasure, though all the rest of the company were in raptures.

She then proceeded to play several pieces of music, which were allowed

by all connoisseurs to require infinite skill to execute. The audience

seemed all delighted, and either felt or pretended to feel inexpressible

pleasure; even Tommy himself, who did not know one note from another,

had caught so much of the general enthusiasm, that he applauded as loud

as the rest of the company. But Harry, whose temper was not quite so

pliable, could not conceal the intolerable weariness that overpowered

his senses during this long exhibition. He gaped, he yawned, he

stretched, he even pinched himself, in order to keep his attention

alive, but all in vain; the more Miss Matilda exercised her skill in

playing pieces of the most difficult execution, the more did Harry's

propensity to drowsiness increase. At length the lateness of the hour,

which much exceeded Harry's time of going to bed, conspiring with the

opiate charms of music, he could resist no longer, but insensibly fell

back upon his chair fast asleep. This unfortunate accident was soon

remarked by the rest of the company, and confirmed them very much in the

opinion they had conceived of Harry's vulgarity; while he, in the

meantime, enjoyed the most placid slumber, which was not dissipated till

Miss Matilda had desisted from playing.

Thus was the first day passed at Mr Merton's, very little to the

satisfaction of Harry; the next, and the next after, were only

repetitions of the same scene. The little gentry, whose tastes and

manners were totally different from his, had now imbibed a perfect

contempt for Harry, and it was with great difficulty that they

condescended to treat him even with common civility. In this _laudable_

behaviour they were very much confirmed by Master Compton and Master

Mash. Master Compton was reckoned a very genteel boy, though all his

gentility consisted in a pair of buckles so big that they almost

crippled him; in a slender emaciated figure, and a look of consummate

impudence. He had almost finished his education at a public school,

where he had learned every vice and folly which is commonly taught at

such places, without the least improvement either of his character or

his understanding. Master Mash was the son of a neighbouring gentleman,

who had considerably impaired his fortune by an inordinate love of

horse-racing. Having been from his infancy accustomed to no other

conversation than about winning and losing money, he had acquired the

idea that, to bet successfully, was the summit of all human ambition. He

had been almost brought up in the stable, and therefore had imbibed the

greatest interest about horses; not from any real affection for that

noble animal, but merely because he considered them as engines for the

winning of money. He too was now improving his talents by a public

education, and longed impatiently for the time when he should be set

free from all restraint, and allowed to display the superiority of his

genius at Ascot and Newmarket.

These two young gentlemen had conceived the most violent dislike to

Harry, and lost no occasion of saying or doing everything they had in

their power to mortify him. To Tommy, they were in the contrary

extreme, and omitted no opportunity of rendering themselves agreeable to

him. Nor was it long before their forward vivacious manners, accompanied

with a knowledge of many of those gay scenes, which acted forcibly upon

Tommy's imagination, began to render their conversation highly

agreeable. They talked to him about public diversions, about celebrated

actresses, about parties of pleasure, and parties of mischief. Tommy

began to feel himself introduced to a new train of ideas, and a wider

range of conduct; he began to long for the time when he should share in

the glories of robbing orchards, or insulting passengers with impunity;

but when he heard that little boys, scarcely bigger than himself, had

often joined in the glorious project of forming open rebellions against

their masters, or of disturbing a whole audience at a playhouse, he

panted for the time when he might have a chance of sharing in the fame

of such achievements. By degrees he lost all regard for Mr Barlow, and

all affection for his friend Harry. At first, indeed, he was shocked at

hearing Mr Barlow mentioned with disrespect, but becoming by degrees

more callous to every good impression he at last took infinite pleasure

in seeing Master Mash (who, though destitute of either wit or genius,

had a great taste for mimicry) take off the _parson_ in the middle of

his _sermon_.

Harry perceived and lamented this change in the manners of his friend;

he sometimes took the liberty of remonstrating with him upon the

subject, but was only answered with a contemptuous sneer; and Master

Mash, who happened once to be present, told him that he was a _monstrous

bore_.

It happened that, while Harry was at Mr Merton's, there was a troop of

strolling players at a neighbouring town. In order to divert the young

gentry, Mr Merton contrived that they should make a party to see a play.

They went accordingly, and Harry with the rest. Tommy, who now no longer

condescended to take any notice of his friend Harry, was seated between

his two new acquaintances, who had become his inseparable companions.

These young gentlemen first began to give specimens of their

_politeness_ by throwing nuts and orange-peel upon the stage; and Tommy,

who was resolved to profit by such an _excellent_ example, threw nuts

and orange-peel with infinite satisfaction.

As soon as the curtain drew up, and the actors appeared, all the rest of

the audience observed a decent silence; but Mash and Compton, who were

now determined to prove the _superiority_ of their manners, began to

talk so loud, and make so much noise, that it was impossible for any one

near them to hear a word of the play. This also seemed amazingly _fine_

to Tommy; and he too talked and laughed as loud as the rest.

The subject of their conversation was, the audience and the performers;

neither of whom these polite young gentlemen found bearable. The

_company_ was chiefly composed of the tradesmen of the town, and the

inhabitants of the neighbouring country; this was a sufficient reason

for these refined young gentlemen to speak of them with the most

insufferable contempt. Every circumstance of their dress and appearance

was criticised with such a minuteness of attention, that Harry, who sat

near, and very much against his inclination was witness to all that

passed, began to imagine that his companions, instead of being brought

up like the sons of gentlemen, had only studied under barbers and

tailors; such amazing knowledge did they display in the history of

buckles, buttons, and dressing of hair. As to the poor _performers_,

they found them totally undeserving of mercy; they were so shockingly

awkward, so ill-dressed, so low-lived, and such detestable creatures,

that it was impossible to bear them with any patience.

Master Mash, who prided himself upon being a young gentleman of great

spirit, was of opinion that they should _kick up a riot_, and demolish

all the scenery. Tommy, indeed, did not very well understand what the

expression meant; but he was so intimately persuaded of the merit and

genius of his companions, that he agreed that it would be the most

proper thing in the world; and the proposal was accordingly made to the

rest of the young gentlemen.

But Harry, who had been silent all the time, could not help

remonstrating at what appeared to him the greatest injustice and

cruelty. "These poor people," said he, "are doing all they can to

entertain us; is it not very unkind to treat them in return with scorn

and contempt? If they could act better, even as well as those fine

people you talk of in London, would they not willingly do it? and

therefore, why should we be angry with them for what they cannot help?

And, as to cutting the scenes to pieces, or doing the house any damage,

have we any more right to attempt it, than they would have to come into

your father's dining-room, and break the dishes to pieces, because they

did not like the dinner? While we are here, let us behave with good

manners, and, if we do not like their acting, it is our own faults if

ever we come to see them again."

This method of reasoning was not much relished by those to whom it was

addressed; and it is uncertain how far they might have proceeded, had

not a decent, plain-looking man, who had been long disturbed with the

noise of these young gentry, at length taken the liberty of

expostulating with them upon the subject. This freedom, or

_impertinence_, as it was termed by Master Mash, was answered by him

with so much rudeness, that the man, who was a neighbouring farmer, was

obliged to reply in a higher strain. Thus did the altercation increase

every minute, till Master Mash, who thought it an unpardonable affront

that any one in an inferior station should presume to think or feel for

himself, so far lost all command of his temper as to call the man a

_blackguard_, and strike him upon the face. But the farmer, who

possessed great strength, and equal resolution, very deliberately laid

hold of the young gentleman who had offered him the insult, and, without

the smallest exertion, laid him sprawling upon the ground, at his full

length under the benches, and setting his feet upon his body, told him

that, "since he did not know how to _sit_ quiet at a play, he would have

the honour of teaching him to _lie_; and that if he offered to stir, he

would trample him to pieces;" a threat which was very evident he could

find no difficulty in executing.

This unexpected incident struck a universal damp over the spirits of the

little gentry; and even Master Mash himself so far forgot his dignity,

as to supplicate in a very submissive manner for a release; in this he

was joined by all his companions, and Harry among the rest.

"Well," said the farmer, "I should never have thought that a parcel of

young gentlemen, as you call yourselves, would come into public to

behave with so much rudeness; I am sure that there is ne'er a ploughboy

at my house but what would have shown more sense and manners; but, since

you are sorry for what has happened, I am very willing to make an end of

the affair; more especially for the sake of this little master here, who

has behaved with so much propriety, that I am sure he is a better

gentleman than any of you, though he is not dressed so much like a

monkey or a barber." With these words he suffered the crestfallen Mash

to rise; who crept from his place of confinement, with looks infinitely

more expressive of mildness than he had brought with him; nor was the

lesson lost upon the others, for they behaved with the greatest decency

during the rest of the exhibition.

However, Master Mash's courage began to rise as he went home, and found

himself farther from his formidable farmer; for he assured his

companions, "that, if he had not been so vulgar a fellow, he would

certainly call him out and pistol him."

The next day at dinner Mr Merton and the ladies, who had not accompanied

the young gentlemen to the play, nor had yet heard of the misfortune

which had ensued, were very inquisitive about the preceding night's

entertainment. The young people agreed that the performers were

detestable, but that the play was a charming piece, full of wit and

sentiment, and extremely improving. This play was called _The Marriage

of Figaro_, and Master Compton had informed them that it was amazingly

admired by all the people of fashion in London.

But Mr Merton, who had observed that Harry was totally silent, at length

insisted upon knowing his opinion upon the subject, "Why, sir," answered

Harry, "I am very little judge of these matters, for I never saw a play

before in my life, and therefore I cannot tell whether it was acted well

or ill; but as to the play itself, it seemed to me to be full of nothing

but cheating and dissimulation; and the people that come in and out do

nothing but impose upon each other, and lie, and trick, and deceive.

Were you or any gentlemen to have such a parcel of servants, you would

think them fit for nothing in the world; and therefore I could not help

wondering, while the play was acting, that people would throw away so

much of their time upon sights that can do them no good, and send their

children and their relations to learn fraud and insincerity." Mr Merton

smiled at the honest bluntness of Harry; but several of the ladies, who

had just been expressing an extravagant admiration of this piece, seemed

to be not a little mortified; however, as they could not contradict the

charges which Harry had brought against it, they thought it most prudent

to be silent.

In the evening it was proposed that all the little gentry should divert

themselves with cards, and they accordingly sat down to a game which is

called Commerce. But Harry, who was totally ignorant of this

accomplishment, desired to be excused; however, his friend Miss Simmons

offered to teach him the game, which, she assured him, was so easy, that

in three minutes he would be able to play as well as the rest. Harry,

however, still continued to refuse; and at last confessed to Miss

Simmons, that he had expended all his money the day before, and

therefore was unable to furnish the stake which the rest deposited.

"Don't let that disturb you," said she; "I will put down for you with a

great deal of pleasure." "Madam," answered Harry, "I am very much

obliged to you, I am sure; but Mr Barlow has always forbidden me either

to receive or borrow money of anybody, for fear, in the one case, I

should become mercenary, or in the other, dishonest; and therefore,

though there is nobody here whom I esteem more than yourself, I am

obliged to refuse your offer." "Well," replied Miss Simmons, "that need

not disturb you; for you shall play upon my account, and that you may do

without any violation of your principles."

Thus was Harry, though with some reluctance, induced to sit down to

cards with the rest. The game, indeed, he found no difficulty in

learning; but he could not help remarking, with wonder, the extreme

solicitude which appeared in the face of all the players at every change

of fortune. Even the young ladies, all but Miss Simmons, seemed to be

equally sensible of the passion of gaining money with the rest; and some

of them behaved with a degree of asperity which quite astonished him.

After several changes of fortune, it happened that Miss Simmons and

Harry were the only remaining players; all the rest, by the laws of the

game, had forfeited all pretensions to the stake, the property of which

was clearly vested in these two, and one more deal was wanting to decide

it. But Harry, with great politeness, rose from the table, and told Miss

Simmons, that, as he only played upon her account, he was no longer

wanted, and that the whole undoubtedly belonged to her. Miss Simmons

refused to take it; and when she found that Harry was not to be induced

to play any more, she at last proposed to him to divide what was left.

This also Harry declined, alleging that he had not the least title to

any part. But Miss Simmons, who began to be uneasy at the remarks which

this extraordinary contest occasioned, told Harry that he would oblige

her by taking his share of the money, and laying it out in any manner

for her that he judged best. "On this condition," answered Harry, "I

will take it; and I think I know a method of laying it out, which you

will not entirely disapprove."

The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Harry disappeared; nor was

he come back when the company were assembled at dinner. At length he

came in, with a glow of health and exercise upon his face, and that

disorder of dress which is produced by a long journey. The young ladies

eyed him with great contempt, which seemed a little to disconcert him;

but Mr Merton speaking to him with great good-humour, and making room

for him to sit down, Harry soon recovered from his confusion.

In the evening, after a long conversation among the young people, about

public diversions and plays, and actors, and dancers, they happened to

mention the name of a celebrated performer, who at this time engaged the

whole attention of the town. Master Compton, after expatiating with

great enthusiasm upon the subject, added, "that nothing was so

fashionable as to make great presents to this person, in order to show

the taste and elegance of the giver." He then proposed that, as so many

young gentlemen and ladies were here assembled, they should set an

example, which would do them infinite honour, and probably be followed

throughout the kingdom, of making a little collection among themselves

to buy a piece of plate, or a gold snuff-box, or some other trifle, to

be presented in their name. He added, "that though he could ill-spare

the money (having just laid out six guineas upon a new pair of buckles),

he would contribute a guinea to so excellent a purpose, and that Masters

Mash and Merton would do the same."

This proposal was universally approved of by all the company, and all

but Harry promised to contribute in proportion to their finances. This

Master Mash observing, said, "Well, farmer, and what will you

subscribe?" Harry answered, "that on this occasion he must beg to be

excused, for he had nothing to give." "Here is a pretty fellow!"

answered Mash; "last night we saw him pocket thirty shillings of our

money, which he cheated us out of at Commerce, and now the little stingy

wretch will not contribute half-a-crown, while we are giving away whole

guineas." Upon this Miss Matilda said, in an ironical manner, "that

Master Harry had always an excellent reason to give for his conduct;

and she did not doubt but he could prove to the satisfaction of them

all, that it was more liberal to keep his money in his pocket than to

give it away."

Harry, who was a little nettled at these reflections, answered, "that

though he was not bound to give any reason, he thought he had a very

good one to give; and that was, that he saw no generosity in thus

bestowing money. According to your own account," added he, "the person

you have been talking of gains more than fifty poor families in the

country have to maintain themselves; and therefore, if I had any money

to give away, I should certainly give it to those that want it most."

With these words Harry went out of the room, and the rest of the gentry,

after abusing him very liberally, sat down to cards. But Miss Simmons,

who imagined that there was more in Harry's conduct than he had

explained, excused herself from cards, and took an opportunity of

talking to him upon the subject. After speaking to him with great

good-nature, she asked him, whether it might not have been better to

have contributed something along with the rest, than to have offended

them by so free an exposition of his sentiments, even though he did not

approve of the scheme. "Indeed, madam," said Harry, "this is what I

would gladly have done, but it was totally out of my power." "How can

that be, Harry? did you not the other night win nearly thirty

shillings?" "That, madam, all belonged to you; and I have already

disposed of it in your name, in a manner that I hope you will not

disapprove." "How is that?" inquired the young lady with some surprise.

"Madam," said Harry, "there was a young woman who lived with my father

as a servant, and always behaved with the greatest honesty and

carefulness. This young woman had an aged father and mother, who for a

great while were able to maintain themselves by their labour; but at

last the poor old man became too weak to do a day's work, and his wife

was afflicted with a disease they call the palsy. Now, when this good

young woman saw that her parents were in such great distress, she left

her place and went to live with them, on purpose to take care of them;

and she works very hard, whenever she can get work, and fares very hard

in order to maintain her parents; and though we assist them all we can,

I know that sometimes they can hardly get food and clothes; therefore,

madam, as you were so kind to say I should dispose of this money for

you, I ran over this morning to these poor people, and gave them all the

money in your name, and I hope you will not be displeased at the use I

have put it to." "Indeed," answered the young lady, "I am much obliged

to you for the good opinion you have of me, and the application of it

does me a great deal of honour; I am only sorry you did not give it in

your own name." "That," replied Harry, "I had not any right to do; it

would have been attributing to myself what did not belong to me, and

equally inconsistent with truth and honesty."

In this manner did the time pass away at Mr Merton's; while Harry

received very little satisfaction from his visit, except in conversing

with Miss Simmons. The affability and good sense of this young lady had

entirely gained his confidence; while all the other young ladies were

continually intent upon displaying their talents and importance, she

alone was simple and unaffected. But what disgusted Harry more than ever

was, that his refined companions seemed to consider themselves, and a

few of their acquaintance, as the only beings of any consequence in the

world. The most trifling inconvenience, the being a little too hot, a

little too cold, the walking a few hundred yards, the waiting a few

minutes for their dinner, the having a trifling cold, or a little

headache, were misfortunes so feelingly lamented, that he would have

imagined they were the most tender of the human species, had he not

observed that they considered the sufferings of all below them with a

profound indifference. If the misfortunes of the poor were mentioned, he

heard of nothing but the insolence and ingratitude of that class of

people, which seemed to be a sufficient excuse for the want of common

humanity. "Surely," said Harry to himself, "there cannot be so much

difference between one human being and another; or if there is, I should

think that part of them the most valuable who cultivate the ground, and

provide necessaries for all the rest; not those who understand nothing

but dress, walking with their toes out, staring modest people out of

countenance, and jabbering a few words of a foreign language."

But now the attention of all the younger part of the company was fixed

upon making preparations for a ball, which Mrs Merton had determined to

give in honour of Master Tommy's return. The whole house was now full

of milliners, mantua-makers, and dancing-masters; and all the young

ladies were employed in giving directions about their clothes, or in

practising the steps of different dances. Harry now, for the first time,

began to comprehend the infinite importance of dress--even the elderly

ladies seemed to be as much interested about the affair as their

daughters; and, instead of the lessons of conduct and wisdom which he

expected to hear, nothing seemed to employ their attention a moment but

French trimmings, gauzes, and Italian flowers. Miss Simmons alone

appeared to consider the approaching solemnity with perfect

indifference. Harry had never heard a single word drop from her that

expressed either interest or impatience; but he had for some days

observed her employed in her room with more than common assiduity. At

length, on the very day that was destined for this important exhibition,

she came to him with a benevolent smile, and spoke to him thus: "I was

so much pleased with the account you gave me the other day of that poor

young woman's duty and affection towards her parents, that I have for

some time employed myself in preparing for them a little present, which

I shall be obliged to you, Master Harry, to convey to them. I have,

unfortunately, never learned either to embroider or to paint artificial

flowers, but my good uncle has taught me that the best employment I can

make of my hands is to assist those who cannot assist themselves."

Saying this, she put into his hands a parcel that contained some linen

and other necessaries for the poor old people, and bade him tell them

not to forget to call upon her uncle when she was returned home, as he

was always happy to assist the deserving and industrious poor. Harry

received her present with gratitude, and almost with tears of joy; and,

looking up in her face, imagined that he saw the features of one of

those angels which he had read of in the Scriptures; so much does real

disinterested benevolence improve the expression of the human

countenance.

But all the rest of the young gentry were employed in cares of a very

different nature--the dressing their hair and adorning their persons.

Tommy himself had now completely resumed his natural character, and

thrown aside all that he had learned during his residence with Mr

Barlow; he had contracted an infinite fondness for all those scenes of

dissipation which his new friends daily described to him, and began to

be convinced that one of the most important things in life is a

fashionable dress. In this _most rational_ sentiment he had been

confirmed by almost all the ladies with whom he had conversed since his

return home. The distinctions of character, relative to virtue and

understanding, which had been with so much pains inculcated upon his

mind, seemed here to be entirely unheeded. No one took the trouble of

examining the real principles or motives from which any human being

acted, while the most minute attention was continually given to what

regarded merely the outside. He observed that the omission of every duty

towards our fellow-creatures was not only excused, but even to a certain

degree admired, provided it was joined with a certain fashionable

appearance; while the most perfect probity or integrity was mentioned

with coldness or disgust, and frequently with open ridicule if

unconnected with a brilliant appearance. As to all the common virtues of

life--such as industry, economy, a punctuality in discharging our

obligations or keeping our word--these were qualities which were treated

as fit for none but the vulgar. Mr Barlow, he found, had been utterly

mistaken in all the principles which he had ever inculcated. "The human

species," Mr Barlow used to say, "can only be supplied with food and

necessaries by a constant assiduity in cultivating the earth and

providing for their mutual wants. It is by labour that everything is

produced; without labour, these fertile fields, which are now adorned

with all the luxuriance of plenty, would be converted into barren

heaths, or impenetrable thickets; these meadows, now the support of a

thousand herds of cattle, would be covered with stagnated waters, that

would not only render them uninhabitable by beasts, but corrupt the air

with pestilential vapours; and even these innumerable flocks of sheep

that feed along the hills, would disappear immediately on the cessation

of that cultivation, which can alone support them, and secure their

existence."

But, however true might be these principles, they were so totally

inconsistent with the conduct and opinion of Tommy's new friends, that

it was not possible for him long to remember their force. He had been

nearly a month with a few young ladies and gentlemen of his own rank,

and instead of their being brought up to produce anything useful, he

found that the great object of all their knowledge and education was

only to waste, to consume, to destroy, to dissipate what was produced

by others; he even found that this inability to assist either themselves

or others seemed to be a merit upon which every one valued himself

extremely; so that an individual, who could not exist without having two

attendants to wait upon him, was superior to him that had only one, but

was obliged in turn to yield to another who required four. And, indeed,

this new system seemed much more easy than the old one; for, instead of

giving himself any trouble about his manners or understanding, he might

with safety indulge all his caprices, give way to all his passions, be

humoursome, haughty, unjust, and selfish to the extreme. He might be

ungrateful to his friends, disobedient to his parents, a glutton, an

ignorant blockhead, in short, everything which to plain sense appears

most frivolous or contemptible, without incurring the least imputation,

provided his hair hung fashionably about his ears, his buckles were

sufficiently large, and his politeness to the ladies unimpeached.

Once, indeed, Harry had thrown him into a disagreeable train of

thinking, by asking him, with great simplicity, what sort of a figure

these young gentlemen would have made in the army of Leonidas, or these

young ladies upon a desert island, where they would be obliged to shift

for themselves. But Tommy had lately learned that nothing spoils the

face more than intense reflection; and therefore, as he could not easily

resolve the question, he wisely determined to forget it.

And now the important evening of the ball approached; the largest room

in the house was lighted up for the dancers, and all the little company

assembled. Tommy was that day dressed in an unusual style of elegance,

and had submitted, without murmuring, to be under the hands of a

hair-dresser for two hours! But what gave him the greatest satisfaction

of all, was an immense pair of new buckles which Mrs Merton had sent for

on purpose to grace the person of her son.

Several minuets were first danced, to the great admiration of the

company; and, among the rest, Tommy, who had been practising ever since

he had been at home, had the honour of exhibiting with Miss Matilda. He

indeed began with a certain degree of diffidence, but was soon inspired

with a proper degree of confidence by the applauses which resounded on

every side. "What an elegant little creature!" cried one lady. "What a

shape is there!" said a second; "I protest he puts me in mind of Vestris

himself." "Indeed," said a third, "Mrs Merton is a most happy mother to

be possessed of such a son, who wants nothing but an introduction to the

world, to be one of the most elegant creatures in England, and the most

accomplished."

As soon as Tommy had finished his dance, he led his partner to a seat

with a grace that surprised all the company anew, and then, with the

sweetest condescension imaginable, he went from one lady to another, to

receive the praises which they liberally poured out, as if it was the

greatest action in the world to draw one foot behind another, and to

walk on tiptoe.

Harry, in the mean time, had shrouded himself in the most obscure part

of the room, and was silently gazing upon the scene that passed. He knew

that his company would give no pleasure among the elegant figures that

engrossed the foremost seats, and felt not the least inclination for

such an honour. In this situation he was observed by Master Compton,

who, at the same instant, formed a scheme of mortifying Miss Simmons,

whom he did not like, and of exposing Harry to the general ridicule. He

therefore proposed it to Mash, who had partly officiated as master of

the ceremonies, and who, with all the readiness of officious malice,

agreed to assist him; Master Mash therefore, went up to Miss Simmons,

and, with all the solemnity of respect, invited her out to dance, which

she, although indifferent about the matter, accepted without hesitation.

In the meantime, Master Compton went up to Harry with the same

hypocritical civility, and in Miss Simmons' name invited him to dance a

minuet. It was in vain that Harry assured him he knew nothing about the

matter; his perfidious friend told him that it was an indispensable duty

for him to stand up; that Miss Simmons would never forgive him if he

should refuse; that it would be sufficient if he could just describe the

figure, without embarrassing himself about the steps. In the mean time,

he pointed out Miss Simmons, who was advancing towards the upper end of

the room, and, taking advantage of his confusion and embarrassment, led

him forward, and placed him by the young lady's side. Harry was not yet

acquainted with the sublime science of imposing upon unwary simplicity,

and therefore never doubted that the message had come from his friend;

and as nothing could be more repugnant to his character than the want of

compliance, he thought it necessary at least to go and expostulate with

her upon the subject. This was his intention when he suffered himself to

be led up the room; but his tormentors did not give him time, for they

placed him by the side of the young lady, and instantly called to the

music to begin. Miss Simmons, in her turn, was equally surprised at the

partner which was provided for her; she had never imagined minuet

dancing to be one of Harry's accomplishments, and therefore instantly

suspected that it was a concerted scheme to mortify her. However, in

this she was determined they should be disappointed, as she was

destitute of all pride, and had the sincerest regard for Harry. As soon,

therefore, as the music struck up, the young lady began her reverence,

which Harry, who found he was now completely caught, and had no time for

explanation, imitated as well as he was able, but in such a manner as

set the whole room in a titter. Harry, however, arming himself with all

the fortitude he possessed, performed his part as well as could be

expected from a person that had never learned a single step of dancing.

By keeping his eye fixed upon his partner, he made a shift at least to

preserve something of the figure, although he was terribly deficient in

the steps and graces of the dance. But his partner, who was scarcely

less embarrassed than himself, and wished to shorten the exhibition,

after crossing once, presented him with her hand. Harry had

unfortunately not remarked the nature of this manoeuvre with perfect

accuracy, and therefore, imagining that one hand was just as good as the

other, he offered the young lady his left instead of his right hand. At

this incident a universal peal of merriment, which they no longer

laboured to conceal, burst from almost all the company, and Miss

Simmons, wishing at any rate to close the scene, presented her partner

with both her hands, and abruptly finished the dance. The unfortunate

couple then retreated to the lower end of the room, amidst the jests and

sneers of their companions, particularly Mash and Compton, who assumed

unusual importance upon the credit of such a brilliant invention.

When they were seated, Miss Simmons could not help asking Harry, with

some displeasure, why he had thus exposed himself and her, by attempting

what he was totally ignorant of, and added, "that, though there was no

disgrace in not being able to dance, it was very great folly to attempt

it without having learned a single step." "Indeed, madam," answered

Harry, "I never should have thought of trying to do what I knew I was

totally ignorant of; but Master Compton came to me, and told me that you

particularly desired me to dance with you, and led me to the other end

of the room; and I only came to speak to you, and to inform you that I

knew nothing about the matter, for fear you should think me uncivil; and

then the music began to play, and you to dance, so that I had no

opportunity of speaking; and I thought it better to do the best I could

than to stand still, or leave you there." Miss Simmons instantly

recovered her former good-humour, and said, "Well, Harry, we are not

the first, nor shall be the last by hundreds, who have made a ridiculous

figure in a ball-room, without so good an excuse. But I am sorry to see

so malicious a disposition in these young gentlemen, and that all their

knowledge of polite life has not taught them a little better manners."

"Why madam," answered Harry, "since you are so good as to talk to me

upon the subject, I must confess that I have been very much surprised at

many things I have seen at Mr Merton's. All these young gentlemen and

ladies are continually talking about genteel life and manners, and yet

they are frequently doing things which surprise me. Mr Barlow has always

told me that politeness consisted in a disposition to oblige everybody

around us, and to say or do nothing which can give them disagreeable

impressions. Yet I continually see these young gentlemen striving to do

and say things, for no other reason than to give pain; for, not to go

any farther than the present instance, what motive can Masters Compton

and Mash have had but to mortify you by giving you such a partner? you,

madam, too, who are so kind and good to everybody, that I should think

it impossible not to love you."

"Harry," answered the young lady, "what you say about politeness is

perfectly just. I have heard my uncle and many sensible people say the

same; but, in order to acquire this species of it, both goodness of

heart and a just way of thinking are required; and therefore many people

content themselves with aping what they can pick up in the dress, or

gestures, or cant expressions of the higher classes; just like the poor

ass, which, dressed in the skin of a lion, was taken for the lion

himself, till his unfortunate braying exposed the cheat." "Pray, madam,

what is that story?" said Harry.

"It is a trifling one that I have read," answered Miss Simmons, "of

somebody who, having procured a lion's skin, fastened it round the body

of an ass, and then turned him loose, to the great affright of the

neighbourhood. Those who saw him first, imagined that a monstrous lion

had invaded the country, and fled with precipitation. Even the very

cattle caught the panic and were scattered by hundreds over the plains.

In the meantime the victorious ass pranced and capered along the fields,

and diverted himself with running after the fugitives. But at length, in

the gaiety of his heart, he broke into such a discordant braying, as

surprised those that were nearest, and expected to hear a very different

noise from under the terrible skin. At length a resolute fellow ventured

by degrees nearer to this object of their terror, and discovering the

cheat that had been practised upon them, divested the poor ass of all

his borrowed spoils, and drove him away with his cudgel."

"This story," continued Miss Simmons, "is continually coming into my

mind, when I see anybody imagine himself of great importance, because he

has adopted some particular mode of dress, or the grimaces of those that

call themselves fashionable people. Nor do I ever see Master Mash or

Compton without thinking of the lion's skin, and expecting every moment

to hear them bray."

Harry laughed very heartily at this story; but now their attention was

called towards the company, who had ranged themselves by pairs for

country-dancing. Miss Simmons, who was very fond of this exercise, then

asked Harry if he had never practised any of these dances. Harry said,

"it had happened to him three or four times at home, and that he

believed he should not be puzzled about any of the figures." "Well,

then," said the young lady, "to show how little I regard their intended

mortification, I will stand up and you shall be my partner." So they

rose and placed themselves at the bottom of the whole company according

to the laws of dancing, which appoint that place for those who come

last.

And now the music began to strike up in a more joyous strain; the little

dancers exerted themselves with all their activity, and the exercise

diffused a glow of health and cheerfulness over the faces of the most

pale and languid. Harry exerted himself here with much better success

than he had lately done in the minuet. He had great command over all his

limbs, and was very well versed in every play that gives address to the

body, so that he found no difficulty in practising all the varied

figures of the dances, particularly with the assistance of Miss Simmons,

who explained to him everything that appeared embarrassing.

But now, by the continuance of the dance, all who were at first at the

upper end had descended to the bottom, where, by the laws of the

diversion, they ought to have waited quietly till their companions,

becoming in their turn uppermost, had danced down to their former

places. But when Miss Simmons and Harry expected to have had their just

share of the exercise, they found that almost all their companions had

deserted them and retired to their places. Harry could not help

wondering at this behaviour; but Miss Simmons told him with a smile,

that it was only of a piece with the rest, and she had often remarked it

at country assemblies, where all the gentry of a county were gathered

together. "This is frequently the way," added she, "that those who think

themselves superior to the rest of the world choose to show their

importance." "This is a very bad way indeed," replied Harry; "people may

choose whether they will dance or practise any particular diversion,

but, if they do, they ought to submit to the laws of it without

repining; and I have always observed among the little boys whom I am

acquainted with, that wherever this disposition prevails, it is the

greatest proof of a bad and contemptible temper." "I am afraid," replied

Miss Simmons, "that your observations will hold universally true, and

that those who expect so much for themselves, without being willing to

consider their fellow-creatures in turn, in whatever station they are

found, are always the most mean, ignorant, and despicable of the

species."

"I remember," said Harry, "reading a story of a great man called Sir

Philip Sydney. This gentleman was reckoned not only the bravest but the

politest person in all England. It happened that he was sent over the

sea to assist some of our allies against their enemies. After having

distinguished himself in such a manner as gained him the love and esteem

of all the army, this excellent man one day received a shot which broke

his thigh, as he was bravely fighting at the head of his men. Sir

Philip Sydney felt that he was mortally wounded, and was obliged to turn

his horse's head, and retire to his tent, in order to have his wound

examined. By the time that he had reached his tent, he not only felt

great agonies from his wound, but the heat of the weather, and the fever

which the pain produced, had excited an intolerable thirst, so that he

prayed his attendants to fetch him a little water. With infinite

difficulty some water was procured and brought to him, but, just as he

was raising the cup to his lips, he chanced to see a poor English

soldier, who had been mortally wounded in the same engagement, and lay

upon the ground faint and bleeding, and ready to expire. The poor man

was suffering, like his general, from the pain of a consuming thirst,

and therefore, though respect prevented him from asking for any, he

turned his dying eyes upon the water with an eagerness which

sufficiently explained his sufferings. Upon this the excellent and noble

gentleman took the cup, which he had not yet tasted, from his lips, and

gave it to his attendants, ordering them to carry it to the wounded

soldier, and only saying, 'this poor man wants it still more than I

do.'"

"This story," added Harry, "was always a particular favourite with Mr

Barlow, and he has often pointed it out to me as an example not only of

the greatest virtue and humanity, but also of that elevated method of

thinking which constitutes the true gentleman. 'For what is it,' I have

heard him say, 'that gives a superiority of manners, but the inclination

to sacrifice our own pleasures and interests to the well-being of

others?' An ordinary person might have pitied the poor soldier, or even

have assisted him, when he had first taken care of himself; but who, in

such a dreadful extremity as the brave Sydney was reduced to, would be

capable of even forgetting his own sufferings to relieve another, who

had not acquired the generous habit of always slighting his own

gratifications for the sake of his fellow-creatures?"

As Harry was conversing in this manner, the little company had left off

dancing, and were refreshing themselves with a variety of cakes and

agreeable liquors, which had been provided for the occasion. Tommy

Merton and the other young gentleman were now distinguishing themselves

by their attendance upon the ladies, whom they were supplying with

everything they chose to have, but no one thought it worth his while to

wait upon Miss Simmons. When Harry observed this, he ran to the table,

and upon a large waiter brought her cakes and lemonade, which he

presented, if not with a better grace, with a more sincere desire to

oblige than any of the rest. But, as he was stooping down to offer her

the choice, Master Mash unluckily passed that way, and, elated by the

success of his late piece of ill-nature, determined to attempt a second

still more brutal than the first. For this reason, just as Miss Simmons

was helping herself to some wine and water, Mash, pretending to stumble,

pushed Harry in such a manner that the greater part of the contents of

the glasses was discharged full into her bosom. The young lady coloured

at the insult, and Harry, who instantly perceived that it had been done

on purpose, being no longer able to contain his indignation, seized a

glass that was only half-emptied, and discharged the contents full into

the face of the aggressor. Mash, who was a boy of violent passion,

exasperated at this retaliation, which he so well deserved, instantly

caught up a drinking glass, and flung it full at the head of Harry.

Happy was it for him that it only grazed his head without taking the

full effect; it, however, laid bare a considerable gash, and Harry was

in an instant covered with his own blood, the sight of which provoked

him the more, and made him forget both the place and the company where

he was, so that, flying upon Mash with all the fury of just revenge, a

dreadful combat ensued, which put the whole room in a consternation.

But Mr Merton soon appeared, and with some difficulty separated the

enraged champions. He then inquired into the subject of the contest,

which Master Mash endeavoured to explain away as an accident. But Harry

persisted in his account with so much firmness, in which he was

corroborated by Miss Simmons, that Mr Merton readily perceived the

truth. Mash, however, apologised for himself in the best manner that he

was able, by saying, that he only meant to play Master Harry an innocent

trick, but that he had undesignedly injured Miss Simmons.

Whatever Mr Merton felt, he did not say a great deal; he, however,

endeavoured to pacify the enraged combatants, and ordered assistance to

Harry to bind up the wound, and clean him from the blood which had now

disfigured him from head to foot.

Mrs Merton, in the mean time, who was sitting at the upper end of the

room amidst the other ladies, had seen the fray, and been informed that

it was owing to Harry's throwing a glass of lemonade in Master Mash's

face. This gave Mrs Compton an opportunity of indulging herself again in

long invectives against Harry, his breeding, family, and manners. "She

never," she said, "had liked the boy, and now he had justified all her

forebodings upon the subject. Such a little vulgar wretch could never

have been witness to anything but scenes of riot and ill-manners; and

now he was brawling and fighting in a gentleman's house, just as he

would do at one of the public houses to which he was used to go with his

father."

While she was in the midst of this eloquent harangue Mr Merton came up,

and gave a more unprejudiced narrative of the affair. He acquitted Harry

of all blame, and said that it was impossible, even for the mildest

temper in the world, to act otherwise upon such unmerited provocation.

This account seemed wonderfully to turn the scale in Harry's favour;

though Miss Simmons was no great favourite with the young ladies, yet

the spirit and gallantry which he had discovered in her cause began to

act very forcibly on their minds. One of the young ladies observed,

"that if Master Harry was better dressed he would certainly be a very

pretty boy;" another said, "she had always thought he had a look above

his station;" and a third remarked "that, considering he had never

learned to dance, he had by no means a vulgar look."

This untoward accident having thus been amicably settled, the

diversions of the evening went forward. But Harry, who had now lost all

taste for genteel company, took the first opportunity of retiring to

bed, where he soon fell asleep, and forgot both the mortification and

bruises he had received. In the mean time the little company below found

means to entertain themselves till past midnight, and then retired to

their chambers.

The next morning they rose later than usual; and, as several of the

young gentlemen, who had been invited to the preceding evening's

diversion, were not to return till after dinner, they agreed to take a

walk into the country. Harry went with them as usual, though Master

Mash, by his misrepresentations, had prejudiced Tommy and all the rest

against him. But Harry, who was conscious of his own innocence, and

began to feel the pride of injured friendship, disdained to give an

explanation of his behaviour, since his friend was not sufficiently

interested about the matter to demand one.

While they were walking slowly along the common they discovered at a

distance a prodigious crowd of people, all moving forward in the same

direction. This attracted the curiosity of the little troop, and on

inquiry they found there was going to be a bull-baiting. Instantly an

eager desire seized upon all the little gentry to see the diversion. One

obstacle alone presented itself, which was, that their parents, and

particularly Mrs Merton, had made them promise that they would avoid

every species of danger. This objection was, however, removed by Master

Billy Lyddall, who remarked, "that there could be no danger in the

sight, as the bull was to be tied fast, and could therefore do them no

harm; besides," added he, smiling, "what occasion have they to know that

we have been at all? I hope we are not such simpletons as to accuse

ourselves, or such telltales as to inform against one another?" "No! no!

no!" was the universal exclamation from all but Harry, who had remained

profoundly silent on the occasion. "Master Harry has not said a word,"

said one of the little folks; "sure he will not tell of us." "Indeed,"

said Harry, "I don't wish to tell of you; but if I am asked where we

have been, how can I help telling?" "What!" answered Master Lyddall,

"can't you say that we have been walking along the road, or across the

common, without mentioning anything further?" "No," said Harry, "that

would not be speaking truth; besides, bull-baiting is a very cruel and

dangerous diversion, and therefore none of us should go to see it,

particularly Master Merton, whose mother loves him so much, and is so

careful about him."

This speech was not received with much approbation by those to whom it

was addressed. "A pretty fellow," said one, "to give himself these airs,

and pretend to be wiser than every one else!"

"What!" said Master Compton, "does this beggar's brat think that he is

to govern gentlemen's sons, because Master Merton is so good as to keep

company with him?" "If I were Master Merton," said a third, "I'd soon

send the little impertinent jackanapes home to his own blackguard

family." And Master Mash, who was the biggest and strongest boy in the

whole company, came up to Harry, and grinning in his face, said, "So all

the return that you make to Master Merton for his goodness to you is to

be a spy and an informer, is it, you little dirty blackguard?"

Harry, who had long perceived and lamented the coolness of Master Merton

towards him, was now much more grieved to see that his friend was not

only silent, but seemed to take an ill-natured pleasure in these

insults, than at the insults themselves which were offered to him.

However, as soon as the crowd of tormentors which surrounded him would

give him leave to speak, he coolly answered, "that he was as little a

spy and informer as any of them; and, as to begging, he thanked God he

wanted as little of them as they did of him;" "besides," added he, "were

I even reduced so low as that, I should know better how to employ my

time than to ask charity of any one here."

This sarcastic answer, and the reflections that were made upon it, had

such an effect upon the too irritable temper of Master Merton, that, in

an instant, forgetting his former obligations and affection to Harry, he

strutted up to him, and clenching his fist, asked him, "whether he meant

to insult him?"

"Well done, Master Merton!" echoed through the whole society; "thrash

him heartily for his impudence." "No, Master Tommy," answered Harry; "it

is you and your friends here that insult me."

"What!" answered Tommy, "are you a person of such consequence that you

must not be spoken to? You are a prodigious fine gentleman, indeed." "I

always thought you one till now," answered Harry.

"How, you rascal!" said Tommy; "do you say that I am not a gentleman?

Take that!" and immediately struck Harry upon the face with his fist.

His fortitude was not proof against this treatment; he turned his face

away, and only said, in a low tone of voice, "Master Tommy, Master

Tommy, I never should have thought it possible you could have treated me

in this unworthy manner;" then, covering his face with both his hands,

he burst into an agony of crying.

But the little troop of gentlemen, who were vastly delighted with the

mortification which Harry had received, and had formed a very different

opinion of his prowess, from the patience which he had hitherto exerted,

began to gather round and repeat their persecutions. _Coward_, and

_blackguard_, and _tell-tale_ echoed in a chorus through the circle; and

some, more forward than the rest, seized him by the hair, in order that

he might hold up his head and show his _pretty face_.

But Harry, who now began to recollect himself, wiped his tears with his

hand, and, looking up, asked them with a firm tone of voice and a steady

countenance, why they meddled with him; then, swinging round, he

disengaged himself at once from all who had taken hold of him. The

greatest part of the company gave back at this question, and seemed

disposed to leave him unmolested; but Master Mash, who was the most

quarrelsome and impertinent boy present, advanced, and looking at Harry

with a contemptuous sneer, said, "this is the way we always treat such

little blackguards as you, and if you have not had enough to satisfy

you, we'll willingly give you some more." "As to all your nicknames and

nonsense," answered Harry, "I don't think it worth my while to resent

them; but though I have suffered Master Merton to strike me, there's not

another in the company shall do it, or, if he chooses to try, he shall

soon find whether or not I am a coward."

Master Mash made no answer to this, but by a slap of the face, which

Harry returned by a punch of his fist, which had almost overset his

antagonist, in spite of his superiority of size and strength. This

unexpected check from a boy, so much less than himself, might probably

have cooled the courage of Mash, had he not been ashamed of yielding to

one whom he had treated with so much unmerited contempt. Summoning,

therefore, all his resolution, he flew at Harry like a fury, and as he

had often been engaged in quarrels like this, he struck him with so much

force, that, with the first blow he aimed, he felled him to the ground.

Harry, foiled in this manner, but not dismayed, rose in an instant, and

attacked his adversary with redoubled vigour, at the very moment when he

thought himself sure of the victory. A second time did Mash, after a

short but severe contest, close with his undaunted enemy, and, by dint

of superior strength, roughly hurled him to the ground.

The little troop of spectators, who had mistaken Harry's patient

fortitude for cowardice, began now to entertain the sincerest respect

for his courage, and gathered round the combatants in silence. A second

time did Harry rise and attack his stronger adversary with the cool

intrepidity of a veteran combatant. The battle now began to grow more

dreadful and more violent. Mash had superior strength and dexterity, and

greater habitude of fighting; his blows were aimed with equal skill and

force, and each appeared sufficient to crush an enemy so much inferior

in size, in strength, in years; but Harry possessed a body hardened to

support pain and hardship; a greater degree of activity; a cool,

unyielding courage, which nothing could disturb or daunt. Four times had

he been now thrown down by the irresistible strength of his foe; four

times had he risen stronger from his fall, covered with dirt and blood,

and panting with fatigue, but still unconquered. At length, from the

duration of the combat, and his own violent exertions, the strength of

Mash began to fail; enraged and disappointed at the obstinate resistance

he had met with, he began to lose all command of his temper, and strike

at random; his breath grew short, his efforts were more laborious, and

his knees seemed scarcely able to sustain his weight; but actuated by

rage and shame, he rushed with all his might upon Harry, as if

determined to crush him with one last effort. Harry prudently stepped

back, and contented himself with parrying the blows that were aimed at

him, till, seeing that his antagonist was almost exhausted by his own

impetuosity, he darted at him with all his force, and by one successful

blow levelled him with the ground.

An involuntary shout of triumph now burst from the little assembly of

spectators; for such is the temper of human beings, that they are more

inclined to consider superiority of force than justice; and the very

same boys, who just before were loading Harry with taunts and outrages,

were now ready to congratulate him upon his victory. He, however, when

he found his antagonist no longer capable of resistance, kindly assisted

him to rise, and told him "he was very sorry for what had happened;"

but Mash, oppressed at once with the pain of his bruises, and the

disgrace of his defeat, observed an obstinate silence.

Just at this moment their attention was engaged by a new and sudden

spectacle. A bull of the largest size and greatest beauty was led across

the plain, adorned with ribbons of various colours. The majestic animal

suffered himself to be led along, an unresisting prey, till he arrived

at the spot which was destined for the theatre of his persecutions. Here

he was fastened to an iron ring, which had been strongly let into the

ground, and whose force they imagined would be sufficient to restrain

him, even in the midst of his most violent exertions. An innumerable

crowd of men, of women, of children, then surrounded the place, waiting

with eager curiosity for the inhuman sport which they expected. The

little party which had accompanied Master Merton were now no longer to

be restrained; their friends, their parents, admonition, duty, promises,

were all forgotten in an instant, and, solely intent upon gratifying

their curiosity, they mingled with the surrounding multitude.

Harry, although reluctantly, followed them at a distance; neither the

ill-usage he had received, nor the pain of his wounds, could make him

unmindful of Master Merton or careless of his safety. He knew too well

the dreadful accidents which frequently attend these barbarous sports,

to be able to quit his friend till he had once more seen him in a place

of safety.

And now the noble animal, that was to be thus wantonly tormented, was

fastened to the ring by a strongly-twisted cord, which, though it

confined and cramped his exertions, did not entirely restrain them.

Although possessed of almost irresistible strength, he seemed unwilling

to exert it, and looked round upon the infinite multitude of his enemies

with a gentleness that ought to have disarmed their animosity.

Presently a dog of the largest size and most ferocious courage was let

loose, who, as soon as he beheld the bull, uttered a savage yell, and

rushed upon him with all the rage of inveterate animosity. The bull

suffered him to approach with the coolness of deliberate courage, but

just as the dog was springing up to seize him, he rushed forward to meet

his foe, and putting his head to the ground, canted him into the air

several yards; and had not the spectators run and caught him upon their

backs and hands, he would have been crushed to pieces in the fall. The

same fate attended another, and another dog, which were let loose

successively; the one was killed upon the spot, while the other, who had

a leg broken in the fall, crawled howling and limping away. The bull, in

the meanwhile, behaved with all the calmness and intrepidity of an

experienced warrior; without violence, without passion, he waited every

attack of his enemies, and then severely punished them for their

rashness.

While this was transacting, to the diversion not only of the rude and

illiterate populace, but to that of the little gentry with Master

Merton, a poor, half-naked Black came up, and humbly implored their

charity. He had served, he told them, on board an English vessel, and

even showed them the scars of several wounds he had received; but now

he was discharged, and without friends, and without assistance, he could

scarcely find food to support his wretched life, or clothes to cover him

from the wintry wind.

Some of the young gentry, who, from a bad education, had been little

taught to feel or pity the distress of others, were base enough to

attempt to jest upon his dusky colour and foreign accent; but Master

Merton, who, though lately much corrupted and changed from what he had

been with Mr Barlow, preserved a great degree of generosity, put his

hand into his pocket in order to relieve him, but unfortunately found

nothing to give. The foolish profusion which he had lately learned from

the young gentlemen at his father's house, had made him waste in cards,

in playthings, in trifles, all his stock of money, and now he found

himself unable to relieve that distress which he pitied.

Thus repulsed on every side, and unassisted, the unfortunate Black

approached the place where Harry stood, holding out the tattered remains

of his hat, and imploring charity. Harry had not much to give, but he

took sixpence out of his pocket, which was all his riches, and gave it

with the kindest look of compassion, saying, "Here, poor man, this is

all I have; if I had more, it should be at your service." He had no time

to add more, for at that instant three fierce dogs rushed upon the bull

at once, and by their joint attacks rendered him almost mad. The calm

deliberate courage which he had hitherto shown was now changed into rage

and desperation: he roared with pain and fury; flashes of fire seemed to

come from his angry eyes, and his mouth was covered with foam and

blood. He hurried round the stake with incessant toil and rage, first

aiming at one, then at another of the persecuting dogs that harassed him

on every side, growling and baying incessantly, and biting him in every

part. At length, with a furious effort that he made, he trampled one of

his foes beneath his feet, and gored a second to that degree that his

bowels came through the wound, and at the same moment the cord, which

had hitherto confined him, snapped asunder, and let him loose upon the

affrighted multitude.

It is impossible to conceive the terror and dismay which instantly

seized the crowd of spectators. Those who before had been hallooing with

joy, and encouraging the fury of the dogs with shouts and acclamations,

were now scattered over the plain, and fled from the fury of the animal

whom they had been so basely tormenting. The enraged bull meanwhile

rushed like lightning over the plain, trampling some, goring others, and

taking ample vengeance for the injuries he had received. Presently he

rushed with headlong fury towards the spot where Master Merton and his

associates stood; all fled with wild affright, but with a speed that was

not equal to that of the pursuer. Shrieks, and outcries, and

lamentations were heard on every side; and those who, a few minutes

before, had despised the good advice of Harry, would now have given the

world to be safe in the houses of their parents. Harry alone seemed to

preserve his presence of mind; he neither cried out nor ran, but, when

the dreadful animal approached, leaped nimbly aside, and the bull passed

on, without embarrassing himself about his escape.

Not so fortunate was Master Merton; he happened to be the last of the

little troop of fliers, and full in the way which the bull had taken.

And now his destruction appeared certain; for as he ran, whether through

fear or the inequality of the ground, his foot slipped, and down he

tumbled in the very path of the enraged pursuing animal. All who saw

imagined his fate inevitable; and it would certainly have proved so, had

not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above his years, suddenly

seized a prong which one of the fugitives had dropped, and at the very

moment when the bull was stooping to gore his defenceless friend,

advanced and wounded him in the flank. The bull in an instant turned

short, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant; and it is

probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid

the price of his assistance to his friend with his own life, had not an

unexpected succour arrived; for in that instant the grateful Black

rushed on like lightning to assist him, and assailing the bull with a

weighty stick that he held in his hand, compelled him to turn his rage

upon a new object. The bull, indeed, attacked him with all the

impetuosity of revenge; but the Black jumped nimbly aside and eluded his

fury. Not contented with this, he wheeled round his fierce antagonist,

and seizing him by the tail, began to batter his sides with an

unexpected storm of blows. In vain did the enraged animal bellow and

writhe himself about in all the convulsions of madness; his intrepid

foe, without ever quitting his hold, suffered himself to be dragged

about the field, still continuing his discipline, till the creature was

almost spent with the fatigue of his own violent agitations. And now

some of the boldest of the spectators, taking courage, approached to his

assistance, and throwing a well-twisted rope over his head, they at

length, by the dint of superior numbers, completely mastered the furious

animal, and bound him to a tree.

In the meanwhile, several of Mr Merton's servants, who had been sent out

after the young gentlemen, approached and took up their young master,

who, though without a wound, was almost dead with fear and agitation.

But Harry, after seeing that his friend was perfectly safe, and in the

hands of his own family, invited the Black to accompany him, and instead

of returning to Mr Merton's, took the way which led to his father's

house.

While these scenes were passing, Mrs Merton, though ignorant of the

danger of her son, was not undisturbed at home. Some accounts had been

brought of Harry's combat, which served to make her uneasy, and to

influence her still more against him. Mrs Compton too, and Miss Matilda,

who had conceived a violent dislike to Harry, were busy to inflame her

by their malicious representations.

While she was in these dispositions, Mr Merton happened to enter, and

was at once attacked by all the ladies upon the subject of this improper

connection. He endeavoured for a long time to remove their prejudices by

reason; but when he found that to be impossible, he contented himself

with telling his wife, that a little time would perhaps decide which

were the most proper companions for their son; and that till Harry had

done something to render himself unworthy of their notice, he never

could consent to their treating him with coldness or neglect.

At this moment, a female servant burst into the room, with all the

wildness of affright, and cried out with a voice that was scarcely

articulate, "Oh, madam, madam; such an accident! poor dear Master

Tommy."

"What of him, for pity's sake?" cried out Mrs Merton, with an impatience

and concern that sufficiently marked her feelings. "Nay, madam,"

answered the servant, "he is not much hurt, they say; but little

Sandford has taken him to a bull-baiting, and the bull has gored him,

and William and John are bringing him home in their arms."

These words were scarcely delivered when Mrs Merton uttered a violent

shriek, and was instantly seized with an hysteric fit; and while the

ladies were all employed in assisting her, and restoring her senses, Mr

Merton, who, though much alarmed, was more composed, walked

precipitately out to learn the truth of this imperfect narration.

He had not proceeded far before he met the crowd of children and

servants, one of whom carried Tommy Merton in his arms. As soon as he

was convinced that his son had received no other damage than a violent

fright, he began to inquire into the circumstances of the affair; but

before he had time to receive any information, Mrs Merton, who had

recovered from her fainting, came running wildly from the house. When

she saw that her son was safe, she caught him in her arms, and began to

utter all the incoherent expressions of a mother's fondness. It was with

difficulty that her husband could prevail upon her to moderate her

transports till they were within. Then she gave a loose to her feelings

in all their violence, and for a considerable time was incapable of

attending to anything but the joy of his miraculous preservation.

At length, however, she became more composed, and observing that all the

company were present, except Harry Sandford, she exclaimed, with sudden

indignation, "So I see that little abominable wretch has not had the

impudence to follow you in; and I almost wish that the bull had gored

him, as he deserved." "What little wretch do you mean, mamma?" said

Tommy. "Whom can I mean," cried Mrs Merton, "but that vile Harry

Sandford, whom your father is so fond of, and who had nearly cost you

your life, by leading you into danger?" "He! mamma," said Tommy; "he

lead me into danger! He did all he could to persuade me not to go, and I

was a very naughty boy, indeed, not to take his advice."

Mrs Merton stood amazed at this information, for her prejudices had

operated so powerfully upon her mind, that she had implicitly believed

the guilt of Harry upon the imperfect evidence of the maid. "Who was it,

then," said Mr Merton, "could be so imprudent?" "Indeed, papa," answered

Tommy, "we were all to blame, all but Harry, who advised and begged us

not to go, and particularly me, because he said it would give you so

much uneasiness when you knew it, and that it was so dangerous a

diversion."

Mrs Merton looked confused at her mistake, but Mrs Compton observed,

that she supposed "Harry was afraid of the danger, and therefore, had

wisely kept out of the way." "Oh, no, indeed, madam," answered one of

the little boys, "Harry is no coward, though we thought him so at first,

when he let Master Tommy strike him, but he fought Master Mash in the

bravest manner I ever saw; and though Master Mash fought very well, yet

Harry had the advantage; and I saw him follow us at a little distance,

and keep his eye upon Master Merton all the time, till the bull broke

loose, and then I was so frightened that I do not know what became of

him." "So this is the little boy," said Mr Merton, "whom you were for

driving from the society of your children. But let us hear more of this

story, for as yet I know neither the particulars of his danger nor his

escape." Upon this one of the servants, who, from some little distance,

had seen the whole affair, was called in and examined. He gave them an

exact account of all of Tommy's misfortune; of Harry's bravery; of the

unexpected succour of the poor Black; and filled the whole room with

admiration, that such an action, so noble, so intrepid, so fortunate,

should have been achieved by such a child.

Mrs Merton was now silent with shame at reflecting upon her own unjust

prejudices, and the ease with which she had become the enemy of a boy

who had saved the life of her darling son, and who appeared as much

superior in character to all the young gentlemen at her house as they

exceeded him in rank and fortune. The young ladies now forgot their

former objections to his person and manners, and--such is the effect of

genuine virtue--all the company conspired to extol the conduct of Harry

to the skies.

But Mr Merton, who had appeared more delighted than all the rest with

the relations of Harry's intrepidity, now cast his eyes round the room

and seemed to be looking for his little friend; but when he could not

find him, he said, with some concern, "Where can be our little

deliverer? Sure he can have met with no accident, that he has not

returned with the rest!" "No," said one of the servants; "as to that,

Harry Sandford is safe enough, for I saw him go towards his own home in

company with the Black." "Alas!" answered Mr Merton, "surely he must

have received some unworthy treatment, that could make him thus abruptly

desert us all. And now I recollect I heard one of the young gentlemen

mention a blow that Harry had received. Surely, Tommy, you could not

have been so basely ungrateful as to strike the best and noblest of your

friends!" Tommy, at this, hung down his head, his face was covered with

a burning blush, and the tears began silently to trickle down his

cheeks.

Mrs Merton remarked the anguish and confusion of her child, and catching

him in her arms, was going to clasp him to her bosom, with the most

endearing expressions, but Mr Merton, hastily interrupting her, said,

"It is not now a time to give way to fondness for a child, who, I fear,

has acted the basest and vilest part that can disgrace a human being,

and who, if what I suspect be true, can be only a dishonour to his

parents." At this, Tommy could no longer contain himself, but burst into

such a violent transport of crying, that Mrs Merton, who seemed to feel

the severity of Mr Merton's conduct with still more poignancy than her

son, caught her darling up in her arms and carried him abruptly out of

the room, accompanied by most of the ladies, who pitied Tommy's

abasement, and agreed that there was no crime he could have been guilty

of which was not amply atoned for by such charming sensibility.

But Mr Merton, who now felt all the painful interest of a tender father,

and considered this as the critical moment which was to give his son the

impression of worth or baseness for life, was determined to examine this

affair to the utmost. He, therefore, took the first opportunity of

drawing the little boy aside who had mentioned Master Merton's striking

Harry, and questioned him upon the subject. But he, who had no

particular interest in disguising the truth, related the circumstances

nearly as they had happened; and though he a little softened the matter

in Tommy's favour, yet, without intending it, he held up such a picture

of his violence and injustice, as wounded his father to the soul.