“The lively attention to the misfortunes of another, which is called Compassion, causes the eyebrows to sink towards the middle of the forehead; the eyeball to be fixed upon the object; the sides of the nostrils next the nose, to be a little elevated, making wrinkles in the cheeks; the mouth to be open; the upper lip to be lifted up, and thrust forward; the muscles, and all the parts of the face sinking down, and turning towards the object which cause the passion.

“Yes, this is indeed the portrait of the scholar looking at the infant in the cradle. What an assemblage of the noblest sentiments of the human mind produce Compassion—love, tenderness and care for the object—self is for the time totally forgotten. How different, my dear children, is this face from that of the surly bailiff!

“The officers now took their leave, with each a servile bow, when the poor widow, overcome by the kindness and generosity of the young scholar, fell upon her knees, and invited her little children to do the like, that they might thank God for having sent an angel to their succour; while the old man, who was sitting by the fireside, lifted up his hands in a silent prayer to Heaven, and wept for joy.

“The young scholar embraced the mother and all her little ones, among whom he generously distributed the remainder of the louis in his purse, and then took his leave, promising to see them again very soon.

“Henry mounted his horse amidst the acclamations of the people, who had surrounded the house, and had heard of the way in which he had employed his time. Dieu vous benira, ‘God will bless you,’ was reiterated from every mouth.

“The young scholar kept his promise, for he often visited the cottage of the poor widow, and represented her amiableness and situation in such lively colours to the marchioness his mother, that she took the whole family under her protection, placed them in a little way of business, and helped them until by their own industry they had made themselves independent.

“This, my dear children, was true generosity. The object was worthy: the donor had the means to make happy; none were injured by the gift; no just claims were left unpaid, and a poor family were made happy.

“This narrative will show you also, my dear children, the power and goodness of the Almighty, who, by his Providence, ordered it so, that what appeared to the poor widow as her greatest misfortune should turn out to be the very means of affording her and her children a future provision, and that much more ample than she could have expected. Thus, my dear children, ‘Providence, when none appears, can find itself a way.’”

Mr. Willock had no sooner finished his story, than he had the pleasure to observe his young people occupied in very serious reflections on what they had heard. “My dear children,” said he, “I am very much pleased for the attention you have paid, and for the interest you have taken in the misfortunes of the good widow. I shall leave you to enjoy the thoughts of her good fortune, and of the change produced in her affairs by the generosity of the young scholar. To-morrow evening, I will tell you a story of another kind, where I shall have to represent to you some of the worst of the passions of the human mind, such as you will hate and detest, when you see their ugliness and deformity.”

The next evening Mr. Willock resumed his office of lecturer, and was fully attended by the young family.

“I am now,” said he, “going to tell you a story, in which the passions of horror, terror or fright, anger, hatred or jealousy, and despair, will be represented; it is called

The Wicked Baron, and Nicholas the Honest Wood-cutter.

“In the South part of the forest of Dean, in Gloucestershire, there lived, many years ago, a poor wood-cutter, named Nicholas; he was not more than thirty years of age, of a handsome figure, lusty, and strong. Nicholas was rough and sturdy as an oak, but bent as tenderly to the tale of distress as the gourd to the wind; he was apt, it is true, to be a little ill-tempered at times, and somewhat sour; besides being a little rude and unfashioned in his manners; but somehow or other, so finely delineated were the characters of nature and truth in his mind, that the outlines might be seen in his face, whenever distress or misfortune claimed his protection.

“Nicholas had a wife named Gertrude, and she was naturally a good woman, though she would fret and scold whenever they happened to be poor, which was no uncommon case with them: they had nothing but hard labour to trust to for support, and had a young boy to provide for; besides, it unfortunately happened for both of them, that Gertrude was the daughter of a once-wealthy farmer, but who had been ruined by a murrain among his cattle. Gertrude had therefore received a little better education than Nicholas, who could, however, read and write, a great wonder in those days, and which he owed, when a boy, to the kind instructions of a good old monk. Gertrude, who recollected her father’s happy board, was rather out of temper with her situation, and so foolish, as to be constantly wishing for riches, and pining after wealth, which was never likely to come to her share.

“It happened one night, after Nicholas had returned home from work, and finding Gertrude cross, that something like the following conversation took place between them; but, my dear children, you must avoid this manner of speaking, which is only used among poor country people.

‘My dear, how ill-tempered you are!’ cried Nicholas.—‘I may well be ill tempered,’ replied Gertrude; ‘this is the last meal we shall have this week.’—‘That is more than you know, my dear,’ answered her husband.—‘I am almost famished, I am,’ cried Gertrude.—‘Look at the poor cat, and make yourself happy, my dear,’ replied Nicholas.—‘Well, there’s your supper,’ cried Gertrude, taking a small piece of meat from the pot.—‘Supper do you call it,’ answered Nicholas; ‘why there’s scarcely enough to bait a mouse-trap: but wont you take a bit, my dear?’—‘I shant touch any of it,’ answered Gertrude, peevishly.—‘Well, for my part,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I’ll say grace even for this morsel.’

“Nicholas said all he could to put his wife in a good humour, but was not lucky enough to succeed. She took it into her head that he was bantering of her, and began to sob and cry, reproaching him with bringing her into poverty.—‘But it serves me right,’ cried she. ‘I might have married a rich yeoman, so I might, and have had plenty, that I might.’—‘Shu, nonsense,’ answered Nicholas. ‘To throw myself away upon a chopper of wood,’ cried she; ‘and there too, we have had to bring up that idle boy, because, truly, you found him laid in the forest one night.’—‘Now don’t say a word about that,’ answered Nicholas, ‘or I shall get as ill-tempered as yourself, out of mere good nature.’

“While the wood-cutter and his wife were scolding in this way, some one knocked loudly at the door, when after some more words about who should open it, Nicholas went, and a stranger very elegantly dressed entered the cottage. It was a tempest, and the night very dark.

‘Good people,’ said the stranger, ‘will you afford a traveller shelter from the storm?’—‘Willingly, sir,’ answered Nicholas.—‘Very willingly, sir,’ interrupted Gertrude; ‘wont you be pleased to sit down, sir?’

“The stranger was the rich Norman Baron de la Braunch.—‘Well,’ cried he, ‘Nicholas, how does fortune use thee?’—‘Roughly enough, sir.’—‘Heaven knows,’ replied Gertrude.—‘Who told you to speak?’ interrupted Nicholas. ‘My wife, sir, is always grumbling; she must, forsooth, be longing after riches; and though I don’t remember, by the goodness of Providence, that we have ever wanted a meal, yet she is always talking about starving.’—‘Ay, ay, nobody knows what I suffer, I am sure,’ replied Gertrude; ‘I might have married a rich yeoman, that I might.’—‘Come, come, good people,’ cried the Baron, ‘be better tempered with each other: and do you think, good woman, that riches would make you happy?’—‘That they would, sir,’ answered Gertrude; ‘for rich folks can eat and drink whatever they’ve a mind to, and can dress as they please; and then they can feed ever so many poor people, and can make ever so many folks happy.’—‘Ah, ah, so they might, wife,’ answered Nicholas, ‘and yet not be happy themselves, after all.’—‘Well now, I can’t see how that can be,’ replied Gertrude. ‘I am sure I should like hugely to be rich, and to have a castle, and forests, and deer of my own, and plenty of servants.’—‘And you are quite certain that you would be happy if you were rich?’ repeated the Baron.—‘Yes, sir,’ cried Gertrude; ‘and I would never scold my poor Nicholas any more, for he is as good a creature as ever was in the world, though I was angry with him just now; and to say the truth, I do not believe that he could have got any more work to-day if he had tried ever so; but when one is poor, and there is no meat in the pot, one is apt to be a little vexed and cross.’

“Nicholas wiped his eyes at this kind atonement of his wife Gertrude.

“The Baron went into a deep reverie—the storm was over—the Baron arose, he pulled out a purse and put it into Gertrude’s hand, and then wished them a good-night.— Nicholas offered to see him through the forest, but he declined the offer.

“The instant the Baron had left the cottage, Gertrude run to the lamp to examine the purse; it was full of gold coin. ‘Blessed St. Anthony,’ cried she, ‘what is this? all gold! Nicholas, look here; see what Providence has done for us.’—‘Ay, I told you so,’ answered Nicholas, ‘and you are always grumbling.’—‘Nay now, don’t be cross, Nicholas,’ said Gertrude, ‘when we’ve had so much good luck; look at it, Nicholas, ‘tis all pure gold. I’ll have a new dress, and, I’ll go and wake poor Henry, and tell him that he shall have a new coat.’—‘And what am I to have?’ cried Nicholas.—‘You shall see us all clean and happy.’—‘Thank ye,’ answered the honest wood-cutter, ‘that’s all I want.’—‘And we will have a good piece of meat in the pot to-morrow,’ cried Gertrude.—‘And I am sure you wont sleep to night,’ answered Nicholas.—‘That I shant,’ said she: ‘well, who knows what good luck is to follow?’—‘Peace, Gertrude,’ cried Nicholas, ‘may not this money be a temptation?’—‘May it, Nicholas?’—‘Who knows?’ said Nicholas.—‘If I thought so,’ answered Gertrude, ‘I would not touch it.’—‘Come, come,’ cried Nicholas, ‘while it don’t make us covetous after more, and lead us to do wrong, we shall have nothing to fear. For my part, I shall work the same as ever; but don’t grumble, Gertrude.’—‘You shall never hear a cross word from me,’ answered Gertrude.

“Thus did these poor cottagers end their discourse, and both sat down to supper, pleased and happy; but they could neither of them rest at night for thinking of their riches.

“Very different sentiments disturbed the repose of the Baron; he had arrived at the height of his ambition; he was one of the richest knights in the kingdom; enjoyed a good fame, and had the favour of the king: yet he was not happy; he was a miserable wretch; the honesty and dignity of a good mind was wanting; he was restless and disturbed in the possession of wealth, and would almost have parted with the whole of it, again to have been innocent.

“One day, about a twelvemonth after this time, Nicholas was at work in the woods, with his boy Henry. A stranger had inquired for him at the cot; Gertrude had directed him to the place where Nicholas was felling trees. On the stranger’s approach, he heard a man scolding—‘What,’ cried he, ‘do you think I am to keep you for nothing, you little lazy monkey? why don’t you get another withy, and bind up these faggots?’—‘I am at work, as fast as I can,’ answered the boy, ‘but you are so cross. If you are tired of keeping me, I’ll leave you to-morrow, and seek for support elsewhere.’—‘Leave me, that you shant,’ cried Nicholas; ‘I found you in the forest one night, laid on the turf, a poor helpless brat; humanity made me take you in; and though I am apt to be sour at times, I have enough of the same humanity left to prevent your ever being turned out.’—‘You have, indeed, been very kind to me,’ answered the boy.’—‘Well, shake hands, Henry,’ said Nicholas, ‘and think no more of what has past.’

“When the stranger entered the close, he addressed Nicholas—‘Come,’ said he, ‘you must leave off and go with me.’—‘Truly not I,’ said Nicholas, ‘for I have not quite done.’—‘No matter, thou must go to the cottage. I have good news to tell thee.’—‘Nay, if that be the case,’ said Nicholas, ‘it is worth half a day’s work; so here’s pack up.’—Nicholas proceeded with the stranger, and the boy Henry followed.

“On their arrival at the cottage, Gertrude welcomed her husband home, and prepared a place for the stranger, who prefaced what he had to say with some remarks on the extraordinary changes and vicissitudes of human life; and then inquired if they remembered a stranger, of more than common appearance, who had visited them one stormy night, about a twelvemonth before?

“Nicholas and Gertrude both answered him, and told him of the present they had received from that person.

‘Now,’ cried the stranger to Nicholas, ‘I know that thou art truly the man whom I seek; prepare to go with me to the castle of La Braunch, thou, and thy wife and family.’—‘Indeed, sir, you’ll excuse me there,’ cried Nicholas; ‘I shall not stir out any more to-day.’—‘Do not be so obstinate,’ replied the stranger, ‘for know, that he who gave you the money a twelvemonth since, was the Baron de la Braunch.—He is dead, and you are heir to all his rich demesnes.’—‘I don’t rightly understand you,’ answered the wood-cutter.—‘The castle, the lands, all his real and personal estate, is thine.’—‘My dear, don’t you understand the gentleman?’ cried Gertrude.—‘Not I, in good faith,’ answered Nicholas.—‘Why, don’t you know that you have come to be a rich man, and that the rich Baron has left you all that he was worth in the world?’—‘It is true, indeed,’ answered the stranger; ‘I am witness to the will. When the Baron was dying, he desired a scroll of parchment to be brought out of his library: his order was instantly obeyed—“This scroll,” said he, fixing his eye steadily upon it, “is my will. Thou wilt find,” said he, “in the forest of Dean, a solitary cottage, inhabited by a wood-cutter and his wife. The name of the wood-cutter is Nicholas; the name of his wife is Gertrude. These people are poor; they wish for riches, and they shall be rich; they shall be the heirs of the Baron de la Braunch; who knows, perhaps to them riches may be a blessing.”—The Baron affixed his seal to the parchment, and soon after expired in the arms of father Benedict.

‘Well,’ cried Nicholas, ‘and what will become of me? What can I do with all these riches?’—‘Do with them; leave that to me,’ said Gertrude, quite overjoyed.—‘I don’t want to be put out of my way,’ said Nicholas.—Poor Gertrude, in the innocence of her heart, stopped the mouth of her husband—‘Dear Nicholas, do not affront the gentleman; I am sure that I should like to be a lady very much; and to be sure I did think that there was something very odd in the stranger’s behaviour to us that night, and took it into my head that he would do something for us, though to be sure I did not think that he would die and leave us all his wealth; but this gentleman would not say so if it was not true; so, Nicholas, if you must be a rich man after all, why you must not mind a little trouble.’—‘Well,’ replied Nicholas, ‘if it must be so, there’s no help for it.’

“The stranger had provided a cloak, with a hat and a sword, with which he accoutred the poor wood-cutter; and also a decent robe, which he threw over the shoulders of Gertrude.

“Nicholas would not go without the boy Henry; so they shut up the cottage, and set out together. It was late when they arrived at the castle; they were conducted to a room provided for them, by the direction of the stranger, who was the Baron’s esquire Hathbrand, when having caused one of the wardrobes of the Baron to be opened, he selected such of the plainest dresses as he thought would best become Nicholas, Gertrude, and the young boy Henry. Gertrude was, however, very desirous of being fine, and was also much pleased with the attention of Ranetrude, the waiting-woman appointed to attend on her.

“Doric the old steward, Jonas the butler, and all the rest of the servants, were ordered to get themselves in readiness the next morning, to attend the reading of the Baron’s will, and to receive their new master.

“The story was already spread abroad, that the Baron had left his immense wealth to a poor wood-cutter; and numerous were the remarks and low witticisms on the subject, from old Doric, Jonas, and the other servants, as they waited in the hall, among the numerous tenantry of the Baron, to hear the will read, and to receive their new lord.

“At length Nicholas and Gertrude, attended by Hathbrand the squire, and Ranetrude, entered the hall.—Nicholas saluted the domestics and tenants without awkwardness, and stept forward without dismay.

“Hathbrand held the parchment in his hand; he spoke—My friends, peace be with you all; I here produce the will of the late Baron de la Braunch. Attend—“Know all men, that I the Baron de la Braunch, do give and bequeath to Nicholas le Blanc, of the forest of Dean, all the real and personal estate of which I now stand possessed, on condition that he visits the third chamber in the western turret alone, there to unlock the chest which contains the title-deeds, and that he never divulges the secrets they will unfold.” The third chamber in the western turret had not been used for many years, as the eastern part of the castle had been inhabited by the Baron.

“Nicholas ascended the western turret alone, and after some difficulty opened the door of the third chamber, when he entered, and discovered in a remote corner a large iron chest, the key of which was hanging near the entrance. Nicholas attempted to open it; at length by an effort he succeeded; he lifted up the lid, and took out a large scroll of parchment. Nicholas read—‘The title of the Baron de la Braunch to these demesnes is murder!’

“Nicholas let fall the scroll, but recovered it again; he run into the gallery, and then stood motionless.

“And now, my dear children,” said Mr. Willock, “let us find something like the face of honest Nicholas, when he was reading how bad a title he had to the riches bequeathed him. Here it is, expressive of his abhorrence of the crime, and of the object who left him his wealth. This is the face of