Read Ebook: The History of Sandford and Merton by Day Thomas

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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 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.

Arrival of Mr Barlow--Story of Polemo--Tommy's repentance--Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy as an Arabian Horseman--His Mishap--Tommy's intrepidity--The Poor Highlander's story--Tommy's Sorrow for his conduct to Harry--Conclusion of the Story of Sophron and Tigranes--Tommy's resolution to study nothing but "reason and philosophy"--Visits Harry and begs his forgiveness--The Grateful Black's Story--Tommy takes up his abode at Farmer Sandford's--The Grateful Black's account of himself--Mr Merton's visit to the Farm--The unexpected present--Conclusion.

While Mr Merton was occupied by these uneasy feelings, he was agreeably surprised by a visit from Mr Barlow, who came accidentally to see him, with a perfect ignorance of all the great events which had so recently happened.

Mr Merton received this worthy man with the sincerest cordiality; but there was such a gloom diffused over all his manners that Mr Barlow began to suspect that all was not right with Tommy, and therefore purposely inquired after him, to give his father an opportunity of speaking. This Mr Merton did not fail to do; and taking Mr Barlow affectionately by the hand, he said, "Oh, my dear Sir, I begin to fear that all my hopes are at an end in that boy, and all your kind endeavours thrown away. He has just behaved in such a manner as shows him to be radically corrupted, and insensible of every principle but pride." He then related to Mr Barlow every incident of Tommy's behaviour; making the severest reflections upon his insolence and ingratitude, and blaming his own supineness, that had not earlier checked these boisterous passions, that now burst forth with such a degree of fury that threatened ruin to his hopes.

"Indeed," answered Mr Barlow, "I am very sorry to hear this account of my little friend; yet I do not see it in quite so serious a light as yourself; and though I cannot deny the dangers that may arise from a character so susceptible of false impressions, and so violent, at the same time, yet I do not think the corruption either so great or so general as you seem to suspect. Do we not see, even in the most trifling habits of body or speech, that a long and continual attention is required, if we would wish to change them, and yet our perseverance is, in the end, generally successful; why, then, should we imagine that those of the mind are less obstinate, or subject to different laws? Or why should we rashly abandon ourselves to despair, from the first experiments that do not succeed according to our wishes?"

"Indeed," answered Mr Merton, "what you say is perfectly consistent with the general benevolence of your character, and most consolatory to the tenderness of a father. Yet I know too well the general weakness of parents in respect to the faults of their children not to be upon my guard against the delusions of my own mind. And when I consider the abrupt transition of my son into everything that is most inconsistent with goodness,--how lightly, how instantaneously he seems to have forgotten everything he had learned with you,--I cannot help forming the most painful and melancholy presages of the future."

"Alas, sir," answered Mr Barlow, "what is the general malady of human nature but this very instability which now appears in your son? Do you imagine that half the vices of men arise from real depravity of heart? On the contrary, I am convinced that human nature is infinitely more weak than wicked, and that the greater part of all bad conduct springs rather from want of firmness than from any settled propensity to evil."

"Indeed," replied Mr Merton, "what you say is highly reasonable; nor did I ever expect that a boy so long indulged and spoiled should be exempt from failings. But what particularly hurts me is to see him proceed to such disagreeable extremities without any adequate temptation--extremities that, I fear, imply a defect of goodness and generosity--virtues which I always thought he had possessed in a very great degree."

"Neither," answered Mr Barlow, "am I at all convinced that your son is deficient in either. But you are to consider the prevalence of example, and the circle to which you have lately introduced him. If it is so difficult even for persons of a more mature age and experience to resist the impressions of those with whom they constantly associate, how can you expect it from your son? To be armed against the prejudices of the world, and to distinguish real merit from the splendid vices which pass current in what is called society, is one of the most difficult of human sciences. Nor do I know a single character, however excellent, that would not candidly confess he has often made a wrong election, and paid that homage to a brilliant outside which is only due to real merit."

"Are indeed very formidable," replied Mr Barlow, "yet, when they are properly directed, frequently produce the noblest effects. You have, I doubt not, read the story of Polemo, who, from a debauched young man, became a celebrated philosopher, and a model of virtue, only by attending a single moral lecture."

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