And now the time arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and spend some time with his parents. Mr Barlow had been long afraid of this visit, as he knew he would meet a great deal of company there, who would give him impressions of a very different nature from what he had with much assiduity been labouring to excite. However, the visit was unavoidable, and Mr Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father, that Mr Barlow, with much regret, took leave of both his pupils. Harry, from the experience he had formerly acquired of polite life, had no great inclination for the expedition; however, his temper was too easy and obliging to raise any objections, and the real affection he now entertained for Master Merton rendered him less averse than he would otherwise have been.

When they arrived at Mr Merton's, they were introduced into a crowded drawing-room, full of the most elegant company which that part of the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of different ages, who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays with Master Merton. As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his praise; "he was grown, he was improved, he was such a charming boy;" his eyes, his hair, his teeth, his every feature was the admiration of all the ladies. Thrice did he make the circle, in order to receive the congratulations of the company, and to be introduced to the young ladies.

As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by nobody except Mr Merton, who received him with great cordiality. A lady, however, who sat by Mrs Merton, asked her in a whisper, which was loud enough to be heard all over the room, whether that was the little ploughboy whom she had heard Mr Barlow was attempting to breed up like a gentleman. Mrs Merton answered it was. "I protest," said the lady, "I should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw in my life, with quite the air of fashion, to keep such company. Are you not afraid that Master Merton should insensibly contract bad habits, and a grovelling way of thinking? For my own part, as I think a good education is a thing of the utmost consequence in life, I have spared no pains to give my dear Matilda every possible advantage." "Indeed," replied Mrs Merton, "one may see the excellence of her education in everything Miss Matilda does. She plays most divinely upon the harpsichord, talks French even better than she does English, and draws in the style of a master. Indeed, I think that last figure of the naked Gladiator the finest thing I ever saw in my life!"

While this conversation was going on in one part of the room, a young lady, observing that nobody seemed to take the least notice of Harry, advanced towards him with the greatest affability, and began to enter into conversation with him. This young lady's name was Simmons. Her father and mother had been two of the most respectable people in the country, according to the old style of English gentry, but, he having died while she was young, the care of her had devolved upon an uncle, who was a man of sense and benevolence, but a very great humorist. This gentleman had such peculiar ideas of female character, that he waged war with most of the polite and modern accomplishments. As one of the first blessings of life, according to his notions, was health, he endeavoured to prevent that sickly delicacy, which is considered as so great an ornament in fashionable life by a more robust and hardy education. His niece was accustomed, from her earliest years, to plunge into the cold bath at every season of the year, to rise by candle-light in winter, to ride a dozen miles upon a trotting horse, or to walk as many, even with the hazard of being splashed, or soiling her clothes. By this mode of education Miss Sukey (for so she had the misfortune to be named) acquired an excellent character, accompanied, however, with some dispositions which disqualified her almost as much as Harry for fashionable life. She was acquainted with all the best authors in our language; nor was she ignorant of those in French, although she could not speak a word of the language. Her uncle, who was a man of sense and knowledge, had besides instructed her in several parts of knowledge which rarely fall to the lot of ladies, such as the established laws of nature, and a small degree of geometry. She was, besides, brought up to every species of household employment, which is now exploded by ladies of every rank and station as mean and vulgar, and taught to believe that domestic economy is a point of the utmost consequence to every woman who intends to be a wife or mother. As to music, though Miss Simmons had a very agreeable voice, and could sing several simple songs in a very pleasing manner, she was entirely ignorant of it. Her uncle used to say, that human life is not long enough to throw away so much time upon the science of making a noise. Nor would he permit her to learn French, although he understood it himself; women, he thought, are not birds of passage, that are to be eternally changing their place of abode. "I have never seen any good," would he say, "from the importation of foreign manners; every virtue may be learned and practised at home, and it is only because we do not choose to have either virtue or religion among us that so many adventurers are yearly sent out to smuggle foreign graces. As to various languages, I do not see the necessity of them for a woman. My niece is to marry an Englishman, and to live in England. To what purpose, then, should I labour to take off the difficulty of conversing with foreigners, and to promote her intercourse with barbers, valets, dancing-masters, and adventurers of every description, that are continually doing us the honour to come among us? As to the French nation, I know and esteem it on many accounts, but I am very doubtful whether the English will ever gain much by adopting either their manners or their government, and when respectable foreigners choose to visit us, I see no reason why they should not take the trouble of learning the language of the country."

Such had been the education of Miss Simmons, who was the only one of all the genteel company at Mr Merton's that thought Harry deserving the least attention. This young lady, who possessed an uncommon degree of natural benevolence of character, came up to him in such a manner as set him perfectly at his ease. Harry was destitute of the artificial graces of society, but he possessed that natural politeness and good nature, without which all artificial graces are the most disgusting things in the world. Harry had an understanding naturally strong; and Mr Barlow, while he had with the greatest care preserved him from all false impressions had taken great pains in cultivating the faculties of his mind. Harry, indeed, never said any of those brilliant things which render a boy the darling of the ladies; he had not that vivacity, or rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial people; but he paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For this reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and more improved, received great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought little Harry infinitely more agreeable and judicious than any of the smart young gentlemen she had hitherto seen at Mr Merton's.

But now the company was summoned to the important business of dinner. Harry could not help sighing when he reflected on what he had to undergo; however, he determined to bear it with all imaginable fortitude, for the sake of his friend Tommy. The dinner indeed was, if possible, more dreadful than anything he had before undergone—so many fine gentlemen and fine ladies; so many powdered servants to stand behind their chairs; such an apparatus of dishes which Harry had never tasted before, and which almost made him sick when he did taste; so many removes; such pomp and solemnity about what seemed the easiest thing in the world—that Harry could not help envying the condition of his father's labourers, who, when they are hungry, can sit at their ease under a hedge, and make a dinner without plates, table-cloths, or compliments!

In the mean time his friend Tommy was received amid the circle of the ladies, and attended to as a prodigy of wit and ingenuity. Harry could not help being surprised at this. His affection for his friend was totally unmixed with the meanness of jealousy, and he received the sincerest pleasure from every improvement which Tommy had made; however, he had never discovered in him any of those surprising talents; and, when he could catch anything that Tommy said, it appeared to him rather inferior to his usual method of conversation. However, as so many fine ladies were of a different opinion, he took it for granted that he must be mistaken.

But if Harry's opinion of his friend's abilities was not much improved by this exhibition, it was not so with Tommy. The repeated assurances which he received that he was indeed a little prodigy, began to convince him that he really was so. When he considered the company he came from, he found that infinite injustice had been done to his merit; for at Mr Barlow's he was frequently contradicted, and obliged to give a reason for what he said; but here, in order to be admired, he had nothing to do but to talk; whether he had any meaning or not, his auditors always found either wit or sense, or a most entertaining sprightliness in all he said. Nor was Mrs Merton herself deficient in bestowing marks of admiration upon her son. To see him before, improved in health, in understanding, in virtue, had given her a pleasurable sensation, for she was by no means destitute of good dispositions; but to see him shine with such transcendant brightness, before such excellent judges, and in so polite a company, inspired her with raptures she had never felt before. Indeed, in consequence of this success, the young gentleman's volubility improved so much that, before dinner was over, he seemed disposed to engross the whole conversation to himself; and Mr Merton, who did not quite relish the sallies of his son so much as his wife, was once or twice obliged to interpose and check him in his career. This Mrs Merton thought very hard; and all the ladies, after they had retired into the drawing-room, agreed, that his father would certainly spoil his temper by such improper contradiction.

As to little Harry, he had not the good fortune to please the greater number of the ladies. They observed that he was awkward and ungenteel, and had a heavy, clownish look; he was also silent and reserved, and had not said a single agreeable thing; if Mr Barlow chose to keep a school for carters and threshers, nobody would hinder him, but it was not proper to introduce such vulgar people to the sons of persons of fashion. It was therefore agreed that Mr Barlow ought either to send little Harry home to his friends, or to be no more honoured with the company of Master Merton. Indeed, one of the ladies hinted, that Mr Barlow himself was but "an odd kind of man, who never went to assemblies, and played upon no kind of instrument."

"Why," answered Mrs Merton, "to tell the truth, I was not over fond of the scheme. Mr Barlow, to be sure, though a very good, is a very odd kind of man. However, as he is so disinterested, and would never receive the least present from us, I doubt whether we could with propriety insist upon his turning little Sandford out of the house." "If that is the case, madam," answered Mrs Compton (for that was the name of the lady), "I think it would be infinitely better to remove Master Merton, and place him in some polite seminary, where he might acquire a knowledge of the world, and make genteel connections. This will always be the greatest advantage to a young gentleman, and will prove of the most essential service to him in life; for, though a person has all the merit in the world, without such acquaintance it will never push him forward, or enable him to make a figure. This is the plan which I have always pursued with Augustus and Matilda; I think I may say not entirely without success, for they have both the good fortune to have formed the most brilliant acquaintances. As to Augustus, he is so intimate with young Lord Squander, who you know is possessed of the greatest parliamentary interest, that I think that his fortune is as good as made."

Miss Simmons, who was present at this refined and wise conversation, could not help looking with so much significance at this mention of Lord Squander, that Mrs Compton coloured a little, and asked with some warmth, whether she knew anything of that young nobleman.

"Why, madam," answered the young lady, "what I know is very little; but if you desire me to inform you, it is my duty to speak the truth." "Oh, to be sure, miss," replied Mrs Compton, a little angrily, "we all know that your judgment and knowledge of the world are superior to what anybody else can boast; and therefore I shall be infinitely obliged to you for any information you may be pleased to give." "Indeed, madam," answered the young lady, "I have very little of either to boast, nor am I personally acquainted with the nobleman you are talking of; but I have a cousin, a very good boy, who is at the same public school with his lordship, and he has given me such a character of him as does not much prepossess me in his favour." "And what may this wise cousin of yours have said of his lordship?" "Only, madam, that he is one of the worst boys in the whole school; that he has neither genius nor application for anything that becomes his rank and situation; that he has no taste for anything but gaming, horse-racing, and the most contemptible amusements; that, though his allowance is large, he is continually running in debt with everybody that will trust him; and that he has broken his word so often that nobody has the least confidence in what he says. Added to this, I have heard that he is so haughty, tyrannical, and overbearing, that nobody can long preserve his friendship without the meanest flattery and subservience to all his vicious inclinations; and, to finish all, that he is of so ungrateful a temper, that he was never known to do an act of kindness to any one, or to care about anything but himself."

Here Miss Matilda could not help interposing with warmth. She said, "that his lordship had nothing in his character or manners that did not perfectly become a nobleman of the most elevated soul. Little grovelling minds, indeed, which are always envious of their superiors, might give a disagreeable turn to the generous openness of this young nobleman's temper. That, as to gaming and running in debt, they were so essential to a man of fashion, that nobody who was not born in the city, and oppressed by city prejudices, would think of making the least objection to them." She then made a panegyric upon his lordship's person, his elegant taste and dress, his new phaeton, his entertaining conversation, his extraordinary performance upon the violin; and concluded that, with such abilities and accomplishments, she did not doubt of one day seeing him at the head of the nation.

Miss Simmons had no desire of pushing the conversation any farther; and the rest of the company coming in to tea, the disquisition about Lord Squander finished.

After tea, several of the young ladies were desired to amuse the company with music and singing; among the rest Miss Simmons sang a little Scotch song, called Lochaber, in so artless, but sweet and pathetic a manner, that little Harry listened almost with tears in his eyes, though several of the young ladies, by their significant looks and gestures, treated it with ineffable contempt.

After this, Miss Matilda, who was allowed to be a perfect mistress of music, played and sang several celebrated Italian airs; but as these were in a language totally unintelligible to Harry, he received very little pleasure, though all the rest of the company were in raptures. She then proceeded to play several pieces of music, which were allowed by all connoisseurs to require infinite skill to execute. The audience seemed all delighted, and either felt or pretended to feel inexpressible pleasure; even Tommy himself, who did not know one note from another, had caught so much of the general enthusiasm, that he applauded as loud as the rest of the company. But Harry, whose temper was not quite so pliable, could not conceal the intolerable weariness that overpowered his senses during this long exhibition. He gaped, he yawned, he stretched, he even pinched himself, in order to keep his attention alive, but all in vain; the more Miss Matilda exercised her skill in playing pieces of the most difficult execution, the more did Harry's propensity to drowsiness increase. At length the lateness of the hour, which much exceeded Harry's time of going to bed, conspiring with the opiate charms of music, he could resist no longer, but insensibly fell back upon his chair fast asleep. This unfortunate accident was soon remarked by the rest of the company, and confirmed them very much in the opinion they had conceived of Harry's vulgarity; while he, in the meantime, enjoyed the most placid slumber, which was not dissipated till Miss Matilda had desisted from playing.

Thus was the first day passed at Mr Merton's, very little to the satisfaction of Harry; the next, and the next after, were only repetitions of the same scene. The little gentry, whose tastes and manners were totally different from his, had now imbibed a perfect contempt for Harry, and it was with great difficulty that they condescended to treat him even with common civility. In this laudable behaviour they were very much confirmed by Master Compton and Master Mash. Master Compton was reckoned a very genteel boy, though all his gentility consisted in a pair of buckles so big that they almost crippled him; in a slender emaciated figure, and a look of consummate impudence. He had almost finished his education at a public school, where he had learned every vice and folly which is commonly taught at such places, without the least improvement either of his character or his understanding. Master Mash was the son of a neighbouring gentleman, who had considerably impaired his fortune by an inordinate love of horse-racing. Having been from his infancy accustomed to no other conversation than about winning and losing money, he had acquired the idea that, to bet successfully, was the summit of all human ambition. He had been almost brought up in the stable, and therefore had imbibed the greatest interest about horses; not from any real affection for that noble animal, but merely because he considered them as engines for the winning of money. He too was now improving his talents by a public education, and longed impatiently for the time when he should be set free from all restraint, and allowed to display the superiority of his genius at Ascot and Newmarket.

These two young gentlemen had conceived the most violent dislike to Harry, and lost no occasion of saying or doing everything they had in their power to mortify him. To Tommy, they were in the contrary extreme, and omitted no opportunity of rendering themselves agreeable to him. Nor was it long before their forward vivacious manners, accompanied with a knowledge of many of those gay scenes, which acted forcibly upon Tommy's imagination, began to render their conversation highly agreeable. They talked to him about public diversions, about celebrated actresses, about parties of pleasure, and parties of mischief. Tommy began to feel himself introduced to a new train of ideas, and a wider range of conduct; he began to long for the time when he should share in the glories of robbing orchards, or insulting passengers with impunity; but when he heard that little boys, scarcely bigger than himself, had often joined in the glorious project of forming open rebellions against their masters, or of disturbing a whole audience at a playhouse, he panted for the time when he might have a chance of sharing in the fame of such achievements. By degrees he lost all regard for Mr Barlow, and all affection for his friend Harry. At first, indeed, he was shocked at hearing Mr Barlow mentioned with disrespect, but becoming by degrees more callous to every good impression he at last took infinite pleasure in seeing Master Mash (who, though destitute of either wit or genius, had a great taste for mimicry) take off the parson in the middle of his sermon.

Harry perceived and lamented this change in the manners of his friend; he sometimes took the liberty of remonstrating with him upon the subject, but was only answered with a contemptuous sneer; and Master Mash, who happened once to be present, told him that he was a monstrous bore.

It happened that, while Harry was at Mr Merton's, there was a troop of strolling players at a neighbouring town. In order to divert the young gentry, Mr Merton contrived that they should make a party to see a play. They went accordingly, and Harry with the rest. Tommy, who now no longer condescended to take any notice of his friend Harry, was seated between his two new acquaintances, who had become his inseparable companions. These young gentlemen first began to give specimens of their politeness by throwing nuts and orange-peel upon the stage; and Tommy, who was resolved to profit by such an excellent example, threw nuts and orange-peel with infinite satisfaction.

As soon as the curtain drew up, and the actors appeared, all the rest of the audience observed a decent silence; but Mash and Compton, who were now determined to prove the superiority of their manners, began to talk so loud, and make so much noise, that it was impossible for any one near them to hear a word of the play. This also seemed amazingly fine to Tommy; and he too talked and laughed as loud as the rest.

The subject of their conversation was, the audience and the performers; neither of whom these polite young gentlemen found bearable. The company was chiefly composed of the tradesmen of the town, and the inhabitants of the neighbouring country; this was a sufficient reason for these refined young gentlemen to speak of them with the most insufferable contempt. Every circumstance of their dress and appearance was criticised with such a minuteness of attention, that Harry, who sat near, and very much against his inclination was witness to all that passed, began to imagine that his companions, instead of being brought up like the sons of gentlemen, had only studied under barbers and tailors; such amazing knowledge did they display in the history of buckles, buttons, and dressing of hair. As to the poor performers, they found them totally undeserving of mercy; they were so shockingly awkward, so ill-dressed, so low-lived, and such detestable creatures, that it was impossible to bear them with any patience.

Master Mash, who prided himself upon being a young gentleman of great spirit, was of opinion that they should kick up a riot, and demolish all the scenery. Tommy, indeed, did not very well understand what the expression meant; but he was so intimately persuaded of the merit and genius of his companions, that he agreed that it would be the most proper thing in the world; and the proposal was accordingly made to the rest of the young gentlemen.

But Harry, who had been silent all the time, could not help remonstrating at what appeared to him the greatest injustice and cruelty. "These poor people," said he, "are doing all they can to entertain us; is it not very unkind to treat them in return with scorn and contempt? If they could act better, even as well as those fine people you talk of in London, would they not willingly do it? and therefore, why should we be angry with them for what they cannot help? And, as to cutting the scenes to pieces, or doing the house any damage, have we any more right to attempt it, than they would have to come into your father's dining-room, and break the dishes to pieces, because they did not like the dinner? While we are here, let us behave with good manners, and, if we do not like their acting, it is our own faults if ever we come to see them again."

This method of reasoning was not much relished by those to whom it was addressed; and it is uncertain how far they might have proceeded, had not a decent, plain-looking man, who had been long disturbed with the noise of these young gentry, at length taken the liberty of expostulating with them upon the subject. This freedom, or impertinence, as it was termed by Master Mash, was answered by him with so much rudeness, that the man, who was a neighbouring farmer, was obliged to reply in a higher strain. Thus did the altercation increase every minute, till Master Mash, who thought it an unpardonable affront that any one in an inferior station should presume to think or feel for himself, so far lost all command of his temper as to call the man a blackguard, and strike him upon the face. But the farmer, who possessed great strength, and equal resolution, very deliberately laid hold of the young gentleman who had offered him the insult, and, without the smallest exertion, laid him sprawling upon the ground, at his full length under the benches, and setting his feet upon his body, told him that, "since he did not know how to sit quiet at a play, he would have the honour of teaching him to lie; and that if he offered to stir, he would trample him to pieces;" a threat which was very evident he could find no difficulty in executing.

This unexpected incident struck a universal damp over the spirits of the little gentry; and even Master Mash himself so far forgot his dignity, as to supplicate in a very submissive manner for a release; in this he was joined by all his companions, and Harry among the rest.

"Well," said the farmer, "I should never have thought that a parcel of young gentlemen, as you call yourselves, would come into public to behave with so much rudeness; I am sure that there is ne'er a ploughboy at my house but what would have shown more sense and manners; but, since you are sorry for what has happened, I am very willing to make an end of the affair; more especially for the sake of this little master here, who has behaved with so much propriety, that I am sure he is a better gentleman than any of you, though he is not dressed so much like a monkey or a barber." With these words he suffered the crestfallen Mash to rise; who crept from his place of confinement, with looks infinitely more expressive of mildness than he had brought with him; nor was the lesson lost upon the others, for they behaved with the greatest decency during the rest of the exhibition.

However, Master Mash's courage began to rise as he went home, and found himself farther from his formidable farmer; for he assured his companions, "that, if he had not been so vulgar a fellow, he would certainly call him out and pistol him."

The next day at dinner Mr Merton and the ladies, who had not accompanied the young gentlemen to the play, nor had yet heard of the misfortune which had ensued, were very inquisitive about the preceding night's entertainment. The young people agreed that the performers were detestable, but that the play was a charming piece, full of wit and sentiment, and extremely improving. This play was called The Marriage of Figaro, and Master Compton had informed them that it was amazingly admired by all the people of fashion in London.

But Mr Merton, who had observed that Harry was totally silent, at length insisted upon knowing his opinion upon the subject, "Why, sir," answered Harry, "I am very little judge of these matters, for I never saw a play before in my life, and therefore I cannot tell whether it was acted well or ill; but as to the play itself, it seemed to me to be full of nothing but cheating and dissimulation; and the people that come in and out do nothing but impose upon each other, and lie, and trick, and deceive. Were you or any gentlemen to have such a parcel of servants, you would think them fit for nothing in the world; and therefore I could not help wondering, while the play was acting, that people would throw away so much of their time upon sights that can do them no good, and send their children and their relations to learn fraud and insincerity." Mr Merton smiled at the honest bluntness of Harry; but several of the ladies, who had just been expressing an extravagant admiration of this piece, seemed to be not a little mortified; however, as they could not contradict the charges which Harry had brought against it, they thought it most prudent to be silent.

In the evening it was proposed that all the little gentry should divert themselves with cards, and they accordingly sat down to a game which is called Commerce. But Harry, who was totally ignorant of this accomplishment, desired to be excused; however, his friend Miss Simmons offered to teach him the game, which, she assured him, was so easy, that in three minutes he would be able to play as well as the rest. Harry, however, still continued to refuse; and at last confessed to Miss Simmons, that he had expended all his money the day before, and therefore was unable to furnish the stake which the rest deposited. "Don't let that disturb you," said she; "I will put down for you with a great deal of pleasure." "Madam," answered Harry, "I am very much obliged to you, I am sure; but Mr Barlow has always forbidden me either to receive or borrow money of anybody, for fear, in the one case, I should become mercenary, or in the other, dishonest; and therefore, though there is nobody here whom I esteem more than yourself, I am obliged to refuse your offer." "Well," replied Miss Simmons, "that need not disturb you; for you shall play upon my account, and that you may do without any violation of your principles."

Thus was Harry, though with some reluctance, induced to sit down to cards with the rest. The game, indeed, he found no difficulty in learning; but he could not help remarking, with wonder, the extreme solicitude which appeared in the face of all the players at every change of fortune. Even the young ladies, all but Miss Simmons, seemed to be equally sensible of the passion of gaining money with the rest; and some of them behaved with a degree of asperity which quite astonished him. After several changes of fortune, it happened that Miss Simmons and Harry were the only remaining players; all the rest, by the laws of the game, had forfeited all pretensions to the stake, the property of which was clearly vested in these two, and one more deal was wanting to decide it. But Harry, with great politeness, rose from the table, and told Miss Simmons, that, as he only played upon her account, he was no longer wanted, and that the whole undoubtedly belonged to her. Miss Simmons refused to take it; and when she found that Harry was not to be induced to play any more, she at last proposed to him to divide what was left. This also Harry declined, alleging that he had not the least title to any part. But Miss Simmons, who began to be uneasy at the remarks which this extraordinary contest occasioned, told Harry that he would oblige her by taking his share of the money, and laying it out in any manner for her that he judged best. "On this condition," answered Harry, "I will take it; and I think I know a method of laying it out, which you will not entirely disapprove."

The next day, as soon as breakfast was over, Harry disappeared; nor was he come back when the company were assembled at dinner. At length he came in, with a glow of health and exercise upon his face, and that disorder of dress which is produced by a long journey. The young ladies eyed him with great contempt, which seemed a little to disconcert him; but Mr Merton speaking to him with great good-humour, and making room for him to sit down, Harry soon recovered from his confusion.

In the evening, after a long conversation among the young people, about public diversions and plays, and actors, and dancers, they happened to mention the name of a celebrated performer, who at this time engaged the whole attention of the town. Master Compton, after expatiating with great enthusiasm upon the subject, added, "that nothing was so fashionable as to make great presents to this person, in order to show the taste and elegance of the giver." He then proposed that, as so many young gentlemen and ladies were here assembled, they should set an example, which would do them infinite honour, and probably be followed throughout the kingdom, of making a little collection among themselves to buy a piece of plate, or a gold snuff-box, or some other trifle, to be presented in their name. He added, "that though he could ill-spare the money (having just laid out six guineas upon a new pair of buckles), he would contribute a guinea to so excellent a purpose, and that Masters Mash and Merton would do the same."

This proposal was universally approved of by all the company, and all but Harry promised to contribute in proportion to their finances. This Master Mash observing, said, "Well, farmer, and what will you subscribe?" Harry answered, "that on this occasion he must beg to be excused, for he had nothing to give." "Here is a pretty fellow!" answered Mash; "last night we saw him pocket thirty shillings of our money, which he cheated us out of at Commerce, and now the little stingy wretch will not contribute half-a-crown, while we are giving away whole guineas." Upon this Miss Matilda said, in an ironical manner, "that Master Harry had always an excellent reason to give for his conduct; and she did not doubt but he could prove to the satisfaction of them all, that it was more liberal to keep his money in his pocket than to give it away."

Harry, who was a little nettled at these reflections, answered, "that though he was not bound to give any reason, he thought he had a very good one to give; and that was, that he saw no generosity in thus bestowing money. According to your own account," added he, "the person you have been talking of gains more than fifty poor families in the country have to maintain themselves; and therefore, if I had any money to give away, I should certainly give it to those that want it most."

With these words Harry went out of the room, and the rest of the gentry, after abusing him very liberally, sat down to cards. But Miss Simmons, who imagined that there was more in Harry's conduct than he had explained, excused herself from cards, and took an opportunity of talking to him upon the subject. After speaking to him with great good-nature, she asked him, whether it might not have been better to have contributed something along with the rest, than to have offended them by so free an exposition of his sentiments, even though he did not approve of the scheme. "Indeed, madam," said Harry, "this is what I would gladly have done, but it was totally out of my power." "How can that be, Harry? did you not the other night win nearly thirty shillings?" "That, madam, all belonged to you; and I have already disposed of it in your name, in a manner that I hope you will not disapprove." "How is that?" inquired the young lady with some surprise. "Madam," said Harry, "there was a young woman who lived with my father as a servant, and always behaved with the greatest honesty and carefulness. This young woman had an aged father and mother, who for a great while were able to maintain themselves by their labour; but at last the poor old man became too weak to do a day's work, and his wife was afflicted with a disease they call the palsy. Now, when this good young woman saw that her parents were in such great distress, she left her place and went to live with them, on purpose to take care of them; and she works very hard, whenever she can get work, and fares very hard in order to maintain her parents; and though we assist them all we can, I know that sometimes they can hardly get food and clothes; therefore, madam, as you were so kind to say I should dispose of this money for you, I ran over this morning to these poor people, and gave them all the money in your name, and I hope you will not be displeased at the use I have put it to." "Indeed," answered the young lady, "I am much obliged to you for the good opinion you have of me, and the application of it does me a great deal of honour; I am only sorry you did not give it in your own name." "That," replied Harry, "I had not any right to do; it would have been attributing to myself what did not belong to me, and equally inconsistent with truth and honesty."

In this manner did the time pass away at Mr Merton's; while Harry received very little satisfaction from his visit, except in conversing with Miss Simmons. The affability and good sense of this young lady had entirely gained his confidence; while all the other young ladies were continually intent upon displaying their talents and importance, she alone was simple and unaffected. But what disgusted Harry more than ever was, that his refined companions seemed to consider themselves, and a few of their acquaintance, as the only beings of any consequence in the world. The most trifling inconvenience, the being a little too hot, a little too cold, the walking a few hundred yards, the waiting a few minutes for their dinner, the having a trifling cold, or a little headache, were misfortunes so feelingly lamented, that he would have imagined they were the most tender of the human species, had he not observed that they considered the sufferings of all below them with a profound indifference. If the misfortunes of the poor were mentioned, he heard of nothing but the insolence and ingratitude of that class of people, which seemed to be a sufficient excuse for the want of common humanity. "Surely," said Harry to himself, "there cannot be so much difference between one human being and another; or if there is, I should think that part of them the most valuable who cultivate the ground, and provide necessaries for all the rest; not those who understand nothing but dress, walking with their toes out, staring modest people out of countenance, and jabbering a few words of a foreign language."

But now the attention of all the younger part of the company was fixed upon making preparations for a ball, which Mrs Merton had determined to give in honour of Master Tommy's return. The whole house was now full of milliners, mantua-makers, and dancing-masters; and all the young ladies were employed in giving directions about their clothes, or in practising the steps of different dances. Harry now, for the first time, began to comprehend the infinite importance of dress—even the elderly ladies seemed to be as much interested about the affair as their daughters; and, instead of the lessons of conduct and wisdom which he expected to hear, nothing seemed to employ their attention a moment but French trimmings, gauzes, and Italian flowers. Miss Simmons alone appeared to consider the approaching solemnity with perfect indifference. Harry had never heard a single word drop from her that expressed either interest or impatience; but he had for some days observed her employed in her room with more than common assiduity. At length, on the very day that was destined for this important exhibition, she came to him with a benevolent smile, and spoke to him thus: "I was so much pleased with the account you gave me the other day of that poor young woman's duty and affection towards her parents, that I have for some time employed myself in preparing for them a little present, which I shall be obliged to you, Master Harry, to convey to them. I have, unfortunately, never learned either to embroider or to paint artificial flowers, but my good uncle has taught me that the best employment I can make of my hands is to assist those who cannot assist themselves." Saying this, she put into his hands a parcel that contained some linen and other necessaries for the poor old people, and bade him tell them not to forget to call upon her uncle when she was returned home, as he was always happy to assist the deserving and industrious poor. Harry received her present with gratitude, and almost with tears of joy; and, looking up in her face, imagined that he saw the features of one of those angels which he had read of in the Scriptures; so much does real disinterested benevolence improve the expression of the human countenance.

But all the rest of the young gentry were employed in cares of a very different nature—the dressing their hair and adorning their persons. Tommy himself had now completely resumed his natural character, and thrown aside all that he had learned during his residence with Mr Barlow; he had contracted an infinite fondness for all those scenes of dissipation which his new friends daily described to him, and began to be convinced that one of the most important things in life is a fashionable dress. In this most rational sentiment he had been confirmed by almost all the ladies with whom he had conversed since his return home. The distinctions of character, relative to virtue and understanding, which had been with so much pains inculcated upon his mind, seemed here to be entirely unheeded. No one took the trouble of examining the real principles or motives from which any human being acted, while the most minute attention was continually given to what regarded merely the outside. He observed that the omission of every duty towards our fellow-creatures was not only excused, but even to a certain degree admired, provided it was joined with a certain fashionable appearance; while the most perfect probity or integrity was mentioned with coldness or disgust, and frequently with open ridicule if unconnected with a brilliant appearance. As to all the common virtues of life—such as industry, economy, a punctuality in discharging our obligations or keeping our word—these were qualities which were treated as fit for none but the vulgar. Mr Barlow, he found, had been utterly mistaken in all the principles which he had ever inculcated. "The human species," Mr Barlow used to say, "can only be supplied with food and necessaries by a constant assiduity in cultivating the earth and providing for their mutual wants. It is by labour that everything is produced; without labour, these fertile fields, which are now adorned with all the luxuriance of plenty, would be converted into barren heaths, or impenetrable thickets; these meadows, now the support of a thousand herds of cattle, would be covered with stagnated waters, that would not only render them uninhabitable by beasts, but corrupt the air with pestilential vapours; and even these innumerable flocks of sheep that feed along the hills, would disappear immediately on the cessation of that cultivation, which can alone support them, and secure their existence."

But, however true might be these principles, they were so totally inconsistent with the conduct and opinion of Tommy's new friends, that it was not possible for him long to remember their force. He had been nearly a month with a few young ladies and gentlemen of his own rank, and instead of their being brought up to produce anything useful, he found that the great object of all their knowledge and education was only to waste, to consume, to destroy, to dissipate what was produced by others; he even found that this inability to assist either themselves or others seemed to be a merit upon which every one valued himself extremely; so that an individual, who could not exist without having two attendants to wait upon him, was superior to him that had only one, but was obliged in turn to yield to another who required four. And, indeed, this new system seemed much more easy than the old one; for, instead of giving himself any trouble about his manners or understanding, he might with safety indulge all his caprices, give way to all his passions, be humoursome, haughty, unjust, and selfish to the extreme. He might be ungrateful to his friends, disobedient to his parents, a glutton, an ignorant blockhead, in short, everything which to plain sense appears most frivolous or contemptible, without incurring the least imputation, provided his hair hung fashionably about his ears, his buckles were sufficiently large, and his politeness to the ladies unimpeached.

Once, indeed, Harry had thrown him into a disagreeable train of thinking, by asking him, with great simplicity, what sort of a figure these young gentlemen would have made in the army of Leonidas, or these young ladies upon a desert island, where they would be obliged to shift for themselves. But Tommy had lately learned that nothing spoils the face more than intense reflection; and therefore, as he could not easily resolve the question, he wisely determined to forget it.

And now the important evening of the ball approached; the largest room in the house was lighted up for the dancers, and all the little company assembled. Tommy was that day dressed in an unusual style of elegance, and had submitted, without murmuring, to be under the hands of a hair-dresser for two hours! But what gave him the greatest satisfaction of all, was an immense pair of new buckles which Mrs Merton had sent for on purpose to grace the person of her son.

Several minuets were first danced, to the great admiration of the company; and, among the rest, Tommy, who had been practising ever since he had been at home, had the honour of exhibiting with Miss Matilda. He indeed began with a certain degree of diffidence, but was soon inspired with a proper degree of confidence by the applauses which resounded on every side. "What an elegant little creature!" cried one lady. "What a shape is there!" said a second; "I protest he puts me in mind of Vestris himself." "Indeed," said a third, "Mrs Merton is a most happy mother to be possessed of such a son, who wants nothing but an introduction to the world, to be one of the most elegant creatures in England, and the most accomplished."

As soon as Tommy had finished his dance, he led his partner to a seat with a grace that surprised all the company anew, and then, with the sweetest condescension imaginable, he went from one lady to another, to receive the praises which they liberally poured out, as if it was the greatest action in the world to draw one foot behind another, and to walk on tiptoe.

Harry, in the mean time, had shrouded himself in the most obscure part of the room, and was silently gazing upon the scene that passed. He knew that his company would give no pleasure among the elegant figures that engrossed the foremost seats, and felt not the least inclination for such an honour. In this situation he was observed by Master Compton, who, at the same instant, formed a scheme of mortifying Miss Simmons, whom he did not like, and of exposing Harry to the general ridicule. He therefore proposed it to Mash, who had partly officiated as master of the ceremonies, and who, with all the readiness of officious malice, agreed to assist him; Master Mash therefore, went up to Miss Simmons, and, with all the solemnity of respect, invited her out to dance, which she, although indifferent about the matter, accepted without hesitation. In the meantime, Master Compton went up to Harry with the same hypocritical civility, and in Miss Simmons' name invited him to dance a minuet. It was in vain that Harry assured him he knew nothing about the matter; his perfidious friend told him that it was an indispensable duty for him to stand up; that Miss Simmons would never forgive him if he should refuse; that it would be sufficient if he could just describe the figure, without embarrassing himself about the steps. In the mean time, he pointed out Miss Simmons, who was advancing towards the upper end of the room, and, taking advantage of his confusion and embarrassment, led him forward, and placed him by the young lady's side. Harry was not yet acquainted with the sublime science of imposing upon unwary simplicity, and therefore never doubted that the message had come from his friend; and as nothing could be more repugnant to his character than the want of compliance, he thought it necessary at least to go and expostulate with her upon the subject. This was his intention when he suffered himself to be led up the room; but his tormentors did not give him time, for they placed him by the side of the young lady, and instantly called to the music to begin. Miss Simmons, in her turn, was equally surprised at the partner which was provided for her; she had never imagined minuet dancing to be one of Harry's accomplishments, and therefore instantly suspected that it was a concerted scheme to mortify her. However, in this she was determined they should be disappointed, as she was destitute of all pride, and had the sincerest regard for Harry. As soon, therefore, as the music struck up, the young lady began her reverence, which Harry, who found he was now completely caught, and had no time for explanation, imitated as well as he was able, but in such a manner as set the whole room in a titter. Harry, however, arming himself with all the fortitude he possessed, performed his part as well as could be expected from a person that had never learned a single step of dancing. By keeping his eye fixed upon his partner, he made a shift at least to preserve something of the figure, although he was terribly deficient in the steps and graces of the dance. But his partner, who was scarcely less embarrassed than himself, and wished to shorten the exhibition, after crossing once, presented him with her hand. Harry had unfortunately not remarked the nature of this manoeuvre with perfect accuracy, and therefore, imagining that one hand was just as good as the other, he offered the young lady his left instead of his right hand. At this incident a universal peal of merriment, which they no longer laboured to conceal, burst from almost all the company, and Miss Simmons, wishing at any rate to close the scene, presented her partner with both her hands, and abruptly finished the dance. The unfortunate couple then retreated to the lower end of the room, amidst the jests and sneers of their companions, particularly Mash and Compton, who assumed unusual importance upon the credit of such a brilliant invention.

When they were seated, Miss Simmons could not help asking Harry, with some displeasure, why he had thus exposed himself and her, by attempting what he was totally ignorant of, and added, "that, though there was no disgrace in not being able to dance, it was very great folly to attempt it without having learned a single step." "Indeed, madam," answered Harry, "I never should have thought of trying to do what I knew I was totally ignorant of; but Master Compton came to me, and told me that you particularly desired me to dance with you, and led me to the other end of the room; and I only came to speak to you, and to inform you that I knew nothing about the matter, for fear you should think me uncivil; and then the music began to play, and you to dance, so that I had no opportunity of speaking; and I thought it better to do the best I could than to stand still, or leave you there." Miss Simmons instantly recovered her former good-humour, and said, "Well, Harry, we are not the first, nor shall be the last by hundreds, who have made a ridiculous figure in a ball-room, without so good an excuse. But I am sorry to see so malicious a disposition in these young gentlemen, and that all their knowledge of polite life has not taught them a little better manners."

"Why madam," answered Harry, "since you are so good as to talk to me upon the subject, I must confess that I have been very much surprised at many things I have seen at Mr Merton's. All these young gentlemen and ladies are continually talking about genteel life and manners, and yet they are frequently doing things which surprise me. Mr Barlow has always told me that politeness consisted in a disposition to oblige everybody around us, and to say or do nothing which can give them disagreeable impressions. Yet I continually see these young gentlemen striving to do and say things, for no other reason than to give pain; for, not to go any farther than the present instance, what motive can Masters Compton and Mash have had but to mortify you by giving you such a partner? you, madam, too, who are so kind and good to everybody, that I should think it impossible not to love you."

"Harry," answered the young lady, "what you say about politeness is perfectly just. I have heard my uncle and many sensible people say the same; but, in order to acquire this species of it, both goodness of heart and a just way of thinking are required; and therefore many people content themselves with aping what they can pick up in the dress, or gestures, or cant expressions of the higher classes; just like the poor ass, which, dressed in the skin of a lion, was taken for the lion himself, till his unfortunate braying exposed the cheat." "Pray, madam, what is that story?" said Harry.

"It is a trifling one that I have read," answered Miss Simmons, "of somebody who, having procured a lion's skin, fastened it round the body of an ass, and then turned him loose, to the great affright of the neighbourhood. Those who saw him first, imagined that a monstrous lion had invaded the country, and fled with precipitation. Even the very cattle caught the panic and were scattered by hundreds over the plains. In the meantime the victorious ass pranced and capered along the fields, and diverted himself with running after the fugitives. But at length, in the gaiety of his heart, he broke into such a discordant braying, as surprised those that were nearest, and expected to hear a very different noise from under the terrible skin. At length a resolute fellow ventured by degrees nearer to this object of their terror, and discovering the cheat that had been practised upon them, divested the poor ass of all his borrowed spoils, and drove him away with his cudgel."

"This story," continued Miss Simmons, "is continually coming into my mind, when I see anybody imagine himself of great importance, because he has adopted some particular mode of dress, or the grimaces of those that call themselves fashionable people. Nor do I ever see Master Mash or Compton without thinking of the lion's skin, and expecting every moment to hear them bray."

Harry laughed very heartily at this story; but now their attention was called towards the company, who had ranged themselves by pairs for country-dancing. Miss Simmons, who was very fond of this exercise, then asked Harry if he had never practised any of these dances. Harry said, "it had happened to him three or four times at home, and that he believed he should not be puzzled about any of the figures." "Well, then," said the young lady, "to show how little I regard their intended mortification, I will stand up and you shall be my partner." So they rose and placed themselves at the bottom of the whole company according to the laws of dancing, which appoint that place for those who come last.

And now the music began to strike up in a more joyous strain; the little dancers exerted themselves with all their activity, and the exercise diffused a glow of health and cheerfulness over the faces of the most pale and languid. Harry exerted himself here with much better success than he had lately done in the minuet. He had great command over all his limbs, and was very well versed in every play that gives address to the body, so that he found no difficulty in practising all the varied figures of the dances, particularly with the assistance of Miss Simmons, who explained to him everything that appeared embarrassing.

But now, by the continuance of the dance, all who were at first at the upper end had descended to the bottom, where, by the laws of the diversion, they ought to have waited quietly till their companions, becoming in their turn uppermost, had danced down to their former places. But when Miss Simmons and Harry expected to have had their just share of the exercise, they found that almost all their companions had deserted them and retired to their places. Harry could not help wondering at this behaviour; but Miss Simmons told him with a smile, that it was only of a piece with the rest, and she had often remarked it at country assemblies, where all the gentry of a county were gathered together. "This is frequently the way," added she, "that those who think themselves superior to the rest of the world choose to show their importance." "This is a very bad way indeed," replied Harry; "people may choose whether they will dance or practise any particular diversion, but, if they do, they ought to submit to the laws of it without repining; and I have always observed among the little boys whom I am acquainted with, that wherever this disposition prevails, it is the greatest proof of a bad and contemptible temper." "I am afraid," replied Miss Simmons, "that your observations will hold universally true, and that those who expect so much for themselves, without being willing to consider their fellow-creatures in turn, in whatever station they are found, are always the most mean, ignorant, and despicable of the species."

"I remember," said Harry, "reading a story of a great man called Sir Philip Sydney. This gentleman was reckoned not only the bravest but the politest person in all England. It happened that he was sent over the sea to assist some of our allies against their enemies. After having distinguished himself in such a manner as gained him the love and esteem of all the army, this excellent man one day received a shot which broke his thigh, as he was bravely fighting at the head of his men. Sir Philip Sydney felt that he was mortally wounded, and was obliged to turn his horse's head, and retire to his tent, in order to have his wound examined. By the time that he had reached his tent, he not only felt great agonies from his wound, but the heat of the weather, and the fever which the pain produced, had excited an intolerable thirst, so that he prayed his attendants to fetch him a little water. With infinite difficulty some water was procured and brought to him, but, just as he was raising the cup to his lips, he chanced to see a poor English soldier, who had been mortally wounded in the same engagement, and lay upon the ground faint and bleeding, and ready to expire. The poor man was suffering, like his general, from the pain of a consuming thirst, and therefore, though respect prevented him from asking for any, he turned his dying eyes upon the water with an eagerness which sufficiently explained his sufferings. Upon this the excellent and noble gentleman took the cup, which he had not yet tasted, from his lips, and gave it to his attendants, ordering them to carry it to the wounded soldier, and only saying, 'this poor man wants it still more than I do.'"

"This story," added Harry, "was always a particular favourite with Mr Barlow, and he has often pointed it out to me as an example not only of the greatest virtue and humanity, but also of that elevated method of thinking which constitutes the true gentleman. 'For what is it,' I have heard him say, 'that gives a superiority of manners, but the inclination to sacrifice our own pleasures and interests to the well-being of others?' An ordinary person might have pitied the poor soldier, or even have assisted him, when he had first taken care of himself; but who, in such a dreadful extremity as the brave Sydney was reduced to, would be capable of even forgetting his own sufferings to relieve another, who had not acquired the generous habit of always slighting his own gratifications for the sake of his fellow-creatures?"

As Harry was conversing in this manner, the little company had left off dancing, and were refreshing themselves with a variety of cakes and agreeable liquors, which had been provided for the occasion. Tommy Merton and the other young gentleman were now distinguishing themselves by their attendance upon the ladies, whom they were supplying with everything they chose to have, but no one thought it worth his while to wait upon Miss Simmons. When Harry observed this, he ran to the table, and upon a large waiter brought her cakes and lemonade, which he presented, if not with a better grace, with a more sincere desire to oblige than any of the rest. But, as he was stooping down to offer her the choice, Master Mash unluckily passed that way, and, elated by the success of his late piece of ill-nature, determined to attempt a second still more brutal than the first. For this reason, just as Miss Simmons was helping herself to some wine and water, Mash, pretending to stumble, pushed Harry in such a manner that the greater part of the contents of the glasses was discharged full into her bosom. The young lady coloured at the insult, and Harry, who instantly perceived that it had been done on purpose, being no longer able to contain his indignation, seized a glass that was only half-emptied, and discharged the contents full into the face of the aggressor. Mash, who was a boy of violent passion, exasperated at this retaliation, which he so well deserved, instantly caught up a drinking glass, and flung it full at the head of Harry. Happy was it for him that it only grazed his head without taking the full effect; it, however, laid bare a considerable gash, and Harry was in an instant covered with his own blood, the sight of which provoked him the more, and made him forget both the place and the company where he was, so that, flying upon Mash with all the fury of just revenge, a dreadful combat ensued, which put the whole room in a consternation.

But Mr Merton soon appeared, and with some difficulty separated the enraged champions. He then inquired into the subject of the contest, which Master Mash endeavoured to explain away as an accident. But Harry persisted in his account with so much firmness, in which he was corroborated by Miss Simmons, that Mr Merton readily perceived the truth. Mash, however, apologised for himself in the best manner that he was able, by saying, that he only meant to play Master Harry an innocent trick, but that he had undesignedly injured Miss Simmons.

Whatever Mr Merton felt, he did not say a great deal; he, however, endeavoured to pacify the enraged combatants, and ordered assistance to Harry to bind up the wound, and clean him from the blood which had now disfigured him from head to foot.

Mrs Merton, in the mean time, who was sitting at the upper end of the room amidst the other ladies, had seen the fray, and been informed that it was owing to Harry's throwing a glass of lemonade in Master Mash's face. This gave Mrs Compton an opportunity of indulging herself again in long invectives against Harry, his breeding, family, and manners. "She never," she said, "had liked the boy, and now he had justified all her forebodings upon the subject. Such a little vulgar wretch could never have been witness to anything but scenes of riot and ill-manners; and now he was brawling and fighting in a gentleman's house, just as he would do at one of the public houses to which he was used to go with his father."

While she was in the midst of this eloquent harangue Mr Merton came up, and gave a more unprejudiced narrative of the affair. He acquitted Harry of all blame, and said that it was impossible, even for the mildest temper in the world, to act otherwise upon such unmerited provocation. This account seemed wonderfully to turn the scale in Harry's favour; though Miss Simmons was no great favourite with the young ladies, yet the spirit and gallantry which he had discovered in her cause began to act very forcibly on their minds. One of the young ladies observed, "that if Master Harry was better dressed he would certainly be a very pretty boy;" another said, "she had always thought he had a look above his station;" and a third remarked "that, considering he had never learned to dance, he had by no means a vulgar look."

This untoward accident having thus been amicably settled, the diversions of the evening went forward. But Harry, who had now lost all taste for genteel company, took the first opportunity of retiring to bed, where he soon fell asleep, and forgot both the mortification and bruises he had received. In the mean time the little company below found means to entertain themselves till past midnight, and then retired to their chambers.

The next morning they rose later than usual; and, as several of the young gentlemen, who had been invited to the preceding evening's diversion, were not to return till after dinner, they agreed to take a walk into the country. Harry went with them as usual, though Master Mash, by his misrepresentations, had prejudiced Tommy and all the rest against him. But Harry, who was conscious of his own innocence, and began to feel the pride of injured friendship, disdained to give an explanation of his behaviour, since his friend was not sufficiently interested about the matter to demand one.

While they were walking slowly along the common they discovered at a distance a prodigious crowd of people, all moving forward in the same direction. This attracted the curiosity of the little troop, and on inquiry they found there was going to be a bull-baiting. Instantly an eager desire seized upon all the little gentry to see the diversion. One obstacle alone presented itself, which was, that their parents, and particularly Mrs Merton, had made them promise that they would avoid every species of danger. This objection was, however, removed by Master Billy Lyddall, who remarked, "that there could be no danger in the sight, as the bull was to be tied fast, and could therefore do them no harm; besides," added he, smiling, "what occasion have they to know that we have been at all? I hope we are not such simpletons as to accuse ourselves, or such telltales as to inform against one another?" "No! no! no!" was the universal exclamation from all but Harry, who had remained profoundly silent on the occasion. "Master Harry has not said a word," said one of the little folks; "sure he will not tell of us." "Indeed," said Harry, "I don't wish to tell of you; but if I am asked where we have been, how can I help telling?" "What!" answered Master Lyddall, "can't you say that we have been walking along the road, or across the common, without mentioning anything further?" "No," said Harry, "that would not be speaking truth; besides, bull-baiting is a very cruel and dangerous diversion, and therefore none of us should go to see it, particularly Master Merton, whose mother loves him so much, and is so careful about him."

This speech was not received with much approbation by those to whom it was addressed. "A pretty fellow," said one, "to give himself these airs, and pretend to be wiser than every one else!"

"What!" said Master Compton, "does this beggar's brat think that he is to govern gentlemen's sons, because Master Merton is so good as to keep company with him?" "If I were Master Merton," said a third, "I'd soon send the little impertinent jackanapes home to his own blackguard family." And Master Mash, who was the biggest and strongest boy in the whole company, came up to Harry, and grinning in his face, said, "So all the return that you make to Master Merton for his goodness to you is to be a spy and an informer, is it, you little dirty blackguard?"

Harry, who had long perceived and lamented the coolness of Master Merton towards him, was now much more grieved to see that his friend was not only silent, but seemed to take an ill-natured pleasure in these insults, than at the insults themselves which were offered to him. However, as soon as the crowd of tormentors which surrounded him would give him leave to speak, he coolly answered, "that he was as little a spy and informer as any of them; and, as to begging, he thanked God he wanted as little of them as they did of him;" "besides," added he, "were I even reduced so low as that, I should know better how to employ my time than to ask charity of any one here."

This sarcastic answer, and the reflections that were made upon it, had such an effect upon the too irritable temper of Master Merton, that, in an instant, forgetting his former obligations and affection to Harry, he strutted up to him, and clenching his fist, asked him, "whether he meant to insult him?"

"Well done, Master Merton!" echoed through the whole society; "thrash him heartily for his impudence." "No, Master Tommy," answered Harry; "it is you and your friends here that insult me."

"What!" answered Tommy, "are you a person of such consequence that you must not be spoken to? You are a prodigious fine gentleman, indeed." "I always thought you one till now," answered Harry.

"How, you rascal!" said Tommy; "do you say that I am not a gentleman? Take that!" and immediately struck Harry upon the face with his fist. His fortitude was not proof against this treatment; he turned his face away, and only said, in a low tone of voice, "Master Tommy, Master Tommy, I never should have thought it possible you could have treated me in this unworthy manner;" then, covering his face with both his hands, he burst into an agony of crying.

But the little troop of gentlemen, who were vastly delighted with the mortification which Harry had received, and had formed a very different opinion of his prowess, from the patience which he had hitherto exerted, began to gather round and repeat their persecutions. Coward, and blackguard, and tell-tale echoed in a chorus through the circle; and some, more forward than the rest, seized him by the hair, in order that he might hold up his head and show his pretty face.

But Harry, who now began to recollect himself, wiped his tears with his hand, and, looking up, asked them with a firm tone of voice and a steady countenance, why they meddled with him; then, swinging round, he disengaged himself at once from all who had taken hold of him. The greatest part of the company gave back at this question, and seemed disposed to leave him unmolested; but Master Mash, who was the most quarrelsome and impertinent boy present, advanced, and looking at Harry with a contemptuous sneer, said, "this is the way we always treat such little blackguards as you, and if you have not had enough to satisfy you, we'll willingly give you some more." "As to all your nicknames and nonsense," answered Harry, "I don't think it worth my while to resent them; but though I have suffered Master Merton to strike me, there's not another in the company shall do it, or, if he chooses to try, he shall soon find whether or not I am a coward."

Master Mash made no answer to this, but by a slap of the face, which Harry returned by a punch of his fist, which had almost overset his antagonist, in spite of his superiority of size and strength. This unexpected check from a boy, so much less than himself, might probably have cooled the courage of Mash, had he not been ashamed of yielding to one whom he had treated with so much unmerited contempt. Summoning, therefore, all his resolution, he flew at Harry like a fury, and as he had often been engaged in quarrels like this, he struck him with so much force, that, with the first blow he aimed, he felled him to the ground. Harry, foiled in this manner, but not dismayed, rose in an instant, and attacked his adversary with redoubled vigour, at the very moment when he thought himself sure of the victory. A second time did Mash, after a short but severe contest, close with his undaunted enemy, and, by dint of superior strength, roughly hurled him to the ground.

The little troop of spectators, who had mistaken Harry's patient fortitude for cowardice, began now to entertain the sincerest respect for his courage, and gathered round the combatants in silence. A second time did Harry rise and attack his stronger adversary with the cool intrepidity of a veteran combatant. The battle now began to grow more dreadful and more violent. Mash had superior strength and dexterity, and greater habitude of fighting; his blows were aimed with equal skill and force, and each appeared sufficient to crush an enemy so much inferior in size, in strength, in years; but Harry possessed a body hardened to support pain and hardship; a greater degree of activity; a cool, unyielding courage, which nothing could disturb or daunt. Four times had he been now thrown down by the irresistible strength of his foe; four times had he risen stronger from his fall, covered with dirt and blood, and panting with fatigue, but still unconquered. At length, from the duration of the combat, and his own violent exertions, the strength of Mash began to fail; enraged and disappointed at the obstinate resistance he had met with, he began to lose all command of his temper, and strike at random; his breath grew short, his efforts were more laborious, and his knees seemed scarcely able to sustain his weight; but actuated by rage and shame, he rushed with all his might upon Harry, as if determined to crush him with one last effort. Harry prudently stepped back, and contented himself with parrying the blows that were aimed at him, till, seeing that his antagonist was almost exhausted by his own impetuosity, he darted at him with all his force, and by one successful blow levelled him with the ground.

An involuntary shout of triumph now burst from the little assembly of spectators; for such is the temper of human beings, that they are more inclined to consider superiority of force than justice; and the very same boys, who just before were loading Harry with taunts and outrages, were now ready to congratulate him upon his victory. He, however, when he found his antagonist no longer capable of resistance, kindly assisted him to rise, and told him "he was very sorry for what had happened;" but Mash, oppressed at once with the pain of his bruises, and the disgrace of his defeat, observed an obstinate silence.

Just at this moment their attention was engaged by a new and sudden spectacle. A bull of the largest size and greatest beauty was led across the plain, adorned with ribbons of various colours. The majestic animal suffered himself to be led along, an unresisting prey, till he arrived at the spot which was destined for the theatre of his persecutions. Here he was fastened to an iron ring, which had been strongly let into the ground, and whose force they imagined would be sufficient to restrain him, even in the midst of his most violent exertions. An innumerable crowd of men, of women, of children, then surrounded the place, waiting with eager curiosity for the inhuman sport which they expected. The little party which had accompanied Master Merton were now no longer to be restrained; their friends, their parents, admonition, duty, promises, were all forgotten in an instant, and, solely intent upon gratifying their curiosity, they mingled with the surrounding multitude.

Harry, although reluctantly, followed them at a distance; neither the ill-usage he had received, nor the pain of his wounds, could make him unmindful of Master Merton or careless of his safety. He knew too well the dreadful accidents which frequently attend these barbarous sports, to be able to quit his friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety.

And now the noble animal, that was to be thus wantonly tormented, was fastened to the ring by a strongly-twisted cord, which, though it confined and cramped his exertions, did not entirely restrain them. Although possessed of almost irresistible strength, he seemed unwilling to exert it, and looked round upon the infinite multitude of his enemies with a gentleness that ought to have disarmed their animosity.

Presently a dog of the largest size and most ferocious courage was let loose, who, as soon as he beheld the bull, uttered a savage yell, and rushed upon him with all the rage of inveterate animosity. The bull suffered him to approach with the coolness of deliberate courage, but just as the dog was springing up to seize him, he rushed forward to meet his foe, and putting his head to the ground, canted him into the air several yards; and had not the spectators run and caught him upon their backs and hands, he would have been crushed to pieces in the fall. The same fate attended another, and another dog, which were let loose successively; the one was killed upon the spot, while the other, who had a leg broken in the fall, crawled howling and limping away. The bull, in the meanwhile, behaved with all the calmness and intrepidity of an experienced warrior; without violence, without passion, he waited every attack of his enemies, and then severely punished them for their rashness.

While this was transacting, to the diversion not only of the rude and illiterate populace, but to that of the little gentry with Master Merton, a poor, half-naked Black came up, and humbly implored their charity. He had served, he told them, on board an English vessel, and even showed them the scars of several wounds he had received; but now he was discharged, and without friends, and without assistance, he could scarcely find food to support his wretched life, or clothes to cover him from the wintry wind.

Some of the young gentry, who, from a bad education, had been little taught to feel or pity the distress of others, were base enough to attempt to jest upon his dusky colour and foreign accent; but Master Merton, who, though lately much corrupted and changed from what he had been with Mr Barlow, preserved a great degree of generosity, put his hand into his pocket in order to relieve him, but unfortunately found nothing to give. The foolish profusion which he had lately learned from the young gentlemen at his father's house, had made him waste in cards, in playthings, in trifles, all his stock of money, and now he found himself unable to relieve that distress which he pitied.

Thus repulsed on every side, and unassisted, the unfortunate Black approached the place where Harry stood, holding out the tattered remains of his hat, and imploring charity. Harry had not much to give, but he took sixpence out of his pocket, which was all his riches, and gave it with the kindest look of compassion, saying, "Here, poor man, this is all I have; if I had more, it should be at your service." He had no time to add more, for at that instant three fierce dogs rushed upon the bull at once, and by their joint attacks rendered him almost mad. The calm deliberate courage which he had hitherto shown was now changed into rage and desperation: he roared with pain and fury; flashes of fire seemed to come from his angry eyes, and his mouth was covered with foam and blood. He hurried round the stake with incessant toil and rage, first aiming at one, then at another of the persecuting dogs that harassed him on every side, growling and baying incessantly, and biting him in every part. At length, with a furious effort that he made, he trampled one of his foes beneath his feet, and gored a second to that degree that his bowels came through the wound, and at the same moment the cord, which had hitherto confined him, snapped asunder, and let him loose upon the affrighted multitude.

It is impossible to conceive the terror and dismay which instantly seized the crowd of spectators. Those who before had been hallooing with joy, and encouraging the fury of the dogs with shouts and acclamations, were now scattered over the plain, and fled from the fury of the animal whom they had been so basely tormenting. The enraged bull meanwhile rushed like lightning over the plain, trampling some, goring others, and taking ample vengeance for the injuries he had received. Presently he rushed with headlong fury towards the spot where Master Merton and his associates stood; all fled with wild affright, but with a speed that was not equal to that of the pursuer. Shrieks, and outcries, and lamentations were heard on every side; and those who, a few minutes before, had despised the good advice of Harry, would now have given the world to be safe in the houses of their parents. Harry alone seemed to preserve his presence of mind; he neither cried out nor ran, but, when the dreadful animal approached, leaped nimbly aside, and the bull passed on, without embarrassing himself about his escape.

Not so fortunate was Master Merton; he happened to be the last of the little troop of fliers, and full in the way which the bull had taken. And now his destruction appeared certain; for as he ran, whether through fear or the inequality of the ground, his foot slipped, and down he tumbled in the very path of the enraged pursuing animal. All who saw imagined his fate inevitable; and it would certainly have proved so, had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above his years, suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had dropped, and at the very moment when the bull was stooping to gore his defenceless friend, advanced and wounded him in the flank. The bull in an instant turned short, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant; and it is probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid the price of his assistance to his friend with his own life, had not an unexpected succour arrived; for in that instant the grateful Black rushed on like lightning to assist him, and assailing the bull with a weighty stick that he held in his hand, compelled him to turn his rage upon a new object. The bull, indeed, attacked him with all the impetuosity of revenge; but the Black jumped nimbly aside and eluded his fury. Not contented with this, he wheeled round his fierce antagonist, and seizing him by the tail, began to batter his sides with an unexpected storm of blows. In vain did the enraged animal bellow and writhe himself about in all the convulsions of madness; his intrepid foe, without ever quitting his hold, suffered himself to be dragged about the field, still continuing his discipline, till the creature was almost spent with the fatigue of his own violent agitations. And now some of the boldest of the spectators, taking courage, approached to his assistance, and throwing a well-twisted rope over his head, they at length, by the dint of superior numbers, completely mastered the furious animal, and bound him to a tree.

In the meanwhile, several of Mr Merton's servants, who had been sent out after the young gentlemen, approached and took up their young master, who, though without a wound, was almost dead with fear and agitation. But Harry, after seeing that his friend was perfectly safe, and in the hands of his own family, invited the Black to accompany him, and instead of returning to Mr Merton's, took the way which led to his father's house.

While these scenes were passing, Mrs Merton, though ignorant of the danger of her son, was not undisturbed at home. Some accounts had been brought of Harry's combat, which served to make her uneasy, and to influence her still more against him. Mrs Compton too, and Miss Matilda, who had conceived a violent dislike to Harry, were busy to inflame her by their malicious representations.

While she was in these dispositions, Mr Merton happened to enter, and was at once attacked by all the ladies upon the subject of this improper connection. He endeavoured for a long time to remove their prejudices by reason; but when he found that to be impossible, he contented himself with telling his wife, that a little time would perhaps decide which were the most proper companions for their son; and that till Harry had done something to render himself unworthy of their notice, he never could consent to their treating him with coldness or neglect.

At this moment, a female servant burst into the room, with all the wildness of affright, and cried out with a voice that was scarcely articulate, "Oh, madam, madam; such an accident! poor dear Master Tommy."

"What of him, for pity's sake?" cried out Mrs Merton, with an impatience and concern that sufficiently marked her feelings. "Nay, madam," answered the servant, "he is not much hurt, they say; but little Sandford has taken him to a bull-baiting, and the bull has gored him, and William and John are bringing him home in their arms."

These words were scarcely delivered when Mrs Merton uttered a violent shriek, and was instantly seized with an hysteric fit; and while the ladies were all employed in assisting her, and restoring her senses, Mr Merton, who, though much alarmed, was more composed, walked precipitately out to learn the truth of this imperfect narration.

He had not proceeded far before he met the crowd of children and servants, one of whom carried Tommy Merton in his arms. As soon as he was convinced that his son had received no other damage than a violent fright, he began to inquire into the circumstances of the affair; but before he had time to receive any information, Mrs Merton, who had recovered from her fainting, came running wildly from the house. When she saw that her son was safe, she caught him in her arms, and began to utter all the incoherent expressions of a mother's fondness. It was with difficulty that her husband could prevail upon her to moderate her transports till they were within. Then she gave a loose to her feelings in all their violence, and for a considerable time was incapable of attending to anything but the joy of his miraculous preservation.

At length, however, she became more composed, and observing that all the company were present, except Harry Sandford, she exclaimed, with sudden indignation, "So I see that little abominable wretch has not had the impudence to follow you in; and I almost wish that the bull had gored him, as he deserved." "What little wretch do you mean, mamma?" said Tommy. "Whom can I mean," cried Mrs Merton, "but that vile Harry Sandford, whom your father is so fond of, and who had nearly cost you your life, by leading you into danger?" "He! mamma," said Tommy; "he lead me into danger! He did all he could to persuade me not to go, and I was a very naughty boy, indeed, not to take his advice."

Mrs Merton stood amazed at this information, for her prejudices had operated so powerfully upon her mind, that she had implicitly believed the guilt of Harry upon the imperfect evidence of the maid. "Who was it, then," said Mr Merton, "could be so imprudent?" "Indeed, papa," answered Tommy, "we were all to blame, all but Harry, who advised and begged us not to go, and particularly me, because he said it would give you so much uneasiness when you knew it, and that it was so dangerous a diversion."

Mrs Merton looked confused at her mistake, but Mrs Compton observed, that she supposed "Harry was afraid of the danger, and therefore, had wisely kept out of the way." "Oh, no, indeed, madam," answered one of the little boys, "Harry is no coward, though we thought him so at first, when he let Master Tommy strike him, but he fought Master Mash in the bravest manner I ever saw; and though Master Mash fought very well, yet Harry had the advantage; and I saw him follow us at a little distance, and keep his eye upon Master Merton all the time, till the bull broke loose, and then I was so frightened that I do not know what became of him." "So this is the little boy," said Mr Merton, "whom you were for driving from the society of your children. But let us hear more of this story, for as yet I know neither the particulars of his danger nor his escape." Upon this one of the servants, who, from some little distance, had seen the whole affair, was called in and examined. He gave them an exact account of all of Tommy's misfortune; of Harry's bravery; of the unexpected succour of the poor Black; and filled the whole room with admiration, that such an action, so noble, so intrepid, so fortunate, should have been achieved by such a child.

Mrs Merton was now silent with shame at reflecting upon her own unjust prejudices, and the ease with which she had become the enemy of a boy who had saved the life of her darling son, and who appeared as much superior in character to all the young gentlemen at her house as they exceeded him in rank and fortune. The young ladies now forgot their former objections to his person and manners, and—such is the effect of genuine virtue—all the company conspired to extol the conduct of Harry to the skies.

But Mr Merton, who had appeared more delighted than all the rest with the relations of Harry's intrepidity, now cast his eyes round the room and seemed to be looking for his little friend; but when he could not find him, he said, with some concern, "Where can be our little deliverer? Sure he can have met with no accident, that he has not returned with the rest!" "No," said one of the servants; "as to that, Harry Sandford is safe enough, for I saw him go towards his own home in company with the Black." "Alas!" answered Mr Merton, "surely he must have received some unworthy treatment, that could make him thus abruptly desert us all. And now I recollect I heard one of the young gentlemen mention a blow that Harry had received. Surely, Tommy, you could not have been so basely ungrateful as to strike the best and noblest of your friends!" Tommy, at this, hung down his head, his face was covered with a burning blush, and the tears began silently to trickle down his cheeks.

Mrs Merton remarked the anguish and confusion of her child, and catching him in her arms, was going to clasp him to her bosom, with the most endearing expressions, but Mr Merton, hastily interrupting her, said, "It is not now a time to give way to fondness for a child, who, I fear, has acted the basest and vilest part that can disgrace a human being, and who, if what I suspect be true, can be only a dishonour to his parents." At this, Tommy could no longer contain himself, but burst into such a violent transport of crying, that Mrs Merton, who seemed to feel the severity of Mr Merton's conduct with still more poignancy than her son, caught her darling up in her arms and carried him abruptly out of the room, accompanied by most of the ladies, who pitied Tommy's abasement, and agreed that there was no crime he could have been guilty of which was not amply atoned for by such charming sensibility.

But Mr Merton, who now felt all the painful interest of a tender father, and considered this as the critical moment which was to give his son the impression of worth or baseness for life, was determined to examine this affair to the utmost. He, therefore, took the first opportunity of drawing the little boy aside who had mentioned Master Merton's striking Harry, and questioned him upon the subject. But he, who had no particular interest in disguising the truth, related the circumstances nearly as they had happened; and though he a little softened the matter in Tommy's favour, yet, without intending it, he held up such a picture of his violence and injustice, as wounded his father to the soul.