In this manner did Mr Barlow begin the education of Tommy Merton, who had naturally very good dispositions, although he had been suffered to acquire many bad habits, that sometimes prevented them from appearing. He was, in particular, very passionate, and thought he had a right to command everybody that was not dressed as fine as himself. This opinion often led him into inconveniences, and once was the occasion of his being severely mortified.

This accident happened in the following manner:—One day as Tommy was striking a ball with his bat, he struck it over a hedge into an adjoining field, and seeing a little ragged boy walking along on that side, he ordered him, in a very peremptory tone, to bring it to him. The little boy, without taking any notice of what was said, walked on, and left the ball; upon which Tommy called out more loudly than before, and asked if he did not hear what was said. "Yes," said the boy, "for the matter of that I am not deaf." "Oh! you are not?" replied Tommy, "then bring me my ball directly." "I don't choose it," said the boy. "Sirrah," said Tommy, "if I come to you I shall make you choose it." "Perhaps not, my pretty little master," said the boy. "You little rascal," said Tommy, who now began to be very angry, "if I come over the hedge I will thrash you within an inch of your life." To this the other made no answer but by a loud laugh, which provoked Tommy so much that he clambered over the hedge and jumped precipitately down intending to have leaped into the field; but unfortunately his foot slipped, and down he rolled into a wet ditch, which was full of mud and water; there poor Tommy tumbled about for some time, endeavouring to get out; but it was to no purpose, for his feet stuck in the mud, or slipped off from the bank; his fine waistcoat was dirtied all over, his white stockings covered with mire, his breeches filled with puddle water; and, to add to his distress, he first lost one shoe and then the other—his laced hat tumbled off from his head and was completely spoiled. In this distress he must probably have remained a considerable time, had not the little ragged boy taken pity on him and helped him out. Tommy was so vexed and ashamed that he could not say a word, but ran home in such a plight that Mr Barlow, who happened to meet him, was afraid he had been considerably hurt; but, when he heard the accident which had happened, he could not help smiling, and he advised Tommy to be more careful for the future how he attempted to thrash little ragged boys.

The next day Mr Barlow desired Harry, when they were all together in the arbour, to read the following story of

"ANDROCLES AND THE LION."

"There was a certain slave named Androcles, who was so ill treated by his master that his life became insupportable. Finding no remedy for what he suffered, he at length said to himself: 'It is better to die than to continue to live in such hardships and misery as I am obliged to suffer. I am determined, therefore, to run away from my master. If I am taken again, I know that I shall be punished with a cruel death; but it is better to die at once, than to live in misery. If I escape, I must betake myself to deserts and woods, inhabited only by beasts; but they cannot use me more cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures; therefore, I will rather trust myself with them, than continue to be a miserable slave.'

"Having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of leaving his master's house, and hid himself in a thick forest, which was at some miles' distance from the city. But here the unhappy man found that he had only escaped from one kind of misery to experience another. He wandered about all day through a vast and trackless wood, where his flesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles; he grew hungry, but could find no food in this dreary solitude! At length he was ready to die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern which he found by accident."

"Poor man!" said Harry, whose little heart could scarcely contain itself at this mournful recital, "I wish I could have met with him; I would have given him all my dinner, and he should have had my bed. But pray, sir, tell me why does one man behave so cruelly to another, and why should one person be the servant of another, and bear so much ill treatment?"

"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they must command others; and some are born servants, and then they must do as they are bid. I remember, before I came hither, that there were a great many black men and women, that my mother said were only born to wait upon me; and I used to beat them, and kick them, and throw things at them whenever I was angry; and they never dared strike me again, because they were slaves."

"And pray, young man," said Mr Barlow, "how came these people to be slaves?"

Tommy.—Because my father bought them with his money. Mr Barlow.—So then people that are bought with money are slaves, are they? T.—Yes. Mr B.—And those that buy them have a right to kick them, and beat them, and do as they please with them? T.—Yes. Mr B.—Then, if I was to take and sell you to Farmer Sandford, he would have a right to do what he pleased with you? No, sir, said Tommy, somewhat warmly; but you would have no right to sell me, nor he to buy me. Mr B.—Then it is not a person's being bought or sold that gives another a right to use him ill, but one person's having a right to sell another, and the man who buys having a right to purchase? T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—And what right have the people who sold the poor negroes to your father to sell them, or what right has your father to buy them? Here Tommy seemed to be a good deal puzzled, but at length he said, "They are brought from a country that is a great way off, in ships, and so they become slaves." Then, said Mr Barlow, "if I take you to another country, in a ship, I shall have a right to sell you?" T.—No, but you won't, sir, because I was born a gentleman. Mr B.—What do you mean by that, Tommy? Why (said Tommy, a little confounded), to have a fine house, and fine clothes, and a coach, and a great deal of money, as my papa has. Mr B.—Then if you were no longer to have a fine house, nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and beat you, and insult you, and do whatever he liked with you? T.—No, sir, that would not be right neither, that anybody should use me ill. Mr B.—Then one person should not use another ill? T.—No, sir. Mr B.—To make a slave of anybody is to use him ill, is it not? T.—I think so. Mr B.—Then no one ought to make a slave of you? T.—No, indeed, sir. Mr B.—But if no one should use another ill, and making a slave is using him ill, neither ought you to make a slave of any one else. T.—Indeed, sir, I think not; and for the future I never will use our black William ill; nor pinch him, nor kick him, as I used to do. Mr B.—Then you will be a very good boy. But let us now continue our story.

"This unfortunate man had not lain long quiet in the cavern before he heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some wild beast, and terrified him very much. He started up with a design to escape, and had already reached the mouth of the cave, when he saw coming towards him a lion of prodigious size, who prevented any possibility of retreat. The unfortunate man now believed his destruction to be inevitable; but, to his great astonishment, the beast advanced towards him with a gentle pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and uttered a kind of mournful voice, as if he demanded the assistance of the man.

"Androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposition, acquired courage, from this circumstance, to examine his monstrous guest, who gave him sufficient leisure for that purpose. He saw, as the lion approached him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs, and that the foot was extremely swelled, as if it had been wounded. Acquiring still more fortitude from the gentle demeanour of the beast, he advanced up to him, and took hold of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine a patient. He then perceived that a thorn of uncommon size had penetrated the ball of the foot, and was the occasion of the swelling and lameness which he had observed. Androcles found that the beast, far from resenting this familiarity, received it with the greatest gentleness, and seemed to invite him by his blandishments to proceed. He therefore extracted the thorn, and, pressing the swelling, discharged a considerable quantity of matter, which had been the cause of so much pain and uneasiness.

"As soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he began to testify his joy and gratitude by every expression within his power. He jumped about like a wanton spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the feet and hands of his physician. Nor was he contented with these demonstrations of kindness: from this moment Androcles became his guest; nor did the lion ever sally forth in quest of prey without bringing home the produce of his chase, and sharing it with his friend. In this savage state of hospitality did the man continue to live during the space of several months; at length, wandering unguardedly through the woods, he met with a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and was by them taken prisoner and conducted back to his master. The laws of that country being very severe against slaves, he was tried and found guilty of having fled from his master, and, as a punishment for his pretended crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept many days without food, to inspire him with additional rage.

"When the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed, unarmed, in the midst of a spacious area, enclosed on every side, round which many thousand people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle.

"Presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the spectators with horror; and a monstrous lion rushed out of a den, which was purposely set open, and darted forward with erected mane and flaming eyes, and jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre. A mournful silence instantly prevailed! All eyes were directly turned upon the destined victim, whose destruction now appeared inevitable. But the pity of the multitude was soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the lion, instead of destroying his defenceless prey, crouch submissively at his feet, fawn upon him as a faithful dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over him as a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. The governor of the town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice, and ordered Androcles to explain to them this unintelligible mystery, and how a savage of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus in a moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and be converted into a harmless and inoffensive animal.

"Androcles then related to the assembly every circumstance of his adventures in the woods, and concluded by saying, that the very lion which now stood before them had been his friend and entertainer in the woods. All the persons present were astonished and delighted with the story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable of being softened by gratitude, and moved by humanity; and they unanimously joined to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man from the governor of the place. This was immediately granted to him; and he was also presented with the lion, who had in this manner twice saved the life of Androcles."

"Upon my word," said Tommy, "this is a very pretty story; but I never should have thought that a lion could have grown so tame: I thought that they, and tigers, and wolves, had been so fierce and cruel that they would have torn everything they met to pieces."

"When they are hungry," said Mr Barlow, "they kill every animal they meet; but this is to devour it, for they can only live upon flesh, like, dogs and cats, and many other kinds of animals. When they are not hungry they seldom meddle with anything, or do unnecessary mischief; therefore they are much less cruel than many persons that I have seen, and even than many children, who plague and torment animals, without any reason whatsoever."

"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "I think so. And I remember, as I was walking along the road some days past, I saw a little naughty boy that used a poor jackass very ill indeed. The poor animal was so lame that he could hardly stir; and yet the boy beat him with a great stick as violently as he was able, to make him go on faster." "And what did you say to him?" said Mr Barlow. Harry.—Why, sir, I told him how naughty and cruel it was; and I asked him how he would like to be beaten in that manner by somebody that was stronger than himself? Mr B.—And what answer did he make you? H.—He said, that it was his daddy's ass, and so that he had a right to beat it; and that if I said a word more he would beat me. Mr B.—And what answer did you make; any? H.—I told him, if it was his father's ass, he should not use it ill; for that we were all God's creatures, and that we should love each other, as He loved us all; and that as to beating me, if he struck me I had a right to strike him again, and would do it, though he was almost as big again as I was. Mr B.—And did he strike you? H.—Yes, sir. He endeavoured to strike me upon the head with his stick, but I dodged, and so it fell upon my shoulder; and he was going to strike me again, but I darted at him, and knocked him down, and then he began blubbering, and begged me not to hurt him. Mr B.—It is not uncommon for those who are most cruel to be at the same time most cowardly; but what did you? H.—Sir, I told him I did not want to hurt him; but that as he had meddled with me, I would not let him rise till he had promised not to hurt the poor beast any more, which he did, and then I let him go about his business.

"You did very right," said Mr Barlow; "and I suppose the boy looked as foolish, when he was rising, as Tommy did the other day when the little ragged boy that he was going to beat helped him out of the ditch." "Sir," answered Tommy, a little confused, "I should not have attempted to beat him, only he would not bring me my ball." Mr B.—And what right had you to oblige him to bring your ball? T.—Sir, he was a little ragged boy, and I am a gentleman. Mr B.—So then, every gentleman has a right to command little ragged boys? T.—To be sure, sir. Mr B.—Then if your clothes should wear out and become ragged, every gentleman will have a right to command you? Tommy looked a little foolish, and said, "But he might have done it, as he was on that side of the hedge." Mr B.—And so he probably would have done if you had asked him civilly to do it; but when persons speak in a haughty tone, they will find few inclined to serve them. But, as the boy was poor and ragged, I suppose you hired him with money to fetch your ball? T.—Indeed, sir, I did not; I neither gave him anything nor offered him anything. Mr B.—Probably you had nothing to give him? T.—Yes I had, though; I had all this money (pulling out several shillings). Mr B.—Perhaps the boy was as rich as you. T.—No, he was not, sir, I am sure; for he had no coat, and his waistcoat and breeches were all tattered and ragged; besides, he had no stockings, and his shoes were full of holes. Mr B.—So, now I see what constitutes a gentleman. A gentleman is one that, when he has abundance of everything, keeps it all to himself; beats poor people, if they don't serve him for nothing; and when they have done him the greatest favour, in spite of his insolence, never feels any gratitude, or does them any good in return. I find that Androcles' lion was no gentleman.

Tommy was so affected with this rebuke that he could hardly contain his tears; and, as he was really a boy of a generous temper, he determined to give the little ragged boy something the very first time he should see him again. He did not long wait for an opportunity; for, as he was walking out that very afternoon, he saw him at some distance gathering blackberries, and, going up to him, he accosted him thus: "Little boy, I want to know why you are so ragged; have you no other clothes?" "No, indeed," said the boy. "I have seven brothers and sisters, and they are all as ragged as myself; but I should not much mind that if I could have my belly full of victuals." Tommy.—And why cannot you have your belly full of victuals? Little boy.—Because daddy's ill of a fever, and can't work this harvest! so that mammy says we must all starve if God Almighty does not take care of us.

Tommy made no answer, but ran full speed to the house whence he presently returned, loaded with a loaf of bread, and a complete suit of his own clothes. "Here, little boy," said he, "you were very good-natured to me; and so I will give you all this, because I am a gentleman, and have many more."

Tommy did not wait for the little boy's acknowledgment, but hastened away and told Mr Barlow, with an air of exultation, what he had done.

Mr Barlow coolly answered, "You have done well in giving the little boy clothes, because they are your own; but what right have you to give away my loaf of bread without asking my consent?" Tommy.—Why, sir, I did it because the little boy said he was very hungry, and had seven brothers and sisters, and that his father was ill, and could not work. Mr B.—This is a very good reason why you should give them what belongs to yourself, but not why you should give them what is another's. What would you say if Harry were to give away all your clothes, without asking your leave?" T.—I should not like it at all; and I will not give away your things any more without asking your leave. "You will do well," said Mr Barlow; "and here is a little story you may read upon this very subject:—

"THE STORY OF CYRUS."

"Cyrus was a little boy of good dispositions and humane temper. He was very fond of drawing, and often went into the fields for the purpose of taking sketches of trees, houses, &c., which he would show to his parents. On one occasion he had retired into a shed at the back of his father's house, and was so much absorbed in planning something with his compasses, as not to be for a long time aware of his father's presence. He had several masters, who endeavoured to teach him everything that was good; and he was educated with several little boys about his own age. One evening his father asked him what he had done or learned that day. 'Sir,' said Cyrus, 'I was punished to-day for deciding unjustly.' 'How so?' said his father. Cyrus.—There were two boys, one of whom was a great and the other a little boy. Now, it happened that the little boy had a coat that was much too big for him, but the great boy had one that scarcely reached below his middle, and was too tight for him in every part; upon which the great boy proposed to the little boy to change coats with him, 'because then,' said he, 'we shall be both exactly fitted; for your coat is as much too big for you as mine is too little for me.' The little boy would not consent to the proposal, on which the great boy took his coat away by force, and gave his own to the little boy in exchange. While they were disputing upon this subject I chanced to pass by, and they agreed to make me judge of the affair. But I decided that the little boy should keep the little coat, and the great boy the great one—for which judgment my master punished me.

"'Why so?' said Cyrus' father; 'was not the little coat most proper for the little boy, and the large coat for the great boy?' 'Yes, sir,' answered Cyrus; 'but my master told me I was not made judge to examine which coat best fitted either of the boys, but to decide whether it was just that the great boy should take away the coat of the little one against his consent; and therefore I decided unjustly, and deserved to be punished.'"

Just as the story was finished, they were surprised to see a little ragged boy come running up to them, with a bundle of clothes under his arm. His eyes were black, as if he had been severely beaten, his nose was swelled, his shirt was bloody, and his waistcoat did but just hang upon his back, so much was it torn. He came running up to Tommy, and threw down the bundle before him, saying, "Here master, take your clothes again; and I wish they had been at the bottom of the ditch I pulled you out of, instead of upon my back; but I never will put such frippery on again as long as I have breath in my body."

"What is the matter?" said Mr Barlow, who perceived that some unfortunate accident had happened in consequence of Tommy's present.

"Sir," answered the little boy, "my little master here was going to beat me, because I would not fetch his ball. Now, as to the matter of that, I would have brought his ball with all my heart, if he had but asked me civilly. But though I am poor, I am not bound to be his slave, as they say black William is; and so I would not; upon which little master here was jumping over the hedge to lick me; but, instead of that, he soused into the ditch, and there he lay rolling about till I helped him out; and so he gave me these clothes here, all out of good-will; and I put them on, like a fool as I was, for they are all made of silk, and look so fine, that all the little boys followed me, and hallooed as I went; and Jack Dowset threw a handful of dirt at me, and dirtied me all over. 'Oh!' says I, 'Jacky, are you at that work?'—and with that I hit him a good thump, and sent him roaring away. But Billy Gibson and Ned Kelly came up, and said I looked like a Frenchman; and so we began fighting, and I beat them till they both gave out; but I don't choose to be hallooed after wherever I go, and to look like a Frenchman; and so I have brought master his clothes again."

Mr Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived; and he told him that his father lived about two miles off, across the common, and at the end of Runny Lane; on which Mr Barlow told Harry that he would send the poor man some broth and victuals if he would carry it when it was ready. "That I will," said Harry, "if it were five times as far." So Mr Barlow went into the house to give orders about it.

In the mean time Tommy, who had eyed the little boy for some time in silence, said, "So, my poor boy, you have been beaten and hurt till you are all over blood, only because I gave you my clothes. I am really very sorry for it." "Thank you, little master," said the boy, "but it can't be helped; you did not intend me any hurt, I know; and I am not such a chicken as to mind a beating; so I wish you a good afternoon with all my heart."

As soon as the little boy was gone, Tommy said, "I wish I had but some clothes that the poor boy could wear, for he seems very good-natured; I would give them to him." "That you may very easily have," said Harry, "for there is a shop in the village hard by where they sell all manner of clothes for the poor people; and, as you have money, you may easily buy some."

Harry and Tommy then agreed to go early the next morning to buy some clothes for the poor children. They accordingly set out before breakfast, and had proceeded nearly half-way, when they heard the noise of a pack of hounds that seemed to be running full cry at some distance. Tommy then asked Harry if he knew what they were about. "Yes," said Harry "I know well enough what they are about; it is Squire Chase and his dogs worrying a poor hare. But I wonder they are not ashamed to meddle with such a poor inoffensive creature, that cannot defend itself. If they have a mind to hunt, why don't they hunt lions and tigers, and such fierce mischievous creatures, as I have read they do in other countries?" "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "how is that? it must surely be very dangerous." "Why, you know," said Harry, "the men are accustomed in some places to go almost naked; and that makes them so prodigiously nimble, that they can run like a deer; and, when a lion or tiger comes into their neighbourhood, and devours their sheep or oxen, they go out, six and seven together, armed with javelins; and they run over all the woods, and examine every place, till they have found him; and they make a noise to provoke him to attack them; then he begins roaring and foaming, beating his sides with his tail, till, in a violent fury, he springs at the man that is nearest to him." "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "he must certainly be torn to pieces." "No such thing," answered Harry; "he jumps like a greyhound out of the way, while the next man throws his javelin at the lion, and perhaps wounds him in the side; this enrages him still more; he springs again like lightning upon the man that wounded him, but this man avoids him like the other, and at last the poor beast drops down dead with the number of wounds he has received." "Oh," said Tommy, "it must be a very strange sight; I should like to see it out of a window, where I was safe." "So should not I," answered Harry; "for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal tortured and killed; but they are obliged to do it in their own defence. But these poor hares do nobody any harm, excepting the farmers, by eating a little of their corn sometimes."

As they were talking in this manner, Harry, casting his eyes on one side, said, "As I am alive, there is the poor hare skulking along! I hope they will not be able to find her; and, if they ask me, I will never tell them which way she is gone."

Presently up came the dogs, who had now lost all scent of their game, and a gentleman, mounted upon a fine horse, who asked Harry if he had seen the hare. Harry made no answer; but, upon the gentleman's repeating the question in a louder tone of voice, he answered that he had. "And which way is she gone?" said the gentleman. "Sir, I don't choose to tell you," answered Harry, after some hesitation. "Not choose!" said the gentleman, leaping off his horse, "but I'll make you choose in an instant;" and, coming up to Harry who never moved from the place where he had been standing, began to lash him in a most unmerciful manner with his whip, continually repeating, "Now, you little rascal, do you choose to tell me now?" To which Harry made no other answer than this: "If I would not tell you before, I won't now, though you should kill me."

But this fortitude of Harry, and the tears of Tommy, who cried in the bitterest manner to see the distress of his friend, made no impression on this barbarian, who continued his brutality till another gentleman rode up full speed, and said, "For any sake, Squire, what are you about? You will kill the child, if you do not take care." "And the little dog deserves it," said the other; "he has seen the hare, and will not tell me which way she is gone." "Take care," replied the gentleman, in a low voice, "you don't involve yourself in a disagreeable affair; I know the other to be the son of a gentleman of great fortune in the neighbourhood;" and then turning to Harry, he said, "Why, my dear, would you not tell the gentleman which way the hare had gone, if you saw her?" "Because," answered Harry, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak, "I don't choose to betray the unfortunate." "This boy," said the gentleman, "is a prodigy; and it is a happy thing for you, Squire, that his age is not equal to his spirit. But you are always passionate——" At this moment the hounds recovered the scent, and bursting into a full cry, the Squire mounted his horse and galloped away, attended by all his companions.

When they were gone, Tommy came up to Harry in the most affectionate manner, and asked him how he did. "A little sore," said Harry; "but that does not signify." Tommy.—I wish I had had a pistol or a sword! Harry.—Why, what would you have done with it? T.—I would have killed that good-for-nothing man who treated you so cruelly. H.—That would have been wrong, Tommy; for I am sure he did not want to kill me. Indeed, if I had been a man, he should not have used me so; but it is all over now, and we ought to forgive our enemies, as Mr Barlow tells us Christ did; and then perhaps they may come to love us, and be sorry for what they have done. T.—But how could you bear to be so severely whipped, without crying out? H.—Why, crying out would have done me no good at all, would it? and this is nothing to what many little boys have suffered without ever flinching, or bemoaning themselves. T.—Well, I should have thought a great deal. H.—Oh! it's nothing to what the young Spartans used to suffer. T.—Who were they? H.—Why, you must know they were a very brave set of people, that lived a great while ago; and, as they were but few in number, and were surrounded by a great many enemies, they used to endeavour to make their little boys very brave and hardy; and these little boys used to be always running about, half-naked, in the open air, and wrestling and jumping and exercising themselves; and then had very coarse food, and hard beds to lie upon, and were never pampered and indulged; and all this made them so strong and hardy, and brave, that the like was never seen. T.—What, and had they no coaches to ride in, nor sweetmeats, nor wine, nor anybody to wait upon them? H.—Oh! dear, no; their fathers thought that would spoil them, and so they all fared alike, and ate together in great rooms; and there they were taught to behave orderly and decently; and when dinner was over, they all went to play together; and, if they committed any faults, they were severely whipped; but they never minded it, and scorned to cry out, or make a wry face.

As they were conversing in this manner, they approached the village, where Tommy laid out all his money, amounting to fifteen shillings and sixpence, in buying some clothes for the little ragged boy and his brothers, which were made up in a bundle and given to him; but he desired Harry to carry them for him. "That I will," said Harry; "but why don't you choose to carry them yourself?" Tommy.—Why, it is not fit for a gentleman to carry things himself. Harry.—Why, what hurt does it do him, if he is but strong enough? T.—I do not know; but I believe it is that he may not look like the common people. H.—Then he should not have hands, or feet, or ears, or mouth, because the common people have the same. T.—No, no; he must have all these, because they are useful. H.—And is it not useful to be able to do things for ourselves? T.—Yes; but gentlemen have others to do what they want for them. H.—Then I should think it must be a bad thing to be a gentleman. T.—Why so? H.—Because, if all were gentlemen, nobody would do anything, and then we should be all starved. T.—Starved! H.—Yes; why, you could not live, could you, without bread? T.—No; I know that very well. H.—And bread is made of a plant that grows in the earth, and it is called wheat. T.—Why, then, I would gather it and eat it. H.—Then you must do something for yourself; but that would not do, for wheat is a small hard grain, like the oats which you have sometimes given to Mr Barlow's horse; and you would not like to eat them. T.—No, certainly; but how comes bread then? H.—Why, they send the corn to the mill. T.—What is a mill? H.—What! did you never see a mill? T.—No, never; but I should like to see one, that I may know how they make bread. H.—There is one at a little distance; and if you ask Mr Barlow, he will go with you, for he knows the miller very well. T.—That I will, for I should like to see them make bread.

As they were conversing in this manner, they heard a great outcry, and turning their heads, saw a horse that was galloping violently along, and dragging his rider along with him, who had fallen off, and, in falling, hitched his foot in the stirrup. Luckily for the person, it happened to be wet ground, and the side of a hill, which prevented the horse from going very fast, and the rider from being much hurt. But Harry, who was always prepared to do an act of humanity, even with the danger of his life, and, besides that, was a boy of extraordinary courage and agility, ran up towards a gap which he saw the horse approaching, and just as he made a little pause before vaulting over, caught him by the bridle, and effectually stopped him from proceeding. In an instant another gentleman came up, with two or three servants, who alighted from their horses, disengaged the fallen person, and set him upon his legs. He stared wildly around him for some time; as he was not materially hurt, he soon recovered his senses, and the first use he made of them was to swear at his horse, and to ask who had stopped the confounded jade. "Who?" said his friend, "why, the very little boy you used so scandalously this morning; had it not been for his dexterity and courage, that numskull of yours would have had more flaws in it than it ever had before."

The Squire considered Harry with a countenance in which shame and humiliation seemed yet to struggle with his natural insolence; but at length, putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a guinea, which he offered to Harry, telling him at the same time he was very sorry for what had happened; but Harry, with a look of more contempt than he had ever been seen to assume before, rejected the present, and taking up the bundle which he had dropped at the time he had seized the Squire's horse, walked away, accompanied by his companion.

As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call at the poor man's cottage, whom they found much better, as Mr Barlow had been there the preceding night, and given him such medicines as he judged proper for his disease. Tommy then asked for the little boy, and, on his coming in, told him that he had now brought him some clothes which he might wear without fear of being called a Frenchman, as well as some more for his little brothers. The pleasure with which they were received was so great, and the acknowledgments and blessings of the good woman and the poor man, who had just began to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy could not help shedding tears of compassion, in which he was joined by Harry. As they were returning, Tommy said that he had never spent any money with so much pleasure as that with which he had purchased clothes for this poor family; and that for the future he would take care of all the money that was given him for that purpose, instead of laying it out in eatables and playthings.

Some days after this, as Mr Barlow and the two boys were walking out together, they happened to pass near a windmill; and, on Harry's telling Tommy what it was, Tommy desired leave to go into it and look at it. Mr Barlow consented to this, and, being acquainted with the miller, they all went in and examined every part of it with great curiosity; and there little Tommy saw with astonishment that the sails of the mill, being constantly turned round by the wind, moved a great flat stone, which, by rubbing upon another stone, bruised all the corn that was put between them till it became a fine powder. "Oh dear!" said Tommy, "is this the way they make bread?" Mr Barlow told him this was the method by which the corn was prepared for making bread; but that many other things were necessary before it arrived at that state. "You see that what runs from these millstones is only a fine powder, very different from bread, which is a solid and tolerably hard substance."

As they were going home Harry said to Tommy, "So you see now, if nobody chose to work, or do anything for himself, we should have no bread to eat; but you could not even have the corn to make it of without a great deal of pains and labour." Tommy.—Why not? does not corn grow in the ground of itself? Harry.—Corn grows in the ground, but then first it is necessary to plough the ground, to break it to pieces. T.—What is ploughing? H.—Did you never see three or four horses drawing something along the fields in a straight line, while one man drove, and another walked behind holding the thing by two handles? T.—Yes, I have; and is that ploughing? H.—It is; and there is a sharp iron underneath, which runs into the ground and turns it up all the way it goes. T.—Well, and what then? H.—When the ground is thus prepared, they sow the seed all over it, and then they rake it over to cover the seed, and then the seed begins to grow, and shoots up very high; and at last the corn ripens, and they reap it, and carry it home. T.—I protest it must be very curious, and I should like to sow some seed myself, and see it grow; do you think I could? H.—Yes, certainly, and if you will dig the ground to-morrow I will go home to my father, in order to procure some seed for you.

The next morning Tommy was up almost as soon as it was light, and went to work in a corner of the garden, where he dug with great perseverance till breakfast; when he came in, he could not help telling Mr Barlow what he had done, and asking him, whether he was not a very good boy for working so hard to raise corn? "That," said Mr Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of it when you have raised it; what is it you intend doing with it?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I intend to send it to the mill that we saw, and have it ground into flour; and then I will get you to show me how to make bread of it, and then I will eat it, that I may tell my father that I have eaten bread out of corn of my own sowing." "That will be very well done," said Mr Barlow; "but where will be the great goodness that you sow corn for your own eating? That is no more than all the people round continually do; and if they did not do it they would be obliged to fast." "But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."

"What then," answered Mr Barlow; "must not gentlemen eat as well as others, and therefore is it not for their interest to know how to procure food as well as other people?" "Yes, sir," answered Tommy, "but they can have other people to raise it for them, so that they are not obliged to work for themselves." "How does that happen?" said Mr Barlow. Tommy.—Why, sir, they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is made, as much as they want. Mr B.—Then they pay for it with money? T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—Then they must have money before they can buy corn? T.—Certainly, sir. Mr B.—But have all gentlemen money? Tommy hesitated some time at this question; at last he said, "I believe not always, sir." Mr B.—Why, then, if they have not money they will find it difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves. "Indeed," said Tommy, "I believe they will; for perhaps they may not find anybody good-natured enough to give it them." "But," said Mr Barlow, "as we are talking upon this subject, I will tell you a story that I read a little time past, if you choose to hear it." Tommy said he should be very glad if Mr Barlow would take the trouble of telling it to him, and Mr Barlow told him the following history of

"THE TWO BROTHERS."

"About the time that many people went over to South America, with the hopes of finding gold and silver, there was a Spaniard, whose name was Pizarro, who had a great inclination to try his fortune like the rest; but as he had an elder brother, for whom he had a very great affection, he went to him, told him his design, and solicited him very much to go along with him, promising him that he should have an equal share of all the riches they found. The brother, whose name was Alonzo, was a man of a contented temper, and a good understanding; he did not therefore much approve of the project, and endeavoured to dissuade Pizarro from it, by setting before him the danger to which he exposed himself, and the uncertainty of his succeeding; but finding all that he said was vain, he agreed to go with him, but told him at the same time that he wanted no part of the riches which he might find, and would ask no other favour than to have his baggage and a few servants taken on board the vessel with him. Pizarro then sold all that he had, bought a vessel, and embarked with several other adventurers, who had all great expectations, like himself, of soon becoming rich. As to Alonzo, he took nothing with him but a few ploughs, harrows, and other tools, and some corn, together with a large quantity of potatoes, and some seeds of different vegetables. Pizarro thought these very odd preparations for a voyage; but as he did not think proper to expostulate with his brother he said nothing.

"After sailing some time with prosperous winds, they put into the last port where they were to stop, before they came to the country where they were to search for gold. Here Pizarro bought a great number more of pickaxes, shovels, and various other tools for digging, melting, and refining the gold he expected to find, besides hiring an additional number of labourers to assist him in the work. Alonzo, on the contrary, bought only a few sheep, and four stout oxen, with their harness, and food enough to subsist them till they should arrive at land.

"As it happened, they met with a favourable voyage, and all landed in perfect health in America. Alonzo then told his brother that, as he had only come to accompany and serve him, he would stay near the shore with his servants and cattle, while he went to search for gold, and when he had acquired as much as he desired, should be always ready to embark for Spain with him.

"Pizarro accordingly set out not without feeling so great a contempt for his brother, that he could not help expressing it to his companions. 'I always thought,' said he, 'that my brother had been a man of sense; he bore that character in Spain, but I find people were strangely mistaken in him. Here he is going to divert himself with his sheep and his oxen, as if he was living quietly upon his farm at home, and had nothing else to do than to raise cucumbers and melons. But we know better what to do with our time; so come along, my lads, and if we have but good luck, we shall soon be enriched for the rest of our lives.' All that were present applauded Pizarro's speech, and declared themselves ready to follow wherever he went; only one old Spaniard shook his head as he went, and told him he doubted whether he would find his brother so great a fool as he thought.

"They then travelled on several days' march into the country, sometimes obliged to cross rivers, at others to pass mountains and forests, where they could find no paths; sometimes scorched by the violent heat of the sun, and then wetted to the skin by violent showers of rain. These difficulties, however, did not discourage them so much as to hinder them from trying in several places for gold, which they were at length lucky enough to find in a considerable quantity. This success animated them very much, and they continued working upon that spot till all their provisions were consumed; they gathered daily large quantities of ore, but then they suffered very much from hunger. Still, however, they persevered in their labours, and sustained themselves with such roots and berries as they could find. At last even this resource failed them; and, after several of their company had died from want and hardship, the rest were just able to crawl back to the place where they had left Alonzo, carrying with them the gold, to acquire which they had suffered so many miseries.

"But while they had been employed in this manner, Alonzo, who foresaw what would happen, had been industriously toiling to a very different purpose. His skill in husbandry had easily enabled him to find a spot of considerable extent and very fertile soil, which he ploughed up with the oxen he had brought with him, and the assistance of his servants. He then sowed the different seeds he had brought, and planted the potatoes, which prospered beyond what he could have expected, and yielded him a most abundant harvest. His sheep he had turned out in a very fine meadow near the sea, and every one of them had brought him a couple of lambs. Besides that, he and his servants, at leisure times, employed themselves in fishing; and the fish they had caught were all dried and salted with salt they had found upon the sea-shore; so that, by the time of Pizarro's return, they had laid up a very considerable quantity of provisions.

"When Pizarro returned, his brother received him with the greatest cordiality, and asked him what success he had had? Pizarro told him that they had found an immense quantity of gold, but that several of his companions had perished, and that the rest were almost starved from the want of provisions. He then requested that his brother would immediately give him something to eat, as he assured him he had tasted no food for the last two days, excepting the roots and bark of trees. Alonzo then very coolly answered, that he should remember that, when they set out, they had made an agreement, that neither should interfere with the other; that he had never desired to have any share of the gold which Pizarro might acquire, and therefore he wondered that Pizarro should expect to be supplied with the provisions that he had procured with so much care and labour; 'but,' added he, 'if you choose to exchange some of the gold you have found for provisions, I shall perhaps be able to accommodate you.'

"Pizarro thought this behaviour very unkind in his brother; but, as he and his companions were almost starved, they were obliged to comply with his demands, which were so exorbitant, that, in a very short time, they parted with all the gold they had brought with them, merely to purchase food. Alonzo then proposed to his brother to embark for Spain in the vessel which had brought them thither, as the winds and weather seemed most to be favourable; but Pizarro, with an angry look, told him that, since he had deprived him of everything he had gained, and treated him in so unfriendly a manner, he should go without him; for, as to himself, he would rather perish upon that desert shore than embark with so inhuman a brother.

"But Alonzo, instead of resenting these reproaches, embraced his brother with the greatest tenderness, and spoke to him in the following manner:—'Could you then believe, my dearest Pizarro, that I really meant to deprive you of the fruits of all your labours, which you have acquired with so much toil and danger? Rather may all the gold in the universe perish than I should be capable of such behaviour to my dearest brother! But I saw the rash, impetuous desire you had of riches, and wished to correct this fault in you, and serve you at the same time. You despised my prudence and industry, and imagined that nothing could be wanting to him that had once acquired wealth; but you have now learned that, without that foresight and industry, all the gold you have brought with you would not have prevented you from perishing miserably. You are now, I hope, wiser; and therefore take back your riches, which I hope you have now learned to make a proper use of.' Pizarro was equally filled with gratitude and astonishment at this generosity of his brother, and he acknowledged, from experience, that industry was better than gold. They then embarked for Spain, where they all safely arrived. During the voyage Pizarro often solicited his brother to accept of half his riches, which Alonzo constantly refused, telling him that he could raise food enough to maintain himself, and was in no want of gold."

"Indeed," said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished the story, "I think Alonzo was a very sensible man; and, if it had not been for him, his brother and all his companions must have been starved; but then this was only because they were in a desert uninhabited country. This could never have happened in England; there they could always have had as much corn or bread as they chose for their money." "But," said Mr Barlow, "is a man sure to be always in England, or some place where he can purchase bread?" Tommy.—I believe so, sir. Mr B.—Why, are there not countries in the world where there are no inhabitants, and where no corn is raised? T.—Certainly, sir; this country, which the two brothers went to, was such a place. Mr B.—And there are many other such countries in the world. T.—But then a man need not go to them; he may stay at home. Mr B.—Then he must not pass the seas in a ship. T.—Why so, sir? Mr B.—Because the ship may happen to be wrecked on some such country, where there are no inhabitants; and then, although he should escape the danger of the sea, what will he do for food? T.—And have such accidents sometimes happened? Mr B.—Yes, several; there was, in particular, one Selkirk, who was shipwrecked, and obliged to live several years upon a desert island. T.—That was very extraordinary indeed; and how did he get victuals? Mr B.—He sometimes procured roots, sometimes fruits; he also at last became so active, that he was able to pursue and catch wild goats, with which the island abounded. T.—And did not such a hard disagreeable way of life kill him at last? Mr B.—By no means; he never enjoyed better health in his life; and you have heard that he became so active as to be able to overtake the very wild beasts. But a still more extraordinary story is that of some Russians, who were left on the coast of Spitzbergen, where they were obliged to stay several years. T.—Where is Spitzbergen, sir? Mr B.—It is a country very far to the north, which is constantly covered with snow and ice, because the weather is unremittingly severe. Scarcely any vegetables will grow upon the soil, and scarcely any animals are found in the country. To add to this, a great part of the year it is covered with perpetual darkness and is inaccessible to ships; so that it is impossible to conceive a more dreary country, or where it must be more difficult to support human life. Yet four men were capable of struggling with all these difficulties during several years, and three of them returned at last safe to their own country. T.—This must be a very curious story indeed; I would give anything to be able to see it. Mr B.—That you may very easily. When I read it, I copied off several parts of it, I thought it so curious and interesting, which I can easily find, and will show you. Here it is; but it is necessary first to inform you, that those northern seas, from the intense cold of the climate, are so full of ice as frequently to render it extremely dangerous to ships, lest they should be crushed between two pieces of immense size, or so completely surrounded as not to be able to extricate themselves. Having given you this previous information, you will easily understand the distressful situation of a Russian ship, which, as it was sailing on those seas, was on a sudden so surrounded by ice as not to be able to move. My extracts begin here, and you may read them.

Extracts from a Narrative of the Extraordinary Adventures of Four Russian Sailors, who were cast away on the Desert Island of East Spitzbergen.

"In this alarming state (that is, when the ship was surrounded with ice) a council was held, when the mate, Alexis Hinkof, informed them, that he recollected to have heard that some of the people of Mesen, some time before, having formed a resolution of wintering upon this island, had carried from that city timber proper for building a hut, and had actually erected one at some distance from the shore. This information induced the whole company to resolve on wintering there, if the hut, as they hoped, still existed; for they clearly perceived the imminent danger they were in, and that they must inevitably perish if they continued in the ship. They despatched, therefore, four of their crew in search of the hut, or any other succour they could meet with. These were Alexis Hinkof, the mate, Iwan Hinkof, his godson, Stephen Scharassof, and Feodor Weregin.

"As the shore on which they were to land was uninhabited, it was necessary that they should make some provision for their expedition. They had almost two miles to travel over those ridges of ice, which being raised by the waves, and driven against each other by the wind, rendered the way equally difficult and dangerous; prudence, therefore, forbade their loading themselves too much, lest, by being overburdened, they might sink in between the pieces of ice, and perish. Having thus maturely considered the nature of their undertaking, they provided themselves with a musket and powder-horn, containing twelve charges of powder, with as many balls, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about twenty pounds of flower, a knife, a tinder-box and tinder, a bladder filled with tobacco, and every man his wooden pipe.

"Thus accoutred, these four sailors quickly arrived on the island, little expecting the misfortunes that would befall them. They began with exploring the country, and soon discovered the hut they were in search of, about an English mile and a half from the shore. It was thirty-six feet in length, eighteen feet in height, and as many in breadth; it contained a small antechamber, about twelve feet broad, which had two doors, the one to shut it up from the outer air, the other to form a communication with the inner room; this contributed greatly to keep the large room warm when once heated. In the large room was an earthen stove, constructed in the Russian manner; that is, a kind of oven without a chimney, which served occasionally either for baking, for heating the room, or, as is customary among the Russian peasants in very cold weather, for a place to sleep upon. Our adventurers rejoiced greatly at having discovered the hut, which had, however, suffered much from the weather, it having now been built a considerable time; they, however, contrived to pass the night in it.

"Early next morning they hastened to the shore, impatient to inform their comrades of their success, and also to procure from their vessel such provision, ammunition, and other necessaries, as might better enable them to winter on the island. I leave my readers to figure to themselves the astonishment and agony of mind these poor people must have felt, when on reaching the place of their landing, they saw nothing but an open sea, free from the ice, which but the day before had covered the ocean. A violent storm, which had risen during the night, had certainly been the cause of this disastrous event; but they could not tell whether the ice, which had before hemmed in the vessel, agitated by the violence of the waves, had been driven against her, and shattered her to pieces; or, whether she had been carried by the current into the main—a circumstance which frequently happens in those seas. Whatever accident had befallen the ship, they saw her no more; and as no tidings were ever afterwards received of her, it is most probable that she sunk, and that all on board of her perished.

"This melancholy event depriving the unhappy wretches of all hope of ever being able to quit the island, they returned to the hut, whence they had come, full of horror and despair."

"Oh dear!" cried Tommy, at this passage, "what a dreadful situation these poor people must have been in. To be in such a cold country, covered with snow and frozen with ice, without anybody to help them, or give them victuals; I should think they must all have died." "That you will soon see," said Mr Barlow, "when you have read the rest of the story; but tell me one thing, Tommy, before you proceed. These four men were poor sailors, who had always been accustomed to danger and hardships, and to work for their living; do you think it would have been better for them to have been bred up gentlemen, that is, to do nothing, but to have other people wait upon them in everything?" "Why, to be sure," answered Tommy, "it was much better for them that they had been used to work, for that might enable them to contrive and do something to assist themselves, for, without doing a great deal, they must certainly all have perished."

"Their first attention was employed, as may easily be imagined, in devising means of providing subsistence, and for repairing their hut. The twelve charges of powder which they had brought with them soon procured them as many reindeer—the island, fortunately for them, abounding in these animals. I have before observed, that the hut, which the sailors were so fortunate as to find, had sustained some damage, and it was this—there were cracks in many places between the boards of the building, which freely admitted the air. This inconveniency was, however, easily remedied, as they had an axe, and the beams were still sound (for wood in those cold climates continues through a length of years unimpaired by worms or decay), so it was easy for them to make the boards join again very tolerably; besides, moss growing in great abundance all over the island, there was more than sufficient to stop up the crevices, which wooden houses must always be liable to. Repairs of this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they were Russians; for all Russian peasants are known to be good carpenters—they build their own houses, and are very expert in handling the axe. The intense cold, which makes these climates habitable to so few species of animals, renders them equally unfit for the production of vegetables. No species of tree or even shrub is found in any of the islands of Spitzbergen—a circumstance of the most alarming nature to our sailors.

"Without fire it was impossible to resist the rigour of the climate, and, without wood, how was the fire to be produced or supported? However, in wandering along the beach, they collected plenty of wood, which had been driven ashore by the waves, and which at first consisted of the wrecks of ships, and afterwards of whole trees with their roots—the produce of some hospitable (but to them unknown) climate, which the overflowings of rivers or other accidents had sent into the ocean. Nothing proved of more essential service to these unfortunate men, during the first year of their exile, than some boards they found upon the beach, having a long iron hook, some nails of about five or six inches long, and proportionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed in them—the melancholy relics of some vessels cast away in those remote parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves, at the time when the want of powder gave our men reason to apprehend that they must fall a prey to hunger, as they had nearly consumed those reindeer they had killed. This lucky circumstance was attended with another equally fortunate; they found on the shore the root of a fir-tree, which nearly approached to the figure of a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of invention, so they soon fashioned this root to a good bow by the help of a knife; but still they wanted a string and arrows. Not knowing how to procure them at present, they resolved upon making a couple of lances, to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the most ferocious of their kind, whose attacks they had great reason to dread. Finding they could neither make the heads of their lances nor of their arrows without the help of a hammer, they contrived to form the above-mentioned large iron hook into one, by beating it, and widening a hole it happened to have about its middle with the help of one of their largest nails—this received the handle; a round button at one end of the hook served for the face of the hammer. A large pebble supplied the place of an anvil, and a couple of reindeer's horns made the tongs. By the means of such tools they made two heads of spears, and, after polishing and sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast as possible, with thongs made of reindeer's skins, to sticks about the thickness of a man's arm, which they got from some branches of trees that had been cast on shore. Thus equipped with spears, they resolved to attack a white bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, they killed the formidable creature, and thereby made a new supply of provisions. The flesh of this animal they relished exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled beef in taste and flavour. The tendons, they saw with much pleasure, could, with little or no trouble, be divided into filaments of what fineness they thought fit. This, perhaps, was the most fortunate discovery these men could have made, for, besides other advantages, which will be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished with strings for their bow.

"The success of our unfortunate islanders in making the spears, and the use these proved of, encouraged them to proceed, and forge some pieces of iron into heads of arrows of the same shape, though somewhat smaller in size than the spears above-mentioned. Having ground and sharpened these like the former, they tied them with the sinews of the white bears to pieces of fir, to which, by the help of fine threads of the same, they fastened feathers of sea-fowl, and thus became possessed of a complete bow and arrows. Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned with success far beyond their expectation; for, during the time of their continuance upon the island, with these arrows they killed no less than two hundred and fifty reindeer, besides a great number of blue and white foxes. The flesh of these animals served them also for food, and their skins for clothing and other necessary preservatives against the intense coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed, however, not more than ten white bears in all, and that not without the utmost danger; for these animals, being prodigiously strong, defended themselves with astonishing vigour and fury. The first our men attacked designedly; the other nine they slew in defending themselves from their assaults, for some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer room of the hut, in order to devour them. It is true that all the bears did not show (if I may be allowed the expression) equal intrepidity, either owing to some being less pressed by hunger, or to their being by nature less carnivorous than the others; for some of them which entered the hut immediately betook themselves to flight on the first attempt of the sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of these ferocious attacks threw the poor men into great terror and anxiety, as they were in almost a perpetual danger of being devoured."

"Sure," exclaimed Tommy, "such a life as that must have been miserable and dreadful indeed." "Why so?" said Mr Barlow. Tommy.—Because, being always in danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those men must have been always unhappy. Mr B.—And yet they never were devoured. T.—No, sir; because they made weapons to defend themselves. Mr B.—Perhaps, then, a person is not unhappy merely because he is exposed to danger, for he may escape from it, but because he does not know how to defend himself. T.—I do not exactly understand you, sir. Mr B.—I will give you an instance. Were you not very unhappy when the snake coiled itself round your leg, because you imagined it would bite you? T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—But Harry was not unhappy. T.—That is very true, sir. Mr B.—And yet he was in more danger of being bitten than yourself, because he took hold of it. T.—Indeed he did. Mr B.—But he knew that by boldly seizing it, and flinging it away, he was in very little danger; had you, therefore, known the same, you probably would neither have feared so much nor have been so unhappy as you were. T.—Indeed, sir, that is true; and, were such an accident to happen again, I think I should have courage enough to do the same. Mr B.—Should you then be as unhappy now as you were the first time? T.—By no means, because I have a great deal more courage. Mr B.—Why, then, persons that have courage are not so unhappy as those that are cowardly when they are exposed to danger. T.—Certainly not, sir. Mr B.—And that must be equally true in every kind of danger. T.—Indeed, it must; for I have sometimes heard my mother shriek out when she was passing in a coach through a small stream of water, while my father only laughed at her. Mr B.—Why, then, if she had possessed as much courage, perhaps she would have laughed too. T.—Indeed, I believe she might; for I have sometimes seen her laugh at herself, when it was over, for being so cowardly. Mr B.—Why, then, it is possible that when these men found they were so well able to defend themselves against the bears, they might no longer be afraid of them; and, not being afraid, they would not be unhappy. T.—Indeed, I believe so. Mr B.—Let us now continue.

"The three different kinds of animals above mentioned—viz., the reindeer, the blue and white foxes, and the white bears—were the only food these wretched mariners tasted during their continuance in this dreary abode. We do not at once see every resource; it is generally necessity which quickens our invention, opening by degrees our eyes, and pointing out expedients which otherwise might never have occurred to our thoughts. The truth of this observation our four sailors experienced in various instances. They were for some time reduced to the necessity of eating their meat almost raw, and without either bread or salt, for they were quite destitute of both. The intenseness of the cold, together with the want of proper conveniences, prevented them from cooking their victuals in a proper manner. There was but one stove in the hut, and that being set up agreeable to the Russian taste, was more like an oven, and consequently not well adapted for boiling anything. Wood also was too precious a commodity to be wasted in keeping up two fires; and the one they might have made out of their habitation to dress their victuals would in no way have served to warm them. Another reason against their cooking in the open air was the continual danger of an attack from the white bears. And here I must observe that, suppose they had made the attempt it would still have been practicable for only some part of the year; for the cold, which in such a climate for some months scarcely ever abates, from the long absence of the sun, then enlightening the opposite hemisphere,—the inconceivable quantity of snow, which is continually falling through the greatest part of the winter, together with the almost incessant rains at certain seasons,—all these were almost insurmountable to that expedient. To remedy, therefore, in some degree the hardship of eating their meat raw, they bethought themselves of drying some of their provisions during the summer in the open air, and afterwards of hanging it up in the upper part of the hut, which, as I mentioned before, was continually filled with smoke down to the windows; it was thus dried thoroughly by the help of that smoke. This meat so prepared, they used for bread, and it made them relish their other flesh the better, as they could only half-dress it. Finding this experiment answer in every respect to their wishes, they continued to practise it during the whole time of their confinement upon the island, and always kept up, by that means, a sufficient stock of provisions. Water they had in summer from small rivulets that fell from the rocks, and in winter from the snow and ice thawed. This was of course their only beverage; and their small kettle was the only vessel they could make use of for this and other purposes. I have mentioned above that our sailors brought a small bag of flour with them to the island. Of this they had consumed about one-half with their meat; the remainder they employed in a different manner equally useful. They soon saw the necessity of keeping up a continual fire in so cold a climate, and found that, if it should unfortunately go out, they had no means of lighting it again; for though they had a steel and flints, yet they wanted both match and tinder. In their excursions through the island they had met with a slimy loam, or a kind of clay nearly in the middle of it. Out of this they found means to form a utensil which might serve for a lamp, and they proposed to keep it constantly burning with the fat of the animals they should kill. This was certainly the most rational scheme they could have thought of; for to be without a light in a climate where, during winter, darkness reigns for several months together, would have added much to their other calamities——"

Tommy.—Pray, sir, stop. What! are there countries in the world where it is night continually for several months together? Mr Barlow.—Indeed there are. T.—How can that be? Mr B.—How happens it that there is night at all? T.—How happens it! It must be so, must it not? Mr B.—That is only saying that you do not know the reason. But do you observe no difference here between night and day? T.—Yes, sir, it is light in the day and dark in the night. Mr B.—But why is it dark in the night? T.—Really I do not know. Mr B.—What! does the sun shine every night? T.—No, sir, certainly not. Mr B.—Then it only shines on some nights, and not on others. T.—It never shines at all in the night. Mr B.—And does it in the day? T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—Every day? T.—Every day, I believe, only sometimes the clouds prevent you from seeing it. Mr B.—And what becomes of it in the night? T.—It goes away, so that we cannot see it. Mr B.—So, then, when you can see the sun, it is never night. T.—No, sir. Mr B.—But when the sun goes away the night comes on. T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—And when the sun comes again what happens? T.—Then it is day again; for I have seen the day break, and the sun always rises presently after. Mr B.—Then if the sun were not to rise for several months together, what would happen? T.—Sure, it would always remain night, and be dark. Mr B.—That is exactly the case with the countries we are reading about.

"Having therefore fashioned a kind of lamp, they filled it with reindeer's fat, and stuck into it some twisted linen shaped into a wick; but they had the mortification to find that, as soon as the fat melted, it not only soaked into the clay but fairly ran out of it on all sides. The thing, therefore, was to devise some means of preventing this inconvenience, not arising from cracks, but from the substance of which the lamp was made being too porous. They made, therefore, a new one, dried it thoroughly in the air, then heated it red-hot, and afterwards quenched it in their kettle, wherein they had boiled a quantity of flour down to the consistence of thin starch. The lamp being thus dried and filled with melted fat, they now found, to their great joy, that it did not leak; but for greater security they dipped linen rags in their paste, and with them covered all its outside. Succeeding in this attempt, they immediately made another lamp for fear of an accident, that at all events they might not be destitute of light; and, when they had done so much, they thought proper to save the remainder of their flour for similar purposes. As they had carefully collected whatever happened to be cast on shore, to supply them with fuel, they had found amongst the wrecks of vessels some cordage and a small quantity of oakum (a kind of hemp used for caulking ships), which served them to make wicks for their lamps. When these stores began to fail, their shirts and their drawers (which are worn by almost all the Russian peasants) were employed to make good the deficiency. By these means they kept their lamp burning without intermission, from the day they first made it (a work they set about soon after their arrival on the island) until that of their embarkation for their native country.

"The necessity of converting the most essential part of their clothing, such as their shirts and drawers, to the use above specified, exposed them the more to the rigour of the climate. They also found themselves in want of shoes, boots, and other articles of dress; and as winter was approaching, they were again obliged to have recourse to that ingenuity which necessity suggests, and which seldom fails in the trying hour of distress. They had skins of reindeer and foxes in plenty, that had hitherto served them for bedding, and which they now thought of employing in some more essential service; but the question was how to tan them. After deliberating on this subject, they took to the following method: they soaked the skins for several days in fresh water till they could pull off the hair very easily; they then rubbed the wet leather with their hands till it was nearly dry, when they spread some melted reindeer fat over it, and again rubbed it well. By this process the leather became soft, pliant, and supple—proper for answering every purpose they wanted it for. Those skins which they designed for furs they only soaked one day, to prepare them for being wrought, and then proceeded in the manner before-mentioned, except only that they did not remove the hair. Thus they soon provided themselves with the necessary materials for all the parts of dress they wanted. But here another difficulty occurred; they had neither awls for making shoes or boots, nor needles for sewing their garments. This want, however, they soon supplied by means of the pieces of iron they had occasionally collected. Out of these they made both, and by their industry even brought them to a certain degree of perfection. The making eyes to their needles gave them indeed no little trouble, but this they also performed with the assistance of their knife; for, having ground it to a very sharp point, and heated red-hot a kind of wire forged for that purpose, they pierced a hole through one end; and by whetting and smoothing it on stones, brought the other to a point, and thus gave the whole needle a very tolerable form. Scissors to cut out the skin were what they next had occasion for; but having none, their place they supplied with the knife; and, though there was neither shoemaker nor tailor amongst them, yet they had contrived to cut out the leather and furs well enough for their purpose. The sinews of the bears and the reindeer—which, as I mentioned before, they had found means to split—served them for thread; and thus, provided with the necessary implements, they proceeded to make their new clothes."

"These," said Mr Barlow, "are the extracts which I have made from this very extraordinary story; and they are sufficient to show both the many accidents to which men are exposed, and the wonderful expedients which may be found out, even in the most dismal circumstances." "It is very true, indeed," answered Tommy; "but pray what became of these poor men at last?" "After they had lived more than six years upon this dreary and inhospitable coast," answered Mr Barlow, "a ship arrived there by accident, which took three of them on board, and carried them in safety to their own country." "And what became of the fourth?" said Tommy. "He," said Mr Barlow, "was seized with a dangerous disease, called the scurvy; and, being of an indolent temper, and therefore not using the exercise which was necessary to preserve his life, after having lingered some time, died, and was buried in the snow by his companions."