The History of Sandford and Merton Part 24

_Mr Barlow._--Just now you told me you were ready to do everything, and yet you cannot take the trouble of visiting your friend at his own house. You then imagine that a person does not expose himself by acting wrong, but by acknowledging and amending his faults?

_Tommy._--But what would everybody say if a young gentleman like me was to go and beg pardon of a farmer's son?

_Mr Barlow._--They would probably say that you have more sense and grat.i.tude than they expected. However, you are to act as you please.

With the sentiments you still seem to entertain, Harry will certainly be a very unfit companion, and you will do much better to cultivate the new acquaintance you have made.

Mr Barlow was then going away, but Tommy burst again into tears, and begged him not to go; upon which Mr Barlow said, "I do not want to leave you, Tommy, but our conversation is now at an end. You have asked my advice, which I have given you freely. I have told you how you ought to act, if you would preserve the esteem of any good or sensible friend, or prevail upon Harry to excuse your past behaviour. But as you do not approve of what I suggested, you must follow your own opinion."

"Pray sir, pray sir," said Tommy, sobbing, "do not go. I have used Harry Sandford in the most barbarous manner; my father is angry with me, and, if you desert me, I shall have no friend left in the world."

_Mr Barlow._--That will be your own fault, and therefore you will not deserve to be pitied. Is it not in your own power to preserve all your friends by an honest confession of your faults? Your father will be pleased, Harry Sandford will heartily forgive you, and I shall retain the same good opinion of your character which I have long had.

_Tommy._--And is it really possible, sir, that you should have a good opinion of me after all I have told you about myself?

_Mr Barlow._--I have always thought you a little vain and careless, I confess, but at the same time I imagined you had both good sense and generosity in your character; I depended upon _first_ to make you see your faults, and upon the _second_ to correct them.

_Tommy._--Dear sir, I am very much obliged to you; but you have always been extremely kind and friendly to me.

_Mr Barlow._--And therefore I told your father yesterday, who is very much hurt at your quarrel with Harry, that though a sudden pa.s.sion might have transported you too far, yet, when you came to consider the matter coolly, you would perceive your faults and acknowledge them; were you not to behave in this manner, I owned I could say nothing in your favour. And I was very much confirmed in this opinion, when I saw the courage you exerted in the rescue of Harry's lamb, and the compa.s.sion you felt for the poor Highlander. "A boy," said I, "who has so many excellent dispositions, can never persist in bad behaviour. He may do wrong by accident, but he will be ashamed of his errors, and endeavour to repair them by a frank and generous acknowledgment. This has always been the conduct of really great and elevated minds, while mean and grovelling ones alone imagine that it is necessary to persist in faults they have once committed."

_Tommy._--Oh, sir! I will go directly and entreat Harry to forgive me; I am convinced that all you say is right. But will you not go with me? Do pray, sir, be so good.

_Mr Barlow._--Gently, gently, my young friend, you are always for doing everything in an instant. I am very glad you have taken a resolution which will do you so much credit, and give so much satisfaction to your own mind; but, before you execute it, I think it will be necessary to speak to your father and mother upon the subject; and, in the mean time, I will go and pay a visit to farmer Sandford, and bring you an account of Harry.

_Tommy._--Do, sir, be so good; and tell Harry, if you please, that there is nothing I desire so much as to see him, and that nothing shall ever make me behave ill again. I have heard too, sir, that there was a poor Black came begging to us, who saved Harry from the bull; if I could but find him out, I would be good to him as long as I live.

Mr Barlow commended Tommy very much for dispositions so full of grat.i.tude and goodness; and, taking leave of him, went to communicate the conversation he had just had to Mr Merton. That gentleman felt the sincerest pleasure at the account, and entreated Mr Barlow to go directly to prepare Harry to receive his son. "That little boy,"

observed he, "has the n.o.blest mind that ever adorned a human being; nor shall I ever be happy till I see my son acknowledging all his faults, and entreating forgiveness; for, with the virtues that I have discovered in his soul, he appears to me a more eligible friend and companion than n.o.blemen or princes."

Mr Barlow therefore set out on foot, though Mr Merton would have sent his carriage and servants to attend him, and soon arrived at Mr Sandford's farm. It was a pleasant spot, situated upon the gentle declivity of a hill, at the foot of which winded along a swift and clear little stream. The house itself was small, but warm and convenient, furnished with the greatest simplicity, but managed with perfect neatness. As Mr Barlow approached, he saw the owner himself guiding a plough through one of his own fields, and Harry, who had now resumed the farmer, directed the horses. But when he saw Mr Barlow coming across the field, he stopped his team, and, letting fall his whip, sprang forward to meet him with all the unaffected eagerness of joy. As soon as Harry had saluted Mr Barlow, and inquired after his health, he asked with the greatest kindness after Tommy; "for I fancy, sir," said he, "by the way which I see you come, you have been at Mr Merton's house." "Indeed I have," replied Mr Barlow, "but I am very sorry to find that Tommy and you are not upon as good terms as you formerly were."

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I am very sorry for it myself. But I do not know that I have given Master Merton any reason to change his sentiments about me; and though I do not think he has treated me as well as he ought to do, I have the greatest desire to hear that he is well.

_Mr Barlow._--That you might have known yourself had you not left Mr Merton's house so suddenly, without taking leave of any one, even your friend Mr Merton, who has always treated you with so much kindness.

_Harry._--Indeed, sir, I should be very unhappy if you think I have done wrong; but be so good as to tell me how I could have acted otherwise. I am very sorry to appear to accuse Master Merton, neither do I bear any resentment against him for what he has done; but since you speak to me upon the subject, I shall be obliged to tell the truth.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, let me hear it; you know I shall be the last person to condemn you, if you do not deserve it.

_Harry._--I know your constant kindness to me, sir, and I always confide in it; however, I am not sensible that I am in fault. You know, sir, that it was with unwillingness I went to Mr Merton's, for I thought there would be fine gentlemen and ladies there, who would ridicule my dress and manners; and, though Master Merton has been always very friendly in his behaviour towards me, I could not help thinking that he might grow ashamed of my company at his own house.

_Mr Barlow._--Do you wonder at that, Harry, considering the difference there is in your rank and fortune?

_Harry._--No, sir, I cannot say I do, for I generally observe that those who are rich will scarcely treat the poor with common civility. But, in this particular case, I did not see any reason for it; I never desired Master Merton to admit me to his company, or invite me to his house, because I knew that I was born, and in a very inferior station. You were so good as to take me to your house, and if I was then much in his company, it was because he seemed to desire it himself, and I always endeavoured to treat him with the greatest respect.

_Mr Barlow._--That is indeed true, Harry; in all your little plays and studies I have never observed anything but the greatest mildness and good nature on your part.

_Harry._--I hope, sir, it has never been otherwise. But though I had the greatest affection for Master Merton, I never desired to go home with him. What sort of a figure could a poor boy like me make at a gentleman's table, among little masters and misses that powder their hair, and wear buckles as big as our horses carry upon their harness? If I attempted to speak, I was always laughed at; or if I did anything, I was sure to hear something about clowns and rustics! And yet, I think, though they were all gentlemen and ladies, you would not much have approved of their conversation, for it was about nothing but plays, and dress, and trifles of that nature. I never heard one of them mention a single word about saying their prayers, or being dutiful to their parents, or doing any good to the poor.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, but if you did not like their conversation, you surely might have borne it with patience for a little while: and then I heard something about your being quarrelsome.

_Harry._--Oh, sir! I hope not. I was, to be sure, once a little pa.s.sionate, but that I could not help, and I hope you will forgive me.

There was a modest, sensible young lady, who was the only person that treated me with any kindness, and a bold, forward, ill-natured boy affronted her in the grossest manner, only because she took notice of me. Could I help taking her part? Have you not told me, too, sir, that every person, though he should avoid quarrels, has a right to defend himself when he is attacked?

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I do not much blame you, from the circ.u.mstances I have heard of that affair; but why did you leave Mr Merton's family so abruptly, without speaking to anybody, or thanking Mr Merton himself for the civilities he had shown you? Was that right?

_Harry._--Oh dear, sir, I have cried about it several times, for I think it must appear very rude and ungrateful to Mr Merton. But as to Master Tommy, I did not leave him while I thought I could be of any use. He treated me, I must say, in a very unworthy manner; he joined with all the other fine little gentlemen in abusing me, only because I endeavoured to persuade them not to go to a bull-baiting; and then at last he struck me. I did not strike him again, because I loved him so much in spite of all his unkindness; nor did I leave him till I saw he was quite safe in the hands of his own servants; and then, how could I go back to his house after what he had done to me? I did not choose to complain of him to Mr Merton; and how could I behave to him as I had done before, without being guilty of meanness and falsehood? And therefore I thought it better to go home and desire you to speak, to Mr Merton, and entreat him to forgive my rudeness.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I can inform you that Mr Merton is perfectly satisfied on that account. But there is one circ.u.mstance you have not mentioned, my little friend, and that is your saving Tommy's life from the fury of the enraged bull.

_Harry._--As to that, sir, I hope I should have done the same for any human creature. But I believe that neither of us would have escaped, if it had not been for the poor courageous Black that came to our a.s.sistance.

_Mr Barlow._--I see, Harry, that you are a boy of a n.o.ble and generous spirit, and I highly approve of everything you have done; but are you determined to forsake Tommy Merton for ever, because he has once behaved ill?

_Harry._--I, sir! no, I am sure. But though I am poor, I do not desire the acquaintance of anybody that despises me. Let him keep company with his gentlemen and ladies, I am satisfied with companions in my own station. But surely, sir, it is not _I_ that forsake him, but _he_ that has cast me off.

_Mr Barlow._--But if he is sorry for what he has done, and only desires to acknowledge his faults and obtain your pardon?

_Harry._--Oh dear, sir, I should forget everything in an instant. I knew Master Tommy was always a little pa.s.sionate and headstrong, but he is at the same time generous and good-natured; nor would he, I am sure, have treated me so ill if he had not been encouraged to it by the other young gentlemen.

_Mr Barlow._--Well, Harry, I believe your friend is thoroughly sensible of his faults, and that you will have little to fear for the future. He is impatient till he sees you, and asks your forgiveness.

_Harry._--Oh, sir, I should forgive him if he had beaten me a hundred times. But though I cannot leave the horses now, if you will be so kind to wait a little, I daresay my father will let me go when he leaves off ploughing.

_Mr Barlow._--No, Harry, there is no occasion for that. Tommy has indeed used you ill, and ought to acknowledge it, otherwise he will not deserve to be trusted again. He will call upon you, and tell you all he feels on the occasion. In the mean time I was desired, both by him and Mr Merton, to inquire after the poor negro that served you so materially, and saved you from the bull.

_Harry._--He is at our house, sir, for I invited him home with me; and when my father heard how well he had behaved, he made him up a little bed over the stable, and gives him victuals every day, and the poor man seems very thankful and industrious, and says he would gladly do any kind of work to earn his subsistence.

Mr Barlow then took his leave of Harry, and after having spoken to his father, returned to Mr Merton's.

During Mr Barlow's absence Mr Simmons had arrived there to fetch away his niece; but when he had heard the story of the Highlander, he perfectly recollected his name and character, and was touched with the sincerest compa.s.sion for his sufferings. On conversing with the poor man he found that he was extremely well acquainted with agriculture, as well as truly industrious, and therefore instantly proposed to settle him in a small farm of his own which happened to be vacant. The poor man received this unexpected change in his fortune with tears of joy, and every mark of unaffected grat.i.tude; and Mr Merton, who never wanted generosity, insisted upon having a share in his establishment. He was proposing to supply him with the necessary implements of agriculture, and a couple of horses, to begin the culture of his land, just at the moment when Mr Barlow entered, who, when he had heard with the sincerest pleasure the improvement of the poor man's circ.u.mstances, begged permission to share in so benevolent an action. "I have an excellent milch-cow," said he, "which I can very well spare, whose milk will speedily recruit the strength of these poor children; and I have half-a-dozen ewes and a ram, which I hope, under Mr Campbell's management, will soon increase to a numerous flock." The poor Highlander seemed almost frantic with such a profusion of unexpected blessings, and said "that he wished nothing more than to pa.s.s the remainder of his days in such a generous nation, and to be enabled to show, at least, the sentiments which such undeserved generosity had excited."

At night Mr Merton, who was desirous by every method to support the good impressions which had now taken possession of Tommy's mind, proposed that Miss Simmons should favour them with the conclusion of the story which she had begun the night before. The young lady instantly complied, and then read them

_The Conclusion of the Story of Sophron and Tigranes._

"The venerable Chares continued his narration thus: 'I pa.s.sed several months among the Arabians, delighted with the simplicity of their life and the innocence of their manners; and would to heaven,' added he, with a sigh, 'that I had accepted their friendly invitations, and never quitted the silence of their hospitable deserts! How many scenes should I have avoided which fill these aged eyes with tears, and pierce my soul with horror as often as I recollect them! I should not have been witness to such a waste of human blood, nor traced the gradual ruin of my country. I should not have seen our towns involved in flames, nor our helpless children the captives of fell barbarians. But it is in vain for human beings to repine at the just decrees of Providence, which have consigned every people to misery and servitude that abandon virtue, and attach themselves to the pursuit of pleasure.

"'I left Arabia, with a heart penetrated with grat.i.tude and admiration for its virtuous and benevolent inhabitants. They dismissed me with every mark of kindness and hospitality, guided me over their dreary deserts, and at parting presented me with one of those beautiful horses which are the admiration of all the surrounding nations. I will not trouble you with an account of the different countries which I wandered over in search of wisdom and experience. At length I returned to my native city, determined to pa.s.s the rest of my life in obscurity and retirement; for the result of all my observations was, that he is happiest who pa.s.ses his time in innocent employments and the observation of nature. I had seen the princes and n.o.bles of the earth repining in the midst of their splendid enjoyments, disgusted with the empty pageantry of their situation, and wis.h.i.+ng in vain for the humble tranquillity of private life. I had visited many of the princ.i.p.al cities in several countries where I had travelled, but I had uniformly observed, that the miseries and crimes of mankind increased with their numbers. I therefore determined to avoid the general contagion by fixing my abode in some sequestered spot, at a distance from the pa.s.sions and pursuits of my fellow-creatures.

"'Having therefore collected the remainder of my effects, and with them purchased a little farm and vineyard in a beautiful and solitary spot near the sea, I soon afterwards married a virtuous young woman, and in her society enjoyed, for several years, as great a degree of tranquillity as generally falls to the lot of man. I did not disdain to exercise with my own hands the different employments of agriculture; for I thought man was dishonoured by that indolence which renders him a burthen to his fellow-creatures, not by that industry which is necessary to the support of his species. I therefore sometimes guided the plough with my own hands, sometimes laboured in a little garden, which supplied us with excellent fruits and herbs; I likewise tended the cattle, whose patient labour enabled us to subdue the soil, and considered myself as only repaying part of the obligations I had received. My wife, too, exercised herself in domestic cares; she milked the sheep and goats, and chiefly prepared the food of the family.

"'Amidst my other employments I did not entirely forget the study of philosophy, which had charmed me so much in my early youth. I frequently observed, with admiration, the wisdom and contrivance which were displayed in all the productions of nature, and the perfection of all her works. I used to walk amid the coolness and stillness of the evening, feeding my mind with pleasing meditations upon the power and wisdom which have originally produced and still support this frame of things. I turned my eyes upon the earth, and saw it covered with innumerable animals, that sported upon its surface, and found, each according to his nature, subsistence adapted to his wants. I saw the air and water themselves teeming with life and peopled with innumerable swarms of insects. I saw that, throughout the whole extent of creation, as far as I was capable of observing it, nothing was waste or desolate--everything was replete with life and adapted to support it.

These reflections continually excited in my mind new grat.i.tude and veneration for that mysterious Being, whose goodness presides over such an infinite variety of beings. I endeavoured to elevate my thoughts to contemplate His nature and qualities; I however found my faculties too bounded to comprehend the infinite perfections of His nature; I therefore contented myself with imperfectly tracing Him in His works, and adoring Him as the common friend and parent of all His creatures.

"'Nor did I confine myself to these speculations, however sublime and consolatory to the human heart. Destined as we are to inhabit this globe of earth, it is our interest to be acquainted with its nature, and the properties of its productions. For this reason, I particularly examined all the vegetables which are capable of becoming the food of man, or of the various animals which contribute to his support. I studied their qualities, the soil in which they delighted, and the improvements which might be made in every species. I sometimes wandered among the neighbouring mountains, and wherever the fall of rocks, or the repeated violence of torrents had borne away the soil, I considered with silent admiration the various substances which we call by the common name of _earth_. These I used to collect and mingle with the mould of my own garden, by which means I frequently made useful discoveries in fertilising the soil and increasing the quant.i.ty of food.