Some time had now elapsed since the seeds of the wheat were sown, and they began to shoot so vigorously that the blade of the corn appeared green above the ground, and increased every day in strength. Tommy went to look at it every morning, and remarked its gradual increase with the greatest satisfaction. "Now," said he to Harry, "I think we should soon be able to live if we were upon a desert island. Here is a house to shelter us from the weather, and we shall soon have some corn for food." "Yes," answered Harry; "but there are a great many things still wanting to enable us to make bread."

Mr Barlow had a very large garden, and an orchard full of the finest fruit-trees; and he had another piece of ground where he used to sow seeds in order to raise trees, and then they were carefully planted out in beds till they were big enough to be moved into the orchard and produce fruit. Tommy had often eaten of the fruit of the orchard, and thought it delicious, and this led him to think that it would be a great improvement to their house if he had a few trees that he might set near it, and which would shelter it from the sun and hereafter produce fruit; so he asked Mr Barlow to give him a couple of trees, and Mr Barlow told him to go into the nursery and take his choice. Accordingly Tommy went, and chose out two of the strongest-looking trees he could find, which, with Harry's assistance, he transplanted into the garden in the following manner:—They both took their spades and very carefully dug the trees up without injuring their roots; then they dug two large holes in the place where they chose the trees should stand, and very carefully broke the earth to pieces, that it might lie light upon the roots; then the tree was placed in the middle of the hole, and Tommy held it upright while Harry gently threw the earth over the roots, which he trod down with his feet in order to cover them well. Lastly, he stuck a large stake in the ground and tied the tree to it, from the fear that the wintry wind might injure it, or perhaps entirely blow it out of the ground.

Nor did they bound their attention here. There was a little spring of water which burst forth from the upper ground in the garden, and ran down the side of the hill in a small stream. Harry and Tommy laboured very hard for several days to form a new channel, to lead the water near the roots of their trees, for it happened to be hot and dry weather, and they feared their trees might perish from the want of moisture.

Mr Barlow saw them employed in this manner with the greatest satisfaction. He told them that in many parts of the world the excessive heat burned up the ground so much that nothing would grow unless the soil was watered in that manner. "There is," said he, "a country in particular, called Egypt, which has always been famous for its fertility, and for the quantity of corn that grows in it, which is naturally watered in the following extraordinary manner:—There is a great river called the Nile, which flows through the whole extent of the country; the river, at a particular time of the year, begins to overflow its banks, and, as the whole country is flat, it very soon covers it all with its waters. These waters remain in this situation several weeks, before they have entirely drained off; and when that happens, they leave the soil so rich that everything that is planted in it flourishes and produces with the greatest abundance."

"Is not that the country, sir," said Harry, "where that cruel animal the crocodile is found?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow. "What is that, sir?" said Tommy. "It is an animal," answered Mr Barlow, "that lives sometimes upon the land, sometimes in the water. It comes originally from an egg, which the old one lays and buries in the sand. The heat of the sun then warms it during several days, and at last a young crocodile is hatched. This animal is at first very small; it has a long body and four short legs, which serve it both to walk with upon the land and to swim with in the waters. It has, besides, a long tail, or rather the body is extremely long, and gradually grows thinner till it ends in a point. Its shape is exactly like that of a lizard; or, if you have never seen a lizard, did you never observe a small animal, of some inches long, which lives at the bottom of ditches and ponds?" "Yes, sir, I have," answered Tommy, "and I once caught one with my hand, taking it for a fish; but when I had it near me, I saw it had four little legs, so I threw it into the water again for fear the animal should be hurt." "This animal," answered Mr Barlow, "may give you an exact idea of a young crocodile; but as it grows older it gradually becomes bigger, till at last, as I have been informed, it reaches the length of twenty or thirty feet." "That is very large," said Tommy; "and does it do any harm?" "Yes," said Mr Barlow, "it is a very voracious animal, and devours everything it can seize. It frequently comes out of the water and lives upon the shore, where it resembles a large log of wood; and if any animal unguardedly comes near, it snaps at it on a sudden, and if it can catch the poor creature, devours it." T.—And does it never devour men? Mr B.—Sometimes, if it surprises them; but those who are accustomed to meet with them frequently easily escape. They run round in a circle, or turn short on a sudden, by which means the animal is left far behind; because, although he can run tolerably fast in a straight line, the great length of his body prevents him from turning with ease. T.—This must be a dreadful animal to meet with; is it possible for a man to defend himself against it? Mr B.—Everything is possible to those that have courage and coolness; therefore many of the inhabitants of those countries carry long spears in their hands, in order to defend themselves from those animals. The crocodile opens his wide voracious jaws in order to devour the man; but the man takes this opportunity and thrusts the point of his spear into the creature's mouth, by which means he is generally killed upon the spot. Nay, I have even heard that some will carry their hardiness so far as to go into the water in order to fight the crocodile there. They take a large splinter of wood about a foot in length, strong in the middle, and sharpened at both ends; to this they tie a long and tough cord. The man who intends to fight the crocodile takes this piece of wood in his right hand, and goes into the river, where he wades till one of these creatures perceives him. As soon as that happens the animal comes up to him to seize him, extending his wide and horrid jaws, which are armed with several rows of pointed teeth; but the man, with the greatest intrepidity, waits for his enemy, and the instant he approaches thrusts his hand, armed with the splinter of wood, into his terrible mouth, which the creature closes directly, and by these means forces the sharp points into each of his jaws, where they stick fast. He is then incapable of doing hurt, and they pull him to the shore by the cord. "Pray, sir," said Tommy, "is this dreadful animal capable of being tamed?" "Yes," answered Mr Barlow; "I believe, as I have before told you, there is no animal that may not be rendered mild and inoffensive by good usage. There are several parts of Egypt where tame crocodiles are kept; these animals, though of the largest size, never do hurt to anything, but suffer every one to approach them, and even little children to play about them and ride securely upon their enormous backs."

This account diverted Tommy very much. He thanked Mr Barlow for giving him this description of the crocodile, and said he should like to see every animal in the world. "That," answered Mr Barlow, "would be extremely difficult, as almost every country produces some kind which is not found in other parts of the world; but if you will be contented to read the descriptions of them which have been written, you may easily gratify your curiosity."

It happened about this time that Tommy and Harry rose early one morning and went to take a long walk before breakfast, as they used frequently to do; they rambled so far that at last they both found themselves tired, and sat down under a hedge to rest. While they were here a very clean and decently-dressed woman passed by, who, seeing two little boys sitting by themselves, stopped to look at them; and, after considering them attentively, she said, "You seem, my little dears, to be either tired or to have lost your way." "No, madam," said Harry, "we have not lost our way, but we have walked farther than usual this morning, and we wait here a little while to rest ourselves." "Well," said the woman, "if you will come into my little house—that you see a few yards farther on—you may sit more comfortably; and as my daughter has by this time milked the cows, she shall give you a mess of bread and milk."

Tommy, who was by this time extremely hungry as well as tired, told Harry that he should like to accept the good woman's invitation; so they followed her to a small but clean looking farm-house which stood at a little distance. Here they entered a clean kitchen, furnished with very plain but convenient furniture, and were desired to sit down by a warm and comfortable fire, which was made of turf. Tommy, who had never seen such a fire, could not help inquiring about it, and the good woman told him that poor people like her were unable to purchase coals; "therefore," said she, "we go and pare the surface of the commons, which is full of grass and heath and other vegetables, together with their roots all matted together; these we dry in small pieces, by leaving them exposed to the summer's sun, and then we bring them home and put them under the cover of a shed, and use them for our fires." "But," said Tommy, "I should think you would hardly have fire enough by these means to dress your dinner; for I have by accident been in my father's kitchen when they were dressing the dinner, and I saw a fire that blazed up to the very top of the chimney." The poor woman smiled at this, and said, "Your father, I suppose, master, is some rich man, who has a great deal of victuals to dress, but we poor people must be more easily contented." "Why," said Tommy, "you must at least want to roast meat every day?" "No," said the poor woman, "we seldom see roast-beef at our house; but we are very well contented if we can have a bit of fat pork every day, boiled in a pot with turnips; and we bless God that we fare so well, for there are many poor souls, who are as good as we, that can scarcely get a morsel of dry bread."

As they were conversing in this manner, Tommy happened to cast his eyes on one side, and saw a room that was almost filled with apples. "Pray," said he, "what can you do with all these apples? I should think you would never be able to eat them, though you were to eat nothing else." "That is very true," said the woman, "but we make cider of them." "What!" cried Tommy, "are you able to make that sweet pleasant liquor they call cider? and is it made of apples?" The Woman.—Yes, indeed it is. Tommy.—And pray how is it made? The Woman.—We take the apples when they are ripe and squeeze them in a machine we have for that purpose. Then we take this pulp, and put it into large hair-bags, which we press in a large press till all the juice runs out. Tommy.—And is this juice cider? The Woman.—You shall taste, little master, as you seem so curious.

She then led him into another room, where there was a great tub full of the juice of apples, and, taking some up in a cup, she desired him to taste whether it was cider. Tommy tasted, and said it was very sweet and pleasant, but not cider. "Well," said the woman, "let us try another cask." She then took out some liquor of another barrel, which she gave him, and Tommy, when he had tasted it, said that it really was cider. "But pray," said he, "what do you do to the apple-juice to make it cider?" The Woman.—Nothing at all. Tommy.—How, then, should it become cider? for I am sure what you gave me at first is not cider. The Woman.—Why, we put the juice into a large cask, and let it stand in some warm place, where it soon begins to ferment. Tommy.—Ferment! pray, what is that? The Woman.—You shall see.

She then showed him another cask, and bade him observe the liquor that was in it. This he did, and saw it was covered all over with a thick scum and froth. Tommy.—And is this what you call fermentation? The Woman.—Yes, master. Tommy.—And what is the reason of it? The Woman.—That I do not know, indeed; but when we have pressed the juice out, as I told you, we put it into a cask and let it stand in some warm place, and in a short time it begins to work or ferment of itself, as you see; and after this fermentation has continued some time, it acquires the taste and properties of cider, and then we draw it off into casks and sell it, or else keep it for our own use. And I am told this is the manner in which they make wine in other countries. Tommy.—What! is wine made of apples, then? The Woman.—No, master; wine is made of grapes, but they squeeze the juice out, and treat it in the same manner as we do the juice of the apples. Tommy.—I declare this is very curious indeed. Then cider is nothing but wine made of apples?

While they were conversing in this manner a little clean girl came and brought Tommy an earthen porringer full of new milk, with a large slice of brown bread. Tommy took it, and ate with so good a relish that he thought he had never made a better breakfast in his life.

When Harry and he had eaten their breakfast, Tommy told him it was time they should return home, so he thanked the good woman for her kindness, and putting his hand into his pocket, pulled out a shilling, which he desired her to accept. "No, God bless you, my little dear!" said the woman, "I will not take a farthing off you for the world. What though my husband and I are poor, yet we are able to get a living by our labour, and give a mess of milk to a traveller without hurting ourselves."

Tommy thanked her again, and was just going away when a couple of surly-looking men came in and asked the woman if her name was Tosset. "Yes, it is," said the woman: "I have never been ashamed of it." "Why then," said one of the men, pulling a paper out of his pocket, "here is an execution against you, on the part of Mr Richard Gruff; and if your husband does not instantly discharge the debt, with interest and all costs, amounting altogether to the sum of thirty-nine pounds ten shillings, we shall take an inventory of all you have, and proceed to sell it by auction for the discharge of the debt."

"Indeed," said the poor woman, looking a little confused, "this must certainly be a mistake, for I never heard of Mr Richard Gruff in all my life, nor do I believe that my husband owes a farthing in the world, unless to his landlord; and I know that he has almost made up half-a-year's rent for him: so that I do not think he would go to trouble a poor man." "No, no, mistress," said the man, shaking his head, "we know our business too well to make these kind of mistakes; but when your husband comes in we'll talk with him; in the meantime we must go on with our inventory."

The two men then went into the next room, and immediately after, a stout, comely-looking man, of about the age of forty, came in, with a good-humoured countenance, and asked if his breakfast was ready. "Oh, my poor dear William," said the woman, "here is a sad breakfast for you! but I think it cannot be true that you owe anything; so what the fellows told me must be false about Richard Gruff." At this name the man instantly started, and his countenance, which was before ruddy, became pale as a sheet. "Surely," said the woman, "it cannot be true, that you owe forty pounds to Richard Gruff?" "Alas!" answered the man, "I do not know the exact sum; but when your brother Peter failed, and his creditors seized all that he had, this Richard Gruff was going to send him to jail, had not I agreed to be bound for him, which enabled him to go to sea. He indeed promised to remit his wages to me, to prevent my getting into any trouble upon that account; but you know it is now three years since he went, and in all that time we have heard nothing about him." "Then," said the woman, bursting into tears, "you, and all your poor dear children are ruined for my ungrateful brother; for here are two bailiffs in the house, who are come to take possession of all you have, and to sell it."

At this the man's face became red as scarlet, and seizing an old sword which hung over the chimney, he cried out, "No, it shall not be; I will die first; I will make these villains know what it is to make honest men desperate." He then drew the sword, and was going out in a fit of madness, which might have proved fatal either to himself or to the bailiffs, but his wife flung herself upon her knees before him, and, catching hold of his legs, besought him to be more composed. "Oh, for heaven's sake, my dear, dear husband," said she, "consider what you are doing! You can do neither me nor your children any service by this violence; instead of that, should you be so unfortunate as to kill either of these men, would it not be murder? and would not our lot be a thousand times harder than it is at present?"

This remonstrance seemed to have some effect upon the farmer; his children too, although too young to understand the cause of all this confusion, gathered round him, and hung about him, sobbing in concert with their mother. Little Harry too, although a stranger to the poor man before, yet with the tenderest sympathy took him by the hand and bathed it with his tears. At length, softened and overcome by the sorrows of those he loved so well, and by his own cooler reflections, he resigned the fatal instrument, and sat himself down upon a chair, covering his face with his hands, and only saying, "The will of God be done!"

Tommy had beheld this affecting scene with the greatest attention, although he had not said a word; and now beckoning Harry away, he went silently out of the house, and took the road which led to Mr Barlow's. While he was on the way, he seemed to be so full of the scene which he had just witnessed that he did not open his lips; but when he came home he instantly went to Mr Barlow and desired that he would directly send him to his father's. Mr Barlow stared at the request, and asked him what was the occasion of his being so suddenly tired with his residence at the vicarage. "Sir," answered Tommy, "I am not the least tired, I assure you; you have been extremely kind to me, and I shall always remember it with the greatest gratitude; but I want to see my father immediately, and I am sure, when you come to know the occasion, you will not disapprove of it." Mr Barlow did not press him any further, but ordered a careful servant to saddle a horse directly and take Tommy home before him.

Mr and Mrs Merton were extremely surprised and over-joyed at the sight of their son, who thus unexpectedly arrived at home; but Tommy, whose mind was full of the project he had formed, as soon as he had answered their first questions, accosted his father thus—"Pray, sir, will you be angry with me if I ask you for a great favour?" "No, surely," said Mr Merton, "that I will not." "Why, then," said Tommy, "as I have often heard you say that you were very rich, and that if I was good I should be rich too. Will you give me some money?" "Money!" said Mr Merton; "yes, to be sure; how much do you want?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I want a very large sum indeed." "Perhaps a guinea," answered Mr Merton. Tommy.—No, sir, a great deal more—a great many guineas. Mr Merton.—Let us however see. T.—Why, sir, I want at least forty pounds. "Bless the boy!" answered Mrs Merton; "surely Mr Barlow must have taught him to be ten times more extravagant than he was before." T.—Indeed, madam, Mr Barlow knows nothing about the matter. "But," said Mr Merton, "what can such an urchin as you want with such a large sum of money?" "Sir," answered Tommy, "that is a secret; but I am sure when you come to hear it, you will approve of the use I intend to make of it." Mr M.—That I very much doubt. T.—But, sir, if you please, you may let me have this money, and I will pay you again by degrees. Mr M.—How will you ever be able to pay me such a sum? T.—Why, sir, you know you are so kind as frequently to give me new clothes and pocket-money; now, if you will only let me have this money, I will neither want new clothes nor anything else till I have made it up. Mr M.—But what can such a child as you want with all this money? T.—Pray, sir, wait a few days and you shall know; and if I make a bad use of it, never believe me again as long as I live.

Mr Merton was extremely struck with the earnestness with which his son persevered in the demand; and, as he was both very rich and liberal, he determined to hazard the experiment, and comply with his request. He accordingly went and fetched him the money which he asked for, and put it into his hands, telling him at the same time that he expected to be acquainted with the use he put it to; and that, if he was not satisfied with the account, he would never trust him again. Tommy appeared in ecstasies at the confidence that was reposed in him, and, after thanking his father for his extraordinary goodness, he desired leave to go back again with Mr Barlow's servant.

When he arrived at Mr Barlow's, his first care was to ask Harry to accompany him again to the farmer's house. Thither the two little boys went with the greatest expedition; and, on their entering the house, found the unhappy family in the same situation as before. But Tommy, who had hitherto suppressed his feelings, finding himself now enabled to execute the project he had formed, went up to the good woman of the house, who sat sobbing in a corner of the room, and, taking her gently by the hand, said, "My good woman, you were very kind to me in the morning, and therefore I am determined to be kind to you in return." "God bless you, my little master," said the woman, "you are very welcome to what you had; but you are not able to do anything to relieve our distress." "How do you know that?" said Tommy; "perhaps I can do more for you than you imagine." "Alas!" answered the woman, "I believe you would do all you could; but all our goods will be seized and sold, unless we can immediately raise the sum of forty pounds; and that is impossible, for we have no earthly friend to assist us; therefore my poor babes and I must soon be turned out of doors, and God alone can keep them from starving."

Tommy's little heart was too much affected to keep the woman longer in suspense; therefore, pulling out his bag of money, he poured it into her lap, saying, "Here, my good woman, take this and pay your debts, and God bless you and your children!" It is impossible to express the surprise of the poor woman at the sight; she stared wildly round her, and upon her little benefactor, and, clasping her hands together in an agony of gratitude and feeling, she fell back in her chair with a kind of convulsive motion. Her husband, who was in the next room, seeing her in this condition, ran up to her, and catching her in his arms, asked her with the greatest tenderness what was the matter; but she, springing on a sudden from his embraces, threw herself upon her knees before the little boy, sobbing and blessing with a broken inarticulate voice, embracing his knees and kissing his feet. The husband, who did not know what had happened, imagined that his wife had lost her senses; and the little children, who had before been skulking about the room, ran up to their mother, pulling her by the gown, and hiding their faces in her bosom. But the woman, at the sight of them, seemed to recollect herself, and cried out, "Little wretches, who must all have been starved without the assistance of this little angel; why do you not join with me in thanking him?" At this the husband said, "Surely, Mary, you must have lost your senses. What can this young gentleman do for us or to prevent our wretched babes from perishing?" "Oh, William," said the woman, "I am not mad, though I may appear so; but look here, William, look what Providence has sent us by the hands of this little angel, and then wonder not that I should be wild." Saying this, she held up the money, and at the sight her husband looked as wild and astonished as she. But Tommy went up to the man, and, taking him by the hand, said, "My good friend, you are very welcome to this; I freely give it you; and I hope it will enable you to pay what you owe, and to preserve these poor little children." But the man, who had before appeared to bear his misfortunes with silent dignity, now burst into tears and sobbed like his wife and children; but Tommy, who now began to be pained with this excess of gratitude, went silently out of the house, followed by Harry; and, before the poor family perceived what had become of him, was out of sight.

When he came back to Mr Barlow's that gentleman received him with the greatest affection, and when he had inquired after the health of Mr and Mrs Merton, asked Tommy whether he had forgotten the story of the grateful Turk. Tommy told him he had not, and should now be very glad to hear the remainder; which Mr Barlow gave him to read, and was as follows:—

"CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF THE GRATEFUL TURK."

"When Hamet had thus finished his story, the Venetian was astonished at the virtue and elevation of his mind; and after saying everything that his gratitude and admiration suggested, he concluded with pressing him to accept the half of his fortune, and to settle in Venice for the remainder of his life. This offer Hamet refused with the greatest respect, but with a generous disdain; and told his friend that, in what he had done, he had only discharged a debt of gratitude and friendship. 'You were,' said he, 'my generous benefactor; you had a claim upon my life by the benefit you had already conferred; that life would have been well bestowed had it been lost in your service; but since Providence hath otherwise decreed, it is a sufficient recompense to me to have proved that Hamet is not ungrateful, and to have been instrumental to the preservation of your happiness.'

"But though the disinterestedness of Hamet made him underrate his own exertions, the merchant could not remain contented without showing his gratitude by all the means within his power. He therefore once more purchased the freedom of Hamet, and freighted a ship on purpose to send him back to his own country; he and his son then embraced him with all the affection that gratitude could inspire, and bade him, as they thought, an eternal adieu.

"Many years had now elapsed since the departure of Hamet into his own country, without their seeing him, or receiving any intelligence from him. In the mean time the young Francisco, the son of the merchant, grew up to manhood; and as he had acquired every accomplishment which tends to improve the mind or form the manners, added to an excellent disposition, he was generally beloved and esteemed.

"It happened that some business about this time made it necessary for him and his father to go to a neighbouring maritime city; and as they thought a passage by sea would be more expeditious, they both embarked in a Venetian vessel, which was on the point of sailing to that place. They set sail, therefore, with favourable winds, and every appearance of a happy passage; but they had not proceeded more than half their intended voyage, before a Turkish corsair (a ship purposely fitted out for war) was seen bearing down upon them, and as the enemy exceeded them much in swiftness they soon found that it was impossible to escape. The greater part of the crew belonging to the Venetian vessel were struck with consternation, and seemed already overcome with fear; but the young Francisco, drawing his sword, reproached his comrades with their cowardice, and so effectually encouraged them that they determined to defend their liberty by a desperate resistance. The Turkish vessel now approached them in awful silence, but in an instant the dreadful noise of the artillery was heard, and the heavens were obscured with smoke intermixed with transitory flashes of fire. Three times did the Turks leap with horrid shouts upon the deck of the Venetian vessel, and three times were they driven back by the desperate resistance of the crew, headed by young Francisco. At length the slaughter of their men was so great that they seemed disposed to discontinue the fight, and were actually taking another course. The Venetians beheld their flight with the greatest joy, and were congratulating each other upon their successful valour and merited escape, when two more ships on a sudden appeared in sight, bearing down upon them with incredible swiftness before the wind. Every heart was now chilled with new terrors, when, on their nearer approach, they discovered the fatal ensigns of their enemies, and knew that there was no longer any possibility either of resistance or escape. They therefore lowered their flag (the sign of surrendering their ship), and in an instant saw themselves in the power of their enemies, who came pouring in on every side with the rage and violence of beasts of prey.

"All that remained alive of the brave Venetian crew were loaded with fetters, and closely guarded in the hold of the ship till it arrived at Tunis.

"They were then brought out in chains, and exposed in the public market to be sold for slaves. They had there the mortification to see their companions picked out one by one, according to their apparent strength and vigour, and sold to different masters. At length a Turk approached, who, from his look and habit, appeared to be of superior rank, and after glancing his eye over the rest with an expression of compassion, he fixed them at last upon young Francisco, and demanded of the captain of the ship what was the price of that young man. The captain answered that he would not take less than five hundred pieces of gold for that captive. 'That,' said the Turk, 'is very extraordinary, since I have seen you sell those that much exceed him in vigour, for less than a fifth part of that sum.' 'Yes,' answered the captain, 'but he shall either pay me some part of the damage he has occasioned, or labour for life at the oar.' 'What damage,' answered the other, 'can he have done you more than all the rest whom you have prized so cheaply?' 'He it was,' replied the captain, 'who animated the Christians to that desperate resistance which cost me the lives of so many of my brave sailors. Three times did we leap upon their deck, with a fury that seemed irresistible, and three times did that youth attack us with such cool determined opposition that we were obliged to retreat ingloriously, leaving at every charge twenty of our number behind. Therefore, I repeat it, I will either have that price for him, great as it may appear, or else I will gratify my revenge by seeing him drudge for life in my victorious galley.'

"At this the Turk examined young Francisco with new attention; and he who had hitherto fixed his eyes upon the ground in sullen silence now lifted them up; but scarcely had he beheld the person that was talking to the captain when he uttered a loud cry and repeated the name of Hamet. The Turk, with equal emotion, surveyed him for a moment, and then, catching him in his arms, embraced him with the transports of a parent who unexpectedly recovers a long-lost child. It is unnecessary to repeat all that gratitude and affection inspired Hamet to say, but when he heard that his ancient benefactor was amongst the number of those unhappy Venetians who stood before him, he hid his face for a moment under his vest and seemed overwhelmed with sorrow and astonishment, when, recollecting himself, he raised his arms to heaven and blessed that Providence which had made him the instrument of safety to his ancient benefactor. He then instantly flew to that part of the market where Francisco stood waiting for his fate with a manly, mute despair. He called him his friend, his benefactor, and every endearing name which friendship and gratitude could inspire; and, ordering his chains to be instantly taken off, he conducted him and his son to a magnificent house, which belonged to him in the city. As soon as they were alone, and had time for an explanation of their mutual fortunes, Hamet told the Venetians that, when he was set at liberty by their generosity, and restored to his country, he had accepted a command in the Turkish armies; and that, having had the good fortune to distinguish himself on several occasions, he had gradually been promoted, through various offices, to the dignity of Bashaw of Tunis. 'Since I have enjoyed this post,' added he, 'there is nothing which I find in it so agreeable as the power it gives me of alleviating the misfortunes of those unhappy Christians who are taken prisoners by our corsairs. Whenever a ship arrives, which brings with it any of these sufferers, I constantly visit the markets and redeem a certain number of the captives, whom I restore to liberty. And gracious Allah has shown that he approves of these faint endeavours to discharge the sacred duties of gratitude for my own redemption, by putting it in my power to serve the best and dearest of men.'

"Ten days were Francisco and his son entertained in the house of Hamet, during which time he put in practice everything within his power to please and interest them, but when he found they were desirous of returning home, he told them he would no longer detain them from their country, but that they should embark the next day in a ship that was setting sail for Venice. Accordingly, on the morrow he dismissed them, with many embraces and much reluctance, and ordered a chosen party of his own guards to conduct them on board their vessel. When they arrived there, their joy and admiration were considerably increased on finding that, by the generosity of Hamet, not only the ship which had been taken, but the whole crew were redeemed and restored to freedom. Francisco and his son embarked, and, after a favourable voyage, arrived without accident in their own country, where they lived many years respected and esteemed, continually mindful of the vicissitudes of human affairs, and attentive to discharge their duties to their fellow-creatures."

When this story was concluded, Mr Barlow and his pupils went out to walk upon the high road, but they had not gone far before they discovered three men, who seemed each to lead a large and shaggy beast by a string, followed by a crowd of boys and women, whom the novelty of the sight had drawn together. When they approached more near, Mr Barlow discovered that the beasts were three tame bears, led by as many Savoyards, who get their living by exhibiting them. Upon the head of each of these formidable animals was seated a monkey, who grinned and chattered, and by his strange grimaces excited the mirth of the whole assembly. Tommy, who had never before seen one of these creatures, was very much surprised and entertained, but still more so when he saw the animal rise upon his hind legs at the word of command, and dance about in a strange, uncouth manner, to the sound of music.

After having satisfied themselves with this spectacle they proceeded on their way, and Tommy asked Mr Barlow whether a bear was an animal easily tamed, and that did mischief in those places where he was wild.

"The bear," replied Mr Barlow, "is not an animal quite so formidable or destructive as a lion or a tiger; he is, however, sufficiently dangerous, and will frequently devour women and children, and even men, when he has an opportunity. These creatures are generally found in cold countries, and it is observed that the colder the climate is, the greater size and fierceness do they attain to. There is a remarkable account of one of these animals suddenly attacking a soldier when on duty, but it was fortunate for the poor fellow that the first blow he struck the bear felled him to the ground, and the soldier immediately plunged his sword into his heart, which of course killed it. In those northern countries, which are perpetually covered with snow and ice, a species of bear is found, which is white in colour, and of amazing strength as well as fierceness. These animals are often seen clambering over the huge pieces of ice that almost cover those seas, and preying upon fish and other sea animals. I remember reading an account of one that came unexpectedly upon some sailors who were boiling their dinners on the shore. This creature had two young ones with her, and the sailors, as you may easily imagine, did not like such dangerous guests, but made their escape immediately to the ship. The old bear then seized upon the flesh which the sailors had left, and set it before her cubs, reserving a very small portion for herself; showing by this, that she took a much greater interest in their welfare than her own. But the sailors, enraged at the loss of their dinners, levelled their muskets at the cubs, and, from the ship, shot them both dead. They also wounded the dam, who was fetching away another piece of flesh, but not mortally, so that she was still able to move. But it would have affected any one with pity, but a brutal mind (says the relation), to see the behaviour of this poor beast, all wounded as she was and bleeding, to her young ones. Though she was sorely hurt, and could but crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had in her mouth, as she had done the preceding ones, and laid it down before them, and, when she observed that they did not eat, she laid her paws first upon one, and then upon the other, and endeavoured to raise them up, all this while making the most pitiful moans. When she found that they did not stir, she went away to a little distance and then looked, back and moaned, as if to entice them to her; but finding them still immovable, she returned, and smelling round them, began to lick their wounds. She then went off a second time as before, and, after crawling a few yards, turned back and moaned, as if to entreat them not to desert their mother. But her cubs not yet rising to follow her, she returned to them again, and, with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round first one and then the other, pawing them and moaning all the time. Finding them at last cold and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship and began to growl in an indignant manner, as if she were denouncing vengeance against the murderers of her young; but the sailors levelled their muskets again, and wounded her in so many places that she dropped down between her young ones; yet, even while she was expiring, she seemed only sensible to their fate, and died licking their wounds."

"And is it possible," said Harry, "that men can be so cruel towards poor unfortunate animals?" "It is too true," answered Mr Barlow, "that men are frequently guilty of every wanton and unnecessary acts of barbarity, but in this case it is probable that the fear of these animals contributed to render the sailors more unpitying than they would otherwise have been; they had often seen themselves in danger of being devoured, and that inspired them with a great degree of hatred against them, which they took the opportunity of gratifying." "But would it not be enough," answered Harry, "if they carried arms to defend themselves when they were attacked, without unnecessarily destroying other creatures, who did not meddle with them?" "To be sure it would," replied Mr Barlow, "and a generous mind would at any time rather spare an enemy than destroy him."

While they were conversing in this manner, they beheld a crowd of women and children running away in the greatest trepidation, and, looking behind them, saw that one of the bears had broken his chain, and was running after them, growling all the time in a very disagreeable manner. Mr Barlow, who had a good stick in his hand, and was a man of an intrepid character, perceiving this, bade his pupils remain quiet, and instantly ran up to the bear, who stopped in the middle of his career, and seemed inclined to attack Mr Barlow for his interference; but this gentleman struck him two or three blows, rating him at the same time in a loud and severe tone of voice, and seizing the end of the chain with equal boldness and dexterity, the animal quietly submitted, and suffered himself to be taken prisoner. Presently the keeper of the bear came up, into whose hands Mr Barlow consigned him, charging him for the future to be more careful in guarding so dangerous a creature.

While this was doing, the boys had remained quiet spectators at a distance, but by accident the monkey, who used to be perched upon the head of the bear, and was shaken off when the beast broke loose, came running that way, playing a thousand antic grimaces as he passed. Tommy, who was determined not to be outdone by Mr Barlow, ran very resolutely up, and seized a string which was tied round the loins of the animal; but he, not choosing to be taken prisoner, instantly snapped at Tommy's arm, and almost made his teeth meet in the fleshy part of it. Yet Tommy, who was now greatly improved in courage and the use of his limbs, instead of letting his enemy escape, began thrashing him very severely with the stick which he had in his hand, till the monkey, seeing he had so resolute an antagonist to deal with, desisted from opposition, and suffered himself to be led captive like his friend the bear.

As they were returning home, Tommy asked Mr Barlow whether he did not think it very dangerous to meddle with such an animal when he was loose. Mr Barlow told him it was not without danger, but that it was much less so than most people would imagine. "Most animals," said he, "are easily awed by the appearance of intrepidity, while they are invited to pursue by marks of fear and apprehension." "That, I believe, is very true," answered Harry; "for I have very often observed the behaviour of dogs to each other. When two strange dogs meet they generally approach with caution, as if they were mutually afraid; but as sure as either of them runs away, the other will pursue him with the greatest insolence and fury." "This is not confined to dogs," replied Mr Barlow; "almost all wild beasts are subject to receive the sudden impression of terror; and therefore men, who have been obliged to travel without arms, through forests that abound with dangerous animals, have frequently escaped unhurt, by shouting aloud whenever they met with any of them on their way; but what I chiefly depended on was, the education which the bear had received since he left his own country." (Tommy laughed heartily at this idea, and Mr Barlow went on.) "Whenever an animal is taught anything that is not natural to him, this is properly receiving an education. Did you ever observe colts running about wild upon the common?" Tommy.—yes, sir, very often. Mr Barlow.—And do you think it would be an easy matter for any one to mount upon their backs or ride them? T.—By no means; I think that they would kick and prance to that degree that they would throw any person down. Mr B.—And yet your little horse very frequently takes you upon his back, and carries you very safely between this and your father's house. T.—That is because he is used to it. Mr B.—But he was not always used to it; he was once a colt, and then he ran about as wild and unrestrained as any of those upon the common. T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—How came he then to be so altered as to submit to bear you upon his back? T.—I do not know, unless it was by feeding him. Mr B.—That is one method; but that is not all; they first accustom the colt, who naturally follows his mother, to come into the stable with her; then they stroke him and feed him till he gradually becomes gentle, and will suffer himself to be handled; then they take an opportunity of putting a halter upon his head, and accustom him to stand quietly in the stable, and to be tied to the manger. Thus they gradually proceed from one thing to another, till they teach him to bear the bridle and the saddle, and to be commanded by his rider. This may very properly be called the education of an animal, since by these means he is obliged to acquire habits which he would never have learned had he been left to himself. Now, I knew that the poor bear had been frequently beaten and very ill-used, in order to make him submit to be led about with a string, and exhibited as a sight. I knew that he had been accustomed to submit to man, and to tremble at the sound of the human voice, and I depended upon the force of these impressions for making him submit without resistance to the authority I assumed over him. You saw I was not deceived in my opinion, and by these means I probably prevented the mischief that he might otherwise have done to some of those women or children.

As Mr Barlow was talking in this manner, he perceived that Tommy's arm was bloody; and inquiring into the reason, he heard the history of his adventure with the monkey. Mr Barlow then looked at the wound, which he found of no great consequence, and told Tommy that he was sorry for his accident, and imagined that he was now too courageous to be daunted by a trifling hurt. Tommy assured him he was, and proceeded to ask some questions concerning the nature of the monkey, which Mr Barlow answered in the following manner:—"The monkey is a very extraordinary animal, which closely resembles a man in his shape and appearance, as perhaps you may have observed. He is always found to inhabit hot countries, the forests of which, in many parts of the world, are filled with innumerable bands of these animals. He is extremely active, and his fore-legs exactly resemble the arms of a man; so that he not only uses them to walk upon, but frequently to climb trees, to hang by the branches, and to take hold of his food with. He supports himself upon almost every species of wild fruit which is found in those countries, so that it is necessary he should be continually scrambling up and down the highest trees, in order to procure himself a subsistence. Nor is he contented always with the diet which he finds in the forest where he makes his residence. Large bands of these creatures will frequently sally out to plunder the gardens in the neighbourhood, and many wonderful stories are told of their ingenuity and contrivance." "What are these?" said Tommy. "It is said," answered Mr Barlow, "that they proceed with all the caution and regularity which could be found in men themselves. Some of these animals are placed as spies to give notice to the rest, in case any human being should approach the garden; and, should that happen, one of the sentinels informs them by a peculiar chattering, and they all escape in an instant." "I can easily believe that," answered Harry, "for I have observed, that when a flock of rooks alight upon a farmer's field of corn, two or three of them always take their station upon the highest tree they can find; and if any one approaches they instantly give notice by their cawing, and all the rest take wing directly and fly away." "But," answered Mr Barlow, "the monkeys are said to be yet more ingenious in their thefts; for they station some of their body at a small distance from each other, in a line that reaches quite from the forest they inhabit to the particular garden they wish to plunder. When this is done, several of them mount the fairest fruit-trees, and, picking the fruit, throw it down to their companions who stand below; these again cast it to others at a little distance, and thus it flies from hand to hand till it is safely deposited in the woods or mountains whence they came. When they are taken very young they are easily tamed, but always retain a great disposition to mischief, as well as to imitate everything they see done by men. Many ridiculous stories are told of them in this respect. I have heard of a monkey that resided in a gentleman's family, and that frequently observed his master undergo the operation of shaving. The imitative animal one day took it into his head to turn barber, and, seizing in one hand a cat that lived in the same house, and a bottle of ink in the other, he carried her up to the top of a very fine marble staircase. The servants were all attracted by the screams of the cat, who did not relish the operation which was going forward; and, running out, were equally surprised and diverted to see the monkey gravely seated upon the landing-place of the stairs, and holding the cat fast in one of his paws, while with the other he continually applied ink to puss's face, rubbing it all over, just as he had observed the barber do to his master. Whenever the cat struggled to escape, the monkey gave her a pat with his paw, chattering all the time, and making the most ridiculous grimaces; and when she was quiet, he applied himself to his bottle, and continued the operation. But I have heard a more tragic story of the imitative genius of these animals. One of them lived in a fortified town, and used frequently to run up and down upon the ramparts, where he had observed the gunner discharge the great guns that defended the town. One day he got possession of the lighted match with which the man used to perform his business, and, applying it to the touch-hole of a gun, he ran to the mouth of it to see the explosion; but the cannon, which happened to be loaded, instantly went off, and blew the poor monkey into a thousand pieces."

When they came back to Mr Barlow's they found Master Merton's servant and horses waiting to bring him home. When he arrived there he was received with the greatest joy and tenderness by his parents; but though he gave them an account of everything else that had happened, he did not say a word about the money he had given to the farmer. But the next day, being Sunday, Mr and Mrs Merton and Tommy went together to the parish church, which they had scarcely entered when a general whisper ran through the whole congregation, and all eyes were in an instant turned upon the little boy. Mr and Mrs Merton were very much astonished at this, but they forbore to inquire until the end of the service; then as they were going out of the church together, Mr Merton asked his son what could be the reason of the general attention which he excited at his entrance into church? Tommy had no time to answer, for at that instant a very decent-looking woman ran up and threw herself at his feet, calling him her guardian angel and preserver, and praying that heaven would shower down upon his head all the blessings which he deserved. It was some time before Mr and Mrs Merton could understand the nature of this extraordinary scene; but, when they at length understood the secret of their son's generosity, they seemed to be scarcely less affected than the woman herself, and, shedding tears of transport and affection, they embraced their son, without attending to the crowd that surrounded them; but immediately recollecting themselves, they took their leave of the poor woman and hurried to their coach with such sensations as it is more easy to conceive than to describe.

The summer had now completely passed away, and the winter had set in with unusual severity; the water was all frozen into a solid mass of ice; the earth was bare of food, and the little birds, that used to chirp with gladness, seemed to lament in silence the inclemency of the weather. As Tommy was one day reading the Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, particularly the famous anecdote of the fortress of snow, in which Napoleon is described as undertaking the siege, and giving directions to his school-fellows how to make the attack, he was surprised to find a pretty bird flying about the chamber in which he was reading. He immediately went down stairs and informed Mr Barlow of the circumstance, who, after he had seen the bird, told him that it was called a robin redbreast, and that it was naturally more tame and disposed to cultivate the society of men than any other species; "but at present," added he, "the little fellow is in want of food, because the earth is too hard to furnish him any assistance, and hunger inspires him with this unusual boldness." "Why then, sir," said Tommy, "if you will give me leave, I will fetch a piece of bread and feed him." "Do so," answered Mr Barlow; "but first set the window open, that he may see you do not intend to take him prisoner." Tommy accordingly opened his window, and scattering a few crumbs of bread about the room, had the satisfaction of seeing his guest hop down and make a very hearty meal; he then flew out of the room, and settled upon a neighbouring tree, singing all the time, as if to return thanks for the hospitality he had met with.

Tommy was greatly delighted with his new acquaintance, and from this time never failed to set his window open every morning and scatter some crumbs about the room, which the bird perceiving, hopped fearlessly in, and regaled himself under the protection of his benefactor. By degrees the intimacy increased so much that little robin would alight on Tommy's shoulder and whistle his notes in that situation, or eat out of his hand—all which gave Tommy so much satisfaction that he would frequently call Mr Barlow and Harry to be witness of his favourite's caresses; nor did he ever eat his own meals without reserving a part for his little friend.

It however happened that one day Tommy went upstairs after dinner, intending to feed his bird as usual, but as soon as he opened the door of his chamber he discovered a sight that pierced him to the very heart. His little friend and innocent companion lay dead upon the floor, and torn in pieces; and a large cat, taking that opportunity to escape, soon directed his suspicions towards the murderer. Tommy instantly ran down with tears in his eyes to relate the unfortunate death of his favourite to Mr Barlow, and to demand vengeance against the wicked cat that had occasioned it. Mr Barlow heard him with great compassion, but asked what punishment he wished to inflict upon the cat?

Tommy.—Oh sir! nothing can be too bad for that cruel animal. I would have her killed as she killed the poor bird.

Mr Barlow.—But do you imagine that she did it out of any particular malice to your bird, or merely because she was hungry, and accustomed to catch her prey in that manner?

Tommy considered some time, but at last he owned that he did not suspect the cat of having any particular spite against his bird, and therefore he supposed she had been impelled by hunger.

Mr Barlow.—Have you never observed that it was the property of that species to prey upon mice and other little animals?

Tommy.—Yes, sir, very often.

Mr Barlow.—And have you ever corrected her for so doing, or attempted to teach her other habits?

Tommy.—I cannot say I have. Indeed I have seen little Harry, when she had caught a mouse and was tormenting it, take it from her and give it liberty; but I have never meddled with her myself.

Mr Barlow.—Are you not then more to be blamed than the cat herself? You have observed that it was common to the whole species to destroy mice and little birds, whenever they could surprise them; yet you have taken no pains to secure your favourite from the danger; on the contrary, by rendering him tame, and accustoming him to be fed, you have exposed him to a violent death, which he would probably have avoided had he remained wild. Would it not then be just, and more reasonable, to endeavour to teach the cat that she must no longer prey upon little birds, than to put her to death for what you have never taught her was an offence?

Tommy.—But is that possible?

Mr Barlow.—Very possible, I should imagine; but we may at least try the experiment.

Tommy.—But why should such a mischievous creature live at all?

Mr Barlow.—Because, if you destroy every creature that preys upon others, you would perhaps leave few alive.

Tommy.—Surely, sir, the poor bird which that naughty cat has killed, was never guilty of such a cruelty.

Mr Barlow.—I will not answer for that. Let us observe what they live upon in the fields; we shall then be able to give a better account.

Mr Barlow then went to the window and desired Tommy to come to him, and observe a robin which was then hopping upon the grass with something in its mouth, and asked him what he thought it was.

Tommy.—I protest, sir, it is a large worm. And now he has swallowed it! I should never have thought that such a pretty bird could have been so cruel.

Mr Barlow.—Do you imagine that the bird is conscious of all that is suffered by the insect?

Tommy.—No, sir.

Mr Barlow.—In him, then, it is not the same cruelty which it would be in you, who are endowed with reason and reflection. Nature has given him a propensity for animal food, which he obeys in the same manner as the sheep and ox when they feed upon grass, or as the ass when he browses upon the furze or thistles.

Tommy.—Why, then, perhaps the cat did not know the cruelty she was guilty of in tearing that poor bird to pieces?

Mr Barlow.—No more than the bird we have just seen is conscious of his cruelty to the insect. The natural food of cats consists in rats, mice, birds, and such small animals as they can seize by violence or catch by craft. It was impossible she should know the value you set upon your bird, and therefore she had no more intention of offending you than had she caught a mouse.

Tommy.—But if that is the case, should I have another tame bird, she would kill it as she has done this poor fellow.

Mr Barlow.—That, perhaps, may be prevented. I have heard people that deal in birds affirm there is a way of preventing cats from meddling with them.

Tommy.—Oh dear, sir, I should like to try it. Will you not show me how to prevent the cat from killing any more birds?

Mr Barlow.—Most willingly; it is certainly better to correct the faults of an animal than to destroy it. Besides, I have a particular affection for this cat, because I found her when she was a kitten, and have bred her up so tame and gentle that she will follow me about like a dog. She comes every morning to my chamber-door and mews till she is let in; and she sits upon the table at breakfast and dinner as grave and polite as a visitor, without offering to touch the meat. Indeed, before she was guilty of this offence, I have often seen you stroke and caress her with great affection; and puss, who is by no means of an ungrateful temper, would always pur and arch her tail, as if she was sensible of your attention.

In a few days after this conversation another robin, suffering like the former from the inclemency of the season, flew into the house, and commenced acquaintance with Tommy. But he, who recollected the mournful fate of his former bird, would not encourage it to any familiarity, till he had claimed the promise of Mr Barlow, in order to preserve it from danger. Mr Barlow, therefore, enticed the new guest into a small wire-cage, and, as soon as he had entered it, shut the door, in order to prevent his escaping. He then took a small gridiron, such as is used to broil meat upon, and, having almost heated it red hot, placed it erect upon the ground, before the cage in which the bird was confined. He then contrived to entice the cat into the room, and observing that she fixed her eye upon the bird, which she destined to become her prey, he withdrew the two little boys, in order to leave her unrestrained in her operations. They did not retire far, but observed her from the door fix her eyes upon the cage, and begin to approach it in silence, bending her body to the ground, and almost touching it as she crawled along. When she judged herself within a proper distance, she exerted all her agility in a violent spring, which would probably have been fatal to the bird, had not the gridiron, placed before the cage, received the impression of her attack. Nor was the disappointment the only punishment she was destined to undergo; the bars of the gridiron had been so thoroughly heated that, in rushing against them, she felt herself burned in several parts of her body, and retired from the field of battle mewing dreadfully and full of pain; and such was the impression which this adventure produced, that, from this time, she was never again known to attempt to destroy birds.

The coldness of the weather still continuing, all the wild animals began to perceive the effects, and, compelled by hunger, approached nearer to the habitations of man and the places they had been accustomed to avoid. A multitude of hares—the most timorous of all animals—were frequently seen scudding about the garden in search of the scanty vegetables which the severity of the season had spared. In a short time they had devoured all the green herbs which could be found, and, hunger still oppressing them, they began to gnaw the very bark of the trees for food. One day, as Tommy was walking in the garden, he found that even the beloved tree which he had planted with his own hands, and from which he had promised himself so plentiful a produce of fruit, had not escaped the general depredation, but had been gnawed round at the root and killed.

Tommy, who could ill brook disappointment, was so enraged to see his labours prove abortive, that he ran with tears in his eyes to Mr Barlow, to demand vengeance against the devouring hares. "Indeed," said Mr Barlow, "I am sorry for what they have done, but it is now too late to prevent it." "Yes," answered Tommy, "but you may have all those mischievous creatures shot, that they may do no further damage." "A little while ago," replied Mr Barlow, "you wanted to destroy the cat, because she was cruel and preyed upon living animals, and now you would murder all the hares, merely because they are innocent, inoffensive animals that subsist upon vegetables." Tommy looked a little foolish, but said, "he did not want to hurt them for living upon vegetables, but for destroying his tree." "But," said Mr Barlow, "how can you expect the animal to distinguish your trees from any other? You should therefore have fenced them round in such a manner as might have prevented the hares from reaching them; besides, in such extreme distress as animals now suffer from the want of food, I think they may be forgiven if they trespass a little more than usual."

Mr Barlow then took Tommy by the hand and led him into a field at some distance, which belonged to him, and which was sown with turnips. Scarcely had they entered the field before a flock of larks rose up in such innumerable quantities as almost darkened the air. "See," said Mr Barlow, "these little fellows are trespassing upon my turnips in such numbers, that in a short time they will destroy every bit of green about the field; yet I would not hurt them on any account. Look round the whole extent of the country, you will see nothing but a barren waste, which presents no food either to bird or beast. These little creatures, therefore, assemble in multitudes here, where they find a scanty subsistence, and though they do me some mischief, they are welcome to what they can find. In the spring they will enliven our walks by their agreeable songs."

Tommy.—How dreary and uncomfortable is this season of winter; I wish it were always summer.

Mr Barlow.—In some countries it is so; but there the inhabitants complain more of the intolerable heat than you do of the cold. They would with pleasure be relieved by the agreeable variety of cooler weather, when they are panting under the violence of a scorching sun.

Tommy.—Then I should like to live in a country that was never either disagreeably hot or cold.

Mr Barlow.—Such a country is scarcely to be found; or if it is, contains so small a portion of the earth as to leave room for very few inhabitants.

Tommy.—Then I should think it would be so crowded that one would hardly be able to stir, for everybody would naturally wish to live there.

Mr Barlow.—There you are mistaken, for the inhabitants of the finest climates are often less attached to their own country than those of the worst. Custom reconciles people to every kind of life, and makes them equally satisfied with the place in which they are born. There is a country called Lapland, which extends a great deal further north than any part of England, which is covered with perpetual snows during all the year, yet the inhabitants would not exchange it for any other portion of the globe.

Tommy.—How do they live in so disagreeable a country?

Mr Barlow.—If you ask Harry, he will tell you. Being a farmer, it is his business to study the different methods by which men find subsistence in all the different parts of the earth.

Tommy.—I should like very much to hear, if Harry will be so good as to tell me.

Harry.—You must know then, Master Tommy, that in the greatest part of this country which is called Lapland, the inhabitants neither sow nor reap; they are totally unacquainted with the use of corn, and know not how to make bread; they have no trees which bear fruit, and scarcely any of the herbs which grow in our gardens in England; nor do they possess either sheep, goats, hogs, cows, or beasts.

Tommy.—That must be a disagreeable country indeed! What then have they to live upon?

Harry.—They have a species of deer, which is bigger than the largest stags which you may have seen in the gentlemen's parks in England, and very strong. These animals are called reindeer, and are of so gentle a nature that they are easily tamed, and taught to live together in herds, and to obey their masters. In the short summer which they enjoy, the Laplanders lead them out to pasture in the valleys, where the grass grows very high and luxuriant. In the winter, when the ground is all covered over with snow, the deer have learned to scratch away the snow, and find a sort of moss which grows underneath it, and upon this they subsist. These creatures afford not only food, but raiment, and even houses to their masters. In the summer, the Laplander milks his herds and lives upon the produce; sometimes he lays by the milk in wooden vessels, to serve him for food in winter. This is soon frozen so hard that, when they would use it, they are obliged to cut it in pieces with a hatchet. Sometimes the winters are so severe that the poor deer can scarcely find even moss, and then the master is obliged to kill part of them and live upon the flesh. Of the skins he makes warm garments for himself and his family, and strews them thick upon the ground, to sleep upon. Their houses are only poles stuck slanting into the ground, and almost joined at top, except a little hole which they leave to let out the smoke. These poles are either covered with the skins of animals, or coarse cloth, or sometimes with turf and the bark of trees. There is a little hole left in one side, through which the family creep into their tent, and they make a comfortable fire to warm them, in the middle. People that are so easily contented are totally ignorant of most of the things that are thought so necessary here. The Laplanders have neither gold, nor silver, nor carpets, nor carved work in their houses; every man makes for himself all that the real wants of life require, and with his own hands performs everything which is necessary to be done. Their food consists either in frozen milk, or the flesh of the reindeer, or that of the bear, which they frequently hunt and kill. Instead of bread they strip off the bark of firs, which are almost the only trees that grow upon those dismal mountains, and, boiling the inward and more tender skin, they eat it with their flesh. The greatest happiness of these poor people is to live free and unrestrained; therefore they do not long remain fixed to any spot, but, taking down their houses, they pack them up along with the little furniture they possess, and load them upon sledges, to carry and set them up in some other place.

Tommy.—Have you not said that they have neither horses nor oxen? Do they then draw these sledges themselves?

Harry.—I thought I should surprise you, Master Tommy. The reindeer which I have described are so tractable, that they are harnessed like horses, and draw the sledges with their masters upon them nearly thirty miles a-day. They set out with surprising swiftness, and run along the snow, which is frozen so hard in winter that it supports them like a solid road. In this manner do the Laplanders perform their journeys, and change their places of abode as often as is agreeable. In the spring they lead their herds of deer to pasture upon the mountains; in the winter they come down into the plains, where they are better protected against the fury of the winds; for the whole country is waste and desolate, destitute of all the objects which you see here. There are no towns, nor villages; no fields enclosed or cultivated; no beaten roads; no inns for travellers to sleep at; no shops to purchase the necessaries or conveniences of life at; the face of the whole country is barren and dismal; wherever you turn your eyes, nothing is to be seen but lofty mountains, white with snow, and covered with ice and fogs; scarcely any trees are to be seen, except a few stunted firs and birches. These mountains afford a retreat to thousands of bears and wolves, which are continually pouring down and prowling about to prey upon the herds of deer, so that the Laplanders are continually obliged to fight them in their own defence. To do this, they fix large pieces of flat board, about four or five feet long, to the bottom of their feet, and, thus secured, they run along, without sinking into the snow, so nimbly, that they can overtake the wild animals in the chase. The bears they kill with bows and arrows, which they make themselves. Sometimes they find out the dens where they have laid themselves up in winter, and then they attack them with spears, and generally overcome them. When a Laplander has killed a bear, he carries it home in triumph, boils the flesh in an iron pot (which is all the cooking they are acquainted with), and invites all his neighbours to the feast. This they account the greatest delicacy in the world, and particularly the fat, which they melt over the fire and drink; then, sitting round the flame, they entertain each other with stories of their own exploits in hunting or fishing, till the feast is over. Though they live so barbarous a life, they are a good-natured, sincere, and hospitable people. If a stranger comes among them, they lodge and entertain him in the best manner they are able, and generally refuse all payment for their services, unless it be a little bit of tobacco, which they are immoderately fond of smoking.

Tommy.—Poor people! how I pity them, to live such an unhappy life! I should think the fatigues and hardships they undergo must kill them in a very short space of time.

Mr Barlow.—Have you then observed that those who eat and drink the most, and undergo the least fatigue, are the most free from disease?

Tommy.—Not always; for I remember that there are two or three gentlemen who come to dine at my father's, who eat an amazing quantity of meat, besides drinking a great deal of wine, and these poor gentlemen have lost the use of almost all their limbs. Their legs are so swelled, that they are almost as big as their bodies; their feet are so tender that they cannot set them to the ground; and their knees so stiff, that they cannot bend them. When they arrive, they are obliged to be helped out of their coaches by two or three people, and they come hobbling in upon crutches. But I never heard them talk about anything but eating and drinking in all my life. Mr Barlow.—And did you ever observe that any of the poor had lost the use of their limbs by the same disease?

Tommy.—I cannot say I have.

Mr Barlow.—Then, perhaps, the being confined to a scanty diet, to hardship, and to exercise, may not be so desperate as you imagine. This way of life is even much less so than the intemperance in which too many of the rich continually indulge themselves. I remember lately reading a story on this subject, which, if you please, you shall hear. Mr Barlow then read the following

"In one of the provinces of Italy there lived a wealthy gentleman, who, having no taste either for improving his mind or exercising his body, acquired a habit of eating almost all day long. The whole extent of his thoughts was, what he should eat for dinner, and how he should procure the greatest delicacies. Italy produces excellent wine, but these were not enough for our epicure; he settled agents in different parts of France and Spain, to buy up all the most generous and costly wines of those countries. He had correspondence with all the maritime cities, that he might be constantly supplied with every species of fish; every poulterer and fishmonger in the town was under articles to let him have his choice of rarities. He also employed a man on purpose to give directions for his pastry and desserts. As soon as he had breakfasted in the morning, it was his constant practice to retire to his library (for he, too, had a library, although he never opened a book). When he was there, he gravely seated himself in an easy chair, and, tucking a napkin under his chin, ordered his head cook to be sent in to him. The head cook instantly appeared attended by a couple of footmen, who carried each a silver salver of prodigious size, on which were cups containing sauces of every different flavour which could be devised. The gentleman, with the greatest solemnity, used to dip a bit of bread in each, and taste it, giving his orders upon the subject with as much earnestness and precision as if he had been signing papers for the government of a kingdom. When this important affair was thus concluded, he would throw himself upon a couch, to repair the fatigues of such an exertion, and refresh himself against dinner. When that delightful hour arrived, it is impossible to describe either the variety of fish, flesh, and fowl which was set before him, or the surprising greediness with which he ate of all; stimulating his appetite with the highest sauces and richest wines, till at length he was obliged to desist, not from being satisfied, but from mere inability to contain more.

"This kind of life he had long pursued, but at last became so corpulent that he could hardly move; his belly appeared prominent like a mountain, his face was bloated, and his legs, though swelled to the size of columns, seemed unable to support the prodigious weight of his body. Added to this, he was troubled with continual indigestions and racking pains in several of his limbs, which at length terminated in a violent fit of the gout. The pains, indeed, at length abated, and this unfortunate epicure returned to all his former habits of intemperance. The interval of ease, however, was short, and the attacks of his disease becoming more and more frequent, he was at length deprived of the use of almost all his limbs.

"In this unhappy state he determined to consult a physician that lived in the same town, and had the reputation of performing many surprising cures. 'Doctor,' said the gentleman to the physician, when he arrived, 'you see the miserable state to which I am reduced.' 'I do, indeed,' answered the physician, 'and I suppose you have contributed to it by your intemperance.' 'As to intemperance,' replied the gentleman, 'I believe few have less to answer for than myself; I indeed love a moderate dinner and supper, but I never was intoxicated with liquor in my life.' 'Probably, then, you sleep too much?' said the physician. 'As to sleep,' said the gentleman, 'I am in bed nearly twelve hours every night, because I find the sharpness of the morning air extremely injurious to my constitution; but I am so troubled with a plaguy flatulency and heartburn, that I am scarcely able to close my eyes all night; or if I do, I find myself almost strangled with wind, and awake in agonies.' 'That is a very alarming symptom, indeed,' replied the doctor; 'I wonder so many restless nights do not entirely wear you out.' 'They would, indeed,' answered the gentleman, 'if I did not make shift to procure a little sleep two or three times a-day, which enables me to hold out a little longer.' 'As to exercise,' continued the doctor, 'I fear you are not able to use a great deal.' 'Alas!' answered the sick man, 'while I was able, I never failed to go out in my carriage once or twice a-week, but in my present situation I can no longer bear the gentlest motion; besides disordering my whole frame, it gives me such intolerable twitches in my limbs, that you would imagine I was absolutely falling to pieces.' 'Your case,' answered the physician, 'is indeed bad, but not quite desperate, and if you could abridge the quantity of your food and sleep, you would in a short time find yourself much better.' 'Alas!' answered the sick man, 'I find you little know the delicacy of my constitution, or you would not put me upon a method which will infallibly destroy me. When I rise in the morning, I feel as if all the powers of life were extinguished within me; my stomach is oppressed with nausea, my head with aches and swimming, and above all, I feel such an intolerable sinking in my spirits, that, without the assistance of two or three cordials, and some restorative soup, I am confident I never could get through the morning. Now, doctor, I have such confidence in your skill, that there is no pill or potion you can order me which I will not take with pleasure, but as to a change in my diet, that is impossible.' 'That is,' answered the physician, 'you wish for health without being at the trouble of acquiring it, and imagine that all the consequences of an ill-spent life are to be washed away by a julep, or a decoction of senna. But as I cannot cure you upon those terms, I will not deceive you for an instant. Your case is out of the power of medicine, and you can only be relieved by your own exertions.' 'How hard is this,' answered the gentleman, 'to be thus abandoned to despair even in the prime of life! Cruel and unfeeling doctor, will you not attempt anything to procure me ease?' 'Sir,' answered the physician, 'I have already told you everything I know upon the subject. I must, however, acquaint you, that I have a brother physician who lives at Padua, a man of the greatest learning and integrity, who is particularly famous for curing the gout. If you think it worth your while to consult him, I will give you a letter of recommendation, for he never stirs from home, even to attend a prince.'

"Here the conversation ended; for the gentleman, who did not like the trouble of the journey, took his leave of the physician, and returned home very much dispirited. In a little while he either was, or fancied himself, worse; and as the idea of the Paduan physician had never left his head, he at last resolutely determined to set out upon the journey. For this purpose he had a litter so contrived that he could lie recumbent, or recline at his ease, and eat his meals. The distance was not above one day's tolerable journey, but the gentleman wisely resolved to make four of it, for fear of over-fatiguing himself. He had, besides, a loaded waggon attending, filled with everything that constitutes good eating; and two of his cooks went with him, that nothing might be wanting to his accommodation on the road.

"After a wearisome journey he at length arrived within sight of Padua, and eagerly inquiring after the house of Doctor Ramozini, was soon directed to the spot; then, having been helped out of his carriage by half-a-dozen of his servants, he was shown into a neat but plain parlour, from which he had the prospect of twenty or thirty people at dinner in a spacious hall. In the middle of them was the learned doctor himself, who with much complaisance invited the company to eat heartily. 'My good friend,' said the doctor to a pale-looking man on his right hand, 'you must eat three slices more of this roast-beef, or you will never lose your ague.' 'My friend,' said he to another, 'drink off this glass of porter; it is just arrived from England, and is a specific for nervous fevers.' 'Do not stuff your child so with macaroni,' added he, turning to a woman, 'if you wish to cure him of the scrofula.' 'Good man,' said he to a fourth, 'how goes on the ulcer in your leg?' 'Much better, indeed,' replied the man, 'since I have lived at your honour's table.' 'Well,' replied the physician, 'in a fortnight you will be perfectly cured, if you do but drink wine enough.'

"'Thank heaven!' said the gentleman, who had heard all this with infinite pleasure, 'I have at last met with a reasonable physician; he will not confine me to bread and water, nor starve me under pretence of curing me, like that confounded quack from whose clutches I have so luckily escaped.'

"At length the doctor dismissed his company, who retired loading him with thanks and blessings. He then approached the gentleman, and welcomed him with the greatest politeness, who presented him with his letters of recommendation, which, after the physician had perused, he thus accosted him:—'Sir, the letter of my learned friend has fully instructed me in the particulars of your case; it is indeed a difficult one, but I think you have no reason to despair of a perfect recovery. If,' added he, 'you choose to put yourself under my care, I will employ all the secrets of my art for your assistance. But one condition is absolutely indispensable; you must send away all your servants, and solemnly engage to follow my prescriptions for at least a month; without this compliance I would not undertake the cure even of a monarch.' 'Doctor,' answered the gentleman, 'what I have seen of your profession does not, I confess, much prejudice me in their favour; and I should hesitate to agree to such a proposal from any other individual.' 'Do as you like, sir,' answered the physician; 'the employing me or not is entirely voluntary on your part; but as I am above the common mercenary views of gain, I never stake the reputation of so noble an art without a rational prospect of success; and what success can I hope for in so obstinate a disorder, unless the patient will consent to a fair experiment of what I can effect?' 'Indeed,' replied the gentleman, 'what you say is so candid, and your whole behaviour so much interests me in your favour, that I will immediately give you proofs of the most unbounded confidence.'

"He then sent for his servants and ordered them to return home, and not to come near him till a whole month was elapsed. When they were gone, the physician asked him how he supported the journey? 'Why, really,' answered he, 'much better than I could have expected. But I feel myself unusually hungry; and therefore, with your permission, shall beg to have the hour of supper a little hastened.' 'Most willingly,' answered the doctor; 'at eight o'clock everything shall be ready for your entertainment. In the meantime you will permit me to visit my patients.'

"While the physician was absent, the gentleman was pleasing his imagination with the thoughts of the excellent supper he should make. 'Doubtless,' said he to himself, 'if Signor Ramozini treats the poor in such an hospitable manner, he will spare nothing for the entertainment of a man of my importance. I have heard there are delicious trouts and ortolans in this part of Italy; I make no doubt but the doctor keeps an excellent cook, and I shall have no reason to repent the dismission of my servants.'

"With these ideas he kept himself some time amused; at length his appetite growing keener and keener every instant, from fasting longer than ordinary, he lost all patience, and, calling one of the servants of the house, inquired for some little nice thing to stay his stomach till the hour of supper. 'Sir,' said the servant, 'I would gladly oblige you; but it is as much as my place is worth; my master is the best and most generous of men, but so great is his attention to his house patients, that he will not suffer one of them to eat, unless in his presence. However, sir, have patience; in two hours more the supper will be ready, and then you may indemnify yourself for all.'

"Thus was the gentleman compelled to pass two hours more without food—a degree of abstinence he had not practised for almost twenty years. He complained bitterly of the slowness of time, and was continually inquiring what was the hour.

"At length the doctor returned punctual to his time, and ordered the supper to be brought in. Accordingly six dishes were set upon the table with great solemnity, all under cover; and the gentleman flattered himself he should now be rewarded for his long abstinence. As they were sitting down to table, the learned Ramozini thus accosted his guest:—'Before you give a loose to your appetite, sir, I must acquaint you that, as the most effectual method of subduing this obstinate disease, all your food and drink will be mixed up with such medicinal substances as your case requires. They will not be indeed discoverable by any of your senses; but as their effects are equally strong and certain, I must recommend to you to eat with moderation.'

"Having said this, he ordered the dishes to be uncovered, which, to the extreme astonishment of the gentleman, contained nothing but olives, dried figs, dates, some roasted apples, a few boiled eggs, and a piece of hard cheese!

"'Heaven and earth!' cried the gentleman, losing all patience at this mortifying spectacle, 'is this the entertainment you have prepared for me, with so many speeches and prefaces? Do you imagine that a person of my fortune can sup on such contemptible fare as would hardly satisfy the wretched peasants whom I saw at dinner in your hall?' 'Have patience, my dear sir,' replied the physician; 'it is the extreme anxiety I have for your welfare that compels me to treat you with this apparent incivility. Your blood is all in a ferment with the violent exercise you have undergone; and were I rashly to indulge your craving appetite, a fever or a pleurisy might be the consequence. But to-morrow I hope you will be cooler, and then you may live in a style more adapted to your quality.'

"The gentleman began to comfort himself with this reflection, and, as there was no help, he at last determined to wait with patience another night. He accordingly tasted a few of the dates and olives, ate a piece of cheese with a slice of excellent bread, and found himself more refreshed than he could have imagined was possible from such a homely meal. When he had nearly supped, he wanted something to drink, and observing nothing but water upon the table, desired one of the servants to bring him a little wine. 'Not as you value the life of this illustrious gentleman,' cried out the physician. 'Sir,' added he, turning to his guest, 'it is with inexpressible reluctance that I contradict you, but wine would be at present a mortal poison; therefore, please to content yourself, for one night only, with a glass of this most excellent and refreshing mineral water.'

"The gentleman was again compelled to submit, and drank the water with a variety of strange grimaces. After the cloth was removed, Signor Ramozini entertained the gentleman with some agreeable and improving conversation for about an hour, and then proposed to his patient that he should retire to rest. This proposal the gentleman gladly accepted, as he found himself fatigued with his journey, and unusually disposed to sleep. The doctor then retired, and ordered one of his servants to show the gentleman to his chamber.

"He was accordingly conducted into a neighbouring room, where there was little to be seen but a homely bed, without furniture, with nothing to sleep upon but a mattress almost as hard as the floor. At this the gentleman burst into a violent passion again: 'Villain,' said he to the servant, 'it is impossible your master should dare to confine me to such a wretched dog-hole! Show me into another room immediately!' 'Sir,' answered the servant, with profound humility, 'I am heartily sorry the chamber does not please you, but I am morally certain I have not mistaken my master's order; and I have too great a respect for you to think of disobeying him in a point which concerns your precious life.' Saying this he went out of the room, and shutting the door on the outside, left the gentleman to his meditations. They were not very agreeable at first; however, as he saw no remedy, he undressed himself and entered the wretched bed, where he presently fell asleep while he was meditating revenge upon the doctor and his whole family.

"The gentleman slept so soundly that he did not awake till morning; and then the physician came into his room, and with the greatest tenderness and civility inquired after his health. He had indeed fallen asleep in very ill-humour; but his night's rest had much composed his mind, and the effect of this was increased by the extreme politeness of the doctor, so that he answered with tolerable temper, only making bitter complaints of the homeliness of his accommodation.

"'My dearest sir,' answered the physician, 'did I not make a previous agreement with you that you should submit to my management? Can you imagine that I have any other end in view than the improvement of your health? It is not possible that you should in everything perceive the reasons of my conduct, which is founded upon the most accurate theory and experience. However, in this case, I must inform you that I have found out the art of making my very beds medicinal; and this you must confess, from the excellent night you have passed. I cannot impart the same salutary virtues to down or silk, and therefore, though very much against my inclinations, I have been compelled to lodge you in this homely manner. But now, if you please, it is time to rise.'

"Ramozini then rang for the servants, and the gentleman suffered himself to be dressed. At breakfast the gentleman expected to fare a little better, but his relentless guardian would suffer him to taste nothing but a slice of bread and a porringer of water-gruel—all which he defended, very little to his guest's satisfaction, upon the most unerring principles of medical science.

"After breakfast had been some time finished, Dr Ramozini told his patient it was time to begin the great work of restoring him to the use of his limbs. He accordingly had him carried into a little room, where he desired the gentleman to attempt to stand. 'That is impossible,' answered the patient, 'for I have not been able to use a leg these three years.' 'Prop yourself, then, upon your crutches, and lean against the wall to support yourself,' answered the physician. The gentleman did so, and the doctor went abruptly out, and locked the door after him. He had not been long in this situation before he felt the floor of the chamber, which he had not before perceived to be composed of plates of iron, grow immoderately hot under his feet. He called the doctor and his servants, but to no purpose; he then began to utter loud vociferations and menaces, but all was equally ineffectual; he raved, he swore, he promised, he entreated, but nobody came to his assistance, and the heat grew more intense every instant. At length necessity compelled him to hop upon one leg in order to rest the other, and this he did with greater agility than he could conceive was possible; presently the other leg began to burn, and then he hopped again upon the other. Thus he went on, hopping about with this involuntary exercise, till he had stretched every sinew and muscle more than he had done for several years before, and thrown himself into a profuse perspiration.

"When the doctor was satisfied with the exertions of his patient, he sent into the floor an easy chair for him to rest upon, and suffered the floor to cool as gradually as it had been heated. Then it was that the sick man for the first time began to be sensible of the real use and pleasure of repose; he had earned it by fatigue, without which it can never prove either salutary or agreeable.

"At dinner the doctor appeared again to his patient, and made him a thousand apologies for the liberties he had taken with his person. These excuses he received with a kind of sullen civility. However, his anger was a little mitigated by the smell of a roasted pullet, which was brought to table and set before him. He now, from exercise and abstinence, began to find a relish in his victuals which he had never done before, and the doctor permitted him to mingle a little wine with his water. These compliances, however, were so extremely irksome to his temper, that the month seemed to pass away as slowly as a year. When it was expired, and his servants came to ask his orders, he instantly threw himself into his carriage without taking leave either of the doctor or his family. When he came to reflect upon the treatment he had received, his forced exercises, his involuntary abstinence, and all the other mortifications he had undergone, he could not conceive but it must be a plot of the physician he had left behind, and full of rage and indignation, drove directly to his house in order to reproach him with it.

"The physician happened to be at home, but scarcely knew his patient again, though after so short an absence. He had shrunk to half his former bulk, his look and colour were mended, and he had entirely thrown away his crutches. When he had given vent to all that his anger could suggest, the physician coolly answered in the following manner:—'I know not, sir, what right you have to make me these reproaches, since it was not by my persuasion that you put yourself under the care of Doctor Ramozini.' 'Yes, sir, but you gave me a high character of his skill and integrity.' 'Has he then deceived you in either, or do you find yourself worse than when you put yourself under his care?' 'I cannot say that,' answered the gentleman; 'I am, to be sure, surprisingly improved in my digestion; I sleep better than ever I did before; I eat with an appetite; and I can walk almost as well as ever I could in my life.' 'And do you seriously come,' said the physician, 'to complain of a man that has affected all these miracles for you in so short a time, and, unless you are now wanting to yourself, has given you a degree of life and health which you had not the smallest reason to expect.'

"The gentleman who had not sufficiently considered all these advantages, began to look a little confused, and the physician thus went on:—'All that you have to complain of is, that you have been involuntarily your own dupe, and cheated into health and happiness. You went to Dr Ramozini, and saw a parcel of miserable wretches comfortably at dinner. That great and worthy man is the father of all about him; he knows that most of the diseases of the poor, originate in their want of food and necessaries, and therefore benevolently assists them with better diet and clothing. The rich, on the contrary, are generally the victims of their own sloth and intemperance, and, therefore, he finds it necessary to use a contrary method of cure—exercise, abstinence, and mortification. You, sir, have indeed been treated like a child, but it has been for your own advantage. Neither your bed, nor meat, nor drink, has ever been medicated; all the wonderful change that has been produced has been by giving you better habits, and rousing the slumbering powers of your own constitution. As to deception, you have none to complain of, except what proceeded from your own foolish imagination, which persuaded you that a physician was to regulate his conduct by the folly and intemperance of his patient. As to all the rest, he only promised to exert all the secrets of his art for your cure; and this, I am witness he has done so effectually, that, were you to reward him with half your fortune, it would hardly be too much for his deserts.'

"The gentleman, who did not want either sense or generosity, could not help feeling the force of what was said. He therefore made a handsome apology for his behaviour, and instantly despatched a servant to Dr Ramozini, with a handsome present, and a letter expressing the highest gratitude; and so much satisfaction did he find in the amendment of his health and spirits, that he never again relapsed into his former habits of intemperance, but, by constant exercise and uniform moderation, continued free from any considerable disease to a very comfortable old age."

"Indeed," said Tommy, "this is a very diverting, comical story; and I should like very much to tell it to the gouty gentlemen that come to our house." "That," answered Mr Barlow, "would be highly improper, unless you were particularly desired. Those gentlemen cannot be ignorant that such unbounded indulgence of their appetites can only tend to increase the disease; and therefore you could teach them nothing new on the subject. But it would appear highly improper for such a little boy as you to take upon him to instruct others, while he all the time wants so much instruction himself." "Thus," continued Mr Barlow, "you see by this story (which is applicable to half the rich in most countries), that intemperance and excess are fully as dangerous as want and hardships. As to the Laplanders, whom you were in so much pain about, they are some of the healthiest people whom the world produces. They generally live to an extremely old age, free from all the common diseases which we are acquainted with, and subject to no other inconveniency than blindness, which is supposed to arise from the continual prospect of snow, and the constant smoke with which they are surrounded in their huts."